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yieldtotemptation · 18 hours ago

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ANACHRONISM ft. Mina

mina x male reader smut

part one of strange currencies

14k words

Go ahead, try and pretend like any of this happened by accident.

Like you totally didn’t mean to charm some poor, pretty little thing; dazzle her with the wealth, the fame, the you of it all.

Have her spreading her legs for you, bunching her dress up over her thighs, serving herself up like she’s one of those ludicrously expensive banquets you frequent, pleading—

"God, I need you inside me, like, right this fucking second."

Because here’s the truth of it all, what you’ve come to realise about this woman who has never once in her entire life been reduced to something as pithy as poor or pretty or little; let alone anything short of extraordinary. This wildly successful, elegant to the point of being untouchable, and just really, really fucking gorgeous idol:

Nothing about Myoui Mina is accidental.

Even all this—her idea: showing up at your suite uninvited, leaning against the doorframe, panties hanging off her fingertips. Showing off how ridiculously drenched she is for you and how badly she wants you to do something about it.

If only these walls could talk.

“Hurry up,” she’s gritting out. Deadlocking the door behind her. Still not used to waiting for anything, apparently. “Come on, I need your cum. Anywhere you like. Just inside me. Now.”

You should be more surprised. Instead, you’re laughing. “Patience, darling.”

A step forward, pants hitting the floor, cock in hand. Running the tip of it across her folds, making it shiny with her slick, forcing this sigh from her lips.

You pause, just to make her whine. To make her give you what you really want to hear.

Mina bites her lip.

Squeezes her eyes shut.

She knows the deal.

"Please."

That word, that crack in the composure, the control that Mina is so used to maintaining everywhere else but here. It’s the thrill of it all—the challenge in the attempt. Taking someone like Mina, all perfect posture, sparkling teeth, effortless grace; and bringing her to her knees.

Figuratively speaking, mostly.

Only, her phone lights up.

You look down and see it, left abandoned on the floor somewhere in Mina’s rush to get to you. But now its glow is stark against the dark parquet, beaming with messages by the dozen. All different variations on the same question: where the fuck is she?

Her eyes flicker to the screen, then back up to yours. There's a silent conversation happening there—desire fighting with duty, lust with loyalty.

You make it easy for her.

A push is all it takes, really. Cunt yielding to your will, cock sliding into that ridiculous tightness.

She freezes.

Braces herself.

Whimpers.

“Priorities, Mina,” you grunt through it, breaching in deeper; assaulted by the heat of her cunt around you, choking each inch. “Remember, you asked for this.”

The phone keeps buzzing, panicked vibrations at your feet. Urgent messages becoming calls, flashing faces across the screen. You can see them one-by-one, see Mina’s reaction as they pop up—sighing when she sees her managers name, eyes widening when a rather flirty photo of Chaeyoung comes next, and then her entire body tensing, tightening around you at the next picture:

Her and her boyfriend, arms thrown around each other, both looking all beautiful and famous and so very much in love. The perfect couple; so picturesque it might as well have come right off a billboard.

“God, fuck,” Mina groans out, panting, breathless. “You’d think they’d—ah—just leave me alone for one—single—night—”

“Should we snap some photos? Add them all to a group chat, send them through? Let them see the look on your face and figure it out from there.”

Mischief flashes across her eyes, mouth open to answer back with something that is no doubt clever and suggestive and designed to get you both into far more trouble than you’re already in—but she doesn’t get a word of it out.

You’re slamming into her.

Mina nearly comes apart then and there; eyes snapping shut, neck arching, back banging against the hard, unforgiving wood of the door behind her. Her lips round into this perfect ‘O’ of surprise, and this sweet, sweet needy whine comes slipping out from her throat.

And just like that, she’s all yours again.

It’s not like the phone goes silent—it just stops mattering.

“Asshole,” she’s saying—grinning now, doing that Mina thing where she says one thing but means another, expecting you to read the underneath. Which this time is—touch me, pull me close, pin me and keep me fucking trapped while you fuck the air right out of my lungs.

“Now there’s an idea.” You’re kissing her, tongue past her lips, tasting the rush of the forbidden, the lines she’s crossing just so she can have you filling up her cunt.

And there’s all this noise—the sound of your cock thrusting into her, skin against skin, shaft into wetness; the buzzing of the phone, her cries of your name dying in your mouth.

Oh, you know it’s going to be brutal if anyone was to overhear, if you’re caught and all this gets out. The narratives that will be crafted, the cliché of it all, the sizzling hot headlines that will undoubtedly paint her, as they are wont to do, in a million different unfair ways.

Seductress. Gold-digger. Slut.

But even as you’re fucking her deep, lips marking up her skin, digging your fingers into the meat of her ass and making Mina cum so hard that all she can say is— “please, please, please,”

—you know the facts, no matter who’s begging who under the shine of the outrageously garish chandelier hanging overhead:

You're the one that chased her first.

—

(It’s incredibly fitting that this whole thing started with a celebration.)

—

Taking a step back, to months earlier, at a gala:

Where it’s becoming apparent to you, and seemingly, just you, that Mina’s the only one here that doesn’t look entirely out of place.

Or at least, she’s the only one that seems to fit amongst the grandeur; the imposing pillars and archways, the ornate cornices, the glint of gold and jade beneath the soft glow of paper lanterns, and the shadow of the palace itself, cast over the sprawling garden like a looming guardian.

The anachronism of it all is the concept, or so you’ve been told. The new, the future—your company—against the backdrop of the old, the traditional. A fusion event, meant to celebrate and honour the past right before yanking it to the future; and yet it all somehow feels so…

Boring.

The same faces, the same games; sharks in a sea of corporate sabotage and political machinations. They’ll smile for you, sing your praises to the highest heavens, do everything they can to make you remember their name—right up until the moment you show your back.

All this to say, it’s going to be very hard to last four hours without wanting to punch someone in the face just to make things slightly more interesting.

(Oh come, one and all. Throw yourselves at the feet of Korea’s youngest self-made billionaire, and hope that by some stroke of luck or misplaced charm, you might just catch a crumb from his table.

That’s what this whole exhausting circus feels like to you.)

So, when you’re about done with what seems like the hundredth round of fake laughs and vacuous pleasantries with yet another politician who’s trying to sell you on the importance of family, and coincidentally, his very marriageable daughter, you make your escape.

Something about needing a drink.

Ease out of the circle, let the noise of the gala swallow you up like you were never there, and navigate across the garden to the bar.

Where you find her.

Mina, something of an anachronism herself; looking more at home amongst the pagodas and the cherry blossoms than in the company of suits and ties and plastic smiles. Like she’s been painted onto the scene; rendered in living colour—stark white, midnight black, blue silk. Or cobalt. Maybe azure.

You’ll have to reserve some time later to ask her about the colour of her dress.

What’s important is that she’s alone, which seems like a crime in and of itself, on account of, well, how fucking breathtaking she is. Add that she’s here at all, and it all amounts to some kind of serendipitous miracle.

(An idol, a celebrity, willingly spending her free time in the company of the elitist dregs of society? The world's gone mad.)

You don’t really need an excuse to join her; you know her, technically. Not intimately, but in that same way that everyone in this high society tapestry is threaded together. An award show here, a charity function there—the kind of acquaintance that lets you say hello without raising eyebrows, but not much more.

All this to say it makes some sense to slide yourself onto the barstool to her right, ignoring that the rest are completely unoccupied.

The smile that Mina gives you as you approach is a little sharper than it needs to be, a little too knowing.

“You’re not going to ask if this seat’s taken?”

You return the smile, a mirror image of hers, and lean onto the bar. You don’t even need to look at the bartender; your drink is in your hand, cold and crisp, the second you set it down. “I thought I’d risk it.”

“Neat trick,” Mina says, posting her chin on one hand, watching the sleek liquid slide down your throat. She’s got a flute of champagne in front of her, untouched.

There’s a gravity to her, you’re realising only when you’re this close. Something in the way the moonlight's kissing her skin, a blend of porcelain and peaches, glowing. Maybe that’s why she’s been left alone; the other guests were smart enough not to get swallowed up in it all. Better to appreciate at a distance than to drown in it.

She regards you for a beat, runs a finger around the rim of her glass. "Shouldn't you be off being the centre of attention somewhere? Shaking hands, kissing babies, that whole bag?”

“Nah," you’re dismissive, looking back out to the crowd milling about, lost in their own conversations and power plays. "This whole thing's more for them than it is for me."

Mina scoffs. Raises a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. You follow her eyes—across the banners, the placards, the giant projection cast onto the palace itself.

A brushstroke circle—the logo you designed—swirling around, stamping itself on what was once a symbol of absolute power, now reduced to just another stage for the rich and the elite and all their insignificant little games.

You feel the need to clarify. “For the company.”

Mina ripostes. “That just so happens to be named after you.”

“Just one of those funny coincidences.”

“Apparently so.”

It does occur to you that it should be somewhat startling how instantly familiar you feel around Mina. Slipping into casual conversation—light jabs, coded compliments; all soaked in insinuation. Just enough edge and implication to keep you on your toes.

There's an ease to her, to how she smiles, how she laughs, how she just sits there, all drop-dead gorgeous and oh, this? Nothing special, just how I always am.

So it’s only natural that somewhere in all this easy banter, between your third drink and her second, her hand lands on your forearm, your knee brushes against hers and you both decide to stop being so subtle.

You pick your moment, as she’s thumbing through a menu of drinks she’s already deciding she doesn’t want, to try to solve the mystery of her. Past the red of her lips, the edge of her jaw, the hollow of her throat. Along the neckline of her dress, where the silk clings like it’s afraid of letting go, and down to where it dips and angles out; the open shoulder, the collarbone, the swell underneath.

It’s the sum of it all, you’re realising. The dress, the look, the woman.

(Accentuate without revealing. Tease without giving away the prize. Show off that flawless ass and dare the world not to look. And yeah, they fucking look. They all do.

You’re just the only one that doesn’t look away when you're caught.)

But now, you could reach out and touch her; unlatch the straps of her heels, run your fingers from her ankle up, up over the smooth expanse of her calf, her knee, the bare skin of her thigh right where her dress decides to daringly split, and underneath, until your hand is filled with the heat of her and all she knows is you.

You could complete her. Or she, you, you think.

Only, there’s a slight misstep in an otherwise immaculate ensemble.

A necklace.

A ridiculous, ugly, tacky thing. Hanging off her like a misplaced jewel on a swan; more ‘costume party’ than ‘refined modern gala’. Fighting the simplicity of her gown, offensively jarring, especially against the serenity of the moonlit garden.

Mina notices you staring. “A gift.”

“Boyfriend,” you realise, doing the math in your head. A careless present, given by someone who doesn’t know (or doesn’t care to know) her. Hoping the flash, the dollars spent overshadows the unfamiliarity.

(It doesn’t.)

“Partner,” Mina confirms. There’s a slight dip at the corner of her mouth, a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it flash of something unpleasant. It disappears as soon as it comes, but you caught it. “A little too old to have a boyfriend.”

“Hm.” You click your tongue. Narrow your eyes. You’ve been told that it makes you appear disarming. “And where is this partner?”

Mina’s smile returns. She takes her first sip of champagne. “You tell me. Don’t you sign off on all the invites?”

“Just the important ones.”

“Even so, not like he would have come if he was invited.” Mina leaves you to fill in the gaps. “A tad too public. For the both of us, really.”

“I see.”

And you do. You’ve seen your fair share of these types of arrangements, participated in a few, even. At the beginning, the secret of it all, the cloak and dagger; it’s exhilarating. But that only lasts so long. Eventually, like all things, it fades. Leaving you with someone who you don’t really see, who you don’t even know, and the sinking realisation that maybe the thrill was the only thing that kept it interesting.

“So,” you lean forward, drawing your conclusion. “You’re here. All alone. Stuck in a relationship with someone dumb enough to let you go out looking like that.”

“Careful.”

“It’s just,” you offer, your gaze lingering on her throat, “You don’t strike me as the type to settle for anything less than you deserve, Mina.”

That makes Mina pause. Almost flinch. Imperceptibly if you weren’t looking so closely at her lips. The sound of her name rolling off your tongue, like it's always been there, waiting to escape—it has her reeling.

And yet, somehow, she recovers.

“Because you know me so well.”

So, you switch up, throw a curveball. “Is it the sex?”

To her credit, Mina barely reacts to that provocation, as if she was expecting the follow up. Just takes another sip of her champagne with a grace that seems rehearsed. You’ll have to try harder.

She shrugs a bare shoulder.

"Sex is just sex. It’s not everything."

“So, no sex at all, then.”

Mina’s smile is like a knife’s edge. “Are you always this forward?”

“All I’m saying,” you keep going, somewhat emboldened by the game, by the warmth of the whiskey poisoning your kidneys. “If it was me—”

Mina’s hand slides up your forearm, ending somewhere around your triceps. You’re close. Close enough to inhale her perfume; cinnamon, smoke, darker than anticipated. You’d fill your lungs with it, if you could. “If it was you.”

You take another drink. She watches.

And it clicks into place. What this really is. What she’s really doing here.

The slight tilt of her shoulder, a slip of her dress—just a fraction. A shift in her seat and suddenly, the silk has risen, too high, and there’s a stretch of skin leading up to a flash of lace that’s more moonlit than the night itself.

The suspicion sets in. Was she waiting for you?

Mina laughs.

You ask, “What’s so funny?”

“I was just thinking,” Mina says, lowly. Grinning, like she’s reading your mind. “How even you’re the same.”

“How so?”

“All you men. How you see me, how you’re looking at me right now.” She reaches up to her neck, taps the clunky stone hovering over her throat. Once. Twice. “Making it about you. You think I need saving.”

You open your mouth. Close it. Open once more to protest—

“That’s what you think.” Mina interrupts, smirks; and your eyes are on her lips, wondering if anyone would be able to pull you off them if you were so lucky enough to taste them. “What you want is to own me.”

“Mina,” you regard her, openly. Honestly. “I could never dream of owning you.”

She nods back towards your logo, emblazoned across the castle walls. “Because you’re clearly not the type of person that likes owning things.”

And there’s a realisation here, as she’s staring into your eyes—a real, actual, bone-deep revelation—that she's been doing the same thing as you this whole time. Reading you, until she's seeing through you.

The silence stretches, thick and sweet , and it’s obvious to see where this is heading. The idea that’s being sparked—lean in, kiss her right here, right now, with all these eyes on you. Kiss that smirk right off her face, steal whatever clever rebuttals she’s composing from her lips, the flirtations that she’s left hanging in the air. Replace them all with your name.

But it’s all hypothetical, for now.

“You’re not even thinking past right now, are you?” Mina asks, amused. "The rumours you've started just by sitting next to me."

"Rumours."

"The kind that ruins careers. That never leave. That would make him want to kill you if he found out."

Another sip, letting it burn down your throat. Think about it. Attack it from every angle—

(Doesn’t it just make sense; the billionaire, and his beautiful celebrity partner? Or even if there was a scandal, just a one-night fling; wouldn’t it be worth it?

You could both live off the thrill alone, it’d reignite whatever embers her boyfriend hasn’t stomped out yet.)

“Maybe I want the rumours.”

Mina’s eyes widen. It’s the first time she’s dropped her guard.

“If you were mine,” you start, and stop immediately, reining in that last word on the tip of your tongue. “If you were my girlfriend, partner, whatever label you want to put on it. I’d tell the whole damn world. Broadcast it on every channel. Make sure everyone knows exactly who I’m fucking every single morning, afternoon, night.”

You’re hitting the mark of something, you can tell, because Mina’s hand tightens around your arm, and she doesn't seem to mind when yours lands on her thigh. A flash; the thought of spreading them, of seeing her laid bare underneath you. Or flipped over in front of you, crumpling that dress around her waist, so you can take proper purchase of that ass that’s been hinted at all night long.

And all of a sudden, she doesn't seem to be as spoken for as she might have led you to believe.

She bites her lip. Keeps it there for a second, two, before letting it go.

“So, this is what you usually say to all the pretty girls you invite to these parties?”

The alcohol’s loosened your tongue enough to state truths you’re supposed to keep to yourself. “I usually don’t have to say anything at all.”

Mina challenges. “Must be nice, being this rich, cute, and charming.”

“The being rich part does a lot of the hard work.”

“So, the cuteness and the charm?”

“I’ll let you decide,” you finish, watching her smile spread, the corners of her eyes crinkle. It makes your chest tighten.

“I suppose, in your perfect world,” Mina surmises, and now she’s so close that your knee is splitting the difference between her thighs, and you’re already planning the logistics of it all—the where, the how— “this ends with you fucking my brains out behind one of these old houses.”

“I’ve got a few in mind.”

“I bet.” Mina takes one last pull of her drink, empties it, and sets it back down. “And afterwards? After you’ve made me forget my own name and made the entirety of my existence revolve around your cock—what’s your plan then? Who are we—who are you going to be?"

You finish off your own glass, setting it down with the same deliberate clink as hers. “You know, the funny thing about money is," you say, sliding your fingers up her thigh, higher, higher. "It can make you whoever you want to be. So, the real question is—who do you want me to be?"

You’re holding your breath as she answers: “Not some knight in shining armour. I don’t need a saviour. If that’s what you’re thinking.”

“Then what do you need?”

Mina inches, gets close, and now her breath’s a tickle on the shell of your ear. She bites. “Just someone to help me scratch an itch.”

There’s a moment, somewhere before Mina threads her fingers through yours, lets you lead her through the throngs of guests and into the shadows of the palace; where all of this—this want, this need, boils over. Where Mina kisses your cheek and warns:

“You don’t have the time for me.”

Now it’s your turn to grin; reaching up to her throat, slipping that necklace off her, leaving it to clatter onto the granite below never to be spoken of again.

“Maybe. But I can make every second count.”

—

This is how you end up:

Pinning Mina to some ancient wall; the moon’s spotlight spilling over the contours of her body, a hand tangled in her hair, the other pushing her dress higher up her thighs.

