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mrsdarkandyandere7 · 3 months

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❤ Yandere Hater ❤

▶ This is a yandere/dark work and it may contain triggering content so please READ THE WARNINGS before. Do not read if minor.

More at Masterlist

Female reader

WARNINGS: Incel vibes; Hate; Noncon (in his imagination cause he's delulu).

◾ Yandere!Hater who fucking hates your guts. Frankly doesn’t understand all the hype surrounding you.

You’re mediocre, at best. Nothing that special about you so he fails to understand why you’re getting increasingly popular these days.

You're not intelligent. You’re not talented. You’re not funny.

Heck, you’re not even that pretty.

Fuck, you’re actually nothing interesting.

Just another brainless bimbo on her 5 minutes of fame.

◾ Yandere!Hater that spends hours scrolling your social media, spamming your posts with countless mean comments, hoping you see them. You deserve them and he hopes you cry reading them. Worthless bitch.

Acting all sweet and delicate in front of cameras, but he knows better. You’re just another stuck-up assed girl.

Probably feeding on attention and money while being a slut to every rich guy that you get a chance to meet.

◾ Yandere!Hater who runs an online account - dedicated to you, obviously - where he venomously spreads hate against you. It’s his little safe-haven, where he gets to expose your fake ass to the world.

Actively targets and attacks anyone that dares leave those disgustingly cute supportive comments under your posts. Gets involved in so many Discord and Twitter arguments that he’s lost count on how many times his account has been banned.

It’s not his fault that your fans are stupid simps.

◾ Yandere!Hater who thinks the absolute worst about you. You’re an ugly arrogant bitch. But that doesn’t stop him from rubbing one off while his eyes are glued to that Instagram photo you recently uploaded - you’re at the beach, a huge smile on your face and your body only covered by the skimpy tiny bikini.

He furiously touches himself at the sight, imagination drifting towards a scenario where he runs into you at the beach.

You’ve briefly mentioned in an interview about your fear of the ocean, never having learned how to swim. Dumb you.

So he thinks about your plastic smile quickly disappearing as his hand grabs you by the hair, violently dragging towards the water. You seem pretty weak, especially given he has a strong toned body when compared to yours.

His cock twitches at the thought of you desperately fighting, begging him with tears shining in your eyes. He’d tame you rather easily, a mean slap or two making you shut up.

He’d pull you into the water, ignoring you as you hyperventilate. Push you to the deepest parts of the sea, the ones where only his feet are able to reach, forcing you to cling on to his shoulders for dear life.

You’d cry and whimper, begging him to take you back to the sand.

But he’d only smile, slipping your bottom off - uncaring of the fact that the waves take away the thin piece of fabric.

So what if everyone sees you half-naked when you get back on land? You’re a slut and everyone should know that.

◾ Yandere!Hater who almost cums at the thought of telling you to ride him - right there on the water - or otherwise he’d just drop you in the water.

Your choice.

You can either ride him quietly as he holds your ass with a tight grip or you can find out how to swim for yourself. He closes his eyes, relishing the climax that runs over him, imagining it’s your tight pussy that brought him to his orgasm, his cum dumped deep in your little cunt.

◾ Yandere!Hater who pretends like this was one rare occasion that won’t happen again but day after day, he finds himself with a hand down his pants, abusing his cock while imagining fucking you in the most degrading ways that exist.

◾ Yandere!Hater that gets more and more spiteful of you, which leads to a few disastrous encounters with you in public - only possible thanks to his network of connections with paparazzi - finding you as you go out with friends.

Encounters those that end with him being wrestled away from you by the buffy bodyguards that work for you, while you cower behind your friends, who weakly try protecting you from the eyes of the lunatic who just tried to drag you into his car.

◾ Yandere!Hater that promises himself to do humanity a favor and take you away from the spotlight, maybe a place in his basement is more appropriate for you.

#@mrsdarkandyandere7 #yandere x you #yandere x reader #tw: yandere #yandere concept #female reader #yandere headcanons #yandere oc x reader #yandere x darling #yandere imagines

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ponett · 1 month

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Have you heard about Akira Toriyama passing away?

Kind of impossible not to. The man had an indescribably huge impact on pop culture on a level that very few living artists are anywhere close to. I can't say I was ever the most diehard fan of Dragon Ball (although I do like Dragon Ball), but manga and anime would not be the same without him. His influence is everywhere. And the number of artists in my generation whose lives were changed forever by catching DBZ on Toonami growing up is staggering. A lot of my favorite stories ever would not exist if their creators hadn't been inspired by Toriyama in the first place.

For me it was his influence on the world of video games, though, that really makes his loss hit hard. Chrono Trigger is a foundational text to me. I only fully grew to appreciate Dragon Quest as an adult after having only played a bit of it as a teenager, but it was absolutely a big influence on SLARPG, both directly and indirectly. I was straight up looking to Toriyama's monster designs and illustrations for inspiration at times. But even beyond that, like... the JRPG genre would not exist without Dragon Quest, and while I've got nothing but respect for Yuji Horii, I'm not sure Dragon Quest would've been the smash hit it was without Toriyama's instantly appealing artwork all over it. Without Toriyama, would we even have Final Fantasy, or Mother, or Pokemon, or countless other games following in Dragon Quest's footsteps? And that's not even getting into all the games that were influenced by Toriyama's manga, not the least of which is Sonic.

It's surreal that he's gone. It's hit me harder than I thought it would, honestly. Really left me with a lot of thoughts about the legacies artists leave behind.

#anon #ask

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chrollohearttags · 8 months

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favorite song • e. jaeger

“I’m on the stage right now, singing your favorite song. I look in the crowd and you’re nowhere to be found as they sing along.”

synopsis: influencer (y/n) forms a close friendship with the infamous rapper, EJ after working together and Eren wishes it could be more. Too bad someone else is in the way..

content warning and themes: angsty vibes, early stages of their relationship, mentions of abuse and cheating, mentions of alcohol, light mentions of sex, kissing, comfort at the end because I truly love them. (also, a couple spoilers for the next reverb chapters)

📝: y’all know these two are just very special to me 😩🤞🏾 like I’m so hopelessly in love with a relationship that doesn’t exist and I couldn’t stop thinking about that Toosii song (legit had it on repeat as I wrote this)

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Atlanta, Georgia. One of the most infamous cities in the country and a staple in the music industry. From the illustrious strip clubs where the rappers came to play and the countless, legendary musicians to be birthed from the famed A-Town..it was iconic. It was also one of EJ the Don’s favorite places to perform. The crowd’s energy was always top tier, the fans were live and he always enjoyed himself.

“Thank you, Atlanta! You know I fucking love you guys and I appreciate all the love you show me…” nearing the conclusion of his two hour set, the artist began to give him obligatory speech, thanking all of his loyal supporters and everyone who turned out tonight. From the insane songs that triggered two huge mosh pits to the slower joints that had brought forth the baddest bitches in the crowd..serenaded underneath dimmed lights as he strummed the guitar and sang to them. It was an entire vibe and like all of his shows, he never wanted it to end. But alas, it was getting later into the night and he was becoming jaded. However, he couldn’t leave his loyal fans without something special!

“This next song…this next song is one that’s very near to my heart..just like the person I wrote it for. They can’t be here tonight but I hope wherever they are..they hear it.”

upon taking a seat on his stool, a stage hand came out and handed Eren his electric guitar..a jet black Fender with chrome and red accents and hand painted roses; named Carla after his mom who gifted it to him on his twenty first birthday. It’s the most precious thing he’s ever received and now he was about, he was about to play a ballad to the most precious person in his life right now. Propping the instrument up on his knee, he’d take the pick that was pursed between his lips and begin to strum slowly..tattooed digits tapping at the E Minor and D strings, creating a soft yet high pitched tune. It was something that he didn’t normally do during his performances but there was a first time for everything. As he began to sing, accompanied by the instrumentals and backtracks, sounding out across the packed arena, he began to croon out the words to a track he titled ‘Everything’, in which he pours out his heart, how that person meant everything to him and everything that he loved about them. It was so beautiful, authentic and yet…maintained bits of signature rap style. The crowd was cheering; ladies fawning from the front row, men nodding their head and everyone was enjoying themselves. The one person he needed there however…was nowhere to be found. The person who inspired it and who burst into tears when he first played it. That person…was you. His precious (y/n). A girl adorned by many and the object of desire for for thousands of men. Captivating the world with your flawless pole skills and ethereal beauty. A one of a kind woman, as rare and priceless as any jewel. You were truly his everything.

but sadly, it could only be confessed in the form of this song, as he was certain you were somewhere in the arms of another guy. Laid up in bed, carrying on a loveless relationship with someone who didn’t see your worth. He hated it. He hated that he couldn’t be the one holding you right now and making all those doubts and insecurities disappear…he even recalled the last time he spoke to you. A little over three weeks ago…as he sat begging and pleading for you to be with him instead.

FLASHBACK

“I don’t get it, (y/n). Why the fuck do you even stick around? It doesn’t make sense..”

“I wish I could tell you why…but I can’t. I guess I’m just scared.”

“Scared of what?! Because if he’s putting his hands on you, I’ll splatter his brains as soon as he comes through that door.”

it was a conversation you’d never expect to have but an inevitable one nonetheless. It was going to come to this eventually…after all, you were sitting at the kitchen counter of your high rise condo, sobbing your eyes out and picking up pieces of shattered glass from a broken vase, slammed to the ground by your no good, sorry ass, abusive, cheater of a boyfriend. Why a woman as beautiful as you would ever think to stick around and put up with such bullshit, was beyond anyone. Including the man standing in front of you. The one who would wipe tears from that pretty face all the time..who had watched you cry as he held you.

“Look, (y/n). I can’t tell you what to do but I’ll be damned if I sit here and let you get treated like this. You deserve better than whatever the fuck he’s doing. Why won’t you just leave?!”

something far easier said than done..truth was, being in a relationship with a high powered executive while trying to make it up the ladder in the entertainment industry was not for the weak. And trying to break away was a whole lot harder!..the repercussions you could face; not only would he have you blackballed from every event or potential job you’d ever think to have but he’d have everyone turning on you. It’d be career suicide! Howvever, Eren didn’t care. He didn’t give a damn what that piece of shit thought he was capable of…he only cared about your well-being and watching you cover up your sadness with sips of liquor was driving him insane. He loved you and wanted to protect you with his life. He wanted to wake up every day next to you, smiling as he saw you in your most pure form; no makeup and all that natural beauty and make love to you every single night. He wanted to be the one who’s name you cried out as you clawed his back and begged him to go deeper. He couldn’t stand this..stepping closer, Eren cupped the sides of your face, tilting it upward so that you could see him. See him in all the vulnerability he had to offer.

“Listen..I just want you to be happy. Fuck all that other noise. Just leave with me and we’ll figure i—“

“Stop it, Eren, I can’t put you in this mess. He’ll ruin everything you worked hard for and that’s not fair. I’m not worth it!”

hearing those words nearly shattered his heart into a million pieces. Never had he felt the way he had about anyone in his young twenty five years the way he did about you. No one made his heart flutter and his soul feel complete the way you did and he couldn’t let you think anything less of yourself than what you were..

“..baby, don’t you realize I’m already in? I’m not going anywhere, even if you push me away right now. You mean more to me than any of this. I don’t care if I ever touch a Grammy, an awards show or any of that shit. You’re all I want. Please..”

and in that moment, you could do nothing more than helplessly fall into his arms. Stuffing your tear ridden face into the comfort of his chest and that black tee he was sporting and as always, he was right there to hold you close and coddle you in his grasp.

“Eren…”

PRESENT

so as he strummed those notes, singing out with all that he harbored..lights from illuminated cell phones swaying back and forth..

