SUMMARY: They notice you've been staring at them, being more touchy, and lingering more than usual. It's not long until they realize why.
CONTENT: Established relationships, explicit sexual content, piv sex, oral sex, semi-public sex, hints of breeding kink from Hunter and Wrecker ;))
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HUNTER
Hunter will immediately KNOW what's happening, nothing escapes his enhanced senses.
Especially when you've been lingering around him the entire day, eyes fixated on every part of his body, meeting his gaze with a dark heated look that screams i need you right now. You were ovulating, and Maker he'd be lying if he said it didn't turn him on too. He could smell it from you—the changes in your body, the scent of your hormones calling out to him, the subtle waft of your arousal every time you rub your legs, how you look at him like he's a piece of meat—it drives him absolutely insane.
So, taking pity on his girl, he came up behind you and leaned down so he could whisper in your ear. Go home and get ready. He almost laughed at how fast you stood up from your seat and marched away, leaving the rest of his brothers confused at your sudden departure. They must've thought you were upset. Good, saves him the time and privacy. And now here he was—holding you down on your bed with your ass pulled up high, large hands on your hips to pull you back against him, and your face buried in your pillows to muffle your sounds.
He could've been more gentle with you, especially now that your body was sensitive—not to mention fertile—but something told Hunter gentle wasn't what you needed right now. You needed him hard, rough, and deep. You were sobbing for it, and he could only oblige his sweet girl's wishes. It's what your body wanted too, after all—to be filled by his spend and do it over, and over, and over again until you're completely satisfied. And who was he to deny that?
“Is this what you want?” Hunter snaps his hips faster, groaning at the sensation of your walls clenching around him. “Been thinking about it too. Could smell you all day. Driving me crazy with those eyes and smell. Next time, just ask. I'd give it to you, mesh'la. Give you this—”
He thrusted again, deeper, pulling another loud moan out of you. “—for as long as you want. All day. All night. I'd take care of you, sweet girl.”
He smiled at the way you tried to meet his thrusts, pushing back against him for more, moaning his name to spur him to go harder. He did, flipping you over so you faced him and hitching your legs around his hips, before he began another brutal pace that has you crying out and sobbing. Hunter only kisses your tears away, shushing your babbling in gentle murmurs—the opposite to his rough thrusts.
“I'll fill you up, mesh'la. Won't stop until you're round and swollen with me.”
ECHO
Echo is honestly the perfect lover. Thoughtful, caring, and deeply understanding.
He's incredibly sweet to you, always making sure your well-being is perfect and advising you to tell him immediately if there's something wrong. He's all about communication and trust, which makes you love him. Especially now that you're on your first day of ovulation, seeing him be so attentive and nurturing lights an insatiable heat within you. He knew everything about you—your quirks, habits, tell-tales, favorite things, dislikes—so, he should've known this day would come. He just didn't expect it to come sooner.
You'd never forget the look on his face when you suddenly pulled him inside an empty storage compartment, snickering at his wide-eyed stare, before you locked the door behind him. Echo immediately picked up on what was happening, flushing for a moment as he tried to ask you if this was okay. But he didn't get any answer except for the sight of you dropping on your knees, peering up at him through your lashes, and giving him that wicked smile that knocked the air out of his lungs.
Echo didn't need to be told twice. He was already clumsily fumbling with his armor, then dropped his codpiece on the ground, and pulled himself out—half-hard and throbbing—while you impatiently tugged his blacks down to expose more. And when you grasped him, Echo already knew he wouldn't survive this. He'd walk right out of this compartment utterly wrecked and ruined. But he didn't mind it. His girl can have whatever she wants right now, and if you want him like this, he's all yours.
So, Echo gathers your hair in his other hand and leans back against the wall. Go on, cyar'ika. Take what you want. Oh, you did. You took him down and deep like you've been starving for it. You kept praising him for how he's been so good to you, how you wanted to thank him, how irresistible he looks when he's concerned. And Echo was left grunting and covering his mouth using his scomp through every praise and suck.
But just before he could come, you pulled away from him and stood up. Shoving your pants and underwear down, turning around so you face the opposite wall, and bending over while tossing him a dark look over your shoulder. Echo didn't think twice—he placed a hand on your spine, his scomp against your hip, gently nudged your feet apart, and lined himself up against you.
“Greedy little thing.” You heard him laugh from behind, before you felt him push inside with an agonizing pace, filling you up perfectly with every inch of his girth. “Both hands on the wall. Just be quiet for me. Okay, cyar'ika?”
TECH
Tech has your Ovarian cycle catalogued ever since your first intimate moment with him.
Now, he's perfectly aware of each phase your body goes through every month. He'd let you pester him during his work, bring him food and drinks when you're in your follicular phase because apparently that makes you happy. He'd spend time with you during your luteal phase, returning the acts of service to nourish your needs through those times. And in time of your menstrual phase, he'll be even more gentle and soft around you.
But between the follicular and luteal phase was the one variable he always could never be prepared for. He should be able to predict it, at least, anticipate when it will happen. But compared to the other phases, this phase was entirely unpredictable. Thankfully, he understood how your body by now. The moment your heat signature rises to a certain degree, the way your heartbeat quickens faster than normal, and the sight of your skin flushed and glowing told him enough.
All signs leading to your Ovulation phase. And during this phase, you were more. . . demanding with your needs. So, Tech wasn't even surprised when you knocked his datapad off his hands and tugged him towards the cockpit where you sealed yourselves inside for the remainder of the day.
“Ahhh—oh, stars. Are you sure you don't—ahhh—want to be more gentle, my dear?” Tech gritted out through clenched teeth, grasping your hips to ground himself while you rode him on his pilot seat. “Oh, kriff. No, you don't. That's—ahhh—fine. I'll document this for next ti—”
He didn't even get to finish his sentence as you crashed your lips on his, muffling his surprised gasp. Oh, of course. How could he forget? Sometimes, you disliked it when he began rambling during these acts. Especially during this phase of your cycle. And so, Tech adjusted his goggles and shifted in his seat.
Very well, then.
He didn't give you time to adjust, before he tightened his grip on your hips and started thrusting up. You cried out, both in pleasure and relief, meeting his thrusts with every downward grind—wrapping your arms around his neck and burrowing your face on his shoulder.
“That's it, my dear. Let go. Do not stop. Don't.”
CROSSHAIR
Oh, Crosshair's gonna be onto you the moment he catches your stare and sees the hungry glint in your eyes.
It wouldn't take him long to know you're in that phase, his favorite one, and he will rile you up on purpose. Because why not? It's more fun that way. A challenge to see who's going to give in first. He'd intentionally drop his voice and slow his words when talking to you, flex his fingers around his rifle while he cleans it, lets out more noises when he stretches or trains, and shifts his toothpick around with his tongue—making sure you see and hear everything.
His touch lingers on your body when he pats your hip or squeezes your thigh. He uses his height to tower over your frame when he corners you and whispers all the filthy things he knew would get you all hot and bothered. And he'd always have that infuriating smirk on his lips when he sees the frustration on your face the moment he pulls away and walks off like nothing happened.
But it's all part of his plan. The moment you decide enough is when he'll claim victory. And the moment he catches your stare, come here right now or else, and he's already following close behind you still wearing that infamous grin that makes your blood boil and race at the same time. If you thought he was a tease before, he's much worse once in private.
Because he knows all the right buttons to press. The right pace—torturously slow—to have you squirming in frustration. The patterns he'd draw between your legs to have them shaking. All the sensitive spots on your body he knew would make you more desperate. He exploits all of them while he takes you against a wall, hidden from the public but risky enough for someone to catch you.
One hand on your mouth, the other gripping your hip, back arched as he thrusts into you from behind. Rough, deep, and punishing. You're already panting and drooling in his palm, while he's keeping his own noises down through strained groans and grunts.
“So desperate,” his voice slithers between your ears raggedly. “Not even ashamed we're out here. Need me that badly, huh? Well, you have me now. And you'll have more later when we get home.”
WRECKER
Now, Wrecker is a little more dense when it comes to these things.
You have to let him know each time because he could mistake your wandering gaze and lingering touches as genuine affection. And he's a pretty physical guy himself, he'd see those gestures as something normal and he'd return them equally. So, whenever your ovulation phase comes around, you'd have to tap his arm and give him a look specifically for him to understand alone. Or if that doesn't work still, you'd gesture to him to lean down so you could whisper in his unscarred ear—can we get out of here?
Which is usually his cue to know you need him, and you wanted to be as far away as possible from others. His eyes would go wide, starts nodding furiously once he puts the pieces together. It never fails to amuse you every time when he starts to fumble out an excuse to others. Then, you'd pull him away while he's wearing a giddy grin that stretches so far on his face.
The next moment, he's sighing in relief as you sink down on his massive length—already throbbing and leaking the moment you stripped down to your underwear and pushed it aside to straddle him. His energy switches every phase. Sometimes he's rough and fast, carried away by adrenaline and the thrill of someone finding the two of you here. Other times, he lets you lead the pace. And right now, he's letting you take control.
“Love it when you're like this,” Wrecker groans out, then curses when you clench around him. “Kriff—so wet and warm. Take your time, sweetheart. This one's all yours. Just wanna watch you come on my cock.”
He sits back and watches you struggle against him, grinning up at you as he helps you move by holding your hips and letting you grind back and forth. His hands would wander all over your body, always praising and talking you through it. That's it, pretty girl. Have all of me. I'm right here. You need this badly, huh? Not going anywhere, just take it slow. I'll stuff you full later. Fill you up nice and slow.
And once you finally come, Wrecker grins and switches up.
The first time was on your own pace. Now, he gets to have his fun.
CONTENT: Having them as your lover had its advantages, but you couldn't ignore how much it hurt sometimes. Warnings! Angst, suggestive content, complicated situationships, kinda toxic behavior, canon typical themes (don't read if easily triggered).
Rex was a generous lover. Kind, attentive, thoughtful, and above all, earnest. He knew you were always worried for him whenever duty called him back to war, so he makes sure to ease every concern whenever he has the time for you. A rarity, but you didn't blame him for it. You never took offense when he had to slip away in the middle of the night right where you were about to fall asleep, but the disappointment was always there—brewing in your chest—when you hear him apologize under his breath as he kissed your temple before leaving your house.
You knew he was made for war, not for whatever this was. But somehow, you wanted to be selfish. You wanted to keep him here, in your home, far away from harm and death. You wanted to pull him back and beg for him to stay. You wanted to love him for who he truly was, a man deserving of such things. A home, a name, and stability. But no, it could never be that way. Not in this life, not when you'd feel him slip away again into the night. Away from your bed, away from your arms, away from the life he was never meant to have—and you can't do anything but wait for him to return until he doesn't anymore.
CAPTAIN GREGOR
Gregor used to smile and laugh a lot. At the start of your relationship, he'd always made an effort to spend some time together. Even if it was just for a brief moment. He won't leave your side until he knows you were happy because of him, and he'd even serenade you in his arms while you danced in your living room. He'd have that cheeky grin on his face whenever you sang a song in an off key tune, laugh that giggle that makes his voice crack whenever you bantered with him in the morning, and look at you with so much love and awe in his eyes as he watches you fall asleep in his arms.
But when the empire began to build, you watched the joy and adoration from his face start to vanish. He'd look at you like you were a ghost, his gaze slips into the distance, his replies became so empty and dismissive. Even when you try to pull him for another dance in your living room, it's always the same excuse. Tired. Just wanna rest with you. I'm okay with watching. Not right now. When you wake up the next day, he's already gone without a trace. And you'd feel your heart break even more. So, you adjusted for him. You waited for your lover to come back—the one who made you feel alive and human, not an empty ghost.
CAPTAIN HOWZER
Loving Howzer was an accident. You never expected to fall for him, and he certainly didn't expect to have you in his life. But here the two of you were, tangled in your sheets and sharing quiet stories of both of your lives in solemn silence. Sometimes it was peaceful like that. You'd share memories from the past, traumas that built who you were, and happier moments where the war didn't take anything from you yet. You grew to love the sight of his smile, the soft crinkles at the corners of his eyes whenever he looked at you, or the way he'd laugh breathlessly as he placed kisses along your jaw.
But as time went on, he began to show less. Talk less. Love less. When he does show up, you're already laying in bed while he'd lift the covers and slid behind you. You rarely speak each other anymore. Not when his comms would beep within an hour, and you'd hear him sigh in disappointment. You'd feel his lips pressing on your shoulder, hear his apology against your ear, and wish he'd ignore the call just for once to be with you. Just like before. Just like how he used to. But no, you can't ask him that. He was a soldier, and soldiers belonged in battlefields. Never in someone else's home, or in someone else's heart.
COMMANDER CODY
You knew Cody always put his duty first before anything. He was a commander, of course he'd put his brothers before you. But it wasn't like this before. Nothing like this. He used to comm you before his every arrival, and you'd light up like a star when you see his message he was coming back to Coruscant. After every campaign, you'd always welcome him in your arms, happy to see him alive and well. And he'd never leave your side until then. He'd spend the entire week making up for lost time, loving you fully, spoiling you in bed, making sure you'd feel him in your ache for days once he's gone.
But now, you rarely have him home anymore. Not since the empire rose after the Republic fell. When you walk around Coruscant, hear a distinct clone trooper voice somewhere, you'd snap your head in the direction in case it was him. But it never was, and you feared it never will be anymore. Even when you constantly send him messages, ask when he'll return, you'd get nothing. No comms, no visits, no early heads up he'll land within an hour. Until one night, you hear your comm ping. And the last thing you saw before tears blurred your vision was his message—"I'm sorry, mesh'la. For your safety, please forget about me and us."
COMMANDER CROSSHAIR
Crosshair was always cold, even at the start of your. . . relationship. But it wasn't really a relationship to begin with. It was only a mutually beneficial encounter since you met him in that bar on the lower levels of Coruscant. The night where he lets you take him back to your apartment, to your bed, and shed every piece of his armor to indulge a night between your sheets. But then he started coming back for more, and you'd let him in every single time. It was addictive, intoxicating, and you'd anticipate him again once he leaves. But just when you started to melt through his icy defenses, he became even colder, harsher and more selfish.
Until you made the mistake of falling for him. A soldier and commander of the empire, the handsome sniper you saw from across the bar, someone who would never open up to you. Each time you welcomed him again inside your home, a piece of yourself broke at the thought that he'd never see you the same way. This will never be love. In his eyes, you were just a casual encounter he could always come back to. A warm body and a warmer bed to relieve his stress. In time, you stopped caring. You let him in again, and again, and again. With no hopes of whatever this becoming something real, just as long as you have him.
COMMANDER WOLFFE
Wolffe was a fierce lover. Like his name, he was aggressive and overwhelmingly domineering when it came to battle and in bed. But when it came to you, he was soft and gentle. The scowl on his face fades instantly the moment you open your door and throw your arms around him. He'd smile lightly at your jokes, roll his eyes when you tease him, never removes his hands off of you—always hugging you from behind as you cooked, always holding you close when you're taking him in bed, always loving you in his own possessive and powerful way.
But now, it's like you were looking at a different man. Every time you open the door, you're not welcoming your lover anymore. You're welcoming a beast. A hungry loth-wolf who hunted instead of loved. He snapped more often, never hitting you, but his harsh words were more than enough to feel like a slap. He only came back when he was looking for someone to satiate his needs, and you were the only one who could. Now, you were just a past time of his. A prey, a fool, and a hopeless soul who thinks there was still the man you loved lurking beneath the wolf you feared.
COMMANDER MAYDAY
You loved Mayday even though you might never see him again. Back when he could still visit you, years ago before the empire, you were so loved by him. He was the only man who had your heart, no other soul came after him. No one as gentle, understanding, and wonderful as he was. He cared for you, and in turn, you loved him despite the dangers he faced everyday as a soldier. He was perfect, and in your mind, you dreamed of a future where the two of you could build a family of your own. You gave him everything—your home, your heart, your bed, and your love.
But you should've known some dreams could only stay as such. Before he left you, he took you to bed. Loved you endlessly until you were breathless, spent, and promised that he would return. You relied on his comms, his frequent updates about his mission, and clung to his recorded voice every night so the loneliness would feel a little easier. But then he stopped sending them. Weeks passed, then months, and years. But even when it hurts, you still clung to the hope—to the dream that you know would never come true or home.
COMMANDER FOX
Loving him was truly exhausting, but you never stopped because you loved him. You tried to tell yourself he was busy, tired, or married to his work whenever he ignored your comms or came home late again. You tried to make everything else easier for him—cooked for him in case he was hungry, cleaned around your house to save him the trouble of a headache. You already knew how hard it was for him to be the Commander of the Coruscant Guards, and it was the least you could do to repay his hardwork.
But sometimes you wished it was like back then. You wished he could kiss you again before he left for work. You wished he could wrap his arms around you when you fell asleep together in bed. You wished he'd glance your way, just once, when you greet him in the doorway. But the exhaustion was eating him alive, your heart broke at the sight each time, especially when he turns you away again. But you never stopped loving him, you never stopped making a home for both of yourselves. As long as he was alive, you'd still love him just the same.
COMMANDER BLY
You always knew his heart belonged to another. You should've let him go once you realized his heart would never belonged to you You met each other in 79's, back when he was drinking with his squadron and he approached you moments later. When you took him back to your place, he made love to you earnestly. He was unlike any kind of lover you've had before. Whenever you meet again, he stopped being a stranger and started becoming your lover. And for a while, you were under the illusion that this could turn into something else. But behind his eyes, you saw through him.
Not right away, but the more nights he spent in your bed, the more you started noticing it. The distant look in his gaze whenever he told you about his general, a Jedi Master, and how much softness his words carried through every praise and story. You saw how his smile stretched when he recalls her saving him and his brothers, how his laugh resounded in your room, how he falls silent once the realization sinks in he'd never have her heart. You never interrupted him, not once, you just listened and waited—in case he'd give his heart to you instead.
SUMMARY: From being project partners to being best friends to being something else because of one stupid game of Never Have I Ever.
CONTENT: 9k wc, College AU! Strangers to friends to lovers, inexperienced! herm, experienced fem! reader, first times, oral sex (m/f receiving), fluff and smut, unprotected piv sex (wrap it in real life guys!), consensual somnophilia, switching, multiple rounds
READ ON AO3: Never Have I Ever
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The lecture hall smelled faintly of coffee and whiteboard markers as the professor droned on about group dynamics in crisis response. Ironic, considering this was the class where most people avoided actual group work like the plague. And Herm had to sit in this two hour lecture just to listen to the monotone drawl and the infectious yawns from his surroundings. It was the second week of the semester, and the professor had just announced the major semester project.
Pairs only, no exceptions, assigned randomly.
Herm—Herman, though almost no one called him that unless they were reading roll call—sat near the back, hoodie up, trying to make himself smaller.
He already knew how this went.
People saw the faint shimmer around his hands when he got anxious (which was often), felt the sudden dampness in the air, or worse, watched a pencil roll off a desk because a tiny, involuntary puddle had formed underneath it. Water powers sounded cool in theory. In practice, in a cramped college classroom, they mostly meant apologies and soggy notes.
The professor started calling names.
His name landed with yours, and Herm's stomach dropped.
He knew who you were, though, he can’t be sure of the same case with him. You were one of the people whom he often crossed paths with on campus, but never got to interact once. Still, he knew your name through these classes. You always have a passing grade whenever he caught a glimpse of your paper being returned, and you seemed pretty cool. He wanted nothing more than to strike up a conversation with you after finding out you listened to one of his favorite bands when he sat behind you one time.
Is this what they call a friend crush?
He glanced over to your direction.
You were already looking back, not with the usual mix of pity or barely-hidden disgust, but with something closer to curiosity.
You gave a small wave.
Not mocking. Just... normal.
He wasn’t used to it.
After class, you found him in the hallway before he could bolt.
“Hey, partner.” You greeted, smiling easily. “I'm free Thursday afternoons if that works for you. Is the library good?”
Herm blinked, water beading unconsciously at his fingertips.
He wiped them quickly on his jeans. “Uh... library's fine. I don't want to like– want to flood anyone's space.”
You laughed. Not at him, but lightly, like the idea was ridiculous in a charming way.
“Don't worry about it. Come on, let's swap numbers.”
That was how it started.
Over the next few weeks, the project became less about the assignment and more about the routine. Herm showed up early with snacks he could afford, mostly instant ramen flavor packets he turned into weird dips (don't ask). You brought actual food. Sushi from the convenience store near campus, or sometimes homemade cookies your mom sent. He never admitted how much he looked forward to those afternoons.
The first time his powers slipped badly was during a late-night cram session in an empty media room. You were practicing the presentation, and Herm got nervous about speaking in front of even one person. A thin stream of water arced from his palm, splashing across the table and soaking your notes.
He froze. “Shit! I'm sorry. I'll–I'll dry them, or—fuck, I'm—”
You just grabbed a stack of napkins from your bag and started blotting, calm and smiling as usual.
“It's fine. Paper's replaceable. You're not.” Then, you added softly. “You don't have to apologize for existing, you know.”
Herm stared, gaping in disbelief.
No one had ever said that to him so plainly.
After that, he stopped hiding his hands so much around you.
He started staying longer than necessary. You started teasing him about his terrible taste in energy drinks. He learned you hummed off-key when you were focused. You discovered he had a secret obsession with old black metal albums and would infodump if given half a chance. You never once made fun of it.
By midterms, project partners had quietly become friends. The kind who texted memes at two am, who knew each other's coffee orders, who didn't flinch when the other leaked a little water when they laughed too hard, who waited for each other after class was done to eat somewhere.
Then came the afternoon your roommate went home for the weekend.
You texted him around noon.
To: hermboy
roomie's out til sunday. wanna come over? we can study + watch a movie
From: hermboy
you sure? i dont wanna make everything... damp
To: hermboy
bring a towel if you're worried. door's open at 3
He showed up at 2:55 with a backpack, two bottles of ramune, and the towel you'd jokingly demanded. Your dorm was small and cozy, much cleaner and dryer than his own. String lights across your wall, posters of bands and movies he's never seen before, a tiny fridge in the corner. It smelled like vanilla and lavender, and he fought the urge not to inhale the sweet scents in fear you'd find him being a creep.
You studied for maybe an hour before it devolved into stories. He told you about the time he accidentally flooded a high school gym floor during prom. You told him about sneaking into your older brother's punk shows when you were fourteen. He showed you pictures of the impossible amount of cats he has back in his grandma's house, and that he sometimes visited her when he has the chance. Sometime later, you both made ramen, and ate cross-legged on the floor, using textbooks as tables.
Eventually the textbooks got pushed aside.
“Wanna play Never Have I Ever?” You suggested, grabbing each of the ramune bottles. “Loser drinks. Or since we're responsible college students, loser has to do a favor for the other person.”
Herm laughed nervously. “I'm gonna lose so fast.”
“You'll be fine. I'll go easy.”
You started tame.
Never have I ever smoked on campus.
He smiled proudly at you, keeping his bottle lowered on his lap.
Never have I ever cried during a movie.
You both drank immediately.
Never have I ever had a crush on a fictional character.
Both of you drank again.
Then, it was his turn.
He fidgeted with the rim of his ramune bottle, cheeks already pink. “Um, uh– Never have I ever... been kissed.”
The room went quiet except for the low hum of the mini-fridge.
You looked at him, studying his features for a moment. The way his auburn hair fell into his eyes, the nervous way he was trying (and failing) to keep the water from pooling under his palms. Now that you thought about it, he never talked about having a partner before. He'd never brought anyone back to his own tiny single room. Never mentioned dates. Never even joked about it.
You set your bottle down slowly. “You’ve never? Really?”
He glanced away, burrowing his face into his hoodie. “I know, I—It's just... it sucks, I know.”
“No, it isn't. It's completely fine, Herm.”
“It… It is?”
“I mean, yeah. Many people still haven't gotten their first kiss even as adults. No shame in that.”
“Oh,” He relaxed at that, nodding slowly. “What... What about you?”
You huffed a small laugh, then took a sip of your drink. “Been there, done that.”
When you finished drinking, you noticed the odd look in his eye. Something you've seen sometimes when he wanted to ask something, but was too afraid to. That glimmer of curiosity flashing across his clear gray-blue eyes, before it's gone the next moment. But you didn't want it gone. You wanted to ask him what's on his mind.
“Herm?”
“Oh, uh—yes?”
“You're staring.”
“Ah, shit. Am—am I? Sorry, I—”
“Want me to be your first?”
Herm's head snapped up so fast you thought he might get whiplash. Water droplets instantly beaded across his knuckles like sudden rain.
“What?”
You shrugged, trying to keep your voice light even though your heart was hammering. “If you want. No pressure. We can keep playing, or watch something stupid, or whatever. But if you're curious, and if it's me… yeah. I'm offering.”
He stared for a long second, gray eyes wide. Then, quieter than you'd ever heard him.
“Yeah. I… I'd like that.”
You smiled, soft and warm, before shifting closer.
He smelled faintly like clean rain and the citrus shampoo he used.
You reached up slowly, giving him every chance to pull away, and brushed his hair back from his forehead.
“Okay,” You murmured, trying not to spook him like a wild animal. “Just… relax for me.”
He let out a shaky laugh, blushing deeper. “Easier said than done.”
Your gaze fell to his lips, admiring the softness and shape of them as they parted.
Then, you leaned in.
The kiss was gentle at first. Tentative and careful. Testing the waters and seeing if you could swim deeper. His lips were cool, soft, tasting faintly of the strawberry ramune he'd been sipping. When he didn't make any move to pull away, you pushed deeper until your knees brushed against his. Then he exhaled, shaky, and pressed closer, one damp hand finding your waist like he needed an anchor. Water misted faintly in the air around you both, like the world's smallest, softest rain.
Finally, as to not overwhelm him, you broke off.
When you pulled back, he looked dazed. A tiny puddle had formed under where his other hand had been braced on the floor.
“Sorry,” He whispered automatically, but it came out breathless and stunned.
You laughed quietly and kissed him again, just a quick peck this time.
“Don't be. I like it.”
Herm ducked his head, smiling so wide it looked like it hurt. “You—you're ridiculous.”
“Yeah,” You agreed, resting your forehead against his. “But you're stuck with me now.”
He didn't argue.
Half an hour later when both of your ramen cups and ramune bottles were empty, you decided to watch a movie on your laptop to pass the time.
The screen glowed soft blue in the dim dorm room, some low-budget horror movie flickering across it. Something about haunted lakes and bad decisions, chosen mostly because neither of you had the brainpower left for anything requiring actual attention. Your textbooks sat forgotten on the floor. The string lights cast warm little halos across the wall above your bed.
You were both stretched out on your narrow bed, propped against pillows, shoulders brushing every time one of you shifted. Herm had claimed the side closest to the wall like it was instinct, knees drawn up slightly, one arm tucked under his head. You lay on your side facing the screen, chin resting on your fist, pretending the jump-scares still had any effect on you.
They didn’t.
What actually had your pulse ticking up was the way Herm kept stealing glances.
Not at the movie.
At your mouth.
The first time you caught it—just the quick flick of his eyes from the screen to your lips and back again—you almost smiled. Almost. Instead you kept your face neutral, let your gaze stay glued to the laptop like you hadn’t noticed a thing.
A minute later, he did it again. Longer this time. You felt the heat of his stare like a physical touch. Tracing across your bottom lip, tracking the way you parted them to sigh or comment on something about the movie. Though, you were pretty sure he wasn't listening a single word to both.
So you decided to play.
You waited for a quiet scene—some girl walking alone through fog—then deliberately dragged the tip of your tongue across your bottom lip, just enough to leave it glossy.
Herm’s breath hitched.
Barely audible, but you heard it.
Bingo.
You still didn’t look at him.
Instead you let your hand drift up, tracing the pad of your index finger idly along the curve of your lower lip, back and forth, like you were thinking about nothing at all. His stare didn’t waver. You could practically feel the air around him growing heavier, damper—the faint mist that always followed when his nerves lit up.
Next came the soft bite.
You caught your bottom lip between your teeth, held it for a second, then released it with a tiny, wet sound.
His fingers twitched against the blanket.
You exhaled slowly through parted lips, letting the breath ghost out warm and deliberate, almost a sigh.
That one broke him.
His head turned fully toward you now, movie forgotten, gray eyes dark and fixed. Water beaded along his knuckles where his hand gripped the sheet.
You still didn’t look at him. Not yet.
The movie droned on. Some fake scream. Neither of you reacted.
Finally, you turned your head, just enough to meet his gaze.
He froze like a deer in headlights, cheeks flushing so fast it traveled down his neck.
You let the silence stretch one heartbeat.
Then, voice low and teasing.
“You’ve been staring at my mouth for the last ten minutes, Herm.”
He opened his mouth—probably to stammer an apology, the way he always did when he got caught feeling something too big—but you didn’t give him the chance.
“Wanna kiss me again?”
The question wasn’t even halfway out before he moved.
No hesitation. No overthinking.
He surged forward like he’d been waiting for permission his whole life.
One hand found the back of your neck—cool, damp fingers sliding into your hair—while the other braced against the mattress beside your hip. His mouth crashed into yours, not gentle like the first time, but hungry, desperate, like he’d been holding his breath since that afternoon’s “first kiss” and only now remembered he was allowed to breathe again.
You met him halfway, lips parting under his, one hand curling into the front of his hoodie to tug him closer. He made a small, broken sound against your mouth, and the kiss deepened, messy and urgent. His lips were cool at first, then warming fast. You tasted the lingering ghost of the strawberry ramune again, felt the tiny tremor in his fingers where they cradled your jaw.
A fine mist shimmered in the air around you both, like the room had decided to rain indoors, soft and private. Droplets caught in your eyelashes, on his cheekbones, glittering under the string lights.
When you finally broke apart, just enough to breathe, his forehead dropped to yours. His chest rose and fell too fast.
“Sorry,” He whispered automatically, but his eyes never left your lips. “I didn’t mean to– I just... wanted to kiss you. Again.”
You laughed, soft and breathless, and kissed him again. Slower this time, coaxing him to silence. He easily melted, sighing into your mouth in contentment.
“Don’t,” You murmured between kisses. “Don’t ever apologize.”
He exhaled shakily, lips brushing yours as he spoke.
“…Okay.”
Then he went back for more, braver than before.
The movie credits had long since started rolling, muted and ignored, when Herm’s kisses turned from eager to something sharper, more insistent. His mouth moved against yours like he couldn’t get close enough, couldn’t taste enough, one hand sliding up the back of your neck to tangle in your hair while the other gripped your hip hard enough to leave the faintest damp imprint through your shirt.
You felt the shift in him.
The way his breathing roughened, the tiny tremors running through his fingers, the faint mist that clung to your skin wherever he touched. He was unraveling, and he wanted you to unravel with him.
With a low, impatient sound in the back of his throat, he reached past you and shoved the laptop aside. Careless, screen still glowing faintly as it slid across the comforter and thumped softly against the wall. Then his weight was on you, pressing you down into the mattress, knees bracketing your hips, mouth never leaving yours.
You let him.
Amusement curled warm in your chest at how fast he’d gone from shy glances to this. Desperate, hungry, all pretense of pretending anything was ever casual gone. You arched up into him, meeting every bruising kiss with equal heat, fingers twisting in the front of his hoodie to keep him exactly where you wanted him.
He groaned against your lips when you nipped at the bottom one, hips rocking once, involuntary, seeking friction.
The sound sent a spark straight through you.
Then, without warning, you hooked a leg around his and rolled him under.
One smooth twist and the world flipped. Suddenly he was the one flat on his back, wide gray-blue eyes staring up at you in stunned, breathless surprise. His auburn hair fanned wild across your pillow, cheeks flushed dark, lips swollen and parted. Water droplets had gathered along his collarbones, glittering like tiny jewels under the string lights.
You settled your weight across his hips, straddling him properly, hands braced on either side of his head.
He looked wrecked already, and you hadn’t even really started.
“Jesus,” He breathed, voice cracking on the word.
You smirked down at him, coy and teasing.
“Desperate much, Herm?”
His flush deepened to scarlet, reaching the tip of his ears. He opened his mouth, probably to stammer something apologetic, but nothing came out except another shaky exhale when you leaned down and dragged your lips along the sharp line of his jaw.
You kissed there, open-mouthed, then lower. Along the column of his throat, feeling his pulse hammer under your tongue. His head tipped back on instinct, exposing more skin, a soft, helpless sound slipping out when your teeth grazed the sensitive spot just under his ear.
“Fuck—” The word punched out of him, strangled and high.
Your hands slipped under the hem of his hoodie, palms sliding up the cool, damp skin of his sides.
He shivered violently under your touch, his surprisingly lean stomach tightening. You pushed the fabric higher, exposing the taut lines of his stomach and the faint trail of hair disappearing beneath his waistband. Your mouth followed—kissing, sucking lightly at his collarbone, then lower still, tasting salt and rain and him.
He was panting now, chest rising and falling fast, fingers flexing uselessly in the sheets like he didn’t know what to do with them. Every time your teeth found that spot behind his ear again, his hips jerked up into yours, involuntary, needy.
You pulled back just enough to look at him.
His eyes were glassy, pupils blown wide. Lips parted. Completely gone.
You let your voice drop low, teasing, intimate.
“Have you ever been sucked off before?”
The question hung in the quiet room.
His breath caught audibly.
The flush that had been creeping down his neck exploded across his face. Bright, mortified, impossibly endearing. Based from his current reaction, you already knew the answer to that. However, you just wanted him to give you a definite answer before you could do anything more stupid.
Finally, Herm shook his head once, barely daring to meet your eyes.
You smiled, and leaned down to brush your lips against his in a barely-there kiss.
“Want me to be your first?”
He stared up at you for one heartbeat.
Then he nodded, jerky and fervent, like the word yes was too big to fit in his throat.
You didn’t make him wait.
You slid lower, keeping eye contact the whole way down. His hoodie stayed rucked up around his ribs, those lean muscles flexing in every breath he took and released. You watched him under half-lidded lashes, hooking your fingers in the waistband of his sweats and tugging the material off along with his boxers. Slow enough to watch every micro-expression flicker across his face.
Anticipation, nerves, raw want.
When you finally freed him, he hissed through his teeth, head dropping back against the pillow. His hands flew up like he wanted to cover his face, then dropped again, gripping the sheets instead.
You wrapped your hand around him first, admiring his impressive length and sizable girth. Longer than anyone you've ever been with, and the thickness was perfect to have you imagining the perfect stretch inside you. With visible veins protruding from the sides, making your mouth water to taste each one. And his tip—fuck, it was no doubt he prettiest shade of pink you've ever seen.
You squeezed him lightly, his whole body arched off the bed with a choked sound.
“Shi—shit. Ahhh, wait—”
You paused, thumb stroking once, slow.
“Too much?” You asked, concerned.
He shook his head frantically. “No! Just—fuck, please.”
That was all you needed.
You leaned down, lips brushing the tip in a feather-light kiss before using the flat of your tongue to glide in the underside. A high whine tore out of his throat, causing you to smile at his sensitivity, before you began to place wet kisses all around him. Starting from his flushed head, down to his twitching base, and back up again to suck on his tip lightly.
Then, without another word, you took him down.
A ragged moan tore out of him, loud enough that he immediately clapped a hand over his own mouth, eyes squeezing shut. His other hand found your hair. Not tugging, just holding on like you were the only thing keeping him tethered to the present.
You worked him slow at first, savoring every shudder, every muffled curse that slipped past his fingers. His hips twitched up in tiny, helpless thrusts he couldn’t quite control. The mist in the air thickened, cool droplets catching on your skin, in your hair, like the room itself was breathing with him.
When you hollowed your cheeks and took him deeper, his hand left his mouth to fist in the sheets instead.
“O-Oh, god. Fuck, please.”
His voice cracked on the plea.
You hummed around him, making sure to let him feel the vibrations, and felt him throb against your tongue.
He wasn’t going to last long.
You didn’t want him to.
You sped up, hand working what your mouth couldn’t reach, tongue swirling, until his breathing turned ragged, hips stuttering, every muscle in his body pulling tight.
“I’m—shit. I’m gonna—”
You didn’t pull off.
His back lifted off the mattress with a broken cry, muffled against the heel of his hand, as he came hard, pulsing down your throat. You swallowed around him, steady, until the last tremor worked its way through him and he collapsed back against the bed, boneless, gasping.
For a long moment, the only sound was his uneven breathing and the faint patter of real rain against the window.
Then he let out a shaky, disbelieving laugh.
“Holy… fuck.”
You crawled back up his body, until you were hovering over him again. His eyes were dazed, pupils still huge, cheeks flushed and damp. A tiny puddle had formed under his shoulder blades, soaking into your sheets. You could hardly care less about the mess. At least you have him here—all flushed, pretty, and yours for the night.
Leaning down, you captured his lips.
He kissed back like he was trying to say thank you with his mouth alone.
When you pulled away, he looked at you like you just hung the stars above.
“That was…” He trailed, in total disbelief and awe. “I was—you almost killed me.”
You grinned, brushing damp hair off his forehead. “Not yet.”
His laugh was contagious, infecting you immediately with your own escaping you.
“How about you?” He asked, almost shy again. “Have you ever… had someone do that to you before?”
You felt the question land. Not accusatory. But for the first time all night, the easy confidence you’d been wearing like armor faltered. You looked away for half a second, suddenly sheepish, fingers tracing idle patterns on his hoodie instead of meeting his gaze.
“…No,” You confessed quietly. “None of them ever wanted to. The people I hooked up with before, they were mostly just for… practice. For me. Oral, sex, whatever. I got good at giving. They never really cared about returning the favor.”
The confession hung there, small and honest.
Herm went impossibly still.
You felt the shift in him before you saw it. The way his arms tightened around you, the slow inhale he took like he was swallowing something dark and possessive. When you finally glanced back up, his gray eyes had gone almost black—pupils blown, jaw set, a flash of something raw and carnal flickering behind the usual softness.
Before you could say anything else, he moved.
One swift, determined roll and the positions flipped again. Your back hit the mattress with a soft bounce, he settled between your thighs, bracing himself on his forearms so he hovered just above you. His hoodie was still rucked up, hair completely a mess, lips kiss-bruised. But the look on his face was focused.
Hungry.
He swallowed hard, voice low and careful despite the heat rolling off him.
“Is this okay?” He asked, so sweet and considerate despite the obvious plea in his gaze. “If I…”
You stared up at him, heart slamming against your ribs.
“Yeah,” You exhaled, nodding. “Please.”
That was all he needed.
His hands, cool and slightly trembling, found the waistband of your pajama pants. He tugged them down slowly, carefully, taking your panties with them until they slid off your ankles and hit the floor. Then you were bare beneath him, thighs parted just enough for him to see everything.
And Herm froze.
He stared, open-mouthed and wide-eyed, like he’d forgotten how to blink or breathe. Water droplets beaded along his forehead, his collarbones, tiny constellations forming on his skin as his nerves lit up again. His gaze traced every line of you with something close to worship. The curve of your hips, the soft dip of your stomach, the smoothness of your thighs.
You couldn’t help it.
You laughed softly, teasing despite the heat crawling up your own chest.
“First time seeing a girl naked, huh?”
He blinked once. Twice. Then gave a slow, dazed nod, like the question had short-circuited his brain.
“…Yeah,” He whispered, almost to himself. “You’re beautiful.”
The admission made something warm and wicked curl in your belly.
You shifted, spreading your legs wider until you were fully open to him.
