Baby’s Hooked On Feeling Low

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."

Discipline

this is a fic that I wrote for @hypnoswrites's birthday! (tho I was a bit late in getting it done😅)

please keep in mind the tags on this one

Morel x female!reader

Warnings: yandere, kidnapping, dubcon, drugging, abuse, dehumanization, stockholm syndrome, victim blaming, Morel is not very nice in this fic

Word Count: 12.1k

The sound of creaking wood.

The heady smell of sea salt.

The steady rocking sensation as the world around you was being moved back and forth, back and forth. Consistently. Endlessly.

You groaned, pressing your face into the soft pillow as you yearned for more sleep. You were exhausted, after all. After all that effort, all that planning and carrying out that plan of yours – it had taken up a lot of energy, mentally and physically. So after all of that, you deserved to take a break, to reward yourself, even if it was a reward as simple as sleeping in just a bit longer. That wasn't so much to ask for, was it?

No, it wasn't.

Feeling the way your arms were stretched out above your head, you found that it'd be more comfortable if you brought them back down from where they sat on the pillow. In fact, you wanted to turn over, as you found you didn't quite like the way you were laying on your front. Intending to turn to your side, you pulled your arms down.

Or rather, you tried to.

Something stopped you. Something that was wrapped around both of your wrists that kept your arms from moving freely and held them in place above your head.

That was strange.

That feeling increased when you attempted to move your legs to shift to your side, as you found that your lower half was in a similar state: something soft but firm had been wrapped around your ankles that kept your legs attached to the bed and spread wide.

Why? What had happened to you?

A chill suddenly ran through you, hitting your exposed skin and running down the length of your spine.

…… Were you naked? What the fuck-

The creaking of wood sounded again, this time accompanied by the sound of waves splashing against a solid surface.

For the first time since waking up, you snapped your eyes open to look at where you were.

……..

This was Morel's room.

…. No.

No no no no no no no no no

Why were you back here? How had you been caught? Why the fuck were you back here?

Straining your neck to look over your shoulder, you were horrified to see that you were correct in what you had been wondering earlier: you were naked, and a further look at your ankles and wrists confirmed that the reason why you couldn't move them was because they had been securely attached to the bedposts, leaving you vulnerable and helpless.

Your breath began to come out in short bursts as you started to struggle against the bindings. You shouldn't be back here. You couldn't be back here. Not after everything. After all you had done to escape him, to escape the prison that was his boat while he kept you around just so he could have something to fuck when he was in the mood.

No, that wasn't a life you wanted to live anymore. That was why you left. That was why you escaped him.

Sweat was beading on your skin as you pulled at your wrists, attempting to slip your hands through the bindings so you could get away for good this time.

I need to leave I need to get out of here before he comes back -

A hand came down to grab the back of your neck and you froze.

The touch of that hand was cool in contrast with your heated skin, and the intent you felt as you were grabbed seemed to resemble a warning. A promise that if you continued as you were, something bad was going to follow. Something that you wouldn't like at all.

Relaxing your arms and legs, you cautiously looked up at the figure that had laid their hand on you.

It was one of Morel's smoke soldiers.

White, expressionless eyes stared down at you, all the while they kept their grip firm on your neck, the cold mist that made them up seeping into your skin. They must have been in the room and you hadn't even realized, you thought to yourself. You were too disoriented and shocked by your unexpected predicament to notice that they were even there.

Several uncertain moments passed as they held your gaze, their hand still wrapped firmly around your neck while you watched them, waiting for what their next move would be.

What Morel would make them do.

You remained still – as still as you were able to, at least. You couldn't help the way you trembled as you stared at the soldier that continued to hold you, but surely that wouldn't be an issue. The fact that you had stopped trying to escape the bindings should be something that would make the soldier happy – that would make Morel happy. If Morel was happy then things were good, you remembered.

Though when you considered what you had done to Morel to escape him, it likely wouldn't be that simple of a solution.

Eventually, the soldier let you go. Though not quickly, as they chose to slowly release their grip on you, letting you feel the pressure on your neck gradually dissipate before releasing you completely. Even then, their hand didn't leave you, as they chose to run their fingertips down the length of your spine, mapping out every bump and curve of your back softly before they reached the flesh of your ass. They pressed their hand more firmly against you there, causing you to gasp in surprise and a sense of indignity. They continued to hold your gaze after that, still squeezing you as if daring you to protest, to give them a reason to lash out at your disobedience.

As much as you wanted to do that, as much as you wanted to scream and yell at that thing, at Morel, to let you go…… Now wasn't the time.

A few moments later, the soldier pulled away completely and stepped back, crossing their arms as they seemed satisfied with your submission. That was when you allowed yourself to let out a shaky breath of relief.

As you settled further on the bed and slowly breathed in and out, you found that your mind felt clearer.

Their cool touch had been what you needed. Despite hating the way they grabbed you, it had helped your mind to calm down, reminded you that you couldn't brute force your way out of this and that you needed to think. Take a deep breath and use your head.

Start with what happened, you told yourself. How did things go so wrong that they turned out like this?

Breathing in through your nose, you closed your eyes as you went back to what you'd been dealing with over the past few months; a period of time that felt like an eternity after being taken by Morel – no, not taken. That word didn't accurately describe the gravity of what he'd done.

He'd kidnapped you.

The man that you had thought was a good guy, and a single star Hunter, no less, had snatched you away from everything you'd known just to keep you locked up on his boat, pretending that the two of you were a couple in a loving relationship and that you were his wife who was always there at the end of every day to welcome him back with open arms. A role that you had vehemently refused to play.

At first.

But as more time passed and you realized that he really did have the power to keep you where he wanted, you chose to change your strategy. You told yourself then, just as you had only moments prior, that you couldn't brute force your way out of this terrible, terrible situation.

The only way you could get away from Morel was to be smart about it.

Coming up with and executing a plan to escape from Morel had been stressful and time-consuming. It had required you to build up a lot of good will beforehand, to make him think that you were accepting of the idea of staying with him and were no longer interested in returning to your old home. Being inexplicably over eager for his affections would've raised his suspicions, so it needed to be done over time.

That was why, gradually, you had stopped shying away from his touch and let him hold you if he wanted. You would engage in conversation, going from giving one-word replies to actively engaging with him. You even did some normal couple stuff together, having nights where you cooked together, watched movies and listened to music. Like little date nights aboard his boat.

Morel was ecstatic by the change in you and clearly believed that his efforts were finally paying off. Which was what you needed. Getting away from him hinged on him being so trusting of you that he kept his guard lowered, that he didn't suspect that you would try anything this late in the game.

Unfortunately, getting him to be completely convinced of that meant that you needed to sleep with him.

That was where you found yourself on the night of your escape: in the bedroom, bouncing up and down on Morel's cock while he was laid out on the bed beneath you, his hands tightly gripping your hips and his eyes full of awe as he watched the way you moved on top of him. He drank in the sight greedily, watching your breasts that moved every time you slid down on him before turning his gaze to your wet pussy that engulfed his length completely. The man was genuinely happy that you'd asked to be on top, taking it as further confirmation that you were content in being with him.

That was good. Even though you were fighting down bile that rose to your throat every time the ridges of his cock hit a spot inside of you that caused a pleasurable shudder to run through you, it was good that he was happy. If he was happy with you, surely that meant that he trusted you. You were counting on that. Counted on him being so distracted by this new attitude of yours that he wouldn't think to question the action you would take after.

Your escape started after your coupling had ended; after Morel came when he felt you shuddering on his cock, after you pressed your face against your chest to prevent yourself from showing any signs of how truly disgusted you were by the feeling of him filling you, after he placed hands on you, stroking your hair and running down your back while he kept his dick inside of you.

After composing yourself, you waited a few moments as you pretended that you were enjoying his touch before you lifted your head back up, catching his attention with a bright smile on your face.

“Want something to drink?” you asked sweetly.

Morel smiled back as he answered “sure.”

The satisfied look he had on his face while you left the bedroom made you wish you could punch him and have the hit actually hurt him. It pissed you off – the way he lay there with his hands behind his head, a picture of contentment, a feeling that he certainly didn't deserve to experience after he'd kidnapped you.

But as much as you wanted to hit him, escape was the better option for the long term. That was what you had told yourself as you entered the kitchen.

And when you pulled out two glasses and a carton of juice, you cast only a single nervous glance towards the bedroom before lifting up a paper towel roll and pulling out the small packet that you'd placed inside of it earlier. After filling up both glasses with juice, you opened the top of the packet that you'd constructed out of a spare piece of paper and emptied the contents into one of them.

When the concoction of crushed up sleeping pills and juice was thoroughly mixed together, you made your way back to the bedroom.

When you handed him the tampered juice, you didn't even look at him when he began to drink, too worried that even a single glance would be all he needed to realize that something was amiss. After months of sneaking around behind his back and grinding up those pills in secret, you couldn't let all of that work go down the drain because you couldn't act normal for a bit.

He ended up drinking a little over half of the glass you'd given him, and after you both set them on the small bedside table, Morel pulled you into his arms again, throwing the sheets back over the both of you as he made you cuddle with him.

“I really love you,” he murmured, “you know that, right?”

“I know,” you said, waiting a moment before you added “I love you, too.”

Your soft-spoken reciprocation of his feelings was enough to earn you a kiss as he pulled you up to lock his lips with yours. Just like everything else that night, you had forced yourself to go along with it, kissing him back gently. Somehow that show of love felt more disgusting than the way you had let him fuck you.

You pulled away from the kiss as you settled your head back onto his chest.

“I'm tired,” you murmured.

“Me too,” he answered, his hand going back up to stroke your hair while he added “we can continue in the morning.”

“I'd like that,” you told him.

Morel looked back at you again, smiling brightly as he took in what he perceived to be a content look on your face. With that, he reached over to turn off the light in the room, but he couldn't resist placing one last kiss to your forehead before he settled down for the night.

The man was capable of being so sweet and caring; he probably could've had any girl he wanted. So why the hell had he gone and kidnapped you?

It was a question you didn't think you were going to get an answer to, but hopefully it would be the last time you would lie in his bed thinking about it.

You couldn't say how much time passed before Morel was out of it completely. You only felt that the pills were taking their intended affect when you heard the sounds of his steady breathing and felt when his grip on you had loosened a bit.

After slowly inching your way out of his loosened grip and hitting the light switch, you stared at him. Morel didn't react when the lights came back on, and when you pushed at the arm that had been laying of you, it felt more limp and lifeless than you were expecting.

Still, better safe than sorry.

“Morel?” you spoke, your voice barely over a whisper.

No response.

When you tried again, at a volume that surely would have roused the sea hunter from the hold of sleep, your heart beat heavily against your chest as you saw no reaction.

It worked.

It worked it worked it worked it worked

Morel was in a deep sleep and he wouldn't be up for hours. Only hours, but still, it was the biggest head start you would ever get.

And as you stood from the bed to collect the things you would need when you returned to shore, the rest was history.

Even though something had gone wrong since you had ended up back here, you felt a small sense of pride upon revisiting your escape. You'd managed something that seemed like it should've been impossible, after all. And while before all of this had happened you probably would've been horrified at the thought of drugging someone with sleeping pills, things were different now. Morel deserved much worse than being knocked out soundly for several hours.

But after all of that, how had he caught you?

You closed your eyes as you tried to remember what had happened after.

Getting off the boat had been something of an ordeal, as the waters had been choppier than you had anticipated. But you had managed to get to shore using a life jacket and doggy paddling your way to the nearby shore. From there, you had walked along a road you had come across. You were slower than you would have liked due to how much of your energy had been spent escaping the boat, but the important thing was that you kept moving. Even as night turned to day and the sun slowly rose over the horizon, you kept walking, reminding yourself that every step you took was adding the distance between you and Morel, making the possibility of you being recaptured less and less likely.

Or so you had thought.

But how had that happened?

A friendly motorist had pulled up in front of you at one point, and upon seeing how exhausted you were, they had offered you a ride to a town that was several miles away. You had accepted, and subsequently fought to stay awake during the car ride as the passenger's seat felt like a godsend after the way your muscles ached from both the swimming and the walking. And after that……

You'd made it a few days away from him. By hitchhiking and sleeping when and where you could, you got further and further away from the shoreline that led to the open sea, further and further away from what you considered to be Morel's territory. You chose to approach friendly looking people who were driving away from that direction and avoided the police, worried that if you went to them with your story, they wouldn't believe you if you said that a Hunter had kidnapped you. Or maybe they would, but they would decide that it was better not to make an enemy of the Hunter's Association and instead deliver you back to him.

Regardless, you did pretty well for yourself, as to make it a few days running away from a Hunter as experienced as Morel was something to be at least a little proud of.

But that didn't matter now.

Somehow, he had caught you, and you could only guess that it had happened during a time where you had been sleeping, as you had no memory of him confronting or capturing you. You were caught and were now back in the place where you had started, and the chance of escaping a second time seemed like it would be impossible.

When you thought of that, you wanted to cry.

But you held back your tears. The soldier was still in the room with you, still watching you. You knew enough about Morel's smoke creatures to know that there was some sort of mental link that they shared, and Morel was no doubt watching you even now, keeping an eye on you even when he was away.

Things weren't going to be easy from here, but you could get away again. It would take time – even more time than you had taken to convince Morel that you were happy with him, but another opportunity for escape could happen again.

It needed to.

Your tumultuous thoughts were put to the side when you heard something other than the creaking of the boat and the lapping of the water:

The sound of the door that led to the outside being opened, followed by footsteps.

In an instant your eyes were open, and you were staring at the door to the bedroom as you heard the footsteps descending the small flight of stairs that led to the boat's interior, becoming louder as they came closer and closer to where you were.

You knew who it was. The soldier wasn't reacting and was keeping its gaze firmly on you. If the source of those footsteps had been anyone who wasn't meant to be there, the smoke creation would have been on them in an instant. The fact that it remained where it was told you that it could only be one person.

And when those footsteps stopped just in front of the door and you heard a familiarly deep voice sigh ever so slightly, it acted as a confirmation that you didn't really need, but you tried to steel yourself regardless.

The door to the bedroom opened, and in the doorway stood a single figure.

Morel.

A very upset-looking Morel whose frown only deepened when he saw the way you looked at him. Stepping in and closing the bedroom door with his foot, he walked forward until he was standing next to the bed, his hands in his pockets as he looked down at you. It was hard to tell where exactly his mind was with the way his sunglasses hid his eyes, but there was a very prominent sense of dread that was building up in the pit of your stomach.

You were in for it.

And since this was the furthest you had ever gone to try and get away from him, you were terrified at what sort of response he was going to have.

Agonizing moments of silence passed as you waited for him to speak, the only sound that you could hear being the waves that lapped against the side of the boat. He likely hadn't wasted any time in taking you back out into the open ocean once he got ahold of you again. And now after getting as close as you had in escaping him, it would be a long, long, long time before you would have even a remote chance of leaving again.

Then Morel spoke.

“You can be really unbelievable sometimes, you know.”

While the expression on his face remained impassive as he said that, the anger in his voice was undeniable. There was also no denying how tense his form was, the rage within him that was currently being restrained. In all of your time with him, you had never made him truly upset. You had annoyed him – you had caused him to snap at you when you begged him one too many times to let you go, but even in those instances, it would blow over quickly. He would push for you to apologize; when he got what he wanted he would apologize himself, and then he would move on from it, letting those small incidents go as he was more interested in obsessing over you.

This wasn't going to be one of those times.

Morel continued, “I'm not going to lie and say that I've been perfect during our time together, and I understand that you still have some reservations about all of this, but after all that we've been through, all of the progress that we've made – you really went and drugged me? You wanted to get away from me so badly that you went that far?”

You shouldn't say anything to him. Even if you were to apologize, it wouldn't be received well. He must've figured out that you had planned this far in advance, must've found the little paper envelope you had fashioned that had held the crushed up pills. He must've figured out that the entire reason you had asked for the sleeping pills was just so you could use them on him.

No amount of apologizing was going to make this any better for you, so it was smarter to stay silent.

Except you couldn't bring yourself to do that.

“I want to go home,” you muttered sadly, tears already starting to prick the edges of your eyes.

“You are home,” said Morel.

“No, I'm not,” you answered, “this place could never be a home for me. Not after you kidnapped me.”

He had the audacity to sound exasperated when he said “that again? I told you – it's for your own good. If I keep you here, you're guaranteed to be safe whether I'm around or not.”

“I didn't ask you to keep me safe. I didn't ask for any of this,” you protested.

“I know, and that was why I needed to take you, because you're so stubborn that nothing I said was going to convince you,” Morel said plainly, “I hate to say it, but you don't know what's best for yourself. That's why I needed to step in.”

That statement of his sent a red-hot rage flooding through you, and you clenched your hands into fists as you stared up at him in disbelief, daring him to continue to spout his nonsense justifications.

He did just that as he said “the world is a dangerous place, far more dangerous than you even know. I tried to leave you where you were for a bit – I really did, but it was a constant worry at the back of my head. I worried over you so much that it was affecting me when I was doing my job. I even slipped up a few times and got hurt because of it. And it's all because you're so weak and helpless. Anyone or anything could kill you without much effort. That was why I would get so distracted: if something like that happened while I was away and unable to protect you, I knew I'd never forgive myself.”

You hated that you could tell that he wasn't mocking you, not intentionally. The man genuinely saw you as some weak little thing that needed someone looking out for them, and he had brought it upon himself to take that role that he thought you needed.

Bastard

“So that's why I did what I did,” Morel continued, “and I'm not going to apologize for that. Not when all I want is to keep you safe.”

“….. Bullshit.”

You felt Morel's gaze grow darker as he stared at you, saying “what's that?”

“…. That explanation is bullshit and you know it. None of this is being done for my sake,” you said.

“Everything about this is being done for your sake.”

“No it's not. Even in that stupid explanation of yours, all you could focus on was the way you felt and what you wanted. You didn't like worrying over me because it affected you negatively, so you locked me up to put an end to that, because you couldn't be fucking normal and trust that I'd be okay. Because for someone like you, capturing a person and treating them like a pet is easier than respecting that person's autonomy. As long as you get what you want, nothing else matters, right?”

“Plus, keeping me as your pet came with the added benefit of you being able to fuck me whenever you wanted. Must be pretty good for someone who doesn't view others as being people,” you spat out.

Morel's mouth was set in a hard line and his jaw barely moved as he said “it's nothing like that.”

“How is it not?”

“I care about you.”

“You treat me like an object and you claim to care about me? Really?”

“That isn't true. I don't treat you like that.”

“You kidnapped me and locked me up,” you said.

“Because I'm protecting you,” he countered.

“You aren't!” you insisted, “you're just using that claim as an excuse to justify keeping me with you!”

“It's not an excuse. I love you.”

“Stop lying!”

You managed to get those words out with more force than even you were expecting, and it seemed to surprise Morel enough that he didn't speak while you said “there's no part of you that can genuinely love and care about me if the fact that I'm suffering in this place doesn't matter to you!”

“You're being taken care of. You're hardly suffering,” Morel scoffed.

“I am because I fucking hate this place! I've hated every minute I've needed to spend on this stupid boat and all I want is to leave! I hate being here and I hate being with you! Every time you touch me makes me want to vomit and I wish you'd drop dead already!”

“….. You don't mean that.”

His voice was low rumble when he said that, and even in your current state, you were able to sense something dangerous within his tone. Under different circumstances, you would've backed off, would've at the very least quieted down until you sensed that he was in a better mood.

But right now you were emotional and upset over being brought back to where you started and being stripped naked and tied up, and all you wanted was to let out all of the anger and resentment that had been building up during your time here.

“I mean it. This place could never be my home. Trapped on some fucking boat every day all day – why the hell would I ever choose to be here? To be with you?”

You spat out that last part on purpose, which caused his brows to pinch together as his expression only grew more grim.

“I've been good to you,” Morel had the audacity to say.

“You kidnapped me,” you countered.

“I don't know how many times you want me to say that it was for your own good,” he replied, “you weren't being cooperative and I wasn't going to take a chance of something happening to you while I was away. It was the only option I had to ensure your safety and happiness.”

“Fuck you!”

The angry words continued to spill from your mouth as you yelled at him.

“You're so focused on what you want that you've deluded yourself into thinking I could ever be happy in a place like this!” you shouted, “you keep me on this goddamn boat so you can have something to fuck whenever you're in the mood, and then you run off to do your Hunter shit while I'm locked away on a floating cage! Nothing about this situation will ever make me happy and you're never going to be anything to me other than the worthless creep who kidnapped me and forced himself on me even after I told you 'no'!”

You paused after that, breathing hard as you looked up at him while the adrenaline rushed through you. It felt good to say what you really thought. To lay everything out there as it truly was, to shatter his delusional way of looking at what he had done to you.

It all felt good until it didn't.

When your breathing began to even out, the cold reality of the situation set in. The reality being that no matter what verbal lashing you sent Morel's way, you were still incredibly vulnerable before him, tied down naked to the bed he had made you share with him while he stood above you, stiff as a statue and with a stormy expression on his face.

He could always kill you, a voice in your head spoke. With the boat likely being out in the middle of the ocean, he could tie you down to something heavy and drop you in the water, and you'd be long dead before anyone found your body, if they found it at all.

Would that be better than spending another day with Morel?

You weren't sure what the answer to that question was, because Morel finally moved, pulling his hands out of his pockets in order to undo the belt buckle at his front.

What's he doing?

Panic began to grow in you as you watched him pull the belt off without a word, sliding it through the loops of his pants before it was dangling in his hand while a look of grim determination had settled on Morel's face. The air around you felt different and that confidence fueled by your own anger had died out as you returned to being his terrified captive.

“Wh-what are you doing?” you made yourself ask.

Morel straightened up somewhat upon hearing your voice, looking back to you.

“Ah, right,” he said, more to himself than to you, as if he had forgotten something.

Handing the belt to the smoke soldier, Morel stepped towards the bed as he now reached for his tie, undoing the knotted fabric with deft fingers as he stared down at you.

“I'm going to need you to open your mouth,” he told you, “I don't want you biting your tongue on accident.”

Looking at his tie and then back at him, you asked “you're gonna gag me?”

“Yeah.”

With that, he reached out with the tie in hand as he attempted to force it into your mouth.

“No!”

You yelled loudly as you twisted your neck, once again struggling against your bindings as you tried to keep that bit of fabric out of your mouth.

“Stop fighting me,” Morel growled as he grabbed a hold of your hair.

“No!” you yelled again, still struggling even when you felt the grip he had on your hair become even more tight and painful.

The red fabric was being pressed against your lips as he tried to force it into your mouth, and even though you clamped your jaw shut in an effort to keep it out, you already felt the way he was prying your mouth open.

Was it really a good idea to keep doing this? Any resistance from this point would mean a slimmer chance of escape at a later time. If you kept fighting, you were looking at needing to play docile for him for a long, long while until he trusted you again. The smart choice would be to accept what he was doing in favor of having him be at least a little pleased with you over how you were submitting to him. Because if he was happy, then his guard could be dropped once again.

That was a mantra you had repeated to yourself for several months, and you knew that you should listen to it. It was the smarter decision.

“You're only making this worse for yourself.”

The sound of Morel's voice cut into your internal thoughts while he continued to try to force the tie into your mouth, and upon hearing the anger in his tone, the way he felt that you, the victim, were somehow in the wrong –

It enraged you.

With nothing else at your disposal, you turned your head to face him and spat on him.

