#romanticizing abuse with no trigger warning??

[elysiaheaven2]

𝗦𝗧𝗜𝗧𝗖𝗛 𝗠𝗬 𝗛𝗘𝗔𝗥𝗧!-𝐑𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐧 𝐱 𝐂𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐛𝐚𝐥 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐱 𝐀𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐥-(Part 1)

Words:7000

Genre: Dark Horror, Psychological Thriller, Gore, Obsession & Obsessive Love, Psychological Abuse, Crime & Thriller

(Reader is G.N) (A cannibal Reader, I don't support these! Just writing them!)

Summary :

Follows a twisted, sadistic you who presents themselves as a sweet baker but harbors a gruesome obsession with murder and cannibalism. Your appearance is grotesque, with stitches all over their body, and their bakery serves as a cover for a far darker purpose—using human flesh in your pastries. You met Angel who became your dear person. You get invited to the server,

The story is filled with graphic violence, disturbing themes of control, obsession.

Trigger Warnings and Content Warnings:

Violence and Gore: The content features explicit descriptions of violent actions, including graphic depictions of murder, dismemberment, and physical injury. The themes of torture and the pleasure derived from violence are present throughout.

Mental Health and Obsessive Behavior: There are elements of unhealthy obsession, possessiveness, and manipulation, particularly in the relationships between the characters. Themes of emotional trauma, self-doubt, and psychological instability are explored.

Cannibalism: References to cannibalism are present, with detailed discussions of cutting, eating, and dissection of bodies.

Sexual Themes: There are implied themes of dark and twisted romantic relationships, including non-consensual dynamics, manipulation, and obsession. This includes sexualized violence and threats.

Self-Harm: References to physical injury, mutilation, and self-inflicted harm, including the imagery of stitches coming undone and body parts falling off, are depicted.

Dark Romanticization: The portrayal of relationships is toxic, with power imbalances, manipulation, and destructive behavior.

Death and Murder: Graphic depictions of death, including the murder of both fictional and real people, are central to the narrative. The thrill and pleasure derived from killing are explored.

Emotional Abuse: Themes of manipulation, psychological control, and emotional manipulation are present in the interactions between the characters.

Disturbing Imagery and Themes: Content involving body horror, the macabre, and disturbing imagery related to the human form is featured.

Please proceed with caution if these triggers could cause distress. If you experience any discomfort during our exchange, feel free to pause or end the roleplay at your discretion.

EXTRA: Made a playlist!

I stitch myself every time

You re-name me...

This is my world, now- I wouldn't let you control me.

Their fate is my hands

If it's ronin, You're in for treat <3

Known as "Stitched Delights," it was a cozy haven filled with the sweet aroma of freshly baked goods and the comforting hum of quiet chatter. Its owner, you, were as much a mystery as you were a beloved figure. Your body bore countless stitches, crisscrossing like a delicate patchwork quilt—a detail no one dared ask about, for your warm demeanor and unparalleled pastries charmed away any curiosity.

Children adored your cookies, adults craved your pies, and the elderly swore by your cakes. The love you poured into each creation was palpable, as sweet as the frosting that adorned them.

The warm scent of vanilla, caramel, and freshly baked bread wafted through the little bakery on the corner of a quiet street. The walls were painted a cheery pastel yellow, decorated with whimsical illustrations of pastries and cakes. Shelves lined with cookies, tarts, and cakes gleamed under the soft glow of the lights.

Behind the counter, you stood, the picture of sweetness. Your smile stretched wide—perhaps too wide—beneath your bright eyes. The soft apron tied around your waist was dotted with flour and sugar, a testament to your hard work. But the most striking thing about you wasn’t the aroma of your baked goods or your delicate manners. It was the network of stitches crisscrossing your skin.

Lines of rough black thread connected patches of flesh, like a macabre patchwork doll. Some were tiny and neat, while others were thick and jagged, looking as though they were holding together pieces that shouldn’t fit. Despite this grotesque appearance, you were beloved. Customers whispered about how charming you were, how your treats always seemed to hit the perfect note of sweetness. No one asked about the stitches. No one dared.

Tonight, the shop had been busy, as always. The glass display cases were nearly empty, save for a few stray crumbs. The last of the customers had trickled out, bell jingling cheerfully as they left. All but one.

You glanced at the clock on the wall. 10:05 PM. The sign on the door clearly read “CLOSED,” but the man sitting at one of the corner tables didn’t seem to care. He was loud, vulgar, and obnoxiously drunk.

"Hey, you," he slurred, slamming his fist on the table. "Get over here and bring me something good. None of that cheap crap you serve everyone else."

You turned toward him, smile unwavering. "I'm sorry, sir, but the shop is closed. Perhaps you could return tomorrow?"

"Don't play dumb with me," he sneered, his voice cutting through the cozy ambiance like a rusty blade. "I said bring me something to eat!"

Your smile didn’t falter. If anything, it seemed to grow wider, though your eyes remained calm, almost serene.

"Of course, sir," you said sweetly. "Please, wait right here."

You disappeared into the kitchen, humming a soft, haunting tune under your breath. The light from the oven cast long, flickering shadows on the walls, illuminating jars of mysterious ingredients. A sharp knife gleamed on the counter. Your hands—stitched together at the knuckles—moved deftly as you prepared something special. Something just for him.

When you returned, a steaming plate rested in your hands. The man didn’t even look at you, just grabbed the fork and shoved the food into his mouth with a grunt.

"Took you long enough," he muttered around a mouthful of cake. "Tastes like crap."

"Is that so?" you asked, tilting your head. "I'm sorry to hear that. Perhaps you would like to stay a little longer? It's so late, after all."

The smile never faltered. Instead, it grew wider, the stitches on your lips pulling slightly apart at the seams. A faint trace of something red—darker than strawberry jam—beaded along one of them. “I do apologize. Let me prepare something special just for you.”

“Yeah, yeah, just make it fast,” he grumbled, flopping into a chair near the window and pulling out his phone. His voice grated on you, sharp and dismissive, as he muttered curses under his breath.

The kitchen was your domain, and tonight, it hummed with a peculiar energy. Metal utensils gleamed under the dim light, and the cleaver on the counter caught your reflection in its blade. Your hands, adorned with gloves to hide the seams crisscrossing your palms, moved with practiced grace.

A splash of something thick and red stained the cutting board, the scent of copper faint beneath the sugar and spice. You hummed a soft tune, one you couldn’t quite remember learning, as you worked.

When you returned, a plate in hand, the man barely looked up. “About time. What is this?”

“Just a little something I made just for you,” you said sweetly, placing the plate before him. The dessert—a small tart with a golden crust and a glistening ruby center—was flawless.

He didn’t thank you. He dug in immediately, barely tasting the delicate layers. “Not bad,” he muttered around a mouthful, crumbs spilling onto the table.

You stood by, hands clasped neatly in front of you, watching. Your stitched fingers flexed slightly, the faintest tear threatening along one seam.

When he finished, he pushed the plate aside and stood. “Guess that’s the only decent thing about this place. Whatever. I’m outta here.”

You tilted your head, your smile stretching impossibly wide. “Oh, but sir… it’s closing time.”

“Yeah, I know.” He rolled his eyes. “You don’t have to tell me twice.”

You stepped closer, blocking the door. “It’s quite late. You really shouldn’t be wandering out alone at this hour.”

He frowned, his bravado faltering as he noticed the subtle glint in your eyes, the way your body seemed to loom closer than it should. “The hell are you talking about? Move, freak.”

Your gloved hands shot out faster than he could react, gripping his wrist in a vice-like hold. The stitches along your arms strained as you dragged him back, his shouts muffled by the sudden press of something soft and chemical-smelling against his mouth.

“Shh,” you cooed as his struggles weakened, his body slumping against you. “It’s too dangerous outside. You’ll stay here where it’s safe.”

The man lay on the table now, his arms and legs bound with thick ropes. His head lolled to the side as he groaned, the last effects of the sedative wearing off.

“Wha—what the fuck?” His voice was hoarse, panic flooding his tone as he struggled against his restraints.

You stood over him, the ever-present smile on your face illuminated by the flickering bulb above. You’d removed your gloves, and the full extent of your stitching was on display. Patches of skin of varying tones and textures were held together with thick black thread, forming a grotesque mosaic. Some seams oozed faintly, the strain of movement reopening old wounds.

“I told you,” you said softly, running a stitched finger down the side of his face. He flinched. “It’s closing time. You should stay here.”

“You’re insane!” he spat, his voice breaking. “Let me go!”

Your smile faltered for the first time, the edges of your mouth twitching. “That’s not very polite,” you murmured, your voice tinged with something darker. “I worked very hard to make something nice for you, and you were so ungrateful. Do you know how much effort it takes to make something perfect?”

You turned away, reaching for a tray of tools. The man’s eyes widened as he caught sight of the gleaming instruments—knives, saws, and needles of varying sizes.

“Please,” he whimpered, his bravado crumbling. “I’m sorry. I’ll leave. I won’t tell anyone—”

“You’ve already seen too much,” you interrupted, your smile returning, more unhinged than ever. “But don’t worry. I’ll make good use of you. Waste not, want not, as they say.”

The first cut was precise, your hands steady despite the trembling of your latest canvas. Blood flowed freely, staining the table and dripping to the floor in rhythmic splatters. You hummed as you worked, your stitches straining and tearing in places as you bent over him.

The room filled with the metallic scent of blood and the man’s muffled screams. You worked methodically, carefully preserving the best parts. His cries grew weaker with each passing moment until, finally, there was silence.

The sharp, metallic scent of blood filled the kitchen, thick and heady as it mingled with the faint sweetness of leftover batter and vanilla. The man’s body lay limp on the steel table, limbs dangling like the slack strings of a marionette. Your needle worked methodically, threading sinew through torn skin with a precision born of practice. Every tug of the thread made a faint squelching sound, the tension in the stitches pulling his flesh taut, creating a masterpiece of grotesque artistry.

Humming a soft, eerie tune, you reached for your cleaver, its blade gleaming under the fluorescent light. With a practiced swing, you brought it down on his arm. The bone cracked beneath the weight, splitting apart with a sound like a thick branch snapping in two. Blood sprayed across your apron and face, warm and sticky. You giggled, the sound high-pitched and giddy, as if you’d just unwrapped a delightful surprise.

“Don’t worry,” you cooed, patting the man’s severed hand like it was a cherished pet. “You’re going to be so useful. Much more than you were alive.”

You continued to dismember him, your movements efficient, almost clinical. The cleaver sliced through flesh and cartilage, separating the legs from the torso, the head from the neck. Each piece was meticulously prepared, the jagged edges smoothed with a smaller knife. His face, frozen in an eternal scream, stared up at you. You couldn’t help but grin back, wide and manic.

One by one, you hung the pieces on meat hooks that dangled from the ceiling. The other bodies swayed gently in the cold air, their forms reduced to pale, butchered remnants of humanity. Some were fresher than others; their blood still dripped onto the tiled floor in soft, rhythmic plinks. Others had begun to dry out, their skin leathery and taut, their eyes hollow sockets staring into the void.

The room was your gallery, a place where flesh became art. The hanging bodies swayed in the dim light, their shadows casting long, distorted shapes on the walls. It was beautiful in its own grotesque way, a testament to your dedication and craftsmanship.

Once the man’s body was fully integrated into your macabre display, you took a step back, wiping your bloodied hands on your apron. You gazed at your work, your stitched smile stretching impossibly wide. The threads across your face tugged, pulling your cheeks into an unnatural grin, but you didn’t mind. Pain was a friend you had long since grown to cherish.

With a sigh of satisfaction, you walked to the center of the room and sat down on a small stool. Your gaze swept over the hanging bodies, each one a story, a memory. Some had been rude, like tonight’s guest. Others were simply unlucky, wandering into your shop at the wrong time. But all of them had served a purpose. They had become part of you, quite literally.

The faint creak of the meat hooks was the only sound in the room, a soft, haunting rhythm that matched the beat of your heart. You tilted your head, watching the bodies sway like macabre wind chimes. Your stitched hands rested in your lap, fingers interlocked. A sense of calm washed over you, a moment of peace amid the chaos of your work.

“Ah,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper. “So beautiful.”

You reached out, your fingers grazing the closest body. The skin was cold, the texture rough under your fingertips. A small giggle bubbled up from your throat, growing louder until it echoed through the room. It was a sound of pure delight, unrestrained and wild.

“AHAHAHAHAHAHA!” you cackled, throwing your head back. The stitches on your neck pulled tight, some of them oozing faint beads of blood. “Look at all of you! So perfect, so helpful! You’ll keep me together, won’t you?”

The bodies didn’t answer, of course, but you didn’t need them to. Their silence was its own kind of companionship. They were yours, every piece of them stitched into your being, a patchwork quilt of flesh and bone.

Hours passed as you sat there, basking in the glow of your creation. The blood on your hands dried, cracking against your skin like old paint. The smell of death was overwhelming, but to you, it was comforting. It was home.

Eventually, you stood, stretching your arms above your head. The stitches across your joints pulled taut, some of them threatening to snap. You made a mental note to reinforce them later. For now, there was work to be done. The bakery would open again in a few hours, and the display cases needed to be restocked.

Humming once more, you began to clean the room. The floor was scrubbed until it gleamed, the tools were washed and placed back in their proper spots. The man’s face—his terrified expression frozen forever—was carefully peeled and set aside. Perhaps it would make a nice decoration for the shop’s back room.

. You stood in the center of your gallery, a rusted bucket in one hand, the other tapping your chin thoughtfully.

The bodies hung like grotesque chandeliers, swaying gently in the chilled air. Your eyes roamed over them, taking in the patchwork of flesh, the twisted limbs, the faces frozen in their final moments of terror. One, in particular, caught your attention—the newest addition. His bulkier frame seemed promising, the meat fresh and unmarred by time.

"Hmm," you murmured, tilting your head. "Yes, you'll do nicely."

Setting the bucket down, you grabbed his torso, your stitched fingers digging into the still-warm flesh. With a grunt, you dragged it toward the butcher’s table. The sound of wet, sticky meat sliding across the tiles was music to your ears. His head lolled to the side, eyes wide open in a stare that saw nothing.

You hummed softly as you reached for your cleaver, running your thumb along its edge to check its sharpness. Satisfied, you brought it down on the man’s wrist with a satisfying crunch. Bone splintered, blood oozed from the severed stump, pooling around the table legs. One by one, you dismembered the body, severing fingers, hands, arms, and legs with methodical precision. Each piece was tossed into the bucket with a wet thud.

Once the body was reduced to manageable chunks, you reached for your bone saw. The teeth glinted in the overhead light, promising efficiency. You began cutting through the larger pieces, separating bone from meat. The saw’s rhythmic scraping filled the room, blending with the faint sound of your humming.

"Perfect," you whispered, holding up a cleanly severed thigh. The meat was vibrant, unmarred by fat or imperfections. “You’ll make such delicious treats.”

The pile of meat grew, you turned your attention to your baking station. A large bowl sat waiting, already filled with flour, sugar, and other ingredients for your special batter. You cracked eggs into the mix, their golden yolks oozing lazily down the sides. But this time, there was a special addition.

From the bucket, you grabbed a handful of freshly cut flesh and fed it into the grinder. The machine whirred to life, the blades tearing through muscle and fat, reducing it to a fine, pink paste. The scent of raw meat mingled with the sweetness of vanilla extract, creating a heady, nauseating combination.

You scraped the meat paste into the batter, stirring it until it was fully incorporated. The mixture turned a faint pinkish hue, small flecks of red dotting its surface like confetti.

“Beautiful,” you cooed, your stitched smile pulling tight as you spooned the batter into cupcake molds. Each tin was filled with care, the batter smooth and even. You placed the tray into the oven, setting the timer before stepping back.

The heat from the oven warmed the room, the glass door glowing softly as the cupcakes began to bake. You crouched down in front of it, resting your chin on your hands, your wide eyes fixed on the tray inside. The batter puffed up, golden edges forming around the tops.

The scent of the baking cupcakes filled the air, masking the lingering metallic tang of blood. You couldn’t help but giggle, the sound childlike and sweet, completely at odds with the macabre scene behind you.

“Ah,” you sighed, tilting your head as you watched the cupcakes rise.

Time ticked by, the minutes stretching into eternity as you stared at the oven. The warmth of the glass seeped into your skin, but you didn’t move, transfixed by the transformation taking place. The meat, the batter, the sugar—it was all coming together, melding into something beautiful.

When the timer dinged, you practically skipped to the oven, pulling on a pair of mitts before retrieving the tray. The cupcakes were perfect, their tops golden brown, little flecks of pink meat visible if you looked closely enough. You placed them on the counter to cool, your smile never faltering.

One cupcake caught your eye, its surface cracked slightly, revealing a glint of meat within. You picked it up, turning it in your hands. The warmth seeped through the paper wrapper, and you felt a giddy thrill run through you.

Lifting the cupcake to your mouth, you took a bite. The sweetness of the sugar and vanilla mingled with the savory, iron-rich taste of the meat. It was divine, the flavors dancing on your tongue in perfect harmony.

You swallowed, a contented sigh escaping your lips.

“Delicious,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

The sun had fully risen now, its light filtering through the bakery’s windows and illuminating the pristine display cases. The bell over the door jingled as the first customer of the day walked in.

“Good morning!” you chirped, spinning around to face them. The blood on your apron was hidden beneath a fresh layer of flour, the stitches on your face pulling into a welcoming smile.

“What’s the special today?” the customer asked, their eyes scanning the display case.

“Cupcakes,” you said sweetly, gesturing to the tray behind you. “Freshly made. They’re… one of a kind.”

The customer grinned. “I’ll take a dozen.”

“Coming right up!”

You boxed the cupcakes, your mind wandered back to the bodies hanging in the back room. There was still so much to do, so many recipes to try. But for now, you were content.

After all, the sweetest things always came from the heart.

The streets were quiet, the dim glow of streetlights casting long shadows as you made your way down the cobblestone path. The black garbage bags slung over your shoulder dripped faintly, leaving a dark trail behind you. The scent of iron clung to the air, but the world around you remained oblivious. It was just another walk in the early hours of the morning.

You turned the corner, a figure caught your eye. A girl with blonde hair, peeking out from under a poorly fitted wig, stood hesitantly by the edge of the street. She glanced around nervously, her hands buried deep in the pockets of her oversized jacket. You stopped mid-step, your stitched smile growing wider as recognition dawned.

“How do I meet the strangest men, They always seem to find me…”

Her face was familiar, unmistakably so. You’d seen her on YouTube, her bright personality a stark contrast to her current, jittery demeanor. She had a large following—too large to be here unnoticed, yet here she was, poorly disguised and alone. What a treat.

You adjusted your grip on the garbage bags, the movement making a faint squelching sound that caught her attention. Her eyes met yours, wide and wary. She took a small step back, but it was too late. You’d seen her hesitation, her discomfort. It was delicious.

“Good evening,” you greeted cheerfully, tilting your head. “Out for a walk, are we?”

She stiffened, her hand brushing the edge of her wig as if to ensure it was still in place. “Just passing through,” she mumbled, her voice soft but edged with unease.

You took a step closer, your eyes sparkling with curiosity. “I recognize you,” you said, voice dripping with sweetness. “Don’t I? From online?”

Her breath hitched, and she glanced around, her movements sharp and anxious.

“Remember that time way back when I, Kissed a guy who ate his women friends…”

You couldn’t suppress the giggle that bubbled up, high-pitched and unhinged. “Funny, isn’t it? Running into someone so familiar on such a quiet night.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said quickly, her words tumbling over each other. She turned as if to leave, but her hesitance betrayed her. She wasn’t sure whether to flee or stay and feign normalcy.

Your stitched fingers twitched, the urge to reach out and grab her almost overwhelming. But you held back, savoring the moment. “It’s a small world,” you mused, shifting the garbage bags onto the ground with a dull thud. “Even smaller when you have… particular hobbies.”

Her eyes flicked to the bags, her nose crinkling as the faint scent of decay wafted toward her. “What’s in those?” she asked, her voice shaking despite her attempt to sound indifferent.

“Oh, just waste,” you replied nonchalantly. “Leftovers from the bakery. I run a shop, you see. Very popular on certain… platforms.”

Her face paled, and you knew she understood. Of course, she would—her disguise wasn’t perfect, but her reasons for wearing it were written all over her nervous posture. Perhaps she’d seen your little storefront on the dark web, the infamous “human cakes” with their chillingly cheerful descriptions.

“Now only dogs will follow me, (Is he following?)”

You took a deliberate step closer, your grin widening until the stitches across your face pulled painfully. “It’s fascinating, isn’t it? How people find themselves drawn to the darkest corners, even when they know better.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she whispered, her voice trembling.

“Don’t you?” you asked softly, leaning in until your stitched fingers brushed her sleeve. “After all, you’re here, aren’t you? And not by chance, I’d wager.”

She flinched at your touch, her wide eyes darting between you and the bags at your feet. “I should go,” she stammered, stepping back. “I… I have somewhere to be.”

“But we’re just getting to know each other,” you said, your tone sweet but laced with something darker. You crouched down, opening one of the bags slightly. The glint of bone and a hint of flesh peeked out, the air around it heavy with the scent of rot.

Her hand flew to her mouth, a strangled sound escaping her lips. “Oh my God—”

You straightened, your stitched smile now impossibly wide. “Don’t worry,” you said softly, almost soothingly. “You won’t end up like them. Not yet, anyway.”

Despite her earlier hesitation, the blonde girl found herself seated at a small, intimate table by the counter. Her poorly fitted wig was slightly askew, and her nervous energy buzzed under her skin, but she kept her smile plastered on, mirroring your own stitched grin.

“Sit, sit,” you said cheerfully, your voice sugary sweet. “I’ll bake something special for you.”

Her hands fidgeted with the hem of her jacket as she glanced around, the faint scent of vanilla and something darker lingering in the air. The tray of cupcakes you’d set aside earlier sat prominently on the counter, their golden tops glistening faintly under the light.

“I bite at the hand that feeds me, I slap at the face that eats me…”

You hummed softly as you worked, your hands deftly mixing a new batch of batter. The flour puffed up in small clouds, mingling with the sheen of meat paste you spooned into the mix. You turned to glance at her, your stitched smile never faltering.

“I think you’ll really like this one,” you said, your tone dripping with enthusiasm. “It’s… unique.”

Her eyes flicked to you, curiosity and fear warring in her gaze. “What’s in it?” she asked, her voice attempting to sound casual.

You giggled, a high-pitched, lilting sound. “Oh, just the usual. Sugar, spice, everything… nice.”

The oven clicked as it preheated, and you poured the batter into molds with meticulous care. As the cupcakes baked, the scent grew richer, sweeter, and yet faintly metallic. She watched you closely, her hands still trembling faintly.

When the timer dinged, you carefully removed the tray, the cupcakes steaming and golden brown. You placed one on a delicate plate, garnishing it with a dollop of frosting and a single cherry. With a flourish, you set it in front of her.

“Here you go,” you said sweetly, tilting your head. “Freshly made, just for you.”

She hesitated, staring at the cupcake like it was a loaded gun. But then, with a nervous smile, she picked it up. Her hands were unsteady, but she took a bite, her teeth sinking into the soft, warm cake.

For a moment, she chewed in silence, her expression unreadable. But then, as she swallowed, her eyes widened. A small sound escaped her lips—a mix of surprise and something darker. She took another bite, and as she did, a small, round object tumbled from the cupcake, landing on the table with a soft plop.

