#cw eating gore

[steeltwigz]

Its a metaphor for being Aromantic

[Img ID: A drawing of an anthropomorphic vampire bat eating a realistic, red human heart. He's covered in blood, and smiling, holding a knife and fork. There's a yellow halo glow behind his head. End ID.]

[stil-lindigo]

bite of winter.

a comic about a princess who died in the snow.

--

creative notes:

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all my other comics

store

[gal-o-guacamole]

Ok but do you think they've been to Libido bath

[sylvikain]

how hungry do you have to be to eat your only weapon?

[allurilove]

Yandere Stalker x you

Rated 18 + -- mature short content !

Content Warning: This story contains themes of obsession, stalking, manipulation, and violent fantasies. It delves into the unhealthy and dangerous mindset of a stalker obsessed with you. Reader discretion is advised.

WORD COUNT: 3.6K

INCLUDES: Stalking, blood kink, obsessive behavior, cunnilingus, fingering, fem reader, choking, mentions of cheating, p in v sex in public, murder, death, he's not a good person, dom yandere?, degradation?, he can be a bit of a gaslighter, gore, and more.

*This is the third fic to this little mini series. Check out the first part, and the second part for a better understanding! He is referred to as "your stalker." The italicized portion is his inner thoughts! This fic is inspired by the show You, and this is purely fictional writing!*

SYNOPSIS: Your stalker's obsession intensifies as he becomes involved with another woman named Daniella Foster, who he views as inferior to you. Despite his disdain for your best friend, he engages in a flirtatious and sexual relationship with her, all the while fantasizing about you.

What's more dangerous than a sick, psychotic, and perverted man?

I ran out of your blood today.

Just four hours ago, I was completely fine. The vial of your period blood was nearly empty, but I was able to stick my finger inside to collect the last of your crimson essence. I sucked a particularly big blood clot off my finger, and I was able to start my day with a huge smile.

Four hours ago, I could claim that I was a normal and functioning man, someone you wouldn’t blink an eye at, and that was all thanks to you.

Four hours ago, I was able to brush my teeth, take a shower, and clean myself up for the day. I had an extra pep in my step, and I felt like I could take on the world with a positive outlook.

Don’t you see how much life you give me? Your blood alone has made me feel like I was on top of the world, like I could float up into space with just your plasma to help me survive.

But now, it was gone.

Your stalker stared blankly at the window as his body was jostled side to side, his hands tightly gripping the handle of his tote bag that rested on his lap. He tried to ignore the obnoxiously sick person near him, who didn’t even bother to cover their coughs. He closed his eyes to avoid staring into the eyes of another person across from him. He was sandwiched between two burly people: one shouted loudly into their phone, clearly having zero spatial awareness, while the other snoozed. The woman's head drooped as she nodded off, and her greasy hair brushed against his cheek.

She had a distinct smell of sweat and wet socks. Your stalker apologized to the man next to him as he slightly leaned his body away from the woman. He was stuck in this position unless someone took pity on him and spoke up.

His car was in the shop. The tire had unexpectedly given out, causing him to swerve into oncoming traffic. The car was old anyway, a gift from his parents when he first got his license in high school. That must have been, what, ten years ago? He didn’t like to think about his age; nothing good ever came from it anyway.

Your stalker rummaged through his bag, his hand searching for the familiar plastic tube he used to steal your period blood. His fingers brushed against a particularly sharp blade he kept for “safety” reasons before they wrapped around the vial. He had really tried to savor it. He would carefully open his mouth and tilt the vial just enough for a single drop of blood to settle onto his tongue. Sometimes he would pour a bit into his coffee, or he would put it into his food. Either way, it made him feel closer to you. It was a comforting notion to think about, that he was the only man and human who had access to you in such an intimate way.

Your stalker sighed as he put the empty tube back into his breast pocket for safe keeping.

He didn’t like taking public transportation. New York was known for having odd things happening on the trains, buses, and subways. He was pretty sure that last week someone had set a rat on fire, a poor woman got robbed in broad daylight, and a group of teens were filming their dumb YouTube prank videos on the elderly.

Your stalker felt a flare of irritation as the woman leaned on his shoulder again. He gently nudged her off and ignored the way she woke up all startled. He glanced down at his phone, counting the number of stops, and saw he had twelve more before he could get off.

He was going to Manhattan for a job. An absolute douchebag had hired him, and his name was Myron Vykolv. He was the type to spend his money on trips and a bedazzled car rather than giving back to charity. Vykolv was an artist's worst nightmare: fickle, a headache to deal with; but surprisingly, he had good taste in art. He had to; he hired your stalker, after all.

He pulled out his phone to scroll on social media, his eyes scanning the copious amount of braindead content, and he paused when he saw a familiar face. He pressed the buttons on the side of his phone, his screen flashing, and the screenshot he took was saved in his photo album. Your stalker zoomed in, and his eyes widened as he saw the perfectly harmonious facial features. The baby tee top had a cute graphic splayed on the chest area, hair slicked and pulled back into a bun, and gold hoops dangling from those nicely formed ears.

It was you.

He glanced down at the caption: "a coffee date with my favorite bff." Posted exactly five minutes ago. It wasn't your account, but it was the closest thing he had to you. Your stalker decided to follow your coffee-manic and bikini-loving friend, and every post and picture she had, you were in it too.

She made it almost easy to stalk. Jesus, what if a deranged man had decided to show up to her place in the Beverly Hills area on the street of— seriously? Did she really just post her full address online?

Daniella Foster. The epitome of a fun and ditzy socialite who spent way too much time at parties and clubs. A trust fund baby if there ever was one, with her daddy being a big shot in the entertainment industry. Despite all that privilege, she never quite made it big herself.

Your stalker snorted as he saw the array of failed projects she had been in. Modeling? Wasn't in the cards for her. Acting? Horrible. A piece of cardboard would've had more personality than her. Originally from Tampa, Florida, then she moved to California, where she had her comically large house, and then… she decided to bless us by coming to New York. Lucky us, right y/n?

Your stalker looked up from his phone and realized the train had come to his stop. He got up from his seat and quickly made his way out. He felt his phone vibrate in his hand and looked down: Daniella requested to follow you. That was fast.

