The Witch of hopelessness

"In this world,hope is such a fragile thing Wouldn't it be better if we just become hopeless ?The risk of pain is lesser after all. That's why I exist,the witch who feeds on hope"

[bernkastel11]

You guys can call me Bern

Age: 18+

Fandoms: RoR, TWST, Shadows House,Dinoverse etc....

Pronouns: She/Her

Masterpost

My works:

𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑺𝒄𝒂𝒓𝒍𝒆𝒕𝒕 𝑷𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒄𝒆𝒔𝒔

𝑫𝒊𝒏𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒆 𝑨𝑼

𝑯𝒆𝒍𝒍 𝑰𝒔 𝑨 𝑹𝒆𝒂𝒍𝒊𝒕𝒚 𝑺𝒉𝒐𝒘

𝑷𝑴𝑴𝑴 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑻𝒘𝒊𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒅 𝑾𝒐𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒔𝒕𝒖𝒇𝒇

𝐀𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐢𝐚 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐌𝐫. 𝐑𝐚𝐛𝐛𝐢𝐭

𝐒𝐡𝐚𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐬 𝐇𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐅𝐚𝐧𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬

𝐑𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐝 𝐄𝐦𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬

𝐍𝐞𝐫𝐨 𝐇𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞

[yanderedrabbles]

𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐎𝐮𝐭𝐥𝐚𝐰𝐬 𝐈𝐈 – 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐆𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐬

Yᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ Oᴜᴛʟᴀᴡs Pʀᴇᴠɪᴏᴜs Eɴᴛʀʏ | Nᴇxᴛ Eɴᴛʀʏ The days after your capture by a gang of outlaws are a blur of unfamiliar hands on your body, and hot kisses pressed against your neck. But some days stick out as far worse than others.

Tᴀɢs: male yanderes x fem reader, noncon, double penetration, first time anal, irredeemable outlaw bastards making you cry again, taking care of their injuries & other sort of sweet moments, 6.6k words 

The gunslingers are awful to wake up to. Even in their dreams, they’re as fiercely jealous of you as coyotes.

The green eyed gunslinger holds you too tight in his sleep, his arm around your waist so heavy you can't even stretch without waking him.

He's sluggish in the mornings, the outlaw who wakes the latest. But that doesn't mean he isn't hungry for you.

No, it just means he makes you do all the work.

He doesn't wake you gently. Doesn't even bother trying, really. When he's in bed with you, you wake up to your nipples being pinched and rolled between his fingers, his palms hot on your tits as he squeezes them.

There's no point in pretending to still be asleep — that just makes him nasty. He'll run his teeth down your ribs and snarl at you to wake up and quit dreaming, he's got a job for you.

He needs two things to start the day off right; your mouth on his cock, and a cigarette. All the better if he can have them both at once.

He tends to light his cigarillo with one hand and push you down between his legs with the other. Smoke curls in grey-blue ribbons through the slanting early morning sun as he tosses one arm behind his head and knots his fingers in your hair. Not too tight — mostly a reminder.

He doesn't care to be demanding so early in the day. No, he just watches you through eyes slit as narrow and green as a cat's. You know exactly what he wants from you, and you've learned the hard way to give it to him exactly how he likes it.

"Ain't gonna say good mornin’?" he mocks, knowing damn well that you can't say anything at all with how much cock you have down your throat.

Sometimes, he pushes your head down and keeps you trapped there, his smirk growing more satisfied the harder you try to pull away. When he lets you up, you're panting and light headed, cursing him in your head as the devil's own son.

He doesn't apologise when he does that, doesn't speak at all. He just smirks and pulls on his cigarette.

Bastard. Cruel, sadistic bastard.

You must be glaring at him when you think it, because he snickers and blows a cloud of sweet smelling smoke at you.

"Oh, you hate me. Don't you, filly?"

He doesn't sound offended. If anything, he sounds proud. Proud of treating you like a ragdoll, like making you hate him is some kind of goddamn achievement.

"’S alright. You'll come around. And if you don't? Well, I'll just have to fuck it into ya."

He presses down with his palm and anything you might have said is drowned out by the taste of his cock.

He isn't heartless, though sometimes you wonder if that's any consolation at all. You catch him watching you most mornings after he's done with you — when you're sprawled panting on his bed with his teeth marks throbbing down your neck. His dark hair falls forward to shade his eyes when he leans down to pull on his boots, and the green that flashes between the strands is almost always still bright and feverish with want.

"You're too pretty to be real, you know that?" There's something in his voice when he asks you that, something almost awed. 

You don't feel pretty at all — not with the ring of bite marks at your neck and the bruises on your thighs. But maybe he sees something in you that you can't see for yourself.

He's a hard man, but he always kisses you before he leaves for the day. Not a tender kiss — you don't think he’d know how to do that if he tried — but about as close as a man like him can get. There's always a moment right before he pulls away, when his lips are right above your jugular, where you wonder if he might have loved you if he'd ever learned what love meant.

The dark skinned gunslinger is equally slow to rise as his partner. He sleeps like he's dead to the world and gets up only when he can't keep avoiding the sun by hiding his face in your hair.

He tends to play with your cunt when he's still half asleep, running his thumb up and down your slit until you're shivering.

"Got to start the morning off right, filly," he murmurs against your shoulder, voice still foggy and slurred with dreams.

It hurts. His fingers are thick and long, almost twice big as your own. And your cunt is still stretched and sensitive from taking his cock the night before. He isn't as rough as his partner, but he still fucks like a bull. Still leaves behind red half-crescents from digging his nails into your skin.

Even half asleep, he's more than strong enough to hold you. When you whine that it hurts, that he's being too rough, he just huffs and mutters something about using your other hole if you want it that bad.

You always shut your mouth after that. No matter how much it stings when he finally props himself up on an elbow and slides his cock home, it's still better than him fucking your ass. He's big enough to put stallions to shame; his cock in that tight hole would just about split you in half.

He doesn't pull out when he's done with you either, no matter how bad you squirm. He far prefers keeping his cock inside you as he drifts back to sleep for another half hour or so. Stretching you out and making sure your pretty cunt remembers the shape of him.

He's quiet in the mornings, and most of his talking gets done with his hands. If he was harsher than usual the night before, he'll run his palm down your spine and press one kiss after the other along your neck. If he's in for a long day, he'll hold your hand in his and stroke his thumb across your knuckles.

It takes you a while to understand him, and part of you wishes you'd never picked it up. There's a tenderness to his hands — I'm sorry for hurting you, I'll miss you while I'm gone — that speaks to something deeper and scarier than just lust.

Something you aren't sure you can accept from a man who has to hold you down to fuck you.

Most of the cowboys don't take long to eat; they’re usually still chewing when they go out the door. The only exception is the dark skinned gunslinger. He likes to take his breakfast as slow as the rest of his morning, likes to sit at the table and chew his food a little at a time.

When he first sits down to breakfast with you, you try scrambling away. Bacon grease and eggs and biscuits. You don't know what kind of perverted things he can do with them, but you don't doubt his creativity.

He just laughs and drags your chair closer to his, his arm heavy around your shoulders.

"Relax, filly. I've had my fill of you for now, promise."

He breaks off a piece of sourdough, buttered thick and still warm from the oven, and holds it to your lips.

"Open up."

He hums pleased as a senator on election day when you do as he asks. Your tongue darts across his fingertips, bright pink against his skin. The warm bread makes you think of home, and you try your best not to think too hard about your ma and how worried she probably is by now.

"See? I can keep you filled up in all sorts o' ways, pretty girl. Ain't that enough to make me your favourite?"

He leans down and tilts your chin towards him so you're forced to meet his eyes. They're a deep brown, as unmoving as wild oak.

"Go on, tell me I'm your favourite."

You swallow your food and knot your fingers in your skirt. You're afraid of him — his size, the strength in his hands. He’s slow to anger, but something in your gut tells you that his anger is terrible indeed. You don’t want to wake it.

"You're my favourite."

He huffs out a laugh and lets you go, squeezing your thigh before pulling away entirely.

"You promise?"

"Promise."

"God hates a liar, y'know."

And He hates thieves and killers even more. But that's never stopped any of you, has it?

"I know. That's why I'm not lying."

Maybe you imagine it, but he smiles a little easier after that.

With time, breakfast becomes its own routine. And not just him feeding you.

He tends to wait with a grin while you cut his bacon up for him, and spear it on your fork. His eyes meet yours whenever he leans forward and eats from your hand, his teeth glinting.

“You take such good care of me, filly. You know that?”

You try not to fall for the slight sweetness in his smile when he tells you that. He’s just another wolf with no intention of being tamed. Happy to eat from your palm and then bite you later.

When his plate is clean and his coffee is gone, he sighs and runs a hand down your thigh. Says he hates to leave you, but the boss will take his skin if he lingers any longer. When he stands to put his Stetson on, his revolver catches the light.

"Don't miss me too much, yeah?"

You never miss him at all, but you aren't brave enough to say so.

The green eyed gunslinger is rash in everything he does. You learn that early on.

Slicing his hand on some fencing because he was too quick to cut the wires. His lip split from brawling, all because he lost a single game of hold 'em. Spraining his wrist because he lassoed a wild mustang without tying the rope to his saddle first.

He acts without thinking, leaps without looking.

He doesn't care to patch things up either. Just rubs some dirt in the cut to stop the bleeding and gets on with his day.

But that was before you showed up.

You have healing hands, he tells the other outlaws. The second in command just scoffs and says that's what happens when you clean a wound properly.

It's a late fall morning the first time you take care of his injuries.

You're alone in the kitchen, head down as you work on an apple pie. You don't want to cook for the outlaws. Don't want to do anything besides shoot them all in the head. But you're missing home, and when the wrangler brought back a sack of crab apples a few days ago, you got to thinking of your mama. Thought that making a pie would take you right back to your old kitchen, sugar and cinnamon thick in your nose.

It doesn't. All it does is hurt your heart.

You don't look up when you hear the back door opening. It's supposed to be just you and the boy around, and you have no reason to think otherwise.

He stands in the doorway and watches you for a long time. The cut on his hand almost forgotten, even as it soaks the bandana clutched in his fist an ugly black.

When he finally moves, he comes up behind you and reaches over your head for the bandages. You look up at him and almost jump out of your skin.

"What's wrong, sweetheart?” he mocks. “Not who you were hoping for?" He has you trapped between the counter and his body, his arm still stretched over your head. 

The smell of apples cooking is thick in the air, almost sweet enough to drown out the smell of his blood.

Your eyes fall to his hand and you flinch.

"You're hurt."

He shrugs. "Happens. Why, you wanna patch me up?"

He pulls the bandages from the cupboard and drops them into your hands.

"C'mon then, filly. Make me all better."

You freeze, looking between his hand and the bandages. You're no stranger to nasty cuts and scrapes, being a rancher's daughter and all, but you still feel light headed at the smell of his blood.

He throws himself into a chair and pulls you forward by your skirt until you're in-between his thighs.

"Ain't gonna faint on me, are you?"

"No," you mutter, "I'll try not to."

You take his wrist and carefully unwind the bandana, trying to breathe through your mouth instead of your nose. The cut is deep but not so bad that you think he ought to call the sawbones.

"How did this happen?" you ask.

He hisses when you dab alcohol on his palm. But he doesn't move to stop you.

"I've got you all curious 'bout me, is that it?" He's watching you with that half smile of his, like he's laughing at some joke you can't hear.

You shrug and avoid his eyes. You don't really care how he got it. If it were up to you, you'd have him hurting a thousand times worse.

He shifts forward and brushes some of your hair behind your ear. His skin runs warmer than yours and your cheekbone tingles from his touch.

"Cute thing, aintcha?" he says when you flinch, "'Bout as scared of me as a jackrabbit on the prairie."

You don't answer him.

When you're finally done bandaging his hand, he doesn't pull away. Instead, he moves close enough to brush his thigh against yours.

"Well doc, what's your prognosis?"

He doesn't say it the way you do, but drags out his vowels instead. Prog-now-sis.

He's the one you're the most afraid of speaking back to. You worry that he'll meet any complaints with a backhand and a sneer. Still, with the smell of blood thick in your nose, and his palm lazily curled around your leg, you're irritated enough to be honest.

"You'll end up in an early grave if you aren't more careful."

And hopefully soon.

He laughs at that, bitter and sharp as a wild dog's bark.

"Too true, doc. 'S a good thing I've got you around then, ain't it?" He stands and lifts his bandaged knuckles to your lips. "So why don't you kiss me better?"

You do. Nose wrinkled against the smell of iron — gunpowder or blood, you aren't sure which is stronger on him.

He laughs again, and then leans forward to kiss you. His injured hand wraps around the back of your neck to keep you in place. He kisses like he does everything else in life; rash and harsh and with the aim to hurt. He swipes his tongue across your teeth and you can taste candied apple. When did he have the time to steal some of your pie filling?

When he finally lets you go, he rubs his thumb across your lower lip and then presses it against his tongue.

"Pretty girl, you’re as sweet as apple pie."

The gunslingers like to share with each other. They drink from the same bottles, sharpen their knives on the same stones. They even wear the same bandanas from time to time. You might have called them brothers, if it weren't for one thing.

Brothers wouldn't keep fucking you at the same time.

You thought it might have been a one time thing — maybe they were trying to make the most of you when they first got their hands on you. But time shows you that's not true at all.

They share you as easily as they do their cigarettes, pressing their mouths one after the other against your neck until you're too hot and woozy to tell them apart. Moving so in rhythm with each other it feels like they share a mind too.

More than once, the boss has to tell them to go easy on you, that too many bruises is a bad look and they ought to learn a little kindness. Part of it is callousness — they care too much for their own pleasure to handle you kindly — and part of it is ignorance. They don’t know their own strength sometimes, or maybe they don’t really understand that you aren’t built of the same stuff as they are. Either way, they’re prone to manhandling you. 

They might pick you up just to toss you over one broad shoulder, or they might wrap an arm around your waist and flip you over so fast you feel dizzy. You don’t get used to it, not really. But you come to expect it.

That’s why, on the day they decide to try double penetration for the first time, you’re caught totally off guard. 

They’ve been off on a job for a while, and when the two of them make it home they’re flush with cash. The victory of the money doesn’t seem to matter one bit — the second they’re done talking to the boss, they come to find you.

You’re reading a book in the parlour and you don’t have any time to put it aside before the dark skinned gunslinger is scooping you up and tossing you over his shoulder.

“Been missing you somethin’ awful, filly,” he says, one hand already wandering up your thigh. “Brought you back all kinds of presents.”

The green eyed gunslinger is close behind him. “You’re going to love what we thought to try with you, princess. Really, you’ll be screamin’ for us in no time.”

That’s the last thing you want to hear from either of them. By the time you reach the bedroom, your panic is a tight knot in your gut. 

The dark skinned gunslinger tosses you down on the bed with a huff and before you can move, his massive hands are tangled in your skirt.

“Did you miss us too, filly?”

He presses a quick kiss against your lips. You can taste the dust of the road on him still.

The other gunslinger is digging through a saddlebag he brought in with him and it doesn’t take long to see why. When he straightens, he’s holding a bottle of what you can only guess is oil.

“Well,” green eyes mocks, “are you goin’ to answer the man or not?”

“Sure,” you manage, “I missed you both everyday.”

“Not rightly sure I believe you, filly. But that’s fine. I know your pretty cunt missed us plenty. Ain’t that right?”

“Guess we’ll just have to check,” his partner says. He tugs at the buttons on your dress and before you know it, he’s pulling the whole thing over your head.

He whistles when he sees your chemise — a dark cream that stands out against your skin — and then he’s reaching out and cradling your hips.

“You’re a vision for tired eyes, filly.”

“A real fuckin’ dream.”

There's a deep seated impatience in their movements, and you’re desperate to hold them off just a little longer. They’re always rougher than they need to be when they're in a hurry.

“You said you brought me a present?” you ask.

The dark skinned one smirks and takes the bottle of oil from his partner. 

“Plenty of different presents. But I reckon you’ll like this one best.”

“Turn over, filly. We want you on your knees.”

You don’t want to and your hesitation is all too clear. The one holding you sighs and pulls at your hip. Even with one hand, it's clear how much stronger he is than you.

“Don’t be difficult now. We’ve been gone too long already.”

You do as he says as slowly as you can. You end up sitting on your knees on the edge of the bed, your back facing them.

A pair of hands comes to rest on your shoulders, and you can tell it’s the dark skinned one just from the feel of him. He plays with the straps of your chemise.

“Get this off, filly. I don’t want to have to rip it.”

You reach for the hem slowly. The air in the room goes still as you pull it off, and you can feel the heat of their eyes on your skin. One of them pulls in a sharp breath, and then a heavy palm is gripping the back of your neck and forcing you forward, until your chest is on the bed. You’re sort of folded over, your hips and ass exposed.

“Fucking hell.”

“God, I missed the sight of her.”

The bottle of oil opens with a pop and you almost jump out of your skin when they pull your ass cheeks apart and drizzle a little of it down the curve of your cunt. It’s strangely warm from being out in the sun, and one of them is quick to swipe his thumb upwards to stop it all from dripping off. He smears it heavily across your pussy, the tip of his finger pressing down and threatening to slip inside.

Okay, you can handle this. They’ve bullied their way inside you plenty of times, and almost never with something so slick to help them along. You don’t like it, but you can at least manage it.

“What do you think, filly?” the dark skinned gunslinger drawls, “You ready to try somethin’ new?”

You can tell from his voice that he’s the one with his hand on your neck, and also the one playing with your pussy. He doesn’t give you any time to wonder what he means. His fingers drift upwards until he's spreading the warm oil around your asshole.

No. 

No way, they can’t be serious.

He pushes at your opening just a little, and to your horror, his finger starts to slowly sink in. It’s a different sort of feeling to having his fingers in your cunt. You feel stretched out, and even though it doesn’t hurt yet, the pressure makes something in your gut turn.

“Shoulda done this ages ago,” he murmurs, working his thumb all the way to the base. Your ass is a different kind of velvety soft compared to your cunt — less yielding, burning just a bit hotter. To the gunslingers, seeing that tight ring of muscle giving way is fucking intoxicating.

“Told you,” his partner says. 

He pulls his finger out slowly, twisting it in a way that makes you bite your lip. Fuck. Part of you is terrified — that curling dread like being on a horse you aren’t sure will try and throw you — and some other, deeper part of you wants him to keep going. Already it feels like a different kind of ache, a different kind of fire deep inside you.

“Two fingers then,” he says right before he presses them against your entrance. “Think you can handle that, filly?”

He starts pushing them in before you think to answer.

“Oh, look at that. She’s swallowin’ you up so easy. Hungry little thing, ain’t she?”

“Starvin’ I’d say. Thinks she can cry and beg and that will hide it, but I ain’t even started and she’s drooling on the sheets.”

You hate the flush of shame that creeps up your spine. But you don’t get a chance to linger on it. He starts pumping with his fingers, slow and deep. He twists them with every thrust and your whole body starts to burn. Heat in your gut, coiling in your pussy, spiking through your fingers.

“Prettiest whore I’ve ever seen.” The green eyed outlaw squats down and runs his fingers through your hair. “Ain’t that right, brother?”

“Mhm. Gonna take our cocks nice and deep, and thank us when we’re done.”

It doesn’t take long for your hole to start turning into a soft, squishy thing. Tensing up just makes it hurt, and so you force yourself to relax. The green eyed gunlinger doesn’t like being left out. By the time his partner is getting ready to stuff three fingers into you, he’s already started playing with your clit.

The pad of his thumb is rough as sandpaper, and when he drags it over your clit you can’t help the way you whine.

“What’s wrong, filly?” he mocks, drawing another rough circle across your cunt. “Needy already?”

His partner finally manages to fit all three fingers in and the stretch is enough to make you drop your head and moan. You feel delirious. So many sensations at once is bloody cruel, and you can’t focus on anything besides the hand on your nape and the throbbing in your gut. 

“Please…”

“Please what? Don't ask us to stop, pretty girl, ‘cause you know that ain't happenin’.”

You try to sit up a little but the gunslinger's hand is still tight and heavy on your neck. 

He curls his fingers inside you and you have to bury your face in the sheets to keep from screaming. It's the kind of stretch that hurts, but at the same time you can feel your body wanting to pull him deeper in. God, how do they manage to confuse you so easily? Why does your body want their touch when all they do is bruise?

The cowboy laughs and kisses you between your shoulder blades. “She looks all stretched out and ready to me.”

Their voices are still light, but you can hear in the way they're breathing that they're getting more than just a little hot and bothered. 

“Seems that way to me, too. You ready to take us both at once, filly? Reckon it's about time we broke you in fully. Been goin’ too damn easy on you.”

The dark skinned gunslinger pulls his fingers out of you with a lewd squelch, and lets go of your neck. You're not ready to move. Your ass is clenching around the sudden emptiness, and your clit is a throbbing mess. 

There's the soft sigh of clothing coming undone and then they're hauling you up. The dark skinned one kisses your cheek and slips an arm around your waist from behind. Your legs are traitors, and if he wasn't holding you up you're sure you would have gone crashing right back to your knees. 

His bare chest presses against your back, his skin so much warmer than yours. You can feel the heavy weight of his cock pressing between your ass cheeks — insistent. 

The green eyed one circles in front of you. He's still wearing his jeans, but his shirt is off and his muscles are as hard edged as you'd expect. It's the first time you've gotten a good look at his face since they arrived home. There's a new cut right above one eye, and a fading bruise on his jaw. But it's his eyes that get you. 

They're burning like marsh fire, and he smiles at you with the lazy self confidence of an alligator. 

“You're sweatin’, filly,” he says. He brushes your hair away from your face and you realise with a start that you really are sweating. Your hair clings to your forehead and temples. Did having them play around with your ass really do that to you?

He grunts when he lets his cock out. It's rock hard, bulging with veins, and when he slips the tip between your folds you can feel the humid heat of it. 

He rubs it up and down your clit, that solid, leaking head nudging the already sensitive parts of you until you're dizzy. 

“You ought to thank us, filly,” he mutters. He's looking down at your cunt, just watching the way his dick slips in and out of your mound. “We're being so sweet with you.”

Your ass is an aching mess and the hot cock pressing at your entrance promises to make it all the worse. But he's right, they are being nice. You didn't think they'd take the time to loosen you up. 

“Go on then,” the dark skinned one rumbles from behind you, “Say thank you.”

You swallow hard and shake your head a little. 

Because even if they are being more gentle than usual, you still don't want this. 

He scoffs and hooks his free hand under your thigh. “You'll thank us eventually, filly. Just wait.”

He pulls your leg up until your ass and cunt are both exposed to the cold air. You hate how slick everything feels. Like you ought to be dripping onto the floors. 

The green eyed one reaches down and spreads your cheeks just a little more, so his partner can nudge his dick up against your entrance. You shiver when you feel the tip at your ass — three fingers suddenly doesn't feel nearly enough to prepare you. 

He doesn't give you any warning besides the way he tightens his hold on you. He pushes up against your ass, his tip thick and hot with precum.

The head is the worst part. For a second you think it won't fit — it slips right past your hole — but he tries again and it catches. He pushes in slowly. It's a slow pressure at first — your muscles yielding but not really letting him in — but there's a limit to everything and he reaches a point where nothing you do could possibly keep him out. His head pops into your ass with a shudder. 

You fall forward without meaning to, your head coming to rest against the green eyed gunslinger's shoulder. He makes a small, amused sort of noise and squeezes your ass. 

Your whole face scrunches up. It burns. The gunslinger bullies his way inside of you, your muscles giving in to the inexorable press of him. You've never felt so stretched out. Never felt so terribly full. 

He snarls through his teeth, breathing as heavy as a bull. 

It's sick. A cock that big shouldn't be inside you at all. When he pushes in all the way, a sob catches in your throat. 

You're still too tight, so he can't thrust as much as he wants. His cock rocks forward and back a few inches, and you have to bite your lip so you don't scream. His nails dig into your thigh and he groans long and low when he bottoms out again. 

“That good, huh?” the green eyed one asks. Neither of you have the strength to reply. Your whole body is shivering like you have a fever, your thigh muscles shaking. 

You want to say something — anything — to make him pull out. But words are a thing for thinking folk and right now all you are is a bundle of nerves and a stretched out hole. 

The green eyed gunslinger makes a soft, cooing noise in the back of his throat. With his partner already inside you, he doesn't need to keep spreading your cheeks. Instead, he runs his hands slowly up your stomach until he's cupping your tits in his palms. 

“Is it too much for you, filly?” He sounds so kind when he asks that, that you almost forget the sort of man he really is. “You want me to help you out?”

“Yes,” you whisper against his shoulder, “yes.”

He turns his head a little and kisses your hair. 

“Anythin’ for you, pretty girl. If you want me to make it all better…” He steps a little closer and takes hold of his cock. Your cunt is still slick with oil and finding your entrance is almost too easy. “...then I'll have to do just that.”

He slips it inside your pussy without any warning at all. 

You shudder against him, your arms wrapping around his neck without you even realising. You make a low, keening sort of noise. Like a wounded animal. 

He almost bites through his own tongue. Listen to you — you needy, whiny thing. Hanging onto him like he's the only solid thing in the world, your cunt so warm and soft around him that any sensible thoughts go tumbling straight out of his head. 

He can feel his partner thrusting inside you. That little bit of muscle between your ass and your cunt is so damn thin. When he starts moving, he matches his partner's pace without even thinking. 

You've never felt anything like this before. You've been fucked plenty since they stole you. You've had their cocks so deep inside you, you can still feel them in your gut at night. But not like this. 

It's beyond overwhelming. There's the burning ache of being stretched out too far, and under it the needy throb of your own arousal. You ought to feel guilty. You ought to feel ashamed. But all you really feel is their meaty cocks, moving together inside you. 

