For the content: I'm a dark-content and smut writer, meaning I'll be interested in both writing sweet, fluffy sex scenes and sickly, disgusting sexual torture scenes. I encourage you do disengage and block my account if it makes you uncomfortable.
I write headcanons, Most to Least (of Leasy to Most if you're freaky) and imagines. I write short one-shots (500-3k words), but I don't plan on writing longer ones atm.
I write for every kink, yes even that one. My only limit is underage/shotacon/lolicon content.
I try to stay gender neutral, but I'll happily write for a fem! or masc! reader, don't hesistate to mention it.
For the requesting: I may refuse any ideas I don't feel skilled enough to write or don't feel to. I'll delete it with a notice (to distinguish from the one I'm simply slowly working on). Also, I love details! It's a bit difficult to work only with "chubby!reader" or "tall!reader", tell me about what aspects you would especially like to see explored!
Fandoms
I write for Naruto, My Hero Academia, Jujutsu Kaisen and Saint Seiya: The Lost Cancas.
♡ TW: nsfw, noncon/dubcon, elf reader x orc, elf reader x goblin master, piss-drinking & piss in general, piss-inflation, belly-bump, rimming, bondage, exploitation, subjugation, unhinged, gross and unsanitary fic up ahead, think I might have lost my mind again
♡ FEM reader
You and your naked elven body are one of the hottest attractions at the funfair.
Made to kneel in the wet mud with your hands bound behind the wooden pole at your back, to which your collar is also fixed snug, keeping you in place.
On top of the pole, there’s a slab for you to rest your head—but make no mistake, it’s not for the sake of comfort, as your hair is pulled tightly back with a knot pitched in the dirt behind you.
It’s crucial for you to be facing upwards, you see, or else the game wouldn’t work.
In your mouth, there’s a ring-gag keeping your lips open wide and your throat free, but it’s not the typical glory-hole you’d find in a toilet stall. No, not at all… Rather, in this scenario, you are the toilet.
Your goblin master makes as much money selling mead to crowd members wishing to fill their bladders as he does selling tickets to those who’re ready to test their luck. Sitting in a pulpit of sorts with a whip in his hand, taking money from contestants while surveilling the games, lashing those who don’t accept it when they’ve lost.
But what is the game exactly? Well, it’s simple. Stand behind the line and take your best shot. And if a contestant manages to fill you up, they win the chance to use you for a full hour in whatever way they want.
It sounds easy enough, and that's why so many buy themselves a go. But, unfortunately for most, it’s not as easy as it looks.
For starters, the line is drawn six meters away from you, meaning you would have to have pretty good aim in order to hit perfectly, not to mention enough power to reach in the first place—most just end up aimlessly spraying your tits.
Then, of course, it's also harder to piss when you're all strung up, and the sight of you kneeling there, tied up and displayed with your pretty nipples out, glossy and golden hued with their release, joined by a fat chunk of rebar fixed between your thighs, catching you pussylips and clit every time you jerk your hips. Well, it’s enough to make anyone rock hard. And with the allotted time limit, many are forced out of the line before they’ve even managed to get a drop's worth of gold out.
Then, on top of that, there’s also the matter of the clip on your nose leaving your throat as your only source of breathing, encouraging you to quickly drain whatever blocks it, and so, even those who manage to land a hit, it disappears down into your belly before ever reaching high enough to spill over.
It's a foolproof scheme. Perfectly legal too, because even though most of the contenders lining up all fail, there’s always an exception now and again.
You feel it in the ground as the next challenger stomps up to the line, the piss puddles around you rippling with the quake in reverence of his mass. He glugs down the last mouthfuls of the gallon of mead in his hand before tossing it aside, before picking up his half-hard cock hung with a hefty weight between his thighs. And then, with a mighty belch and no further bravado, he squares his feet and aims upward, groaning out with a sigh once the stream shoots out with the same force of a canon, firing off in a golden arch and landing perfectly on your tongue with hot pressure and precision, not once straying from the goal as it splashes down your throat.
You manage to swallow five gulps, but it’s no use. It's frothy as it climbs, quickly gaining volume, faster than you can drink, and before you even know it, it's already running over the brim like a river, absolutely drenching your face and body.
“Winner!” your goblin master cheers, ringing a bell in violent chimes mirroring the crowd cheering all around.
But even so, the attack doesn’t cease, but carries on like a flood, leaving your body to strain against the pole in a panic, feeling your head get hot and your chest get tight, needing air but drowning in the plethora of the massive orc emptying the full extent of his bladder.
It's only just before you think you might die, that your goblin master pulls out the picher tied to your hair, releasing your head, allowing it to spring up with an onslaught of brutal coughing—tits bouncing as you go, all the while your face is still sprayed with the last remaining spritz.
You can only pant for air, dripping wet, once it finally ceases. Too lightheaded to feel your hands being untied or hear the short list of user instructions your master’s lists to the victor, “Her ass is off limits. Other than that, just have her back in an hour.”
Before you fall face-first in the mud, your hair is grabbed in a fist, and you’re dragged off from the scene into a stable nearby. Horses and hogs take up most of the stalls, all neighing and grunting to themselves as they eat while you’re bent over a haystack in the back.
Sticky-skinned, the straws fix themselves to you as the orc at your back roughly assesses your slit with two fingers, before crudely shoving them inside. Pumping the tightness and making crass splits and curls as a means to an end to get you to loosen up, before pulling both digits out and exchanging them with his cock—now standing proud and hard as a flagpole.
