glitterbonez351

[glitterbonez351]

i loav my lay in bed and draw while watching charlie time

[glitterbonez351]

‼️CW suggestive‼️

a little bit of monika

[glitterbonez351]

he appears yet again..

[glitterbonez351]

felt like drawing after a little bit of time away from my sketchbook

[glitterbonez351]

shoutout kris from deltarune. i know that dick game crazy

[glitterbonez351]

incest is the most interesting trope ever tbh. i always eat it up, nothing hits like that codependence and eternal bond

like, no matter what THEY'RE FAMILY. nothing will change that, it's impossible to change that, it's literally in their blood they're forever stuck together so romantic

[glitterbonez351]

guys i’m conquesting it so hard. i literally cannot get that terrible old man out of my noodle. him and omni-man. tag team whEN TAG TEAM WHEN

[glitterbonez351]

okay but the way I know reader would he willing to end up in a neck brace just for the chance of trans conquest riding their race. Trans conquest taking how many orgasms he can out of scissoring with trans reader as a highscore. This man probably keeps a mental tally in his head of at least how good he can make his mate feel physically or just mentally.

Nsfw

Okay, so, definitely, but let's not forget Conquest has powers here.

He could crush you, could smother you in that dripping heat between his legs, hairs tickling you and folds soaking up all your hungry moans as you lick and suck and devour him whole— but that's mean, no? Why would Conquest ever do that to his sweet lil Darlin'? He doesn't want to hurt you!

So he hovers, keeps himself up instinctually, grips his own body because anything else will shatter into fine dust under his grip. Even him rocking his hips against your face could be dangerous. Do you realise that? Are you aware that with one buck of his hips he could genuinely bust your nose?

You might not, but Conquest does. So he's gentle. It'd kill him if he hurt you after all. You may be willing to be hurt like that, to wear it as a badge of honour, but he ain't. And if you want to be marked up so damn bad, c'mere, let him give you a nice necklace– metal or flesh hand? Your choice, darlin'.

As for scissoring... hoo boy. Just know the first thing he thinks of is that he wants both sets of lips to kiss.

No, literally.

His flesh hand gripping your jaw, holding you still as his tongue plunders your mouth, swirling around yours for a bit before dipping, moving through the tiny cavern in exploration; he licks the back of your teeth before his tongue glides back to yours, slick and hot as they twist and slide together.

Down below is wet and sticky. His metal hand on your hip, occasionally reaching lower to squeeze your ass, he holds you against him, pussies clicking together wetly. His clit nudges yours, folds gliding over each other, trails of shiny arousal connecting you to him.

"Look at that..." He purrs, pressing down, making your pussy squish against his. "Fuckin' beautiful. Listen to that!" He says, rolling his hips, sticky, squishy sounds filling the air of your bedroom, ears burning at the sheer lewdness of it all. "They're kissing, darlin'. Fuckin' making out all messy..."

He lets go of your jaw just to squeeze your mound, giving it a few wet pats, purposefully hitting your hard nub until it aches with need. He parts your lips, then presses up, cunt dragging across yours until you feel lightheaded with need.

You may have created a monster by unleashing his libido. Five thousand years of pent up sexual frustration all let out on your fragile, mortal body.

Poor you.

[glitterbonez351]

HEAVY on the last paragraph

something I’ve noticed with antis (tbh people in general) is that they don’t understand why wanting to pursue a relationship with a (real) child or animal is considered bad. It’s because they cannot consent, they do not fully comprehend relationships, which makes attempting to pursue something with them predatory.

Being attracted furries, even animals like Lady from Lady and the tramp, isn’t bad. Because they’re fictional and cannot get hurt. (BEYOND that, most fictional animals DO have human intelligence, so wtf are you even on about??)

Being attracted to shotas and lolis isn’t bad, because they’re fictional and cannot get hurt. (beyond that, they typically do have an understanding of relationships— because they’re fictional and don’t comply to our world. Even if they didn’t. They’re fictional.)

