Was it really a year ago? Wow, I've been away from /y/ for a while.
Pretty sure i saved everything, fic included.

Oh! OP, btw, it's Simba not Mufasa.

/end dump

>>79000
omg thanks a lot!
do you happen to know the artist username? :)

>>78992
and do you have the source link of this one? I love it! I'd love to see more /cm/ stuff

>>79001
Afraid I don't know artist names. As I remember it was just a bunch of kindly drawfags.

Found this btw.

Anyone has the fanfic from the same thread? It was filthy and horrible and hot.

I'll dump it later today.
It was being written by multiple writefags and as I saved in the order they were posted, I'm pretty sure a couple fics got mixed together.

bless your heart, platypus

Ok, sorry this has taken me so long. I've been busy with another set of anons. Revolution, blah blah blah. Posting in the order it was posted on y.


"Oh, where have I seen this before?" Narrow green eyes twinkled with hideous glee, and a look of false contemplation lay plastered against Scar's face. The man held a gun aloft, pointed lazily at the forehead of another figure, this one taller, broader built. Simba's hands were up, over his head, frustration mixing with panic as he struggled to keep a foothold on the edge of the skyscraper's roof. The younger male snuck a quick glance down, and immediately regretted it. The sidewalk below seemed to rush up at him, the dizzying heights making his head spin. He almost stumbled, but caught himself, and instead forced his gaze to meet his uncle's, who was still pretending to be lost in thought. "Hm, let me think..." Scar tapped his lip with a long, slender finger as he strode towards Simba, gun hand still outstretched. "Oh, yes! Now I remember!" The redheaded male let out a noise of surprise as one dark-skinned hand curled around his throat, and tugged him from the ledge.

Simba's world spun, then quickly—and painfully—came to an abrupt stop as Scar slammed him against the small structure that housed the rooftop exit. Gold-flecked eyes opened slowly, only to close again when the butt of the gun made contact with his cheek, eliciting a groan of pain, and a snarl of sadistic glee from the man holding the weapon. "This is exactly the way your father looked before HE died." Scar's voice was low, husky, intimate—completely inappropriate for this situation, Simba noted, and closed his eyes, spitting a glob of blood at Scar's feet.
He slumped back against the building, his breathing coming in shallow huffs. Another sharp exhalation came when Scar's hand once more closed over his throat, and slammed him against the wall, the impact making him see stars, flashes of pain streaking across his vision. "Did you really think he died in some random mugging attempt? A protected man like Mufasa?" Scar drove his knee into Simba’s gut as he gloated, earning a small grunt and a spray of blood from the young man.

One hand still pinning Simba, Scar looked down, and feigned reproach, complete with little ‘tsk tsk’s. “Now look, Simba,” he chided, tilting his nephew’s head up with the tip of his gun. “You’ve gone and bloodied our shirts.” Through the haze of pain, Simba opened his mouth to speak, but with silenced with a vicious squeeze to the throat. “No, no, I don’t want to hear any excuses. Now, be a good boy, and take it off.”
Revulsion flashed across Simba’s face, and he tried to protest again. Promptly shut up by a blow to the head, Simba waited for his vision to clear, then looked to Scar, and spat out, “…Fine.” The hand around his throat loosened, and then moved away completely, letting Simba slump to the ground, coughing. Simba’s eyes closed as he struggled for breath, chest heaving, but froze as the distinctive ‘click’ of a gun cocking filled his ears.

“Come on, then…be quick about it.”

Simba snarled, but did as he was told, and fumbled with the buttons of his shirt. Obviously not fast enough for Scar, whose look of triumph quickly transitioned into one of annoyance. “Honestly, Simba…do I have to do everything myself?” He squatted low, then reached out, gun still leveled at Simba, and tore the redhead’s shirt from his chest. “That’s more like it.” A hand cupped Simba’s chin, and Scar smiled at his downed nephew. Using Simba’s chin as leverage, Scar hauled the both of them up, and replaced his hand with the cool barrel of the gun.
“You know, Simba…you remind me too much of your father,” Scar began, free hand sliding down to pop the buttons on his dark jacket. “Those same eyes, that same hair…The same brutish strength.” The older man shrugged out of the jacket, then slid a hand along Simba’s stomach.