“And if you let me, I’ll be your everything..”

he hoped that somewhere, somehow..you could hear it. Not just with your ears but your heart and truly feel the message. That it would motivate you to finally go where you belonged. With him.

“Can you hear me, (y/n)? Are you listening…because I’m playing this song just for you. For us..I’ll always be with you no matter what.”

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void-wolfie · 11 months

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Seventy-Two

summary: a little arguing and some bad memories push you into a panic attack, good thing Tara's there to help you through it.

pairing: Tara Carpenter x gn!Reader

words: 1.3k

tw: some angst, some fluff... mentions of abuse, (very brief) mentions of drugs/alcohol, descriptions of panic/anxiety attacks

a/n: apparently I'm back on my angst train lol. I'm not a professional so apologies if this isn't completely accurate. Briefly based this on my own experiences and some light research.

*if anything here may be a trigger for you, please don't read

You set your motorcycle helmet in your locker, grabbing out the few textbooks you'd need for the day and slamming the locker door shut.

"Where've you been?"

You jumped a little, not having expected the shorter girl to be on the other side of the locker door.

"Hi, Tara. Good morning to you too. Oh, I'm fine thanks for asking," You snarked, disregarding the girl and heading towards your first class.

She sighed, you two played this little game too often. Out in public, it was sideways glances and off-the-cuff remarks. She only ever got to see the real you when you were alone.

Right now, there were eyes everywhere; students and teachers alike all crowding the halls, trying to get to classes. She wouldn't get anything out of you here.

She grabbed you by the arm and yanked you into an empty classroom, making sure to shut the door behind you.

"Anyone ever tell you, you're tenacious." You smirked, looking around the empty classroom in boredom. Turning back around, you noticed the less-than-enthused look on her face.

"Anyone ever tell you, you're annoying."

"Actually you, every time we talk,"

You didn't take the jab to heart; she was just worried and stressed.

"Where've you been?" she asked again, her calm demeanor slipping away.

"Awe, do you actually care for me, princess?"

She huffed, rubbing her eyes with her fingers, something she often did when annoyed. Her patience was running thin, and classes hadn't even started yet.

"I've been trying to text you. Wes told me your dad had to bail you out for drug charges, then you go M.I.A. for two weeks and come back looking like you had the shit beat out of you."

"Yeah, well what else did Wes tell ya?"

You didn't exactly like Wes. He wasn't terrible but his nose was always stuck in someone else's business, which irritated the living hell out of you.

That, plus the fact you couldn't help but be jealous over their relationship. You know you shouldn't be, after all, they're just friends. But nothing ticked you off quite like Wes following Tara around like a lost puppy dog for everyone to see, while your relationship with the girl only existed behind closed doors.

"He told me your dad looked mad, like seriously pissed off." She took a few steps closer, getting into your personal space, not that you minded. You flinched slightly as her hands cupped your face, her thumb lightly tracing your black eye. "Did he do this to you, your dad?"

Despite the voice in your head screaming to finally admit it, to tell the whole world about the shit he puts you through, you just couldn't do it. You shook your head no, quickly wiping at the tears that threatened to fall.

You pulled yourself away from her, stepping further into the classroom to try and get some space.

"Then who did?"

"It doesn't matter."

"Have you looked in a mirror, you look like shit. Of course, it matters."

"Just leave it alone, Tara."

She wouldn't understand, you barely even did yourself. You just couldn't turn him in.

The man may be an abusive asshole and borderline alcoholic, but he's still your dad. For every terrible memory, there was a good one.

Sure, he'd beaten you to a pulp, hit you countless times before, and who even knows how much therapy you'd need one day. But he'd also bought you your first motorcycle, taught you how to do oil changes and engine repairs, he helped you prepare for softball tournaments and school projects.

It was all just so conflicting.

"y/n?"

You were so lost in your thoughts you barely noticed the tightness in your chest or the way your fingernails dug into the skin of your palms, almost drawing blood. You were lost in your memories trying to figure out where it all went wrong.

You were completely overwhelmed. Your entire world was crumbling down around you. It felt like you were drowning with no end in sight.

You yanked your backpack off, then your jacket, gripping the desk in front of you as you tried to figure out how to breathe again.

"y/n?"

She'd never seen you like this before. You were always so strong, so guarded. And yet here you were, looking the most vulnerable she'd ever seen you.

"I- I can’t-" you stumbled over your words, not sure how to form anything coherent with the dizziness in your head and tightness in your chest.

You sat down on the floor, leaning your back against the teacher’s desk as the world spun in front of you.

Tara recognized that look, she'd seen it in Sam countless times before. You were having a panic attack.

"Shit."

She dropped her bag, getting down on the ground next to you, careful not to crowd you in case it only made it worse.

"Hey, you’re good at math, right?"

You looked at her a bit puzzled but nodded nonetheless. What the fuck does math have to do with anything right now?

"Ok, what's six plus four?"

"T-Ten." You wheezed out an answer, still focusing on trying to get your breathing under control.

"Good, now what's nine times three?"

She could tell you were still overwhelmed, not really focused on her at the moment. Your eyes seemed dazed as they darted around the room.

"Hey," She grabbed your hand gently, interlacing your fingers, "focus on me, ok?"

That seemed to work, grabbing your attention, "What's nine times three?"

"...Twenty-seven,"

She was doing her best to stay calm, even if the sight of you hurting was killing her inside. But she'd done this before, she knew what she was doing... well, mostly.

The research she'd done over the years rang out in her head. Stay calm, get them to slow their breathing. Make your own breathing relaxed, keep it slow and even-paced, and theirs will follow suit... Get them to focus on something else for the time being... If things get worse, call for help...

"Good, and what about seven times eight?"

"...Fifty-six,"

"Five times eleven?"

"Fifty-five,"

Now she had your attention. You didn't notice but your breathing had started slowing down and your fists weren't clenched as tight. You were starting to relax a bit.

"Ok, what about forty-five divided by three?"

"Fifteen."

"And sixty divided by five?"

"Twelve,"

"Good," you were finally calm again, mostly anyways, "want me to keep going?"

You were exhausted, you felt a little better, not great, but better. Your head didn't feel like it was going to explode anymore, and your heart wasn't beating out of your chest.

You shook your head no, not wanting to do any more math. You patted the spot next to you, which Tara happily filled, glad to see you weren't hyperventilating anymore.

You closed your eyes and rested your head on her shoulder.

"So, am I officially smarter than a fifth grader?"

She rolled her eyes, not that you could see that, too busy cuddling into her side, "not a chance,"

"Your just jealous I'm better at my times tables than you are,"

She didn't have to look down at you to know you were smirking. But she did anyway, finding it adorable with the way your eyes were still closed and you were leaning into her.

It was almost comical, she thought, looking down at you. The big scary drug dealer with a fuck-around-and-find-out attitude and a deadly glare cuddling into the popular girl who has the personality (and height) of a teddy bear. If anyone else at school saw this, they probably would've thought they were hallucinating.

She scoffed, "that's so not true."

"What's nine times eight?"

There was a moment of silence, in which you couldn't help but smile a little brighter.

"I hate you."

"Seventy-two."

#tara carpenter #tara carpenter x reader #tara carpenter x y/n #tara carpenter x you #tara carpenter x fem!reader #tara carpenter x gn!reader #jenna ortega #void-wolfie

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traumatizeddfox · 2 months

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we seriously need to change the language when it comes to abuse. narc abuse does not exist. abusers can have mental disorders, triggers, or traumas but that does not mean people with the same disorder is abusive.

when i first realized i was abused i fell down the narcissistic abuse tiktok trail, i started to believe the only reason my ex was abusive was because he had NPD (he is diagnosed) but then after more of my own research, and conversations with people who are diagnosed with NPD, I realized that abusers are just abusers, and that a lot of people with this disorder are the ones being abused, ostracized from society and not taken serious.

The thing about abusers is they all share the same brain cell, which is why you can list off 10 things most abusers do and a lot of victims will relate. I get countless anons of victims telling me things their abusers did, and I can usually 8/10 times relate on some kind of level, because abusers, again literally only share one brain cell.

The issue with this is abuse has been almost synonymous with the word "narcissist". The amount of shit you see with "Narc abuse", when it's really just abuse. People making countless posts about "how to spot a narcissist, how to fix the narc", etc and I can guarantee you that not all of these abusers have NPD.

BUT we live in such a world of "what about me", so when people try to break the stigma of NPD, victims assume you're telling them they weren't abused. They mention x y z thing that their abuser did, they bring up their mother who maybe was one and maybe their abuser does have NPD, but then these same people want to scream about mental health awareness. They want to say that "Your disorder is not your story", or that everyone with a disorder deserves love, respect, therapy and help but once anyone with a disorder that isn't socially acceptable, it's as if these people turn a blind eye to anyone with a disorder that isn’t classified as worthy. No one is telling you to respect or love the piece of shit who abused you, hurt you, bullied you. Fuck that, but we HAVE to stop associating abuse with npd. if we want to make a change to mental health and the stigma, we need to do with all disorders.

People make these videos, blogs, books, posts, etc on narcissists like they arent...human. The stigma has turned anyone with cluster B personality disorders into something hideous, when really, most of these people are born this way, or deep rooted trauma. BUT when people hear this, they think its giving an excuse. No one is telling you that you have to love ur abuser who might be a narcissist, or that mental disorders = pass. No. Your abuser can have NPD, OCD, depression, etc and be a completely terrible person, and no one is giving them a pass. (Maybe some might but thats a completely different story.) but to just assume NPD = abuser and abuser = npd, is incredibly ableist, but people aren't ready for that one.

The way people talk about people with NPD like they are monsters, and ghouls waiting in the dark corners of the street, waiting to snatch their next victim (who they always describe as being an empath because these people think having empathy = being a good person, when most people aren't even empaths.) They like to romanticize their abuse as well. Talking about how narcissists spot victims who are so "kind, loving, wonderful, special." They try to make it this thing that it's not. Abusers do not abuse you because you are special. they abuse you because they are abusers. Your abuser is a piece of shit who deserves to die because they are an abuser. not because they have a disorder.

period.

#actuallytraumatized #ventcore #actuallymentallyill #traumacore #ok to rb #trauma #actuallyabused #npd safe #npd positivity #narc abuse #narcissists #narcassistic personality disorder

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matan4il · 5 months

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To the Nonnie who sent me the four anti-Israel Twitter users with blue checks, with claims to being "journalists" or similar titles... You're very right. I looked into them, and they are Assad apologists. They're literally ignoring the murder of hundreds of thousands of people by Assad's regime, including countless Palestinians who were living in Syria, while supposedly being against genocide and for Palestinians.

I didn't see something about Andrew Tate, but I didn't dig too far back, and I do believe that women who can post the following would side with a man charged with rape and human trafficking:

IDK if they're being quoted here, on Tumblr? If they are, I haven't seen that. At least not since Oct 7.

I guess the bigger issue is that when people on Tumblr see a post meant to trigger righteous rage, they don't check the source. Especially if they think they already know who the side in the wrong is, based on popular Tumblr opinion. So people automatically reblog and help spread these hateful, antisemitic massacre apologists.

