#dfab!reader

Needless to say, the succulent pastry was scarfed down in about five seconds. Chomping down the last bite of the delicious treat left you wanting for more, but you restrained yourself in favor of minding the time. You didn’t want to be late for your meeting with Thancred. It had been awhile since you’d last seen him, and your concern for his well-being and eagerness to see him far outweigh your need for another crepe.

And that’s how you landed here.

While making haste to the Aetheryte, you were unable to stop marveling at your surroundings.

It seems as though you’re were early, though. Thancred’s nowhere in sight, leaving to your own devices. Well, at least there’s plenty to look! Your gaze flutters around the arera, taking in the pure mystique of it, catching bits and pieces of passing conversations. 

In the middle of hearing a fae’s qualms about the recent rains, something peculiar begins to rise within you. A steady, building heat that causes sweat to gather on your brow. Maybe it had just gotten hotter out? But that did little to explain the mounting arousal between your thighs. Your absentmindedly rub your thighs together, frowning when it did little to alleviate the tension.

Your lower stomach begins to tingle, a warmth bubbling in your body and making your cheeks much too hot.

This is unlike you. You know your body, and you know that this isn’t normal. 

Panic begins to set its claws into you as you desperately try to figure out what’s wrong, bouncing on your heels to the side of the clearing, unseeing gaze fixed on the gleaming Aetheryte.

Should you try to find a healer? Maybe ask around—gods no, you’d die of embarrassment!

Heading back to your inn room seemed ideal. Teleporting shouldn’t take too much out of you, but Thancred—

The sound of your name brings your thoughts to a cold, dead stop.

“There you are,” Thancred says, unmistakably happy to see you. Your heart jumps in your chest, the steady rhythm pounding in tandem with the thrum of arousal in between your legs. The afternoon sunlight catches on his stark, white hair and your pulse jumps, sings in relief at the sight of him, “My apologies. I mixed up where we were supposed to meet–was wandering around downtown like a lost fool.”

“Oh, it’s fine!” you assure him hastily, and it’s impossible to stop your gaze from running over his face. There’s the ever beguiling angle of his jaw, the curve of his lips–where your attention lingers for much too long before flickering downwards, “I wasn’t waiting for too long!” You get to the firm shape of his chest, outlined lovingly by his tight armor, before getting ahold of yourself and looking him in the eyes.

Which, is a bad decision, because oh gods, he’s looking at you and you suddenly feel like some hapless, giddy school child experiencing puppy love for the first time–besides the mounting, insistent need coiling inside of you.

“How blessed I am to be forgiven so easily,” the lavish croon of his voice makes your spine prickle, “Come along, we have all of Il Mehg to explore. We’ll have plenty of time to catch up on the way, I’m sure.” 

He gives your shoulder a firm pat, and even with the frustrating barrier of cloth between you, you feel another shock of need.

“Y-Yep! That sounds fi-fine,” you jump from your standing position and begin to scurry in the direction of the western exit, which leads out to a large, welcoming field of flowers with a few large, scattered trees. 

There’s the thumping of Thancred’s boots behind you, and you don’t need to look at him to know he’s eyeing you with contemplative concern. 

You’re more interested in the idea of being chased–Thancred chasing you, being down on you from behind, pinning you to the ground–

No, no, bad. If you keep thinking like that, you’ll lose your wits and actually do something you might regret!

“Are you feeling alright?” he inquires as he matches your pace. You are very decidedly not alright, caught between cancelling this entire outing entirely, asking him to fuck you senseless behind one of those trees, or continuing to weather the strange, mounting symptoms until the day’s end. The latter option sounds the most unappealing. “You’re usually not so…”

“I’m fine,” you say, too quickly, too firmly. There’s a nervous bounce in your step as the both of you pass underneath the pearly gate and into the wilderness. Distantly, you wonder if one of the flowers from that delectable pastry is responsible for this, and if so, wonder which kind it is, “Just, uhm, feeling a little off today, is all. It’s nothing I c-can’t sleep off.”