The shock on the Sea Hunter's face was evident, his anger dissipating for a moment as he stared at you in disbelief, no doubt able to feel the bit of saliva that had landed on his cheek as it slowly ran down his skin and reached his jaw.

Truthfully, a part of you was also surprised at that action; you'd never done something like that before.

But no one had ever made you as angry as Morel had before this moment, either.

You weren't able to ponder that line of thought for long, because shortly after, Morel's shock shifted into anger, his brows narrowing into a glare as he wiped your spit off of his face with his sleeve.

“Open your goddamn mouth,” he ordered.

Your response was to clench your jaw shut while you glared at him.

By that point, Morel clearly had enough.

Taking both hands to your face, Morel's fingers forced their way into your lips as he pried your jaw open. His tie was forced inside in a similar manner, even when you tried to push it out with your tongue or when you bit at his teeth. Nothing you did slowed him down.

A few moments after that, he was securing a knot at the back of your head, leaving your mouth unable to close as the tie had been used to gag you.

You were still struggling to escape and Morel was still radiating rage as he stood to his full height, glowering down at you from above.

“I love you a lot. I really do,” he spoke, “but I have my limits, and today, you've pushed well past them.

The soldier stepped forward, holding out the belt for him while their gaze never left your form. Taking the belt without looking, Morel silently wrapped the end with the buckle around his right hand, holding it tightly with his fist once he was finished. With that, he looked back to you.

“I want you to know that I'm not going to take any sort of pleasure in this,” he told you, “but you haven't left me any choice. You've made it clear that if I want you to learn anything from this, then I need to go to the extreme.”

Your heart began to pound in your chest as he approached the bed once more, this time standing in front of your exposed backside. He…. He wasn't going to….. Was he?

When he pulled the belt taut with both hands, tears began to well up in your eyes as you shook your head at him while your pleas were muffled by the tie in your mouth.

Morel gave you one last look before he spoke again.

“You made me do this.”

And with that, he pulled his arm back and brought the belt down on your ass.

The first time, you didn't scream. In fact, it felt as though you fainted for a brief moment as your mind went blank from the pain and all that came out of your mouth was a brief gasp as it felt as though the air was being forced out of you.

It was when he brought the belt down a second time that you screamed into the gag.

Tears filled your vision and your entire body reacted as your limbs once again fought at the bindings, and when that didn't work, you found yourself trying to press into the mattress in a desperate effort to escape the way the belt struck your sensitive flesh over and over again. It didn't matter that Morel and his creation were right there and would never allow you to step foot off of the bed – you weren't thinking logically. You just needed to get away.

But despite your best efforts, the bindings remained strong while you remained helpless.

The belt came down again.

The searing pain that ripped through you caused the veins in your forehead to bulge out as you cried out, your voice quickly becoming hoarse from how hard you were screaming. Sweat was beading up on your forehead as well while adrenaline was pumping through you, only adding to your efforts to escape from him.

It was just as useless as it had been every other time you tried to break free; there was no sign of the bindings loosening even slightly.

A pattern was beginning to emerge as he brought the belt down once more.

And then again.

And again.

And again.

The areas on your ass and upper thighs were soon all aching, every inch suffering from the force of his hits. With no more free skin to mark up, Morel began to hit you in the spots that had already been attacked.

The pain in those areas became worse the second time around.

You had long since lost count of how many times he'd hit you. You were only able to note when you felt your skin beginning to tear and you felt something liquid and warm dripping down from both your sides and the apex of your thighs.

You were bleeding, you realized. He was hitting you so hard that you were bleeding.

And he didn't care, as you felt the leather come back down on your aching skin and cause the pain to bloom in your body yet again.

Morel continued in a steady rhythm; he would hit you, pull back, wait a few seconds and then bring the belt back down.

Again and again.

Over and over.

No end in sight.

The sound of the belt moving through the air was seared into your brain. As was the sound it made when it came into contact with your flesh. The same could be said for Morel's determined grunts as he made sure not to go easy on you. Those sounds would likely stay in your mind forever and visit you with every nightmare.

And as for the pain……

All you could do was hope the memory of that would fade with time.

You were conscious for far too long. At a certain point you weren't really able to think. All you knew was the cycle of pain Morel was putting you through as the thick leather continued to come down on your damaged skin, making your wounds even worse in the process. You managed to be vaguely aware of the blood that decorated the sheets beneath and around your pelvis, just as you were vaguely aware of the spatters of blood that had managed to get onto the ceiling above you, flying off of the belt from the momentum of Morel's swings.

After enduring all of that for however long it truly lasted, it was a mercy when you finally passed out.

When you awoke, it was to a stinging sensation as something was being lathered on your rear. While not as bad as the pain you had gone through at Morel's hands, it was enough to wake you up, making you struggle again against the bindings you had fought so desperately against during the lashing. You were simply reacting again, the not-logical part of your brain trying to get away from what it knew to be a bad situation.

A cold hand came down to smack you on your injured flesh, causing you to shout in pain once again.

That woke you fully.

A glance over your shoulder revealed it to be the soldier that had hit you. They stared at you for a moment, as if warning you against fighting any further. When they were satisfied that you wouldn't, it went back to what it had been doing: tending to your wounds.

You strained your neck to see just how that part of you looked.

That was a mistake.

The skin of your ass and the upper parts of your thighs were covered both with bruises and bloody open wounds that stretched across your skin, some of which looked deep enough that you feared there would be permanent scarring. It would definitely be a long time before you would be able to sit down comfortably.

The sight caused the tears to well up in your eyes once again, and now without the gag in place to muffle your cries, you openly sobbed into the surface of the pillow. Your throat hurt, but you couldn't help it – what had happened to you was monstrous.

And Morel didn't care.

He had done all of that to you without remorse. He'd had the nerve to blame you for it before he'd gone through with the barbaric act, all because he wanted to teach you a fucked-up lesson.

In the midst of your sobbing, you glanced over your shoulder again, this time to glare at the soldier.

“I'll never forgive you,” you choked out between your scratchy sobs.

The soldier paused in their actions, turning their blank gaze over to you once again.

Morel was listening in. He needed to be.

“I'll never forgive you,” you repeated.

There was no verbal response from the soldier.

Instead, they spread more of the disinfectant that caused you to wake up, once again without an ounce of care, and your cries of pain echoed against the walls for what must have been the hundredth time that day.

The feeling that had been behind your fierce deceleration felt as though it was wavering. Whether or not your resolve had faltered too soon or too late was impossible to tell, as you couldn't tell just how long you had remained in your current state.

In the days following your horrible ordeal, you had been left with your limbs still tied to the bed. Every day of every hour, those bindings remained wrapped tight around your wrists and ankles, keeping you attached firmly without even the slightest bit of wiggle room, your arms and legs permanently stretched out. The only reprieve you got from that was when the soldier would allow you to use the bathroom, and at the beginning, it felt more like a punishment at first. As you had expected, sitting down was painful, and there were several times you returned to the bedroom a crying mess.

Every ounce of pain that ran through you only reminded you of what you had been through – what Morel had done to you.

At first, the anger from that brutal act only strengthened your resolve. How could he do this to you? How could he do such things and still claim to love you? He was a monster. You spat that out a few times, both at his creation and at him during the times he entered the bedroom. Morel ignored you and the soldier remained ever silent. When your words didn't draw any reaction, you went silent as well and kept your gaze averted whenever Morel entered the room for a fresh change of clothes. If he was going to ignore you, you could do the same.

You even told yourself that you were happy that he wasn't touching you, that it was better this way. For once, you were free from his incessant touch, his demanding need for you to give him the sweet kisses and the soft embraces that you had come to know that he craved from you. While his presence in the form of the soldier was still overwhelming, you told yourself that you had won if just for that fact alone.

At first all of it was easy.

As if the fact that he had kidnapped you wasn't enough, the pain that started in your backside that ran through you every time you sat down and the humiliation that came with every day you woke up tied to the bed reminded you of why you could never forgive him.

He was a monster and a brute who had done so many awful things to you that you felt there wasn't a good enough punishment for him to go through in order to make up what he'd put you through.

You would never forgive him.

But after what must have been weeks with nothing to do but listen to your own thoughts while you stayed firmly attached to the bed and listened to the endless creaking of the boat as it rocked back and forth, you found that it was harder to hold onto that rage.

And part of you felt pathetic for that fact.

There was only so much to focus on in that small area, only so much you could do while you were tied down. You weren't even allowed to feed yourself as the soldier was the one to do that, feeding you like you were an animal, and there was nothing you could do about it. If you tried to fight, they would take the meal away, a clear sign that told you if you wouldn't behave, then you wouldn't eat. After going several days with only being offered water, your desire to act up during mealtimes died down so as to ease the growing ache in your empty stomach.

Even then, the meals that were being offered were meager, but they were all you were allowed to have. That, combined with the little bits of movement you were allowed every day which caused your muscles to weaken, had your strength ebbing away bit by bit while your mind was having a hard time coping with the isolation and the minimal stimulation your brain was getting from the stagnant environment.

Your thoughts became less angry and more dismal. At first you were consumed by memories of your life before all of this, of what things had been like before Morel had torn you away from everything you knew. A life with family, friends, a dating life that could've been better and a job that you had really grown to enjoy, even if there was that one coworker who had a bad habit of oversharing everything. It wasn't perfect, but it was good, and it was mostly all you wanted.

And even if things could've been better, Morel didn't have any right to take you away from that.

Those times with your loved ones felt like a million years ago now, and more than once you found yourself crying tears of rage over how all of that was lost. All because of Morel's selfishness.

Thoughts like those had your resolve strengthening somewhat, and yet, it didn't feel like it lasted long. You were just so tired. You couldn't tell how many days had passed since all of this had started, even with your best efforts to try and count the meals you had gotten or the times that Morel entered the room.

He must have been sleeping on the couch in the main area of the boat, you thought to yourself.

What was the point in that?

Why wasn't he all over you? Why hadn't he nursed you back to health himself?

What was his endgame?

….. Was he tired of you?

“Are you going to kill me?” you asked him one day, your voice croaking out the question due to how little you had spoken.

Morel again ignored you, and nothing in his actions indicated that he was in any way affected by your question. His ever present soldier remained where they were, and there wasn't any change in their treatment of you after you asked that.

It should have angered you. That after having the audacity to kidnap you, he would then pretend as though you didn't exist.

But by the time you asked that question, you felt weak in both body and spirit as the true toll of the situation had begun to hit you fully.

It wasn't right.

Nothing about this was right.

But things were nicer when Morel was happy with you.

Even if it had all been driven by his own selfishness, having him hold you was better than the bindings that held you down. Having him regale you with stories of his adventures on the seas was nicer than the way he wouldn't even look at you.

And the feeling of his lips on yours was a better feeling than his belt hitting your ass repeatedly until you were bleeding.

As what must have been weeks slowly but surely passed, you found yourself wishing to go back to before the night of your escape. Back when things were good between you and your kidnapper. Back when he treated you softly and held you close in a way that felt secure.

That's stupid. He kidnapped you, you told yourself. You really think anything about that was good?

But another part of you didn't care. Things had been better before you escaped, and you didn't want this existence anymore.

You wanted to take it all back.

Your resolve to not forgive or speak to him broke soon after that, and for the first time in a long while, you tried to make conversation for the sake of your own sanity. You offered up apologies in between pleas for him to say something to you.

Morel didn't acknowledge your request.

Morel didn't acknowledge you at all.

That night you broke down sobbing as you feared that nothing about this could ever be fixed and that your current state was going to be the rest of your life.

Standing in the corner, the soldier watched you impassively.

Sometime later, there was a change in the awful routine you'd been forced into.

That evening, Morel came into the bedroom as he always did, and you anticipated that he would grab his nighttime clothes and immediately head back out without sparing you a second glance, as was typical.

Morel didn't do that, however.

Instead you were caught off-guard when he approached you, standing at the spot at the top of the bed and reaching out to grab at the bindings. He was untying them, you quickly realized. Your eyes widened as his calloused fingers undid the bindings around one wrist, loosening it until he was able to slip your hand out of the fabric before he turned his attention to the other.

What was happening?

Your heart pounded in your chest as you laid there silently, unwilling to do anything without his explicit permission for fear of Morel changing his mind and tying you back up again. When he had finished with your wrists and walked down to undo your ankles, you remained where you were, not even daring to push yourself up to look at him.

He would tell you when to move.

Which he did, though not verbally. Once he had finished freeing you completely, the Sea Hunter grabbed you by your arm and hauled you up to your feet, and without giving you even a second to recover from the way you had abruptly changed positions, Morel began to drag you out of the bedroom.

You had no choice but to comply, following behind him on unsteady feet while you tried not to bump into either him, the doorway or the walls. With one last glance back you saw the soldier following behind you, their eyes trained on you as always.

Once more you asked yourself what was happening, but you were still unwilling to ask that question aloud.

Morel pulled you into the main area of the boat, a room that you hadn't been in since the night you escaped. Your eyes went to the part of the kitchen, finding the exact spot where you had been standing when you had tampered with the juice you had given him. Where you had, in his mind, betrayed him to the worst degree.

Upon reliving that memory, you felt a pain in your rear. The marks from the way he had beaten you came alive on your skin. It was probably just stress pain, as your wounds had long since healed up. But that didn't make the ache lessen in any way. Nor did your nerves calm down as Morel dragged you towards the couch.

After he had settled down, Morel pulled you onto his lap after, his hands holding onto your hips while he stared at you. He still wasn't saying anything, so you followed his lead and remained silent as you stared back nervously. Feeling awkward, you ended up using your hands to steady yourself on his shoulders.

He remained silent.

The smoke soldier remained as a constant presence at the doorway.

And you remained tense, your muscles coiled up as you waited for something to happen. But you could only wait for Morel to say or do something.

Because something was going to happen; you were sure of it. Whether it would be good or bad for you remained to be seen.

You kept your hands on his shoulders, your fingers clenching and unclenching at the fabric of his shirt while you waited for him to speak to you, to explain what was going on. Maybe things would go back to normal? After everything you'd been through now, you wanted to go back to the way it was before you had run. Because even if you hated being his captive, even if he still used you how he wanted with little regard for your own feelings, at least there was a semblance of love to be found. Morel was gentle with you, he was kind to you. He went out of his way to do things for you that he thought you would like, would surprise you with little gifts that he felt suited you, or he'd cook you meals that he knew were your favorites.

That version of Morel, the one that doted on you and held you softly, was nowhere to be found. Instead, the man whose lap you were sitting on only continued to stare at you coldly, his mouth still set in a frown and and his eyes watching you from behind his sunglasses.

You didn't want to speak. Doing that felt like a bad idea, like all you would do was earn another round of punishment for yourself if you dared to do or say anything without his express permission. Waiting for his command was the smarter option, the safer option.

So you sat, still staring at him with uncertainty while you were unable to help the way you squirmed beneath his gaze.

Then Morel once again broke the silence, not with words but with action, as he moved his hands away from your hips, leaving you to hold yourself up on your own as he began to undo the buckle of his belt.

Seeing that had your heart rate increase on seeing that.

Was he going to hurt you again? Why? Had you done something else wrong? Or was this simply a continuation of your punishment?

Every part of you wanted to run and barricade yourself in the bedroom, but you made yourself stay still as you stared on helplessly. Running would only make it worse, you told yourself. Just stay still.

Even when he pulled the belt out of the loops of his pants and gripped it in one hand, you forced yourself to stay where you were.

Still remaining silent, Morel placed the belt next to him on the couch as he reached down for the button and zipper of his pants, the sound of the zipper teeth pulling open echoing loudly in your head.

You made yourself sit there, even when he shoved his pants and boxers down in order to pull out his semi-hard length.

Then, for the first time in a long, long time, Morel spoke to you.

“Touch it,” he ordered.

“……”

Somehow it hadn't been obvious when he was undoing his pants of what he wanted. Even though you were staring at him the entire time, your mind hadn't truly been taking in what was happening. As such, you found yourself shocked at the order, and you couldn't help but open your mouth as you began to form a question.

“T-touch-?”

“Did I say you could speak?”

You snapped your mouth shut, fearful of angering him. Again.

Morel stared down at you through the lens' of his sunglasses, waiting impatiently for you to do as he had told you while also having no concern for your distress that was once more slowly building as you remained still on top of his lap.

“I'm not going to repeat myself,” Morel told you.

His words brought you out of your stupor. If you didn't do what he wanted, he'd give you back to the soldier and make them tie you up to that bed, wouldn't he? You would only see him in passing and all you would have was the creature made up from his abilities. Always by your side. Always impersonal, never offering any sort of kind or loving touch.

Letting out a shuddering breath, you pulled one of your hands off of his shoulders and placed it on his cock, wrapping your fingers around his length. Then you began to stroke him.

The interior of the boat was quiet as you ran your palm up and down his dick, and the air around you felt stuffy. Dense. Like you were slowly being suffocated. You took in a big gulp of air as you increased your pace, trying your best to put your all into pleasing him despite how tired your muscles felt already.

Maybe he would appreciate that.

Maybe this could be the first step in him forgiving you.

You don't need forgiveness from him. He kidnapped you.

Shaking those thoughts away, you continued, watching as his cock hardened until it stood erect in your palm, a bead of precum sitting at the tip as you worked him over, bringing your other hand down in order to use both on him.

You must be doing something right, otherwise he wouldn't be aroused like this. Even if the setting still felt suffocating to you and not arousing in the slightest. The air still felt heavy and grim.

Maybe he likes seeing you at his mercy.

…… You didn't like that thought, and you again banished it from your mind as you continued, determined to keep your focus solely on pleasing him. All the while Morel sat there with his arms crossed over his chest as he stared at you.

It sure didn't feel like he was enjoying this. It felt like he was still pissed off at you.

Just don't hurt me again, you begged silently. You can lock me back up, but don't hurt me anymore.

By that point your hands were becoming slick as you kept rubbing them up and down Morel's length. His precum was dripping down from the tip of his cock, and the stickiness was getting in the areas between your fingers as you rubbed him harder. You focused your touch on the veins that ran along his cock, areas that you remembered were sensitive, areas that you hoped were having the same effect on him.

But it was impossible to tell with the way he kept staring at you.

“Stop.”

Your hands stilled as soon as he spoke, and you stared up at him nervously,

“How wet are you?” he demanded to know.

You blinked.

“Um…..”

You didn't want to answer, because you didn't feel aroused at all and you felt worried that he'd be upset by that.

It turned out that you didn't need to answer as he sighed, saying “I should've figured.”

He sounded annoyed.

Feeling compelled to apologize, you opened your mouth to do just that, but you stopped, remembering how he didn't like it when you tried to speak earlier. So your shut your mouth yet again as you waited for him to speak once more.

“Whatever. You'll ride me anyway.”

Then Morel's hands were on your hips again, and he hoisted you up so you were on your knees above his length. He then readjusted his grip so he was holding onto the globes of your ass while the tip of his cock brushed against your pussy lips.

And then he held you there, waiting for you to sink down onto him, regardless of whether you were ready for him or not.

I don't want this, you thought to yourself as you stared down between your legs, at the cock that you didn't feel prepared for.

I don't want this at all.

Morel's fingers gripped tighter on your ass and this time, the pain that ran through you wasn't an echo of what he had done to you that night when he caught you.

What you wanted didn't matter right now.

So you squeezed your eyes shut as you lowered yourself down.

It hurt.

The stretch felt like too much and you wanted to pull off of him, but you forced yourself to go down further and further. Tears were now pricking at the edges of your eyes and your knuckles had paled from how hard you were gripping at his shirt, but you didn't stop or pull away even when your senses were screaming at you to do so.

At least it's not as bad as the belt.

Thinking that helped a little bit.

You were able to sink down to about the middle of his cock when you paused, taking in a deep breath before you began to pull upward, waiting until his head was all that was inside of you and then sinking back down again. Morel didn't make any indication that he objected, so he must have been pleased.

Except he still didn't show any signs that he was enjoying this.

He still seemed angry.

So you continued with uncertainty, still feeling fearful even as the stretch became more comfortable and you were able to take in more of him until you were able to hilt him inside of you fully. Even when you were able to move faster as you bounced on top of him, nothing about it felt like things between the two of you were mending.

And evidently what you were doing wasn't enough, because Morel took it upon himself to force you to go faster.

Grabbing you by your hips, the Sea Hunter began to move you, plunging you up and down on his length at a pace that you weren't capable of in your current weak state. The room was soon filled with the sounds of your bare thighs hitting his legs while you let out pained groans and sudden shrieks whenever he handled you a bit too roughly, and all you could do was hold onto him for dear life.

Morel wouldn't have done that before.

He had always been attuned to your discomfort, being able to sense when something was wrong and stopping before you would get the chance to tell him to. He'd even agreed to you saying 'no' to certain acts when you cited that they made you uncomfortable. And even when he was lost in a haze of lust, he was never so lost that he continued to seek his pleasure without thinking of you and his desire to make you happy.

You hadn't thought of it before. You had been too focused on using sex to get him to lower his guard to realize how nice he was being to you. The man was so sweet and caring; he probably could've had any girl he wanted, and he picked you.

And how had you repaid him?

And could things ever go back to normal?

“I'm sorry.”

You breathed out those words, and immediately, Morel came to a stop, his hands still gripping your hips hard and his cock still buried in your cunt. You felt their gazes on you, of both himself and the smoke soldier that had stayed in the doorway. Tears began to run down your cheeks as you began to sob out more apologies, your voice becoming more and more choked with every syllable you forced out.

“I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry.”

You couldn't tell how your many apologies were being received – even if your vision wasn't blurry with tears, you couldn't bring yourself to look at him. For some reason, you felt ashamed, and it was all you could do to keep yourself upright while you forced more apologies to fall from your mouth.

“I'm sorry.”

The boat creaked as it moved against the waves.

“I'm sorry.”

The soldier's gaze remained ever present on your back.

“I'm sorry.”

Morel still said nothing while you sobbed on top of him.

The next apology of yours caught in your throat, and though you were unable to speak, you clenched your fingers tighter on his shirt, hoping that he would still understand what you wanted to say, how remorseful you truly were over your actions.

If we could just go back to the way things were, I'd be fine.

You weren't able to process how wrong that thought of yours was.

Because Morel chose then to respond.

Lifting one large hand to cup your cheek gently, Morel moved your head up so you were looking at him. And with a gentleness that you hadn't felt since the night you ran away, he brushed away the tears on your cheek as he murmured to you softly.

“Shh. Don't cry,” he said to you.

That just made your tears flow harder, and you couldn't help but grab at the hand on your cheek with your own, pressing his palm against your skin in the hopes that he wouldn't pull away. Not that you would be able to stop him if he really wanted to let go, but your desperation for his soft, gentle touch drove you to try anyway.

You felt elation when Morel not only chose not to pull away, but went and wrapped his other arm around you as he pulled you in, holding you close to his chest. Immediately, you wrapped your arms around him in response, nuzzling your face against him. When was the last time he had held you like this? The night of your escape? Regardless, it felt like it had been years since the last time this had happened, and you didn't want to let him go.

Morel sighed as he buried his face in your hair.

“I'm really happy to hear you say that. I was worried you would never come around,” he said softly, “I don't know what I would do if you stayed that way. If you still couldn't see things from my point of view.”

Morel moved his hand to the back of your head in order to stroke your hair as he continued “it's been a tough few weeks, and I know I wasn't good to you during that time, but it was necessary. You get that, right?”

