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.
that fat femme wants to be manhandled by the way! that fat femme wants to be groped and grabbed and maybe even slapped around a bit!! make a fat femme’s dreams come true and touch her inappropriately now!!!!
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.
"We haven't properly introduced ourselves," the older man started. "I'm Price."
"Ghost." He motioned to the big masked bloke staring daggers at you.
"Soap." The one with the mohawk licked his lips slightly, causing you to grimace.
"And Gaz." Price lastly motioned to the guy with tan skin. You had to admit—he was quite handsome.
"Little code names? Is that all I get?" Your tone was condescending, and it worked. You could see the tightening of Price's jaw.
Without warning, you felt a gloved hand attach itself to your throat, grip like iron, choking out the last bit of air in your lungs.
"Think you're forgetting who's in charge here, love." Price hissed into your ear before letting you go.
You coughed, grabbing onto your throat as you struggled for air, a bruise already forming. But that didn't stop you yet.
"L-like choking little girls, Price?" you weakly spat out, a look full of venom on your face.
You were expecting him to lose it at that point, but he just folded his arms calmly, a smirk on his face even as he looked down at your last attempts to stay in control.
"Little girls? Oh no." His voice dropped lower, darker. "Worthless little sluts? Now that's a different story."
The words cut deep as you sent a glare his direction. Before you could even get out another word, Ghost and Soap had crossed the room in a matter of seconds and had you pinned by your arms on either side against the bed.
Ghost stared down at you—the skull mask made your stomach churn. The hidden identity aspect didn't help at all with the situation you found yourself in. And he was huge. They were all huge, but he was freakishly huge.
They made quick work of your little Halloween costume. Loud fabric tears echoed through the room—shorts and panties and your top in shreds on the floor.
"Let me go!" You wriggled in their grip, but they didn't even budge. They only laughed in response, finding the whole thing amusing. The reality of your fate finally began to sink in, an air of panic rising within you as tears threatened to well in your eyes.
Price stepped forward, nudging your knees apart with his large thighs, exposing your hot core.
He cocked his head to the side, cooing at it like it was alive. Ghost's hand went straight to your clit, pinching it and laughing as you thrashed from the contact.
Soap joined in and started slapping your folds—both men pinching and teasing your poor pussy like it was nothing more than a toy for them to abuse.
Tears fell from your eyes—a mixture of pain and pleasure along with embarrassment as you lay there so helpless under their hold.
"Come on, lads, that's not nice." A soft voice broke through your sobs. It was Gaz. He walked over, joining in on the commotion.
Just as you thought he was going to be your knight in shining armour, he quickly bent down and placed a finger around your entrance, drawing little circles around your hole before inserting it inside you.
"At least let her cum once before she's too fucked to even know what's going on," he mock-sympathised, brown eyes carrying a dark glint as he continued to fuck your little hole with his fingers.
Ghost made steady work of your clit, continuing to rub menacing circles while Soap sucked on your tits. Your sobs turned into moans quickly as you lay there, a wet mess under their hands.
It wasn't long before you reached your climax, releasing your juices all over Gaz's fingers, shuddering from your high. For a second, you forgot where you were or who you were with as your orgasm ripped through your body.
The aftershocks still rippled through you, your thighs trembling uncontrollably as Gaz slowly withdrew his fingers. Your chest heaved, breath coming in ragged gasps. For a moment, the room was quiet except for your panting—all four men watching you come undone beneath them.
But you couldn't let them win. Not yet.
"T-that all you got?" The words tumbled out before you could stop them, your voice shaky and breathless but still dripping with venom. "Pathetic. I've had better from a—"
The slap came so fast you didn't see it coming. Price's hand cracked across your face, snapping your head to the side. The sting bloomed hot across your cheek, silencing you instantly.
"There it is," Price growled, his voice dangerously low. "Still running that fucking mouth."
Ghost's grip tightened on your wrists, pinning them above your head with bruising force. "Thought one orgasm would fix her attitude," he rumbled, his accent thick with disdain. "Guess we need to try harder."
