#βοΈ Mmh yummy faves π β My favorite works of smut
#π Oh It's Raining β β Thirst post over a character
#π₯ Ask And You Shall Recieve π€ β Answered Asks
#ππ Hello From Sunshine β Reblogs
So "small intro" because this is a blog for nsfw things (smut, thoughts, maybe my own personal drabbles, etc.) I'm more than likely to mainly reblog fics I like because I need them all in one place.
I'd be 100% down to dm! Just know that sometimes I am : A) Slow to respond / B) "Ghosting" [by ghosting I mean I have little to no energy to respond ykwim? It's nothing personal, I just feel off some days]
Feel free to send asks whether they be about the fandoms I'm in or anything nsfw. I love over sharing.
for me, the ultimate fantasy is being raped by someone who loves me. someone who just can't help himself around me, he needs me soooo bad. someone who praises me while he holds me down and forces me to take his cock. calls me his good girl, pretty little bunny, doing so good for him, making him feel so fucking good. someone who wants to take care of me, even while i'm crying and begging him to stop. who brushes my tears away and mumbles reassurances so soft and sweet in my ear. who helps me cum over and over and over. who wants me to feel just as good as he does, even if i don't want it. who cums inside me, telling me he's gonna knock me up and breed me so i can never leave him. i need someone who rapes every last thought out of my head, and then holds me and kisses my forehead afterwards. who puts me back together again with so much love and care and gentleness. who promises that he only rapes me because he loves me so much. he doesn't once apologize. one day, he'll convince me that this is for the best and i'll stop fighting him. until then, he's happy to keep raping me. it's for my own good.
being gently roused from sleep by an eager, desperate tongue between your legs and the sound of their whimpers theyβre trying to hide as they shamefully devour youβ¦you just looked too good and too sweet curled up on the bed like that and their mouth started to water :((((((
i had to give up my nanami fic for a bit because these two have consumed my soul
β¦
you donβt mean to fall for kirara. it just kind of happens.
it starts with proximity. with how she leans over your shoulder to point at something on her phone. how she calls you a nickname before she even asks if itβs okay. with how she looks at you like youβre already on her side. kirara has always been like that, you think. bright and orbiting, pulling people in without even trying.
kirara is affectionate without pressure, playful without being careless. she holds your hand in public like itβs the most obvious thing in the world. she presses her forehead to yours when she laughs. she texts you good morning and good night and sometimes just sends you pictures of stars because she says they made her think of you.
hakari is already there when all of this happens. looming, really.
youβve known him longer than youβve known kirara, technically. youβve met him through the fight club, through mutual chaos, through the way his presence seems to tilt the room slightly off axis. heβs loud and sharp and confident in a way that makes your spine straighten instinctively. when he looks at you, it feels like he sees too much.
youβre really into him. that part is embarrassing and inconvenient and impossible to ignore.
but hakari intimidates you. his energy is too big, his confidence too unfiltered. he talks like he knows the odds of everything and always bets anyway. when he laughs, itβs all teeth and heat. when he goes quiet, itβs worse.
so you keep your distance.
kirara doesnβt. kirara never does.
she tells you early on that she and hakari are together. solid. long standing. unshakable. she says it casually, like sheβs talking about the weather, like itβs just another fact about the world.
you donβt think youβll ever be part of that. you donβt assume. you donβt hope.
but then kirara starts bringing you around more. she squeezes your hand a little tighter when hakari walks into a room. she sits close to you on couches and benches and lets her knee press into yours like itβs nothing. sometimes hakari watches the two of you with something unreadable in his eyes, something that makes your stomach twist.
eventually kirara asks. she does it gently, sitting cross legged on her bed, eyes bright but careful.
she says she likes you. a lot. and sheβd like to date you. and that hakari knows. and that thereβs no pressure for anything else.
you say yes before your fear can catch up.
dating kirara feels like stepping into warmth. sheβs attentive in a way that makes you feel chosen. she hypes you up, teases you, defends you without hesitation. when youβre with her, the world feels manageable.
hakari becomes this looming maybe. this what if.
you all spend time together, but itβs always tilted. kirara in the middle, you on one side, hakari on the other. kirara touching both of you easily, like a bridge. you laugh with kirara, talk with kirara, lean into kirara.
with hakari, youβre polite. careful. a little stiff.
he doesnβt push. not once.