You nodded.

Morel let out a sigh of relief as he said “that's good. I'm glad you understand.”

His other hand began to run up and down your back as he said “and I hope you'll also understand why we can't immediately go back to the way things were. I'll need to keep you on a bit of a leash for a while. That means you can only go topside when I say so, and I'm going to keep using my ability to watch over you.”

“But it won't be forever,” he added, “just until we've rebuilt the bridge between us completely. Understand?”

You nodded again as you let out a soft “I understand.”

He sniffled when you said that, which caught you off-guard.

When you pulled your head back up to look at him, you were surprised by what you saw:

He was crying.

Moments ago he'd been glaring at you; he hadn't allowed for any other emotion other than anger. But now…… Now tears were streaming down his face as he looked at you with an expression of sheer relief.

“Good. That's good, sweetheart,” he said, leaning down to place a kiss on your head. He then held you tightly, his tears landing in your hair as he declared “these last few weeks have been hell for both of us, but we're going to come out of it stronger, I know it.”

You hummed in agreement as you nodded, reciprocating his embrace as you held him back.

This isn't right, a small voice at the back of your head protested. How could things have been hell for him? How could he hurt you over and over and say that he was affected negatively by it? How could he have the gall to make it seem as though he had also suffered?

Shut up, you told yourself. Just shut up and stay quiet. He wants to love you now, so take it.

The alternative is being tied to the bed.

You held him tighter, your shoulders trembling slightly from the warring emotions within yourself.

Morel noticed as he asked “what's wrong?”

You shook your head.

“I just missed this,” you answered softly.

On hearing that, a soft smile graced Morel's face.

“I did too,” he admitted, taking a brief moment to wipe at his tears with his sleeve.

When he then moved your chin up in order to pull you in for a kiss, you didn't protest.

The smoke creation of his that had been a constant presence dissipated as Morel began to readjust you, slowly moving you so you were laying back on the couch, his cock buried in you the whole time as he took his place above you. He pulled away from your lips in favor of covering your neck with kisses as he gently caressed your sides with soft strokes that soothed you. Your hands came up to grasp at his shirt again, to which he chuckled.

Taking one of your hands into his, he kissed your fingers before asking “are you ready?”

You nodded.

Morel began to thrust into you once more. This time, his movements were softer, not as forceful as moments ago when he had been taking what he wanted from you. The stark contrast to the change forced a sob to escape your throat, to which Morel shushed you gently as he wiped away the remainder of your tears.

Then he pulled away and pressed his face into the crook of your neck, sighing contentedly.

“Welcome home,” Morel whispered.

Title: Till The Water Boils Over Or The Frog Drowns.

Pairing: Yan!Gojo x Reader x Yan!Geto (JJK).

Word Count: 5.8k.

TW: No Curses AU, Dub/Con -> Non/Con (Revoked Consent), Fem!Reader, Oral Sex, Unprotected Sex, Kidnapping, Financial Abuse, Psychological Abuse, Infantilization, Spanking, Unbalanced Power Dynamics, and Forced Codependency. Dead Dove: Do Not Eat.

It started the day Satoru first introduced the concept of ‘time out’ to your relationship.

He was immature and you were stubborn. You loved him, but without Suguru’s even temper and calming presence, sparks tended to fly in a way that left you at each other’s throats. With your arms crossed over your chest and your eyes narrowed, you’d watched him sigh, roll his eyes, and storm out of your shared bedroom, slamming the door behind him. You gave yourself a second, then another – sucking in a shallow breath and shutting your eyes, talking yourself through all your usual cool-down methods. You were supposed to go out, tonight, to a restaurant you and Satoru had both been talking about for weeks. You still had about an hour before Suguru was supposed to get home, before you were all supposed to leave together. It wasn’t a good day to fight, even if you knew Suguru would smooth everything over as soon as he got home.

When you were done, you moved to the bedroom door. One hour was plenty of time to talk things out. One hour was plenty of time to kiss and make up, even if you would hold a grudge for a—

You pushed gently on the door. It didn’t budge.

You tried the knob. It turned, but the door still didn’t open.

You pressed your shoulder into the wood, shoving with more force than you ever should’ve had to use. Something shifted – a chair slotted underneath the handle, Satoru’s back leaning against the other side of the thin wood – but didn’t give.

The frustration you’d only just managed to suppress resurfaced immediately. Still pressed against your side of the door, you called out, attempting to keep your tone soft, light. “Satoru? Baby?”

 The sweetness in his voice was equally artificial. “I’m right here, angel.”

“I—I think the door might be jammed.” You tried the knob again, rattling the metal for emphasis. Satoru only hummed in response, and you grimaced. “Are you gonna let me out, ‘toru? I really don’t have time to be—”

“Ninety minutes.”

“…ninety minutes?”

“Ninety minutes,” he repeated. You could practically hear the smirk in his voice. “After that, we can check and see if you’re still feelin’ so bratty.”

You were almost thankful there was a door between you. If it hadn’t been there, you might not have been able to stop yourself from throttling him. “Satoru, I really don’t have time to—”

There was an obnoxiously loud hum, the sound of footsteps moving down the hall. You groaned, resting your forehead against the cool wood. Whatever. He was being petty, again. You could do ninety minutes. And, even if you couldn’t, he’d probably be back in ten, tail between his legs and pouting for your attention.

You quickly resigned yourself to passing the time as quickly as possible. You laid face-down on your bed, bemoaning your taste in men and picturing all the ways you could break up with Satoru, once he let you out. You scrolled through your phone, spamming Suguru with half-coherent messages and memes from the very depths of your camera roll. You re-organized your closet, sorting your clothes by color and alphabetizing your shoes. You managed to read a full page of one of the bulky historical fiction novels Suguru kept on the bedside table before deciding you’d be better off breaking up with both your current boyfriends.

You checked the time when you were done, and discovered that you’d managed to kill a whopping fifteen minutes.

God, you were so fucked.

Only half-consciously, you gravitated back to the door, slumping against it. You opened your mouth, ready to call out to Satoru and say whatever you had to say to get out, but another voice cut in before you got the chance. “Baby?”

Suguru. He must’ve gotten back early. You let out a shallow sigh, letting your head fall forward in relief. “Right here,” you said, making no effort to hide your exasperation. “Can you open the door? I think ‘toru blocked me in.”

His deep chuckle was muffled, but still clearly audible. “I’m afraid I can’t. He’s still pretty mad, couldn’t stop talking about how you copped an attitude with him.” There was a pause, a shoulder being rested against the other side of the door. “I think he mentioned something about a dress?”

You were glad he couldn’t see you – he would’ve hated the way you grimaced at the reminder. “It’s a nice restaurant. I wanted to dress up a little, but he’s just so immature, and when he saw the dress I wanted to wear—”

Suguru cut in. “The red one, right?”

“Yeah, with the window on the chest.” You sighed. “Please, Suguru? I really don’t want to spend the next hour of my life locked in my own bedroom.”

Another laugh, this one more stifled than the first. “He just knows how pretty you’d look, babe. Probably doesn’t want anyone else to find out how beautiful our partner is.” When you didn’t respond, he added, “Didn’t he just buy you somethin’ brand new? He can’t complain if he’s the one who picked it out, right?”

You pursed your lips. He had – a pure ivory dress, a little shorter than mid-thigh and sleeveless, not exactly conservative, but not meant to show as much skin as you usually preferred to. It’d come with matching gold jewelry, and you’d politely accepted the gift, kissed him on the cheek, and stashed it under your bed to rot. It wasn’t ugly, nothing so expensive could be, but it suited Satoru’s tastes, not yours.

“I don’t know,” you muttered, trying to soften the harsher edges of your distaste. “You know how Satoru is. Everything he picks out is just so—so him.”

“I’m starting to think you both might be causing problems.” You kicked the base of the door, but Suguru didn’t indulge your outburst with acknowledgement. “Just try it on, alright? If it’s that bad, we can always go without him.”

It took another minute or so of condoling, but soon enough, you were slipping into Satoru’s gifted dress, cursing as you struggled with the tiny, finicky zipper and smoothed wrinkles out of abused silk. You pulled your fingers through your hair once before returning to the bedroom door and knocking defeatedly. As if to add insult to injury, the door swung open in an instant, a smiling Suguru waiting on the threshold.

“See? Absolutely gorgeous, as always.” He leaned forward, cupping your cheek. You let his lips brush over your forehead before pulling away. Thankfully, he wasn’t cruel enough to draw it out any longer – his hand falling to yours and taking it up, tugging you gently towards the living room. “Satoru’s going to forget he was ever mad at all as soon as he sees you.”

You didn’t bother responding, only slumping against his side and letting him guide you forward. Distantly, you heard Suguru calling out to Satoru, but you were already busy – too occupied promising yourself that this would never, ever happen again to care what either of them was saying.

You would, of course, be wrong.

~

Barricaded doors quickly became a weekly inconvenience. You and Satoru fought often (never intensely and never for very long, but often), and he owned the apartment – meaning, despite all your whining, you couldn’t exactly tell him that his doors couldn’t all lock from the outside. Your ‘cool-down sessions’ (Suguru’s words, not yours) lasted anywhere from twenty minutes to a couple of hours, and Suguru was always the one to let you out. When you couldn’t be locked up and left to stew, Satoru would take it upon himself to leave the apartment – if only for as long as he thought it would take for you to forget you’d argued at all. You got used to it quickly. It wasn’t fair, you didn’t enjoy it, but you got used to it. You’d always had more patience than you really should’ve, when it came to Satoru’s antics.

And then, Suguru started showering with you.

Finding time to spend together was an ever-present obstacle in your relationship. Satoru alternated sporadically between planning lectures and grading papers late into the night to rolling his eyes at the concept of due dates and dulling out extra credit on a whim, and trying to guess if Suguru would be free was a pursuit in futility – his sermons were scheduled, but he was almost always being called out on some mysterious errand on behalf of one of his countless, faceless apostles. You didn’t work at all, but you went to school, and you kept yourself busy. You’d never be as busy as Satoru and Suguru, but you did your best to keep up with them.

Currently, you were basking in the afterglow with Suguru, your head resting on his chest and his arms wrapped loosely around his waist. Satoru was already gone, rushed off to some early-morning lecture, but Suguru didn’t have anything to do, and you—well, you could miss a lecture or two if it meant spending time with him. And, even if you couldn’t, it was hard to imagine tearing yourself away from the feeling of his calloused fingers tracing aimless patterns into the small of your back, of his lips pushing warm, open-mouthed kisses into your shoulders, your collarbone, your throat. His hands drifted to your hips, grip tightening ever-so-slightly, and you felt a raspy groan reverberate against the side of your neck, Suguru pulling you close as he—

“Save it,” you said, drawing back. He pouted and you grinned, pecking the corner of his jaw and sitting up, letting his sheets pool around your waist. “Just for a few minutes – I feel gross.” A full groan, this time. You laughed, combing his disheveled hair back and pressing another kiss into his forehead, this one lingering just a beat longer than the first. “You’ll survive a shower, Suguru.”

You felt him shift underneath you. Before you had a chance to pull away, he was sitting up, his arms still around your waist – keeping you messily laid across his lap. “I’ll come with you.”

“You’ll wait your turn.” And then, when he only hummed in response, “I’m being serious. Somebody in this relationship has to wash their hair every now and then.”

His face was already buried in the crook of your neck, and he was moving toward the edge of the mattress with your body still tucked against his chest. He was planning on carrying you, presumably. Sometimes, it felt like if it were up to Suguru, you’d never walk anywhere on your own again. “I know.” His voice was still raspy with sleep, his usual articulation weighed down by the fatigue that came with a morning spent in bed. “I’ll help.”

“That’s really sweet, but—” You strung your arms around his neck as he stood up, taking you with him. “—I think I’ll be alright on my own, Suguru.”

For the first time all morning, his eyes flickered open, wandering idly in your direction. He held your gaze for a beat, then another.

Finally, the edge of his lips quirked upward – the sly, knowing grin you’d fallen in love with soon painted across his lips. When he spoke, it was in a tone to match, all confidence and cloying, calculated sweetness. “No.”

You faltered, at that. “…no?”

“Don’t wanna be away from you for that long,” he mumbled, by way of explanation. “Whatever you need to do, I’ll take care of. Don’t want you to have to worry your pretty little head over anything.”

You tried your best to laugh, but it was a weak effort, better left unacknowledged. “I don’t know how I feel about my boyfriend offering to, I don’t know, shave my legs or something.”

He only soldiered on, as if you hadn’t said anything at all.

~

You felt Satoru’s hands on your waist first, then his chest against your back. His mouth found the curve of your throat as if by instinct, teeth grazing against a bruise Suguru had left in the same spot the day before. You felt him lean against you and dropped the knife you were holding onto a nearby cutting board, bracing yourself on the edge of the counter to compensate.

You glanced over your shoulder as his head bowed, face soon buried in the dip of your shoulder. He must’ve just gotten home – he was still wearing his sunglasses, only the first three buttons on his shirt undone. You grinned, twisting around just far enough to kiss the top of his head before turning back to your ingredients. “Rough lecture?”

“Grad students,” he muttered, the dread in his voice plainly audible. “One more fucking extension request, and I swear, I’ll fail the entire class.”

You hummed, letting him sink further into you. You might’ve let him stay there, too, if one of his hands hadn’t fallen to your ass while the other slipped underneath your loose shirt. Before he could creep upward, you jabbed an elbow into his chest. “Keep it in your pants. You still smell like a college campus.”

Of course, he didn’t budge. “But I missed you,” he whined, as shameless as he was clingy. “I had to leave so early, and I was stuck in my office for so long, and I’m gonna die if I have to wait any longer. Is that what you want? For me to die?”

“You could always go to Suguru, if you’re that insatiable.”

“But I want you.” You felt a thumb slip below the waistband of your sweatpants (or, Suguru’s sweatpants, technically – he’d been unbearable unless you were wearing his clothes, recently) and batted his hand away. Your efforts were, predictably, unsuccessful. “Please, baby?” And then, after a beat. “You don’t care about dinner more than you care about me, do you?”

You felt something delicate inside of you falter, crack, then fall apart entirely. It was strange – how long you could nurse a wound without acknowledging it existed at all. “It’s not that, I just—” You stuttered, then stopped entirely. You deflated underneath Satoru’s weight, and as if in response, he held you that much tighter, keeping you as close as you could be, lest he carve open his chest and force you into the open cavity. “I… I guess I feel like I haven’t really been doing a lot for you two, lately. You pay all the bills, and Suguru goes out of his way to take care of me, and there just… It makes me feel kind of useless.” You tried to punctuate the confession with a smile, a laugh, but both were hollow beyond the point of recognizability. It would’ve been better if you hadn’t tried at all. “You get it, right? I just—I don’t want to be the only one not doing anything.”

There was a beat of silence. You felt Satoru settle against you, his chest pressing into your back before he pulled away, detaching from you entirely. You sighed, letting yourself relax.

And then, just as suddenly, you were off of your feet and in Satoru’s arm, one tucked under the bend of your knees while the other supported your back. You managed a stammered, half-coherent protest, but if Satoru was listening, he wasn’t bothered.

He carried you out of the kitchen and into the living room, your half-finished recipe forgotten in favor of dropping you onto the nearest couch and kneeling over you, already pulling on the collar of his shirt. “Sounds like our baby’s been thinkin’ too much.” He was grinning, his glasses sitting low on the bridge of his nose. “Let me put a stop to that.”

You opened your mouth, but you didn’t have time to respond. His mouth was already crashing into yours; swallowing down anything you might’ve said and replacing it with a breathy moan, a haze over your conscious thoughts.

You didn’t bother trying to talk your way out from underneath Satoru, again.

~

You couldn’t breathe.

It took you a moment to realize what was wrong, another to put together why. You felt the blunt tip of Suguru’s cock hit the back of your throat as Satoru’s chest pressed into yours, the latter pressing the air out of your lungs while the former forced you to choke what little was left up. Satoru had set a relentless pace; his thrusts brutal, his tempo erratic, his hips crashing into yours with enough force to bruise. Two of Suguru’s thick, calloused fingers were lodged between your body and Satoru’s drawing quick, precise patterns into your clit, while both of Satoru’s hands were wrapped around the underside of your thighs, keeping your knees pinned to your chest, your body folded in half and pressed into the mattress. They’d always been taller than you, with Suguru kneeling by your head and Satoru looming over you, they both seemed so much bigger. They both seemed so, so much stronger than they ever had before.

You couldn’t breathe. The lack of oxygen was already rushing to your head, already replacing your sense of logic with a shrill, panicked buzz. Your body hurt everywhere they touched it, the warmth pooling in your core and arousal left behind by previous climaxes not enough to dull the sharp sting of Satoru’s nails against your skin, not enough to soften the harsh edge of the grin you could only barely see spread across Suguru’s lips out of the corner of your eye. It was a struggle just to move your jaw, and even then, any sounds you were able to make were borderline incoherent – your little chants of ‘red, red, red’ so stifled and so garbled by Suguru’s cock that you couldn’t have blamed him for not hearing you at all. It was only when you tried to pull your head back that his eyes fell away from where Satoru’s cock was fucking into your dripping cunt and to your face, tears of distress already beginning to prick at the corners of your eyes. You let out one more panicked cry, hoping beyond hope that he’d be able to see the fear in your expression and know something was wrong, but that grin you had loved so much only widened, sharpened. “Like that, princess?” You felt his free hand on the top of your head, fingers carding through your hair while the patterns being pushed into your sensitive clit sped up, intensified. “Faster,” he cooed to Satoru, his voice laced with something vicious and mocking. “If she can still cry, she can still fuck.”

He didn’t mean it. He couldn’t mean it. Suguru just liked to be mean in bed, and Satoru liked to indulge him. That was the only reason they were doing this to you, that was the only reason Satoru listened; leaning that much more of his weight onto as his cock beat against the walls of your cunt. “Fuck,” Satoru muttered, as Suguru’s cock twitched against the roof of your mouth. “Got tighter when you said that. Is that what you want? For me and him to fuck you unconscious?”

This time, you didn’t try to pull back, you jerked – lurching out of Suguru’s hold, drawing back until you could gasp and pant and fill your aching lungs. “Red,” you half-choked, half-cried. “Red, red, stop, too much, I can’t—”

Satoru cut you off with a throat groan. You felt his form tense against yours, heard a shameless moan spill past his lips, and suddenly, it was like you’d forgotten how to breathe entirely. “Too close for that,” he muttered, his lips close enough to ghost over the shell of your ear. “You can take it for me, angel.”

You couldn’t, but you didn’t have time to tell him that. You opened your mouth, but all you could seem to spit out was a keening, pitiful whine as you felt something deep in your core pull taut and snap, as your cunt clenched around him and you came undone on Satoru’s cock for the nth time. At the same time, he went stiffed above you, forcing his hips flush with yours and filling your abused pussy with something thick and searing. The feeling was alien, strange. You could’ve sworn he said he would wear a condom, tonight.

It felt like you laid there for a small eternity – trapped under Satoru’s limp body, Suguru still petting idly through your hair. You stared unblinkingly at the ceiling until, days later, Satoru pulled himself upright with a raspy grunt, turning to Suguru. You were vaguely aware of his head being lowered into Suguru’s lap, moving to finish the job you hadn’t wanted to, but that seemed distant, unimportant. The room was too small, too closed-off. You weren’t getting enough air. You were too warm. You were too small. You—

You needed to leave.

Your body was on the edge of the mattress before your mind could make the conscious decision to move. You were shaking, despite the damp humidity clinging to your skin, but you tried to ignore that and focus on getting your feet underneath you, on fishing Satoru’s shirt off the floor and pulling it over your head. You’d need pants, too, and your wallet – maybe you’d still have a little cash stowed away, something from before Satoru insisted you start carrying one of his platinum cards. You’d spend the night in a hotel, or better yet, rent a car – get out of Tokyo altogether. You had a friend who lived outside of the city – or, you used to, at least. You couldn’t remember the last time you talked to someone other than Satoru and Suguru.

You made it to the doorway before Suguru called out. “Going somewhere, princess?”

You froze, but didn’t look over your shoulder. You could barely stand. You needed to go. “I just—I think I need a little air.”

“Give us a minute. Me or ‘toru should go with you.” There was a lull to his voice, an airiness just barely audible over the slick, sloppy sound of Satoru’s mouth moving over his shaft. You could remember admiring that about him, once, constantly thinking about how lucky you were to have such a cool, confident boyfriend. Right now, though, it was hard to think of his unfaltering composure as anything but inhuman. “It just wouldn’t be safe to let you—”

“I need air,” you repeated, because it was true, because you did. Little, black spots were already starting to dot your vision, and it felt like someone was trying to wrap their hands around your throat and squeeze. “I… I think I might be gone for a while, too.”

For all his tenderness, Suguru didn’t sound very concerned. “How long?”

“A couple hours,” you tried, and then, much more quietly, when he let out a disbelieving hum. “…a few days?”

This time, Suguru didn’t have to say anything at all. Leaning against the doorway, Satoru’s cum still dripping down the inside of your thigh, it took less than a minute for you to crack on your own. “I think we… I think I might need a little space.”

There was another beat of silence, occupied only by a soft groan from Suguru, the sound of noisy swallowing from Satoru. Finally, he sighed. You didn’t dare to look, but you could picture him shaking his head, smiling as he rolled his eyes. Acting as if you’d just said the stupidest thing in the world. “What do you think, Satoru? Have we waited long enough.”

“—too long.” Satoru’s voice was hoarse, breathy. In your peripheral, you could see him dragging the back of his hand across his lips as he raised his head. “We’ve had everything ready for months, now.”

That was all Suguru needed to hear. He turned back to you, letting his head lull to the side. “Come back to bed, won’t you, princess?”

You didn’t respond. What little air you still had hitched in your collapsing throat as you attempted to move forward, only for a hand to catch your shoulder and hold you in-place. It was Satoru – now standing less than a full step behind you. He didn’t bother with a warning before wrapping his free arm around your waist and dragging you into his chest and off of your feet. You made a weak effort to thrash, to squirm, to dig your nails into the forearm laid over your midriff, but Satoru didn’t make a sound, didn’t let you go, only hauling you back to where Suguru sat on the edge of the mattress. You shouldn’t have felt as betrayed as you did. They’d both always been able to pick you up and throw you around like a kitten, being carried from place to place by its scruff. It was always only going to be a matter of time before they stopped listening to your half-hearted protests entirely.

“Over the knee,” Suguru said with a sort of flippant, beckoning gesture. “I want to make sure we get off on the right foot.”

Wordlessly, unceremoniously, you were dropped face-down into Suguru’s lap – his thighs pressing into your exposed stomach. Satoru lowered himself to the floor in front of you, sitting cross-legged and reaching out, cupping your face delicately. More out of reflex than anything intelligent, you tried to push yourself up, but a hand on the small of your back was enough to keep you paralyzed. Sometime between the doorway and the bed, the shaking had gotten worse. You doubted you’d be able to keep your legs underneath you, anymore. “Twenty-five,” he announced – an executioner reading out his victim’s sentence. “Fifteen for trying to leave us, and ten more for not listening to me. Does that sound fair, Satoru.”

“So mean, Sugu’,” Satoru whined, but you could already see a crooked smirk pulling at the corner of his lips. “The poor thing doesn’t even know what’s going on.”

