cw: somophilia noncon drugging panty stealing pervy behaviors from Sukuna and toji, implied Sukuna x toji
your Mom kicked you out— it was so sudden. Apparently she needed “space” and was just tired of being a mom? luckily you found a place fairly quick. You’d just have roommates and it couldn’t be that bad… right?
and when moving in, it wasn’t. it was actually nice— they helped you set up your room and gave you a month to find a stable job, how generous of them. Maybe too generous…
IckyRoommates!Toji and Sukuna stealing your dirty laundry whenever you’re not looking.. putting it between then whenever they rut against each other. They always put it back tho, and with a little treat ㅤ♡
They always find a reason to press up against you , either being behind you when you’re getting something from the cabinet or pressing your hips against theirs. Something they even take it a step further and steal all of your panties. Seeing you squirm and hold your legs together makes their cock jump, especially when you’re too shy to even ask about it, even if they ask what’s wrong you brush it off. It’s intoxicating to them.
Inevitably they start to do more, get more handsy— they grope your ass whenever you walk by, toji always gives it a hard slap. Whenever you confront him (or at least try to) he always shrugs it off as just jokes and you need to learn how to not be so sensitive. Sukuna on the other hand, squeezes your hips and let’s his hand trail up your sides. Sukuna always finds ways to tease you, sometimes hes wearing low sweatpants showing off his happy trail or its him not wearing any boxers and man spreading on the couch. They try to do anything that gets a reaction, even if it’s a tiny one.
And sometimes whenever they cook dinner they add a little extra something in your food, jussstt so you can sleep good ㅤ♡ Toji slides your panties to the side so he can rub his heavy cock between your plush thighs. Soft groans and grunts can be heard from your room, after teasing himself with the slick from your cunt he, slowly slips his cock in
,,Fuck sweetie.. pretty pussy squeezin’ me’’ you shift slightly in your sleep, the only thing giving him an active response is your twitching cunt and slight moans. Toji could do this all night— and he did, he only stopped rightt before ur alarm went off; he quickly lapped up your messy juices and fixed your panties before you wake up.
Of course after hearing your night with toji sukuna wanted a turn. He made a hefty dinner, so much so that you went to sleep almost immediately. It took no time for him to sneak into ur room and rip your panties off. He slides his cock between your folds, your wetness making him ache
“Been waiting for this.. fuckin’ tease” without a second thought he slams his hips into yours. The pace is unforgiving as he holds you up to angle deeper into you. Plaps’ and the sounds of skin slapping bounce off the walls; Sukuna dips his head into the crook of your neck, sucking and biting to leave his mark on you
This time when you wake up Sukuna is still there, you can feel his cock resting inside of you. You hold your breath as you inch away, you only get so far before you hear a mumbled voice behind your head “stop moving, need some rest” his hands wrap tighter around your waist as he pulls you back in. You whimper slightly at the thought of staying like this for however long, especially since you don’t remember how you got like this
before your thoughts can spiral to much, you see toji crack open your door. Your eyes light up slightly at the thought of toji saving you from whatever this is. But instead he leans down and gives a kiss to your forehead
“Dont move to much— breakfast will be ready in a minute doll, ” your eyes water as you mumble ‘why’ but he starts rubbing your face and cooing at you “don’t think to hard right now, yeah? Brains not good for thinking or workin’ just stay right where you are” Toji plants another kiss on your forehead and lips before giving Sukuna one
“I’ll wake you two up when foods done” even with his words you’re still in a state of confusion. Is this the first time? What does he mean about working? you have to pay your bills. All these questions flood your mind as your heart sinks deeper and deeper into your chest.
Idea: Murkoff keeps multiple nude photos of all the Reagents from their personal files for blackmail or whatever. So they decided to fuck with the Reader by using their nudes in place of the propaganda posters in the trials. Could u pls write the Yan!PAs reaction to that.
The devil made me do it, but I also kind of wanted to.
Yandere! Leland Coyle/ Mother Gooseberry/ Franco Barbi/ Otto & Arora Kress/ Liliya Bogomolova x Gender neutral! Reader romantic/slightly smutty headcanons
Summary: To be watched and seen in such an intimate way is terrible and embarrassing, to have it be the most violent people you have ever known is a different type of punishment.
Content warnings: dead dove do not eat, canon typical violence, canon typical sadomasochism, canon typical sexualization of religion(?), yandere content, dom/sub dynamics, abusive behavior, obsessive behavior, sexually violent behaviour, references to nonconsensual nude picture taking, blackmail, slightly sexual content, mention of masturbation (Franco only), voyeurism(?), electrocution kink, non-con elements, sexual content, references to drug use (Franco's poster and vaguely in Gooseberry's part), mention of vomiting (Otto & Arora only), mention of self-harm (Liliya only), mention of self-mutilation (Liliya only), exploitative behavior (Murkoff).
Word count: 2.6k
Please read all warnings!!! I have no real rules about reading this sort of content, just know that if you read it fully/like it/reblog it, that it's on you.
AI was not used for the writing, please do not use any of this for AI.
Ultimate Outlast masterlist
Welcome board
.˳·˖✶𓆩𓁺𓆪✶˖·˳.
Murkoff is an odd company. You knew they encouraged the Prime Assets' behavior; the sexual sadism was overbearing when it came to any trial. You couldn’t stand the words they said to you, the sounds they’d made watching you writhe in pain, the way they’d grind against their own palms to relieve themselves. It was too much for you. You hadn’t gone back into a trial environment for days, simply laying in your cell, only leaving for showers, meals, and checkups. That’s when the doctors got you. They kept pushing you for an answer to your lack of trial participation, and you finally gave in and allowed them to know about how the Prime Assets had started to act. The checkup ended and you finally brought yourself to enter a trial environment.
The pictures of you hanging around the trial environment you never remembered being taken. They were artistic renditions like the ones you had collected before, but the sight made you scared. One was of your sleeping face smeared with mysterious fluids with the line “For beauty’s sake” in a weirdly romantic font, another of you holding someone's arm as their hand snuck between your legs saying, “Stay in your trusted position”, and another one of you kneeling by a religious shrine as you drew one of the figurines between your thighs with the line “Remember how to worship correctly”. There had to have been over fifteen of those posters around, and you knew they were all so perfectly made for the disgusting animals that wanted to keep you in a little birdcage forever.
Coyle’s behavior while you were gone was terribly embarrassing to witness. He obviously was missing you to some degree. He was more aggressive, both physically and sexually; he’d treat the reagents worse and shock himself more. He got worse with the doctors (if that was even possible) and he’d increasingly voice against them before they drugged him. When the times are at their toughest, Coyle is finally given the posters and that’s when he starts to believe that it’s the universe telling him that the way he treats you was God-given. He mistreats you because God says so, because Murkoff says so.
He loves the posters, even if he says he doesn’t. It’s in the way he’s traditional but very sexual; he loves it but doesn’t want to act like he endorses it. He’s a model citizen and a pervert at the same time. He’s got to remember his position in society. If he had to choose a favorite poster though, it would be ones that show any sign of submission to a higher power, kneeling before a pair of men's boots, sitting beside a desk chair with electrical burns covering your legs. The ones in his trial are so specific to showing you in the most risqué, almost pinup like drawings made for soldiers. Either way, he adores the idea that your natural born status is to stay in a submissive role for him and only him. He wants to have the ability to do whatever he wants to you and for you to accept it because that’s your natural position within nature and society. He puts his cigarette out on your thigh, or he shocks you with his cattle prod? That’s what's meant to happen.
