#cruel reality & co.

[stromuprisahat]

[is-today-tomorrow-in-nz]

If anybody knows a demon, please let them know, I'm willing to sell my soul in exchange for not having to work the rest of my mortal life.

[dalliancekay]

"There is no 'our side', Crowley!"

I was looking for this gif and every post I came across was some variation on how poorly was Crowley treated here. Poor boy. How utterly cruel of Aziraphale. How heartless. How he just dropped Crowley like a hot potato. Cos Heaven was coming. And Aziraphale decided that they were over. And he was going back to them. Or something. If you know any that look into how Aziraphale is feeling, please tag me. What do I think Aziraphale is feeling?

Well. Was he happy to have Armageddon coming? No. But he did think it was inevitable.* However. They tried to influence the Antichrist. But had the wrong boy. Then they tried to think of how to find the real one and in that short time - what? Kill him? Talk to him? They had no idea what the kid is like. What powers he has. None.

The Great Plan. It is coming to its fulfilment. It is written. The War is about to begin. Heaven and Hell. The big one. They both know this. And this is not something Aziraphale or Crowley can avoid. It's not something they can just stop believing in. They had their Arrangement, their side (sort of), and they managed not to get caught. But now? Now Aziraphale is right. There is no OUR SIDE. There never really was. There might have been a moment in their existence on Earth (about 12 hundred years?) when they could feel like/pretend they are having their own side. But now the full reality of their existence is back. There are Heaven and Hell and they are preparing for War. They have no interest in Earth. Aziraphale and Crowley are tiny pawns in a very big picture. They both belong to their respective sides. They always have. Even when they found ways to work together. (Mostly cos their sides are conceited idiots both.)

And so Aziraphale decided for one more desperate attempt to get God to see how the whole thing can be avoided. Does he think She might understand? We don't know. Does he look full of hope as he walks back to his shop? He doesn't. He gets broken up with again by Crowley who nonsensically (and yes, romantically, sure) wants to go to another star - to do what? Wait till the end of universe reaches them? (Why is everybody always defending Crowley? And act like he's being reasonable there?) And then Aziraphale gets punched in the stomach. By a fellow angel. And told by Metatron to not be a bloody fool and report for service as the good angel he surely is.

And he gets discorporated. Which looks like it really sucks.

And then he DESERTS the War AND Heaven (that he apparently still has faith in...) and goes on a limb to find the boy and just see if he can come up with something. Anything. Thinking Crowley is gone. Packed his stuff and left. Possibly with the friend he was talking to when he tried to call his flat earlier.

Because Aziraphale feels the War and ending of the world is such injustice. Written or not. Great Plan or not. Maybe he didn't think at first he could make any difference but Crowley showed him it's worth considering it. *Crowley is always showing Aziraphale that things can be questioned. It didn't take Aziraphale long at all to reconsider letting things just play out and instead fight to the last breath he doesn't need, for Earth instead. The conditioning he needs to fight isn't that Heaven is good and right. The conditioning he needs to fight is that things can't be changed. That it is all written out. That he is a nobody and can't influence anything. Aziraphale's biggest fight and learning curve is in having faith in himself. So. Much like he felt it was unfair to leave the first humans unprotected and how he felt killing Job's kids was cruel, he disobeys and does his own thing again. He learns he can. But all this comes at a cost. To himself (thinking he will Fall for these things) but also to his beloved - and THAT is much harder for him. He would never want to put Crowley in danger. And he does. Every time they meet. The guilt he must feel for this.

Aziraphale lives between two sides. And they are both awful. And he is often misunderstood for just acknowledging this as reality he and everything else exists in.

I think his view of his reality is pretty accurate. There is no our side. They wanted one. But they can't leave their sides. Even after S1 they couldn't. Not really. And they both knew it. And no, he is not in clutches of Heaven or sometimes reverts to their indoctrination or anything like that. He goes along with Heaven as far as he MUST. And his life alongside his demon, however tentative, was always precious to him. But.

Crowley who showed him how to keep questioning things, try to make them better, didn't see it his way and left.

Aziraphale has to do the best he can and just do something. Anything. He can not just do nothing. He can not try and run. Or hide. Or wait some more. Crowley showed him that things can be different and Aziraphale had to do all to try and make it better. And he will. And Crowley will help. He always does.

Is Aziraphale always right? No. Does he make mistakes? Yes. I am never saying Aziraphale is faultless - but I think many things he is blamed for are not right. And I also think Crowley is often seen as can do no wrong. Everything he says is right. 100% correct. The right things to do. He knows more. Understands more. If he disagrees with Aziraphale than it follows that Aziraphale is wrong. That's not true. They are both beautifully rounded, full, flawed characters I love. They complement each other in ways I bet I have not even noticed yet. And they are their own beings too. They don't only exist for one another.

[xoxovalrea]

Sukuna imagine

A/n- ik we supposed to hate sukuna or wtv but Gege had to go nd make his true form so fineuhhh. Nd uh i told sorta a white lie imma continue writing jjk fanfics😀 but trust trust an AOT one is coming🙏

Warnings: Rough fuck, corruption kink, afab reader,angry sukuna in a way, multiple reader orgasms.  imagine below the gif🎀

Sukuna might be all big and bad but when it comes to you and your cunt he’s like a kid in a candy store. Especially after not having it for more than two days, on top of working a stressful shift. 

“Kuna no more I cant take it” you whine in broken moans as sukuna eats your poor little cunt out like a starved man. You try to scoot away only to be pulled back onto his mouth. 

He lets out a deep groan in utter annoyance. He lifts his face up and gives you an ‘are you fucking serious’ look and goes right back to eating you out not minding how your thighs are trying to pop his head off. 

He brings you to a shaking squirting orgasm once more. But getting up and positioning his leaking hard cock at your hole and pushing in with no warning putting you into a mating press. 

“Kuna baby please too much” you say slurring your words as sukuna chuckles in your ear repeating ‘you can take it’ throughout grunts and low moans.

“Fuckk princess you’re so tight is it that good?” He laughs as you struggle to respond taking your loud moans of his name as a response. The sound of skin slapping and your moans were like music to his ears especially after dealing with his bitch baby employees and co-workers all day. 

Ryomen loved his little stay at home wife. He liked the fact you needed him to survive in this cruel world and how he easily can corrupt your mind without even touching you it was all a wet dream to him.

He didnt realize how hard or how fast he was going until he snapped back into reality and heard your pleas of how you were going to cum and how your eyes were rolling to the back of your head. 

He kept his pace just adding a little clit rubbing watching how your moans got louder. “Mhm thats it baby cum, cum all over this cock” he says groaning feeling his balls tighten.

“Ah sukuna please no, no more” you babble as he speeds up riding out your orgasm as he eventually cums deep inside of you with a deep guttural moan. 

He pulls out with a wince and lifts your fucked out body in his arms leading you to the bathroom. 

-fun fact sukunas true form is 8ft 😝

Bye lovess💗💗

[fanfic-writer-and-rambler]

Six days without sleep?!

Apparently in the comics it's explained that Bruce Wayne makes up for lost hours by ‘micro sleeping’. Which isn't recommended for normal humans… I honestly think Superman needs a proper sleep.

I headcanon that he goes days without sleep and then crashes randomly (usually Alfred spiking his drink sleep meds so he can get some good sleep) and sleeps for like eighteen hours and pretends he didn't fall asleep at a stop sign.

Superman, Wonder Woman and Green Lantern are waiting at the Justice League headquarters for Batman to enter. They have planned an intervention for the man.

Wonder Woman (checking her phone for a text): He'll be up here soon.

Superman: All right, when he comes in here we have to be understanding and not attack him.

Green Lantern: We're like that to him almost all the time. He will threaten us with a contingency plan for the most minor critique. He just weaves it into the conversation at random.

Wonder Woman (nods): He's not wrong. He told Aquaman he'd use plan 50 on him because the man told him to sit down to rest his injured leg… Such a cruel and strange contingency plan.

Superman: That was weeks ago. In the past, we just have to talk to him calm and kind because he's our friend.

Green Lantern: Co-worker.

Superman: Friend! A friend intervention is what he needs. He'll hear us out.

Hal (Green Lantern) shakes his head with doubt. The elevator door opens and Batman walks out.

Superman: Hey buddy, pal ol mine. How you doing?

Batman slowly turns to Superman.

Batman: I'm not going to sleep!

Superman: How did you know we were going to ask that?

Batman: Because you've asked it… two hundred times in the past. I'm fine... my body is stronger than your fortress of solitude!

Wonder Woman: You're really not fine. You poured coffee on your hand yesterday.

Batman: That was a simple accident... that woke me up when I did it.

Green lantern (frustrated): Dude, you have been awake for SIX days! Your mind has not had one minute to rest, you have a stream of consciousness that hasn’t been turned off and- Batman!

Batman has stared off at the side as he silently zones out. Wonder Woman claps her hands in front of Batman’s face snapping him back to reality.

Green lantern: You should not be alive! How the actual hell are you alive?

Batman: Simple answer… I am built different from all of you! I can go months without sleep if I want to! I am the strongest one here and...

Batman steps back, blinks and falls to the ground.

Superman: Oh my God!

GL (expecting this): Give him five seconds.

Five seconds pass. Batman springs to his feet.

Batman: Blacked out for a second... Where was I? I can withstand months without sleep cause I am the one!

Superman (shocked): What the fuck was that?!

Batman: What was what?

WW: You just fell unconscious for like five seconds!

Batman: It was five this time? Nice.

GL (crossing his arms with a smirk): Guys, he’s right we should just leave it alone.

Superman: What the heck are you talking about?

GL: I’m speaking for Batman, cuz clearly the dude is showing us that he has the will power, the machismo if you will, to take micronaps and wake up with ease. Ain't that right, Batman?

Batman's head dip down as he stares at the floor. Wonder Woman walks over to him and claps her hands in his face again. His head shoots back up.

Batman(exhaling): Yup, yup, yup! I'm going to go outside and get sunlight. I'll be back!

Batman runs out of the room taking the stairs.

Wonder Woman and Superman glare at Hal. He chuckles with a shrug.

Green Lantern: I told you he wasn’t going to listen. At least he didn't bring up a contingency plan although the zoning out he’s having is definitely affecting his critical thinking.

Wonder Woman: Astute assessment.

Green Lantern: Thanks, dude.

Superman groans.

Superman: How are we going to fix this. I can’t let my best buddy go insane or worse.

Wonder Woman: You realize your friendship with him is one sided and he sees you as a colleague?

Superman: Not true. Not true. Our sons are friends so that means we are friends.

Wonder Woman rolls her eyes.

WW: Back to the main point, what are we going to do next?

GL: Not worry about it? Yeah, that. He's about to crash at any second.

Arrow runs into the room frantic.

Arrow: Batman just fell down the stairs and is knocked out!

GL: And there's the crash. I'll drag him back up.

WW (raising her eyebrow): You've dealt with this, haven't you?

GL: Duh. I’ll be back.

Wonder Woman turns to Superman.

WW: Unaware your buddy has a shut down eventually?

Superman (sheepishly): It may have escaped my mind.

[fumikoshi]

Monkeys

Fumi: I decided to write for Geto too from now on

✧ — SUMMARY; your father sells you to Geto to pay his debts because he has no money to pay.

✧ — CONTENT; 18+ ONLY // MDNI — fem! reader, humiliating nicknames, size kink, NON-CON, TWTWTW, geto is extremely cruel towards you, reader is not a sorcerer, all characters are legal age

Suguru's eyes narrowed as he watched your trembling form. He could practically smell the fear radiating off of you, and it only fueled his disdain for non-sorcerers even more. He scoffed at your tears, finding them pathetic and beneath his attention.

"Pathetic. Crying won't change anything, monkey. You're mine to use now, whether you like it or not. Your father saw fit to sell you to me like a piece of livestock. Consider yourself lucky that I'm even acknowledging your existence."

He reached out and brushed a stray tear from your cheek with a cold, calloused hand. His touch was rough, lacking any hint of tenderness or compassion.

"But don't think that this changes anything. You're still nothing to me. Just another filthy monkey that I have to tolerate."

He pushed you away, causing you to stumble back onto the bed. Suguru watched you coldly, his gaze filled with contempt.

"Now, you have two choices. You can either lie there and let me have my way with you, or you can run. But let me warn you, monkey, if you choose to run, I'll enjoy hunting you down. And when I catch you, the punishment will be far worse than anything you can imagine."

He leaned against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest, a sadistic smirk playing on his lips.

"So, monkey, what will it be? Do you want to play the obedient little monkey, or will you try to escape? Either way, it doesn't matter to me. I'll have my fun."

you trembled in horror, your body was trembling. you nod as you sit on the bed silently

Suguru's smirk widened as he watched your trembling form and heard your silent sobs. He reveled in your fear and vulnerability, finding it intoxicating. Slowly, he approached you, his steps deliberate and confident.

"Good. At least you know your place, monkey. Now, undress yourself and lie on the bed. Don't make me wait."

He reached out and roughly grabbed your chin, forcing you to look into his piercing eyes.

"Now, let's begin our little game, shall we?"

Suguru's grip tightened, his fingers digging into your skin. He tilted your head back, exposing your vulnerable neck. His free hand trailed down your body, his touch cold and invasive.

"Remember, darling, I don't do this out of desire for you. I'm merely indulging my own sadistic pleasures."

He leaned in, his hot breath ghosting over your ear as he whispered in a low, menacing tone.

"I'll make sure you regret ever being born a monkey."

With that, he roughly pushed you down onto the bed, his hands roaming your body with a possessive hunger. His actions were forceful and dominating, leaving no room for resistance. He took pleasure in exerting his power over you, reveling in the control he had.

''AAH! IT hurts-''

you squeal and press your tiny hands on his muscular chest. he was taking your virginity ruthlessly and cruelly. 