He clicked accept.

She's a shameless flirt, your stalker soon found out, and he’s not the least bit surprised. Daniella slid into his DMs with a picture of her provocatively sucking a lollipop, and her first words to him were: “What do you look like?”

Gee, take a gander, Daniella. My profile picture is a high-definition shot of my handsome and sexy fucking face. But sure, ask me about my looks as if you were actually interested. Your stalker rolled his eyes. He didn’t even want to respond to that message, but he had no other way of seeing you again. You would probably run at the sight of him, and that would be the most sane and correct thing you could do.

So, what does a man say when he’s mediocre, average, and you’re clearly out of his league? “I look like the man of your dreams, sweetheart.”

Your stalker had spent hours sexting and courting this woman who had flooded his inbox. Even when he was painting for a client, he managed to multitask and send a dick pic. He sent her whatever she wanted to keep her hooked, and just by her messages alone, this must have been the only time a man actually matched her level of craziness and horniness.

Days turned into weeks and then soon into months. The moment he woke up, he would see that she had sent him hundreds of messages in one night—she must've been drunk again.

He spent hours reading each message, and he hearted the ones that he felt were the most important. It was actually coming to an end, thank God, but to his surprise, she asked him out on a date.

"So, what do you do? Who are you?" The girl in front of him asked.

He shouldn't have said yes because now he was sitting in a restaurant that he could barely afford or get a reservation to, and he had to be with this woman who wasn't you. She was dressed beautifully - he'd give her that. He liked the dark colors of her red dress, the way he could drink in the curves of her hips and chest, and how it gave him a clear view of her body.

Now, he wondered what you would have worn if you were on a date with him. Would you have put in this much effort and shown this much skin? Would you have laughed at all of his jokes to boost his damn ego, or knocked him down a peg? Would you have ordered something light so you could have sex afterward, or would you have eaten something hearty and called it a day?

He pretended to think for a while, all before he gently touched her hand, and his fingers caressed her soft skin. "Who am I?" He teased, his voice slightly deepened as he gave her a playful once-over. "I'm hurt. After all these months, you still don't know who I am?"

"Why don't you refresh my memory?" She tilted her head.

Your stalker sighed and he looked around briefly. This place was intimate, for high rollers only, and he could just imagine how much of his money was going to go down the drain. The tiny candle on the table, the white clean cloth, and the vase with a single rose was still too romantic for his taste. His thumb traced circles on her hand, and the other grabbed for his steak knife.

“I'm an up-and-coming artist,” He replied with a bit of a shrug.

“An up-and-coming artist, huh?” She echoed, her fingers now interlocked with his. “Do you come often?”

Lord, please have some mercy and shoot me. Do I come often? Wouldn’t you like to know, you slut. Is this the type of person you really want to spend your time with, y/n? Daniella is not you, and she could never be you. She parades herself around for anyone and everyone to ogle at—she is the epitome of what’s wrong with the dating scene. No wonder she doesn’t have a boyfriend. No wonder she’s desperate enough to entertain me—of all people.

I know the type of people you like, Daniella, and it’s not me.

“You know what you’re doing when you ask me that.” he brought her hand up to his lips and he kissed it. “I can tell you can make a man come often.“

Daniella giggled and her chest puffed out. She leaned closer to him, and he can practically drown in her scent of vanilla and cake. “I have an art piece that I think you'll appreciate. It's back at my place… wanna see it?”

Fuhhhhhck no. Your stalker slipped the knife into his pocket.

Your stalker smirked and he leaned in closer as well. He could see the makeup on her face, the gloss on her lips, and he could see a glimpse of her ample breasts. “I don’t know… is it one of a kind?”

Underneath the table, her leg started to caress his, and her foot slowly found its way to his crotch. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he gulped, and he held onto her hand tighter. As much as he hated this, he would have been lying if he had said that the attention wasn’t nice. He felt the pressure around his groin tighten as she pressed her foot onto it, and she gently rubbed it up and down while maintaining eye contact.

“It’s an original piece…something that can’t be replicated. I’m sure you’ll love it.” Daniella said coyly, and she bit down on her plush lips.

She knew when to strike when the iron was hot. A taxi was called, and she made out with him in it. Her body was pressed up against his, and she felt his hand grip on her ass. His hand then slid up her thigh, his fingers ripped her black sheer stockings and two of them found their way to her entrance. He bit down on her bottom lip and his tongue slipped into her mouth.

She's a fun girl. She knew exactly how to inflate a man's ego and pride. He heard her sweet, light moans, and her hips started to grind onto his hand. His thumb played with her clit, and they only pulled away when the cab arrived at her house. He grabbed her hand and tossed a couple of bills at the driver. He slammed the door shut, and before she could unlock the door to her house, he pressed her against his body.

"W-We're in public...!" Daniella's face was flushed and she tried to close her legs, but your stalker was quick to pull them back apart.

He narrowed his eyes and tugged down her panties. "So? Don't tell me you have morals all of a sudden." he snorted.

He wished that she would just shut up. She opened her mouth to rebuttal but he wrapped one hand around her throat to keep her still and quiet, and he shimmied off his pants just enough for his cock to be out. "I didn't come here for you to talk all the damn time. Shut it, before I put that mouth of yours to good use."

Your stalker lifted her up and made her wrap her legs around him. His dick then entered inside her, and he groaned at how wet and ready she felt. It's been awhile since he felt actual warmth, and her walls started to clench around him. His breath is ragged as he fucked her. His eyes were closed and he couldn't help but bite down onto her shoulder. Daniella cried out, and her body was tense as his teeth broke into her skin.

"God... you needed this, didn't you?" He purred as he licked up the puncture wound. Your stalker then looked down to watch his cock disappear into her. "You need someone to fuck your brains out." He sharply thrust into her again, and his hands dug into the plush of her ass to help with the momentum.

Your stalker dragged his tongue across her bleeding shoulder, then pressed his body against hers, pinning her to the wall. With one hand still gripping her body, he used the other to shove his fingers down her throat, silencing her whimpers."You're the prettiest whore I have ever seen. Isn't that right, y/n?"