"Much harder," Soap agreed, his hand coming down hard on your inner thigh. The sharp crack echoed through the room, followed immediately by another, and another. You yelped, trying to close your legs, but Price's thighs kept you spread wide open.
"Look at her," Gaz said, standing and wiping your slick across your own lips. "Still thinks she's in control. Still thinks this is a game."
Panic clawed at your chest. You needed leverage—something, anything to regain the upper hand. Your father. Your father was a fucking general. They couldn't do this to you.
"Wait—wait until my father hears about this!" The words came out desperate, shrill. "He'll have you all court-martialed! Dishonorably discharged! You'll rot in military prison for touching me—"
The room went silent.
Then they laughed.
All four of them—deep, genuine laughter that made your blood run cold. Price's shoulders shook with it, Ghost's chest rumbled, Soap actually doubled over slightly, and even Gaz's usually composed face split into a wide grin.
"Oh, sweetheart," Price said, wiping his eyes as his laughter subsided. "You really don't know, do you?"
Your stomach dropped. "Know what?"
Ghost leaned down, his masked face inches from yours, voice cold as death. "Who do you think gave us the green light?"
"No—" The word came out as barely a whisper.
"Your father," Price continued, his tone almost conversational now, "stopped me as we were escorting you out of his gala. You remember that, don't you? Saw him whisper in my ear?"
You did remember. You'd noticed it, wondered what was being said, but you'd been too focused on maintaining your dignity as they dragged you away.
"Want to know what he said?" Price's smile was cruel. "He said, 'Captain Price, my daughter needs an attitude adjustment. Do whatever it takes. Break her if you have to. Just make sure she learns some fucking respect.'"
The words hit you like a physical blow. Your vision swam, ears ringing. "You're lying—"
"Am I?" Price pulled out his phone, scrolling for a moment before turning the screen toward you. It was a text message from a number you recognized—your father's private line.
She's all yours. No limits. Fix her.
The phone disappeared, but the words were burned into your brain. Your own father. Your own fucking father had handed you over to them like—like you were nothing. Like you were a problem to be solved, a brat to be broken.
"He even gave us this room," Gaz added, his voice carrying mock sympathy. "Made sure it was soundproof. Said he didn't want to hear you screaming."
"No—no, he wouldn't—" But even as you said it, you knew it was true. The way he'd looked at you lately, the disappointment in his eyes every time you acted out, every time you embarrassed him in front of his colleagues.
"Face it, princess," Ghost said, his grip on your wrists tightening until you whimpered. "Daddy doesn't want you back until we've fucked all that bratty entitlement out of you. You have no leverage. No power. No escape."
Something inside you cracked. The last wall of defense, the final thread of control you'd been clinging to—it snapped. Your father had betrayed you. Given you to these men like you were nothing more than a problem to be handled.
Tears welled in your eyes, spilling down your temples. "Please—"
"Please what?" Price asked, his hand wrapping around your throat again, tighter this time, cutting off your air completely. "Please stop? Your father said no limits, sweetheart. We can do whatever the fuck we want to you. And we're going to. We're going to fuck every last bit of that attitude out of you until you're nothing but an obedient little slut. Understand?"
You couldn't respond, couldn't breathe. Your vision started to blur at the edges, panic rising as your lungs screamed for air. Just when you thought you might pass out, he released you.
You gasped, coughing and sputtering, but before you could recover, Price grabbed your jaw roughly. "Open."
"Fuck y—"
He squeezed your cheeks, forcing your mouth open, and spat directly onto your tongue. The degradation of it made your face burn with humiliation.
"Swallow it," he commanded.
You glared up at him, defiance still flickering in your eyes despite everything. His expression darkened.
"Swallow. It."
Reluctantly, you did, the taste of him sliding down your throat. He smiled—cold and predatory.
"Good girl. See? You can follow orders when properly motivated."
"Flip her over," Ghost ordered, his voice carrying the weight of command.