You weren’t lying, you did have a place in mind. Namely, by the west gate, where a house that used to be the servant’s quarters stood. It’s a part of the palace that’s been neglected in the reconstruction, and thus, ironically, the most authentic part of this whole sham.

A true hideaway for those not to be seen or heard; a building that’s seen centuries of service, of lives lived in the shadow of royalty, and now it’s going to bear witness to this, to you and Mina, undoing each other with every passing second.

Something a little sacred, a whole lot profane.

She’s smiling against your lips; a smirk, more likely. Because she’s new to this kind of thing—the almost romantic picture the two of you are painting—chaste kisses stolen in quiet corners of royal residences. The kind of thing that could fuel a dozen dramas.

But you both know better.

So, you let her start things off, let her set the pace for this evening's affairs. And Mina, to her credit, is gracious enough to tell you exactly what she wants.

(Kiss me harder, touch me here, please, please, don't let go.)

Twisting the lapels of your jacket in her hand, desperately pulling you closer, even though there's no more room left. Kissing you with longing. Making you believe that she's missed this—missed you—despite the fact that you've only just officially met. And sure, it's a lie, but it's a lie that feels so good, so right, that you’re willing to indulge her.

Indulge yourself.

Your lips veer off the corner of her mouth, ignoring the tongue and teeth that try to keep you there, the hand that kindly urges you to not stop kissing her.

Because you’ve got a ticking clock in the back of your mind, counting down the seconds before someone calls you or her away, or more problematically, catches you and her, a heap of limbs and lust and fucking in the dusty archives of history.

You break away, keep things moving, kiss your way along her neck, feel her heartbeat drum against your lips. Follow her neckline down, down; find this sweet little spot, a darkened freckle right on top of her collarbone that makes her sigh.

“Tell me something, honestly.” Mina finds her voice the same time your fingers meet the promised lace of her underwear, turning her words into these breathless moans. “How often do you do this?”

You tug the fabric pooling at her waist—once, firmly—and Mina’s dress slips from her shoulders, whispering down her arms and leaving her in nothing but flawless white and a strapless bra that matches the silk in hue.

You smile, look up. “This?”

Mina clarifies, "Whisk some innocent girl away into a deserted corner and—"

She’s cut off by the click-clack of her bra releasing behind her back, your fingers slipping beneath the cotton, and you’re filling your hand with the swell of her breast; so soft, so perfect.

The sound when you touch her and she gasps; if only you could capture, keep it forever. You’ll just have to make sure she keeps making it—kneading gently, rolling the pebbled peak of her nipple between your thumb and forefinger, feeling it bead and tighten.

Your lips to her shoulder, you ask, “And what?”

Mina sighs, “fuck her completely, thoroughly senseless,” and you swear there’s something revelatory about how she says it—sinful ideas from saintly lips.

"Honestly?" You pause, your gaze lingering on the goosebumps rising across her skin. "You're the first."

Her laughter's a surprise; it's light, disbelieving. "First?"

"First tonight."

Mina's smile widens, her grip on your jacket tightens. "You're so full of shit," she says, but there's no malice in it. Just the thrill of the hunt. Or, being hunted.

You don’t bother to argue the point; let her think what she wants. Instead, you lean into it (into her), let your other hand snake around her thigh, over the elastic of her panties and lower, until you’re palming the curve of her ass.

Firm, taut, flawless—because of course it is; exactly like the rest of her. She’s so hot under your touch; the softness, the smoothness of it. And you know—without a doubt—you’re going to worship this ass.

A squeeze for good measure—balancing the fine line of respect and greed. Mina yelps—surprise, pleasure.

“God,” Mina shudders, does her best under the assault of your lips on her neck, fingers pinching, tugging, hand squeezing. "You're—oh, you're not so bad at this."

You press a kiss to her throat. “Flattery gets you everywhere, Miss Myoui.”

“Please, not with the government names,” Mina hisses, her cheeks flushing a soft pink that matches the glow of the lanterns outside.

“Apologies.” You chuckle, slipping your hand underneath the band of her panties, and around—down—pressing against her and sinking lower until you’ve got a proper hold of her. Soaking wet and dripping heat onto your fingertips.

A cry from her lips. A shiver. A buck of her hips.

Her hands shoot to your chest.

“Please, kiss me again.”

You oblige—how could you not, with the way she’s begging?

Her nails dig into your shirt, her breath hitches as you push your finger—your index—past her entrance and inside, and just before she can moan your name into the night air, you’re filling her mouth with your tongue, licking inside.

You kiss her like it’s your first kiss, like it’s your last. Like the only way to calm her down is with your mouth and your tongue and your teeth. She’s so wet and tight and pulsing around you, she’s trying to suck you in; and fuck, when you’re knuckle-deep she bites down on your lip so hard she nearly draws blood.

The moans that she's filling your mouth with; this symphony of want sends a jolt of pure, unfiltered desire straight to your cock. You're straining—against your trousers, against her thigh, straining against the urge to rip that dress off her and leave her bare, but you're not there yet.

It's about her, about needing her, making her beg for it. Making her so desperate that she'll do just about anything to get you inside her.

(Because there’s something about her, about Mina, that just makes you want to take your time. To learn the ins and outs of what makes her tick. The secret spots that make her moan into your mouth, the places to touch that make her shiver, the sighs and sounds that only you can coax out of her.

It’s etched into every line of her body; every curve and sharp edge—just pure heat from head to toe; And there’s a beauty so absolute in her perfection, the dash of makeup, the careful draping of her hair, it’s too good not to ruin. To not want to leave your mark on her in some way so that everyone knows she was once yours, if only for a night.)

“You’re just so needy, Mina.” You hum into her jaw, when your lips slip from hers and you struggle to resist the urge to leave these marks on her. Her cheek, her neck, her collarbone. Every part of her that she’s offered to you, every part you’re eager to claim. “Like it’s been ages since someone’s touched you like this.”

“I don’t—please—” is all Mina can manage, because the pad of your thumb is ghosting over her clit, pressing in and circling, and the way her pitch rises and she sighs your name gives you your answer:

It’s been a while.

“I don’t think—gah—” She tries agin, but you torture her with another finger, stretching inside her, sinking in and curling upwards. “I don’t think I’ve ever been touched like this.”

“Good,” you tell her, and she shivers when your voice rumbles through her, when you drop down and your lips go low again, and you take one of her stiff peaks between your teeth. “I don’t settle for second place.”

“Neither do—God—I—” Mina braces herself against the wall behind her, failing to find anything but cold brick to hold onto as you map out the rest of her with your hands and your fingers and your lips.

She’s so, so hot for you; you would’ve never predicted it, not in your wildest estimations. Never thought just how easy it would be to undo someone so poised and put-together like Mina, to render her into this puddle of need.

“So why don’t you show me then,” Mina breathes, voice trembling as much as she is. You suck deep, swirl your tongue, make her arch her back to push more of herself into you. “What all the—oh my—what all the fuss is about."

“As you wish, darling.”

And there’s part of you that’s recognising the awfulness of what you’re doing, taking something—someone—that’s not yours, and having her tell you all these things, finger fucking these words of oblivion from her lips, touch me, please I need it, kiss me harder, more, more, make me feel it, make me feel you.

But even that part of you is so, so small right now, buried deep down with everything that isn’t Mina, with everything that isn’t her pussy clenching around your hand, or the taste of tits on your tongue.

Ignore all thoughts of the after, of what happens when you’ve made her cum again and again, and you’ve wrecked yourself in the pursuit of it all. What happens when you return to the throngs of nobodies, all rumpled and flushed and red, and the whispers start flying, and the glances are no longer just knowing but shamelessly envious.

That’s a problem for future you.

Right now, you’ve nearly stripped her entirely, pressed up against a wall that’s seen more than its fair share of secrets, and your two—now three—fingers are ruining her in a way that has her dancing on that borderline.

“I’m close, so close,” Mina cries, but you already know.

Because you’re already giving it to her; everything she wants and then some. Touching her, fucking her with your fingers, pushing her higher, watching her unravel.

Making her whine against your skin, making her eyes squeeze shut like she’s afraid of what’s happening, afraid of how much she wants this.

“We’re only just getting started, Mina.”

You let her nipple pop out from your mouth, leaving it to bob in the cool night air, sensitive and dying to be back between your teeth. Hand shifts from her hip, sliding up to cradle her jaw, to tip her face back—force those deep, dark eyes to open so you can really look at her.

Panting, pupils blown wide, and the sight of her so undone sends another wave of heat straight to your cock.

“Look at me.” It comes out harsher, more of a firm command than intended. It does its job. “You're going to cum now.”

She nods, frantically, eyes locked on yours as your thumb traces over her bottom lip, feeling it plump and swollen from your kisses. Her tongue darts out, swipes over the pad, tasting herself and you; and you’re thinking about filling that mouth of hers, or maybe that cunt, or if she’s game, that tight, untouched little asshole.

But one thing at a time.

“I’m going to eat your pussy,” you’re saying everything you’ve dreamt of saying to her since you first saw her, first caught sight of that ass daring to wander past your line of sight; and suddenly, every raw, filthy thought you’ve had of her is coming to the surface. “Then I’m going to fuck you. Again and again. Your cunt, your mouth. That ass. I’m going to take it all. And you’re going to let me, aren’t you, darling?”

Mina breathes, nods, signing a verbal contract to let you do whatever the fuck you want with her, promising you all of her, every part of her you’ve so shamelessly craved.

“Good.”

And so, you drop to your knees.

You glance up at her. She looks down at you.

Like she’s been burning for this; like she’ll combust if you make her wait a second longer.

Pushing her dress up until it's around her waist, keeping it up with your hands on her thighs, spreading her legs wider. And you’re seeing her pussy, the darkened, plump flesh—bare, wet, begging—and so, so pretty.

Fuck—what kind of guy could resist this?

(The kind that buys her jewellery without knowing the first thing about her. The kind that leaves her to sit alone at a gala like a trophy on a shelf. The kind that doesn’t get to taste her—doesn’t know how.

The kind that’s not you.

And maybe she was right—you do think you could save her.)

“What are you doing?” Mina huffs, impatient.

You smirk, unable to resist the urge to drag this out, to keep her on edge a little longer. "Just appreciating."

Mina's eyes narrow, but the smile never leaves her lips. "Well, appreciate faster."

You don’t need to be told twice.

Take her by the hips, spin her around, make her inhale—sharp. Force her to look away from you, to face the cold, indifferent wall, to brace herself.

“Wait, why—”

“Hold your dress up for me,” you mumble against her thighs.

Mina’s hands obey, holding the silk out of the way; and now she’s bent over, like a fucking present. Letting your eyes drink in her ass; unable to do anything but just stare.

How the moonlight kisses the curve, makes the shadows play against it. So perfect. So round and tight and full. Fruit so ripe you could pluck it from the tree with your teeth.

You’re leaning in, kissing the top of her thighs, right below where her cheeks spill over. Kissing up, a soft press of your lips to one cheek, the other, and fuck Mina’s trembling; barely holding it together, and you’re just getting started.

You drag your nose up, across the cotton of her panties and inhale her deep. Sweet and musky, a fine wine that’s been left to breathe, and she squirms.

Shivers under your breath.

And when Mina sighs something that sounds suspiciously like a warning—because she’s not the type to let you get away with anything like this so easily—you take the band of her underwear with your teeth, feeling the fabric stretch. Thin, delicate, begging to snap.

The panties fall away, down to her ankles. The sound of her heels tapping the ground as she lifts her legs to let it slide off, leaving her bare, vulnerable, and yours.

Mina goes still.

Hands spread her cheeks, and finally, you dive in, tongue first. Swipe along the crevice of her ass, taste the sweetness of her from bottom to top, forcing this gasp from her lips. You’re not shy about it—no room for anything close to it when your nose is pressed up against her asshole—and Mina’s thighs are trembling, muscles in her legs tightening like she’s trying to run away from what’s coming next.

But she won’t. You’ve got her pinned. You’ve got her right where she wants to be.

You flatten your tongue against her pussy, lick from cunt to asshole in one, long slow drag, make her sigh your name like it’s a prayer.

“I can’t believe—I never—no one’s ever—” She’s talking, trying to keep it together, trying to rationalise how something so filthy is making her fall apart in a million different, tremendous ways. But the words break off into moans, pure music to your ears.

“Like that?” You murmur against her skin, words disappearing into her.

“Oh my god, yes,” Mina cries out, a benediction. Her grip tightens on her dress, holding it up like a veil. A fucked-up kind of thing, marrying her cunt to your lips; arousal so potent you’re drowning it.

Because she’s a wreck, been a wreck since the moment you laid a hand on her. And now you just have to keep her there.

You let your tongue slide up and down her slit, teasing the folds, going lower, spreading her legs to lap up her clit until she’s begging for it—until she’s begging for you to push inside, to fuck her with it, to make her scream.

"Enjoy it, enjoy being so messy for me.”

"Oh—oh my God!" Mina cries out as you delve into her, and the sound echoes down empty corridors, bouncing off the walls, taking a grand tour of the palace. “I can’t believe—can’t fucking believe—"

You can't believe it either. That no one else has had the pleasure of tasting, of licking, of dining on this slice of Eden laid out before you. It's a crime against nature, really. A sin that you're more than happy to rectify.

"Fuck, you're so good," Mina voice is strained, her legs buckling under the weight of her own desire, she needs to post one hand onto the wall to not completely collapse into your mouth.

A dark chuckle escapes your lips. Feeling smug and utterly in control. "It's not rocket science, darling. Just a little bit of appreciation goes a long way."

But you're not just tonguing her ass because it’s there, because it’s what you’re into. You’re doing it because it’s driving her wild, because you know it’s a button that’s been left untouched, unexplored. And there’s something about being the first to do it that makes your cock throb, makes you want to worship not just her ass, but all of her.

Every part of her that's been neglected, overlooked, ignored.

"You have no idea," she breathes, her legs trembling harder now, "How good it feels."

You lean back, just a fraction, looking up at her, the tension coiling up her spine. "Oh, darling," you say, "I do. Believe me, I do."

A kiss into the small of her back, and you slide your finger back into her, once at first. So impossibly wet, stretching so easily for you, welcoming you right back in.

It’s all for you.

And you can’t get enough, so you add another, then another, stretching her even more, making her drench you and moan for you louder and louder.

You’ve figured it out. How to fuck her, lick her, press into her cunt just right. Finding the rhythm, that makes her breath skip and her body tense, that makes her pussy clamp down around your digits.

“Oh, God, oh, oh, oh—yes—right there—right there—” She’s panting, her hips jerking back, meeting every thrust of your fingers and your tongue.

You’re so close to making her cum—so close that you can almost taste it on the air—and she’s begging for it, so sweetly, so desperately.

“Please, please, don’t stop, I’m right there—” Mina’s hand reaches back, tangling in your hair, and she’s pulling you closer, grinding herself against your mouth.

Bury your face between her cheeks, fuck her fast with your fingers. It’s heaven down in the depths of hell; her thighs, her cheeks, her cunt, her ass. So soft, so wet, so very yours.

That whimper, that beautiful sigh that escapes Mina’s lips is her final invitation. You push your tongue inside her, opening it up, feeling the tightness, the warmth. The shock coursing through her as she surrenders to the unspeakable filth and bliss of your mouth on her asshole.

So tight, so clean, so delicious.

You lick and suck and kiss, fucking her with your fingers, pressing into her, exploring the depths of that tight little hole.

"This is, this is—” her voice strains, wonder, desperation, downright heat at what you’re doing to her. "No one’s ever done this to me. Keep eating my ass, please."

It’s her words that keeps you going, and it all becomes a blur of moans and shivers, of the way she tastes, smells, feels. But you don’t stop, you can’t, all you want to do is make that tight ring of muscle yours.

“Please let me cum. Now. Please. I need it—I need you—”

She needs you to never stop.

You take her, right there in the moonlit garden, hidden by the shadows and the foliage and the silk of her dress. You can almost feel the vibrations of her voice in your mouth, against your tongue, like it’s a part of her, like she’s speaking straight into your soul with every moan and gasp and plea.

The squelch of your fingers fucking her. Her cunt griping you, being devoured. Your tongue invading her ass. The way you’re ruining her for everyone else. Her cries.

She’s so loud.

It doesn’t matter.

The whispers of the gala seem so far away, so irrelevant. It’s all about Mina and her ass and your three fingers sawing in and out of her and she’s saying—

“God, fuck, how can you do this, how can you make me—fuck—"

The answer to her unfinished question: it’s because she’s worth it. It’s because of her, how she makes you want to prove yourself. Because of her hips and her thighs and her cunt and her ass and all of her, every single part.

And that’s your name on her breath, that’s your name when she’s close, that’s your name when she finally tips over, when her legs give way and she’s gasping it into the night.

“Oh my—”

Mina cums.

You swallow.

Drink your fill from her cunt, fill up your nose with her scent. Burn the memory of what it’s like to have your face buried in her ass and have her leaking down your chin. It’s a full body spasm that wracks through her, setting her soul on fire. She’s a star, a supernova, a fucking explosion on your tongue.

Her walls pulse around your fingers, squeezing, clenching, and you give it to her, keep fucking her through it, keep licking, because she’s still there, still hovering.

It overwhelms her—she lets it—you feel her body tighten, quiver, then release like a bowstring snapped.

“Fuck me, fuck me, please—yes, like that—right—right there—yes—yes—yes—”

A chant of yeses right before falling off a cliff and into an oh fuck, I’m cumming.

And you’re right there, knees in the dirt, smiling against her cheeks, holding onto her hips, making sure she doesn’t collapse entirely.

And fuck, she goes, and goes and goes.

Until the ground falls beneath her feet.

You’re there to catch her, to ease her down to the ground with you, hold her in your arms until her world stops spinning.

It takes a moment, two.

And she looks up at you, like she’s unsure of how she got there, in this tangle of sighs and limbs and you. But it doesn’t really matter because she pulls you closer, hand still buried in your hair, needing to kiss you just one more time.

Her taste lingers on your tongue—sweet and salty and so uniquely her. She kisses you again, a little less frantic this time. A little more like she means it.

It’s hard not to feel anything but pride.