“If you say so,” he says slowly, skepticism clear as day in his voice, “So! Where would you like to head first? There’s Longmirror Lake–I hear the massive ruins of an ancient city lay underneath it! Of course, there’s also the impossible to miss castle in the middle of Longmirror…”

He goes onto list several possible spots you could visit, outlining the best parts of each, but you have a hard time parsing his words when you’re so focused on the rhythmic sound of his voice, coupled with whatever ailment insists on ruining your day. Had it stayed to a minimal level, you likely would have been able to ignore it–but your knees are getting weak and the subtle movement of your clothes against your skin is suddenly more grating than ever before. The overwhelming scent from your floral surroundings only contributes to your dizziness.

Thancred says your name a second time, and shakes his hand in front of your face, jolting you from a daze you didn’t even know you’d been in. 

“Any of those are fine–whichever you want,” you bring a hand up to rub at the bridge of your nose. Your tongue feels like cotton in your mouth. 

“Alright, we’ll head to the lake, then. It’s the closest one,” fortunately, he has no qualms about making the decision. You’re hyper conscious of the air against your skin, your clothes weighing down your body, clinging with sweat. The scent of the flowers, Thancred’s warm presence beside you. Your fingers curl into tight fists, palms much too hot and slick.

“Okay,” you say and your voice is strained.

It’s eating at you. It’s eating at you and you can’t stand it. With every step, you feel the moisture that’s gathered on your undergarments rub back against your cunt. Your gaze flicks to look at him, fixing on the angle of his jawline, on the elegant shape of his nose.

“Is there something I can help you with?” he turns to look at you, lips upturned in a slight, amused grin. Prick, stupid prick and his perfect face–you’re suddenly stuck by the idea of your thighs clenched on either side of his head, his tongue dragging up and down your clit, lips working relentlessly at your cunt while his hands grip you tight. You take a sudden, deep inhale and you realize that you’ve stopped in place.

He repeats your name and suddenly, he’s much closer, leaning into your space and narrowing his eyes. You wish you were anywhere but here, right now, because all you can do is stare at his lips with wide, hungry eyes and hold your breath.

“Pardon my assumption, but you certainly don’t look alright to me. You’re not acting like yourself and your pupils are the size of dinner plates,” he says. He leans in and presses his forehead against your own to check your temperature, and his innocent concern seals both your fates.

Your mind gives out.

Whatever you’d been poisoned with possesses you for that one moment and before you could even realize it, you seal your lips against his own.

Oh gods, oh gods– Your brain ceases to work as panic wars with your ailment, and your body all but crumples into his arms, face pressed to his chest. He catches you, of course he does, because he’s Thancred. He’s Thancred, your Thancred–

“Oh, my god,” your voice is a mere whisper against his chest. Your left hand presses against his abdomen and the thundering, agonizing arousal reacts instantly, “I’m–I’m so sorry!”

You push away from him. Stupid, stupid, stupid! You’d ruined everything! You should have just said you weren’t feeling well You aim to take a step back, but the ankle where you put your weight slips on the dirt and. Panic and dizziness wind together and jumble your senses, your vibrant floral surroundings passing you in a blur as you start to fall. This is it, you sob internally, I’m going to die after looking like an idiot and kissing him out of nowhere–

Then there’s a firm grip on your wrist and you’re yanked to your feet. The momentum from the tug carries you forward and into his chest. Your face presses into his armor. He smells good, cologne and gunpowder and spice. You don’t want to move, not even to quell your feverish, unrelenting symptoms.

“Alright,” his voice rumbles deep in his chest and you can feel it, “It’s incredibly clear that something’s amiss. It would be in your best interests to come clean,” his arm tucks around your waist, pulling you tighter against him and your knees just about give out. He curses, letting go of your wrist and wrapping his other arm around you in a clumsy hold against his body, “Twelve, we should get you to a healer.”

Your hard nipples press tight against the constraining fabric of your cloak and it takes every ounce of your restraint to not start grinding up against him. Your body cries out for it, weeps for it, begs, but Thancred is your friend. Thancred is your friend and he deserves to know what’s going on.

“I ate a pastry back in town and I think it made me sick!” you urgently inform him, “I was just fine before that!”

