#yandere!jesse mccree

[yandereaffections]

Overwatch Masterlist

Jesse Mccree

Naga Jesse

Scary Movies + Male S/o

Werewolf Jesse

S/o always making him Food for when he returns 

Soft life HC

“Miss Honeys Escape Attempt” BEFORE

Male Dinner worker Teasing Mccree

Curvy S/o trying to lose weigh

“Miss Honey Escape Attempt” AFTER

S/o avoiding Jesse cause he shares the same name as their brother

Stalking a ex-MMA fighter

Animal Tamer S/o threatening Mccree with a Tiger

Attempting to poison Mccree

Stripper S/o

Harpy S/o broke her wing

Cuddly S/o

Tsundere Smol Chubby S/o

S/os got a fat ass

S/o with separation anxiety

Flustered Touch starved S/o

Gender neutral S/o not feeling good about their appearance  

S/o refusing to wear glasses cause they dont want to look at their captor

Sensitive s/o who crys alot

Dealing with S/os stalker

S/o trying to kill themselves with jesses gun when he threatens them

S/o whos good at the Knife game

Happy drunk S/o

Soft headcannons

Threatening jesse with his own gun

Cheering jesse up after a stressful day

Painting his weapon

S/o whos prone to accidents 

S/o screams “dad dont hurt me” when jesse attempts to kidnap them

Overwatch S/o who works with seduction and espionage 

claustrophobic s/o

Asking Jesse out on a date

Mermaid S/o

Confident s/o who gets flustered when they compliment them

Autistic S/o who stimms alot

Genji flirting with Mccrees S/o

Torture

Hanzo Shimada

Finding out S/os Pregnant

Witnessing Genjis Murder

Healer S/o

Punk/Goth S/o

S/o getting a nosebleed from watching Hanzo workout

Too Pure for this world S/o

S/o who can Heal with a kiss

Naga Hanzo

S/o whos Protective of Naga Hanzo

Naga S/o

Someone else taking advantage and leaving S/o to die

Creep trying to look underneath S/os Skirt

‘Stupid’ S/p

Vampire Hanzo with a S/o who faints when bloods taken

S/o with Chaotic Energy

Vampire Hanzo w/ Vampire Hunter S/o

People pleaser S/o ends up hurting themselves

Expressing affection in other ways besides cuddling

Dragon S/o

Finding Drunk S/o in a casino

S/o wearing a Choker with his name on it

Yandere S/o coming up to his door covered in blood

S/o whos fine with Yandere Tendencies 

S/o uncomfortable around her family

S/o begging for Mcdonalds

Dragons HC

Attractive yet Oblivious S/o

Sneaky S/o Surprise hugging him

Comforting S/o after failing a test

S/o terrified from something theyve seen

Sneaky S/o Surprising him, ends up moaning

Stopping from S/os rival sabatoging their Ice Skating Preformance

S/os scared of bugs

S/o caring everyone but themselves 

Expert insulting s/o

S/o threatening to kill the man who stole their dog

Poly Han/Jess with a S/o who threatens those who try to court them 

touch starved hesitant S/o

Naga S/o saying “snakes dont have a gag reflex”

Captive S/o refusing to take medicine for their migraine 

Insomniac S/o having to cuddle hanzo to fall alseep

Goblin S/o

Comforting Hanzo after a bad day

S/o dressing as the opposite gender to trick people

Smol S/o who wants to be crushed by hanzo

S/o getting ready to fight cause they heard genji on the roof

Dragons biting hanzo when he tries to touch S/o

S/o whos pregnant with triplets 

Bodybuilder s/o

After sex cuddles 

S/o who already has a kid

S/o whos hazy with little to no sleep

Homeless S/o who making their living off of street performances 

Genji Shimada

Scared S/o will get hurt during a mission

Pissed off S/o

Gore + Torture TW

Vampire Genji

Silly S/o who could Surprise gengi

S/o making a book all about their love for him

Crush falling asleep on his lap

Comforting S/o out of their previous relationship

S/os whos dramatic for attention

Sticking a dozen valentines stickers on his metal body

Blind S/o

Yokai S/o

Washed up Mermaid S/o

Curvy Confident S/o 

Getting a weapon maker S/o attention

Cute S/o who attracts bugs and scary animals

Sharpshooter s/o joining overwatch just to spend more time with genji

Unpredictable angry s/o

Roadhog

Petite S/o

Junkrat

Headcannons

Clingy S/o

Sick S/o

Reaper

Werewolf Reaper

Werewolf + Vampire Hybrid Reaper

House wife S/o

Waitress Crush

Scary movies

Halloween Date

Reinhardt

Headcannons

‘Big Dumbass Energy’ S/o

Werewolf S/o who turns out to transform into a puppy

Medic s/o

Overwatch receptionist S/o

Widowmaker

Advancing towards a Enemy S/o

Mercy

Spoiling S/o

Poly mercy/sombra w/ defiant s/o

Headcannons

Moria

S/o that works with Moria

Sombra

Poly mercy/sombra w/ defiant s/o 

D.VA

Pro gamer crush taking her #1 spot

Brigitte

Headcannons (female reader)

Lucio

Headcannons

Soldier 76

S/o wearing a lolita dress (male reader)

Ana Amari

“Isn’t this better―you not fighting me for once?”

Poly Mchanzo

Poly Han/Jess with a S/o who threatens those who try to court them 

Jesse Mccree

Spanking S/o and having them wear lingerie 

S/o whos embarrassed cause theyre quick to cum 

Orgasm control & Mirror Kink w/ Male S/o 

Hanzo

Getting handsy in a store out of jealousy NS FW-ish

Getting hanzo to wear lingerie 

Briggit

Loving her muscles NS FW

[pumpkin-pi-e]

Yanderes Aizawa, Hanzo, McCree, and Toji like to pretend you don't know what your clit is for.

I Ain't As Good As I Once Was

“This is your pussy. This is your pretty little pussy. You might have touched her before, but I’ll teach you how to spoil her.”

God, I love sad older men.

Content Warnings: forced cunnilingus (female receiving), overstimulation (female), c*mming in pants, fingering, kidnapping themes, self-flagellation (Hanzo), worship (Hanzo), dirty talk, mommy kink (Toji), implied gambling addiction, your implied age is -26 (Toji), Age gap, neglect on account of gambling addiction, breeding kink, pregnancy talk, (Toji) forced pregnancy? (Toji), dubious consent (Toji)

Not recommended for those under eighteen.

You try and touch yourself to show that you know how to make yourself cum. You've been doing this for years.

Aizawa

Aizawa swats your hand. No, no. You won't do it properly. You won't do it until you shake, cry, and run down your thighs. But he will. He won't overstimulate you if you don't want him to. He will work you through your orgasm, though. No matter how much you claw, beg, and squirm. You'd wanted to get off, and Aizawa will ensure you get every last bit out of this. He'll make sure you come in his mouth, make sure your cum slides down his chin. No matter how angry you are at yourself. No matter how hurt you feel. He can be tender—can make those thighs burn and those tits jiggle in a way you can't. "This is your clit, sweet girl. I'm gonna make it purr for you."

The last remains of his words drive into your ears as his mouth finds yours. The finger in your panties swept back and forth over the smooth, leathery skin of your clit the way a slow tide would swathe and flee a shoreline.

"Nn!" Fizzy pleasure bloomed in warm, scattered waves throughout your pelvis. You twitch forward the slightest amount, subtly humping yourself into a breathy, whining mess. "'s not a cat."

Aizawa draws a lazy circle around its sensitive edges, and your thoughts water.

"It can't—" Ah! "—caaan't purr." Your voice curled. It rose and wavered like a tilde symbol—building high and going all melted butter toward the end as you lurch into the wonderful crest of good he inspired. Your hips obeyed the spasms in your tummy and curled without decision or thought.

"It already is." It's practically vibrating. Singing.

"Can't you feel her purring?" Aizawa made the most agonizing, thigh-shuddering passes over your clit. You arch, arch (uhn, God!), arrrrrrrch into each one. Your clit is ringing, purring.

"Kitty's melting in my hand." She's really showing out for attention, wetting and trickling down his palm. Your small cravings are his responsibility, as were all your larger needs. He's your provider and caretaker. You rely on him for everything else, so why not this? When are you going to learn that Daddy does it better? He can satisfy them better than you ever could.

"Don't—don't call it that."

"But it purrs."

Oh! Oh, oh! It—it—oh, please, god, oh. He's using his nails, teeth, whatever he has. Aizawa sucks a bruise right into your neck. You shiver, squeal, and wriggle. How could a neck be this sensitive?

Aizawa doesn't budge. His heart thumps as you push at him, half-hearted. Enamored with any short amount of contact, Aizawa hums. You twist away from that, too, the sensation foreign on your skin. Aizawa takes a deep huff of your neck (your scent) and falls onto you like a dead weight. The new position traps his hand down the front of your panties and you underneath him.

"If it purrs, then it's a kitty. This cute kitty makes you a queen. And a purring queen means it's time for a litter." He's still working on you—working your clit and mons. You're soaking. You're hot. You arch into his hands, desperate, nearly out of your mind.

"Why do you have to be such a kinky bastard?"

"Because you like it." His stubble scrapes against your neck. Aizawa does it often, notably during 'quiet moments,' so you'll familiarize the sensation with safety.

Or so you suspect.

The brambly term of affection came often, but from what you gathered, it reserved itself for special occasions (you're convinced he stole it from his cats). When cramps left you withered and spent, Aizawa lifted you from the lonely little corner you'd carved for yourself underneath the kotatsu and reoriented you onto his lap for something to lean on—something to wring your grief into, should you need it. Shouta said he could take it—that he wouldn't mind—and had the scars to prove it, namely, the one beneath his eye. It was hard to argue in the face of something so tangible. Yet, it left a sour feeling of worms in your gut.

You're in pain. You don't want to be pain for someone else. You don't want to hurt him—he's never hurt you.

Just because he can doesn't mean he should.

He's pushing you forward, wanting you on your knees. "Because it gets your kitty panting."

It vibrated.

"W-who said I liked it?" Your tummy tremors and sweats as his fingers trace those hidden valleys.

"She did." Aizawa dove in for a quick, lascivious kiss. "She purred so sweetly." He lapped at your clit, hot and moist and delicious. "It must be love."

Calls your vagina 'kitty.'

He talks to it (which perturbs and delights you to no end). Cum for me, kitty. Isn't Daddy treating you nicely?

You know in your soul you aren't the 'kitty' he's referring to. Aizawa only called you kitty when you were topping. He had a habit of going into a deep mantra whenever you did. "Kitty, kitty, kitty, kitty..." Aizawa sighed under his breath, sometimes moaned, and others thinly whined as you rode him and as he watched through sexed eyes progressively getting lower and lower until they would eventually close. He'd seize shortly after. And if you didn't stop, Aizawa gasped it (half-heartedly attempting to shuffle out from under you, gently pushing at your coasting thighs with jittery palms. Outside of that, you were 'kitten.'

When she obeys, Aizawa gives her kisses and licks—so many that you'd stammer and beg him to stop. He attacks with fervor, and with your weak-kneed body, he pins you there, grunts, and gives you mouthfuls of his tongue, which leads you to beg, this time more openly.

Aizawa repeatedly kissed the top of your vulva, where your clit lay beyond its folds. Such an obedient kitty. —kiss— Such a perfect darling. So good. —kiss— So perfect.

He doesn't torture you for too long. Aizawa (generally) won't overstimulate you unless you want him to. He'll even apologize. He just had to give his kitty her due.

The guiltiest (second to Toji) in pretending you're too naive and innocent to know what your clit is for, let alone how to use it. He'll smack your hand away (reawakening memories of your father swatting your chubby little hands when they had something they shouldn't).

You can insist you know what you're doing, and he'll insist you don't.

"Feel these?" You touch your outer labia. Aizawa's hand is over yours, guiding it. "These are your pretty lips." Gummy, soft, and perfect for his teeth. He'd use them for pillows if you'd let him. You wouldn't, though. There's no way Aizawa could get close enough to smell you without getting a taste.

"They'd look prettier curing my insomnia." In other words, he's telling you to ride him until he passes out, or rather, throwing out an invitation. Your lips have erased his dry eye and lifted his depression. Simply gorgeous.

"How would I..." How could your vaginal lips cure someone's depression?

"Simple," He's against your ear. His hair gave you shivers as it fanned your neck. "You sit on my face," Together, your hands rode parted lips. They kneaded love into your skin that settled in your ovaries. "and rut." Your hips went forward with a gasp, unexpected and on cue. No matter the situation, Aizawa never failed to sound like a college professor three years away from retirement. He speaks to you as he would his colleagues and students. There is no bedroom voice, growl, or husk other than his natural warmth—warmth that made you swallow from the very lips he made you touch. Made you restless on his lap.

"If you knead them gently," he says, "they'll make you feel nice." Your knees knock when Aizawa focuses on the entrance hidden in your labia, circling it. "But not as nice as this," Aizawa pats your pussy, sending ripples through your body.

Slap!

Something liquid-warm fires across your hipbones, following a path up your spine, reminding you of when Aizawa kissed you. You call his name in a panic. What is this, and why is it delicious? Unadulterated joy tore through you like a storm in Texas-May. It stole your tongue, and the thoughts it couldn't finish—stole the bones from your body. The ache reverberating in your core was a flash-bang replacing everything but Shouta's name with bright white. It rang like a bell from the ovaries out, telling the rest of your body it was in love. It scares you. "Shouta—"

Slap!

"You're alright, pretty. You're going to be a big girl and cum, that's all."

Slap!

Oh, God.

"Intense, isn't it?" His chin sits in the crook of your neck. Aizawa watched you stutter after his hand and gently convulse.

Slap!

Your body hums like a Ford Mustang at a stop light. It lurched into each tap—tipping over the crosswalk markings in the concrete, eager and desperate for him to take you over the edge. Nervous foot on the petal, it waited for green.

"Come on, pretty girl. Almost there."

Slap!

Your thighs snap shut. Pleasure so soft and sweet spreads throughout your body. The ache becomes ecstasy, and the guilt becomes glee. It swells and sways like storm clouds in New Orleans, easily hitting your lungs and filling you with the finest summer rain.