His jaw dropped lower. A soft, involuntary sound slipped out of his throat.
You reached down, brushing your fingers along his cheek. “I’ll guide you, okay?”
He clutched your thighs, fingers digging in just enough to leave cool, damp prints, and nodded again, quick and determined. His eyes never left yours, waiting, eager, like a student who’d finally been handed the only lesson he ever wanted to learn.
“Tell me what to do,” He said, voice low and rough with want. “I want to make you feel good. Please.”
You smiled, and tugged him closer by the hair.
“Start with your mouth,” You began in a hushed tone. “Right here.”
Herm’s breath fanned hot against the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, close enough that you could feel the tremor in it. His hands rested on either side of your hips, thumbs brushing slow, uncertain circles like he was memorizing the texture of you.
You threaded your fingers through his damp strands, gentle but firm, guiding him without pulling harshly.
“Kiss my thighs. Soft at first. Just… explore.”
He obeyed instantly.
His lips brushed the soft skin just above your knee, then higher, open-mouthed kisses trailing slowly along the inside of one thigh, then the other. Each press of his mouth left a faint, cool dampness behind, like raindrops evaporating on warm pavement.
“Good,” You praised, fingers tightening slightly in his hair. “Higher. Tease a little. Don’t go straight for it yet.”
He hummed against your skin, responsive and needy, then followed. Kisses turned bolder, wetter. His tongue flicked out once, testing, tracing the crease where thigh met your hip. Sometimes, he stopped just to breathe. Then, he's back to kissing every skin he could reach. He mumbled a few things under his breath. Somewhere along the lines of so perfect, can’t believe they didn’t do this, so soft and pretty.
You tuned out the rest when he began nipping the inside of your thigh.
Your hips twitched toward him on instinct.
“Like that,” You encouraged, strained. “Use your hands too. Touch me. Everywhere except right where you want to be.”
His palms slid up your sides, fingers skimming under the hem of your shirt, then back down to grip your thighs. He spread you a fraction wider, thumbs stroking the tender skin just shy of your folds.
You felt yourself clench around nothing, desperately aching for something.
“Closer,” You didn’t even realize you were begging. “Kiss me there. Soft. Just lips at first.”
He hesitated only a heartbeat, then leaned in.
The first brush of his mouth against your core was so gentle it almost tickled. Then he pressed firmer, lips parting, tasting you through a small suck. A soft, surprised sound rumbled in his throat when he felt how wet you already were.
You gasped, fingers flexing in his hair.
“Tongue,” You managed to choke out. “Flat. Slow licks. Go up. Yeah, like that—”
He dragged the flat of his tongue from your entrance to your clit in one long, lewd stroke.
“Again,” Your whine filled the room, spurring him further. “Same pressure. Don’t rush.”
He did it again, and again, and again. Languid, broad licks that made your thighs tremble. Every time the tip of his nose grazed your clit, your hips bucked closer, chasing the contact.
“Circle it,” You instructed, quieter now. Whimpering at the heat building low in your stomach. “Light flicks. Then suck gently. Fuck, Herm—keep going.”
He followed every word like scripture. His tongue swirled, flicked, sucked—careful at first, then bolder as your gasps turned into soft moans. His hands clutched your thighs tighter, holding you open, keeping you exactly where he wanted you.
“Fingers,” You were panting now. “Just one. Slide it in slow. Curl it toward my stomach. Find that spot.”
He slid one finger inside you, groaning into you at the immediate warmth that enveloped him, and curled immediately.
“There—right there. Add another. Fuck me with them. Steady rhythm. Keep your mouth on my clit.”
Two fingers now, sliding in and out in time with the flick of his tongue. He was panting against you, the sounds wet and obscene, completely lost in it. He looked just as far gone as you were. As if pleasing you was bringing the same pleasure to him. And he did it like he was starving for it. His rhythm was perfect at first, exactly what you’d told him.
Then something shifted.
His fingers sped up just a fraction. His tongue pressed harder, more insistent, lapping at you like he couldn’t get enough. He sucked your clit between his lips and didn’t let go, humming low in his throat when your hips jerked hard against his face. You tried to speak, tried to guide him back, but the words dissolved into a choked moan when he crooked his fingers again, faster, deeper.
“Herm—”
He ignored you.
Not out of disobedience. Out of hunger.
He wanted this.
He wanted the way your thighs shook beside his ears, the way your fingers yanked at his hair, the broken little whimpers you couldn’t hold back anymore. He wanted to feel you come apart because of him. He wanted to show all of those idiots before him that he could get you off from just his fingers and mouth alone—that he was more superior than the rest of them.
His mouth worked you relentlessly—hungry, messy licks and sucks—while his fingers fucked into you steadily, curling on every thrust, hitting that spot over and over until your vision blurred.
Your thighs clamped around his head.
Your free hand flew to your mouth, muffling the sounds spilling out.
His name, curses, pleas you didn’t even recognize.
But he didn’t stop.
He groaned against you when your walls started fluttering, when your hips ground down hard against his face like you were trying to ride his tongue and fingers at the same time.
You arched, sharp and sudden, back raising off the mattress as the pleasure snapped tight and shattered.
His name tore out of you, muffled against your own arm.
You came hard—pulsing around his fingers, flooding his mouth—thighs shaking violently, hips jerking in helpless little spasms. He didn’t pull away. He kept licking, drinking down every tremor, every aftershock, fingers still buried deep and curling gently through the waves.
When you finally collapsed back against the sheets, he eased his fingers out slowly, pressing one last soft, open-mouthed kiss to your oversensitive clit that made you twitch.
He lifted his head just enough to look up at you.
His lips were swollen, glossy. Auburn strands stuck on his forehead. Eyes dark and dazed and so fucking proud. Water droplets clung to his eyelashes, his jaw, like he’d been caught in his own private storm. Through your bleary vision, you caught the flash of pride across his features. When you finally came down from the high, vision clearing, it was already gone.
You stared down at him between your legs, and managed a shaky laugh.
“You… ignored me.” You rasped. “But fuck that felt good.”
He shook his head, sheepish for half a second. Then looked back up, lips curving into something dangerously close to a smirk.
“Couldn’t help it,” He murmured, voice rough. “You tasted too good. Sounded too good.”
He crawled back up your body, until he could kiss you. Deep, filthy, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. A moan spilled past your mouth and into his from the taste.
When he pulled back, forehead resting against yours, he whispered.
“Can I do it again?”
Your laugh came out wrecked and delighted.
“Fuck, give me a minute to breathe.”
He grinned—bright, boyish, completely gone for you—and pressed another soft kiss to the corner of your mouth.
“Take your time,” He whispered against your jaw. Then he settled between your thighs again anyway, like he had no intention of waiting that long.
The bliss had wrapped around you like a heavy, warm blanket. Post-orgasm haze so thick you hadn’t even registered drifting off. One second you were floating, thighs still trembling faintly, Herm’s mouth still pressed soft and reverent against you. The next, everything blurred into darkness.
You woke to the slow, deliberate drag of a tongue.
A low, needy sound vibrated against your core before your eyes even opened. Herm was between your legs again. More ravenous and still soo insatiable. His hands gripped the backs of your thighs, spreading you wider, holding you open like he was afraid you’d disappear if he let go. His hips rocked forward in shallow, helpless thrusts against the mattress, grinding his still-hard cock into the sheets, chasing friction like he couldn’t stop himself.
The wet sounds of his mouth on you filled the quiet room—obscene, unashamed. Every lick, every suck pulled a sleepy whimper from your throat before you were fully conscious.
Your lashes fluttered open.
His hoodie was gone, so were his sweatpants. Most likely thrown down on the floor beside the textbooks still open and forgotten.
He didn’t notice at first. Too lost, too consumed. His eyes were closed, lashes dark against flushed cheeks, brow furrowed in concentration like this was the only thing that existed. Droplets of mist shimmered along his shoulders, his spine, catching the string lights every time his hips rolled.
Then your fingers twitched in the sheets.
His gaze snapped up.
Gray-blue eyes met yours. Dark, glassy, feral. For a heartbeat he froze, mouth still hovering, lips slick and swollen.
You watched the shift happen in real time.
Gone was the shy boy who’d stammered through Never Have I Ever, who’d apologized for every drop of water he left behind. In his place was this desperate, insatiable man—pupils blown wide, jaw tight with want, breathing ragged against your skin.
The second he realized you were awake, his grip tightened, fingers digging into your thighs hard enough to bruise. A low growl rumbled in his chest. He dove back in like a man starved, tongue flicking faster, lips sealing around your clit and sucking hard. His hips snapped forward against the mattress again, grinding shamelessly, chasing his own edge while he feasted on yours.
Surprise colored your features, back arching off the bed as pleasure coiled tight again, faster this time, merciless.
“Herm—”
He didn’t listen. Didn't even slow down.
If anything, he grew relentless. Two fingers sliding back inside you without warning, curling ruthlessly against that spot while his tongue worked relentless circles. You were already close—so close—thighs shaking, breath hitching in broken little sobs.
Right before the wave crashed over you, you managed to choke out.
“Stop.”
He pulled away so fast it was almost violent.
Hands off your thighs. Mouth gone. Body jerking back like he’d been burned.
His eyes went wide, fear flashing bright behind the hunger. Chest heaving, lips glistening, cock still flushed and leaking against his stomach.
“I’m—shit, I’m sorry,” He panicked, already scrambling to apologize. “I didn’t mean to. I thought you—I’m—”
You didn’t let him finish.
You rolled over in one fluid motion onto your stomach, then up onto your knees. Chest pressed flat to the sheets, ass in the air, back arched deep. The cool air hit your soaked core and you shivered, thighs trembling from the sudden shift.
You looked back over your shoulder, met his stunned gaze, and gave him the same look he’d been giving you all night—dark, shameless, unapologetic.
“Fuck me.”
Herm stopped breathing.
For one long second he just stared. Glinting eyes raking over the arch of your spine, the way your thighs shook, the slick shine between them that dripped all the way down to your knees. Water beaded along his knuckles, his forearms, dripping onto the sheets in tiny, silent patters.
Then he moved.
No hesitation this time.
He surged forward, one hand planting beside your head to brace himself, the other sliding up the back of your thigh to grip your hip. His cock brushed against you—hot, hard, slick with precome—and you both groaned at the contact.
He leaned down, chest pressing to your back, mouth finding the shell of your ear.
“Fuck yes,” He whimpered, grinding against you. “Please. Please, let me–”
You pushed back against him in answer.
The head of him notched at your entrance, careful despite the desperation rolling off him in waves.
Then, in a shuddering breath, he sank in.
One long, steady thrust. Inch by inch, he pushed himself deeper. Letting your walls mold around him. Deep enough that your breath punched out of you in a broken moan. He filled you perfectly, stretching you just right, and the sound he made against your neck was almost pained.
“God. Fuck, you feel—”
He didn’t finish the sentence.
Instead he pulled back slowly, exhaling shakily at the stretch gliding around him, then snapped his hips forward again.
Harder. Deeper.
You cried out, fingers twisting in the sheets.
“Fuck!”
He set a rhythm, fueled by your sounds. Fast, hungry, unrestrained. Every thrust rocked you forward against the mattress, his hand sliding up your spine to press between your shoulder blades, keeping you pinned exactly where he wanted you. His other hand gripped your hip hard, guiding you back onto him, meeting every roll of his hips with your own.
The wet slap of skin on skin filled the room, mingling with his ragged breathing, your muffled whimpers, the soft creak of the bed frame.
He was everywhere. Mouth on your shoulder, teeth grazing, then biting down lightly when you clenched around him. His hips stuttered every time you pushed back harder, taking him deeper.
“You’re so fucking… perfect,” He panted against your ear. “So wet. Fuck—gonna come inside you. Please—”
You reached back, nails digging into his thigh.
“Do it,” You gasped. “I’m safe. Just keep going.”
That broke him.
His rhythm turned erratic. Rough, punishing thrusts that hit exactly where you needed. One hand slid around to find your clit, rubbing messy, desperate circles while he fucked into you. If your mind could function properly right now, you would’ve thought that this wasn’t his first time fucking someone. But from the way his body jerked, how his pace faltered, and the uneven strokes of his length—you were convinced otherwise.
Still, the rawness to it made it feel so good.
His enthusiasm overshadowed his inexperience, and in no time, light bursted behind your eyelids.
You came undone with a muffled scream on your pillow. Clenching hard around him, thighs shaking, a choked cry of his name muffled into the sheets as the waves washed over your body like a current, harder than before.
He grasped your hips, slamming forward one last time, burying himself deep as he spilled inside you with a high, strangled moan. His whole body shuddered, fingers flexing against you, like he didn’t know whether to hold on or let go.
For a long moment neither of you moved.
Just panting, trembling, sweat-slick and rain-damp and tangled together.
Then he eased out slowly—careful now, almost tender—and collapsed beside you, pulling you into his chest. His arms wrapped around you tight, face buried in your hair.
He was quiet for a beat.
Then, soft, almost shy again.
“…Was that okay?”
You laughed, and turned in his arms to kiss him slow.
“More than okay.”
“…Can we do that again?”
“Fuck, you’re insatiable.”
He exhaled, said no word to argue, and pressed his forehead to yours.
Herm—your once-shy project partner and your new best friend turned into a lover—kissed you again like he never wanted to stop.
You didn’t mind.
Not one bit.
The room was quiet except for the soft patter of lingering rain against the window and the slow rhythm of your shared breathing. At some point in the small hours, exhaustion had finally claimed you both. Tangled limbs, damp skin cooling under the sheets, Herm’s arm slung possessively over your waist, face tucked against the back of your neck like he was afraid to let even an inch of space come between you.
Hours slipped by.
You woke slowly, awareness returning in fragments. The warmth of his chest against your back, the faint mist that still clung to the air, and then—the unmistakable press of him, hard and insistent, nestled against the curve of your ass.
He was moving.
Small, helpless rolls of his hips. Barely there at first, like he was still half-asleep and dreaming. But the friction was deliberate, needy. His cock slid between the soft skin of your thighs, already slick from earlier, from him, from you. Every shallow thrust dragged a low, broken whine from his throat, muffled against your shoulder.
You blinked yourself awake fully, lashes fluttering.
He froze the instant he realized you were conscious.
“Shit. I–I’m sorry,” He whimpered, burying his face on your shoulder. “I didn’t mean to wake you. I just—fuck, I can’t stop—”
The apology was soft, almost pitiful. His hips gave one last involuntary twitch before he stilled again, trembling against you. You could feel how hard he was—throbbing, leaking, desperate. The shy, hesitant Herm you’d first met was nowhere in sight, but neither was the ruthless, commanding one from earlier. This version was something else entirely: pathetic in the best way, whining low in his throat, begging without quite saying the words.
It set your skin on fire.
You didn’t speak. You just moved.
One smooth push and you rolled him onto his back, straddling his hips in the same motion like earlier. He hit the mattress with a soft thud, wide-eyed and breathless, hands automatically flying to your thighs like he needed something to hold onto.
You looked down at him.
Gray-blue eyes stared back. Glassy with unshed tears, pupils blown so wide they looked black. Cheeks flushed dark, lips parted on shallow pants.
He looked wrecked. Beautiful. Completely at your mercy.
“Please,” He begged, voice hitching. “Please. I need you again. I can’t—I’m so fucking hard it hurts. Please.”
The sight of him begging—tears gathering at the corners of his lashes, hips jerking up helplessly—sent a fresh wave of heat through you.
Without a word, you rolled your hips forward.
His cock slid between your slick folds. Hot, throbbing, gliding through the mess you’d already made of each other. No penetration, just teasing friction, letting him feel how wet you were, how ready you were again. And the sounds were absolutely obscene. Slick and sticky, loud enough to fill the quiet dorm room to rival each of your muffled moans.
Herm gasped, head tipped back against the pillow, throat working on a strangled sound.
“Fuck. Please. More.”
His hands clutched your thighs tighter, fingers digging in, leaving cool, damp prints. Tears slipped free now, one tracking down his temple into his hair. You did it again. Harder this time, dragging yourself along his length, letting the head of him nudge your clit on every pass. His hips bucked up to meet you, chasing, pleading.
“Need inside,” He whimpered, writhing beneath you. “Please, let me– Fuck, I–I’ll do anything.”
You leaned down, lips brushing his ear.
“Shh,” You kissed him there. “I’ve got you.”
Then you reached between your bodies, wrapped your fingers around him and lined him up.
You sank down slowly.
Inch by inch.
He stretched you open again, your walls welcoming the delicious sensation again, filling you so perfectly your breath caught. You squeezed around him in response, watching his face crumple with pleasure-pain as you took him deeper. His hands flew to your hips, gripping hard, but he didn’t thrust in. Not yet. He just held on, trembling, letting you set the pace.
When you finally seated yourself fully—flush against his lap, his cock buried to the hilt—he let out a broken, guttural groan. His head fell back again, eyes squeezing shut and tears slipping free. Fuck, he looked so pretty like that.
You didn’t give him time to beg again.
You lifted yourself up, then sank back down. Hard.
His whole body jerked beneath you. A choked moan tore from his throat.
You did it over, and over, and over again. Setting a rhythm that was steady at first. Deep, rolling grinds that let you feel every inch of him dragging against your walls.
Herm was gone.
Head thrashing against the pillow, hands clutching your hips like a lifeline, hips snapping up to meet every downward stroke. Whimpers spilled from him—high, needy, completely undone.
“Feels so good. Fu–Fuck. Don’t stop. Please, don’t stop.”
You leaned forward, bracing your hands on his chest, nails digging into skin. The new angle had him hitting deeper, brushing that spot inside you that made stars dance behind your eyes.
His hands slid up your sides, under your shirt, palms cool against fever-hot skin. He pulled you down until your chests pressed together, mouths crashing in a messy, desperate kiss. Teeth, tongue, and shared moans. If the people on the other side of the wall can hear you, there's definitely an apology coming up in the morning. But for now, you focused on the unbridled pleasure sliding in and out of your walls.
You rode him harder, chasing your own edge while he chased his.
“Gonna come,” He panted against your lips. “Gonna come inside you. Again. Can I—please?”
You clenched around him deliberately, and felt him throb violently inside you.
“Yes,” You gasped. “Fill me up, Herm. Let go.”
His hips slammed up once, then he shattered.
A broken cry ripped out of him as he came, hot pulses deep inside you, body shuddering violently beneath yours. His fingers dug into your hips hard enough to bruise, holding you flush against him while he spilled everything he had.
The feeling of him throbbing, filling you, tipping you over the edge.
You came with a sharp, breathless cry. Pleasure crashed through you in bright, blinding pulses until you collapsed forward onto his chest, both of you trembling, panting, slick with sweat and rain and each other.
For a long minute, neither of you moved.
Just breathing heavily, hearts hammering against each other.
Then Herm’s arms wrapped around you.
He pressed a shaky kiss to your temple.
“…Thank you,” He mumbled, the sound exhausted and
You huffed a soft, wrecked laugh against his neck.
“Don’t thank me,” you murmured. “Just… don’t ever stop needing me like that.”
He exhaled—shaky, relieved—and held you tighter.
“Never,” he promised.
Twenty minutes had barely passed.
You were still catching your breath, limbs heavy and pleasantly sore, curled against Herm’s side with your head on his chest. His heartbeat had finally slowed to something almost normal, fingers tracing lazy patterns along your spine. The room smelled like sex and rain and the faint lavender of your candle that had long since burned low. You thought, foolishly, that maybe you’d both earned a break.
Then you felt it.
The slow, insistent hardening against your thigh.
You lifted your head, blinking down at him in genuine disbelief.
“Herm.”
He winced, sheepish, but didn’t try to hide it. His cock was already thick and flushed again, twitching faintly where it pressed against your skin. His cheeks went pink, but there was no real embarrassment in his eyes. Just that same quiet, helpless want that had been simmering under the surface all night.
You let out a soft, incredulous laugh.
“Are you serious? Already?”
He ducked his head against your shoulder, muffling a groan. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with me tonight. It’s just… you. Being here. Touching you. I can’t–”
He exhaled shakily. “I’ve always been like this. Once I start, it’s not– It's hard to stop. I just keep wanting more.”
You stared at him for a long second, taking in the flush on his neck, the way his lashes fluttered when he spoke, the faint mist still clinging to his skin like he was made of dew and desire.
Then, you laughed. “Good thing you have me now.”
Before he could respond, you tugged him up and over you.
He settled between your thighs easily, weight braced on his forearms so he didn’t crush you. You pulled him down until his mouth found yours. Slower and more intimate. No frantic rush. No desperation clawing at the edges. The fire from earlier was gone, replaced by warm embers and smoke.
Just deep, languid kisses that let you explore each other.
Tongues sliding together unhurried, lips catching and releasing, soft sighs shared between every press. You tasted the faint salt of sweat, the lingering sweetness of earlier, the clean rain that always seemed to follow him. His hands found your waist, thumbs stroking the sensitive dip above your hips, anchoring you both like he needed the contact to stay grounded.
You wrapped your arms around his neck, fingers threading into the damp curls at his nape, keeping him close. Close enough that every exhale mingled, every heartbeat echoed against the other’s chest.
When you finally broke the kiss, your voice came out low, intimate.
“Fuck me again.”
No command. No tease. Just quiet want.
Herm didn’t hesitate.
He shifted his hips, notched himself at your entrance—still slick and swollen from before—and pushed into you slowly.
You both groaned at the stretch, the perfect slide of him filling you again. It’s only the third time you took him, and you already know you wouldn't get tired of him anytime soon. There was no frantic snap of hips, no punishing rhythm or impatient slams. Just steady, deep rolls, sloppy in the best way, unpolished and honest.
As if this was the first time you ever had each other. Every thrust dragged against every sensitive place inside you, every inch, every vein, every tiny hitch in his breathing has you clenching around him.
His forehead dropped to yours. Eyes half-lidded, dark, locked on yours like nothing else existed.
Your legs hooked loosely around his waist, heels resting against the small of his back. His hands stayed on your waist, fingers splayed wide, thumbs brushing the soft skin there in time with his movements.
The sounds were quieter now.
Soft, wet slides. Shared muted breaths. The occasional broken whimper when he bottomed out and stayed there for a heartbeat, grinding in tiny circles that made your toes curl.
You kissed him again, messy and open-mouthed, swallowing every little noise he made. His tongue curled against yours in a lazy rhythm with his hips. One of your hands slid down his back, nails dragging lightly. He shivered, thrust a fraction deeper, and you gasped into his mouth.
It wasn’t about racing toward the edge anymore.
It was about feeling everything.
The heat of his skin against yours. The faint mist that bloomed wherever he touched you. The way his breath stuttered every time you rolled your hips up to meet him. The slow build of pleasure that coiled low and steady instead of crashing.
You got lost in it.
In the drag of him inside you. In the press of his chest against your breasts. In the way his fingers flexed against your waist every time you sighed his name against his lips. He murmured yours back between kisses.
No rush. No apologies. No hesitation.
Just the two of you, moving together like you had all the time in the world.
When the pleasure finally crested, it came soft and overwhelming. Calmer waves instead of a storm. You trembled beneath him, clenching slow and rhythmic around his cock, a quiet, drawn-out moan spilling into his mouth. He followed right after, spilling inside you again, hips stuttering, low groan vibrating against your throat.
But even still, he didn’t pull out.
Just stayed buried, softening slowly, arms sliding around you to hold you close. You kept your legs wrapped around him, arms around his neck, foreheads pressed together. Breathing the same air.
Then, Herm pressed the softest kiss to the corner of your mouth.
“I could stay like this forever,” He mumbled sleepily. This time, you were sure he was satiated.
You smiled against his lips, fingers carding gently through his hair. “Yeah. Me too.”
CONTENT: These boys deserve to be included too! Part two of Sounds from the Bad Batch version ;))
RATING: EXPLICIT
Includes: Fives, Jesse, Hardcase, Kix, Tup, Dogma, Appo ft. Hevy, Droidbait, and Cutup because we all know they'd be in the 501st too if they've lived :((
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FIVES
Fives is unapologetically vocal, this man really starts with that signature smirk when he's planning on teasing you. He really knows what he's doing when he's leaning down, whispering in your ear about all the things he plans to do to you (especially in public just to see how you'd react). Then walks away as if nothing happened.
He's all talk at first, testing your patience and getting under your skin with his sly words and lingering touches. And one thing about this man, he lives for the thrill when you talk back to him. Because he knows those words won't last long once he has you cornered.
His voice stays low and wrecked every time, cracking with sharp hisses whenever you clench or grind just right, ragged panting building to desperate moans as he nears the edge.
The words poured out of him are SOOOO filthy too, and he makes sure you hear it over your slick sounds. "Kriff, mesh'la, you're soaking my cock." "Look at you taking all of me..." "Gonna make you scream my name louder than last time." "That's it, cyar'ika. Ride me harder, show me how bad you need me." "Kriff, so tight... gonna fill you till you're dripping with me."
When he finally comes, it's a long, broken moan that shatters into growled, unintelligible sentences. Post-sex cuddling is also a MUST! Watch him turn 360 from being absolutely filthy to deceptively cuddly (his love language is definitely physical touch)
JESSE
Jesse is moderately vocal but shamelessly cocky too, only that he's slightly more teasing than Fives, filling the air with arrogant laughs, smug throaty groans, and constant filthy commentary that never stops even when it's too much.
He's one of the BIGGEST teases known to man. "Yeah, like that?" "Wait, can't hear you. Can you repeat that?" "Oh, right here? Or there?" "Did I say you can hover? Pretty sure I said sit." "Aw, missed me that much? You're squeezing me so tight right now." But unlike Fives, he's very much into equal praise and degradation.
His noises are mostly sharp punched-out grunts punctuate every hard thrust, taunting moans rising when you give in louder. He's definitely going to stop moving whenever you get too loud just to rile you up, then go harder wearing a eat-shitting grin.
BUT when his climax is near, he goes silent so he can listen to your own breathing. Instead, he'll keep talking in your ear—whispering in that low and rough voice—while wearing an eat-shitting grin as you fall apart.
He finishes with a growl melting into a long, satisfied moan of your name. Oh, he's definitely a pillow talker too. And when you up the next day, he'll repeat everything he's said with an extra few kisses all over your body.
HARDCASE
Hardcase is EXTREMELY vocal and utterly chaotic— loud curses, wild groans, breathless laughs exploding from the first thrust with zero volume control or filter. He cannot stop giggling too, ESPECIALLY when you're in a risky place (don't suggest a quickie he WILL NOT stfu and will get both of you caught)
His enthusiasm is all praise through sheer feral excitement, no real degradation, just loud encouragement to match his energy. He sees it as a challenge on being who's the loudest, it fuels him even more to hear your sounds, which makes him even LOUDER than before.
His dirty talk is relentless. "Hear how wet you are for me?" "Look at you dripping!" "Take it deeper. Yeah, just like that!" "Gonna ruin you so no one else ever feels right after me." "Want them to hear us, huh? Don't have a problem with that!" "Kriff, you're so loud. Too, bad I'm louder."
Trust me when I say the others will definitely hear what's going on behind closed doors. He actually rivals Wrecker in this area. Also, he's SO into spanking (just throwing it out there) and he groans at the sharp sound of his palm meeting your skin (loud, messy, and chaotic sex every single time).
If you tell him to keep it down, he'll bite you to shut himself up. He loves it when he sees his marks on your body—neck, shoulders, chest, thighs—and grins so wide every time he sees them again. CANNOT shut up for the life of him in the bedroom to the point his voice turns hoarse (that's okay, his morning voice is absolutely devastating).
KIX
Kix stays moderately vocal but tightly controlled—measured grunts, sharp inhales, and low approving moans delivered in that calm, soothing tone even when things get rough. DOESN'T mind switching, but prefers to guide you through it even when you're taking control.
Soft praise and tender kisses <33 The way he instructs and compliments like he's tending to your wounds. "I'm not too rough, am I?" "You can hold onto me, sweetheart." "That's it. Breathe with me." "Kriff, you can take it. My girl can take it." "Doing so good for me." (i'm actually going insane over this).
He LOVES eye contact. He doesn't order you to open your eyes or punish you for closing them. He gently directs you through soft groans and kisses your cheek/neck/shoulder to catch your attention. "Come back, sweetheart." "Keep them open for them, please?" "Just look at me, okay?" "Wanna see you. Kriff, look so pretty for me."
Praises your body in explicit detail. ESPECIALLY when he's taking you in front of a mirror. And he cannot tear his eyes away from you. Notes every single thing he loves on your body, especially areas you're not confident with. Worships you even more when you try to hide away from him.
Finally cracks near the end, voice rough and shaking. “Kriff, can’t hold it—gonna come." "Gonna fill you up just—kriff, just hold still." Aftercare is AMAZING, you just know he'll take of your every need and he WON'T rest until you're properly fed, hydrated, and cleaned.
TUP
Oh my stars, THIS SWEETHEART. Tup wants to be quiet but gods he can't help it. Rarely initiates and painfully shy at the start. Hides his whimpers by biting his lip, or covering his mouth with his hand, but chokes so loud when you first take him in. Trembles like a leaf when he's sensitive (need that).
He's not much of a talker, but he's definitely very vocal. I fear he's the type to get embarrassed for being loud, but he can't help it when it's so good, so he ends up sobbing and burrowing his face in your neck to muffle himself.
HE'S SO POLITE, always uses his please and thank you when asking for more 🙂↕️ Quiet, broken gasps and unintelligible rambling whenever you find a sensitive angle. "Please, right there—" "Don’t stop—feels too good—" "More. Please. I can take it." "You can... You can be rougher, please." "Thank you. Thank you. Thank you—"
He grows breathier and needier as he loses himself, his high-pitched moans breaking free when overwhelmed. Heavy on gentle praise and sweetness, his words are adoring and so pure it's actually physically impossible not to spoil him. Sometimes, he lets more noises out because he knows it can have an effect on you too.
Quiet gasps mix with soft, broken moans and little cries near the peak. During aftercare, he always asks "Did I do good?" "Was that alright?" "Are you okay?" followed by those irresistible puppy eyes that either make you melt or take him right then and there again.
DOGMA
Oh, don't get started on this man. I just KNOW he's the type to keep himself quiet to maintain an image, only tight breathing and stifled grunts as he fights to stay controlled even buried deep, but loses himself completely once you start to move (i'm 89% sure he's a sub pretending to be a dom).
When control slips, he breaks into guilty, pleading moans and whispered curses. A mix of guilty praise and submissive degradation emerges. He begs, then apologizes for wanting it, and follows "orders" eagerly. He trusts you completely to let his walls crumble down, no other person knows how soft he is for you.
Choked grunts and shaking whimpers build once he's near his edge. "Kriff, don't stop. Don't you dare—" "Harder. I'm yours. Use me however you want." "I can take it. Just don't stop–" He sounds like he's supposed to be giving commands, but the way he pleads them is very different.
Like I said, he's actually very into following commands. He just wants to be of service to you in every way he can. If you want him on his knees, he'll either complain or stay silent, but proceeds to do it anyway. If you order him to go harder, he will. He might not be very vocal, but that doesn't mean he doesn't want you to be the same.
Afterwards, he tries so hard to put on that stoic and indifferent mask. But it melts quickly, and easily, once you coax him back to you with soft kisses and even softer praises that erase the hardness in his eyes.
APPO
Appo is low and disciplined in his vocalizations. He's RARELY making any noises however. The best he could do are those quiet grunts, strained curses, and light panting, but damn the way he takes you is powerful and loud—all intent focus, minimal words, and a firm grip that keeps you right where he wants you.
Minimal praise comes in short, commanding affirmations, and to him, it's more about control than affection. He is a FIRM believer that performance speaks louder than words, so if he can get you babbling and moaning even when he's not talking, then he's already doing a good job.
Like Mayday, he doesn't do much talking because his mouth is always elsewhere. Your lips, your neck, your throat, your chest. You'd feel his breath on your skin, his quiet groans between your thighs, his silent murmurs exploring every part he could reach. The ONLY ways you could get him to be louder is when you tug on his hair or moan his name softly.
But when his controls cracks, you'd hear those rare low groans and tight growls vibrating from his chest. "Be good for me. Stay still." "Deeper. Let me see you take it." "Keep going. Don't stop." Which usually happens when he's stressed or frustrated from his work (expect he'll be rougher than usual too).
Even during the aftercare, conversation with him is minimal. He simply asks you questions first, and once he's satisfied, he'll pull you close to him and let his hands massage your sore muscles until you fall asleep
HEVY
Oh, the SARCASM and SASS this man has. It's a shame we didn't get to see more of it in the show (rip king). He could've rivalled Crosshair without a fail. And trust me, he'll bring that to the bedroom. But just know, beneath all that talk, he can back it up.
Playful degradation blends with praise as he teases mercilessly. He's the type to edge you just for the fun of it. "Do you deserve to come yet? I don't think so." "Didn't think you could get this wet for me, mesh'la." "Look at you getting all frustrated. Look so pretty like that." "Awww, want me to move? Too bad, I'm comfortable just like this."
Edging, denial, cockwarming. Anything that has something to do with controlling your release, Hevy uses it as a way to have some fun with you until you're crying and begging for him. Instead of moving, he'll just sit back and talk about how pretty you look just to fuel your frustrations.
He's more of a talker than anything. The only sounds you'd hear from him are those sarcastic laughter, mocking taunts, and him mimicking your noises. This man WILL copy how you sound, especially during the moment, just to annoy and get you mad (so he can fuck it out of you–)
Even after everything and you're all breathless and boneless, he won't stop getting under your skin. "Did I tire you out already?" "We're just getting started, mesh'la." "Don't tell me you're done already." "Come on now. Promise I'll behave this time." (he won't)
DROIDBAIT
Droidbait is deeply vocal and primal. Rumbling growls from the start, loud rhythmic grunts, dominant energy in every sound. THIS is the man Dogma thinks he is (lol sorry dogma), and when it comes to Droidbait, it's all about domineering energy and knowing the right words to have an effect on you.
Possessive degradation as he claims you aggressively, demanding submission. He talks A LOT but not enough at the same time. Does that make sense? He's pretty straightforward and downright obscene.
Animalistic growls and heavy grunts build the moment he feels you nearing. "Spread wider." "Take it all." "Gonna wreck this hole till it knows my shape." "Say you're mine. Louder. Say it while I'm splitting you open." "Kriff, yes. Harder. Give it back to me—" "Who can have you like this? Only I can." "Those tears are for me, mesh'la." "Only for me."
He might actually muffle your sounds with his palm, secretly enjoys tying you up or restraining your hands to control you. Absolutely loses control when he hears you sobbing, crying, and sniffling. The sounds he lets out are feral once you start begging.
But dw! After everything, his dominance quickly melts into a caring energy. He makes sure you're fine, if you're hurt, and if he was too rough with you. He whispers soft praises afterwards while he's tucking you to his side (degradation during sex then praise during aftercare <333).
CUTUP
Cutup keeps things playfully vocal. Breathy laughs, teasing moans, and light-hearted sounds even when desperate. Another jokester in bed, doesn't mind cracking a joke to make you smile, but he's pretty attentive and doesn't divert his focus anywhere else than you.
He loves whispering praises all over your body, kissing every part of you while sighing dreamily. "So soft for me." "Aren't I lucky?" "So, so pretty." "You have no idea how much you drive me crazy." "Couldn't stop looking at you earlier." "All mine. Right, pretty?" "I'll take good care of you, don't worry."
Delighted gasps and eager groans rise with happy chuckles. He groans so loud and deep from his chest the moment you sink down on him, and he's smiling the whole time. "Oh, kriff." "That's it. That's my girl." "Look at you, cyar'ika. Taking me so well." "Oh, kark. You look so pretty for me." "Stay still. Just wanna watch you like this."
Cutup is pretty vanilla, keeps things simple and sweet for both of you. He NEVER takes his hands and eyes off of you. His chuckles and laugh are breathless, head throwing back against the pillow once you take control. MELTS and GRINS when you push him back against the bed. I fear he's the type to smile like a lovesick fool when you manhandle him around (he's right where he wants to be).
Afterwards, he sighs long and content while staring at you with such adoration. He doesn't stop kissing you, murmuring more praises while he rolls you both so you're resting on top of him. BONUS! He mumbles in his sleep, and it's all about how pretty you are, how he's so lucky, and how much he loves you.
Continuation to Wrecker's Seven Minutes in Heaven round from my miniseries.
WC: 3k | RATING: EXPLICIT
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Wrecker's grin was wolfish, his scarred face illuminated by the faint sparks still flickering from the smashed control panel.
The compartment's emergency lights hummed to life, casting a dim, reddish glow over the cramped space. Tech's voice echoed faintly from outside, but it might as well have been light-years away. The door was locked—permanently, for now—and that meant no interruptions, no timer, just the two of you. His heart hammered like a detonator countdown, but he forced himself to breathe steady.
You were here, in his arms, and he wasn't about to rush this.
Not when he could finally show you how much he'd been holding back.
“Now, where were we?” He rumbled, his voice low and thick with desire.
His hands were still on your hips, holding you close, but he didn't pull you in harder. Instead, he leaned down, brushing his lips against yours in a surprisingly gentle kiss, considering the fire raging inside him.
You melted into it, your fingers tangling in the fabric of his blacks, but he could feel the slight tension in your body.
The way you shifted, aware of his size, of how overwhelming this could be. He'd always been the big guy, the one who had to be careful not to break things or people. And you? You were perfect, soft and fierce all at once, but he wasn't blind to the difference between you. No way was he letting this hurt you.
“Easy, pretty.” He murmured against your mouth, pulling back just enough to meet your eyes. “We got all the time we need now. No rushin' this.”
You nodded, breath coming in short pants, but there was a spark in your gaze—eagerness mixed with a touch of nerves.
Your hand, still teasing him through his blacks, gave a gentle squeeze, drawing a low groan from his throat. Kriff, that felt good, but he wasn't letting instinct take over.
Not yet.
“Let's make this comfortable for ya,” He glanced around the tiny compartment, barely enough room to maneuver, but he'd make it work.
With careful movements, he lowered himself to the floor, his back against the wall, legs stretched out as much as the cramped space allowed. The cold metal bit into his skin through his blacks, but he ignored it.
He tugged you gently toward him, guiding you to straddle his lap. “C'mere. Sit with me. You set the pace, yeah? I ain't movin' unless you say so.”
You hesitated for a split second, then settled onto his thighs, your knees bracketing his hips.
The position puts you eye-level with him, or close enough, given his height even sitting down. His cock, still trapped in his blacks, pressed against your core, hot and insistent, but he kept his hips still. His hands rested lightly on your waist, thumbs stroking soothing circles over your skin.
“That's it,” He encouraged softly, his mismatched eyes locked on yours. “Just like that. You're in control here, pretty. Take what ya need.”
You bit your lip, a flush creeping up your neck, and he couldn't help but lean in to kiss it away.
His mouth trailed gentle nips along your collarbone. Not biting hard, just enough to send shivers through you. In the next moment, he was tugging your shirt above your waist. You easily followed, letting the fabric slip up from your arms, until you were bare in front of him, the heat of the compartment left a thin layer of sweat on your skin. One hand slid up your back, fingers splaying wide to support you, while the other wandered to your thigh, kneading the muscle there with careful pressure.
He was mindful of his strength, keeping his grip firm but not bruising. Stars, you felt incredible against him, warm and soft, but he focused on you—on making sure every touch eased you further.
“Feel good?” He asked, his breath hot against your skin as he kissed lower, toward the swell of your breast. “Tell me if it's too much. Or not enough.”