Your stalker truly believed he was being intimate with you. Daniella, who? All he knew was you. All he ever wanted was to feel you, to taste you, and to be able to hear you mewl around his cock. He wanted to see your eyes roll back into your skull, to paint your skin with butterfly kisses, and for him to finally come inside you again and again. It actually pissed him off to no end that he had to be stuck here with her.

When he felt himself getting closer to the edge, he unceremoniously pulled out of her, and his white stream of cum dripped down onto the ground. He sighed as his dick softened, and he gently helped her stand on her own legs again. His hand dipped underneath her body, his fingers playing with her wet folds, and he spread them apart to furiously rub at her clit. Daniella gripped onto his arm to keep him firmly there until she felt her leg shake.

Your stalker watched with a bit of fascination as what seemed like an endless amount of juices squirted out of her. He got onto his knees and helped her to sit onto his face. After he cleaned her all up, your stalker suddenly remembered something and his hand patted down his pockets.

"Hey... I think I'm missing my phone." He started his little lie. "Can I borrow yours? I forgot that I had an important call--"

"Bag." She just said and pointed to the one that was tossed to the side.

He muttered a "thanks" before he went over and rummaged through her purse. "What do you think about doing this again?" he kept an eye on her as his hand aimlessly tried to look for her phone. "I had fun tonight, and I'd like to see you one more time."

He could feel the various items in her bag. A packet of cigarettes, two lip products, house keys, a whole perfume bottle, but fuck where was her phone?

He watched as Daniella rolled down her scrunched up dress. The woman then raised her brow and she crossed her arms. "I'm pretty sure you said another woman's name."

"I didn't." He said rather quickly. "You drank a lot of wine--it was almost like you were trying to bankrupt me." He joked, and his hand firmly gripped onto what felt like a smooth case. He pulled it out of her bag and there it was. "What's your password?"

"Trying to change the subject, are we?"

"I'm pretty sure your phone is the subject, unlock it pretty please?"

Daniella pulled back her hair and she stared at him expectantly.

"I said give me your password, not a blowjob." Your stalker frowned.

She gave him an exasperated look. "It's my face dumbass." she then snatched her phone back from him.

"You don't use your thumb? What kind of update is that?"

"God, you're so poor." He heard her mutter.

That was so unwarranted, and sort of hurt.

Though it made him feel a lot better when he finally decided to slit her throat. Now that she was distracted, he discreetly pulled out the steak knife from his pocket before he dropped her bag and roughly yanked her back to him. His hand clamped over her mouth to muffle her screams as he dragged the serrated blade across her neck. The knife sawed through flesh, muscle, and sinew, blood spurting and gushing with each desperate pulse of her heart. It took him a while to sever her head completely, his arm burning with exhaustion as he hacked away, the blade catching on bone and gristle, her life draining away in a torrent of crimson.

Your stalker wiped his bloodied hand on her dress, he grabbed the phone off the ground, and he groaned when he saw that the screen was cracked. He tried his best to work the damn thing, his finger poking at the messaging app multiple times before it decided to open. Daniella had a plentiful amount of unsaved numbers but they had weird emojis next to them. One number was from a different country and had the eggplant emoticon.

Then he found the only saved number: y/n.

You're apparently a good girl and shared your location with your best friend. How adorable, you even share every given moment with her too. You even talked about how you were thinking about going back to your serial cheater of an ex.

Your stalker gasped, his head reeling back in shock. You were about to go back to your ex? Your ex, of all people? You couldn't have, what—moved on like a normal person? You couldn't have gone out and fucked around with someone new? Someone like him? It's like you purposely make the wrong choices just to be saved. Before he could be your little personal super hero... his eyes slowly made its way back to the body on the ground, and then to the keys that were in her bag.

Have you ever heard of cuteness aggression? The rush of impulsive behavior that you get after seeing a cute and defenseless puppy? I get that when I see you. I think you're so adorable that it makes my heart burst. Your stalker stared up into your apartment, and the car windows were rolled down to air out the perfume he dumped into the body bag.

However, there was nothing cute about this ugly pig-like fuck that touched your waist. That man had no redeeming qualities, and boy, did I want him to start squealing in pain. I wanted to pinch his body until he had yellowish-brown bruises all over. I wanted to crush his skull with my bare hands and feel his pulse drop. I wanted to be able to drink the blood shower that would come from their body and bathe in it. I want them to realize that you’re off the market, and that you’re solely mine.

They’re not good for you, love. You have seen that time and time again, and they have disappointed you before without fail; so why do you welcome them with open arms? It hurts to see your legs over their shoulders, and to see a bit of your face contorted in pleasure and ecstasy. Is it the sex? Is it the way they give you a fleeting moment of what could have been if they weren’t constantly cheating on you?

That’s pathetic, and you know it. But it’s okay, I’m willing to look past this little transgression. It’s not completely unforgivable. They must’ve broken you down and made you vulnerable enough to pull your pants down. It’s not your fault. It’s theirs.

Your stalker continued to stake out your house, patiently waiting for your ex to come down to the lobby. The moment he did, your stalker would be ready. He might not have been able to get your blood, but killing your ex and taking his was like killing two birds with one stone.

Allure: This is the first fic I wrote that actually has y/n in it! And it's pretty unedited, so if there is mistakes I will probs fix it later on. This dragged on for waaay longer than it needed and tbh, I am never writing a long fic like this again LMAO

[queenie-the-court-jester]

Just a silly question but how will cotton react when he saw or knew that y/n REALLY love to eat rabbits and have a weird obsession for eating them? Like. Is he gonna be terrified or he gonna be like "stay away from my child but I still love U tho"

-(I wanna be the 🦖 anon please and yes the ask earlier where I quack was me too )

Cotton x carnivore!darling

Tw: minor body horror, cannibalism, reader can be another hybrid or human, cotton being cotton, blood mentioned. Not proofread 🌺

🔪he knew there was something wrong with you. From the moment you took him in and nursed him to health. To the way your hands glided over his abdomen and raked down his thighs. Your eyes staring hungrily at his throat. He saw the red flags, but he ignored them, because you made him feel something he thought he hated. Fear. Adrenaline.