Mina’s cheek is pressed to your chest, her eyes barely able to focus, her breaths coming in quiet, contented puffs.

And you’re coming to realise what kind of woman Mina is. Even now, when she should be an unrepairable mess—sprawled out on the cool floor with her dress in a puddle around her, her pussy still pulsing and leaking down her thighs—there’s this poise to her that’s downright intimidating.

She breathes, “You’re just a fantasy, aren’t you?” It feels like a warm hand sliding down your spine.

You lean down, kiss her forehead, tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

It’s peaceful. It’s perfect.

And then your emergency line rings.

Mina inclines her head. A spell is broken. “Well, that’s timing for you.”

You instantly regret the next words that come out of your mouth, the rational words that have never sounded more irrational. “I need to go.”

Mina’s far too polite, far too graceful to say what she wants to say, what you’re pleading her in your mind to say. But she knows the game. You both do.

She just nods, rewards herself with a peek at the tent angrily poking underneath your slacks.

“It’s fine,” she says. (It’s not). She reaches up to your lips, running a thumb over the gloss she’s stained you with. “I think I can handle it from here.”

Her other hand slips down to your thigh, gives you a courtesy squeeze as a farewell, and it’s all you can do not to jump. But you can’t, because the phone’s still ringing, because at the end of the day you’re still a billionaire with responsibilities and a reputation to uphold.

She’s kind of enough to give you an out. “You’re supposed to be giving a speech, right?”

Said responsibility and reputation has you answering, “Yeah.”

You’re stupid for it, stupid for even entertaining the idea of letting her go, or leaving her behind. But you’re not completely blameless—it’s near impossible to even think straight when all the blood in your body has gone south for the evening.

“Are you going to be okay with,” Mina blinks down at you. “Your situation?”

It’s painful to even say it. “I guess I’ll have to be.”

Mina sits up, pulls herself off you, untangling her legs with a grace that seems almost otherworldly. Pulls her panties back up, tucks them into place with a little shiver. Smooths her dress down, twisting it back in place.

You’re already regretting letting her leave before she’s even gone.

But the messages have piled up on your phone, and Mina can see it all, the endless frantic texts, the missed calls.

You’re late.

You’re needed.

The world’s waiting.

Mina reads your face, and you can’t tell if she’s impressed or disappointed. “Looks like you’ve got your hands full.”

You stand up, help her to her feet, because that’s what you do—you take care of your own messes. She’s still smiling at you, and you want to tell her how much you wish you could stay.

“It’s okay,” is all she says, as you tuck your shirt back in and slick your hair down.

She’s redoing her own hair, trying to fix it into something presentable. Something less ‘I’ve been fucked raw against a brick wall’ and more ‘gee, quite a strong wind tonight’.

“I knew from the jump you didn’t have the time.”

You’re blurting out, “I can make more.”

“Not even money can buy that.”

Your phone rings again.

Mina’s eyes follow the screen, the glow lighting up her face. Ethereal. Yeah, that's the word for how she looks. You've never been sure of the definition but you're certain it fits.

And when she stands on her toes to kiss your cheek, to bid you farewell, she holds onto your shoulder long enough to whisper her address in your ear. “I’ll be waiting. If you can get away.”

“Why don’t I just come with you now?”

She laughs—but it’s empty, almost a little sad. “Because, you have a job to do, and I have an appearance to keep up. And unlike you, I’m not quite sure I’m ready to broadcast to the whole world who I’m fucking. Or who I’m going to fuck. If he’s not late, that is.”

And with a quiet breath, she’s gone.

A ghost in the moonlight, slipping away like she’s been painted out of existence, leaving you with the memory of her on your mouth and the ache she’s leaving in your cock.

You turn back to the gala.

The air feels somewhat colder.

—

The rest of the evening goes far, far too slowly for your liking.

While your absence has been noted, the whispers and glances are more curious than concerned. They don't know where you've been, and one of your assistants is kind enough to fetch you a new shirt to replace the one that's smudged with lipstick and makeup and Mina, before any real juicy rumours can start.

You try, and fail, to get things moving as quickly as possible:

(A business rival pulls you aside to congratulate you on the recent product launch—You're just thinking about Mina's ass.

A board member sings your praises about last quarter’s earnings, how you're really sticking it to those idiots that forecasted a downturn—You're only thinking about sticking it between Mina's thighs.

A reporter that sneaked in wants to know if you're planning another acquisition so soon after the last one—Yes, you're going to acquire Mina; find somewhere far away from here with another wall to pin her against and make her scream and ache all over for you.)

Thankfully, your assistant is at the ready before you can really make a scene, dragging you over to the stage and pulling you out of this shit show.

‘Just stepped away for some air’ is what you had assured her when she took the shirt off your hands, but really, there's no point trying to hide it.

She's seen that look before, that glow that you can't quite wipe off.

But she's loyal, she doesn't ask questions. Just tells you that you’re on in five, and that in the meantime, she’ll make sure the driver is ready for a quick exit.

So, you force yourself to smile, address the faces that meld together into a wall of teeth.

Make a speech that’s just a rush of words that you've recited countless times before. Innovation and growth, the future of the company, the same spiel from the annual report wrapped up in a shiny new bow.

But none of it matters. You're not even hearing yourself speak. You're hearing the echoes of Mina's moans, feeling the tremble of her thighs as you devoured her, replaying her orgasm in your mind again and again.

You can't wait to get off this fucking stage.

The second the applause dies down, you're off like a shot. The podium forgotten; the spotlight cold on your back. You grab your phone and slip out of the garden, dodging the eager hands that reach out for just a second of your time.

You find your driver waiting, just as instructed; Mina's address already punched in the navigation.

Just go, drop me off. Don't stick around. I'll call you to pick me up in the morning.

—

“It was cerulean,” is Mina’s amused answer to your admittedly idiotic question.

Not your best moment, to be fair. You raced up to her apartment so quickly that you really didn’t have anything more intelligent to say than ‘what happened to your dress?’ and ‘I wanted to know what colour it was’.

But still, show you the person living or dead that could have said anything coherent when being greeted by Mina, opening the door to her apartment—so unashamedly smug, and so very naked.

So what if you just stood there and stared?

Stared at the curves and dips, the way her hair cascades over her shoulders in inky waves, damp from a shower; making it cling to her skin, drape over her collarbone, her breasts. The nipples peeking straight at you, dusky, pointed, waiting the return of your tongue. Her pussy winking between her thighs, a treasure hidden in a sea of smooth flesh.

You don’t know whether to apologise for your lack of eloquence or thank her for being so incredibly distracting.

You kind of want to request that she turn around.

Mina laughs at what is certainly a stupid expression colouring your face; folds her arms across her chest, crosses one leg over the other. "Waiting for me to offer you a drink?"

You blink. “Thought you already gave me one.”

She scrunches her nose, answers, “I was only being polite.”

“I think we’re well past that.”

There’s that gravity again; shifting around Mina, tilting the world towards her until she’s pulling you into her apartment and you’re kicking the door closed behind you.

“Then hurry up and take me upstairs.”

—

There’s a part of you that feels like you should warn Mina when she tells you:

“Look, you’ve kept me waiting too fucking long. I need your cock, your cum inside of me. Right now. Before it’s too late and I change my mind. So, just please, please, please—”

But those kind of thoughts are lost halfway up the staircase; when you both decide that you just can't wait anymore, and your hands are back on her hips and your tongue is pushing into her throat.

Her fault, really.

Stripping you down the hallway, leaving a trail of your clothes through her kitchen; taking you by the cock. Firm, confident pumps as she leads you through her penthouse, refusing to give you a moment to breathe.

Because she’s obsessed with it. Obsessed with how it fills her hand, how it jumps at her touch, how it throbs when she squeezes it, strokes it.

“So big for me," Mina's says—to you, to herself, to your cock. "So perfectly, impossibly, big for me."

You’re never going to make it to the top.

Pressing her up against the banister, kissing her, hard. Deep, bruising kisses, because now that you’re out of the garden you don’t give a fuck if you’re leaving marks.

You just want her to remember this night, to feel it in every pulse and every breath.

Make her think of you when she’s with him, if she can even go back to him after this. Because you’ll both know that she’s yours even when she’s not.

“You’re going to ruin me, you know that?”

You look into Mina’s eyes. You can see it all, how the rest of the night will play out. You and Mina, tangled in her apartment. You and Mina, on top of the kitchen island. You and Mina, against the shower walls, on the living room floor, maybe even on the balcony.

You and Mina, until the sun rises.

You kiss her harder. “Is that a request?”

“Of course it is.”

Because now you actually have the time to appreciate her, to let your hands wander.

They glide over her body, mapping it out again, but slower this time. You've had your fill of the frantic touches, the greedy need. This is something else. This is savouring.

You start with your thumb at her navel, tracing the line down to her hips, then back up against to the base of her ribcage. It’s the feel of the muscles in her stomach tensing and relaxing as you touch her, the inhale and the exhale. How ridiculously tiny her waist feels in your hand, how your palm fits so perfectly into the curve of her side that you swear she’s been tailored for you.

Mina chokes on her breath as she tells you, “You’re going to have to stop, or we’re not going to make it to the bedroom.”

You don’t even slow down. You just don’t care.

Your hand rises, higher, finds her breasts again; cupping it in your palm. A thumb rolls over her nipple.

You pinch. She gasps.

You smile into her neck. “So, so, sensitive.”

Mina’s so willing, so keen to give herself over to you, to your touch. You’ve proven yourself to her already, made her cum with just your fingers and tongue. Now it’s just a matter of doing it all over again—but slower, better, more thorough.

You palm her breasts, rolling and pinching them until they’ve been given the attention they deserve, until she’s panting through your teases and caresses. Kneading the soft flesh beneath your hand and making her arch into your touch.

“You’re really going to take your time, aren’t you?” Mina mewls, half-sigh, half-plead. Grinding herself into you, making a shimmering mess on your waist. “Going to torture me until I can’t breathe.”

“It is your fantasy.”

Pull her closer, take a handful of that perfect ass once again. It hasn’t really been that long since you last had it in your hands but it’s all you’ve had on your mind. What it looks like under proper lighting, what it feels like without the dress in the way. What kind of noises will she make when you grope, and she doesn’t have to worry about anyone overhearing.

Press and squeeze, dig your fingers into her flesh. Not rough, but firm. Leaving little spots of red that will be gone by the morning.

Slide your finger down, down between her cheeks, and deeper, pressing into the sweet heat of her ass.

And then you feel it.

Her asshole. Wet and slick. Prepared.

A wink. A laugh. "Not my fault you're predictable."

You can’t fucking wait anymore.

She’ll just have to settle for the staircase.

Grab her by the hips—her ass, and pull her down with you onto the steps, her legs straddling you as you sit down.

Take her in—all of her. The curve of her, the line of her spine, the fucking paradise that’s her cheeks. Unbelievable.

You kiss into her back, follow down that trail right to where it swells, feeling the heat of her skin against your lips. You’re going to ruin this ass; permanently plant your flag there, mark it as property of you and your cock until she can’t take a seat without cursing your name.

Mina's shoulders tense when you pause, and she looks back over to you. There's a flash of nerves in her eyes, a gasp of "Here?" that's so faint you almost don't catch it.

Another kiss into her skin, you murmur, “Here’s perfect, Mina,” and she sighs when your finger presses against that puckered ring, cold with lubricant, made as ready as she’s ever going to be.

It’s the preparation that gets you; the idea of her in anticipation for you, for this, making sure she’s nice and primed. Mina at the store, still wearing that dress, fresh from her orgasm, buying lube. Mina in her bathroom, stripping herself bare, toying with her asshole, making it perfect for you.

And Mina, now, eyes clenched shut, breaths heavy as your digit is pushing through, slipping into her, and she’s so fucking tight around it.

“Oh my god,” she hisses through her teeth, a quiver in her legs as you push deeper into her tight channel.

Your hands shoot to her thighs to steady her, a reassuring anchor to keep her from toppling over as your finger fills her completely, twisting and turning, slowly but surely easing her into the idea of being taken.

It’s the moans that get you, the sighs as you intrude inside her. She’s so responsive, her breaths skipping and her pussy already starting to gush, coating your finger, your thighs, the steps below.

“You doing okay?”

“Yeah—yes,” Mina stutters, her footing slips just so, but she catches herself on the banister. “It’s—it’s intense. So intense. But don’t stop, I can take it. I want—I want more. I need this. I need this now, before—before I take all of you inside of me."

“You want more?” You repeat her words, before giving her what she needs—adding a second finger, pressing them in deep, making sure she’s good and open. The lube helps, but it’s the eagerness that gets her most of the way there; it’s that trust that she has in you, her willingness to let you take her here, in this way.

“Yes, please,” Mina cries, doing everything she can to not collapse on top of you, to not come completely apart.

You’re merciless, adding a third finger, stretching her until she’s panting, until she’s crying out, making this noise, this hushed whimper that takes the shape of your name.

“Please, please, please,” Mina whispers to herself, pushing back against you, starting to rock back onto your hand, taking your fingers into her ass.

“Not yet, Mina, not yet,” you tell her, because even though she’s close, even though she’s begging, you want her to be absolutely fucking desperate for your cock when the moment comes.

You reach around her with your other hand, finding that button, already swollen and begging for attention. Playing with it, gently at first, a soft pressure to help her let go, to allow herself to let her voice echo up the staircase and through the penthouse.

God, how is she this sensitive, reactive to every little touch, to every exploration of her cunt, her ass, her body.

It’s the ceremony of it all; this lurid, obscene ritual that you’re walking her through. Making her ass bounce on your hand in this hypnotic movement, making her stretch around your fingers, making her repeat your name over and over until she’s convinced herself that all of her belongs to you.

These perfect, near-silent sighs. This unbelievable tightness. Mina’s body, turning itself into a fucking playground for your touch; to do with it as you will. Even if it means ruining her.

And it’s when you have her creaming all over you; down her thighs, making a mess of herself with these pushes and pulls, these declarations of how ready she is for you, that her body shakes with one last, long shiver.

She cums.

Softly, soundlessly, another cry of your name dying on her lips. A hand to your wrist to stop you abruptly, panting.

Tiny, tiny shivers, twitches in her thighs, around your fingers, leaving her barely there, barely with you. Head hanging low, chest heaving, catching her breath, putting herself back together again.

Time stretches before she's cognisant again, and she turns back, looking over her shoulder and straight at you. Eyes half-lidded, hazy, dripping with lust, anticipation, burning with need.

Deep, heavy breaths. And then Mina says the most devastating thing:

“I’m ready. Fuck my ass. Now. Please.”

A gunshot in the quiet of her home, rumbling through your bones.

Your fingers leave her ass, her cunt with a wet pop, forcing a whine from her throat at the sudden emptiness. A look at her asshole, how it clenches and unclenches, beckoning for you to fill it, to claim it as your own.

“Good girl.”

Holding her by the hips, lining her ass with your cock, nudging her opening with your tip and making her shiver. You don’t go in immediately; you hover, giving her one last out, to really see if she’s absolutely certain.

Mina trembles. Nods. That’s all the invitation you need.

“God, I—”

You push in, slow and steady, eyes on her ass as she takes you. So fucking tight, so intense, you can feel every part of her squeezing, accommodating you, moulding itself around your girth and swallowing you whole.

“Take it slow, darling, take it slow,” you whisper into her skin, guiding her down, telling her how good she’s doing, how good she is for you, how much you love her tightness, her trust.

It seems impossible at first, the grip she has on you, like you’ll never get in. But inch by agonising inch, she takes you, and it’s nothing short of total heaven.

Mina, so fucking beautiful in this moment of raw vulnerability; all sharp inhales and strained quivers wrecking through her, voice shaky as she tells you, “I’ve never felt anything like this, I never thought—fuck—I never thought I could take anything like this.”

“You’re doing so good,” you kiss your words into her, wrapping your arms around her, holding her.

“I can—I can do better,” she gasps, and you believe her.

But you still go slow, so painfully slow, even though every fibre of your being is screaming at you to just dig into her hips and slam into that glorious fucking ass and never look back.

“I can take it,” Mina breathes, “Do it, I can take it. I want all of you. In my ass. I can handle it.”

Mina nods, clenches her ass, her cheeks firming up around your throbbing cock.

“I want it to hurt so good.”

No more convincing required. You push in deeper, make her back stiffen, her muscles contract, making her cry.

It’s a dance, a delicate ballet of bodies, of breath and touch, of your cock inside Mina’s ass. Lost in it, in the feel of skin on skin, the sound of wet, needy noises that she’s making, her shudders in your arms.

Until finally, with a strangled gasp, she’s fully seated. You’re buried in her tight, hot ass, basking in the warmth of her, leaving you both winded and struggling for air.

Stillness overrides the moment, because it’s too perfect, too overwhelming, and the feeling. You need to get used to the feeling.

You break the silence first. “Mina?”

“I know. I know.”

A kiss against her neck, scraping the soft skin there. A whisper in her ear, your breath hot and ragged.

“I’m going to fuck your ass now.”

You always keep your promises.

Mina answers by leaning back into you, her hand finding yours, her nails running along your fingers as if to say, “Yes, please, now.”

Moving, so slow it’s almost painful. The drag of her ass around your cock like nothing you’ve ever felt before—like you’re sliding through warm, velvet-covered steel.

“Fuck, yes, please,” with every inch you pull out, and “Too much, so good, too fucking much,” when you push back in, deeper and deeper still.

It builds and builds, this sweet agony, each pass in her ass faster, harder, turning Mina’s cries and wails into moans of pure bliss. It takes time and long, hard fucking for her body to relax into this rhythm, letting you take her, own her.

A vision above you, sweat glistening on her back, hair matted and sticking to her shoulders, and Mina’s ass, a snug ring around your cock. You watch as your cock slides out of her, the way her ass clenches around the head, holding on for just a second before pushing all the way back down.

You can’t help but groan, “Christ,” as she moves on top of you like that. So gracefully, so beautifully, so fucking obscenely on your cock.

“Thank you—God—thank you, thank you, thank you.” Mina’s moans are pure music to your ears, she’s babbling, talking through the pain, through the pleasure. “So, so good, filling me like—fuck—never been filled up like this.”