“Which is why we have to make a strong impression. I want her to know there’ll be consequences for misbehavior.” You felt his hand drifting up the length of your spine, lingering on the sensitive junction between your shoulder blades. “Twenty-five, okay, princess? I’m going to need you to count for me – if you lose track, we’ll have to start over.”

“Suguru, ‘toru, I don’t—I don’t understand what—” You were cut off by a sudden, bruising blow to the plush of your ass – all force, no friction. It took you a second to realize that it was Suguru’s hand, another to consciously acknowledge that he’d spanked you. Like you were some bratty toddler. Like he wanted to hurt you.

It took another lash to know you out of your spell-bound state and send a keening, pitchy cry spilling past your lips. The tears you’d managed to hold back minutes ago were back in full-force, dripping down your cheeks and pooling on your chin, accompanied by the occasional sniffle or ragged sob. Suguru hummed, but any sympathy he might’ve had remained unexpressed, hidden behind a thick veil of strict impassivity. “I need you to count. I know it’s hard, but it’ll only get more difficult if you don’t cooperate.” He paused, clicked his tongue. “We’re still on one. Are you going to be good, or do I have to get the belt?”

“Hurts, Suguru, you’re hurting—”

Another blow, this one to the back of your thighs and twice as harsh as the first two. Meekly, you mumbled a weak “…one.”

You couldn’t see past your own tears by the fifth strike, and by the tenth, you were sobbing openly. Each blow leaves your skin burning and your ass pulsing, but despite everything, he was far from brutal. His pace was measured, precise, and he was strategic – careful to never abuse the same spot to the point of numbness. After the fifteenth, you sniffled and forced yourself to raise your head, meeting Satoru’s eyes and silently pleading for his pity, for his help. Rather than empathy, you found a glassy stare and his hand in his lap, pumping idly over his cock. A few hours ago, you could picture yourself teasing him for not being able to go a full minute without someone touching him, even himself. Right now, the sight alone was enough to make bile rise into the back of your throat.

His thumb ran over your cheek, his palm settling under your chin and tilting your head back. “Don’t give me that look. This is twice as gentle as he’s ever been with me.”

By the time it was over, you were near-inconsolable, every number followed immediately by a string of distorted gibberish, a disjointed plea for him to stop, or be gentle, or let you go. You laid limp across Suguru’s lap as he drew slow, tender patterns into your abused flesh, every little touch sparking a new kind of pain, dragging another ragged sob up from somewhere deep and visceral in your chest. He was talking to you, cooing sweet nothings, but you couldn’t hear him. You didn’t want to hear him. You wanted to leave.

But, you couldn’t, and even if you’d had the strength to try, you wouldn’t have gotten very far. You hadn’t seen him move, but at some point, Satoru must’ve left the room. When your crying began to wane and you could bare the thought of opening your eyes, you found him standing in front of you, holding a glass of water in one hand and three white pills in the other. “Open up,” he said, drawing out each syllable for a beat longer than he really had to. “It’ll help with the pain, promise.”

You pursed your lips, grit your teeth, but Suguru’s thumb pressed into a fresh bruise and fear immediately overwhelmed your sense of caution. Suguru took precious seconds to reposition you – drawing you up by your shoulders to straddle his thigh – and Satoru’s hand found its way back to your cheek, his thumb tapping your bottom lip and slipping onto your tongue as you, reluctantly, opened your mouth. The pills were first, allowed to sit on your tongue until their bitterness reached the back of your throat, then the water, poured sloppily enough for the excess to spill out of the corners of your mouth. The reaction was instantaneous – a wave of nausea, then fatigue, your eyes immediately too heavy to keep open, your body too distant to justify attempting to control. You went slack, falling against Suguru, and he chuckled, bowing his head.

The last thing you felt was his mouth against your throat before everything went numb.

~

You woke up hours later, tucked into a bed that wasn’t yours and in more pain than you’d ever felt before.

Shock and terror startled you into consciousness before you could so much as attempt to fade back into blissful oblivion. You tried to curl up, to make yourself as small and as safe as possible, but your leg caught on something – a leather cuff, discovered after throwing the sheets that’d been laid over you to the side. A shackle, lined in velvet and sitting loosely at the base of your ankle, a silver chain connecting it to an unseen point underneath the bed. You gave it another tug, just to check, and unsurprisingly, it refused to budge. You choose to look away before the pit quickly opening up inside of your chest could deepen any further.

Instead, you turned your attention outward – to the rest of the bedroom. It wasn’t the one you shared with Satoru and Suguru, or the undecorated guestroom Satoru had semi-converted into a home office. The walls were a pale pink, the shelves already stocked with stuffed animals, fairy lights, jewelry boxes that (knowing Satoru) were no doubt filled to the brim. You weren’t wearing Suguru’s shirt anymore, either. Your blood ran cold as you glanced down and found yourself in a pastel blue nightgown – all lace and silk and frills no one could ever hope to actually sleep in. You didn’t know whether to be disgusted that they’d re-dressed you while you were unconscious, without your permission, or thankful they hadn’t waited until you were awake enough to try and stop them.

Seconds seemed to move in thick, dripping clumps. You couldn’t be sure how long passed until your disoriented stillness was interrupted, but by the time the plain, white door (a neat row of undone deadbolts visible above to the knob) swung open, Satoru stepping through with Suguru following shortly behind him. Automatically, you started to move towards them, but caught yourself, pressing you back into the headboard and crossing your arms over your chest, as if that gave you any kind of authority. As if there was any authority you could have, chained to the floor in the bedroom of a pre-schooler.

“You were beginning to worry us,” Suguru started, sitting on the foot of the bed. “But, then again, our little princess was always a delicate one, wasn’t she?”

You stiffened, bristled. You opened your mouth, but closed it as Satoru draped an arm over your shoulders, collapsing next to you. “Here,” he said, holding something out. “Suguru wanted to make you ask, but I’m not that stingy.”

 You attempted to shift away from him, but Satoru had never made things that easy. He clung to you that much tighter as your eyes fell to his hand, finding—

A cup.

A sippy cup, pink and plastic and decorated with little, glittering clouds.

The nausea was immediate, nearly overwhelming. You wanted to vomit. You wanted to throw it across the room. You wanted to do anything but accept it, but your throat was bone-dry, a steady throbbing already begging to root in the back of your skull. Wordlessly, you snatched it out of his hand and (with more than a little strain) pulled off the lid, drinking as quickly as you could. Satoru’s nails scraped against your bicep, but neither of them commented.

Suguru waited until you were finished to go on. “You’ll get used to it, after a few weeks. It’s really not that different from our prior relationship, just a few aesthetic changes ‘toru and I thought a—” He paused, grinned. “—softer environment might suit you.”

“We can be more honest now, too.” Satoru sounded too giddy, too happy. “Those last couple of days practically killed me – having to watch you leave the apartment, acting all independent n’ shit. This way, there won’t be anything stopping us from keeping you all to ourselves.”

A beat passed in silence. It took you a moment to realize you were supposed to say something, and another to actually open your mouth, to find your voice when all you wanted to do was shrivel up and shut your eyes. “I don’t really understand what’s going on,” you muttered, like that would make it true. Like enough stuttering, simpering obliviousness would be what made them change their minds. “When are you going to let me go?”

Beside you, you heard Satoru try and fail to suppress a breath of a laugh, and Suguru’s grin only seemed to widen.

Sink to the depths.

The long awaited Christmas Bash Bonten fic, hope it's worth the wait y'all <33

Bonten x female reader

wc. 8.3k

tw: yandere, noncon, dubcon, noncon drug use, murder, abuse, blood, violence, choking, dp, sex trafficking, kinda stockholm syndrome-ish, nsfw, manga spoilers

You’re not entirely sure what it is exactly that stirs you from sleep, only that it’s early, the first rays of dawn light just barely peeking through the window.

Kokonoi’s arm’s slung over your waist, red silken sheets pooling over bare skin, yet even with the warmth of his body lying beside yours, it’s not enough to keep the chill from seeping into your bones. Cool, but not freezing – just on the edge of discomfort.

There’s the temptation to simply roll over, curl up against Koko and drift off for another few hours. You’re still tired, and sleep – even in the arms of a man you despise – isn’t something you have the luxury of squandering. And yet the moment the thought enters your head, you push it aside. Despite the early hour and your seemingly never ending exhaustion, you can already feel the beginnings of restlessness setting in.

You can lie there, close your eyes and will yourself back to sleep, but you’ll only toss and turn – and risk waking Koko in the process.

No, you think, better to try and slip away. Across the hall and largely untouched is the room they’d given you. Your clothes are there, warmer blankets, a bed, your own bathroom with a shower. A far cry from the old, stained mattress they’d so graciously allowed you to use when you’d first arrived.

You can’t remember the last night you’d actually slept in there, but it is nice to have a space that’s just yours – even if it doesn’t truly belong to you at all. Nothing here does. Nevertheless, the thought of a hot shower and some temporary peace and privacy is an alluring one. It’s not just the exhaustion, your entire body hurts from last night, the finger shaped bruises that mar your hips and thighs the least of them.

Slowly – gingerly – you begin to wriggle out from under his arm, trying to extricate yourself without–

“Mmpfh.”

The groan is low and rough, heavy with sleep, and as his arm tightens around your waist dragging you back against him, Koko’s lips brush along your neck, “And where do you think you’re going?”

Your stomach knots. Months ago, you wouldn’t have noticed the faint, warning edge to his tone. Then again, months ago you’d been under the foolish assumption that out of all of them, he was the sane one.

The safest.

“Can’t sleep,” you reply.

He hums idly, long, lithe fingers trailing up your side.

“…That’s not what I asked you.”

He’s not mad per se, not yet. But it’s always a tightrope with Koko; one minute things are fine and you can almost pretend that whatever it is that’s between you two has any semblance of normality, but one tiny misstep; a thoughtless comment, flinching away at the wrong moment, and everything falls apart.

Koko might lack the hair-trigger penchant for violence that some of your other captors favour, but you haven’t been able to shake the unpleasant memories of the last time he’d flown off the handle.

The thought of testing those limits so early in the morning isn’t a pleasant one.

And so you roll over to look at him properly, careful to keep your expression neutral, sleepy even. As if the thought of slipping away from him wasn’t one born of desperation, but merely a whim of your semi-conscious state.

Your reply momentarily gets stuck in your throat, however, when you actually take him in. Naked, propped up against the headboard and bathed in the dim morning light, there’s a certain kind of striking beauty to the man. Even with long, silvery locks mussed and eyes glazed with sleep – those same eyes that flit over your features, narrowed as he awaits your answer.

“I was gonna go take a shower. I still feel all…” Somehow, telling him that you feel gross after spending the night with him doesn’t seem like a smart move, no matter the truth of it. “I didn’t want to wake you,” you amend.

Another half truth. Yet it seems to do the trick in placating him, his expression softening as he presses a chaste, almost affectionate kiss to your lips.

“You shouldn’t have worried. I need to get up soon anyway.”

He smiles as he says it – one you’ve learned better than to believe genuine – laying his hand to rest at the base of your throat. Instinctively, you stiffen, heart skipping a beat. No matter how long you’ve been here, the unspoken rules about leaving permanent damage, you still haven’t been able to shake that innate fear every time their fingers tighten around your neck.

And from the look in Koko’s eyes, the way his smile turns cold, he knows it.

His touch is delicate, teasing almost as his thumb sweeps along the column of your throat, and for a moment you’re confused by the sudden intensity in his expression–

Until he reaches a sore spot; the edge of a shallow cut, courtesy of one of the others, and cruelly presses down. It’s enough to draw a sharp gasp from you; one that’s quickly swallowed up by Koko’s mouth as it collides with yours.

Domineering.

Possessive.

His hips rock eagerly against your own, teeth nipping at your bottom lip – harsh enough to draw blood – and all thoughts of a peaceful, quiet morning go up in smoke.

“But we have some time, don’t we?” he pants between kisses, already drawing your naked body back under his.

It isn’t a question.

Stupid of you to think that it ever is.

—

The glowing red numbers on your old alarm clock tell you it’s a little after three in the morning when the door to your apartment slowly creaks open.

For the fifth time this week.

Squeezing your eyes shut, relief washes over you, the knot in your stomach easing as your brother’s familiar footsteps creep down along the hallway. He’s home. He’s safe, for tonight at least.

And just as you have every other night this week, and the countless nights before that, you feign sleep as he pulls back the curtain of your room, peeking in only to check that you’re where you’re supposed to be.

Tonight, however, he hesitates before leaving.

You can smell the booze and cigarette smoke wafting off of him. The faint, metallic tang of blood that almost – almost – draws you out from your charade. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d done something stupid and gotten himself in a fight at some dingy bar downtown, but the air feels heavier tonight.

Something’s… off, and so you keep your eyes shut.

There’s a dull thud – the back of his head hitting the wooden doorframe. “Fuck,” he mutters, and then he’s gone.

—

“D’ya want some, babe?”

Sanzu’s cheshire grin widens, the scars either side of his lips stretching as you meekly shake your head. The same answer you’ve given every time he’s so generously offered to share his stash.

“Your loss,” he says with an unaffected shrug, shoving you back down to the couch. Just across the hall, in the other room, Mochi and Takeomi are deep in the middle of a discussion about an upcoming meeting, their voices floating down the hall.

You catch a snippet or two, something about distribution and profits – some mid level dealer getting a little too greedy for his own good – but it’s easy enough to tune it out.

And once upon a time, you’d be mortified at the thought that anyone could just walk in and see you like this; half naked and sprawled out before Sanzu like a whore. But this is practically tame compared to some of the other far more public displays you’ve been subjected to in the months since you arrived.

Besides, it’s not like either one of them would be in a position to judge. Only yesterday, Takeomi had you on your knees, sucking his cock under the table while he had his morning coffee and cigarette.

You hadn’t so much as blinked when Sanzu’d come home, splatters of fresh blood staining his pastel suit, and rather than heading into his own room to shower and sleep it off, had made a beeline straight for you. Ignoring the TV show you’d been absorbed in, he’d simply grabbed you by the arm and snapped at you to take off your top.

By now you know better than to argue.

“Lie still for me,” Sanzu instructs, but he’s barely paying attention as he grabs the baggie and taps out a small pile of coke onto your stomach. You watch, steadying your breath so as to not disturb the white powder while he takes out a card from his back pocket and begins cutting it into neat lines.

And despite how many times he’s done this, it never feels any less surreal. Why he chooses to snort drugs off of you when there’s a perfectly good coffee table less than a foot away is beyond you, but you’ve long since given up trying to make sense of the pink haired Bonten executive. All you can really hope for with Sanzu is that if you play along, you won’t get too badly hurt in the process.

A gamble at the best of times.

The leather of the sofa feels odd your bare skin, the room not quite warm enough to be comfortable, yet you’re fairly certain that it’s the way those big, blue eyes bore hungrily into your own that has your stomach tightening and goosebumps prickling at your exposed skin.

And you pretend that it doesn’t send a flood of heat rushing to your cheeks when those eyes flicker down to your breasts, nipples already pebbled, and his smirk widens.

But you only gasp, a shivery, pathetic sound, jerking in his grip – almost disturbing his carefully cut lines of cocaine – when his tongue darts out to swirl around your belly button instead.

The light slap to your face that follows doesn’t bother you nearly as much as the grating sound of his hyena-like laugh.

“I said, stay still,” he taunts, as if he wasn’t the one deliberately trying to rile you up.

You have to remind yourself that it could be worse. That he could have used the knife today, or decided he wanted to share you with the Haitani’s again. That he could just as easily tie you down and paint your skin black and blue, fuck you ‘til you pass out, make you choke on his cock or a thousand other horrible things.

He still might.

Closing your eyes, you murmur a halfhearted apology and let your head tip back as Sanzu leans over your stomach once more, this time with a finger pressing one nostril closed. The sharp snort and the drag of his nose along your skin are bad enough, but it’s the low, drawn out ‘Fuuuuck’ that leaves his lips that sends a shiver rippling down your spine.

Sanzu sniffs again, and even with your eyes shut, it’s impossible to mistake the sound of his belt unbuckling or the hiss of his zipper as he slides it down. Your heart rate picks up, anticipation and not a small amount of uneasiness unfurling inside of you, but you’re not surprised.

You’ve come to learn that Sanzu enjoys three things in life; drugs, sex and frankly terrifying displays of violence. The first two, from your experience, usually go hand in hand. From the dried remnants of blood on his clothes, flecks of it dusting his hands and his pale, scarred face, he’s already indulged in the latter this morning.

A small mercy, you suppose.

You brace yourself for his hands on your skirt, panties being ripped off, or maybe just shoved to the side if he’s feeling especially impatient, so the strange, plastic rustle that comes next takes you by surprise.

Your eyes snap open, head jerking forward just in time to see a little blue pill go into Sanzu’s mouth. And the relief that washes through you only lasts for a split second before his hand is in your hair, yanking you forward to slam his mouth against yours.

It hurts, both the sting of your scalp and the crushing force of his kiss, but the pain gives way to panic as his tongue forces its way past your lips, and you taste artificial sweetness, feel the weight of that little blue pill on your tongue.

“What the fu–”

Sanzu doesn’t let you finish the expletive, clamping his hand over your mouth and squeezing your nose shut.

“Swallow,” he leers.

The drug only takes minutes to kick in.

Warmth begins to seep through your veins. Slowly at first, matching the drag of Sanzu’s tongue along your throat, but it spreads, burns hotter until you’re shifting beneath him, soft little noises escaping you with every touch.

But they’re good noises. It feels good, the way he grabs at you, yanking your thighs apart so he can settle between them.

The press of his cock at your sopping cunt.

And it’s hard to focus, to think as the lights on the ceiling begin to dance, a dizzying haze sweeping through your head. Instead, you focus on Sanzu, the pretty pink of his hair, blue eyes blown wide and that manic, beautiful grin.

You’ve never felt more alive, every nerve ending electrified as he fucks you – you don’t care that you’re in plain view of the others, that you’re moaning and crying out like a two bit whore in a bad porno. All that matters is the delicious stretch of his cock every time he fills you, the buzzing pleasure building in your core with every frenzied thrust.

You’re chasing that high, delirious and in love, and you never want this to end.

—

‘Do you trust me?’

He’d asked you that, months ago now. Another late night, the two of you sprawled out on the old couch in your living room, mindlessly watching reruns of game shows. Or, at least, that’s what you’d been doing – your brother had come in later, bringing the food he was supposed to have brought hours ago, an odd expression on his face.

And the words had just… slipped out. He’d looked almost surprised by them, but glanced at you nevertheless to hear your response.

The answer back then had been the same as it is now; yes. Always.

How could you not, when he was your big brother? The one who protected you, who took you in after your parents left you both orphans at too young an age. He’s never been perfect – a little too rash, sometimes. Irresponsible. Childishly selfish, too, though to his credit he is trying to be better.

He wants the same as you do; a different life. A better one, where you don’t have to work for scraps and every month isn’t a struggle to make ends meet.

So yes, you trusted him. But you never asked for the details, and he never volunteered them.

And you trust him now, even as the pit of unease grows inside of you, and a thousand questions dart through your head. You did what he asked – left work when you got his frantic call, raced home to pack your things.

The only thing you’d faltered on was his last request.

“We have to leave and we have to do it quickly,” he’d told you. “We need the money more than we need those stupid rings, okay? Just… please. Do this for me.”

He was right, really. Your parents’ wedding rings may have been all that you had left of them, but if it came down to a choice of having a temporary roof over your head, and food for the next few days… well, it wasn’t much of a choice at all.

(You didn’t ask what happened to the money you already had set aside.)

That didn’t mean that watching the shopkeeper sniff disinterestedly before counting out a measly sum wasn’t like selling off a part of your soul.

You trust him, but as you return home, money in hand, and the door swings wide to reveal a dark haired stranger waiting for you in the living room, you wonder whether you should have offered that trust to him so blindly.

—

Tonight is a celebration.

For what, exactly, you’re not entirely sure. Another year of successfully flooding Tokyo with drugs and violence, maybe, more competition wiped from the map – they don’t share these things with you, and in all honesty you don’t particularly care.

The less you know about these things, the better.

Tonight, it means a black dress with a slit to your thigh and a choker at your throat that feels more like a collar. Yet it’s not some packed club in Shibuya that they take you to, but an old, abandoned warehouse down by the docks.

From the outside, the place looks like a dump, looming corrugated walls that were once white bleeding lines of rust and grime, the giant lettering out front faded and peeling. There’s not a soul in sight, the night almost eerie if not for the muted thumping of bass that creeps out from the cracked windows.

You can’t help but think back to the first and only time you’d been brought here, Sanzu and Takeomi driving you out in the early hours of the morning. Of course, it’d been different that night. You weren’t dressed up as arm candy for one, and the three of you hadn’t stayed long – just long enough to watch the weighted black bags sink quietly down into the depths of the ocean.

And you might be tempted to wonder if they had similar plans for you tonight, but the grim truth is that if they wanted you dead, they needn’t go to all that trouble. A bullet to the brain while you slept would do the job just fine. After all, they’ve made it abundantly clear by now – there’s no one left to miss you. No one left to care if your body suddenly turns up in some filthy alleyway downtown.

The thought doesn’t bother you as much as it used to.

“You remember the rules, don’t you?” Mikey asks, glancing sideways when you obediently fall into step with him.

He’s forgone his usual attire for a red suit, the colour bringing a flush of life to his normally pallid complexion. Even the dark circles around his eyes look less severe. Yet there’s something else in his expression tonight, a detached sort of… iciness that’s decidedly unsettling.

Whatever the reason they’ve come here – brought you along with them – you’re beginning to think it has very little to do with getting drunk on high end scotch.

“I remember,” you reply, taking his arm when he offers it.

And you do. Since this whole awful chapter began, you can count on one hand the number of times they’ve let you out of the tower, and the rules never change.

“I’ll be good.”

There’s a slight upturn to the corner of his mouth, but he says nothing more as Sanzu steps ahead to push the warehouse doors open.

You’re half expecting that despite the derelict appearance outside, the interior of the warehouse would be something lavish – that would account for Mikey’s suit, at least, the designer dress and heels they’ve shoved you in.

But it isn’t.

Mikey leads you in, Kakucho and Takeomi flanking either side with the others trailing behind, and the first thing you’re assaulted by is the heavy stench of smoke from cigars in the air – so thick it almost chokes you. There must be thirty or so guys inside, drinking, smoking, laughing, lounging back in their seats and hovering over poker tables.

And then there’s the women.

Young and beautiful, half naked as they flit between the men – some dancing, others balancing trays of drinks and food. You watch as one of them, a girl who could be no older than nineteen, pulled by her waist into the lap of an older man, his fingers sliding under the waistband of her thong. He doesn’t even look at her, too busy cackling with his friends over his own stupid joke.

Your stomach turns, and behind you, one of the others snickers.

Ran, you think.

Mikey, of course, doesn’t break stride. None of them do, tugging you along until three men step forward, the one in the middle – the oldest, heavyset with slicked back hair and a too wide grin – opening his arms in greeting with a short, respectful bow.

“Manjiro, my friends, welcome!”

Mikey blinks. “Junichi.”

The man – Junichi, you gather – eyes you for but a moment, dismissing you entirely as he snaps his fingers and two girls step forward with drinks in hand. “Come, let’s talk. The last shipment just arrived, and I think you’ll be more than pleased with the goods.”