🔪when you reluctantly let him go, he begged to stay. He knew he wasn't much of a meal but won't you give him a chance? He'll gladly let you tear open his chest and claw out his intestines. How would you eat him? Raw and fresh? Or cooked and seasoned? The thought excited him beyond belief!

🔪when you had your first litter of children, he quite literally had to pry them from your hold. He loved you but he couldn't risk you eating your newborns. So for the first few months he raised them himself from a distance. The only way he'd let you near them would be if he was close by and had a sedative in hand.

🔪 while quickly becoming a prisoner in your own home, Your shorter than average husband was constantly breathing down your neck, his gaze never leaving your form. And with the help of your offspring, life got even more suffocating. You loved your children, you really did. But you could never really get rid of that little itch in your mouth begging to sink into some meat. When was the last time you had it? You were starving.. you didn't want to eat vegetables anymore..

🔪one night you went missing. How the hell did you break out of the chains he found. He felt his heart stop and scrambled out of your bed. Ears moving around to try and catch any noise. Quickly rushing to the children's rooms, he relaxed in seeing them all safe and sound. Until he heard something from outside. Grabbing the dart gun from his bedside, he stepped out slowly. Following the smell of blood and cracking of what sounded like bones. Going Deeper into the forest...

🔪and there you were. Crouched over the bodies of what seemed like a deer hybrid family. You didn't seem to notice him, happily chewing and tearing at the flesh underneath you. Blood spewing out onto the dirt floor, he swore he could see a little twitch from the mother's hand. Their bones bent in unnatural places and the gashes on their bodies lethal. He slowly approached, standing over you

"there you are.. where have you gone..? you had me so worried honey..."

🔪 you simply stared up at him, licking your bloody lips and dropping the arm you were chewing on. He could feel himself get hard at the sight. Weirdo. Ignoring the corpses next to him, he set down his gun and kissed you softly. Wiping the rest of the blood off you with his shirt. He learns quickly that once you've eaten meat, you don't need to eat it for a good while. Expect him to hunt down his fellow hybrids for you in the near future. After all, what kind of husband would he be if he kept neglecting your needs?

[teddybeartoji]

18+ mdni; gn!reader + cannibalism (😁)

heian era!sukuna loves breaking humans.

he has no trouble tearing them apart, either with his hands or his words. sometimes even his eyes are enough. humans are but feeble things, mere toys for his entertainment – and you are no different.

kneeling before him as he lounges on his throne, you stare up at him with big, wide eyes. your hands rest on your lap, your back straight as a log. you don't sniffle, nor do you tremble; the only thing that seperates you from the rest of them is the lack of fear. curiosity runs in your veins, mixing with adrenaline as you wait for his command.

that never comes.

sukuna rests his head on his hand, all of his four eyes strained on you while the corners of his lips tug up. it's rather unusual for him to get this much enjoyment out of a human – sure, their screams sound great and their flesh tastes good, but he doesn't love it. it's getting boring, they're all the same.

but the way you're looking at him is... exciting.

you want to do what he tells you but it's not the type of want all the servants share. oh, no – this is something different entirely. sukuna wonders whether you'd say no to him, whether you'd refuse him just for the sake of your own entertainment. your eyes are dark with playfulness – so far from horror, so far from devotion.

(it might be a kind of love nonetheless.)

he sees the twitch of your eyebrow – the tinge of impatiance and it only furthers his interest in you. what kind of a human are you? who are you to show the king anything other than ardor? why are you so comfortable with sitting before him? don't you know what he's capable of?

sukuna picked you himself. you stood in a line of humans with your head up high and your eyes glued forward. and you were nothing special until he and uraume made their way over to you.

you just couldn't help it.

your eyes flicked up to his and your cheek was immediately met with the palm of uraume's hand. a stinging pain bloomed under your skin, crawling further and further over your body as you let your head hang – you bowed and apologized, just the way you're meant to but sukuna saw it.

the smirk on your lips.

no tears, no sobbing. no shame.

oh, you just might be the one to break him instead.

sukuna's heartbeat is steady, his eyes glued to yours as he admires your pretty face. he thinks about how you'd look while crying, while bleeding. but for once, those are not his goals.

this time, he really does just want to play. to push you. to study you. to see what you are made of.

to see what you are.

his one hand raises from the throne and you don't flinch. sukuna reaches out, the tips of his fingers brushing over your plump lips ever-so-gently and you take a second to think about how soft his touch is. though his skin is rough and calloused, scars littered all across it – he handles you like you're made out of glass.

(but he likes breaking things, doesn't he?)

the room is dimly lit with only two big lanters hanging by the door. the dark, golden light dance on your king's face, the shadows caressing his face in a way that's making you jealous.

neither of you have spoken a single word since you walked through the big wooden doors. the only thing you can hear is your own heartbeat and the quiet hum that your king lets out when he makes contact with you. it feels... intimate.

he's still leaned back in the throne, his posture relaxed and his legs wide apart, giving you enough room to sit perfectly in the middle of them. you're closer than any of the other toys that have stepped a foot in this room and sukuna knows that if he were to tell you that, you'd beam. something in you would grow and if he's being honest, he wouldn't mind. he wants to see that. deep inside, he wants you to push him, too.

sukuna watches you flutter your eyelashes at him when his index fingers presses past your soft lips and meets the wet and warm inside of your mouth. he feels over your teeth, your sharp canines and lets out a pleased hum. heat takes over your whole body, from your throat to your ears, from the tips of your fingers to your toes. it's all over.

you hollow your cheeks and suck on his digit, letting pride flourish in your chest at the sight of your king's chest rising sharply from the new sensation.