“It's… so good. Keep going please.” You whispered, your voice catching as you rocked experimentally against him.
The friction made him hiss, but he held back, letting you find your rhythm.
“Yeah? Keep goin'. Nice and slow.”
His mouth found your nipple, tongue swirling around it lazily, sucking just enough to draw a gasp from you. He switched to the other side, his free hand cupping the first, thumb rolling over.
“Relax into it, pretty. Let your body loosen up. I got ya.”
You arched into his touch, your hands bracing on his broad shoulders for leverage.
The scars under your palms—rough reminders of battles past—felt like a map of his life, and you traced them absently as you moved.
Wrecker groaned softly, the sound vibrating through his chest into yours, but he didn't thrust up. Instead, he let his hands roam. Down your sides, over your hips, encouraging without demanding. His fingers dipped between your thighs, finding your clit and circling it with feather-light strokes, slick from your arousal.
“That's my girl,” He murmured, lifting his head to capture your lips again. The kiss was deep but unhurried, his tongue teasing yours in a way that mirrored the gentle rhythm of his fingers. “You're doin' so good. Feel how wet ya are? That's all for me, huh?”
You nodded, a whimper escaping as you ground down harder. He could feel you relaxing, your muscles giving way under his careful ministrations. His mouth left yours to trail kisses along your jaw, down your neck, sucking lightly at the pulse point there.
“Breathe, pretty. In and out. Let it build slow.”
Your hands fumbled with the waistband of his blacks, tugging them down just enough to free him. His cock sprang up, thick and heavy, the tip already beading with precum. The size of him was intimidating up close, but in this position, with you on top, it felt manageable—empowering, even.
You wrapped your hand around him, stroking slowly, and Wrecker bit back a curse, his head thumping against the wall.
“Kriff, that feels amazin',” He rasped, strained but controlled. “But take your time. When you're ready, just ease down. I'll talk ya through it.”
You nodded, but he could feel the tension in your muscles. His thumbs started moving in slow, soothing circles, tracing the curve of your waist.
“Relax, pretty. We ain't in a hurry. Breathe with me.”
He inhaled deeply, exaggerating the motion so you'd follow, and exhaled slow. His mouth found your shoulder, placing open-mouthed kisses there, tongue darting out to taste your skin.
“That's better. Feel your body loosenin' up?”
“Yes,” You whispered, shifting slightly, and the movement brushed you against his hardness, drawing a sharp intake of breath from him.
“Good. Now, let's get these off.” His fingers hooked into your pants, but he waited for your nod before tugging them down, helping you shimmy out of them.
Then, with your help, he pushed his blacks lower, completely freeing himself. He was thick, veined, and ready, but he didn't rush. Instead, he pulled you closer, his mouth capturing yours in a lazy kiss while one hand slid between your legs, fingers exploring your folds with gentle strokes.
“You're so wet already,” He murmured appreciatively, circling your clit. “That's gonna make this easier. Just focus on how good this feels.”
You moaned into his mouth, your hands on his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart.
He kept up the light touches, building your arousal slowly, his other hand roaming up your back to massage your shoulders, easing any knots there.
“Lean into me.” He suggested, guiding you forward so your chest pressed against his.
His mouth trailed down to your breasts, lavishing attention on each one—licking, sucking, nipping just enough to send sparks through you without pain.
When you were trembling, slick and ready, he positioned himself at your entrance but let you take the lead.
“Whenever you're good, pretty. Sink down slow. I'll tell ya if it's too fast.”
You positioned yourself over him, the head of his cock nudging at your entrance. He felt you tense slightly, and he immediately soothed you with his hands—one on your hip, steadying, the other back between your legs, rubbing your clit to distract and arouse.
“Easy now. Lower yourself slow. Breathe out as ya go. That's it... good girl.”
You sank down an inch, gasping at the stretch, and he froze, every muscle in his body locked down to keep from moving.
“You're doin' great,” He praised, his mouth finding your breast again, sucking gently to help you relax. “Just a little more. Feel that? You're takin' me so well. If it hurts, stop. We can wait.”
It didn't hurt, not really. Just a delicious fullness that made you feel complete.
You lowered further, inch by inch, his words a constant murmur in your ear.
“That's it, pretty. Halfway there. Kriff, you're tight... so perfect.” His hand on your hip guided but didn't push, letting you control the descent. His other fingers kept up their lazy circles, building pleasure to counter any discomfort.
When you finally seated yourself fully, bottoming out with him buried deep inside you, you both groaned in unison. The fit was snug, almost overwhelming, but the position let you adjust at your own pace.
Wrecker panted, his forehead resting against yours, sweat beading on his brow. “Holy stars... you feel incredible. Don't move yet if ya don't want to. Just sit here, get used to it.”
You stayed still for a moment, savoring the connection, the way he filled you to the brim. His hands never stopped moving—roaming up your back, down your arms, cupping your face for a soft kiss.
His mouth wandered to your shoulder, nipping lightly, then soothing with his tongue.
“You're so soft everywhere," He whispered, awe in his voice. “I could stay like this forever.”
Slowly, you started to rock, lifting just a fraction before sinking back down. Wrecker's breath hitched, but he kept his hips pinned to the floor, letting you set the rhythm.
“Yeah, just like that,” He encouraged, rough with restraint, gaze darkening as he watched your hips move. “Find what feels good. Up and down, or grind. Whatever ya like. I'm right here.”
You experimented, rolling your hips in a slow circle, and he growled low in his throat, the sound sending vibrations through you. His hands slid to your ass, squeezing gently, helping guide your movements without taking over.
“Kriff, that's good. Keep goin'. You're drivin' me wild, pretty.”
As you picked up speed, his mouth latched onto your neck, sucking a mark there while his fingers teased your clit faster. He was careful, always mindful—his touches firm but never rough, his words a steady stream of praise.
“Look at ya, takin' all of me. So strong, so beautiful. Does it feel good? Tell me."
“Yes,” You moaned, your pace quickening as pleasure built. “So good, Wreck… Want more.”
He grinned against your skin, nipping your earlobe. “That's what I wanna hear. Lean forward a bit. Yeah, like that. Lets me hit deeper without pushin'.”
His hand on your back pressed lightly, adjusting your angle, and the change made constellations swim behind your eyes.
“There ya go. Ride me, pretty. Use me.”
You did, bouncing now with more confidence, the slap of skin echoing in the compartment. Wrecker's control was fraying—he could feel it in the way his muscles tensed—but he held back, focusing on you. His mouth roamed freely. Kissing your lips, your throat, your breasts, anywhere he could reach to heighten your pleasure.
“You're close, aren't ya? I can feel it. Let go for me. I got ya.”
The coil in your belly tightened, and with a cry, you shattered around him, clenching tight. Wrecker followed moments later, spilling into you with a muffled roar against your shoulder. He held you through it, his arms wrapping around you gently, pulling you against his chest as you both came down.
For a long moment, there was just the sound of your shared breaths, the hum of the ship outside.
Wrecker kissed your temple, his voice soft. “You okay? That was... perfect.”
You nodded, smiling as you nuzzled into him. “More than okay.”
He chuckled, low and satisfied. “Good. 'Cause I ain't done yet, if you're up for it.”
The panel outside began to crack, someone trying to force it open, but neither of you cared.
As you slumped against Wrecker's chest, your body still trembling from the aftershocks, the dim compartment felt even smaller, the air thick with the scent of sweat and satisfaction. His arms wrapped around you gently, holding you close as if you were something precious he didn't want to let go of. His heartbeat thundered under your ear, steady but not slowing down quite yet.
You nuzzled into him, a lazy smile tugging at your lips, but as you shifted slightly, you felt it—him, still hard and twitching inside you, not softened at all.
"Stars," You murmured, pulling back just enough to look down between you.
The sight of his prominent bulge inside you made heat pool in your belly again, a mix of surprise and intrigue. Wrecker was massive in every way, and apparently, his stamina matched. You clenched experimentally around him, drawing a low, rumbling groan from his throat.
"Kriff..." He rasped, mismatched eyes dark with lingering hunger. “Keep doing that, and I might not hold myself back.”
You bit your lip, a challenge sparking in your mind.
The first round had been incredible, but now?
Now you wanted to see what he could do when unleashed. The thought sent a thrill through you, equal parts nerves and excitement.
Could you handle it? Handle him?
Only one way to find out.
“Wreck,” You whispered, your fingers tracing the scars on his chest. ‘You're still... hard. Aren't you?”
He chuckled, the sound vibrating through you both, but there was an edge to it, like he was holding back something darker.
“Yeah, well... takes a lot to wear me out. But if you're done, we can—”
“No.” You cut him off, shifting your hips just enough to feel him thron inside you.
His breath hitched, and you grinned, feeling bold.
“I want more. But this time... you take control.”
His eyes widened, that wolfish gleam returning full force. “You sure? I don't wanna overwhelm ya. I'm... big, and once I start—”
“That's the point,” You said, your voice breathy but determined. You leaned in, brushing your lips against his scarred cheek. “I trust you. Show me what you've been holding back. Don't stop until you're done.”
For a moment, he just stared at you, searching your face for any sign of hesitation. When he found none, something shifted in him—like a switch flipping, restraint crumbling. His hands tightened on your hips, not painfully, but possessively, and a low growl escaped his throat.
“Kriff, pretty. You have no idea what you're askin' for. But if that's what ya want…”
Before you could respond, he moved. With effortless strength, he lifted you off him, the sudden emptiness making you whimper. But it was short-lived. He spun you around in the cramped space, pressing your back against his chest, his arms caging you in. One massive hand splayed across your stomach, holding you steady, while the other slid down between your thighs, fingers teasing your oversensitive clit.
“Gonna make this good for ya,” He murmured hot against your ear, his breath sending shivers down your spine. “But now? Now I'm in charge.”
He didn't give you time to brace. His cock nudged at your entrance again, still slick from before, and with a slow, stretching thrust, he pushed back in. The angle was different this time, deeper, filling you in a way that made your toes curl and lungs constrict.
You gasped, hands scrambling for purchase against the wall in front of you, but Wrecker held you firm, his body a solid wall behind you. Instead, your hand reached back to grasp his neck, while the other rested on his knee.
“That's it,” He groaned, starting a rhythm that was steady but building, each thrust measured at first. “Take me deep. Feel that? You're mine now.”
Stars, he was relentless.
Once he had permission, it was like unleashing a storm.
His hips snapped upward, the pace quickening, the compartment echoing with the slap of skin and your shared moans. But even in his fervor, he was careful. His grip strong but not bruising, his thrusts powerful but angled to hit that spot inside you that made sparks fly behind your eyes. His free hand roamed everywhere. Cupping your breast, pinching a nipple just hard enough to make you arch, then sliding up to tilt your head to the side for a messy, claiming kiss.
“Kriff, you're so tight... so perfect,” He growled between kisses, trailing his lips down your neck.
He bit down lightly, sucking a mark there, and you cried out, clenching around him. That only spurred him on, his movements turning rougher, more primal.
“You like that? Like when I mark ya?”
“Yes! Wreck, please—”
Your words dissolved into a moan as he pounded deeper, the force of it shaking the walls around you. The compartment creaked in protest, but neither of you cared. His hand on your stomach pressed down gently, making you feel every inch of him, while his fingers circled your clit faster, building that coil in your core again.
He didn't stop.
Sweat slicked your bodies, making every slide of skin against skin electric. Wrecker's breaths came in harsh pants against your shoulder, but his stamina was unyielding.
He shifted you slightly, hooking one of your legs over his arm to open you wider, thrusting even deeper. The new angle had you seeing stars, your nails digging into his forearm as pleasure bordered on overwhelming.
“Gonna make ya come again,” He promised, voice rough and low. “And again. 'Til you're shakin'. 'Til you can't take no more.”
True to his word, he drove you over the edge fast.
Your second orgasm hit like a hyperspace jump, crashing through you in waves that left you breathless, clenching around him so tight he snarled. But he didn't falter—kept thrusting through it, prolonging your pleasure until you were limp in his arms.
“That's my girl,” He praised, slowing just enough to let you catch your breath. But only for a moment. “You're doin' so good, pretty. Takin' me like this... kriff, I could do this all night.”
You weren't sure how much more you could handle—the overstimulation was exquisite, every nerve alight—but you didn't want him to stop.
“Don't– don't stop,” You gasped, nails raking down his back.
He grinned, feral and satisfied. “Wasn't plannin' on it.”
With a growl, he pulled out and moved you onto your back in one fluid motion, the floor cold against your skin but quickly forgotten as he loomed over you. It was a mystery how he managed to move around so much, but the thought quickly vanished from your head when he came back.
His mouth crashed into yours, the kiss hungry and demanding, his tongue claiming every inch. One hand pinned your wrists above your head—not hard, but enough to make you feel deliciously trapped—while the other trailed down your body, fingers dipping between your legs to find you still wet, still ready.
“Kriff, you're still soaked,” You felt him grin against your lips. “Gonna make ya feel so good. Gonna fill ya up over and over.”
You arched, moaning into him, and he chuckled darkly.
He didn't waste time.
He positioned himself and thrusted in, bottoming out in one powerful stroke that made you cry out. The fullness was intense, bordering on too much so soon after the first round, but stars, it felt amazing. Wrecker set a brutal pace right away, hips snapping forward with force that shook the compartment. Each thrust was deep, relentless, his body covering yours completely.
“Like that?” He growled, releasing your wrists to grip your thigh, hitching it higher for better access. “Tell me how it feels.”
“Good. So good.” You gasped, nails digging into his shoulders.
He rewarded you with a harder thrust, hand finding your clit again, rubbing circles that had you seeing white stars.
He was still everywhere, and still as ravenous as before.
His mouth on your neck, biting and sucking marks that would linger for days. His hands roaming, kneading your breasts until you whimpered. His cock driving into you without mercy, the angle perfect to grind against every sensitive spot. Sweat dripped from him onto you, mixing with yours, the air thick with the sounds of your pleasure.
Your third orgasm built fast, coiling tight, and Wrecker sensed it.
“Come for me,” He commanded, thrusting deeper. “Squeeze me tight, pretty. Let me feel ya.”
You shattered again, hugging his shoulders as you arched, but he didn't slow down. No, he kept pounding through it, extending the waves until you were sobbing his name. Only then did he pull out, flipping you onto your forearms and knees before sliding back in from behind. The new position let him go even deeper, his hands on your hips pulling you back to meet every thrust.
“Stars, look at ya,” He groaned, one hand sliding up your spine to tangle in your hair, tugging gently. “Takin' me so well. Gonna come again? Yeah, you are.”
He was right.
His fingers found your clit once more, and with the relentless pace, you tumbled over the edge a third time, body shaking. Wrecker finally let go, his thrusts erratic as he buried himself deep and came with a roar, filling you.
For a long moment, neither of you moved, the compartment filled with the sound of heavy breathing and the distant hum of the Marauder. Wrecker's hand stroked your side lazily, grounding you as the afterglow settled in.
He pulled you into his lap again, facing him this time, and hugged you close to him until your heartbeats were in sync.
"You okay?" He asked finally, voice softer now, concern edging in. He lifted his head to check on you, brushing a strand of hair from your face.
You nodded, a tired but blissful smile on your lips. “More than okay. That was... intense.”
He chuckled, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. “Yeah. You sure ya wanted all that? Didn't go too hard?”
“No,” You assured him, cupping his cheek. “It was perfect. You're perfect.”
His grin returned, softer this time. “Good. 'Cause now that I got a taste... might need more rounds in the future.”
Outside, the door rattled again—louder this time, Tech's voice muffled but insistent. “Wrecker! The override is complete. If you've damaged anything else—”
Wrecker rolled his eyes, but there was no rush in his movements as he helped you sit up. “Yeah, yeah! Gimme a minute!”
You laughed, the sound light and free, as you both scrambled for your clothes.
The door hissed open, Tech had given both of you a look of disappointment while the others peered over his shoulder wearing smug, knowing grins.
“Enjoyed yourselves?” Hunter took one good look at both of you. “Ah, don’t answer that.”
Wrecker released a loud, booming laugh. Still rough and raw from the exertion. “Sure did! Right, pretty?”
You only rolled your eyes, holding onto his arm as you stumbled upright. “Shut it, big guy.”
Continuation of Crosshair's Seven Minutes in Heaven round from my miniseries.
WC: 3k | RATING: EXPLICIT
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The lock clicked into place like a blaster bolt seating in the chamber, final and irreversible.
The sound echoed in the cramped storage compartment, sealing the two of you away from the rest of the galaxy. Outside, Wrecker’s muffled laughter and Hunter’s half-hearted protest faded into nothing. Inside, there was only the rasp of your breathing and the low, teasing hum in Crosshair’s throat.
“Where do you think you're going?” He rasped, lips brushing against your ear. “We’re not done yet.”
His long fingers curled around your wrist, yanking you back from the door until your spine met the opposite metal wall with a soft thud. The space was so narrow that his chest brushed yours with every inhale, his hips pinned you without mercy. In the pitch black, his enhanced eyes caught every flicker of your expression. The way your lips parted, the rapid flutter of your lashes.
You didn’t fight him.
You arched instead, pressing closer, and the small motion tested the last thread of his restraint.
Crosshair peered down at you under a half-lidded glare.
You stared back, challenging in your own spiteful way.
Then, in a hoarse voice, he spoke.
“You really think seven minutes is enough?” The sniper leaned down, angling his head just right. Just enough so he could slot his lips on yours if he wanted to. “You think you can just walk out of here and expect me to chase after you?”
A tiny, imperceptible smirk stretched on your lips. “Won't you?”
“Won't I what?”
“Chase after me.”
“I don't chase.”
“Why did you stop me from leaving?”
Crosshair clicked his tongue sharply.
Your smart mouth riled him up in the best and worst ways possible. Right now, he wasn't sure which one it felt like. He could kiss you right now. Shut you up to erase the smug grin on your face. Or do something much worse. And if you kept talking like that, he might just do that.
With a little more push, Crosshair was certain he could provoke you even more.
“Because we have unfinished business,” He neared closer, lips grazing your jaw. “And I don't plan to leave things unfinished.”
You laughed, but he picked up on the breathless sound. “Got something to prove then?”
He shifted farther, breath ghosting your ear now. “No. Got someone to deal with.”
His hands reached out, fingertips tracing your sides. Slowly, teasingly, and painfully aware. The touch made you shiver, though you tried to hide it as quickly as it came. But he noticed, he always does. Especially this close. No matter how many times he tries to have nothing to do with you, his eyes will always find you in every room. Always knowing your next move before you do.
Crosshair felt the lightest sensation on his face.
Your palm met his cheek, cradling him with every softness he had rarely received. The other, however, descended to his jaw. Tracing the sharp line from his chin, and up until your thumb met the line of his tattoo.
You kept tracing, exploring, softening his roughened exterior until he released a quiet, strained breath.
That's what he disliked about you. This—whatever this was—made him feel soft. It made him feel like a man. Not a soldier. Not a clone. Just a man who desired and 1 to be desired. And he hated it. He wasn’t supposed to have this weakness, but here he was, letting it seep through his skin like a drug he'll always come back to. With you, he didn't know what to do with himself. That's what made you dangerous, and you don't even know it.
You pressed your thumb on his bottom lip now, deliberately sweeping across. “What are you gonna do about it?”
Crosshair snapped out of his trance, catching your wrist in a firm grip. “Many things.”
His mouth crashed down on yours with fervent ferocity.
The force has you gasping for breath and clutching his shoulders. This kiss was even more intense than the one you had from minutes ago. This was everything he had to offer and more. It wasn't just a battlefield anymore, it tasted like war—relentless, demanding, and devastatingly breathtaking. Neither of you will survive from it, and both of you will come out of the warzone battered and bruised.
He tilted your head with one hand fisted in your hair, tongue sliding deep, tasting the faint sweetness of your earlier laughter and the salt of anticipation.
You moaned into him, nails digging into the plating of his shoulder armor, and he swallowed the sound like it was oxygen.
“Seven minutes was never going to be enough,” He growled against your lips, nipping the lower one hard enough to sting. “Not when I’ve waited this long to have you like this.”
Your hands fumbled at the seals of his chest plate, desperate for skin. “Stop talking and take it.”
A sardonic laugh escaped him—rare, rough, and gone in an instant.
“Bossy little thing.”
But his hands were already moving with terrifying speed.
With practiced efficiency he reached back, popping the quick-release on his upper armor. The chest plate clattered to the floor between your feet, followed by the pauldrons. The compartment was too small for anything graceful, every movement forced your bodies tighter together. His black undersuit was already damp with sweat at the collar. If you reached out, you'd feel his heart beating wildly beneath his chest. And if you dared to reach lower, you'd feel him hard and straining against his blacks.
You dragged your palms down the firm planes of his chest, and you were right. You smiled at the rapid thud of his heart beneath the thin fabric.
Crosshair hissed when your fingers skimmed lower, tracing the ridges of his abdomen.
“Careful. Keep doing that and this ends before it starts.”
Your smile stretched at his throat, teeth grazing the tendon there. “Is that a threat or a promise?”
He answered by spinning you around.
Gentle enough not to hurt, but firm enough that your palms slapped flat against the wall. His body molded to your back, one arm snaking around your waist while the other tugged your head to the side so he could mouth at your neck. The scrape of his teeth made you shudder.
“Been thinking about marking you since the moment that bottle landed,” He confessed, a bitter edge in his tone. “Wanted everyone to know exactly who you belonged to. Not even Tech knows how to touch you like this.”
He sucked hard just below your ear, pulling blood to the surface in a dark bruise.
You whimpered, hips rocking back against the hard line of his codpiece.
“Jealous?” You teased, breathless.
“Furious,” Another bite, lower this time, right where your neck met shoulder. “And now you’re mine to ruin.”
His free hand slid under the hem of your shirt, calloused fingertips skating over your ribs, cupping the weight of your breast. He rolled your nipple between thumb and forefinger until it peaked, then pinched just hard enough to make your knees buckle. Only his thigh wedged between yours kept you upright.
“Crosshair—”
“Say it again,” He ground his hips forward, letting you feel exactly how hard he was even through layers of plastoid and fabric. “My name. Like you mean it.”
“Crosshair,” You moaned, louder this time, pressing back into the slow, deliberate roll of his hips.
He rewarded you by shoving your shirt up and off in one rough motion. The cool air hit your skin for half a second before his mouth was there—ravenous, wet, sucking bruises down your spine while his hands worked your pants open. The zipper sounded obscenely loud in the tiny room. He pushed fabric down just far enough to bare you to him, and you kicked it off from your feet.
Then, he dropped to one knee behind you.
The position was awkward in the cramped space, but Crosshair didn’t care. He spread your legs wider with impatient hands, then buried his face between them without warning.
The first long lick dragged a broken cry from your throat.
He groaned at your taste, tongue flattening to lap at you like he was starving. Each groan vibrated through you. Each feral, starved snarl that slipped past his lips shot lightning across your spine. Your hands tried to find any leverage on the wall, but all that met you was the cool, smooth surface. Two fingers joined his mouth, sliding through slick folds before pressing inside—slow, deep, curling just right that has you whining high in your throat.
Your forehead thunked against the wall as pleasure punched through you.
“Kriff, you’re soaked.” He rasped, spreading your wider to taste more. “All this for me? After pretending you hated me for months?”
You tried to answer, but he sucked your clit between his lips and the words dissolved into a keen.
“I didn't—never hated you, Cross.”
“Perhaps. Otherwise you wouldn't be this wet for me.”
“Bastard.”
“Mir’sheb.”
He worked you open with ruthless precision. Two fingers thrusting, tongue flicking, the occasional scrape of teeth that made stars burst behind your eyelids.
“Come on,” He demanded, voice muffled against your slickness. “Let me feel you fall apart on my tongue first.”
Then, he shut up.
And used his tongue to bring you closer to the precipice of pleasure.
Maybe you were biased, given how much you hated him sometimes when he spoke to you, but Maker he sounded better when he's between your legs. On his knees, tongue gliding up across your folds, sucking on your clit, devouring every drop from you like it was the last thing he'd do.
He wasn't the best conversationalist.
But Maker he can use his tongue.
And those fingers—those terrible, long, and lithe fingers—knew the exact pace within you that made you breathless. He knew the precise way of curling them against your walls, effortlessly reaching your most sensitive spot, and how deep he should go. He played your body like his own rifle, testing and tuning which adjustment can have you bending to his will. And when he found it, he struck—merciless and unavoidable.
He swirled the tip of his tongue around your clit, then pressed the flat down. “Let me hear you come for me. Let them hear you.”
His fingers thrusted and curled, at the same time his lips sucked on your clit again.
Stars began to dance behind your eyelids, bursting against the darkness. Your hand shot out behind you, tugging on the short strands of his silver hair for purchase. He only groaned in response, the slight pain spurred him even more. The moment the coil threatened to snap, you didn't run away from it.
Legs shaking, you came undone on him with a strangled cry of his name.
The orgasm ripped through you like a tidal wave, hips jerking against his face as you cried out his name. He didn’t stop until you were trembling and oversensitive, only then easing his fingers free and pressing a surprisingly gentle kiss to your inner thigh.
“If I knew you tasted this good,” He pressed an open-mouthed kiss to your clit. “I would've liked you even more from the start.”
Through your haze, you glared at him over your shoulder. “Kriff you.”
A sharp smirk stretched his glistening lips. “Oh, we’ll get to that.”
Crosshair rose behind you, shedding the rest of his armor and tossing them in a careless pile. His blacks followed, thrown carelessly aside with a soft flop.
You felt the hot, heavy length of him press against your ass as he freed himself. One hand braced beside your head on the wall, the other guided his cock through your folds, coating himself in your release.
“Tell me you want this,” He whispered, almost pleading if you listened closely. For the first time, the sharp edge in his voice cracked just a fraction.
“Tell me you’re not doing this because of some stupid game.”
You reached back again, threading your fingers through his silver hair and tugging until he met your gaze over your shoulder. In the darkness, his eyes were molten amber.
“I want you, Crosshair. Not the game. Not seven minutes. You.”
Something feral and relieved flashed across his face.
He notched the head of his cock at your entrance and pushed in. Slow, thick, and perfect. The stretch burned beautifully. You both groaned when he bottomed out, hips flush to your ass, your walls fluttering around the sudden fullness.
“Fuck,” He breathed, forehead dropping to your shoulder. “So tight. So perfect.”
He gave you three heartbeats to adjust, then started moving. Deep, rolling thrusts that punched the air from your lungs. The angle had him dragging against that spot inside you with every stroke. The slap of skin on skin filled the compartment, obscene and perfect.
One hand slid down your stomach, fingers finding your clit again, circling in time with his thrusts.
“That’s it,” He praised when you clenched around him. “Take everything I give you. Been dreaming about this. Filling you up, making you scream my name where everyone can hear.”
You pushed back to meet him, chasing the rising pleasure. “Harder. Please—”
He snarled, grip on your hip turning possessive as he gave you exactly what you asked for.
The pace turned punishing, the small space amplifying every sound. Your gasps, his grunts, the wet slide of his cock driving into you. Sweat slicked your bodies where they touched. His teeth found your shoulder again, biting down as he fucked you through another cresting wave. Never in your wildest dreams would you think that Crosshair can fuck like this, you were convinced he was a selfish lover who only focused on his pleasure.
But you were wrong, and he definitely knew how to please you too while fucking you like this.
His hand slipped under, those deft fingers returning between your legs to draw tight circles around your clit. It took you a while to realize, too distracted with his sharp punctuated thrusts, that he was spelling his name. And when you did, you gasped, clenching around him as your forehead dropped against the wall.
“Crosshair, I’m—”
“Close again? So soon?”
“Please. Please, need to—”
“Fine. Come for me.”
When you came the second time, it was with his name torn from your throat. Your walls pulsed around him, milking him so perfectly that his rhythm stuttered.
“Not done yet,” He growled, pulling out suddenly.
You whined at the loss, but he was already turning you and lifting you with terrifying ease. Your back hit the wall, legs wrapped around his narrow waist.
Kriff, he's going for a third.
Your mind tried to catch, but his mouth crashed into yours again before you could. Your body naturally submitted to him, melting against the wall and his hold without struggle. He chuckled lowly, nipping your teeth before his kisses descended to your jaw, throat, neck, and back up to your lips to murmur one certain thing—
“You’re mine now.”
In the darkness you felt him line up again and slam inside in one brutal thrust.
This position let him go deeper.
Let him watch your face even in the low light. Let him see all your beautiful expressions only he can see. He fucked you like he was trying to imprint himself on your soul—long, powerful strokes that rocked your entire body. Every time he bottomed out, the head of his cock kissed your cervix, sending sparks of overwhelming pleasure-pain through you.
“Look at me,” He ordered. When your eyes fluttered open, he leaned in until your noses brushed. “No more pretending. No more watching you smile at Tech like that. Now, say it back.”
“Yours,” You gasped, clinging to his shoulders, nails raking down the bare skin of his back. “Only yours, Cross.”
The admission shattered what was left of his control. He buried his face in your neck and drove into you with short, desperate snaps of his hips. His teeth sunk on your neck, marking you fully for all his brothers to see once you exit this room. Back off. You were already claimed, you were his. And Maker forbid anyone to try and take you away.
You felt him throb inside you, felt the moment he tipped over the edge. Your walls squeezed around him in response, smiling at the low growl escaping him and the way his rhythm faltered for a second. You did it again, and again, and again. Until he was panting heavily in your ear. Until his lips came crashing down on yours again to let you taste your own name from his mouth. Until you felt another coil unfurling within you tighter and tighter.
Hot pulses of release flooded deep as he groaned your name like a prayer and a curse at once.
You came with him, the world whiting out in a rush of ecstasy so intense your vision blurred.
For long minutes afterward, the only sounds were ragged breathing and the faint hum of the ship’s systems.
Crosshair didn’t pull out.
He stayed buried inside you, holding you pinned to the wall, arms trembling with the effort of keeping you aloft. And despite everything, his lips brushed soft, open-mouthed kisses along your jaw, your cheek, the corner of your mouth—gentle in a way that made your chest ache.
Eventually he eased your legs down, but kept one arm around your waist so you wouldn’t collapse. With his free hand he fumbled for something on the floor, his discarded undershirt, and used it to gently clean between your thighs. The tenderness after the ferocity made fresh tears prick at your eyes.
“You okay?” He murmured, voice hoarse and uncharacteristically tender.
You nodded, cupping his face.
Your thumbs traced the sharp lines of his tattoo. “More than okay. You?”
He huffed a quiet laugh, leaning into your touch.
“Better than I’ve been in months.” His forehead rested against yours. “Didn’t think… you’d want this. Or me.”
“I’ve wanted you since the first time you glared at me across the cockpit,” You admitted softly. “Took a stupid game and a toothpick to make us admit it.”
His lips twitched, the ghost of that crooked smirk you loved. “Remind me to thank Wrecker later. After I punch him for starting this.”
You laughed, the sound bright in the dark. “I think Hunter deserves the same sentiment.”
“Does he now?”
“Don't act like he wasn't the one who got you into this mess.”
“Fine. He gets a thanks too. And a harder punch.”
Another laugh escaped you.
Crosshair swallowed it with another kiss, slower this time, deep and lingering. When he finally pulled back, his cock had softened but he still pressed close, unwilling to create even an inch of space.
A loud bang on the door made you both jump.
“Oi! You two done in there or what?” Wrecker’s voice boomed. “We’ve been waiting forever!”
Crosshair’s eyes narrowed, predatory again. He reached over and pressed the lock button once more for good measure.
“Tell them to kriff off somewhere else,” He called, loud enough to carry. Then, quieter, only for you.
“I meant what I said. I’m not done with you yet.”
Your pulse jumped. “How much time do we have before they override the door?”
“Enough.” He dropped to his knees again, this time pressing your back to the wall and hooking one of your legs over his shoulder. His tongue traced a lazy stripe up your inner thigh, tasting the mess he’d left.
“Plenty of time for another.”
You threaded your fingers through his hair, guiding him where you wanted him. “Then stop talking, sniper.”
He grinned against your skin—sharp, wicked, and entirely yours.
“Mir’sheb,” He murmured.
And then he proved exactly how much he still had left to give.
SUMMARY: You didn't expect to have your life turned upside down, in the best way possible, after Silco finally claims you as his. And soon, you will finally be his queen.
CONTENT: Domestic bliss, fluff and smut, found family, mentions of hallucinating and self-harm (from Jinx), and ofc the "wedding"
A/N: Thank you for your patience for this chapter, and I HEAVILY apologize for the long wait. College life has been so busy, the burnout drained me for so long I couldn't write nor proofread my works. But it's all good now! We have a week off from campus, so I took my time to finally post this! Hopefully, it'd serve as my apology for the delay <33
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Life with Silco was unexpectedly quiet.
Peaceful even.
The transition from the bustling, smoke-lit haze of Madam Babette's brothel to the shadowed sanctity of Silco's domain above the Last Drop had been swift, almost dreamlike. Never in your life expected to be in this situation. Your old life in the brothel only let you have a glimpse of what luxury and freedom was, but now, here in Silco’s home, you were able to experience both without any pressure or fear.
One moment, you were back in the brothel to ask the Madam if you could quit the life of a prostitute in exchange for freedom. The next, Sevika had arrived with a pouch heavy with coins and a simple directive.
“Pack your things. You're done here.”
Silco had bought out your contract, claiming you as his own without fanfare or negotiation. You didn’t believe it at first, but when Madam Babette hadn't protested, you realized that you were truly free. Silco was serious about what he said, and the proof was right in front of you.
She'd only smiled, patting your leg, and whispered.
“Take care of him, dear. He needs someone like you in his life.”
In the end, the Madam didn’t even accept the pouch of coins. She handed it to Sevika instead, and told her to keep it for the next time she visited. You didn’t miss the way a slight smirk surfaced on the woman’s lips. You only packed what you could after Sevika told you to carry only the things that mattered.
“Silco will handle the rest.”
Of course, he would. You didn’t expect anything less from him.
Afterwards, she escorted you back to the Last Drop carrying most of your things. And during the walk, you had to grapple with the fact that everything was real. You were going to live a new life. A life with the most powerful and dangerous man in Zaun. Were you truly prepared for that kind of change? Would you learn to love the man who promised you to be his queen after only meeting twice? Was this a good idea to begin with?
You did admit.
Everything felt so rushed.
Not in the bad way that you’d expect, but still, you can’t help but process everything that has happened between the two of you.
You still didn’t know him well.
That was the truth.
However, from those two unexpected meetings from him, you were able to see more of his character than any other client you had. The raw vulnerability, the longing masked in possession, and the tender way he held you when you thought he would’ve done the opposite. But perhaps in time, you will learn the rest of his character and how to love every side of him. Including the bad ones, of course that was still a part of him.
Now, you found yourself in a world that felt both alien and intimately familiar.
Silco's quarters were a stark contrast to your old room. Spacious, austere, with high ceilings that echoed the faint hum of Zaun's underbelly below. And the moment you stepped inside, you breathed in the traces of his scent lingering in the air. It carried the faint tang of cigar smoke and a rich liquor, mingled with the crisp scent of his cologne that now clung to your skin like a second shadow.
Your little time of appreciation didn’t last long, when you felt his lithe arms circling around your waist from behind.
Then, you heard that familiar drawl of his voice in your ear.
“Is the bed to your liking, my dear?”
When you said yes, breathlessly, you were whisked away towards the softest mattress and velvet sheets you’ve ever felt in your life. The whole afternoon was spent with him showing you how perfectly soft his king sized bed was, and how easily it was to fall asleep after you melted from exhaustion.
Gradually, your belongings had been integrated seamlessly. The few dresses from your brothel days hung alongside the new ones he immediately purchased after you moved in. As well as his tailored vests and suits in the shared wardrobe, and your trinkets scattered on a dresser that once held only his vials and papers.
It was as if you'd always been here, slotted into his life like a missing puzzle piece.
The adjustment came in waves, some gentle, others crashing like the toxic fumes rising from the fissures. Mornings were the easiest. Waking to the dim green glow filtering through the massive window behind his desk, Silco's arm draped possessively over your waist. He'd stir before dawn, pressing a lingering kiss to your shoulder before slipping away to tend to the empire that never slept.
“Stay in bed, my love.” He'd murmur, his voice a low rumble that sent warmth pooling in your chest. “Zaun can wait a little longer.”
But you rarely did, rising instead to explore your new home, tracing fingers over the maps pinned to the walls or the hardbound books stacked on shelves. This was no longer a fleeting act. It was real, and the weight of it both thrilled and unnerved you.
The days blurred into a rhythm of quiet domesticity. Slowly but surely, you introduced more of the staff working in the bar. Others grew to accept you, though some were still wary. Of course, Silco also insisted you accompany him on lighter errands, overseeing Shimmer distributions from afar or attending Chem-Baron meetings as his silent observer, your presence a subtle statement of power.
“You will be my wife,” He said, intertwining his fingers through yours. “And soon, my queen. They need to see that.”
You nodded, heart fluttering, but the stares from his underlings—Sevika's amused smirks, the wary glances from thugs who'd heard whispers of your past—reminded you of the chasm between your old life and this one.
Were you truly fitting in, or just another poison in his arsenal?
Soon, Silco told you about his eye as well as the discolored scar that hid beneath the cosmetic powder. How he managed to get the scar, the story behind it, and the betrayal that lingered. And soon, you helped him with administering his Shimmer dose. It made you nervous the first time, your hands trembled as you held the shot across his left eye. He placed his own on top of yours after he noticed, told you he trusted you with it, and let you go with a small nod.
After that, it became a small routine whenever he asked.
But sometimes, Silco asked for someone else.
Jinx.
Silco had warned you about her from the start, his tone a rare mix of pride and caution.
“She's brilliant, but unpredictable. Give her time.”
Your first encounter came unannounced.
A chaotic burst of blue hair and manic energy dropping from the ceiling beams one afternoon while you were alone in the office, arranging fresh flowers you'd insisted on bringing in to soften the space.
“Who are you?” She demanded, perched on the desk like a feral cat, her eyes—wide, electric, cerulean—scrutinizing you from head to toe. “Silco's new toy? Or are you here to play mommy?”
You froze, but only for a moment, remembering Silco's advice.
“I’m not here to harm you or Silco,” You replied steadily, meeting her gaze with a small smile. “And if you'll let me, I'd like to get to know you too.”
Jinx had only scoffed, a sound that echoed like shattering glass, before flipping backward and vanishing up into the beams. It wasn't hostility exactly, just testing you. Over the following days, she'd appear sporadically. Leaving doodles on your things, a bomb sketched next to your name, swiping your snacks, or hovering silently while you read. Adjustment for her was slower, a push-pull of curiosity and wariness, but you'd caught her smiling once when you complimented one of her gadgets.
There was one time where you decided to hang around the bar at night. Just to see what kind of atmosphere the Last Drop would bring at those hours. You were sitting on the bar, lightly conversing with Thieram while Sevika kept you in her line of sight from her booth.
You remembered being approached by another man, an overconfident drunk who thought he could just lay a hand on you and invade your space.
He came up from behind with a wide drunken grin and breath so foul it made you wince.
“Aren’t ya a new face?” The man slurred, leaning towards you with a leering stare. “A pretty one too. Care for a drink, princess?”
You only blinked, already familiar with these kinds of men from your time at the brothel.
“I already have one,” You gestured to your glass. “So, please leave me alone.”