Then again, the whole world is reporting Hamas' numbers on how many people have died in Gaza, how many of them were civilians, how many kids... Don't get me wrong, many people died in Gaza, and when Hamas uses civilians as human shields, many of the victims would be civilians indeed, kids included. But:

Hamas is motivated to inflate the number of fatalities

Hamas is motivated to inflate the number of civilians killed

Hamas is motivated to inflate the number of kids killed

And of course Hamas doesn't allow into Gaza any organization that can verify its stated numbers. Hamas has a complete monopoly on access to the areas affected in Gaza, and therefore on the "truth" that you get from there

Hamas has not reported a single terrorists from among the victims, they're all reported together, as if they're all civilians

Over 10% of rockets fired from Gaza at Israel are known to fail, fall inside Gaza and kill Palestinians, but Hamas doesn't report how many of the fatalities were people killed by Palestinian rockets, they're all reported together as if they were all killed by Israel

Terror tunnels built by Hamas have been well documented (there are reportedly over 1,300 such tunnels in Gaza), some sink holes that killed Palestinians are clearly the result of Hamas deliberately building those tunnels under civilian residential areas, but Hamas won't report its culpability for those deaths

There's new footage emerging from Gaza, showing people who tried to evacuate from the north, and who had been slaughtered by Hamas. You can be sure that these fatalities aren't being reported by Hamas either, so the world will be led to believe that these people were killed by Israel, too

(I'm not sharing the footage, because... it's graphic. And just like the Israelis murdered by Hamas deserve their dignity, so do the Palestinians killed by Hamas, but here you can listen to a subtitled conversation, where a Gazan says Hamas is shooting people who are trying to evacuate)

While we're on the subject of Hamas and its lack of reliability, today Hamas used a humanitarian window provided by the IDF to attack. Please remember this when Israelis point out that Hamas has broken every ceasefire ever. Including the one that existed on Oct 6.

If respectable journalists were more vocal about questioning Hamas and the numbers it reports (not to mentions their breakdown), then maybe people online would be a bit more critical, too.

I hope you're taking care of yourself, and you're not drowning in the biased material of these hate driven people! xoxox

(for all of my updates and ask replies regarding Israel, click here)

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rinbowaman · 6 days

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₵Ⱨ₳₱₮ɆⱤ Ɇł₲Ⱨ₮ : PLAYMATE

Series: The Otherside

Warnings: mentions of suicidal ideations, kidnapping, hostage, mentions of cannibalism, yandere theme, toxic love, abuse of authority in a relationship, hints of non-con sexual acts, threats, mentions of murder, corruption, I think that’s it. This series is one of gore and terrible acts so read at your own will. Despite what you’ve read so far, the story is going to get better. Not proofread, sorry. Trying to get this story finished so I can get to work on all the asks/requests in my inbox ❤️

Note: This is all in the POV of Sunghoons y/n. Jake’s y/n is labeled as ‘h/n’ (her name). As explained before at the start of the series, the story features three different y/n’s. In certain POV’s of a y/n, the other two y/n’s will be labeled as h/n. I hope this is not confusing anyone lol.

“You two play nicely.”

Jake presents softly and in a laconic sense as he sits across from Sunghoon, both enjoying the view of you and the lonesome girl across.

It had been months since you found yourself isolated by the deranged man, the one who calls you his ‘darling’ and dressed you in pastel lace and chiffon. Despite knowing his monstrous tendencies of eating human flesh, he never carried out the act of consuming his meals in front of you. At least you could be thankful for that. The thought still terrifies you and since he had kept you imprisoned in the luxury and comfort of his hollow home, you’ve been nothing but disgusted and terrified. Ever since your entrapment you experienced the worst nightmares and never could rekindle the feeling of uninterrupted sleep. It was bad enough that you had trouble doing it, but once you finally drifted off through your hourly sobs, you’d find yourself waking only after one hour of rest. It was, next to everything that happened that night with the cult and your capture, the worst feeling possible. You couldn’t lie to yourself, you’ve prayed that you would fall asleep and never wake back up. This was all complete torture. You’ve tried to escape countless times but it was impossible to do without knowing the code to operate the elevator.

You wondered how your family was dealing with all of this. Since he sealed your knowledge of the world behind these windows, all by eradicating any source that dispelled information such as the news, social media, and even disposing of your phone, you would have no way of knowing the ongoing police search conducted in your name. It would break your heart even more so had you find out that they called off the search after the third month since your disappearance, and no longer actively searched for (Y/n L/n).

You can’t count how many times you’ve cried and felt despair, to the point where you thought of just ending it all. But he made sure that everything possible that would motivate or trigger you to act out on a moment of courage, was all locked away. Not that it would matter, the man kept you under his eye like a hawk, and the only moment of privacy you had was in the shared bedroom when he would tuck you in, and twist the key that secured the lock of the ankle bracelet attached to the bedpost. It confused you greatly, to see a man so sick and infested with demons, enough to crave human flesh, and yet every waking minute of your continued existence, he praised you. He expresses it so oftenly; how much he adores you, loves you, that he keeps you because he wants to be the one to care for you. He tells you that the world is ugly, non-sensible, and filled with distrustful idiots that would choose to do you harm, and reminds you of it through the example of how he met you.

He never told you of how he felt that night. At first, it was a moment of pity that caused him to stab his way through living flesh to ease your fears as he witnessed offhand of what was about to happen. Yet, when he realized that you discovered his digging of corpses to feed his cravings, his intentions changed, and he knew he couldn’t take the risk of leaving you to drag the police and find clues at the gravesite. A single strand of hair would lead the authorities to his door, and despite having a powerful hold on the police department, all thanks to his father, only a certain circle of them could ever know of his secret, thus covering up his tracks and ensuring that they were the only ones assigned to any case that he was ultimately responsible for.

He took you in, not exactly knowing what to do with you. But something started to grow inside. It all started when he saw your diligence in displaying such devoted obedience when he witnessed your struggle in placing the blindfold over your eyes. You were so trusting. For all you know, he could have deceived and finished you off, yet you carried out his demand without even so much as questioning him. The first one to ever place such trust in him, aside from his two friends. It was something Sunghoon wasn’t used to, but grew fond of the feeling of something so feminine and delicate to rely on him. You never strive to be considered lovely or gorgeous, but in his eyes, you were life and breath. When you got caught red handed trying to make your first escape, but was stuck at the elevator, he melted at the sight of your adorable wide eyes. How cute. You were so helpless, so frightened, but you still obeyed. Through your waterfall tears, you still were his good little girl and did what he told you. You did it out of fear for your own life, after seeing his capability, you figured you couldn’t put anything past him. And there was a part of him that knew that but there was a part of him that felt something deeper. As much as you would hate to admit, you are the one that inadvertently sealed your fate.

He did everything to make you comfortable, aside from having his meals in his private lounge after he tucked you into bed. He fed you the finest foods, never once forcing his sickness on to you. After all, he necessarily ever wanted to be sick in the first place, had he been given the choice, he would love to be one that developed a palate for food, the kind that everyone else enjoyed. The pressures of his fathers greed and lust is what turned him at such an early age. Since his old man controlled the city as a major political figure, it authorized destruction in Sunghoon’s emotions and mentality. He’d never forget when his father had committed his first murder, it was his opponent after the election. When his father realized he wasn’t going to win the election fairly, he ensured he was going to do so through dishonorable matters. Sunghoon was only six at the time, yet at such a tender age, he knew of his fathers corruption. Then again, the man never did much to cover it up, even in front of his only son. In fact, as he grew, it nearly seemed that his father enjoyed flaring his dirty deeds. Does anyone have a clue how it felt to be a child growing up with a murderous and selfish father? No…no one knows of his pain. Not even you. Although some day, when the time is right and you are ready, he knows that he will be able to confide in you of where his evils stemmed from. For now, it’s okay for you to think of him as a monster, so long as you stay.

You hands grip the excess material of the fluffed skirt and its laced edge. No one could ever understand how much pain you were in. You present a side eye and view the two men across the room. Quickly, you retract your sights back to the young girl before you as soon as you see Sunghoon staring. He’s always staring.

As the two enjoyed their drinks in their velvet seats, you and the other girl were displayed in front of a large painting, portrayed like small dolls at a small tea table with fine finger foods. This girl, h/n, looked to be as miserable as you. A quick glance over to the one who brought her in, the one named Jake, who Sunghoon explained was a close friend, made it easy to figure out why the girl was uneasy. Like Sunghoon, the man's eyes feasted her. He wasn’t just watching over her—no. Those eyes of his, he was desiring her just as Sunghoon desired you.

You whispered quietly and softly as you topped her tea cup. “How long?”

H/n lifts her head with glazed eyes. She looked at you sympathetically and helplessly. “How long since he took you?”

Noting that the two men were caught up in their little side conversation, h/n dips her finger into the small container of fruit preserves. On her plate, she spells out her answer before scooting it over. Six months.

Your heart sank as you felt the rage of fresh tears forming in your eyes, but withheld the urge to sob, after all, he liked seeing you cry. He constantly claimed that he will forever be responsible for your happiness, pain, and your future.

You leaned in, grabbing the Madeleine cookies off the tray as a way to communicate with her. “Is there anyway for you to escape?”

She shakes her head shamefully. “I tried…he’s made it impossible for me to leave.”

She quickly looks over to ensure that his attention was still towards Sunghoon. “If I do it again…he’ll catch me. I can’t take any more punishment.”

You raise a brow in confusion as you force her to elaborate. “Punishment?”

She nods urgently while the tears escape and drip down her face. “For breaking his rules.”

An electrifying shiver jolts up your spine. Rules?

“What type of punishment?”

She looks at you with pleading eyes. She shakes her head, signaling that she could not speak of it, or maybe she didn’t want to. You nod subtly as you shift your hand over hers, grabbing hold of it to comfort her. “I understand.”

H/n returns the handheld embrace before asking you a question that brought you back to a harrowing memory, one that you’ve tried to forget. “Has he…has Sunghoon…”

She couldn’t find it in her heart to finish her question, but the shift of her eyes traveling to the bedroom door and right back to you was all that was needed for you to understand where she was going with it. You release a deep breath. “Not all the way…not yet.”

You wanted to cry. After the first couple of weeks in being held against your will, Sunghoon inched his way to become closer to you, against your wishes.

It produced countless nights where you screamed and cried, pushing him away whenever he felt bold enough to kiss you. He forced you in his arms and embraced you lovingly, but you were disgusted by the scent of blood on his hands. No matter how many times he lathered them with soap and rinsed away his sins, you could still smell it. It was enough to make you vomit. Your mind races to the night when he laid atop your body, inhaling your kisses as his filthy hands traveled up and down your torso. You shuddered at the memory of it.

When he placed his hand under your nightgown and reached for your panties, you grew desperate and mistakenly revealed your vulnerable truth. “Stop! Please don’t do this! I’m a virgin!”

His eyes widened while his grin grew wide. You really are so pure.

He grew ecstatic, and lavished you with kisses as he remarked how you both were meant to be. Using your virginity as proof that he was the one who was fated to take it away. ‘You’re mine. Don’t worry, I’ll make sure we do it the right way.’

You snap back into reality and look into h/n’s eyes. “Not yet. He is going to make me marry him…”

Releasing a single tear, you gulp and bit down on your lip, finding strength within yourself. Keeping a composed face, your tears travel down, creating a feature of contradiction exposure. “He’s going to make me marry him, and then he is going to take everything away from me.”

H/n shakes her head as her brows furrow sympathetically. “He already has.”

More tears spewed as you faintly nod. Squinting your eyes, you keep in your whimpers. She was right. He already has taken everything. Sealing your existence away from society, taking you away from your family and friends, and forcing you to live in a tower filled with corpses…yeah, he already has taken everything away from you.

“Has…Jake?”

H/n shakes her head in relief, though you could see there were some reservations. “He’s done awful things…he treats me like a toy, but says he wants to take things step by step, and do it differently than how he used to do it.”

You issue a confused look. “Differently?”

H/n stares into your eyes. A stoic look graces her face as she whispers. “Then how he usually did it with other girls….he says that unlike them, I have meaning.”

“Them?”

She breathes out. “The other girls…Jake used to—“

“H/n, baby girl. Time for us to go, say goodbye to y/n.”

