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imaginedisish · 11 months ago

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Liquid Smooth (Logan Howlett x Fem!Reader)

A/N: Started writing this last night...sooo happy you guys wanted a sex pollen fic! Hope it lives up to everyone's expectations! This one is (obviously) inspired by "Liquid Smooth," by Mitski. ENJOY!

Summary: A simple mission deep in a forest alone with Logan quickly gets out of hand when you just have to go and pick a flower...

Warnings: 18+ EXPLICIT SEXUAL CONTENT MINORS DNI! Dry humping, Oral (f!receiving), Fingering, Unprotected PIV (wrap it up!), Sex Pollen (so dub!con just to be safe, but not really), Multiple orgasms, Porn Without Plot...literally, implied!age gap, cursing, friends to lovers, fem!reader/afab!reader, probably some grammatical errors, I think that's it.

Word Count: 3,797 muahaha

“I don’t need a goddamn babysitter,” you murmur as Logan thumbs through the controls of the X-Jet. “Could’ve done this by myself.”

Logan scoffs. “I’m not your babysitter, princess.” You roll your eyes at the nickname Logan has specially reserved just for you. “Charles said we’d be safer going together. He knows you can handle yourself.”

The X-Jet cruises effortlessly through the clouds. The air is still today. Calm. You and Logan are on your way to get some sort of flower that Charles claims to have extensive healing properties. It’s an easy mission. No fighting. No violence. You’re unlikely to have to use your powers at all. And yet, you’ve been paired with Logan.

It wouldn’t be a problem if you weren’t—admittedly—a little into him. Or rather, pining after him. There’s just something about the sarcasm that’s always thick in his voice; the way he squeezes himself into those thin beaters. How he’s always so self-assured, so thoroughly convinced he’s right. You just can’t help it. You want him. But he isn’t yours, and he probably never will be. He’s a little older—well, a lot, considering he’s been around forever. And you know it’s safer not to make attachments—not to fall in love.

Unfortunately, it’s a little too late for that.

But having him here with you now, alone, with no buffers…it’s overwhelming. You can smell him—that mix of tobacco and pine and musk and him. He’s suddenly everywhere, and there’s nothing you can do about it. You watch as his long fingers press different buttons, his hands gripping the steering wheel, adjusting thrusters. You stare at those fingers for far too long, your thoughts drifting to what else he can do with them. You think about him curling them deep inside you, stretching you open and—

“Everything okay?” You snap your head to face Logan, swallowing harshly as his voice pulls you back to reality.

You force a smile, nodding. “Yep!” You say, overcompensating just a bit. “All good,” you lie. You close your eyes, trying to push thoughts of Logan out of your head, denying the heat growing between your legs.

“Good, because we’re almost there,” Logan says, the X-Jet descending carefully. You look out the window to see the trees below. There’s a lake in the distance, but that’s it. No civilization, no houses—no one. It’s empty, peaceful.

“We’re really in the middle of nowhere, huh?” You say, glancing at Logan.

His eyes meet yours and he smiles. Warmth blooms in your heart at the sight. “My kind of place,” he says back. The X-Jet descends further as you approach a clear spread of grass to land on just ahead.

This is, in fact, not your kind of place. The humidity creeps up your back and settles under your skin. The forest is overgrown and impossible to navigate. You let Logan slice through the plant life with his claws, swiping back and forth whenever something gets in your way.

You haven’t been walking for long, but you’re already done. Perhaps Charles was right; a partner is not the worst idea on a mission like this.

You can see the flower just ahead—yellow petals and a long, green, viny stem. It glows brightly even under the dense forest canopy. “Semper in tenebris lux,” Charles had said; there is always light in darkness. And he was right. The flower illuminates everything in its path. Next to it, you can see a pretty, lavender-colored flower. You stop in your tracks, letting Logan wander ahead as you crouch down to stroke the purple petals.

“Charles didn’t say anything about not taking other flowers too, right?” You call out, watching as Logan swipes carefully at the stem of the yellow flower. He holds the dainty stem in his large hands as he walks back over to you.

“No, he didn’t. But you should be careful. It could be poisonous or—”

You ignore Logan, picking the flower anyway. You hold it up to your nose and breathe in. It’s sweet and fragrant. You twist the stem and realize the flower is sticky with sap and pollen. Your twist shakes some of the pollen up, and it lands all over your face.

“Shit,” you mutter, wiping it away. A gust of wind sweeps through the forest, knocking the flower out of your hand and spreading more of its pollen in the air. You can feel it in your nostrils, getting caught in your throat.

Logan furrows his brows as the pollen falls to the ground. “What the fuck did you do?”

You roll your eyes. “All I did was pick a flower!” You lift your hands, feigning innocence. “I’m sure it’s nothing.” You stand up, glancing once at the yellow flower in Logan’s hands and then back at Logan. “It’s pretty.”

He parts his lips, his stare focused on you. “Yeah, it is.” There’s something else in that stare, in those words. Like maybe he isn’t only talking about the flower. You shove those thoughts down as you turn around and walk back to the jet.

Your steps are suddenly very heavy. You scratch at your shoulder. Heat blooms in your chest, your stomach, across your face. You’re irritated and overheated and itchy. Your breath grows heavier and rougher with every step.

Logan notices immediately. He stops, grabbing your arm. You can’t control the way you lean into his touch, nor the way you’re craving more. “Hey,” he soothes, eyes searching your face. “Are you okay?” There’s a hint of panic in his voice.

You swallow harshly, nodding. Your throat feels thick, your skin tight and oppressive. “’M’fine,” you mumble.

“Quit lying. I can tell something’s wrong,” Logan demands. You open your mouth to persuade him otherwise, but he doesn’t give you the chance, his grip tightening around your arm. “Your skin is on fucking fire, princess. What did you do?” He cocks his head, sniffing as he furrows his brows. His voice is darker now, slower as his eyes widen. “What the fuck did you do?”

You take in a sharp breath. And that’s when you feel it, the ache between your thighs, the slick arousal soaking through your panties. The realization smacks you in the face. For a moment, you’re clear-headed, but still terrified. The pollen. That goddamn, fucking pollen. “Logan, look, I think that purple flower had some—"

He cuts you off as he yanks your arm, tugging you towards the ship. “We need to get you back to the jet, okay?”

“Oh, I am so fucked,” you cry. You know you only have a few seconds left before the effects really kick in. “L-Logan,” you stutter, almost moaning as your core burns stronger with need. “T-the pollen was everywhere. What if you got some too?”

He ignores you, handing you the yellow flower you came here for in the first place. He sweeps one hand under your legs and keeps the other at your back as he lifts you in his arms—bridal style. You can feel his heart beating in his chest. You lean into him again, searching for relief. Wetness pools between your legs. You have never felt this needy before. Your desire hurts, burns, scorches you. You rut your hips, clenching down around nothing.

“S-stop doing that,” Logan spits, restrained and quiet.

“C-can’t,” you whine. “It hurts, Logan. It hurts so fucking bad. How come you aren’t like this too?”

He pulls you tighter to his chest. “I feel a little something, but that might just…”

You tilt your head up to look at him. He works his jaw, that perfect jaw. You want to bite it, to bury your face in the crook of his neck. “Might just be what?” You ask, tentatively brushing your lips against the hollow of his throat.

“Nothing, just—fuck,” he groans as you press soft, open-mouthed kisses all around his neck now. “Don’t do that, princess. You don’t want this.”

“But I do, Logan,” you beg. The ramp to the jet lowers as you and Logan approach. “N-need you.” You bury your face into his shoulder, breathing him in. “Need y-you all the time.” The confession slips easily from your lips.

Logan’s eyes widen as he walks up the ramp and into the ship. It lifts and seals shut behind him. “You don’t mean that, sweetheart. Let’s just get you back to the mansion as quickly as possible, yeah?”

He places you down on the seat next to him, taking the flower from your hands and putting it in the jar Charles had given you. The leather cold at your back almost feels good, almost relieving—until you realize Logan is no longer holding you, touching you. You reach out towards him, grabbing his arms, pulling him back in. “Don’t go,” you plead, nails digging into his biceps. Your body is on fire. Everything is unbearably painful. “Please,” you whimper. “Need you so fucking bad, just you.”

“Fuck,” Logan curses. “I am not taking advantage of you. I am not doing this.” He stands, freeing himself from your grasp and walking over to the pilot’s chair. “I’m getting you back to the mansion and we’re going to fix this, okay?”

But that’s not good enough for you. You stand up and walk over to Logan. Your steps are shaky, your legs trembling. Your chest heaves, your heart beating rapidly. You climb into Logan’s lap, straddling him, one leg on either side. “Logan, I can’t fucking wait,” you cry, grinding down onto his lap. The pressure feels delicious. He grabs your hips, stilling you, forcing you in place. And that’s when you feel it: his erection, hard underneath your core. “This isn’t you. You don’t really want this, don’t really want m—”

“It is me,” you protest, squirming against his hold. “Logan, I’ve wanted you for months. I-I was thinking about you t-touching me the whole way here.” You remember the way his fingers dexterously pushed all the right buttons. Need courses through you like a river, and as Logan’s hold on your hips softens, you grind down into his lap, against his erection. “S-so good,” you cry out.

His hands are still on your hips, but now he’s guiding you, rocking you against his cock. “J-just this though, okay?”

You hum, pressing your forehead to his, rolling your hips faster. The relief is like heaven. His arms wrap around your back, his fingers trailing up and down soothingly. Logan ruts into you, his erection straining against his jeans. You can feel yourself getting closer, but the pain, the need, it’s all still the same.

“Logan, it’s not gonna be enough,” you whisper, his lips ghosting yours. “N-need more. Hurts so bad.”

He presses a chaste kiss to your lips, like he’s scared to truly touch you. But he wants to consume your pain, to take it away, to feel it for you. You can see it written across his face, in the way his cock throbs against your swollen clit, how he snaps his hips into yours.

“I know, princess,” he coos, his hands like fire on your back. Your walls contract around nothing, begging for something to hold onto, to feel something sink deep inside. “Gonna take care of you.” He kisses you again, with more vigor this time, more passion. “I’ve got you, darlin’.”

You moan into his mouth. His composure is slipping, disintegrating with every roll, every rock of your hips against his. His cock notches against your clit, sending a jolt of pleasure up the base of your spine. He hikes your shirt up, the cold air hitting your overheated skin. “F-feels good,” you stammer. You’re almost there, almost hitting that peak. “S-so close.”

“I know, pretty girl,” he soothes. “Let go for me, know you can do it.”

You moan his name, your orgasm crashing into you like a crescendo. You know you’re soaking through your clothes, and probably onto Logan’s too. He’s still rutting against you, giving you more. He knows it’s not going to be enough, and he’s right. Need builds back up just as quickly as you found your release.

“Lo…” you trail off, looking up at him under lust-filled eyes. You swallow harshly, squirming in his lap helplessly. “G-gotta have you.”

He presses his forehead to yours. He works his jaw, parting his lips. “Y-you meant it when you said you wanted me before this?” But he already knows the answer. He knows you wouldn’t lie to him about that, not even now.

“Yes,” you whine, pulling him closer. He tugs your shirt all the way over your head and picks you up, hands firmly gripping your ass. “Still gonna want you after this, too.”

He curses under his breath as he places you down in the pilot’s chair. He’s frenzied and frantic as he hooks his thumbs into your pants and panties, yanking them down your legs and casting them to the side.

He spreads your legs with the palms of his hands, his thumbs brushing soft circles into your inner thighs. He’s kneeling, looking up at you. Your breath catches in your throat as his face settles between your legs.

“Could smell you before, pretty girl,” he husks, his breath fanning over your clit. “Wanted this so fucking bad.” He doesn’t keep you waiting, licking a long stripe through your folds and up to your clit. “Knew you’d taste perfect. Pretty fucking pussy.”

You throw your head back as his lips latch onto your clit, sucking harshly. He slips one hand across your back, keeping you close. His free hand climbs up your thigh, fingers exploring your folds as his tongue flits across your swollen bud. He spreads your arousal, prodding against your entrance before shoving two fingers deep inside you. “Logan!” You cry out, your walls clenching around him. He’s stretching you out, his fingers dragging inside you. He pulls out and plunges back in. He isn’t taking his time, isn’t teasing. He’s giving you what you need, pump after pump.

You look down at him, his face buried in your cunt, consuming you, swallowing you whole like a starving man. He’s lost inside you, lapping at you with unwavering hunger and desire. His tongue swirls around your clit, his teeth grazing ever so slightly. You moan his name again, and he hums against you, the vibrations of his bassy voice rocking through your body. He’s wrecking you, but it feels so goddamn good.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” he goads you along. He’s adding a third finger now, and you suck him in. You’d take anything he gives you, anything at all. “Doing so good for me, taking it so well.”

He sucks roughly, your walls clenching around him at the feeling. “Yeah?” He grunts, sucking again. “You like that? Feels good?”

“Y-yes,” you stammer, stumbling over that one simple word. “S-so fucking good.”

“I know, beautiful,” he groans, nipping at your clit in between his rough sucks. “Gonna make that hurt go away, okay?” His voice is like honey, sugar; it’s sweet, addictive. “You just gotta come for me again, can you do that?” His tongue strokes your clit, his fingers pumping faster now.

You nod your head emphatically, pleasure surging as you near your peak. “Yeah, I-I can,” you huff.

Logan smiles against your cunt between rough laps. “I know you can, sweetheart.” His fingers scissor inside you, deeper than before. He takes your clit between his lips again, sucking hard.

And that’s all it takes—you’re screaming his name, coming undone, unraveling underneath him. The release is even better than the first, more full, more complete. Logan thrusts in and out a few more times before slowly pulling his fingers from your cunt. He licks one more long stripe through your folds and looks up into your eyes.

For a moment, the fire inside has been quenched. You feel clear, levelheaded. But it doesn’t last long. “Fuck,” you moan, your head hitting against the headrest of the chair. The fire is back, spreading across your stomach, your chest. “Logan,” you whimper. “I n-need more.”

“It’s okay, pretty girl,” he coos, taking you back up into his arms. He hoists you out of the seat, his hands finding your ass, squeezing softly. You wrap your legs around his waist as he carries you across the jet, setting you down on a storage container.

You bring your hands up to his biceps. “Need you this time, Lo,” you choke, stroking up and down his arms as the heat builds painfully between your thighs.

“Are you sure?” He asks, eyes searching yours.

“Always wanted you, always sure,” you whisper, wrapping your legs tighter around his waist.

His Adam’s apple bobs in his throat. “Wanted you too,” he husks. “But I wanted it to be different, to—” You cut him off. “Just want you. It’s okay like this. I promise.” You grind against him, his erection still straining inside the denim of his jeans.