“C’mon, just one drink?”
“I already refused.”
“It won't hurt–”
“Heads up!”
You blinked when another voice cut in.
From above, something bounced off of the man's chest. He caught it in his hands, then gasped when a ticking monkey with a pink painted smile greeted him. One of Jinx’s handiwork. You watched him stumble back, about to drop the ticking bomb.
You heard Jinx again, as if she was right next to your ear.
“Close your eyes.”
You snapped them shut.
The bomb exploded in blue and pink sparks, catching everyone's attention. When it finally dissipated, the man was on the floor. Hands over his eyes, yelling in shock and pain, as Sevika made her way towards him. A flash grenade, one of her new inventions. Then, you heard the echoes of familiar giggling upstairs.
Progress, however small.
It was one afternoon when you found yourself waiting for Silco in his room when the door bursted open, and a familiar fourteen-year-old girl came dashing inside with a slam behind.
You only glanced up from your book, seeing Jinx standing there with her arms crossed and her head hung low. Ah, it was one of those days again. Recently, the young girl would show up unannounced to interrogate you about personal questions about her father. Mostly curious ones, though there were a few that raised the hair on your skin at the underlying threat in her voice.
By now, you have grown used to her sudden appearances.
No matter how terrifying they could be at times.
“Jinx,” You set the book down, smiling softly. “How are you? Have you eaten yet?”
She didn't answer.
Instead she launched herself across the room in three frantic strides and crashed into you.
Her thin arms locked around your waist, face burying hard against your chest. The impact knocked the breath out of you. The book thumped forgotten to the floor. For a heartbeat you froze. The first proper contact you received since you moved in was a hug. You could almost cry in joy from the moment, almost joking to her how she and her father shared the same habits of surprising you.
Until you felt it.
The tremor running through her whole body, the hot, wet press of tears soaking through your blouse.
She was crying.
Not the theatrical, explosive sobs she sometimes used for performance. These were small, choked, desperate sounds, like something inside her had finally cracked open and couldn’t stop leaking.
Your arms came around her automatically, one hand cradling the back of her head, the other smoothing slow circles between her shoulder blades.
“Hey,” You whispered, voice soft as you could make it. “Hey, I’ve got you.”
She clung tighter, fingers twisting into the fabric at your back.
“I’m here,” You murmured, pressing your cheek to the top of her head. “I won’t leave.”
The words had barely left your mouth before she stiffened.
Her breathing hitched, sharp and ragged, and then she jerked back just enough to look up at you. Her pupils were blown, eyes glassy and unfocused, darting to corners of the room where you saw nothing.
“You will,” She rasped, voice cracking. “You will. They always do. Everyone does. Powder. Gone. Vander. Gone. Vi–” Her voice cracked on the name like glass. “They all leave. They leave me. You’re gonna leave too. You’re gonna leave like the rest of them–”
She began thrashing in your arms, trying to escape your hug. But you held her tighter, not letting her break free from your embrace. She resisted, rambling about how everyone eventually leaves her. How no one truly stayed. Everyone will die because of her. Because she was a jinx and you'll leave too in the end. It was the first time you witnessed her act like this, and it tore your heart even more at the sight.
Be patient with her. Don't turn her away.
Silco's words echoed in your mind, forcing you to snap out of your thoughts.
You firmly took her wrists once you noticed she started slapping her fists at the sides of her head, before you brought them down on your lap. But she struggled against you again, her breathing coming a little faster and you were worried she might pass out from it.
She returned to slapping the side of her head—hard, open-palmed smacks that made you flinch from every hit.
“Shut up shut up shut up–” She hissed at the empty air. “I know, I know, she’s lying. She’s gonna run! She’s gonna run too–”
Your heart twisted so violently it hurt.
But you didn’t pull away.
You didn’t flinch from the wildness in her eyes. Instead you gathered her closer again, wrapping both arms around her small, shaking frame, one hand gently but firmly catching her wrist to stop the blows.
“Jinx,” You said, low and steady. “Look at me. Just look at me.”
She fought for a second then sagged, the fight bleeding out of her in shuddery gasps. You rocked her slowly, the same way you’d once soothed yourself on the worst nights at Babette’s when the loneliness visited you.
“Breathe with me,” You whispered. “In… out… slow. I’m right here. Feel my heartbeat? I’m not going anywhere.”
It took some time—long, aching minutes—before the frantic rhythm of her breathing began to match yours. The slapping stopped. The voices, whatever they were saying, seemed to recede. Her wild gaze slowly refocused on your face instead of the ghosts around you.
When she was quiet enough, you brushed damp blue strands from her forehead.
“Want to tell me what happened?” You asked gently.
She swallowed. Looked down at where her fingers still clutched your shirt like a lifeline.
“Bad day,” She muttered, still sniffling. “Everything was loud. The voices wouldn’t shut up. Said you were gonna disappear. Said Silco was gonna get tired of me. Said–”
She stopped, throat working. “Said I’m too much. Always too much. And– And–”
You kept stroking her hair, slow and even.
“I get it,” You said quietly. “More than you know.”
She peeked up at you, wary and confused. “You do?”
You took a breath.
“I was abandoned too. Too young to even remember my parents’ faces. Left on a doorstep in the Lanes like trash nobody wanted. No one looked for me. No one cared. I was cold, hungry, and scared. Until Babette found me. She didn’t have to take me in. She could’ve walked past. But she didn’t. She gave me a roof, food, a name. She gave me a family when I didn’t have one.”
Jinx’s eyes were huge, glistening.
“So I know what it feels like,” You continued. “To think everyone’s just biding their time until they leave. But I’m telling you right now, I’m not them. I’m not leaving. Not you. Not Silco. Not this weird, messy, beautiful thing we’re building. I’m going to be part of this family. Your family. And I’m going to stay. Even on the days when it’s loud. Even when it’s too much. Especially then.”
Silence stretched between you.
Then, slowly, Jinx uncurled her fingers from your shirt… only to slide her arms around your waist again. This time she didn’t squeeze like she was afraid you’d vanish. She just rested there, cheek against your collarbone, listening to your heartbeat.
She sniffed, nuzzling closer. “The voices are quieter now.”
You smiled, wiping her tears from her cheeks. “Good.”
“You’re really not gonna go?”
“No, I'm really not.”
A tiny, shaky exhale that might’ve been a laugh. “Okay. But if you do, I’m blowing up all your favorite dresses.”
You smiled into her hair. “Deal.”
She stayed like that for a long time—small, warm, finally still—while the green light outside shifted and the distant rumble of Zaun carried on without you.
And for the first time since you’d arrived in this strange new life, you felt like you truly belonged in it.
Hours later, Silco arrived back from another meeting with the Chembarons and visited the Topside to pay another word to Marcus. His usual pristine composure cracked once he entered his room, drawing a long breath through his nose before releasing it in a heavy exhale.
When his gaze finally lifted, he froze.
There in his bed, usually empty—save for Jinx random afternoon naps there—he saw you and his daughter sleeping. Hugging each other close. Blankets drawn over your bodies. You have her on your chest, cheek pressed above your heart, with your arm curled around her side in a protective embrace. Something curled beneath his chest. Something he never should’ve felt after all the things he’s done. Something he didn’t even deserve to see and have in his home.
Mysteriously, the exhaustion that weighed on his shoulders vanished.
He carefully walked towards the side of the bed, right where you slept, gently drifting his knuckles along your cheek once he neared you. You stirred, breath catching in a slow inhale, before you eased again. The way you leaned against his touch was subconscious, but it still brought a rare smile on his face.
His perfect girls. Finally together.
When he peered closer, he noticed the dried tear streaks across Jinx’s cheeks, her loose hair, and the way she clung to you deep in her sleep.
He tensed, glancing at you.
Still asleep. Still at peace.
He pieced it together.
Jinx willingly came to you during her episodes. She came to you because he wasn’t around to help her. And you did what he has done since the time he took her in. You accepted her. Right here in your arms, keeping her close as though she was always welcomed there. As your daughter. That feeling in his chest grew, warm and dangerous, and it made him pause.
He recognized it then.
This was something he’d protect. Something he will never abandon nor neglect. As long as he lives, he’ll protect this sight from all the dangers in the world with all his strength. And when the time was right, he’d give you more—anything you wanted just as long as you’d stay here with them.
Silco leaned down, pressing his lips on your temple. “Thank you.”
Then, he stepped back to leave the two of you in peace. But before he could open the door, he was stopped.
“Silco?” You mumbled quietly, voice still touched by sleep. “You’re leaving again?”
Glancing at his shoulder, Silco saw you looking at him—half-lidded and beautiful—and nodded.
“I still have more work to finish,” The disappointment was evident in his tone, so was the frown in your face. “Go back to sleep, my dear. I’ll join you once I’m done.”
You stroke Jinx’s hair, lifting the covers lightly. “Come to bed, my love. Zaun can wait.”
For a heartbeat he didn’t move. The words hung between you. He almost thought he was the one sleeping, dreaming of something his heart has always desired but has never chased—something he had once before.
Then, without a word, he let go of the knob.
The coat slid from his shoulders and was draped over the back of a chair. The tie followed, unclipped and discarded. Boots toed off. He moved with the same intention he always did, calculated and precise, but there was something different in it now.
Softer. Slower. As if too much movement can ruin the moment.
He slid beneath the covers on your other side, the mattress dipping under his weight. You turned slightly toward him, still cradling Jinx, and he mirrored the motion until his chest pressed lightly to your back, one arm sliding around your waist to rest over both of you. His hand found yours beneath the blanket, fingers threaded together, his thumb tracing slow, absent circles over your knuckles.
Jinx stirred faintly at the new warmth, mumbling something incoherent before burrowing closer to you with a small, contented sigh.
Silco’s breath ghosted against the nape of your neck, then steadied.
For once, the city could wait.
He closed his eye, the scarred one forever opened, watching over you both in the dark like a shadow. And in the hush that followed, with Jinx’s soft snores and the steady rhythm of Silco’s heartbeat against your spine, the three of you slept—tangled, unbroken, and, for the first time in a very long while, whole.
The days that followed settled into a new, unexpected rhythm.
When Silco was gone—swallowed by meetings, negotiations, or the endless grind of holding the Undercity together—you and Jinx became inseparable. It started off small. Her lingering longer in the mornings instead of vanishing into the vents the moment his footsteps faded down the hall. Then she began dragging you along on her private adventures, the ones she’d never shared with anyone else.
“Come on,” She’d say, grabbing your hand with surprising gentleness. “You gotta see this before Sevika looks for us”
She showed you her hiding spots first, places even Sevika didn’t know about.
A forgotten maintenance tunnel behind the old cannery that opened into a cavern glittering with bioluminescent fungi. A rooftop perch above the Promenade where the chem-smog thinned just enough to glimpse real stars on rare clear nights. A derelict airship husk half-buried in the Sump, its rusted hull now her personal armory and art gallery.
She’d talk nonstop while she showed you, rambling about bomb schematics and complaining about dumb gravity while demonstrating how to hot-wire a hover-platform with nothing but a hairpin and spite. Every so often she’d glance at you sideways, checking if you were still listening.
You always were.
One afternoon she appeared in your doorway wearing Piltover clothes. Long white sleeves, a dark petticoat skirt, a ridiculous hat on her head where she kept her distinguishing blue hair hidden.
You didn't bother asking where she got it. Only lifted an eyebrow in question and smiled at her.
“Field trip!” She announced loudly, tossing you a dark blue prairie dress and a golden laced corset. Piltover’s colors. “We’re going topside. Don’t worry, I’ve got us covered.”
You should have said no.
You didn’t.
Dressed like Piltover citizens, you followed her through back ways until you emerged blinking into the bright daylight of the Entresol level. Jinx moved like she owned the promenade—strutting, twirling, waving at everyone she passed by. When a nobleman in a pinstriped suit tried to sidle up to you with a compliment and a wandering hand, Jinx was there in an instant.
“Touch her again,” She said sweetly, smiling up at him. “And I burn your fancy coat. Got it?”
The man paled and vanished into the crowd. Jinx just grinned at you, proud as a cat with a fresh kill, then linked arms and pulled you toward an ice-cream cart.
“See? I’ve got your back.”
When you came home alone that night, after Jinx strayed to drop off her new “toys” she swiped from a few vendors to her hideout, you visited Silco's office to say hello. His gaze flickered up, saw you in that dress, and flashed a dangerous spark that sent heat across your spine.
He only told you to come in and lock the door.
You didn't leave his office after an hour. Skin flushed, skirts ruffled, stumbling as you walked, new marks on your neck that you needed to find an excuse to Jinx.
She definitely knew what they were.
From then on, she became fiercely protective. If a vendor shortchanged you during errands in the Lanes, she’d “accidentally” knock over his entire stall with a well-placed kick. If some lowlife catcalled you near the bridge, she’d materialize from nowhere with blue braids swinging and a knife already out.
“She’s mine,” She’d snap. “Ours. Back off.”
You never corrected her. Instead you started mothering her in return—quietly, steadily, without making a show of it.
You braided her hair when the knots got too bad (she pretended to hate it but sat perfectly still). You made her eat real food instead of just sugar and shimmer residue (she grumbled but cleaned every plate). When nightmares woke her screaming in the middle of the night, you’d pull her into your arms without a word until the shaking stopped. You listened to all her stories, and never once told her to calm down or move on.
And every evening, without fail, Silco came home to the same sight.
The two of you already in his bed, blankets piled high, talking in low voices.
He’d pause in the doorway, coat still on, and watch for a moment—always just a moment—before the tension in his shoulders eased a fraction.
Tonight was no different.
You were propped against the headboard, Jinx sprawled across your lap like weighted blanket, recounting the day’s chaos with exaggerated hand gestures.
“–and then the enforcer tried to grab me, right? So I just–” She mimed an explosion. “Boom! Glitter bomb. Guy looked like a disco ball for a week.”
You laughed softly, fingers combing through her hair. “You’re going to get us banned from Piltover entirely.”
“Good. More room for us.”
The door clicked shut.
Silco stood there, silent, mismatched eyes taking you both in.
Jinx noticed him first. “Heyyy, Sil. We didn’t blow anything up today. Promise. Mostly.”
A ghost of a smile touched his mouth. “Progress.”
He shed his coat, loosened his tie, crossed to the bed. You shifted to make space without dislodging Jinx, who immediately scooted over to claim the middle like it was her rightful territory.
Silco slid in beside you, long limbs stretching out. One arm draped across both of you, possessive and grounding. His hand found yours under the blanket, Jinx’s smaller one landed on top a second later, linking the three of you.
“So,” He said, low and rough from the day. “Tell me everything.”
And you did.
Jinx launched into another animated retelling, interrupting herself with giggles and dramatic reenactments. You filled in the quieter details. The way the sunlight looked on the promenade, the taste of stolen sorbet, the small victory of Jinx letting you hold her hand the whole way back through the underpass without pulling away.
Silco listened. Really listened. His thumb traced slow arcs over your knuckles, occasionally he’d press a kiss to Jinx’s temple when her voice cracked on a memory she tried to laugh off.
When the stories wound down and yawns started slipping in, Jinx curled tighter against you both, mumbling something about graffitis and Piltover walls before her breathing evened out into sleep.
Silco turned his head, lips brushing your hairline.
“You’ve given her something I never could,” He murmured, so quiet it was almost lost between the air.
You squeezed his hand. “We’re giving it to each other.”
He exhaled—a long, slow sound that carried months of tension—and closed his eye.
The three of you slept like that every night now. Tangled together, stories traded in the dark, the weight of Zaun held at bay for a few precious hours. And somewhere in the spaces between breaths, the word family stopped feeling like a fragile hope and started feeling like truth.
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The next morning arrived slowly, but you found no signs of Jinx nor Silco on the bed as you woke up. Until Silco appeared at the foot of the bed, already dressed in one of his sharper coats, the one with the high collar that made him look like a true king of an established empire.
He leaned down, brushed a kiss to your temple, and murmured against your skin.
“We’ve been invited to a gala in Piltover tonight.”
You blinked up at him, still half-tangled in sheets. “Piltover?”
“Mm. One of those tedious affairs the Council throws to remind themselves we're on good terms. I thought you might accompany me. As my partner.”
You sat up slowly, searching his face. “You want me… in Piltover? With you? In front of all of them?”
Silco’s mismatched gaze held yours, steady and unblinking. “I want you seen. Not hidden in the Lanes. Not as some secret kept in the dark. As my queen, standing beside me where the whole city, both cities, can witness it.”
Something warm and uncertain twisted in your chest.
You spent years learning how to stay as a secret for powerful men, their sons, and daughters. How to be a hushed whisper in their life they kept silent and buried under your silk sheets. What if some of them recognizes you? What if they decide to say something about your past in his face?
Or worse, to other people?
The old life you walked away from seemed so foreign now. Back then, you only envisioned yourself for the possibility. To be around the arm of a Piltie nobleman while he paraded you in his gilded home. Back then, it left you with a bittersweet taste. The idea of being deliberately visible, claimed, in the glittering cage of Piltover felt like stepping onto a stage without a script.
An act you weren't ready to perform.
But now, with Silco by your side, nothing ever felt like an act anymore.
Not even this, in his home, after months of being chosen by him.
Silco noticed your silence, his voice growing quiet, almost gentle. “You’re not going as entertainment. You’re going as your own person. And mine.”
After a long beat, you exhaled. “All right.”
The corner of his mouth lifted, just a fraction. “Good.”
He straightened, already turning toward the door. “Sevika will take you to find something suitable. Something made for grand entrances. Preferably white.”
And then he was gone, leaving the scent of cigar smoke and quiet command lingering in the air.
You met with Sevika an hour later, arms crossed, looking half-amused and half-reluctant at being assigned dress-shopping duty.
“Boss says you need to look like you could stop the room when you walk in. Let’s not disappoint him.”
The two of you spent the day moving through Zaun’s hidden corners. Back-alley seamstresses who worked with smuggled Piltover silks, black-market tailors who owed favors, and finally a discreet atelier tucked behind the old cannery where a wiry woman with goggles and skilled wrinkled hands measured you with clinical precision.
You tried on dress after dress under Sevika’s watchful eye.
The first one was too stiff, too heavy.
Sevika shook her head immediately. “Looks like you’re going to war, not a party.”
The second was too sheer, and Sevika snorted. “Silco’ll start a riot if half of Piltover sees that much.”
The third was ivory satin, simple but elegant. But too plain. Sevika tilted her head, considered, then grunted.
“Close. But not enough.”
You lost count somewhere around the sixth or seventh. Then the seamstress brought out the one.
Delicate white lace overlaid on soft champagne silk, long sleeves that ended in pointed cuffs, a deep V-neckline framed by intricate floral patterns that climbed like vines toward your shoulders. The skirt fell in soft layers, pooling like spilled moonlight, with a subtle train that whispered against the floor when you turned. It was grand without being obnoxious—powerful and beautiful in the same breath.
Sevika leaned back against the wall, arms still crossed, and gave a single nod. “That’s it.”
You stared at your reflection, hardly recognizing the woman looking back.
Soft, regal, dangerous in lace.
Months ago, you first met Silco wearing silk above lace. And now, you were going to see him draped in lace with the silk beneath.
By late afternoon you were back at the Last Drop. Sevika stood guard outside the door while you prepared. Careful, thin strokes of kohl to line your eyes, a touch of rose on your lips, the heavy silver-and-obsidian necklace Silco had given you weeks ago resting cool against your collarbone. You pinned your hair half-up, letting the rest fall in loose waves, then stepped into the dress.
The lace settled over your skin like a second breath.
When you emerged, Sevika gave a low whistle. “He’s gonna lose what’s left of his mind.”
She offered her arm without another word.
You took it without hesitation.
But instead of heading toward the bridge to Piltover, Sevika steered you through the twisting back ways toward the Greenhouse. The singular place where Silco held his Chem-Baron meetings, where you joined him at times to survey his power, and where exotic plants thrived underneath the rare sunlight that reached Zaun’s shadows.
Confusion prickled at the back of your neck. “Sevika?”
She only smirked. “Trust the boss.”
The elevator groaned upward, gears protesting. For a moment, your mind shifted to different scenarios. Why would Silco meet you here? Did he lie about the gala? Or was there something else? If Sevika noticed your nervous expression, she chose not to comment on it. You steeled yourself instead, releasing a short breath to calm your nerves.
When the elevator doors slid open, your breath caught.
The long table was gone.
In its place stretched a crimson carpet, rich as spilled blood, leading straight down the center of the vast room. Golden afternoon light poured through the massive arched windows, turning everything warm and molten. And at the far end, bathed in that glow, stood Silco.
Not in his usual heavy coat.
He wore a traditional wedding suit cut in his colors. Deep burgundy wool edged in black, the jacket tailored sharp at the shoulders, a high collar pinned with a single obsidian brooch shaped like a coiled serpent. His hair was swept back as usual, the scarred side of his face catching the light like carved marble. He looked like a king who finally chose his queen, and at the end of that aisle, he'll finally share his crown.
Out of nowhere, Jinx burst from the side with a dramatic flourish, her short braids swinging, a wide grin splitting her face.
Her dress was a little more… creative.
Mismatched fabrics stapled and sewed together. An asymmetrical that started at her knee on one end and sloping down diagonally to her ankle on the other. Her pink sleeves were short and frilly, layered above bright blue long sleeves that reached her knuckles. Around her waist, a leather belt held the top and skirt together. You had no doubt in mind she crafted it together herself, and you smiled at the thought. At least it wasn't stolen.
In her hands was a bouquet of red and white roses. Zaunite blooms, thorns carefully clipped, wrapped in black ribbon.
“For youuu,” She sang, thrusting it toward you like a trophy. “Especially picked by yours truly!”
You took the bouquet with trembling fingers, the scent of roses sharp and sweet.
Is this really happening?
Sevika shifted beside you, offering her arm again.
This time with a quiet, almost solemn nod.
“Ready, doll?”
Blinking, you glanced down at her extended arm then towards Silco waiting at the end of the aisle. Across the space, you two shared a look of understanding. On his scarred lips, he offered you a small smile he only reserved for you and Jinx.
You slipped your hand through the crook of her elbow, nodding back. “Always.”
The carpet felt impossibly soft under your shoes as you walked. Each step echoed faintly in the empty hall. Jinx skipped ahead a few paces, then fell back to walk beside you, bouncing on her toes. Sevika kept her pace steady, protective, a silent promise that nothing would touch you today.
Silco never looked away.
Both his eyes, seafoam and molten, tracked your figure as you approached closer. Not once did he stray his attention away. Not even to sweep down your dress or admire the intricate lace. Just solely focused on you. There wasn't any grand music to fill the air or a mass to witness the scene. Just the private silence that rarely blanketed Zaun. The more you close the distance, the more you see his face softening.
When you finally reached the end of the carpet, Sevika gently disentangled her arm and stepped aside.
Silco extended his hand.
You placed yours in his without hesitation.
His fingers closed around yours—warm, sure, possessive.
He drew you closer until the toes of your shoes brushed his.
“Forgive me,” He said, voice low enough that only you could hear. “I lied about the gala.”
A small, breathless laugh escaped you. “I noticed.”
“I wanted you surprised,” His thumb brushed over your knuckles. “I wanted this moment to belong only to us. To our family. No Council. No Chem-Barons. Just you, me, and what we have.”
Jinx rocked on her heels beside you both, suddenly shy.
“You look pretty,” She muttered, then louder. “You always are, but you’re prettier now.”
Silco’s gaze flicked to her, soft and proud, then back to you.
“Are you ready?” He asked.
You looked up into his mismatched eyes—one calm sea, one burning ember—and felt the last of your uncertainty dissolve.
“I’ve been ready since the night you chose me.”
He lifted your hand to his lips, pressed a kiss to your knuckles.
“Then let us begin.”
The golden light had softened as the afternoon wore on, casting long shadows across the Greenhouse’s empty hall.
No priest stood between you. No topside officiant in gilded robes, no Chem-Baron hiding their disdain in barely concealed masks. Only Jinx, bouncing lightly on her toes with the bouquet now tucked under one arm. And Sevika, leaning against a pillar with her arms crossed and a rare, genuine half-smile, and the three of you at the center of it all.
Silco lifted your joined hands slightly, thumb brushing over your knuckles.
“I have never been a man for ceremonies,” He began softly, carrying just far enough for you. “Words have always been tools. Sharp ones, when necessary. But you… you have never been a tool. Not to me.”
He paused, mismatched gaze searching yours as though memorizing every flicker of expression.
“I came to you seeking release, expecting nothing more than a fleeting distraction from the weight I carry. Instead I found something I had long convinced myself was impossible. Someone who saw the exhaustion beneath the control, the man beneath the title, and chose to stay. Not out of fear. Not out of obligation. But because you wanted to.”
His free hand rose, fingertips grazing the edge of your jaw with a tenderness that belied the power coiled in every line of him.
“I vow to you this. I will protect what is ours. Our home, our family, this fragile, fierce thing we have built with everything I am. I will stand between you and the world that would take from us. I will listen when the nights grow loud. I will hold you when the city demands too much of me, and I will never ask you to dim your light to fit in the shadows I cast.”
A small, almost imperceptible smile curved his mouth.
“You are my sweetest poison, my love. The one I chose willingly, the one I drink from every day without regret. And I will spend the rest of my days making sure you never doubt that you are wanted, needed, and loved beyond measure.”
He turned his head just enough to glance at Jinx, who had gone unusually still, wide eyes glistening.
“And you,” He added softly. “My brilliant, perfect child… I vow to keep building a world where you are safe to be exactly who you are. No more running. No more hiding pieces of yourself. We are yours, as you are ours.”
Jinx sniffed loudly, swiping at her cheek with the back of her hand.
“Your turn,” She muttered to you, nudging your elbow. “Don’t make him wait. He gets grumpy.”
A watery laugh escaped you. You squeezed Silco’s hand, drawing a steadying breath.
“I never thought I’d have vows to give anyone,” You admitted quietly. “I spent so long being whatever someone else needed. Polite, pliant, and malleable. I learned to disappear so well I almost forgot how to stay.”
Your gaze lifted to his, unwavering.
“But you saw me. Not the act, not the role. You saw the woman underneath. Who was tired, who was scared she’d never be enough, and you didn’t turn away. You chose me anyway. You brought me into your life, into your home, into your family even if I was just a stranger.”
You glanced at Jinx, smiling through the blur in your eyes.
“And you… you let me in too. You tested me, pushed me, and then you trusted me enough to fall apart in my arms. That trust is the most precious thing anyone has ever given me.”
You looked back to Silco, voice steadying.
“I vow to stand beside you. Not behind, not in your shadow, but beside you. I will be your softness when the world is sharp. I will be your anchor when the current pulls too hard. I will stay for this family. For you, for her. I will never leave. Not when it’s easy, not when it’s hard. I will choose you every day, the same way you chose me.”
You lifted your free hand to rest against his chest, feeling the steady beat beneath the burgundy wool.
“You became my home, Silco. And my love. And I will spend every day making sure you never have to carry the weight alone again.”
Silence fell, thick and golden.
Jinx let out a shaky breath. “Okay. That was… disgustingly sappy. I love it.”
Sevika snorted from the side, but her eyes were suspiciously bright.
Silco exhaled slowly, as though releasing something he’d held for years.
“Then we are bound,” He said simply.
He drew you closer, tilted your chin up with gentle fingers, and kissed you—slow, deep, claiming.
Not for show. For you.
When he drew back, his forehead rested against yours.
“Mine,” He whispered, “As I am yours.”
“Yours,” You answered, “As you are mine.”
Jinx whooped suddenly, throwing her arms around both of you in a tackle-hug that nearly knocked you off balance.
“Family official! Now we need fireworks. Lots of them. Explosive ones.”
Silco’s laugh was the last sound before the three of you stood there, tangled together in the dying light, finally, irrevocably whole.
In the quiet of the Greenhouse, with Jinx grinning like she just witnessed the sunset for the first time and Sevika standing guard at the side, the Eye of Zaun married his sweetest poison—his queen, his heart, his home. With a thin golden band engraved with each other's name inserted through your fingers, with quiet vows weighed with emotion, and your hands together as one.
────────────── ★ ───────────────
The door to your quarters clicked shut behind you with a final, satisfying sound.
The Greenhouse ceremony had ended hours ago in a haze of golden light, Jinx’s whoops, and Sevika’s quiet toast. Earlier in the evening, the four of you ate in the upper levels of Zaun where the fading sunset can still reach you. Now the city’s perpetual hum rose through the open window, but inside, the world narrowed to just the two of you.
Silco’s hand stayed at the small of your back as he guided you deeper into the room, the lace of your wedding dress caressing the floorboards. He hadn’t let go of you once since the kiss that sealed your vows.
“My wife,” He murmured, voice low and rough, tasting the word like rare wine.
He turned you slowly until your back met the edge of the bed. “Mine.”
You shivered at the possession in his tone, the way his mismatched gaze dragged over you—sea-green eye dark with hunger, the scarred one burning hotter.
“Yours,” You answered, reaching up to loosen his tie. “Completely.”
He caught your wrists gently, pinning them to the mattress above your head with one large hand. The other traced the delicate lace neckline of your dress, thumb brushing the swell of your breast.
“I’ve waited all day to get you out of this,” His fingers teased the fabric across your ribs, leaning down until his lips hovered at your ear. “To remind you who you belong to now. Not the brothel. Not the clients. Not the city. Me.”
You shivered, arching into him. “So claim me, dear husband.”
He kissed you then.
Deep, claiming, tongue sliding against yours with thinning patience. You met him just as hard, clutching him closer until there was barely any space between you. He took your wrists, bringing them around his neck, before his hands tugged you by your waist. When he pulled back, your lips were swollen, breath ragged.
Without a word, Silco released you.
Only to turn you around, fingers working the long row of tiny buttons down your spine with practiced precision. The dress slid from your shoulders like falling snow, pooling at your feet in a shimmer of white lace. He stepped back to admire you—bare except for the silver-black necklace he’d given you and the simple wedding band on your ring finger.
“Beautiful,” He breathed, voice filled with awe and possession. “My queen.”
He shed his own jacket and vest. Deft pulls dissolving into impatient tugs. Until he was left in his dark slacks straining against him. With an arch of your brow, Silco obeyed wordlessly and stripped of his last garment as well. Then pulled you flush against him, skin to skin. His hands roamed possessively—cupping your breasts, sliding down your waist, gripping your hips hard enough to leave faint marks.
“Careful,” You chuckled, caressing his bare chest. “Unless you want me bruised again. They take so long to disappear.”
Something flashed in his gaze and a low rumble in his throat. He glanced down, to where his hands spanned on your hips.
“Why do you think I leave them there, my sweet?”
When he laid you back on the bed, he followed, settling between your thighs. His cock pressed hot and heavy against your entrance, already slick from the way he’d been teasing you with slow rolls of his hips.
Silco braced himself on his elbows, forehead resting against yours. His voice dropped to a velvet rasp.
“I want more than tonight, my love.”
“More?”
“I want a family.”
“We already have one, Silco.”
Shaking his head, he fixed you a burning stare. “More.”
He lined himself into you, then pushed in slowly, inch by inch, groaning low as your walls fluttered around him.
“I want to fill you,” He whispered, hips rolling deep. “Want to watch my seed take root inside you. Give Jinx a brother or sister… give us a child of our own.”
Your breath hitched, skin burning at the raw desire in his voice. His words were quiet, almost reverent, but the way he thrusted harder after saying them—sincere and deliberate—told you how much he meant it.
“Imagine it,” He continued, straining as he rocked into you, one hand sliding down to press gently over your lower belly. “You, round with my child. Our family growing. No more empty spaces. Just you… carrying what belongs to me. To us.”
He kissed you again, slower this time, while his hips kept that steady, claiming rhythm.
“I want to see you like that every morning,” He murmured against your lips. “Swollen, glowing, marked by me in the most permanent way. My wife. The mother of my children.”
A soft moan escaped you as pleasure coiled tighter. Your legs came up to wrap around his hips, meeting his thrusts with eager grinds. Your walls clenched at the thought. To be the one carrying his child, and if tonight can’t bring you the fruit of his labor, you knew for a fact that he'll give you more. He won't stop for just one night. For as long as you are bare of any signs of life, Silco will take you again and again and again.
He already has an heir, Jinx was sure to inherit his empire, but if Jinx wanted to pursue her own path, then that title can be given to another.
Silco’s hand stayed on your stomach, thumb stroking possessively, as if he could already imagine it.
“Say you want it too,” He growled, pace quickening. “Tell me you’ll let me, my sweet. Let me give you everything.”
“I want it,” You gasped, nails digging into his shoulders. “I want your child, Silco. Want to carry it for you… for us.”
The words snapped something in him.
He drove into you harder, deeper, the bed creaking beneath you as he chased release with single-minded intensity. He buried his face on your neck, breathing you in. Your back lifted from the sheets after he hit that spot within you, and he wasted no time changing his angle to hit it again. Hands behind your thighs to raise them, keeping you open for him, teeth at your shoulder, and his hard length driving mercilessly inside you.
The moment your cries quietened into shallow gasps, Silco brought down one finger between your legs and drew tight circles. He brought himself up, lips locking on yours, before whispering.
“Let go for me, my sweet.”
You kissed him again, muffling your sounds against his mouth as you came undone, walls squeezing once.
The sensation of your release brought him to the edge. With a strangled gasp, he buried himself to the hilt, groaning your name into your mouth while he spilled hot and deep inside you, hips grinding as if to push every drop where it belonged.
He stayed there long after, still hard, still inside you, pressing lazy kisses along your throat and collarbone.
“My wife,” He whispered again, hand never leaving your stomach. “I can't wait to build a life with you.”
You smiled, threading your fingers through his hair, legs still wrapped around his waist to keep him close.
“Yours,” You answered softly. “Always.”
Silco exhaled, content, and rolled you both so you lay draped over his chest, his cock still nestled warm inside you.
Outside, Zaun thrummed on.
Inside, the Eye of Zaun held his queen—his sweetest poison, his wife, his future—and for the first time in his life, the weight he carried felt lighter, shared, and infinitely worth it.
The next morning, just after Silco took you again for the second time, you clung to each other with the covers draped on your slick bodies when Jinx’s seeped through the locked door.
This man sounds sooooo dangerous in bed istg. Deep, controlled chest rumbles and slow, deliberate exhales through his nose, his heightened senses makes him hyperaware to every sound you make, and uses his breath (breathing heavily on your neck and down) to make you squirm.
Husky, intimate whispers evolve into growled commands like "breathe with me… slower… that's it, let me feel every shudder" "just focus on my voice" "focus on me, mesh'la" his voice dropping lower the second he's buried deep.
Out of all of them, I think he's the BEST one to talk you through it. "right there, huh?" "your heartbeat's racing… you're close, aren't you?" "you fit me so nicely like this" "yeah, you can take it" He edges you mercilessly, using that smoky voice to drive you closer to the edge (lowkey weaponizes it).
Sharp, bitten-off grunts when you clench around him, which turns to long, throaty moans that vibrate against your skin. He curses softly under his breath "kriffing hells…" when he feels you close to unraveling. He just knows what to say based on your reactions, helping you reach the edge with his voice alone.
Climax hits with a raw, prolonged growl that trails into ragged panting. After that his roughness melts into soft huffs and murmured praises while he nuzzles your neck, voice back to its usual calm warmth.
ECHO
I think Echo is shy and hesitant at first. Begins with restrained soft, shaky sighs and quiet exhales, his cybernetic side making every touch feel so sensitive so his breath hitches sharply at the lightest graze.
Then, it will gradually build to emotional, reverent murmurs that crack with vulnerability and emotion. "you're incredible…" "please don't stop" "so pretty for me" "always so perfect for me" he's not gonna be rambling, he wants to say it clearly while he's pleasing you in case you don't hear it well.
When overwhelmed, faint grunt mixes with deep, strangled groans. But when he's between your legs, his noises became high and needy whimpers filled with desperation. ESPECIALLY when you take control. I'd like to think he's quiet when he's the one in charge (to hear you), then LOUDER when you are (so you hear him).
His voice gets breathier and more desperate when he's getting closer. Often trailing off into sharp gasps. Then, his breath hitches into emotional praises like, "don't deserve you" "can't believe you're mine" "too good for me" and a sweet "please, please, please" near the edge.
Finishes with a long, shuddering moan, followed by endless soft whispers of affection and "thank you… thank you…" as he holds you tight. Also, I think he might hum a soft tune under his breath as well to help you fall asleep faster.
TECH
Tech would definitely take note of everything. You'd hear his breathy commentary like "your respiration rate just increased eighteen percent" "your skin flushes a degree higher when touched here–" always delivered in that crisp, clinical tone, before it dissolves into broken sighs when you grind yourself back against him.
Voice cracks into surprised, higher whimpers when you disrupt his rhythm. He stammers mid-sentence "fascinating. wait, that's–" before it melts into uncontrolled groans. Quickly loses his focus when you meet his thrusts, or when you take control, his words trail off into unintelligible mumbling.
He CANNOT talk dirty for the life of him, instead he's rambling about the mechanics of pleasure (nerd). "the angle here provides maximum stimulation. oh, you're clenching me tighter–" "if i reach it from here, your contractions would be–" even as his words slur.
Breathing gets louder and faster with sharp gasps right before he loses it completely. He'll cling to you closer, burying his face at the crook of your neck to muffle his rambling. Sometimes you actually have to slap a hand on his mouth to keep him quiet, but he only moans louder in response.
Post-climax, he pants quietly while murmuring observations and gentle hums, already have listed dozens of improvements for next time.
CROSSHAIR
Bastard thinks he's being cool with that nonchalant facade. Slow, hissing inhales through clenched teeth, low growls, and the occasional dry chuckle when you beg. Truly believes too much noise is too much vulnerability, so he tries to keep himself as silent as possible.
Yeah, it doesn't last long. Because he'll turn into the most cruel tease known to man. "pathetic. already whining for more?" "louder. let me hear how desperate you are" "look at you, so needy for me" delivered with that signature slow, venomous cadence.
When pushed, rare broken moans escape. Rough, gravelly snarls he tries to swallow. He bites his lip hard to stay quiet but fails with a choked "kriff–" when you hit his limit and squeeze him hard enough to make him falter (you see it as a game to make him lose control and let out more noises).
ENJOYS edging you to tears, voice dropping to a whisper. "not yet… beg properly or i'll stop right here" smug even when his own breathing turns ragged and his grip tightens to to show he doesn't really want to stop. All bark and no bite (unless you really push him).
His climax rips out a long, guttural growl from him that he drags out deliberately, then snaps back to heavy, controlled breaths. Aftercare praises are rare, maybe a slip of a few here and there if you're lucky.
WRECKER
I pray you don't mind loud men, because he's DEFINITELY the loudest out of all of them. Absolutely shameless too. Big, booming laughs that melt straight into enthusiastic, room-shaking groans. Don't even be surprised at this point.
Playful, shouted dirty talk has him grinning so wide. "squeezin' me so tight, aren't ya?" "keep goin', pretty" "kriff, you feel amazin'" "yeah, let them hear ya" with breathless chuckles every time you squirm for him.
Lots of curses and deep, hearty moans that rumble like thunder. He gets even LOUDER when you ride him, encouraging you through his gritted growls and roughened groans. Expect his large hands everywhere too, absolutely comments on every part of your body with mixed adoration and possession.
