#replacement window switch

[khtassia]

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[sotc]

i am gone for one week to enjoy time with family and come back to everything turning to shit. im worried about roxy's teeth and being potentially in pain so im taking her to the vet next week. shaxx's skin has broken out into another flare up so im monitoring him. my kitchen sink is clogging and i tried to fix it and it won't unclog so i need to call a plumber. and now my husband's computer is bsod'ing kernel errors again-- no i should stay STILL. i'm so fucking DONNEEEEE

[deanpinterester]

once again watching room makeover videos and wishing i could do SOMETHING to my room

[parasolids]

me being an automotive engineer at a manufacturing plant and understanding why vehicles are designed in ways that prioritize manufacturability over ease of repair

vs

me having to take out the door panel, window switch, disconnect the locks, and take off the whole window liner just to replace a side mirror (and midway through my friend said maybe we should’ve disconnected the battery first to prevent the airbags going off)

[bsautosuppliess]

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[kannady]

ever, ever after

pairing: sylus x non-mc reader

summary: sylus didn't love you. how could he when she was around? but would he come look for you if you willingly step into EVER's boundaries?

word count: 2.6k

a/n: ehhhh just a random idea. not too proud of it. listening to cinnamon girl prompted me to write this. ive never written or read anything angsty. its not great, just my first attempt. lemme know your thoughts! would you wanna read more?

I

The hallway stretched before you, dim and silent except for the muffled creak of the floorboards beneath your boots. The air smelled faintly of polished wood and something sharper, gun oil, maybe. You exhaled slowly, your breath barely disturbing the stillness.

And then you heard it.

A laugh, bright and effortless, ringing through the house.

You froze.

You didn’t need to follow the sound. You didn’t need to see her draped over Sylus’s arm, her fingers curled around a wine glass, her lips parted in amusement. You knew. You had always known.

Sylus had loved her long before he’d known you. Not in this life, perhaps, but in another, one where they were bound by something deeper than reason. You had sensed it the moment you first saw them together, the way his gaze lingered just a second too long, the way his voice softened when he spoke her name.

And you? You had been careful.

You never let your hands tremble when you handed him reports. Never let your voice waver when he stood too close, his presence like a storm pressing against your skin. You were smarter than that. You had to be.

The file in your hand suddenly felt heavy. You set it down on the side table, the sound swallowed by the thick silence of the house. 

A few steps farther, and there he was. Mephisto, perched on his stand like a sentinel, his feathers catching the faint glow of the hallway sconces. Sylus’s ever-watchful spy. 

Your fingers closed around the bird’s body before you could second-guess yourself. Cold metal bit into your palm as you twisted its neck, pressing the hidden switch beneath its wing. A faint click, and the red light in its eyes flickered out.

No more watching. No more recording.

You didn’t walk to your room so much as you drifted there. The corner by the window looking welcoming, the floorboards smooth beneath your knees where you had sat so many nights before. You didn’t move. Didn’t make a sound. Just waited, as if some foolish part of you still expected.

But no. Of course he didn’t come.

Why would he? You were just an asset. A tool. And tools don’t warrant concern when they go quiet. They’re replaced.

The realization settled over you like a weight.

You stood. Your bag was already half-packed from some forgotten mission, duffel shoved beneath the bed, dust clinging to its straps. You yanked it free, tossing in the essentials: cash, a knife, the forged papers you’d been smart enough to prepare months ago. No hesitation. No second thoughts.

You didn’t bother with stealth. Didn’t tiptoe past his study, didn’t glance toward the wing where her laughter still curled through the air like smoke.

He wouldn’t notice you were gone.

***

Two years. 

Two years since you'd walked out of that gilded prison with nothing but a half-packed duffel bag and the clothes on your back. Your plan had been absolute in its simplicity: vanish from the N109 Zone completely. Disappear into some forgotten corner of the world, someplace so remote and inaccessible that not even Sylus with his vast resources would think to look.

But you were never naive enough to believe it would be that easy.

In the silent hours before dawn, when the city outside your new apartment windows hummed ever so softly, the truth would wrap around your throat like cold fingers. If Sylus ever truly wanted to find you, he would. No amount of running, carefully constructing false identities, calculating distance would stop him. 

The realization should have terrified you. Instead, it settled into your bones like an old scar, familiar, aching, but no longer sharp. So you did the only thing you could: you became invisible. Not by hiding, but by thriving in the last place anyone would expect to find you.

EVER Group. Those gleaming letters embossed on every lab door, every piece of correspondence, every business card that now bore your name. Eternity Vanquishes Evolution Restraint. A name as pretentious as it was accurate. They didn't recruit through job postings or career fairs. They hunted. For minds like yours. Sharp, adaptable, willing to dance on the edge of ethics if it meant progress. 

And when they'd found you six months after your disappearance, when they'd slid that first offer across the table with promises of resources beyond imagination and challenges worthy of your mind, you'd said yes without hesitation.

Your new title, Human Augmentation Engineer, rolled off the tongue with clinical precision. The work suited you in ways you hadn't anticipated. Your days were spent in sterile white labs where the air smelled faintly of ozone and disinfectant, your fingers dancing across holographic displays as you designed biomechanical enhancements that pushed the boundaries of human limitation. 

Cardiac regeneration systems that could theoretically keep a heart beating forever. Neural interfaces that blurred the line between human thought and machine precision. 

The ethical implications would have kept a lesser person awake at night. For you, it was just another equation to solve.

The irony wasn't lost on you. EVER was, by any reasonable standard, monstrous. Their research ventured into territories that would terrify most people. Resurrection protocols, memory extraction, experiments that could theoretically stop death. And yet, for the first time in longer than you could remember, you were happy.

Mornings began with the quiet ritual of coffee brewed exactly how you liked it, black with a single sugar, sipped while reviewing data from your latest prototypes. Your colleagues greeted you by name, their respect earned through competence rather than fear. Meetings were lively debates rather than tense performances, your ideas were met with genuine interest rather than dismissal. There was a birthday celebration for you, a real one, with terrible store-bought cake and off-key singing.

Your apartment, small but yours, became a sanctuary. The couch was worn in just the right places, the kitchen stocked with foods you actually enjoyed rather than what was expected. Evenings were spent curled up with research journals or trashy novels, the city lights painting shifting patterns across your walls.

No more straining to hear footsteps in the hallway. No more rehearsing conversations in your head, measuring every word before it left your lips. No more choking on the sound of her laughter ringing through the halls like wind chimes.

You thought about him, of course.

It was impossible not to.

Sometimes when you passed a certain shade of crimson in a shop window, his colour, your breath would catch just for a moment. The scent of expensive bourbon would still make you turn your head. And on rare nights, when sleep eluded you, you'd find yourself wondering. Did he still keep that ridiculous collection of antique pistols? Had he replaced you immediately, or had he waited out of pride, if not sentiment? Was she still there?

But the thoughts came less frequently now. When they did surface, you’d forget about them after a moment or two. Did it hurt? You weren't sure. More importantly, you didn't care enough to find out. This life, this messy, complicated, gloriously ordinary life, was yours by choice. Every late night at the lab, every terrible office party, every quiet evening alone was a decision you'd made for yourself.

And you didn't regret a single second of it.

The past was a closed door.

***

Two years.

Two years of silence.

Two years of waking up expecting to see you in the study, bent over reports with that familiar furrow between your brows. Two years of catching himself turning to make some dry remark, only to remember that there was no one there to hear it. 

He had to admit. You'd outsmarted him.

The realization still tasted like broken glass.

Sylus sat in his office, the glow of a dying fire casting long shadows across the mahogany desk. The room smelled of leather and gun oil, of expensive bourbon left untouched in its crystal decanter. His fingers traced the edge of a file, your file. The one he kept locked in the bottom drawer despite having memorized every word.

Page 37 showed your favorite café, the one with the terrible coffee you pretended to enjoy because the owner reminded you of your grandfather. Page 89 mentioned your habit of humming off-key when working late. Page 203 contained the little notes he’d leave for you around the house. He knew you loved his handwriting. He’d known the moment you asked him to write down everything he needed done instead of telling you. 

He snapped the folder shut.

Mephisto had been his masterpiece. Programmed to follow you silently if you ever left unannounced, to watch over you when he couldn't. A safeguard. A gift, in his own twisted way. But you'd known. Of course you'd known. The way you'd manually shut the bird down with the sole purpose of running away from him, haunted him more than any ghost ever could.

He'd searched every corner of the N109 Zone. Burned through favors, called in debts, even risked venturing into rival territories himself. Nothing. No whispers in the underground, no sightings in the usual haunts. Just empty leads and dead ends piling up like corpses.

His fingers tightened around the glass.

He'd been a fool.

All those carefully calculated moves, every strategic play, and he'd still managed to lose the only piece that ever truly mattered. Standing too close under the guise of examining your work. Leaning down just to catch your scent, ink, gunpowder and something faintly floral. Asking you to move in like some lovesick idiot instead of just saying it.

What kind of boss invites a mere employee to live with him?

The answer burned in his chest.

One who couldn't admit he'd rather die than watch you walk out that door.

His fingers found the scar along his collarbone. Four precise lines from when you'd stitched him up after a job gone awry. You'd been furious he'd gotten shot, even after seeing him heal himself, you still insisted on medical care. Your hands steady but your voice trembling as you told him exactly how stupid he'd been. That was the moment, if he was honest with himself. When he'd known.

Then, a knock came at 2:17 AM.

He didn't bother looking up. "If this is another dead end, don’t bother coming in."

The door creaked open, revealing two familiar silhouettes, tall, lean, their features obscured by those masks they never removed. Even in the dim light, he could tell them apart instantly.

Neither spoke.

Sylus set his glass down with deliberate precision. "Well?"

They exchanged glances, Luke's mask tilting just slightly left, Kieran's right hand twitching toward his hip holster. A full three seconds of silence.

The decanter shattered against the wall behind them.

"Where is she?"

Kieran didn't flinch at the spray of glass. "EVER Group's Bioengineering Division. Senior augmentation specialist." His voice was flat, but the way his thumb rubbed against his index finger.

A long silence. The ticking of the grandfather clock.

The name hit like a bullet. The irony was almost poetic. His brilliant, cautious girl hiding in the belly of the beast itself. His laughter cut through the silence, sharp and humorless. "Of course she is."

Luke’s gaze shifted from Sylus to his brother. Then, all of a sudden he blurted out, "She's happy."

Sylus' cufflink caught the light as he reached for his pistol case.

“Get the car.”

***

The alarm screamed at 5:00 AM.

Your hand slapped over it before the third shrill could shatter the fragile peace of your apartment. For three breaths, you lay perfectly still, staring at the ceiling where dawn’s first light painted watercolor streaks through the stained-glass window. The sheets smelled of lavender detergent. Real lavender, not the synthetic crap they pumped through EVER’s ventilation systems.

The shower scalded just shy of painful, steam curling around the bullet scar on your left hip. You scrubbed with a lemon-scented soap, the odour sharp enough to cut through the chemical fog that clung to your skin after long days in the lab. 

The mirror fogged over, but not before you caught sight of the woman staring back. Nearly unrecognizable from the ghost who fled N109 Zone. Your hair was now cropped into a sharp bob, your cheekbones pronounced from actually remembering to eat. Only your hands remained the same. Steady, scarred, capable of both delicacy and breaking a man’s wrist in three places.

You dressed methodically. Black tailored slacks with the hidden knife slit in the right seam, a white blouse buttoned to the collarbones, a lab coat starched stiff as a corpse’s shroud. The ridiculous 3-inch Louboutins Luke stole for your birthday pinched near the pinky toe, but you wore them anyway. The coffee brewed strong enough to dissolve spoons, poured into the chipped World’s Okayest Engineer mug Kieran gifted after your first successful mission.

The elevator to Sublevel 7 smelled like antiseptic and ozone. You balanced the coffee in one hand, tablet in the other, scrolling through today’s schedule when Dr. Cho’s voice interrupted.

“Dr. (reader)!”

He clutched a sealed dossier to his chest like it contained nuclear codes, sweat beading along his receding hairline under the fluorescent lights. “You are reassigned,” he blurted. “Effective immediately.”

The coffee turned to acid in your throat.

Conference Room B smelled like, well, cool, clean air.

Twenty-seven faces stared back as Cho announced Project HDS-7213, EVER’s first live-subject augmentation trial. Your promotion to Lead Biomedical Engineer. The way his voice hitched on live sent a tremor down your spine.

“Congratulations,” Mara whispered, nudging a thicker dossier across the table. “You earned this.”

The file weighed more than it should’ve. Page 1: Subject M-7. Male. 28 years old. Page 3: Evol Classification: Energy Manipulation (Class VIII, potentially IX). Page 9: Containment Protocols: Electromagnetic shackles. Sedation drip. Two cranial failsafe implants.

Your thumb left a smudge on the surveillance photo, a blurred figure in black attire. “Why bother with a photo?” Mara commented.

“Mara,” you murmured, tapping the Evol classification. “We never worked with anyone above Class IV.”

Her knee pressed against yours under the table. “Remember those Tesla-looking monstrosities they brought in last week? Turns out they are portable suppression fields.” Her smile didn’t reach her eyes. “Nothing to worry about. I guess.”

Frowning, you turned your gaze back to the file. Your mission was clear cut. Suppress the subject’s Evol to null and transfer it to another subject. You gulped. Wouldn’t that kill him? What had you gotten yourself into?

The walk to Lab 7 took exactly 4 minutes and 37 seconds. You counted each step, each sip of now-cold coffee, each erratic heartbeat as clearance doors hissed open before you. The file revealed another horror. Subject resisted standard sedation (they switched to a veterinary elephant tranquilizer).

The final door required retinal scan and voiceprint.

“Dr. (reader), authorization code Rose-9-White.”

The locks disengaged with a sound like bones breaking.

Lab 7 was colder than the morgue.

Your heels clicked against frosted glass flooring as you approached the observation window. The suppression field hummed at a frequency that made your teeth ache. Coffee sloshed over the rim of your mug as your hands betrayed you.

On the other side of the glass was a man. Not just a subject.

Chained in a chair that looked more like a medieval torture device, his bare torso marked with fresh burns where the electrodes bit into flesh. Blood crusted along his split lip. Silver hair matted with sweat and something darker near the temple. His head lolled forward, chin nearly touching chest, but you could see the rise and fall of ragged breathing.

Then, as if sensing your presence he looked up.

Crimson eyes locked onto yours through the glass. Not the dull gaze of a sedated prisoner. Not the wild glare of a feral test subject.

Your mug shattered on the lab floor.

Because the man strapped to that chair, the man whose file now trembled in your hands, was Sylus.

[rrs1188]

[june1960fan]

Dana's Garage Replacing Door lock window control switch 08 Compass

[syrecjh]

You’ve always had a habit of teasing him.

Not the kind that pokes at wounds or bruises his pride—no, you know better than to cross the thin, invisible wires strung between Katsuki Bakugo’s temper and his heart. But you do like to joke. To catch him off guard. To press your thumb against his scowl and make it curl into a smile, even if it comes with an eye roll and a muttered, “Dumbass.”

You’ve been together long enough to earn that right—to be silly in his space and still be safe. You’re the chaos to his order, the tickle in his throat that sometimes makes him laugh, sometimes makes him explode.

So this morning, when the sunlight filters through the windows just right and he’s sleep-tousled and bare-chested in your kitchen—grumbling about burnt toast and the “damn jam lid being too tight again”—you decide to prank him.

A small, stupid little thing. Just to see how he’d react.

“Katsuki,” you say, too gently, cradling your mug with the seriousness of someone delivering news.

He raises an eyebrow. “What.”

“I think… I think we should break up.”

There’s a beat of silence. Just one. Short. Sharp.

And then he blinks. Once. Twice. And everything in him freezes—like the switch inside of him flicked off, the usual heat in his eyes replaced with something unreadable. Cold, almost.

“…What?” he says. Voice low. Careful. Too careful.

You expect the outburst. The curse. The sarcastic bark of laughter. Maybe even a “Yeah right, try again.”

But what you get is something far worse.

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t even breathe. His shoulders stiffen, jaw locking like he’s trying not to react at all.

“You’re not serious,” he mutters finally, but it isn’t a question. It’s a plea. A warning.

You falter, smile dying on your lips.

“It’s—It’s a joke, Katsuki. I’m messing with you.”

But he doesn’t relax.

Instead, he looks at you—really looks at you—with that same expression he wore the night you got hurt on patrol. As if you’ve said something fatal and he’s waiting to see if the wound is real.

“You don’t fuckin’ joke about that,” he says finally. His voice is low, raw, quieter than you’ve ever heard it.

“Katsuki…”

His eyes drop, lashes casting shadows over the high ridges of his cheekbones. He exhales through his nose, steadying himself. Then he scoffs—not in amusement, but to mask something softer. More breakable.

“You wanna mess with me, fine,” he mutters. “Hide my damn protein powder. Swap my shampoo with glitter. Say I can’t cook when you know I make the best fuckin’ curry. But that?” His voice cracks, just a fraction. “Don’t joke like you’d ever leave. That shit’s not funny.”

You stare at him—this boy made of fire and walls and a heart he never wanted to give away—and realize you’ve touched something sacred. A fear so buried even he didn’t know it lived there until you brushed it.

You step closer, guilt washing over your grin. You reach out, fingertips finding his hand. He doesn’t pull away.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. “That was stupid.”

“Damn right it was.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

His eyes finally flick back to yours—softened, wet around the edges, but still burning.

“…Good,” he mutters, voice husky, tugging you into his chest with a little more force than necessary. His arms wrap around you, rough and tight and safe.

Because Katsuki Bakugo doesn’t say please don’t leave.

He just holds on like he never wants to let go.

[docrobinavitch]

been thinking a lot about abbott or robby finding out that gf!reader bought a ✨toy✨ sometime before they were together (maybe a rabbit vibe or something like that??) but it’s in her closet in the box and never has been opened because she was too nervous to use it or something, and then deciding they have to change that

hi hehe this literally made me go fucking insane teehee trying to be so normal about this um anyway this has not been proofread so hope it's not too insane ok love u thank u for the request nonnie u are sooooo big brain jack abbot x f!reader masterlist literally pure filth below the cut idk what to say u guys

“Babe,” Jack called down the hallway, “Have you seen my army sweatpants?”

It was an unseasonably cold day for late June. Rain came in spurts and fits, making soothing sounds against the window panes. They had had a slow Saturday morning, original plans to go the Farmer’s Market cancelled and replaced with coffee in bed and playing round after round of Street Fighter on your Switch (Jack could not accept defeat even when it became clear he would never fucking beat you) until close to noon.

Now you were in the kitchen starting a soup for dinner. He could just barely hear the rhythmic sounds of the knife against the cutting board and one of your playlists playing quietly in the background.

“I may have stolen them,” You called back, “Did you check my closet?”

He chuckled to himself, “No. Why would I check your closet for my clothes?”

“I think I put them on the top shelf!” You called, ignoring his snide comment.

He shook his head, a smirk on his face, as he went to search your closet. You were always stealing his clothes. It was difficult to be annoyed about it though, because he loved seeing you in them.

He spotted them almost immediately, in the corner on the shelf as you said. But as he pulled on them, a box fell down with them.

Jack bent to pick it up— And frowned when he saw what it was. Slowly, a smile crept onto his face. A vibrator. It was a shape he recognized, a rabbit, with a large shaft for penetration and a smaller one for clitoral stimulation. And by the looks of it, it was unopened.

“Hey, did you find—?“ You were still drying your hands on a dish towel when you stopped in the doorway of your closet.

Jack slowly looked up from the box, smirking at you as he did, turning it so you could see the picture on the cover, “What’s this?”

Immediately you were blushing, “Um, I just… I—I bought it when I was single and… and then we started dating and I didn’t…” You swallowed, noting that he seemed endlessly amused by how flustered you were, “I didn’t have need for it. Once we started dating.”

He looked at the box and then back to you, still smiling, “You didn’t even open it?”

You shrugged, “As I said, I didn’t have need for it.”

“But you kept it.”

You opened your mouth— Then closed it. Finally, you shrugged, “I don’t know. I was curious.”

“Well, we should open it then.”

If you were red before, your face became an inferno now as you snatched the box from his hands, “I don’t think that’s necessary,” You began to walk past him into the closet to put it away, but Jack lightly grabbed your arm as you tried to move past him.

“Look, I… I won’t force you, obviously, but… There’s no need to be so shy with me, you know?” He gently took your chin in his fingers and turned your head so you were looking at him, “I think it’s really hot.”

Finally, you managed a small smile, “Yeah?”

He nodded, “Did you finish the soup?”

You blinked at the sudden change of subject, “Uh, yeah. It has to simmer for a few hours.”

“Good,” He looked back down at the box in your hands, “How many orgasms do you think you can take before you’re begging me to stop?”

He watched your throat bob as your breathing hitched, “I guess we’ll find out?” You said, voice high and breathy.

He looked up at you, inhaling slowly as he did, and you watched his hazel eyes dilate with desire in real time.

“Why don’t you strip and get on the bed?” He said softly and pulled the box from your grasp.

You did as you were told, heat already stirring between your legs as you watched Jack get everything ready. Hyper focused as he tears open the box and begins pacing around your bedroom, grabbing a towel, grabbing lube, washing the new vibrator with soap and warm water.

He laid out a towel over the bed sheets and lightly pat it with his hand in silent invitation. Heart pounding, you laid down against the pillows, on top of the towel.

Jack seemed calm on the outside, but inside he was freaking the fuck out, looking at you sprawled naked on that towel, just waiting for him to touch you. Crawling over you, he placed a kiss on your forehead, “You’re okay?” He asked quietly.

Because he felt fucking feral, holding that vibrator in his hand, mind racing thinking of all the ways he could fucking torture you and pull orgasm after orgasm until there were tears streaming down your cheeks. But one word from you and he would put it away and act like he wasn’t phased at all. Delegate it to just a fantasy to have in his mind and never to hold.

But you looked up at him with those big puppy eyes of yours and nodded and he swore he would come apart right there. He kissed you slow and tenderly, knotting a hand in the hair at the nape of your neck and pulling just enough that you gasped. He was addicted to the sounds you made whenever he touched you, the breathy sighs and the moans. Even the sleepy mewls you made still in sleep when he slipped into bed after a long shift.

Now, though, he wanted you a whimpering mess. Still kissing you, he pressed his thumb down on the vibrator, turning it on to its lowest setting.

Pulling away from you just a bit, he lightly pressed the vibrator to one of your nipples and was rewarded with another sigh as the bud pebbled. When he moved the vibrator to your other nipple, he leaned down to suck the other into his mouth, swirling it around his tongue. Already, already you were moaning so goddamn obscenely, he could feel his cock heavy and full in his briefs.

“Oh, f-fuck,” You stammered, arching your back. Underneath him, he felt your hips keen up, searching for pressure and friction wherever you could find it, “Jack, please.”

He laughed, “Sweetheart, it’s been like, thirty seconds.” He murmured into your neck, kissing and biting as he let the vibrator continue to assault your nipples, “You’re already that needy for me?”

Reaching a hand between your thighs, he was pleasantly surprised to find you absolutely dripping, “Jesus fucking Christ,” He swore under his breath, allowing his finger to sink into you once, twice— and then he pulled it out completely, ignoring the desperate sounds of your whines as he sucked your juices clean off his finger. He made sure you were looking at him as he did so, a mischievous smirk on his face.

You were positively pouting, lower lip pushed out as you continued to try and push your hips up and into him, but he pulled away again. “Alright, alright. Let’s see how you take it, then.”

Still on the lowest setting, he slowly dragged the vibrator up your inner thigh. He wanted you to get a feel for what it felt like, not wanting to overstimulate you too quickly. His eyes were locked on your face every second, still searching to make sure you still wanted this.

Your lust laden eyelids were drooping, but still locked on his. He watched the erratic rise and fall of your chest as he came closer and closer to your center. When the vibrator reached your outer lips, he spent some time circling them and could already see tears accumulating at the corners of your eyes. A pool of your juices had already begun collecting on the towel below you.

As soon as it caught his eye, his cock twitched. There was a dampness pooling in his own pants, but he could wait. There was something about the fact that you were so fucking undone with how little he and the vibrator had touched you that made him feel clinically crazy.

And he knew he wanted the vibrator to do the job, that’s why they were here, but he couldn’t just fucking watch you drip like this and do nothing about it. He needed to fucking taste you or he would lose his goddamn mind.

His tongue was deep inside you so quickly you cried out, a hand blindly reaching to knot itself in his salt and pepper curls. With the free hand that wasn’t wrapped around your thigh, he pressed the vibrator to your clit, and immediately, you’re coming. The vibrator was so much more stimulation than you were used to, that tears are already streaming down your cheeks as you come down.

Jack sat up, chin slick and shiny from you and reached a thumb to swipe away some of the tears on your cheek, “You wanna keep going?” He asked.

You nod, breathless, “Yes.”

He smirked as he grabbed the bottle of lube. He wasn’t sure that you’d need it, given how fucking soaked you were now with both his saliva and your own come, but just in case, he coated the shaft of the vibrator. It was not as thick or as long as he was, so he imagined you would take it just fine. But even the thought of hurting you unintentionally made him want to tear the world apart. So he’d stretch you slowly, watch you carefully for any discomfort.

When he met you, you had a hard time saying no. Not just to him, to anyone. He had tried to build your confidence, assure you that there was nothing you could say or do that would make him love you any less. And that anyone who couldn’t respect a boundary didn’t deserve your love and respect anyway. It was working, slowly, he thought. But there were still times you faltered when he could tell you wanted to say no. He had become an expert on it, the way your lips twisted to the side, or you avoided eye contact, or frowned just slightly when you said “yes,” but were really thinking “no.”

And so he watched you now as he lined the vibrator up with your entrance and added slow, constant pressure.

“There you go, sweetheart,” He cooed and you whined at the praise, “Tell me what you want, use your words.”

You rutted your hips up, “Please, Jack, more. Need more.”

Your cheeks were still damp from your last orgasm and your forehead slicked with sweat. You were so fucking gorgeous, he thought he might have a stroke just looking at you. And it would be worth it. He pushed the vibrator in, more and more until you were full and eyes rolling back into your head with pleasure. After he had thrusted it in and out a couple of times, he turned the vibrator up to a higher setting and you immediately burst out in sobs.

Jack stilled for a moment, “Should I stop?” He asked, almost panicked, his hand began to pull out—

But your hand grabbed his wrist, pulled it back flush against you as your hips began grinding against it again, “P-Please.” You begged again, a fucking pathetic mess.

He swallowed, hard, and kept thrusting the vibrator in and out of you.

“Jack,” You moaned after a few moments of this, “Jack, baby, want you to touch yourself. Could you do that for me?”

Jesus fucking Christ. He was going to die here. You were going to fucking kill him, he was sure of it. Nodding silently, to stunned to say anything else, he pulled his full cock out of his briefs, hissing as he stroked it once in time with the way he thrust the rabbit in and out of you. He ran a thumb over the pre cum that dripped out of his slit, slicking it over his head and couldn’t stifle the moan that came out.

“Oh, that’s so good,” You moaned, “So hot, Jack, keep going. Want you to come with me, please, could you?”

He’d never seen you like this. The toy had seemed to unlock something in you. Normally so obedient and looking to be told what to do in bed. But now, now you seemed confident enough to ask what you wanted. Tell him what to do to get you off. And it was the sexiest thing he’d ever seen in his fucking life. He would do whatever the fuck you wanted, if you asked for it like this. So sweet and gorgeous as you were on the edge of coming undone again.

He turned the second, smaller shaft on and pressed it to your clit as he sped up the thrusts of both the vibrator and the hand that fisted his cock. Your eyes followed the movement of his hand on his cock, tongue darting out to wet your lips, pure desire lighting up your whole face as you stared at him jerking off in front of you. And it was too fucking much, watching you watch him like that, getting off on him touching himself.

“Oh, fuck,” He groaned and hot white ropes of come were shooting out onto your pussy, covering his hand that was still managing to keep thrusting the vibrator in and out of you. You came only seconds later, still crying and legs shaking uncontrollably as you began to come down.

Both of you breathing hard, he gently pulled the toy out of you and wiped it against the towel that was under you. He laid down next to you, pressing a sloppy kiss to your mouth as he did so.

You rested your sweaty head against his shoulder and the both of you sat in silence for a few moments.

Then, you turned your head slightly to look at him, “Again?” You asked, unable to hide the eagerness in your voice.

He laughed then, short and loud, “Fuck me,” He groaned, but sat up anyway, “Again.” He agreed.

You were definitely going to fucking kill him.

[pearlessance]

Cupid's Chokehold — part four!

LUCK OF THE DRAW

[prev/next]

summary: Uncle Tommy teaches you about the gambler's high in Stratford. And when you return home, you're forced to put that poker face to good use.

pairing: step uncle!Tommy Miller x f!Reader

warnings: explicit sexual content MDNI, stepcest, age gap, gambling, allusions to addiction, oral f!receiving, tommy 'let me eat it before we go' miller, unprotected piv, praise, breeding kink, light angst, teeny tiny bit of exhibitionism, orgasm delay, creampie, no beta, this part ends on a cliffhanger im so sorry

note: full disclosure i know absolutely nothing about poker or casino games so like...let's not look too hard at that

wc: 11.6k

[series masterlist] [main masterlist] [AO3]

The consultation goes far better than Tommy expects. 

You meet with a woman named Miranda. She’s tall as hell and wears one of those pinstripe blazers that reminds Tommy of his high school principal.

He lets you do most of the talking. You’re real good at it and have Miranda laughing five minutes in. The three of you walk through the house and Tommy’s critical in his observation. There’s ten bedrooms and four balconies and marble floors that shimmer and shine. The backyard has a goddamn waterfall in the heated pool and ten acres of woods behind it with a private lake and a brand new dock. Secluded and quiet. It’s beautiful. The most expensive house Tommy’s ever stepped foot in. 