He takes the hint, and quickly unbuckles his belt, casting the leather to the metal floor with a clunk. He’s unbuttoning and unzipping his jeans, shoving them down his legs, and lining himself up with your entrance. You push your hips forward, giving him better access. His other hand pushes your bra above your breasts, exposing you completely to him.

With one hand on his cock and one squeezing your tits gently, he thrusts himself into you. He’s so deep—down to the hilt—stretching you out and working you open. He groans, flicking your nipple with his thumb, his lips at the shell of your ear. “So fucking beautiful,” he whispers, sending a chill down your spine, quenching that fire inside. “So warm, so tight.” He pulls out and plunges back in again, filling you up.

“Lo,” you whine. “More.”

“I know,” he growls, his hips snapping into yours, bottoming out with every thrust. “Gonna take care of you, pretty girl.” He squeezes your tits once more before sliding his hand down your body and slipping between where the two of you connect. His fingers find your clit, drawing rough circles around the bud. “That feel good, beautiful?”

“Y-yes, Logan, so fucking good,” you cry out as he rocks into you. His other hand grips your hip tightly, holding you in place. You hope there’s a bruise there later—proof that he touched you, proof that he fucked into you like the world was ending.

His cock rubs against your walls, your muscles contracting around him, sucking him in deeper. “Squeezing me so good, sweetheart,” he praises, his lips crashing down onto yours, swallowing your moans. He’s taking all of you, hard and fast. You can feel him twitching inside you, throbbing with the same need you feel pulsing through your veins.

Logan kisses your jaw, and then just underneath, biting down on your pulse point. You arch your back, your chest meeting his. The contact is delicious, the friction a necessity. He thrusts into you faster now, doing his all to satiate your every need. He’s getting you there, pump after pump, hitting that sweet spot inside you every time.

It’s working. You can feel yourself slipping again, melting. “Logan,” you hum, too fucked out to say anything other than his name. That beautiful name, like a song in the air, a gentle prayer, a holy ghost. He’s all you need—all you’ve ever needed.

Your walls contract, squeezing him tightly. “Fuck,” he mutters. You know he’s close too. He strokes your clit, circling roughly. “Come on, pretty girl. You can do it, let me get you there again.”

“Lo,” you cry, your eyes fluttering open and shut as he fucks into you, rutting his hips, plunging deeper still. It’s all too much. You can feel the pleasure drumming inside you, coming to a head.

Logan loosens his grip on your hip and slides his hand behind your back, pulling you into his chest. You rest your forehead against his. “Come on my cock, princess, let go.” And you do. You’d do anything for him. You moan as your orgasm tears through you. It’s all blinding white heat, liquid smooth, pleasure wracking your body.

Logan curses under his breath, close behind. He pulses inside you once, and then he’s coming undone. Your arms wrap around his back, keeping him close, letting him know it’s okay to finish inside. He fills you up, whispering praises in your ear as you both come down from your high. Such a good fucking girl. Did so good for me. So fucking good. Perfect little pussy.

He’s still inside you, pumping slowly as you ride out your orgasm. His fingers let go of your clit, his hands running up your back and tugging you closer to him. He slowly pulls out, keeping you tight against his chest.

“Are you okay?” He whispers against the shell of your ear. You take a deep breath, waiting for the heat to build again, waiting for that need to surge every cell of your being. But there’s nothing. Your nerves are suddenly quiet—silent.

“I-I think it’s over,” you stutter, still nervous that maybe it’s not. He keeps you there, holding you tightly, ready to start again if necessary.

After a few minutes, you let yourself relax. It’s not coming back. It’s over.

Logan presses a chaste kiss to the side of your head. “I’ve still got you. Not going anywhere.” Your heart rate has finally slowed down. The heat is gone. You feel comfortable in your skin again. You take a deep breath.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper into Logan’s chest.

“Nothing to be sorry for, princess,” Logan reassures, his voice gentle and soft. “I’m just glad you’re okay.”

You nod against him, but you still feel a sting in your heart. You need to make him know that you meant what you said—need him to know exactly how you feel. You swallow nervously, ready to bite the bullet.

“Logan,” you breathe. “I-I meant everything I said. It wasn’t just the pollen.” You pull yourself from his chest, looking up at him. “I wasn’t lying when I said I wanted you…” you trail off. “S-still need you now. Nothing’s changed.”

He smiles down at you, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. “I know, darlin’,” he husks. “I wanted you before, and I still do, too.”

“I know you wanted it to be different. I know it wasn’t—” But he cuts you off, his lips capturing yours, quieting your anxious rambles. “We’ll have other chances. Other times to do it the way I want.” He smirks, running his hands up and down your back.

Other chances. Other times. More. More. More. “Yeah?” You ask.

“Yeah, princess.”

tags: @wolviesgirl @dojacatswink @dilf420 @spiderset @pleasantlycrazyworld @imwithyoutiltheendofthelinebucky @y-ns-things

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nasa · 10 months ago

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25 Years of Exploring the Universe with NASA's Chandra Xray Observatory

Illustration of the Chandra telescope in orbit around Earth. Credit: NASA/CXC & J. Vaughan

On July 23, 1999, the space shuttle Columbia launched into orbit carrying NASA’s Chandra X-ray Observatory. August 26 marked 25 years since Chandra released its first images.

These were the first of more than 25,000 observations Chandra has taken. This year, as NASA celebrates the 25th anniversary of this telescope and the incredible data it has provided, we’re taking a peek at some of its most memorable moments.

About the Spacecraft

The Chandra telescope system uses four specialized mirrors to observe X-ray emissions across the universe. X-rays that strike a “regular” mirror head on will be absorbed, so Chandra’s mirrors are shaped like barrels and precisely constructed. The rest of the spacecraft system provides the support structure and environment necessary for the telescope and the science instruments to work as an observatory. To provide motion to the observatory, Chandra has two different sets of thrusters. To control the temperatures of critical components, Chandra's thermal control system consists of a cooling radiator, insulators, heaters, and thermostats. Chandra's electrical power comes from its solar arrays.

Learn more about the spacecraft's components that were developed and tested at NASA’s Marshall Space Flight Center in Huntsville, Alabama. Fun fact: If the state of Colorado were as smooth as the surface of the Chandra X-ray Observatory mirrors, Pike's Peak would be less than an inch tall.

Engineers in the X-ray Calibration Facility at NASA’s Marshall Space Flight Center in Huntsville, Alabama, integrating the Chandra X-ray Observatory’s High-Resolution Camera with the mirror assembly, in this photo taken March 16, 1997. Credit: NASA

Launch

When space shuttle Columbia launched on July 23, 1999, Chandra was the heaviest and largest payload ever launched by the shuttle. Under the command of Col. Eileen Collins, Columbia lifted off the launch pad at NASA’s Kennedy Space Center in Florida. Chandra was deployed on the mission’s first day.

Reflected in the waters, space shuttle Columbia rockets into the night sky from Launch Pad 39-B on mission STS-93 from Kennedy Space Center. Credit: NASA

First Light Images

Just 34 days after launch, extraordinary first images from our Chandra X-ray Observatory were released. The image of supernova remnant Cassiopeia A traces the aftermath of a gigantic stellar explosion in such captivating detail that scientists can see evidence of what is likely the neutron star.

“We see the collision of the debris from the exploded star with the matter around it, we see shock waves rushing into interstellar space at millions of miles per hour,” said Harvey Tananbaum, founding Director of the Chandra X-ray Center at the Smithsonian Astrophysical Observatory.

Cassiopeia A is the remnant of a star that exploded about 300 years ago. The X-ray image shows an expanding shell of hot gas produced by the explosion colored in bright orange and yellows. Credit: NASA/CXC/SAO

A New Look at the Universe

NASA released 25 never-before-seen views to celebrate the telescopes 25th anniversary. This collection contains different types of objects in space and includes a new look at Cassiopeia A. Here the supernova remnant is seen with a quarter-century worth of Chandra observations (blue) plus recent views from NASA’s James Webb Space Telescope (grey and gold).

This image features deep data of the Cassiopeia A supernova, an expanding ball of matter and energy ejected from an exploding star in blues, greys and golds. The Cassiopeia A supernova remnant has been observed for over 2 million seconds since the start of Chandra’s mission in 1999 and has also recently been viewed by the James Webb Space Telescope. Credit: NASA/CXC/SAO

Can You Hear Me Now?

In 2020, experts at the Chandra X-ray Center/Smithsonian Astrophysical Observatory (SAO) and SYSTEM Sounds began the first ongoing, sustained effort at NASA to “sonify” (turn into sound) astronomical data. Data from NASA observatories such as Chandra, the Hubble Space Telescope, and the James Webb Space Telescope, has been translated into frequencies that can be heard by the human ear.

SAO Research shows that sonifications help many types of learners – especially those who are low-vision or blind -- engage with and enjoy astronomical data more.

Click to watch the “Listen to the Universe” documentary on NASA+ that explores our sonification work: Listen to the Universe | NASA+

An image of the striking croissant-shaped planetary nebula called the Cat’s Eye, with data from the Chandra X-ray Observatory and Hubble Space Telescope. NASA’s Data sonification from Chandra, Hubble and/or Webb telecopes allows us to hear data of cosmic objects. Credit: NASA/CXO/SAO

Celebrate With Us!

Dedicated teams of engineers, designers, test technicians, and analysts at Marshall Space Flight Center in Huntsville, Alabama, are celebrating with partners at the Chandra X-ray Center and elsewhere outside and across the agency for the 25th anniversary of the Chandra X-ray Observatory. Their hard work keeps the spacecraft flying, enabling Chandra’s ongoing studies of black holes, supernovae, dark matter, and more.

Chandra will continue its mission to deepen our understanding of the origin and evolution of the cosmos, helping all of us explore the Universe.

The Chandra Xray Observatory, the longest cargo ever carried to space aboard the space shuttle, is shown in Columbia’s payload bay. This photo of the payload bay with its doors open was taken just before Chandra was tilted upward for release and deployed on July 23, 1999. Credit: NASA

Make sure to follow us on Tumblr for your regular dose of space: http://nasa.tumblr.com

#nasa #space #astronomy #telescope #chandra #chandra25 #universe

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bucks-babe · 1 year ago

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Be Mean To Me

Pairing: Bucky x f!reader

Summary: After a long day at work, you just want to lose all control and have your boyfriend fuck you into oblivion

Warnings: Established relationship, slight angst, fluff, smut, mean!dom!bucky, reader asks for it, they are so in love, rough sex, dom/sub dynamics, oral (male receiving), ball sucking, slapping, spit kink?, degradation, humiliation, name calling (slut, whore, bitch, sugar, good girl), daddy kink, some praise, spanking, pussy slapping (like once), safe word (yellow), vaginal sex, no prep anal, Bucky has a huge dick, choking, aftercare, check-ins, crying during sex, crying after sex, soft!Bucky, no mention of Y/N, no description of reader other than being female

Word Count: 4.9k of mostly smut

A/N: This was very self indulgent. Work has been kicking my ass and I want to be taken care of. Any mistakes are my own. If I missed any warnings please let me know. @bucknastysbabe it's done! I think I should go back to therapy. But hey, smut

You feel your throat tighten as you walk up to the apartment you share with Bucky. It was one of those days that left you beaten down and wanting to curl up under your blankets and cry. You didn’t even want to go into work this morning, having to force yourself to get ready. Too many rude customers, incompetent coworkers giving you more work than you get paid to do, everything leaving you overstimulated and wanting your boyfriend.

It left a craving deep down inside of you, a want that you knew only he could quell. You just wanted to shut your brain off, have Bucky take care of you, ruin you, treat you like a whore, break you down, just to put you back together again.

You swallow the lump in your throat and unlock the front door, finding Bucky on the couch watching some random action movie that he claimed to hate. At the sight of him your body naturally relaxes and the urge to crawl onto his lap is too much to bear.

“Hey, sugar. I’ve been missing you all day. You’ll never fucking believe the video Sam sent me of Tony trying out his new thrusters! He flew rig- What’s wrong?” He perked up at the sound of the door opening, truly missing his girl. Whenever you’re around him his entire day gets better, a lightness filling his chest, but when he sees how run down you are, his heart literally hurts for you. Bucky wants to protect you from everything, from supervillains all the way to spiders in the house.

“Long day, baby. Just wanna be with you.” He opens his arms and you instantly crawl into his lap, eyes burning with tears you refuse to shed. He runs his metal hand up and down your back, pulling you as close to him as possible, while his flesh hand rests on your head, holding you to his neck, letting you breathe him in.

“What can I do for you, sugar? Want to talk about it? I can order from your favorite place. Can run you a bath. Whatever you want, sweet girl.”

“Please, be mean to me, Bucky.” Bucky feels his heart clench in his chest. He wants to keep your heart safe from whatever it is that is plaguing you, but he knows he can’t. What he can do is follow your request and make you forget.

“How mean do you want me, sugar?” Bucky has done this for you a few times. He always asks how you want him to treat you. It’s in his nature to be sweet to you, fill you with praise, but that's not what you want right now. You want to be degraded and treated like a fucktoy.

“Mean.” You keep your eyes trained on him. This is the only part where you need to keep your head on, make sure that he knows you want this.

“Remember your colors, sugar?” You nob, excitement bubbling up inside of you. “Remember, daddy will only be upset with you if you don’t use them. If you need to say yellow or red, you will.” His tone is final. This is the only way he would ever agree to treating you like a slut.

“Yes, daddy.” And just like that, Bucky’s entire demeanor changes. He goes from your sweet, cuddly boyfriend to a cold and callous body of muscle.

“Then take your clothes off, slut.” He pushes you off his lap, just hard enough to give the illusion of indifference. As you strip, Bucky keeps his eyes trained on the TV, not paying you any mind. Your core throbs at the fact that you are completely exposed while he is still fully dressed.

“On your knees.” He’s still not looking at you, but you obey without thought, willing to do whatever he wants. Grabbing the back of your neck, he forces you in between his spread legs, and you whine at the fact that his cock is still soft inside his sweats. Any other day, Bucky would make sure that your knees were never on the hardwood floor without a pillow or something soft underneath, but not today.

On days like these, when you want to feel completely submissive, it takes Bucky a while to get aroused. It’s in his nature to love up on you, make you drunk with pleasure in the sweetest way possible. He feeds off of your energy. When he is sure that you are having fun, his body lets himself fall into his role.

“What? You think at the first signs of some tits I’m gonna get hard? I knew you were a dumb slut but I didn’t realize just how thick you were.” Your pussy was absolutely pulsing with need. With his hand still on the back of your neck, he rubs your face against his crotch, feeling his cock begin to harden at the smell of your arousal.

