#*breaking free from chains image*

[gum-iie]

i have flight anxiety here is one of the pages of dottoren i drew stoned and nearly shitting my pants at 30,000 feet

[uncannydevotion]

im in love with liu woods i've decided that he's my boyfriend

[tubbo--updates]

Tubbo posted on his Instagram Broadcast at 16:40 BST

(screenshot taken from TubboDaily on Twitter)

[purplekittybanan]

I hate it when people take kind characters and make them evil.

*I say as I drop my bag- hundreds of photos of kind characters being evil spill out onto the ground.*

THESE ARNT MINE I SWEAR!!

[lycanwlf]

when the daily suicidal thoughts run out and i can start being a normal human being 🔥

[zondearts]

the kanade and mafuyu dragons having their tails intertwined??? 🥺🥺🥺that's so wholesome, hold up, my heart is busy melting over here. kanade being cold to the touch but mafuyu doesn't really feel temperature so she can cuddle??? power duo lowkey

Not to mention that they're together despite the hostility between Night and Icewings ☝️

[chiko-akihari]

I can quit arknights

[webism]

pornstar!sukuna who has a niche for the dark and dangerous, he only accepts shoots that cater to his more… intense nature—ropes and chains and gags and rigs beyond the regular bedroom scenes.

pornstar!sukuna who works with many other actors and actresses. he's demeaned and degraded more people for a pay check than he can count, but his favourite is you. you’re not so easy to break, which he likes—plus, videos in which you bite back make double the profit.

pornstar!sukuna who is easy to agree when you call him one night asking for a favour. you were meant to do a camshow with another pornstar when he cancelled last minute—and you know people are excited for this one, if you don’t want to miss out on a paycheck you’d need to find a quick replacement.

pornstar!sukuna who is expecting a homemade bd/sm rig to greet him when he walks into your home that night.

pornstar!sukuna who isn’t expecting a bed with a pink duvet and matching fluffy pink handcuffs hanging from your headboard. it’s cute, he thinks—he can picture the scene, you laid out and fucked like a whore in pink. he’s eager, until you tell him the handcuffs aren’t for you, but for him.

pornstar!sukuna who is about ready to walk out, to tell you off for even assuming he’d do such things on camera, that he'd ruin his crafted image of this sadistic figurehead for a camshow of all things.

pornstar!sukuna who just can't say no and turn on his heels, not when you look up at him like that, your pretty eyes just too convincing. He's seen you fucked out and stupidly cockdrunk before, he knows what you look like when you submit wholly to him, and though it's a beautiful sight—one of his favourites—he can't deny that he's intrigued to know how you look through his eyes when they're glossed with desperate pleasure.

pornstar!sukuna, the notorious dominant, who loads up on thousands. of peoples screens handcuffed to a pink bed. Everything pink: the cuffs, the sheets, his mussed hair, the pretty blush that paints the bridge of his nose, the leaky tip of his cock as you stroke it, your nails painted pink to match.

pornstar!sukuna who growls when people start tipping each time he gets close to cumming. who looks so insanely out of place, big and imposing and so covered in tattoos that even his ridiculous length has been inked to an extent, all needy and growing all the more desperate as you keep denying him his orgasm. wrists chained to your wooden headboard, his muscles ache with the temptation of breaking free.

pornstar!sukuna who can't help but wonder if his life has been flipped on its head when you start praising him and he moans at your words alone. Who, for all his life has gotten off on inflicting the worst onto others, and can now feel the most powerful orgasm of his life cresting when those narcotic words spill from your lips. "doing so well for me, god you look good like this, sukuna."

pornstar!sukuna who can only hold on for so long before his taut-pulled patience snaps and burns on impact. so when he's watching himself through the display of your laptop, cock red and angry as it leaks in need at your denial of his orgasm again, he snaps.

pornstar!sukuna who breaks your handcuffs with one pull, and has you flipped over and taking his mean cock in less time than it takes you to process his movements. who is glad you were enjoying torturing him, because you're so wet that the stretch of his cock is only searingly painful and you're not pushed to tears... this time.

pornstar!sukuna who fucks you mindless for toying with him for so long. for airing out a side of him that is weak in the bones for you, and plastering it on the internet for anyone to see. he bullies his cock into you, mean and unrelenting—yet whispers the sweetest of nothings into your ear as he does so, low enough that your mic can't pick up on them—your ears only.

pornstar!sukuna who kisses you when he cums. his lip piercing cold against your lips, your legs shaking in desperate need for mercy as he paints your insides white.

pornstar!sukuna who laughs when you, in your cum-drunk haze, try to reach for your laptop to turn off the camshow.

pornstar!sukuna who promises your now-doubled viewer count that the stream won't end until you've come ten times on his cock—he's going to make an example out of you.

[certifiedunicornhater]

I FINISHED EXAMS HELLO AGAIN FOLLOWERS!!

[fanaroff]

DP x DC: Downed Danny Prompt

The Justice League are enlisted/hired by the GIW to capture and contain a dangerous ecto-entity. With the media blackout of Amity Park, the JL only have Constance’s input on these types of creatures. Since dangerous beings of the Infinite Realms, ones with intent on destruction, are the ones known to leave the Realms, the JL believe the GIW and begin to work with them on a plan.