They moved with military precision, manhandling you onto your stomach before you could protest. Your face pressed into the mattress, ass up in the air, completely exposed and vulnerable. Ghost kept your wrists pinned while Soap grabbed your hips, positioning you exactly how they wanted.
"This arse has been begging for attention," Soap said, his accent thick with lust. His palm came down hard on your right cheek, then your left, alternating in a brutal rhythm that had you crying out into the sheets.
"Count them," Price ordered from somewhere behind you. "And thank us for each one."
"Fuck—no—"
Another vicious slap, harder than the others.
"That's one you've missed already," Price said calmly. "We'll just have to start over. And add extras for the attitude."
Soap's hand came down again, the sound obscenely loud.
"One," you gasped out, your pride crumbling with each strike. "T-thank you."
"Thank you, what?"
"Thank you, sir."
"Better."
The spanking continued, each strike harder than the last, until your ass was burning and tears were streaming down your face. Your cunt, traitorously, was dripping—arousal mixing with humiliation in a way that made your head spin.
"Look how wet she is," Gaz observed, running a finger through your folds. "Getting off on being punished like the desperate little slut she is."
"Please—" The word escaped before you could stop it.
"Please what?" Price asked, his hand replacing Gaz's, two thick fingers sliding into you without warning. "Please stop? Please more? Use your words, sweetheart."
You couldn't answer, couldn't think. His fingers curled inside you, finding that spot that made you see stars, while his thumb pressed against your clit. The pleasure was overwhelming after the pain, your body confused and desperate.
"She's clenching around my fingers," Price announced. "Greedy little cunt wants more."
"Then let's give her more," Ghost said darkly.
You heard the sound of a belt buckle, then another. Your heart raced, anticipation and fear mixing into something intoxicating.
Price withdrew his fingers, leaving you empty and aching. "Who wants her mouth first?"
"Me," Soap said immediately, moving around to kneel in front of you. He grabbed a fistful of your hair, yanking your head up. His cock was already hard, thick and intimidating. "Open up, princess. Time to put that bratty mouth to good use."
You pressed your lips together stubbornly, one last act of defiance.
His grip tightened painfully in your hair. "Open. Or I'll make you."
When you still didn't comply, he pinched your nose shut, cutting off your air. You held out as long as you could, but eventually, you had to gasp for breath. The moment your mouth opened, he shoved his cock inside, making you gag.
"That's it," he groaned, holding your head in place as he thrust into your mouth. "Fucking take it."
Tears streamed down your face as he used your throat, giving you barely any time to breathe. Behind you, you felt the blunt head of someone's cock—Price's, you thought—pressing against your entrance.
"Remember, sweetheart," Price said, his voice rough with desire. "You asked for this. You wanted to see what would happen if you kept running that mouth."
He slammed into you in one brutal thrust, stretching you wide, filling you completely. You would have screamed if Soap's cock wasn't buried in your throat. The sensation of being filled from both ends was overwhelming, your body stretched and used.
They found a rhythm, Price pounding into you from behind while Soap fucked your face, both men using you like their personal toy. Ghost still held your wrists, keeping you pinned and helpless, while Gaz watched, stroking himself slowly.
"Such a pretty sight," Gaz murmured. "All that attitude fucked right out of her."
But he was wrong. Even now, even like this, you tried to hold onto some shred of control. You bit down slightly on Soap's cock—not hard enough to hurt, but enough to remind him you still had teeth.
He pulled out immediately, his hand cracking across your face. "Fucking bitch."
"She needs to learn," Ghost said coldly. He released your wrists only to grab your throat from behind, pulling you up so your back was against his chest. Price never stopped fucking you, the new angle making him hit even deeper. "Needs to understand what happens when she misbehaves."
His hand tightened around your throat, cutting off your air while Price continued to rail you mercilessly. The combination of pleasure and oxygen deprivation made your head spin, your vision going hazy.
"You going to behave?" Ghost growled in your ear. "Or do we need to get rougher?"