He doesn’t say much aside from grumbling, “Take my cock, filthy piss-elf,” as he struggles to bully your hole open, forcibly shoving it all in at once when his tip finally gains enough purchase.
“Got more for your tiny toilet-pussy—here’ comes, in your womb–” he groans, pinning your face to the coarse hay with a meaty hand, one big salty thumb hooked over your ring-gag, while his other paw holds you steady with a tight grip on your ass, streching a cheek to the side to stare at the forbidden hole found between them as he relieves himself again.
Stuffed airtight around his base, his cock has the same effect as a prop, letting nothing leak out as the warmth splashes from his tip through your cervix and steadily fills up your womb with what must be closing in on three whole liters—so much your stomach becomes heavy, bulging from the amount as you moan at the stretch with your tongue now clipped between two of his fingers, the same way it was when master gave you your tongue piercings, making you sound like a dumb whore enjoying it.
Letting go of your buttcheek, he gives it a firm slap instead, making he gallon worth of piss in your belly swish around as he strokes his hand over the big bump it's making, cooing at you as he rubs it in mock affection, “Good honey bucket—knocked up with my piss-baby.”
He starts moving then, dragging his length back but not enough to unplug before treading you back down to the base, fucking your wet hot insides as he continues petting your stomach in smooth circles. “Hope you have room for another—here comes a cum-twin–”
You think your stomach might pop—so bloated with liquid, you wouldn’t be surprised if it started coming up out of your throat and nose as he empties his balls as well.
“Ah-there—one to suck on each udder.”
Once he finally unlocks from within you, you belly all but drops, letting everything spill down your thighs in rapids as he drags you through the mud by your ankle, back to your goblin master who’s already taken money from the next player up to bat.
You take about a dozen more, none of the winners before finally being allowed to crawl into your goblin master’s carny tent, on all fours, shaking from exhaustion and the cold night air making your wet skin feel frozen. In the last few hours you’d been reveling in feeling the comfort of hot piss on your chest, desperately wanting it to keep warm.
Of course, you would enjoy curling up in your furs in your little pet-nook and just go to bed, but before that, you need to see to the needs of your goblin master first.
On your back on the floor, limbs locked with each other, body in a knot like a pretzel, all holes available at just the right height for him to use. He takes a seat on your face first, letting you tongue his ass while he rests his feet in each of your pillowy titties, slapping your cunt into a welted mess just for the fun of it.
“Lucky elf-puss got a taste of orc-cock today, huh? Bet you’re still hungry for more, aren’t yah—filthy slut.”
This is why he keeps a strict no anal policy with all the customers. Kept taut and tight just for his private use. But don’t worry, he still plays with your other hole…
Both fists in your pussy as he straight dogs your ass, dick-deep in his nasty goblin pace, many hours into the night—leaving you sleeping in his cum until morning when you’re put to work again like any other elf slave ought to be.
♡ ORC x ELF masterlist
♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist
♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist
♡ TW: nsfw, mindbroken reader, elf reader x orc insert, gross bodyworship, piss-drinking, rimming, farting, foot-licking, breastmilk, subjugation, kinda gross and unsanitary fic up ahead, think I might have lost my mind
♡ FEM reader
No soap. Never soap. Orcs don’t use such things.
Only stupid creatures would, given how it’s a foolproof way to attract predators. Anyone knows that the best way to ward off unwanted guests is by marking your territory with your own natural musk, a scent so rich and dominating that it stings the nostrils of anyone sniffing about and sends them running with their tail tucked between their legs.
Meanwhile, silly elves drench themselves in perfumes that'll have anyone smell them a mile away. Traveling around with scented candles in your pompous tents, all the while wearing silk garbs, you’ll sooner trip over when making a run for it.
It’s no wonder you get caught so easily. With all the dumb things your species does, he’s certain you not only need but want to be subjugated. You’re lucky you're so good at serving, and even luckier to look so good doing it, or they’d treat you like real prey and have hunted you all into extinction long ago. Granted, there isn’t a lot of meat on your bones, but what meat there is makes for fine dining.
You hum and smile, nodding your head as he raves on and on about it, agreeing with every word. So happy to be taken care of by your big orc master. Eager to serve him in every way possible. Offer yourself and your services to him freely and willingly, like he’s your god—because he is. A brutal god who could crush your skull like a grape, but shows you enough mercy and grace to live on as his servant. You owe him everything and will give him everything. Worship him like he deserves.
Not just by taking his massive orc cock in every conceivable orifice every single day, but by pampering him. You know, washing him up when he’s all sweaty and dirty from labor and travel, messaging every sore muscle he has, grooming and preening him, making him feel relaxed and refreshed, giving him the full spa treatment every time he comes home, showing him just how grateful and proud you are to be his little pet...
He’s the one in need of a bath, but you’re the naked one, your smaller elven shape petite enough to be kneeling inside the wooden wash bucket like it’s a small bathtub. Water up to your ribs, holding a washcloth in one hand and a ladle in the other.
He holds the bucket on his lap while you work, starting from the top, using the ladle to pour water over his head and the cloth to wipe him off. Doing his thick neck the same way, soaking up his sweat with devotion before dipping and wringing the washcloth in the water, bathing in it with similar reverence, stroking down his big shoulders and arms. No soap is needed when you work hard enough, kneading the cloth against his tough muscles, leaving uncompromised moss-green skin in its wake.