We should NOT be comparing being attracted to a furry/loli to someone pursuing an abusive relationship with a real life child or animal, I’m disappointed this isn’t common sense.

The fact that people can’t understand the REASON behind pursuing a relationship with a real child or animal is bad, beyond just “it’s a child/animal”, is kinda terrifying. You should be able to understand why certain things are bad. Thank bye.

[glitterbonez351]

𝚒𝚖𝚊𝚐𝚒𝚗𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚝𝚊𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚊𝚜 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚠𝚒𝚏𝚎

𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐬: 𝐜𝐨𝐞𝐫𝐜𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐬𝐞𝐱𝐮𝐚𝐥 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭, 𝐟!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫, 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐠𝐧𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐲/𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤, 𝐢𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐝 𝐟𝐫𝐞𝐞 𝐮𝐬𝐞, 𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞, 𝐢𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐝 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐜𝐤𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐦 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐝𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐞, 𝐢 𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐮𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐡𝐞'𝐬 𝐜𝐮𝐭𝐞 𝐠𝐮𝐲𝐬 (𝐢𝐧 𝐚 𝐦𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐮𝐩 𝐰𝐚𝐲), 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐚𝐧'𝐭 𝐟𝐢𝐱 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐬𝐞™

conquest who scoops you up from the rubble of your home, flies miles above earth, and licks his thumb to wipe the blood and soot from your soft little face. a pretty little thing, with wide terrified eyes like little moons, and lips that, though bleeding and chapped now, would be pink and pretty like the flesh of a cherry.

conquest who is charmed at how you wiggle and curse in his iron grip. one flex of his finger, and your bones would crumble to dust. but you were so soft... your tender skin still carried a hint of that sweet feminine scent, creamy and light.

conquest who gives you an ultimatum. become his, or he'll drop you back to earth and let you die with the rest of your people. it wouldn't phase him in the slightest, he's crushed flowers like you before without hesitation. still, he can't help but smile tenderly when your little mouth mewls and begs for his mercy.

and this is his mercy.

a quaint home on Viltrum, isolated from the rest of the community of Viltrumites, not that you could complain. not like they'd save you.

conquest who lays out his expectations for you: do not leave the house unless accompanied by him, look after yourself and make yourself pretty for when he comes back from 'work', cook for him, clean for him, mate with him each and every night. and never, EVER refer to him by his given name.

you start out with 'sir'.

conquest who rewards your good behaviour with gruff praises and rough touches, his big hands kneading at your breasts from behind as he towers over you, watching you keenly as you chop veggies without complaint.

'would you look at that... good woman,' he purrs, his big warm body up against your back, chuckling deeply when the thick, meaty press of his hardened cock against your back makes you squeak and nearly slice the top of your finger. 'it's okay, little one... you're doing so well. i can be patient for good little kittens like you.'

conquest who eats with relish and abandon, his big cruel heart swelling for his sweet little wife, who eats so slowly across from him. you know what's coming, you're trying to delay the inevitable. it's the funniest thing in the world to him.

'come on, kitten. it's time.'

conquest who surprises you when he takes your clothes off so gently, as if he were undressing a glass doll, his grunts becoming purrs as he explores your tender body with his giant, calloused hands. chuckles when your little nipples stiffen when he runs a thumb over them just right, hums contemplatively as the scent of your little cunt reaches his sensitive nose. slick, warm, and ready to accept his seed. but he wants to try something first.

conquest whose unshakable war drum of a pulse quickens when he bullies his head between your thighs and probes past your folds with his thick, slobbery tongue, the delectable taste of your juices like the finest victory banquet, the gorgeous whimpers and babbles from your lips rousing his heart and body better than any cries of war.

conquest who doesn't stop nosing and licking and slobbering over that pretty cunt until your thighs are shaking and you yowl weakly for mercy, your release saturating his wiry moustache several times over. he kneels on the bed, towering above you, chuckling fondly as you mewl for him, your expression soft, that awful frown and furrowed brow nowhere to be seen. you're in bliss, and he gave that to you. something inside him melts, while something else clicks into place.