My BIGGEST hc of him is overstimulation makes him laugh. Imagine you're on god knows what round now, and he's just laughing when he pulls another one from you. "awww too much?" "nahhh, you can take it!" "c'mon just one more!" it makes you both love and hate how much stamina he has.
Ends with a rumbling groan and moan combo that shakes the bed. Then drops to cuddly, rumbling purrs and "you're the best… c'mere" as he crushes you in an inescapable hug.
CAPTAIN REX
HEAVY praiser and he's so soooo touchy. Actually so touch-starved, but hides it well until you touch him (he WILL melt). He's sweet, considerate, and wants you to know how perfect you are. He starts with warm, low groans kept under tight control, breath even until you push him then it cracks with a husky rasp.
LOTS of affectionate, encouraging murmurs. "that's it, mesh'la… just like that" "i've got you, always" "so beautiful for me" voice thick with emotion even mid-thrust. Never degrades you, it's actually against him to say anything negative to you even in bed (unless you assure him it's fine).
Builds to deeper moans with rare, growled curses "kriff… you're killing me–" And when close, his praises seem endless. "so beautiful… let me hear you come for me" "please, let me feel you" "i'll get you there, mesh'la." "wanna feel you get there"
Dirty talk isn't really dirty talk. It's direct, loving, and commanding in a gentle way. "harder? faster? anything you need, just tell me" Always checking in too, staring at you with utter adoration combined with heat and desire.
His orgasm is a long, shuddering exhale and broken "good… so kriffing good" followed by soft kisses and murmured aftercare like "rest now… i've got you."
COMMANDER CODY
My GUILTY PLEASURE HC of him is he's very much into control (dom/sub undertones anyone???). He wants to be the one to guide you through every order and command. Deep, steady grunts and low rumbles, voice never quite losing its authority even when on the edge.
It's like his rank never leaves him even in the bedroom. Quiet, firm whispers to keep you focused. "eyes on me… let me watch you fall apart" "don't look away, cyare" "keep those legs open" "spread them wider" delivered with that calm, no-nonsense tone that makes you melt.
When he lets go, he lets out rougher throaty moans mix with strained grunts. "taking me so well… don't you dare hold back" "want my brothers to hear you? kriff, maybe you do. you're squeezing me so tight–" Turning from the controlled commands, to encouraging sentences.
Like I said in the first one, I REALLY feel like he's very much into giving commands. And when he sees you submitting yourself to him, fully and without hesitation, that wrecks uncontrollable groans edged with approval out of him. Absolutely gets off to your submission.
His orgasm breaks his restraint with a tight, raw groan that drags loooong. Post-orgasm, he doesn't talk much anymore. Just focuses on cleaning you up and taking care of you. Then calm, heavy breathing and gentle praises as he hugs you close against him once he's back on your side.
COMMANDER WOLFFE
Another contender with Crosshair. REALLY tries to keep his noises down, but you'll hear his gruff and animalistic sounds the longer he goes on. Low snarls, sharp inhales, and growled curses. He's rougher and more intense than most clones.
And unlike Cody, he doesn't order commands. They're demands. "louder" "scream it" "say my name" "i can't hear you, speak up" He's not afraid to be so mean when it comes to bed. But y'know what they say? Meaner in the streets, freakier in the sheets—
Builds to ragged, almost pained guttural moans whenever you clench around him. It actually drives him insane when you do that. He growls deep from his chest, digs his nails into your hips harder the same time his thrusts become sharper.
Secretly LOVES it when you scratch him too, he gets off to your marks (possessive asf) and it goes both ways. When he feels your nails scratching down his back or shoulders, he's releasing louder and more unrestrained growls that vibrate through you.
Finishes with a deep, satisfied rumble and heavy pants. Might mutter a rare, rough "you did good" while stroking your hair.
CAPTAIN HOWZER
Okay back to the soft boys. Howzer is definitely one of the best service tops you can ever have. Warm, earnest, and gentle. His groans are soft, breathy sighs full of affection from the beginning. He's not focused on his sounds, he's focused on yours. Very attuned to your reactions and how your body responds.
Like Echo, his sounds are silent and you can only hear him panting lightly. Except when you're taking control, he'll start talking and rambling. "feels too good… you're incredible–" "don't stop, wanna get there with you" "kriff, you feel so good like this"
But when he had a long day away from you, he won't hesitate on the sweet-dirty praises. "just like that…" "kriff, you're driving me insane" "love how you sound, cyar'ika" "love the way you feel around me" "all for me. just for me, right?" always encouraging and adoring.
Again, I don't think he's very vocal at the start. BUT he gets breathier and more vocal near the end, moaning your name repeatedly in that warm tone. He asks questions too like, "like that, sweetheart?" "you like this better? or this?" "want me deeper? or faster?"
Then, when he finally finishes, it's with a long, relieved moan and soft, affectionate whispers. "stay like that, i'll take care of you"
CAPTAIN GREGOR
Oh, my god. This man right here is the absolute BIGGEST tease you'll ever meet. Playful and cheeky, and he's not against bringing jokes into bed. Lots of lighthearted chuckles that deepen into throaty growls, voice bouncing between teasing and dominating.
When you curse at him, he simply giggles and teases you even more. "like that? c'mon tell me. you know i love hearing you" "what was that? sorry can't hear you over your moans, sweetheart" He gets all cocky and confident at first (especially during foreplay), then he QUICKLY switches up the moment he slides into you and goes quiet.
Voice cracks. You all know and heard it in the show. When he gets lost into the sensation, his jokes dissolve into strangled gasps and those tiny voice cracks. He laughs breathlessly when it feels too good, then sobs when it's too much. I KNOW a switch when I see one.
He's actually pretty versatile. One moment he's fun, lighthearted, and all cheeky. Then, his voice drops into a husky and growly tone. And sometimes, it turns into intense, whimpers when you take over (you love taking charge just to hear more of his voice cracks).
By the end of the first round, he's grinning again. He cuddles you close to him, still breathless when he playfully asks, "round two? i'm game if you are…"
COMMANDER MAYDAY
Another touch-starved soul right here. But unlike Rex, his noises are reduced to a quiet, gravelly start. Worn out exhales and low rumbles, voice rough but warm like he's savoring every second. Not very vocal with words like the others, but his sounds are to die for.
Builds slowly to deep, earned moans that feel raw and vulnerable. He's sparse words, but heavy on sounds. From the way he sounds, it's almost grounding and steady. I feel like Mayday's voice is naturally hoarse and raspy, unused from months of isolation—so when he lets out noises, it's always rasped, strained, and husky.
Not a big fan of intense dirty talk. His words are always heartfelt and weighted. "so good… stay right here with me… don't let go" laced with emotion like he's afraid of you disappearing. He doesn't like to be loud himself, but he doesn't mind if you're the one being loud. He absolutely loves it when you're responsive, it leaves a little proud smile on his face (still got it –him probably in his head).
The way he talks you through it is always slow, taking his time with you, drawing out your pleasure. "oh, that's it–" "you needed this too, don't you?" "i'm here. you can let go" He doesn't talk much because his mouth is ALWAYS on you.
When he finally breaks, throaty, desperate groans with a hint of relief. He holds back until it hurts. Climax with heavy, shuddering breaths and soft, grounding whispers. "you're safe. i've got you… always."
A/N: I genuinely can't believe I wrote this down when I was tipsy during a party last night. I vaguely remember sitting on one corner to take a break, and pulling out my notes app to write all this down (dw i proofread this before posting).
Comfort from Robert feels like a hug you never asked for but always needed.
We all know Robert is the guy you'd need when you're going through something. He used to think he was shit with comforting people or giving advice in general, but somehow he just knew the right words to say. Maybe because those were the exact words he never has the chance to hear from others, or maybe they're the same ones he needed to hear himself. So when he sees you curled up on the couch, sniffling and quickly wiping away your tears, he's immediately on you.
He won't hesitate to wrap his arms around you, not caring if your tears dampened his shirt. He'll whisper things like "don't worry, sweetheart" "everything's fine" "i'm here, you're okay" "let it out, we'll talk about it when you're okay" Then, when you've finally calmed down, he'll listen while you tell him about your bad day. He won't ask questions until you release it all. When he hugs you, you melt into it and pull him tighter. The hug wasn't just for you, it was for him too.
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INVISIGAL
Comfort from Invisigal feels like a cold gentle breeze you never see but always feel.
You don't expect her to show up during these times when you're feel like you're at the bottom, but somehow, she always know when to show up. It freaks you out at first, but after a while, you come to accept her sudden appearances and just sit there with her. She's not the best with words, but her presence is more than enough. Because sometimes, you just need to feel seen. And she sees through you. Even before you know something's wrong, she's immediately there by your side. Sometimes to joke around, sometimes just to sit in silence while she smokes and you vent out to her about your emotions.
She tries not to talk over you, but when you need it, she can give a pretty good advice once she's serious. You can tell she's been through enough as well, and for once, it feels nice to have someone who truly knows what you're going through. You don't always see her coming, but you feel her there even before she shows herself—that already comforts you enough.
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WATERBOY
Comfort from Waterboy feels like the calming waves of the sea washing over you on the shoreline.
Waterboy didn't have much experience comforting others. He rarely receives it himself, except from his grandma, and later from Robert. When Robert started comforting him, Waterboy admired his natural ability to put people at ease. So, he took lessons from him in case someone else might need it in the future. And whenever he sees you sitting alone in the parking lot, head in your hands, Waterboy doesn't hesitate to approach your side and sit next to you.
He might not have the best delivery when it comes to giving advices, but somehow, they bring enough comfort to you because you know they're genuine. Like gentle waves, you allow his words to surround and wash over you. His comfort feels like a lifeline as well, so if you ever feel like you're in too deep, just know he's always there to pull you out of the depths before you drown.
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FLAMBAE
Comfort from Flambae feels like sitting beside a fire (quite literally) and savoring its heat.
Pretty unironic, but really, he radiate so much heat that you actually feel it in your bones and it just disarms you completely. Like Invisigal, he's not the best with words, though he really tries to give you some advice he picked up from his niece. But what he really gives you is that warmth you never expect him to have. Not that kind of warmth that comes from his flames or his words, but from the way he silently looks after you. He might not seem like it, but he's one of the most observant people in the team.
He knows when you're feeling like shit, and yeah he may poke fun at you at first, but he'll immediately ease up once he senses you're not in the mood. Then, he's not leaving your side until you feel better. And to your surprise, he even opens up to you as well. He tells you once, "it's okay to feel burn out sometimes, but whenever you do, just come straight to me. it feels better when you're not alone."
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PRISM
Comfort from Prism feels like listening to your favorite song over and over again without ever feeling sick of it.
You feel like every day's the same. You feel burdened by everything, and it's weighing down on you more than you realize. But once Prism sees this, oh you're going to feel like you're listening to your favorite song for the first time. And now matter how much you come back to it, it never fails to replace that exhaustion with peace. She's also so incredibly protective of your emotions too, ready to defend or fight, and even when she's cutthroat at times, you know she means well.
Like music, she's unchanging and authentic. She's not afraid to sugarcoat things, but her words mean a lot and they're just what you need to hear. And you appreciate her for that. You always feel like you can come back to her anytime, and she tells you you're welcome to do so. She always knows how to cheer you up, how to make you smile and forget about all of your problems until you feel a little better than before.
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PUNCH UP
Comfort from Punch Up feels like an inside joke shared between close friends.
You know that kind of pain you feel at your sides when you laugh too much? He makes sure you always feel that whenever you feel down. At least, that kind of pain will bring a smile on your face instead of tears. And it might sound cliché, but he knows how hard it is to feel like you're carrying the whole world on your shoulders. And if you're not strong enough, it might crash down on you. But he assures you every time, "it's alright to feel weak sometimes, being strong all the time can be fucking tiring."
And with him, you can always put your guard down. He makes sure that by the end of the day, you're smiling, laughing, and forgetting all about your problems through his comforting jokes and stories. He just never runs out of it. He's like a gentle reminder that strength doesn't always mean physical, sometimes it's something from within, and he tells you how you've always been strong this whole time.
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COUPÉ
Comfort from Coupé feels like looking at the moon during long, quiet nights.
In times of darkness, the sight of the moon always makes you feel at peace. And Coupé's presence feels exactly like that. Sometimes, she's there for short hours of the night. Other times, she disappears. But most of the time, she appears when you least expect it. Mysterious, quiet, and intuitive. She's the perfect person for you when you feel like everything just feels too much. Her silence doesn't bother you. Instead, it's the kind of silence you need to clear your thoughts and listen to your emotions.
When things get too loud, too much, too heavy, Coupé can offer you the opposite. Like Punch Up, she's like a gentle reminder that in times of darkness, there's always someone out there who would sit there and enjoy it with you. Because sometimes, words are not enough to describe how you feel. Sometimes, you need the silence to drown out the noise. And with her, you don't even realize how quiet your thoughts become until she's gone.
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GOLEM
Comfort from Golem feels like a sturdy wall you can lean on when you can't stand up anymore.
When you feel like you don't have anyone to lean on, Golem is there to catch you before you fall. He might take up a lot of space, but he knows not to crowd you when you feel too overwhelmed. But when you need him closer, he won't hesitate to stay by your side for however long you need him. Could be a few minutes or even an hour. He wants to make sure you're not going through it alone. He knows how hard it feels when it's just yourself to depend on, and he doesn't want you to experience the same thing.
If his presence can't comfort you alone, his voice will. Listening to him will always make your head and heart feel a little calmer than before. Most of the time, he'd read you poems he likes or even make one on the spot about you. Not many people like to be around him, you know that because you see the way he keeps to himself and how others seem to avoid him, so maybe he's finding comfort with you too. And suddenly, it feels a little less lonely when you're lonely with someone else.
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SONAR
Comfort from Sonar feels like drinking a warm cup of coffee late at night.
His presence isn't always what you want, but you don't realize it's what you need. You don't really want coffee for random reasons, right? But when you finally have it, the warmth and the taste immediately soothes you. Sonar is exactly like that. Sometimes, he comes off as too strong. Other times, he's making things lighter with his casual quips. But the important to thing is that he's always there when you need him. He's not the best guy to come to for genuine advices, but he's intelligent enough to know what to give you depending on your situation.
He's logical yet adaptive. He'd always find a solution for you in case you need it, but if you only want someone to listen, he could do that as well. So, like coffee, you can make it however you want it to be. He could be calm and attentive, or responsive and witty. Whichever you prefer, he'll give you whatever you need without any complaints (most of the time).
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MALEVOLA
Comfort from Malevola feels like laying on your bed and sinking into your mattress after a tiring day.
After she found you one time, upset and frustrated about your day, she didn't hesitate to pull you aside and place your head on her lap. "Rest it off, sweetheart. I'll watch over you." You hesitated at first, but after feeling her sharp nails lightly drag across your scalp, you finally succumb to sleep. So every time you don't feel good, she's immediately there to lay your head on her lap or her shoulder. And it would always work, you'd melt against her while she keeps her arm around you.
The exhaustion is still there when you wake up, but you'd always feel better because when you do, she's still there. No matter how long you've spent resting, she makes sure no harm comes to you. Her comfort feels like protection, like a thick blanket surrounding you whenever it's cold. Others might flinch away at the sight of her, but to you, you'd always melt instead.
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BLONDE BLAZER
Comfort from Blonde Blazer feels like watching the sunrise at the wake of dawn.
Her comfort feels like hope. After the dark, cold hours of the night, there's always the next day to bring light and warmth. Just her presence alone eases your exhaustion. She has a natural way of disarming your walls, always knows what to say or do whenever she sees you going through something. And every time she does it, there's always that bright smile on her face. Like seeing the golden slip of sunlight peeking through the horizon at dawn, and you're reminded why many people look up to her.
Not only is she warm, she's steady and gentle. She's a reminder that no matter how dark your life gets, there's always the light at the end of the tunnel. And with her, she helps you find that path until you find yourself again in the end. She's a beacon for many, but to you, she was a lighthouse when you're lost at sea—and you'll always search for her comfort and guidance.
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ROYD
Comfort from Royd feels like watching your favorite comfort show for hours and hours.
Whenever you feel stressed or overwhelmed from work, Royd always invites you down in the basement to hang out with him in his workshop/lab. His kind of comfort comes in the form of sitting back and watching him work. He always makes sure you're distracted from whatever thoughts you're overthinking about, keeping up conversation while he works on gears, parts, and the like. And somehow, it relaxes you. Watching him work, seeing him do wonders while he's in his element, and listening to his stories.
He brings you your favorite snacks and drinks too, so while he works, he's at ease knowing you have something to eat and stay hydrated with. Down there, you can get out of your head and focus on what's happening in front of you. He makes you forget about your problems, even for a little while, by keeping you engaged and entertained. But you're not just entertained, you're also happy to be there with him.
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PHENOMAMAN
Comfort from Phenomaman feels like sharing food with someone you care about and eating together.
It started by accident. He found you sitting by yourself in the parking lot, and he doesn't hesitate to approach you to ask what's wrong. Knowing him, he doesn't have the best social cues known to mankind, so you tell him about how bad your day was. He lights up and tells you he knows the perfect way to decrease the tension. That "way" happens to be two ice cream cones, one for you and the other for him. He tells you afterwards, "i find that sharing food in your planet can produce comfort. i hope i'm doing it correctly."
And ever since then, whenever one or both of you were feeling down, you bond over shared food. Sometimes they're sweets, a guilty pleasure for both of you, and sometimes it's the bundle of fruits from his monthly subscription. It's the kind of bond that develops slowly over time, and you find yourself forgetting how bad your day was the moment you see him walking towards you carrying a new snack to try.
Continuation of Tech's round from my Seven Minutes in Heaven miniseries! Enjoy ;))
WC: 4k | RATING: EXPLICIT
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A week.
Five standard days, one hundred twenty hours, seven thousand two hundred minutes—give or take a few seconds depending on planetary rotation—since the storage compartment door had slid open to Wrecker's booming laugh and Hunter's knowing smile. Since you'd both stepped out flushed, his goggles slightly askew, lips swollen, and clearly unfinished.
Tech had cataloged every single one of those minutes, and he's been… distracted more so than usual. He was never distracted before, always sharp and focused on his tasks, but you always did manage to occupy his thoughts ever since you joined their squad. Even more now that he had shared that game with you and it’s disrupting his routine and everyday function. It got to the point where he’ll drown himself in whatever task available to ensure his focus was still intact.
He'd run diagnostics on the hyperdrive three times more than necessary during hyperspace jumps. He'd recalibrated the Marauder's sensor array twice while the others slept. He'd stared at the same conduit panel in the cockpit fourteen minutes straight last night, replaying variations of what could have happened if the timer hadn't interrupted.
All he could do was come back to that memory.
Your hands on his body, your teeth on his neck, the way your voice had dropped when you'd whispered exactly what you wanted to do to him next. The way you looked at him then, piercing and knowing, has never left his mind ever since.
He hadn't slept properly as well.
Not that he ever slept for long, but now that he's haunted by that memory, he thought he would never know proper rest until he has you again. But with their current missions and the company of his brothers, the chances of being alone with you were slim to none. And he could only keep his distance to give you the respect you deserved.
Currently, the Marauder sat grounded on a dusty Outer Rim resupply world—some backwater with more dirt and sand than sense—while Hunter, Wrecker, Crosshair, and Echo fanned out into the settlement for rations, medical-grade bacta, and whatever spare parts they could barter for.
Meanwhile, Tech had volunteered to stay behind.
“Routine maintenance on the navicomputer,” He'd said, pushing up his goggles. “And someone should remain aboard for security.”
No one questioned it, but he didn't miss the way Hunter looked at him before they left. Like he knew something was going to happen while he stayed behind.
And now he was elbow-deep in the cockpit console when he heard your boots on the deck plating.
You didn't announce yourself, but he always knew it was you from the way your footsteps fell.
Tech's shoulders tensed under his armor, but he kept his eyes on the exposed wiring. He could feel your presence there, and the weight of your stare bearing down on him from above.
“The others will be out for several hours,” He said without turning. “The local merchants are notoriously inefficient.”
“I know,” Your voice was calm, dangerously so. “That's why I stayed.”
He exhaled through his nose, a controlled breath to gather his thoughts and himself. “Did you require something from the medbay inventory? I can–”
“Tech.”
The single word stopped him cold. Low and firm. The same tone you'd used in the storage compartment when your fingers had curled into his hair and tugged just hard enough to make his mind break into pleasure.
He straightened slowly, turning to face you. You stood in the narrow space of the entrance, arms loosely crossed, head tilted. Your medic's fatigues were still dusted with the planet's red sand, but your eyes were clear and focused.
He's seen that look before.
Right before you pinned him to the wall in that storage compartment. When you whispered all those filthy things that made his blood run hot and straight down his spine. Or the moment he watched you sink to your knees before him, vivid and haunting behind his closed eyelids every time he took himself in hand and pictured it was yours or your pretty lips around him.
“Or perhaps,” He cleared his throat, adjusting his goggles out of pure habit. “You stayed behind for… other reasons?”
You didn’t answer yet. Instead, you tilted your head and hummed.
“Reasons?” Your gaze flicked down his body, deliberate and intentional, then back up. “You've been avoiding me all week. I’m starting to think you’ve changed your mind.”
He opened his mouth to deny it on reflex, then closed it again. “I have been... preoccupied with extrapolating possible outcomes.”
A slow smile curved your lips, raising an eyebrow at him. “Outcomes.”
“Yes,” His voice stayed even, but his pulse had increased ever since you'd entered the cockpit. He wouldn't be surprised if you could hear it. “The chances of us being alone again without external interruption was low. Believe me, I had calculated it. Yet here we are.”
“Here we are,” You echoed, the glint in your eyes burning now. “Are you gonna do anything about it?”
You took one step towards him, then two. And three. Until you were standing right in front of him, staring up into his tinted lenses beneath your lashes. Then, you reached out and plucked the hydrospanner from his gloved fingers, setting it aside on the console with a soft clink.
“No timer this time.”
Tech swallowed, his next word was strained. “Correct.”
This time, you didn't rush.
You simply rested your hands against his armored chest until his legs met the edge of the pilot chair, and he dropped down on his seat with a soft grunt. He didn't stop you when your knees slid beside his thighs. He didn’t push you off when you sat yourself on his lap, and he found himself enjoying your weight pressing on top of him. He could feel the heat radiating off you through both your clothes.
His hands froze in the air, and you clicked your tongue as you guided them to your waist.
“In the compartment,” You murmured, “You also froze when I knelt in front of you.”
“I did not freeze,” He corrected automatically, but the blush on his cheeks betrayed him. “I experienced a momentary processing delay due to unexpected sensory input.”
Your laugh was soft, dangerous. “Isn’t that the same thing?”
A beat.
His gaze shifted, fingers flexing on your waist in a tight squeeze before easing. “I guess it is.”
“And did you like it?”
“...Yes.”
“I didn't hear you.”
Tech gulped, feeling the skin beneath his collar heat at the authority in your tone. In a louder, yet still strained, voice he answered.
“Yes, I liked it. Very much so.”
You leaned in until your lips brushed the shell of his ear. “Then why haven't you asked for more?”
“Because—” He inhaled sharply as your breath hit his neck. “—the variables were unfavorable. Mission parameters. Squad proximity. Professional boundaries.”
You ghosted a smile underneath his jaw, then kissed his racing pulse. “And now?”
“Now the variables have shifted,” His grip tightened again, as if he was more certain of himself. “Significantly.”
You pulled back just enough to meet his eyes. “Good. But that didn't explain why you were avoiding me, Tech.”
Yes, he was avoiding you.
Not because he didn't want you. But because you awakened something in him that he feared would be too shameful to admit. That time in that storage compartment, he never knew he could be so… pliant when it came to intimate acts. He never did indulge in such thoughts, too preoccupied with more pressing matters. However, you managed to bring out a side of him he never knew he had.
Something uncontrollable. Something different.
Something only you can elicit without struggle.
And now, here you were.
Seated on his lap like you belonged there. Looking at him with that hungry gleam in your eyes that swallowed him whole and caused him a loss for air. He was guilty of imagining you then, even before that game, of how you'd look when you're under the influence of pleasure. He wasn't as innocent as his brothers thought him to be. Of course, he was well-versed with the knowledge of sex and what it entailed.
After all, he researched about it.
But then again, studying something was entirely different than experiencing it.
And he would admit it.
He would love to learn from you.
Anything you could give him. Anything you had to offer that would gain him both knowledge and experience. So that, perhaps in the future, he might surprise you with his own advances. As much as he enjoyed your display of dominance, he still preferred to have things his way after a certain time. Perhaps next time, you'd allow him to take control. But for now, clueless and flustered, Tech will simply sit back and let you do whatever you wanted with him.
As if you sensed his submission, the smirk on your lips stretched into a pleased grin.
Your fingers were at the clasps of his chestplate. Efficient, practiced, the same way you stripped armor off wounded troopers.
Only this time it wasn't medical. “Take this off.”
It wasn't a request.
Tech's hands moved before his brain fully caught up. Plates came away with quiet clicks and thuds, set carefully aside because even now he couldn't treat equipment carelessly. When only his blacks remained, you removed yourself from his lap and pointed at his lap.
“That too.”
He obeyed.
He always will.
And when he was finally free of any barriers save for the skin tight dark fabric, you hummed in approval and licked your lips.
“Good soldier.”
An unexpected sound caught in his throat, shifting in his seat as his breathing deepened. He felt exposed in a way no battlefield ever managed. In his mind, only one thing echoed loud and clear like a beacon.
Follow orders.
You placed yourself on his lap again, hands sliding up his chest, over the subtle ridges of muscle under fabric, then curled around the back of his neck. He sighed at the sensation, squeezing your waist until he reached your back. He returned the gesture—caressing the curve of your spine, lightly digging his nails against the muscles, then falling to your hips where he gripped you.
You tugged him closer, gentle but insistent, until his forehead rested against yours.
“Last time,” You whispered, “I barely got to taste you before we were interrupted.”
Another sound caught from him, this time you heard it. Small, strained, and needy.
“We won't be interrupted now,” He tilted his head, gaze stuck in your lips. “They'll be gone for quite some time. I made sure to list as much materials as we need to keep them at bay.”
You chuckled, lips brushing against his. “Clever.”
He cracked a small grin. “Efficient.”
This time, when your mouth found his, there was no frantic urgency. And the sensation was profoundly better than the first time. Not as special, but still as breathtaking. You kissed him like you were studying him, every small sound he couldn't quite suppress. When your tongue traced the seam of his lips he opened for you immediately, sighing into your mouth as you pushed yourself deeper.
One of your hands descended, fingertips tracing his chest down to his lean and taut stomach. To where you finally reached him, palming his stiffening length through the bodyglove. At first, he whimpered at the light pressure. Then, he jerked, a choked noise escaping into your mouth once you pressed harder.
“Still thinking about probabilities?” You teased him, gripping the length of him now.
“Currently recalculating all of them,” He managed, but his sentence cracked on the last word.
You smiled against his lips.
“Good. Keep thinking,” Your fingers hooked into his waistband. “Let’s see if you can last.”
He might not.
Not when you finally slipped your hand inside, and wrapped around his hard length in a firm hold. His hips bucked forward, chasing a stuttered breath when your hand began to move. Slow, steady, and hard enough to have him gasping out loud before he bit his lip to muffle another sound.
His head fell back against the headrest. “That– That is a highly effective stimulation."
"I know,” You swept a thumb across his tip, and his mouth fell open to release a broken groan. “Tell me what you want.”
He stared up at you, pupils blown wide behind the lenses. For once, words failed him. But his hands found your waist again, gripping hard enough to leave marks through fabric.
“Everything,” He said hoarsely. “I want... everything we didn't finish.”
Your smile turned wicked. “Then let's finish it.”
You released him in the next second, and he shifted his hips to chase your touch. However, you pushed him back against his seat—wearing a light glare as a warning—and he obeyed immediately.
Follow orders.
“Stay still.”
Good soldiers follow orders.
“Just sit there and look pretty.”
Tech nodded, barely holding in a needy sound at the back of his throat. “Of all the descriptions others have given me. Talkative, know-it-all, and some less than pleasant comments. None of them called me pretty before.”
You fixed him an amused look, settling yourself on your knees before him. “Glad to be the first one.”
You leaned in, your breath ghosting over his bulge as you peeled away the last layers of his bodyglove. He was already hard, straining against the thick fabric you'd just freed him from, and the sight of him—flushed, vulnerable, his usual composure cracking under your gaze—sent a thrill through you and a shudder through him.
He averted his gaze aside, suddenly timid. “Ah, you do not need to… assess it.”
Meanwhile, you still took your time admiring him. Wrapping a hand around his base, feeling his thickness throb in your palm, and squeezed him once to see him snap his eyes close and mouth fall open.
You smirked, brushing a thumb over his flushed tip. “So kriffing pretty for me, Tech.”
First, the degradation.
Now, the praise.
Tech wasn't sure which one he liked more.
Though after mulling over the thought for several minutes, he has come to a decision that he didn't mind either. As long as you were the one giving them. As long as you were the one touching him like this, kissing his knees and murmuring those sweetened words. When your lips inched closer to his inner thighs, he twitched and released a shaky breath—tempted to shove his hips outwards to get closer.
“Remember,” You murmured, your breath hitting his warm skin. “You don't get to finish until I say so.”
Tech's eyes widened behind his goggles, his chest rising and falling in quick, measured breaths.
“That constitutes an… edging. It would heighten several physiological factors in—”
You silenced him with another firm grip around his base, squeezing just enough to make his words dissolve into a sharp inhale.
“Are you against it?”
He quickly shook his head, hands clenching the armrests of the pilot chair as you sank to your knees between his spread legs. The cockpit was tight, the console lights casting a soft glow over his body, highlighting every tense muscle. You took your time, leaning in to press a teasing kiss to the inside of his thigh, then another higher up, drawing out the anticipation until he was squirming subtly.
When your lips finally brushed his tip, he bucked involuntarily, a low groan escaping his throat.
“Patience,” You chided, your tongue flicking out to taste him, salty and warm. “But keep talking. I love how you sound.”
You swirled around the head slowly, deliberately, watching his face as his head tipped back, goggles slipping slightly askew. Then, without warning, you took him into your mouth—enveloping him in wet heat that sucked him in deeper and deeper.
Tech's hips jerked, but you pinned them down with your hands, controlling the pace.
You moved languidly at first, sucking lightly, your tongue pressing flat against the underside as you bobbed your head.
His gloved fingers dug into the chair, knuckles white. “That's—oh, stars. That is unfair.”
You only hummed around him in response, the vibration pulling another choked sound from him. Picking up speed, you hollowed your cheeks, taking him deeper until he hit the back of your throat. His thighs trembled under your palms, breaths coming in ragged pants. You could feel him thickening, pulsing, getting closer, his body betraying how desperately he wanted release.
But not yet.
You pulled off with a wet pop, your hand replacing your mouth in slow, firm strokes.
Tech whimpered, loud and unashamed, his eyes squeezing shut. “Wait—what are you—”
“Shhh,” You blew a cool breath over his slick length, watching him twitch. “Tell me how close you were.”
“Imminently,” He admitted through gritted teeth. “I was almost at my peak until you—”
“Good,” You dove back in, this time relentless.
Sucking hard, twisting your hand at the base in rhythm with your mouth.
He jolted again, babbling incoherently about the feeling of your mouth and how perfect you felt on him, but you didn't let up until his whole body tensed and one of his hands reached for your head. Not to control you, but to ground himself by caressing your hair and threading his fingers through the strands.
Then you stopped once more, lips hovering just out of reach as he thrusted weakly into the air.
“Not yet,” You whispered, your voice husky from the effort. “Hold it, Tech.”
His groan was pure frustration, forehead beaded with sweat. “You—you're torturing me.”
“Am I?” You stood slowly, shedding your own fatigues with deliberate movements, letting him watch. “Is it torture when you enjoy it?”
His gaze tracked every inch of exposed skin, pupils dilated, until you were completely bare for him to see. He imagined you many times before, but no vivid imagery can compare to how you looked before him. If he could speak, he would've praised you immediately. But again, words failed him. And so you climbed back onto his lap, straddling him again, while he blinked in disbelief and stunned awe.
He was still throbbing, slick from your mouth, and you positioned yourself above him, teasing the tip against your entrance.
“Ready to finish what we started?”
“Yes,” He rasped, hands finally reaching for your hips, desperately rolling his hips. “Please.”
You kissed him first, pulling him towards you with a harsh tug.
He followed easily, groaning into your lips and reciprocating the kiss with fervent hunger. He could get addicted to this. To the taste and warmth of you. He wouldn't spend another day without thinking of this moment. Then, you pulled away to lift yourself above his length. When you saw the pleading look in his dark eyes, you finally sank down onto him in one smooth motion, taking him fully.
The stretch was perfect, and you both moaned. A broken exhale from him, yours in contentment.
You rolled your hips slowly at first, building the rhythm, your hands on his shoulders for leverage.
Tech's head fell forward against your chest, his breaths hot against your skin as he thrusted up to meet you.
“This is—stars, you feel so—”
“Perfect," You sighed dreamily, clenching around him as you rode him harder. “So perfect for me, Tech. Wish I could've had you like this back then.”
That tore another grunt from him, imagining you like this in the storage compartment. Riding him like this, taking what you needed, and he would've let you control the pace just so he could watch everything. He'd be perfectly content sitting beneath you, while you moved over him hypnotically. Grinding and rolling. Pushing and pulling. Moving up and down to chase your pleasure.
Perhaps after this, he'd give you permission to pull him back in that compartment or back here to take him again.
And again. And again.
He took one nipple into his mouth, muffling his own sounds by swirling a tongue around. It produced a pronounced moan from you, so he did it again in hopes to hear more. He played with your other breast, massaging the flesh and pinching the nipple lightly. All the while he was staring up at you to watch your face, and you were staring right back wearing a dazed smile.
“Good?” You asked, and he nodded against your chest. “It's all yours, Tech. I'm all yours.”
He twitched inside you, an unfamiliar surge spurred him to grip your hips in a possessive hold.
Without warning, he pushed you back until your back hit his steering wheel and started thrusting upwards.
Harder, deeper, and faster than the last.
You choked another moan, clutching his shoulders tighter. He didn't know where the sudden strength and dominance came from. But after hearing those words—all his—something in him snapped, and all rational thoughts were abandoned. You should've known how much he valued his possessions. His tools, his datapad, his armor. Everything that belonged to him was always taken care of, and now you gave yourself away.
And he planned to take care of you too.
Your breaths turned sharp, thighs trembling as you ground down against him, clit rubbing just right with every roll.
And Tech noticed.
Of course he did.
His voice came out fractured, words tumbling faster than he could filter them.
“You're clenching in rhythmic intervals,” He gasped, forehead pressed to your collarbone. “Sustained contractions. Approximately three seconds apart... increasing in amplitude. It's– it's drawing me in deeper with every pulse.”
You moaned breathlessly, the sound hitching as another wave of pleasure rolled through you.
“Keep talking.”
He groaned, hips snapping up involuntarily. “The—ahhh—the internal pressure variance is exquisite. Your walls are textured, ridged in irregular patterns that create localized friction gradients. Every time you descend there's this... this perfect interference pattern against the coronal ridge. It's—it feels extraordinary—”
His words cracked into a whine as you deliberately tightened around him, holding the squeeze for a long second before releasing.
“Your voluntary control is– it's devastating. The way you convulse when you're approaching threshold. The heat, the—oh, kriff—the slickness increasing exponentially, lubrication coefficient approaching ideal, reducing drag while maximizing sensory feedback—”
You were close now, so close, grinding down harder, chasing it.
Your nails dug into his shoulders as you met his thrusts halfway. “More—”
“And the temperature differential,” He rambled on, voice pitching higher, almost frantic. “Your core is running at least a degree hotter than baseline. It's enveloping me. It's melting my higher functions. I can feel every microvascular pulse, every involuntary spasm building tow– toward the edge.”
His hips stuttered, thrusts turning erratic as he fought to hold on for you.
“You're close,” He gasped, and he was too. “Please let me observe the peak. I need the data. I need to feel you.”
He drove himself faster, using his hold on your body to move you up and down on his length.
You placed a hand behind you to grasp his knee, and the other looped around his neck to pull him closer.
“Kriff, I'm close.” You panted in his neck, tightening around him. “Tech, I'm almost—”
Tech angled his head, capturing your lips in a heated kiss. “Come for me, my dear. Please.”
You shattered first, clenching hard around him as the orgasm ripped through you, a sharp cry tearing from your throat. The sudden, vise-like grip pulled him over the edge with you.
Tech came with a broken, hips jerking as he spilled inside you, babbling through the aftershock. His release hits him like an overload surge, pulling you over the edge with him in waves of shared intensity. The cockpit echoed with your combined pants as he slowed, collapsing against him.
No interruptions. Just satisfaction, finally complete.
The cockpit smelled of sweat and sex, something he would've been repulsed by before. But now, with you on his lap and still wrapped around him, he found himself enjoying the new sensations. For a while, he simply hugged you close. Cherishing the heat from your body, feeling your racing heartbeat slow against him, and coming down from the high that clouded his mind.
He felt your hand on his cheek, then his head was being turned to face you.
“How was the data?” You smiled at him.
Tech returned the smile, closing the distance. “Quite enlightening.”
SUMMARY: As Admiral of General Plo Koon's ship, you had it going everyday. You were no Jedi to feel detached, and you were no soldier to withstand the stress. So, when a certain commander noticed, you didn't expect him to suggest an offer that could be beneficial to the both of you—a breather, he said.
CONTENT: 5k words, piv sex, soft wolffe (let's give the man a break too), oral sex (fem receiving), touch-starved idiots, mildly dubious consent, let's pretend the Triumphant survived for fic purposes, coworkers with benefits?
RATING: EXPLICIT
VIEWER DISCRETION IS ADVISED!
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As Admiral of the Venator-class Star Destroyer Triumphant, under the command of Jedi Master Plo Koon, you held the weight of the galaxy's endless war on your shoulders. It was a position you'd earned through years of strategic brilliance, unyielding discipline, and a knack for turning chaotic battlefields into orchestrated victories. The crew looked to you—not just the clones, but the officers, the pilots, even the Jedi—for direction.
Your voice echoed through the bridge like a beacon, issuing orders that could mean the difference between survival and annihilation.
"Helm, adjust course to bearing zero-three-zero. Gunnery, prepare for incoming Separatist fighters. Medical teams stand by for casualties."
Day in, day out, you were the unbreakable pillar.
The one who kept the ship running like a machine amid the Republic's crumbling front lines.
But beneath that polished veneer of authority, everything was taking its toll on everyone.
The war had no mercy for everyone.
Especially to a mere human like you.
Sleepless nights blurred into hyperspace jumps, reports of fallen troopers stacked higher, and the constant pressure to outmaneuver an enemy that seemed infinitely impossible each day. Frustrations simmered beneath your skin. All from the same purpose. The bureaucratic red from Coruscant that delayed reinforcements, the moral quandaries of sending good men to their deaths, the isolation of command where every decision rested solely on you.
Your head throbbed from staring at holographic star maps, your muscles ached from standing rigid on the bridge for hours, and there were moments—fleeting, dangerous ones—when you wondered if you could keep it all together. A single crack in your composure could ripple through the ranks, eroding morale faster than a hull breach.
However, you refused to let it show.
In the eyes of your crew, you were untouchable.
Crisp uniform buttoned to the collar, posture straight as a durasteel beam, voice steady even when delivering grim news.
“We press on.”