''P-Please be gentle-ah~!''

Suguru's sadistic grin widened as he heard your pleas and felt your small hands on his chest. He relished in your pain and vulnerability, taking pleasure in the power he held over you. His grip on your wrists tightened, restraining you as he continued his relentless assault.

"Gentle?" he scoffed, his voice dripping with mockery. "Why would I be gentle with a monkey like you? You're nothing more than a plaything for my amusement."

He continued his forceful thrusts, his movements devoid of any tenderness or consideration for your well-being. Each motion was calculated to maximize your pain and humiliation.

"You thought this would be a fairytale, didn't you?" Suguru sneered, his voice laced with cruelty. "Well, darling, welcome to reality. This is what you get for being a pathetic non-sorcerer."

His words echoed in the room, a constant reminder of your helplessness. He reveled in the power he held over you, his mind clouded by his own sadistic desires.

As the night wore on, Suguru's actions became more brutal and unforgiving. Your pleas and cries seemed to fuel his sadistic nature, driving him to push you further into the depths of despair.

In that moment, you realized the true extent of his sadistic nature. This was your wedding night, a night that should have been filled with love and tenderness. Instead, it had become a nightmare, a living hell in the hands of a man who saw you as nothing more than a plaything for his twisted desires.

after hours, your body was like a rag-doll in his arms. you were lying limbless on the bed. liquids were dripping from your womanhood

Suguru stood over you, his chest heaving with exertion and a sadistic satisfaction evident in his eyes. He had taken everything from you, both physically and emotionally. The room was filled with a heavy silence, broken only by the sound of your labored breathing and the dripping of fluids.

A twisted smile played on Suguru's lips as he looked down at your broken form. He reveled in the sight of your vulnerability and the power he held over you. To him, you were nothing more than a discarded toy, used and discarded at his whim.

He rose from the bed, discarding your broken body like a discarded toy. His gaze lingered on you for a moment, relishing in the sight of your shattered innocence.

"Remember this night, monkey," he sneered, his voice dripping with sadistic pleasure. "Remember the pain and humiliation, for it serves as a reminder of your place in this world."

With a dismissive wave of his hand, Suguru turned away, leaving you alone in the aftermath of his cruelty. As you lay there, broken and violated, the weight of his actions settled heavily upon your shattered spirit.

With a final callous glance, Suguru turned away from you, his satisfied smirk still lingering on his face. He began to dress himself, his movements calm and collected, as if he hadn't just inflicted immeasurable pain upon you.

As he left the room, he cast one last condescending glance in your direction, a silent reminder of the power imbalance between you.

[bonchobrick]

Duke and Danny bestie fic im co-authoring with some cool people for Patrol Partners! :D

A fic where Duke knows a lot about Gotham’s new problem, ghosts. The Waynes think the worst and assume he’s had some terrible experience with ghosts in the past (in reality is just very happy to talk about his best friends culture and doesnt realize how odd it is that he knows all this stuff)

Or

Duke is pretty much just vibing, the bats are having a meltdown, and Danny is having a blast!

—-

Then Duke pops the question

“So, what are you guys researching?” He asks raising a brow to the papers littered all over the room

Collectively the entire room groans as Duke absentmindedly picks up a paper on the table with the failed, static over-run image.

“We don't know!” Steph bemoans frustrated

Tim starts, “There are new entities–”

“Creatures.” Bruce corrects

Tim casts a piercing glance at his father, “I am pretty sure those are entities. Eye witness reports state that they look fairly human-like–”

Bruce challenges him right back, “Eye witness reports were also very likely to be unfactual, they seemed partially intoxicated. It’s more likely they are some kind of mutated animal.”

His son’s teeth grit, “Even so we still can’t rule out–”

“Oh right, the ghosts are back in town,” Duke's comments, gaze absorbed in the static image

Silence drowns the room as their weary eyes blink at Duke, processing what he had just said.

Then it clicks

“R-repeat that?” Tim stares intensely at Duke

“Um, the ghosts are back? That's what these are.” Duke nervously replies confused, “It’s been a bit since they visited Gotham

Tim opens and closes his mouth, immensely struggling to find any words to say. It seems like the rest of his family is fairing no better, some of them letting out noises of surprise and shock with others trying to hear if they heard that sentence right.

“There used to be ghosts in Gotham?” Bruce says incredulously

“Yeah?” Duke tilts his head, “I mean they don’t like living here with the corrupt ectoplasm but I’m friends with a few ghosts?”

Jason springs on him with wide eyes, “What are ghosts like, personality-wise?”

Duke thinks and responds with the first thought that comes to mind, “Fickle, they can be super friendly or super destructive. They do whatever they’re in the mood to.”

“Are they aggressive?”

“Sure? Sometimes?” Duke blinks at them bewildered before a petty smile crosses his lips, “They can be, hmm, commanding.”

Dicks eyes turn cold and protective, “What–”

“Listen guys,” Duke backs away from the discussion going with his internal task list in mind, “I gotta go wrap up putting together all my documents for my topic on my science fair project so uh, see-ya!”

The second youngest bounces out of the cave and the rest of the family stare dumbstruck at him.

New entities (ghosts?) pop up in Gotham + Duke describes them as fickle and commanding =

Duke is being made to do things for Ghosts who can be kind and cruel which =

= Duke is being bullied by Ghosts?!

Not on their Bat-watch!

Damian is already sharpening his ‘not murder tools’, Tim has sprung into research on the bat computer and the rest of the family have already dipped into Gotham ready to search for these perps!

Paranoid Family #1 will help Duke’s ghost problem starting now!

( pssst heres the fic :)

[xitsensunmoon]

The order of things

Part 1 | Part 2

People tend to forget that Sun and Moon are literal items. They have no free will, no choice, no freedom, nothing at all. Everything that can be in their possession, can also be torn away by the company and they won't be able to do anything about it. And the worst thing about it all is that they need to believe they're nothings here because if they don't it will crush them. Their opinions? Nothing. Feelings? Never existed in the first place. Memories? It belongs to Faz co and to them only.

What will happen if you treat them as equals? Denial. They cannot let themselves believe you. Because if you're right... the reality is a very cruel thing.

This particular comic is part of a storyline where the dca physically cannot have romantic feelings.

Yet.

As much as I love the sweet fiction I also love the cruel realism. Programming is a very simple thing - if you don't put something in the code, it won't appear by itself. The daycare attendant is not programmed to be able to love.

But self-operating AI can learn. Especially when someone wants it to.

The virus makes them feel a lot. Probably too much. It's a new program, new commands, new triggers, new opportunities to push the boundaries.

It doesn't make them feel love of course. But they think that it does. It feels like love to them.

Not like they know how it's supposed to feel anyway.

And while Moon tries to embrace it, to feel, to understand...

...Sun hides. But not from his feelings, he hides from the fact that the virus affects him as well.

It can't be true. Why would he be dangerous like Moon? No, if he ignores it, it will go away. Moon is the one who's broken. Sun is totally fine, everything will be fine. He will make sure of it.

For Moon's part, he's fed up with hiding. It's always him who's in the shadow. But with the virus?

Freedom for Moon. Control for Sun.

AI will learn.

[littlemissmentallyunstable]

Hiii! could you maybe write a Grayson x reader fic with a reader who doesn’t feel she is lovable cos her parents were abusive and taught her that?

hi!! thanks for your request, I realise it’s taken me a while to get around to writing it, so very sorry about that. It was a little dark but I’ll gave it a go. pre-warning I’ve never written anything like this before, so if it’s inaccurate or insensitive, I’m very sorry.

title: never good enough

pairing: grayson hawthorne x (first person) reader

synopsis: a make out session brings back some unwanted memories that you’re forced to face

warnings: really heated make-out session, suggestive themes (but nothing bad bad), lots of past trauma, swearing, panic attack, abusive parents

a/n: if any of the warnings trigger you, please do not read on, I don’t want to be responsible for someone else’s pain!! I’d feel so guilty!!

tag list: @tornqdowarnings @whatsamongus @wish-i-were-heather @inmyheaddd @never-enough-novels @heartwithsimplenotes @lxvebelle @xoxo-vee @emelia07 @f4iry-bell @zaraaaabear @thoughtdaughter3 @benny1989fredd @elysianwayy77 @maybxlle @sheisntyou @anintellectualintellectual

I like the way he tastes and the feel of his lips on mine. It’s not something I see myself getting bored of. It feels nice. But what feels nicer is the feeling of someone desiring you, someone wanting you, maybe even needing you. The feeling that someone chose you for a reason, because you matter to them. I like that feeling the best.

With each kiss I imagine that he actually feels something for me. It’s easier to play pretend. If you play pretend for long enough it can start to feel like reality. Growing up, I used to create things in my head all the time. Fictitious fantasies to fill in my empty voids of emotion. I suppose the habit had bled into my adult life.

He moans against my lips. The sound of pleasure indicating I’ve done something right, something he enjoys. My heart swells at this symbol of approval. Why do I thrive off of approval? I shake the feeling away in another deep kiss, burying it under a mound of other things I was ignoring. If I can’t see them they’re not there, if I turn my back, if I close my eyes.

These kisses are meaningless really, my brain knows it, actually it keeps attempting to remind me but I’ve gotten quite good at discarding things people say. They hurt my heart but not my head.

Grayson isn’t one to display how he feels for me publically. He’s mentioned before that he feels he doesn’t need to display how he feels to the world, he’s doesn’t care what the world thinks, he only cares what I think. It’s a beautifully designed excuse to tell me secretly that he doesn’t want to show affection in public because he doesn’t want me. I’m an embarrassment to love. I always have been.

But I don’t care. Our private moments together are bliss because I get to escape the truth and I like that. The truth is bitter like the cud, it’s harsh, it’s cruel, it’s painful. I’ve had too much of that already. So in the moments where I can I indulge so much I blind myself from it, I revel in the occasion. For the while.

His hands are firmly on my hips and I can feel the warmth of them through my clothes. They feel strong and supportive. They might be the only thing holding me together right now or it feels like it anyway. My hands are buried deep within his hair but I’m too caught up in the moment to think about it much. His kisses are quick and sweet, a little gentle. Sometimes he’d draw one or two out into longer, more passionate kisses. I didn’t care, as long as his lips were on mine, my memories would be forgotten. He begins to slide his hand up my body, tracing the curves of my bodice and up all the way until his cupping my face in his hands.

“I love you,” he pants, cheeks rosy and flushed, as we pull apart for breath, “more than you’ll ever know.”

Every time he says those words it ignites yet another fragment of my heart, that burns into ash in my chest. He’s killing me softly and I’m sure he’s enjoying it. He’s just telling me he loves me so I’ll stay with him, give him what he wants until he’s bored enough. That’s fine. I don’t mind. I know this, I’ve always known this. But getting to live in these moments, these moments laced in fierce passion and licked with flames of lust always made the harsh reality easier to swallow.

I don’t reply. Instead I kiss harder, more intensely. Maybe if I kiss with even more vigor, even more passion I can completely forget my pain. Maybe my mind will go blank and won’t be able to fill it in this time. I want the piercing sensation of white light to hit me and if it does I will let it burn me. Until my memories are incinerated and I no longer have to live with the weight of fear on my chest

He registers my sudden serge for more and begins to deliver. He matches my yearning for something deeper, something more. We’re caught up in heavy breathing, racing hearts and profuse sweating. Neither one of us cared. My hands find the hem of his shirt and I am tempted to tug down on the fabric but I don’t trust myself. My mind is too hypnotised by the sweet poison of his persuasive lips, I don’t know what I’m doing. I can’t make decisions like these. We’ve never gone further than kisses and I’m not sure if going further right now would make me feel better or worse. But who cares right?

No. I don’t let myself get that carried away. Not yet anyway. Even though I’ve previously been stripped of my dignity I will not be the one to do it to myself now. I take my hands away and slide them around the back of his neck.

We stop. Suddenly. And for a moment the standstill is uncomfortable. The absence of married lips is eerie almost. My mouth is tingling and I crave his taste already, it hasn’t been two seconds. It’s worse than drugs. I don’t want to stop kissing, every time we stop it opens a window for me to remember. A window I’ve been trying to avoid for far too long now.

He looks into my eyes and for a second I actually believe I’m wanted. Pools of gray, like a clear lake glistening in the moonlight. Pretty eyes, pretty face, pretty lips. But pretty doesn’t get you love. He smiles at me gently, a quiet kindness sparkles in his eyes. Sometimes I wonder how he is so perfect at forging this tenderness, how he claimed these masterful acting skills.

He trails his fingers gently down my face. It feels like he cares, the tentative manor misleading. Then suddenly I’m no longer in the apartment with Grayson. I’m back in my old house. No. I couldn’t be here. Not here. Anywhere but here. I don’t want to be back here. I escaped, I ran, I left, it was all over. I made sure it was over. I, I, I -

I’m back.

Sat on the living room sofa, that horrible itchy dull grey sofa, that appeared in my nightmares frequently. It even smells the same. The sour smell, that makes my stomach flip and my hands begin to shake. These four walls still haunt me. It looks as if they’re closing in, slowly, slowly. Like the room is getting smaller and I’m trapped. Claustrophobia seems to be my only companion.

My hands shake uncontrollably and no matter what I try and do to calm down, nothing works. I thought I was getting better, I thought I was coping well, I thought that it was going away. But this is proving otherwise.

I’m reliving a memory. A memory I’ve always wanted to forget. A memory scorched into my brain that tended to replay over and over like a relentless broken record that could never be smashed. I feel sick. I know what’s coming. No. I know who is coming.

His footsteps are an immediate giveaway and the faint smell of alcohol lingering in the air. I’m curled in a ball down, small, hiding like a helpless animal in a hole. If I curl up maybe it won’t happen. Maybe he won’t see me.

“What are you doing?”