Which is how, twenty minutes later, you find yourself perched on Kakucho’s lap, trying desperately to forget the terrified expressions of the women – girls – stuffed into cages, crying and sniffling and begging–

“Drink,” Kakucho murmurs, handing you a glass of amber liquor. You don’t even pause before knocking it back, wincing at the dry burn as it slides down your throat.

His knuckles graze your side, a low hum escaping him when you readjust yourself, but otherwise his attention turns back to Mikey and Junichi’s entourage. Back to the business at hand. Because that’s what this was to them; just business. Girls stolen, manipulated and lied to, forced into their brothels and onto the streets to make a quick buck.

Drugs, weapons, gambling, money laundering, murder; why not add sex trafficking to the list?

It’s not like you didn’t know this was going on, but knowing something to be true and actually having the evidence shoved in your face are two very different things. Those girls, that–

That could’ve been you.

Kakucho’s arm’s still loosely curled around your waist, but suddenly it’s stifling – too hot, too close, too smothering – and your stomach turns. He’s not even paying attention, at least, not until you start to pull away from him.

His brows knit, but he doesn’t say a word as you push to your feet, unsteady.

No, it’s Rindou, seated across from you on the other side of the table, watching you like a hawk, who pipes up, “Going somewhere?”

His bored expression betrays little, but you hear the underlying message clear enough. Keep your mouth shut, do what we say, and don’t leave our sight. The same rules they always have for you.

You can’t summon the energy to care about that right now.

“Bathroom,” you mutter, and don’t look back.

Except it isn’t the bathroom that you head to, but rather the emergency exit door that lies just beyond them. You’re not stupid enough to think you can run (there’s nowhere left for you to run to) but you need space, and air to breathe that isn’t tainted with stale smoke and too much cologne.

The cool night breeze bites at your bare skin; a thousand tiny pinpricks, but it’s a welcome discomfort. The wind that blows through your hair, the distant thrum of heavy machinery and the gentle slap of waves against the docks, even the aching pain in the balls of your feet from your heels, you hone in on them, let yourself be lost to them – even if it’s just for a minute.

You’re not an idiot, you know that one of them will come and retrieve you sooner or later, that you’ll inevitably have to listen to them chew you out, or worse, have to endure the teasing mockery while they make you apologise for breaking the rules.

But at the sound of the heavy door swinging open and footsteps echoing out, you can’t help the stinging disappointment that washes over you.

“I was coming back, I just… I just needed a minute,” you say, not even bothering to turn around.

The laugh that follows, however, isn’t a familiar one, and you jerk back around to find one of the men from inside leering at you instead. “No need to rush on my account, we got all the time in the world."

A very real trickle of fear slips down your back. You’re not so naive anymore to mistake the expression on his face as anything but pure hunger. Not so stupid as to think that if he did try coming at you, that you’d have any hope of fighting him off – not when he’s a full foot taller than you at least, and built like a tank.

He takes a single step towards you, his grin widening as you skitter backwards, almost tripping on your damn heels. “C’mon, don’t be like that. I wouldn’t hurt a pretty thing like you.”

“I-I’m not–”

Not what? Not like the girls inside? Tits out, stuffed into lacy g-strings and thigh high stockings to bend and serve Junichi’s men. Not like the girls in the cages, terrified and filthy, soon to be plied with drugs to make them nice and compliant.

He knows that. You hate yourself for even making the comparison, but the fact you’re fully dressed instead of just prancing around in your underwear should set you apart easily enough. And he had to have seen you come in with Mikey and the others, to know that you’re with them in all the ways that count.

Which, you realise with another stab of panic, means that he simply doesn’t care.

You’re with Bonten, but you’re not one of them.

Intentionally, he’s placed himself firmly between you and the door back inside, meaning that if you want to run the only option you have is the sprawling labyrinth of warehouses and shipping containers behind you. And that’s assuming you’re quicker than him.

If nothing else, you’ve learned that size doesn’t always impact speed.

You swallow tightly, legs shifting as you brace yourself to kick off your shoes and run if you have to–

“Gonna scream for help, girlie?” he calls out, his tongue swiping along his lower lip as he mirrors your stance. “They won’t hear you in there, so why don’tcha just make this easy and come to daddy.”

The words make you want to retch, but there’s no chance for you to react as the door behind him – the door to your freedom – flies open once more and a familiar figure steps out.

Kakucho’s mismatched eyes, one vermillion, the other a milky white, dart from you – shivering and terrified – to the hulking man standing only feet away, and narrow dangerously.

And if you’d bothered to glance at your would be attacker, you might have seen the way his face pales, how he straightens, hands reflexively coming up in front of his chest in a gesture of peace and apologies start to form on his lips.

But your attention is fixed on Bonten’s number three as Kakucho draws his gun from the holster hidden by his jacket, flicks off the safety, and with a casual ease that still terrifies you, shoots.

Once. Twice. Three times for good measure. The man’s dead before his bullet ridden body hits the ground.

“If you’re not careful, Mikey’s gonna put a leash on you,” Kakucho comments after a beat, stowing his sidearm and carelessly stepping over the corpse when it becomes clear to him you’re not gonna come on your own. “You don’t go anywhere without us.”

There’s a thousand things you could say in response to that, but as he grabs your jaw and forces you to meet his stare, the only words that slip from your mouth are, “Thank you.”

He almost smiles.

—

“Please– please, this…”

You look wildly from the dark haired man to the blonde sitting passively on your kitchen countertop.

“Whatever he’s done, I-I can fix it,” the words spill out faster than you can stop them.

An empty promise, to be sure – they know it as well as you do.

The taller of the two, the dark haired one with a scar slashed across his face, holds a gun in his hand. Holds it easily, comfortably, as if the weapon is merely an extension of his arm. As if he’s held it a thousand times, used it without breaking a sweat. And you know, with a sinking certainty, that whatever it is that your brother’s gotten himself mixed up in, ‘fixing it’ isn’t something that you’re going to be able to do on your own.

But you’re terrified. These strangers have broken into your home, your brother’s gone, and now there’s a gun and it’s all you can do to keep yourself from falling apart.

“I-if it’s money, I have some,” you stammer, reaching into your purse to pull out the cash from the pawn shop. “It’s only a few hundred, but–”

“Stop talking.”

Finally, the blonde speaks – and the rest of your rambling words die in your throat.

Tired, bloodshot eyes bore into yours, “Do you know who we are?” he asks.

Again, your gaze flickers between the two. Surely if your brother had mentioned either one of them, they would have made an impression, but there’s nothing.

He never told you anything, and if you’re supposed to–

“Are you deaf?” the dark haired one snaps when your petrified silence stretches too long. “Answer him.”

Wordlessly, you shake your head.

The two share a look of their own, and the blonde hops off the counter. “Unfortunate.”

He sweeps out of the room, not even sparing you a backwards glance… Leaving you alone with his terrifying friend.

Shit.

Time seems to slow, abject terror coursing through your veins as you spin back to face him, fully expecting to see the muzzle of his gun greeting you, a flash, a deafening bang–

But he hasn’t moved – the gun’s still in his hand, yes, but it hangs passively down by his side. Is this the part where you fall to your knees and beg? He hadn’t seemed moved by your pleading earlier, but just standing there mutely, shaking like a leaf while you scramble for something to do that’ll save you feels wrong too.

“Please,” you whisper, “my phone’s in my bag. Just let me call him and we can fix this, I– I can…”

There’s something in his mismatched eyes that robs you of your words. Not pity, exactly – somehow, he doesn’t strike you as the overly sympathetic type – but more a kind of grim understanding. As if he knows that whatever your brother was caught up in, you are a wholly innocent party – and it still won’t save you from what happens next.

“We’re past that now,” he mutters, holstering the gun as he marches forward to grab you by the arm. “C’mon, you’re coming with us.”

—

“Stop fucking whining, you can take it,” Rindou pants in your ear as another strangled gasp leaves you. “You always do.”

Because they never give you a damn choice.

The bathroom stalls at the bar weren’t built with three people in mind, but somehow you’re sandwiched in there between him and his brother, skirt hiked up, Rindou’s hand wrapped around your throat and your panties stuffed in Ran’s trouser pocket.

Ran fucking your cunt, and Rindou’s cock stuffed deep in your ass.

And it burns, every synchronised thrust bringing a fresh wave of searing pain. The tears come unbidden, and yet the sight of them only serves to make Ran grin, leaning down so he can lick them from your flushed face.

“Don’t be shy now, show us what a good little cock whore you are, hm? Takin’ us both like this,” he laughs, and all you can do is whimper when his lips crash roughly against yours.

It’s hardly the first time they’ve fucked you together like this, but back home there’s usually some kind of prep– not since the early days have they split you open without a care. Tonight, however, they’re on a tight schedule. Something about a meeting, a late dinner with the boss, the exact reason they’d given escaping you.

‘Just a quickie,’ Ran had promised with a wink when they’d cornered you on your way out of the bathroom, shoving you back into the seedy cubicle before you could so much as try to protest.

Rindou’s grip tightens, cutting off your air supply and making you jolt and jerk and writhe on their cocks, because between them you can barely stand. And every snap of their hips and the lewd, wet, squelching sound that accompanies it sends you closer and closer to the edge.

It hurts, fuck it hurts more than you remember, but as Ran’s hand slips down to where your bodies meet, and those calloused fingertips graze at your clit, your whole body shudders and shakes.

Dark spots begin to appear in the corners of your vision. You’re screaming, or moaning maybe – the choked noises are hard to decipher as your fingers claw at Ran’s back, trembling on your tippy toes when their rhythm starts to falter and instead they settle on a brutal pace to chase their own ends, fucking you deep and hard and fast.

It’s too much, you can’t breathe, and yet when Rindou’s teeth sink into your shoulder and Ran’s cock hits that sweet bundle of nerves that has you convulsing around them both, a wave of pleasure slams into you so hard that for a second there, you’re almost positive you pass out.

Neither one of them lasts long after that; the younger Haitani hammering into your asshole, cursing up a storm as thick, hot ropes of cum paint your insides, his older brother following only moments behind.

And you – oxygen deprived, stuffed to the brim and half delirious with the potent mix of pain and pleasure – tumble off that precipice right along with them.

Slowly, almost reluctantly, Rindou’s grip eases off your neck after a moment. “Knew you fuckin’ liked it,” he snickers, pulling himself free. “Our little pain slut.”

Gulping down heaving breaths, you ignore him, choosing instead to collapse against the stall wall, closing your eyes and waiting for your racing heart to calm.

“She always does,” Ran agrees, and you ignore that too.

Already, you can feel their cum beginning to seep down your thighs, dripping down onto the tiled floor. Unfortunately for you, your underwear’s currently balled up in Ran’s pocket.

Swallowing down the last scraps of your dignity, you begin to turn to the older Haitani sibling to plead for them back when, with an audible bang, the door to the bathroom slams open.

Shit.

You freeze, eyes widening as footsteps approach your cubicle–

“Hey, shitheads,” Koko’s voice calls, and the burst of relief that washes over you is palpable. “We’re leaving, hurry the fuck up.”

He doesn’t wait for a reply, footsteps receding and the heavy door swinging shut behind him.

“You heard the man,” Ran says, grinning all too smugly as he smoothes down the front of your skirt. “Fix yourself up, princess. Can’t keep the boss waiting.”

—

He’ll come for you.

Your brother is going to come.

The words are like a mantra, repeating them over and over again the only thing that keeps you from shattering completely when you lie down on that lumpy old mattress and will yourself to sleep after another night of being used and fucked and hurt for their pleasure.

He’s going to come and get you out of here, and the two of won’t ever look back.

… It’s been weeks now, hasn’t it? You’ve lost count of the days, one bleeding right into the next. A never-ending cycle.

Maybe you’ll start somewhere fresh, move to the countryside and find a job working at a bakery or a little shop – anything to put distance between you and this. You won’t ever have to wake up and wonder what fresh horrors are in store for you, whether today will be the day that one of them will finally reach their limit and end it–

He’ll come.

He’ll come.

He’ll come.

The tears arrive unbidden, silently streaming down your cheeks and seeping into your pillow while you shake fitfully with tiny sobs. So lost hurtling between misery and raw, flickering hope, that you don’t even hear the door, don’t realise that you’re no longer alone – at least, not until the light switches on.

“You’re not still crying, are you?” Ran – still wearing his three piece suit despite the late hour – asks mockingly, crouching down over your mattress.

You don’t reply as he pushes your hair back to revel in your red eyed, teary expression, but the watery glare you shoot him is answer enough.

His grin widens.

“Aw,” he tuts, “and here I thought you’d be happy to see me, especially when I come with a surprise. We brought it here just for you!”

You tense at that word, surprise, eyeing him warily, “What do you mean?”

Ran’s eyes glitter, and there’s a sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach. You’ve been here weeks now, months even – long enough to know that his idea of a surprise likely won’t bode well for you.

Then again, it doesn’t matter whether you’ll like this surprise or not, because Ran’s already straightening up, beckoning for you to follow with that same cruel smirk.

And you’ve learned by now that it’s easier, less painful, when you do as you’re told, so you quickly scamper to follow him.

He leads you to the elevator, presses the button for the 28th floor, and when the doors open again, you’re surprised to find that unlike the upper floors, this one’s hollowed out. Unfinished. Paint markers still on the walls, fluorescent lights flickering from the exposed ceiling above.

As if the construction crew had simply given up halfway through.

Your stomach twists into a knot. Something is wrong.

Ran steps out of the elevator smoothly, offering you his arm when you make no move to do the same. “Don’t wanna keep ‘em waiting,” he says with a wink.

On shaking legs, you reluctantly trudge after him. But as he leads you down a corridor, and the muffled sounds begin to get louder, clearer, and you hear grunting and laughter – someone howling in agony – you falter, tugging at his arm.

“Ran…”

“Shh,” he says, long fingers encircling your wrist and tightening painfully, “you’re gonna be good and stay nice and quiet. Can’t spoil the surprise now, can we?”

Even if you wanted to back out now, and damn the consequences, his grip on you is tight and you’re not strong enough to pull yourself free. So you walk with him, cold dread mounting with every feeble step.

The reasons for which become apparent as you round the corner of the hallway and the space suddenly opens up. There, in the middle of the empty room are three people. Sanzu, Rindou and a third bound to a chair, head hanging low and impossible to mistake–

Your brother.

The desperate noise that claws its way up your throat is smothered by Ran’s hand clamping over your mouth, his arm snaking around your waist to anchor you in place when you try to run for him. “What’d I tell you about being quiet, hmm?” he purrs, his nose nudging at your temple. “We’re just here to watch.”

And while both Sanzu and Rin meet your wide eyed, horrified gaze with amusement, your brother’s facing away from you, slumped over as much as the thick rope bindings will allow.

At the sound of your arrival, however, he stiffens, struggling to lift his head.

“Huh? W-who’s there?” he slurs. Before he can so much as turn, Rindou’s fist slams into the side of his face with a sickening thwack. Your brother grunts, spitting out a mix of blood and spit, and much to your horror, a tooth as the younger Haitani leans down to grab a fistful of his hair, yanking his face back up to sneer at him.

“Pay attention. We’re not done yet.”

But it’s Sanzu who takes the lead when Rindou shoves your brother off in disgust. “You can’t just fuck Bonten over like that, run off and think we won’t come after ya. Have you forgotten who the fuck we are?” he asks.

Your brother heaves in a ragged breath, shaking his head. “No, no, I didn’t– I gave–”

Another blow, this time to his nose, and he bellows out in agony as the cartilage cracks gruesomely and blood sprays.

Your stomach churns, a strangled cry of your own swallowed up by Ran’s palm – but you hear his laugh, soft as a lover’s touch if not for its malicious edge.

He’s enjoying this, you realise, tormenting you by hurting him. They all are.

They’ve fucked you, used you, hurt you. Made you beg and bleed and moan for them, but through it all, you don’t think you’ve ever felt the same bitter, seething hatred that you do right now.

“Gave what?” Sanzu presses, blue eyed gaze darting up to meet yours as that unsettling grin of his widens.

It takes a moment for your brother to answer him, a steady drip of blood seeping down his face as he waits for the pain to subside enough to speak. “Money,” he pants. “And– and her. My sister.”

The words don’t hit you right away. You can’t make sense of them, they–

They don’t make sense.

You don’t realise that you’ve gone completely still in Ran’s arms, that everyone else in the room, save your brother, is watching as your brain tries fruitlessly to process what you’ve just heard.

My sister… My sister…

My sister.

… No.

That– that can’t be right. You mustn’t have heard him correctly, he can’t have meant what you think he does…

He was going to meet you at the apartment.

He told you that he was going to meet you there, you just had to go and sell off the rings first. He– he was going to meet you there. You were going to leave together, but he got held up – that’s why he wasn’t there when you came back from the pawn shop.

He wouldn’t have sold you out, he wouldn’t have just left you… would he?

There’s a sound in your ears, a dull roar growing louder and louder by the second until it drowns out everything else. You’re shaking, you realise, trembling against Ran as you stare mutely at your brother, your supposed protector.

He gave you up?

“And what, ya think a few grand and some stupid slut was enough to wipe your debt?”

The backhanded insult slides right over you, lost to the pounding in your chest, the black, bitter nausea you feel clawing up your throat.

“Fine,” your brother spits, more blood splattering the concrete. “A peace offering then.”

A… a peace offering?

Ran’s murmuring something in your ear, but you can’t make sense of it, not as hot tears finally spill over and your legs start to give way.

He catches you, of course, lets you cling to him like a lifeline. But the hand that strokes your hair tightens and yanks, forcing you to turn back and watch.

Watch as Sanzu’s manic grin fades away, becomes something cold and predatory as he turns back to the table full of tools and takes up his revolver.

You know what’s coming.

Know it, but can’t make yourself move, can’t force a sound that isn’t a sob from your lips when Sanzu raises the gun and jams it against his forehead.

And as your brother starts to blabber, desperate, hoarse pleas spilling from his lips, Sanzu scoffs.

“Fuckin’ pathetic.”

BANG!

—

The sound of the lock turning draws you from your mindless boredom.

You briefly glance over, long enough to see Mikey slip silently through the door, before going back to staring out the lavish, floor to ceiling windows of his bedroom.

The clock on the wall tells you that it’s still early, but already the sun’s setting over the city, golden light bathing the towering skyscrapers. All your life you’ve lived in Tokyo, and yet before they’d brought you here, you’d never seen the city you loved from a bird's eye view like this.

So beautiful, the sky awash with pink and peach hues and scattered cirrus clouds. So… serene looking. The streets below, the thriving hustle and bustle you grew up in, it’s a world away now, the people down there little more than ants scurrying about.

Mikey hasn’t moved, watching you wordlessly from the doorway. Waiting, no doubt, for you to acknowledge him beyond that first cursory glance.

“You’ve been gone for hours,” you murmur eventually.

“I know.”

Distantly, you nod, drawing your knees up close to your chest and wrapping your arms around them. Still refusing to look at him. “You locked me in here.”

“I know,” he repeats, and that last vestige of lingering doubt that maybe, just maybe, he hadn’t meant to leave you trapped in here when he left goes up in smoke.

And you’d thought that you were spent, all that anger and panic and broken desperation used up hours ago when you’d banged your fists against the door and screamed yourself hoarse.

Even then, you think you’d known the truth, but to hear him admit it with such… such indifference, as if locking you up like an animal is nothing, all those emotions bubble up to the surface once more. Your fists clench, blood pounding and fingernails biting into the palm of your hand and you have to force yourself to stop and breathe for a moment, to calm down enough that you won’t do or say something you’ll regret.

Because you forget sometimes, just exactly who Mikey is and what he’s capable of.

A good thing too, because when you finally deign to turn around and face him, you’re hit with the realisation that something’s off about him tonight. He hasn’t moved so much as an inch, but it’s more than that. There’s a sort of preternatural stillness about him as he stares, an emptiness in his expression that makes the little hairs on the back of your neck stand on end.

As quickly as your anger had come, it recedes, a cold pit forming in its wake.

“Mikey,” you begin, your tone softer as you slide from the same bed he left you in this morning. “Why? I woke up and you were gone and the door was locked and I couldn’t get out. I– was it… did I do something wrong?”

There’s a slight twitch in his jaw, but otherwise his expression doesn’t waver as you pad across the floor to him. He reminds you of a cornered animal, tensed and volatile, dark, tired eyes fixed on your every move when you tentatively reach for him, fingers featherlight as they cup his cheek.

Mikey relaxes, shutting his eyes and leaning ever so slightly into the touch. The knot in your chest slowly loosens at the sight, and you can barely hold back your sigh of relief.

Good, you think, you can work with this.

“It wasn’t a punishment,” he mutters.

“Then why?”

His eyes snap open, “So you wouldn’t go wandering.”

You jolt back at the sudden bitterness in his tone, the hand you have on his cheek slowly falling back to your side, “Mikey–”

His expression darkens, “Have you forgotten that I own you? You’re mine,” he snarls quietly. “I don’t owe you shit, and if I wanna make sure you stay where I fucking left you, you should be thankful I don’t just chain you to the bed.”

You shake your head desperately, scrambling backwards towards the bed. “No, t-that’s not what–”

“Shut up,” he snaps. “You still don’t get it. The only reason you’re not rotting away six feet under right now is because I let you live. You’re not here to settle a traitor’s debt, you’re here because your life belongs to me. You belong to me.”

He closes the distance between you in an instant, cornering you up against the bed frame. One harsh shove and you’re falling onto the mattress with a yelp, the air knocked from your lungs. Mikey doesn’t waste a beat, clambering up after you and yanking at the silk robe you’d thrown on that morning, tearing it from you before turning his attention to his own clothes.

“Mikey, please, just wait–” you gasp, only to fall silent at the dark glare he levels at you.

Grabbing you by the hips, he roughly flips you – ignoring your undignified yelp – drawing your ass back up until you’re on your knees, face shoved into the sheets. You only try to rise to your hands the once – he shoves you back down with a muted growl, one hand curling around the back of your neck to keep you in place.

Stay down.

And you suppose that you should be grateful that he takes a moment to spit on your cunt, before he lines his cock up and sinks himself inside of you.

You don’t know how long he fucks you for, how many rounds he goes, only that by the time he finally pulls out, spent and panting, the sky’s an inky black and every inch of your body aches.

He doesn’t say a word as he collapses beside you, but truthfully you don’t expect him to. Whatever it is that’s just occurred between you two, it’s changed something fundamental. Broken something, and even as you lie there mutely trying to comprehend it, you realise on some instinctive level that there’s no fixing this now, no going back.

But Mikey isn’t the only one utterly spent. There’s no tears left for you to shed tonight, and you’ve no energy to fight it when, after a minute or so, he lets out a frustrated grunt and pulls you close, shifting until you’re lying nestled against his side.

In the darkness of his room, no noise but the soft sounds of your breath and the warmth of Mikey’s body next to yours, drifting off to sleep should be easy. And yet, despite all that, and the bone tired exhaustion weighing you down, you find yourself oddly awake, staring once more out the massive windows.

Watching as a soft blanket of white snow begins to cover Tokyo.

