#//thEY BETTER START RUNNIN

[loganslowdown4]

Janus: Why are you so mad at me? Is it because I kissed Patton?

Virgil: YOU FUCKING WHAT??

Janus: Shit, it wasn’t that-

[junkdyke]

how do you like Chicago? I’ve visited briefly before but have thought about moving there

It's such a cool city honestly.

Lots to do, especially as it's getting warmer

the public transit is SO NICE, it makes it super easy to get around without a car

actually walkable, like i've chosen to walk to get to and from some places, even if it was 4 miles. The grid layout of the city just makes things even easier to navigate

food is amazing ofc

much more inexpensive cost of living than i ever expected

so many queer people

people here dress cool

people are just out all around the city all the time! It just feels really alive in that way, and being from LA where you don't really see people just milling about (bc you gotta drive everywhere, and there's not a lot of nice walkable places) it just makes you wanna be outside!

The architecture is so gorg

there are downsides of course (not much sun, winter can be brutal, there is crime like any city has) and the gentrification of a lot of areas is a problem. but there's a lot of community pride here too which is really nice. The vibe i got when i first visited is the sentiment i've heard from people here which is "it's a great city for regular people" (aka, people don't play with that influencer shit like LA and NYC transplants lmao)

[crazybookcat]

BITE

My turn, comere Toni

I’m gonna get cha

[oceanxveiined]

With the frequent time she spends around areas and brings tainted by/of the Abyss due to her research, it has most definitely taken a toll on her.

Physically, it has long since dulled the color of her eyes, from a brighter, almost gem-like turquoise to a murkier teal. Her scars seem all the more prominent, especially those afflicted by Abyssal monsters, even almost glowing in the presence of that energy. Her usual body aches do tend to feel a lot less painful after a spell near such places/monsters, but then the subsequent withdrawal from the energy tends to leave her more aggressive and tempered than before it, especially with how much worse her chronic pain would flare away from its influence. And that’s without mentioning the more long term effects creeping up on her, with her own lifespan and mental/emotional health being sapped away by the corrupting energies.

She is partly aware of this, but even if she knew exactly how badly this will wind up being for her, it’s not as though she would plan to stop seeking it out any time soon. If anything, it would encourage it further.

[yanderedrabbles]

Yandere Wild West Gang - Noncon

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

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

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

They came for you in the middle of the day.

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

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

You didn't even have time to scream.

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

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

"No way out, beauty."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Boss, let her ride with me."

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

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

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

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

"She's riding with me."

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

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

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

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

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

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

He dropped his head and spoke directly into your ear.

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

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

He sighed again, and spurred his horse forward.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You goin' first boss?"

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

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

That made some of them jeer and complain.

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

"We can be nice too. Really."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Do you know why we took you?"

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

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

"Not the faintest clue, huh?"

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

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

There was a small, amused smile on his lips.

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

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

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

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

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

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

He sighed, caught one on his thumb.

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

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

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

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

He leaned down and pulled a knife from his boot.

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

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

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

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

"Good. Not so hard, is it?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

God, he could practically feel his mouth watering.

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

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

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

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

But oh, it felt good.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His eyes hardened, his smile not moving an inch.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Liar. Terrible, heartless liar.

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

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

He groaned, pressed a kiss against your hair.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He huffed out a laugh.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He pulled back and tilted your chin up.

"Look at me."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He ran his fingers through your hair.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Sensitive, ain'tcha?"

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

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

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

When he spoke, his voice was a low rumble.

"What do you want?"

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

"I'll take her mouth."

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

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

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

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

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

Smack.

Your whole body jerked forward, your ass cheek stinging.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Want me to take that gag off sweetheart?"

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

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

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

"All better?"

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

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

He tilted his head, smirking.

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

You didn't get a chance to answer, because the other gunslinger ground his palm against your cunt. You yelped and jerked forward on instinct.

The green eyed one tightened his hold on your hair.

"None of that. You can take it."

"I can't! It hurts."

His free hand tugged at his belt, pulling it free of the belt loops. You blanched. What the hell did he need that for?

"Ain't even been a minute and you're already whining? C'mon pretty, there's better things to do with your mouth than that."

He let go of your hair long enough to loop the belt around your neck, the leather wrapped around his fist. He tugged and it tightened, metal buckle pressing icy cold against your skin.

He pulled upwards, forced you to look at him. His cat eyes were mean, amused at seeing you leashed.

"You even think 'bout usin' your teeth and I'll pull this so tight you won't even be able to think 'bout breathing. Got it?"

What was he talking about? Your teeth?

Your answer came soon enough. With his belt off, it was real easy for him to take his cock out. He sighed, relieved to have it free.

The only thing keeping you in place was the belt around your neck. Even still, you pulled backwards until you couldn't go any further.

It was huge.

Thick, with veins running all the way to the tip. That was supposed to fit inside of you? You'd never seen a man's cock before. Even when the boss fucked you, you'd only felt it. No fucking wonder it hurt so bad, if they were all this size.

It was horrifying, and still you couldn't look away.

"Ain't it a sight?"

He grabbed it with his free hand and yanked your head down with the belt, until the tip brushed your lips.

"Come have a closer look."

Maybe if your hands were free, you'd be able to pull away. But as it was, you were staying balanced only because of his grip on the belt and his partner's grip on your arms.

He rubbed the tip across your lips, leaving behind a sticky coating of precum.

"Don't be shy," he purred, "Give it a little kiss."

The belt tightened until you listened. You pecked the side of it, where it wasn't so gross and sticky.

"Atta girl. Now open wide."

You desperately didn't want to. He tasted of salt, and his cock was so hard that you couldn't even imagine how it would fit.

You didn't want to, but what choice did you have?

You opened your mouth and he pushed himself past your lips with a groan. The tip scraped against your tongue, soft as velvet and tasting like the sea.

He let go of his dick and tangled his hand in your hair, pushing your head lower. Until the tip brushed the back of your throat. You gagged, shivering all around him.

"God, your mouth is fucking heaven sent."

He pulled out slowly, until it was just the tip sitting in your mouth.

"Are you gonna join me or what?"

The other gunslinger snorted.

"Fucking impatient. You gotta treat a lady gentle on her first time."

You heard the rustle of clothing behind you, and the hand that was playing with your cunt came to rest on your hip, fingers digging into the flesh for a good grip.

Your cunt felt cold without his touch, but his fingers were quickly replaced with his cock. The head nudged at your entrance, hot enough that you could practically feel it radiating. The leaking pre mixed with the sticky come already on your lips, thin strands of white pulling and breaking as he settled himself against you.

You wanted to say something, anything, to make them stop, but the gunslinger still had his dick in your mouth.

"Hmmm. Nice and warm and I ain't even pushed inside yet."

"Ain't she? Like she was made for us."

His hand slid from your hair to you jaw, thumb tracing your cheek. He could see the bulge of his cock against your cheek - it made you look a little chipmunk getting all cozy and ready for winter. Your tears were caught on your lashes, silver dew drops like you just took a swim.

"You heard me, baby? You're made for us. Made to fuck us and keep us happy. Our little lady."

They both pushed into you at the same time.

Thick cock bullying into you, trapping you between them with nowhere to go. You wanted to scream, but you couldn't. You couldn't even think. Couldn't even breathe.

The green eyed cowboy pulled on your leash and forced you to tilt your head back, bare your throat to him. He pushed deeper into you, until his dick was down your throat and your nose was brushing the hard muscles of his stomach.

He held you there, cock down your throat and tears collecting in your eyes, while his partner started thrusting.

You couldn't breathe.

You couldn't pull away, couldn't fight him. You could just look up at him, eyes all wide and scared. Your panic was thick in your blood and he drank it in.

Smirking, keeping you at his mercy. He knew you couldn't breathe, and he still held you on his cock.

Your heart was racing and you felt light headed before he finally pulled out. You gasped, thick strings of spit connecting you. He only gave you enough time to catch a few deep breaths before he was back in your mouth, thrusting. Going just as deep but thankfully pulling out.

You gagged and choked and felt like you were drowning on his cock. And all the while, his partner yanked you back and slammed balls deep into you.

It was too much. You couldn't focus on anything. You were limp in their hands, letting them fuck you and just trying to survive it.

You weren't sure how long it took. Your whole world was narrowed down to just them - their hands on you, getting tighter and meaner the closer they got to coming.

The one fucking you from the back let go of your hip and curled his whole arm around your waist, leaning over you until his lips were on your neck. Fucking you hunched over like a dog in heat.

He bit your shoulder, sunk his teeth in with a snarl.

They didn't talk much anymore. There weren't any words left. Just the need to fuck and claim and come.

The sounds were the worst. The slick squelching of a cock in your cunt, the slap of skin on skin, the heavy snarls for you to take it like a good girl. And their raspy breathing, like stallions after a gallop.

The gunslinger pulled harder on your leash, keeping you still while he fucked your face. He's teeth were gritted tight, his eyes narrowed and focused entirely on you.

The dark one must have hit something deep inside you, because you made a whining, moaning sort of noise that vibrated all through his cock.

That was what did it. He forced his cock all the way down your throat, held you in place while he came.

When he pulled out, you were coughing so hard your whole chest ached.

That's when you felt it - hot spunk splattering all over your asshole. Your whole body shuddered at the feeling.

The man behind you kissed your back between your shoulder blades and slowly moved down. When he came to your ass cheeks, he sunk his teeth in with a playful growl.

He flipped you onto your back, and you sunk bonelessly down onto the covers. Your nipples were tender and your neck was a patchwork of marks.

The dark skinned one flopped down next to you and threw a possessive arm around your waist. He hummed, pleased as a bear before winter.

"Best fuck I've had in ages."

His partner was silent, his fingers toying with the belt still around your neck. You tilted your head back to look at him.

He was smiling, not soft exactly but about as close as a cruel bastard like him could get. He was so handsome, when he wasn't trying to choke you.

He sighed and let his fingers drift up your cheeks.

"I wish we could stay, pretty. But the day ain't done just yet."

The other one grumbled. "Can't we just lay here for a bit? I've got my girl all nice and snug. Why should I let her go?"

"Boss's orders, that's why. We gotta play nice and share."

"Why? Those bastards don't deserve her."

"And we do?"

He didn't bother to answer, just pushed himself to his elbows and looked down at you. His eyes were a deep brown. Sweet, almost.

"No," he said quietly, "We don't."

He leaned down and kissed your cheek. Soft, like a husband would. He stood and only looked back at you when he was at the door. Hard man, killer and gunslinger that he was, you thought you saw just a little guilt in his eyes.

When he was gone, the green eyed gunslinger ran his hands through your hair.

"He's right, y'know. We don't deserve a girl like you."

There wasn't any guilt in his voice, just a deep sense of satisfaction.

"But we've got you anyway. If the world gave folk what they deserved, you'd never have been so unlucky to catch our eye in the first place."

He leaned down and pressed a kiss against your other cheek, and then nipped at your jaw. A coyote savouring a bone.

"You'll learn to take it, sweetheart. And when I'm done, you'll learn to like it."

He left his belt around your neck and let the door slam shut behind him.

You could hear when they joined the others out in the yard. Their laughter drifted up to you, sharp as a wild dog's bark.

You closed your eyes. On your back in nothing but your stockings and a leash. It wasn't the sort of thing you'd ever imagined as a possibility. Hell, a lot of today was filled with things you'd never even thought about.

You hurt in just about every place. But parts of you throbbed with a pain that wasn't entirely unwanted.

Traitorous body, traitorous mind.

You couldn't possibly like this. You were being used by criminals, killers. Your virginity was just another prize for them to steal. You were a good girl, raised in a good home with upright, moral parents. You weren't some lady of the night, some harlot, to enjoy their roughness.

Right?

When the door sighed open, you didn't even bother to open your eyes.

"These young ones don't know any gentleness, eh beauty?"

His voice was calm. The sort of soft tone you'd use with a filly still nervous 'bout the bit.

You could hear his footsteps. Heavy boots but no spurs.

You flinched when he touched the belt around your neck, but he didn't do much more than run his fingers across the leather.

"Let's get this off you. Idiots. You don't harness a creature so fine."

He pulled it off your neck carefully and then touched the bruises it left behind.

"Open your eyes for me, beauty. Let me see you."

You almost didn't. What more was there to see? Another man with too tight hands and a hunger that wouldn't end?

It was his voice that did it. So kind. No growl behind the words, no clenched teeth snarl.

The first thing you saw were his eyes. A dark hazel, like an eagle's.

"Ah, just as pretty as I thought. Do you want to sit up for me? Those ropes must be hurting something awful by now."

He was older than you, but not by too much. Older than the gunslingers, but not nearly as old as the boss. His hair was tied in braid that fell almost all the way down his back. Lakota, if you had to guess, or maybe Crow.

There was a pair of workman's gloves shoved in the pocket of his jeans, but he didn't carry a pistol. The wrangler most likely.

You sat up slowly, wary. He didn't seem awfully worked up about a naked woman sprawled on the bed in front of him. Maybe he wasn't so bad...

He untied your hands without letting his own wander.

You flexed your fingers and carefully brought your hands to your lap. Your shoulders ached from being stuck in one position for so long.

"Will you let me go?"

"Oh, beauty." He touched his knuckles to your cheek. "That's what you want, isn't it? To go back home?"

"Yes." Your throat felt tight with tears. "More than anything."

He closed his eyes.

"It hurts to see you cry, beauty. It hurts to see these marks on you. But even if I was the only one holding you back, even if it was entirely up to me... I wouldn't."

"Are you going to do the same thing as the rest of them?"

He held your face in his palms, thumbs tracing your cheekbones. He smiled, but it was awfully sad.

"It's been real long time since I've had a woman, beauty. And never one so fine. I'm still just a man."

You were crying again, though you didn't realise it. Tears washing hot over his fingers.

"Shhh." He leaned down and kissed your forehead. "I'll be gentle. I won't hurt you."

He undid his belt slowly, eyes on you the entire time. You were on your knees again, your stockings making you look oh so innocent and oh so filthy all at once.

He grabbed your hand before he took his cock out. You pulled away, but his grip was too strong. Not rough, not hurting you. Just too firm to escape.

He brought you hand to his crotch, pressed your palm against his cock. Even through the thick denim of his jeans, you could feel how hard it was.

"All your doing, beauty. That's all your fault."