The GIW have a ghost contained as bait. A big white creature covered in fur and ice, not unlike descriptions of yeti. It growls and howls at anyone that happens to come near or make eye contact. It speaks in what seems to be a mix of Esperanto and static. What is understood from it tends to be along the lines of “destroy you if you-“ before whatever is said is lost to ear-splitting static.

The creature is all claws and danger and does little to make the JL think that the entity they are after is not a villain. It only makes it seem more likely.

With a trap set far north, above any human civilization that could get caught in the crossfire, and following the tracking path the entity seems to be taking (following the bait), they wait to enact their plan. Drs. Jack and Maddie Fenton work with them to create the weapons and containment unit that can burst on with the press of a button.

When the entity appears, the JL do not expect it to look like a child. At least, not this much. All lanky limbs and awkward posture, it almost seems the perfect image of a teenager. Until one notices… the uncanniness. Bright, wild, green eyes that reminds Batman of one of his sons. Untamed white hair that drifts without a breeze. Claws. Fangs. It’s not human.

It barks something that strange screeching mixed language at them. It’s angry and has spotted the bait. It says the same thing, this time it’s hands light up green. Demanding. Its stance changes. It’s looking for a fight.

The yeti says something back that seems to only anger the entity further. Its fangs seems to grow longer, nails sharper, eyes brighter, and it aims a hand in the general direction of those present, outside of the yeti.

This is “Phantom.” The ecto-entity the GIW have been after for its destruction on the living plane for years. The one that seems hundreds of years old with pottery and paintings and crafts backing up the claim. It needs to be stopped. So the JL don’t hesitate.

The skill sets of ghosts were explained early on, so each member is ready with a Fenton-made weapon. Phantom’s eyes only harden when they aim them towards him.

Rather than immediately fight, like they assumed it would do, it flies straight towards the yeti. And suddenly, it’s falling.

None of the JL took the shot, but one of the Fenton’s (bundled in ghost proof arctic gear and holding the strongest hitting weapons), did.

Phantom goes down, hard.

The yeti flips out, growling and pulling at the exit chains that bind it. It’s making horrible, gut wrenching sounds and pulling towards the downed ghost until the binds break and it’s leaping towards it. The GIW slam on the ghost shield containment unit and the two are trapped together.

It’s only when the yeti is making mournful cries, holding a small shape as close as it can, green spilling and staining the white, white snow does the JL think that maybe, just maybe, they fucked up. That they should have done more research rather than blindly trust a group that convinced them that they only have humanity’s best interest.

*Feel free to use or add to it. I may make a full detailed one-shot of it soon too

[melshifting]

(uncommon) talents for your DR

↳ #01 ～ Expertx in claws: You know the perfect technique to always win in any casino game and claw machines, making it easy to get your desired prize - every machine works in your favor.

↳ #02 ～ Lip-reading expert: your ability to read lips with remarkable accuracy allows you to understand conversations in noisy, quiet, or silent environments, either in person or via online videos.

↳ #03 ～ Chronological mathematician: You possess an innate sense of time, accurately estimating the passage of minutes and seconds without a watch. This ability makes you the right person to time sports, games and even cooking.

↳ #04 ～ Human scale: You know how to calculate the exact weight and/or measurements of any item without resorting to a scale.

↳ #05 ～ Human GPS: you have an innate sense of direction and can navigate even the most complex and unfamiliar routes effortlessly.

↳ #06 ～ Extraordinary locksmith: Your nimble fingers and keen sense of touch allow you to effortlessly pick any lock. Although this skill must be used legally and responsibly, it can be useful in casual situations.

↳ #07 ～ Eidetic painter: you possess the ability to create detailed and realistic paintings from memory, even if you have only seen the subject once.

↳ #08 ～ Living calendar: You have an extraordinary memory for dates and events, which allows you to remember historical events, birthdays, and anniversaries effortlessly.

↳ #09 ～ The best joker: your mind is a treasure chest of puns - your ability to create witty puns worthy of a joke on the spot can brighten up any situation.

↳ #10 ～ Lost & Found magnet: You can locate lost objects with unerring accuracy, no matter how big or small.

↳ #11 ～ Professional counterfeiter: You are an expert in forgery, as you accurately imitate handwriting, signatures, and documents. Although this talent isn't intended for illegal activities, it makes you a professional expert in the details.

↳ #12 ～ Escape artist: You have a unique gift for breaking free from chains, locked rooms or difficult situations - this skill combines physical flexibility with mental dexterity.

↳ #13 ～ Color identifier: With a quick glance at an image/painting you can identify and reproduce the exact colors, as you excel at distinguishing color ranges to perfection.

₊˚ ‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵ ˚₊

[the-original-skipps]

SKFNWNFNENFNRNG I LOVE YOUR FIC ABOUT NAGUMO- PLEASE WRITE MOREEEEEEEEEE!!!! MAYBE NAGUMO X RETIRED ASSASSIN READER??? LIKE SHE 'S TRYING TO LIVE A NORMAL LIFE LIKE SAKAMOTO BUT HE APPEARS-

|| Drunken Words are Sober Thoughts. || Nagumo Yoichi x Ex-Girlfriend!Reader || Sakamoto Days ||

awww thank you so much for enjoying! ever since i read that nagumo canonically has an ex-girlfriend this idea came plus reading some trivia about him haha its been in the works for a long time but its finally done phewww im glad its out of my drafts lol i hope yall enjoy!

synopsis: A quiet evening to yourself is was what it was supposed to be. Until your old friend Sakamoto unceremoniously shows up at your front door. What he brought with him was something or rather someone your never imagined seeing again - your ex-boyfriend, Nagumo.