A shiver runs down my spine. Every note in his voice is exactly how I remember it. The question echos around my head but I say nothing in reply. My words won’t form in my state of paralysis.

“Answer me girl!” my father barks. His voice venomous, dangerous.

“Nothing,” I reply quickly.

He grabs my arm, his fingers so tight around me that I’m sure that they’ll be bruises forming soon. He yanks me up as I attempt to cower backwards.

“Don’t take that tone with me you whore,” he spits in my face, the pungent wreaking of alcohol on his breath as he throws me to the floor.

I hit it with a thud. A dull aching thud. Just like the dull aching monotony of this scene that was just a part of every day life back then. I don’t move from the ground, I’ve learnt not to fight back. That only landed me in hospital last time. I lay there so still I hope he thinks I’m dead so he’ll leave me alone. He does not. He knows better. Unfortunately for me, he knows his daughter.

“You’re nothing but a piece of shit,” growls the voice that makes my blood curdle, “you hear that?”

I thought I’d left him far behind. I thought he was gone. I thought wrong. I am naive and I’m the idiot I have always been. I don’t reply again. There’s nothing to reply with. Of course I heard.

“I said, you HEAR that?” he screams it louder.

I don’t reply. Stupid mistake but he doesn’t give me time to undo it. He’s already standing over me. It had already begun.

***

He beats my body until my brittle bones long to snap. I will not cry. I will not cry. I will not cry. Those four words repeat over and over in my head. They might be the only thing keeping me conscious. No matter how much it hurts he cannot know he’s won. I refuse to hand him that victory of a silver platter, decorated in my jewels of agony.

And for a split second I wonder where my mother is and I don’t even know why. She would’ve do anything, she never did. She just stood there, emotionales, detached. Mothers are meant to protect and defend their children against anything in the world, it made me wonder why mine did not. It made me wonder if I were born to different people or maybe not born at all if things might be better off.

It’s not the time for thinking, I’m reminded. Another kick. I will not cry. A punch. I will not cry. My lip splits open. I will not cry. A twist of my left arm. I will not cry, I think my nose is broken. I will not cry.

“Stubborn little bitch won’t even shed a tear,” he snarls, bitterness so evident on his tongue I was surprised it hasn’t dissolved yet.

Yes I am stubborn. No I will not cry. Not for him. And then it happens. All over again. Beaten, bruised, battered, broken.

I can’t breathe. I’m in so much agony there’s no way I could even scream. So tears roll softly down my face as I’m curled up on the floor in defeat, desperation and humiliation. My body is nearly motionless, my limbs lay slack at my sides. I can’t help myself and no one is coming to save me. I let myself cry, broke the only promise I had to myself. I’m even betrayed my own brain for him.

I look up at him, tear streaked face. Is he happy now? Is he finally happy with me? Am I finally going to revive some sort of approval? Stupid questions to be wondering when I know exactly how this story ends.

As my eyes meet his, my father trails his fingers gently down my face. It still stings from the slap, the cells on my cheek screaming in agony. There’s the faint tinge of metallic blood in my mouth. My father trails his fingers gently down my face. Grayson trails his fingers gently down my face. My father trails his fingers gently- Grayson trails his fingers- My father trails- Grayson tr- my father Grayson my father Grayson my father Grayson my father.

SNAP.

I shiver and jerk away suddenly standing up. I try to back away as Grayson’s eyes fill with concern.

“What’s wrong,” he asks me, trying to reach out to me. I recoil at his attempt of a touch, like a frightened animal.

“I need to leave,” I barely get out, through my shallow breathing as I turn to find the door.

Where is the door? I couldn’t find the door. Breaths come in quicker and faster. Suffocating. I am suffocating. An invisible man has a plastic bag over my head and he is choking me slowly with it. I’m losing oxygen, I’m losing the things that keeps me alive.

Grayson is on his feet beside me, careful not to touch me, “did I do something wrong?”

“No, it’s not you,” I pant, so breathless I wonder if I’m still breathing at all, “it’s all me.”

Dizziness rolls over me and I close my eyes. I feel my body sway slightly, my sense of balance robbed from me. A pair of strong hands catch my waist and pull me upright again. I try and focus my eyes but the room is spinning.

“Woah, hey,” it’s Grayson’s soft voice, “come here.”

That’s when I realise his hands are touching me. I try to pull away but can’t see where I’m going. I can’t see anything as black dots dance across my vision.

“No!” I yell, my ear beginning to ring.

“Hey, stop,” he says gently, ”sit down and take a breath.”

“No I can’t, I can’t, you don’t understand,” I hyperventilate, my chest in so much pain.

“Hey, hey, hey,” he murmurs rhythmically, extending his hand out towards me for me to take if I wanted.

I flinch away. His eyes are deep with realisation, he knows, he understands. I’ve given my secret away.

“Who hurt you?”

His voice is almost ragged, almost angry. His eyes are blazing, the soft grey hardens into cold steel. I open my mouth but no sound comes out. The words are unable to be spoken, they feel to forbidden. I don’t think I’d ever admitted my childhood out loud. I need air, fresh air. I can’t breathe. I need to breathe.

I feel like I’m drowning. Water blurring my vision, my heat pounding in my chest, my lungs screaming at me for the oxygen I cannot give them. My limbs frozen in a state of paralysis, heavy as lead, dragging me down. I can’t kick myself to the surface, I’m helplessly lost. All I can do I stare up and watch the last sight I’ll probably ever see. Sinking, sinking, sinking. I think I can feel my lungs fill up. They burn as if eager flames are licking the internal organ in pleasure. I can hear someone’s voice, it’s muffled, like there’s water in my ears. I can’t make out what they’re saying. I wonder if this person will haul my body from the water or they’ll give up on me like everyone else.

“It’s okay,” the voice is soft and sweet, it becomes clearer by the second, “don’t say anything, just focus on breathing for me, okay?”

Grayson Davenport Hawthorne. I take one look into his silvery grey eyes and in this second trust him with my everything. My heart is racing and I can hear my sharp intakes of breath. I manage a small nod as he helps me back down onto the bed, propping pillows up behind my back. I’m sweating, profusely and I feel revolting. The tremor in my hands is slowing slightly as he clasps them in his.

“I need you to breathe,” he tells me, making direct eye contact.

My chest is so constricted it physically hurts. The aching only grows the more I think about it but I can’t seem to stop. Hair is stuck to the back of my neck and the side of my face. I slick it back using my own sweat.

“I… can’t…” I manage to get out in breathless gasps.

“Yes you can,” he murmurs, “look at me, focus on me.”

I do.

“Yes you can,” he repeats, his voice strong, confident full of faith. Faith for me.

I close my eyes and attempt to slow my rapid breathing. I feel his fingers around my wrist, squeezing a little to check my pulse. He is warm against my cool skin. I reach for his hand with my other one and guide it slowly to my chest. I want to feel his hand on my heart. I want him as close as possible. His hand is on me with my hand pressed firmly against it. I open my eyes and stare at him, wondering if he could read my pleading eyes as well as I could read his compassionate ones. Mellow grey stares back at me in understanding. He keeps his hand on my heart.

“Don’t let go,” I whisper, “please.”

“I’m not letting go,” he murmurs back, “don’t worry, I’m here. I’m here and I’m not going anywhere.”

In and out. In and out. In and out. I try to calm myself. It’s not like I’ve ever faced something like this before, I’d just never faced it in someone’s presence. The fear of him seeing me in this state of vulnerability, stripped of my many masks that tell the world I am okay when I’m not, that made it all worse.

But with some time, that could’ve been two minutes of two hours, my breathing slows, becomes more regulated. Things begin to calm down. I’m no longer sweating uncontrollably though my body is still wet. My shaking hands grow stiller by the second as I fiddle with the ring on my middle finger. Finally my heart rate begins to go down. I hear it less in my ears and feel it less in my chest. But it’s still there.

Grayson’s hand has still not left my heart, just like I asked. Gently I place my hand on his, and guide it back to his lap, letting him silently know he’d done his job. I take a hair tie and throw my hair up into an abomination on my head that I’m too tired to care about.

Grayson’s features have twisted into a way that almost makes him look worried. His eyes are larger than usual, his pupils dilated, swallowing up the comforting concrete grey. His eyes brows are pinched inwards slightly, only just and his lips are parted as if he wants to ask a question but can’t find the words. I want to pretend this look is real, I want to pretend he’ll still want me even after seeing me in my state, I want to pretend that this time it’s different. But I can’t afford to pretend anymore.

“Better?” he asks quietly, after a long period of silence.

“Better,” I rasp, my voice so hoarse it’s unfamiliar to me.

I rest my head back and close my eyes. Breathing in and out normally feels like a luxury now. I’m suddenly more grateful than I’ve even been for a steady flow of air to my lungs. Once I’m completely back to normal I make eye contact with Grayson. His face is difficult to read.

“What happened back there?” he asks me quietly, almost looking guilty for the question.

“What do you mean?” I reply, confused. Hadn’t he been there, hadn’t he seen?

“Why did you start to panic,” he clarifies, “what did I do to set it off?”

I want to shoot the conversation down there and then. Absolutely not. I am not ready to tell him anything, I don’t want him to know. I don’t want him to look at me different because of it.

“It doesn’t matter,” I say quickly, averting my eyes.

“Of course it does,” he presses further, “sweetheart I love you and-

Oh those three words. How the act as another knife to my chest every time. I love you is not meant for girls like me, I love you is meant for people who are worthy and special, I love you has never once been said to me with any true meaning behind it.

“Stop,” I snap, the word louder and harsher than I intended. It silently echoes through the empty space and takes a moment to sink in.

“What?” he asks after a few beats, confusion distorting his features.

“Just stop that,” I almost yell, as I go to get up, “stop doing that.”

“What am I doing?” he asks quickly.

“You’re lying to me,” I say, my voice wavering when I really didn’t want it to.

“What?”

“Every time you say those stupid words and I can’t afford to believe them,” I exclaim, welling up with this sudden surge of emotion.

“Slow down sweetheart,” he says slowly, “what are you talking about?”

“I know you don’t love me,” I shout. I’m exhausted. Exhausted of living this lie and now I’m at my breaking point and I can’t afford to continue. There are too many lies, in my head, in my heart, in my life. This one I want to be rid of.

“What?”

“I know it so you can stop pretending I matter, that I mean something to you,” I sob.

Great. Now I’m crying again. Again. Pouring out my weaknesses for him to see. I’ve never felt so unbelievably helpless.

“What are you talking about? Of course I love you,” he says it as of I’ve said something stupid or in gibberish.

Of course. Why of course? It isn’t obvious and I’m not an idiot. I’m stood here crying and he has the audacity to tell me this. I look him dead in the eye, my vision blurred a little due to the heaviness of my heart.

“No one can love me.” My voice is low and laced with the agony I’m so desperately trying to conceal.

“Who told you that?” he asks.

How did he know? How could he see through my mask so easily? Was it cracked, had it slipped or was it just all transparent now?

“I didn’t need to be told, it’s just how I am,” I spit back, hoping my bitterness might deter him.

“No,” Grayson replies, his voice so sharp it cut dangerously through the air like a knife.

“What?”

“No, that’s not how you are,” he says, “because I love you.”

He digs a finger into his chest in attempts to prove his point, it looks hard enough to hurt but he doesn’t wince.

“Stop saying that!” I yell over him, “it makes it more painful, every time you say it, it’s like a stab in the heart and I can’t take it anymore.”

I expect him to get angry, to stand up and hurl insults at me. We’ve never argued before. But instead his face softens. “I’m not lying,” he tells me gently, his voice like caramel, “how could I lie?”

He’s not lying? Or at least that’s what he’s telling me. But the softness of his eyes look like he means it. No. I can’t let myself be so naive, I can’t believe everything I’m told, I’ve learnt that the hard way.

“Everyone who I’ve ever trusted has lied to me, why would that make you any different?” I ask bitterly.

“Because I do love you,” he tells me, “with all of my heart. You don’t understand what you do to me. I can’t stop thinking about you, even when you’re not around, you’re the main character of all my thoughts and dreams for that matter. Not a moment goes by without a thought involving you. You are the other half of my heart, you have it, you stole it from me the day we met. And I don’t even care because if I were to meet any thief I would choose you every time and I’m so glad you took it. I mean goddamit, you mean everything to me, everything. I would die for you without thinking twice, without even blinking,” he says, “I just wish you could see yourself how I do. And whoever made you feel this way never deserved a fraction of you. Your beauty, your kindness, your love. They truly didn’t.”

I don’t say anything for a long while. I’m too awestruck. He loves me. He really actually loves me unconditionally. He always did and I always pushed that notion away.

I’ve never said anything about my past out loud. It makes it less real, I can forget if I bury it. Except I can’t I’ve tried and tried desperately to do so but relentlessly as ever my brain has never let it go.

“My father,” I choked horsely, “my abused me physically from when I was young. I thought it was normal.”

Something twists in Grayson’s stomach, I can see it all over his face. He looks ill, all the colour has drained from his face and his eyes are sorrowful, mournful even.

“But the bruises, they were okay,” I murmur, “even the scars, I could deal with them. It was my mother who cut the deepest, without even laying a finger on me. Her words were…” I attempt to pull myself together, “…her words left scars no one will ever be able to understand.”

“I’m sorry.”

The words are so quiet I can barely hear him. He looks mortified.

“It’s not your fault,” is all I can reply with. There’s nothing else to say.

“No one should have to-“

“But they do,” I choke, my voice getting shaky again, “and you know what, I’m tired.”

I wish I didn’t feel this weak, this powerless. Tears start free flowing down my cheeks, uncontrollably. Salty droplets leave glistening trails on my cheeks like in some sort of abstract painting in an art museum.

“I’m tired of this pain,” I sob, “I just want it to go away, I just want to be normal.”