When you finally go back into one of his trials, he’s going to be so much worse. Coyle will spend his time catcalling you, groping you before electrocuting you, and yelling about how you lack a “mark of the law” to show that you’ve been properly rehabilitated. He’s going to rub the posters in your face to remind you that you’re a whore for a man like him. When you’re not in direct contact with each other, like when you’re trying to find the generator, he’ll start speaking into the darkness to remind you that you were made to be disrespected by him.
Gooseberry hasn’t been the same sing-songy woman like before. She’s very brainwashed from the drugs and electroshock but she knows the differences in the feeling of the reagents in her arms. She knows it's not you. She’s obviously more irritable; she yells more, Futterman’s confused about where you went too, and she feels lonelier. She’ll mumble to herself saying that she misses your beauty, fear, and body. Mother Gooseberry won’t be hostile towards the doctors, unlike the others; she’s too deep into Stockholm Syndrome to do that, but she misses you so deeply. Much of the posters set around her trial environment is meant to keep her spirits high, as she grew a habit of swinging between being too aggressive or not aggressive enough.
Gooseberry’s reaction to the posters is pretty different from Coyle’s. She’s a hedonistic lady; she’s going to adore the idea that your interpretation of love, religion, and beauty is dependent on pure pleasure. She doesn’t care if it comes into play with the orphanage, she’s making them do coke, sex isn’t her biggest problem. Either way, she’s going to spend so much time collecting the posters and giggling about how beautiful your bare flesh is, like a schoolgirl with a magazine with their celebrity crush on the cover. Gooseberry’s also going to spend time talking to Dr. Futterman about the gleam in your eye that she claims only comes with orgasmic pleasure. She will 100% believe the posters are the way you fully view pleasure. The incessant, almost fetishistic, way they show your open mouth and bare pelvis will make her believe that the softness of your body was deserving of her touch and Futterman’s drill. She’ll keep switching between the idea that she’s simply crushing on you, giggling at the thought that you would simply kiss her cheek, and how she needs to teach you how to be good, how to properly feel pleasure and how to be punished.
During the trial with Mother Gooseberry, she’s going to spend so much of her time trying to get you back to her. The millisecond she realizes that the reagent in her trial environment is you; she’s over the moon. She puts the posters all around to try impressing you on her love for you, but as time goes on, her behavior starts to switch to a more authoritarian state. If you’re getting through the tasks quicker than usual or in a way she doesn’t find favorable, she’ll start muttering about how you simply don’t understand why you’re fighting from her and that she needs to get you and show you all her love. Dr. Futterman will encourage her to get you too, he’ll go on and on about how you’re a stupid slut that needs all their cavities taken care of. She will take that as a good sign too; a father approving of his daughter’s love is something she’s only ever seen in film, and she adores it.
Franco’s probably the worst in terms of sexual treatment. He’s already pent up enough with you in the trial when he’s not trying to grope you, so you not being there at all is like a starving dog thinking of a T-bone steak. He wants you so badly and you’re nowhere to be seen. Franco will harvest more teeth from the reagents, even trying to take some from the living, he’s yelling more, and he’s demanding at random for you to get back into the trial environments because he knows that none of the reagents are you. He knows your shape and smell and fear. So, the posters were more so a protection opportunity for the scientists, as he began trying to shoot them whenever he could.
If you took a black light to any of the posters in Franco’s trials, the entire thing would glow neon blue. That man jerks off to all your posters whenever he can, in fact, he collects new posters when the old ones begin to deteriorate. He was the one that got the most excited for the posters. The ones for his environment show you covered in marker words spelling out the greatness of your body parts, arrows pointing to your sex, your arms covered in track marks, your smile that of someone obviously high. Franco adores the love in your half-lidded eyes; it lets him fantasize about you taking advantage of him or how you’d look so beautiful if he were to perform well for you. He loves that the posters feed into his specific fantasies and now he no longer must use his imagination for anything.
Franco is extra gropey during the trials. He’s so happy that you’re back and no matter your gender, he’s going to moan and squeal about how glad he is that mommy’s home. He’ll intentionally hang up the posters he had used to getting off to make you grab and see them; he wants you to know how you make him feel. Franco will aim for your legs more often to try keeping you down so he can possibly get some time alone with you. He’s not always going to be as gross as possible though; he’ll go on and on about how he just wants to get to know you and that he only wants to get a drink. How sweet!
Otto and Arora’s behavior became more irritable. They gain a habit of making more rude comments towards the ex-pop and keep making jokes about how the doctors aren’t as good at their job as they think because you haven’t gotten into the trial. They don’t argue with each other as you would think, but they constantly are talking about missing you, Arora voicing how sad she feels without your presence and Otto comforting her by sharing his own loneliness. Something the Kress Twins do that the other Prime Assets don’t is constantly preparing. They’re getting ready to see you again, constantly perfecting the ingredients in the vials, making sure they won’t make you too sick but aren’t too weak to let you fight back against them. They also are always trying to become more physically appealing to you, combing their hair, fixing their clothes, creating new perfumes/colognes to make sure they’re constantly at their best just in case you come back into their lives with some intense desire for them to guide you down the right path. It’s only the burden of their class.
Otto and Arora’s reaction to the posters is very “I hate it”. They’re going to see it for the first time and fully believe it’s the most disgusting vile thing to do to a pure soul like you. They’ll go into the viewing with the belief that you are being defiled, held against your will by the doctors that mistreat them too. You didn’t mean to pose like that; you were being forced! You couldn’t possibly like something like that... even if part of them like fantasizing about it too. Their posters are of you covered in jewelry and sheets of fabric saying something like “To protect freedom”. When they’re analyzing the posters of you, Arora spends most of her time mocking the nudity and color of jewels presented on you, while Otto is spending his time reminding her of the artistic beauty of you sprawled out like that. She thinks it’s a direct mockery of their class too; it’s not artistically put together; the jewels look fake, and it’s obviously a mockery of Otto’s interests! How disgusting! They can’t let you know these posters exist at all and need to make sure you never go down a path like that.
The trials themselves are worse. The separation has made them more alert on where you are, almost all objectives lead to you getting sick more times than necessary. It gets gross, but they won’t feel bad about it. Arora will keep making excuses as to why your sickness is justified. Well, they’ve missed you so much, and those things happening to you are like playing tag when the tagger takes short cuts to get to the others. They only need to get a leg up to finally give you the good treatment they always planned. They’ll mumble on about how much effort they’ve put into themselves, how excited both are to see you, and if you think they look as good as they feel. When it comes to the finale of the trial, that’s when their worst behavior comes out. Otto is reprimanding you for forcing your hand in a way that’s disgusting while Arora is yelling at him to keep going to find you.
Liliya’s loneliness was barely noticeable; she was used to it. Her time spent in the snow with only her own words and what she believed to be divinity. The victims in Despoil the Auction got most of the harm. Her voice was louder; she commanded them to hurt themselves more often, knowing they couldn’t. She starts to believe that Murkoff itself is doing something to hold back her divinity and to keep you from her. She hates the predicament she’s in now, she wants the freedom she had before in her resort out in Russia, deep in the snow with her followers, but now she’s stuck in a fake place trying to spread the word of her messiah to people that don’t have ears to hear. You would have listened though; she knew you would. You’re nowhere to be seen, and the anger of your disappearance leads to the mistreatment of the doctors. More of them reported having migraines and sudden thoughts of self-mutilation and harm. So, when they set up the posters, those issues all of a sudden stopped. When the posters started popping up, her disdain towards Murkoff would start to become less prominent.