: fem!reader. ex-girlfriend!reader. ex-assassin!reader. drunk!nagumo.

cw: angst. mentions of alcohol and intoxication. mentions of past break up.

The sound of the buzzer your front door ringing interrupts you from your daze. The sharp and insistent ringing is drowning out the sounds from your television. You glance at the clock mounted on your wall.

11:56 pm

Just four minutes until midnight. Who in their right mind would visit you at this hour? An image of a certain dark haired assassin crosses your mind briefly. No, it couldn't be.

You shake your thoughts free as you get up from the coach, turning off the television to walk towards the front door of your apartment. With each step towards the door, you feel a strange dread starting to envelop you. Is it the association or an unknown assassin? You grab a pocket knife on the counter as a precaution.

As you stand in front of your door with a deadly grip on your knife, you lean forward to look into the peephole. The image you see beyond has your eyes widening.

Pocketing the knife into the back pocket of your shorts, you undo the chain to unlock the door. Two familiar figures stand in front of you.

Though it wouldn’t be right to describe the other figure as standing, more like slumped over the shoulder of the other. Sakamoto hoists a slumped Nagumo who’s barely standing straight, his dark bangs covering his eyes.

A look of surprise and confusion crosses your face at the scene. You haven’t seen either of them in a long time, especially the dark haired male who you used to call your boyfriend. Though he used to visit pester you quite often during the early days of your break up, that was two years ago. Before you could continue to contemplate the meaning of this visit, a large figure suddenly drapes over you.

"He's all yours."

Is all that Sakamoto says as he passes his drunk friend to you. Highly intoxicated, Nagumo unconsciously wraps his arms around you - leaning onto you with a pleased hum. Your arms instinctively do the same to him, trying to get him to stand and not to collapse onto the floor. You panic as you feel his weight is starting to take a toll on you.

“Wait, Sakamoto! You can’t justー!” Desperately you call out to Sakamoto, only for the large man to turn his back on you, walking away with a slight wave. You try to call out to him multiple times, each time with more desperation but Nagumo's weighing you down. Making it impossible for you to chase the fat man down.

Damn Sakamoto..!

Why did he have to bring him to you? Your ex-boyfriend of all people not to mention he's drunk out of his mind. Nagumo clearly has his own home, why not drop him off there? As your thoughts spiral into questions with very few answers, a deep groan interrupts you.

"N-Need...lie down..."

You quirk an eyebrow at Nagumo's words before letting out a defeated sigh. There's no way you're wasting your effort to drive him back. He's not exactly a friend, more so an acquaintance now. However, it'll still be too cruel to just dump him by your doorstep. Holding the door open with your foot, you bring the raven haired man into your home.

You don't consider yourself to be weak but damn is Nagumo heavy. Is all that runs through your head as you lug him towards your bedroom. It really doesn't help that he decided to place all of his weight on you while his head tries to rest on your shoulder.

"D-Damn, idiot." You say with gritted teeth as you finally enter your bedroom. Once the bed is within reach you hastily drop the man face down on your bed. He better pay you back for all this trouble he's putting you through.

You stand, looking down at Nagumo who's lying face down on the bed.

Okay, maybe that's not good.

You lean down to turn his body so that his face is facing up and not face planted onto the bed. Who knows what kind of trouble you'd get into if you somehow accidentally murdered him. An elite member of The Order who died, because his ex-girlfriend accidentally suffocated him. Now that’ll go down in legends. The thought causes a momentary snicker to leave your lips.

You fend off a grimace as you take off his shoes, placing them by the floor. You’ll make him mop the floor too for trekking dirt into your home. Feeling like you're done, you take one last look at him - nodding to yourself at a job well done for carrying him all the way to the bedroom safely. You switch off the light but just as you were about to close the door behind you, you hear a quiet mumbling.

Your head immediately turns to look at Nagumo, his dark hair still covering his eyes but you catch his lips moving. You can barely make out what he's saying so you approach him again to try and hear what he's saying better. Sitting on the bed you lean down towards his face, eyebrows scrunching in focus as you try to make out the words.

"I..."

"Miss..."

"I miss"? A look of confusion crosses your face at his mumbled words. What is he trying to say? What exactly is he missing that has him mumbling unconsciously in his drunken state? Better not be more alcohol. You lean even closer in anticipation.

A moment of silence passes.

What the hell? He can't just leave you on a cliffhanger like that! You huff as you briefly consider shaking him awake just so he can finish his sentence. You wait a moment longer in case he says something again but he continues to remain silent.

Deeming that you've wasted enough time on such a stupid thing. You pull away, but just as you are about to stand ー two pair of strong arms wrap around you, causing you to be pulled right onto his chest.

You feel a little air knocked out of you, your face buried into a dress shirt that reeks of alcohol. You immediately put your hands out and lift yourself up, but as you try the hold on you tightens preventing you from leaving.

"Hey, Nagumo...!"

You bark as you try to shift yourself into a more comfortable position rather than being glued to his chest. When you turn your head, you're met with closed eyes. Huh?