Miranda explains that she wants to keep the house's old bones. Likes the charm of the curving archways and the transom windows and the laundry chute in the hallway. But the rest of the house is rather dated.

The roof needs to be completely redone—something she failed to mention in the email exchanges. Tommy clocks that one before they even step foot out of his truck.

The plumbing needs updated, there’s only power going into the left half of the house, the insulation needs to be switched with something more modern, and the wood that makes up that big, wrap-around porch is so dry rotted that it needs to be fully replaced.

Tommy makes note of all of it. Is overly observant because he knows Joel will want every little detail. And he tries not to get too excited. Truly, he does. 

But…they could do it with their fucking eyes closed.

Five million dollars. 

Even after labor and material cost and everything else, for this one job Tommy alone would get paid two hundred grand easily. And he can’t imagine everyone on the crew would want to go all the way to Stratford for a month, and so that paycheck would likely be even more than he thinks.

Truthfully, he’s never cared much about moving out of his apartment. It’s always been just him there with the occasional on and off again girlfriend. There’s space to fit his things comfortably and his neighbors are nice enough, so he’s never given a place of his own much thought.

But when Tommy thinks of his future now, his brain subconsciously makes room for you in it. 

He can see it clear as day when he dreams. Sees himself cooking dinner in the kitchen while you sit at the butcher block island he built with his own two hands, sipping whiskey from an icy glass. Sees you on the front porch steps while he’s out mowing the lawn. Sees you standing at the refrigerator late at night, bare feet on the tile, wearing nothing but his old t-shirt, trying to twist off the cap on a jar of olives that he always tightens just a little too much because he likes when you ask for his help.

You’re in everything he does. Present and future. Sometimes Tommy thinks even his past decisions had been made with you in mind, leading him right here. Right to you.

Miranda has lunch delivered during the consultation. A big spread of meats and hard cheeses and whole grain breads. She pours mimosas for you and herself but Tommy declines her offer. Wouldn’t be caught dead behind the wheel with an ounce of champagne in him if you’re the one in the passenger seat.

The two of you talk about labor pricing while you eat. Tommy sits silently beside you, taking slow bites of his turkey club concoction he’s put together, and lets you do your thing. 

Isn’t surprised at the easy way you make conversation. Slipping in those personal questions between the ones about dollar signs to make Miranda more comfortable. You ask how her husband’s doing on his business trip to Italy and about her son’s basketball tournament. If he didn’t know any better, Tommy would think the two of you have been friends for years and not just the two weeks you’ve been emailing back and forth. 

And when Miranda offers to pay another half million at the end of the consultation, Tommy isn’t surprised about that, either. She says, “My husband and I really love the work Miller Contracting does. And what’s even better is you’re good people. At the end of the day, that’s what we’re paying for.”

You tell her it was nice meeting her. Explain that Joel makes all final decisions so you can’t promise anything, but you’ll do what you can to sway his favor.

Miranda understands his hesitation. Knows it’s a long process and far away from home but swears to make the distance worthwhile.

Tommy hasn’t even pulled fully out of the long, winding driveway before you’re plucking your phone out of your back pocket and dialing Joel’s familiar phone number.  You put it on speaker and hold it between the two of you.

It only rings twice before he answers. “Hey, kiddo. How’d it go?”

“It’s real, Joel,” you say, the smallest bit of pride in your voice. As if to say, I told you it would be. It’s almost undetectable, but Tommy hears it. “Everything she said in the emails was true.”

“Did you check the basement? The plumbing down there, is it accessible?”

“Sure is.”

“And the furnace?”

“Yep. And the water heater and the HVAC and the foundation. I triple checked it all. Just like you taught me.”

“An’ she didn’t leave anything out? Nothin’ at all?”

“The roof,” you say. “But we figured as much from the exterior picture she sent us.”

“So she did lie.”

“It ain’t that bad,” Tommy interjects. “Would take us less than a day to fix. An’ I don’t think the roof was even in the proposal plan, was it?”

“No, it wasn’t,” you answer. “Not once has she asked about us redoing her roof. Could be something she wants someone else to do.”

“Alright, fair. But the cost of labor—”

“How much would it be? For housing and food and travel expenses and everything else. Including pay for each day for everyone who wants a hand in it. How much would it be?”

Joel’s hesitation translates, even through the phone. “A lot. I don’t—I don’t know off the top of my head.”

“Highball it.”

Tommy can’t hold back his grin. Has never in his life heard someone talk that way to his brother during one of his stubborn moods. You speak clearly. Concise. Your voice holds an edge that’s devoid of fear and cowardice. He can hear Joel’s teachings in the way you speak.

Joel sighs heavily, and Tommy would bet money that he’s squeezing his jaw or massaging the incoming headache from his temple. And then, finally, he says, “Four hundred thousand, maybe. I can’t imagine Cooper or Adam are going to want to go, they’ve got those young kids an’ all.”

“And what if I told you it would all be paid for and then some? Outside of the five million,” you say. 

“Where are we gonna get the kinda cash for—?”

Before Joel finishes, you’re explaining, “Miranda just offered another five hundred thousand. That means three and a half million dollars in profit after max material cost.”

“But Christmas bonuses and—”

“Joel.”

He stops. Silence hangs in the air, and Tommy knows it’s not because he doesn’t trust you, it’s because he doesn’t trust Miranda. The offer seems almost too good to be true. It’s taken them so long to get this far, and now that they’re here, Joel’s having trouble wrapping his head around it. 

Tommy wishes he had something wise to say. Something to sway his brother, something to calm the anxiety he can see written plainly on your face. But he isn’t like you—doesn’t always have the right words. And so he holds tight to the steering wheel with one hand and extends his other, giving you a soft smile when you thread your fingers between his.

“Look, I know it’s a lot,” you say. “The three of us are the only ones who know, so if you decide not to take the job, no harm no foul. And you know I’ll have your back no matter what decision you make. Okay? But一if we get half before the job, half after, we won’t need to spend a dime out of our pockets. It’s real. And you’ve worked hard for it. It’s not a hand out and it’s not charity. You built this business from the ground up. You deserve this, Joel.”

Tommy knows his brother’s done for before he even speaks. He’s been on the receiving end of these talks with you, the ones where you say everything he wants to hear with so much conviction in your heart it’s impossible to discount it.

Joel sighs again but it’s a little lighter this time. He says, “Alright, let me…just let me talk to your mom first. I’ll tell you as soon as I make a decision.”

Before you even make it back to the hotel parking lot, Joel sends you a wordy text explaining his agreement terms. He wants to wait a month before they start construction. Says he needs to figure out who’s able to lend a hand and give them time to inform everyone they need to. He needs to replace Noah with a new hire and find a decent job for everyone who stays in Austin so they still get paid, too. Says to put the words ‘half the payment at signature, half after completion’ in the first draft of the contract.

The second you’re back in the hotel room, you’re pulling out your laptop and setting it up on the edge of the bed to tell Miranda the good news. You promise to have a complete breakdown of Joel’s terms sent by Monday afternoon and a revised agreement sent by Friday.

Tommy waits patiently while you work. He flops back on the mattress beside you and admires the way you look and the soothing sound of your fingers as they hit the keys.

He doesn’t rush you. Gives you all the time you need and concocts a plan of his own while he lays beside you.

And when you finally close your laptop, there’s a satisfied smile on your face. “This is going to change everything,” you say. “I mean, if Miranda has people tour her house when it’s finished they’re gonna want to know who did it, right? This opens up a whole new world of clients for us.”

Truthfully, he’d never thought that far ahead. Supposes that’s why you’re so good at what you do, always seeing opportunities before they’re staring you right in the eye. “I think this is cause for celebration,” Tommy says. “You bring some goin’ out clothes?”

That troublesome smirk finds its way onto your pretty face. “Picked an outfit as soon as Joel told me you’d be my chauffeur.” You stand to your feet, fingers already working at the buttons of the white blouse you’d bought specifically for the consultation. “Where are we going?”

“You’re gettin’ a birthday do-over,” he answers, a tone of finality in his voice. “S’been eatin’ at me, so I’m gonna make it right.”

Tommy pushes himself to his feet and comes to stand in front of you. His hands take over for yours, undressing you slowly. You tilt your head back to stare up at him, lips parted just slightly, eyes beginning to darken with desire he’s familiar with now. “You already did,” you say, and it warms his heart to hear it.

But it’s not just the end of the night he wants to fix. It’s the beginning, the middle, the aftermath. He has a chance to give you everything you wanted that day without fear of prying eyes, and Tommy thinks he’d be a fool not to take it.

He pushes the pearlescent buttons through the satin fabric of your blouse. One by one. Revealing the red lace you wear beneath. “Y’know, I’ve got this…this errand to run.”

The prettiest crease forms between your brows. Tommy presses a kiss there. “We have errands?”

It takes considerable effort to fight his grin. He likes the way the word we sounds in your mouth. And that assumption is no surprise, really. He can’t remember the last time he did anything without you at his side. But he shakes his head. Says, “Nah, just me. You go ahead an’ get all dolled up. I’ll be back in an hour. Yeah?”

The confusion on your face persists. And Tommy knows you like the back of his hand, so he tries to ease your mind. To put some of your uncertainty at ease. 

“I just gotta pick something up,” he clarifies. “An’ it won’t be a surprise if you’re there the whole time, now would it?”

You narrow those pretty, suspicion filled eyes at him, but that grin gives you away.

Tilting your head up with gentle fingers beneath your chin, Tommy kisses you once, twice. Three times for good measure. “Be good,” he says.

“Never.”

He’s still smiling when he slides into the leather seat of his truck. It’s so easy, being with you. Loving you. Like second nature. As if it’s what he was made for. 

And while he drives through the streets of Stratford, Tommy can’t help but think about a future with you. Even though there’s a little voice in the back of his head, reminding him that fantasizing about it will only make the inevitable devastation worse.

But it’s just too good. It makes his heart race, thinking about the way you’d look with a diamond ring on your finger and a belly swollen with his baby. He’d ntroduce you to all his friends as his pretty little wife and when they tell him to stay for one more drink he’d say, ‘nah, gotta get home to the misses’ with a big grin on his face.

He’d buy a plot of land and build your dream house with his own two hands. Tommy knows just what you like—has seen all those Zillow links you send him when you’re tucked behind that desk on the job site. He’d make sure it had a big window in the kitchen above the sink and hardwood floors and all the hardware in the house would match. Brass, of course—because that’s the metal you always notice.

But most of all, Tommy would keep you happy. Satisfied. If you wanted to work, he’d drive you every morning. If you wanted to stay home, he’d pick up extra hours if need be. He’d take you to see the sights of the world or spend the weekends cozied up on the couch—whatever you wanted. 

He’d indulge your every whim and never let you participate in a bad idea alone. Whatever kept those stars in your eyes and that troublesome smirk on your sweet mouth.

And Tommy knows he’d be happy regardless of place or time. As long as you’re there with him.

When he arrives at the locally owned jewelry store he’d found online, he doesn’t linger. Does what he came to do and gets back to you with a sense of urgency.

Tommy hates being apart from you. Even if it’s easier knowing you’re waiting for him, the distance feels heavy. Like a waste of precious time. And you must feel it, too. Because as he’s pulling back into the hotel parking lot his phone buzzes in his pocket. 

Your text simply reads ‘miss you.’ His favorite one to receive. 

Tommy thinks he’ll never get over the way you make him feel. Wanted, needed, like he’s the most important man in your life. It doesn’t make sense to him, truthfully. He’ll never understand what the hell you see in him. 

But he’s well past the point of rationizing any of what lies between you. So he just sits with it instead. Feels the love you have for each other and the near paralyzing fear that comes with it. Lets that heaviness fill him to the brim because it’s you, and he’s greedy for it all.

When he opens the heavy hotel room door, he finds you fixing a stray piece of hair in the mirror. You smile wide and your eyes light up as they meet his in the reflection. 

You’re beautiful, Tommy thinks. Breathtaking.

His hands itch with the need to touch you, like they always do. Insatiable. And so he does, because for this weekend he can. He comes up behind you and places his broad palms on your hips, right over the waistband of your jeans. Light washed and distressed with glittering pockets, tight and casual but sexy. He presses a kiss behind your ear and promises, “Missed you more, sweetheart.”

Your hands find his, guiding them beneath the smooth satin of your black halter top, pressing them against your soft skin. It’s not an inherently sexual caress, it’s just there. Grounding. As if you need the touch just as much as he does.

“Got you somethin’,” he says. He fishes the small package from his pocket. “Close your eyes.”

When you do just as he asks, Tommy carefully unwraps your gift, turns one of your hands over, and sets the dainty piece of jewelry there. He can feel your excitement as if it were his own. Sees that pretty smile and mirrors it. “A present?”

“Mhm.” His stomach twists with nerves. But he’s not really sure why, because it’s you. Knows it’s something you would’ve picked out for yourself if given the chance. But he wants to impress you. Wants to make sure you feel loved. “Alright,” he says. “G’head.”

You laugh softly and your grin widens, fingers coming up to trace the thin chain of the necklace. In the center of it sits a single, pearl pendant. Small but pretty, not dissimilar to a lot of the jewelry you normally wear.

“I know when you asked for a pearl necklace that you meant the Uncle-Tommy-made one,” he says with a laugh. “But you still asked for it. So I wanted to get it for you.” 

“I love it,” you say. And then you're handing it back to him and gathering your hair in your hands, a silent instruction.

Tommy unclasps the necklace and lays it delicately in the center of your chest. “You know, the jewler lady was tellin’ me all this stuff about gemstones. Said they all kinda mean different things. Like emeralds are for growth and diamonds are for strength or whatever,” Tommy explains.

When he secures the necklace, he gently runs his knuckles down the back of your neck. Feeling you; your skin, your warmth, your pulse. 

“And when she started tellin’ me about pearls, at first she said they’re for purity and innocence.”

“Purity and innocence?” You laugh at that—one of those sweet, belly laughs he loves so much.

Tommy shakes his head, smiling so hard the apples of his cheeks hurt. “I know, I had the same reaction,” he tells you. “But just—just listen. Stay with me.”

With a nod, you press your lips together, trying to fight off your amusement.

“An’ then she said they could also be for spiritual connections," Tommy continues. 

You quiet a little then, hearing him, seeing his point before he even alludes to it. Reading his mind in that way you do. 

“I asked her to explain it to me. So I knew I was understandin’ right. An’ she told me a spiritual  connection ain’t somethin’ you can control. Doesn’t matter if it’s someone you shouldn’t want, doesn’t matter if…if it makes sense or if it’s right. It just is. Said those that experience it are lucky. Cause sometimes, for some people, somethin’ like that never happens at all.”

You stare at him in the reflection of the mirror, pupils blown wide and filled with the same intensity he feels. A shared understanding. 

A shared devotion.

When you reach for him and your fingertips snag against the shiny, new hardware on the ring finger of his left hand, you immediately notice it. Can feel the difference, the change from what’s normal.

He smiles as you turn in his embrace, holding his hand up in the space between you. Your brows furrow the smallest bit, and Tommy feels his gut twist with nerves as you closely examine the simple gold band. Thin but masculine, with a single pearl stone set in its center. Twin to the pendant around your neck, one more shared thing between you. Something tangible, something physical that will remain even after the weekend is over.

“They’re the same,” you say. “Like us.”

His heart pinches in his chest at the softness in your voice. “Yeah, darlin’,” he mutters. “Jus’ like us.”

You turn his big hand in yours and press it to the side of your face, and his thumb instinctively caresses the delicate curve of your cheekbone.

“I’ve been thinkin’ about what you said last night,” he whispers. “About…about how mad they’d be if they found out. Now, my brother, he’ll hate me for this. I think we both know that.” Tommy swallows hard. “But I…the risk一to me, anyway…it would be…it would be worth it. You…you are worth it.”

The words come out stumbling over one another. Tommy’s not used to this, to laying the truth of his heart out in the open for someone else to see. But he reminds himself that it’s not just someone he’s letting in. It’s you.

And you’re everything.

He can feel your pulse beneath his palm. Steady and unafraid, a direct contrast to the way his heart thrums against his sternum. “Are you saying you want to tell them?”

“I’m saying that I’ll do whatever you want,” Tommy explains, hearing the surrender in his own voice. “If you want to tell them, we’ll tell them. If you wanna keep carryin’ on the way we’ve been, just these stolen moments when no one else is lookin’, then we’ll do that, too. An’ if…if one day you find someone else, then I’ll step back. Won’t blame you, won’t hold you to nothin’ cause I know this一this ain’t the way it’s supposed to go.”

The thought alone leaves him feeling hollow, but he means it. You squeeze his hand a little tighter, no doubt seeing the flicker of disquiet in his eyes.

“What I’m sayin’ is that I’m yours, darlin’,” Tommy explains. “As long as you’ll have me. After that, even.”

For the rest of his disappointing, god forsaken life, all things good about Tommy Miller belong to you.

“I’m all in,” he says. “An’ I mean it. You just gotta say the word, darlin’.”

You stand there, staring up at him, wide eyed and grinning like you’d just won some prize. And he wants you to say it一wants you to tell him that you’re ready to risk it all. To step outside of what’s comfortable and damn every last consequence.

And you want it, too. Just as badly. He can fucking see it.

But then something flickers across your face. The reality of it hits. You remember who exactly it would hurt in the process.

And Tommy knows the decision you make before you speak. Watches you silently take all that temptation and bury it deep. His sweet, selfless girl.

Your eyes flutter closed, and you lean into his touch. “I love you,” you say, and he knows you mean it. But you love them, too. Just as much.

He gets it. Reminds himself you still have the weekend. You still have now.

You press a kiss to the pad of his thumb, lips velvet soft. With that smirk on your face, you say, “All this cause I wanted a facial.”

Tommy laughs, the sound rumbling through his chest. “Jesus Christ.”

“I’m kidding,” you say, but the intensity of the moment has passed. Replaced with something lighter yet filled with just as much love. More, even, because this is the kind of airiness that only ever exists when you’re together. The feeling he’s come to crave.

“Drive me fuckin’ insane,” Tommy tells you, but there’s no salt to his words. They’re filled with affection instead. His joy persists, even as he shakes his head and says,  “Spillin’ my guts an’ you gotta make it about that damn pearl necklace. Oughta teach you to respect your elders.”

Your giggles bubble out of you, a familiar sound that eases all of his ache. But once your laughter begins to die down, you take him by the jaw. “Hey.” You tilt his face down so he’s staring right at you. Into you. “You are my home, Tommy Miller,” you say with such finality it makes his ears ring. “Don’t ever doubt that. Not for a day in your fucking life.”

He smiles wide. Lets himself soak up the heat of this moment in case he never gets to experience it again. His hands find your skin, sliding easily beneath your top, stroking just beneath your ribs. “You’re so fuckin’ sexy when you get all bossy,” he says. “You know that?”

“Bossy?” You scoff. “I do not get bossy.”

The lie bleeds through, and Tommy thinks about giving you examples from the consultation and the phone call from this morning, but he’s got something a little different on his mind. A matter that’s a little more pressing. “Mmhm,” he hums, leaning down to kiss the exposed junction of your shoulder. “Sure. Right.” 

You shiver beneath the warmth of his tongue, the sharpness of his teeth against your skin. “We’re supposed to be going out,” you say, but you tilt your head back anyway. Giving him more access. “You keep this up and we won’t make it two feet out the door.”

“We will, baby,” he promises. “We will. Wanna show you the city lights. But just…” Tommy kisses a trail down your chest, lips hot and heavy. And then he hooks an arm around your waist, lifting you up and sitting you on the porcelain edge of the sink. “I just gotta take care of somethin’ first.”

He squeezes the supple flesh of your thighs, spreading your legs to make room for the width of his hips. His fingers are careful, moving with the kind of familiarity that only he could ever possess. “Take care of what?”

“Of you.” Tommy smirks. “Look so fuckin’ pretty.” He unfastens the button of your jeans and slides down the zipper to find you bare beneath一and there’s something about it that sets him off. Makes him a little more desperate for you. The knowing, maybe. The realization that you’d planned for this, that you’d gotten all dressed up with the expectation to be dressed down by his rough hands.

He sinks to his knees before you, head positioned perfectly between your knees. “But I never have enough energy after,” you whine, but you arch into his touch as he slides a hand beneath your top and palms your breast anyway. Not an ounce of resistance to be had. “If we fuck now, I’m just going to want to stay here and do nothing else for the rest of the night.”

“Who said anything about fucking?” Tommy hooks his fingers in the waist band of your jeans and pulls them down. “Said I’m gonna take care of you. Just wanna eat it before we go, baby. S’that alright with you?”

A flush crawls up your neck, and Tommy would bet that if he pressed his fingers to your cheek that they’d be full of sweet, summertime warmth. He wants to feel it, to taste it. But then you press your teeth into your bottom lip and nod, giving him the green light, and Tommy returns to his trajectory. “Be fast,” you say, a teasing lilt to your tone.

Tommy takes it as a challenge. Pulls his cell phone out of his pocket and hands it to you. “Five minutes,” he says, mirroring the silly smile you wear. “Go ‘head. Tell me when you start it.”

You shake your head in disbelief but settle in anyway, leaning back against the mirror. You put in the passcode to his phone, set the timer for exactly five minutes, and lay it on the sink beside your thigh. Your finger hovers over the start button. “You’re a little confident,” you say. “There a reason for that?”

He turns his head and bites the inside of your thigh, flicking his tongue over the hurt the moment your breath catches in your throat. “S’cause I know you, sweetheart,” Tommy explains. “Got you memorized. Know your favorite color, your favorite song.” He moves closer, sucking bruises into your thighs in the shape of his mouth. “Know how you like to be touched.”

Your knees drift further apart, breath coming fast. Anticipating what’s to come.

“Start the damn timer,” Tommy demands. And the moment you do, he’s leaning forward and getting his fix. He pushes your thighs apart and lays wet, open mouthed kisses against your clit. Circles it with a pointed tongue that works you up with precision.

He revels in the broken moans that you let slip, in the way your fingers tangle in his curls. You’re so wet, so responsive, so needy. But this is more for him than it is for you; a controlled release, a hit to tie him over while you’re out. 

It’s damn near over when he slides two fingers inside of you. Your body accepts him so naturally, greedy in a way only he understands. Your fingers curl around the sink’s edge, blanching as you try to fight release.

But Uncle Tommy does have you memorized. Presses his fingers against that spot inside that has you gasping, flicks his tongue just right. 

In the end, it only takes him two minutes and twenty-eight seconds before your pussy pulses around his fingers. Your spine bends and your clit throbs beneath his soft tongue, his name falling from your lips like a prayer.

Tommy doesn’t stop until your thighs shake. Doesn’t come up for air until his lips are swollen and his chin glistens with your arousal.

But when he does, you wear this sweet smile. And even though his cock throbs painfully in his jeans, Tommy feels satiated at the sight of it. He wipes his face with the back of his hand, helps you back into your jeans, and zips them up all before the timer goes off.

And when the two of you finally leave the hotel room, you lace your fingers through his and cling to him with that sweet smile still on your face. Safe and satisfied and happy.

You cling to him as he leads you through the busy streets of Stratford. Leaning into him, pressing your cheek to his shoulder. It’s such a small, intimate thing, but it pleases him. He likes knowing that if anyone were to look in your direction they wouldn’t assume there was anything wrong about the way he holds you.

Not once do you question where he leads you. You just trust him. Fully and without any reservation. No one has ever trusted him like you do, Tommy thinks. Not any of his friends, not any of the women he’s been with, not even his own brother. 

He gets high on it. On your faith. You know him better than anyone and are fully aware that he’s an impulsive man, that he follows his heart without giving the consequences much thought. And yet, still, you trust him fully. To be good to you, to be good for you.

Thoughts of the potential tomorrow he could have with you persist once more, begging to be acknowledged. He tries to stay grounded in the moment. Holds your hand a little tighter, inhales the sweet scent of perfume that clings to your skin. The sun sets in the distance, just now dusk, still bright. Still day. Still time.

When you round the last corner and Tommy steps into the short line at the entrance, you look at him with an expression that’s a little lighter. Bright eyed and curious. “A casino?”

He grins. “What kinda uncle would I be if I didn’t introduce you to some bad ideas of my own every now and again?”

You turn to the bouncer and present him your shiny new ID; the horizontal one that’d come in the mail not too long ago. They wave you through, and Tommy follows suit.

It’s darker inside. Busy, too. Filled with people of all kinds; some in jeans and work boots, not dissimilar to Tommy. Others in three piece suits and cocktail dresses.

The air smells like smoke and booze and the lingering scent of pine cleaner. Colorful lights cascade over the space, over your soft skin. Hues of blues and yellows and greens. He can hear the faint electrical whirring of slot machines in the distance, mixed with sighs of defeat and the clink of coins and gasps of celebrations. All mixed together, a low thrum that slithers through him, the energy alight and buzzing.

The lights reflect beautifully in your eyes, and Tommy can’t help but get a little lost in it. In you. The prettiest girl he’s ever seen. He wishes he had the words to explain it, to make you understand that you’ve uprooted his entire life.

Tommy realizes then that he’d been right all along. In the beginning, knowing that the moment he touched you everything would change. That he would change. Red to blue, green to yellow. He’d known it then and had indulged in you anyway. Completely, lucidly aware that nothing would ever be the same for him.

And if he had a chance to redo it all, if he could go back to that night at the warehouse party, Tommy knows with certainty that he’d do it all over again.

Even if you never say the word. Even if you tire of him and find someone your own age who you don’t have to kiss behind closed doors or ten hours away from everyone you know.

Even then, the time you’ve given to him has been worth it. 

You extend your hand, palm out and open. “Drinks first?”

He slides his rough fingers through yours. “Drinks first.”

Tommy leads you to the bar, orders two whiskeys, and pays with his own card. While you wait for the bartender to finish pouring, he hands you a hundred dollars in cash and says, “Now, the trick is to go slow. I know it’s real exciting, ‘specially when you get the hang of it and start winning. But you gotta keep yourself in check. Yeah?”

“Yeah, yeah. I hear you. Slow and steady. Easy does it.”

“A hundred bucks each,” he explains. “An’ once you’re out, you’re out. We’re here to have fun, not start any new bad habits.”

You jut out your bottom lip, forming a pout. “Damn. And here I was, thinking we were gonna remortgage the house and sell your truck.”

Tommy snorts, shaking his head. He thanks the bartender when he sets the two whiskeys in front of you and you clink the edges of the crystal glasses together. “We’ll start wherever you wanna go,” he says. “Lead the way, baby.”

It takes you a while to decide. You walk around the carpeted casino floor hand in hand, sipping whiskey and asking a million questions. Sometimes, you linger at some of the tables.

“What’s that one?”

“Baccarat,” Tommy tells you, watching the dealer shuffle the cards in a dramatic fan. “Sometimes you win, sometimes your opponent wins, sometimes the banker wins. Kinda complicated.”

You walk further, past the slot machines and to another small crowd of players. You point to the spinning wheel attached to the table, striped black and red and numbered. “Roulette,” you say. “Right?”

“Supposed to be about math.” Tommy tuts. “Mostly just about luck.”

When you reach the poker tables near the back of the game floor, you move a little slower.

You don’t say anything, but Tommy knows you. So he takes your hand and leads you to the dealer. Buys twenty dollars in poker chips and takes a seat at the table. You do the same, sitting right beside him.

There’s an older gentleman at his other side, graying and drenched in the heady smell of cigar smoke. Beside him sits a woman a little older than you, wearing a sequined dress that casts rainbows over the green table.

The dealer looks to you, and you place the minimum bet in the center of the table. Two blue chips.

Tommy goes next. Adds a red chip to the pool.

The old man places his, and then the woman. And when the dealer places two cards in front of each player, Tommy lifts just the corners of his up and nearly laughs. He’s got an ace of spades and a seven of hearts.

Tommy’s got shit for luck. Always has.

He turns to you, tries to read the look on your face. You just smile at him, maybe a little smug. But he can’t tell if it’s because you’ve got a winning hand or if it’s the excitement of it all.

The dealer discards the card on the top of the deck. Lays it face down off to the side. And then he flips three cards into the center of the table; three of spades, five of diamonds, seven of clubs.

“Bets,” the dealer says.

You lean forward, stacking another blue chip onto the steadily growing pool. “Raise.”

Tommy tries to keep a straight face, but he can’t. The amusement bleeds through, his mouth pulling up at the corners. “Call.” He places the same bet, another blue chip beside yours.

The man beside him folds, and Tommy thinks he must have an even worse hand than the one sitting in front of him.

The woman calls, too. Matches your bet.

The dealer places another card in the center of the table. Six of hearts.

He sees your leg twitch beneath the table. The only tell he’s noticed since the beginning of the game. 

“Bets?”

“Raise,” you say again, putting in two red chips now. Worth more. Nearly doubling the pot.

Tommy shakes his head, rubbing the stubble along his jaw. “Fold,” he says, pushing his cards face down across the table to the dealer. It’s just you and the woman at the end of the table now. 

And it seems she’s got a hell of a poker face, too. Because Tommy can’t pick up on a single cue between either one of you.

The old man beside him nudges Tommy with an elbow. “Guess we got shown up, huh?”

He laughs. “Guess so.”

Just beneath the table, he holds a five dollar bill between two of his fingers. “Got five bucks on my daughter,” he says. It surprises Tommy at first. But as he looks a little closer, he sees the resemblance there; they share the same blue eyes, the same aquiline nose. “How much you got on your wife?”

It’s stupid, he knows.

But Tommy can’t help himself. Not when it comes to you.

He pulls the remaining cash out of his wallet. “Got eighty bucks in my pocket,” he says, his confidence coming out more arrogant than he initially intended. “On her?” He clicks his tongue. “I’m all in.”

The man holds out his hand, a glimmer of excitement in his pale eyes. “Deal’s a deal.”

Tommy grins. Shakes his hand with a firm grip. “Deal’s a deal.”