You both snap your heads up as Jake’s voice startles you. You watched as h/n quickly wipes away her tears and stares back down to the tiles floor. Nodding her head, she grips the edge of her denim miniskirt and stands. “What do you say, darling?”

That pet name….

“Thank you for having us. Let’s play again soon, y/n.”

You bite down on your tongue. This was all so sick. A sentimental urge ruptured within you and you quickly stood and grabbed onto h/n’a hand. Seeing your eyes, she returns the hold as you both scream and cry, yearning for each other's comfort as you share the same pain. You knew that Sunghoon would be displeased by your action, much less Jake with h/n, but it didn’t matter. You both did not care, even when they pulled you by the waist as they pry you apart. You fell apart and drop to the floor as Sunghoon gripped your hair while Jake drags H/n away. Her constant cries of your name echoes through the hall, when suddenly it all stops the moment he gets her through the front door. “H/n?…h/n?!”

Kneeling down, Sunghoon tightens his grip on your locks while pulling your head slightly back. Forcing you to face him, you gasp out frightfully as you witness the look of malice in his eyes. They were wide, his pupils shrink, causing him to look psychotic; it was enough to make you heed his warning.

“Don’t ever…EVER, do that again. Understand?”

You nod.

“You belong to me. The only name you will scream out is mine. Don’t test me. I love you, and if I have to make you understand that love, I will.”

“I-I-understand.” You struggle out your words as you felt his grip fisting your strands, growing tighter as you feel the harsh sting of the pull. Wincing in pain, his eyes begin to soften. Placing a kiss to your lips, you pin them shut, refusing to let him enter. He pulls back, all the while keeping his hold on you. “Kiss me. If you wanna keep your mouth shut, I can find another way to get inside you.”

His fangs exposed though the slick grin as he spoke out his poisonous words. Your eyes widen with fear and shock. You knew better than to call his bluff, he would do it, married or not. As he stated before, the act of marriage was a courtesy in your honor, should you give him a reason to not abide by it, he wouldn’t hesitate to take you in an instant.

Maybe you should be grateful.

Taglist: @nshmrarki , @lprww , @baekxo07 , @m7omo@nikstrange@heeshees@moonmoongi@heesitation@heeseung-min @nctsslut @heeseung-min @addictedtohobi @strxwbloody

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writingpei · 1 year

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wicked games - lee minho

pairing: lee minho x f!reader genre: academic rivals to lovers cw: curse words, parental abuse and neglect, unhealthy relationship with studying, bullying, minho is a dick sometimes summary: park y/n thinks lee minho is an idiot (regardless of how many 100% scores he scored on countless tests, how many of his papers were praised by professors, and how many ugly academic olympic trophies he won), but she can't quite remember who she was before he came along to be the bane of her fucking existence. when the two go head-to-head for a scholarship to her dream college, all hell breaks loose at haneul high school. ⋘ 𝑙𝑜𝑎𝑑𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑑𝑎𝑡𝑎… ⋙

￫ chapter one: destiny works in mysterious ways (wc: 4.3k)

↳ eventful timeline of terror that marked unpleasant but fundamental moments for the comprehension of the relationship between y/n and minho, its apex in the current moment in which the story takes place, the unpredictable senior year of high school

￫ chapter two: off to the races (wc: 3k)

↳ the proposal of a scholarship won through a competition is rubbed in the students' faces by the school and park y/n and lee minho can't be expected not to fly at each other's throats in the process of trying to win over one another

￫ chapter three: hit you harder (wc: 4.5k)

↳ being forced to pair up with minho in the chem lab makes for an unpleasant start to y/n's morning, but the strange blonde boy who awaits her at his knees at the end of the class makes an interesting turn of events

￫ chapter four: rumour has it (wc: 4k)

↳ rumors between y/n and hyunjin fly loose through the halls of haneul high school, and when they reach minho's ears, who knows what it might do to him

￫ chapter five: roses are fine, but i like the harder stuff (wc: 3.2k)

↳ how could minho prefer anything his money could buy over the blind hatred she felt for him?

￫ chapter six: color me green (wc: 2.6k)

↳ when school's valentine's day arrives, very little can spoil minho's good mood, especially when he finally finds out who the hwang hyunjin guy is… not that he cares anyway

￫ chapter seven: action and reaction (wc: 2.1k)

↳ when the stars start to drip from the sky, minho sees himself having to do the thing he hates the most in the world: go home

￫ chapter eight: i'll be your mirror (wc: 2.6k)

↳ triggered by the weight of his home, minho runs to the one who is always there for him; a deep dive into the friendship between him and yongbok

￫ chapter nine: welcome to the jungle (wc: 2.7k)

↳ the running for school's student council president is happening, which can only mean one thing... they want to kill each other (again)

￫ chapter ten: detention (wc: 2k)

↳ minho did something bad, but his name not being said on stage and the round of applause not being meant for him makes it all worth it

￫ chapter eleven: savior complex (wc: 2.4k)

↳ "the way to hell is paved with good intentions", but does that saying extend to the complexion of hwang hyunjin or does it stop only for him?

￫ chapter twelve: i'm looking through you (wc: 2.5k)

↳ yongbok started to plant a seed inside minho's head to try and make him realize what his feelings really mean, but he's almost figuring it out on his own

￫ chapter thirteen: feels like we only go backwards (wc: 3.5k)

↳ the hostility between minho and y/n is too much to bear even by the people around them, that’s why throwing them in a small room and locking them up together seemed like a good idea at a first glance

￫ chapter fourteen: i still don’t know where everything went (wc: 5.2k)

↳ something is going on inside minho but he can’t quite put his finger on it. the school’s basketball game, however, can only make his confusion worse

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autumnmobile12 · 9 months

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About the Infant Skull in the Belmont Hold

Trigger Warning: Sensitive topics below.

In a post I made last year, I pointed out the small skull in this display is case belongs to a baby.

The 'crack' down the center of the forehead is a frontal suture which closes between the ages of three to nine months, and to showcase the fact it's not just a cracked bone, the animators included a fontanelle between the bony plates of the skull, which closes before the age of two.

There is the skull of an infant in the Belmont Hold.

So what's the story here?

Theory 1: The Skull is a Vampire

This could have been a human baby that was turned by a vampire for whatever reason. Maybe this was some vampire's twisted idea of a pet. Maybe it was a horrifying, psychological trauma where a human woman lost her baby and after becoming a vampire, turned an infant into a vampire so as to never experience that pain again whilst tragically blind to the fact an immortal infant would never grow up.

If either of these were the case, whichever Belmont found this child could have viewed his or her death as a mercy. Since the baby would be immortal, it would be impractical to keep it alive forever, not to mention almost cruel because what kind of life is that? And it would be equally inhumane to leave the vampire to starve to death, so the options are limited.

The skull was brought home not as a trophy but as a specimen to study and serve as a grim reminder of a harsh reality.

...

Theory 2: The Skull is a Dhampir

Carmilla's above comment gives me the vague impression that it's not unheard of for a vampire to have a child with a human and then turn the human into a vampire, creating a family unit. (Just the way she says it. Like the unspoken line was, "You married a human, you succeeded in getting a child off her, so she was free to become a vampire after, no?" Turning Lisa after Adrian was born was the next natural step in her mind, so it baffles Carmilla why Dracula's wife remained human.) So maybe dhampirs are uncommon, but Alucard is far from the first one to ever exist.

So if the skull belonged to a dhampir like Alucard, this opens up another set of possibilities, but before I go into those, I want to address the Belmont Clan's potential view towards vampires and human-vampire hybrids. It's not clear if Alucard needs human blood to survive. He eats human food, but so do the vampires. Lenore comments they get their essential nutrients from blood, but whether or not this also pertains to dhampirs is up for debate. In the Gresit Underground Keep scene, it does look like he had some form of blood transfusion system possibly sustaining him, but this could arguably be a life and death situation. As in, he doesn't need blood to survive, but it can also save his life if need be.

There's also the possibility the blood-drinking is not the same across the board. (Say Alucard doesn't need blood to survive, but another dhampir was saddled with the shitty genetics that make blood a requirement.)

For the Belmonts, I can see dhampirs being a controversial subject. From Leon to Trevor's time, there are four centuries and countless individuals with their own set of similar but unique values and opinions, so it would be understandable for various Belmonts to have points of contention as well as shifts in viewpoint down the generations as new information about the enemy comes to light. Some members might have the stance of, "Dhampirs do not need blood to survive, are not a threat to humanity, and therefore it is unnecessary to hunt and kill them," while others may have taken the more extreme stance of, "Dhampirs are unnatural creatures that do not belong in this world any more than vampires do." Without the precedent of Alucard and Trevor having a common enemy, there would be nothing to sway the entire family one way or the other.

So if this is the case, the skull could have come from a vampire family similar to Dracula, Lisa, and Alucard's, and that family could have been discovered by a Belmont who made the decision to eradicate the them, including the dhampir for whichever reason:

The existence of dhampirs hadn't been discovered/confirmed yet, so the infant was assumed to be a vampire and it was viewed as a mercy killing out of ignorance. (Remember, Trevor thought Alucard was a vampire when they first met, so there is no visual difference between the two species.)

Dhampirs are assumed by the Belmonts to need blood to survive and are therefore a predator to humans that needs to be put down, again out of ignorance or just plain malice.

This particular Belmont was a heartless psychopath who had no qualms killing an innocent baby just for existing.

...

Theory 3: It's a Dhampir and the Belmonts Have a Really Fucked Up History With Dhampirs

There is also the possibility the mother of the dhampir child was a human woman that was raped and impregnated by a vampire. (Surviving somehow...?) In this scenario, there is a woman terrified by the idea she is about to birth a monster and goes to the local vampire experts for help. The Belmonts take her in until she delivers this unwanted child and the fate of the baby dhampir is entirely in their hands, which brings us back to the mentioned controversy among the family members.

If the mother abandons her 'monster' child, the Belmonts are left which the choice, "Do we kill it before it grows up to kill someone or do we give it a chance and let it live?"

Another possibility is the dhampir was brought up within the household for the purposes of 'studying' or 'rehabilitating' its nature. Say the family discovers dhampirs don't need to subsist on human blood and are relieved. "Wonderful. Dhampirs can live as humans and there is no need to kill them." The dhampir grows up happily among his or her adopted human family.

But then there is a tragic accident where he or she doesn't know their own strength and fatally harms a family member. The Belmonts then make the decision: Lock them up or execute them as a monster.

Based on this precedent, the family then closes off the idea that dhampirs can live as normal humans forever and they subsequently commit infanticide against any future dhampir children that cross their path, a blanket decision based entirely on a one-time misfortune.

Theory 4: The Belmonts Were Not the Cause

This again calls into question how dhampir physiology works, but maybe the infant died of an illness of failure to thrive. Alucard is strong and healthy, but that may not be same for other dhampirs, especially ones that may have been rejected as a 'freak' by both humans and vampires. He had the advantage of having a loving family and a safe environment in which to grow up. Other dhampirs might not have had the same good fortune and their health suffered for it. (Or they got dealt a bad hand in the gene pool.)

As for how the skull wound up in the Hold, it could have been one of the 'weird stuff' the Belmonts found and brought back home with them.

This could also apply to a situation where a vampire killed a rival family and kept their skulls as trophies, and the collection simply wound up in the Belmonts' treasury after destroying said vampire.

"It's like a museum dedicated to the extermination of my people, so no. Not thrilled."

Whatever the truth of the skull, I'm inclined to believe Theories 2 or 3 because this scene struck me as a very subtle nod to how no side in a war is completely innocent. On the one hand, vampires like Carmilla, Cho, Godbrand, etc. hunt and toy with humans for sport and view them as lesser beings, and so the Belmonts seeking to eliminate them would be an understandable measure to protect humanity.

