#sadistic thoughts

[cryformesweetie]

Wanna catch a pretty thing smoking and tell her that she's too little for that, that they'll hurt her, and then teach her a lesson by putting it out on her.

[d3adthebdsmfreak]

OMFG I NEED ℕ𝔼𝔼𝔼𝔻! Some one to write a Daniel x Male reader who's like a total freak and kind of a sadomasochist..

STAY WITH ME GUYS like imagine M!Reader posting online about how much he wants someone to cut him up, choke him, someone to bite or someone to bite him until he bleeds all over and Daniel being the #1 volunteer Dms him to meet up and one thing leads to another they hook up and have the most perverted cannibalistic sex ever...

I will literally sell my left nut for this as a Daniel selfshipper...

JUSTICE FOR MALE READERS😭✌

[permatom]

fuck call me a weirdo. guns are hot as fuck. yeah threaten me with one. point one at my skull while i give you head. even hotter if i’m the one holding the gun. forcing you to strip while i point it right at you.

[smilingtickler]

You get a break when I get you to break...

[impiousdream]

My first tumblr post as an experiment. Just made it a few days ago. If literally anyone wants to take this idea, or any other prompts I feel like posting, you can. Take it and RUN! More for me to read without all the effort it takes to write this nonsense stuck in my brain.

Idea

Young Boxxie Vox discovered his hypnotic powers and decided to use it on his crush. Alastor gets super drunk, the hypnotism doesn't work, but he plays along with Vox's games anyway out of curiosity.

-

Without warning, Vincent jerked Alastor's face towards his swirling hypnotic eye, practically screaming, “You will follow all my commands!”

The deer paused, the buzz of alcohol making the world a bit tipsy. Was the television attempting to hypnotise him? Did the box get a new power? Alastor's too strong for something like that from a relatively new soul like Vincent. What is he up to?

Vincent searched Alastor's blank face before ordering, “Touch your nose with your left hand.”

… Alright, he'll play along. Alastor plastered on a dreamy expression, not difficult considering he truly had more whiskey than he should have, and did as he was told, tapping the tip of his nose with a red tipped claw.

The television immediately blushed and glanced away before turning back with a determined gaze. “Tell me… I'm your best friend.”

“You're my best friend.”

“Tell me you like me.”

“I like you.”

Vincent puffed his blushing cyan cheeks, giggling to himself like a crazy person. Is he just drunk and pulling a silly prank? What a moron.

“Take off…” He cleared his throat, squaring his shoulders, “Take off your s-shirt.”

“...”

The television’s antenna buzzed and his expression turned nervous at Alastor's lack of response, “G-go on, remove your shirt.”

The deer considered. If things get out of hand, he could always just beat him up. Besides, why would Vincent want Alastor to remove his shirt? Wait. Is he going to doodle on his chest? That is a popular prank among friends, or so he's overheard. Alright, no harm then. Alastor began to undo the buttons of his dress shirt.

“Oh no fucking way!” Vincent gasped in disbelief, “I can't believe this is actually happening!”

His enthusiasm is rather entertaining, the odd creature. The deer slid off his shirt, folding it neatly and placed it over the arm of the couch. Alastor cocked his head as he waited to see what the television would do next, but all Vincent did was stare at his bare chest. A few minutes passed and the deer was on the cusp of getting bored enough to call this off when Vincent muttered, “Sit on my lap.”

Alastor reached over and snagged his glass of whisky from the coffee table before getting up and settling himself on the television's lap. He took a drink as he wrapped one arm around Vincent's neck, making himself comfortable, adjusting, before he snuggled in like a purring cat.

The silly picture box let out a low groan, and wrapped his arms around the deer, one behind his back and one under the knees. This was a bit constricting, not sure if he liked this. Alastor glanced at Vincent's nervous sweating box face and had to fight back a chuckle. His head was so strange, like a puzzle that no one could figure out exactly how it worked. Alright, he will allow the touch, but only a little, then he will bite.

They sat like this for a bit and Alastor had to fight not to doze off, it was rather warm and cozy. He finished the rest of his drink and shook it, the partially melted ice clinking. Vincent took the hint and used a cable to take the glass and refilled it, placing the whisky back into the deer's waiting hand. “Good boy.”

The television squeaked, then a look of abject guilt crossed his face and he glanced away. He was still looking away when he muttered, “Kiss me.”