Did you think for a second Aizawa wouldn't praise you? "Yes, kitten. Yes, kitty." He's agreeing with all your sobbed gibberish, rubbing you out because he knows you won't. His finger is hard on your clit when you buck and shimmy to escape the rush—the pleasure that won't stop knocking. Again, he won't take you past what you can handle, but you're riding that coaster to the end: no stops or pauses. You're getting every single clench, every tooth-chattering, leg-shaking, hip-raising flood of absolute 'God, yes,' that follows.

Aizawa was a decent man—was. It's wrong. It goes against every code, the oath he'd taken with the acceptance of his license. He made excuses for the inexcusable. Every day he went out and fought for freedom while ignoring yours. Swift on his legs when avenging the cries of the innocent, Shouta let yours fall on deaf ears.

Hanzo

Hnng. But forced cunnilingus. Dubcon, only because you're overstimulated, and Hanzo is stubborn. If you haven't squirted, he hasn't done his job. He had his pride as a man to uphold.

Hanzo raises your hand to his lips. He kisses it, clasps it, and restrains it to the bed. "Let me tend to you. So long as you warm my bed, you won't lift a finger." He kissed your neck and collarbone. "Not for your pleasure," Hanzo gently spread your labia. "Not for mine. This time it is for you, my queen."

A shiver runs down your spine. Your mind fills itself with visions of Hanzo taking you. He never has—claimed he could never 'defile' you. That didn't stop him from fingering your clit, drawing you to orgasm, or turning you into a mess of nerve endings.

"You are divine." You're a gift from the gods. Hanzo prayed they would keep him from succumbing to temptation, but it was useless. He had never been able to resist a challenge, and this time would be no different. His prayers didn't stop his cock from sliding against his expensive sheets, wishing it were your body his seed had coated, giving the legacy he'd spent a lifetime chasing.

His queen enjoyed testing him, denying him his duty as a husband. Why trouble yourself with matters such as these when he is so capable? He had solved many puzzles and navigated treacherous waters with ease, yet she seemed to think his skills were limited to a bow and arrow. Do you truly believe he cannot satisfy your needs?

Hanzo fondled your clitoris. "This is a husband's duty."

He moved down between your thighs.

"This is a wife's duty." He said as you whimpered. "To moan as a man pleasures you. To lie back and know your body is in his hands. To take your pleasure and offer your own." His tongue found you. You writhed against the bed, unable to stop your body's rhythm from matching his tongue's motions.

"Allow me." Hanzo touched your clit the way you'd tried to, his tongue deep in your core.

You wouldn't know the first thing about settling your body's aches. That was Hanzo's business. Your hands need only grab onto his hair when it all becomes too much for you.

Hanzo is skilled with a tongue, with a cock, with a razor-edged sword.

"Let me tend to what is mine."

Hanzo kisses your thighs, thighs that a man has never kissed. Thighs that tremble and shake so terribly you fear for your health. You can't breathe. Your heart is pounding, and you feel your mind slipping away. Colors bleed into the corner of your vision, static and buzzing like an old TV.

But Hanzo keeps kissing, licking. Your thoughts slur, and your tongue is no better.

'an...H-han.. c'n.. cn't... Your eyes roll—your back arches. Tears run into your hairline; Hanzo tightens his grip on your hand as your other one blindly scrabbles at his bedsheets. "H-han! Z-z—Oh, my God..." A wash of electricity ravaged your body. Pleasure so raw and sweet your voice croaks out hoarsely, love pouring from your lips in a flood of passionate syllables.

His grasp remains firm as you jerk into his waiting tongue. You try not to. You try and fight your body's natural curl toward the very thing bathing it in pleasure—foolish woman. Hanzo tongued harder and doubled his hold to keep you pinned throughout your cries and gurgles.

Cry for me, my Goddess, my queen, so I may worship you harder. Seek my hand if you are overwhelmed. Cling to me. I promise to be your source of strength and comfort. Security is the least of a husband's duties. Make me strive for the breath of freedom, then deny it to me all at once. Show me with cries that I am worthy, yet prove with the heat in your thighs that I am nothing.

Unable to praise you to the extent he'd like, Hanzo returned your moans from deep between your clenched thighs. He licks harder and faster, and he just isn't stopping. You deserve all this and more—to drown in your own wet and swallow hard enough to see heaven.

So beautiful. —Lick— So generous to me, my queen.

Your body is a waterfall that Hanzo would happily kneel underneath. Hanzo was no Buddhist, but he believed you could purify his wretched soul. In you, he'd find redemption. Your heat could make a blind man see. Surely, it could cleanse the stain of his past.

No matter how many passes his tongue made, you had more to give.

You scratch his sheets, and Hanzo has never been so jealous. The skin of his back tingles at the mere thought of hovering above you, thrusting into you - warm, soft, and perfect as you carve into his back and warm his ear with your crying breaths.

You can feel your breath swelling, becoming a low chant of pleasure as Hanzo continues to lap at the valley between your hips. Hanzo rewards your pussy for each hungry gulp as it comes and comes and comes by flicking his tongue over its pounding entrance. Wildly twitching, it swallowed deep and hungry—a trail of wet escaped. Hanzo licked that too.

"Can't… Hanzo, can't…." You reach out desperately for the headboard, using the bed covers to help propel you forward. When this failed, you mustered all of your strength and used your core to drive yourself forward, shoving his head with a surprising force. With each attempt, you inched closer and closer toward freedom.

His hand grabs at your waist, pulling you towards him as he licks and sucks. You can feel yourself trembling on the edge of something big—an adventure you aren't ready to take.

Hanzo watches you above your knees; he looks you in the eyes as you gasp and wheeze. You plead, and the archer licks your outer lips. Hanzo sucks your clit, hums. Your words gargle in the back of your throat.

The hand in his hair turns into a fist. Hanzo moaned.

At some point, he mumbled in your folds, snippets of "goddess" and "queen" as his hips repeatedly struck the mattress. The groans he's making have your ovaries flushing, your cunt fluttering. Hanzo's panting by the end, but he doesn't stop licking.

Hanzo, for all his dignity and grace, wants you to put him on his knees. Make him work and beg for air. Then, smother him.

Can you imagine Hanzo pinning you to the bed, claiming he's wronged you and needs to atone? You can scream that you forgive him, that it's unnecessary, but he won't accept it. What good is forgiveness if he doesn't earn it?

Or, he goes down on you before every Overwatch mission to "strengthen his mind and body" to better prepare.

"H-Hanzo. Why—" You bit your finger to keep from moaning (squirming). You don't need any bruises. Your hips still bear the thick shape of his fingers.

"Why not just—ah!—just train more?"

"You are the only meditation I need."

Hanzo’s bed once filled itself with women from all walks of Asia. Sojiro filled his bed with women from all walks of Asia. Differing accents, differing traditions. Same economic status. None of them would have been good enough for his father. The thirst for an heir may not have originally been his own, but the need still burned beneath his painted skin. The dragons grew restless, for Hanzo’s desire was their own. The dragon lord had never truly given up on his future children.

Unconsciously plays into your worship kink

Step on him

Physically a virgin, spiritually a whore

Not inexperienced, per se. The terms by which Hanzo lost his virtue weren't his own, so Hanzo ignored them.

Vanilla in theory and theory alone. Missionary, no anal. Ever. But he'd clean his spend from your 'temple' (inside and out) in gratitude and penance. First, for deeming him worthy of such a privilege. Second, for dirtying you and finishing without your consent.

He's kneeled at your feet, kissing them and offering his sacrifice.

It's all amusement and spectacle until he asks what punishment you deem suitable for his transgression.

Is he serious? You came three times in the last forty minutes.

You should be at his feet. You could never cum like that on your own.

Hanzo decides for you

You're shuffling off the bed when he reaches for his bow

He expects you to use honorifics after his name. You are his wife, and he is your husband. You must address him with respect.

Call him 'lord Hanzo' in jest, and the archer closes in on himself. Memories of a life he'd long abandoned close in on all sides. He kindly asks that you don't tease him in such ways. You know nothing of his past. Hanzo doesn't blame you for his reaction to your words; you only meant to play with him, as a wife should. Humor, and not ridicule. (Not that he thought himself undeserving of it. If a divine creature decided he needed humbling, who was he to feel any different?

Hanzo shies from titles that place him above you, "master, King, God, etc."

Jesse McCree

"Now," Jesse stood with his hands resting on his belt, the light from its buckle glinting off into your eyes and reflecting the terror you felt. His hips tilt to one side as he observes you silently. "Why doncha tell me again what you were hopin' to accomplish with them tiny little hands o' yours."

Panic flashed in your eyes because Jesse widened his stance and raised his hands.

You still scramble further up the bed.

"Nah, ya ain't in trouble," Jesse said as he removed his hat and tossed it on the side of your dresser. Always mindful of Ma's etiquette lessons, Jesse knew better than to enter a lady's room wearing his hat. Was impolite. You don't enter a lady's room 'less you come naked. "Pity she didn't teach me to knock," he added with a smile.

Confusion twisted your features. Jesse often said things that you weren't sure how to interpret.

His slow smile told you he was a man looking out after his own. It made your heart beat faster. He wasn't here to hurt you.

"Just show Uncle Jesse what you were up to 'fore I came in." He moved closer, the bed frame squeaking beneath his boots. "Lemme see what you got," he said. Jesse reached out, and you flinched.

But his hands only brushed a finger across your cheek, pushing away a strand of hair. "Ya got somethin' special in those hands," he said gently as his fingers pressed against your skin.

You become aware of the hands covering your modesty. You glance at your bare thighs out of habit when Jesse references the heat between them.

"Come on now, don't get all bashful," He said before you could try to hide under the blankets. You had a way of scurrying off like a little mole whenever he teased you too much. Shy, sweet, and gentle. He could eat you up for days.

"Show me how ya touch 'er when you're all alone."

You pull your cami over your thighs to deter those mocha-brown eyes. Jesse raised a brow that was just as dark. "Ya ain't got nothin' to hide, girl. I already seen it all." He said. Good-natured, southern charm oozed from his every sentence. Yet, you still felt like you were standing in the principal's office and caught doing something wrong.

But Jesse smiled as though what he said was meant to make you feel better. He leaned down, kissing your forehead as if it were the world's most natural thing.

"I'm… I'm loud.." Your knees draw together.

His smile was lopsided. "Good thing all the gunfire and explosions drown out hearing." He said, referencing the hearing aids he wore in his ears.

Did you think a little thing like that would ever be a problem? Bless your sweet little heart.

You weren't sure what to say. 'I'm sorry?' Would he think you're pitying him?

But he just let out a chuckle and shook his head. "Don't sweat it, sugar." A large palm ruffled your hair affectionately. "Now, why don't you show Uncle Jess what you were playin' with?" He asked again, his voice a little more playful this time.

"You..you really can't hear?" You fidgeted with the hem of your cami, not wanting to make eye contact.

His grin widened, "Not a thing." Jessie lied. "I'll even take 'em out if ya want." He started to take off his hearing aids, but you stopped him.

"No, no! That's... That's not necessary." You said quickly.

"Well, alright then." He said, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

"How's 'bout you let this old cowboy have that weapon yer holdin'?"

Weapon?

"Oh, she's lethal." Jesse winced playfully. "One could take out a man if it's aimed properly."

"She?" You asked, curious.

Jesse held back the brunt of his laughter. "Yer pussy, sugar. It's a she."

Your expression has him losing his composure. He had the courtesy to turn away and chuckle. The insult on your face had him in stitches.

"Well, shoot." He said after a while, finally managing to compose himself. "I ain't mean to make no fun of ya. Just thought you'd like to know your kitty got a name."

Your body ran hot, and your heart thumped against your chest. You can't believe how Jesse made you feel with just a few words and one little joke. You could see the mischievous glint in his eyes and knew he would make you squirm again.

"Respectfully, I'm gonna need to see those hands of yours." He said, that same southern gentleness in his voice like before.

Jesse whistled as your hands lifted, low and appreciative.

"I'll be damned..." You're sweet enough to top his apple pie. If he had it, Jesse would've held his hat to his chest; those thighs could carry him through the Arizona desert.

"You can take my breath away any day," Jesse said with a grin. He drank those thighs ten times over before they'd self-consciously shut. He was drunk on you as he was on moonshine.

"Hands back on your holster. Show me how you use it."

With his boot planted firmly on the mattress, brown eyes staring you down, you touched yourself. You'd jumped at the first brush of a hesitant finger against the peach fuzz clothing your mons—prickly and on its way to growing—cold fingers startling skin that hardly ever felt a temperature change. You've never been more thankful for those stubborn hairs that always grew back despite your best efforts. It offered a level of decency—privacy—during a private act made public. You map your vulva, getting a feel for it. Your legs spread as you become more comfortable with the movements and sensations that kiss you nightly when the house is sleep—as comfortable as you could be with a man like Jesse McCree looming over you.

You were very aware of him—his presence, his smell. You could feel him in your veins as you touched yourself, and he watched. He dared not move a muscle lest it scared you off.

The situation might be foreign, but the sweetness in your abdomen isn't. The toe-curling warmth made you want to rock and hum into its beautiful calm. It took the stress out of a very stressful situation. How odd to find yourself tense in the middle of your go-to stress relief.

You moved with clinical precision, not for pleasure but to show Jesse you weren't helpless. You felt like the Tin Man—joints stiff, robotic, and locking together when thoughts of what you were doing and in front of whom caught up to you. The need to defend yourself from any infantilism oiled them and kept them going. Your breath gets heavier as the pleasure builds inside of you, regardless.

Could you even cum like this?

Doubtful.

There wasn't anything too exciting about tracing up and down your lips, still wet from the 'exercise,' Jesse interrupted. Your clit still pulsed despite cologne tickling your nose like spice (or maybe because of it).

He was so close.

With the scent of tobacco and leather on his clothes, Jesse Mccree had your undivided attention. You can't look at him, but the thought of staring into those deep brown eyes while you circled your clit and cried the prettiest you could make you swallow down below. Your clit throbs, and you massage it before you can stop yourself. You play with the hood, fragile and unsure. It isn't enough, but you don't want to appear indecent. God, if only you could throw open your legs and—

"That ain't how ya do it. Touchin' 'er like that, bet you don't even know what she's called."