“S-scar, you bastard…” Simba spat, glowering down at the shorter male. “You’re not going to get away with th—urk!” The barrel pushed into the soft flesh of his lower jaw, cutting Simba off midsentence.
“I already HAVE, boy!” Scar snarled, pressing the gun so hard into the underside of Simba’s jaw that the redhead thought it might tear straight through. “I run the company! Your father is dead, and I run his company. There is NOTHING that will change that!” The hand exploring Simba’s stomach quickly dove beneath the hem of the younger male’s pants.

Simba gasped, fingers curling and breath catching. “Ahhn, Scar…” His plea went unnoticed, however, and Scar continued to caress the bulge in Simba’s briefs, a nasty grin on his face. “Oh, that reminds me…I never did tell you my own little secret, did I?” The smaller, darker man leaned in, and craned his neck to nip at Simba’s earlobe. “I killed Mufasa.”

Simba’s yellow eyes snapped open, his focus drawn away from the hand down his pants and the teeth on his ear. He opened his mouth to speak, and found his throat dry, his breath failing him.

“Y…you…” he finally managed, his voice a raw hiss. His fists clenched, and Scar laughed softly into Simba’s ear. “You murderer!” Simba snapped, ignoring the pain as his nails dug into the soft skin of his palms. Rage flashing in his eyes, he pushed forward, but the hand around his groin gave a squeeze, and the gun pushed up harder. “Ah, ah, ah…naughty.”

Scar’s smile grew ever more twisted as he caressed his nephew. “He died right here, you know. One bullet—pop—right through the chest. Oh!” Scar laughed, and continued to rub at Simba’s bulge, silently savoring the helpless man’s hisses and grunts of protests. “That’s right, why am I telling you this? You saw it too. Don’t you remember, dear Simba? Running up the steps and seeing your dear father slumped over?”
When Simba didn’t reply, Scar lifted his mouth from his nephew’s ear to take in the sight of his nephew’s face. Tears streaked down Simba’s cheeks, his eyes screwed shut. Somewhere, deep inside, Scar knew he should have felt bad, but it only served to excite him further. The tent in his own pants was becoming a nuisance, but he’d put up with it…for now. Instead, to distract himself, Scar leaned in, and licked at Simba’s cheek, wet, warm tongue sliding along the tear-stained skin. Simba jerked softly, and Scar could just barely hold back a laugh of delight when he felt his nephew’s length twitch to life in his grip.

“Simba,” Scar feigned surprise, fondling the slowly rising stiffness between his nephew’s legs. “You dirty boy, I had no idea.” When Simba didn’t respond, the man in the suit simply shrugged a shoulder, and slid his hand free of the confines of Simba’s pants, taking a grip instead on the man’s cheeks. “Now, listen to your Uncle Scar, and get on your knees.”
No response from the younger male. Simba stood stock-still, shuddering as he struggled for the breath that wouldn’t come. A fist to the gut, however, got him moving, and he groaned as he stumbled to his knees. Golden eyes glared up at Scar, who simply sneered back down, and slid a hand around Simba’s head. Dark fingers tangled in red hair, and the gun aimed lazily at Simba’s temple.

“You see, Simba, I’ve had this ache for years now…and I’m afraid that nobody I’ve met has yet been able to quash it…perhaps you could give it a go.” Scar smiled down at Simba, and pressed his nephew’s face into his clothed groin, the front of his pants uncomfortably tight. “Take them off, and lick it. Or I’ll blow your brains all over the ground.”

"Sick bastard!" Simba roared, struggling upward and breaking free of the fist in his hair in an explosive whirlwind of limbs and rage. Grief and hate and pain had kept him numb until now, all warring for control while his uncle pushed him to his knees... But it was clear now, all utterly clear. He was going to die. He would be damned if it was on Scar's terms, degraded and submissive, fucked same stained roof his father bled out on. He lurched weakly to the edge, standing as tall and proud as he was able. Instinctually he knew Scar wouldn't shoot him yet, wasn't able to kill his prize so easily, held captive by the tense lines of brooding sensuality between them. Brutal winds whipped around him, making him sway dangerously to keep balanced. It didn't matter. He only needed a few seconds. "You would have killed me anyways," he shouted, fists clenched, eyes lit with the bitter triumph of one final insult. The last denial.
Scar merely smirked. Yes, this was what he wanted - had lusted for in secrecy over the course of generations. Simba had no idea the picture he made, particularly to the experienced sadist. He'd found some temporary measure of strength, but his limbs were trembling with intense exhaustion. One eyebrow bled sluggishly from being pistol-whipped. Scar admired the handiwork, noting the various scrapes and bruises that littered his nephew's bare torso. Yes, all tightly wound muscle and a trail of faint red hair, just like his father. His eyes burned hollowly, brief triumph sapped by pain and fear. Simba's face was born for tragedy, Scar mused, enjoying the way the wind whipped his exposed hair back and forth.