No, only dumb creatures would use soap. Oil, however? Oil is more than allowed. And so, after you’re done polishing his chest muscles, you also get to lather him up. He’ll pour it from a mug into your cupped hands, letting it get everywhere. You use your fingers, diligently working it in with soothing circular motions over his shoulders and chest, dressing the vast growth of black chest curls found there, massaging it into his skin until he glows under the soft moonlight spilling in through the smoke hole of your tent.
You keep at it, cradling his head and rubbing the back of his neck while he takes his midnight treat, suckling on your beady nipple through his tusks. Fondling the other tit in a mighty grip, switching between the teats until they’re all swollen up and bruised.
Elven breastmilk is so sweet, he indulges in both your bags until you’re all sucked dry—just like any farm cow ought to be. He’s always warning you about how your poor udders will explode if he doesn’t milk you daily. To think you’d be so lucky. You're ever so glad and grateful to have such a kind and thoughtful master, drinking from a lesser creature like you in order to save your life. You’re so blessed, you could cry.
You thank him by doing his dickhole the same justice once you’re all done with his top half and he’s set the bucket down between his feet, letting you continue washing the rest of him. You hold your lovebitten titties in each hand, all oiled up, while using them to wrap his cock in a soft and cozy embrace, mouthing his tip as you work his veiny shaft between them, feeling so lucky you get to suck up all of his warm frothy precum, not wasting a single drop as you moan around the head and swallow.
He’s taken the washcloth and laid it on top of your head like a decorative bonnet. Stained with filth, soaking wet, and dripping down your face. You're not allowed to use it on his delicate parts; they require more tender care. Your tongue makes a better substitute. Warm and soft and able to get into every tight spot as you pull back his foreskin to clean beneath it—eating up all those tasty flakes of dry cum like they’ve become your favorite snack.
Once his cock is all nice and clean, you move on down lower. He’s starting to really enjoy himself now, leisurely stroking his length with more oil while his feet, heavy and callused and bigger than your head, are propped up on a footstool at the perfect height with your face.
He holds your leash in his other fist, but it’s all for show—you haven't needed it in a while. It's just decoration now—jewelry you feel proud to wear. The same goes for the pretty rings he’s pierced your tits with, and the delicious silver bells all in a row on your tongue—feeling so ticklish and good as you swipe the pink muscle up his dirty soles, collecting the sweat of the day and swallowing like you love the taste of where he’s been. You’ve all but forgotten about using the washcloth, still on your head as you suck on his big toe just like you did his cockhead, moaning as you do it.
After you’re all done licking and tonguing the gaps between his toes and both feet are clean, you rub them down with oil as well, working the knots and tightness away, blushing proudly as you listen to the way he groans, overjoyed by how a lowly creature like you can make an almighty being like him feel good, vowing to dedicate yourself to it for the rest of your life.
Which is why you don’t falter when he drags the bucket back between his thighs, placing you intimately close as he seats himself on the edge of his throne, bringing his feet up to rest along the buckets brim, spreading his thighs wide to peer past his chest and cock at you, where you sit bellow him, face to face with his steamy asshole.
You just bat your eyes all blissfully, taken by the pungent musk, making you feel loopy. Placing your hands on his inner asscheeks with a bite to your lower lip. Watching the hole pucker as you spread it open just a bit.
He strokes his cock at the sight of you producing your tongue with an open mouth, giving his rim a wet and sloppy suckling kiss.
To think you were so bad with it in the beginning. You’d fight against it, hesitate before showing him your tongue. Grimacing with eyes scrunched closed. Cry as he dragged your face through his crack and wiped himself on your teary lips. You’d throw up for hours both during and after.
Now you moan as you eat him out, fluttering your lashes, smiling at how easily your tongue fits inside it, playing with the hole as it pulsates on you, blowing raspberries before slurping, nose-kissing his heavy ballsack while wiggling your tongue from side to side over his hole, then nodding your chin into him, lapping at it desperately like you’re trying to lick the last of something up. Squealing and giggling with delight when the taut muscle ripples with a stinky fart.
The rim is plump like a pair of lips and textured like the underside of a mushroom, with rough grooves you feel on your taste buds as you flatten your tongue over them, so rough it tickles your nerves.
He’s got a black mole decorating his taint. He’s got a couple similar ones on his balls, but this one is special to him. So special, he’ll jerk once you flick it with your tongue, reeling forward and cupping the back of your skull with a mighty groan, keeping you close and encouraging you to keep playing with it with your tongue while you push two fingers into his hole.
You’re careful as you enter him, slowly easing your digits inside and carefully pressing your fingertips into his prostate, waiting for him to relax before entering with another finger. You keep at it like that, just the way he likes, until you have your whole hand inside him, swallowed down to your wrist.
He fists his cock while you’re at it, spontaneously cumming so fast he doesn’t have time to angle it towards you, but ends up shooting it up his own chest. No matter, after he’s come down, he just grunts, directing you to come and lick it all off like you’re a dog licking scraps off the ground.
And you do just that. Treating every eggwhite drop like something precious and delicious.
He’s truly done a fine job subjugating you. It took months to train that stinky look out of your eyes, and even longer for your body to adapt well enough to allow his cock to bottom out. But that's just the thing about orcs and elves—all you got is time. And he can't say he’s wasted a single moment of his, looking down at you now. Still as gorgeous as the first day he saw you.