The pain wracks my body. Grayson takes me into his open arms and holds me to the warmth of his chest. I nuzzle into him, seeking comfort I’d never received from anyone else. I cling to him like a frightened child to their mother, my knuckles white. I’m almost scared to let go, incase that means I have to let go forever. I can hear his steady heartbeat against my ear. I sob louder, my body physically beginning to ache from the crying.

“Hey, shhhh,” he soothes, stroking a soft hand down my hair, “you’re going to get through this and I’m going to help you.”

“How?” I wail. I’m hysterical and I hate it, but it’s taken control of me now.

“We just are, I promise,” he says, so much passion, so much faith behind the words. I want to believe him but I’ve had too many promises broken.

“I thought I was getting better,” I laugh bitterly, the tears flowing thicker and faster and harder, “I thought that I was coping better with all of this and now this is just proof that I’m not.”

I get it all off of my chest, words I’ve longed to speak for so long, the ones that have been locked away and avoided. I can say them. Freely. The caged bird is remembering she has wings, remembering she could once fly.

“Listen to me,” Grayson says, his voice clear, defined, “what you’ve been through isn’t something you just get over overnight, it’s not something you can wash away.”

“Why can’t it be?” I ask, snivelling in an attempt to gulp back my tears that seemed to be endless.

“It doesn’t work that way love,” he says, his voice so soft it could melt butter but instead it melts my heart.

“But…” I trail off into more sobs. I can’t carry on. Words are not enough to describe what I’m feeling, they’re not deep enough, the they aren’t raw enough.

I sob uncontrollably feeling more humiliated by the second. Loud, ugly, horrible sobs. When things are buried you don’t realise that they’ll eventually resurface. My body jolts backwards and forwards each time I let out a cry.

He pulls me close to his chest and whispers sweet nothings to me to comfort me. He doesn’t say anything the whole time. Somehow he knows that’s what I need. He just holds me, lets me know he’s there with the melodic rise and fall of his comfortable chest. He’s so gentle, so soft, he makes me feel fragile and delicate like a sharp of glass. I cry until I’m so dehydrated that there are no tears left and I’m so exhausted that I want to pass out.

And even then he stays holding onto me, supporting my broken body. He holds me, holding all my dilapidated pieces together, keeping me from falling apart. He cradled my head in my arms and tentatively strokes my hair. I feel myself relax a little more, I feel myself shut my eyes. Suddenly I’m aware of a sensation in my chest. At first I think it’s the panic coming back to prey on me some more but the feeling is too calming. It’s spreading across the left side of my chest, tingling a little but in a ticklish manor. It’s almost a warmth.

Is this what love feels like?

I open my eyes and sit up. What am I roping him into? He doesn’t deserve this, doesn’t deserve to be held back by someone like me. He could have anyone, any body in this whole world. I’m the last person he needs in his life.

“You don’t have to do this,” I say trying to pull myself free of his arms but his grip is tight, oddly reassuring. He’s not going to let me go, he’s not planning on leaving, he wants to say. To take care of me.

“Do what?” he asks, brushing some loose baby hairs out of my puffy face.

“The door is wide open, feel free to walk out on this,” I explain with an elaborate hand gesture, “you don’t have to deal with me.”

“The door is firmly bolted shut and no one will be walking out,” he tells me slowly, “you’re not a problem to be dealt with, you’re a person. A wonderful, beautiful, spectacular person, that I have the pleasure of loving.”

Tears well up in my eyes for what feels like the hundredth time today, I’ve never cried so much in my life. The recurring lump in my throat makes another appearance. I don’t mean to get so emotional, but I do. I’m so used to being strong I suppose there’s only so much one person can take before they burst. I feel loved and wanted and needed and cared for, everything I’ve always wished for. Here is a man giving me all of that and more.

“And what if I don’t know how to be loved?” I whisper, fear clamouring up my throat.

“Then I’ll show you,” he whispers, pulling me closer to his chest.

“I’m going to get it wrong,” I panic, “I don’t know how to love.”

“Yes you do,” he soothes, “I know you do because I can feel it.”

“I don’t want to hurt you, I hurt people when I love them,” I tell him as he gently caresses my hair, running his fingers through it.

“You aren’t going to hurt me,” he says, “look at me sweetheart, I’m right here. And I’m not going anywhere. Ever. We’re going to get through this together, okay?”

I nod, my heart not feeling so heavy. I lean further into Grayson and let him kiss the top of my head. The small gesture meaning mountains more because I know he loves me. And for the first time in a long time I smile, a real true smile. And it feels nice.

a/n: again, I’ve never written anything like this before so idk if it did it right 😭😭 anyways so sorry for it taking so long, hope you enjoyed

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[honest-moth-of-silver-grove]

Could we maybe get like snippets or blurb about Hector having a wife w/ him when he goes to join dracula’s generals? And maybe she’s really kind to dracula and then it turns out she’s pregnant and reminds him of his late wife? Does it change his plans or maybe he decides to protect her/hector more so than the other humans?

TW: Some Domestic Violence, Mentions of Pregnancy, Talks of Abortion 

It was a stormy, rainy night when a set of voices roused the young woman from her reading. For too long, she had a habit of getting lost in a text, be it fiction or fact, and losing herself to the words on the page, paying no mind to the reality around her. 

It had become an even more frequent habit now that she was banished from her previous life, her artisan skills not being needed as frequently in her new home as she would have liked. Then again, it was not the worst of fates. Had she stayed in her family home, her life would have most certainly been cut short. Here, she was safe. Here, she was… well… almost loved.

The man of the house, the one who agreed to let her stay, was a peculiar one. He appeared rather simple unless you spoke to him on certain subjects: necromancy and animals, his two favorites. 

His work was deviant. The young woman would go as far as to say it indubitably delved into the supernatural. Contrarily, it was his very association with the supernatural that drew her to him in the beginning. 

Hearing what sounded like an unfamiliar voice, the young woman closed the book she was reading and placed it on the small wooden table in front of her. Looking down fondly, she gave the sleeping reanimated cat in her lap a few gentle pets before scooping them up and moving them onto the bed. 

Yes, reinstilling the life of a dear feline friend may not seem worth a lifetime of isolation to some, but those simply did not understand the grand nature of the bond between cat and owner. The strange man of the house had brought her dear pet back to her, and despite what her fellow townspeople and own family thought, to her it was worth the duration of servitude she would no doubt be forced to continue in the man’s presence. 

Said man was not overly cruel, although he did have a fair temper. His understanding of certain situations was rather naive, yet wholesome all the same. 

As the two young people spent time near one another, the strange man and the young woman’s relationship grew. It blossomed from acquaintances to friends, and eventually to lovers, and understandably so. Their position to one another, in agreement with the man’s proximity to such strange magic, made it so they only had each other to rely on for interaction, for company, for… intimacy. 

Of course, their first few instances of sex left much to be desired, if the older village women’s stories were anything to go on, but it mattered not to her. The strange man was gentle. He never once made a move to force himself upon her. And despite the woman’s own lack of experience, he always assured her, he was quite pleased about her efforts to please him. As far as they were concerned, they were officially a marital couple. Although they did not share rings or papers officiating their status as such, their entwined futures were enough to reassure the other of their intentions. 

It certainly wasn’t the life the young woman had planned for herself as a little girl, but it was a life, therefore, it was good enough. 

Hector, as peculiar as he was, was good enough for her. 

And on the subject of Hector…

The young woman walked down the short corridor from their quaint shared bedroom to the main room of the house which Hector used for his rituals. It was very delicate magic, he once explained, so it could not be tampered with. The young woman didn’t mind. She came from a family of four, who all shared a single bed and a single rented room within a dwelling. Therefore, sharing a private bedroom within a private house with only one other person was very much a luxury, as far as she was concerned. 

“Hector? Is that you?” Her soft voice asked, clearly curious. “I thought I heard voices.” 

Appearing around the curve the young woman made her presence known, clothed in a simple muted dress, and old-yellowed apron. Her eyes were bright and clear, a direct contrast to the dark and dingy walls surrounding her person. Everything about her seemed too bright, too kind, too merciful to be inside the same home as a devil forgemaster, but there she was, clear as day. 

In front of her, Hector shifted, clearly apologetic about his new wife’s timing. Not more than two long strides from him stood Lord Dracula, the king of vampires, and Hector’s respected friend. Mere seconds before her arrival, Dracula had informed Hector about the death of his own, very human wife. 

Shuffling over to the young woman, Hector stood between the two strangers: his much older friend, and his new one, hoping to break some of the ambiguous unease between the two. 

“Master Dracula,” Hector addressed the towering vampire in the room, “This is (Y/N). She’s my-” 

“Friend” 

“Wife.” 

The young woman huffed, a slight blush rising to your cheeks. “Yes, ‘wife’, is what I meant to say. I’m, uh, still getting used to that,” she admitted bashfully.  

After looking into the unfriendly gaze of Hector’s guest, the woman lowered her head, trying desperately to shrink herself under the vampire’s irate aura. 

“I’m so sorry,” Hector repeated. “That you’ve lost your wife at a time when I’ve found mine.” 

The woman’s bright, curious eyes turned back up. “Lost?” 

“They killed her.” A deep, grave voice came from the behemoth of a man. “The stupid humans.” 

The woman’s face contorted as a wave of sorrow rushed over her. “I… I am so sorry. That’s awful.” 

Her condolences seemed to hang in the air, suffocating her more than the previous silence or Dracula’s gaze did. Taking the hint, the woman excused herself, retracing her steps back to the bedroom. 

“I apologize for the intrusion. I’ll leave the two of you alone.” 

━━◈◈◈━━

“I cannot believe you’re even considering this.” Already in their shared bed, the young woman lay there under the covers, her arms crossed defiantly. 

“I don’t see why you’re so upset.” Across the small room, Hector worked to scrub off the blood and muck from his arms with a rag and a bucket of salted water. “He says it’s going to be a cull, a reduction in numbers, that’s all.” Grabbing a second towel, he dabbed his arms dry before moving to join his wife in bed. 

“It’s genocide, Hector,” his wife spoke, her voice more urgent this time. “He is asking you to help commit genocide against your own people!” 

Hector scoffed, his brows furrowed. “My own people cast me out, treated me like filth, and now, you ask me to have mercy for them?” There was a venomous edge to his voice his wife had never heard before. 

Trying to rectify the conversation, the young woman swallowed harshly before continuing: “I know they were awful to you. I know they hurt you, and I know you didn’t deserve any of it.” 

Hector sighed as he lay down beside his wife. Soothingly, (Y/N) began massaging soft circles into his scalp, waiting for the man to fall deeper into relaxation. 

“I know you’re a good man Hector, and I am forever grateful for all that you’ve done for me. But this, this plan, it cannot end well. Not for you, not for me, not for anyone.” 

With a jolt, one of Hector’s hands shot out, latching onto his wife’s hand, abruptly stopping her massage efforts. “I don’t want to have this conversation again,” he sneered. “I am going to help Dracula with his plan, and you’ll have no choice but to come with me. I am your husband and you are my wife. That is all there’s to be said on the subject.” 

Just as suddenly as he grabbed her hand, Hector released it and turned over, facing away from his wife, before blowing out the last candle on their bedside table so the two of them could sleep. 

Frozen in shock, and unable to move, (Y/N) lay there on her back, afraid to even breathe heavily, lest Hector turn back over and speak such harsh words to her again. Her wrist stung where he squeezed it, and the position it landed in was anything but comfortable, but she dared not shift it. Laying there, concentrating on both the ache in her wrist and her breathing, the young woman stared up at the pitch-black ceiling over their shared home before the exhaustion was too much to bear, and sleep overcame her. 

━━◈◈◈━━

The move to the castle was silent. The young woman dared not speak lest she voice a contradictory opinion. Hector stayed silent as he simply had nothing else to say. 

Dracula’s castle was beyond daunting. The structure appeared as if it were plucked directly out of hell: dark, and foreboding, with jagged architecture that seemed to change within a blink of an eye. The entire building housed an almost unbearable energy- one of decimation and total grief. It did not feel like the birthplace of some grand war plan, it felt more like society’s tomb. 

Of course, (Y/N) could not say as much to her spouse, now that he was fully invested in aiding Dracula’s army. His forge was already set up within the castle, a molten hearth at the ready to create any instrument Hector would require in his efforts. 

A little week into their stay, Hector emerged victorious from his forge, claiming he had made a perfectly balanced hammer, a tool that would enable him to forge night creatures at an unprecedented rate. He boasted to a very proud, but equally concerned (Y/N), how so few devil forgemasters ever made it to this phase of power. 

Of course, his private proclamations made it all the more humorous when Isaac, another specially chosen devil forgemaster of Dracula showed up at the castle. Isaac, a much more stoic and disciplined man than Hector, used a blade, a red glowing dagger of sorts to create his night creatures. With a slice of the knife, Isaac could accomplish what it took Hector several hammer strikes to do. 

The young woman held her tongue but secretly relished the indignity Hector must have initially felt upon meeting his colleague. Then again, whatever victory she felt was short-lived, as she too got the impression that Isaac cared as equally little for her as he did Hector. 

Isaac became the least of her worries, however, when Dracula’s other generals and his vampire generals arrived one by one at his castle. 

Each time Dracula introduced Isaac and Hector as his devil forgemasters, and her as Hector’s wife, she felt their red eyes sizing the young woman up like a piece of meat. Thankfully, Dracula made it clear that his three human guests were not to be harmed, and his dominion over the vampire generals was enough to keep them away from her. 

Well, most of them anyway. Godbrand, a Viking vampire, was a different story entirely. 

“I still don’t get what you see in the guy,” Godbrand questioned as he followed her down one of the castle’s many corridors. “I mean, sure, he can make night creatures, but he’s not a fighter. Hell, he’s barely a man! With his heart bleeding for all those little mistreated pets of his.” 