if anything, heβs gentler than you expect. he keeps his distance physically, gives you space, treats you like something fragile heβs afraid to break. it almost makes it worse.
you can feel the imbalance. how it feels like youβre dating kirara and kirara is dating hakari, but you and hakari exist on parallel lines that havenβt crossed yet.
kirara notices. of course she does.
she notices the way you always sit next to her. the way you angle your body toward her. the way you stiffen just a little when hakari speaks directly to you. she notices the way hakari glances at you when you laugh and then looks away.
so one day, she decides to meddle.
the fight club is loud as always. the air buzzes with anticipation and heat and fever. screens line the walls in the monitoring room, fights flashing and flickering across them. the couch is worn in the middle, familiar, claimed territory.
this is routine. you already know how it goes.
kirara sits down first, right next to hakari. hakari immediately drapes an arm around her, pulling her in without even looking. itβs muscle memory. itβs natural.
you hesitate, then sit on kiraraβs other side.
except thereβs no space.
kirara has stretched out just enough. her legs are crossed, her body angled in a way that leaves the smallest gap. not enough for you. not comfortably.
she looks at you, eyes sparkling with something dangerous and fond.
you freeze.
hakari notices before you can retreat. his eyes flick to the empty space on his other side. then back to you.
oh.
your heart starts racing. sitting next to hakari has never happened before. not like this. not without kirara between you like a buffer.
kirara pats the couch once, innocently. right next to hakari.
you swear sheβs enjoying this.
your options are limited and everyone is watching and backing out would be obvious. so you swallow your nerves and sit.
hakari doesnβt move. not away, not closer. he stays exactly where he is, solid and warm and very real. his arm remains around kirara, but it doesnβt cage you in. he gives you space. too much space, maybe.
it feels strange. like youβre intruding into a space that isnβt yours yet.
the fights start. cheering erupts. kirara leans into hakari, animated, talking fast and excited. hakari laughs, loud and pleased, completely absorbed.
you sit quietly at first, hands folded in your lap, eyes on the screens. youβre hyper aware of everything. the warmth of hakariβs shoulder close to yours. the way his knee barely brushes yours when he shifts. the smell of smoke and cologne and something distinctly him.
it doesnβt feel like youβre dating him. it feels like youβre visiting kirara at her partnerβs place. like youβre the extra piece.
the realization stings more than you expect.
time passes. the adrenaline fades. the room gets warmer. your body relaxes despite your nerves.
youβre tired. more tired than you realize.
your head dips once. twice.
you catch yourself and straighten up. your neck aches. you glance at kirara, whoβs fully engrossed in the fight, cheering under her breath.
hakari shifts, adjusting his grip on kirara, and his shoulder brushes your temple accidentally.
itβs warm. solid. grounding.
before you can overthink it, before fear can pull you back, your body makes the decision for you.
you lean.
just a little.
your head comes to rest against hakariβs shoulder.
the world stops.
hakari goes completely still.
kirara freezes mid sentence.
you realize what youβve done a split second too late. heat floods your face. panic sparks in your chest. you start to pull back, already murmuring an apology that doesnβt quite form.
hakari moves first.
his shoulder shifts just enough to support you better. not pushing. not pulling. just there.
itβs deliberate. careful. kind.
you feel it. the choice.
kirara glances at you, eyes wide. then she smiles. slow and soft and victorious.
she doesnβt say a word.
hakari doesnβt either.
you stay.
your heart is pounding, but no one reacts badly. no one laughs. no one makes it weird. the fight continues on the screens like nothing monumental has just happened.
but everything has changed.
minutes pass. your breathing evens out. the fear fades, replaced by warmth and something dangerously close to comfort.
hakari smells like smoke and warmth and something steady. his presence isnβt overwhelming like you feared. itβs grounding. like leaning against a wall you didnβt know you needed.
you relax further without realizing it.
your head slips slightly. your body follows.
you end up curled into him, small and trusting, your cheek pressed against his chest. your fingers curl into the fabric of his jacket unconsciously.
you fall asleep like that.
hakari is in shock.
he doesnβt move for a long time, afraid to wake you. afraid to scare you away. his heart is racing, but he keeps his breathing slow and even, grounding himself so you can rest.
kirara watches the two of you with a soft expression, something fond and satisfied in her eyes. she leans in and whispers that you look cute.
hakari doesnβt argue.