I’m not crying you are 🤧

It’s real emo hours up in here now

---

Yandere! Kyojuro Rengoku NSFW Profile

Yandere! Kyojuro Rengoku x fem! reader

Tw: kidnapping, mentions of non-con, dub-con, breeding, non-consensual touching, dry humping, masturbation, panty sniffing, a brief mention about virginity being sacred but no explicit mention of whether reader is a virgin or not, Kyojuro is a virgin tho so corruption kink kind of, pillow humping, coercion, allusions to lactation kink and pregnancy kink, choking, spitting, Kyo gets sex advice from Tengen, Kyo picks you up at one point but remember he's literally a Hashira and could pick anyone up no matter their weight, fem reader, MDNI

I do not condone any of the actions described in this post - this is fiction and should be treated as such. If you or a loved one is in a similar situation to anything contained in this post or my blog in general, please seek help. You're in charge of your internet consumption; please make responsible choices. With that, enjoy!

WC: 12K

HABITS:

In general, Kyojuro isn’t an incessantly horny man. Not only does he hold women in a high respect and doesn’t inherently sexualize them, but to be quite honest he simply doesn’t have time to be regularly indulging in sex or even masturbation. He’s a busy man, and when others are settled under their covers, either sleeping or moaning in another’s ear, he’s out in the dark, dangerous night hunting demons.

And so despite being in the sexual prime of his life, Kyojuro doesn’t have a huge amount of experience. He’s never considered actually touching a woman before, mostly because he didn’t feel the urge to and because he firmly believes in the idea of saving himself for his wife and life partner.

And even once you step into his life he doesn’t magically become some sex-crazed monster – eventually he is, sure, but it’s gradual. It takes a while to reach that stage, for him to both desire you enough and desire sex enough to be wasting his time fantasizing about you and your body.

Little seeds will be planted in his mind as the weeks and month pass, his obsession slowly developing and leaving him floundering when small, inappropriate thoughts begin seeping into the edges of his mind.

He’s noticing the way your kimono dips down just a bit one day – your collarbones are pretty, and he can’t help but have a fleeting thought of how soft the skin of your neck and shoulders must be.

(He’ll return home that night and try to forget that thought, going through an even more extensive training regime than normal, but even by the end of the some four hour session, he’s still imagining how the skin of your collarbones must taste.)

He’s suddenly noticing that your voice gets higher when you get flustered, the pitch raising just slightly, enough for him to notice and mentally file away for future reference.

(Would your voice get higher if he were to fluster you? How would you sound when he’s just kissed you, your lips swollen and your eyes dazed? How would you sound when he’s touching you, his hands settling at your waist or cupping your breasts, or perhaps even slowly, carefully dipping his fingers inside of you, feeling you tighten up and clench down and gasp and writhe and moan his name - )

He becomes acutely aware of the way you always seem to bend over to pick things up, your clumsiness coming into play as he finds himself unconsciously moving to stand so that he has an unobstructed view as you bend over, his eyes blatantly fixed on the curve of your ass, his lips slightly parted.

(He’s definitely thinking of that image later that night, one of his rare nights off, with his hand wrapped deathly tight around his cock as he imagines you bending over for him - perhaps over his dining table, or maybe even over his knee as he gropes and squeezes and plays with you.) 

The thoughts feel largely out of place initially, more often than not leaving him slightly dazed and confused because he’s never thought about how soft and smooth a woman’s thighs must be, nor about how your hands feel so small in comparison to his: less calloused and rough and warmer.

It’s strange, but as his delusions grow deeper and his feelings for you only intensify, Kyojuro finds himself rationalizing that it isn’t so disrespectful to be thinking this way – you’re practically already courting, and while you may not yet possess the Rengoku name, you will soon enough.

And once you’re wed?

Well, surely you must know what married couples do – pleasuring one another, loving one another, spending hours tangled in the sheets with gasps and cries ringing through their ears, sweat and kisses and cum covering every inch of their bodies. And if that’s your future – which he’s positive it is – then what’s the harm in imagining it?

He imagines all sorts of domestic scenarios with you, so why should it matter if the clothing is removed and your pretty smile is replaced with a pretty moan?

It’s fine – and so, while he still doesn’t wring himself dry to you every day, he’s sure to settle down and explicitly imagine being with you in an intimate way at least three times a week – even if that means unzipping the pants of his uniform with a demon’s blood still staining his hands, freshly killed and sending adrenaline through his veins.

(Adrenaline that then gets channeled into imagining the way you’d be so proud of him for outsmarting the demon and successfully eliminating it – perhaps you’d be so proud that you’d be willing to get on your knees for him, your soft lips wrapping around him and sucking, your little moans making his head spin and your nimble fingers kneading and groping at his balls. Ah yes, what a lovely thought…)

So while he’s not the most horny yandere of his comrades, he’s certainly no saint. But really, how could he be when you’re so damn alluring?

When it comes to actually touching himself, Kyojuro finds that his pleasure comes easiest when he’s actually doing the work, actually putting effort into getting himself off. It feels okay to simply pump his fist up and down, but it’s not enough – because being with you would be so much more overwhelming, even just your body heat alone making the experience ten times more powerful, more intense, more enjoyable.

He wants to immerse himself in the fantasy of actually having your soft body to kiss and touch and love, and he finds the best way to really achieve this is to fuck something rather than fucking his fist. But he’s a loyal man, and would sooner end his life than fall into the arms of another woman, even if only for a night.

And so, he compromises by fashioning a pillow – one with a covering of your favorite color, of course – into a substitute for yourself.

And while it feels good to have the pillow at all, Kyojuro finds that even just the simple pillow isn’t enough – it needs more, to be more representative of you, to just be better at convincing him that it’s really your wet, warm cunt he’s sinking into with every thrust rather than the dense plush of the pillow.

And so, with dark ink, he musters up every bit of artistic talent he possesses and carefully, oh so carefully draws in your features as much as he’s able to. He’s certainly no artist, but he’s slow and methodical with bringing to life this poor stand in for your own body – paying attention to every small detail, wanting everything to be as life-like as possible.

Your eyes are drawn on, correct down to the shape, even going so far as to try and ink on every eyelash, the flecks of color in your irises, any eye bags or wrinkles you may have.

He’s drawing your nose, the outline of jaw and neck, and, of course, your lips. He’s drawn them so that they’re permanently parted, leaving you looking like you’re gasping in pleasure, even going so far as to try and shade them so that they appear to be wet.

(Presumably with spit, or perhaps something a bit thicker, a bit hotter – it depends on the fantasy.)

The drawings continue down your body, making sure to outline your neck and shoulders, even down to your hands and fingers. (One hand is drawn with all your fingers curled and your thumb touching your index finger, so that a circular hole is made.)

He’s drawn your breasts, nipples, the swell of your tummy, your hips and thighs, even your calves and the arch of your ankles.

(He’s drawn you so that your thighs are spread slightly, giving him a view into what lies between – he’s not entirely sure of the technicalities of female anatomy, so he’s negating drawing any specifics and instead simply leaving the area blank, not willing to misrepresent your lovely, gorgeous figure – that’d feel disrespectful to you, as if the fact that he’s essentially created a sex doll in your image isn’t. He’s seen enough mothers breastfeeding children to have an idea of the upper half of a woman’s body, but he still shivers in excitement at learning how your upper body looks – though he thinks he has a good idea based upon how your clothing fits you, his eyes greedily observing the way the material is taut around your chest.)

Once everything is drawn, it’s easy to tear holes in the pillow – one between your legs, one in the curled circle of your hand, one between your pretty, parted lips.

Once he’s completed his work he'll eagerly, gingerly bring the pillow to his bed, gulping excitedly and immediately stripping off his clothing. His cock is already rock hard, swollen and pressing against his lower stomach, the tip a bright red and shining in the firelight of the room, precum soaking the skin.

He’d managed to get a guaranteed night off-duty this evening, which means there won’t be a single interruption. He’ll set the pillow down flat, excitement already licking at his every muscle, the room feeling incredibly hot already. He’s quick to settle himself above the pillow, his weight resting on both knees and his forearm that’s pressed against the ground. His free hand comes up to lightly trace at the drawn-on curve of your jaw, his face mere inches from where he imagines yours to be.

My flame, you are so beautiful… He’ll tell you, tongue flicking out to lick at his lips.

His cock twitches as he leans down to softly press his lips against your drawn ones, the kiss soft and slow and meaningful, the Hashira pouring every ounce of affection he feels for you into the action.

He imagines you kissing back; would you be hesitant, embarrassed and shy? Or would you be just as eager, perhaps wrapping your arms around his neck and running your hands through his hair, maybe even pulling on it, biting his lip and letting him know how badly you need him?

He groans, his eyes closed, lips working harder against the pillow, his tongue coming out to dart against the hole cut out, imagining your own tongue tangling with his. His hand wanders down from your jaw to your breast, fingers groping and squeezing at nothing but cotton, but the motion alone has his hips bucking, cock brushing slightly against the pillow. It makes him hiss, pulling back from the kiss and licking his lips, his eyes already half lidded and dazed.

Forgive me, I can’t wait any longer, I must be inside you.

His voice is breathless, and as he shimmeys upwards slightly, he’s spreading his legs a bit, thighs flexing as he leans back, audible inhaling as he nudges his tip against the hole between your drawn on legs, already smearing precum against the material from just a bit of contact.

His fingers are trembling slightly as he pushes in inch by inch, going slowly just like he would if it was really you, wanting to make sure you adjust to him and he feels good, so that you’ll be ready for him to absolutely ravish you.

He’s groaning as he bottoms out, balls pressed tightly against the pillow, his chest heaving as he stares wildly at your drawn on face. You feel – you feel amazing, my flame, oh –

He presses his forehead against yours as he slowly pulls back, the muscles of his ass and lower back going taut, before sinking in slowly again, an uneven sigh of your name slipping past his lips.

You feel so tight around me, does it feel good? Does it feel good to have me inside you?

Just the phrasing of that makes his head spin, the idea that he’s inside of you (even if he’s really not) making his hips snap to life, his previously slow pace picking up quickly.

He’s panting already, all the breathing control he’s mastered flying out the window because this is different – it’s your body underneath him, your pretty pussy sucking him in over and over and over, your moans ringing in his ears as you cry out his name again and again.

Kyojuro Kyojuro Kyojuro, please it feels so good!

He’s imagining the way you’d moan his name, how your voice would get so breathy, your fingers raking down his back, your legs wrapping around his hips.

He groans your name again, hips snapping into yours hard enough to push the pillow up with every thrust, his mind running wild as he imagines how your breasts would bounce at the force, practically begging to be squeezed and sucked at. A hand comes up and begins groping at nothing again, his thumb brushing over where he’s drawn on your nipple, his eyes rolling to the back of his head as the pleasure begins mounting.

It just feels too damn good – it’s so easy to imagine you below him, crying out his name as he fucks you hard enough to leave you utterly destroyed, your perfect little cunt massaging him in just the right ways.

He’s chanting your name under his breath, his eyes wide and staring down at your inked face, his voice getting faster and more strained as his muscles start clenching, his balls tightening and his hips stuttering and his heart racing because oh god oh fuck oh fuck –

He’s pulling out at the last minute, cum spurting all over the pillowcase, his moans of your name filling the room as his hand quickly tugs, wrist twisting and moving so fast it’s nearly a blur. The pleasure is immense, leaving his toes curling and every hair on his body standing up straight, feeling as if fire is running through his veins.

After the last few sad spurts dribble from his oversensitive, swollen tip, he’s left gasping, swallowing hard and letting a broad grin slip across his face. With still heavy breaths, he pushes back any stray hair from his forehead, the bit of sweat gathered there leaving him sighing. He’s quick to lean down, pressing a soft, long kiss against your drawn-on lips, a whispered I love you murmured against the pillow.

He has to swallow hard as he pulls back, euphoria still swimming in his veins at the intensity of his orgasm. Pleasuring himself to the thought of you is nearly too much - it leaves him breathless, feeling a high that doesn’t fade for hours after, and as he lays down beside the pillow, still stained with cum as he pulls it against his chest, imagining spooning you, he can’t help but shiver.

Because if it feels this good to simply imagine, how would the real you feel?

FAVORITE BODY PARTS:

Your thighs

In general, Kyojuro thinks you’re absolutely beautiful.

He finds you to be the single most attractive woman on Earth, and even if he’s never seen your body in anything more form fitting than a kimono or a slayer uniform, he’s absolutely sure that whatever awaits him beneath the cloth will be heaven, the thing of wet dreams.

And the moment he finally, finally has you bare below him, your pretty skin on display and waiting to be kissed, fondled, marked as his, he finds that he’s not disappointed in any way.

You’re gorgeous – and, naturally, the most gorgeous part of you is your thighs. There’s something about the sight of them that gets him swallowing hard, his eyes growing a bit brighter and wider.

His palms get a bit sweatier when he sees the way they splay out when you sit down, the fat jiggling with every step you take, the way they just look so touchable and squeezable. He nearly has a full body reaction the moment your thighs are out on display, his body temperature rising to extreme heights and his attention straining to stay on you rather than your pretty legs.

Even in settings where soft, loving affection is occurring, he's still eyeing them, appreciating the way you look in his clothing, the simple overshirt you’d put on that morning stopping mid thigh and leaving very little of your upper legs to the imagination.

 (You’ll notice the way his fingers slowly creep down from your waist, moving inch by inch until they’re finally laying over the curve of your thigh, idly rubbing and pressing into the warm flesh, marveling at just how soft you are.)

And when you’re both intimate with one another, his enjoyment of your thighs will be more than apparent – he’s always touching them, his hand coming down to squeeze and stay there, almost latching onto you as he throws your leg over his shoulder, his hips never stopping the brutal pace he’s established.

Every position he fucks you in involves your thighs somehow – he’s forcing you to wrap them around his hips when he's hovering above you and pressing down on you so tightly you’re only able to breath in him.

When he’s folded you into the deepest mating press possible, he’s holding you in position by pressing directly against the back of your thighs rather than your knees, often leaving fingertip shaped bruises there from the sheer force and strength he has to keep at bay every time he slips inside you.

Even when he’s fucking you from behind, your pretty ass on display as he sinks so deeply into you that it drives him crazy, he’s making sure to line his own thighs up to press against yours, relishing in the way his balls clap against your clit and the soft, plush fat of your upper inner thighs.

He’s paying extra attention to nip and tease you when he’s got his head between your legs, sucking hickeys and pressing kisses against your inner thighs as he slowly trails up from the inside of your knees.

He wants you to cage in his head when you’re nearing your orgasm, to squeeze as tightly as possible while he licks and moans and thrusts his tongue into you, the only thing he can see and taste and feel and hear being you you you.

Even when you’ve got your lips wrapped around his cock, his eyes are fixated on the way your thighs look splayed out while you kneel on them, his hips bucking as he zones out slightly, the pleasurable feeling of your mouth making him moan and struggle to maintain his composure.

He just really, really likes that area of your body, and while there’s certainly no part of you that he doesn’t like, his penchant for touching you there and always having a hand on your thigh will be very, very apparent to you.

So if you want to tease him, to see the way his eyes darken a bit and his smile grows a bit sinister, sit down with your legs slightly spread, stare at him with those pretty, pouty eyes of yours, and tell him that you’ve been feeling sore, will you please give me a massage, Kyo? I miss your touch…

You’ll have trouble walking the next day, and the littering of bruises, hickeys, and bite marks against your thighs will serve as proud trophies for Kyojuro, who will insist you not cover them up.

His mouth

In the context of sex, Kyojuro lives to please. He’s being completely honest when he firmly tells you that your pleasure is his, because he really does feel that way.

When you touch him it makes his head spin and his hips involuntarily buck, but when he touches you?

Well, more often than not he’s coming alongside you when he’s fingering you, that telltale groan of o-oh and the wet warmth you’ll feel against your skin letting you know exactly how watching you fall apart is affecting him. And similarly, he gets very, very into it when he’s got his mouth working at you, his talented tongue drawing tight circles over your clit and his hair tickling the inside of your thighs.

Every sexual encounter with Kyojuro will involve him eating you out in some capacity, both because he wants you to feel good, and also because he genuinely enjoys the taste of you and the feel of you against his tongue.

And he’s good at it too – he starts off slow, teasing you with playful nipping and smiles against your skin, his eyes looking up at you the whole time, forcing you to keep eye contact because he wants you to see how he pleasures you, for you to see how right he looks between your legs.

He’ll ghost around where you really need him for a while, making sure to pepper kisses at the juncture between your pelvis and thigh, the area right above your clit, even your lower tummy and hips.

He’ll kitten lick at your folds, humming against your skin and letting the vibrations send shivers up your spine, his tongue dipping just a bit deeper each time, until he’s using his thumbs to physically spread your lips, lewd slurping noises filling your ears as he licks and sucks, pleasure making you sigh his name.

After he’s sufficiently teases you, he’ll press a few more kisses to your thigh, then move upwards, still staring you in the eyes, before licking his lips and pressing a soft kiss to your clit.

He’ll tell you that he loves your body, my flame, especially this special spot that always makes you moan my name, before flicking his tongue along it, enjoying the way you jerk at the acute stimulation.

He’s perfected the art of keeping a steady, consistent pattern against you, making sure that the rhythm can let the pleasure build, a dull warmth spreading through your entire lower body.

Meanwhile, he’ll always slip a finger inside of you, curling and pressing against areas he knows you like, feeling the way your thighs twitch and your moans get louder.

He likes when you run your hands through his hair as he uses his mouth on you, especially if you lightly tug or pull; the pleasure tinged with slight pain makes him blindly hump at whatever is closest to him.

And he’ll always, always keep going until you’ve reached your high, even if that means spending hours between your legs; anything to feel the way your cunt flutters against his lips, how you gasp and practically wail his name, your thighs seizing up and your slick coating his chin and lips.

His eyes close as he eagerly laps it up, addicted to your taste – and as he pulls back, his lower face glistening with your arousal and spit, he’ll kiss you, pulling you into a passionate, tongue-heavy kiss.

Even outside of going down on you, Kyojuro finds ways to utilize his mouth in regards to you in every situation he can – he’s always pressing kisses against your lips, cheek, forehead, neck, and knuckles, liking the way that it flusters you and leaves you biting your lip.

He’s taking your hand in his and pressing kisses against your fingertips, singing your praises between presses of his lips, until he’s eventually slipping a finger into his mouth, holding your gaze as he sucks and runs his tongue up and down your skin, the intensity of the moment making you simultaneously aroused and uncomfortable.

He’ll even go so far as to share your toothbrush, just because he likes the idea of a little bit of him being in a little bit of you.

(You’re very aware of this, even without the whole toothbrush misfortune – his penchant for always, always finishing inside of you makes this abundantly clear.)

DRIVE:

Despite Kyojuro’s delusions about your relationship and how you feel for him, even he can’t misread the way you react so negatively to his mentions of being sexual with you. You always freeze up, eyes going wide, your head shaking no and your voice hurried as you tell him please, please no Kyojuro, I’m not – I’m not ready for that, please don’t!

 He’ll respect that, firmly nodding and tell you to not worry, my love, I can wait for as long as it takes!

He doesn’t really understand it, however, because in his mind there really shouldn’t be a reason why you aren’t ready – you’re his, and you know it.

 You’re living together (even if that wasn’t your choice) and you share a bed together when he’s home. You bath together (something that Kyojuro enjoys very, very much, his hands always wandering, his breath hot in your ear as he tells you that you’re beautiful, something hard pressing against you when he’s washing your hair), share a toothbrush, eat together and wear his clothing – you’re a couple, a partnership between a man and a woman, and wanting to express your love physically is a natural urge.

It’s normal and healthy, and something he wants so, so very badly to do with you. But he understands that perhaps you’re not comfortable with that level of intimacy quite yet – he’s aware of how society views women who’ve lost their virginity (he’d never explicitly asked you if you’ve touched another person, but he assumes you’ve saved yourself for him as he’s saved himself for you), and although you’d be giving it to the man you’ll spend the rest of your life with, he can respect that you might simply be afraid to lose something you’ve learned is cherished.

He’s disappointed by your rejection of sex, but he means it when he says he’ll wait for you to be ready and won’t force it upon you. That does not, however, mean that Kyojuro will completely abstain from interacting with you sexually. He just can’t help himself – sure, he may not be actively fucking you, but he finds other ways to placate the carnal desires practically begging him to rip off your clothing and press you against him while he makes you moan and writhe and fills you with him him him.

It starts small – he’s kissing you every chance he gets, letting them get longer and deeper, lasting sometimes minutes at a time while small moans and groans slip from his mouth into yours. His hand initially starts at your shoulder when he does this, but as time passes he gets bolder – it moves to your waist, your cheek, your hip, even over your ribcage right below your clothed breast, the edges of his fingers brushing against the underside of the pudge fat as moving up slowly, up until he pulls away from the kiss for air.

When kissing you becomes not enough, he moves to hugging you for longer periods of time, getting tighter and purposefully pressing parts of his body against you. He’s always been touchy, and you’ve been getting hugs for nearly as long as you’ve known him (even before his infatuation formed, back when his feelings for you were strictly platonic – now, though, they’re anything but).

But these hugs are different – he’s wrapping an arm around your waist and forcing you flush with his body, smiling at you with those wide, unsettling eyes while his breathing picks up ever so slightly, his pelvis pressed tightly against your own so that you can feel something – something warm, big, almost feeling like it’s moving against you, like it’s throbbing.

He’ll ask you to give him a pair of your panties when he leaves for missions, smiling so brightly and boyishly when you hesitantly deliver the piece of cloth to his outstretched palm, licking his lips and bringing the garment up to inhale deeply before stuffing it away into one of the many pockets of his Demon Corps uniform, telling you with a laugh to choose a pair that’s been used next time please, my flame.

(You never ask why he wants the underwear while he’s gone, simply because you think you know the answer already, but somehow hearing it from him would be worse, like confirming a truth you desperately wished to be false. Plus, you’re sure he’d tell you in extreme detail exactly how he uses them, too, perhaps even giving you a visual demonstration because he’s just so eager to interact with you, to feel your pretty eyes on him.)

It’s disturbing, but it’s a small comfort to know that he may be pushy and make you uncomfortable but he’ll never truly force you into sex. Kyojuro may be many things, but he’s at least a man of his word – even if he very, very badly wishes he wasn’t sometimes.

And so as wonderful as kissing you deeper and hugging you tighter and fucking his fist to your panties is, Kyojuro eventually decides that he needs more. He needs to get as close to actually fucking you as he can without being inside of you, just as he promised.

And so the perfect solution is really just that simple – running through the motions without violating your wishes. Kyojuro is ecstatic just thinking about – which is why, when the mood strikes him, his cock straining against his trousers and his fingers itching to reach out and touch, he’ll strip off his clothing, smiling at you and running his knuckles against your cheek while telling you to take your clothing off please, love, I want to make you feel good.

And really, as much as you don’t want to, it’s easier on both of you if you just do – your options are let him hump you like a dog, or be forced to touch him, your own hand wrapped around his cock as he moans and sighs and thrusts into your hand while telling you how good you look. And so, once your clothing is off, Kyojuro will look at you with those eyes, licking his lips slowly and walking up to you, pressing himself against you again and letting his hands sit firmly at your waist.

My flame, he’ll murmur to you, his voice low and his breath a bit hitched because his cock is pressed up against your thigh and god, even that touch alone is enough to make his knees feel weak. Lay down for me.

He’ll have you lay on your back, your legs spread for him and your arms over your head. He’ll stand for a while, simply staring at you, the sight of you in such a provocative position making his cheeks tinge pink and his throat feel a bit dry. But soon there’s too much precum dribbling from his tip to ignore, and he’ll climb over you, hovering over you and wrapping your leg around his waist, so that his face is mere inches from yours and his cock is pressed against your navel.