When he returns his attention to the game, Tommy sees the dealer lay another card on the table. Six of hearts.

You raise again, adding one more blue chip, leaving you almost empty.

The woman at the end of the table hesitates. Just for a moment, but Tommy sees it. She calls, matching your bet.

The dealer lays the final card on the table, face down. He waits, lets the anticipation simmer. And then he flips it with a quick flick of his wrist. Practiced, meticulous. Eight of diamonds.

The woman lays her hand down first. She’s got an eight of hearts and eight of clubs. And with the eight of diamonds on the table, she’s got three of a kind. A win.

Tommy’s tongue sticks to the roof of his mouth. Starts to wonder how the fuck he’s going to explain that he’s lost every last dime before the first game’s even finished.

But then you reveal your hand.

Two of diamonds, four of diamonds.

Four of a kind, and a seven card straight.

“Aw, hell.” Tommy’s eyes go wide and it takes everything in him not to jump to his feet. Still, the excitement spills out of him. Won’t stay contained no matter how hard he fights it. He takes your face in his hands and presses his mouth to yours, needing to touch you, to feel you, to taste you. “Now that’s what the fuck I’m talkin’ about, baby!”

Your giggles are girlish and blithe, filled with so much joy you’re damn near swimming in it. You lean in and gather the chips on the table, pulling them toward you. As you stack them neatly at your side, you sip the whiskey from your crystal glass. “Another game?”

“You bet your sweet fuckin’ ass we’re playin’ another,” Tommy says.

The old man at his side claps him on the back, forks over eighty bucks worth of poker chips, and says, “Ya’ lucked out on her, kid.” 

The words stop him in his tracks. They’re said so casually, but they give him pause.

Because they’re fucking right.

He’s lived his entire life in the wrong places and the wrong times. Has never been dealt a good hand and if he has, he fucks it up in a minute.

But he did luck out on you.

Was in the right place, at just the right time. Said just the right words, did just the right things.

He fell hard and fast. But you did, too, and Tommy knows it’s the luckiest thing that’s ever happened to him.

And this old man who doesn’t even know your name can see it just as clearly.

Tommy nods. Swallows hard. “Yeah,” he mutters. “I did.”

The man and his daughter both step away from the table, and two others take their place, leaving Tommy to reassess the way he’s viewed his entire life up until this point.

Because maybe all those mistakes prior to the day he met you were worth it, meant to bring him here. To Joel’s that first evening, to the warehouse party, to the crowded bar on Sixth Street, to that diner in the middle of nowhere, to the poker table you sit at now.

He thinks about the jewelers take on a spiritual connection. How it only happens once in a lifetime or sometimes not at all. 

He thinks about the words you’d whispered to him last night. Surrounded by chlorinated water and sandstone walls, safe enough in his arms to ask the one selfish question he’s ever heard uttered from your lips.

What if it wasn’t my mom and Joel who were meant to meet. What if it was us?

All that bad luck for all those years because he was saving it for you.

The dealer shuffles the cards, fanning them across the table.

You sit there for five more games, all of which you win. You came to the table with twenty dollars in poker chips and leave with over two hundred一up higher than Tommy’s ever been himself.

You ask to take a break after the last win. Tell him you want to try something else, to see if you’re any good at the slot machines or blackjack. But the moment you’re away from the table, you’re throwing away that facade you’ve mastered in the last hour and looping your arms around his neck, smiling wide. “Can you believe that? I did good, didn’t I? Six games in a row!”

Tommy laughs and holds you tight against him. “You did so good, baby,” he says. “C’mon. Let’s see who else’s pockets you can run.”

The slots are a let down. An experience, for sure—but not a single round do you or Tommy win more than a single dollar. Yet, still, you sit beside one another and stick coins into the machines and cross your fingers and hope for the best.

Once, you try to mimic the mechanical whirring sound of one of the penny slots, and it’s so accurate that you have Tommy laughing hard enough his side aches.

You go through more drinks—another round of whiskey and you share a frozen, lime flavored margarita tower that’s nearly as tall as you are.

Tommy wins twice at blackjack, and you lose so badly that you’re back down to the same hundred you walked in with. He wants to try another round, but you call it quits and sit in his lap while he plays.

It’s a hell of a lot more difficult to focus with you so close.

He’s supposed to be counting up the value of his hand, but all he can think about is the curve of your shoulder when you pull your hair back and expose it to him.

Tommy presses a kiss beneath your jaw, trying to curb the craving to taste the salt of your skin. 

He watches goosebumps rise on the back of your neck in response, watches you press your lips together to keep that troublesome smirk from forming on your face. You take his hand that rests gently on your hip and slide it just a little higher, beneath the satin hem of your top. 

It’s different than when you’d done it in the hotel room. Less about feeling him and more about being touched.

You shift in his lap, rolling your hips forward, spreading your legs a little wider to make room for the thick plane of his thigh. It’s the smallest change, barely there一but Tommy sees it. Feels it. The warmth, the need.

There’s six other players at the table. The one on your left is close enough that you could touch your elbow to the fabric of his black suit if you leaned over just a bit more.

Filthy, shameless girl.

You shift your hips over his thigh again. More intentional, more obvious.

Tommy’s hand tightens at your side in warning.

That smirk of yours is on full display now as you glance at him over your shoulder, eyes filled with equal amounts of challenge and devilry.

The other players around him show their hands. One by one. And when it’s Tommy’s turn, he lays his cards down to reveal the winning numbers. A ten of hearts and a ten of spades.

He leans forward to collect the chips in the center of the table, and slides his hand a little higher on your waist in the process. Feels your soft skin beneath his calloused fingertips, pressing into the divots between your ribs.

Tommy always feels that gravitational pull towards you, but it’s different knowing what the end of the night holds. He’s less guarded, less careful. He touches you without shame.

There’s nothing hesitant about it. No guilt. Tommy likes it more this way, he thinks. It makes him feel impossibly closer to you. Makes him feel free. Weightless.

His subtle touches are a little different for the remainder of the night. Heavier, full of intent. His hand at the small of your back as you try a rounds of pool, his forefinger beneath your chin, forcing you to look up at him when you ask for another whiskey.

But there’s no rush, no race to get home to feed your desires before the moment passes.

You’re gifted a round of shots from a girl you make quick friends with in the restroom, and the luck of it convinces you to go back to the poker tables. They’re busier now, the night in full swing.

But it makes no difference. You still wipe the floor with the other players every damn game, Tommy included. Even the ones where you’re dealt a losing hand, you’ve got such a winning streak that he finds himself folding out of intimidation.

A little before eleven, the two of you step out onto the balcony to share a cigarette that Tommy lights with the chrome zippo that lives permanently in the front pocket of his Levi’s. You leave the poker table with nearly five hundred dollars worth of chips in your pockets and a carefree smile on your face. 

You lean back against the railing on the balcony, smoke swirling around you in an angelic halo. “I can see why people get addicted to this,” you say, lighthearted.

Tommy laughs. “Yeah, well. Let’s keep that little confession to ourselves. You develop a gamblin’ addiction an’ Joel finds out it was ‘cause of me, he’ll have my ass.”

With the roll of your eyes you say, “Oh, please. If I’m going to develop any addictions it’s not gonna be something lame as hell like gambling.”

He gives you a crooked smirk. “Booze, then?”

“Was thinking heroin,” you joke, passing the half-smoked cigarette back to him.

“Fuckin’ ridiculous,” he says with a shake of his head, but his wide smile only grows. He takes a long drag, letting the nicotine dull the alcohol head buzz that’s well and truly set in by now.

You giggle softly, always happy to present him with that crude humor. But as he exhales slowly, your smile begins to fall. Just a little, as if you’re unsure of exactly how you’re feeling. Caught between one emotion and the next. 

Tommy reaches out his hand. Strokes his knuckles gently across your cheek. “Tell me, baby.”

You cast your eyes away, nudging a small pebble beneath the tip of your sneaker, resigned. And then you admit, “I don’t want to go home tomorrow.”

It pulls that anxiety that’s been building in his chest all day to the forefront of his mind. The fear that this feeling won’t last, that it’s coming to a rapid close. That this high has gone on for too long and the come down is like a slab of concrete rushing up to greet him from below.

Tommy wishes he had the answers for you. Wishes he could carry the weight of it all just to grant you peace. He’d do it without complaint if it meant you didn’t have to feel this emptiness, too.

”C’mere.” He opens his arm and you fit yourself naturally beneath it. “My sweet girl,” he murmurs, lying his cheek on the top of your head, holding you as close as his anatomy will allow. His grip is firm, unrelenting, squeezing tight like his body could grow roots into yours if only he could get close enough.

With a long exhale, you say, “I wish we could stay here forever. The pretending gets so tiring. You go home after dinner every night and it’s the worst part of the day. I just…I miss you. All the time.”

His stomach twists and his throat gets tight in the way it always does when his emotions start to choke him. “I’m right here, darlin’,” he whispers. “Not goin’ anywhere. An’ you never have to pretend. Not with me.”

Tommy keeps you close until your shoulders relax and the cigarette burns to cinders between his fingers. And when you finally pull away, you stare at him hard. Like you’re searching for something hidden in his eyes.

He opens his mouth to speak. To remind you that whatever turmoil’s swirling around inside that pretty head of yours is his to shoulder, too.

But then you let out a dramatic groan. Loud enough to attract the attention of the other smokers out on the patio. You pay them no mind, though, and neither does he. You throw up your hands in surrender and say, “You know what? No. No. Fuck it.”

Tommy thinks the rapid shift in energy may just give him whiplash. He’s got no clue about the silent conversation you’ve had with yourself, but he knows that he loves you. Knows that he’s never had a bad day if you were at his side. Knows that as long as you’re together, he’d do anything. 

Anything. 

A short, clipped laugh escapes him, and then Tommy throws his hands up, too. “Fuck it.”

You grab his hand and lead him back inside. There’s a newfound determination in the way you move, and it frightens him and makes him feel alive simultaneously.

The roulette table is still just as busy as it was in the beginning of the night. Bustling with players and onlookers alike. Tommy stops you just before you start pushing your way through the crowd. 

He wants to know what’s changed. Has the faintest hope that you’re being selfish for once. But he can’t be certain. Not with this.

And so he says, “Hey, wait. Hang on. What, exactly, are we fucking?”

“Each other,” you answer with the happiest smile on your face. “I mean, Christ. I’m not…I’m not doing this anymore. I love you, and I’m tired of feeling bad about it.”

Tommy blinks in surprise. His heart hammers behind his ribcage.

With a sigh, you say, “Look, I don’t一I don’t know a thing about this, alright? I know fuck all about soul connections or how any of this is supposed to go or how it’s supposed to look. What I do know is that Joel’s gonna be pissed and my mom’s gonna think I’m having a crisis. But, like…fuck it, right?”

He couldn’t fight his face splitting grin if he tried. You’ve always been close. Always understood each other in ways no one else could possibly comprehend. But this is something else entirely, like coming home after a long day. Like taking a fresh breath of air. “Fuck it,” Tommy echoes.

Your eyes glitter, neon lights reflected in them as you dig out all of your casino chips from the pockets of your jeans. “We’ll tell them tomorrow,” you say. “The second we get home. I’m all in, Uncle Tommy. Are you?”

You already know the fucking answer. 

And Tommy Miller, impulsive and obsessed man he is, adds the chips in his pockets to the pile in your hands. He says, “Put it all on red, baby,” and you do.

Pushing your way through the crowd, you set every last casino chip on the table. The other players raise their eyebrows in concern or see the opportunity and sport a wolfish smile, but you hardly notice. All your poker earnings, all of his from blackjack, sit in a messy pile on the green game table. You look at the dealer and say, “All in on red.”

“Bold,” the woman says with a nod of approval. “Number?”

You glance back at Tommy over your shoulder. “Twenty-one,” he answers. “For your birthday.”

You quickly stack your chips on the table over the red circle with the number twenty-one written on the inside, hands moving with precision.

The dealer spins the wheel, colors blurring and shifting together. She waits one second, two seconds一and then she drops the ivory-coated ball into the wooden bowl and everyone around the table goes silent. Waiting with bated breath, listening to the steady tick, tick, tick of the dial. 

You and Tommy walk back to the hotel with empty pockets. No casino chips to be found, not a single dollar to either of your names.

But it doesn't matter. Not really. Because you’re laughing and the stars are bright beneath the night black sky and his heart has never been so full. 

He put it all on red. High risk, high reward. Lost every damn dime and still walked away from that roulette table the luckiest man alive.

You race down the side of the busy city streets, sharing rushed and messy kisses that leave him feeling intoxicated in a whole new way. Tommy gets high on you, on your sweet affection, on the unrestrained version of your love.

Once you’re tucked safely back behind the hotel room door, you can’t get each other’s clothes off fast enough. He struggles to untie the satin fabric at the back of your neck, so you resort to pulling it over your head instead.

And when you shove him back against the crisp, white sheets, Tommy’s t-shirt is on the floor but he’s only got a single boot kicked off. You have time now, he knows. Could take things slow, could savor it.

But you don’t have to. You can rush into it tonight because there’s always tomorrow.

The word clings around in his head. Tomorrow. With you. Something he’d always hoped for but never quite let himself believe was possible until you’d said those two pretty words. All in.

Tommy thinks he’s been all in with you from that very first night in Joel’s kitchen. Had placed his bets before he lifted that bottle to your mouth, before that whiskey ever touched your tongue.

When you kick your jeans off onto the floor, Tommy shifts further up the mattress. Leans back against the headboard as you crawl in his lap wearing nothing now but that pearl pendant around your smooth neck.

His cock rests against his stomach, thick and heavy, and his lips part as you situate yourself just above it and slide him through the syrupy wetness that’s gathered between your legs.

“You’re so fuckin’ beautiful, baby.” Tommy presses his fingers into the softness of your hips, letting you set the pace. He matches your rhythm and helps guide you. “And I—Christ. I’m so god damn in love with you.”

You smile wide, lighthearted laughter filling the space. And you’re so perfect above him—so happy, that it has warmth spreading through his veins. Not just the hot, needy sort of desire he’s used to, but something warmer. Something that only ever exists when he’s with you.

Tommy knows it’s irrational, the idea of soulmates. Knows that people aren’t cosmic matter wrapped up in human skin. But, fuck. He doesn’t care that it’s senseless and illogical—you are the best goddamn thing that’s ever happened to him.

He lifts his hips, angling them just right so when you roll yourself against him again he slides right in. You sigh in tandem, basking in the sweet, aching relief of finally being close enough.

With your hands braced on his shoulders, you begin to move slowly at first, working up to it, accommodating to the size of him. A steady but incessant rocking, thighs bracketing his waist. Gentle but desperate all the same.

“You got it,” Tommy encourages softly. “Doin’ so good, sweetheart. Made for me, weren’t you? Hm? Made real special, just for Uncle Tommy.”

He can never get enough of you. Feels drunk on the way you look on top of him when you start to quicken your pace. Feels high on the way you breathe out his name and the way your nails dig into the strong muscle of his back.

You feel so fucking good—messy and wet and so warm it makes his head spin. Tommy lifts his hips in sync with you, getting that much deeper. His cock throbs and twitches with each pass of your sweet pussy, arousal making a mess of the thick curls at his base. “Squeezin’ me so tight,” he says. “Look so pretty ridin’ it.”

The sounds you make are pornographic. Sexy and sultry and mouthwatering.

But Tommy can see that little wrinkle of frustration as it forms between your brows. Knows you need a little more, always just a little more, his pretty, desperate girl. “How’s it feel, baby? Talk to me.”

“Good, so一so good, but…I can’t, hm一please一”

He knows. Of course he knows.

“You need my help? S’that it, huh?” You nod frantically, chest heaving with each ragged breath. And Tommy gets it. He understands.

So he surges forward, bracketing his arm around the center of your waist. He holds you close, your breasts pressed flush against his chest. He lifts you just enough to make room for himself below you, and the new angle has him craning his neck to look you in those pretty, starry eyes.

And then he’s thrusting hard, fucking up into you, reaching deeper than you could get alone.

A sharp gasp leaves your throat, a wrecked sort of sound, and his lips curl up into a crooked smirk. “There she is,” he whispers against your collarbone. He does it again, rolling his hips, sinking in deep. “My favorite girl.”

“Oh god一” You loop your arms around his neck, holding tight. The most intimate embrace he’s ever been a part of, a merging of souls.

He finds a good, steady rhythm. Full of longing and love and promise. He lays wet, open mouthed kisses over every part of you he can reach; the curve of your shoulder, the column of your throat, the arch beneath your jaw bone. “Wanna spend the rest of my life with you,” he says, breathing hard as he feels your walls squeeze tight around him. “Build you a big ol’ house and fuck you to sleep every night in it. Jus’ like this. Put a fuckin’ rock on that finger an’ make you a real Miller, baby. Through and through.” 

“Tommy, please,” you whimper. “You’re gonna make me cum一”

“Nuh-uh, not yet.” He slows his hips just enough to keep you there, right on the edge.

You toss your head back and he can feel you pulse around him, can hear the wet sounds from between your thighs with each thrust. “But I’m so close.”

“I know, sweetheart, but you got it,” he says tenderly. “Just a little longer, hm? Be good. Be good for me.”

And you do, squeezing your eyes shut and pressing your sweat-dotted forehead to his. Resisting, fighting it hard. His perfect, filthy girl.

His release gnaws at him. An intense heat that builds low in his belly, flames licking at his insides, growing and growing until it becomes an inferno. Tommy snakes his free hand down his middle and presses the pad of his middle finger against your swollen clit. “Could put a fuckin’ baby in you,” he grunts out, words feral and breathless. 

“Fuck, please, please, I can’t一” 

Tommy’s vision goes blurry with the way you squeeze him like a vice, but he only doubles down. It’s vulgar and depraved and disgusting, but he loves it. And he knows you do, too一you’re one in the god damn same. “Ain’t nothin’ they could do about it then. Be mad all they want, but it’ll be my baby in your belly. Fill you up ‘til it sticks.”

He knows you’ve lost control before you even say it. Can feel the way you pulse around him, can feel the rush of liquid that trickles down his cock, coating him.

“Shit, baby,” he hisses, fucking you through it, pressing his rough fingers into the soft flesh of your side. “So fuckin’ pretty when you cum for your Uncle Tommy. Deserve to feel so good. My favorite girl.” 

You slide your hands into his hair and crush your mouth to his in a bruising kiss. It’s hot and messy, a clashing of tongues and lips and teeth, desperate in its own right. You say, “I want everything with you, love you so much.”

And your raw adoration is his unravelling. The way it always is.

Tommy spills himself deep inside you, doesn’t stop until you’re both a mess of trembling limbs and satisfied laughter.

You fall back into the sheets, laying on your side, facing one another, fingers threaded together. Tommy kisses the tip of your nose while he tries to catch his breath. Swipes away the strands of hair that stick to your forehead.

He feels faint with the amount of love that fills him in this moment because there’s no reason for him to fight it. No use in worrying about what happens tomorrow, because it’ll be you, and it’ll be him, and not much else on God’s green earth truly matters.

You’re nearly asleep, eyes closed and breath shallow, when he asks, “Did you mean it?”

“Mean what?”

“Everything,” he clarifies. “Do you really want it all? Marriage and kids and everythin’ else. You want that? With…with me?”

You don’t open your eyes, but you begin to trace the curves of his face with gentle fingertips. The arch of his brow, the slope of his nose, the shape of his mouth. He doesn’t flinch, not even once, because you move like it’s muscle memory.

The thought crosses Tommy’s mind that no one has ever truly loved him before. Not like this. Not like you have.

“Sometimes I think about things that happened before I met you,” you tell him. “Parties I went to, bars I snuck into with my fake ID, vacations and my graduation and road trips. And all I can think now is how much I wish you’d been there, too. I don’t want to have to do that anymore. The wishing.”

He smiles, and when you feel it beneath your touch you smile, too.

Through a sleepy voice, you say, “Everything is better with you.”

Tommy has never slept so peacefully in his life.

Has never been so happy to wake up to his alarm at the ass crack of dawn.

You spend the ten hour drive back to Austin talking. The radio hums low in the background and the air is just warm enough to have the windows down. You put your bare feet in his lap while he drives and you talk about everything the future holds for the two of you.

It’s going to be hard, you both know. Laying out your worst grievances on Joel’s kitchen table. But it’ll be worth it, too.

And after, once things have settled down, and the job in Stratford is complete, you talk about buying a plot of land not unlike the one you’d viewed during the consultation. A couple of acres just outside of town. You talk about getting a dog and raising chickens and painting the kitchen cabinets navy blue and adorning them with brass hardware.

You show him pictures on your phone that you find on Pinterest of cute little farmhouses with big windows above the sink and wood flooring and wrap around porches.

When he asks about marriage and kids, it doesn’t feel weird at all. It feels easy. You tell him you want to wait until you’re twenty five but insist on having at least two.

It feels like the shortest ten hours of his life.

And when you pull into Joel’s driveway, Tommy’s stomach twists and his mouth goes dry. 

But then you grab his hand and kiss his cheek and whisper, “All in.”

And Tommy’s ready. He is. To tell his brother, to deal with the mean right hook that’s likely coming, to start his life. Because it had never really had much meaning until he’d met you.

Your mom and Joel greet you on the front porch. He’s got his arm draped over her shoulders and there’s this look on his face一happy. Elated, even. No scowl to be found.

Tommy thinks there must be good news and feels the smallest bit of guilt, knowing that whatever it is, he’s about to ruin his big brother’s joyful mood.

You don’t make it two steps into the house before your mom takes your hands in hers. She’s nearly bouncing on the balls of her feet, sporting a face splitting grin and bright eyes not unlike your own.

She looks at you, and then at Joel. “I can’t wait. I can’t! It’s killing me.”

Joel laughs. “Alright, then. Go on, tell her.”

Something dark swirls in Tommy’s stomach.

And then your mom holds out her left hand. Nails manicured and painted pale blue and一there. Right there on her finger lays a silver band with a small diamond set in its center. “We’re getting married!”

Your hand jolts back behind you, searching for him, fingers finding the hem of Tommy’s t-shirt and squeezing tight.

For what it’s worth, you put that poker face to good use.

You hug your mom and gush about the ring and tell her how happy you are for her. Joel embraces you and kisses the top of your head and holds you in this fatherly sort of embrace.

But Tommy knows you. Sees right through it. Picks up on every last one of your tells. 

Can hear the shake in your voice, sees the tremble of your bottom lip, notices the way you try to touch him every chance you get, reaching out for safety. A brush of your knuckles, a press of your arm against his, scrambling to pick up the pieces of the security you’d just found.

He and Joel share a drink in celebration in the kitchen and Tommy claps him on the back. Congratulates him while trying hard not to lose his footing, to fight off the dizziness.

They offer to take everyone out to dinner. Your mom says, “Sarah will be home soon. She already knows, but we can all go out to that Mexican place to celebrate. How’s that sound?”

Tommy’s the one who answers. Lies and says the drive has exhausted him. That all he really wants is a nap.

Your mom and Joel are understanding, of course. Promise a rain check. Next weekend, maybe.

The ringing in his ears doesn’t stop until he’s back in his apartment. Empty and silent and smothering in the worst ways.

And it’s right then and there that Tommy Miller knows his luck’s run out.

note: hi hello i just want to say thank you to everyone who's been so unbelievably supportive of this fic it makes me so happy to hear everyone's thoughts and to share my excitement with you :') i also want to thank all of you who've recommended this little series of mine over on tiktok in the comments of tommy edits i see u and i love u and i would die for u <3 and if you're interested in some edits inspired by uncle tommy, @feelherlove has made some really beautiful ones so be sure to go check those out!! also, i've made a playlist over on spotify for this series as well and have been slowly adding to it for anyone who's interested in that!! or if you have any recommendations let me know!! ok bye love u so much <3

@theretrofuturista @chuutu @gabymalikk @nana90azevedo @alidiggory92 @marisemonteiroo @ivyinthesun @hollowgracie @moyavsemoya @feliciahardysgf @polkadotsocks1993 @malewifejoelmiller @mmmunson @ssssc0m @skye-44 @tateypots @joelscowgirl69 @dbs5647 @cuntyhunty22 @thaliagracesgf @whossbunny @jamespotterismydaddy @whatdoyoumeanhesnapped @rainydayathogwarts @urfavhanna @subconsciouscollapse @worhols @joyridinginzombieland @emmaaas-posts @millers-girl @strawberrytreecake @atjlovverr @magicxmiller @reidswifeyyyyyy @avaluna @joelsslutt @krystal---meth @bbhfilms @virginesquee @njdluvr @royaltyinlife @bunniacula @gojosanna @streamermattsgf @emmasveinyahhdih @yslgreen @dissentientss @rubyscooby @thisisajdesing @millersdoll @pattwtf @zoeyjadetice2010

[divider by @/bernardsbendystraws]

[spider-stark]

KAFKA

pairing | matt murdock x reader

summary | matt made the mistake of telling you how loud electricity is—now Franz Kafka's invaded your thoughts

warnings | mention of bugs, domestic matt, reader and foggy are totally besties, no beta so if there's an error just kick me in the face

word count | 700+

Sometime after you moved in together, Matt told you how electricity buzzed. 

“Like a bug in your ear,” he said. 

You couldn’t imagine anything worse than that. Living in a world where you could never escape something so constant, so pestilent. 

Which is exactly why you spiraled. 

“Honey, relax.” Matt laughed as you bombarded him with rapid-fire questions about how loud everything was: the TV, the Keurig, your phone charger by the bed. “I’ve dealt with it most of my life,” he assured you. “I can tune it out most days.” 

Great! Fine. Dandy, even! 

Except it actually wasn’t great, fine, or dandy. Because while “most days” was objectively better than “no days,” it was still drastically worse than “all days.” 

You didn’t want Matt to just ignore the buzz. 

You wanted it to stop. 

But, since he lovingly asked you to, you dropped it. Let him shift the topic to his day at work—how Karen kept burning the coffee and Foggy had gone full mother hen, nagging him about setting up a doctor’s appointment for that kink in his lower back (which turned into you nagging him, too). 

Knowledge of the buzz lingered, though. Festered in the back of your mind like a scab you couldn’t quite reach, desperate to pick. 

It became an obsession. Then a complex. 

Eventually, you couldn’t even turn on a light without going full Kafka, envisioning some giant bug that you set loose skittering around your boyfriend’s head. 

So, you did what any normal person would. 

You got rid of your lights. 

In a single afternoon, you traded all your lamps for beeswax candles, unscrewed the bulbs from every overhead light, and replaced your nightlight with a heaping dose of Grow The Hell Up.  

By the time Matt got off work, you were in the kitchen finishing up dinner. A certain giddiness flooded your veins as you heard his key turn in the lock. Again, you wanted to bombard him with questions. Did he notice a difference? Had the world finally gone quiet? 

But you held your eager tongue. 

Matt took off his shoes, loosening his tie as he came up behind you at the stove. You were stirring a pot, biting your lip to keep from grinning as strong arms slipped around your waist. Between chaste cheek kisses, he mumbled his usual greetings. Did you have a nice day?—a devilish curve of his lips—Did you miss me? 

It wasn’t until several moments later, when you asked him to pull some plates down from the cabinet, that Matt stopped and tilted his head. 

Bemused, he asked, “Are you cooking in the dark?” 

You loudly objected. Not just because you really weren’t, but because Matt’s mouth didn’t always have an off-switch around his best friend, and cooking in the dark was the sort of breach in Kitchen Safety 101 that would send Foggy—with whom you’d recently Grouponed a beginner’s culinary class—into cardiac arrest. 

“I have candles,” you assured him. “And the billboard!” 

Oh, the billboard… The one hitch in your pursuit of silence. 

Posted right outside your apartment, the big digital billboard shined through the windows day and night, painting your living room like a technicolor dreamland. You used to not mind it—maybe even liked it, once. But ever since the buzz-talk, all you could think was how loud something like that must be to Matt’s hyper-sensitive ears. 

Disregarding plates and dinner, Matt held a hand out in your direction. You took it, letting him pull you in for a hug. 

You melted into him. He smelled like soap and city streets, like salvation and eternal spring. 

Matt kissed your forehead. Once, twice—a third time to prove you were real, here, his. “I love that you care so much—” another kiss, on the tip of your nose this time “—I love you,” he said. “But I don’t expect you to live your whole life in the dark.” 

He wasn’t talking about lamps or nightlights, you knew, but real darkness. A soul tangled in sin. A man with the devil inside him. 

But when you looked at Matt, you saw none of that. 

All you saw was light. 

All you heard was a sweet, calming buzz. 

“I won’t,” you promised him, tightening your arms around his waist. “Not as long as I have you.”

// masterlist // send me your thoughts // comments & reblogs appreciated! //

a/n | would you believe me if I said this was originally over 3k and a frank fic? (istg, matt is always losing his girl to frank in my writing.) but it pissed me off, so I decided to keep it short and let matt be happy for once in his life.

anyways, thanks for reading! I'm gonna go write about mighty ducks now

<3

[em1i2a3]

A Little Death

Pairing: Bob/Robert Reynold/The Sentry/The Void x Thunderbolts!Fem!Reader!

Summary: While driving back to the safe house after a successful mission, a tornado warning is sent out, requiring you to take shelter. You pull into a motel for the night, and an unforeseen mixup puts both you and Bob in an odd situation.

Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI! Smut, Fluff, One Bed Trope (cause this is always fun to write), Unspoken Feelings Between Reader and Bob, Y’all we are in Oklahoma (yeah).

Smut Warnings: Unprotected P in V Sex (wrap it up), Bob and Reader wake up in a bit of an odd position (accidental touching/Sexsomnia), Breast/Nipple Play, Body Worship, Praise Kink, Dirty Talk, Oral Sex (fem! Receiving), Fingering, Slight Edging, Handjob, Sloppy Kissing (spit, and drool y’all), Licking, Biting, Scratching, Love Bites, Overstimulation, Slight Cockwarming, Aftercare, Bob has a bit of a switch moment here, Grinding.