He undid the last button and his dick pushed it's way free. Big and no less intimidating for being the second one today. His fingers were knotted between yours and he dragged your hand up his shaft. He sighed, a man finally getting release.

"Here, this will go faster if you use your mouth."

His other hand came to rest on the nape of your neck. Not forcing you down exactly, but heavy, inexorable. Trying to refuse him was like fighting the pull of the moon.

He didn't force himself into you like the gunslinger did. Just kept using your hand - still dry - to stroke himself.

"Come now beauty. Just a little lick and it will all be over. You want that, don't you?"

You did. You wanted this day to end.

You cautiously licked the head of his cock, your tongue almost blistering hot. He groaned and for just a second, the hand on your nape tightened. Like he really did just want to pull you onto him and have his own way.

"There you go. Not so terrible, is it?"

It wasn't. He tasted salty, but not in an unpleasant way. And hearing him groan like that made some part of your gut flutter.

You felt just a little braver. When he pulled you closer, you let him. He rubbed the tip against your lips, smearing pre-cum all over them.

You didn't want his cock down your throat. Didn't want to feel like you were choking. But everything he'd done to you so far had been miles different to the gunslingers. Maybe he'd be different in this too.

Slowly, you opened your mouth. You expected him to shove himself inside you, betray the tiny bit of trust he'd built.

He didn't. Instead, he stood perfectly still. He even stopped using your hand, though he kept it wrapped around the base. Just letting you get comfortable. Letting you explore.

It was what your daddy did when he was working to tame a colt. He'd let them get used to him a little at a time, until they didn't mind his touch at all.

You were too nervous to take him in much deeper than the tip. But he didn't complain at all, just watched you with those golden eyes.

You sucked on him. Just the tip, but you wrapped your lips around him and treated it like it was candy. You flicked your tongue across the underside of his head, eyes locked on his to see if he liked it.

And from the way his breathing was picking up, you reckoned he liked it plenty.

Hadn't the gunslinger wanted you to kiss his? Maybe that's what men wanted. You pulled off his cock with a wet little pop and turned your attention to his shaft. You kissed him - small, shy little pecks all the way down to his hand and then back up again.

He was smiling, head tilted. He almost seemed amused.

"So that's how you like it, huh?"

You hummed, not sure how to respond. Both the gunslingers and the boss kept getting faster the closer they were to finishing. Maybe if you used your hand...

He seemed surprised when you moved your palm, but it didn't last long. When he was sure of what you were doing, he let go of your hand and let you do it all by yourself.

There was a lot of friction and you couldn't go as fast as you wanted without yanking on him. You needed some kind of lube, something to make him all slick...

Oh.

Of course.

You licked him, all the way from balls to tip, trying to drool on his cock as much as possible. He shivered, voice getting just a bit tighter.

"Careful girl. You're playing with fire."

You didn't know what he meant. All you wanted was to finish this. Be able to rest and dream sweet dreams, dreams without men's hands on your body.

His cock was wet with your spit and when you started using your hand, it squelched lewdly.

He groaned, his hand coming to your jaw and his thumb tracing your lips.

"Open your mouth for me, beauty."

You did. You couldn't look away from his eyes. That burnished gold like dead man's treasure.

He pressed his thumb against your tongue, ran it over your teeth. He seemed just as captivated by you as you were by him. The men outside were laughing again, voices raised and vulgar. But he didn't for a second look away from you.

He smiled and said something to you in a language you didn't understand.

Your hand was moving a lot faster now that you'd found your stride, your thumb brushing over his slit on every third stroke. The only sign that he was getting closer was his breathing.

At the last second, he pulled his thumb out of your mouth and rested his tip against your lips.

Hot spunk shot at you, some of it dribbling down your chin and some of it coating your tongue. He groaned, jaw clenched tight. He was panting like a dog on a hot day, still looking at you like you were the finest thing he'd ever seen.

He pulled his cock away and replaced it with his thumb, smearing his load between your lips and across your teeth. He spoke in his language again, words just a little more forceful than before.

You thought he was done with you. Thought he'd be satisfied with leaving.

Instead, he leaned down and kissed you. One hand was still on your nape and you had no room to pull away.

It was your first proper kiss. He was hungry, his tongue scraping across your teeth. One hand came to rest behind you on the bed, and he slowly forced you down, still caught between his lips and his hand.

He ended up between your legs, still not letting you go even though you were both almost out of breath.

"Beauty," he muttered, lips pressing against on yours.

When he finally broke away, he didn't go far. He rested his forehead to yours, breathing hard. You were sharing the same air, in that tight little space. And somehow that felt more intimate than anything else the outlaws had done to you.

He was practically lying on top of you, the hand that held your neck now tangled in your hair, and his other at your waist. He held you like a lover would.

A lover. Would you ever have one, if they let you go? Who would want you after your virgin's blood was spilled?

He kissed your cheek, slow and lingering.

"Oh beauty, how can I be so lucky?"

He didn't let you go. Just held you underneath him and laid his head on the side of your neck.

You were tense, muscles all coiled and ready to be hurt. But in his arms, you relaxed a little at a time without even realising it. This man wouldn't hurt you, whatever his reasons were.

His dark hair had come loose from it's braid and you absentmindedly brushed it off his brow. That made him smile just a little.

It had grown quiet outside and the only sound was of the breeze rustling the curtains and his soft breathing.

"How did such a kind man become an outlaw?"

You didn't really mean to ask that. And kind couldn't be applied to him without qualifiers. But in the face of everything that had happened to you, his softness was saintly.

He hummed against your neck.

"Bad luck. Bad people. Having nowhere to go back to. It changes you."

You swallowed, sad though you weren't sure why.

"I'm sorry."

He pushed himself up and looked into your eyes.

"Don't be. You're my reward, my reparation."

He brushed his knuckles across your cheek again. "I've waited my whole life for you."

You wanted to ask why. What made you so special? Why did he want to keep you?

The door opened with a bang.

"Are ya really still busy? That ain't fuckin' fair."

The gunslingers were standing in the door, both of them looking irritated. Your whole body tensed. They couldn't be back so soon, could they?

The wrangler pushed himself to his knees. The way he was sitting, your hips ended up on his lap with your legs on either side of him. He put a hand on your thigh absent-mindedly.

When he looked back at them, any softness in him drained away. He was just another outlaw with hard eyes.

"Is it the boy? Boss is really letting you go through with it?"

"It's 'bout time he became a man. And you're the one who was goin' on 'bout playing nice."

The wrangler sighed and looked back at you. When he spoke, it was just for you to hear. 

"I don't want to leave you, beauty. But boss's orders."

He leaned down and kissed you, ignoring the gunslingers' cat calls.

When he stood up, you had half a mind to ask him to stay. You almost reached for him. But the gunslingers were watching you and something in you whispered that showing him favour was a terrible idea. You kept your hands knotted in the sheets. For both your sakes.

When he was gone, you sat up and pushed yourself all the way back to the headboard. Hugged your knees to your chest. You hadn't noticed him earlier, but the gunslingers had a boy with them.

They were half dragging him into the room, one with his hand on the boy's nape and the other with a fist in his shirt.

He was young, barely past eighteen. Slightly built, with pale eyes and bronze curls. He wasn't looking at you. Or more accurately, he was doing everything possible to avoid looking at you.

The gunslingers gave him a rough shove and he landed on the bed, bouncing a little before he pushed himself up.

"Gonna get your first taste of a woman boy, and she's a real fine one."

The green eyed gunslinger leaned over and grabbed your ankle. With one brutal yank, he dragged you away from the headboard and all the way to the foot of the bed.

"Missed me, sweetheart? 'Cause I sure missed you."

He caught one of your wrists and tutted.

"Just like him to let you loose. Fuckin' hell, don't he realise how much easier you are when you're all tied up?"

He knelt with one boot on the mattress and pulled you up, twisting your arm behind your back so you ended up with your head tucked under his chin.

"We was feelin' real bad 'bout hurting you, pretty. So we thought we'd make it up to you. Brought you somethin' you'll really enjoy."

You were skeptical of anything he did. He wasn't the charitable kind.

The boy finally looked at you. His eyes were round, nervous.

"Do... do you want this?"

The gunslinger slapped a palm over your mouth before you could answer him, dragging you closer to him at the same time.

" 'Course she wants it. She'd be fighting a whole lot harder if she didn't. Ain't that right?"

"Would be clawing our eyes out if she really didn't want it," the other gunslinger agreed.

The boy looked rightly skeptical. You were crying an awful lot for someone who "wanted it."

"But..."

The dark skinned gunslinger sighed and grabbed the boy's neck.

"Look at her. You're tellin' me you ain't getting just a little hard seeing her like that?"

"Yes but -"

"But what? You want her. And she's right there for the taking. It ain't complicated."

The man holding you was obviously getting impatient.

"You wanna be a man? Wanna come on jobs with us? Than fucking earn it."

That seemed to decide him. He crawled towards you, just as scared to touch you as you were to be touched.

"What do I do?"

"Open her legs and start eating."

He touched your knee. He gulped, focused entirely on the feel of you. He slowly let his hands drift up your thighs.

When he reached your mid thighs, he tried to pull them apart just a little. You kept your legs as tightly closed as you could. Whatever you tried to say was muffled by the gunslinger's hand, but it was enough to make the boy look up at your face.

You could see it in his eyes. The desire to have you and the horror at knowing this was all forced. In the end, guilt won.

"I can't."

He pulled away from you, his fingers shaking.

"She doesn't want this. How can you hold her down and make her take it?"

The dark skinned gunslinger clicked his teeth in annoyance.

"God, could you be any more pathetic? It don't matter what she wants. All that matters is that you're strong enough to take what you want."

The boy was almost off the bed when the gunslinger grabbed his hair and yanked him back.

"It's a lesson you gotta learn boy. Or you ain't gonna live long in this business."

The boy yelped, hands coming up to try and pull himself loose. You could have told him it was useless - you couldn't escape their hold no matter how hard you fought.

He dragged the boy across the bed and back to you.

The gunslinger holding you could see where this was going and he laughed, mean and mocking.

"Gonna be the hard way, eh?"

His hand dropped from your mouth and curled around your throat. He squeezed, just hard enough to remind you of his strength.

"Be a good little pet and open your legs."

You didn't. Hadn't they done enough already? They'd ruined you. Why not just leave the boy alone?

The gunslinger growled. "Ain't listening so well without my belt around your throat, is that it?"

He twisted your arm further up your back, until your whole shoulder was throbbing. You squirmed, arching against him to get the pressure off. 

"Do I gotta teach you a whole new lesson in obedience? I promise I'm a much harder master than the boss."

He let go of you throat and grabbed your thigh, his fingers digging into the meat. His partner was quick to do the same on your other leg. It wasn't any good fighting them. They weren't scared of hurting you and they didn't care if they left bruises.

They wrenched your thighs apart and the gunslinger shoved the boys head between your legs.

"You ain't scared of a lil' blood, are ya? Clean her up nice and good."

The boy looked up at you with tears brimming in his waterline.

"I'm sorry."

He didn't have the boss's skill. His tongue was soft, hesitant. Probing, but totally unsure what to do.

You shivered at the feeling of his lips on your clit, his warm breath tickling your thighs.

The gunslinger growled and pushed him further down, until his nose was grinding into your folds.

"She ain't gonna get away. Use your whole tongue, suck on her, bite. Fuck's sake, do we gotta do everything for you?"

The one at your back laughed and nipped your cheek.

"She wants it though. Just look at those pretty tears."

The boy whimpered but did as he was told, dragging his tongue all the way up. His hands came to rest on your thighs, skin so much softer than the other men's.

His teeth brushed your clit and you gasped. The boy froze.

And then, he did it again.

You shuddered, thighs shaking just a little. He didn't seem to notice it, but his grip on your legs was getting tighter. He focused on the sensitive spot he'd found, raking his tongue across it.

You made another small, involuntary sound.

The man at your back purred. "There. Ain't that sweet to hear?"

The boy started to suck on your clit, tongue hot and wet. He pushed himself deeper, his nose and chin both buried in your cunt. He didn't even notice when the gunslinger let go of his hair.

He curled his arm around your lower back and pulled you closer to him, almost lifting you off the bed. The wet sounds of his sucking filled the room.

The gunslinger let go of you thigh, satisfied that the boy had a good grip on you. He kissed the corner of your lips, his hand coming up to play with your tits.

"Y'know, we never did get to make you come. Can't help wonderin' what you sound like."

You kept your jaw clenched tight. You weren't going to give him the satisfaction.

He must have read your mind, because he chuckled. Pinched your nipple hard enough that you bucked in his grip.

"Oh, you're going to come for us. Ain't that right boy?"

The boy muttered something and went right back to eating you out. You could feel the same heat in your belly as when the boss had you. Like a band about to snap. Every little move was too much, every flick of his tongue on your clit was somehow more intense.

You squirmed, trying everything you could to get him off. The boy ignored you. Just held on a little tighter and pinned you thigh to the bed.

"Please," you whined. "It's too much."

The gunslingers snickered at that.

"Poor darlin'. Does it hurt real good?"

"Don't fight it. Just let it happen. No one will know except us."

"And we're real good at keeping secrets."

The extra mean gunslinger pressed his cheek against yours and looked down at the boy between your legs.

"Don't tell me you're shy. We're real well acquainted by now, ain't we?"

You hated when he spoke to you like that. All sweetly condescending.

The boy wasn't letting up. Just kept sucking your clit and dipping his flexed tongue into your hole, switching from one to the other like he couldn't get enough. Like you were water in the desert and he'd drop dead without you in his mouth.

You fisted the duvet in your free hand, trying to distract yourself. No good. Your body had wants and needs of its own.

You could feel it building and there wasn't anything you could do to stop it.

You threw your head back and bit your lip, but it still wasn't enough. Small whines and gasps slipped through.

Your cunt was clenching, your whole belly a warm knot finally coming undone. It felt better than good.

It felt fucking incredible.

The boy didn't seem to notice. He just kept at it, even though your clit was swollen and aching and bright with blood.

The gunslinger noticed though. You could feel him smiling against your neck.

He tugged at your earlobe with his teeth and then kissed all the way down to your shoulder.

"Maybe we ought to be nicer, if that's what you sound like."

"Like a fox in a trap. Whinin' so nice 'fer us."

Your whole body felt like you touched lightening. And the boy's tongue was the worst if it.

"Please, enough. I...can't..."

The dark skinned gunslinger leaned closer to you, smiling in a way that wasn't nice at all.