He’d been out hunting on bearback when he caught the cloying scent of your perfume in the air. He’d found you naked, skinny dipping in a river beneath a waterfall. No guards, no weapons, no nothing, just you and nature, along with all its hidden horrors. He’d wrangled you with a catching-rope the moment you stepped out of the water. Pretty and naked and wet, he first fucked you against a moss-coated boulder before leashing you up by your ankles and hauling you all the way home, just like caught prey. Poor elf was so muddy when you arrived, you’d asked for a bath, and like the good master he is, he’d given you a warm one. Just like one he’s about to give you now.
Having wrung the washcloth in the same water you're sitting in, in the end, the bath is so unclear you can barely even see your lap anymore, having turned a thick, greyish brown, full of clay and mud and other things he’d gathered during the day.
And still, you wash yourself with the dirty bathwater as if it were holy. But that’s not all…
He gets up, squaring his feet, thighs flexing as he lifts his half-hard cock up and points it straight at you. You know what’s coming, and yet you just smile, tongue rolled out in welcome, sitting pretty in the bucket as he starts showering you with a golden stream of piss, steaming hot right from his dick. You accept it pliantly, with your eyes closed and your chin tipped up, feeling the warmth alter between shooting at your chest and right between your brows, spraying as it collides with your skin. Master is so kind, giving you a warm bath. It always makes you feel so nice and fuzzy, you wish it would never end.
Once he's done, the water has risen from your ribs up to your chin, leaving only your head to float above the water. Even so, you’re told to duck under—get your hair and face thoroughly soaked. You’re even told to fill the ladle up—just to make a show of your undying and unwavering loyalty, raising a toast with his grime, sweat, and urine like it’s fine wine, drinking it all up until it’s neatly settled in your belly with warmth and love.
You still get sick because of it sometimes, throwing it all up again. But he just takes it as a sign to make you drink more, saying it’s good for you, that it’ll boost your weakly elven immune system as well as ward off any other orc or predator who’s out to take you for themselves. You wouldn't want that, would you? Of course not. Because you're master's good little elf-pet, aren’t you? And you know, as long as you remain master's good little elf-pet, your master is going to take good care of you.
Speaking of which, after bathing, it’s time for your favorite part.
He puts you down on the bed made up of pelts of sheep and bears, telling you to raise your hips up for him. You do so not just willingly but eagerly, cheek in the fur, ass in the air, but not on your knees. No, as desperate to be pounded as you are, you raise your holes up for him by balancing on the very tips of your toes. Thighs and legs forming a straight line, back in a slope, shivering with anticipation as he mounts you and rests his heavy monster cock between your asscheeeks. Shaking with delight at its warmth and weight, desperately needing it to stretch your holes out, curiously wondering which he’ll pick first today.
He used to only fuck your ass. Back when you were a bad elf who didn't understand your place yet. Treating fucking your pussy as a reward you didn’t deserve. But now that you’ve become so docile, he fucks all your holes indiscriminately. Sometimes he’ll even be so generous as to ask you which one you would like ruined first.
But today he’s already decided. Groping your ass, he spreads the cheeks and pries your butthole open with both his thumbs. Using the grip to hold you right, his cockhead gives your cunt a sticky kiss. It always takes a few tries, but eventually the tip finds purchase and proceeds to make way for the rest of his twelve inches. You used to be able to only take six, barely half, but now your body yields and lets him make a home in your womb just like a baby, giving you a nice fat belly-bump as it curves against your wall.
You drool at the feeling of it taking its residence within you, poking your heart with its length, making you grip and tussle the fur beneath you as you ascend to heaven and cum just from being stretched.
Your thighs give out once he starts his pounding, of course, and you drop to your knees with feet lifting off the ground and toes curling in the air. Moaning loudly each time he draws back and breaks through your cervix all over again, feeling your clit get smacked by his heavy balls. All things making you quake and cum again and again, over and over, you’re convinced you’ve actually reached the never-ending reward of the afterlife, getting your life flash before your eyes by God himself.
Summary: yandere!Shigaraki spends his days in your room when you're away and has fun with your underwears.
CW/TW: nsfw, gn!reader, underwears stealing and sniffing, masturbation, stalking, dubcon/noncon, a bit of cumplay?
Shigaraki spends his days in your room. He knows your schedule like the back of his hand; and even if there's a last-minute change, he's always got his eyes on you, so he knows when you're at home and when you're not.
Whenever you're not home, he is. He loves being in your room, surrounded by things owned by you, wishing he could be one of the pieces of furniture that surround you, that you touch every day. He wants nothing more than being yours and you being his. But he's... shy, ashamed of who he is, of what he is, of the state of his body, afraid of hurting you with his quirk. So he stays far from you, but close to what is yours.
What he loves the most is the laundry bin in a corner of your room, where he can find all your dirty laundry.
He sometimes spills it on the floor and lies on it for a nap. He doesn't do it often, because it's a risk to fall asleep. But mostly, he searches for one of your underwears. He can't get enough of your smell, of how real the scent is. He feels close to you, in a way he's never been before. He's in contact with your most intimate parts. Sometimes, he enjoys himself by only sniffing them, but most of the time, he reaches for his already hard cock.
A battle starts at that very moment. He wants to last as long as possible, to have the time to imprint the smell of your sweat, of your sex, in his nose, he wants to dwell in the moment, to stretch it, but at the same time he just can't control himself. He gets single-minded, it's just so good, so good, he's so close to you, to his orgasm. He doesn't want to chase release, but it finds him so quickly every time. Thankfully, he has the time to go for it multiple times.