You'd say to your men, masking the exhaustion with a nod of encouragement.
“Good hunting.”
You'd wish your pilots, watching them embark on another chase amongst the stars.
“Fall back.”
You'd surrender through gritted teeth, once you knew the lives of others were more important than finishing a mission.
Plo Koon often commended your resilience, his mask hiding any hint of concern, but you knew better than to confide in anyone. Admirals didn't break, they commanded. So you buried the stress deep, channeling it into sharper tactics, longer shifts, anything to maintain the image of invincibility. After all, in this war, weakness was a luxury you couldn't afford.
Until, it was offered to you.
It was on one evening, after a grueling skirmish with a Separatist blockade, that you finally allowed yourself the small reprieve of retreating to your quarters.
The corridors of the Triumphant were dimly lit, the hum of the engines a constant companion as you walked alone, your boots clicking softly against the deck plating. The day's frustrations lingered like smoke. Another batch of clone troopers lost, supply lines stretched thin, and the gnawing doubt that tomorrow would bring more of the same.
You rolled your shoulders, trying to shake off the tension, but it clung stubbornly. A knot between your shoulder blades that no amount of deep breathing could loosen.
That's when you heard the footsteps behind you—deliberate, armored, unmistakably clone-issue.
You turned, expecting a late report or some minor crisis, but it was Commander Wolffe.
The leader of the Wolfpack stood there, the distinctive gray markings etched like scars across his helmet and armor.
The sight always took you back every time. Even though you've seen him countless of times, you were always surprised to see him so… daunting. However, you tried not to let it show then. Especially now, standing five feet away from each other, to let him know how much his presence affected you.
You and Wolffe had always shared a professional respect, forged in the fires of shared battles. He admired your tactical acumen, and you trusted his unyielding cause to the mission. But interactions were rare—brief nods on the bridge, curt exchanges during briefings, post reports after missions alongside his general. He wasn't one for small talk, and neither were you. Though, you always noticed how much he lingered every time.
Of course he would, he was an officer performing his duty. But sometimes, it didn't feel like that was the reason. On some days, he'd stand closer to you. Far too close while you direct an assault on a holomap, feeling him peer over your shoulder. Then, there were those days where you felt watched even when you didn't see anyone directly looking at you—only to catch his gaze seconds away before he averted them.
His praises were reserved, though the weight they carried was much more significant.
“Great work, Admiral.”
“Thanks for getting us out of there.”
“Couldn't have done it without you.”
“Well done again.”
You shouldn't see him in any other way than a fellow commanding officer. You shouldn't even think about him. What it would be like to get closer. To know him better. To strip him off of his armor and sink your nails beneath the layers. You wanted to know more about him, the fierce and infamous Commander of the 104th battalion.
But you knew there was a line you shouldn't cross.
So you kept your attraction concealed under the pretense of admiration and respect. But deep down, you itched to dance around the line and see if he would do the same.
Wolffe finally removed his helmet with a hiss, revealing his scarred face, the cybernetic eye glinting in the low light.
“Admiral,” He greeted, his voice gruff but not unkind, falling into step beside you without invitation. “Long day.”
You nodded, keeping your expression neutral. “Aren't they always? Something I can assist with, Commander?”
He glanced sideways at you, his good eye narrowing slightly. “You've been pushing hard. Harder than usual. The men notice. I noticed.”
A flicker of surprise cut through your fatigue, but you masked it quickly. “Appreciate the concern, but I'm fine. Just heading to finish up more reports.”
“This late at night?”
“Yes, my job isn't finished until—”
“With all due respect, Admiral. You need a breather.”
You paused at the door to your quarters, inputting your access code while processing his words.
A breather?
It sounded vague, almost out of character for the stoic commander.
But there was something in his tone—earnest, almost protective—that made you curious. The stress was a heavy cloak tonight, and the idea of any relief, even undefined, was tempting.
The exhaustion, the pent-up frustration, the rare spark of connection with someone who understood the burden.
You trusted him, as a comrade and as a respected officer. Your relationship has always been based on mutual understanding. The weight of your positions, the expectations from your subordinates, the image of an unshakable leader. You two had more similarities than you would've thought. And perhaps, that was the reason why you were considering his suggestion. Maybe he knew a way to forget the responsibilities even for a night.
You hesitated in the doorway of your quarters, choosing your next words carefully.
“I'm not sure what you mean,” You admitted, watching him closely. “I can rest once I'm done.”
Wolffe grunted, a sound that could mean agreement or skepticism. “You don't just need rest. You need to let go. I can show you how if you'd let me.”
His offer of a “breather” had sounded too vague for your liking. Though, you knew he didn't mean any harm by it. Perhaps a quiet conversation over a mug of caf, or sharing war stories to vent the day's frustrations.
For a moment, the two of you only stared at one another. Neither moving, nor breaking. For all the years you've known him, you knew him to be like an immovable stone wall. It was one of the many things you've come to admire about him. He might've been feared for his stony facade, but you saw past it all and recognized something deeper.
He cared for others, especially his brothers and his general, more than other people thought.
You saw it numerous times how he'd risk his life to defend them. To fight for them. He was arguably a perfect example to lead a battalion. Of course, there were notable commanding officers from other legions. Like Captain Rex from the 501st or Commander Cody from the 212th.
But Commander Wolffe led not with directness or strategy.
He led with unwavering loyalty.
To the Republic. To his brothers. To his general.
You trusted him with your life, and maybe you could trust him with this too.
Finally, you released a breath.
“Very well,” You pressed on the panel, feeling his stare stuck on your back. “Come inside, Commander.’
The door sealed shut with a soft whoosh, enclosing the two of you in the dim glow of your private space. The room felt smaller with him in it, his armored form a solid presence amid the sparse furnishings. Your bunk, a small table, the viewport streaked with hyperspace stars. Nothing special. Just a standard design similar to all the other quarters with minimal personal belongings and decorations.
"Make yourself comfortable," You waved a hand, trying to sound casual as you shrugged off your uniform jacket, folding it neatly over the chair. Underneath it, a simple black tank that barely protected you from the cold. And unbeknownst to you, from Wolffe's sharpening gaze.
Meanwhile, your mind raced at the possible scenarios.
What did he mean by letting go?
A deep conversation?
Some meditation technique?
While you pondered over the situation, you didn't notice the way his eyes tracked you.
Wolffe watched you with that piercing stare, his cybernetic eye glinting faintly as he unclasped sections of his armor, setting them aside with methodical precision. The plastoid clattered softly, revealing the black bodysuit beneath, taut over his battle-hardened frame.
You faced him again, blinking in shock to see him in the state of undress. Somehow, without his armor in the way, he appeared even broader and more commanding. The black fabric hugged his arms and thighs perfectly, his shoulders almost touched the sides of your door, and when he rolled them back—you almost cowered at how taller he looked.
Perhaps you were just more exhausted than you thought that you were imagining him looking larger than usual, or perhaps you were simply too deprived that you were admiring his physique in inappropriate ways.
But when did he—
No, why did he remove his armor?
You cleared your throat, catching yourself from staring. It was too late, he noticed it.
“Commander?”
“Yes, Admiral?”
“Is there a reason why you… removed your armor?”
“Yes, there is.”
He stepped closer, his hands—now ungloved—reaching for yours.
“No more orders from you tonight,” He murmured, his voice a low rumble that sent an unexpected shiver down your spine. “I'm taking charge for now.”
Before you could process or protest, he guided you backward until the edge of the bunk pressed against your calves. His touch was firm, authoritative, mirroring the command you wielded on the bridge.
He sat first, pulling you down with him, his hands sliding to your waist, unbuckling your belt with surprising deftness. Without warning, he hooked his fingers into your waistband and commanded.
“Take them off.”
“Excuse me?”
“I want them off. Now.”
That time sent shivers down your spine, hearing the domineering control laced with the roughness of something else. Rarely did he speak to you with it, but you've heard him use it to others. You'd be lying if you said you haven't thought of it before, how it would feel to be on that end of his order, hearing his growl and gravelly bark as he spoke low in your ear.
“Do you trust me?” His fingers traced your side, grazing your hip up to waist. “We can stop if you want to, Admiral. Make me leave this instant.”
No, you didn't want him to leave.
He promised you a breather, and you were going to get it.
Against your better judgement, you chucked off your boots and proceeded to remove your pants—along with your standard issue underwear after he muttered that one too—leaving you bare from the waist down.
You paused, unsure what to do next. Until he suddenly moved, pulling your tank top off from your body in one swift tug. Then, you were finally bare. The cold nipped your skin, though the heat you felt within your veins refrained you from shivering. Still, you wrapped your arms around your chest as you looked away.
What is happening?
You clamped your thighs together, confused and flustered at the rapt intensity of his gaze.
“Commander, what are you—” Your words cut off as he lifted you effortlessly, positioning you above him as he lay back.
One moment you were straddling his lap, confusion mingling with a spark of curiosity. The next, he was shifting you higher, your knees bracketing his shoulders, thighs pressing against the sides of his face.
Your hands shot out instinctively, palms flattening against the cool durasteel wall for balance as you hovered there, heart pounding.
This wasn't caf. This wasn't conversation.
What in the Sith hells is he doing?
His hands gripped your hips, steadying you, pulling you down until you felt the heat of his breath against your core.
“Relax, Admiral,” He smirked at you, his tone commanding yet reassuring, lips brushing your inner thigh. “Let me take care of you.”
And then his mouth was on you, tongue delving with purposeful strokes—exploring, teasing, unrelenting.
The shock of it arched your back, a gasp escaping your lips as pleasure surged through you like a hyperspace jump. You hadn't expected this, not from the stoic commander whose face was usually hidden behind a helmet, whose words were sparse and tactical. But here he was, devouring you with a hunger that matched the intensity of his battlefield prowess.
His fingers joined in tandem, calloused from years of gripping blasters, now slipping inside you with expert precision—curling, thrusting in rhythm with his tongue.
The “breather” he'd promised unfolded in waves of sensation, each lap and suck pulling the stress from your body like venom from a wound. The knot of tension in your shoulders unraveled, the frustrations of command dissolving into moans you couldn't suppress. Your thighs trembled around him, muscles clenching as he worked you higher, his good eye locked on yours when you dared to glance down, a silent challenge.
Surrender.
The wall was your anchor, fingers digging into the unyielding metal as you rocked against him, chasing the release he coaxed from you.
“Wolffe,” You whimpered, jolting at a sharp suck on your clit. “Wolffe, wait—we shouldn't—”
Wolffe didn't falter, his grip ironclad, tongue flicking over that sensitive bundle of nerves until stars burst behind your eyelids—not the cold void of space, but something warm, explosive. Slowly, the heat coiled low in your stomach. Every ravenous lick, every depraved suck, every obscene groan that reverberated below shook your core until your mind blanked.
He said you needed a breather.
But you really can't breathe right now.
You came undone above him, body shuddering, a cry tearing from your throat that echoed in the confined space. He didn't stop immediately, easing you through it with gentler licks, fingers slowing until you slumped forward, breathless and spent. For one last measure, he bit on the inside of your thigh to leave a mark. Something you'd see every time you stepped into the sonic shower, something that would always remind you of this night.
Only then did he guide you down, settling you beside him on the bunk.
His face glistened, a satisfied smirk tugging at his lips as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
“Better?” He asked again, echoing his earlier question, but this time with a hint of smugness.
You nodded, still catching your breath, a laugh bubbling up unexpectedly. “That… wasn't what I expected.”
But it looked like the night was far from over.
Your breaths came in shallow pants as you tried to reassemble the fragments of your composure.
The commander shifted beside you, his weight dipping the bunk, and you felt the heat of his body as he propped himself up on one elbow. His cybernetic eye caught the faint light from the viewport, giving him an almost predatory gleam.
“Not done yet,” He rumbled, his voice rough with lingering desire.
He moved with the fluid grace of a soldier, his hands—strong and unyielding—grasped your hips and flipped you over in one smooth motion.
A surprised yelp escaped you as you found yourself on your stomach, the cool sheets pressing against your heated skin.
Wolffe settled between your legs, his thighs bracketing yours, the solid warmth of him a stark contrast to the vulnerability of your position.
“Gonna thank you properly now,” He murmured, leaning over you, his breath hot against the nape of your neck. “For everything you've done. Holding this ship together, keeping us alive.”
His gaze met yours over your shoulder, glinting with something dangerous, a promise that twisted “thanks” into something far more carnal.
You swallowed, a mix of anticipation and lingering confusion swirling in your chest. But before you could voice it, his hands were on you again.
He maneuvered you with deliberate care, propping your knees up beneath you, guiding your back into a deep arch. One large hand splayed across your spine, pressing just enough to hold you in place, while the other trailed lower, teasing. You felt the blunt head of him nudge against your folds, slick from your earlier release, and a gasp tore from your lips as realization hit. This was his idea of gratitude—raw, unfiltered, claiming.
“Wolffe,” You called out, the word a half-protest, half-plea, intending to remind him of the lines you shouldn't cross.
The professionalism that defined your roles.
But he didn't give you the chance.
With a guttural growl that vibrated through his chest and into yours, he pushed forward, entering you in one slow, torturous thrust.
The stretch was exquisite, bordering on overwhelming, filling you completely and scattering every coherent thought like debris in an asteroid field. Your fingers clutched at the sheets, knuckles whitening, as he buried himself deeper, his hips meeting yours with a rhythm that built like an incoming storm.
Then, just when you thought that was enough, he surprised you even more.
“I've been thinking about this since the day you stepped aboard as our Admiral,” He confessed, his voice strained but steady, punctuating each word with a deliberate roll of his hips. "Watching you on the bridge. Hearing your voice in comm channels. Mid-briefing, during drills, meetings. I'd imagine you like this, under me, letting go."
His hand on your spine slid up to tangle in your hair, gentle yet possessive, as he thrusted harder, deeper, the confession spilling out like long-held secrets.
“Fantasized about breaking that perfect composure, hearing you moan my name instead of barking commands.”
You tried to focus on his words, to process the vulnerability in his admissions—the way this stoic clone commander had harbored desires that mirrored your own hidden cracks.
But it was impossible.
Each drive of his body into yours sent waves of pleasure crashing through you, erasing everything but the sensation of him, the fullness, the friction.
Your breaths came in ragged gasps, syncing with his growls, the room filled with the sounds of skin on skin, the creak of the bunk, the distant sounds of the ship that faded into oblivion. As he picked up the pace, his free hand slipping around to tease where you were joined, you arched further into him, lost in the sensation.
Wolffe's rhythm was relentless, each thrust driving deeper, claiming more of you with every measured stroke.
The stretch of him inside you was all-consuming, a delicious burn that blurred the edges of reality, making the confines of your quarters feel like the only world that mattered. His hand on your spine kept you arched, vulnerable and open, while the other gripped your hip, fingers digging in with a possessiveness that sent sparks racing up your nerves.
You buried your face in the sheets, muffling a moan as he confessed those hidden thoughts, his voice a gravelly whisper amid the symphony of your shared breaths and the slick sounds of your bodies meeting.
"Since the day I stepped aboard?" You managed to gasp out, disbelief threading through the haze of pleasure. “You've been thinking about– about this? About me? For that long?”
It was hard to form words, let alone process them. Not when he was burying himself to the hilt, pulling back only to surge forward again, hitting spots that made stars explode behind your eyelids.
He chuckled low in his throat, the sound vibrating through you where your bodies connected, a rare glimpse of humor from the battle-scarred commander. But there was no mockery in it—only raw honesty, laced with the strain of holding back. He slowed his pace just enough to lean over you fully, his chest pressing against your back, the weight of him grounding and overwhelming all at once.
His lips brushed your ear, hot breath fanning across your skin as he nipped at the lobe.
“Yeah, Admiral. Every damn day. You walk onto that bridge like you own it, issuing orders that save our hides, and all I can think about is what it'd be like to see you unravel. Not the composed leader. You. The woman under the uniform.”
Your mind reeled, trying to latch onto his words even as another deep thrust scattered your focus, drawing another whimper from your lips.
“But why didn't you say anything? We've stood side by side for years, and I thought—kriff. I thought it was just respect.”
"Respect?" He growled, punctuating the word with a sharper snap of his hips that made you arch deeper, toes curling.
His hand slid from your hip to trail down your side, fingers ghosting over your skin before dipping between your legs again, circling that sensitive nub with teasing precision.
The dual assault had you trembling, pleasure coiling tight in your core.
“It's more than that. First time I saw you chew out that incompetent naval officer from Coruscant. Stars, the fire in your eyes. All I could picture was pinning you against the holotable, stripping you away layer by layer. Had to adjust my armor more than once to hide it.”
The confession hit like a blaster bolt, heat flooding your cheeks even as your body responded to him, pushing back to meet his thrusts. You turned your head slightly, catching his gaze over your shoulder. His good eye dark with desire, the cybernetic one glowing faintly.
“During briefings? Wolffe, that's– Stars. I thought you were always so professional.”
He smirked, but it softened into something almost tender as he pressed a kiss to your shoulder, his pace building again, steady and unwavering.
“Professional? Sure, on the outside. But in my bunk, I'd replay your voice in my head and imagine turning them into pleas. Fantasized about your hands on me so many times I could get court martialed.”
His fingers worked faster between your thighs, matching the urgency of his hips, and you felt the edge approaching that sweet precipice.
“Even in the thick of battle, there'd be a split second where I'd think of you safe on the bridge, and it'd hit me. I wanted to protect you, yeah, but I wanted this too. To make you forget the war, even if just for a night.”
The vulnerability in his voice, stripped bare amid the intimacy, pushed you closer.
You reached back, your hand finding his thigh, nails digging in as encouragement.
“Tell me more,” You breathed, the words tumbling out before you could stop them.
Wolffe obliged, his thrusts growing erratic, signaling he was close too.
“That time on Felucia, after the ambush– you pulled us out with that flanking maneuver. I was covered in mud, adrenaline pumping, and back on the ship, in the sonic shower… all I could think about was dragging you in with me. Washing away the grime, tasting every inch of you, hearing you say my name like an order I couldn't refuse.”
He groaned, burying his face in the crook of your neck, teeth grazing your skin as he drove deeper. "And the quiet moments, staring at star charts with you—kriff, I'd wonder what you'd feel like, sound like, coming apart. Kept it locked down, because duty first. But tonight? No more holding back."
The thin thread finally snapped again.
His words, raw and unfiltered, tipped you over. Pleasure crashed through you in waves, your body clenching around him, pulling a guttural moan from his lips as he followed, spilling inside you with a final, shuddering thrust. He held you through it, arms wrapping around your waist, collapsing together onto the bunk in a tangle of limbs and sweat-slicked skin.
“I never knew,” You murmured, a soft laugh escaping. “All this time…”
Wolffe pressed a kiss to your temple, his voice muffled but content. “Now you do. And if you need another breather, you know where to find me.”
You smiled, rolling your eyes weakly. “And I suppose this will become a normal occurrence now?”
“If you want it to be.”
“But do you?”
“After spilling all my secrets like that? What do you think, Admiral?”
“Just wanted to know we're on the same boat. Or ship.”
He huffed out a laugh, rolling his eyes in return.
The quiet settled over your quarters like a soft blanket, broken only by the steady hum of the ship and the slow, even rhythm of your breathing. For a while, every worry and exhaustion seeped out of your body through every exhale you released. Underneath your ear, you heard his heart slow into a steady pace.
Wolffe laid beneath you, one arm draped loosely across your waist, his body warm and solid—a rare moment of stillness for a man who lived in constant motion. His confessions still echoed in your mind, raw and unguarded, peeling back layers you hadn’t known existed beneath the commander’s armor. The vulnerability he’d offered made something shift inside you.
Gratitude, but also a quiet hunger to give back what he’d so freely taken. He had made the effort to give you a breather and thank you after noticing how much weight had started to weigh on your shoulders. Perhaps you could return the same favor. After all, he has been serving and fighting for the Republic since the start of the war.
You moved before the impulse could fade.
With a gentle push against his chest, you rolled, guiding him onto his back.
He let you, surprise flickering briefly in his good eye before it melted into something darker, more curious.
The shift in position pressed your still-sensitive core against the stiffening hardness of him, drawing a low hiss from between his teeth.
You settled astride his hips, knees beside his waist, palms flat against the hard planes of his chest. Still covered by his top. All it took was a single tug from the hem and a pointed look cast down on him, and he was pulling his top off before throwing it on the floor. Now, he was completely bare too. You marveled at the gorgeous sight of him, the firmness of his torso, the golden complexion of his skin, and the litany of scars—both old and new—branding his body like trophies of war.
He grunted, voice rough, hands instinctively settling on your thighs. “Admiral—”
You silenced him with a slow, deliberate roll of your hips, grinding down in a languid circle that made his fingers tighten, nails biting faintly into your skin.
Heat flared anew between you, slick and insistent.
You leaned forward, hair falling around your face like a curtain, lips brushing the shell of his ear.
“I need to thank you as well,” You murmured, sighing in pleasure when he slid perfectly between your folds. “In case no one has told you yet.”
He exhaled sharply through his nose, a sound caught somewhere between a laugh and a groan.
“Didn’t realize I was due thanks.”
“You are,” You straightened, sitting up fully so he had a clear view of you above him. “For every time you pulled the Wolfpack through impossible odds. For every briefing where your tactical read saved lives. For standing at our side when the galaxy felt like it was collapsing.”
Another slow grind, harder this time, dragging a ragged sound from his throat.
His hands slid up your thighs, but he didn’t try to take control. He watched you instead, silver cybernetic eye glinting, while the golden brown hue darkened with heat and something softer.
You reached between your bodies, fingers wrapping around him, stroking once, twice, feeling him twitch in your grip. His head tipped back against the pillow, a low curse slipping free in Mando’a.
You aligned yourself, teasing the head at your entrance. Then sank down slowly, deliberately, taking him inch by inch until your hips met his. The stretch was different this time—deeper, fuller, with you setting the pace.
You stayed there a moment, simply feeling him seated inside you, walls fluttering around the thick length of him. In this position, you truly felt how massive he was. You've never felt so full in your entire life, and you knew there would be an insatiable ache within you once this was over. An ache only he can fill over and over again.
You caught the clench of his jaw, the vein at his temple, and how his throat moved as he swallowed.
He was visibly restraining himself, and you had to commend him for his self-control.
So, you began to move.
Rising and falling in measured strokes, rolling your hips in experimental circles that made his breath hitch every time your clit grazed the base of him. His hands flexed on your thighs, before they started to roam. Gripping your waist, sliding up to cup your breasts, thumbs brushing over hardened nipples until you arched into the touch with a quiet moan.
“Kriff,” He rasped, voice wrecked. “You’re gonna kill me like this.”
“Good,” You smiled, picking up speed, riding him with the same focused intensity you brought to every command decision. “Then we’ll go down together.”
You leaned forward again, bracing your hands on either side of his head, hair spilling over his shoulders as you rocked faster, harder. The angle let him hit deeper with every downward motion, sparks of pleasure racing up your spine. His hands found your ass, guiding your movement, letting you take what you needed.
“You’ve been carrying this ship too,” You whispered between gasps, forehead resting against his. “Every casualty report you sign off on. Every brother you lose. You never flinch. Never let it show.”
A particularly sharp roll of your hips pulled another guttural sound from him. “But I see it. I’ve always seen it.”
His grip tightened, hips beginning to meet yours in shallow, desperate thrusts from below.
“Careful, Admiral.” The growl he let out was a warning with no heat. “Keep talking like that and I won’t last.”
“Then don’t,” You straightened once more, staring down at him. “Let go for me, Commander. The way you let me go earlier.”
Jaw clenched, muscles pulled taut, breath coming in harsh pants. He looked so kriffing good when he's at the brink of his pleasure. You always thought he was handsome, all of his brothers were, even before you became close acquaintances. But something about him reeled you in like an invisible magnet, he always caught your eye even when he wasn't doing anything.
You felt him swell inside you, and the telltale twitch of him told you enough. So, you rode him faster, grinding harder, chasing your own peak while pushing him toward his.
You tightened around him again, drawing another sharp curse from him. “Let go, Wolffe.”
A broken growl tore from his throat as he bucked up into you, hands clamping on your hips hard enough to bruise, spilling hot and deep. The sensation—his release, the way he pulsed inside you—spurred you over the edge at the same time. Pleasure snapped through you like a live wire, thighs trembling, vision whiting out as you clenched around him, riding out the aftershocks with stuttered rolls of your hips.
All you could think about was him.
His hands. His voice. Those subtle canines that peeked through his sharp grin. You'd wake up the next day and see the imprints of his hands on your hips. You'd hear the low growl of his voice whenever you stood on the command bridge again. And you see the shape of those canines on your thigh every time you change out of your uniform until it fades.
“That's it,” He pulled you back from cloud nine, gently rolling his hips underneath you. “You took me so well, Admiral. So kriffing good.”
Your eyes fluttered open, meeting his dazed look of approval.
When the world steadied again, you collapsed forward onto his chest, both of you slick with sweat and sex, hearts hammering in tandem. His arms came around you automatically, one hand stroking slow circles over your back.
So uncharacteristic of him, yet you found yourself smiling at the surprising tenderness.
You pressed yourself closer to him, savoring his warmth and the wall of his body firm against you.
For a long moment neither of you spoke.
Then, quietly, against your hair. “Thank you.”
You smiled into the crook of his neck. “You’re welcome, Commander.”
The weight of the day felt distant now, replaced by a languid warmth. But as you lay there, his arm draping over you, you knew this breather had shifted something between you. Trust deepened, barriers cracked, and lines crossed. Tomorrow, on the bridge, you'd be the admiral again, and he'd be the commander on the front lines.
But tonight, in the privacy of your quarters, you both shared the same breath as one.
Continuation of Echo's round from my Seven Minutes in Heaven miniseries! Enjoy ;))
WC: 3.5k | RATING: EXPLICIT
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Echo wasn't the same ARC Trooper he was years ago.
He knew that ever since he was rescued from Skako Minor. He wasn't the same soldier that helped General Skywalker raid the citadel alongside Commander Tano, and his brother, Fives. Many things changed within him. Not just his appearance, but the way he perceived things. He used to be so critical about everything. Always strict on himself, his brothers, the rules, regulations, and more things he could hardly give a kriff about now.
And if Fives could see him right now, Echo knew his brother would be laughing at his demise.
Back then, Fives was always the smoother one between them. He never failed to catch the attention of others, especially women whenever they visited 79’s during their shore leave. In turn, his brother would help him gain more confidence so he could “get some” as well. However, Echo from three years ago would've shoved him off and told him he wasn't interested in such things.
At the end of the night, Fives would always get pulled away by an unknown woman while he gets left behind at the bar.
And whenever someone talked to him, he'd always freeze up. Then, he'd start to sputter some regulations from a manual out of nervousness. Looking back then, he should've taken up his brother's advice so he could at least know what to do in this situation.
Ever since that game, Echo tried to come up with a plan how to properly… initiate a connection where you two last left off. However, with the amount of missions the team was assigned with, he barely could progress with any plan and any approaches were delayed. He could wait for the right moment, but that didn't mean these constant delays had his mind whirring in irritation.
He wasn't sure how long he could take enduring all the lingering glances, the close proximity, the chase, and the yearning he concealed beneath his armor. During that entire week, Echo remained the ever dutiful soldier who reminded you to eat when you forgot to and helped you restock medical supplies in silence.
Those moments only stretched the growing tension. Unspoken, unseen, but both of you knew it was there. His brothers were all asking him if he already made a move, but he either dismissed their questions or simply ignored them. Echo knew Hunter was catching on to his frustrations, and maybe that's why he always caught him smiling whenever he looked at him.
Thankfully, the next mission pulled the squad to Pantora, the bustling moon orbiting the icy world of Orto Plutonia in the Outer Rim.
It was a smart choice for laying low.
Loyal to the Republic, but far enough from the Core where Separatist remnants hadn't fully sunk their claws in yet. Pantora's capital city, a sprawling port hub called Pantora City, was a maze of domed structures, elevated walkways, and crowded markets where Pantorans in fur-lined coats mingled with offworld traders, refugees, and the occasional shady operator looking to disappear for a few cycles.
The moon's temperate climate and constant traffic made it easy to blend in. No one asked too many questions as long as credits changed hands.
They had been tasked with a discreet stakeout.
Monitor a suspected black-market arms dealer funneling Republic surplus gear to lingering Separatist holdouts. Nothing flashy. Just eyes on the target, gather intel, and wait for the right moment to intercept a shipment without drawing a full garrison.
Hunter had chosen the mission parameters carefully.
The Marauder stayed docked at a peripheral landing pad under false transponder codes, while the team split to avoid attention.
They rented a room at The Frostveil Inn, a mid-tier establishment on the edge of the commercial district.
It wasn't luxurious—peeling holographic signage out front, a lobby that smelled faintly of spice incense and engine grease—but it had thick walls, a back exit onto a service alley, and windows overlooking the main thoroughfare where their target's warehouse sat two blocks away. The innkeeper took one look at all of them then at you and asked no questions beyond “Credits up front.”
The door hissed shut behind the others, sealing the two of you in the relative quiet room. Hunter, Wrecker, Tech, and Crosshair headed out at dusk to establish observation points.
Hunter and Crosshair on overwatch from a nearby rooftop. Tech hacking into local security feeds from a cantina booth. Wrecker provides muscle if things go out of control. That left you and Echo to hold the room—keep comms open, monitor for tails, and be ready to move if the signal came.
Outside, the city's ambient glow filtered through the slatted blinds.
Speeders humming past, distant market haggling, the low rumble of a freighter taking off from the port. Inside, the room felt smaller than the Marauder's cramped quarters. Two beds with threadbare linens, a scratched table holding a half-disassembled comm unit, a narrow refresher, and the faint chill that seeped in from Orto Plutonia's reflected cold.
Echo stood by the window, scomp link idly tapping against the sill as he scanned the street.
A week of missions, close calls, and unspoken glances had built back up to this. The storage room memory hadn't faded. It had sharpened, every detail replayed in quiet moments between hyperspace jumps. Alone with you, Echo didn't know whether he should finally bring up the topic of the game or let it sit for longer until you do. Or there was the third option, the opportunity will pass and the two of you will proceed with the mission without finishing what you started.
His comm beeped, and he pressed the side of his helmet to answer. “Echo here. Any signs?”
“None yet,” Hunter's voice seeped through the static. “Switch to private channel.”
Confused, the ARC trooper followed the order and pressed on the private link. “What's wrong? Did something happen?”
He heard light shuffling, somewhere in the background he heard Crosshair scoffing. The comms barely picked up their muffled conversation, which only heightened his suspicions.
Then, Hunter's voice bled through again.
“Nothing yet,” Something about Hunter's tone sounded different. Too light. Too smooth. “But we don't know how long we'll be out. Could be an hour or two. We'll send the signal if things get interesting.”
Echo nodded, although Hunter couldn't see it. “Roger that. We'll wait for your signal.”
The line went silent for a moment, which made him wonder if Hunter hung up without another word. He was about to end the line until his voice filtered once again.
“If I were you, Echo. I'd use this time wisely. Good luck.”
The line cut short with a static, leaving Echo blinking in disbelief and shock.
Wisely? What did he mean by that?
For a while, Echo stood in silence processing the words in his head. Then, it clicked. That was basically a permission to start moving. Hunter gave him permission to start quickly while he had the time. Maybe that was the reason why he chose you to stay behind with him. Now, everything made sense. Why Wrecker kept giggling all the way here, why Tech kept elbowing him to stop, why Crosshair threw him a sly smirk before he exited the room with the others.
Echo glanced to where you were sitting on the bed, his hand falling back to his side.
As if you felt his stare, you looked up and met his gaze through his visor.
“Did something happen?” Your voice softened into concern, and Echo gathered a breath to steel himself.
He shook his head, leaning against the wall beside the window. “No. They're good. Just… told us to wait for their signal.”
Echo hoped you wouldn't notice his sudden tenseness and the vague air that drifted in his words. Fortunately, you didn't seem to comment on both.
You hummed, smiling lightly. “Well, looks like it's gonna be a while for us.”
You both shed most of your gear, setting them aside until Hunter called for both of you.
His armor plates were stacked neatly in the corner, leaving him in the black undersuit that hugged the lines of his cybernetics. His helmet joined the pile, and he felt more exposed without it than his armor. You still sat cross-legged on one bed, medical kit open as you pretended to calibrate a scanner, but your eyes kept drifting to him.
He turned, catching you looking. No deflection this time, no joke about scenarios or bad timing.
Now or never.
“They're gone for at least a few hours,” He said, voice low enough that it felt private even in the empty room. “Hunter's signal is clean. No chatter on the channels.”
You set the scanner aside, nodding in understanding. "Then we have time. What do you think we should do?"
At first, his chest tightened with hesitation. This was the only time he could ever get you alone, and it might be the last. Echo didn't know how much more waiting he could do until he finally snapped. He might've been more patient than Fives, but his patience would eventually run thin once this ran longer than it should.
The tension came back tenfold, and he knew you could feel its weight enveloping the room. If you didn't want this—want him—you could tell him immediately, and he'd forget everything that has happened between the two of you. But looking at you now, properly without hiding his gaze, he studied your body language to assess any refusal or hesitance.
He found none.
Echo crossed the space between you in measured steps, stopping just short of the bed.
His left hand flexed at his side, like he was still calculating risks and consequences.
“I keep telling myself we should wait,” He murmured, fists clenching at his sides. “Keep it professional. Keep it contained. But every time the squad leaves us alone like this…”
His hand lifted, hesitated, then settled lightly against the side of your neck, thumb brushing the pulse point beneath your jaw.
“I can’t think straight.”
You leaned into it, eyes fluttering close, and that was all the permission he needed. But for an extra measure, he still asked.
“Do you still want me, Cyar’ika?”
When you opened your eyes, you gazed up at him with certainty and a barely concealed need.
“I always do, Echo.”
He leaned down and kissed you.
Slow at first, almost careful, like he was still half-convinced you might vanish if he moved too fast. But when you parted your lips and slid both hands up to cup his face—one palm against the warm skin of his cheek, the other tracing the cool edge of his cybernetic implant—he made a low, ragged sound in the back of his throat and the restraint dissolved.
His prosthetic arm curled around your waist, drawing you up off the bed and flush against him.
The kiss deepened, turning hungry each second that passed. Tongues sliding, teeth grazing, breaths shared in short, desperate bursts.
You tugged at the high collar of his undersuit, while he helped you peel it down over his shoulders, exposing more of the scarred, pale landscape of his torso. Your fingers wandered to feel every single one of his imperfections. Old surgical scars, newer blast marks, the smooth interface ports where flesh met machine. Every touch made him shiver, made his breath hitch against your mouth.
He backed you toward the wall beside the window, never breaking contact. The blinds rattled faintly when your shoulders met the cool plasteel. His hand slid beneath your shirt, rough callouses dragging over your ribs, up your spine, memorizing you all over again.
When he found the clasp of your bra, he paused—just long enough to pull back and meet your eyes.
You nodded, leaning forward to capture his lips in another dizzying kiss. "Still think you're half droid?"
"Only the useful parts," He replied, a rough edge to his voice. “But tonight, I'll be whatever you want me to be.”
You parted briefly to lay a kiss on his jaw, whispering softly. “Then, be with me.”
Echo almost prayed to the Maker, and wished none of this was just another dream. But when he felt the quickening beat of your heart above your chest, that was proof that this was real. Your sounds, your breaths, your body warm against his. Everything he had experienced in that storage room was here again. His scomp link braced against the wall beside your head, caging you in without trapping.
Clothes pooled on the floor. Boots kicked aside.
The neatly made sheets were wrinkled immediately once Echo eased you down onto the bed, following, bracing his weight on his forearms so the heavier prosthetic didn’t press too hard.
He kissed his way down your throat, across your collarbone, and lower. Taking his time, cataloging every hitch in your breathing, every place that made you arch or gasp. When his mouth closed over one nipple, teasing with lips and tongue, you scraped your fingers against his back and scratched just hard enough to make him grunt in pain.
“You trying to leave more marks, Cyar'ika?”
You answered by hooking a leg around his hip, urging him closer. “You gonna start fucking me or are you gonna wait another week, soldier?”
That drew a quiet laugh out of him, but his cheeks warmed all the same. “So impatient, sweet girl.”
You rolled your eyes, pulling him down to another deep kiss. “Been waiting long enough.”
Echo hummed against you, rolling his hips forward to let you feel the hardness as if to agree with you. Yes, it's been long enough and he needs to have you now or else he'll lose his mind.
You pushed at his shoulders until he rolled, letting you straddle him. His hands settled on your hips, flesh and metal, guiding but not forcing.
You took him in hand first, stroking slowly, watching the way his jaw clenched and his eyes fluttered half-shut. Then, you lined him up at your entrance, both of your breath hitching, while he watched in rapt intensity. When you finally sank down onto him, inch by inch, the sound he made was broken, reverent, almost pained with how good it felt.
“Kriff,” He breathed out, head tipping back against the pillow. “You feel—”
You silenced him by moving, rolling your hips in a slow grind that drew another low curse from him.
The rhythm built gradually.
Names spilled between breaths and strangled sounds. Yours cracked on his lips like something sacred, his a plea when you clenched around him. Slow rolls that turned into you bouncing on his lap, his control fraying with every move you made. Then faster, deeper. His prosthetic arm locking around on your thigh to help set the pace, his hand sliding up to your throat—wrapping around the column to feel your pulse racing beneath his fingers.
This time there was no rush. No seven minute timer, or Wrecker's booming voice reminding him of every minute that passed. After a week of waiting, all of his plans and dreams finally manifested before him. And the reality was even better than anything he could ever hope for.
Echo took his time learning you again, mouth following the path his hands had charted, drawing quiet gasps when he found sensitive spots. You returned the favor, fingernails grazing his shoulders and whispering those pretty things—please, need you, more—until his remaining control thinned and snapped.
He planted his heels on the mattress, and started thrusting upwards to meet your pace.
Your mouth parted in an exhale, releasing more broken moans while your nails dug on his chest.
The heat, the slickness, and the tightness.
Kriff, it's even better than all of his dreams combined. Even better than what he'd imagined in that tiny storage compartment days ago when you left him to deal with his problem.
Meanwhile, you moved aboved him wearing the most beautiful expression he's ever seen. Eyes snapped shut, mouth parted, flushed cheeks, and the line of your throat exposed as you tossed your head back.
So kriffing beautiful.
Echo sat himself up and kissed you there, murmuring more praises into your skin. His hand settled on your hip, caressing the soft flesh. And kark, he almost fainted and came at the same time once your walls lightly squeezed him. Once, twice, until his mind blanked and every single thought was erased from his head.
He didn't deserve this.
He didn't deserve your warmth, your softness, or this moment. He was afraid this would vanish into thin air, and he'd wake up again in the ship. Half-hard and half-disappointed. But before he could get lost in his head, you pulled him out of his thoughts by cupping his cheek and kissing him.
“Stay with me,” You grinded against him, and he inhaled sharply. “I'm here, Echo. Just focus on me.”
He started moving faster, and stars bursted behind his eyelids as he gripped your hip to stabilize himself. And when you whispered more, Echo lost all sense of rationality. He gave you what you both needed and wanted. His thrusts became sharper, angling his hips to reach the deepest part in you that has your moans ricocheting off of the walls.
