[vnillaextrct]

Even if I'm just a program, I want to reach your heart with my song

— 🐠 Rea twenty-two, (s)her, I write for aot & jjk, big dick bully endorser, Choso’s gf<3, Suguru’s favorite cult follower, Reiner’s pretty girl, Kishibe’s favorite, I like scary bfs & mean old men, slow posts & replies, requests are open<3

𓂃 𓈒𓏸 Masterlist . About . Library 

Thank you for reading♡ Goodbye cuties . . ୨୧ ꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖ I love you all!!

[vnillaextrct]

Hello, I just fell on one of your old writings, the bts yandere praise. And oh my god!!!🫨 You write so good, I know it's old but if I can ask, why can't I find the bts masterlist? If you can added to your pinned masterlist I would be thankful. 🥹 But anyways no pressure, you write great🥹♥️

Thank you so much but it’s deleted:p I don’t write for them anymore but I appreciate that you enjoyed my works so much🩷🩷

[vnillaextrct]

I start adderall Thursday😎

[vnillaextrct]

Can someone please point me to the best active Naruto writers

[itadoriahh]

a pic from yuuji’s camera roll <3 little harder to look back on after shibuya but he can’t bring himself to delete it (it’d be like losing them all over again)

[vnillaextrct]

will you continue the r/trueoffmychest suguru story? just read it again and it’s still amazing

I have plans to eventually:) I’m hoping when I start my new adhd meds it will be smooth sailing for me to write because I miss it

[ackshuallyvalerie]

Toji after mission

[miniairo]

Ruin or ruin?

More art like this

[vnillaextrct]

I SEE HER; I NEED HER — Stalker!Eren Yeager

Synopsis: Stalker!Eren finally got his hands on you

— disclaimer (mdni, +18 only, gun play, noncon, dubcon, stalker, mafia mentions, serial killer, yandere, dark content, death mentions)

A yellow façade greets the returning impoverished collection of adults, but the male continues to stare into the sombre, unobtrusive blur of greys whirling inside the washing machine. Thoughts evaporated when Eren forced his mind to focus on something, slightly deadening the pounding, repetitive thumping against his skull. On the other hand, he’s struggling tenaciously with the frighteningly bottomless, insatiable appetite he has to split open someone’s skull.

The freak is putting up a good fight against the unceasing itch he has for a taste of the fresh arterial wine, but he’s running low on ammo and knows the clock is ticking. He feels grateful the huge reverse of his sleeping schedule puts the majority of citizens out of harm’s way, but, of course, occasional night owls have to throw everything out of place.

Unfortunately, in your case, unable to sleep restfully from the stress of completing coursework, you conceded to just finally take the pile of dirty clothes balled in the corner of your bedroom to the laundromat. The distant, skeletal silhouette standing in the corner by the washing machines didn’t go unnoticed, but was less than just noted on. It was never acknowledged until your clothes were in the wash and you were sliding coins into the machine.

A quarter fumbled, slipping between your fingers before wheelbarrowing across the floor to land flat on the ground beside beat up sneakers.

Despite knowing the risk of slight interaction with you, his fascination with your angelic features told him otherwise. A feeling of nostalgia grew over the blood guzzling monster as he walked towards you with the coin in his palm. Your blood smelled like the kitchen sink after his mother had cleaned the pots and pans with her metal scouring pad. You smelled fucking delicious.

You don’t get a good look at him with the hood shielding his features from your view, but you dare to approach as he squats down to pick up the quarter, head tilting back as he extends his hand out to you to drop the coin into the palm of your hand. You’re certain that he’s nothing more than a seedy drug dealer, not assuming this guy manages to make his hobby into a living for Armin Arlert, that rich businessman whose billboards hang over the city streets. To be fair, you only moved to the city a few months ago, finally emerging from your childhood home to take on the world as a big girl, so yeah, it’s plausible you’re a bit too naive to the less savoury individuals that floods the night.