Of course, you do. It's a vagina. Not a 'her,' not a 'she.' You told him so.

"Aw, now. You'll hurt 'er feelings. Tell me what you call 'er, darl.'"

"It… it's my vagina." You emphasize the word 'it.'

Jesse shook his head. Shoulda knew you'd call 'er somethin' dull and childish.

"Move aside, sugar." Jesse motioned for you to stand. A cigarillo was all that was needed to complete the toothy grin as he sat, cybernetic hand hitting his thigh. "Come sit on Papa's lap. He's gon' show ya what she's for. How to touch 'er."

You stood uncertain before him, blanket held to your sex. The red fabric pooled between your legs and onto the floor.

"I don't bite, sugar." He said. It's the softest you'd ever heard him.

Your lips thin to a pensive line.

This is a bad idea. But the prospect of this man sipping you like he did his whiskey was thrilling.

You look past him toward his hat on the dresser, and the blanket drops. So do Jesse's eyes. But that grin? It stretches to something boyish, handsome, and white. He savors, just as you'd hoped; he savored himself so fully your legs ache to cross over each other. He's fixated on your vagina. You hope he can't see it swallow.

"This is your little pussy." Jesse spread you open with two fingers. You squirm on his thick thighs. He's mountainous and warm against your back; you hardly cover two-thirds of his broad chest. He must spray cologne directly on it. Woodsy Pine and Old Spice took you to a campfire with marshmallows and Southern folklore. You don't think about the chestnut hairs peeking out of his flannel. You can't. You'll die.

"This is your pretty little pussy." He rubbed your fatty, wet lips with four fingers—rough and widened in a V-shape.

Your vag—your pussy clenches, tingly.

"You may have touched 'er before," He swiped your clit side-to-side, hitting nerve endings that had you bucking on his tan, human finger. "but I'll teach you how to spoil 'er." He dipped one deep inside.

"And fill 'er up."

Your cries are as helpless as your hips as they help him fuck your pussy open. He stretches her so good you can't recall when you began referring to her as a she. You fuck yourself on his fingers until pleasure gushes from your cunt.

An involuntary gasp escapes your lips as he collects his first load in his fingers. You're there.

"You wanna cum, and I can make it happen, sugar." Jesse held you as you shook. Robotic arm slung over your waist, he let you use his finger to draw out your end. He pumped into you occasionally—lazy and matching your weakening thrusts.

"Ain't nothin' wrong with bein' greedy. Uncle Jesse will let ya have seconds if ya want 'em."

You just keep goin', doncha? You're a lil fighter—pushin' those shuddery hips forward even as you gasp and choke.

Ya weren't lyin'. Yer loud. Not in a cutesy way, either. You're raw, unapologetic.

Jesse loves it.

Nothin' worse than a woman who does all that dainty shit.

You cried so long and hard your voice tapered into a husk.

"These fingers were made for women. Made for touchin' 'em." Any internalized shame blew in the wind when Jesse used his thumb to swipe your sensitive clit. You groan like a cavewoman. Guttural, primal.

"Made for makin' 'em come. You gonna come for me again?"

You're already trembling, unable to get your tongue working as you tighten on his fingers.

"There ya go, sugar. Cum like I'm gettin' it in. Goin' six inches deep and cummin' hard on 'er lips." Jesse pumped his fingers deep again as you began panting, panicking—he was insistent on getting you off—a knot of orgasm tightened in your waist until you snapped like a whip against your backside and seized.

"Ain't nothing wrong with cryin'."

You can't stop shaking. Crying. Tears fall off your chin, and you don't know where they came from. At this moment, you're a helpless baby—wailing and hoping he understands. You need him to fuck the soul from your body. You need him to stop.

"I've got somethin' of a confession," Mccree said, his drawl thickening with each syllable. The thumb on your clit sent his words through one ear and out the other. He's knuckle-deep in your cunt and seated near your pleasure spot as he slowly curls into it. You curl with him, hot and whining.

"I may be aurally challenged, but I can still hear you, sugar." You're drooling in every figurative sense—mentally and emotionally sloshed from the pump of his heavy fingers. "Every time you whisper my name at night." He said, his tone low and warm.

Your thighs clamp around his hand.

Fiery shame swept like lava and left coals on your chest, leaving you with prickly, uncomfortable goosebumps.

Oh, now we can't have that.

You've stopped chasing his hand, chasin' that release you'd wanted so bad.

A gentleman, Jesse puts in enough work for both of you. If you aren't meetin' him, he'll have to try that much harder, won't 'e?

God, what would your family think? They'd shun you. Getting off to thoughts of your captor's big, impossibly wide hands instead of biting them.

This needs to stop.

Oh, but you can't. You're grinding on his finger again, helpless to stop. It's so good. It's too fucking good.

"That's it. Get it, sugar." Jesse starts flying in and out of your thighs. Something coughs from your throat like a drowned victim spitting up water. You grab his wrist for stability and don't make it halfway around.

"That's what I like to fuckin' see," Jesse growled.

Fuck it. You'd let him pull your panties aside and cream your pussy right there on your bed with your family in the doorway for them to see every desperate clench it made, each spasm in the base of his cock as it emptied inside their precious daughter, sister, and loved one. They could watch the conception of their grandchild and niece/nephew for all you care.

"Jesse! Oh god. Feels good!"

"Sounds even better up close." Mccree chuckled. Breathy, strained. As if it'd come through gritted teeth. His cock pressed into your ass—hard and hot. He made no attempts to relieve it.

"You come to Uncle Jesse when your pussy needs some lovin', ya hear?"

He pulled out, leaving you so, so empty.

You quickly nodded. No, no. Please put it back! He'd stopped touching your clit.

Jesse doesn't leave you empty much longer now that he has an answer. "You let ol' Jess handle it. I'll give the lil lady what she wants."

You're too damn polite. Callin' 'im 'sir.' He ain't no 'sir.' Jesse would tell you to stop if he ain't like it so much.

He pretends to hate it, gives you grief about it, but let you come 'round askin' for somethin'. Jesse stops you mid-sentence and tells you to call 'im that thing he likes.

"Come on, honey. You'll make me feel old."

Your name might as well be 'pretty.'

"C'mere, pretty. Wanna show ya somethin' real quick."

Toji Fushiguro

It's one of those days.

Toji stood in your doorway, an unlit cigarette hanging from his mouth. He had a can of beer in his left hand and a race ticket in the other. You should be happy to see him. There's no milk, and your stomach could grow teeth and devour. Your heart drops instead. The paper had as many wrinkles as a white shirt straight from the dryer. Crumpled, meaning he'd lost. The one Toji wore was stretched and spent. He hadn't come home last night. A sour odor of alcohol told you why. Toji celebrated his losing streaks with bottles of sake at the bar. Usually, he'd be out looking for a job to 'make up what he lost,' as he'd always promised.

The hunt must've been unsuccessful if he had been back so soon.

Toji was bitter before he'd even come in the door. Catching you with your fingers in your pajama pants put him over the edge.

"What ya doin' touchin' what's mine?"

Toji scoffed when you continued giving him that owlish stare.

"Y'think I'm good for nothin', dont'cha." His posture remains loose and bored, his tone detached. The slip crinkled in his balled fist.

This isn't going to end well.

"Of course no—"

"You ain't gotta lie, Seven."

Toji was more superstitious than met the eye. He set you up in his home like a Maneki-Neko for good luck and fortune, laughable.

You aren't lucky. Trouble raced after you like tin cans on an exhaust pipe, with your situation to prove it.

Trouble stepped further into your room—swept across your floor like tumbleweed, kicking the ground with every slow, drunken step. Trouble knelt on your bed, knocked your plushies off to the side, and snatched your arm when you scurried.

"Y'think I'm a deadbeat." Trouble pulled you under him and ripped your pajamas off your hurling legs. His triceps bulged beneath his tee as his hips rolled into your cunt, wet and bare. He held you still to take each stubborn, mouth-watering rut. "Think I can't take care of ya anymore."

Toji's still beating the headboard into the wall as you quake around his thighs. Frantic hands tear at his upper back, tugging his shirt for him to go harder despite the worrying cracks and splinters of wood.

"'m gon' prove you wrong." Toji put his weight on his elbows and fucked you like he meant it. He'd buck forward and knock your eyes to your skull.

'God, yes,' is all you can think as he presses you into the mattress and shoves into you until you can't get air. 'More, more, more.'

"Gonna make you cum so hard you wet yourself," he growled in your ear. "Gonna make you scream and cry." And he did.

"Oh God, Toji!"

Toji rabbits at the first sign of tears. "I'm gonna fuck you right to hell."'

"Oh, God! Oh, God! Oh, God, oh—uhn!"

Spleck!

Your thighs squeeze and judder into his cock. Wetness dribbles past your lips regardless of how tightly you clench your legs. You cum hard—the spasms in your cunt deep and violent. So fucking slutty and messy.

"God!" The word tore from your throat in a ragged sob. Feral. Hysterical.

There's no way you should clamp this fiercely. It's been so long Toji let you tighten up. He needed to stretch you back out. This pussy should be loose and sticky always. A constant fullness to fill the pangs and help you forget your troubles.

You wanna be fucked.

You wanna be bred.

"A little girl like you don't know what you're doin'." Toji got between your thighs and licked you from slick perineum to juicy clit.

"Says you." In your head, you're pushing his face deeper into your sex, hand in his hair as you grind on his tongue. 'Show me, baby; show me. Show me what I'm too stupid to do.'

Toji eats you alive.

His fingers brush up your bum while he tongues you into orgasm. Toji piles your juices on his fingers and licks them clean, again and again.

"Lookit how excited she gets." Toji rests on his knees. The crotch of his sweatpants is a darker shade of black and damp from your sex.

"She can't quit talkin'." Spasming, spitting, and wetting.

His cock is visible, sitting on his lower left thigh, right above his knee. A footpath of the same dark shade runs down his left pant leg.

Did he cum? Did he cum just from eating you out? Was that fat, ruddy cockhead drooling over the very hint of your sex when he'd rutted against you before?

There's something so primal about him kneeling over you, your juices on his tongue, his cock jutting out so proudly, hung like a horse between your thighs. It makes you aware of just how filthy this whole act is, how raw.

You can smell yourself on him, and your legs self-consciously close.

"Still think you know how to get this pussy to clamp as she should?" Toji's voice was low and gruff.

"No." You whimpered.

"Then why the fuck are you playing with my clit?"

"I wasn't playing with it! I was just..."

"You won't even squeeze your thighs together without askin' when I'm finished," his lips close around your clit.

Toji licks every slippery skin fold and nibbles your clit until it's throbbing. You fuck his mouth with your hips, desperate. You reach deep, guttural tones no woman should.

Would nut if you called him 'sir.'

Call him 'sir,' and he'll call you 'ma'am.' Especially in bed. It's shamelessly kinky, given the age gap between you. Might just call you mommy if you're okay with it. You're still under your parent's insurance and barely have a driver's license. Your wisdom teeth haven't come in, and here this forty-year-old man was calling you mommy.

And if you are? Agreeable with it, that is? Toji does his best to make you one.

He missed out on Megumi. Thoughts of another child hadn't crossed his mind until he was deep in your green, twenty-something pussy calling you mommy in that aged murmur.

You love everything he's saying. "Gon' fuck a baby into your teenage pussy—get you pregnant." Toji liked to poke at your age. He'd call you a teenager when you're particularly difficult. Little girls can't talk to me like that. Those nights remained the same. Toji fucked you on the floor and bred you until you couldn't speak. Cum ran from your entrance in a thin, constant stream. Milky, thick-flowing, and filthy. You just need some good lovin'; that's all it is—needed attention. You didn't know how to ask for it without pitchin' a fit like a child.

Make-up sex where he'd hold your hands as your thighs shook. Toji made up for leaving the cabinets empty by leaving your thoughts emptier. Cramming you six inches full of excess and relief, Toji filled you over and over until debt became greed. He's slow, thorough—men his age typically were. Toji was no boy. Wasn't in no hurry to finish. Thrusting between your hips, deep and thick in your cunt and inches from your face, Toji murmured, "'m gon' set it right."

You love what he's saying so much your appreciation lands on the base of his cock and lower abdomen as you squirt. "Dirty little girl. Dirty teenage pussy, begging for her senpai's cum." He burns right through your chest.

The words, "What are you going to do about it?" sit on your tongue.

"Gonna breed that pussy good. Gon' get you pregnant. Get you knocked up." Toji tugs your legs up higher, pulling you into his body as he snaps his hips. He thrusts into you, quick and hard.

Give it to me, give it to me. Put a baby in me. Oh, God, fuck me!

"Pussy'll be so sweet with my cum between those pretty, swollen lips. Might just eat it. Might have to. Might be all the sugar I need."

Muscles jump in your lower belly. Toji grinned above you, rotten, when your pussy quivered. Toji is feral when he gets his face between your legs, unlike any man you've met. The enthusiasm for your pleasure as he dug, sucked, licked, and scraped with his tongue (all while his right hand held your slippery cunt open for him to discipline and drink down) was primal and terrifying. It had you there in minutes. He had no direction, no idea, and no technique. All he had was the hell-driven desire to please you—make you come fast and hard 'many times as he could before his tongue gave out.

Every little thing you told him to do. That's all he had. You asked for more, and he gave it. You tell him to scratch that itch between your thighs, and he knows exactly what that means—squeezing his cock into your too-small ass. From there, all you did was tell him what you wanted, and he performed like a dog with a bone.

Toji wasn't above holding you down so that you took your pleasure on his face, fingers, and lips.

No, this dog took every ounce of his strength and overpowered your body to ensure he got his pound of flesh. What sorta man was he if he couldn't please his woman? An embarrassment, that's what. You ain't gonna insult him and walk away with steady legs.

"Gonna ride that pussy, make it mine."

Ride me, baby. Oh, God, yes!