Sometimes, when he feels extra nasty, he presses one underwear against his nose and wraps another one around his hand to jerk off. Knowing that the fabric rubbing against his cock was in contact with your genitals sends him into pure bliss. More often than not, he comes into your underwear when he uses one that way.
When it happens, he's both content and frustrated. Content because it's as if you both were having sex, in a twisted way, and frustrated because it'll be washed away before it can come in contact with your parts again. So, sometimes, he cleans it with your clean underwear, hoping you'll assume the spots are just fading marks of your own fluids.
Of course, he also sometimes steals some of them. He always makes sure to have one of them under his pillows, and he kind of uses it as a comforter, sleeping with his nose pressing against it. Oddly enough, when he uses it to sleep, it's not that sexual; just a reminiscence of your odor, of you, the person he loves the most.
He really hopes he'll get the courage one day to smell your own skin, your own fluids.
Summary: yandere!Shigaraki spends his days in your room when you're away and has fun with your underwears.
CW/TW: nsfw, gn!reader, underwears stealing and sniffing, masturbation, stalking, dubcon/noncon, a bit of cumplay?
Shigaraki spends his days in your room. He knows your schedule like the back of his hand; and even if there's a last-minute change, he's always got his eyes on you, so he knows when you're at home and when you're not.
Whenever you're not home, he is. He loves being in your room, surrounded by things owned by you, wishing he could be one of the pieces of furniture that surround you, that you touch every day. He wants nothing more than being yours and you being his. But he's... shy, ashamed of who he is, of what he is, of the state of his body, afraid of hurting you with his quirk. So he stays far from you, but close to what is yours.
What he loves the most is the laundry bin in a corner of your room, where he can find all your dirty laundry.
He sometimes spills it on the floor and lies on it for a nap. He doesn't do it often, because it's a risk to fall asleep. But mostly, he searches for one of your underwears. He can't get enough of your smell, of how real the scent is. He feels close to you, in a way he's never been before. He's in contact with your most intimate parts. Sometimes, he enjoys himself by only sniffing them, but most of the time, he reaches for his already hard cock.
A battle starts at that very moment. He wants to last as long as possible, to have the time to imprint the smell of your sweat, of your sex, in his nose, he wants to dwell in the moment, to stretch it, but at the same time he just can't control himself. He gets single-minded, it's just so good, so good, he's so close to you, to his orgasm. He doesn't want to chase release, but it finds him so quickly every time. Thankfully, he has the time to go for it multiple times.
Sometimes, when he feels extra nasty, he presses one underwear against his nose and wraps another one around his hand to jerk off. Knowing that the fabric rubbing against his cock was in contact with your genitals sends him into pure bliss. More often than not, he comes into your underwear when he uses one that way.
When it happens, he's both content and frustrated. Content because it's as if you both were having sex, in a twisted way, and frustrated because it'll be washed away before it can come in contact with your parts again. So, sometimes, he cleans it with your clean underwear, hoping you'll assume the spots are just fading marks of your own fluids.
Of course, he also sometimes steals some of them. He always makes sure to have one of them under his pillows, and he kind of uses it as a comforter, sleeping with his nose pressing against it. Oddly enough, when he uses it to sleep, it's not that sexual; just a reminiscence of your odor, of you, the person he loves the most.
He really hopes he'll get the courage one day to smell your own skin, your own fluids.
Rockstar!Geto who writes your name all down his favorite guitar, who records your pretty voice (when you’re…ahem) and puts it in one of his songs, who plays it on speaker for you and takes you right there on top of it to try and recreate it.
some people think writers are so eloquent and good with words, but the reality is that we can sit there with our fingers on the keyboard going, “what’s the word for non-sunlight lighting? Like, fake lighting?” and for ten minutes, all our brain will supply is “unofficial”, and we know that’s not the right word, but it’s the only word we can come up with…until finally it’s like our face got smashed into a brick wall and we remember the word we want is “artificial”.
Prompt: Intoxication
Summary: You can't refuse anything to your boyfriend, Dabi.
CW/TW: nsfw, gn!reader, dub-con/non-con, drug abuse, ABUSIVE RELATIONSHIP, Dabi is an ASSHOLE, mention of piss, physical abuse, reader has self-esteem issues
It's just that you really loved your boyfriend and you could refuse him nothing. You knew he was a bad man, that your friends disapproved of him entirely, so much that most of them cut contact with you because they couldn't stand him anymore. All of them wished you to get better, to get free of him when they sent the breakup message.
You knew your relationship was messed up, and you knew it'll end badly for you, that if you don't cut him from your life you may very well end up dead. But you just... loved him and cared about him so much. He made you feel like no one ever did before. A word from him and you lost all your composure, one carress from him and you became useless.
"I can't live without you, baby," he'd often say, and you felt the same.
So you indulged him, authorized him to do everything to you.
He loved humiliating you, loved how you had no limit. He could call you a whore, a skank, a toilet, and you'd let him do it; he'd piss on you, then kick you on the stomach, on the ass, on the back, on the face, and you'd let him do it. He'd spank you unti you were ripping your throat through your screams, he'd choke you until you pass out, slam your head against the mattress or the ground. He'd fuck you raw, and leave you to deal the consequences (and you knew, you knew he was cheating on you, he could give you any disease and did not give a flying fuck).