And as you push on, push further and further until your cock is melting inside her, burning her up in every way she's ever dared to dream, you can see the smile curling onto Mina’s face. It’s pride, you’re realising. Proud of herself, proud of how she can take you, how she can handle this kind of depraved ecstasy.

“It feels so deep.”

Tearing her open. Revealing the tender, delicate core beneath the glamour, the lights, the unreal beauty that is Mina. Leaving her sobbing, pleading, whining for more, more, more.

Bouncing on you now, each more assured than the last, cries of nothing but need. Opening up to accept you fully, completely, her ass a tight fucking sleeve for you, coming down and wrapping itself around you like a searing hot second skin.

You know the truth, but you still want to hear it.

“How many?”

Mina has her answer ready: “You’re the—you’re the first.”

You grin. A smug, triumphant baring of teeth that spreads from ear to ear. “I have no fucking idea how that’s possible. How nothing has ever been up this tight, perfect little asshole.”

“Oh, there's been toys,” Mina moans, strained and shaky as you pump into her, “But you’re just the first that's real.”

“Then your boyfriend is a fucking idiot,” you growl into her ear, your hand moving to her throat, gently clasping, making her gasp, making her eyes go wide with shock, with excitement. “He doesn’t know what he has.”

“Enough about my boyfriend,” Mina's quick to answer, snapping, her head thrown back, eyes screwed shut. “Even though—even if—he wouldn’t, couldn’t dream of filling me like this. Filling me up so much that it hurts, so much that—fuck, it feels so right, so fucking right—”

“You love this, don’t you, Mina?” You ask, but all Mina can do is nod vigorously, too overrun by the fucking to form words. “Underneath it all, you’re just a dirty slut for it, aren’t you? Letting me use this pretty, tight ass like this.”

“I—” she stutters, right before confessing, “I love it.”

She slams her hips down on you, the stairs groaning with each thrust, not built to withstand this kind of punishment.

“I love that it’s you, love that you’re the first. I can’t believe it—just—I need it. I need your cock in me, so deep—I need you, I need you, I need you—so please don't stop.”

“I would never dream of stopping.”

Never.

Not when she’s begging like this, her voice hoarse and her body quaking. When she sighs and shivers every time you fuck a little faster, push a little harder, testing just how much she can take.

Tits jiggling with every thrust, cunt leaking all the way down your thighs, ass puckering and loosening.

Her whole body, yours.

Yours for the taking. Mina’s divine body, in all its sharp planes and ridged muscles, squeezing and coiling at every juncture, every penetration setting her alight.

You declare it, even though it doesn't need to be said. “Made for me.”

“Yes,” she’s nodding. Or rather, letting her head fall into one. “God yes.”

“Just been waiting for me for so long, haven’t you? Been waiting for the right cock to come along and split you in half.” You’re saying these things, these stinging words that you fuck into Mina, send shooting through her like sparks. She’s a live-wire, a fucking blackout waiting to happen.

Weeping down her thighs, choking out every whine, “Yes,” she whispers, “yes, yes, yes, been needing to be ruined. Needing it, needing you. So much, so much, so—fucking—right—”

“Fucking criminal that you had to wait,” you’re saying, loving this, so enraptured by all of it. “But I’m here now.”

Mina shivers, pussy clenches, and she just can’t stop saying, “Yours, yours, yours—”

Completely, totally yours, now.

You know it. She knows it.

It’s written in the way she takes your cock, in the way she loses herself to you, loses all semblance of composure and decorum, peels back all the carefully curated layers that make her Mina, until all there is to see and touch is the raw, unfiltered need that you’ve unleashed from underneath.

"Touch me, fuck me, take me, take my ass, I need more—"

Again, your fingers find her folds, sticky and swollen and waiting.

You touch her, press down on her clit. Circling it with the same rhythm as your hips. Striking a match in a dark room, lighting up her body in this blaze.

The noises that it all makes; the slosh of your fingers at her cunt, the squelch of your cock invading her ass, so fucking explicit, so fucking filthy.

She’s erratic, breath catching, throat pulsing against your fingers, and she somehow, impossibly, clenches even more around you, suffocating your cock with just her tight, tight ass.

You keep that same tempo. That desperate, fucking unyielding beat that’s going to make her come, going to turn this idol, this mystery, this drop-dead fucking gorgeous woman who should belong to someone else but is now screaming proudly just how much she’s yours, into nothing but a trembling mess of whimpers and whines.

“More, fuck—oh my god, oh my fucking god—it’s so fucking good—so good—so fucking good—”

She’s reaching her peak—her voice, her body, her cunt, her ass—all of her reaching that perfect crescendo of pleasure that you’ve been orchestrating, that you’ve been waiting for.

“I’ve never—no one’s ever—fuck, fuck, fuck—”

Sinking into her, making her feel like she’s being torn apart and remade with every stroke, making her feel nothing like she’s ever felt before, making her feel like nothing but your fucking whore.

So, so close, barrelling towards it now, all these tears running down her cheeks, these filthy words slipping from her lips. Coming apart in your arms, because she’s never been this filled, this complete.

“Going to—going to cum—fuck me, harder, harder—going to cum all over your cock—” Mina tells you, a warning, the last one you get before she screams, “Too good—filling me—so good—give it to me—God—I can never go back—”

She shatters. Monumentally.

Into a million tiny pieces of pleasure, each one more brilliant than the last.

Her body spasms, her ass squeezes so fucking tight around your cock that you can feel the orgasm ripping through her, up her spine, through her throat, until she’s crying out and it’s hitting your ears—

“Oh my God, I'm going to—just, say my name—please, say my name when I—”

“Mina,” you say, and she cums.

“Mina,” you repeat when her pussy floods over your hand, ass smothers your cock.

“Mina,” again when it ripples across her skin, leaves her in fits, uncontrollable quakes, consumed by pure, unfiltered joy.

You watch the whole thing—watch her scream your name, watch her shake and quiver and fall apart, right there on your cock; and you're fucking her through it all, fucking her well past it, chanting “Mina” over and over again.

You'll never forget this, never forget this sight—this woman, this star, built up and broken down just for you.

“Mine,” you bite into her ear, because now, it’s true.

Mina’s barely there, eyes glassy, hand cradling your face. But she’s able to say it, because it’s branded into every bone of her body: “Yours.”

It’s a complete disaster.

And now you're cumming.

Brand new sensations, devastation in full measure—your soul ripped from your chest, until all that’s left is this impulsive, overwhelming need to give her your all, your everything—to fill her entire existence with just you.

You drive your cock into her once more, impaling her deep, and let go.

It floods her, rushes inside her, spills and spills.

Mina can't do anything but feel it—every pulse, every spurt. She throws her head back, her mouth open in this silent plea, satisfaction painted across her face as your heat surges inside her. Her ass milks you, needy for every drop, so, so thirsty for it.

“It's—cumming inside my ass—so, so nice, keep cumming for me.”

You hold onto her, throb inside her, pump ropes into her, and there's a kiss—hot and clumsy—somewhere in the midst of it all, your mouths colliding and tongues wrapping around each other in a futile attempt to last just that little bit longer.

Getting all dizzy and spellbound, floating back down to the ground as the last waves of your climaxes start to subside, until one of you says, “Thank you,” and the other echoes it back.

You stay like that, swallowed up inside her, dripping out of her ass. Lowering one hand from her throat, rising the other from her pussy, pulling her into an embrace, keeping her as close as you can while you both try to put yourselves back together.

It’s sex that soaks the air, fills the penthouse—sweat, lube, the musk of all the evidence you're leaving behind. Intoxicating, breathing it in, setting your nerves alight, rousing your cock inside her all over again.

But Mina, she’s a stunning catastrophe, torn asunder in all the best ways. Perfection not marred, but made better. Completed. Looking up at you with wonder, with gratitude, with a smile.

You look down at her and admit it, “Perfect.”

Mina laughs out loud, “Disastrously perfect.”

“This is going to be a problem, isn’t it?”

You kiss her once more.

Mina kisses you back.

“Only if we make it one.”

—

You think you can read her mind.

And she, yours.

It’s the only way any of this makes sense—how perfect you fit together, how well you read each other; fill each other’s needs without use of any words outside of curses and names and strangled pleas.

Printed onto your DNA, carved into your bones, these exact pathways you shape through her home and into her skin.

You do make it to the bedroom, somehow.

And then, exactly as predicted:

The shower, where Mina takes you into her mouth, gags herself around you, covers herself in your cum before letting the water wash it all away.

Then the kitchen, polishing off a bottle of wine, slurring promises into Mina’s cunt, having her rake the back of your scalp and scream the same promises back into your ears.

And finally, the living room, folding her over the couch, tumbling onto the floor with Mina, riding you so hard the neighbours below start banging on their ceiling in protest.

It's only the balcony that goes untouched.

Maybe another time.

But that’s where it ends: sprawled across a lush rug, sticky with sweat and cum and wine, naked and bare. Ignoring the watchful eyes of the photos that line the walls and shelves—family, friends, her boyfriend. Just living in this bubble where the sun will never rise and the world outside ceases to exist.

Getting to know each other in ways few people ever do.

Tracing patterns into the small of her back, asking these questions. Is this what you always imagined you would be doing? How you thought your life would be? Does it ever actually feel enough?

Mina pokes and prods back, her nails lightly scraping against your chest, leaving half-moons in her wake. Do you think you could ever be happy? Do you ever wonder why it’s so hard for other people to keep up? Are you fucked up in all the same ways as me?

And it’s so easy to answer truthfully, to be honest, because you’re both still maintaining the façade of this just being a simple fling; a blip along the timeline of your lives.

The yours and mine of it all, all those promises you were spilling. Just callous words tossed in the throes of passion.

They didn’t mean anything real.

Because it’s not like you’re going to see each other again, not like there’s going to be a mess of emotions and consequences that will have to be dealt with in the morning after.

Eventually though, the light does slip through the curtains, the clothes come back on, and you’re kissing Mina against the doorway and thinking of a million reasons why you should stay.

"So, how long are we going to pretend that this is normal?" You broach, and it immediately feels like you’re breaking some unspoken rule.

Mina’s keeping herself busy, hands at your shirt, buttoning it back into place, one by one. Hiding away evidence that her mouth, her lips, her teeth were ever on you.

She looks up at you. Smirks. “Fucking ‘til the break of dawn, giving each other orgasms that never quite end? Flooding each one of my holes with your cum?”

You tilt your head.

“I don’t know. This whole thing is… unique. Uncharted territory and all.”

“It goes without saying, but, yeah. Same for me.” You echo, “Unique.”

You reach for her, smoothing her hair back. The early morning light makes it shine like a crown of jewels.

“Do you want it to stay that way?”

Mina considers. Leans into your hand. “You think we should make a habit out of this? I didn’t pin you for the type.”

“Neither did I, but it didn’t seem so bad when you were riding me on that couch,” you tease. “And in the shower, and on the staircase, and in the kitchen…”

She blushes, lips caught between her teeth, looking like she’s struggling to hold in a laugh. There’s this glint in her eye as her hand wanders up to your cheek, thumb hovering just shy of your mouth. For a second, you think she’s going to kiss you again.

But instead, she just looks at you.

Eyes you with something close to fascination, something that makes your heart stop. And you're reading each other’s minds again, knowing you're both going to lie, going to pretend like this was just a one-night thing. Something the two of you can easily wipe your hands with and walk away from like it never even happened.

Because this really is the first time—you’ve never done anything like this before. Sure you’ve dipped your toe in the pool of commitment, paddled around in the shallow end, but you’ve never fallen for someone proper.

Never worried about what someone's going to be doing when you’re not there, never thought about whether you’d be better off sticking around to find out.

But you have a job. A company to run.

And Mina, a career. A boyfriend. A life.

So, you don’t make plans.

You don’t even ask for her number.

You don't need to.

Deep down inside you know you’ll find her again.

For now though, you spin your bullshit: “It’s probably for the best if we don’t, though.”

“Probably.” Mina agrees, but she can hear the same ticking clock as you.

The timer that’s already started, counting down to when she’ll inevitably be undoing the same buttons, redrawing the same patchwork of red and pink across your chest, and pulling you into her home and into her; fucking her pussy, her ass, her mouth, in all the ways she needs, until you’re spilling out of her all over again.

“Definitely.” Mina unlocks the front door. “For the best.”

#kpop smut #mina smut #twice smut #male reader

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onlyfrags · 8 months ago

Text

Masterlist

Last Updated: 5/24/2024

If you see someone you want that is not on this list, feel free to send me a request at any time! Just make sure to read the [Request Rules]

Brimstone

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Chamber

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Clove

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Cypher

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Deadlock

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*Untitled* | NSFW x GN Reader (In progress)

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Fade

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Coffee talk | NSFW X GN Reader (IN PROGRESS)

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Gekko

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Reunions | Gekko X GN Reader (in Progress)

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Harbor

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Iso

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Self Worth | Iso x Reader (in Progress) Iso is so used to being a weapon for others. What happens when someone reminds him that hes worth more than that now?

After work | NSFW x Reader (In progress) You and Iso help each other relax after another stressful mission

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Jett

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Neon

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Omen

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Sage

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Sova

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Viper

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Yoru

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✿ Yoru X Draconic Radiant S/O | Yoru X Male Reader ✿

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theres-a-body-here · 11 months ago

Note

his! if possible, i’ll request cole cassidy x reader who’s apart of Talon? thank you so muchhh! and no pressure, if you can’t complete it that’s alright!

You never specified the tone of the fic 😈 😈 😈

Cole Cassidy x Male!reader

Cole took a deep breath as he clutched his broken robotic arm, trying desperately to ignore the searing pain coursing through the attachment nerves.

His breathing became labored as sweat dripped down his forehead, mixing with the dust kicked up from the explosion that went off in the building. His communication device was broken as well. He couldn't call for the others.

Cole grunts as he attempts to stand, but is stopped as pain shoots through his leg. The pain felt like a thousand needles piercing his flesh, making it hard for him to think straight. He tried to get up again, but his wounded leg gave way underneath him. He looks around and finds Peacemaker, grabbing it.

After a few moments of silence, trying to come up with some sort of plan, he hears a groan a few yards away. Cole quickly turned his head in its direction, his breath catching in his throat.

In an awful way, Cole wished you had died in the explosion instead of having to face you himself. Killing his childhood best friend wasn't something he ever wanted to do.

You were still kicking. Talon's agents always had a nasty habit of not staying dead. Your face was contorted into a grimace as you pulled yourself out of the rubble, Talon armor cracked and tearing into your skin. After a few feet of crawling, Cassidy noticed the loss of your right leg. Despite that, you seemed hell bound on completing your mission.

Stubborn, just as you were in Deadlock.

You halted your movement towards him and met his gaze. Both of you stared at one another in silence. Eyes locked onto each other like two predators who knew each other's moves all too well. A soft wind blew through the broken concrete of the former building, rustling dust around them. No one spoke a word, but the tension was palpable.

Memories flooded back to Cole - warm summer nights spent under Texas skies, holding you close and feeling your laughter vibrate through him whenever he planted a gentle kiss on your cheek. As he looked at his gun, he remembered those moments fondly before tightening his grip on it.

The sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm orange hue over the landscape as the sky turned dark blue above.

Your eyes darted around, spotting your revolver lying nearby, its cold metal reflecting the dying sunlight. He also spotted the familiar gun, not believing that you kept it after all this time. Cole watched you look at it and then back at him, his heart racing wildly as he realized what might happen next. The weapon lay there like a temptress calling for attention.

"You...had it engraved for me?"

"Consider it a parting gift, darlin'"

You slowly started reaching for the weapon, fingers curling slightly as if to caress it.

Cole swung his arm, pointing his gun directly at you without even thinking about it. This action froze you mid-reach, leaving you staring at him with an unreadable expression.

"Don't shoot me out of panic," you said in a unnervingly calm voice, though whether it was meant as a taunt or genuine plea, Cole couldn't discern.

Cole ground his teeth together, searching for the right words to say without lowering his guard. He kept his sights trained on you, never breaking eye contact even for a moment.

Before Cole could find his voice, you began speaking calmly once more, "Humans need conflict; it's out of love that I want society to grow stronger." Your cold eyes pierce through his very being.

"Talon will strengthen humanity."

He watched as you started reaching for the pistol again, his grip on Peacemaker tightening further.

The world seemed distant to Cole as the sounds of your voice filled his mind, echoing with justifications and explanations for why you ended up here. His ears rang with the weight of your words, making everything else feel far away as you continued your 'speech'.

You truly believed Talon was helping the world.

"Please… darlin', don't make me do this," Cole whispered desperately under his breath, his voice cracking as he fought tears.

Silence reigned once more as the cool evening breeze danced around them, lifting dust devils into the air. The moon crested the horizon, bathing them in pale light.

"My heart and actions are utterly unclouded," you said softly, almost sadly. Then suddenly, you lunged for the pistol, grasping it firmly before leveling it at Cole.

The click of an empty chamber echoed in the quiet desert air, followed almost instantaneously by the sharp retort of a single gunshot.

#jesse mccree #jesse mccree x reader #cole cassidy #cole cassidy x reader #cole cassidy x you #male!reader #male reader #overwatch 2 x reader #overwatch x you #overwatch x reader #overwatch 2 #angst #angst no comfort #angst no happy ending #open ending #whump #whump writing #i love being evil

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ornii · 2 years ago

Note

Can I ask for a Wednesday Addams x Male Reader where he's a normie at the school but when Wednesday finds out Thornhill sent the Hyde after him, she finds him standing over a thoroughly ass-whooped Tyler? Just absolutely thrashed him and his only explanation is 'He found out.'

This Definitely sounds like if a Young Bruce Wayne grew up in Nevermore. Cause prep time of course, but he definitely sounds like a Young Dark Knight.

Her Dark Knight

If there is one thing Normies despise, Is their own fraternizing with a Nevermore student, that is unfortunately how this dreadful tale began. It was at around one year to the date that the death of Mother and Father weighted heavy on (Y/n), as their murder was still fresh in his kind, but unbeknownst to many he began a plot of revenge to take back his life against the one to deal the fatal blow against his family, as there will be hell to pay.