On the other hand, the presence of the infant skull indicates a tragic and bloody history of poor choices, old prejudices, potential atrocities committed by the 'heroes,’ and generational trauma. A past history even Trevor isn't particularly proud of for all the pride he has in his lineage. It really showcases the line between man and monster and aligns with the recurrent theme of 'we can be better than this' that occurs throughout the series.

But let me know if you've got any theories/headcanons different from what I have listed above. I'd love to hear it. Crediting Theory 4 to @thetvpenigma. Thanks for your help!

#castlevania #alucard tepes #trevor belmont #vampire skulls #belmont hold #dhampir #questionable history #medieval prejudices #belmont family #castlevania netflix #vampire hunters #skull anatomy #dhampir physiology #speculation #castlevania headcanons #httyd

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the-lonelybarricade · 5 months

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Take My Hand, Wreck My Plans - Chapter 2

Summary: Fresh after her third, and final, breakup with Tamlin, Feyre decides a one night stand is exactly what she needs to get him out of her system. Except, her one night stand with a violet-eyed stranger ends up being far more than she bargained for.

Or; the one where Feysand gets knocked up from a one night stand.

Read on AO3 ・Masterlist・Previous Chapter

Feyre couldn’t look at her phone. Not without feeling nauseated.

There had been many—countless, Nesta would argue—idiotic, brainless things that Feyre had done in her life. There was the time she’d left her passport locked in a hostel safe and had driven three hours on the motorway before she’d realized. There was the time when she’d snuck one of the bottles of vodka her father used to keep stored in the freezer and decided she’d get away with it by replenishing what was consumed with water, only for their father to discover a frozen bottle the following evening. Or, worst of all, there was the summer she’d given herself bangs.

They were all inconsequential in retrospect, now knowing how each of those little mistakes panned out. But at the time, they had felt world-ending.

And maybe there was a solace to find in how trivial those moments felt in reflection. Like one day in the future, Feyre would look back on herself now and laugh softly, saying, Remember how scared I was? I thought the world was coming down around me, but it was only just a new path forging.

That was a nice idea, except this new path was not solid stone, steady underfoot. Nor was it gravel, rough and uneven, easy to slip and unforgiving beneath a fall. No, this new path was quicksand. There was no standing still; there was no scraping together her bearings. This path decided that she was moving one way or another—either sinking to the bottom, suffocating in her own indecision, or scrambling forward in an attempt to keep her head above the surface.

And maybe there wasn’t a way forward at all. Maybe there was only going down, like she was trapped in a sand dial, feeling the ground shift and fall away, every ticking second measured. It certainly felt like there was glass sealed behind her—she knew there was no going back. There was no undoing the purple eyes and velvet laugh and stupid black dress.

Would she one day laugh about this? Who was to say. She wasn’t laughing now. She was fighting the bile creeping up her throat as she sat on the cool tile of her bathroom floor, glaring at the porcelain bowl because it was better than glaring at her phone. Feyre couldn’t say for certain if it was morning sickness that had triggered her nausea or the text that had woken her up.

Feeling better?

Feyre was running out of excuses. A stomach bug only lasts for so long. It was becoming a matter of time before someone busted down her door and demanded she go to the emergency room.

Yes, she texted back.

The response was immediate. I have the day off. Breakfast at 10?

Sure.

It was an effort to heft herself from the floor. It was more of an effort not to grimace when she saw her reflection in the mirror. She fixed her eyes on the faucet, on her shaking hands cupping the water, scooping it into her face, and then into her mouth to rinse out the bile.

She didn’t look that different, not really. There was no pregnancy bump yet. If anything, she’d lost weight. Nausea could do that, but so could guilt. Six weeks ago, she’d had sex with a stranger, with Rhysand, and now there was a life growing in her stomach.

Google said a baby was roughly the size of a pea at six weeks. If that was true, then the weight of keeping this secret made it the heaviest gods-damned pea in existence.

“Have you told him?” Alis said in greeting as Feyre ambled into the kitchen.

Steam curled from the mug in her hands, carrying the scent of freshly roasted coffee. Feyre resisted the urge to cover her nose.

“No,” she said, evading her roommate in a wide arc.

Alis arched a brow. “Will you tell him?”

The bitter smell was so affronting that Feyre could think of little else. A gag built in her throat, which she did a poor job of hiding by darting for the fridge. It was the empty stomach. She needed to eat something, or she was going to puke again.

Feyre settled for an apple and took a long time chewing before she turned back to Alis. She swallowed. “Eventually.”

“The longer you wait—”

“I know,” Feyre interrupted.

Of course she knew. It was all she’d been thinking about. But how? How did she look him in the eyes and say, I’m pregnant? She couldn’t even do it in the mirror—and she’d tried. There were a thousand versions of the script she was constantly writing and rewriting in her head, all those words swirling until they had become a living creature of mist and shadow. One that loomed over her shoulder at all times of the day. She’d somehow convinced herself it would only become real if she acknowledged it.

Alis said little else. She was the only one who knew, by virtue of being on the other side of the door when Feyre had taken her pregnancy test. Though, Alis wasn’t dense, and it wouldn’t have taken her long to peg the morning nausea, the aversion to certain foods. They didn’t say much about it. Not yet. Alis had only offered her unilateral support and given Feyre time and space to dissect her maelstrom of emotions.

And three days ago, when Feyre decided she was going to keep the baby, Alis had said simply, “Then you need to tell him.”

A firm, unwavering reminder she’d repeated each day since. Feyre clenched her teeth to keep from snapping. She knew that, in her own way, Alis was being kind. Time would only exacerbate the issue. But objectivity did little quell Feyre’s kindling irritation. Words bubbled behind her clenched teeth, building into a pressure that made her want to scream: no-fucking-duh.

She didn’t scream. She politely took her apple and her keys and murmured that she would be back soon. Maybe she could have shut the front door with less force, but at least now she could blame her Archeron temper on her hormones.

Feyre rapped her knuckles over the steering wheel. She was parked outside the cafe, and through the large glass pane at the front, she could spot him sitting inside. His posture seemed relaxed enough, his handsome face angled down towards his phone. A second later, hers pinged from its mount on the dashboard.

I’m here. Are you close?

She met her own eyes in the rearview mirror. Blue, like an overcast sea, their mother had always said, reasoning it was why her eldest and youngest were such forces of nature. There was a swelling storm that Feyre could never escape, because it lived inside her. And now she could feel the tide in her chest retreating from the shore, pulling further and further back, and she knew it would crash if she went inside, that it would swallow them both whole.

Be a big girl, she told herself. Go in there and tell him the truth.

She took a deep inhale. Held it, hoping it could hold back the tide, too.

Then, it was only a matter of unlocking her door. Walking the few steps towards the front entrance. Listening to the pealing bell as she pulled open the door.

“Feyre?”

Blonde hair swam into view. The greeting was so unexpected, so startling, that Feyre released the breath she’d been holding.

Then it all crashed down.

Brows pinched together. “Feyre, are you okay?”

Mor had the sense to keep her voice at a whisper. From the way she glanced over her shoulder towards the man hunched over in the booth, it was clear she had put together who Feyre was here to see.

Tears sprung into Feyre’s vision—not because she was crying, but because she couldn’t breathe. The tide was surging around her, clogging her throat, and she couldn’t breathe, she couldn’t breathe, she couldn’t—

Mor grabbed Feyre by the shoulders and pushed them out of the cafe.

The early Autumn was as indecisive as Feyre. Yesterday, she’d been sweating through her t-shirt. Today, the air stung her cheeks. Maybe the weather had seen a kindred spirit, a storm that could never quite find stillness, and decided to take pity. The cold calmed her, embraced her, reminded her where she was. Outside. With Mor. Where there was plenty of open space and fresh air. The blockage in her throat loosened. She took a gasping breath, then another.

“You’re okay,” Mor soothed.

“I’m okay,” Feryre repeated. To assure Mor or herself, she wasn’t certain.

Mor took in Feyre’s strained voice, her flushed cheeks, the nails digging into her palms and gestured towards one of the outdoor tables. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Maybe… maybe a trial run could be a good thing.

Her eyes drifted over Mor’s shoulder to where Tamlin sat waiting at a table inside. If she glanced at her phone, she probably had another text waiting from him. Growing impatient.

“He can wait,” Mor said, not unkindly.

“Yeah,” Feyre rasped. “Talking would be… nice.”

It was a little too cold for the iron chairs, which seared through Feyre’s leggings. But the cold calmed her, and she appreciated the privacy. The lack of sounds and smells.

Mor was ever-patient, waiting for Feyre to speak.

When it was clear that she wouldn’t, Mor said, “How have you been? That was some night out, huh?”

Right. That was the last time she’d seen or spoken to Mor. Feyre had been meaning to respond to her text—Heyy! Fun night? 😏

And the follow-up one a day later. My cousin is asking for your phone number. Is it okay if I share it?

They’d both seem innocent enough and at first, Feyre hadn’t answered because she’d felt a twinge of guilt for not staying long enough to meet Mor’s cousin. Then, because Tamlin had showed up at her door with a bouquet of apologies and she hadn’t known how to explain to her friend that she’d taken him back. Nor how to explain to Tamlin that she’d had a one night stand during their breakup.

Then she’d found out she was pregnant, and she hadn’t said much of anything to anyone.

“Yeah,” Feyre said, numbness growing where her legs pressed to the chair.

“And now you’re back with Tamlin,” Mor said slowly, waiting for Feyre to fill in the gaps.

The iron latticework of the outdoor table was much more interesting.

Mor sounded disappointed as she probed, “You said it was the last time you guys were breaking up.”

Feyre mustered all the cheer she could force into her voice. “It was the last time. We’re not going to break up again.”

She’d felt much more confident about that line when she’d said it three weeks ago to a disapproving Alis. Already, Feyre could feel that creature slither over her shoulder, hissing into her ear. If she turned, its pupils would be slitted into two digital lines that begged her acknowledgment.

“Right,” Mor said. “And yet, you came into this cafe looking like you were about to burst into tears because…?”

“Because I’m pregnant,” Feyre blurted.

And there it was. That creature turned real. She felt it reach through her chest and tug. Suddenly, all of that sea water she’d swallowed a moment ago came rising to the surface, and her body regurgitated the words that had been drowning her.

“It’s not Tamlin’s. It’s… remember the guy I met at the club? The one with the purple eyes? It was supposed to be this stupid, drunken one night stand, only first names—I don’t even have his number, Mor. I have some nameless, mysterious baby daddy, and I haven’t told Tamlin because I know he’s going to be…” she blinked back the sting in her eyes. “He’s going to be so furious with me.”

Mor was gaping. Whatever she’d expected… it clearly hadn’t been that.

Waiting for her friend’s reaction felt like treading water in a deep, bottomless ocean. But at least she wasn’t drowning anymore. At least the creature had receded back into the shadows, and her breathing was shallow but still filling her lungs.

Then Mor’s eyes flickered over Feyre’s shoulder. Her expression morphed into such panic that Feyre whirled, only to be met face to face with those shocking purple eyes so wide that she could only assume he’d heard the whole damn thing.

“Feyre,” Mor croaked from behind.

But Feyre couldn’t tear her eyes away from Rhys. In the time since their one night stand, Feyre convinced herself she’d exaggerated his appearance. Three shots of tequila could make anyone beautiful. But here she was, stone-cold sober, fighting her jaw not to drop at the sight of him.

The same short black hair she tugged beneath her fingers was now slightly wind-swept, some of it falling to his face in endearing curls that she concluded were purposefully arranged. He was wearing a navy sweater with a white collared shirt beneath—infuriatingly put together, where she was still sniffing back tears, dressed in her same paint-stained clothes from yesterday.

