(Sukuna/Reader)
Prompt: Kneeling
Warnings: Pet/Master dynamics, Threats of violence, Punishment, Fabricated hurt/comfort
Rating: E (18+)
Word Count: 1316
Sukuna had left that morning with nothing more than a passing glance. That wasn't unusual in and of itself, especially when he was in a bad mood. And he had been in a terrible mood. What was unusual was the note he left. You were used to getting orders to do something or another while he was out, but they'd never felt as much like a punishment as this.
The note told you to go to the kitchens, take off your clothes, and have Uraume scatter rice on the floor. Then you were to kneel until you were told otherwise.
It already wasn't pleasant to kneel on bare stone. Going down to the kitchen and getting naked wasn't even a humiliation. It wasn't like anyone would dare look at you, Sukuna's treasured property, lest it be misinterpreted as covetous. Uraume was a rare exception, but only because you weren't their type and Sukuna trusted Uraume more than reason dictated he should.
You settled onto the rice with your arms clasped behind your back. You presented your tits and your holes as you'd been taught to. Very quickly, you realized, you would be doing this activity in pain.
Perhaps Sukuna feared he was spoiling you.
The pain set in so suddenly, unyielding fragments of uncooked rice digging into your skin in defiance of the hard stone floor, you barely had time to think that you had no reason to deserve punishment. The thought was so fleeting, so overtaken by pain and determination not to break form, that you weren't entirely certain you'd ever thought at all.
 Maybe that was the point - to stop thinking. You could hardly dwell on it. Your spine ached and your legs screamed for mercy. You could only pray he wouldn't be asking you what lesson you learned after all he put you through.
You knelt through breakfast service. You weren't allowed to look at anyone, save Sukuna, when you were in such a state. But you could track the time by the sound of foot traffic and the smell of the food in the kitchen.
You knelt through dinner prep, and lunch service too.
Your body oscillated between going numb and all-encompassing pain. You steeled yourself to not fidget or move or adjust. You hadn't been asked to do those things.
Beyond the ache that started at your skin and sunk down to your bones. You were starting to become hungry. You'd been hungry that morning, when the smell of breakfast wafted over your nose for what felt like hours. You'd continued to be hungry as the smell of lunch replaced the tones of breakfast. Now you were ravenous. Your head started to ache, and you felt bile settle in the back of your throat as your stomach gave a continuous litany against its hunger from the inside. When the kitchen cleared for the workers to take their break you were shamed to hear the sounds of your body echo off the walls.
Then it was time to stop prepping and start cooking. Dinner was soon to be served.
Uraume approached you, at some point, and lifted you off the floor. You whimpered thinly but complied as he moved you across the kitchen and placed you on a large and ornate serving tray. You were expected to kneel there too, you realized, as you stared in disbelief and Uraume's gesturing hand.
You wept then, as you held your position. How much of this were you expected to take? What had you done to earn your master's ire in this way?
They plated the food around you. The platter was filled and decorated around you with all manner of delicacy. And more trays were filled and decorated beside. There was a feast, and you were to be among the consumed.
In short order everything was finished, and you were being carried out to the large hall to be displayed.
You kept your head down, but you could feel the hall was packed with people. No one looked at you. You could feel Sukuna's eyes on you, on everyone else in the room, daring someone to lay claim to what was his. You were brought to the head of the table and placed to face the crowd.
Someone was making a speech, but you didn't dare listen to it over the presence of your master's body behind you.
"Did you enjoy my gift today?" Sukuna asked in a low growl once the speech was over, and people were creating a raucous to talk amongst themselves.
"Yes, master," you answered automatically, although your voice wavered in your pain.
Sukuna laughed at you.
He started to move behind you and some of the heat of the food drifted away. He was being served, or serving himself, or both. No one would come to visit with him. They never did at these things, not when he seated himself so clearly away and above from everyone else.
Usually that meant he enjoyed the company of a concubine, but you felt no one else at your back on the raised platform he lounged on.
âBe good now, and youâll earn a reward,â he promised after a while.
âYes, master,â you replied, unable to keep the twisted sound of hope from your tone.
You had never quite been able to transcend the pain of kneeling. Sukuna knew that. When he was willing to indulge you, heâd listened to you complain about teatime in the garden or with guests.
If you were not so disciplined, you would be writhing through the pain in a vain attempt to make it stop. But you were disciplined, and your entire existence revolved around pleasing Sukuna. For better or for worse you were his to do with what he liked, and he liked to see you kneel and be in pain.
âMy lovely, obedient slut,â Sukuna murmured behind you. His voice was so low you almost missed his words for vacant sounds. âCome sit on my lap,â he relented, âand let me soothe your pains.â
âYes, master,â your voice wavered. You were relieved, afraid of your own body, afraid of the crowd that was dwindling down to a drunken nothingness, afraid to earn more attention from Sukuna.
You did as you were big, despite the roiling emotions inside you. You stood only because your body knew how to do it. Your skin hurt, your joints hurt, your muscles hurt. It was shocking you could untangle yourself from your position at all.
You rose and turned. For a single heartbeat you were awestruck by the scene before you. Your platter was picked neatly clean around you, and you were raised just slightly above him on a shining platter of ornate silver.
The picture stuck in your mind as you took a step forward, and another. You were grateful when Sukuna reached for you and accepted your wilting body into his arms. You couldnât collapse, not yet, and he helped you appear as graceful and lovely as you were supposed to be on your way down.
You curled against him and whimpered so only he could hear.
He chuckled in response. The feeling vibrated through him and into you. âYou did well today,â he praised you.
There was something there. Something underneath his tone. You couldnât place it in your dizzied state. You were clinging to hard onto the relief your body felt at finally being free.
It was all you had just to make a noise in question. Sukuna shushed you, and his sure fingers found the aches in your body. With ease he massaged at you, and at certain points you felt him heal your worst pains.
You rested your body against him and felt him cover you carefully with the movements of his arms. You were warm, and, for the moment, safe. You rested your head against his shoulder and went to sleep.
(Canvas!Verso/Reader)
Prompt: Somnophilia
Warnings: This one is dark - Non-con, Stalking, Obsessive behavior, Possessive behavior
Rating: E (18+)
Word Count: 1725
Verso had never slept. He'd tried, of course, and he'd pretended, certainly. But he'd never slept.
Verso was sure now he didn't know how to sleep, and for many years he hadnât understood the appeal.
Now he was old, and tired, and the thought of not being aware, for any length of time, was a soothing but unreachable wish.
He was especially jealous when he had to watch, and wait, for others to sleep. It was always like that, when he chose to follow an expedition along their way. They'd make camp, and at a certain point, no matter how hard Verso tried, they all eventually fell asleep. And they stayed asleep too. Verso had tried all manner of tricks to wake them, and they never did.
Then you had come. Part of the latest expedition, and he found himself wondering if he'd really tried everything he could.
You slept soundly, your face peaceful, and he knew you were the only one who wasn't suffering the same nightmares everyone else was mired with.
The look on your face made him want to consume you - made him want to cut you open and crawl inside. The image he had in his mind of it made him nervous. Verso could hardly stand to be around you when you were awake, but asleep? He watched you all night long.
Recently he'd gotten brave enough to touch you. He'd trace patterns over your warm skin, gently fix your mussed hair, or, and he felt especially ashamed of this, he'd undress you just to watch your skin glow under the bright moonlight.
And he'd get hard, inevitably, when he did. And another sinister thought would whisper into his ear, and he knew he would fold to it as well.
At first, he'd just enjoy the feeling of getting hard again. He hadn't felt arousal since the early days of the expeditions. After a while he started to take himself in hand, and pump furiously to a messy orgasm he hid in the grass and dirt. Eventually he painted different parts of your body with his spend. Seeing you glistening in his pearlescence in the moonlight always made him hard again. He'd cum on your face, across your tits, over your stomach, and down your thighs.
Verso would stare at you, transfixed, until the waning moonlight told him it was time to clean you up, and dress you again.
You were too precious to him yet to ruin the façade he held now.
But he was growing bold.
You and your group had just come back from a hard fight. Verso's heart swelled with hope that you might be the ones to break his curse. You'd been so tired you went to sleep long before the clearing made you, and your compatriots joined you.
Verso wondered if you'd done it on purpose - if you knew about his nightly ventures and wanted to dare him to do more.
He looked down at you, separated from the group, and crouched to inspect your face. You hadn't even bathed before going to bed. You'd simply walked into camp, made some noise about defeating a horrible monster, and passed out on the ground.
Verso pushed your hair from where it was sticking against your forehead. Then he leaned in and kissed you. You tasted like salt and dirt and the sweet fruit that you sometimes smelled like on clear days.
You didn't stir at his touch. You didn't do anything to indicate you were responding to him at all. It was a dangerous game he played now. The moon was not yet set in its spot in the sky. There was every chance you could awaken, or anyone else in the expedition.
The thought made a thrill run down Verso's spine all the way to his cock.
He had to wait. He reasoned with himself. With some great struggle he had to wait until there was a guarantee of safety. In the meantime, he had to pull himself away from you. He could pace somewhere else and think of all the things he wanted to do to your body. The moon would settle soon enough.
And settle it did, in its own unending amount of time later.
Verso returned to your body. You were still lying there. You were still separated from the rest of the expedition. You were still his to do with as he liked.
He started by taking your clothes off. You were so malleable in your sleep, and war-forged into a perfect shape. He didnât regret all the nights he just stared at you without doing anything else. You were beautiful, especially under the moon.
Verso trailed his rough and calloused hands over your soft skin. You were warm, even when he was exposing you to the cool night air. Youâd stay warm all night. Then he worried his lip with his teeth, threw a cautious look over his shoulder, and moved to straddle you.
He rested his hips over yours easily. He trailed his hands over your breasts and across your ribs. He tweaked at your nipples and pulled at your skin. His mouth watered as he pictured your skin littered with his bruises. He wasnât so bold yet.
He trailed his dominant hand over your throat and applied some pressure. You didnât even flinch. He held you like that for a moment and watched as your brow began to crease. Then he let you go.
He watched your chest rise and fall for a while.
Verso was straining in his pants. He had been all night. Sometimes he stayed hard all day, even after he orgasmed on your body countless times in the night. He realized, looming over you and grinding his hips against yours, he was obsessed with you.
For a moment he considered eating you out. He wanted to taste you, wanted to get a good look at your sopping cunt. He wanted to burn the image of you bare and vulnerable for him into his mind so he could remember it in the long and lonely years he knew loomed ahead of him.
But Verso was selfish and always had been. He leaned back and moved your legs, so they draped over his thighs. His clothed cock was centimeters away from your pussy and he resisted the urge to rub the front of his pants on you.
He considered that he wasnât ready to press his chest to yours. He wasnât ready to hear your soft breathing and feel it tickle against his ear. But he was ready to have you â to start to make you his.
Verso reached into his pants and guided his cock out. He didnât need to be naked, not when you were doing all the work for him. Plus, it was chilly, and he didnât want to have to explain the gooseflesh on his skin later to Monoco.
He lifted your legs by hooking his arms under your knees. You were tilted back slightly, and it made your breasts move to accommodate your new center of gravity. Verse reached down and grabbed his hard cock to guide it into your waiting tunnel.
You were dry. Verso frowned but waited a moment. He gathered some spit, aimed, and dropped the glob right onto your clit. He smirked to himself at that, at the way your whole body jolted. Youâd been on the continent how many days now? And Verso had not allowed you to cum. He knew after this, looking down at your body while he rubbed his cockhead against your clit to gather some wetness, heâd edge you until you were stupid with arousal.
He would edge you every night after this. Verso didnât want to see you cum. He wanted to see you be so blinded by arousal that you either died or fucked him willingly.
With that thought, he aimed his cock down to your hole and pressed in. You were a tight fit, almost painfully so. The small amount of lubrication his spit created wasnât nearly enough.