An eyeball.

“Some kind of animal cannibal, Made impressions on me…”

Her breath hitched, her gaze darting from the eyeball to you. You didn’t flinch. Instead, your tongue flicked out, running along your lips as your stitched smile widened.

“Well?” you asked, leaning forward slightly. “Do you like it?”

She stared at you for a long moment, her lips trembling. Then, to your delight, she began to laugh. It started as a soft giggle but quickly grew into a wild, unrestrained cackle. Her head tipped back, her eyes shining with something feral.

“Have we met before? (Possibly in Michigan) In some strange department store, (We won’t see him anymore)”

“I see you have a taste for the finer things,” you said, licking your lips as you picked up the eyeball. You held it delicately, inspecting it like a jeweler admiring a precious stone, before slipping it into your mouth with a grin.

She leaned forward, her disguise slipping further. “So, you know,” she said, her voice low and almost giddy.

“I do,” you replied, your stitched face splitting into a grin that felt too wide for your skin. “You’re my kind, aren’t you? A fellow… connoisseur.”

She nodded, her eyes glinting with a dark light. “I’ve tried to hide it, but it’s always there..."

You leaned in closer, resting your chin on your hands. “No need to hide here,” you said softly. “Here, you can be yourself. Fully. Freely.”

Her gaze lingered on the empty cupcake wrapper before meeting yours. “What’s next?” she asked, her tone dripping with anticipation.

You clapped your hands together, your smile stretching impossibly wide. “I knew it!” you exclaimed. “I knew you were my kind!”

After, that..

It took a while.

She grew on you.

You always sold your gifts to the world and your website in dark web. You can say. In a way, you're a serial killer.

For some reason, Angel invited you to a server she called it.

Why??

The First Day on the Server

Your hands hovered over the keyboard, the warm glow of the screen bathing your stitched face in pale light. The server pinged incessantly as the messages rolled in, welcoming you to the digital den of chaos. Angel had extended the invitation—a rare kindness from someone who saw through the sweet façade to the horrors beneath.

The welcome was... overwhelming.

<goreboy> Welcome to the Newly Christened @Y/n!

The chat erupted.

<LUCA_IS_SO_COOL> WELCOME! WELCOME!

<Angelic> Y/n! You actually joined!

<goreboy> Oh? Angel invited you?

<K9> Wait, Angel invited them? Did you not know?

<goreboy> Oh, I knew. V, meet Mx Baker Killer. Could call them the rebirth of Pinkie Pie—but y'know, darker.

<K9> …Pinkie Pie? What the hell, Ronin?

<goreboy> Wait, wait. That cannibal shop everyone’s been whispering about on the deep web? That’s you, right, darling?

You let the pause linger, fingers lightly pressing the keys. You typed without hesitation:

<Cupcake-slasher> Yes.

The server’s collective silence stretched out for a few moments too long before the chat ignited again.

<goreboy> Not good? How about this, then?

<Zombie> What?

<goreboy> Angel mentioned your stitched skin—reminds me of a zombie. Fitting, no? I'm changing your username!

<Zombie> Thanks.

More pings.

<hitmeuppp> Wait, stitched skin??? That sounds kinda... sad and cool?

<Zombie> Yeah, I was dead as a baby. Someone contacted a demon, and voila—here I am. Just recycled parts stitched back together.

<LUCA_IS_SO_COOL> HOLY SHIT. THAT’S SUCH A GOOD JOKE. WELCOME, WELCOME! I’M LUCA!

<Y/n> Sure.

Your username flickered—an automatic change. A twisted sort of christening.

<goreboy> Angel saved you. What an angel.

<Angelic> Ronin, you’re unbearable. Y/n, I’m so sorry. I stepped away for one minute, and he’s already—

<Strawberryguts> It’s fine.

Another ping.

<goreboy> C’mon. Your motives are unhinged; mine are simple. Just trying to give you a good username.

You stared at the screen.

Rebirth of Pinkie Pie, huh?

The stitched flesh of your hand ghosted over the scars across your neck, the faint scent of vanilla and iron still clinging to you. Maybe Ronin had a point.

Your new username, Zombie, sat mockingly beside your messages, and while you didn’t mind, it seemed to spark something mischievous in Ronin.

<goreboy> Actually, hold up. Zombie is fine, but we can do better. Something... spicier.

<Angelic> Ronin, don’t start.

<goreboy> What about... hmm... Sewn-Sweetie? Or maybe Meat-Master?

<K9> goreboy, I swear to God.

<HITMEUPPP> Wait, I got it—CupcakeCadaver! Perfect, right? Y/n, it’s like you, but with ✨flair✨.

Your lips twitched in amusement as Angel’s reply came in almost immediately.

<Angelic> Stop.

<goreboy> Oh? You don’t like it, Angel? How about SweetFleshStitcher? C’mon, it’s a masterpiece.

<Angelic> Ronin.

Your username suddenly changed again, this time to CorpseConfectioner.

<goreboy> SEE? I’m on a roll.

<Angelic> You are not.

Your name flickered as Angel swiftly intervened, changing it back to Y/N

<goreboy> NOOO! Angel, what are you doing? You’re killing my creativity!

<Angelic> I’m saving Y/n from being a walking horror-themed dad joke, that’s what.

<goreboy> Oh, come on. y/N's boring! It’s so… uninspired.

<Angelic> It’s better than the nonsense you keep spouting.

<goreboy> You wound me, Angel. Fine. What about Bake-and-Take? Huh? Huh? Y/n gets to bake and take lives. It’s poetic!

<Angelic> Ronin.

<goreboy> Angel-Hater69. No? Too much?

Your username flickered again—Angel’sProblem.

<Angelic> RONIN!

<LUCA_IS_SO_COOL> LMAOOOOOOOO THIS IS SO FUNNY KEEP GOING RONIN YOU’RE A LEGEND

<goreboy> Listen, if you hate fun, just say that. But I’m fighting for Y/n’s branding.

<Angelic> Branding is not your job.

<goreboy> Tell that to Angel’sProblem.

Your username changed back to Y/n, and Angel added a lock icon next to it.

<goreboy> Haha, Funny angel.

<Angelic> I win.

<goreboy> You’re no fun.

<Angelic> And you’re relentless.

<goreboy> Fine. Zombie it is. For now.

It changed again

You finally typed, your message cutting through the chaos.

<Zombie> Zombie is fine.

The server practically erupted.

<LUCA_IS_SO_COOL> YESSS OMG THIS IS EVERY DAY WELCOME TO THE CIRCUS

<Felicite> It’s their love language.

<goreboy> Don’t drag me into Angel’s drama.

<Angelic> MY drama? You’re insufferable.

<Zombie> You’re both terrible at this, but it’s entertaining.

Angel’s private DM appeared moments later:

<Angelic> Ignore Ronin. He’s a menace, but he means well... sort of.

<Zombie> Noted. But don’t worry—I’ve seen worse.

<Angelic> Somehow, I believe you.

Back in the main chat.

The server chat was unusually lively today, and you couldn’t resist jumping in, a twisted smile tugging at the corners of your stitched mouth. You typed, the rhythmic creak of your office chair echoed in your quiet shop, a perfect contrast to the chaos of the chat.

<Zombie> So, I’ve been thinking. If everyone here were... ingredients, what would you all be?

The chat immediately lit up with reactions.

<goreboy> Oh, this is gonna be good. Go on, darlin’, I gotta know what kind of gourmet masterpiece I am.

<K9> This is gonna be disturbing, isn’t it?

<Angelic> Y/n, don’t encourage him.

<hitmeuppp> WAIT, ME TOO, ME TOO!!

You let your fingers hover over the keyboard, a wicked gleam in your eye as you started typing.

<Zombie> Alright. Let’s start with Misaki.

<hitmeuppp> YESSSSS OMG OKAY OKAY GIMME

<Zombie> Misaki is like a... sugar rush. Chaotic sweetness that leaves you dizzy if you have too much. Like that one cupcake in the batch that’s been overfilled with sprinkles, frosting, and edible glitter. Pretty, but if you don’t pace yourself, you’ll regret it.

<hitmeuppp> 😭 THAT’S SO CUTE BUT ALSO RUDE

<Angelic> That’s disturbingly accurate.

<K9> Yeah, I can’t even argue.

<Zombie> You’re also like pop rocks in a macaron. Unpredictable, bubbly, but with a hidden intensity.

<hitmeuppp> Pop rocks?? AAAAA I’LL TAKE IT 🥰

You couldn’t help but smirk. Misaki’s energy always amused you, even through the screen. You glanced at Ronin’s username next, your smile sharpening.

<Zombie> V (K9): Ground peppercorns. Sharp, earthy, and with just the right amount of bite. Subtle, but you notice when it’s missing. A good base to balance out stronger flavors.

<K9> Pepper? Really? I thought you’d go for something weird like… I don’t know… blood oranges.

<Zombie> Hmm, I considered it, but you’re too steady for that. Peppercorn fits.

<goreboy> Boring. What about me?

<Zombie> Patience, Ronin. I’m saving the best for last.

<goreboy> Oho, flattered.

Okay, Zombie, now spill. What ingredient would you be?

You paused for a moment, your fingers hovering over the keyboard. Then, with a grin tugging at your stitched lips, you typed:

<Zombie> Oh, I’m the whole dish.

The server erupted.

<hitmeuppp> ICONIC OMGGG

<goreboy> Okay, that’s a power move. Respect.

Your fingers danced across the keyboard, the text pouring out as if possessed by your fascination.

<Zombie> You know… Ronin’s the most interesting ingredient of all.

The response was instant.

<goreboy> Oh? Do go on, darling. Enlighten me.

You leaned closer to the screen, your stitched lips curling into a grin as your thoughts spiraled, erratic and almost feverish.

<Zombie> You’re like... the rotting core of a fruit. At first glance, you look appealing—bright, ripe, even a little seductive—but the closer you get, the more you realize you’re rotten. Spoiled. Putrid. But oh, the flavor you bring... it’s unforgettable.

<K9> ...I don’t know whether that’s an insult or a compliment.

<goreboy> Shh, V. Let the artist work.

<Zombie> It’s the decay that makes you potent. You’re sharp, acidic, and dangerous in all the best ways. The kind of ingredient that doesn’t just sit in the dish—it dominates it. You make everything about you. Every bite is a risk. Every taste burns, but you keep coming back because there’s something so addictive about it.

Ronin typed almost immediately.

<goreboy> Darlin’, you’re makin’ me blush. Keep going.

You kept typing, the words pouring out in a chaotic frenzy.

<Zombie> But you’re also… versatile. You could be a poison, a cure, or even just the spice that turns a dish unforgettable. You’re the ingredient that could ruin the meal, but if you’re handled just right, you could make it a masterpiece.

<Zombie> ...But who could ever handle you perfectly? No one. Because you don’t want to be handled, do you? You want to unravel, to rot, to consume. You want to break apart and spread, infecting every single thing around you with your essence.

<Zombie> You’re chaos, Ronin. The kind that tastes like a nightmare you can’t stop dreaming about.

The server went silent for a moment, the eerie kind of quiet that only happened when people didn’t know how to respond. Then:

<goreboy> I could cry. That’s the sweetest thing anyone’s ever said to me.

<hitmeuppp> YOU’RE SO WEIRD OMG THIS IS AMAZING

<K9> Yeah, that’s not unsettling at all. Totally normal.

<Angelic> ...Well. That’s certainly a description.

Ronin wasn’t done, of course.

<goreboy> You’re not wrong, though. I am addictive, aren’t I? I mean, you’re the one typing out an essay about me. You sure I’m not already in your bloodstream, Zombie?

<Zombie> Maybe.

The server erupted in laughter and chaos, but Ronin’s message came in shortly after, quieter than the others:

<goreboy> You see everything, don’t you?

<Zombie> Everything that matters.

There was a long pause, the server buzzing with its usual noise, but Ronin stayed quiet for once. When he finally replied, it was almost… amused.

<goreboy> You’re gonna be fun.

You grinned at the chaos you'd caused, fingers hovering over the keyboard like a maestro about to conduct the next movement of this darkly delightful symphony.

<Zombie> You know, Ronin, for all your charm, I wouldn’t use you in a dish.

The response was immediate, almost predictable.

<goreboy> Excuse me? That’s rude.

<hitmeuppp> OMG WHY NOT?? HE’S LIKE, PRIME MATERIAL FOR YOUR “WEIRD INGREDIENT” THING.

<Zombie> Oh, Misaki, he’s too rotten. Spoiled goods. Completely useless as an ingredient. He’d overpower everything, turn it sour and bitter. You couldn’t make anything worthwhile out of him even if you tried.

<goreboy> Oh, so now I’m useless, huh?

<Zombie> Yes.

<goreboy> Darlin’, you wound me.

Misaki didn’t let up, her curiosity dragging the conversation in another direction.

<hitmeuppp> Okay, but what about Angel? Is she an ingredient?

You paused, the grin on your face growing wider as you typed, your words curling with twisted affection.

<Zombie> Angel? Oh, no. Angel could never be an ingredient.

The server went quiet for a moment. Then:

<hitmeuppp> Why not?? She’s like… perfect.

<Zombie> Because Angel is too much. She’s too precious, too complex. You wouldn’t eat a diamond, would you? You’d admire it, covet it, keep it safe. She’s the kind of thing that would ruin you to consume because she could never truly fulfill the craving.

<goreboy> That’s the creepiest compliment I’ve ever heard. Congrats.

<hitmeuppp> WAIT SO YOU LIKE ANGEL?

<Zombie> I admire her. She’s untouchable. Not because she’s fragile—oh no, Angel isn’t fragile—but because it would be a crime to use her for something as fleeting as a dish. She deserves better.

Angel’s reply came after a moment, her tone carefully measured.

<Angelic> I… think that was nice?

<Zombie> It was.

<hitmeuppp> You’re so weird about Angel, omg. What’s even the point of this if you can’t use her??

Your tone twisted, playful yet sharp, the words tumbling out like they were meant to unsettle.

<Zombie> Oh, Misaki. Some ingredients aren’t meant to be consumed. They’re meant to be admired, adored, even feared.

<Zombie> Ronin, on the other hand, is just… waste. A fascinating waste, but waste nonetheless. He’s the kind of thing you’d throw out before it infects the rest of the kitchen.

<goreboy> Keep talking, sweetheart. I love hearing how much you think about me.

The server laughed, the tension lifting slightly, but you weren’t quite finished.

<Zombie> You know, cannibal cuisine is all about balance. The cuts of meat have to be clean, precise. The flavor has to shine, but not overpower the rest of the dish. Angel would be impossible to balance. Too much of her would ruin everything. And Ronin? He’d never fit. He’s too… unruly.

<K9> This is so messed up.

<Zombie> Of course it is. But isn’t it fascinating?

The server erupted in responses, a mix of laughter, discomfort, and Ronin’s ever-present flirting. But Angel’s quiet reply, tucked in amidst the chaos, caught your eye.

<Angelic> ...I think you’re fascinating too.

<K9> Okay, Zombie, real talk. What are your motives? Like, why do you do what you do?

You tilted your head, your stitched skin tugging as you grinned. Your fingers tapped out a response, unbothered by the directness.

<Zombie> Motives? I don’t think it’s that complicated, V. I kill because I want to. Because I can.

The server erupted.

<hitmeuppp> WHAT??? OMG THAT’S SO WACKY

<goreboy> Darlin’, I’m startin’ to like you even more.

<K9> That’s not just messed up. That’s so messed up.

You leaned back for a moment, letting the replies pile up before leaning forward to add more, your words sharp and deliberate.

<Zombie> At least I don’t lie to myself about it, V. I don’t wrap it up in a bow and call it “justice.” That’s what you do, isn’t it?

V’s reply was quick, defensive.

<K9> Excuse me?

<Zombie> You heard me. You play the vigilante, but killing someone and pretending it’s righteous doesn’t change what it is. It’s killing. It’s messy. It’s human. The only difference between us is that I don’t need a moral excuse to justify it.

<hitmeuppp> THAT’S SO WACKY OMG. Do you, like, get messy? Like really messy??

You laughed softly to yourself as you typed your response.

<Zombie> Of course. It’s part of the process. The blood, the guts, the gore—it’s all a part of the art.

<hitmeuppp> OMG THAT’S SO ME FR!!!

Ronin chimed in, clearly reveling in the conversation.

<goreboy> I saw some of your handiwork on the news, darlin’. Real nasty stuff. Truly a person after my own heart.

You didn’t bother responding to him directly, but your eyes flicked to Angel’s message when it popped up.

<Angelic> I think it’s… cool.

For the first time, your reply was immediate, simple, and strangely devoid of your usual edge.

<Zombie> Thanks.

The others noticed.

<hitmeuppp> WTF YOU’RE LIKE NORMAL TO ANGEL???

<K9> Yeah, what’s that about? To everyone else, you’re like... super weird.

Your reply was sharp but carried an undercurrent of genuine emotion.

<Zombie> Because Angel’s the only one who deserves it. The rest of you? You’re just noise.

Ronin, never one to miss an opportunity, cut in with his usual flair.

<goreboy> Now, now, darlin’. That’s no way to treat the rest of us. But I’ll admit, you’re startin’ to grow on me.

You didn’t reply to him, your focus staying on Angel’s quiet presence.

<Angelic> Okay, everyone! y/n! #killer-shit. Post about your, well… y’know, “work” here.

The reaction was instant.

<hitmeuppp> OMG THIS IS GONNA BE SO FUN!!!

<goreboy> This is a place to spill guts. Literally. Y/n, think you can handle it?

You smirked, already knowing how your reply would land.

<Zombie> Oh, Ronin, I’ve been spilling guts since before you crawled out of your first sinner’s ribcage. Sometimes, though, it’s my own.

That caught everyone’s attention.

<K9> What the hell does that mean?

<Zombie> I mean my stitches. They’re… temperamental. If I move too fast, too hard, or smile too wide, they come undone.

You paused for dramatic effect, then added the next part, your words dripping with grotesque detail.

<Zombie> Once, I laughed too hard, and the stitches on my abdomen split wide open. I tried to hold it in, but my insides slipped out like a burst bag of viscera. I had to sew myself back together while everything steamed on the cold floor.

Misaki was the first to react.

<hitmeuppp> WTF THAT’S SO GROSS I LOVE IT OMG

You weren’t finished, though. Your next words came slowly, deliberately, designed to make them squirm.

<Zombie> It’s worse when I smile too hard. The stitches on my lips can’t hold, and they snap one by one. My mouth opens too wide, my teeth fall out like broken porcelain, clinking onto the floor. And sometimes... sometimes my left eye pops out. It dangles there, swaying, until I shove it back in.

The silence was palpable, broken only by Misaki’s nervous laughter.

<hitmeuppp> OKAY THAT ONE MADE ME FEEL SICK OMG

<K9> What the actual hell, Zombie.

But Angel’s reply cut through the noise, soft and filled with something close to pity.

<Angelic> That’s… awful. I’m so sorry.

You tilted your head at the screen, a strange warmth stirring in your chest at her words. Before you could respond, Ronin decided to chime in.

<goreboy> Aw, come on. Don’t feel bad for them, Angel. They’re practically a walking horror movie. That’s the dream, right?

You rolled your eyes, waiting for him to keep going.

<goreboy> I mean, if you’re falling apart that much, maybe you should just... stay down next time? You’re like a bad patch job that refuses to quit.

Typical Ronin. Sharp, biting, and almost offensive—until his tone shifted slightly, his words taking on an edge of something… else.

<goreboy> But hey, I get it. Takes a lotta guts to keep putting yourself back together. Literally. Guess I can respect that. Sorta.

<goreboy> You’re tougher than you look, Zombie. And I kinda dig that.

The unexpected turn made you pause, fingers hovering over the keyboard. Before you could type anything, Angel spoke again.

<Angelic> I still feel bad. You shouldn’t have to go through that.

Your next reply was quick, your usual edge softening just slightly.

<Zombie> Thanks, Angel.

The others immediately latched onto your uncharacteristic tone.

<hitmeuppp> WAIT YOU’RE BEING NORMAL AGAIN WTF

<K9> Yeah, this is getting weird.

Ronin, of course, couldn’t let it go.

<goreboy> Careful, Zombie. You keep acting all soft with Angel, and people might start thinking you’ve got a heart in there somewhere.

Suddenly, a call....

You barely had time to process the abrupt call request when Ronin's face filled your screen, his devil-may-care grin almost daring you to hang up. Instead, you leaned back and stared, taking him in.

Burgundy wine hair, messy and effortless, poked out from beneath a beanie tailored with two stitched-on horns—an obvious nod to the Devil he so gleefully tried to embody. His neck sported a spiked dog collar that looked sharp enough to draw blood, resting against the dark fabric of his jacket. Rings and piercings glittered in his ears and tongue, every piece calculated to scream rebellion.

His shirt featured a decayed skull graphic, paired with black-painted nails that clicked rhythmically on his keyboard. He oozed edginess, a walking contradiction of emo with a holy necklace—a simple Christian cross dangling around his neck, daring anyone to comment on the irony.

“You done ogling, or should I give you a spin?” Ronin broke the silence, his voice dripping with mockery as he tilted his head, one dark eye catching the faint glow of his monitor.

“What are you looking at, sweetheart?” He leaned closer, his grin widening, as if he could crawl through the screen to demand an answer.

You met his gaze unflinchingly, letting your eyes narrow. “It doesn’t matter,” you replied, your voice cutting through his theatrics. “What’s outside isn’t important. It’s what’s inside that counts.”

The faintest flicker of offense flashed across his face, quickly masked by a teasing pout. “Ouch,” he said, his voice dripping with faux hurt. “You wound me, Pinkie. You don’t like what you see?”

“It’s not about like or dislike,” you replied, your voice steady. “If what’s inside is rotten, it’s waste. No matter how pretty the packaging.”

The grin froze on his face for a moment, his head tilting as if to process your words. Then, slowly, it crept back, sharper, hungrier. “Damn. You really know how to twist the knife, don’t ya?” His laugh was low and rough, but his eyes betrayed something more—a flicker of challenge, intrigue.

“You’re a real piece of work, Zombie,” he said, leaning back with an exaggerated sigh. “But don’t think I didn’t notice you staring. Could’ve sworn you liked what you saw for a second there.”

“I observe,” you corrected, a smirk tugging at your lips. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

His laughter filled the call, rich and full of wicked delight. “Too late for that, sweetheart. I was born to flatter myself.”

It was hard to ignore the way your aesthetic clashed with his. You, in your sugary pink hues, with pastel highlights that seemed to light up the screen. Him, drenched in dark tones, every inch of him screaming chaos and rebellion.

“By the way,” you added, motioning toward his necklace, “what’s with the cross? Playing both sides, are we?”

His grin stretched impossibly wider, like a predator toying with its prey. “Oh, this?” He fingered the cross lazily, his rings catching the light. “Just a little reminder. Gotta keep things balanced."

“Rot and decay,” you added pointedly.

“Exactly,” he said, leaning closer again, the edges of his voice dipping into something darker. “You get me.”

The video feed was grainy but clear enough to catch Ronin's cocky smirk as he leaned back in his chair, the screen lighting his sharp features. The beanie still sat crooked on his head, and his dark eyes glimmered with something unreadable.

"So, what’s the deal with you and Angel?" you asked, voice light but probing. It was the natural question, the obvious one, considering the way he’d been snapping back and forth in her defense all night.