He’ll swallow, leaning down a bit to press his lips against yours, relishing in the warmth of your body pressed against his own. Kisses are pressed against the corner of your mouth, then down the length of your jaw, down your neck and finally to your shoulder, the movements slow and meaningful despite the near painful aching between his legs. His hips seem to move on their own, slowly rocking forward and backwards, the friction of his cock rubbing against your skin and against the tufts of hair making him hiss slightly.

His lips find purchase at your ear, deep sighs and heavy pants impossible to ignore as he slowly picks up his pace. The stimulation feels good, but it’s not enough for him - he has to move faster, harder, be better, because this is really a chance for him to show you exactly what you’re missing out on. This is his opportunity to show you that if he were to do this inside of you, it would feel so much better for you – it’s his opportunity to convince you that sex with him would feel good, that you’d be satisfied, that he could please you.

And he commits to that desire – one forearm is pressed against the bed right beside your head supporting his weight while the other wanders from your waist up to grope and squeeze at your breast, deft fingers pinching and rolling your nipple between them. He’ll groan your name, leaning down to lick at your lips and tell you that you’re so very beautiful, his voice strained. He’ll bring the hand down to ghost over your stomach, right above where his cock is grinding and thrusting, moving to bury his nose against your neck while he chants your name. His voice is a bit slurred, the pleasure making his brows draw tightly together, his hips snapping and flexing harder and harder.

He’s close, and he tells you as much – muffled against your neck, his low groan of f-feels too good, you feel so good love…

 With his orgasm approaching, he resorts to kissing your neck again, his hair tickling you and the feeling of his cock dragging against your skin over and over making your toes curl involuntarily, because even as humiliating and uncomfortable as this is, isn’t there something oddly sexy about this big, strong man making himself a fool on you, losing him mind from just the feel of you?

He’s desperate for the pleasure he’s right on the brink of as he blindly reaches out to find your hand, his fingers interlocking with yours tightly, the moan that rises in the back of his throat high and uneven and raw. His whole body shakes as something warm and thick spurts against your stomach, a few drops landing on the undersides of your breasts, his breath heavy in your ear as he slowly, oh so slowly thrusts, riding out the last waves of his pleasure.

His hand is still gripping yours, and after a moment he pulls back and kisses you again, his tongue immediately pushing into your mouth and insistent, the red on his cheeks even more pronounced now.

It’s still not ideal, grinding and humping against you like this, but Kyojuro is content to do it as many times as it takes until you finally, finally feel ready to let him love you like you deserve, to let him make you gasp and cry out his name and gush around him until you’re too incoherent to even think.

MAIN THREE KINKS:

Praise

Kyojuro is very vocal in bed. He’s constantly talking to you – telling you how good you feel, telling you when something in particular feels best, warning you when his orgasm is dangerously near, just producing a constant stream of commentary as he fucks you. His voice is breathy the whole time, always turned up at the ends of his sentences because the pleasure is too strong, forcing him to slur his words together because fuck you feel good.

A lot of his vocalness stems from the fact that he’s just so excited to be intimate with you – he’s been fantasizing about this for a long time, long nights spent with his eyes closed and his cheeks a bit pink,

imagining the way you’d look underneath the pretty kimonos and clothing you wear.

He’s imagined what your face would look like when he’s cupping your breasts, thumbing at your nipples and making your brows twitch, biting your lip as you tell him to squeeze just a hair harder, pressing yourself against him because having his hands on you feel too good.

He’s imagined how your thighs would tremble when he’s got two fingers buried in your cunt, curling and scissoring and rubbing against your sensitive walls while you curl your toes and whine his name.

He’s even imagined the way your pussy would feel as he’s fucking you, how it would clench down on him hard, practically begging him to stay inside, begging for every last drop of cum he can possibly give.

He’s fantasized and daydreamed and imagined for months on end, each scenario only making him more anxious to finally have his hands on you, the buildup to actual intimacy with you leaving him wildly excited. And so, now that you’re finally with him, your perfect body warm and soft to the touch just as he knew you’d be, Kyojuro can’t help himself from telling you every little thing he’s thinking and feeling. He’s rambling on about how pretty you look when you’re underneath him, your body spread out for him and completely bare.

He’ll smile at you and kiss at every available inch of skin as his hands squeeze and knead at your sides, leaning back to admire the view of a flustered, bashful you underneath him all with a dreamy sigh and a small you’re so perfect, my flame, exactly as I imagined you’d be. And really, it would be sweet if it weren’t for the way he continues on to tell you exactly what he’d imagined, explicit details about how he'd fucked to his fist to the thought of you writhing below him, what pace he’d used, how he’d tightened up his grip to simulate how tight you’d grip him, even going so far as to tell you that this particular fantasy had him producing much more cum than normal when he eventually came.

It’s too much information and will leave you feeling disturbed and a bit scared, but Kyojuro doesn’t seem to notice – he’s too deeply enthralled with the pleasure you’re giving him, the words seeing to slip off his tongue without him even realizing it as he thrusts into you with an almost inhuman speed.

But of course, even as lovely as it is to detail all of the fantasies he’s had of you, what you’ll most often get with him is praise. He generally thinks that you’re enchanting, viewing you as something perfect and lovely and so, so very wonderful, but when he’s intimate with you this perception of you only intensifies.

Every small burst of pleasure you give him only solidifies his infatuation with you, and he can’t stop himself from telling you how beautiful you look on your knees for him, your pretty lips wrapped around his cock and your eyes prickling with tears because he’s too big for you to take down your throat. He’ll just smile, hand cupping the back of your hand and slowly easing you down his length, biting his lip at the sight and sighing out that you’re doing so well, you feel so – so good, yes love oh, suck just like that, it feels amazing when you do that.

He’ll have you perched on his lap, tits bouncing in his face while his hands clutch at your hips and move you up and down his cock, his eyes rolling to the back of his head and a moan of your name falling past his lips, small chants of yes yes yes and gasps of your name filling the air between you.

He’ll lick and suck at your clit with his head buried between your thighs, a lithe finger working in and out of you as he moans appreciatively against you, your taste on his tongue forcing him to pull back a moment to lick a long, flat stripe against your folds, his chin and lips visibly glistening as you tells you that you taste so delicious, I can’t get enough of you, give me more please my flame, I need more of you.

And when you’re gushing around his fingers a few minutes later, desperately grabbing at the pillow under your head and his hair, Kyojuro can only brokenly groan, his own orgasm not far behind yours as he thrusts his hips against the floor. You’re just so pretty and perfect and wonderful, and how can he not tell you?

And after he’s emptied himself inside of you, he’ll curl you into his arms and hold you, breathing into your ear and telling you how good you did, how you did so well and made him feel so good. Kisses are pressed against the crown of your head while he does this, his compliments sounding so genuine and reverent that you’ll be equal parts flattered and uncomfortable because god, he really means it when he says you’re the most beautiful woman in the world, doesn’t he?

Kyojuro of course loves to be praised in turn – any positive comment from you is met with eager and wide eyes, his ministrations and motions only increasing, his desperation to please you and make you feel good nearly palpable. Your moans of his name and cries of yes and right there and please making something smug and warm swell in his chest, his obsession only deepening because you just look so right when you’re falling apart on his cock.

He lives to please you, so please praise him – he’ll return the favor with so much passion and vigor that you’ll almost be embarrassed for him at how high and whiny and lewd the groan he lets out when he spills inside you is.

Almost, because he’ll follow it up with heavy breaths and a stuttered that – that was for you, because of you, because you feel so fucking good.

Oral Fixation

There’s something about the taste of you that he simply can’t get enough of. Even before he stole you away, Kyojuro was quick to snatch any small item of yours that could potentially taste like you.

He managed to snag the small vial of lip balm he’s seen you use – the one that his eyes always get stuck on, watching the way you pucker and pop your lips, the smacking noises obscene and provocative and sexy. You’d left it on the table after a lunch he’d invited you to, and Kyojuro – ever the gentleman – had pocketed it with the intention to return it to you later. Only, he didn’t – it stayed in his pocket until later that night when he’d fished it out, carefully opened it, and pressed the nearly empty balm against his own lips, closing his eyes and sighing because oh, if he licks his lips now he’ll taste you…

He’s got a cloth he keeps in his pocket that’s reserved specifically for you – when you’re eating with him, going on outgoings that are strictly platonic to you but are anything but to him, he’ll use the cloth and wipe off bits of food sitting on your lips, some stray sauce on the corner of your mouth. The cloth is kept in his pocket until later, when his cock is bright red and swollen and drooling precum for you, his lip caught between his teeth as he uses the cloth to tug and twist at his sensitive head, the friction of the cotton against his skin making him shiver and writhe and curl his toes all the while your name falls from his lips.

And once he’s done, he’s quick to bring the cloth up to his mouth, tongue lolling against the material as he tastes his cum and you mixed together, a flavor that gets the last sad little spurt of cum oozing from his swollen tip, the sensation making him groan lowly.

Really, he just likes the taste of you – and once your physical relationship begins, this penchant he has for tasting you only increases.

Now, he doesn’t have to be sneaky – no longer does he have to rely on placing your used utensils in his mouth in order to get even the slightest bit of you on his tongue.

Now he can just wrap an arm around your waist and press you close, mouth dipping down to slot his lips against yours, a moan muffled against your mouth because god, you’re so sweet and warm and he wants to drink in everything you can give him.

(Yes you’ve watched him kiss you and pull back, swallowing and licking his lips, telling you that your spit tastes delicious, my flame, please give me more before diving back in, kissing you and sucking on your tongue so hard you can practically feel his desperation.)

Now he can press kisses against your neck and jawline, tongue lathing up and down your collarbones while he licks and sucks, the dark bruising making his eyes light up and his breathing a bit uneven.

(Normally Kyojuro is strictly against harming you, but there’s something about hickeys that makes him sway ever so slightly on this rule. Perhaps it’s because he’s the cause of the dull pain, or maybe it’s because every time he’s working at your neck and shoulders you always let out these little whines that go straight to his cock, your fingers gripping tighter at his hair. Sometimes, when he’s particularly pent up and desperate for you, he swears he can even feel your cunt throbbing through the layers of clothing separating you, as if you’re just as needy and frantic for him as he is you. Ah, what a lovely thought.)

Now he can just gently press you against the wall, getting to his knees and throwing your leg over his shoulder while he pushing the pretty robe he’d bought you up to your hips, exposing the skimpy panties he'd bought for you as a present.

(They’re red, of course, with pretty lace details around the edges and a little bow at the very top, almost as if you’re a present for him to open and play with. He’d bought them for you before he’d stolen you away, gifted them to you with a bright smile and not an ounce of shame, and had insisted you wear them despite your discomfort after noticing an odd stain on  them – one that left a dark spot that Kyojuro refused to explain, only laughing and pressing a kiss to your cheek when asked.)

He’ll lick over your clothed cunt, humming against you and chuckling when you squirm at the vibrations. He’s suckling at your clit over the cloth, those eyes of his staring up at you from between your legs, the taste of you strong and making his mind spin even before he’s actually touching you.

But soon, Kyojuro can’t settle for just your phantom taste – he needs more, needs you, and so he’s suddenly standing up, picking you up with no effort and settling you down onto the bed, immediately laying between your legs. He’s spreading your thighs and licking his lips, rolling your panties down and off your legs before absolutely devouring you – he’s licking and sucking loudly enough to make lewd, wet suction noises fill the room.

There’s wet schluck-schluck noises ringing in your ears as he pushes a finger inside, all the way down to his second knuckle and curling them, the pads of his fingers brushing against the spot that gets you moaning and your hips bucking up to meet his thrusts. All the while he’s playing with your clit, tongue tracing shapes and spelling his name, humming and moaning and sucking at you like a man starved. His stamina is high, and he’s keeping up the pace until you’re clutching at his hair and moaning his name like a prayer, the pleasure making you writhe and gasp and gush all over his fingers and chin.

But once Kyojuro gets a taste of you, he’s not simply satisfied with just one orgasm – he needs more, to feel you clenching down on his fingers and your clit throbbing as he fucks you through the high.

He’ll simply laugh at your whines of too sensitive, I can’t Kyo please, keeping his steady pace and pressing a kiss against your clit that makes your hips jerk.

You can do it, he’ll tell you, slick and your cum smeared all across his lips, chin and cheeks. You can give me another one, let me make you feel good, my flame.

And even while he’s fucking you his fixation doesn’t decrease – you feel like heaven around his cock, sure, with your warm, soft walls clenching down on him and your slick coating his thighs, but that doesn’t stop his fingers from snaking up and pressing against your lips.

He'll push them inside two at a time, hot breaths against your ear telling you to suck, ngh suck for me, his hips snapping into you with more fervor as he feels your lips close around him, throat tightening and your little gagging noises as he thrusts his fingers in and out.

You’re just so beautiful, and although his fixation mostly manifests as him using his mouth on you, he certainly won’t deny you if you were to flip the script. You get on your knees for him, licking your lips and pawing at his cock over his pants?

The pants are off faster than you can blink, his hand already at the back of your head and guiding you down his length, his eyes rolling to the back of his head as he lets out a low groan of yes, o-oh, you’re so warm, I’ve been thinking of this all day-!

He won’t deny you when you press kisses against his exposed chest, your tongue tracing around his sensitive nipple and feeling the skin pebble, even grazing your teeth against the sensitive skin just to hear his breath hitch and the audible gulp that follows.

He just thinks the ultimate form of intimacy is to taste each other, and Kyojuro is always eager to get closer to you, and to prove just how much he loves you – and, of course, just how depraved you make him.  

Breeding

Kyojuro will get you pregnant. It’s not even a matter of discussion as far as he’s concerned – yes, it’s a sexual fantasy for him to stuff you so full of his cum that you’re literally leaking it, but it’s more than that. He genuinely wants to build a family with you, to have you as his sweet little housewife that he dotes on and provides for and cares for, and to complete the fantasy he needs a few children running around.

He gets this dopey grin and blushing cheeks when he imagines you with a toddler clutching at your leg and a baby nursing at your breast, something inside his chest swelling with pride and happiness. And so, every time he fucks you he will be finishing inside, stuffing you as full as he physically can.

The image of you pregnant gets his breathing shallow; something about seeing you round, your breasts swollen and nipples so sensitive you sharply gasp when he so much as brushes against them making him shift his pants, his skin feeling hot and clammy. He likes the idea of knocking you up so that you’re completely, utterly dependent on him for every little thing – you’ll be so sweet and lovely and incapable, allowing him to attend to your every need. You’ll need him to walk any significant distance, to reach things on high shelves, to help you get up and out of chairs, to help with anything, really, and Kyojuro is more than happy to aid you in your time of need.

But even outside of actually getting you pregnant, the kink also satisfies some of his more shameful needs, some of his more masculine and carnal needs. After all, breeding you means coming inside you, filling you to the brim with his cum, something only he can provide you.

There’s just something about the idea of leaving you full with something so utterly him that gets him hot under the collar, his fingers twitching eagerly because just the thought makes him desperate to get his hands on you. He's not too terribly possessive, all things considered, but something about the idea of his cum settling inside you just feels right in a way he can’t describe, almost as if you were made to take it. As if you were made to take him, really, if the way your perfect little pussy sucks him in so well is any indication.

Besides, every time he finishes inside he’ll pull back and just stare, watching with bright eyes at the way his cum slowly dribbles out of you, white staining against the curve of your ass, his fingers coming up to scoop up the leaking bits and stuff them back inside you.

(And he will finish inside every time he fucks you, and even when your fist is wrapped around his girth or your lips are pressed against his base, tip making you gag at how deep he is in your throat. He’ll warn you with a near-yell of ‘m close before pushing you down and spreading your legs so quickly that it knocks the breath out of you, nestling his tip just inside you and coming, the sheer volume and force of the spurts making you squirm because you can feel it.)

There’s lots of talk about how you mustn’t waste anything he gives you, how you must keep every last drop inside you, his voice strained and breathy as he groans that into your ear, a thrust punctuating each word and making you clutch onto him for dear life because he’s fucking you meanly, every clap of his hips against yours making you physically scoot up until you reach the edge of the bed.

There’s something about the idea of stuffing you full of his cum that makes Kyojuro near feral, his hips seeming to have a mind of their own as they snap and pound against you, his cock pushing deeper and deeper and deeper, tip nestling further inside you with every thrust.

While he’s fucking you, the only thing running through his mind (aside from the constant stream of compliments towards you and the indescribable feeling of how fucking warm you are) is a mantra of needing to get deeper, to go as far inside you as he can, to press right up against your womb so that when his abs flex and his pace stutters, a shallow gasp and low groan rolling past his lips, his cum can shoot directly where it needs to go. It can spurt and splatter and flood your cute little pussy, each twitch of his cock giving you more and more and more, until it’s literally leaking out of you, even while he’s still stuffed inside you.

And Kyojuro, ever the talkative lover, is more than happy to narrate the process – his orgasms always follow a rather wanton groan of your name, his voice strained and uneven as he tells you to take it, o-oh take it take it take it, take every fucking drop ngh yes yes yes!

He’ll press down on your stomach as he finishes, the sensation making you impossibly tighter, the motion forcing his cum to shoot even deeper into you, his eyes wide in wonder and lust as if he can see the way his cock is twitching and throbbing, pushing out everything it can give you.

His voice nearly awed as he asks if you feel that, my love? I’m breeding this lovely pussy, does it feel good? It’s feels likes heaven for me, and soon you’ll be rounded and glowing and carrying my child.

He’ll pause to press a kiss against your nipple, tongue flicking out to tease the sensitive skin, before cupping it with his hand and squeezing, his own voice turning a bit darker as he tells you that soon your breasts will be so swollen and heavy, you’ll be feeding our child, nursing our baby…

He sucks at your nipple, hard. I’m sure you’ll taste divine – you’ll give me a taste too, I’m sure.

He’ll run his hand along your stomach, sucking in a sharp breath and telling you that you’ll be full soon, that you’ll be swollen and big and his, your body proving to him exactly who you belong to, exactly who kisses you and fucks you and gives you what your body is made for.

He just really, really wants a family with you, so don’t be surprised when he forces you to lay by his side for hours after sex, his cock keeping you stuffed full, not allowing a single drop of cum to leak out, his hand pressed firmly against your stomach as he rambles on and on about baby names and how he’ll be there for the entire birth, how he hopes the baby has his hair and your personality, how he’ll protect the both of you from demons until his dying breath.

It would be sweet, really, if he wasn’t so insistent, if he didn’t have twenty names already picked out for you to choose from, if he wasn’t telling you that according to Shinobu the part of your cycle you’re currently in is your highest window of fertility, if he wasn’t clutching onto you and saying when you’re pregnant instead of if.

And when his cock slowly hardens once more inside of you, you’ll feel the palpable change in the air as he kisses your neck again, his hips slowly starting to move as he tells you that he has to make sure it took, I have to make sure you’re carrying my child… Open your legs for me, my flame, let me give you more of me.

And when he comes with a gasp of your name a few minutes later, even more cum flooding you and sending some dripping down over his cock and onto his pelvis, Kyojuro can only lick his lips, the sight of you with a rounded belly and swollen breasts making him near feral.

OTHER NOTABLE KINKS INCLUDE:

Marking

While Kyojuro isn’t the most possessive, there’s something about the idea of physically marking you as his that gets his blood rushing, heat blooming on his cheeks, a wide grin splitting across his face.

Just the thought get him eagerly pulling you closer, nudging his nose against your neck, sighing heavily and letting you feel the way his pants slowly grow tighter, his breathing growing heavier as he groans your name.

There’s just something about the idea of claiming you as his own that makes some primal, animalistic part of him light up, so be prepared to be absolutely covered in marks as your sexual relationship progresses.

Hickeys will cover nearly all of your skin, leaving no area untouched by his lips and teeth. He’ll leave love marks (as he calls them) in the shape of a heart situated on the plane of your chest, nestled right up your breasts. As he’s fucking you he’ll kiss over the area again, his hips never slowing their pace as he starts whispering your name under his breath, nearly chanting it with every clap his balls against the curve of your ass.

A ‘K’ and an ‘R’ are placed on your inner thighs, so that when he sits beside you he can reach over and grip the area, sending you a blinding grin and telling you that even under all the layers of clothing he can feel your love. Once the marks fade he’ll spend hours between your legs again, remaking the hickies so there’s a letter per leg, so that every time he spreads them, excitement bubbling in his chest, he’ll see his letters, a mark of ownership, a reminder that you’re his and his alone, that your pretty skin and plush thighs and that lovely little pussy of yours is completely and utterly his.

It’s just fucking hot to Kyojuro, so when he pins you down, your body nude and bared for his eyes, know that he’ll kiss you, lips working eagerly against your own, tongue coaxing yours in an effort to get you to engage, groans and grunts tumbling into your mouth as his hands wander down to grope at your breasts, squeezing your side, toying with the pubic hair settled on your navel.

He’ll kiss you, then let his lips travel down, dipping to your neck to suck harshly against the skin, then down to your collarbone to lick and suckle, then to your nipples to bruise the area beside your areolas, then down your stomach and to your thighs, mumbling praises and sweet words of affirmation as he goes.

You’ll wince and avoid looking at yourself in mirrors after he’s through with you, but just know that Kyojuro does it all out of love.

He doesn’t enjoy hurting you, but the pleasure and pride that swells in his chest when he sees you with his markings outweighs his small worries at your bruising.

Just let it happen, really, because he’ll be getting his way, one way or the other, and while eventually the dull throb and sting as he works section after section will grow slightly painful, at least his fingers are talented – after all, you can handle the hickies when he’s making you gasp his name, cream on his fingers and beg for more, more, more, right?

Choking

While Kyojuro is generally the more dominant partner in bed (regardless of your personal tastes – he likes to feel like your provider, so even if you want to peg him until he’s a sobbing, begging mess, little mewls of your name and p-please, need to come so bad slipping past his lips, you’ll likely be the one trapped below him), there’s a certain allure to letting you take charge for a night every few weeks, letting you take the reigns for a few minutes.

There’s something oddly sexy about watching the way the power slowly goes to your head, how your eyes grow darker, your actions more passionate as you bounce up and down on top of him, your hands planted against his chest, pinching at his nipples, shoving your tongue down his throat all while he groans and enjoys the view.

He just likes to see the way you use him, his body simply a toy for you to get off on. It’s the ultimate form of caring for you – and seeing the way you’re so unabashedly pleasuring yourself gets his blood pumping so hard he can hear it in his ears, the sight of you so raw and natural and not at all the shy little thing you were when he first spread your legs all those months ago making him lick his lips in anticipation.

And yet, there’s a certain habit you’ve developed in these moments that Kyojuro absolutely cannot get enough of – that is, when your soft fingers wrap around his throat, your skin against his, pressing just hard enough to disrupt the blood flow to his brain, the feeling dizzying and disorienting and wonderful.

His eyes literally roll to the back of his head when you do this, your hips snapping and scooping above him as you tell him to hold it in, be a good boy, don’t come yet.

He’s groaning and wildly bucking his hips, face turning slightly red as you lean down to kiss him, your lips harsh and demanding, the kiss rough and forceful.

It’s heaven, Kyojuro thinks, as you clench around him, your fingers following suit, his cock twitching inside of you, his hands coming up to grope and knead at your ass as he bounces you harder and harder, the desire to come inside you suddenly washing over him.

It’s something he finds himself craving as time goes on, and so while he’ll more often prefer to be the one on top, in charge, calling the shots, be prepared for the nights where he wants to let you do all the work.