The reaction to the posters is a very religious one. Liliya’s sexual behavior is all over the place, considering her sadomasochistic words and more likely heavy conservatism growing up in a religious orphanage in the middle of nowhere Russia. Her posters are similar to the “Remember how to worship correctly” poster, it’s all of you laying in the snow, your body obviously deteriorating from the cold, the white flurries drenched in red at your own harm, while you ground against what seemed to be one of Liliya’s religious symbols. She views it as a direct gift to her; your body is hers to consume, as if you were the most prized jewel in the land. She likes that the posters give her a sense of power; she’s divine, so naturally you’re meant to be hers. The nudity itself isn’t seen as sexual in her eyes, as your body is a gift that needs to be carved from its stone. Grinding on the symbol is where the perception of sexuality is obvious. Part of her doesn’t like the idea that you’re indulging so greedily in the holy figure associated with her, and part of her thinks it’s hot. So, it all leads to her believing that you need to be guided down a proper path to know how greedy you are for doing that at all. She’s a hypocritical amalgamation really.
During trials with Liliya, she’s going to spend all her time trying to remind you that Murkoff approves her divine position above you. She won’t tear down any posters of you; she wants you to find them, in fact, needs you to. She’ll go as far as to wrap some of the mannequins' parts in the ripped-up posters to let you know she knows the positions you have put yourself in. The hunt for you is not just simply stopping you from destroying the Lot, but rather her wanting to get the opportunity to punish you for your lack of dignity. Her calls are more about your damnation instead of just giving to her and her religion. You’re going to experience the worst of the worst because you couldn’t keep your legs closed. She’ll guide you back to divinity, don’t worry.
to the rescue, again?⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡ age gap relationship leon s. kennedy/ reader hcs
both nsfw and sfw hcs to drabble. explicit. (nsfw under the read more)
cw: 🕊️ dead dove + dubcon in the nsfw section. made with re9!leon in mind, age gap relationship - he's in his 50s and reader is in her late 20s, so all the taboo that comes with THAT, possessive tendencies from leon, he follows you around, degradation, breathplay. reader gets wasted and leon 'coincidentally' finds her, car sex while drunk (only reader is drunk). AFAB! reader, use of fem terms of endearment. this is so gross, sorry guys omg. he still does aftercare he isnt a monster. happy ending!
a/n: idk what to say guys this is just horny smut thats it. something something older man something something sedate me? i don't condone this shit irl, just fantasy. or if its consenual then fuck yeah how does it feel to live my dream?
asks are open! [link] divider by @ cursed-carmine
SFW
Calls you names like 'angel' 'sweet love' 'baby', and relishes how you react to each, a blush dusting your cheeks as you process his words. There's something about this older man that boys your age can't give you. Protection, stability, that tight feeling in your chest.
You'll never have to drive again, amen. Leon will take you where you need to go or at least send a trusted driver your way. (That government agent money is nooo joke.)
Leon would have one hand on the steering wheel, the other making for a protective touch on your thigh. He's sooo attentive to you, making notes of billboards you take a second glance at, turning up the radio when he hears you start to sing along to it, ugh. Swooon.
You tell your close friends all about Leon. They giggle with you over drinks, saying how lucky you are. This shit was straight out of those trashy books y'all read. A gruff older man built like a weapon and just as deadly? But has a soft spot only for youuuu? Hello.
Speak of the devil, he comes out of the kitchen right as your friends are teasing you. Leon's clad in a shirt too damn tight for his own good, and pecks your cheek for them all to see. He'll bring you all more of that wine you're sharing before retreating to your shared room.
Is a tad paranoid with you working. Why would you want to bust your ass all day for money when he makes more than enough for you both? You and Leon may have gotten into some petty arguments about it before, but he always makes it up to you.
He apologizes with flowers, your favorite candies, oddly - that necklace you were eyeing last girls' night - how did he know that? Your lover says it's just a coincidence, that he knows you best.
Lately, there's been more weird 'coincidences' like that one. You were way too drunk for your own well-being, another night out with your girls. They all split in favor of an uber, and you stay behind. The bar was playing your favorite music, you couldn't just leave! (Drunk you didn't make the best choices.)
The club was tight, stuffy, you're stumbling and bumping into people more than you'd like. You decide on getting some fresh air, maybe a walk would help you sober up? Great idea.
You grab your things and exit the club. The cold air of the night feels great on your skin. You're dressed in a tight halter top, neckline nonexistent. (Leon hated that shirt, it drew attention to your tits. He didn't blame you for it, rather all the perverts who think they have a chance with a pretty young thing like you. Makes him feel like the dirty old man he is.)
(Continued, NSFW under the cut.)
NSFW - drabble
You stagger down the streets, ignorant of the glances men are giving you. Anyone with eyes can see you're wasted. You're a walking target, babe.
You're not aware of a lot of things. Where were you going? You didn't know, now you find yourself out of the clubbing district. The streets aren't as bright as they used to be, just buildings upon buildings with their lights out.
You were also not aware of the black car that's been trailing you for at least ten minutes or more - headlights off, of course.
Leon had been 'in the area.' Oh, who are we kidding? He's following you again, just like he does every night you go out with your friends.
You finally notice him as he honks. "Asshole." You spit out, quickly stopping to let the car pass.
It doesn't, instead the Porsche's driverside window rolls down to reveal your stalker. "Harsh, but okay."
"Leon! Oh, baby I am so happy to see you." You take back your curse from earlier, feeling relieved to see his face. He always comes to your rescue! You see him as a guardian angel, still unaware of his repeated stalking. It isn't fate, this shit is on purpose. Calculated. Practiced.
You almost trip on the way to the window. Leaning into the opening, you give your older boyfriend a clear view of your cleavage. (With the way the shirt splits, it's more than just cleavage. It's a miracle your nipples are still covered, saving you some decency in your drunken state.)
You look like a hooker trying to pick up a customer - have some class.
He gives you a disarming smile, but his words are anything but. "Get in the fucking car. Now."
You don't remember fumbling to the passenger seat, but you sure can hear the scolding you're getting.
"I'm way too old for this shit. Picking you up, drunk off your ass in-" He inhales sharply, the hand on your thigh starting to grip you harder. "In god knows where... wearing that."
You don't hate his scoldings. Hell, you'd be lying if it didn't make you a little hot. You've got issues, but who doesn't?
"M'sorry." You slur your words, pulling up your shirt self-consciously.
"Fuck that, you're ready to show your body for everyone at that club, but now..." Leon removes the hand from your thigh and tugs down your shirt, ripping the cheap fabric down the middle. You're exposed, leaving you in that tight skirt and your plunging bra.
You yelp, too shocked by his actions to ask how he knew you were at a club. He was working today, you didn't have a chance to tell him your plans.
"Why don't you take off that bra, angel." The older man eyes you from the car mirror. You felt small, not all in the moment mentally. Like you've got yourself in big trouble, that tightness in your chest when you'd walk to the principal's office.
Your hands find your head, the buzz from the alcohol becoming too much. You're going to get carsick, fast.
Like Leon could give a fuck right now. He doesn't ask you a second time, taking initative to flick the front closure of your bra open. He takes a nipple and tugs.
It isn't until you threaten to throw up all over his car's expensive interior that Leon finds a place to pull over. It was some backroad shoulder, looks right out of a horror movie. You wouldn't feel safe if it wasn't for your boyfriend - ironically.
Such a nice car parked in a place like this. No matter, Leon can handle it if some shady individuals dare to try him right now. He wouldn't be opposed to blowing someone's brains out for intruding on you two.
You're both in the back seat, but this is Leon Kennedy we're dealing with - he's got a gun under the seat. Loaded, safety off. The thought stirs another fucked up fantasy in his mind, but he puts a pin in it for now. Wait, when did you two get in the back? This is bad, your memories are blending together.