(Y/n) Wayne entered the robust coffee shop at the rain, using a black umbrella he covered himself from said rain, entering the establishment he placed it away and walked calmly towards the counter, avoiding any contact with anyone who would even eye him, he stopped at the counter to Tyler, who was still there, oblivious to his presence; it was until he turns around and gets scared by the sudden appearance.

“Holy!— uh, Hey.” He says sheepishly and (Y/n) keeps a oddly calmly demeanor.

“Hello Tyler, the usual.” He said and hands him a platinum black card.

“Black, two sugars.” Tyler says taking the card and swiping, as he hands it back, (Y/n) notices something from the corner of his eye, a shadowy figure sitting at a table, rather indulge in whatever Nevermore has to offer he takes his coffee and leaves, as he exits back into the rain, his eyes turn to the window and he gets to finally spot the figure, a girl who seems so out of place, Wednesday Addams. His eyes meet with hers for a moment but it was only temporary before he walks off. That was the first time he met Wednesday Addams unofficially. The next time was much more, intimate.

During the Celebration of Nevermore, a statue erected in brass was shown, and funded by the Wayne family. You were unfortunately forced to attend from your butler’s request and the town. Standing there was more than boring it was agonizing. But something really livened up the celebration as Nevermore students gather, an explosion! The Statue itself, the water supply was changed with gasoline and the explosion ignited the statue ablaze, students ran and city officials were beside themselves. You stood there, watching the flames, until your ears catch the sound of a cello playing “Paint it black” so beautifully, turning around you notice who it was once more, Wednesday playing so vigorously. Her attention turns to You, as she sees your body perfectly backdropped by the flames dancing in the background. You knew that she had something to do with it, and you weren’t the only one.

“This is a…very Sensitive situation.” Weems said to you, as you stood in her office arms folded.

“A.. sensitive situation? Someone blew up a statue.. any idea who?” You ask, and Weems tries to save face.

“Well.. unfortunately there is, one person—“

“Wednesday Addams.” You say and Weems stops, coming to a quick realization you already knew.

“I’d like to speak with her.”

“I’m afraid I cannot—“

“You’ve allowed more… unless you want the school itself to pay for the statue.” You respond, Weems was in a deadlock.

“…You get ten minutes.”

“That’s all I need.”

Wednesday enters the room via the Authority of Weems, and to spot (Y/n), waiting.

“Took you long enough to show up.” He says, and Weems leaves, annoyed.

“What do you want?” She said and (Y/n) looks around the room.

“Did you know that my Ancestors, and my father, Thomas Wayne helped fund Nevermore and it’s activities? It’s a well known idea that the Wayne’s are an ally to Nevermore and all it’s Body. So, when one student decides to blow up the statue we’re erecting, an issue arises.. I think you know where I’m going with this.”

“I haven’t the faintest clue of your implications, my hands are clean. I suggest you turn your attention to your own, Normies aren’t always as accepting and vomit inducingly open as you seem to be.”

“You see, I had considered that, Nevermores never been as liked as I wish It was… but you, you stand out as much as you don’t want to, it’s obvious you’re hiding something.”

“And what would give you that impression?”

“I am the worlds greatest detective.”

“You’re a Teenager.”

“.. I’m Nevermores Greatest detective..So.. Ready to tell the truth?” He said, Wednesday stares daggers at him for what seems to be forever. Until she finally speaks up.

“Do you know a man named Rowan who went to Nevermore?”

“I cannot say that I do, why?”

“He was murdered two weeks ago and everyone seems to be under the impression he’s alive, but I have evidence to prove he’s dead and it’s all a cover up, his broken glasses were still there when I returned to where he died. He has no visible injures when I encountered him the next day.. doesn’t that seems suspicious?” Wednesday elaborates the tale to (Y/n) who rubs his chin.

“It’s… Hm.. I See, let’s say I believe this, but why cover this up?”

“To avoid a Scandal, the police and Nevermore are both complacent in the coverup.” Wednesday says and (Y/n) calmly walks up to her.

“Okay, you’ve convinced me, I know Jericho isn’t the best place and unfortunately, I believe they’d do something like this, so I’ll assist you, partners?” He says offering a handshake. Wednesday reluctantly shakes his hand.

“Partners.” She responds, with the deal made, the two depart and the investigation began. (Y/n) assists Wednesday in discovering the truth of Nevermore of Craackstone and most importantly, Tyler and Thornhill, and more importantly just what Tyler was.

(Y/n) awaits in the forest after messaging Tyler to meet him, which he arrives, a bit late.

“(Y/n)” Tyler said and he turns to face him, dawned by the moonlight and forest.

“Good, You’re here…”

“Yeah you Uh, Never really call and I was surprised you had my number.”

“I don’t, I just needed to ask around, and someone had it, thankfully it didn’t take long for you after almost killing Eugene.”

“Yeah I… what?”

“Don’t Play dumb, it was you, it was always you, the Hyde… the same hide that killed Thomas and Martha Wayne..” he says coldly, his voice growing in anger, Tyler’s fear slowly changed to annoyance.

“And you thought that, bringing me out to the forest in the middle of the night was going to help you?” Tyler said and (Y/n) faces him.

“Why? Scared vengeance is going to come and haunt you?”

“No… I get a chance to put the Wayne family in the dirt finally, it was your dad that cut Hyde’s out of Nevermores class, and how my mother ended up.. how she was, I see this is revenge.” Tyler said and (Y/n) watches as he transforms into the Hyde, the towering monsters Lanky and malformed body lurches towards (Y/n).

“Luckily, I had time to prep.” He reached into his pocket and hurls small black pellets, it hits the chest of the Hyde and do nothing, they suddenly bursts and explode into black dust clouds, blinding the Hyde for a moment, he swings the gas away and steps out, and sees (Y/n) running, he gives chase after the young man who’s set traps all around the first, he leaps over one and the Hyde runs straight into a snare, wrapping his leg and hanging him upset down, Tyler swings around trying to figure out where he is, suddenly a punch comes from behind, hitting him in the back of the head, he spins to swing to see nothing there. (Y/n) pelts him with punches and kicks that Tyler can’t predict anymore, one good punch to the throat catches him off guard, he was able to grab (Y/n) and toss him into a wall. Tyler claws the rope to get himself down and sees (Y/n) stand up and run again. He gives chase again to another trap. (Y/n) crawls into a log and Tyler does as well, using his claws to attempt to tear into the log, but what he saw was a small black device, which opens up to a painful high pitch sound. The ringing hits his ears and he reels back, holding his head. The ringing in his ears makes it impossible for him to hear.

(Y/n) crawls on top of a branch and leaps off, he lands on the shoulders of Tyler and jams something into his neck, the Hyde howls and grabs him, and slams him into the ground, he stumbles back as he begins to revert back to a more human form. (Y/n) sits up, and walks over to Tyler.

“An agent to nullify your transformation was hard to make. But it was worth it.” (Y/n) cocks back and rocks Tyler with a punch, slumping him down, he picks him up and begins to Ruthlessly beat Tyler to a pulp, he hurls him into a tree and kicks him while he’s down. Tyler throws measly punches that (Y/n) dodges, and continues his own assault.

“You attack Innocent students… murder innocent people… kill my mother and father, and you plan on executing Wednesday as well! You and Thornhill may be Normies, but your variations on the same egotistical cult are the same, monstrous power hungry monsters who wish to see people die for your own grotesque image… but in the end, all men like you eventually die.” (Y/n) drops Tyler down and grabs a heavy stone, and lifts it above him to crush his skull. Tyler can only laugh.

“Yeah… kill me, prove that you’re just as bad as everyone thinks the Wayne’s are…” he said though a bloody smile, deep angry breaths escape from (Y/n), and he just tosses the rock to the side and knocks him out cold, and hogtied him.

“You’re right, im not the Monster everyone thinks I am… you’re going to spend the rest of your life in prison.” He says, his attention was cut off suddenly by Wednesday approach.

“(Y/n)! I need to speak with you, Tyler—…” Wednesday stopped talking as she saw Tyler on the ground, a look of confusion and, pleasure was on her face.

“I found out and took care of it.” He responds and walks over to her, and hugs her.

“I’m… glad you’re safe.” He said, and for the moment Wednesday was taken aback, and slowly wrapped her arms around his lower back into her own, awkward hug.

“I.. I’m glad too..”

#netflix #male reader #reader insert #wednesday #wednesday addams x male reader #wednesday x reader #wednesday addams x reader #wedensday x you #batman #the batman

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strip4kaneshiro · 5 months ago

Text

Cole Cassidy x Texan! reader domesticity headcanons

hiii it’s Kay again LOL. My first comeback piece and it’s Overwatch head canons LMAO. Felt some type of way about writing headcanons about real people so we’re moving on to fictional characters as the lord intended. As of rn, I’m fixated on Cassidy, Reaper, and Lifeweaver as my faves. So expect me to write about them TRUST

You and him defo live on a small ranch back in his home state of Texas together

this takes place in a universe where Overwatch is a lil more flexible with him than before, so don’t worry too much about the logistics ok???

Not close too his hometown though ( he’s still wanted there, rip), so you end up choosing a ranch set of land south enough to still be able to reach the coast if wanted. Cole was adamant about being able to take beach road trips

Let’s you do majority of the interior decorating, while he focuses on upkeeping the outdoors of your home

In the process of choosing yalls house and moving in, contrary to popular belief, Cassidy was the super picky one

I swear you had to change real estate agents twice because he wouldn’t stop nitpicking LMAO, but all for good reason, He just wants the best for his darling <3

He will NEVER wake you up earlier than 9 am for any reason unless it’s a doctors appointment or a road trip. Babes just wants to watch you sleep

“Cole! It’s 10:30! You weren’t gonna wake me up?!” You chastise, jumping out of bed and pulling stray hairs out your face

“Now why would I disturb your peace?” and he flashes that damn cowboy charming smile smh i hate him so bad

If your into skincare stuff, he simply watches you in amazement as you go through a multi step routine

Begins asking you to help him, not because he cares much about his skin, but he loves to see you yap about what you love

(Please free this man from the 14 in 1 in the shower)

Bro CANNOT keep his hands off of you for any reason and it makes everyone both envious and uncomfortable

If you’re in the kitchen, hands wrapped around your waist from the side. Doing laundry? He’s leaning on your shoulder and simply watching.

Depending on if Overwatch needs him, he will force them to give him a 14 hour notice so he can tell you. Cole never wants you to wake up confused and alone like how he did Ashe and Deadlock gang

Speaking of, expect to see the, very often in your house. They all just decided y’all’s house was the hangout spot like a bunch of high schoolers

He doesn’t appreciate how Ashe and you team up to tease him

Ended up getting two dogs and a cat with him.

The cat loves you but cannot stand being near Cole unless it’s bribed (male cat)

“Oh, did your wife give you those scratches Cass?” (Baptiste)

Cole begrudgingly acknowledges the scratches on his shoulders and back during a training session.

He forces you to trim his claws and get him a scratching post when he gets back home

If you drink coffee/tea/matcha, he leaves enough hot water in the coffee pot so you can make whatever you choose. Or if he knows, he just does it himself and leaves it for you warm cold (ik some of you r iced coffee fiends)

Cole takes you on shopping trips every couple of months because he loves to spoil you, he even carries all the bags without one single complaint! (He gets to flex his ranch muscles)

Don’t let it be a nice day over 70 degrees, this man will take any chance he gets to have as little clothing on as possible around you (Why he does this we don’t know)

Catch him in a tank top or no shirt at all doing yard work while you lay in a chaise , tanning or quietly reading.

He wouldn’t have it any other way though, he loves working hard for the ones he loves.

So as the day comes to the end, and you come outside with some iced tea for him, he wipes as much sweat as he can off of himself before leaning over and kidding the top of your head.

“I love you, darlin’.” He’ll mutter, before wrapping his toned arms around you and embracing you

#overwatch #overwatch 2 #headcanons #overwatch headcanons #nijisanji en #cole cassidy #cole cassidy x reader

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fabricated-misslieness · 2 years ago

Text

pairing: deadlock cole cassidy x asian male reader (platonic)

req: no | wc: 4.39k

summary: After Overwatch's sting operation in the Southwest gang of the Deadlock Rebels catches one of their head members, someone has to interrogate him. Only so many people are up to the task, however.

warnings: swearing, the use of cole's previous name

a/n: no romance, just thought it'd be fun. reader is asian, raised in latinamerica.

"Ugh!" An Overwatch employee groaned. He couldn't crack this guy. The very same one smiles at him from the other side of the table. He was like a mosquito, and he hated mosquitos. Each question, each swat or attempted clap, resulted in a jab, a miss or successful bite. It never helped that mosquitos were prominent in his home nation. He figured that, once he moved into the well-kept American Overwatch Headquarters, he would never have to deal with one again.

"Oh, getting tired of me already?"

Boy, was he wrong.

He stands from the table, gripping onto his clipboard and pen angrily with one hand. His other hand was free and he tried his best not throw him a rude gesture, knowing that it would only make him smugger and maybe get him into a little bit of trouble.

The cowboy watches, smile never waning, as the employee leaves the room. Once the door clicks shut behind him and he sets foot on the clean white tiles and cool, air conditioned air of the outside, he lets out his rage. He seethes, grasping at his clipboard and practically pulling it apart. He eyes the vase nearby—no. No, he wasn't going to break it. It was probably worth an entire year's salary.

A door down the hall opens. Out of it, peaks a head and, oh shit, it was him, the genius of the American HQ.

He whistles, "Having trouble, Daniel?"

He's got a small smile on his face. "Oh, no, I'm having the time of my life, boss." He rolls his eyes, though they quickly roll back in place. Fuck. Fuck, he should've given that cowboy the finger. He was getting in trouble anyway. He bows his head quick, "Sorry, boss. Didn't mean it."

"No, no, it's quite alright." He offers a chuckle, "Though, I do recall you said you could handle it."

He did say that, didn't he? "I..." Daniel sighs, "I was wrong."

"Don't sweat over it. Piece of advice, you should leave the big bad guys to the experienced guys like me." So those were the BBG's? "That guy's one of the founders, you know?"

"Oh." He was? No fucking wonder.

"Tell you what, you can watch me work." What was so fun about doing paperwork? "I'll crack the guy, today, I promise you."

Oh, that kind of work. That, that was actually a good idea—a great one, in fact. A great learning experience too, he was sure of it. "It would be much appreciated, sir."

When a new questioner walks into the room without a word, Jesse is puzzled, to say the least. They settled in just as silently, fixing their clipboard, new and free from the previous man's furious scrambling, to be just right atop the table. Their carton coffee cup was placed on their non-dominant hand's reach so they may sip and write at the same time. They write a single thing on the paper, and he notices the ink doesn't smudge, it was certainly a pen better than the previous man's.

Finally, you speak. "Good afternoon." Yet a greeting is all you offer.

Jesse purses his lips. You seemed like a tough nut to crack. "Good afternoon." He replies politely.

"You worked with…ah, what did they call them?"

He stared at you, his eyes narrowed and an eyebrow raised. Clearly, he was unimpressed by your technique. There was no way you didn't know his gang's name, especially after the wreckage that went down and got him arrested.

He didn't recognize your face though. You hummed to yourself, scratching at your beard as though it were a magic eight ball that would be able to give you an answer. "Right," You snap your fingers, "the Deadlock Gang."

"What brings you in today?"

Oh, he doesn't know. Perhaps it was the Southwest Gangs that were putting strain around his apartment block? Or the lack of pie ingredients his favorite diner was in need of. Was it to put in a complaint about the weather? Surely the American government controlled it–

He stared at you plainly in return, keeping his growing disinterest hidden.

"Right, it's probably the sting."

Jesse doesn't allow his face to show emotion, yet it does anyway. In the span of a quick second, his eyebrows raise and lower. A sting?

"Yes, yes, the sting." You mutter deliberately loud to "yourself". "I think that guy is still there. Or maybe they replaced him for a new one?"

Your method of cracking a person, it was through annoyance. He could tell, especially because it was his favorite technique and also the one he'd used on that last guy, the amateur—but it was also the sort of thing he could easily ignore by staying silent. That wasn't McCree's style though.

He chuckles to himself, "I knew I couldn't trust all those guys."

"What was your boss's name? Ashe?"

He almost speaks up. Almost. Ashe wasn't the boss, he and her had equal authority. Although, now that he was captured, she was the only one left to command... unless he was able to get out here. Jesse believed himself to be on the optimistic side. He came up with most of the ideas and Ashe evaluated them, along with that robot butler of hers; although, most of his ideas were shut down. Anyway, what mattered was she wasn't the boss of him. You were just digging for a way under his skin.

That was true, but he couldn't say that. "Sure I did. The new guys offered new conversation. They kept the place lively."

"She liked the firepower, the men, the army. The Deadlock Gang was steadily growing and it certainly didn't sneak under Overwatch's nose." You raise a finger in his direction, "You didn't like that, did you?"

"Especially because you were dealing with so much death?"

Growth was only steady because death lingered around each corner. The death of his men, his friends, his family, haunted his dreams. Jesse didn't want to reminded of it. "I don't know what you're talking about."

You click your tongue against the roof of your mouth. The sound, "tsk", comes clear. He would crack you, soon, the same way you wanted to crack him.

"Tell you what—let's play a game of cards." You pull the deck seemingly out of thin air. It's free of its case already, loose from its shoddy refuge in your pocket.

"What kind of game?" Would it be poker? He fancied himself good at that.

"Dos mayor." You reply.

His Spanish was rusty (or nonexistent). What was that? Two major? Two oldest? Two most powerful? No, that was silly. Bountiful?

"Do you know how to play it?"

He was already fucking up with the name's translation, so clearly not. "No." He replies, truthfully.

"Okay. I'll explain some of the basics." You rifle through the deck for a card–it doesn't take long to find–and show it to him: two of spades. "This is the highest card. Heart, club, and diamond follow." He nods his head, he was familiar with it. The next card you pull out of the deck is a joker, "We don't play with these," You throw the first one, red, off to the side, the black one soon follows. "and, if you have any amount of cards that are the same number or letter, you can throw them together. You think that's enough to play?"