You don't know how long you're supposed to last. You don't know how anyone is supposed to last at all with two men inside them. All you know is that you can feel your orgasm building no matter how much you don't want it to. 

The dark skinned gunslinger pulls your thigh higher up towards him, and leans forward until his nose is buried in your hair. His forearm is thick and strong around your waist, and deep down you know he won't let you fall no matter how far gone he is. 

“Love you, filly,” he grinds out between thrusts, “love you, love you, love you.”

He does, doesn't he? No matter how terrible his love is, it's yours. Whether you want it or not. 

The green eyed one squeezes your tit with one hand, and pinches your clit with the other. That's what does it for you. You come and you come hard, both your holes clenching so tight that the dark skinned gunslinger growls and almost pulls out. 

You're milking them both, though you don't know it. The dark skinned one manages a few more thrusts before he drops his head to your shoulder and bites into you like a mutt. He holds onto you with his teeth when he comes, thick ropes of white shooting deep inside you. He's breathing as heavy as a bull after a rodeo, his fingers slipping off the curve of your waist. 

He lets go eventually, and licks the bitemark he left behind. You can feel a sheen of sweat where he's touched you. Though you suppose you're no better. 

“Drunk on you, pretty girl,” he slurs, letting go of your thigh and easing you back onto your feet. “Want to taste you. Want to bite you. Want you all to myself.”

You flinch when he eases his cock out of you. Your ass gapes around the emptiness and his come drips out of you in warm, icky rivulets. 

He kisses your neck — all sloppy and hot, his lips sliding across your pulse. 

“I love you,” he says again, “God help me, I'm in love with you, girl.”

You're shivering, the green eyed gunslinger still buried deep in your cunt even though he isn't moving. 

Are you supposed to say you love him back? You can't fathom enough sense to remember your own name, much less process what you're feeling. You only huff against the green eyed gunslinger's shoulder, your nails digging into the muscles of his upper back. 

“Go easy on her,” he says to his partner suddenly. His voice is tempered by something you can't place. Tenderness, maybe. “Reckon she doesn't even know what love is right now.”

The dark skinned one ignores him and moves to cradle your waist in those big, big palms of his. “Don't care. I love her. I'll kill any bastard who tries to take her from me.”

“Even me, brother?”

“Even you.”

The green eyed one presses another kiss against your hair. You wish he'd move — thrust, pull out, something. Having him stay still inside you stings. 

“Yeah, I reckon I'd do the same.” He says it lightly, but neither you nor his partner are fooled. He means it. You can feel it in the way he holds you, can see it in the venom green of his eyes. 

He'll kill his own partner to keep you, if it ever comes down to it. 

You expect them to be angry with each other. A threat is a threat, even if the one spitting it is a friend. But you're wrong about them yet again. If anything, the dark skinned gunslinger relaxes a little. 

“See what you do to a man, filly?” he asks. Cool air rushes across your back when he steps away from you. “Drivin’ us to madness and you don’t even know it.”

The green eyed gunslinger pulls out of you and then slowly guides you back towards the bed. You're too woozy to stop him.

He sits on the edge of the mattress and wraps his arm around your waist, pulling you onto his lap. You're sort of straddling him, your head still on his shoulder. You can feel the come oozing out of your asshole and sliding towards your cunt. 

“You're mine, girl,” he says simply. He shifts and drags his cock across the length of you. "Our pretty filly ain't goin' nowhere after this, is she?" 

He runs his nails down your spine, not hard enough to hurt but not gentle either.

"Nah,” the dark skinned one answers. His voice is low, rumbling. “Looks to me like she's staying right here with us."

"That's right—" he rocks forward and buries his cock all the way to the base. "—right here with us. Say it filly. We wanna hear you say it."

You ain't sure you can say anything at all.

"Say it, pretty girl." His voice is quiet, and it makes goosebumps prickle up your back. A rattlesnake would have a voice like that if it ever learned to speak. "Say you ain't never leaving us. Say you ain't even gonna think about it no more."

"Never leaving," you manage.

It isn't enough for them. He doesn't change anything about his position, but the way he knots his fingers in your hair is more than enough to make you try again.

"I swear. I'm yours. I'm not going anywhere."

It's humiliating, in its own special way. The way they make you say it scorches your cheeks and makes you screw your eyes shut. Why can't they just take what they want from you and leave you be? Why drag it out and play these terrible games?

His hand slides down your neck until he's holding your nape. He can feel the slick wetness of your tears against his neck, but if it moves him at all, he sure doesn't show it.

"You're home. There ain't nothin' left for you out there. You think you mama will want you back after we've had you this long? After what we just did to you?”

As if to make a point, his next stroke is long and slow. You can feel the head of his dick scraping the too-sensitive walls of your cunt.

You breath stutters in your chest, because he's saying exactly what you've been thinking yourself. What's left for you if they decide to let you go? What husband will ever want you?

"Selfish bastards, eh?" He sinks into you with a satisfied sigh. "We've ruined you for everyone else. No man will want you now, no matter how pretty you are. We're all you've got. All you'll ever have."

You want to cry but you can't find the breath for it.

"So say it again," he mutters into your hair, "Say you ain't ever leaving."

"I'm not leaving. I'm not going anywhere."

The truth of it is enough to make you dizzy.

"You're our girl."

"I'm your girl."

"And you're stayin’ right here."

"I'm staying right here."

"We love you, filly. Swear to god we do."

He bottoms out with a deep growl and shifts his grip on your neck so he's holding you by the throat. A calf held down for slaughter wouldn't even be held this tight.

"And when you love something, you never let it go."

[yanderedrabbles]

𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐎𝐮𝐭𝐥𝐚𝐰𝐬 𝐈𝐈 – 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐆𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐬

Yᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ Oᴜᴛʟᴀᴡs Pʀᴇᴠɪᴏᴜs Eɴᴛʀʏ | Nᴇxᴛ Eɴᴛʀʏ The days after your capture by a gang of outlaws are a blur of unfamiliar hands on your body, and hot kisses pressed against your neck. But some days stick out as far worse than others.

Tᴀɢs: male yanderes x fem reader, noncon, double penetration, first time anal, irredeemable outlaw bastards making you cry again, taking care of their injuries & other sort of sweet moments, 6.6k words 

The gunslingers are awful to wake up to. Even in their dreams, they’re as fiercely jealous of you as coyotes.

The green eyed gunslinger holds you too tight in his sleep, his arm around your waist so heavy you can't even stretch without waking him.

He's sluggish in the mornings, the outlaw who wakes the latest. But that doesn't mean he isn't hungry for you.

No, it just means he makes you do all the work.

He doesn't wake you gently. Doesn't even bother trying, really. When he's in bed with you, you wake up to your nipples being pinched and rolled between his fingers, his palms hot on your tits as he squeezes them.

There's no point in pretending to still be asleep — that just makes him nasty. He'll run his teeth down your ribs and snarl at you to wake up and quit dreaming, he's got a job for you.

He needs two things to start the day off right; your mouth on his cock, and a cigarette. All the better if he can have them both at once.

He tends to light his cigarillo with one hand and push you down between his legs with the other. Smoke curls in grey-blue ribbons through the slanting early morning sun as he tosses one arm behind his head and knots his fingers in your hair. Not too tight — mostly a reminder.

He doesn't care to be demanding so early in the day. No, he just watches you through eyes slit as narrow and green as a cat's. You know exactly what he wants from you, and you've learned the hard way to give it to him exactly how he likes it.

"Ain't gonna say good mornin’?" he mocks, knowing damn well that you can't say anything at all with how much cock you have down your throat.

Sometimes, he pushes your head down and keeps you trapped there, his smirk growing more satisfied the harder you try to pull away. When he lets you up, you're panting and light headed, cursing him in your head as the devil's own son.

He doesn't apologise when he does that, doesn't speak at all. He just smirks and pulls on his cigarette.

Bastard. Cruel, sadistic bastard.

You must be glaring at him when you think it, because he snickers and blows a cloud of sweet smelling smoke at you.

"Oh, you hate me. Don't you, filly?"

He doesn't sound offended. If anything, he sounds proud. Proud of treating you like a ragdoll, like making you hate him is some kind of goddamn achievement.

"’S alright. You'll come around. And if you don't? Well, I'll just have to fuck it into ya."

He presses down with his palm and anything you might have said is drowned out by the taste of his cock.

He isn't heartless, though sometimes you wonder if that's any consolation at all. You catch him watching you most mornings after he's done with you — when you're sprawled panting on his bed with his teeth marks throbbing down your neck. His dark hair falls forward to shade his eyes when he leans down to pull on his boots, and the green that flashes between the strands is almost always still bright and feverish with want.

"You're too pretty to be real, you know that?" There's something in his voice when he asks you that, something almost awed. 

You don't feel pretty at all — not with the ring of bite marks at your neck and the bruises on your thighs. But maybe he sees something in you that you can't see for yourself.

He's a hard man, but he always kisses you before he leaves for the day. Not a tender kiss — you don't think he’d know how to do that if he tried — but about as close as a man like him can get. There's always a moment right before he pulls away, when his lips are right above your jugular, where you wonder if he might have loved you if he'd ever learned what love meant.

The dark skinned gunslinger is equally slow to rise as his partner. He sleeps like he's dead to the world and gets up only when he can't keep avoiding the sun by hiding his face in your hair.

He tends to play with your cunt when he's still half asleep, running his thumb up and down your slit until you're shivering.

"Got to start the morning off right, filly," he murmurs against your shoulder, voice still foggy and slurred with dreams.

It hurts. His fingers are thick and long, almost twice big as your own. And your cunt is still stretched and sensitive from taking his cock the night before. He isn't as rough as his partner, but he still fucks like a bull. Still leaves behind red half-crescents from digging his nails into your skin.

Even half asleep, he's more than strong enough to hold you. When you whine that it hurts, that he's being too rough, he just huffs and mutters something about using your other hole if you want it that bad.

You always shut your mouth after that. No matter how much it stings when he finally props himself up on an elbow and slides his cock home, it's still better than him fucking your ass. He's big enough to put stallions to shame; his cock in that tight hole would just about split you in half.

He doesn't pull out when he's done with you either, no matter how bad you squirm. He far prefers keeping his cock inside you as he drifts back to sleep for another half hour or so. Stretching you out and making sure your pretty cunt remembers the shape of him.

He's quiet in the mornings, and most of his talking gets done with his hands. If he was harsher than usual the night before, he'll run his palm down your spine and press one kiss after the other along your neck. If he's in for a long day, he'll hold your hand in his and stroke his thumb across your knuckles.

It takes you a while to understand him, and part of you wishes you'd never picked it up. There's a tenderness to his hands — I'm sorry for hurting you, I'll miss you while I'm gone — that speaks to something deeper and scarier than just lust.

Something you aren't sure you can accept from a man who has to hold you down to fuck you.

Most of the cowboys don't take long to eat; they’re usually still chewing when they go out the door. The only exception is the dark skinned gunslinger. He likes to take his breakfast as slow as the rest of his morning, likes to sit at the table and chew his food a little at a time.

When he first sits down to breakfast with you, you try scrambling away. Bacon grease and eggs and biscuits. You don't know what kind of perverted things he can do with them, but you don't doubt his creativity.

He just laughs and drags your chair closer to his, his arm heavy around your shoulders.

"Relax, filly. I've had my fill of you for now, promise."

He breaks off a piece of sourdough, buttered thick and still warm from the oven, and holds it to your lips.

"Open up."

He hums pleased as a senator on election day when you do as he asks. Your tongue darts across his fingertips, bright pink against his skin. The warm bread makes you think of home, and you try your best not to think too hard about your ma and how worried she probably is by now.

"See? I can keep you filled up in all sorts o' ways, pretty girl. Ain't that enough to make me your favourite?"

He leans down and tilts your chin towards him so you're forced to meet his eyes. They're a deep brown, as unmoving as wild oak.

"Go on, tell me I'm your favourite."

You swallow your food and knot your fingers in your skirt. You're afraid of him — his size, the strength in his hands. He’s slow to anger, but something in your gut tells you that his anger is terrible indeed. You don’t want to wake it.

"You're my favourite."

He huffs out a laugh and lets you go, squeezing your thigh before pulling away entirely.

"You promise?"

"Promise."

"God hates a liar, y'know."

And He hates thieves and killers even more. But that's never stopped any of you, has it?

"I know. That's why I'm not lying."

Maybe you imagine it, but he smiles a little easier after that.

With time, breakfast becomes its own routine. And not just him feeding you.

He tends to wait with a grin while you cut his bacon up for him, and spear it on your fork. His eyes meet yours whenever he leans forward and eats from your hand, his teeth glinting.

“You take such good care of me, filly. You know that?”

You try not to fall for the slight sweetness in his smile when he tells you that. He’s just another wolf with no intention of being tamed. Happy to eat from your palm and then bite you later.

When his plate is clean and his coffee is gone, he sighs and runs a hand down your thigh. Says he hates to leave you, but the boss will take his skin if he lingers any longer. When he stands to put his Stetson on, his revolver catches the light.

"Don't miss me too much, yeah?"

You never miss him at all, but you aren't brave enough to say so.

The green eyed gunslinger is rash in everything he does. You learn that early on.

Slicing his hand on some fencing because he was too quick to cut the wires. His lip split from brawling, all because he lost a single game of hold 'em. Spraining his wrist because he lassoed a wild mustang without tying the rope to his saddle first.

He acts without thinking, leaps without looking.

He doesn't care to patch things up either. Just rubs some dirt in the cut to stop the bleeding and gets on with his day.

But that was before you showed up.

You have healing hands, he tells the other outlaws. The second in command just scoffs and says that's what happens when you clean a wound properly.

It's a late fall morning the first time you take care of his injuries.

You're alone in the kitchen, head down as you work on an apple pie. You don't want to cook for the outlaws. Don't want to do anything besides shoot them all in the head. But you're missing home, and when the wrangler brought back a sack of crab apples a few days ago, you got to thinking of your mama. Thought that making a pie would take you right back to your old kitchen, sugar and cinnamon thick in your nose.

It doesn't. All it does is hurt your heart.

You don't look up when you hear the back door opening. It's supposed to be just you and the boy around, and you have no reason to think otherwise.

He stands in the doorway and watches you for a long time. The cut on his hand almost forgotten, even as it soaks the bandana clutched in his fist an ugly black.

When he finally moves, he comes up behind you and reaches over your head for the bandages. You look up at him and almost jump out of your skin.

"What's wrong, sweetheart?” he mocks. “Not who you were hoping for?" He has you trapped between the counter and his body, his arm still stretched over your head. 

The smell of apples cooking is thick in the air, almost sweet enough to drown out the smell of his blood.

Your eyes fall to his hand and you flinch.

"You're hurt."

He shrugs. "Happens. Why, you wanna patch me up?"

He pulls the bandages from the cupboard and drops them into your hands.

"C'mon then, filly. Make me all better."

You freeze, looking between his hand and the bandages. You're no stranger to nasty cuts and scrapes, being a rancher's daughter and all, but you still feel light headed at the smell of his blood.

He throws himself into a chair and pulls you forward by your skirt until you're in-between his thighs.

"Ain't gonna faint on me, are you?"

"No," you mutter, "I'll try not to."

You take his wrist and carefully unwind the bandana, trying to breathe through your mouth instead of your nose. The cut is deep but not so bad that you think he ought to call the sawbones.

"How did this happen?" you ask.

He hisses when you dab alcohol on his palm. But he doesn't move to stop you.

"I've got you all curious 'bout me, is that it?" He's watching you with that half smile of his, like he's laughing at some joke you can't hear.

You shrug and avoid his eyes. You don't really care how he got it. If it were up to you, you'd have him hurting a thousand times worse.

He shifts forward and brushes some of your hair behind your ear. His skin runs warmer than yours and your cheekbone tingles from his touch.

"Cute thing, aintcha?" he says when you flinch, "'Bout as scared of me as a jackrabbit on the prairie."

You don't answer him.

When you're finally done bandaging his hand, he doesn't pull away. Instead, he moves close enough to brush his thigh against yours.

"Well doc, what's your prognosis?"

He doesn't say it the way you do, but drags out his vowels instead. Prog-now-sis.

He's the one you're the most afraid of speaking back to. You worry that he'll meet any complaints with a backhand and a sneer. Still, with the smell of blood thick in your nose, and his palm lazily curled around your leg, you're irritated enough to be honest.

"You'll end up in an early grave if you aren't more careful."

And hopefully soon.

He laughs at that, bitter and sharp as a wild dog's bark.

"Too true, doc. 'S a good thing I've got you around then, ain't it?" He stands and lifts his bandaged knuckles to your lips. "So why don't you kiss me better?"

You do. Nose wrinkled against the smell of iron — gunpowder or blood, you aren't sure which is stronger on him.

He laughs again, and then leans forward to kiss you. His injured hand wraps around the back of your neck to keep you in place. He kisses like he does everything else in life; rash and harsh and with the aim to hurt. He swipes his tongue across your teeth and you can taste candied apple. When did he have the time to steal some of your pie filling?

When he finally lets you go, he rubs his thumb across your lower lip and then presses it against his tongue.

"Pretty girl, you’re as sweet as apple pie."

The gunslingers like to share with each other. They drink from the same bottles, sharpen their knives on the same stones. They even wear the same bandanas from time to time. You might have called them brothers, if it weren't for one thing.

Brothers wouldn't keep fucking you at the same time.

You thought it might have been a one time thing — maybe they were trying to make the most of you when they first got their hands on you. But time shows you that's not true at all.

They share you as easily as they do their cigarettes, pressing their mouths one after the other against your neck until you're too hot and woozy to tell them apart. Moving so in rhythm with each other it feels like they share a mind too.

More than once, the boss has to tell them to go easy on you, that too many bruises is a bad look and they ought to learn a little kindness. Part of it is callousness — they care too much for their own pleasure to handle you kindly — and part of it is ignorance. They don’t know their own strength sometimes, or maybe they don’t really understand that you aren’t built of the same stuff as they are. Either way, they’re prone to manhandling you. 

They might pick you up just to toss you over one broad shoulder, or they might wrap an arm around your waist and flip you over so fast you feel dizzy. You don’t get used to it, not really. But you come to expect it.

That’s why, on the day they decide to try double penetration for the first time, you’re caught totally off guard. 

They’ve been off on a job for a while, and when the two of them make it home they’re flush with cash. The victory of the money doesn’t seem to matter one bit — the second they’re done talking to the boss, they come to find you.

You’re reading a book in the parlour and you don’t have any time to put it aside before the dark skinned gunslinger is scooping you up and tossing you over his shoulder.

“Been missing you somethin’ awful, filly,” he says, one hand already wandering up your thigh. “Brought you back all kinds of presents.”

The green eyed gunslinger is close behind him. “You’re going to love what we thought to try with you, princess. Really, you’ll be screamin’ for us in no time.”

That’s the last thing you want to hear from either of them. By the time you reach the bedroom, your panic is a tight knot in your gut. 

The dark skinned gunslinger tosses you down on the bed with a huff and before you can move, his massive hands are tangled in your skirt.

“Did you miss us too, filly?”

He presses a quick kiss against your lips. You can taste the dust of the road on him still.

The other gunslinger is digging through a saddlebag he brought in with him and it doesn’t take long to see why. When he straightens, he’s holding a bottle of what you can only guess is oil.

“Well,” green eyes mocks, “are you goin’ to answer the man or not?”

“Sure,” you manage, “I missed you both everyday.”

“Not rightly sure I believe you, filly. But that’s fine. I know your pretty cunt missed us plenty. Ain’t that right?”

“Guess we’ll just have to check,” his partner says. He tugs at the buttons on your dress and before you know it, he’s pulling the whole thing over your head.

He whistles when he sees your chemise — a dark cream that stands out against your skin — and then he’s reaching out and cradling your hips.

“You’re a vision for tired eyes, filly.”

“A real fuckin’ dream.”

There's a deep seated impatience in their movements, and you’re desperate to hold them off just a little longer. They’re always rougher than they need to be when they're in a hurry.

“You said you brought me a present?” you ask.

The dark skinned one smirks and takes the bottle of oil from his partner. 

“Plenty of different presents. But I reckon you’ll like this one best.”

“Turn over, filly. We want you on your knees.”

You don’t want to and your hesitation is all too clear. The one holding you sighs and pulls at your hip. Even with one hand, it's clear how much stronger he is than you.

“Don’t be difficult now. We’ve been gone too long already.”

You do as he says as slowly as you can. You end up sitting on your knees on the edge of the bed, your back facing them.

A pair of hands comes to rest on your shoulders, and you can tell it’s the dark skinned one just from the feel of him. He plays with the straps of your chemise.

“Get this off, filly. I don’t want to have to rip it.”

You reach for the hem slowly. The air in the room goes still as you pull it off, and you can feel the heat of their eyes on your skin. One of them pulls in a sharp breath, and then a heavy palm is gripping the back of your neck and forcing you forward, until your chest is on the bed. You’re sort of folded over, your hips and ass exposed.

“Fucking hell.”

“God, I missed the sight of her.”

The bottle of oil opens with a pop and you almost jump out of your skin when they pull your ass cheeks apart and drizzle a little of it down the curve of your cunt. It’s strangely warm from being out in the sun, and one of them is quick to swipe his thumb upwards to stop it all from dripping off. He smears it heavily across your pussy, the tip of his finger pressing down and threatening to slip inside.

Okay, you can handle this. They’ve bullied their way inside you plenty of times, and almost never with something so slick to help them along. You don’t like it, but you can at least manage it.

“What do you think, filly?” the dark skinned gunslinger drawls, “You ready to try somethin’ new?”

You can tell from his voice that he’s the one with his hand on your neck, and also the one playing with your pussy. He doesn’t give you any time to wonder what he means. His fingers drift upwards until he's spreading the warm oil around your asshole.

No. 

No way, they can’t be serious.

He pushes at your opening just a little, and to your horror, his finger starts to slowly sink in. It’s a different sort of feeling to having his fingers in your cunt. You feel stretched out, and even though it doesn’t hurt yet, the pressure makes something in your gut turn.

“Shoulda done this ages ago,” he murmurs, working his thumb all the way to the base. Your ass is a different kind of velvety soft compared to your cunt — less yielding, burning just a bit hotter. To the gunslingers, seeing that tight ring of muscle giving way is fucking intoxicating.

“Told you,” his partner says. 

He pulls his finger out slowly, twisting it in a way that makes you bite your lip. Fuck. Part of you is terrified — that curling dread like being on a horse you aren’t sure will try and throw you — and some other, deeper part of you wants him to keep going. Already it feels like a different kind of ache, a different kind of fire deep inside you.

“Two fingers then,” he says right before he presses them against your entrance. “Think you can handle that, filly?”

He starts pushing them in before you think to answer.

“Oh, look at that. She’s swallowin’ you up so easy. Hungry little thing, ain’t she?”

“Starvin’ I’d say. Thinks she can cry and beg and that will hide it, but I ain’t even started and she’s drooling on the sheets.”

You hate the flush of shame that creeps up your spine. But you don’t get a chance to linger on it. He starts pumping with his fingers, slow and deep. He twists them with every thrust and your whole body starts to burn. Heat in your gut, coiling in your pussy, spiking through your fingers.

“Prettiest whore I’ve ever seen.” The green eyed outlaw squats down and runs his fingers through your hair. “Ain’t that right, brother?”

“Mhm. Gonna take our cocks nice and deep, and thank us when we’re done.”

It doesn’t take long for your hole to start turning into a soft, squishy thing. Tensing up just makes it hurt, and so you force yourself to relax. The green eyed gunlinger doesn’t like being left out. By the time his partner is getting ready to stuff three fingers into you, he’s already started playing with your clit.

The pad of his thumb is rough as sandpaper, and when he drags it over your clit you can’t help the way you whine.

“What’s wrong, filly?” he mocks, drawing another rough circle across your cunt. “Needy already?”

His partner finally manages to fit all three fingers in and the stretch is enough to make you drop your head and moan. You feel delirious. So many sensations at once is bloody cruel, and you can’t focus on anything besides the hand on your nape and the throbbing in your gut. 

“Please…”

“Please what? Don't ask us to stop, pretty girl, ‘cause you know that ain't happenin’.”

You try to sit up a little but the gunslinger's hand is still tight and heavy on your neck. 

He curls his fingers inside you and you have to bury your face in the sheets to keep from screaming. It's the kind of stretch that hurts, but at the same time you can feel your body wanting to pull him deeper in. God, how do they manage to confuse you so easily? Why does your body want their touch when all they do is bruise?

The cowboy laughs and kisses you between your shoulder blades. “She looks all stretched out and ready to me.”

Their voices are still light, but you can hear in the way they're breathing that they're getting more than just a little hot and bothered. 

“Seems that way to me, too. You ready to take us both at once, filly? Reckon it's about time we broke you in fully. Been goin’ too damn easy on you.”

The dark skinned gunslinger pulls his fingers out of you with a lewd squelch, and lets go of your neck. You're not ready to move. Your ass is clenching around the sudden emptiness, and your clit is a throbbing mess. 

There's the soft sigh of clothing coming undone and then they're hauling you up. The dark skinned one kisses your cheek and slips an arm around your waist from behind. Your legs are traitors, and if he wasn't holding you up you're sure you would have gone crashing right back to your knees. 

His bare chest presses against your back, his skin so much warmer than yours. You can feel the heavy weight of his cock pressing between your ass cheeks — insistent. 

The green eyed one circles in front of you. He's still wearing his jeans, but his shirt is off and his muscles are as hard edged as you'd expect. It's the first time you've gotten a good look at his face since they arrived home. There's a new cut right above one eye, and a fading bruise on his jaw. But it's his eyes that get you. 

They're burning like marsh fire, and he smiles at you with the lazy self confidence of an alligator. 