Verso groaned loudly at the feeling and forced his cock deeper into you. He was thick, and long, he knew from the way heâd gotten complaints before. But you wouldnât complain. Youâd wake up in the morning and youâd be sore from your fight.
Besides, soon enough Verso would make you ache to take him again.
He settled inside you, his hips flush to yours, and marveled at the way your cunt sucked and pulsed at him. You wanted him inside you. Despite the pain, despite the fact you could never know he was there, your body wanted him.
Verso groaned. He could be as loud as he wanted, and he often was, but this was different. Moans and grunts and growls spilled forth form his lips as he drew back and slammed into you again. He set a rough and fast pace, as though it was his own fist he was fucking. But everything felt so, so different. You were warm and tight and all around him. Your body loosened up after a few strokes and he felt the hot embrace of your lubrication begin to seep around his cock and dribble down between your cheeks.
He didnât last more than a few minutes. He shocked himself that he lasted more than a few seconds. Your painfully tight grip at the beginning had staved off some of his arousal. Not for long though, he thought, as his cock pulsed and twitched as it emptied itself inside you.
Verso pulled out slowly, sensitive, and held your legs apart to watch his cum seep out of you. Your wet pussy glinted and shone in the moonlight, and he felt himself get hard again in an instant.
Verso wondered if you could cum from penetration alone, or if you were one of those types that had to have your clit played with. Given the way it was swollen and flinching against the night air, he hoped you were the type that needed your clit touched. It would make edging you easier, and he wouldnât have to worry about his own pleasure when he was fucking your brains out all night long.
Verso lined himself up with you again and shoved back in. Maybe he would be sad when you finally died.
(Albert Wesker/Reader)
Prompt: Punishment
Warnings: Masturbation, Voyeurism, Exhibitionism, Derogatory language/name calling
Rating: E (18+)
Word Count: 1473
"Seven minutes is all I can spare to play with you."
It was a line you heard often enough, either said to you or around you, but you weren't sure what it was he had to do once those seven minutes were up. Weren't you all stuck in the same hell hole? You actually didn't know what the killers did when they weren't in the arena. You weren't even sure if there was a time when they weren't in the arena. But you did know what the survivors did. They waited. They gossiped. They tried and failed to find a way out.
So, when the seven minutes were over, and you and your friends were either dead or running for your lives to escape back to camp, what was it that Wesker did?
You had never endeavored to find out, but he was starting to annoy you. Certainly, he had more than seven minutes. He was being selfish, you decided. Or he was keeping secrets. You supposed you all were, but his were getting under your skin like nothing else ever had.
The only thing was - you didnât know how you were going to find him. You'd never tried anything like it before. You waited in camp, played in the arena, and waited in camp some more. There was no wider part of the Entity's realm that you were interested in discovering. All the great secrets everyone else whispered about were not for you. That was something you had decided from your first moment in the fog.
But now you had something that was eating away at you. The survivors that knew the secrets could see it in your eyes. They'd encourage you to seek whatever it was you wanted to find.
They didn't ask you what it was you were looking for. They didn't want to give you any advice. They just wanted you to follow your instincts and tell them what horrible things you discovered when it was all over.
You held your resolution to absolutely never leave the light of the campfire for longer than your sanity would give you credit for.
But eventually something had to give, and it was you. Your mind was bending under the pressure of your curiosity. It was making every part of your existence unbearable.
It was about time. A few groups of survivors had been called to the fog, and you were almost alone at the camp. Those that remained were sleeping off their experiences or wouldnât mind you wandering away.
For the first time since you'd entered the Entity's realm you left your safety and embraced the unknown. The trees closed around you, and while you didn't spare a glance back, you knew you would no longer be able to see the camp if you did.
You weren't sure what guided you through the forest, or why you had picked the direction that you had. You certainly wouldn't call it instinct. There was no such thing in a place such as this. You left at the Entity's whim, and you would arrive at the same.
Eventually, after the endless passing of the same trees, you heard something. Soft moans and low growls. Someone was enjoying themselves. You knew the sounds you muffled when you finally gave in to your urges. These were much the same, base and animalistic, but whoever was making them didn't seem to care if they were heard or thought they wouldn't be heard at all.
You approached with an abundance of caution. There could be anyone in the woods. More likely than not they were someone who would relish in hurting you. Outside of the arena, who knew if the Entity would revive you.
You reached the edge of the trees and peered into the small clearing. There was sparse, impermanent furniture, and a dim glow coming from nowhere in particular from the sky.
He wasn't facing you. You thanked your good luck for that. You could see him, though, relaxed and lounging. He sat back in a high-backed chair; his clothes were ruffled and his normally slicked back blonde hair was mussed.
You gasped at what you could see, despite yourself. Peaking over the top of the large arm of the chair was the head of his cock, slowly being fisted by his hand. It was twitching and engorged, and it shined in the strange glow of the clearing.
Wesker heard you. You watched him hear you. His head cocked toward you, and his hand paused in its work for a split second. Then he continued, like nothing had happened, while you stood there mesmerized. He looked strong in his pleasure, imposing. The back of your mind told you to get on your knees and beg for his attentions. It took everything you had to stay in the safety of the tree line.
He was close to finishing, you thought. His hips humped up into the stroke of his hand. Precum dripped and leaked from his tip. His growls turned to groans as his muscles tightened.
Wesker didnât cum with a roar, although you thought he would. His cock jerked and spurted through the air and finally onto his hand. He stroked himself trhough the pleasure, his breathing came heavily trhough his nose and you barely heard the choked off noises he was suppressing.
Your mouth watered at the sight and your legs went weak. For a moment you were almost tricked into thinking you had been the one to reach your release. Your bones felt like Jello and a serenity cleared your mind. A temporary madness overwhelmed you and you felt your eyelids flutter closed.
The only warning you had was that of wind breaking against a fast-moving object. Your eyes shot open, but it was too late. Wesker had his hand around your throat. His warm spend smeared under your chin and down your neck. His red eyes pierced through your own to burrow into your soul.
You gasped. You expected to be thrown backward, but he held you aloft.
âNaughty little harlot,â he growled.
He hauled you over to the sparse furniture and sat heavily on the high-backed chair heâd been using before. You kicked at him and pounded your fists against his clothes. He didnât even flinch.
He wrestled your arms behind your back with one hand and roughly pulled your pants down with the other. The friction of the fabric against your skin burned. Being so suddenly and gracelessly exposed to him made your body run even hotter.
He wiped some of his drying spend off your chin with two fingers, then roughly shoved them into your waiting cunt. You gasped and your body arched and squirmed at the sensation.
âWet for me, are you?â He noted derisively. You mightâve spat back an answer, but he twisted his fingers and pressed against your insides and any protest died on your lips as you moaned.
He fucked you with his fingers for a few sharp thrusts, then ripped his hand away. The palm of it landed heavily on your bottom with a resounding smack. You jolted and flinched, but it was more from the sound than any pain.
It wasnât the pain that horrified you. Youâd long gotten used to pain. Plus, being bent over his lap, feeling his cock thicken and twitch under your stomach, was more than enough to blend that pain into a soupy haze of pleasure.
What horrified you was that you were being spanked at all. Youâd suffered plenty of indignities in the Entityâs realm. None had been quite like this. And he spoke to you through it all, muffled by the sound of your flesh under his hand.
âDid you come out here to find me?â heâd ask, but you knew he wasnât expecting any answer form you beside your bereft cry when you felt your ass jiggle under his palm.
âDid you expect a warm welcome, hmm?â
âWhy would I put my cock in your slut-hole when it doesnât serve a purpose to anyone?â
You moaned and writhed. You tried to slip form his lap, but his grip on you was too strong. Your ass felt inflamed, and you wondered if it was pain yet, or if you were still blissed out on pleasure.
You would be bruised, you thought, beyond just the redness of a good chastising. Wesker wanted to hurt you, and he wanted the impression to last.
âWill you come back to me, naughty thing?â he asked, his hand stilled over your backside, and he dipped his fingers down in to the wet of your dripping pussy. âI think you will,â he mused, âwhether you want to or not.â
Then he shoved Uroboros into your hole, and before you could scream as an orgasm was ripped from you, your world went black.
(Albert Wesker/Reader)
Prompt: Tentacles
Warnings: Double penetration, Squirting, Bondage, Character death
Rating: E (18+)
Word Count: 1561
It had been a long time since you'd last seen him. Although the Entity hardly allowed for any of its prisoners to track any sort of date, you could feel in your bones that it had been a long time.
He looked as surprised as you felt when he rounded the corner on you. Your generator blew in a blinding shower of sparks and noise. You made to run, but he was faster. He charged at you and caught you around the chest with his Oroboros. The grin he held was all teeth, and you wondered if he was on edge from seeing you again.
"Been hiding from me, rabbit?" he asked in a sneer. You struggled in his grasp, but it was hardly a fight. You'd missed him and you wondered if he could tell from the way your body sought to relax into his.
"Never," you gasped, when the Oroboros had taken root, and you were free to flee.
And flee you did.
Your whole team was still alive, and they didn't need to find out you were fraternizing with the enemy.
It didn't take long for you to realize Wesker had left you alone. You found a quiet place to heal and wondered at how you were going to get back to your generator. Even if you didn't want to leave the arena anymore, you still had to get your team out.
Oroboros slithered under your skin, trying to escape, trying to bind you in place. Your quiet little corner stayed quiet, and you kept an eye out for the perfect time to path back to your work.
Then something happened. The slithering stilled for a heartbeat before moving again.
You had always wondered if Wesker could control the Oroboros once it was implanted in its victim. You had always assumed he couldnât. You discovered you were wrong.
In that quiet corner, a place no one would find you in, the black tentacles inside you ruptured out of your skin and swallowed you into a cocoon.
There was no pain, although you were certain there should have been some, and you felt your skin rip apart in the same detached way you felt your clothes go with it.
The cool feeling of the thick black lubricant slicked over your skin, causing you to gasp. As you did Oroboros wormed a strand of itself into your mouth and down your throat. You choked and gagged at the invasion but forced your body to relax. You weren't getting away. You had to take what was given to you.
The tentacle in your throat flexed and expanded slightly, filling you completely, before it started to undulate. You couldnât breathe, but it didn't matter, you were being throat fucked by him. The feeling made you quiver and swallow in response. It wasn't the same as when he took you, hard and fast, to bruise your throat and make you remember him. The movement was slow and calculated, and you got the feeling Oroboros wasn't moving in the same sense as a thrusting man.
You let the tentacle defile you and relaxed into the motion of it. Your team would either find you and tear the Oroboros from your skin, or they wouldnât, and you'd be spared the humiliation.
You jerked when your heart leapt into your throat. You didn't think you'd still be alert to Wesker being near you. If your hiding spot had been that easy to find, maybe your team would rescue you. You felt his hand rest against the cocoon you were wrapped in, and Oroboros parted to let him pass. He smoothed his hand down over your stomach and grasped harshly at the flesh there. Then he dipped his fingers lower, through your goop-slicked folds, and thrust two inside you.
Your back arched on instinct and you would have cried out if you weren't being gagged down your esophagus. He fucked you with his fingers for long enough that your slick started to mix with his, then he was gone. You thought he might've said something to you, but whatever it was, was lost in the muffled blanket of Oroboros.
Being empty didn't last long. It was like he'd trained the Oroboros that you could be penetrated there too. Twin tentacles rubbed along your labia, twining together and prodding against your sensitive flesh. One glanced against your clit and you jolted. Your whole body spasmed when the questing tentacle did it again.
The sensation didn't last long. You felt both tentacles twine around each other before pressing into your hole. Wesker had only opened it so much, and both black tentacles together were stretching you farther than you'd ever been. It wasn't painful though. You were aroused enough, and the slick goo Oroboros secreted eased the way. They pressed all the way back against your cervix and you were once again met with an absence of thrusting.