"You're so sweet when you beg, filly. Ask politely and I'll get him off you."

You swallowed your pride. What was left of it after today anyway? They'd seen far too much of you for you to hold onto false modesty.

"Please. It's too much. Just make it stop."

Maybe it was your voice or maybe it was your tears or maybe he was just feeling merciful after emptying his balls inside you. He grabbed the boy's hair and hauled him up.

The kid's lips were red and swollen, his whole jaw slick with spit and spunk. He looked dazed, eyes still on the spot between your thighs.

"I'm not done yet. Can't I just..."

"Ain't complaining now, are ya? You see why we went through all that trouble for her?"

He was still holding onto you and he made a half hearted tug to get you closer to him.

"Five more minutes. Please."

The gunslinger scoffed. "You think just 'cause you had a taste you can make demands?"

He pulled the boy's hair and dragged him off the bed. His jeans were bulging at the crotch and his eyes never left you.

"But you said -"

"We said that you'd get a taste. Nothin' more."

The gunslinger holding you spoke up, his lips still pressed against your shoulder.

"You gotta earn it boy. Our girl ain't gonna be wasted on some greenhorn."

"Gonna have to make do with your fist, like the rest of us had to."

When the boy was off the bed, the gunslinger let go of your arm and shoved you forward. You landed on your forearms, your body sprawled in front of him.

He planted a hard smack on your ass and leaned over you, lips brushing your hair.

"You'd better dream about me sweetheart. Better feel me in your mouth when you close your eyes."

His fingers swiped across your cunt, rough and probing. You winced at the feel of him.

"Or else I'll just have to fuck you so hard the memory is burned into your mind."

You looked over your shoulder, eyes catching his for just a second. Long enough to realise he meant every word of his threat. He smirked, satisfied.

He stood and grabbed the boy by his upper arm. Together with his partner, they bundled him out the door. Business all finished, eh?

You sagged into the bed and watched them leave, your cunt still pulsing when you moved. You were exhausted and you looked it, too tired to push yourself up.

A hand caught the door before it closed.

Another one? How much more were you supposed to take?

The newcomer nudged the door back open and stood there for a minute, watching you. He had a bowl of water in his hand, a wash rag thrown over the side.

You hadn't seen his face before, but you recognised him. The tall, well spoken one who made you ride on his horse.

He was dressed better than most of the others. A black, silk waist coat and a crisp white shirt, the sleeves rolled to his elbows. A silver cross dangled on a chain around his neck.

It made you want to laugh. What God could he worship, when he was a sinner so black?

"Hello dove."

You didn't answer. Just watched him with your cunt fluttering and your lips bruised. 

He was the palest out of them all, skin more like a scholar's than a cowboy's. He had black hair, as long as the gunslinger's, but tied back. He was probably Chinese, but born on this side of the Pacific. His accent was almost the same as yours.

He walked towards you slowly. Not nervous, but more like he was worried about spooking you.

He put the bowl of water down on the nightstand and sat on the edge of the bed, half facing you.

"It must hurt."

You stayed quiet. What did he know of hurt? He wasn't the one being held down and fucked.

He nodded at the bowl. You hadn't noticed it, but the water was a milky white.

"That's to clean you up. I reckon they left a few more cuts and scrapes than they intended."

You found your voice. Smaller, meeker than you remembered.

"Why do you care?"

"You think we don't care?"

You blinked. Of course you thought that. What else was there to think? They were outlaws who took you to satisfy themselves for an afternoon or two. What more could there be?

He laughed, but it was a bitter thing.

"Oh, qīn’ài de. If we didn't care, you'd still be a free woman."

You didn't understand what he was getting at. He sighed and reached for your ankle.

You jerked away. You didn't want to be touched ever again. Not by a man, not by anyone.

He sighed again.

"Don't be difficult. I want to help you."

"Why?"

He was quiet. Just watching you with his dark eyes. There was something familiar about him, though you couldn't tell what.

Finally, "You don't remember me."

You were in no frame of mind to care about his feelings.

"No."

He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees and his forehead resting on his knuckles. Like a man at prayer. He turned his head a little to speak to you.

"It's been a long time, but you saved my life once."

You frowned, totally blank.

"You were still just a girl. Thirteen or fourteen maybe. I'd just turned twenty, part of a gang for the first time and too damn cocky."

He rubbed the skin just above his thumb. There was an ugly scar there, the skin still raised and puckered after all these years.

"Our heist went wrong. Sherrif and his deputies were waiting for us. I got shot. Not so bad that it would kill me, but bad enough that I couldn't make it home."

You couldn't see where this was going.

"Ended up in a barn, bleeding everywhere. I heard footsteps and I thought for sure I was done for. That the rancher was going to blow my brains all over the wall. But it wasn't him that found me."

You sat up slowly and ended up on your knees, your back to him. You thought you understood now, but you let him keep speaking.

"Wasn't him, but his daughter. Dropped the milk when she saw me but she didn't scream. Just came over and asked how she could help me. Me. A wanted man who'd just killed six deputies."

You didn't know that part of the story. All you remembered was the hot summer sun slanting through the cracks in the barn, and the young man bleeding out in the hay. You remembered him digging the bullet out and asking you to stitch him up, his face going all pale.

You closed you eyes and it was like you were right back there, hiding him in the hayloft and telling your pa the blood on your dress was from killing a chicken.

"Why did you do it?" he asked.

"Because you looked scared. And because I was a little in love with you."

That probably wasn't the answer he was expecting. You pulled in a shuddering breath.

"You were older than me, but still so young. The most handsome man I'd ever met. You told me you got shot by mistake, and not to tell anyone because it would get your little brother in trouble."

You could hear a smile in his voice.

"And you believed me?"

"Yes. Why would you lie to me? Outlaws were just a thing from stories. And I suppose I wanted to believe you. You told me I was going to be really pretty someday, that you'd have to come back and marry me. No one had ever said anything like that to me."

He hummed. "You really thought I was handsome?"

"Yes."

He still was, but he had none of the sweet, boyish softness you remembered. He was handsome in a hard, dangerous way. Diamond rough. You could cut your skin on the sharpness of him.

"But what does that have to do with anything? Why...why do this to me, if you owe me your life?"

He sighed and reached for you. He hooked his arm around your waist and dragged you onto his lap.

"I kept checking in on you over the years, do you know that? Every time I was near your ranch I'd ride out and look for you. Always watching."

"Why?"

"I felt like I owed you. I wanted to make sure you were fine. And when you got older...well, I just liked looking at you."

You shivered. There was something in his voice, a longing far deeper than anyone of the other cowboys'.

"Will you let me go when you're done?"

He sighed and tucked your hair behind your ear.

"Maybe that would be the merciful option. But we aren't merciful men."

He pulled your head onto his shoulder when you started crying.

"You're going to stay with us, qīn’ài de. For a very, very long time."

"Why now? Why..."

His hand was soft in your hair, his voice even softer.

"You're young, lovely, a rancher's only child. How much longer 'til your pa started to consider marriage? And who would come knocking on his door? No, I couldn't loose you to them."

"You're the one..." you tried pulling away but he kept you still, head against his shoulder.

"Me," he agreed, "I'm the one to blame for this. And even knowing that, I wouldn't take it back."

"The others..."

"Brutes, aren't they? But they're my brothers. And once they saw you, they wanted you too."

He said he couldn't loose you to another man, but that didn't make any sense.

"If that's true, why did you let the others..." You swallowed, not sure how to go on.

"Why did I let the others have you first?"

You nodded. He played with the cross on his necklace. Finally, he spoke.

"Because I want the most time with you."

He pulled away to look at you and you realised how wrong you were. It wasn't that he didn't feel any lust for you, it was just that he hid it far better than the rest of them.

But now... oh, his was the worst you'd seen. Boiling hot, on the end of its tether. This was a man who wanted you. Who'd spent years wanting you.

He laid a palm on your thigh.

"They got you for an hour each maybe. But I'm going to have you all night."

[poggerssus]

I should get a bunch of jorts for summer

for no specific reason...

[evilwoman18]

Y/N stood in the middle of a display aisle lined with bassinets, her fingers trailing over the smooth edge of one she’d been eyeing for the past ten minutes. At six months pregnant, her movements were slower, more deliberate, but there was a spark in her eyes that Simon hadn’t seen in weeks.

“This one,” she said finally, turning to him with the kind of finality that usually ended a debate before it started.

Simon crossed his arms, broad shoulders dwarfing the dainty furniture around them. “No. We’re not havin’ the baby sleepin’ in our room.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

“In their own room, Y/N. Proper nursery. That’s what it’s for.”

She narrowed her eyes, one hand bracing instinctively on her belly. “You want me to get up and walk across the hall at 2 a.m. every time they cry?”

Simon hesitated, his voice dropping to that low, even tone he used when he thought he was being perfectly reasonable. “They’ll be fine. And you’ll sleep better without every grunt and whimper wakin’ you up.”

Y/N snorted, the sound sharp with disbelief. “You think I’m going to sleep with them down the hall? Simon, I barely sleep now with them inside me.”

“Y/N…”

“No,” she cut in, the steel in her voice unmistakable. “First six months, they’re in our room. Bassinet right next to us. I need to know they’re okay.”

Simon ran a hand over the back of his neck, trying not to let the tiny flicker of anxiety he felt show. The truth was, the idea of having the baby in the same room scared him in ways he couldn’t explain. Every sound, every breath, he’d be up all night checking, making sure nothing happened.

He sighed. “I just don’t want you runnin’ yourself ragged.”

Y/N softened slightly, reading more in his tone than in his words. She reached out, taking his gloved hand in hers and placing it against the curve of her stomach. “You’re not getting rid of them that easily, Riley. They’re staying close. For both of us.”

Simon’s jaw ticked, his mask hiding the complicated tangle of emotions running through him. After a long pause, he muttered, “Fine. Bassinet in our room.”

Y/N smirked, victory shining in her eyes as she turned back to the display. “Knew you’d come around.”

Simon just shook his head, the faintest edge of a smile in his voice. “You’re bloody impossible, Y/N.”

~

Y/N moved methodically through the rows of tiny baby clothes, her tentative eyes scanning each rack with the same intensity she usually reserved for weapons checks. Every so often she’d pause, pluck out a muted cream romper or a sage-green onesie, and hold it up to the light before nodding to herself.

“Gender-neutral only,” she muttered, half to herself. “I don’t want to know until I’m holding them for the first time.”

Simon followed a step behind, the growing mountain of clothes draped over his arm. He’d carried kit bags through combat zones that weighed less.

He watched her waddle down the aisle, the subtle sway in her hips more pronounced now that she was six months along. For the first time since he’d met her, hell, in the six years they’d been married, Y/N didn’t move like someone who could dismantle a man in three seconds flat. She moved carefully, a hand always bracing against her belly as if to shield their child from the world.

And it did something to him.

Every instinct screamed to take the weight from her, to make sure she didn’t have to reach, lift, or even bend. So he did, plucking packages from the higher racks before she could, guiding her around displays with a steady hand on the small of her back, carrying everything before she even thought to.

“Simon,” she said finally, shooting him a sharp look over her shoulder. “You’re hovering.”

He didn’t bother denying it. “You look like you’re about to topple over with every step.”

Her lips twitched, though she tried to suppress the smile. “I’m fine.”

“Don’t care,” Simon replied, adjusting the stack of clothes against his chest.

Y/N shook her head, returning to her hunt for soft yellows and muted grays. “You realize I’m still me, right? Being pregnant doesn’t make me fragile.”

“Maybe not,” Simon allowed, his voice low and steady. “But you look… different. Feels wrong not helpin’.”

Y/N froze briefly at that, her expression softening despite herself. She turned back to the rack, hiding the small, knowing smile tugging at her lips.

~

Simon juggled two overstuffed shopping bags in each hand and balanced a third against his hip, the pile of baby clothes and supplies threatening to spill with every step.

Y/N walked a pace behind him, arms swinging free and a faint smirk tugging at her lips. “You know,” she called, “normal couples split the load. You’re not a pack mule.”

“Not lettin’ you carry a thing,” Simon replied without looking back, his voice gruff with finality.

“You’re overprotective,” she teased, quickening her pace to walk beside him. “I’m pregnant, not porcelain.”

Simon glanced at her, the overhead sunlight cutting a line across his mask that covered only his mouth. His gaze inevitably drifted down, catching on the pronounced curve of her belly straining against her shirt.

“…You’ve gotten big,” he murmured, more to himself than her.

Y/N shot him a sidelong glare, eyes narrowing. “You’re not supposed to say that to a pregnant woman, Simon.”

He huffed a quiet laugh, shifting the bags in his hands. “Not what I meant. You sure it’s just one in there?”

She rolled her eyes. “For the hundredth time, yes. And before you ask, no, I didn’t ask the doctor. I told them I only wanted to know if the baby was okay. Everything else can wait.”

Simon unlocked the truck and began loading the bags into the back, his movements slower than usual, thoughtful. “Feels like there’s two,” he muttered, almost to himself.

Y/N raised an eyebrow, leaning against the passenger door. “What, do you have some kind of twin radar?”

“Just sayin’,” he said, closing the tailgate with a soft thud. “You’re carryin’ somethin’ precious. Hard not to… want to take every weight off your shoulders.”

The teasing smile faded from her face, replaced by a softer, more complicated expression. “Simon…”

He turned to face her fully, meeting her gaze. “Can’t help it, love. You look so damn… defenseless sometimes. Never seen you like that. Feels wrong not doin’ everythin’ I can.”

For once, Y/N had no quick comeback. She looked away, fighting the warmth creeping up her neck, and murmured, “You’re ridiculous.”

“Yeah,” Simon agreed easily, opening her door for her. “And you’re stuck with me.”

~

The hum of the engine filled the truck’s cab, a steady backdrop to the faint smell of cinnamon rolls still lingering from the box Y/N had insisted on grabbing before they left the store.

Simon kept one hand on the wheel, the other resting on the gearshift, his eyes flicking between the road and the gentle curve of her belly in the passenger seat. No matter how many times he looked, it always caught him off guard, how much she was showing now, how real all of this felt.

Y/N turned her head, catching him staring. A slow smirk spread across her face.

“You’re doing it again,” she said, eyes glinting with amusement.

Simon’s gaze snapped back to the road. “Doin’ what?”

“Looking at me like I’m smuggling state secrets under my shirt,” she teased, resting a hand over her stomach. “Still convinced it’s twins, aren’t you?”