You couldn't answer, couldn't breathe. Your body was betraying you, another orgasm building despite—or maybe because of—the brutal treatment.
He released your throat just enough for you to gasp in air. "Answer me."
"F-fuck you," you managed to choke out.
Wrong answer.
Ghost shoved you back down, face-first into the mattress. Price pulled out, and before you could process the emptiness, you felt him pressing against your other hole.
"No—wait—" Panic flooded through you.
"Should have behaved," Price said simply, and pushed inside.
The stretch was intense, burning, overwhelming. You cried out, hands fisting in the sheets as he worked himself deeper, inch by inch, until he was fully seated inside you.
You couldn't respond, couldn't do anything but whimper as he started to move, slow at first, then faster. The pain gradually shifted into something else, something that had you moaning despite yourself.
"That's it," he praised darkly. "Take it like a good girl. This is what you needed all along, isn't it? Someone to put you in your place."
Gaz moved to kneel beside your head, his cock level with your face. "Open," he commanded, gentler than Soap but no less firm.
This time, you obeyed. You were too overwhelmed to fight anymore, too lost in sensation. He slid into your mouth, groaning at the wet heat.
"There we go," Gaz murmured, stroking your hair almost tenderly even as he fucked your throat. "See how much easier it is when you just submit?"
They used you together, Price in your ass and Gaz in your mouth, while Soap and Ghost watched, waiting their turn. Your body was on fire, every nerve ending alight with sensation. Another orgasm was building, impossible to fight, your cunt clenching around nothing.
"She's close again," Price observed, his thrusts becoming more erratic. "Can feel her squeezing me. You want to cum, sweetheart?"
You moaned around Gaz's cock, desperate and needy.
"Then beg for it. Beg us to let you cum."
Gaz pulled out, giving you the chance to speak. Your voice was wrecked, barely recognizable. "Please—please let me cum—"
"Please what?"
"Please, sir—please—I need it—"
"Do you deserve it?" Price asked, his hand coming down hard on your already-bruised ass. "After all that attitude? After all that disrespect?"
"I'm sorry—I'm sorry—please—"
"Sorry for what?"
"For being a brat—for talking back—please—I'll be good—"
"Will you?" His pace increased, brutal and punishing. "Will you really?"
"Yes! Yes, I promise—please—"
"Cum," he commanded. "Cum on my cock like the desperate little slut you are."
Permission granted, your body obeyed. The orgasm crashed through you, more intense than the first, leaving you shaking and sobbing. Price followed moments later, spilling inside you with a groan, his fingers digging bruises into your hips.
He pulled out slowly, and you collapsed onto the mattress, completely spent. But they weren't done with you yet.
"My turn," Ghost said, his voice dark with promise. "And I'm not going to be gentle."
You barely had time to catch your breath before Ghost's massive hands gripped your hips, flipping you onto your back. Through tear-blurred vision, you saw him looming over you—all muscle and menace, the skull mask making him look inhuman. Your heart hammered against your ribs.
Some stupid, stubborn part of you—the part that had gotten you into this mess—tried one last time to assert itself.
"Is that supposed to scare me?" you rasped, your voice hoarse and broken. "You're all the same. Just—"
His hand wrapped around your throat, cutting off your words and your air. He squeezed hard, harder than Price had, until black spots danced in your vision. Your hands flew to his wrist, clawing uselessly.
"Still talking," Ghost said, his voice cold and emotionless. "Let's fix that."
He released your throat just long enough for you to gasp in a desperate breath, then slammed into you in one brutal thrust. You screamed—the stretch was overwhelming, painful, his cock even thicker than Price's. He gave you no time to adjust, immediately setting a punishing pace that had you seeing stars.
"That's better," he grunted, his hand returning to your throat, squeezing rhythmically as he fucked you. "No more smart mouth. Just a hole to use."
The lack of oxygen combined with the brutal fucking made your head spin. Your body didn't know whether to fight or surrender, pleasure and pain blurring into something incomprehensible. Tears streamed down your temples as he used you, his grip on your throat never loosening.