She’d prepared scripts for him, too, though she always imagined he was someone she would take years to track down. That she’d have time to prepare what to say to him, how to move forward knowing their lives were irrevocably entwined.

“Feyre,” Mor said again after awkwardly clearing her throat. “Meet my cousin, Rhysand.”

Cousin. The one who wanted her number.

“Oh,” Feyre whispered, so many horrible details clicking into place.

Rhysand mustered enough composure to manage a strained: “It’s great to see you again, Feyre.”

Feyre dropped her head into her hands. “Oh my god.”

A chair scraped against the pavement.

Mor said, “I’ll give you two a moment alone.”

She peaked between her fingers, just enough to watch Mor retreat towards the cafe. Likely playing guard dog to ensure Tamlin didn’t stumble upon them. She heard Rhys walk around the table, his footsteps light, as if he were approaching an animal he didn’t want to startle. Then, a pair of broad hands swam into vision as he gripped the back of Mor’s deserted chair, his brown knuckles paling.

He didn’t sit. She could feel his gaze like a leaden weight, so heavy that she couldn’t gather the strength to raise her head.

“When did you find out?” He asked eventually.

Feyre searched for any accusation in his voice, but it was gentle. She lifted her head, finding that some of his shock had thawed, though his expression was unreadable.

“A week ago,” she said.

“Have you…” He rubbed a hand through his hair. “Do you know what you want to do?”

This is where she braced herself. She knew her voice was creeping towards defensive as she said levelly, “I’m keeping the baby.”

Rhysand swallowed thickly. Nodded. “Okay.”

Okay. That knocked her a bit off guard. The lack of questions, of demand for her justification. She’d been preparing for a fight with Tamlin and felt stranded in the face of such simple, ready acceptance. It had to be a trap.

“It was my decision,” Feyre said, plowing ahead. “So I don’t expect anything from you. You don’t need to be… involved. I have no delusion that we’d ever be some perfect nuclear family. If you want to just walk away, this is your chance.”

“And,” Rhysand broached with such caution that Feyre’s spine straightened, “if I want to be involved… would that be okay with you?”

“We’d need to work something out,” she said, ignoring how her voice cracked. Mor’s family came from money. She could already imagine the legal proceedings, the paperwork, the negotiations over days of the week and alternating Christmases. At least Nesta was a lawyer. “I don’t want to get the courts involved. But if it goes that direction—“

“It won’t need to,” he said. “We can play it by ear, do whatever feels right. I just… I’d like to be involved. Starting now.”

The excruciating weight of that small little pea plummeted in her chest. “Starting now?”

Rhys nodded. “If you need someone to drive you to the appointments, or if you need me to pitch in for baby supplies. I’m… I want to help.”

“I’ll think about it.”

His face fell a little.

If she shut him out completely, a lawyer was guaranteed to come knocking at her door. Feyre added, “It’d be nice to get to know you before anything else.”

“Would you like to grab a coffee together?”

“As friends,” Feyre hedged. “I know we—” An image flashed in her mind of those fingers in her mouth, between her thighs. She tried not to flush. “—you know. But I have a boyfriend now. And I’m not looking for you to be my…”

She searched for a word but found none that quite articulated what, exactly, Rhys would be to her.

Baby daddy?

“I just want us to be friends,” she clarified.

His perfect lips, which had once expertly kissed and licked and teased her, edged into a smile. “Then would you like to grab a coffee together as friends?”

“Yes.” She smiled back and found that the pea in her stomach didn’t feel quite so heavy. “Not today, though. I’m, uh… meeting my boyfriend.”

“And I’m meeting my cousin.”

“Right.” Feyre reached stiffly into her pocket, retrieving her phone. “Why don’t you give me your number, and I’ll text you?”

The iron chair practically sighed in relief as Rhysand released it from his death grip. His motions were stiff, too, she noted, as he punched in his number and handed it back to her a tad too mechanically.

Their fingers brushed as she accepted it back, and she felt for the second time that day like she couldn’t breathe. Their eyes met, held. “You say the word, Feyre darling. Any time, any place, and I’m yours.”

She thought she might have said something back or just stared dumbly at his obscenely beautiful face. She couldn’t remember, and he didn’t say anything else before he nodded his goodbye and chased after Mor.

It took Feyre a long time to find the willpower to follow after him, back into that cafe, and breathlessly apologize to Tamlin for being late. And she pretended she couldn’t feel a pair of violet eyes watching her as she sat across from Tamlin, forcing a smile.

#Take My Hand Wreck My Plans #humming 'welcome to club knocked up' while writing this fic fr #feysand #feysand fic #feysand fanfic #feysand fanfiction #feyre x rhys #rhys x feyre #Feyre x Rhysand #Rhysand x Feyre #feyrhys

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anonymouschishiyaimaginesandmore · 10 months

Text

The hard kind of Games

Minors, do not read! Contains mentions of smutty behavior!

MASTERLIST (up-to-date)

This is Part 2 !!Here!! is Part 1

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Alice in Borderland/Imawa no Kuni no Alice characters or original stories, only the plot of this fanfic. Alice in Borderland/Imawa no Kuni no Alice characters and original storyline belong to Haro Aso, who made the Manga the Series is based on.

Trigger Warning: Explicit Smut, Toxic Behavior, Drug Use, Gory, Written Madness, Complicated Consensual/Not-Consensual Behavior Summery: Chishiya x female OC that I gave a Name for this Story

Chishiya didn’t know how Ivy found the willpower, but her clumsy self made it onto her feet, robbing on all fours at first and when she reached the door, he pulled the glass out and went after her, ready to kill her with it. His pants laid casual around his hips, showing half his ass and if he didn’t know that the chances of seeing any of this mentally gone people again were low to non-existent, he would have felt at least slightly embarrassed, while running after a girl with his dick out, jumping at every step and hitting his abdomen.

The door closed behind Ivy just as Chishiya reached it. Fists bumped aggressive against it, before he opened it, almost ripping it out of its frame. He felt like an animal on a hunt, but wishing his prey was out of reach for him.

Sadly, that wasn’t the case as his eyes landed on Ivy’s figure, wobbling away slowly. Her shoulder hitting the wall from time to time, leaving bloodstains all over it.

He clenched his hand around the piece of glass. The pain cutting into his palm was enough to make him stop dashing forward for a moment, but he knew at this rate, he would get her. She was too slow.

The drug in her body was affecting her the same way it did him, but unlike Chishiya, Ivy had taken in most of the pain. She had gotten her body violated so awful, bleeding from different parts of her limbs that he either bit or scratched or digged in, that the blond man was still surprised she hasn’t given up yet and succumbed to her fate.

Chishiya’s steps were the ones of a men on a mission and when he reached her, grabbing her wounded shoulder and turned her around, he saw no surprise in her eyes. She saw it coming. It probably took her all the willpower she still had, to fight the urge to stay in the club, but she did. Unlike so many others inside this hellhole, she made it out. And he followed her outside. At least this part worked as planned. Now, he could only hope the drug died out before she did in his hands.

Sadly, Chishiya knew just too well how Ivy’s chances were standing. He was a med student after all. At least before the Borderlands became his new home. Chishiya knew where to stab and how deep to slice each place, to not only cause her more pain but also kill in the fastest and most harmful way. And the drug? It was using his knowledge for its advantage.

Unless…Chishiya hoped that the girl in front of him, hasn’t given up now that he caught up to her and had her at his mercy. He hoped that even tho she saw what was about to happen, this girl that made it that far and lived thru countless deadly games and mad human acts, would getter her guts anew and try to follow her survival instincts.

He didn’t want to kill her. Not because he was a good person. Not because something she did or he did or he saw, changed his perspective of humankind and definitely not because he suddenly discovered his humanity. No. Chishiya didn’t want to be someone who killed an innocent live with his own hands.

It was different to let someone succumb to their fate. Different to blame the terrible harsh world for another worthless life going extinct or when they just didn’t have the guts to look further and fight stronger to live and exist. But this? This was his own hands. The hands of a man that saved lives that he has framed as pointless. Lives that had done him no harm in any way. Lives he saved because it was his job, not because he cared. But that didn’t mean that he would have taken those lives if he had the power to do so with a snap of his fingers.

No, Chishiya wasn’t like this. Didn’t want to be like that. Killing to survive was one thing but this? This was not surviving. This was murder. Plain cold murder. And he was the murderer. About to be.

Chishiya had done his best to not only get himself but also Ivy out of the club. Not because he cared for her, but because she was the bait that he knew his drugged self would follow if it would run away from him. Sure, it was maybe a little farfetched, but it had worked. Until now.

Chishiya pushed Ivy to the ground, and she fell like a potato sack. As he kneeled, hovering over her, the glass shard in his hand, ready to stab, she spread her legs around him, giving him space to lean on her and he did. His hand with the glass shard was shaking midair, fighting against what inevitably was going to come.

Ivy’s hands were on his waist pulling him towards her, their hips meeting, his member still going strong touching her most private area and nudging against her fucked loose entrance “It’s okay” she whispered, kissing him almost lovingly. Her jaw trembled against his face while he only pressed himself harder on her.

“It’s okay” Ivy assured him again “It will be over soon.”

“No” he whispered back, his voice breaking as their foreheads touched.

Chishiya clenched the glass harder in his palm, the stinging pain keeping him from doing the unspoken, but he knew his body would soon get used to its level and the shard would become useless.

Just a little longer he thought. They were out of the club, away from the drug. He felt it wearing off slowly. If he could just resist a little longer, she would be fine. They would be fine.

“Fight me” he said, a beg in his words.

“I can’t anymore” Ivy answered, and a sob escaped her mouth, as their lips touched again.

“Please” Chishiya whispered against her whimpering lips. She closed her eyes, trying to push this moment as far away as possible, so she wouldn’t feel like giving up, tho she was and Chishiya saw it in the way her head turned to the side and away from him, accepting defeat.

“Please” Chishiya begged again. I don’t want to be a murderer, was the silent unspoken message “Just a little longer…almost…just please.”

Ivy’s head shook lightly against his own and Chishiya knew the girl has lost all hope of getting out of this situation alive. It was too much for her. The fear, the assault and seeing strangers around her doing such mad acts. Her poor brain was probably not able to withstand and broke right under the blond man’s hand, but Chishiya wasn’t in the mood to accept her defeat.

A low deep growl left itself out of his chest, as he tapped his forehead once then twice and then thrice against the broken piece of a human below him, trying his best not to let the urge take over that advised him to knock himself so hard against her, until her scull would break or his would first. It didn’t matter, both possibilities seemed so alluring.

“Fight me” Chishiya half groaned half begged “Please…just one more time.”

She didn’t want to. All Ivy wanted was for things to end. To close her eyes and drown out the male above her. For it to be over fast and as painless as possible so she wouldn’t need to struggle with staying alive and watching others die anymore. Ivy wanted nothing more than to ignore the ex-beach member, but his words hit her deeper than she wished.

Chishiya.

The same guy everyone had told her to stay away from as far as possible and to hope she never catches his attention. This guy begged her to stay alive. Someone who had visibly given less than a birds shit if someone died, no matter how close this person has been to him. This guy…This asshole and poor excuse of a human being begged her to not die.

Ivy heaved her hips off the floor to meet Chishiya’s again, the tip of his dick pushing at her entrance as her hand reached for his with the glass inside, making her whine instantly. She squeezed it, nodding slowly against him “Okay.”

Chishiya opened his hand, not enough to let go of the stinging piece, but enough for Ivy’s hand to press against it, now also cutting into her palm and further wounding her body. Their fingers intertwined as she put more and more pressure against his hand, pushing the shard deeper into his palm.