"Nala," he murmured, the cultured purr of his voice turning the name into a sinister promise. Simba felt the first pinpricks of protective horror, swaying a little harder. "What?" he asked, following Scar's line of sight as he abruptly shifted aim of the gun. There, on the opposite rooftop, Scar's three stooges had wrested Nala up the steps and onto the ledge, pistol jammed against her temple. "No!" Simba screamed, wretched with fear. "Now, I don't have any particular interest in the girl, and if you are very good, then I will leave her alone." Scar hissed, motioning Simba away from the edge with his gun. Simba stumbled closer, face bleached of all color. He couldn't be responsible for Nala's death. "Promise?" he whispered, tears streaming freely down his cheeks. "You have my word," Scar replied, oozing false sympathy. Simba uttered a defeated sob, stepping closer with closed eyes. Scar let a vicious smirk flicker across his face, slamming the butt of the pistol against the delicate edge of bone separating Simba's temple and brow, knocking him to the ground. "Stupid boy. I find I like you better on the ground."
Simba let out a hoarse cry of pain, collapsing on the gritty concrete. He curled up in a protective ball, both hands clutching the side of his head and eye. He had his pride, had been in fights plenty of times before, but the sudden, brutal violence his uncle maliciously wielded shocked him. Simba's vision flickered dimly, and the pavement appeared to sway, both signs indicating he was on the verge of passing out. There was a wretched, escalating moan of pain and with a miserable shock he realized it was his own. Scar smirked, kneeling down and fisting Simba's hair at the nape, idly running the tip of the gun down his spine. Simba stiffened, then quivered, torturously aware of the bargain he'd just made. "Oh, dear boy, shh, shh," Scar murmured sympathetically, settling back on his haunches and guiding Simba's head into his crotch, watching him seize up and try to breathe steadily through the sobs. It made him twitch. "There, there. It will be alright." He tugged Simba's hair through his fingertips just to make his breath catch, hand moving to pet his cheek before unbuttoning his pants. "You can do the rest, little nephew," he grinned, thrusting his hips in invitation.
Simba had to stifle a surprised moan as the hot, musky scent of Scar's arousal flooded his senses. The sudden heat made his thoughts stutter and halt, overthrown. He trembled slightly, caught between memories of confusion and lust, and more recent betrayal and pain. Simba knew he was gay, and had always been gay. He'd known it since Scar of all men started haunting his dreams, twisted apparitions of carnal need and dominance, leaving him aching and vulnerable when he woke. It was just a way of coming to terms with his sexuality, packaged in a familiar form, he thought. He had wanted it.

But he never wanted it this way.

Screwing his eyes shut, he explored the outlines of Scar's arousal with his mouth in slow, cautious motions, hating himself when he came to the zipper and began to drag it down. He started breathing harder, nuzzling against the ever more exposed erection. Whimpering, he made to pull away, but the demanding press of the barrel at his temple broke him down as he took the elastic waistband of his uncle's boxers in his teeth.
Scar hissed as Simba gradually exposed him, so obviously defeated, kneeling there on his hands and knees. Killing Mustafa has always been satisfying, but winning his son out of the bargain was probably the best part. He stroked Simba's back indulgently, enjoying the agitated play of muscle left in his wake. Oh, Simba could pretend he didn't like it, and he could keep his eyes shut for now. But there was no mistaking the heated flush that crept up the hollows of his throat, or the growing bulge in his ratty jeans. "Such a delightful little slut," Scar growled as his boxers finally came down, still daintily seized in Simba's mouth. He laughed smugly, punctuating the statement by dragging blunt nails down the length of his hard back, watching him twitch and clench his fists as swollen pink lines rose in his wake. Simba uttered a timid moan, shutting his eyes in distressed shame even as he gently sucked the head of Scar's arousal.
Scar grinned down at the young man, taking a handful of Simba's hair and pulling, tugging at every single strand before moving onto the next handful. Simba shuddered, shoulders twitching at the harsh treatment, heat unwillingly pooling in his groin. It felt as if his entire scalp had come to life, tingling and aching as goosebumps erupted on his entire body. He'd never known something could feel like that. Trying to ignore it, trying to block it all out, he moved more firmly on Scar's cock, tongue flickering inexpertly at the head. It tasted like skin, salty and soft, and he didn't... hate it, if he closed his eyes and pretended his uncle wasn't pressing a gun to his head. Scar grunted, thrusting forward. "Where'd you learn to suck cock so well, boy?" He breathed wickedly, taking pleasure in the knowledge that Simba had NEVER done this before. "Am I your first?"