Jesse's eyebrows furrow, "I mean, is there more?"

You shrug, "Yeah. Don't seem all that necessary."

"You're missing many things here." He was in disbelief because of how much you weren't telling him. "Like, objective? Are there rounds or something? If so, how do I win a round?"

"Well, yes, there are rounds. Unlimited amount. Usually you play with four players. Each round is won when each player except for the last one who played a card passes, and–"

"Wait, wait, hold on." He pushes his hands outward, palms first, fingers splayed. "How are we gonna play with two?"

"I deal four hands, thirteen cards each. I choose one, you choose one. We play one game with those two hands. The next game, we play with the remaining two hands. Easy." He nods along, a go ahead. "Anyway, the goal of the entire game is to end up spending all your cards."

He takes a deep breath, takes the information in. Makes sense. "Okay."

"That good enough for you?" You raise a brow.

"Perfectly." He breathes again, to steady himself. Then he remembers, "What're we betting?"

You offer him a single, amused chuckle. "No stakes, no prizes, just a friendly game of cards between two friendly people—right?"

"No," He inclines his head forward, staring at you as if you were out of your mind. "without a prize, what are we playing for?"

"The satisfaction of a victory." You reply plainly.

He couldn't deny, the feeling was good. He'd felt it many times before. But it was "Not enough."

"What could you possibly want?" The question is rhetorical. You don't give him time to answer before you continue with a laugh, "I mean, I know what you want. But listen, doll," His eyebrows furrow. "I can't wipe away your crimes simply because you won a game of cards, same as the way I can't the wipe the blood off your name and hands."

He huffs out in disbelief–or at least that's what he thinks–and says, "And who says I feel guilty about it?"

You're expecting that sort of answer–that outburst–from him. You lean back in your chair, one hand still holding the deck and the other placed relaxed on the table. "Certainly not me."

He moves on from the topic. "Then I'll give you something. I'll answer a question."

Your eyebrows raise, quick but pleased. You lean forward again, attentive now, "Any?"

The fire in his eyes burns. It was a simple game, and he was good at games. "Yes. Or, well, it depends on what you give me."

"What do you want?" He's about to answer when you clarify. "Nothing big, nothing you know I can't grant."

"I don't know what you can grant. I don't know your stature within Overwatch. Well, I do know it can't be anything drastic." He scoffs, "I mean, the big guys are posted up in Switzerland, right?"

"Yeah," You nod, "you'd be right."

Just a friendly game of cards. The satisfaction of a victory. "I could go for a coffee."

You raise a brow. When he doesn't back down, you chuckle and lean, once again, back against your chair. "Okay." You agree.

Jesse watches as you deal the cards. He was never a good dealer, he was more a player. But this, you? You put shame to his gangmates, to his skilled dealers. You moved your hands expertly, shuffling using techniques he'd never seen before. They were flashy, that was for sure, and he could think of many ways that you could smuggle in some cheating here and there—but you promised a friendly game, and you were one of those clean Overwatch agents. Something in him was sure you weren't going to cheat.

Once the hands are dealt, you immediately take the one on your right towards you. He, unlike you, chooses his a little more carefully; though the only care he puts into it is to choose the hand diagonal to the one you chose, the one to his left.

Whichever hand is on which side doesn't matter anymore, as the rest of them are pushed away to clear the center of the table.

Without a word, you begin to organize your hand. He follows suit.

The silence in the room is only cut by the shuffling of cards. He breaks it, though, to begin light conversation, "Pardon me for askin'," He clears his throat, "but why did you call it "Dos Mayor"? I mean you, yer clearly not Hispanic." Being from Texas, he had an idea of Hispanic men. A lot of his peers were Hispanic as well. That's how he knew a little bit of Spanish. He didn't want to group Hispanic folk together, certainly not, but they all looked... well, not Asian.

"What you really mean is why is an Asian man speaking Spanish?" You raise an eyebrow, leaning forward a little to really look at him.

Jesse shuffles in his seat, clearing his throat yet again. The thick air surrounding him is awkward. He didn't mean to judge.

The settling shame of his question is broken by your loud laughter. "I'm just kidding. Really, I get this a lot."

He doesn't look up from his cards when he replies, "Doesn't make it any more righteous."

"You're right, but you're not as brazen as most." You punctuate the word with the wide movement of your hand. He nods curtly. "Well, how about I present to you my life story? I'm an Asian man, yes, but I wasn't born in Asia, nor was I raised much with its culture. Instead, I grew around my environment. I loved my country and I loved its culture. Perhaps I should've never left for America." You shake the thought off. "Anyway, regardless of my lack of Asian culture, Asian folk at my elementary school practically adopted me. They were particularly fans of Dos Mayor. I learned by watching them play. It was our biggest bond."

"That's nice." He doesn't know what to say, but he means those words. If he could convey the warmth of your story in his heart to you, he would.

By time he looks up from his hand, you have yours spread out like a fan so as to see only the important bits of each card. His own were haphazardly spread across his hand; and even though you had the same amount–thirteen and thirteen–his hand was much wider and yours was shorter and neat. Your face didn't give any clue as to whether you were pleased with your hand or not.

His mouth is slightly and dumbly open, not that he notices. He seemed shoddy compared to you. "...how do we start?"

"Usually the three of diamonds would start, but I don't have a three." He kept that in mind. "How about you? What's your lowest card?"

"Four." He says. "Four of diamonds."

"Go ahead and throw it."

Jesse does as you say, picking out the pair of fours in his hand. He raises them from the rest, but before he can throw them onto the table, you stop him. "Wait. Before we start, what's your name?"

He was stupid. He hadn't even told you his name. Neither had you, actually. "Jesse McCree."

His name was plastered on every wall in the Southwest in the form of a bounty poster. Accompanied with the name, came a digital image of his face, a mugshot from his earlier days. He had begun to grow a beard since then, and his hair had gotten shaggier and the brown warmed even more, but those details had also been added digitally. He was surprised you didn't recognize him.

You nodded your head with a hum. Before he can ask you for your name, you ask him another question. "And how many cards do you have in hand?"

"Thirteen." He replies, the confusion clear on his face. Surely you knew that?

"Okay." You reply, small satisfied smile upon your lips.

"What's your name?"

"(y/n)." The smile on your lips grows a tiny bit wider.

He shakes off the weird, miniscule details of your face and your questions, and throws down his pair of fours. Neither of them was the highest, the spade, so you could very well top that with a second pair of fours.

You click your tongue, your smile beings to show your teeth, and throw down a pair of K's, both of them the darn highest.

"Kay?!" He exclaims. "Two kings, for a–two damn fours?"

"Sorry, Jess," You allow yourself a laugh, "it's the lowest I had."

"Lowest I had." He mutters to himself in a mocking tone, a gesture which grants him another laugh. "Sorry my ass."

He rolls his eyes as you continue. The momentary obstruction of vision hides the quick movement of your hands as you throw your cards, beginning a new round. At the sound of the thin cardboard landing on the table, he looks. His eyebrows raise within a millimeter of his hairline, "What the fuck is that?"

You laugh as Jesse protests. "No, no, now hold on, what the fuck is that?" You don't answer. "Come on, man, tell me! What am I even supposed to do?"

"It's a fullhouse." The way you say it, quick and together as though they were the same word and ache pronounced with the back of your throat in a Spanish accent, strikes him weird. Nevermind the pronunciation, anyway. "Let me explain to you combos."

"Combos?"

"I'll say them in order of...power. Escalerita, staircase I guess, is five cards in order of power. Say, two, three, four, five, six. Their symbols don't matter. Colorin... Colorful? I don't know. It's five cards of the same symbol. Fullhouse, full house, is three cards of the same number or letter and a pair. A variant, I suppose, is simply a triple without a pair, you'd call that a triple. Bomba, or bomb, is four cards of the same letter or number with a single card of choosing. The simple version is the same thing without the single card, but you'd call it a bomb regardless."

Jesse huffs, "Alright." He knew you'd deliberately left out combos out of your initial explanation to pull that sort of crap on him. He stares down at his hand. At the sight of a combo, an escalerita, he has to make sure his poker face–regardless of the game not being poker–is straight. Nine through king, eight if he wanted to use it but it was already a pair.

"So you pass?"

"Of course I pass, damnit."

You chuckle and play the five of spades. Alright, he could do that. He played a six, six of hearts. Next, you throw the nine of spades.

You raise a doubtful eyebrow. "You're kidding me, right?"

Jesse sighs. You were already down to four cards and he was on ten! He had to get this combo out. He also had to distract you. "What makes you even think I'm guilty?"

He raises his hands, fingers turned outward on either side, and shrugs. "Serious."

"Because," You begin, leaning forward on your elbows, "Jesse McCree, we can link you to over a thousand crimes by name alone."

He glances down, just for a moment, and manages to catch sight of two of your cards. Two of diamonds, and ace of spades, the ace. He looks down at his own highest cards, two of clubs and a king which belonged to the escalerita. The next two piles will hold two two's and three aces. "Right."

With that exchange, Jesse throws down his two of clubs, confident that your two is lower than his. He'll get to throw his escalerita this next round.

Unbeknownst to him, however, you had more than one two. You throw it down, the two of spades.

Jesse groans. The poker face wasn't even going to matter now. What was he going to do, now that his highest card was part of a combo he so desperately needed? The answer, apparently was nothing as the next two rounds fly by and he doesn't, or he's unable to, throw anything.

A pair, the two highest aces, begins the next round. Jesse gives an annoyed "go ahead" gesture because this next card is your last. It was a two, another damn two; the two of diamonds.

"Fuck!" He shouts unceremoniously, angrily throwing down his remaining cards. They were nine in total. He hides his face in his hands.

"I don't blame you." You say, pushing the pile of discarded cards aside. "I had a great hand, the upper hand. A triple, two two's, two aces. Plus, I've played this game much more. You'll love that lucky moment when you win while your opponents only used one card each, all three of them."

He sighs into his hands, "Yeah."

The next games are all won, expertly, by you. Jesse calls it a problem of luck. Lady Luck, or Fortune, didn't seem to favor him today. She wasn't favoring him lately, as though the latest period of his life was shadowed from her gaze. For one, the Rebels were ambushed by Overwatch, he was captured, and he had been jailed for a week. And now he was losing, losing terribly.

He kept up his promise in answering questions, though, and he was actually being honest. The first couple ones were still odd. The ones following became even more serious.

"Do you like Bob?"

"The robot?"

"Yeah."

"Have you seen your parents since joining the Deadlock Rebels?"

"No."

The latest one stops him in his mental tracks. "What is your real name?"

"What?" He asks without a thought, in disbelief. He covers it quickly with a scoff, "Jesse is my real name."

"Do you expect me to believe that?" You chuckle, "You haven't exactly hidden your name since the very beginning of your rise to infamy. 'Sides, doesn't "Jesse McCree" just seem like the perfect name for a cowboy?"

Oh, so you agreed with him. That was why he chose it. "I don't mind if you lie." You continue, "Perhaps your name is a tricky subject. I'll take your answer in good faith. I'll trust you."

He hadn't cracked you, neither had you cracked him. If he answered this truthfully, you'd be getting to him. He didn't exactly want to reveal himself entirely to Overwatch. Yet... you were someone trustworthy. You were just one of them, one of their agents, but he trusted you. You had treated him well so far.

"I..." He takes a deep breath to psyche himself up. "My name is Cole."

"Nice to meet you, Cole." You smile at him. It reaches your eyes, crinkles their edges. It lifts your face with a joy he can't quite describe.

"I–" He doesn't expect this type of reaction. "I ain't telling ya my last name. I don't want ya tracking down my parents."

"I understand that, Cole. Thank you."

He nods.

The next game begins with his play, and oh boy, it begins spectacularly. He had the three of diamonds, but he also had two other three's and a pair to accompany them. He throws it down, full house, baby!

His ecstasy quiets when you shut him down with your own full house with a triple six. Still, he considers his play good. He made a dent in his hand.

He passes and you continue with the remaining three. The game continues somewhat normally. He throws a card, you throw one higher, so on, so forth. It seems there are no combos remaining in this game. You're down to four cards, and he's down to three.

You throw an ace to his queen, the ace. Your face remains as normal, with a passive smile, but he can see something in your eyes. Confidence. You were confident that you would win the round.

But no, nuh-uh, Cole wasn't going to let that happen. He throws down the two of diamonds, the highest card, he knows. You threw the rest of them last game.

Then, triumphantly, he raises his remaining cards high in the air and throws them down. A pair, and he was done.

Instead of groaning, just as he had, or throwing the rest of your cards on the pile like a sore loser, or even stomping your foot on the ground, you smile. It's genuine and it shines upon your face.

He doesn't let that bother him. Instead, he snatches your coffee cup off your side of the table and takes a triumphant sip.

Ah! The sweet, sweet taste of victory and coffee, bitter as it is instant and cheap for the office. He doesn't even know if a slice of his favorite pie would top this sweetness right now.

The man–barely a man, still more of a boy–before you was finally revealed to you. On one hand, he was a youth, thriving on attention and victory. On the other, he was the face of a Southwest gang, a rebel in every way.

That was how he wanted to look like. He was different from others, a tough cookie. He kept his hair long, obstructing his face. He was letting his beard grow out. He wore a thick leather jacket, weird in the way that one sleeve was long and the other cut short. It left you wonder what caused it. His cowboy hat would've been worn so that it drew shadows over his eyes. He wore rough, fingerless gloves, and his belt buckle was gold with the shape of a skull.

He wanted to seem strong. He was cool and collected, but that was only when he had the upper hand. Once he didn't, he behaved just as he was, a pissy teenager. He'd grow bolder, angrier, reckless. This was Cole.

When moments came by that "having the upper hand" wasn't a matter of importance, he behaved as he was, because you'd already cracked him. It wasn't because of his name, as he thought. You had given him everything necessary for him to trust you, and that, he had.

He loved his parents, he loved the Southwest. He wanted to keep it all safe, safe from Overwatch and the American government. Something had clouded his view, made him believe that both of those were just nosy, horrible authority. In the way that he cared for these people, you saw that he had a heart.

His victory celebration is interrupted by you speaking up, "Well done, Cole."

Cole tries to come up with something, a witty remark. He can't find it within him, which he finds weird, but he's still running on the high of victory. It doesn't deter him. "Thank you."

"You know, you can still do the right thing."

That makes him perk up. He narrows his eyes at you, "What do you mean?"

"Join us." You smile, "Join Overwatch."

#cole cassidy x reader #cole cassidy x male reader #overwatch x male reader #overwatch x reader #blackwatch x reader #blackwatch x male reader #🎟 // overwatch #🎫 // cole cassidy #🌸 // success!#🤬 // swearshirt

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book-place · 2 years ago

Text

You From the Future

Warnings: hunting, bad parents, violence, guns, let me know if I missed any :)

Pairings: Dean Winchester x reader platonic, Sam Winchester x reader platonic

Request: Hey friend! I legit go back and read the other request when I’m in need of fluff! And on my drive home from OBX! I love your writing style and If you don’t mind could I please request: Supernatural x Teen!Male!Reader. The reader is the son of a hunting family Bobbie used to recommend around to hunters as an extra set of hands. The Reader and his family are on a hunt with Sam and Dean looking for a Wendigo nest in northern Maine. While I’m the trip Dean sees a lot of himself in Reader, raised to be solider, calling his parents sir and ma’am, forcing away tears when he gets hurt- he sees a machine rather than a 17 year old. After the hunt is over Dean pulls Reader aside maybe gives him the phone number to one of their burner phones they keep for long periods of time and the address to the bunker, hoping one day he’ll show. A week later, the brother walk in and the Reader is here at the bunker hanging out with Kevin Tran, and like gives Dean a greatfull smile, looking less exhausted then Dean had ever seen him. Sorry if it’s long but I love your work ❤️❤️

Request by: @bringinsexybackk69

*not my gif*

Summary: When Dean looks at you, it’s like looking into a mirror of his past

A/N: Sorry this took so long, Bubba- hope you enjoy :) <3

Please don’t plagiarize my work, you may reblog if you like but I’m asking that you don’t steal my hard work

As slowly as he could, Dean reached up to wipe his sweaty brow with the back of his sleeve, barely even daring to blink. The loaded flare gun was clutched in a deadlock in his hand; he and Sam had learned after last time that it worked better than the traditional killing method.

Beside him, the slight sound of scuffing let the man know that you were shifting your weight slightly, tense, but ready to fight at any given moment.

Behind you, Sam and your parents could be found in similar positions.

Every once and a while, the heavy footsteps of the wendigo bounced off the cave walls in a way that made it seem like they were coming from all directions, so it was impossible to tell when the creature would be appearing.

The anticipation of what was to come hung thickly in the room, practically suffocating everyone inside.

Though he didn’t have time to think about it, the man couldn’t help the thought from crossing his mind about how your parents were content having you hidden from their line of sight by Sam’s monstrous form, not even seemingly glancing over to check on you. He couldn’t help but have that remind him of…

Then, out of nowhere, a terrible roar was let out and the wendigo walked into everyone’s line of sight, drool rolling down its hideous face as its void eyes stared at all of you in hunger.

Everyone immediately sprang into action, shooting off into different directions and firing maniacally at the beast.

With shocking agility, it dodged all of them in a way that ones in the past hadn’t had when he and his brother had hunted them. This one was different. Smarter.

Panic immediately flooded into his system, doing everything in its power to suffocate him, but he pushed the feelings down- just as he always had- and put on a stone cold mask and began thinking of a way to overpower the beast instead.

He barely even registered the frantic looks on your parents' faces as they tightly gripped one another’s hands, backs to you without so much as a glance back to see how you were doing.

“Dean!” Sam called, motioning wildly with his hands to the large pile of rocks that were behind the wendigo.

The man understood immediately, and apparently you did too, because you rushed up beside him and took out your flare gun, aiming for behind the creature as the Winchester brothers did the same, firing round after round until the rocks came crashing down.