Author’s Note: A one bed trope was requested and I had to oblige because I love tropes and the one bed ones are always fun to do because ya gotta get creative lol. I hope you enjoy <3 and that it meets your expectations :)

Word Count: 16,929

Oklahoma was never truly on the itinerary. It was supposed to be a pit stop–a long, forgettable stretch of flatland between chaos and containment. Neutral ground, as some people would call it. A blank in the map where nothing should ever happen.

You and Bob had wrapped up the mission cleanly by noon, catalogued the stolen biotech with swift efficiency, and secured the prototype unit into the reinforced trunk of the SUV–thankfully Sentry was still present to load that up because if he had left Bob with you it would’ve been a difficult feat.

By all accounts though, you should’ve been halfway back to the designated safehouse by now.

But something about the sky felt…Wrong.

It had started subtly. A dimming, a stillness. There was a strange, syrupy kind of quiet that made your ears ring with absence. Like nature was somehow bracing itself, or holding its breath for whatever was on the horizon. The sunlight had dulled beneath a high smear of cloud cover, every colour was sucked dry and replaced with a steely, metallic wash. Now, hours later, the sky looked bruised and bloated–slate-grey clouds rippling over one another like storm-tossed waves. Every so often, a faint green undertone pulsed beneath the layers–the telltale sickly hue that spelled trouble for anyone in the vicinity.

You had the windows rolled halfway down despite the rising wind. The air was warm and charged, dense with the heavy smell of petrichor–that earthy blend of cracked soil, wet stone, and ozone that bubbled just before the rain. You could taste it on your tongue: something electric, staticy, and alive, like the sky was sharpening its teeth.

The road ahead stretched endlessly through the prairie, bordered by fields that rippled like dark water. Your fingers tapped restlessly against the wheel, eyes flicking toward the horizon where the clouds folded in on themselves like something breathing.

Beside you, Bob sat in rigid silence. Still clad in the Sentry suit, he looked completely out of place in the dark mundane interior of the SUV. The gleaming, golden thread work of the suit caught what little light filtered through the cloud-choked sky, glittering in quiet pulses. But there was no trace of the Golden God in the passenger seat–not right now at least. No glowing eyes. No radiant, godlike posturing. Just Bob.

He sat hunched forward slightly, hands resting on his thighs, scratching absently at the thick woven fabric stretched over them–nails dragging over the reinforced material like he was trying to ground himself with the friction. His cape was bunched awkwardly beneath him, stiff from whatever synthetic weave it was made from. He shifted with a quiet grunt, trying to adjust it without drawing attention to himself. He looked uncomfortable. Too big for the seat, and too tense to melt into the silence.

And it was indeed silent. It was the strained wound-tight hush that often came after missions, when the adrenaline hadn’t quite drained from his system yet. You had learned early on that Bob didn’t speak much on post-op rides. He needed time to come down from whatever elevated state his powers put him in–to shrink back down to Bob Reynolds after playing Sun God. And you respected that. You always had.

So you didn’t speak. Didn’t ask. You just let the quietness flood over the both of you.

But then the radio cut out mid-song. A piercing tone snapping through the car–sharp and jarring, vibrating through your bones. Instinctively, you reached toward the dial and turned it up.

”This is the National Weather Service with an emergency alert. A tornado warning has been issued for Comanche County and surrounding areas until further notice. Seek shelter immediately. Conditions are rapidly deteriorating…” You barely breathed. You just stared ahead as the voice crackled on, going through protocols, and giving advice. Your foot eased off the gas as the SUV began to slow. Bob shifted beside you, his brows drawing together in worry.

”Ho-How much further do you think we’ve got till we make it back to the rest of the team?” His voice was quiet but hoarse, like it scraped through his throat. His eyes flicked up to the sky through the windshield, narrowing slightly, his Adam’s apple bobbing with a gulp. You looked over at your phone and squinted at the navigation map, your thumb sliding along the cracked screen where a blue route line blinked steadily.

“An hour,” You replied, before clenching your jaw and adding, “Maybe more if the weather keeps turning.” There was a beat of silence, and Bob glanced over at you again. You rolled up the windows just as rain started to pelt the windshield in uneven spats–like the sky couldn’t decide if it was going to drizzle or drown the both of you. The wind had picked up, rattling the side mirrors. Somewhere in the distance, thunder rolled low and deep like it was pacing the edge of the Earth, waiting for you to speed up again so it could act up.

”We…Should de-detour,” He suggested, more sure this time, “Find a place to stay for the night. I…I don’t think it’s safe to be driving right now.” He added, his blue eyes scanning you to see if you were going to put up any protest–you didn’t argue. You just flicked your signal light and veered toward the first exit ramp you saw, tires splashing through a shallow puddle already forming near the shoulder.

As you guided the vehicle off the main highway and onto a side road fringed with gnarled trees and open farmland, you reached for your phone, tugging it from the magnetic mount on the dash.

”Message the rest of the team,” You instructed, offering it to him without glancing over, keeping your eyes glued to the road, “Let them know we’re gonna wait out the tornado until it passes. Then look up motels nearby.” He took the phone from your hand, his fingers brushing yours–a light graze that would’ve been nothing under normal circumstances. But with the air so charged, heavy with static, it felt like a spark. A little jolt of electricity zipping through your fingertips, and rushing up your arm, leaving the fine hairs on your skin standing on edge. You blinked a few times, flexing your fingers on the wheel, before clearing your throat and refocusing.

The silence returned again. The only sound was the erratic drumming of rain against the roof, sharp like rocks pelting sheet metal and the soft scratch-scratch of Bob’s nails dragging across the seam of his suit while he worked on the screen. You caught a glimpse of his brows drawn in quiet focus, lips parted just slightly, breath fogging faintly near the window–scratch, tap tap, slide, it was rhythmic.

”Do you have a change of clothes?" You asked suddenly, voice cutting through the tension like a blade through mist. You rolled your shoulders back, trying to work out the knots gathering there from driving too long in high-alert mode. He glanced over at you, a faint flush already blooming across his cheekbones. The dimmed light caught on his profile–his jaw looked tight, and his ears had gone pink.

”Yeah…It’s in my du-duffel. In the trunk.” You snorted softly, letting out a dry little laugh that caught in your throat.

”Great…It’s gonna be fun seeing the look on the motel owner’s face when you walk in looking like Helios’ second cousin.” Bob scratched the back of his neck, his mouth twitching like he wanted to smile but couldn’t quite manage it under the awkwardness.

”It’s not like I knew there was going to be a to-tornado…” He muttered, “I would’ve changed if I knew.” You smirked and tightened your grip on the steering wheel, knuckles flexing against the leather as you merged onto a smaller road, the tires hissing over slick asphalt. The windshield wipers squealed with effort as they tried to keep up.

”There’s a Downtown Motel just five minutes from here,” He said after a moment, his voice steadier now, “Hopefully they’ve got vacancies.” You shot him a pointed glare.

”Don’t jinx it, Bob.”

His lips parted like he was going to defend himself, but all that came out was a sheepish, breathless little, “Sorry.” Then he pressed the directions and clicked the map into navigation mode, returning your phone to its mount with a soft click. The automated voice chimed in with turn-by-turn instructions as he settled back into his seat, thumb fidgeting again at the inside seam of his suit sleeve this time.

The rain was getting heavier now, coming down in slanted sheets. The wind buffeted the sides of the car, making the frame creak faintly, and outside, the fields were nearly invisible behind a curtain of water. It was like driving through a painting left out in the storm–everything blurred and streaked, colors bleeding into one another.

Your fingers curled tighter on the wheel as you slowed into the turnoff, gravel crunching beneath your tires.

The Downtown Motel emerged from the curtain of rain like a relic from another time. Tucked off the main road and almost swallowed by overgrown hedges and a rusted wire fence, it looked like the kind of place that had been forgotten by everyone but the storms. A narrow L-shaped strip of rooms hugged the edge of the gravel lot, their wooden shutters long since warped from years of Oklahoma humidity. The trim was painted a faded, sun-bleached turquoise that flaked around the windows and doorframes like peeling wallpaper.

But somehow, the place didn’t feel dead.

There were fresh planters tucked beneath a few windows–half-drowned petunias struggling bravely against the wind. The “Check-In” sign painted above the office door looked like it had been touched up recently. And the glowing bright red VACANCY sign buzzed steadily in the stormlight, casting everything in a warm, artificial hue that shimmered on the wet pavement.

It was hokey. Quaint, even.

One of those motels no one would ever notice unless they were desperate. Unless they’d run out of road or choices or daylight. A forgotten square of safety buried between farmland and nothingness–only visible when you were at the mercy of something greater–like a tornado warning perhaps.

You pulled the SUV as close to the overhang in front of the office as you could, tires crunching over the uneven gravel, cutting the engine. The rain was coming down in relentless sheets, streaking across the windshield like paint, and the wind had turned your side mirror nearly on its edge. You exhaled slowly, blinking at the glowing door ahead.

Then you looked down at yourself.

No jacket. No hood. Your tactical gear was soaked through from the damp cabin air alone. Your lips curled in a resigned grimace.

”I’m going to get soaked.” Bob turned toward you, his eyes darting down to your gear as he took in the lack of weather protection. A beat passed before he spoke–soft, almost tentative.

”I…I can get out first,” He offered, voice barely a whisper, “Come around to your side so you can use my ca-cape to cover your head…” You blinked, surprised by the gentleness of the offer. You turned your face toward him fully. His brows were pinched with concern, his jaw tight with worry that he might’ve overstepped–but his eyes never wavered from yours.

”That would be nice,” You said quietly, dripping with sincerity, “I’d really appreciate it. Thank you.” Something flickered in his expression–like a flicker of golden light through overcast blue. Then he nodded, almost like it was a relief to be able to do something. To be useful. He took a breath and reached for the door handle.

”Ha-Hang tight.” Then he stepped out into the storm without hesitation. Immediately, the wind tore at his cape, sending it flapping like a flag behind him. Rain slapped against his back and shoulders, soaking the suit almost instantly, the gold fabric darkening into a mustard yellow in streaks while droplets ran in rivulets down the sculpted lines of his arms. The gold shimmer dulled under the downpour, but didn’t disappear–it glinted faintly in the flashes of distant lightning, like a low-burning ember refusing to go out.

He jogged around the front of the SUV, boots kicking up spray as he rounded your side. When he reached the door, he tugged it open and crouched slightly, his broad form blocking most of the wind as you slid out.

Without a word, he reached for the edges of his cape and lifted it, draping the heavy fabric over your head and shoulders like a makeshift shield. It was warm from his body heat, saturated along the hem but still thick enough to repel most of the rain. The scent of him–clean, ozone–tinged sweat and the faint burn of lightning–wrapped around you like a second skin. Your shoulder brushed against his chest as you adjusted beneath the covering, and he didn’t move.

You looked up at him and yelled over the rain, “Ready?” He gave a tiny nod, droplets of water falling from the tips of his light brown hair, as the both of you sprinted the short distance to the office.

The storm swallowed you instantly.

Rain pelted your boots, sprayed up your legs, turned gravel to mud. Bob’s arm pressed lightly against your back as you both ducked under the awning and burst through the front door of the motel office, slamming it shut behind you. For a second, it was just breath and thunder. You panted in the entryway, water dripping from your gear, his cape clinging to your shoulders.

The motel office was small–maybe the size of a single bedroom–and smelled faintly of old lavender cleaner, wet carpet, and something sweet that seemed like it had just been heated in a microwave. The storm outside still howled through the doorframe, pressing against the windows in gusts, but here, everything felt oddly insulated. Like time had slowed down.

The overhead light buzzed faintly, casting a warm golden glow over the linoleum floors and wood-paneled walls. A small, ancient television perched on a shelf behind the desk crackled with static every few seconds as a soap opera played on low volume. Some hospital drama. A woman with overdone mascara was mid-meltdown, clutching an obviously fake baby while a man in scrubs looked anguished in the corner.

Behind the counter sat an elderly woman, perched comfortably in a vinyl swivel chair. Her hair was curled and pinned up in tight silver spirals, and a pair of oversized glasses teetered on the edge of her nose. A crocheted blanket–half finished–rested in her lap, needle hooked through a swirl of mustard and teal yarn. She was hooking it absentmindedly while watching the screen, mouthing along with the characters–like she had watched the same episode thousands of times.

She didn’t look over at first. Just flicked her gaze toward the door when it slammed shut behind you.

Then she paused. Squinting at the image in front of her, setting her crocheted piece down off to the side.

You and Bob stood just inside the threshold, dripping. The floor beneath your boots puddled instantly. Bob reached up to ruffle his hair, sending a fresh spray of water down the back of his neck and across the floor in your direction. His cape still hung damp and heavy over your shoulders, and you were pretty sure your left sock was already soaked through. The woman leaned forward in her chair, her eyes tracking the curve of Bob’s chest beneath the clingy, waterlogged Sentry suit. Her brow quirked slightly–it definitely wasn’t something she had seen around these parts.

You blinked the rain from your lashes and approached the desk, slowly removing the cape from your shoulders, letting it fall back against Bob's frame as he lingered behind you, sheepish, like he was your reluctant security guard of sorts.

”Evening,” You greeted with forced calmness, trying to sound like this wasn’t the weirdest check-in this woman was going to have, “We need a room, just for the night. The tornado warning got us a little rerouted.” The woman nodded, her red lips pursing slightly.

”You just missed a truck full of linemen who checked in. We only ‘ave one room left.” You gave her a small smile, wiping a few stray droplets of water off your cheek.

”We’ll take it if you don’t mind.” She slid a clip board toward you across the counter, flipping open a small binder of forms and handing you one with shaky hands. You took one of the spare pens between your fingers and started filling in the blanks.

That’s when you noticed her staring behind you, at Bob. Her eyes had gone glassy with curiosity and something that might have been amusement. Bob shifted behind you awkwardly, clearing his throat and trying to flatten his hair. It only made it worse. A fresh droplet trailed down his temple. The gold thread of his suit shimmered faintly in the fluorescent light, as little streams of steam flowed out of the little breathable holes in the fabric–his body’s way of warming him up quickly.

You glanced up at her, then back at Bob, then returned your eyes to the form and said–deadpan, without missing a beat:

“He does kids’ birthday parties. They wanted Superman. This was the best we could do.” Bob made a choked sound behind you, half-cough, half-mortified laugh, and immediately turned away, looking outside the office entryway again. His shoulders twitched as he tried not to react, one hand coming up to scrub at his burning face. The woman blinked, a bit shocked by the fake anecdote, and then laughed–a full-bodied, delighted little chuckle that crinkled the corners of her eyes.

”Well,” She started, patting her curls, “He’s very handsome. Knockoff Superman or not.” You smirked, finishing up the last blank with your signature before handing the clipboard back to her, and sliding the emergency Watchtower-issued credit card out of your back pocket and across the counter toward her.

”We really appreciate this,” You said watching as she ran the card, “We’ll be out by morning, weather permitting of course.” She nodded, still watching Bob out of the corner of her eye as he leaned in towards one of the framed photos that was nailed to the wall.

”You’re in Room Six,” She informed, handing you the golden key, “It’s the corner unit, so the Wi-Fi’s a bit spotty, ‘specially with the weather, but the heater works, and there’s a coffeemaker you can use free of charge. Nice large television, and a queen-sized bed with fresh sheets–I just changed ‘em myself.” Your eyebrows immediately raised at her and you could hear Bob’s boots squeak as the mentioning of the sleeping arrangements hit his ears. You gulped down a bit of saliva and cleared your throat.

”One bed?” You echoed, and she nodded.

”Only one left, sweetheart, told you all those linemen came through, they took all the doubles.” She explained, smiling warmly, almost like she kind of knew what she was doing–like she was trying to gauge how awkward the both of you would get in front of her so she could calculate whether or not you and Bob were in a relationship, “It’s a very cozy mattress though. Amazing for waiting out storms.” She added. You hummed quietly and turned toward Bob, holding the key aloft. He glanced at you, his blue eyes flickering from your hand to your face.

”I’ll…I’ll go grab the bags and meet you at the ro-room.” He said quickly, rushing out of the motel office. You let out a soft huff of laughter, the kind that curled dryly at the corner of your lips, and shook a bit more rain from your sleeves. The woman smiled wider, clearly enamoured with the awkwardness of Bob, and the mysteriousness of you.

”Y’all enjoy your stay now.” You glanced back over your shoulder, catching the flickering glow of the soap opera behind her.

”Thanks,” You replied with a faint smirk, “Stay safe during the storm…And enjoy your soap operas.” You added, moving towards the door of the office.

“Oh, honey,” She called as you opened the door again, “They’re just gettin’ to the good part.” You slipped out into the storm once more, squinting as the wind whipped cold droplets against your cheeks. Thankfully, the walkway outside the rooms was covered–just a narrow overhang, but enough to spare you from getting drenched again. The stairs creaked beneath your boots as you climbed quickly, rain rattling against the tin awning overhead like fingers drumming along a snare.

Room Six was easy to find. Tucked at the corner just as the woman said, a scuffed brass number barely clung to the turquoise-painted doorframe. You slipped the key into the lock, turned it with a soft click, and pushed the door open.

Warmth met you first.

Then the soft scent of clean linen and something faintly citrusy–like a generic air freshener trying its best to be pleasant.

You stepped inside, closing the door behind you but not locking it, knowing Bob would be just a minute behind. With a flick of the switch, the overhead light blinked on, casting a warm, buttery glow across the room.

It was…Nicer than you expected.

Not glamorous, but tidy. Lived-in, but clean. The kind of motel room that clearly had been cared for, even if it was dated. The carpet was a faded brown that had probably once been beige, and the walls were lined with dull wallpaper patterned in a vague floral motif that almost matched the bedspread.

The bed itself was centered against the far wall–a queen, just as promised. Crisp white sheets were tucked tightly beneath a worn but freshly laundered duvet in pale blue, the corners folded hotel-style with a precision that made you think the woman downstairs probably took a lot of pride in her work. Two identical wooden nightstands flanked either side of the bed, each topped with a simple ceramic lamp, their shades trimmed with yellowing fringe.

The pillows looked plush, like they’d sink under your head and never let go.

The television was mounted on a corner shelf, not large, but clean. The screen gleamed slightly in the dim light, recently wiped down. A laminated channel list sat neatly on the dresser beside it, tucked next to the remote and a small bowl of packaged mints wrapped in see-through red foil, and the coffee maker.

There was a single wooden chair in the corner, its legs uneven and one arm slightly splintered, like it wouldn’t last five seconds in a windstorm. It wobbled just from you walking past it.

A window, half-covered by heavy beige curtains, let in a dull sliver of stormlight. The glass rattled faintly in the wind, but the view was blurred with rain. You could barely make out the far edge of the lot, where the overgrown fence swayed gently, silhouetted against the bruise-colored sky.

You let out a slow breath and shrugged off your outer gear, letting it fall in a damp heap by the door. The room was quiet except for the hum of the heater beneath the window and the ever-present backdrop of the storm–a distant growl, a restless howl pressing against the world just beyond the thin walls.

You turned your head slightly as you heard the footsteps approaching. The squeak of a boot on wet cement.

The doorknob gave a quiet turn, and then Bob stepped inside, shoulders hunched slightly against the last slap of wind. His boots thudded softly over the carpet as he crossed the threshold, two duffel bags hanging off either shoulder. One was yours. The other, presumably, held the long-awaited change of clothes he’d mentioned earlier.

He let out a long sigh–more exhale than sound–and lowered both bags with a muted plop onto the carpet just inside the door. You watched him from your place near the window, your fingers idly playing with the hem of your damp shirt.

Bob’s eyes did a slow sweep of the room.

You could practically see him clocking the queen-sized bed, the lamps, the single rickety chair that could barely support a towel, let alone a grown man.

But his gaze lingered on the bed for just a moment too long before he swallowed thickly and said, almost too brightly, “Ve-Very nice ro-room.” You nodded, letting a quiet breath out through your nose.

“Yeah…Nicer than I thought it’d be.” Bob stepped forward and reached for the neck of his suit, fingers tugging awkwardly at the fabric. His cape was already half-draped down his back, heavy with rain and wrinkled from where it had been thrown over your shoulders. You could see steam still faintly rising from his skin where moisture met heat.

“I–uh,” He started, voice low and bashful, “Do you mind unzipping this for me?” You blinked, caught off guard–not by the request, but by the way he asked it. So soft. So casual. But intimate, too, in a way that hit somewhere low in your belly. He turned around and gathered his cap in one hand, tugging it aside to expose the long zipper that stretched from the top of his neck to the small of his back, just above the belt he had around his waist. You stepped around him slowly, your footsteps soundless over the worn carpet.

”Sure,” You murmured. Your fingers found the zipper, slick against the wet fabric, and pulled it downward–slowly, carefully. The sound of it unzipping was loud in the quiet room, the metallic rasp cutting through the soft hum of the heater.

The suit parted to reveal the skin beneath: pale, dusted with golden freckles that spilled down his shoulders and spine like they’d been painted by hand. Your breath caught slightly as it ghosted across his skin–dampend from the rain but warm underneath. He tensed, just barely, at the sensation. Not from discomfort, but from awareness.

You didn’t let your eyes linger. Didn’t trace the shape of the muscles along his back or the soft ridge of his shoulder blades. But still–you felt the way the air thickened around you. Felt him inhale sharply when your knuckles brushed the curve of his lower back, right before you let go of the zipper and took a step back.

You cleared your throat, reaching for your own duffel bag.

“I’ll go change in the washroom. Just…Tell me when you’re done, okay?” You explained. Bob turned his head slightly, not meeting your eyes.

”No pr-problem.” You kicked off your boots and padded toward the door tucked near the far side of the room. The bathroom. The only space left for a moment of privacy. You stepped inside, turned on the bright white light, and closed the door behind you with a soft click.

The bathroom was small, but surprisingly well-stocked.

The overhead light buzzed faintly as it flickered to life, revealing soft cream-colored tile on the floor and pale peach walls that looked freshly painted, though a little uneven in spots. The mirror above the sink was wide and slightly fogged at the corners, the kind that curved outward a little and distorted just enough to make your face feel unfamiliar for a second.

A neat stack of towels–white, slightly worn at the edges but clean–rested on a wooden shelf above the toilet. Three large bath towels, two hand towels, and three rolled washcloths were all stacked with careful attention.

Beside the sink sat a small basket stocked with amenities: four wrapped mini bars of soap, two travel-sized bottles of generic shampoo and conditioner, a plastic comb, and a disposable razor still in its packaging. Another bar of soap sat perched on the porcelain ledge of the shower, its wrapper already peeled back like it had been placed there earlier, ready for someone to use.

The shower curtain was plastic but clean, printed with blue and green seagulls flying over cartoon waves–cheesy but oddly charming. It gave the room a strange little personality, like someone tried to make it feel cheerful even in the middle of nowhere.

You let out a small sigh, settling the duffel bag down onto the tiled floor with a muted thud. The heater rattled softly through the vent near your feet, pushing dry warmth into the space that curled along your ankles and did its best to undo the chill of the storm. You didn’t bother turning on the fan–just let the silence hold, broken only by the occasional groan of wind pushing at the window behind the drawn curtain.

One by one, you peeled off your tactical gear–wet straps loosened with practiced fingers, each buckle and plate unfastened with a soft metallic click that echoed against the tile. Your shirt was soaked through beneath the armor, sticking to your skin as you pulled it over your head and dropped it in a soggy pile atop your pants. Cool air prickled against your bare shoulders. You unclasped your bra and set it aside with a little shiver, pausing only when the reflection in the mirror caught your eye.

You stared for a moment.

Not just at your own reflection, but at the glint of your dog tags–still hanging against your sternum, metal dulled with condensation and warmth. You lifted them slowly, letting them rest against your palm. Pressed your thumb along the etched letters of your name, feeling the edges of each character beneath your skin. It was grounding. Tangible. A reminder of who you were in all this.

You let the chain fall back against your chest with a faint clink.

Then you crouched and unzipped the duffel bag. Inside, everything was neatly folded the way you’d packed it–dry and waiting. You reached for the oversized white t-shirt you usually wore to bed, soft from a hundred washes. It was old, stolen from Bucky during a post-mission stopover a few months ago, and still smelled faintly like cedarwood and something colder, sharper–something distinctly him. You pulled it over your head, the fabric falling low over your thighs. It clung slightly to your still-damp skin before settling loose.

You swapped your wet underwear for your sleep shorts–simple, black cotton, the waistband resting snugly on your hips. A little frayed at the seams. Comfortable. Familiar.

You rubbed your arms absently and stared at yourself one last time. You made sure the hem of your shirt covered enough—tugging it once or twice just to be sure—before stepping toward the door. Your fingers hovered over the handle for a moment.

“Bob?” you called softly. “I’m done. Am I allowed to come out?”

There was a pause, some soft shuffling on the carpet–maybe him adjusting something, or making absolutely sure he was decent. Then his voice, low and a little hoarse: “Ye-Yeah. You’re all good.”

You clicked off the bathroom light and stepped into the main room, blinking slightly at the shift in lighting. The overhead lamps had been turned off, and in their place, the flickering blue light of the television washed across the walls in pale pulses. A news station was on–static fuzzed lightly at the edges of the screen, the newscaster’s voice steady and grave as he outlined the tornado’s predicted path. The banner across the bottom read SEVERE WEATHER WARNING – TORNADO TRACKING ACROSS SOUTHERN COUNTIES.

Bob was sitting on the edge of the bed dressed in a grey long sleeved training shirt and a pair of black sweatpants, remote resting lightly in his palm, thumb hovering over the volume. He looked up when you entered.

And then he looked away just as fast.

His eyes had flicked to the hem of your borrowed white shirt–the one that hung halfway down your thighs and swayed slightly as you padded barefoot across the carpet. There was a flicker of something in his expression before he dragged his gaze quickly back to your face, cheeks flushing as he fumbled to stand.

“I’ll…” He started, clearing his throat, “I’ll take the wooden chair for the night.”

You blinked at him, then let your eyes flick to the chair in question–splintered, wobbling, barely stable enough to support your duffel bag let alone a six-foot man built like a solar-powered linebacker. It tilted when he brushed past it earlier, like even acknowledging its presence too strongly might send it crashing sideways.

You raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “I’m pretty sure it’s on its last legs, Bob.”

He looked at you, sheepish.

You crossed your arms, letting your weight settle in one hip, voice calm and clear. “You can share the bed with me. I really don’t mind.”

He hesitated–of course he did. Bob always hesitated when it came to his own comfort. He looked at the bed, where the duvet still held the faint crease of where he’d sat just minutes before. You saw his throat work as he swallowed.

Then, after a beat, he nodded once. “…Okay.” You tried not to exhale too obviously, not to let on just how much that single word–quiet, cautious, hopeful–landed in your chest like a stone dropped in still water.

He stepped back toward the bed, placing the remote gently on the nightstand before tugging back the covers on one side. The sheets rustled softly, and when he sat again, he did so gingerly, like the mattress might give way if he put his full weight on it. You watched as he reached back, rubbing the back of his neck–nervous habit, the kind you’d learned to spot over the past few months of being sent out on missions with him. You tried not to exhale too obviously, not to let on just how much that single word–quiet, cautious, hopeful–landed in your chest like a stone dropped in still water.

You moved across the room and slid into the other side of the bed, the mattress dipping beneath your weight. The fabric was cool at first, but it warmed quickly as your body settled in. The blanket was scratchy polyester on top, but soft underneath. You tugged it higher over your lap.

Bob adjusted slightly, pulling his legs up and resting his back against the headboard. His arms folded over his stomach. A few inches separated your bodies, enough for modesty, but not enough to erase the knowledge that it wouldn’t take much–a shift, a sigh, the tilt of a shoulder–for your limbs to brush. For your legs to tangle.

“I can turn off the TV,” He murmured, glancing sideways.

“No,” You replied gently. “Leave it on. Just…keep the volume low. It’s kinda nice, having the sound.” He nodded.

”Ba-Background noise.”

“Exactly.”

Outside, the storm was still raging. You could hear the whistle of wind threading through the seams of the motel’s structure, the faint rattle of a windowpane, the deep, distant rumble of thunder rolling across the prairie like a restless god.

The room, despite its creaks and imperfections, felt oddly safe. The kind of temporary shelter that, just for one night, could hold the weight of two very tired people pretending they weren’t utterly aware of each other’s presence.

Bob shifted again. You felt the mattress move beneath you, felt the blanket pull slightly where it had been tucked. You let your eyes drift to the ceiling, where a water stain shaped vaguely like a rabbit marred the corner.

“You warm enough?” He asked quietly.

You turned your head to look at him, and he was already looking at you, his blue eyes scanning over your face slowly. Your breath caught–just slightly–but you gave a faint smile and nodded.

“Yeah. You?” He nodded once, then looked away again, glancing at the television.

”Of course I am…Ru-Running hot has its perks I guess.” You let out a small laugh, huddling into the sheets a little more.

”Definitely.”

————————

At some point during the quiet drone of weather reports and low-lit motel stillness, you and Bob had drifted off. You didn’t remember when. You remembered shifting your legs beneath the sheets, blinking slowly at the static-blurred television screen, letting your gaze fall out of focus while the storm whispered its lullaby against the window.

But now…Now you were warm. Too warm.

And there was something–someone–pressed against you.

Your eyes cracked open, the dim blue light from the TV still flickering faintly across the motel room walls. The storm outside had ramped up again–low, thunderous growls rolling over the landscape in waves, a chorus of wind and rain lashing at the siding. Somewhere in the back of your mind, that should’ve been the thing waking you.

But it wasn’t.

It was the weight. The pressure. The body molded against yours with such intimacy, such unabashed familiarity, that your heart kicked hard against your ribs as the full sensation landed in your chest like a dropped anchor.

You were on your side, curled slightly toward the wall, and he was spooned tightly against you, arm slung low and heavy across your waist, and his hand was splayed across your chest, fingers relaxed but firm, the heel of his palm nestled against the curve of your breast.

His legs were tangled with yours beneath the blankets. One of his thighs slotted between yours, the other pressed flush to the back of your own. His chest was warm and solid against your spine, his breath fanning in hot, steady pulses against the crook of your neck. His nose was pressed lightly to your shoulder, right against the collar of Bucky’s borrowed t-shirt.

You didn’t dare move at first. Just stayed still, blinking slowly at the darkened edge of the room as your brain tried to catch up with your body. Because your body was already reacting–tingling beneath his palm, heat blooming low in your stomach, your skin prickling where he touched you. You could feel the slick warmth slowly gathering between your thighs, not from the oppressive heat of Bob’s sun-forged body.

But from this.

From him.

You swallowed thickly, barely breathing, unsure whether to move away or press back into him. You could feel his heartbeat against your spine–fast, but steady. Not panicked. Not aware.

He was still asleep.

Of course he was.

Because Bob would never–could never–consciously do something this bold without overthinking himself into a stroke first. You knew that. Knew the shape of his hesitation by now. Knew how his kindness could sometimes mask how afraid he was of taking up too much space. Of wanting too much.

But he wanted this.

At least in sleep, he did. He had reached for you. Held you like you were his tether.

And god…It felt good. Even with the heat. Even with your breath catching in your throat and your thighs squeezing tight around the leg pressed between them just to keep from squirming. You let your eyes flutter closed again for a moment, lips parting as you tried to steady your breathing. It didn’t help that his fingers twitched slightly–just a small unconscious flex–pressing more firmly into your chest before relaxing again. His hips shifted subtly, and for the briefest second, you felt the unmistakable press of him against the curve of your ass, hot and hard beneath the fabric of his sweatpants.

Your fingers hovered over his wrist, breath shallow in your throat.

You shouldn’t feel this turned on. Not from something accidental. Not from a moment that had bloomed in his sleep, unintentional and unaware. But your body didn’t care about what your brain was trying to guilt-trip it for. Not when he felt this good against you. Not when you’d spent so many nights replaying every small glance, every brush of fingers, every breathless shared silence on missions and wondering what it would be like to be touched like this on purpose.

To be wanted by him. Openly.

Your thighs squeezed tighter around the one he’d slotted between yours, and you felt your shorts dampen as a little bit of slick slipped out of you in response to the tension building under your skin. It was stupid, it was selfish–but it was real. And when his fingers flexed again–gripping your breast softly, like his dream was guiding him through some fantasy you didn’t know he had–it stole the breath from your lungs.

Then came the quiet sound. A small whimper. Barely audible, like it cracked through him without permission. His nose nuzzled deeper into the crook of your neck, lips brushing the skin there with a feather-light touch. His arm tightened around your middle as he unconsciously rutted against you again, the hard line of his cock pressing more insistently into the curve of your ass.

You let out a broken sigh. Your body was burning. Your nipples tightened beneath the thin cotton of your sleep shirt, hypersensitive and aching from the way his hand lingered against them. Your breath came in soft, uneven little puffs. And your hand–trembling, traitorous–slid over his where it clung to your chest. You curled your fingers gently around his wrist, not to pull him away, but to hold him in place.

You needed to know.

You needed to wake him.

You weren’t going to let it be something he regretted later.

“Bob…” You whispered, your voice barely louder than the static hum of the TV. “Bob, wake up…” A small noise escaped him again, this time closer to a groan. His nose shifted against your neck, lips parting against your skin as his body went tense–like he was being pulled out of something warm and sweet and sudden.

His hand twitched.

Then stilled.

Another beat of silence passed before you felt his whole body freeze behind you. His breath hitched. His palm lifted slightly from your chest.

“…Fuck.”

It was barely a sound. Just breath, shaped around a single syllable of panic.

You squeezed his wrist gently. “Bob,” You murmured again, softer now. “It’s okay. You were asleep.” He slowly peeled his arm back like it had been caught in a bear trap, like he didn’t trust it not to ruin everything. He shifted slightly, trying to put space between you, his leg drawing back under the sheets even as the heat of him remained.

“I…I didn’t mean to–I was–shit, I didn’t know…I wouldn’t–“ His voice cracked mid-sentence, strained with shame, and his forehead pressed into your shoulder like he could somehow bury the guilt. “I didn’t know I was doing that, I swear…I didn’t mean to touch you like that–”

”Bob,” You interrupted gently, “Stop…It’s okay.” He froze, his mouth parting slightly, an apology dying on his tongue–half-formed, half-falling apart–and for one raw, unguarded second, he just stared at you like he couldn’t quite make sense of the forgiveness in your voice. Of the lack of anger. The lack of fear. Like maybe you were a trick of the storm. A hallucination conjured by lightning and longing.

And then you whispered, “…I…I liked it.”

The confession shattered the air between you like a cracked pane of glass finally giving way. You felt a tremor run down his arm–his pulse lurching beneath your fingers where they were still pressed to his wrist. He went completely still, not breathing for a moment, until you heard the thick, audible gulp in his throat.

He pulled back just slightly, enough to let his eyes meet yours, and with a trembling hand on your hip, he gently coaxed you to roll onto your back–guiding you until you were settled against the pillow, The cool fabric brushing your cheek as the warmth of his body hovered just inches above you. His breath came shallow now. Nervous. Disbelieving. His blue eyes were wide and vulnerable in the TV light, scanning every inch of your face like it might lie to him where your mouth wouldn’t.

“You what?” He rasped, voice barely holding together. Your hand found his cheek. Warm. Damp from the sweat that was forming in your palm. You cupped it gently, thumb brushing along the light stubble that formed on his chin.

”I liked it, Bob…” You whispered again, firmer now. Clear. He shook his head like he couldn’t accept it, like it didn’t fit anywhere in the fragile framework of reality he had built for himself.

”You’re just saying that…” He replied softly, pained, his eyes flicking down and away, “So I’m not em-embarrassed…About what I did…” Your heart ached at the shame in his voice. At the self-doubt, the fear of crossing a line he didn’t even know he’d toed. So you moved your hand again–down his jaw, along the curve of his lips–and gently, you traced your thumb across the soft swell of his lower one, watching the way his breath hitched as you did it, the way his eyes closed at the sensation.

“I’m not just saying that…” You breathed, your voice thick with the weight of it. Of truth. Of the burning need that coiled in your body and erupted through your veins, “I’ve been wanting you to make a move…For so fucking long, Bob.” The words escaped before you could soften them, even though deep down inside you didn’t want to do that at all. You needed him to know. To feel it. Because it wasn’t just want anymore. It was craving. You felt like your body was vibrating–like every nerve ending had tuned itself to the frequency of him and refused to shut off.

Bob’s breath stuttered. His cheeks flushed deeper than before–scarlet creeping beneath his skin. He looked overwhelmed. Like he was caught in some slow-motion free fall between shock and pure carnal hunger.

His hand lifted from the sheets, trembling slightly.

And then he touched you. His fingertips ghosted over your skin, before cradling the side of your neck with his palm like you were something precious, unreal. His thumb rested just below your jaw, feeling the pulse fluttering wildly beneath your skin.

”You swear you mean it?” He asked quietly, “You promise you’re not ly-lying to me?” You nodded, not trusting your voice at first. Then you leaned up slightly, your nose brushing his, your lips close enough that the next breath you let out ghosted over his mouth.

”I swear,” You whispered, “I wouldn’t lie about this. Not to you.” There was a beat of silence. One breath. Then another. Nothing but the low murmur of the newscaster on the television filled the space around you–something about wind speeds, projected trajectories. But it all blurred, receded, drowned beneath the pounding of your heart and the shallow, stunned rhythm of Bob’s breath. His thumb stroked once against your jaw…And then he leaned in.

His lips met yours like a secret being told for the first time–soft, hesitant at the edges but bursting with everything he hadn’t said until now. A kiss not of hunger, not yet, but of relief. Of surrender. Of two people who had been circling each other so long that this first contact felt like a homecoming of sorts. Like the truth had finally been spoken into the space between you, and now…There was nowhere left to run.

You hummed against his mouth, something tender and breathless, and your hand slipped from his cheek, immediately burying itself in the soft waves of his light brown hair. You curled your fingers gently at first–then tugged. Just enough to pull him deeper into the kiss, to tell him you wanted more.

Bob gasped.

It was small, a little stutter of air that escaped against your mouth like he’d been caught off guard by the desire that burned through you and seeped into him. His body responded instantly. You felt the tremor run through him, felt his chest press closer to yours, his hand still firm at your neck like a tether, like he was grounding himself in the feel of your skin beneath his palm. And then his other hand slid down slowly, his fingers skimming the soft cotton of your shirt, moving lower until they found your waist, then your hip. His touch settled there, firm and warm, his fingers curling into the soft fabric of your bike shorts with a pressure that made your pulse stutter. He squeezed, just once–possessive and unsure all at the same time.

Your thighs shifted involuntarily at the contact. You exhaled a soft sound into his mouth that wasn’t quite a moan, but close. It made him breathe harder, made his fingers dig in a little tighter. And then–so slowly you almost didn’t realize it at first–he moved. His weight shifted over you, inch by inch, careful and deliberate, until his chest was fully pressed against yours, aligning your heart beats. The blankets shifted with him in the process, the mattress dipping as he braced his forearm beside your head. His knee nudged between yours again, slotting perfectly against your thigh. And when you opened your legs just enough to accommodate the movement, he froze for half a heartbeat–just long enough to murmur your name like a prayer against your lips.

“Bob…Please.” You whispered, pulling slightly on the waves of hair that you had clutched between your fingers. He caressed your neck gently, leaned in again. He licked your lips softly, wetting them before returning his mouth to yours, kissing you–hotter this time, messier.

His tongue slipped past the seam of your lips like it was instinct, like he’d stopped thinking and just let the need take the wheel. His hips dipped low, settling snug in the cradle of your thighs as he shifted on top of you, arms bracketing either side of your head now. The duvet bunched around his knees, the mattress sagging beneath his weight as he adjusted. Then you felt it again–his cock, thick and hard through the soft cotton of his sweatpants, pressing up against your core, right against the heat pooling there.

A whimper escaped your throat at the contact.

He groaned into your mouth, rolling his hips in a slow grind, letting you feel him through the thin barriers of clothing. His lips parted wider against yours as your mouths collided again and again, kissing like you were both drowning in it–teeth clashing a little, spit slicking the corners of your mouths, breathing in ragged exhales through your noses. He kissed you like it was something he had dreamt about a million times and finally got permission to crave out loud.

Your hands moved without thought–grabbing at his sides, his hips, his shoulders. His back. You racked your nails down the soft cotton of his shirt as his tongue tangled with yours, kissing you so deeply you felt your head spin. Your other hand slipped to the back of his neck, pulling him closer, and he moaned when you sucked gently on his tongue before letting it go with a wet, spit filled pop.

Bob gasped–a sound so raw and broken it felt like your chest caved in from how hot it sounded when it hit your ears–and ducked down to kiss along your jaw, panting against your skin as his hips ground into yours again. He clung to your thigh, bringing it up so it was firm against his torso, his thumb stroking mindlessly along the outside like he needed to keep touching you. His other hand cradled your jaw, keeping you close, and guiding your head back as he kissed lower.

”You’re so…So fucking pr-pretty.” He whispered raggedly, his mouth brushing just below your ear, his voice cracking on the compliment, “You smell so good, and you’re so warm, and you…Fuck…You’re an an-angel.” Your breath hitched and you pulled at his shirt again–hard this time, clutching the fabric in both fists, dragging it upwards like you couldn’t stand the feeling of it separating you anymore.

He got the message immediately, and leaned back just far enough to strip it off–one swift motion, lifting it over his head and throwing it to the side with a quiet thud. The second the shift hit the floor, you sat up slightly, propped on your elbows, so you can drink him in like someone dying of thirst.

He was beautiful.

He wasn’t chiseled like some sculpted super-soldier body builder or genetic prototype, but he didn’t need to be. Bob looked real. Like a man forged by gravity and radiation and heart. His chest was broad and freckled. His skin pale with a warm flush that faded across it. A smattering of faint brown freckles dusted his collarbones and shoulders, trailing down his body like someone had splattered him in flicks of them. There were old scars too–faint silvery marks scattered across his ribs and sides, like faint reminders of what he had gone through before the team found him. Before you found him.

Your hand moved to touch him before you even realized it, dragging your fingertips across his chest slowly–tracing the lines of his pecs, brushing over his sternum, down the shallow dip between his ribs. He shuddered under your touch, swallowing hard as your fingers brushed a sensitive spot near his side. His breath hitched when you swept your palm over one of his nipples watching it harden slightly beneath your touch.

“I’ve wanted to see you like this for so long,” You admitted, voice trembling with awe and arousal, “God, Bob…You’re…You’re amazing.” His eyes snapped shut at that, jaw clenching like the words physically wrecked him. He leaned forward again, crashing into your mouth like he didn’t know how else to respond. You moaned against his lips, your hand fisting into his hair, while the other one settled on his lower back pressing against it to make him roll his hips into you again–harder this time. You moaned into the kiss, and dug your nails into his skin, pulling back a bit.

“Sit up…” You whispered, your voice cracked and breathless, your lips damp from kissing him, “I need to take my shirt off…I-I need to feel you.” Bob let out a shaky exhale that fanned warm over your cheek, his body pulsing with restraint even as his hips pressed forward again, grinding against the heat of your core. His eyes flicked to yours, glassy and stunned, then down to where your fingers were already pulling at the hem of your oversized shirt, your chest rising and falling rapidly beneath the cotton.

“Okay.” He murmured, his voice rough with need, as he shifted back slightly giving you room to move, and sit up completely. His hands came up, hovering for just a second, before gently curling around the fabric at your hips, helping you pull the shirt over your head. The hem caught for half a second on your dampened skin before sliding you free, and he bundled it up carefully in his hands–pausing for the briefest moment as the soft clink of your dog tags echoed in the small room. He stared at the chain as it settled back against your chest, right between the swell of your breasts, then slowly placed the top on the ground with his own, before returning his gaze back to your body.

HIs eyes roamed over every inch of you, taking in the gentle rise of your chest, the curve of your waist, the faint sheen of sweat across your collarbones. His breath stuttered out of him, enamored by your skin, by your body.

“God…” His voice cracked, eyes locking on your breasts, “You’re so…Be-Beautiful.” You could feel the heat trailing up your skin, your cheek burning with warmth, but you didn’t look away. Not when he was taking you in like this.

He reached for you. His big, calloused hands coming up and settling against your chest, resting just above your breasts, thumbs brushing over the cool metal of your dog tags. He stared at them–like he was grounding himself with the proof of your name–before he leaned in against and kissed you.

This one was all tongue and heat and panting mouths as he pressed you back down into the mattress with the weight of his body. His hands stayed against your chest, not squeezing, not groping–just resting there. Feeling your heart beating beneath one palm while holding you with the other.

But then he broke the kiss, lips trailing down your jaw, breath heaving against your cheek, panting through the intensity of the moment.

”I’ve thought about this…” He whispered, as he kissed down your neck, teeth grazing the skin just below your ear, “Dreamed about this…About touching you. Fe-Feeling you under me like this.” You whimpered softly as he sucked at your pulse point, dragging his mouth lower–kissing and nibbling a path across your neck, down to the base of your throat, his tongue flicking over the hollow there before continuing. He nosed the chain of your tags aside with his mouth and licked just beneath it, then sucked gently at the curve of your breast. Your back arched immediately, your breath hitching.

“Bob…” You gasped, your fingers tangling into his hair again. He groaned low and wet against your skin, his voice muffled by your chest.

“God, such a perfect no-noise.” He muttered, wrecked, and then his mouth closed around one of your nipples, sucking gently at first, then with more pressure. His tongue laved over the peak, teasing and circling, drawing more breathless sounds from your throat. One of his hands slid beneath your breast, cupping and lifting it while his thumb stroked along the underside. You moaned, your hips canting up into his.

”Fuck…Bob, that feels so good.” He pulled off with a wet pop, dragging his mouth across your chest to your other breast.

“I want to make you feel good,” He replied raggedly, “I’ve been thinking about how soft you’d be, how you’d so-sound if I got to touch you like this…And all I want is to know I’m doing a good job.” He sucked on your nipple again, harder this time, groaning as you whined beneath him. His hips rutted slowly against you–small, hungry thrusts, his cock thick and hot through his sweatpants as he ground into your soaked shorts. You could feel the wet patch spreading between you, could feel how it smeared against his fabric, the friction making you dizzy.

”You’re perfect. So goddamn perfect.” He whispered, teeth grazing the sensitive underside of your breast, biting gently before licking over it and blowing against it slowly, “I want to do this…Fo-Forever.” You moaned helplessly, your thighs falling further apart, your body aching for more.

”Please, Bob…Keep going.” You begged. He whimpered against your skin, then began kissing lower–down your sternum, your stomach, his tongue dragging along the skin just beneath your ribs, the tips of his hair trailing behind, raising goosebumps on your skin.

“I love the way you taste…” He breathed, dropping a slow, open-mouthed kiss beside your belly button, drool coating your skin, “Like heat and sweat and sw-sweetness–fuck, I want more…I want it all.” His hands found your waist, gripping tight, and he looked up at you, flushed and panting, hair curling against his temples from the heat. His lips were pink, wet and puffy from his ministrations, and his voice was shaking when he spoke.

”Can I keep going?” He asked, his thumb tracing along the waistband of your shorts, hooking into the fabric gently, “I want to taste all of you…” You nodded immediately, and writhed beneath him.

”Please…Take what you want from me.” You whimpered. His lips quirked into a slow smile against your stomach, the curve of it warm and intimate as he licked around your navel–trailing drool in lazy, shimmering arcs like he was branding you before his teeth grazed the skin just above your waistband. You twitched beneath him at the contact, your fingers clenching in the sheets, feeling him pull away just enough to give the both of you a bit of space.

Then his hands slid lower, gripping the waistband of your shorts with a gentleness that made your heart ache, thumbs brushing over your hips as he began to peel them down inch by inch. You lifted your butt to help, watching the way his eyes stayed locked to the exposed skin. He rolled the fabric down your thighs slowly, like he didn’t want to miss a single detail of what he was unveiling. When the shorts reached your knees, you helped him kick them off the rest of the way with a soft rustle of movement with him holding them between his hands, and suddenly he felt heat wash over him, like he was going to suffocate. He then pushed the covers off the both of you with a little laugh, letting the duvet tumble to the foot of the bed.

”I don’t want to accidentally pass out from ov-overheating,” He murmured with a crooked grin, his voice cracking just slightly. You let out a small laugh, the tension in your chest unraveling with the sound, seeing him toss your shorts off the bed in one motion before turning his attention back to you.

His large hands settled against your knees, the pads of his fingers brushing over your skin, tickling the sensitive flesh before he spread your thighs open. Guiding your knees apart with shaking hands until you were laid out beneath him in the dimmed light–glistening, soft and slick and already trembling for him.

”Christ.” He whispered.

His eyes locked onto your folds, and you swore he stopped breathing. You watched his pupils dilate, swallowing the blue until they looked nearly black with lust. His mouth parted, and his brows twitched like he didn’t quite know how to process what he was seeing. He looked hypnotized. Like your body had short-circuited whatever part of his brain was still capable of coherent thought.

“You’re…You’re so wet,” He breathed, voice thin and trembling with awe. His hand moved without thought, fingers dragging down your stomach in a slow, reverent trail. Every inch of contact sent a ripple through your muscles. He traced your navel, brushed over your pubic bone, then–finally–his fingers slipped lower. The pads of them grazed through your soaked folds, feather-light at first. And then again, just a little firmer. Your hips jolted as his fingers passed over you again. Your body trembling with tension, need coiling tight in your belly. But just as you tried to roll your hips against his touch, desperate for friction, for fullness, for anything–his other hand flattened against your lower stomach and gently pinned you down.

“Easy, Y/N…” He whispered, his voice cracked with heat and restraint. The heel of his palm held you still with slight control, and it only made the ache between your thighs burn hotter. You whimpered, a fragile, breathless sound that escaped before you could swallow it.

Then he pulled his fingers away, causing you to whine instinctively, hips attempting to lit in protest before falling back to the bed in frustration. But your attention shifted the second you caught the glint of wetness in the dim light–your arousal glistening on his fingers as he brought them to his lips. He moaned low and broken as he sucked them into his mouth, eyes fluttering shut like he was savoring something divine. His cheeks hollowed as he cleaned them slowly, letting his fingers drag across his tongue before pulling them free with a lewd pop.

“I fear I’m going to ma-make a mess,” He murmured hoarsely, his voice laced with a mix of awe and filthy reverence. “You taste so fucking good.”

“Bob…” Your voice was wrecked with desperation, your hand flying to his, the one still pressing down gently on your belly. You laced your fingers with his and squeezed, grounding yourself in the heat of his palm as you whimpered, “Bob, I’m begging you…Please. I need your mouth.”

He nodded, his pupils blown wide with lust. His lips were swollen, slick, glistening in the TV light. He kissed the inside of your thigh once–then again–and rasped, “Okay…I’ll give it to you.”

And god, did he ever.

He shifted down the bed and adjusted your legs, guiding them with both hands until the backs of your thighs rested on his freckled shoulders. You felt the reverence in his grip. The way his thumbs brushed over your skin as if worshiping the weight of you. He breathed you in–nose brushing your mound as he exhaled a groan so low and guttural it rattled through your bones.

Then came the kisses.

Soft at first. Pressed gently to the inside of one thigh, then the other. His tongue flicked out to taste the skin just beneath your hip, leaving a wet streak behind. Then he mouthed at your flesh, suckled at it gently until it marked. Until your hands fisted the sheets. You were so close to pleading, to sobbing from how badly you needed him–then his mouth finally reached your core. Trailing a long wet lick. Then another. Slow, thick, dragging. His tongue flattened and moved up the length of your folds, collecting everything–spit and slick and heat. He groaned, deep and rough, as he buried his face in you like he was starving.

”Absolutely sw-sweet, addicting. Christ…Is there anything about you that isn’t perfect?” You moaned, your hips bucking in response before his hands clamped down on your thighs, holding you open just a little bit more.

”Please, Bob…Don’t stop,” You gasped, “Please keep going.” He licked into you like he was memorizing every inch–alternating between messy, open-mouthed licks and tight, focused ones that circled your clit until your legs were shaking. His lips sealed around you, sucking gently, then harder–until your hips arched off the bed, your hands gripping at his hair like lifelines.

He moaned into you when you tugged, the vibration sending sparks up your spine. Then you felt it–his fingers again. Two thick, reverent digits sliding through your folds, finding your entrance with practiced ease. He pushed in slowly, curling them just right, pressing into the spot that made your back arch and your breath catch in your throat.

“God, yes…Right there, fuck, Bob,” You cried, grinding down against his face, “You’re so good, you’re doing so good, don’t stop, please don’t stop…”

“Keep talking,” He begged, voice muffled against your core, spit dripping down his chin, “Tell me…Tell me how good it feels, Y/N. Need to know I’m ma-making you feel good, please–“

“You are…Jesus Christ you are,” You cried out, “No one’s ever–fuck, Bob, no one’s ever made me feel this good b-before…” He growled against you, vibrating over your wetness. His tongue lashed your clit in firm, spit coated flicks as his fingers curled and pumped, hitting that devastating spot again and again, the sound of it slick and filthy and loud in the quiet motel room. Your thighs were quivering now, the pleasure rising in a tidal wave you couldn’t stop–except he did.

He pulled back.

“W-Wait…Bob…Why did you–” Your voice cracked, near sobbing. Your hips searched for his mouth, for his fingers, for anything to fill the terrible, unbearable emptiness. But he just rested his cheek on your thigh, eyes glazed and lips slick with your arousal.

“You were about to come,” He rasped, “I could feel it… And I want to make it last. I want to see you fall apart for me, slowly.”

You nearly started to cry

“Bob, please,” You whispered, your voice trembling, “Please let me come, I need it so bad. I’m so close, I feel like I’ll start crying if I don’t finish…Please Bob…I need this…And I need you.” Your begging was the thing that undid him.

“Fuck, okay…Okay, I’ve got you, I’m…I’m sorry for doing th-that,” He said, kissing your inner thigh before diving back in like a man possessed. His fingers returned, pumping faster now, and his mouth sucked at your clit like he’d been waiting for this moment his whole life. The pressure was relentless. His tongue circled tight and fast while his fingers curled deep. Every sound you made, he chased. Every twitch of your body, he answered.

You writhed against him, helpless and aching, your hips grinding desperately into his face as he groaned and followed your every motion–chasing the heat, matching your rhythm with maddening precision. His mouth was everywhere: lips, tongue, breath, spit. It was unrelenting, overwhelming, and devastatingly beautiful.

“Fuck,” You gasped, your voice ragged and raw as your back arched and you reached down, fingers tangling in his hair with a fierce tug. He moaned at that, the sound vibrating through your core as his free hand pressed firmly down against your stomach. Your other hand reached for him blindly, finding the one that held you down and gripping it hard–squeezing as if it was the only thing tethering you to the earth.

“You feel that?” he panted against your soaked folds, the words hot and filthy as his tongue circled your clit in tight, devastating strokes, “Feel how close you are? God, you’re dripping all over the pl-place.” You let out a strangled cry, a sob of pure pleasure tearing out of you as your hips bucked violently. Your thighs clamped around his head and your whole body trembled like a live wire.

“Bob…Fuck, fuck, I–!” You broke off into a series of desperate gasps as your orgasm slammed into you, ripping through your core and sending shockwaves down your spine. You came hard, pulsing around his fingers and soaking his mouth, your hips jerking and grinding as you rode it out.

He didn’t stop. Didn’t even pause. He groaned loudly as he felt you unravel, pulling his fingers out slowly only to bury his face directly between your thighs, licking up everything you gave him with messy, greedy strokes. His tongue swept through your folds again and again, catching every drop of your release, slurping it up like he was addicted. His nose pressed to your mound, his lips dragging through your slick, moaning like it was better than anything he’d ever tasted. He reached up and slid his soaked hand around your wrist, holding it as he moaned into you like a man who had been fully sanctified within you.

Only when your legs began to twitch uncontrollably and your hips flinched from the intensity did he finally ease back, his lips sucking softly on your overstimulated clit before releasing it with one last reverent kiss.

Then he looked up at you. His cheeks glistened with your arousal, his nose slick, his lips swollen and cherry-red, puffed from the effort, his chin streaked with spit and slick. His eyes were wild–blown wide with lust and worship, dark with something desperate and unspoken.

You were gasping for breath, twitching beneath him, your thighs still trembling as you reached for him blindly. Your hand caught his wrist and pulled.

“Come here…” You rasped, your voice shaky and ruined, “Come kiss me…” He moved instantly, sliding your thighs off his shoulders, before crawling up your body, his hair now damp from sweat and sticking up every which way because of your fingers pulling and yanking at the strands.

He kissed your stomach first–slow and worshipful–letting his lips drag across the curve of your navel, pausing just to breathe against your skin. You felt the warmth of his breath, the weight of it sinking deeper into you than it should’ve, like every exhale stitched another piece of him into your chest. He mouthed at your ribs, trailing upward, tongue flicking lightly over salt-slick skin before he pressed an open-mouthed kiss to the underside of your breast, then dragged his lips up over your sternum.

When he reached your collarbone, he nipped at it gently–just enough to make you gasp, just enough to let you feel the quiet ache of teeth without pain. His hair brushed your jaw as he lingered there, then slowly, slowly lifted his head. He hovered over you for a moment, looking down at your face like he was memorizing it.

You were flushed, wrecked–still trembling faintly from your orgasm, lips parted as you panted for breath, chest heaving beneath your dog tags. Your brow glistened with sweat, your hair damp at the roots. Your mouth opened just a little more, the edges trembling with anticipation–and he smiled.

It was small at first. Soft. But then it widened, blooming into something radiant and slightly disbelieving, a crooked, reverent grin spreading across his face. His nose brushed yours, breath catching as he hovered inches from your mouth.

And then you surged forward and kissed him.

It was messy.

Sloppy in the most devastatingly intimate way. Your lips crashed into his with a wet sound, and you immediately moaned into the kiss–because you could taste yourself on him. Sweetness clung to his tongue. A faint, earthy tang from your own arousal mixed with the salt of sweat that glistened on his upper lip. His mouth was warm, open, and pliant beneath yours–desperate in the way it moved.

You wrapped your arms around his shoulders and pulled him down–dragged your nails down the muscles along his back, slow and rough, leaving faint red lines in your wake. He groaned softly into your mouth at the sensation, his hips twitching reflexively against you. His tongue tangled with yours again, slick and insistent, licking into you like he needed to taste every corner of your mouth to survive. He pulled back slightly, panting, his forehead resting against yours, eyes dazed.

“Do you need a br-break?” He whispered, voice low and wrecked, his breath coming hot against your cheek.

You shook your head immediately, gaze locked on his. “No…Do you?” He shook his head too–more like a tremble than a full motion, his hair bouncing slightly from the movement.

“All I want is you right now,” He said, voice cracking under the weight of the words. “It’s all I can think of…It’s what my bo-body craves because I’ve been holding myself back from you for…For so long.” You smiled, and kissed his lips again–soft and quick, brushing your nose against his.

”You don’t have to do that anymore,” You whispered. He let out a small huff of a laugh, half-disbelieving, half-overcome, and gave you a toothy, radiant smile that nearly undid you. His eyes shone in the flickering blue light of the TV as he looked down at you like you were the center of his universe.

Then his fingers rose, dragging lightly along the chain resting between your breasts, fingertips brushing over the cool metal of your dog tags. He watched the way they gleamed with moisture–your sweat, his spit–and his lips curved into something equal parts shy and sinful.