Toji hunkers over you—that thick, heady scent of sweat, cologne, and body heat. He smells good. "Bet this teenage cunt loves feeling like it's mature, getting filled and stretched into a mommy's pussy." He's telling you how you'll look so good with your freshly creamed pussy.

Wanna be slutty for you. Make this pussy creamy.

"Gon' get that cervix wet. You'd better drink up, girl."

God, you'll drink every last white drop of it. You're already spasming.

"There she goes talkin'. Swallowin’. She's thirsty." Toji tilts your face towards him. "Boy or girl? Which one ya like?"

You struggle—feebly pressing his chest with jellied wrists to get him up and off of you. Out of you. You have to keep yourself from melting outward and running onto the sheets when he snatches you up in his arms as if you were nothing and hemmed you to the bed, hemmed you to his chest in a bear hug, and fucked you. He caged you beneath him and held you there. You’re held down and bred. Pre-cum drooled out of you onto the pillow like the real thing. Each thrust sent your hips violently into him, bobbing, circling, and returning to meet him as you rubbed your slick folds against his cock when it slipped out. He had you humping his wet dick like a bitch in heat. That was you on him. He's covered in you. He hugged you so hard that the bed felt like a paper bag under you.

"Ain't no running. Y'gon' take this dick. Take this apology."

"Don't! Don't—" The fight to free your arms was heavy and impossible as he lined himself up just as quickly as he'd left. Eager to fill. Eager to please. Hands trapped between your sweaty bodies, you settle for pushing against his stifling weight despite rising to help him resettle himself. And God, do you feel like home. Comforting, warm. He can already smell Ma's cooking. Slick, like the blood of his bounties. 'Specially when his bosses demanded a trophy as proof of his service.

White. All you see are the whites of his eyes as Toji's cock overfilled you to bursting, assisted by your curved spine and lofted hips.

He does it so gently—sliding into you like a Spanish kiss. Indulgent. Letting you admire the breadth of him, the ridge of cockhead that made your walls flutter and sing as it moved through you like drugs flooding a bloodstream, peddling euphoria throughout every corner of your body until you were floating and light in the giddy breeze of his possession. He looks demonic, possessed. Your cunt groaned from how full it was, glutted. Feel-good chemicals left you gooey and barely conscious as he stroked into you, exactly where you needed him and weren't ready for him. The deep grinds into your G-spot had you losing your breath, but he wouldn't stop. He wouldn't stop fucking you.

Uhhhn, God. Your eyes flutter. Your walls squeeze him against your will. You could kiss him.

"N-noooo, you can't. Don't cum in my pussy." You moaned. "Don't—hnn!—don' cum..." Your arms close around his waist, hips arching and rocking like you couldn't decide what you wanted more, to push him off of you or get creampied in one go. Bred.

"Mommy, ya gotta tell me." Your pussy clamps. Fissures of resistance disappear like they never existed when Toji calls you "mommy" like it's a sin. He's whispering dirty in your ear as if he knew your secrets. As if he knew you were two pumps and one shuddery male moan away from pleading the exact opposite.

"Tell me, Mommy, so I can do it for you." Toji's voice had gone sugary-sweet and deep.

But no...no. Nnn. No. "You… can't...do that." It's cheating. He's cheating.

"Tell me how you want this baby."

God, it just feels so good. You want him to cream you. Breed you. You like the fantasy of it all (it gets you wetter than anything), but he isn't financially stable, and you're no mother.

"We can't! Not 'nough money." Your lips don't sing lullabies. They sang heartache and blues. Emotionally immature and mentally thin, you're no mother. The slightest inconvenience, and you're ready to cannonball off a bridge.

"Ain't what I asked ya." Toji put you in a headlock. Ears hot and pounding, you twist and thrash as best you can underneath him. He doesn't leave you much room to grapple—still bearing down on you with all his strength and thrusting. 'Overwhelming' couldn't begin to capture the wave of shivers washing over you. Toji scratches that itch inside of you so good it nearly hurts. God, it's good—the beating he gives that secret, special place you can never reach alone. Where fingers clench into knots, your womb feels like a fever. You're in heaven. Your thighs burn from all that friction. You're in hell. Your body wants nothing more than to let out a primal scream as you battle to cope with the intensity. It takes you a few moments to realize you are—hollering in absolute hysteria. You unclench your fingers long enough to shove fruitlessly at his chest, claw at his arms and pelvis.

The thick arms caging your head tighten. "Answer. Or I’ll put one in your backside."

"Girl!" You shouted—voice rough and strangled behind his grip.

"A lil princess just like 'er Mama." Toji bucked into you, closing his eyes with a groan. When they opened, they stared down at your hostile mouth. If there was one body part of yours Toji was fascinated by, it was your lips.

He's been staring at them while he fucked you, lust in his eyes. Toji watched them threaten and plead.

"You get off me, or I'll—" Your words clung thickly together, dragged in places they shouldn't as if they were moaned.

"I'll..." Your lashes fall to your cheeks as Toji moves down, nose rumbling softly with steamy breath as he latches onto a nipple and sucks.

Your cunt swallowed and sang; you rose to meet his next push. The way his tongue and teeth work together on that sensitive spot is enough to make you light-headed.

"I'll..."

Toji stared at you, expression unreadable as ever. "You'll what, Mommy?"

He watched 'em gasp and form his name. He needed 'em. Needed 'em more than his own mother's rotted eyes.

"You'll cum?" He ground into you, and you gasped.

"Yes." You wrapped your arms and legs around him. God, your skin was on fire.

Toji released your breast and latched onto your mouth instead, groaning against your lips. His tongue flicked inside, and you opened wide.

"H-harder. Toji, I'm—"

Ughn!

Toji hits it like he couldn't miss—rutting, grinding, and humping into that sacred spot. Your kiss had him rabbiting and murmuring, moaning, and biting. He was gasping. He was growing—swelling at the base of his cock. He was coming apart.

Seeing you thoroughly enjoy yourself and falling apart on his cock has Toji's hips faltering. Mama's never yelled for 'im quite like that before. He had mama screamin', had 'er eyes rollin' back. Had her thrusting on his cock like she wanted her green, little pussy filled—wanted his kid.

"Sound so good, Mommy." He's coming already, eyes shut as the first few spurts escape him. Toji's thrusts deepen each time you moan. He'd shiver, pushing hard into your g-spot. He spoiled it for every hunger pain while he was away.

"Hands." His voice shook with effort—the physical strain of staving himself off.

When you don't immediately respond, Toji's head rests on your shoulder—miserable like an old dog. "y'know I can't cum without 'em. Know I need 'em."

His breaths come in rough pants. "I'm gonna cum, Mommy. Imma go right up your pussy and spill my seed."

"Toji—" You squirm, "Toji, don't!" You'd damn near drooled as the first squirt of hot cum hit your pussy, unconsciously bucking into him for the umpteenth time.

You beg Toji not to cum inside you, hugging him and pumping those hips all the while. Desperately, at that. A man's gotta wonder.

"Let me apologize, mama," he said between labored breaths. "Let me give you this baby." His fingers pry into yours, clutching them against the mattress as he rutted and sighed into you. "Let me."

"No." You fight. "No, no, no, no, no! No. Don't!"

His thrusts pick up as you try and wrangle free.

"I forgive you, Toji! I forgive—"

Toji licked into your mouth, grabbed onto your hips, and emptied himself in a long, thick stream. He shivered in your arms through spurts and convulsions, letting you swallow his shuddered alphabet of husky groans.

You can't help but buck into each warm shot of his seed. You're a whore. And you're tired of pretending you're not.

You're still moaning for him not to cum inside you as he does just that, pushed up against your G-spot, gently grinding you toward an orgasm of your own.

He could've positioned himself at your cervix and got all nice and snug, but then he would've missed the sleepy look on your face. Eyelids hung low, mouth parted—sated, full, and still working that pussy against him, swallowing miserably around him because it hasn't cum. She will. He'll show ya he ain't useless, that he's good for somethin'.

Besides, they'll swim. He doesn't need to be lined up to hit a target. It'll be fine once you're shiverin' against him; you'll send 'em right where they need to be.

"Please don't, sir." You said, still thrusting through the zips and tapering shocks of your orgasm. Your arms are helpless, bumbling, and unresponsive.

'Sirs' nice and all, but he'd prefer 'Mister.'

Author’s Note: This was Valentine's gift for myself and I decided to share it. If this performs well, I'll finish the second installment. The next part will feature Erasermic, Bob Velseb, Daddy Dearest, Mommy Mearest, and a fourth character I haven't decided on.

Tips: Please consider tipping if you're well-fed. It would incentivize me to keep sharing. https://ko-fi.com/pumpknpie

©️pumpkin-pi-e | Do not copy, edit, paraphrase, plagiarize, translate, or borrow from my work. I do not give my consent for any of my works to be reposted. I only write on Tumblr. Should you find this anywhere else, please alert me because it was stolen.

For your listening pleasure:

The title was based on the song below.

Do Not Interact - Writers and blogs who actively write white-coded reader inserts (blush, turn red, a flush of color). I can’t eat at your table, and I don’t want you at mine. You will be blocked. Blank blogs will also be blocked.

[anari3l]

WELCOME TO THE WOOD!

Requests are always open. Send asks or submissions for fanfics.

This is not a safe space for minors. If you're under 18, please go away.

I refuse to write anything involving: pedophilia, rape, incest, yandere. I WILL delete asks with any of the above.

I will write: angst, consensual smut, fluff.

Fandoms I write for: Lord of the Rings/The Hobbit, Red Dead Redemption, Overwatch, Dragon Age, Baldur's Gate 3, Hell on Wheels (AMC), Fallout 4, Assassin's Creed

I am also on AO3 as kaclydid

AO3 Links:

The Lord of the Rings/ The Hobbit

Writings from the Wood

Red Dead Redemption 2

Humors of Whiskey - Arthur Morgan x Reader

Wildflowers - Humors of Whiskey prequel drabbles

Hell on Wheels

Far Away - Cullen Bohannon x Reader

I'll Try - Cullen Bohannon x Reader

Fallout 4

Welcome to Sanctuary - Nate/Sole Survivor x Reader

Overwatch

Cupcake - Jesse McCree X Reader/Cole Cassidy X Reader (Pls note, starting writing this before the name change, so name randomly changes)

Assassin's Creed

With a Little Luck and Grace - Shay Cormac x Reader

Blighter - Jacob Frye x Reader

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

If you like my work, my tips are up and running here on tumblr, or I have a Patreon (mostly my own art and writing projects) and Kofi.

Thank you!

[strikecommanding]

Home

a fluffy 3k comm with mccree and a fem reader :3 no smut in this one, but it is still yandere (kidnapping, stockholm syndrome)

also on ao3

---

There was a very thin overlap of McCree’s and Ashe’s ambitions. At first, before the Deadlock Gang really came to fruition, the two of them typically saw eye to eye. Their reasons may have been different, but they worked towards the common goal of seizing wealth and power. McCree would say that the latter was more of Ashe’s thing; she’d already had a taste of wealth as her birthright, but she wasn’t interested in the type of power that came with it. It did nothing for her violent appetites, which was why she left it behind for the life of an outlaw.

In spite of the few similarities that tethered them together, there eventually came a time when the two Deadlock founders no longer meshed. Ashe wanted more infamy, more notoriety. McCree, too, enjoyed the freedom afforded to their gang by the public’s fear, but he didn’t want to make a name for himself in crime. That wasn’t to say he’d been struck by a sudden desire for justice, however. He craved the simpler things, like the ability to stroll around town without having to worry about being shot at by rival gang members or apprehended by the cops. As Deadlock grew, the more shallow its ‘freedom’ became. He’d become a prisoner of his own reputation, the very thing that was supposed to make him free.

So he decided one day that he wanted out. Predictably, Ashe didn’t take too kindly to his abrupt exit, not only because he was a true asset (whether she was willing to admit it or not) but because she couldn’t afford him out there with everything he knew. If there was anything that could get her to rally all the rival gangs in the area together, it was the opportunity to punish betrayal.

She may have had numbers, but she couldn’t find a gunslinger better than him for miles. McCree was quick on his feet and even quicker to the draw. No matter how many goons she sicced on him in a firefight, no matter how big their guns were, he managed to come out on top. But he certainly didn’t get out unscathed.

McCree was certain that Ashe had come at him with killing intent. Whether the fact that he was still alive was an error on her part or his own luck, he didn’t know. All he knew was that he had lost enough blood to warrant a hospital visit. He ran from the scene until he had to slow to a walk, and he walked until his bullet-riddled legs finally gave out on him. Then, he crawled.

His eyelids were getting heavy and his tattered hat did nothing to protect him from the brutal sun beating overhead. He didn’t know where he was when his body finally stopped moving forward. The only thing he knew for sure was that the ground beneath him was blazing, yet his body was worryingly cold. As he blearily looked back at the trail of blood he’d left behind, he was sure his time was up.

---

McCree’s eyelids were heavy still, even when he tried to open them. The bright, white view he got glimpses of between blinking was consistent with his belief that he was dead, but inconsistent with where he believed he should have ended up. A man like him had too much blood on his hands to get into heaven.

Soft auditory signals roused him a bit more forcefully into consciousness: the shuffling of feet, low voices speaking to each other, and a steady beeping sound to his left. He could hear a woman’s voice to his right and instinctively turned that way.

When he finally opened his eyes, he thought he had to be in heaven. That was the only explanation for the angel standing before him. Even with your lips twisted into a distasteful frown you were a sight for sore eyes, and just about his entire body was sore.

“How are you feeling?” you asked him quietly, and your flat tone made the question sound more clinical than caring.

He regarded you with a blank stare before turning his attention to his limp body, which was now dressed in a hospital gown rather than his dirty, bloodied clothes. Bandages seemed to be wrapped around him from head to toe, but the one unconcealed part was the Deadlock tattoo on his left forearm. It was futile to try hiding it now since you were likely the nurse who’d cleaned and dressed his wounds, but he sank his arm beneath the thin bed sheets anyway. Looking back at you, he offered, “I’ve had better days.”

You weren’t looking at him, but at his arm underneath his blanket. Your lips were pursed in a tight line before you split them open to say, “I don’t know where you started from, but it seems like you made it far. Crawled on your stomach like an insect with its legs torn off. I found you just short of the parking lot here.”