"feed."

you think about it.

you think about your life. you think about what might come after this.

but none of it matters; do you really want to be another coward? why live at all if you're going to do it in fear? your king is going out of his way to offer you his hand. his body, and you're here contemplating it. he should strike you just for wasting time.

you are different.

sukuna feels your teeth settle between his second and third knuckle and he feels your tongue press up against the underside of the finger. his heart beats a little faster. will you? will you do it? will you take him? the second last more than one, the newly found excitement eating away at the king's intestines.

it wasn't a command. it wasn't.

you want to.

the gift sits heavy on top your awaiting tongue, your saliva coating it in desire. your eyes are dark and your pupils are blown wide, but the look is the same – tempting. playful. sukuna can't tell who's really in control now; is he doing this to you or are you doing it to him? is he doing it to himself or are you doing it to yourself?

and what is it exactly that you're doing in the first place?

pain shoots through sukuna's body, but he can't look away. blood trickles from the corner of your lips as you sink into him. you keep your gaze on him, never letting it sway because you need to watch him. you're feeding off of him in more ways than he even realizes.

iron fills your mouth and paints all your teeth a pretty maroon color. your thighs press together as you lean forward – silently asking for more.

sukuna doesn't care for scars, nor is he a stranger to pain but he should draw the line at pleasuring a human. but you're hungry, so why would he deny you when you're being so good for him?

nobody else has ever treated him this way, always so scared to do wrong by him but here you are – drawing blood from your king as if it's nothing. he feels you pull flesh from his bone and that on it's own is enough for him to know that he wants to keep you.

but when you pull back with your mouth and chin all covered in a mixture of his ichor and your saliva, and when you chew on his skin right there in front of him with a smile on your face... he knows it in his gut. you're the one for him.

[mawapeach]

I FINALLY COMPLETED THIS PIECE

Almost a year since I first started this Johnny Cage fighter au or movie crap Cage Match stuff- and couldn’t even commit!! It was haunting me so I definitely had to push through.

“Mawa all these months for this??” First of all, I’m going to eat you. SECOND of all, I didn’t have enough body anatomy experience and references. AND LAST OF ALL, I have commitment issues 😙

ANYWAY here you go! My early gift to myself to you guys

[keikoyume]

The Boiled Buddy!!!

I’m slowly getting used to look at its pics without flinching, I’m getting stronger! (Having its plushy helps //uwu)

[p0rk-guts]

[saint-hymn]

HONEY, I'M MAKIN' SURE THE TABLE'S MADE! WE CAN CELEBRATE THE GOOD WE'VE DONE!

for Priority#1's DTIYS in twitter

[eggtomatosoup]

messing around w/ brushes

[cry-ptidd]

"And she had brown eyes like a lamb, innocent and golden"

[okiroash]

it doesn't wash away

[wisecura]

My Leader

Cult Leader Suguru x f!Reader 4k

an: did anyone ask for this? oh yeah! I did. enjoy my unrequested fantasy. this might be bad but oh well haha

summary: suguru geto was all for the betterment of the world—eradicating the non-sorcerers in society, and collecting people to stand in the new world with him. it's no different when he finds you—an untrained sorcerer, so eager and desperate for validation—a hint at sanity when no one else could see the monsters around you. but what happens if he takes you in only to find himself changing his mind.

warnings: pwp, voyeurism, gore, blood, murder, dark undertones, size kink, smut, you aren't in your right mind either, fingering, marking, manipulation, belittling and teasing, minors DNI

The last thing on your bucket list in life would’ve been joining a cult. 

Seriously, cult life was definitely not where you saw yourself in your early twenties—with all the time in the world still ahead of you. But, well, here you were.

That priest you'd met earlier? He'd been nothing short of a lighthouse for you—a beacon of hope during those endless, stressful days. You know, the ones haunted by those demon-looking creatures lurking just out of sight. And the craziest part? Nobody else seemed to see them. Yeah, you were pretty much alone in this freaky ghost-seeing club.

So, imagine the relief when the fifth priest you consulted turned out to be pure gold—a genuine miracle worker. Not only did he validate your sanity, but he also managed to kick that pesky little demon parasite on your shoulder to the curb. And suddenly, the world felt lighter. Easier.

And when he offered you a spot by his side, it didn't take much to convince you. Especially after he mentioned that those 'curses' were likely to make a comeback. Joining him seemed like a no-brainer.

But six months in with this man, and there was no ignoring the raw sex appeal he radiated. Standing several inches above you, he was large and imposing—hitting all your size-kink checkboxes. His features were sharply handsome, with plush lips that sparked envy and hair that never seemed out of place. His eyes? Absolutely captivating. Really, what did this man not have that wouldn't cause any sane woman to go feral? 

No wife, not even a girlfriend in sight, but he had two adoptive daughters whom he treated with the utmost care. A family man, right?

You hadn't fully realized what you were getting into when you'd first signed on—then again, you hadn't exactly been in your right mind. How else would you find the nerve to talk to such a handsome man without immediately dropping to your knees? 

And you were pretty sure Suguru wasn't all there either. He'd woven tales about jujutsu sorcerers, depicted them as the apex of evolution, even hinting that you had the potential to be one of them.

Something about ‘cursed energy’ or another. But he didn’t seem all that interested in filling you in on the rest. And you didn’t ask. Why bother when he was providing you a cushy life at the temple?

He treated you differently from the other cult members, always keeping you close. You never missed a service, always stationed right beside him. Silently, you'd watched as he delivered his visions of a new world. You tried to be the attentive follower you were supposed to be, but damn, he looked so good when he monologued. You practically swooned.

And he kept you around his girls, a privilege most other members couldn't even fathom—many didn’t even know they existed. You found yourself cooking for them, gradually forging your own little bond. They warmed up to you quickly, and it didn’t exactly come as a shock when they started seeing you as a mother figure.

This setup couldn’t have been better for Suguru, whose plans for you seemed singularly focused—your confinement.

You appeared so willing, so easygoing, so content under his care. 'Confinement' might sound a bit severe—maybe 'ensured stay' fits better? Whatever you chose to call it, Suguru wasn’t planning on letting you go anytime soon.

Just as you saw him as a shining beacon, he saw you as a diamond in the rough—a pretty little thing that happened to stumble into his temple. Desperate for answers, you had long since lost faith in any conventional sanctuary.

So, you found a cult.

A notorious one at that.

He wasn’t sure if you were aware of their more nefarious misdeeds—he was skilled at keeping things under wraps. The money he brought in always came from questionable sources, but you never pried. So he never told.

You meshed nicely with his chosen family, fitting in with everyone and proving quite useful. It felt out of character for him, but he couldn’t help it. The thought of your sweet, motherly image being tainted by the torturous grip of sorcerer politics just didn’t sit right with him.

