Tw Cannibalism

chat i got my tongue pierced and all i can think abt is choso

not even like him eating u out or u sucking his dick with the piercing in!! just messy make out sessions a couple days after he gets it pierced. he’s all drooly and his tongue is still sore so it’s soooo easy to take control, basically shoving ur tongue down his throat and all he can do is whine at the feeling.

ugggh just choso w a tongue piercing. yum.

I'm crashing out, today was supposed to be about torturing mist not pulling my hair out because tumblr was fucking with my posts, i have failed as a moot

Hi there,

I’m reaching out with a quiet hope in my heart. These days are heavy, and my family is living through a reality filled with uncertainty—but I’m still here, doing my best to hold on and keep going.

If you have a moment, please check out my pinned post.

A simple share could help it reach someone who might be able to make a difference.

If you’re able to give, even the smallest kindness can bring light into the darkest places.

Your time, your voice, your compassion — it all matters more than you know.

With deep gratitude,

@nadinfamily

!!!!

♥︎: fluff ♡: angst ☆: suggestive ★: smut

★ “u up?” no!!! (ex bf! satoru)

★ boaf?? boaf!!! (poly!stsg x reader)

☆♥︎ multi-purpose!! (satoru x chubby! reader)

♡ i don’t want to… but…

extras: ☆ ♥︎ ☆

now playing…

angel by massive attack

↺ |◁ II ▷| ♡

yandere asylum therapist! suguru x reader

my first ever dark content/yandere oneshot aaaaaa!!! plsss thoroughly go through the cw’s before reading ^^;

read the prequel here!!! :)

cw’s!!: non-consensual drugging, mentions of needles/syringes, medical malpractice, descriptions of violence (gutting, beating someone to death, etc.), mentions/romanticization of cannibalism, blood eating, medical abuse (???), gn! reader, no use of y/n, uhhhh freaky suguru. like he’s actually crazy (but so are u) and uhhh i think that’s it?? ^^;

wc: 1.3k (what.)

“how have you been feeling?” your therapists voice is soft, just barely loud enough for you to hear. it’s like he’s trying to grasp at any sense of normalcy, as if any of this was normal. your head feels like it’s filled with cotton when you move to look at him, a deadly look in your dazed, slow-blinking eyes.

he completely disregards your glare with nothing but a growing smirk, shifting to adjust your position on his lap. “i see you’ve taken well to the sedatives.” his cold hand grazes your bare arm as he speaks and you have to resist the urge to use all of the strength you have left to throw yourself onto the floor just to get away from him. you decided against it. you wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing you like that.

suguru’s a charming man. every nurse, therapist, and criminal in this hellhole of an institution knew that. maybe that’s why he clung to you like this. you saw through him, had threatened to knock his teeth out just because you found his smile unsettling in the preliminary meeting (“a convenient way to find your perfect fit!” is what one of the brochures had read).

a few weeks later he was your primary therapist. the only one allowed to see you for sessions and the only one able to prescribe what medicine you took.

this time it was a strong sedative administered by needle, only given to you the one day a week you saw him for your “sessions”. he seemed to enjoy this one, considering how he hadn’t switched the prescription in almost a month (though you were sure he was upping the dose every week, there was no other explanation for the way the syringe seemed to get more and more full every time you saw the nurses holding it).

it’s only now that he seemed to notice the narrow-eyed expression you were giving him. “aw, don’t look at me like that… it’s for my safety, angel. i can’t have you lashing out and hurting me, can i?” his palm rests on your cheek and as much as you will the muscles in your neck to jerk away from his touch, it still doesn’t work. only a small grunt leaves you and that sound only heightens the amusement in his eyes.

“m’gonna fuckin’ kill you…” you manage to strain out. you despise how weak your voice sounds. you despise the way his eyebrow quirks up in interest in response to your threat. you despise how his voice comes out a low, patronizing purr when he asks “oh, are you?” because he knows you will. he knows that if he lowers your dose you won’t hesitate to hunt him down. he’s seen your files, he knows.

you let out a shaky breath at his words, that deadly glare in your eyes never faltering as your head nods in response to his question (though he’d barely constitute it as a nod, more like a subtle twitch of your muscles). “m’gonna gut you… cut you alllll the way from your bellybutton to your fuckin’ throat…” you can feel the delirium from your medication settling in when you’re halfway through speaking, but that doesn’t stop you.