conquest who takes his time when mating. he knows your species is delicate, but he's learning how to push its limits. he knows how to fit his big, meaty cock inside your little hole, listens to what angles make you cry with pain and whine with pleasure. he shushes you like a fussy kitten, presses his palm gently down on your lower tummy to feel the swell of his manhood moulding your precious gummy walls into his shape, croons softly, 'look, little one... look at how well you take me. like you were made to hold my cock inside you.'

conquest who quickly becomes devoted to his beautiful girl. this little thing, who was supposed to be a trophy, a decoration, a pet for his amusement, and who had instead smoothed over centuries of loneliness and despair with a smile. soon enough, he spent more and more time at home. when he did leave, which he was reluctant to do more and more nowadays, he would bring back offerings to his wife, presenting them for her appraisal with a grunt. a slightly crushed wildflower, a sparkling meteorite shard, pastries from several planets away that he'd kept warm by holding them close to his body. it was enough to excuse the amount of blood that covered him, that you'd wash off him reverently in the large bath, sitting in his lap as you lathered up his burly, hairy torso, not hiding your soft smile at his pleased purrs that made your body vibrate.

conquest who is pleasantly surprised when 'sir' becomes 'darling', and 'sweetheart', and 'honey', and 'love'. such gentle words... they make this heartless destroyer melt. he who has never known love has come to love, deeply. he would slaughter nations, turn planets into barren wastelands, kill his own people, all for you. you and only you. his little queen, his spoiled little kitten.

conquest who really does begin to spoil you, so grateful for you just being here with him. eating out your yummy pussy happily when you praise his strength, playing with your precious clit absentmindedly when you sit with him and tell him about your favourite things, making love to you for hours after you make him the meals he likes (coincidentally his favourite foods are everything you make for him), showering you with physical affection, attention, praise and gifts from far and wide.

'my little woman... my beautiful woman... how i love you.'

conquest who knows when he holds you tight to his body each and every night, cradling your naked form and pressing his cum back inside you with a thick lazy finger as you whine sleepily and doze into dreamland, that you no longer dream of escape. of your home planet, of your friends and family. no, you only dream of him. you are his greatest conquest. well... apart from one.

conquest who lets out a possessive, primal growl as he splays his rough hand over your abdomen, covering it entirely, feeling that bump that's just beginning to protrude beneath your soft tummy. his son is inside your womb. you have been conquered forever by his seed: your body will be glorious, your breasts will fill with sweet nourishing milk that both he and his young will sup from, your beautiful curves shall multiply, and you'll pad about the house with his babies on your hip for the rest of your life. his kitten. his little woman. forever. and he can finally sleep with a smile.

eeeeeeeee i'm so normal i'm so normal i'm so normal....................pls conquest nation i know you're out there, come to me and request more gross old alien man waaaaaaaah :33

[glitterbonez351]

day 11

[glitterbonez351]

In which, you meet up with Tomura Shigaraki in an abandoned building after patrol and he fucks you against a wall like the good little hero you are. 😮‍💨🫶🏻

Pairing: Shigaraki x fem!reader

Tags // Warnings: NSFW, MDNI, smut, p in v sex, degradation, humiliation kink (kinda?), hero x villain relationship, creampie, unprotected sex, shigaraki being a freak lowkey (??) guilty pleasure sex, pwp

Secrets are saccharine.

At least that’s what your friend always told you. That secrets are sweeter when they’re well kept—mouth watering when you go back and forth on letting anyone know. The thrill. The rush. The utter shock of pleasure your friends give you when you finally voice the things you’ve kept. Secrets taste like nectar.

And to whom it may concern, secrets are carbs. They’re salt and sugar. They’re nicotine. A substance that makes you obsessed—wanting to know everyone’s truths, wanting to cradle the things that don’t concern you, or clamp your own between your teeth and take them to your grave. Whatever they are, secrets pull humans in. Your friend said they’re the most humane thing after sex.