"Look at her," Soap said from somewhere above you. "Fucking crying. Where's all that attitude now, princess?"
You tried to glare at him, tried to summon some last shred of defiance, but Ghost squeezed harder and your vision went hazy. Just when you thought you might pass out, he released you, letting you gulp in air.
"Open your mouth," Soap commanded, moving to kneel beside your head.
You hesitated for just a second—one second too long. Ghost's hand cracked across your face, the slap echoing through the room.
"He gave you an order," Ghost growled, never breaking his rhythm. "Obey."
Your mouth fell open, and Soap immediately shoved his cock inside, groaning as he hit the back of your throat. Between Ghost's brutal thrusts and Soap fucking your face, you couldn't breathe, couldn't think. Your body was just a vessel for their pleasure, used from both ends.
"That's it," Soap moaned, his hands tangling in your hair. "Take it. This is what that bratty mouth is good for."
They found a rhythm, both men using you in sync, and despite everything—despite the pain and the humiliation and the overwhelming sensation—you felt another orgasm building. Your body was betraying you completely, responding to the brutal treatment with desperate arousal.
Ghost felt you clenching around him and laughed darkly. "She's going to cum again. Fucking slut loves being used like this."
"No—" you tried to protest around Soap's cock, but it came out as a muffled moan.
"Yes," Ghost corrected, his thumb finding your clit and rubbing harsh circles. "Cum on my cock. Show us what a desperate whore you are."
The orgasm hit you like a freight train, ripping through your body with terrifying intensity. You convulsed around Ghost's cock, screaming around Soap's, your entire body shaking uncontrollably. It went on and on, wave after wave of pleasure so intense it bordered on pain.
Soap pulled out of your mouth, letting you gasp and sob. "Fuck, look at her. Completely gone."
Ghost didn't slow down, fucking you through your orgasm and beyond, pushing you toward overstimulation. You whimpered, hands pushing weakly at his chest.
"Too much—can't—please—"
"You can," he said simply. "And you will."
He pulled out suddenly, leaving you empty and aching. Before you could process the loss, he flipped you over onto your hands and knees. You barely had the strength to hold yourself up, arms shaking.
"Ass up," Ghost ordered, his hand pressing between your shoulder blades, forcing your face into the mattress. "Present yourself properly."
You obeyed without thinking, too overwhelmed to fight. He entered you again from behind, the new angle somehow even deeper. His hands gripped your hips hard enough to bruise as he pounded into you relentlessly.
"Good girl," he praised darkly. "Learning your place."
Price moved in front of you, his cock still hard despite having just finished. He grabbed your hair, lifting your head. "Clean me off."
You opened your mouth automatically, taking him in, tasting yourself and his cum. The degradation of it should have made you angry, should have sparked some resistance, but instead you just felt... empty. Compliant. Broken.
"That's it," Price murmured, his voice almost gentle. "No more fighting. Just obedience."
Ghost's pace became erratic, his grip tightening. "Going to fill this cunt up," he grunted. "Mark you as ours."
He came with a low groan, spilling deep inside you. The warmth of it triggered another orgasm—smaller than the others but no less devastating. You moaned around Price's cock, your body trembling.
Ghost pulled out, and immediately Gaz took his place. You whimpered at the intrusion, oversensitive and overwhelmed, but he just shushed you mockingly.
"Shh, you can take more," Gaz said, his voice deceptively sweet. "You're going to take everything we give you."
He fucked you slowly at first, almost gentle, but his hand came down hard on your ass. Once, twice, three times, until you were crying out around Price's cock.
"Count them," Gaz ordered. "And thank me."
Price pulled out, letting you speak. Your voice was absolutely wrecked.
"One—thank you, sir—"
Another slap.
"Two—thank you, sir—"
Again.
"Three—thank you, sir—"
The spanking continued, each strike harder than the last, until your ass was on fire and you were sobbing openly. But you counted every single one, thanked him for every single one, your resistance completely shattered.