McCree shifted uncomfortably beneath your piercing gaze before deciding against moving, as it exacerbated his injuries. He chose to lie stiffly in bed and asked, “Well what stopped you from leaving me there?”

You scoffed. “That’d be kind of counterproductive to what I do for a living.”

“But you saw my tattoo. And no doubt you’ve seen my devilishly handsome mug on ‘wanted’ posters all over town,” he pointed out, and he didn’t miss the way you abruptly turned your head away from his arm once he’d called you out. “Even better than leaving me for the buzzards, why didn’t you sicc the real scavengers on me and call the cops? Would’ve netted you a pretty profit.”

“I’ve got enough on my hands. You think I want to do their job too?”

Your sassy answer genuinely surprised McCree to the point that he fell silent. Then, his dry lips cracked open to give an even drier chuckle. He laughed until his chest hurt, which didn’t take long considering the state he was in. “No, I suppose you wouldn’t, sugar.”

He thought he saw some small, indiscernible reaction on your face in response to the little pet name, but you said nothing of it. Instead you got right down to business and said, “Look. My staff and I don’t want trouble and I’m sure you don’t either. You��re alive because of me so how about you repay your debt by getting out of here as soon as you’ve recovered, and never returning to this hospital again?”

McCree considered your proposal in light of his situation. First of all, between his injuries and all the drugs that had been pumped into him as treatment, he probably couldn’t get out of bed even if he wanted to. Then he considered the possibility that Ashe and the others might come looking for him. He may have gotten away but he was as good as dead when they’d last seen him, so he hoped they believed it to be true. Ashe’s fatal flaw was her arrogance and he was sure she would be too cocky to make sure the job was actually finished. Still, he wouldn’t let himself get comfortable. He would leave as soon as he was able to and then skip town. Grinning through the pain, he lifted his battered right arm to offer you a handshake. “Sounds like a deal.”

You stared at him for a brief spell before taking his hand, and he wrapped his fingers around yours to really get a feel for you. He thought your hands would be softer, but it made sense that you would develop calluses and roughness in this line of work. Your hands were hardened from saving lives, and his by taking lives away. His thoughts were abruptly interrupted when you stood and turned on your heel, apparently ready to leave. But first you paused and glanced at him over your shoulder. “Get some rest.”

McCree waited until you were really leaving to let a wolfish grin slide onto his face. He watched your rear as you went, even repositioning himself through the pain to get a better view, and he wondered how bad it could be to get a little comfortable with you.

---

McCree liked you. He had a feeling you were a real sweetheart underneath all that grit, but he’d be lying if he said that all your rough edges didn’t have a hand in his attraction towards you. He liked his women the same way he liked his liquor: with just a bit of bite, and your jaws were always snapping whenever you were around him.

It was a rocky start. You were a very professional woman who didn’t hesitate to let him know exactly how you felt about his attempts at flirting. When you weren’t busy chewing him out for his inappropriate behavior, you ignored him. You gave him food, clean bandages, everything he needed except the time of day.

But McCree was confident he could wear you down, get you to lower your walls. He had plenty of time, after all; his injuries were extensive enough to keep him in bed for a while, and you took his treatment upon yourself because you didn’t want to trouble the rest of your staff. You were so selfless and doting that he thought he wouldn’t mind having you by his side even once it was time for him to leave. Of course, that was just a pipe dream. And then there was an incident that made him think it wasn’t so impossible, nor was it a bad idea.

At some point well into his stay, McCree had finally managed to worm his way under your skin and make a place for himself in your heart. He liked to think so, at least, based on the fond smiles you started flashing him and the warmth that would sometimes creep onto your face when you looked at him. Genuinely, you seemed to like him.

As soon as he felt well enough to walk around, he was always out of bed looking for you. You couldn’t spend all your time with him, after all, but he wanted to monopolize you. It was on one of these trips that he stumbled upon you in a separate wing of the hospital, talking and laughing with a male colleague who stood far too close to you for comfort. The look of adoration on his face as he watched you speak was something McCree didn’t take too kindly to either. He knew better than to make a scene so soon after just gaining your favor, so he quietly returned to his room without incident.

You interacted with him as you normally did after that, but it wasn’t enough to make McCree forget what he’d seen. No matter how sweet you were when you were with him, he was left thinking about what you were up to when he wasn’t around. He came to the conclusion that the only way to dispel that paranoia was to have you with him, always.

---

Predictably, you weren’t appreciative of being smuggled out of the hospital by an outlaw who was on the bad side of the law and of his own gang. McCree somehow managed to make it across state lines with you in tow, though you certainly hadn’t made it easy. You were adamant that he let you go or take you back to the hospital, but your demands fell on deaf ears. He was determined to make a new life with you, whether you were willing or not.

The Deadlock gang primarily dealt in New Mexico, but they’d had their fair share of dealings in a few bordering states. There was a safehouse he knew of in Texas that was no longer in use, so he figured it was the best place for him to set up shop. That, and he knew no one would be looking for you there.

There would be an adjustment period. He was ready for you to fight him with all your might, but he hoped you would eventually come to see things his way. As far as you were concerned, you didn’t have to lift a finger around the house. McCree intended to provide for you, take care of you; all he wanted in return was your presence next to him.

As it turned out, you weren’t the type of person who enjoyed sitting idly by and being pampered. When McCree returned from his mercenary work, you’d taken to patching up his injuries if ever things got a bit too dicey. It started when he asked you once, and you’d done it after some protests on your part, but then you continued doing it everyday as if it were a matter of course. McCree would tease you about it, ask if you’d finally taken a liking to him again, and you would adamantly reply that it wasn’t in your nature to let an injured man go untreated.

The day was just like any other. McCree went out to collect some bounties, came back a little bit worse for wear. Coming home to find you already waiting for him put a wide grin on his roughed up, slightly bruised face. It had taken some time, but he was glad you were finally past the phase of having to be locked up in your room whenever he went out.

“Honey, I’m home,” he drawled, smiling even more when he saw the corner of your frown tug just the tiniest bit upward. “What have you been up to while I was gone?”

“What is there to do when I’m trapped inside the house all day?” you retorted, vaguely gesturing to the plainly furnished home for emphasis. “When are you going to start letting me go out?”

“When you’ve earned it,” he said easily as he lifted a hand to ruffle the top of your head. You stepped aside resentfully, and without your weight there to support him he ended up stumbling slightly. He tried to play it off coolly but nothing escaped your eagle eyes.

You returned to his side and slung his arm over your shoulders as you guided him to sit at the kitchen table. There, you began fretting over him without even needing to be asked. You removed his hat and set it down before gently peeling his leather jacket off of him, mindful of any wounds he might have been trying to hide from you. “What is it this time? Were you shot at or did they kick your ass freehand?”

“Why’re you so sure I got beat? I came back with money, didn’t I?” McCree complained, a fond smile on his lips as he watched you zip around him like a worker bee. The feeling of your fingers brushing over tender wounds wiped that look off his face immediately, instead making way for a grimace. “All right, they kicked my ass, but I still won. I walked away a richer man.”

“More like stumbled, I’m sure,” you replied, stripping him of his shirt so you could examine the full extent of his injuries. The angry red marks and raised skin were all consistent with the scenario that he’d been cornered and beaten by a number of people. You left him briefly to get some ice as well as the first aid kit you’d demanded he start keeping around the house a few months back. “You sure you didn’t bite off more than you could chew with this one?”

“You won’t be asking me that once I have you chewing on some dinner,” he declared, and he angled himself differently so you could ice all the inflamed areas on his torso. Then, hoping to abandon all the witty sarcasm and shift the conversation towards a softer direction, he said, “I’m sorry you gotta fix me up every day, honey. But I’m your breadwinner, and this kinda work’s all I can do.”

You continued silently icing his bruises before they could develop, and he couldn’t see your reaction since you were standing behind him. Your voice came out neutral when you said, “It’s not like I’m annoyed having to take care of you like this… It’s more like… I’m scared of the day you won’t come back. If you end up getting shot at like when I first saw you, and I’m not there to find you…”

McCree sat there quietly, rolling his cigar between his teeth as he thought carefully about what you said. That could have gone one of two ways. If this conversation had taken place closer to the beginning, back when you were still resentful and defiant about this new life together with him, your only reason for worrying about him would have been your own self-interest. In this new life, he was the only one looking out for you. Back when you were still locked in your room all the time, he was the only one who even knew you were here. His absence would have spelled out all kinds of trouble for you.

But you didn’t seem to be thinking of it that way. Rather, you were speaking out of concern for him and not yourself. If the low, pensive tone of your voice weren’t a dead giveaway, then he got it from the way your fingertips were delicately trembling as they brushed over his shoulder.

Smiling gently to himself, he reached up to grab your hand and steady you. He felt you jump at the sudden contact but he quickly eased you into stillness. Looking over his shoulder with a charming twinkle in his eye, he assured you, “It’s real sweet of you to worry about me, but I promise I ain’t reckless like that. Not anymore, now that I’m living for the both of us.”

He thought he saw your cheeks redden at his remark before you abruptly pushed him away with your hand over his eyes. “Shut up. You’re still too reckless. Try to come home in one piece next time.”

McCree chuckled, holding onto your wrist and kissing the back of your hand when you didn’t immediately pull away. He said nothing of it, but he couldn’t help but notice that you’d called this measly little safehouse a home.

[yandere-genji]

Yandere mcree dirty starter request number 13 plz.

(Just a note, I am still getting used to the whole “Cole Cassidy” timeline we are living in. I wrote the draft with jesse mccree so pls forgive any discrepancies.)

#13: “You’ve been so good lately, my pet. Don’t make me have to punish you.”

“Sit,” Cassidy pulled the collar of your shirt and pushed you onto the floor. The floor was hard and cold from the winter frost, which you couldn’t escape from being so high in the mountains. You hated the cold. Hated having to huddle as close to the fireplace as you possibly could just to escape the freezing temperature permeating through the log cabin. The winds whistled too loud as they picked up mists of white snow from the ground. You really did not like the mountains. If you had your pick, you would stay with Cassidy at the nice shack he had just outside of Santa Fe, but you never did have a choice in the matter. Whenever he went, you were expected to follow.

He must’ve been tired, too, though he never showed it. So you leaned into him, looked up at him through pleading eyes. You didn’t dare say a word, but Cassidy understood what you wanted to say.

But he couldn’t rest. Not yet. There was business he had to attend to and time is money. So he gave you a sympathetic smile and removed his hand from your cheek. You missed the warmth of his touch but you were content to be dismissed, “I’ll be back soon. Don’t get into any trouble while I’m out, or there will be hell to pay.”

There wasn’t much to say. You nodded compliantly and Cassidy headed out the door. Alone again. This time he didn’t need to restrain you. Any town would be miles away and the terrain was difficult. So you were stuck to your own devices in the meantime.

‘I’ll be back soon,’ he had said. Soon was very subjective to Cassidy, you had learned. Soon could mean a few hours or a few days. He was an honest man, usually, but never when he spoke those words. Perhaps he said that to keep you on your best behavior lest he catch you in some mischief.

But the mountains made you miserable and drove you mad with boredom. He knew it, too. Most of your worst fits happened there. Rummaging through his work equipment, sticking your nose in places it didn’t belong, and picking quarrels with Cole in your irritable state. It never ended well, either. Especially when you were defiant with him, it wore his patience paper thin.

“You’d be wise to behave,” he warned, “you’ve been so good lately, pumpkin. Don’t make me have to punish you.”

Even though his words repeated themselves in your head, your mind wandered. Not only did the boredom tempt you to misbehave, but you would do anything to keep your mind from thinking about whatever Cassidy was up to now. You knew he made a living from catching (and often killing) outlaws. It was dangerous and if anything happened to him… You didn’t want to think about that. But every second he was gone was a risk and you worried tirelessly, feeling even more trapped.

You sat up and made your way towards the window besides the front door. It had stopped snowing and you managed to get a clearer view of the land. The cabin was atop a steep side of the mountain, there was hardly any area in front of the house, save for a small shed holding Lord knows what. The moonlight reflected off the icy snow. Specks of snow glittered from the refraction of the light. It was mesmerizing. You wanted to run out into the snow, feel the crunching beneath your feet. Maybe make a snowman or a fort. Like you were a little kid.

But it was freezing. And Cassidy would kill you. His number one rule was to never leave the house without him. It seemed like in that since you were still like a little kid.

Your boots were right beside you, still wet around the soles. They seemed dry in the inside and so did your coat hanging beside the door. You had a pair of gloves inside the pockets. Cassidy hadn’t left long ago. So if you spent a few minutes outside, he wouldn’t know, right? But he would definitely notice your footprints in the snow. There was the back door. What’re the odds he would be going through there? Zero to none, you calculated based on no evidence whatsoever.

Just a moment wouldn’t hurt. You just wanted to play around with something other that the fire iron or whatever old books were laying around.

You put on your winter outfit and headed towards the back door, careful not to leave a trail behind. You looked out the window, peering over the terrain. There wasn’t much besides the mountain walls and a few feet of snowy ground. And your heart was racing. Since when had you been so scared? The mountains really had a strange effect on you.

Cold air was seeping through the door and you raised a gloved hand to feel it. Your gloves protected your skin from the chill and your body remained warm in your coat. The cabin was barely warm and you relied most on the fireplace for comfort. Your winter clothing would do just as much for you outdoors as the fireplace would inside.

Throwing caution to the wind, you eagerly opened the door and leapt onto the snowy ground. A thick sheet of snow caught you, enveloping your body in an icy embrace. You smiled and lifted yourself from the snow. The only light was from the moon and the dim porch light from the cabin. Dark forest surrounded you, absolutely silent.

You sat in the snow for a bit, holding your knees to your chest. It was a picturesque view with the snow innocently covering the woods like a christmas postcard. You tried to make out whatever you could through the shadows of trees and bushes, but nothing seemed to come of it. Imagine what could be hiding in there.