“how gruesome.” is all he hums, a deep, twisted glint of admiration in his gaze. “you’ve certainly grown more creative.” the pad of his thumb presses into your bottom lip as he speaks. he seems almost satisfied with your violent description, like you’d just given him the greatest gift he could possibly ask for (to him, it was).

he couldn’t help but feel touched by your words, how you planned something particularly torturous just to bring him as much pain as possible. the way you hurt people — at least before you were admitted — was concise and unmeditated. someone made you lose your temper so you hurt them, plain and simple as that. you were only able to plead insanity because of the way you “blacked out”, only noticing the soreness in your arms (and the brain matter in your hair) after you had beat a man to death.

so for you — a patient with uncontrollable violent outbursts — to plan something specific just for him? oh, he could feel the pleasant chill rolling down his spine. how would you do it, suguru wondered. would you steal a scalpel from the nurses or a knife from the kitchen? would the way you cut him open be clean — planned, even — or would you just hack at his skin until you were satisfied? he could almost imagine the way you’d pin him down (not like you had to, he’d let you see his insides if you asked politely enough) and run the cool metal over his abdomen before he felt the sharp contrast of the warmth of his blood trickling down his skin. he could only hope he would be alive long enough to see the crimson tainting the pretty skin of your hands, getting under your nails and sinking into the grooves of your palms, absorbing every drop of him.

suguru was so lost in his fantasies that he didn’t notice the way you had squinted at his far away expression, a muscle in your jaw giving a small twitch. maybe if you…

suguru also didn’t notice the way you had managed to slowly pry your jaw open, the tip of his thumb now resting against the ridges of your bottom row of teeth. at least, he didn’t notice until you miraculously willed your jaw to snap shut, the metallic taste on your tongue bringing you a primal sense of satisfaction (you would’ve preferred to bite the the tip of his thumb clean off to teach him a lesson, but this would do).

and oh, you would’ve laughed in his face if you could when you heard that strangled little gasp leave his lips. you relished in the way he watched you with a dumbfounded look, his usually piercing eyes opened wide in surprise.

your victory was disturbingly short lived, though. his shock quickly turned into something almost giddy with the way his eyes seemed to light up like a child who was just handed their favorite toy. he forced his thumb deeper into your mouth, his head cocking to the side almost observantly. “how do i taste, angel? hm?” there’s a crazed look in his eyes. you feel like you’re getting dissected. “maybe you should eat me after you cut me open, yeah? i’d let you, you have my permission.” he’s all too eager to give you more ideas, more ways to torture him even after death.

his arm snakes around your middle so he can press a palm to your stomach. “i’d be with you forever… wouldn’t you like that, angel?” he murmurs lowly by your ear. you don’t have the strength to answer anymore, your eyes blinking slower… and slower…

he holds you tight as you slump against him, (the sedatives make you intensely drowsy… it doesn’t help that he had prescribed you double the recommended amount) making a mental note to up your dosage once again. he can’t risk you building up some sort of immunity, can he? if the force of your bite was any indication, he’d have to find a new medicine for you within the next month or two (not like it was any hassle on his end. if anything, he was excited to see your adorably pathetic attempts to brute force your way through the daze of a new drug).

he just had to keep you here with him… you’d learn to love it.

to love him.

srry for the lack of posting today i’m living inside of the song die your daughter by susannah joffe rn

making tres leches tn who wants a piece

ovulation makes me want to write evil, evil things. help.

oh i’m so in love w him. so so in love.

we can’t talk about long hair without talking about choso.

choso with his hair down, locks sleep-tousled and fanned across his pillow. his bangs have been getting long lately, now kissing the button of his nose.

choso who styles his hair so meticulously. who always has hair ties on his wrist (perfect for when you need to borrow one). who lets you braid his hair so prettily— so long as you kiss his forehead when you’re done.

he wants a lipstick stain.

choso who sweeps his bangs out of his face when he’s trying to cook or indulging in spa day. choso who pins his bangs back with a little headband (a fabric tiger-ear headband, to match yuji’s) or little bobby pins. loose hairs always fly out to stick up, but he looks cute any way.

choso who sits so patiently on the edge of the tub as you trim his ends. who trusts you with every fibre in his body, who— despite shaking like a dog every time you mention the hairdresser— lets you do whatever you’d like. even if it means being a little scared.

suggestive under the cut. 18+, mdni.

choso who begs for your hands in his hair. who whimpers at the first contact— at the drag of your nails up the side of his neck. choso whose pupils dialate wildly as your fingers tangle in the roots at the back of his skull. whose heartbeat is so loud, you can feel the thrum through his scalp.

choso who gets hard from you playing with his hair. it’s not his fault the electricity shoots from your fingers straight to his dick. choso who flushes up so prettily, pale cheeks blotchy with embarrassment as he looks at anything but you. especially as he palms at his cock discreetly over his jeans.

choso who thinks you don’t notice.

bad boy.

choso who loves to be dragged around by his pigtails. who loves to be manhandled— shoved to his knees and pulled face-first into your crotch. choso who looks up at you with those big glassy eyes as he kisses the seam between your clothed legs, dragging that cute little nose up your pelvis. choso who mouths so fervently right where you need it, who humps the air as you whisper praises with a fist around his roots.

choso who shies away when you’re ontop of him. choso who, behind those bangs, is a little teary; whose lower lip wobbles as he pulls it in between his teeth to muffle his little noises ‘cause it just feels too good. choso who lets you brush the hair out of his face to kiss him. who only cries a little into your mouth when you tuck his bangs behind his ear.

choso who is perfect.

reblog if you wear glasses. too many mutuals don't know they have glasses wearers in their midsts