Ovulation Makes Me Want To Write Evil, Evil Things. Help.
ovulation makes me want to write evil, evil things. help.
More Posts from M1stm3 and Others
reblog and put your first fictional crush in the tags
abt to redownload love and deepspace for. reasons.
ehehe….. ehehehehehe……….
i have such a specific prompt in my mind rn that’s like very fluffy and sweet but i also have half written angst that i need to finish up……. every day is a roulette on this acct
WHYYYY IS 271 DELAYED TOO WHAT IS THIS MADNESS
choso gets all twitchy nd jolty when he cums. his lips tremble and his hands squeeze tight and his brows furrow all while his hips nd torso nd thighs are uncontrollably twitching.
i want to make suguru call me daddy. mhmhmhmhmhmhm
I wish you could do voice notes on here and I could rant ab little things and it’d be like we’re all on the phone
sukuna fans r eating smth fluffy later today hehehe
now playing…
bring me to life by evanescence
↺ |◁ II ▷| ♡
yandere asylum therapist! suguru x reader
the official prequel to this oneshot!!! while it is in the same au, this one (and the other one) can def be read as standalones!!!! ^.^
cw’s!!: descriptions of violence (bashing someone’s skull in, knocking someone’s teeth out), gn! reader, no use of y/n, delusional sugu!!! (the best sugu imo :3), and i think that’s it!!!! ^^
wc: 1.2k :))
one more meeting. one more meeting and you’d finally be done with all of the infuriating hours spent in and out of various psychiatrists offices. one more meeting and then you could go back to your cell and fuck off like you knew the nurses wanted you to (you weren’t stupid, you saw the way the nurses glanced at you through their peripherals. it’s not like it wasn’t for good reason). one more meeting and then you could just choose whichever therapist you vaguely remembered the name of (probably the irritatingly serene one. she was more than willing to talk about herself when you refused to answer any of her questions and she seemed tougher than the others, like she wouldn’t crumble under a few threats from you.)
there were four security guards surrounding you while you walked. it was like a big, blaring alarm. “do not come close.” (as if the loud metal clanking of your restraints and the vibrant red of your jumpsuit wasn’t enough to signify that already).
three of the guards fell back when you made it to the door. the last office was in a strange spot, past all of the cells and a long hallway, all the way in the back of the institution. there was a plaque outside of this door, as if someone important was sitting inside waiting for you (you almost laughed at the thought. flesh can be cut and bones can be broken, can’t they? your status can’t save you from violence).
you barely got to skim over the name on the plaque before the door was open and you were unceremoniously shoved through it, your lips immediately parting to shoot a half-formed threat towards the guard behind you (probably something about bashing his skull in, you didn’t really premeditate your threats before dishing them out)… until you were interrupted.
“now now, is that any way to treat my patient?” the voice that cut in was deep. smooth and warm but not pleasantly so (not like a fireplace or a summers day, but like heated metal running along your skin. so hot that you don’t even register the pain until you’re already burned). there’s a hand on your shoulder before you even realize, the deep voice closer than before. you resist the urge to shudder at the touch.
“why don’t you go sit, hm? i can’t imagine those heavy restraints are comfortable to hold up like that.” you only respond by shouldering his hand off of you and sending the security guard a sharp glare, the metal of your restraints loud when you settle yourself in the chair in front of a large oak desk. you felt like you were at a business meeting rather than a preliminary therapy session.
“i’ll handle it from here.” is all the man says before the last security guard leaves the room. you don’t bother to look at him as he settles himself in the chair across from you.
it’s quiet for a long moment, the only sounds in the room being the soft shuffle of the papers he’s looking through and the ticking of the clock on the wall (god how you wished you could knock it off the wall. it seemed to be getting louder with every incessant tick). you were starting to wonder if he was planning on talking at all (you could only hope. you’d much prefer to sit in silence rather than watch yet another doctor desperately try to get you to answer their questions). your hopes were dashed as soon as they appeared.
“i apologize for the delay, that was rude of me. it’s just been quite a while since i last took a patient, i’m rusty with the procedures.” his voice finally cuts through the silence. you don’t say anything, you don’t even glance up at him. interesting.
“i’m sure you saw my name outside, but it feels rude not to introduce myself anyway. i’m dr. geto, the leading psychiatrist of this institution.” that catches your attention. your eyes are already narrowed in annoyance when you look at him, your brows only furrowing more when you took in his appearance. he was pretty. irritatingly so. you don’t doubt he had every nurse wrapped around his finger just because of that fact.
“you’re the leading psychiatrist? so what, is this some sort of last ditch effort to fix me?” you question, your sharp gaze continuing to watch him through your lashes. you hated how smug his expression was, how those purple eyes seemed to dissect you the moment they had a chance, how he smiled at your cynicism.
“if that’s how you want to think about it, then yes. though i would say that’s quite a pessimistic line of thinking, no?” you don’t say anything, so he continues. “i was the one who requested to see you. i stopped taking patients when i got promoted to this position, but you…” he pauses, considering his words. “your case interested me.” you scoff.
you can tell he’s waiting for you to say something, watching you with that same unsettling smile. you’re caught in a strange sort of staring contest with him, but it only lasts until he says your name.
and that. that’s what makes you snap.
it was nothing more than a soft utterance, something to call your attention back to him… but the way he said it, the way the syllables dripped from his lips like something so nauseatingly sweet while he held that agitating fucking smile on his face… you were convinced he was lucifer himself.
“if you keep smiling at me like that i will knock all of your fucking teeth out, do you understand me?” you lean forward in your seat when he doesn’t respond immediately, your restraints clanking with the movement.
“do you understand me?” you repeat. you’re not loud with your words, not at all. you’re deadly quiet, eyes wide and staring right at him. he manages to school his expression quickly, but you’re perceptive. you catch the flicker of surprise on his face.
he swallows before he speaks, his adam’s apple bobbing slightly with the action (you briefly wonder what it would feel like to cut through it). “… i understand.” his volume matches yours but he can’t hide the slight breathiness in his voice.
his heart is pounding so loudly in his ears he’s almost sure that you can hear it just as clearly as he can (he wouldn’t be surprised if that was the case, at least. he wouldn’t be surprised if you could read his thoughts with the way you were looking at him).
he briefly wondered if you were something divine, something sent down to punish him by seeing right through his facade. something that could see that he deserved to be in those restraints just as much as you did. the thought sends a shiver through him and he averts his gaze (which is only confirmation to him. why else would he be so distraught if not for some sort of divine intervention?)
you both make your own decisions when you’re escorted out of his office a few minutes later.
anyone but him is what you decide.
and he decides that he’s yours.
whenever i get those like faint ovulation cramps i feel like an omega in heat send tweet