Most of the time, he'd not even allow you to sleep on the bed afterwards and if he did, it'll only be after you choke on his dick again or inspect your whole body while insulting it. You were lucky a man like him even looked at you. The only thing you were good for was servicing him, and you better had to be good at it. If you were good, he'd keep on loving you, on needing you, on allowing you close to him.
His absolute favourite, though, was fucking you when you were out. He told you as much: You look your prettiest when your eyes are zoned out, when you dissociated, when your mind went out of your body. When you're not here anymore.
At first, that was why he was so brutal with you, the sheer trauma of sex with him enough to surrender you pliable, useless. But with time, you grew used to it: what was the most traumatic night of your life turned into daily life. And so, he turned to another method: drugs.
You loved him, right? You wanted him happy, right? And if his happiness could be done through taking the pills he gave you, then you'd do it, right? No matter how bad they made you feel, how much you hated the sluggishness, the headache, the sensation of having absolutely no control over your body, of the sensations being increased. You felt everything harder and not at all, at the same time. His gestures were quicker and your reactions slower.
Even when he didn't fuck you, the consequences were still here, dealing with the aftermath of the drug, the pain in the stomach, in the head, the weakness in your muscles, the nausea. And he'd look at you, smiling, sometimes laughing when you tried to rush to the toilet to retch bile.
Sometimes, he'd come up to you, petting your head while tears sprinkled your eyes, your breathe and your stomach heaving, and he'd say, "I love you."
And you? You had to believe it, because otherwise it'd mean the pain was meaningless and you couldn't.
The thick, heavy cock that when used slowly and sweetly brings you to delicious orgasms, now a weapon to inflict suffering upon you as it bullies its way inside you. The rhythm set by your boyfriend is borderline violent, too fast and too hard to even show you the slightest of pleasure.
“Fuck!” he groans, before repeating the motion just as deep.
He does it again. And again. Deeper and harder. Much harder.
His pace stutters for a moment before he’s snapping his hips against yours at an impressive strength, so much impulse behind them that both you and the bed can’t stop rattling.
You cry out, holding onto his flexed biceps.
“Ah, can- ouch! Can you s-slow down?” by now you’re squirming and shaking, hands actively pushing against his sweaty chest in a vain attempt to try and put some space between you.
He huffs, a low noise coated with contempt, and yet does no attempt to slow down.
“You’re the one that wanted to use a condom, right?”
One of his hands comes to your face, fingers harshly digging into your cheeks. He groans, pace becoming more and more furious and fast until you’re crying out.
You’re dizzy, the world around you quaking. He leans down, face hovering just above yours with your noses touching, a malicious glint shining in his pretty eyes. It’s impossible for him not to notice the way your face is all scrunched up with the pain.
“Well, this is the only way I feel anything with that shit choking my cock. So get used to it.”
“You’re … hurting me.” the words barely slip out of your mouth before his hand is sliding down, seizing your throat just as you whine. Your eyes widen at how tight his grip gets, crushing your windpipe in a rather concerning way.
“You wanted a condom, you got it. But we’re doing this my way.” he growls, a furious expression in his face as he pounds into you with all his strength, so hard that you can hardly feel the lower half of your body.
He grunts and moans, chasing after his own high at the cost of your pleasure. “It’s what you get for being such an uptight bitch.”
Prompt: Dacryphilia
Summary: You fuck your pretty sub until he cries.
CW/TW: nsfw, dom!reader, gn!reader (in my head reader uses a strap but refers to it as a dick), anal sex, crying/dacryphilia, overstimulation
Jujutsu Kaisen: Choso, Yuji
My Hero Academia: Izuku, Shigaraki, Yagi
Naruto: Naruto
He's so pretty, presenting like that, knees apart, ass up, face down. You put your hands on his asscheeks, spreading him wider. His hole is clenching around nothing, hungry. Your sub is not allowed to talk, but his weak whines are speaking loudly enough.
You put the head of your dick against the hole, teasing it with a smile. You've been playing with your boy for a long time, his cock already milking. He'll probably cum a few thrusts in. He's such a mess already. His breath shudders when the tip penetrates him. It's easy, lube generously used and his whole body lax under your ministrations.
You moan in unison when you penetrate him entirely in one slow thrust. God, he's such a good and pretty boy. You wrap yourself over his back, peppering kisses on his skin as you start to pound him as if your life depends on it.
As you guessed, he comes quite quickly, but it doesn't make you stop. No, orgasm isn't the goal: the goal is to make him cry, to break his mind with pleasure.
You're relentless as you quicken the pace, his pretty moans filling your ears, your pleasure building. You decorate his neck and his shoulders with bites and suckings, murmuring praises into his ear; you're such a good boy, you're doing incredible darling, you feel so good around me, so, so pretty baby
He starts to whine, daring to use his words, "Please, please, it's so much, it's too much-"
You shut him up with a more violent bite on his shoulder, thrusting deeper than ever before, "You're not allowed to talk, pretty thing, remember," and he whines again, but doesn't speak.
You draw a second orgasm and you feel so proud of him and tell him so. He's barely able to lift himself, his muscles rendered useless by the assault of your hips, and you can imagine his eyes growing less and less focused.
Turning him over, you get to see his face and oh, how perfect is he. Tears are running down his cheeks, drool falls from his lips; his dick is red from the friction against the mattress, sperm decorating his tummy. You continue to fuck him, and rejoice in his sobs while you start sucking on his nipples.