“You're sweatin’, filly,” he says. He brushes your hair away from your face and you realise with a start that you really are sweating. Your hair clings to your forehead and temples. Did having them play around with your ass really do that to you?

He grunts when he lets his cock out. It's rock hard, bulging with veins, and when he slips the tip between your folds you can feel the humid heat of it. 

He rubs it up and down your clit, that solid, leaking head nudging the already sensitive parts of you until you're dizzy. 

“You ought to thank us, filly,” he mutters. He's looking down at your cunt, just watching the way his dick slips in and out of your mound. “We're being so sweet with you.”

Your ass is an aching mess and the hot cock pressing at your entrance promises to make it all the worse. But he's right, they are being nice. You didn't think they'd take the time to loosen you up. 

“Go on then,” the dark skinned one rumbles from behind you, “Say thank you.”

You swallow hard and shake your head a little. 

Because even if they are being more gentle than usual, you still don't want this. 

He scoffs and hooks his free hand under your thigh. “You'll thank us eventually, filly. Just wait.”

He pulls your leg up until your ass and cunt are both exposed to the cold air. You hate how slick everything feels. Like you ought to be dripping onto the floors. 

The green eyed one reaches down and spreads your cheeks just a little more, so his partner can nudge his dick up against your entrance. You shiver when you feel the tip at your ass — three fingers suddenly doesn't feel nearly enough to prepare you. 

He doesn't give you any warning besides the way he tightens his hold on you. He pushes up against your ass, his tip thick and hot with precum.

The head is the worst part. For a second you think it won't fit — it slips right past your hole — but he tries again and it catches. He pushes in slowly. It's a slow pressure at first — your muscles yielding but not really letting him in — but there's a limit to everything and he reaches a point where nothing you do could possibly keep him out. His head pops into your ass with a shudder. 

You fall forward without meaning to, your head coming to rest against the green eyed gunslinger's shoulder. He makes a small, amused sort of noise and squeezes your ass. 

Your whole face scrunches up. It burns. The gunslinger bullies his way inside of you, your muscles giving in to the inexorable press of him. You've never felt so stretched out. Never felt so terribly full. 

He snarls through his teeth, breathing as heavy as a bull. 

It's sick. A cock that big shouldn't be inside you at all. When he pushes in all the way, a sob catches in your throat. 

You're still too tight, so he can't thrust as much as he wants. His cock rocks forward and back a few inches, and you have to bite your lip so you don't scream. His nails dig into your thigh and he groans long and low when he bottoms out again. 

“That good, huh?” the green eyed one asks. Neither of you have the strength to reply. Your whole body is shivering like you have a fever, your thigh muscles shaking. 

You want to say something — anything — to make him pull out. But words are a thing for thinking folk and right now all you are is a bundle of nerves and a stretched out hole. 

The green eyed gunslinger makes a soft, cooing noise in the back of his throat. With his partner already inside you, he doesn't need to keep spreading your cheeks. Instead, he runs his hands slowly up your stomach until he's cupping your tits in his palms. 

“Is it too much for you, filly?” He sounds so kind when he asks that, that you almost forget the sort of man he really is. “You want me to help you out?”

“Yes,” you whisper against his shoulder, “yes.”

He turns his head a little and kisses your hair. 

“Anythin’ for you, pretty girl. If you want me to make it all better…” He steps a little closer and takes hold of his cock. Your cunt is still slick with oil and finding your entrance is almost too easy. “...then I'll have to do just that.”

He slips it inside your pussy without any warning at all. 

You shudder against him, your arms wrapping around his neck without you even realising. You make a low, keening sort of noise. Like a wounded animal. 

He almost bites through his own tongue. Listen to you — you needy, whiny thing. Hanging onto him like he's the only solid thing in the world, your cunt so warm and soft around him that any sensible thoughts go tumbling straight out of his head. 

He can feel his partner thrusting inside you. That little bit of muscle between your ass and your cunt is so damn thin. When he starts moving, he matches his partner's pace without even thinking. 

You've never felt anything like this before. You've been fucked plenty since they stole you. You've had their cocks so deep inside you, you can still feel them in your gut at night. But not like this. 

It's beyond overwhelming. There's the burning ache of being stretched out too far, and under it the needy throb of your own arousal. You ought to feel guilty. You ought to feel ashamed. But all you really feel is their meaty cocks, moving together inside you. 

You don't know how long you're supposed to last. You don't know how anyone is supposed to last at all with two men inside them. All you know is that you can feel your orgasm building no matter how much you don't want it to. 

The dark skinned gunslinger pulls your thigh higher up towards him, and leans forward until his nose is buried in your hair. His forearm is thick and strong around your waist, and deep down you know he won't let you fall no matter how far gone he is. 

“Love you, filly,” he grinds out between thrusts, “love you, love you, love you.”

He does, doesn't he? No matter how terrible his love is, it's yours. Whether you want it or not. 

The green eyed one squeezes your tit with one hand, and pinches your clit with the other. That's what does it for you. You come and you come hard, both your holes clenching so tight that the dark skinned gunslinger growls and almost pulls out. 

You're milking them both, though you don't know it. The dark skinned one manages a few more thrusts before he drops his head to your shoulder and bites into you like a mutt. He holds onto you with his teeth when he comes, thick ropes of white shooting deep inside you. He's breathing as heavy as a bull after a rodeo, his fingers slipping off the curve of your waist. 

He lets go eventually, and licks the bitemark he left behind. You can feel a sheen of sweat where he's touched you. Though you suppose you're no better. 

“Drunk on you, pretty girl,” he slurs, letting go of your thigh and easing you back onto your feet. “Want to taste you. Want to bite you. Want you all to myself.”

You flinch when he eases his cock out of you. Your ass gapes around the emptiness and his come drips out of you in warm, icky rivulets. 

He kisses your neck — all sloppy and hot, his lips sliding across your pulse. 

“I love you,” he says again, “God help me, I'm in love with you, girl.”

You're shivering, the green eyed gunslinger still buried deep in your cunt even though he isn't moving. 

Are you supposed to say you love him back? You can't fathom enough sense to remember your own name, much less process what you're feeling. You only huff against the green eyed gunslinger's shoulder, your nails digging into the muscles of his upper back. 

“Go easy on her,” he says to his partner suddenly. His voice is tempered by something you can't place. Tenderness, maybe. “Reckon she doesn't even know what love is right now.”

The dark skinned one ignores him and moves to cradle your waist in those big, big palms of his. “Don't care. I love her. I'll kill any bastard who tries to take her from me.”

“Even me, brother?”

“Even you.”

The green eyed one presses another kiss against your hair. You wish he'd move — thrust, pull out, something. Having him stay still inside you stings. 

“Yeah, I reckon I'd do the same.” He says it lightly, but neither you nor his partner are fooled. He means it. You can feel it in the way he holds you, can see it in the venom green of his eyes. 

He'll kill his own partner to keep you, if it ever comes down to it. 

You expect them to be angry with each other. A threat is a threat, even if the one spitting it is a friend. But you're wrong about them yet again. If anything, the dark skinned gunslinger relaxes a little. 

“See what you do to a man, filly?” he asks. Cool air rushes across your back when he steps away from you. “Drivin’ us to madness and you don’t even know it.”

The green eyed gunslinger pulls out of you and then slowly guides you back towards the bed. You're too woozy to stop him.

He sits on the edge of the mattress and wraps his arm around your waist, pulling you onto his lap. You're sort of straddling him, your head still on his shoulder. You can feel the come oozing out of your asshole and sliding towards your cunt. 

“You're mine, girl,” he says simply. He shifts and drags his cock across the length of you. "Our pretty filly ain't goin' nowhere after this, is she?" 

He runs his nails down your spine, not hard enough to hurt but not gentle either.

"Nah,” the dark skinned one answers. His voice is low, rumbling. “Looks to me like she's staying right here with us."

"That's right—" he rocks forward and buries his cock all the way to the base. "—right here with us. Say it filly. We wanna hear you say it."

You ain't sure you can say anything at all.

"Say it, pretty girl." His voice is quiet, and it makes goosebumps prickle up your back. A rattlesnake would have a voice like that if it ever learned to speak. "Say you ain't never leaving us. Say you ain't even gonna think about it no more."

"Never leaving," you manage.

It isn't enough for them. He doesn't change anything about his position, but the way he knots his fingers in your hair is more than enough to make you try again.

"I swear. I'm yours. I'm not going anywhere."

It's humiliating, in its own special way. The way they make you say it scorches your cheeks and makes you screw your eyes shut. Why can't they just take what they want from you and leave you be? Why drag it out and play these terrible games?

His hand slides down your neck until he's holding your nape. He can feel the slick wetness of your tears against his neck, but if it moves him at all, he sure doesn't show it.

"You're home. There ain't nothin' left for you out there. You think you mama will want you back after we've had you this long? After what we just did to you?”

As if to make a point, his next stroke is long and slow. You can feel the head of his dick scraping the too-sensitive walls of your cunt.

You breath stutters in your chest, because he's saying exactly what you've been thinking yourself. What's left for you if they decide to let you go? What husband will ever want you?

"Selfish bastards, eh?" He sinks into you with a satisfied sigh. "We've ruined you for everyone else. No man will want you now, no matter how pretty you are. We're all you've got. All you'll ever have."

You want to cry but you can't find the breath for it.

"So say it again," he mutters into your hair, "Say you ain't ever leaving."

"I'm not leaving. I'm not going anywhere."

The truth of it is enough to make you dizzy.

"You're our girl."

"I'm your girl."

"And you're stayin’ right here."

"I'm staying right here."

"We love you, filly. Swear to god we do."

He bottoms out with a deep growl and shifts his grip on your neck so he's holding you by the throat. A calf held down for slaughter wouldn't even be held this tight.

"And when you love something, you never let it go."

[yanderedrabbles]

𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐎𝐮𝐭𝐥𝐚𝐰𝐬 𝐈 – 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐁𝐨𝐬𝐬

Yᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ Oᴜᴛʟᴀᴡs Pʀᴇᴠɪᴏᴜs Eɴᴛʀʏ | Nᴇxᴛ Eɴᴛʀʏ The days after your capture by a gang of outlaws are a blur of unfamiliar hands on your body, and hot kisses pressed against your neck. But some days stick out as far worse than others.

Tᴀɢs: male yandere x fem reader, noncon, period oral, age gap, 2.8k words

You almost never wake up in your own bed. And if you do, you almost never wake up alone.

The boss takes his time getting ready in the morning. Loading and checking his pistol, sharpening his knife, shaving. You mostly know him as a shadow — shark sleek as he moves through the dim pre-dawn light.

When it's time to wake you, he likes to run his hand up and down your bare thigh until you stir. He sits on the edge of the bed when he does it, smiling all crooked when you burrow into your pillow to avoid looking at him.

"Ain't getting all shy on me now, are you? You seemed plenty friendly last night, darlin',” he drawls.

He doesn't have an appetite for you in the mornings, or maybe he just controls himself better than the rest of the gang.

"I like to take my time with you," he tells you, "And there ain't much time when the suns up."

But that doesn't mean you can escape all his attention. He might slip a finger into you now and again, when he feels the urge. Your cunt flutters around his knuckles whenever his palm grinds against your clit, and you try to hide the way he makes your whole body tremble. No good. He always notices. 

He likes to pull away just as your body starts responding to him, smiling at you when you whine.

"Hunger left half satisfied is far worse than hunger untouched, didn't nobody tell you that, princess?" he'll ask, one hand still on your thigh.

You're never sure how to respond to him when he does that. Part of you wants him to finish what he's started, and part of you doesn't want to be touched at all. But the decision is never really up to you, is it?

He likes having you sleep naked. Your bare chest pressed against his, your ass warm and plush in his hands. He likes slipping his cock inside you right as you're drifting off, too. Likes the slight hitch in your breath, the way you're usually too far gone to squirm away.

You don't know it, but most mornings he'll wake up and just watch you. Head propped against his fist, his fingers tracing your cheekbone.

"You're too young for me, darlin'. Far too young. But you need a man to teach you about this world, and if your daddy ain't around no more... Well, I'll just have to do it myself."

The boss is a mystery to you. He’s as hard eyed and sinful as the devil, and you can never really tell what he’s thinking. When he calls you out to the stables one afternoon, your first thought is that you’ve somehow done something wrong — the air is hot and close, and it makes your neck crawl.

He's grooming his mustang when you enter, his shirt sleeves rolled to his elbows. He has a way of making the spaces around him seem small. It's in the way he holds his six shooter, in the set of his shoulders. That sense of authority that makes you want to duck your head and agree with whatever he tells you to.

You watch him for a while. The muscles in his forearms flex whenever he lifts the grooming brush to his horse’s neck. He's strong, you know it intimately. But it's still frightening to see the evidence of that strength.

He smiles when he notices you. His blue eyes run down your body and it's the same analytical, proprietary look he uses on his horses and his gold.

"Noticed you looking at the horses the other day, girl. Not thinking of runnin' out on us, are you?"

"No, sir." You shift, not quite able to meet his eyes. "I just miss home, that's all."

"Come here. Let me look at you."

You stop a foot or so away from him. He isn't as heavy handed as the gunslingers, isn't as terrifying in his anger as the second in command. But you're still afraid of him — more so than all the rest maybe. You feel like a little girl around him, like your father is calling you into his study after you went and did something stupid.

He takes your jaw in his palm, surprisingly gentle.

"I ain't surprised you miss home, girl. I reckon your life would've been a helluva lot easier if we didn't come around." He traces a thumb across your cheek, his riding gloves cool and soft. "But this is where you belong now, you understand?"

He makes you look into his eyes. That ocean blue so deep you can almost see shipwrecks at the bottom.

"You gonna try runnin’?"

Yes, yes. A thousand times yes.

"No, sir. Never."

"Liar," he says. "But I ain't a heartless man. You miss home, and if handlin’ the horses makes that ache go away then I'll let you have 'em."

You can’t help the jolt that shoots through you when he says that. You’re a rancher’s daughter, and all your best memories feature horses. Learning to ride with your pa, getting your first pony when you were a little girl…being around horses is as natural to you as breathing.

He hands you the grooming brush and steps aside. His mustang is a mean old mare the colour of smoke. When you run the brush down her flank she flicks her tail irritably.

“She’s beautiful,” you say.

“Hmm, I reckon I like my girls pretty.”

It doesn’t surprise you when his palms come to rest on your waist. Like all the other outlaws, the boss can’t seem to keep his hands off you for long.

“Did you break her yourself, sir?”

“Of course. Don’t do it much now, but back in the day I could break any horse you gave me.”

You don’t doubt him. Didn’t he break you in, in just an afternoon? 

Being near the horses makes you brave. As the silence lingers, you find yourself asking him questions without really meaning to.

“How long have you been an outlaw, sir?”

He laughs a little at that and squeezes your waist. “Decades, darlin’. From before you were born.”

“Why?”

“Money. Adventure. Reckon I just couldn’t keep myself honest.”

“Have you ever been married?”

“No. Could never get a girl to stick. And there ain’t ever been a girl I liked enough to keep.” He pauses, and then presses a light kiss against your neck. “Except for you, pretty girl. You’re the one I’ve been waitin’ for.”

“I don’t understand you at all, sir. Why me?” 

“You don’t see it?” 

“See what?”

He sighs and runs a hand down the mustang’s neck. “We’re an awful bunch of bastards, I know that much. But we’re still men, ain’t we?”

You’re not sure what he means by that, but he doesn’t give you the chance to ask again. He turns you to face him and drops his head to your neck. His stubble scrapes your skin right before he kisses you.

“You’ll understand someday, darlin’,” he says against your skin, “And I reckon you’ll hate us even more when you do.”

The outlaws each take care of you in their own way. Sometimes it's a cup of tea brewed on a cold day, or a knitted shawl in your favourite colour when the weather takes a turn.

Other times, it's a bit more...forceful. Your period is one of those times.

The first time you get it around them, it's the boss who notices. You're hurting and sore and miserable, and he sees it. You're curled in front of the fireplace in your room, clutching your belly like you've been shot.

He squats down next to your armchair and presses a hand to your forehead, and then to your neck. No fever, which is good. But you're all scrunched up, which isn't. This ain't the flinching, sharp pain that comes from being fucked too hard. Nor is it the slow, dull ache of a bad bruise.

"What happened, girl?"

He doesn't blame his boys for getting a little rough. Lord knows, he struggles with it himself. But there's miles of difference between playing hard and breaking the toys. If you're so torn up, he'll have to knock a bit of softness into them.

"It's nothing, sir."

Is it his imagination or are you avoiding his eyes even more than usual?

"Don't look like nothin' to me. Which one of 'em did this to you?"

There's a flash in your eyes then, a vindictive streak he hasn't seen before. Are you going to give him someone to blame? Lie straight through your teeth to get a little revenge?

For a second, he thinks that might just be the case. Well, well. Little vixen finding her claws at last, eh?

But it goes as quick as it comes, and you pull your knees closer to your chest.

"It's...it's that time of the month."

Your ears go a shade or two brighter than the rest of you, and your cheeks are quick to follow. You're embarrassed. Despite the fact that he’s fucked you and tasted you and heard every small noise you make when you come, you’re still ashamed of telling him.

He laughs, already reaching for your hips.

"Is that all, doll? A little ache deep inside you?"

He slides into an armchair and pulls you onto his lap, his chin in the crook of your shoulder. You smell like fresh washed linen, and underneath it, a scent that’s so totally and irrevocably you. He presses his palm flat against your belly and half wonders if his cock can reach that deep.

"How do you usually take care of it?"

"My ma used to make me this tea, with all kinds of herbs in it. But I can't remember what."

He hums quietly, thinking. Eventually, "I'll have the boys look around for you. Someone in town will know what you need, I’m sure."

He starts rubbing slow circles with his palm, still lost in thought. You hate to admit it, but his touch helps. It eases the clenched fist inside you.

You relax against him a little at a time. The hard muscles of his chest press up against your back, somehow comforting. Kind of how your father used to hold you when you were learning to ride. Safe and sound, doll. I've got you.

"Do you trust me, girl?"

You startle, not sure when you started to drift off. You try to sit up but he pulls you back with a grunt and a half hearted tug.

No, of course I don't trust you. You're a monster wearing the face of a man.

"Yes, sir. I trust you."

"You trust I'll take care of you?"

"Yes, sir."

"Then let me touch you, doll, and I'll make it all better deep inside."

He reaches for the hem of your dress, tugging it up in his fist.

"But the blood—"

You can't hide the slight horror in your voice. Your period is a filthy thing, doesn't he know that? Something barely spoke of, even between girls. What is he trying to do?

"Sweetheart, I sure as hell ain't scared of a little blood."

He stands and slips you down onto the armchair, and then gets to his knees in front of you. Your dress is still in his fist and and another tug is all it takes to get it out the way.

“Blood has been my business since I was a boy, darlin’. I don’t mind it one bit.”

He wraps his palm around your thigh and hooks your leg over his shoulder.

"No, wait—"

He doesn't. Of course he doesn’t. He leans down and shifts your knickers to the side before slipping his tongue down the slit of your cunt. He moves too fast for you to stop him.

You gasp, your nails digging into the armchair. Are you always this sensitive? Or does bleeding make it worse? His tongue catches on your clit and he gives it a slow, teasing lick.

"There, not complainin' now, are you?" he murmurs against your inner thigh, nipping your skin before refocusing on your pussy. His stubble scrapes your mound and makes shivers race down your spine.

You can't answer him —  not when he sucks on your clit and presses two fingers at your entrance. Feeling him touching you so low is enough to make you jump. You try to shove him away, your hands coming up to tangle in his hair. 

But then he pushes his fingers inside you and you damn near see stars.

He laughs a little at that, his warm breath ghosting over you.

"Just let me fix you up, doll. That's what a good father does, ain't it? And you're sure as hell my little girl by now."

You only half register him talking. It's true — you're hellishly sensitive. His fingers dragging out of you sends sparks all the way to your toes.

He curls an arm around your lower back and half lifts you closer to his face, his nose grinding against your clit. He's got his focus all on you now, those storm eyes latched onto the way you twist and turn. You want this, deep down, no matter how hard you try and deny it. You can scratch like a cat when you have to, but a little bit of cock — just a few fingers inside you — and you go all sweet for him. What else can he call that, besides wanting it?

Your cunt is slick with blood, burning so hot you make his whole hand feel feverish. Fuck. What would you feel like on his cock?

"Probably like a goddamn furnace," he says to himself. You're too far gone to answer him.

The taste doesn't bother him none. He's swallowed plenty of blood in his life, and it sure as hell never came with a pretty, moaning girl in the bargain. Your thighs are shaking, a little tremor in the muscles that you can't control or stop. It makes him feel stupid smug.

Eating her so good she can't even fight it.

He can tell you're getting close, can read it in your face. The way you have your eyes scrunched shut, the way you bite your lip to keep it all inside. No. No, that won't do at all. He deserves to see it when you come undone. Deserves to see the light and lust and longing in your expression.

"Look at me, little girl."

He barely recognises his own voice. It's low and thick, like his words are scraping over desert rock just to make it out his mouth.

Look what you do to me, girl. Got me sounding like a goddamn animal.

You open your eyes as quickly as if he slapped you. And oh, what a thing to see. Horror, yes. At what's being done to you, at the way it's being done. But something under that. Interest, maybe.

Your hands are still in his hair, and you let one drift down his cheek. Rub at his jaw with your thumb.

"You...there's blood on you, sir."

He closes his eyes for a second and tilts his head just a little into your palm.

Oh darlin', you'd soften the devil with the way you talk.

"That's fine," he says in that animal voice, "Just fine with me."

He curls his fingers inside you, and that's all it takes. You tighten up around him in pulses, a heartbeat to match his own. Your face twists up all pretty — in pain almost. You pull in a sharp breath that catches in your lungs.

He watches it happen, the animal inside him snarling like a dog.

Pretty girl. My pretty little girl. Too far gone now, darlin’. I've got your blood inside me, your tears, your cum. Can't let you go. Can’t ever let you go.

He doesn't let you go, not even when it's over and you're draped bonelessly against the armchair, weak and spent.

"Does it still hurt, darlin'?"

You blink at him, and he can tell your mind is far, far from here.

"No," you say absently, "Not like it used to."

He isn't entirely sure you're talking about the cramps.

"Good. Reckon we figured out a damn good cure to the bleedin’ blues, huh?"

He smiles and kisses your inner thigh. How many days do you bleed for? Three? Five? He'll just have to keep checking on you until it's all over. Can't have his girl hurting deep inside, not when he has a cock to scratch that itch.

And besides, he stole you from your home. From the pa who had the right to give you away, who didn't get to pass on that responsibility. 'Spose that makes you his little girl now. His to take care of, the way only a father can.

He reaches for his belt, that animal inside him smiling real big.

"But I reckon we try a few more home remedies. Just to be sure."

[prettyheung]

no good thing [part two]

tw: noncon, forced pregnancy, yandere themes, yan! army commander is manipulative, thinking he's all that, using reader's weakness for compliance, he might have a slight breeding kink, 18+ content, mdi

read part one!

a/n: but fr yall should give kingdom 2019 a chance if you haven't seen. genuinely one of the best zombie series i've seen. though idk if y'all would also be thirsting over cho beom-il lmfao.

The warm glow of the lantern casted a long shadow behind his form, illuminating the stern lines in his unreadable face. You could see the resemblance between his father and him now, the slight furrow of his thick brows to the wicked curl of his lips. That cold, vacant look.

There was a time when you thought he was the kinder of the three.

When you had first served under the queen consort, you weren’t living as comfortably as you had now. The queen’s personal court ladies were of nobility, well-educated, talented. They were handpicked by her father to ensure the absolute top service for his daughter within the royal courts.

You were not. Or at least, you were, until your father fell from glory. His contributions to the country exempted his execution, but that meant him losing his title and assets. And that spiralled into many instances where you were the receiver of everything less than. The meal scraps, the thinnest blanket, the hardest mattress. You’d say bullied, but that would also mean you were admitting you cannot handle the pressure. There was nothing more you wanted, only to restore what you can of your family name.

He was gracious to you then. A pretty hairpin here and there, expensive boxes of treats from other regions, thick warm socks, shoes. Finer things that remind you of your past life, the comfort, of the easier days.

The commander never gave them to you directly. It was always through his other guards whenever he visited his sister’s palace. You thought of him as a guardian deity, perhaps sent by your ancestors. Someone who knew you were struggling. Someone who looked out for you, maybe sprinkling a little bit of encouragement here and there. Never once did it cross your mind that the commander wasn’t a man who invest in anything that does not yield a return.

But this, making you carry his child for the usurpation of the throne was possibly the cruellest thing he could do in that situation.

You were no idiot. You knew what awaits you after you deliver the child, son or not.

The commander shrugged off his outer coat, hung his sword and hat, his top knot still neat and in place. He paid you no mind, choosing to pour himself some tea while you fidgeted awkwardly on his edge of his bed.

Your fingers found solace in the cool, silky sheets.

“Don’t you think it’s a good plan?” He raised his eyebrows at you, nursing the hot cup of tea. “Might as well my child. At least the kid would be from our bloodline.”

His shadows danced behind him, bobbing ridiculously as he continued to drink. They loomed menacingly over the chamber walls, over you. Your gaze stayed trained on the puppet-like darkness, refusing to give him the satisfaction of your surrender.

“And she thinks it is easy to just take some child from nobility,” He scoffed. “As if they will stay silent. As if they’d not leak this out.”

Seemingly amused by your lack of response, the commander drew closer to you. “Don’t you think it’s an honour, Y/N?” He tilted your head back, his calloused hand grabbing your jaw.

You yielded, mumbling a “Yes, my lord.”