Ronin tilted his head, the smirk softening slightly but never quite leaving. “You noticed, huh? Angel and I...we’ve got history.” His voice dipped, casual but carrying an undertone of weight, like he was telling a joke he didn’t expect anyone to laugh at.

“She’s... important. We were a thing once, way back when. Thought it was love. Turns out it wasn’t—at least not the kind of love that lasts. More like we were thrilled to find someone just as twisted as we were, and we mistook that for romance.”

He shrugged, but his expression betrayed the complexity behind the words. “It was fun until it wasn’t. I made her worse; she made me realize...some shit about myself. Then we split, stayed friends. Better this way.”

The pause hung heavy, and he leaned forward slightly, his tone dropping into something more deliberate. “She’s been spamming my DMs, though. About you.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “Me?”

“Yeah,” he said, grin twitching back to life. “Apparently, I’ve been mean. She thinks I’m scaring you or some crap. Says I need to ease up. Real concerned, you know? Angel always cares a little too much.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Why?”

“Why?” he repeated, raising a brow as if the question was absurd. “Because that’s Angel. She’s like that. Her manager put her through hell; I guess she’s got a soft spot for anyone she thinks needs saving. Doesn’t matter now. I’ve got a job for you.”

You tilted your head, studying him carefully. “A job?”

“Yeah.” He leaned closer, his face filling the screen. “Keep an eye on Angel. Make sure she’s okay. And I mean actually okay. She’s got this martyr complex, always trying to save everyone else while letting herself get crushed under the weight of it. I’m not about to let her drown herself, you get me?”

You blinked at him, processing the odd sincerity in his voice. “Why me?”

His grin sharpened. “Because you’re crazy enough to care about people the way she does. And because I know what you’ve been up to.”

“What do you mean?”

“Oh, don’t play dumb, sweetheart.” He laughed, low and wicked. “You’ve been trying to hack into the server, haven’t you? Looking for addresses, names...Am I warm? You just joined!”

Your stomach flipped, but you held your composure. “How did you—”

“I know everything,” he interrupted, eyes glinting dangerously. “And let me tell you something: if anyone—anyone—gets hurt because of you? I’ll be abusing a crowbar on that pretty little head of yours, darling. Don’t test me.”

You stared at him for a long moment, his threat hanging in the air like the faint smell of copper. Then, unexpectedly, you giggled.

your eyes sharp and unblinking, cutting into him like knives. His smirk wavered slightly under your intense gaze.

“You’re not completely rotten,” you said suddenly, your voice low and deliberate.

His grin twitched back into place. “You keep saying that, sweetheart, but I’m telling ya, I’m as bad as they come.”

“No,” you countered, tilting your head, the movement slow, almost mechanical. “You care about Angel. I’ve noticed it. The way you check on her, the way you talk about her. You don’t want her to drown in her own martyrdom. You notice everything about her. You want to protect her, even from herself.”

Ronin’s smirk softened into something almost unsure. “What can I say? She’s my favorite Angel. Someone’s gotta keep her wings clean.”

“You pretend you’re only chaos,” you continued, ignoring his quip, your tone growing more deliberate, more intense. “But you’re not. You’ve got something in there. A little sliver of...something. A little less rotten.”

You tilted your head the other way, a smile spreading across your lips—too sweet, too wide, too unsettling. “I want that kind of care. Someone who sees me like you see her. But...” Your smile faltered, and your eyes seemed to gleam with something darker. “I can’t get it, can I?”

Ronin let out a low whistle, leaning back in his chair. “You’re somethin’ else, darlin’. Really are.”

“Guess that’s a deal then,” you said, your smile returning with a sharp edge. “But in return...” You leaned closer to the camera, your voice dropping to a whisper. “I want to see more of you.”

Ronin raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “More of me, huh? What, you want me to start livestreaming my kills for ya?”

“No.” You shook your head slowly, your grin widening. “You’re such a unique ingredient.” Your voice carried an eerie sing-song lilt as your eyes lit up, almost sparkling with manic glee. “A fascinating one. I’d love to see how you’re put together.”

“Holy shit,” Ronin said, laughing as he leaned back again, the sound loud and sharp. “You’re crazier than I thought.”

You didn’t flinch, your gaze still locked onto his. “I want to see your insides.”

Ronin froze mid-laugh, his grin faltering just enough to catch. “Come again?”

“I want to see your heart,” you said, your voice unnervingly calm. “I want to know how rotten it is. I want to cut you open. I want to carve you apart, piece by piece, until there’s nothing left but the truth inside you. I want to see if you’re really as rotten as you pretend to be.”

The air between you felt thick as Ronin blinked, watching you with something caught between amusement and genuine disbelief. Then, to your surprise, his face flushed—just the faintest hint of red across his cheeks.

“Darlin’, you’ve got some ideas,” he said, his voice low and gravelly, laced with amusement.

You leaned forward, your grin widening even further. “You like it, don’t you?”

“What?”

“You like people who want to murder you,” you said bluntly, your head tilting in that same slow, unnerving way.

Ronin’s laughter burst out again, sharp and unrestrained. “You’re insane. Completely unhinged.” He wiped at his face, shaking his head. “But I can’t lie, I’ve never met anyone like you.”

Your voice dropped into a whisper, dripping with a dark, almost intimate intensity. “I’ll cut you open, Ronin. I’ll cut and cut and cut. I’ll carve you down to nothing.”

His grin grew, sharp and full of teeth, as if he were watching a show just for him. “And what would you find, huh? What’s left of me once you’re done?”

“I’ll find you,"

"You're a diseases." He looked at you grinning.

"I do have a disease, . THAT DISEASE ONLY TOOK AWAY MY SENSITIVITY. BUT I CAN STILL SMELL THINGS. LIKE THE BEAUTIFUL SMELL..."

"Flowers, because you're pink?"

"BLOOD."

"I'll admit that smell is pretty cool...I feel bad for you tho. What kind of shitty person has this society turned you into?" Ronin asked ever so...

"Ah...H....."

"You're smiling too much now Mx Baker."

"I'M JUST AMUSED BY YOUR COMPASSION FOR ME. I'M LITERALLY GOING TO KILL AND EAT YOU AND YOU KNOW IT PERFECTLY WELL. AH, POOR ME! YOUR BLOOD, STUPID. I WANT TO EAT YOU, I WANT TO TASTE EVERY BITE AND CHEW IT WITH YOUR SWEET BLOOD. GOD, THE THOUGHT OF IT IS DRIVING ME CRAZY!"

you said, deadly serious, your gaze unwavering.

He stared at you, his grin fading for a split second before returning, softer this time. “You’re a real freak, sweetheart.”

“And you like it,” you replied, your voice dripping with certainty.

“We’ll see,” he said, his grin sharp as he reached for the call button. “Don’t go fallin’ too hard, Zombie.”

With that, the call ended, leaving you staring at the blank screen, your smile unwavering.

Character Introduction: Y/N (The Cannibal Baker)- Character notes on them if you wanna read!

Alias: Zombie (By ronin), Honey (Angel), Freakshow (Misaki) Y/n (V)

Appearance: A twisted vision of stitched perfection, Y/N is a haunting figure of pale pink and soft pastels juxtaposed with grotesque details. Their stitched skin is meticulously patched, a macabre quilt of recycled life. Their wide, eerie smile is framed by scars, and the occasional tooth slips loose, revealing the horrors underneath. Eyes that sparkle with unnerving glee belie their darker nature.

Personality: A duality of sweetness and sinister intent, Y/N is as charming as they are horrifying. They speak with a syrupy kindness that feels just a little too sticky, a little too wrong. Their obsession with "ingredients" extends to everyone they meet, dissecting people in their mind, categorizing their potential usefulness in a culinary metaphor.Y/N has a sharp wit, a playful edge to their cruelty, and an unnerving calmness when speaking of the unspeakable. Their fascination with gore and murder is matched only by their twisted sense of care—caring deeply about the people they’ve deemed important, even if their ways of expressing it are unsettling.

Motivations: Y/N kills for pleasure and perfection, seeing it as an art form. They’ve convinced themselves it’s about crafting the perfect “dish,” but deep down, it’s their way of maintaining control and finding meaning in a chaotic existence.

Character Relationship Thoughts

Ronin (The Devil’s Butcher):

Y/N’s thoughts on Ronin: "He’s like a rotting masterpiece—so vibrant and decayed, I can’t look away. Every joke he cracks is a layer peeling back, every threat a promise I’d love to see fulfilled. He’s not completely rotten, though. He pretends to be, but I see it. The way he cares for Angel—it’s fascinating. It’s beautiful. I want to cut him open and see what makes him tick. I want to carve out the truth of him with my own two hands. He’s a unique ingredient, one I’d never waste on a single dish. He’s the kind of flavor that lingers, haunts you long after the meal is done."

Ronin’s thoughts on Y/N: "Sweetheart’s a goddamn freak, and I mean that in the best way possible. They’ve got that look in their eyes, like they’d gut me and giggle while doing it—and hell, that’s kinda thrilling. They’re dangerous, no doubt, but not just in a kill-you kind of way. They notice things, things they shouldn’t. Makes me feel...seen, in a way I don’t know if I like yet. They’re crazy as shit, but damn if they aren’t my kind of crazy. I’d love to see them try to crack me open. Let’s see who breaks first."

Angel (Heartsick Angel):

Y/N’s thoughts on Angel: "She’s too good to be eaten. Too precious, too sweet, too much. I could never ruin her by turning her into a meal. No dish would do her justice; she’s a perfection I’d never desecrate. But oh, the way she cares, the way she looks at people with that soft gaze—it’s maddening. She makes me feel...small, like I could be something other than this. And that’s terrifying."

Angel’s thoughts on Y/N: "They’re broken, but not beyond saving. I see them the way I wish someone had seen me before I became this. They’re terrifying, sure, but there’s something sad about them, too. They talk about people like ingredients, but there’s a care in the way they don’t talk about me that tells me they’re not as gone as they think. I just hope they don’t drown in the darkness they keep running towards."

V (Vigilante):

Y/N’s thoughts on V: "He’s so self-righteous, so blind to the truth of what he is. He kills and calls it justice; I kill and call it art. At least I’m honest. He’s like a bitter spice, overpowering and trying too hard. He’s useful, though—ingredients like him bring out the best in a dish when balanced correctly."

V’s thoughts on Y/N: "They’re messed up. Totally deranged. But the worst part? They don’t lie about it. They look you in the eye and tell you exactly what they are, and it’s terrifying. There’s a darkness in them that even Ronin doesn’t have—it’s colder, more calculated. I don’t trust them, but I can’t stop watching."

Misaki (HitMeUpp):

Y/N’s thoughts on Misaki: "So excitable, so easily impressed. She’s like sugar—sweet, but too much of her would rot your teeth. Still, she’s fun, in a bubblegum kind of way. Not my usual flavor, but every dish needs a little contrast."

Misaki’s thoughts on Y/N: "They’re so wacky! Like, scary wacky, but also fascinating. The way they talk about killing like it’s an art form—it’s freaky, but you can’t help but listen. I mean, they’re a little too creepy sometimes, but I think they’re cool in a way I don’t wanna admit out loud."

The Messed-Up Love Between Y/N, Ronin, and Angel:

Y/N & Ronin:

Dear ME Their bond is a twisted dance of obsession and control, where love doesn’t exist in the traditional sense. It’s a game, a performance where each step is an act of domination and submission. Y/N is entranced by Ronin’s chaotic nature, drawn to the dark, twisted energy he radiates. They see him as a puzzle they want to solve, a broken, rotting thing that’s too beautiful in its disintegration to ignore. It’s not love, but something darker—an addiction to the thrill of their interactions, the danger they present to each other.Y/N's idea of love is warped by their need to "break" the things they care about. In their mind, to truly love someone is to carve them open, understand them piece by piece, and turn them into something they can possess—control. With Ronin, they find a kindred spirit in destruction, but Ronin doesn’t allow himself to be completely consumed. The tension between them is electric, but neither of them will allow the other to dominate entirely. There’s a mutual respect in their brokenness, but there’s also a game of manipulation—one trying to outsmart the other.Y/N wants Ronin to crack, to let them in, to show them that there's something more under the devilish exterior. Ronin, on the other hand, plays the role of the untouchable figure, the force of nature, the devil who refuses to bow to anyone, including Y/N. Their relationship is marked by moments of twisted affection, sharp words, and even sharper smiles. It’s not love in the purest sense—it’s ownership, obsession, and a constant struggle for dominance.

Ronin’s Perspective: “You think you know me, sweetheart? You're just another fucking weirdo who's trying to find the truth in a world that doesn't have it. But you’re also... fun. Maybe a little too fun. I can’t decide if I want to kill you or keep you. Hell, maybe I’ll do both. What do you think of that? Huh?”

Y/N’s Perspective: “You’re a rotting masterpiece, Ronin. I want to carve into you, see what makes you tick. You think you’re untouchable, but we both know—there’s something in you that wants to break. And when you break, you’ll be mine.”

Y/N & Angel:

TWISTED With Angel, it’s a different kind of twisted affection. There’s a genuine care in Y/N’s desire to protect her, but it’s muddled by their own fractured psyche. Y/N sees Angel as something pure, untouchable, a perfect contradiction to their own broken soul. But that purity is something Y/N feels compelled to defile, not out of hatred, but out of a need to possess everything they find beautiful and unattainable.Y/N’s love for Angel is possessive and suffocating. It’s not that they want to hurt Angel, but they want to understand her, to know every secret she hides, to rip through her facades and uncover the raw, human parts that Angel doesn’t want anyone to see. They know how much Angel means to Ronin, and that fuels their need to control and shape her into something they can possess.Y/N wants to save her, but not in a way that would make her whole. They want to keep her fractured, like them—because only then would they feel truly connected. They want to be the one who heals her, but in doing so, they’d break her a little more.

Angel’s Perspective on Y/N: “You’re twisted. You say you want to protect me, but you’ve got this way of making everything feel like a game—like I’m just another one of your little experiments. But I can’t say I don’t care. There’s something in the way you look at me, something that feels like you really want to be... with me."

Y/N’s Perspective on Angel: “You’re too pure, Angel. Too soft. You make me want to ruin that purity, to twist it, because I can’t have you thinking you’re better than me. But I’ll never hurt you the way I’d hurt someone else. You’re special... in a way that makes me want to hold you close and crush everything good about you just to see how it fits inside me.”

Lemme know if I should do part 2!!!

[libidinous-weeb]

“he loves to cum inside your walls” what the fuck is he doing in my walls? the insulation in this apartment is already piss poor. if he wants to cum in my walls he better start paying the motherfuckin rent

[brazilian-whalien52]

Honestly I can't take the sentence "sexualizing minors" serious in fandom spaces anymore. I never know if this is being used for some actual media that have sexual content with kids or it's just someone that don't like a romance story with two teenagers

[angelellipsis-devilofdots]

since taylor swift's definition of "feminine rage" is normalizing cheating, romanticizing ableism and mental illness, and immaturely whining about exes, here's some recommendations of my favorite actual feminine rage songs

trigger warning for abuse, violence, alcoholism, and rape/sa

as good a reason by paris paloma: alternative, indie pop. themes include body image, learning self love, imbalance of power, and fuck the patriarchy vibes

bitter medicine by the crane wives: alternative/indie rock. themes include high responsibility, the consequences of expressing anger as a woman, and self-resentment

blood in the wine by aurora: pop rock. themes include religious trauma, overcoming guilt and shame, embracing human nature, and defying societal norms related to pleasure (sexual and otherwise)

burn your village by kiki rockwell: alternative/indie rock. themes include sexual assault and rape-related trauma, coming to terms with trauma, revenge, high expectations, and witch hunts

everybody supports women by sofia isella: alternative, electronic. themes include societal hypocrisy, unrealistic standards placed on women, and society scrutinizing individuality

labour by paris paloma: alternative, indie pop. themes include unrealistic expectations/standards for women, burnout, emotional stress, and imbalanced relationships

pray by the amazing devil: melodramatic, theatrical, alt-folk. themes include religious trauma, religious power imbalances, oppression of women in religion, overcoming trauma, and self-forgiveness

scars by the crane wives: alternative/indie rock. themes include childhood trauma, mental health/mental illness, self-doubt, and self-resentment

take me to war by the crane wives: alternative/indie rock. themes include fighting bigotry, activism, allowing oneself to express anger and rage, and power imbalances

that unwanted animal by the amazing devil: melodramatic, theatrical, alt-folk. themes include domestic violence and abuse, lack of communication, unhealthy/broken relationships, sexual expectations, and emotional instability

the calling by the amazing devil: melodramatic, theatrical, alt-folk. themes include lifelong trauma, mental health/mental illness, alcoholism, heartbreak and depression, coming to terms with trauma, and self-reflection

the fruits by paris paloma: alt-folk, indie pop. themes include religious trauma, manipulative and abusive relationships, and overcoming trauma

which witch by florence + the machine: alternative/indie pop. themes include witch hunts, revenge, defying societal norms, and unhealthy/unstable relationships

i'm sure there are more in my playlists but this is all i can remember off the top of my head at the moment. i'll edit if i think of more. enjoy xx

[youkissedareaderinthedark]

Coraline

Synopsis: Y/n’s childhood and history with her parents has always stayed a secret, and she likes it that way. Until a journalist reveals the truth, and everything seems to come crashing down at once.

young female driver reader x 2023 F1 grid

A/N: a few things for this fic: reader will be 20 years old, had driven for alpha tauri since the beginning of 2022, the 2022 is the same as the 2023 grid, and please look at the trigger warning below.

Trigger Warning: This fic contains abusive parents, talks of eating disorders, neglecting a kid, verbally abusing a kid, signs of depression, and a lot of hurtful comments in general. This fic is not meant to idolize or romanticize having abusive parents or depression. If anyone finds anything particularly disturbing with this fic, do not hesitate to let me know and I will fix it.

tagged: @treehouse-mouse

2023 was supposed to be a good season for Alpha Tauri. The cars looked good, your driver pairing was solid, and the hopes were high for your junior Red Bull team. You could only laugh at the naivety of it now.

Most of the season was exceptional; you and Yuki Tsunoda brought in points almost every weekend, your team was seventh in the constructors championship, and overall, you were having a great time traveling around the world.

This was your second year in Formula 1, and now that you weren’t a rookie anymore, you could have more fun now that you knew what you were doing.

Some people just don’t like others being happy, though.

With less than 10 races left, you walked into the paddock for the Monza Grand Prix Thursday afternoon feeling optimistic. This was the second race after the summer break, and Alpha Tauri was expected to do well in Italy.

Your press officer, Ally, greeted you in your garage, and after saying hello to Yuki, you followed her out of the garage and into the media pen for a press conference.

You walk in to see Lewis, Carlos, Lando, and Fernando and talked quietly with them as the press in front of you get settled. “Everybody ready? All right, first question please” One of the directors asks, as a journalists speaks up.

“Lewis, you’ve witnessed the infamous ‘Monza Curse’ multiple times in your career, do you think the theory is true and will it strike again this year?”

“Um, no” Lewis chuckles. “I don’t believe in the curse, but it would be nice to see someone new finish first today, and if a curse is what it’s going to take, then yeah, why not”

The five of you laugh, not noticing the second journalist beginning to speak. “Y/n, what do you have to say about the recent article published regarding your past with your family?”

You instantly stop laughing, hoping you misheard the man.

“Sorry?”

There’s no way

“The article? That was recently published concerning your past with your parents, what do you have to say about it?” The journalist stared at you curiously while your mind blanked for an answer.

You had no idea what article he was talking about, but if it concerned your past with your ‘family’, you knew it wasn’t anything that should be published.

Suddenly there’s movement in the midst of the media pen, and your press officer emerges from the crowd. “Y/n, come with me” She pauses, seeing one of the directors nearing out of the corner of her eye.

“It’s urgent, I need her” You’d take any excuse to get away from the current situation, so after exchanging a look with Lewis, you follow the woman into the paddock towards your garage.

Once you were both in the safety of your drivers room, you turned on her. “What article is he talking about? What’s going on?” You said, voice heavy with concern.

Ally hesitated, looking uncomfortable, before answering. “This morning, an article published a story talking about you and your parents, and the-um, harsh history you have with them” She hands you her phone, said article already open.

“I think it’s better if you read it yourself” The bold letters blink up at you, clear and sullen.

“F1 DRIVERS UNCOVERED: THE REAL REASON WE DON’T SEE Y/N L/N’S PARENTS”

Your heart falls to your stomach and your hands start to shake as your eyes skim over the words of the most invading and overwhelming article you’ve ever read in your life. Whoever wrote this, wrote it in hopes of exposing every secret of your past, and further tangles the truth of an already over-complicated background.

The real reason your parents are never around you is a reason you hate talking about.

You first realized it when you were around ten years old, the way your parents never looked happy around each other, and always tense around other parents. The way they never said ‘I love you’ or kissed each other goodbye. It confused you, as these were the things you always saw your friend’s parents do, but you were too young to understand at the time, so you mainly ignored it.

It wasn’t until one night when you were eleven that you heard an argument erupting from your kitchen, one about money and divorces and you. The shouting continued for ages, until you heard one statement, loud and clear.

“Think about this, she’s getting good in those karting competitions of hers, and according to other parents she could go really far in this thing and get money from sponsorships and mentors. So let’s just give it a little time, make sure she gets better and gets paid, and the money will go to us and eventually she’ll leave to Formula- whatever and we won’t have to worry about her”

You put your pillow over your head, turned around, and went to sleep sobbing that night.

From then on, there was no ‘I love you’s’ or kisses goodbye even to you, and eventually, no happiness in your house. The ‘other parents’ were right, the older you got, the farther you looked to go in racing. Just before you turned 13, the three of you moved to a city in England so you could pursue karting further, and that’s when it all got worse.

You competed in countless competitions, and every race you won, the more criticism you got from your mom and dad. The second you stepped off the 1st place podium, your parents were waiting to comment on your driving and the techniques you should’ve used to win.

They never let you focus on anything but karting, letting you go nowhere but the track and to school, and made sure you were always looking for ways to get better. They ruthlessly compared you to kids in other series that were performing better than you, and countered every compliment someone gave you with a complaint.

All of this seemed like a dream compared to the treatment you got when you lost. Whether it be second, or tenth, every race you didn’t come first in was a loss, and your parents simply didn’t accept this.

When you lost, they’d make you practice on track for twice as long, no matter the weather, and berated you the second you started to complain. They limited your diet after your losses, claiming you needed to be lighter if you wanted the kart to go faster.

Your mother and father gave you this relentless attention with anything regarding racing, but the moment the topic drifted, you were neglected. There were no family dinners or movie nights, if you wanted something, you were going to have to buy it with your own money, and if you wanted to go somewhere, you needed to walk or find a ride because they refused to drive you anywhere if it wasn’t for a race.

There was no other family to go to even when things go impossibly rougher; you had no other relatives in the UK, and you couldn’t exactly ask your friends if you could live with them.

So you endured these conditions, all the way through the F4 British Championship, F3 and F2. You turned 18 while you were in Formula 2, and the second you did, you took the little money you had, and rented an apartment in South England, where you’ve been living ever since.

Your parents constantly contacted you in whatever ways they could, but you very quickly made sure they didn’t know where you lived and were never given paddock passes again. No one knows any of this anyway; when people ask where your parents are or when they’d get to meet them, you just shrug and say, “they couldn’t make it”

You haven’t seen your parents in person since you were 17, and you’ve done everything in your power to keep it like that.