The two of you seemed to have an endless amount of run-ins since that moment, not that you minded. It was nice to have a familiar face in the city, regardless of how off putting he is. It doesn’t change how striking he is. There’s not much that can be done to quell the flutter inside your belly every time the two orbs of viridescent flicker underneath street lamps as they flit across your features. On the other hand, Eren doesn’t know how much longer he can handle not blowing your brains out. You’re so fucking naive to it — to everything.

“You really think all those times we’ve run into each other were coincidences?”

Perhaps, if you weren’t a bit too intoxicated, if the diluting bane of liquor wasn’t undulating through your veins, if your dress wasn’t so short, if your heels weren’t blistering into your feet, if your senses weren’t so overwhelmed, if you weren’t so stupid, then just perhaps you’d understand how fucked you are.

“You think it’s a coincidence you met Sasha? That you’ve been hanging out with her? That she dragged you to his club,” the words seem to permeate through the thickening haze, going straight to the sober part of your conscience, “nah, she owed me a favor.”

There’s barely time to process before his thumb tugs at the safety lock of his gun and the cold circle of the barrel presses between your eyebrows. One moment you’re confused and numb, then the next you’re suddenly aware of all your emotions at once like the puncturing of a steel dagger through your chest.

“What,” you can barely get the word out before he’s interrupting with a gruff ‘back up,’ stalking you backwards until you hit the brick of some sketchy apartment complex of the two that form the narrow alley.

“Turn around.”

In that split instant you register the obscuring darkness of a glock, you’re sober, and you know you’re not in any place to argue. There’s no time to be confused, you’re awarded no chance of comprehending how the man you coincidentally kept running into were actually not coincidences at all. Your limbs don’t feel like they can move fast enough to keep up with his demands, heart beat threading through your eardrums.

“Can’t lie — didn’t expect you to be dressed like a fucking hooker,” he mutters, hips pin into yours as he tucks the gun carrier strapped beneath his hoodie. He’s really not wasting any time before tugging your dress up, making haste with the flimsy fabric you can barely call panties.

“Gonna stir up your pussy,” Eren mutters, middle and ring fingers already dipping hastily between your folds, “make you cum on my cock until you pass out.”

Eren manhandles you like a ragdoll. Minerals and dirt along the cement press against your back as he drags you to the floor with him. The weight of his body is enough to force your thighs apart and keep them open. You’re not given the courtesy of being eased and worked open. It’s a forceful stretch that has you keening beneath him, split open.

“Keep your arms around my neck or I’m blowing a bullet through that thick fucking skull.”

The demand doesn’t make sense, his head is cradled on the other side of yours. If he pulled the trigger, he’d kill you both, but maybe he wants that — maybe Eren wants to die with someone as pretty as you clinging onto him.

[hunnismokah]

choso spread my husband omg

[vnillaextrct]

I SEE HER; I NEED HER — Stalker!Eren Yeager

Synopsis: Stalker!Eren finally got his hands on you

— disclaimer (mdni, +18 only, gun play, noncon, dubcon, stalker, mafia mentions, serial killer, yandere, dark content, death mentions)

A yellow façade greets the returning impoverished collection of adults, but the male continues to stare into the sombre, unobtrusive blur of greys whirling inside the washing machine. Thoughts evaporated when Eren forced his mind to focus on something, slightly deadening the pounding, repetitive thumping against his skull. On the other hand, he’s struggling tenaciously with the frighteningly bottomless, insatiable appetite he has to split open someone’s skull.

The freak is putting up a good fight against the unceasing itch he has for a taste of the fresh arterial wine, but he’s running low on ammo and knows the clock is ticking. He feels grateful the huge reverse of his sleeping schedule puts the majority of citizens out of harm’s way, but, of course, occasional night owls have to throw everything out of place.

Unfortunately, in your case, unable to sleep restfully from the stress of completing coursework, you conceded to just finally take the pile of dirty clothes balled in the corner of your bedroom to the laundromat. The distant, skeletal silhouette standing in the corner by the washing machines didn’t go unnoticed, but was less than just noted on. It was never acknowledged until your clothes were in the wash and you were sliding coins into the machine.