He tries to speak again, but it's so incoherent you don't even bother to correct him, focused on building a third orgasm.
You look with marvel when after a few minutes, cum manages to spurt from his over-used dick. Your boy really overdid himself. You slow down, his pleading and crying incoherent. You retrieve your dick and oh, he whines when you do so, mumbling about being empty.
You feel some mercy as you don't try to touch his dick again and rather focus on his face, licking his tears. They're salty and delicious, like you love them. You kiss his cheeks, and he mewls, putting an arm around you.
"Of course we're going to cuddle, my pretty thing, but why don't we get cleaned up before?"
just a little mirror shot. your skirt short, hips cocked, your hand lifting the hem to reveal bare thighs—and nothing underneath. your caption was smug:
no panties. bet you won’t do shit.
toji replied in ten seconds flat.
be ready in five.
you thought he’d tease you about it, maybe a little over-the-clothes groping, rough hands on your ass while you were trying to order lunch. but the look in his eyes when you slid into his passenger seat told you otherwise.
he didn’t speak for the first five minutes of the drive. just gripped the wheel tight, jaw clenched, tongue running along the inside of his cheek like he was holding something back. the way his eyes dropped to your bare thighs—legs shifting, pressed together under the skirt like they could hide how wet you already were—had your heart racing.
"show me," he said suddenly, eyes still on the road.
you blinked. "what?"
"don’t play dumb. open your legs. show me that needy little cunt you left the house with."
your face flushed hot. but you obeyed, leaning back in the seat and parted your thighs slowly, skirt bunching around your waist, baring your slick folds to the open air. the a/c hit your pussy and made you shiver.
toji glanced once, then again. his nostrils flared. "fuck, you’re soaked." he didn’t even touch you. just kept driving with that crooked smirk.
you made it all the way to the parking garage. he pulled into a shadowed corner, cut the engine, turned toward you—and his hand shot between your legs. rough fingers parted your folds and dragged upward through your slit.
"mmnn—toji—!" you jerked, hips jumping.
"this is what happens when you fuckin' tease me, brat," he muttered, leaning in, lips brushing your jaw. "you go out in a little slutty skirt, nothing under, and dare me to lose control?"
he shoved two fingers inside you and you gasped, head falling back, thighs clenching around his wrist.
"keep 'em open," he growled. "you wanted this. now fucking take it."
he didn’t even unbuckle his seatbelt. just leaned closer, lips biting your throat while his fingers curled deep and fast, knuckles slick, your wetness coating his palm. you were already whining, trying to stay quiet as the sounds of schlk schlk schlk echoed in the closed car.
but then he pulled out. you barely had time to whimper before he was out of the car, walking around to your side. he opened the passenger door and grabbed your ankle.
"toji—!"
he yanked you halfway out of the car, feet on the ground, your upper body still sprawled across the seat, knees spread wide, skirt riding up. the whole garage was empty, but most likely not safe.
and you loved it.
"you’re gonna fuck me right here," he muttered, undoing his belt with one hand, while taking your seat in the car, cock already thick and flushed, leaking at the tip. he stroked himself once—then grabbed your hips and pulled you down onto his lap.
the first thrust was brutal. you choked on a cry, arms flying around his shoulders, pussy stretching full around his cock.
"so fuckin’ tight," he groaned into your ear, both hands gripping your ass hard, slamming you down over and over. "drippin’ all over me. and we’re still in public."
you tried to say something—tried to tell him someone might see—but he just grabbed a fistful of your hair and yanked your head back.
"let 'em see," he snarled. "let 'em see what a nasty little thing you are, bouncin’ on my cock in a fucking parking lot. no panties, no shame."
your moans were high, breathless, swallowed into his mouth as he kissed you hard, teeth clashing, your body bouncing on his lap with each punishing thrust. his cock hit deep, your clit grinding against the root of him every time you dropped. the car creaked with the motion. sweat slicked your spine. your thighs were shaking.
"toji—i’m—" you couldn’t even finish.
your climax ripped through you hard, legs locking around him as your pussy clenched like a vice. he grunted, bucking harder, his hands bruising your hips as he fucked you through it.
"that’s it," he growled. "cream on my cock. let me feel that messy cunt."
and then he was cumming too.
his breath stuttered, his arms locked around you as he shoved himself deep and stayed there, cock twitching, thick cum spilling into you. you felt it drip back out almost instantly, trailing down his shaft, smearing onto his jeans.
the car was silent, save for your panting. you slumped against him. dazed. boneless. a complete mess.
toji chuckled, "panties or not," he murmured against your neck, "you’re mine."
and then, with zero shame, he pulled out, scooped some of the cum dripping from your pussy with his fingers—and shoved it back inside.
tw - period kinks, controlling behavior, LOTS of menstrual blood, and geto suguru (just, like, in general).
might just be my deranged little brain acting up, but i think geto would go absolutely feral when you're on your period.
his taste buds are bound to be a little fucked up after multiple decades of choking down curses, so when he gets a taste of your heady, sweet-tinged blood, he treats it like a fine wine. you'll spend all week on your back, your legs thrown over his shoulders and his face buried between your thighs as he happily eats you out for hour after hour, a mix of blood and slick and saliva dripping down his chin as he lethargically sucks and licks you far past the point of overstimulation. if he can convince you to sit on his face (at least until the first time you lose consciousness), even better. if it was up to him, the world you just be you, him, and your sweet pussy.