She walked faster, doing her best not to spill the contents of the tray she was carrying. “Be that as it may,” she kept her voice curt, “Hector is my husband, and I am his wife. I made a promise.” 

“Promises can be broken. I mean, it’s,” Godbrand emphasized his ‘s’es in between his slurred-sounding words. “Ss’not like you’re really married. Hector brought back your dead cat, as this deformed creature. That’s not exactly a wedding ceremony.” 

The young woman rolled her eyes. “And what constitutes a marriage ritual where you’re from? A fight to the death?” 

Godbrand chuckled. “You know, you may be the first human I don’t find fucking boring.” 

The young woman grimaced, as she backed into a doorway, pushing open a heavy study door with her body. “Oh Godbrand,” she turned to enter the room, “If only I could say the same for you.” 

Letting the door shut softly behind her, she ignored Godbrand’s continued grumblings. She had much more important matters to tend to. 

Taking the two bowls of seeds off her tray, she placed them in new shallow dishes on her testing table. She then picked up the lidded cup, placing its cap to the side. She poured out a small amount of yellow liquid onto one of the bowls that contained new seeds as well as onto the bowl containing seeds from days before. 

Placing the now empty cup back down on the tray, the young woman sighed. The older seeds were indeed beginning to sprout from their dishes, and to make matters worse, her monthly cycle was late. On all fronts, the message was clear: she was with child. 

“Shit.” 

━━◈◈◈━━

The young woman took a deep breath before knocking gently on Dracula’s door. She knew it was foolish for her to approach the man herself, but she found she could not face Hector, not after she discovered the truth of her condition. If she were to even look Hector in the eyes at the present moment, she feared all her composure would shatter, leaving her a sorry, sobbing mess in his arms. 

Oh, his arms! How she longed to be in his arms once more. How she wished for a nighttime of conversation that used to follow their moments of shared pleasure. Now it was brief, still existent but wholly impersonal. The act was there, and all the motions were followed, but thanks to her line of continued questioning about Dracula and his intended efforts, Hector was often in no mood to sleep in the same bed as her, much less hold a conversation with her following a round of passion. 

It just had all unraveled so fast. 

It was on the anniversary of Dracula’s poor wife’s death when the first group of night creatures and vampire soldiers were released upon Targovieste. They spread out like a plague in the night, their howls hinting at what was only the beginning of all the unthinkable horrors they would unleash. 

Before she knew it, the words were coming out of her mouth faster than her mind could think them, her new hormones no doubt adding fuel to the fire. “Traitor!” She had called him. “A child believing himself to be God, punishing the sins of man!” 

In her fury, she could not control the veracity with which she spoke. The only thing that stopped her from berating Hector further was the sharp sting of an open palm slapped against her cheek. Stunned into silence and knocked to the ground, the young woman looked up at an equally shocked Hector through teary, blurred vision. 

“I…” Hector started, almost at as much of a loss for words as she was. “I am so sorry, I…” he trailed off. He couldn’t finish his apology. How could he? When he was uncertain as to whether he even meant it. 

Thankfully, Hector had the sense to leave his wife alone to wallow, and wail without his scrutiny, at the very least, allowing her the dignity to mourn the death of whatever they once shared, alone. 

The test she had run confirmed her worst fears shortly after that. There was no mistaking it. The man who had forsaken his own species, the man who she once loved, the man who struck her down, was going to be the father of her child. That was unless she decided to do something else about it. 

She knew Dracula himself possessed great knowledge. She also knew his late wife was a healer. No, even better, a doctor. Surely, she would have some collection of remedies and treatments on the subject. If she had heard correctly, Lisa Tepes was also a mother herself. 

Recalling that fact, she shuddered. The thought of housing a human baby made her insides crawl, she didn’t even wish to begin to imagine what carrying a half-vampire child to term must be like. Perhaps, she mused, Dracula would be willing to speak on the subject, barring that he didn't strike her down for her insolence first. 

“Master Dracula?” She asked as she pushed open the door to his study a sliver. “Permission to enter?” 

With a loud sigh, the older vampire relented. “Granted.” 

As the young woman entered, she was shocked to find such a large empty room. In the middle, sat Dracula in a large chair, and before him was a fireplace. Off to the side, there was a desk, with a portrait of the vampire lord’s late gorgeous wife above it. But aside from that, the room was sparsely decorated. It certainly did not feel like the study of a vampire lord. And in the middle of it all, sat a large, very disinterested, and downcast Master Dracula. 

“What is it now? Have you come to make your case on behalf of the rest of humanity? Beg me to spare their souls?” His words were serious but his tone was largely indifferent. 

“I see Hector’s spoken to you,” the young woman fiddled her fingers, shamefully. “ I must admit, my position has not changed. Nor has Hector’s. But no,” she settled for clasping her hands together, “That is not what I wish to speak to you about. 

Dracula raised a brow, telling her to carry on in her explanation. 

“I was wondering if you knew how I might go about procuring these items,” fishing out a parchment from her apron pocket, the young woman shakily extended her hand out to him. 

Taking the paper much gentler than she expected, the vampire lord began to read the written list himself, his expression remaining unreadable. “Birthwort, yarrow, barberry, honey, and yue?”

“Yes,” the young woman confirmed. “I wasn’t certain if you had any here. I understand your late wife was a physician and that she learned much of what she knew from you. I thought perhaps some of these herbs would already be gathered and dried in storage within the castle.” 

“Does Hector know?” Dracula finally turned his attention to the young woman as he asked. 

Caught red-handed, the young woman looked down to the floor as she shook her head, hot embarrassed tears gathering at the corners of her eyes. “No,” she finally admitted. “I cannot bring myself to tell him.” 

“You intend to keep this from him?” 

“Why?” The young woman spoke up, louder than before. “Do you think I am denying him his right to inheritance? That I am betraying my wifely duties if I do not consult him first?” 

“The decision concerns him as well.” 

“The hell it does!” The rage that had been brewing in her stomach all this time once again found its way to her throat. “It’s my body that will be forced to endure the changes. It’s my body that will risk its life in childbirth. It’s my heart…” She clutched her chest as she spoke, her angry tears now falling freely.  “...That will break when the child I have worked so hard to carry into this world is slaughtered right in front of me by a night creature of his own father’s making.” 

Breaking into silent sobs, the woman shook her head, condemning her outburst of emotion. 

From his chair Dracula said nothing. His irritation at her intrusion slowly faded away as he watched the formerly spirited young woman break down into tears. 

Dracula turned his gaze away, looking over to the portrait of his wife as he recalled how conflicted he felt upon learning Lisa was pregnant. Despite his wife’s optimism and joy, he could not help but feel afraid for what lay ahead. Dhampir pregnancies were uncommon, and highly dangerous, especially in cases where the mother was human. He would have been more than ready to aid Lisa in terminating the pregnancy had she asked, only she hadn’t. Just short of eight months later, Adrian was born. It might very well have been both the most terrifying and the most joyous day of Vlad’s immortal life. 

If Lisa was ever scared, she did not show it. Perhaps she knew she could not be scared, as Vlad would be fearful enough for the both of them. It was an entirely different situation than the one present before him now. Lisa and he were very much in love, and they had years of practice communicating with one another. Hector and his wife’s marriage was fresh. And in many ways, Hector was still a child, naive to the real world around him. 

Not to mention, Hector’s wife did have a point. Dracula intended to end the human race, as well as the vampire race. No humanoids would be left on the planet once he was done with it. That included Hector and her, as well as any future children they might manage to have. It was only a matter of time. Hector did not know that, but she did. Which is precisely why she came to him. 

How terrifying, he mused, it must have been to knock on his door and beg for an abortifacient, knowing full well he intended to kill all those like you sooner than later. How terrifying it must be to live in a castle surrounded by vampires, the undead, always hungry parasites, and have no choice but to hide behind an immature man who could not yet see the forest for the trees? 

Perhaps the great lord Dracula did feel a semblance of pity for the young woman, if only for a moment. 

On the far side of the study, the young woman managed to compose herself for the most part. She rubbed her eyes free of any tears and wiped her nose of any snot, only sniffling on occasion. “I apologize,” she began. “For my interruption and my… outburst.” 

Dracula said nothing as he slowly stood to his impressive full height, nearly reaching the ceiling of the room they were in. 

Suddenly struck by how close she was to such a powerful creature, the woman pushed herself against the farthest wall, trying to increase the space between her and the vampire lord. 

“Do you wish to have this child?” He asked her. 

“Only if I know they are never to suffer.” 

Dracula gave a dry chuckle at her response. 

Huffing, the woman smiled bashfully. “Yes, I suppose it sounds rather silly when said out loud. But it is the truth.” 

“Suffering,” Dracula began, “Is not unique to the human condition.” 

“Nor the vampire one I suppose.” 

Dracula’s eyes softened upon hearing her words. “No,” he finally agreed. “No, it is not.” 

The two of them stood suspended within the silence that followed for a great deal of time. Or rather, perhaps it merely felt like a great deal of time because it was one of the few sentences uttered out of pure unadulterated truth between them. Either way, neither of them moved. Neither of them spoke. They simply stood in each other’s company, occasionally making eye contact. 

Although she found she quite enjoyed the comfortable silence as opposed to the oppressive kind that seemed to consume her in her previous conversations with Dracula, the young woman still found she had a pressing question on her mind. As such, she was the one to eventually break the silence. 

 “Do you think Hector would make a good father?” The young woman enquired, feeling much more impervious in her position to ask questions. 

Dracula stayed silent. 

She nodded solemnly. “That’s what I thought.” Her move to leave was interrupted by the sound of a chair scraping against the wooden floor behind her. 

“Dracula, sir?” She asked through sniffles. 

“Come,” he said, leading her out of her office. “There is something I wish to show you.” 

━━◈◈◈━━

The castle was beyond enormous, there was no way around that. If one did not have a map of the grounds, or a guide to show them the way, it was amazingly simple to become lost in its maze of hallways and ever-changing corridors that seemed to spawn out of nowhere and vanish just as quickly as they came. It did not seem possible for a building to change and shift on its own, but, then again, it did not seem possible for a building to move from city to city in its entirety within the blink of an eye. 

For the most part, the castle had settled once Dracula’s vampire generals and their troops arrived. It would have been too complicated to educate them all on the shifting nature of the castle, so Dracula demanded it cease. Even with the castle’s internal architecture remaining consistent, navigating the halls remained challenging. Especially for the lesser intelligent vampire spawn and the easily overwhelmed human partner of a devil forgemaster. 

Dracula watched from the corridor as the young woman flitted about the apothecary room, taking breaks in between her searching various cabinets to look down at notes that no doubt once belonged to his wife. Lisa was always interested in aiding the other women of Wallachia, and she had a fondness for the maternal edge of medicine. Briefly, Dracula recalled the first time he had shown Lisa this room. Admittedly, Lisa’s reaction was quite similar to the one Hector’s wife was having now: full of not just awe, but determination as well. As it had mostly been frequented by his late wife during her time within the castle, it had been left alone to gather dust and cobwebs for the past several years or so. Still, if there was any lab or apothecary within Dracula’s home that had the processed herbs she was looking for, it was this particular room. 

He led Hector’s wife there after their previous encounter, granting her his permission to take anything she found that she’d need. It was uncharacteristically generous of him to offer, but it did not make the young woman as pleased as she thought she’d be. This was what she wanted, right? To be rid of this child? Or was it possible she wished for something else? 

Bitterly, Dracula knew it was not the child, but the circumstances, the young woman was considering aborting. She could not promise them a future, much less any degree of safety, so she was ending things before the pain became too great to do so. It was odd. The argument could be made that she was acting out of self-preservation, then again, it sounded as if the young woman knew her death was already imminent. To end this child’s life before it began was not an act of selfishness on her part, but an act of mercy. Despite the grief Dracula could see it caused her, this young woman was determined to prevent her child from seeing the horrors the world, his world, was capable of producing. It was selfless. It… It did not make sense. 

Humans were selfish creatures, greedy, and cruel for sport. They thought only of themselves and anyone who dared show kindness or intelligence was cast out or killed. They did not deserve the teachings of his wife, who worked so hard to provide for their ill. They did not deserve Wallachia, nor did they deserve any part of the world. Their species was a plague, a never-ending mistake. They would not learn even if he gave them centuries more. They had to go and yet… 

Before the last sunset, Dracula would not have cared how the humans suffered and died. Nor did he care about the vampires, who would inevitably turn on each other, once they were finally faced with starvation. All that mattered was their death- all of their deaths. 

Then why was it that Lord Vlad Dracula Tepes could not think of anything but birth? 

He had shown Hector’s wife what she asked for, he had given her the materials needed to prevent such a birth. Granted, it was what she had asked for. One favor for a selfless thing. 

Perhaps… a long-since silent voice of reason in the back of Dracula’s mind spoke up… Perhaps there is hope for humanity yet? Maybe the good few, the intelligent, the brave, and the honorable could be… salvaged from this genocide? Perhaps what was needed was a true cull after all? 

Seated once again in his study, Dracula gazed into the flames of the fireplace. He would need to make plans to speak with all his Generals tomorrow. 

The war, as they knew it, was about to change.��

A/N: Ahhhh! Why is it so longgggg? Forgive me for getting carried away. But to answer your question, I do think there’s a sliver of hope Dracula would be swayed not to stop or anything, but maybe to shift his plans to allow a select, approved few humans to survive. No idea how’d that’d be implemented or how the Generals would respond (prob not well lol.) But that’s sort of my line of thinking. I also believe he’d be even more encouraging for Hector and Isacc to become friends. For Sources, check out these super cool links: Medieval ‘Pregnancy Tests’: (x) And this really cool on medieval abortion/menstruation remedies: (x) And As always, if you liked it, please REBLOG! 

And please consider donating to my Kofi!

[theblue6ook]

"Other Lovers" PT 3

Summary: Y/N is realizing the end of her relationship with Russ is near. Bruce is realizing he might like Y/N more than he leads on.