You're in Leon's lap now, facing him. You've long lost your bra and what was left of your shirt. You wince at the feeling of his gloved hands on your thighs. Looks like you're down to your panties.
Your head... your head. It's reeling. It's as if someone hit you square between the eyes. Leon mumbles something along the lines of 'punishment fitting the crime.' You lean against the back of the driver's seat.
"Stay with me, angel." Leon won't let you sleep. He pinches your nipple harshly as he did earlier, turning his hand slightly to the left. You hiss as the pleasure stings into familiar pain. You cry out, you're awake.
"Awake.." You pant, struggling to remain conscious.
Your mind is clouded over, drunk. Leon's painfully hard in his pants at the scene, his pretty little thing all malleable and helpless. He just had to come rescue you. You never know what kind of sick perverts are out there. (Or in this car with you.)
"Anyone could have come and picked you right off the curb." Leon's lecturing you again, the grip on your plush thighs becomes painful. You'll see bruises tomorrow - damn, he was strong for his age. "Would you like some random man groping you like this? Huh?"
You want to argue with him, to tell him that you're more careful than that - responsible. Truth is, if Leon hadn't been threatening the other man following you? You'd be in that exact situation. To think of it, you did hear a large 'thud' at some point in your drunken stroll.
Your lover makes quick work of your panties, you think you see him stuff them in his jacket.
He doesn't care to take off his gloves, shoving two covered fingers up your cunt. The stretch is instant, painful - it burns. You almost forgot this was a punishment. You try to squirm out of his iron grip, to no avail.
"Nuh.. nah.. hurts." You drool out your words, "Stah..."
Your protests are lost on the older man. Even as you stand - as far as you can while still straddling him - he keeps up the brutal pace.
"You're going to learn this lesson, sober or not. That's not my fucking problem you drank too much." Leon's speaking at you, knowing you're too far gone to be spoken to.
Sobbing, you're not going anywhere. You're trapped in this earned hell. You're bracing yourself against the ceiling of the luxury car, tears falling down onto your lover's lap. Still glad to see him?
His free hand wipes the tears from your face, smudging your makeup in the process. The leather glove stinks of - what you didn't realize at the time - gunshot residue. Leon dons a shit-eating grin as he wipes the mess around your face.
You hate it when he does that. You'd much rather have the sweet, love-making Leon you've come accustomed to.
"Yucky.. yucky!" You try to shut your mouth as your lover attempts to shove his tear and makeup-stained gloved fingers down your throat. You didn't stand a chance against him. Leon gets his way and presses his middle finger down on the middle of your tongue, his index forming a hook to keep your mouth wide open for him. The dubious amount of drinks you had tonight didn't help your gag reflex either. He pulls back right before you'd vomit on him.
You lose your grip on reality as the breath floods back into your lungs. That tightness in your core, right above your clit. You're gonna squirt from this fucked up punishment. Thankfully, you're insanely wet for your older lover, so the gloves don't hurt as much as they did at the start. Your pussy tightens around Leon's fingers.
"Luh.. love you! I'm so sorrysorrysorry..." You gave up running a while ago. You're limp, supported by the man responsible for your rescue and ruin. You keep begging for forgiveness as you squirt all over Leon, the orgasm he forced upon you sending shockwaves through your body.
"I love you too, baby." He keeps thrusting his large fingers in and out, in and out, taking breaks to pull out so you can squirt to your fullest. "I love you so much that I came all the way out here to get your ass off of these streets - punish you so you can make a better fucking choice next time." See, he really did care! If you were gonna get snatched by a psychopath tonight, aren't you glad it's him?
────୨ৎ────
You passed the fuck out right after that orgasm. Leon held you close, rocking you back and forth in his arms. You'd pass in and out of reality, hearing his loving words - happy to know he didn't mean any of the harsh words he'd be yelling at you earlier.
"You did so good for me, sweet love." The older man's voice becomes soft, encompassing you. He hums a tune you hardly recognize as you drift to sleep in his arms, ruined and fucked out.
You wouldn't remember anything past your climax the next morning, but Leon's dedicated to aftercare no matter. You were wrapped in your favorite blanket from home before being carefully tucked in the passenger seat. He'd click the seatbelt over your sleeping frame, afraid any more rough treatment would shatter you for good.
Leon S. Kennedy was your guardian angel, in his own fucked up way - and you wouldn't have it any other way. You smile in your sleep, dreaming of him even now.
a/n: THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR MAKING IT TO THE END... UH WHAT DID YOU THINK?? DID YOU LIKE IT, DID YOU WANT TO RUN AWAY OR BLOCK ME?? HAHA
step bro!Pope.... this is all for you @valleyanimalz brother
tw pseudocest roleplay, fauxcest, girly moans pope truther, established relationship, impact play, somno n cnc if u squint . Pope calls reader bubby. mega smut ddne pls head my warning and dni if you're under 18!
Pope would enter your home with a long sigh, shoulders slumping forward as he drops everything there in his place. when he comes home after an overnight job, he never let's you know when he's coming home. it could be three in the afternoon, three in the morning. he does this because he gets to see you in your most vulnerable form.
he doesn't undress, doesn't shower, doesn't even step out his boots when he makes heavy steps towards your bedroom. even with all the exhaustion flowing through his body, he knows what he needs. he needs his...sister.
licking his lips, he pulls the covers off your body, a sheer black nightgown riding up your soft thighs. as mentioned, Pope never let you know when he came home. so you, being the doll you are, always make the effort to lay to rest in something pretty, something easy, something teasing.
he bites his lip, hands running up your unconscious legs as he moves you onto your back, his own knees denting the mattress as he leans over the side of you. in the morning, you'll scold him about the marks they leave on your duvet. but for now, you're at his dismay.
every time he greets you like this, you're always ready for him. your arousal seeping onto the back of your thighs, as you don't wear underwear when he leaves. clean, smooth, buttery with your brown sugar lotion coating your body. he inhales deep, hunched over your body as he goes from your hair, down your back, to your ass. you're all mine, he thinks.
he peels off his leather jacket, hands hurriedly sliding off his belt as his dick strains against the harsh denim. he watches your face stir ever so slightly as he runs his knuckles against your soft cheek, "such a pretty lil girl.." he's whispers, his thumb gliding over your plush lip, pressing down on it to watch it squish against his digit.
"missed your throat, sweetie..s'all i could think about.." your mouth opens around him as he slides his thumb past your teeth slowly, his breath picking up as he watches himself intrude you. "you been lettin' anyone use this mouth, baby? she still reserved for your big brother? guess we'll find out."
he's palming himself through his cotton boxers, eyes locked on how you take his thumb deeper into your mouth. he feels you come into consciousness from the inside—your tongue twitching against him as he presses down, curving along it as your lips began to register the unfamiliar thing.
your lashes flutter, he feels your breath pick up against his hand, and its not long until your little hand raises in its sleepy state. you let out a groggy whine, grabbing onto his forehead as you blink awake, Andrew's breath hitching when you stare up at him with big, sleepy eyes. opening your mouth around his thumb, you let it rest on your lips. "..A-Andy..?" you mewl, squinting slighlty to see his pretty face.
with your head angled up he tucks a stray hair behind your ear, his spit covered thumb circling your plump lips. "sorry to wake you bub...just got home.." you hear that word—no that name, that tone of voice. and it clicks in your mind what he wants, even through your tired body.
its what he usually did when he came home from a job. sometimes he wanted to be dad. but more times than none, he was your big brother, not your boyfriend. not in the scene, at least. "what..what're you doin'..?" you watch him bite down on his lip when you give into his play, the hand that's not holding his forearm rests on his thigh, right under where the skin flexes out his boxers.
