Cabin fever Yandere outlaw x fem reader
Contains- mentions of kidnapping, dubcon/noncon, thigh bouncing/riding. Squirting, innocent reader.
“Come here sweet thing,” the outlaw calls you over from his seat on the arm chair. Since you've been brought here that has always been his chair, it's not as though you made the effort nor attempt to sit in it yourself. Or if he's made it explicit to you that you're not to sit there. You've just never done so, he takes his seat there late in the evenings, sometimes with whatever project he's working on. Other times just content to look over you as you curl up on the hard couch, sewing in hand.
Standing in front of him he gives a long glance at your new dress, the moment it was finished you threw away your old dress in the bottom of your chest. Either that is never worn again and you never have to make yourself heartsore with the memories of your Ma and little whitewashed cottage, or you will wear it if you ever escape this godless land. But you're not as naive as you once were, before he shattered that innocence like a bug under his boot.
“Don't you look like a picture? Sweet bird, my sweet bird.” His heavy arm reaches out and pulls you by the waist of your dress into his lap. The smell of whisky is on his flannel shirt, masked by woodsmoke and soap. No matter how much you've seen him put back he never seems to even lose himself in his inebriation, if anything it only frees him more, not like you. He once gave you a dram of his and your accent got so thick he didn't think you were speaking English. You wish sometimes he didn't smell so much like home, like your Da when you were a small thing in plaits. There's no blame to give yourself when he pulls you properly upright, til you sit across his legs.
You sing sometimes. When you're alone, you don't want him to get to take one more thing from you as his.
“There we go, that's where you're meant to be for me, sweet and pretty on my lap, and you've been good for me, haven't you?” He says softly to you, tucking a length of hair behind your shoulders, you wouldn't normally leave it loose but it always made his eyes soften when he sees it down from your pinned up braids. You've been trying to get better at reading him, finding out what keeps him kind rather than cruel. For some reason seeing the scar cross your temple where he struck you makes him softer.
“I think you deserve something, a special reward for being such a good girl for me,” his thumb rolls across the pale dip of skin, “come now, don't be shy.” It's cloying as he sends sugared words down your spine.
“Maybe we could have some chicks? To keep for eggs I mean,” you suggest timidly, but when you see his face stay still you swallow your words back down. “Or just a garden really. Space for planting some extra things, you wouldn't need to go to town so often for basics if we had the birds. “ your rambling slows and quietens until it trails off into the air.
“It seems you're out here asking me for an awful lot, aren't you sweet bird?” His voice wraps around your ears like cotton as he begins to lift the knee you're sitting on up and down. Slowly, almost in time with your heart beat there begins a pulse between your legs with each movement.
“Wanting little chicks for eggs and to have a little garden, suppose you're tryin to pull one out on me? Thinking if I give ya the privilege to go outside you can plan to run and leave me here with nothing but your dust?” faster now he moves, practically bouncing you on his knee as though you were a small child.
“No, I promised! I wouldn't-” he cuts you off before you can finish pleading for your innocence.
“Well I know you promised me but sometimes the temptation can overtake even the most strongest of folk so don't start peddling what you can't sell me.” He hums as your cheeks grow flushed despite yourself “anything the matter sweet bird?” You look up at his face, at the pleased expression he wears and realise he's teasing you, that he can see the sudden warmth you're experiencing clear as day and it amuses him. “Besides I had quite the different kind of reward in mind.
“I think I want to stop this.” You pause for a moment looking up at him. “I don't feel so well.”
“I don't think so,” he coos, grabbing onto your shoulders and twisting you over so you're sat astride on his knee as though it's a horse. “Now ain't that a pretty sight,” he bounces you up again and this time the pulse is so strong it feels like you have another heart right there. There's a dampness and for one horrible moment you think it could be your cycle starting far far too early but the pressure in your stomach is not the same overwhelming pain. There is no pain here, just the feeling as though a warm hand has settled over you and pressed firmly against you.
You're breathless already, panting like a dog but he sits there like a king as he bounces his leg without threat of stopping. You're not sure if you even want him to stop at this point but this feels the furthest thing from right. No matter how clouded your brain feels. “Aren't you a minx,” he mutters lowly, leant back and still with that cruel smirk plastered on his face. Not even one hair out of place, but if you knew to look there you would have spotted the tent in his trousers. “Soaked straight through your drawers and onto my leg, and you don't even have a clue do you?”
It's humiliating, how he draws this out for his own satisfaction.
“Tell me, how many children did your mother birth? You know what folk say about your kind?” He hums with a smirk, “like rabbits.”
“Six” you mumble, the words coming out shakily as you try to hold yourself together “ the two after me died as babes” you don't know why that's what you keep hold of, the two small graves in the churchyard. Trying to be anywhere but here.
“Like rabbits,” he repeats, chuckling to himself. You feel dizzy like you aren't yourself, only warmth and a strange friction that you want relief from. You finally notice the tent in his trousers, he catches you looking and chuckles again to himself. “I forget how green you are, the only time you've ever seen a man is probably when bathing a babe.”
You fear you're beyond speech right now, leaning forward and grabbing onto him as though you'd collapse. With a keening cry it all becomes too much, the dam holding everything within you together bursts and so do you. Coming undone there in his lap only aware of how perfect the relief feels in that second of nothingness that takes over.
But then you feel the dampness beneath you, soaked his jeans straight to the skin. But he keeps going until your cries become little whimpers and you can't keep yourself upright for a moment longer, slumping forward against his broad chest. Breathing in the smell of him til your heartbeat calms and you cab hear more than the blood rushing through your ears.
“There we go, wasn't that nice?” lifting your chin up with his forefinger and thumb, goodness there's no strength left for you to hold it up on your own. He kisses the corner of your mouth, cleaning the trickle of drool from you, with a gentleness that doesn't align with the past torment you've just been through.
“Now, if you ask me again nicely we can see about them chicks.”
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