He pulls you back far enough to slide his pants down, foregoing boxers, and you immediately try to take his half hard length in your mouth. Before you can process it, Bucky’s right hand lands a slap to your cheek - hard enough to make a welt that will take a few hours to disappear. You gasp and your cunt pulses even harder than before at the sting left on your cheek.

His metal hand wraps around your chin, much cooler than it’s supposed to be, and forces you to look him in the eye. In the back of your mind you realize that he turned on the cooling function in his arm to sooth your cheek; the arm was built to keep him cool in the Wakandan sun and heat. “Did daddy say you could suck his cock?” He uses his hand to shake your head from side to side, answering for you. “Then keep your slutty mouth shut.”

He spreads his legs wider and pulls your face closer to his heavy sack, already full of cum. “Hands behind your back, and suck on daddy’s balls.” You join your hands together behind your back without question and nuzzle his balls. Wasting no time, you take one into your mouth, sucking feverishly, enjoying the light dusting of hair tickling your face.

“Oh, fuck, come on, slut, I know you can do better than that. Take ‘em both in your dirty mouth.” He pushes you further into him, cutting off your oxygen, and you swear you hear your slick drip onto the floor. Your jaw aches as you try to get them both in your mouth, but you can't; his balls are too big. Bucky ruts against your face, squishing his balls, precum leaking from his tip, dripping onto his stomach after he takes his shirt off.

With your limited amount of movement, you alternate between each ball, licking at the seam. Every time you switch balls, you feel the other drag wetly across your face and you have to clench your legs in an attempt to quell the ache between them while fighting with your need for air. “Such a dirty bitch, lapping at your daddy’s nuts, shit.” He pulls you back just as your head starts to go fuzzy from the lack of oxygen, and you gasp for air, spit is covering the lower half of your face and is dripping down your neck and chest; Bucky feels his cock throb at the sight.

Reaching out, Bucky smears your spit around your face and leaves another, weaker smack to your cheek before he grabs his cock and uses his weeping tip to tease you, dragging it on your face. “What a nasty fucking bitch, drooling all over the place just from sucking some balls.” He slaps your cheeks with it a few times before forcing your head down all the way, making you gag and you immediately pull off, coughing.

He stares into your eyes, cold and calculating, waiting for you to speak. When your coughing subsides you manage to get out a hoarse ‘green,’ giving him the all clear. He takes your head and once again makes you take his cock, this time much slower and not as deep, the first time he wanted to fuck with you. “Such a perfect fucking mouth, shit.” He stops you from bobbing your head, “Stop being such a desperate whore and let daddy finish his movie.” You're sure you’re leaking onto the floor at this point.

You are able to see his face and he looks wrecked, mouth hanging open and head back; he’s not watching shit. Nonetheless, you rest your head on his thigh, getting comfortable, spreading your legs out to get closer to the floor so your head won't be bent at an awkward angle, ignoring the pain in your knees and the ache in your jaw.

The only sounds filling the room are Bucky’s ragged breathing and the movie playing in the background. There is saliva everywhere, his cock, all over his balls, down to his ass and on the couch. His cock is constantly leaking precum into your mouth but you don’t swallow, letting his taste linger on your tongue.

This isn’t what you wanted, you wanted him to demolish you. Sitting with his cock in your mouth is giving you too much time to think, so you do what any sane person would do - be a brat. At the first suckle, Bucky lets out a broken moan, at the second, he knows what you’re up to. Flicking your ear with his metal hand he hisses, “Don’t make me punish you, bitch.” At the third, he yanks you off of his dick, a trail of drool and precum keeping the two of you connected, as slaps you once again with his flesh hand, this time not soothing the marred flesh with his metal hand.

He stands and kicks the couch out of the way and pulls you with him by the neck. “You disobedient little-” he cuts himself short at the small puddle of slick that he finds from your previous position. “Is that what I think it is?” You only whine in response, his grip on your neck never faltering.

With his free hand, he reaches down to your pussy to feel just how wet you are, confirming his suspicions. “What a dirty fucking slut, leaking all over my floor.” He pulls you in closer to him just to whisper, “Lick it the fuck up, bitch,” before pushing you to the ground.

Your knees hit the wood hard and pain runs up your spine. You ignore the ache and brainlessly lap at your juices on the floor before Bucky smushes your cheek against the puddle and you moan. “Messy bitch, you are? Cunt is pulsing, waiting for my dick. Too bad I have to punish you, isn’t it, slut?” He leans down to the floor, eyes lined up with yours. “Daddy is going to give you ten spanks and I want you to count them.” You don’t respond immediately, stuck in a sort of limbo, drawn in further at the softness in his eyes.

No matter how hard he tries, Bucky can’t hide his devotion to you, that’s why he doesn’t let you look at him when he needs to play this role. His whole face softens at your silence, fearing he’s gone too far. “Color, sugar.” Stroking your cheek, he leans in closer, breathing you in.

“Green, daddy, so green.” The sigh Bucky lets out is audible and he feels ten times lighter.

“Good girl, you want to keep going the way we were?” Even though you said green, he wants to be certain.

“Yes please, daddy, want you to be mean.” You look so small and soft. Bucky struggles to put his facade back up, but he knows you need this.

Bucky positions himself behind you, staring at your ass and glistening pussy, and feels his cock bounce. The first slap isn’t soft by any means, you know there will be a handprint left. Your body jolts and Bucky groans at the jiggle of your ass. “One.” The second is on your other cheek and makes you clench around nothing. “Two.” He lands the next two much harder on the same cheek and you feel tears form in your eyes, yet continue to count, digging your nails into your palm.

He repeats the two spanks to your left cheek and takes a break to sooth your heated and raised skin with his metal hand after you’ve counted. The ground beneath your cheek is hard and unforgiving, leaving you neck bent at an odd angle. Spank seven lands on the back of your right thigh and somehow feels much stronger. “Shit! Seven, daddy.” Eight is on your left, and is just as hard. Your entire lower body aches: cunt pulsing and throbbing for his cock, thighs burning, and ass red and raw, sobbing with every impact.

“These last two are going to be harder, slut, since you forgot to count.” Even with his warning, you aren’t prepared. They are hard and fast, hearing them before you feel them, knocking the breath out of you, and you try to scramble up, but Bucky holds you down. “Don’t run away from me, you know better.” All of a sudden, the sharpest and most excruciating pain blooms from your cunt, and then you hear the wet smack of his metal hand hitting your core.

You wail, body shooting up, legs fighting to close to soothe the sting left. Before you can, Bucky’s hand on the back of your head keeps you to the ground, while he slams his cock into your cunt, not stopping to let you adjust. “That’s it, fuck. Such a good pussy. Dirty fucking bitch.” You can’t breathe, his cock is knocking all of the air out of your lungs. The only sounds in the room are Bucky’s moans and the wet slapping of skin, his heavy balls banging against your sore clit. With each thrust you’re sure he’s hitting your cervix.

The hand on the back of your head leaves to grab your hip, letting him fuck you even faster, the both of you sliding further and further on the floor. You try to brace yourself with your hands, but the brutality of his fucking is no match. “Daddy, fuck, s-so g-good, please!” You don’t know what you’re begging for, but your cunt is pulling him in, barely letting him pull out.

Bucky is practically chasing you on the floor, hips never slowing down, eyes trained on your pussy, loving the creamy white mess on his dick. “Fuuuck, look at the ass bouncing on daddy’s cock, shit! Love the way this fat fucking ass looks when its all red and sore.” He’s in heaven, with the tight clench of your cunt wrapping around his cock, making him feel crazy.

“Daddy! I can’t, f-fuck, please, too much!” You’re fucking delirious with pleasure, feeling something twisting inside of you. You searched for something to hold on to, only finding smooth surface, legs locking, body seizing up.

“You can and you will take this dick, bitch. I don’t care if it makes you fucking bleed.” The pressure in your core builds tighter and tighter, all the while, Bucky’s hips never falter, sack still ramming against your clit.The breath is knocked out of you when you feel the most intense orgasm of your life pass through you.

Keening and wailing, you squirt on Bucky’s cock, the sounds of your fucking somehow getting even more wet until the force of your orgasm pushes his cock out. Your body is left twitching. There is a much larger puddle on the floor now - your cum. Bucky could fucking cum at the sight of your pathetic body laying on the ground, body wrought with pleasure. “Fuck, sugar! That was so fucking hot! You squirted all over, shit! I fucking love you so goddamn much.”

The entire lower half of his body is covered with your cum and Bucky swears he can feel his heartbeat in his cock. Nonetheless, he wraps his arms around your waist and hulls you over to where he kicked the couch, placing your upper half on the cushions. “You’re so fucking wet now I bet I could slide right into that tight ass, what do you think, slut?” Your core pulses at the thought of his fat cock in your ass, the two of you don’t usually do anal, given how big he is, but you can’t think straight, especially after cumming so hard.

“Yes, daddy. I want your big cock in my ass, want you to fill me up.” Bucky groans at the thought of his excessive load running out of your ass. Leaning back, he ruts against your pussy, gathering more of your slick, before spreading your cheeks with his hands, staring at your puckered hole. He lines his cock up and watches as precum leaks from his tip.

His cock is huge, much longer and thicker than average, and he knows it. Grabbing himself near his tip, he pushes, grunting at the resistance, knowing that this would be much easier if he takes the time to prep you, but you want to be treated like a whore. “You gotta loosen the fuck up, bitch or else I’ll really fucking hurt you. Want this fucking ass so bad, better let daddy in. Cock is too big for this little ass, isn’t it, gonna split you in half, leave you leaking for days.”

He pushes harder, tip finally popping in, causing searing pain to shoot through you. Crying out, you try to pull forward to escape the burning pain, wiggling further into the couch. Bucky leans over, careful not to push in any further, he knows you need a moment, any other time you would have been fully prepped and he would have slid right in, and wraps his metal hand around your neck, shushing you, “Shhhh, stop being so dramatic.”

After a few minutes, the pain begins to subside and your breathing calms down. Keeping his hand around your throat, he pushes in, inch by inch, and the pain comes back. You whine into the cushion, every new inch burning more than the last until his hips are flush with your ass. “What the fuck?! Your ass is so fu-fucking tight, shit! Fucking milking my cock, wanna pound this little hole, wanna fucking ruin you.”

Burying his face in the back of your neck, Bucky was taking deep breaths, completely out of it. He wasn’t thinking straight, not when your tight hole was hugging every inch of his cock. You on the other hand, were struggling, it was too much too fast. It fucking hurt, there were tears in your eyes, but your pussy was aching like it wanted more. Your clit throbbed with need, even when your ass was stretched to the brim.

You didn’t want to stop, but you needed a break, before Bucky could move his hips you muttered, “Yellow, daddy, yellow.” The hand on your neck left and Bucky maneuvered his upper body so that he could look you in the eye without moving his cock. His entire demeanor was different, back was your sweet, caring boyfriend.

“Good girl, daddy’s so proud of you for using your safe word. Shhh, it’s okay, sugar. Do you just need a second to breathe? Take your time, if you need to stop I will.” Bucky caresses your face as he soothes you, bringing you back down. His cock is still buried to the hilt in your ass, driving him insane. He wants to rail you so fucking bad, tip of his cock probably purple by now, but he would never do anything you didn’t want to, more than willing to sit with his cock inside of you until you’re ready or decide to stop.

You don’t know how much time passes, but eventually, you loosen up and your mind goes fuzzy once again, desperate for him to move. You wiggle your hips, rocking back and forth, instead of pain, blinding pleasure courses through you. “Green, daddy. I’m ready, just needed to get used to your fat cock, want you to pound into me.” Bucky lets out the most sinful groan and stills your hips with his hands.

He starts out slow, easing you into his motions, gradually gaining speed and force the louder your moans get. “Daddy, faster, please, harder, feels so good!” You were practically sobbing, loving the way he was splitting you open. His hips and thighs were wet from when you squirted on him, slapping against your ass, everytime he pulled back a vulgar shlick sound could be heard.

He fucked you faster and harder, staring at where you were connected. “This fucking ass feels incredible. Taking me so well, knew you could do it, fuck. Splitting your tiny ass in half. Oh God!” He could feel his orgasm building up, fighting it off everytime his cum filled sack slapped against your pussy. Letting go of your hips he snarled, “Show daddy how much of a fucking slut you are and bounce that fat ass on his cock.”

You whined, but complied anyway, digging your toes into the floor to get more leverage to keep slamming back on his cock. The sounds of skin slapping and both of your moans completely drowned out the ending of Bucky’s movie, not that either of you cared. Panting and moaning, you kept working yourself on him, feeling another orgasm bubbling up.

Meeting your thrusts, Bucky was rambling, not having one coherent thought in his head, “Look at that, give me that ass, yes! Don’t you dare fucking stop, bitch, want you to milk this cock. Love the way it fucking bounces, never seen anything like it, oh fuck!” He was getting whiny, high pitched moans falling from his lips. He couldn’t help it, his cock was too fucking sensitive and you felt too good.

“M Gonna cum, daddy! Can I cum?” Bucky practically growls, getting up to his feet to squat, not missing a beat while still trusting in you. Every time his pelvis met your ass he whined and whimpered, loving the way it jiggled. He could feel you clenching around him, drawing his own orgasm closer.

“Not until I do. Fucking hold it, bitch.” It seemed impossible, but Bucky fucked you even faster, his hips moving at a ferocious speed. He wanted to cum so fucking bad and your high pitched moans were about to make him bust. “Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit. I’m gonna fucking nut. You want daddy to fill your ass up, huh? God! Fuck, I’m splitting you in two. Uhhh. Balls are so heavy, so much cum. Fuuuuuuck. Daddy’s gonna fill you up, have you leaking.”

His hand wraps around your throat and chokes you, hips still smashing against yours, your orgasm barely being held in. You try to talk, get him to let you cum, but no words come out. Bucky felt his orgasm approach, balls pulling up, “Shiiit, daddy’s gonna cum, gonna flood your ass, you ready, cum with your daddy. Right. Fucking. Now.” Bucky cums with a long, drawn out moan. The feeling of his endless load pouring into your ass sends you over the edge and you cum so hard your vision goes black for a second. Waves upon waves of pleasure coursing through you. Bucky’s hips jerk involuntarily, prolonging both of your orgasms.

As you both catch your breaths, you feel Bucky begin to soften inside of you, still plugging your hole, stopping his cum from leaking back out. “You were so good for me, sugar. I’m so proud of you.” At those words you feel your bottom lip begin to tremble. Burying your face into the cushions, a sob escapes your throat, all of your emotions finally bubbling over.