The tentacles inside you synched together and their undulations passed like a calculated wave through you. The feeling made your eyes roll in your head and your ears thundered with the sound of your own accelerated heartbeat. You moaned around the tentacle in your mouth and hoped you weren't so easy to find for your fellow survivors. You hoped they were dead already so you could enjoy him for as long as possible.
Oroboros built your pleasure up. It kept you under lock and key and you arched and writhed in time with its whims. But it wasnât trying to get you off. You suspected it was going to keep you on edge until Wesker could have you for himself.
It didnât stop your body from trying to cum. You undulated sometimes in time with the waves, and sometimes against them. It didnât matter how you tried to twist or squirm. You were locked in the grasp of someone who had more control over you than you did.
Your dance remained the same until another tentacle made itself known. It slithered down your spine to nestle itself between your ass cheeks. You arched away from the sensation, but Oroboros adapted to your movements. You could feel the tentacle was not very thick, but it probed against your asshole and for the first time some fear zinged through your veins to nestle unpleasantly in your gut.
Wesker had never asked this of you, no one had, and youâd never been of the mind to offer it. You didnât know what it felt like. You didnât know how your body would react. You werenât being given a choice.
The tip of Oroboros wormed its way past your tight ring. You felt it inflate like a plug just inside your opening and you braced, although you knew you shouldnât. The next thing you felt was a freezing chill. It doused your intestines until your body was cramping and folding in on itself. You opened your mouth wider, trying to scream, trying to beg forgiveness, trying to convince someone to save you, but no sound escaped you.
When it was finished it started to pulse in your asshole â little movements you understood were meant to stretch you. Your body began to heat up again and the cramping cold abated to a strange sloshing feeling of fullness.
You really were close to cumming now. The alien sensation of having a tentacle preparing your asshole was ramping you up more than youâd ever admit. You felt the pressure building inside you and you felt you might squirt if the twin tentacles in your cunt werenât filling you so completely.
Eventually the little tentacle in your asshole started to inflate itself. It pressed deeper inside you and the pressure of the lube it had forced into you molded around the intrusion until you were suspended in a strange painless euphoria.
The tentacle expanded its girth, and you felt the lube begin to dribble out of your asshole. With no where else to go, it had no choice but to leave the way it had come. When Oroboros had decided it was thick enough, the twin tentacles in your sopping pussy pulled out with a vicious quickness. The sudden release caught you off guard and your body bucked through a series of frenetic muscle spasms as you squirted all over the inside of your cocoon. You groaned from the feeling of the almost-orgasm, and it vibrated around the tentacle down your throat.
The twin tentacles pressed into you again and, to your surprise, did start thrusting. They twined together, then apart, in an alien dance of constant sensation lighting up your nerves.
It wasnât long before you were cumming for real. Your whole body ached with it. The release of it was cathartic in a way you never knew you could feel. Oroboros kept the pleasure going and kept it from turning to overstimulation. It was an orgasm without end.
All three of your holes were filled, and the tentacles inside undulated with fervent purpose.
Just as your body was winding down, they seized, and you felt them shudder as a strangely warm liquid was deposited inside you.
You were about to complain to yourself that Wesker had never come to claim you for himself. You barely felt the Entityâs claws wrap around your cocoon and pierce you through the heart before its limbs crushed you into waiting death.
(Karl Heisenberg/Reader)
Prompt: Cages
Warnings: Confinement, Threats of violence, Kidnapping, Allusions to body modification
Rating: E (18+)
Word Count: 1227
Heisenberg felt his abilities crackle and surge through him. A rabbit had just been caught in one of his traps. He felt the pieces of it click together and even over the distance he was careful to exert control, so he didn't mangle whatever meat had been dumb enough to wander in. He knew it couldnât be someone from the village. They were too stupid and wouldnât do anything that didn't come directly from Miranda. It wasn't any questing noses from one of the factions Miranda did careless business with either. They roved in packs and were altogether troublesome with their body armor and weapons.
This was something else - something new - a rabbit caught out of its warren. And Heisenberg's mouth watered at the thought of coming home to some fresh meat. He began to lope back from his patrol around the mountains. He was scrounging for parts he understood were not there.
You screamed at first. A loud yelp you choked off because this factory was alive and the things inside wanted to eat you. You thought you'd been doing a good job in avoiding them, that was until the walls themselves came alive and consumed you before you had a chance to register the snarling groan of starved metal.
You could barely move, and you had to wonder if you were in a cage, or a shell of metal armor. If there had been a mirror, would you have looked like a mockery of a medieval knight? You supposed the answer didnât quite matter. You were decidedly stuck.
The factory lived and breathed around you and you had nothing to do but await whatever terrible fate befell you.
And wait you did. You could hardly shift you weight to keep your blood flowing nicely to your extremities. Your toes were going numb, and your feet ached from standing so still for so long. Your arms hurt and your back was screaming for relief.
You tried to keep track of how long you'd been stuck, but you kept losing count. Your body would distract you, or your cage would lurch, or some horrible noise would come vibrating out from the depths of the place you so stupidly thought you could shelter in.
You hardly noticed, at first, that you were moving. You were beginning to understand the sensation of the living factory, and moving felt no different until your metal prison opened up and you found yourself in the blinding presence of fluorescent lights and silhouettes.
There was someone in the room with you, and they were big. The shadow was tall and thick and imposing. It loomed above you, and you shirked away from it, casting your gaze elsewhere.
"What have we here?" you heard it wonder aloud. "A little pet all for me?" it mused, "Certainly nothing Miranda needs to know about."
You didn't have time to wonder who Miranda was, or why she didn't need to know about you. The next thing you knew your body was being contorted. The metal was bending and moving around you. You were on all fours, staring through delicate bars of a true cage. You imagined if you could see yourself from the outside, you might look like you were cramped into a small dog crate. Not that it mattered.
More metal came to adjust you. A bar came under your hips and twisted and tilted until you were in a position that presented your ass for anyone to see. Then another went behind your knees and brought your legs forward until you felt your ass and pussy lips, now frightfully naked, press against cold metal bars. They seemed to be in the same delicate crate pattern you were facing now.
Another bar of metal came across your shoulders and pressed. You didn't even try to fight it. You would rather not have broken arms while this shadow did whatever it wanted to you. You let it press you down until your arms curled under your head in a pillow you knew would cause them to fall asleep.
Then you felt a pinch spearing through your skin at a few different points on your body and a cool flush of something entering your veins. "Just something to keep your blood pumping," the shadow explained, like that might sooth you.
If your blood wasn't already running cold, it might've at his words.
You shuddered and closed your eyes and wondered if you might be able to escape reality like you'd heard some people could.
It was no use.
You felt him at your back, walking around your cage, admiring his work. He made some adjustments. Your body moved and twisted a bit more. He was flexing you into his perfect shape. You had a haunting suspicion you knew what he wanted to do with you. You hoped in vain you were wrong.
âPretty little rabbit caught in my trap,â he mused happily. âDidnât your mother ever warn you about wolves in the forest?â
You werenât sure if he was really looking for an answer. You werenât sure if you had one. You kept your mouth shut. Whatever this shadow wanted, he would have it.
You felt him still at your backside once more. You waited with bated breath to know what would happen next. When two thick fingers came down to gently pry your labia apart you gasped, and your body jerked despite yourself.
âSensitive, pretty thing?â he asked, and you were beginning to understand his questions as rhetorical. âThatâll serve you well,â he praised.
Suddenly your cage moved. It jerked up and you were a few feet off the ground. The movement made you let out a wretched little groan. If he did that again, youâd throw up. Thankfully he didnât.
Instead, he pried you open, and you got the sense he was looking inside. âGunna figure out how you work, pretty thing,â he promised, âthen Iâm gunna kill you.â
You swallowed hard at the news but felt your traitorous cunt flex. The shadow hummed happily behind you. âLike that idea, do you?â he asked.
âYou can call me Heisenberg,â he said, âif we get to the point of callinâ each other somethinâ.â
You nodded your head faintly and wondered if he needed you to understand what he said, or if he just liked the sound of his own voice.
âGunna fuck you now, pretty thing,â he told you. His fingers slipped from your folds. âThen Iâm gunna let my machines fuck you.â
You felt him line his cock up with your hole. He pressed in, slow and inevitable. âIf you survive that for a couple years,â he moaned, interrupting himself, âmaybe something interestingâll happen.â
He fucked you hard and fast, clearly chasing his own pleasure. But you felt him take note of what made you squirm and moan despite yourself. He even reached his hand down to finger your clit. You didnât want to like it. Your brain revolted at the knowledge he was making you wet, desirous, but you did like it.
You were insatiable. You had always known that about yourself. And now you were being granted the opportunity to spend your life in pleasure in perpetuity.
You thought you could pass out from the pleasure he wrought from your body, but your eyes were wide open, and you were painfully awake.
(The Ghost Face/Reader)
Prompt: Blindfolds, Bloodplay
Warnings: Bondage, Painplay, Knifeplay, Premature ejaculation, Orgasm denial
Rating: E (18+)
Word Count: 1377
There was nothing but the sound of rustling fabric. Your heart didn't even leap into your throat as you crept from one generator to the next. You didn't see your teammates, didn't hear their screams echo across the map, didn't have to carry their weight down from the nasty metal hooks.
The lack of sound should have been unsettling.
All you could focus on were the wires slippery with your blood being manipulated under your fingers. They cut you and zapped you and sometimes kicked you back with a violent jolt.
You sat on the generator for too long. You knew you were pushing your luck. There were more on the map than you and a few survivors. There was always someone else. And this someone else was being markedly silent.
Your skin prickled and your ears twitched at the sound of rustling fabric.
You turned to look, your fingers slipping away from the generator seconds before you knew the lights would flare on. The noise had come from the other side of the fence. You turned to run, but it was too late.
Black tendrils shot out of the fog and captured you. They wrapped around your legs to trip you to the ground, and they covered your mouth before you had a chance to scream.
You scrabbled across the ground, dirt and twigs scraped your palms. You barely had a chance to glance The Ghost Face before the tendril around your mouth snaked up to cover your eyes and tie itself tightly behind your head.
Panic gripped you, for what little good it did. This wasn't supposed to happen. This wasn't how it had ever happened before.
You grunted when you were flipped over. Your face would've been mashed into the dirt if it wasn't covered almost completely in black fabric.
You lied on your stomach and breathed heavily through your nose. You felt the tendrils holding your legs retreat, but you couldnât get very far with your face bound up as it was.
You made to push off the ground anyway. Some chance was better than none. And found your efforts rewarded with the black fabric reaching out to bind your arms behind your back. You'd barely pushed off the ground and you were planted to it again.
Strong hands grabbed you around your hips. They felt too big.
You didn't have long to wonder at the sensation because they were gone a heartbeat later. The swift sound of metal slicing air sounded behind you and you braced for the pain. None came and you whimpered in trepidation and relief.
The hands were back. They grabbed roughly at the hem of your pants. He used one to practically lift you by the back of your pants, and the other returned, knife in hand, to slice through the fabric.
The insane sensation of being bared to him was overshadowed by your relief that the entity hadn't seen fit to send you to one of the exceptionally cold or damp maps you knew existed. A forest floor wasn't ideal, but it was better than laying against snow.
You heard the barest hum of appreciation from behind you, and your mind refocused on your situation.
What did he plan to achieve from stripping you of your clothes? There was no precedent for this that you'd heard of, and the other survivors were habitual gossips. With nothing else to do, news of anything traveled quickly.
The knife was back. You could picture it in your mind even as you were blind to the world. It would shine in the strange light that came from nowhere, and it would be sharp.
He pressed the flat of the blade against one of your ass cheeks and you nearly jumped out of your skin. You felt the edges of it acutely against your sensitive skin. When was the last time you'd let your skin bare? Long before the Entity had taken you, surely.