But you know better.

Secrets are vile and predatory. They crawl into bed with you at night, shimmy your brain out of your skull, and plant their roots in your chest. They spread like fire—like old creaking wood being nailed into the floor of a beautiful home, just to hide the rot underneath. The hide that’s really beneath you, the things you can’t say. Your secret, the one you’ve kept safe for so long—you made sure there was no sooner or later in the quarry of when you’d be found out.

You won’t.

The meeting place changes each time, naturally. A warehouse near the docks. A gutted school. Now, this to-be-renovated apartment complex, hollowed out like a ribcage. The disastrous fate of being seen entering a building with a criminal hasn’t even left your mind— it could ruin you—but the thrill of snooping around like this, folding yourself and your ethics like origami, sends shivers down your spine.

Your lip trembles. Ankles clashing. Your feet are loud when they shouldn’t be. The mere thought of Shigaraki Tomura waiting in a dark corner behind the jagged teeth of broken glass is enough to get your ribs aching—nerve endings pinched every time your mind replays his face.

You step through the silence like it’s alive. Broken glass underfoot answers for you. You look for the familiar tint of that white-ish blue topaz—his hair, always messy, always untamed. It peeks out from beneath his hood like a tell, and your breath hitches.

He’s already watching you.

“You’re late,” he mutters. His voice barely makes it through the sounds of comatose debris, but you hear it like it was said inside your mouth.

“My shift ran late.”

“Ever the hero.” He scoffs, turning his head like it offends him to look at you.

You gulp. There’s something in you that wants to walk away, to treat this like a mistake you haven’t made yet. But you don’t. You bite the inside of your cheek, tongue thick in your mouth as you stand there like an idiot waiting for him to do something, say something, start something.

He doesn’t.

So you stomp—on purpose, like a tantrum, like you can’t pretend you’re better than this—and walk right up to him, pressing your forehead to his like you’re about to start a fight.

But your mouth crashes into his instead.

There’s no point holding back. The reason you’re both here has already been talked to death. This thing—this itch in your blood—it’s kept you up at night, left you wrecked in the shower with your hand between your legs and your name nowhere on your tongue. His name however, is a different story.

And if anyone saw this? Saw you, fresh off patrol, lips locked with Tomura’s? You’d be imprisoned. License revoked. Stripped of your title. Labeled a traitor. They’d look down on you even in your cell.

But the way he kisses you back, it shreds all your logic into silk ribbons. His gloved hand grabs your collar, yanking you close. His teeth catch your bottom lip like a snare.

And you? You’re split apart on it.

Because it feels good. Too good.

Because he kisses like someone who doesn’t get kissed. Who doesn’t get touched. Like it’s a threat and a promise all at once.

Your hands, shaky but hungry, find the hem of his hoodie. You curl your fingers underneath, feel the heat of his skin just above his waistband. His hips twitch forward when you touch him, and a noise gets caught in his throat—frustrated and soft.

“Still dressed like a good little soldier,” he breathes against your jaw, dragging a hand down your thigh, over your belt.

“Still playing criminal in a hoodie,” you snap back, even as your breath stutters when his fingers hook into the waistband of your hero suit, dragging it down an inch—just enough for the cool air to kiss your hip bone.

He groans, the sound low and near a growl. “You talk too much.”

You smile against his mouth, biting his lower lip this time. “You like it.”

His grip tightens.

Glass crunches as he presses you back, pinning you to a half-broken pillar. Your thighs part for him instinctively, traitorously. You shouldn’t be like this—you shouldn’t want this.

But your hands are already under his hoodie, nails dragging down the ridges of his scarred back. Your hero gloves fall to the floor. His mouth is on your neck now, tongue hot and slow, teeth grazing the place no one’s supposed to touch.

You gasp. He groans again, this time less controlled. His hips press into yours like a threat, like he’s daring you to stop him. To be the better person.

But you’re not.

Not here. Not anymore.