The commander settled next to you, humming his approval. “I wanted you ever since I saw you.”

Your eyes flickered downwards as his fingers splayed open on your lower stomach, your thighs instinctively clenched close. “I don’t think this is right, my lord.” You tried to shift away from his touch, yet his hold grew tighter around your waist.

“What isn’t? Who are you to tell me that?” Thumb brushing across your cheekbones softly to tip your head further, he placed a light kiss at the slope of your neck. “You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for a chance.”

He continued sucking at the base of your throat, wandering hands growing bolder as they began pulling you into his lap. You gasped, the foreign feeling leaving your hips involuntarily bucking. “Wait, please stop.”

“You’re going to carry my child. My son,” The commander groaned against your skin, hot breath leaving goosebumps in its wake. The knot holding your robes together effortlessly loosened, falling past your collarbone. He started rubbing circles on your thigh, pulling them apart as you tried to keep them closed with all your might.

“I don’t want that,” You firmly shoved his hands away, pulling up the slippery fabric, securing the loop as tightly as you could. “I’ll do as Her Majesty ordered. There’s no need to resort to this, my lord.”

You trembled, gulping the saliva collecting at the back of your mouth, readying to take your leave. He frowned, standing up tall, his nails digging into the meat of your shoulder as he forced you to sit again.

“Then shouldn’t I be compensated for the kindness I’ve shown you?”

The commander pushed you back down onto the bed, slotting himself between your knees. “Shouldn’t you be a little more grateful that I’m giving your family a chance to rebuild?”

Your pulse thumped wildly against your ribcage, sweat gathering at your hairline as you avoided his searing gaze. The room was hot, claustrophobic despite the ample space; your lungs wheezed with effort to keep your brain functioning. To keep you thinking of a way out.

“All I’ve done for you,” He mused, his fingers making a quick work of your robes again. “I think I’ve done enough all these years.” You writhed, grasping his wrist to stop him going any further, any lower.

“I deserve to have you.”

Tight was the hold he had on your face, forcing you to kiss him back. You considered biting his tongue, but drew back in fear when he squeezed the hinge of your jaw, your mouth dropping open to allow him in. The warm wet feeling of your inner cheeks, your chest brushing and quivering against his, and your hesitant palm resting on his arm; the commander sighed, it was getting harder and harder to restrain himself.

He panted like a dog when his thick digit glided across your slit, teasing your entrance, biology betraying your logic as heat pooled in your lower stomach. The commander noticed the flutter of your pussy the longer he was kissing you.

He sneered. In the light of the flame, you watched him sucked your arousal off his fingers.

“Sure, don’t respond.” He stripped his robes, mockery glinting off his eyes. “Your body tells me all I need to know.”

You were still gripping onto his forearm when two fingers dipped into your heat, pushing past the resisting walls. The stretch was too much for you. A shaky sob escaped you when he pushed it in further than you’ve felt anything went, your upper thighs quaking around his waist.

A contemptuous grin stretched across his features as he began pumping them in and out, drawing out uncontrollable whines from you. You mewled, the pleasure building far quicker than you anticipated when he kept abusing that one spot in you again and again.

“Stop please!” You pleaded. “Stop!”

You finally mustered up enough courage to look at him, the first time tonight, only to find him already observing you. The all-consuming hunger evident in his greedy stare felt like it was stripping you bare beyond your clothes, leaving you vulnerable and exposed. He continued his ministrations, his other hand squeezing your tit, pinching the bud that was stiffening from his touch.

“All you’ve been saying all night is you don’t want this. How true is that?” The commander latched upon a nipple, sucking feverishly, his teeth grazing upon the taut peak. Your pussy reactively sucked him in even deeper, eyes rolling back. You screwed up your eyes, unwilling to look at him when you fall apart.

You shook your head. There was a heavy fog settling in your mind, you couldn’t think straight, you couldn’t think at all.

“No?” He looked up at you, a thin string of saliva connecting his lips to your hardened nipple. You bit your lower lip, attempting to choke back the whimper. You were not going to make this any more gratifying for him.

“No.” You huffed, gritting your teeth. You gasped when he turned his attention to your ear, the moist pink muscle probing and licking the outer crevices.

The new sensation sent you right over the edge, your toes curled reactively, walls of your cunt spasming around his fingers. The commander continued rocking them into you, drawing out every last sound of pleasure from you as long as he could.

You collapsed in his arms catching your breath as he brushed your hair back from your face, a tenderness absent from earlier. He stared at you, drinking in your flushed expression, the hostility swimming in your eyes, your heaving chest.

His.

“Let me go.”

“No.” The commander snapped, pulling in your shuddering body, still affected from the aftershocks of your climax. “Why would I do that?”

You murmured, “There are a lot more ladies more befitting your family. A lot more who can give you what you want.”

“And what of it?” He demanded. “You will be the one carrying my child. Not them. Not anyone else.”

You stayed silent, eyes closed, pretending that you don’t feel him hot and throbbing against the curve of your ass. Pretending you don’t hear the soft grunts as he rubbed himself against you, the deep rise and fall of his chest stuttering when his cockhead slipped through the plush of your glossy thighs.

The lump in your throat doesn’t go away no matter how many times you swallow. “You will kill me after I have the child.” You declared, wiggling away, ignoring the ‘pop’ when his tip is released. He hissed, desperate hands reaching for your warmth.

“Hah…” The commander settled on the fat of your hips, massaging the flesh. “Look at me Y/N.”

Sticky sheets clung to your side, mixture of exertion and conflicted pleasure lingered, a reminder of how far you’ve gone. “Please, my lord.”

“You’re an idiot,” He exhaled in resignation. “I’m not killing you. Just give the damn kid to the queen. I’ll make you my wife,” His hands tangled in your hair, dragging you closer. “We’ll just make more kids after.”

There was nothing you can do when he had gotten your calves hooked over his broad shoulders, his cock bullying its way deep into your gummy cunt, buried to the hilt as you cried out. The slaps you landed on his biceps did not deter him from plunging his hips forward, setting a punishing and aching pace, thorough in reaching every inch in you.

“My lord-,” Guttural, broken, and giddy from the mean, carnal strokes he was sticking in you. The slight burn was driving you mad with lust, ankles locking behind him unconsciously.

Lewd squelching echoed around his chambers; your slick pussy dribbled more, more, and more over him. The commander rasped some words, his voice strained and strangled, “I can’t, I’ve told myself to hold back-,” He pulsated in you, relishing in the way your gooey depths clamped around him. “You feel so good, hngh-”

His forehead rested on yours, messy strands grazing your cheeks, letting out a pleased purr when you drove your nails into his shoulder blades. You were crying, rivulets streaming past your temples, shaking away his thumbs when they came to wipe them off.

You felt the tremor in his hips, the splutter in his thrusts, his bruising grip on your hips.

“Your family will benefit from this too. I’m helping you.” Tight-lipped, pupils blown out with sin. “Do it for your family.”

He came in you a beat later, sinking himself to the full, jaw clenched as hot white spurted inside you. The commander didn't stop, rolling his pelvis against yours, riding out his orgasm despite your sensitivity.

Scooping up whatever leaked out, he eventually pulled out, shoving his cum back in and jamming his middle and ring finger in your swollen hole.

“Gotta make sure you’re pregnant, hm?”

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[yanderedrabbles]

Yᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ Wɪʟᴅ Wᴇsᴛ Gᴀɴɢ [ɴᴏɴᴄᴏɴ]

Sʏɴᴏᴘsɪs: Your life is all planned out for you. Marriage. Children. Settling down in your little town and growing old. But a gang of outlaws and their wicked desires change everything. Tᴀɢs: (6) yandere males x fem reader, noncon, loss of virginity, choking, spitroast, oral fixation, angst, summer sex, period oral, double penetration

Mᴀɪɴ Sᴛᴏʀʏ

The First Time I. The Boss II. The Gunslingers III. The Wrangler IV. The Boy V. The Second in Command

Exᴛʀᴀs

How do the outlaws react to being your least favourite? Their names Which outlaw would run away with you? The Wrangler's Past The Boy/Betrayal What gifts do they bring you? The types of dresses they bring you The boss and the second in command sharing you What happens if they get too rough? Trying to hustle a rich man Modern Small Town AU

Aʀᴛ & Dᴏᴏᴅʟᴇs

The Second in Commad by @starriecurry The Second in Command & The Wrangler by @simpwhoregularlychangesfandoms Y/N by @yghfggg Wild West Gang by @ommikko Hopeless Yearning by @dumblie Dovie and The Boys by @ommikko11 The Wrangler by @lemonbarb Green eyed Gunslinger and MC by @inkmooon Dovie's Sketchbook by @ommikko11

Like what you read? Here's more.

You can also check out my story moodboards, writing advice, blog recs and upcoming works. Want to know if you missed any updates? Check out my monthly writing wrapped.

[yanderedrabbles]

Yandere Wild West Gang - Noncon

Your life is all planned out for you. Marriage. Children. Settling down in your little town and growing old. But a gang of outlaws and their wicked desires change everything.

Tags: (6) yandere males x fem reader, noncon, loss of virginity, choking, spitroast (hell yeah), oral fixation, 12.3k words

I blame the ridiculously talented @fangdokja and The Red Ledger for inspiring this btw.

They came for you in the middle of the day.

Shameless. Better men would at least wait for nightfall, would at least try and hide their intentions behind the cloak of darkness. Not them though.

They kicked the door in when your family was just about ready to eat lunch, the food still steaming and your ma still in her apron.

You didn't even have time to scream.

One outlaw smashed his rifle butt into your pa's temple and the old man was out like a light, still clutching the knife he'd grabbed to defend you. Two others grabbed your mother and shoved her into the pantry, blocked the door with a tipped over cupboard.

You ran. Or tried to at least. They were crowded into your kitchen, laughing as you turned from one to the other.

"No way out, beauty."

"Too late to run now, darlin'. Shoulda started before we even got here if you wanted to get away."

"Look at her all scared. Ain't it just adorable?"

With near identical duster coats and bandanas tied across their faces, you couldn't tell them apart.

They were closing in on you, a little at a time. You tried to fight, to pull away when one of them grabbed you. But they were dust bitten outlaws and you were just a rancher's daughter. It wasn't even a struggle.

The tallest one slammed you down on the kitchen table, his fingers digging into your shoulders and his belt buckle grinding against your ass.

Your mama's good milk jug tumbled off and shattered on the floor. That was what you focused on as they tied your hands behind your back and gagged you. The shards of blue and white ceramic in the puddle of milk.

Not their hands running over your hips, not their laughter. Just the milk and your ma's favourite jug all in pieces.

You could still hear your mother screaming for you when they pulled you outside. That was what hurt the most about that entire awful day. Your mama, pleading and begging and panicking and unable to save you.

Their horses were waiting, another outlaw standing guard with his rifle out.

"Boss, let her ride with me."

"With you? Ain't no way in hell my girl is riding with you."

"Your girl? She ain't yours. Boss, tell 'em she ain't his."

"Runnin' to the boss again? Yellow belly."

It was the tall one who settled the argument. His voice wasn't as rough as the others, but that didn't put you at ease in the slightest.

"She's riding with me."

He still had one hand curled around your upper arm and he pulled you towards his mustang. You dug your heels in as hard as you could, pulled back with all your weight. It just made him sigh.

"Ain't even started yet, and she's already being difficult?"

The outlaw that spoke was already on his stallion. All you could see of his face above the bandana was a pair of blue eyes, lined at the corners. The boss maybe?

"Just some...growing pains. She'll settle down soon enough."

The tall one leaned down and hoisted you over his shoulder. You squirmed and tried to kick your way free, but he kept one arm tight around your knees.

You thought all your panicking would frighten the horses, but no such luck. He tossed you across his saddle and climbed up behind you. The saddle horn dug into your belly until he pulled you into a proper seat, one arm curling around your waist. You could feel his chest against your back, every inch of it firm, hard earned muscle.

He dropped his head and spoke directly into your ear.

"No trying to jump off the horse. No trying to run away. I'm in charge of you until we get back and I won't have you hurt on my watch."

Your only response was to try and smash your head back into his nose. He straightened up just in time and all you managed to do was hurt your own neck.

He sighed again, and spurred his horse forward.

"Well, I suppose it this was easy, it wouldn't be nearly as fun."

The outlaws formed a loose ring around you as you rode. You tried to twist and look back, but your captor was holding you too tight. You didn't even get to see your home shrink into the horizon. Didn't even get that one small goodbye.

They rode for at least two hours, the sun climbing down from its zenith as they took you across rivers and down secret little paths. You knew your ranch and the area around it like the back of your hand, but even you were well and truly lost when you finally arrived.

It was a ranch, but there weren't any cows in the fields or corn growing in neat rows. The house was a big, whitewashed thing. Pretty once, but fallen into disrepair. Just a hideout. Not a place they stayed at for more than a few months.

The blue eyed one pulled you off the horse without breaking a sweat.

You could feel their eyes on you again. God, how many were there? Five? Six?

"You goin' first boss?"

The man looked down at you. He had a hand around your upper arm, but his grip was more firm than rough.

"I reckon I should. Can't trust you lot to be gentle or slow enough."

That made some of them jeer and complain.

"I'll be real sweet, boss. I promise!"

"We can be nice too. Really."

The man snorted. "Nice? I ain't never seen you dogs be nice 'bout nothing. I'll break our filly in. You lot just be patient and don't bother us none."

What were they talking about? You didn't have time to puzzle it out before the boss started pulling you toward the house. Seeing that building looming closer made you start fighting all over again, biting down on your gag and pulling back as much as you could. Like a mustang digging it's feet in.

It didn't last long. The boss leveled a look at you, met your eyes straight on.

"You really gonna be difficult with me, girl?"

Oh, what frightening eyes he had. Bright and clever, a blue so striking you could feel it right through your soul. A mountain lion would have eyes softer than his.

You stopped resisting him. Let him pull you along besides him. What else could you do? He had a gun on his back and a knife in his boot and years of experience wrangling stubborn animals. And you were just a girl out of her depth and far from home.

You didn't see it, but the outlaws looked at each other, impressed. Only the boss could tame a filly with a single look.

The house was much cooler than outside, but the boss didn't give you any time to examine it. Just guided you up the stairs and into a large bedroom. White curtains stirred in the breeze, the bedding neat and clean.

He locked the door behind you. A quiet click that made your heart race.

You jumped when his hands came to rest on your shoulders. You could hear the other outlaws outside, the clink of harnesses and buckles as they let the horses out to pasture.

His hands moved from your shoulders to your upper arms, squeezed.

"Do you know why we took you?"

You shook your head. Ransom, maybe? But your pa was just a run of the mill rancher. Surely there were better targets for quick cash than you.

The outlaw laughed quietly, just a soft breath of amusement.

"Not the faintest clue, huh?"

He let go of you and you heard the soft rustle of material as he shrugged out of his duster.

He turned you around and you finally got to see his face. He'd taken off his Stetson and bandana too, and the man looking back at you was a hardened outlaw in every way. He was a lot older than you, with thick blonde hair going to grey at the edges. Handsome, with a strong jaw covered in light stubble. Grizzled, but muscular and lean for his age.

There was a small, amused smile on his lips.

He kept his hands on your arms and guided you backwards, until your back hit the wall.

"You wanna take a guess? Why'd we ride all the way out to town to steal you?"

Whatever you said was muffled by your gag. He clicked his tongue.

"You're gonna have to use your worlds, darlin'."

He ran his thumb across your cheek, across the gag. "Or maybe not. I like you just like this too."

He was close. Closer than any man had ever been. It was terrifying. Tears spilled down your cheeks, running across your gag and soaking in.

He sighed, caught one on his thumb.

"None of that now girl. I ain't gonna be rough with you. And in time, I reckon you'll come to like it."

Your dress was buttoned at the front, all the way to your neck. He grabbed both sides of your collar and ripped.

You tried to jerk away from him, but he was too close and the only way out was blocked by the wall. Buttons scattered across the room with little plinks.

The only thing keeping your dress on was the fact that your hands were tied behind your back. But the outlaw didn't let that stop him for long.

He leaned down and pulled a knife from his boot.

"Don't squirm 'round and I won't cut you, alright?"

Sound advice, but not something you were about to listen to. You thrashed in his grip, twisting as much as you could. You didn't want that thing anywhere near you.

He grabbed your hair, and yanked your head backwards. You screamed into your gag, your whole scalp aching.

You might have continued fighting, but that's when you felt the cool metal of his knife at your throat. Not the sharp edge, but still enough of a reminder to keep you still.

"Good. Not so hard, is it?"

The knife moved away from your neck and to your sleeve. He slipped the blade between your skin and the fabric and yanked upwards.

Your sleeve tore with an ugly ripping sound, all the way down to the wrist. You whined into your gag, but he ignored you and repeated it on the other side.

He was breathing heavier now, even though the work of keeping you still couldn't have been much of a challenge for a man as strong as him. He put the handle of his knife in his mouth and used both hands to pull your dress off you. It pooled at your ankles, ruined.

You still had your chemise, but the thin white fabric was almost as bad as being naked. Your nipples poked through and he narrowed in on them, one hand coming up to cup your breast. His teeth were biting into the handle of his knife, hard enough to leave indents in the wood. Like a man struggling to control himself. He breathed out slowly, just feeling the weight of your tits in his palms.

You were crying so hard you almost couldn't see his face. A mixture of pity and want.

He kneeled down to put his knife away and stayed on his knees, hands coming to your hips. He looked up at you, blue eyes bright with something you didn't yet know how to recognise. Lust. Want.

His thumbs stroked circles into your skin, your chemise the only barrier between you and him.

"If I was a better man, I'd almost be sorry about this."

He grabbed your leg and hooked your thigh over his shoulder. You almost stumbled, forced to keep your back against the wall if you didn't want to loose your balance.

His fingers gathered your chemise from the hem up, pinning it at your waist with his palms. You were wearing stockings, simple white ones that reached your mid thigh, and plain lace garters.

All in all, it was a damn nice framing for your bare cunt.

God, he could practically feel his mouth watering.

He didn't give you any warning. Just slipped his tongue between your lips. Hot, wet, like nothing you'd ever felt. You tried to squirm away, practically tried to climb up the wall to get away from him. But he had you trapped, one massive palm on your hip and the other on your thigh.

He found your hole real easy. Slipped his tongue all the way in, the bridge of his nose grinding into your clit. You whined at him to stop it, to please just let you go, but with the gag, all he heard was a pretty little sound that made him keep going.

He sucked on your clit, his jawline standing out in sharp relief. His stubble scraped your thighs. So masculine, so unbearably, overwhelmingly manly.

With the way he held you still, you couldn't do anything except take it. Feel even inch of his tongue, feel his hot breath on your skin, feel his nails scraping your thigh. You wanted to hate it. You wanted to be disgusted by it.

But oh, it felt good.

Sometimes, when the neighbour's handsome son came over, you'd feel a little throbbing ache between your legs. This was exactly like that, cranked up to a thousand.

You whined again, and he must have been the Devil's own son, because he just doubled down. Swirled the flat of his tongue across your whole clit and then ran it down all the way to you ass.

You thighs were shaking, and the pit of your stomach felt tight with something your couldn't explain.

"That's my girl." He sounded pleased, smug. Practically cooing at you in his rough baritone. "Feels real good, don't it?"

If he didn't break soon, you felt like your whole body would. Something inside you was building, getting closer to the edge. And you were terrified of it. You breath was coming hard and fast.

Mercifully, he pulled away. Kissed the triangle of your pussy and then your inner thigh. You could feel his teeth against your skin when he smiled.

"Not yet. I ain't nearly close to done with you."

He stood and you weren't sure whether to be thankful or upset. You felt woozy, hot. Like heat stroke, or like getting drunk.

His mouth and chin glistened. He rubbed it dry on his palm, smirking all the while.

"I bet you feel real empty inside, huh sweetheart?"

You nodded your head, not sure where he was going with this. You did feel empty. There was a hot, throbbing itch in your stomach that you had no idea how to scratch.

"Aww, poor thing. I can take care of that for you."

His hands moved to his belt, blue eyes pinning you to the wall. When he smiled, there were lines around his eyes. They should have been comforting, a mark of someone who laughed often and laughed easy. They weren't.

You shook your head, pleading with your eyes. The tears were starting to come again, thick and fast. For a second or two, with his tongue deep in your core, you'd forgotten that he'd want something in exchange.

His eyes hardened, his smile not moving an inch.

"I will take care of it, girl. You can cry if you want, but we've come too far to stop now."

He grabbed your thigh and pulled your leg up, forced you back against the wall. Your whole cunt was wet and glistening with his spit.

Something hot and hard rubbed between your pussy lips. You shuddered, tried to move away. His other arm came around your waist and he pulled you against his chest. The smell of him was overwhelming - gunpowder and leather and whiskey. He smelled like a man. He smelled like your ruin.

Your forehead fell against his collarbone, and his chin came to rest on the crown of your head. The same way a father might hold his daughter after a nightmare.

But there was nothing fatherly about the cock nudging at your entrance.

"Shhh, you're okay. It ain't gonna hurt."

Liar. Terrible, heartless liar.

He pushed in and it felt like your whole body was splitting apart. It burned.

You sobbed into his chest, not entirely sure what was happening to you. This was the sort of thing that was only whispered about. The sort of thing that was kept vague for good, obedient girls until their wedding nights. The only thing you knew for a fact was that it hurt and you wanted it to stop.

He groaned, pressed a kiss against your hair.

"Sweet little thing, ain't ya? Gonna be good 'fer me? Gonna take it nice and deep?"

You couldn't answer. There was only the stretch of his cock inside you and the oppressive tightness of his arms.

He set a slow, drawn out pace. Cock pulling all the way out to the tip and then sliding right back in. You could feel every inch.

Not gentle, but not needlessly mean either. You were shivering in his arms, pussy fluttering like a heartbeat around him.

No one but him knew how fucking difficult it was to keep so slow. Tight, tiny little thing bleeding and crying all over him. Any red blooded man would want to rut into you like a stallion. See just how many tears he could wring out of you.

It was only experience and determination that held him back. If he was a younger man...

It was the right decision to have you first. Not even his second in command - that tall bastard with all the self control in the world - could have managed this.

He huffed out a laugh.

"You're little too young for me, doll. Reckon I could be your father."

He slid back inside you, grinding against your clit in a way that made you whimper.

"Shitty fucking father though. To be doing this to my little girl."

He let go of waist and cupped your jaw in his palm. Tilted your head back, his nose and lips skimming up your neck. You smelled so fucking good. Nothing in this world was as sweet as a needy, crying girl.

"You gonna call me daddy, little girl? Gonna beg me to be nice and let you go?"

You whimpered, a pathetic little sound through the gag. It only made him smile against your neck.

"Thaaat's it. Just take it. Let me break you in. Gonna be all stretched out and sweet when I'm done with you, yeah?"

He sucked at your neck, at the delicate spot where your shoulder started to slope away. A little immature maybe, to want to mark you up like an animal, but wasn't he being plenty mature already? Wasn't he being just saintly in his patience?

"Fuck, you're getting close, ain'tcha? Can feel you gettin' all tight."

He pulled back to look into your eyes, overflowing with tears and just so damn scared.

"You ain't got no idea what's 'bout to happen, do ya?"

He pulled almost all the way out, and then slammed back in, hard. Your tits jumped and your eyes fluttered shut.

"Just relax and let it happen. It's gonna feel reeaal good."

You tilted your head back and he followed you, lips right back at your throat.

He picked up the pace, trying not to be too rough and slowly failing. The closer he got to his own end, the less important kindness seemed. It wasn't long 'fore he was slamming into you so hard he could feel your tits bouncing. His breath was coming fast, each exhale almost a growl.

"Take it, just like that. C'mon doll, just let me fuck you. Just let me make you mine."

You bit down on your gag and came. Your whole body shook, your nails digging into your palms. You didn't now what he'd done to you, but you couldn't stop it. Your pussy was a clenching, sensitive mess. You felt light headed enough to faint. And the only sound and thought in your head was his voice, right in your ear and rough with barely held back want.

"That's my girl. My good fucking girl."

A good man might have slowed down then. Might have realised just how sensitive you were. He didn't. He kept pistoning his cock into you, fucked you through your orgasm.

You writhed on his dick, in pain and overwhelmed and more scared than you'd ever been. And all of it just served to make him harder, to bring him closer. Even he had to admit he was a bastard for enjoying it so much. He didn't deserve something so sweet. All he deserved in life was a short dance with a noose. But who gave a fuck about that? He'd taken you, he'd stolen you, and like any good thief, he was going to enjoy you.

You felt it when he came. His cock pulsed and twitched inside you, and something hot dripped down your thigh.

He pressed his forehead against yours, hands so tight on you that you felt bruised.

He came down slowly. Kept you plugged up with his cock while he softened. The only sound in the room was his harsh breathing. You couldn't even cry anymore. All you wanted was to close your eyes and sleep and make the pain disappear.

He pulled back and tilted your chin up.

"Look at me."

You opened your eyes, tears still caught in your lashes.

"There she is. Ain't so bad, is it?"

All you could do was sniffle and hope he was bored of you.

He let you down carefully. You weren't steady on your feet at all.

"I've had a lot of blood on my cock over the years, darlin', but I reckon yours is the finest."

He kissed you. You were still gagged, so it was less a kiss and more so his lips pressing against yours.

When he finally stepped away from you, you almost wanted him back. You sank down to your knees, too dizzy to stand.

"Poor thing. Too much to handle, doll?"

He ran his fingers through your hair.

"You did so good, princess. Now just stay so sweet, and the rest of this day will go a hell of a lot easier for you."

You were too out of it to figure out what he meant. You closed your eyes and heard his spurs jingling as he walked away. The door creaked open and then he was gone.