Running his hands up and down your back, Bucky soothes you. This was always his least favorite part, seeing you cry. He knows that you’re crying isn’t because of him, but there is always a twinge of fear that shoots through his body, scared that he went too far with you. Bucky pulls out as gently as he can, hissing when the air touches his spent dick, and moves to rest his back against the couch, pulling you into his lap.

Neither of you care that his cum is leaking all over. Bucky will clean the room later, after he takes care of his sweet girl. You cling to him as you sob into his neck, his hands massage your sore cheeks as he whispers in your ear, “Such a good girl for me, you made me feel so fucking good. Can’t even begin to explain how good you felt. There you go, let it out. I’m right here.”

Carefully, he picks you up and carries you to the bathroom. When he tries to set you down you just cling on harder to him, not wanting to leave his embrace. “I gotta draw us a bath, sugar. You know you have to pee, I’ll be right here when you’re done.” You hesitantly let him go while he draws the bath, putting in your favorite oils. After you pee and wipe, he helps you up so you can wash your hands before sitting you both in the tub.

Bucky sits against the wall of the tub and you curl further into his lap, not wanting any space in between you. Somehow you still aren’t close enough to him, wanting to be surrounded completely by him. Tears are still leaking down your face and even with Bucky’s consuming presence, you can’t seem to pull yourself up to the surface. Bucky’s arms are wrapped around you, making sure that you are as close as possible without him being inside of you.

“Sweets, can you look at me? Want to see those pretty eyes.” You can hear the concern in Bucky’s voice, but you can’t bring yourself to move away. He’s your safe space and you just want to bask in his warmth. “Sweets, please. Can you tell me how you feel? I need to know you’re okay.” You don’t know why that set you off, but all of a sudden more tears escape you, sobs fighting to make their way out.

Bucky’s entire world stops, fear shoots up his spine. He doesn’t know if he could live with himself if he hurt you, if he did something that you didn’t want. He knows that you asked him to treat you like a whore, but what if you didn’t want him to go as far as he did? You used your safe word when it got to be too much, but what if you really wanted to say red, not yellow, but wanted to please him, or felt like you had to please him. “Sweetheart, did I hurt you? Did I go too far? Please talk to me.”

Even though you didn’t want to talk, you could hear that he was about to cry. “I’m okay. Just love you so much.” You could feel Bucky relax under you.

“You sure, sweets? I’ve never seen you like this before.” While some of his fears subsided, Bucky was still worried about you.

Picking your head up so you could look him in the eye, you saw just how scared Bucky truly was. “I promise, Buck, I loved every second of it. You made me feel so good and cared for. No one has ever made me feel the way you do.” Bucky closed his eyes and let his head fall back against the wall. At that moment, Bucky understood why aftercare was so important. Of course he knew you needed to be taken care of so that you knew how much he loved you, but hearing those words come out of your mouth made him feel loved in a way he didn’t know was possible.

Before the water gets cold you’ve stopped crying, making Bucky feel much better and he washes the sweat and spit off of your face and body, being extra careful with your sensitive pussy and ass. All the while whispering sweet nothings into your ear while you take turns kissing each other all over.

Bucky feels ten times lighter when he gets a giggle out of you. He knows that there will be days when you need him to treat you like a slut, but you know how much he loves and respects you. He lays you on the bed before grabbing your favorite lotion to put on, being extra careful when it comes to your sore ass, placing kisses in each spot after he's rubbed in the lotion.

The marks on your face are gone by now, but Bucky still fusses over your skin care routine, knowing you don’t have the energy to complete it. After taking care of you, he climbs into bed and covers the both of you up, still naked but you don’t care. Bucky reaches into the bedside drawer and grabs some chocolate while you feed it to each other. Neither of you say much, but nothing needs said.

You place kisses on his chest and arms, anywhere that you can reach, trying to let him know how much you appreciate him - Bucky knows. You fall asleep first, not being able to keep your eyes open any longer, Bucky moves you to his chest, cocooning you into him before he falls asleep, your head tucked carefully under his chin, legs tangled together, completely protected by him.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x you #bucky x reader #bucky barnes smut #bucky x y/n #bucky imagine #bucky smut #bucky x female reader #bucky x you #sebastian stan x reader #bucky fanfic #james bucky barnes #dom bucky barnes #sebastian stan imagine #sebastian stan smut #james bucky buchanan barnes #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes fluff

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ggidolsmuts · 3 months ago

Text

The Girl That's Out of This World - tripleS Yooyeon

"Liftoff in 3, 2, 1!"

You're slammed into your jump seat, the g-forces pressing against you, metaphorical straps against the literal straps around you. Your ears are filled with the loud roar of thruster explosions, your eyes only seeing blue, then white, then grey as your vessel strives to break through the atmosphere. It's a rough launch, there's lots of rattling, maybe this is the one time things go sideways—fuck why are you thinking like that, fuck fuck fuck—

Everything goes black, and you blink, finding yourself in the stars.

"You good?"

"Yeah, bit of a bumpy launch eh?"

"Eh, it was fine." That's Kim Yooyeon for you, your fellow astronaut on this trip, utterly unflappable she might as well be gliding through life, so unfazeable that she might as well be her own phase of matter. She's already unbuckling herself from the seat and floating to the back. The mission is long, 2 months to be exact, but there's lots to do. "Monitor the systems."

"Copy." You stay seated, coordinating with mission control until finally you call out to her.

"We're enroute to the space station."

"Copy, support systems are operational, no damage from the launch."

"Really? After all that rattling?"

"All bark and no bite, luckily." Yooyeon straps in again next to you. "Get some sleep, it'll be a few hours before we get to the station." You lean back, and allow yourself to fall asleep to the beeps of the systems and the silence of space.

A higher pitched beep jolts you out of your sleep, and you see the space station ahead.

"Beginning docking maneuvers," you announce, and Yooyeon has shaken herself awake, repeating your order back to you. Both of you hold your breath as you watch the station loom over your craft, and the screen shows your shuttle closing in on the docking port. You move the controls slightly, there's a rumble as contact is made, followed by the whirr of locking mechanisms, and finally—

"Docking complete." Both of you lean back in your seats as the most stressful part of the mission is done.

"Good job, let's get out of here." Yooyeon floats to the shuttle exit ahead of you, and after disengaging the door locks you're both drifting into the space station. "Ah, finally out of this suit."

As you step out of your spacesuit, the helmet catches on your head, giving you a proper smack. You had forgotten—no, not forgotten, gotten used to—how pretty Yooyeon looks. She was the belle of the space force, as pretty as she is sharp. Many of your colleagues were envious that you got to go on a space mission with her, to accompany the angel on her way back to heaven, so to speak. Over the multiple weeks of intense training and preparation though, Yooyeon became your colleague, your teammate, responsible for your life just as you are responsible for hers on this mission, with safety being the priority above all else.

So you stopped seeing Yooyeon superficially, and yet, a far way from the surface of the Earth, you catch yourself staring at her beauty—long black hair, round eyes, ruby lips, delicate as a flower. Yet she's up here in space with you, suffering through the grueling launch and coming out looking like that, while you just... look like you.

"Have you forgotten how to remove the jumpsuit already? We spent so much time training on that."

"Just adjusting to the low grav environment," you mutter as an excuse. The two of you tour the space station, floating through the various segments that make up the station. You arrive at the living quarters—they're small and claustrophobic, but as with anything when you're in space, ironically space is at a premium. Your sleeping cabin is effectively an open coffin, complete with straps to stop you from floating away, there's a curtain for privacy, but that's about it.

Then there's a small kitchen, which is basically just the area that has the "cooking" machine, reheating and rehydrating space food for human consumption. There's a bathroom, also small, and finally the main body of the station where you'll be conducting science experiments, observing the stars, and watching over Earth.

"Everything is operational," Yooyeon speaks into the microphone, communicating with mission control.

"Roger, please begin the experiments whenever you're ready."

The two of you throw yourselves into the work, working with the command center and logging experiment results. In between experiments there were a lot of maintenance to be done, and you two find yourselves in the little nooks and crannies of the space station, checking for cracks, leaks, and loose bolts. It put the two of you in close quarters, and with no perfect substitute for weightlessness there was no small amount of accidental touches and brushes—you didn't notice your hand drifting close to her chest, she didn't notice her leg drifting between yours. But things remained professional for Yooyeon—everything addressed without fluster or embarrassment. You are in space after all, there were much bigger things to be worried about.

You wish you could say the same for yourself. You knew you would have to abstain as much as possible in space, as any cleanup would be quite hard when everything is quite literally floating about, but over time it became harder and harder to ignore Yooyeon. She dressed simply in a t-shirt and shorts most of the time, and even that was enough to distract you—when did her legs look so good, and her thighs muscled yet juicy, how did you not notice it before?

The breaking point came when Yooyeon pushed herself off a wall to get through the station quickly, only to collide with you coming out of the sleeping quarters and sending both of you spinning through the corridor.

"Ah! I'm sorry, I didn't realize you were awake— Ah!" After the collision her top had come loose and it had ridden up, floating well above her waist, giving you a peek at her midriff and simple bra underneath. Hastily she pulls it down, a light blush on her cheeks. "Sorry about that, I thought the coast was clear."

"Yeah, no problem, go ahead. I'll sleep in for a little longer." It was an excuse, as your morning wood had come back in full force—you're way too frustrated to function. As Yooyeon floats away you make the decision to get yourself off, to just get it out of the way. You pull out a foil packet—condoms that your colleagues had pushed on to you.

"Dude why would I need condoms in space?"

"You're up there with Yooyeon, just the two of you, literally no one else in the world there."

"But we're in space, nothing's going to happen, we're not going to have sex in space."

"Who said anything about sex? Sure she wouldn't have sex with you, but just looking at her might be enough after a few weeks up there! What if you just need to get one off, you want your cum floating around in the space station? If you don't take this, when I'm next on the space station I am bringing a black light."

"You guys are fucking ridiculous!" You stuff the foil-wrapped rubbers into a discreet pocket just to shut them up.

Annoyed at your colleagues being right you wrap your tip with the rubber and wrap your hand around your shaft. Your colleagues missed on something though, that it is fucking weird to masturbate in space, in weightlessness, while trying to make sure the condom doesn't slip; while you have no material to work with at all, just the memory of Yooyeon's midriff and bra and thighs; while Yooyeon's looking at you.

Wait what?

"Y-Yooyeon!" you choke out.

"Shh!" She glares at you, and you remember that the monitoring mics are live as work hours just started—two way communication with mission control is great, making you feel less lonely on the space station, but now is the worst time for that! "Do you need my help?" Yooyeon whispers. She's tying her hair up, your brain short-circuting as the ponytail floats in mid-air.

"What? Sorry I— Let me—" Your hands waves about frantically, trying to remove the condom, pull your boxers on, stuff your cock back in, pull your pants back on, and not float towards her while you do it all at the same time.

"Just let me help you." Her hand stops you from pulling up your boxers, and in the next moment Yooyeon's lips are wrapped around your shaft. Your mind is spinning, from the absolute shattering of the image you have of her, to the fact that both of you are floating in space. You grab on to a bar that's in reach, making sure that the sight of Yooyeon giving you a blowjob doesn't float through the space station for any cameras to catch. Your other hand is on Yooyeon's head, presumably to make sure she doesn't float away from you, but more because you never wanted to leave her mouth!

The two of you are near horizontal, lying in weightlessness as Yooyeon continues to push her gorgeous face on your cock. Her tongue swirls, her cheeks hollow, Yooyeon is doing everything to get you to cum.

"Yooyeon!" you whisper harshly, and she flicks her eyes up at you. You throb one last time, and Yooyeon devours you to the base, her nose bumping into your crotch as you begin spilling everything into her mouth. You're pent up after weeks without satisfaction, and now all you can do is keep yourself quiet, biting your t-shirt as you watch Yooyeon stay planted on your hips, your thick and salty load going straight down her throat. Your hips buck, and the motion moves Yooyeon with it as you spurt one more shot into her mouth.

When she finally gets off your cock, her eyes are a little watery, but other than a little swipe of her lips there's no indication that Kim Yooyeon just swallowed the biggest load of your life like it's just another Tuesday (or Wednesday, time gets funny in space).

"All good? Be sure to clean up," she mumbles, and floats away.

What the hell just happened?

Yooyeon leaves you to collect yourself, and she collects her own thoughts too—she had wanted to check in on you, make sure you weren't hurt from the collision earlier. Yet when she saw you in that state, she wanted to make sure things were safe—it wouldn't do to have globs of cum or a filled condom floating in space, an actual choking and biohazard. So she took it upon herself to swallow it all and—

"Mmgh!" Yooyeon can feel it inside her—digesting food is a little odd in space, and when she's swallowed an extra meal worth of seed it is more than a little off, and she suddenly feels full. She puts a hand over her midriff, but has to resist moving it lower. Just as you were pent up, Yooyeon was equally frustrated. She had wondered if you were able to sneak in a self-love session or two, but she never noticed any signs or traces of it, which is good. Now with your abundant load inside her she realizes why that was.

Sadly for her there's no way she could do it, and she shudders and tries to calm herself, to think about the work ahead and not what's in her... No, better to not think about anything being "inside" herself right now.

As the work day winds down on the space station you approach Yooyeon.

"Hey, I just wanted to say I'm sorry, I thought I was alone. You didn't have to, you know."

"I— Yeah, it was unprofessional of me, I just wanted to make sure there wouldn't be anything floating around, I'm sorry."

"N-No no, not at all." You can't believe your ears, Yooyeon's apologizing for blowing you! "Thanks for keeping us safe, I guess?"

"Yeah. Is there anything else?"

"No, please let me know if you ever need some privacy, so we can avoid something like this in the future. I can give you plenty of space."

"That won't be needed, it is infeasible for me to do it in space." You blink rapidly at Yooyeon admission—what does she even mean?

With your pent up frustration relieved you don't think too much of things, and nothing seems to have changed with how Yooyeon treats you, so it fades a little into the background for you as you are consumed by the work that needs to be done.

But for Yooyeon her frustration only builds, she catches herself looking at you below the waist on more than one occasion, wondering if you were hard, wondering if she could see it again. She had not planned on masturbating on this mission, but after what happened she's finding herself flush and warm often. Yet she can't take any more clothes off, taking off anything more would be because— No, she shouldn't think about sex, it doesn't help things!

The breaking point comes quietly for Yooyeon, on another chance collision. The two of you are passing through the narrow corridors in opposite directions—Yooyeon has just washed up, and you're on the way to do as well. She slips when she tries to push herself through the narrow gap, sending her bumping into you.

"Yooyeon, are you okay? You feel really warm, is it a fever?" You're holding her close, a hand on her forehead. "You're burning, let me get a thermometer."