Chishiya opened his mouth, giving out a silent pained “Ah” as the increasing pain became more and more prominent. He moved his hips down, entering her slowly this time. Nonetheless, it hurt. All the time he rattled into her forceful and uncaring, wounding her insides with each stroke. It took its toll on her body and Ivy winced as she felt the red angry tip painfully going deeper until he bottomed out and she could feel his pelvis nudging her clit. Each time it touched her, even for a millisecond, her body jolted upwards. The small bud too sensitive from all the actions and the drugs effect.

Ivy pressed harder against Chishiya, as he pulled out, only to enter her again, this time just a little faster. Their lips grazed at eachother as they shared the same breath, him rocking his hips on hers while she did her best hurting him with her hand, so he would stay somewhat sane.

Chishiya picked a slow pace. This time he could control himself better, fucking her in a decent way he assumed she did enjoy. He smiled as he felt the urge to strangle her slipping away and him gaining control of his hand back.

The ex-doctor didn’t know how long they were lying there, on the floor, outside of the game venue in a deserted ally with the chilly night surrounding them and stars behind his back, fucking, but it was long enough. Chishiya realized it when he felt the familiar build up in his groin and his body that basically blue balled itself begged him for release.

He was about to come, finally, but it felt like this was the least good time. Still, he couldn’t help but feel relieved when he did. Splurging inside the younger one, his hips rocked a few more times, riding out his orgasm. This was the first time Chishiya fucked during a game, tho he had his fair share since he arrived in the borderlands. No matter what, it was also the first time he had an orgasm but his female counterpart not.

Chishiya was no saint but at least gentlemen enough to be not a total selfish asshole when it came to sex. Maybe he could make it up to her. Later. If she wanted of course. He could understand, if she wouldn’t want him to fuck her or even touch her for the rest of her life. What they did. What he did, tho he was under the influence of a drug…he wouldn’t hold it against her.

His palm opened enough for the glass shard to fall thru their hands to the ground, making a shattering tone.

Chishiya intertwined their hands more, their blood mixing. He felt pain and he knew she felt the same in hers. He laid their hands down next to her head, hair pooling around it like a puddle. When Ivy opened her lids, Chishiya realized her orbs had turned back to their normal color.

Chishiya locked his eyes with her, starring while the quiet black night of the ally swallowed their bodies “You did it” he said praising her “Good Girl.” He did his best to give her an uplifting smile, but he saw her lips trembling, tears coming to her eyes.

“It’s okay”, he said shushing her, planting pepper kisses on bruised flesh, unsure if this was the best idea, but Ivy didn’t turn away from him, so Chishiya went on, making sure that each one was placed as careful and softly as possible, almost sweet on each part of her face “You are alive” he whispered, “You made it out alive.”

To emphasize his word, he took her intertwined hand and placed it over his pulse, hoping to calm her down with his own beating heart. Ivy watched him doing it with a hitching breath, ready to erupt into another tearjerking fit, but his pulse did calm her down.

It was a slow pulse almost impalpable, but it was there, and its lazy rhythm forced her own heart to follow. As her chest heaved in a rhythmic but normal way, Ivy shifted, trying to get into a more comfortable lying position, tho the feeling of short trimmed but stiff hair tickling the abused bud of her clit, send her into another jolt, moaning while pulling her legs.

Ivy’s toes curled, and she couldn’t help it, when she felt Chishiya’s body trying to lift off of hers. Her heels laid over his exposed ass, pushing him back down and with that back inside, forcing a groan out of the grown man that still had his slowly softening dick inside his teammate’s cunt.

The mushroom-like tip was overly sensitive thru the long abuse, tho it had finally gotten what it wanted, by painting Ivy’s walls with his fluid, filling every possible oh so small slit between his dick and her insides. It was so much, he already felt parts of it running down his baggy balls, dropping down in small beads.

If he had the strength, he would lift her legs up and take a proud look, stroking his ego, but the bit he still had, tried its best to lift himself off, tho he was put back in his previous place almost immediately.

“Sorry” Ivy whined, pushing her head onto her neck, as Chishiya’s abdomen flexed, his happy trail grazing her clit again, sending yet another lightning thru her body “Just…if you could…”

“I know I know, apologies” Chishiya mumbled hastily and made preparations to rise again, but Ivy’s heels remained on his behind, unwilling to let go.

“No, I mean…if you can…” another moan escaped her, this time she bit down hard on the poor abused bottom lip “Your hand…can you use your…hand?”

“Yeah” Chishiya said confused, not understanding Ivy’s train of thoughts. As he watched her mewl under him, her legs pulling him even closer while her back arched to meet his chest. Chishiya got a glimpse of what the girl under him could mean, but there was no way right? Not here, not now, not after all that happened.

“Hand…gimme” Ivy’s unwounded hand reached for his and Chishiya gave it to her, letting her do whatever she wanted, and Ivy did. As soon as the pad of his fingers reached between their bodies most sacred places, Ivy whined deliciously, tho the corner of her lips pulled upwards into a delighted smile. Her fingers guided his in a circular motion, while her intertwined hand griped his painfully, making him hiss.

Chishiya catched quickly on what obviously bothered Ivy so much. She hasn’t cum even once and her body was begging for some kind of way to release the overstimulation Chishiya had caused. The small prideless “More” she pleaded him with, tho he wasn’t sure she even knew what she was begging for, were enough signs to know what she needed now more than anything else.

As Ivy pulled their intertwined hands to her face, still bleeding between each digit, she bit down on one of his fingers making him hiss another time but that turned quickly into a groan when her lips wrapped around said finger sucking and licking while her hips rocked furiously against his working hand.

“You can’t be serious” Chishiya whisper-yelled into the younger one’s ear, her walls clenching hard around his length, what got his own hips rocking against Ivy’s in an uncomfortable way. His body hated him for his reaction. Too close was his last orgasm that took so long to achieve and here he was snapping his pelvis against the smaller one’s body, caging her hand with his lower abdomen and overstimulating himself in an almost painful way.

But they were alone. No one else has made it out of the game yet. Maybe no one else even will. It was luck Chishiya got a glimpse of the door leading out of the venue. Chances were high, even if anyone else would find the Latin words, translate them and get the meaning, they still wouldn’t know where to stand when the next room closes up, dooming everyone inside to an almost certain death.

“Fine” Chishiya mumbled watching blood spreading over the tearstained face, completely unbothered “If that’s what you want” Ivy nodded against his finger. She felt the older pressing his forehead against hers, breathing audibly, as his fingers started to move on their own, after what she tried to make them do.

Chishiya’s hips rocked slowly. His thighs shivered whenever his tip grazed her cervix sending her into another moaning fit.

“You like sucking things hm?” he asked, noticing surprised how his flaccid dick grew hard again, pumping precious blood into his groin “I bet that’s all you did at the beach. Sucking your way thru life”

Chishiya watched how Ivy pulled another one of his wounded fingers into her mouth, wrapping her tongue around two at the same time. Was this a silent confession?

“You wish you could have had me sooner, right? That those fingers were something else?”

Ivy pulled the salvia coated digits out of her mouth. Her lips, swollen and plum trembled with yet another exciting moan, making her even more an exquisite and enjoyable sight “But I have you now, don’t I?”

Chishiya grinned. His bloody hand reached for the girls nape, grabbing it harshly and titling her head to the side. He pushed his cock as deep as he could, remaining in this agonizing upfilling state until Ivy whined with luscious eyes fixed on him. Her heels hit his lower back again and again, trying to make him stop, but Chishiya only leaned further. His mouth crashed puffy lips, giving in a deep and throaty kiss, as his hips went back into a bouncing motion. Balls slapping saggy against her cunt with each trust, ready to fill it up again.

Maybe he has lost his mind, Chishiya thought. Perhaps that was the game that broke him after all, or why else was he screwing a girl he barely knew and that didn’t even tell him her real name, right after trying to kill her in a drug-stained state. He couldn’t rule that possibility out. It was just too likely.

Whatever it was, he didn’t care. Parting from his new favorite toy to mumble sultry words “Yeah you got me, now deal with it.”

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numinousmysteries · 3 months

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More Than Mere Exposure

A drabble, if you can even call it that. @today-in-fic [on Ao3]

He asks her on an ordinary Tuesday afternoon as they’re quietly preparing for their departmental audit.

When did you know?

It sounds the same as any of the countless questions he’s asked her in the past. What time is the budget meeting? Are you familiar with the legend of the chupacabra? Do you believe in the existence of extraterrestrials? But this time she knows he means, When did you know you loved me?

And this time, she doesn’t have an answer.

Love stories begin in meet cutes and innocent misunderstandings that are repeated and recited like scripture as the years turn to decades. They’re orchestrated by mutual friends, meddling parents, and the faceless puppet master of the universe. They originate in last calls at dark bars, at hazy, beer-soaked college parties, and, nowadays, on the pixelated screens of chat rooms. They’re born on sweaty dance floors, in seventh-period geometry classes where fate is sealed by an alphabetical seating chart, and even, you won’t believe this, on blind dates.

From time to time, they do blossom in offices. Proximity breeds attraction, after all. The mere exposure effect dictates we’re drawn to what’s most familiar. It’s why randomly assigned college roommates end up lifelong friends. And yet, even though their job demands more shared time than your standard 9-5, she knows that simple physical closeness cannot explain why she loves him.

She spoke once of a switch being flicked, a concrete turning point when you realize a friendship has evolved into something more, but in hindsight, it wasn’t like that at all. There was no single moment, no markable tick on the timeline she can point to and say yes, this is when I fell in love with you. Instead, it was both a gradual evolution and a feeling that had always existed since the day they met or perhaps billions of years earlier when the universe came into existence and the building blocks of matter that would one day become her blue eyes and his chestnut hair were formed. It’s a Möbius strip, their love, eternally entwined and coiling upon itself.

She could tell him it was when she was straddling two worlds after her abduction and felt the sheer force of his will compelling her to rejoin the realm of the living. She could tell him it was when he pointed a gun at her face under the influence of Robert Modell’s psychic powers but still wasn’t able to pull the trigger. She could tell him it was when she lay dying of cancer and her only regret was never telling him how she felt. She could tell him it was at the dawning of the new millennium when they finally surrendered to the magnetism drawing them together, rationalism be damned. (She thinks it’s no accident that all these moments took place in hospitals, those lands of beginnings and endings and all the gory in-betweens.)

But it isn’t any of those moments. It's all of them, plus a thousand forgotten ones, set in anonymous motel rooms, roadside diners, and this very basement office.

I know now , she says. It’s the truth but also an evasion. She smiles and flips the question back to him. What about you? When did you know?

He looks at her confused, then slides a form across the desk to her and taps on a line with his pen. When did I know that you knew I was padding our expense reports to cover your little vending machine habit?

She sighs and rolls her eyes at him.

He winks at her and once again, in this moment, she falls in love.

#xfiles #xf fanfic #xfiles fanfic #txf #the x files #msr #x files

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decarbry · 1 year

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Does Shiggy still think Yabereme is cool? Because I love that he thinks regular Aizawa is cool and like now he has him as his own personal action figure.

Face value, Aizawa was just a badass who was constantly pushing himself in defense of his kids. Tomura now gets to be the one to trigger when that happens, as Yabureme follows his orders as completely as possible to fulfill his purpose and make everyone in charge happy. So Shigaraki gets to... create? Yabureme’s cool moments and the Nomu is going to put every bit of his energy into the situation. And of course Shiggy loves it.