You might have tried to run for it, but you ached so bad that even the thought of it was painful. Your hands were still tied as tight as they were before.

You didn't notice the footsteps or the voices until they were right outside the door.

"So much for bein' nice. Boss left her a right mess."

"Better than you woulda done. Least she's still in one piece."

They came to stand in front of you, two men with their bandanas pulled down around their throats.

You recognised their voices. These two were the most quarrelsome of the bunch. They still had their gun belts on, both of them carrying revolvers. Gunslingers then. Every gang had them.

"Look at her already on her knees 'fer us."

"Why you cryin' pretty girl? Was the boss too mean with ya?"

You looked up slowly. Boots first - silver spurs, well worn leather. Then their belts. And finally, their faces.

One was dark skinned, a crescent scar on his cheek and his hair cropped short. He rubbed his jaw as he looked at you, a half smile showing pearly white teeth.

"Oh, would ya look at those eyes? A man could drown in 'em."

The other was tanned golden with the sun, his eyes a pale green. He was still wearing his Stetson, and his dark hair was long enough to brush his shoulders.

"Boss must be getting old. He left some of her clothes on."

That made the dark one laugh. "Nah, I reckon it's meant to be a treat just 'fer us. Like unwrapping a present on Christmas mornin'."

The green eyed one squated down in front on you and grabbed your jaw. His hands were rough from labour, and his callouses scraped your skin. Whatever he saw in your eyes made him smile, but it didn't have a lick of kindness in it.

"Look at that...Boss really did break you in, didn't he filly?"

He stood and pulled you up with him, hand still clutching your jaw.

"I reckon she's gonna be real sweet to us. Gonna be all nice and obedient."

The other one came to stand behind you, his fingertips brushing the nape of your neck as he moved your hair out of the way.

"That right, filly? You gonna be all sweet?"

The green eyed one nodded your head for you. His eyes had a certain cruelty to them that made you want to step away. He seemed the type to use spurs and whips both, and to use them often.

He let go of your jaw and focused on the rest of you. And oh, what a lovely sight you were. All tied up and crying, your tits just visible through your chemise. A little virgin about to loose the rest of your innocence to his teeth. A fucking vision, a fucking dream.

He pinched one of your nipples and rolled it between his fingers. Your thin chemise wasn't any protection at all.

"Sensitive, ain'tcha?"

You whined. Not sure whether to pull away or step closer.

The gunslinger behind you wasn't in the mood to be left out. As his partner tugged and played with your nipples, his hands came to rest on your waist. And what huge hands they were. You could feel the heat of him even through your clothes.

He dropped his head to the nape of your neck and inhaled, his nose buried in your hair.

When he spoke, his voice was a low rumble.

"What do you want?"

The green eyed one looked you up and down, weighing his options. Finally, he smiled.

"I'll take her mouth."

Your whole body went cold. He couldn't mean...

"Hmm. That's fine with me." His hands dropped from your waist to your ass, squeezing. "I want to have her from the back anyway."

They must have been in perfect sync with each other. The one in front of you stood aside and the one behind you pushed you towards the bed. You stumbled, landed on the duvet chin first, your teeth slamming together despite the gag.

You didn't have time to push yourself up before they were tearing your chemise off. The thin straps ripped and your last bit of modesty floated to the floor in a tattered white heap. You were left in just your stockings.

The dark one pulled you up by your hips, one hand grabbing the rope around your wrists to keep you steady.

Smack.

Your whole body jerked forward, your ass cheek stinging.

One of them laughed, mocking. "Bet that'll leave a mark."

The dark one ran his palm over the welt, smiling though you couldn't see it.

"We promised the boss we would be nice, remember?"

The green eyed one circled the bed. You could feel his eyes on you, drinking in your naked skin, your stockings, the tears soaking your gag.

His hands were on his belt. Not undoing it yet, just watching you.

"Y'know, I give that tall bastard a lot of shit, but even I gotta say he was right this time. She's a real cute thing."

The man behind you was still stroking your ass, squeezing and watching your flesh give under his fingers. So soft, so fucking pliable.

He hummed quietly, more concerned with you than with his partner. He slipped his thumb down between your cheeks, catching on your asshole for a second. That sent a jolt of panic through you. They wouldn't...

He must have felt you moving, because he sighed and let his fingers continue downwards. Smearing cum and blood across your pussy lips.

"Not today," he said, soft enough for just you to hear. "Boss wouldn't like that."

That wasn't reassuring to hear. It meant that he still wanted it. Wanted to fuck your virgin ass without any care for the pain, for the hurt. The thing stopping him wasn't empathy, but obedience.

He rubbed tight, harsh circles into your clit. You were still sensitive and you pleaded into your gag, asking him to be just a bit more gentle. Either he couldn't understand you or didn't bother to even hear you, because he carried on, fingerpads rough as sandpaper.

The green eyed one noticed though. He seemed to notice just about everything.

"Want me to take that gag off sweetheart?"

You nodded your head frantically. The sides of your lips felt raw and you couldn't stand the taste of it.

He kneeled with one leg on the bed and undid the material. When he pulled it away, thin lines of spit followed.

You sucked in a lungful of air, coughing. He gathered your hair out of your face, held it all in a loose fist at the back of your head.

"All better?"

Maybe you were wrong about him. Maybe he wasn't so bad.

"...yes." You swallowed, your voice still hoarse. "Thank you."

He tilted his head, smirking.

"So polite. Boss really did a number on ya, huh? Or are ya just a well bred little lady?"

You didn't get a chance to answer, because the other gunslinger ground his palm against your cunt. You yelped and jerked forward on instinct.

The green eyed one tightened his hold on your hair.

"None of that. You can take it."

"I can't! It hurts."

His free hand tugged at his belt, pulling it free of the belt loops. You blanched. What the hell did he need that for?

"Ain't even been a minute and you're already whining? C'mon pretty, there's better things to do with your mouth than that."

He let go of your hair long enough to loop the belt around your neck, the leather wrapped around his fist. He tugged and it tightened, metal buckle pressing icy cold against your skin.

He pulled upwards, forced you to look at him. His cat eyes were mean, amused at seeing you leashed.

"You even think 'bout usin' your teeth and I'll pull this so tight you won't even be able to think 'bout breathing. Got it?"

What was he talking about? Your teeth?

Your answer came soon enough. With his belt off, it was real easy for him to take his cock out. He sighed, relieved to have it free.

The only thing keeping you in place was the belt around your neck. Even still, you pulled backwards until you couldn't go any further.

It was huge.

Thick, with veins running all the way to the tip. That was supposed to fit inside of you? You'd never seen a man's cock before. Even when the boss fucked you, you'd only felt it. No fucking wonder it hurt so bad, if they were all this size.

It was horrifying, and still you couldn't look away.

"Ain't it a sight?"

He grabbed it with his free hand and yanked your head down with the belt, until the tip brushed your lips.

"Come have a closer look."

Maybe if your hands were free, you'd be able to pull away. But as it was, you were staying balanced only because of his grip on the belt and his partner's grip on your arms.

He rubbed the tip across your lips, leaving behind a sticky coating of precum.

"Don't be shy," he purred, "Give it a little kiss."

The belt tightened until you listened. You pecked the side of it, where it wasn't so gross and sticky.

"Atta girl. Now open wide."

You desperately didn't want to. He tasted of salt, and his cock was so hard that you couldn't even imagine how it would fit.

You didn't want to, but what choice did you have?

You opened your mouth and he pushed himself past your lips with a groan. The tip scraped against your tongue, soft as velvet and tasting like the sea.

He let go of his dick and tangled his hand in your hair, pushing your head lower. Until the tip brushed the back of your throat. You gagged, shivering all around him.

"God, your mouth is fucking heaven sent."

He pulled out slowly, until it was just the tip sitting in your mouth.

"Are you gonna join me or what?"

The other gunslinger snorted.

"Fucking impatient. You gotta treat a lady gentle on her first time."

You heard the rustle of clothing behind you, and the hand that was playing with your cunt came to rest on your hip, fingers digging into the flesh for a good grip.

Your cunt felt cold without his touch, but his fingers were quickly replaced with his cock. The head nudged at your entrance, hot enough that you could practically feel it radiating. The leaking pre mixed with the sticky come already on your lips, thin strands of white pulling and breaking as he settled himself against you.

You wanted to say something, anything, to make them stop, but the gunslinger still had his dick in your mouth.

"Hmmm. Nice and warm and I ain't even pushed inside yet."

"Ain't she? Like she was made for us."

His hand slid from your hair to you jaw, thumb tracing your cheek. He could see the bulge of his cock against your cheek - it made you look a little chipmunk getting all cozy and ready for winter. Your tears were caught on your lashes, silver dew drops like you just took a swim.

"You heard me, baby? You're made for us. Made to fuck us and keep us happy. Our little lady."

They both pushed into you at the same time.

Thick cock bullying into you, trapping you between them with nowhere to go. You wanted to scream, but you couldn't. You couldn't even think. Couldn't even breathe.

The green eyed cowboy pulled on your leash and forced you to tilt your head back, bare your throat to him. He pushed deeper into you, until his dick was down your throat and your nose was brushing the hard muscles of his stomach.

He held you there, cock down your throat and tears collecting in your eyes, while his partner started thrusting.

You couldn't breathe.

You couldn't pull away, couldn't fight him. You could just look up at him, eyes all wide and scared. Your panic was thick in your blood and he drank it in.

Smirking, keeping you at his mercy. He knew you couldn't breathe, and he still held you on his cock.

Your heart was racing and you felt light headed before he finally pulled out. You gasped, thick strings of spit connecting you. He only gave you enough time to catch a few deep breaths before he was back in your mouth, thrusting. Going just as deep but thankfully pulling out.

You gagged and choked and felt like you were drowning on his cock. And all the while, his partner yanked you back and slammed balls deep into you.

It was too much. You couldn't focus on anything. You were limp in their hands, letting them fuck you and just trying to survive it.

You weren't sure how long it took. Your whole world was narrowed down to just them - their hands on you, getting tighter and meaner the closer they got to coming.

The one fucking you from the back let go of your hip and curled his whole arm around your waist, leaning over you until his lips were on your neck. Fucking you hunched over like a dog in heat.

He bit your shoulder, sunk his teeth in with a snarl.

They didn't talk much anymore. There weren't any words left. Just the need to fuck and claim and come.

The sounds were the worst. The slick squelching of a cock in your cunt, the slap of skin on skin, the heavy snarls for you to take it like a good girl. And their raspy breathing, like stallions after a gallop.

The gunslinger pulled harder on your leash, keeping you still while he fucked your face. He's teeth were gritted tight, his eyes narrowed and focused entirely on you.

The dark one must have hit something deep inside you, because you made a whining, moaning sort of noise that vibrated all through his cock.

That was what did it. He forced his cock all the way down your throat, held you in place while he came.

When he pulled out, you were coughing so hard your whole chest ached.

That's when you felt it - hot spunk splattering all over your asshole. Your whole body shuddered at the feeling.

The man behind you kissed your back between your shoulder blades and slowly moved down. When he came to your ass cheeks, he sunk his teeth in with a playful growl.

He flipped you onto your back, and you sunk bonelessly down onto the covers. Your nipples were tender and your neck was a patchwork of marks.

The dark skinned one flopped down next to you and threw a possessive arm around your waist. He hummed, pleased as a bear before winter.

"Best fuck I've had in ages."

His partner was silent, his fingers toying with the belt still around your neck. You tilted your head back to look at him.

He was smiling, not soft exactly but about as close as a cruel bastard like him could get. He was so handsome, when he wasn't trying to choke you.

He sighed and let his fingers drift up your cheeks.

"I wish we could stay, pretty. But the day ain't done just yet."

The other one grumbled. "Can't we just lay here for a bit? I've got my girl all nice and snug. Why should I let her go?"

"Boss's orders, that's why. We gotta play nice and share."

"Why? Those bastards don't deserve her."

"And we do?"

He didn't bother to answer, just pushed himself to his elbows and looked down at you. His eyes were a deep brown. Sweet, almost.

"No," he said quietly, "We don't."

He leaned down and kissed your cheek. Soft, like a husband would. He stood and only looked back at you when he was at the door. Hard man, killer and gunslinger that he was, you thought you saw just a little guilt in his eyes.

When he was gone, the green eyed gunslinger ran his hands through your hair.

"He's right, y'know. We don't deserve a girl like you."

There wasn't any guilt in his voice, just a deep sense of satisfaction.

"But we've got you anyway. If the world gave folk what they deserved, you'd never have been so unlucky to catch our eye in the first place."

He leaned down and pressed a kiss against your other cheek, and then nipped at your jaw. A coyote savouring a bone.

"You'll learn to take it, sweetheart. And when I'm done, you'll learn to like it."

He left his belt around your neck and let the door slam shut behind him.

You could hear when they joined the others out in the yard. Their laughter drifted up to you, sharp as a wild dog's bark.

You closed your eyes. On your back in nothing but your stockings and a leash. It wasn't the sort of thing you'd ever imagined as a possibility. Hell, a lot of today was filled with things you'd never even thought about.

You hurt in just about every place. But parts of you throbbed with a pain that wasn't entirely unwanted.

Traitorous body, traitorous mind.

You couldn't possibly like this. You were being used by criminals, killers. Your virginity was just another prize for them to steal. You were a good girl, raised in a good home with upright, moral parents. You weren't some lady of the night, some harlot, to enjoy their roughness.

Right?

When the door sighed open, you didn't even bother to open your eyes.

"These young ones don't know any gentleness, eh beauty?"

His voice was calm. The sort of soft tone you'd use with a filly still nervous 'bout the bit.

You could hear his footsteps. Heavy boots but no spurs.

You flinched when he touched the belt around your neck, but he didn't do much more than run his fingers across the leather.

"Let's get this off you. Idiots. You don't harness a creature so fine."

He pulled it off your neck carefully and then touched the bruises it left behind.

"Open your eyes for me, beauty. Let me see you."

You almost didn't. What more was there to see? Another man with too tight hands and a hunger that wouldn't end?

It was his voice that did it. So kind. No growl behind the words, no clenched teeth snarl.

The first thing you saw were his eyes. A dark hazel, like an eagle's.

"Ah, just as pretty as I thought. Do you want to sit up for me? Those ropes must be hurting something awful by now."

He was older than you, but not by too much. Older than the gunslingers, but not nearly as old as the boss. His hair was tied in braid that fell almost all the way down his back. Lakota, if you had to guess, or maybe Crow.

There was a pair of workman's gloves shoved in the pocket of his jeans, but he didn't carry a pistol. The wrangler most likely.

You sat up slowly, wary. He didn't seem awfully worked up about a naked woman sprawled on the bed in front of him. Maybe he wasn't so bad...

He untied your hands without letting his own wander.

You flexed your fingers and carefully brought your hands to your lap. Your shoulders ached from being stuck in one position for so long.

"Will you let me go?"

"Oh, beauty." He touched his knuckles to your cheek. "That's what you want, isn't it? To go back home?"

"Yes." Your throat felt tight with tears. "More than anything."

He closed his eyes.

"It hurts to see you cry, beauty. It hurts to see these marks on you. But even if I was the only one holding you back, even if it was entirely up to me... I wouldn't."

"Are you going to do the same thing as the rest of them?"

He held your face in his palms, thumbs tracing your cheekbones. He smiled, but it was awfully sad.

"It's been real long time since I've had a woman, beauty. And never one so fine. I'm still just a man."

You were crying again, though you didn't realise it. Tears washing hot over his fingers.

"Shhh." He leaned down and kissed your forehead. "I'll be gentle. I won't hurt you."

He undid his belt slowly, eyes on you the entire time. You were on your knees again, your stockings making you look oh so innocent and oh so filthy all at once.

He grabbed your hand before he took his cock out. You pulled away, but his grip was too strong. Not rough, not hurting you. Just too firm to escape.

He brought you hand to his crotch, pressed your palm against his cock. Even through the thick denim of his jeans, you could feel how hard it was.

"All your doing, beauty. That's all your fault."

He undid the last button and his dick pushed it's way free. Big and no less intimidating for being the second one today. His fingers were knotted between yours and he dragged your hand up his shaft. He sighed, a man finally getting release.

"Here, this will go faster if you use your mouth."

His other hand came to rest on the nape of your neck. Not forcing you down exactly, but heavy, inexorable. Trying to refuse him was like fighting the pull of the moon.

He didn't force himself into you like the gunslinger did. Just kept using your hand - still dry - to stroke himself.

"Come now beauty. Just a little lick and it will all be over. You want that, don't you?"

You did. You wanted this day to end.

You cautiously licked the head of his cock, your tongue almost blistering hot. He groaned and for just a second, the hand on your nape tightened. Like he really did just want to pull you onto him and have his own way.

"There you go. Not so terrible, is it?"

It wasn't. He tasted salty, but not in an unpleasant way. And hearing him groan like that made some part of your gut flutter.

You felt just a little braver. When he pulled you closer, you let him. He rubbed the tip against your lips, smearing pre-cum all over them.

You didn't want his cock down your throat. Didn't want to feel like you were choking. But everything he'd done to you so far had been miles different to the gunslingers. Maybe he'd be different in this too.

Slowly, you opened your mouth. You expected him to shove himself inside you, betray the tiny bit of trust he'd built.

He didn't. Instead, he stood perfectly still. He even stopped using your hand, though he kept it wrapped around the base. Just letting you get comfortable. Letting you explore.

It was what your daddy did when he was working to tame a colt. He'd let them get used to him a little at a time, until they didn't mind his touch at all.

You were too nervous to take him in much deeper than the tip. But he didn't complain at all, just watched you with those golden eyes.

You sucked on him. Just the tip, but you wrapped your lips around him and treated it like it was candy. You flicked your tongue across the underside of his head, eyes locked on his to see if he liked it.

And from the way his breathing was picking up, you reckoned he liked it plenty.

Hadn't the gunslinger wanted you to kiss his? Maybe that's what men wanted. You pulled off his cock with a wet little pop and turned your attention to his shaft. You kissed him - small, shy little pecks all the way down to his hand and then back up again.

He was smiling, head tilted. He almost seemed amused.

"So that's how you like it, huh?"

You hummed, not sure how to respond. Both the gunslingers and the boss kept getting faster the closer they were to finishing. Maybe if you used your hand...

He seemed surprised when you moved your palm, but it didn't last long. When he was sure of what you were doing, he let go of your hand and let you do it all by yourself.

There was a lot of friction and you couldn't go as fast as you wanted without yanking on him. You needed some kind of lube, something to make him all slick...

Oh.

Of course.

You licked him, all the way from balls to tip, trying to drool on his cock as much as possible. He shivered, voice getting just a bit tighter.

"Careful girl. You're playing with fire."

You didn't know what he meant. All you wanted was to finish this. Be able to rest and dream sweet dreams, dreams without men's hands on your body.

His cock was wet with your spit and when you started using your hand, it squelched lewdly.

He groaned, his hand coming to your jaw and his thumb tracing your lips.

"Open your mouth for me, beauty."

You did. You couldn't look away from his eyes. That burnished gold like dead man's treasure.

He pressed his thumb against your tongue, ran it over your teeth. He seemed just as captivated by you as you were by him. The men outside were laughing again, voices raised and vulgar. But he didn't for a second look away from you.

He smiled and said something to you in a language you didn't understand.

Your hand was moving a lot faster now that you'd found your stride, your thumb brushing over his slit on every third stroke. The only sign that he was getting closer was his breathing.

At the last second, he pulled his thumb out of your mouth and rested his tip against your lips.

Hot spunk shot at you, some of it dribbling down your chin and some of it coating your tongue. He groaned, jaw clenched tight. He was panting like a dog on a hot day, still looking at you like you were the finest thing he'd ever seen.

He pulled his cock away and replaced it with his thumb, smearing his load between your lips and across your teeth. He spoke in his language again, words just a little more forceful than before.

You thought he was done with you. Thought he'd be satisfied with leaving.

Instead, he leaned down and kissed you. One hand was still on your nape and you had no room to pull away.

It was your first proper kiss. He was hungry, his tongue scraping across your teeth. One hand came to rest behind you on the bed, and he slowly forced you down, still caught between his lips and his hand.

He ended up between your legs, still not letting you go even though you were both almost out of breath.

"Beauty," he muttered, lips pressing against on yours.

When he finally broke away, he didn't go far. He rested his forehead to yours, breathing hard. You were sharing the same air, in that tight little space. And somehow that felt more intimate than anything else the outlaws had done to you.

He was practically lying on top of you, the hand that held your neck now tangled in your hair, and his other at your waist. He held you like a lover would.

A lover. Would you ever have one, if they let you go? Who would want you after your virgin's blood was spilled?

He kissed your cheek, slow and lingering.

"Oh beauty, how can I be so lucky?"

He didn't let you go. Just held you underneath him and laid his head on the side of your neck.

You were tense, muscles all coiled and ready to be hurt. But in his arms, you relaxed a little at a time without even realising it. This man wouldn't hurt you, whatever his reasons were.

His dark hair had come loose from it's braid and you absentmindedly brushed it off his brow. That made him smile just a little.

It had grown quiet outside and the only sound was of the breeze rustling the curtains and his soft breathing.

"How did such a kind man become an outlaw?"

You didn't really mean to ask that. And kind couldn't be applied to him without qualifiers. But in the face of everything that had happened to you, his softness was saintly.

He hummed against your neck.

"Bad luck. Bad people. Having nowhere to go back to. It changes you."

You swallowed, sad though you weren't sure why.

"I'm sorry."

He pushed himself up and looked into your eyes.

"Don't be. You're my reward, my reparation."

He brushed his knuckles across your cheek again. "I've waited my whole life for you."

You wanted to ask why. What made you so special? Why did he want to keep you?

The door opened with a bang.

"Are ya really still busy? That ain't fuckin' fair."

The gunslingers were standing in the door, both of them looking irritated. Your whole body tensed. They couldn't be back so soon, could they?

The wrangler pushed himself to his knees. The way he was sitting, your hips ended up on his lap with your legs on either side of him. He put a hand on your thigh absent-mindedly.

When he looked back at them, any softness in him drained away. He was just another outlaw with hard eyes.

"Is it the boy? Boss is really letting you go through with it?"

"It's 'bout time he became a man. And you're the one who was goin' on 'bout playing nice."

The wrangler sighed and looked back at you. When he spoke, it was just for you to hear. 

"I don't want to leave you, beauty. But boss's orders."

He leaned down and kissed you, ignoring the gunslingers' cat calls.

When he stood up, you had half a mind to ask him to stay. You almost reached for him. But the gunslingers were watching you and something in you whispered that showing him favour was a terrible idea. You kept your hands knotted in the sheets. For both your sakes.

When he was gone, you sat up and pushed yourself all the way back to the headboard. Hugged your knees to your chest. You hadn't noticed him earlier, but the gunslingers had a boy with them.

They were half dragging him into the room, one with his hand on the boy's nape and the other with a fist in his shirt.

He was young, barely past eighteen. Slightly built, with pale eyes and bronze curls. He wasn't looking at you. Or more accurately, he was doing everything possible to avoid looking at you.

The gunslingers gave him a rough shove and he landed on the bed, bouncing a little before he pushed himself up.

"Gonna get your first taste of a woman boy, and she's a real fine one."

The green eyed gunslinger leaned over and grabbed your ankle. With one brutal yank, he dragged you away from the headboard and all the way to the foot of the bed.

"Missed me, sweetheart? 'Cause I sure missed you."

He caught one of your wrists and tutted.

"Just like him to let you loose. Fuckin' hell, don't he realise how much easier you are when you're all tied up?"

He knelt with one boot on the mattress and pulled you up, twisting your arm behind your back so you ended up with your head tucked under his chin.

"We was feelin' real bad 'bout hurting you, pretty. So we thought we'd make it up to you. Brought you somethin' you'll really enjoy."

You were skeptical of anything he did. He wasn't the charitable kind.

The boy finally looked at you. His eyes were round, nervous.

"Do... do you want this?"

The gunslinger slapped a palm over your mouth before you could answer him, dragging you closer to him at the same time.

" 'Course she wants it. She'd be fighting a whole lot harder if she didn't. Ain't that right?"

"Would be clawing our eyes out if she really didn't want it," the other gunslinger agreed.

The boy looked rightly skeptical. You were crying an awful lot for someone who "wanted it."

"But..."

The dark skinned gunslinger sighed and grabbed the boy's neck.

"Look at her. You're tellin' me you ain't getting just a little hard seeing her like that?"

"Yes but -"

"But what? You want her. And she's right there for the taking. It ain't complicated."

The man holding you was obviously getting impatient.

"You wanna be a man? Wanna come on jobs with us? Than fucking earn it."

That seemed to decide him. He crawled towards you, just as scared to touch you as you were to be touched.

"What do I do?"

"Open her legs and start eating."

He touched your knee. He gulped, focused entirely on the feel of you. He slowly let his hands drift up your thighs.

When he reached your mid thighs, he tried to pull them apart just a little. You kept your legs as tightly closed as you could. Whatever you tried to say was muffled by the gunslinger's hand, but it was enough to make the boy look up at your face.

You could see it in his eyes. The desire to have you and the horror at knowing this was all forced. In the end, guilt won.

"I can't."

He pulled away from you, his fingers shaking.

"She doesn't want this. How can you hold her down and make her take it?"

The dark skinned gunslinger clicked his teeth in annoyance.

"God, could you be any more pathetic? It don't matter what she wants. All that matters is that you're strong enough to take what you want."

The boy was almost off the bed when the gunslinger grabbed his hair and yanked him back.

"It's a lesson you gotta learn boy. Or you ain't gonna live long in this business."

The boy yelped, hands coming up to try and pull himself loose. You could have told him it was useless - you couldn't escape their hold no matter how hard you fought.