Cassidy kept a book of all the plants and animals in the areas he frequented. He always knew what something was when you asked him and was happy to explain it to you. If he were here, you could ask him to take a walk in the forest with you, show you all the animals and keep you protected from the nasty ones. But he wasn’t. In that moment, you felt too vulnerable and ran back inside the cabin, suddenly aware of how flimsy the back door was.

Everything was so quiet. The sound of you unzipping your coat was like a scream. You knew there were bears in the mountain. What if something saw you and decided to make you it’s prey? What could you do? You were unarmed and alone. Cassidy must not have even been gone longer than an hour.

You knew you weren’t supposed to, but you were scared. You didn’t know what was out there. And you had already broken one rule without getting caught. So you made you way to the bedroom and rummaged through Cassidy’s work equipment. He hadn’t even locked his suitcase, to your surprise, sending a pang of guilt through your heart realizing how much he was beginning to trust you. But you could be in danger.

Past the various bullets, a bandolier, and case of cigars was the very journal he had kept. Your face grew red with shame knowing you were violating his privacy. But it was only a silly little book that would hopefully prepare you for the potentially dangerous circumstances in which Cassidy had abandoned you at in the first place. There was a little map, marked with location names and page numbers.

A thud. Outside, near the back door. Your heart beat fast and you froze. That could be one of two things, and both spelled bad news for you. Like a bat out of hell, you quickly placed everything back into Cassidy’s suitcase. Your hands were clumsy with fear and you took longer than you would’ve liked but you thankfully had everything in place before being caught by anyone or anything.

You rose from your seated position and peaked out the bedroom door. Nothing. Just as you had left it. You opened it further and stepped out of the room when you were sure nothing was outside. Taking a few steps, you peaked out the front window. No footsteps, no prints of any kind. Maybe the house was just settling. You sighed and backed away from the window.

A strong grip caught your arm and it felt like your back had hit a wall, “Well,” that familiar gruff voice, “what’ve you been up to, little bunny?”

You turned to face Cassidy, making the most pitiful look you could give him. You looked up at him, mouth agape and struggling to respond, “Cas…”

There was something wrong. He was dirty, some reddish-brown stains covered his shirt in splatters. The look in his eyes was nothing short of primal. Aggressive, but not angry. Hungry.

“Best you answer me,” his grip tightened and you gasped in shock, leaning into him, “I ain’t in any mood to play games with you.”

It frightened you to see him like this. Like any misstep you toke would provoke him. Did he know you had deliberately broken his most important rule, or that you were just about to break another before he caught you? Should you play dumb or tell him the truth? He would’ve surely seen your silhouette in the snow if he had come from where the thud was. Even worse, he could read you like a book and knew precisely when you were lying. But you weren’t defenseless. You knew how to play to your strengths.

You swallowed, hesitantly, speaking with the sweet voice that he loved to hear, “I am very sorry, Daddy, I was so lonely without you. I just went outside to play in the snow, but it was too cold and I didn’t stay for long. That’s all, I promise.”

Cassidy hummed in response, low and aloof. His eyes were dark and you couldn’t detect any emotion from him, but a contemplative look. That usually wasn’t a good sign for you. He must’ve been thinking about what he should do with you.

He took your hand in his, raising it to his lips and placing a soft kiss, “You promise, darlin’?”

Something about his tone of voice sent shivers down your spine. It was playful and deliberate. Like he was about to call your bluff. But how could he? So you nodded, “Promise.”

A large, gloved hand squeezed your cheeks and your hands raised to meet his. His grip was tight and unrelenting, “Oh, honey…” he switched his grip from your face to your throat, you let out a choked gasp, “Thought you knew better than to lie to me.”

Your back was against the wall, Cassidy’s hand keeping you in place. You were gasping for air and holding onto his wrist for dear life. Tears rolled down your cheek and your eyes begged for mercy. But you had really fucked up this time. Jesse was already riled up from whatever business he had just returned from and he had warned you not to misbehave or there would be hell to pay. He was just cashing out on his threat.

“I am gettin’ real sick of your bratty attitude,” he loosened his fingers, allowing you to catch your breath, “Look like you need to be taught some fuckin’ manners.”

Your eyes went blurry, you saw only foggy shadows as Cassidy pulled you away from the wall and lifted you over his shoulder. You pleaded with him through choked sobs but your cries fell on deaf ears. All you could feel was the frigid winter air on your skin, leaving the cabin behind while Cassidy carried you into the shed.

“Now don’t you start with me,” he groaned as he sat you on a flimsy wooded workbench, “You need to fucking behave. Take your clothes off.”

It was freezing. You weren’t sure if you were shaking due to fear or the intense cold. You held onto your body, trying to retain any warmth you could, “Please, Cassidy, it’s too cold.”

He laughed, “That certainly didn’t stop you before, sweetheart. Now, strip before I really give you somethin’ to cry about.”

You could hardly feel anything at that point. Completely numb, you complied and disrobed. Cassidy didn’t say anything, just admired you before him. He would be lying if he said he didn’t anticipate having to punish you when he returned. And he was nothing short of eager to take the frustrations of his day out on you. Nothing satisfied him quite like seeing you like this, absolutely terrified and seeking mercy.

Once you were completely bare, he held you by your hips. He squeezed hard, wanting to leave a mark on you. His hands wandered upwards, fondling your body until he held you by the back of your neck.

You couldn’t help the fire that burned between your legs, mindlessly rocking your hips on the abrasive wood of the workbench. Looking at him through wet eyes, you reached out to feel him. He had his winter jacket on, furs draped over his shoulder and making his already towering figure even more menacing. You wanted him to embrace you, to give you the warmth you desperately needed. But he didn’t.

“Nah, baby, I’ve been too kind to you for far too long,” he took your wrist and gripped it with the same strength that he gripped your hips, “You do what you’re told and don’t test my patience, got it?”

You nodded eagerly, desperate to show your capitulation, “Yes, Daddy, I’ll do anything you ask.”

He hummed, pleased with your response, “I know you will, baby.”

But he didn’t give you a command. Instead, he decided to manhandle you himself, flipping you onto your stomach and pinning your arms behind your back. You wanted so badly to rut against him like a bitch in heat, desperate to quell that feeling between your legs but you had to follow his lead. He wanted to see you like this, overstimulated and touch-starved. Serves you right for misbehaving.

His gloves were still on. The fabric was rough against your already sensitive skin. He began kneading the soft skin in between your thighs, it took all of your will not to squeeze them together and fuck yourself into his hand. You behaved, breathing heavily and trying your best to conceal your moans.

“Let me hear you, baby,” he grabbed your ass and gave it a hard slap, “I want you to lose that sweet voice of yours when I’m done with you.”

Every touch was rough and left a mark on your skin. You cried, moaned, nearly scream as Cassidy abused your body as he pleased. Once he was satisfied, he loomed over your shaken form. His hand made its way to the swell of your ass again and gave it another sharp slap. Your throat was sore but you still managed to whine at the pain. But he wasn’t done with you yet. His thumbs spread you wide open, exposing you to the cold air while your hole was burning from the stretch of Cassidy’s fingers. You knew what he had in mind and tried to prepare yourself mentally for the pain.

You could never be full prepared, however, when Cassidy’s warm cock met with the entrance of your ass. He was far too big to slide into you with any ease, but he choose to stretch you around his cock the best he could anyway. If he had eased into you with his fingers, the burning wouldn’t be so bad, but you couldn’t accommodate his girth and the pain was unbearable. Screams escaped your lips and you were tempted to tell him to stop, but you knew where that would leave you. In much worse pain than this.

He spread you further, sunk into you deeper, and made you scream louder. It seemed like hours before he began to pump himself in and out of you, only halfway in. His hands locked into your hips and he continued to work his way into you. Whenever the pain became bearable, he would push himself deeper inside of you. Like he knew just how to keep you on edge. And all you could do was lay there and let him use you until he was satisfied you had learned your lesson.

By the time his cock was fully inside of you, Cassidy was already fucking you with reckless abandon. Content to just use you like a fleshlight with no regard to your cries. He kept an iron grip on your hips, keeping you in place while he rammed his cock into your abused hole, “Fuck, you’re tight. Gotta fuck you like this more often. Shit, if you keep misbehavin’ I might have to tie you out here for good. How would you like that, baby?”

You whined weakly. The shed was filled with the sound of his balls clapping against your ass and your cries that were muffled with every thrust. His pace grew faster and faster, and his moans turned into growls as he reached his peak. There was nothing for you to hold onto, nothing to keep you in place while Cassidy was reaching his climax. Your tender body scraped against the old, flimsy wood while he brutally fucked your ass.

But the feeling of his warm cum finally filling you, leaking out of the tight space that squeezed his cock and onto your legs, it felt so good. Anything that could give you relief from the cold would be welcome, and you spread your thighs further in an effort to leak out anymore cum.

Cassidy leaned over you, cock still buried inside you. His hands released your hips and you were happy to finally relax. He took his heavy jacket from his shoulders and wrapped it around you. It was finally over, you eagerly enveloped yourself in the warm fur of the coat and let out a sharp exhale.

“Damn baby,” Cassidy pulled himself out of you, wiped the juices on his cock onto your thigh, “I’ve killed plenty men for less than what you did tonight. But fuck if you don’t got a pretty face and a tight ass. Damn lucky, ya know that?”

You had no way of knowing if he was telling the truth, but you were inclined to believe him.

“Let’s get you inside,” he lifted you into his warm embrace, “get you cleaned up, how’s that sound?”

You looked up at him and he gave you a gentle smile, “I would love that, Daddy,” you whispered, not wanting to damage your throat any further.

He placed a kiss on your forehead and carried you inside the cabin. You were sore and it toke you ages for your body to get warm. Perhaps you might think twice in the future about indulging your penchant for mischief. But there was something about that wild, nasty side of Cassidy that lit a spark inside of you.

[crispynuggetbutter]

Don’t worry about answering my ask super fast, I’m just happy that you answered. And I love it super detailed ❤️❤️❤️. Your last answer to my ask was really gooodddd. I liked it a lot. Especially how sadistic that Jesse is. With forcing reader to ask/depend on him on mundane things like using the bathroom and he watches it //////. Like he’s trying to reforce into reader’s head that she nothing without him. Have her become not only physically but mentally dependent on him. He’s so mean, it makes me a sensitive baby wanna cry 😭. So I have a question. How he react to a reader that instead does everything she suppose to do as a “proper wife”, cook, clean, sweet, affectionate, etc. but she’s a sensitive baby and cries (full on crying) to him “to stop being mean to me”, from all the twisted minds games he plays. Would he soften up? Or be completely unfazed?.

Hmm… I really think that Jesse would like someone that puts up a bit of a fight against him. But if the reader is already a sensitive and affectionate person from the beginning, then he would probably be softer on her anyway. She wouldn’t have to deal with him being mean often.

Jesse thinks of himself as helping the reader to “become a proper lady” and “give her life purpose.” When she first moved to the small town, she had no real sense of direction in her life but then Jesse came along and put her into a position that she needed to fill. He needed her to fill.

Their relationship would probably start off rough but slowly become normal…

I’ll make a short story for the ask, but I’ll change the reader’s demeanor to fit the scenario.

You were currently sitting on the floor of your “room”. The soft rays of morning sunshine had just barely began to peek through the bedroom window.

Yesterday, Jesse had made you clean the kitchen as he stood and watched. The day before that, he had given you a recipe to follow. He wanted you to cook dinner for him. Cooking in the kitchen would have been peaceful, but of course, he complained the whole time about how a “normal couple wouldn’t have a husband monitoring his own wife as she cooked.” He kept his peace keeper firm in his hand when you began using a knife to cut the vegetables.

He went on about trust, and how “over time your relationship would strengthen”. You had forced yourself to zone out once you felt his hands creep around your sides as you washed your hands in the kitchen sink.

But today, you’re awake before him. You know it because you haven’t heard his heavy footsteps across the hall making the short trek to your “room” yet.

He hasn’t slept in the same bed as you for a few nights now, and deep down, you hope that he doesn’t. The way that he hungrily grabs at your waist as he sleeps behind you, keeps you awake long after he’s fallen asleep.

There isn’t an alarm clock in the room with you. Jesse had removed it after claiming that you could “possibly hang yourself with the cord attached to it on the door knob.” But you still like to guess what time it is. It feels like five in the morning. But it might also be six. There’s no real way to be certain. At least not anymore.

Pulling you from your thoughts, the sound of Jesse’s footsteps are enough to send you into a paralytic shock. You contemplate if hiding under the covers is enough to make him leave you alone, even for just a few more minutes.

His footsteps draw closer and closer, becoming louder with every waking moment. And then they stop, right outside of your door. The soft beeping sound of a old keypad on the outside of the door echos through the quiet room. Then the lock turns, and Jesse enters.

“Mornin’ sunshine~” Jesse slowly drawls, sleep still obviously present in his voice. He folds his arms and leans the side of his body up against the doorframe as he stares down at your shaken form. Like a tradition, every morning he comes in your room and says good morning. If you decide not to respond or glare at him as he comes in, it predetermines how he’ll treat you for the rest of the day.

Exhaling the breath you didn’t notice you were holding, you weakly muster a response. “Good morning…” You breathe, avoiding eye contact, opting to look at the floor instead.

You watch as Jesse steps out from the doorway, allowing the door to swing and close shut. Your chance of freedom leaves you, again. Your focus shifts back to Jesse as he slowly walks towards the locked bathroom door.

“Can I use the bathroom, please?” You plead. You decide to look away from him when you ask. Saving the last amount of pride you have left.

“Of course, sweetheart” Jesse reply’s cheerfully. As though forcing you to ask to relieve yourself every day is something that brings him joy.

You scramble to stand from the cold floor once you hear him unlock the door. Moving always feels awkward when Jesse’s eyes are watching you. The stress of never making a mistake in his presence is suffocating.

Jesse steps to the side of the doorway to give you enough space to enter the bathroom. His hand is raised over you, hanging on to the top of the doorframe. It always feels like his large form takes up all the space in a room, until there’s no where else for you to go but in a corner. Trapped and afraid.

For a moment, you think to yourself that maybe, just maybe, Jesse would step away. Give you a chance to use the bathroom alone. Treat you like a decent human being for once, but he doesn’t bat an eye as you begin pulling down your pants. He never looks away when you reach for toilet paper and he always seems to pay more attention when you rise from the toilet to pull up your pants. Throughout the entire ordeal, you try your hardest to never look in his direction.