eventually, carefully, slowly, he lifts his free arm and wraps it around you. not tight. not possessive. just enough to say iβm here.
you shift in your sleep, nuzzling closer.
hakariβs chest tightens.
for the first time, it doesnβt feel like youβre just kiraraβs partner sitting near him.
it feels like maybe youβre his too.
and when you wake up later, warm and tucked in and safe between the two of them, kirara grinning and hakari looking at you like youβve changed something fundamental in him, you realize something important.
only thing mβthinkinβ bout is hakariβs thighs sandwiching yours from behind. his dick is so fat. the stretch has your fingers locked tight around his wrist. something needs to anchor youβheβs splitting your princess pussy open. hakariβs thick curls tickle your cheek. heβs just on the edge of sweet when heβs putting it in. little grunts fill your ears. heβs slotted against your backside, a hand at your throat. hakari makes you look at him as the last of his cock sinks home. the pudge of your tummy spills between his fingers, he grips you so tight.
βmβballs deep, little lady,β hakari is all pearly white fangs when he grins. his voice, tinged with nonchalanceβbut you catch the breathy whips, the harsh grinding of his teeth. he overcrowds you, his gaze so dark, you feel swallowed whole. βwhatβs that sweet pussy say, hm?β
you keen. your cunt pulses, juices slipping down hakariβs stiff cock in little rivers.
βwomen like you need to be fucked twice a day,β he tuts. βall day, even. donβt you know, pretty thing? itβs jujutsu way for a man like me to have my way with you? and yourβyour pussy is gonna fucking cry βbout it.β
Warnings. MDNI. NSFW πMature content, MATURE themes, kidnapping & stalking, baby trapping, non con, dub con, forced breeding, age gap - Gojo is in his 40s and reader is in her 20s
Crazy fucking reader who somehow manages to kidnap a forty year old man and chain him up in her little apartment. One guest lecture at your college, and you knew the untouchable Gojo Satoru had to be yours.
Mature Satoru actually feels sympathy for you, a sweet looking, young girl who has her whole life ahead of her, you have a little crush on someone and your first instinct isnβt to timidly ask for their contact information, but instead to incarcerate them? He remembers how he was when he was your age, so he canβt help but wish to guide you somehow. Itβs not like heβs afraid of you, youβre a small human compared to himβ though he duly notes that he clearly underestimated what a young girl could do before waking up with the clink of chains behind him.
But then, you awkwardly walk through the bedroom door one day wearing only the most basic of lingerie, like you had bought the first thing that would come to a naive mind when thinking of βsex,β and now heβs even more worried. He canβt fuck a young, naive college girl. He canβt take your virginity and live with himself knowing that he stole that from you.
But then, you sit on a 1/3rd of his dick rather abruptly and heβs cringing because it kind of hurts, which means it definitely hurts you too. Youβre not prepped enough, not nearly wet enough. Youβre so naive and itβs likely you have no friends, no proper integration into society and obviously no genuine knowledge on how sex should work. He feels so much sympathy as your breath shakes aggressively in obvious discomfort with a face akin to a deer in headlights that heβs calling you a soothing βhoneyβ while explaining that your vagina needs to lubricate and stretch before penetration, through foreplayβ because despite the chains around his wrists, he still feels wrong referring to young womanβs body parts as anything but the most scientific terms.
Poor Satoru who thinks that if he makes you, a virgin, orgasm hard enough with his tongue, youβll be too spent to attempt at intercourse again. He awkwardly stumbles and falls face first into your pussy a few times as he sucks and licks fervently, because he has to somehow give you the best head of his life with his hands tied behind his back while he balances on nothing but his knees.
Heβs successful that day, you can barely stand up for almost thirty minutes after he works his magical tongue on you. He coos sweet nothings into the side of your head with your slick still fresh on his tastebuds as you cuddle him in the afterglow, soothing you because part of his heart aches in guilt that he made you cum. Somehow, youβre the victim in Satoruβs eyes. A victim to what was likely a harsh childhood, to mean high school and college cliques, to boys your own age who treat women they donβt find attractive like they donβt have a right to exist, and to a lack of a companion you can rely on to never leave you.
Satoru canβt hold back the strangled groans clawing their way out of his throat when you finally get used to foreplay for a few days and have extra energy to spare for true fucking. He found his brows pinched in concern and tried to comfort you when you panicked at the full feeling in your stomach after sliding the entirety of his well endowed cock into you. You almost took off his chains so he could rub your clit to make it go smoother for you when he genuinely offeredβ saying something about the most important thing being your comfort, no matter the circumstances.