Nagumo lightly groans with his eyes still fixed shut, placing his large hand behind your head to keep your head resting against his chest while your legs tangle with his. You look at him incredulously, it looks like he's really asleep. You try to struggle to set yourself free but the arms around you only tighten further at your resistance.

"Can you stopー"

"Mmm, (Y/N)..."

Your mouth immediately shuts at the mention of your name slurred from his lips. You try to peer up, looking at him nervously. Is he dreaming? Or is he actually awake pretending to be asleep just to mess with you? Why this beanstalkー!

"D-Don't go..."

Each word that leaves his mouth as you are more bewildered by the second. "I miss" plus your name and now "don't go"? You feel yourself unconsciously frowning. If he's playing a joke on you this is far too cruel. However, the last words he'd whimpered - you can't help but think how it sounded kind of sad. Could it be that he really missed you?

No.

You shake your head free from such assumptions. There's no way, it's been two years since then - he should have moved on. He's drunk, he doesn't know what he's saying, yet a glimmer of a feeling that had once died long ago reignites within you. You hate yourself for momentarily being touched by his drunken mumblings.

Before you've realized what you're doing, you're using your free hand to brush away the bangs from his eyes. As expected they're still closed.

You let out a tired sigh as you finally give up on this fruitless struggle. Making yourself as comfortable as you can as you lay beside him. Closing your weary eyes. With every inhale and exhale of his chest, slowly lulling you into sleep. Only the low hum of the air conditioner filling the silence, until you whisper the words you’d never thought you’d say again.

"Just for a moment, I'll pretend that everything is okay. Where this is just one of those nights from days long gone. Where it's okay to be lying with you like this. You'll close your eyes and I'll keep mine closed. When morning rises it'll be nothing but a sweet dream. So until then, please let me hold you."

"I've missed you too, idiot."

Nagumo smiles softly.

[batshit-auspol]

have we talked about the woolworths debacle yet?

Sigh.

Alright kids strap in, because the culture wars are back and stupider than ever.

So there are two characters you need to be familiar with in this story before we continue:

Woolies (i.e. Woolworths) - One of two supermarket chains in Australia. Not related to the giant Woolworths chain that used to exist overseas, other than the Aussie one swiped the name because the original forgot to trademark the name 'Woolworths' here. Biggest company in Aus, and also the biggest employer. Not a brand anyone with more than two braincells would pick a fight with.

Peter Dutton - Man with less than two braincells, and current leader of the political opposition in Australia. Best known for bearing a passing resemblance to a potato and once demanding that a homophobic song get played for balance when a football halftime show performed 'Same Love'. His reputation is so bad that if you told an Australian that Dutton's favorite pastime was drowning puppies, they probably would believe you.

And to prove our point, here's the best headline a friendly newspaper could come up with to try spin his image:

The third thing you need to know is that in Australia we have a national holiday called "Australia Day" which is basically a scheduled day for everyone to get into a giant argument.

This is because for the last 30ish years it has been held on the anniversary of the British claiming the land around Sydney as a colony which was:

a) More the founding of an English prison then the founding of Australia, and more importantly

b) from the perspective of the people who were already living here, kindof a very shit day

Now not everyone agrees on this, and even those that don't 'celebrate' will often still have a get together with friends, but it can't be denied that we've shifted a long way from the days when the country used to celebrate Australia Day by kitting ourselves out in Aussie flag budgie smugglers, drinking enough beer to drown Harold Holt, and partying like it's 1789.

(Now a brief break for a real photo of Peter Dutton at a press conference)

Good luck sleeping tonight. Anyway back to the story.

As a result of this shift away from the trend of showing your patriotism by wearing Australian flag underpants, this year Woolworths decided that they were no longer going to be rolling out their box of southern cross thongs - on the grounds that "this kitschy shit never sells" and they are far too busy with more important things like blaming price gouging on inflation and installing self-checkout machines that think your canvas bag is a crime against humanity.

Never a man to miss an opportunity to act like a massive twat, upon hearing that Woolies had dumped their flag merch, Peter Dutton rushed onto the airwaves to declare that Woolworths had "gone woke" (paging 4chan circa 2009) and called for the country to boycott the store, a story which Australia's media have gleefully put on loudhale for over a week now in order to drive outrage clicks.

We at this point remind you that Woolworths is a company which, as we previously mentioned, basically has a monopoly on selling food in this country. Not exactly something you can boycott.

(Another real Dutton photo break)

Needless to say Dutton's dumbass plan did not immediately put Woolies out of business, however the relentless media campaign by Rupert Murdoch's minions did result in a bunch of innocent low-wage floor staff being harrassed by The Dark Lord's fanboys and a few Woolies stores were graffitied.

Allegedly being the 'free market' guy, Dutton also kindof snookered himself by demanding the free market not decide the fate of Australia day, but logic was never one of his strong suits.

Anyway, in the end we're just going to keep having this dumb circular argument every year, fulled by a media who love fanning the flames, until a politician has the guts to shift the date to May 8 (pronounced m8), and everyone promptly forgets this was ever a thing.

All in all, that's the long and the short of it. As a final touch we'll leave you with this real tweet by Opposition Leader Peter Dutton, in all its batshit glory.

We look forward to the absolute dumpster fire of comments this post is going to generate - as is the Australia Day tradition.

[strawb3rryhachi]

“When did you get so sensitive here, Sy?” You purr, embracing him from behind, slowly releasing the clamps so they bite down gingerly on his nipples. His head lolls back, back pressed firmly against the chair he was sat in, crimson eyes locking with yours in sweet, sweet pleasure.