But really, once you’re straddling him, sinking down onto his drooling, leaking tip and grinding, your hand wrapped around his throat, he’ll often do most of the ‘work’ – desperate, sad little humps up into you with his heels planted against the futon mat that’ll leave you gasping and going limp, his cock reaching parts of you unexplored by your own fingers.

And when you lean down over him, your pretty face just inches away from his own flushed you’re your fingers wrapped around his neck, Kyojuro will eagerly obey when you tell him to open wide, his cock throbbing inside you as your spit lands against his tongue, your taste and the lewd sight of you spitting in his mouth making his orgasm hurtle towards him. As soon as he eagerly swallows his eyes are going wide, his words rushed and slurred and strained as he tells you that it’s so fucking good, oh here it comes, shit it’s coming, it – it’s-!

He just really, really likes the way it feels to have your pretty fingers around such a vulnerable area, so get used to it – because Kyojuro is a passionate man, and as his lover, you must be just as passionate, too. 

BIGGEST FANTASY:

As a general rule, Kyojuro is vocal about every sexual desire he has with you. He doesn’t believe in keeping secrets, especially in the context of sex where you could both be benefitting.

He wants to share every explicit, lewd fantasy he has of you simply because he thinks you might enjoy it – you might have even been dreaming of doing the same thing, you were just too shy to tell him.

(He knows how you are – how you’re so very shy, always seeming to skirt away from him when he nears you, your wide-eyed looks you send him when he’s talking to you, how your hands are clammy and you’re shaking ever so slightly when he pulls you in for a kiss with far too much tongue.)

And so, Kyojuro is open and honest; painfully so, really. He wakes up one morning with you in his arms, your eyes already open as he leans in and kisses the shell of your ear, sighing and pressing his navel against your ass, telling you in that husky morning voice of his that he’d dreamed about tasting you until you cry, my flame, doesn’t that sound nice?

(And of course, you’ll not be leaving that bed for hours after the fantasy is spoken out into the air – Kyojuro is nothing if not determined, and his tongue seems to never tire.) After returning home from a mission, he’s announcing to you that he’d passed by a risqué local shop and saw a drawing of a man and a woman where the woman was on top and oh, why didn’t you tell him that women sometimes enjoyed being the more dominant partner?

You’ll be left to flounder, unsure of how to respond, but it’s too late because Kyojuro is already laying down on his back, his pants pulled down to his knees and his expression eager, the smile across his lips blinding as he tells you to come here, my love, the woman in the drawing looked to be enjoying herself, and I want to see that on you as well!

However, because he has no sexual experience before you, he doesn’t harbor any particularly intense fantasies for you. He’s excited and aroused by the simple, straight-forward sex that he knows produces a child – missionary, mostly, or positions that involve spreading your legs and maintaining eye contact while he slides in, a hand cupping your cheek while he groans and tells you in a strained voice that you’re so beautiful, you feel so – ngh, so good!

And so, after a one-off chat with Tengen about wifely matters (he’s announced to the other Hashira that he has a wife, though none of them have met you or know that you aren’t actually his partner, just the woman he considers to be his wife), Kyojuro asks with complete sincerity if his friend has any advice in the bedroom.

Tengen had just laughed and clapped Kyojuro’s back, telling him that sex should be flashy, so don’t do the same things over and over! Mix things up – women love variety, so try some new positions, or a different method of pleasuring her!

When asked what other positions to try, Tengen had grinned, his eyes widening a bit as he said bend her over, she’ll feel you deeper and the view will drive you crazy.

And so, that night after coming home to you, he’d gulped, his eyes narrowing in on your ass, his voice a bit gruff as he told you to come with me, my love, I want to try something new.

“Are you comfortable?” Kyojuro asks, though he sounds distracted.

Swallowing, you nod, embarrassment clear on your face. This position was beyond humiliating – Kyojuro hadn’t explained much when he approached you earlier in the evening, simply looking at you with those unblinking eyes and telling you to get undressed because he had something new he wanted to try out.

And now, here you are, on your hands and knees on your shared bed, clothing neatly folded in a corner of the room. It’s cold, and the air is making goosebumps prickle along your skin and your nipples stiff.

If Kyojuro notices you shiver, he doesn’t say anything – instead, you hear him gulp, the sound suddenly much closer.

“You’re very beautiful…” He whispers, so quiet and unlike him that it makes you glance back over your shoulder. The sight you’re met with makes your embarrassment deepen, a mixture of shame and bashfulness seeping into your every bone.

He’s standing behind you, those wide eyes of his fixated on your exposed cunt, with his cock in hand. Thick fingers wrap around his base, visibly squeezing, his balls periodically twitching even without being touched. He looks entranced – awed, almost, presumably by the sight of your ass presented on display like this.

“Kyojuro…” You start, anxious to just get started so he’ll stop staring at you like you’re something holy and sacred. Wiggling your hips, you hope he’ll get the message.

Instead, you hear a muffled groan and suddenly feel air brushing against your sensitive folds, the sensation making your arms feel a bit weak. You feel a sudden slimy warmth, and wet noises ring in your ears as Kyojuro presses his tongue against you, dipping in briefly to taste and rub at anything he can reach. Heavy breaths are muffled against your cunt, but the insistent press of his chin against your clit makes it difficult to focus.

“Kyo – oh, Kyo please need you to fuck me, don’t tease me.” Your whines make him pause for a moment, before he slowly pulls back, pressing a single long kiss against your folds that has you biting your lip.

“Very well, you’ll have to tell me how it feels, love. Tell me everything you’re feeling.” He asks, gripping his base again and rubbing the tip through your folds, collecting your slick at the tip. His breathing is still loud, the way he’s sucking in air through clenched teeth making it obvious just how strongly the sight of you bent over and exposed like this is affecting him.

You look gorgeous – he’s intimately familiar with what’s between your legs, of course, but this view feels so lewd. He can see your pretty hole clenching every few moments, tufts of hair decorating the pretty sight, and he can even see your other hole, the one you always tell him not to touch with a squeak and a slap of his hand.

Soon he’s swallowing hard and pressing himself inside, the breath sucked out of his lungs because somehow you feel tighter like this, your cunt seeming to suck him in so tightly that it almost hurts, the sensation making his knees buckle slightly.

And you’re certainly not helping, either – as you’d promised him you’re gasping, telling him in an airy voice, “It’s so big – you’re so big, Kyo, fuck you’ve never felt so big, I can’t – you have to wait a second, please, ‘s too much-!”

And he does, with bared teeth and hands that find purchase at your ass, just as Tengen had told him to do. He’s groping at the soft flesh, grabbing handfuls and pulling them apart to get a full view. A whine slips out of him at the lewd sight of his cock buried to the hilt inside of you, the angle letting him see just how you stretch to accommodate him, even seeing the edges of his balls pressed against your thighs. It’s just too much, and as soon as your shaky ‘okay’ registers, Kyojuro’s immediately thrusting.

And the sight of him moving is even more erotic – pulling out of you and seeing the ring of white coating his base makes him lean more of his weight against you, trying to get more leverage as he thrusts back in so that he can fuck you harder, wanting to get impossibly deeper to feel more and more of you. He’s entranced, watching with wide eyes the way he appears and disappears inside of you again and again, almost lost in a trance.

Your noises have him grunting, the desperate whines and rhythmic gasps every time he sinks back into you making his orgasm come creeping up much too quickly. He’s just too overwhelmed, your pretty moans and cries of his name making his head spin.

Soon he’s bringing a leg up and pressing his foot flat against the ground, gaining better leverage and an angle that makes you scream, your cunt squeezing down on him so tightly that he struggles to pull back to just his tip. He’s seen animals do this in the wild – he’s fucking you like an animal would, mounting you and grasping at your waist to pull you back against him harder, anything and everything to get him deeper inside, to reach a part of you that he’s sure no man or even you have touched.

You’re just too damn pretty, and as he gasps your name and clutches onto you tightly enough to leave bruises while ropes of runny cum fill you, Kyojuro decides that he needs to try out all the other positions Tengen had told him about – perhaps he’ll try something called 69 with you tomorrow.

Maybe that’ll get you to scream his name like this ‘Doggy’ has.

---

⋆ 𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐃𝐈𝐋𝐅 𝐋𝐈𝐁𝐑𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐀𝐍!𝐌𝐈𝐆𝐔𝐄𝐋 𝐎'𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀 ⋆

A/N: He's back bitches, DADDY MIGUEL O'HARA.

SYNOPSIS: Miguel is a 45-year-old man who works in a local library, also giving tutoring classes in literature to the local village community, you decide to go visit him after being on vacation, awakening a side of himself that Miguel didn't know.

TW: Yandere themes, age gap, afab anatomy, betrayal, dark themes, threats, manipulation, smut, au.

YANDERE DILF LIBRARIAN!MIGUEL O'HARA -He leads a peaceful life, always opening the library at 9 am and closing at 9 pm, sometimes staying overtime to look at the landscape outside the large windows, to try to forget his failed marriage with his wife.

YANDERE DILF LIBRARIAN!MIGUEL O'HARA - Who has the same patterns every day, namely: taking both children to school by car, buying the same fruits to eat throughout the day - a few dates, an apple and a bottle of coffee aluminum portable, hot and sugar-free in the dark green side pouch he carries everything he needs for that day -

YANDERE DILF LIBRARIAN!MIGUEL O'HARA - What you see in a boring life, everything was the same, he worked out, went for walks on the weekends, watched the same period films after 11pm, in the same leather armchair that got hot in the uncomfortable summer heat, drinking the same beer while the black and white images of the Hollywood film passed through the lens of his glasses, while he smelled the cold food made by his wife, who as always, had left the children with him and gone out.

YANDERE DILF LIBRARIAN!MIGUEL O'HARA - Who woke up late that day due to the hangover from the several beers he had on Sunday, rushing to drop his children off at school and avoid an argument with his wife early in the morning. He calmly went to the library, after all, there was no one there at that end of the world. But he was wrong. He soon saw you, sitting on the steps of the cold concrete stairs while waiting for someone to open the library, he had never seen you in the community, so it was a surprise for him to see someone so beautiful and different from the routine faces in the village. Miguel got out of the car, adjusting his round glasses, giving you a polite "good morning", his strong accent mixed with the smell of coffee coming from his lips, he opened the library while looking you up and down, he would casually ask you your name and what you do there. You spoke your reasons politely, while explaining that you were on vacation and decided to visit the tourist attractions of that village, such as the lighthouse and rough sea, as well as the large library, which, in addition to needing some literature classes, you two were taking Miguel O'Hara nods and gives a practically invisible sideways shy smile.

YANDERE DILF LIBRARIAN!MIGUEL O'HARA - Who gets excited like a young man when he sees you interested in literature, Miguel would make a point of giving you some books as a gift, explaining about each one, especially if you like gothic literature, such as: Bram Stocker, Marion Zimmer Bradley, Edgar Allan Poe, Bram Stocker - or horror stories, he automatically falls in love if you, speaking excerpts from his favorite stories while pouring you some coffee, sitting in front of him while the two of you did a literary duo circle, the voices echoing through the ancient wood.

"-With a long scrutinizing look at the shadow, which frightens me, which haunts me, And I dream of what no mortal has ever dreamed of, But the vast and silent silence, silent remains; the quiet stillness." -O'Hara reads with a strong, hoarse accent, his voice was raw, reverberating his passion for each verse and word he spoke, holding the book in his thick fingers, now, with the abandonment of the wedding ring he wore, even though he was still married, you didn't need to know that detail.

"-Only you, unique and beloved word, Lenora, you, like a scarce sigh, leave my sad mouth; And the echo, which heard you, whispered to you in space; It was just that, nothing more." -You completed, reading your part in the tale of "The Crow" while feeling the older man's gauze on your body, while Salvatore's hands massaged your bare shoulder, lightly adjusting the clothes you wore, a long and possessive touch.

YANDERE DILF LIBRARIAN!MIGUEL O'HARA - Who offers you a ride home, turning on the radio while asking you everything about yourself, if you were dating, if you had traveled with someone, he expected you to be totally alone, totally for him. Miguel drops you off at home while he says a quick goodbye, but he actually just hides the car in the middle of some trees, looking out your windows, writing down your nighttime habits in a diary - he got home later that night, his wife noticed the delay, but he just made up an excuse, mostly lying that he had lost the ring in a library cleaning, which was a lie, he got rid of the ring in the sea, near the local town port -

YANDERE DILF LIBRARIAN!MIGUEL O'HARA - Who studied everything about you on the days you two were alone in the library, becomes his refuge. Don't get him wrong, O'Hara loves his children, but he hates coming home and seeing that his marriage is a failure, and that the woman he was once so in love with, young days that passed through his life in long ago, Now she's just a strange and cold woman, but you? You are his treasure, always happy, smiling sweetly, asking if he is okay, or if he has eaten that day, if he needs help with something in his work as a librarian, you are so angelic, so beautiful, so his. You're totally his, aren't you?

YANDERE DILF LIBRARIAN!MIGUEL O'HARA - Who lies to you about his private life, saying that his wife and he are divorced and he just lets her live close to the children, he lies so naturally that even he himself believes in the madness of his mind.

YANDERE DILF LIBRARIAN!MIGUEL O'HARA- Who finds an excuse to leave you up late with him in the library, telling you about some more books, and giving you a letter, letters that were always sealed in luxurious black paper like an envelope, with a red coat of arms with an 'M' for Miguel, big in the center, he always asked you to open it at home, they were poems and poetry written by him, about you, but each time, with each letter given to you, they became darker, more intense, more... Intimate.

YANDERE DILF LIBRARIAN!MIGUEL O'HARA - Which makes you sit on his muscular legs that night in the peace of the library, while his big, calloused hands lightly run over your thighs, while he praises you. "-Your skin is soft like the finest and purest silk, your lips are full and shiny with life, your smile is like the epitome of beauty, I look at you and see an angel, not even the richest kings who had harems with several women And men, none of them come close to your beauty, mi angelito, did you know that? Your heart is so pure and beautiful, your soul is practically eradicated from your carnal being." -Miguel spoke hoarsely, as he forced you to look at him, his eyes shone, not only with enlightenment but with love, a sick love for you.

YANDERE DILF LIBRARIAN!MIGUEL O'HARA -He fingers you slowly and lightly, giving you kisses on the head, feeling the smell and softness of your hair, his fingers enter and curve slightly, he was an expert in that, he wanted to make you come, to make you see the stars in the sky pleasure he could give you. Miguel praises you even more when he sees you moaning so beautifully, writhing in his lap, while he whispers in your ear how well you do it, being such a good girl/boy for him, giving yourself to him like that, like you It's beautiful when your pussy tightens around his fingers, how perfect you are when you let your sweet saliva run down your lips like that, while he gives you all the pleasure, making you squirm on his arm full of veins and scars from the time he had, dirtying the papers and reports he signed, but he doesn't fight with you, no my sweet girl/boy, you are his, Miguel just applies a chaste kiss to your temple, salty with the sweat of sexual effort and the heat of lust from your body, while he just said everything was going to be okay.

YANDERE DILF LIBRARIAN!MIGUEL O'HARA - Who was worried when you didn't show up after a few days, so he left work early, seeing you at a local fair. He tried to talk to you, but you were disappointed in him, you had found out he was married, and you felt dirty for giving yourself to him. Miguel O'Hara froze immediately, but he soon recovered his posture, telling you in a serious and cold air that she didn't mean anything to him and you did, but you didn't want to listen, just saying how rubbish he was as a human being and leaving the room. running, hiding in the crowd, he didn't go after you, just walking away with a neutral and serious air, thinking about the next step he would take, and he knew exactly what it would be. He spent every day at your house, placing flowers, chocolates, teddy bears, gifts and books on your doorstep, even if you threw them in the trash, he bought more and more, even more expensive and extravagant. Miguel didn't leave you alone, going to your house every day, even trying to knock on the window, but you didn't pay attention to him, but he didn't care, he wasn't going to give up, he stopped the car every day after his shift from work to look at you,or look at the lighting in your house, where you were, what you were doing, and who you were with.

YANDERE DILF LIBRARIAN!MIGUEL O'HARA - That on your last day in the village, he left you a letter, in a red envelope, you didn't want to read it, but your curiosity got the better of you, with you finally reading the content of the man's letter.

My dear, (Y/N) This may sound strange, but I like it when you hide like a scared little bunny, running away from me like that, as if I were a predator? so I am offended my dear. Do you know how far I'm willing to go for you? Do you know exactly what things I can do to try? Do you know the dark thoughts I can carry out with your friends or family? If you gave in. We would be even more than perfect together, we were born to be each other's my love. Just as the sun rises day after day, just as the moon appears in the dead of night. Just as the stars shine in the black sky of the dark and cold night, void of voice. Just as birds spend their lungs in a melodious song, unable to be stopped by foolish men. Just like every natural phenomenon and incapable of being stopped, I will make you mine. just mine. You can try to scream, try to escape or even ignore me, like a mirror covered with a fine linen fabric, I'm still there, watching you, attentive to your smallest details, your flaws, your sins, your darkest, hidden fears. inside your mind, the intimate and core of your most secret suffering... I know everything, I know you more than you know yourself. We are destined to be one, drawn by a happy and unhappy destiny, a piece of the gods perhaps, who are we to question love? In fact, I'll ask you one more time, you love me, right? Just try to say you don't love me... Then I will destroy you... I k-

You didn't even finish reading the letter, hearing heavy footsteps coming from the back door, while you saw a tall figure standing in the dark shadow of the hallway, something dripping on the floor while those familiar and maddened brown eyes stared at you, deep in your soul, Miguel O'Hara.

"-And you know, (Y/N)... you shouldn't leave the door open."

©YANDERESTARANGEL 2023

if you’d like to request here’s some ideas!^^

au + trope + prompt game

here’s a fun drabble game since i was on the hunt for one and decided i should just make my own instead.

 send in a character, an au, a trope, and a prompt, and i’ll write a little drabble based on it!!

au:

roommates!au

hogwarts!au

spy!au

mafia!au

ceo!au

coffee shop!au

bookstore!au

college!au

camp!au

high school!au

travel!au

babysitter!au

soulmates!au

parent!au

sports!au (name the sport)

supernatural!au (specify)

band!au

celebrity!au

trope:

friends to lovers

enemies to lovers

meet cute

meet messy

unrequited love

fake dating

childhood friends

exes

strangers to lovers

prompt:

“are you sure this is legal?”

“fuck. fuck fuck fuck fuck this shit. fuck.”

“i don’t even think i want to know.”

“you said so, didn’t you?”

“you have the emotional capacity of a brick.”

“what is that?”

“you had no idea, did you?”

“wait, wait. say that again. please.”

“why are you awake so late?”

“you know i’ll do anything for you.”

“i know that it’s the thought that counts but this doesn’t even look like you thought about it.”

“is that the best you can do?”

“it’s been so long since we did this.”

“okay, maybe i’m crazy but did i just hear you say that out loud?”

“i’m rambling again, aren’t i?”

“my hands are really dry. sorry about that.”

“hold your fire!”

“this can’t be real. i feel like i’m having a fever dream.”

“suck on that.”

“it’s just so hard not to fall in love with you.”

“for the last time, please stop trying to airdrop me.”

“did you hack into my hotspot?”

“you know that your book is upside-down, right?”

“alexa, play wonderwall.”

“i know this looks bad, but i swear, it’s not.”

“sometimes, i sit in bed and wonder what would happen if things were different.”

“that was a very bad idea. 0/10 would not recommend.”

“do you ever feel like you’re far away no matter where you are?”

“hold on.”

“need any help with that?”

“you never saw me.”

“shut up for a second, will you?”

“now what?”

“i don’t even know why we’re doing this.”

“don’t tell me you spent actual money on that.”

“i let you mooch off of my netflix and this is how you repay me?”

“don’t you want to know how i feel?”

“i think i would rather eat expired spam.”

“you confuse me.”

“if you’re happy, then so am i.”

Bath Time

[My Commission Info] | [My Ao3] | [Ko-Fi]

A/N: Second Giveaway commission done for @belpomme​! Thanks for requesting some more Osamu, I am so glad you liked my HQ scenarios before and they made you come up with this!

Characters: Yandere!Miya Osamu x Fem!Reader Warnings: Yandere, General nakedness, A lot of touching, Implied non-con actions, Being washed, Implied kidnapping, Implied torture in the past, this is as wholesome as it can get tbh (that’s a lie) Words: 3090

Not even a hint of hesitation seemed to cross Osamu’s mind as he freed himself of his shirt. A long sigh escaped him as he pulled it over his head, having worn it all day up to now, the fabric clinging to him through his workday. He seemed more than content to stow it away in the laundry basket before he walked up to the bathtub, turning the handles to fill it up with water. 

“Hm?” Curiously, Osamu looked back at you, still standing right behind the door, clinging to your own clothes as if your life depended on it. Was it weird that even after all the time and everything that happened, you were still troubled by the idea of undressing in front of either of the brother? Were you the weird one, or was it still them? 

“Go on, I’ll wash your back,” Osamu mumbled before turning back to the bath, making sure it was at the right temperature as it filled slowly. They saw you naked often enough, and vice versa. Yet, as you picked away at the seams of your shirt, you felt the heat rush over you in embarrassment, turning your back to the man you lived with to hide as best as possible. Even so, you felt his eyes in your back as you finally started to peel off the clothes - the last bit of armor you had against the two sly foxes - that had covered you all day.

You made sure to put them away properly in the laundry basket as well, laziness not being something you could score with when you were with Osamu. At least at your shared bathtime, it was better not to get on his nerves. Not when he was in charge of you and your cleanliness. Osamu shuffled behind you as he made the preparations, the little plastic stool clanking as he set it down on the tiled floor before he proceeded to undress more, pants and underwear flying by you into the basket while you still hesitated to remove your own. 

“Have a seat,” he instructed, growing impatient judging by the sound of his voice, and you sighed inwardly before discarding the last bits of fabric and tiptoed over to the stool. This wasn’t an uncommon procedure where you from, Japan having a very thorough bath routine. Still, it was different if you did it with your family in the past or with a lover, none of those titles belonging to either of the twins. 

Covering your chest with your arms and squeezing together your legs was the best you could do to hide yourself, hoping that you’d be spared Osamu’s touches. He could be surprisingly indifferent about you, though that only made your situation much worse. You knew he was perfectly fine seeing you as a woman and the object of his desire, but with an iron resolution, he adored playing the great caretaker just as much. It was partly Atsumu to blame for that, since the latter loved just messing around and never lifting a finger if not for his own gain, thus leaving Osamu with making a lot of decisions and doing the necessities around you and the apartment. 

But technically speaking, you could bathe alone.

Osamu chose to spend time with you like this.

This was his way of having you all to himself for a while. To relax and slow down after an exhausting day, but it didn’t stop it from being so humiliating. It was as if Osamu pretended you needed his assistance. Much like when he still fed you - preferable from his spoon - instead of letting you eat alone, he basked in the feeling of taking care of you. Of providing for you and doing everything he could to have you rely on him. You felt humiliated and degraded. Infantilized at its best and worse, and yet, even if you asked him not to, he wouldn’t listen for even a second. Osamu knew himself as the one providing, and he claimed his right to do as he wished in exchange. In his opinion, it was selfish for you to ask anything that would go against his wishes, and as he liked to say: “There’s no I in us.”

Yet, he still got mad about Atsumu stealing his pudding. What a joke.

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