You shifted your weight, nervous, and knew you'd been cut only by the sudden feeling of hot wet running down your leg. You heard The Ghost Face tsk behind you. He moved his hand so his fingers played across the seam he'd cut in your skin. For a moment you feared he might plunge his whole hand into the opening. You hardly felt pain now, beyond the sting of blood leaving your body. You couldnât even begin to imagine what it would feel like to have that part of you opened through any amount of force.
But his fingers did little more than wet themselves on your blood. You hardly even recognized you were holding your breath until it came back to you in heaving breaths. It was then that he moved. His fingers stayed light on your skin, a barely-there ghosting over your flesh. It was the smear of blood that you knew he was moving, drawing, at all.
You couldnât follow the pattern of them. You couldnât tell if he was drawing anything coherent at all. You supposed, if you were brave enough, you could find out the artwork he made after you were free. Or you would die and return without a blemish somewhere else.
Blood was drying on your skin in a way that was sticky and itchy. It wasnât like you could move. Your arms were bound, and you were sure if you started moving your legs heâd bind those too. But your legs were itching and your skin twitched in complaint that you werenât soothing their irritation.
You struggled anyway, and you were warned with the feeling of a blade pressed against your skin. It stilled you, but the punishment had already been decided. You were cut again, a matching slit on your other side. He kept at his drawing, chipping away at your dried wounds until they went anew.
He trailed his fingers all over the skin heâd exposed in cutting off your pants. From waist to foot, you were decorated in your own blood. Swirling patterns and shifting pressures. He kept at it so long you nearly lamented the fact youâd never see the finished work.
And he did finally finish. He was panting slightly, and he stopped touching you for a moment. There was a flash of light bright enough to cut through the makeshift blindfold he had on you.
At some point youâd stopped whimpering, stopped struggling, stopped crying out.
The light from the flash died and he brought his hand down on your ass so hard you screamed. The pain of being spanked was enough, but you wondered if you could feel you skin tearing apart just a bit from the force.
He landed another blow on the other side, and you danced up on your toes, wishing you could get away.
But there was no escape.
Two smacks were all it took. He had your hips in his hands and his cock buried so deep inside you, you felt him at the back of your throat. His cock flexed and he groaned like he was being tortured.
Your breath was stolen from you at the invasion. You were hardly prepared to take something inside you, even if you were slick with blood and other things you would not name. He was curved, you realized, trying to clear the stars from your eyes â like that might help. His cock buried deep and lit along your nerves in an exquisite way.
It was too bad he didnât even fuck you. He just held himself against you, breathing ragged, and after a moment you felt him spill inside you.
You moaned, although youâd never admit it was in disappointment, and wilted a bit when he pulled out of you.
His cock gave a few final spurts, and you felt the liquid add to the mess of blood on your skin.
He didnât speak and you didnât feel him move. Your reality had simply gone from darkness to a sudden blinding light, as you were returned to a place outside the arena. As you expected, you were returned clean enough and fully clothed. You got some curious stares from your fellow survivors when you made it back to camp, but theyâd seen weirder, so they didnât ask you any questions.
(Geralt/Reader)
Prompt: Humiliation, Outdoor
Warnings: Dub-con, Pain, Poor hygiene, Predator/Prey, Threats of violence
Rating: E (18+)
Word Count: 1734
The woods were dangerous, you'd been warned. There were things in the dark that hid well and disguised their sounds with the swaying branches of the trees.
That hadn't stopped you from your explorations. It hadn't even given you pause.
Lightning had cracked overhead while wind whipped at the trees that morning. You'd staved off leaving then, it simply hadn't been that nice out. But the wind had died, and the storm clouds had moved on, and you were aching to forage for supplies.
It hadn't occurred to you to fear the sticky mud or the slickened grass. The croaking of so many frogs seemed more a choir than an omen.
You hardly regretted your bounty of fresh herbs and blooming mushrooms until you were running ragged through a loop of trees that seemed to never end.
It hadn't been the noise that spooked you. There'd been no noise at all. It hadn't been the shadows that'd sent you away. There'd been no shadows at all. It'd merely been a glint of the light and the half-covered impression of blood drying on the ground.
You'd bolted as surely as a deer under the threat of a wolf.
You were struggling. The mud sucked at your shoes and forced your pace to slow lest you trip and fall and forsake yourself. The grass and ground foliage was no better. They were slick from the rain and tangling in their renewed life.
But there was something behind you. It was hunting you too. You knew it in the way you felt eyes on your back and dread in your heart.
You were fighting a losing battle. You'd already dumped your harvest. You were winded and slowing down. Whatever it was hunting you liked to play with its prey. You knew it could catch up. You knew it could take you down easily. Any time you faltered you knew it was backing off.
Was it trying to lead you somewhere? Maybe it had a den in the rocks or up a tree with hungry young waiting to eat you alive.
You crested a ridge, slipped on the grass, and tumbled down the other side. You ended up at the bottom, covered in mud and dazed. You stared back the way you'd come, hoping to catch sight of the thing destined to kill you.
It didn't come
Instead, you felt a presence on the other side of you. You rolled, still dazed, and knew you should start scrambling for purchase to continue running.
You craned your neck and looked up.
A wolf you'd never feared loomed over you. His white hair cascaded around his face, lit by the sun to form a halo around the shadow of his face. Piercing yellow eyes glowed in a thin gold band around blown pupils.
"Been followin' your scent for miles," he huffed.
"Geralt," you greeted weakly. "What are you doing here?"
"Were the herbs meant to cover your tracks?" he asked, crouching down to get closer to you.
"I needed to shed the weight. They were awkward to carry," you explained. You moved one of your hands and tried to leverage your weight onto your arm. You were soaked through to the bone and starting to get cold under the shadow of the Witcher.
Geralt moved so quickly you almost didn't notice at first. It wasn't until you were chest down in mud with your arm wretched behind your back that it dawned on you, he'd moved you to begin with.
"Sorry, pretty," he apologized, but he sounded uncertain, "can't let you move yet."
"Why not?" you asked, you held your head up, but the angle was straining. You really hoped he'd let you up before you got a mouthful of mud. Geralt was a reasonable man, more than reasonable, you found. But minutes passed and your daze cleared, and you were still pressed into the mud with a Witcher panting above you.
"Don't get off the ground, or I'll hurt you," he warned. A fair enough warning too, since he sounded like he'd be really upset if that happened. You nodded to show you understood and winced at the pain it caused.
There was the wet squelch of mud sucking at something stuck in its grasp. Then the sounds of metal scraping leather met your ears. You dared not move, although you were aching to. Geralt had never steered you wrong before. If you werenât to move, then you wouldnât move.
He was looming over you. You could feel the weight of it on your back. You startled when fingers grabbed at your waist. The bodice of your dress was not as securely attached to your skirt as you had always believed. It didnât even take much. Cold fingers grasped and ripped, and you screamed when Geralt lifted your ass up into the air.
Mud slicked along your cheek, through your ear, and down your neck. Your hands planted on the ground, desperate to keep you from choking on the earth, but the angle Geralt held you at left you little leverage to move yourself.
He suddenly held you aloft with one hand. His other found the hidden seam of your skirt and ripped that off you too. Then went your petticoat, your warm leggings, your underwear. You winced with each sound of seams being rent apart.
Geralt steadied you against him. Both his hands had returned to slot against your hips as he pressed your body against his. You started to feel disoriented. Your blood was rushing to your head, and your face dripped mud.
It took you too long to realize his cock was prodding along your bared slit. When you did notice you gasped in surprise, and as he slid it through your folds the sound turned into a moan of desire.
âGeralt,â you breathed. Your vision was blurring and going dark around the edges.
You were certain your voice fell on deaf ears.
In the next moment Geralt was pressing into you. His cock bullied past your opening and drove deep into your cunt. He was slicked with something that burned, and you felt your insides cramp in response. He gave you a moment to adjust to his size, if only to relieve some of the vice grip you had on him.
Then he started fucking you.
You screamed on every thrust. You couldnât help it. He was hurting you. He was well lubricated, but the thing heâd chosen for the task felt like acid. He hushed you with a growl, but you kept screaming.
He was quick again. He dropped down to his knees, and you had to shut your mouth, or youâd swallow mud. You were pressed to the dirt again. Your knees hit fabric, but it didnât matter much when the water and dirt had come up to sully that too.
Geralt kept a hand on your hip to anchor you to him but used the other to press over your mouth. It was coated in grime and slick with something acrid. Your whole body recoiled at the stench which only served to spear you deeper onto his shaft.
You shook your head, flailed your limbs, and collapsed utterly beneath him, but nothing worked to get him off of you.
âTake it, pretty,â he growled. His voice was normally low and full of gravel, but if his mouth wasnât next to your ear, you werenât sure youâd understand a word he said. âI need you to take it.â
You groaned and dropped your head. He held on to you, unwilling to unclasp your mouth.
Your cunt began to slick itself. You wanted it to expel the burning liquid, and it did too. The combined liquids began to messily drip out of you. You felt a bead of it acutely as it traveled down your slit and over your clit. The droplet hung for an impossibly long second before it dripped to the mud below. You squealed high in your nose at the feeling.
The feeling of acid overwhelmed your nerves and before you could come to terms with the pain you were orgasming hard and fast. Your body convulsed and seized as your cunt flexed and pulsed. You mightâve jackknifed off Geraltâs dick if he werenât so much stronger than you.
He fucked you through your orgasm like he didnât even notice it. Your cunt milked at him, but he hardly slowed down.
You were oversensitive and overwrought. Your eyelids fluttered and closed, and your muscles went lax. It was too much to think about the waning pain of your insides or how that same pain was warping into a smoldering heat of arousal in your gut.
Geralt fucked another orgasm out of you. He was eerily silent now that you werenât struggling, and you accepted the orgasm with a feverish thankfulness. The heat in your core did not abate, but Geralt seemed finished.
His thrusting hips slowed to a grind deep inside you. His cock twitched and you hardly felt the head of his spend over the heat arresting your body.
You whined plaintively when he pulled loose from you. You werenât done yet.
âThank you, pretty,â he grumbled in your ear.
If you werenât so out of it, you might accuse him of sounding guilty. Instead, you craned your neck to look back at him and nearly startled from your desperation from the look of him. Dark veins pulsed under his skin, and his eyes glowed unnaturally even in the afternoon sunlight.
âHave to go back to the village like that,â he told you.
You opened your mouth, though you didnât know what you could say. âMore,â died on the tip of your tongue.
âHave to go back,â he reiterated, âor I wonât come to get you.â
You whimpered and rose on unsteady feet. Your body was caked with mud, but it was quite clear you were naked from the waist down and your bodice had twisted and turned until your breasts spilled out. You tried to right it but only managed to smear more mud into the fabric.
You groaned a complaint, ready to voice it, but when you looked back up Geralt was gone.
He was gone but the burning in your core remained.
You couldnât go back to your village like this, but as you stared out at the empty forest you realized there was no other choice.
(Sukuna/Reader)
Prompt: Finger Sucking
Warnings: Overstimulation
Rating: E (18+)
Word Count: 599
You lost count of the amount of times Sukuna made you cum on his fingers. He'd start slow. He'd trace the lines of your body, and press kisses along all the softest parts of you. Then he'd dip down between you folds and praise you for always being wet and ready for him. He'd play with you, teasing your skin and driving you out of your mind.
Eventually, after long hours, he'd dip his fingers into you and curl them in just the right way, and you'd cum from that alone.
But it wasn't enough.
At least, it wasn't for Sukuna.
You became quite sensitive afterward. Once the aftershocks of your orgasm left you lip and pliant he'd wrestle your legs to open wide and use his accursed hands to continue their stimulation. He'd circle his fingers around your clit with one hand and fuck you with the fingers of his other.