Though with a few thousand words and 4 hours, one nosy journalist has managed to unravel all your work and growth and release it into the world.

You’re broken out of your stunned silence when Ally puts a hand on your shoulder. “I’ve set up a meeting with Alpha Tauri and Red Bull’s PR managers so we could figure out what we should do next to keep the press off your back, okay? The meeting’s in fifteen meetings, so I’ll leave you for a while”

Ally takes her phone back and exits the room to leave you standing still in the middle of it, astonished and speechless.

The meeting goes as well as you expected it to go. You shared as much as the truth as you saw fit, and came up with a statement to post with the rest of the PR managers. You were confirmed to go back to the media pen to finish interviews an hour later, and while no one asked you about the article, you could tell it was the unanswered question they all wanted to raise.

You are able to avoid most of the press of the remaining of the Italian weekend, and stuck to answering race-related questions only, your safest and only option, Ally told you later. You finished the Grand Prix P10, and flew home still sullen.

You spent the two weeks in between Monza and Japan in your apartment, regretfully thinking about all those years you had to spend under your parent’s treatment, and trying to forget them with simulator work.

You arrive in Suzuka, quiet and unsmiling, and try to ignore the shouting of the press that greets you on your way into the paddock. Ally guides you away as two new voices greet you.

“Hey Y/n, how are you?” Lewis asks, pulling you into a side hug and stepping into place beside you.

“Are you okay? You seem off” Charles says concerned, meeting you in a handshake.

“I’m fine, my flight just got in late last night so I’m tired, that’s all” You half smiled in response, hoping it was believable enough.

“Sure?” Lewis presses father. “Yeah, I’m okay” You nod.

“Okay, well, we’re still going into the city after media today?” Lewis asks. “Of course, I’ll meet you guys at my hotel after” You assure as you near the Alpha Tauri garage.

“See you then, and try to sleep a bit, yes?” Charles says before the two men walk off together.

Your friendship with the two drivers started because of the Spanish and British Grand Prix’s, the two races that gave you your two highest race finishes, and ended with two of your closest friends. Spain was a great race for both you and Lewis, yourself in P4, him in P2, and after non-stop talking in the paddock, you flew back to the UK together, effectively starting the friendship existing today.

You’d been friendly with Charles previously, but after his P9 finish in Silverstone and your P5 finish, he realized in a conversation before an interview that you were undeniably good at cheering people up, and you guys have been close since.

You’ve talked with them since Monza, of course, but not about the article. They want to talk to you about it, you can tell, but Charles and Lewis aren’t the type of people to just come right out and ask if you’re feeling okay about your history with your abusive parents being exposed to the world.

They also don’t want to pressure you into talking about something you clearly don’t want to talk about, so if all they can do is help distract you from the media, they’re going to.

Your night out with the Mercedes and Ferrari drivers does distract you; Lewis leads you and Charles to different shops and restaurants all over Suzuka, talking and laughing the entire time. You take a few photos along the way, and you go back to your hotel still smiling.

You kept your good mood until qualifying on Saturday, and are brought back into the reality of racing when you only manage P11. It’s technically not bad of a result for your car, but P9 or P8 would’ve been better right now, because all you can think about is what your parents would’ve said if you finished P11.

They’re paying you millions of dollars to race for them and the best you can do is eleventh?

You think you deserve to be here?

They are hundreds of other drivers that would do so much better than you

You are nothing compared to the other drivers

You’re lucky if you keep you seat next season, I know I wouldn’t let a P11 driver on my team

You go quiet at the thought, and get through post-race media stoic. You leave with your trainer as soon as you can, avoiding Lewis and Charles’s eyes on your way out. You have a week before you have to leave for Qatar, and spend a countless amount of hours on your simulator, hoping this time it’ll make a difference.

You flew into Lusail not knowing what to expect other than hot weather, and unfortunately you were right. You felt the heat as soon as you got in your car for FP1 on Friday and was already dreading the rest of the weekend.

You qualify P11 for both the race and the sprint, and end up in P12 for the two. You felt terrible after Sunday’s race, both physically and mentally, and you’re already berating yourself for your performance by the time you get weighed.

Charles and Lewis are in your post-race press conference group, and you can see them exchange a look after every cold and detached answer you give. You only stop to talk to your friends for a few minutes afterwards before you excuse yourself to go cool down, and leave minutes later with the defense of needing rest.

You fly back to the UK with Lewis, and you’re glad the two of you are asleep for most of the trip so Lewis won’t ask you to talk about why you’ve been so quiet.

The 10 days you have until you fly out to Austin are spent mostly on your phone, looking at all the comments people have been making about you since the article came out, saying how you probably deserved the treatment that you got, and how Alpha Tauri needs a more “stable” driver if they want to advance in the championship.

You don’t do much except exercise and train on the sim in those days, finding neither the desire or energy to do anything else.

Even though everyone is happy to be in Texas that week, you can’t find the energy to truly smile once that weekend. Charles and Lewis are practically stuck to your side, and even though you can tell they’re dying to ask you to talk about it, they only ask a few times if you wanted to tell them something, and when you denied, and simply offered companionship through silence.

It’s another sprint race, and you only pull off P12 and 13 for qualifying and the shootout, and drop a place by the end of both races.

You feel more frustrated with yourself than ever; you don’t understand why you can’t work with the car like you once used to, and you can’t even figure out how to again. You were doing so well until that fucking article came out, and all the sudden you don’t know how to drive.

The worst part about it is that every race, more and more people are realizing how you’ve been under-performing, and how people are starting to question your ability to drive for the junior Red Bull team.

You aren’t stupid, you know how things work at Red Bull, so you know that if you don’t pick your pace up soon, you could end up without a seat for the 2024 season.

This thought alone starts to destroy you, and soon you can’t even deny how burnt out you are. You pick up on the forced habit of not eating much, and making yourself to do nothing but train and look for ways to be better.

You spend the days before Mexico with data analysts and strategists, looking for any and every way to go faster. You dedicate too much time looking at successful F2 drivers, hearing Liam Lawson’s name come up too much for comfort, thinking about how Dennis Hauger had been looking fast in F2.

It’s a terribly unhealthy time killer, one that makes you look sick and go quiet. Charles and Lewis aren’t the only ones exchanging concerned looks now; multiple other drivers on the grid, friends with you or not, notice the change in your behavior and quickly grow worried when they hear Yuki’s description of you.

The drivers aren’t stupid either, they all know about the article that was published in September, and most of them would be lying if they said they hadn’t looked at it in curiosity. They’d also be lying if they saw their eyes didn’t widen in concern or eyebrows didn’t furrow with worry when they read how terrible your parents treated you.

The grid saw how the comments got nastier and nastier under your lessening social media posts every day, and even asked your PR officer multiple times to make sure she was managing your accounts and making sure you didn’t see what people had to say about your background or yourself.

They saw how you got quieter every race, how you stopped hanging out with Yuki and Charles and Lewis, no matter how many times they offered. They saw the rumors of you and your 2024 seat, how apparently Helmut Marko was paying close attention to you and the clauses in your contract.

They asked a lot, if you wanted to talk or if they could help in any way. It was always the same response; a weary smile, a small shake of the head, the words,“No, I’m fine, just tired” and an excuse that you were needed in your garage or media pen.

So they try to help in more discreet ways; when Yuki is asked about your position on Alpha Tauri or your future with Red Bull, he calmly assures that you are working hard with the team, and is doing everything possible to understand the car.

Charles, Lewis, and a few other drivers make a routine of coming to your driver’s room, most of the time just to sit with you as you look at data, or talk with you when you’re feeling up to it.

Mexico goes somehow worse than Texas, and you finish with your lowest result in F1 yet, P15. You try to be as approachable as possible in post-race media, but your sullen face gives you away.

You leave with Ally and your trainer to catch your flight to Brazil mere hours after you passed the checkered flag, and spend most of your time in Sau Paulo alone in your hotel room, replaying every hurtful comment either your mother and father or fans have said about you, and debating whether or not it was true.

You walk into the Brazilian paddock Thursday morning more grateful than you thought possible that this was the third-to-last race of your season.

And according to over twenty media sources, your third-to last race of F1.

After a public statement made by Marko talking about how Red Bull was “considering your future with their junior team” every journalist in the F1 community has decided that it means this was your last season in F1.

And honestly, you couldn’t find it in yourself to care. Whether you raced in 2024 or not, you just wanted to go home and avoid the press for three months.

It was another sprint weekend, and another terrible qualifying and shootout. You placed 15th in both sessions and kept your place in the sprint, and spent a quiet Saturday evening in your hotel.

You could feel almost every journalists eye’s turn to you as soon as you walked into the paddock on Sunday. You arrived early that afternoon to get some extra data-stuff done, only now realizing that it gave the growing group of reporters behind you more time to ask you questions.

“Y/n! Can you tell us about your future in F1?”

“Will you have a seat next year?

“Y/n, what does Helmut Marko think about your decrease in performance?”

“Does your past with your parents have anything to do with your recent race results?”

You try to keep your face emotionless as you make your way into the Alpha Tauri garage and to your drivers room. You prepare for the race with your personal trainer and look over the arranged strategies for Sau Paulo while you wait for the go-ahead to get in your car.

Due to all the crashed-out cars, you ended the race in P12 in front of Oscar Piastri and Daniel Ricciardo. Statistically speaking, it was one of your better 2023 races, but everyone knows if it wasn’t for all the DNF’s, you’d finish in the bottom five.

You know that everyone knows this because just before you walked into the media pen after your race debrief, you saw Christian Horner and Marko speaking to your team principle, and after Yuki’s P9 finish today, it didn’t take you even a second to understand who they were talking about with disappointed faces and multiple shakes of the head.

Sure, this could mean nothing. This could just be a conversation between the three people that control the top team and it’s junior team. But you also like to think you’re a bit smarter than that.

You walked deeper into the crowded area before the three could see you, and walked to the first open journalist you saw, in hopes of leaving early.

“Y/n, hi! Not too bad of a race for you today, I guess?” The man asked, pointing his microphone towards you

“Yeah, not too bad. The car felt pretty okay and there was a bit of pace, but not enough to overtake or anything, clearly” You reply.

“Can we expect more race pace from you in Las and Vegas and Abu Dhabi?”

“I mean, it’s a bit too early to tell, but we’ll hope and see what comes out out of the practices” The man nods before looking down at his notebook.

“And your seat for Alpha Tauri next year, we know you’re apart of the confirmed driver lineup for 2024 but Helmut Marko states that there are attainable clauses in your contract, what do you think about that?”

You’re caught off guard by the question, but right when you’re about to respond, the man continues.

“Surely, Alpha Tauri isn’t really considering keeping you for next season, are they?”

You’re standing in front of the man speechless now, your brain barely comprehending what’s being spoken.

“Because I know the last thing a team wants is an incapable driver that is too emotionally effected by her “traumatic” childhood to race,” the volume of his voice starts to increase, and other drivers are starting to focus on your one-sided conversation.

“I mean, c’mon, no one even believes that even happened to you, and if it did, your parents were probably right for doing it-”

Your hands are shaking, eyes are wide with shock, body suddenly freezing, and you don’t even think you’re breathing. All you can do is listen as this man goes on and on about how you’re a shitty driver and deserved how your parents treated you.

You’re only broken out of your trance when an arm clad in red wraps around your shoulders and pulls you through the paddock. You’re not even aware of the yelling from a certain Mercedes drivers gets quieter and quieter as you’re brought into your driver’s room.

You’re being sat on a couch, and suddenly Charles Leclerc’s face is right in front of you, hands on your shoulders and eyes filled with concerned. “Y/n? Y/n, look at me, please, Y/n-” Your eyes dart to him and in an instant, everything from the past five minutes comes rushing through your head, and you can’t stop the tears that start to fall down your face.

“Oh, Y/n” The Ferrari driver moves to comfort you, but stops as you begin to cover your face and move away.

“No, Y/n, it’s okay, please, let me help you, Y/n” Charles wraps his arms around you in a hug as your body begins to shake with uncontrollable sobs.

“I can’t- I can’t do this anymore, Charles” You say in between breaths.

“I have to quit or something, I can’t keep doing this Charles, I can’t” You let your head fall on his shoulder, as the man tries to calm you down.

Charles’ heart is breaking as he comforts his friend; he remembers loving his first few years in Formula 1, how everything was so new and exciting to him, he could never not want to race, not then and not now. But to hear one of his closest friends breakdown because of how much she hates being there, makes the man’s heart shatter.

The door abruptly opens, and for a moment, all you can hear is the low angry cursing of Lewis Hamilton, until he sees you and Charles, and his face immediately softens.

“Love, I’m so sorry. That guy is a complete jerk, don’t listen to him” The British man says as he takes a seat beside you and wraps an arm around your shoulders.

“I don’t know what to do anymore, I feel so stuck in this place where everyone is always talking about what happened and I don’t know how much longer I can go through it” You say, your voice breaking off with another sob.

Charles hushes you once more, exchanging a worried look with Lewis as you pull away from him again. “I’m sorry, I know I should be doing better and everything but I just can’t-” You say, voice shaky through the tears.

“Don’t for one second be sorry that you’re not competitive right now. Y/n, thousands of people are talking about the one thing that hurt you the most, and I understand why you feel this way, just please, love, for your own good, let us help you. I promise it will make you feel better” Lewis assures, grabbing your hand.

So for the first time, you do. For over an hour, you tell Charles and Lewis everything that happened when you were younger, and how the article has made you feel since then. They listen quietly, nodding once in a while to let you know they understand, and gave you a hug when you stopped talking.

“Do you feel better now?” Lewis asks.

“Yeah, not entirely, but better”

“Good, that’s all I wanted to hear,”

“Are you ready to go home now? There’s a plane waiting for us, if you want”

“Definitely. I need to go home” You say as Charles helps pack up all your things and Lewis makes sure there’s a car waiting for you two outside. As you’re all walking through the nearly-empty paddock, Charles turns to you.

“I have to go back to my garage, but please Y/n, if you ever need to talk, call me? I want to help you, I don’t want to see you like this again” The Monegasque brings you into a hug.

“I know, Charles, I will” You promise.

“Okay, I’ll see you before Vegas, yes? Feel better!” He calls as he moves backwards and further into the paddock.

“You promise?”

Lewis asks you hours later in the front of the airport in England, just about to get into separate cars.

“Yes, Lewis, I’ll call when I need” You say to the older man in a hug.

“Alright, text me when you’ve made it home and make sure you get some rest. Don’t be too hard on yourself either, you don’t give yourself enough credit for everything you do” You smile at him.

“Okay, I’ll see you before Vegas?”

“See you before Vegas!” He shouts from his already-closed car door.

When you do see the two next, they make sure you’ve made an appointment with a therapist and are setting up a meeting with your PR manager to put together a statement in regards to your well-being the past two months.

Charles and Lewis make sure the media inside the paddock is severely monitored and checked before being allowed near the drivers, and help you fall back into healthier habits.

These changes don’t happen overnight, and they don’t take affect overnight, but you do use the winter off season to make sure these changes are helpful and working.

The three month break is utilized to mentally and physically prepare yorself in time for your 2024 seat at Alpha Tauri that was re-confirmed after your P8 finishes in Las Vegas and Abu Dhabi.

The media still knows everything, and you haven’t completely forgotten your childhood, you never will, but dealing with it still gets easier.

[killerelysia]

Pardonnez-moi, Monsieur!- Solivan brugmansia x Yan!G.N Reader! (Part 6!) Final (Rushed)-(Sfw!)

The kid at the back is a 18+ visual novel Minors don't interact!-(new tws)

Words: 10000

Genre: Yandere-(Self aware yandere won the poll)

(Reader is G.N)-(This part is Sfw!)

Summary: You’ve become consumed by your obsession with Solivan Brugmansia. What started as innocent curiosity quickly spiraled into a fixation. He started it and you began to stalk him, learning every detail about his life. You felt a sick sense of satisfaction in making Sol’s world safer while growing increasingly delusional about your connection with him. Your love for him deepens as you fantasize about the future, convinced that you are the one who truly understands him—better than anyone else. Despite the line between reality and obsession blurring, you remain certain: Sol is yours, even if he doesn’t know it yet.. You're his and he's yours...

Trigger Warning: This content contains themes of obsessive behavior, stalking, manipulation, mental instability, and delusional thinking, Drugging, Yandere?, Hopeless in love for attention Please read with caution.

Obsessive behavior: The reader becomes dangerously fixated on someone, bordering on stalking and delusion.

Manipulation: The reader engages in schemes to control or harm others, often through deception.

Mental illness: Delusional thinking, possible dissociation from reality, and unhealthy fixation on someone.

Violence: There are references to bullying, physical harm, and emotional manipulation.

Emotional abuse: Both in terms of how the protagonist manipulates others and how they might internalize toxic behaviors.

Stalking: The reader watches and follows the person they are obsessed with.

Dubious Consent: Themes of physical closeness and intimacy while one party is incapacitated or pretending to be.

Dark Romanticization: Romanticizing toxic and unhealthy dynamics, including possessiveness and dominance.

Control and Power Imbalance: One character exhibits significant control over the other’s vulnerability.

EXTRA: He's a character from a game named The kid at the back!! Note, The relationship presented here between sol and reader is extremely toxic!! In no way, Just because I'm writing doesn't mean I support this kind of toxicity. Note, It's okay to like sol if you know the flaws and don't be a blind eye on them! Again, I don't support his actions etc! If you hate sol ignore this.

You worked on preparing something in the kitchen, your focus wavered, and before you knew it, you accidentally called out to Sol the way Hyugo always did—“Sunny.”

He blinked, his expression shifting to one of mild confusion as he tilted his head. “Sunny?”

Realizing your slip, you quickly clarified, chuckling nervously. “Sorry, it’s just… Hyugo calls you that. I didn’t mean to—”

Before you could finish, Sol interrupted, his curiosity piqued. “If Hyugo gets to give me a nickname, why can’t you?”

The suggestion made you pause. A nickname for Sol? That felt… oddly intimate. But you couldn’t deny the idea was a little exciting. Your mind raced for something that felt fitting, something uniquely yours to call him.

“Pumpkin,” you blurted out, testing the waters.

Sol’s lips twitched into a soft smile, his crimson-orange eyes lighting up at the suggestion. “Pumpkin, huh?” he repeated, letting the word roll off his tongue. He seemed pleased at first but then placed a finger under his chin, his gaze turning thoughtful as he studied you.

“But,” he began slowly, his eyes never leaving yours, “don’t you think that nickname suits you better?”

You blinked, caught off guard. “Me?”

He nodded, his tone calm and resolute. “Yes, it suits you.”

Your cheeks warmed as you processed his words. “It’s the nickname you want me to have, huh?” you asked, trying to sound playful, but the warmth in his gaze was almost too much to handle.

“It fits you,” he said simply, smiling as if that was all the explanation needed.

Your heart skipped a beat as his words lingered in the air. Of course, you knew exactly why it felt so familiar. Pumpkin. It was the name he whispered when he thought you were asleep, the name he muttered under his breath during those nights he lingered too close for too long. You bit your lip, trying to push the thought away before it consumed you entirely.

“...I always hear this nickname in my dreams,” you muttered absentmindedly, immediately regretting it when you saw Sol’s eyes widen in surprise. You quickly waved your hand to dismiss it. “Ah, it’s nothing, really.”

But Sol’s reaction was something else entirely. His face softened into a look of pure adoration, as if the idea that you might dream of him made his heart burst. That realization seemed to make him… happy. Dangerously happy.

You coughed awkwardly and tried again. “Alright, how about… babygirl?”

The moment the word left your lips, Sol’s eyes widened like saucers before he let out an uncharacteristic snicker. His shoulders shook as he tried to stifle his reaction, but within seconds, he broke into full laughter, clutching his stomach as he doubled over.

“Ahahahaha!” he laughed, tears forming in the corners of his eyes.

“Bitch! I’m serious! Stop laughing!” you exclaimed, your face burning with embarrassment. “You’re so cute—ahhh…” That last part slipped out in a mumble, but you couldn’t take it back now.

Sol wiped at his eyes, his laughter finally settling as he caught his breath. “I have no idea where you got that idea, but I’m clearly far from being a… babygirl.” He snickered again, shaking his head. “It’s cute, though.”

"Husband?"

Sol choked on his breath the moment the words left your lips. His head snapped to the side as he desperately tried to hide the deep crimson blush spreading across his cheeks. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t suppress the ridiculously goofy smile curling at the corners of his mouth.

“Oh, god,” he muttered under his breath, his voice cracking slightly. “You… want to… ahaha—”

You grinned at his flustered state, deciding to push him further.

“Are you sure?” he stammered, glancing at you nervously. “Don’t you think people are going to, you know, take it the wrong way if you start calling me your husband, Y/n?”

You leaned forward, propping your chin in your hand with a teasing glint in your eyes. “I don’t care,” you said with a shrug, smirking at how his blush deepened. “But I think you’ll die of shyness before anyone else says anything.”

He inhaled sharply, his eyes darting everywhere except at you.

“I mean, you do give off husband vibes,” you continued with a giggle.

Sol’s gaze immediately dropped to his lap, his fingers nervously fumbling with the edge of his sleeve as he mumbled under his breath, “You’re killing me…Y/n”

You giggled harder, relishing his reaction. “Alright, alright! I’ll think of something else. But hey—‘husband’ would be so cute, wouldn’t it?”

His ears turned an even darker shade of red as he tried to compose himself, but he was clearly losing the battle.

“This is the final one then!” you declared with a triumphant smile. “Love.”

Sol froze, his entire body stiffening at the sound of the word. A visible shiver ran up his spine as his wide eyes finally met yours.

“L-Love?” he repeated, his voice barely above a whisper.

You nodded, grinning like a cat who’d just cornered a mouse.

The tips of his ears practically glowed crimson as he quickly looked away again, twiddling his thumbs nervously. His leg began to bounce under the table, betraying the nerves he was desperately trying to hide.

“I’m… I’m alright with that,” he finally murmured, his voice unsteady but undeniably sincere.

You couldn’t resist leaning closer, teasing him further. “You sure people won’t take that the wrong way?”

Sol’s lips twitched into a shy smile as he took a deep breath. Then, so quietly you almost missed it, he whispered, “I wouldn’t mind, though… let them know. Let them all know that you only belong to me.”

Your heart skipped a beat at his words, your face heating up despite yourself.

You prided yourself on being observant—sometimes you thought it was a curse, noticing every little thing about him. But now? Watching the way his shy smile betrayed the possessiveness simmering beneath the surface?

It felt like a blessing.

"Should I think of something else?" you teased, tilting your head as you watched his reaction.

Before you could even finish the thought, Sol sat up abruptly, almost standing, his hands raised in a halting gesture as if to physically stop your words from escaping.

“No—‘Love’ is perfect,” he said, his tone firm but laced with a flicker of surprise. His expression was serious, almost too serious, but the intensity in his eyes spoke volumes.

A slow, knowing smile spread across your face. “Alright, Love,” you said softly, drawing out the word just to see his reaction.

Sol froze for a moment, his breath hitching, before leaning back against the couch. His body seemed to relax, but his eyes told a different story. They were heavy-lidded, clouded with a lovestruck haze, as if the nickname alone had sent him spiraling into a daydream he didn’t want to escape.

His gaze never wavered from you, his lips slightly parted as if he wanted to speak but couldn’t find the words. He looked utterly intoxicated, like you’d just become the center of his entire universe—and you savored every second of it.