No—you belonged in his temple. Guided cage ‘n all, well-supported, well-supplied, and nicely kept.

And maybe, when the time was right, he’d formally place his mark on you—maybe with a ring? Or perhaps a few choice bite marks? You always did wear those low-cut pajamas during breakfast, the expanse of your neck tantalizingly on display. You were definitely taunting him, that was for sure. He had plenty of ideas about what to do with you.

“Suguru?” 

Your voice, melodic even this early in the morning, managed to grab his attention—even before the coffee had kicked in. His name coming off your lips was sinful.

"Suguru?" You try again. His expression is dazed, distracted. The girls had already left for their tutoring sessions, leaving you alone with the enigmatic man.

Sometimes, you couldn’t quite figure him out. His moods swung wildly—from passive-aggressive and temperamental to overly dramatic. Charming, sure, but definitely a handful. Then there were moments like now, where he sat at the table, calm and stoic, clearly preoccupied with something on his mind.

“Mhm?” He hummed in response, as you set down another serving of eggs and rice. You didn’t know how to phrase the question, and you didn’t know what made you so nervous about asking. You were a human being, so this shouldn’t be an issue, free will ‘n all. “I was thinking of going out today. Did you...did you need me to pick anything up.” 

He paused at this, his brow raising inquisitively. "...What would you need to go out for?"

"Ah, well, a bit of this and that," you trailed off, looking away shyly. Truthfully, you wanted to pick up something for him as a way to say thanks, and maybe something for the girls too. Your money had been sitting idle, practically rotting in the bank—and you felt an urge to spoil the only people who seemed to care for you in your life. But he didn’t need to know that.

“Mmm, this and that?” He contemplated, his hand trailing back through his hair. “...Are you....that fed up with us?” You glanced over, hoping to find a teasing smile on his lips—only to meet his eyes downcast, locked onto the table. Melancholic.

You felt your heart ache at his words, you hadn’t meant to upset him. "Ah, no! I, uh—actually just wanted to pick up a few things. Why do you think I'd want away from you guys?" Your voice trailed off, a small laugh attempting to lighten the mood, as you made your own plate. "You’re my family now, after all."

His eyes raked down your back, unbeknownst to you. The situation was far from ideal, but he was determined to keep you content enough not to leave. Perhaps he could even scare you into staying? Your name slipped effortlessly from his lips, a breathy utterance that gripped his chest—selling his concern perfectly.

“I’m worried about you, y'know?”

“Worried? Why?” You continued your setup, your back unsuspectingly facing him.

“If anyone outside of here spots you...well, I’m not exactly a celebrated man in the sorcerer community. They could easily take you the second you step out of this temple. And you’re practically a magnet for those curses—that energy you put off is something else.” His voice trailed off as his mind seemed to drift away, even as you peeked over your shoulder at him.

You weren't completely in the dark about his reputation in the community-the fearful stares from one or two of the followers told you that. You weren't even surprised about his growing concern for you. It was nice, in a way, having someone like him show this level of concern for you.

"Really, it means a lot that you're looking out for me, Suguru. I love that you keep me safe—I do, but I also don't want to just take from you all the time," you say, turning fully to face him, the concern evident in your eyes.

He flashes you a reassuring, warming smile, that makes your chest stutter. "I understand, but you're not just taking. You're a part of this family, a crucial part. It's my responsibility to keep you safe, and I take that seriously," he explains, his tone gentle yet firm. "Maybe, for now, online shopping could be a better option. It'll keep you out of sight from those who might not understand our...situation here. You can still have some independence without the risk. How does that sound?"

It wasn't exaclty a questions and more like a rule he's already set in place. His words hang in the air, wrapped in the guise of caring, yet subtly steering you to remain within the confines of the temple, minimizing your contact with the outside world.

Those next few months settled into a routine, and you never left the temple as per Suguru's 'request'. But during his sermons, you couldn't help but notice a strange man in the congregation—an older dude who couldn't seem to take his eyes off you. It was unsettling, creepy even, and every time you caught his gaze, it made you want to leave the room immediately.

And when you were handing out the pamphlets for the evening, his hand managed to pass along your hand just a little too sensually, causing you to jerk back, as if burned. Your polite smile still remained but you couldn't stop the uneasy turning of your stomach.

You tried your best to ignore it, concentrating instead on the magnetic presence of Suguru, the leader whose charisma had always managed to overshadow any discomfort. Focusing on him, with his intense gaze and compelling sermons, you hoped the creepy feelings triggered by that strange man's stares would simply melt away.

For a time, it seemed to work. The incident faded to the back of your mind, barely a blip on your radar—that is, until Suguru himself brought it up.

It was after dinner, during your usual walk back to your room, a routine that had become a comforting part of your daily life under his watch. As you strolled down the quiet corridor, his voice broke the silence, casual yet probing. “Did you know that man?”

His gaze was stern, pinning you under a scrutiny that seemed to see right through you. You could have played dumb, feigned ignorance, and questioned which man he was referring to. Maybe then he would've let it go, attributing it to his own overprotectiveness. Maybe.

But you didn't like the way that man's eyes had roamed over you, as if he was trying to claim you or imagining what lay beneath your clean robes. Maybe Suguru would do something about it? After all, he often dismissively called his followers 'monkeys,' a clear sign he didn't hold them in high regard. “No, I don’t know him,” you responded, a shiver running through you that Suguru didn't miss. “He’s a bit weird, right? I didn’t think you had followers like that.”

His gaze held yours for a moment longer, pausing you both in the hall. The dim moonlight streaming through a nearby window could have given the scene a nearly romantic quality if not for the concern etched deep within his furrowed brow. “Alright,” he finally said, the word hanging in the air before he turned to continue guiding you back to your room.

That was it. No further questions, no reassurances—just a simple acknowledgment and then moving on. It felt anticlimactic, almost dismissive, and a part of you felt almost offended.

But then again, what had you really expected?

That was what you thought before you saw red. 

But it wasn't just the red. It was the heavy, metallic, coppery smell that suddenly choked the air, thick and invasive. The way the splatter violently stained your white robes, soaking into the fabric, marring them beyond recognition. The congealed remnants of what once was a person spread grotesquely across the cold floor, as his lifeless eyes stared back at you. His mouth hung open in a final, silent scream of horror as if he could still hear the words spewing from the priest's mouth. 