He dragged the boy across the bed and back to you.

The gunslinger holding you could see where this was going and he laughed, mean and mocking.

"Gonna be the hard way, eh?"

His hand dropped from your mouth and curled around your throat. He squeezed, just hard enough to remind you of his strength.

"Be a good little pet and open your legs."

You didn't. Hadn't they done enough already? They'd ruined you. Why not just leave the boy alone?

The gunslinger growled. "Ain't listening so well without my belt around your throat, is that it?"

He twisted your arm further up your back, until your whole shoulder was throbbing. You squirmed, arching against him to get the pressure off. 

"Do I gotta teach you a whole new lesson in obedience? I promise I'm a much harder master than the boss."

He let go of you throat and grabbed your thigh, his fingers digging into the meat. His partner was quick to do the same on your other leg. It wasn't any good fighting them. They weren't scared of hurting you and they didn't care if they left bruises.

They wrenched your thighs apart and the gunslinger shoved the boys head between your legs.

"You ain't scared of a lil' blood, are ya? Clean her up nice and good."

The boy looked up at you with tears brimming in his waterline.

"I'm sorry."

He didn't have the boss's skill. His tongue was soft, hesitant. Probing, but totally unsure what to do.

You shivered at the feeling of his lips on your clit, his warm breath tickling your thighs.

The gunslinger growled and pushed him further down, until his nose was grinding into your folds.

"She ain't gonna get away. Use your whole tongue, suck on her, bite. Fuck's sake, do we gotta do everything for you?"

The one at your back laughed and nipped your cheek.

"She wants it though. Just look at those pretty tears."

The boy whimpered but did as he was told, dragging his tongue all the way up. His hands came to rest on your thighs, skin so much softer than the other men's.

His teeth brushed your clit and you gasped. The boy froze.

And then, he did it again.

You shuddered, thighs shaking just a little. He didn't seem to notice it, but his grip on your legs was getting tighter. He focused on the sensitive spot he'd found, raking his tongue across it.

You made another small, involuntary sound.

The man at your back purred. "There. Ain't that sweet to hear?"

The boy started to suck on your clit, tongue hot and wet. He pushed himself deeper, his nose and chin both buried in your cunt. He didn't even notice when the gunslinger let go of his hair.

He curled his arm around your lower back and pulled you closer to him, almost lifting you off the bed. The wet sounds of his sucking filled the room.

The gunslinger let go of you thigh, satisfied that the boy had a good grip on you. He kissed the corner of your lips, his hand coming up to play with your tits.

"Y'know, we never did get to make you come. Can't help wonderin' what you sound like."

You kept your jaw clenched tight. You weren't going to give him the satisfaction.

He must have read your mind, because he chuckled. Pinched your nipple hard enough that you bucked in his grip.

"Oh, you're going to come for us. Ain't that right boy?"

The boy muttered something and went right back to eating you out. You could feel the same heat in your belly as when the boss had you. Like a band about to snap. Every little move was too much, every flick of his tongue on your clit was somehow more intense.

You squirmed, trying everything you could to get him off. The boy ignored you. Just held on a little tighter and pinned you thigh to the bed.

"Please," you whined. "It's too much."

The gunslingers snickered at that.

"Poor darlin'. Does it hurt real good?"

"Don't fight it. Just let it happen. No one will know except us."

"And we're real good at keeping secrets."

The extra mean gunslinger pressed his cheek against yours and looked down at the boy between your legs.

"Don't tell me you're shy. We're real well acquainted by now, ain't we?"

You hated when he spoke to you like that. All sweetly condescending.

The boy wasn't letting up. Just kept sucking your clit and dipping his flexed tongue into your hole, switching from one to the other like he couldn't get enough. Like you were water in the desert and he'd drop dead without you in his mouth.

You fisted the duvet in your free hand, trying to distract yourself. No good. Your body had wants and needs of its own.

You could feel it building and there wasn't anything you could do to stop it.

You threw your head back and bit your lip, but it still wasn't enough. Small whines and gasps slipped through.

Your cunt was clenching, your whole belly a warm knot finally coming undone. It felt better than good.

It felt fucking incredible.

The boy didn't seem to notice. He just kept at it, even though your clit was swollen and aching and bright with blood.

The gunslinger noticed though. You could feel him smiling against your neck.

He tugged at your earlobe with his teeth and then kissed all the way down to your shoulder.

"Maybe we ought to be nicer, if that's what you sound like."

"Like a fox in a trap. Whinin' so nice 'fer us."

Your whole body felt like you touched lightening. And the boy's tongue was the worst if it.

"Please, enough. I...can't..."

The dark skinned gunslinger leaned closer to you, smiling in a way that wasn't nice at all.

"You're so sweet when you beg, filly. Ask politely and I'll get him off you."

You swallowed your pride. What was left of it after today anyway? They'd seen far too much of you for you to hold onto false modesty.

"Please. It's too much. Just make it stop."

Maybe it was your voice or maybe it was your tears or maybe he was just feeling merciful after emptying his balls inside you. He grabbed the boy's hair and hauled him up.

The kid's lips were red and swollen, his whole jaw slick with spit and spunk. He looked dazed, eyes still on the spot between your thighs.

"I'm not done yet. Can't I just..."

"Ain't complaining now, are ya? You see why we went through all that trouble for her?"

He was still holding onto you and he made a half hearted tug to get you closer to him.

"Five more minutes. Please."

The gunslinger scoffed. "You think just 'cause you had a taste you can make demands?"

He pulled the boy's hair and dragged him off the bed. His jeans were bulging at the crotch and his eyes never left you.

"But you said -"

"We said that you'd get a taste. Nothin' more."

The gunslinger holding you spoke up, his lips still pressed against your shoulder.

"You gotta earn it boy. Our girl ain't gonna be wasted on some greenhorn."

"Gonna have to make do with your fist, like the rest of us had to."

When the boy was off the bed, the gunslinger let go of your arm and shoved you forward. You landed on your forearms, your body sprawled in front of him.

He planted a hard smack on your ass and leaned over you, lips brushing your hair.

"You'd better dream about me sweetheart. Better feel me in your mouth when you close your eyes."

His fingers swiped across your cunt, rough and probing. You winced at the feel of him.

"Or else I'll just have to fuck you so hard the memory is burned into your mind."

You looked over your shoulder, eyes catching his for just a second. Long enough to realise he meant every word of his threat. He smirked, satisfied.

He stood and grabbed the boy by his upper arm. Together with his partner, they bundled him out the door. Business all finished, eh?

You sagged into the bed and watched them leave, your cunt still pulsing when you moved. You were exhausted and you looked it, too tired to push yourself up.

A hand caught the door before it closed.

Another one? How much more were you supposed to take?

The newcomer nudged the door back open and stood there for a minute, watching you. He had a bowl of water in his hand, a wash rag thrown over the side.

You hadn't seen his face before, but you recognised him. The tall, well spoken one who made you ride on his horse.

He was dressed better than most of the others. A black, silk waist coat and a crisp white shirt, the sleeves rolled to his elbows. A silver cross dangled on a chain around his neck.

It made you want to laugh. What God could he worship, when he was a sinner so black?

"Hello dove."

You didn't answer. Just watched him with your cunt fluttering and your lips bruised. 

He was the palest out of them all, skin more like a scholar's than a cowboy's. He had black hair, as long as the gunslinger's, but tied back. He was probably Chinese, but born on this side of the Pacific. His accent was almost the same as yours.

He walked towards you slowly. Not nervous, but more like he was worried about spooking you.

He put the bowl of water down on the nightstand and sat on the edge of the bed, half facing you.

"It must hurt."

You stayed quiet. What did he know of hurt? He wasn't the one being held down and fucked.

He nodded at the bowl. You hadn't noticed it, but the water was a milky white.

"That's to clean you up. I reckon they left a few more cuts and scrapes than they intended."

You found your voice. Smaller, meeker than you remembered.

"Why do you care?"

"You think we don't care?"

You blinked. Of course you thought that. What else was there to think? They were outlaws who took you to satisfy themselves for an afternoon or two. What more could there be?

He laughed, but it was a bitter thing.

"Oh, qīn’ài de. If we didn't care, you'd still be a free woman."

You didn't understand what he was getting at. He sighed and reached for your ankle.

You jerked away. You didn't want to be touched ever again. Not by a man, not by anyone.

He sighed again.

"Don't be difficult. I want to help you."

"Why?"

He was quiet. Just watching you with his dark eyes. There was something familiar about him, though you couldn't tell what.

Finally, "You don't remember me."

You were in no frame of mind to care about his feelings.

"No."

He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees and his forehead resting on his knuckles. Like a man at prayer. He turned his head a little to speak to you.

"It's been a long time, but you saved my life once."

You frowned, totally blank.

"You were still just a girl. Thirteen or fourteen maybe. I'd just turned twenty, part of a gang for the first time and too damn cocky."

He rubbed the skin just above his thumb. There was an ugly scar there, the skin still raised and puckered after all these years.

"Our heist went wrong. Sherrif and his deputies were waiting for us. I got shot. Not so bad that it would kill me, but bad enough that I couldn't make it home."

You couldn't see where this was going.

"Ended up in a barn, bleeding everywhere. I heard footsteps and I thought for sure I was done for. That the rancher was going to blow my brains all over the wall. But it wasn't him that found me."

You sat up slowly and ended up on your knees, your back to him. You thought you understood now, but you let him keep speaking.

"Wasn't him, but his daughter. Dropped the milk when she saw me but she didn't scream. Just came over and asked how she could help me. Me. A wanted man who'd just killed six deputies."

You didn't know that part of the story. All you remembered was the hot summer sun slanting through the cracks in the barn, and the young man bleeding out in the hay. You remembered him digging the bullet out and asking you to stitch him up, his face going all pale.

You closed you eyes and it was like you were right back there, hiding him in the hayloft and telling your pa the blood on your dress was from killing a chicken.

"Why did you do it?" he asked.

"Because you looked scared. And because I was a little in love with you."

That probably wasn't the answer he was expecting. You pulled in a shuddering breath.

"You were older than me, but still so young. The most handsome man I'd ever met. You told me you got shot by mistake, and not to tell anyone because it would get your little brother in trouble."

You could hear a smile in his voice.

"And you believed me?"

"Yes. Why would you lie to me? Outlaws were just a thing from stories. And I suppose I wanted to believe you. You told me I was going to be really pretty someday, that you'd have to come back and marry me. No one had ever said anything like that to me."

He hummed. "You really thought I was handsome?"

"Yes."

He still was, but he had none of the sweet, boyish softness you remembered. He was handsome in a hard, dangerous way. Diamond rough. You could cut your skin on the sharpness of him.

"But what does that have to do with anything? Why...why do this to me, if you owe me your life?"

He sighed and reached for you. He hooked his arm around your waist and dragged you onto his lap.

"I kept checking in on you over the years, do you know that? Every time I was near your ranch I'd ride out and look for you. Always watching."

"Why?"

"I felt like I owed you. I wanted to make sure you were fine. And when you got older...well, I just liked looking at you."

You shivered. There was something in his voice, a longing far deeper than anyone of the other cowboys'.

"Will you let me go when you're done?"

He sighed and tucked your hair behind your ear.

"Maybe that would be the merciful option. But we aren't merciful men."

He pulled your head onto his shoulder when you started crying.

"You're going to stay with us, qīn’ài de. For a very, very long time."

"Why now? Why..."

His hand was soft in your hair, his voice even softer.

"You're young, lovely, a rancher's only child. How much longer 'til your pa started to consider marriage? And who would come knocking on his door? No, I couldn't loose you to them."

"You're the one..." you tried pulling away but he kept you still, head against his shoulder.

"Me," he agreed, "I'm the one to blame for this. And even knowing that, I wouldn't take it back."

"The others..."

"Brutes, aren't they? But they're my brothers. And once they saw you, they wanted you too."

He said he couldn't loose you to another man, but that didn't make any sense.

"If that's true, why did you let the others..." You swallowed, not sure how to go on.

"Why did I let the others have you first?"

You nodded. He played with the cross on his necklace. Finally, he spoke.

"Because I want the most time with you."

He pulled away to look at you and you realised how wrong you were. It wasn't that he didn't feel any lust for you, it was just that he hid it far better than the rest of them.

But now... oh, his was the worst you'd seen. Boiling hot, on the end of its tether. This was a man who wanted you. Who'd spent years wanting you.

He laid a palm on your thigh.

"They got you for an hour each maybe. But I'm going to have you all night."

[doefreaks]

╭﹕ღ﹒ 𝗬𝗮𝗻!𝗛𝗼𝗺𝗶𝗰𝗶𝗱𝗮𝗹 𝗟𝗶𝘂 𝗵𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗰𝗮𝗻𝗼𝗻𝘀

⤷ 𝐓𝐖: dead dove do not eat: mentions of the word “rape”, noncon, unhealthy relationship, NSFW, mentions of fetishes, degradation, murder, kidnapping, overprotectiveness, paranoia, name-carving, pussy-slapping, overstimulation, hair pulling, choking, f!reader, mutilation, delusion, burning people, burying people alive, infantilization, unstable mental condition, mentally abusive dynamic, sex praise, etc.

• You have read the warnings, you know what you are getting into; if you choose to read it and get upset, don't say I didn't warn you.

𝐌𝐃𝐍𝐈!

You know that one house of the dragon quotes? “they say everytime a targaryen is born, the gods flip a coin” — that is basically Homicidal Liu, same but different. He is a two different side of the same coin. Like a dormant angel and devil living inside one young fine man.

On a sunny side, you have Liu. I hcs him as a very sweet and even a very soft boy. He literally lived through hell so much thanks to Jeff but Liu is nowhere near him even after everything he has to go through because of his own brother.

It's the same for his yandere persona. He's extremely doting with you, i would say he definitely infantilizes you, maybe un-awarely, or not, it doesn't matter.

He is also a very somewhat paranoid yandere type, i think. The reason you may never see it is probably because of how he coats it. He always looks calm, cold-exterior, but he's actually a very mentally fragile man, not in a way he has a big ego but that he's a very overprotective and overtly paranoid ones.

When doing sex — or rape, he'd be so soft with you. He'd praise you for being so good for him, cooing you when you tried to walk away from all the overstimulation, and yes he had insane stamina, though he's more of a 'lazy' side. Not sure if its for good or worse since he doesn't move too much, he can stay fucking you for hours nonstop.

He'll never pull your hair or choke your neck, though the other side of him def do (Sully) but that's later. He'd give kisses to you, caressing all your flaws in an reverencing way, basically worshipping you like you're a goddess and he's your only one devoted follower. He'd call you the sweetest name despite what he's doing to you. Calls you his “love”, “mother of his child”, “dolly” — it's like you guys are in a very deep relationship or something! oh wait, you both probably are. You just don't know it.

When Liu is jealous to someone touching you, or god forbid if he sees anyone trying to hurt you, he is going to fuckin’ hunt their ass and no i'm not kidding. He'll never show the bodies as he's afraid you'll be scared of him and hate him. Liu is anything, but stupid and unnecessarily cruel to you. Though..

It'll certainly be a total opposite when Sully came to the image. Speak of the devil, he's a fuckin’ menace. Worse than Liu is for sure, and worse than Jeff. Jeff is clowny, he’s terrifyingly goofy. But Sully has none of that whimsy-ness to him nor a decent sense of joy. He was the result of Liu's subconscious mind bleeding into real psyche. A kind of defense mechanism, for all he's been going through. And if you think he'll be anything but gentle, in-fucking-deed you are precise.

You could even say Sully is a somewhat ‘sensitive’ person, he's easily irritated, doesn't like joking around unless he is the one doing it specifically. If you think Liu is bad as a yandere for murdering people’, Sully will give you something real for you to actually be scared about.

He's not out here doing killing and hiding their bodies. He'll gladly put them on sticks or poles outside the cabin he and Liu hold you captive in. Letting you see his 'charity' everytime you tried to escape as a reminder of your already misery fate. He'd have his stitched face smilling absurdly wide at you — green eyes gleaming like burnt emerald and shit.

And he's not just stabbing people out there, he'll burn them to medium-rare fucking steak, probably feed the bodies to wild animals or even Eyeless Jack or something’, have them get skinned, or buried alive and when they had finally died he'll dig them back up and put them on the goddamn pole — or perhaps not cus he will not do allat 😂 but he's terrifying, that's what im saying.

Oh and also speaking of terrifying, this man's paranoia is not any better than Liu, not even close. Liu's paranoia comes from the feeling of him not wanting to lose you, and it gets manifested through a ridiculous amount of overprotectiveness, delusion and paranoia. But Sully's paranoia comes from a much more rotting sense of unstable mental condition, you'd even click him as a bipolar or something for how fast his emotions are regulating. It'd be just in 6 hours and you already saw 17 emotions coming from him, and this is no joke.

And now you wanna talk about it. In SEX? you have never seen nothing. Forget bout’ any asmodeus or sex demons, because Sully's existence itself will shame them for all the holding backs they do. Sully, without question, would do some of the most unholy things to you. There will be no more gentle bear Liu shows you.

He'll pull your hair, or choke your neck if you have short hair ones, it didn't matter. He absolutely loves it if you usually wear pigtails or braids because he'll play rope with them a lot. He'll spit, slap your pussy, if you have a rather big-sized clitoris he'll playfully pulled them and just play with them till you're squirting all over the cabin floor. Demands you to clean the floor by licking all the liquid scattered across the wooden surface with your ass sticking out and then he'll take you raw from the back.

He's fuckin’ nasty in words. Calling you “cunt”, “slut”, “fleshlight” — if you're crying he'd say “what baby? you don't like me treating you like the fuckin’ cunt you are? like you aren't made to be my sex doll by destiny.. hehe” all with voice so astonishingly cold and ruthless you'd feel like you were having sex with a boogeyman or something. You'll have to figure out mid-sex while being ravished if he meant all the things he said or if he just had an extreme level of degradation fetish.

He'll also carve out his name onto yours using a knife, not “Liu” but actual “Sully” lmao.

By the time Sully is gone and Liu comes back, seeing you drenched in thick cums, holes swelling after being repeatedly penetrated by his alter self's cock (they, i mean Liu and Sully, has a very impressive size in length, by the way), mouth sore and overfilled like cream puffs, trying to catch a breath —

Liu would never admit this, partly because he's too kind and he doesn't really realize it, but highkey because he's not stupid and he does not want you to hate him for expressing this salacious thoughts, but those views of you did not help his aching cock at all. You're gonna get fucked twice after Liu comes in lmao. And because of that reason itself imma have to give two ratings. For Liu it's probably 7.3/10, he's not hostile to you outwardly, at least not to you. He's times more calmer and would gladly negotiate with you and comfort you even if its all honeyed, sugar coated or pure bs. For Sully? straight 9.8/10. Pretty self-explanatory.

I mean that's better i guess — at least Liu still has a lot of hospitality within him, no?

[the-fiction-witch]

War Toy

Media - House Of The Dragon Character - Aemond Targaryen (Regent Post Rooks Rest) Couple - Aemond X Reader Reader - Y/n Rivers Rating - 18 (Hair pulling/ threatening/ spoils of war) Word Count - 750

Aemond Targaryen was biting back his seething rage, his jaw clenched so tightly that it ached. He had perched atop Vhagar as they soared over the expansive fields, the whole length to Harrenhal. Yet, the moment Aemond set foot in the castle’s vast courtyard, a sense of unease washed over him. The grounds were hauntingly quiet, devoid of the sounds that typically accompanied a gathering of soldiers preparing for war. No banners fluttered in the breeze, no clattering of armour or the low murmur of men sharpened by the thrill of impending conflict. Instead, there stood only the weathered stones of the castle, echoing his frustration.

Pacing with purpose along the cobblestone path, Aemond’s mind raced with possibilities. Where had Daemon and his forces vanished? Had they retreated into the shadows, crafting a cunning strategy of their own? His men, diligent and anxious, scoured the surrounding terrain for any trace of the elusive army, murmuring among themselves as they combed the underbrush and peered into the depths of Harrenhal’s dark corners. Aemond’s fury bubbled just beneath the surface, threatening to erupt.

“Prince Regent!” A man spoke up, “We found someone!”

“Let me go!” The girl screamed, her voice piercing through the cold air as the man forcefully pulled her from the castle, the heavy wooden doors creaking ominously behind them. The rain fell in relentless sheets, drenching her tattered, half-broken brown dress and turning the cobblestones beneath her to slick, darkened patches. He tossed her to her knees in the muddy courtyard, the chill seeping through her skin as she struggled to catch her breath.

As she looked up, her heart pounding in her chest, she met the unsettling gaze of Aemond. His sapphire eye glinted with a piercing vigour, contrasting starkly against the shadows cast by the stormy sky. She fought to suppress a shiver of fear that threatened to overwhelm her, forcing herself to stay steady in front of the imposing figure, the weight of his presence making the air feel thick and charged.

“What is your name, girl?” Aemond snapped,

“Who’s asking?” she snapped back,

“Do not make me ask again,” he warned her, “Now, reveal to me your name or I will reveal to you the flame of my dragon.”

“Y/n,” she spat,

“Y/n.” he nodded, “And tell me, Y/n, where did Prince Daemon and his large army of rivermen go?”

“I do not know,”

“No?”

“No.”

“Do not lie to me, girl.”

“I am not lying!” she protested, “I do not know, they were here a day ago and now they are gone.”

“Do you think I am a fool?”

“No, I-”

“My scouts confirmed Daemon was gathering an army,” He growled, grabbing her by the neck,

“Huu-” she gasped, her hands grabbing at his wrist,

“Tell me, Y/n.” He barked, “How did Prince Daemon Targaryen, his dragon Caraxes, all the lords of the Riverlands, and all the levies of the Riverlords just disappear into thin air?” He asked,

“I. Don’t. Know,” she choked out,

He released her neck, sending her tumbling to the ground once again. “Don’t you? Perhaps the feel of a Valyrian blade might bring your memory to the surface.”

“I swear… I don’t know.” She sighed,

“Very well,” he sighed, “send men in every direction, there must be a sign somewhere of where this army vanished to.” He commanded, “And you.” He gripped her by her hair,

“Yes?” she spat,

“Go and find the nicest chamber, build a warm fire, a soft bed, and a hot bath. And be waiting for me there, naked,” he commanded, going to turn back to his men.

“And if I refuse?” she threatened,

He stopped and turned back to her, “If you refuse, I will come find you and drag you there myself. Understand Y/n?”

“Yes…” she sighed,

“Understand!” he asked, holding his knife to her neck,

“Yes, Prince Aemond,” she answered,

“Good girl,” he nodded, “Go on now war toy, do not keep me waiting.” he threatened slapping her on the ass as she ran inside the castle.

[riasmut]

May I please request Jamil x fem!reader? Maybe something with stress relief after exams?

Stress Relief

Pairing : Jamil Viper x Female Reader

Warnings: rough sex, unprotected sex, p in v, fingering, creampie, choking if you squint.

A/N: posting this draft in honor of me getting his ob card. (After 100 fucking pulls.)

The last exam bell had barely stopped ringing when Jamil found you in the empty hallway outside the alchemy classroom.

You'd been avoiding him all week—studying, cramming, sleep-deprived and irritable. But now it was over. All of it. And the second his hand closed around your wrist, pulling you into an unused storage closet, any pretense of composure shattered.

The door clicked shut behind you, plunging the small space into dim light filtered through a high, grimy window. The room smelled like old potion ingredients and dust, but you didn't have time to register more before Jamil's body pressed you against the wall.

"Finally," he breathed, his voice low and rough in a way that sent heat straight to your core. His fingers tangled in your hair, tugging your head back. "I've been going out of my mind."

You opened your mouth to reply, but he silenced you with a kiss, all tongue and teeth. No softness. No slow build. Just raw hunger that had been bottled up for weeks of studying and stress. His hips ground against yours, and you felt exactly how desperate he was through the layers of fabric.

Your hands found his shoulders, gripping the fabric of his school uniform, pulling him closer. The kiss was messy, wet, and perfect—a collision of need and relief. His tongue swept into your mouth, and you moaned against him, your fingers curling into his shirt.

He broke the kiss only to trail his lips down your jaw, biting gently at the sensitive spot below your ear. "You have no idea," he muttered against your skin, "how many times I thought about this during that fucking exam."

"Tell me," you gasped as his hand slid up your thigh, bunching your skirt.

He pulled back just enough to look at you, a strand of his ponytail escaping to frame his face. "I thought about bending you over the desk right there in the middle of the test. Making you forget every question."

His words sent a shiver through you. "Then do it."

His hand slipped under your skirt, finding you already slick through your underwear. He let out a low, appreciative sound. "You're so wet. For me."

"Jamil—"

He cut you off with another kiss, deeper this time, while his fingers hooked into your panties and pulled them down your thighs. You stepped out of them, and he shoved them into his pocket without breaking the kiss. His hand returned, two fingers sliding into you without warning.

You cried out against his lips.

"That's it," he murmured, pumping his fingers in a rhythm that was almost punishing. "Let it out. All that stress. I'm going to fuck it out of you."

Your legs were already trembling. He worked you open, adding a third finger, stretching you while his thumb pressed against your clit. You were panting, barely able to stand, your forehead pressed to his.

"Please," you whimpered.

He pulled his fingers out, and you heard him unbuckling his belt, the zipper lowering. The sound of him stroking himself in the quiet closet made your breath hitch. Then he nudged your thighs apart with his knee, and the blunt head of his cock pressed against your entrance.

"Look at me," he ordered.

You did. Your eyes met his, and he thrust into you in one hard, smooth motion.

A choked cry escaped your throat as he filled you completely. He didn't wait, didn't give you time to adjust. He started moving immediately, each thrust hard and deep, driving you into the wall. The cheap shelves behind you rattled with the rhythm.