It was good the television wasn't looking because Alastor couldn't help widening his eyes at that. Kiss? That didn't sound like a prank. Before he could decide what to do, he swiftly schooled his features just in time for Vincent to jerk his head back to glare, ordering with his swirling red eye, “Kiss me, damn it!” The television's face scrunched, like he was about to start weeping in delicious misery, “Th-then I'll let you go.” It sounded like he was talking more to himself than Alastor with that last line.

Unbearable curiosity struck and Alastor suddenly wanted to fulfill the promise of those unshed tears. Reaching over with a tentacle, Vincent tensed before relaxing slightly when he realized the deer was only setting his drink on the coffee table. Tapping his red-tipped claws along the television's chest, playfully walking them up to the edges of his screen, Alastor gently gripped Vincent's face and placed a kiss on his cheek. Barely a wisp of pressure, but enough to feel a slight jolt of static tickle along his lips. Not entirely unpleasant.

Vincent began to pant a little, small bits of electricity sparking and he whispered, “Kiss me on the mouth.”

Enjoying the picture-box's reactions, the deer complied, pressing his lips to Vincent's. The staticky buzz tickled him again and Alastor hummed, giving an experimental dart of his tongue, tasting a hint of whiskey and cigars. Not terrible. The television groaned and licked back, and soon they were exploring, testing and savoring each other like a fine dessert. Also not terrible. Alastor gave a vague thought to all his previous attempts at this nonsense and couldn't think of a single time it was even half so pleasant.

With a gasp, Vincent kissed deeper, his tongue going a little too far, and Alastor jerked back with a slight growl.

“Sorry, sorry,” Vincent whispered, nuzzling, before going back to the acceptable nibbles and gentle tasting. Good. Television should know not to go too far. Getting back into it, Alastor continued, enjoying himself. When he suddenly felt wetness on his face, did the deer stop and pull back. Vincent was crying.

A twist of something dark fluttered in Alastor's stomach and he had the sudden urge to discover what Vincent's blood tasted like.

As he was still contemplating, the television suddenly lifted him up and set him on the couch. “I'm sorry, Al. I know you don't really want to do this. I know I'm disgusting. I'll… I'll let you go.” With a final kiss on the deer's confused face, Vincent ordered, “Go to sleep and when you wake up, remember nothing of the past hour.”

Then with that, the stupid picture-box left him alone on the couch as he went into the bathroom, closing the door with an audible click.

Alastor couldn't help but mutter, “What… What just happened?”

[fae3ntanglement]

All tied up to a tree in the middle of nowhere, rope binding them tightly to the tree behind them. A cloth around their mouth and rope over it securing their head to the tree. No movement, no sound, just desperate begging eyes and pleading muffled moans. Moving their shirt up, securing it above the ropes, exposing their chest. Pushing their pants down the same, exposing their crotch. Exposing their skin to be easily tormented. A knife in my hand, gently trailing it down their chest…

Threats of pain, of pleasure, pain in one hand, pleasure in the other, trailing my finger tips, my nails, my knife, gentle caresses, groping, scratching, threats of cuts. The cold of metal down their face, across their neck, down their chest, across their hips. The torture, the threat, the building of pleasure, fingers teasing and stroking, switching between fear and pleasure, creating a delirium that blurs consent, making them beg, cry, agree to anything.

[ceruleanvenom]

The amount of time I spend thinking about hanging a bunch of t-boys from the ceiling, frog tied, their little dicks above my head. Like say if I booked one of those aerial studios. Just thighs spread all the way apart, dangling there. And spending the day, which would most definitely be peak day for all of them, taking a feather and tickling them aimlessly on that exposed sensitive shaft. Hour after hour watching them drip, get more and more desperate to cum. Playing their favorite porn. Their little cocks throbbing. Ugh and dont get me started about if one of them needs to pee because no. And if you do, you aren't cumming. I booked this room for 8 hours. I'll let you cum at the end but only if you can hold it for me.

No, I won't turn my "heavy thunderstorm" soundtrack off.

And no, I won't use anything more substantial.

Should I become a professional Dom? I am seriously considering it.

What do you call it when you don't want to date or sleep with men, you just want to torture the living shit out of them? Consensually of course.

[toneedistohurt]

I want to smoke while we hang out and force the smoke inside your mouth while we kiss. I want to see your eyes get teary and listen how you choke on the smoke. I want to put off my cigarette on your skin and watch your facial expression change as the pain settles in. I want to grab you by your wrist so painfully that my nails will break your skin and my palm will leave a red mark. I want to leave my mark on you so you can’t forget me.

I want you to break.