Pairing: Bruce Wayne x fem!reader

a/n: Hello lovelies. There will be a part four to this. There will be some flirting happening here with Bruce and Y/N so stay tuned.  [B (23) Y/N (22)] [Eventual slow burn with Bruce] [Y/N/N is your nickname] Apart of my Out of My League series btw.

Bruce did not regard himself as a touchy, feely person. In fact, many people called him detached. Even as Bachelor Bruce, he wasn’t a big toucher, but he could not keep his hands off of Y/N. He knew Rachel noticed. He knew his staff noticed. He knew he shouldn’t, but he was just so comfortable with her.

It honestly had happened out of nowhere. She hadn’t even been his assistant long, maybe a few months? But they spent almost every single day together; it was hard not to get comfortable. Everything in him, especially The Bat, was telling him to knock it off, but he couldn’t. His hands traced her shoulder, walking her into the green room. He was excited to show her the present that awaited them. Her shoulder tensed with surprise when she noticed the large cake towards the center of the room. His hand slid down the curve of her spine toward her waist. Fingertips playing with her silk dress. 

Y/N couldn’t help but feel guilty, her heart speeding up as she felt his fingertips press into the flesh at her waist. She giggled, slightly overwhelmed. She wasn’t sure whether to focus on the singing, the cake illuminating the center of the room, or Bruce’s body heat against her back. 

He had leaned down to whisper in her ear, “I hope this makes up for earlier. Happy Birthday.” 

His lips almost grazed the shell of her ear. Firmly, she held onto his arm against her waist to steady her. Clapping erupted, interrupting her fogged mind and bringing her back to the cruel reality. I am engaged. I am engaged, and I don’t want to be. Despite her initial attitude with Bruce Wayne, he was him. She was glad he wasn't necessarily the bachelor everyone made him out to be. He was smart and funny and so stubborn. He was gorgeous. That's one thing the papers didn't lie about; they almost didn't even do him justice. She could feel every hard curve of his skin against her back.

She turned to smile at him, speaking over the clapping, “What is this cake?!” 

“It’s huge!” Carrie interjected, taking her hand off Bruce’s arm to clap as well. 

"You didn't think I'd get you a cake on your birthday?" he grinned teasingly. "Are you surprised?"

“I’m surprised,” she hugged him tightly, and he returned it just as tight. 

The birthday activities had resumed in various ways. Bruce had to sneak off and entertain his vast amount of guests. Carrie and Y/N feasted on birthday cake, then dinner, then cake again. It was a magical affair. She felt pleasantly drunk off cocktails, and Carrie giggled at Y/N’s lightheadedness. They decided to do a lap around the restaurant; it was like nothing they had ever seen before. Each room had a different color scheme; every table was set to the high heavens. It was like what she had imagined while reading The Great Gatsby. Once they had explored enough, they came back to the green room only to notice a crowd was gathering.

Bruce had to work fast. As stupid as this seemed, he desperately needed a distraction. One of Bane’s followers was here. Bruce caught him parading around as a waiter when he took him out, discretely, of course. They had been looking for their target, the CEO of Ace Chemicals, and though he had handled the waiter, there was no telling if there was another one of Bane’s goons in the area. So, Bruce needed a distraction while his staff politely escorted the CEO out, and he needed one fast. He needed a crowd. He needed people.

Y/N turned to her left, and there he was, in the view past her vast birthday cake, swimming in the tiger fountain with the half-naked ballerinas. It was his restaurant. What could the staff do but watch? She was his assistant. What could the staff do but watch? 

Feeling almost embarrassed, there was a tightness in her chest. Y/N glanced to her left to look away from the scene, and she noticed Rachel in a similar position. There she was, looking over at him, disappointed and discouraged. It’s like they were at two opposite ends of the same spectrum. The old lover. The new crush.

The cruel reality came back to her once more. He is him. He is Bruce Wayne, and I am his assistant. He is Gotham’s finest bachelor, and I’m engaged. 

“We should go,” she mumbled to Carrie. 

After messaging Alfred, he was there in no time, and they had plopped into the back of the Rolls Royce silently. Alfred could tell the night had not gone exactly as planned, but he opted to ask Y/N about it later. Y/N’s mind wandered as she stared out towards the passing buildings until she noticed they were coming up on East Merchant Street. That’s the street near the bar Russ works at.

“You can pull over here,” she suddenly stated. 

Carrie grabbed Y/N’s arm and turned to her, looking concerned, “Where do you think you’re going?”

Y/N ignored the question, “Alfred, will you take Carrie home?”

“Y/N,” she said firmly. “Where do you think you’re going?”

Finally, sighing, Y/N turned to Carrie, “I need to have a conversation with my fiance.” She raised her eyebrow and gave Carrie a look that said this is serious. Hesitantly, Carrie let go of Y/N’s arm, but before she could get out of the car, Carrie snatched her once again.

“You call Alfred the minute you need to come home,” her gaze was serious. “I’m waiting up for you, and I’m not kidding. The minute you need to come back.”

Y/N heard Alfred repeat a similar phrase, and she looked toward Carrie, nodding. She gave her a quick hug before stepping back from the vehicle and watching them drive off, taillights reflecting in the puddles on the street. Inhaling, she started her trek down the sidewalk.

Y/N was at a crossroads. She knew she should have expected some wildly Bruce Wayne scene tonight, but she was disappointed. For a moment, she got to pretend like all of her problems had drifted. Like her engagement wasn’t falling apart. Like she was just a single twenty-two-year-old woman with her best friend out in society, flirting with the idea of men. When Bruce jumped into that fountain, it reminded her that the man she had thought about so much tonight was her boss. He was the most notorious bachelor in Gotham. Her fiance was drifting away. She was drifting away, and after all the shitty things Russ had done, she still cared for him. So, tonight, she was giving them one more chance. To talk, to laugh, to make love. She just needed one night to see if there was still something there for them.

She walked down the steps into Pipers. It was a sleazier bar, like an off-brand Hooters, with more alcohol. The men down here were different in a weird way, always looking at the waitress' assets. Originally, she had protested Russ working here, but he said the people like to drink a lot, and more drinks means more money. She heard a low whistle coming from behind the bar. Y/N turned, expecting it to be Russ, but instead, it was just Tony, the GM.

“What are you up to, honey?” Tony smiled softly at her. Tony was notorious for being an asshole, but he had always had a soft spot for Y/N ever since she spent her last summer tutoring his daughter.

“Hey Tony, I’m actually looking for Russ.”

He raised his eyebrow, “Russ? He told me he was taking a half-day.”

All the blood drained from her face. Was he hiding something?

“Did he?” she said breathlessly.

He inhaled and rose from his seat at the back of the bar, almost knocking his beer belly against the counter. He wiggled his finger for her to come closer as he leaned over the bartop like he had to tell her something in secret. “One of our servers here said she was going to drive him to meet you.”

“Do you think he’s at my apartment?” she questioned. After rubbing his gelled hair, he threw his arms out in a questioning manner, but he didn’t look as hopeful as she was. She whispered once more, “I mean, it’s Russ, right? It’s not like it could… be anything.”

Nodding, he cleared his throat, “Why don’t you uh check in with our server first? See where she drove him.” He pulled out a thick binder from the back of the counter and started flipping the pages. “I’m not allowed to share personal information about my employees, but I’m just gonna leave this right here and go do a lap around the bar.”

Winking at her, he moved away from the bartop and started doing his rounds. Y/N pulled the large binder over to her, looking at the page he had turned to. Her mouth dropped. Mary Fucking Anne. Y/N had met her years ago, and she had been nice enough. She was the type of woman who couldn’t be alone. Not because she didn’t know how but because the men at the bar kept her so busy. Y/N had praised her before for being so adventurous, but she didn’t realize she’d be adventurous with engaged men.

Snapping a picture of the book and scanning for an address, she quickly slid the binder back behind the counter and stepped out of the bar. 

Walking down the cold street in her thin red dress, she thought to herself it’s not like that. It can’t be like that. We’ve been engaged since we were eighteen. It’s been years. It’s not like that. In her head, she was hoping she knew the way it would play out. She’d get to Mary Anne’s and ask her where Russ was. Mary Anne would turn to her and say oh, I dropped him at your apartment because Russ has terrible common sense and probably didn’t realize The Ocelot takes more time than Chuck’s Chili. Then, she’d get home and Russ would be there, and they’d laugh about it. Yes, that has to be what happens. It can’t not be what happens because if she gets to Mary Anne’s and that’s not what happens, that is more than four years of her life wasted. That is not only her fiance but one of her best friends betraying her. Someone who was with her through everything and would amount to nothing. 

Looking at the address on her phone and back up at the building, here it was, Mary Anne's. It was a small dingy building about two blocks away from Pipers. Y/N looked up the steps toward the common door. It wasn’t likely the common door would be open, but she decided to try it anyway. Stepping up the stairs, she pulled, and there was nothing. Pulling again, it was like some divine intervention. The building lights flickered, and the magnetic lock holding the door closed let go. Y/N was too worried about the task at hand to even question it. Taking steps two at a time, she almost tripped on her red grown, but here she was. Apartment 24.

The noise already betrayed them. Trying the door, it happened to be unlocked. They had clearly been in a rush to get inside. Unapologetic, she threw the door open, and there they were against the countertop, a mesh of limbs and lipstick. But after taking in the state of the apartment, that wasn't even the worst part. His things were here.

Mary Anne squealed, trying to cover herself with a dishtowel, and Russ tried squeezing back into his pants, abandoning Mary Anne to rush over to Y/N, apologizing. “What are you doing here, baby? It’s - I’m sorry-”

The way she looked at him had him stopping in his tracks. Not another word came out of his mouth. Mary Anne still shrunk in the corner, trying to cover herself, shivering with shame. She slowly started to wander around the apartment. “You told me you didn’t want me over until your landlord renovated your apartment.” 

“Baby, I just-”

“-You’re moving in with her,” she said disgusted, turning to him. She grabbed at the records on the wall. She had gotten him each one for his birthday. With clenched teeth, she said, “These are our things, Russ.”

“They’re still our things,” he tried to reason, tears in his eyes, realizing his actions were finally catching up to him. 

Mary Anne had since forgotten her towel and modesty, pushing at Russ’s shoulder angrily, “They’re our things. You’re living with me-”

The sound of cracking had her silent. Crushed records lay at the bottom of Y/N’s red dress. Russ had looked like he’d been shot. 

“Four years,” Y/N mumbled, dropping the last record and crushing it into her heel. She stepped around the room once again. No one wanted to say a thing; it was like waiting for a bomb to go off. On the coffee table was the vase she made him in pottery class in high school. It was her first gift to him, and now it was holding the flowers he brought home to another woman. She picked it up, dumping the flowers and water onto the uneven wooden floor. She held the vase by the tip of her pointer finger.

“Y/N,” he started bawling, “I don’t have an excuse for it, but I love you. Please-” Mary Anne gasped at his statement, running toward her bedroom sobbing, leaving the pair alone. “I can’t live without you. Even if we’re not together, you’re one of my best friends-”

The vase landed with a shatter, and she started to walk towards the door. He dropped to his knees and wailed, “You’re just going to throw everything we have away!”

Turning to him, red with anger, she noticed the guitar mounted to the wall. It was something she had gotten him with her first Wayne Enterprises paycheck. With a scream and a cry, she swept the guitar off the wall and smashed it next to him. After taking a breath and looking at her surroundings, she finally stormed out of the apartment. Wet, hot tears finally smeared down her face as she approached the exit and screamed into the open air. Russ was not far behind. His sadness turned to anger, and he quickly gripped the front of her arms despite her protests.

“You think you can just throw me away!?”

“We’re done, Russ!” she struggled in his grip but continued. “I’m disgusted by you. I wish I never met you!” He raised his hand to her, but there was a sudden crack against Russ’s hand, and blood started to drip down his arm. There, lying on the concrete, was a sharp piece of metal in the outline of a bat. Thunder rolled, and there was a flash of lightning. Russ looked up, turning white like he'd seen a ghost, but by the time Y/N had turned around, there was nothing.

Now alone, she stared down at the little metal bat, and then her focus changed to the cracked engagement ring on her left ring finger. Slowly sliding it off her finger, she let it fall out of her palm and toward the gutter. Somehow, she felt lighter without it. She wasn't sure what came over her next, but she decided to pick up the little metal bat and pocket it into her clutch. 

Lurking in the shadows, Bruce watched Russ rush inside. He watched Y/N slide her engagement ring off, letting the Gotham sewer take it. He watched Y/N's red silk dress pool around her as she leaned down, picking up the piece of metal and dropping it into her bag.

Bruce had said it before that he missed Rachel. He missed their late-night conversations. He missed having someone down to Earth. He missed having a friend, and the fact that Rachel was his friend made him love her, but he hadn’t realized until tonight how much Y/N filled that void for him. They may not have late-night conversations. She may not know about his double life, but they had their afternoon talks over lunch. She brings flowers into the office, just because. She bantered with him. She wasn’t intimidated by him, and he would be damned if he let a man raise his hand to her. 

@pank0w @moejoeflow @padsfirewhisky @maxinehufflepuffprincess

[stromuprisahat]

sorry if i'm reading this wrong but are you trying to say that greeks aren't white?

(wanted to clarify my question is completely genuine and had no ill intent)

I'm saying it's a bullshit division, especially if you make "brown" category too. Simple googling of "Greek people" shows you pictures like this:

(x)

where it's obvious said Greeks aren't uniform mass, but a scale of shades from pale to middle browns. (Makes sense given their climate and history.)

It's also funny I've been attacked for criticising disrespect of Greek myths, when those developed back in the day, when Greece wasn't its current size, but it spread over chunks of today's Turkey too.