“Kitten— ah— more. Please.” He begs, though it’s comes out as a breathy whine as hands struggle against the flimsy restraints. He knows it’d take less of an effort to break out of them than it does to keep a lid on his self control. Your scent is in the air driving him mad, and that sadistic little glint in your eye makes his cock twitch with glee.

“More what, my love?” You coo, caressing his face softly, fingers dancing on his lips teasingly, “No use in being shy now.”

His jaw goes slack, eyes still boring into yours like a well trained dog as your digits slip past his parted lips, fish hooking the inside of his cheek to open that perfect mouth ever wider.

Tsk-ing at him for his lack of response, too enamored with the way your brow furrows, that hateful little look in your eye when he disobeys as you tug on the chains, the clamps pulling his nipples intoxicatingly taut. Mewling, tears of pleasure beading at the corners of his eyes.

You were like a beautiful little reflection, a relentless conqueror in your own right. Both of you feeding into the others ever growing greed and depravity. An ever evolving cycle of exchanging power.

“Be a good little pet and I’ll give you a reward.” You smile, your eyes wild and alight with a burning fervor to watch the big, bad man in front of you crumble by your hand.

“Touch me more. Please.” It’s hoarse and desperate, the image of you dominating him alone is enough to leave him spurting hot thick cum into his briefs most nights, actually seeing it without cumming on the spot is an intense act of self control.

You hum a small sound of approval, “Show me your tongue, pretty.” You gush, hearts practically forming in your eyes while you watch it loll out, drool cascading off the pointy tip and dripping down his chest.

And he should probably feel more embarrassed, shouldn’t enjoy being called feminine little nicknames as much as he does.

But, he can’t help the precum spilling from the tip of his blushing pink head as you cradle his jaw so mean and rough, craning his neck so his cheek is pressed flush against your plush breasts, nipples all but poking out of the top of your bra. Spitting into his maw so deviously, letting it pour slowly between you and into his eager mouth.

He can’t help the desperate little ‘thank you’s’ falling out of his mouth, especially not when you’re reaching down and finally touching his cock. He’s whimpering, the sweet, minty taste of you burning down his throat as your thumb plugs up his weeping tip.

“Would you like some for your cock as well, honey?” Your breathy whisper on the shell of his ear sends electric shocks down his spine. He’s bucking his hips so hungrily against your touch, only to put more pressure on that all too sensitive tip.

He’s nodding, mouth open but no sound escaping. You consider being cruel, making him use his words or threatening to leave him high and dry for the rest of the night.

It was a very attractive consideration. He’d probably end up rutting against you in bed just to feel some sort of relief, and another cycle of punishment would inevitably begin again.

But, you decided he’d been quite the good boy, he deserved a little grace. For now.

So you did as he so clearly needed, spitting aggressively on his achy head, the sensation making his balls squeeze.

You sauntered to his side, bending down so your clothed pussy was inches away from his face. Your sickly sweet scent invading his senses so meanly. You slowly untied his restraints, freeing both of his hands in minutes instead of seconds.

He looks up at you, eyes wide in anticipation of your next order, cheeks flushed a pretty pink.

“On your knees, baby.” You lilt, pressing a quick kiss to his forehead before stepping back. And he’s always been an exceedingly good listener so, like a good pup, he drops to his knees, dick slapping against heavily his stomach as his shins touch the cool marble.

“Let me see you cum, my love.” You smile, feeling an overwhelming sense of blood rushing glee as you watch his face drop, knowing he thought you’d be the one making him reach a mind melting orgasm. He whimpers, one hand gripping his shaft while the other wraps around his balls, unmoving.

You tut at him, “And to think I was going to let you eat my pussy.” You tease, pulling your panties to the side, displaying that pretty pink clit he so desperately wants to lick at as you use your other hand to spread your lips.

His hand squeezes involuntarily around his shaft, a deranged smile spreading across his beautiful features. “ ‘M ready to be your perch, kitten.”

And god, was the man beautiful. His eyes looking at you so lovingly as he pulled insatiably at his throbbing cock, your saliva squelching and bubbling through the gaps in his fingers, dripping down and coating his balls as he tugged and tugged at them.

“So good f’me, Sy.” You gush, standing on your tip toes to sit your puffy folds on his face, sinking down before gripping his silver locks, making him focus. “No cumming before me now.”

That wouldn’t prove to be too hard, he makes quick work of pulling your clit between his lips, suckling and nibbling on the bundle of nerves, eyes fluttering as they so desperately wanted to close in unadulterated pleasure.

“You taste so good, sweetie. So perfect.” He mewls, palm pulsing as he tries to replicate the last time he felt your plush walls milking and stretching around his cock.

You can’t help but praise him and belittle him, little breaths of “You look so pretty down there.” and “The big, bad leader of Onychinus is such a slut.” between giggles and held back moans.

His head is dizzying as he drinks in your nectar, your sweet slick pooling around the corners of his mouth, dripping down his chin as he struggles to collect it all in his crazed devouring. He’s bucking his slutty hips into his hand, releasing his balls to add another hand to his needy, long shaft. Crying fucked out sounds of pleasure into your pussy that serve as another stimulant.