“Does anyone else have any issues with this?” The question sliced through the tense silence of what seemed like a routine board meeting, discussing the mundane affairs of the company. Suguru's tone was far too light, disturbingly cavalier, given the blood soaking his front, nonchalantly wiping off a stray drop that had dared to mar his gorgeous face. To your surprise, no one objected, their eyes locked on the decapitated head lying before you. You had seen the curse—the one that had been produced and sent by Suguru. And maybe you were the crazy one for feeling a little flustered by his actions—heart fluttering.

Or should they be called reactions? The so-called necessary consequences he deemed necessary for your safety.

“Suguru.” His eyes shifted back to you, almost expecting to find fear. The sight of blood wasn’t for everyone, and he was fully prepared to sic a curse on you should you attempt to flee. But what he was met with was so unexpected—your flushed face, your grip tight on his sleeve, almost like clinging to your own lifeline. That oh-so-adorable look in your eyes, innocently seeking his attention.

This had been a bit of a test, an evaluation to see how you would respond to his more...abrasive nature. And he just couldn't stand the way that 'monkey' had his eyes locked on you, the way his fingers had dared to trail over your sleeve—as if he had the right to touch.

As you reached over to wipe a lingering trace of blood from his cheek, his reaction was swift, instantly, his hand snaps around your wrist. His eyes rake over you, and the disapproval in his gaze makes you feel a wave of self-consciousness wash over you.

"That filthy monkey blood is all over you now," he remarks, his tone dripping with disdain. After a moment's pause, a small smile curls the corners of his mouth. His grip remains firm on your wrist as he guides you over to his seat at the front of the congregation, giving you a thorough once-over before finally releasing you. 

Nonchalantly, he shrugs the top of his robes down his shoulders, revealing a chest and abs that are absolutely sculpted to impossible perfection.

You'd always known he was handsome, but this? This was something else. He was not just attractive- he was, without a doubt, ripped. Settling down, he effortlessly pulls you into his lap, facing him. You're up close now, close enough to see the way he gazed so affectionately down at you—your heart racing and skipping several beats in response.

If you were blushing before, now you were certain you must look as bright as a tomato. You avert your gaze, only to find yourself face-to-face with his impeccably sculpted chest. Your hands, you realize, are already on him—likely from when he first pulled you onto his lap.

A smug smirk plays across his lips as he scans the crowd, his gaze predatory and possessive. It's a clear message to everyone present: you were off-limits to anyone but him. Held in his strong arms, you feel almost too soft, so compliant and utterly his, as if you belonged nowhere else but here.

His whisper is just for you, a soft murmur that tickles your ear, “Do you like what you see?” His eyes remain fixed on the crowd behind you, and thank god for that—you're practically melting in his lap. You're at a loss for words, and though under different circumstances you might have shot back a flirty retort, the intensity of the moment leaves you speechless.

His gaze locks with yours again, piercing and intense. He scrutinizes your form once again—flushed and trembling, the ugly stains of blood soaked into your clothes. Your clothes.

His hands begin to undo the lace at the front of your robes. In a panic, you reach up to stop him, embarrassed—not necessarily by his attention, but overwhelmingly by the many eyes watching from behind. "Suguru," you hiss, your voice a whisper thick with embarrassment and a plea for some semblance of privacy or restraint.

But his gaze halts you. It's firm, stern—like a mother scolding her child. Overwhelmed by his intense stare, your resistance melts away. You find yourself clinging to his arms, resting your head against his chest as he peels away the robes stained by the blood, liberating your skin from the filth. 

“Did I say you could leave?”

At his words, the shuffling of footsteps behind you to come to an abrupt halt. You can almost sense the veiled fear and shock painting the faces of those behind you, the tension in the air so thick it’s suffocating, uncuttable even with the sharpest blade. As you squirm uncomfortably in his lap, you feel the unmistakable shift of the large bulge beneath you. This fucker was actually turned on by this? 

But were you any better? You buried your face even deeper into his chest, inadvertently drawing his smug attention. "What's wrong, princess? You feelin’ shy?" His tone was taunting, so uncharacteristic of him. You'd never heard anything like that from those lips in all the time you'd known him, and that thought alone made you want to bury your face in a pillow and scream. 

You nod, barely managing to keep your composure, only to feel his hands, which had been supporting his weight behind him, shift up to your thighs, drawing you even closer. The movement causes your panty-clad pussy to rub against the large snake you were saddled on. You hadn't intended to let out that needy whimper, but the accidental friction against your clit had you digging your nails in tighter. 

"Is my sweet girl actually wet?" His tone is laced with mock disbelief. You don’t respond, but that doesn’t deter him, his fingers reaching between your legs, seeking confirmation for himself. You feel this thumb graze that oh so exquisitely sensitive spot, leaving you jolting in his lap, his fat fingers grazing past your clit over to your slick drippy folds.

“Tsk tsk tsk, sweet girl, you’re practically dripping. Are you alright?” His voice drips with obvious mock concern, and the distraction of his thumb pressing back against your button, drawing circles–makes it impossible to form a coherent response.

"You're all worked up—so red. You must've been so upset when that bastard put his hands on you," he murmurs, and your back arches as he picks up the pace, his hand circling your waist to hold you flush against him. His touch is assertive, almost commanding, drawing reactions from you that you'd never gotten from a toy.

"Uh uh, look here," his voice suddenly goes cold, detached. Your eyes snap up to his face, only to find his gaze directed over your shoulder, at the long since forgotten crowd behind you. Oh shit. What were you doing? His next words slice through the thick air, his tone sharp as a knife.

"You monkeys seem to forget your place." The room holds it's breath, and suddenly, you're painfully aware of the many eyes on you, the precarious position you're in—a spectacle for the small crowd. A shudder travels down your spine as his fingers relentlessly continue their exploration. You can't stop the slick trail trailing from you, soaking your underwear further. Your hips buck involuntarily towards his hand, even as his words echo hollowly through the room. "Should I just remind you? None of you should be touching what isn’t yours…"

The word "yours" spins your head, and you shamelessly whimper out. "My naughty girl, do you really enjoy this that much?" His tone is teasing, yet there's an edge of possession that sends another shiver through you. His touch intensifies again, and you tremble beneath him, overwhelmed by his presence.