His hand came up around your throat—not choking, but a firm grip that grounded you, that told you exactly who was in control. "You take me so well," he said, his voice strained. "Made for me."

You wrapped your legs around his waist, and he adjusted his angle, hitting deeper. Stars flickered at the edges of your vision. His pace was relentless, a steady pounding that built the pressure inside you with every stroke.

But then something shifted.

He slowed, just slightly, and his hand left your throat. Both his palms found your face, cupping your cheeks, and he kissed you again—but this time it was different. Softer. Almost tender. His tongue moved against yours with a heat that was still hungry, but now there was emotion bleeding through.

You kissed him back with the same intensity, your fingers threading through his hair, loosening his ponytail until his hair fell around his face. He pulled back just enough to look at you, his forehead against yours, both of you breathing hard.

"I needed this," he admitted, his voice barely a whisper. "I needed you."

"Then have me," you answered.

He kissed you again, deep and languid, and then he began to move once more. The rough pace returned, but now it was layered with those moments of kissing, of mouths meeting in the middle of the fucking, your lips never far from his.

The sounds he made—low grunts and groans that vibrated against your mouth—only pushed you higher. You were close, so close, and he could feel it.

"Come for me," he ordered against your lips. "Now.”

Your climax crashed over you without warning, a wave that stole your breath. You clenched around him, crying out into his mouth as he kissed you through it. He followed seconds later, a sharp thrust burying him deep as he spilled inside you, his body shuddering with the release of something far more than physical.

For a long moment, you stayed like that—breathing, tangled, his forehead against yours. The dust motes danced in the dim light. The world outside the closet didn't exist.

Finally, he pulled out slowly, and you whimpered at the loss. He laughed softly, a genuine laugh that made your heart ache.

"Same time next semester?" he asked, helping you straighten your skirt.

You smiled, leaning in to steal one more kiss. "I'm holding you to that."

DIVIDERS BY @uzmacchiato

[catbayunthestoryteller]

Dragons Caught in the Storm (Part 4)

Aerion Targaryen x f!reader x Valarr Targaryen (part 1, part 2, part 3. But can also be read as a oneshot.)

Summary: Based on the request "A fic where you tried to give Valarr a love potion but Aerion drinks it instead (like what one of Egg's sisters did)". Reader is a Baratheon (but no physical descriptions are given), who is a childhood friend of Valarr's.

Chapter summary: Aerion's "Why don't you love me?" moment, Targaryen style secret first date in the streets of King's Landing. And the girlies are fighting (Aerion and Valarr.)

a/n: The last chapter of Growing Strong series is out, btw, for those not yet aware! <3

You had not expected the kiss to continue. When Aerion first pressed his mouth to yours, you had thought it would be brief, a moment of impulse caused by the dress, easily broken, easily dismissed. But his arm had locked around your waist before you could step back, pulling you flush against him with a firmness that left no room for retreat, and when you instinctively shifted against his hold, his murmur vibrated against your lips.

"Stop wriggling."

The command was soft, almost distracted, as though his mind were elsewhere entirely. His mouth did not leave yours. It moved with a slow pressure that made your thoughts scatter before you could gather them into something useful.

You bit his lip.

It was not hard enough to draw blood, but it was enough to make your point, or so you intended. Aerion groaned, a low sound that rumbled from his chest into yours, and instead of pulling away as any sensible man might have done, he kissed you harder. His free hand came up to grasp your neck, his palm warm against the side of your throat, fingers curving along the line of your jaw to guide your mouth more firmly against his.

You let him.

That was the worst of it. You let him. Your hands, which had risen to push against his chest, remained where they were, neither shoving nor gripping, simply resting against the fine fabric of his doublet as though your body had not yet decided whether to resist or surrender.

Only when he pulled away, just enough to draw breath, just enough to let the air cool the space between your mouths, did you try to step back.

He followed.

One step, then another, matching your retreat until your spine met the edge of the table. He did not cage you there, precisely. He simply did not allow the distance you sought.

"You have loved Valarr for years, have you not?"

The question came from nowhere, searching, and it struck you harder than any blow could have.

You stared at him. Aerion's violet eyes were fixed on your face, but there was no mockery in them. He looked, bewilderingly, almost like a child. His brows were drawn together in contemplation, his mouth set in a line of mild frustration, as though he were working through a problem that refused to resolve itself.

"Could you not love me too?"

You could not speak. The words lodged in your throat like stones.

He did not seem to require an answer. His gaze grew distant for a moment, reflective, and when he spoke again his voice was lower, rougher, as though he were recounting something he had never intended to share.

"I could see you, you know. When my father would make us come visit the Red Keep. You were always following him around. Valarr." He said the name with a particular weight, not quite disdain, not quite resignation. "A pretty little girl, but not remarkable enough to torment. I saw you only in passing."

Your jaw tightened. He did not seem to register it.

"Then we came again, years later, and you were…" He paused, his eyes dragging over your face, as though reconstructing a memory in real time. "A woman grown. Flowered. Filling out your dresses in ways that made it impossible not to look. And still beside him. Still following."

His hand had not left your neck. His thumb traced a slow line along the edge of your jaw.

"I assumed he had deflowered you by then," he said, and the bluntness of it made your breath catch. "Taken you to his bed. Broken you in a bit. How could he not? Having you next to him every day, looking at him the way you did." His eyes darkened, something flickering behind the violet that you could not name. "I could not imagine the restraint. Or the stupidity."

Your heart was beating too fast. You could feel it in your throat, in your wrists, in the places where his body nearly touched yours.

"Only for him to get betrothed to someone else." Aerion's mouth curved, but there was no humor in it. "A merchant's daughter from Tyrosh. And I wondered then if I had misjudged him. If my courteous, perfect cousin Valarr had it in him to use a woman and abandon her once he tired of her. That would have been a surprising discovery of cruelty. Almost impressive, in its own way."

He leaned closer, nosing along your cheek, pressing his lips in a way that were not quite kisses to the corner of your mouth, your jaw, the tender skin beneath your ear.

"But then you told me the truth. That the potion was meant for him. And you had the expression of a maiden grasping for attention, not a woman scorned." He paused, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. "He had simply never noticed the doe offering herself up willingly. Without so much as a chase."

You remained silent. What could you say? It was all true. Every word of it.

You remembered those years with a clarity that still ached. The hours spent at Valarr's side. The way your heart had leapt when he sought you out, when he smiled at you, when he trusted you with his fears and his uncertainties. You had thought, foolishly, desperately, that proximity would breed something more. That devotion would be rewarded. That he would look at you one day and see what had always been there, waiting.

He had not.

Aerion was wrong about one thing, at least. Valarr had not deflowered you. He had not even come close. There had been only one kiss, years ago, when you had wondered aloud what it felt like and he had offered to show you.

"To satisfy your curiosity," he had said. "And soothe your fears. That is all."

That was all. A single kiss, chaste and brief, and you had spent years afterwards lying awake at night wondering if he had ever wanted to kiss you again. If he had ever thought about it. If it had meant anything at all.

"What a dreadful waste."

Aerion's voice cut through your thoughts, and you realized he had been watching your face.

"All those years," he continued, shaking his head slowly. His tone sharpened with something that might have been disgust, though it was not directed at you. "Wouldn't you rather have fun with me?"

Before you could answer, he dragged his tongue along your parted mouth, an obscene gesture, and then pulled back entirely. The loss of warmth was jarring.

You heard the click of the lock.

He had crossed the room while you were still in a daze, and now he stood by the door with his hand still on the bolt, surveying the chamber with a new expression. Thoughtful. Calculating. The look of a man who had just conceived of something and was already deciding how to execute it.

"Change," he said.

You blinked. "…what?"

He was already moving toward your trunks and flipping them open. He rummaged through the folded gowns with the carelessness of a man who had never had to pack his own belongings in his life, tossing aside silks and velvets until he found what he was looking for.

"Put this on." He straightened, holding up a dress. It was the plainest thing you owned, wool, not silk, a muted grey-brown. Serviceable. Unremarkable. He found a cloak as well, dark and heavy, and thrust it toward you. "Quickly."

"Aerion..."

"I have decided," he said, as though that explained everything, "to show you something you have not seen before."

"What would that be?"

His mouth curved. "A life outside these walls."

You stared at him. "You are mad."

"Possibly." He did not seem troubled by the assessment. "But you are going to put on that dress and that cloak, and you are going to come with me, and for one night you are going to see what it is like to not be a lady in a cage."

"A cage I am only still in because of you," you pointed out.

"Yes," he agreed, entirely unrepentant. "So you may consider this my penance. Now change. Unless you would prefer I stay and watch?"

You snatched the dress from his hands and pointed toward the door. "Turn around."

He turned, though not before you caught the flicker of amusement in his eyes.

You changed quickly, pulled the cloak around your shoulders and drew the hood over your hair. The woman who looked back at you from the mirror was not a Baratheon lady. She was not a prince's betrothed. She was simply a woman in a plain dress, indistinguishable from a hundred others in the city below.

Aerion turned back at the sound of your movement, and his eyes swept over you with an approval that made something in your stomach tighten.

"Passable," he said. "Come."

He did not take your hand. He simply opened the door and waited, and after a moment's hesitation, you followed.

The passages he led you through were not the ones you knew. They were narrower, darker, clearly meant for servants or for those who did not wish to be seen. Aerion moved through them with the ease of long familiarity, and you wondered, not for the first time, what sort of prince spent so much time in hidden corridors.

The city beyond the Red Keep was another world entirely.

You had seen it before, of course: from windows, from carriages, from the high walls that separated royalty from rabble, but you had never walked through it. Not like this. Not on foot, with the press of bodies around you and the smell of cooking meat and unwashed skin and something sour that might have been spilled ale.

The market was still alive even at this hour, torches flickering in iron sconces, vendors calling out prices in voices hoarse from use. Aerion guided you through the crowd with a hand at the small of your back, a light pressure that steered you away from the worst of the press without ever seeming to direct you.

"Keep your hood up," he murmured against your hair. "Your face is too memorable."

You did not know whether that was a compliment or a warning.

He bought you food from a stall, fried and greasy dough, wrapped in paper that grew translucent with oil, and laughed when you hesitated to eat it.

"It will not kill you," he said. "Probably."

You ate it. It was, against all expectation, delicious.

He showed you the stall where a woman sold ribbons dyed in colors so vivid they seemed to glow in the torchlight. You saw the corner where a man with no teeth told fortunes for a copper penny, and the alley where a boy no older than ten was teaching a dog to dance on its hind legs. The blacksmith's forge, dark now but still radiating heat, the weaver's shop with its shuttered windows, and the fountain in the small square where the water ran clean and cold.

You stopped when you saw the play.

It was being performed on a makeshift stage at the edge of the market, boards laid across barrels, a painted curtain fluttering behind the players. The actors were not skilled, their voices too loud, their gestures too broad, but there was an energy to the performance that drew you in. You grabbed Aerion's sleeve without thinking and pulled him toward the crowd that had gathered.

He came willingly, standing close behind you as you watched.

The play, as it turned out, was not the sort of thing performed in the Red Keep.

It was vulgar. Obscenely, unapologetically vulgar. The plot, such as it was, seemed to revolve around a milkmaid, a travelling merchant, and a donkey, and the jokes grew progressively filthier with each passing minute. The crowd around you roared with laughter. You scrunched up your face.

You turned sharply, intending to leave, and found Aerion already watching you. He had not been watching the play at all. His grin was half-hidden against your hair, his shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter, and when he saw your expression he only laughed harder.

"Not to your taste?" he murmured.

"You knew what this was."

"I had my suspicions." He tugged on your hand, drawing you away from the crowd. "Come. Before the donkey returns for the second act. It does not improve."

You were laughing by the time you reached the Red Keep.

You could not remember when the laughter had started, somewhere between the market and the gates, somewhere between the grease-stained paper crumpled in your hand and the way Aerion had nearly slipped on a pile of something unspeakable in the alley, but it had not stopped. Your sides ached with it. Your cheeks hurt. Aerion was no better, his composure utterly shattered, his hair disheveled from where you had shoved him in retaliation for a joke you refused to repeat.

The laughter died the moment you stepped through the doors.

Maekar Targaryen was waiting.

Beside him stood Baelor Breakspear, his expression troubled but composed, and beside Baelor...Valarr.

Your stomach dropped.

"Where," Maekar said, his voice carrying the particular calm of a man who was restraining himself only with great effort, "have you been?"

Aerion straightened, the last traces of mirth fading from his face. "Sightseeing."

"Sightseeing."

"The city is quite lovely at night, father. You should try it sometime."

"Do not play games with me, boy." Maekar's gaze moved to you, taking in the plain dress, the cloak. "You took your betrothed out into the streets. Alone. At night. Unchaperoned. Without guards. Without so much as a word to anyone."

"We did nothing inappropriate," Aerion said, and there was an edge creeping into his voice now. "We merely walked. I only wished to show her the city, she obliged me."

"She wished..." Maekar cut himself off, visibly struggling for control. "You are a prince of the blood. She is a lady of a great house, newly betrothed, and you thought it appropriate to drag her through the filth of the city like a common..."

"Like a what?" Aerion's voice sharpened dangerously.

Baelor raised a hand, stepping between them with the practiced ease of a man who had spent years mediating Targaryen tempers. "Enough. The question is not what was done, but what will be perceived. Aerion, you must understand how this looks. An unchaperoned outing, in secret, at night...it invites speculation. It invites scandal."

"There is no scandal," Aerion said flatly. "There is only a man showing his betrothed the city she will one day help rule."

"And there will be time enough for that after the wedding," Maekar snapped. "When she is your wife, not your..."

He stopped. The word hung unspoken in the air, and you felt your face heat for an entirely different reason.

"She is my betrothed," Aerion said, very quietly. "And I will thank you not to imply otherwise."

Valarr spoke for the first time.

"This is reckless, even for you." His voice was controlled, but there was something simmering beneath it, something that made Aerion's head turn slowly toward him. "She deserves better than to be dragged into your whims."

"Who asked your opinion?" Aerion's hostility flared so suddenly that even Baelor looked taken aback. "Who asked you to weigh in on this, cousin? You, who could not be bothered to notice her when she was right in front of you? You, who..."

"Aerion." Baelor's voice was sharp now. "That is enough."

"Is it? Because I find myself quite interested in why Valarr has suddenly developed such a concern for my betrothed's welfare. A year ago he could not see her beside himself. Now he cannot stop looking."

Valarr's jaw tightened. "I have always cared for her."

"Have you?" Aerion tilted his head, and his smile was not pleasant. "How convenient that you discovered this only after she was no longer available."

"Enough!"

This time it was Lyonel Baratheon who spoke, his voice cutting through the tension like a war horn. He had been standing near the back of the hall, silent until now, his arms crossed over his chest. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes moved between Aerion and Valarr with a calculation that made you nervous.

"You," he said, pointing at Aerion, "will learn to control your tongue and your impulses, or I will teach you myself. I have no objection to a man showing his betrothed the city. I have done worse in my youth, and I will not play the hypocrite. But I do object to a man whose every action threatens to dishonor my niece and my house through sheer carelessness."

Aerion opened his mouth, saw the look in Lyonel's eyes, and closed it again.

"You will not be alone with her without a witness until the wedding," Maekar said, seizing the opening. "That is not a request. It is a command. I will not have this alliance jeopardized by your inability to exercise restraint."

"Father..."

"You are dismissed."

Aerion stood motionless for a long moment. Then he turned, and his eyes met yours. There was frustration, defiance, and something else that you could not quite name, and then he bowed, stiffly, and strode from the hall.

You did not watch him go. You did not look at Valarr, though you could feel his gaze on you like a weight. You simply inclined your head to Maekar, to Baelor, to your uncle, and retreated to your chambers with as much dignity as you could muster.

You barely slept.

The morning came gray and cold, and you rose with the first light, your head aching from too little rest and too much wine the night before. Your maids had not yet arrived. The castle was quiet.

You did not hear him enter.

One moment you were alone, standing before the mirror in your shift, and the next his arms were around you from behind, his mouth pressing hot against the curve of your neck.

"Aerion..." you gasped, trying to twist away. "The command...there must be a witness..."

"There is no one here to witness the lack of witness," he murmured against your skin, "and I will be gone before anyone knows I was here. Turn around."

You turned.

He kissed you.

This time, you kissed him back.

Your hands rose to grip the front of his tunic, pulling him closer instead of pushing him away. Your mouth moved against his with an enthusiasm that surprised you both. The taste of him was familiar now, and you chased it, rising onto your toes to press closer, closer, until there was no space left between your bodies.

When he finally pulled back, his eyes were dark, his breathing uneven. He looked at you for a long moment.

"Well," he murmured, his thumb tracing the line of your swollen lower lip. "That is more like it."

Then he was gone, slipping through the door as silently as he had come, leaving you standing alone in the morning light with your heart pounding and your lips still tingling.

part 5: pending...

a/n: Liked the fic? You can donate on Ko-fi, your support helps me write more: https://ko-fi.com/catbayunthestoryteller <3

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[doefreaks]

╭﹕ღ﹒𝗬𝗮𝗻𝗱𝗲𝗿𝗲!𝗳𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗸 𝗵𝘂𝘀𝗯𝗮𝗻𝗱

⤷ 𝐓𝐖: traditional theme, more fluff oriented but still has a ton of suggestive themes in it. Mentions of him being a somewhat sex addict, lactation moment, f!reader, subtle hint of him later sucking your breast, bun-bun means baby son, and etc.

𝐌𝐃𝐍𝐈!

Currently having thoughts about having a baby w/ someone whose your favs that would be certainly get kinda jealous with his own child. Its not like he hates them or anything! but just think about it: he comes home late — eyes lookin' rough from all the dang yelling from his superiors at his job, his lips dry and fingers limp, dangling the office bag he always carried everyday.

As he opened the door, his eyes immediately went into detective mode, where is my wife? he wondered. God, he'a so fuckin' horny too — i mean you both knew this dude was kind of.. a sex addict from the beginning, but y'all still clock in together and it does not changed the dynamic in your relationship at all!

He called out for your name, pausing for a few sec trying to pick up a response from you. When he didn't get one, he immediately walked into the kitchen to search for you, none. You couldn't be found! he walked upstairs, and there you are — in your bedroom, with his baby in your arms, suckling sweetly on the breast milk.

He sighed in relief, taking in an eyesight of your halfly sleeping state. He couldn't help but think of just how.. sweet you look at that time. You're so womanly, such a good mother accompanying his child. Being such an obedient wife for him. He couldn't possibly ask for more.

Although, being the greedy man he is — he couldn't help but does.

So he approached you,

Slowly, just in a way he's fully relaxed.

His eyes darkened like drying autumn leaves, staring at his and your bun-bun laying comfortably in your arms. As you're just about to take off to sleep, he huffed — that was in fact soft but being an always alert mother you are, it was almost unusual to see you suddenly jolt — your eyes suddenly gazing to him, your husband.

Your lovely, greedy, obsessive, possessive husband.

He didn't even stare back at you despite knowing the full length of your consciousness. Instead he went in to pat the head of his bun-bun.

“He gets all the good stuff, mama.” He sighed, eyes slowly narrowing before he shifted his gaze into yours. “My turn, after this.”

Your jaw dropped, slightly. In a way you're shocked, but.. you're also not. Because he's your husband, and you know exactly the kind of person he is.

And he? knowing very full length of who you are as his beloved wife that he would kill and die for, would never ever refused him.

God, you guys are perfect together!

♥︎ 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑: LOHEN (genshin impact), Xiao (genshin impact), Kamisato Ayato (genshin impact), SCARAMOUCHE (genshin impact), Tighnari (genshin impact), SAKAMAKI SHU (diabolik lovers), Sakamaki Subaru (diabolik lovers), MUKAMI YUMA (diabolik lovers), Mukami Ruki (diabolik lovers), Itachi Uchiha (naruto), KAKASHI HATAKE (naruto), Nara Shikamaru (naruto), SHISUI UCHIHA (naruto), GOJO SATORU (jujutsu kaisen), MAHITO (jujutsu kaisen), Toji Fushiguro (jujutsu kaisen), Nanami Kento (jujutsu kaisen), DOUMA (kimetsu no yaiba), Kokushibo (kimetsu no yaiba), SANEMI SHINAZUGAWA (kimetsu no yaiba), UZUI TENGEN (kimetsu no yaiba), TICCI TOBY (creepypasta), Jeff the Killer (creepypasta), Ben Drowned (creepypasta), JASON THE TOYMAKER (creepypasta), ++

[nymphaemisery]

Warnings: noncon, mdni, cumming inside, unprotected p in v, cervix kissing, yandere, emotional manipulation, coercion, guilt-tripping, dd:dne, if you're uncomfortable with such content, filter the tags or block my blog, stay safe!

Yandere Boyfriend! who would noncon you over and over again, apologizing everytime and promising you that he won't do it again.

Of course, he doesn't mean it.

He feels sorry for hurting you, but he doesn't like it when you push him away, something inside him snaps everytime you deny him, he loses all control.

What do you mean you're not in the mood? Do you not love him?

What do you mean you got your period? It doesn't matter, you're saying it because you hate him right?

It hurts? Well guess what? It hurts him more because you're denying him of the ultimate act of love!

He doesn't like it at all.

So before anything else can leave your mouth, he's already intruding into your hole, burying his cock inch by inch, raw. You could feel the way it uncomfortably stretches you, the burning sensation escalating with every thrust.

Your cunt contracts around his cock as he growls into your ear, small gasps escaping his mouth as he fucks you deeply, his tip slamming against your cervix.

It's painful, it hurts, it burns.

Tears escape your eyes at the sensation, just waiting for him to be done with you. He licks your tears away, dragging his wet tongue across your cheek before pressing a kiss to your mouth.

His other hand dips down between your legs, finding your clit and rubbing circles on it to make it feel good for you too.

One thing about him is that he will always make sure you get to finish too. Is he an extremely selfish person? Yes, but not when it comes to this, he mainly does this because he loves the way your walls contract and flutter around him.

This is also usually the time the anger and everything dissipates, he comes back to his senses and feels guilty when he notices your painful expression, he begins to panic, but his hips don't stop moving, in fact, they speed up.

“i'm sorry— mhm fuck—!” The obscene sound of skin slapping continues to echo in the air. “I'm sorry baby, I dont— I don't like doing this! Please— oh fuck fuck— please forgive me.” He begs, all while his fingers work faster around your clit. He leans down, sucking on your tits.

It doesn't take long for you to finish, especially after he's basically forcing an orgasm out of you by stimulating you.

“I— please forgive me darling, i wont do it again— I lost control, I'm so sorry, I promise, please please please please.” He cries out gasping when he feels your cunt clench and contract around him. His hips piston and drill into your cunt sloppily, a tell-tale sign that he's near, and as if on cue, he cums.

He empties himself deep inside you, ropes of cum directly shooting against your cervix, while he rides his orgasm out and not long after collapses on top of you.

He switches positions, pulling you against him as he cuddles you, arm wrapped around your head and one gently patting your back as he assures you, calming your shaking and crying form.

“I'm sorry baby, it must've been scary right? I don't know what came over me.. it just happened. Please don't hate me. Please. Please.” His voice cracks, genuine emotion coating his words.

“I'm really sorry okay? I try not to, but I just can't—” He sniffs, before reaching down and burying his face into your neck, as if he is the one that needs comfort. “—just can't help myself, I promise I won't do it again. You'll forgive me right? Please.” His voice is muffled, but still clear and you could hear the guilt.

Of course, you forgive him.

You have to, you don't have any other choice, because if you don't— he'll get mad again.

This is the 4th time it happened this week alone, and it's only Wednesday.

You don't have a choice at all, you lost the freedom to have it ever since the day you decided to start dating him.

— yuta okkotsu, izuku midoriya, yuji itadori, megumi fushiguro, gojo satoru, choso kamo + your fave, feel free to imagine any chara you want!

characters mentioned above are obviously aged up!

do not normalize or romanticize dark content irl.

[missglaskin]

GILDED CAGE

note- it's 2am as I write this with my fixation being back. PLEASE READ THE TAGS & SCROLL IF UNCOMFORTABLE

Aerion Targaryen is to suffer a political marriage that was made to humble him aka a forced marriage trope with Aerion

Tags: female reader, forced marriage trope, dubcon/noncon, Aerion is a warning, YANDERE, abuse, power dynamics, brief smut, lovesick!Aerion, messy timeline and inconsistent canon

Whoever catches the prince's sight would be pitied even by the devil himself. Aerion lives up to the name that was given to him. For he is so arrogant, he believes he is a dragon in a man’s body. His love, if one can even call it that, is all consuming as the fire that engulfs all.

You didn’t have the dragon’s blood, the silver hair, or the violet eyes. At least you’re not ugly. You came from a respectable house, still Aerion thought this whole match was beneath him. He was furious, livid even. Who was he to be commanded to wed some dull girl against his wishes? Aerion surely thought his father was jesting, but he has always known his father isn’t one to humor. His father’s glare was enough to silence his complaints, yet the castle was well aware of the contempt he had for you days on end, even though you have yet to utter a word to the prince. 

As soon as you stepped into the red keep, you yourself could sense the prince’s displeasement. Before you were wed, the two of you were supposed forced to spend some time with one another. His mind seemed elsewhere while he showed you around. It felt as if every word, step, and breath you took irritated him further. The closest he seemed interested in you was when he spoke of the history of his house, and while you were curious, you feared inquiring may irritate him further. 

The wedding was a punishment in and of itself. Aerion couldn’t wipe off that sneer in his face. He seemed somewhat satisfied with how beautiful you looked at that moment. But everyone from his family to the court can tell this whole match - this wedding - you - have slighted him and there is nothing you can do to not feel so small against him. Even as you share a dance, there is no warmth, just duty. 