And it’s then you decide to punish him no more. His brow furrowing as he chases and denies his own orgasm. He looked so perfect like this. A man of poise and status reduced to nothing but a begging, achy mess at your beck and call.

He sobbed as you pulled your drooling cunt from him, a stringy mix of slick and saliva the only thing tethering you, but just like a good dog, he continues his assault on his cock.

“No, please. ‘M sorry. I’ll do it better.” He pleads, hungry and yearning for the taste of you. Sometimes you wonder how you could’ve become so twisted as to enjoy this sight, but those thoughts don’t stick around for long.

Not as your pulling your panties the rest of the way off and stuffing them in his mouth. Watching his eyes cross and roll back as you, his one and only angel, his savior, come down to his level, swatting his hands away from his cock and gripping them in your own.

And he thinks this is the end for him, that this was the last reward you were going to bestow upon him. But he’s seeing stars as you hover over him, sliding the precum dribbling from his tip against your cock hungry cunt. All he can do is let out pathetic little cries with a smile.

Your head rolls back, a throaty moan escaping from you as you sink down onto him, taking every girthy inch in one go, needy hole stretching so deliciously around him.

“Oh Sy, I’ve been teasing you so long I forgot how good your cock feels.” You croon, fingers interlocking at the back of his neck. The praise isn’t helping the knot in his stomach that’s struggling to keep from snapping, trying to be oh so good for his precious kitten.

You’re mean too, wholly unfair. Cruel really. Holding him in place so he has to look into your pretty eyes as you tell him how good he is, how you wanted to break him in front of a crowd of people, show everyone who the Boss truly was, a good boy who sucks on panties while you fuck him. The way you tighten your walls around him purposefully in rhythm with every slide down on his cock, was damning him to eternal punishment.

His fingers were creating dents in the floor as he did everything he could to hold himself back, your ass slapping so furiously against his thighs, his balls covered in your cream and slick. He was babbling muffled, incoherent plea’s. Back and forth between begging you to let him cum and sobbing for you to slow down so he didn’t.

His length is prodding so perfectly against that spongey spot inside you, your mind going blank as you gush your release all over him. Like a dam that had broke, pooling on the floor underneath you, beading down his toned abdomen.

A switch inside him flips, the sounds of his pussy drunk moans reverberating in the space between you as he finally cums, his hips lifting to reach as deep inside you as he can, painting every inch of your insides white. His cock is pulsing, his orgasm almost painful as every nerve of his body is being lit on fire. He’s panting, whining, pathetic as his head lolls forward to rest on your shoulder. A myriad of ‘thank you’s falling from his lips.

You find pleasure in the feeling of it gushing out of you, absentmindedly pushing it out to make way for his still hard cock as he’s fucking up into you, that primal part of his brain overtaking him.

You rudely pop off him, letting the remaining mix of arousal pool on that patch of silver on his pelvic bone while he’s still twitching and groaning. You make your way toward the shower, but not before looking over your shoulder to give him one last tease.

“Next time, be prepared for my fingers.”

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

hi pookies posting earlier than i was planning hehe(: this one is a lot longer than my previous ones <3 i hope u enjoy my little freaks. HACHI LOVES U FOREVAAAA

xoxo

Hachi

[vinnyvamppp]

Dearie, I am obsessed with your writing! Can I request some gn superhero reader x sinister mark? Reader became a hero because what else are their powers good for (you can imagine whatever their powers are)? They were taught by society by obviously what’s right and wrong, about how they SHOULD act, but there’s always been something cruel and dangerous, glinting beneath the surface. Something that shivered with excitement at destruction, that made their hands quiver and ache to grip something (or someone) until it was destroyed. They know how to act the image of a just hero. Maybe they tried fooling themselves into this hero business, that if they could fool themselves long enough, that they’d believe this lie of a heroic persona they’ve made up. Mark sees what festers beneath the surface. It’s gorgeous and deranged, and he wants to be the one that frees reader of this delusion they’ve foolishly attempted to tell themselves.

Where Saints Are Buried

Note: Honey… you basically wrote the story for me lmao. Let me see if I can elaborate a little further.

Warnings: None aside from mentions of violence.

Synopsis: To be loved as a lie, or wanted as a weapon— choose. This is not a love story, it’s a recognition. You were born righteous and powerful, but there’s always been a tremble in your hands, an ache to ruin. He sees it— Mark sees all of it. And he’s not afraid. He’s enthralled.

Sinister Mark x GN!Reader

Word Count: 1,848

No one ever asked what it cost you to stay kind. You were supposed to be the good one. That’s what they told you, over and over again, until the words wrapped around your spine like chains. You were the miracle, the blessed one, the glowing future on two legs. A child of light.

It wasn’t born in a lab. It wasn’t given. It was carved. Forged into you by something older than the stars—older than reason itself. When it woke inside you, it wasn’t loud. It was a stillness that made the world hold its breath. The kind of silence that hums with pressure. Like the moment right before lightning splits the sky. The kind that people cannot name. So they dressed you in gold and white and hoped it would make you smaller

It didn’t manifest in colors or capes. It came in gravity shifts and fractures in space that shouldn’t be possible. In the way time seemed to bend around your anger. In the way your hands could pull apart things reality claimed were solid.

Your power wasn’t designed for saving people. It was made to undo. Undo structures. Undo flesh. Undo fate. Some days, when you used it, you swore you could feel something watching— Not a god. Not a person. Something deeper. Something waiting. And it liked when you let go.