When you’re done getting ready for the day, Jesse then leads you downstairs to the kitchen. You notice how he always has you walk in front of him, never trusting you to be out of his sight.

“I want you to make our breakfast today…” he says while reaching into the refrigerator and pulling out a container of eggs. You watch, attentively, as he sits multiple ingredients onto the counter. Once finished, he quickly walks toward the dining table and drags a chair into the corner of the kitchen, folding his arms as he leans against the wall.

There are enough ingredients to make pancakes, scrambled eggs and sausage, you think to yourself. Grabbing a pan and a stick of butter from the array of ingredients lining the counter, you begin cooking breakfast.

Cooking has been the only thing that Jesse has allowed you to do on your own. It’s the only thing left of your past life. You can’t help but think to yourself that maybe…you can make this new living situation work to your benefit.

Pouring the fresh pancake batter in small circles on the stove, you think about how you don’t have to work a job. Or pay bills or worry about taxes. Jesse handles all of that for you. He keeps a roof over your head. He keeps you clothed and fed. You think of how this new life may get easier for you as time moves on.

Paying full attention to the pancakes cooking on the stove I front of you, you reach for the container of eggs on the other side of the counter.

But it happened so quickly…

How could you have been so clumsy?

You lost your grip on an egg, forced to watch helplessly as it hits the floor behind you. Through the long silence, you hear Jesse click his teeth as he begins to stand from his chair.

Moving closer to your form, he reaches across the stove and turns off the eye you were using. Grabbing the hot pan of pancakes, he removes them from the heat and sits it on an unused eye.

By analyzing Jesse’s harsh movements, you can already tell how angry he is. He doesn’t even have to say anything. All you can do is wait quietly for his next move.

But hadn’t you been good? You’d done everything he has asked of you without putting up a fight. You’ve been a “perfect wife”… just like he wanted. So why, why was he so angry with you all the time?

“I’m sorry” is all you manage to utter. “I didn’t mean to waste an egg, I just, you know, I was so focused on not burning the pancakes that I-

Hastily, you rush to grab some paper towels. “I can clean it up no problem, see?” Bending down to your hands and knees, you start grabbing at the scattered egg shell pieces and the egg yolk.

Tears are flowing out of your eyes endlessly. It makes it hard for you to see, forcing you to scramble across the counter looking for the sink to drop the egg shells in. You haven’t heard Jesse say anything yet, his massive form looming over you as you continue to clean up the mess you’ve made.

This was the first time Jesse had seen you cry. You looked so… eager, to please him. He watched as you tediously scrubbed the floor once again. You feel Jesse’s strong hand grab the underside of your arm and pull you to stand.

“You just made a mess, that’s all… Right?” Jesse reassured. “It can be cleaned up and you can get right back to making breakfast.”

You felt Jesse’s large hand rest against your cheek as he used his thumb to wipe away your tears. He pulled your body into his embrace and kept you in a tight standing hug.

Jesse’s previous irritation had vanished faster than it arrived. You had expected him to berate you about wasting food. Or hit you and drag you back to your room for wasting his hard earned money on an egg you could carelessly drop.

But he didn’t.

[saltyteru]

The Wolf (Part Two)

Yandere! McCree

Part One

Weeks passed by slowly.

You hated it here.

You hated the sight of the man who held you captive. You couldn’t stand to look at him, only feeling disgust when your eyes grazed his in brief eye contact when he’d go into the basement of what you assumed to be his house. You hated the cold cement walls that trapped you and the unbreakable windows you had tried to shatter on many occasions. You hate the bed your ankle had been chained to and the books you’ve read countless times. You couldn’t handle it anymore.

You wanted out. You needed out!

Why was he even keeping you here? Did you something you weren’t supposed to? As a way to get back at you? To never let you go? To ruin your life? Maybe even ruin you?

A shiver shot down your spine as you tried to find his reasoning for kidnapping you; it was always the same few that stayed in your mind, you weren’t able to think of much else.

The stairs suddenly creaked, peeking your attention. Your eyes quickly shot to the wooden staircase, the same one you ran up to escape maybe 3 months ago; days blended into each other and you eventually lost track of time. A pair of cowboy boots came into view as your kidnapper walked down the stairs. Your mouth went dry as you attempted to swallow your anxiety.

‘What does he want now?” You thought to yourself, sitting on your bed, feeling the soft mattress as you moved back, stopping once your back hit the cement, your eyes making contact with those of Jesse’s.

“Why do you always look at me like that, Darlin?” He said as he stood before you, taking in your frightened form, “You always look so scared, like I’m boutta eat ya.”

“Please just let me go.” Your voice was weak, a newly developed raspiness due to a lack of water that you began to refuse to drink, thinking that the man was mixing something in to keep you frail after the last time you had almost escaped this nightmare, “Please.”

“Aw, now Sweetpea, you know I can’t do that.” He chuckled, his eyes running over every inch of your body, taking notice of your slight tremble.

You remained silent. Fear racing through your veins as he took a step closer, setting down a plate of food that you figured to be dinner. Your stomach churned at the thought of having to eat the food he made, even though you had devoured the meals previously after starving yourself in retaliation to the man. You hated yourself for when the the thought of his cooking to be quite delicious, you felt nauseous; how could you ever think that of your kidnapper?

“Why am I here?” You asked, your eyes cast down to your palms in your lap, avoiding the unwavering stare of Jesse’s, “Why can’t you just let me go?”

A smirk played on the corner of his lips as a slight chuckle left his throat, “I had told you back when we were dating, nobody can have you but me.” He lurched forward, taking a fist full of the collar of your shirt, almost ripping the fabric in the process as he brought his face close to yours, the tip of his nose grazing yours. You gulped in terror; he’d never done this before and you could very clearly see the building annoyance in his eyes as his expression drew into a frown, “You’re mine. Got that?”

No words fell from your lips as you could only look in his eyes, too nervous to look away. He held you like that for only a moment, blinking rapidly before letting go, allowing you to plop back onto the bed, scrambling away from him; horror written in your features. He looked at you in shock, moving forward to hug you, much to your overwhelming confusion. He profusely apologized for causing you harm and promised to never hurt you.

Tears welled in your eyes, what did you do to deserve to be sitting where you are?

Did you accidentally cut someone off while driving? Is it because you walked out of a store with forgetting to pay for an item in your bag? Did you somehow kill someone? You tried to make some sense even though you never came up with anything.

Jesse pulled back, pursing his lips as he lifted his hand, to which you flinched at much to his dismay, and wiped your tears away with his thumb, “It’s okay. I gotcha, Sweetheart. I’m gonna protect you from everything in this cruel world.”

You needed to get out.

——————————

Masterlist

[short-yandere-stories]

“You better stop struggling in my lap like that, Angel. You’ll start something you don’t want me to finish~” with a deadlock mccree? in the company of the rest of the gang too- just for the added dash of humiliation

I edited the prompt sentence a bit so it fits him a little better. Hope you don’t mind!

Content Warnings: yandere behavior, the reader takes three gulps of alcohol, alcohol consumption, intimidation, pet names, flirting, suggestive content, sexual/NSFW implications, and vague descriptions of sexual acts.

This is a yandere work. Proceed at your own risk and please be mindful of your triggers.

:✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧*:

Stop your teasing

:✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧*:

You had always known that McCree was dangerous, but you hadn't quite understood exactly how dangerous he was until you were brought with him to a meeting with his gang down in a basement refashioned to a bar.

The Deadlock gang was something everyone had heard of, and when you'd understood that McCree was a part of it, no, not just a part of it -- leading it, you'd felt your heart sink. Just how would you be able to run away now?

Judging from the smirk on McCree's lips when he guided you into the room, this must have been exactly what he wanted, and the reason for bringing you here. He wanted you to know how utterly hopeless your situation was.

Your eyes wandered around the room. Ashe (you shuddered inwardly when you saw her) was pouring a glass of some dark alcoholic liquid for herself, sitting on the edge of the bar. P.T, Terran and Zeke were all sitting around one of the two tables, playing cards and cursing at each other.

In the middle of the table lay what you could only assume were stolen goods they were gambling for. Weapons, jewelry, and --  was that an organ!? Quickly, you looked away, only to catch B.O.B's gaze from where he was sitting at the other table next to someone you didn't recognize. He grinned at you, and you looked down.

"Bringing the 'babe' today McCree?" He said, looking you up and down. McCree grinned widely at him before sitting down on one of the empty chairs at the table, dragging you down onto his lap with a surprised yelp.

The other guy at the table chuckled. "She's sweet. No wonder you haven't brought her here yet." You could see on him that he was considering flirting with you, and you shifted uncomfortably in McCree's lap, trying to stand up.

"Babe sit still," he said, using the arm wrapped around your waist to pull you flusher against him "you don't wanna rile me up here now do you?" The implications of his words made you freeze, and Ashe, whom you hadn't noticed joined you, chuckle.

"I don't think any of the boys would mind if you bent her over the table. They haven't gotten, mind you even seen, any action for months." The triplets by the other table let out a clamor of complaints, and Zeke took the moment of distraction to steal cards from his opponents.

You felt yourself instinctively lean back towards McCree, wanting to escape Ashe's crimson gaze and lazy smile. You didn't say anything and decided to stare down at your lap and the muscular arm holding you in place. "Aw she's shy," Ashe teased before taking a swig of her liquor. "We won't bite, hun. Not unless you want us to."

McCree's grip around you hardened, and you could feel him tense up under you. Seems like he wasn't as unaffected by the jests of his teammates as he tried to seem like he was.

However, he just laughed heartily. "Don't scare her too much ya hear? Get me something to drink. Something strong." He shooed her off with his trademark grin and rested his chin on your shoulder, taking a deep breath of your scent. The hand that wasn’t holding you snug to his chest traveled down to fiddle with the hem of your dress, teasingly “slipping” down to your inner thigh every now and then.

When Ashe returned with a glass filled with something brown, you snatched it before McCree could and took three heavy gulps, shuddering and grimacing at the strong taste. He burst into laughter at once, chuckles making your entire body vibrate. Ashe looked amused and approving. “Well she ain't scared that’s for sure.” 

“If I need to endure you feeling me up all evening I might as well get more comfortable with it,” you said. It took a few moments for you to realize just what you said, and horrified, you slapped your hands over your mouth. McCree wore the cockiest grin you have ever seen and leaned close, hot breath ghosting over the shell of your ear.

“Well if you want me to feel you up more you should have told me, darling,” he purred, hands resuming their travel. The drink stood half-empty and forgotten on the table.

:✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧*:

[yandereaffections]

Jesse knows this well and best believe he takes advantage, not wasting time to restrain your hands besides you or above you head around the edge of your orgasm, not caring if its only been a few minutes since he started railing into you Jesse just wants to see that cute lil face of yours turn flustered as you squirm beneath him trying to protest all the while moaning and gasping out for him, feeling yourself melt into the sheets as heat spreads through your veins, Mccrees eyes never once moving away from your blissful expression

Cooing at you for how cute your whimpers sound while caressing down from your hands he once restrained to tracing up and down your sides, adoring how easily overwhelmed you can get from the smallest things he does. Whats better than watching you cum once? Watching you cum again, multiple times until you cant take it anymore, fucked into a sweaty whimpering mess

Unless your quick to get on your knees to get him off with your soft lips do expect to be pounded into the bed until your a overstimulated disarray of begs and pleads, cum soaked thighs with scratches all over your hips from Mccrees grip

Jesse may not even last as long as he thinks he would due to how alluring the sounds you make are, so sensitive under every sensual touch he makes, it unravels him to the point where his thrusts start to sputter, getting weaker and closer to cumming the more you moan out his name calling out for mercy. Baby he couldnt enjoy the fact you cum so quickly just from simple touches from him alone more than he already does 

[yanderewriter]

Hi, welcome to my blog ! This is going to be a writing blog, mainly yandere stories but not exclusively, and I’ll write both reader inserts and ships. Feel free to give me asks ! Here are the fandoms and characters/ships I’m writing for currently, to be updated later (canonically underage characters are always aged up, unless specified otherwise, but I'll make sure to tag any and all potentially triggering content appropriately) :

Boku no Hero Academia/My Hero Academia :

Aizawa Shouta/Eraserhead

Yamada Hizashi/Present Mic

Shigaraki Tomura

Dabi

Midoriya Izuku

Shinsou Hitoshi

Todoroki Shouto

Kaminari Denki

Bakugou Katsuki

Yaoyorozu Momo

Erasermic (Aizawa/Hizashi)

Eraserdust (Aizawa/Shigaraki)

Izuku/Shinsou

Denki/Shinsou

Izuku/Shouto

Aizawa/Shinsou (Honestly pretty much Aizawa/everyone)

Death Note :

L

Mello

Matt

Matt/Mello

Jennifer’s Body :

Jennifer Check

Victorious :

Jade West

Hazbin Hotel :

Alastor

Descendants :

Mal

Evie

Uma

Harry

Gil

Uma/Harry/Gil

Mal/Evie

Once Upon A Time :

Mad Hatter/Jefferson

Evil Queen/Regina Mills

Captain Hook/Killian Hook

The Umbrella Academy :

Klaus Hargreeves

Five Hargreeves

Diego Hargreeves

Klaus/Diego

Overwatch :

Soldier 76/Jack Morrison

Jesse McCree

Reaper/Gabriel Reyes

Moira O’Deorain

Sombra

Widowmaker/Amélie Lacroix

True Education/Get Schooled (manhwa) :

Hwa-Jin Na

[elianas-cozycorner]

𝓜𝓬𝓒𝓻𝓮𝓮, 𝓡𝓮𝓪𝓹𝓮𝓻, + 𝓙𝓾𝓷𝓴𝓻𝓪𝓽 𝓨𝓪𝓷𝓭𝓮𝓻𝓮 𝓗𝓮𝓪𝓭-𝓬𝓪𝓷𝓸𝓷𝓼

Author’s Note: Once again, this is a very old request which I decided to fulfill in order to give my blog new material and to honor old promises. I’m quite sentimental as it were, so I hope if the people who requested these see them they enjoy the read. Also, no gif for this head-canon page. I didn’t feel like it would fit in well. 