“That explains it,” Thancred says with a sigh, his lips so close to your face, “Most of the plants here have… special side effects. The fae have lived here so long that they’ve developed immunities to most, if not all of them. It seems that the vendor who sold you that treat left out that particular detail,” you just about collapse with relief. Thancred knows what’s happening. Smart Thancred, strong Thancred–

Breed, breed, fuck, mate–

“That being said, it’s not a good idea for you to be out and about like this. We should get you somewhere safe,” Oh no. Does that mean he’s going to drop you off somewhere and leave? No, no, that’s the worst thing that could happen right now! Especially after going so long without seeing him, especially when you need him now more than ever.

“Don’t go!” the desperation in your voice comes as a surprise to even yourself, “I don’t–I want–”

Your frustrations mount as you try to articulate what you want, what you need.

“You want me to help you,” he spells your thoughts out and you nod, relieved that you don’t have to articulate them yourself. Thancred will take care of it for you. 

He doesn’t say anything else after that, likely deep in thought or in conflict.

“I trust you,” you whimper, “I’ve always trusted you, Thancred,” it pains you to tear your face away from his chest, but you tilt your head to look up at him and don’t regret it. His eyes are wide, lips slightly parted.

It’s so much, so much, so much and the pure amount of sensory assault makes you begin to tear up. You tilt your head back down to hide your face, hands balling in the fabric of his jacket. Your knees start to tremble again, cunt sopping and body screaming out for his hands on your chest, ass, back, anywhere!

“Shh, it’s alright,” Thancred hushes, and the bestial part of your brain coos in content, so delighted he’s here and that he’s taking care of you, “I have my reservations about this. Are you sure?”

“Yes!” you say, leaving not even a second of silence, “Please, I need you! I’ve wanted you even before this!” your voice trembles with the weight of what you’d just said and pitches with desperation. Throwing caution to the wind, you continue,  “Thancred, please. I wouldn’t ask this of anyone else,” if you’re going to confess your carefully guarded feelings, you might as well go all-out. Consequences be damned! You can deal with them when you can actually think straight, “I”

He ducks down and cuts you off with a kiss.

It starts off as only a slight, gentle press, merely testing the waters, before he tilts his head for a deeper angle. Your eyes slide shut and your entire body loosens in a show of submission, more than happy to let him lead the way. His fingers curl into your hair, holding you where he wants you. His tongue rubs against your lips and for a moment, you don’t respond, too pleasure hazed. 

He gives your hip a light slap and you gasp, giving his tongue ample room to feel every inch of your mouth and tongue in a dexterous dance that makes you glad he’s there to hold you up.

Your shaking hands reach up to clutch his shoulders, feeling the broad muscle underneath his form-fitting armor. Your bodies press tight together, and you cling to him even when the need for air forces you apart. You gasp for it, dizzy and surrounded by him, him, him. His firm grip around your waist, his broad chest nuzzled tight to you, his scent. He’s perfect and he’s the only thing keeping you on your feet.

A thrill rolls up your spine at the knowledge that he can manhandle you so easily.

“Come this way, dear,” he murmurs, and his face moves away. Your protesting whine is met by a low chuckle as he carries you from the road and into a nearby grove of trees, with thick shrubbery and branches. He’s talking, but you’re not listening, eyes lowered as you press your face into his shoulder again and take a deep inhale.

It’s impossible to keep track of where he’s bringing you, but in only a few moments you feel your back settle against a tree trunk. Vivid, pink leaves loom above your heads, the sweet smell of the blooms more overwhelming than ever.

He presses you in tight, weight covering you entirely. Satisfying, deep, contact, contact, contact. You feel the swell of his chest, the press of his clothed cock against your sopping core.

One of his hands cradles your cheek and you automatically tilt your head into it, exposing as much of your neck as possible. The roughened material of his glove grates slightly against your skin. You want them off, but your coherency sizzles away when his lips dance over the skin of your neck. He plants a vast array of fluttering kisses over the unmarked flesh, making you squirm and whine. He shushes you again, tongue laving over the crook of your neck, before he nips there.

You buckle again, falling onto the knee he manages to shove between your legs just in time.

“Fuck!” you cry, eyes screwing shut at the oversensitivity. Sweat slicks your forehead and you feebly flop back against the trunk. Your grip on his shoulders tightens as he palms a breast, reminding you that there’s still an awful, cloth barrier preventing you from feeling every inch of him.

“Can you come just from this?” he inquires, much to unaffected. His knee begins to grind back and forth against you and you ride it, pressure and friction so good, too good against your sopping folds.