There was nothing you could do but take it. You'd beg, of course, and scream, and writhe, and try to push him away, but he was strong and stubborn, and he knew you loved the attention even when you insisted you didn't.
Then one day, when you were well-sated and drifting off to sleep, he pressed those same wicked fingers against your tongue. You moaned and shifted. Sukuna was above you. His body shadowed yours, and he looked at you with an intensity you couldnât fully comprehend.
"Taste your devotion to me, mouse," he cooed.
You obliged him. You swirled your tongue around the digits of his fingers. You couldnât really taste yourself on him, although you knew his skin would be saturated with your essence. You tasted other things, florals, ash, exotic spices. You curled your tongue around his finger and played with the tough skin of his knuckles.
You weren't so careful about your teeth. You kept them out of your way, but you were feeling lazy. They scraped and pressed lightly against the outermost parts he held past your lips.
You licked at his fingers and at some point you started to suck on them too. The attention you lathed on them oscillated in unknowable patterns. Sukuna stayed suspended above you. You noticed he was more relaxed than usual. You wondered if he enjoyed the attention you were giving him - the attention he demanded.
"How long has it been?" he asked you, "since I've been inside you?"
You wanted to protest, to claim he'd just been inside you not moments before. But that wasn't entirely true, and it wasn't what he was asking.
It'd been months since he'd speared you with his cock. It'd been months since your skin had slid against his and you felt like you were being devoured by him.
Desire pitched in you, sharp and wanting, and you arched your back to press against him. Sukuna allowed you this touch and followed you back down when you couldnât hold yourself aloft anymore. He rested some of his weight on you, and your eyes rolled in your head.
His fingers were starting to prune. You could feel his fingerprints warp and bend under your tongue. When he pulled his fingers from your mouth, if he ever did, they'd be wrinkled and half-numb.
You wondered which would happen first. If he'd grow bored and leave you, or if you'd simply pass out from exhaustion.
"Stay awake a little longer, mouse," he teased. Your eyes shot open again only to close slightly under their own weight. "I'll fuck you until you scream," he promised, "all you have to do is stay awa-"
(Johnny Silverhand/Reader)
Prompt: Hypnosis (mind control)
Warnings: Overstimulation, Sensory overload, Possessive behavior, Manipulative behavior
Rating: E (18+)
Word Count: 1765
"Fine, you can go out and fuck a man," Johnny groused, appearing beside you and causing your hand to shudder along the optical nerve you were working on.
You cursed him at length and pulled a few magnifying glasses over to get a better look at any damage he may have caused. Sometimes you regretted slotting in his chip.
"Please," he, moved toward you. His image split and jolted and reappeared in front of your worktable. He leaned across it. His hands slapped down on fragile equipment. He made you see them break and fall to the floor. "You know how much I like begging," he threatened.
But the threats were hollow, you knew. Johnny liked to mess with you, but he couldnât control you.
"You're fine, Johnny," you placated smoothly, and touched each tool under his hands to remind yourself he couldnât hurt them, couldn't hurt anything. "Stop acting like an uncontrolled teen," you chastised.
"But you're so fucking horny," Johnny complained. You opened your mouth to interject, but he spoke over you. "And it's making me horny, and you refuse to go out and get some!" he was shouting by the end, his body reeling for dramatic effect.
"I'm not horny, Johnny," you told him, voice even and level. You had some experience with rowdy children, and you often used those tactics on your best terrorist friend. "I'm just at that part of my cycle, it'll pass."
"I don't want it to pass!" He was still shouting. You looked up from your equipment to take him in. He seemed really agitated. It surprised you. "I want to get my dick wet, and you don't even have one! Itâs been months and you wonât even touch yourself," he complained. "It's like torture for me. I know you're not as unaffected as you like to think."
Then he sent you one of his favorite treats.
After the first few weeks of denying him even self-pleasure he'd begun haunting your dreams. All night long, and any time your mind wandered during the day you were met with salacious visions. Most often they were of Johnny's past. It was like he wanted to convince you he was good for the pleasure he demanded. Other times they were your own lurid fantasies, or porn he'd watched, or past encounters you'd had with different lovers.
They'd been female leaning in the beginning, which you didn't mind, but lately he was getting more desperate. He was searching more deeply through your psyche for things to trigger you with, and he was more lenient about letting his fantasies fall to the side. Although you both agreed it would be hot for him to take you while you were stacked on top of another woman.
And you did think he was hot. Johnny Silverhand was a legend, sure, and you had never particularly considered if you'd be attracted to terrorists. You were certain you were attracted to this one. You were certain it was real, too.
Not everything in your life had been real before you'd taken his chip. The world you lived in became more and more distorted as time passed. Your grasp on reality had slipped almost completely since. You relied on Johnny to ground you, but he was just as willing to let you drift out to sea if it proved his point.
He was doing it now, filling your head with images of you kissing another woman, of Johnny using his metal hand to keep you on edge for hours, of long-gone lovers promising you pleasure.
You closed your eyes, trying to drown out the noise, and found yourself incapable.
Then something changed.
And like any other time there had been a change in your life, you were certain it was for worse.
You heard Johnny's own amazement when he found whatever he'd found while rooting around inside you. Then you heard his less promising, "aha," as he figured out how it worked.
The next thing you knew your optics were showing movement. Your body stood of its own accord, pushing your wheeled chair away, and robotic legs walked you across your workspace to a table of relative height. You watched yourself lean your hands on the table, bend at the waist, and stretch those same hands above you to grasp at the edge.
"What're you doing?" you demanded to know, once you remembered how to use your mouth.
Johnny appeared in front of you. "Easy," he warned. You felt his hand card through your hair and across your shoulder and shuddered. That felt real. "We're going to have a good time," he assured you.
You swallowed hard. This was not good. Johnny may as well have been a sex fiend. If he had found a way to control your body, you wouldn't be doing anything but exactly what he wanted to do. Panic sizzled across your chest, and you knew it must've shown in your eyes.
Johnny leaned over and took your chin in his warm hand and pulled at you until your lips met.
And you felt his lips on yours. It wasnât the shadow of a lover you dreamed in the night. Those were his lips against yours and his facial hair scratching at your skin. You moaned into his mouth, and he took the opportunity to press his tongue against yours.
You were grateful heâd chosen to bend you over something, because the kissing was making you go weak.
He broke away from you with a too-smug gleam in his eye. âFuck, youâre somethinâ else,â he said, and it sounded like praise.
He made a show of walking behind you. When you tried to follow him and tilt your head, he reached a hand out and tangled it in your hair. You felt his fingers against your scalp and your hair parted and mussed where it was grabbed. He forced your face forward and still.
âYouâre going to love this,â he promised, then he yanked your pants down. Cool, sterile air brushed against your skin, and you screamed.
Your workspace was soundproofed, for obvious reasons, and you knew no amount of struggling would send help you way. You struggled anyway.
Johnny kept you pinned down with his hand in your hair and his other pressed against the small of your back. You kicked at him, but your legs never connected with anything except air.
His hand stayed in your hair, the other on your back, and you felt something that chilled you to the bone. It also made you still instantly. Your legs went back to supporting your weight as your muscles locked up.
Two thumbs pressed against the folds of your sex and spread you open. You felt cold air tickle along your skin, then you felt a warm puff of air like someone was breathing near you.
âWhatâre you doing to me?â you asked on a whimper.
Johnny didnât answer, didnât make any noise at all, as you felt his phantom tongue lick a stipe along your slit. You gasped and shuddered. He did it again, reaching forward until you felt his beard against the skin of your thighs.
âH-how?â you stuttered out, rendered breathless in a moment.
He still didnât answer. He just made it feel like his tongue was lapping at your clit and pressing at the sensitive skin around your opening⌠with his tongue.
âJ-johnny,â you pleaded, your body seized and relaxed. You were going to orgasm, and that was fine, but this place he was taking you was dangerous. This was dangerous. With what little rational thought you had left you knew heâd use this newfound power to take control of your life completely and that scared you. You didnât mind playing host to his psyche, but you werenât about to give up your personhood.
He appeared in front of you as your thoughts threatened to spiral. He hushed you and cupped your face in his hand. You leaned into the embrace, panting, and tried to find mercy in his eyes.
âDonât eject me just yet,â he soothed, âI just want whatâs best for us.â
Then he was behind you too, you felt him there, and he appeared in your peripherals as a warning. But he was still in front of you too, cupping your face and stroking your cheek with his thumb.
You felt his hands grab at your hips and shift your position.
Without ceasing any of the rest of the sensations heâd alit in your body, you felt the head of his cock press against your opening.
âToo much,â you moaned, like that might matter at all. He pressed in anyway, bottoming out inside you and groaning in self-satisfied pleasure.
âItâll be over soon,â he promised. You watched his face crease. The muscles in his jaw set as he let out another groan. âYouâre too fuckinâ tight for me, princess, lets cum together.â
You whimpered. You were already so close, you couldnât believe you hadnât cum yet. Your orgasm flowed through you. It shook you to your bones. Through it all Johnny never let up his control over your senses. His fingers pressed into your flesh, and it felt like you might form bruises.
His tongue stopped on your clit only long enough for the sensation to change and it felt like he was sucking it.
His pace was fierce but there was little rhythm to it as you felt him spill inside you. His cum splashed along, hot and heavy, and you almost feared the weight of it would be stuck inside you forever.
You were crying. Your body was spent. You were certain, as soon as you had your body back, you would be slithering off the table into a limp puddle on the floor.
Johnny finally pulled out of you. When he did all sensations stopped, and that was worse.
You made a pitiful noise, your muscles returned to you, and you fell to the floor as gently and gracelessly as you could.
Johnny was there with you. His eyes met yours and he looked sated for the first time since youâd known him. He pulled you against his body and held you while you sat on the faux wood floor of your office.
âGood girl,â he purred into your hair. His hands stroked along your skin. âSuch a good girl for me,â he continued.
You made a small noise and tried to settle into the embrace of a ghost.
âYou donât need to worry anymore,â he told you, petting his fingers through your messy hair, âIâll take care of us now.â
(Yautja/Reader)
Prompt: Alien Abduction
Warnings: Cervix play, Alien physiology
Rating: E (18+)
Word Count: 1860
You always had an image of your head of a great metal circle, a green cone of light, and a poor half-full cow being levitated farther above the ground than any cow had ever been.
You'd found out being abducted by aliens was quite different. At least, it had been for you.
The ship had been a sleek grey metal, but it hadn't been the disc shape that was so iconic in your mind. There'd been no beam of green either, just blinding white lights. And you hadn't levitated, although you had gained far more altitude than you would have liked. Something had landed heavily beside you from the ship, grabbed you around the waist, hoisted you over its shoulder, and jumped back onto the ship from where it'd stood.
The ship was small in a surprising sort of way. It was tall enough to fit the giant alien that had taken you from your home, and then some, but it was not a sprawling net of machinery and rooms, nor was it a single cockpit with nothing else.
You found yourself set down on cold metal floor. The ramp that had opened hissed shut behind you. The whole room was only large enough for all the amenities of a small apartment. The only clear separation of space was the depression where the cockpit and all its controls were held. A place that, unless these creatures could become invisible, was piloting itself.
Your abductor was silent beside you, unnaturally slow, and it forced your attention back. You had to crane your neck up to look it in the face. You watched it raise two huge hands to fiddle with what you now realized was a mask. The mask clicked and shifted, and the alien stretched its arm to hang the thing on a hook on the wall.
It was beautiful, in a strange sort of way. Your first instinct was to touch it. That feeling was immediately swallowed by the harsh logic that doing something like that would be insane.
The alien looked down at you like it knew what you were thinking. Intelligent and bright yellow eyes appraised you inside sunken sockets. Its mouth seemed perpetually open, although the mandibles on the side were relaxed. A long forehead curved back to a ridge along the crown of its head and great black tubes cascaded down its back.