"Good girl," Gaz praised, his pace increasing. "See how much better you are when you behave?"
"Yes, sir," you whimpered, the words coming automatically now. "I'm sorry—I'm sorry for being bad—"
"What are you?" Price asked, his hand gripping your jaw, forcing you to look up at him.
"A slut," you whispered, shame burning through you. "Your slut."
"Louder."
"I'm your slut!" you cried out, tears streaming down your face. "I'm a worthless slut who needs to be used—please—please use me—"
"Fuck," Gaz groaned, his thrusts becoming erratic. "She's really broken now."
He came inside you with a shudder, adding to the mess already leaking out of you. When he pulled out, you collapsed onto the mattress, unable to hold yourself up anymore. Your body was covered in sweat, cum, and tears, trembling uncontrollably.
"One more," Soap said, his voice thick with desire. "My turn to break her completely."
"Please," you sobbed, not even sure what you were begging for anymore. "Please—"
"Please what?" Soap asked, positioning himself behind you. "Please fuck you? Please stop? Use your words, princess."
"Please fuck me," you heard yourself say, the words tumbling out without thought. "Please use me—I need it—I need you to use me—"
"That's what I wanted to hear."
He entered you roughly, and despite everything, despite the overstimulation and exhaustion, your body responded. You moaned, pushing back against him, desperate for more.
"Look at her," Price said, his voice filled with dark satisfaction. "Begging for it now. Where's that bratty little girl who thought she was in control?"
"Gone," you whimpered, the truth of it hitting you. "She's gone—I'm yours—please—"
Soap fucked you brutally, his hands gripping your hips, pulling you back onto his cock with each thrust. The wet sounds of your coupling filled the room, obscene and degrading.
"Say it again," he demanded. "Tell us what you are."
"I'm yours," you sobbed, your mind fragmenting under the onslaught of sensation. "I'm your slut—your toy—your cum dumpster—please—please use me—"
"Fucking hell," Soap groaned. "She's perfect like this. Completely broken."
Another orgasm was building, impossible as it seemed. Your body was beyond your control now, responding to their commands, their touch, their words. You were nothing but sensation, nothing but need.
"Cum," Soap ordered, his hand reaching around to rub your clit. "Cum for me, slut."
You shattered. The orgasm tore through you with devastating force, leaving you screaming and convulsing. Your vision went white, your mind going completely blank. You were aware of nothing but the pleasure, the overwhelming, all-consuming pleasure that seemed to go on forever.
Soap came with a roar, filling you one last time. When he pulled out, you collapsed completely, unable to move, unable to think. Cum leaked out of you, dripping down your thighs. Your body was covered in marks—bruises, bite marks, handprints. You were utterly destroyed.
For a long moment, there was silence except for your ragged breathing and quiet sobs.
"Look at me," Price commanded softly.
You turned your head, meeting his eyes. There was no defiance left in you, no attitude, no fight. Just submission. Complete and total submission.
"What are you?" he asked one final time.
"Yours," you whispered, your voice barely audible. "I'm completely yours. I'll do anything—be anything—please—just—"
You couldn't even finish the sentence, too broken to articulate what you needed.
Price's hand stroked your hair, almost tender. "That's right. You're ours now. Our good girl. Our obedient little slut."
"Yes, sir," you breathed, the words feeling right in a way nothing else ever had. "Thank you, sir."
Ghost's hand joined Price's, both men touching you with surprising gentleness now that you were completely broken. "No more attitude," Ghost said. "No more bratty behavior."
"No, sir," you agreed immediately, desperately. "I'll be good—I promise—I'll be so good—"
"We know you will," Gaz said, his hand running down your back. "Because now you understand your place."
"Yes, sir," you whispered, fresh tears sliding down your cheeks. "I understand."
Soap pressed a kiss to your shoulder, his earlier roughness replaced with something almost affectionate. "Our perfect little toy."
