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hi I just wanted to say that that machine head art and fanfiction you made meant the absolute WORLD to me omfg I was so happy I was tweaking out 😭😭😭❤️ id love it if you made more !!

More, you say? (¬‿¬) I am so glad to know that you enjoyed it so! In fact, I would be HONORED TO MAKE MORE!! How about I take another idea from this list I made... （￣︶￣）↗　 And if you or anyone else would like to send something in from the list or conjure a request of your own volution, please feel free! 🍬Also, my birthday is in like a week and a half and I consider this an early gift to myself too so thank you. (⁠◠⁠‿⁠◕⁠)

Leave The World Behind

Pairing: Machine Head x F!Reader Warnings: (18+) rescue sex, near death experience, abduction, threats, allusion to torture, canon typical violence, hurt/comfort, language, established relationship, bathing together, smut, fingering, finger sucking/biting, PinV, creampie Summary: The Order has a way of playing sick games to make sure MH behaves, but after they take it a step too far, he intends on reminding them why they shouldn't fuck with the one person he cares about.

Read on ao3 - 7k words

Writing Masterlist - My kofi✨

“Let’s get this place gutted so the floor guys can have a clean slate to work with.” Machine Head is in the process of renovating a vacant and seemingly abandoned temple for him to launder his unmarked billions through. He hasn’t decided if it’s going to be a pachinko parlor, strip club or a simple bar, but one thing’s for sure, it will be the next booming destination for nightlife.

“Mail for ya, boss.” Isotope passes him a stack of sealed stationary. Machine Head flips through them, tossing aside activation responses from water and energy companies confirming operation of the establishment until he notices one such item out of the ordinary. He can already taste the business opportunities this avenue will open up for him, though, all his ambitions begin to collapse before his eyes when he receives a strange envelope from an anonymous sender.

There are no identifying markings on the envelope, just a grainy, high-exposure polaroid where the camera flash has left little to be deciphered. However, after some close scanning, he realizes that this is you. You’re the helpless woman beaten to a pulp in this image, shackled to the floor while sitting on a dingy and stained mattress. Your face is atrociously bruised as streams of blood darken your features. He turns the polaroid over, noticing that there is an inscription written on the back in sumi ink that reads “You know better.”

Machine Head crumples the image in his fist so as to not look at it anymore, immediately enraged. He knows exactly who would dare to be so bold. Mister Liu lost jurisdiction due to a gang rivalry presence in the area of the city, and he loathes the thought of any number of his enemies utilizing this sacred land to service their vices. Liu and his crime family do not like this, despite having no reign over the territory. In their eyes, Machine Head is still defiling a historic monument lost to the ages, and Mister Liu finds that unacceptable.

“Isotope, you’re in charge until I get back.” Machine Head orders him flatly, reluctant to disclose where he’s going. “I’ll call you if I need anything.”

“Where ya headed, boss?” Isotope tries to holler at him, but nothing is going to divert his course from the war path being created at his very feet. “We got a delivery of booze coming any minute!”

“You can handle it.” He nods once at Isotope, ensuring that he understands what he’s asking of him. Isotope agrees to hold down the fort as Machine Head speedily departs. He doesn’t know what to think, but follows the orders given to him without question. Machine Head certainly is at a slight disadvantage choosing not to take his right hand with him, but this is something he wishes to handle himself.

He puts the pedal to the metal in the literal sense, exceeding many speed limits and breaking countless traffic laws in order to reach Liu’s secret hideout kept away from his standard practices. He’s trying to call your number repeatedly, but it keeps going straight to voicemail. Every time he calls and you don’t pick up, it leads him further over the volatile edge. He was too wrapped up in business, he left you in a vulnerable position he will never forgive himself for. He crushes his phone effortlessly, flexing the use of his new and improved cybernetic implants installed in both arms. He hasn’t had a chance to use them in practice yet, but he’s definitely looking forward to it when he arrives at Liu’s.

Liu certainly doesn’t cut corners when it comes to security measures. Most of the venue is underground with a guardsman posted at the gate, making it an impenetrable fortress. Machine Head recognizes that it’s best for him to play by their rules, until those rules no longer serve him.

He is stopped at the gate. The guardsman points at the camera lens with the blinking red light fixed at the top of the vehicle ramp leading inside. Machine Head aligns his gaze with the lens and waits for approval to enter. Just as he is waved through, another guardsman orders him out of his vehicle, to which he complies.

“I’m just here to see your boss, alright?” He tells one of the guardsmen. “He’s already expecting me.”

Sure enough, they softly converse amongst themselves, notifying Liu of the arrival of the titular tin man and requesting instructions. “He is. Proceed down the ramp.”

Machine Head cordially makes his way into the proverbial dragon’s den, adjusting the cufflinks in his suit as he walks. He travels with an air of style around him, even when he’s thinking of nothing else but death and destruction.

He is stopped at another checkpoint, requested to raise his arms and open his suit. The composition of his clothing is made up of a bullet-proof and flame-resistant lining sewn between layers of fabric, protecting him from even the most troublesome threats. Without a single weapon to take off him, he is considered clean and marked for approval to visit with Liu. As he traverses farther into the hideout, he is not worried when he knows the sheer power waiting to be unleashed at his fingertips.