But then, your elastic insides get used to the stretch faster than he expects and Satoru starts to feel like maybe heβs getting a little too old for this type of sex, because youβre akin to a little bunny the way you hump his lap. He just canβt deny how pleasurable it is to be fucked and sucked in by your wet, little pussy. Itβs not like he can do anything about this happening, all he can do is attempt to helpfully talk you through this process and hopefully make this easier on you and your body in the long run, fighting to push comprehendible words of advice and genuine inquiries of how youβre feeling out of his lips through the blinding pleasure.
Satoru told you what to do when, and if, the situation ever comes up where he expresses to you that heβs going to ejaculate. 1. Take that deep breath he taught you to stay calm, 2. stop all stimulation, and 3. dismount his penis completelyβ also! at least wait until he or you has cleaned all traces of sperm from his penis if you wish to have more intercourse after.
But when Satoru shakily breathes out a clear enough warning of imminent orgasm, you do the exact opposite of his little field guide on how to responsibly have recreational sex. You grit your teeth and bounce harder as he frantically attempts at questioning what youβre doing and if you remember what he told you. And when he lets out a particularly loud and aggressive, βfuck!β followed by a deep, primal, involuntary thrust up into whatβs milking him, you instantly stop humping so he can properly inseminate you with your eyes absolutely rolling. You can feel the muscle contractions within his cock jerk and twitch inside your repeatedly vacuuming walls, and you canβt feel the sperm, but you just know that his warm cum is filling your cervix.
To an extent, Satoru understood you just wanted to fuck around and have fun like any other young horny college student, I mean, fuck, he actually gave you permission to hump his dick for this exact reason; itβs is why the field guide was discussed, but this? This is real shit, real life, getting pregnant will change your entire life forever.
For the first time since heβs been taken by you, heβs looking at you like heβs horrified as his body breeds your fertile, welcoming cunt. A few whiny grunts slip out behind his unstable breath and his features twitch behind the shocked expression, showing the deep white hot pleasure pushing through. And then you kiss him. Connected at the top and the bottom of your bodies, kissing him with such a clear passion, yearning for love and care, that Satoru feels that sympathetic pang again, the need to nurture your lost soul.
And after you finally let him go, heβs already back in your apartment soon enough with takeout from that place with the mochi youβve been craving since your second trimester in one hand and flowers in the other. Because after all, he would never abandon the young woman with his child growing in her tummy, no matter how old heβll be as your child grows up. When you let him inside your apartment with a tear in your eye because your morning sickness has persisted and a timid reach for his embrace, Satoru is already dropping his stuff and picking you up to hold you deeply within his big, warm arms and whisper comforting coos into your hair for as long as he can until you feel better. Because Satoru has a responsibility to protect you and care for you and heβs fallen in love with doing just that.
Choso didn't plan on crying when he forced himself onto you. If anything, he figured you'd be the one in tears, clawing at him and begging him with wide, teary eyes to please, Choso, stop.
But you won't even look at him.
He hates it. He hates it. Your ignoring him is the reason you're in this position in the first place, and you aren't doing what you're supposed to. Why aren't you crying? Why won't you scratch and kick and claw at him until he bleeds? Why is he here, forcing him inside of your rejectingly tight body, with tears running down his cheeks?
He sniffles, aimlessly wiping his cheek on his shoulder where wet stains bloom. His hair falls into his face as he looks down at you, listless beneath him, and grabs your face in his left hand. Your cheeks smush between his fingers as he forces your gaze up and onto him.
βPlease,β he begs, like heβs not the one in unquestionable control. βPlease please just look at me. Why wonβt you look at me?β
You squeeze your eyes shut, but realise your mistake in doing so when Choso slaps you across the face. Your cheek stings enough to well tears up in your eyes, which you try desperately to blink away. You won't give him the satisfaction.
"I don't..." he sniffles, his lip wobbling. "I don't want to hurt you. This could have been so good for you, you know? I wanted to be gentle, and... and make you feel loved."
"I hate you."
"Don't say that." He's still crying, all red-eyed and snotty, but his jaw clenches too. He thrusts sharply into you, making you cry out and gawk, and speaks through teeth that are clenched so tight they might crack. "You love me. You're soaking wet, can't you hear it? You're just..." he lowers his voice, "...being a bitch. And I'm sorry for calling you that, baby, but it's true. I love you."