You nodded weakly, accepting the label, accepting everything. Your bratty attitude was gone, fucked out of you completely, replaced with desperate submission and need. You were theirs—mind, body, and soul—and the terrifying part was how right it felt.
How much you wanted to stay exactly like this.
Broken. Obedient. Theirs.
"Please," you whispered one last time, not even sure what you were asking for. "Please don't stop—I need—I need you—"
Price smiled, dark and satisfied. "Don't worry, sweetheart. We're not done with you yet. Not even close."
And despite your exhaustion, despite being utterly destroyed, you felt a thrill of anticipation run through you.
minors, do not interact-- please! -- explicit content !
a lil drabble about being prey in titus danforth's hunt. he always gets what he wants- this IS a lil dark- so warning goes out to yall <3
♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡
your back is pressed against the rough bark of an oak tree, your chest heaving with silent, controlled breaths. the forest is dark around you, moonlight filtering through the canopy in scattered patches of silver. somewhere in the distance, you can hear shouting. screaming. the sounds of the hunt.
you've been running for what feels like hours.
your hands are still shaking from the last encounter. one of the younger cult members, cocky and overconfident, who'd cornered you near the garden maze. he hadn't expected you to fight back. hadn't expected the rock you'd grabbed, the way you'd brought it down on his skull with desperate, survival-driven force.
he'd gone down hard. stayed down.
you'd killed two others before him. taken their weapons, their advantages, turned their own hunt against them. you're not just prey anymore. you're dangerous. you've proven that.
but titus is different.
titus danforth isn't like the others. he's not reckless, arrogant or drunk on the thrill of the chase. he's calculated. trained since childhood for this exact scenario, bred from generations of hunters who perfected the art of the kill. he moves through the forest like a shadow, silent and inevitable.
and he's hunting you.
you press yourself harder against the tree, forcing your breathing to slow, to quiet. your heart is hammering so loud you're sure he can hear it, sure it's giving you away with every frantic beat. the forest has gone eerily quiet around you. no more shouting. no more screams.
just silence.
then you hear it.
"bunnyyy..."
his voice drifts through the trees, low and taunting, almost sing-song. it's coming from somewhere to your left, maybe fifty yards away. maybe closer. it's impossible to tell in the dark.
your blood runs cold.
"where'd you hop off to? hmm...?" there's amusement in his tone, dark and predatory. "i'm missing your little tricks, bun."
you don't move. don't breathe. every muscle in your body is locked tight, frozen in place. if you run now, he'll hear you. if you stay, he might pass by. might miss you in the darkness.
but you know better.
titus doesn't miss.
"come on, bunny," he calls out, his voice closer now. definitely closer. "play with me. play nice, and i might reward you..."
your thighs clench involuntarily at his words, heat pooling low in your belly despite the terror coursing through your veins. you hate yourself for it- for the way your body responds to him. to the danger, to the promise in his voice. this is life or death. this is survival.
but god, the way he says it...
you can hear his footsteps now, slow and deliberate, crunching through the underbrush. he's not trying to be quiet anymore. he doesn't need to. he knows you're close. knows you're listening.
"i have to admit," he continues, his voice carrying through the night air, "i'm impressed. you took out three family members tonight... that's more than anyone's managed in years."
your fingers dig into the bark behind you, nails scraping against the rough surface.
"but you and i both know how this ends, don't we?" his footsteps stop. you can feel him listening, searching. "you can't run forever. and even if you could... would you really want to?"
yes. no. you don't know anymore.
you peek around the edge of the tree, just barely, just enough to see-
he's standing in a clearing about thirty feet away, his back to you. he's dressed in all black, a crossbow hanging loosely in one hand. even from here, you can see the tension in his shoulders, the predatory grace in the way he holds himself. he's a weapon, honed and perfected over decades of training.
and you're just a girl who got unlucky enough to draw the wrong card.
"i can smell your fear, you know," he says suddenly, and you jerk back behind the tree, your heart leaping into your throat. "it's intoxicating. the way your pulse races. the way your breath catches."
he turns slowly, scanning the tree line. you press yourself flat against the bark, praying the shadows hide you.