Your arms gave away and you fell forward with a sharp gasp. Chest pressed against his, he took that as a sign to regain control. His arms encircled your back, keeping you steady above him while he fucked himself up into you. Your high-pitched gasps were muffled on his neck, whimpering his name quietly as if you were afraid to be heard by others. In any case one of them returned too early.
But Echo heard it all.
Your cries, your moans, your cracked voice stuttering so good under your breath. It only spurred him more to keep up the pace. When Echo felt your walls clenching around him hard, he almost faltered and lost focus. But then, with a newly lit fire, he deepened his thrusts until the bed creaked beneath him and you were sobbing against his shoulder.
“Gonna come for me, sweet girl?” He groaned raggedly, clutching your thighs. “Can feel you getting closer.”
You continued sobbing, pressing yourself closer. “Echo. Kriff, Echo. I'm so close—”
It wasn't long until your voice quietened into shallow gasps. Your body trembled, and he held you closer as your peak gradually neared.
With a broken cry, you came first, shuddering above himself while you clenched around his length. Nails digging into his chest, his name spilling from your lips in a broken whisper. Echo followed moments later, hips snapping up hard once, twice, then holding deep as he spilled inside you with a choked groan, face buried against the side of your throat.
For long minutes afterward you stayed like that. Still joined, breathing hard, hearts hammering against each other. Eventually you eased off him, collapsing to the side. He pulled you close immediately, cybernetic arm draping over your waist, scomp link resting against your lower back like an anchor.
The room was quiet again except for your slowing breaths and the distant city pulse outside. Sweat cooled on your skin, the sheets tangled around your legs.
Echo pressed soft, lazy kisses along your shoulder, your temple, the curve of your ear. You nuzzled closer, humming in contentment.
Or at least, he thought you were already content.
“Think we have time for round two before they call us?” You murmured, half-teasing.
He huffed a laugh against your skin. “Are you trying to tire me out, sweet girl?”
“I’m trying to make our stay worthwhile,” You traced the line of one of his older scars with a fingertip. “We’ve got at least half an hour. Maybe more if Tech gets distracted by a new data stream.”
Your hand slid from his chest, and down to where his length twitched at your touch. He was about to tell you to rest, you needed it in case there would be action later, until he felt your soft hand wrapping around him in a firm grip. Echo released a strained curse, his forehead dropping against yours as his breathing picked up. You began working him in languid pumps, and his hips bucked forward to chase the sensation when you stopped.
You tilted your head, kissed his cheek and moved your hand again. “Come on, Echo. Just one more?”
He leaned back, pupils blown wide and jaw clenched in restraint. “Oh, you're going to be the death of me.”
You simply smiled, coy and teasing. “Unless you're too tired? I can go down and take you into my mouth inste—”
Without warning, he rolled you beneath him, already hard and throbbing against your thigh. His eyes were dark, filled with intent and a soldier’s sharp focus. You stared up at him in mild surprise, the smile on your face never leaving. His hand and scomp were back on your hips. Your legs parted immediately, grazing his sides, while he braced himself above you.
“Then we’d better make it count,” He kissed you deeply like he intended to map every second of the time you had left.
“Got one more in you, sweet girl?”
You nodded, moaning into him. “Always for you.”
In the next breath, he was sliding himself into you, and from the way you welcomed him with a light squeeze—he knew you had a few more left until he tires you out completely.
SUMMARY: He never returned, but he never forgot. You fell for him, and he called you back.
CONTENT: Almost same as part one, possessive behavior, possessive sex, POV switching, voice kink, marriage kink, soft Silco, porn with feelings (he fell so hard)
WC: 8K
AO3 LINK: Sweetest Poison
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Silco never returned for another visit.
Not that you were looking forward to seeing him, but you found yourself missing something from him.
It's been a month since that night, the act you didn't expect for him to play a part of, and all you could think about was him. His head between your legs. His voice in your ear. His hands on your skin. His teeth at your throat. His body on top of yours. Everything that happened that night haunted the following days. He never left your mind, as though he was still within the confines of your room.
Whenever you welcome another client, there’s an inkling of hope that it might be him. And it was starting to concern you. You never felt this way before. Being attached to a client meant complications. The Madam constantly reminded you to never fall for any of them. Especially the Topsiders. No matter how pretty their words were or how convincing their promises sounded.
Never believe them.
And you always heed her reminder every time.
No matter how much they spoiled you with lavish gifts. Some even tried to persuade you to leave the Undercity and join them on the Topside. It's almost funny how much they're willing to buy you from Madam's brothel just so they could have you all for themselves.
You were never tempted enough to take it.
After all, you'd never fit in with them.
You were here for business, not just their pleasure.
They might be convinced otherwise, but you needed their money to survive. All of you did.
But one man came, a man who was never supposed to cross paths with you, and suddenly you were wondering when it would happen again. Okay, so maybe you were missing him. But that wasn't what concerned you. It was why you did. Compared to your other clients, especially your most loyal patrons, he never came back. He didn't stay longer than necessary, and he didn't persuade you to do anything you weren't comfortable with.
But that was exactly why, wasn't it?
He never overstepped. He never demanded.
He just played along.
All of the others wanted something from you. Your affection, loyalty, and on a rare occasion, your hand in marriage. The latter bit was the most incredulous thing you've ever been offered with. Topsiders were easily malleable, and one flick of your finger will have them wrapped around it in seconds. Unfortunately, they only wanted someone to tame—to take from the Undercity and flaunt it around in their gilded homes.
In other words, they wanted a decorative doll. Someone they could dress up in fancy little dresses that they’d tear apart once alone. You could see it in their eyes. Being in this establishment has taught you how to recognize intentions. Some clients only wanted your body, others wanted company and conversation instead of sex, which you were glad to have on an occasion.
But for the most part, most of them only ever wanted one thing. Corruption. It’s what they came down here after all. Even the Enforcers were guilty of it. At least down here, Piltover would never see their sins. Down here, the angels can blend in with the demons and no one would bat an eye.
They might think their intentions were craftfully hidden behind sweetened words, a pearly smile, and warm touches. You could always see past them. The hidden hunger, the corruption, and the roughness they concealed under a false pretense once they have you underneath them.
You would expect the Topsiders to be generous lovers, but only a few of them truly were.
Most were controlling, demanding, and hard to please.
They wore pristine privileges like a badge, only to let the mask fall once no one was around. Politicians escaping their marriages, their sons and daughters seeking a taste of danger, lousy Enforcers taking their stress out on your body instead of others. All of them looking for a release, a distraction, or an escape from their rigid rules. They knew people like you didn't have the power to tarnish their names.
What power did you have up there?
No one would believe you even if you talked about their lawless sins.
Madam Babette warned you not to fall for a Topsider.
You didn't.
You fell for a Zaunite.
And he was the Kingpin.
You fell for Silco from only a night of an unplanned visit.
You were missing the most dangerous man in all of the Undercity just because he fucked you once and never came back. How ironic. You had plenty of patrons, willing clients who could and would secure a promising future with luxury and comfort at your feet, but you wanted the very man who never showed his face again.
But what exactly drew you in?
It wasn't his power or immense wealth, you weren't interested in such things. It was something else. Something you never expected for him to possess or display. Softness. Where you expected him to have all the edges and sharpness of Zaun, he showed the opposite. Perhaps it was because of your act that made him into a stranger—a man who didn't look like he built an empire from smoke and Shimmer.
Topsiders weren't generous lovers.
But Silco was.
That night, he looked at you like you were a puzzle, not a toy. As though he was trying to piece you apart and find something inside. You weren't sure what he found, but you hoped it was good enough for him to remember. He didn't look at you with the kind of hunger or corruption you would see from a Topsider.
Truly ironic.
To imagine the devil that the angels feared was softer.
His touch, his voice, and even his hands blessed your body with a kind of reverence only a god would have upon making their creation.
You would've thought he'd be more unforgiving, cruel, and twisted. But no, he wasn't any of those. He worshipped you between your legs, as though offering himself to an altar to confess his sins. The way he kissed your skin felt like a baptism, and each press on your body made you want to convert in his name. He held you like you were his most fragile creation—his beloved masterpiece—and like the first man, he claimed you.
My sweet wife.
Perhaps the devil wasn't looking for someone to corrupt that night. The angels have already done that. No, he was looking for someone to cherish. Someone who would accept him despite his harsh scars and unforgivable sins. He could've used you for pleasure. He could've disregarded your act to have his way with you.
But no.
He played along.
For one night, the devil shed his horns and became a man. A man who knelt without fear. A man who offered his hand instead of a fruit. A man who held your body like it was something sacred.
Above all, a man who became your husband for one night.
And you, the woman who fell for the devil in disguise, took his hand and let him take you to paradise.
If he offered his hand again, you would take it without question.
But until then, you wandered aimlessly outside the paradise. As though you were banished from the garden where he brought you pleasure, and made you discover that perhaps the devil was kinder than angels.
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He never returned to the brothel again.
Instead, Silco drowned himself into his work. Trying to erase the memory of that night. Trying to forget how good it felt. Trying to escape the thoughts of you out of his head. Despite his best efforts, he just couldn't rest easily knowing the fact there were others after him.
You were most likely catering another client day by day, and Silco didn't understand why that affected him so much.
You were still a stranger to him. Merely a fleeting partner whom he shared a night with underneath an act. So why were you haunting him so? Why was he craving another taste of poison? What have you done to him that made him into this mess? The others were starting to notice it, especially Sevika and Jinx. How he seemed to be more… distracted than usual, how distant he appeared while tending to his meetings.
Physically, his body was there.
Sitting at the head of the Chem-Baron table, listening in on their discussions. In his office where he read reports or spoke with Marcus. Visiting Jinx’s hideout to check on her. But mentally, he was still in that room. He was still on that bed with the lavish ivory canopy and silk sheets. His mind never left that room ever since he walked out. His hands still twitched at his sides whenever the memory rose again—gliding across your thighs, caressing the flesh of your hips, and holding you against him as he took you apart.
Where Sevika hesitated to ask, Jinx began to call him out on it.
Recently, the fourteen-year-old developed an affinity for asking the wrong questions at the most inconvenient moments. And much to his dismay, she recently discovered that the beams above his office were the perfect place to listen into his conversations.
Ever since the day she first dropped onto his desk from above, Silco also grew the habit of looking above him just to see if she was there.
Suddenly, privacy was another one of his worries.
Though he made sure to tell her not to spy on him whenever he had business inside.
But what good was his privacy when all he could think about was your company?
You didn’t shrink away at the sight of him.
You smiled.
You pulled him to your loveseat and sat yourself on his lap.
No one was brave or stupid enough to do those things. He didn't allow anyone to be that close. So why did he let you? Why did he play along? He knew he requested someone sweet, but he never expected for you to be so addictive. Despite that, he ignored the simmering itch within his bones to go back to the brothel and spend another night in your room—on your bed, between your legs.
He refused to return because he knew it was going to be a problem.
Coming back twice would mean he was attached. That he allowed himself to be weak because of a meaningless tryst.
When he left that night, he made sure to double your original pricing. He didn't care if it was worth a week's total from the Last Drop’s income, and your service was greatly deserving of such sum. He didn't even bat an eye at the original price.
Your clients were Topsiders after all.
The Madam wanted to make sure only they can afford you.
Fortunately, Silco was the richest man in Zaun.
Which meant he can also.
And as far as he knew, no other Zaunite had bought your services before. None other than him. How did he come to know that information? Of course, he had asked Sevika to pull your history and monitor your current affairs. Every single one of your clients will be reported back to him. He knew he shouldn't dig too deep into your business, after all it was none of his. However, you piqued his curiosity—enough for him to want to know more.
And that was a dangerous thing. Catching his interest meant usually two things. One, someone has crossed him and he will do anything to make them pay. Or two, he was planning on using them for his future schemes as pawns. You didn't fit in either of them, so that made him wonder where you belonged.
Was a singular night of a transactional fuck that special to have him so obsessed?
Was the act of having him as your husband made him realize something about himself?
Was he beginning to find the idea of having a wife tempting?
Oh, such a curious thought.
One he shouldn't even be indulging.
But ever since he walked out of that brothel and headed straight back to his office, he felt something different about himself. Troubled for the most part, and something else he couldn't identify. At least, not at first. As the days went by, Silco eventually realized what it was. An ache. For something he didn't have. For a prospect he never considered before. It was the same realization he had discovered after adopting Jinx.
He didn't imagine himself to be a father before, incapable and undeserving of such luxury. But once he took her in, his whole world changed. He would do anything for her. She would have everything she wanted if she asked. It's funny to think he didn't allow anyone to mess with his plans before. Until she comes into the picture, and suddenly he's as forgiving as a priest to a tortured sinner.
And now this.
This ache felt different. He ached for something else he never thought he'd want in his life.
A wife for himself.
A mother for Jinx.
And you were the perfect one.
But of course, it was only a silly thought.
Silco has tried again and again to squash it under the pretense that it was impossible. Marriage wasn't for him, but so was becoming a father. And look where he is now. Life truly has a funny way of making things work. One moment, he loathed the idea of being attached to someone in fear of being betrayed again. And the next, he was considering a deeper connection beyond sexual relations just from a night in the brothel?
If Vander was alive right now, he would've laughed at his face. But knowing his old friend, he'd tell him to take the chance.
Silco grew sick at the thought.
Vander would've wanted him to have that luxury.
You can settle down, Sil. You deserve something good in your life too.
He could almost hear his voice in his head, a haunting comfort that visited him every once in a while. Usually, he'd light a cigar and smoke his thoughts away until his head was clear again. But lately, he has found himself with his cigars untouched—listening to Vander's voice—and began pondering over the prospect.
Did he really deserve that?
The answer was a resounding no. Not after everything he's done.
Did he want that life?
He wasn't even sure himself.
The life he has right now was dangerous. Too many enemies. Too much blood. Too many threats that piled up in his shadow, waiting for him to get suffocated. The reason why he took Jinx in was because he knew she was more than capable of handling herself. She was gifted and exceptionally skilled. Others would learn to fear her more than dare cross her.
But you?
You could easily be used against him.
As much as he found the idea of keeping you for himself at all times, he wasn't that much of a monster. You were still your own person, and the worst part was you were still a stranger. So why were you constantly in his head? Ruining his concentration and making him dwell on ridiculous ideas. All he had with you was a night to release his frustrations, why did it mean more than that?
How did you make him ache for more?
“–All I'm saying is keep her from Topside streets. It's enough to have her paint all over the place, much less these terrorizing my men.”
Oh, yes.
Marcus has decided to pay him a visit.
Apparently, to rant about Jinx’s recent escapades on the Topside. All involving stealing from the student dorm district, vandalizing private properties, and pulling pranks on Enforcers. As much as Silco wanted to reprimand her to stay out of Piltover, he knew restraining Jinx would only make her break the rules even more. So, for now, he'd let her explore wherever she wanted.
Unfortunately, Marcus thought it was becoming a problem for him.
Truthfully, it was a problem for both of them.
However, there were more important things Silco could focus on. Little harmless jokes from a rebellious fourteen-year-old should be the least of their concerns.
Silco fought the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose.
Instead, he stared straight into his glass—studying the half-melted ice mixing with his amber liquor in faux interest.
Marcus continued to rant about cleaning up after her mess and assuring the public the Undercity wasn't planning on an attack. He had to applaud him for his commitment as the Sheriff. He used to think Marcus only ever wanted the position for its power, yet he was surprised to see him actually being competent about his job.
It was the reason why he tolerated him.
At least he was efficient.
“Is that all?” Silco set his glass down, finally lifting his gaze to the officer. “Or are you going to waste both of our time talking about such meager troubles?”
That immediately shut Marcus up, but the glare he wore never left. “At least try to keep her in check, Silco.”
The kingpin hummed, deathly calm. “She's not a dog to keep in check, Marcus. What she wants to do is her own choice. I've already told her the consequences of her actions. The only thing left for us is to wait for her to listen.”
Marcus bristled at that, fists clenched at his sides. “How can she listen when you're so lenient with her?”
“Careful,” Silco narrowed his eye, leaning forward to assess him. “Maybe I’m being too lenient with you.”
A pin drop could be heard amidst the sharp silence in the room. Neither of them looked away. Neither moved. But as Silco predicted, Marcus was the first one to break off the stare with a click of his tongue. The Sheriff silently donned his hat again, followed by his golden-rimmed mask. It clicked shut with a soft hiss, an artificial protection for all the smoke, Shimmer haze, and the lingering Grey polluting Zaun.
Silco only watched in indifference, waiting for him to finish.
Marcus then turned on his heel, heading straight towards the door. “This is a warning, Silco. I keep Topsiders off of your Lanes, so keep her out of my streets.”
The words tugged the corners of his lips, an eye gleaming knowingly.
If only you knew, Sheriff.
Topsiders like to get lost down here too.
And he knew the reason why.
But Silco simply nodded, keeping up with his neutral facade. “I'll be sure to remind her again.”
Marcus glanced at him one last time, before he opened the door and left his office wordlessly.
The mask fell, and Silco finally leaned back against his chair to release a heavy breath. He was tempted to pull out a cigar and smoke the tension away. It always worked. However, something told him it wouldn't do him any justice now. No, he needed something different. He wanted someone new—and the first person that came to mind was as clear as a Piltover sunrise.
“Sevika.”
The door opened again, revealing his right hand wearing a neutral expression. He didn't wait for her to say anything, standing up to grab his coat hanging on the back of his chair. Then, he tossed the expensive material towards her. She caught it in one hand, her mechanical one, an eyebrow raised in question as she stared at him.
Silco glared at his table, conflicted, before he sighed and decided.
“Bring her to me.”
Sevika didn't need to ask who he was referring to, already aware of who she's going to pull out of the brothel.
She nodded, clutching his coat. But just before she closed the door, Silco spoke again.
“And tell her to wear it again.”
────────────── ★ ───────────────
Of all the things you expected to happen today, none of them included having Sevika showing up in the middle of your act.
You didn't even flinch when your door was busted open, only blinking in mild surprise to see the woman standing there. Your client, however, was the one who screamed like a girl at the sight of her. Of course, the Piltie wasn't expecting anyone to interrupt his session. Neither were you, yet somehow, you only stared after her over your shoulder in wait for an explanation.
You certainly wouldn't explain your position as of the moment. You were in the middle of an act after all, and currently straddling the poor man to your bed while his limbs were cuffed to your bedposts. You did, however, catch Sevika sweeping a curious glance at the scene—eyeing your leather body piece, matching high knee boots, and whip in hand—and caught the corner of her eyebrow twitching.
She was interested.
But didn't dare to ask.
You had a feeling that wasn't what she came here for.
“Sorry to cut things short,” The woman’s sarcasm poured out of her words like smoke. “But I need her to come with me.”
Curiosity filled your mind, then hope bloomed at your chest. Was she here for a specific reason? If so, was it the same one you were anticipating for the past couple of days? Judging by her stance and the subtle urgency in her words, maybe it was for the same reason as you wanted.
You felt something shuffling underneath you, remembering your client’s existence again.
“I beg your pardon?” Arwen Hayes was another Piltover aristocrat looking for poison, and a recent customer of the brothel. “We were currently in the middle of something, you see–”
Meanwhile, Sevika only snorted with a roll of her dark eyes.
“Yeah, I see. You–” She trained her gaze at you now. “–get off him and change. Now.”
Sensing the authority in her tone, you had no doubt in mind rejection wasn't a wise option to choose.
So, you directed an apologetic smile at your client while sliding off of his lap. “Apologies, Mr. Hayes. It looks like I'm needed somewhere else.”
He gaped at you, baffled, struggling against his restraints. “No. You cannot just leave me like this. I’ve paid my time to be here! You're obligated to serve me and not–”
“Either you shut your trap, or I'll shut it for you.” Sevika narrowed her eyes at him, effectively threatening the squirming man into silence. “You can just stay there until she comes back. Don't worry, the boss will return her in one piece. I think.”
The hope flared into a burst of delight, and you squashed it down before it showed on your face.
So, you were right.
She was here because of him.
And he sent her to get you.
So very kingpin of him.
She tossed you the coat, the heavy weight surprising you as it dropped on your arms. “Boss said to wear it again. When you're done, put that on and follow me.”
It?
You blinked, furrowing your eyebrows.
Until, it clicked.
“Oh,” You gave her a small, knowing smile. “Of course. I'll be out in a moment.”
Before you disappeared behind the curtains, you whispered to her. “And please uncuff him. He still has his dear mother waiting for him at home.”
By the time you were done, your client was already gone. You were more than surprised to see a pouch of money on your bed, considering his session wasn’t done. However, from the sight of Sevika’s newly lit cigar and the little smug grin on her face, she must’ve threatened him to pay still.
Hugging the coat closer, you quietly approached the woman. “I’m ready. Will we be long?”
She gave you a silent look of appraisal, blowing out her smoke in a smooth puff. “Don’t know, doll. But something tells me you’ll be there all night.”
Without another word, she opened the door and made her way out.
────────────── ★ ───────────────
“She’s here, boss.”
No knocking. Just an announcement of your arrival behind the door to Silco’s office.
It was your first time visiting the infamous Last Drop at the center of the Lanes, and the sight of the green neon-lit sign intimidated you earlier. Thankfully, no one seemed to pay attention to you once Sevika entered the establishment. Sure you received curious glances, most were salacious leers that swept down your covered body, but with Sevika’s imposing presence in front of you—no one lingered long enough.
They must’ve thought you were hers.
What would they think if they found out you were his instead?
“Enter.”
Sevika stepped aside, giving you the view of the door. “Good luck, doll. He had a long month.”
You blinked, nodding in understanding. “Thank you.”
She reciprocated the nod, studying your face for a second longer, before she brushed past you to make way back downstairs. “If you ever get tired of him, you know where to find me.”
Oh.
Somehow, that brought an unexpected warmth on your cheeks.
Shaking your head, you gathered a long breath and hugged the coat closer around your body.
The weight gave you comfort and shielded you from the cold. The scent brought so many memories of that night in the brothel, his intoxicating perfume—dark, rich, and masculine—clung to your sheets for days that made you ache for more. Now, his scent surrounds you in a protective embrace. You were tempted to ask it from him once you were done. Surely, he has more of it. Though, you wouldn’t want to dare take what’s his.
Without waiting further, you reached for the knob and pushed the door open.
Once the view inside greeted your eyes, your breath caught.
Silco was already looking at you.
For the first time since that night, you felt the need to cower from the intensity of his gaze. Not just his gaze, something about his posture sent shivers down your spine. He was simply sitting on his chair, elbows resting on his desk, fingers laced together and his lips hidden behind his clasped hands. He was highlighted by the large window behind him, bathing the silhouette of his chair in a green glow.
It made him look ominous. No, it made him look like a king.
The Eye of Zaun.
King of the Undercity.
The Devil from the Lanes.
Your heart thrummed like warning sirens in your ears, yet you still entered the room—locking the door behind you—while you maintained eye contact with him.
You stood silently in front of the door, unsure if you should move or wait for his order. You decided on the latter, not wanting to test his patience so early in the night. His cold expression didn’t give away any signs for you to read, which left you feeling exposed and vulnerable despite the large coat covering your frame.
The silence stretched, itching your skin to break it before it got uncomfortable.
Thankfully, he was the one to do it. “Were you with someone?”
Hearing his voice both calmed your heart and raised your pulse.
The chilling drawl that whispered sinful things in your ear so many nights ago. The serpentine lilt that never failed to consume your thoughts in every waking hour of the day. Again, you felt like the woman who was offered the fruit of forbidden knowledge—seduced by the serpent with the voice of an angel, but the intent of the devil.
“Yes,” A little breathless, but not shaking, you answered him. “But we didn’t get far. I was–”
“Unfaithful,” Silco narrowed his good eye, leaning back against his chest. “While I’m busy at work, for days and nights, my wife is entertaining another lover. Have I neglected you too much?”
Oh.
That one word. Wife. It told you enough.
After days not showing his face again, he was still continuing the act. Suddenly, the choice of attire made sense. Wear it again. There was no doubt in mind that Sevika referred to the same clothes you wore on the night of his visit. The white robe. Nothing else underneath save for another pair of white lace. After all, the original pair was borrowed. And he did say he was going to buy you more.
Maybe you’d remind him of that later.
You crossed your arms, returning his steel glare. “You have, dear husband. You haven’t shown much of yourself lately. How am I supposed to know you haven’t taken a lover yourself?”
He became deathly still.
The air in the room turned colder. Sharper. If you breathed it in, you were sure it would be painful. So you held your breath. It must’ve been your imagination, but you swore you saw his left eye—the molten eclipse—gleamed dangerously at your accusation. Meanwhile, his other eye darkened.
In a terrifyingly calm voice, he ordered. “Come here.”
You pursed your lips, taking measured steps closer to his desk.
When you stood in front of it, he clicked his tongue.
“Not there,” He pushed his chair back, giving space between him and his desk. “Here.”
Under a spell, you followed his voice like a siren’s call.
Slowly, you rounded the corner of his desk—feeling his piercing stare on you the entire time—and finally stopped right in front of him. So close your knees almost brushed against his. From this angle, with him still seated, you should’ve felt more powerful standing and looking down on him. That wasn’t the case, however. He still had the power even from the bottom.
Finally, he broke the stare. Only to venture lower, eyeing his coat with a searing intensity as if to melt it off of your body. The sleeves went a little past your wrists and up to your knuckles. The hem almost reached your knees, all the clasps fastened to conceal the white robe underneath.
His lips lifted, a deep hum rolling out of his chest.
“You look good in my colors,” The possessive inclination didn’t escape you, and you found yourself smiling in agreement. “But I do wonder what's underneath it.”
Lithe fingers glided up against your front. Fingertips teasing the golden clasps, lightly stroking the edges. You watched him admire his coat on you, keeping your hands from reaching out to place them over his. He didn't make a move to undo them. Instead, he retraced his hand and leaned backwards—both arms on his armrests—giving you a dark look through his lashes.
“Care to show me?”
You released a shuddering breath, still smiling at him. “Of course, dear husband.”
In deliberate movements, you undid each clasp starting from the top one. Revealing a slip of the white silk beneath. Then, lower and lower. And lower. Until the coat fell apart, and you removed it from your shoulders to let it drop to the floor with a dull flop. Immediately, you shivered at the exposure. Though, not from the cold—from the sharp inhale from Silco as his eye greedily drank in the newly revealed skin.
“Beautiful,” The singular praise warmed your chest. Then, his hands found your hips. “My sweet wife. How I missed you.”
He pulled you closer, pressing his scarred lips on your stomach.
You finally touched him, threading your nails across his silky salt-and-pepper strands and scratching his scalp. Another low hum escaped him, leaning forward to your touch, as he continued leaving chaste kisses on your stomach. The silk robe blocked your skin, yet you still felt the pressure and heat from each kiss he left on you.
He pulled away, pushing his chair back again. “Unfortunately, you have committed a sin against me. And such misdeed will not go unpunished.”
Without his touch, the cold returned again.
You were about to apologize, when he cut you off before you could deliver it.
“Kneel.”
Without question, you sank to your knees.
And now the view has changed.
This time, you truly felt his power as you gazed up at him. Between his parted legs, you studied his expression flickering to a brief flash of awe before it shifted to something hungrier. Down here, he truly looked like a king waiting to be pleased.
His fingers found your chin, tilting your head back. “I'm sure you know exactly how to do that, my dear?”
His thumb swept across your bottom lip, and your mouth parted just in time for him to slip it inside.
Instinctively, you sucked and swirled your tongue around. His gaze darkened, breathing a little faster as he watched you. In the next second, he tore his thumb from your mouth with a wet pop and used it to unbutton his pants in four clicks.
“Now be a good wife,” He freed himself from his confines, and your throat dried. “And serve your husband. Unless you have any complaints with that?”
You caught his stare, burning with the same heat. “None at all, dear husband.”
Out of all the clients you have pleasured like this, Silco was by far your most favorite. Of course, Pilties were cleaner and they prioritized grooming themselves with utmost perfection. However, most of them didn't know what they're doing. They just take, and take, and take.
Entitled and arrogant as always.
Nevermind your pleasure, it was only for their benefit after all.
Silco, on the other hand, made sure you were the one in control. This wasn’t a punishment. This was a chance to redeem yourself. You weren't just doing this for his sake. You were pleasing him because you wanted to. He didn't push your head down or thrusted his hips up to have control over you. He could've done that easily. Especially since Sevika said he had a long month. But no, he just sat back and let you do your work—patting your head and humming in approval every time you did something he liked.
You would've thought he wasn't satisfied with your performance if it weren't for the sight of the light color on his pale cheeks and the shallow pace of his breathing.
At first, he kept a neutral expression while you prepped him.
Kissing the base of him. Licking his flushed tip. Pumping your hand over his hardening length.
But then you finally took him into your mouth, hollowing your cheeks as you went down on him, his composure cracked and you saw his lashes fluttering.
You hummed around his cock, closing your eyes to savor his taste.
He throbbed against your tongue, and you licked the vein underlining his length to feel it again. His hips jerked slightly, grunting at the sensation, then forced himself still again. When you gradually grew more confident, he began to release more noises. Strained grunts, softened praises, deep hums that reverberated from his chest. All of it spurred you to be faster.
You paid attention to his head, sucking lightly to gather more of his spend while you steadily jerked him in a firm grip.
Only then he cursed out aloud through gritted teeth.
Sensitive.
You smirked against him, pulling away to spit onto your palm. Before you circled it around his head while holding him steady.
He lurched forward with a loud gasp. “You know what you’re doing, don’t you?”
You chuckled, palming him harder. “Don’t like it? Or do you prefer my mouth instead?”
Silco leaned back again, panting raggedly. “Don’t you dare stop.”
Who knew the King of the Undercity could be so pliable?
One of his hands gripped your hair, the other clutching the armrest in a white-knuckled grip. Pride bled from your chest at the sight. To see the most powerful man in Zaun unravel because you were pleasing him. You have to give him credit. As much as he wanted to close his eye, he kept watching you—obsessively—both seafoam and molten hues fixed on your mouth, hand, and tongue.
When you returned to sucking on his tip, his head finally tossed back. And you traced the sharp line of his throat as he gulped another groan. Then you swallowed him down again, moaning from a harsh tug on your hair. He twitched inside your mouth, breathing a little faster and grunting louder.
He was close.
Your hand quickened, working in tandem with your mouth to get him closer to the edge.
“That's it, sweetheart.” Silco sighed, rolling his hips. “Take it. Take it all.”
His words fueled you to take him until he reached the back of your throat. He released another strangled curse, his thrusting upwards, and spilled himself at the back of your throat with a strained groan. You barely flinched when he came, and you didn't release him until he melted against his chair—chasing his breath as though he had run a mile through the Lanes.
After a final twitch, you slowly pulled him out of your mouth. Giving his tip a lingering kiss, and smiling up at him as you swallowed his release.
“How are you, dear husband?” You laid your cheek against his knee. “Still stressed from your work?”
Silco opened his eye, his pupil blown wide. “Quite.”
You were about to ask for more, when he patted his lap twice.
“Up.”
When you slid yourself onto his lap, you expected for him to fuck you and be done with it. But with Silco, you should've known not to expect anything. He was unpredictable, in every sense of the word. And right now, you didn't expect to fuck his fingers while he's whispering filthy things in your ear. Your lace panties pushed to the side, three fingers curled deep inside you, while you grinded down on him with your hands on his shoulders.
“Eager little thing,” His voice pooled more heat in your stomach. “Can you come like this, my dear?”
You nodded, moaning softly. “Yes. Yes, please.”
He chuckled, gripping your hip to guide your movements. “Of course you can. Go on then. Make a mess on my fingers. I'll be sure to reward you after.”
Burying your face against the crook of his neck, you breathed him in as you started rocking faster.
His fingers stayed curled, letting you drench them within your soaked walls. Your sounds were muffled against his shirt, but were loud enough for him to hear the desperation. You couldn't understand what you're saying. But you were sure they alternated from please, more, and his name. You felt something hard twitching against your inner thigh, pulling another moan from you.
You wanted nothing more than to reach down and line himself up into you, then finally sink down on him. To feel that stretch again. To remind yourself of the intoxicating feeling from so many nights ago. How he filled you completely and perfectly. Big enough not to hurt, and long enough to reach the deepest part within you. And his veins—fuck, you could just come thinking about those pulsating lines brushing against you again.
With newfound vigor, you began moving up and down his fingers.
Chasing your pleasure in hopes to reach your peak faster and have him inside you.
“Getting desperate, are we?” His lips ghosted the shell of your ear, dark and teasing. “You really want me to ravage you?”
Nodding, you moaned. “Yes. Please, I want it.”
“Have you been thinking about it?”
“Ever since that night.”
“Did you think about me while you were with others?”
“Yes! Wished they were you. Wanted you, Silco.”
He growled, his voice and grip turning more possessive. “Oh, how I've ruined you. I should've pulled you out of that place as soon as I could. You looked better right here. Like this. Do you want that, my dear?”
You nodded again, unable to form words or even think about a proper response. Your movements started to falter, the heat coiling in your stomach tightening into a thin thread.
He tugged your head back by your hair, forcing you to look at him. “You're mine. Now say it.”
“Yours,” You pleaded—not stopping, not hesitating. “I'm yours, Silco. Please.”
He grinned, awestruck and predatory. “That's right, darling. Do well to remember that.”
Your eyes shut close, the thread finally snapping and you came undone on his fingers.
You didn't know what possessed you to grab his collar to pull him into a deep kiss. The first kiss ever since that night, and you both sighed at the feeling. He tilted his head, opening to his mouth to taste your lips. You did the same, and shuddered upon meeting his tongue in ravenous sweeps. He kept you close with his hand on your hair, while the other slowly slid out of your walls—pulling another wrecked moan from you.
Then, he pulled you back by your hair again.
The slight pain made you wince, but the sight of him pushing his fingers—the same ones you fucked—into his mouth caused you to tremble with need. His eye closed, and a deep rumbling growl escaped him. When he opened it again, the seafoam hue was barely visible—shadowed by raw hunger and possession.
“I've been dreaming of that taste,” His gaze flickered down between your legs. “It hasn't left my mind ever since.”
In the next second, you were lifted from his lap and placed down on his desk. He gently pushed you back until you were completely laid, then swiftly dropped to his knees with his hands on your thighs. You blinked at the sudden change, raising yourself on your elbows. Just to see him looking at you between your legs, and suddenly you were back to that night where he consumed you like a devil.
Silco never looked away, kissing your inner thighs and sighing. “So soft. So unbelievably soft.”
You hummed, smiling down at him. “And all yours.”
He froze, his grip tightening.
His eyes—both hues—now flashed, and you were left staring at a dangerous man.
“That's right,” He bit your inner thigh, chuckling at your pained yelp. “All mine.”
When his mouth enclosed on you, your head fell back and your elbows gave away.
And the devil began to consume again.
You honestly forgot how good it felt. Now, you berated yourself for forgetting. None of the others even compared to him. None of them were willing enough to be on their knees. It was always them and their needs. Never yours. But here, for the second time in your life, Silco greedily drank from you as if it was his last. Though not with hurried laps or impatient licks.
No, he took you apart like the first time—deep, thorough, leaving no area untouched and unmarked.
As though he was memorizing your taste once more, committing it to memory just in case it might never happen again. But you now know, after all of this, you'd never be the same. You'd never find this kind of pleasure and warmth in another lover. All of your clients were completely forgotten. Only Silco mattered. Only he can grant you these sensations and sights.
Because with him, it didn't feel like an act.
You didn't have to pretend for him.
Everything was real. Everything felt real.
From the way he worshipped you. How he kissed your thighs, whispering soft praises when you started shaking. From how he paid attention to your body, which action made you tremble and arch or sigh and melt. The first night, he was just devouring you. This time, he was learning from you. Taking his time to gauge out the right reactions, then continuing just to see and hear more.
Again, you were reminded that even Silco could be a generous lover. Generous as well as insatiable.
And he looked so beautiful it hurt.
Especially when he's grinning devilishly between your legs.
“You taste exquisite, my dear.” He murmured against you, kissing your clit one last time before he raised himself from the floor. “Unfortunately, I have grown impatient. And it seems you're more than ready to take me.”
You felt a familiar blunt sensation graze your inner thighs, and you parted your legs wider.
“Please,” You nodded, pleading for him through a half-lidded stare. “Make me yours again.”
You felt him twitch, spurring you to grind yourself on his hardening length.
Silco clenched his jaw. “You really have no idea what you're doing to me.”
His hands slipped beneath your robe, hooking his fingers into your lace panties to slip it off of your legs. He could've fucked you with them on, and you'd have no complaints about it. However, he might be looking forward to adding another one to his collection. Maybe every time you meet again, you'd eventually run out of your most beloved pairs. Not that you minded. As long as he's the one keeping them.
When the piece was finally off, his hands returned to your hips—warm, roughened palms fitting perfectly on the curves.
“Breathe for me,” He kissed your cheek, then whispered in your ear. “Just focus on my voice.”
You wanted to tell him you can take it.
You took him once, and you could easily do it again. However, when he breached your entrance, you found your confidence vanishing immediately. Silco was a deceptive man. He might've lacked the size and mass to carry himself, but fuck he carried it somewhere else. And it was slowly slipping inside you, inch by inch, while all the thoughts evaporated from your head.
He continued talking, using that sinful voice of his to distract you from the stretch. It barely helped. It was all you could focus on, and it even felt better than the first time. Finally, when he bottomed out inside you, you released a shuddering breath as he kissed your neck. That helped you relax, melting under him instantly and sighing out his name.
“Silco. Please move, my love.”
He groaned, breathing heavily on your collarbone. “Keep calling me that, and I'm not going to let you walk out of this room.”
You shifted your hips, kissing his scarred temple. “Is that a promise, my love?”
Silco kissed your neck. “It's a certainty, my dear.”
You didn't have the time to respond when he started moving, the air catching at your throat.
At first, he moved at a languid pace.
Pulling himself out, leaving his tip inside, before pushing back in. Every thrust deepened than the last, until your breathy sighs turned into shallow gasps when he became rougher. He untied the knot of your robe, baring you open for his greedy teeth and tongue to explore.
“So perfect,” He uttered against your chest, peering up at you through a dark gaze. “Why haven't I found you before?”
You placed your hand on his chest. “I was always here. I won't leave.”
Silco held you tighter, matching the rough pace of his thrusts to his next words. “And I won't let you.”
You don't think you could ever walk away from him after this. Not when the lines between a transaction and something more domestic blurred. It no longer felt like an act. Despite your second time being with him, it truly felt like you have done this so many times before. As if you have always come home to him, and he welcomes you back every time.
The kisses he shared with you didn't feel like an act. The groans and praises didn't feel rehearsed. He didn't fuck you like he was running out of time or he has someone else waiting for him in his home. He wasn't like those Pilties who only looked at you as if you were a prized object. The way he carved himself into you was much more purposeful—like he was making sure you won't search for another besides him.
He didn't fuck you like another client.
But as a doting husband.
He took your hands from his shoulders, lacing his fingers between yours to pin them on his desk.
He didn't want to let go.
You didn't want this to end.
The moan that came out of your lips was stolen by him. None of this felt like a transaction anymore. Not when he's holding your hand and kissing you like this. Not when he's parting himself from the kiss to stare down at you with reverence in his mismatched eyes. Not when he pressed his forehead against yours, and brushed his lips with yours as he spoke.
“Be with me,” He rasped, raw and open. “Be my wife.”
You clenched hard, the heat intensifying in your stomach. “Your wife?”