Too many of them came too fast, and the wendigo wasn’t able to stop them and protect itself before it was buried, tearing and breaking its flesh along the way.

Everyone let out a deep breath, shoulders sagging in relief that the creature was gone.

A groan emitted from the back of your throat as you gripped your shoulder. A lone stone had been thrown from the rubble and hit you on a weak spot, breaking skin and sticking into your arm.

The Winchesters' eyes widened and they were quick to try and rush to your side, only to have your parents interfere in the middle, seemingly oblivious to your pain.

Your father laughed, reaching out a hand to shake Sam’s, “That was very smart of you, Winchester.” He complimented with a grin.

Sam gave him a tight lipped smile as his nervous eyes flitted around the man, landing on your slightly hunched over finger as Deans did the same.

“Your son,” Dean pointed, trying to get around your mother.

She just stepped to the side and blocked his path, “Don’t mind him, Dean, he’s fine. Just being overly dramatic.” She wasn’t even trying to keep her voice down, “He thinks it’s the way to get attention.”

He became painfully aware of the way your muscles tensed before your back straightened at her words. Painfully aware of how the back of your hand was quick to fly up to your eyes and rub them slightly, ridding them of unshed tears.

“Are you okay?” Sam called to you over your fathers shoulder, who had also stopped the man from walking over any closer to you.

“He’s fine.” Your father repeated through gritted teeth, shooting you a quick glare before plastering a smile on his face when he caught Sam and Deans eyes.

“Come on!” Your mother cried with a large smile, “Let us buy you two a drink!”

The two men nodded, allowing the couple to go in front of them before waiting for you to catch up with.

“Are you okay?” Sam whispered, glancing down uneasily at your shoulder.

You nodded stiffly, “I’m fine, it’s only a small scratch.” The blood seeping through your clothes said otherwise, but they knew better than to push.

“Y/n.” Your father snapped.

“Coming, sir.” You hastily called back, avoiding your hunting partner's stares.

Because the two families had just met- Bobby had sent Sam and Dean on a hunt with your lot- the boys didn’t know how much they could say about the obvious and serious matter at hand.

The way you were acting was so familiar to Dean. The titles of respect, wiping away tears, the tough love that didn’t really feel like love at all. You were just like him, in the same situation he had been in with his own father.

You were a living, breathing copy of him from the past.

And that thought saddened and terrified the man at the same time.

-•-

After hitting a local bar with your family, you had all gone your separate ways, but not before Dean had pulled you aside and gave you a burner phone that had his number and the bunker address on it, making you promise to stop by if you ever needed a friend, or a place to stay.

It was a week later, and the man was opening the bunker door with a sigh, grocery bag in one hand and his keys in the other.

The soft sound of chatter and laughter filled his ears, causing his eyebrows to furrow as he drew closer to the balcony that looked out on the floor below him.

There, at one of the tables, sat Kevin Tran and you, sharing a bag of sweets from the kitchen and talking amongst yourselves happily.

Your eyes turned up at Dean, and he couldn’t help but suck in a breath. Around your right eye was a fresh black and blue shiner, but the smile on your face completely contradicted the wound.

It was a smile full of gratefulness and a promise of staring a new. You were finally free from your parents and you had Dean to thank for it.

“Hey, kid,” Dean called, softly smiling, “Welcome home.”

Idjits 👟- @ineedmorefanfics2 @roseblue373

#platonic #platonic imagine #x reader #teen reader #supernatural x reader #spn x reader #spn #dean winchester x platonic!reader #dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #sam winchester #sam winchester x reader #Sam Winchester x reader platonic

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wisteriaiswriting · 7 months ago

Note

Can you do yandere and deadlock reacting to S/O accidently getting seriously hurt during a sparring session

𝕊𝕔𝕒𝕣𝕣𝕖𝕕

Words: 419

Sparring sessions had an easy enough layout. First you had to warm up, nothing too harsh. Then it started, only hand to hand at this point. Anything you could do without powers or technology was fair game. And during that time you could hold your ground pretty well, only gaining a few bruises and scrapes.

But Iselin wasn’t worrying, it allowed her to spend more time with you. And she got to hold you after, something rare during the day due to being agents. Hearing the next alarm go off, signalling abilities allowed. Unluckily enough you were against Phoenix, who had great powers honestly, but he didn’t know how to use them and was reckless.

So whenever you went against him or went on a mission with him, Iselin stayed close. But today she couldn’t be as close as she’d prefer, but she knew you could handle yourself. So she let herself watch, meaning she saw everything.

How quickly his fire came to life, and how quickly it spread. Circling the two of you, but it didn’t stop there. Soon it engulfed the arena, and within seconds not even Phoenix could put them out. The overhead sprinklers turned on, soaking the flames into nothing.

Not only was the floor charred to the point of replacement, you laid within it all. Clothing, hair and even skin was charred, groaning in pain when any of it was touched. That set her off.

The familiar whirring of her tech had everyone’s head turning, quickly following as she rushed out of the room and into the arena.

“Deadlock!”

“Iselin!”

Before she knew a wall had blocked her path, sending her ultimate bouncing back. And luckily, missing everyone. Turning in anger to Sage, who was also looking angered.

“What was that for!”

“I know you two are dating, but you can’t let your anger control you like this.”

Everyone watched as Sage’s words seemed to only anger Deadlock, only for her to shut the device off. Dropping it into the waiting hands of Sage before she rushed off, hauling you into her arms. Keeping you close to herself and away from everyone else, and they let her, stepping away as she walked past.

They knew if she had her way, Phoenix wouldn’t be stuck with more chores. He would be stuck six feet under, but the protocol wouldn’t let that happen, not today. Who knows, if he ends up missing or gravely injured on a future mission, they couldn’t pin it on her. Right?

#valorant x reader #valorant x male reader #valorant deadlock #valorant deadlock x reader #deadlock x reader #deadlock x male reader #yandere deadlock #wisteria♥

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blueraspberryrodimus · 5 years ago

Text

Up Next List (10/1/19)

Requests are finally closed again and I’m pretty sure every single one of you wants me dead X_X After going through the “doubles” (aka similar requests, requests for sequels, etc.) here is the most current up next list! If he request has too many characters, I’ll pick which to fill. If you have not specified a continuity (and its not obvious which) I will pick which one. If you don’t see your request on here, it is likely because it violated the rules (for some reason there were so many requests that did not adhere to the request rules?) These will be filled in the order submitted! And as usual, commissions are always open! At the time of posting there are 4 commissions in line ♥

Thank you for playing! Thank you for being patient! I’m putting this under a “read more” because it’s long and took me over a half hour to list out.

Here we go:

tfp bots tiddy pillow

prowl admitting to feelings

cyberverse grimlock x human s/o

mtmte hoist crushing on human

cyberverse thundercracker x bot s/o

mtmte megs x romance writer s/o hcs

rid2015 grimlock x human s/o

swerve voyeur x human

brainstorm x human s/o oral

tfa blitzwing x s/o fluffy nsfw

swerve x bot s/o praise kink

mer!drift love at first sight

ratchet x s/o comfort smut

galvatron x bot s/o fluffy smut

mtmte rung/roddy/tfp op x s/o breeding kink

reader singing to swerve

megatron x s/o rough

mtmte mmegatron x s/o soft nsfw

tfp blitzwing/tfp soundwave x bot s/o heat kink

tfp wheeljack holoform date night

cyberverse top robot fails

roddymags nsfw

tfp starscream x bot s/o

cyclonus x bot s/o oral

swerve x bot s/o

mtmte megatron x bot s/o slow dance

tfp ratchet x bot reader medbay

tfp optimus cat

scavengers saved by human

g1 merformers hcs

ll bots touching human

synthen tfp ratchet x s/o hcs

rung x s/o kisses

more selkie swerve

tfa blitzbee x s/o poly

ll bots thirsty tweets

whirl x bot s/o play fight

mer!drift x s/o rut

bayverse optimus x male s/o

bugformers swerve courting

tfa jazz/jettwins/blitzwing x angel s/o hcs

tfp megatron/op/mtmte ratchet x s/o who gets sick

cyberverse megatron camgirl

mer!drift/mer!roddy/mer!wing x male s/o poly

tfa bumblebee x bot s/o

ll liaison turned cybertronian

tfp mer!starscream/mer!knockout poly x male mer!s/o

swerve x s/o edging

whirl x s/o soft

mtmte bots boner hcs

^ different bots

^ scavengers

rid2015 x bot s/o nsfw

tfa prowl dom s/o

cyberverse/rid2015 grimlock x bot s/o sandwich

rodimus x biologist s/o hcs

mtmte dratchet courting human

tfa prowl zoo date

brainstorm x nautica x human nsfw

50s!au swerve x greaser

tfp ultra magnus jealous nsfw

cygate x s/o fluff

mtmte roddy/krok/fulcrum hcs

first aid heat sequel

bayverse ironhide/ratchet/optimus x bot s/o hcs

fort max x bot s/o heat kink

cyberverse bots x s/o

rescue bots x excon bot s/o

waspinator tittyfuck

swerve x bot s/o oral

cyberverse grimlock x s/o dance

beeverse blitzwing hcs

swerve x reader lapsitting

tfa prowl/jettwins/jazz x s/o coming out hcs

tfa jetfire dommed by human

tfp ratchet x virgin reader

cyberverse soundwave x s/o

jazz x s/o romance

tfp bumblebee x human fluff

whirl standing up for reader

bugformers swerve/cygate x s/o

dragonformers mins x s/o

drift x bot s/o thigh fucking

fort max x thunderclash x bot s/o

cyberverse thunderbee fluff

waking holo roddy with a bj

tfp ratchet x s/o singing/guitar

mtmte megatron x s/o facesitting

mer!dratchet x s/o

thunderclash x s/o

shatter/dropkick x mech suit reader

roddy x bot s/o oral

mtmte megatron/rodimus x s/o conjunx ritual

tfa prowl/tfp arcee/knockout x s/o dance

mer!roddy x mer!s/o rut

rumble/frenzy hcs

rescue bots chase x chief burns

rodimus x s/o laugh hcs

skids soup kiss?

setting off fireworks w/ bots

rung x swerve platonics hcs

naga!tfp ratchet x s/o rut

tfp bots x s/o hip sway hcs

human frenzy dress up

megatron x bot s/o size kink

cyberverse megatron x s/o

roddy x s/o comfort nsfw

tfp ratchet receiving candle

tfp ratchet/mtmte drift/magnus x s/o w/ thick thighs

mtmte bots x s/o dress up

swerve x bot s/o breeding kink

tfp soundwave x mech suit s/o

tfp wheeljack aftercare hcs

ravage x s/o fluff

mins/mags x s/o size kink

prowl x s/o soft

roddy x excon bot s/o

rid2015 bumblebee x s/o oral

deadlock x decepticon s/o

tfp ratchet and smokescreen hcs

rung x bot s/o

cdrw x bot s/o

scavengers x bot s/o

cyberverse hot rod x bot s/o oral

naga!mtmte magnus x s/o rut

cyberverse grimlock altmode nsfw

mtmte bots x s/o scaredof loud sounds

fort max x bot s/o

tfa roddy showing off fir bot s/o

#if you were the one who submitted for tarantulas i'm not deleted the request because i might just fill it when i feel like it #i got a soft spot for beast wars but i dont have it listed here yet #up next list #blue writes #blue shouts from the mountain top #im gonna die filling all of these #so just know that i love you all so much

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nipgloss-writing-blog · 6 years ago

Text

Time Off

Soldier: 76 x Male reader | since everyone is back on the citrus scale after content ban Lemon / Explicit | 2196 words

Bright fluorescent light flooded your eyes as you pushed open the door to the quaint gas station. Despite its rather limited space, it was crammed with shelves that held rows of colorful snacks and conveniences. Jack stood outside filling the tank of the car, leaning back against the passenger side and gazing into the night. You turned and gave him a small smile before you began to browse the candy shelf. As you read the titles of the sugar filled bars, your mind wondered, thinking of how you managed to find yourself in this position. Of course his duty always came first with Jack. Always did, and even after Overwatch's disbandment, it always will. At least that was the official story. You knew that deep down, the soft spot he held for you could trump any immediate issues and while you didn’t like to exploit this fact often, alone time together was long overdue. If anything, he needed it more than you; stress of his life wasn’t making him any younger. So, after waiting a long time for things to calm down in his “business” life, you mustered up the courage to ask him for time away, just the two of you. Whether he hesitated or not at first was in the past, you two were here now and that’s all that mattered. You sighed, lost in dreamy thoughts of the trip ahead until they were interrupted.

“Sir, can I help you find something?” came the voice of the gas station attendant from behind the counter. It hadn’t dawned on you that you completely zoned out staring at the chocolates and you replied with a simple “No thank you!”. You glanced back at Jack again and while his face was obscured, his chest rose and fell in a telltale manner, indicating that he found your embarrassment amusing. The way the flashing gas station lights shone on his silver hair and how his jacket was unzipped just far enough to grant a peak at his muscular chest made your heart flutter. You swallowed hard, trying to ignore your slight arousal long enough to get you out of the gas station. You hurried through the little store, grabbing your favorite drinks and snacks for the road ahead, payed, and then headed out. Arms lined with bags, you turned and pushed the door open with your rear. Now you had caught his attention.

“Whew, cold night tonight!” you started as you made your way back to the car. “It is. Get anything good?” the tall man questioned, more eager to find a distraction from his heated thoughts than to receive an actual answer. After all, there was a long road ahead of you two still and driving through deadlock gorge required one’s utmost attention. “Look for yourself” you retorted in an innocent tone as you bent over to dump the snacks onto the back seat. As cheesy as it felt, you made sure to stick your ass out as you took time putting them down. The sound of two heavy boots stepping behind you let you know that your cheap move worked and you stood back up. Jack took off his mask, tossed it onto the seat in front of you and moved in close to your ear, lowering his voice “Oh I see something I want alright”. A soft moan escaped your lips and as he pulled your hips closer to himself and you felt the bulge in his pants against your ass. He slipped his hands under your shirt and ran them up your stomach, stopping when he met your nipples. You grinded into his lap until you were met with hesitation on his part. He pulled his arms away, exposing you to the chill of the night once again and causing you to turn in confusion. You realized the problem before you had to ask. Jack was peering at the cashier who was reading a magazine, none the wiser the scene unfolding outside. “That magazine can only keep his attention for so long” you said in a disappointed tone. Jack met the scowl that began to cover your face. “Hmm that’s true” he said while pondering the situation but quickly continued with “follow me” after glancing around. You followed him eagerly around the side of the gas station, and bumped into him when he abruptly stopped in front of a telephone booth. It must have been in disuse for years as seeing such a commodity never happened in the current age. You glanced at Jack cynically, not sure if he was joking or not and said “It’s great, if both of us can even fit in it that is”. “It’s the best I can do, private and it should have some sound proofing” he insisted in an impatient tone while palming the growing bulge in his pants. His eagerness caused a small pang of guilt to hit you due to the fuss you put up since you were the one who aroused him in the first place.

“Alright” you sighed as you pushed the folding door to the side with considerable effort. Once inside, you swiveled on the balls of your feet, minding the cramped walls. Jack let out a soft laugh as you stood there expectantly and he shook his head. “You know, once I’m in there you won’t have any space to turn back around, you should probably do that now” he informed and you blushed, feeling your own cock harden slightly at what his statement implied. You did as you were instructed, turning around again towards the back of the booth and placing your palms on the chilled glass. Jack stepped in behind you and reached behind his back to close the folded doors. You two were now back in the position you found yourself in before and much to your relief, heat quickly filled the small space, warming you up. His hands resumed their position under your shirt, softly running his thumbs over your nipples. Your back arched in response and your shoulders pressed against his chest. Removing one hand from the glass, you snaked your arm around behind you to trace it down the larger man’s lower abdomen. After struggling with the button of his pants for a few moments, you freed his erection and wrapped your strained hand around it, giving it a few gentle strokes and eliciting a hearty groan from him. He returned the favor, one hand reaching into the waistband of your pants and cupping your half-hard dick, the other meeting an asscheek to give it a rough squeeze. You tightened your grip on his shaft and attempted to quicken your strokes but the two of you were pushed too close together.

“It’s too tight in here for this” you said between eager pants. He savored the sensation of your body for a moment before responding, “You’re right, just relax” and he removed his hands from you, allowing you to bring your own cramped arm back in front of you.

From your position it was hard to turn your neck to see what he was doing as he shifted behind you but by this point you were fully hard and dying to take him. He pulled down your pants and boxers to your knees and placed a hand on your back, pushing to bend you forward slightly. The silence had finally gotten to you as crickets chirped in the distance and only the sound of shuffling clothes and your breathing filled the booth. “Just gonna get right to it huh?” you said in an amused tone, expecting a snarky remark in return. Instead, you were met with a muffled “mhm” as Jack saturated two of his fingers with saliva. After properly coating them, he lowered his hands and spread one of your cheeks with his dry hand, rubbing the slick over your hole. The sudden sensation caused you to tense up and he returned his hands to your hips. “You need to relax” he reminded you in a more assertive tone this time. Taking a deep breath, you released the tension and he returned to gently tracing his fingers between your asscheeks. After making sure that you were calm enough, he placed a finger against your lips and you opened them obediently, taking the digit into your mouth and sucking it. You swirled your tongue around the tip and moaned, excited by the contact but (to your dismay) he retracted his fingers from your mouth after a short while. You lifted yourself onto your tippy toes, yearning for what would come next. He steadied you with one hand on your left thigh, the other pushing the wet finger into your tight ring of muscles slowly. You winced in pain at the sudden intrusion but remained steadfast through the process of him inserting a second finger and scissoring your tight hole to loosen it. The pain slowly melted into pleasure as he pushed deeper into you, fingering your sweet spot. You bit back loud moans as he quickened his pace and you pushed back onto his hands, longing for more.