"but there's something else too, isn't there?" his voice drops lower, intimate and knowing. "something you don't want to admit. you're scared... but you're also excited."
your face burns hot. he's right. god help you, he's right.
"i've been watching you alllll night," he continues, taking a step toward your section of the forest. then another. "the way you move. the way you fight. you're magnificent, bunny. absolutely magnificent."
another step. closer.
"most of them just run. just scream and beg and die. but not you." there's genuine admiration in his voice now, mixed with that dark possessiveness you've come to recognize. "you fight. you survive. you're everything i've been looking for."
your breath hitches despite your best efforts to stay silent.
"there you are."
your eyes snap open wide. he's looking directly at your tree now, his head tilted slightly, a slow smile spreading across his face. even in the darkness, you can see the gleam in his eyes- hungry and triumphant.
"found you, bunny."
you bolt.
your legs are moving before your brain catches up. adrenaline flooding your system as you crash through the underbrush. behind you, you hear his laugh— low and delighted. absolutely terrifying.
"that's it," he calls out, and you can hear him giving chase now, his footsteps quick and sure behind you. "run for me. make it fun."
you dodge around trees, leap over fallen logs, your lungs burning with the effort. you're fast- fear makes you fast- but he's faster. trained for this. bred for this.
you can hear him gaining on you, closing the distance with every stride.
"you can't outrun me," he says, and his voice is so close now, right behind you. "i've been doing this since i was six years old. this is what i was made for."
you risk a glance over your shoulder and immediately regret it. he's right there, maybe ten feet back, his eyes locked on you with single-minded focus. the crossbow is gone now. he doesn't need it.
he wants to catch you with his bare hands.
your foot catches on a root and you stumble, barely catching yourself before you fall. it's enough. in that split second of imbalance, he's on you.
his arm wraps around your waist from behind, yanking you back against his chest. you scream, thrashing wildly, but his grip is iron. unbreakable.
"got you," he breathes against your ear, and you can hear the satisfaction in his voice. the victory.
"let me go-" you gasp, still struggling, but he just tightens his hold.
"not a chance, bunny." his other hand comes up to grip your jaw, forcing your head back against his shoulder. "you're mine now. you've always been mine. this whole hunt was just... foreplay."
your heart is racing so fast you think it might explode. his body is solid and warm against your back, his breath hot on your neck. you should be terrified. you are terrified.
but you're also achingly, desperately aroused.
"i could kill you right now," he murmurs, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. "one quick movement and it would all be over... but where's the fun in that?"
his hand slides from your jaw down to your throat, fingers wrapping around it possessively. not squeezing- just holding. claiming.
"no," he continues, his voice dropping to something dark and promising. "i have much better plans for you, bunny. you're going to be my prize. my reward for winning the hunt."
you whimper despite yourself, your body betraying you completely.
"that's what i thought," he says. you can hear the smile in his voice. "you want this just as much as i do. maybe more."
he spins you around suddenly, pressing you back against a tree, his body caging you in. in the moonlight, you can finally see his face clearly. sharp and handsome and absolutely predatory. his eyes are dark, pupils blown wide with desire and triumph.
"please-" you start, but you don't even know what you're begging for anymore.
"shh," he soothes, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip. "i told you i'd reward you if you played nice. and you've been so entertaining tonight, bunny. so fierce. so perfect."
his mouth crashes against yours, rough and demanding, swallowing your gasp. his hands are everywhere. your waist, your hips, tangling in your hair. he kisses like he hunts-
with complete control and devastating precision.
when he finally pulls back, you're both breathing hard.
"mine," he says simply, his forehead pressed against yours. "you're mine now. the hunt is over. i won."
and despite everything- the fear, the danger, the absolute insanity of this entire night, you find yourself nodding.
because he's right.
he always wins.
and maybe... maybe you wanted to be caught all along. 🖤
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｀ )
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.