“I’ve been picturing this moment for a long time,” He admitted sheepishly, voice low, like the words had to squeeze past the remnants of disbelief still clinging to the edges of his breath. Your hands slid up the curve of his back, thumbs brushing against the soft ridges of muscle there, until they found their place at the sides of his neck. Your fingers cradled the base of his skull, brushing through the damp waves of his hair, grounding him.

“Me too,” You whispered, your voice just as unsteady, just as full. The silence that followed was thick–but not awkward. Not unsure. It was full of breath. Full of you and him. Full of a thousand unsaid things finally allowed to exist between your bodies, between the press of your bare chests and the whispering storm outside.

Bob’s forehead pressed to yours. You felt his lips graze the tip of your nose, then your cheek, and then he kissed you again–slowly, the kind of kiss that made time go quiet. That made the storm feel far away. His body shifted against yours with a little grunt, hips tilting, pressing up against the soft mess between your thighs again.

You gasped into his mouth.

And without a word, your hand trailed downward–skimming over the warm skin of his torso, tracing the gentle rise and fall of his stomach. You reached the waistband of his sweatpants and paused, eyes fluttering open to meet his.

He nodded.

That was all the permission you needed.

Your hand slipped beneath the soft cotton, fingers brushing through the trimmed curls at his base before they wrapped around him fully. Your breath hitched. He was heavy in your palm, hot and thick, the skin silky as you curled your hand around his cock. The tip was damp–already leaking, already aching–and you gave a slow, testing stroke from base to crown.

Bob let out a groan against your lips, his whole body twitching. His hips jerked up slightly, like he couldn’t help it. Like your hand alone was short-circuiting every nerve in his body.

“Jesus, Y/N…” He moaned, mouth open against your cheek now, breath warm and shaking. You stroked him slowly–long, fluid motions that twisted slightly at the top, smearing the bead of precum across the tip and stroking. He pulsed in your grip, his cock thickening further with every movement. His hips rocked gently, chasing the rhythm you set, and his moans started to deepen–quiet at first, just breathy exhales and broken sighs, but quickly growing rougher. His hand rose to your waist, gripping there as if he needed an anchor. His other arm braced beside your head, but it trembled beneath the strain of holding back. His forehead dropped to your shoulder as he gasped through gritted teeth, and you pressed kisses to the crown of his hair. His hand clenched the pillow beside your head, fingers digging into the fabric like he was holding on for dear life. His breath was ragged, mouth parted in a helpless moan that barely made it past his throat.

“Y-You have to stop,” He gasped, his voice cracking around the edges. “Or else I’m going to cum in my pa-pants.” You slowed your strokes, teasing him now–your grip softening just slightly as you dragged your hand upward, watching his face twist in pleasure.

“Isn’t that the point?” You murmured, voice thick with heat and amusement. But he shook his head fiercely, the words catching in his throat as he groaned again, his hips twitching with restraint.

”No,” He replied, breathing shallow and desperate. “I want to be inside you when I fi-finish… I don’t want to do it in my pants.” He was flushed to his ears now, brows drawn together like it physically pained him to say it—like the need had overtaken every shred of logic in his body and all that remained was longing.

You grinned, slow and dangerous.

“Alright,” You said softly, dragging your hand up his length one final time before releasing him, his cock twitching at the loss of contact, “Take off your sweatpants and lay on your back.” He didn’t hesitate. He pulled away from you just long enough to lift his hips and shove the waistband down–clumsy, desperate movements, hands scrambling at the fabric, fumbling with the tightness around his thighs. You laughed breathlessly as you reached to help, fingers hooking into the waistband to tug them over his hips while he cursed under his breath.

“Fuck…Sorry, they’re sticking cause I’m all sweaty,” He muttered, wriggling like a man possessed. You giggled as the two of you fought the damp cotton together, breathless with heat and amusement until he finally kicked the sweatpants off the edge of the bed with a frustrated groan, before laying on his back in all his glory.

Your breath caught in your throat.

Touching him had given you a hint–but seeing him?

Seeing his cock flushed and hard and glistening, resting against the soft curve of his stomach, the tip red and leaking–dripping so steadily that a few drops of precum had pooled on his skin?

It made your mouth go dry.

He was big. Thick and long, so much so it made your thighs twitch just by looking at him. A vein curved along the underside, pulsing faintly, and the heavy swell of the head gleamed in the light.

”Jesus, Bob…” You whispered, eyes wide, a small disbelieving laugh escaping your throat, “You’re huge.” He gave a weak embarrassed chuckle, one hand covering his face for a second before sliding it back through his hair.

”Surprise,” He muttered sheepishly, watching as you crawled on top of him, your thighs moving over to straddle his lap, your knees sinking into the mattress on either side of his hips. Your hands smoothed over his chest–solid and warm beneath your palms–as you shifted your weight.

“We still okay?’ You asked, seeing the way his blue eyes ran over the image of you on top of him, and he nodded, watching you reach back to wrap your hand around his cock once more. His hands came up immediately settling on your hips like magnets, fingers digging in with barely restrained urgency. You could feel how tightly he held himself back–how every muscle in his body trembled under your touch. His throat bobbed with a thick swallow as you stroked him once, guiding his tip to your entrance, adjusting yourself above him before lowering yourself down.

The tip of his cock pressed against your folds, sliding through the soaked heat before catching just right–right at the center of you. And when you finally began to sink, slowly, achingly slow, it was like your whole body lit up with fire.

Your walls stretched, burning in the most perfect way, as the thick crown of him breached you. You both cried out–your voice high and shaking, his low and guttural.

“Fu-Fuck…” Bob gasped, his head dropping back against the pillows, eyes squeezed shut. “Oh my God.” You panted, breath catching with every inch you took. The stretch was intense.

He filled you slowly, steadily–inch by inch, forcing your body to open for him, to welcome the heat and the pressure of his cock as it pushed deeper. You could feel everything–the weight of him, the slick glide, the twitch of his thighs beneath you, the low moan rumbling from his chest.

Your fingers dug into the hard lines of his pecs as you breathed through it, your thighs trembling from the effort to keep control.

“Shit, Bob,” You started, eyes fluttering shut as your hips tilted forward, easing yourself further down, “You’re so…Fucking big.” He whimpered at that, hips twitching beneath you, his fingers tightening around your waist.

“I’m so-sorry…Do you need to stop?” He gasped, but you shook your head immediately, your jaw slack, sweat pearling at your temples.

“No,” You whispered, “No…I need all of you. I want all of you.” You added, bracing yourself as you sank down another inch. You felt the stretch deepen–felt your walls clench and flutter around him, adjusting, aching in the most perfect, devastating way. Bob’s mouth dropped open, his chest rising and falling rapidly.

“Y/N…You’re taking me so well…Je-Jesus Christ…” He moaned, his hands tightening on your hips, his nails digging into the supple flesh, his eyes never leaving your face once. You whimpered, lifting yourself just slightly before sinking down again, taking more of him. The pressure made your vision blur, and your pulse roar in your ears, but finally you had taken him in fully–his cock buried deep, the base of him pressing right against your clit. You dragged your nails along his chest, closing your eyes as you leaned forward, the cool metal of your dog tags resting against him.

The both of you were gasping, breathing each other in like oxygen. You were full–so full it was hard to think. Your walls stretched tight around him, holding him in a vice that made your whole body sing. You could feel every vein, every twitch, every pulse, and Bob looked like he was unraveling by the second.

His eyes fluttered open, dazed and glassy as they drank you in. His lips parted, and his brow was slick with sweat, his jaw slack with awe. His hand rose slowly–trembling just slightly with the effort to hold it together–and he cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing across your flushed skin with reverence.

“Are you ok-okay?” He whispered, his voice barely audible over the storm still raging outside the walls. You nodded, your smile blooming slow and reverent, leaning into his touch like it was the only thing tethering you to the earth.

“Just overwhelmed,” You murmured, your voice soft and breathless, “But I’m feeling pure ecstasy. You feel so right…Like you were built to fit inside me.” Your words hit him like a holy thing–his pupils blew wide, his lips parting, and a choked sound escaped his throat, like he was trying not to cry or come or both. He pulled you down to him, gentle as anything, and kissed you–slow, sensual, all lips and breath and trembling warmth. The kiss wasn’t rushed. It was grounding. Deep. Lips brushing and parting in quiet rhythm while your walls fluttered around his cock, your body still adjusting to the fullness. He held you close as you pulsed around him, his hand sliding to the back of your neck, thumb brushing the hinge of your jaw.

You stayed like that–connected, trembling, just breathing together. Letting the heat build low and slow, like kindling under a fire.

Then, finally, you started to move.

It was just a shallow grind at first, more of a gentle roll of your hips than a thrust–your clit catching deliciously against the coarse hair at the base of his cock, your thighs tightening around him as you lifted just slightly and eased back down again. Bob gasped, his hands flying to your hips, steadying you

“Y/N…” He breathed, voice cracking as he bit down on a moan, “You’re so tight.” His fingers flexed against your skin, thumbs stroking the swell of your hips as you moved again–another slow lift and descent, friction building where your clit dragged over the base of him, wet and aching and hot. You leaned down, lips brushing his cheek.

”You were made for me, Bob…” You trembled. His eyes rolled back. Hips twitching upward, meeting your next slow grind.

”Say that ag-again.” You smiled.

”I said…You were made for me…Made to fill every inch, to touch me so deeply that only you could do it.” You whispered, your lips grazing his earlobe. A ragged groan tore from his chest. Then he moved–his fingers sliding up your stomach, catching on the chain of your dog tags, brushing them aside as they swung forward. And then, with a desperate, shaky inhale, he leaned up–opened his mouth–and caught the tags between his teeth. His lips curled around them slightly, jaw clenched just enough to keep them still. The sight of it–your dog tags between his teeth while his cock stretched you open–shot straight to your core.

Your hands tangled in his hair, and you groaned. “Fuck, Bob, that’s…Shit, that’s hot. You holding my name in your mouth like that.” He moaned around the tags, his voice muffled, the sound guttural and raw.

Then he sat up fully.

The motion pressed your bare chest against his, the heat between your bodies magnified, the wet slide of skin to skin making you both gasp. His arms wrapped around your waist, holding you flush to him as he began to guide your hips with slow, steady force–rocking you on his cock in lazy, deep rolls. The pressure of your clit grinding against the base of him with each movement was unbearable. You whimpered, your forehead pressed to his, as your hands slid down to grip his shoulders. He growled, releasing the dog tags from his teeth with a low clink as they fell against your chest again–then he licked a stripe along your jaw, tasting the sweat on your skin.

“You feel like fucking heaven,” He rasped, “So soft…So tight ar-around me, I don’t wanna leave. Ever.” He kissed you again, hot and messy, biting your bottom lip and pulling a soft gasp from your throat.

“Don’t then…Just keep guiding me…” He groaned and thrust up into you–shallow but sharp, hitting that sweet spot that made your nails dig into his shoulders.

“God, yes, right there…Fuck–” You moaned, your voice breaking as he picked up the pace just slightly, guiding your hips faster, harder. Your clit was grinding against the base of him with every stroke now, each one sending shocks of pleasure through your spine.

“You look so beautiful like this,” He gritted out, “The way you grind yourself on my co-cock like it’s yours…Like you own it.”

”I do,” You gasped, your body trembling as you moved faster, need sharpening with every thrust, “I fucking do.” He moaned–loud, filthy–his mouth latching onto your throat as he sucked a mark just below your jaw.

“Tell me how I feel,” He begged, his voice rough and breathless against your skin.

“Perfect. Stretching me open. Reaching so deep,” You cried out, your rhythm faltering slightly as your orgasm began to build again, “You feel so fucking good inside me, Bob. You’re the only person that’s ever made me feel this good…” He shuddered beneath you, his hips starting to meet yours with more force, his thrusts deeper now, more desperate.

“I’m not gonna last if you keep saying shit like that,” He groaned, voice ragged, forehead pressed to yours. “Fuck, I wa-wanna feel you come on me again. Please, Y/N…Let me feel it.” You pressed your fingers into the back of his neck.

”Guide me,” You whispered, your breath breaking with each roll of your hips, “Make me come. I’m so close, Bob, I’m so close–” His hand slid between your bodies, finding your clit, rubbing slow, firm circles that made your hips jerk. The angle, the pressure, the sound of his voice in your ear telling you how good you felt, how tight you were, how wet–how perfect you looked above him–it was everything.

“Come for me,” he growled, voice shaking as your rhythm stuttered, “Come on my cock…Wanna feel you sq-squeeze me…Wanna watch you fall apart for me.” He begged,

With a loud, broken moan, you clung to him as the orgasm slammed into you, your whole body convulsing, walls tightening around him in fluttering waves. You buried your face in his neck, your lips parting against his shoulder as you sobbed through it, breath caught and trembling.

Bob let out a raw moan, his hips jerking up hard as he held you tight–his cock twitching–then he gasped, voice cracking open on a grunt.

”Fuck…I’m coming…” He buried himself deep inside you, hips stuttering, spilling into you with a groan that sounded like pure reverence. His arms wrapped around your back, holding you to him as he trembled through the release, the warmth of him flooding into you as you both rode the aftershocks together, panting in each other’s arms.

Your bodies trembled in tandem, hearts thudding in irregular sync like they were struggling to return to baseline, still recalibrating from the intensity of what had just passed between you. Bob’s skin was warm and slick, his chest rising and falling beneath yours in heavy, trembling waves, each breath brushing against your collarbone. You hadn’t moved yet. Neither of you had. You were still wrapped around him, your thighs cradling his hips, his softening cock still tucked inside you, pulsing gently in the afterglow.

He didn’t seem in any rush to leave the space between your bodies either.

The storm beyond the thin walls still growled and whispered, pressing wetly against the windows. But inside Room Six, everything had fallen quiet again–save for the sound of shared breathing and the occasional creak of the mattress beneath your shifting limbs.

Bob’s lips trailed soft, open-mouthed kisses along the curve of your throat, slow and unhurried, like he was trying to memorize the taste of your skin. His tongue flicked gently against the sweat-slick dip just beneath your jaw, then sucked there lightly until you whimpered. He smiled–small, breathless, utterly wrecked.

You could feel it when he moved again, the twitch of him still inside you, the ripple of muscle beneath your palms. His hand ran along the side of your thigh, thumb brushing the underside of it, and then he nosed up your cheek with the barest graze of stubble and found your lips again. He kissed you–softer now, less desperate. A grateful kiss. A little dazed. A little dizzy. Full of everything he couldn’t say yet.

When he pulled back to breathe, you reached up and cradled his face in both hands. His cheeks were still flushed, his hair a mess, and his lips were red and puffy and slick from everything you’d done to each other. His eyes–those impossibly blue eyes–shimmered like twin oceans under stormlight as he looked at you, so full of something raw and real it almost hurt to hold his gaze.

Then he leaned into your palms, tilted his head slightly, and kissed them. One. Then the other. Lingering, reverent. Your fingers twitched at the touch, brushing along the curve of his jaw, and he closed his eyes for a second like it calmed something inside him.

“That was am-amazing,” Bob whispered, his voice cracked and soft, the barest tremble of awe still threading through it. Your fingers twitched against his cheeks in response, stroking gently as you smiled.

“If it wasn’t for the fact I’m already feeling sore,” You murmured, your voice husky with afterglow, “I’d be asking for a round two.” That earned a small, breathless laugh from him.

“We have pl-plenty of time for a round two…We have all night actually,” He said, voice low and teasing as his thumbs brushed along your waist, “Or at least until the storm clears out.” You hummed, your smile deepening as you leaned forward, pressing your forehead to his.

“Forgot that the Sentry serum gives you unlimited stamina,” You commented with a sly grin. He smirked, cheeks still flushed, lips damp with your kisses.

“You’re the first person I’ve sl-slept with since getting it, actually…” He admitted, shy but proud, “So we may have to test that stamina theory out to see if it’s truly unlimited.” You let out a soft, breathy laugh and brushed your nose against his.

“Well…Now I feel very special.” He pulled back just far enough to look you fully in the eye, his expression turning earnest.

“You’ve always been sp-special to me.” He said.

There was a beat–a soft, swelling pause, where those words settled in your chest like a warm weight. Then you leaned in again and kissed him–slow, tender, lips brushing his with a reverence that made both your hearts ache. A small moan vibrated against your mouth as he returned it, needy and sweet, before you pulled back just enough to whisper, “You’ve always been special to me too, Bob.”

The corners of his mouth tilted up into a smile that could’ve melted the storm outside. He leaned in and kissed you again, slower this time, full of that kind of quiet joy that only ever bloomed in the wake of something long-denied finally earned.

Then he let out a small groan, forehead resting against yours.

“As much as I’d like to stay inside you all night…” He murmured, brushing a thumb over your hip with a soft sigh, “We should get cl-cleaned up… You lay back. I’ll grab a wet cloth.”

Reluctantly, you nodded. “Okay…”

Carefully, you braced a hand against his chest and began to shift, letting out a sharp gasp as you slowly lifted your hips and pulled off of him. The stretch as you separated made your muscles tremble and your breath catch–it was raw and tender, but not painful. Just… Sore. In that good, lingering way that reminded you how deeply he’d filled you. How fully you’d come undone together.

His hands steadied you as you moved, the warmth radiating into your skin. When you finally eased off of him and rolled onto your back, the cool pillow met your flushed skin like a balm, and your breath stuttered with the shift in temperature.

Bob sat up a little straighter, legs a little wobbly, as his softened cock glistened with your shared arousal. He looked dazed and flushed, a mess of tousled hair, sweat-slicked skin, and pink cheeks as he moved to the edge of the bed.

“I’ll be right back,” He whispered, dropping a kiss to your knee as he rose. You watched him pad toward the bathroom, completely bare, the muscles of his back and buttocks flexing slightly as he moved. The sight alone made your core flutter again. Even spent and shaking, your body still reacted to him like he was a living prayer.

You sank deeper into the mattress, limbs heavy with satisfaction, the scent of him and sex still clinging to your skin. You let out a long sigh, listening to the sink turn on for a couple of seconds, then a few moments later, Bob returned, holding a damp cloth and a clean hand towel, moving with surprising grace for someone who’d just been thoroughly wrecked. He gave you a gentle smile, his eyes filled with something that looked suspiciously like devotion, and knelt beside you again on the mattress again

“Let me take care of you,” He said softly. You slowly opened your legs for him, a soft sigh slipping past your lips at the sensitivity. Bob shifted instinctively, positioning himself between your thighs without hesitation, moving with that same quiet gentleness that had been present all night. His palm rested gently on your inner thigh, grounding and warm, while the other brought the damp cloth to your swollen, slick center.

The moment it touched you, your body flinched slightly–a reflexive twitch from overstimulation–and he paused instantly, eyes flicking up to your face in concern. His brow furrowed with quiet worry as he took in the way your body trembled.

“You look really sore…” He murmured softly, voice laced with guilt and reverence. “You sure you’re ok-okay?” You nodded, reaching out to brush a strand of damp hair off his flushed forehead.

“I’m positive…Thank you for doing this.” Your voice was hushed, tender. “You really didn’t have to.”

Bob’s eyes softened. He gave your knee a small, wet kiss, lips lingering against your skin for a second longer than necessary–like he needed the contact. When he looked back up at you, his cheeks were tinged with the same pink you’d grown to love so much, his voice cracking slightly as he replied:

“I’m not one to avoid providing my pa-partners with aftercare…I like doing it.” You smiled, the corner of your mouth curling softly as you tilted your head on the pillow, watching him.

“It’s very intimate,” You pointed out softly, your tone more thoughtful than teasing. That earned you a breathy, flustered laugh. His ears went red again as he carefully wiped the tender skin between your legs, slow and meticulous, cleaning away the slickness and the soft trails of his release. He was careful not to press too hard, his touch barely more than a whisper against the ache he’d left behind.

“It’s a nice way to show how much I ap-appreciate you,” He murmured. “And how much this…You…Mean to me.” He finished with a few more gentle strokes, then set the used cloth aside and grabbed the dry towel, patting the area down delicately. His fingers were warm and steady, the towel soft and barely abrasive against your already-sensitive skin. You whimpered quietly at the final press of the cloth and reached for him instinctively, wanting him close again.

He moved both towels off the bed without a word, then turned and grabbed the blankets. You shifted to make space, and he pulled the covers up and over the both of you, cocooning you in the warmth. The moment the duvet settled, you turned onto your side to face him–and without hesitation, Bob did the same.

Your legs tangled first. Then your arms.

His hand found your waist, tucking you closer, while yours slid under his jaw and rested just behind his neck. His breath hitched at the contact, but he didn’t pull away. He leaned into it. Into you.

Your foreheads touched. His eyes fluttered closed.

You exhaled, and he mirrored it–like your lungs were syncing again after the chaos. After the heat. After everything.

And in that quiet moment, with your limbs wrapped around each other and the storm humming like a lullaby against the motel windows, he whispered:

“Wh-What are we going to do tomorrow morning?”

You opened your eyes and met his gaze, your voice firm but soft as you replied:

”Whatever you want to do…As long as we’re doing it together…I’ll go anywhere you go.”

[deunmiu-dessie]

ⅳ▬ ⁽ 𝓎𝒶𝓊𝓉𝒿𝒶 ⁾

𝓌𝑜𝓇𝒹 𝒸𝑜𝓊𝓃𝓉 ♡︎ : ₈˖₆ₖ ˚₊·—̳͟͞͞♡

𝓌𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈 ♡︎ : mdni----- unedited, NSFW,  explicit content, teratophilia, yautja/human, rough sex, unprotected sex, creampie, overstimulation, breeding, dubcon, rape/noncon elements, violence, alien abduction (??), reader is lowkey horny all the time. ₍⑅ᐢ..ᐢ₎

𝓈𝓊𝓂𝓂𝒶𝓇𝓎 ♡︎: after a yautja breaks into your home, all hell breaks loose.

꒰m!yautja ₊⊹ afab!reader꒱

THUMP THUMP

Crash!

𝒴our eyes flutter open, bleary with sleep and confusion. The room is dark, the moonlight filtering through the window, casting a soft glow onto your thick blanket. With a yawn, you stretch out your limbs, feeling your joints crack as you reach out for the lamp on your nightstand. The small clink of the knob being twisted breaks the silence of the night in your quiet house. You take a moment to rub the sleep from your eyes before you swing your legs over the edge of the bed and shuffle down, your warm feet making contact with the cool touch of your house shoes. It takes a second for you to come to but you finally find yourself upright and walking out of the room. You weren't necessarily worried, as your mischievous cat often wreaks havoc on the counters at night. It's a familiar sight. Typically, you would leave the mess until morning, but this time, an inexplicable urge pushes you to investigate. Plus, you're quite thirsty. Descending the wooden stairs leisurely, you reach the end of the hallway at the bottom and flick on the light switch. The single bulb illuminates only your immediate surroundings, but it's enough for your eyes to adjust to the darkness downstairs.

The shuffling of your footsteps reverberated in your ears, causing an inexplicable unease to wash over you. Your legs became as heavy as lead, making each step a painful endeavor. Suddenly, a surge of alarm courses through you as when the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end, goosebumps erupting across your skin. You halt your movement, allowing your senses to sharpen and tune in. The faint jingle and jangle of your cat's collar catches your immediate attention, prompting you to cautiously retrace your steps towards the staircase. As your trembling hands gripped the railing, you were taken aback by the sight of your black and white feline leisurely stretching at the top of the stairs, its mouth opening wide in a yawn. If your cat had been upstairs all along, then what was the noise you heard?   Fear crept into the depths of your stomach, churning your insides and burning your throat. In this moment of vulnerability, you realized that you were unarmed, with the only available option being a baseball bat tucked away in the closet just a few feet from where you stood. A lump formed in your throat as you swallowed hard, desperately attempting to maintain your composure as you stealthily made your way toward the closet. The thought of calling for help vanished from your mind, replaced by a gripping fear that consumed your every thought.  Your attention was suddenly captivated by a mesmerizing neon green hue, its splatters leading a mysterious trail toward the dining room. 

  With trembling hands, you press them against your mouth to stifle a sob, cringing when you feel the clamminess of your skin. As you stand frozen in terror, your ears tingle and twitch, picking up on a soft clicking sound in front of you. Slowly, your eyes scan upwards, only to be met with an impenetrable darkness in the dining room, with the glowing substance serving as the sole source of illumination. A soft whimper escapes your lips, and at that moment, all thoughts of finding a weapon vanished. Whoever or whatever was in your house, one thing was certain - it was not human.   As you stood there, the air before you seemed to ripple and quiver, creating a captivating display of ethereal pink and green hues before your dark dining room came back into your 'sight'. A shudder traveled down your spine, and your legs wobbled, as if unable to bear your weight any longer. With a mix of trepidation and curiosity, you tentatively extended your hand, half-expecting your senses to deceive you in this surreal moment. The sensation was akin to touching a brick wall, the object beneath your hand was rigid and corded with muscles. You clenched your eyes shut and bit your lip, pulling your hand away briefly from whatever was there. Your lashes fluttered, lifting to reveal glossy eyes and unshed tears. The air suddenly materialized into something inhumane. The air around you suddenly morphed into something otherworldly. It stood imposingly tall, slender, and muscular. Once more, you heard that clicking noise coming from the being in front of you. Overwhelmed by the intense mental stimulation, your mind reaches its breaking point. Your eyes involuntarily rolled to the back of your head, rendering your body completely incapacitated. In a sudden motion, you stumbled forward, colliding with the mysterious entity standing before you. With surprising tenderness, its clawed hands extended to cradle your delicate form.

With ease, the colossal Predator effortlessly lifted the small human who had fallen into him, ensuring that its sharp claws didn't puncture your tender thighs. Your head hangs limply, narrowly avoiding the menacing tusks attached to the Predator's shoulder armor.     Perturbed the Predator emits a series of clicks, and swiftly makes his way into the living room and to the small couch, gently unfurling his arms from around you and placing you onto it. Tilting his head his tubed dreads cascade over his shoulder, and behind his mask, the Predator's intense gaze is fixated on your motionless body. Fortunately, you appeared unharmed, it seemed you had simply fainted. Ahn'thu's head jerked up abruptly, rendering himself invisible to the naked eye immediately. The sharp crunch of broken glass echoed in his ear canal as he swiftly surveyed the room through his mask, instantly identifying multiple human heat signatures. Glancing down at the small figure nestled on the couch, he reassured himself that you would remain unharmed among your own kind. Revealing himself now would undoubtedly result in a hasty and reckless response from the intruders, no doubt they would fire without thinking of who was in the house originally.

The Yautja took his eye off the human on the couch and ventured into the darkness of the living room. The heat signatures were moving closer, almost to the living room. The heat signatures were getting closer, inching towards the heart of the room. Humans, being as noisy as ever, made their presence known with every step, every whisper, and every click of their weapons. Ahn'thu maintained surveillance on their positions, making sure they stayed within sight. The soldiers eventually entered the living room, speaking in hushed tones. It took awhile but one of them noticed you unconscious on the couch, nudged his fellow soldier, and pointed towards your body.

" We have a civilian here Captain, your orders?"

A burly man in the front came to a halt, scanning the area until he spotted your motionless form."Check for signs of life," he commanded. Ahn'thu's warning trill sent a shiver down the soldiers' spines. The sound of his gauntlet blades unsheathing itself made them wary and the room was suddenly filled with red dots from their weapons, aiming at nothing and everything.   " Stay on high alert! It has the advantage of being able to see us, but we are unable to perceive its existence. Keep your guard up and remain cautious at all times. "

 Ahn'thu almost let out a click of amusement. He didn't want this gruesome scene to play out in your home. He didn't want you to wake up to the putrid smell of metallic blood and death. He didn't want your eyes to widen in horror at the sight of crimson stains on your wooden floors and white walls.   The sound of your groans echoed through the room, instantly drawing the gaze of everyone present. With bated breath, they observed as your unconscious form gradually stirred back to life. Ahn'thu emitted a contented purr, relieved to witness the small human's recovery. Although reluctant, the Predator seized the opportunity to depart unnoticed while their attention was fixated, skillfully concealing itself nearby.

With a flutter, your eyes blinked open for the second time tonight, accompanied by a pounding ache at the back of your head. Oddly enough, you couldn't recall any instance of hitting your head. As you propped yourself up, the fog in your mind started to lift, and your bleary eyes regained focus.

  The hushed shuffle of footsteps nearby caused your muscles to tense, and in that moment, the memories flooded back. You turned your gaze slowly towards the direction of the sound, your hands instinctively rising to cover your mouth, a gasp escaping through your fingers.

  In front of you, a group of armed men stood, the lasers of their guns fixed on your trembling figure. Suddenly, one of them took a step forward, gradually lowering his weapon. "We're not here to hurt you. We're after something that has entered your home. Have you seen anything?" Reluctantly, you nodded your head and swallowed a sob. "T-there was this man— no, this thing. It was tall, but it didn't appear human. It was injured. I didn't even notice it at first, despite it being right in front of me." Anxiously playing with your fingers, you muttered, "I know it sounds crazy, but it just appeared out of nowhere, like it was invisible at first." The man nodded, his face wearing a grim expression. He raised his gun again, aiming it at your head. " If only you didn't know so much. " Your eyes widened as you looked at the other soldiers in the room, tears falling down your cheeks. "N-no! I swear I won't say a word, please, please don't hurt me."

  ' gurgle '

  Blood coated your face in small rivulets, and you sat paralyzed on the couch, observing as the man in front of you collapsed to the floor, blood pooling from his mouth. Suddenly, the alien materializes, a massive eight-foot Yautja looming just a few inches away from the lifeless body. The masked creature locked eyes with you, its head cocked to the side. Time seemed to stand still as you both stared at each other until chilling words reached your ears.

"Fire!" Bullets whizzed by your face, lodging into the walls and furniture around you. You couldn't help but scream, curling into a tight ball to make yourself as small as possible, hands covering your ears, eyes shut tight, face buried in your knees. 

Ahn'thu vanished from sight, the sound of his blade cutting through the air was more deafening than the gunshots, and soon bodies were falling to the ground. Their cries pierced through your hands and tears streamed down your face. Despite the diminishing sound of gunfire, it didn't mean that it had completely ceased. A searing, white-hot pain shot through your thigh, prompting you to release a scream that resonated with pure agony. The intensity of your cry caught Ahn'thu's attention, causing him to swiftly turn towards you, his cloak disengaging in the process.   A deafening roar reverberated throughout the house, shaking its very foundation. With a swift and calculated movement, Ahn'thu twisted his body towards the soldier closest to him, seizing the soldier's head in his powerful grip. In a bone-chilling display, he twisted and pulled, leaving behind a severed head and a spine dangling from the Predators' colossal hands. Ahn'thu swiftly reached for the shuriken hanging from his waist, the sharp blades catching the light as they spun open. With a precise throw, the blade pierced through a man's throat, causing the others to scatter in fear dropping their weapons in the process. After dispatching the final opponent, the Yautja turned towards the trembling human huddled on the couch, your body covered in a sheen of sweat. The massive figure advanced, only to halt when you tucked your body to the couch, a pained gasp echoing in the room. While he wished for your comfort, that wasn't a priority when there was a bullet lodged in your thigh. Ahn'thu's gaze flickered to the wound, his concern evident as he saw the blood seeping through your clenched hands that were putting pressure on the area.   With swift movements, he approached you lifting you gently into his arms. A gentle purr rumbling from his chest, soothing you. Gradually, your body relaxed in his arms, the tension melting away and your heat signature indicating a decrease in distress. The Yautja grumbled as he heard the wailing of cop sirens. He walked over to one of the dead bodies, softly positioning you so you were cradled in the crook of one of his arms, and pulled the shuriken from the man's throat, flicking it out so that the blades closed. His ship was a considerable distance away, but luckily, he was surrounded by miles of woods. Calling for his ship and cloaking it in a clearing would be a simple task. Ahn'thu smoothly exited, slipping through the gaping hole in the wall with care not to cause you any discomfort. The clamor of the intruders breaking through the door pushed him to hasten his steps, the cloaking device immediately bending the light and allowing you two to become transparent. He realized he had to extract the bullet swiftly, noticing the ashen hue of your soft skin, and your eyes bleary with pain. He comforted you with a soft purr, holding you close to maintain warmth. With a gentle flutter, your eyes succumbed to the overwhelming pain, plunging you into a deep slumber for the second instance that night.

For the past half an hour, he has been walking tirelessly, determined to put a considerable distance between himself and the small town.  Initially, he frets when you don't show any signs of movement for the first ten minutes of the journey. However, he finds solace in the data and body temperature readings provided by his equipment, albeit temporarily.   Gently, he cradles you in the crook of his arm, drawing you closer so that he can operate his gauntlet. The ship will arrive shortly, in just a matter of minutes. He steals another glance at you, observing your shallow breaths and the rapid movements of your eyes beneath closed lids as if chasing fleeting dreams.

The ship arrives with a gentle breeze and the familiar beep of his gauntlet. It briefly materializes, showing him the entrance before vanishing and sealing behind him. The interior is pleasantly cool, but not too much so. The netting covering his body regulated his temperature, he was never too cold nor too hot— but Ahn'thu preferred it to be cold. His main concern is removing the bullet from your body, so he takes you to his room and lays you down on his furs to inspect your wound.

 Unfazed by the blood staining the plush bedding, Ahn'thu retrieves a reddish substance from a nearby chest. With a delicate touch, he grasps your leg, wiping away some of the blood to locate the wound. Placing the red putty against the injury, he allows it to work its magic.   As tears cascade down your cheeks and your body writhes in pain, he holds you firmly, emitting a deep purr from his chest to provide comfort and alleviate your suffering. Although you grow increasingly docile, spasms persist in your leg as he maintains his grip.

As the weight of the crimson putty becomes burdensome, he delicately peels it away from your skin, examining the bullet now cradled in his palm. Ahn'thu places it within a smaller container before retrieving a vial of cerulean liquid and returning to your side, his worried expression evident. Clicking his tongue in apprehension, he understands the impending agony that awaits you.     He applies a single drop of the liquid onto the wound, resuming his comforting purrs, almost stopping when your trembling hand finds his and clings tightly. Your cries grow louder, sweat trickling down your body, causing it to tremor uncontrollably. Though he can offer little in terms of remedy, he remains by your side, providing solace through closeness and doing his utmost to ease your suffering.

It feels like an eternity before your trembling stops, your wound closes, and your breathing becomes steady. In reality, it only took five minutes. You're still grasping his hand, his claws curled inwards to his palm so that he didn't hurt you in any way. And while he's reluctant to let go of you, he does so— he needs to report back to his Elder and start the hunt for the Bad Blood in the Town area. He lets out an amused click as your hand slightly rises off the bed to find him again. He turns and makes his way to the door, letting it slide open before leaving.

As your eyes flutter open, you struggle to adjust to the darkness surrounding you. The remnants of a bullet wound in your thigh send phantom pains coursing through your body, causing a dull ache. With a weary groan, you manage to sit up, only to be startled by the sudden flood of light that blinds you momentarily.   The room feels alien, unfamiliar, and a wave of panic threatens to consume you. However, you gather your composure and slowly maneuver yourself off the massive bed. Every movement is accompanied by the symphony of your body's protests - the creaking of bones and the popping of joints. Finally, as your feet touch the cool metal flooring, you take a moment to stretch your limbs, savoring the sweet relief it brings.

 It seems like you're just in a room, with no visible exit. Desperately searching for a way out, you cautiously explore the walls for any hidden buttons. You jump back as a door slides open, cool air brushing up against your skin. After cautiously venturing out, you find yourself in a maze of identical hallways, feeling disoriented. Biting your lip you walked a bit farther, gasping softly as you stumble upon a control room filled with strange symbols and advanced technology.

With a sudden jolt, you took a step back and collided with an unyielding force.  Suddenly, a sharp clicking noise resonated near your ear, propelling you into a sprint, deftly evading whatever obstructed your path. When you dared to steal a glance behind, there was nothing to be seen, and a sigh of relief escaped your lips.   However, as you redirected your attention forward, a horrifying sight greeted you, prompting a piercing scream to erupt from your throat at the thing in front of you.  Overwhelmed by fear, you stumble backward and seek solace against the safety of a nearby wall, tears streaming down your cheeks, your body convulsing with hiccups, and your breaths coming in deep, shaky inhales.

  Ahn'thu takes a step closer, then crouches down, his head cocked to the side. You seem to fear him, understandably so given recent events. He resorts to purring, noting the wariness and familiarity in your eyes. He looks down at his gauntlet and starts to type, you're curious but not enough to scoot closer and look. 

  You lean forward some to see what he's doing but jerk your body back forcefully when he moves abruptly, attempting to show you his gauntlet, hitting your head on the metal wall behind you. Though a dull ache lingers in your skull, you pay it little mind.

However, Ahn'thu on the other hand, clicks worriedly, leaning closer to look at your head. He reminds himself that you're scared when you move further away from him. With a sigh, he withdraws his hand and presses the enter key on the gauntlet. Although the voice is slightly distorted, you can still comprehend its words.

"You are safe here."

The sight of your chest's rise and fall gradually slowing down, accompanied by the subtle narrowing of your eyes in distrust, captures Ahn'thu's attention. He finds solace in the fact that you are not easily swayed by trust, recognizing it as a sign of your survival instincts. With caution in mind, you skillfully slide away from him, ensuring maximum distance before confidently standing up.   "Where am I? Why did you take me?"

 Ahn'thu's gauntlet and translator struggled to keep pace with your rapid-fire questions, causing him to click in frustration. However, as he began typing something, you paused, eagerly anticipating the voices of various individuals.

   "One at a time."

You let out an exasperated sigh and fold your arms tightly across your chest.  How ironic it is that these aliens, with their supposedly advanced technology, can't even comprehend a simple conversation. The throbbing ache at the base of your skull intensifies, causing your face to contort in pain. In response, the Yautja takes a step closer, triggering your fight or flight response.

  Your body instinctively takes a few steps back, almost losing balance and narrowly avoiding a collision with the cold, unyielding metal wall of the ship once more. Ahn'thu effortlessly closes the distance between you two, reaching out to firmly grasp your forearm and provide the stability you desperately need.

As you take a moment to closely observe it, you can't help but be intrigued by its reptilian skin, adorned with patches of green, black, and dark grey. Surprisingly, its skin doesn't possess the expected rough texture; instead, it feels more like a unique blend of softness and hardness, almost resembling a pliable plastic. Its claws delicately grasp your forearm, ensuring not to harm you.

   Although its face remains concealed behind a metallic mask, you can hear the faint sounds of clicks and growls, which you assume to be its language. Startled, you swiftly retract your arm and take a step back, fixing a piercing gaze upon it. "Who are you?" you inquire. The alien meets your gaze with its enigmatic blank mask but then proceeds to type something.

 "I am Ahn'thu, I am Elite Yautja Warrior."

You would have trouble pronouncing that, but you decide to give it a try regardless. The sound of your voice attempting to replicate his name brings a hint of amusement to his expression, and he responds with a gentle purr when you pronounce it as accurately as you can.

"What is your name?"

The voices startle you as you hadn't even seen him type it in. You seem wary for a moment, and Ahn'thu backs off, not wanting to push you into sharing if you're not ready. Your eyes reflect a bit of trust now, the stormy pools slowly turning into murky waters. "It's Y/N." 

   It's silent between the two of you for a moment before your stomach lets out a deep growl, making you place your hands over it with furrowed brows. Ahn'thu takes a step closer, and this time, you don't retreat. "I will feed you."

You slowly and warily take its outstretched hand and jump when he grasps your hand gently, pulling you down the hall. You follow closely, absentmindedly tracing circles on the skin of its palm with your thumb. Ahn'thu remains silent, secretly pleased that he has earned a fragment of your trust. The two of you enter a different room, completely white and almost blinding after the dimly lit corridors of the ship. It takes some time for your eyes to adjust to the stark brightness.

Ahn'thu softly ushers you towards a table, a subtle detail you might have missed if he hadn't guided you to sit down first. You quickly pull away your hand from his hold and give him a stern glare. The Yautja admires your boldness, pleased that you remain cautious - and rightfully so, as you're clueless about his intentions. The cooler uncloaks itself when he steps closer to it and you let out a startled gasp, head tilting. Ahn'thu trills and opens the door, unveiling a selection of exotic fruits from the various planets he's visited. He's tested to make sure that they're safe to eat, the inhabitants of Earth were known for their fragility after all. Ahn'thu returned to the table and sat down, the cooler vanishing from view. You observed the unfamiliar fruits with concern, some appearing intimidating. It was the first time you sought guidance since waking up, your wide human gaze up at him through lashes, showing a hint of trust towards him. 

 Ahn'thu purrs and grabs one of the fruits, flipping a blade in his hand and slicing it open. He extends a piece towards you, but your attention is completely captured by the fruit's unusual color. The Yautja lets out an impatient huff and reaches up to unhook his mask, causing a hiss to echo throughout the room as the restraints are released. 

  He braces himself for the typical reaction – a scream, a gasp, a recoil in disgust, or perhaps even a comment on his hideousness – but you defy his expectations.  Instead, your human eyes widen with genuine curiosity, your hands instinctively clench at your side, and your fleshy lips form a small 'o' of wonder, devoid of any fear.

 Your lips part as you gaze into his deep-set eyes, you can't help but be captivated by their human-like appearance and the profound intelligence they hold. His mandibles, though relaxed, twitch slightly under your careful observation. Intrigued, you lean forward, your eyes filled with soft wonder.   Ahn'thu finds your human fascination amusing and decides to indulge in the fruit, carving out a small piece and savoring it. The taste is sweet, leaving a delightful, bubbly aftertaste on the tongue but it isn't unpleasant in the slightest. 

As you gaze at him, your eyes widen in astonishment, fixating on his mandibles and teeth. Mesmerized, you observe him chewing effortlessly. Curiosity gets the better of you, and you decide to grab the remaining portion. Carefully, you bring it closer to your lips, making sure to avoid the skin.

   A stream of blue juice trickles down your chin as you take a bite, causing a soft gasp of delight to escape your lips. The explosion of sweetness and fizziness on your tongue leaves you in awe. You glance at him, your eyes brimming with wonder, and Ahn'thu clicks in amusement. 

With a tantalizing flick of your pink tongue, his amusement gradually subsides. You savor the lingering taste by licking up the remaining juice. Your fingers diligently clean the stickiness off your skin before you devour it, relishing every bite. 

   Ahn'thu notices your swift completion and offers you his remaining portion. You accept it graciously, taking a gentle bite and sighing in delight at its exquisite flavor. Surprisingly, it not only satisfies your cravings but also leaves you feeling pleasantly full.

The Yautja carefully observes you, taking note as your eyelids grow heavy and your pulse begins to calm. Exhaustion from the day's chaos and frantic running through the corridors has caught up to you. Suddenly, you startle as numerous voices echo in your ears, urging you to rest. Despite your weariness, the idea of drifting off to sleep with a mysterious alien predator lurking nearby is not how you envisioned meeting your end.

Ahn'thu observes as your hair dances around your face while you groggily decline. He desires your comfort, but also knows it's for your own good. The Yautja rises and gently carries you in his arms. Sensing your exhaustion, you offer no resistance, allowing your head to rest on his chest. 

  He moves cautiously, avoiding any sudden movements. Your gentle breath brushes against his skin, leaving a warm sensation. The worry lines on your forehead and eyebrows have vanished, revealing smooth human skin.

 Ahn'thu reaches his room and delicately places you on the bed, watching as you immediately snuggle into the soft furs, inhaling gently. The fabric of your shorts ride up and caress your thighs, revealing a tantalizing glimpse of the soft globes of flesh that had playfully jiggled when you ran away from him. Your ass looks velvety smooth, and he longs to savor the delight nestled in-between your plush thighs.

   Suppressing his primal desires, he snarls at his own thoughts and shakes his head, causing his dreadlocks to whip around him. Ahn'thu swiftly turns on his heels and exits the room, making his way back to the meeting chamber to report the encounters with the humans and bad blood.

It takes a few hours for your eyelashes to flutter open completely. The room is cast in shadows, with only a faint light illuminating the doorway. Snug in your cocoon of warmth, you find it hard to part with the soft furs. Sliding out of bed, you approach the door and are surprised by its swift, noiseless opening. Stepping into the hallway, you begin to walk aimlessly, not quite certain of your direction but moving forward nonetheless.

Your movements come to a halt as the indecent cacophony of grunts, clicks, and growls fills the air. Backtracking, you cautiously steal a glimpse into the room, the door barely ajar. A gasp lodges itself in your throat, but you swiftly muffle it with your hand, preventing it from reaching your ears, or rather, his ears. 

   With eyes widened in disbelief, you watch him forcefully thrust into a contraption resembling a fleshlight, yet possessing an uncanny fleshy texture, reminiscent of the inner walls of a vagina. It drips with viscous neon droplets of cum, a soft hue of pastel green. What astounds you the most is the sheer shape, size, and girth of his cock. 

As wide as four of your fingers combined, the length stretches from the tip of your index finger to your wrist. It's not human, which is no surprise since he isn't either, but the shape and texture are mesmerizing. It brings to mind the myriad of 'alien' cocks you've seen on Tumblr.

   It shares the same hue as him, but it's noticeably softer than his actual skin. Veins course through it, thick and prominent. Small ridges and nodes decorate it from the top to the bottom, causing you to swallow hard at how slick and warm it seems. The only human aspect about him is the large testicles that hang imposingly underneath his cock.

 You peek up at what he's looking at and can't stop the soft gasp from passing through your lips. It was you. Your face on the pornstar, getting fucked roughly by a guy from your planet. Lost in his own world of desire, he remains oblivious to the sound of your gasp, thrusting relentlessly into the device. Unable to control yourself, your hand slips beneath the waistband of your pajama shorts, gliding past the barrier of your panties, and delving into your dewy, swollen folds, slick with your arousal. 

 Your lower lip disappears between your teeth as a soft moan escapes you, your fingers tracing the outline of your engorged clit. With a delicate touch, you roll it between your fingers, steadying yourself when your knees start to buckle. Your fingers trail past your clit and to your slobbering entrance, hot and clenching against your middle and pointer fingers.

    Slowly you ease your fingers into your dripping pussy, eyes sliding shut for a moment as the thickness enters you. You weren't overly sexual when it came to normal living, you didn't really masturbate and most definitely didn't have time for men or sex toys. At the most, you'd rub one out or try a finger or two but that was about it.

  You try and imagine that he's behind you, that his thick cock is pummeling into you. Your hands fail to provide the same pleasure, leaving you agitated as you watch his hips move with urgency. Giving up, your fingers leave your cunt with an erotic pop and go back to your sensitive clit, rubbing, pinching, and patting at it. 

  Your teeth try and stop your lewd moans of pleasure from escaping but you can hear the wetness of your pussy loud in your ears, feel your arousal dripping down your thighs and onto the floor. His thrusts speed up, his claws dig into the padding of the device and he shoved himself inside it once more before roaring out his release. 

You had never been able to reach orgasm on demand, not even the commanding voices of men on PornHub instructing you to climax. But the feral, animalistic noise of this alien spilling his seed? It made your knees buckle and your pussy convulse. It was the most powerful orgasm you had ever experienced. 

   Thighs twitching, you couldn't hide the deep moan that spills past your pretty little lips. The Yautja's head snaps up and he withdraws his cock from the machine, his cum trickling down his thick shaft. Your cheeks are flushed as you rise hurriedly, running down the hall on legs weakened from your orgasm. You locate the room almost instantly and step inside with a sense of anticipation. 

   Ahn'thu walks over to the broken door ( as it never fully shut ), and opens it completely, his breath finally steadying. He lets out a small sound of confusion before squatting down to examine the tiny pool of cloudy liquid at the entrance.

 His fingers dipped into the substance, and a delightful warmth enveloped them, catching him off guard. Raising his hand to his face, he took a deep breath, his body responding with a pleasurable purr to the sweet and slightly spicy scent that wafted from it. Unable to resist, Ahn'thu sensually sucked on his digit, feeling his cock twitch and precum drip. 

   The taste delighted him, urging him to dip his fingers once more and savor the intoxicating flavor. Standing, he heads back into the room and slips on his clothing. Exiting, Ahn'thu locates the h'dui'se, following like a hound. Unsurprisingly, he finds himself outside of his room. As he enters, he's overwhelmed by the captivating fragrance that surrounds him, suffocating his senses.

The sound of his clicking sends shivers down your spine, causing your body to tremble beneath the soft covers. You instinctively place a hand over your mouth, feeling the warmth of arousal smear across your flushed cheeks. Your thighs clenching tightly together, clit still pulsating from the intense pleasure just moments ago.

   Ahn'thu notices your movements but he doesn't confront you, he doesn't want to scare you even more than you already are. With an angry trill, he exits the room, realizing how difficult it is to be in your presence when the scent of your desire lingers in the air, clouding his senses. He seeks solace in another spare room, far away from the intoxicating allure of your essence.

As your eyes flutter open, you find yourself in a state of uncertainty. The absence of windows on the ship leaves you clueless about the time it's what you assume is the next morning. Stepping out of the room, you make a conscious effort to push yesterday's troubles from your mind and begin to explore. Intrigued, you cautiously peer into each door, hoping to find him. 

The ship is far too silent, calm– it's only you here. A frown forms on your face, and a sudden surge of fear grips your being. The thought of being stranded alone in an alien vessel, unaware of its destination or potential dangers, sends a shiver down your spine.

As you stumble upon the pristine white room, the very same space where he tantalizingly fed you with succulent fruit, a delicate gasp escapes your lips. Hastily, you scuttle inside, emitting a hiss of discomfort as you accidentally collide with the table, your eyes gradually adapting to the surroundings, discerning its form. 

  A wave of bewilderment washes over you as you frantically seek out the refrigerator, emitting a low grunt of frustration as you unexpectedly collide with it, as if it materialized out of thin air.  With a glimmer of delight, the refrigerator door glides open, revealing a mango, a tantalizing gift from Earth.

  You exit the room after searching for the door and head out into the hallway. Without a knife, you're unsure of how to eat the fruit but choose to bite into it, sucking and nipping at the skin until it's cleaned and pulling it from your mouth. As you continue your exploration, you stumble upon the familiar room from the previous night. A surge of desire courses through your veins, causing your cheeks to flush with embarrassment. With sticky fingers, you gently push open the door.

 A hum of delight fills the room as you bite into the fruit again, the juice spilling down your chin and neck. You'd have to ask him where the bathroom is if he even had one. Your gaze catches sight of a nearby table, and you delicately place the mango upon it, savoring the opportunity to lick your fingers clean. Slowly, you walk towards the machine, eyeing it. 

The remnants of his cum, mingled with his perspiration, have been meticulously wiped away, a part of you wishes it wasn't so you could taste him. As you compose yourself, your moistened fingers glide over the buttons, leaving behind traces of your touch. 

  The words displayed on the screen remain an enigma, but the images depicted hold your gaze captive. Among them, one bears an uncanny resemblance to your alien. Another portrays a man, while a third portrays a woman. With trembling limbs, you succumb to your curiosity and press upon the image.

The machine instantly illuminates, its intricate mechanisms gliding back and forth at a deliberate pace. A gasp escapes your lips as you instinctively retreat, your heart pounding fiercely within your chest. As the video commences, you find yourself captivated, fixated on the scene unfolding before you. The alien thrusts into the human woman with a primal intensity, their bodies melding together. 

  Her face is twisted with an unapologetic, wanton pleasure, her eyes rolling back into her skull, and a trail of drool cascades down her chin as he ravishes her. Despite her apparent state of blissful abandon, she begs for more, tooting her rear up, arching her back, and pressing her petite hand against his sculpted abdomen. His low rumblings aren't as deep as your alien's yet they still ignite a pulsating ache within your pussy nonetheless. With flushed cheeks, tousled locks, and quivering thighs, she surrenders herself to his every whim. 

 You bite down on your bottom lip, drawing closer, fixated on the sight of him disappearing inside her. His size may be slightly smaller than your alien's, but you pause, questioning when that creature had become yours. When did you become comfortable with this arrangement?

The thunderous growl signifies its release, cum painting her insides. The woman appears fatigued, yearning for rest, yet enveloped in an intoxicating pleasure. A shuddering sigh escapes her lips, but she remains helpless, succumbing to moans as he resumes his relentless thrusting. 

   Your hand ventures downwards, fingers coated in a sticky residue, caressing your throbbing clit nestled between moist folds and layers of fabric. You're firm in your movements, taken aback by the immense pleasure that engulfs you.

Biting your lip, your hand ventures beneath the fabric of your shorts, gliding past the delicate barrier of your panties, until it reaches your throbbing, weeping pussy. The succulent juice from the mango you had earlier coats your sensitive clit as you rub and pinch at it. This time, you abandon all inhibitions, allowing your moans, soft pants, and whimpers to fill the room and your eyes flutter shut. 

   The sound of her moans intertwines with the rhythmic slapping of his hips against her round ass, becoming the only melody that matters. With your other hand, now free, you trail it up your body, your fingers finding solace on your breasts, expertly pinching and teasing your nipples, mirroring the pleasure the woman is experiencing. The newfound ecstasy consumes you, causing your thighs to tremble uncontrollably, and give out as a desperate whine escapes your lips, your hand drenched in your cum.

An electrifying chill dances along your back, prompting you to rise abruptly. Fingers dart across the buttons, bringing the video to a halt and returning you to the Home Screen. The sensation of not being alone lingers in the air. Withdrawing your hand from your shorts, a glistening trail of desire is left on your stomach and you gracefully exit the room, snatching your mango as you go. Your astuteness guides you effortlessly through the labyrinth of halls, swiftly finding the room.

You let out a gasp as you collide with him, feeling his hand encircle your waist, his knee pressing against your soaked thighs to steady you.  Ahn'thu gazes at you, his head cocking as he spots the fruit in your hand. He goes to question you but the warm trail of wetness on his leg makes him click in question. Then the smell of your arousal hits him like a freight train and he growls lowly, almost throwing you over his shoulder and taking you like a beast in heat when your cunt clenches. 

In a nimble and tender manner, he elegantly withdraws from your presence, his eyes captivated by the luminous sheen of his leg in the artificial white light. Your human cheeks are adorned with a blush, and from behind his mask, he can perceive the frantic beat of your heart, racing at an exhilarating pace.

The mask translates your soft words. " You're back." 

Ahn'thu had set off to pursue the bad blood and had triumphed, bringing back his head as proof. He clicks before typing on his gauntlet, not wanting to startle you too much. "Went to hunt." You bob your head up and down, swallowing thickly. The silence lingers uncomfortably, prompting you to offer him the mango, with the same hand that had brought you pleasure not long ago.

With a swift motion, the Yautja unfastens his mask, causing your eyes to eagerly scan his face. Your breath catches in your throat as he gently seizes your wrist and brings it to his mouth, bypassing the fruit. His mandibles unfurl, revealing their impressive expanse, while his forked, purple tongue sensually caresses your fingers.

 A knot of desire intensifies in your belly, and you observe with furrowed brows and tightly clenched thighs. He pulls away and locks eyes with you, tilting his head inquisitively. With flushed cheeks, you swiftly withdraw your hand and head into the room. 

In the depths of his being, Ahn'thu is acutely aware of your want for him, as the heady scent of your desire hung in the air, thickening with each tantalizing lick of his tongue against your delicate fingers.

Perched upon his seat, the colossal Predator's thoughts spin like a tempest. Merely moments ago, he stumbled upon the lingering evidence of your delectable mango-drenched fingers upon the Pleasuring Room's machine.  

 The air was thick with your intoxicating arousal. Intrigued, he delved into the archives of recently viewed videos, only to be taken aback by the unexpected sight. It was of a Yautja and Ooman-di, which hadn't been what he was watching yesterday.

Ahn'thu swiftly made his way to the Pit, reviewing the camera footage, rewinding time, and selecting the Pleasuring Room. He cocks his head when you first enter the room, setting down your fruit and heading over to the machine. 

  You tap haphazardly and become slightly startled after finally choosing a video, the same one that had recently been watched when he checked.  Initially scared, you gradually became captivated by the video, moving closer.

A deep growl emanates from his throat as your hand disappears beneath the fabric covering your lower body. Arm moving relentlessly, and thighs shaking. The Yautja can feel himself growing harder as you find your release, the lewd sound of your wetness filling the air. With a slight pinch of your nipple, you climax, causing Ahn'thu to grasp the arm of his chair to prevent himself from rushing to you.

   He reaches to replay the video, intending to watch it again while stroking himself, but he accidentally rewinds too far to the moment he had used the device. Switching the camera to the view outside the door, he pauses, enhancing the video quality and zooming in slightly.

  At the door stands your delicate human figure, observing him while you indulge in your own pleasure. Ahn'thu aligns the videos next to each other and emits a satisfied purr as you reach your climax at the same time as him, legs buckling. 

  He remembers hearing the pretty sound of your voice but didn't realize that you had been touching yourself to him. Ahn'thu watches the two newfound videos and strokes himself to completion, cum painting his body. He can't stop himself from heading to his room where you await with glistening thighs.

Lying sprawled on the bed, a heavy sigh escapes your lips, carrying away the remnants of earlier embarrassment. You had never been so driven by sex before but the thought of an Alien taking you against your will, fucking you mercilessly while you cried from pleasure, had consumed your every thought since you boarded the ship.   

  Your self-restraint has vanished, as you slide your hand into your shorts for what feels like the umpteenth time. Your swollen clit, already firm and pulsating, eagerly awaits your hard and rapid strokes.

The sound of heavy footsteps in the darkness sent a jolt of awareness through your body. You stiffen, your nipples hardening, and pussy tightening into a clinch. You can hear the breathy, deep growls of the Yautja in front of you. Can hear the deep inhales it takes of your scent. How long had he been there? When had the door opened? You're unsure but accept it with a little reluctance, tensing as his hot breath fans over your face. There's the distinctive sound of a blade being unsheathed before your top is cut open, leaving your breasts to spill out. 

“A-ah! Wait, what are yo— mph~” Your breath hitches into a moan as the alien's scalding mouth descends upon your left nipple. His hand ventures boldly between your thighs, seeking out your wet, warm pussy beneath the delicate silk of your shorts. 

With his thumb, he applies pressure to the throbbing bundle of nerves beneath the material and rubs at your clit. His teeth softly graze your nipple, sending a surge of pleasure coursing through you, coiling into a tight knot deep within your abdomen. Your hips buck uncontrollably, the waves of ecstasy building until you cry out in bliss as a powerful orgasm crashes over you. This sensation, unlike any self-induced pleasure, is intense, overwhelmingly pleasurable, and leaves you feeling incredibly sensitive.

A scorching inferno engulfs your entire being, setting your senses ablaze. As the Alien materializes before you, your mind spins with a heady mix of anticipation and arousal. His hands, resembling those of a primal reptile, explore the landscape of your body with a possessive hunger, his fingers delicately pinching and tugging your sensitive nipples.

   His commanding presence now hovers above you, his large, dome head nestled against your bosom, as his mouth hungrily claims your areola, a dark, sinuous tongue gliding sensually across your taut nipple, leaving a trail of electrifying sensations in its wake, his teeth tantalizingly graze the puckered flesh. 

 “No, no more!”  Tears well up, pricking the edge of your lower lashes, as you defiantly shake your head. Drool escapes your mouth, cascading down your chin, while your feeble hands weakly attempt to push him away. Your hips involuntarily buck as the Predator's hand stealthily slides into your shorts. 

  A surge of slickness drools from your pulsating core as he expertly parts your folds, effortlessly locating your swollen clit. The coarse yet drenched tips of his fingers expertly manipulate your sensitive nerves, eliciting a chorus of moans and writhing movements. Your hands desperately clutch his wrist, your hips convulsively jerking and twisting in response.