The bedding was extremely painful. Made you almost wish you weren’t a maiden; there was no time for you to undress with the prince laying you on the soft mattress. Climbing on top of you, his breath reeking of wine. He tugged down his pants, lifting your gown; there was no gentleness as he thrusted in and out of you. You couldn’t muffle your sobs, hand reaching to grab his arm to anchor yourself. And when the deed was done, you just stared up at the ceiling, unable to hear the words he spoke to you before leaving.

The night was a haze with all the days blurring together. Aerion had kept his distance since, it’s not long before you felt like a ghost wandering the halls. Newlyweds were the talk of the court, whispers were exchanged of the sad bride you were becoming; gossip you pretend doesn't bother you. It didn’t help that your husband would just walk in front of you, taking quick steps, and at first you tried to keep up with him, but your sore legs served as a reminder, so you remained far behind. Breakfast and supper were spent by yourself in silence, unless his family took pity on you and invited you to sit with them. 

You have learned to put up with your husband, a fate you didn’t anticipate, but what else were you to do but tolerate it. Even when Aerion wasn’t angry, it always seems as if he’s mocking you. Lessons didn’t elude you, as your septa taught you; you were polite, courteous, laughing when it called for it, even tried to ask of his family’s history, anything to make the marriage more bearable. 

Your husband still visited your chamber and you knew exactly what he wanted. Who were you to deny him? You could only cling to his shoulders as he thrusts into you. Times he would push your nightwear up, exposing your nips to the cold air, whimpering when his fingers touched and squeezed your breasts. His pace all the brutal, but with each visit, the pain eases and your sobs slowly turn into moans as you learn to enjoy it.

Aerion has good days, they are rare, but you learned to cherish them when they came. One could swear he enjoys hearing himself talk. You learned not to contradict him, for your husband is a man built with pride that when you gently corrected him; a misplaced name or he confused a minor house. The prince will snap at you and you’ll be given the cold shoulder for the rest of the day. If there is a crowd, he’ll even make a joke at your expense. 

Every word felt like walking across glass. He is not a fool; Aerion knows every second that passes is you trying so desperately to please him. How your sweet words feed a little more and more into his vanity and when you call him my prince, something in him twitches. It all pleases him in ways he doesn’t fully understand, even in a twisted sense, arouses him. He knows you have no family nearby to protect you, no allies to speak for you, only the Targaryen prince who no one dares to defy. 

Your husband who once looked at you as if you were nothing more than the air he breathed has begun to be seen more often. The quiet hours you had grown accustomed to are now shadowed by his presence. He would ask of the book you're reading that seems to preoccupy you so much, only to hum dully in response. And when you are allowed at court, able to finally exchange pleasantries with the other ladies. Your husband can’t help to corner you as soon as you take your leave, asking what has you in such good spirits. There is tiny amusement in seeing his brows furrow when you say it’s just idle talk.

Visits to your bedchambers have become so frequent, you grew to expect it. Acting gullible to his gaze while you arrange your hair in front of the mirror, pretending not to know what he’s here for either. You’ve grown shameful in how you seem to look forward to it.

It was all for duty, your only worth was to give him heir. But surely duty isn’t running through his head as you feel so good, your tight cunt squeezing his cock. It’s like it was made for him and only him. He says. And as you wrapped in the sheets, covered in sweat; you hum as he speaks on the weather, some foolish gossip he heard or an upcoming tourney. He stays the night, snoring softly beside you. 

There are other nights where your husband visits because he’s restless, complaining of his family or whichever lord happened to offend him that day. He lets you pour his wine as he rambles on. He would dare not say he simply came seeking your company. His eyes follow as you light the candles, he comments on it, of course, asking why don’t you leave it to your servants instead, not long before you feel the familiar tug at the laces of your night dress. Demanding you undress and you know better than to refuse.

Sometimes he asks if you miss your family. When you admit you do, confusion flicks across his face. You have risen in station, married to a Targaryen prince; a maiden’s every dream. Aerion finds himself more annoyed than he should whenever you mention how you miss your home.

You belong to him now, your place remains by his. It doesn’t matter how tedious or late such events are. You remember all too well how furious he was when he asked where you were and he was informed you had returned to your chambers, too tired to stay. Aerion bursted into your place later in the night, blaming you for his foul mood, he had to entertain some drunk old fool all alone. As long as he is there, you must accompany him, is that not what wives do for their husbands.

Just like his love, Aerion must be the most jealous man you have ever crossed paths with. There can be no reasonings; it’s like wildfire, it spreads and there’s nothing you can do but wait for it to die down. You are stuck in its path, having to just endure it.

When tournaments are held, you are seated among the royal family watching your husband. There is no definitive proof but you feel his gaze flicker at you through the steel of his helm. And there is the semblance of proof, when he lifts his visor and you’re met with a smug smile meant only for you.

Before the tournament begins or after it, he demands you to be in his tent. He acts like he doesn’t need your praise or sweet words of encouragement. When it’s all over, he comes to you still in armor, the smell of blood, sweat and dirt clinging to him. The dirt of the field stains your gown when he pulls you close, insisting you should celebrate his victory, his mouth clashing into yours.

You’ll never forget the day when one simply asked for your favor. He was a boy from some minor house. And even if your husband was in denial of any feeling of attachment he had towards you. The mere act was seen as an insult, you pitied the boy long before and the gods must have been cruel to make him face your husband next. When Aerion struck, he didn’t target the shield but rather the legs of the horse. The boy was flinged from his horse landing face first into the ground, you gasped along with the crowd. Even from a distance, you can see the boy’s face all bloody and mangled as they dragged him away.

Aerion’s jealousy has become the talk across king’s landing, yet no one dares to say it out loud. A glance from another man across supper will have him feel a sick rage of jealousy. Tightening his hold on the goblet and you feign as you can’t feel his other hand gripping your thigh beneath the table. He’ll even squeeze your fingers a little too tightly when he thinks you’ve spoken to some other lady-in-waiting for far too long. The only reason his wrath is so restrained is due to his father. 

Aerion pretends he is above it all, acting indifferent but it burns in his eyes. His jealousy sometimes can seem ridiculous even childish yet you are always there to reassure him. Yes, Lord Tyrell made you laugh, but no one can ever be as charming as him. Yes, you spoke with lady Royce for a while, but no one is more of a pleasant company than him. You’re even careful not to clap too eagerly to another during tourneys, according to your husband, none of them could perform as well as he does. 

Your servants have gotten used to lowering their eyes when entering your chambers. The prince has become a common sight,  laying beside you, chest bare, an arm draped around you and hair tangled. If you shift, he stirs as well. An unfortunate lesson was taught when you left your husband waking up alone, for you were informed your maid ran out in tears; met with a foul mood Aerion during breakfast time. 

Aerion also being drunk is another common sight. He is far more affectionate, clinging to you. Yet you are still careful, his temper is still unpredictable, his jealousy if even possible is more intense, and his words are much harsh. Sometimes he looks at you, almost like he is bewitched, brushing your hair aside so he can take a better look.

Aerion cannot not touch you now. A hand will trail up your arm or toy with a strand of your hair yet in the same breath, Aerion insists he has no care for you. He’ll not hold your hand even when he wants you to follow, gripping your wrist instead. Do not try pushing his hand away unless you want a furious Aerion. His affection is, in many cases, rough. Gripping your face when he wants your attention or when he’s kissing you. The servants try not to stare when they are dressing you and see the hickies and bites laid across your skin.

Aerion would rather face a terrible death than admit he seeks your approval. He’ll tell stories or a jest and his head turns you, waiting for your laugh or nod. Aerion also surprisingly knows when something is wrong, it can’t be because he watches you so often. He knows how you twist your ring when you’re anxious or how you seem more lost in thought when nervous. He’ll ask, sounding more irritated than concerned. Aerion wishes to fix it, but his version of doing so is finding someone to blame for it then taking it out on them. 

Silence treatment is a death wish. It didn’t matter what Aerion did. Using silence as your weapon will drive this man mad. You remember all too well when he threw a cup at the wall right beside your head when you refused to answer him. Aerion didn’t apologize, he never does. He simply moved on with the day, as if nothing had happened. 

Aerion loves to spoil you. Dressed in his house colors, your dresses sewed with silks, hair pinned with adorned clasps. The first gift was a necklace with a dragon pendant, his sigil. He jests the gifts made you less plain beside him, yet his eyes linger with hunger whenever you wore them. But heaven forbid you wear anything from your own house or worse, do the offense of wearing someone else’s gift. No he doesn’t care if it was a family gift, he’ll throw it out the window or in the open sea without you knowing. 

And yet, with all of this. Aerion swears it’s not love. He is too proud for that. Love is a weakness. Love is for fools and singers. He can easily replace you. Find another lady from wherever who can do the simplest task of warming his bed and bearing him heirs. Yet Aerion finds himself noticing how your eyes twinkle in the moonlight, what rings you like to fiddle with when you are nervous, and your soft scent of lavender that lingers even when you leave. 

There was a time when fever struck. It seemed simple at first. Aeron didn’t even seem all that concerned, but when you became bedridden, and there was a slim chance of you not making it out – Aerion began to panic. He was truly unruly, the maesters were threatened while they worked, the servants were accused of poisoning you. There was such a scene, Maekar himself was forced to intervene, forcing his son from your bedside so the maesters could actually do their work. Dragons do not die of weakness, he kept telling himself. You must not. You will not. And when the fever finally broke, the realm seemed to let out a sigh of relief. Maekar was even unsure if you had tamed his son or drawn him deeper into madness. 

There is no separating you and Aerion. What began as a cold, loveless marriage had turned into something you are unsure what to call. For now, the man, the prince you married will never claim he loves you, and he’ll always remain cruel. But you know he would kill for you. He will force a lord into his knees if he was to make a joke of your expense. He not only wants you, desires you, but he needs you, like the flower needs the rain. You must only say the word and he’ll fulfill it and maybe that is all what a person wants. And with nothing else to do, you have grown to also care and love this cruel man. 

Then come the days when you feel unwell. Unable to stand the food that was once your comfort. Even the very scent of King’s landing upsets your stomach. Your body most particularly your breasts feel sore and your mood has proven to be very irritable. The maesters confirm what you have begun to suspect. You are with child.

[monstersholygrail]

Yandere!Star Player

Patreon-Preview

Yandere!Star Player x Good Luck Charm!Reader— secret relationship, virginity loss (m!receiving), some playful stalking, a bit of light manipulation, possessiveness, semi-public sex, the risk of getting caught, oral (f!receiving), fingering, hair pulling, rough fucking, squirting, brief implied murder.

“Yo, bro, you good?” One of Yandere!Star Player’s teammates asked him after practice, effectively jolting him out of his thoughts.

His head snaps up to look at the guy, leg never stopping its insistent bouncing. He was a mess of wild nerves since he woke up. The big basketball game was today.

The last match before knowing if they were gonna make it into the playoffs. Usually a man in sports has a whole thing he does the night before. A good luck ritual to ensure they win.

Well Yan!Star Player’s had you. His good luck charm girlfriend. The only problem was that no one else knew about you.

“Yeah man, just in my head about the game,” he replied with a light laugh that sounded tight even to his own ears. But his friend just brushed him off.

“Don’t worry about it, it’ll be a breeze if you get those rituals in,” he said as if it’s that easy before leaving him in the locker room with his thoughts.

Well, that was another problem. He couldn’t fulfill his ritual because the only ritual he had was fucking you and you currently weren’t talking to him.

Yan!Star Player’s had figured it out all the way back during Freshman year. It was the night before his very first game and he was nervous. As a little hazing all his teammates took him to a frat party and got him incredibly drunk.

That night he had the best sex of his entire life. The only sex of his life actually. You had taken his virginity and he couldn’t even remember your face. Yet he distinctly remembered the sensation of your lips against his, both up top and below. The snug warmth of you around his length or the way your walls would suck on his tongue as he ate you out.

But when he absolutely smashed his first game the next day despite the major hangover he knew he needed to find you. While he couldn’t exactly fuck every girl on campus he could kiss them, also faintly recalling the taste of your chapstick.

Though he quickly threw that idea away after his attempt to kiss someone else sent him flying as it repulsed him so much he had to rush to the closest trash can. As if his body flat out rejected kissing someone that wasn’t you.

Instead he asked around that frat, hoping someone had seen him go upstairs with you. The person he had not expected to find out had taken his virginity was you. A nerdy little student who spent most of their college life tucked away in the library. Still, he needed you.

“Hello again, remember me?” He had asked as he sat in the chair across from you. Your head snapped up at his presence and your eyes went wide. Like last nights memories all came rushing back.

“OH god,” is all you said before pushing off the table and practically diving to go hide in the stacks. And he was right on your tail.

“Hey, hey, hey there. You gotta take responsibility for me, young lady. You made a man out of me last night and now there’s no going back. I will not be your whore,” he cries out dramatically, hand on his chest in feigned distress.

This is a Patreon exclusive fic so you'll only be able to read it there! Check it out if you're interested in reading the entire fic and many more. I have a ton of other exclusive and early access fics that you can read there too!! Use the web for no fee prices!

Get Your Head In The Game [Weekly Exclusive] | Monstersholygrail

Yandere!Star Player x Good Luck Charm!Reader— secret relationship, virginity loss (m!receiving), some playful stalking, a bit of light manip

[yvstclaire]

Grimms' Retelling #1: Little Red Riding Hood

yandere! hunter! lohen x big bad wolf! reader (wc 2.3k)

note: inspired by the original grimms' story wherein the hunter cut open the wolf's belly and stuffed it with rocks. except this time, rather than feeling heavy because of rocks, it's because of (a boatload of) cum. also reader is technically the big bad wolf but she acts more like a girl failure LOL

tags: fairy tale au, somnophilia, wolf hybrid! reader, noncon, creampie, breaking in, breast sucking+teasing, fingering, piv sex, breeding (if you squint), yandere

"Good day to you, Little Red Cap!"

"Where are you going so early, Little Red Cap?"

"What are you carrying under your apron, Little Red Cap?"

The wolf girl stood in front of a trembling boy as she asked a barrage of questions. With each new one, she scooted closer and closer while he trembled. As the boy clutched the basket tighter in his arms, the sweet, warm scent of freshly-baked bread wafted from it. Catching a whiff of it, the girl unconsciously took another step. She licked her lips, imagining the delicacies under the basket. What kind of bread would there be? Wheat loaf? Bread rolls? No wait, what if there's— 

"Little Red Cap… what do you have under that, Little Red Cap?"

"Uhm—!"

A loud grumble! broke the atmosphere. Silence enveloped the the distance between the two as the wolf, seemingly ready to pounce just a moment ago, stiffened. Her face was still stuck in that predatory smile, but deep inside, she was screaming.

Darn it, what kind of predator has their stomach growl right before a prey?!

Noticing the frozen, awkward pose of the girl in front of him, the boy blinked his eyes multiple times. Judging by the downturned ears and drooping tail, he figured she must be embarrassed. At that realization, the previous fear he felt washed away and was instead replaced with concern.

"Ah, miss, are you hungry?"

"No!"

Before he could even say 'Wait!' or offer some bread from the basket, the girl ran away with her tail tucked between the legs (literally). The boy was left there, all alone, with his hand still stretched towards the direction she ran off to.

"That's the way to my grandmother's house…"

The little wolf ran and ran, not knowing and not caring where she was headed to. All she knew was that she messed up!

A true predator never shows weakness.

A true predator hunts without fear.

A true predator takes what they want, whenever they want.

At least, that's what her family taught her. And goodness, that was not a behavior befitting a predator! Darn it, she's already hungry as it is. Where is she getting food now?!

Ugh, if that hunter ever finds out, he'll just make fun of me again!

Flashes of mint green hair, red eyes, and a twirling knife appeared in her head. Just thinking of him makes her shudder from head to toe— and not the good kind. At this point, he's more of a predator than she is.

Well, at least he gives me food sometimes…

The wolf shrugged her head in an attempt to forget the man and accidentally bumped into a tree. In the speed she was going at, it hurt like hell!

Ouch! My nose! Wait, where am I?

Clutching her nose in pain (thank goodness it's not broken, else her brothers and that hunter would make fun of her, ugh!), she looked around the clearing, noticing a lone house smack dab in the middle. From the distance and recently rammed-into-the-tree nose, she couldn't get a clear whiff, but could still catch a few traces of the scent of bread. The fresh, warm, comforting smell of bread.

The girl snooped closer and closer to the house, looking around every so often for signs of others. Fortunately, no one else seemed to be around. And so, she creeped nearer and nearer, guided by the smell of food and the low grumble of a hungry stomach. The closer she got, the stronger the cozy, homely scent of sugar and butter invited her in until finally, she reached the door. By instinct, she raised her hand to knock before remembering the mantra her family always lived by.

A true predator takes what they want, whenever they want.

The girl contemplated for some time and was conflicted until another low growl erupted from her stomach. At that, she came to a choice. Rather than knock, she slammed opened the door (caught it right before it banged against the wall), entered the kitchen confidently (tip-toeing in), and ravaged the kitchen (ate enough bread to last a day or two without taking too much). With each bite, bursts of sweetness flooded her tongue, fluffy tail and relaxed ears twitching in delight. The girl ate a feast with abandon (normal amount), savoring every crumb.

Finally satisfied and feeling guilty, she slowly tiptoed back towards the door to leave. However, right as she reached the entrance, a yawn erupted from her mouth. After eating so much, her entire body was wrapped in post-meal fatigue. Looking outside, she didn't recognize what part of the forest this was. And sneaking around the house, there doesn't seem to be anyone here. Perhaps she can take a quick nap here?

In her happiness at finding temporary lodging and finally having her fill, the wolf strode straight towards the bed and claimed it as her own. As she laid down and embraced the softness of the mattress, drifting into dreamland, she failed to notice a trembling figure hiding right inside the closet. Had she been more aware, she'd notice the figure and recognize her resemblance to the Little Red Cap she encountered a while ago. And had she been more aware, she wouldn't have slept for such a long time that the hunter with the exact same mint green hair and red eyes she was thinking of would appear in the house she broke into.

"Mika, is this the wolf you were talking about?"

"Ah, well, yes, that's right! But she's harmless. Grandma, are you okay?"

"Oh dear, the lass scared me! I thought I was going to be eaten! But the poor girl only ate some of our pantry stock before sleeping in my bed, so it seems she was just hungry."

The three conversed in hushed voices right outside the bedroom, the door wide-open as they glanced at the wolf 'napping' inside. She was snuggled to the pillow, ears down to the side and tail drooping down. With the content grin on her face, it was easy to guess she was extremely relaxed right now — not what you'd expect from a member of the wolf clan.

"Hehe, bread… noooo, don't go away…! Let me eat you… so yummy~"

"[Name] seems to be enjoying herself. I wonder what she's dreaming of?"

"You know this wolf, Mr. Lohen?"

Mika tilted his head in confusion. A wolf and a hunter knowing each other? Now that's unexpected. Though, on second thought, knowing Lohen, that isn't really unusual. 

"She's my lover."

"Oh, I see— HUH?!"

What?! A wolf. And a hunter. Lovers. What? What?? What?!

Mika's mouth was completely agape, unable to make even a single coherent noise from the shock. On the other hand, his grandmother just stared back-and-forth between the two — the unusual wolf girl and the unusual hunter — hand right to her mouth. Lohen didn't seem to care at all about their reactions as he merely stepped into the room and gently took the sleeping girl into his arms. With one hand supporting her back and the other under her knees, he carried her close to him and proceeded to leave the two shocked people behind.

"Mr. Lohen—!"

"Shh~"

At the door, Lohen glanced back at Mika and then back to the sleeping girl. 

"She's asleep. I'm taking her back home. You won't tell anyone about this, right?"

Mika could only watch in silence as Lohen exited and closed the door behind him with his foot. 

A wolf and a hunter, together? What is this?!

In her dreams, the little wolf ran around the forest full of bread and other delicious pastries. The trees bore not fruit but sweet delights. There were waffle-trees, loaf-trees, bun-trees, and even pretzel-trees! The little wolf ran and ran, grabbing whatever she could and eating to her heart's content. Everywhere the eyes could see were trees full of food, and that alone was enough for her to call this paradise. However, as the dream progressed, the little wolf's ears suddenly perked up as it caught the sound of a branch snapping in two. She's alone — she should be alone — so who's out there?

"Who's there?!"

Rather than an answer, a familiar giggle came from the treelines. She couldn't pinpoint where it came from, only that it's near. The little wolf immediately stood up — though not before grabbing whatever she could in her hands — and scanned the surroundings.

Have the trees always been this close? Why do they seem to surround her like a circle when everything was normal just a while ago?

"Answer me, you coward! Who's there?!"

"Boo~"

A loud squeal came out of her mouth as a warm puff of air brushed carressed her ear. Startled, the little wolf didn't even dare look behind her and immediately bolted away. No matter how much or how fast she ran, the giggles and laughters never faded— rather, they only seemed to get closer and closer.

"Hic! Go away…! Let me eat… in peace…."

"Are you dreaming of me?"

Lohen stared at the sleeping girl in his bed. The moment he put her down, he took off his gloves and started unbuttoning the collar of her shirt. His eyes rose from her chest to her face upon hearing the mumbled words, thinking she woke up, but it seemed she was only sleeptalking. From the furrowed eyebrows and downturned lips yet closed eyes, it looked to be an unpleasant dream.

"Hm, what dream would you have if I touched you like this?"

"Urgh…"

Lohen continued to unbutton her blouse until the sight of her white bra greeted his face. Taking it off in practiced motion, the man took one breast to his mouth while a hand fondled the other. While his tongue swirled around and sucked on the areola of the right, his fingers teased and rubbed the left one. Slurping sounds and mumbled groans and moans filled the entire room.

"Mhm…"

"Next one, then? Didn't know you were so greedy, [Name]."

A loud pop! could be heard as he released the breast on his mouth and moved to the other. He continued the same motions but this time, his gaze was glued to the sleeping girl's face. With each reaction, Lohen moved in accordance, watching which ones pleased her the most. When the wolf unconsciously squeezed her thighs closed, Lohen's gaze dropped to her bottoms.

"You're already wet, little wolf? Aww, but we just started~"

A pooling wetness started to form on her bottoms. Tsking, Lohen took it off in one go— as if he'd already done this multiple times.

"Poor girl~ It's okay. Let me take care of you."

Lohen took off everything; both hers and his. His hands travelled all over her body — from the valley of her breasts, to the sides of her waist, and to the twitching nub below. His hands glided over her body like a feather, leaving a tickle that elicited a twitch from the slumbering girl. Settled in the crook of her neck, Lohen pressed wet kisses while rubbing her lower lips. After deeming it wet enough, he pulled away his sticky hand and repositioned himself above her. He slapped his dick against her clit, snickering when her hips unconsciously bucked upwards.

"You want it that much? Alright. Who am I to deny my little wolf?"

Slowly, he sank inside her velvet walls. It pulsed around his shaft, catching the veins in a familiar warmth. Lohen snapped his hips, gripping her waist in a tight hold. With each thrust, a shudder runs through his body. Perhaps knowing how much of a deep sleeper the girl is, he moved hard, fast, and deep and like there's no tomorrow. He took her in different positions— face down and ass up; on the side with one leg up; laying completely flat on her stomach; and more. With each round, he came inside, pulling her hips flush against his before moving again.

The rays of the morning sun lit up the room as the chirping of birds could be heard from outside. Groggy, [Name] opened her eyes to an unfamiliar ceiling. Her body felt so heavy, especially her stomach. How much did she eat…?

Wait. 

This isn't the room I slept in.

Panic flooded her even more once the grogginess left and was replaced with anxiety. Why was her body so, so heavy? Why is it so sore down there? Why does this place feel so familiar yet also unfamiliar at the same time? Where is she?!

"You're awake?"

"Lo… hen…?"

The scent of bread flooded the room as Lohen, the hunter who annoys her daily — the one she can't bear to ignore because he's practically her biggest source of food — entered the room with a plate of various food. However, rather than make her stomach rumble, it made her gut tighten.

"What… did… you do... to me…?"

"You’re hungry. Here, eat. You need food."

"Don't—"

—Nevermind. She took back what she said. A grumbling sound came from her stomach at yet another inappropriate time. Lohen merely raised his eyebrow, sitting on the bed beside her and placing the plate between them.

"Eat."

"…Why? You're so… uh, er, nice…?"

Lohen chuckled but didn't answer, choosing to watch the little wolf stuff her face with the food instead. She looked so cute like this, sitting in his bed, in his room, in his house. After a few moments, he finally responded.

"Are you curious why?"

The girl stopped eating for one second, looking at him with wary eyes, before continuing to eat again. However, the words that came right out of his mouth spit the food out of hers immediately.

"Because a man has to take care of his wife, now that they're a family."

[h00niehonhon]

Imagine where your yandere bully locks you in his room, your hands chained to his bed while he repeately pounds into your already abused cunt whispering how he's going to keep fucking you until you get pregnant. He would cum thick white ropes into your full cunt multiple times a day, sometime exceeding 7 and he wouldn't even bother to pull out, he'd just keep whimpering and cumming inside because he just feels so good :(. His whines and moans are all you can hear when you are trapped beneath him, his hands intertwined with yours and just loves to stuff his fat tongue in your mouth desperately kissing you :( you gag at how deep his tongue violates your mouth and throat, eyes rolling back as he moans frantically, pounding faster until he cums for the tenth time, his waist and hips bucking into your cunt as he empty his balls into your sopping cunt :( at this rate you can't even process what is even happening, you just hear him whine in ecstasy as he pulls out, your little belly filled to the brim with all his thick cum is now leaking and oozing out of your puffy pussy, forming a puddle of mess :(((