Silco nodded, tilting his head to kiss your jaw. “And I, your husband.”
You hoped this wasn't just the kind of conversation bred out of sex. You truly hoped he meant those words. From the first time you welcomed a Topsider into your rooms, these kinds of words were all you heard. Offers, promises, and temptations. Before, during, and after. Perhaps because you felt more connected to Silco that you believed him more. Perhaps because he was a Zaunite, and you, despite his image, trusted him more than any other Topsider.
You wanted it.
You wanted him.
“I'm yours,” You caught his lips again, sighing into him. “And you're mine. My husband.”
Silco tightened his hold on your hands, groaning deep from his chest.
“My wife.”
The heat blossomed, spreading like wildfire across your body, and the two of you collided with one another in a shared release. He kept pushing, slowing down to feel your walls fluttering as he spilled himself inside you. It felt right to have him like this. To feel him drip out of you after he pulled away. But he didn't make a move to remove himself yet, unlacing his fingers from yours to press a rough palm against where he's still inside.
You moaned, feeling the pressure sink down and more spend drip out.
Silco only watched you, fixated on the glow of pleasure on your face.
Then, he pressed harder.
“Next time. I'll be sure to leave more and watch you grow with our child.”
Your eyes fluttered open, surprised at his words.
The thought of carrying his child filled your thoughts in warm desire. Half-tempted to roll your hips back and say start now. He looked serious as well, and that made the idea even more tempting. Another Child of Zaun. Yours, and his. One with his dangerous flair and powerful ambitions, and your undying loyalty and hope.
You smiled teasingly, cupping his cheek. “I never thought the King of the Undercity could want a child for himself.”
Silco smirked down at you, coy and undeniably handsome. “I already have a child. But she might need a sibling, and I need a queen.”
When he leaned down to kiss you, it was to seal the promise into certainty.
Hello, hello! I realized I still haven't made one like this so if you're curious about me, welcome to my little blog!
Call me kei for short, and I write/draw whenever I feel like it! Or when my schedule is free because med school is a total bitch, and I have not seen the light of day (lol kidding).
English isn't my first language, it's actually my third. Pronouns are she/they! I'm somewhere from Asia, not saying where specifically, so if you're from the West, I might post at odd hours during the day/night.
I'm currently in my second year in college, studying medicine and hopefully surviving at the end.
If you're following me, ilysm like why did you do that– If you're not following me I really don't care and it's fine! Feel free to read whatever you want from my masterlist, you don't have to follow me back! <3
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— FANDOMS I'M IN: (I've only written for some)
★ Dispatch, Arcane, Star Wars, JJK, MHA, Gravity Falls, Stardew Valley, Harry Potter, Frieren, Love through a Prism, COD, Genshin Impact, Gachiakuta, Maze Runner, HOTD/GOT, some more anime and shows I'm too lazy to write down
— PERSONAL INTERESTS
★ Drawing, Writing, Reading, Poetries, Tarot reading, Mobile games, Studying, and Cooking
— MY TYPE IN MUSIC
★ Arctic Monkeys, Glass Animals, Hozier, Chase Atlantic, The Neighbourhood, Darci, The Marias, Saint Motel, Gorillaz, other indie bands
— WHAT I WRITE ABOUT/SUBMISSIONS
★ Anything that comes to mind when I'm daydreaming I'm in class. Completely random at times. Most of my fics are 18+ so MDNI or proceed with caution. Since my schedule is packed, if you have a req/submission/ask, it might take a while for me to do/answer it. So, please be patient!
— WHAT I DON'T/WON'T WRITE ABOUT
★ Incest. Homophobia. Racism. Rape/noncon. Pedophilia. Pretty much anything morally concerning unless I specifically tagged it with a warning. If you are into any of these, PLEASE dni with me.
This is the scrapped original third part of Definitely an HR Violation, and I'm just thinking it'd be a shame to let it waste. So I fixed it a bit to make it into the fourth part!
AO3 LINK: Nights with you
CONTENT: explicit sexual content, switching, some fluff too, domestic sweetness, and shameless filth
WC: 8k
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“No freaking way,” Malevola gasped, staring at you in mixed awe and disbelief. “That happened? In a single night? Dude, that's like better subscription porn material there. I don't blame Visi. I'd fucking join too.”
Oh my fucking god.
You threw a spiteful glare at your roommate, who sat beside you wearing that innocent smirk on her face.
The audacity of that woman to invite the girls back here again, and tell them what happened that night in her room. Honestly, you applauded her for being so shamelessly proud of what had happened between the four of you. But still, you were already imagining strangling her to death with your shadows for doing this.
But then again, it made things even.
You got Robert before her, and now she's doing this in return out of spite.
“Anything else you wanna add?” You raised an eyebrow at her. “Or are you done broadcasting my sex life to all of Torrance?”
Vis scoffed, rolling her eyes. “I wish I could. Imagine we’d get paid to recreate it?”
Coupé nodded, chuckling slightly. “I admit, it sounds like a ten out ten wet dream.”
You gave the former assassin a look. “Not gonna be surprised if you actually had that already."
“Who said I haven't?”
“You have?”
“It’s none of your business.”
You laughed, shaking your head. “Unbelievable. Coop’s a perv too.”
On the floor, Malevola crossed her arms and playfully glared at the both of you. “So, where's the tape?”
You were about to dismiss her question, when you saw a massive split on your roommate’s face. When she pulled her phone out from her pocket, you gaped in horror and shock.
No fucking way.
“Oh, you're gonna love this.”
“You’re not fucking serious–”
“I so am.”
For ten minutes, Malevola has you in a headlock to prevent you from getting up. The video started from the moment you all entered Vis’ room, how she set up her phone and started recording without anyone's notice was unknown to you. Prism kept on commenting some wild things like she's a fucking documentary narrator. Coupé stayed characteristically silent, but you saw the way her eyes flashed and the miniscule sharp tug at the corner of her lip.
Meanwhile, Vis kept grinning like a Cheshire cat with her phone extended out until the video ended.
Finally, Malevola released her hold on you, causing you to cough and glare at her.
“I imagined you doing that to me in other situations. But that wasn't fun.”
“You just gave me an idea, Night.”
“Maybe next time.”
“I'll remember that–”
Prism’s sharp laughter cut through the conversation, slapping her knee repeatedly.
“Damn! Who knew the boss could pull a nasty stunt like that. And y’all heard that fucking voice? Girl, I’mma make his voice my alarm. Watch me wake up wet!”
Vis gasped, snapping her fingers at her. “You're a fucking genius.”
Coupé’s gaze flitted towards you, intrigue gleaming dangerously in those golden hues. “I imagined you'd be a little more assertive, Night. But that was a pleasant sight to see.”
A loud groan escaped you. “Not my proudest moment, I know. I can't believe I let an average white man tell me what to do.”
“That's basically his job for all of us,” Malevola quipped. “Isn’t that the same thing?”
You sighed, running your hands down your face.
I thought of that phrase before.
Vis slung an arm around your shoulders, her face inches away from yours. “So? When’s our turn? Just the two of us.”
Glaring at her, you met her stare and neared closer until your lips almost brushed. “You’d like that, wouldn't you? Or maybe, I can have you while the two of them watch.”
Your tone dropped to the same register you reserve for Herm, low and teasing, and smirked at the way her breath hitched. But she didn't back away, you knew she wouldn’t. This was the kind of game that got her off. One that trespassed boundaries and teased trouble at its face.
Neither of you moved, and you didn't miss how her lashes fluttered down—glancing at your lips—before her gaze returned to yours and she narrowed them in challenge.
In a span of seconds, tension filled the living room like a shadow blanketing the sun.
From the side, Prism withdrew her own phone and held it horizontally. “If y'all don't stop, I'mma make a tape out of you two.”
You smiled, still focused on your roommate. “How ‘bout it, Vis? Wanna give ‘em a show?”
She paused, but you caught the split second glance on your lips. “Depends. You gonna let me top?”
“As if I'd let you.”
“I can be persuasive.”
“And I can be serious.”
Malevola elbowed Coupé beside her, grinning devilishly to the former assassin.
“How much you wanna bet they're gonna fuck after we leave?”
“Hmm. Ten. But I call twenty if they don’t.”
“Bet.”
After god knows how long, Vis finally broke the stare, pulling away with a scoff. “Whatever.”
Smirking, you leaned back against the couch and winked at Prism’s camera. “Be right back with that tape.”
The three of them groaned, and you laughed at their disappointment.
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He was dreaming.
He had to be.
Herman could honestly not believe how he managed to be in this situation.
All because of that night in the office.
He supposed he should be glad for all the times that led to that moment.
The memory was still fresh in Herman's mind. Back to the first time he realized how much he admired and feared you.
He liked you even before you started expressing your feelings for him. Even before you started approaching him, Herman already hid his attraction deep inside. But like the coward he was, he didn't do anything but cower and flee the moment you started getting closer. You were way beyond his league—not to mention undeniably gorgeous and powerful—so why would you be interested in someone like him?
What did you even see in him?
He was hardly the most attractive, strongest, or most impressive person out there. You could've easily gone for someone else. Someone who wouldn't look away the moment you made eye contact. Someone who was perfect by your side. Someone who would worship the ground you walked on. Someone who was more confident and competent than him.
Maybe he was just being harsh on himself.
After years of being teased and set up by others, Herman can't help but be a bit distrustful to those who show him the slightest bit of interest. He's been pranked countless of times—from cruel dares during high school to getting stood up in college—and he was just tired of being used for entertainment. So, you honestly couldn't blame him for thinking the others put you up with it.
From the first moment Herman saw you, he knew was a goner.
He remembered the day he saw you in the office. It was the same day he was hired as the new janitor by Blonde Blazer. Embarrassingly, he got lost in the building after forgetting to ask her where the storage room was. He had been trying to ask all the people he passed by for directions, but most of them were in a hurry or ultimately ignored him.
He was about to lose hope when he bumped into someone in the hallway.
Herman quickly panicked, the apology readied at the tip of his tongue when he heard your voice.
“Shit–” You stepped back, then blinked when you failed to recognize him. “Oh, uh… Sorry. Haven't seen you around here before. Are you new?”
Herman gulped, eyes widening in shock.
He bumped into a woman.
She was gorgeous.
And he was just gaping like an idiot.
After a while, he realized he was only staring at you in silence.
He snapped out of his thoughts, flushing in embarrassment. “Yea– Yes! I am. I'm just– I'm lost.”
“Clearly,” There wasn’t any mirth in your tone, only amusement. “Where are you off to?”
“The– Uh…” Herman glanced around, suddenly shy from the intensity of your stare. “The storage room.”
You raised an eyebrow, slightly confused. “Storage room?”
Herman quickly pointed at the name tag on his chest, realizing how weird his words must've sounded. “I'm a new he–her– helpful janitor! It's my first day and I'm– And I got lost.”
He expected you to laugh at him. He expected you to look at him like had grown a third head, or even dismiss his problem with a wave of your hand. That's what he received most of the time anyway. But he didn't expect you to smile, amused and intrigued, as you raised an eyebrow at him.
“You're cute,” Your gaze swept down his frame, before meeting his eyes again. “Well, helpful janitor. The storage room is just down this hall. You should be able to see it in just a couple of steps.”
Perking up, Herman beamed at the information. “Oh, really? Thanks you– Thank you! Thank you so much, miss…”
You chuckled, and he flushed further. “Midnight. Just call me Night. I'm part of the Phoenix Program. And you?”
“Waterboy!”
“Waterboy, huh? That's cute.”
“Oh, I– Uh, thanks?”
“Don't mention it,” You tossed him a wink, coming closer to pat his arm. “If you need anything else, just come and find me. I can help with whatever you need.”
He didn't know why he shivered at that.
He didn't know why he suddenly felt warm beneath his wetsuit, and the warmth burned hotter when your touch lingered for a second longer. He already had Mecha Man fix his tie earlier, and he didn't even realize he was too close to his face—too busy trying not to explode like a rocket for meeting one of his greatest idols.
And now a beautiful woman has her hand on his arm, standing too close, looking up at him wearing a friendly smile.
Finally composing himself, Herman breathed shakily and nodded. “Thank you. Again. Miss Night. For uh– the way. The directions. I'll ask again next time. For help!”
You squeezed his arm, leaning closer. “Good. I'll see you around then. Waterboy.”
When you walked away, leaving him standing alone in that hall, his knees almost gave out beneath him.
And uh oh, he might've developed a crush on you after that.
He remembered walking home later that night, smiling to himself like a lovesick fool. He was whistling a soft tune under his breath, skipping along the sidewalk eager to return home and tell his grandma what happened on his first day. From then on, he looked forward to coming to work just to see you. Just to hear your voice greeting him in that cheerful tone. It wasn't until he started daydreaming about you.
As a kid, he always did possess a vivid imagination. Since he barely had any friends growing up, none of them wanted to play with someone who could get their clothes all soaked, he resorted to his toys and daydreams.
It was sad to think about how lonely he was, only relying on his imagination to feel less… Well, less lonely.
All innocent things when you had a crush on someone.
Before being with you, Herman sometimes thought about being in a romantic relationship. He'd take his partner out on cute dates, cook for them whenever he could, carry their bags when they're out shopping, and more fun things couples do when they're in love. And after he met for the first time, that blurry image in his daydreams morphed until he was imagining you.
Especially when you didn't look at him with fear or disgust. You looked at him with a smile, a little teasing and amused, but he could tell it was genuine. One of the firsts he's ever received in such a long time. He couldn't help it. Your kindness stuck to him immediately, and he wanted to get to know you more ever since then. Unfortunately for him, that act of kindness was like a gift from the heavens—and he clutched it in his heart possessively.
He should've learned from his mistakes years ago. Not all kind people meant well. Not everyone has good intentions just because they smiled and helped him. But he just can't help himself. No matter how much he tried to forget about the interaction, it was all he could think about.
Herman imagined walking you home at night, sharing stories or even dropping by a convenient store first to get some ice cream. He thought about bringing your cooked meals that he made every other day as a surprise. He dreamed about holding your hand, lacing his fingers between yours, but knowing his power something like that could never happen.
He used to think of scenarios where he was more confident. If he didn't slouch all the time and actually talked to people without making a fool of himself. He used to think about the possibilities if he were more confident, if he had a different power, would you see him more than just the clumsy, wet janitor?
If he didn't have his stupid power, he would've bought you flowers and taken you out on dates wherever you wanted. He would court you properly, confidently, and do his best to make you the happiest woman alive. He'd make sure you were taken care of, that you'd always feel the luckiest whenever you were with him. He'd always try to make you smile, especially at your lowest days. He'd do whatever he can just to see you smile and make you feel loved.
Because knowing where you came from, the background of your reputation, Herman knew you deserved happiness too.
You might've been a villain in the past.
You might've done some things you weren't proud of.
But Herman would make sure you wouldn't be defined by any of those. He'll love you regardless of who you were and what you've done. In his hopeless fantasies, he would fill your life with all the good things you deserved and more.
But just when he thought he had a chance, he noticed something different.
One day, Herman showed up to work and saw you standing beside some of them.
None of them paid attention to him, too deep in the conversation to notice his presence. However, you were the only one who did. With a turn of your head, you were looking at him. He froze in his spot, clearly not expecting for you to see him. But it was too late to run now, because you two were staring at each other like you were the only people in the building.
You blinked, snapping out of your trance, a smile gracing your features upon recognition.
Then, you waved.
At first, Herman thought it was directed at someone else. But when he looked over his shoulder, he found no one. He looked back again, he tensed when he found you making your way over to his direction. Oh, you were waving at him.
You stood in front of him, wearing a warm smile. “Hey, Waterboy. Finally found your way around huh?”
Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god.
His crush was talking to him again, and he felt like fainting already.
“Yeah!” He grinned so wide, clasping his hands together. “Thanks to you. Thank you. For helping me.”
You chuckled, shaking your head. “No problem. Also, I was wondering if you're free later?”
Herman forced himself to stand upright, nodding furiously. “Yeah! I'm free– Nothing to do. For later. After work, right?”
The sensation of being watched pricked his skin, boring down on him like a laser. He tried to ignore it. He tried to focus on your eyes, but still the feeling of other people's eyes became too much for him to dismiss. Still, Herman gave you a smile in return. He shouldn't be affected, especially in front of you.
“Yup,” You leaned your weight on one leg, both hands in your hips. “I was wondering if you'd like to hang out? Just you and me.”
His heart almost combusted out of his chest.
Is this real?
Is she asking me out?
I'm not dreaming?
He wanted to say yes. He never wanted anything else than to accept. But then he felt it again.
Herman was aware enough of the eyes on him. All his life, he constantly felt the sensation of being watched. It started during middle school and continued up until his college. Now, it followed him still at his work. And it felt exactly like how it did back then. Invasive, unwelcome, and probing. Like he was being surveyed through a microscope as though he was a specimen.
The eyes. The attention. The curious glances from the others behind you.
When he looked at them, they were still standing there. If he could recall their names correctly, Flambae and Invisigal, and they were staring. Just watching the scene unfold in confusion. But that didn't concern him. What concerned him was the smile on Invisigal’s face—like she knew something he didn't.
He caught her nudging Flambae’s elbow, whispering something while taking another peek at your direction. The man blinked, then gaped. Then, a mysterious smirk came over his face. In the next second, Flambae winked at Herman, while Invisigal nudged him again while rolling her eyes.
Whatever she said must've been something to do with you.
And him.
His throat dried at the sight, lungs constricting with invisible chains.
Suddenly, he was back in high school when someone was trying to ask him out to prom. Only to find out it was just a prank, and they were all laughing at him for believing it. This felt like that again. It felt like he was back in high school, back to that day where he was humiliated before his classmates while his heart-shaped box of chocolates were thrown away.
All because of a dumb dare.
Herman stepped back, looking down at your hopeful features.
“I–I can't,” He averted his head away, missing how your smile fell at his rejection. “Sorry– I'm sorry. I need to– I have to go.”
You reached out, but he was already walking away.
Ever since that day, he avoided you like a plague.
His heart broke at the thought of being used as another entertainment. Another bet worth five bucks, more or less. Maybe he shouldn't have assumed it was a bet, but after what he had been through, it was better to assume it was. No one had shown him interest before. If they did, it was most likely out of pity or because there was money involved.
And so, Herman clung to his daydreams.
At least there, he could have you peacefully without being judged. Even when he didn't let you get close, he still couldn't help but admire you from a distance. His feelings never left. It was always there no matter how much he tried to bury it. Something about you fascinated him. He didn't know what exactly, but it made him all warm and curious.
Even though he wanted to walk up to you and ask if you genuinely wanted to hang out, he just couldn't.
So, he did what he always did before.
Keep you at a distance.
Maybe he would get over his crush in that way.
Maybe you'd stop looking his way every time he entered the building.
Maybe you'd give up and find someone else.
Until he discovered something he never expected to hear. It all started when he overheard Flambae talking to Punch Up talking about your last conversation while they were in the showers.
“Seriously,” Flambae poured shampoo onto his palm. “If I hear Night complain about her stupid crush again, I'm gonna start bitching out to Blonde Blazer.”
Punch Up snickered below him, sounding far too amused. “Lay off the lass. She just fancies that new janitor. Nothing bad ‘bout that.”
Herman paused at the entrance, clutching his mop to his chest. He knew he shouldn't eavesdrop. He was better than listening in on gossip, even if they were from the guys. But he can't help it. He needed to hear more. He wanted to find out if it was true.
Flambae clicked his tongue, scrubbing the shampoo on his head. “Yeah, I get that. But I say she should just drag the wet bitch back to her place and fuck him. You see the way she's been eyeing him like a sack of meat? Ugh, fucking disgusting.”
Herman gulped, knees buckling at the thought.
Take him back to your house?
Fuck him?
Like that kind of fuck?
“As if you're not doin’ the same to Robert,” Punch Up quipped, ignoring Flambae's offended curse. “But let's leave her to her business. If the janitor doesn't get the hint soon, then it's his loss. Can't imagine passing up that opportunity, though. Lucky bastard.”
He didn't believe it at first.
There was no way you saw him like that.
Still he can't help but let their words sink into his thoughts later that night, his mind started drifting to other scenarios.
Herman tried to stop it. He really did. One, he respected you too much to even think of you in inappropriate ways. Settings. Positions. Two, he was afraid someone could be reading his mind every time he was in the office and saw all of the things he was thinking of about you. And three, he was afraid you'd be freaked out about the thoughts he secretly imagined.
But curiosity was like a seed that you could never destroy once it's planted.
He was thankful no one suspected the former janitor of anything. To everyone's eyes, he was just the clumsy, awkward guy who cleaned up after everyone else's mess. And he was exactly that. He didn't have a problem with it however, since he kept to himself while he cleaned. His earphones plugged in, mopping the floor while hard metal blasted in his ears.
Someone would see him and think—
The guy sure looks focused mopping the floor.
But in Herman's head?
The floor was the last thing on his mind.
Just thoughts of you.
Always you, you and you.
At every hour of the day, even at night before he went to sleep, Herman could never get rid of you. Even when you were out with the Z-team on a Dispatch, Herman still clung to your figure as if you were there with him.
Somewhere at the back of his mind, the dark and depraved part of him, imagined what it would feel like to be able to finally touch you. To let you get close and do whatever you wanted with him. It was a reoccurring fantasy of his. A shameless, guilty pleasure he always returned to.
Imagining you having your way with him. Pulling his mop out of his hands. Throwing it aside to be forgotten and found by the next person. Tugging him inside of a storage room where he kept most of the cleaning equipment. And just take control like how he imagined you to do. If you told him to kneel, he would without a second thought. If you told him to kiss your boots, Herman would.
He's guilty of using your name one too many times to get himself off, and the guilt that came afterward would consume him.
Herman hated himself for thinking about you in such ways.
And it's why he avoided you even more.
Every time you tried to talk to him, he'd make up an excuse to escape. Every time you greet him in the break room, he'll slip out the door without a word. As much as he wanted to talk to you, all he felt was shame and guilt. You shouldn't be talking to a perverted creep like him. You'd never see him the same way ever again if you ever found out.
But the more he tried to avoid you, the more his fantasies got worse. Even worse than the last one.
Every time he met your eyes, he always saw your gaze sharpening into a glare. Not a threatening one. If anything, it felt predatory. Like you were tracking his every move like a wolf ready to pounce. And Herman loved the feeling. He would be lying if he said that wasn't one of the reasons why he avoided you. To feel the piercing sensation of your stare following him wherever he went.
Some part in him enjoyed being under your scrutiny.
He imagined being under you, while you restrained him using your shadows. You'd be sitting on his lap, wearing that narrowed glare in your eyes. His hands constricted behind him with your dark tendrils. Your hands traveling all over his body, opening the zipper of his wetsuit and dragging your nails down his skin.
He imagined your voice, your lips, ghosting his ear while you touched him through his wetsuit. He wanted to feel your teeth sinking on his neck, your hand covering his mouth if he got too loud. He envisioned your shadows roaming all over his body. Touching him like dark phantom hands, pleasing him while you left marks on his skin.
At nights, he always dwelled back to those thoughts.
In the privacy of his room, laying on his bed with the image of your thighs straddling him down on his mattress. Underneath a cold shower where he took himself in his hand, your name spilling from his bitten lips, imagining it was your hand moving back and forth his hard length from behind. In the storage room after he successfully fled from your sight again, locking himself inside to deal with the problem straining his wetsuit.
He couldn't look at you in the eye after all the things he's done. After all the thoughts he tried to bury. After all the moments he came in his hand, imagining you in more ways than one to get himself off.
But he couldn't help it.
He wanted nothing more than to be under your control, to be used for your pleasure and be denied of his, but he was afraid you'd see him differently after finding out what he really thought of you. If you'd find him disgusting, weird, and a total creep for having dirty thoughts. He wanted you to be the one who would show him how it felt like to succumb in lust, pleasure, and passion.
Herman craved it secretly.
He yearned to be yours just so he could feel what it was like to be wanted. To be desired. Because all throughout his life, no one truly made him feel that way.
And when he officially became a part of the Z-team, Herman knew he couldn't avoid you anymore.
He can't escape you.
He can't escape his thoughts. His fantasies. His guilt and shame.
You'd always be there.
And it was only time until you finally caught him in your grasp. But then that night in the office happened, and it changed his life forever. That night in the locker room with Robert made him more open to new experiences. And that night in Visi’s room, where he took control of you for the first time, made him realize something he never knew about himself.
Those three nights changed him in drastic ways.
But those nights weren't his.
The first one belonged to you.
The second one was Robert’s.
The third was with Visi.
His nights with you were different, because those moments were only for him alone.
After months of being together, Herm finally worked up the courage to introduce you to his grandma.
Compared to you, he was more nervous about the whole thing. He couldn't stop shaking, trying to warn you about the many cats in every corner of their house. He started sweating more profusely each step he took, closer to his house where he could already see their front lawn. You had to reassure him that everything will be fine. Which was supposed to be the other way around, right?
You were supposed to be the nervous one!
But somehow, you simply smiled and told him you were excited to meet his grandma. Making a comment that it was about time he introduced you to her. That eased his worries. At least, you were looking forward to meeting her. He had the feeling the two of you would get along well, and he really hoped you’d adore her.
As soon as you arrived at his house, you were still surprised by the amount of cats that greeted you by the doorstep despite his warning and the amount of photos he sent you back then. Thankfully, you seemed to be fine with some of them rubbing against your legs and mewling for attention. You immediately picked some of your own favorites from the litter, joking about taking some of them back to your apartment.
And finally, he led to the living room where his grandma was watching her favorite show.
He was so happy that his grandma liked you even before you met, and at that moment, she immediately told you to lean down and began patting your head. Squeezing your cheek and telling you how you'd make beautiful babies with him. He had to fight the urge not to combust on the spot, while you simply laughed at her words and agreed casually—which almost made him faint from both embarrassment and shame.
During dinner, she began telling you stories about his childhood. Even showed you all the pictures in his baby album, much to his dismay and your delight.
Slowly but surely, you became a part of their home.
And you started to spend more nights with him.
Rather than hanging in your apartment like he always did at the start of your relationship, you came back to his house every once in a while. The more you visited, the more his life felt complete. Not long after, you were staying at his home and hardly at your apartment anymore. You bonded with his grandma easily, even admitting to him one time that she reminded you of your own before she passed away.
And whenever you were there, you'd always craft something up for them. Home cooked meals, baked goods, and warm drinks. And for the first time in a long while, their home was colored to life. Other than the constant meowing and hissing from the cats, the sound of laughter filled the spaces every time you were there. His grandma greatly enjoyed having you around, and she even pestered him when you were coming back again.
He assured her that you needed to go home to your apartment sometimes, but he didn't blame her for missing you.
He missed you too during those nights.
But at least he got to see during the day at work.
As months passed, your relationship deepened and your presence became a part of them like you've always belonged there.
Some of your things were in his room now.
Even your toothbrush was in the bathroom, and a few of your clothes mixed with his in the closet.
Whenever you stay the night, you'll fix up dinner while he helps with setting up the table. And the next morning, he'll be the one cooking up breakfast while he lets you sleep in his bed longer. He also makes sure you at least have one or two cats laying with you. Even Luna, his favorite out of all of them, slept peacefully beside you.
Some nights with you were quiet yet comfortable.
Those nights were usually in his house, where their cats kept both of you company while his grandma knitted at the side until he had to get her to her room to sleep.
Cuddling on his couch, watching a movie together, eating your homemade snacks, and analyzing the plot of whatever movie you picked. Whenever you were at his house, he was able to see a different side in you. Softer, sweeter, and not to mention a huge sleepyhead. He always used that opportunity to dote on you.
Seeing you like that only happened when you were in private. But now that you were more comfortable around him, he was able to see more of it every time you were around his house.
He'd see you playing with their cats, especially Luna, using your shadows for them to chase. And he loved it when you're trying to learn a new recipe to impress him and his grandma. Or when you teased him in front of her about what happened at work, retelling your day animatedly while she smiled and laughed. He also cherished the moments when you started wearing his clothes, claiming they were much more comfortable than your own.
And they looked better on you anyway.
Those nights never failed to make him miss you more once you were gone.
But then, there were those nights where he'll come back to your apartment.
He already knew what to expect once he stepped in. At this point, he should've been more prepared. He should be used to it. But he could never get used to your hold on him. The way you'll keep him up for hours, making him feel so good and fucked out by the end of the night—and he loved it.
He loved the way you pleased him until he couldn't breathe. He loved the way you marked him with your lipstick, bite marks, and all the hickeys on his neck and chest. He loved how you didn't get enough of him like how he can never get enough of you too. And he especially loved the way you spoiled him endlessly after everything.
You'd whisper sweet things in his ear while he came down from his high, making sure he's hydrated and well-fed if he was hungry. Even though you had an assertive dominance in the bedroom, you still made sure he was properly taken care of.
God, if his grandma knew what he had become.
An insatiable, lovesick puppy who'd do anything just to keep you happy and satisfied.
And during the day, you'll be back in the office being heroes. Helping out citizens, inspiring former villains to join SDN, changing the lives of many, and becoming better models for the future generation of heroes. Even with Shroud's defeat, there were still numerous vigilantes and other crime syndicates scattered around Torrance.
Despite that, their routine eventually returned and became better.
Robert was still their Dispatcher, the longest reigning one (and the only one) who could tolerate their antics and shenanigans. And much to everyone's surprise, except for you and Herman, he and Visi became the second couple in the team. Everyone accepted her back into the team, though there was still tension between you and your roommate since she was revealed to be a spy for the Red Ring.
In the end, you two made up beside her hospital bed eating ice cream together.
Chase gradually got better as well. He could never run again using his superpower, but at least the old man was still alive and kicking. Sometimes, he hogged Beef back to his place while Robert invited Visi over to his apartment (from what you told him after Visi told you the details).
With more training, Herman gradually got more control over his superpower. He found out the reason why he was always so wet was because his body temperature was always so high. That's why water continuously seeped out of his skin like he was constantly sweating. But over time, he got the hang of controlling his body temperature until he stopped “sweating” completely.
Which meant he could finally sleep in his bed without soaking the sheets and scaring off his cats!
Lastly, the Z-team became a group celebrity after defeating the Red Ring. Even Herm got asked for a few autographs while he's out patrolling or doing groceries along with you. Of course, you had more attention focused on you. But he didn't mind, he literally flaunted you to all of them while praising your skills and how you bravely fought the Red Ring agents using your power.
In time, more villains signed up for the Phoenix Program.
Not just villains.
Some of them were just thieves and minor criminals looking for a chance to redeem themselves.
Nonetheless, SDN accepted each of them into the program. But of course, there was always someone bound to get cut.
Meanwhile, Herman simply enjoyed his new life. Surrounded by his closest friends, supported by his grandma, and loved by his perfect girlfriend.
What more could he want?
Herman feared this was just a figment of another one of his imaginations. A curated fantasy where he got everything he wanted. A super cool job, many friends, an awesome girlfriend, and being a hero admired by the public. It all felt too good to be true. He was afraid he'd wake up from this dream at any moment.
Every time he went to bed, slipping beneath the covers where you welcomed him into your arms, he was paranoid his alarm would wake him up from his sleep. He'd wake up alone, with his bed drenched and covered with plastic, his whole body slicked with water as sweat.
What if all of these weren't actually real?
What if he was still avoiding you once he woke up?
What if this was actually just a fantasy—
“Herm,” You pulled him out of his thoughts, kissing his neck softly. “Come back, baby. You're floating away again.”
Herman blinked back to reality, registering what was happening with a strangled cry.
He felt you move against his lap, clenching around him like a vice, your warm walls snug around his hard length. He distinctly felt himself throb, his hips twitching from the overstimulation. The feeling of your lips grounded him back to the present, pressing gently on his damp cheek. Somehow, he wasn't breathing properly. It felt like he was being suffocated by some intangible force. And the moment he realized it made him release a long, shaky exhale.
When Herman finally relaxed, he glanced down and saw what was happening.
Oh, right.
He was back in your apartment again.
In your dimly lit room, and on your bed.
Your hands were at his chest, planted firmly to anchor you steady, while his were on your hips in a loose grip. His back pressed against your headboard, long legs spread before him. You kept kissing his neck, going up to his jaw and peppering his flushed cheeks—before you lifted his chin and kissed him slowly.
He whimpered into you, leaning forward to feel more.
Herman lost count how many times he came. On your tongue. Between your thighs. By your hand. And now, inside you.
He honestly lost count.
To the point where he got sucked inside his head. His brain was too mushy to think. Like it turned into cotton, and someone soaked it in water. He couldn't even remember what was happening. All he could recall was coming over to your apartment again after he made sure his grandma was tucked in for the night, and immediately got pulled inside once he knocked on your door.
He remembered being dragged off to your room, saying something about Vis staying the night at Robert's place.
Then, he was being pushed down your mattress while you climbed over him.
And sweet god, the look in your eyes was enough to eat him alive.
But he knew why you started ravaging him like this. He knew why you were needier than usual. It's been a while since you had any time for intimacy. The past two weeks have been packed with their busy schedules and hectic dispatching. And when the both of you clock out, you just head home to his house to sleep the exhaustion off.
Two weeks without release.
Two weeks without this.
And now Herman was trying not to pass out after each orgasm you pulled from him.
“Herm,” You grinded on him slowly to not overwhelm him. “Should I stop? You wanna rest now, baby?”
He probably should.
But he was still hard inside you. He was still craving another release. He just wanted to be close to you like this.
Herman shook his head, dazed and pleading. “No, please– Just one more. One more.”
You hummed against his neck, rolling your hips deeper. “You sure, Hermy? I'm not pushing you too much, am I?”
No. No. You're not. Please. Want more. Need more. More please.
Herman wasn't sure if he had said those aloud, or if he only blabbered it in his head. But when he heard you chuckle and saw the predatory grin on your lips, he might've actually babbled like a needy toddler.
You kissed him again, sighing softly. “So needy.”
He hugged you tighter, pressing your chest against his. “For you. Just for you.”
You smiled into the kiss, threading your fingers across his hair. “Mhm, just for me. All for me.”
Then, you started moving faster—up and down his lap without rest or struggle.
And Herman's mind blanked.
For you. All for you. Just for you.
More tears streamed down his cheeks, babbling more nonsense now while he buried his face on the crook of your neck. He was hugging you now. Lithe arms locked around your back, not to restrain you, but to keep you closer as you quickened your pace. He kept whimpering—repeating the words please, so good, more, don't stop—flushing hotter at the sound of your dark laugh.
The next thing he knew, dark tendrils seized both of his wrists. Your shadows felt cool against his flushed skin, pinning his arms up against the wall above the headboard. Another slithered across his mouth, effectively muffling his noises. He couldn't do anything but take everything and gaze up at you through a teary-eyed stare.
You just grinned at him, hungry and teasing, grinding yourself against his lap just how you liked it. Not riding like earlier, just rolling your hips back and forth in the way you knew would drive him insane. And it tore another pleading cry out of his chest, only to be silenced by the tendril on his mouth.
“Fuck,” You raked your nails down his chest, past the litter of bite marks and bruises. “You look so pretty like this, Hermy. All marked. All mine.”
He nodded furiously, closing his eyes to focus on your voice.
But then, he snapped them open again.
Not wanting to miss a single thing.
He could only moan at the sight of you, head tipped back and gaze half-lidded. Looking at him as if he was the only one you can see. Your sounds were enough to bring him to the edge—breathy, soft, and ragged—as if you were trying to contain your own noises.
The only thing he disliked about you.
Struggling against his restraints, Herm planted his heels against the mattress.
And started thrusting up.
The change took you off guard.
Jolting forward from the impact, your hands came down on his shoulders and your chest pressed against his. The momentary distraction caused your shadows to dissipate into smoke. He used the opportunity to grasp your hips again, using his hidden strength to roll you over until he was braced on top of you and you're staring up at him with wide eyes—lips parted in disbelief.
Herman was rarely the dominant one in bed, but ever since he learned some pointers from Robert, he liked to switch things up every once in a while. Not for long though. Knowing himself, Herman knew he wouldn't last being the one in charge. And knowing you, you'd turn it around again once you sensed him faltering at the slightest.
But right now, he’s gonna enjoy it while it lasts.
Hitching your legs around his waist, Herman casts you a challenging stare before he tilts his head.
“My turn.”
In the next second, he was driving himself deep into you. Face buried in your neck, large hands holding your thighs up to your chest, and teeth sinking into your skin to imprint his own marks. He fought the urge to let his whimpers loose, wanting to keep up with the dominant display longer. So, he settled for quiet grunts and ragged panting—the same way Robert sounded.
You squirmed beneath him, moaning more openly now. “Fuck– Fuck, right there. Right there, baby.”
He resisted the urge to fold.
Instead, he angled his thrusts to target that same spot that he knew would make you come undone faster. And it worked like magic. Your nails planted on his back, scratching red lines across his shoulder blades down his spine. A violent shudder raked through him, unable to quell the strained cry from his throat at the pain, yet he loved it. He loved it when you left those scratch marks on him. On his back, on his arms, his chest, his thighs.
He loved waking up and seeing them in the mirror when he goes to the bathroom. He loved walking around your apartment, shirtless and only in his extra pajamas, to display those marks while he prepared breakfast for the both of you.
And he loved it when he'd feel your arms snaking around his waist from behind, kissing the same marks while he cooked.
Herman returned to the present when he felt you tightening around him, breath hitching at the sensation. He could never get enough of the feeling. No matter how many times this has happened, he'd never get tired of you. With one hand, he brought his lithe fingers between your legs and swirled two around your clit. Meanwhile, his tongue lapped around your nipple—sucking and mouthing at your breast to add more pleasure.
Your back arched, gasping his name at the applied pressure. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Don't stop.”
He continued touching you like that, keeping his pace steady and deep. “Close, honey?”
You didn't answer him, only nodding furiously with your mouth parted open. The sight made him beam with pride, fueling his thrusts to be faster than before. In no time, your noises became almost silent. Reduced to shallows panting and high whining. Your hands wrapped around his neck, pulling him up for a messy kiss which he groaned into.
He felt himself getting closer.
He felt you nearing too.
With a few thrusts, your thighs locked around his hips and you moaned into his mouth as you finally came. He followed soon after, burying himself to the hilt to spill his release inside you. Trembling, flushed, and undeniably satisfied. Your walls fluttered around his length, punching another weak whimper out of him. He stayed there while you milked every last drop from him, and if he could, he'd stay like this until the sun came up.
But then, your walls loosened.
Allowing him to finally slip free from you, soft and sensitive, and he pulled away from the kiss to watch his spend drip out of you in fascination.
“You could take a picture,” You joked, voice hoarse and dry. “But maybe next time. I wanna clean up.”
Herman blushed at that, noting the suggestion. “Yeah. Uh, clean up. We should– I'll help you.”
He hid his reddened cheeks from your sight by ducking forward to scoop you into his arms, but you already caught the sight with a small laugh.
These kinds of nights stretched for long hours until both of you were completely spent. And he'll come back to work, his mood completely restored while the others most likely knew why. At least they didn't ask like before, and he’d only smiled back at them as if to say—yeah I got laid and it was awesome.
The nights when he was back in your apartment felt like his fantasies had come to life. But when you returned to his house, it felt like a dream come true. But what both nights shared was the fact he'll wake up next to you in the morning. Whether it was on his bed or back in yours. Whether it was from a shameless fuck in your room, or a late night conversation in his.
He never would've thought about experiencing both in this lifetime.
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