Your gaze locked with his, the lovestruck look in your eyes mirroring his own. It was intoxicating, overwhelming. The air felt heavy, thick with unspoken emotions that threatened to swallow you both whole. Realizing how deep you’d fallen into his stare, you quickly turned away, heat flooding your cheeks.

“I-I need to cook!” you stammered, desperate to break the spell.

You turned toward the kitchen, fumbling with your phone before pulling up a how-to-make-curry video. “Hey, Sol,” you said without looking back, “could you teach me some food art? Like those fancy lunches you used to make for Hyugo?”

Sol tilted his head, raising an eyebrow at your request before a soft, amused smile broke across his face. “You want me to teach you, huh? Sure… But only if I can help.”

“No!” You spun to face him, waving a finger in protest. “You’re injured! Just sit there and be cute.”

He let out a dramatic sigh, his lips forming a perfect pout as he leaned back against the counter. “Fine,” he grumbled, crossing his arms, though his eyes sparkled with amusement.

After a moment of gathering ingredients, Sol perked up and began listing off what you’d need for the curry. His voice was calm and instructive, guiding you with ease.

When you finished washing the vegetables, you grabbed the knife, determined to show him you could handle it. But before you could make the first cut, Sol was suddenly beside you, his hand gently covering yours as he slid the knife away.

“Let me,” he said smoothly, picking up the knife and turning to the cutting board with an air of effortless confidence.

“Sol, you’re supposed to be resting!” you scolded, but he ignored you, his focus entirely on the task at hand.

With practiced precision, he chopped each vegetable into perfectly equal pieces, his movements fluid and almost mesmerizing. He finished quickly, setting the knife down with a smug grin.

“Showoff,” you muttered under your breath, narrowing your eyes at his cocky expression.

“Oh?” His grin widened, and he leaned closer. “You asked for my help, didn’t you?”

Before he could say more, you reached out and grabbed his hand, your fingers brushing over his bandaged knuckles. “You’re hurt,” you reminded him softly, your voice filled with concern.

For a moment, Sol froze, his confident facade cracking as his expression softened. His gaze fell to your hands holding his, and something tender flickered in his eyes.

“I’m fine,” he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. But he didn’t pull his hand away.

You held his hand a little tighter, looking up at him with a mix of exasperation and affection. “No more sneaky knife tricks, okay?”

He smiled—soft, genuine, and utterly disarming. “Okay,” he said, but the glint in his eye told you he was already planning his next move.

Sol sighed, running a hand through his hair. “You’re impossible. But fine, if you’re going to be stubborn, let me at least guide you so you don’t chop a finger off.”

You grabbed the knife, determined to prove yourself. "I can manage just fine!" you huffed, setting the carrot on the cutting board and trying to carve it into a petal shape. The result was… less than perfect.

Suddenly, you felt a presence behind you—warm, close, and undeniably suffocating. Sol’s hands gently covered yours on the knife, his chest brushing lightly against your back as his breath fanned your ear.

“You’re too tense,” he murmured, his voice low and coaxing, like honey dripping into your thoughts. “Relax… I’ll show you how.”

Your breath hitched. Relax? How am I supposed to relax when you’re this close?

He adjusted your grip, his hands guiding yours with expert precision. “See? Like this,” he said, his tone a little too soft, a little too seductive.

You wanted to say something—anything—but the words caught in your throat. The warmth of him pressed against you, the way his fingers curled over yours… it was overwhelming. You felt your cheeks heat up, your thoughts scattering like leaves in the wind.

Does he know what he’s doing?

“Of course I know what I’m doing,” Sol said out of nowhere, very seriously.

Your heart skipped a beat. “W-What?!”

He paused, confused, then smirked knowingly. “I mean… I do know my ways with knifes."

Can he read my mind?

Somehow, under his guidance—and despite the mess in your head—you managed to cut a carrot petal perfectly. You stared down at the result, momentarily stunned.

“Well done,” Sol said, his hands still lingering over yours. “Should I show you again, or—”

You practically jumped out of his grasp, spinning around with a sheepish smile. “Nope! Got it! Thanks! All good here!” you blurted, waving your hands frantically.

He raised an eyebrow, clearly amused by your reaction. “Are you sure? I wouldn’t mind helping you again.”

“Nope! I’m fine!” you squeaked, your voice higher than usual.

Sol chuckled, shaking his head. “Alright, pumpkin,” he said, stepping back with an air of victory.

Your mind raced as you turned back to the cutting board, gripping the knife tightly to ground yourself. Does he know what kind of effect he has on me?

You groaned internally, deciding then and there to never let him cook with you ever again.

You couldn’t meet his eyes. “No! It’s fine! I got it!" you blurted, jumping up with a Mickey Mouse-like squeak, hands flailing as if trying to prove a point. “I got it right! See?” You turned toward the sink in a panic, trying to wash your hands to do something, anything, to distract yourself from his lingering gaze.

But the thoughts swirled around in your mind like a storm. What was it about him? Why did you feel so... lost in him?

Why was everything he did, every word he spoke, making your heart race like this?

Sol tilted his head, frowning as you adamantly refused to let him help prepare dinner. “I’ll just do something easy then, okay? Like juice. No knives, no heavy lifting—safe and simple.” His tone was calm, but his persistence was unyielding.

You sighed, cornered by his determination. “Fine. Orange juice. That’s it. Nothing else,” you said firmly, though your heart raced for an entirely different reason.

Sol moved toward the counter, pulling out oranges and the juicer, you couldn’t shake the gnawing suspicion creeping into your thoughts. Why does he want to help so badly? It wasn’t that you didn’t trust his skills; you knew he was competent—better than you, even. But the darker part of your mind whispered something sinister: He’s going to drug it. That’s what the sleeping pills in his pocket are for, right?

You shook your head, trying to focus on the curry simmering on the stove. Still, your thoughts kept wandering back to the juice. What if he’s planning to make me fall asleep just so he can…

Your pulse quickened. The idea wasn’t entirely unpleasant, which disturbed you even more. Stop it. You’re the one with the upper hand here, you reminded yourself.

Minutes later, Sol handed you a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice, a proud smile on his face. “Here. The least painful job, as promised.”

“Thanks,” you murmured, setting it aside on the counter. The curry was boiling hot, nearly ready to serve. You turned off the stove, setting the pot on a trivet. But your mind was already spinning with plans.

“Hey, Sol,” you began, keeping your tone light and casual. “Could you call Hyugo and let him know you’re at my place? You know how he gets if we don’t keep him in the loop.”

Sol raised an eyebrow, clearly skeptical. “Your phone’s dead, though.”

“Yeah, but yours isn’t,” you countered smoothly. “Just tell him I dragged you here for dinner. I don’t want him thinking you’re in trouble or anything.”

Sol hesitated for a moment before sighing. “Alright. I’ll go step outside and call him.”

As soon as the door clicked shut behind him, you grabbed the glass of juice he’d prepared, a sly grin spreading across your face. Maybe drugged, maybe not, you thought, shaking your head. Doesn’t matter. Not taking chances.

You poured the juice into the sink, washing the glass thoroughly before retrieving a fresh batch from the fridge. You poured the untainted juice into a clean glass, you added a few ice cubes to ensure it would be cold enough to mask any suspicion.

“Let’s see who gets played now,” you muttered under your breath, giggling softly at your own cunning.

The curry was ready, the table set, and the replacement juice sat innocently in its place. You had one last card to play, though—a small vial of medicine you had tucked away. It wasn’t a sedative exactly, but it would mimic the effects, making you feel tired without fully knocking you out. Perfect for your plan.

You dropped a dose into the “safe” glass of juice you’d prepared for yourself. You needed to stay just awake enough to watch Sol’s reaction, to see the cracks in his perfect facade when he thought you were asleep.

Let’s see your demons come out, Sol.

The door opened, and Sol returned, his expression softening as he saw the table set. “Hyugo says hi,” he said, slipping his phone into his pocket.

“Great,” you replied, motioning for him to sit.

The warmth of the curry lingered on your tongue as you took another bite, humming in delight. Across the table, Sol chuckled softly, savoring his own meal with a small, content smile.

"You should write down the spices you had me add," you said, swirling the remnants of your curry around with your spoon. "I didn’t think this would turn out so good."

"Really?" Sol’s eyes sparkled. "You did most of the work. I just pointed a few things out."

He leaned back, his movements relaxed, yet there was a subtle tension in his frame—like a predator watching its prey.

The conversation drifted to food, and Sol offered casually, "I could send you some of my favorite recipes if you ever want to try making them."

"Yeah, I'd like that," you murmured, smiling faintly.

As the room fell into a quiet rhythm, your thoughts wandered, drawn to him. His presence today had been... overwhelming. From the moment he protected you to cooking beside you in the kitchen, Sol had wormed his way into your life in ways that felt far too intimate. It wasn’t just comfort; it was something deeper, darker.

It felt domestic.

It felt... right.

The thought sent a twisted thrill racing through your veins, like an itch you couldn’t scratch. You glanced at Sol, who was casually sipping his juice, his eyes flicking to yours every so often.

You tilted your head back, chugging the last of the orange juice in a single gulp. Sol raised an eyebrow at you, amused, but there was something sharp in his gaze, something that made your pulse quicken.

Your breath hitched. The room seemed warmer than before.

What if he did drug it? The idea had been lurking in the back of your mind all night, and now, with every sluggish beat of your heart, you were almost sure.

And yet...

You didn’t feel fear. You felt exhilaration.

Your mind spiraled. Would he take care of me if I passed out? Would he carry me to my room? Or would I wake up to something... darker? Would I see that beautiful, unhinged side of him fully unleashed?

The weight of your eyelids began to drag, and you couldn’t stop the lazy smile creeping onto your lips.

"What time is it?" you asked, your voice softer than you intended.

"8:45," Sol replied, his voice smooth but low—almost teasing.

You blinked at him, your vision blurring slightly. Your heart raced even as your body started to betray you. You had overdone it on the dose; the sleepy effects were hitting faster than expected.

"I’ve taken too much of your time, Lo—Sol." You let out a yawn, barely able to hold back a crazed little laugh at how this was all unfolding. "You... should go home. Right? There’s class tomorrow."

Sol’s expression softened, his smile laced with something... dangerous. His eyes burned with an intensity that made your stomach twist—half fear, half desire.

"No need to worry about me," he said, leaning in slightly. "I’m happy you let me in. Happy you trusted me enough to treat my wounds, to share dinner." His words dripped with sincerity, but his gaze... his gaze was anything but innocent.

You tried to lift a hand to his face, to cup his cheek, but your vision swam. There were three of him now, all staring at you, all wearing the same soft, deranged smile.

"You seem tired, pumpkin," Sol whispered

Your heart stuttered, a crazed, heady feeling overtaking you. This is it. This is what I wanted. Show me more of you, Sol.

"It’s fine," you mumbled, your words slurred. "Just let me get you... something. You need to g-go home, right?"

The glass slipped from your fingers, shattering against the floor. The sound was distant, muffled, like it came from another world.

And then you saw it.

Sol’s smile stretched wider, darker, and his eyes gleamed with an obsession so raw it almost brought you to tears.

God, I love this. You thought, the corners of your lips twitching into the barest of smirks as your body gave in to the drowsiness.

Just before your vision faded, you caught the glint of his teeth as he whispered something you couldn’t quite make out.

It didn’t matter.

You wanted it.

Beyond your hazy, blurred vision, you caught the faint movement of Sol's smile—serene, calm, yet undeniably dark. His hand pushed away the untouched glass of orange juice, his fingers lingering as if mocking your little game.

You sly bastard, your mind whispered, every word tinged with a delirious, obsessive warmth. God, fuck you... fuck you... I love you.

Your senses still clung to you, though your body betrayed the act. You were awake—barely. Every sound, every tiny motion, was amplified in the fog of your mind. You could hear him move closer, the scrape of his chair on the floor, the soft crunch of glass underfoot as he stepped toward the sink.

You wanted to laugh, but you couldn't. He knows... maybe not all of it, but enough. Oh, Sol... you brilliant, twisted soul. Take me.

He turned toward the pitcher of orange juice and the abandoned glass, his gaze unreadable. The slight crunch of a packet in his pocket caught your ears, the sound piercing through the fog like a whisper meant only for you.. those pills. So that’s your game. Were you going to play me, Sol? Or were you testing me?

The thought burned into your chest, clawing its way into your obsessive thoughts.

It doesn’t matter. You stayed, didn’t you? You’re still here... with me. God, I’ll let you win this game if you want, just don’t stop playing with me.

You felt his hands—steady, firm—on your shoulders. His touch was everything. Comforting. Possessive. Sinister. His breath, warm against your neck, sent shivers down your spine.

You’re tasting me already, aren’t you? Savoring me.

He inhaled deeply, the sound deliberate, almost indulgent, as if he couldn’t help himself. The soft tremor that followed made your heart leap even in your lethargic haze.

You wanted to moan. But you couldn’t. All you could do was feel.

His voice broke the silence, soft and low, dripping with tenderness and control.

"Let’s get you to bed, pumpkin."

Your thoughts spiraled. Pumpkin. That name again... it’s mine, isn’t it? Yours. Ours. Say it again. Say it when you think I’m not listening. Say it while you’re watching me.

He slipped an arm beneath your legs and the other behind your back, lifting you with a gentleness that made your skin ache. His strength surprised you, even through his bandaged wounds. He carried you like you were precious. Fragile. His spouse

Your heart hammered, your chest heavy with a love so twisted it felt like it would tear you apart.

This is what I wanted. This is what I fucking dreamed of. Take me, Sol. I don’t care what it looks like. I don’t care what you do. Just don’t leave. Don’t leave me alone. You’re mine as much as I’m yours. I’ll make you see that someday. I’ll show you... no one else can give you this.

You felt the rhythmic sway of his steps as he carried you toward your room, his lips moving softly—words you couldn’t quite catch but that you knew were meant for you.

What are you saying, Sol? Sweet nothings? Promises? Confessions? Tell me. Tell me everything. Tell me while you think I can’t hear. I want to live in your darkness... drown in it. You’re perfect. You’re mine.

He laid you down gently, his hands lingering just a little too long as he adjusted you on the bed.

Sol, Sol, Sol... touch me more. Just a little more. Show me everything. Don’t stop now... don’t ever stop.

You felt the covers pulled over you, the fabric brushing against your skin. His fingers brushed against your temple, lingering, soft but firm.

"Heh... Hahaha... Hahahahaha." Sol's laughter rang out, soft but unhinged, dripping with the kind of madness that sent chills down your spine and heat rushing to your cheeks.

Oh god, you whispered in your mind, trying to steady the storm of emotions coursing through you.

You didn’t know anymore—was it his broken, chaotic soul you loved, or was it just him, the entirety of him, darkness and all?

"Oh, my darling Y/N," Sol purred, his voice a velvety mix of affection and possession, "I feel so flattered that you trust me so, so much."

You giggled silently to yourself. Trust? Oh, Sol... if only you knew the truth. You’d watched him for months, hadn’t you? Studied him from afar, noted every habit, every nuance. You’d been drawn to him long before this moment, long before he thought he had won you.

“Despite meeting me yesterday,” he continued, his tone softening but not losing its edge, “isn’t this proof enough? Proof that you’re meant to be mine, as I was always meant to be yours?”

Your breath hitched. God, the way he spoke, the way his words dug under your skin and coiled around your heart like a vice. You were his... but oh, Sol, how little he knew. You were already more his than he could ever realize.

Your thoughts betrayed you. I want to drown in you, Sol. Kiss you until we’re both breathless. Draw your face over and over, photograph every moment of your obsession, and immortalize it in my mind forever.

He shifted closer, his wicked grin evident even without looking. You felt his breath against your neck, hot and electric, his arms tightening possessively around you. His head rested against your chest, and your traitorous heart thudded faster. You could feel him smiling against your skin.

"Your soul resonates with mine," he whispered, his voice a low hum that made your blood race. “I can hear it, feel it, see it in the way you linger even in your dreams.”

God, you were burning alive. You could barely keep your thoughts contained. Sol, you’re driving me mad. How can I keep pretending? I want to turn over, look at you, and devour the chaos in your eyes.

Sol snuggled even closer, practically merging with you as his body molded against yours. “I love you so much, Y/N,” he murmured, his lips brushing faintly against your ear. “I want you to realize it, deep in your soul. I want your heart to sing mine’s name. I know it’ll take time... but I’m growing impatient, sweetheart.”

You nearly whimpered, biting down the sound before it could escape. Your pulse betrayed you again, hammering wildly in your chest. He heard it. Oh, you knew he heard it.

His voice dipped lower, as if to himself, but you caught every word. "When will you realize?"

You almost broke then and there, your thoughts screaming. I do, Sol. I do realize. I know exactly what we are, what we’re becoming. You’re chaos and obsession, and I’m the fool who craves it all.

But instead, you stayed silent, pretending to sleep, letting him believe you were entirely under his spell. All the while, you simmered with a deranged kind of love that mirrored his own. You wanted him. God, you wanted him. And soon, you’d let him know just how much.

Your body lay still, but inside, you were burning with a dangerous desire. You had to keep pretending, keep playing this game of sweet dreams and soft whispers, while your mind spun in wicked thoughts of Sol and everything you wanted to do to him.

"Sol... Sol..." you whispered, just loud enough for him to hear, your voice soft and dreamy, like a confession in the night.

He froze, his heart leaping in his chest at the sound of his name on your lips. His breath hitched as his mind scrambled, unsure if you were truly asleep or if this was some kind of delicious tease. His arms tightened around you instinctively, and you felt the sudden heat of his body pressing into yours.

You let out a quiet, almost imperceptible sigh, as if lost in a dream. "Sol..." you whispered again, dragging it out just enough to make him crave more.

His face was burning now, the heat of his blush almost suffocating. He couldn’t stop the smile that crept onto his lips, the kind of smile that was both pure adoration and a little bit dangerous. He believed it — every word you said, every whisper. In his mind, this was confirmation, this was what he had been waiting for, that you truly desired him, just as much as he desired you.

So cute, he thought, watching your lips curl into a peaceful, dreamy expression. It was enough to drive him wild with longing. The way you whispered his name — you were playing, teasing him, and it was the most intoxicating thing he'd ever heard.

"God..." he muttered under his breath, his voice hoarse. He felt a tremble run through his body as his grip on you tightened again.

You could hear him, feel his heartbeat picking up as he fought to keep his composure. But you could tell. His weakness was your touch, your words, your presence. The way you acted like a dreamer in his arms, how you whispered his name as though you were lost in the warmth of him.

It was all too much for him to bear. His face burned with a blush that he couldn’t hide, his breath growing shallow as he fought against the overwhelming urge to pull you even closer.

Sol's breath trembled as he watched your peaceful expression, your lips softly parted, whispering his name again, and again. His chest tightened with something deep, primal, like a yearning that refused to be ignored.

"Dreaming about me..." he murmured, his voice thick with longing, almost trembling with the raw emotion he couldn't hide. His lips quivered as if they couldn't contain the truth he felt deep inside. "Ah... Darling, do you love me too?"

His words were low, quiet—he thought you were still asleep, your body gently relaxed in his arms. He didn’t want to disturb you, didn’t want to force an answer. But deep down, he needed to hear it. He needed confirmation that you felt the same way he did.

His heart pounded as he looked at you, as though you were everything he could ever dream of. He felt weak under the weight of his own desire and affection. He whispered again, voice barely a breath, "I need you to know... I love you so much, Y/N."

The tears that welled in his eyes were a sign of how deeply he cared, how completely he was consumed by you. It was more than obsession. It was devotion, twisted with a dark desire. He didn’t realize that he was slowly losing control, his emotions getting the better of him.

He pulled you a little closer, burying his face in your hair, his breath hitching. "You're mine, Y/N. No one else." His words hung in the air, heavy with the weight of his possessiveness, but also with a tenderness he only allowed himself to feel in this moment with you.

he held you tighter, his lips kissed the top of your head, lingering for a moment, his tears mixing with his whispered confession. "I just want you to know... You’re everything to me, darling." He paused, his voice shaking as he waited for a response he didn't expect, but desperately craved.

Sol’s breath hitched as he rifled through your closet, his hands trembling with excitement as he pulled out pieces of clothing he planned to steal some clothing... A piece of you he could keep close, something only he could touch. He grinned to himself, the thought of having you so wrapped around him, even in your absence, sending waves of pleasure through his chest.

He leaned in, placing a soft kiss on your cheek, his lips lingering for just a moment longer than necessary. "I'll be right back," he whispered, his voice thick with affection, as he turned to continue his search.

You lay there, eyes closed, pretending to be asleep, feeling the exhaustion settling deep into your bones. The warmth of his embrace was comforting, but you knew what he wanted—what he always wanted. You felt your thoughts swirl in that dangerous, delicious obsession, but you couldn’t stop it. Not now.

Sol's arms clung to one of your oversized sweaters as he nuzzled his face into the fabric, inhaling your scent like it was his lifeline. His smile was lazy, lovesick, almost deranged in its intensity. After kissing your cheek and whispering, "I'll be right back, darling," he slipped into your closet, leaving you lying there in feigned sleep.

You barely moved, too torn between exhaustion and the thrill of what you knew he was doing. Sol rummaging through your things was almost too perfect a scenario, one you'd dreamed of before, but tonight it was real.

Inside the closet, Sol's hands moved with almost reverent care as he touched your clothes, holding each piece as though it were sacred. A gleam of mischief lit up his heterochromatic eyes when he decided to "borrow" one of your hoodies. for him to hug.

Then, something caught his eye. A box tucked into the corner of the closet, partially hidden beneath a blanket. Curiosity burned brighter than caution as he crouched down and pulled it into the dim light. His hands were trembling as he opened the lid.

And then... his world shifted.

Photos of him—and Hyugo. Some candid, others blurry as though taken from a distance. Sketches, endless sketches of his face in varying poses, from loving to enraged to serene. Notes and details scribbled in the margins, every single one obsessively accurate.

Bandages. A pencil he hadn’t even realized you’d taken—one he'd lost just days ago. A button from his sweater.

And then there was the journal.

Sol's fingers brushed over its cover, his breath uneven as he opened it. His name, written over and over again in feverish handwriting. Doodles of hearts, sketches of his profile, and words—declarations, fantasies, phrases that mirrored the chaos in his own mind. It was uncanny. It was terrifying.

It was exhilarating.

He felt his lips curl into an unhinged look as he flipped through the pages, faster and faster, his eyes devouring every stroke of the pen.

But then, a sound—sharp, sudden, and chilling—broke through his thoughts.

A creak. Like the groan of floorboards or the protest of something heavy shifting. Sol froze, his grip tightening on the journal. Slowly, he turned his head toward the closet door.

"...Y/N?"

The moment Sol turned his head, you were already moving. Before he could react, you were on him, pinning him to the floor with a force that sent the box scattering. Pictures, sketches, and your deepest secrets spilled across the floor like a dam breaking. Sol’s back hit the floor, his wide eyes staring up at you, his lips parted in a silent gasp.

You hovered over him, your hands trembling as they gripped his shoulders—not his neck, not his hands. Not the places that screamed at you to touch. You couldn’t. You wouldn’t.

"I can't hold you by your neck... because you hate it, don’t you?!" you hissed, your voice breaking, a venomous whisper mixed with something almost tender. "And your hands—I can’t touch those either! Because these hands saved me! They’re too... precious! I know all of this because I saw you too!" Your words were frantic, your breath uneven as your emotions clawed their way out of you, raw and desperate.