Liu has a scarce party surrounding him. Minus the guards that confronted Machine Head’s entry, he only has two additional goons posted at the doorway, Great Wall at his side, and two more tasked with keeping an eye on you.

“Come for your little pet? Sorry about her appearance. She’s not very obedient.” Liu patronizes him, insulting you in the process.

“You’re not sorry.” Machine Head calls his bluff bitterly.

“You’re right.” Liu chuckles. “I’m not, but you will be.”

“What do you want?” Machine Head bargains, knowing your freedom will come at a cost.

“I want you out of my fucking temple!” Liu raises his voice, yelling the words like a child throwing a tantrum. That metal mandible of his wags up and down, shining its glare into Machine Head’s optics, and all he wants is to uppercut him into oblivion. He must wait. Play the long game. Chess, not checkers.

“It’s not yours anymore, Liu.” Machine Head declares, impatient. “You lost your right to it a long time ago. Besides, you’re lucky people will be passing through it for a good time rather than being occupied by homeless drug addicts.”

“You might not think so, but you and I are one and the same.” Liu antagonizes when Machine Head denies him what he wants. “I only wish to protect what I deem sacred. I’m sure you understand where I’m coming from.”

With a singular snap of Liu’s fingers, Great Wall threads his fist into your hair, raising you a couple feet off the ground. You struggle and writhe in his grasp, the weighty iron shackles scraping against the ligature marks on your wrists and you cry out from the burning pain. As much as he would like to lash out at him, Machine Head is careful to keep his composure. His cybernetics give him a flawless poker face he relies on to keep an even keel. Disappointed by the lack of reaction, Great Wall tosses you aside and you tumble at the feet of Liu, your captor.

“See, that’s what makes us different.” Machine Head starts, advancing backwards to direct his attention to one of the guards posted at the door. “No one ingratiates themselves with you because they want to. I guarantee, all these guys? Every one of ‘em hates your guts. Go ahead. Ask them yourself.”

“I’ve trained my dogs well.” Liu gives Great Wall a nod and he lifts you again, coiling both his massive fists around your arms to present your face for him to strike with a stiff backhand. You yelp at the impact as Liu continues, restrained by Great Wall while he hits you brutally. You cannot get the taste of iron out of your mouth, spitting more crimson up with each punch and slap. Flecks of your blood spray in all directions, some even landing on Machine Head’s pristine white suit. He can spot the tiny dots soaking into the fortified linen, shaking his head in distaste. “Yours still needs work.”

“Now, I’m not one to play by the rules, but I’ll give you all a fair deal this time.” Machine head steps closer to Liu, urging his guards to draw and raise their pistols in apprehension. However, they don’t realize he wants their guns on him. The closer they are to their faces, the better. “Walk out of here alive or die with your boss.”

“You’re the one who’s outnumbered, dipshit.” One of the guards speaks up, confident and cocky. Machine Head can hear the safety lever disengage on their firearms, driving the hammer into position. Liu reaches for a handkerchief tucked into his sleeve, wiping your blood off his knuckles so that Great Wall can drop you to the side and out of the way.

The guards, Liu and Great Wall stand their ground, waiting for the other shoe to drop. He has no expression, but you can tell that Machine Head is beyond furious, the way he carries himself with his shoulders slightly bowed and his chin tucked.

With a swift raise of his arm, he takes hold of Liu’s metal jaw with an unbreakable phantom grip. Everyone else is so astonished by what they’re seeing, they are frozen and unable to act as he strains the fasteners keeping the implant in place. Using magnetic manipulation abilities he adapted to as a result of his latest augmentations, Machine Head viciously rips Liu’s jaw clean off its hinges. They both are familiar with what it feels like to replace flesh and bone with cold and inanimate steel, but only Machine Head could be the kind of person to become more human no matter how much of himself is cut away. Liu stands clawing at his lack of jaw, collapsing to his knees as he gargles and drowns in his own blood.

In the split seconds of shock that Great Wall and the guards look on in horror at the untimely demise of their leader, pistols are positioned mere inches from their faces as all eyes are drawn to his position. It is these split seconds that spell the fate of everyone else in the room. Machine Head concentrates on the tiny little firing pins embedded inside each pistol aimed at his skull, honing in on them with both hands now. You lie curled up on the floor, frail and weakened but conscious enough to take cover from the impending gunfight. Liu stares at you as the life is slowly drained from his eyes, currently wearing a look of disbelief and horror.

Liu’s lackeys act fast in retaliation, but not fast enough as Machine Head closes both fists as if to hold onto the firing pins from where they reside embedded in the guns. He then swings his arms so that they fly behind his back, yanking forward on each mechanism at the same time, much to Great Wall’s bewilderment.

The firing pin is launched, colliding with the primer. The guns detonate in their hands, mortally wounding them with glowing-hot shrapnel. If they’re not blinded and rolling around clutching the stub where their hand used to be, they’ve been dispatched from the world.