The first time your powers manifested, you were twelve. There was a fire. A scream. A snap of instinct and suddenly— You were burning, but untouched. Everything else? Gone.

They told you, you’d saved lives. That you were destined for more.

And maybe that’s where it started. The lie.

And for a while, you believed it.

Because it was easier than asking why your hands shook after battle—not from fear, but from the electric hunger that hummed in your bones when the dust settled. Why your lungs expanded too eagerly in smoke and ruin. Why you sometimes looked into the eyes of a man begging for mercy and felt…  Nothing. You let them paint you as the symbol. The protector. You stood on podiums. You learned how to smile for cameras. You memorized what to say. You wore righteousness like armor, but it always fit too tight—cutting, pinching, reminding you that you were built for war, not worship. They called it justice. You always called it endurance.

And now, it’s a lie that’s left rotting beneath your skin. Because, if this is what truth feels like—bare, bloodied, burning—then maybe you were never meant to wear white in the first place. Perhaps you were never pure. The fibs that etched themselves into your memory pondered the grandeur of breaking the world into pieces rather than rebuilding what was meant to starve.

But still, you tried. You told yourself it was nothing, perhaps a glitch in your humanity. A leftover survival instinct. You buried it beneath mission reports, beneath clean costumes and you trained. You learned how to hold your head up just enough to look hopeful, humble.

You gave them what they wanted: a god who looked like salvation.

But beneath the surface?

There was always something else. 

It wasn’t rage. Not really. Rage is loud. Blunt. This thing inside you—it was quiet. Slow. Patient. It coiled around your heart like smoke, whispering,  “Let it break. Let it all fall.”

You buried it under good deeds and speeches about “hope.” When the line between stopping and breaking blurred, and you didn’t stop yourself. You were a hero. That’s what they called you. So you kept smiling. Kept posing for the cameras. Kept lying.

And no one ever saw it.

Until him. Sinister Mark didn’t need to see it. He already knew.

From the very first time your eyes met, he looked at you not like a threat—not like a rival— but like something he recognized. Like he’d been waiting for you. He didn’t monologue. He didn’t sneer. He didn’t make a show of being your opposite. He just… smiled. A smile that held a blanketed warmth unforeseen before. That calm, infuriating, terrifying smile that told you— “I know what you are. You can’t lie to me.”

And when you struck him? When you gave in, even for a moment, to that creeping thing inside you?  He laughed. A real laugh. Like you were art. Like you were finally becoming something worth watching. Observing that sliver of chaos you spent years trying to hide. That crack in your moral armor. That hunger you dared not name. You told yourself you hated him.

Told yourself he was evil. A monster. That his interest in you was twisted, predatory, vile. That he doesn't beg you to stop. He begs you to admit that you like it like an addict. But when you lay awake at night, soaked in sweat and silence, it wasn’t his cruelty that haunted you— It was the way he looked at you like you weren’t a lie. Like he didn’t need you to be good to find you beautiful. Like the part of you, you’ve hated most was the one he admired. Finally having someone who didn’t require you to lie about the instincts crawling beneath your flesh. You crafted yourself from applause and duty, but the mirror only shows blood and breath and eyes that don’t blink when they should. What do you do when the thing you’ve always feared becoming looks more honest than anything you’ve been? Somewhere within, the hero is still trying to stand up. you just aren’t sure if you want them to anymore. Tonight, something in you changes.

You’re not on a rooftop for some dramatic aesthetic. You’re here because you can’t face a mirror. There was another mission. Another “victory.” Another moment where your powers overwhelmed the intention behind them. They said you saved people. You stopped the threat. You did your job.

But you know what you felt when you held that last man by the throat, when he clawed at your wrist— Relief. Satisfaction. And worse…  Joy. What would happen if you let go? If you stopped playing the part the world wrote for you, and stepped into the role that fit like a second skin. Not a villain. Not a monster. Just you. Unfiltered and unleashed. Who would… retaliate?

He found you before you found him. Your hands are still shaking when you hear the soft impact of boots on concrete behind you. You don’t look, you already know it is. His presence moves like gravity. A slow, dark pull that you pretend doesn’t drag at your ribs. He doesn’t speak, not at first anyway. Just stands beside you, the space between you buzzing like a live wire.

“I hurt them,” you say, your voice cracking, but quiet. “Too much. They said I did the right thing.”

Mark tilts his head, like he’s studying the shape of your guilt.  “You did. You stopped them.”

“They weren’t supposed to die.”

He hums. “But part of you liked that they did.”

Your breath shudders, your flesh stings as your chest suddenly drags with the weight of the earth. Your body lurches forward, “Then why do I feel like I can’t breathe?”

He stepped closer. Just near enough that you felt the heat off his skin. “Because you’re suffocating in the skin they gave you.” And then, softer—almost reverent:  “I see what you are. And it’s beautiful.” And still—you don’t deny it. Because he doesn’t need you to. Because you’re so, so tired of pretending and he’s finally offering you an out. 

He takes a step closer. “You’ve been trying to wear a mask so long you forgot what your own face looks like.” His voice is low, almost gentle. Not mocking.  Not this time. He leans in, barely touching, his breath brushing your ear like a secret. “Let it crack.” The tension felt like romantic horror— one where their always on the verge of consuming each other. His voice reaches places that your conscience won’t. His words cause a greedily warmth to dust your skin, craving to be seen. 