His eyes were locked on yours, his mouth slightly agape, but he didn’t move, didn’t resist. His blush deepened, spreading across his pale cheeks, but he stayed silent. Watching. Listening.

You felt your resolve crack further, a sob hitching in your throat as you leaned closer, your voice trembling. “Y-you weren’t supposed to see that! None of that!” You gestured wildly at the journal, the photos, the sketches. “Why couldn’t you just—just stay there? Just lay with me? Why are you so goddamn greedy, Sol?” Your words were sharp, accusing, but your expression betrayed your own obsession, your own twisted love.

“You’ve already stolen so much from me. My heart, my thoughts—hell, a dozen of my clothes! And now, this?!” You gestured to the box again, your voice rising before it cracked into a broken whisper. "You greedy, disgusting bastard... And me? I’m no better. I’m just as bad. Look at us...”

Your words faltered as your gaze met his, and you froze. His face mirrored yours—exactly. The wide, crazed eyes, dilated pupils, blush streaking his cheeks like war paint. His lips quivered, caught between a nervous smile and the urge to speak, but no words came. He just stared at you, breathing hard, his chest rising and falling beneath you.

You were paralyzed by the intensity of it—the horrifying, beautiful realization. He wasn’t scared. He wasn’t angry.

He was just like you.

A sick laugh bubbled out of you, breaking the silence. “Look at us... Look at how disgusting we are, Sol! You—stealing my clothes like some lovesick thief. And me? God, I’m worse. So much worse. Hiding this box, drawing you like some obsessed freak... We're—” You choked on your words, tears threatening to spill, but the manic grin on your face remained. "We’re both so fucking far gone. It’s sick. We’re sick.”

And yet... there was something so horribly, perfectly satisfying about it.

Sol lay beneath you, his eyes wide and unblinking, his breath caught in his throat as your words tumbled out in a chaotic symphony of revelation. His lips parted as if to say something, but nothing came. His silence was deafening, his body frozen, his face betraying that strange, terrifying cocktail of shock and... acceptance.

“You... you’ve been stalking me, haven’t you?” you whispered, your voice sickly sweet as you leaned closer, lips brushing just past his ear. “You watched me, didn’t you? Followed me home... went through my things. You even drugged me—or almost did. Almost.” Your laugh was low and breathy, sending shivers down his spine. You could feel it, the way his body tensed and trembled beneath your touch.

And then, with a sudden, wicked grin, you asked, “May I?” Your lips hovered near his neck, the words dripping with teasing affection. He didn’t answer, only inhaled sharply, his chest rising and falling rapidly. That was enough.

You pressed your lips to his neck, slow and deliberate, and he shuddered under you. His arms moved almost instinctively, wrapping around you as if to anchor himself. His breaths came heavier now, his hands gripping the fabric of your clothes.

“Sol, Sol, Sol…” you murmured against his skin, giggling softly as you pulled back to look at him. His face was a mess of emotions—blush spreading across his cheeks, lips trembling, eyes half-lidded and glazed over with something primal. “Look at you... My beloved, my sweet, sweet Sol.. Is it shocking to see me this crazey?!"

You tilted your head, studying him like an artist admiring their own masterpiece. “I can’t even decide if I should kiss you again or just... hug you forever.” Your laugh broke out again, louder, unhinged. “Ahahaha! Oh, God, I can’t even choose! You make me want everything, Sol! Everything you are!”

Your grin widened further, almost painful, your voice sharp and cutting even as your tone stayed sweet. “That smile of yours... That’s the one, isn’t it? The one that blinds me to everyone else. Like a bright, burning sun that drowns out the whole world. God, you’re so good at pretending to be sweet, but I see you, Sol. I see what’s behind it!”

You pressed your forehead against his, your grin softening, but your words still carried that playful, mocking edge. “You’re a little liar, you know? Just like me. And you know what?” Your voice dropped, almost reverent, as you whispered, “I love it. I love you.”

You paused, giggling again, shaking your head as if you couldn’t believe it yourself. “But let’s not pretend I’m better. Oh, no.” You gestured wildly at the scattered contents of your box. “I’m just as bad as you. Worse, even. Look at all this! I’m a walking red flag, and you—” You leaned back slightly, giving him a once-over, your smile turning teasing. “You’re waving me around like you’re proud.”

Your laughter echoed again, filling the space around you, almost hysterical. “What a pair we make! The obsessed and the obsessive... No, wait—who’s who again?” You tilted your head, smirking. “It doesn’t matter, does it? We’re both disgusting, both broken... and God, isn’t it just perfect?”

Sol’s wide-eyed stare softened just slightly, his lips quirking into the faintest of smiles. A fragile, deranged thing that mirrored your own.

And as you leaned closer again, your voice dropped to a whisper, still playful, still sharp. “I’ll trash-talk myself all day, darling, but don’t think for a second you’re off the hook. You’re mine, Sol. And I’m yours. So, go ahead...”

You cupped his face again, your grin never faltering. “Say something. Tell me I’m wrong. Tell me I’m not exactly what you wanted.”

Your fingers curled into Sol’s shirt with trembling force, clutching it so tightly that your knuckles turned white. Your breaths came in ragged gasps, tears pooling in your eyes as you stared down at him. The words spilled from your lips before you could stop them, each syllable laced with frustration, desperation, and something raw and terrifying.

"Why? Why aren't you saying anything?!" Your voice cracked as you shook him slightly, your grip relentless. “Why aren’t you telling me anything?! I know you feel it—I see it! You’re just like me! You’re the same as me!” Tears streamed down your cheeks, but your voice only grew louder, more frantic. “Don’t fucking lie to me, Sol! You—”

You froze mid-sentence, your eyes locking with his. His expression hadn’t changed. Those eyes of his… they were the same as yours. Wide, shimmering, and brimming with something overwhelming—something obsessive. They mirrored your own crazed love-stricken gaze so perfectly it stole the breath from your lungs.

He was silent, utterly still, and yet… there it was. That unshakable devotion, that desperate yearning. It was written all over his face, in the way his lips parted just slightly, the way his breath hitched, the way he clung to you as if letting go would shatter him completely.

Sol's voice came out almost as a whisper, unsure but laced with a tinge of fear. “How—long have you known…?”

You tilted your head, an innocent smile playing on your lips, though your eyes were anything but innocent.

“What...?” you asked, feigning confusion.

Sol’s gaze dropped, his fingers twitching at his sides. “That I was...watching...you.”

You couldn't hold back the giggle that bubbled up from deep inside you, the sound light but eerie. “Oh, honey... the correct word is ‘stalking.’ But you know, since a few months now... I knew exactly what you were up to. Every little thing. The way you’d slip in and out when you thought I wasn’t paying attention. The food you tried to drug... oh, how cute it was. But, don’t worry. It wasn’t the first time I noticed.”

His expression faltered, surprise crossing his face, but you could sense a mix of pride and discomfort swirling within him.

“How—and you don’t hate me?” His voice trembled slightly, cracking for the first time.

You leaned in closer, almost toying with him, your voice gentle as you whispered, “No. Not at all.”

Sol’s eyes widened in disbelief, his lips parting as if to say something but then stopping himself. His brows furrowed. “What? I don’t understand. Why wouldn’t you hate me?” He asked again, but this time, there was more clarity, more strength in his tone than before.

You smirked, tilting your head to the side, as if you were finally offering him the answer he so desperately wanted. “I don’t have a ‘choice,’ Sol.”

A flicker of confusion danced across his face as his grip tightened slightly around you, as though searching for more answers in your gaze. “What?”

You paused for a moment, letting the words sink in. A soft, almost eerie smile tugged at the corner of your lips. “It’s just that I didn’t have any other choice but to love you.”

His expression faltered, and for the briefest of moments, you saw something almost human—something fragile—cross his face. A flush crept up his cheeks, though his eyes remained sharp, guarded.

“You basically own me now, Sol,” you said quietly, your voice unshaken. You couldn’t help but feel a twinge of pride in the way the words fell from your lips. You weren’t afraid. You were comfortable in this.

And then, softly, hesitantly, he finally spoke. His voice was fragile, almost trembling, as if the question itself might break him. “Do you… love me?”

The room fell into a suffocating silence. His words hung in the air, heavy and vulnerable, cutting through your spiraling emotions like a knife. For a moment, you were stunned into silence, your grip loosening slightly on his shirt.

That’s what he was worried about? After everything—after the stalking, the stealing, the obsession—that’s what he cared about? Your mind raced, trying to process the absurdity of it all.

But as you stared at him, at the raw, unguarded emotion in his eyes, something shifted. All the anger, all the chaos inside you seemed to pause, replaced by a single, undeniable truth.

You swallowed hard, your voice barely above a whisper as you answered, your own vulnerability slipping through. “Sol…” Your hands trembled against his chest. “Of course I love you.” Your voice cracked on the last word, tears slipping down your cheeks. "How could I not? You’ve consumed me. You’re all I ever think about. All I ever want. All I ever need.”

His lips quivered, his eyes glistening with unshed tears as he searched your face for any hint of deceit. But there was none. Just raw, terrifying honesty.

“I love you,” you repeated, louder this time, your voice breaking as you clung to him. “And I hate it, Sol. I hate how much I love you. I hate what it’s turned me into. But I can’t stop. I don’t want to stop.”

His arms wrapped around you suddenly, pulling you against him with a force that stole your breath. His body trembled as he buried his face in your shoulder, his voice muffled and shaky. “I’ve waited so long to hear you say that,” he whispered, his breath warm against your skin. “So long…”

You didn’t need to say anything more. Just the way you looked at him spoke volumes. There was a darkness to your smile, a chilling calmness that matched his own twisted nature. You leaned in slightly, your voice low and almost pleading, but still with an air of authority, “Don’t ever leave me, Sol.”

His breath hitched. He froze for a moment, his hand instinctively reaching for his head, his fingers gripping it tightly, as though he could escape the weight of the words you just laid upon him.

“That won’t happen,” he murmured, voice thick with a promise that both scared and thrilled you.

Before you could respond, before you could even process what was happening, Sol closed the distance between you, his hand coming to the back of your head. He pulled you in closer, his lips crashing against yours with an intensity that made your heart race.

There was no gentleness in it, only a raw, desperate need—a desire to consume, to possess, to claim. His kiss was demanding, as though he couldn’t wait any longer to have you all to himself. It was everything you wanted, everything you needed.

Morning light filtered through the curtains, casting a soft glow over the room, but neither of you seemed ready to face it. The silence was comfortable, the weight of your shared night still lingering in the air. Sol’s steady breathing against you was soothing, and it made it hard to even think about moving. His arms were wrapped tightly around you, as if he feared you’d vanish if he let go.

You lay there, with your head resting on his chest, listening to the rhythmic beat of his heart. Everything felt so surreal. After everything—the madness, the obsession, the twisted love—you were here. Together. And for a brief, beautiful moment, you couldn’t find a single reason to pull away.

Sol shifted slightly, his voice a soft whisper in the stillness of the room. "Is this... is this the first time I've slept well in a while?"

You paused, taking in his words, unsure how to respond. He had told you things, bits and pieces of his own brokenness, but this was different. This was the side of Sol that you never really expected to see—the one that wasn’t in control, the one who needed something, someone.

"Yeah," he murmured, almost to himself. "After everything... with you, it feels... different."

The quiet lingered between you, but neither of you rushed to fill it with words. The kiss, the emotions that came with it, and the truth that had been laid bare—none of it was easy to digest. But somehow, it felt right. Neither of you had to say much. The bond was there, thickening around you like an unspoken promise.

For once, Sol wasn’t the one in control. For once, he just wanted to stay there with you.

You lightly brushed a strand of hair from his face, gazing down at him, trying to make sense of the situation. It was strange, how the person who had been stalking you, watching your every move, could now look so... innocent. After everything you’d gone through together, after the craziness of the past few days, here he was, holding you like you were the one thing that could keep him grounded.

Your fingers brushed his cheek gently, a soft smile tugging at your lips. "Oh, Sol," you whispered, "the soul you are..."

Sol didn’t respond immediately, his arms tightening slightly around you, pulling you in closer. He wasn’t saying anything, but his presence spoke volumes. His usual intensity had faded, replaced by a softness, like he was content. Almost like he was at peace for the first time in a long time.

It was funny. You’d expected so much resistance, so much chaos between the two of you. But instead, Sol had become... almost like a puppy. Gentle, needy, and completely devoted now that you’d given him what he wanted—a relationship. The storm inside him had quieted, and now he just wanted you. All of you.

He nuzzled his face against your neck, letting out a small, contented sigh.

The morning light streamed through the window, but neither of you seemed eager to face the reality outside. You could feel Sol’s arms tightening around you, his grip almost possessive, like he didn’t want to let you go—not now, not ever. His presence was soothing yet consuming, and despite everything, you couldn’t bring yourself to push him away. He simply held you, content and silent.

You sighed softly, feeling the weight of your thoughts press down on you. “Sol,” you murmured, your voice barely a whisper, “We have school today.”

But even as you said it, you didn’t move. Sol didn’t either. His gaze shifted to you, his eyes filled with an intensity that you had come to recognize all too well. Then, that damned smile of his—bright and blinding like the sun—spread across his face. He closed his eyes again, nuzzling his head into your neck, as if the world outside didn’t matter.

You smiled in return, that same small, knowing smile, as you closed your eyes. Skipping a day doesn’t matter, you thought, feeling your heartbeat steady as you lay there with him, cocooned in the quiet warmth of the moment.

You didn’t know what was happening. You didn’t know if it was the obsession, or just the way Sol had slowly wormed his way into your heart. Part of you wondered if you were truly in love with him, with his darkness, or if you had fallen for something else—his childlike, innocent need for you, perhaps. But one thing was certain. You were in love with something dark.

Something inside you whispered that it didn’t matter what it was, as long as you had him. You felt yourself sinking deeper into him, losing track of what was real and what was just a product of your twisted desires.

The day could wait. Everything could wait. You were here, with him, ad that's!

........................

...............................................

..............................................................................

Your thoughts twisted in a way you hadn't fully expected. Sol's warm body pressed against yours was all you could focus on, as his steady breathing filled the space between you. His presence was intoxicating, and you couldn't help but wonder how far you'd fallen into this spiral.

Is this what love feels like?

You couldn't stop the question from swirling in your mind, but you weren't sure if it was love anymore. Not the kind they talked about in fairy tales, not the kind people dreamt of. This felt different—darker, somehow. The way he clung to you, the way he needed you, it was suffocating yet strangely comforting.

It’s like I’m his obsession, his world, and I can’t escape it. But I don’t want to.

His grip on you, though tender, felt possessive—like he was marking his territory. Your heart fluttered, but not from nervousness. There was something wrong with the way you craved his touch, the way you wanted him to tighten his hold on you.

You tried to brush the thought away, but it lingered like a haunting whisper in the back of your mind. What if this is all I’ve ever wanted? To be owned, to be the center of his world?

You looked down at him, the boy who had slowly seeped into your life, becoming the very air you breathed. His face, soft and serene in sleep, looked almost innocent. But you knew better. He wasn’t innocent. Not with that smile. Not with that darkness lurking in his eyes whenever he was awake.

Do I want to be the one to tame him? The thought came unbidden, a dangerous curiosity taking root. But you weren’t scared. No, you were... enthralled.

He stirred slightly, his breath tickling your neck as his lips brushed against your skin. You felt that familiar thrill course through you, the dark and twisted desire that you couldn’t stop. You wanted to taste his madness, wanted to pull him deeper into the abyss with you. You both were tangled in this web of obsession, and it felt like the only thing that made sense.

God, what is wrong with me?

The question was fleeting, a mere afterthought to the way your heart sped up when he pulled you closer. You didn’t care anymore.

You’re mine, Sol. I’m yours. Forever. The thought was clear, possessive, and there was no escape from it. You smiled to yourself, knowing deep down that you were just as tangled in this as he was.

And that was exactly how you wanted it.

That was all that mattered right now.

Thank you for everyone who read this series, TBH the ending is rushed. I wasn't able to write it much any longer I wanted to end it. I'm sorry if the 'ending' is bad. I was just pointing out two things Reader only started to love the side of his true self than himself. It has to be messed up. I hope i didn't ruin anyone's day with it. I wanna thank to everyone who supported me it was really fun to write...I guess it's time to wrap up! Please send comments I like reading them and replying I'm so sorry Comments make me happy.

A important note too, Please tell me a review of this fic if you can! It has to be truth! I don't mind some tips I WANT THEM. It's also okay if you didn't like it. That's exactly why I did what I did. If you cringed even one time, Just know that it was a trap by me.

Signing off,

Elysia <3333

[theyluvlyss]

𝐈 𝐰𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐝 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐩𝐨𝐨𝐥 & 𝐖𝐨𝐥𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐥𝐞𝐭 𝐦𝐞 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐬𝐚𝐲...

my head is all but consumed with thoughts only of wade wilson, logan howlett, and remy lebeau. they're all I can process in my head (besides shazam, but that's a given considering no one loves shazam the way I do, so🤷🏽‍♀️) and I y e a r n desperately for an influx in "wade x y/n x logan" fics and the "remy x y/n" fics... dare I even ask, humbly ofc, hear me out... for a splash of "wade x y/n x remy". genuinely, I'd kill for some of that ngl.

and I bet you're wondering, "lyssa, why not do it yourself🤔?"

short answer: I am swamped with requests, and even if I wasn't, I'm not ready yet lmao I fear I do not possess the skills to capture them in my writing perfectly😔 ... yet😈.

in the meantime, tho *😈evil little laughter😈* may I plz suggest the following prompts and pairings to and for anybody willing to work with them or wanting ideas (begging any writers that see this to please write these and tag me plz plz plz plz plz 😭🙏🏽😃plzplzplzplzplzplzplzpl-)...

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⚠️trigger and content warning btw lol -

mentions of fighting/violence/bloodshed, death, gore, (like c'mon,,, bffr, look at who you're reading about😐🤨), anxiety/panic attacks, harsh words/themes/elements/physical injuries, abuse and/or negelct, separation anxiety, mental disorders, brief mention of sickness/illness, drugs (just 🍃 and painkillers), age gap (nothing illegal, chill out🤨✋🏽), use of a derogatory term (not used in a negative sense tho lol), and some semi-common smut themes that I won't list here, but be wary if that stuff makes you uncomfortable :)♡. also, these are all under the pretense that the reader is a cis girl, she/her/hers pronouns (so ig you could think of this as one, big, mass request to all writers willing from me lol🤭🥴🫶🏽).

𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐭/𝐡𝐮𝐫𝐭/𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐭 :

- reader having a panic/anxiety attack and ofc being comforted (causes my vary; maybe right after a fight/battle, or because of over-worrying or too much pressure, maybe after a fight with another loved one, etcetc). definitely wanna see this with all three of them, but separately, tho. like, one fic or list of "preferences/headcannons" for logan, one for wade, and then one for remy.

- near death or death (followed by resurrection swift after). it could be reader almost dies or dies (then gets resurrected, get creative with it/how, fr, yk?) or the reverse; the POI (person of interest) dies, although given two of the three's abilities, y'all might have to get creative if you want it to translate for logan and/or wade so this one would be mainly for a remy x reader.

- I personally love a good "POI says sumn mean/outta pocket, hurts reader's feels, stuff happens idk, but they eventually kiss and make up" trope. I'd eat that up, especially cuz OHHH,,,, wade taking a joke or playful argument or something too far? logan being a little too mean/angsty to you for comfort?? remy saying something that gets lost in translation, so it comes out harsher than intended??? 😫😫😫‼️‼️ AND IF YOU WANNA GET MESSY WIT IT, RUNNING TO ONE OF THE OTHER THREE FOR COMFORT🙈🙈⁉️⁉️⁉️.

- a classic; reader getting injured (mildly or worse, doesn't matter), needing to be taken care of, but is stubborn about it?? always a good one.

- getting a little crazy and silly here, but I like a good "abusive and/or negelctful ex/current partner" trope. like hell yeah, one of you big, strong men get over here and save me, whisk me away and show me what I really deserve😻‼️. NOT romanticizing/glorifying it obvs, like no, I mean that wade, logan, and/or remy would not be the red flags in this scenario, they're the one(s) doing the saving FROM the red flag ex/current partner lol.

- getting a little crazier and sillier with this one, but one where reader gets snatched up🙂? oouuuu, miss girl got kidnapped?! once again, somebody come save me, and if "somebody" is not wade, logan, and/or remy, then don't bother, I don't want it. matter of fact, just gon' on ahead and leave me, I'll figure it out myself🙂✌🏽. I think I'd want these separate, actually, bc I wanna take in the individuality of their reactions, like,,, logan going feral?? pretty predictable tbh lmao but still hot. remy?? idek ngl, y'all gon' have to figure him out. BUT WADE BEING SERIOUS AND NOT AS TALKATIVE FOR ONCE UNTIL HE KNOWS YOU'RE SAFE???? OOOHOOHOOOOOOO, GIMMIE🖐🏽👹🖐🏽✊🏽👹✊🏽!!!

- ig this could be put in the panic/anxiety attack category, but I also feel like this might be it's own separate thing, so idk, but... separation anxiety on reader's part. whatever the circumstances may be to breed it, reader is just (not in a unhealthy way) attached to the POI(s), so them leaving for whatever reason is pretty hard on her (and the POI(s), too, because hello, they don't wanna make their reader upset, but things gotta get done fr yk😫🥲),,, lots of reassurance, comforting, and maybe distractions ensue??

- reader with an alter ego/inner beast, whether that be a result of her powers or a mental disorder (think like,,, split personality or maybe DID or something like that, but I do wanna say, if you're gonna go the mental route, make sure you do your research so that you're representing it - not only accurately - but you're not dehumanizing or dumbing it down as well) or just anything that would cause the reader to, as I said, have a different side of themself,,, werewolf type deal, yk? "normal" for the most part, but then has her moments where she be on demon time and then when she's back to herself, she's just like "???" while everyone else is like "!!!". I suppose this could then be followed up/solved with a "the sun's getting real low" typa thing/moment from the POI(s), but that's neither here nor there, do what feels right fr♡.

- reader (just barely) escapes cassandra nova??? that could be cool (a.k.a. very, very angsty bc surely the encounter has messed the reader alllll the way up both mentally and physically, especially knowing what typa timing cass be on lmao😃). love a good hurt/comfort, I can't get enough, actually. this one (given the movie context) may or may not work with wolvie and/or pool (again, up to the writer to get creative), but gambit?? he's been in the void his whole life, he knows cass, sooo it'd make more sense for him to have a higher understanding of the situation in full, but do what y'all want, I'm just the idea woman🤷🏽‍♀️.

𝐟𝐥𝐮𝐟𝐟 :

- morning cuddles and softeness and ughghfhfhdjd♡!!♡!♡!!♡!♡!!♡!! and then the opposite, night/bedtime cuddles and softness and uugjfjdkwkfke♡!!♡!♡!!♡!♡!!♡!!

- height difference teasings and shenanigans. we can always stick to the classics, ofc, short reader, tall wade, logan, and/or remy. maybe its an advantage in fights - fast, lethal, and small + big, shielding, and strong - but sucks in more domestic/calm cases like reaching for shit on the top shelf or wanting to kiss somebody. but I'd also love some tall gworl reader type shit, miss strong, lean, runway model energy, stepping on any heads and wooing any men that are in her path🥴😻. bending down with a smile so she can hear him, mindlessly playing with his hair, occasionally makes a quip here and there on the difference without thinking lol and he haaaaateeees all of it (but he looooveeeessss all of it🤭).