Simon huffed. “Feels like it.”

She chuckled softly, leaning her head back against the seat. “Maybe you’re just not used to seeing me like this. All… defenseless.”

His grip on the wheel tightened imperceptibly. “Not the word I’d use,” he muttered.

Y/N arched an eyebrow. “Oh? What word, then?”

Simon hesitated, the weight of his stare briefly shifting to her before returning to the road. “…Precious.”

For a split second, the teasing look in her eyes faltered, replaced by something warmer that made her chest tighten. She turned back to the window quickly, hiding the faint flush creeping up her cheeks.

“That’s disgustingly sappy, Riley,” she said after a beat, her voice laced with forced nonchalance.

Simon smirked faintly. “You’re welcome.”

Y/N fought the smile tugging at her lips, choosing instead to prod at him. “You know, for someone who claims he’s not overprotective, you haven’t taken your eyes off me, or the alleged twins, for more than five seconds.”

Simon grunted, shifting gears. “Not takin’ chances.”

Y/N laughed quietly, the sound soft but genuine, and for the rest of the drive, the teasing subsided into a comfortable, charged silence, Simon still sneaking glances when he thought she wasn’t looking, and Eris secretly touched by every single one.

~

The room was bathed in soft, warm light, shadows pooling in the corners as Simon and Y/N lay close together on their bed. The air was still, filled only with the quiet rhythm of their breathing.

Simon’s face was bare, unmasked, the usual stoic barrier replaced by something softer, tired, but present. His dark eyes met Y/N’s as she traced lazy circles over her swollen belly, the glow from the bedside lamp catching the glint of her eyes.

Breaking the silence, Simon’s voice was low and hesitant, almost vulnerable. “I’ve been thinkin’ about names.”

Y/N paused, hand still resting lightly on her stomach. “You have?”

“Yeah,” he said, his gaze steady. “Not just any names. Ones that mean somethin’.”

She blinked, surprised by the seriousness in his tone. “I thought you didn’t want to get ahead of yourself.”

Simon smiled faintly, a softness in his expression she hadn’t seen before. “I used to feel that way. But now, knowin’ you, knowin’ we’re doin’ this… it feels real. I want the name to be right.”

Y/N’s eyes softened, and she moved closer, letting her head rest gently against his shoulder. “What kind of names are you thinking?”

“Strong ones,” Simon said quietly. “Names that mean something to us, to them. Names that remind them of where we came from, and where they're goin’.”

She smiled, warmth spreading through her chest. “You’re more sentimental than you let on.”

He shrugged, voice gruff but affectionate. “Only when it counts.”

Y/N leaned up, pressing a tender kiss to his cheek. “I like that.”

Simon wrapped an arm around her, fingers threading through hers, and in the quiet of their shared home, they both let themselves believe in the future waiting just beyond the night.

~

Let me know what you guys think! Night y'all.

Thank you for reading!💚

[dogwithbird]

Dirty Work

When you need a bit of lovin' 'Cause your man is out of town That's the time you get me runnin' And you know I'll be around

Your husband should've known better than to leave you all alone in that big house with Joel Miller.

----------------------

no outbreak contractor!Joel Miller x Reader

Rating: Explicit 18+

Word count: 4.1k

Warnings/Tags: no outbreak au, author rambles, infidelity, smut, unprotected sex, oral sex (f receiving), joel miller is a man of few words and multiple orgasms

(this has been sitting in my drafts for over a year and i finally got the motivation to finish it, it's a bit of a re-imagination of the first fic I wrote because I <3 kitchen sex)

Read below or on AO3 ->

It was wrong. You were married. You’d said “I do.” In sickness and in health. ‘Til death and all of that. You had moved across the country for him; left your friends and family behind. You quit your job for him. You cooked for him. You cleaned for him. You were talking about trying for a baby, even. He loved you, and you loved him.

But your husband was gone on business trips increasingly frequently. You saw a smudge of red lipstick — not your shade — on the collar of his shirt when you did his laundry. He’d moved you to Texas, where you knew no one, and left you all alone in a big house that he insisted on making even bigger. Maybe he expected you to look elsewhere, too.

The house he bought had only been built a couple of years ago, the one that you’d described to your oldest friend as a temple to bland opulence. Naturally, your husband thought it needed to be updated. Expanded upon. A new detached garage and a complete kitchen renovation were good places to start, he supposed. He told you the kitchen renovation would be your “little project,” the garage his, and made sure to tell the contractors there was no budget before he set off for his second business trip that month.

Your husband showed affection by letting you spend as much money as you could and occasionally with increasingly passionless sex. The former was more satisfying, and so you told the contractors you wanted the most expensive Carrara marble countertops they could track down.

Miller Contracting came highly recommended to your husband by your new neighbor Mrs. Collins, who said they were a "pure joy to have around.” You understood why: the brothers were very handsome. The older one caught your eye especially. He introduced himself as Joel, wiping grime onto his pants before offering his hand and a preemptive apology for the mess. Sometimes you had a hard time pulling your gaze from his broad shoulders. A single curl at the nape of his neck would entrance you. More than once, you found yourself staring at the tool belt slung low around his hips—a hammer pushing the hem of his shirt up just enough to expose his tanned torso. He was completely oblivious to how hot and bothered his mere presence made you, which somehow made you want him even more. It wasn’t normal how many times a week you found yourself with your hand down your pants thinking of Joel. It couldn’t be normal that you fantasized it was Joel, not your husband, sleeping next to you on the rare occasion your husband was home.

You needed a distraction from temptation. You tried to make a life for yourself in Austin. Or, if not a life, at least keep yourself occupied and out of the house. Tennis and shopping and massages could only fill so much of the void. You busied yourself with various boards and societies and leagues at your husband’s request: it was a good way to make connections, he said, to make friends before you start having kids.

In the beginning, your interactions with Joel were brief and practical. Joel would ask about fixture placements or clarify blueprints the architect had drawn up, and you’d find yourself too focused on the veins in his forearms to respond right away. Once, when Tommy was running late, he asked you to hold a two-by-four steady while he cut it, and you stood shoulder to shoulder, the sharp scent of sawdust and his skin overwhelming your senses. You felt the vibration of the saw through the board and wondered what it would feel like to touch him, just for a moment. When he looked up, your eyes met for a fraction too long. Neither of you said anything.

Joel stayed late one evening, finishing the countertop installation long after Tommy had gone home for the day. You offered him a celebratory drink and he accepted to your surprise, leaning against the island with you. The silence between you stretched, not awkward but thick. When he set the glass of your husband’s whisky down, his fingers brushed yours. You didn’t move away. He looked at you for a long moment, then back at the glass.

“She’s gorgeous, Joel,” you murmured, drawing your fingers along the length of the new marble countertop. The slab was cold and smooth beneath your palm, a coolness at odds with the heat rising up the back of your neck. It was your favorite slab out of the four you’d vetted with Joel, the one you’d insisted upon even when he warned you about its endless tendency to stain, how every glass of red wine or ring of coffee would etch a memory into it forever. Still, you wanted it, and so, there it was: a swirl of creamy white, mottled and streaked, luminous under the new pendant lights. You slid your hand across the veiny surface all the way to the edge and back again.

The rest of the house felt hollow, half-lit by the lingering sunset, but here the air was thick and warm with spice and plaster dust and the faintest trace of sandalwood—Joel’s deodorant, you’d realized, after catching a whiff of it more than once on his discarded shop towels. The kitchen was only lit by a work lamp on the floor behind you, casting your shadows onto the new, bare wall in front of you.

Joel glanced up from his glass at you, a smirk spreading across his face, “mhm,” he nodded in agreement, “real beauty.”

You raised your glass, whisky trembling among an oversized ice cube, and with a gleeful bravado you declared, “To the most beautiful countertop this side of the Mississippi.” Joel suppressed an amused snort but dutifully picked up his own glass and held it toward yours. His hands were broad and nicked in places with old scars; the juxtaposition of a laborer’s calluses wrapped around a delicate tumbler made your pulse quicken. As the glasses met with a restrained clink, the sound sparked in the stillness like the strike of a match.

The whisky scorched a path down your throat, igniting a heat in your chest that had nothing to do with alcohol and everything to do with the man sitting six inches from you. The discrepancy between the polite, measured conversation and the animal yearning in the air made you giddy, almost lightheaded. You felt like a teenager who’d never been kissed, pulse racing.

Joel’s voice startled you, the low register of it vibrating through your chest. “Is your husband gonna mind that I’m here this late?” he asked, and the words fell into the heavy air like an ice cube shattering on tile. You could tell he regretted them as soon as they were out—his jaw flexed, a faint flush blooming along his cheekbones. The question itself was so at odds with the moment you’d both let yourselves slip into. You’d half expected him to lean in, to close the last gap between your faces, but instead he’d summoned your husband back into the room.

You searched Joel’s face, trying to decide if he cared about the answer or was simply fishing for a reason to excuse himself before something happened. Maybe he was only being gentlemanly. Maybe it was a test, and you’d already failed by not mentioning your husband first. Maybe you’d misread the entire situation and made a fool out of yourself.

“Not like he’s here to know,” you said, and it came out much sharper than intended. You cringed in the next instant, hating the way the bitterness in your voice had hung a hard, ugly edge on the air. You hadn’t meant it as confession, or even as a complaint. You didn’t elaborate, didn’t ask Joel to consider the last time he’d seen him there, though you hoped he thought about it.

You tried to remember what rules governed these sorts of situations. Was fidelity measured in minutes, in miles, in the number of times your husband remembered to call you before bed? Was loyalty a question of what you did, or what you wanted to do? Every woman in your family had opinions on this—your sisters, your aunts, your own mother. You’d heard them compare marriages by the way their men failed them: the ones who drank, the ones who gambled, the ones who left red marks and bruises.

You understood that every marriage was an accumulation of secret grievances, some profound and some petty, most never spoken aloud. Your mother’s plight was familiar: the husband and father who spent all day in the garage with an AM radio and a case of Bud Light, the one who started out promising all the right things but, by their fifteenth anniversary, didn’t even pretend to believe in anniversaries at all. Your Aunt Lisa’s husband once spent the mortgage payment on poker. Aunt Carla’s husband crashed a car into a neighbor’s fence and blamed it on an allergy pill. And the women, for all their complaints, hung on. You watched as they grew used to disappointment and pain.

Your husband didn’t yell or drink or gamble. He wasn’t cruel, not really. Instead, he was just … gone. When he finally returned home from a trip, he was tired, and when he wasn’t tired, he was distracted. He bought you nice things and urged you to spend freely to fill the void. His unprovable infidelities seemed inconsequential comparatively.

You’d never allowed yourself to say it, certainly not to anyone who really knew you, and especially not to him. You told yourself it wasn’t so bad. You told yourself that you didn’t deserve to complain, not when other women had it so much worse. The truth was that you wanted to be seen, and touched, and loved, in a way that didn’t feel perfunctory or purely transactional.

You wondered: if you had children, would this be the version of marriage they’d inherit? Would your daughters one day sit in their own kitchens with their own friends and think back on their mother with sadness and a twinge of pity? Would your sons learn to vanish as a means of survival? Maybe this was just how it was, and always would be.

You did not tell Joel about your birthday last year, when your husband hadn’t called from New York: you celebrated by ordering takeout and eating it, cross-legged, on the living room carpet with the TV on mute in fear of missing the phone ring. You did not tell him about the feeling that had crept up on you that night: something like grief, but also like relief, as if you’d finally been granted permission to admit that you were completely alone. You did not tell him about the time you’d found your husband’s text messages to an assortment of women with unfamiliar names, or the way you’d convinced yourself it didn’t matter, since he’d never admit to it and you didn’t care to bring up. You didn’t tell him how you sometimes lay awake for hours, the ceiling fan spinning its blades like a roulette wheel and tried to imagine a version of your life where you didn’t have to wait for someone to finally come home to you.

The unspoken truth was this: you had already left your husband. You’d just never had a witness to it before.

Could Joel see all of this in your face? Was he quietly adding up your loneliness and cataloguing it alongside all the other minor tragedies he encountered on the job. Maybe he’d heard it all before. Maybe every house he worked in was just a different flavor of the same sadness. Bored housewife after bored housewife, looking for an outlet.

You didn’t owe Joel the whole story — couldn’t have given it if you tried — so instead you watched the way he took your answer, slow and considerate, his hands fitting around the glass as if he might squeeze it into something new.

You became hyper-aware of everything: how close you and Joel were standing, how neatly his boots aligned with your bare feet on the hardwood, how the light from the work lamp painted you both in muddled relief against the still-blank wall. He smelled faintly of sweat and something comfortable—laundry, warm skin. It made your stomach clench.

You reached for your glass again, but Joel gently took it from you and set it on the counter. He didn’t break eye contact. He didn’t lean in, not exactly, but his presence tilted towards you, shifting the gravity in the room. You saw the subtle tremor in his hand as he placed your drink down.

“Tell me to leave,” he whispered, as if he was afraid the house might overhear.

You didn’t.

Couldn’t.

You stared at each other through the silence, and out of the corner of your eye, you saw your distinct shadows cast on the wall by the work lamp become one.

His mouth was on yours before you had a chance to breathe. Hot, rough, desperate.

He broke the kiss only to lift you—strong hands gripping beneath your thighs, setting you on your new countertop like it was the most natural thing in the world. Your knees parted instinctively, heart thundering, pulse thrumming so loud it filled your ears.

His hands slipped under your dress. Callused fingers dragging up your thighs slowly, reverently, igniting sparks under your skin. And then he paused, his hand stalling along your wet slit.

His eyes met yours, dark and burning. And then he crouched down, nudging your legs over his shoulders as he dove between them.

You made a sound — breathy, shaky, resembling his name — but he was already there. Already sinking to his knees, already kissing up the soft, trembling inside of your thigh. His mouth was hot and open, each press of his lips reverent and greedy, his stubble rasping your skin and leaving goosebumps in its wake. When his teeth scraped gently, teasing, you flinched. You didn’t care if he left a mark. You wanted him to. Something to find in the mirror tomorrow, a secret bruise that would confirm that this was not just a dream.

The first swipe of his tongue through your folds made your hips jerk like you’d touched something electric, your spine bowing as your fingers slammed down onto the countertop behind you with a loud, ungraceful thud. A breath left you like a punch. “Fuck,” you gasped, eyes fluttering.