Scar leered as Simba stiffened with rage, noting how he suddenly flushed harder. "You like it when I treat you like a whore?" He said, hand clenching brutally in Simba's hair has he began to move, hard, rolling thrusts into Simba's mouth, cutting off his angry rumble. "No, no, don't talk. You look much prettier with your lips stretched around my cock," he seethed, taking malevolent pleasure in Simba's struggles and unwilling arousal. His poor nephew was fighting him, enraged despite his weakness, trying to slap him away, trying to be all teeth and sharp pain even when the back of his throat and tonsils were hot and clenching. He probably couldn't breath, and fresh tears were slipping down frustrated red cheeks. Scar let a guttural moan slip out, just to provoke Simba.
At first, Simba made no sound, eyes locked on the bulge pressed against his cheek, the curving fabric of Scar’s pants pushing demandingly at him. He groaned, the hot, heavy scent of Scar’s groin unlike anything he’d ever experienced. He felt dizzy, exhausted. For a split second, Simba considered simply letting himself pass out, but the insistent twitch of Scar’s erection—fairly large, if the bulge was anything to go by—kept bringing Simba back.

The cool metal of the gun still pressed to his head, Simba swallowed once, took a shaky breath, and moved his hands to the hem of Scar’s well-tailored pants. His uncle leered triumphantly, watching as Simba fumbled with the zipper, then the button. The darker man tilted his head, eyes narrowing. Hrm…from the angle Simba was at…that thick, crimson hair…strong jaw, broad shoulders…Simba looked just his father. Another rush of excitement filled Scar, the prospect of finally dominating his brother—through Simba or not—pulling at the strings of his self-control. “Tick-tock, Simba,” Scar sing-songed, and just managed to keep his composure when Simba’s lips found their way around the head of his erection, still hidden by the silky fabric of his boxers.
The younger man worked his mouth over the throbbing end of his uncle’s arousal, eyes closed. The musky scent from earlier had doubled in potency—or was he just going crazy? Simba secretly hoped he was. It would explain a lot of things; the gun at his head, his uncle all but humping his face…the feeling that he should have minded the feel of Scar’s length in his mouth a whole lot more.

Hands back down at his knees, Simba clenched his fists as he nursed Scar’s clothed erection, listening to the older man’s coos of encouragement. This was wrong, wrong on so many levels…here he was, pleasuring not just his uncle, but the man who’d killed his father. Simba knew he should just stand up and throttle Scar, but he was too tired, and too placated by the overpowering musk of Scar’s groin. Quite content, for lack of a better word, to kneel there and continue, Simba didn’t notice the fingers roaming his back until a particularly brutal scratch left stinging, bleeding lines. He hissed, back arching, and Scar laughed.
Scar let out a throaty groan, humping into Simba's mouth with abandon. He did SO enjoy that moment of submission, when the defiance drained from dim gold eyes, and Simba just tried to take it without choking too much. It was if a switch had gone off somewhere, and Simba's body realized it was no use struggling. Scar set up a sloppy, deep rhythm, breathing hard as he held still and gagged against him. He pulled out, suddenly, admiring the way Simba's mouth simply hung open with sobbing pants, expecting the next thrust, eyebrows drawn and tense with pained submission. He gave a husky laugh, green eyes narrowing with the thrill, pinching the base of his cock and drawing away. Skullfucking was nice, but he had no intentions of finishing so simply. "Roll over," he commanded, pinching Simba's nipple visciously.
Simba cried out pathetically, all of his composure wasted away by enduring pain and humiliation. He could only brush weakly at Scar's hand - brutal, sadistic hand - as he twisted his nipple and dug a thumbnail in, wrestling a surprised "Nghh!" from him. Oh, god, he wanted to die. His entire body felt like an exposed nerve, overwrought with pain and exhaustion. His vision still spun distressingly, but he held off unconsciousness for Nala's sake. He flipped over slowly, moving gingerly in a futile attempt to spare himself some pain. Scar merely chuckled darkly, smacking his ass a few times as he did. "Poor nephew," he murmured, hands moving insidiously to unzip his pants, scratching down his hips in red lines. Simba lay quiescent, staring at the sky before his eyes flickered down Scar, taking in the lean torso, down to his stomach and the thick erection framed in a loose V by the low-slung pants. The view and the subtle strokes around his crotch made him twitch. He bit his lip uncomfortably, suddenly too flustered again, trying to cross his knees as the reality of the situation dawned on him. His uncle was going to rape him. And he was going to like it.