"No! I just need some rest, I'll turn in early tonight." The truth is Yooyeon's effectively in heat, the sudden close proximity and touch catching her off guard. She retreats to her "bed", strapping herself down and trying to calm herself. She presses her thighs together, hoping her shorts and underwear can absorb enough of her wetness, but it has the opposite effect, as the added friction makes her rub her legs together subconsciously.

When you finish cleaning yourself you return to the sleeping quarters and tie yourself down, but as you try to fall asleep you realize that the usual white noise of the space station is not as it usually is. You hear a continuous rustle, like someone tossing and turning. Yooyeon having trouble sleeping? You debate if you should call out, potentially disturbing her rest even more. Your attentive ears pick up on more detail—the rustle is persistent, less tossing and turning and more rubbing together of fabric. Every so often there is a deep exhale, and you realize what is going on.

"Yooyeon, do you need my help?"

Yooyeon freezes in her bed, like she's standing in front of a line. She knows what you are asking, and you know that she knows, which is why you asked; and she knows that you know that she knows, and so she answers...

"Yes."

She can hear you undo your straps, and soon you would be floating towards her, and then— You're here already, pulling open the curtains! In the dark Yooyeon prays that you don't see her blush, but everything else is showing—her thighs tightly pressed together, her hand down her own shorts, a fistful of absorbent sheets in the other.

"Tell me what you need."

"I need— Want to get off, but the sheets need to be there."

"I can umm, just swallow it all." Yooyeon's heat only grows, now she's thinking about you down there, eating her out and— oh god...

"No, I get really wet when it happens." There's little embarrassment left in Yooyeon, she needed to get off more than anything else! You pause for a moment, and Yooyeon gets even wetter, watching you watch her.

"Give me the sheets." You move in close to Yooyeon, taking them from her. You gently nudge her thighs open with your knee.

"Do you want to take off your shorts—" She pulls one leg out, enough to give you access to her over her underwear.

"No, just like this is good," is her immediate reply. You press the sheets against your thigh and then nudge up between her legs. Instantly Yooyeon traps you there, and so forceful is the shove of her hips downwards that you have to hold on to her to not be pushed away. When you steady yourself to look at Yooyeon the view is mesmerizing—from the neck up, Yooyeon might as well be asleep, eyes closed and breathing deeply. From the waist down however she's outright riding you, grinding herself on your thigh with hip gyrations you didn't even know she could make. She's grinding down on you so hard you have to push up against her, to counteract her strength in the weightless environment.

You're glued to Yooyeon's gorgeous face, even in the dark she looks like she's glowing. You watch her bite the inside of her cheek, her brow furrow slightly, and then she goes slack.

"I'm done," she says quietly. "Thank you."

"Hmm?" It was barely noticeable! Yooyeon was stoic but you never thought she would be this restrained even in climax. "Right."

"Do you need me to help you with that?" You look down at where she's looking—your stiffness poking into her thighs.

"N-No, I'm good, it'll go down. I'll dispose of these, you should rest."

"Okay, thank you." You realize you have to peel the absorbent sheets off your thigh—despite her lack of reaction to her orgasm, she's completely soaked through the multiple layers. As you hold it in your hand you squeeze it a little too hard, and some of it is released. "Oh there's—" Yooyeon can only blush as you catch them in your mouth, swallowing her juices. "You didn't have to do that."

"You did for me, I'm just making sure there are no choking hazards. Good night."

Yooyeon watches you drift away without another word, and her mind is a jumble. She's basking in the glow of her orgasm, oh how she needed that! But she's also conflicted—it was professionally inappropriate, she should never have agreed to your help! She probably should not have sucked you off before either, and it's all a big mess now. Disturbingly, after feeling your hardness poke against her, it's all she can think about even after getting herself off.

Having disposed of the sheets you float back to bed, trying to calm yourself down and go to sleep. When you hear Yooyeon move in her bed, you clear your throat softly, reminding yourself to not treat every noise from her as sexual.

"Good night." Yooyeon's voice comes soft and clear across space.

You realize neither of you are going to get much sleep that night, and you take a deep breath, trying not to think too much about Yooyeon still being awake.

"G-Good night."

The last two weeks were borderline unbearable, and both of you were on edge. Far above earth, in your little space haven, you and Yooyeon felt like Adam and Eve, having sinfully tasting the sweetness of the forbidden fruit that one time. Yet you're unable to consume each other, to relive it over and over again. Yooyeon has tried to remain professional, but you know she feels the same way, as you've caught her staring just as she has caught you looking—not once has she said anything, reprimanded you for letting your desires get the better of you. Every time you have to slip past her in the corridors, your bodies close to touching, is when space has felt the most dangerous. Even when you had to go on a spacewalk, to fix something on the outside of the station, when all that keeps you from drifting into the void is Yooyeon making sure that you remain tethered, the most dangerous time was when you returned to the station, and Yooyeon was there to help you out of the spacesuit, stripping you, her face at eye level with your crotch. It was almost too much for either of you.

Almost. Somehow nothing happens, and you're strapped into the return capsule with Yooyeon, both of you ready to head home.

"Disengaging the locks."

"Triggering push-off mechanism."

It's almost imperceptible in space, but you're lightly nudged against your seat as the capsule pushes away from the space station. A few minutes later you trigger the thrusters to put you on a trajectory back to Earth. It begins to take up most of your view as you get closer, and you monitor the panels in front of you, watching the readings go down until...

"Entering atmosphere!" Yooyeon starts the return sequence, and all you can do is wait. It gradually gets louder in the capsule as you fall at terminal velocity, and the capsule rattles and shakes. You look out the capsule window, and all you see is red, the air now superheated as it rubs against the surface of your survival cell. A boom, intended of course, is heard as the heat shield around the capsule, having served its purpose, is blown off. Then a second explosion, and you're snapped back even harder against your seat as the parachutes deploy, slowing you down further. A loud continuous roar fills your ears as thrusters fire up, and you and Yooyeon brace for a hopefully survivable impact.

No training could prepare you for this, it still feels like you're going down too damn fast, and all you can do is close your eyes and hope it's enough. Your bones rattle when you finally hit the ground, but you breathe a sigh of relief when everything goes quiet.

"Yooyeon?"

"Yeah, I'm here." She gives you a thumbs up. "All in one piece." You fire one back at her. The capsule door opens up to a rush of people, and both of you are extracted. Quickly you are transported to a hotel, where the two of you are sat down and given a physical.

"Okay, so you two are in good physical condition it looks like, but we're going to keep you in this hotel under observation for another week."

"We can't leave?"

"Preferably not, there will be media hanging around, and we need to do the debrief before you speak with them. You're free to order room service or have food delivered, anything else you need, just let us know."

"Got it."

"Will we have clothes?" Yooyeon pipes up.

"Yes, we'll have a suitcase of your clothes brought up. If there's something missing your family is free to send stuff over." With no further questions you and Yooyeon are led to adjoining rooms. Although your body has no idea what time it is, as soon as you fall on the bed you moan at finally feeling a mattress on your back and a pillow under your head, and you quickly fall asleep.

Until a rude banging at your door wakes you.

"What the hell? I just got here!" you mutter as you pull the door open annoyed, only to see Yooyeon.

"It's been 5 hours." Yooyeon clarifies. You blink once for every hour you have apparently slept for.

"Has it? Damn, sorry. The bed felt so nice I must have just, yeah."

"Same, I just got up too. It's midnight though and nothing's open, do you want to order room service?"

"Sure but... You want to eat with me?"

"Well we ate every meal together on the space station so I thought—" Yooyeon drifts off, a little abashed. "Sorry, I got too used to the routine out there, have a good night!" You hold the door ajar before she can close it.

"No wait, you're right, let's get some food."

Neither of you order much—despite it being midnight, having just gotten up both of you eat only enough for a "breakfast". As soon as that's done, there's an awkward silence—in space there's jobs to do, experiments to check on, on Earth, right now there's nothing to do, only each other for company, and soon all the "non-work" stuff that happened on the space station floats up in your minds. Yooyeon's the first to breach it, and she does it in the only way she knows how.

"We should have sex."

"Yooyeon what?"

"After... that time, things changed slightly on the station, I know you felt it too. We couldn't get it out of our system then, but you know, we can now. I haven't had a chance to, you know, satisfy myself. Unless you have already, then I'll just—" Yooyeon's words speed up as she realizes what she's admitting to you, that sex has been on her mind since landing back on Earth, that she hasn't gotten herself off yet. With her words, you realize of course, that you haven't gotten yourself off either.

"We should do it, I want to do it too." You barely recognize your own husky voice. The two of you almost defy gravity, flying to the bedroom. There's no shame or shyness, Yooyeon's naked and you're nude in a flash—this was pure need, the tension that built way above Earth crashing down on your bed. No foreplay, no checking with Yooyeon, you needed to be in her. She's tighter and wetter than anything you could imagine in your frustrating fantasies, and you moan, enjoying the feeling of being able to sink into her.

You start with a few thrusts, groaning at how she grips you—she needed this as much as you do! But when you don't hear anything from her at all, you stop and check on Yooyeon—she has her eyes closed again, her chest lightly moving, like she was riding your thigh instead of your cock. You didn't expect a strong reaction from her, but you definitely expected some reaction.

"Yooyeon? You okay?"

"Yeah, it feels good. Why?"

"Just um, couldn't tell if you were enjoying it. I thought you would like it more than what we did on the space station."

"Oh, sorry, yeah it's good. I'm not... very fun in bed. You're my third and... The first two guys didn't go so great."

"How so?"

"The first guy, we broke up because I was too messy in bed." After seeing how wet Yooyeon got, and how she's already making a small wet spot on the bed, you disagree but his loss is arguably your gain.

"And the second guy?"

"Said I was like a dead fish in bed, I ditched him because I caught him with someone louder and more 'fun', his words."

"Damn, that's rough, I'm sorry to hear that."

"Don't be, but yes it's great for me, I'll try to be more responsive if I can."

"Just tell me what you're feeling." You start moving in and out of her again.

"It feels good." You hug her, whispering into her ear.

"Tell me more, more than good."

"You're stretching me, I haven't done this in a while, so it's really intense. You're also... wide? It's different." It's both hot and a bit disconcerting, hearing Yooyeon's version of dirty talk.

"What do you want from me? Should I go slower, faster, deeper, shallower?"

"I..." Yooyeon falls silent as she tries to process your words and feel you at the same time. She didn't lie when she said she felt good, and maybe it's because she's finally getting some after the tension in space, but Yooyeon knows she's wetter than usual, her walls extra sensitive. She's too tense, she should relax more, enjoy the sex and—

"More!" Yooyeon's yelp surprises both of you. As she consciously relaxes, her walls give a little, and when you thrust you end up just that little bit deeper in her. It hits her like a comet—Yooyeon's hand on her mouth, eyes wide open, but her pussy flutters around your shaft. You pull out slowly, and when you sink back in, making sure to get just as deep as you did before, Yooyeon whines—she wants this, this is different!

"Something tells me you're not wholly at fault for being a dead fish in bed."

"Deep! It feel so— Mmm!" Yooyeon tries to muffle herself with her hand, and you have to pull it away. "I'm sorry I can't—"

"Don't hold back, now you sound like you're having fun."

Yooyeon can feel her cheeks heating up—normally she's reserved, in control of herself. Even when she's horny she just gets wet, but she never makes a sound, not if she doesn't want to—feeling good is one thing, showing that she's feeling good is another thing altogether. And yet as she looks down her body, when she watches your slick covered shaft enter her and feels the immense pressure as you push in, like you're splitting her open; when she hears the squelch of her own pussy, and feels her thighs get wet when she leaks and squirts more juice; when her chest swells, and the moan she's holding back pushes its way out of her mouth, Yooyeon can't help but think that losing control of herself feels good, that feeling so much pleasure until she loses control is amazing.

"It feels so good, don't stop, don't stop!" Yooyeon cries out, like you've unblocked or unsealed something deep inside of her. Your own head is spinning, her sudden transformation shocking you and pushing you to go even harder, to hear more of her. You grab her thighs, squeezing them and pulling her towards you on every thrust. She's splattering against your hips on every thrust, your grip on her thighs is fucking slippery. You notice her thighs are around red around where you're grabbing her, but then no, the flush is spreading throughout Yooyeon's body.

"Oh!" It's a sharp yelp, one that gives you pause—Yooyeon's looking down her body at you, and you feel her legs shaking. She opens her mouth to say something, but it's too late.

"FUCK!" Yooyeon throws her head back and screams. Her hips buck strongly, causing you to slip out of her. You suddenly feel something warm on your stomach—thick and translucently white, sliding down your body.

Kim Yooyeon's girl cum, ejaculated, ejected, expelled! Splattered all over you.

The sound of Yooyeon swearing for the first time you can remember, the sight of Yooyeon's body twisted in ecstasy, and the warm, gooey sensation of Yooyeon so thoroughly losing it—everything combines to send you over the edge. You're cumming too, your cock throbbing with a mind of its own, leaking onto Yooyeon. You're just as pent up as her, and you let out a low moan as your hand moves automatically, stroking and firing your load all over Yooyeon's trembling body.

"Ah... Damn Yooyeon!" You manage to roll yourself on your back, not landing on Yooyeon and not getting too much of her cream on the bed. The two of you just lie there, breathing heavily, riding the high of finally getting to fuck.

"Mmm..." Yooyeon's mind is floating like she's back in space, and she has to curl her toes to remind herself she's still alive and conscious. She swears she can still feel you throbbing inside her, something more alive than her. When she opens her eyes again she finally sees the ceiling instead of stars, and she hears your rough breathing next to her. Yooyeon runs a hand down her body, finding herself sweaty and sticky—it really happened, you two just had sex, and it was the most intense pleasure she ever felt. "Wow."

"Yeah. You okay?"

"Yes, just, never felt quite like that before." She has to bite her lip to stop a whimper from coming out—just your touch on her body, the tissues you're rubbing on her to clean her up, is sending sparks flying in her head. An irresistible urge is building inside Yooyeon, a newly awakened need. "Can I ask you something?"

"Sure."

"Can I kiss you?" You blink at her, confused, but you see her squirming under your gaze.

"I mean, we've done everything past kissing so, why not?"

Yooyeon climbs into your lap, resting her hands around your neck. Your eyes rove up her body, from her thighs straddling you, pussy lips still parted slightly, to her chest, nipples still stiff, at attention, yearning for more. Your gaze goes to her lips, and you can see the teeth mark, where she bit down on earlier, and you look to her—

Her lips are too close!