A quarter fumbled, slipping between your fingers before wheelbarrowing across the floor to land flat on the ground beside beat up sneakers.

Despite knowing the risk of slight interaction with you, his fascination with your angelic features told him otherwise. A feeling of nostalgia grew over the blood guzzling monster as he walked towards you with the coin in his palm. Your blood smelled like the kitchen sink after his mother had cleaned the pots and pans with her metal scouring pad. You smelled fucking delicious.

You don’t get a good look at him with the hood shielding his features from your view, but you dare to approach as he squats down to pick up the quarter, head tilting back as he extends his hand out to you to drop the coin into the palm of your hand. You’re certain that he’s nothing more than a seedy drug dealer, not assuming this guy manages to make his hobby into a living for Armin Arlert, that rich businessman whose billboards hang over the city streets. To be fair, you only moved to the city a few months ago, finally emerging from your childhood home to take on the world as a big girl, so yeah, it’s plausible you’re a bit too naive to the less savoury individuals that floods the night.

The two of you seemed to have an endless amount of run-ins since that moment, not that you minded. It was nice to have a familiar face in the city, regardless of how off putting he is. It doesn’t change how striking he is. There’s not much that can be done to quell the flutter inside your belly every time the two orbs of viridescent flicker underneath street lamps as they flit across your features. On the other hand, Eren doesn’t know how much longer he can handle not blowing your brains out. You’re so fucking naive to it — to everything.

“You really think all those times we’ve run into each other were coincidences?”

Perhaps, if you weren’t a bit too intoxicated, if the diluting bane of liquor wasn’t undulating through your veins, if your dress wasn’t so short, if your heels weren’t blistering into your feet, if your senses weren’t so overwhelmed, if you weren’t so stupid, then just perhaps you’d understand how fucked you are.

“You think it’s a coincidence you met Sasha? That you’ve been hanging out with her? That she dragged you to his club,” the words seem to permeate through the thickening haze, going straight to the sober part of your conscience, “nah, she owed me a favor.”

There’s barely time to process before his thumb tugs at the safety lock of his gun and the cold circle of the barrel presses between your eyebrows. One moment you’re confused and numb, then the next you’re suddenly aware of all your emotions at once like the puncturing of a steel dagger through your chest.

“What,” you can barely get the word out before he’s interrupting with a gruff ‘back up,’ stalking you backwards until you hit the brick of some sketchy apartment complex of the two that form the narrow alley.

“Turn around.”

In that split instant you register the obscuring darkness of a glock, you’re sober, and you know you’re not in any place to argue. There’s no time to be confused, you’re awarded no chance of comprehending how the man you coincidentally kept running into were actually not coincidences at all. Your limbs don’t feel like they can move fast enough to keep up with his demands, heart beat threading through your eardrums.

“Can’t lie — didn’t expect you to be dressed like a fucking hooker,” he mutters, hips pin into yours as he tucks the gun carrier strapped beneath his hoodie. He’s really not wasting any time before tugging your dress up, making haste with the flimsy fabric you can barely call panties.

“Gonna stir up your pussy,” Eren mutters, middle and ring fingers already dipping hastily between your folds, “make you cum on my cock until you pass out.”

Eren manhandles you like a ragdoll. Minerals and dirt along the cement press against your back as he drags you to the floor with him. The weight of his body is enough to force your thighs apart and keep them open. You’re not given the courtesy of being eased and worked open. It’s a forceful stretch that has you keening beneath him, split open.

“Keep your arms around my neck or I’m blowing a bullet through that thick fucking skull.”

The demand doesn’t make sense, his head is cradled on the other side of yours. If he pulled the trigger, he’d kill you both, but maybe he wants that — maybe Eren wants to die with someone as pretty as you clinging onto him.

[aransmind]

adult itafushi

[f-tality0]

Choso kisses

[l-minus]

if I say noncon pussy eating

[lacquerheadd]

someone get this guy a napkin please i’m begging

[f-tality0]

Choso

[embodement]

ghostface x itafushi