Pulling away, he finally gives your chest some much-needed attention, slipping the cup of your bra below your rounded tits. His gaze is appreciative as he kneads one into his mouth, sucking greedily. And in an instant you're pinned to the floor beneath him, flat on your back, his bulge still pressing insistently against you. 

The shift is swift, his body covering yours, providing the room an unobstructed view of him devouring you. Yet, your focus remains solely on him—his broad shoulders, the smooth expanse of his chest, and the stiff muscles that hint at hours spent perfecting them. Your eyes finally settle on the large bulge that he keeps grinding into you.

And grind he does, his clothed cock taking over the work of his fingers, each motion stripping your throat of the whimpers and whines that spill forth—sounds that surely only spur him on further.

Caught in this intense, consuming moment, you're hyper-aware of every contact, every movement, and every gaze set on you, heightening every sensation as you lose yourself to the rhythm he dictates. He’s a greedy lover, taking every inch he can get before finally pulling himself free from his robes, his cock springing forth—thick and demanding.

His gaze is hungry as he eyes you, leaning in closer, his breath hot against your ear as he whispers darkly, "You like putting on a show, don't you? Just look at you, so desperate and dripping for me while they all watch. You’re nothing but a little exhibitionist, aren’t you?"

His words are taunting, debauched, as your pussy clenches, a flush of shame and excitement as he pulls your panties down teasingly slow. Straightening to his full height, he sighs at the sight of your pretty pink folds, completely on display for him. He’d be the one to ruin you, of course. No one else was allowed to touch what was his.

He spits on his length, a heavy sheen as he strokes in long and slow passes over his bulbous head. Your eyes are fixated on the curve, every inch of him on display. His eyes remain fixed on the heave of your chest, his words only for you, "You're completely mine, aren't you? Every shiver, every sigh... I want them all." Before you can answer, he has himself positioned at your entrance, sheathing himself completely inside you, filling your clingy pussy entirely in one fluid motion. 

The guttural moan he shares with you is nothing short of primal, as he pulls back and then hammers back into you with a quick, forceful thrusts, your honeyed slickness making it all too easy. The furrow in his brow is ever-present, his gaze locked on you with an intensity that's damn near animalistic. You don't recognize the man filling you so completely.

You reach up to touch him, but one of his meaty hands pins both of yours above your head in a swift, assertive move, his strength incomparable. "Feels so good, princess, so fucking good, aah," his words stutter out, breathlessly, as his hips meet yours again in a relentless, brutal pace.

His cock stretches you perfectly, hitting that sweet spot that always seemed to elude the ex-boyfriends you'd dated. The slaps of his hips meeting your dripping pussy were echoing the room, as your head lolled back you managed to catch sight of a few of the faces of the men watching, and you had half a mind to be embarrassed. You whimpered, trying to hit your face into the crook of your shoulder, only to have his other hand snap onto your chin, his dick continuing the abuse your cervix.

Leaning in close, his breath hot against your ear, he whispers huskily, "C'mon now, don’t play shy." You could hear the grin in his voice, "You aren’t fooling anyone, not with the way this cunt is clenching me—ngh—so fucking—good." His words punctuated by each powerful thrust into your sopping hole, his breathing growing heavier as his fat balls slapped against you. You've never come without your clit being teased before, but you were sure you could squirt all over him from those words and his stretch alone.

"Such a pretty little slut for me," he growled as he drove into you, "lettin’ me stuff you so full." His words came out in low purrs, his hand still firmly clamped on your wrists and chin, ensuring you couldn’t see anyone else but him. "Gonna let me breed you in front of all these pathetic bastards? Show everyone who owns this cunt?" You felt your pussy clamp down tightly on him—earning a sharp hiss from him as he tightened his grip around your neck. You could barely breathe, your vision narrowing as you came hard around his cock, your body stiffening, unable to think straight. 

He continued to fuck you stupid, relentless, "You love being my filthy little fuck toy, don't you?" his breath, hot against your ear. "Just a wet hole for me to use, right in front of everyone." You couldn't even make a sound, your head fuzzy and body already sore. "fucking—ngh—gonna breed this pussy full, baby—gonna—mmgh," His voice was ragged as your walls spasmed around him, his hold on your neck like a predator with limp prey, as he let out the loudest moan yet, "gonna cum, gonna—" and with that, he spilled himself deep inside you, his hot seed mixing with your release.

You felt his hips continue to rut against you, his gaze fierce and possessive—a rabid dog with his treat, heaving, refusing to pull out. He unclenched your neck as you gasped in a deep, burning breath of air, lungs finally refilling. The onlookers were the furthest thing from your mind, until you were abruptly brought back to reality by his commanding voice–leaving no room for argument,

"Now get the fuck out of here." 

As the command left his lips, the onlookers, still frozen from the raw display they had witnessed, hesitated for a moment before scrambling away. All you heard were retreating footsteps. The room quickly emptied, leaving just the echo of their footsteps and the heavy breathing that filled the space between you and him.

Still inside you, he leaned down, his face inches from yours, his eyes still burning with that possessive intensity. "Look at what you do to me," he rasped, voice thick with satisfaction. His fingers trailed lazily over your skin, marking paths where his earlier grip had been.

He pushed back into you slowly, coaxing a whimper from your oversensitive body, "Just look at you, all flushed and beautifully wrecked for me. You took me so well," he praised, his tone heavy with satisfaction. His fingers delicately traced the marks his grip had left on your neck, his mark now visibly etched onto your skin.

"You're mine, remember that. Every inch of you, every gasp, everything—it all belongs to me."

come home

[madokacorpse]

𓈒°𓂂ׄ .ׄ🥩 ִ𝆬 .᷼ ۫𔓘𝂅۪ ׄ🩸 ִׄ. ˙ ִׄ꒦.🫀 ۪୨ׄ ۫! ׅ۪୧۪۪۪ׄ ᜓ𔖲