Your husband had never just… dove in like that. Never knelt between your legs like he couldn’t wait, like it was an instinct, like he’d die if he didn’t taste you. The few times he’d gone down on you had been cautious, transactional—bookended by negotiations and implied debts. You’d had to convince him. And afterward, you’d had to fake your moans so he’d think he was doing a good job. Bastard.

But Joel—he groaned like he meant it, like he’d been starving for this. That sound vibrated into you, low and raw, and then he latched onto your clit, sucking hard enough to make your vision blur. Your knees nearly buckled. You barely kept yourself upright with one hand gripping the counter, the other tangled in his hair, fisting it tight. He didn’t seem to mind. If anything, he leaned in harder, letting you use him for balance while his mouth ruined you.

You came fast. So fast it shocked you, ripped the breath from your lungs. One second you were gasping, the next you were gone, unraveling with a strangled cry. The orgasm crashed over you like a wave that didn’t wait for permission, hot and dizzying, legs trembling around his shoulders as your stomach seized and fluttered and let go. Your head tipped back against the cabinet behind you, jaw slack, fingers still clutching his hair.

When the white faded from your vision, Joel was still there, slow and deliberate now, licking you through the aftershocks, as if easing you back down. As if soothing the very nerves he’d just lit on fire.

You breathed out his name then and finally loosened your grip, letting your hand fall to his shoulder. Your legs were still shaking. You weren’t sure they’d hold you.

Somehow, you found the strength to lift them, one then the other, back down to the floor. It wasn’t graceful. You slid off the counter, your thighs sticky and weak, bracing yourself as your feet hit the ground. Joel looked up at you, lips wet, pupils blown wide.

Joel stood, chest heaving, face slick with you, eyes dark and dazed, and kissed you again. You tasted yourself on his tongue and the whole thing felt perverted and wrong — and you didn’t care.

He pulled back just enough to speak, a string of his spit clinging between you.

“You come like that for your husband, darlin’?”

You shook your head, breath still catching. God, you’d never come like that for anyone.

Joel’s lips curved, slow and smug, but there was something else in it too, something awed. Like he was proud of what he’d done to you. Like he wanted to do it again just to prove it wasn’t a fluke.

“Thought so,” he murmured, brushing his thumb over your cheek, then dragging it down your jaw, tracing the edge of your lips. “You had that … look.”

Before you could interrogate him – what fucking look? – he kissed you again. You pulled him closer, feeling the hard press of him through his jeans.

He shifted against you, so slightly, but the friction made you gasp. You thought you couldn’t handle anymore but the weight and heat of him gave you a second wind. He kissed you deeper, his hands sliding up your sides, your dress somehow still on.

Your hand slid down to feel him, fingers fiddling with his belt in a poor attempt to get his pants off.

You wrapped your hand around him and felt his cock twitch in anticipation of your next movement. You stroked him once, maybe twice, your thumb teasing along the head, slick with precome.

“Shit,” Joel hissed, jaw tightening. His hips jerked forward into your fist.

But then he grabbed your wrist, fingers curling around it tight, pulling your hand away like he was barely holding on. “Don’t — fuck, darlin’, don’t.”

You looked up at him, breathless, eyes wide, scared you’d crossed a line.

“I’ll come in your fuckin’ hand if you keep that up,” he growled, voice thick with warning — raw, half-wrecked, smirk spreading across his face. “An’ I’m not done with you yet.”

You hopped back up on the counter in excited anticipation.

“Uh uh,” he tutted, pulling you off the counter.

You blinked, dazed. “What?”

Joel’s brow furrowed, mouth still red and wet from where he'd had you moments ago.

“The marble,” he said, nodding toward the countertop. “Ain’t fuckin’ you on it. You’re soaked, darlin’, and I warned you that a speck of dust could stain this thing.”

You almost laughed before he lifted you with one arm, the head of his cock still pressed against you, and shifted down to the floor in one practiced movement. He sat back against the kitchen island, legs spread, pulling you into his lap. You were both completely naked by now, clothes stripped at some point.

Joel’s cock slapped up against your belly and you reached for it, blindly greedy, wrapping your hand around the thickness, feeling the pulse of heat radiating upward into your palm. You glanced down at the length of it, envisioning how much it would fill you up. His skin was burning, lined with veins that throbbed under your touch; his whole body was wound tight, muscles bunched and trembling from holding back.

You tilted your hips up and guided the head to your entrance, stroking it through your slick, and then with a slow, deliberate motion, you pressed down. The stretch was immediate, stinging, and so, so good. You gasped and let your head fall back, the sudden fullness threatening to buckle your knees even though you were already straddling him on the kitchen floor. Joel gripped your hips in both rough hands and held you steady, but didn’t force you. He let you take him at your own pace, patient but obviously desperate, his teeth bared against a groan as you settled into his lap.

“Fuck. Yeah. That’s it, sweetheart,” he growled, voice low and tight, watching you through narrowed, dark eyes. “Sit right there on my cock.” It sounded like an offering.

You rocked your hips, tentative at first, and the movement made both of you moan at the same time. You braced yourself backwards on Joel’s legs until he leaned forward, hands still bracketing your waist, catching one of your breasts in his mouth and circling your nipple with his tongue.

You shifted your hands to his shoulders, gripping tight, using the strength of his body to steady yourself. Then you lifted and dropped your hips, finding your rhythm as heat coiled deep in your belly.

Joel groaned against your breast, then lifted his head, mouth dragging open and wet along your jaw, up to your ear. His hands left your hips to tangle in your hair, guiding your mouth to his, breath mingling, sweat slick between you.

“This what you need?” he rasped, voice muffled against your jaw.

You could only nod, words lost to the pleasure, your body answering for you as you rolled your hips again and again, chasing the edge he kept dragging you toward.

You kept riding him, slower now but deeper, each thrust sending sparks up your spine. The kitchen floor had vanished beneath you: there was only the heat, the slide, the stretch of him filling you again and again.

But your thighs were shaking harder now, the burn setting in - weak and quivering with every lift of your hips. Your rhythm faltered, a soft whimper slipping from your mouth as your legs began to give out beneath you.

Joel felt you tremble.

“I’ve got ya,” he growled, and suddenly his grip on your waist turned commanding, solid.

Before you could even brace yourself, he thrust up into you — hard, deep, relentless.

You cried out, the air knocked from your lungs, and clung to his shoulders as he took over.

His hands guided you, slamming you down onto his cock as he drove up to meet you. The new angle hit something inside you. Your moans turned ragged, your fingers clawing into flesh.

“Fuck, Joel –” you gasped.

“Yeah?” he grunted, fucking up into you harder now, his breath hot and broken against your neck. “Needed this, didn’t’ya darlin’?”

You nodded wildly, terrified he might stop. Your body was coming apart, unraveling under him. The slap of your bodies echoed off the tile and cabinets, the slick, desperate rhythm of it building and building and building.

He was unrelenting now, chasing the edge with single-minded focus, sweat slicking his skin, his thigh muscles tensing beneath you with every upward drive. You clung to him, helpless against the force of it, your mouth parted in a soundless cry as your orgasm crested fast and vicious.

It slammed into you like a wave breaking against rock. You jerked in his lap, spine arching, every muscle seizing. Part of you tried to escape, the stimulation too much, but Joel held you tight in his arms. A strangled sob left your throat as your vision whited out. You clenched down around him, and Joel groaned.

“Jesus—fuck—” he hissed through gritted teeth, his hands bruising your hips now, holding you down as he drove up once, twice more before burying himself to the hilt with a growl and spilling into you.

Neither of you moved, your forehead pressed against the sweat-dampened skin of his neck.

“You alright?” he asked, voice rough and low against your hair.

You could barely hear, heartbeat pounding in your eardrums as the room finally stopped spinning. You gave a slow, almost imperceptible nod. Joel shifted, lifting a hand to cup the back of your head.

“Didn’t mean to take over like that,” he murmured, suddenly bashful. “You just — uh, you started fallin’ apart on me.”

You exhaled a shaky breath. A beat passed, then another, before you managed a weak, breathless laugh—hoarse and low.

“You think I’m complaining?”

His chest rumbled beneath you with a muted chuckle, but he didn’t let you go. Didn’t pull out. Didn’t move except to hold you tighter, like letting go might undo the whole moment.

And maybe it would.

[writersdrug]

Price getting reader a step stool cause she keeps asking Bartender!Ghost to reach stuff for her. Simon obviously brakes it when no ones looking. 👀🤭

LOL

"Is this your way of insulting me?" You ask, holding the colorful, children's stepstool in your hands. You're grimacing at it, a look that has Price chuckling as he folds up the bag from the store.

"I figured you could use it - now ya don't have to wait for Simon to grab anything for you." He says, patting you on the shoulder.

"I don't mind the wait..." You mumble under your breath. The stool feels as decorative as a clowns nose as you tuck it under your arm and head towards the stairs. "I'm keeping it upstairs, I don't need customers laughing at me when I pull this out. Might take it home and spray paint it."

"Suit yourself." Price calls as you bound up the stairs. He heads over to the bar, where Simon is currently polishing the glasses you convinced him to order for the Halloween drink.

"Got a problem with me helpin' 'er?" Simon says, thick fingers rubbing the glass with a rag. He doesn't mean to sound defensive... but he can't help the bite in his tone.

Price smirks, picking up on the jealousy laced into Simon's words. "Thought you might like it. Makes your life easier, and 'ers." He pops open the register and starts filtering through the bills, replacing the larger value ones with smaller ones.

"You don't think I'm capable of runnin' a bar and helping you waitress at the same time?"

"No, but I think you'd be better off if you didn't have to run so much. She's brought in so much business as it is, your workload's gotten heavier."

Simon huffs. "Ya just want to separate us, hm? Want 'er all to yourself." He jokes, grabbing another glass and buffing it.

Price shrugs. "And if I am?" He says, giving him a side glance.

Ghost slows his ministrations, turning his head to his captain. They both stare at each other for a moment, Simon with his slightly angry, slightly questioning glare, and Price with his unwavering eyes. Simon wants to tell him to back down, that you're his - but he can't say that, because you aren't his. He wants you to be. But he doesn't know how to make it happen without letting his walls down.

Price chuckles, turning back to the register to continue swapping bills. "Y'know, if you want to say somethin' you'd best say it." He comments, snapping the drawer shut. "Missed opportunities often come from miscommunication."

He leaves Simon at the bar, heading towards the stairs with his money folder. You jog down the steps and nearly crash into him - he quickly grabs your shoulders and spins you out of the way before you can collide with him. You throw a "sorry!" over your shoulder as you carry an armful of various fruits, leaving Price chuckling as he ascends the stairs to the office.

"The oranges up there aren't looking too great." You chirp, dumping the fruit onto his workspace. A few lemons and limes roll onto the floor, and you bend down to chase them. Simon watches you, a bit miffed at how unaware you were of the situation. What do you think of Price? Do you like him? Would you flirt with him as much as you do with Simon?

You return with the escaped fruit. "I can run to Sevvy's store and grab some for tonight, if you want? The ones upstairs are looking a bit pruney."

"Are you actually gonna use that thing?"

"Huh?" You look at him with confusion written on your face. "What thing?"

"The stool." He looks down at you, his expression unreadable. "'S a bit demeaning, don'tcha think?"

You paused, watching him move the fruit to the side and grab a plastic cutting board. "I mean... he bought it, and I wouldn't have to bug you so much. If I spray paint it black or something, it won't look that ridiculous."

He nods. "Hm."

"I used it to grab the fruit."

"That's interestin'." He mumbles, slicing through an orange. You were right, they have seen better days.

He turns to pop open the register and hands you some bills. "Go get a few oranges, no more than ten. Order should be comin' in tomorrow."

You smile and take the money, stuffing it in your back pocket. With a few hours remaining before the restaurant opens, you go through the kitchen, grab your jacket, and head out the back.

Simon's back to chopping fruit and dumping it into a small bin, bitterly thinking over what Price had said. It's a stool. Price got it to help you and himself. It was a thoughtful purchase. But it's not just that. However unserious this is to Price, he's trying to rile Simon up. He's treating you like the last slice of cake in the tin - Price would like to have it, but he knows Simon's groveling for it. He's forcing Simon to ask for what he wants, and the bartender doesn't like that one bit. Normally, it wouldn't be something that irks him so easily - but this is you we're talking about. Not just anything. You. He wants to grab Price by the collar and throw him into next week with how he's trying to wedge between you and Simon - but he doesn't like having a weakness. He'll keep his cool for now. He'll make a move... eventually.

For now, the only aggressive side he'll present is passive.

Price leaves late that night, somewhere between two and three in the morning. He's beat, spending most of the night between helping you run food and drinks, and fifo-ing the pantry and overflow rooms. He's planning for a day off - of course, after he goes to the bank and comes back here to pay everyone. He's jealous of Simon, who's already upstairs for the night - he wishes he only had a short trip to the third floor before he could crash into his bed. Rather, he has to trek a hefty number of blocks home through the dark streets. He's more worried about going to bed at a decent hour than walking around at night with a bag full of money - people usually steer clear of him when they see his stature.

He locks the back door behind him, puffing out a foggy breath into the frigid air. It's only getting colder - he'll have to break out his gloves and scarf soon. The beanie won't be enough. He shoves one hand into his pocket, the other holding a small bag of trash from the office. He mentally ticks off what he needs to do this week as he grabs the garbage bins, dragging them behind him and towards the street for the trucks to empty in the morning. He pushes them against the store front, taking the lid off and dropping the light trash bag inside.

The loud thunk makes him do a double take. Did he throw away something important? He lifts the bag once again, and a disappointed expression falls upon his face. The colorful kiddie stool he bought for you is there, pieces snapped apart and shoved deep into the bin. Simon didn't even try to hide it underneath the other bags. It's almost like he left it there for Price to catch.

He sighs, dropping the bag and placing the lid back. He trudged down the sidewalk towards his home - he's not too upset by it. He had a feeling Ghost was sinking his teeth into you, and frankly, it's gotten to the point where Price is afraid of what the man might do if someone else tries to take you away. But damn, if his ex-lieutenant's going to make a move, he'd better make a fucking move. For your sake, if not his own.

He pulls his phone from his pocked and shoots Simon a quick, blunt message.

You're paying me back for that.