“Thancred,” you breathe, burying your face into his shoulder. It’s all sweet ambrosia, a devilish, intoxicating cocktail of sensations that numbs your mind to everything but the here and now, whittles your world down to only him.

His hand strays from the back of your head and grabs at your shirt, deftly undoing the buttons. You help him, throwing i haphazardly to the ground.

Your hips roll and buck desperately against his built thigh, head tilting back, back arching as he squeezes a tit. His fingers grasp the edge of your bra and yank it down to free your breasts. The material of his glove is still coarse against your hardened nipple, but it’s contact and that’s all that matters.

Then he ducks down, starting to lavish your chest in attention. Your dragged back under the mindless, euphoric haze. His tongue rolls around your untouched nipple.

“Thancred,” his name emerges from your lips as a warbled moan, and he hums in response, wrapping his lips around the perked nub and giving a firm suck. “Ah!” you downright squeal, panting as his fingers drip to your trousers, toying with the waistband,.

Your hands scramble and claw against his armor, suddenly possessed by the urge to see him just as bare as you are, to press against his firm torso. 

“Off,” the demand comes out as a weak whimper, but he obliges. One of his hands reaches and starts to undo the numerous straps over his chest, while his mouth stays busy. His lips pop from your nipple with a lewd, wet noise but he only moves to the next, devoting his free hand to tugging your trousers down. 

Your movements are hurried and manic as you help him, shoving both your bottoms and undergarments off at once.

“Oh,” he says, your eagerness seeming to surprise him. From there, your hands fly to his chest, helping him out of that tight, but agonizingly complex armor, “My, aren’t you eager?”

“Wear something that’s easier to take off,” you grumble. The thrall of the heat still has you in its firm grip, loosening your verbal filter and clouding your decisions. Off, off, off, is all you want. It doesn’t matter that you’re out in the open, that anyone could stumble upon your tryst at any moment. There’s no Eorzea, no missions, there’s nothing that needs to be done besides him.

“I’ll make sure to give that a try,” Thancred draws, and the top piece of his armor falls to the ground, revealing… another, admittedly tight-fitting shirt. You give a hiss of annoyance and he chuckles, grabbing the hem and taking it over his head, gently depositing it next to his armor. While he does that, you kneel, fingers greedily grabbing at his best, “Twelve, you really work fast when you want to.”

You don’t honor him with a reply as you finally undo his best, and grab his trousers, yanking them to the ground. The sight of his still-clothed bulge greets you, and you’re immensely pleased to know he’s as invested in this encounter as you are.

Unabashedly, you press your face against him, nuzzle your cheek into it. His breath hitches and you feel a rush of satisfaction, until his hands grab your shoulders. You allow him to tug you upwards, giving a startled squeak when he envelops you in a passionate kiss, the kind that makes your knees weak and your lower stomach feel gooey, hot want.

His cock presses against your stomach and you can’t help but wonder how it’ll feel inside of you. 

“Follow my lead,” he breathes against your neck and you shudder merely at the feel of it. His calloused, still gloved hands grab at your thighs, twining them around his hips, “My, my, you’re already so excited,” he purrs as his cock dips against your soaked cunt. You just about sob, eyes shut tight, head tilting back against the trunk. He’s so close, so agonizingly close to where you need him the most!

“Just fuck me already,” you beg, plead, on the verge of tears.

He hums in affirmation, bringing his weeping cock close to your entrance. The slow slide inside you burns with both pain and pleasure, leaving you a heady, listless mess. Your hips roll into him, a feeble attempt to get as much pleasure as possible out of it.

Whatever concoction you’d ingested made you wet enough for this to work without proper lubricant, thank twelve. You wouldn’t have been able to wait for him to procure some.

Your trembling hands grab at his shoulders, tighter and tighter until he finally hilts within you, pelvises nestled together. A low moan unfurls in his chest and the desire in you lights anew, because finally, finally, he’s going to be just as affected and lost to ecstasy as you are.

“You can move!” you assure him, hips already beginning to twitch.

“Twelve, you feel good,” he says and swallows, throat bobbing. You follow the motion of it with keen concentration, leaning up to kiss his hot skin.