“Welcome back, Simba…I was afraid I’d lost you for a moment.” Scar’s hand trailed back up to grab a handful of red hair, and tugged Simba’s head away from his groin, his boxers now thoroughly damp with his nephew’s saliva and his own pre-ejaculate. “Now that you’re somewhat more…collected, shall we move on?” Scar pushed his hips forward, pressing Simba against his stiff length again. “Be a sport and take them off, hmm?”

Simba winced as blood, warm and wet, trailed down his back. The injuries were minor; he’d had far worse. It wasn’t the pain that made the young man cringe, however. The reason for Simba’s discomfort was that he didn’t much care that Scar had done it. Still panting, the redhead reached up with still-shaking fingers, and pulled Scar’s boxers down. The man’s proud erection sprang free from its confines, flicking a thin line of precum across Simba’s face. As it hung there, twitching and drooling, Simba took another deep breath, heat spreading from ear to ear. He shouldn’t be reacting like this, he chided himself silently. He should be screaming and kicking and fighting. But instead, he knelt between his uncle’s legs, suckling at the man’s hot cock like some helpless whore.
"Now, now, don't act as if you don't like it," Scar chided, slapping his thighs apart before taking his underwear and jeans into clawed hands, wrenching them off to his shocked yell. "We both know that's not how you REALLY feel," he whispered spitefully in Simba's ear, hot breaths and the sudden scent of Scar's hair making his head spin. "Uncle! U-uncle, please!" he cried out, begging for the first time, his voice a desperate whine as Scar fisted his erection. "I-Aahhn!" he whimpered pathetically, hands uselessly laid against Scar's shoulders as he pressed hard, dominating bites to the delicate flesh underneath his ear. "Shut up," Scar muttered, grinding harshly against his ass. Simba arched and shuddered, hating and loving the sensation, hips unconsciously twitching open. Scar raised himself on one elbow, reaching for his abandoned shirt, taking both of Simba's wrists in a heavy hand. Simba trembled and fell still, eyes wide, painfully aware of Scar's strength as the bones in his wrists ground together. He cried out with loss as Scar bound him with ripped shirt, stuffing the excess into his open mouth. 'Un-le!" he sobbed, muffled and weak.
He cried softly, biting down on the make-shift gag. Scar's shirt. Oh, god, it even tasted like his sweat, and that made all of his senses pound dizzily, swooning, head falling back and retreating briefly into merciful darkness.