"don't worry honey. just open your mouth, okay? your big brother had a stressful fuckin' day. gonna help me out?" you watch with big eyes as he gets his pants down to his knees. you push weakly at his thighs, "andy...m'tired.." you whine, squeaking when he grabs your chin roughly to pull you closer.
"I know i know,,I'll be quick just-just open your mouth.." he slaps at your cheek, and you whimper as you stick out your tongue. he taps his tip along it roughly,a raspy hum exiting his mouth before fisting at your hair, easing his cock in your mouth. your eyes roll back the deeper he goes, lip stretching around his fat dick.
from above you, Andrew let's out a long groan, head thrown back slighlty, eyes not leaving the sight of you. "there you go bubby..alll the way back—nuh-uh," he slaps at your cheek again when you gag slightly, tears brimming your lashline, "take it, don't push me. you can do it." he grunts, keeping your head down.
your hands find his thighs, holding yourself steady as he meets your face with his thrusts. you whine and moan around him, lifting your tongue to glide along the underside of his cock, the action making him groan louder. "y'so fucking good baby, Jesus christ.." his hand holds the underside of your jaw, angling your head up as he speeds up his hips, his firey pubes tickling your lips.
you gag with each hit of the back of your throat, tears running down your cheeks now, and he pulls at your hair harder. "fuck bubby, fuck y-oh my god you're so good, takin' that shit huh?" he's getting cocky, your cheeks burning after each impact he sends through you, little sobs humming around his dick.
"you just take it n take it for me every time, such a good Lil sister.." your hands rake up his thighs, bunching his shirt above his abs as he slams his dick down your throat, pornographic gags being heard under his slew of girly sounding moans. "yeah baby, yeah, doin' so fuckin good, m-fuuuck m'almost done, just a lil longer okay?"
his eyes roll back as he hunches over your body, knees pressing deeper into the mattress, your neck beginning to strain from how he forces your head back. your thighs rub together under your gown, arousal pooling onto your thighs the louder he gets, using your throat to reach his release.
as your eyes fog with tears you watch his stomach spasm, abs tightening with each heavy breath he takes, your hands sliding from how tired you are. "bubby m'gonna cum, gonna cum down your fucking throat oh my fffucking god," he moans, brows furrowed as he looks down into your eyes that roll back with each jittery, hurried thrust.
his moans come out raspier, whinier as he reaches his climax, his jaw slack before he squeezes his eyes shut, hips stuttering to a stop as he paints the walls of your throat, holding your head down harder, letting it fill up your mouth before he slowly pulls out, still holding the underside of your chin.
had he not caught your body, you would've fallen face first into his pubes, your eyes shut with tears coating your lashes. as he huffs and puffs, he let's you calm yourself, stroking your wet cheek as he bends down to your level. "show me you swallowed." he rasps, and you shoot up, sticking your tongue out to show your good work. he bites his lip in a smirk, "that's me good girl." he kisses your stained cheek, smiling at the pleased sound you make as you wrap your arms around his neck.
"did so good, baby. you ok?" he whsiperd as you both come down from your scene, "tired..missed you..m'so wet for you.." you mumble into his ear, youre cheek to cheek with each other as he lays you ln your back. he dips his hand between your legs, almost a little astonished at how fucking soaked you were.
"yeah, youre so fuckin' wet baby. cmon, lay down." your hands glide off his body as he scoots onto his stomach down to your aching cunt. "gna take care of me..?" you watch as he thumbs at your pussy lips, spreading you open to watch your hole clench at his hot breath. "yeah, honeybee. just lay back, m'gonna take care of ya." (´∀｀*)ε｀ )
nikolai will do anything for you, including making porn for revenge on your dad
18+ mdni, DDNE. major content warnings: incest/fauxcest, price is a bad dad, reader is a worse daughter, exhibitionism, exposure kink, mentions of grooming, mentions of underage, mentions of rape, degradation, daddy kink, piss kink
thank you to @rawme-price for adding to my brainworms!!
maybe your dad should've paid more attention to you growing up, noticed when you started spending more time on your phone watching porn than you did socialising with friends.
or maybe caught on that your grades in uni were slipping because you spent all your free time on omegle flashing your tits to men three times your age.
but he didn't notice a thing, his killer instincts and observational skills focused where his heart truly lies--work.
where your daddy failed, another man kept a watchful eye over you always, counselled you and indulged you at every turn.
that's how you find yourself here, on your knees in nik's temporary sas hanger, doors wide open for anyone to walk past and see.
in nothing but your daddy's jacket, the one he lets you borrow, and the locket he gave you for your 18th birthday--treasured, even though you had to beg him to take a picture for it.
you're on display, not just for the passersby, not just for the man before you, but for the cameras too--one set off to the side while the other is pointed down at you.
every inch of you on show, your body that's been seen by countless pervs online, but now with your sweet little face on show too. there's new additions since you stopped showing off--matching nipple piercings, a tattoo just above your cunt, things you'd planned months ago when you'd settled on this idea. nik would be the first to see them, then your dad and the whole wide web.
"look right at camera, malyshka." nik coos, oh so sweetly but with a sick smirk, like he hasn't just skull fucked you within a hairs breadth of passing out choked on his cock. like your face isn't covered in globs of your own drool, his spit and your running mascara. like he hasn't plastered your driving licence to your forehead just like you asked.
"yes, uncle. papochka."
you blink up through tear-stained lashes, expression the very picture of innocence as you tongue at your uncle's cock and connect with the lens like you were made for this. maybe you were, having been groomed by all the hardcore porn you've watched, by the men who molded you in their image, by your loving, perverted uncle who encouraged every step of your little plan.
"good girl. they're gonna love you." he whispers before plunging deep inside until his cockhead forces open your throat. "take it all, gag on it, that's it." his encouragement is lovely, something that's been so familiar for so long you obey without question.
his spare hand cradles the back of your head, not needing to coax you down to the root because youre already raping your own throat on his cock, depriving yourself of oxygen because you know his pleasure is more important. you delight in the way his fat hairy stomach buries you into his musk, the dichotomy of your smooth young body with his older one.
it's perfect, euphoric, rational thought pushed out of you brain along with the ability to breathe, inhibitions leaking out of your cunt down your leg.
this is what you'd dreamed of all along, doing something that would finally get your daddy's attention, something that might finally get him to act.
after all, surely he won't sit idle as his only daughter's sex tape is spread round the base, round the world, her being subjugated to the most depraved acts by a man he trusted, all while his surname is right there in print, tying the two of them together forever.
you'd be nothing more than a porn fuck toy for sick misogynist men the world over, no one would look at you or him the same way.
finally, he'll act, and show he cares.
"pretty little price girl."
the words just about reach your ears just as your vision goes fuzzy, and you tap on nik's thigh for release. he takes far longer than he should to relent from bullying his cock further down your throat.
you're coughing and sputtering, desperate for air and yet riding the high, aching and throbbing and barely recovering--but nik knows your limits better than you do, he's smart, a man, so many years your senior and wiser still.
so as you gasp just for the chance to breathe, he lines himself up and lets go--warm piss running over your pretty little face, gushing into your gaping mouth, dripping down to your tits and the jacket with captain price sown on the breast.