Please not I do not condone yandere-like behaviors, nor the manipulation of others. This is purely for fictional purposes.

Request: “Alright, just do general yandere hc for McCree, Jamison, and Gabriel. Write whatever is comfortable for you to begin with.” - Anon

Rating: 17+ (Teen+ for Ao3); 3rd person, gender neutral

Warning: Mentions of Violence, possessive & controlling behavior, mention of being held against one’s will, etc. Please proceed with caution or avoid reading if you are sensitive to these things.

Word Count: 718

ＭｃＣｒｅｅ

Jesse would be the doting and silently dangerous type of yandere. One moment, he’s very caring and catering to his muse’s needs and the next he’s breaking something in anger.

He tries not to upset his “little dove”, as he calls them, but sometimes they push the wrong buttons or get on his nerves.

Jesse is the type of person who, if he were to take someone against their will, would easily become the object of Stockholm syndrome. 

He cannot keep his hand off, always needing that physical contact and reassurance. 

He’s good at getting what he wants, from using a caring, genuine persona to poking at old wounds and antagonizing his muse.

Jesse constantly finds excuses to be near them, if he doesn’t live with them or keep them at home.

He is not the stalker type, being very blunt and obvious about his wishes and presence. He tries to be friendly and approachable as much as possible, genuinely believing his actions to be normal and just.

Never leaves his muse completely alone. Jess would be there when most and least expected, though not always in person. He’s quite good at surveillance techniques.

He doesn’t usually pose much of a threat to anyone, but he will not hesitate to make his anger or distaste known. 

It is not pretty when he starts to break things or cut off his muse’s contacts. He wouldn’t kill anyone, simply break some phones, pay people to delete emails, etc.

Very good at making his muse feel both isolated and alone when he needs to. 

Jesse is very emotionally manipulative.

Ｒｅａｐｅｒ

Unlike Jesse, Gabriel is dangerous in every way.

He would not let his muse roam around, preferring to be the type of yandere who takes control of every and any situation. He would quickly find an excuse for his muse to move in with him and then, soon after, a way to keep them there.

Gabriel is both a physical and emotional threat, easily shifting blame onto his muse even when they are not the guilty party. He doesn’t hesitate to make them feel small and useless, liking their dependence on him.

Physically, he almost never follows through with his threats, but he often makes his muse think that another step out of line will come at the cost of pain.

Prefers the use of softer, less intense methods of punishment on his muse, however. He may have a controlling, manipulative nature but he still believes he cares for his muse.

While he may stalk his muse at first, even leaving notes or gifts of affection, he takes the first opportunity he can to obtain the person of his obsession.

He stalks family members and friends, ensuring everything is in order all hours of the day.

He is discrete in his movements and actions, making sure his muse has daily contact with the outside world and those close to them. He can’t afford someone ruining their connection and relationship, no matter how much he doesn’t like the idea of sharing.

Much more intense about surveillance than Jesse.

While he’s not willing to show love and pure adoration easily, he expects it from his muse.

Ｊｕｎｋｒａｔ

Jamison is much more distanced than either McCree or Reaper, preferring to observe and love from afar.

He can’t have his muse hurting themself around his projects and explosives, so having them close to him wasn’t an option.

He would be very good at keeping things controlled from afar. Well placed letters of adoration, small gifts, and anonymous food deliveries always kept his muse guessing who he was and drew their attention from the “stalker” possibility.

Equally strategic threats and promises of hurt would ward off an potential threats to his relationship with his muse, including family and friends.

Despite being called a lunatic and an empty-headed fool, Jamison is smarter than most people. He would cover his tracks and plan everything out to the t to avoid mishaps.

Jamison would definitely be the kind of person to stalk out in the open, dressing and acting the part of a normal citizen so he could get closer to and interact with his muse in public. 

In the shadows, he definitely is the type to take photos and create albums of “moments” he’s shared “with” them.

[crispynuggetbutter]

How is a domestic life with yandere dilf Jesse McCree (from the Trouble story au)

I’m so sorry… this ask has been invisible in my ask box for some reason?!?!? I haven’t seen it and I don’t know how long I made u wait so I’m gonna give u the best response I can make. It’s gonna be super detailed and everything~❤️❤️❤️

The reader wouldn’t be allowed to leave Jesse’s bedroom in the beginning. Jesse would have already “wife” proofed the room making every precaution to make sure there is no possible way for her to get hurt trying to run away. Windows would be nailed shut and all possible weapons would be kept out of reach.

Jesse would never let his “wife” out of his sight. He would keep everything that she needs away from her and force her to beg him to do everything for her. “Jesse… I really gotta use the bathroom…” And I can see Jesse smoking a cigar standing next to the window. He wouldn’t even look at her but he’d respond with a serious edge in his voice. “Now that’s no way to ask sweetheart.” Of course she would be take back at first, scrambling her mind for another way to ask but still saving her pride. “Can I use the bathroom…please?” She’d ask looking at the bedroom floor. Jesse would then smirk and walk to unlock the bathroom door. He’d stand in the doorway to watch of course…

Jesse definitely has the idea that he would have to “break” his “wife” like a person would do a horse. He’d want to get rid of all the fight she has in her and then make her depend on him. The bedroom she’s locked in wouldn’t have a tv or anything except for a bed and dresser. So his “wife” would mostly sleep to pass the time.

When Jesse is away for a long time, he’d lock her in the bathroom and leave a blanket and pillow in the shower. There wouldn’t be a mirror in the bathroom or anything under the sink.

After she begins to show signs of pregnancy (no baby bump yet tho), he’d begin feeding her more and giving her more attention. Jesse would begin sleeping in the same bed as her and start taking care of her appearance. He’d say misogynistic things like “A husband should be able to come home and see his wife in a nice dress~. I can see him standing behind her in the hallway mirror with his hands wrapped around her waist. He’d tell her exactly how he wants her hair and clothes kept. But… she’s not allowed to wear underwear, for easy access.

Jesse would sometimes go out for drinks, meaning that a few stray days out of the month he’d come home drunk. There will definitely be nights where Jesse wanders up the stairs looking for his “wife” for a little bit of relief.

A/N: (imma call the reader “you” now for a bit of added spice…)

You’d be asleep and then randomly have the sheets thrown off of your body and feel the weight of Jesse above you. Jesse would press into your shoulders and lay the side of his peacekeeper on your middle of your back and slur out “your gonna be real nice for me or you’re not gonna like what happens next…” You’d hear the buckle to his pants get thrown on the floor. Because he’s still drunk, his movements would be erratic and wild. Your hands would be covering your mouth to suppress any sounds as he’s forcing himself inside you. I can see calling his “wife” a bitch and saying dirty things in her ear that he wouldn’t say when he’s sober. Jesse would then fall asleep on top of you. Due to his time in Blackwatch, he’d be a super light sleeper so it would be best for you to try not to move or make any sounds.

When he’d wake up in the morning, he’d seem like a totally different person. He’d be cheerful but still holding you captive. His demeanor would be less of a killer and more like someone that wants to pretend that what he’s doing is normal. He’d be washing his face in the bathroom the next day like nothing happened the night before.

A/N: I hope you enjoyed this!!! And don’t forget that my ask box is open!!!

[yanderart]

"You must think I'm a damn fool."

And he was right. To think you could outrun him and be free at last, what a ludicrous thought.

A significantly more sinister overwatch portrait this time around. Based on an amazing yandere fic by @eevwrites, which I recommend to anyone wanting to have a very angsty yet enjoyable time 🖤

Click image for hd version btw~

🥀 requests OPEN 🥀

[trashcanfills]

Wtf just had a dream where i was escaping hanamura cus i was running away from hanzo who apparently had yandere tendencies for me. And genji too cus he was helping him out or sth. Managed to run away and wandered around various places and somehow bumped into mccree somewhere huh.

[lets-just-daydream]

yandere Jesse with a s/o who has amnisia. What would Jesse do would be try and fix her, use her fragile state to his advantage?

You blinked awake and were met by bright lights, beeping and a pain through your whole body. You looked around and realised you were in a hospital, a patient no less. Looking around, you saw flowers, balloons and 'get well soon' cards on your bedside table. 

"Oh you're awake!" one of the other patients exclaimed. "You've been out for days. Figures you wake up when that lovely man isn't here." 

"Lovely… man?" you asked.

"Your boyfriend dear. He's been sitting in that chair there the whole time you've been here, save for bathroom breaks."

Boyfriend? You don't remember having a boyfriend. Come to think of it, you don't remember much of anything. 

"Oh, sweetheart," came a soft voice from the door to the room. 

You looked over to see a tall man in a cowboy hat, rushing to your side and taking your hand in his, kissing it and holding it to his chest. 

"You're finally awake," he said, tears pricking his eyes. 

"Who are you?" you asked, pulling your hand back. 

"Wh- sweetheart it's me, Jesse. Jesse McCree," he said, hurt in his tone. "I'll call the nurse and tell her you're finally awake."  

You watched as McCree gave you a sweet smile and stood to leave to find a nurse. You furrowed your brow, trying to remember him, your past, anything that would give you a clue into who you were. But you recalled nothing. 

McCree and a nurse arrived and she picked up the clipboard beside your bed and went through her usual questions. 

"Name?" she asked. 

You blinked for a moment. Name? You weren't quite sure. After your silence and lack of reply, she put the clipboard down and pulled McCree aside and had a hushed conversation. 

"Alright, Mr. McCree. If you're sure." They both turned back to you and the nurse flashed you a bright smile. "You're alright to go home, your darling boyfriend here is going to take great care of you." 

You blinked at McCree who also wore a bright smile. He instructed you to get your things together while he went and signed the check out documents for you. 

You felt an uneasy pang in your gut on the way to what McCree told you was your shared home. 

"Bein' home should jog some memories for you, sweetheart," he said, pulling up to the driveway and parking the car. "Welcome home." 

McCree helped you out of the car and into the house, dropping your bags by the front door and lifting you into his arms and into your bedroom. 

"Anything look familiar to you?" he asked. 

You shook your head and he gave you a tour of your home, asking if anything jogged your memory. After telling him that nothing looked familiar, he took you back to your room and laid you on the bed, telling you to get some sleep. 

"You get some sleep and I'll be right here when you wake up," he said, placing a gentle kiss to your forehead. 

Overwhelmed, you let your eyes close and you succumbed to sleep.

For years, McCree had been pining after you. The gorgeous agent who was popular, focused, talented and friendly. You were always surrounded by people who either wanted you or wanted to be you. Not that you knew that. McCree thought you were too soft; too naïve for your own good. He tried his best to get close to you and while you became very good friends, he never managed to get a date with you. You had gone on dates with other people but none of them had ever gone well. Unbeknownst to you, this was at the hands of the cowboy. 

The accident during your latest mission was horrific and left you hospitalised for weeks. No one anticipated that you would lose your memory and while everyone thought it was sad, McCree thought it was one of the best things that could have happened to you. 

"To us," he whispered, placing a soft kiss to your sleeping face.

[short-yandere-stories]

can i get headcanons on how mccree, soldier 76 and reaper treat their male!s/os different from a female one? please and thank you ! i love your work

Absolutely! Apologies for the wait.

Content Warnings: yandere behavior, mentions of punishments, non-con displays of affection and kissing, mind break, manipulation, isolation, mentions of incapacitating the reader by shooting them in the legs, mentions of withholding food as a punishment.

This is a yandere work. Proceed at your own risk and please be mindful of your triggers.

:✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧*:

:✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧*:

McCree: 

- Right off the bat, I can say that he would be less soft or lenient when his male darling is being difficult. He would be a bit harsher on punishments too, knowing that it might take more to “break” a guy than a girl to the level he wants (when they listen to him and love him but aren’t just empty shells).

- He would also be more defensive when around others. Sure, if he had a female darling he would usually be handsy in a “back off she’s taken” kind of way, but with a male darling he would hover nearby in a threatening manner more. He would also absolutely love it if any girl came up and tried to flirt with his darling so he could come swooping in and give him a kiss right in front of her to see the shock on her face.

- He’d be rougher in general, I think, mostly because the darling might be harder to “get under control”, though if the darling was pliant, he would be very soft with him, which is very unexpected.

- McCree would also love to have his head in his darling’s lap, letting him scratch his head. He would growl whenever he stopped. He loves attention but doens’t really want to admit it, and when his darling gives him attention he wants it to last for as long as it possibly can.

:✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧*:

:✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧*: Soldier 76:

- He would in a way feel safer with a male darling than a female one, I believe. In his delusional brain, he would be less likely to run away, and 76 wouldn’t be too extreme with his defensive precautions, however, should his male darling attempt an escape, 76 would snap. Locks, locks, locks and so many chains that his darling can barely shift position unless Soldier lets him. Betray his trust and the consequences will be dire.

- Unlike with a female darling, 76 wouldn’t be directly manipulative. No, he would create a fixed set of rules to be followed. The darling breaks them? The punishment is so severe that he will never “forget” the rules again. Slowly but surely, the darling will be shaped and moulded into a more compliant version of themselves, and Soldier would be pleased.

- His darling is acting exactly how he wants him to now. No escaping or screaming anymore -- and whenever Soldier gets home there is a warm meal and a hug waiting for him (albeit with more and more of a hollow look in his eyes). It’s still his darling... right?

:✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧*:

:✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧*: Reaper:

- Reaper would have pretty much the same treatment to a significant other no matter their gender. He would be pretty handsy with his darling, and since a male one has less areas to squeeze, he would just have to do it more.

- He has a zero tolerance for disobedience, and no matter the begging and promises, he will still punish his darling harshly. If the darling tries to escape, Reaper will shoot them in the legs so they can’t walk. If the darling doesn’t want him to feed them, he will simply not let them eat for days until they are a curled up sobbing mess begging for him to feed them.

- Reaper is very calculated with his moves until he has his darling completely dependent on him -- not daring to even look at anyone else. His manipulativeness would be clear to the darling at first, but after a punishment too many, they just can’t bring themselves to care anymore.

:✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧*: