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jjungkooksthighs · 21 days ago

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Zenith

♊︎–Pairing: (X-02) Caleb x fem reader

♊︎–Genre: Angst, fluff, and smut

♊︎–Rating: 18+/ nsfw (mdni)

♊︎–Word Count: 17,200 words (31 pages y’all are in for it)

♊︎–Summary: After being torn away from you, your lover finally comes home to you after a mission alone and without you. You soon realize he hasn’t been taking care of himself in his separation from you and take it upon yourself to fix that in the ways that only you can.

♊︎–Warnings: Possessive!X-02/Caleb, obsessive!caleb, soft dom!Caleb, sub! reader, mentions of blood, slick and pre-ejaculatory production, scenting, dirty talk (lbr I love that shit), praising, handjob, grinding, cunnilingus (oral f), creampie, breast worship (just a tad), breast/nipple play, nipping, sucking, begging, muscle kink, scratching, cum eating, manhandling, cursing, wet and messy sex (he’s hungry alr), size kink, face riding, pinning, lots of marking, fucked against the wall

♊︎–A/N: I humbly present my first offering to fellow LADS and Caleb enthusiasts that was made with excitement following his myth release and then horniness when I started ovulating this week. I was extremely horny and this…well, this happened.

The ticking of the clock, once a sound that elicited excitement in the promise of his return, now grates on your ears like the engines of the spaceship that has become a prison rather than a home to you. The clock’s sound, after years of longing fiercer than the sun, was harsh and unforgiving in its continual, ceaseless passing that waited for no one.

Least of all the love of your life.

It had been a blue moon the last time you’d been separated from him, but this mission that the higher ups had given you both had been unlike anything either of you had been assigned.

It had come after your paired scouting of the ruined planet of Philos, the life and greenery of the planet now a wasteland of death and scraps.

You both had been tasked with discerning if the planet were habitable after years of quiet desolation, and after only a single moon on Philos, you had determined that the anger and sorrow of the system had harvested too deeply into the very soils to sustain more than the weeds that grew sadly from the split, fractured soil.

You try to sleep, the dark canvas of space and array of stars offering you their respects in the dim, slow blinks of the white balls of light that colored the endless expanse before the glass panes of the viewport that act as bars between you and the limitless freedom of darkness beyond.

That damn ticking. It doesn’t stop. Doesn’t even muffle itself in apology when you throw a pillow over your head as your thoughts fly to the terrible, cold abyss of the worst that could have happened to the only person who held your heart in his hands.

You toss and turn, body sore and aching from being launched too hard into the metal of the training room walls when the training bot, who had taken the form of a large, mechanized Hoartfrost Wyrmload, had taken advantage of your momentary lapse of action when your lover’s face, twisted in pain, had flashed through your mind when you’d let it wander.

Had it not been for the powered exosuit you’d worn, you surely would have had bruises, much less broken bones.

To punish you for your failure to clear the training floor unscathed as Ever’s most finely crafted and battle-hardened weapon, you had had to fight for hours in that fluorescently lit room, the loud clangs and broken whirrs of the bots slicing through the air as the black, blade-like extensions of your power cut them through. Sent out in waves, it had been relentless monotony, but you’d had no choice.

The organization’s manipulative, calculating leader would never allow you to see your lover-much less protect him from their malevolent experimentations-if you did not do their bidding.

Only after 202 monsters and a decapitated Wyrmlord had the thick, heavy automated door risen and you’d all but run to your chambers, heart racing in excitement.

Asta, the ship’s commandant and head of Ever, had told you that the he who your heart desired would finally, finally be allowed to rendezvous with you there after he debriefed the highest ranked officers on his mission that he’d been sworn to keep hidden even from you.

It’s been 2 days, 20 hours, and 2 minutes since his departure and each second feels like a decade in the excruciating torment of his absence.

You curse under your breath, the sharpness of worry curving your nails inward toward your palm as the blanket your other half had made for you slides from your shoulders when you rise from your bed. Its warmth fails to offer even half the amount that your lover does, but you still cover your shoulders with it, imagining that it is him that envelops you as you pad forward toward the biggest of the translucent panels that overlooks the infinite space of the darkness.

The brightest of the hot, white orbs of light of the stars looks like two joined stick figures, forever together in each other’s embrace as the two twin bodies who you’d named Pollux and Castor study you.

It is the Gemini constellation– one that you find your attention drawn to in your lover’s absence. You press your hand against the glass, peering up at the star sign he was created under and praying to it to watch over him while you cannot.

You liked to think that the stars knew when your lover was near and tried to commune with you in your bottomless worry whenever you were apart from him, for the glow of their light always seemed so much brighter when he was near. When he held you in his arms under them and spoke sweet, wonderful promises into your ear that he always, always kept.

Right now, Castor and Pollux flare fiercely, almost as if to mock you in the biting, gnawing loneliness that only your lover could soothe.

His name flits between your lips like an atom through space–quiet but there, refusing to be relinquished.

The quiet of your chamber soon steals his name, its taunt loud in the seizure of it.

You pull your blanket tighter around your barely clad body, the thin, short nightgown of black you’d worn to match your sinking spirits leaving much of you exposed to the prickling chill of the chamber that never was warm unless he was in it.

“Hurry back to me, Caleb,” you whisper to the stars, hoping they will hear your plea, “I miss you.”

The figures of light nestled within expanse of the endless sky of ebony twinkle as if to tell you they’ve received your wish, and then the only door admitting entry to your chambers directly behind you opens, all the way across the room, makes reverberating rumbling noises that grind your ears in their unpleasant din.

The clock continues to chip away at time as if you aren’t enslaved to it.

He’d have come to you by now if he were on the ship, and so you don’t bother to look away from the stars when you grouse, “If Asta has sent you to examine me out of concern for my performance, you can shove that bullshit up your ass.”

You’d become well acquainted with combat, your own code rewritten by Ever over and over again in their pursuit to make a heartless warrior capable only of doling out death and destruction. But your hardwiring had changed the moment your lover had laid his lips over yours, had professed his love so tenderly that it disassembled the walls around your heart and tuned it just to him.

Footsteps sound from behind you, the thud of heavy boots not lifting a hair of fear on you. Their wearer moves with purpose, never standing still as they cross the open chamber toward you. They do not cease their magnetic pull toward you until they stand behind you, still and unmoving as the planetary systems before you.

So absorbed in the memory of his smile that brought more light to your world than any moon and in eyes that have entire supernovas swirling within them, you don’t even notice the way your body has already begun to seek the one to the back of you.

“I was told that it is good manners to speak when you’re spoken to. I don’t need an examination right now. Leave, because no one except X-02 may touch me.” You adjust the soft velvet blanket closer around you, wishing with the might of an entire galaxy that your lover was here with you. “You can tell Asta I’ll execute whatever Wanderer that Ever wants dead in two seconds flat if he just gives me the word. I’ll terminate it in exchange for what I really want.”

Silence.

A heart’s beat passes before strong, familiar arms encircle you around your middle, and instinctively, you let their bearer bring you against him.

Were it anyone else, your impulse to fight would already have rendered them unconscious and in a heap on the floor.

But you know this embrace. You’ve been swathed in it many, many times before.

Then, with a voice smoother than honey, “And what is it you really want, huh, pip-squeak? Surely it must be me.”

From the very first word he speaks, your entire soul seems to ascend, your attention uncontrollably tugged into those familiar, warm discs of nebulae that make a ring where irises should be that are of purple and pink.

“Caleb…” You say his name like he’s a cosmos that has bewildered you, gazing up from where he stands over a head above you as one of your hands rises so your fingers can explore him in a gentle orbit along his cheekbone as if to prove to yourself that he’s here, that he’s not some holograph you unwittingly conjured up.

The usual black visor he wears is gone, the same powered exosuit of black covering him from his neck down. It was the garb that most shook in terror upon seeing, but for you, it inspired only the weightless feeling of joy and joviality.

The sunset of his eyes bask you in their tenderness as he leans into your touch, a long, drawn out breath falling from between his lips as he relishes in the feeling of softness that only you can summon in a universe so twisted and cruel.

“I’m sorry it took me so long to come back to you, pip-squeak.” He apologizes, the guilt caging each syllable while he tilts his head down so their sin is left at the crest of your forehead, his arms coaxing you more insistently into him so that not even the air can come between the two of you. “You were in my every thought whether I was awake or in hypersleep. Every second I spent away from you, I wanted to be by your side. I wanted to be with you in any way I could.”

His larger hands that rest on your abdomen move around the atmosphere of you, around each side of your waist, urging you to turn and face him. He rotates you as if you’re his very axis, and the truth of his confessions utterly disintegrates the sadness that had begun to pressurize between your ribs— that had begun to make even breathing a hard thing to do.

In its undoing, however, the bottled up emotions you’d kept so carefully contained spiral out of control, overwhelming you such that you–without even a fraction of your strength–strike your fist against where his heart throbs for you.

“You stopped responding to my messages and calls exactly at hour and minute 22:02. I thought something had happened.” Your eyes start to burn with the tears that threaten to escape, your fingers finding the edge of his jaw before you take his chin between them. He crumbles at your touch, his expression shifting to one of shame over his err as he lets you maneuver him closer like you’re the center of his gravitational field. “You aren’t allowed to do that to me, Caleb. I…I-” your voice deserts you, the tight lump that has formed in your throat forcing you to try to swallow past the worry that had been gripping you with the intensity of a thousand hands.

I can’t lose you.

His dark brows stretch toward each other, concern shooting through his eyes in their versions of meteorites before he rests his forehead against yours. “I’m here now, pip-squeak. It’s alright.” His fingers dig possessively into the soft flesh of your waist as if you might disappear if doesn’t hold onto you tight. “I want you to know that I lost contact with Ever when I went too far past the protofield protecting the ruined kingdom of Philos. It somehow fried my communication systems, pip-squeak.” His voice cracks under the weight of being alone, of being ripped away from you while he’d been able to do little but be Ever’s volatile weapon who it kept from exploding by using you as its collateral. “I couldn’t contact you no matter how many times I tried. When I returned, I demanded to see you, but they threatened to hurt you if I didn’t brief them on what had happened down there.”

“You of all people know that I can handle myself,” you sniffle when the first tear falls, his irises tracking it as it descends down your cheek. Long, metallic digits of his right hand find it before it can douse his foot in your sadness as you croak, “I can handle anything so long as I am with you.”

Your sadness, surely, is his Roche limit in how cataclysmic it is to him. Enough to make him want to collapse everything until only the two of you remain. But there was no escape from some gravitational phenomena. Phenomena like Ever that had invaded every corner of the universe and would never cease to persecute you until he tore it all down for you.

And to do that, he needed to get stronger. No matter what it took.

“I know, honey. I know that better than anyone. But I have to be Ever’s dog to keep you safe. You are their prized possession–but more importantly, mine.” He adds after a pause, irises locked onto your next tear on the other side of your face. He catches this with the same hand where no sensation kindles his receptors any longer–with the knuckle in the middle of where a human finger would have been– the cool wetness of your emotions putting his systems into alert. “Do you remember what I told you when we went down to the remains of Philos together, Y/N?”

You nod against him, too choked up to answer beyond that even if you tried.

You both had crash landed on that planet, only his metallic wings and the tortuous pain they caused him saving the both of you when your cruiser’s engine had failed. He’d become unconscious after using his body as a shield against terrain that had slowly been doomed to death by a planet that’s energy source had abandoned it. It had been your kiss that woke him, the distraction of your tender lips almost enough to negate the agonizing pain that stabbed into your every cell like pointed icicles from where your palms had been connected through the transfer port in your mechanical suits.

You’d felt the grimace and contorted expressions against your lips while you’d siphoned the sounds of his suffering into you, wishing with every fiber of your being that you could have taken all of it into yourself.

So many times you had been forced–trapped– in the experimental glass pod, unable to do anything but watch while the only person your heart longed for had suffered, his heart-rending bellowings unfathomable and unescapable even when the prickling syringes and needles tried to erase your memories.

Always they remained and lingered, just like the name you’d given him.

And his pain… it was beyond anything any creature should have been capable of bearing—an unholy force that consumed every part of him, twisting his insides, grinding his being into pieces. It wasn’t a simple ache or throbbing wound. It was as if every nerve in his body had been frozen and shot with ice, each pulse of agony a jagged shard of frigidity, carving deeper and deeper until he could no longer tell where anything was.

But he never failed to recognize you and he had not hesitated to hold you close in his arms, cradling you there as if you were the most precious thing in his eyes as you both careened into the landscape of decay and desolation. He’d willingly taken the brunt–or rather, the entirety–of the fall for you, the idea of any harm coming to you more horrifying to him than his own death.

His unconsciousness had become his enemy, his worst nightmare exerting itself upon him in a reaper’s scythe that brought only your sharp screams and wails, your lifeless, broken body in a heap while he’d held you against his chest. His own sorrow had flowed forth like a waterfall in the stream of crimson tears down his face, the grief and suffering breaking every part of him into pieces that attacked and impaled themselves into each other over and over again.

He’d only escaped that haunting, horrible hell of darkness and cold worse than any winter was by following your voice that beckoned him back towards the soothing, warm light of life that he only found meaning in when you were the his moon that drew the waves of being forth, his very epicenter attracted to your beautiful, gentle core.

In what once had been a lively, vibrant meadow rested nature’s cemetery. Only the sickly, warped weeds sprouted beneath him where you’d somehow managed to drag him against a dead trunk of a tree that had been split in half by the sickness that had ravaged this land.

But there you were, on your knees between his with your kind, nurturing lips planted between the part of his hair as you’d hummed the remains of the song he’d sung for you since you were children whenever he needed to calm you down.

It was a song only you knew. A song that needed no words when your eyes could speak them so much clearer than any letters could hope to try to describe the meaning of. A song that, like a black hole, called forth everything that you both were to each other. It channels it all together before transforming, evolving, changing it into something so much more than any word could express.

He’d confessed to you there, in that meadow on Philos–a once human inhabited planet that required massive amounts of energy, power, and sacrifice of one sovereign for many–what both of you had been held captive from admitting for so many years prior, your memories chipped and chaffed by the needle of Ever’s scientists that, until he’d grown strong enough to serve as a better candidate, had stuck into you.

In effort to find a way to contain you, to control you, the head of Ever had assigned only one person to ever be your partner when sent on missions meant for bloodshed and annihilation of the monsters it had created.

And oh, how hard he had fallen for you. It was as inescapable as trying to free himself from gravity.

You grounded him. Enveloped and surrounded him in every sense of the word with your cute laughs, your pretty smiles, your glimmering eyes, your voice of silk that, even when you told a bad joke, still trilled softly and dulcetly in his ears. You were everywhere in his head and yet, so far away, as untouchable as the clouds in the sky up until that fateful day in the meadow.

There, he’d let the confessions burst through his chest like some supernova, the bond you’d built together with him birthed anew under the crushing weight of what had been–and what could be–when he’d pierced through the deep space of the forbidden and uttered, the undeniable and undisputable. He’d only ever wanted to be in your world, for he’d for so long yearned for a place beside you that was not one of imagination or observance from a distance.

After all, he had been doomed to that tortuous fate before becoming your hunting partner when he’d been stuck behind that horrible glass wall with you trapped on the other side.

And when he’d coaxed you close in that meadow, those same arms–one cold, rigid, and bionic while the other was warm, pliant, and fleshly– led your front against the strong, chiseled chest covered in the dark fabric that lovingly clung to what little of his human body remained, he’d declared a different kind of need–one that wanted to devour you from where you’d sat atop of him.

You’d never forget the way his mouth had sought your ear, his breath hot against the shell of it as he’d said something that would lay eternally with you every time you closed your eyes. Every second that was spent in the shivering rigidness of his absence.

“I want to feel your warmth, your heartbeat…Everything…I want you to stay with me…Forever.”

When he’d nuzzled his cheek against yours, coveting every moment of touch that made every single one of his receptors charged with what felt like electricity zipping through his body, you’d let him, the obsessive flare in his eyes sparking something baser in you that only ignited deliciously more when he touched you like you were his entire world and looked at you like you were a celestial creature descended from the sun, the moon and the stars.

No amount of testing or experimentation on you could erase that memory. He’d made sure of it, hiding that, among what remained of your memories with him, inside a small pocket of a void in your mind that even Ever could not touch after many attempts spent honing his power for your sake.

Only two months and two days have passed since then, but he’d turned your world upside down and become the equator of your system far, far before then. It was as if your kiss had been the unavoidable calamity that had made his desires collide and converge, their amalgamation too powerful for him to resist in your magnetic pull whenever he saw you, smelled you, thought of you.

And now, as he stands before you as solid as the glass at your back, that same reaction, set off by every atom that made you up, has you repeating those words he’d spoken to you by the remains of that charred yet living tree stump on Philos. The same stump had had the beginnings of moss attached to it, the two bodies of alternate forms helplessly clinging to each other even after their environment had been unforgiving to them.

Under the intensity of those nebulous eyes powerful enough to make you fall to your knees, you repeat what your lover had professed so ardently to you, his yearning dressing the guilt that is draped under his eyes. It is enough to take your breath away when his long, mechanical fingers wrap around your wrist where you had been dragging your own digits down towards his lips.

He leads your digits to them, the pads of your own fingers steered along the edge of his mouth before they follow the outline of his lower, fuller lip. It has become cracked in the aridity of whatever planet he’d been sent to, and you wet your own as you stare, unabashedly at his.

Embarrassment that had once perched heavily over your shoulder at the very thought of him no longer does in the nest he’s made in your chest, and so the words fly free when he draws your digits over and along his thinner upper lip to his defined Cupid’s bow. It, too, is dry and begging for the nourishment only you can give.

“You are dehydrated, Caleb. You weren’t taking care of yourself again,” you whisper, the nerves in your still human digits crackling with sensation when he pilots them so they catch and carry the plumpness of his lower lip down, his saliva seeking you before the pink of his lip returns to contain it after your fingers have been conducted toward the corner of his jaw so you can hold him there.

Your touch sends sparks down his spine, and he relishes in the warmth of you that no sun could ever hope to emit as he closes his eyes, nudging into your hand while he utters, “That does not matter to me when there are more important things that require my attention.”

The meaning of that is not lost on you, and you knew well the lengths he would go to shower you in every iota of his devotion as vast as space itself. His calibration had, for a long time, been warped in its centering all around you, and so descript was it that he often forgot to attend to his own needs as long as yours were. You’d since figured out a way to navigate that, for it burned you to see him neglect himself for your sake.

“I’m thirsty, Caleb. Carry me to the kitchen, will you?” You ask, affection flowing forth like water when he gives a smile that could light up any room at your request. You encircle your arms around his neck, needing this closeness just as much as he does after being away from you too long.

“You don’t have to tell me twice, pip-squeak,” his hands travel down from where they’d been resting on your hips, ginger and gentle as they glide from your sides downward past the curve of your backside to their destination on the backs of your legs.

When he’s wound his fingers around the underside of your thighs, it takes little effort for him to hoist you up against him, your legs automatically wrapping around his waist like he is your own charging port. Unlike you, part of him has been fused with metal, his right arm lost to Ever’s unassailable greed for perfection in creating life that was as dangerous as it was perfect.

Created to serve as your precursor–your corrupted guardian and watchdog–your body had been spared over the trials done on his so that you could be the organization’s angel of blood and slaughter.

With you held closely in his arms, he crosses the distance of the open concept chamber complete with a long, rectangular coffee table made entirely of glass that is accented by two black leather couches in front and behind it. On the far side of it are two lounge chairs, one smaller than the other, arranged next to each other and facing the viewport with its wide view of the stars and dark sky. The larger one is worn and has small tears in its armrests from where he’d gripped them so hard during many dawns and dusks spent either with you in his head, on his lap, or between his legs.

On one end of the parlor is an impressively sized bedroom, grand bathroom, and boudoir, the last of which he’d built himself using his Evol, his sweat, and his hands. On the other end of the sitting room, there is a sleek kitchen of chrome appliances, grey cabinets, and a sizable island of white marble that looked like the moon’s dust had settled across it.

It is here that your lover brings you, unwilling to let you go even for a moment as he strides to the refrigerator and waits patiently for you to open it.

In the short time he’d gathered you in his arms, you’d been swept astray into the whirling domain of his eyes, and when he arches a brown brow upward in a teasing move that gets your pulse quickening, you pry your sights away from him.

Like he is your own force of momentum, your inertia is swift to alter its state and you open the refrigerator door, quickly procuring the pitcher of apple juice he’d prepared for you the morning he’d left. The note written on a sticky note still remains stuck to its side, the words ‘Made with love for my special, beautiful girl whom I miss dearly’ smudged from the oils on your fingertips as you’d held it.

Only a quarter of the amber colored liquid remains, for you’d been unable to resist the sweet taste that reminded you so much of him when it fell across your tongue. He doesn’t question your choice of drink when he notices the bent edges of the sticky note that must have been anxiously fiddled with by your fingers while you’d waited for him.

Instead, he teases you once again as he turns to place you on the island behind you. “Missed me, didn’t you, pip-squeak?”

“You taught me that missing someone is wanting them to be with you even when they can’t be. And every minute you were away, I wished for you to be here with me, by my side.” You confess, the frigid and hard stone under you a stark contrast to the calefaction he radiates. Not wanting to let him go, you ask, “By the way, can you get me the glass I left at the edge of the counter? My arm isn’t long enough to reach it.”

Your admission has his blood rushing to his face, a grin that even Cupid would have been jealous of crossing his face.

“But of course, my lady,” he bows his head in obedience, the playfulness jumping off each vowel tugging at the chords of your boundless feelings for him. “One glass for the pretty girl coming right up.”

As if every second of your touch had charged him up, he dutifully reaches around you for the apple-shaped glass you’d left out earlier. The small action has him leaning forward, his hot breath fanning against your lips. Like this, you can tell that the usual lively color of those lips of his that are vibrant like a flower’s petal in spring had lost some of their vivid pigmentation, the lack of proper nutrition stealing it from him.

It makes your stomach twist, even the basic tenets of self-care eradicated from his mind when all but you dwelled in it during the times he was separated from you.

With the cup in tow, he rises back to his full height, oblivious as usual to his malnourished state that only befell him when he was away from you. Anger worms its way through you, an anger that would bury itself in you until you’d found a way to save him from the assholes that sent him on that godsforsaken mission and did this to him.

“How much do you want, pip-squeak?” He inquires, taking the pitcher from you and pouring the sparkling juice forth from it.

His voice cools the ire that had been slithering inside your stomach, but jealousy over a damned cup that had apprehended his attention away from you makes you possessively squeeze him between your thighs where he stands.

He makes a surprised sound at that, the sound making you ascend as it tumbles from his cracked lips.

Your resolve hardens as you watch him selflessly tend to you through the stream of juice that conforms to the shape of the cup he’d crafted for you.

“Give it all to me.” You tell him, impatient for his attention again to be attached to you.

The burbling stops, and finally, those eyes of his rush toward yours like fucking meteorites.

“I told you before, pip-squeak,” His fingers constrict around the neck of the pitcher, the glass cracking under the pressure of him as he sets it down, “If it’s my unique scent you want,” with his other hand, he brings the cup of juice under your lips, “a uniform filled with memories,” he tips the cup just the slightest bit toward you, your mouth parting to accept the cold, tart liquid over your tongue, “or even the authority to command me,” the last few words siphon something hungry in you despite the liquid that is beginning to fill your mouth, the slender, metallic digits of his other palm slipping around the back of your neck to tilt your head back so more of the juice can spill between your lips with its sweet tinge, “I’ll make sure you get everything you could ever ask for.”

You hold eye contact with him like he might vanish if you don’t keep him held under the whirling pressure of you, tipping your chin back more as he encourages you with the hand he holds you with while he keeps you close, just as unwilling to be too far away from you.

The sight of you–your legs spread with him nestled between them and your wet, soft lips accepting what he feeds you as you let him lean you back, willing and pliable for him–makes the still-fleshy organ in his netherregion harden where he’s confined in his powered exosuit.

He observes you with captivation starring the corner of his purple-pink orbs, watching the honey-colored juice disappear into the cavern between your lips as it pours forth into you. Each mouthful of it down your throat has him feeling as though his internal temperature has begun to overheat, a different kind of steam demanding to be let out when the last of the contents of the drink flow into the chamber of your mouth.

You don’t swallow this one.

Rather, you lift one of your hands, making a come-hither gesture with your finger while intention–magnifying and polarizing–harnesses him to you like a magnet.

He knew you more intimately than you knew yourself, and so the realization that dusks over his countenance casts you into the heatwave of his fierce, intense emotions once reserved only for his mind.

As tall as he is, his shadow shades you in the soft light of the moon that sits in the distance of the dark realm outside as your lover’s front falls forward, one of his hands closing around the edge of the counter as he husks. “You’re a bad liar, pip-squeak. You can’t fool me. You want me to drink from you that badly, huh?” the glass he’d been pressing against your lips is put down, his irises dipping from yours to your mouth before his index comes upon one side of your cheek where his thumb spans your other, his other knuckles urging your chin up so that you can’t escape the all encompassing gravity of his affliction for you. His hot breath fans your lips as he draws inevitably nearer, “You can be such a silly girl, and yet-”

Waiting for him to come to you is an eternity you can’t possibly bear, and when finally he closes the distance between you– two masses of matter inextricably colliding and crashing together as you seek each other’s every molecule in a searingly passionate kiss–the natural release of the liquid you’d been storing for him is diffused into the chasm of his mouth, his groan short-circuiting you as he deepens the kiss, the fusion between you expelling reason and logic until all there is is him.

More you give and more he takes, his long tongue flitting over yours while he explores you like it’s the first time.

Against your mouth, he breathes, “You’re irresistible to me. I can’t stop myself from falling for you. Every. Single. Time.” The words are passed between voyages of his mouth as he returns, over and over again, to his origin point of you, fire licking up at you from where he’s connected to you.

His fingers depress themselves into your flesh as if you are the foundation he needs to stay afloat in the depth of his all consuming weakness for you, the slight pressure that action imposes on you making your lips pucker against his where you feed the still crisp juice to him. Stray trails of it dribble down your chin, your neck and then between the valley of your breasts that strain against the low v-cut nightgown hardly even reaching past your ass.

You’d chosen it knowing it was his favorite of the many he’d stitched and sewn himself just for you. He’d taught you a great many things about feelings, emotions, and that little thing called desire, and you’d begun to see just how much-with the tiniest of actions or words- you jumbled his impulses and want that only you could rewire, rewrite, and reshape.

“Caleb,” you grapple for the leather strap overlaying his powered exosuit below where the amber colored crystal is embedded at the base of his neck, his mouth claiming yours as you pull him closer, needing him everywhere and anywhere you can have him in the visceral summonings only he can make well up within you. Your shallowing breaths and spit swirl together in the clash of your tongues and teeth, neither of you able to resist the other.

He swallows what makes it past the ring of his lips, hungry for more even when your lungs begin to burn from lack of air, and in their enviousness, rip you away from him.

Like the wane of a moon, his eyes have gone dark when he breaks the seal of his mouth over yours, the string of saliva bridging you to him refusing to snap until he straightens, his index smearing the remains of his own essence over your upper lip as he utters, “My name isn’t a safe word, pip-squeak. Saying it won’t make me stop.” His hand slides into your hair while the other now has the counter in an iron-grip as he battles to control himself, his lips coursing toward the edge of your mouth where his finger had been. The pink of his tongue slips from between them to lap up in a long, wet stripe as he collects the pleasing, saccharine remnants of apple juice that had escaped. “You just make me want more.”

Your eyelids flutter at the sensation, his words making heat bloom in the apex between your thighs that you hadn’t even realized you’d begun to rut against him in search of friction where they are still wound, with the rest of your legs, around his waist.

“Y-you made it spill,” you stammer when that knowing muscle betwixt his lips is brought under the edge of the other side of your own. There, he leaves the slick of his saliva from his tongue’s travels downwards as he gathers the taint of sticky, sugary remains on you there, too.

“You think that was an accident, baby? It wasn’t.” His hand slinks toward the back of your head so he can take a handful of your locks and gently guide you down until your back meets the hard plane of the counter. Reduced to a weightless mass in the omnipresent skies of him you could forever exist within, you can do little but wait for him to maneuver you, your own digits holding on tighter to the leather strap below his neck where he hovers above you because somehow, someway, you needed to keep yourself by him, the void of space observing you from outside the glass walls of your chambers both a hope and a curse.

“Mmm… Thank you for feeding me. That was good,” He hums, the transparency of his yearning there in his eyes, showing the basest part of him sequestered in the far reaches of his orbs while he continues his devoted descent, the passage of his mouth one that follows the winding paths of the existing tracks of liquid that had traveled south along your throat and chest from earlier. Each time his soft lips land, the hot of his tongue is there to scavenge for your taste that has become deliciously mixed with that of apples. Between them, he tells you, “I missed you so much, pip-squeak.”Craving more of you, he keeps driving his mouth to the ocean that is you, the wet sound of his kisses on your flesh and devoutness of his touch making everything else sink away.

Before they can completely desert you, you need him to know something. You hardly stutter his name out in a poor excuse for his attention, but it is enough for him to pause, his mouth ghosting the spot between your collarbones where’d he’d been laving the pink muscle along the trails of the sweet liquid that had converged into one before dripping down your chest.

“What is it, my sweet girl?” He questions, tilting his head to the side so the ebony of his bangs falls just over the one eye that he usually sweeps free of his fringe. “Did I do something wrong?”

“You’re not allowed to leave me like that again. It felt like one half of me was missing. Like there was an empty hole in my chest the entire time you were gone.” You tug him down with you, the metal of the roboticized fingers of his right hand bracing him by one side of your head while his other cradles the back of your skull. His breath hitches when you confess, “It was like that hole sucked up all of the happiness and good in my world because you were not in it.”

Before him, you’d been a stranger to all but death, your swords sharp and your orders from the scientists at the lab unforgiving. But despite missions of bloodshed and piercing, terrorizing screams, everyday you’d both watched each other from behind the see-through wall of your glass cages. You’d listened to his stories and musings raptly while inextricably drawn to his side like he was the center of all gravity, your palms separated by the barrier between you when you weren’t trapped in your glass pod.

He had always been the only source of sensation or sentiment, and in him, you’d found what only he could give: home.

He can feel the vulnerability that has locked your muscles in place, so he croons, “I’m here now. Nothing will take me away from you ever again. We will always be together.”

“Promise me,” you don’t let his words drift away from you, the echo of a vow made when you’d both been much smaller surfacing in the back of your mind, “Promise me again, Caleb. I won’t forgive you if you break it.”

Something flickers behind the window of his eyes. The tenderness that colors his voice dulls everything but him, even the clock’s ticking muted when he answers, the blizzard of the air pushed away when the summer of his breath blows along your chin from where he looks fondly down at you, “I promise, my one and only.”

When you relax beneath him, your ligaments freed from their invisible chains, you use the grip you have on the leather strap to lead him to your waiting lips, the sincerity of his words tangible in the featherlight brush of his lips over yours that makes your heart skip a beat. He must hear that, because he deepens the kiss as if he can circumfuse all of his love into you through that action alone. Insistence takes over, and you relish in it when he slots his mouth harder into yours, not willing to release you from the endless expanse of his ardor for you until oxygen–the damned nuisance–tears you away from him once again.

His breaths are short and shallow while they coalesce with yours, his chest heaving above you where your other hand–the one not already clutching the thin strap below his throat–rises so your fingers can carefully trace the outline of his lips that are fine and fair, almost like satin. No longer are they dry, the sheen of your spit there, embracing them in your care for him while he stares lovingly at you. His lips are so malleable, so nimble as your digit glides across them, his mouth pursuing your hand as if to forage for more of your warmth.

“Affection?” You pose the question, a fledgling still to the ways of showing the indescribable ways he makes you feel when you’d spent so much of your life behind a glass case.

His orbs soften under the silver light of the moon that all but makes him glow when he affirms, “Affection. Do you need me to shower you in affection, my one and only?”

Your fingers gravitate down his chin, his throat, the upper plane of his chiseled, muscled pectoral where his own heart pounds fiercely and quickly, like it, too, is trying to reach for you; like it, too, preens happily under your touch and attention. Your own thrums against your ribcage to the same hurried rhythm as if in a dance of passion, neither able to step away from the other.

Swept into that symphony of sensation that only he could orchestrate, you don’t hesitate when you answer, “Yes. As long as it is you, the answer will always be yes.”

You watch his veiled control crease his thick brows and diverge his lips, a fragmented breath leaving him when the hard, cool, robotic fingers of his right hand circle around your forearm to direct your open palm up, the sculpted realm of his body hidden by the mesh of his suit where his chest is before the rigidness of alloy encases his throat and shoulders.

At the base of his throat that alloy is carved out to contain a golden crystal, and it is here that he lets your fingers hover, waiting for you to tap it so you can press the series of holographic buttons only you know the right combinations to.

“Humans show affection in many ways. But there are ways they do it that are only done when they have found their other half…their one and only.” The metal of his hand ascends up your arm until his palm is pressed against the back of yours, the interconnected phalanges of his fingers bending around yours as he tells you, “Kissing is one way of it. But to let the one person you share the deepest of bonds with feel and see you–all of you– so they can accept and welcome that, too…that’s another way. And I want you to do that with me, my precious girl. I want you to accept every part of me.”

With his digits wrapped around yours, your index lightly pushes against the crystal nestled between the two notches of his collarbones, the familiar amber light of the holographic panel coming to life before you. You don’t need to look down at it anymore, opting instead to glimpse the nebulas of his eyes that glint intensely at you while your fingers move with practiced ease over each of the three symbols amid the pyramid displayed before you.

After you’ve hit the final one, there’s a series of chinks and chimes, the nanotechnology embedded in his suit fluorescing in particles of purple that ripple outwards from around the crystal, the flow of light extending outward from it as the black mesh and alloy disintegrate everywhere the light falls like a tide of violet over the glorious sculpture of his body.

Inch by inch the canvas of him is bared to you, neither of you hearing the thud of the abandoned crystal hitting the ground beneath you when the art in front of you captures all of your attention, the polar pull too strong for you to resist even if you wanted to when your eyeline veers down his body in a mouthwatering view that has both sets of your lips slickening.

Years of modification, missions, and maintained training regimen had corded every bit of him in muscle, his abdomen etched into six defined, sharp blocks across his middle. Framed by two more below, he’s a well-made mosaic of a human being. Even his pectorals are cut seamlessly in their curvatures that cling to the rest of him, his broad, strong shoulders accenting it all where the left arm connected to them looks as if it has been stroked entirely with thick thew from his bicep to his forearm. From the back of his hand, thick veins branch out, the raised lines offshooting up his forearm.

Where flesh and that same muscle should have wound down his other arm, the metal of a robotic replacement remains. Like a restoration piece, it attempts to match its mirror in the sinuous, sinewy make that no longer can receive feeling beyond pain.

He senses the subtle squirm of your fingers where they now rest against his sternum, your basest receptors within itching to rediscover him.

“Go on, pip-squeak. Feel me,” he implores, trailing the hand of yours that he still holds down across his pectoral until your palm rests just over the strong, erratic palpitations of his heart, “This is all yours. It always has been.”

The beat of the organ beneath your hand pushes your own along, your fingers becoming curious travelers that wander along the mountainous range between his pectorals, the smaller pads of each of your five fingers crossing along, under, and around every contour and curve of him upward from his defined collarbones to the blocks of muscle lining his abdomen. Somewhere along the way, his hand detaches from yours, his knuckles turning white where grips onto the counter so you’re pressed between the pleasing warmth of his body and the cold foundation of the countertop.

Each stroke of your fingers along the plains of his chest has his breaths deepening like each touch both satisfies and starves him, and when your fingers roam down a little too far past the slabs of thew settled over his stomach, that’s when he nestles his nose into the crook of your neck, his balmy breath sweeping over the sensitive area on the side of your throat as he inhales the essence of you before he checks, “You want to go there, my darling? Are you sure?”

You had never cared to know what pleased a man before him. But years of tension and longing for this man before you had built up inside you and made you overflow and fucking brim with want that could only be fulfilled by him.

No one had ever asked what you wanted, much less if you were clear on what it was you even thought you wished for in the first place.

But he had. He always had.

That is why your own digits drift downward until they amble along one side of the impressively large shaft standing at attention between his thick, muscled thighs, fingers skimming along the ridges of his proud cock.

“Fuck,” he curses when you reach his base, only able to get half of your hand around him before ascending. “You really did miss me, didn’t you, my sweet girl?”

“Can I show you?” You turn your head, lips searching for his where they linger along your sternocleidomastoid muscle lining the side of your throat. You peer at him with innocent doe-eyes that are enough to make him into your slave if you wished it. “I know how because of you.” You squeeze him lightly–deliciously– under the bulbous head of his cock, transfixed by the way his eyes become hooded while your hand descends down back to his engorging base just the way he’d taught you to.

Unable to ever deny you when you look at him like that, he breathes out, “You know you can do whatever you want to me, pretty girl.” His handsome expression contorts into one of contained pleasure, his brows pulling together and mouth falling open when you handle him just a little faster, your thumb spreading the newly rolled beads of pre-cum over the mushroom-shaped tip of his length that made your own mouth and sex cry out of need for him.

“This body is yours, baby.” He emits a long, drawn out sound of pleasure when you stroke him there and back, your other fingers brushing at the swelling bulbs of his balls beneath his sumptuously sized cock. You feel, fascination pooling in your core, the way the veins that wrap around his member have begun to jump excitedly under your touch, and gods, did the man in front of you look delicious when in the throes of rapture only you could bring.

Watching him was addicting. It was like a drug that you could never, ever, stop taking, your brain and very blood now so dependent and entrenched in the sights, sounds, sensations, and thoughts of him that it could no longer fire correctly unless your fix was with you–or inside you.

“Mine.” You repeat, your hand picking up the speed you rub him up and down with, your other fingers curling around one of his engorging balls and massaging it before giving the same attention to the other. He inclines his head as if in deference, irises loyally bowing down to yours, for he is utterly weak to your ministrations.

Your voice and touch are his aphrodisiac, and in his absence, he’d become so very starved for you.

“You’ve become so good at this, haven’t you? You’re going to make me cum for you if you keep going like this, pretty girl.” He pants laboriously, concentration painting its way across his face when you tighten your grip around him, the vice of your hand making the top of of his length weep, its wetness drawn down by you every so often when you wind and twist your hand around his large, fleshy head before dragging it back down. “Feels so fucking good, pip-squeak. I taught you too well, didn’t I?”

“I had a very good teacher,” you agree, your legs securing around him harder in your keenness to bring him closer because as near as he is, you need him more than the air that hovers between you while you rub at his testicles with one of your hands and other, becoming a vice around his cock, gropingly glides along his length without pause–without abandon– your joined flesh making obscene sounds of his slick and wetness as you please him.

His breaths become heavier the faster you go, knuckles going whiter than snow as he fights to contain his release that he can feel quivering in the base of his balls all the way to the curving arc of his cock that reaches for you in its beautiful, long curvature.

He’s so fucking close. He’s just at the fucking edge of the precipice of his release, but that end that suspends itself over him now is not the one he had envisioned upon his return to you. The appetite he had for you made him hunger for another, more carnal means. One that only you could parch the cavern of his mouth from.

No, he needed you in a different way. He could wait. He was no stranger to that when it came to you.

“Yeah? Well as much as I want to cum for you, pretty girl,” both of his larger hands seize your wrists, pinning them above your head, his cock pressing against the wailing apex between your legs as he tells you, “You did so well to feed me earlier, and now I want more. I’m so hungry, pretty girl. And only you can satisfy me.”

“Hungry?” You moan when he gives a purposeful roll of his hips into you, the tip of his fully erect cock a little ways under his belly button yet the rest of him sliding deliciously along your folds.

He chuckles low when you moan at the way his cock slides against the button of nerves above your folds when he undulates those toned hips of his again.

“Yes, baby. Starving.” The space around your arms shifts and invisible streaks erupting through it before the colorless, leaden matter set alight by embers shoots down around your forearms and hands, his Evol over gravity tethering you in place so his hands can wrap around your thighs, pulling them over each of his broad shoulders so he’s got your ass resting against his sternum and your sex inches from his waiting mouth.“I told you before…I want everything you are willing to give me. That includes your sweet, delicious honey.”

You don’t resist him. You’re exactly where you want to be right now while his irises lower to where you’re bare for him. He sucks in a breath, staring like he’s looking a fucking meal, “You left yourself bare for me…what a needy girl. But you know, I like my girl needy for me. That’s hot.”

He inhales deeply through his nose, your intoxicating scent making his eyes roll back before those heavy tendrils of his power, receptive to his hunger, pull at the edges of your nightgown. They slowly tug it up your body, each sliver of skin you present to him making his salivary glands water as he swallows around a suddenly dry throat. And between his legs, his cock hardens impossibly more when the fabric of your nightgown crests over your perfect, pert breasts, the peaks of which are stiff and demanding of his attention. You’re already glistening with wetness for him, the evidence of your arousal evident in the sheen of it that coats your cunt from your earlier illicit activity.

“pip-squeak…you’re so beautiful.” It’s a remnant of his usual voice that comes out, for you’ve stolen his ability to breathe not for the first time, and certainly not for the last. “Please let me have you right here on the counter in our kitchen. I’ll make you feel good just like I always do. I’ll take such good care of you, baby.”

Ever mindful of you and your wishes, he gives you the chance to decide. And ever the light to his shadow, you could sooner reject him than the moon could halt its wayward journey around the solar system.

“I’m all yours, Caleb.” You muster, your own words rushed under the current of his eyes that garner every bit of your attention.

“Do you have any idea what you do to me when you say that, my sweet girl?” The pink of his tongue peeks from between his lips, stretching and elongating before it gently passes itself along the slit of your sex, licking up in a long, wet stripe before it curls back into his mouth, the thick glaze of you covering it before it disappears between his lips. “You make me want to please you so fucking much. I won’t be able to stop until you’re a moaning, writhing mess for me.” His eyes darken as the essence of you spreads itself across every taste bud, his fingers coiling harder into your thighs. “I’m going to eat you out until I am satisfied, my sweet girl. Until you fill my fucking mouth with your precious come.”

He doesn’t give you time to respond after that, for he attaches his mouth to your cunt like a man starved, his mouth becoming a circle of searing suction that demands everything you have. The tang of you is unlike any savory substance he’s ever had across his palate, and mixed with the sugary drippings of apple juice that had coursed down from your breasts to your belly to the thin thatch of hair that his nose is now buried in, you’re a mix of delicacy and sin that he will never tire of supping.

“C-Caleb…ah-” You stutter when that expert of a tongue of his sidles between your folds, lapping you up like he’s a dog.

“Mmm, you taste so fucking delicious, baby,” he hums against your sex, the metal of one hand glinting in the silvery moonlight as he slides it up the supple curves of your body until his fingers are wound around your breast. There, he kneads into your flesh, loving the show of expressions dressed in your satisfaction that you bear to him while you are made the receiver of his gluttony. “Your tits are so perky and perfect just like the rest of you. I love how they fit in my hands, pretty girl.” The strong muscle that he glides between your labia there and back makes a sweltering heat begin to pool in the basest part of you, the fingers he has on your breast running over the dusky bud of your areola before they roll it between them. “I can’t wait to put my mouth on them later.”

Your spine arches at that, the beauteous arc of that making him ache between his legs as he ravenously suckles you like you’re a meal he’s happy to wolf down, your very essence slathered across his tongue where he flattens it between your soddened lips, dragging it up and over your hole that clenches around nothing while he consumes you with the vigor of a man drunk on the high of you.

“Yes, fuck…more, pretty girl. Feed me more,” his words are muffled with his mouth still swathed around you, the flat of his tongue splaying itself over your hole only to twist around it in frenzied rotations to draw out more tears of your need from it. “You’re so fucking good.”

Freer than water over the brim of a cup, your voice spills from your throat, “P-please, Caleb…Please.”

With your pleas drawn forth from you, thirst saturates his orbs as he sucks you between his teeth, the sounds of his slurping causing an even fiercer wave of desire to engulf you as your sex sheds even more slick for him. He catches it all onto his tongue with fervor, the resulting sigh of his satisfaction joining the filthy sounds of your passion that you make together.

“You want this tongue inside you, baby?” He mouths from where his mouth is melded to you, “What my sweet girl wants is what she will get.” His last word is swallowed by your cunt when the tip of his tongue slips into your hole, and he slowly sinks into you inch by delicious inch. You keen at that, and when he flicks it against your walls side to side, it makes the warmth of bliss surge up through your fucking veins from where he’s fixed to you with each devastating flick of it along your plush, velveteen insides that welcome him eagerly.

There’s nothing languid about the way it writhes along the soft cushion of your walls, the movements of it wild and fevered like he can’t get enough of your addicting flavor as he uses the possessive grip he’s got on the pillow of your thigh to impel himself deeper inside you while you tighten around him. With his tongue still lodged within you, he mumbles, “Be a good girl and wrap your legs tighter around me, baby. I want to feast on you as much as I can. Can you do that for me?”

The vibrations of his voice are carried along his tongue and straight into the bundle of nerves nestled deep within you. You barely manage to comprehend his request, your brain malfunctioning under the burrowing of his tongue farther into you so you’re stuffed unbelievably with the wet length of him while he palms at your breast, twiddling your nipple between his thumb and index while heat coils in your core.

In the absence of your mind’s input, your walls constrict around him and your body obeys him, your thighs closing around his head to keep him lodged between your legs, your ankles crossing over each other so your heels can secure and lock him in place.

“There you go.” His words are smothered by your cunt as he dines on you, “That’s it, pretty girl.” He guzzles you between his lips, tongue grazing and gliding over each and every edge and lineation of your silken basin until no part of you has not been left lathered in his saliva while his other hand joins its counterpart so on your neglected breast.

You feel those familiar tendrils of his Evol holding your hips in place, even his own power refusing to relinquish you while his hand cups the underside of your tit, thumb dragging itself along your nipple while his artificial palm fondles your other.

You cry out at the series of sensations that don’t pause or let up, his eyes misting over in the haze of his desire that demands every bit of you as he breathes in your inebriating aroma that drives him fucking mad.

You call out his name, begging for him once again, and it earns you another twirl of his tongue around the tunnel of your pussy as he intones, “I know, pretty girl. I’m making you into a desperate little mess. But don’t worry, I’ll make you come soon, baby. I want you to cream all over my face just as badly as you do.” He draws in a deep breath of you at the same time that vulgar tongue of his swivels inside you, his fingers playing with the buds of your nipples while you moan loudly as the coil in your core tautens. “You’re getting close already, huh, baby? It makes me feel so good to be able to listen to you sing for me while I pleasure you. Shit...I just can’t get enough of you.”

You entice him even nearer with your legs, squeezing him between your thighs by way of answer, your words lost to the pleasure that steadily begins to wind around your lower abdomen all the way to your brain. Your hips try to buck against him in search of more friction, but his Evol keeps you in place, unable to move while he tongue-fucks you, swallowing every now and again the taint of your own appetence.

He notices that small movement of your hips, listens to your resulting whine when you are halted from that endeavor, because then the tendrils of his Evol that had been binding you still from above and below your waist start to conform to your shape, the makeshift digits acting as hands that support you down your back and ass rather than tethering your hips in place.

“Ride my face, pretty girl,” he instructs as the hot length of his tongue penetrates the tight ring of your hole, immediately striking you frenetically along your walls while he’s swaddled in the vice of your cunt that clenches around him. “Remember what I taught you.”

His encouragement fires the sparks of your action, and you immediately follow his directive. Your hips roll into him, the border of your lips catching on his nose and just barely hitting the edge of the bundle of nerves crowning your cunt while his fingers gently trace the pebbling outline of your nipples. Your mouth soon falls open to emit the wanton sounds of your blissful rhapsody.

Headiness makes the air heavy between you, your back bowing at the tantalizing thrill that he arouses in you while he continues to flit his tongue in rampant, gyrated motions inside you while you grind yourself against his face like he’d told you to while he praises, “Just like that. You’re doing so well for me, baby. You’re so nice to suck on while you’re using my face to feel good.”

Over and over you oscillate your hips against him, for each time producing a faster, fevered rhythm in the back-and-forth of the hot muscle of his tongue against you while he swills your piquant quintessence into his mouth. His hands never stray from your breasts, devoted to the peaks of your tits that have peaked under his constant attention. His irises smolder you in his zealousness, and you can’t escape the wildfires they make you burn with as he lavishes his love on you.

Inevitably, the coil of need that had been building inside you threatens to burst, and he knows it, because when he buries his face even farther into you, angling his chin in this way and that so he can lave his tongue up the far end of your walls before pivoting it provokingly at places you didn’t even know existed in the trench of you, he feels the way you grip onto him harder, your sex contracting harder around him while he coos, “Yeah, fuck, I’m so hard for you, baby. Keep going.”

Your hips hasten their pace, chasing the ecstasy that twines itself tighter in the base of your belly with every sway of them along the lower half of his nose, cheeks, and mouth. Your breaths have become shallow, barely a figment of what they once were where you whimper for him. The globes of your breasts heave up and down even with his hands still covering and rubbing at your rigid peaks while you rock yourself shamelessly on him, deliriousness spewing into him as you careen toward your end.

“Tell me how good I am, baby.” His voice is smothered by you, his tongue drowning most of the syllables in the depths of you, “Tell me I’m the only one who can make you into a wet, dripping mess that wants no one but me. Let me hear your voice, pretty girl, and I’ll give you what you want so badly.”

You grind like a craven creature along the bridge of his nose all the way down to the end of his chin, the gleam of your taint left in your continual passage atop of him, your entire system flushed with the same frenzy he takes you with.

Coherency has forsaken you now, its forebear of wantonness left to overwhelm you in its place.

It is why you moan out, “You’re so good to me, Caleb. So, so good. Better than anyone could ever be,” you throw your head back, and he sees the whites of your eyes when his tongue streaks faster than a comet back and forth within your plush galaxy that he could spend years exploring, words slurred from your efforts as you soddenly cant your hips astride him while avarice incarnate churns your core and cunt. “No one can fuck me like you, touch me like you do, or kiss me like you do. No one, and absolutely no one, can love me as you do.”

The words are but echoes of a chant he’d been your maestro for, aiding and directing your notes of enthrallment for him while he’d pitched you into an impassioned dance your body had responded only to him with.

Your answer activates something feral in him, his pupils blowing wide and nearly absorbing the circlets of compressed morning dawn in them. Metal fingers take your chin between them, maneuvering your attention back to him and all you can see are the dimmed nebulae of his eyes as the space above where you both have become one distorts and distills. The tendrils of his Evol divaricate and break through it, reaching down until-

“Only I can have you like this. Now look at me when I make you cum, baby. I want you to remember this memory of me between your legs and never, ever forget it. You’re going to recognize me by sight, smell, touch, sound…everything.” Your eyes snap open and latch onto him when the cumbrous, corpulent striations of his Evol, all at once, press down on your clit in a feeling akin to hundreds of tiny palpitations and pulses against the bundle of nerves as he manipulates gravity solely for you. Your gasp is garbled and your hips jerk and jounce at the sudden flux of sensations, and then his other hand is there, on your hip, to help you keep going while his tongue makes schlepping noises where he fervently frisks it up and down in rapid succession within your clinging walls. “Such a good listener you are. I need you to cum in my mouth now, pretty girl. I need you to feed me your honey.”

Your mouth falls open in an ‘o’ shape, the sonorous scream that resounds from you making even the walls tremble in its volume as your body obeys his directive and your world goes white with the shattering of the tension he’d founded in you. From its springs a fierce, fiery pleasure that floods you from he’s fused with you, the torrid, intense waves of it washing over you from the tips of your fingers to the ends of your toes that cramp and curl behind his back.

He fucks you through your orgasm, the ribbons under his control winding down your sex slithering around and between his lips before they nuzzle the flowerbed of nerves buried far into you. The hot length he threshes about in your silken channel moves with an inhuman speed as the other hundreds of tendrils of his Evol ruinously ravage your clit over and over again while you wail and whimper for the man beneath you, your cunt cinching and spasming around him.

Your essence gushes forth like a lewd stream into his anticipating mouth where he’s still got it moored to you, groaning deep and low where he receives you before he’s relaxing his tongue and opening wider to thirstily drink up the saccharine juices you have made for him.

“Keep coming. Fuck, keep coming for me. I love your taste. Need it every fucking day,” he sloppily swallows your slick down, “Give me every drop, baby. I want your taste to linger in my mouth forever.”

You don’t have to be told twice, the tendrils ceaseless and unabating in their pressure as they depress themselves over the most sensitive parts of you without pause. They leave no area unclaimed, rushing and lapping at you everywhere over and around your clit and g-spot in their own kisses to you that make their master jealous.

Their master, who pushes his hips into the counter, halting the small undulations they’d been making into it while he observes your euphorically erotic performance just for him. Their master, who squeezes himself between the counter and his body where his cock splutters with pre-cum, a pervasive twinging of an ache declaring its longing for you even when he stifles it with the small, constringing threads of his Evol that force his orgasm down into the base of his balls.

More you spill into his mouth as if a dam had been broken between your legs while he guides your grinding pussy there and back along his nose to his chin, the reservoir of his mouth receiving your release while you gush uncontrollably between his lips.

“Such a tasty cunt,” He drains you like you’re the fountain of his very life, each movement of his Adam’s apple bringing with it the sound of his gratification in the low groans he lets out. When the flow of your juices begins to slow, each of those colorless ribbons of his power disintegrate, his tongue retreating into his mouth so he can sip on you again and again– insatiable for you as an emaciated, famished male who hasn’t fed for weeks.

His want is there, each time he draws you in, and it writhes in the irises that dilate and expand as he besottedly ogles the blissed, fucked out expression that has you mewling, the unbelievable intensity of your climax leaving you feeling as if you’re suspended entirely in some astral dimension that only your lover could augment before you.

“Thank you,” he says it in some kind of daze, like the tart twang and tangy scent of you have clogged his mind of any reasonable thought while he languidly cleans you up, “Thank you so much, my love.”

Fondness makes your heart swell for him, and you’ve forgotten that the ribbons of his Evol still keep your arms tied down and entirely too distant from him.

“Caleb,” your voice is hoarse from your earlier outcries, “I want to touch you. Can I?”

Your plea has the tendrils binding your arms to the counter dissolving and releasing you, your request brushing past the brume of the trance that you’d put him under while the other strands of his Evol encasing you around your pelvis diffuse into thin air.

He cleans you with his tongue, entreating whatever remains onto it, your thighs slackening and opening around his head in the feeling that has been sapped out of you.

Once he’s sure he’s devoured every last morsel of the dinner, lunch, and breakfast that he’d made of you, his hands return to your sides to carefully ease you back down onto the counter so you’re laid against it once more.

“You do not need to ask me that, my love. I love it when you touch me,” He licks his lips, the lewd daubing of your taint embracing the wet length of him as satisfaction morphs his handsome features when the last of you is lathered across his palate. “I live only for you, anyway.”

His confession makes your cheeks flush a shade of red even rubies couldn’t hope to compare to, and it only becomes a mightier shade when you blink up at him with those long, obsidian-like lashes of yours while he uses the back of his artificial, roboticized hand to wipe away the glistening sheen of your essence that still sullies his chin and nose before the pink muscle in his mouth slips out to relish in that, too. “I would do anything for you because I love you. You know that, don’t you?”

Familiar heat simmers between your legs, and you extend your slightly shaky arm toward him, fingers outstretched in effort to make contact with him while you answer, “You would never let me forget.” As tall as he is, he’s too far away even though he’s stood against the countertop, your own legs now dangling on either side of him.

You whine at his unwanted farness despite your thighs that tremblingly try and fail to clamp him between them, and the resulting chuckle of amusement makes wings take flight in your chest as he responsively tilts his front forward, head lowering a little so you can dotingly cradle his cheek in your hand.

“What do you want, pip-squeak?” He rests his head in your hand, his knuckles of his other hand tenderly trailing down the underside of your arm to feel more of your smooth skin while his other, bionic one braces him against the counter so his chest hangs closely above yours.

“You.” Your answer is fetched forth by the attracting force that is him, the debris of hesitation eradicated under the nebulae in his eyes that spin with adoration and devotion solely to you.

“You have me, sweet girl,” he coos. “You always have.”

You’d never been good with words. Still, he made you want to be.

So you try to show him what you mean another way, bending one elbow under you so you can surround yourself in his musky, masculine scent of iron and grass. Like this, you can’t miss the fully engorged, painfully erect member between his thighs that’d he’d left neglected out of his devoutness to you.

You whine at the sight of him, fingers twitching impulsively at the sight of him as he tells you, “I know that look in your eyes, pretty girl, but I won’t last if you touch me there right now. I need you too much right now.”

An emotion your language simply didn’t have a means of expressing makes the whole of your heart twinge and pang for him, your fingers drifting down from his cheek so they can maunder down his neck to where pliant flesh meets rigid, hard metal. The daintiness of your touch makes him shudder, and his carefully shrouded vulnerability exposes itself in the shadows within the corner of one of his eyes as your fingers nimbly meander down the dark plating of iron where his receptors can’t feel you anymore–nonetheless, you don’t stop until your palm lays against the back of his.

“You once said that humans who love each other can mate their souls together if their vessels become one.” Your digits curl inward, filling the space he’d left open for you between his metallic fingers while his other digits reverently follow the curve of your shoulder blade to the dip of your spine. “I want that with you.”

His breath is snagged away by you, and he still sounds so very winded whenever the imaginings he’d had of you are replaced with the reality that is so, so much more beautiful than anything his mind could conjure.

“Are you certain, my one and only?” He asks breathlessly while you bring the artificial phalanges of his iron hand to your lips, kissing each where human joints would be in the middle of every single one of them.

Ever considerate of you and your own will, his question only whisks forth the truth of many moons and suns spent basking in the rays of his care and affection.

“These past two cycles without you made me realize that there is only one thing that has any meaning to me in this place, Caleb, and that is you,” You profess, turning his hand over so you can intertwine your fingers with his. He interlaces his with yours, each fitting perfectly next yours like they were designed just for this purpose. All the while, he admires every bit of the spread of red dusting over your cheeks while you say, “Make love to me until our spirits mate for life. Until we can’t remember what it was to be without each other.”

The kindle of your voice sets him alight with pining that refuses to be doused until his very being is joined in the heat of passion with yours, and he stiffens unbelievably more between your parted legs while the bulbous head of his enlarged, swollen cock leaks his pre-cum that has you wetting your lips, your tastebuds secreting saliva at the delicious sight of him.

“As you wish,” he faithfully utters before using the union made by your hands to help you sit up. His other digits faintly course down your spine, pebbling your flesh as they go. The soft pads of his fingertips don’t disappear until he reaches the small of your back where the globes of your ass hide you from him. “My moon and my stars,” those calloused digits fasten around your thigh, “My one and only in this life and the next.”

You watch him bring your intertangled hands to his mouth, the shape of them pledging themselves to you in the fleeting, deferent kiss he impresses upon the back of yours before he ensconces it over the corded thew of his shoulder, doing the same to with your other.

“However you’ll have me, I’ll come to you. And I will make all your wishes come true. Every single one of them,” His bionic, metal hand joins its counterpart along the home of the backs of your thighs so he can entwine you around his toned torso one leg after the other. While he does this, he angles his head to the side, the hotness of his breath blown against the shell of your ear while he murmurs, “I made a promise to you that I’d bring you to a paradise that is just for us. Whether it is my body or being that takes you there, my sweet girl, you’ll find it with me.” The torrid territory of his mouth skims the cartilage of your ear as he admits, “After all, you have been my Eden from the first time I looked upon you in that garden of tubes, glass, and monitors.”

“Take me, then. Make me entirely yours so that we can always be together.” You declare, wrapping your legs and arms resolutely, unwaveringly around him.

His control snaps, and from its remains, his want takes over.

“Finally,” The word is hurried, rushed from the base of his throat when he easily lifts you up against his body and turns to hastily trudge away from the counter, his mouth tangling with yours in a mess of teeth and spit, the wet smacking of your lips all that you hear past his groan when you move your hips against him, your sex skirting along the tip of the several inches of his infatuation with you before your spine hits a wall, an untamed intent rearing in his eyes when he surfaces for air to husk, “Take it off for me, pretty girl. You won’t need that little nightdress before, during, or after what I’m going to do to you.”

You heed him, peeling it off your body where it had been bunched atop your breasts and discarding it somewhere behind him unceremoniously while his irises roam and ravage your completely exposed form to make heat ignite everywhere they raze.

“Caleb,” you whine, entranced by the unbridled, unadulterated lust that conflagrates in his orbs, stoking you in his desire.

“You looked so pretty for me when you were getting off on my tongue earlier, my love. I would have come against the counter just from watching you, but I couldn’t let myself. Do you want to know why?” He mutters, adjusting and raising you up before the streaks of his Evol quickly clamor around your lower half so he can release you with one of his hands to take his massive, veiny and girthy length into it. “One: you were so beautiful while you enjoyed yourself on that countertop. I couldn’t bear to stop when you looked so tempting. Two: I wanted to come home. I wanted to cum inside you.”

Possessiveness has him slapping his head against your core to sodden you in his own essence, your pussy contracting around nothing while you shed more tears for him there.

He exhales shakily, prodding at your entrance with his tip. “You’re so wet for me, pretty girl. My spit and your juices look so pretty on you.” He lines himself up with your drenched hole and he sighs satisfactorily at the way you gaze at him from under a fan of dark lashes, “I’m going to fuck you until all that you know is me, my love. Until all that you can think about is me. Until all you can remember is me.”

You clasp your arms around his neck, touching the bridge of his nose with yours, “That sounds like paradise to me.”

With your consent, his Evol bears you down onto his cock all in one fluid motion, the delightful fullness and friction from him bottoming out within you making your eyelids flutter while the both of you elicit the vocal sounds resonant of your rapturous union.

“Fuck,” he curses, “You feel like a dream.” He husks, the invisible tendrils under his control holding your hips in place and turning you weightless while he nearly draws himself out of you only to bury himself back into you to the hilt nice and deep. “No, you’re better than a dream. And you’re all mine. Say it, pretty girl. Say you’re mine.”

“Y-yours,” you stammer when his warm, wet mouth encloses you where your shoulder meets your neck, sucking you between his teeth hungrily as the blood that rushes beneath it is coaxed to where he mars you while he thrusts debasingly into your pussy.

“I have to remind you that I belong to you, baby, and leave traces of me all over you. You’ll look so gorgeous with my marks all over you.” Up your neck he travels, leaving flowers of red and pink in his wake while he crosses the orchard of your neck to the other side, the veins of his cock brushing against your walls caressingly as he picks up his pace needfully. “When you look at them, you’ll see that I chose you. That I’d only ever choose you. ”

Your walls embrace him tightly at that, and it earns a long, drawn out groan from where his mouth captures yours, teeth gnashing and tongue thrashing against yours in his insistence.

“I want it. Want you,” You mewl into him, your head falling back when his skilled maw descends to dote on your chest, the hot length of his tongue licking around and then over the pliant area of your nipple. He draws a line of spit with it to your other, taking it into his mouth so he can taste you while he plunges powerfully into you with his bulging cock that rubs deliriously against you.

“I’ll give it to you, pretty girl. You’re taking me so well. You feel so good,” He grits his teeth at the divine and damning sanctuary of your body, hastening the drive of his length into you even through the denial of his own end and continual shunting of it with his Evol that swells his balls and member to the brim in the buildup of his captivation for you. “I was made for you, pretty girl. And you were made just for me.”

Through the haze of your lust that he fills you with, you can vaguely ascertain that he’s fuller than usual, that the network of veins and ridges constellating his much thicker cock pulsate sporadically while he tries to mask it with a bite onto your tit, teeth sinking into you that will surely impart a series of crescents there in the shape of him.

“Caleb-” You barely get his name out before he shoves his throbbing member harder into you so every bit of him is seated in you, his pace quickening with each purposeful drive of his cock inside your willing and waiting cunt that clamps around him as if to keep him there.

The slap of his heavy balls against your ass are obscene even to your own ears as his tip kisses your cervix with each quickening thrust, each one turning your thoughts to mush while his eyes flash feverishly up at you from where he’s got your tit bound between his lips.

“Command me,” he orders, teeth territorially leaving their impression over and around the peaked bud of your other breast while he slams his length into you even faster as he sets a brutal, merciless rhythm, your whimpers wrenched from your throat while he drools around you, spit gleaming licentiously in its viscous venture down your belly. “Command me to let go for you, baby. Tell me to give the seed of my love to you that you’re going to carry inside this pretty pussy of yours.”

You can’t even think anymore, your words lost to the unwavering, relentless pistoning of his pulsating, swollen member that knocks against your g-spot each and every time he pounds into you to make the heat that has spread in your core smolder and flare with an intensity that even a wildfire would fail to contain.

Fingers of steel that can no longer detect sensation grab your jaw in an iron-grip, the manic glint in his eyes sending you deeper into the flames of felicity while his other hand flattens against your belly to feel himself where he protrudes against you while rams himself into your silken channel. “I said,” he punctuates each word with a lurid lurch of his hips, “Command me.”

His order summons your voice from the bowels of your body, your baser being temporarily avulsed from the depths of yourself as your mouth falls ajar when the palm against your stomach turns so the pads of his index and middle fingers can zealously stroke the cluster of nerves of your clit, the heel of his hand pushing into the sensitive area just above the thatch of hair overlying your sex to make his intrusions even more decadently depraved.

“Let…l-let go for me, Caleb,” you incoherently babble, “W-want your…want your seed inside me.”

His eyes darken, and then he hums, “Mmm, I knew you would listen. You’re such a good girl. I’m going to ask you to do one more thing for me. Can you do that?”

You nod, not trusting your voice to last with how he splits you apart until you don’t know where you start and he ends, tits jiggling and jostling where the colorless striations of his Evol don’t pin you in place against the wall while his fingers render aberrant patterns over and on your sensitive bundle of nerves cresting your cunt.

“Fall apart on my cock and succumb to me, baby. Milk me fucking dry.” His fingers push down along your engorged nub while several invisible streaks of the power under his control stretch around and between his digits to consort with him like extensions of his own hand, brutally impelling themselves against your bloated button of nerves in tandem with the catastrophic whirl of his fingers against it. ”Show me how much you love me while I fill you up with mine.”

You dazedly watch his lips move, the meaning of them slow to find you while he ravishes you with his cock with a final, fatal, calamitous blow that hits you in all the right places, not a single part of you devoid of his length as your body obeys him. Your walls spasm and convulse around him as you let out a piercing cry of his name and hot, blinding, white pleasure uproariously makes you its fortissimo.

He’s bewitched by you as you move like a melody caught in slow motion, each breath a note drawn out, deliberate, aching with anticipation. The rhythm built inside you–a private symphony–pulsing low and deep like bass beneath the velvet sky of the dark. You were the strings of a musical instrument and he the composer, your body arched in perfect sync with the rising tempo. When your climax comes, it is a full crescendo–raw, electric, soul-deep–the kind of moment where the world falls away and only the music remains, echoing in your bones long after the final note fades. You don’t just feel pleasure–you become the song, and in that instant, you and he are infinite.

Your voluminous, glorious orgasm sends him into his, and he fucking bursts, shooting his molten seed inside you with a reverberating rumble of groan that sets your blood afire.

“That’s right, pretty girl,” he encourages, “You’re so gorgeous when you lose yourself on top of me, my love. Keep going. I won’t let a single bit of me out of you.”

You do as he says, even your labored breaths clinging to each other as he ruts his hips into yours, helping you to ride out your orgasm until your walls have stopped fluttering around him in a euphoric ballad while his mouth secures itself to yours, mingling his saliva and breath with yours in a messy string of kisses that don’t cease until his fingers find the backs of your thighs so he can languidly summon his Evol into the ether just to hold you nearer against his chest.

Still he fills you, each white spurt lovingly caressing parts of you that you didn’t even know you had.

So stuffed full of his cum, a sliver of it slips down your thigh, but several streaks of his power push it back up inside your cunt, keeping it all there while you try to hold the rest of his release within you.

Your limbs tremble from the intenseness of your illicit activities, but it is a pleasing kind of numbness that is left in his wake while your hands dangle from the back of his neck, fresh red lines made from your nails now adorning him there that he wears proudly.

He waits until you’ve caught your breath until he asks, “Are you okay, pip-squeak? Was I too much?”

You smile at him, a different kind of feeling flittering through your chest when his eyes light up at you while you say, “There’s no such thing as ‘too much’ with you. I loved it…and you.” You attempt to card your quivering, jellified fingers through his tousled, mussed hair and he preens at the action.

He croons, his own smile reaching his eyes when he rubs his nose against yours, “That’s what I like to hear. I love you, too, you know.” He gives a soothing squeeze to your strained and still quaking muscles along your thighs, “ Do you need me to give you a massage? You may not be able to use your legs for a little while, pip-squeak.”

Your cheeks burn at that last part, the inclination to hide your face in his neck where he’s shining with the sheen of sweat awfully provocative right now. “That does sound appealing, but you have not properly eaten yet. You need to.”

He arches a brow, and incredulous, he retorts, “What are you talking about? I just did. And it was delicious.”

Impulsiveness wins over your still recovering rationale, and you claim his Adam’s apple between your teeth while you challenge, “That’s not a real meal, mister. I’m not going to let you starve because of me. I love you too much for that. You can make us both something and we can eat together. I’ll tell you about the dreams I had of you while you were gone. How does that sound?”

That piques his interest, and then he’s heading toward your bedroom with you tucked safely in his arms while he offers, “Sounds good to me. But I think a shower is in order after that. I need to clean you up.”

He watches your irises dip down where you’re both still connected, chuckling to himself when you give an inquisitive look. “And you plan to keep that inside me while you do?”

“Oh, pip-squeak,” he muses, “There are many ways to make sure it stays where it belongs. And if you lose any of it,” He takes the bottom of your earlobe between his teeth, “I’ll just make sure you give you some more.”

Familiar heat stirs between your legs, and you playfully nip over the notch of his Adam's apple while you say, “You’re insatiable.”

“Only for you, my love,” He passionately professes through a pleased grunt, “So, what do you want me to make for us?”

“Anything as long as it is made by you. You can choose for me. You know what I like better than I do.” Your answer honestly as your lids grow heavy, and when you lay your head against his chest, you can hear how his heart is tuned to the same beat of yours. “My only request is something with apples in it. They remind me of you.”

“And what is it about them that reminds you of me?” His tone is the timbre of music in its peaked curiosity, the plop of his feet against the floor a soft backdrop against it as he peers amorously down at you.

Crisp where he needed to be, soft where he allowed, with a tartness that showed when life bit too hard. The scientists and commanders of Ever thought they knew him after one passing, scrutinizing glare, but they missed the way he carried seasons in his soul– the sunlight, the storms, the long patient ripening. And like an apple, he held your truth at the core– not always easy to reach, but real, and worth it.

You confess the musings you’d long harvested in your heart, they flow easily when he looks at you like you’re his entire universe. Each word nurtures in him a happiness that beams from those brilliant eyes of dawn and sunset that are merged together in them, and he effuses that comfortable warmth through your every bone, cell, and atom, your body fusing itself to his in a manner of seeking that went far beyond the flesh and mortal coil.

Hours pass and he never drifts from you, unable to leave his moon and stars. Time is but a poor construct in his presence, because he instills and imparts in you the rich, vibrant wonders of life that manifest down to his every breath.

When your bellies have been sated and he’s carefully washed you of the sweat, spit, and slick you’d unconditionally made for each other, he takes you to bed. There, his fingers–magnetized to you–lulling each tensed, overused muscle of yours into relaxedness from where he’d lain you atop of him before tracing the outline of your every curve while whispering sweet nothings into your ear where it had been nestled into the crook of his neck.

You’d given in easily into the tantalizing tug of sleep, for he’d enticed all of your energy and ability to move properly, the devout worship of his digits–both of metal and of flesh–too divine not to surrender to.

When your even, measured breaths brush at his throat and your eyes have fallen closed, that’s when he presents his mouth against your temple, surreptitiously delivering a vow of his fealty, loyalty, and faith while you sleep peacefully–blissfully– in his arms.

“Rest well, my one and only. I promise to you that in life and in death, we will never be apart.”

Your peaceful expression lures him into his dreams, wanting to be with you there, too.

The black void of space soon swarms him, his body robbed of its weight as he falls toward a scorched, scarred planet iriscable in the flame of its doomed fate. He’s been torn away from you again, and when he attempts to move, to try to find you, his appendages each fail him, each bereft and depleted of strength.

Dismembered drones, Wanderers, and synthetic droids plummet past pieces of what once were cruisers, the lone, untouched ship of steel above him an abandoned refuge to the holder of his heart who dives toward him unflinchingly and determinedly as you cry out his name.

Your kindling touch, when you furl your arms around his neck, restarts his every nerve and it’s all he can do to warn you of the imminence of his decay, your consuming connection corrupted by the same source that made you for each other of which he’d been trying to protect you from.

There’s nothing but conviction in the pools of your eyes when you confess that this–being with him– is where you want to be. That the world being wrought in disastrous destruction is not scary, but losing him–going on to exist in a place where he is not– that is a nightmare you could never bear.

There, in the pit of space, he makes his final promise to you, sealing it with a deep and devouring kiss that even the sun and moon commit to memory in the passionate profession of your love to the galaxy beyond. Then, the powerful intensity that your souls burn with for each other finally, fatally combusts into an inferno of light and matter.

Like two stars that can’t be contained in their destiny to be together, the spark of your connection explodes, and then, he knows only you as the brilliant phosphorescence your union creates swirls and whirls around you, a supernova of destructive proportion coupling you with him forever that is felt through the far reaches of space.

Subconsciously, he ensconces you in his arms just a little tighter from where you both lie with each other in your bed, your name spoken as a servant addresses their goddess.

And unknowing yet just as perceptive to him, you press yourself against him just a little more insistently, his name a pleading prayer as it flits past your lips while you slumber on in the solace only he could ever bring.

#lads caleb #love and deepspace caleb #caleb #lnds caleb #caleb x reader #caleb x you #caleb x fem reader #caleb smut #lnds #caleb angst #caleb fluff #lads smut #lads fanfic #lads fluff #lads angst #caleb myth #love and deepspace

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subskz · 1 year ago

Text

go easy - h.js

note: this is a reupload from my old blog

content: sub jisung, dom reader, masturbation (m), brief voyeurism, a bit of degradation, reader calls jisung a slut once, use of traffic light system, stopping during a scene, crying, slight angst, hurt/comfort, pegging, lots of praise

word count: 6.6k

The scent of your cooking wafted through the kitchen as you turned the knob on your stove to lower its heat to a simmer. You gave the eggs you’d scrambled a few more tentative pokes with your utensil before deciding that you were satisfied, shutting off the fire beneath the pan at last.

Jisung was still sound asleep in the other room—or at least, you assumed he was given that he hadn’t yet been lured into the kitchen by the mouthwatering aroma. You set the sizzling pan down on the counter and glanced at your phone to check the time. It was nearly noon, and as much as you wanted Jisung to get proper rest, especially knowing that he’d gone to bed thoroughly exhausted the night prior, you figured it’d be better to wake him up before his whole day was thrown off. A part of you wanted him awake so he could have the chance to eat his breakfast before it got cold, but the other half—the more selfish one—simply missed him. No matter how groggy he might be when he first woke up; mumbling to himself for minutes, ruffling his unruly hair and rubbing the sleep out of his eyes before he could get a proper sentence out, he always brightened your mornings with his slurred jokes and lazy giggles.

The thought alone was enough to stir fondness in your chest, bringing an involuntary smile to your face as if you could hear his raspy voice already. You made quick work of setting the rest of the table and headed out of the kitchen, making your way down the hall towards your bedroom. In retrospect, shutting the door so that the clatter of your cooking wouldn’t disturb Jisung hadn’t really been necessary, considering how deep of a sleeper he was.

A small, muffled noise coming from the other side of the wall captured your attention, bringing you to a halt as you reached for the door handle. You stayed put for a moment, not even having the chance to question whether you’d imagined it or not when it was soon followed by another, just audible enough for you to catch. It wasn’t the first time you’d heard Jisung talk in his sleep, but the nature of the sounds you were hearing—stifled, swallowed down, like he was having trouble getting them out—had you wondering if he might be experiencing a nightmare of some kind.

You listened long enough for your curiosity to begin morphing into concern. A noise almost akin to a gasp met your ears, cut short as soon as it came, just barely allowing you to catch it. With a frown, you turned the door handle and tiptoed into your bedroom, completely unprepared for the scene that awaited you inside.

Jisung was awake, very much so.

Your comforter had been bunched up and tossed to the side, giving you a clear view of exactly what had been drawing out all those strange, breathless noises from him. He was hunched over, eyes squeezed shut, messy hair falling into his face, teeth sinking into his bottom lip. His shorts and underwear were pushed down just far enough for his hand to move freely, like he’d been in too much of a rush to even bother removing them properly. Given how fast he was stroking himself, that was probably the case.

You blinked a few times, processing the scene unfolding before you in stunned silence. He hadn’t yet noticed that you’d slipped into the room, still fully consumed by the feeling of his hand sliding up and down his length at a frantic pace, working himself to his high with a shameless lack of control. The noises he made were hushed, but deliciously desperate, and judging by the obvious flush on his cheeks, you could tell just how hard he was trying to hold his breath and restrain himself so they wouldn’t ring out too loud.

Any remaining shock you’d felt was quickly overtaken by a wave of arousal when you heard Jisung call out your name—so soft, so broken, you might have thought you’d misheard if he didn’t buck up into his fist especially hard as he uttered it, like the mere thought of you was just what he needed to send him over the edge right then and there. He slowed his pumping to flatten his palm and roll it over the head of his cock, cursing under his breath. You knew better than anyone how crazy the move drove him—you were the one who’d discovered it in the first place, gotten him hooked on it. It ignited a strange heat in your stomach, to realize that you were the only thing on his mind in that moment.

You’d never quite seen Jisung like this before. Curled in on himself, forcing back his moans in a relentless chase for pleasure from hands other than yours. He was typically so vocal about his desires with you, rarely shying away from demanding all your attention and begging you to take care of him when his need became too much to contain any longer. The fact that he was trying to keep it all a secret from you, like he was doing something wrong, had you more excited than you’d like to admit.

He clamped his jaws shut to suppress what was sure to have been a particularly loud cry, throwing his head back in a fit of pleasure. As he did, his half-lidded eyes finally caught a glimpse of you. Arms crossed, leaning lazily against the doorframe with an expression on your face that made his stomach flip.

He stiffened, hand freezing around his dick. A choked noise escaped him as his stare met yours, the remaining traces of his moan instantly dying out in his throat.

“Morning,” you hummed.

Jisung’s eyes grew wide as moons; a deer caught in headlights, a look far too innocent considering what he’d just been doing. With a mortified squeak, his hand scrambled for the nearest pillow, flinging it over himself in a pointless attempt to cover up the dripping mess of arousal peeking from his half-discarded shorts. Embarrassingly enough, the softness pressing suddenly against his most sensitive spot made him jolt, so hard that he was positive you wouldn’t miss it.

Your lips twitched into the beginnings of a smile, and you made your way over to the bed, flopping down on it casually across from him. “Don’t be shy, Hannie,” your voice was calm for the most part, but it was difficult to contain the delight creeping into it. “Nothing I haven’t seen before, right?”

At that, Jisung’s face heated up impossibly more, creating a pretty blush against his tan skin that you couldn’t get enough of.

“I...I thought you were busy,” he stammered out, gripping the pillow tighter. “I didn’t mean...um, I mean, I wasn’t trying to—”

His rambling was cut off when you leaned forward to cup his face in your hands, smile curving to completion when you felt for yourself how much his skin was burning under your palms. You gave his full cheeks a squeeze, gentle enough for him to relax into your touch. “Weren’t trying to get yourself off?” you finished for him. “It’s alright, baby. Why don’t you show me what you were doing?”

Jisung swallowed hard. “You’re not mad?”

“Mm...not mad,” you began, rubbing your thumbs along his flushed face, feeling his pulse race under them. “Just a little hurt that you didn’t call for me to help you out.”

He cast his eyes down, unable to turn his head away in shame like every instinct told him to. You were only teasing him, no signs of disappointment lacing your tone, but it crashed a heavy guilt over him all the same. To not only do something so pathetic, so shameful, but to be caught by you in the process. You, the one he wanted to be good for, the one he did everything with your approval in mind.

“Sorry, ‘m sorry,” he mumbled. “It’s way too early for me to be so…ah.”

He squeezed his eyes shut, wishing he could fade into the sheets and escape your watchful eyes before he died of pure humiliation right there—or worse, before the fresh rush of adrenaline it sent through his body to be found like this made his situation infinitely more embarrassing. He could already feel it, creeping up his neck, making his cock throb against the soft fabric of the pillow.

“Just…didn’t wanna bother you for something like this.”

With the exception of an occasional, overly-eager misstep, Jisung always tried his best to be as well-behaved as possible for you. It was a rare occurrence for you to scold him over anything—he didn’t give you much of a reason to, nor a desire to. Not when his doe eyes gleamed up at you in a constant search for praise and his voice rang out so sweetly with every word of adoration you gave him. Though he hadn’t necessarily broken any rules, it still felt strangely thrilling to you to have caught him like this. Working himself up without your knowledge, seeking relief without your touch. You wondered what he’d been thinking about to even reach that point, what had made him so desperate that he didn’t even think to come find you first.

You slid your hands from his face to grab the pillow he’d used to shield himself. Jisung tensed up as you tugged it out of his hold, but he made no effort to try and stop you, obediently releasing it from his fidgeting fingers. Your heart skipped a beat as his cock sprang back into view, still fully hard and leaking at its tip, practically begging for release after the sudden loss in stimulation. Clearly, Jisung’s embarrassment had done little to ebb his arousal—if anything, it’d only strengthened it.

“Poor baby. So needy with no one around to take care of him,” you pouted, ghosting your hand over his length. “What’s got you like this first thing in the morning?”

It took him a moment to muster up a response, not finding it in him to speak properly when your fingers were dancing mere centimeters over his aching tip, taunting him. “H-had a dream about you.”

“Yeah?” you cooed. “Was I touching you like that?”

A soft noise of frustration met your ears. His gaze was locked on your hand, in a trance. So preoccupied with how badly he longed for you to close the distance that he almost forgot to give a strained nod.

“Cute.” You followed Jisung’s pleading stare to admire his twitching cock, curling your hand playfully around nothing. His breath hitched in his throat, bracing himself for your touch. But it never came.

Instead, you scooted back, settling comfortably in a spot near the edge of the bed that gave you the perfect view of him—his bewildered face, his ridden up shirt, his dick peeking up from the elastic of his shorts. “Well, don’t let me ruin your fun.”

His mouth fell open, big, anxious eyes darting up to meet yours again. Adorably expressive as ever. You could see every emotion he was feeling written out in the curve of his eyebrows and the repeated parting and closing of his lips as he struggled to make sense of what you were implying.

“Ah…” he chuckled nervously. “What?”

“It must’ve felt good, right? Better than anything I could do,” you teased. “Let me see how my baby plays with himself when I’m not around.”

Your tone was light, but Jisung nearly shuddered all the same, like he couldn’t shake the feeling that some sort of punishment had to be awaiting him. There was a strange, hungry glint in your eyes that added a tinge of apprehension to the excitement fluttering his chest.

Despite himself, he followed through without question, half out of a determination to prove his discipline to you, half out of a pathetic need to relieve the pressure still coiled tight in his abdomen. He brought his hand back to his length, a tiny whine escaping him as he wrapped his fingers around it, handling it with far more timidity than the relentless pace he’d set earlier. He glanced up at you with a hopeful stare to ask for permission, such an obvious attempt to appeal to you that you could’ve laughed. But you simply nodded, encouraging him to start moving.

Tentatively, Jisung began stroking himself, thighs trembling the instant his pleasure picked up where he’d left off. You marveled at the way his cock pulsed in his hand as he pumped it with an amount of delicacy that he wasn’t used to treating himself with, slowly finding his rhythm. Even with his languid strokes, it wasn’t long before soft vocalizations began to build in his throat, heard loud and clear through the bedroom.

��Is that how fast you were going earlier?” you asked. It seemed like an innocent question, but he knew right away what you were really getting at; an order to go faster, to match his feverish speed from before.

“No,” he admitted.

“Don’t hold back, Jisungie,” you urged. “You were so into it before. Do it just like that, make yourself feel so good that you don’t even notice me.”

A breathless, awkward mewl slipped out of him, but he tightened his grip nonetheless. You cooed in approval, growing more aroused with each passing second over the sight of him so flustered, fumbling helplessly with his cock like he’d never touched it before. Any traces of how shameless he could be with you were nowhere to be found, now. No cries for your attention, no sinful expressions on full display, no begging to be adored. It willed you to take things a step further, to make the most of his shyness.

His hushed sounds quickly escalated into less controlled ones, still tinged with that sleepy rasp. His free hand gripped the bedsheets as he picked up the pace of his stroking, a cute, concentrated look forming on his face.

“There we go. Does that feel good, Hannie?”

The boy’s eyebrows furrowed as he slid his thumb along the head of his cock, passing over his wet slit and making his breath stutter. “M-mhm,” he hesitated before continuing. “It’d feel—ah—better if it was you.”

“Yeah?” you cooed. “It could’ve been. All you had to do was come to me like a good boy.”

He whined at that, averting his guilt-ridden gaze. Even with his head ducked, he could still feel you watching him, taking in each flex of his muscles and jolt of his hips. It made the touch of his hand feel completely foreign to him, like the effects of your observant eyes stimulated his nerve endings with a new intensity. You knew well by now that Jisung thrived on your praise more than anything else, but the prospect of talking down to him with no affectionate words to ease the sting was oddly exhilarating to you. You wanted to be a little meaner, to satiate your curiosity.

“Is this what you do behind my back, baby?” you faked a pout. “Always touching your needy cock ‘cause you can’t even wait for me? Are you that dirty?”

Jisung tensed up, nearly choking in his haste to get his protest out. “No! I’m good, ‘m a good boy.”

His reaction made your spine tingle with satisfaction, enough for you to continue testing the waters. “I thought so too,” you said wistfully. “But now I’m not so sure. What kind of good boy would do something so gross?”

He whimpered. It came unexpectedly louder than the rest of his sweet little sounds, even as the pace of his pumps slowed down significantly.

“Maybe you were just pretending to be good for me?” You cocked your head to the side. “Maybe you’re really just a little slut who will do anything to get off.”

Your tone took on an unnatural harshness, unlike any of your usual teasing, your familiar, playful lilt that pulled him into a happy haze with each word you spoke. Jisung shuddered. His face turned beet red, half-hearted strokes coming to a full stop. For a brief moment, you thought his reaction was one of enjoyment. But a few seconds passed, and the boy stayed that way—quiet, frozen in place, save for a faint twitch in his lips.

“Jisung?” you asked cautiously. “Are you okay?”

His spell of silence stretched out longer than you’d anticipated, making alarm rise in your chest.

“Jisung, what’s your color?”

There was a newfound urgency to the question, one that he couldn’t ignore no matter how badly he wished he could brush it off, to pretend like he was fine so he wouldn’t disappoint you any further. But you noticed it all without anything said, from his tensed posture to the way his hand quivered as he unwrapped it from around his length. Reluctantly, he lifted his head to look at you, watery gaze coming into view.

“Green,” he said at last. The crack in his voice did little to reassure you—in fact, all it did was shoot your worry through the roof.

“Are you sure?” you pressed. “I need you to be honest with me, baby.”

Jisung’s breathing grew more rapid, heart hammering in his chest for reasons he couldn’t fully explain. It had all felt so good, so right, up until just a moment ago. Now, it was all wrong—he was all wrong. He couldn’t find it in him to be his own comfort, to tell himself that your words held no real weight. He’d upset you, he’d disappointed you, and on top of that he couldn’t even take his punishment properly. The sting in his eyes grew stronger. He’d already let you down by doing something so indecent, he didn’t want to do it again by being too weak to face the consequences.

Even with Jisung’s face obscured by his messy curtain of hair, you could see the flurry of emotions crossing it, twisting his features, and your heart along with it. He was lying, you were certain of it.

“Hannie,” you softened your voice. The nickname was feather-light on your tongue, enough to soothe the inhibitions that were threatening to take over his mind and force him quiet. “Talk to me. Are you sure?”

Jisung swallowed hard, but the lump in his throat couldn’t be pushed down. You already knew how pathetic he was, anyway. There was no point in denying it.

All at once, the tears that had glazed his wide eyes spilled over. He pulled his knees up to his chest, shrinking into himself, looking smaller than ever.

“Ah…this is s-so stupid,” he attempted a weak chuckle, but it fell flat into a sob instead, one that made your chest positively ache. “Sorry,” he choked out. “I tried to hold it in, ‘m sorry.”

A wave of guilt crashed over you, flooding all your senses. You rose from your spot slowly to make your way over to Jisung and settle down next to where he was curled up on the bed. It took all of your self-control to push back every protective instinct that told you to pull him into a hug when you saw how fragile he looked, trying and failing to ease himself as he cried into his elbow. Just as you were mulling over whether or not it’d be okay to touch him, he leaned into you like a reflex, and like a reflex, you wrapped your arms securely around him.

“Shh...it’s okay. Don’t apologize, baby,” you did your best to speak steadily, even if the broken sounds that slipped out as he fully let himself go made it difficult to control your voice. “It’s not your fault. You did nothing wrong.”

Jisung buried his face into your chest, hot tears seeping through your shirt and churning your stomach with sympathy. “Did...did you really mean that?” he hiccuped, digging his fingers into your clothes. “Am I that gross?”

“No, Jisung, never,” you could barely contain your own distress. Still, you had to stay composed, for his sake. Knowing Jisung, your guilt would feed into his; it would only make him feel worse when he already thought he’d ruined things for you. “I didn’t mean any of it, angel. It was all play.”

“But you’re right, I did something so disgusting behind your back. ‘M so pathetic. Gross,” he babbled, just short of incoherent with the way he was nestled into you. “You shouldn’t t-touch me. I don’t deserve it.”

You made a sound of pure disbelief, tightening your hold around him instead, rocking gently from side to side in an effort to calm him down. Jisung trembled against you as stifled gasps racked his body, but he followed your movements nonetheless, swaying along. “You’re not gross, Hannie. Please don’t believe that for even a second, okay?” You ran your hand up his quivering back to cradle his head, holding him close and massaging his scalp lightly with your fingers. “I went too far today, huh? I’m so sorry.”

“N-no, I’m—” he sniffled out. “Sorry for being like this. So sensitive.”

“You’re not too sensitive,” you murmured. “It’s my fault, baby. I should’ve checked before saying those things to you.”

You continued playing with his hair as he tried to get ahold of himself, feeling a tinge of relief when his breathing grew a little less erratic the more you soothed him, shaky sobs evening out with each inhale.

“I’m sorry,” he sniffled into your shirt. “Just thought I disappointed you.”

He tensed again, nearly panicking when you loosened your iron grip on his body to pull back and look him in the eye. Your heart broke even further when you saw the state he was in. His eyes—usually so bright—were red and puffy, glassy in a way that was far different from their natural glint. Dried tears stained his face, with fresh ones still brimming in the corners of his eyes and trickling down his cheeks. You wiped them away as tenderly as you could, not wanting to irritate his sensitive skin any further.

“Why did you think that, Hannie?”

“Cause I—,” he cut himself off with another soft hiccup, still struggling to get his emotions under control. “I messed up and couldn’t even take your scolding.”

“You didn’t disappoint me,” you said firmly. “You’re my good boy. So good you can’t even stand the thought of doing something wrong, right?”

He blinked droplets of tears out of his eyes, looking like he wanted nothing more than to bury his face right back into the comfort of your neck. Even so, he managed a tiny nod.

“There we go. I love you no matter what. Don’t ever forget that, okay?”

Your gaze bore intently into his, and Jisung forced himself to fight back the remnants of his self-deprecating thoughts before nodding again. “Okay,” he said softly. “I love you, too. So love me lots, please.”

The affection that gripped you nearly made you coo out loud. You pressed a kiss to his head the moment he leaned back into you, hoping to alleviate any leftover doubts he might have.

“Can I make it up to you?” you whispered. “Wanna show my baby just how loved he is.”

Jisung let out a shy hum, nuzzling his nose into your neck. You weren’t sure what made you giggle more, the ticklish sensation of his soft hair brushing your skin, or how easily his demeanor shifted. Your question had been innocent enough, you’d expected him to want to be held a bit longer, maybe even going to wash up together, but it seemed like he had something else in mind. His lips puckered against your skin in a wet kiss, taking in your scent, then releasing it with a sweet sigh.

“Just tell me what you want and we can do it,” you promised, petting his head, easing his mind back to that comforting haze with every stroke. “Does that sound good to you?”

“Mhm,” he murmured into you. What he said next was hard to make out with his lips squished against you, not quite ready to pull away. “Can we…go easy?”

The question tugged at your heartstrings. “Of course, we’ll go easy, angel. Anything you want.”

Jisung hesitated before deciding on his answer, still keeping his head tucked away into your shoulder. “Want your strap, please,” he breathed. It fanned out against your skin, making goosebumps rise to its surface. The plea was so different from his usual begging. Not shamelessly needy—but rather, timid and uncertain.

“Yeah? You wanna be spoiled?” You stopped playing with the hair at his nape to brush your index finger along his neck, relishing in how that alone was enough to make him shudder against you. “Good boys like you deserve to be treated good, too.”

It was Jisung’s turn to giggle, tinged with the slightest whine. You couldn’t deny the relief you felt hearing that familiar sound again. Reluctantly, he unlatched himself from you at last, already craving to feel your warmth again the instant you slipped off the bed.

“I’ll be right back, okay? Get yourself ready for me.”

Jisung nodded eagerly, some of the liveliness returning to his red eyes. You ruffled his hair, then headed towards your closet, pushing away the final traces of guilt from your mind and replacing them with a determination to make it up to him instead. As you rummaged through your belongings to retrieve your strap-on, it wasn’t long before soft, needy whimpers began to reach you from the bedroom, even sweeter than when you’d first caught him, completely unrestrained this time. As much as they set off a fire in you, you remained patient, taking your time in preparing the toy while his noises grew progressively louder.

Then, a call of your name met your ears. So raspy with need, so weak with desperation, it made your core clench. You tried not to rush yourself, but your composure effectively crumbled when you heard Jisung cry out for you again, loud and clear through the wall. You could’ve laughed—he knew exactly what he was doing, but you were content to let it work, today. With a deep breath, you gathered up your things and returned to the other room.

There, you found Jisung with his shorts completely discarded and his legs spread out, pushing two fingers—slick with the lube he’d taken from the nightstand—in and out of himself obediently. The sight, coupled with the wet sounds each sloppy, uncoordinated pump of his hand created, was enough to cloud your mind entirely with arousal all over again. He looked so perfect, like it was exactly where he belonged; parting his thighs wider as soon as he spotted you, giving you a full view of how well he was fucking himself open for you.

You adjusted the strap’s harness around your waist and settled in between Jisung’s thighs. He pulled his fingers out of himself with a low keen, doe eyes gazing up at you intently as you took over for him, lathering your fingers with lube to slip them inside his twitching hole. A gasp caught in his throat as you did, your angle allowing you to reach even deeper inside of him than his own fingers could, loosening him up further. He tightened around you instantly, sucking you in like his body was begging for anything it could get.

“Look at that,” you gave an appreciative hum. “Already stretched out so perfectly for me. Good boy.”

Jisung barely had the chance to react before you spread your fingers out in a scissor-like motion a few times, sending sparks through his body each time you pressed into his walls. Then, you pulled out of him all at once, leaving him squirming and fluttering around nothing. Despite his best efforts, he couldn’t help his whine of disappointment, even when he knew what was to come. You gave his nose an affectionate tap with your clean hand before squeezing some lube onto your palm, spreading it along the length of your strap-on until it was thoroughly coated.

“Get comfortable, baby,” you ordered gently.

There was a brief pause as Jisung propped himself up on his elbows, and you faltered for a moment, wondering if he might have changed his mind. He pressed his lips together like he was lost in thought, cheeks squishing adorably in the process.

“Ah, do you think...” he cut himself off with that cute, breathy laugh of his. “Can I—?” Another chuckle. “Can I ride you?”

The sheepish question came as a surprise to you, as did the sharp tingle it sent down your spine. You quirked an eyebrow, barely fighting back your smile when Jisung shied away, bangs falling into his eyes. “I wanna show you what I can do,” he mumbled, almost to himself. “Wanna be your good boy.”

“Jisungie,” you sang, tilting his chin up to make sure your words got through to him. “You don’t have to prove anything to me. You’re already my best boy, let me treat you like it.”

His eyes gleamed, but even as your praise eased his anxious mind, his resolve still didn’t waver. He needed this, you realized. His gaze searched yours for some sign of approval—so hopeful, so hungry, it was all it took for you to understand.

“But...if that’s what my baby wants, then of course you can.”

Jisung perked up at that, every soft, sleepy feature on his face brightening back up. “Thank you!” he chirped. “I’ll be good, I swear!”

You weren’t sure if it was his pure earnesty, or that infectious, heart-shaped grin, but you couldn’t hold back a smile of your own. It was impossible not to be overtaken with fondness, not when he was so grateful for just the chance to have your eyes on him as he ruined himself, all without you having to lift a finger. Shifting from your spot on the mattress, you settled back against the headboard of the bed, patting your thighs to beckon him over. He wasted no time before scrambling into your lap, straddling you so that he hovered mere centimeters above the toy’s head.

“Whenever you’re ready,” you told him, taking the shaft into your hand to line it up with his entrance. “You’ll take it all, won’t you? Just like your pretty hole took my fingers so well.”

Jisung shuddered as you swirled your strap’s slick tip around his rim, bracing himself with a deep inhale before sinking down on it. His breath spilled out in a long, shaky moan as you filled him up bit by bit, his walls instantly tightening around the delicious thickness he’d been aching for. He dug his teeth into his bottom lip, willing himself to push against the friction until every last inch of the toy had disappeared inside of him.

“That’s it, Hannie. Good boy, you make it look so easy.”

Your sweet whispers made it difficult for Jisung to control his breathing as he adjusted to the sensation of being filled to the brim. All he could manage was a weak gasp in response, eyes squeezing shut and insides clenching wildly. Your hands found their way to his hips, sliding your fingers along his tan skin to help soothe him while you waited, once again blown away by how ridiculously small his waist was.

“Pretty boy,” you hummed. Unable to resist, you pressed the pads of your thumbs deep into his flesh, delighted by the way his stomach contracted. “You look so perfect like this, just made to be filled up.”

The boy let out a flustered squeak, hands flying up to cover his face. It was almost amusing how much of a contrast there was in how Jisung vied for your compliments versus how he responded to them. There was no need for false bravado here, no need to fulfill any role when he was already the subject of your adoration.

He squirmed above you slightly, letting out a tiny grunt as the ridges of your strap pressed snugly against his walls. When he finally collected himself enough to speak, his voice came meek, muffled by his palms. “C-can I move?”

“Mm,” you urged, giving his waist another squeeze. “Show me how a good boy does it, Hannie.”

His hands dropped reluctantly from his flushed face and down to your shoulders, gripping them tight to steady himself. With a huff of effort, he lifted his body off your lap, sliding tortuously slow up the toy’s length before landing back down with a sharp smack. He relished in the relief it brought him for a moment before repeating the action, eyebrows furrowing as he tried to find his rhythm.

Jisung’s moans began slipping out of him in no time, rising in pitch and volume each time he sank down all the way to your strap’s hilt, building up a delicious pressure in your core. You ran your hands up and down his sides, feeling up his slender waist and stomach, puffing out with every gasp. “Are you feeling good, baby boy?”

Jisung dug his fingernails into your skin with a whimper, already finding it difficult to string together a coherent sentence. “Yes—ngh—so good,” he choked out. “So full.”

“Cause you’re taking it all so well. Every inch of me,” you praised. “Keep moving just like that, angel. I wanna see your cute little face when you cum all over yourself.”

Jisung mewled out your name, whether it was in shy protest of your words or a plea for more, even he wasn’t sure. You tightened your hold on his waist, hands following his every bounce to help keep him from faltering. The sight of him rocking his hips against yours was nothing short of breathtaking—small beads of sweat glistening on his forehead, tousled hair bouncing cutely, tongue peeking out between his swelling lips. His cock left drops of precum all over his skin each time it slapped against his stomach, crying for release after being denied for so long.

You could tell Jisung’s movements were starting to take a toll on him. He grasped frantically at your shoulders for purchase, trying his best to stay grounded just long enough to bring himself to a climax. His thighs began to tremble, pace growing sloppy both from the repeated strain on his muscles, and from the pleasure making it increasingly difficult for him to focus. You decided to help him out when you caught the frustrated pout forming on his face, lifting yourself to push into him with a newfound force and making him cry out sharply.

“It’s getting rough, huh, baby? Hannie’s working so hard for me. Such a good boy.”

“Hah...th-thank you,” Jisung swallowed down the saliva pooling in his mouth before it could trickle out, leaning in to slump his body against yours, no longer able to stay upright on his own. “Your good boy, ‘m your g’boy. Again. Say it—ah—again, please.”

You softened, indulging him without hesitation when you knew how badly he needed to hear it. “Good boy, Jisungie. My good boy.”

“Yours. Wanna be good for y-you.” He threw his head back suddenly as you hit a perfectly angled thrust. “There!” he gasped, voice cracking into a near-wail. “Right there, please, please, please.”

“There?” you echoed in amusement when he could only writhe around pathetically, all sense of rhythm lost. Your giggle masked just how much it affected you to see him falling apart in your lap like that—his blissed out face, his shameless moans, all tightening the coil in your stomach like his own pleasure was feeding into yours. “You like it there? Keep it up, then, baby.”

Amidst all his begging, your words pierced through Jisung’s foggy brain. They seemed to remind him that he still had some shred of control over the pace, because he picked up the speed of his bouncing again, rolling his body sinfully each time you bottomed out inside him so that your strap grinded against his prostate just right.

“You fucked yourself into such a cute little mess,” you crooned. Jisung whined above you, too far gone to decide if he should hide away from your attention, or bask in it. “Such a little pleaser. You like putting on a show for me?”

You tilted your hips so that your strap brushed against his sweet spot once more, earning a long drawn-out groan from the boy. His mouth hung open, tongue lolling as sound after filthy sound poured out of him nonstop. “Love it...hah...love it s’ much. Watch me, look at me, please.”

His head began thrashing from side to side, the muscles in his stomach clenching and unclenching as his high crept up on him. You hissed softly when he sank his fingernails deep into your flesh, so caught up in his fit of pleasure that he didn’t even process his how hard he was gripping you. All he could make sense of anymore was the heat that seared through his abdomen each time he sank down on your strap.

“You’re so good, baby. So good for me. Are you close?” you purred, rubbing small circles into his hips with your thumbs. Your voice was so gentle in contrast to the harsh smacking of his thighs against yours, it made him dizzy.

“Ah, yeah, yeah. Gonna cum. P-please, ‘m so close. Please—”

You jerked up to meet him halfway, burying your strap so deep inside him that he swore he saw stars. “Cum for me, baby boy. You’ve earned it.”

You took his bouncing cock into your grasp, feeling it throb in your palm as you began to stroke him. With just a few glides of your hand, Jisung was sent over the edge. He let out a choked sob as his orgasm hit him at last, his seed shooting onto his stomach in hot spurts, more intensely than usual after being pent up for so long. You milked him through his high, admiring the way the white ropes of cum decorated his tan skin as you pumped out every drop.

Jisung panted heavily above you, jaw still slack, quivering in place as the aftershocks rippled through his body. When the last of his seed had dribbled out from his tip, you carefully released his length from your hold, allowing it to fall limp. The rise and fall of his chest gradually began to slow, and he leaned into your hand the instant you rested it on his cheek, regardless of the fluids coating it. Your touch washed away the last of the hot adrenaline pumping through his system, replacing it with an overwhelming sense of calm; safety.

“My Hannie,” you murmured. “My sweet boy. You did so well for me.”

Jisung’s eyes fluttered open at last, still a bit hazy, but just as full of adoration for you as your gaze was for him. He managed a lazy, lopsided grin before collapsing forward to nuzzle into you, pressing his nose to your neck and breathing in. With your warmth enveloping him, your scent surrounding him, and the fullness of your strap still nestled inside him, you knew as well as he did that there was no chance of him getting up any time soon. The sticky feeling of his release seeping through your clothes was uncomfortable, but you wrapped your arms around him nonetheless. It was worth all the clean laundry in the world, to hold him like this.

Jisung pressed his lips against your neck in a chaste kiss, catching you by surprise. When he pulled his head back with a sigh of pure bliss, that familiar gleam was back in his eyes, and you knew that he had fully recovered from earlier.

You leaned forward to give him a kiss of your own, smiling into it when you heard the faint sound of his stomach growling, followed by a cute, muffled giggle of embarrassment spilling from his mouth to yours.

“By the way,” you brushed your lips against his. “I made breakfast.”

#skz smut #sub!skz #sub!jisung #han jisung smut #han jisung x reader #jisung smut #dom!reader #skz x reader #han smut

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daydreamgoddess14 · 17 days ago

Text

Backseat Driver pt. 2

Summary: Bucky Barnes is reluctantly running for Congress with the financial and political backing of Pepper Potts. Everything is under control until she assigns him a driver. A very chatty, overly enthusiastic, playlist-addicted driver who seems determined to worm her way past his hundred-yard emotional perimeter. He hates the arrangement. Until he really doesn’t.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

Part 1 here

Word Count: Here's the remaining 11k I wasn't allowed to put into yesterday's post 🤭 I thought I'd split it pretty equally... turns out I did not. I was very stressed.

Warnings/Tags/Info: No use of y/n, l/n, reader is described as female. I have literally no idea whatsoever the process involved in running for Congress or being a Congressperson. Expect grumpy!Bucky, sunshine!Reader, fluff, Sam being the most glorious human ever, Pepper Potts continuing to be a badass.... And in this chapter, you can also expect smut, car sex, unprotected p-in-v, oral (f receiving), some angsty emotions, Enjoy! 🩷

She drove more slowly than usual.

The rain had set in, drumming lightly on the windshield. The music was low, something softer than usual. The display tells him it's Taylor Swift. She was, as usual, singing along, but this time the melancholy, low tones suited her far better.

He’d surprised her when he slid in beside her in the front.

“Change of scenery?” she teased, trying to keep it light.

He glanced over at her. She seemed more relaxed than she had a few hours previously.

“It’s quieter up here.”

She knew that wasn’t true.

“Where'd you go? Home?” He asked.

“Gym, swim, sauna, food.”

“Sounds good.”

“It was.”

They sat quietly for a while. He broke the silence first.

“Do you ever get tired of being so loud?”

She laughed, caught off guard. “Wow. Rude.”

“Just a question.”

“Maybe I like being loud. Maybe it stops people from looking too closely.”

That surprised him. His eyes cut to hers, studying her face in the dim glow of the dash lights.

“And do you ever get tired of being so... guarded?”

He didn’t answer. Not right away.

“...All the time.”

“You’re not what I expected.”

“Neither are you.”

They stopped at a red light, the Range Rover humming softly beneath them. She looked over, sensing him watching her. He turned to look at the road ahead.

A thoughtful silence stretched again as they drove. “Can I ask you something?”

He didn’t look at her, but she felt his attention tuning to her completely.

“Sure.”

“Why’d you do it?”

“Do what?”

She glanced over. “The Congress thing. Doesn’t exactly scream Bucky Barnes.”

He huffed a quiet laugh through his nose, but there wasn’t much humor in it. “You think I’m not cut out for politics?”

She arched a brow. “I think you look like you’d rather punch a senator than have lunch with one.”

He rolled his jaw, eyes drifting out the window.

He could still see Pepper’s face that day, unreadable. Her voice was calm and persuasive.

“You want to fix things? Use the system. Rewrite the rules. Make it harder for people like you to be made in the first place.”

He hadn’t wanted to. But Pepper had always had a way of making refusal sound like cowardice.

He remembered folding his arms and saying, I’m not a politician.

And she’d smiled. Exactly. That’s why you’ll win.

I don't think Tony would like this. He'd tried to tell her.

Bullshit. She told him.

Sam had laughed. And then very quickly taken Pepper’s side.

Now here he was, sitting in a $250,000 SUV with a girl who sang off-key and drove like she was dodging sniper fire… and for some reason, he wasn’t running.

“I'm trying to fix things,” he told her simply.

She pulled up to his house and he reached for the door handle but didn’t open it right away. She was still watching the road ahead, one hand on the wheel, fingers drumming lightly.

“Hey,” he said.

She turned her head toward him, brows raised.

“Thanks,” he added. “For… tonight. The ride. The tie. Everything.”

She smiled softly. “Anytime.”

He stepped out into the teeming rain, well aware of the effect it would be having on the designer suit.

“Hey, Bucky?”

“Yeah?” He ducked his head to look through the open door.

Her voice dropped just a bit. “You should know… when you’re all dressed up like that?”

He blinked. “Yeah?”

“You’re impossible not to look at.”

He froze, the rain dripping into his collar and down his neck.

She didn’t wait for a response. Just shifted the car into gear and gave him a quick, shy smile.

“Sleep well, Congressman.”

And then she was gone, he just about had time to shut the door. Her tail lights glowed red as she disappeared down the street. He stood on the sidewalk for a full minute before he even remembered to breathe.

And when he finally made it inside, jacket flung over the back of a chair to dry out, tie still crooked, he didn’t move for a while.

Just sat there.

Thinking about her hands on his collar. Her voice in his ear. And the way her eyes had lingered just a second too long.

Damn Pepper Potts-Stark.

The apartment was too quiet. He’d showered and tried to unwind, but nothing worked. The water hadn't helped. The scotch hadn’t helped. He was still wired.

Her voice played on a loop in his head.

You’re impossible not to look at.

It wasn’t just the words. It was the way she said them. Like she hadn’t meant to, like it slipped out before she could catch it. Like it surprised her too.

He scrubbed a hand over his face. This was bad. This was really fucking bad. Because it wasn’t just tonight. It hadn’t been just one moment, or one look. It had been building. Quietly, steadily sneaking up on him.

Every damn morning she greeted him with a too-bright smile. Every time she reached over to adjust the stereo. Every time her laugh echoed through the car and set something deep inside him shaking.

And tonight, when her hands had touched his throat, he hadn’t flinched. He’d wanted it.

Worse than that, he still wanted it. Wanted her.

Her mouth. Her fingers. Her laugh.

The crease between her brows when she was annoyed at him. The way she twisted her rings when she was nervous.

His head tipped back against the cushions. Eyes closed. His hand drifted lower before he even made the decision. There was no decision, really, just a need he couldn’t ignore. A tension in his bones that had nowhere else to go. His mind spun with images he’d barely let himself imagine before now.

Her, pressed close, straddling him - in the car of all places. Lips parted, breath catching, sighing his name as he filled her up.

And here, in his home, crossing the room with a smile and asking need a hand, Congressman?

Wrapping her pretty mouth around his pulsing cock.

His hips jerked up to meet his hand with no finesse or control. Pure desperation. He let himself fall apart quietly. Thoughtlessly. As if he could exorcise her from his system.

He couldn’t.

When it was over, he sat in the dark, his chest still rising and falling too fast. Shame prickled hot under his skin, rising behind his ears like a flush he couldn’t cool. What the hell was he doing?

She was young. Vibrant. Light-years out of his reach.

And he was… this. A broken man playing politics, jerking off to the thought of the only person who treated him like he wasn’t one.

The guilt came fast. He didn’t deserve her kindness. Didn’t deserve the way she smiled at him. Didn’t deserve a damn thing about her.

~~~~

The next morning, he was a different person.

The second he saw her standing by the car, his shame from the previous night came flooding back. She was sipping from a takeaway cup, squinting up at the sky.

Wind tugged at the hem of her coat, hair pulled back loosely, a few strands caught in her lip balm. Just looking at her made something clench in his chest. She smiled when she saw him. Not overly warm. Just normal. Like nothing had changed.

He hated it.

“Morning,” she said, holding the door open for him.

He muttered something back, he wasn’t even sure what exactly. He didn’t meet her eye. Just slid into the back seat like usual.

She glanced at him in the rearview mirror once as she pulled into traffic, then again when he didn’t offer anything else. Her fingers drummed lightly on the steering wheel. She didn’t press, but he could feel how aware she was of whatever this was.

He’d built the wall the second he woke up. Because last night had been a mistake.

All of it. The closeness, the look in her eyes.

The fact that he’d gone inside and couldn’t stop thinking about her. He’d thought about it too long. Let it spiral. And now he was punishing himself for it the only way he knew how.

Silence. Coldness. Distance.

She didn’t deserve it. But he didn’t trust himself to speak.

“What’s on today?” she asked eventually, voice light, breezy.

He shrugged. “Nothing interesting.”

He was meeting Sam.

“Oh. Ok.” She tapped along to the beat of the music. “Want coffee?”

“Already had one.” Lie. He hadn’t.

Another pause. He could feel the tension stretching, tightening, her posture shifting subtly in her seat.

“I, uh… saw the pictures from last night,” she offered, trying again. “Suit looked good. Great bow tie”

He didn’t answer. Just stared out the window.

“Ok. Someone got up on the wrong side of the bed this morning. You know that scowl is deeply presidential,” she sniggered.

Nothing.

The silence returned, he could feel the disappointment rolling off her. That little fold between her brows had crept in. He could see her trying to work out if she’d done something wrong, and he couldn’t seem to tell her she hadn’t.

She pursed her lips and sighed. Then she reached for the volume dial and built her own wall.

She was listening to his playlist. She skipped through a few of his chosen tracks and settled on one of her own favourites.

“When I hold you baby,” she sang loudly, fiercely.

“Feel your heartbeat close to me

Wanna stay in your arms forever

Only love can set you free…”

She had to be joking. He wanted to say something. That it wasn’t her. That it was him, drowning in everything he didn’t know how to feel. But the words locked up in his throat.

“When we touch each other

In a state of ecstasy

Want this night to last forever

Only love can set you free

Set you free

Set you free”

She sang without inhibition - poorly - but he could see the tension leaving her shoulders the more the tempo increased.

He sat silent and miserable, watching the city blur past the glass, wishing he didn’t want her, and hating himself for not being able to stop.

She turned the volume down, marginally, as they pulled up, the engine softening into idle. She didn’t speak right away, and he didn’t offer anything either.

“Alright,” she said finally, still slightly breathless. “I think this is you.”

He nodded once, already reaching for the handle.

“This one due to go on all day? Finish at six?”

“Yeah,” he said shortly.

“Right.” She didn’t say anything else. No teasing, no warmth. Just quiet acceptance.

He hated it.

He stepped out, not looking back, and nearly walked straight into Sam.

“Oh hey, man!” Sam grinned, clapping him on the shoulder. “You look like shit. Everything ok?” He trailed off, glancing over Bucky’s shoulder to the driver’s seat. “Is that her?”

“Didn't think you'd be here yet,” he grimaced. He didn't acknowledge Sam's questions.

Sam stepped around Bucky entirely and leaned toward the window, tapping it once with a smile.

She rolled it down.

“Hi,” Sam said, extending a hand. “Sam Wilson. Good to meet you at last. I've heard a lot about you.”

Her brow lifted, but she smiled as she shook his hand. “That surprises me. I think he likes to forget I exist unless he's forced into this car. I've heard a lot about you, too.”

“All lies,” Sam said. “Well. Most of them.”

She laughed softly, and Bucky hated how much lighter her voice sounded with him.

“I should get going,” she said, pulling her hand back. “Nice to meet you, Sam.”

“You too. Thanks for keeping him in one piece.”

She gave Bucky a quick disappointed glance and rolled the window back up. The Rover pulled away a second later, merging into traffic with practiced ease.

Sam waited until she was gone. Then turned back, arms crossed.

“You’re an asshole,” he said cheerfully.

“Don’t.”

“You didn’t even introduce her?”

Bucky started walking. “I’m not doing this with you.”

“Too late. We’re already doing it. That girl looked like she’d just been drop-kicked in the ribs. What'd you do to her?”

Bucky didn’t answer.

Sam followed close behind, not relenting. “You like her.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Liar.”

Bucky stopped just short of the lobby doors, jaw tight. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I do, actually. You forget, we're friends now. You like her, you want her, and now you’re being cold because you think pushing her away will fix it.”

He didn’t respond.

“This is exactly why you need to accept that I'm here for you,” Sam leaned in again, voice lower. “Don’t wait until it’s too late to walk it back, man.”

Then he stepped inside, leaving Bucky standing there.

He didn’t follow right away. Because maybe Sam was right. And that scared the hell out of him.

~~~~

She was quiet for the first few blocks, eyes on the road, hands steady on the wheel.

Bucky stared out the window, jaw tight. He hadn’t said a word since he slid into the backseat. Again. Walls back up.

“You’ve been weird all week,” she said finally, voice flat.

He didn’t respond.

“Seriously, what’s your deal? One minute you’re making playlists, the next you’re acting like I don’t exist.”

He exhaled hard through his nose. “Drop it.”

“No.”

That surprised him. He leaned forward slightly. “Excuse me?”

“You don’t get to go all silent treatment for a whole week just because you’re in a mood,” she snapped, not looking at him. “If you’re mad at me, fine, say it. But don’t make me guess.”

He shifted, annoyed now. “I’m not mad at you.”

“Then what?”

He hesitated too long.

“That’s what I thought,” she muttered.

“You ever think maybe it’s not about you?” He said, his voice sharper than he meant. “Maybe I’ve got other things going on.”

She scoffed, glancing at him in the rearview.

“Fine,” she said, turning onto the final street. “You want space? You got it.”

Neither of them spoke again before they arrived.

~~~~

The low murmur of conversation was starting to fray his nerves. Too many smiles. Too much wine. Too much her.

It wasn’t a formal event, just a small thing mainly made up of staffers, friends, campaign types, but still, everyone was dressed to impress. And she was there as a guest as well as his driver. Part of the dream team about to secure his victory.

She looked good. Too good.

It was the first time he'd seen her in a dress and it caught the light and her curves in a way that made his hands curl into fists in his pockets.

She wasn’t avoiding him exactly, but she wasn’t looking at him either. And it made him feel like shit.

He didn’t say goodbye to anyone. Just slipped out the side exit with a muttered excuse to the nearest staffer, and made his way to the car.

The streetlights buzzed gently overhead, casting a dull glow across the SUV. He slid into the backseat, resting his elbows on his knees, and stared straight ahead.

Five minutes passed.

Ten.

Then the driver’s door opened, and he didn’t have to look up to know it was her.

“Hey,” she said softly, as the door shut behind her. “You just... left.”

“I’m here,” he muttered.

“I noticed.”

Then she sighed. “This is stupid.”

She twisted in her seat and kicked off her heels, dropping them onto the passenger seat next to her bag with a quiet thud.

Her next move was clumsy as she clambered between the seats into the back. The hem of her dress caught briefly, and as she bent forward, he caught the slope of her breasts, the curve of soft skin as it was claimed by the neckline of her dress. No bra.

He looked away fast.

She huffed as she landed beside him, tugging her dress down and brushing her hair from her face. “Can I sit?”

“You’re already here.”

She sighed again, a little annoyed. “Don’t be an asshole.”

That finally pulled his eyes to hers.

She was close.

Close enough that he could smell her perfume, something different for the evening than she usually wore, but still familiar.

Close enough to see the faint smudge of eyeliner under her lashes. She didn’t look like his driver right now. She didn’t look like anything safe.

He swallowed hard. “You look -”

“What happened?” she interrupted, her voice more vulnerable than he expected. “We were... ok. I thought. You were tolerating me.”

He shook his head slowly, jaw working.

“You didn’t do anything wrong.” He said, finally.

“Then why are you being like this?”

Because I can't stop thinking about kissing you. Because I touched myself thinking about you and woke up wanting to do it again. And have wanted it ever since. Because you’re too close and I’m fucking terrified.

He didn’t say any of that. “I don’t know.”

She looked at him for a long time. “That’s not good enough.”

“I know.”

Another silence. Then she reached for the door.

But before she could open it, he caught her wrist gently. Not hard. Just enough to make her pause.

“Don’t go,” he said, his voice low.

Her hand stilled on the door handle, but she didn't look back. “I don’t know what you want from me.”

“I don’t either,” he admitted. “I’m sorry. For the last few days. For pulling away. For making you feel like you were… like you’re not important.”

She turned warily.

“I didn’t mean to shut you out,” he said. “I panicked. I’m not sure I'll ever be used to people giving a shit about me. Or finding people I actually give a shit about. ”

Her breath caught, just barely but he noticed. Of course he did.

“I keep thinking about you. About the way you look at me like I'm allowed to be myself.” He hesitated. “And when I’m not with you, I miss you. And when I am, I can’t think straight.”

She blinked, and he could see the pulse in her throat jump.

“I'm not exactly sure what I’m trying to say, I’m -”

But she was already moving.

She surged forward, caught his face in her hands, and kissed him. No hesitation, no warning, just fire and hunger and weeks of unspoken longing poured into one desperate kiss.

He groaned against her mouth, hands gripping her waist. She climbed into his lap without thinking, knees bracketing his thighs, and threaded her fingers through his hair.

He pulled her in tighter, his vibranium arm wrapping firmly around her waist, the other sliding up her bare thigh, pushing the fabric out of the way, needing to feel her skin under his palm.

“Tell me to stop,” he said roughly, mouth brushing the corner of hers. “If you don’t want this -”

“I do,” she whispered. “I really do.”

That was all he needed. His mouth was on her throat, kissing a trail down to her collarbone while she rolled her hips down to meet his.

“God,” he breathed. “You’re gonna kill me.”

“Not tonight,” she whispered, kissing the corner of his jaw, his neck, the scar that peeked from under his shirt.

He dragged her deeper into his lap, his hands moving to open the deep V neckline wider, stretching it down her arms and exposing more of her soft skin to him.

She arched her back, offering herself up to him and he took it. Cupping the swell of her breast in one hand, his thumb brushed over the tight peak until she shivered against him.

His mouth followed, dragging slow, open kisses down the column of her throat until she rocked against him.

He could feel the heat of her core, could feel himself hard against her. She shifted against him in search of friction and he hissed through his teeth.

He sank his teeth into the underside of her breast, making her whine and press her knees deeper into the seat behind him.

“God, Bucky,” she shuddered.

He groaned at the sound of his name on her lips, rough and reverent. His hands slid down to her hips, guiding her over the hard length of him again, slow and deliberate.

“You feel that?” he rasped, his voice low against her skin. “That’s what you do to me.”

He didn't wait for a response, she gasped when his tongue circled her pebbled nipple.

“Please, please -” she murmured.

He slid his hand between them to push the thin lace of her underwear aside. She moaned as his fingers found her, already soaked, already ready.

“You were gonna walk away,” he said, low and rough, mouth brushing her ear. “You were gonna leave me in this car thinking about this all night.”

She tugged his hair and moved back just slightly.

“C'mon, you had no idea I've been this wet for you every day since we met,” she teased.

His eyes darkened at her words, jaw tightening as he dragged two fingers slowly through her slick heat. “Jesus,” he breathed.

She grinned smugly until he slid a finger inside, slow but deliberate, making her stutter on a breath and grip his shoulder tighter.

“Not so chatty now, huh?” he muttered, pressing a kiss to the corner of her mouth, then her jaw, then lower.

He added another finger, curling just right, and her head dropped to his shoulder with a strangled whimper. The sound went straight through him.

“I’ve been thinking about this,” he said, voice thick, “every night. Every time you smiled at me. Every time you drove away.”

She reached between them, unfastening his belt with deft fingers. The sound of the buckle, the zip, he thought he might lose his mind before she even touched him. She grazed her thumb over the tip of him, his fingers inside her stuttering momentarily.

“What if someone comes past?” He breathed against her collarbone.

“Oh, now you're scared of that?” She laughed quietly, her hand encircling him and pumping slowly.

“Yeah, well,” he groaned, his forehead dropping to her shoulder as her hand worked him, deliberately slowly. “Feels different now that your hand’s on me.”

She bit her lip, breath catching as his fingers resumed their rhythm. Her hips moved with him, chasing every stroke.

“You started this,” she whispered, her voice thick as he hit just the right spot. “The other week with that stupid bow tie. Making me a fucking playlist.”

His laugh was broken, shaky.

“You climbed in my lap, sweetheart.”

“You let me.”

His mouth found hers again, messy and desperate. When he broke the kiss, he pressed his forehead to hers. “I need to be inside you.”

She nodded and in the dim light, he could see a flash of nerves in her eye. She exhaled shakily as he withdrew his hand and moved it to her hip.

Without taking her hand from him, she rose up onto her knees and guided him into place.

She sank onto him slowly.

“Fuck,” he sighed. “You feel incredible.”

He watched her hold her breath as she sank down, her body stretching to accommodate him.

She bit her lip, trying to keep herself steady as he filled her. His hands gripped her hips, guiding her as she moved, inch by inch, until she was fully seated on him.

“You’re so fucking tight,” he growled, his voice rough as he tried to hold back, every instinct screaming for movement.

Her head tipped back slightly, the pleasure clear on her face, and the sight of it nearly drove him insane. She moved, slowly at first, the friction sending a shiver through both of them.

“Bucky,” she moaned.

“God, you’re perfect,” he rasped. His hand slid up her back, fingers digging into her skin as her pace increased, rising and falling on him over and over.

He met her thrusts, pushing up to meet her, every drag of her body against his, every breath, every whisper of his name made him feel like he was losing control.

His hands slid to her ass, pulling her down harder against him, meeting her every movement with his own.

The heat between them was unbearable, Bucky could feel it building, the pressure in his chest, his pulse racing as she clenched around him, and he knew she was close. Her name fell from his lips in a broken breath, again and again, like a prayer.

She kissed his throat, his mouth, his cheekbone. He could feel her shaking around him, her breath stuttering.

“Look at me,” he said. “C’mon, sweetheart, I wanna see you come for me,” he demanded, his voice hoarse, barely controlled as he watched her struggle to hold on.

She cried out, her body tightening as she finally unraveled around him, her movements jerky and frantic as she came, her head falling against his shoulder.

Bucky’s grip tightened on her, pulling her flush against him as he followed, every muscle in his body tightening as he reached his own release.

They stayed like that for a moment, both of them breathless, lost in the aftermath of what had just happened. His chest heaved as he tried to catch his breath, still reeling from how quickly their situation had escalated.

“Shit,” he heard her whisper. She pulled away from him, her eyes wide and panicked.

“What’s wrong?” The words left his mouth before he could stop them. His voice was rough, unsure. She wouldn’t even look at him, and it was killing him.

“I -” She cut herself off, her voice small. “I can’t do this.”

He opened his mouth to speak, but she was already shaking her head, moving further away from him, almost like she was trying to distance herself from everything that had just happened between them.

She slipped off his lap, trying to straighten the skirt of her dress and pull the neckline back into place.

“I didn’t think it’d go this far,” she muttered, her voice cracking slightly.

He could barely hear her over the rush of blood in his ears. He wanted to reach out, to pull her back into his arms, but he stayed frozen in place.

“We -” She swallowed, her breath shaking. “We can’t. Not like this. You’re... you're running for office, Bucky. This is... this is a mess.”

The words hit him like a punch to the gut. His pulse raced, but now it wasn’t from the rush of adrenaline and desire. Now, it was the cold, tight knot of panic curling in his stomach. He zipped his pants and tried to regain his dignity.

“I … I’ve just ruined it,” she went on, voice barely above a whisper. “We could’ve been caught, and I… God, this could be... this could ruin your career.”

She turned away from him, reaching between the seats to retrieve her shoes and her bag.

Bucky’s jaw clenched. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He was still trying to process her words when she looked at him, eyes wide and glassy, as if she might cry any second. She looked so vulnerable, so out of control, and he wasn’t sure what to do with that.

He reached for her, his hand extending instinctively, but she slid along the seat, closer to the door, her breath trembling.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, the words so quiet, so filled with regret that they felt like a physical blow. “I didn’t think. I just… I couldn’t... I couldn’t stop. I’ve ruined everything for you. I should have just... stayed away.”

The guilt in her voice made something inside him tighten painfully.

“Don’t,” he managed to say at last, his throat dry. But she was already moving away from him, already pulling herself together.

She opened the door, and just before she stepped out of the car, she glanced back at him, but it wasn’t the look he expected. There was no longing, no regret, just... distance.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered again. And then, before he could even process it, she was gone.

She walked away from him, her heels clicking against the pavement as he sat there, frozen, alone in the dim light of the car. His hand hung in the air where she had been moments ago. He sat in the car, staring at the empty space between them. His chest felt hollow.

She hadn’t just left, she had run from him.

~~~~

He'd driven himself home, his own playlist still plugged into the dash. Everything in the driver’s seat reminded him of her. Her lip balm in the centre console, a hair claw clip attached to one of the air vents but clinging on for dear life.

The scent of sex and her perfume filled the car.

At home, he stood in the middle of his kitchen, the silence of the place suffocating him. His hands were still shaking, he hadn’t noticed, but now they hung uselessly by his sides, feeling heavy, like they didn’t belong to him anymore. He couldn’t stop replaying it in his head.

He pressed his palms against his eyes, trying to block out the thoughts of her, but it was impossible.

The way her body had reacted to him, the warmth of her skin, the softness of her breath against his ear.

The way her head had tipped back, the pleasure that had crossed her face as she tightened around his cock. The sweet, desperate sounds she made as he fucked her.

It all consumed him.

And then, just as quickly as it had all begun, she was pulling away from him, pushing him away, leaving him in that car like he was nothing more than a mistake she wanted to forget. He paced through the kitchen, his thoughts spiraling out of control.

Why did he always do this? Why did he always fuck things up?

The guilt hit him like a ton of bricks. He could still feel the heat of her body against his, the way she had looked at him before she walked away. She'd blamed herself, but he should have stopped it. But he hadn’t. He’d let it happen. He should have never let it get this far.

And now, all he could think about was how he’d ruined everything. Again. He hated himself for it. Hated himself for putting her in a position where she felt like she had to leave.

He took a deep breath, running a hand through his hair, gripping the back of his neck as he stood there, unable to move, unable to do anything except drown in his own regret. He hadn’t been that close to a woman in… Christ… Since before Hydra. Since the war. Since before everything about him had been rewritten.

Even now, all these years later, with Shuri’s tech in his veins and Wakandan peace etched into his bones, there was a part of him that whispered:

What if it’s not gone?

What if it’s just sleeping?

He hadn’t trusted himself. Not with something fragile. His career was a minefield, and she hadn’t signed up for this mess. She was supposed to be a colleague. She deserved better than someone who could fuck it all up without even thinking. But the longer he stood there, the more he realised something else. Despite his guilt, he could only think of one thing.

She should be there.

All he wanted right now was for her to be in his bed.

He wanted more than some quick and dirty fumble on the backseat of the car. He wanted to hold her, to feel her skin against his. He wanted to taste her, he wanted to see every tremble and shiver.

He wanted to take her apart again and again.

But the second that want rose up in him, his own mind turned on him.

You don’t get this.

You don’t get to have this.

Ever the self-saboteur.

He knew he should probably call Sam. Sam would listen. Probably say something reasonable and kind but also just harsh enough to snap him out of being his own worst enemy. He ran a hand through his hair and stared at his reflection in the window. The city lights outlined his silhouette.

Familiar. Dangerous.

No wonder she bailed. He couldn’t blame her.

~~~~

He hadn’t slept. Not really.

Every time he closed his eyes, he saw her. He could still feel her pressed against him, warm and trembling, still smell her perfume clinging to his skin. Under the water in the shower, he'd found faint traces of her lipstick on his neck. She’d walked away with his cum on her thighs, and all he could think about was how much more of her he wanted.

He hadn’t even finished his coffee when there was a knock at the front door. He opened it to find a guy standing on the steps, holding a clipboard.

“Mr. Barnes? I’ve been reassigned to your transportation detail. Do you happen to have the keys to the Range Rover?”

Bucky blinked at him. The words barely registered. She’d bailed. He nodded stiffly and turned back into the house to grab the keys, jaw clenched so tight it ached.

The drive was far quieter than he’d become used to. There was no music, no humming, no early-morning opinions about pastry options or off-key singing to Chappell Roan. Just the hum of the engine and the occasional comment from the new guy.

Bucky didn’t bother speaking to him. The guy didn’t take the hint.

“I’ve read your schedule for the day. We’ve got a tight window before the community board meeting -”

“I know what’s on my calendar,” Bucky snapped.

Silence followed. Blessed, suffocating silence.

He stared out the window, jaw clenched, fingers twitching against his thigh. Coward, he thought. She’d just… bailed. After everything that had happened, she couldn’t even face him the next morning.

And maybe, yeah, maybe he deserved that.

But she could’ve at least had the guts to say it to his face. He pulled a file from his bag and opened it, finding a post-it stuck to the inner cover.

I can’t say this to your face… please don’t wear that ugly green tie ever again.

He huffed a short laugh and peeled the note off the page, holding it delicately between his vibranium fingers. Then he pushed it deep into his pocket. By the time they hit the fifth red light in a row, he was ready to throw the new driver out of the car and take the wheel himself.

His phone buzzed in his pocket. He ignored it, it buzzed again. He sighed and yanked it out.

Sam.

“This better be good,” he muttered into the handset.

“Nice to hear your sunny voice first thing,” Sam said dryly. “So. You fired her or she quit?”

Bucky’s grip tightened on the phone. “Don’t start.”

“Okay, okay,” Sam relented. “You gonna tell me or do I have to guess?”

“I didn’t fire her,” Bucky said. “She left.”

Sam paused. “Shit. You okay?”

Bucky didn’t answer. Just stared out at the grey city morning, the scent of her still lingering in the Rover’s air vents and in the leather seats.

“Did you… do something?”

“I let something happen,” he swallowed.

“Well. That’s progress. You used to let nothing happen.” Sam sighed.

Bucky stayed quiet, jaw clenched as the car rolled to a stop again. The new driver muttered something about roadworks up ahead. Bucky barely heard him.

“You still there?” Sam asked.

“Yeah,” Bucky muttered.

“Wanna talk about it?”

“No.”

“Sure about that?”

“She left, man. I don’t know what else you want me to say.”

“I want you to admit to yourself that you like her.”

“I -” Bucky cut himself off. He ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. “I wasn’t supposed to.”

“Oh, well, shit. If you weren’t supposed to, then by all means, ignore your feelings, bottle that shit right up and carry on like you always have….”

“You’re an asshole, Wilson.”

“Maybe she’s scared.”

“Of me?”

“No. Of wanting something she thinks she can’t have. Y’know, I think this is progress,” Sam said simply.

“Progress?”

“You used to shut down over less. This is you feeling something. Big difference.”

“Doesn’t mean I know what the hell to do with it.”

“Maybe figure that out before you waste it.”

“I’ve got a meeting.”

“Well,” Sam sighed, “try not to kill anyone, yeah?”

Bucky hung up and let the phone drop to the seat next to him.

Meeting rolled into meeting rolled into glad-handing and drinks rolled into more meetings. He didn't dare ask the new guy whether he was a permanent fixture, but after a week he didn’t need to. Bucky could still hear the echo of her laugh from a week ago. He gritted his teeth.

She’d run.

He knew fear when he saw it. Hell, he’d lived inside it long enough to recognise the shape of it behind someone’s eyes. But it still burned that she hadn’t even tried to talk to him. She just slipped away. Left him sitting in that car, half-wrecked, still tasting her on his lips.

Now he was stuck with a driver who just followed the GPS like a good little drone. No chaos. No conversation. No challenge. He almost missed the way she argued with him over the best shortcut to… anywhere. Almost.

He shifted in his seat, jaw tight. He was beginning to think Sam was right. He was a mess. But he couldn’t tell if he was more furious with her… or with himself.

He reached into the centre console for her lip balm, intending to hang onto it should she return, but it was gone.

“There was some stuff in here?” He asked the driver.

“Yeah, I had a clear out. Car was full of crap.”

He managed to stamp down the urge to tell the driver that he was full of crap.

The press pool was already waiting by the steps of the courthouse. Cameras, microphones, all of it too close, too loud, too much.

Bucky adjusted his suit jacket, the collar suddenly stiff around his neck. He caught sight of himself in a car window as he passed. He looked tired and drawn.

Pepper was beside him, heels clicking confidently on the pavement, tablet in hand. She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. “Are you ready?”

He nodded.

“Yeah? It’s getting a little close for you to change your mind on me?”

The crowd surged as they stepped up to the podium. Questions flying. Cameras flashing. Someone shouted a question he only half heard.

He opened his mouth, but the words caught. His tongue felt thick. Pepper stepped in smoothly, answering for him. “The candidate is eager for the campaigning to be over and is ready to commit to bringing change to this office.”

He blinked, forcing himself to nod in agreement. The crowd moved on, more noise, more questions, but he wasn’t really hearing any of it.

They slipped into the back hallway once the press had been corralled and the cameras stopped flashing. Pepper held the door for him, always two steps ahead. Always in control.

“You’re off,” she said plainly, not bothering to dress it up.

“Didn’t sleep.” Bucky ran a hand over his jaw.

She tilted her head, unconvinced.

“You’ve got a good thing going,” she added after a beat, voice softening. “Don’t let your pride make you ruin it.”

“You talking about my campaign or something else?” He frowned. “Why aren’t you doing this, Pepper? You’re brilliant, you don’t need me.”

Pepper just gave him one of her knowing looks. The kind that said she could run this country in her sleep.

“He forgave you, you know. He may not have had a chance to say it with… everything that happened. But he did. And I know Tony would want it to be you.” She covered his hand with her own, the paths of gold in his arm illuminated by the sun streaming through the high windows and catching on the wedding ring she still wore. “Let yourself have this, James. For once.” She squeezed lightly and left him in the hallway.

He stood for a moment, a memory hit him without warning. Just the two of them stuck in traffic on the expressway, his jacket abandoned in the back seat, the sun baking the interior of the car.

He remembered the music first, loud, unapologetic. Beyoncé into Aretha into Gaga. She’d called it her ‘power woman playlist’ and refused to turn it down.

“You’re playing Run the World while we’re sandwiched between a garbage truck and a school bus,” he’d muttered, shooting her a look.

“And?” She’d been reclined slightly, foot on the dash like she owned the vehicle, sunglasses perched on her nose as she scrolled through her phone. “This tailback goes on for miles. We’re fucked.”

“Call Pepper and let her know?”

“You call Pepper! I’m not your secretary,” she’d muttered.

“She’ll kill me.” He whined.

“Great, then maybe I’ll finally be free of being stuck in traffic with you.”

He pulled a face, she stuck her tongue out. Neither of them prepared to incur the wrath of Pepper Potts.

And now, here he was.

Back in motion. Moving forward. Making headlines.

And all he wanted was to be stuck in traffic with her again.

He just about fell into the car by the end of the day, he almost didn’t see it.

The sun caught the glint of it just right as he ducked into the Rover after another long day of pretending to be fine. Pepper had left him with a look that said You’re doing the work but you’re not here.

And now, in the dim light of the car’s interior, there it was. A slim chain, half-coiled and glittering under the drivers seat. Not flashy. Just a delicate gold bracelet with a tiny star charm, bent slightly out of shape. His breath caught in his throat.

He reached for it slowly, as though it might vanish. The clasp was broken, he remembered it now, so clearly, the way he’d gripped her wrist as her hand fisted in his shirt. How he’d heard something hit the floor and neither of them had cared.

It was such a small thing. Stupid, really. But as he turned it over in his fingers, the pressure that had been simmering under his skin since she walked away finally cracked.

He’d been punishing himself for the wrong thing. He wasn’t guilty for what they’d done, not really. He was guilty for what he hadn’t done. For letting her walk away thinking she was a mistake. He’d let her go, like he always did.

He let people walk away from him because he thought that’s what they were supposed to do.

He looked down at the bracelet again, turned it over in his palm, then he closed his fingers around it.

Enough wallowing.

He didn’t know what he was going to say to her, not yet. But he’d find the words. He’d find her. Because whatever this was, mess or miracle, it wasn’t finished.

~~~~

Pepper was already in the car when he slipped into the backseat the following morning, still rolling the bracelet between his fingers in his pocket like it might start whispering directions.

She didn’t look at him right away, just scrolled something on her tablet, then spoke in that too-calm tone that meant she knew exactly what he was about to ask.

“I heard you tore apart your office looking for a driver’s file.” She sighed and finally looked up. “Bucky, I know you think this thing with her is some kind of disaster, but I’ve seen you during actual disasters. This isn’t one.”

“What if she doesn’t want me to find her?”

Pepper gave him the look, the one that could cow Tony on his worst days. “You would’ve done the same thing five years ago. Hell, two, even.”

“I don’t even know where she is.” He looked down at the bracelet in his palm.

Pepper paused. Then, with a subtle movement, she slid a folded piece of paper from her planner and placed it on the seat between them. “She started working at a community kitchen on the east side. Wednesdays and Fridays.”

He stared at the paper.

“She didn’t give a forwarding address,” Pepper said lightly, “but I figured you’d get there eventually. You usually do.”

He picked up the paper without looking at her. Tucked the bracelet into his pocket.

“Thanks,” he muttered.

“Don’t thank me,” she said, going back to her tablet. “Just try not to screw it up twice.”

He didn’t intend to. He pulled up across the street from the community kitchen and just... sat there. Elbows on the wheel. Staring.

His phone buzzed in the cupholder and then half a second later came through the car speakers.

“You there yet?” Sam asked eagerly.

“I’m outside.”

“Then get out of the damn car.”

“I’m waiting for the right moment.”

“It’s not a hostage negotiation, man. It’s a community kitchen. You’re not even armed.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Alright, ok, fine. You want a play-by-play? Here it is. You go in. You apologise like a grown-ass adult. You tell her she means something to you. Boom. Done.”

Bucky put the car into gear and pulled away from the sidewalk.

“Jesus, are you circling the block again?”

“I’m scouting,” Bucky muttered.

“You’re stalling,” Sam snapped. “She’s not a bomb, Buck.”

“She could be,” Bucky grumbled. “Emotionally.”

There was a pause. Then Sam’s voice got soft, not mocking anymore. “You care about her. That’s scary. I get it. But you’ve already done the hard part. You let someone in. Now you just have to show up.”

Bucky pulled into a space a few meters further down the road. He exhaled slowly. His hand hovered over the door handle.

“…Go,” Sam said. “Go now.”

“I am,” Bucky said.

“You’re talking, not walking.”

“I am walking, shut up.”

“C’mon old man. Get your head in the game.”

Bucky laughed in spite of himself, then hung up. And finally, finally, he got out of the car.

The place smelled like spices and steam and something sweet baking. It was busy, loud with clattering trays and chatter, and she was behind the counter in a borrowed apron, laughing at something one of the other volunteers said. She froze. Just for a second. Then came around the counter, wiping her hands on a towel.

“If you’re here to yell -”

“I’m not.”

That gave her pause. “I thought you’d be furious.”

“I was,” he admitted. “At myself.”

She blinked. That clearly wasn’t the answer she expected.

“So what are you doing here?” she asked, cautiously.

“I came to talk,” he says simply.

“You could’ve texted.”

“You wouldn’t have answered.”

She looked away, a flash of guilt in her eye.

“I didn’t come here to fight. I just… I needed to see you. I needed to tell you I’m sorry I let you walk away thinking you’d done something wrong.” He said quietly.

“Bucky…” she said softly. He drew in a shaking breath. “This isn’t the place.”

“I know. But I didn’t know if I’d get another chance.”

Someone called her name. She glanced back toward the counter, then looked at him again.

“I have to finish my shift.”

“I’ll wait.”

“You don’t have to -”

“Yeah,” he tells her, “I do. I want to.”

She hesitated and then begrudgingly nodded. Then she turned back to the kitchen and got back to work. He watched her at first, laughing with her colleagues while she cooked. They had a rhythm, a cadence. She automatically, without fuss, stepped next to an older lady and lifted a large pan from the stovetop. She took the physical work away from the elderly volunteers in such a way that they didn’t notice.

While he waited, a delivery van pulled up and began unloading crates of soda, leaving them stacked just inside the door. He picked up the first couple of crates and one of the other volunteers beamed at him.

“Young man, that is so kind of you. Out the back please, there’s a shelf in the pantry.”

The driver arched an eyebrow as he brushed past her to the pantry. Then he made a second trip, and a third. Then he took over peeling potatoes from a man who needed to collect his kids from school.

At some point, someone took pity on his suit and threw an old apron over his head. By late afternoon, someone had posted a picture on Twitter and he could feel his phone blowing up in his pocket.

And when her shift ended, they walked out together.

“Can I walk with you?” He asked.

“You’re gonna leave the car there? Might not be there when you get back,” she sniggered.

“It’ll be fine.”

“There’s been pictures of you all over Twitter this afternoon.”

“I might have missed a few calls about that.”

“Can’t do your reputation any harm,” she shrugged.

“How’ve you been?” He asked.

“I’m… fine.”

“You ran -”

“Hardly, not in those heels.”

He didn’t laugh.

“I risked us getting caught. Your career would have been over. How’s the new guy?”

“Got the personality of a traffic cone.”

“Ouch, that’s cold,” she smiled faintly. “This is me.”

She nodded at the brown bricked building, clearly expecting him to say goodbye.

“Can I… Can I come up?” He asked.

She hesitated, unsure of what to say.

“Just to talk,” he assured her.

She turned and pushed the door open. She didn’t explicitly invite him in, but she left the door open behind her. He followed. Her apartment was small, lived-in, and warm. He’d barely stepped inside before she moved past him, tossing her keys into a bowl on the side and kicking off her shoes like she needed the extra second to collect herself.

“You want coffee or something?” she asked, already halfway to the kitchen.

“No,” he said softly. “I just wanted to talk some more.”

“Look, you’re the golden boy right now, Bucky. And I’m... I don’t want to be the girl who tripped you up.”

“You’re not.” He crossed the space between them slowly, deliberately. “You didn’t ruin anything. You made me feel like… like I could actually make it through this.”

Their eyes locked, the silence thick enough to touch.

“I shouldn’t let you come up,” she whispered.

“I know,” he said.

Her fingers unclenched first, then her arms loosened. And still, neither of them moved.

Bucky stood there, close enough that she could feel the heat of his body, yet still far enough that she had the space she needed. He watched her for a moment, searching her eyes like he was trying to figure out if this was the moment he’d fuck everything up again.

“You really think you ruined it?” His voice was quieter now, softer, like he wasn’t just asking, but letting her know how much he wanted her to say no.

She swallowed, lips pressing tight together, shaking her head. “I don’t know. I… I thought I had to leave before you saw it was all just... a mess. Before you realised you’d made the biggest mistake of your life”

“Have you not read my Wikipedia page?” He deadpanned. “No,” he continued, low and deliberate. “You weren’t the mess.”

She didn’t answer at first, her gaze flicking to his lips, then back up to his eyes. And then, as if the decision to cross that line was finally made for both of them, he reached for her.

The first touch was tentative, the barest brush of his fingers along her cheek, as if he was testing the waters. But when she didn’t pull away, he slid his hand to the back of her neck, pulling her in slowly, giving her the choice to stop him if she wanted to.

She didn’t. Instead, she met him halfway, pressing her lips to his, soft at first, but it didn’t stay soft for long. Her hands found his chest and twisted into his shirt, and he groaned, pulling her closer, deepening the kiss until they both forgot where they were, what they were supposed to be doing, what they were supposed to be avoiding.

It was messy. It was desperate. But it was everything.

He broke the kiss first, forehead resting against hers as they both tried to catch their breath. His fingers shook as he touched her face, his thumb brushing across her bottom lip as though he was trying to memorise the feel of her, as though she might vanish the second he let go. She met his gaze, breath shallow.

“You’re sure?” He murmured.

Her hands slid under his shirt, warm against his skin. He wanted to say something, to tell her how much he’d wanted this, how much he needed her, but he couldn’t find the words.

She was already pulling him toward the bedroom, her lips trailing fire down his neck as her hands worked at his shirt, pushing it off his shoulders.

He followed her lead, his lips finding hers again, more urgently now, more desperate. He lifted her effortlessly, and she wrapped her legs around his waist, urging him down the hallway.

He pushed her back onto the bed and for a moment, everything was still. He hovered over her, he wanted to take his time, wanted to touch and taste every inch of her.

She sat up, reaching for him and kissed him again, harder, deeper, and that was all he needed.

He tugged the hem of her t-shirt, lifting it over her head and throwing it somewhere into the corner.

She gasped when he kissed down her neck, his hands trailing along her body, memorising every inch of her skin. He needed to be gentle and savor this moment with her, but everything inside him screamed for more.

And when she pulled him down, urging him closer, he couldn’t deny it anymore. She reached for the button on her own jeans, but he batted her hand away.

“Nope, stay still,” he urged, dragging them down her hips. Everything he hadn’t seen in the darkness of the cramped backseat of the Rover was unravelling before him. The curve of her hips, the birthmark on her thigh. Everything about her was intoxicating. He reached behind to unhook her bra, pulling the straps down her arms.

“Bucky, please,” she sighed. He shook his head.

“Didn’t get to see you last time, sweetheart.”

He kissed a hot path down her body, and hooked his index fingers in the waistband of her underwear, waiting for her to lift up so he could pull them down.

“Keep your hands to yourself, doll." He smirked as she leaned back on her elbows, propped up so she could see him.

He placed her legs over his shoulders and littered kisses from her knees up her thighs, settling at her center.

With a final glance up at her, he traced his tongue through her folds before teasing her clit. A flurry of expletives and moans tumbled from her, she lay back again, unable to support herself on shaking arms. Instinctively, she reached down to run her hands through his hair again, he grabbed her hips and pulled her firmly against his mouth.

"God, Bucky!" Her breath caught in a gasp. He kissed and licked random paths across her sensitive core before slipping two fingers inside her.

He moaned, pressing his lips against her clit, her hips arched up towards him, a desperate attempt to find more contact. He caught the movement, his hands tightening around her hips as he held her steady.

"Patience, sweetheart," he whispers, his voice low and filled with need. "I want to take my time.”

"Please, Buck -" she whispered hoarsely, her voice desperate and pleading.

He moved his hands to spread her thighs further open, his touch both gentle and firm. His lips brushed against the sensitive skin of her inner thigh, leaving a trail of hot kisses as he moved closer again to her core.

"Yessss," she sighed, her voice a desperate plea. "Please, there… please," she begged, her body arching towards his mouth.

He laughed softly at her lack of composure, enjoying the way she came undone under his touch. "That's what I like to hear," he growled, his breath hot against your skin. "Want you to beg for me.”

Her voice cracked on crying out his name once again and he gave in. Buried his mouth between her thighs, slow at first, just enough pressure to make her hips lift again, greedy for more.

And God, the sounds she made… they rewired something in him. His hands gripped her hips like he was anchoring himself.

“Jesus,” he muttered against her skin, “you’re gonna ruin me.” But he didn’t stop. He couldn’t. And when her fingers tangled in his hair, tugging just so, he moaned against her, like it was his name on her lips that made the world spin.

Her thighs trembled around his head, the taste of her flooded his tongue. He didn’t rush, he didn’t let her slip away from the edge. He held her there, one arm wrapped under her hip, the other hand spread low over her stomach, holding her still while he worked her apart.

The first time, she came fast, too fast, hips bucking, breath catching, his name barely audible through the groan she bit down.

He didn’t stop.

“Bucky -” she gasped, fingers clenching in his hair.

“I know, baby,” he murmured, voice low and wrecked. “But I’m not done with you yet.”

He slid two fingers into her, curling just right, his mouth still soft and relentless. When she came again, it was with a choked cry, one hand fisting the sheets, the other clinging to his metal wrist.

And still, he didn’t let go.

When he finally rose over her, his mouth slick, his eyes darker than she’d ever seen, she reached up and traced where flesh met metal at his shoulder. He stilled under her touch. Watched her.

“You always this gentle with weapons?” he asked, trying for cocky, but it came out too soft.

She smiled, thumb brushing along the seam. “Only the dangerous ones.”

She was still breathing hard when he kissed her again, slow and deep, like he wanted to memorise her from the inside out. Her thighs were slick against his hips now.

“Bucky, please,” she whispered, and he felt it everywhere.

He lined himself up with a hand around himself, the other gripping her thigh. He paused, just long enough to look at her.

He pushed into her slowly, all the air leaving his lungs in one ragged breath. She was warm and tight around him, her body drawing him in inch by inch until he bottomed out with a low groan. Her nails dug into his back, her head thrown back against the pillow, pure heat and trust beneath him.

“Jesus,” he breathed, forehead dropping to hers. “You feel like…”

He couldn’t even finish the sentence.

She wrapped her legs around his waist and rolled her hips, grinding against him, and all he could do was move with her, slow, deep, unhurried. He wasn’t trying to chase the end. It was everything he thought he couldn’t have, he wanted to savour every second. Every time she moaned his name, he felt something inside him unravel, and when her hand slid down to the metal of his arm, gripping tight, he nearly came from that alone.

“God, you’re perfect,” he muttered against her skin, lips brushing her cheek, her jaw, her mouth again. “I’m not gonna last.”

He drove into her again, this time harder, the rhythm losing its softness but not the meaning. She clenched around him, a sharp gasp escaping her as her climax surged through her again, this time with him inside her, gripping him, holding him there.

“Fuck -” he choked, the feeling of her coming undone around him undoing everything in him.

His control snapped.

One, two more thrusts and he was gone, spilling into her with a groan. He pressed his forehead to hers, trembling.

They stayed like that, bodies tangled and damp, hearts hammering in sync, her fingers still gently threading into the short hair at the nape of his neck.

Still in her.

He didn’t pull away. Her legs were still wrapped tight around his waist, heels hooked just above the curve of his ass.

She shifted slightly beneath him, and it made them both gasp, too much and not enough, all at once.

“Jesus,” he whispered, voice wrecked, lips brushing the shell of her ear. “You feel… fuck, you feel like everything.”

One of her hands slid up his spine, nails grazing lightly, gently. The other curled at the back of his neck, holding him there like she didn’t want to let go.

She was still breathing hard when he tucked her into his side, arm curled around her waist, nose pressed to her temple like he couldn’t quite believe she was real. For a moment, neither of them spoke. Just the soft sound of their breath, the slow return to normal. Then she shifted, just enough to hook her leg over his hip. His hand moved instinctively to her thigh, thumb brushing the crease where her leg met her hip.

“You’re not done, are you?” she murmured, teasing, her voice rough and warm.

He huffed a laugh, low in his chest. “Not even close.”

She turned her head to look at him, eyes soft and a little smug. “Super soldier stamina?”

He met her gaze, that crooked smile playing at his lips again. “One of the perks,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to her shoulder.

Her fingers traced lazy circles over the metal plates of his arm where it rested on her belly, curious and gentle. “Do you… feel it? When I touch this?”

“Yeah,” he said, his voice quiet now. “Not like flesh. But I feel you.”

Her touch slowed, thoughtful. “It’s beautiful,” she whispered following the paths of Wakandan gold with her fingertips. The plates and panels seemed to shiver under her touch. He traced the same pattern on her thigh.

“I don’t know where this is going,” she said softly, “but… I want to find out.”

His hand curled around to grip her ass and pulled her closer. “We will… but first…”

~~~~

Bucky was up before her. Still in bed, propped on one elbow as he watched her with a lazy, satisfied look that made her bury her face in the pillow to hide her smile.

“You’re staring,” she mumbled.

“You talk in your sleep,” he replied, completely deadpan.

She reached back to swat at him, but he caught her wrist easily, grinning as he kissed the inside of it. “Don’t worry. Still cute.”

She rolled over and narrowed her eyes at him. “You’re cocky in the mornings.”

“Mm,” he hummed, nuzzling her neck, “wonder why.”

She shivered and pushed at his shoulder. “You’re insufferable.”

“Probably,” he said, clearly unbothered. “Want coffee or something else first?”

“First time in my life I'm not gonna say coffee,” she smiled.

“I wouldn't worry about that, I thought up a house rule while you were sleeping.”

“It's my house?”

“You'll like it,” he told her as she rolled them both over to straddle his hips. “It's simple. Every time we enter a new room, I get to fuck you in it.”

She threw her head back with a laugh, “Yes, I am definitely into that rule.”

He sat up without warning, making her squeak in surprise, and stood with her in his arms.

“So, coffee?”

She wrapped her arms around his neck, laughing. “I don't have many rooms.”

He grinned against her shoulder. “There's my place too, and we’ve only tried the backseat of the car... Better pace yourself.”

Later they curled up on her couch, mugs of coffee in hand, the remains of a shared croissant on the table between them. Her legs were tucked under his, and he hadn’t stopped touching her. A thumb brushing her ankle, his knuckles grazing her knee.

“So,” she said, watching him over the rim of her mug, “what happens now?”

Bucky glanced at her, “well… I’ve got an event tonight, five more campaign stops next week, a town hall on Thursday, and a guy who can’t drive, doesn’t bring snacks and listens to talk radio.”

She snorted. “Tragic.”

He nodded solemnly. “Yeah, it's not great… I want you back,” he said. “Not just in the driver’s seat. I mean, unless you want to. You were pretty great at it. But I want… this. You.”

She bit her bottom lip, hiding the smile he already saw anyway. “Even if I challenge you on literally everything?”

“Especially that.” He reached for her hand.

“Alright then. But driver's radio privileges are back in force.” She warned lightly.

He groaned. “Even the boy bands playlist?”

“Of course the boy bands playlist! And you’re telling Pepper.”

He leaned over to kiss her, and this time it was slow and certain. No more running, no more second-guessing. Just him and her and a quiet beginning to something that felt a lot like normality.

FIN

120 notes · View notes

laurfilijames · 1 year ago

Text

Pairing: Will 'Ironhead' Miller x female reader

Words: 4.7k

Warnings: Rated E, 18+. Hurricane. Power outage. Oral sex (F receiving). Unprotected intercourse.

Summary: A hurricane rolls in and knocks out the power, allowing Will to make good use of the time waiting it out with you.

A/N: I've had this idea toiling around in my head for a bit, and when we recently lost power at our cottage, I decided to go for it. I have no experience of hurricanes so I apologize if this isn't accurate, though I tried to remain vague. A big thanks to @rhoorl for the Florida hurricane knowledge and to @ramadiiiisme for supporting this idea through to the very end 💗

---

The sight when you reached the top of the stairs stopped you in your tracks, admiring Will standing by the large window of your living room looking out at the wrath of weather outside, his expression content and thoughtful.

You set down the pile of various candles you had collected from every room in the house, smiling despite feeling a tangle of nerves in your stomach at the potential strength of this growing hurricane.

“Should you be standing that close to the window?” you asked, causing Will to smirk and glance over his broad shoulder at you.

“She’s starting to really ramp up out there.”

You sighed in response, dreading the thought of it getting any worse, the rain already accumulating to the point that the drainage systems on the street couldn’t keep up with it.

Will remained in place, staring back out at the palm trees swaying wildly, the bend of their trunks impressive, seeming completely unbothered by the storm and almost calmed by it.

Coming up behind him, you wrapped your arms around his waist and brought your hands up to his chest, feeling him take a slow breath in as he covered one of your hands with his.

“I like watching Mother Nature do her thing,” he explained, his voice soothing and even. “She’s angry, letting it all out.” He squeezed your hand as you rested your cheek on his back, already tired of watching the sheets of rain and extreme wind bully everything in their paths.

“I know what that’s like,” he finished, exhaling another slow breath that you felt fill and deflate out of his lungs.

Will turned and gathered you in his arms, pressing a kiss to your forehead, his somber admission now an afterthought. “So, what did you manage to scrounge up?” he asked, his tone lighter than before.

“Oh, just every candle I’ve ever bought or been given,” you smiled, turning your head to look at the array that was spread out on the kitchen table. “It might look nice when they’re all lit up, but the combination of scents might be a bit offensive.”

Will laughed, his body moving against yours with the motion of it, and you smiled and looked up at him, his blue eyes bright in the dim grey of the storm.

“I just hope the power stays on a bit longer,” you wished out loud, knowing however many candles you made glow wouldn’t be enough to outshine the encroaching dark from the storm let alone the fact that it was creeping later into the night.

“Hmm, yeah, the air conditioner is hardly keeping up as it is,” Will explained, his hand smoothing up your back where it dragged your shirt along with it, the stickiness of your skin and clothes already beginning to feel intolerable.

The lights flickered and the sound of the power surging through the house made both of you part slightly to glance at your surroundings, the warmth from the light of the lamps that were turned on illuminating your belongings for the last time before everything went dark.

Will chuckled while you groaned, his hands rubbing up and down your arms. “Well, sweetheart, it looks like you’ve got a superpower.”

You shot him a glare as you walked over to the table, starting to distribute the candles throughout the kitchen and living room, but not lighting any yet since some light was still coming in from outside.

Will sat on the couch, grinning as he watched you, almost seeming like he was pleased and entertained by the situation.

“How long before you turn on the generator?” you asked, testing your luck even though you knew what the answer was going to be.

He shook his head as he laughed again, “Not until I need to. We might have a ways to go here and I’m not wasting gas in the first few hours of this.”

His eyebrows crept up his forehead as he spoke, his voice stern and amused all at once. “You’re going to have to be patient and trust me.”

You sighed and nodded, flicking the Zippo lighter you held on and off a couple of times before walking into the living room to join him, knowing that out of all the people to have by your side during an emergency, Captain William Miller was the best and most capable one.

He had already spent hours checking the house to make sure everything was secure, gathering supplies like gasoline and food and water, and hauled sandbags all morning with Benny and Frankie that they distributed out to the neighbours, even making a point to check in on some of the elderly ones.

“C’mere,” he purred, beckoning you over to where he sat comfortably, his long legs spread wide with one arm draped over the back of the couch.

He looked at you adoringly as you moved toward him slowly, his smile growing to pull out the creases beside his mouth that couldn’t be kept hidden in his beard, and you matched it with your own sly grin, suddenly forgetting everything that was happening around you as you became pleasantly distracted by the man sitting before you.

You straddled his lap, pulling up the hem of your flowy skirt as you did, seating yourself directly on the bulge in his workout shorts that elicited a low moan from him.

“It’s going to be a long night, sweetheart,” he spoke softly, his eyes flickering over your chest and then up to your lips. “We’re going to have to ride this thing out.”

It was said with such implication that despite the heat, you shivered, goosebumps crawling up your back and down your arms, and you tugged your bottom lip between your teeth as you squirmed on his vast thighs.

“And what are your suggestions for…riding… it out, Captain?”

Will shrugged and smirked, his eyes glowing the same way his skin was from the humidity that hung heavily in the room, his hands groping at your hips.

“I’ve got some ideas.”

You smiled as you cupped his cheeks, loving the way his dark blond facial hair felt against your palms, and pulled him into a kiss while arching your back to get your body closer to his at the same time, both of you breathing out in the relief of your lips meeting.

Will set the pace, starting off with slow rolls of his tongue with yours, his hands carding up and down your body languidly, reminding you that there was no hurry in any of your actions and that you had all the time in the world to do anything you wanted with each other.

You slid your hands down the thick column of his neck to his chest, feeling his pulse hammer against them, landing on his chest where his body heat poured off of him, the cotton of his t-shirt damp and clinging to his form.

It took everything in you to maintain composure, thankful for Will reminding you to slow it down whenever you found yourself moving your hips faster, his hands pressing and digging into your flesh to force you to keep the steady rhythm that he started.

The slick that already saturated your thong teased you the more you ground your aching core against him, feeling his hard cock straining against the material that contained it, the excitement and anticipation of having him buried inside you intensifying by the second.

The skin on your chin and lips were already raw from how long you had been kissing, the steamy makeout session only made better by dry humping each other until you both were on the verge of finishing how you were, your whines and moans growing while your movements decreased to be as light as possible in an attempt to prolong this intoxicating tease.

Will kissed and sucked at your neck and chest, having already exposed more of you by tugging the neckline of your shirt to the side with eager hands, his breath fanning over your sweat-coated skin when he sighed deeply through his nose.

“Fuck me, you’re gonna make me cum in my shorts.”

He huffed out a laugh, but his admission only spurred you on more, grinding harder on him until his humour faded out and was replaced by ferocity, growling as he pressed his lips against yours again, the sweat that saturated his beard transferring onto you.

The storm was still going strong in the background, sheets of rain pummeling the house and striking the window with a sound that mimicked waves crashing the shoreline, the nerves you felt about it shifting into a frenzied arousal that you directed onto the man beneath you.

Your hands struggled to get under his shirt, the material so stuck to his stomach from his sweat that the skin on your palms dragged along his abdomen, the tackiness making it difficult for you to peel it up over his head.

It hit the floor with a slap, the weight of it evidence of how much the heat and you were affecting him, and you smiled against his lips at the sound of his breath hitching as you slid your hands down his chest to land on his solid pecs while your lower half continued to torture him.

You touched him everywhere you could reach, smoothing down his stomach and back up again, cradling the sides of his neck and then over his shoulders, and finally up to his hair where you let your fingers rake through it until you knew you had made it stick up in a spiky mess, deepening your kiss as the sensation made him press harder into your mouth.

The window rattled from the force of the winds, disrupting you enough that you broke your kiss and turned to look at it, the thought of it possibly shattering filling you with worry as you were reminded of your vulnerability.

Will placed his hand on your chin, his thumb smoothing it while his other fingers tucked up under your jawline, guiding your head back to face him where he silently assured you that everything was fine, his eyes reflecting a surety and vow of protection that no amount of reinforcements on the house could ever match. He adjusted the pad of his thumb so it sat on your bottom lip, pulling it down slightly to part it from the upper one, and it surprised you to see how quickly his expression changed, his eyes darkened so much by lust in a matter of seconds that the look in them rivaled the clouds spiraling outside.

He kissed you desperately, his hands falling to your waist where he lifted your shirt upward, only pausing the union of your mouths long enough to remove it from you, your braless chest grazing against his when you leaned into each other again.

Goosebumps broke out across your skin despite the humidity clinging heavily to the air around you, your nipples hardening and feeling incredibly sensitive each time his body brushed against them, your needy moans pouring into his mouth the more his hands roamed over your mostly bare form.

You could hardly handle it anymore, desperate to feel him deep inside you, moving your hips back slightly so you could access him, tearing the front of his shorts down where you reached in for his cock. Will was helpful, lifting his ass off the couch so his shorts could slide down his thighs in order to expose all of himself, his expression serious with brows furrowed and knitted tightly together as he watched you grip him in your hand and began stroking him tip to base, smearing the precum leaking from it all over his silky shaft.

He grabbed your hips, pulling you back to sit directly on top of his groin, guiding your motions as you rocked your covered pussy on his bare cock.

“Fuck, that feels so good,” he hissed, holding your skirt up so he was able to watch you grind along his length, pressing his cock flat against his lower stomach where drips of cum spilled onto the smattering of flaxen pubes.

A slow sigh of approval passed your lips as you continued to languidly ride him, your eyes closing as you lost yourself in the sensation and moaning when you felt Will capture one of your breasts in his mouth and spin his tongue around your nipple.

You could feel him growing more impatient, his lips moving faster along your chest where he eagerly worshiped your tits, his fingers clawing at the thin material of your skirt as if he was ready to rip it to shreds to get at you, and his breathing became more laboured, his chest rising and falling quickly while the exhalations from his nose ghosted against the crests of your breasts.

“I need in there,” he growled, his head shaking to the side a couple of times like there was no way he could handle another second not being inside you, his fingers slipping into the crotch of your saturated panties to pull them to the side before running his index and middle fingers through your slick.

Your mouth pooled with saliva as he drove his long digits in and out of you in broad strokes before bringing them up to his mouth to suck them clean, his other hand angling his cock to line up to part your folds while you lifted yourself up on your knees to allow him access to enter you.

You sank onto him slowly, letting him fill you inch by inch until you encased him completely, his blue eyes locked with yours with an appreciation held in them that made your heart beat faster.

Remaining still, you leaned forward and kissed him, your hands holding onto either side of his face, deepening your kiss as you relished in the fullness he provided without moving.

When you parted, Will gave you a soft smile that made you melt, his fingers coming up to trace along the side of your cheek.

“I love you,” he said, the surety in his words clear, although his expression was a thrilling mix of adoration and something waiting to be unleashed, the suspense of experiencing either rough or gentle treatment exhilarating you.

“I love you too, Will,” you breathed, not daring to look away from him.

A strong gale slapped the side of the house, reminding you that the hurricane blasting outside wasn’t to be forgotten, but Will immediately drew your attention back to him, his hands smoothing up your back to hold you against him in a firm, but soft way, his lips pressing onto your shoulder and across your collarbone to your neck, alternating between kisses and nips that told you his control was beginning to falter.

You started moving on him, riding him in careful waves that felt so incredible you weren’t sure how long you could keep it up, knowing that whether you moved slow or fast, you would be reaching your climax in no time.

“That’s it, baby,” he praised, resting his back against the couch to watch you, locking his hands on your hips to force you down hard each time you lifted yourself up and almost off his cock.

He was completely enamoured, looking at you as if anything could be happening outside that window and he wouldn’t care to notice, his eyes dancing over your form in a struggle to choose which part of you he wanted to see the most.

Finding the perfect spot that made you thrum with ecstasy, you rolled your hips and bounced up and down, your swollen clit hitting the base of his cock in a shattering blow each time, your skin tingling from head to toe as your orgasm built.

“You’re right there, aren’t you?” Will asked, his words breathy as he admired you sliding on him.

“Yes, fuck!”

Will thrusted up into you a few times, your cries growing loud enough they almost drowned out the noise of the hurricane, your nails digging into the flesh on his shoulder as you approached your high.

“Hey, hey, hold on,” Will interrupted, though his voice was soothing. “Not yet.”

His eyes were big and bright despite the dark grey that had fully consumed the room, and although you were taken aback by him edging you, you couldn't deny the trust you had in him to look after you.

“Sit down,” he ordered, nodding to the space on the couch beside him as helped move your legs off of his.

Will stood and removed his shorts that sat halfway down his legs, stepping out of them before moving to kneel on the floor in front of you, his thumbs smoothing on your knees in a way that contradicted the way he forcefully pressed on them to encourage you to spread your legs for him.

He kissed his way up the inside of your right thigh, a low growl coming from him as he inhaled deeply when he reached your core, and then moved over to your other thigh, peppering wet kisses slowly away from where you needed him most until you were squirming where you sat.

“Will…” you breathed, shifting your hips to try to bring yourself closer to him.

“Let’s get this off,” he grunted, his patience thinning as your skirt was preventing him from taking everything he wanted.

He reached behind you, his fingers easily finding the zipper and pulled it down, keeping steely eye contact while wiggling it off your hips with the help of you shifting from one cheek to the other until he peeled the flowy fabric off of your body.

The creases on his forehead were pronounced as he continued to look up at you as he tugged at the waist of your thong, sliding it down to expose your dripping cunt that his eyes were now fixed on as he guided the wet piece of cotton to your feet.

Will hooked his arms under your legs, letting them relax on his biceps, his tattooed forearms wrapping around your thighs to hold you securely. He pulled you toward him, bringing you to the edge of the cushion so you were flush with his face, his nose brushing your folds before his tongue swiped through the mess he had already made.

A long moan toppled out of you as you raked your fingers through his hair, lifting your hips slightly to get even more contact with his talented tongue that licked at you slowly and precisely in an effort to wreck you.

He picked you apart minute after agonizing minute, continuously bringing you to the peak only to stop you there each time, the violent storm outside going ignored and nothing compared to the one raging inside you.

As always, Will was completely focused on his mission, working you with the expertise he had come to master over all the hours spent learning your body, knowing the exact amount of pressure placed on the perfect spot that would send you soaring.

Not once did his hands leave their hold on your legs, completely unselfish in his art and not even considering touching himself, his generosity and the thought of his leaking, rigid cock left waiting for attention adding to your demise.

You pleaded over and over, his name like a song with the storm as your instrumental background, desperate for release as you ground against his face, your heels digging into his waist as he in turn dug his mouth harder into your cunt.

He had you where he wanted you, and pushing your tolerance a little further, Will unraveled one of his arms from around your leg and slipped his hand between the sofa and you, fingering you slowly while he sucked at your over-sensitive clit, the precise hook of his fingers making you clench around them like a vice.

And then he stopped.

You cursed loudly, whining and squirming as he sat up and looked at you with a satisfied expression, his face glistening from your pleasure.

A stray branch from a tree flew by and struck the house, drawing both of your attention to the window, but Will was quick to recover where your focus belonged.

He stood, a slight hitch as he straightened his long legs, his body that had been put through so much physical turmoil over his years of service known to cramp up if left idle for too long.

Will gripped at your knee, pushing it toward the back of the couch so your body was forced to spin and lay down, crawling between your spread legs until he was positioned over top of you with his arms braced on either side of your shoulders.

He kissed you intensely, moaning into your mouth as his cock nudged where he had left you aching for relief, savouring you like he had gone without the press of your lips on his for days.

His hand found yours, interlacing your fingers as he brought your arm above your head, laying his body completely on yours so he covered you entirely, protecting you with all he had.

He was heavy, but comforting, his weight assuring and a reminder of his strength and unwavering love for you, and at the same time it came as a warning of the crushing power he could choose to have, like he was a hurricane all in himself and you were in his path of destruction.

Will paused in kissing you as he adjusted his hips, looking down between your bodies to watch his cock easily push through your tight folds, a shaky breath exhaling from his parted lips as his brows knitted tightly together at the sensation of being back in your embrace.

You looked to the side to see out the window as another blast of wind surged against the house, only to have Will squeeze your hand that he still held in his, his voice calm and even.

“Hey, focus on me,” he ordered, his eyes a turbulent blue when you met them. “Look at me.”

You nodded, holding his gaze as he began to move inside you, the feel of him stroking your walls in long, slow drags making it difficult to keep your eyes open.

Your free hand ran along the flexing muscles of his back, clawing at his sweat-coated skin as he found a pace that brought you right back to the point he had left you at more than once, your head tipping back into the couch as you were dragged into the throes of pleasure even more intensely than before.

“You’re safe with me, sweetheart,” Will promised, his voice intoxicating and comforting all at once. “I’ve got you, you can relax…”

He spoke against your neck before moving his mouth back to yours, kissing you gently before probing his tongue in, the tempo of his thrusts deepening now that he knew you were succumbing to everything he was giving you.

He moved on you like the wind moved the rain, pushing and forceful, seeking his own release as he rolled against you with fervor and breathy moans were exchanged between your mouths as you chased your highs together.

Your whole body tensed, convulsing and giving up all control as he fucked you through the shattering orgasm made even more powerful thanks to how he had edged you, feeling yourself release on his shaft that alternated between being buried deep inside you and pulling out almost completely.

Will pressed his mouth hard on yours before breaking the seal of your lips, allowing his laboured breaths and rough grunts to sound out as he fought to follow right behind you, the cadence of your contracting walls coaxing out his end.

You could feel him pulse inside you, filling you to the brim with his thick, hot seed that was always generous in its quantity, his pace remaining steady though his rhythm began to break.

Drops of sweat from his brow landed on your chest, his harsh movements shaking the accumulated moisture off of him, continuing to buck into you erratically until he had nothing left to give.

He crashed against your lips again, transferring even more sweat from his efforts onto your skin, his hand releasing yours where he brought it to your head and smoothed it over your hair, kissing you slowly but purposefully as he gradually let the rolling of his hips fade out.

After a minute, Will pulled out of you, reaching for some tissues out of the box on the side table and handed them to you, taking some for himself for you to both clean up. He stood with a grunt, looking down at you with an extended hand to take the soiled tissues from you, the muscles in his cheeks flinching wildly as he clenched his teeth together.

Will paused for a minute, looking out at the tempest scene, all of his veins raised as blood pumped strongly through them, his muscles accentuated beautifully from his efforts, and you couldn’t help but fall even further in love for him, his face stoic and almost unreadable, but only you knew how much emotion lingered beneath.

He sighed as he moved again, stretching his weary limbs while stalking to the kitchen, and you wondered if he had any idea how much you worshiped him even as he did the simplest of things.

You laid there listening to him rummage around, looking out the window at the ever-present hurricane, the room almost completely dark as night had successfully consumed the sun along with the storm.

Will returned with two glasses of water and set one on the table, passing the other to you.

“Drink up, sweetheart,” he drawled, smirking as he spoke. “The eye hasn't even passed over yet, we’ve got a long night ahead of us.”

The wink he sent you went straight to your core, your anticipation of whatever else he had planned for you enticing you and almost had you hoping this hurricane would last for days.

You returned his smile as you brought the glass to your lips, sipping it as you watched him sit on the couch beside you and grab the lighter off the coffee table, flicking it on so the warm flame illuminated his dewy, gorgeous features in the otherwise dreary dark. He lit the two candles that you had placed there earlier before grabbing his own glass and downing the contents of it, seeing the way his throat moved as he swallowed making you thirsty for more.

He sighed when he finished drinking, running his hand over his face to rid it of the sweat, and looked back over to you still laying where he had left you.

“Can I get you anything else?” he asked, his eyes slowly traveling up your naked form until they landed on yours.

You shook your head ‘no’, giving him a sated smile, thinking how you would happily give up air conditioning and electricity permanently if it meant sharing more moments like this with him.

Will gave a nod and laid down beside you, helping you shift so there was room for him to lay with his front against your back, spooning you comfortably where you both were able to face the window.

His arm draped over your waist and tucked under yours, his hand cupping your breast, and tangling his legs with yours, brought his groin as close to your bum as he could.

He hummed against the back of your neck, his nose brushing your damp skin, and you smiled when you felt he was hard again, his cock pressing between your cheeks.

“You’re going to outlast this hurricane,” you giggled, squirming so your bum rubbed along his shaft, making him growl against your skin.

“Damn right, sweetheart,” he chuckled, his hand running down your stomach and around to your ass, spreading your cheeks apart where he slowly pushed inside your tight walls.

He kissed your neck, the sensation of his beard on your skin making you moan and shiver, his hand returning to your breast where he tugged and pinched at your peaked nipple.

“We're going to need to pace ourselves, here,” he warned in your ear, beginning the slow drag of his cock out of you before slamming it back in, the conflict he felt between wanting to keep you safe and seeking to destroy you playing in his mind.

---

Comments and reblogs are the lifeline of fanfic, so if you enjoyed reading this story, please consider sharing your thoughts with me and others! 💗

Taglist:

@sotwk @dailydragon08 @sunnys-day @thedreadandthefugitivemind @glassgulls

@littlenosoul @glitterypirateduck @momia2910 @maggotzombie

@rmwarn90 @paintlavillered @casa-boiardi @stealfromthedevil @kmc1989

#will miller #will miller smut #will miller x female reader #triple frontier #charlie hunnam #will miller x reader #will 'ironhead' miller #william miller #william 'ironhead' miller #triple frontier fic #will miller fic #charlie hunnam characters

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gigabyte-flare · 1 year ago

Text

Denim

[A Gigabyte Flare One Shot]

Summary: Your boyfriend comes home from an assignment still wearing his gear coupled with a pair of jeans you had gotten him, the sight of him driving you wild.

Word Count: 1.2k

Pairing: RE4R!Leon Kennedy x fem!reader (afab)

Disclaimer: This story is a work of fiction. You are responsible for your own content consumption. If any of the following warnings trigger you, please read at your own risk. Minors do not interact, this story is 18+ only.

Warnings: Kissing, unprotected p in v, creampie, mention of firearms

A/N: This is 5000% self indulgent. I've been playing through Resident Evil 4 Remake yet again with this Special Rescue Agent mod and oh my god those jeans are so fucking sexy on him. I needed to write this to get it out of my system. You're welcome 🤣

A quick reminder that I no longer do tag lists

The door to your apartment bursts open, your boyfriend walking through briskly before closing the door behind him. You could tell from the corner of your eye he was still wearing his tactical gear and gun holster around his waist, having just come back from another grueling mission for the U.S. government to god knows where. A hint of blue draws your attention even further, your eyes now locked on the denim that perfectly accentuates his waist and backside.

“Hey, sorry I’m late babe. I had to fill out paperwork before they could let me come home. They didn’t even give me a chance to change my gear--”

Standing over the kitchen sink, you’re not even listening to your boyfriend at this point because you are way too focused on how absolutely fine he looks in the jeans you had bought him some time ago. Your mouth is hanging open and you drop the sponge you were holding into the dish water, making a subtle splash sound as your heart starts pounding in your chest. You didn’t think he even liked the jeans you got him because he had never worn them.

Until now, that is.

“Babe? Are you alright?” Leon asks, tilting his head at you and raising an eyebrow as he turns to face you.

You blink a few times, shaking your head to snap you out of your lust filled daze, returning your focus back to the dirty dishes as you fish through the water to grab the sponge, “yeah sorry! Long day…” you haphazardly reply.

“Right…” Leon says, nodding slightly before clearing his throat to continue, “let me get this gear off and I’ll come help you.”

Leon turns to walk into the bedroom, his heavy boots echoing through the apartment. You allow yourself another look as he walks off, your breath catching in your throat. It’s not just the jeans that made him look so… attractive. It’s the way the straps of his gun holster and various pouches attached to his belt hugged his thighs and how they perfectly shaped Leon’s toned backside. You unknowingly have a death grip on the sponge as hordes of less than appropriate thoughts fill your mind, causing you to bite your bottom lip.

“Stop…” you say softly; not even realizing you had said it out loud until Leon stops in his tracks and turns around to face you again.

“Hm? What’s up?” he asks before a knowing smirk begins to cross his lips as he puts his hands on his hips.

“I’m sorry, I…” you stammer before dropping the sponge back into the sink, “you just look really fucking hot in those jeans, Leon.”

He lets out a playful laugh before approaching you; you swear he’s swaying his hips as he walks on purpose just to rile you up, and it works. Now standing in front of you, his gloved fingers tracing along your jawline before cupping the back of your head, his fingers carding through your hair. His blue eyes boring into yours, piercing directly into your very soul.

“Like what you see?” he asks, his voice low and sultry before he leans in, burying his face into the crook of your neck, feeling his lips and tongue upon your skin.

Immediately, your knees are weak and the only sound you manage to get out is a strained whimper as he pushes his body into yours. Your hands, having a mind of their own, reach down around his waist, slipping inside the back pockets of his jeans before gripping his toned ass. Leon lets out a low chuckle against your neck, feeling it reverberate through your body.

Leon’s hands run down the sides of your body before settling on your waist. He shifts both of you away from the sink before lifting you up by your waist, setting you onto the countertop. He then lifts your sundress up over your knees, gathering it onto your plush thighs before his fingers hook around the hem of your panties, slowly pulling them off and tossing them aside.

Knowing what’s to come, you shift yourself so that you’re balancing on the edge of the counter on your backside, using your hands to brace yourself against the counter. You watch Leon start to remove his belt and holster, but you reach out, grabbing his wrist to stop him.

“Keep it on. It’s really sexy,” you say, smiling at him.

He lets out another chuckle before kissing you deeply on the lips, “whatever you want, babe. Let me just make sure the pistol’s safety is on.”

Leon takes a step back briefly, pulling his Sentinel Nine out of its holster, hearing the click of him engaging the safety before returning it to its holster. He steps towards you again and you watch in anticipation as his fingers undo his jeans, pushing them and his boxers just enough so that his hardening length springs free. You watch his gloved hand wrap around his length, giving it a few strokes before he lines himself up with your soaked entrance.

As he slowly sheathes himself inside you, your legs wrap themselves around his waist and your hands work on removing the straps and buckles keeping his tactical vest in place. Once unbuckled, he shrugs it off himself and it lands on the kitchen floor with a loud thud, leaving him in just his tight, black athletic t-shirt. Now that he doesn’t have the bulky vest on, he wastes no time pressing himself against your body, his hips pistoning into your welcoming heat.

You drape your arms over his shoulders, soft moans escaping you before you lock your lips with his. Your pussy walls clench around his cock, sending shockwaves of pleasure throughout your body, giving you goosebumps on your arms.

“Oh fuck! Feels so good, Leon…” you breathe out as Leon drives you towards the edge, feeling your orgasm coil in your belly, ready to snap at any moment.

“Yeah? I’m the only one who’s made you feel this good, aren’t I?” Leon asks, his tone husky and full of playful arrogance.

“Yes!” you cry out, the coil finally snapping, your release completely soaking him, leaving the telltale white ring around the base of his cock.

“Son of a bitch…!” Leon growls, increasing the pace of his thrusts inside you as he chases his own release. He leans in close, his breath tickling your ear before he whispers, “where do you want my cum, sweetheart?”

“Inside!” you whimper, your legs trembling from your earlier orgasm as your arms cling to his back, “please…!”

“You got it babe,” he replies, his hips practically hammering into your body before pressing himself as hard and deep inside you as he can possibly go, painting your walls white with his love.

The warmth of his cum filling you pulls a long and loud moan out of you, your eyes practically rolling into the back of your head and you melt in his embrace. Leon lets out another low chuckle as he wraps his arms around you, rubbing your back with both of his hands as he gives you soft kisses on your cheek.

“Remind me to wear these jeans more often.”

#leon kennedy #leon s kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy smut #gigabyte writes

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blackleatherjacketz · 11 months ago

Text

Shadow and Sin: Chapter 5

Elijah Mikaelson, Klaus Mikaelson x Female Reader

Summary: Having just moved to New Orleans, you get intimately acquainted with both Mikaelson brothers, but don't find out who they are until it's too late.

This Chapter: You wrap things up with Elijah and reflect on your situation before Klaus invites you over for a private mentoring session.

Warnings: NSFW, 18+ Only!, Kissing, Dancing, Painting, Brush Play, Groping, Nipple Play, Light Masochism, Praise Kink, Vaginal Fingering, Neck Kissing/Licking, Female Orgasm, Power Imbalance

Word Count: 2.8k+

Read the rest of the story HERE

You spent the next few hours with Elijah that night, allowing yourself to feel worthy enough to take his hand and follow him out onto the dance floor. He took you back in time to the sounds of Cab Calloway and Ella Fitzgerald as the rest of the world faded into a blurry whirl around you. His strong hands grasped at your waist and fingers with such ease as he drew you in closer, you got the feeling that you were always meant to be held by him as that delicate grin idly spread across his lips.

For the very first time in your life, you finally felt the way society had born and bred you to feel around a man, the butterflies in your stomach insisting on lifting you all the way up to the ceiling if he weren’t there to anchor you to the floor. You could hear trumpets in the background, barely audible over the loud thumping of your heart as his hand slithered up your lower back, pressing your heaving chest against his before tilting your torso down in a dramatic dip. Instinctively, your arm reached up and wrapped around his neck, holding on for dear life as the music sped up, his lips grazing over yours. Your halted breath nearly made you see stars, his teasing mouth driving you wild as it mapped its way across your chin and jawline, forcing you to turn your cheek toward his.

He’d quickly straightened your spine back to a standing position, keeping the distance, or lack thereof, between you as your body trembled against his. All thoughts of Klaus had been pushed to the back of your mind as his freshly shaven face brushed against yours, turning toward you until his lips finally tasted the flavor of your desire for him. The kiss was chaste at first, slowly deepening as he held you tighter, his fingers pressed snugly between your shoulder blades to keep you from depriving him of what he wanted all along, of what you both always knew you wanted from each other.

The night, however, had ended shortly after that, Elijah claiming that he was a gentleman who wanted to take his time getting to know you as those butterflies were slow to calm their wings. He had given you his number so he ‘didn’t have to stalk you anymore’ and called you an Uber to safely drive you home. You fell asleep that night secretly hoping that he wasn’t going to be the one to get bored of you before disappearing into thin air.

———————-

A text from Klaus wakes you from your slumber mid morning, telling you to meet him at his studio around eight o’clock tonight, and to be ready to paint. Shit, you’d nearly forgotten about Klaus! You sit up and run a hurried hand through your hair, squinting at your phone to make sure Elijah hadn’t texted you after you told him that you’d gotten home safe, but he hadn’t. This is all starting to get a bit more twisted than you’d anticipated, a small sense of guilt climbing its way into your chest before you take a deep breath and force it out of your system.

Wait a minute, how many men have dated multiple women at the same time until they were sure which one they wanted a relationship with? And even then, how many of them did they keep on the back burner ‘just in case’? How many of them had lied in the process, leading them on until it was too late, or let them believe that they were something more than what they actually were? In comparison to their tactics, you aren’t doing anything vile or deceitful, you’re just… keeping your options open until you know how you feel. You aren’t even exclusive with either one of them just yet.

With all that in mind, you get dressed and go about your day, eventually driving over to the address Klaus had sent you, hoping your session with him tonight could make things a little clearer. With a bag full of paint and brushes on your shoulder, you reluctantly knock on the door of the industrial looking building he’d claimed as his studio.

“I do hope my little protégé is well rested after her rounds at the hospital.” Klaus greets you in a black Henley, streaks of green paint slowly drying on his knuckles as he holds up a glass of wine for you to take. He must have been eagerly awaiting your arrival.

“Well, not all of us are lucky enough to benefit from generational wealth.” You defend yourself, taking the glass of wine from him and following him inside the open concept studio.

Its ceilings are rather high for it being on the first floor, the windows taking up most of the east side as it offers a beautifully vast view of the river and the glittering city skyline. Composed mostly of exposed brick and steel piping with chipped paint, this isn’t exactly what you had pictured for someone like him, but you can’t imagine what you would have dreamed up in its place. “Wow, this place is amazing. You live here?”

“Oh no, this is just a studio I rent to get away from the unceasingly tiresome dramatics of my family.” He walks you past a few paintings of his own, beautifully emotive pieces of different styles stacked on tables and chairs, even a few scattered across the floor. It seems that painting for him is a necessity, a constant itch that he has to scratch in order to keep himself from going mad.