[maskedbyghost]

you were being a brat, but Simon knew just how to handle you. smut, mdni, +18

You’re sprawled out on your bed, arms crossed, eyes narrowed at Simon. He stands by the door, arms folded, completely unmoved by your ranting.

You don’t even remember what set you off—something about him ignoring you earlier, or maybe it was the way he refused to admit you were right about something dumb. Either way, you’re heated, and he’s standing there like a statue, letting you run your mouth.

"Are you even listening to me?" you snap, propping yourself up on your elbows.

Simon tilts his head, unimpressed. "Mmhmm."

That pisses you off even more. "You’re such an ass—"

He moves before you can finish, climbing onto the bed like he’s got all the time in the world. His weight sinks into the mattress, and before you can scoot away, his hands are on your thighs, pushing them apart. You stiffen.

"Simon, I’m talking to you."

He doesn’t answer. He just hooks his fingers into your panties, drags them down your legs, and tosses them somewhere behind him. His gloved hands press against your thighs again, keeping them wide open. Then he looks at you—really looks at you—for the first time since you started mouthing off.

"I’m done talking to you," he murmurs, lowering himself between your legs. "Wanna talk to this sweet little cunt instead."

Your brain stutters. "Simon—"

He doesn’t wait for permission; he doesn’t give you the chance to keep arguing. His tongue is on you, slow, licking through your folds like he’s savoring every second. A gasp escapes you before you can bite it back, but that’s not even the worst part. The worst part is when he starts talking.

"Look at you," he mutters against your skin, his voice muffled, lips brushing over your clit. "Acting all tough, mouthing off, but you’re drippin’ for me."

Your face burns. "Shut up—"

"Not talkin’ to you, love." His grip tightens on your thighs as he moves lower, pressing a kiss right against your entrance. "M’ talkin’ to her."

You swear you’ll kill him. If you could think straight, if your legs weren’t shaking already, if he wasn’t so fucking good at this—

"She’s so much sweeter than you," he continues, dragging his tongue up your slit. "Doesn’t fight me like you do. She likes me, don’t you, sweetheart?" Another kiss, another slow, teasing lick that has your toes curling. "Bet she’ll be real good for me, won’t she? So soft, so warm—can tell she likes the attention. Not like you, all mouth and attitude. She’s good for me. She listens."

You make a frustrated noise, but it dissolves into a whimper when he flicks his tongue against your clit again.

"Yeah, that’s what I thought." His breath is hot against you as he presses another kiss to your entrance, hands firm on your thighs to keep you still. "Y’spent all that time complainin’, but she was down here waitin’ for me. She knew better, didn’t she? Bet she’s been achin’ for me this whole time."

You hate how much it gets to you, how much his words make the heat in your belly coil tighter. But he’s not done.

"Poor thing," he murmurs, his tongue teasing your entrance. "Must be lonely, yeah? Bein’ attached to such a brat? No wonder she’s so needy." His voice is full of mock sympathy, lips brushing against you between every word. "Don’t worry, sweetheart. I’ll take care of you. Y’don’t have to be a pain in the ass like she is. You just have to be good for me."

You’re shaking now, fingers twisted in the sheets, your breath uneven as he keeps talking, keeps licking at you like he has all the time in the world.

"Bet you’ll let me do whatever I want to you, won’t you? Unlike her—she’s always runnin’ her mouth, always fightin’ me. But you’re soft, aren’t you? You just wanna be taken care of."

You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to block out his words, but the way he talks, the way he mouths at you between sentences, has your stomach twisting with need. You’re embarrassingly close, your body arching into him despite your frustration.

And then, just as you’re teetering on the edge, just as your body starts to tense, Simon pulls away.

"But bad girls don’t get to cum."

He sits back like he’s got all the time in the world, like he isn’t leaving you a mess between his hands. You can see the smirk in his eyes. Smug bastard.

Oh, fuck that.

You don’t even think—you move. You push him back, grab him by the collar and flip him onto the mattress before he can react. His back hits the bed, and for once, he doesn’t resist. He just watches, chest rising and falling beneath his shirt, as you swing a leg over him and settle right where he belongs.

You grip his wrists, pinning them down, and glare at him through your haze of frustration and arousal. "Finish what you started."

Simon huffs a laugh, his fingers flexing beneath yours. "Bossy little thing."

You grind down against his mouth. "Now."

And for once, Simon doesn’t argue.

But he doesn’t let you have it easy, either.

The second you settle over him, his hands move, big and rough as they grab onto your hips. He drags you forward, forcing you to grind against his mouth, and fuck—

The first swipe of his tongue makes your back arch, makes your hands clench around his wrists as you try to keep some kind of control. But he’s got none of your patience, none of your hesitation—he devours you like he’s been waiting for this, tongue flicking against your clit, sucking, then dragging down to fuck into you.

It’s overwhelming. Too much, too fast, and you try to lift your hips, to slow down, but Simon just growls, tightening his grip, forcing you to take every bit of his attention. He’s relentless, murmuring filth against your skin, still talking to you, but not to you.

"Knew you’d be sweet like this," he mutters, tongue flicking against your clit again, making you jolt. "Just needed to get you to shut up first."

Your nails dig into his wrists, but you’re trembling now, moans spilling out no matter how much you try to bite them back. You feel him smirk beneath you, feel the pleased rumble in his chest when you roll your hips against his mouth.

"That’s it," he praises, voice rough. "Finally got you listenin’. ‘Bout time you learned your place."

You can’t even find it in you to be mad. You’re too close, too wound up from the teasing, from the way he’s got you writhing on his tongue. You try to grind down harder, to get yourself there, but Simon pulls back, just enough to leave you gasping.

"Gonna cum for me, sweetheart?" he murmurs, lips brushing against your thigh. "Y’gonna beg for it?"

You don’t want to. You really don’t. But you need it. "Please," you breathe, barely above a whisper.

Simon hums, pretending to consider, then licks into you again, groaning when your hips jolt. "That’s my girl."

And when he finally lets you have it, when he sucks your clit into his mouth and fucks you with his tongue until you break apart, he doesn’t stop until he’s sure you feel every last second of it.

----------------------------------------

@daydreamerwoah

[kill4luvina]

"Right thru me"

Onyankopon x Black!Reader

Summary : You and your man been havin' this dumb argument, and he know you so well it lowkey freaks you out. Especially today because he already had your whole routine down from prior nights when you'd act up exactly like this.

CW : SMUT, Pussy Slapping, Overstimulation, reader tryna run from the dick,Unprotected sex, (probably a lil more),not proof read. (This is a really really old draft im posting.)

" What are we doin'? Could you see through me? 'Cause you say, "Y/N," and I say, "Who, me?" And you say, "No, you," and I say, "Screw you"

Your jaw would drop as your stared at your boyfriend after hearing the bullshit that just came out his mouth. "You blowin my shi, like shut the actual fuck up." You'd say before turning your body away from him annoyed as fuck. "Mamas, you know damn well this ain't worth gettin' all worked up about," Ony would say, glancin' at you for a sec before realizing you were genuinely mad.

"Mamas… can you at least finish my hair before you get mad…?" he'd ask, getting up from where he was sitting and slowly walking over to you. You'd turn your back quickly, throwing the comb you had from doing his hair straight at him. He'd catch it, pissing you off even more as you stormed off into your room, leaving him completely alone in the living room.

He already knew you'd be in your room hitting your vape like a mad woman just out of pure anger. "Mamas.." He'd call from the opposite side of the door, slowly opening as you two make eye contact. "Come back please," he'd plead, already knowing you'd say no as you'd turn your body so your back was now facing him.

You'd hit your vape a couple of times before feeling a small kiss in your neck. "I'm sorry.." He'd whisper softly, knowing this always made you weak. Even before this, in a life before when it came to him his soul knew how to make yours feel better no matter what.

"Why would you say that..?" You'd ask firmly, trying to stand your ground. You'd be caught off guard feeling Ony's warm hands up against your skin. He'd softly play with your tits under your shirt leaving soft love bites on your neck. "You know I don't mean it.." he'd whisper.

"Onyyy-" you'd moan eyes rolling back as you felt his dick hitting you in all the right places. Your pussy creaming all over his dick as he gave you slow deep strokes. "You like that?" He'd ask, slapping your ass as he kept a constant speed.

"Oh-- oh my god.." You'd cry as you felt him pull out slapping his dick against your pussy. Slowly pushing himself back in you'd push your hips back so it'd slip in faster. He'd softly whimper, his eyes focusing on how your pussy swallowed him whole.

"Mama's, stop acting like you can take this dick.." He'd slap your ass getting a gasp out of you. "Y-yes I can!" You'd try to say as you started fucking back into him trying to prove him wrong.

"You always saying that shit until I'm rearranging your guts and you runnin'.." He'd said as he used a hand to push you head down into the bed, already aware of what your stubborn ass was gonna say. "Onyy, fuck mee" you'd whine getting your head pushed down, arching your back more for him.

"mmhm," He'd say putting a leg up onto the bed, as he started to pick up his pace. His eyes focusing now how creamy he could make your pussy, your moans getting louder as you tried your hardest to keep fucking back into him to prove him wrong.

Your eyes getting blurry the moment you felt a slap to your ass, whining you'd turn to look up at him. "Ony, stop being so mean.." You'd weakly let out as you kept fucking yourself onto his dick, he'd raise a brow before pulling out and slapping your pussy. "Ony!" You'd moan the mixture of pain & pleasure confusing you.

He'd go right back to fucking you, but this time his thrusts were deeper, quicker and much more rough. Not even a minute passes by and your cumming, your eyes rolling so far back as your pussy tightened around him.

"See, look at you, a mess." He'd say still fucking you, at the same pace but even rougher. "O-onyyy, too muchhh." you'd cry tears already rolling down you cheek as you felt him speeding up his pace. "But you can take it, right?" He'd continue as he'd slap your ass here and there.

"Can'ttt" you'd cry, reaching a hand back to attempt to push him back. "Mama's, what i said abt running from the dick?" he'd ask ignoring your silly attempt as he picked the pace up fucking you even deeper. "ddont rememberr" you'd babble out feeling like you couldn't remember anything.

"yeah, alright. just move this fucking hand."

" You make me laugh, you make hoarse from yelling at you And getting at you, picking up dishes, throwing them at you "

[sturnioz]

꒰ STURNIOZ KINKTOBER '24 ꒱ !

you should’ve never listened when toxicex!matt promised you ‘just the tip’.

"don't give me that look," matt drawls, tilting his head with a smirk as he steps closer, invading your personal space, positioning himself between your parted legs on the bathroom counter. his ringed hands glide over your skin. "obviously called me in here for a reason — you.. you want somethin' from me, yeah?"

"i don't know what i'm doing," you whisper truthfully, shaking your head as you try to push back the confusion clouding your thoughts, pressing your palms against his chest in a futile attempt to create distance. "i don't know what i want. my head is just... all over the place."

"c'mon, don't be like that. you always do this — act like s'all complicated, but you know exactly what you want, baby..." his words wrap around you like thick fog, blurring the lines between desire and doubt. "you need me... gotta start admittin' that to yourself."

"i... i don't.." you stammer, struggling to get the words out, having an inner battle with yourself.

no, you don't need him. you don't want him at all. he's toxic. he's bad — bad for you. but even as you continuously tell yourself this, a familiar ache lingers in your chest — a part of you that does want him, that craves him.

you hate it. you hate how weak he makes you feel, how he can slip through the cracks of your resolve with just a few carefully chosen words. it's infuriating, knowing he holds so much power over you. you wish you could silence that part of yourself, the one that still craves him.

"even if you say you don't wanna be with me anymore, you need me," he repeats to you again, and you close your eyes, desperately trying to block out his words, but it's no use — especially as his hands resume their slow, deliberate massages along your thighs. "m'the only one that can give you your fix, right? that.. that's why you keep runnin' back to me."

you swallow thickly, grappling with your thoughts. "matt.."

"i know, sweetheart," matt coos, a mocking pout stretching across his lips, his expression exaggerated for effect. "let me give you want you need, 'kay? i'm helpin' you get your fix — nothin' more. just a friend helpin' out a friend."

"matt," you warn, speaking his name with an edge of desperation, fully aware that this is going to be nothing like he claims as his fingers graze beneath your dress.

"just the tip." he promises, his voice low and smooth. you know better than to trust him; every instinct screams at you to pull away and not fall back into his trap. yet, as his touch lingers, a part of you melts, betraying your better judgement.

you hate the smug look on matt's face when his fingers brush against the damp patch on the front of your panties, avoiding looking at him as his fingers hook around the flimsy garment, pulling it down your legs and baring your glistening folds to the cool air.

the sound of his metal belt being popped open has a shiver running down your spine, biting down on your cheek as matt settles himself between your thighs again, his lips curled into a smirk as he wets them.

"just.. just the tip." you remind him, and matt lets out a dismissive hum, nodding his head as he lines himself up before sinking the tip inside your warmth, breaching your entrance.

your mouth drops slightly, gripping the counter beneath you for support, savouring the initial stretch — but a gasp leaves your lips, eyes widening as you feel matt push in deeper.

"you promised." you whine despite spreading your legs apart further, your head falling back against the mirror as matt moves, withdrawing slowly only to thrust back into you, keeping his grip firm on your hips.

"i know," matt drawls as your walls flutter around his cock, making him crane his neck back with a guttural moan.

your own moans grow louder, more desperate as each snap of matt's hips drives him deeper within you, your body jolting with the force of his thrusts. tears build at the corners of your eyes as you raise your hips to meet his movements, feeling so wrong and disgusted with yourself for being weak.

you should stop.

you should tell him to stop and get out of here, save yourself, your dignity.

you should stop him from slipping back into your life — into your pants.

"harder," but you find yourself muttering instead, barely recognising your own voice as your trembling hands come up to touch his cheeks, feeling his stubble beneath your skin. "please, matt."

a smirk curls on his lips as he nods his head, his forehead resting against yours as his hips grip your waist. "told you... y'need me."

© STURNIOZ

[nilla03]

𝓗𝓐𝓡𝓓 𝓕𝓞𝓡ღ 𝑓𝑒𝑎𝑡𝑢𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔: 𝑓𝑟𝑎𝑡 𝑏𝑜𝑦 𝑒𝑟𝑒𝑛!

𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑡𝑎𝑖𝑛𝑠: 𝑚𝑒𝑎𝑛𝑖𝑒 𝑒𝑟𝑒𝑛 𝑤𝘩𝑜 𝑓𝑢𝑐𝑘𝑠 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑎 𝑙𝑖𝑙 𝑡𝑜𝑜 𝑟𝑜𝑢𝑔𝘩 :(

“Fuuck- mamas,” he muttered, voice low and dripping with condescension, fingers tracing the curve of your ass before grabbing a handful, “Stop runnin’—you know what you came here for.”

You didn’t really know how you ended up like this—body trembling beneath Eren, his hands rough as he used you, but you sure as hell knew it started with your mouth. You got a little too mouthy, pushed him just a bit too far, and before you knew it, he was dragging you into his dorm.

Your face was smothered against his black sheets, making a drool- makeup mess all over. The push of his thick length was mind numbing, “hmmph- erenn! Ah!” Your pretty nails gripping handfulls of his sheets

You whimpered as his grip tightened, his other hand fisting into your hair and tugging, forcing your back to arch. “Yeah, that’s better,” he chuckled.

Eren’s hips snapped forward roughly, burying his big dick inside you with no mercy, his eyes slid down between your ass and his hips- swollen pink cunt taking him in entirely. A broken cry from your lips. He groaned “so fuckin’ wet,” he hissed, his head falling back, the tip of his dick hitting the soft gummy walls of your cervix “mmm! Fuck erenn!”

Your hands scrambled against the sheets for something to hold onto, but Eren wasn’t having it. He grabbed your wrists, pinning them to your lower back with one hand as his other tangled back in your hair, yanking your head up just enough to hear him growl in your ear. “You’re not goin�� anywhere. You hear me? This—this is mine. Got it?”

His pace was so mean, thrusts hitting so deep as tears pricked your big blown out eyes. But Eren wasn’t slowing down, not even as you whimpered his name between gasps and pleas. he clicked his tongue, leaning down to nip at your shoulder, “You sound so fuckin’ pretty like this, all desperate and messy. Keep beggin’ for me, baby, I’m not done with you yet.”

The room was filled with the sounds of skin meeting skin, his grunts mingling with your cries as he drove you higher and higher. His cock dragged against every sensitive spot inside you, leaving you trembling and helpless beneath him.

When your legs started to shake, and you cried out his name, Eren’s grip only tightened against your scalp. “Better not cum yet,” he growled, his voice harsh as he pressed you deeper into the mattress, his pace somehow becoming even rougher. “Not until I say. Stop runnin’, baby—you wanted this, didn’t you?”

And when he finally let you gush and cream all over his dick, he kept thrusting, pulling you through every wave of your orgasm until you were a sobbing, trembling mess in his hands. He finally stilled, his breathing heavy as he leaned down, pressing a mocking kiss to your shoulder.

[risingoftime]

SANCTIFIED LIES | REMMICK X READER | PART II

synopsis: they say the devil drinks blood and hides in the woods just past the burned-down church. But you know better, the devil wears charm like cologne. The devil has hands that once pulled you from a fire. The devil kisses like he remembers every version of you and mourns each one. You should run. When he looks at you like you’re the last beautiful thing left in this godforsaken town, the hate dissolves on your tongue, and all you can taste is the ghost of his mouth sweet with lies.

18+ mdni, mentions of the KKK & racism, remmick has a saviour complex, explicit sexual content, blood play, predator & prey, vampirism, biting, rough sex, southern gothic erotica, reader is a hoodoo practitioner, slow burn, fire, manipulation, swearing, spit kink, dirty talk (remmick knows how to talk a girl through it), oral, face fucking.

The taste of blood filled your mouth as you pumped your legs to take you further than you had ever been before. Your lungs felt as if they would combust at any moment. Branches clawed at your arms like jealous hands, and the thick Delta heat clung to your skin, sticky. But you didn’t stop. You couldn’t stop. Behind you, something moved with unnatural grace, silent but sure as a living nightmare gliding through the trees. You didn’t know how long you’d been running. Time felt stretched, twisted. The trees had blurred into shadows, the firelight swallowed whole by distance. Only the woods remained, dark and strange. You could barely make out the trees in front of you, let alone your surroundings.

Though you didn’t dare look back, you’d seen enough. The bag at your wrist, the protective herbs inside, warning you that what chased you wasn’t made of this world. And it knew your name. Your foot caught on a root, and you hit the ground hard, the impact rattling your entire being and knocking the wind from your chest. Before you could scramble to your feet, you felt him close in. Fuck me, out of all nights he had to find me is when i haven’t ran since I was a youngin’.

"Run all you like, baby girl. Ain’t nowhere in this world you can go where I won’t find you." His voice echoed from above your head, and tears pricked in your eyes from frustration. It was too dark to see, and your last good nightgown was muddy and torn. You pushed yourself up on trembling arms, every muscle screaming in protest. But before you could move again, he was there, Remmick and his old boots crunched down beside your hand, as if he changed his mind at the last minute not to step on you.

"Look at you," he murmured, getting low so that his face hovered above yours. His eyes gleamed, pupils like pinpricks in the dark. "Still tryin’ to outrun what’s already in your blood." He reached out, dragging a claw-tipped finger down your jaw with terrifying tenderness, smearing the dirt and sweat on your cheek. You jerked away, but he only chuckled low in his throat, like thunder rolling over wet earth.

"One day," he said, voice dipped in lust and mockery, "you won’t be runnin’ from me. One day, that skin of yours, it’s gon’ thrum with joy when I touch it. Gonna sing for me. Beg me not to stop." His smile was wicked and wide enough to flash fangs. "And the worst part?" he whispered, leaning closer, breathing hot on your neck. "You’ll mean it."

You swung at him instinctively, but he easily caught your wrist, laughing like he had all the time in the world. “Feisty,” he growled, licking a drop of blood from his thumb. “Just how I like ‘em.” Your wrist burned where he touched you, not from his grip, but from something beneath your skin, an ability that has been long asleep. Although you didn’t know how you slowed the burn of the fire back at your house, your blood remembered how to stave off his unwanted touch.

It started with sound. A low vibration in your ears, like a hymn sung by the earth, wordless and ancient. It wasn't yours, not entirely, but it lived in you. Rooted in the marrow, passed through the womb and will, carried down from every woman in your bloodline who had worked by moonlight and murmured to dirt.

As Remmick touched you, that drone grew louder, until it drowned out the pounding of your heart. Your body seized up in recognition. The mojo bag split on impact, spilling its contents into the soil, grains of salt, dirt from your grandmother’s grave, wood dust from the cabin, and a lock of hair braided. The ground hissed where it landed. The air shuddered. And then your skin lit from the inside, golden and smouldering through your veins like sunlight poured into cracks. Remmick’s hand jerked away as if burned, smoke rising from his palm. "Shit," he spat, stumbling back. "What the hell are you?" Your eyes rolled back, and the whites turned gold, glowing with the strength of ten thousand prayers whispered. Your feet dug into the earth, and the wind circled you violently, lifting your hair and snapping the hem of your nightdress like a flag.

A sound tore free from the base of your throat, a raw and guttural scream, part chant. The trees bowed in response to your vocals, crying out to the wild. Remmick fell to one knee, claw fingers twitching as he tried to rise. "They told me you were sleeping," he growled, eyes wild. "Didn’t say the whole goddamn Delta would rise with you."

He grinned, blood staining his teeth. "But I like this game even more now."

The power howled through you and cracked open inside your chest. Your fingers twitched in the dirt, still gritty with grave dust and salt, but the bag was gone, burned, broken beneath you. You could still hear the echo of your scream in your ears. You didn’t know what you had called, only that something had answered. Your legs trembled and your head throbbed as you swayed and felt your chest heaving, pulsing up through your soles like a second heartbeat. The power was retreating fast from you, like a wave pulled back to sea, but its imprint remained in your insides like the sand remembers the ripples of water.

Remmick rose slowly, unsteady, but not done yet. Smoke curled from his skin, and his pitch black eyes watched you with something sick and awed. "They always said your line was blessed," he murmured, wiping blood from his mouth with the back of his hand.

"I don’t want this," you said, more to yourself than to him. "I didn’t ask for any of this."

"But you were born for it," Remmick said, his voice low, almost admiring. "The Delta doesn’t care what you want. It only cares what you are."

You clenched your fists. "And what’s that?"

His grin widened, cruel and awestruck. "The last goddamn rootworker this land will ever need." Your breath hitched. Rootworker. The word rang through your being like a loud, undeniable bell struck at your birth, a weaver of thread, fate, blood, and bone.

You opened your mouth, but Remmick stepped forward, the waft of burnt flesh met your nose, and you scrunched up your face.

"Doesn’t matter if you meant to awaken or not," he said, voice dripping with hunger. "Power like yours doesn’t stay buried long. And technically…" He gave a little shrug, as if the whole damn thing amused him. "I’ve caught you."

"Caught me?" Your pulse jumped.

Remmick’s grin sharpened. "You screamed. You rose. You answered the call. And I was the one who drew it outta you. You’re tied to me now, girl."

"No," you said, backing away. "That ain’t how it works—"

"Ain’t it?" he cut in, stalking closer. "You think those charms kept me out? You think the salt and grave dust held me back? Baby, I let you think that. I needed you to believe you were safe. That way, when the fire touched your grandmama’s house, it’d wake what was sleeping. And oh, did it wake." The wind had calmed, but the air buzzed like static.

You could still feel your power coiled inside you, tense, ready, terrified. "I ain’t yours," you spat.

Remmick leaned in, close enough for you to smell smoke again. "Not yet. But the binding’s begun. You know it. I know it. Hell, even the dirt knows it." He touched the center of your chest, right above your sternum, with the tip of his nail. You flinched as a spark leapt from your skin to his. He grinned, "And when you come into your full self, when that golden light pours out of you like it did tonight, you’ll beg for someone who can hold it without burning completely. That ain’t gonna be some church boy with a cross on his chest."

You smacked his hand away, voice trembling with fury. "You don’t get to claim me."

He chuckled, stepping back into the dark like it was made for him. "I don’t have to. I just aim to be the one who survives you."

You didn’t see him move. One second, he was calmly standing in front of you. Next, his hand was on your throat, not tight, not choking, but forcing you into submission. His palm was still hot, as if the burn from earlier hadn’t fully cooled, but it had already healed.

"Time to go," Remmick whispered, his mouth at your ear, voice edged. "Nana’s house won’t protect you anymore. She’s served her purpose.” The kind of silence that follows finality. You struggled, legs kicking against the loose-packed soil, your voice caught behind clenched teeth. But it was no use. Remmick lifted you with impossible ease, cradling your body like you were something sacred and breakable. "Don’t fight me, girl," he muttered, almost tender. "You think you’re running from the devil, but the devil ain’t never looked at you like I do."

You punched at him, a wild swing, desperate. "Put me down! This is my home. My grandmother’s house—"

"Your grandmother ain’t here," he said, his voice harsh, cutting like a switch. "And she’d be the first to tell you. You've been living in the ghost of what once was. That house? It’s a grave! You keep digging up shit, trying to make them breathe again."

He turned toward the woods, toward the places where the map ends and the hushed stories from the elders begin. The places your family told you to never set foot in. He carried you into the thick dark where even the crickets held their breath.

Your scream broke free again, raw and furious, but the trees only echoed it back. And the Delta swallowed you whole. He carried you like a groom might, if the wedding was cursed and the bride was already halfway to damnation.

You writhed in his grip, breath hitching. "Put me down."

"I plan to," he said, "But not until I show you where you belong."

As he zipped past the untamed wild, the forest peeled open like a secret just for him, just for you. And there it was, his home, or should you say mansion. An old mansion, too perfect to be real. Vines clung to the railings like lovers unwilling to let go. The glass in the windows gleamed, catching every moonlight shimmer. It was grand, silent, too well-kept for something left alone in the Delta. At the moment, you weren’t sure what was worse, a house haunted by spirits, or one haunted by him. He pushed the door open with his foot and stepped inside. The place didn’t creak, and it didn’t groan like yours.

"You live here?" you asked, breath catching as your bare feet hit cool marble.

He finally set you down, his hand lingering at the small of your back. "What? Not what you pictured?" His voice curled with that accent, Irish, smooth as whiskey, all slow vowels. "Thought I’d be sleepin’ in the dirt somewhere, did ya?"

You hadn’t thought much about where he had been lurking all this time. But you wouldn’t have pictured him living somewhere luxurious if you had.

"This place belonged to no one when I found it. I kept it and fixed it up. Needed somewhere quiet." His hand trailed along the banister. You noted that Remmick didn’t ask for permission when he escorted you inside. His actions made it clear he was always going to bring you here. The door shut behind you, and it felt as if your fate was sealed. He didn’t lock it, cause there was nothing for him to fear; predators never worry about the cage. You stood barefoot on the cool marble floor, nightdress clinging damp to your body, breathing too loudly in the hush of the house.

"You drag all your food home," you muttered, forcing your voice steady, “or just the ones stupid enough to stand their ground?” He turned slowly, "just the ones who bare their teeth when they should run." He stepped toward you, and you stepped back. "That’s it. You feel it now, don’t you?"

"I feel your delusion," you said, even as your spine brushed the wall, heat coiling low in your stomach.

He laughed, low and dark. "That’s not what that is, love. That’s instinct. The kind your blood tries to ignore, but your body remembers."

"You don’t scare me." Your lips curled in disgust.

"No," he whispered. "I thrill you."

The word hit deeper than it should’ve. You hated how your breath hitched, how your knees felt loose. "I could take you right here," he murmured, eyes half-lidded. "But where’s the fun in that?"

He leaned in, mouth nearly brushing your ear. "It’s so much better when they beg for it."

And then, just like that, he stepped away, unbothered, unrushed, turning his back to you.

"Guest room’s down the hall," he said over his shoulder, voice already cooling. "If you want to play nice." A beat passed. "Or," he added, looking back with fire behind his eyes, "you can come upstairs, where I sleep."

Remmick wasted no time retreating to his quarters. It didn’t come as a surprise that he would take his time to give you a tour of his lair. You turned down the hall, heart pounding like you’d just run for your life. The guest room door creaked open under your hand, and the first thing you noticed was how clean everything was. Inside, you could find crisp sheets, a robe, a nightie, a candle lit and a glass of water waiting for you on the nightstand. He prepared for this, making your stomach turn because it reminded you how much you could still feel his presence. The weight of his stare. The brush of his fingers at your throat. The filthy, honest things he said without blinking.

"It’s so much better when they beg for it."