His serpentine tongue finally grants respite to your tender nipple, but instead, it ventures closer to your ear. The gravelly, otherworldly timbre of his voice commands you to cum,  causing you to shriek as an intense climax engulfs you. Your entire being convulses as he persistently stimulates your hypersensitive clit. 

   Only when you emit soft whimpers and desperate pleas does he cease his assault. As your lungs gasp for air and your thighs quiver, you regain your ability to breathe, your eyes widening when you notice the bulging, pulsing thickness of his cock nestled between your calves. 

 “Please, no. Too big” You whimper softly, trying to roll over onto your stomach and crawl away from him. Ahn'thu ignores your feeble resistance, grabbing your thighs and turning you back onto your back. He spreads your legs apart, bending them towards your chest to expose your messy pussy. With a hungry look in his eyes, he rubs his cock against your wet folds, coating himself in your arousal.

 A sense of shame intertwines with an intoxicating thrill, coursing through your veins. You had been wanting to feel his cock deep inside you, to bask in the delightful heat of his cum cascading upon your quivering walls.

With a gentle nudge, the head of his pulsating shaft teases your throbbing clit, and you shudder, biting your lip. The Yautja is well aware of the challenge that awaits, as your tight and seemingly untouched pussy appears small and snug. Your plush lips part, forming a perfect 'o', while the room is filled with the sweet and genuine symphony of your moans.

    Lost in the throes of ecstasy, your eyes roll back, providing him with the perfect opportunity to thrust forward, filling you completely with his long cock. The whimper of pain that escapes your lips only intensifies his desire, causing him to jerk involuntarily within you.

  Your head writhes against the furs as your lips part to take in a breath, shaking your head once more, palms resting against his toned stomach to push him out of you. “A-ah, s’too big. Take it out!” He goes silent, stilling inside of you, eyes flitting over your tear-soaked face. His chest rumbles in a purr and your pussy clenches deliciously around him. 

At the feeling, Ahn'thu's body becomes restless, unable to remain still. Your velvety walls, sticky and warm, possess an irresistible hold on him, refusing to accommodate his size. He watches with awe as your figure arches, your breasts swaying and jiggling with each vigorous thrust.

  Already you're fucked silly, the thickness of his cock grinding mercilessly against your g-spot as you find yourself cumming hard and long. Your fervent cunt tightens and throbs around him, leaving a creamy ring of cum on his length.   

 "More."  You sob dumbly and shakily reach down and spread your folds open, watery eyes locking with him and tucking your lip into your mouth, rivulets of drool dribbling down your chin. As the Yautja thrusts into your eager pussy relentlessly, you release a soft whimper, surrendering to the ecstasy that consumes you. The alien's monstrous cock, unlike anything you've ever experienced, fills you to the brim, stretching you in ways you never thought possible.

    Your body quivers uncontrollably, yet you strive to regain composure, your breaths heavy and labored. A surge of pleasure electrifies your hips as a teasing finger brushes against your throbbing clit before vanishing. Another finger traces a tantalizing path along your inner thigh, skillfully finding your clit once more, tracing rough figure eights upon the bundle of nerves. Waves of pleasure crash over you relentlessly as your pussy convulses sporadically, each orgasm more intense than the last.

Ahn'thu lets out a primal roar as he spills his seed into your awaiting cunt and keeps it there, maneuvering your body into a mating press. The hot slosh of his cum filling you have you orgasming again and you whimper out his name, back arching. The Yautja looks down at your worn-out form and purrs softly, gently resting his forehead against yours. As your breathing steadies, you drift off to sleep in his arms. He keeps you like that,  ensuring his seed finds its place within you, determined to impregnate you with his offspring.

[hello-sweetheart]

Heavy Metal References- metalhead!Eddie Details for Your Headcanons (and fanfic)-

To start off: It’s kinda hilarious how we’re guilty of sometimes switching Eddie’s white sneakers for boots cuz we want to give him an edgier look (and yes black leather boots are also metalhead fashion) but also:

White high-tops were metal in the 80s, they’re literally iconic and indicative of thrasher metal bands, and still are. Seen in bands like: Metallica and Megadeth. It’s kinda theorized that this fashion came up to differentiate themselves from hair/ glam metal that were going mainstream, but Dave Mustaine (Metallica Guitarist and Megadeth frontman) said that white Nike high-tops were given to some of the bands as a way to advertise them by their record label.

Bullet belts, battle jackets, spikes and studs were influenced by established Punk fashion and then incorporated into the metal scene thanks to bands like Judas Priest and Motörhead.

I’ve read in some fics where wearing band merch of the band you’re seeing is a Big No, but from what I can find this isn’t really a thing in the metal genre, past or present. It seems more like a rule that has emerged in more recent years, specifically in the punk scene, but I can’t find much about it.

Ozzy Osbourne biting the head of a dead bat that was thrown on stage is tale of legends and references by Eddie as we know, but here are some other significant moments in metal history:

Ozzy Osbourne pursued a solo career after he was fired from Black Sabbath in 1979 (Eddie would’ve been ~13) because of his erratic behavior and drug abuse, he’s replaced by Ronnie James Dio

W.A.S.P debut their first album in 1984 with the song “Animal (F**k Like A Beast)” being released as a single to avoid having their albums banned from chain record stores. They were a main target for the Parents Music Resource Center (PMRC) for their obscenity but W.A.S.P pretty much road high on the publicity, they are that shit up despite all the death threats they received.

Parental Advisory Explicit Content label was introduced in 1985 (around when Stranger Things S3 takes place), and it hilariously had the opposite effect of deterring the sales of explicitly labeled music.

Cliff Burton, the bassist for Metallica, died on tour in March 1986 when the bus skidded then rolled on the road; Burton was thrown from the window and crushed. “To Live Is to Die” is song dedicated to him composed with his unused riffs.

Other Metal facts:

Black Sabbath’s guitarist Tony Lommi lost the tips of his fretting fingers (on his right hand) in a sheet metal factory accident, he was inspired by jazz guitarist Dango Reinhardt who played with only two fingers on the fretboard due to burn injuries. Lommi made prosthetic tips and tuned down his guitar so he could keep playing. This gave Black Sabbath its unique sound.

Ronnie James Dio is accredited with popularizing the infamous devil horns sign🤘 in interviews he said his grandmother used to use that sign to ward off evil. Speaking of,

While he isn’t Power Metal (a genre that heavily incorporates themes of fantasy with clean and fast guitar that emerged around the mid-80s), Dio is basically the father of it as he had such a big influence over this genre along with bands like Judas Priest and Iron Maiden

Side Bar: I think if he was given the chance to properly establish his own sound, Eddie would’ve been the frontman of a sick ass Power Metal band beloved by DnD nerds.

Patches on Eddie’s Battle Jacket:

Motörhead, Megadeth, Iron Maiden, Dio, Mercyful Fate, Judas Priest

[loveabunbun]

; CHOI SOOBIN 🐰 after hours

— cw; age gap (5ish yrs), professor soobin, student athlete reader, unbalanced power dynamics, clubbing, alcohol, public/bathroom sex, intoxicated sex, top male reader, sub bottom soobin, big dick sb and reader 🙌🏾, sex toys (butt plug), blowjob (sb), protected anal (a first??), belly bulging. 5k words.

— 🎶 now playing; kehlani - after hours, tomorrow x together - love language, destin conrad - kissing in public.

once you noticed him in the crowd of moving bodies, you simply couldn’t take your eyes off of him.

him being choi soobin, currently a young visiting professor at your institution, having just completed his phd in sociology and education, and one your lecturers in particular. soobin’s large frame isn’t out of place among all the others. in fact, you think the number has grown since he made his way to the centre. an attention stealer.

it’s the same as when you’re sat in his lecture: he’s captivating when he talks, enticing when he moves, and irresistible all around. he brought the youthful masculine charm the department severely lacked. and, of course, all the girl students desperately latched onto the eye-candy.

he was here. at a nightclub. and not just any random nightclub, a popular gay nightclub in the city centre. it’s a delightfully pleasant surprise. your margarita burns as you finish the glass. the warm daylight filtering in through the windows of your classroom has been replaced with the cool of the moon from the warehouse's skylight. and with the transition, it seems a new side has emerged. a new side to you, at the very least.

his glasses aren’t to be found, dark hair styled up and back to reveal his forehead and eyes more clearly. his knitted jumper and slacks switched out for a blue baby tee and jeans. you can’t quite make out what it says under the strobe lights.

being completely honest, your attention is on other parts of his body. the tequila trickles into your bloodstream and you can feel your heartbeat revived in different places. he doesn’t appear to have a dancing partner — you’ve had an eye on him for a few minutes and spotted him laughing with what appeared to be a friend as they goofed around.

your own friends are also on the dance floor. your legs are taking you closer soon enough. you sway with the beat of the song as you push through the bodies, eyes locked onto your target.

what your goal is you’re not even sure of. nothing could happen, anyway — you tell yourself— you’re his student. if only a few years younger. soobin exuded ‘model faculty’ with his polite smile and gentle giant demeanour. you're sure even if he wanted to, he wouldn’t risk his budding career for some dick.

although he would give something else up for it. why else would he be surrounding himself with drunk men, more likely than not looking for sexual respite. you weren’t that much younger than him, really. around five years, if you remembered his age correctly? but a minor blip in the universe's grand scheme.

now you’re right behind him.

he moves even better up close. swaying his body, throwing his hands up in the air with the beat of the song. carefree. it’s hard to keep your wonder at bay. you’re not thinking straight as you step closer, and let your hands ghost his waist. high enough not to get you immediately elbowed in the stomach.

soobin isn’t surprised when someone sneaks up behind him. although he came with zero expectations, the young man was starting to doubt his abilities. without turning to look at the new presence, he backs up into you. your heart leaps in your chest. he was waiting for someone. for this. you bite your lip in to hide how your cheeks pull up from the feeling of your professor's soft ass against your groin. fortunately, the lights were concentrated elsewhere for the time being.

the pop song playing is punctuated with strong percussion, gifting you with the tempo you needed to move in rhythm with him. fortunately, you know the lyrics to this one and find yourself getting lost in the sensations. you would’ve hated to see someone else behind him. even now, you can feel jealous eyes on you. it only makes you pull him closer, meeting him at various points of contact where which you can feel his body moves against you.

your scent washes over him and he welcomes the new smell of your cologne. he had yet to go nose-blind to the overwhelming scent of testosterone-filled body odour. maybe you would be his ticket out of the crowd.

whatever. soobin puts an end to his overthinking. or rather, the liquor flowing through his veins does. he just wants to feel good. just wanted to dance and let loose. it’s been too long.

his runs his hands down his front sensually before they meet yours on his hip. he drags your hands up on his body; they catch his shirt on the ascend and you momentarily feel the sweat on his damp skin. you can’t focus on it, because at the same time soobin rolls his hips onto you.

damn, he moved his body so well. you would’ve never thought the shy man had it in him. but you’re learning more about him by the second. you follow along with his smooth moves without any delay, determined to not mess up.

and fumble the bag you don't. looks of intrigue and desire join the envious. soobin’s friends throw him teasing grins and immature winks. he ignores them. all he can think about is how well-oiled your tall body feels against him, lithe yet sturdy. it stirs a primal need within him. something almost foreign to him at that point.

when the next song ends, soobin spins around with a happy grin on his face. he had to know who the suave cutie was behind him.

your grip loosens. before you can duck away, you’re making direct eye-contact. he's confused at first, but then his eyes widen in recognition, straightening up like he’d been struck by lightning.

shit.

“yn??”

“h-heyy, prof.”

soobin gawks at you, not knowing where to begin. his student was just grinding on him. he was just grinding on his student, and he liked it. he wanted more. his integrity! his reputation! his future!

the crowded dance floor suddenly feels stark empty, and the multi-coloured lights stop their orchestrated twirl, replaced by a stationary, bright spotlight. focused on the two of you.

he needed to get out of sight. grabbing your wrist, soobin drags you behind him until you’re stumbling into one of the bathrooms. he waits for an explanation, with a hard look on his face that tells you: you fucked up.

you stare at your shoes, shuffling in place. he was intimidating when he wanted to be. and you were, admittedly, in the wrong, “i’m sorry i came onto you."

“no, you’re not.”

your head shoots up. it was a poor apology, but you weren't expecting him to call you out on it. because, true, you weren’t really. you’re not sorry because you’ve got jacking off material for like the next couple of years. but more sorry because you’re not sure he would’ve reciprocated if he knew who you were. not very consensual of you...

“what on earth were you thinking?” it’s like he could read your mind.

“i wasn’t. that, i apologise for. can you blame me?” soobin sees how your gaze trails his body with your reply. it reveals what instead you had in mind — his broad shoulders sloping into a small waist and slim hips. shapely legs clad in jeans and ending in stylish sneakers.

wild and wonderful.

“seeing you here threw me off a little, prof.” you continue, meeting his eyes once again. his eyelids and cheeks shimmer iridescent in the light. you couldn’t tell before, mistaking the glow for sweat in the suffocating horde. but it was deliberately placed highlight. looks like your young instructor knew how to get dolled up.

soobin felt the same; it was weird seeing you in a place like this. even though you were probably a regular. or a more regular than he was, at least.

…maybe it wasn’t so weird. after all you were attending the city's university as a student. specifically, both a promising basketball athlete and a top scholar for your class. soon to graduate, matter of fact. he's sure you've scoped the lay of the land over your time.

what was new was seeing you in something other than athletic wear. you looked good, donning a loose button down and black jeans, surprisingly more handsome than you usually did in your everyday comfort. you were dressed to impress too, that’s for certain, with your inhibitions loosened after a few shots.

the older had also been drinking. stronger stuff than usual; his friends wanted to spoil him, to celebrate the rare occasion of him crawling out his hole home. soobin would be lying if he said he wasn’t having a fun time.

“i don’t usually come out. and quit it with the prof — while we’re here. anything else.”

hook.

you tilt your head as you look at him, feeling your normal dynamic shift with the new location. and the request for less formality. you toss the bait: “yeah... i didn’t take you for the party type. does hyung work for you? instead of mr wild and wonderful?”

soobin can’t hide when his eyes sparkle in interest at your fluent english. he knew you were smart, but the casual flex takes him aback. so does realising you know exactly what the wording insinuates. he never expected it would be you picking up the hint.

he loathes to complain. of course, he pays a little more attention to you when you’re sat at your desk — attending to his words, sending messages on your device, or talking to your friend. you're enticing without meaning to be. your frequent insightful contributions made up for where you lacked in other efforts. he’d only ever seen you in the daylight. the shadows that fall on your face now bring out another side to you.

line.

the race of his heart comes back, but not in fear this time. in excitement. the professor had never entertained the idea more than a passing thought but now he’s tempted. the plug sitting between his cheeks becomes noticeable again for the first time since he put it in before leaving his home. not for any particular reason…

he shouldn’t.

“been said i can get a little crazy outside the classroom.”

oh! that’s not— soobin’s thick lips purse in shock at his words. sober thoughts?

“yeah?” a smirk appears on your face as you take a bold step forward, throwing a look around the restroom in faux enquiry. your boyish playfulness has a way of keeping him in place. “doesn’t look like we’re in the classroom right now... from what you said, this sounds like my area of expertise.”

oh, you’re good. pulling him into your dangerous game like a siren into the depths. he doesn’t even know when your hearts started thumping against each other, his hand on your arm.

“then, maybe you could teach me the ropes. show me how it goes?” comes his breathy whisper, eyes narrowed in seduction.

and sinker.

you push him into the stall furthest form the entrance and lock the door behind you. his back hits the wall with a thump and he gasps, looking at you with surprised eyes when you press into his front deliberately, strong hands back on his hips.

soobin has much more to lose than you, and you respect that. you give him time to change his mind, to slip out from underneath you and put the earlier events under lock and key. he doesn’t. a beat passes and then another. the muffled music matches the atmosphere. muted, on the verge of breaking the silence.

the door opens and upbeat chords slice through the air like a whip. a few voices dance just over the top, boisterous and joyful on the way to release. soobin surges forward and captures your lips.

you groan instantly, desire roaring inside you once again at his initiating. his hands grasp at your shoulders as you kiss him harder, licking at his lips until he lets you in. you can’t get enough as you suck on his tongue. soobin feels your fingers hook into his belt hoops and tug. your hips start to move in their own, bucking into his front.

the friction pulls a deep sigh from you onto his pretty lips, “hyung,”

his breath hitches. if soobin was somehow still on the fence about doing this, hearing you moan for him was the final push he needed. he wraps his arms around your neck and pulls you closer, letting his hunger lead the way.

he can taste the tangy lime on your lips and can smell the faint liquor when you pull away from his lips, only to trail down to his neck. you kiss the soft skin. his smell is intoxicating too.

before you get lost in yourself, the older man warns quickly, “no marks.”

like some dirty secret. it turns you on even more. you know it does for him too. “got it,”

you press against him harder, dipping into his neck and licking the sweat off. you nibble and lick at his salty skin, rocking your hips against him in fervour. his chub hardens under your ministrations and he moans shyly by your ear.

a small creak and the dj’s booming voice fills your ear, indiscriminate and accompanied by cheers of the audience. then you’re alone again.

soobin kicks up a leg and hooks it around your waist, getting leverage to fuck into you. one of his hands drops from behind your neck to in front, urging you closer with a firm grip. can't have you thinking you're in charge here. even as you grope at his body, humping him like a dog in a rut.

the desperation sets him alight. the fire consumes you. or maybe it’s the alcohol. maybe it's the risk. you needed him. right now.

"hyung, can-can i suck you off?"

soobin's face explodes with heat at your request. he nods before he realises, biting his bottom lip. you fall to your knees even quicker, nuzzling into his bulge. he can't help as his hips flit into your face, large hands coming to rest on your head.

he doesn't push or pull you away, but you gaze up at him through your lashes. his dick swells with blood and tents his jeans. it sticks out like a sore thumb against your handsome face and exacerbates its presence. he can’t stop staring your puffy lips, mesmerised as they slick and shine with his spit.

soobin swallows, starting to shake his head as reality sets in again, fighting against the sexual demand rousing in his gut. this was too far and extremely inappropriate. one of his most sought-out students literally on their knees in a filthy stall in even sleazier settings, begging for a taste. there was no going back after this.

he shouldn’t.

"wait, you're drunk yn." your hands come to fiddle at his belt, the other rubbing his dick through his jeans. you can feel yourself salivate at the heat it exudes.

"i'm not drunk, 'm tipsy. you might not know it because of the generation gap, but there's a difference." he rolls his eyes.

“i’m not drunk either,”

“then we’re both on the same page. been thinking about this cock since the start of term. everyone wants a piece of you, hyung. i want it."

his body betrays him, cock throbbing below your palm at the confession. you grin wickedly. you finally manage to tug down his jeans and boxers enough for his length to fall out. your jaw falls slack in surprise as you take him in your hands. “fucking big, oh my god.”

soobin blushes further at your vulgarity. you kiss at his cockhead before dragging your tongue underneath to taste his arousal. your hand grasps the base as you take him into your mouth. his grip tightens.

you let your saliva build to make the entrance smooth, gazing up at your attractive professor. he stares down at you in disbelief. he twitches in your mouth and your eyes flutter shut in satisfaction, taking him deeper. soobin pulls up his shirt, exposing his chiselled stomach, to watch as his dick disappears between your thick lips.

“ohh~,” he sighs, other hand curling into a fist at the warmth of your mouth. his hips jerk like he doesn’t know whether to pull out or go further.

you can’t help but moan at the feeling. this was so hot. he was so hot. a part of you couldn't believe he was single. and you couldn’t care less about the mysterious wet spot you started to feel on your right knee.

you quickly start bobbing your head up and down, dragging broken moans from the older man. pleasure cracks down his spine as the devil on his shoulder cackles in glee. you fist the base of his dick, covering what you couldn't fit into your mouth.

“oh my— s-slow down yn, fuuck,” the lewd wetness of your mouth bounces off of your ears, his sweet moans only spurring you on. you don’t think you’ve given such enthusiastic head in your life. the taste of his salty precum trickling down your tongue is only a welcome boost for your endeavours.

you hum and soobin feels his eyes rolling back in pleasure at the vibration around his shaft, fucking into your hollow moist despite his better judgement. you can feel as your dick strains against your jeans, crying for attention but you pay it no mind.

“yeah, just like that… you’re soo good, ha-ah!” soobin’s thighs shake by your head as he falls further into bliss with every obscene slurp coming from your skilled lips, fingers curling into your hair. he’s almost forgotten where he is: lucky for him it seems right now isn’t peak time for the drunken pissers.

you push yourself closer to him in response to his praise, until you’re almost directly underneath his body, and swallow your gag reflex. if it weren’t for his jeans, you would’ve had his thighs wrapped around your head. from where you are gravity pulls soobin’s throbbing length further into your tight throat with ease, leaving no space for him to get away even with his long legs. he wouldn’t want to anyway.

the sound of you finally gagging around his thick cock, your fingers on his thigh and ass urging him deeper, is enough for him.

he releases into your mouth with a loud gasp and a whiny groan, curling over your body as pleasure racks his body. your eyes squeeze shut as his bitter cum fills your mouth and swallow rapidly, moaning endlessly around your professor’s squirting dick. the excess spills from your lips when you pull away to breathe.

the older pants above you too and his shirt drops. it sticks to his sweaty skin and is too short to hide his arousal, sparking in the barely burning light with your spit and his sperm. leaning forward again, you guzzle down his cock to slurp up the remains. he welcomes the extra attention with a lazy smile.

“shit, that was..”

“best head you’ve ever had?” your eyes shine when you look up at him lying against the wall like he had all the strength stolen from him, cheeks rosy. soobin tears his gaze from you as you run your tongue over your tempting lips, teeth appearing with your pleased grin. innocent like the both of you weren’t on the verge of a lifetime ban from the club and probably academia in general on his end.

“s’up there,”

a couple of seconds pass and he realises you still need to be taken care of. his next move is only given a second of consideration as his critical thinking cap finally gets tossed out the window — the young man had already passed the point of no return as soon as the both of you walked into the stall.

soobin spins around to face the wall and pushes his jeans down to his ankle. he bends over slightly and spreads open his cheeks, revealing to you his asshole. where a black plug sits comfortably.

your gulp is audible as you make eye-contact with the toy. but you push past your shock to reach up and grasp it, watching soobin's back flex as you poke and prod at his squishy insides.

"t-take it out," you do so instantly, greeted with the sight of his puckered rim, wet and pulsing. suddenly you were starving again. before you can dive in, after setting the plug down on the toilet tank, soobin speaks up again, "do you have a condom?"

no fucking way.

"y-yeah, yeah, i do." after rustling in your front pocket, heart thumping in your chest, you pull out a shiny rectangle.

"fuck, what are you waiting for then? put it on, get inside me," he demands. it lacks the authority his booming voice usually holds, laced with lust and a neediness that makes you dizzy.

you scramble to your feet, apparently a little too slow for his taste. the older spins around and takes it from you, ripping it open with his teeth. he drags you into a messy kiss as he unbuckles your jeans and belt with calculated yet rushed movements, betraying his intentions.

you're rock hard — and leaking buckets — in his big palm and he marvels at how he has trouble wrapping his fingers around you. were you just being generous with your compliment about his size earlier?

you're too busy moaning and huffing at his grip to notice. soobin’s barely touched you, but the fact that he's touching you (the crush of basically every sane member at your university), and rolling a condom onto your sex, excites you like nothing other. not to mention, him just having emptied his sweaty balls into your stomach.

the beauty spins around with a sultry hum, arching his ass into the curve of your cock. akin to a page out of a playboy magazine. “you’re so unbelievably sexy,”

he grins at you just as the bathroom door swings open again. you take the burst of noise to push into him. you both moan freely at the burn of the intrusion. the men in the room are loud; you think someone’s holding the door open because the sound doesn’t cease like it should. you’re thankful it doesn’t.

“fuck!”

you press him roughly into the wall and fail to keep quiet at the warm, gummy feeling of his inner walls. soobin cries out in white-hot pleasure as your hips gain a life of their own, thrusting into him. every buck shakes the older man to the core. your athletic body is solid against his backside, hands gripping at his tiny waist. god, is this how you feel? like a place he could melt into with no worries?

soobin thinks you’re cute too, as you curse and whimper under your breath in consideration of not getting caught. he thinks about how that same mouth made him feel just earlier. your stiff cock doesn’t disappoint, filling him up and stroking his swollen prostrate easily. soobin can’t deny how his body responds to your gifted touch, how his pride swells at having you so shameless for his attention. he wonders if this is how you usually acted for some dick.

your enthusiasm translates with your wandering hands as they push up his cropped shirt to reveal more of his milky skin. his abs are dense under your touch, the muscles dancing below the surface. you rock your cock into him with firm circles, staring at where he consumes you with eager eyes and even eager movements — he greets you with hiccupped moans.

the thumping music doesn’t help the adrenaline sparking through his veins but it briefly hides the rippling connection of your sinful activities from the other fun-seekers. the sound cuts off and you’re left alone again. the energy doesn’t dissipate.

soobin throws his head back, fingers curling against the wall by his head when he feels you start pull him down and impale him further on your throbbing length, grunting by his ear. the way your fingers sink into his skin is strangely possessive. he shivers at the idea of you claiming him, or maybe it's the cold metal of your jeans against his bare ass, slurred whispers falling from his lips.

“fuck me, ffuck me! god, yn don't stop fucking me!”

“yeah, you like that?”

soobin nods in affirmation as you fuck the breath out of his lungs, dark hair flying up and down, eyes squeezed closed. shit, this was so bad. him getting dicked down by someone so much younger. he’s enjoying it too much. you’re having the time of your life. his sloppy hole feels like a heavenly respite to your aching needs. he massages and presses on all your right spots, like his ass was made to embrace you. like your lives were orchestrated for this moment.

you slip your fingers past soobin's open lips and thrust into his wet mouth to the rhythm of your hips. “look at me when i fuck you, sir.”

you tone is slightly condescending as you turn his head; using honorifics while he opens his ass and mouth for you like a two-piece whore.

but soobin does look at you. you feel yourself gasp as you meet his teary doe eyes from behind, eyebrows knitted in overwhelming pleasure. his pretty lips wrapped around your fingers and sucking like they were something else. a line of drool trickles down his chin from the disturbance.

a moan falls from your lips as he gazes into your eyes like a succubus with potent allure, tempting you to fall deeper into his web. his smooth walls squeeze your most sensitive areas and the pleasure crackles up your spine. you were already entrapped.

utterly irresistible. you watch his eyes flutter as you remove your fingers to instead curl them around his biceps. you pull his upper body up to rest fully against yours and his spine curves in tandem, head falling on your shoulder and opening his front up.

he can feel his hardness swing helplessly with every slap of your hips against his ass, legs starting to shake. his pliant body bounces back and forth with ease, but with the way he’s crying out, you'd think he was being pushed to the limits. it certainly felt like he was. one glance down at his stomach proved that.

“you're sho—! so deep inside—!" he can't help the hand that reaches out to caress the swelling you make in his lower abdomen, growling as it protrudes against his palm every time you bottom out. somehow you catch onto his words and do the same. too smart for your own good.

burning satisfaction envelopes your frame at the feeling of your cockhead poking away inside your professor's stomach, twitching uncontrollably inside him with an airy moan. sweat drips down your arms and legs. you were about to explode.

"hyung 'm close, uhmnn ah, c-can i?"

"y-yes," comes his breathless reply. your hand slips down to wrap around his cock and pumps roughly. that's enough to push soobin over the edge again, clamping down and pulsing around your hard cock with a wail.

the cord snaps inside of you too as you trap him against the wall with your strength. his taut ass grips you so tight in place as you fall into ecstasy, you can't keep your noises to yourself, moaning shamelessly when the feeling of fiery-hot pleasure spreads down to your fingers and toes.

your hand pumping his cock doesn't let up and soobin's eyes white out. he writhes against your body as you fill him up and send him spiralling into the depths of peak pleasure with hushed encouragement. each squeeze of his balls reflects in his stomach and rim, barely able to contain the cream you dump in his ass.

"shit," you heave and fall backwards after you regain some sense, your upper back resting against the other side of the stall. the air is stuffy. stuffier than it was before, anyway. euphoria ripples across your nerves as it melts away, leaving a satisfying ache in your muscles.

your eyes trail your eyes over soobin’s bent over form in front of you: the back of his head, down the dark patch along the curves of his shirt where it collected his exertion, down to where his rosy ass cradles your throbbing dick.

your cum seeps from the base of the condom, and you briefly wonder if it ripped inside him. not much time to think, because his pale ass slowly sinks down again until the soft flesh sits flush against your pelvis, drawing a sigh from both of you. you glance back up at your professor's side profile at his actions. his eyes are closed in contentment. you did that.

your palm lands on his ass and rub the smooth flesh before you reluctantly pull out. he slumps further, shiny puckered rim pulsating at the loss of something holding him open. you bite your lip at the indecent picture. then, you remember the plug perched above the toilet and slide it back in tentatively. with no complaint, soobin lets you pull up his jeans and boxers.

"...thanks. needed that,"

"don't thank me. thank you. i'm gonna be thinking about this forever." he turns around to face you as you convey your gratitude(?), but his handsome, flushed face disappears out of sight when he falls to his knees and tears off the condom.

"what are you— o-ohh," soobin swallows your softening length. seems like he wanted to return the favour. his mouth is so warm and wet as he licks up your creamy fluid, you flinch from the overstimulation. "ha-aa,"

he slides off with a pop of his lips, looking up at you as he tucks you back into your clothes. when he rises to his feet he regards your messy appearance, face bright in the afterglow of your orgasm.

"just make sure to keep those thoughts to yourself, got it?"

this could not get out.

"not even you?" you move closer and rest a palm on his lower back, oddly happy to be able to see his face again. he's so fucking pretty. it would be such a pity if this was the last time you felt him. you know he feels the same…

"could keep it between us instead. i have a couple more things i think i could teach you, prof."

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