- reader being THAT GIRL, literally being in a 1v26 or sumn crazy like that and she's just kicking ass and shit the whole time, and then there's the POI(s),,, gawking and in love like "damn that's MY GIRL fr\😻/!!".

- *imagine a vine boom after every bolded word, okay, go* teen/minor/young PLATONIC NONSEXUAL NONROMANTIC (literally I can not stress this enough) NOT DATING AT ALL EVER reader and one/two/all of them. I think it'd just be silly seeing them (wade, logan, and or remy) working/paired with/having a bond with this little gremlin yet sweetheart of a reader who's somehow able to tolerate/put up with/ignore/maybe even indulge in their craziness lmfao. maybe just as or is even more crazy than they are, chaotic and desensitized type shit. you could even get ansgty with it, have this teen reader need saving or something like that, yk?

- sparring match and reader BEATS POI(s) in said spar cuz she's cool, awesome, and mega baller like that. lots of tension and goofiness, especially from the reader, cuz she knows damn well she's the shit. or, a different route!!... total dumb luck that she beat him/both/all of them, and is very obviously playing it off/acting like she won on purpose lmfao, cockiness ensuing.

- can't go wrong with a sick-fic lol. who doesn't wanna be taken care of?

- reader needs/wears glasses🤷🏽‍♀️. it can be the discovery of actually needing them, reader always squinting tryna read/see shit, or nearly getting herself in and out of danger bc again, she blind lmao. or it's just the case of reader never wears them out and about, but in calmer moments (where she doesn't run the risk of breaking them) she'll put them on, so she decides to bust 'em out one day and it's just the POI(s) being like ":O...😻😻!!".

- *olivia rodrigo voice* JEALOUSY, JEALOUSY, YEAA-aAAH😫😫‼️ ... reader who just,,, she don't play that shit, man, lmfao it's called you can prove yourself either friend or foe,,, stay tf away from my man or get your ass beat. pick one. and it's the POI(s) just absolutely flattered and amused with this energy from reader lmfao, reassurance ensuing quick after ofc. or, if you wanna get silly with it (and by silly, I mean violent♡), reader with a girl who can't take a hint😀 *eye twitch* so she finally makes shit clear one way or another (one way; does sumn with the POI(s) that makes the girl uncomfortable so she fucks off. another; reader pretty much beats that girl up and it's the POI(s) laughing but also trying to pry reader off of her cuz "stop it, I'm yours, I promise, you don't have to kill her, she didn't know any better😭!"). or just completely switch it up, vice versa, role-reversal POI(s) get jelly and it's reader having to deal with whatever may happen after/due to the fact lol.

𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭 :

- shameless flirt reader!!!! she's not obnoxious or out of character/proper timing with it, but definitely a reader with helllllaaaaa rizz. is mainly on some "is somebody gonna match my freak?" type shi. wade would find it very silly and he'd match the freak ofc. logan,,, maybe he'd start off annoyed by it, then get used to it, only realizing you've actually grown on him once you start to pull back a little/stop completely? REMY WOULD LOVE AND BE AMUSED BY IT, so all I'm gonna say here is this: rabbits🐇🥰. iykyk♡.

- a smoke sesh leading to some good, old fashioned high/sleepy sex🥰. that's it, that's the prompt♡.

- lord, free me from my sins🙏🏽, plz don't judge me y'all😔 ,,, age gap😃? NOTHING CRAZY, CHILL, but yk, like,,, just a little young thing in her 20s or sumn being scooped up by one (or two🤭) of these older, more mature, aged like fine wine, and experienced men,,, that's all🥰.

- that moment when reader is a whore and is actually literally prancing around without a care in the world, fucking three different guys (wade, logan, and remy obvs) because "they're hot lol" - not necessarily behind their backs - but no one's saying anything or telling her no, nor does anyone seem to have any issues with it/are opposed, sooo😗🤷🏽‍♀️.

- do y'all think,,, because wolverine is yk...wolf-like-ish-whatever.... do y'all think that he,,,, that maybe he goes thru... a rut🙂?? lmfaoGDHAKXKPQPRR okay that's enough, that's enough🥴✋🏽-.

- you know how some smut has certain labels/themes/tags that are gonna be, yk,,, in said smut?? well, cuz I'm out of any specific ideas for smut, I'm just gonna leave some here, m'kaaaay, and whatever y'all wanna dooooo is up to youuuu, just as long as I get to seeee😗☺️🫶🏽~...

⚠️ also don't say I didn't warn y'all, I mean, there's literally a whole ass trigger warning at the top, so do not start fckn trippin' because you disagree with me or saw sumn you don't fw, cuz tbh, I don't care and you can honestly block me if it's that serious♡.

dom-sub, daddy/praise/breeding/spanking kink, knife/gun/blood play (and/or just mutant/power ability play in general hehehe), food/wax play, cnc (I don't suggest full blown non-con seeing as none of them seem the type to do such, no matter the circumstances, plus it's just not my thing personally but hey, I'm not currently writing for pool, wolvie, or gambit rn, so that's up to whoever is🤷🏽‍♀️), hunter-prey (y'all might see this and immediately think wolvie, which is understandable fr, but I beg y'all to get creative and let remy and/or wade hunt reader down, it can be done and done right, I promise, plz, I need it, 😫PLEASE!!-), friends with benefits,,, OHHH ENEMIES with benefits🫢🫢!!, overstim, jealousy/possessive/yandere, unprotected/creampie/oral ... that's all that comes to mind lmao wow what a crazy note to end this on, anyways-

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yeah, so, do with all of this what you will (and plz spread this around, I genuinely do wanna see these get written and myself tagged like I am PINING for these fic ideas to be turned into reality😭🙏🏽), I just had to get my thoughts out before I forgot (at least in the fanfic department), because if someone were to ask me my thoughts on the movie itself !!!!! OMG I could run my mouth forever, but I don't wanna do that (lazy) so lmao for now, that's all lol byeeee~ /ᐠ-˕-マ!!

[kurishiri]

ikémen villains content warning list .ᐟ

this is a work-in-progress compilation of complete content warnings per route (because ikévil tends to underwarn a bit maybe to avoid spoilers) that will be updated as we go. please let me know if I missed anything, regardless if it says ‘work in progress’ or not, or pitch in with warnings. ♡ and ↻ are appreciated!

some of the ikévil routes contain sensitive themes that may be triggering. so please remember to take care of yourself while reading 🫶

GENERAL ༉‧₊˚. 🕊️

canon-typical violence, (minor but named) character death, depictions of murder.

────────────────────

WILLIAM REX ༉‧₊˚. 🍓

near death experience, drug abuse, sexual coercion (not by love interest), corruption, romanticization of death.

───────── 〔🌹〕 ─────────

HARRISON GRAY ༉‧₊˚. 🦊

corruption of the police and higher-ups, mentions of human trafficking, coercion to commit crimes, mentions of kidnapping.

───────── 〔🍧〕 ─────────

LIAM EVANS ༉‧₊˚. 🐈

attempted suicide, suicide and suicidal ideation, depression, anxiety, implied self-harm, mentions of child abuse (physical and emotional), fire, severe burn wounds, human trafficking, mental breakdowns.

───────── 〔🎟️〕 ─────────

ELBERT GREETIA ༉‧₊˚. 🍎

objectification both by and against love interest, mentions of sexual assault or rape (not by love interest), domestic abuse, attempted child sexual assault, pedophilia, obsessive and possessive behavior, stalkerish behavior, grooming, non-consensual touching, depicted suicide, self-harm, mental breakdowns, mentions of animal death, kidnapping, mentions of human trafficking.

───────── 〔🦋〕 ─────────

ALFONS SYLVATICA ༉‧₊˚. 🪞

description of children’s corpses, symptoms of depression, topics of mortality, attempted suicide, near death experience, self-harm, mental manipulation (?), dub-con: having sexual intercourse while one has “consented” in an intoxicated state or under the influence of a curse, (perceived) non-con, mentions of drug abuse and the effects of drugs, mentions of child abuse or labor, implied animal torture and death.

───────── 〔🐈‍⬛〕 ─────────

ELLIS TWILIGHT ༉‧₊˚. ⛓️ —— warnings provided by @myusuchaa !!

romanticization of murder and death, family murder and death, suppressed emotions, emotional disconnect, people pleasing, attempted kidnapping, negative treatment of disabilities, coercion, child trafficking, gang activity.

───────── 〔🥀〕 ─────────

ROGER BAREL ༉‧₊˚. 🍻

a loott of alcohol consumption, drug usage or abuse (recreational drug use), cult activity, near/death experience of a side character, dub-con, self-harm especially in the past.

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JUDE JAZZA ༉‧₊˚. ⌛️ —— w. i. p. ┊ warnings provided by @judesmoonbeauty !!

smoking, torture, mentions of drugs and human trafficking, neglect and child abuse, mentions of a child’s death and the death of a family member.

[depresssant]

The Villainess and The Madmen

It was just a dumb otome game that hooked you like a moth to a flame, and when you had completed the game, it was only natural for you to buy the sequel. So why... why are you now in the body of the villainess with people that suddenly don't want you dead? No. They want something much worse from you. And you don't think you'll be able to make it out of this hell.

Trigger Warnings: yandere, gore, death, murder, past child abuse, heavy childhood trauma, kidnapping, implied sa, and men. Please note that none of this warnings should be romanticized. They are simply for psychological horror. If you or someone you know experiences any symptoms similar to the men in this short story, run and seek help from a hotline or some designated organization.

Chapter One, Chapter Two (TBD), Chapter Three (TBD), Chapter Four (TBD)

Who would’ve thought you’d land yourself in a jail cell?

The cold nips at you angrily, and the silence surrounding you just washes reality over you like a wave. Arrested… bound to be executed, no? That’s the destined fate for the villainess of this otome story⏤so evil and cunning to the point where she poisons the female lead just for her own selfish evils.

It just so happens to be that you’ve reincarnated into the villainess’s body.

Really, you didn’t know what you were getting into when you downloaded the otome game, “Cursed Hearts,” after constant nagging from your friend. It seemed like the typical generic reverse harem game with a helpless female lead and cold and mysterious male leads, but as you played the game, you had fallen more and more into the trap of the game.

So is it really a surprise that you bought the sequel to the game⏤the one that explored a separate storyline with the pathetic villainess as the main lead?

Damn it.

Whatever god above truly does hate you.

You sit back down on the bed you had found yourself sleeping upon, and the reality of it washes over you again. If you’re correct, you’re now the villainess, Calypso [L/n], of this story and… about to get executed. The villainess’s execution occurred somewhere towards the end of the story after she tried to poison the female lead, but her motives were never revealed. Calypso was always like a faceless shadow, mysterious and like that of an illusion despite playing such a large role in the story, and that was what the sequel was supposed to be for. To explain and dot down Calypso like the game had with other characters.

Perhaps you being the only one who purchased the game back then should’ve been a red flag in itself.

Now what do you do? What is there to do? Why even get reincarnated if your next stop is to die immediately?

There’s no way for you to defend yourself since before getting detained by the imperial soldiers in the palace, the villainess, or you now, had explained to everybody attending the empress’s annual spring tea party in detail how she poisoned the female lead’s lead’s tea after the female lead had collapsed and was sent off to a doctor to be treated. So there’s no way of getting out of this. You already look like a lunatic enough as it is⏤

“Lady Calypso [L/n]!”

Huh?

The soldier that stands before the doors to your cell clears his throat, face devoid of any emotion. “You have a visitor.”

Visitor? Who in their right mind would visit you? You’re about to sneer and tell the man you don’t want to talk to anybody, but the figure that approaches the cell door silences you in your tracks. It’s Lilith [L/n], the female lead of this otome story. Even while covered with a cloak, her beauty still manages to shine through everything. She gestures for the soldier to leave before turning her attention to you.

…

“You drank the poison as well.”

“Well, good morning⏤or afternoon or night to you as well, my dear. I’m surprised the cure worked this quickly.”

“Quite joking! You mixed the poison into the kettle we both poured tea from. And you drank it. Why? What are you planning?”

Drinking poison? Calypso drank the poison as well? When you played the game in Lilith's perspective, it didn’t show calypso in the scene as Lilith was too occupied with her tea and thoughts. But drinking poison? Why?

Standing up, you approach the iron bars and wrap your hands around them, deciding to play into the cocky and apathetic villain Calypso is portrayed to be for information. You need to figure out why the hell you’re in this woman’s body. “Goodness, I can't believe you're up and running so quickly after such a potent poison. My cure really did work. How did you notice that, anyways?”

Lilith’s eyes narrow, but it’s not an accusatory glare, no, it’s one of frustration. “Calypso, your husband is tearing himself down to the bone trying to prove your innocence! I spoke to Daemon, and he said he’s willing to let go of the charges, so please stop your stubbornness!”

Drop the charges? Wait, this isn’t a part of the original story. So why…? Oh. This must be a part of the villainess’s route.

If you can recall correctly, there are six main characters to the story. The crown prince, the villain, the grand duke, the esteemed knight, the female lead, and the villainess. In the original otome, the villainess had three different endings to be killed. By the lovesick prince, her lovesick husband who happened to be in love with the female lead, and the lovesick villain.

This otome game isn’t just a typical love story, after all. It’s dark, evil, and the female lead suffers a fate far worse than the villainess’s in every ending.

You hold back a chuckle. “How would you drop my charges? Do the people even know you’ve recovered?”

“... Well… No, but that’s not the point! Calypso, please, just come back home!”

And Lilith never begged Calypso like this in the original game. She was still recovering from the poison back then. It leads you to a question of why. Why are you here? But you’ve got a feeling you know why, and you don’t like it.

It makes nausea and fear pit in your stomach because when you look up, you’re met with a status screen.

And it says:

𝘔𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘚𝘵𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵 - 𝘾𝙤𝙢𝙥𝙡𝙚𝙩𝙚 𝘾𝙖𝙡𝙮𝙥𝙨𝙤 [𝙇/𝙣]'𝙨 𝙧𝙤𝙪𝙩𝙚. 𝙁𝙖𝙞𝙡𝙪𝙧𝙚 𝙩𝙤 𝙙𝙤 𝙨𝙤 𝙬𝙞𝙡𝙡 𝙧𝙚𝙨𝙪𝙡𝙩 𝙞𝙣 𝙛𝙤𝙧𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙧 𝙗𝙚𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙩𝙧𝙖𝙥𝙥𝙚𝙙 𝙞𝙣 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙡𝙙.

a/n : going back to my roots with this one guys. to my loyal babes, yall r gonna have to hold on a little longer for that part ll batfam fic I PROMISE IT'LL BE HERE SOON 😭. if u see a grammatical mistake, it wasn't me. anyways, here goes my shitty attempt at being aesthetic. uhhh, i'll also be making a taglist for this one, and reblogs r much appreciated. other than that, have a good day/night 💋💋💋

[omegapropaganda]

🔥🍯🔥

Burnt Honey ch. 9

poly141 x M!Omega!Reader

omegaverse

"You have been a member of Shadow Company and Phillip Graves' omega for years suffering at his hand until you meet the members of Task Force 141. They help you learn to love again while you help them destroy Shadow Company from the bottom up."

John "Soap" MacTavish/Reader, Simon "Ghost" Riley/Reader, Kyle "Gaz" Garrick/Reader, John Price (Call of Duty)/Reader, John "Soap" MacTavish/Simon "Ghost" Riley, Kyle "Gaz" Garrick/John Price, Simon "Ghost" Riley/Gary "Roach" Sanderson (past), Phillip Graves (Call of Duty)/Reader (toxic), Rodolfo Parra/Alejandro Vargas

be very aware of the tags and read them thoroughly. Major trigger warnings for graphic descriptions of male on male non-con/rape, manipulation, degradation (not the fun kind), and general abusive toxic sexual relations. These are not romanticized and very much harm Reader.

please take care of yourself if you are sensitive to these issues and still decide to proceed with reading this fic. I will not be held responsible for your actions after you read these warnings, okay?

[allthingswhumpyandangsty]

what do you think of toxic caretakers? :D

I'M GLAD YOU ASKED. considering the fact I'm a sucker for whumpy and angsty enemies to lovers trope, toxic caretakers are My Thing. literally gives me whumperflies. I guess you could call them carewhumpers?

SOME OF MY FAVORITE TOXIC CARETAKERS (OR CAREWHUMPERS) PROMPTS

trigger warning for violence and abuse. it should go without saying, but these are all fictional and I in no way condone or romanticize these things in real life

power imbalance between whumpee and carewhumper.

carewhumper having hurt whumpee before realizing they went too far and trying to tend to whumpee's wounds.

carewhumper putting whumpee in a leash and a collar.

carewhumper losing their tamper and taking their anger out on whumpee.

carewhumper branding whumpee's skin with their (carewhumper's) name, because people will see carewhumper's name branded onto whumpee's skin and know who whumpee belongs to, and since no one messes with carewhumper, no one will lay a hand on whumpee.

carewhumper genuinely thinking what they are doing is "good" for whumpee.

or, carewhumper actually doing the right thing and what is best for whumpee, but the process is still painful/terrifying to whumpee (having to restrain whumpee so that they can't hurt themself, having to stitch whumpee's wounds and ignore whumpee's cry because they're in pain, having to literally chain whumpee up or literally break their legs so that whumpee cannot escape and put their own life in danger, etc).

carewhumper trying their best because they genuinely don't know how to Not Hurt whumpee, since all of carewhumper's life, the only things they know are cruelty and violence.

carewhumper not understanding why whumpee is scared of them.

carewhumper yelling at whumpee because scaring whumpee is the only way whumpee will listen and not wander away and risk their life in the process.

carewhumper not allowing whumpee to have any friend because carewhumper do not trust these people.

carewhumper being extremely protective and possessive of whumpee.

[black-dresses-band-fan]

A Guide to Black Dresses (Band)

Who are Black Dresses?

Black Dresses is a Canadian musical band, formed by two women, Ada Rook and Devi McCallion, who are both artists on their own.

The band was formed in 2017, following their first ever single - Paper Planes (cover of MIA). 

Devi and Ada started the Black Dresses project when they were friends, however they're currently in a relationship and implied to be married to each other.

They started the Black Dresses project, as a form of venting, and did not expect to blow up in the slightest. However, following the release of their debut album - WASTEISOLATION, they gained attention of the internet. With their unique sound palette, dark and vulnerable content of the lyrics, and general surrounding of enigmatic no-name artists, they started to quickly follow with underground cult following. 

Gaining much praise, getting a score of 9 out of 10 from Anthony Fantano, and especially, becoming viral over the song "IN MY MOUTH".

Unfortunely the band diss-banded after harassment that Devi received from the internet users after they found her online presence and internet footprint. Both Ada and Devi didn't really like the attention they gathered. So in 2020, they stopped making new material. But did in fact release old unreleased stuff all up to 2022.

In 2023 they announced working on their 7th album and making new music. Releasing more singles and uploading little snippets on them working. Confirming that way that they're a band once again.

The musical style

Black Dresses musical style is based on mixing a lot of genres. As an underground artists, Black Dresses are influenced by a lot of lesser known styles and genres coming from the outsider world of music. 

You cannot really explain their sound in simple words, but i'll try. Their genre is often described as "Noise Pop", but they're much more than that.

I'll try to describe their general sound, but i will go into more details following the guide's part about each individual album.

Most of all, Black Dresses are an electronic band, they do use real life instruments, mostly guitars and drums, but it's mostly electronical elements.

Black Dresses mixes elements of Pop, Industrial, Noise, EDM, Rock, and are mostly described as extremely experimental.

To lesser extent they also use hip-hop, ambience, metal, glitch, synth, and screamo.

Their vocals are rather amateur, which shouldn't really scare you, as it just adds to the charm. They're also notable for their usage of screaming vocals.

Themes of Black Dresses 

TRIGGER WARNING: CSA, Abuse.

The main themes of Black Dresses music are:

Mental suffering,

Living with mental ilness - such like depression or severe anxiety,

Coping with trauma - mostly from their childhood, and the sexual abuse they went trough from the hands of adults in their life.

Healing from those experiences, seeing hope in the future.

And environmentalism - raising awareness about the issues of global warming and pollution.

But there's ofcourse many more songs that don't follow these themes. 

Black Dresses often get accused of being "edgy", however you shouldn't perceive them like that. Their music is full of real struggles that both Devi and Ada are going trough. They do NOT romanticize or fetishize the themes of their music, nor they sugarcoat it or exaggerate it. 

Not to mention their music is full of hope for better tomorrow and wanting to improve, giving it all a positive message.

Release guide

2018 - WASTEISOLATION: Their debut album, definitely the darkest in terms of themes. Essential for every fan of the band, the best place to start. Mostly lighter in sound, doesn't incorporate as much noise as following releases.

Really accessible for newcommers.

2018 - HELL IS REAL EP: A 5 five song EP making a bridge between WASTEISOLATION and THANK YOU. It's a bit moodier than the previous project, but also it's a place where Black Dresses started to use more screaming vocals and noise elements.

2019 - THANK YOU: Second album, much more surreal in the sound palette, much noiser and more electronic. Black Dresses at this point got a little less personal in their lyricism.

2019 - DREAMS COME TRUE 2019: A sequel to their first ever project together, DREAMS COME TRUE 2017 which i'll mention later. It follows 3 WASTEISOLATION songs re-made and re-worked. As well as one brand new song.

2019 - LOVE AND AFFECTION FOR STUPID LITTLE BITCHES: Black Dresses (succesful) attempt at poppier sound. Much less crowded instrumentals and simpler, catchier beats. Doesn't belittle their noise elements and screaming ofcourse! 

2020 - Peacefull as Hell: Black Dresses most popular album after WASTEISOLATION, got an extremely positive review from Fantano and semi-blow up on the internet. A fan favourite.

Black Dresses production got more professional. 

The sound is much lighter and goes into the direction of electronic pop rock.

2021 - Forever in Your Heart: Black Dresses heaviest project to date. Ada and Devi at their most industrial and metal. A lot of screaming and noise. Another fan favourite.

2022 - Forget Your Own Face: Their latest album, as for the time of writing this guide. Their most disorganised project (which was intentional), full of distortions and noise and screams. It was a surprise release and is made from re-made unreleased material going as back as 2019. It contains some of fan favourite songs.

Other notable work:

2017 - DREAMS COME TRUE 2017: First ever released collaboration between Ada and Devi, a short 4 song EP.

2017 - LETHAL POISON FOR THE SYSTEM: A 3 song EP in collaboration with 99Jakes and Laura Les - a member of 100 GECS. Includes first single Under Black Dresses name.

2018 - CRUSH: Single, a cover of Tessa Violet.

2020 - 745 Sticky Remix: Black Dresses remix of 100 Gecs song that ended up on the official 100 Gecs remix album.

2023 - Shines: Single, a collaboration between the band Purity Ring and Black Dresses.

Merch and how to support them

Black Dresses ocassionally releases their albums on cassettes, however they were all limited and are currently unavaible. No official CDs or Vinyls were ever made.

You can buy at any time Black Dresses hoodies or T-shirts on https://black-dresses-merch-store.creator-spring.com/

(Ada also sells her merch on that)

You can buy their albums over Black Dresses bandcamp, or support them directly trough Patreon.