Then, he starts to move. His hips draw back and shutter forward, and you experimentally roll to meet him, mouthing absentmindedly at his chest. Your lips press against a nipple, tongue rolling over the hardening bud.

The pace picks up, and each time he slides back inside, his pelvis bumps your clit. You bite your lip as your nerves fray, a hand reaching down to rub at the bundle of nerves while the other wraps around his neck and clings.

“Make noise for me,” he says, “No one else is around to hear,” and that encouragement is all you need. 

He coaxes moan after moan, whimper and whimper out of you, muffling them with his own lips as he kisses you over and over. His tongue laves against your own, swallowing your pathetic little sounds. Your back slams against the trunk with each thrust, and the violence of it somehow sends your further into the brink.

Your eyelids flutter spasmodically and your heartbeat thunders in your ears, cunt throbbing with oversensitivity. Something molten hot and delightful blooms inside of you and you’re over the edge, cumming around his cock with little more than a minute of encouragement. 

Your juices spill around him and onto the grass beneath. You distantly hope none of it gets on his boots, which he hadn’t bothered to take off. 

You’re limp in his arms while he continues to fuck you, simply chasing his own orgasm. The idea of becoming little more than a sex toy for him is more arousing than it should be, but you don’t get to think further on it between his erratic, urgent thrusting.

“Fuck–” he snarls, low and deep as he pulls out of you. Cum shoots onto your stomach, warm and sticky and utterly fucking blessed.

Arms still around you, he staggers back and drops to his bottom, likely smooshing a few flowers in the process. He brings you with him, still seated on his cock even as he flops onto his back. Your face presses into his sweat-slicked chest and you wrinkle your nose, moving onto his side. His cock, still half hard, twitches inside of you and your breath hitches and the feeling.

The air is still, quiet with the exception of the chirping, vibrant wildlife.

“Thancred,” you murmur after several long moments, “We’re probably squishing the flowers–and we still have to see the castle! Gods, I’m so sorry,” With your problem taken care of, the reality of what’s just happened finally returns, as does your coherency. Gods above, you can’t believe you’ve done this!

Your brace one of your hands against the ground and you attempt to shift off of him–only to be tugged back down by an insistent arm around your waist. His cock has grown soft inside of you, but the fact that it still lingers makes you tingle with something warm and heady.

“No, stay here,” he grumbles, “The flowers will regrow. The castle will be there for the next millennia or longer.”

“But–”

“You’ve exhausted me, utterly and completely,” he teases, turning his head to kiss your forehead, “So indulge me.”

“Okay,” relief is palpable in your voice as you relent, settling against his side. Your eyelids lower, gaze absentmindedly sweeping over your surroundings, taking in the vivid blooms, the rich brown trunks, and… 

How you were kidnapped:

Often you would joke about being whisked away! One day Yandere!Sojiro told you with the utmost sincerity that he’d love to do that.

Be his wife. Live with him. He can bring the world to your very feet.

You were joking! “Oh, no I can’t do that!” You had school, family, and would be leaving as studies were over. 

Besides… you had a boyfriend back home….

That was the first time Sojiro felt… unhinged around you. You can’t? After months of “Of course I can do that for you!” No that won’t do. 

You can’t leave him. Certainly not for some boy who’s not worthy of you.

Sojiro tried to convince you. To charm. To sell the idea. To use his silver tongue and handsome good looks. But all he kept getting in return for his efforts was, “I can’t! I’m sorry :(” 

Clearly, you don’t know whats best for you. 

You’re drugged and stolen so discretely from your own bed, that you’re none the wiser to your abduction and neither is anybody else. 

Until you wake up in a lavish room you’ve never seen before, tied up, with a ring on your finger. With a handmaiden so nonchalantly tending to your blankets giving you congratulations on your new marriage.   

Being Yandere!Sojiro’s S/O:

Discipline, loyalty, and unwavering obedience is a number one priority. 

There is leeway in the beginning. Sojiro understands it’s going to take some work to unlock your full potential. Isn’t fool enough to think you won’t need to be broken in.

But the grace period will only last for so long. 

Sojiro never wants to hear “I can’t do that” ever again.

It becomes commonplace after he demands something of you he’ll say, “Can you do that?” and the answer had better be “yes, sir.” 