"Mmph!" Yooyeon's short hair tickles your shoulders, but more importantly her lips are soft against yours, and she's leaving her marks on your lip, lightly nipping and tugging. Yooyeon pushes herself more insistently on to you, you have to take more of her weight until—

"Yooyeon!" You have to lie down, and Yooyeon's clinging to you on top, her arms wrapped around your neck and shoulders.

"Can we cuddle like this?

"If you want." To your surprise Yooyeon sighs, and she melts into you, face buried in your neck and completely relaxed.

"You okay?"

"Mm, let's just stay like this." Finally satisfied and happy Yooyeon lets her mind wander, her breath warm on your neck. She never felt like cuddling with her exes, but then again she's never felt this good sleeping with them. They would be out of bed by now, leaving Yooyeon alone in bed or worse, having to get herself off. "Why didn't we do this sooner?" she sighs, whispering to herself.

"We were in space." Yooyeon freezes—she didn't think you heard that! "The cleanup would have been impossible."

"I know, I meant, before that."

"Well, you were you, and I was I."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"You're not dumb, you know we do not look... good together." Yooyeon pushes herself up, and she looks annoyed, almost angry.

"So? What about now? We work well together, I know I can trust you with my life, we can rely on each other even in space, there's nothing more important than that." Yooyeon's gaze is piercing through you, she's dead serious. "Don't you agree?"

"Yeah but, that's different—" Yooyeon kisses you again.

"I like you, I can't say I love you yet, but that comes with time right?" Her confession keeps you silent. "Besides, we're having sex, making love, as they call it. We just need to make more love."

"I don't think that's—" She nips on your earlobe, and you're finding yourself speechless more often than not around Yooyeon.

"I do think we feel good together, I don't think you dislike me, so I would like us to feel good, a lot." You never realized Yooyeon could switch on a dime like this, she's trying to seduce you.

"I don't dislike you, of course," you answer, throat dry, scarcely believing what's happening.

"Good, I'm happy. We just need to make lots of love then. Can you go again?" She's reaching down your body, finding your cock and stroking it, feeling it's firmness in her grasp.

"Yeah." You manage to confirm Yooyeon's findings, choking out a gasp at the end as she runs a finger over your tip.

"I'll be on top, I think I'm wet enough already." She most certainly is as your cock feels like it's being covered by the best "wet blanket" ever when she sinks down on to you. "You're getting really... Ah! Deep in me!" Her hand flies down to her flat tummy, right below her bellybutton, as if showing you just how far you're reaching into her. "I'm surprised you're not pushing a bulge out of me, it certainly feels like it."

"Yooyeon you can't just say that!" you murmur through gritted teeth. Yooyeon's weirdly technical interpretation of dirty talk is very effective, making you process what she means, and immediately allowing your imagination to show them to you in vivid detail.

"I'm just telling you what I feel. I'm sorry I'm getting you so wet, you remember how I was on the space station right? This is like ten, no, a hundred times more intense!" It certainly is true for you—you watched Yooyeon grind herself on your thigh to get off, and have replayed that scene in your head numerous times afterwards. Yet nothing prepares you for how Yooyeon's grinding down on you now, arguably even more strongly and demanding. With gravity and a bed to push against, Yooyeon's half bouncing and half grinding herself into you, and every time she sinks down on to your shaft, it's like she's pumping herself for juices, leaking her slick all over your crotch.

Except this time you can see her expression—her eyes are still closed, but her mouth is slightly open, letting out small moans. Her brow tenses and relaxes, as do her lips, the edges of her mouth curling into a smile every time she does so, like she's cumming again and again. It is as if Yooyeon has let all her guards down, and she looks utterly divine, like she does belong in heaven.

Oh, and her pussy has a velvet grip around your cock the whole time, trying to tug and suck and pull the cum right out of you.

"When we fall in love, I want us to procreatively fornicate like this."

"Pro-what?"

"Procreative fornication. You know, babymaking sex, breeding."

"You can't just say that, unless you want that to happen right now you should get off!"

"What? Why?"

"I can't hold on much longer, I'm going to cum in you!"

"Oh, you want to start right now? That's a little early but I don't mind..." You were going to stop her, trying to stop yourself, trying to clarify that she misunderstood, but Yooyeon leans in and whispers in your ear.

"You can fill me up."

With a rasp you draw a deep breath and grab Yooyeon by the hips, pulling her down fully. It is the best misunderstanding of your life as you unload deep inside her, with Yooyeon narrating dirtily into your ear the whole time.

"Ah! It's so warm inside me, you still have so much for me? You're really filling me up I— Nngh it's too much!" Yooyeon moans and buries her face in your shoulder. She shudders, and sighs, cumming again and prolonging your climax. You continue to weakly thrust up into her, and Yooyeon's body undulates with you, both of you trying to milk each other for all the pleasure you can get.

You're cuddling Yooyeon again right after, your load still freshly dripping between her legs—you wanted to clean her up, but she refuses to, insisting on cuddling first.

"Why did you let me cum in you?"

"I thought you wanted to."

"I do. No I mean, eventually, but not right now!"

"Are you worried about being safe?" You nod. "We're not in space anymore, we don't have to be safe on Earth." You can't tell if Yooyeon's messing with you, or if your point is orbiting Earth and has sailed over her head completely.

"No safe like, what if you get pregnant now?"

"Oh, I'm on pills, can you imagine ovulating in space? I'll go off it slowly so, it can't happen right now, but in the future." You breathe a sigh of relief.

"Good, we really shouldn't rush into things like that." You watch Yooyeon dip a hand between her legs, swiping up some of your seed before smearing it on her thigh.

"Of course, but for the time being, you can finish in me whenever you want, it felt really nice." You shake your head, and Yooyeon looks at you quizzically. "What?"

"How can you just say that so casually?"

"You told me to tell you how I feel. I just stated a fact, and then how I felt about it."

"You're impossible, say it again?"

"You can finish in me whenever you want, it feels really good?" You chuckle and kiss a nonplussed Yooyeon.

"You have no idea how hot you sound."

The first night Yooyeon returned to her room to sleep, but by Day 3 you're going to her bedroom to sleep, because you've discovered that Yooyeon was, for lack of a better term, a wet nympho, and she has completely ruined your sheets by coming over nightly.

That's not the only thing you've discovered about Yooyeon either—she's wet when she's on top, but when you're in charge Yooyeon can't help but get sticky, creaming around your cock instead of squirting on you. Yooyeon's discovering a lot about you too, encouraging you to find out more.

"I like grinding on your thigh, do you want to see if you like rubbing yourself on my thighs?" You do, and to her surprise Yooyeon finds the back of her thighs sticky and warm after giving you a thighjob.

"Do you want my hair up or down when I use my mouth? Oh, or you can decide!" That's how you find yourself holding on to Yooyeon's hair, tugging it as she sucks you off. There's no need to keep her from floating away, and you can't help but push her down on to you. She forgets about gravity, and your load spills out from her mouth, prompting an emergency cleanup for the both of you.

Yooyeon's discovering a lot about herself as well, and she tells you every single lurid detail.

"Oh, right there... you're pushing against my cervix there, it's so... nngh! You're so big!"

"Put your hand here, press down and— Ah! You feel even bigger like that, can you feel yourself? You're rubbing my g-spot so well. I think I like it more from behind, you seem to thrust harder from behind, is it because you like it more?"

"Yes," you growl out, answering Yooyeon's rambling dirty talk succinctly, thrusting into her harder.

"You're throbbing so hard, how are you getting bigger? Are you close? Can we finish together? I want us to finish together, and I'm so close I— Nnngh thank you!"

By Day 5 both of you are down to only one set of clothing left, which you wear only when the two of you have debriefs or checkups during the day. Yooyeon decides to completely forgo clothing around you otherwise, and right after that you make the same decision, the two of you going from forward-looking astronauts to Adam and Eve in about a week.

"I'm so tired, but I don't want to stop..." Yooyeon whines as you pound down into her prone form.

"We should, ugh, take a break soon."

"After this, maybe. Can you mating press me?" It's so completely casual now the way she asks for it, and you comply just as naturally, kissing her as you bend her knees all the way back to her shoulders.

"I'm so sore but it still feels so good!"

"Same, I'll cum with you, cum hard for me!" You pin her wrists with your hand, rendering her powerless to do anything, and she loses it.

"Ah! I will if you ask me to—" Yooyeon screams as you bend her knees back just that little bit more, thumping against her sweet spot, and she splatters you with sticky creamy girl cum right as you flood her womb with thick seed. Your arms give out and you collapse on top of her, utterly drained. Yooyeon giggles as she strokes your hair, knowing that you've spent yourself completely in her.

"My turn to cuddle you."

And on the seventh day you rested. The two of you come out of the observation period more ragged and drained than when you entered. You were able to explain it away as recovering from getting acclimated to Earth's gravity, but from the looks housekeeping gave you they definitely knew that you two were busy acclimating to each other instead, you just pray they don't tell anyone.

"We should go out," you bring up to Yooyeon once people are out of earshot.

"We are outside," Yooyeon answers nonchalantly.

"No, like on a date."

"Sure, which day did you have in mind?"

"No Yooyeon, like—"

"Friday at 7?" She's smiling—she really does have the ability to render you speechless.

"I uh, yeah, that sounds good."

"Great, see you at 7 am!"

"I— Wait what?"

Regardless of her communication quirks you start dating Yooyeon and things progress quickly. A few months later she asks you an odd question.

"We've made a lot of love since our first week right?"

"Yes, during that week and after." You've gotten used to Yooyeon's phrasing, but you wonder where she's going with this.

"So how do you feel about us? Should we continue being together? Have we made enough love?"

"Yes." You quickly pick up on her choice of words. "Do you want me to say I love you?"

"Yes."

"I love you Yooyeon." She kisses you, and then proceeds to drop a bombshell on you.

"Good, I love you too. I quit the space force."

"What! Why?"

"They would never send us to space together, they know we're a couple now."

"Yeah but still, I thought you wanted to be in space!"

"I saw Earth from space, that was a lifelong dream of mine."

"I know, so why did you quit? I could have stepped back instead."

"No, that still keeps us apart. I don't need to go to space anymore, because I found someone on Earth I'd rather spend the rest of my life with." She produces a ring, a simple band with a bluish-green gem on top. "I won't get on my knees because I'm already shorter than you, but—" She fumbles the ring, as if trying to figure out which is the right orientation to present the ring before giving up.

"Will you stay on Earth with me?"

A/N: Bit of a random one, there was some discussion of sex in space I saw, and I wondered if it would work, then I wondered who would work in that context, and came up with smart and pretty Yooyeon lol. Also fits with the whole tripleS thing in my mind, I tried to work in a cosmos thing but eh, didn't try very hard lol. I tried to capture some of her...aloofness? Some of the stuff she says makes you do a double take or can be a little goofy so yeah. Thanks for reading!

#smut #triples #kim yooyeon

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keferon · 5 months ago

Note

Odds of Survival Part 4

Jazz thinks he’s starting to figure stuff out and finds entirely new ways to concern Prowl.

———————————————————————

The flashing visual feedback from the cracked visor felt like his brain was being used for target practice by a middle schooler with a BB gun and the school just canceled pizza day forever.

Jazz was feeling pretty grateful to Prowl right now. Between the glitching visual feed and the misshapen state of his feet, Jazz wasn’t totally confident he could get into the mecha cradle on his own.

At least not without stumbling around like he was completely plastered and trying to decipher a fancy ass hotels space age shower controls.

Seriously, seven different knobs and a touch screen.

Blurr. Dude. Why.

As Prowl walked him through the outpost, Jazz continually got snapshots of his surroundings. Doorway, hallway, door again, room. Another mecha was inside.

At a glance, they looked like the same class type as Prowl. Face, wing thingy’s, and wheels. All the same but with a slightly different color scheme of red and grey.

Jazz was slowly working out what class of mecha they were supposed to be. They couldn’t be Striker class. Not with attachments Prowl straight up specified were delicate.

What even were they? They weren’t thrusters. The wings took the place of where car doors were on a regular car. Which, holy shit, Prowls mecha can turn into a fucking car.

Prowl also flexed and twitched them around a bunch, kinda like how Jazz used his horns to emote. Not that Prowl needed wings to emote because holy FUCK that face. It had micro expressions!!

Okay. Prowl had three things that were cool as fuck going on. An expressive face, delicate wings and the ability to turn into a (fucking) car.

What does that mean? Why would someone build a mecha like that?

Ever since Jazz got spat out by the wormhole and woke up surrounded by aliens, he’s felt like his brain has been slowly circling the drain of a sink. There was some missing piece to all of this that he could feel himself just skirting by over and over again.

Oh fuck right. The other aliens. There was alien life other than tentacle monsters out there. They were dicks sure but at least you could share a train car without any murder attempts.

Ooooohhh. Jazz swayed backwards a little as the tilted his head back in realization. Prowl catching him.

Prowl’s mecha was built to work with other fighters in space. He clearly had a life support system to survive in a vacuum. He had a highly expressive face to help communicate with aliens. The wings must be satellites for communication. The car mode was for fast tracking across planet surfaces. Prowl was crazy smart, over and over again Jazz had watched him figure out exactly where they needed to go and how to get there. Of course there was a reason he was so easy to work with. It was his job.

Prowl wasn’t any kind of pre-existing class from Jazz’s mecha program. Prowl was every Strikers pipe dream that kept getting brought up and then thrown out for “not being cost effective”.

Prowl was a Support Class Mecha.

Live on the field, giving real time updates and backup.

Damn.

Whatever shadow government Prowl worked for must be insanely rich. Wonder if they’re taking applications.

Prowl unhooked Jazz’s remaining functional arm from over his shoulders. He maneuvered Jazz to sit on a bench height concrete extension from the floor.

The microphones in his horns were still working fine despite one of them sending many unhappy damage report messages.

“Sit here and don’t move.” From the glimpses Jazz could catch, Prowl looked concerned but focused. Jazz wanted to ask why they didn’t go to some kind of docking station but figured Prowl knew what was up and went along with it.

Jazz could hear the mystery mecha talking. A lot.

It was in that other language Prowl had initially tried talking to Jazz with, except speed up by a bajillion percent.

From the tone, the new mecha was asking Prowl a barrage of questions. Prowl, for his part, replied in short concise sentences or occasionally a silent glare. The other mecha didn’t seem put off by this and merrily continued talking as he lined up another shot through some kind of rail gun setup built into the slit window.

Eventually, the new mecha started directing his questions at him. Apparently stopping to breath wasn’t a thing with this guy.

Jazz did his best to shrug. “Sorry man. No idea what you’re saying.”

Prowl interceded in common, “Jazz, this is Bluestreak.” He waved in the direction of the sniper, who smiled and waved.