I have always loved the idea that a good chunk of Shigaraki’s respect for Aizawa comes not only from general badassery but also from his utter selflessness. He’s the ideal hero that isn’t poisoned by fame or riches, and of course a kid would want to be like him. But for Shigaraki, it’s like… hey, maybe if Aizawa had been around when he needed a hero, he’d have gotten help. And he’d be right. It’s not like Aizawa is the only selfless hero to exist though. There are countless heroes that would have helped him as a kid and it was just bad luck that not a single one stumbled onto him and passerby didn’t do more, but it’s the combination of Aizawa’s personality and timing that won him that top spot in Shiggy’s respect.

The thing isssssss I don’t think Shigaraki is quite mature enough to acknowledge that making Aizawa a Nomu that follows orders has essentially destroyed the most important part of what he liked about him. That willing selflessness is just gone because you can’t be willingly selfless when you’re following orders that have agendas. Shiggy lives in this little world that gifted a favorite pro as his own personal hero and shuts the reality out. He’s kind of clingy about it, too. It’s much easier to assign a remote job to Kurogiri but much harder to allow Yabureme to be too far away, and not just because of Warp Gate. Kurogiri is responsible for his well-being but Yabureme is his prized guard dog.

#boku no hero academia fanart #Yabureme Aizawa AU #shouta aizawa #tomura shigaraki #nomu aizawa #sorry for the long post I had a lot to get out for this one #I also hope no one is tired of seeing Yabureme stuff #it's apparently a Nomu week

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mxdarling · 1 year

Text

[“You’re so pretty when you smile.”]

•❅───✧❅✦❅✧───❅• •❅───✧❅✦❅✧───❅•

ೃ⁀➷: summary: some students couldn't accept you enter this college with no magic, luckily deuce is there to your rescue!

ೃ⁀➷: Word count: 884

ೃ⁀➷: Reference/Inspiration: N/A

ೃ⁀➷: Event: [200 followers event]

[note:] If there is anything else triggering here that I didn’t list in the warnings section, please tell me. I don’t condone this type of behavior, this is merely just for entertaining purposes and some sort of coping mechanism for me. If you continue to read beyond this point, ignoring my warnings, I am not responsible for your actions from here on out.

[Warnings:] bad oneshot, lowercase, maybe occ deuce, slight spoilers for prologue, yandere behavior, implied insomnia, violence, mentions of blood, bullying, mentions of deuce's delinquent era, overprotective behavior, implied burnt out, slightly naive reader, people pleaser/'yes' man reader, not-so-strong reader.

[GN reader.]

♡˗ˏ✎*ೃ˚ :Deuce spade;

it wasn't easy being a magicless student in a magic revolved college, hell it wasn't easy being in a unknown world! you're practicably a stranger here in twisted wonderland. luckily for you, your (best) friend, DEUCE SPADE is there to back you up. sure your first meeting of each other wasn't exactly the best. considering you've only met each other due to ace being a coward and running away from his supposed punishment but you aren't ungrateful for it. that said interaction lead to you guys being the bestest of friends. you wouldn't have it any other way really.

today hasn't been that great for you. first, you woke up slightly later than usual, insisting to snooze in just for 5 minutes, turned into 10 minutes, turned into rushing out your dorm and just spriting to the school grounds. barely even made it to class, you probably looked like a mess when entering the classroom but you were simply too tired to care. dragging your tired self to your assigned seat, placing your head on the table, putting a random book in front of you. hoping your professor wouldn't be notice you sleeping in class. not that it matters anyways you couldn't sleep. the words of your professor went from one ear to the other. wait, did he say there's gonna be a quiz next week? oh god... you're gonna fail his class for sure..

the rest of today felt like a blur, you couldn't remember much of what happened. honestly it just felt like a repeat of yesterday and the day before yesterday. it was just another uneventful week day. was. you don't think you could call it uneventful after that.

you can't really recall how these incidents follow up to the situation you're in. some students in night raven college were still, precisely speaking, 'pissy' about your whole arrival to school. you know you can't help what other people think about, its something out of your control, you know that. yet you can't help but try to change their views on you. most of your efforts end in failure, sadly. but you refuse to give up, not yet at least!

the whole reason why you try to help anyone who needs it. sometimes borderlining doing everything to help this said person. it's unhealthy, your friends have told you countless of times, but bad habits die hard and you're still adjusting to this new world. surely nothing too bad would happened because of this, right....?

apparently, that was very much wrong. you curse your impulsivity for saying 'yes' with little hesitation in wanting to help your classmate with their homework. they asked you so nicely too, unlike some other students who just demand you to do it for them. you were a fool, truly. you didn't think it was a trap to get your alone and cornered at a place where no one really checks very often. you're backed against a wall with no other exists except the one that is being blocked by your classmate.

you stood no chance against them, it was clear as day. you weren't exactly physically strong nor do you have any experience of being a fight before. you shakingly put your arms in front of your face, closing your eyes and bracing yourself for heavy impact yet nothing came. in fact something touched your cheek instead. you slowly put down your arms and open your eyes to a scene you wish you didn't seen.

the classmate of yours all bloody up on the ground, you can even tell it's them anymore. then there's deuce, his right fist all bloody up, you would've assume he got injured haven't it been for your injured classmate on the ground. since when did he get here..? and how did he know you were here in the first place!? you were about to speak up but deuce beat you to it.

'prefect..? a-are you okay?? they didn't hurt you right!?'

he rushed to you with a concern look on his face. despite the violent responses he gave to your classmate, he was very gentle with you. poorly attempting to wipe off the blood from his hand on his uniform to avoid putting blood on you. he puts both his hands on your shoulders, looking you up and down to check if you had any injuries. not that you would have considering he had beaten the person before they took action but you can never be too careful, i guess. he, again, broke the silence once more to speak.

'w-why are you crying, prefect..? d-did something happened while i wasn't here..?'

you didn't even noticed tears were falling down, you tried to wipe them away but they just kept coming back. you knew deuce wouldn't hurt you, you were his friend since the start of first year. yet you can't help but let fear overtake you. you gently try to push him away from you but he wouldn't budge. instead he cupped your cheeks with both of his hands, wiping the tears that are falling down as a way to try and comfort you when really you don't want that comfort from him.

"i really can’t take it when you cry like that… smile for me, alright? you’re so pretty when you smile.."

•❅───✧❅✦❅✧───❅• •❅───✧❅✦❅✧───❅•

[a/n; how do people write oneshots so good, i'm out here crying my eyes out on how do i make this look good😭😭. rushed ending? yes and i deeply apologize for it. my brain juice is definitely gonna run out istg. enough about me complaining, thank you anon for requesting deuce with #7 for the 200 followers event! it's been a while since i've written deuce before so this is kind of a refresher for me lol. sorry again this took awhile exams were taking place and i get real tired after answering them. good thing summer break is coming so more free time for me to write your guy's requests!]

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munson-blurbs · 1 year

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Hello again! So, I'm not sure if you're ok with this type of request but I didn't find anything that says otherwise. As a "sober" SH myself, I'd like to see Eddie x Femreader that has a lot of self-harm scars. Like, her entire arms are covered with it and other people stare, points at her, and so on.

I just want you to know that I'm so glad you're no longer hurting yourself. You should be proud of yourself for overcoming so much, and I'm so glad you're here.

I hope this fic is cathartic for you. I know I wish I had an Eddie Munson by my side when I was struggling <3

Warnings: mentions of self-harm (please do not read if this is triggering for you), scars, bullying, language

WC: 882

It's sweltering today in Hawkins, 95 degrees and humid. Unreasonably warm for June, in your opinion. You crank the air conditioning in your car on your drive to school, but Hawkins High is stuffy and stifling.

It also doesn't help that you're wearing a denim jacket, not as some kind of fashion rebellion, but to hide the scars that line your arms. You'd started back in middle school after enduring day after day of bullying, desperate for an escape. Now, years later with countless therapy sessions under your belt, you've acquire safer coping mechanisms. Unfortunately, journaling or curling up with a book and a cup of tea didn't make the scars disappear.

They'd faded slightly, but were still too pink and prominent for your comfort, so you chose to keep them covered when you were in public. But now, as sweat dripped down your neck and crept down your back, you're seriously reconsidering your position.

Taking a deep breath, you carefully remove the jacket and tie it around your waist. Okay, this isn't too bad, you think, making your way through the cafeteria to the lunch line. You reach for a slice of pizza when you hear it:

"What the fuck is on your arms?"

Your head snaps up at Jason Carver's sneering voice. How ironic, considering he was one of the bullies who made you feel like you'd had to cut in the first place. He's said it loud enough that some students are turning around to stare. And even though it's only a few people, it feels like the world has its eyes on you as you as you run right back out of the room, tears brimming.

One of those people is Eddie Munson, standing shell-shocked at the vending machine nearby.

You'd developed something between an acquaintanceship and a friendship over this past year after you'd joined Hellfire in an attempt to be more social. He was funny, and sweet, and was a really good Dungeon Master. The reason you weren't closer was because you were worried about letting people get close to you. The more knowledge they had about you, the more they could hurt you with.

You duck into the library and hide behind a bookshelf in the non-fiction section, curling up into yourself and crying as softly as you can. The last thing you need is the librarian marching over and shushing you in the middle of a panic attack.

Deep breaths, you remind yourself. Inhale for three, exhale for three. Your therapist would be so proud, you wryly think.

You wipe the tears from your cheeks as you practice your breathing exercises, so focused that you don't even notice the lanky metalhead sit down beside you.

"Hi," he whispers, and you gasp, bringing a hand to your chest. "Sorry," he apologizes with a small smile, "just wanted to check on you."

"I-I'm fine, Eddie," you've never told such a blatant lie; unsurprisingly, he doesn't buy it.

"You're crying in the cookbook section of the library. You are not fine." He scoots over so his shoulder grazes yours. "C'mon, talk to your favorite Dungeon Master."

You give him a tiny giggle. "Who says you're my favorite?" you quip, and he sticks out his tongue in response. "Okay, okay. I'm just...humiliated," you admit. "It's bad enough I have to walk around with these..." you hold out your arm shyly, "but then Jason fucking Carver teasing me about them, like he isn't part of the reason they exist."

Eddie takes your arm and frowns. "You hurt yourself because of Jason Carver?"

You shake your head. "No. Well, not just him. Any of the popular kids who made fun of me, who ostracized me when I was younger. I had, like, no friends. Not an exaggeration."

Eddie's quiet for a moment, and you think you've freaked him out until he says quietly, "If I knew you then, I would've been your friend." He reaches over and squeezes your hand. "I keep trying to be your friend now, inviting you to the arcade with the Hellfire guys, but you always turn me down. The rejection kills me, sweetheart." He throws his head back and lets his tongue flop out of his mouth, miming his death.

You shove him playfully. "I'm sorry. It's just scary to let people in, y'know?"

"I know. Trust me, I know," he mutters, then clears his throat. "But we're good guys, I promise. I only look mean and scary." He looks back down at your arms, not in disgust, just observing them. "Do you still...?"

"No, not anymore. Sometimes I want to, but I just do my breathing exercises or write in my journal."

Eddie breathes a sigh of relief. "Good. I hate to think about one of my little sheep doing that to herself." This time when he squeezes your hand, he doesn't let go. "You have my number on the Hellfire contact sheet, right?" You nod, and he continues. "So call me whenever you're feeling sad. You can tell me about it, or I can just distract you with my exciting rockstar escapades."

"Thanks, Eddie," you say, feeling a warmth in your heart that you haven't felt in awhile. "Um, when's the next Hellfire arcade night?"

Eddie beams at you. "Whenever you want, sweetheart."

#eddie munson #eddie stranger things #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x f!reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x reader #eddie x reader #eddie x you #eddie munson stranger things #stranger things fanfic #stranger things #eddie munson fanfic #fanfic #requests

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