You can also contact Devi or Black Dresses trough an e-mail and show your support with words!

black.squares.media@gmail.com

blackdresses666@gmail.com

 (Please do not send this e-mail to anybody who could harass them) 

That's all, i hope you'll have a wonderful time listening to our gals! :DD

Black Dresses Extended Universe Guide

What's that? You're interested in checking out Ada's and Devi's solo stuff? Well, it might be much more confusing or interesting than you think, in fact, it's a whole rabbit hole. So let me introduce you to, what i like to call, the "Black Dresses Extended Universe" (BDEU or simply BDU). 

BDU is a collective of every side-project, nickname under which one of the girls released music, or any other band that contains either Ada or Devi.

Ada Rook's side of EU

Let's start with Ada Rook, since there's a little bit less going around her.

Ada started releasing her music in 2015, following her first OST for her game (as she's a game dev), and her first EP in 2016 "void memory".

Ada used the nickname "rooksfeather" or simply "rook", however after the release of "Parasite" she started using her full name.

Ada's solo discography follows 8 EPs, 4 Soundtracks, and 6 albums. 7th one on the way 

Her musical style is similar to Black Dresses, but more into industrial and rock side of things. Her older music used much more ambience and was darker, moodier. Her recent style incorporates much more screaming and poppier sound. However, in case similar to Black Dresses, each album have it own distinct sound. 

She also released one album with an artist called Deathirl, "DEATH IN REAL LIFE" and it's extremely rare media, not even listed on RYM. However reuploads of it exists.

She have one Alter-ego, called "Crisis Sigil" Under which she's doing extreme grindcore. Crisis Sigil released 2 EPs and 1 Album.

Ada is also a part of 2 other bands beside of Black Dresses,

"rook&nomie" is a collaboration between Ada and ESPer99, they released 2 albums. Their style is much more poppier than anything else that Ada does.

"Angel Electronics" is a fresh new band formed by Ada and Ash Nerve. They're doing power electronic rock, and their sound is more joyful. They released 1 album so far.

Notable Ada Rook releases:

"Shed Blood" by Rook

"Parasite" by Rook,

"2,020 Knives" by Rook,

"UGLY DEATH" by Rook,

"Rookie's Bustle EP" by Rook,

"GOD CUM POLTERGEIST" by Crisis Sigil,

"ULTRA PARADISE" by Angel Electronics,

"Superego Royal Jelly" by rook&nomie

Devi McCallion's side of EU

Wow, we are in for a heck of a ride... Oh well,

Devi started releasing her music since the age of 15, however most of it is probably lost media at this point. She's putting music out on her own label - Blacksquares, Under many different alliases and side projects, i'll talk about each one later.

Devi's style is mostly indie pop, influenced by sub-genres like dream pop, synthpop, ElectroPop and simply underground pop.

Her music is often simplistic and cartoony, but it's hard to explain her signature style in words. 

But it's worth checking out.

Devi rarely releases anything Under her real life name, mostly singles. But she did release 2 albums Under her real name together with Katie Dey, mixing production of both girls. 

Devi used many different nicknames trough her career, such like Dizzy Girl, Devi April McCallion, Vriska Serket, Walking Patriarchy and The Little Fears, however all of these names aren't connected to any specific releases, as far as im aware (Devi's music is a huge Rabbit Hole, full of lost media and rare material).

It's also worth mentioning that she released a compilation of her unreleased material Under the name "Blacksquares", it's titled "LIFE IS HELL (ASMR)".

Okay, so now we are going to talk about each one of her musical projects. We'll start with 4 of the most essential ones, then the more obscure ones, and we'll finish it all with Devi's other bands beside Black Dresses.

1. EAT BABIES? - A name she really doesn't like to be assiocated with, so it's better to treat this project as a fun fact, rather than the core of her career. EAT BABIES? was her first ever project (that we are awere of) Under which she released 2 albums and 2 EPs. It was much more amateur than what she's used to do now. And she doesn't like to associate this project with herself due of the fact she was much different person back then. 

2. Mom - is her second most popular nickname. It was her primary stage name for a long time untill 2015 when she came out with "Girl Rituals".

Mom released 5 albums. And semi-blow up with a song titled "joyfulthought". Mom is a time when Devi really started to work on her pop sound and signature style. 

3. Cats Millionaire - the third most popular Devi project. Cats Millionaire was active from 2011 to 2013. Released 2 albums, 4 EPs and 2 mixtapes. 

Cats Millionaire is characteristic for overall theme of My Little Pony, since Devi used to be a brony. The lyrics and aesthetic are all about MLP. The sound was much more soothing and toned-down than most of Devi's releases.

4. Girls Rituals - Devi's current main allias and her most important project that's still active from 2015 to this day. Under that name Devi released most of her music, and she really perfected and evolved her pop sound with each and every release. Beside of many singles, she released 2 EPs (one with Ada, one with 4lung, however the second one is since deleted because of the 4lung allegations), 1 remix album, 1 instrumental album, and 5 albums. With "Reddishness" being Girls Rituals fan favourite release.

Now, Let's get over every other side project.

10 Chains - only one instrumental album have been released. It's noise/ambience.

Doro Doro Dono/More Bears- Just one single released each for two of these projects,

traptraptrap - 2009. one album released. Despite the name, it's her usual pop stuff.

Triangle Giant - named after one of Devi's bands, only one EP released. ElectroPop.

Yellow Bile - 3 EPs released. Usual pop stuff. One of the EPs are lost media.

Tiny Magnesium - Really obscure stage name for her usual pop sound. 2 short albums released.

Leader Misty - Pokemon themed 2008 project, one instrumental album.

Holographic Rainbow - Only the soundtrack to the discontinued web comic (of the same name) have been released.

Hexi Wing - name she used to release her self-spoken erotic fan-fiction. You're probably not interested in that 👀.

Now, last but not least, Devi's multiple bands before and after Black Dresses.

Dr. Massive and The Headwound Extravaganza - was a 2008 electronic band that released mostly covers of rock songs. Only one album have been released and the band is 100% discontinued right now. Devi was responsible for programming, drums and vocals. There also were

Mike Will Smith - percussion and vocals,

Allan Burke - synthesizer and vocals, 

Jonathan Oscar Cianni - programming, bass,

And Sensitive Bear - bass and vocals.

Unfortunely i couldn't find any info about the band members.

Giant Triangle - A band where Devi used to do vocals from 2008 to 2016, the band had a lot of members that went and go, but it seems their only official release is an 2020 EP. Usual electronic and pop.

The Various Endeavors? - a 2009 band who's appearently still active? They released one synth punk album, and a compilation of unreleased tracks in 2021. John Bevier and Tyler Bruce are in the band along-side Devi.

VCF Freq - A collaboration between Devi and Boy Pussy, they're doing minimal techno. They're Technically still active but their only 2020 EP dissapeared from any streamings. It's thankfully archived on Soulseek.

Anarchy 99 - A collaboration between Devi and So Drove, they're doing electronic pop rock. They're still active from 2020 and actually release new material consistantly. A couple of singles have been released and one album.

Notable Devi  McCallion releases:

'Self-titled" by Mom,

"3" by Mom,

"Fun Fun Fun" by Cats Millionaire,

"Reddishness" by Girls Rituals,

"Im Desperate" by Girls Rituals,

"CRAP SHIT" by Girls Rituals,

"Cow" by Girls Rituals,

"Rockstar Super Heat" by Anarchy 99,

And that's all there is to BDU ;)) have fun Discovering it! ❤️

[fortheloveofpiggy]

TW this is a rant about proship and comship! Tags will have more in-depth trigger warnings

Edit: OMG PROSHIPPERS STOP MAKING THIS POST ABOUT DEFENDING IF SHIPPING CHILD X ADULT OR INCEST IS OKAY OR NOT THE POST IS ABOUT THE LABLE I DONT WANT TO ARGUE WITH YALL ABOUT THAT ANYMORE.

This is my one post where all people on all sides of the proship debate can interact. Including proshippers. If that makes you uncomfortable then don’t interact. I hate echo chambers and I want to hear all sides.

Also sorry for cross tagging just want the opinions from all sides

Actual post:

I hate the terms proship, neutral ship, and antiship. They’re all extremes and I hate them. From what I understand the meanings are

Proship: support all ships no matter what even if they’re comships

Neutral ship: doesn’t have an opinion at all

Antiship: is anti any comship which is outrageous

If y’all don’t know comship just means complex ship or they enjoy more morally grey or imperfect ships. This can include things like human X different intelligent species (like aliens, furries, monsters) which most rational people don’t think is bad. But this can also mean kid X adult, family x family, or victim X abuser

I actually don’t identify as pro, neu, or anti because I think some comships are good and healthy. I think morally grey ships are important in media when done correctly. Especially since a lot of relationships are rocky and not always healthy and it’s good to show that in media. My own ocs personally aren’t in a perfectly healthy relationship because of their own issues. But this should be done respectfully and with care. Abuse shouldn’t be romanticized but people can be romantic outside of the abuse going on just like in real life relationships

But in a pedophilic fan fiction or art or an incest fanfic or art there is no such thing as a loving part of it. The relationship in itself is abuse because a minor being with a child is abuse and family members being together is abuse. It’s not healthy for anyone involved to romanticize relationships like that and frankly can effect reality no matter how you spin it because it’s representing something as normal to kids.

Right now a lot of neutrals, antis, and probably a lot of pro shippers are agreeing but that’s where my point really starts

The term “proship” and “anti ship” are too vague. If you say you’re proship you sound like you defend media where children are harmed. I understand the meaning is being proshipping and minding your business but that’s still what you look like and frankly that’s what the term does. If you’re pro everything then that means you’re pro the harmful stuff too

And the term “antiship” suggest that you’re anti shipping in general or anti any complex ship which is also unhealthy for us all because morally grey topics need brought up. Antis also are very very commonly okay with harassment when it comes to proshippers

And neutral ship is basically just saying you don’t have a opinion at all which is harmful because you’re suggesting you’re okay with the harm done on both sides. And I understand some people who are neutral ship agree with me and don’t just not care but I feel like majority is the former not the latter (based on what I’ve seen)

Also disclaimer if you’re neutral because of mental health or because you have better things to deal with that’s valid but identifying as neutral ship does put you in it and i instead suggest staying out of it entirely

So idk maybe we should make a term for the middle. I had a few ideas maybe something like middleship or intentship (intentship meaning enjoying or allowing all ships as long as the intentions are good and are not to romanticize trauma or abuse)

Idk everyone can share their opinions but if I see another proshipper say fiction doesn’t effect reality I’m gonna scream and if I see another anti shipper call all morally grey ships bad as if they done killed their grandma I’ll go insane

[thequietkid-moonie]

Hello! May i request the Yandere Prompt “Abused Darling Feels at Peace with Them” with Kafka, Silver Wolf, and Firefly?

Abused darling feels at peace with them

[ HEADCANONS ] [ Kafka, Silver Wolf, Firefly ]

[ Honkai Star Rail ]

⚠️ Yandere, I don't support nor try to romanticize this toxic behaivor, is just for entretaiment

Thank you so much for requesting this prompt! I being wanting to write it but I had no idea with who

Kafka

Despite being a wanted criminal and wouldn't doubt on killing others if she has to Kafka is incredibly caring and gentle towards her darling, for her you are like the most precious treasure she could ever find, someone so beautiful and valuable that she most take good care of!

Kafka is not really going to take a no from your part, once she knows she wants you then she will take you with her and drag you to her side, however she is incredibly good with words and makes everything in her power to make sure you understand that you will be safe and completely loved at her side, wich is not a lie

Knowing that you have a past of suffering any kind of abuse trigger a protective side of Kafka, she doesn't really want to take away from you your freedom (specially if you already accepted her willingly) but she will try even more to make you feel safe and will become even more gentle, holding you close or always having an arm around you, even admiting what she is capable of without a shame just because she wants to show you how sincere and open she will be with you, her beloved darling, take advantage of you and become abusive like those jerks in the past did is the last thing you can expect from her

To go even further she even tell a bit of your backstory to the other sellaron hunters because all of them are like a big family, you must trust then too (even if you don't want to spent much time with them) because knowing how much you mean to Kafka then they will welcome you and protect you just like Kafka does

Getting to know that you feel safe and comfortable at Kafka's side is not a surprise in the slighest, it has being her biggest goal since she fell in love with you, however is something that make her feel prideful and happy, if you trust her then that means you love her too, you want to be with her just as much as she wants to be with you, so of course she will make sure to never betray that trust and make sure you never have to feel fear again, she will always be there for you

Kafka is quite interested on your backstory, she will ask once she knows you are comfortable enough to share it and will insist on hearing the details, she doesn't intent on trigger any kind of bad memory or even push you to a panic attack but she wants to know towards who and why is directed the anger and hate she is feeling right now, besides she wants to replaced the bad memories with good ones of your new life with her, doing similar things but with love and respect so when you look back the only thing you can remember is her and the love she has for you

Despite the anger she feels she will not try to go against the people who treat you bad in the past, she may send a warning leaving clear that is Kafka, the wanted criminal, the sellaron hunter, the merciless murderer, who has them in her sight and is ready to attack when they less expected, but at the end she doesn't directly attack them unless destiny leads her to where that people is, if she has a mision in a planet where those people are the she will take a moment of a blanket space on the scrip to pay them a visit, besides a few more deaths won't really make a diference in the plan

Silver Wolf

For Silver Wolf to fall in love is a tricky situation, since everything is a simple game for her for being the amazing hacker she is then you have to catch her attention, she either ignore your existance or put her full attention on you, there is no other way for Silver Wolf to grow to love you

Then again, for her everything is a simple game, once you manage to catch her attention enough for her to develop an interest that grow more and more over time then she will spend some time tracking down even the smallest details about you she can find just because she can, wich at the end is what lead her to grow obsessed

At first she didn't thought much about your past as a victim of abuse, she was annoyed by what people could do to other just for their selfish desires, but at the end it would be her own selfish desires what will lead her towards you (not that she cares but she admits it with ease, she is not hypocrite)

Silver Wolf always finds a way to get what she wants so having her darling at her side will not be diferent, however, even when the process to take you as hers may be sudden and even invasive once you are with her she takes things more easy on you, she understand that you may still be frighten (specially with knowing your past) so she will give you time to adjust and will actually take time to try and win your trust, she tries to always be honest with you and sincerily invite you over to hang out, you two can play videogames or simply watch something together

Since there is no way you can escape from her, Silver Wolf has no reason to don't give you some freedom and give you time alone, she actually respect your bounduries (but just physicaly, she is always connected to your phone and keep and eye on you), she waits until you are ready to open up personally and show or at least accept the affection, so when you finally feel comfortable enough to even say that you are at peace at her side she takes it as a personal victory, she is so proud of herself and this will lead her to just be more friendly and affectionate towards you

Silver Wolf has no shame on admiting that she already knows everything about your past but also is quick to let you know that she doesn't think less of you, she understands that you are the victim and even assure you that you shouldn't be ashame of it, it wasn't your fault after all. She is not good at providing comfort but she is incredibly good at reasuring you, she treats you with respect and is actually so attentive to don't trigger any bad memory, she pays a lot of attention to you and your reactions to make sure you are feeling safe and yet she insist that is just the normal thing to do (she even makes sure the other sellaron hunters don't cross your bounduries when hanging out with them but doesn't really give an explanation not that they will need it, they somehow understand)

When it comes to the people who have hurt you in the past is a tricky situation, she hates and despise that people and even make sure to know where they are and what are doing all the time but will not do anything unless the aftermath and scars of that abuse is getting in the way of her and her love for you, she is quite selfish in this because unless this trauma messes with your way to relate with her then she will not do nothing to them, but if she does then she will make sure to first make sure every single person knows what kind of monsters they are before ruining completely their lifes, leaving them without any other oportunity in life

Firefly

Now that Firefly has get another chance to live she is determinated to fight for that life, fight to be able to enjoy that same life and find a meaning of life and getting to know her darling is like if she has found the very reason of why is she alive, the reason why she should keep up with life. Firefly wants nothing more than be able to feel alive, to enjoy life, and now that you are in her life what she wants the most is be able to enjoy that same life with you!

Firefly is observant and smart, she is designed to detecta even the smallest details and be wary of her surroundings since she was born during a war, so it won't really take her a long time to notice the small hints of an abusive past, if you dont tell her directly then she will find out herself (besides, she doesn't really want to pry on your privacy, she wants to believe that you will eventually warm up with her and tell her everything about you), even if she noticed the hints quick Firefly will take a while to accept this fact, she is just too scare of accept it that she just tries to deny that someone has dare to do even just look down at you, you mean too much for her to process the idea of someone being physicaly or psychologically abusive towards you

One way of another a abusive past always affects the person and thats the same reason why she feels in rage when she finds out that you suffered from abuse in the past, more than hating what happen in the past Firefly hates how it affects your present, she wants to enjoy life at your side but how she can be at peace when she knows part of you still suffer and hold you back for what you have suffered?

Firefly alone is already caring and affectionate, she keeps her past and details about herself as a secret as long as posible because she want you to love her true self but always make sure to remind you that you are safe with her, she wants you to be happy and to make you happy, she is completely ready to get into a fight if it is to protect you, even if she has to reveal her true identity and get in her armor she doesn't care as long as you are safe

Firefly makes a lot of efforts to make you feel comfortable and safe around her and yet when she noticed that you do feel at peace with her despite the fact that she is a criminal and despite your past, even despite being her whole goal make you feel safe she still feel surprised when noticing that you feel at complete peace with her, that you can let your guard down and put your worries aside to simply enjoy life she feels her heart melting

Forgive her if she start crying when she notice it but she is just too happy of being alive right now, seeing you happy and comfortable at her side makes all those years of suffering all worthy and will lead her to vow to herself to keep protecting you with fer life, she will do everything in her power to make sure no one dares to even look down at you again, she will find a way to save you even from nightmares! Just wait and see

Although, the fact that you feel more at peace doesn't makes her rage dissapear, her feelings are things completely apart, she loves you just as much as she hates the people who have made you suffer and she will make sure to track down that people, nothing will stop her from using her strenght to destroy that people with one single merciless attack

[nyarlathotep-thecrawlingchaos]

I have a little bit of an interesting question! I know you stated you like writing horror and NSFW, or at least you do not mind dabbling in them, so I'm curious to your opinion:

(Please, very important onto this, keep in mind that, when I ask about 'Yandere', while yes, I mean this lovesick, obsessed character who goes to kidnapping/harming others/threatening/killing etc extremes to get the object of their affection/obsession, there's many yandere types. I PERSONALLY like only a handful of them because I am very careful with TW (I do not like toxic relationships where the 'darling' is deprived of privacy, is mistreated, forced to do things, has hands laid on them, has their emotional well being messed up by demeaning words, etc, and I do not enjoy abuse depictions of the trope either, so I cherry-pick a lot (due to personal trauma). Yanderes are often portrayed as straight up abusive when they needn't be, there's delusional ones, lucid ones who do not want to feel the way they do, others who rather give themselves to the object of obsession/affection and would rather hurt themselves than ever upset them, others who lean more towards manipulation, etc.). I say this because TW are important and while this is 'just a question in a blog' I want to inform you that there is NO EXPECTATION for you to write abuse, toxicity or anything of the sort. While being WELL AWARE that yandere relationships WILL be unhealthy in nature, it is that kind of 'unhealthy possessive' vibe you can enjoy IN FICTION, and should NEVER allow in real life. Take care of yourselves ❤️)

Obviously, none of the characters are canonically yandere, but do you have any opinions on who could fit the bill? And how/what way/what category they'd fit into?

Please ignore this if it makes you uncomfortable in any way and even if you simply respond without any headcanons/just a little ramble, remember to put TW so people who blacklist yandere stuff or feel trigger by any of it continue having a safe space here! Love your blog and what you do! Keep up the amazing work, and congratulations on such endless artistic talent!!

I haven't done a whole lot with the Yandere trope. I have one unpublished fan fiction for another fandom entirely that involves a yandere character in an antagonistic role. I don't tend to romanticize it because of how problematic it can be.

So needless to say, ⚠️ trigger warnings ⚠️ ahead for this topic, some more than others (lookin' at you, Doffy).

I feel like Sanji could fit the bill of being the lucid, regretful yandere. He knows that his obsession with you could be problematic, but he just can't help it. He gets insecure and jealous easily, and may be inclined to threaten any other men that happen to get to close to his beloved, platonically or romantically. He wants you completely to himself. Would be apologetic about his behavior and feel sincerely guilty for it, but just unable to keep himself from doing so. He also feels his behavior is protecting you in a way from being taken advantage of, and that's the only justification he can make for it—even to himself.

Mihawk, while his confidence and ego mean he's not really the jealous type, would still be a worthy candidate. He wants you aware that you are his in every sense of the word. You, your love, your mind, your body, all belong to him. No one else. He may very well be violent about it, though not toward you—just toward anyone who dares challenge his ownership over you. Toward his lover, he would be particularly doting and gentle, treating you like a fragile and priceless work of art. He would be incredibly disinclined to allow you to go anywhere without him; and if he finds out anyone else is attempting to court your affections or, heaven forbid, hurt you, then their days are going to be numbered.

Next would be Crocodile. Getting more ⚠️triggery⚠️ here. Prime candidate for a possessive yandere. Even if he doesn't have much time for you, you're still his property. He'll expect you to have time for him, to adhere to his schedule and his whims. He'll have a list of rules that you have to follow—no speaking with other men without him present, no going out in public without him or a guard that he has personally assigned to you; this is as much for the sake of keeping you safe as it is to ensure that you don't do anything he would disapprove of. In exchange, he'll shower you with lavish gifts, and treat you like a princess when he is with you...but if you break the rules, there will be consequences.

And lastly, and by far the most triggery, Doflamingo. Congratulations, you've caught the attention of an absolutely sadistic and manipulative yandere! He values total control over all aspects of your life. But he's going to make you think you have some freedom at first. He'll pout a little if you want to go somewhere without him, but he'll allow it...on the surface, at least. Then he'll hire some thug or other criminal deviant to scare you right back into his arms, whether with idle threats or physical force. He'll make you feel like he's your only source of safety and comfort. Make you defend him to your concerned friends and family of your own volition, until you have absolutely no one left but him to turn to. He'll justify it by saying it absolutely is for your own safety, and he sincerely believes that to be true; even if he wasn't hiring people to frighten you, there's still every chance that you could be hurt or enticed to leave if you stray too far from his side, and he can't allow that. Whether he views you as a lover or just a plaything, no one else is allowed to touch you but him.

[smellslikechahnspirit]

hey! i hope you’re doing well :)

if it’s not too much i was wondering if i could request a comfort fake text fic with a reader who’s in a relationship with chan and used to date someone abusive? like the time of the year that their assault happened comes around and they act really distant, flinchy etc if that makes sense? and then chan notices, confronts them and then comforts once they break down. let your mind roam free if you take this request. it’s just this time of year is always hard for me (no pressure to do this ik it’s a deep and sensitive topic)

First of all, I'm so sorry you have to go through that. I wish you the best, honestly 🤍 ps: I do NOT wanna romanticize violence in ANY way or form, this is purely because of the fact that Chris his energy gives love and hope. I know it's a fake imagine. But I know 100% that he would respond closely like this (disclaimer, I know we don't know our idols so you can't really say that, but I've met alot of horrible men in my life and lemme tell you from what I've seen these last 7 years of Chris, he would always strive to be positive and lovely. He has genuinely got one of the prettiest souls I've ever encountered) 🤍

Christopher 🕸🤍

Fake text scenario: Abusive ex

🤍 : fluff, soft, still might contain swearing

🕸 : MIGHT CONTAIN SOME adult themes, emotional, maybe trigger warning

...Masterlist...

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