And when he grinds against you—slow, hard, through the layers of your uniform like he doesn’t care how long it takes—you start to think secrets might really be sweeter than sin.

His hands are on your waist, gloved and rough, but hungry. They dip under the hem of your suit like he’s tearing open a present he doesn’t deserve—fingers tracing the shape of you like he’s memorizing it for when you’re gone.

You gasp into his mouth when he pushes his thigh between your legs, and your hips betray you—grinding down on him with aching need. The friction sends a shock through your spine.

“That desperate for it?” he whispers into your neck, voice hot and broken. “You risked everything for this?”

You can’t answer

Your fingers are already working at his belt like your body’s on autopilot—like your mind checked out five minutes ago and left your hands to handle the sinning.

He watches you with that glassy, obsessive stare. The kind of look that makes you feel small and desired at the same time. His cock twitches against your palm when you finally free him from the layers—thick and flushed, already hard, already leaking at the tip like he’s been waiting all day for this.

You stroke him once—slow and tight—and he curses under his breath, grabbing your wrist.

“Don’t fucking tease me.”

You raise an eyebrow, lips parted. “Then shut up and let me have it.”

And he does.

He turns you around with a growl, bending you over the half-demolished windowsill. Your palms slap against the concrete, fingers digging into dust. Your hero suit is halfway off, tangled around your thighs, your cunt already wet and aching and on display. You hear him spit into his hand. Then feel him—hot, solid—rubbing the head of his cock between your folds, coating himself in everything you shouldn’t be giving him.

Your breath catches. Your mouth opens, but nothing comes out.

Not even a prayer.

He pushes in slow. Thick. Relentless. The stretch makes your eyes flutter, hips bucking back instinctively, chasing the burn. He groans behind you, low and guttural.

“Fuck. You—” he cuts himself off, grabbing your hips like he’s anchoring himself to reality. “You’re so fucking wet f’ me.”

“Shut up,” you whisper. It’s not anger—it’s shame, it’s desperation, it’s don’t ruin it.

But he starts to thrust, slow at first, then harder, deeper—like he’s trying to bury the whole goddamn war inside you. Your body jolts forward with every thrust, the windowsill scraping against your thighs, your cheek pressed to concrete. Every drag of his cock feels like fire and ice and something close to the thrill of the destruction of his quirk —all at once.

Your eyes roll back.

You’re making sounds you can’t swallow. Gasps and moans and little broken pieces of who you used to be. He leans over your back, lips at your ear.

“This what you wanted, sweetheart?” he rasps. “To be ruined by a villain?”

You nod, throat dry, eyes teary. “Harder.”

He growls and slams into you—hard enough the sound echoes off the walls. The slap of skin on skin is filthy. So is the wet slick every time he pulls out and thrusts back in. You’re clenching around him like your body knows he doesn’t belong there and doesn’t care.

One hand leaves your hip. Moves to your front.

Fingers—gloved, unforgiving—find your clit and rub tight, fast circles that make your knees buckle.

He fucks you like the world’s already ended.

Like you don’t wear that suit. Like you don’t save people. Like he hasn’t watched you on the news with your lips pressed into a grim line, pretending to be righteous while your thighs squeeze together behind the podium.

The derelict building groans around you. The walls are bowing from age, glass shards shimmer on the floor like teeth, and the air smells like rust, old cigarettes, and something sickly sweet—like rot pretending to be candy.

His hips slam against your ass, relentless, each thrust pushing you forward against the cold windowsill. You brace yourself on your forearms, knuckles white. There’s nothing soft about this. He fucks you through guilt, through concrete dust, through the kind of shame you’ll never be able to wash off.

“Listen to you,” he growls, voice raw, forehead pressed to your spine as his cock drives in again. “Fucking soaked for a killer. Getting off on the sound of glass breaking while I ruin you.”

You gasp, tears prickling the corners of your eyes.