It had the coloring of a desert at night and to you was as vast as one.
You didn't realize how long you'd been staring at it, slack jawed, until it turned away. A spell broke between you, and you were left feeling alone in the cold ship.
The Predator turned away from you. You figured that was the best thing to call it. It was huge with muscles and tall with long legs and had hands tipped with claws. It wore little in the way of armor, apart from something meant for modesty and attachments to hold its weapons.
It clicked those attachments off then. You watched as a loose fish-net mesh separated from its skin. You hadn't even realized it was wearing the delicate wiring because the fine threads blended into its skin.
It hung the pieces carefully along the walls of its ship. The Predator didn't stop until it was fully nude. Blood rose to the surface under your skin, and you had an overwhelming urge to look away.
You found you couldnât. And as it turned to face you, you found yourself transfixed.
It was still beautiful, of course. Its clothes had done little to cover it to begin with. Its chiseled muscles still worked smoothly under its tough-looking hide. And down below in the only place that had been hidden from you there was a long and thick phallus hanging from a slit where a human might've had a cock. The thing didn't seem hard, and it glistened with moisture.
You made a bereft noise of need and felt yourself go weak. You let your legs give out and watched as it approached you in two sure-footed steps. You lifted your hand slowly and reached for it. The alien cock was warm in your hand and slick and startlingly prehensile. The head of it smeared along your palm and coiled its length around your wrist.
You gasped at the feeling and squirmed against the floor. You felt overcome with need, but it wasn't offering what you wanted. Maybe you could coax it into fucking you by pleasing it. You leaned your head forward and pressed a kiss against its shaft. The Predator shuddered and clicked above you. You continued to kiss along its shaft and began to lick at it.
You forced yourself not to recoil at the taste. It wasn't that the thing tasted bad, exactly, the flavor had been startling.
You quested for the end of it, still nestled against your palm, and took it into your mouth. The things seemed to understand what to do, as it moved around until it caught the back of your throat. Then it pressed back and the alien in front of you pressed forward. The cock could make itself longer, you realized, as it didn't choke you with its girth as you had feared. Instead, it was reaching far down your throat and the sensation was so foreign you began to gag and choke.
The Predator hissed and clicked angrily. It took a half-step away from you and pulled itself from your sealed lips. You coughed into your arm for a moment before you looked up at it through tear-blurred eyes. You expected the worst.
But it didnât do anything but stare back down at you. It shifted its head, and you wondered how you understood what it wanted.
You moved carefully, still uncertain about your own safety despite your willingness, and hooked your thumbs in your pants and pulled them off. You sat your bare ass on the metal floor and cringed a bit at the temperature difference. Then you looked back up at the alien and wondered how it was supposed to mount you.
You wanted it to take you there on the floor, but that seemed ill-advised. So, you stood on shaking legs and moaned when it caught you. Its skin felt like fire compared to the cold air of the ship. You pressed into the touch and held yourself back from flinging yourself at the creature. You stepped forward until you were pressed against its front. Its hot skin lit a fire under yours. You guided its hand gently with your own to rest just below your ass, then you lifted your leg.
You could only hope it understood you.
It did.
Its other hand came around to grab at your other leg and it pulled you into the air with ease. You raised your hands quickly to wrap around its body, to keep yourself from plummeting backward, and it didnât even flinch.
You were straddling it now, in a way, and your cunt pressed hot against its abs. you whined helplessly and shifted your hips. You could barely register that you were humping it for the pleasure that coursed through you. You couldnât tell if the alien cared that mush or not. Your eyes had slipped closed, and you hugged yourself close to it.
 You felt the tip of its cock squirm against your thigh, then reach higher to slide along the slickened folds of your sex.
It roved there for a moment, trying to gain access between where you were mashing your clit against its skin. You hardly noticed that it was giving up, that it was searching for anything at all. If you had then you mightâve understood its disappointment and subsequent surprise when it slipped against your hole.
You shuddered and cried out. Your fingers curled and you dug your nails into its thick skin as it teased your entrance with its tip. It didnât probe you there for very long. As soon as it understood the thing it was pressing against was more than a divot in your skin, it delved in as deep as it could.
It was thick now. Unlike your throat, which had stretched longer than the depth of your cunt, it couldnât thin itself out in an attempt to bottom out. All that length got pressed up to girth and it stretched you delightfully as it pressed back against your cervix. The feeling was uncomfortable at first, but the sustained pressure soon warped from an almost-cramp to please-fuck-me-now in a matter of moments.
You were certain you said as much, although you werenât certain you were understood.
The Predator seemed more than happy to stay flush against you. It took you a few tries to figure out how to continue gyrating your hips. Your aching clit was stiff enough that even the subtle movements of your body and the shallow movements of the alienâs breathing caught its nerves and sent jolts of pleasure coursing up your spine.
You whined and whimpered and writhed. And despite your despair at not being fucked properly by what was truly a monster cock, you felt an orgasm swelling inside you.
It was a strange feeling, so unfamiliar from what you were used to. It came from deep inside you, in paces you had never reached before. The intensity of your own orgasm came like a threat.
Your orgasm pulsed under your skin like the heartbeat of a living thing and through it all the Predator didnât do anything but hold you against its body.
And although your orgasm had made itself known to you, it was still shocking when your pleasure crested and cascaded through you. You felt, for a moment, like you were being ripped apart. You screamed. This was not what you were meant to feel like. It scared you, and it hurt.
Then the first wave was gone and the second came, and you were more familiar with the feeling. You cramped and clenched and shook against your alien abductor. You smeared your body against it and cried out in wonder.
It held you through your convulsions until you were thrashing from overstimulation. It held you through that too, until you accepted the punishment of sensation and settled.
When you were finally limp against it, it moved its cock. The tip had gone thin and pressed inexorably against the opening of your cervix. You grunted at the feeling, but didnât move. You knew you had no say in what happened next.
You felt it slip inside your womb with a sharp realness and the alien above you clicked until the sound melded into a low roar of pleasure. It was pumping something inside you. You couldnât feel what, though, and you wondered if the slick that covered its dick didnât numb you in some way.
It poured into you for a long time, so long that you started to drift off to sleep. Your face pressed against its warm pec, and your body was sated. It held you close against it, and when you woke up you were cold and alone and in your own bed.
(Bane/Reader)
Prompt: Kidnapping
Warnings: Poor Hygiene, Dark Content
Rating: E (18+)
Word Count: 2206
Playing with fire had never been something you enjoyed. Getting burned had never been your favorite feeling. Yet both seemed to be your destiny. All your life you'd straddled the line. All your life you'd done too much.
So, when a group of dangerous mercenaries from nowhere in particular showed up in your rural neck of the woods, you'd said, "sure, come on in. I'll host you while you do whatever it is you're doing," and that hadn't even been your first mistake.
No, your first mistake had been being home. Your second, opening the door. And your third had been not immediately closing the door upon opening it. Another long line of mistakes for your already long line of mistakes.
When you woke up one morning in someone else's bed inside someone else's house, you knew you had no one to blame but yourself.
"It takes bravery," he was saying - the big man who led the group - the one with the impossible mass of muscles and complete lack of body hair, the one who wore a black mask that you swore you'd have nightmares about, "to let strange men into your home. To bathe them, and feed them," he continued.
Presently they had you tied to a chair. Although you'd woken up free, your reaction to waking up in a strange place had been less than pleasant. Your little rebellion died as soon as it started. The mercenary group were faster and stronger than you. Each was trained with a deadly precision that meant you were utterly subject to their whim.
"Why would someone so well-adjusted do something so dangerous?" he asked. He'd been circling you, but now he stopped before you. His hands clutched loosely at his tactical gear. His posture was as non-threatening as a tiger.
"What makes you think I'm well adjusted?" you shot back. They'd forgone gagging you. You'd stopped screaming at them when he'd threatened to cut your fingers off.
The noise that came through his mask sounded cracked and angry. "They think you have a death wish," he mused.
"What do you think?"
He considered you for a moment. His name stuck in the back of your mind. Bane. But what kind of mother would name their child something so horrible. You hoped it was a name he chose for himself, as much as you feared the same.
"I think you're looking for something exciting. You camp under the trees without even a knife. You open the door to strangers. You don't flinch back from pain when you feel you've earned it," he said in a slow lilt.
"And what excitement do you think I'm looking for?" you dared to ask. You hadn't realized he'd been paying such close attention.
Bane tilted his head slightly. "Why don't I untie you, and you can figure it out for yourself," he suggested with a smooth roll of his shoulders.
You gulped and felt yourself pale. Gods, but he was big. The way he looked at you churned from curiosity to malice and now you could catch the hunger he held under his skin.
You would fight him. Although you figured he expected that, wanted it, wanted you.
He went behind you again. The shadow of his bulk was uncannily hidden. You couldnât even catch him in your peripherals, and he seemed to dodge you every time you tried to turn your head, so you stopped trying.
Then his warm hands enveloped yours and you jumped. Once you went rigid in your chair, you couldnât force yourself to relax. Your rigidity was made worse when you felt the cool slick features of a blade against your skin.
You were running out of time to figure out what you were going to do. Bane was not a man easily fought. You'd have to do more if you stood any chance at all.
The blade of his knife cut easily through the rope that bound you, but you weren't free yet. He cut through the bindings around your upper arms and crouched down to take away the bindings around your ankles.
There was a frozen moment of time when you were free, and Bane hadn't grabbed you. Your eyes widened, and your heart swelled. You were free. After days of being captive, you were finally free.
You'd figured out what you were going to do.
You bolted. Your legs lifted you from the chair and catapulted you across the room. You figured the extra speed was due to adrenaline. You were at the door in three strides, and turned the knob swiftly, wrenching your arm in your attempt to throw the door open. It didn't budge. The doorknob didn't move. Locked from the outside. You cursed and threw a look over your shoulder.
Bane was standing behind your chair. He had a sort of perplexed look on his face. You froze in place as he stood. He was coming after you now. Although you had the distinct impression he was giving you time.
You took a step back from the door, squared yourself, and kicked it right next to the doorknob. You weren't entirely sure, it wasn't like you'd ever kicked a door in before, but you thought that was the most effective place to kick. It might've been if kicking the door didn't feel like kicking a cement slab.
You whirled around. "That's not fair!" you screamed, petulant. You wanted to sound angry. You wanted to be angry. Your hands balled into tight fists at your sides. You'd find another way out.
But Bane was moving. He was fast too. When you pictured it, you imagined his group as a slow and steady sort of threat. A kind of insurmountable wall that came inexorably closer with every wretched second. Now you were beginning to see the truth of it and you wondered who was so unlucky as to have to go up against something to wholly final.
For your part, you moved too. It wouldnât do to stay put and admit defeat now, not when this was a game he was clearly looking forward to playing. There was a feral light to his eyes, and a menacing number of teeth in the grinning snarl he offered you as he crossed the room.
You ducked, rolled, felt the dingy carpet stick and pull at your momentum. You werenât able to help yourself much farther than that. You werenât able to make it even halfway to the window youâd set your sights on. Bane was on top of you, although he wasnât physically touching you yet. He crowded your space and backed you into a corner.
You threw the first punch, aimed poorly, with as much follow through as you could muster.
Bane caught your hand easily.
You screamed. Most of the noise was abject rage, and some of it was a vain hope to power you through to wrenching yourself free.
It didnât.
Instead, it gave Bane the leverage he needed to easily spin you around and pin both of your arms against your back. You fought against him in vain and gritted your teeth. He didnât even flinch when you kicked at him or stomped on his feet. You discovered he was wearing steel-toed boots.
He pressed his knee against the back of yours, and you were suddenly much closer to the matted floor than youâd ever wanted to be. A surge of disgusted panic laced through your stomach. He wouldnât take you there, would he? Pressed against fibers that smelled of mold and ammonia?