His rage is quiet, simmering. Never explosive. But that doesn’t mean he can’t and won’t hurt you for slighting him. 

Yandere!Sojiro puts you through rigorous training to become the thriving house/trophy wife he knows your meant to be. 

Would not find escape attempts to be entertaining, fun, or cute. You’d be punished severely for embarrassing him, and scaring him enough to think he might actually lose you.  

Lord help you if you ever make the dire mistake of being disobedient in front of company.

Sojiro strives for you to be so obedient that if he demanded you jump off a cliff, you would. (Not that he ever would.)

Good behavior is rewarded with nice things. Being taken out, hooked on his arm, to the fanciest restaurants imaginable. You’ll travel get to see the world! Become cultured! Provided he feels you’ve earned it and it’s at his side as his wife. 

Praise, praise, praise. You’ll be pampered and lavished after tough lessons. Told how gorgeous you are in the things he provides for you. 

He’ll make you cum. Over and over and over… and you’ll be told how he loves the taste of your pussy. 

Marathon sex to test your willpower, endurance and his. 

Sometimes Sojiro prefers a little fight and grants you permission to be as willful as you please. 

A certain confession even came with a promise: “Hmm. I have a student with a synchronizing desire. If it is quite alright with you, I would like to set up a duel session with you and them.”   

All you could to do was whine and nod fervently. The orb slipped, your back arched at the abrupt direct vibrations pressed against your swollen clit. 

“Oh! My apologies,” Zenyatta said, the orb quickly rolled back up. You breathed heavily in through your nose, holding your breath. Trying to bait back the swell of pressure in your hips that threatened an orgasm. You were politely but firmly told not to cum unless given expressed permission. With the added instruction not to beg. Zenyatta would know when’s the best time to cum. “And please, I would much prefer a verbal answer.” 

Letting out your held breath you said, “I would like that, Master.”  

“Splendid.” The harmony orb rolled inch by inch back up your belly, angled to roll over your tits. Goosebumps that were just starting to dissipate coming back in full force. Littered on your arms, raised hairs on your neck. “Under my guidance, I believe you will synergize beautifully.” 

Now that you had fully satisfied your Master’s requirements (and what you could swear was a genuine, gross interest and curiosity) the orb rolled back down. But further down. The vibrations nearly came to a full halt as it glided over your nub. Settled. Pressed gently, but firmly against your entrance. 

Panic welled up in your chest. The sphere wasn’t grand in length but it was girthy. Wide, heavy, and smooth. Even where the grooves and patterns were. But even so, it seemed to be impossibly wide. And yet it still pressed, and you started to gradually open up. 

Ever so slowly you were stretched. And stretched. And stretched. And your walls continued to yield to it. A deep guttural moan pulling from your belly. Wanton mouth dropped open subtly as the immense about of pressure grew against your naturally slickened hole. Eyes shut tight, chin to chest. Even when the orb pressed against the bones of your pelvis and you felt, surely, that must be your limit; it kept going. Save for the slight bit of burn, that only proved to heighten your pleasure, there was nearly no pain at all. 

A pitiful whimper caused your Master slight concern. “Breath,” Zenyatta calmly instructed. Traced fingers over your abdomen to distract, and bring attention back to him. “You are doing wonderfully,” he praised with a hint of excitement in his melodic, reverberating voice. 

After passing its roundest circumference the orb popped inside of your body alarmingly fast, you gasped and held onto your Master’s knees. Clutched the fabric of his pants as your hips lifted. Feeling heavier. Relishing in the weight, the tingly warmth, and fullness like you’ve never felt it before. The orb relaxed you from the inside out. The orb’s influence gently coursed through your veins as it traveled further up inside of you. Feeling so detached from your limbs that your hands let go of their vice grip, and your ankles slacked, toes uncurled. 

The vibrations picked up again, and your body jolted but only for a moment before it went back into its lax state. Zenyatta asked, “how do you feel?” 

“So full, so hot… I can feel it all over,” you explained sounding high, and not quite like yourself, your own tone of voice seemed foreign. 

“Are you ready for another one?” He asked, voice thrumming through his body. Sending tingles through your ear canals.

“Yes, Master,” you mumble. Body involuntarily shivering at the thought. Just one had you feeling full, and was still reaching deeper. 