Because for the first time, someone wasn’t praising your perfection. He was worshipping your ruin. He did not crave your kindness—he craved the monster you hide. The man had fault lines and a smile sharp enough to split a man. And god help you— You liked it.

So you kept fighting him. That’s what heroes do. 

You turn to him. Your eyes—wild and vulnerable. “Why do you care?” It’s not accusation. It’s confusion, desperation even. It’s you, standing at the edge of yourself. And he answers like it’s obvious, like it’s something you should know.

“Because I’ve seen gods destroy worlds for less than what lives inside you.”  He steps forward, one hand lifting to your cheek—not touching, but close.  “And I want to be here when you finally stop lying to yourself.” 

You could break now. You could fall apart. But for once, maybe that’s not the worst thing. Maybe being seen—truly seen—isn’t damnation. Maybe it’s the first real breath you’ve ever taken. And for the first time in your life… You let it show. And he smiles like he’s witnessing a gorgeous storm splitting the dam that is your restraint. Like you’re the most beautiful disaster he’s ever known.

He had seen galaxies collapse and stars choke on their own fire, but none of it compares to the moment you stopped pretending to be good. This is what gods must look like, just before they fall. Just before they experience the precipice of a world rightfully theirs.

He truly saw potential. What lied in wake for him to inspire. You were not born of mercy but of aftermath; a cathedral built from the bones of your restraint. He would be the one to set you free. The elegant bird trapped in a cage of their own suffering. You were not redemption or wrath, you were his and if wanting you damned him then let Hell open its gates and take notes.

So he stepped closer, slowly, like he was approaching a creature more divine than dangerous. And when his mouth met yours, it wasn’t gentle—a desperate reckoning. A trembling kind of hunger, like he was kissing the end of the world and begging it to stay just a second longer. He kissed as if knowing you'd cause ruin, like he'd forgiven your naivety in rejecting who you truly are, and pleased to watch you do so through shaking hands and wet eyes.

Because to be ugly is to be loved. And to be seen is to stand naked before him and still be held.

A/N: Chat, did we cook? (This was so scrumptious to write.) we love creative anons, UGH! Yall peep the repetitiveness to drill in the point? Creative decision to show how the lead feels. It becomes exhausting to read at some point lmfao.

MasterList ོ༘₊⁺☀︎₊⁺⋆.˚

[clanborn]

star climax that i would personally enjoy: splashtail's got frostpaw pinned in their final confrontation, he's this close to finally killing her, and all of frostpaw's fears culminate and leave her frozen, unable to struggle free. curlfeather, through sheer willpower ignited by this immediate threat to her daughter's life, summons all the energy she can muster to project her image into the physical world, visible to both splash and frost. her sheer fury, her mangled corpse--here, present, clawing her way out of splashtail's dreams and into a waking nightmare, here to drag him down to hell with her--spooks splashtail to the core. this either frightens him so bad he suffers cardiac arrest, or he instantly bolts and abandons the clans forever (for the case where he could be brought back as a villain who is ideally no longer lame). once more, curlfeather saves frostpaw's life, this time from beyond the grave, so great is her love for her daughter. with the image of her bloodied mother burned in her mind, frostpaw's conflicted feelings bubble to the surface, feelings she's desperately forced underneath a layer of anger and resentment. frostpaw faces the truth: that her mother manipulated her for her own gain, but also that her mother loved her, and ultimately cared for frostpaw more than her own life. curlfeather was not entirely good or bad, she was simply just a cat, a flawed one, one capable of both good and bad things. hidden in all of her misdeeds was a cat that could be forgiven--and in turn, frostpaw too could be forgiven, and no longer needs to blame herself for every misfortune that had befallen her and her clan. frostpaw is also just a cat, a child under incredible duress, forced to make decisions that no child should have to make. she thinks of every cat that pushed that responsibility onto her--yes, her mother, but also splashtail, her older clanmates, every clan cat around the lake that turned a blind eye to her desperation. even starclan--her all knowing, benevolent ancestors--had stood by while she suffered, had caused her suffering, had used her not unlike the way curlfeather had. what made them different? why was curlfeather punished by cats who were no better? why was frostpaw punished for doing everything right? what distinction did starclan make between "good" and "bad" when all cats were capable of both, including starclan, in all its alleged, unerring kindness?

frostpaw once again does starclan's bidding, touches her nose to the moonpool and receives her nine lives. with each life, cats flash before her vision--harelight, riverstar, jayclaw--but they aren't the cats she sees. in her mind she sees curlfeather, blood on her paws and love in her eyes, and newly named froststar decides what sort of leader she will be. this is the last time she will follow starclan's path, no more will riverclan be subject to their will and their hypocrisies. relying on starclan is what destroyed them, their ancestors standing idle as riverclan tore itself apart for their favor. no more will riverclan force warriors and apprentices in certain roles, no more will it allow complacency, letting desperate voices go unheard. splashtail rejected starclan, but that is not what drove his bloodthirst and desire for power. under froststar's leadership, power would not solely lie in the paws of her and starclan, but shared among her clanmates, unable to be ripped away by a lone instigator, shattered by a single break in the chain.

maybe she'll be the kind of leader curlfeather wanted to be. maybe she'll be better. either way, froststar will lead riverclan into a golden dawn.