"No you don't." You don't know why you're arguing with him β you should back down, power off. He doesn't deserve the fight, or the tears, or a single lick of emotional response from you. Still, you argue. "You're sick in the head, Choso."
Choso takes your face in his hand again, lowering his head down to press his forehead against yours. His breath is searing hot against your mouth as he practically growls his words. "I love you. I'm trying to make this good for you. Just let me make you feel good."
"Stop," you exhale. He snakes a hand down your body and starts rubbing rhythmic circles over your clit. They're messy and harsh and not exactly in the right spot, but a bloom of pleasure in something so mean is... nice.
No β not nice. Why would you think that? This is bad, and you feel sick, and there's nothing nice about what Choso is doing to you. The stretch of his cock inside of you, the drag and pull of his thrusts, and the clumsy ministrations of his fingers over your clit is just physical sensation. Nothing more.
"There you go," you hear him coo, and look up to see he's smiling down at you all teary-eyed like he's a proud fucking father. "You're moaning. You like that?"
You were? You shake your head, but Choso ignores it and continues on. Now that he's drawing slivers of pleasure out of you, he seems to double down. This thrusts quicken, hips pressing into yours with each stroke of his cock deep inside of you. You gasp as the air is practically forced out of your lungs, and scramble at Choso for purchase.
It almost looks like you're holding onto him. Nails digging into his arms, sounds of something close to need dripping from your mouth.
"God I love you," he chokes on another sob, overwhelmed with just how good you feel wrapped around him. He can't wait to spend the rest of his life with you, fuck you full every night and fuck it all back into you come morning. You'll learn to love it, just like you are now. "I love you so much. Tell me you love me."
You press your lips together.
"Tell me you love me." His hips buck forward, fingers work faster on your clit until your back is arching up off the bed and you're choking on your own sounds. When you still don't sing for him, Choso presses his entire weight down on top of you, smushing his cheek against yours and whispering into your ear. "I'll make it worse if you don't. I'll fuck your ass."
Your muscles tense at the thought. You ignore the curling in your stomach as you bite your words out, "I love you."
"I love you too," he moans, pulling back to kiss your cheek. "Tell me you feel good. That you're not mad at me."
You blink. "I'm not mad. I... I feel good."
"I know you do," he smiles, peppering your contorted face in kisses. "I can feel you getting tighter. You're gonna cum on my cock, aren't you baby? I'm so happy you like it."
His words nauseate you, but he's not wrong β you can feel yourself teetering on that vile edge. You've never wanted something so little and so much at the same time. Will it negate what he's done if you let go?
Your orgasm washes over you slowly, builds up with each roll of his hips, and soon enough; you're a mess of moans as you cum around his dick. He pulses inside of you, obviously spurred on by your pleasure, but pulls out before he can spill himself.
You almost miss the stretch; the sudden emptiness in your cunt jarring after being kept so full for so long. He was warm, and strong, and a grounding weight on top of you despite him being the reason you needed grounding.
You stop yourself from whining as he climbs up and presses his cock against your face.
"Sorry," he grunts, jerking himself off as he smears his leaking tip against your lips. "I know facials are degrading. I promise I'll never do it again, I've just thought about it for so long... wanna see my cum all over your pretty face. God, you're so pretty."
With a choked moan, and another sniffle of tears from him, Choso shoots his load all over your face. It gets in your hair, all over your lips and cheeks β even up your fucking nose. You barely have a second to react before he's bucking his hips forward and smearing his mess all over your face with the tip of his cock.
"Choso..."
"I know," he coos. "'M sorry. Really. I'll clean it up."
And clean it up he does. He leans down, presses a sloppy kiss to your still lips, and then gets to work. Choso drags his tongue all over your mouth, cheeks, forehead, nose, until you're not only a mess of smeared cum, but of spit as well.
Once he's collected what he can, he rears back and forces your mouth open with two prying fingers. Hooks them over your teeth and holds your jaw open so that you can't bite down, and spits his load into your mouth.
"Don't swallow," he orders, pressing your mouth closed and moving to lay down beside your stiff body. "Just hold it for a bit. Want you to taste me."
You almost laugh, and then almost cry. You'd have to drink bleach to get rid of the taste in your mouth.