You found out shortly that he was. He knelt behind you. There was a sort of squish to the floor that made you cringe. You felt him trade your wrists to one hand. He used the other to roughly but efficiently pull your pants down your legs. You wanted to complain, to insist to be taken to bed, but as you opened your mouth to speak Bane landed a rough smack against your ass. Your air cut off in a yelp and curled on yourself. Another smack came, and you couldnât bite back the moan that welled up inside you.
You never thought youâd be aroused from being hit. There was something about the way his hand scraped gently across your skin after, and the rough impact of weight that made you shudder down through your core.
He didnât spank you for very long. Each hit was heavy and aimed. When it was over you were panting, and you could feel your slick smearing down your thighs. Itâd gone on long enough to leave a lasting impression.
âWhy did you take me?â you asked to the dead air. Bane was shuffling slightly behind you.
âBecause I could,â he answered. His voice was low in his arousal.
That wasnât the best answer you couldâve heard and you struggled to conceive of an answer you could hope for. Any follow-up question you had ceased to exist when you felt the mushroom head of his cock press against your hole. It was thick. You could feel its girth dwarf your opening. You made a little noise of panic and clenched. Bane seemed undeterred as he slid the length of himself through your weeping slit. You figured anything could go inside you with enough pressure. You dropped to your forearms and tried to relax.
âYou didnât put up much of a fight,â he mused as he rocked himself between your thighs.
âI canât imagine anyone puts up much of a fight when they see you,â you shot back, half embarrassed. Hadnât you wanted a fight? Hadnât that been what youâd promised?
It didnât matter now. Bane said no more and lazily reached down to spread your lips apart. Your cunt clenched and released, and you felt yourself stay wet under his scrutinizing gaze.
He took you then, fast and brutal. His cockhead slipped into you and his girth followed. He wasnât that long, but that was barely a blessing when he stretched you past you limit.
You writhed on his cock, which made the feeling worse, and screamed.
He grunted a groaned above you. Your cunt rippled in clenches as you fought to breathe. You wondered if he felt he was being crushed in your sheath. If he felt anything other than pleasure, he didnât show it.
You couldnât tell if the pain was warping back into pleasure. There was the tell-tale coiling in your gut. Your legs shook at certain points. At some time or another youâd begun begging him to stop. He didnât listen, and as your words pitched up into screams, he simply covered your mouth with his hand.
The men in your life werenât known to last long when they took such a fast and rhythmless pace. The few youâd bedded never dared take you this way for fear of coming too soon, and your friends said the same about their partners.
Bane didnât have that problem. He fucked you until you were past the point of pain and into worrying numbness. Your muscles shook and strained from exertion. Your abused pussy had tried a few times to spit his cock out with aggressive shuddering spasms. Bane fucked you through it all.
He hadnât held your arms longer than he needed to get you on the floor, but you wished heâd take them back up now. His hands worked your hips for leverage, fucking into you as much as he was pulling you back onto his length to fuck himself. Your arms sprawled limply below you and your cheek pressed messily to the carpet. You kept your eyes squeezed shut and did your best to keep your heaving breaths contained to your nose.
It was bad enough you were inhaling whatever was on the ground. You didnât want to think what sort of diseases youâd get if it got into your eye, or if you had the misfortune of swallowing any of it. The stench was enough you could taste the acrid boil of it on the back of your tongue.
You lolled on the ground, no more than a fuck-doll, and wondered when itâd be over.
The door opened. Three latches clicked heavily as whoever was on the other side removed the bolts from the wall. It swung open silently but you felt the cool air circulate in from the other side.
Above you Bane pressed hard against you and rumbled a roar nearly silently through his chest. You felt the vibrations of it down your spine and straight into your cunt. You realized than that you hadnât gone numb. Your cunt flexed and pulsed on his cock, working it as best it could, as your stiff clit flinched and jumped, hoping for any contact at all.
Baneâs weight receded as his cock twitched inside you. There was a hot flush of liquid between you as his spend was spread from halfway down your well-used channel to splashing along your thighs.
You looked back to see him stroking himself lazily with a sleepy look in his eye. Your eyes met and you stayed locked together like that for a long moment. The he straightened himself out, looked over at the newcomer and said, âall yours.â
(Sukuna/Reader)
Prompt: Orgasm Control / Masturbation
Warnings: Pet/Master Dynamics, Threats of Violence
Rating: E (18+)
Word Count: 963
You lounged in his bed. A thing you were not permitted. A thing that could get you hurt.
A risk you were willing to take.
You were naked, as the rules dictated once you were in his chambers. You curled your fingers through the slick folds of your sex and imagined Sukuna's hands roaming your body. You imagined his tongue lapping at your eager pussy.
You did not imagine the half-awkward throat clear, or the tell-tale purr of a pleased Sukuna.
"We'll finish this later," Sukuna said to whoever had come with him. You dared not open your eyes or still your teasing fingers. There was no reason to condemn a random poor soul to a violent and jealous death at the hands of your master.
"Having fun without me?" Sukuna asked once it was clear his third wheel had left.
You hummed an acknowledgement of his words. You kept your eyes closed and your fingers moving as you pulled your lip into your mouth to worry it with your teeth.
"You weren't planning on orgasming without permission were you, pet?" He asked. That made the pace of your fingers falter. "Look at me and answer my question."
He was being generous, you knew, practically asking you twice. You would only test his patience so far. You opened your eyes and caught him standing a few feet inside the room. He looked relaxed and his arms were crossed comfortably across his chest. Under the veneer of command, you recognized lazy appreciation. You looked at him and answered, "n-no, master."
"N-no, master," you answered.
"No what, pet?" he prompted.
"No, I was not going to cum without your permission," you corrected yourself.
Sukuna rumbled a sound like he was pleased and came toward the bed. "Then by all means," he gestured to your naked self, "continue."
You groaned but did as you were bid. This had been your plan all along, hadn't it? To be caught, exposed and vulnerable and wanting. And the issue was that you were wanting. You wanted Sukuna. He wasn't on offer. Another problem arose in your mind. You doubted you'd be getting his permission now, and you never had been that great at denying yourself pleasure.
You'd have to try, you resolved, as your fingers continued their teasing swirl along your sensitive flesh. At the foot of the bed Sukuna sighed. "Play with yourself like you mean it, or I'll die of boredom," he warned.
You nodded, and, realizing your eyes had drifted shut, you opened them again to focus on him. He was leaning forward a bit, his weight resting at the edge of the mattress. One set of arms was still crossed, but the other seemed to be in a battle between reaching for you and reaching for himself. You watched, mesmerized, until he seemed to have made a decision.
His lower set of arms snapped out and grabbed you around the ankles. A surprised yelp escaped you as he pulled you down along the bed until your ass rested nearly against his thighs. His hands drifted down form your ankles and along your calves. He was holding you open for him and angling you up so he might have a better look.
You flushed, he was so brazen, but you didn't stop. He hadn't asked you to, and the pleasure trickling deeper into your gut refused to be ignored.
The second mouth he used as wickedly on you as he did on anything else appeared low on his stomach. It licked the skin around its opening, slavering and hungry. You gulped. How you wished he'd sink himself into you. How you wished this pleasure came from him instead of your own nimble fingers. He'd always known you better than you had ever known yourself.
"Are you close, pet, thinking about me devouring you?" Sukuna asked. He was careful not to touch you more than was necessary to keep you open to him. You wanted to beg him to put his lips on your flesh and dig his teeth into your skin.
"Yes, master," came your answering cry.
"And?" He prompted slowly.
"Please let me cum," you pleaded. You were willing to beg until your voice went hoarse, and sometimes Sukuna was amused enough to let you.
"No."
Now was not one of those times.
You whimpered, high and long, and your fingers did not cease. You couldn't bring yourself to stop. Your arms locked against you, and even as you tried to slow the coming storm, you knew it was futile. You bunched and flexed the muscles of your stomach and internally begged your fingers to relent. The swell of pleasure was cresting, and you would be in trouble soon.
"Remove your hands, or I'll remove them for you," Came Sukuna's dark promise. You felt the threat of his cursed energy as it thrummed the air in a slow, pulsing heartbeat.
You swallowed hard, uncertain, as your fingers finally found sense and stopped their movements. You groaned and writhed. Your fingers went from resting against your swollen sex to pulling themselves away. Your pleasure bloated inside you, overfull and angry, until you were too sensitive to take it and crying out in near pain from the loss.
"Good, pet," Sukuna praised, and raised your legs until your knees were well past his shoulders and you had to twist on the bedding to find a comfortable position to be upside down in. You caught the flash of a feral grin, then he was devouring you.
[Minors DNI]
Kinktober 2025 Masterlist
I will be participating in kinktober this year. This is what I am using for my prompts. I will be posting all thirty-one prompts to Ao3 too.
Below are the prompts and the Character/Reader for each day along with the links for Tumblr and Ao3. These will be populated as I post them, or just about, I've never done a masterlist before so I will probably be behind in updating it.
Link order is Tumblr, then Ao3
Prompt 1: Masturbation/Orgasm control w/ Sukuna [X] [X]
Prompt 2: Kidnapping w/ Bane [X] [X]
Prompt 3: Alien Abduction w/ Predator [X] [X]
Prompt 4: Hypnosis w/ Johnny Silverhand
Prompt 5: Finger Sucking w/ Sukuna
Prompt 6: Humiliation/Outdoor w/ Geralt
Prompt 7: Bloodplay/Blindfolds w/ Ghostface
Prompt 8: Cages w/ Karl Heisenberg
Prompt 9: Tentacles w/ Albert Wesker
Prompt 10: Punishment w/ Albert Wesker
Prompt 11: Somnophilia w/ Verso
Prompt 12: Kneeling w/ Sukuna
Prompt 13: Medical Play w/ Hannibal
Prompt 14: Possessive/Choking w/ Albert Wekser
Prompt 15: Sex Pollen w/ Din Djarin
Prompt 16: Remote Control/Chastity w/ Din Djarin
Prompt 17: Service Kink w/ Sukuna
Prompt 18: Dom/Sub w/ Bane
Prompt 19: Creampie/Electricity w/ Billy Butcher
Prompt 20: Dubcon w/ Billy Butcher
Prompt 21: Rimming/Forced Orgasm/Monster Fucking w/ Yurgir
Prompt 22: Quiet Sex w/ Chris Redfield
Prompt 23: Biting/Praise Kink w/ Astarion
Prompt 24: Noncon w/ Piter De Vries
Prompt 25: Pillory/Stocks/Impact Play w/ Mihawk
Prompt 26: Sex Robot w/ Bane
Prompt 27: Hair Pulling w/ Geralt
Prompt 28: S&M/Needles w/ Piter De Vries
Prompt 29: Body Worship w/ Sukuna
Prompt 30: Breeding/Degredation/Fucking Machine w/ the 141
Prompt 31: Free Use/Permanent Marks/Aftercare w/ Predator
Spoilers to anyone who hasnât finished Expedition 33!!
Hi! I was wondering if you would do a request where Canvas!Verso meets Real!Versoâs six year old daughter!Reader in the canvas after she entered the painting accidentally and Verso has to take care of her for a bit until Clea comes to get her.
Of course, my dear! I hope you don't regret it ;)
Pairing: Platonic Canvas!Verso x Child!Reader
Summary: Verso has spent all his existence inside a painting wondering at the man he'd been made after. When he gets a taste of reality, he doesn't want to let it go.
Word Count: 1163
Rating: G
Warnings: abandonment, established character death, gendered reader
âDaddy!â you squealed loudly.
Verso watched you, with your arms outstretched as you ran to him, screaming with joy. Cold fear sunk icy claws into his heart. He felt like he was drowning. He couldnât hear for the sudden ringing in his ears. He barely comprehended sight as the world blacked out at the edges.