“Bluestreak, this is Jazz. He is only just learning Common.” Prowl turned to Bluestreak with a scolding look. “I need to focus on helping him while you focus on the remaining quintessons. Understood?”

“I got it! I got it. I can stop talking when I’m working you know.” Bluestreak nodded and turned back towards the view port, but not without calling over his shoulder, “So Jazz, my brothers face is emotion positive positive positive?”

Oh Jazz could hear the shit eating grin from the other side of the room.

“HAH!” Jazz accidentally knocked his head back against the wall and visor started glitching worse. “Eugh. Eh, worth it.”

“Both of you be quiet or I will separate you.” Prowl threatened.

Jazz, chuckled good naturally but otherwise quieted down. He watched the stop motion footage of Prowl opening some kind of crate and collecting what looked like a tube of glue, a pair of giant tweezers and some kind of mecha sized chrome-mesh duct tape.

His face was suddenly very close and Jazz did not startle. Nope. Who said that?

He felt the pressure of a hand settling on his good shoulder. Prowl was wearing that highly concentrated look again. And Jazz was so focused trying to work out what the internal mechanisms of his eyes were that he missed what Prowl was saying to him.

“Could you say that again? My…uh.”

M’kay, how to translate ‘I definitely have whiplash and maybe also sort of a Concussion’ into common. “Head function negative? Uh, too much motion. Broken but small negative?”

Yeaaaah Prowl did not seem reassured by Jazz’s attempt to downplay his condition. Which meant he nailed the translation! He was so getting at least a B+ in this language class.

Fuck his head hurt.

“I want to help you as much as I can. I am not a person-profession-help. Can I help you with what I have?” Prowl had a little furrow between his eyebrows.

“Sure, I won’t fight you.” Jazz stabilized himself best he could. The sentence must have translated weird, because Prowl looked kinda concerned before pulling out a strip of shiny duct tape.

The winged mecha paused, examining Jazz’s busted shoulder, and then doubled the length of tape.

When Prowl wrapped the mesh textured tape around and just above the breakage, something weird started happening to Jazz’s systems. The Severe Damage Warnings and big bright Error messages Jazz had been actively ignoring for the past half hour started to reduce in number. One by one they all quieted down. Checking his mechas systems, the arm was still marked as compromised, but the ai wasn’t actively screaming into his poor brain anymore.

The quiet was such an overwhelming balm Jazz audibly groaned in relief. “I owe you so, so, many drinks. What is that stuff?”

Prowl stilled, “It is-“ he paused, clearly trying to work out how to translate a complicated term into a common equivalent. “It is a kind of repair mesh. You…you don’t know what repair mesh is?”

Jazz got a snapshot of Prowl and even Bluestreak’s expressions. The sniper looking over his shoulder, eyes wide and mouth open in silent confusion. Prowl’s stare was boring into him, making Jazz squirm.

“Um. Yes? At least it’s not something I’ve ever seen before. I mean, I don’t actually need it if it’s too expensive.” Jazz turned owlishly between the two.

Jazz heard Bluestreak start to make a questioning noise before having his focus be pulled back to the winding down invasion outside. Prowl looked into the distance for a moment, then took up the tweezers. He schooled his expression like he was about to do brain surgery.

“I’m going to work on your helm and visor now. Please hold still.” Prowl placed his hand against the side of his head, stabilizing.

“M’kay. Go ahead.” And Jazz put his mecha into Maintenance Mode.

The lights inside the mecha dimmed down to a low glow. Like this, the engine dropped into an idle hum, and the mecha could only move very slowly. Jazz had to hold a position for a few seconds before anything would respond, giving plenty of time for engineers to move out of the way.

Jazz also shut off the incoming feed from the visor, since looking at a bright flashing screen was probably on the list of things you’re not supposed to do while concussed. As well as fall asleep. Or operate heavy machinery.

Two out of three ain’t bad. Call it another B+.

Jazz felt like he might be dropping a letter grade soon though. He usually associated Maintenance Mode with being bored out of his mind, but after the insane last few hour’s, the slow quiet was practically a spa session.

It didn’t hurt that Jazz could feel Prowls hand cradling the side of his head. Technically, the mechas could only sense pressure. No heat. No texture. Given a reference point though, the human brain was pretty fantastic at filling in the gaps.

It felt warm. And soft.

“Jazz?” Prowl stopped what he’d been doing.

Ah.

Jazz came back into full awareness from where he’d been drifting off. He was pressing into Prowls hand.

“Sorry, sorry.” He lethargically pulled away. How do you explain “Hey! Sorry about pushing against you like a stray cat! I’m just kinda super into piloting mecha and being held like that is kind of a novel experience.” in a completely foreign language you learned that morning?

Jazz dragged his ass back upright.

“I’m not, uh, familiar? With a hold like that. Touch-positive. Normally I only feel touch-fight or touch-medical.” Jazz meant to say touch-maintenance, but he was already rambling and for some reason the words were really similar in Common.

Prowl didn’t respond.

Jazz felt his chest tighten. “Prowl?”

“I’m here.” Prowl said quickly. There was an edge of static to his voice.

He didn’t remove his hand. “I’m still here.”

The rest of Jazz’s maintenance went by quietly. Prowl kept his hand where it was for the majority of it, only repositioning once to tilt his head back while working on the cracks of his visor.

Jazz wasn’t 100% sure why Prowl indulged him. Maybe got it? Or maybe he just thought Jazz was passing out and needed to be grounded. Okay yeah, that actually makes the most sense. Plus it was also what literally happened.

Eventually, the pilots heart finally slowed to a resting rate. Mostly. Jazz kept jerking awake.

If falling asleep with a concussion was bad, then falling asleep with a concussion while piloting a mecha would probably do very bad things to his lightly fried meatball of a brain.

He tried remembering what he could of his mandatory pilot safety course he took with Ratchet before the doctor left the program. He mostly remembered sneaking out.

It was fortunate then the pilot was just delirious enough that every time he almost conked out, the spiritual embodiment of Ratchet would scare the fuck out of him.

Thanks Ratchet.

See? I did learn something.

He heard a tarp rustling, and then his busted arm was being manipulated. Jazz brought his visor back online, pleased to see it wasn’t flashing anymore. His vision was a little distorted in the corner on the left side but he could deal with that.

When he looked around, Prowl was in the process of tying makeshift sling in place to keep his damaged bits from jostling around.

Jazz also got a good look at the emblem on his mecha’s chest. It kinda looked like an angular mecha face. Jazz didn’t recognize brand design though. Maybe he’d remember once he’d recovered from the bullshit of the day.

He was kinda too tired to think properly at the moment. That circling-the-sink-drain feeling hadn’t actually left, even with the Support Class revelation.

“That is the best I can do for now. Our ship should arrive in five breems.” Prowl hesitantly let go of Jazz.

“Thanks Prowler, you’re the best.” He wriggled now free horns at him. Incrementally, Jazz brought his systems back online, running through well practiced motions to ensure everything was working. Well, everything that was supposed to be working anyways.

He heard a raspberry being blown by Bluestreak, the mecha had his hands on his knees and he was looking from Jazz to Prowl.

“Prowler?”

Prowl frowned. “Yes?”

“Prow-ler.”

Prowl frowned harder, “I’m aware.”

Bluestreak straightened up, “Okay, you’ve delayed this long enough. I need to talk to this guy one on one. Go talk to the Big Boss and I’ll watch Jazz. Please mech. I gotta. I gotta talk to this guy or I’m going to explode. Like, where is he from? Why does he look like that? How’d he end up floating in space? What’s his native language? Does he know any other languages? Why has he never heard of Common before? Is he super young? How are the others gonna react? What are you going to say to Elita? Oh Elita says hi by the way. Or, not really, she said ‘contact me as soon as possible’ and then hung up on me. Which is fine. Oh but you should seriously respond to you-know-who first.”

Jazz was getting maybe every third word of that. Bluestreak was still going. Wow. Impressive breath control no lie.

Prowl visibly sighed, straightening his posture into something military grade. Immune to the conversation tornado.

“Jazz, I must speak with our factions leader. I will not mention you to him until you have a better understanding of our military structure and you are able to choose to engage.” Prowl kept his hands folded behind his back. The total shift in body language was jarring.

“Okay,” Jazz nodded slowly. “I’ll be here, thanks again.”

Prowl nodded curtly once before shooting a warning look at Bluestreak, and then left the room.

The loss was weird in a way Jazz couldn’t properly describe. Prowl was so easy to click with that once he was gone, Jazz remembered he was stranded in deep space surrounded by what were effectively perfect strangers.

He didn’t get to dwell on it long though, as Bluestreak sidled up to him, propping his chin on one hand.

“So! I’ll let you go first. Ask me anything and I’ll tell you all about it!”

Jazz had a lot of questions but figured he’d start with something basic to help along his language acquisition.

“What,” he poked Bluestreak in his purple badge, “Are your cuss words?”

———————————————————————

Prowl: What do you mean you are actually capable of experiencing pain?

Prowl: What do you mean you don’t know what local anesthetic is?

Prowl: What do you mean no one has ever touched you when it didn’t involve medical treatment??

Prowl: WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU’VE GONE THROUGH MEDICAL TREATMENT WITHOUT ANESTHETIC.

Man oh man, this is the end of this arc but there’s more I still want to write. Gonna start cataloguing and saving these as well.

-SSTP

OH MY GOD. OH NO. Oh my god

Yeah no that makes SO much sense khftugssujdsthdd. Without that one little important piece of information their understanding of each other. Oh man. It's not just bad. It's FANTASTICALLY wrong but somehow generally still in the vaguely right direction??

Like Jazz being regularly medically mistreated is kind of true BUT NOT IN THE WAY YOU THINK PROWL

And Prowl being that sweet sweet support class mecha?? FUKFDEY Y e ah.

Oh this is amazing. Oh thIS IS FUCKING GREAT SSTP I WILL DIE FOR YOU

#Blurr. Dude. Why #H E L P #IKFSIKNDDGNXDIKFDG #Yea Blurr would have a touch screen in his shower 100%#maccadam #mecha pilot jazz au #mecha writing #mecha jp writing #jazzprowl

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itwillbethescarletwitch · 14 days ago

Text

No Eject, No Goodbye

jake “hangman” seresin x fem!aviator!reader

call sign: Raven (again)

They used to call you two fire and gasoline.

Now? You barely share air.

The briefing room feels colder than it should. Not just from the frigid blast of the A/C rattling through the overhead vents, but from the silence that thrums between you and Jake Seresin like barbed wire. You can feel him across the table. Feel him not looking at you.

Typical.

“Target window is ten seconds,” Cyclone says from the front of the room, tapping the map with the sharp end of his pointer. “And Seresin and Raven are running backup sweep. Any deviation in their timing and you jeopardize the extraction.”

Your stomach coils.

Backup sweep. With Jake.

Of course they’d pair you with him again. You were too good in the air together.

Even when everything else between you had fallen apart.

You swallow the lump rising in your throat and nod once. Rooster glances at you from across the room like he’s checking your pulse. Like he knows you’re already vibrating under your skin.

Jake doesn’t say a word. Doesn’t even twitch.

He used to sneak you winks across this room. Used to walk you to the lockers after briefing, shoulder brushing yours, warm fingers grazing your wrist like he couldn’t help it.

But then he left.

No goodbye. No warning. Just a deployment notice on your locker door and your name wiped off his contact list like it never meant a damn thing.

You blink hard and refocus on the mission details.

“Questions?” Cyclone finishes. The room stays quiet.

“Good,” Warlock says. “Wheels up in fifteen.”

The second the chairs scrape back, Jake’s already on his feet. Already walking. And just for a second — just a second — he pauses at your six.

“Watch your six up there,” he mutters without turning around.

You hate that your chest clenches.

You hate that your voice is soft when you say:

“I always do.”

He keeps walking. You watch him go.

———

The sky is too quiet.

That’s the first sign something’s wrong.

You’re flying high, running support on the outer perimeter, when the static begins — sharp and sudden in your ear, like a scream underwater. The warning lights follow. One, then two. Then everything starts blinking red.

“Raven, you’re drifting!”

Jake’s voice slices through the comms, thick with alarm.

You adjust. You try to stabilize.

And that’s when it happens.

A sharp crack — not from outside, but within.

Your jet stutters, drops hard to the right, smoke billowing from the rear thrusters. The G-force hits you like a punch to the chest. You gasp. The sky spins.

“You just lost engine one—Raven, eject!”

You reach for the handle.

But then you hear his voice again — softer now. Not yelling. Not commanding. Pleading.

“Don’t you dare leave me, Raven.”

“Altitude. Altitude. Pull up. Pull up.”

The automated warning drones in your ears, a cold voice counting down your life. You can barely see through the smoke. Through the tears.

You’re not going to make it out.

“Jake—go. Please. Just go.”

“No.”

“You’ll die!”

“Then I’ll die next to you.”

The wind howls around you both as your jets descend in tandem, two blazing comets screaming toward the Earth. His voice is ragged now, breath hitching as he fights the controls, trying to guide his jet between yours and the ground.

“I left once.”

“Jake—”

“I’m not leaving you again.”

“…Don’t…”

You feel your grip slip.

On the stick. On hope. On him.

“It was always you, Y/N.”

And then—

Impact.

But not yours.

You see it happen, just before everything goes black. Jake’s jet dives underneath yours, takes the worst of the collision. Shields you with his own body, his own bird. The explosion consumes his left wing first.

And in those final seconds—

As the sirens die out, as gravity wins—

You hear nothing but static and his breathing. Slow. Shallow. Dying.

And the softest echo of your name:

“Y/N…”

Then nothing.

Just smoke.

Just silence.

Just the Earth swallowing you whole.

——

Beeping.

That’s all there is at first.

Steady. Mechanical.

Sharp little notes echoing behind your eyes like sonar. You don’t know what they mean, not yet. You just feel them — in your skull, your chest, your bloodstream. They’re dragging you out of the dark. And it hurts.

The light is blinding.

Sterile white. Too bright.

It sears behind your eyelids and digs into the soft spots of your skull like a drill. And then the pain comes. Slow at first, then sharp. Your ribs, your legs, your arms — it’s like your whole body was ripped from a second skin and stitched back together wrong.

You gasp — or try to.

But your throat is raw, sandpapered. Dry. Like you’ve been screaming.

You open your eyes.

The ceiling is too white. The room too quiet.

Then you see the machines. The tubes. The IV in your arm.

And finally—finally—

Jake.

The name flashes through your mind like lightning.

No images. No words. Just instinct. Pure and gut-wrenching. You move — just barely — but it’s enough to make the monitors spike. Pain punches through your chest like a bat.

And then—

“Y/N—!”

You hear the voice before the face.

Fanboy.