medication and heating pads are withheld because he's 'just so worried about the side-effects :('. if you want something for your cramps, you're going to have to either sit in his lap and warm his cock like a good little acolyte or, better yet, let him pump some ribbed, pulsing toy into your cunt and watch as orgasm after orgasm melt away any pain you might've felt. any time you complain that you have things to do that don't involve him playing with your pussy, he'll offer to knock you up and make it so that you don't have to worry about your period for a whole nine months :) you tend not to complain, after that.
it doesn't matter whether or not you're tracking your cycle, he's got it memorized. when he's at his worst (which is almost always), he might even conveniently ""forget"" to restock your supplies. he just thinks it's so cute when you get all embarrassed and teary-eyed, your voice shaking and your hands kneading at your stomach as you reluctantly ask him to run such a personal errand for you. he will, obviously, he'd do anything you asked him to, but he will absolutely might just drag his feet, use your discomfort as an excuse to haul you into a hot bath - but not before he takes it upon himself to clean you up with his tongue, to massage your aching chest with his big, calloused hands. if you're sore and hypersensitive, even better. he might take an extra few minutes just to watch you squirm.
tldr; geto suguru has a menstrual blood fetish and he's going to make it your problem. thank you for coming to my ted talk etc. etc.
Prompt: Voyeurism
Summary: Stalker!Kakashi spies on you getting fucked.
CW/TW: nsfw, dubcon, voyeurism, stalker, jealousy (yandere?)
He knows it's wrong, he knows it's fucked up: he has no right to look at you when you're in the throes of pleasure, when you don't know he's watching you.
But he needs to make sure you're okay. It doesn't matter if you're sleeping, if you're cooking, if you're hanging out with friends, if you invite your "boyfriend" and get fucked on the couch: he has to watch, to make sure you're not harmed. It's an habit, one that is reinforced every time you do get hurt whenever he's absent. Thankfully, you were never severely hurt, but each time you got a bandage from a minor slip with a knife, or you had to walk carefully because you twisted your ankle, his surveillance creept closer.
You look beautiful, you sound even better. He barely hear you, from where he's hiding, but the snippets are enough to make him hard, to make him imagine the sounds you'd produce with him. He'd make sure every neighbours file complaints for noise.
He knows it's wrong to watch you, but it's even wronger to watch you get fucked by that man. That man didn't deserve you, and didn't treat you right. Kakashi knew he could do so much better. Your "boyfriend" makes you come almost everytime, which is not enough. If he were the one doing the job, not only would you come everytime but it'd make sure you come several times.
And that man doesn't you eat out nearly enough. What, he thinks his dick suffises? He cannot comprehend why you deal with someone so close-minded. If he were the one touching you, he'd make you discover things about pleasure that even Icha Icha don't mention.
"Aw, aren't you a pretty thing?" Master cooed as you crawled towards him.
He had dressed you with jewelry. Gold chains laced your body; the anal plug you wore was decorated with a true precious gem. Master loved spoiling you, loved to dress you in expensive clothes and accessories, and you, you loved looking good for him.
You were now at your master's feet looking at him expectantly. Master had a very beautiful face, golden eyes that always pinned you down.
"I have a gift for you, my precious puppy."
You couldn't contain a little yelp of excitement. You weren't allowed to touch him without his permission but oh, how you longed to rub your face against his knees because he got you something!
He produced a new piece of jewelry: two golden clamps linked by a golden chain.
Master whistled and you sat on your knees immediately, hands coming towards your ribs in a perfect imitation of a dog doing a trick. He ruffled your hair and you were the happiest pup in the world.
He started massaging your chest, his hands moving rapidly towards your nipples; he always liked them. He loved biting them, twisting them, drawing out of you whines and whimpers. He sucked on one, pulling the other. You were far from unaffected, trying to hold your pose while the arousal was building in all your body. You wanted, needed more, needed your Master to touch you lower, and you started grinding in the air. Master's mouth stopped the moment you started moving, and you let out a plaintive whine: nothing was so much worse!
"Tch, are you trying to be a bad puppy?"
You shook your head vehementely. Of course not! You wanted to be the best for him, but you needed more...
"Then you have to behave while I'm touching you, alright?"
This time you nodded. You would be the perfect pet for him. You preened when you saw him smile, his wings caressing your cheeks.
He continued to fondle your chest as he liked, and you did your best to be the perfect chew toy for him, pliant under his mouth and his hands, letting him do with you as he pleased.
You knew that tomorrow, your chest would be covered in purple and red marks and you couldn't help but smile at the idea. You'd be tender and any contact will probably be painful in the future days, but it felt so good to have your Master ravage your skin that way, drunk in your body.
Once he was satisfied, he straightened and kissed you. "Kissed you" didn't do justice to what he did: he tried to eat you whole with a single mouth motion, tried to make you his, his intensity in his gesture, his hands on your waist.
"You're perfect, pet," he murmured and it sent shivers down your spine. "You deserve your reward."
He took the golden nipple clamps and pinched your nipples with them. A moan escaped from your mouth as he did so, and oh, you were almost orgasming. He'd just need to brush below your tummy, and you'd be gone. He didn't of course, rather admiring the way you twisted with delight and pain as he gently tugged on the chain. He looks mesmerized by the spectacle, and your whole body heated under his gaze.
"You're the prettiest pet ever," he says, and finally, finally, he brushed your groin, and you almost blacked out from the intensity of the orgasm.
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