Then you were catapulting yourself at him, and grabbing him in a tight, nail-filled hug. He staggered back from the force of you, arms draping around your body instinctively so you wouldnât fall or hurt yourself.
He felt air leave him in a grunt as he steadied himself on his feet.
âH-hi mon chou,â he stammered out. Somehow, heâd gained the ability to look down at you. Your wide smile and bright eyes made you look like you were glowing. Your hair was askew, floating around your head like a halo.
Suddenly you turned your head and nuzzled into his stomach. âI missed you!â You complained loudly to his clothes. âAuntie Clea said you werenât coming back, but I found you!â You left him in your triumph. Your fingers unclasping their grip on him so you could land heavily on the ground and bounce away, looking with wonder at the brightly hued world around you.
âYou know,â you said, turning toward him. Verso blinked a few times. A battle was being waged inside him. His thoughts felt like they were collapsing in on each other. His world had crumbled down around him before, but there was a safety to this canvas he never realized he had. Nothing was worse than finding out about you. Nothing.
And he had to kill the emotion. He had to trap it in a vice grip and throttle it until it was dead and lock its corpse in the depths of himself.
You were real. You were real and you were here. You were vulnerable. Neither his mother nor his father would cease in their madness to consider you. Verso was considering you, small and fragile and filling up the whole world with light and color and sound.
â-Its mean to play hide-and-seek with someone who doesnât know theyâre playing hide-and-seek,â you reasoned solemnly. You had a very stern look on your face, and your hands were planted on your hips so your elbows crooked out. But there was a shine to your eyes that Verso could not miss. You had missed him, the real him, your father, and his absence had hurt you.
âIâm sorry, mon chou,â Verso apologized, solemn to match you. And he meant it. He was sorry the real version of him had left you. He was sorry you had found him here in this painting. He was sorry you existed in a family such as his. âWhere is Auntie Clea?â he asked.
You shrugged your shoulders and kept them up around your ears as you began to spin around. Your arms stretched out as you propelled yourself in a wide circle around the grass and dirt. âdunno,â you called, âI went looking for her to help me get some juice, but I couldnât find her anywhere.â You slowed to a stop, head lolling dramatically, as you tried to follow the way the world was spinning.
Verso watched you, unsure what to do, how to move. He felt the hair along the nape of his neck rise as he was hyperaware of everything that was happening around you. One wrong move, one noise too many, and any number of nasty thing could come out of the brush.
âBut its okay,â you said after a moment, straightening and staring him down with an intensity that was almost unsettling. âI found you, and thatâs much better.â
But there was a rustling in the brush. There had been one noise too many. Verso stilled, tensed, trained his ear for the location of the sound. Verso readied his chroma, felt it swell with the pull of his will. Heâd nearly manifested it when he remembered heâd sent Monoco out to find something to eat. His oldest friend had returned, food carefully wrapped in his backpack, and taking in the scene with some amount of confused curiosity.
âWhatâs this?â Monoco asked, pointing stiffly, accusatorily, at you.
âA child,â Verso answered lazily even as he moved to put himself between you and his oldest friend.
Monoco tilted his head, rightfully suspicious. âWhy does it look like you?â
Verso flinched but leaned forward to match the hissed whispering, âbecause she's my child.â
âYou have a child?â Monoco sounds more offended that Verso wouldnât share such a wonderful fact than he sounds surprised.
âNo, not me, me,â Verso corrected quickly.
âThe other you?â Monoco clarified unnecessarily.
âYes, the other me had a child,â Verso responded, almost mockingly, but it was self-deprecating at most.
Monoco understood it was time to move on from that subject. âHowâd it get here?â
âI donât know.â
âAre you keeping it?â
âYou canât just keep a child,â Versoâs voice became a dangerously low growl. He didnât know what to do with you. âMonoco, she has to leave the canvas,â in that he held his resolve.
âBut itâs your child,â Monoco argued, he did love children.
âShe really isnât,â Verso argued, shaking his head sardonically.
âYou donât believe that.â Now it was Monocoâs turn to be ferocious.
âWhat else can I believe?â Verso asked, despairing.
A new voice broke them from their revelry, âare you quite finished, boys?â
Auntie Clea had arrived. Verso whipped around, at once indignant and horrified. She held you by the hand and was drawing you nearer. It was clear you were more than willing to go with her. You stared up at her with clear adoration. Verso felt his heart lurch at the difference.
âJuice time?â you asked.
Clea looked down at you and smiled softly. âIs that all you wanted?â she asked.
âI couldnât find you!â you said defensively.
Verso surged forward. He felt Monocoâs fingers grasp for him, but he made sure he was faster. "Could she come back some time?â he asked, too quickly, before he lost his nerve.
Cleaâs expression changed when she moved her eyes from you to him. Venom laced her smile, and a hardened hatred swam in her eyes. âNo,â came her short answer, and when she saw Verso was willing to continue she added, âit would be best if you remembered your place. Hers is with the land of the living.â
The words cut through him. He felt off balance. Clea had turned away, talking in high and pleasant tones to you as she led you away from him. Verso watched you leave. You did look like him. You had his thick hair and chilling eyes, and he wondered, trying to grasp at the memory of your face, if you might not grow to have his nose.
Then you were gone â not even a speck on the horizon, as the grass and trees crowded in to hide you away forever.
(Obfuscated Sunrise)
Pairing: Zantara x Reader
Summary: You're caught under the growing sunlight in the harsh deserts of Dune. You can only hope someone comes to rescue you, but you're not sure what's worse once your savior comes.
Word Count: 2567
Rating: E (18+)
Warnings: Stuck, nicknames, slight non-con
hii!! I wanted to request another fluff oneshot, with monoco or verso (I don't mind who u do so u can decide, I'd be alright with poly too if u write it) where reader asks them to cut their hair in some way or like style it? â¸( ´ âż ` )â¸
I ws thinking of the monoco and verso hangout where they do eachothers hair so yeah!! (â§â˝âŚ)
I hope u have a great day and If u don't want to/can't do this req jst ignore me đ (also I'm sorry if this is like confusing in anyway,,
(o^ ^o) )
p.s: i loved the last oneshot u wrote with actress!reader and verso!!
Sorry this took so long! I hope you like it :) .
Pairing: Verso x Monoco x Reader
Summary: Verso and Monoco notice you're feeling stressed. They decide spending time with you is the perfect remedy.
Word Count: 1232
Rating: G
Warnings: Hair loss, flowers, cuddling
You were losing your hair. In great wind-blown waves you left pieces of yourself all across the continent. You barely dared to detangle it in the mornings, although you did for fear of your hair condition worsening, and watched it fall away strand by delicate strand.
It was stress, you assumed, that was causing the change. Facing down death every day, watching your friends die, listening to Gustave⌠Having to witness the destruction of so many lives as you uncovered all those who came before were dead and gone. It was too much for anyone to handle, and if the cost was your hair, so be it.
Or so you thought to yourself. Under the moonlight with the monolith looming ever closer it was more difficult to wrap your head around your circumstances even with the feeling of loose hair tickling between your fingers.
Maybe you were losing your hair because you were just plain ripping it out. A nervous tick, perhaps, to card your fingers through your hair and feel the drag of your nails against your scalp. With how few mirrors there were around the continent you could only hope you didnât look like a poorly maintained doll.
You were letting those strands fall and get caught in the wind when Monoco came over to sit beside you. His mask drifted from your face to your hair blowing away and glinting slightly as they caught the moonlight.
âYou wonât be very good at fighting Nevrons if youâre fighting a cold too,â he said. His voice held little inflection, so you werenât sure if he was chastising you or teasing.
You shifted so you could look at him better. âAre you offering to keep me warm?â you asked, venturing to guess Monoco was trying to lighten your mood. The Gestral was often well meaning, but he was made of wood too.
âI think he wants me to help you out with that,â Versoâs voice startled you slightly as you werenât expecting him to be coming up behind you. Monocoâs mask tilted to look behind you, and you craned your neck to see Verso was settling down on your other side.
You didnât even have the time to ask him how he planned to do that. As soon as he settled in the grass, he grabbed you and pulled you near. You shifted with him, letting him pull you against his chest. Verso was warm and soft and as comforting as he had always been. The barest shift in the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed reminded you that you were still alive.
âWhatâs bothering you, ma cherie?â Verso asked, rumbling against your ear.
Instead of waiting for your mind to flood with everything that had ever happened to you, you blurted out the first thing that was on your mind. âIâm going bald,â you admitted, a little more dramatically than maybe you intended.
Monoco had been observing the two of you, but his mask tilted in worry at your words. âIs that something that can happen?â he asked, appalled.
Verso nodded behind you, his hands trailing up to push his fingers through his hair. You tried not to wince at the feeling, even as his fingers flowed through without catching on any tangles. âIs it the stress?â he asked lowly.
âOf course,â you sighed, settling further into his embrace. You tilted your head up to look at him. His fingers massaged against your scalp. âHow do you keep all that hair on your head?â you asked.
Verso stiffened under you, a feeling you barely registered but for how familiar you were with him. It was like he was trying so hard to hold himself back from telling you the truth. And you could live with his lies, you told yourself, as you watched Monoco share a curious glance, because he gave you everything else you could want.
âLuck, I guess,â he said after a while.
âWe could do your hair,â Monoco offered almost at the same time.
âHuh?â you asked, confused.
âOver the years weâve done each otherâs hair,â Monoco explained, âcut it or styled it. We could do that for you, too.â
You looked from Monoco to Verso and back. You trusted them to keep you alive. You supposed they had deft enough fingers. Doing hair hadnât been on the list of skills you attributed to them. What did you have to lose, really?
âOkay,â you agreed with a shrug, âif you think itâll help.â
Monoco seemed to light up in his excitement. He shifted so he was sitting next to Verso and they both had full access to your hair. You watched him, as he moved, pull out a peculiar looking book from the pack he kept on his back.
âWhatâs that?â you asked.
Monoco handed the leather-bound book to you. âBe careful with it,â he warned as you opened the cover. âItâs where I press the flowers Iâve cultivated outside the Station,â he explained when you flipped the page and saw the delicate colors held within.
You gasped at the beauty of it and turned the page gingerly. It was all so fleeting and fragile. Each bloom was perfectly almost perfectly uniform in its growth, the colors delineated on a microscopic scale as to be almost indistinguishable from the next. The whole journal was thick with the same repeating pattern of petals and stems all lovingly placed and maintained by the protective Gestralâs hand.
âTheyâre beautiful,â you breathed. The book had distracted you enough that youâd barely noticed the two had started in on your hair. Versoâs fingers slipped easily along your scalp while Monoco picked this bud and that from the open book to wind along the pattern Verso was crafting.
The well-preserved flowers were the same exuberant purple that accented the expeditionerâs uniforms. Soon enough there were far fewer contained in the journal than were cascading over your shoulder. They were weaved expertly through the twists and braids Verso had managed to pleat and tie from your scalp all the way down to your split ends.
At the end your hands hovered over the work of art theyâd created on your head. You hardly wanted to ruin it, but you couldnât really see what theyâd done.
Then Verso pulled something from his pocket. A small metallic compact. It flipped open with a pop, and he handed it to you. On one side was dusting of the remains of a long over-used powder. The other held a pristine mirror. It was small, but with some maneuvering and determination you soon had a clear picture of what the two men had given you.
The entire thing was breath taking. There was an extravagance to it that you had never experienced before and feared, momentarily, you would never experience again. âItâs wonderful,â you breathed, trying to do three things at once. You couldnât stop looking at your hair in the mirror, but you wanted to make sure Verso and Monoco understood just how grateful you were.
âThank you,â you said, finally able to tear your eyes away long enough to throw your arms around them both and pull them near. The position was awkward enough because of how you had to twist, and you were able to enjoy the grunts of surprised pain that the two men made when you squished them together over your shoulders.
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