He’s standing to your right, in his khaki uniform, dark circles under his eyes, jaw tight like he’s been grinding it for days. His hands hover over you like he doesn’t know if he’s allowed to touch you.

Halo is on the other side. Her hair’s tied back messily. Her eyes go wide when you look at her. She swallows hard.

“Oh my God,” she breathes, and you realize she’s crying. “She’s awake—somebody page the doctor—!”

But you don’t care.

None of it matters. Not the pain. Not the wires. Not the fear on their faces.

“Where’s Jake?”

Your voice is sand, but the question is clear. Fanboy glances at Halo. Halo doesn’t say anything.

Your heart starts to race.

“Where’s Jake?!”

You try to sit up again — agony rips through your side. The beeping grows louder, faster. Alarms join it this time. The machines are screaming for help. So are you.

“Y/N—please, calm down—”

“I need to see him—take me to him!”

“Raven—just breathe—”

“TAKE ME TO HIM!”

The door slams open. Nurses rush in. One of them shouts for a sedative.

“Don’t touch her!” Halo barks, stepping in front of them. “Don’t sedate her—she just woke up, for God’s sake—”

Fanboy’s voice cracks when he speaks. “Okay. Okay. We’ll take you. Just—please calm down.”

⸻

You don’t remember the hallway.

Just the wheelchair. The way Halo holds your hand the entire ride down. How Fanboy’s eyes don’t stop watching you — like he’s afraid you’ll disappear again.

They stop in front of Room 309.

Fanboy opens the door. He’s silent. Halo squeezes your hand before she lets go. You think she says “we’ll be right outside,” but you’re not listening.

You’re already looking at him.

Jake.

Your Jake.

Hangman Seresin.

Unconscious. Wrapped in gauze. Bruises blooming across his skin like shadows under glass. His jaw is taped. His arms are bandaged. His chest is rising — but only because a machine is breathing for him.

You forget how to breathe yourself.

The nurse locks the brakes on the wheelchair, but your fingers already reach out, slow and aching, like they’re afraid to find out he’s real.

You slide your hand into his. It’s warm — not limp, not entirely lifeless — but there’s no grip back. Not yet.

You curl your fingers tighter around his.

“You stayed,” you whisper, broken and shaking.

The words are barely audible over the machines. Just enough breath to carry them from your lips to his skin.

“You… fucking idiot.”

You don’t have the strength to shout, and even if you did — the only thing behind your ribs is sorrow. Deep, sharp grief laced with something rawer than rage. Something older. Love, maybe. Fear.

“You should’ve ejected. You should’ve saved yourself.”

You lift his hand — slowly, tenderly — and press it against your cheek. Letting it rest there, against the tears he doesn’t get to wipe away.

“You don’t get to do this to me.”

A sob bubbles up and you clamp your jaw to stop it. You fail.

“You don’t get to die for me. You don’t get to decide that.”

Your forehead presses against the edge of his mattress, your shoulders quaking as everything you’ve held in starts to bleed out.

“I would’ve rather died up there than live down here without you. You hear me?” you cry, voice cracking. “You think that’s love? Leaving me behind?”

His chest rises once, slow and shallow. The machine sighs for him again.

“Wake up, Jake,” you whisper. “Please. You have to wake up. I still love you. I still love you and I didn’t get to tell you.”

You press your face into his hand again. Just for a second. Just to feel it. Just to remember that he’s still here.

“Please come back to me.”

———

It starts with a twitch.

Barely noticeable — just the tiniest shift in his fingers beneath your grip. You almost think you imagined it.

Then again. His thumb nudges yours.

Your breath catches.

You lift your head, blinking fast through the tears as your eyes zero in on his face. The bruises are still there. The bandages. The lifeless slack of his jaw held open by the tube. But then—

His brow furrows. Just slightly. Like he’s trying to wince.

“Jake?” you whisper, barely daring to believe it. “Jake—?”

His eyes flutter.

Twice.

And then they open.

Just a crack at first — enough to show the green beneath them, glassy and confused, unfocused. But awake.

The heart monitor beeps faster.

“He’s awake!” you gasp, your voice finally rising. You fumble for the call button, slamming it with the side of your fist. “He’s—he’s awake! I need a doctor!”

Chaos erupts outside the door, but you don’t take your eyes off him. A nurse rushes in with two doctors, and you’re forced to wheel yourself back slightly to give them room. You feel your chest burning as they start shouting codes, checking reflexes, taking the ventilator out. He gags against it, his throat dry, voice rasping from disuse.

But then he coughs. And then—he speaks.

“…Y/N?”

You could shatter.

The doctor tells you he needs to run a few neurological checks, and though you don’t want to move, you nod and let them work. You watch it all like it’s underwater — the lights too bright, your head too full of white noise, your heart too loud in your ears.

They test his pupils. Ask him questions. Ask what year it is. Where he is. What happened.

Jake mumbles through dry lips and cracked jokes — something about “didn’t think Heaven would be so fluorescent,” and the doctor chuckles, but you don’t.

You can’t.

When the tests are done and they’re confident he’s neurologically stable, they let you roll back beside him.

The room empties.

It’s quiet again.

Jake turns his head toward you — slowly, like it takes all his strength — and offers the softest, most wrecked smile you’ve ever seen on him.

“I’m so glad you’re alive.”

Your chest caves.

“You’re such a fucking idiot, Jake.”

It comes out too fast. Too loud. Too cracked to be anything but truth. His smile fades.

“You could’ve died,” you snap, hands gripping the wheels of your chair until your knuckles go white. “You almost died.”

He tries to sit up. Winces.

“I didn’t care. I wasn’t going to leave you.”

“You don’t get to choose that!” you cry, heat rising in your chest, behind your eyes, burning past your ribs. “You don’t get to decide whether I live with you or without you! You don’t get to leave me just because you love me!”

He looks stunned. Shaken. Like he wasn’t expecting this to hurt worse than the crash.

“Y/N—”

“If you died… if you had died for me, Jake, I would’ve spent the rest of my life wishing I hadn’t survived. I would’ve followed you.”

That shuts him up.

“You think you did this out of love?” you whisper, tears running freely now. “You don’t love someone and leave them behind. That’s not love. That’s cowardice wrapped in sacrifice.”

You push back from his bed. It hurts to move. Every muscle screams. But you roll to the door anyway, furious and devastated and barely holding it together.

Jake tries to reach for you. His voice is hoarse.

“Wait—Y/N, please—”

But you’re already out the door.

Rooster’s standing right there, wide-eyed.

“Y/N—?”

You can’t speak. You roll right past him.

Rooster turns to watch you go, then looks into the room. And that’s when he sees it — Jake, broken in bed, shoulders shaking in quiet grief.

“She was here every morning,” Rooster says softly.

Jake’s head lifts, barely.

“What?”

“Since she woke up a week ago. She cried herself to sleep every night, and every morning she made them wheel her in so she could sit beside you. Wait for you to wake up.”

Jake looks gutted.

“She thought you were going to die,” Rooster says. “And it scared the hell out of her.”

———

The hospital room feels colder now.

Dimmer.

You haven’t turned the lights on since you left Jake’s room. Just let the sun sink lower and lower past the blinds, wrapping yourself in the quiet like it could numb everything echoing in your chest.

Your body aches. Your ribs hurt. Your wrists are bruised from impact, your legs are stitched and sore, but none of that pain compares to what’s pressing against your heart.

There’s a soft knock at the door.

You don’t say anything. You’re not sure you could speak if you tried.

It opens anyway — just a crack at first — and then Phoenix slips in, a gentle smile already tugging at her lips.

“Hey,” she says, and when you glance at her, she gasps. “Oh my God. Y/N. He’s awake. Did you hear?”

You don’t mean to. You really don’t.

But your chest caves in again. Your chin crumples, and before you can stop yourself, a sob escapes — broken and small, and then another, and another. It all comes spilling out like the second crash you weren’t ready for.

Phoenix is at your side in an instant.

“Hey—hey, hey, it’s okay,” she murmurs, dropping to the edge of the bed, pulling you gently into her arms. “I’ve got you. Let it out.”

You bury your face in her shoulder, tears soaking through her scrubs.

“I still love him,” you whisper, voice wrecked. “I do. I never stopped. But I don’t know what to do, Nat. I don’t know how to look at him without remembering that moment. That second in the air when I thought—when I knew—he was going to die with me.”

She runs her hand up and down your back, steady and slow.

“You don��t have to know what to do right now,” she says softly. “You just have to feel it. Feel all of it. And when you’re ready… when your heart stops screaming and starts whispering again… then you decide.”

You nod against her, tears still falling.

“He loves you,” Phoenix adds, after a beat. “I saw it. The way he looked at you before the mission. Like he knew it might be the last time. Like he’d already made peace with dying for you.”

“But I didn’t want him to,” you croak.

“I know.”

Silence settles between you, heavy but safe.

“Do you think…” you whisper, swallowing hard. “Do you think it’s stupid to want him again after everything?”

Phoenix leans back just enough to meet your eyes.

“No,” she says. “I think it’s brave.”

You nod. Barely. And whisper, “I’m not ready.”

“Then don’t be,” she smiles. “Not yet. But don’t shut the door forever. Just leave the light on.”

She squeezes your hand before leaving.

And down the hall — in his own hospital room — Jake is sitting upright now. Grimacing through the pain, IVs still running, but there’s a fire in his eyes again.

“She came to see me,” he tells Rooster. “And then she left.”

Rooster nods. “She’s scared, man.”

“I know.”

“But she loves you. That much is obvious.”

Jake exhales slowly, his voice hardening with determination.

“Then I’m not giving up. Not after everything. I’ll wait. I’ll fight. I’ll prove it to her every day, however long it takes.”

Because she was worth crashing for. And she’s sure as hell worth staying alive for.

———

It starts small.

A knock at her door that isn’t a nurse.

A little bouquet of yellow roses in a glass on her side table the next morning. No note. Just the kind of flowers you give someone when you’re sorry, when you’re still hopeful, when you’re trying not to scare them away.

The next day, it’s a book. The same dog-eared copy of the novel she used to read on base, the one she thought she’d lost on deployment. There it is, sitting on the windowsill with a single sticky note tucked into the cover:

Thought you might want something familiar. —J

The door never opens. He never waits around. But every morning, something’s there. Gentle. Thoughtful. Quietly desperate.

Phoenix catches her one afternoon, staring at the third note — the one tucked into a chocolate bar.

“You still take two squares at night, right? Couldn’t forget that even if I wanted to.”

“He’s trying,” Phoenix says, softly, from the doorway.

Y/N doesn’t say anything. Just runs her fingers over the torn corner of the note, the ache in her chest flaring hot again.

⸻

Then one evening, it’s not a note.

It’s Jake.

He’s leaning in the doorway of her hospital room, out of uniform, pale and stitched up and still moving like he aches in every bone. His left arm’s in a sling. There’s still a bruise blooming beneath his jaw. But his eyes are clear.

Focused.

Fixed on her.

“Can I come in?”

Her breath catches. Her hands grip the blanket over her lap like it might hold her together.

She nods. Barely.

He limps in slowly, gently shutting the door behind him. No more cocky grin. No practiced swagger. Just Jake — wrecked and real and standing in front of her like he’s showing her every bruise she gave him without ever meaning to.

“I know you’re not ready,” he starts, voice low. “I know I scared you. Hurt you. And I’d take it back if I could. But I can’t. All I can do is tell you the truth.”

She doesn’t speak. Just watches him like he might vanish.

“That day… when the jet went down,” he says, swallowing hard. “I wasn’t trying to die for you. I was trying to live with you. I stayed because you were there. Because I couldn’t leave you alone in that sky.”

Her chin wobbles. Her throat burns.

“You think I was brave?” he says, voice cracking. “I wasn’t. I was terrified. Because I knew if you died and I lived… I wouldn’t want to. I wouldn’t know how.”

Her eyes brim over.

“But I lived,” he continues. “We both did. And I’ll spend every day proving I didn’t survive just to let you go again.”

He takes a few slow steps closer, then kneels down beside her wheelchair, eyes never leaving hers.

“You don’t have to forgive me yet. Hell, you don’t even have to like me. But if there’s even one piece of your heart that still wants this… I’ll wait. I’ll show up. I’ll be whatever you need.”

Silence.

Thick. Crushed.

Her hand twitches in her lap.

Jake watches it — watches it reach out, just a few inches, then stop, trembling.

“Jake…” she whispers, voice shaking.

“I’m here,” he breathes. “I’m not going anywhere.”

And this time, when she lets the tears fall, she doesn’t cry alone.

Her lips part, but the words knot in her throat. Her fingers twitch again — reaching — and this time, they find his.

She grabs his hand like it’s a lifeline. Like if she lets go, she’ll drown.

Jake’s breath hitches, just once. He holds her hand like it’s glass, like he’s afraid to break it — or her.

“You don’t get to do that again,” she says, voice raw, shaking, barely above a whisper. “You don’t get to die for me.”

He opens his mouth, maybe to argue, maybe to apologize again, but she doesn’t let him.

“You said it was love, but it felt like a goodbye,” she chokes out, tears spilling. “I thought you were saying goodbye, Jake. I thought you were choosing to leave me.”

He closes his eyes. Pain flickers across his face.

“I wasn’t,” he says softly. “I was choosing you.”

“You don’t get to choose for me,” she snaps, breath hitching around a sob. “You don’t get to decide that my life goes on while yours ends. That’s not love, that’s…” Her voice cracks, collapses. “That’s not fair.”

She leans forward as much as she can, pressing her forehead to his. Her hand stays locked in his like she might fall apart without it.

“Do you know what I would’ve done if you didn’t wake up?” she whispers. “I would’ve stopped eating. I would’ve stopped trying. I wouldn’t have cared if I ever walked again. I would’ve blamed myself every day until I finally found a way to join you.”

Jake shakes his head, fiercely, desperately, and tries to pull her closer with his one good arm.

“No—no, baby, no,” he breathes, voice cracking. “Don’t say that—”

“You were my world, Jake. Even after we ended. Even when I hated you,” she says, shaking. “You were everything. And when you stayed with me in the air, when you refused to eject—God, it broke me.”

He closes his eyes, tears slipping past his lashes.

“I thought I was being brave,” he whispers. “But I wasn’t. I was just… in love.”

Silence wraps around them. Thick. Fragile.

Then she exhales, broken and shaky, forehead still against his.

“I still love you,” she whispers. “I never stopped. But I don’t know how to move past this.”

Jake nods, breathing shallow.

“Then we take it slow,” he says gently. “One hour. One day. Whatever you need. I’ll wait. Just… don’t shut me out. Let me try.”

She lets the silence stretch. But she doesn’t let go of his hand.

Not once.

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