Sick of the teasing and preparation you pleaded “God Jack, please!” as you took his fingers fully into your ass. “Please what?” he replied, but you knew he knew what you wanted. “Please just fuck me already!” Your voice grew louder, giving little care to if anyone could hear. With that he spat into his palm and spread it evenly across his thick cock. “Get ready babe” was the last thing exchanged before he lined up his tip with you asshole and gave it a firm push in. The intense feeling of Jack spreading you with one fell motion caused you to clench your hands and you struggled to keep your balance. He pushed you further up against the wall of the booth and bottomed out inside of you, allowing you a moment to acclimate to his girth. As you attempted to catch your bearings he leaned back slightly and took in the site that unfolded in front of him. He let out a pleased moan and then uttered “you look so good with my cock deep in you like this”. The heat of the booth began to choke you and all you managed to vocalize was a faint “uhuh” as your head lolled forward. You swallowed hard as Jack began to pump in and out of you again, gradually picking up the pace. Usually, he’d allow a much longer time for you to get used to his size before continuing, but everything leading up to this moment had been too drawn out for him to wait another minute. He gripped the back of your shirt for leverage as he pushed into you over and over again and the leather jacket that covered his torso slammed into your cheeks repeatedly.

Your pleasure continued to build as he chased his own climax within you, leading you to reach down and quickly tug at your hard shaft. You were completely lost in the pleasure and all the discomfort of the tight space around you melted away. “God Jack don’t stop!” you moaned out and Jack’s pace became more erratic and unsteady, pushing himself over the edge. Hot liquid spilled into your ass causing you to gasp and pump yourself harder. Once Jack came down from his orgasm, he pushed your hand off of your dick and began working you towards your climax, which didn’t take long. You body filled with rapture as you came, white cum painting the glass in front of you. You huffed, trying to catch your breath in the stuffy air as Jack slowly pulled out of you and pushed the door behind open again. Cold air immediately met your sore ass and jolted you up. You shivered as you reached down for your clothes and pulled them back up over you, adjusting yourself before fixing your hair and turning towards Jack (who was also tidying himself up). He wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead before he flashed you a smirk. “Not such a bad idea, was it?” he questioned, clearly satisfied. He was right, but you cheekily replied “Huh? Oh, the booth. Yeah, not so bad besides the cramps and definite bruising”. He chuckled slightly and followed your gaze to the spot on the glass you came on. “Nah, don’t worry about it” he reassured you “Nobodies used this in years and I doubt somebody's gonna care” and with that he motioned at the store clerk, fast asleep at the counter, head rested on his magazine.

Jack lead you back to the car and opened your door for you, motioning for you to get in. You lingered for a moment placing your hand on his and then ducked into your seat. As you adjusted yourself to a position in which you wouldn’t be reminded of your new found soreness, Jack took his place behind the wheel and you looked over at his relaxed posture. “Are you happy that we did this now?” you prodded as you clicked your seatbelt in place. “Couldn’t be happier”. And with that, you two drove off into the night.

#Overwatch #Soldier: 76 x Reader #Lemon #m/m #Soldier: 76 #Jack Morrison

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ugh-supersoldiers · 7 years ago

Text

I Love You

MASTERLIST

Characters: Bucky x reader

Summary: ‘I love you’ isn’t a phrase you expect to hear from Bucky Barnes anytime soon, so when those three daunting words slip from your lips on a romantic getaway around Christmastime, your certain he won’t respond well, but he proves you very wrong...

Warnings: SMUT (18+ ONLY), oral (male receiving), unprotected sex, so much fluff dear god, probs bad editing sorry

Words: 3353

A/N: So this is just a random one for everyone whilst I’m on my break until the 17th of December. It’s christmas and smut all in one go. enjoy.

The sight of a warm fireplace was something that comforted you deeply. The crackle accompanied by the soft light and warmth, it all just made you feel safe.

A blanket wrapped around your shoulders, you sat in front of the fireplace, sipping at a cup of coffee as the pale shine from the moon outside cast a shadow on the wall of the living room.

It was a calm night, the type that made you sleepy at 8 pm as you sipped at a piping cup of tea, the liquid warming you from the inside out. A muffled yawn passed your lips as you stared into fire that cascaded upon the wood in front of you.

It had been Steve’s idea. A romantic getaway around Christmastime to ‘escape’ as he’d put it. You didn’t need to escape, Bucky was enough of a safe haven as you needed, but you weren’t going to refuse an all expenses paid weekend to a cute little log cabin in the middle of the best season of the year.

“I hope you’re not passing out on me.”

You smiled at the sound of the voice coming from behind you, and without turning around you replied, “I’m bored to sleep without you here.”

You listened as the sound of heavy, sock covered footsteps echoed in your ears, approaching you from the side. A kiss was pressed to the top of your head as Bucky sat next to you, rubbing your covered shoulder gently to help heat you up even more with the friction he provided.

You hummed in reply, taking the opportunity to lean your head on his broad shoulder when he sat next to you.

It felt like a dream, being with him. It took you what felt like an eternity to convince him to let you in, to convince him to let you love him. When he finally did, it was like the floodgates had opened and you were able to drink for the first time after being stranded in the desert.

The soft crackle of the fire roared on in the small log cabin you resided in. It was a total long shot when you asked him to come up with you, you figured Bucky would say no. Too many unknowns, too secluded, too this, too that, Bucky was always afraid of something. Not that you could ever really blame him for it.

When he agreed, your heart soared, and you hadn’t been able to wipe the smile off of your face since.

“You look tired.” Bucky noted.

“Not tired,” You said, “Just at peace.”

He hummed in acknowledgement, and pressed your body closer to his. You turned your head in to the crook of his neck and placed a soft kiss there, a spot you knew was sensitive.

Before you, Bucky couldn’t hardly remember the last time someone laid a hand on him without the intent to harm him. Whenever your touch was on his body, it felt surreal to him, and you knew it well.

He sucked in a quiet breath when your lips left his skin, your nose still brushing against his throat. Everything was so calm, so serene. Bucky had all but forgotten the feeling of serenity long ago, but here he was, feeling it like a tidal wave.

“I love you.”

The words passed through your lips ever so softly, as if the mere phrase itself couldn’t be said above a whisper. As the breath of your sentence hit his skin, Bucky’s heart stopped beating for a split second, before it began pounding so hard that he feared you would hear it in his chest.

You sensed his hesitation and instantly regretted saying it. It hadn’t ever been said between the two of you, your love for one another had only ever been of the unspoken variety. And, yet, now it was out in the open, no longer being kept as merely a lingering implicitness in the air when you were in each other’s presence. Now it was real.

Retracting from his now stiff frame, you tugged the blanket up over your shoulders to cover yourself more, like a cozy little camouflage from your own slip of the tongue.

“(Y/N)...” His voice was raspy, his eyes locked dead straight, lingering on the fire that now raged ahead of you.

You opened your mouth, searching for something - anything - to say to him, but nothing could be fathomed. You sat there, staring at him helplessly as silence swelled between you.

It felt like an eternity before his eyes came to meet yours again, the blue irises capturing yours with an emotion that you had never seen from him before. He looked vulnerable.

“Buck.” You choked out, figuring it was better than the element of nothingness that had settled uncomfortably in the room, “I’m sorry, I didn’t-”

Didn’t what? Didn’t mean it? Didn’t want to scare you off? Didn’t think it was the right time to say it?

Every excuse that popped into your head was nothing but a lie to soothe the ache that settled in your heart. But you couldn’t lie to him, especially not about something that you knew to be the truest thing you had ever said to another human being.

You sighed shakily, and continued to stare at him, his gaze as unrelenting as yours. It appeared you were in the midst of an emotional deadlock, neither party wavering in the slightest.

“Why are you apologizing?” He asked.

“You’re not ready.” You said, trying with all your might to keep yourself held together, “You’re not ready and I might have just well and fucked everything up.”

You felt the tears welling in your eyes, but you refused to try and blink them away in fear that it would make them fall down your cheeks instead.

“I never said I wasn’t...” He trailed off, his brows furrowing in confusion.

You cocked your head to the side. Of course he hadn’t said it, but he didn’t need to. Bucky had been to hell and back far too much for one lifetime, love wasn’t exactly something that he was comfortable exploring, right?

“Bucky, it’s okay, you don’t need to say it ba-”

Before you could finish, Bucky shushed you softly.

Confused, you quirked a brow at him, waiting to see what he was going to do ext because he clearly wanted to say something.

But he didn’t say anything, not with his words at least. Leaning in slowly, his soft lips pressed against yours, leaving you no room for any words at all. Shocked as anything, your eyes widened as his mouth moved feverishly against yours, his lips pressed each emotion that he felt onto your skin when his tongue couldn’t produce the words.

His mouth traveled to your jaw, sloppily decorating down to the sensitive area of neck with every puckered formation of kisses that he left in his wake. You were taken completely aback, too shocked to mutter a word in protest as you carded your fingers through his hard, the feeling of him touching you like this was too intoxicating for you to put a stop to.

Your better judgement however, made you place a hand on his chest and gently push him away, giving him a look of pure confusion and concern.

His eyes were wild, pupils having nearly swallowed his bright blue irises. The long hair that had been previously been tied back into a small bun behind his neck had now fallen undone and was a mess from the work of your hands.

“You said I wasn’t ready.” He told you, “And I’m gonna prove how untrue that is right here, right now.”

“What do you mean?”

He paused, as if thinking of the best way to say what was on his mind, before he spoke.

“Let me make love to you.”

Well now that was something you didn’t expect to hear anytime soon. Forget about the coveted ‘I love you’, sex? Sex seemed like a such a ‘far off into the distance’ sort of adventure for the two of you that you didn’t even let yourself think about it. But there were times that you would fantasize against your common sense.

You knew it was bad to think of all of the things that, given his rather extensive history before the war, you knew Bucky could just do absolutely awful things to you if he wanted. And the thing was, it was clear even in this case that Bucky didn’t want to have you squirming under him, begging for a release, not yet at least. It seemed that he wanted to just have sex, he wanted to properly make love to you.

“Are you su-”

“Sure?” He finished for you, “Yeah, doll, I’m sure.”

Certainty wasn’t exactly Bucky’s specialty given his past. In fact, Bucky had been about as familiar with certainty as a newborn is to a mortgage payment, but when you saw the look in his eyes, you realized that perhaps his childlike familiarity with the words ‘I’m sure’ had matured into their years of adulthood.

“Bucky.” You croaked out, tilting your head to the side gently, watching the way a small smile, like artwork, painting itself on his lips, his face the most beautiful canvas you’d ever seen.

His hand reached forward and tucked a stray piece of hair away from your eyes, lingering there as he pressed his palm into your cheek. You leaned into his touch, feeling the warmth of his right hand on your face and sighing at the contact.

You hadn’t realized how close in proximity you were to him until his nose brushed against yours and your breath hitched in the space it occupied in your throat. His lips were so close that you could practically taste them, and when you finally did, you had to hold back a moan of anticipation.

Bucky’s lips were by far the softest ones you’d ever had the pleasure of kissing, and every time you were close to him like this, your head spun because of it. He’d had a lot of practice throughout his years before he was the Winter Soldier, but there was a tentative quality about his intimacy that always astounded you. It was like if he kissed you too hard, he might just break you.

Your arms reacted when your mind seemingly couldn’t, they wrapped themselves around his neck, pulling him impossibly closer to you so your chests were flush against one another.

His hands were on your waist, resting on the border of the fabric of your sweater and the small portion of your midriff that had been exposed while you’d moved to get closer to him. You felt the cold touch of his left hand, and the blissful warmth of his right and marveled at how gorgeous of a spectacle it was. His touch was just right.

His right hand slid slowly up the front of your sweater, resting over top of your covered breast, giving it a small squeeze. It was just hard enough for you to let out a gasp, which allowed his tongue entrance to your mouth.

You’d kissed Bucky a lot, more than you figured you would when you first started the relationship. Bucky wasn’t shy about kissing his girl, especially not when he knew that you were an absolute sucker for it. But this kiss was different, it was laced with sexual tension this time. In the past Bucky’s kisses had said “you’re beautiful” or “I care about” or perhaps they lingered with the smallest hint of “I love you” in there somewhere, but this one undoubtedly said “I want you”.

His hand had now slid under your bra, cupping you as he massaged you gently causing a breathy moan to escape from you. It was so new with him and so undeniably exciting to feel his touch like fire on your skin.

You’d fantasized about him so many times that it was hard keep your head in a clear space at moments. You could clearly remember him stepping out of the shower one day, a towel wrapped dangerously low around his waste as water droplets clung to his body.

What an image he was, and completely unaware of just how much he was affecting you. He’d smiled as he’d walked by, making a route to the dresser and grabbing some clothes, in ignorant bliss of the wetness between your thighs as he dropped the towel momentarily to tug a pair of underwear up his low half. It was from behind, but Bucky has a nice ass - you weren’t complaining one bit.

And now you were feeling his hands travel along your body underneath your sweater, feeling the desperate need in his touch. You were so turned on that you weren’t sure how much longer you were going to be able to wait.

Your hands had been preoccupied with his hair, but you dared now to run your one hand down his chest, then abdomen, then trailing down to the belt of his jeans. You heard the small tink of your fingernail hitting the buckle as you moved past it to gently cup him through his pants.

The groan that came from his mouth was music to your ears, a gorgeous melody that must have been constructed by the angels in heaven - and it only encouraged you to want to go farther.

You gave him a firm squeeze, and the same reaction as before illicited from him. A small sigh of content passed your lips as he began kissing you harder than before.

“Not here.” He moaned out in between the clashing of teeth, “Bedroom, now.”

He hoisted you up, your legs around his waste in desperation as he almost ran into your shared bedroom. The kiss was never broken, lips still connected to one another as his foot kicked the door shut. Padding his way across the room, Bucky’s legs eventually hit the bed, where he promptly rested you on your back.

There was a moment of silence between you, the only noise was the heavy breathing that past both of your lips. He looked directly into your eyes, the intensity there was unmatched by anything you’d ever experienced.

You blinked up at him a few times, taking in his flushed cheeks and swollen lips and messy hair. He looked perfect.

“(Y/N)...” He said, taking in a breath, “I love you too.”

You sighed as a smile came to your lips. As if the moment you were sharing could be any more perfect.

“I know.” You said, tugging at the bottom on his shirt.

He got the message, and tugged it off of his torso in an instant, leaving his upper half completely bare. Your mouth almost watered looking at him, but he didn’t give you much of a chance to admire him, he was on top of you in a split second flat, attacking your neck with hot wet kisses.

You cried out when his hand pressed against your clothed heat. The pressure he was providing was utterly intoxicating.

“...So beautiful...” He mumbled, reaching to the hem of your sweater and lifting it over your head. You bra was next, you arched your back as he swiftly reached behind you and unclipped it, tossing it to the side of the room.

He let himself have another moment to admire you before he quickly took your left nipple in his mouth, pinching your right all the while.

A the moan that left your mouth was borderline pornographic as his warm tongue swirled around your hardened bud. You hand carded through his hair again, adding a gently tug which made him groan against you.

An idea popped into your head, and you decided to act upon it impulsively. In one motion, you flipped your bodies over so you were on top. A shocked but delighted look decorated his features. You were fast to resume kissing him, but this time you had the added motion of being able to grind yourself down on him. And oh god did he like that.

His hands moved to grab at your ass, aiding your movements on his crotch. Even through his jeans, you could tell he was big, bigger than you’d had before.

“Tell me something,” You whispered, trailing kisses down his jaw, “When was the last time you had a woman’s lips wrapped around your cock.”

Bucky’s eyes nearly bugged out of his head. He never expected you to have a mouth like that, but he was delighted to hear that come from you. Without waiting for a reply, you traveled in kisses down his chest, placing a few tender kisses to the scar on his left shoulder, and down his abs until you reaches that belt again.

You undid the belt buckle as you nestled between his legs, unzipping the zipper of the jeans and tugging them down his legs. You could tell he was painfully hard under his boxers, and judging by the way he reacted when you stroked him over the fabric, he was near desperate for you.

You didn’t tease him for long, choosing to take the boxers off to and leaving him completely naked in front of you. You grabbed his thick cock in your hand, and gently began to work on him. He threw his head back in pleasure and let out a soft moan.

You licked a strip from the base of his shaft up to his tip, swirling your tongue around his head as his flesh hand held your hair.

“Your mouth is fucking amazing.”

“Pussy’s better.” You laughed, before taking him in your mouth completely.

“Oh shit.” He said, moaning out as you bobbed your head along his shaft, ignoring your gag reflex to fit him in.

“You’re so fucking good.” Bucky said, slowly bucking his hips to match your movements.

Before long, you could tell he was close. You looked up at him, his eyes on your in a fiery desperation, silently telling you to stop. He needed to really feel you.

You released him from your mouth with a lewd ‘pop’.

“Pants. Off.” He nearly whimpered, and your obliged, ridding yourself of your pants and panties before moving upwards so your heat was situated right above his ready cock.

You rubbed him along your entrance briefly, allowing yourself the satisfaction of teasing him for only a second before you sank onto his cock. You each moaned out loudly as he stretched you out deliciously.

You began to move yourself up and down on his shaft, Bucky’s hands on your ass again, grabbing at you and helping you bounce on him.

Strings of ‘fuck, fuck fuck’ came from his mouth as you caught his lips in a heated kiss, running your hands down his chest. You could feel your release creeping up on you, the clenching around Bucky’s dick giving you away.

“Fuck, I can feel how close you are.” He said, taking to importunity to hoist your hips up and thrust into you so you no longer had to do any work. With every thrust he hit your g spot harder and harder until the coil in your stomach finally broke, your orgasm rushing over you harder than ever before.

You cried out in pleasure, Bucky a moaning mess under you as his hips began to stutter until he too found his release, painting your walls with his hot cum.

You collapsed onto him, a panting mess against him, listening to his erratic heartbeat against your ear.

His breathing was heavy as his hand came up to brush the hair out of your face. You looked up at him, seeing the tired smile that rested on his face. You couldn’t help but return it.

You both got under the covers, snuggling up close to one another for warmth as the wind blew the heavy snowfall outside the cabin. You nestled into his side and found peace in the warmth of his arms around you and the gentle kisses he pressed to your forehead.

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

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