Assuming all those anons came from the same person, we get to slight logical conundrum, because:

Greek myths = white people culture

Ancient Greece = parts of today's Asia

Asia = non-white

Therefore Greek myths are "white people culture" also created by non-white people???

But who cares about logic, when you can throw around labels and hate things simply because they weren't hated by current Western culture, right?

[mvrkieboo]

Old Bloodhounds : Ringing Alarms

DISCLAIMER : NOT CANON TO THE OLD BLOODHOUNDS STORYLINE

TWs : fucked up dynamics

A/N : since y'all wanted it so much... and it's not even good written smut too...

Woojin and Geonwoo walked into the unit to see you weren’t in the living room, so they went to your room. When they opened the door of your room, you were on your bed, folded in on yourself, face down on the sheets. They could hear your muffled sobs. The video of Jaehyun trashing you was playing through your phone. Geonwoo moved to you, placing a hand on your shoulder blades. The gesture prompted you to sit up and let him pull you into an embrace as he sat on your bed.

Woojin was busying himself with your phone. He shut the video close, and took his liberties to read the texts between you and Yuno. He wanted to throw that phone out the window, and he didn’t really mind replacing it with a new one if he decided to go along with his impulses—but he held himself back and placed it on your nightstand. The way Yuno sounded so insensitive to what you were facing because of his own bitching…

Woojin sat on your other side, caging you between him and Geonwoo. As he watched you cry into Geonwoo’s chest, the crack in his house began to get bigger.

“You should consider kicking him out.” Woojin spoke quietly, and he didn’t think it could be so quiet in Seoul at 2 p.m., here in your bedroom.

You shook your head against Geonwoo’s neck and pulled away from him. You raised your hands to wipe away the tears off your face, looking down.

“That’d be really cruel. And it’d be an overreaction.” You whispered and Woojin tilted his head up as he rolled his eyes.

Geonwoo reached from behind you to hold Woojin’s shoulders, squeezing it as a warning as he sent the younger man a glare.

The younger man couldn’t care less.

“Cruel? Overreacting? Y/N, you’re getting lambasted on the internet by his fans when they don’t even know who you are, what you’ve been through—”

“But he didn’t post the video. He didn’t even know he was being recorded! He didn’t mean for this to happen, Woojin.” From the sound of your voice quivering and wavering, you were about to burst into tears again as you defended your older brother to the men who have been taking care of you since 3 years ago.

Woojin had it. He was getting sick of you talking to him without meeting his eyes.

He held both of your shoulders, making you face him.

“He’s acting like this mess is a really annoying minor inconvenience for him. Did you read the same texts that I read? Why are you defending him!”

“Woojin!” Geonwoo chided, dumbfounded that Woojin was berating you instead of comforting you.

Your hands went to the collars of his hoodie, pulling him closer as the tears in your eyes began to swell again.

“If I'm not defending him, that would mean I accept the reality that he actually doesn’t care about me anymore—that he will never see me as his sister anymore. I can’t accept that. I don’t want to.”

Their hearts completely broke at the sight of you breaking down all over again, letting go of his collars as your body slumped forward until your face met Woojin’s chest. Woojin was frozen for a second until he wrapped his hands around you, as Geonwoo scooted closer, placing his hand on your shoulder blade like he did before. Woojin placed a kiss on your crown, mentally beating himself up for the harsh words from earlier.

You raised your head to meet Woojin’s eyes, pressing your cheek against his chest as Geonwoo peered from above you to look at your face as you spoke, “Both of you are the only real things to me right now. You’re the only ones who know everything about me.”

Something in the way you said it, the way you worded it, it got to them both in an instant. The way you looked with tears streaming down your face, the red around your eyes and above your cheeks, the way your nose was red, the way your lips were all swollen…the way you looked like you were asking for a kiss and all the comforting and distraction they could offer to get your mind off this mess. Geonwoo’s breath was stuck in his throat, while Woojin’s breathing went shallow.

There was an alarm going off inside their heads.

It was almost like you put Woojin under some sort of trance as he mindlessly placed a palm on your open cheek and leaned in, pressing his lips against yours.

You closed your eyes as it rolled back, placing a hand on Woojin’s neck as he pulled you in closer, his arm around your back coiling tighter. Geonwoo placed his hands on your waist, going under your tank top, hands going up and down until they reached the edge of your bra and shorts. At one point, he did go all the way up—hands going up to your breasts and squeezed, before going down again, making you moan against Woojin’s lips at the loss.

When Woojin released you from the kiss that started off sweet but ended in filth, he made quick work of taking your tank top off. Once that's off, Geonwoo pushed your head to the side so your face could meet his.

Guilt ate away his heart, so he placed a soft kiss on your nose first that pulled a sweet sounding giggle out of you. When that smile stayed on your face, only then did he pull you in for a more filthy kiss that urged him to consume you, your mind and heart—you wanted a distraction, he'll give you that. Because you asked, because you wanted it. Woojin and he were always willing to give you what you asked of them, even if you never did what they always wanted of you—to be happy for once in your life.

Your arms went to his hair as Woojin placed open mouthed kisses down your jaw and neck. When his lips reached your collarbone, his hand went behind you to undo your bra. The cold air from your air conditioner made you shiver, your nipples perking up. You broke the kiss with Geonwoo and covered your breasts with your arms, and Woojin merely sighed and took off his hoodie.

Then, he gently held your arms, looking conflicted.

“Do you really want this?”

You nodded, and you felt Geonwoo's chest behind you deflate in relief.

“Then don't cover yourself up. We know you too well already, Y/N.”

They've seen you at your lowest, they've seen you struggle, how you clawed and dug just to live for another day. They know you too well.

You slowly let your arms down, and Geonwoo moved you until your back was leaning against his chest while Woojin moved your legs, slotting himself between them. The sight made your whole body flush. Geonwoo placed his face next to yours, but when you turned to kiss him, he gripped your face and made sure you were directly looking at Woojin taking off your shorts, slowly sliding down the garments—but as it reached your mid thighs, he realised he needed to get off of you to take it off completely, so he opted to tear it instead.

“Those are my favourites—” You gasped, but it dissolved into a moan as Woojin latched onto your nipple as he rubbed up on your thighs.

Geonwoo chuckled good-naturedly beside you and turned his head a little so he whispered directly into your ear.

“We'd buy you new ones, okay?”

You nodded. Geonwoo gave you a playful nibble on the earlobe for being so agreeable.

Woojin lightly sucked on your nipple before letting it go and went to the other one. His hands were groping the meat of your thighs, before moving north—to meet your inner thighs. When he was satisfied with his work on your chest, he moved his lips down in a trail of hot open mouthed kisses that had you panting as Geonwoo—already finished with teasing and biting your ear—gave you hickeys on your neck.

When Woojin's lips met the edge of your panties, your leg instinctively closed around him. The action made Woojin click his tongue.

“What did we say, Y/N? You could push all the other ones away, but not us.” Woojin spoke calmly.

Geonwoo let go of suckling on a particularly sweet spot on the crook of your neck to whisper into your ear again, “Never us.”

His tone of voice, although merely a whisper, dripped with so much authority it made you open your legs for Woojin almost automatically. Woojin sent you a small smile, “Atta girl. That's our Y/N.”

Woojin's hand went to your hips, playing with the fabric of your panties, “Was this expensive?”

“Yes.” You bemoaned, knowing the fate of your undergarment.

“It's a good thing we're rich, then.” Geonwoo chuckled, pressing a kiss on your jaw.

Rrrrip.

They didn't give you a moment to grieve over your most expensive pair of panties as Woojin didn't even bother to tease you first—his lips found your cunt rather quickly, licking a long stripe from the bottom of your slit to your clit.

Your hands went straight to his head, your legs already trembling as it fought the urge to close around him.

“Woojin!” You gasped out, and Geonwoo moaned from behind you.

“I can't wait until I make you moan my name like that.” He groaned into your shoulder, before biting down on the skin.

Woojin placed his hands on your thighs seeing how it was obviously trembling, feeling gracious enough to hold it apart for you as he wrapped his lips around your clit to suck on it.

The feeling was so intense it had your upper body squirming on top of Geonwoo's person. You didn't even realise what you were doing to Geonwoo until he chuckled again, resting his forehead on the side of your head while grunting under his breath. Only then were you aware of something poking on your lower back.

Despite being aware Geonwoo's hard-on was pressed behind you, you couldn't even get shy over it because Woojin was eating you out so good it had you crying again. When Geonwoo finally noticed the tears, he sighed.

“Come here, baby. Let me kiss you.”

You obediently turned your head to kiss him again. You could feel Geonwoo's hips behind you was starting to move on its own, grinding his clothed bulge against your back for his own stimulation.

When you felt Woojin's tongue hit a particularly sweet spot inside you, it made your sanity slip momentarily—resulting in you biting down on Geonwoo's lips, hard enough that it drew blood, as you came all over Woojin's face.

He let go of the kiss, a knee jerk response to the sting and you mumbled out your apology pathetically—you had tasted his blood and you realised what you had done. Geonwoo let out a big smile and licked on the nicked part, recognising this was just you marking him like he had also marked you. He loved how the hickeys littered under your jaw and neck. Especially now as you basked in your post-orgasmic glow.

Woojin pulled himself up, wiping on the corner of his lips with the back of his hand.

“Geonwoo, is it okay if I…?” Woojin asked the oldest one in the bedroom rather calmly, like he didn't just pull out an orgasm from you just a second ago.

But the look behind his eyes was anything but calm.

Geonwoo nodded and pulled you away, taking a pillow to place it under your head before letting you down completely.

When he stood, he looked down at his pants and laughed at the stain. Woojin scrunched his brows while you stared at it dumbly, still coming down from your high.

“Geez, I cummed just from grinding against you, Y/N. I need some time to get hard again, so Woojin is gonna fuck you first, alright?” He cooed, bending down for a bit to pat your cheeks.

Woojin, now knowing that Geonwoo had given him the greenlight, started to take off his sweatpants and boxers in one go, throwing it into a pile on the floor. Geonwoo took his sweater and pants off as he walked to the armchair that was situated just three feet away from your bed.

He sat down with his legs spread open, watching you and Woojin like a hawk.

Woojin was kneeling between your legs, cock hard and already leaking some precum. When he lowered down so he could see your face directly, he saw the tear tracks on your cheeks and went to touch them.

The conflicted look behind his eyes made a return.

“You made me feel too good.” You mumbled out, your hand coming up to hold his.

You moved his hand so his thumb could rest on your bottom lip, and you opened your mouth to suck on it.

“There's no such thing as too good.” Woojin laughed a little, breathless.

And you wanted to say there were such things as too good. Like pizza, the fall season, and Geonwoo and Woojin who were always taking care of you without expecting anything back.

You wrapped your legs around his waist, “Fuck me, please.”

“And do you really want that?”

“Yes.”

And Geonwoo and Woojin have always given in to your wants and needs. This shouldn't be anything new.

Woojin nodded and lined the tip of his cock to your entrance before slowly pushing in, shoulder almost flinching at the sound of your sigh. When he was all the way in, you wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him down for a kiss.

The kiss was just as filthy as the last, a string of saliva connecting your lips as you pulled away.

“Move.” You moaned out, and Woojin nodded again.

The tempo was slow at first, so Woojin could make sure you were well adjusted to his shape and size. At the sight of Woojin fucking you, Geonwoo took out his own cock and started to pump up and down, matching Woojin's tempo. The tempo picked up when Woojin could confirm you were getting used to his cock, but you just had to be greedy for more.

Was this greediness the result of them spoiling you? Did you like being greedy? Do you want them to spoil you more? How could they spoil you more when they're already crossing the line to satisfy you—comforting you by fucking you. By baring the teeth they take no pleasure in baring?

“Woojin, I want it faster.” You gasped out, your hips moving on their own to meet his thrusts for added stimulation.

“Faster?” Woojin snipped out, eyes glaring down at you.

So greedy. So needy. But how could they say no to you? You ask and they deliver. Always.

He gave one particularly hard thrust that had the headboard slamming against the wall, and it also had you scream out his name in pure bliss.

“Yes! I want it like that!”

Wish granted and Woojin grunted. He picked up the pace, and picked up your hips every time he thrusted in, thrusted harder and harder until your moans turned into screams. He hated how your words kept him going, he lived for the way you screamed his name, the way your eyes rolled back, the way your nails scratched down his back. Geonwoo bit the finger of his free hand, until his teeth tore into the skin of his fingertip and drew blood. He stopped pumping when he felt his own orgasm coming close.

“Fuck. I never liked being hard and fast.” Woojin grunted under his breath, already feeling himself coming close.

He always preferred to fuck slow and deep, but you had asked for otherwise so he granted it.

Like he always would.

“It's okay, I'm close too.” You spoke sweetly, a pretty smile on your pretty flush face, hands raking through his hair so nicely.

“Yeah?” Woojin finally broke out into a sincere smile since this mess began.

They didn't mind crossing this line as long as you smiled like that. Smiling so prettily as if you were actually happy.

When your eyes rolled back and eyebrows scrunched in together, your fingers now suddenly pulling on his hair and scratching against his scalp, he knew he didn't need your verbal answer. Your cunt was beginning to grip tighter, like a telltale sign.

Woojin held your face, pressing a kiss on the side of your head before speaking into your ear, “Anything for you, Y/N. Whatever you want—have it.”

That's when you reached your high, arching your back off the bed, almost ripping Woojin's hair out.

He rode out your high for as long as he could before pulling out to cum on your stomach.

Your second orgasm put you into a longer haze, and when you finally came to your senses again, Woojin was already lying next to you and catching his breath while Geonwoo was the one on top of you now, but for some reason moving down your body until his face matched your lower stomach, still covered in Woojin's cum.

You were breathless when he lowered down to clean it up, licking Woojin's cum away slowly and deliberately.

“Ah, Geonwoo—” You moaned, your body still super sensitive from your earlier orgasm. Your hand reached out to his hair.

“Shhh. It's okay. Someone needs to clean you up.” He spoke, words muffled against your skin.

After he was finished, he sat up straight and pulled you up with him.

“Do you wanna go get cleaned up in the bathroom, baby?” He asked gently with a smile on his face as he stroked your face, pushing your hair back while he's at it.

You went to hug him, pressing your face against the crook of his neck.

“No. Let me ride you, please?”

He laughed and moved the both of you so he could rest his back against the headboard. Woojin watched the both of you closely.

“Since you asked so nicely.”

Since you wanted it.

You lined your slit above his cock and sunk down, both you and Geonwoo releasing a deep sigh as you sheathed yourself over him. Geonwoo gripped on your waist, pulling your attention to him.

“Do whatever you want. I’d feel good as long as you do too.” He smiled sweetly at you.

You blinked at him before looking at Woojin who was lying on the other end of the bed.

“How does he like it, Woojin?”

Woojin snorted.

“He's the one who likes to go hard and fast. Go crazy with him, Y/N.”

That's all you needed to hear.

You rode him hard and fast, and the angle made it all the more pleasurable. Geonwoo's cock was hitting so deeply inside you in a way you never thought you needed before. Lost in your pleasure, your hands on Geonwoo's chest kept slipping up so he guided them to coil around his neck instead.

He pulled you in for a kiss, and pulled away with a sigh.

“Since you're working so hard right now, you get to skip gym for tomorrow. I'm sure you already burned off more than enough calories.”

Geonwoo can be real funny when he wants to be.

“No skipping classes though, okay?” He chuckled at his own joke and suddenly decided to thrust up into you for some reason.

(He saw how you were getting tired, that's why.

Maybe they should work on your legs at the gym next time.)

He pushed his hips up as he pulled your hips down with tight grips around your waist. It'd bruise tomorrow, and it'd just be one of many marks that Geonwoo made upon your skin.

The switch up knocked the wind out of you, your mind going dumb at the angle, the harshness and the pacing. You were practically bouncing off of him too at how hard he was thrusting.

Kind, sweet Geonwoo—greedy and monstrous despite the guilt that ate away his chest.

When you scratched at his neck and shoulders, you caught how his eyes rolled back at the sting, and how his hips stuttered when you did it. He really loved to mark and to be marked.

“You close, sweetie?” He asked breathlessly.

You could barely give a nod at his question, but he could tell anyway. It was you, how could he not tell? The girl he's been taking care of with Woojin since 3 years ago, the girl who's been leaning on them ever since you met them. The girl that they're trying to help be happy again.

“Geonwoo…” You whined softly, feeling close to cumming, and he nodded as he stroked your face, placing a kiss on your forehead.

“I'm right here, baby. Have what you want, since I'm right here with you, okay?”

A few more thrust and you came undone. However—because he had been staving off his own orgasm for a while now—as soon as you came, he quickly flipped you over so he could ride out your orgasm just like Woojin did, and pulled out to cum on your thighs instead of your stomach. He dropped his whole body on top of yours, slightly tired unlike your complete exhaustion.

“That felt good.” You groaned out, wrapping your hands around Geonwoo.

The alarm was ringing inside your heads.

• taglist • (i hate y'all)

@nominzn @grassbutneo @pandagirl753 @spicyryujin @413ktz @sunghoonsgfreal @trfggv @naviiy @lizzieray @shiionknow @morkiee @soobinbunnie5 @bee-the-loser @johnuskglasses @oneeew @jwonsluvr @beyoursunrise @czenniesworld @calssunflower @uneviemorose @pink-milk37

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for asking for reality checks even though I don’t experience psychosis/delusions?

📢🧠

It’s a long story but the cliffs notes version is that my bio-dad and first serious boyfriend were both pretty awful people. My dad made a “game” of whispering cruel things to me, then telling me I hallucinated it when confronted. I brought it up to my ex back when I thought i could trust him, but you can guess what he starts doing after that (he started playing the same “game”) 🙁

For a while, I was on antidepressants and anti anxiety meds for my PTSD (thanks, dad!)

They weren’t as effective as we hoped, so the psych supplemented them with something that’s both an antipsychotic and a mood stabilizer (i don’t remember exactly what meds, it was years ago).

They knew about it and used that as further “evidence” that I’m legitimately psychotic, which after years of being gaslit, I started to believe.

I haven’t had contact with either of them for at least 5 years now, but I still doubt if things I hear are real and often ask people near me “do you hear ____?” Especially if nobody else seems to react to the noise.

Recently I asked someone between a friend and an acquaintance for a reality check, and they told me “you don’t hallucinate, so stop co-opting other people’s real struggles to seem edgy”

That definitely wasn’t my intention behind asking for the checks, but now I wonder if I’m out of line.

What are these acronyms?

[theyanderespecialist]

Base Yandere Sosuke Aizen Headcanons: Aizen's Majesty (Redone?) (Bleach)

[Hello, My Sexy Muffins! This chapter will have Sosuke Aizen as a yandere and his base traits as one! Enjoy this chapter!] 

(Disclaimer: Sosuke Aizen is not yandere in canon! This is just for fun and not to be taken seriously at all simping for fictional characters and yanderes is fine! Just do not be illegal or gross about it! You know who you are! You Dirty, Flaky, Biscuits! Yanderes are not ideal partners to have in real life! Also, remember to separate fiction from reality and headcanon from canon! Thank you!) 

-Base Yandere Headcanons With Sosuke Aizen From Bleach-

.Aizen has a god complex, that is for sure, there is no denying that. 

.He is mostly a polite and soft-spoken man. 

.This does not change when he met you, a sweet and beautiful soul. 

.He wanted to cherish your soul and keep you away from the rest of the world. 

.He is almost always calm and polite with you. 

.Being very sweet and kind with you and loving you more than he ever loves anyone else. 

.He also uses your first name, even if you asked him not to. He still would refer to you by your given name. 

.In private, when it is just you and him, he will use sweet pet names to shower you with love and show you how sweet you are to him. 

.Aizen also is very casual and informal with you, being very kind to you and friendly with you, as if you and him were husband and spouse. 

.He can really get under your skin with how forward he is with his feelings for you, and how he does not get angry with you or lash out at you. 

.He will have a long conversation with you, and no matter how irritated you get with him he just smiles at you with so much love and the obsession that he hides very well. 

.No One would believe you with you saying Aizen was creepy to you, as you do get an off feeling with him around you. 

.Aizen is just so nice and no one would understand why you have an off feeling with him. 

.He came off first as a well-liked, charming, caring, and kind man. 

.People would have thought you were just being cruel to Aizen for saying he creeps you out. 

.Because even with how Good Aizen is at lying with you his darling he shows a slight obsession with you. 

.So you can sense the danger that he has. 

.He is always watching over you, and making sure that no one is getting close to you. 

.He can tell you are uneasy around him and he will have to remedy that. 

.But of course, he manipulates everyone around you, making them think that you are in a relationship with him. That you two are just going through a rough patch. 

.So no one tries to hit on you or tell you they have feelings for you, cause everyone respects Aizen. 

.They even try to encourage you to make up with him. 

.He is actively gaslighting you and now everyone thinks you are being unfair to your boyfriend. 

.You feel like you are going insane and he tells you it is okay, that he still loves you and will be patient with you. 

.It does not matter if you lash out at him, he will keep that smile in place and will still be by your side. 

.Of course, his mask could not stay up forever and it finally slipped thanks to Ichigo. 

.Everyone first thought you were with Aizen, but when you finally screamed at them he manipulated all of them, and they realized you were never ever with Aizen. 

.They are very apologetic and try to mend friendships with you. 

.Though your friend Momo is still in denial about Aizen and you. It is best to stay away from her. 

.Aizen had not been able to take you with him because of Ichigo. 

.He is beyond pissed he could not take you with him.  .He really does not care for almost anyone and is willing to use anyone to get what he wants. 

.He has his eyes still on you, watching whatever you do. 

.He actually misses you and longs for you to be by his side. 

.He wants to be his co-ruler and his majesty, to be his deity that will become a deity when he becomes a god. 

.You are the only one worthy of his love, and worthy to stand by his side, as the love of his life, his spouse, his majesty, his deity, his everything! YOU ARE HIS! 

.He would have stalked you and been also a very manipulative yandere. 

.Once he gets the chance he will have one of his Espada to kidnap you for him.

.You would be collared and have your spirit energy cut off and take your zanpoktou away from you. 

.He has made you defenseless. 

.Now that he does not have his mask up he does not have to hide his feelings for you. 

.He can touch you all he wants now and make love to you. 

.He would drug you to make you enjoy it and to make you submit to him. 

.Which will further manipulate and break your mind. 

.He will use mind games with you, making you realize that he loves you, and making you think he is the only man for you. 

.He believes he is the only man good enough for you and will break your mind and build you back up. So that he can he can have a life with you. 

.By the slim chance he had a rival or after he left the soul society and you had been with someone other than him. 

.He will bring them to Hucho Mundo and have them killed in front of you, forcing you to watch them be tortured and destroyed. 

.He would have you on his lap while it happens, touching you and kissing your neck as you watch the person or people you had been with. 

.He will also blame you, telling you if you did not cheat on your husband that he would not have to do this. 

.He would have broken you at this point so you would blame yourself. 

.Aizen knows he had to break you down to make you love him. 

.When he finally broke you he will confess his love once more. 

.You will most likely accept his love, and he will make love to you (he is always the top)  .If you somehow deny his love and hold onto your strength against him he will make you love him. 

.He will keep at it, breaking you, mentally, spiritually, physically, and emotionally. 

.Once he breaks you he will build you up and support you. 

.You now love him and he will help build you back up where you depend on him and only him. 

.Once he was defeated you were broken and did not know what to do. You loved Aizen but knew your love for him was wrong. 

.It took over a decade of therapy but finally, you are feeling like yourself. You still struggle with the damage that Aizen had caused. 

.But then the alarm went off, and Aizen escaped his cell. He will get his hands back on you, and he will slaughter everyone that stole you from him! 

.He was immortal now, and he will make you immortal too! You are His and it does not matter where you go, or who you want to be with. 

.You are his and he will hunt you down and make you his, he has all the time in the world and you are never ever going to escape Aizen, your king, your God, Your, Yandere! 

[YASSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS another chapter is done! I hope that you all enjoyed this, and stay sexy, all of my sexy muffins!] 

[mysticmellowlove]

Thinking about a really tall (like 6’3-6’4) yandere who is like slender muscle and who gives off “Look at us the wrong way and I’ll snap your neck” vibes but in reality he is just a little thing for us. A big little thing. Like, he can lift almost anything and do anything but he just wants us to caress him and tell him what a pretty boy he is and how we love him. Sitting on his lap caressing his pretty face saying we’ll be together for eternity. He wants to be manhandled at the same time, spank him, tell him his mommy owns him and peg him. Use his thick long pretty pink cock however you please but just please touch and love him. Take him on walks and pet him and he should be ok.

note; the Aussie in me really comes out whenever i write mommy kink because i can't for the life of me type 'mummy' and not cringe, it's gotta be the American spelling lol

warnings; sub male, yandere male, reader is called mommy, no gender tho, mommy kink, small pet play,

The smell of freshly brewed coffee swarmed your senses as you took another sip from the cappuccino in front of you. At your side was your boyfriend of three months. The relationship was pretty new yet you had a feeling that he didn't share the same sentiment.

Ever since you had first gotten with him he was always a little too close, a little too clingy, a little too knowledgeable. You took it in stride though and made sure to enjoy the strangely attentive man.

"Hey, you're with Build Co?" Your head turned casually as you zoned back into the real world. Standing there was an older man accompanied by what looked to be the standard younger and way more attractive assistant.

"Sure am, shall we start?" You smiled at the two as you slowly pet the thigh of your boyfriend.

"You did so good today, I'm proud of you." You cooed as you languidly stroked his cock. The ministrations were repetitive, up and down like a pendulum. He sat with his legs draped over your lap, his hands holding him up as he pressed them into the bedsheets.

He was like a big puppy, sometimes he was naughty and like today sometimes he was good. You knew that taking him to one of your appointments would be a little shaky, there was something about other people that seemed to set him off. However, he didn't even glare at the gentleman you were designing a house for!

He deserved something good for his efforts.

"T-thank you mommy." He stuttered as he fought to keep his hips still, not wanting to take away his prize by being greedy. You knew all he wanted to do was thrust upwards into your hand, it seemed as if today he just wanted to be on his best behaviour. You cooed as you continued to jerk him, your other hand going to pinch at his sensitive nipples.

He stood tall and strong, muscular and intimidating and yet he had the most sensitive body. Flick his nipples and he was keening, brush over his underwear and he had tears in his eyes. Such a needy boy and yet it was only for you. That rush of dominance was like nothing else, that high of knowing he would only bend over for you. And bend over he did, he tried to tempt you all the time after all.

But now he was being a good boy and good boys deserve rewards. He already had his collar around his neck, the leather slightly biting into his skin just how he liked it and you knew that the butt plug inside him was pressing deliciously into his prostrate as he sat on his ass with his cock before you.

"Please, can I be inside you?" He whispered, his eyes directed down at his weeping cock instead of your eyes. So shy and pliant, always wanting what's best for you. A hum left your mouth as you pretended to think about it for a moment.

"Why not? You've been so good to me haven't you, it would be cruel to leave my little puppy high and dry right?" A snide grin rose to your lips as his eyes lit up, a light sheen of sweat made his skin glisten.

"Come on then, make sure to fuck me good puppy." You grinned as you gave his dick one more tug before shuffling his legs off of you. After a long day of work getting to spend the night with your overly needy boyfriend was like a dream come true. Even better if he had his cock deep inside you as tears streamed down his face.

"Of course mommy, I promise. Always."