"such a mess for your uncle nik." he barks a laugh, one that makes your clit throb. "make your smart face for your dad, hmm, just like I showed you?"
and you can't help but comply--eyes bright, tongue lolling out as you smile, open and willing and desperate, because knowing you wanted all this, got off on it, might just be the last nail in your fathers coffin.
this is chapter one. based off of this song. available on ao3 as well.
pairing: benjamin poindexter x gn!reader
tags/warnings: dead dove do not eat, stalker!dex, established rship, obsessed!dex, kidnapping, stockholm syndrome reader, violence (not against reader), toxic relationship dynamic, northstar!reader, morally fucked reader, reader is implied to have long hair, more tags i am probably missing
summary: your boyfriend has his issues and you knew that, your love for him never wavered despite his flaws. you never thought the second he felt you "pulling away" he would ruin you for anyone else.
dex had his issues and you were aware of that. there was many of nights where he would sob into your chest, begging you never to leave him and you held him through it all.
when you found out he was the masked assassin known as 'bullseye' you thought nothing of it. sure, killing is wrong, but you didn't have any plans on leaving him ever. you loved him for who he is and if that includes 'bullseye', you were ready to adapt.
however, he did not hold the same sentiment that you did.
"you were not supposed to find out about this," he's pacing and fiddling with his fingers, shirt wrinkled and sweat beading on his forehead. there's a vein popping in his neck, the familiar visual cue of his anxiety. "dex, i don't care about it, i just want you to know i'm here for you." you try to explain yourself for what seems to be the hundredth time, to no avail he continues not to listen to you. he is thoroughly convinced you are going to leave him.
"you're just saying that, i know you are." his footsteps have stopped and he's now facing you, eyes glossy and voice wobbly. you can't help the pang in your heart when he says that because you know he means what he's saying. he's spiraling for no reason, and slowly your attempts to aid him are making him lose it more. you are powerless in this situation.
***
"that's really the last thing you can remember?" he knows the answer yet continues to ask. he's looming over you, your hands bound behind your back rendering you completely helpless. "you should know i'm not going to hurt you and i don't plan on it. i just needed to sedate you, i was scared you were going to run from me." he sounds like his throat has wires around it. choking out every little word like he's going to cry at his next breath.
it's suffocating him to do this to you, or at least that's what he's trying to sell to you.
that's when the anger set in. your eyebrows furrowed and your survival instincts went out the window. "excuse me? you aren't gonna hurt me? oh, isn't it my lucky fucking day." you spat, shaking your head in disapproval at him as you try to wriggle your way out of the tight restraints around your wrists. he watched intently, lips pursed as if he was thinking of what to say or do next.
"baby please, i would never hurt you, don't be mean" he pleads as he kneels to your level, had reaching to card through your hair. you try to pull away at the attention but all he does is hold you in place. "you know i can't lose you, please don't take this personally" every word he says is making your heart drop into your stomach, tears welling up in your eyes and your mouth unable to open and form words.
on one hand he was right, he would never hurt you and a part of you, even in this situation, knew he wouldn't hurt you physically. it conflicted with any reasonable thought, because on another hand he is capable of this, so he is capable of killing you and getting away with it. the thought of that alone made adrenaline shoot through you like heroine in your veins and a sob choke through your mouth.
he was quick to wipe your rapidly streaming tears, shushing you as you sobbed and coughed. "shh, 's gonna be okay, i got'ya. not ever gonna let you leave my side." the words are meant to soothe, but they cut through your skin and only make the sobs worse. the man who was meant to protect you from all evil, the man who was meant to stay by your side and hold you through it all, the man you loved with no conviction was the same man to tie you up inside of your shared apartment off of the sole fear of you leaving him. the same man who was holding you while you sobbed, unable to move on your own.
a sick part of you felt cared for and it made you disgusted. you pushed the feeling away with your body and soul, sobbing into him as he held you like nothing has changed.
except everything has changed and you seemed to be the only one out of you two to understand that.
you were a normal person who lived a normal life with who you thought was a normal boyfriend. now, not only is he now known as an assassin named bullseye, but he's holding you in contempt based off of a feeling. no matter how many times you replay that fact in your brain it's never something you get used to. as you sit with yourself, the man before you seeming to be busy as his head is in the crook of your neck, strong arms holding you close to him while he rocks you back and forth. its uncomfortable and strange and you're cold. you want him to stop, you want it to go back to the way it was before all of this.
"i need... i need a sweater, dex." you speak for the first time in what seems to be hours for dex but only minutes in reality. your voice is broken from all the crying and it comes out mumbled but dex understands you regardless of it all. he nods as he gets you his black fbi quarter zip, bringing it above your head and taking your hair out of the fabric as to not have it get stuck or feel uncomfortable on your skin.
DISCLAIMER: DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT! this is like… really fucked up. reader discretion is advised.
content warnings: noncon, body betrayal, violence, death threats, daddy kink, the word “rape” is used, misogynistic slurs
on a humid mid-july night in the south, it was normal for folks to leave their windows open to try to let in any breeze they could get. but for some reason, as he walked down the dark and quiet street your open window was the one to catch his eye. maybe it was your pretty lace curtains that swayed in the light breeze. or maybe it was because he could just faintly make out what was playing on your tv as you slept. either way, he crept carefully up to your window and peaked inside; and there you slept, so blissfully unaware of the predator that lurked only a few feet away.
your bed was in the perfect spot for him to study you from the window. you were a pretty little thing, with smooth brown skin, full lips, and the cutest nose that was adorned with a small diamond stud. you slept on your back; one of your french manicured hands laid lazily across your stomach and the other resting just as comfortably above your head. he studied you even further noting everything from your braided hair right down to the rings that you donned on your fingers.
he looked around to make sure he truly was alone out there and when nothing stirred he hoisted himself up. his shoes hit your bedroom’s floor with a thud that made him wince in fear of waking you or whoever else slept within the house. for a few moments he waited to see if you would wake up or if anyone might come to your aid. when that moment never came the tenseness in his muscles slowly dissipated. he walked the few paces from the window to the foot of your bed and he just… stood there watching you as you slept.
your chest rose and fell as you slept, and he could see your brown nipples through the white nightie you wore to bed that night to keep cool. it was almost like you were asking for it, stupid girl. the floorboards creaked beneath his sneakers as he rounded the side of the bed to get closer to you. he ran the heel of his palm over the front of his jeans; his dick rock hard and straining against the denim.
“fuck,” he cursed, squeezing himself and feeling his dick pulse beneath his palm.
maybe it was divine intervention or maybe it was just human instinct. either way your eyes fluttered open to see the man who stood just inches from you. terror bled through your features; your eyes going wide and your mouth about to drop open to scream. before you could though, he was ripping his hand away from his boner to slap a palm over your mouth and wrap his other hand firmly around your neck cutting off your air supply.
“if you scream,” he said, tightening his grip. “i swear i’ll break your fucking neck. do you understand me?”
even with the strong grip and your brain fuzzy from the lack of oxygen you still managed to nod or make some sort of noise of agreement. you weren’t sure which. you just knew you needed to breathe. he finally lets go with conviction; you hack as air fills your lungs so fast it burns. you’re still disoriented from being strangled that you don’t even fight him when he climbs on top of you.
“are you gonna be a good girl or am i gonna have to teach you how to be one?” he wonders aloud. when you finally do gain enough strength you immediately go to scratch at him. he grabs your wrists, pinning them above your head. “ohhh, you’re feisty huh, mama? i guess, daddy’s gotta teach you.”
“get the fuck off of me,” you spat at him angrily. you wriggled and writhed in his hold getting more and more frustrated when you couldn’t free yourself.
“keep going,” he encouraged and then continued on: “keep fighting, baby. it makes my cock so fucking hard.”