“Good; if you would; keep your eyes open this time? I would like for you to see what a marvel your body is.” So talented: the way Zenyatta can make a command sound like a choice and a question. 

They had been closed for so long that as you pried your eyes open the soft light of Zenyatta’s orbs still circling you stung to look at. Another orb floated over to you, tugged on an invisible puppet string. Came to rest at the corner of your jaw. Rubbed, oddly affectionately, before it rolled down your neck. He was back to teasing. Causing your heartbeat vacate your chest. Left and made a new home in your clit. The little bundle of nerves felt just about as big as a heart, testing your will. Your molten pink insides clenching sporadically, nervous, because your body felt completely out of your control. 

With your downward eyes watching as the orb made it’s journey down to your ruddy cunt, you could see the protrusion in your belly. Sweat glistened skin rounded more than it usually was, indicating just how far the orb had reached. The second orb slid between your folds. Instead of pressing, it grinded. Twisted from side to side as you were stretched open to the max once again. 

Then he kissed you; tasting smoky and whiskey sour. And kept on kissing you, ‘til you were practically in his lap. His hands groping greedy hand fulls of your plush ass. Neading at the meat of your soft hips. Kept kissing you, you kissing him. Jesse separating your lips, slipping his eager tongue into your mouth, ‘til the bartender had stated that enough was enough. 

He slapped his hand down on the counter and demanded, “Stop tryna fornicate at my bar! Get yourselves a room!”

McCree growled as he pried himself away from you. He asked, really low and gravely, “wanna see where I work?”

You thought yourself that you should get going; it’d been fun, but you really shouldn’t. Instead what came out of your mouth was a breathy little, “Yeah.”

So here you are being snuck into watchpoint by the most handsome man you’ve ever let lead you by the hand; ever let shove you against a wall, pressing your cheek against the cold surface, arching your back as he digs his fingers into your shapely thighs. Dragging them up, and up while he’s running his tongue along your neck, trying to eat you alive. 

Good lord, you’re shivering and mewling already and he hasn’t even gotten you to his room yet. 

“Mmm~ Jesse, where are your quarters?” You ask through labored breath. Your body’s so hot, the walls of your sex pulsating with want. If he doesn’t get you there soon you’re going to melt right out of your panties. 

“We’re almost there, darlin’,” he says. Hooks his hands on the insides of your thighs, pulls your hips back, and grinds his bulge against your ass, “don’t’chu worry.”

You giggle and roll your hips in time with his grinding. “We keep goin’ like this, we’ll never make it.” 

Suddenly a man walks down the hall. You notice him first; all muscle, dressed in tight grey sweats. Black, smooth, and shiny pulled back hair. Accompanied by a stern, but gorgeous face. Startled you spin around, try and push McCree away to no avail, the man feels like an immovable object. Your breath catches in your throat as the stranger gets closer, a bright red blush arising on your cheeks.  

God damn; you’re way too worked up and tipsy for this. Is everyone in Overwatch stunning?

“Hanzo.” Jesse tips his hat to him in greeting. Hanzo giving him a bit of a scowl in return. “What’re ya doin’ up so late?” 

“None of your concern.” 

Jesse nods. “Fair enough.” 

The man barely looks at the two of you as he walks by. Says offhandedly, “She is not allowed in here.”

“I won’t tell if you don’t,” McCree says with a grin and a wink that Hanzo does not see. 

Hanzo keeps walking and waves him away. “You have a room; use it.” 

“Yes, sir,” Jesse says. He grabs a hold of your wrist and enthusiastically starts to pull you along with him. 

While you’re very excited, eager to finally be getting to a place where you can get nice and acquainted with the cowboy, you can’t help but look back at the stern man. Just to see what he looks like from the back. Then as you are whipping your head back around you catch the man staring. 

It takes him a moment to realize he’s been caught. With his eyes lowered, and what you swear is a pleased, approving look on his face. Getting a healthy look at your backside. You grin as his gaze flits up and he sees that you see him. The softer, pleased look fleeting and gone in an instant. Quickly he asserts his eyes forward and keeps going.  

You can’t help but laugh out loud, with a little extra pep in your step as you try and keep up with McCree’s long strides. 

“What’chu gigglin’ about?” Jesse asks.