God help you. You hated how those words clung to your skin more than your dress.

You paced the room once, twice, trying to shake it off, but your body remembered. Your body didn’t want love or tenderness, just the raw violence of being seen and wanted back. You sat on the edge of the bed for what felt like forever, just breathing. Trying to piece together the hours, no, the weeks that led you here. You lifted the linen nightgown that was laid out beside you.

"Of course," you muttered, pulling it out with a bitter laugh. "Why wouldn’t he have a fresh gown in the exact size of the girl he kidnapped?" You peeled off your socks and gown and cringed at their state. There were two additional doors in the guest room, one probably leading to a bathroom, you hoped.

"He brings me out to the middle of nowhere, shoves me in his house like I’m some goddamn stray cat, then stares at me like he wants to take a bite outta me." You pulled the gown over your head. It smelled like cedar and cotton. What does he want?"

You caught your reflection in the mirror, and your hair pointed in every direction as you pulled twigs from your untamed curls. Your collarbone marked faintly where he’d touched you. It looked like heat was beneath your skin now; his presence lit a slow-burning fuse inside you.

"He says I burn. Says he likes it." You paused, scoffing. "What's that even mean?"

You moved to the small vanity in the corner and found a folded cloth you didn't trust but used to wipe your face anyway. "He talks like I’m already his. Like this place already knows me. Like I’m supposed to just… stay." You shook your head and leaned on the edge of the table. "Stay and what? Be a pet? Be a woman he can drag around when he’s bored?" You paused.

The words hit hard. You weren’t afraid of men. You weren’t afraid of devils. But you were scared of how he saw you, like he knew things about you that you didn’t know yet.

You turned back to the bed, slowly pulling the sheets down. The mattress dipped under your weight, but you didn’t get under the covers. Still sitting upright, arms wrapped around your knees, eyes trained on the closed door across the room. Unsure if you wanted it to stay closed… Or swing open.

part i | part iii | taglist | @marley1773 @iheartamora @childishgambinaax @klssngss @remmickcherie @sinnersappreciation @fadingbelieverexpert @carriemill @blankface333 @slugstarzz @king-cookiex @theelusivemidnighthoe @spicyscorpioo @xxx-aurora-swirls @riellarielle25 @z0mmba3 @emilia-the-artist @casarahsisland @avidreader73

[strangerexee]

YOURE SAMMIE FICS, AUGHHHH can we get sammie with a woman with an attitude that knows how to shut her up with his lips everywhere HDHFS maybe she's not the rudest, but she can speakkkk ykwim so he puts it to good use 😛

ʏᴏᴜ ɢᴏᴛ ᴀ ᴍᴏᴜᴛʜ ᴏɴ ʏᴏᴜ, ʜᴜʜ? | ꜱᴀᴍᴍɪᴇ ᴍᴏᴏʀᴇ x ʙʟᴀᴄᴋ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

𝙼𝚘𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚗!𝚊𝚞

𝙱𝚕𝚊𝚌𝚔!𝙵𝚎𝚖!𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚡 𝚂𝚊𝚖𝚖𝚒𝚎 𝙼𝚘𝚘𝚛𝚎

𝚆𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜: ( 𝙿𝚘𝚠𝚎𝚛 𝚍𝚢𝚗𝚊𝚖𝚒𝚌𝚜 | 𝚘𝚛𝚊𝚕 (𝚖 𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚎𝚒𝚟𝚒𝚗𝚐) | 𝚜𝚎𝚖𝚒-𝚙𝚞𝚋𝚕𝚒𝚌 𝚕𝚘𝚌𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 (𝚋𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚛𝚘𝚘𝚖) | 𝚍𝚒𝚛𝚝𝚢 𝚝𝚊𝚕𝚔 | 𝚖𝚘𝚞𝚝𝚑𝚢!𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛 | 𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚜𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚟𝚎!𝚂𝚊𝚖𝚖𝚒𝚎 | 𝚑𝚊𝚒𝚛 𝚙𝚞𝚕𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 | 𝚜𝚕𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚍𝚘𝚖!𝚂𝚊𝚖𝚖𝚒𝚎 )

ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛᴇᴅ ʙʏ : ᴀɴᴏɴ…

A/N: I don’t really like this…🫩

You had one problem.

And it was that mouth of yours.

You weren’t even that rude — Sammie had seen worse. You weren’t reckless or bratty. You just…talked too damn much. Sharp. Quick. Lethal with a rolled eye and a muttered “You ain’t my man,” even though, let’s be real, he was.

Sammie swore up and down he liked it—loved that fire, called it “cute” when you challenged him — but you could always tell when he’d had enough.

And tonight?

Tonight you were testing him.

It started in the back of the club.

He’d pulled you back behind the bar to keep your ass outta trouble, made you sit on an old stool with his coat over your lap while he dealt with some idiot in the parking lot. Said - he’d be “ten minutes, max baby.”

So when he came back and saw you chatting up one of the new bouncers — laughing no less — his jaw ticked. You caught the look. You ignored it. You smiled sweet and said, “This one’s got manners, Sammie. You should take notes.”

And you said it loud.

Slow deliberate.

That was the spark.

The strike.

The lit match to a short-ass fuse.

He didn’t yell.

Didn’t snatch you up like you expected.

Just stepped real slow into your space — cool, calm, that usual Sammie lean — and said:

“C’mere.”

“Since you got so much to say tonight…”

You were grinning when he pulled you by the wrist into the back room, past crates of liquor and crates of old flyers, the lights dim and flickering overhead.

“You mad at me?”

“Can’t take a joke, pretty boy?”

Sammie closed the door behind you.

Leaned against it.

“Keep talkin’, baby,” he said low, tilting his head. “You look real good with that mouth runnin’. Real good.”

And you did.

You always did.

Full lips, smart tongue, biting wit.

But the second he stepped forward and slid his hand up your neck, the back of your scalp burning under his fingers, you felt that change in the air. That subtle shift. The grip that made you shut up just long enough to wonder —

What’s he about to do?

“Ain’t mad,” Sammie said, fingers threading into your hair. “Just figured if you gon’ keep that pretty mouth open, you might as well use it.”

Your lips parted to shoot back a line —something bold, something smug — but he was already pushing your back toward the edge of a stacked crate.

“Get on your knees for me, baby.”

You blinked.

He said it again.

Slower. Thicker.

“On. Your. Knees.”

You knelt.

Slow — biting your lip while doing so.

He unbuckled with the kind of ease that came from knowing you’d obey, and you stared up at him, mouth already watering.

“Since you like to talk so damn much,” he muttered, “let’s see how you handle somethin’ better on your tongue.”

You licked your lips.

“Thought you said you liked my mouth.”

“I do.”

“But I like it better when it’s full.”

You didn’t even get to reply — his hand tightened in your hair, pulling your head back just enough to guide you on his dick. He groaned the second your lips parted around him.

He was warm. Heavy. Slow.

Thick enough to make your throat burn on the first push, and Sammie exhaled like it was the first drag of a cigarette after a long day.

“Relax your throat.” The man looked down at you with furrowed brows, his other hand rubbing on your jaw — you attempted to do it. “There she go…” he breathed, watching your lips wrap around him. “That’s what I’m talkin’ about.”

You tried to keep your eyes up, tried to keep that smug spark behind your lashes — but he was already pushing deeper. And harder.

His fingers flexed at the back of your head, pulling your hair just tight enough to send your scalp tingling.

“Still feel like runnin’ that mouth?”

“Or I finally found a way to shut you up?”

You whined.

Literally whined around his dick.

And Sammie laughed — low and smug, dark and hot — chest heaving.

“Mmm,” he groaned. “Sound even prettier when you can’t talk.”

He started thrusting — not rough, but deliberate. Slow enough to tease, deep enough to make your eyes water and roll back. His other hand cupped your jaw, thumb stroking your cheek like he couldn’t get enough of seeing your lips stretch around him.

“Pretty girl,” he muttered. “You love this shit, don’t you?”

You couldn’t answer, but you nodded. Or tried to.

He twitched.

Pulled out just long enough to hear the gasp that tore from your throat, spit dripping down his chin, then slid right back in — deeper this time, groaning like it was hurting him to go slow.

“Look at you,” he whispered. “Say you love it, baby.”

You blinked up at him, throat wrecked and lips swollen. “I love it — I love you.”

The man above you only smirked, his grills twinkling in the dim light. “Lil attitude gone now, huh?”

You nodded, lips parting again — ready to take him, to drown in it, to shut the fuck up.

Because it wasn’t about punishment anymore. Not really.

It was about him.

About Sammie.

Head tilted, eyes dark — moaning low every time you swirled your tongue, every time you let him slip deeper into your throat, every time you let your nails dig into his thighs for balance.

He looked like art.

One hand gripping the shelf behind him, head thrown back, chain swinging faintly with every thrust.

“Fuck, baby,” he groaned. “Goddamn — don’t stop — don’t —”

You didn’t.

You let him use your mouth, let him fuck your throat, let him feel everything you couldn’t say with words anymore. And when his hips started to stutter, when his abs clenched and his moan got ragged —

You didn’t pull back.

Not once.

You swallowed it all. Every drop.

He slid down the wall like he couldn’t stand.

You wiped your mouth, eyes half-lidded, cheeks flushed, smiling.

“Mouth still workin’,” you whispered, hoarse but smug.

Sammie blinked at you — totally wrecked — and laughed.

“Yeah,” he said. “But I like it better like that.”

He pulled you into his lap, kissing you slow, deep — tongue tangled with yours like he needed you to taste every bit of what you just did.

“Still ‘gettin smart with me?” he murmured between kisses.

“Always.”

“Good.”

[dilf-luvr-4evr]

Lasso Burns 🐄 ♡

f!reader, fluff, suggestive 18+ / pic creds / divider: @aquazero

“Darlin, it ain’t nothin’.”

You just looked at him then — tired. A click of your tongue and a squint of a glare before your gaze returned to his bleeding palms. “I told you to put on gloves. Packed them in your saddlebag too!”

Arthur had just gotten home from his new job; working with cattle for a ranch. Whether it be herding, wrangling, or feeding; it was honest work despite the low pay and well.. Despite the lasso burns. He hoped to learn the ropes to a life he wished to give you. A life where he was a rancher and not a cowboy.

A life that meant gambling with life less and making you smile more.

I don’t want you to keep runnin’ Arthur, you once said. Like a bullet through a hard head, your words had somehow gotten to him. But put on your damn gloves! Is yet to stick.

In fact, it did not seem to pierce through him at all. Here, under the mercy of his tent on this particularly hot day, he chuckled at your concern. As if his fiancée’s nagging amused him instead of ticked him off.

Maybe he had gotten old after all. Huffed out all the anger in his system and watched it die with one of the many lives he’s lived. Maybe your gentle hands had magically kneaded him soft. Figuratively, of course.

Whatever it is, he would much rather see smoke from your ears than smoke from a gun. Though preferably, no smoke at all.

“Well y’know it’s.. the thrill of the chase. Got no time to pull out gloves, darlin’, you wouldn’t know if you ain’t out there,” he humored in true Arthur Morgan fashion. His baby blues observed the way you cleaned his wounds, occasionally sneaking a peek at your furrowed brows and a forehead so creased, he could iron it smooth. So focused, you couldn’t see how much he adored you.

Well how could he not?

Sweaty skin glimmering whenever it’s caught by the summer sun, plush lips letting out quiet breaths, how you just fit right into place, knee wedged between his on this cot.

Worth every damn scratch from those ropes, he reckoned.

Which ironically is not the point you’re trying to make.

The joke managed to etch a small smile on your pretty face. A mandatory eye-roll went with it as if to say, not so fast. Just to remind him you still aren’t pleased.

“There she is,” he drawled, tilting his head to take a better look at you. One of his few prized talents; making you smile. Blinded, he didn’t even notice how you tightened the bandages.

“You’re full of shit, you know that?”

“But you love me.”

And you did. He doesn’t have to hear further comments. It showed in the neat bow you tied the bandage in. How you didn’t forget to kiss it better too. You’re not fooling anyone. And especially not him.

“That’s why you’re always so sweet to me,” his voice dropped an octave, hands snaking to your waist and sitting you sideways on his lap. “Ain’t that right?”

“Don’t try to be cute,” you’re trying to mute your giggling now, squirming as his crooked smile lazily brushed your jaw.

“And why not?”

“Cause I’m still mad at you.”

“Okay.” Then his fingers slid down the hem of your skirt. A negotiation, you realize as you felt his fingers slowly tiptoe along your leg. “Still mad at me now?”

Well Goddamn.

“Mhm,” you dragged out, price still high. Though if there’s a way to win against Arthur Morgan, you’re starting to have a hard time remembering it now.

Even more so after you felt his hard on pressed under you.

For better or for worse, far more than poker, you’re his favorite thing to play with. And he’s seen you fold enough times to know you’re losing. “How ‘bout now?” Stakes raised, his breath warming your neck with his palm now gripping your thigh.

You whispered a cautionary Arthur! — to which he ignored — while scanning outside his tent. But why did your walls clench at the thought of him fingering you here? Damn him and his big, rough, calloused, weathered-

At the touch of his bandages against your skin, your mind miraculously cleared, striking up a deal. One he won’t like but a good deal regardless.

“Fine, I’ll accept this… little apology. If,” you smirked, voice low in his ear.

“If?” He chased, thumb pausing on your inner thigh.

“You start wearing your gloves.”

“Alright, alright, I will, I promise,” and he’s never grumbled anything so quickly, hand already scrambling to rid you off your bloomers.

“That ain’t what I mean!” You laughed, wriggling out of his grip and shuffling to the edge of his cot.

The speed of this poor, hardworking man’s smile turning into a frown? Faster than any horse.

“Well what did you mean then?” Patience worn thin.

“I mean, you can’t touch me until you wear your gloves tomorrow.”

He let out a loud scoff, his face the most scrunched you’ve ever seen it crumple into.

“Now darlin’.. That just ain’t fair,” he whined, poor wounded hand lightly slapping the cot like a kid.

“Oh but it is. I’m sleeping with the girls tonight. Tomorrow? Depends on you,” you proudly stated, fixing your skirt as you stood up. “I’m goin’ back to Grimshaw now.”

And he’s left there moping.

But.

You best believe he is wearing those damn gloves the next morning.

Claiming his prize as soon as he gets home and making you bite on those same gloves as he fingers you to oblivion and back 😋

Thank you for reading! 🫶🏼

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