“stop it!” you exclaimed. you thrashed against him still, like a little bunny stuck in a trap trying to free your wrists from his bruising grip. he was so much stronger than he looked. you hated how weak you were proving to be.
your attacker gathered both of your wrists in his left hand; with his right, he slapped it over your mouth to stifle your voice. “shut the fuck up,” he gritted out through his teeth. in another act of self-preservation, with all of your might, you bit down on the skin that connected his thumb and index finger.
“fuck!” he cursed withdrawing his hand from where it once laid. “you stupid fucking bitch!”
the coppery taste of his blood on your tongue has bile rising in your throat but you didn’t give a fuck. you refused to make this easy for him; if he wanted you, he was gonna have to fight you for it. your victorious feeling was short lived when that same hand came down on your face with a loud thwack! the sensation spread red hot and unforgiving across your cheek. if you weren’t mad before, you damn sure are now. even with salty tears blurring your vision and the throbbing pain of your cheek, you thrashed against him some more with renewed determination.
“you got a lot of fight in you, sweetheart,” he mused. he leaned in closer, lips brushing against your ear as he spoke: “i can’t wait to fuck it out of you.”
“don’t fucking touch me,” you croaked out. you knew your words meant nothing to him. nothing was going to stop the inevitable outcome. the second he laid eyes upon you, your fate was sealed. he wasn’t leaving until he got what he wanted.
he hooked his finger in the front of your nightgown, your breasts spilling out. “fuck these are perfect,” he said, breathless. your brown nipples pebbled from the cool air, goosebumps arising on your skin. your attacker wasted no time leaning down to pop one of your nipples into his mouth. sobs racked your frame as you pushed at his chest no matter how futile it proved to be.
“please, stop,” you pleaded with him, tears streaming down your cheeks and soaking them. he grabbed your wrists, pinning them above your head. his tongue ran over your cheek soon after. you recoiled in disgust at the slimy, wet sensation.
“why would i stop when i’m so fuckin’ close to getting what i wanted? huh, sweetheart?” he taunted you, pressed against you like he was supposed to be there—like it was natural. you bucked against him, giving everything you had to escape him. exhaustion sank deep into your bones, but your brain refused to give up and give him what he wanted.
you spat at him, a fat glob of spit landing on his cheek. in an instant, your attackers eyes were black with rage; his irises only thin disks lost in the abyss that were his pupils. his hands moved from your wrists to around your throat. he tightened them around your windpipe effectively cutting off your oxygen supply. and you were sure this was how it was gonna end, another raped, murdered girl to add to the pile.
“you stupid bitch! don’t you fucking understand,” he began with a quiet shout and his hands, still wrapped around your fragile little neck, were shaking with pure, barely contained rage. “don’t you fucking understand, that i could fucking kill you? i could break your little neck right now if i wanted to.” the words came out rushed and full of venom.
he continued, “the only thing keeping me from doing it is because i need something warm and wet to sink my cock into. so why don’t you stop being a difficult fucking cunt,” he exhaled: “and this can all be over soon.”
your vision had long ago gone spotty. everything around you sounded muffled and you felt as if your head was swimming. just as you were about to lose consciousness, he let go. you coughed and dry heaved and the moment you were able you began to sob. your throat was raw and you could feel the bruises begin to bloom around it. you brought your own hands to your neck to soothe it, wincing at the tenderness that was felt there.
“you gonna play ball now, princess?” he asked you. his tone was even now—he’d regained some composure. you looked up at him through teary eyes, bruises blooming on your skin from his hands and you nodded. he smiled, using one of those same hands to stroke your hair in a way that was almost genuine. your stomach was in knots, wanting to throw up all over him but you knew better.
“see i knew you could be a good girl. you just needed some help, that’s all,” he patronized you, wrapping one of your braids tightly around his finger.
you didn’t dare move as he undid his belt and unzipped his pants. he pulled your nightgown up, ripped your panties in two, and still, even though you wanted to tell him no, to push him away, you just laid there. he pushed your thighs apart to run a finger up and down your embarrassingly soaked cunt.
“you filthy little thing,” he teased you, thrusting that finger inside of you and your pussy welcomed it happily, your body reacting to something your brain did not want. another finger joined that one. he fingered you dexterously, the tips of his fingers curling just right to touch that spot you could never quite reach on your own. you bit down hard on your cheek to keep from moaning; for the second time that night, your tastebuds were overwhelmed by the metallic taste of blood.
it was so fast you almost didn’t register it, how he switched from fingering you to pushing the blunt head of his cock against the opening of your unprotected pussy. the prospect of what that meant terrified you, you seized up pressing a hand against his abdomen.
the words came out broken, “i-i-i’m n-not.” you tried to explain as tears kept falling down the globes of your cheeks. you shook in fear but you persisted, “on b-birth control.”
“good.” is all he says before he sheaths all of himself inside of you in one go. you gasped in surprise and you’d almost forgotten your agreement because you were about to freak the fuck out. because the threat of it happening is one thing but it actually happening is another. he must’ve seen it in your eyes, the defiance coming back with a vengeance. all he had to do was brush his knuckles across your cheekbone and you remembered the bruise he left there. and thinking about the bruise he left there made you think about the one he left around your neck.
you relaxed again, submission clouding your gaze once more to his satisfaction. he rocked his hips into you, the tip of his dick ramming you so deep you were unsure if it felt good or terrible. the longer it went on though—the better it felt. you could feel your body betraying you as your pussy coated his cock with your creamy juices. too fucked out and exhausted to keep resisting the pleasured sounds that wanted to leave your throat, you finally let one slip. a low breathy one that was immediately followed by a singular tear that escaped your waterline.
“thaaat’s right, mama. just let go, relax, enjoy it. let daddy hear those pretty sounds,” he cooed. you hate how genuine he sounds, like he’s not raping you in your own bedroom. you let some more tears slip but you couldn’t help the moans that left your throat as you did so.
“fuck—you’re so,” he stopped to take a breath. “you’re so fuckin’ tight. squeezin’ me so fuckin’ tight. you gonna cum from what i’m doin’ to you? hmm?” he taunted you as he slammed into you over and over making your pussy spill out more of what he wanted. he looked down where you were connected and gawked at the creamy, white ring that coated the base of his dick. he cradled his hand at the back of your neck, forcing you to watch how he disappeared inside of you. the coil in your belly snapped and you orgasmed. a moan left your throat. your pussy spasming wet and unmistakable around his cock. heat flooded you. shame clung to you.
“atta girl,” he praised you leaning down to place a sloppy kiss on your lips. he snapped his hips. one. two. three times. an animalistic grunt left his throat long and drawn out. his eyes were shut tight in pleasure as he chased an orgasm only your cunt could give him. you could feel him throbbing inside of you, so close to cumming. panic flooded you. one of your hands flew to push against his abdomen (lightly though, so that he wouldn’t hurt you again.)
“please don’t,” you pleaded with him, brown eyes glassy with more tears. he pushed your hand away, pinned it above your head, and held it there while he dumped his thick cum inside you. he was still for a beat. then he was fucking it deep into you. you trembled beneath him both from fear and overstimulation. adrenaline began to wane; exhaustion overcame you; pain wrapped itself around your body. then it all went dark.
A/N: i got this idea in the middle of the night and i had to write it. the thought of it gave me so many damn ideas, a lot of which i couldn't include in this particular work!! obviously i don't condone what is written. obviously ^_^
Tags: incest (father-daughter), misogyny/sexism, heian era sukuna, p in v, creampie, breeding
Wordcount: 1.7k
!!! DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT/DARK CONTENT !!!
Sukuna may have been a very, very proud man, but he was no fool. He knew that eventually both his name and power would need to be passed down. An heir, he would need. A suitable, strong, merciless heir to take his place. The strategist he was, he decided to start sooner rather than later.