“Tell me what the Commission would say if they saw you like this,” he snarls, one hand gripping your jaw and twisting your head just enough for your cheek to scrape the brick. “What would they call you, huh? Little hero? Sweetheart? Or just a fucking traitor?”

His other hand is between your legs again, middle finger working tight, brutal circles on your clit—matching the pace of his cock pounding into you from behind. He knows exactly what he’s doing.

You’re shaking. You’re so close again you can barely breathe.

“That’s it,” he hisses into your ear, fucking you harder now, losing rhythm in the filth of it. “I can feel it. You’re gonna cum all over me like a goddamn whore, aren’t you? After everything? After arresting villains like me last week—you’re still fucking coming for me.”

Your voice catches in your throat. “Tomura—”

“Say it again.”

His voice is low. Dangerous. The kind of voice that crawls under your skin and rewires the good parts of you.

You moan his name again, louder this time, fucked out and shaking. He slams into you deep and stays there, his cock twitching inside you as he grits out a curse and spills himself with a low, guttural groan. The warmth floods you, wrong and thick and claiming.

But he doesn’t pull out.

Not right away.

He lets it sit there—lets the stretch and the fullness and the mess of it all marinate as he leans over you, breath ragged, body pressed close.

“Hope you feel it dripping out of you when you put that suit back on,” he mutters against your ear. “Let it ruin your patrol.”

You shudder, cunt still fluttering around him as the last pulses of orgasm fade into tremors.

“Tell me,” he murmurs after a beat, hand still between your thighs, two fingers lazily rubbing at your overstimulated clit. “When you hug people after saving them… do your hands still shake? Knowing you let me fuck you like that?”

You whimper, body spasming, legs unsteady beneath you.

He finally pulls out, slow and wet and unforgiving. You feel it drip—down your thighs, onto the concrete. You don’t even move to fix your suit. You just breathe.

Shigaraki zips himself up, but he doesn’t look away. He just watches you from the shadows—half-lit in the glow of a broken streetlamp bleeding through the shattered glass.

“You’ll come back,” he says quietly, almost like it’s a fact. Not a threat. Not a plea.

Just truth. And he’s right.

Because even as you pull your suit up with shaking fingers, even as shame slams into your chest like a sledgehammer, even as your comm crackles to life with your sidekick’s voice searching for you on an open frequency—you know this wasn’t the last time.

You know the rot is in you now, too. It has been for a long time.

And you hope that later, during the war, you're not placed on the Shigaraki battlefield.

~All rights reserved: @/strawberry-nugget, 2025. Please do not copy, over write or steal my work.

Likes, reblogs and comments are all appreciated equally

Dividers by @/cafekitsune

[glitterbonez351]

i wish it was 2008 and i had a cool big bro who was grungey and punk-ish and a total creep loser shut-in, and the only girl who he could ever love and be gentle and sweet to was me, his darling little sister.

laying over his lap as he’s laid out on his bed, his big fingers absentmindedly carding through my hair while he’s on his xbox. whining with pain and secret pleasure as he tugs up a fistful of my hair in unintentional reaction to a loss in game. want him to coo little apologies into my hair when he pulls me up into his lap as i start to warble and cry up to him. want to feel my cheeks heat up when he gets hard up against my ass in a fucked-up response to seeing my tears and hearing my little whimpers and cries. want him to take it out on me. break me apart to hear me cry and get a sadistic teenage thrill and have him lick up my tears when they start spilling from my eyes. want him to hold me close when it’s all over, telling me how good of a little sister i was

[glitterbonez351]

AND i want him to EAT me OUT!!!!

[glitterbonez351]

guys i wanna be brainwashed,, i wanna be held down and told what to feel- what to think- how to be. like,, just mold me to whatever you want me to be pleez n thanks you (*ﾉ∀`*)

[glitterbonez351]

they’re so soft and round,, their cheeks look like lil dumplings ahhh and their little outfits are so cuuute!! <33

Ichigo Girls!! ⊂((・x・))⊃

[glitterbonez351]

okay this is getting ridiculous