“Your family?” Oh god, is he married? Are you the other woman? You quickly glance down at his ring finger, relieved to find it devoid of any jewelry.

“My siblings, love.” He looks back and winks at you, easing your mind as if he already knew where it was going. “The lot of us still manage to get under each other's skin while living under the same roof, so I’ve had to result to this… barbaric hideaway in order to get any peace and quiet for my work.”

You roll your eyes as he calls this expensive piece of real estate barbaric, secretly glad that you didn’t invite him over to your place to paint. You wonder what eloquent and deeply offensive adjectives he’d throw your way when he saw the tiny corner of your apartment that you painted in, or all of your hand-me-down furniture.

“Well, I like it.” You tell him before taking a sip of your wine.

“Imagine my relief.” He jokes, stopping in front of a blank canvas mounted on an easel as he grabs a half-full wine glass that had been warming on the table next to it. “Now tell me, what gets a woman like you in the mood to paint? What inspires my little Frida Kahlo to create the bold masterpieces I’ve seen? With all that anger brewing inside you, I imagine it doesn’t take much.” He downs his drink and sets it back down where he found it. “But you don’t look very angry now.”

“No?” You raise an eyebrow before taking another sip, wondering where he’s going with this.

“On the contrary, love, you look quite well.” He waltzes toward you, his features shifting from jovial to predatory in an instant. “I was thinking we could work with that, that we could start off with a sort of collaboration. Nothing too fancy, just a way to get those creative juices flowing.”

“Collaboration? I’ve never done anything like that before.” You admit, all of the sudden getting uneasy about your skill set. What if your nerves get the best of you while he’s around, and you can’t deliver? What if he regrets taking you on as his protégé?

“Have you ever tried abstract before?” He pulls his phone out of his pocket and turns on some music, the open space allowing it to echo beautifully around you before he sets it down on the table.

“Abstract? No, not really.” You don’t hate the idea of abstract, but you’ve always just felt that it was sort of… too easy, somehow, a cheat that anyone could do. But you guess you’ll never really know until you try.

“No matter.” He walks around the table ladled with paints and jars full of different colored water, twisting the caps off a handful of colors before squeezing them into individual mason jars, carefully setting them in front of the canvas. His eyes glance up at you ever so often, watching you as if he fears that you’ll sprout wings and fly away if he loses sight of you for too long. “Are you willing to experiment with me?”

Jesus. What a loaded question.

He fills a glass of water and sets it down next to the rest of the paints, his darkened eyes back on you. “Are you ready to toss those inhibitions aside and create something truly spectacular?”

“I’m here, aren’t I?” You shrug your shoulders as if he isn’t aware of the insanely magnetic pull he seems to have on you any time you’re near him. As if he can’t already feel the air between you charge with potential energy, each atom vibrating at an accelerated rate, begging to be pushed into motion by either one of you at any moment. As if he couldn’t see all of that written plain as day, across your face as your features soften for him.

“That wasn’t an answer.” He twirls a clean paint brush in between his fingers as he strides up to you, pointing it at your face before tracing it along your chin and neck, humming to himself as he awaits your reply. His full lips pout as he brings them closer to your face, a habit you’ll never quite get used to, but certainly won’t complain about as the bristles from the brush excite each and every strand of fine hair across your skin.

“I’m ready,” you whisper as your lips remain parted, the muscles in your thighs and abdomen tightening instinctively.

“Good girl. Then let’s start by painting the canvas a color that matches your mood.” He continues to drag the brush slowly down your neck and across your clavicle, his eyes following raptly as it forces your breath to still. “I wonder what you could be feeling right now?”

Goddamnit. He’s really got his claws in you now.

“Excitement,” you start, trying to slow and deepen your breath as it shallows in your heaving chest.

“Excitement? Is that all?” He takes your hand and firmly places the brush in your palm before stepping behind you, keeping contact with your skin the entire time. “I fell in love with your artwork because it was brutally honest about the gruesome horrors of this world, and all you have to give me is ‘excitement’?” He clicks his tongue. “No, you can do much better than that. Why don’t you tell me what feeling makes those pretty little cheeks flush such a deep crimson, what makes that bleeding heart of yours race inside your chest every time our eyes meet.” He feathers his palms over your shoulders and moves your hair away from your neck. “I want to hear you say it.”

You swallow hard as he pushes your buttons, his hands collecting your hair to one side before smoothing their way down your arms, eventually finding familiarity on both of your hips before you finally speak. “I feel aroused.”

God, you’re so bad at dirty talk.

“Well, that wasn’t so hard, now was it?” He guides you toward the canvas step by step, his breath hot on your neck as his hands slink up under your shirt, smoothing their way up your belly until they slip beneath your bra. “Admitting how you feel?”

“No,” you whisper your lie softly, gasping as your nipples harden against his palms, putting any doubt of his intentions to rest. “It wasn’t.”

“Well don’t tell me about it, love, put it on the canvas.” He instructs coldly, squeezing your breasts as you shudder beneath his touch.

“Right.” You take the brush and try to keep it as steady as possible despite his seductive distraction, placing a large amount of red onto the palette before adding a hint of blue, mixing the two together into a deep, moody magenta. A twinge of pain shoots up into your spine as Klaus pinches both your nipples, forcing you to drag the brush across the canvas in a sporadic, diagonal pattern. “Klaus!”

“Don't mind me, just keep on painting.” He kisses his words into the delicate skin of your neck, twisting your sensitive tissue even harder as he draws out a tiny yelp from your lips and an arch from your back.

It takes every ounce of self control you have not to drop the brush and turn around to face him, but you continue to paint the base of the canvas the vibrant color of your desire. Through heavily hooded lids, you finally finish every corner, setting your brush down as Klaus takes the opportunity to pull your shirt off over your head before unclasping your bra.

“See how freeing it is to try something new?” He pushes the straps of your bra down your shoulders, tickling your skin even more until it falls onto the floor next to your shirt.

“Yes,” you whisper, the sudden exposure making you shiver in the air conditioning before the heat of his arms comforts you.

“Now,” he wraps his fingers around yours, guiding your hand to clean the brush in the water as his other hand makes quick work of unbuttoning your jeans. “Let’s really set you free.”

Like a puppet on a string, he has you dry the brush off before the two of you dip it into the black paint, letting it build and collect on the tip before lifting it back up. He takes his time before making you press it against the canvas, allowing it to drip down along its path, splattering onto your breasts and shoulders before leaving a trail of dots and streaks across the magenta background of your work. It’s almost enough to distract you from his fingers that now delve in between your folds, collecting your liquid warmth as if it were colorful paint itself and his fingers the brush, spreading a clear coat up and down your length before pulling up on your clit.

“Oh my god, Klaus” you whisper as he works his magic between your thighs, continuing to zigzag the black, tarry ooze across the canvas until the brush nearly runs dry.

“Look at that,” he nips at your ear, whispering his praise against it in a gravelly tone. “You’re a natural abstract artist after all.” He kisses the spot just behind your jaw, suckling your skin before licking the path of your pulse until he reaches the nape of your neck.

“You… you bit me last time.” You recall out loud, nearly getting lost in the lustful haze he’s so expertly created just for you.

“I did.” He smiles as he tastes more of your skin, thinking fondly of your last encounter as he rubs deep circles into your bud. “And you liked it.”

“I did.” Your breathless reply surprises you both, floating into the air a little too quickly as his fingers send more signals of hypnotic bliss up into your core, forcing you to drop the brush onto the floor.

“I knew it, I could see it in your eyes that night. You enjoy a bit of pain with your pleasure, is that it?” He lets go of your hand and grabs your chin, turning your face toward him.

“Yes.” His gorgeous face only adds to your building euphoria, alighting every neuron beneath his fingertips as he calls you out.

“Well, it turns out great minds think alike.” His blackened pupils expand with his growing arousal, their bluish green tint fading off into the recesses of his eyes. “We’re going to have so much fun together.”

You nod in response, barely able to utter a word as his fingers steal your breath completely, drawing a fuzzy curtain over your field of vision as odd patterns glow and fade over his skin and curls. You watch him grin as your visions intensify, changing colors, dimensions and brightness as he touches you in the perfect pattern to make your muscles clench and spasm in his arms, your toes curling from his deliciously expert precision.

“That’s it, love,” he whispers, turning your head to face the canvas as your orgasm rips its way through you. “See all those colors? All those patterns you couldn’t have even dreamed of before?”

“I see them,” you stammer, a stuttered breath in between each syllable as your heart threatens to break out of your ribcage. “Stars and pyramids…”

“Those are all for you.” He pushes his fingers inside your slick, wet walls, refusing to let your body come down from its chemical high just yet. “I want you to paint them for me.”

#klaus mikaelson #elijah mikaelson #the originals #klaus mikaelson x reader #elijah mikaelson x reader #niklaus mikaelson #klaus mikaelson smut #joseph morgan #daniel gillies

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stewpidcheescatarinabluu · 21 days ago

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Driving My Love.

I DON’T KNOW HOW TO FINISH IT IM VVVV SORRY TT

Wangan Midnight Racing Club.

A club filled with money hungry, car enthusiasts that is eager to full throttle their way to everything. filled with different ranges of people, from youngsters with their miata’s, RX-7’s and from the Middle aged dudes with their R33 and 34 and to even the old men with their AE86’s. And the only rule? no racing before midnight.

Rankings? you blew them off like it was nothing, easily earning the top spot, The best midnight racer.

The clock just reached midnight, the club’s technical team disabled every camera from the top of the Wangan mountain down to the very bottom, even jamming the radio signals of the police to avoid unwanted guest, the night peaks through the clouds as it shines through the roaring monsters that they called “Cars” The system was pay before racing, one race per hour, first to the parking lot below wins, buying reservations slot beforehand is allowed.

A black R33 comes up to the starting line, brute exterior, roaring engine and a sleek design over all, you can tell it’s a beast.

Beside it comes the Old Nissan RX-7, Curved exterior, bright red coloring with pop up headlights, some bystanders said that its engine sounds like its crying more than roaring.

“Oy look at that RX-7, its like crying in pain..”

“You’re right dude, poor car.”

both drivers from the respected cars came out for the payment and bet. As expected the one in the Black R33 was a big dude covered in tattoos and screams off bad guy aura.

“Hey that guy looks like trouble.”

“No doubt, what’s he doing here?”

After that they shifted their attention to the driver of the bright red crying car.. A 5’6 Girl came out of it, she’s beautiful, too beautiful to be in a club that is filled with reckless idiots.

“W-wha- A GIRL?!” one shouted in shock.

“She’s beautiful damn..” some group murmured.

Everyone was caught in a daze when she passed by, both drivers paid the entrance fee and a bet of 20 thousand dollars, walking back to their car.

A loud horn blares catching everyone’s attention.

“GOOOOD MORNING MIDNIGHT CLUB! ARE FIRST RACE ARE STARTING!, we have one the right side, Jong-il’s Black Nissan GTR33 laced with black paint a brute exterior and a beefy interior. And on the other side !!! Yu Karina’s Red Nissan RX-7 with its bright color! pop up headlights and A CRYING ENGINE?!”

the bias in the host’s comments are pretty obvious the watchers can’t help but feel pity for Karina.

“damn at least have some respect dude.” they whispered.

“I feel bad for her, it’s like comparing a roaring cheetah to a crying newborn baby.”

“20K?! she must be either crazy or rich rich..”

Karina kept it composed even under the stress of people’s opinions and doubts, she knew she had the skills.

But before the green light lit up the starting line, a loud roaring engine was nearing, it sounds familiar….it sounds scary, it’s not a roar…it’s a screech. The familiar white exterior? the sound of the exhaust… The midnight king arrived.

“ah shit…if things isn’t already interesting he’d showed up.”

“who showed up?” a new club member asked.

“Y/N, wangan’s very own street king.” they explained.

“His White Supra is said to be one of the fastest if not the fastest modified car in the history of this midnight club.”

“wow, he owns a supra? isn’t it kinda old now?”

“yes but at a point where everything’s going 200MPH, whose in charge? the car or the driver?”

“The drive-“

“Exactly.”

You parked your shining white supra with a dragon decal near the ledge and got out of the car.

“Ah shit am I too early?” you said.

“its the first race of the day, what? you plan to race?”one of your friend said.

“Nah..I don’t wanna waste my time.” with confidence in your voice.

Before your friend could reply to your words, the roaring engines overlaps his voice as the streetlight turned green.

The engines roar over the distance fighting for dominance. the beefy interior of the R33 shows its early presence as it gaps Karina’s RX-7 in a matter of seconds, but Karina’s RX-7’s light exterior it just provides the right amount of horsepower to catch up, earlier what looks like a one sided match turns out to be a pretty close match.

“The RX-7’s catching up?! wtf?” they shouted surprised.

“She has some talent!” one shouted out of pure joy.

Karina catching everyone off guard, even on of your friend.

“That RX-7 is something, what do ya think Y/N?”

“Not surprised.” saying in a cold tone.

“huh?”

“everyone forgot the point of going fast, lets put it in this example, you carrying nothing vs you carrying a 10lbs plate while running who would win?”

“of course the one without anything?, OH-“ realizing that of course weight matters in a match of speed.

“get it?, The R33 may pack the torque to produce that much horsepower but in every turns its more likely slower than the RX-7 due to its heavy interior.”

“yk Y/N thats why they call you the king” chuckled nervously, I’d hate to be your enemy….

Jong-il’s R33 became more slower as the race comes closer, he grew irritated and pushed his car to its brink, Karina’s overjoyed overcoming the hurdle of being the underdog, but somethings not good. A thudding noise. A piece inside must’ve gone loose. But she pushed it and eventually…..She won.

Karina got out of her car all smiling because she didn’t lose 20K, she immediately pushed through the crowd and unto you.

“Hey!” she shouted while nudging you.

“hmm?” you turned and saw her, you didn’t expect a female driver not just any female, a beautiful one.

“Race me! you’re the king right?” everyone fell silent as those words escaped her mouth.

“eh? you sure?” you perked up always ready for a challenge.

You noticed her car hood’s producing smoke.

“you might wanna check on your car..” as you pointed at the smoking RX-7

she was frantic, quickly checking her car, she pushed it a little bit too hard, she was panicking not knowing what to do.

“pushed your buddy a lil too hard huh?” while glancing at her.

everyone seemed to go home already not wanting another race, it seems like the first race was enough to satisfy their night leaving just you and Karina alone.

“yeah.” she said frowning.

“i’ll help you tow your little buddy here” you said.

she replied rather quickly “huh? where else am I gonna ride on?”

as you point at your White Supra.

“lets go, leave it there.” before going to your car.

“wha? i can’t just leave her here!”

“the towing company’s on its way, plus you deserve it for pushing your car too hard.”

she followed you getting annoyed by your calm demeanor and cold tone.

#spotify #aespa #aespa karina #karina #karina x reader #kpop #yu jimin x reader #aespa x reader #aespa lockscreens #Spotify

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nitrosodiumgameanglia · 5 months ago

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Why Sound Design is so Important in Games

Sound design is a key point in games, though it is often neglected in college games where we do a lot of work without speakers on. Having some good audio in a game really helps elevate the experience beyond just being a solely visual medium, as much as audio changed silent movies. The games with the best sound design are often those with realistic sound systems, or ones that elicit the desired emotional response. Good sound design can make you terrified to turn a corner; it can make you cry in the game's saddest moments; it can turn a level from a selection of rendered polygons to a truly real-seeming experience. Obviously our game's sound design isn't that deep, but it doesn't add nothing to the game either.

The first game I am looking at is Thief: The Dark Project. This game came out in 1998, but I would say it still holds up today with a few patches to make it run on modern systems. The game has a unique stealth system that lets you hide in shadows, but the main thing we're looking at is the sound. Different surfaces are different levels of loudness when walked on - carpet is perfect for sneaking, but metal catwalks are loud and clank under your feet. This isn't just set dressing either, because enemies are more likely to hear you if you're clanking about on steel grating. Then there is the ambient sound, where you can hear nearby guards muttering or whistling (in a great bit of game design, this helps you keep track of them when they're out of sight), torches crackle, and strange ambient screeches echo down hallways. The ambient soundtracks in each level are interesting, and use a lot of electronic synthesiser noises, which gives them an 80s John Carpenter vibe. They help make the environments foreboding, but also help tell the story in a way that 90s graphics simply could not. For example, as you enter the deepest annals of an ultra-religious Hammerite compound, the ambient whirr of machinery gets replaced by solemn choir and hymns. Caves can have dripping water and the occasional crumbling rock, while more twisted forest environments have the endless chirring of insects and chuckling from unseen nymphs and satyrs. The actual sound technology is also really good for the time, because it supports sound cards, even though they aren't used too much anymore. With them enabled, you can listen against a door and gauge how big a room is based on the echo of the guard's voices inside. Even for today that is fairly advanced, and as far as I know, not present in many other games.

youtube

The next game I am looking at is Hunt: Showdown. It is a 2018 horror shooter taking place at the end of the 19th century, where you play as a bounty hunter trying to kill various cryptids and monsters. The game uses the Cry Engine, so it already looks good on a visual front, but the audio is also phenomenal. Most of the quality comes from its directional sound system, which is so specific you can tell where players are through buildings, which is useful for lining up shots when you don't have a good visual read on their whereabouts. Every gun also has a unique sound and echo, which allows an educated player to guess what weapon has been fired, from what direction, and even from what distance. The way that the game calculates sound waves travelling is a very unique and realistic system; a gunshot ringing out over an open field will be louder and clearer than a gunshot fired in the middle of the thick backwoods. I assume this is a built-in feature for CryEngine V because I know of no other games with this level of realism when it comes to sound - I can only assume it calculates for windspeed and other factors and then runs the sound effect through various in-engine filters.

youtube

Finally, I will look at The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim. One of the lesser-mentioned qualities of this game is its environmental sound design, which help the various holds of Skyrim seem like realistic places. The wind whistles about your ears, giving you a good sense of your player's altitude and the temperature around you. In the mornings and evenings, you can hear crickets chirring and birds chirping. The rushing of rivers sounds different depending on the course - swelling into a roar of white noise in the rapids, but dissipating to a trickle when the river becomes a lazy stream. Then there are more ethereal sounds, like the creaking of the aurora borealis on winter nights. Towns have their own soundscapes also, with the creaking wood of huts and the crackle of flaming torches. The ambient music by Jeremy Soule (the same guy behind the LOTR soundtrack) also adds a lot to the game's atmosphere, with majestic orchestras making even a simple walk through the valleys a much more emotive and captivating experience. However, you can play with the sound turned off and just listen to the layered soundscapes.

youtube

From my research, I can see that the main theme that makes a soundscape good is attention to detail. Not just having one sword hit sound, for example, but several, altered depending what material you strike, and echoing with a different resonance depending on where you are. I would say that with Wallpaper of the Mind, we have achieved this as best we can in four weeks, with the different footstep surfaces. The sounds I myself provided were more stock quality, but it doesn't matter, because how sound is used mechanically is just as important. I will make a blog post on this soon.

#Youtube #indie games #gamedev #indie dev #game dev stuff #game development #game developers #devlog

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comicarc · 21 days ago

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𝐂𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 (𝐈)

•──✮ masterlist ✮──•

> Leon Kennedy/Reader > A woman on a mission, the reader traverses the horrors of a remote Spanish village with new companions in an attempt to fulfill a long-due revenge. *(Based on RE4 Remake) Note: This is a rewrite of a fic I published on AO3 with the same name, linked here 【 wc: 3629 】

◃ previous ◃ ▐▐ ▹ next ▹

An eerie silence settled with the fog that rolled into the abandoned village she’d come to know as Valdelobos. In the cold mountainous terrain, where the air was thin and the fog was thick enough to obscure her hand even as she raised it in front of her face, y/n panted heavily from fear and exhaustion. She knew she was way in over her head walking into the heart of zombie land but before that realization set in, y/n proceeded further down the pathway she was on.

She winced with every step as her boots met dry leaves and emitted a loud crunching sound. She was honestly surprised how no las plagas infected villager had come into sight with how loud she was being. Moving further along into the empty town square, y/n was entranced by the bizarre sight. It was a small area that the archaic buildings occupied. Vines covered the rooftops in a thick net. Every structure stood on rotten wood frames that threatened to collapse any minute now.

As she took in the lifeless scene before her, y/n didn’t realize the presence stalking behind her until large hands covered her mouth and bashed her head against a nearby wall. The suddenness of the movement had left her unconscious, her last sight being that of a very large figure picking her up.

When she awoke again, her eyes blinking rapidly to adjust to the dimly lit room, y/n heard light chatter. Attempting to get a sense of her surroundings, she tried to move her hands and feel what was near her. She moved her hand toward her face in an attempt to rub her blurred vision away, but her hands stopped at her hip, restricted by large metal chains. Sighing in her momentary defeat, y/n felt the wooden wall the chain was attached to, testing if it was weak enough to be broken.

Her attention was soon drawn away from the chains when she heard a voice call out, “Leon.”

Raising her head from the her chained hands, y/n was met with the sight of two men chained together by a pulley system. They conversed in whisper shouts, unbeknownst to her presence.

It seemed they were introducing themselves to each other, as the man wearing a stylish leather jacket with bootcut jeans commented, “Quiet type, eh? I’m Luis Serra. And guess–you, me–picked the wrong spot to vacation, eh?”

If he was Luis, then the man on the other side of the pulley, clad in a black compression shirt and tactical gear, was Leon. This Leon character paced back and forth around the room as far as his chains would allow. Ignoring Luis’ comment the man scanned the room, searching for a way out. His wandering eyes eventually landed on y/n’s shadowy figure leaning still against the wall like a corpse.

Luis, frustrated by Leon’s pacing, urged, “Hey, stop it! You move, I move… and I’m beat up enough as it is!”

Thinking now was as good a time as any to make herself known, y/n lightheartedly replied, “Tell me about it.”

Initially fazed by the strange voice, Luis chuckled, “Ay senorita, what brings you here?”

“I could tell you, but that would just ruin the fun.” A little playful banter served as a slight solace. It felt nice, being playful despite the daunting circumstance that the three of them had managed to find themselves in.

Luis turned his attention to the preoccupied Leon and then back at y/n with a scrutinizing glare before declaring, “My guess…you both are here looking for someone? One more guess. Maybe…some missing senorita?”

y/n was clueless now, having no idea as to what Luis hinted at. Yet, a nerve seemed to have been hit for Leon as he pulled Luis close and puffed his chest to intimidate the man. With an stern stature, the man interrogated, “Talk now.”

Luis cautiously relented some information, replying, “All right. See, heard chatter about moving a senorita.”

“Moving her. Where?”

“Who knows? But later, saw some men dragging someone…to the old church.”

Leon pressed as much as he could out of Luis, but in the midst of their conversation y/n heard heavy footsteps nearing them. They sounded just like the steps she had heard before she’d been captured. Turning her head toward what seemed like an entrance, y/n saw a glimpse of a man with an axe creaking the door open.

Instinctively, she warned, “Watch out, behind you!”

Searching for any tool she could use to free herself before the man finished her for good, y/n felt a splintered piece of wood peeling from the wall. Prying it off with her hands, she began to quickly pick the locks on her chains. As she fumbled with the wooden piece, the man had made his way inside.

The axeman had entered to stand right beside Luis, forcing Leon to drag the chain and forcibly move the Spaniard out of harm’s way. The two thought in tandem after that as they both ran around the villager, wrapping the pulley chain around his neck. By now, y/n was free from her shackles and decided she should partake in the ‘fun’. With the two men struggling to hold down the villager, y/n ran toward him and kicked his head with all the force she could muster. The axeman fell, his face disfigured and body unmoving.

Rubbing the bruise on her wrists from the chains, y/n turned from the axeman to the door where Luis’ left bidding goodbye with a cocky smirk and light wave. Seeing as that was the only exit out of the makeshift prison, y/n followed suit, hoping to get back on track with her original objective.

Passing a few winding hallways, y/n reached a room where two infected villagers guarded her gear. Hoping they would be subdued as easily as the axeman, y/n bashed one’s head against a wall while she punched the other repeatedly before landing a final blow with a kick. Finally safe, y/n walked toward a shelf where her favorite black leather jacket lay. Shrugging it onto herself, she moved to strap her pack back onto her belt.

Fastening the pack so that it remained secure to her form, y/n felt a strong force grab her free hand. It pulled her away from the exit and twirled her to face the body it was attached to: Leon. He had a stoic demeanor as he cautioned, “Not so fast. I never caught your name?”

His expression changed as a smirk played at the corners of his lips. y/n wasn’t in the mood for much playfulness anymore. She didn’t want to waste time talking to him when she had plans of her own, so she brushed him off, replying, “Cause I never gave it.”

His hand never relented in its hold of her arm, and seeing as the only way he’d leave her alone was to answer his questions, she conceded, “Fine…I’m y/n. And you’re Leon, right?”

He confirmed with a nod and pressed, “What are you doing here?”

Why was he so curious? y/n indulged, “I could ask the same of you. I mean no sane person would come out to the middle of nowhere for no reason. Maybe..we're both just a couple of thrill-seekers, huh? Nah, I know you’re here to find that girl.”

“What do you know about the girl?” His voice became harsher, his grip tightening.

“Nothing. I came here for a different reason.” Oh, what the hell, why not tell the menacing stranger who she was to ease his apprehension? “I'm a journalist. I was investigating reports of unusual activity in this area."

Leon arched an eyebrow. "And you thought it was a good idea to come here alone?"

Her lips curled into a smile as she recounted, "I've covered wars, y’know." It was true. She had plenty of experience when it came to military operations and the supernatural, but it was safer if he thought she was joking.

He thought for a moment, staring intently at her. When he reached a conclusion, the man commanded, "You need to stick with me if you want to get out of here alive. Got it?"

Leon seemed to have some correlation to the military, his holstered government-issued gun a dead giveaway. The girl he was after, whoever she could be, was probably a victim of the man y/n was after. Thus, it seemed clear that y/n’s only choice was to go with him.

The two made their way out of the winding hallways and into the eerie landscape, hand in hand, without either party realizing. Leon took the lead as he led y/n through the path outside the building they were imprisoned in and across wooden bridges that overlooked a ravine.

When they’d made their way into the heart of the ravine, surrounded by aged machinery and wooden huts, las plagas-infested villagers jumped at them. The horde was bigger than either of them could handle alone, and yet Leon pushed y/n behind him, using his body as a shield. To y/n’s shock, he fought like a machine, taking down villager after villager as they relentlessly filtered in.

Despite his seemingly inhuman endurance, y/n had a mind to help. Unholstering her own gun from her belt, she picked away at the zombies coming toward her. The two had their backs facing each other as their guns ran through round after round. Eventually, they’d cleared a path through the intricate structure. Finally clearing the horde, Leon turned his scrutinizing gaze at y/n, his lips parted as if ready to question how a reporter knew her way around a gun so well. But he stopped before the words left his mouth, apprehension besting him.

Leon stood beside y/n now as they trekked forth, fearing what might happen if he had his back turned to such a strange woman. Past the ravine, the two made their way into a grandiose house. It was still a little shabby, but much larger and well-kept compared to all the other homes they’d encountered in the village.

Walking inside the building from the only opening they could find, Leon remarked, “Not too shabby. Someone is showing up their neighbors.”

y/n reciprocated his tone with a light chuckle, figuring that the man had warmed up to her a little. The two cautiously made their way around the first floor, their feet occasionally hitting a squeaky floorboard that caused them both to jump. Ensuring the first floor was clear, the two headed upstairs, where they chose to explore the first door they found.

It led into a master bedroom. The sheets had a light layer of dust, but the pillows and the comforter seemed fluffed. The walls were ornate, with gold framed paintings hanging on each one. The window filtered in soft light that made the scene feel like a peculiar dream. y/n was reeled from the sensation as she felt heavy footsteps vibrate the floorboards. Leon seemed to realize someone was headed their way as well, for he turned to look at y/n with furrowed eyebrows. Before the two could devise a way to hide or fight, a large looming figure opened the door.

Before he could react, the man lunged at Leon, knocking the wind out of him. y/n endeavored to defend herself as she shot a few bullets at him, but her effort was to no avail as his skin had yet to be penetrated. Brushing the bullets off of him, the man grasped y/n’s and Leon’s necks in both hands, lifting both a foot off the ground. y/n tried to fight his grip by punching and pulling, but it didn’t help. His hold had tightened around her throat until her lightheadedness won and her vision began to fade.

It wasn’t until a bullet shattered through the window behind them and hit the large man that Leon and y/n were finally free. Leon lay sprawled on the floor, panting heavily as y/n stumbled to a stand, slowly recovering her composure. The man had left as suddenly as he’d come, allowing y/n the opportunity to check up on Leon.

Leaning down to his level, y/n observed the wound left on his neck. She’d collected some magical herbs that she knew could heal almost anything, so crushing them together, she placed the mixture on the wound and waited. A moment later, Leon’s eyes fluttered to life, and he shot up to a sitting position.

Confusion was apparent on his face as he reiterated, “Gift…in my blood?”

“What?” y/n questioned, puzzled as to what he was referring to.

“That’s what the big man said before the bullet came.”

Gift in his blood. It had to be something religious, related to the las plagas parasite. Was the parasite the gift? If that were true, then Leon was…infected. But he showed no signs of infection, no deterioration of the min,d and sure as hell no loss of motor function. Whatever this was, it was a hell of a lot worse than the Raccoon outbreak all those years ago.

The Los Illuminados cult was a new happening in the world, one that had never proved much relevance to y/n until she had heard about these infections. Seeing their architecture, she’d doubted that they had the capabilities to harvest such an advanced parasite that could infect the likes of anyone, much less Leon, but now she knew exactly who’d be behind this. Umbrella. She’d been following a hunch when she’d come to the Spanish town, hoping to find some clue of Umbrella’s whereabouts as of late. Lucky her, to have finally found them. Shaken from her thoughts as Leon stood up, y/n decided to dwell on what she should do once she was finally face to face with the organization she’d spent years hunting.

- - ┈┈∘┈˃̶༒˂̶┈∘┈┈ - -

Leon and y/n had managed to walk to a church by nightfall after their pitstop at the house. As they journeyed, y/n could tell the man was suspicious of her, but hoped that if she ignored his glares, then they would go away. She was in no mood to spill her life story, nor give him an explanation for how she knew the things she did. There was no need. The one thing that did concern her was Leon’s occasional fainting spells. It seemed the infection took a heavy toll on him as every now and then the man would collapse from exhaustion or pain. He’d always wake up a few moments later, screaming as his eyes shot open. The only way y/n coul calm him was by resting a hand on his shoulder, reassuring him that he was safe and alive.

y/n had come to learn he was on a mission to save the President’s daughter who’d been captured by the Los Illuminados, guided by a remote operative by the name of Ingrid Hannigan who served as his eyes and ears. Some guilt had wormed its way into y/n’s mind as he revealed his intentions, for she remained sworn in her secrecy. But it was a necessary evil, lest the man might’ve tried to stop her from enacting a well-deserved revenge.

When they’d entered the church where the president’s daughter, Ashley Graham, was allegedly locked up, the two searched everywhere till they stumbled upon a hidden room. Gun at the ready, y/n peaked inside and called out for Ashley a few times. Hearing no response, y/n closed the door and turned to look for Leon. Behind her, from a shadowy corner, a girl tried to ram a candelabra into y/n’s face.

With her gun already holstered, the woman chose to swerve out of the way and stop the makeshift weapon’s motion. Holding onto it with a harsh grip, the attacker desperately voiced, “Just let me go.”

Realizing who the blonde girl standing in front of her was, y/n deescalated, “Easy with that! Listen, Ashley, is it? I’m here to save you. Me,” y/n’s eyes wandered around the room again before finding Leon, “and the guy standing at the doorway.”

Ashley released the candelabra from her grip as y/n disposed of it. She moved toward Leon, gesturing for Ashley to follow her, but the girl chose to run the other direction. Out of sight now, y/n sighed.

Leon made his way to y/n, joking, “Well, that went well.”

Rolling her eyes, y/n sarcastically expressed, “Sure did. How are you gonna convince her, mister hero?”

“I’ll figure something out.”

Leon and y/n followed Ashley’s muddy footsteps to a windowsill where she sat. Apprehensively, she stayed and gestured outside before asking about what was happening. Before the two could properly converse, y/n watched as they were hit by massive headaches. Leon was able to remain standing, but Ashley slid down the wall to the floor, hands glued to her throbbing head. y/n figured Ashley was infected, too.

The villagers seemed to be closing in on the church, but with Ashley and Leon writhing in pain, y/n was worried if they’d be able to hide in time. Her gaze was so intensely trained outside at the approaching horde that she yelped when Leon dragged her behind a post. Their bodies flushed against each other, allowing a light pink hue to be dusted on y/n’s cheeks.

Drawing her mind back to their cornered state, y/n remembered a route that led outside the church, one that didn’t involve fighting any more villagers. Leading Leon and Ashley to a window overlooking the back of the church, she let Leon jump down first.

Ashley, on the other hand, seemed to be a mess. She’d been so desensitized to these kinds of scenarios that y/n had to hold herself back and step into Ashley’s shoes. She’d forgotten to acknowledge just how terrifying the whole situation was, being infected by a parasite and chased by zombie villagers who want to kidnap you.

Before gesturing for the girl to jump out the window and into Leon’s waiting arms, y/n offered, “Hey, it's alright. You’ll be home safe and sound soon enough, okay?”

Seemingly moved by y/n’s consolation, Ashley nodded, closed her eyes tightly, and jumped out the window. Leon successfully caught her and set her down. Relieved that the girl was down, y/n came to the edge of the window. When she looked down, it seemed Ashley’s fear was quite understandable. How in the hell did Leon jump all the way down there and land on his feet?

With a deep inhale, y/n jumped. A moment later, she felt a pair of strong arms catch and cradle her against a broad chest. She could feel Leon’s heart pounding as hard as hers, from exhaustion or…something else? The sensation was oddly comforting, and for a moment, the two stayed still, locked in each other’s embrace until he gently set her down on her feet. Reorienting himself, Leon led the way for the two girls to an extraction location Hannigan had told him about.

Hours passed as they made their way through a long, winding path. The moon had begun to rise now, yet the villagers remained persistent in their pursuit. They’d dodged many hordes of villagers on their way, amassing a large mob that was about to catch up to them very soon. The darkness of the night no longer served as a cover for the mob began to corner them onto a wooden bridge.

Making their way through the bridge, y/n took notice of a familiar figure in the distance gesturing for the three to take shelter in a cabin. With a running start, y/n dragged Ashley with her as they made their way inside. The figure turned out to be Luis, who dramatically welcomed them inside and quickly shut the door as soon as they were through. Taking laborious breaths as y/n regained her composure, she could feel the adrenaline still coursing through her veins, as if her body knew a fight was coming.

Leon and Ashley both panted heavily as well, their eyes scanning the dimly lit cabin for any signs of danger. Luis quickly moved toward the windows, peeking through the curtains to make sure the villagers weren’t right outside.

Leon, frustrated by Luis’s quick departure during their first meeting, marched towards the man, trapping him between the wall and himself.

“You!” He began, his anger apparent on his face.

Luis reasoned, “Listen, about earlier–”

“Yeah, about that…” Leon mocked, his words venomous.

Trying to calm Leon’s temper, Luis began to avert their attention, “Hey. I see you found your ‘missing senorita.’”

Ashley, somewhat annoyed, countered, “The ‘senorita’ has a name, and it's Ashley. And you are?”

“Name’s Luis. Encantado.”

Leon interjected, “Great, we all have names. Now then…”

This time, y/n spoke, trying to better understand who Luis was.“...Who are you? And what’re you doing here?”

“Very good questions, unfortunately…”

Leon turned from facing Luis to gaze at Ashley & y/n, commanded, “Hide. Now!”