He had the finest women taken from the surrounding villages. Vetted for imperfections, all of them. Those who were not up to his scathing standards were promptly discarded. Those who passed his tests, which were few, were used as his concubines.
Women from far and wide were gathered. He would call them into his private quarters, one after the other, every so often. It was a race, of sorts, to see who took first. One woman was lucky and fell pregnant quickly. The baby, however, was not so lucky and was never born. Another had successfully given birth, but the child had physical imperfections. Not suitable.
Damned women, he had often thought, with their cursed, weak bodies. What good were they to him? Residing on his land, getting fat off of his food, coaxing weak, unsatisfactory orgasms from him. Yet none could do him the justice— the service— he deserved of providing a successor?
Yet again, another whore of his fell pregnant. His hopes were never quite high, but he was less than optimistic this time around. For good reason, it seemed, for you were the product that came from your mother.
A female.
Bless the poor servant who delivered the baby. They were met with a cold, scornful face when Sukuna heard the news.
A female.
He scoffed, watching your mother hold you in her arms. The room reeked of tinny blood and afterbirth.
What good was a female? What would that leave him with? An heiress? The thought was laughable, though hardly humorous. A daughter. Pathetic. Leeching. A daughter could not carry forth her father's legacy. A daughter had no place in a strong lineage.
A daughter had no right to bear his name.
He felt betrayed that his seed could produce anything but a powerful, fierce warrior. Left with a delicate, shivering babe of the inferior sex, he fell into deep thought.
A female. What good could you be, indeed? You were born healthy. No defects or deformities. Your heart was in your chest. You had only two eyes and one nose, thankfully not some other ungodly combination.
"What shall we do with her?" a servant asked, kneeling beside your mother.
"Leave the child. Dispose of the woman. No use in keeping two of them around, is there?"
Weak as a woman may be, Sukuna would be damned if something usable didn't earn its keep. He would find something worthwhile about you.
You had cursed yourself many times for not being the son your father always wanted. It was glaringly obvious, he scolded you often for your gender.
"What am I to do with you, girl? Weakness is not something you got from me. Your whore mother must have—"
A constant degrading voice in your ear. Ever present was your father. You could never resent him for it. He was right, after all. His harshness did not take away from his truth. You were female. You were weak. Delicate. Gentle.
And in a stroke of good luck, beautiful.
There were times where you held value to your father. You rationalized that those times were why he kept you around.
You spoke well of him. You were a treat for an already conceited man's ego. You were subservient. No task asked of you was denied. Most importantly, you grew into your body well.
Sukuna hadn't much interest in you, wether positive or negative, until you had matured a bit. The birthday when you had received your first suggestion of curves was when you first remember him paying you any mind. He had asked you what you had wished for on your day. You said that you had everything you wanted. Your answer pleased him.
When you grew taller, he had less room to look down on you. The year you had grown a woman's face, his eyes started to linger onto your lips when you spoke.
When you hit full maturity, your year of eighteen, you felt a rush of what was as close to approval as you would ever get from your father.
"Your weakness dishonors me," had slowly changed into "your figure will fetch a decent husband." Slowly.
"The lord sends for you," Uraume said blankly, standing ramrod straight at your door.
Odd. Your father had never once sent for you. Even in his best of moods, he had no desire to see you more than necessary. In the home, you were akin to a piece of furniture. Not expected to move and used as pleased. Nobody sought out a sofa, it was a permanent fixture. Not thought of for longer than a few regarding seconds.
You passed Uraume with a stiff nod and padded down the cold, wooden floors below your feet. Your father, as usual, was in his quarters, silently looming.
"Father." A simple greeting. He was not one for niceties, you knew that well.
Sukuna shot his eyes over to you. Not bothering to turn his head, he let his eyes trail you. He examined you like a microbe under a scope.
He finally spoke. "Woman."
He had taken to calling you that recently. You weren't quite yet a woman, yet not a girl either. You were teetering two lines precariously, and he decided to push you over to one side. Not one for indecisiveness, either.
"Yes, father?"
"You are no heir of mine," he said. "You are not fit to succeed me. Ever. The family name should sooner die with me than travel to the incapable hand of a female."
You braced yourself for another deep-cutting spiel of how you would never take over in his place. Of how a woman's job was to submit. Of how your very birth was a disappointment.
"However, I do find a certain value in you. You will prove yourself to me, indeed."
"How?"
Sukuna rose to his full height, straightening his back as he glided towards you. He yanked at the outer sash of his robe.
"What other womb more better suited to give me the perfect heir," he started, silk sliding down his arms as he discarded the kimono that had draped his form, "than that I sired myself?"
"I have planned this out for a long time," Sukuna said, pushing your legs to your chest. "I have no doubt that this will be fruitful."
You had hoped the same. If you could not be what your father wanted, would giving him the solution not be the next best thing? Truly, you were relieved that he had found purpose for you. Perhaps this would save you from marriage to an unbecoming man of lesser means and power than your father. Perhaps this was a saving call being made.
You had listened to many attempts made by your father to bring about a son. The concubines were tired, certainly, of the nonstop, pointless breeding. The walls were only so thick, and your father was never quiet.
They weren't getting any younger— the women. Their youth had faded, right along with their chances of children. Young women were hard to come by nowadays.
Just another downside of the sex, your father would likely say, they've got a clear expiration date.
"Quiet now. The pain will fade."
The stretch of his cock would be uncomfortable enough, naturally, but the first time brought about a special type of stretch. A virgin cunt being broken in. An old wive's tale said that a young girl was the most fertile during her first go-about. Something about the blood from a punctured hymen carrying seed upwards.
To you, it felt as though the blood slicked you up more. Maybe the old wives knew a thing or two. Red smeared over your inner thighs, but the way it coated your walls helped you hold the weight of Sukuna's cock. An equal trade off, for the most part.
"I was right to keep you," he continued, slotting himself into you with measured strokes. "I knew that eventually I'd find use for you. Look at you."
Look at yourself, you did. Your surroundings, your bloodied legs. Where you and Sukuna met, somewhere in the middle. Connected by thin, gooey ropes of slick and crimson.
It didn't feel nearly as clinical as you knew it did for the other women. The thought stirred a bit of pride in your chest. Father tried with you. Other women seemed to be pump and dump. And rough. Though "gentle" was not a word you would use to describe what was happening, it surely was not anywhere close to "rough." There was a touch of passion. What felt like love. Father had even kissed you once, twice. His lips were chapped and he bit yours, but not hard enough for blood to peek through.
You tried for another, with great success. You leaned your head forward, eyes glazed with tears, and pressed your lips against his. From pleasure and pain, you surmised. A fair mixture, since Sukuna seemed to hit spots you couldn't place your finger one, and since the pinch of your hole accommodating his size was still stinging.
"I have raised such a greedy thing," he mused, huffing a breath through his nose as he complied and gave you another kiss, this time with tongue, as you had silently demanded with your own weak tongue trying to force his mouth open.
"Oh, gods," you groaned in a hushed tone.
You felt a coil snap in your body, and suddenly the heat of a thousand suns crashed through you, starting at your melted brain, and leaking down to your cunt. Whatever essence that managed to slip from the suction you had around Sukuna's length soon mixed with his own cum.
Milkiness dripped down, a visual confirmation of a successful mating attempt. Sukuna's head tilted back triumphantly. Now it would take, he knew it, and the results would be as he hoped.
"I do not know why I hadn't thought of this sooner," he said, keeping you plugged with his cockhead. "My seed belongs in only the purest of wombs. Yours."