He came to with fingers pressed up against his taint, a thumb stroking his entrance, and the other hand delivering a stinging backhand. Being slapped is never fun, but being slapped by Scar is nothing short of brutal. He let out a hoarse scream, cheek smarting, blood dripping slowly down his lip where it tore against his teeth. "There's a good boy," Scar chuckled as Simba panted heavily, struggling against his bound wrists in confusion. "Since you were so good as to get my cock nice and wet, I suppose you deserve the same," Scar gloated, wetting a finger before stroking his entrance, pressing past any resistance. Simba keened, hips tilting up as his head fell back, completely unprepared for the invasion. "Uh-uhhhn," he whimpered, thighs and erection twitching as Scar idly fucked him with it. "God, for a virgin you're a real slut, aren't you?" Scar purred, adding another finger as he appreciated the hot, silky clench of his nephew's passage. Simba nodded shakily, mewling behind the gag as he pressed and massaged his prostate. He'd heard about it, but never touched it himself, and he'd agree to anything to keep his uncle's fingers right... there... Pleasure and pain bled together, and his senses were too overwhelmed to differentiate the two. He pressed his hips up, silently begging Scar to touch his erection.
Scar knew Simbra was breaking down, overcome by pain and arousal, misery and exhaustion. It was obvious in the way he rolled his hips, nearly fucking himself on his fingers, expression vague and distant. "Eager little whore," he chastised, pressing the heel of his hand against Simba's taint, cupping his balls and swollen cock too tightly, eliciting a suffering moan. He squirmed around him, still trying to fuck against Scar's fingers. "Naughty," he hummed, sliding his fingers out to tweak a nipple playfully. Simba clenched his thighs together with a muffled gasp, unused to the sensation. It felt slick, weird, and deeply uncomfortable when he did it that quickly. He let out a harsh breath, tensing as Scar guided hot flesh to his entrance, bearing down. Oh, god, he couldn't take it, not like this, arching unbearably hard as Scar pressed into his aching ass. He whimpered high in his throat, unable to do anything but claw weakly as Scar's chest and stomach, pressed demandingly against his own. Scar sighed, digging his fingers possessively into Simba's hips, trapping him in place. He thrashed weakly as Scar humped in hot little circles, just shy of his prostate before starting a deep, punishing rhythm that made him wail openly.

Simba screamed behind the gag as a glittering rush of blood engulfed his hips, his cock painfully hard. He'd never known it would be like this, and the sound of Scar's balls slapping his ass is absolutely FILTHY, and it only makes him needier. "Hhnn! Aaah-Nnh! Scrr, pleese!" is all he can manage, gasping moans as Scar trails sucking bites along the tall column of his throat. And then he can't even manage those, because Scar's hands are locked tight around his throat, darkly handsome face set into a vindictive snarl as he stared down, sweaty hips thrusting entirely too deep. Oh, god, he needed to claw his hands through that dark hair, needed to jerk off, but all he could do was thrust his hips and choke, staring up with teary eyes. Scar let out a deep, aroused rumble, fingernails drawing blood against the fair skin of his throat. "Ckhh! A-Ackh," Simba gagged, body convulsing suddenly with the force of his orgasm. Everything was entirely too sensitive, especially the cock still ramming up his ass, and the lack of air made him feel lightheaded and distant. He blacked out with a silent sob, eyes rolling up into his head and hips still twitching with latent ecstasy.

Scar rode out his nephew's orgasm with surprise, hissing as the rhythmic clenching brought him to his own release. He sat back with a sigh, idly stroking himself to Simba's vacant expression and slack limbs. It made him snicker sadistically to know he'd literally fucked his nephew unconsciousness. He let out a breath, straightened and picked up the gun. Yes, it was appropriate to leave him here like this; utterly debauched, bleeding and broken, covered in his marks and cum. He checked the chamber, cocked the gun, calmly took aim.

Bang.

He let out a sigh, looked away. Picked up Simba's shirt and put it on, tucking the gun into his waistband. Made his way to the stairwell, humming idly.

"Hakuna Matata..."

>>79267
Hngh.... Thank you. It feels so fucking wrong but it's too hot.

No prob anon, I live to please.
If I find anymore content I'll come right back.

bu-bump

these are some awfully white african dudes...

>>92196
Seriously. What we need is porn using those Lion King gijinka character designs that've been going around Tumblr very recently. That artist's version of Scar is delicious.

Needs more power bottom!Scar, not to mention Shere Khan/Scar because that's pretty much the best ship in the world.

Dunno if anyone is interested, but I wrote a fic slashing human!Scar with Frollo a while back http://www.fanfiction.net/s/7838876/1/Whom_He_May_Devour

http://www.fanfiction.net/s/7624413/1/Injustice-Deliciously-Squared as weird as it sounds, this fic has one of the best depictions of incest I've ever seen. Super creepy.

The Lion King: Ohtori Academy edition.

On a pretty unrelated note, in my headcanon human!Scar was totally a delicious little Assdip-chan looking trap in his early teens. If someone draws this, they win forever.