He and Luis lifted a fallen wooden dresser that led into a small nook. Ashley rushed straight in, and Leon gestured with his shoulder for y/n to do the same.

y/n protested. “No way. I can hold my own y’know.”

Luis smirked as Leon let out a frustrated sigh and let the dresser fall back down to the ground. Now, standing back up, Luis looked at Leon and y/n, grinning, “Okay. It’s game time.”

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄⛱⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

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#leon kennedy x you #leon s kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #re4 remake #re4 leon #luis serra #ashley graham #los iluminados #no beta read

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obamas-eyebrow · 3 months ago

Text

04/King of the Hill.

7th floor x female reader (the 8 show) Masterlist WC:7.9K. specific chapter warnings: uhh violence, kissing (it’s the king’s game ep)

(:̲̅:̲̅:̲̅[̲̅::]̲̅:̲̅:̲̅:̲̅)

If there was a way to test the limits of the human mind, it would be hunger. Three days she’s done this, stripped you of the most basic essentials for survival. You wondered where she was going with this, knowing her message had already been read loud and clear. three days of your insides gnawing at you, begging for any relief. You tried to cheat the system by buying glucose replacement drips, but it didn’t work.

Upon the nauseating revelation of the current situation, you’d fully expected for all hell to break loose, surprised to see nothing of that sort. The morning after everyone received the empty boxes, the topic had become the elephant in the room with no-one able to utter acknowledgement, lest it become true. She was starving us because she didn’t get her way. At this moment in time, you were all equal. Those who voted for her and those who didn’t. No one was spared. 7th floor on the same level as 1st floor. Everyone had retreated to their rooms, some looking for previous scraps to pick at, others to disconnect from everyone. You waited about an hour in your room, having spent it staring at the ‘window’ and fantasising about everything you’d do when you get your hands on that witch, then got up and headed down stairs to 2nd floor. You hoped to fix things between the two of you, to get her to see why you took your stance.

Knock,

Knock.

Three quick knocks, your special code. For a minute, you thought she’d just ignore you, as next to no sounds came from the room. Then, right as you were about to turn your heel and head back in shame, the tall blonde woman opened the door. Her face housed her usual expression; slightly exasperated, kinda challenging you with eyebrows raised only a little bit. She didn’t say anything and waited for you to lead the conversation.

“Can I come in?” you cleared your throat. She shot you a quick up and down before turning around and stepping into her room leaving her door open, allowing you to walk in.

“I thought by voting we’d already be giving her what she wants, 2nd.” you started, she still had her back to you. “I thought by leaving it blank there’d be no harm done on my part. Also, it wouldn’t’ve even mattered, right? This whole thing is crazy but you can’t go blaming me-”

“I’m not mad,”

“What?”

“I’m not mad. I wasn’t mad.”

“But you-”

“I was pissed at everyone that day. I thought the whole thing was stupid.” “Me too!” “Were you the blank vote?” “Yes.” “So who was the third vote for 3rd?”

She turned to look at you now, waiting for the answer, but you had a feeling she already knew.

“7th…” To that, she huffed, but it sounded like ‘I told you so’. You stood there awkwardly, unsure of what to say next.

“6th offered to sneak me some food in exchange for my vote,” she chuckled lightly, “I wonder how he feels now.”

You both smiled at the thought of 6th floor, who’d been nothing but loyal to his master, even going out to campaign on her behalf, also being punished with everyone else.

“What do you think we should do? How do we fix this?” she sighed.

“Maybe we buy a speaker and blast some trashy music till she loses her mind,” You joked.

“Won’t that affect 7th floor too?”

“Hmm, collateral damage.”

She looked at you with a small grin, happy that you’d apparently come to your senses. You found comfort in knowing that, at the very least, you could count on 2nd. But both of you knew the only thing that could be really done, was wait.

So you waited. For two long nights and three wrenching days you tried to come up with an out. A way to fix this without playing by her stupid rules. But seven different people could not collectively could not come up with one solution. Well, almost seven, as 6th floor was not keen on joining forces with those below him. You witnessed the subtle yet prominent deterioration of the group throughout these days. It was likely less the hunger and more the uncertainty of when the relief would come.

On the third day, it seemed that the end of the show would be rather near. There was nothing from 8th. Not a list of demands, not a second chance, no wiggle room, what she could possibly want from this standoff was behind you. Actually, calling it a standoff is wrong; after all, only one of you has a gun. That was until 3rd floor was struck with a revelation.

“The poop! I will go up to apologise to her and take. the. Poop.”

Even 4th had offered to share the load, both going hand in hand to beg for forgiveness.

The only one who saw a flaw in this plan was, of course, 7th. He then suggested for him to lead the ‘negotiation’ for a better outcome. He made his way up the steps slowly, weakness wearing him down. At her door, he got close and worked his magic. You didn’t hear him from down here, but you were sure his words were well thought out and put together, even if they didn’t represent everyone’s opinions. To everyone’s delight, she opened the door to let him in, allowing for a more private discussion and only a tiny tiny tiny part of you counted the seconds he was in there for, incase they weren’t just discussing. Not that you cared, obviously.

…at least not anymore.

That night, food delivery came earlier than it ever did, and you wondered wether she’d previously keep it for a little out of pure fun. Despite having no desire to give in, to give her what she wants, to admit 7th was right; the hunger stripped away any form of resistance in mind and you all but inhaled the unfulfilling meal. You stared at the empty platter on your bedroom floor, one question plaguing your mind;

What could he have possible told her to get such a quick resolve? Was 4th floor begging incessantly at her door not enough? Was the cyclic knocking of other floors not satisfactory? Even 1st climbed up all those stairs to plead. Or did she want to hear it from him.

Logically, if it was the latter of all those theories, it would be because it gave her the ultimate power trip. 7th floor, not a small number. It is most definetly not because she wants anything to do with him personaly…obviously…she wouldn’t gain anything cause he isn’t even interested. Or maybe its to piss you off? That is so far fetched, you hadn’t even began giving her any indication that you dislike her…right? Or that you like him for that matter.

Your nails were begging for relief, so you did the only possible thig to quiten your mind.

Face to face with the 7F sign on his door, your hand went up and back down a few times as you debated your next move.

What would you even say? I’m sorry? For what? No, you weren’t.

How did you convince her? Yeah, that sounded more reasonable.

But the door opened before your fist was able to collide with the wood, he didn’t look suprised to see you stood there, as if he knew. Instead, he greated you with an unreadable expression, only sleepiness present in his eyes.

“How did you-”

“I saw your shadow.” He pointed under the door,

“Oh. Were you about to-”

“No, not at all….Come in.”

Maybe one day he’ll let you finish your sentenes.

His room was still the same, with no new noticable additions to his decor other than two more pages of drawings on the wall. You wondered selfishly if you were on the other side of those, too.

Whilst he’d usually be the one to break the quiet, this time he had nothing to say. There was a tense silence between you two, he’d retreated to sit at his desk while you stood awkwardly by the door. Surely he’d been expecting you, right? Or else why’d he be so unfazed by your appearance. Maybe he already knew what you’re going to say.

7 years of medschool and countless nerve wracking osces and this is where you freeze up?

You don’t know why it’s so different with him, its not like he’s the first crush you ever had. You prided yourself in being a well-rounded intellectual yet, somehow, your brain would turn into mush around him. He was observing you from his spot, sat relaxed on the chair with head tilted slightly in curiosity. Why does he looked bored? You’d come to find out that no, you weren’t getting the hang of actually reading him, he only allows it to happen. And when he doesn’t feel like it he’ll put on his stone cold face and leave you guessing. You must’ve been just stood there for a bit now as he pulled out a cigarette from a pack that rested on the table and lit it, taking a deep inhale and dropping his head back on the exhale, resting it on the back of the chair, eyes watching the smoke dancing above.

“At the rate you’re going at I’d think you had a spare set of lungs.” Really, that was the best you could come up with? It was supposed to be a bit of a joke to ease the pull, but it only added to it. Mostly because he paid it no mind, taking another drag and blowing it out and above from his lips, as if you hadn’t said anything. You took this as your cue to maybe leave, or jump out the window, whichever is easier. This was not the man you were used to, not the one that did useless moves in chess on purpose so that you could have a fighting chance, thinking you wouldn’t notice. Not the one that spent time mapiing out every curve and dip of your features and then hid the evidence, keeping it only for his own pleasure. You wondered if maybe he’d always been this, if this is the man that 2nd saw. You grabbed your own hand to your chest for comfort, unsure of where to go from here. He relieved you of that reposibility soon enough.

“Why are you here, 5th floor?” He said with an exhale, eyes unmoving from their spot on the ceiling. This wasn’t any better. “You said your part, I said mine, what do you want.”“I’m not here to apologise 7, nor admit defeat.” You pulled yourself together. At that, he chuckled.

“Didn’t think so.”

“How did you convince her?”

“A whole bunch of kissing up.”

“That’s all you’ll give me?”

He re-adjusted suddenly to sit up straight and drop his head, hands gesturing a few times as if he wanted to say something then didn’t. Again and again. He turned his head up to you from his slumped position.

“Why do you want to know? What difference does it make?” he put out the cig after one final breath.

“For future reference.”

He laughed. A full, well heard laugh. Tossing his head back and clutching his chest a bit. It did nothing to ease your nerves unfortunalty, actualy only adding to them. When he was done, he got up and straighted himself out, pushing his glasses back to their place. There was a slight skip to his step as he walked over to you, head turned down the whole way, he stopped with a longer-that-usual distance between the two of you. One hand found a resting place of his hip while the other grasped his bottom lip and pushed it together.

“Why are you being difficult?” he looked up at you from behind the frame.

“Excuse me?”

“Just say what’s on your mind 5, go ahead. Why did you actualy come up here? Hm? Because I doubt it’s to get insight on how to handle conflict with 8th from here on out. No, I’ll be the one to do that, again. ‘Thank you for what you did 7th oh I was starving!’” He mocked in a woman’s voice, persumably ment to be you. “But no, you stroll in here, high and mighty as if what we just went through was easy. You know what 5, I’ll start for you. You’re right. What she did in the talent show was nothing special, nothing any of us couldn’t do, nothing you and I couldn’t have done better. And you’re right, doing what she wants will not get us anywhere but an endless cycle of being under her will. And you’re RIGHT, I’d really rather not betray my friends so that I can have food at the end of the day. But this is what the situation is here 5th, we are all entirely powerless.”

Despite his pretty level tone of voice, his face had turned a slight red, giving his anger away. There was no lie spoken in his words, you’d completely disregarded the relief he’d brought for everyone, even if it was just a minute or two of smooth talking. Maybe accusing him of being a traitor had been overkill, even if it was only implied in your words. You’d been so caught up in justice that you forgot that, in here, there is nothing you could do if something like this were to happen again. Because, she would not kill you, only keep you barely alive. You’d been so ready to stand your ground, you forgot others who were unable to stand at all. In the end, 7th put the needs of everyone before his own pride, and you, who were too prideful to let things move smoothly, couldn’t spare him a word of praise. You both knew that this wasn’t about your vote, but your words that had been shot to kill. Standing here, anger long gone and consequences clear as day, you couldn’t help but feel guilty.

“I’m sorry, 7th floor. I didn’t…I hadn’t thought out how things could play out. What you did this morning saved us a lot of torment. I can’t thank you enough.”

Maybe this whole thing would’ve worked out better in the real world, justice, accountability and all. But here? This is just a game show after all, and there was nothing you could actually do to alter the circumstances, only accept them, tough it out for the remaining time and hope it goes smoothly. Still, you didn’t regret your vote.

He looked at you, unmoving from his position, jaw clenched and face as neutral as he could keep it. Though there was now a hint of softness to his eyes. He sighed and shut his eyes slowly.

“It’s fine.”

There was nothing more to say. You weren't sure how things will go between you two from now on. You would always rather chose the risky way, even if you’ll end up hurting others, and he’d rather always play it safe, even if it costs him his ego. Both of you were comfortable in your routines, making the differences between you as clear as day. Your thoughts were cut off by the sound of the money going up, eyes hovering over the accumulated amount for a beat. 7th floor, alright. You bit the inside of your cheek.

“Goodnight 5th floor.” You took that as your cue to leave.

“Goodnight 7th floor.”

You left his room shortly after, feeling worse than when you’d gone up.

. . .

The sun beamed down from the clock window onto your spot by the ‘pool’. You sat quietly, biting mindlessly on the inside of your cheek as 8th floor reveled in the attention she had forced everyone to give her. Your eyes were fixed onto the projection of dancing water- almost life-like, entirely uninterested in the bootlicking contest going on at the moment.

“Right 5th?” 3rd’s nudge pulled you out of your thoughts, you looked up to notice all but 2nd’s and 7th’s eyes on you, each for their own unique reason. She held your gaze with that sickeningly sweet smile of hers, waiting for your response. Truth be told, you hadn’t been paying attention to this whole thing, so what the question entailed was beyond you. But since everyone else seemed on board, and since it was 8th floor asking, you had no other option but to;

“Yeah, sure.”

King’s game. An openly sexual game you played at parties that reeked of alcohol and people that won’t remember your name. It was a glorified way of getting friends to finally make a move on their crush, often ending when everyone got their fair share of kisses and some STDs. You’d go to get a change of scenery, often only observing the game with a smile from afar. To make it ‘fair’ though, you were each to pick out a numbered ball at random, making the king unable to target anyone specifically.

Much to your surprise, the first round of lottery landed you the winning ball. You picked two numbers at random and then thought for a minute. Usually the people you would watch playing would already have a clear goal in mind. You however, did not, so you went with the first thing in mind, having the two numbers hold hands till the next round.

“Ugh that’s so boring!” 4th exclaimed, reminding you exactly why you never attempted to engage with this activity.

You were very entertained though, watching 7th and 6th hold hands was way more amusing than you’d like to admit. You tried to hold back a smile as 7th looked at you with narrowed eyes.

“Awh man don’t lace your fingers!” 6th frowned. Ok now you were fully smiling. Just as 7th was going to let go of 6th to try and save face, you decided to be a little annoying.

“Aht Aht Aht, one whole round.”

The following pick got you the number 7, maybe it was destiny. You felt a little disappointed, having just started to enjoy the role of king. 4th floor was crowned that round and she tapped her lip in thought.

“Hmm 5th and 7th!” She looked around for the chosen numbers. No one said anything though, so you remained quiet.

“You two have to kiss!”

Lovely. Oh no…What if it’s 6th floor. Ew ew ew ew.

“Who’s number 5?” 4th batted her eyes around the group.

Everyone’s attention turned to look for the source of a loud sigh, 7th floor, he had his hand raised awkwardly as his eyes darted wearily around the circle.

Oh! This is somehow worse!

You almost burst out laughing. Maybe this was actually a prank show and everyone here is a paid actor, maybe this is all just one big joke. You bit your lip, unsure of how to proceed from here. There was no possible way for 4th to know that she picked the worst possible time to have you do this.

“...Aaaaaand 7?”

You stared at the ball concealed in your palm, is it too late to pretend you don’t know how to read?

Before you could even reveal yourself, 7th’s eyes landed on yours, causing you to bite your lip to conceal a smile. He had his arms crossed at his chest. Maybe it was destiny, 5 and 7, how do we keep finding ourselves here? You could swear that some tension released from his shoulder upon knowing you’re the lucky gal, probablyprobably just relieved it isn’t 6th again. Without breaking eye contact, you also sighed loudly, mimicking his previous action.

“Right here.”

All eyes on you.

Taking initiative, you swayed over to him, eyes still locked with his. You took his side by the carousel and he turned to face you upon your arrival, small smirk planted on his lips. It was here you noticed that he’d gradually stopped styling his hair daily, opting for a more relaxed/messy look. Good, he looked better this way. He was trying to keep it together, but you could tell his resolve was slowly wearing away, his breath fast and shallow. Anticipation, nervousness, I’ve got you figured out, tough guy. You gave what you were about to do a geniune moment of thought, planning your moves cautiously. Before you could chicken out, you grabbed his shirt and pulled him in for a kiss.

Ok maybe it was more like a quick peck, his lips only momentarily meeting yours, but you both lingered face to face for a beat too long afterwards. This whole thing caught him off guard, how quickly you took initiative, causing him to awkwardly fix his already well positioned glasses. You both sighed at the same time, looking straight at everyone else but each other, unable to fully process what just happened. At least the audience was entertained, and by audience you mean 2nd and 8th, the only two who have caught on to your situation.

Wait hold on why was 2nd smiling? You shot her a look, only causing her to press her lips into a thin line to conceal her amusement.

“Noooo cmon that wasn’t a real kiss.” 8th giggled, tilting her head slightly.

“Yeah! I was gonna say that…” 4th added.

What? Sorry that wasn’t enough of a show for you?

You looked at either of them with an unamused look.

“That’s all I-” You started but were cut off by a warm had pulling you in.

You found yourself in the same position again, only this time he was leading. He’d hadn’t given you a moment to collect yourself before his hands moved up to cup your cheeks, his glasses nudging at your face a little. None of that that mattered though, as his determined lips pulled any coherent thought from your mind. You shut your eyes instinctively, your own hands shot up to his hair, letting the feeling wash over you as his hands kept your face close to his. Had you not known any better, you’d think this a man starving, the way he was practically swallowing your breaths. It got to a point were you were struggling to keep up, needing to sorrowfuly pull away from this man. And for a split second as you , in all the breathless mess that you were, you could swear he grunted a little.

The two of you split, panting and struggling to pull yourself together. A glance over to him showed the same predicament, hair a huge mess and glasses practically fogged up. Your eyes danced across the grinning audience then found their way awkwardly to the ground.

“30 hours..” 2nd scoffed

You snickered slightly, hoping that they will move on.

The following round, you found yourself with the ball number 1. 8th was the king, how fitting. You were still shaking with fluster from the previous round, both you and the lucky guy unable to look at eachother, opting to stand on the same side.

“Numbers 3 and 7, you guys have to french kiss!” 8th giggles a bit.

From this perspective, you realise how lucky you were to have 7th be your partner, had it been anyone else it certainly wouldn’t have played out so well. You watched in anticipation as 3rd floor and 2nd floor were revealed, wincing slightly at the unlikely pair. Something in you told you this won’t end well.

“And if I refuse? Let’s keep it fun, I’ll do anything but that.” 2nd challenged.

“Hmm ok, you two wouldn’t have made an entertaining pair anyway.” 8th smiled. You knew that was just a subtle dig at 3rd but you’d hoped he hadn’t caught it.

“The person with the number 2 ball and second floor have to….fight! For one round.” There it was, the moment 7th had been doing his best to avoid, all for what? A cold sweat ran down your back, mouth opening to protest but finding nothing. The air suddenly grew thick with dread, your eyes finding 7 who had his head dropped down in defeat. All you could do now is hope it doesn’t deal too much damage.

A ball bounced from the person standing next to you. How cruel. It was 6th floor, you didn’t have to turn to see the excitement on his face, you could already practically smell it. How unfortunate is it that the two people who can’t stand eachother the most here were going head to head with no restraints, no judges, no referees. Only ‘surrender’ and what a heavy implication that word had.

They got into position, trash talking a little, and you found a hand subconsciously clutched around 7’s arm as you observed the fight. 2nd wasn’t an amatuer, in fact she was kicking 6th’s ass. But regardless of your distaste for him, you knew it would be better to end it now. Neither of them seemed ready for that though, and in a split second, it all went to hell. 2nd’s hand had been hurt, maybe it was from the talent show, allowing 6th to get the upper hand. He immobilised her only weapon by practically breaking her fingers, causing her to get knocked down. He then took this chance to get on top of her, throwing punch after punch at his helpless opponent. Blood splattered onto the pool floor. Someone said something but the ringing in your ear had blocked it off. The men made their way to pull a victorious 6th floor off of 2nd. You rushed to her aid, hands doing what they do best. Her face was almost unrecognisable from the blood and swelling.

Up in her room, you used the best things you could get with the 50 hours 6th’s fists had earned you to nurse her back to health. Her eyes were fixed on the wall, unable to meet yours even for a moment. She wouldn’t speak either, so you didn’t push it, she trusted you for a reason and so you gave her grace in her moment of weakness.

Re-emerging from her room 20 minutes later, you walked back to the group with your head hung down.

“She’s fine for now,” Your voice came out a bit shaky. “She’s in alot of pain though. We can’t-...You took it too far 6th.”

You stood your ground, looking him straight in the eye.

“She didn’t surrender.” He stated simply.

“You and I both know you had it out for her.”

He got up suddenly, sizing you up. “All she had to do was say the words.” “When? Between one bloody punch and the next? You didn’t give her any chance to-”

You hadn’t noticed your voice getting louder, angrier, as 6th floor got more pissed off. 7th’s hand had caught your wrist, his eyes urging you to tone it down, step back. You took a deep breath.

“We…I don’t have the facilities to treat serious injuries,” You pleaded to no one in particular, but your eyes subconsciously landed on 8th. “We need to set rules to prevent this from hapening again. A way to back out of the dares.” “A penalty!” 4th floor said with cheerfulness that didn’t match the room.

A taser. How great. You went from avoiding violence to introducing a weapon on the same day. She pushed the button causing you to jump back slightly, that thing was loud.

That concluded the first round of the game, capping off at 80 and a bit hours, minus what you used for 2nd floor.

You sat in your room quietly, allowing the day’s events to catch up to you. It had taken so much effort to try to control the situation only for it all to fall apart in a few moments. Violence was now clearly on the table. And not just that, it was a better time-earner than any alternative. Wondering what other sick games 8th might’ve brainstormed in her solitude was only making you feel worse. You decided to head down to check up 2nd floor, catching a hint of your reflection in the metal of the chute. Come to think of it, it had been a while since you saw yourself, not that the blurry image of you in the metal was any help. You hadn’t noticed the blood staining your shirt, likely from when you helped 2nd up to her room. It made you sick, usually you’d change out of your bloody scrubs immediately at the doorstep, but you haven’t got that option here.

Knock Knock Knock.

You made your way into 2nd’s room, her eyes unable to meet yours. The chute groaned open, allowing you to retrieve the icepack you bought for her, the one from the morning too warm to re-use. You sighed, then began to do some checks on her.

“Can you move your fingers?”

“Have you coughed up blood?”

“How’s the pain?”

“Do you need me to do anything?”

Of course, you were practically talking to yourself, her only giving short nods or huffs as answers. You took a good look at her face, now tinged slightly with a blue undertone, one eye swollen shut. You gave her a nod and turned to exit the room.

What if it had been you? What if it had been anyone else? At least she was able to hold her own for a minute. Would 6th floor go all out on someone who can’t even fathom the strength needed to fight back? Is this how things will be from now on? Moving in fear of upsetting 8th or her guard dog? You made your way back up to your room with your head down, hoping the food delivery will be soon.

“How is she?” You looked up to find 7th leaning against your door, a cigarette in his hand.

“She’ll be fine.” You let out a shaky breath. “7th…this is so messed up. What are we going to do? I mean- A taser? Really?”

He took a drag and rubbed his eyes from behind the glasses, fixing them and then looking at you again.

“Just avoid conflict as much as we can, I guess.” He said it as if it was the easiest most simple thing to do. You held eachother’s eyes, an uncomfortable silence accompanying your exchange. If he was here to talk about the fight then there’s nothing more to be said, but the way he was awkwardly just standing there hinted at something else being on his mind.

The kiss!

The events following it must’ve overtook your mind because you somehow completely forgotten that whole thing. The memories came rushing back and now you too, held some awkwardness in your stance.

Where do you go from here? What does he want to say? This is completely uncharted territory. Last night you had practically willed the earth to swallow you whole after your conversation, feeling both guilty and a little stupid and then you made out with him like a few hours later! You recalled the sudden boost of confidence that took over you when you’d gone to kiss him first,

Maybe if I stay still enough he wont see me. Do people with glasses have blind spots?

He noticed your nervousness and straightened himself up, clearing his throat.

“Oh- sorry was I blocking your way in?”

You tilted your head and bit your lip, what a dork.

“Were you blocking my way into my room by leaning on the only entrance to it? Yeah 7, you were. But I wasn’t that keen on going back in anyway.”

He let out a low chuckle, his ears turning red in embarrassment.

“Is there something else you wanted, 7th?” You said maybe a bit too sweetly.

“I just- wanted to say I’m sorry. For earlier. I got a little carried away I think.” but his eyes told a different story, one that held no regret for what he did. You knew deep down that this was just him being polite, or maybe trying to push this unnecessary romantic sublot to the side while you deal with way bigger issues, so you really didn’t take this ‘apology’ to heart.

Plus you were in the mood to get him flustered.

“Oh its ok. Besides, you’re a pretty good kisser.” You shrugged.

This caused him to go into a fit of coughs, choking on his own breath. You tried your best to keep the smile inside as you walked over to him and placed a hand on his shoulder, prompting him to stand up straight immediately. The redness on his face would have now been one of two things, but if you had to guess…

“Uh…Thank you,” he cleared his throat. “You’re not so bad yourself.” You raised your brow slightly. “Hard to judge my performance fairly if you were doing all the work, no?”

You really need to stop this now, you’re teetering on bullying this poor guy.

His jaw clenched as he turned his attention to the very interesting flight of stairs on the side. Truth is, he had nothing to say. He had come here to make sure there wasn’t any uncomfortableness between the two of you. This was not what he expected back.

You sensed his predicament and decided to help him out here.

“I think you were just excited you weren’t paired with 6th again.”

That prompted him to laugh, a little harder than the joke was worth, but it was the undoing of the tension that caused that.

“Yeah,” he breathed out.

“You know, all in all, I’m just glad you and I are ok. I thought- you know- because of our talk last night you’d be mad at me.”

That caused him to turn to you, laughter long gone from his blood.

“I was.” he started, voice only a slightly above a whisper owing to your closeness. “For a little, but you’re a very difficult person to stay mad at.”

Now it was your turn to be speechless. His eyes darted down to your lips momentarily. And so here you two were again, in the same position you keep finding yourselves in. You gave it some thought and decided to mess with him a little, leaning in to plant a small peck on his cheek, lingering there as you could feel his breath grow quicker, his heart practically beating out of his chest where you’d subconsciously positioned your hand. You kept holding this position, and he turned to be face to face with you, only a breath or one boost of confidence apart. Instead, you pulled away suddenly, sighing at the loss of his warmth. You then grabbed your card and opened your door, leaning on it innocently as you looked at him.

“Goodnight, 7th.”

He stared at you with his head tilted back slightly. He let out a long sigh and shut his eyes for a moment, was this desperation you’re seeing?

“Goodnight, 5th” he bowed his head to you and walked lazily up the steps.

2nd floor almost didn’t let you in the following morning until you threatened to sneak into the chute to get to her room. She looked worse than the day before, but that was expected. You spent your morning re-wrapping her hands and getting some of last night’s food in her.

“How is she?” 3rd asked as you finally joined the group.

“She’ll be in more pain today than yesterday, so I doubt she’ll join us.”

“Nice makeover.” For a split second you thought 6th was referring to you, maybe commenting on the blood on your shirt. But you turned around, surprised to see an exhausted 2nd floor standing a few paces behind you. You let out an exasperated sigh, but you knew arguing with her here would get you no-where.

The second round of the game began around noon, you had the ball #5. 8th was king, again. Statistically, this doesn’t really work, but you know probability plays out differently in the real world.

“4! Touch 5’s breasts, from under the shirt!” She smiled with excitement and your face scrunched up. This whole thing was made worse with 6th enthusiastic eyes looking for the victims. Gag, what if he was 4? Was that why he was giggling like a horny teenager? Oh you’re definitely picking penalty.

“Who’s 5?”

You rolled your eyes and turned the ball around, catching 8th’s attention causing her to jump up and down in anticipation. Your eyes met 7’s, who had a slightly disgusted look on his face.

“And number 4?”

3rd floor raised his hand awkwardly, you’ll take it. The guy’s too shy to ever make something like this sexual and you really weren’t in the mood to get tased today.

You sat in front of an audience on the swingset, 3rd standing above you to allow…better access, eyes planted on the floor in shame. You’d hoped he’d just go ahead and get things over with as you stared distantly at the time.

“Okayyy, 3, 2, 1-” 4th counted him down.

“Tase me! I mean-” He cleared his throat. “I’ll take the penalty.”

You got up to protest with him, knowing that what he was asking was no small trade-off, and you really don’t mind anything at this point. But he insisted, and knelt down at the metal slide, what a stupid position.

The taser felt heavy in your hand, you really didn’t want to hurt him, but rules are rules. You turned it on and put it on his lower neck, just at the end of the shirt, attempting to avoid going on direct skin. His body tensed up then fell forward, sphincters making a show of betraying him.

Your hands shook a little, taser still clasped tightly as you watched 7th and 6th carry 3rd up to his room, allowing him some dignity.

“He didn’t do it cause he’s a real man,” 2nd praised. But a freshly conscious and very distraught 3rd wouldn’t hear it. You left the room shortly after, heart breaking at the loud whines coming from his room the moment you shut the door. That was enough for that day, seeing as 3rd’s chivalry earned the group 60 hours.

The following day got you yet another losing number, at least you weren't picked for the dare. 4th was king and you were beginning to notice a pattern, must be luck. She picked 1 and 2. At that, 3rd dropped to his knees in relief. Poor guy, it must’ve really done some damage. The numbers were 2nd and 6th floor. Had 4th floor planned this, she wouldn't have been able to continuously pick such awful pairs time and time again. A coin flip, loser gets penalty.

“I thought you only get penalty if you disobey the king,” 1st floor spoke your mind.

“We said the king can do what they want, as long as everyone agrees.” That response felt a little…rehearsed, but anyway. The way 4th moved during the coin flip had you a little confused, aren’t you supposed to catch the coin with the back of your hand?

2nd lost, her resolve fading as she came to terms with being on the receiving end of the penalty. Administered by 6th, no less. She met a similar fate to 3rd and 6th couldn’t resist taking a dig at her unconscious body.

You weren’t king the following day either, 8th was. What a surprise. But at least you weren’t picked for the dare. 2nd and 3rd were. A slapping competition, loser takes penalty. Very high stakes. The only two people here that know what it feels like to lose were going head to head. If you had to bet though, the money’s on 2nd. Too bad you wouldn’t be able to cash out a win like that.

You’d spend the nights after each round up in 7th’s room. Things were…different between you two now. He was more comfortable, open and relaxed than he used to be. Flirting had become you two’s favorite game, along with the various obscure board games he’d piled up, it never went anywhere though and you’d lovingly started keeping a score of who could fluster the other more often. Its a tie, mostly because you never anticipate his cheesy lines and he shuts up with any compliment. He’d also become more open with the idea of getting to know each other.

“Are you…an engineer?” That made him laugh.

“No, I am not.”“What!”

You were both laid on his mattress, a respectful distance between you two as you stared at the ceiling. He, as usual, was smoking and you took pleasure in watching the wafts of gray rising and disappearing.

“Close though, I- used to be. Kind of”

“And then?”“I’ve already given too much.”“Ughh fine. Your turn.”

“How did you get here?”

“That sketchy white limousine-”

“Don’t be a smartmouth”

“I lost my scholarships cause of a decision I made. I wasn’t ever going to be able to afford uni without them so when I got kicked off I had two options; finish the remaining years on your own debt or drop out. I chose the former. I don’t regret it though”

“Of course you don’t,” he chuckled,

This went on for a while. Vague answers and fits of giggles. You hadn’t noticed how sleepy you were, eyes betraying you in a moment of a silence going on for too long. He watched your sleeping form with a sheepish smile on his lips, feeling awful for what he was about to do.

“5th…” he shook you gently. “5th it’s almost midnight you have to leave.”

You groaned in response.

“C’mon I’ll walk you down.”

You reveled in this routine. It was…sincere. There was no hidden agenda or heavy conversation. Everything just flowed smoothly. That day was no different. You were in his room when food delivery was taking place, it seemed she would now only send it whenever she felt like it. A part of you wanted to give her the benefit of the doubt, maybe she received the food at different times each day. But knowing her? She probably kept it in her room until she decided which meal suits her best and then keeps it depending on how pleased she was that day. 7th grabbed two meals and set one infront of you. There was something so familiar about this, just eating in silence with some great company. The food wasn’t so bad that night. Bland, as usual, but being so high ment that you got second pick of the meal instead of 4th., allowing you more options. The poultry here wasn’t the best, you’d expressed your dilemma of never getting any of the shrimp meals to 7th. They used to be quite the delicacy back when you had group lunches, all things considered. So this time, he picked up the shrimp meal for you and another meal for himself. Your shoulders dropped in a sigh when the food hit your tongue, moaning a little, causing him to chuckle.

“Had I known you like it so much I woul’ve left it, 8th usually takes the other one for herself.”

“That witch eats?” You said between mouthfuls. “Plus, 6th floor would’ve taken it.”

Your little bubble was popped by a knock at the door, the frown on 7th face indicating he wasn’t expecting anyone.

“Is everything ok?” He kept the stranger outside, blocking your view of whoever it was. You couldn’t hear what they were saying, but it looked like it wasn’t good. 7th looked over to you before letting the guest in.

Guests, actually. 1st, 2nd and 3rd floors. It seemed important, so you put the food down and got up. They were surprised to see you in there, obviously, but the matter at hand swayed the conversation away from your presence.

Someone was rigging the game. That one wasn’t hard to figure out, but 1st floor made a show of the coin toss, revealing that 4th floor is probably a prime suspect. Less than a minute of thought will tell you that she likely wasn’t doing this for her own benefit, you all came to the conclusion she was working for the higher floors. 7th and 3rd smoked as you all talked, clearly a bit on edge from this whole thing.

“We can’t confront them, they’ll just deny.” 7th sighed. “We have to wait for them to slip up.”

And how convenient was it that as you were leaving, you spotted a sneaky 4th floor tiptoeing towards the box. 7th volunteered to handle it whilst you waited upstairs, watching.

“Care to explain?” 2nd had taken the spot next to you on the stairs, observing 7th walk quietly towards a distracted 4th.

“You aren’t my mom, so not really no.” You said half seriously and she chuckled.

“You know, maybe he isn’t so bad” She said.

You both watch as he put a hand around 4th’s mouth to stop her from screaming, similar to what he did to you the first night you talked. You wondered how many women he does this to.

“You looked very entertained when him and I kissed,” You teased. “What was that about?”

“I just knew you were probably a mess.” She laughed.

You let out an awkward laugh, catching 7’s eyes as he made his way back to you, giving you a thumbs up on the way causing 2nd to chuckle.

“Is he smiling? I didn't think he could do that!” she nudged your side.

. . .

The air was thick with anticipation as you watched 7th stand over 8th floor, taser in hand. He seemed unsure, dragging the action on a little too long, as if he didn’t want to do this. Maybe he was afraid of what repercussions may follow, but this was a fair fight, no? Equal contribution and all.

“I’ll count down. 3..2..1-” He didn’t get to have the taser touch her skin before 6th floor gave him a harsh kick to his side, causing him to get knocked down, glasses flung somewhere in the process. None of you had even noticed 6th go up to him, too focused on the excitement of the idea of punishing 8th. You let out a yelp, he had blood on his face and was clutching his side. 6th floor picked up the taser.

“Hey what the hell are you doing!” It was not really a question, but 2nd’s cries fell on deaf ears.

You were all frozen in place, unsure of what to do in this situation.

“W-why?” 7 shook.

“We needed a twist, don’t you agree?” 6th said grimly as he looked over to the cameras, before turning back to 7th and shoving the taser into his neck, prompting him to pass out.

Shocked gasps erupted from your side and your brain went into action mode, running around the slide to reach the man on the floor, trying to see if there’s anything you could do. But you didn’t make it all the way before 6th made a show of turning the taser on in your direction. A clear threat.

You watched in helpless horror as 6th and 4th carried 7th up eight flights of stairs to the highest room, smiles wide on each of their faces and you couldn’t try to think of what things they may have in store for him.

05/ The pawn.

#the 8 show #7th floor #The 8 show x reader #7th floor x reader #Phillip Yu x reader #kdrama

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