Great Wall is the last man standing, preferring to engage in hand-to-hand combat. Knowing the physical disadvantage Machine Head would suffer against him, he activates yet another trick hidden quite literally up his sleeves. With Great Wall sprinting at full speed towards Machine Head, it leaves little to be predicted as he is already overzealous in his actions. Machine Head can see exactly where his opponent is going to strike, playing it over in his mind’s eye. With each booming step closing in, he patiently waits for the perfect moment to strike, feigning weakness until the very last second.

A concealed mechanism embedded into his arms begins to shift, moving in a way that looks like his limbs are breaking, but the illusion is playing up to something much more sinister. Machine Head’s hands recede into his sleeves as they rise up his arms, disappearing from view. This puzzles Great wall, but it’s not enough to stop him in his tracks as he continues to run, intent on landing a punch against Machine Head’s metallic mug.

Where his hands once were, a pair of glowing blades emerge, ignited and powerfully heated like the coils on a stove. When Great Wall goes to land his blow, Machine Head meets his fist with the same dexterous motion, only their limbs don’t collide when they make contact. Machine Head’s blade slices right through Great Wall’s fingers, bisecting his arm down to the elbow, cauterizing it. His flesh burns with a sizzle, the scent invading your nose along with the gunpowder and blood. Great Wall joins the wailing of the others around them, those still alive lamenting over their loss of limbs. Machine head uses the blade of his other arm to slice his head clean off, rolling a couple feet away from his now lifeless body.

You cover your ears after the initial guns’ blast, cowering as so much happens so quickly. You’re even more dazed and confused, but the sight of Liu still choking with his tongue dangling around his neck awakens a flame of vengeance within you. He engages in this stare down as you cower on the floor, bits of debris showering over you through obscurity of smoke. It smells like fireworks and iron. After all, you can’t let Machine Head have all the fun.

You shakily make it onto your knees, using every remnant of your strength to stabilize yourself enough to at least crawl the few feet it takes to get to Liu’s mandible implant. The metal jaw is cold to the touch as you grip it with both hands, the clunky weight distributing unevenly between your palms. You lift it above your head, watching as Liu gargles and chokes, but still able to see what it is you’re about to do.

With the accumulation of blood falling from your wounds and pooling in your mouth, you spit it out on him, splattering him with your stringy ichor before repeatedly slamming the jaw into his features.

You shout and scream as you exert all this energy towards sending him to an undignified and merciless death. Your vocalizations echo through the space each time you collide his jaw with the soft cartilage of his face, crunching into bits with every crash of your fists.

While you take all your anger and rage out on Liu, Machine Head conceals the blades in his arms again, all signs of weaponry nestled beneath his sleeves. He takes out a spare burner phone from his suit pocket and contacts Isotope, letting him know where he can find him. “Teleport to the coords I sent. Now, please.”

Machine head snaps the cell in half, discarding it with the rest of the refuse in the room before directing his attention finally to you. You’re still slamming Liu’s jaw into his face, lost in your own little world of visceral payback, but it’s clear that he is long gone.

Machine Head attempts to interrupt you, reaching for the jaw to discard. You let him take it, but you still continue to pound your fists against the swollen and mangled puddle that used to be Liu’s face. Splatters decorate your features with every impact until Machine Head scoops you up and lifts you to your feet.

“I told you he’d come, you mother fucker!” You continue to lash out, spitting on Liu again, but Machine Head simply pulls you away from your nemesis, urging you to pay attention to him instead. He holds you firmly, keeping you upright as you finally surrender to his care.

“Of course I came for you.” With both hands on either side of your head, it’s so healing to feel his touch after so long of going without it. You look into his polished face plate and you can sense that he is trembling. The urgency in his voice works wonders in grounding you. “Don’t look at him. Look at me, now.”

"I knew you would..." You repeat yourself, groggy and confused, but happy. "I just knew..."

Machine Head examines you, distressed by just how badly you've suffered. "You could have called me."

"I know how busy you are." The mumble of words highlights your doped-up stupor, the confession hitting him with grievous morality. "I didn't wana bother you."

"You think this was an inconvenience to me in some way?" He snaps back, confused by your pattern of thinking, but not at all upset with you. "I would've paid real money to do that without you anywhere near the equation."

"I'm sorry..." You croak at him.

"Don't be." He quells your bothersome self-reproach, intent on completing this rescue.

“How are we going to get out of here?” You’re not clear of the woods yet, but thankfully, your escape plan should be appearing in no time.

A blinding field of warped light sparkles and glitters through shades of yellow and green, quickly fading to manifest the presence of Isotope. He drops in, not expecting a bloodbath to surround him, immediately expressing his woes. “Ayo, what the fuck, boss! I could have helped ya, you know!”

“Just shut the hell up and take us to the penthouse!” Machine Head hoists you into his grasp, cradling you close to his chest with one arm supporting your back and the other hooked under your knees. Isotope lays a single hand on Machine Head’s blood-soaked shoulder, teleporting to your collective destination in a blink.

Time stops when you’re in this nebulous field of energy. You’re caught within a vice of delirium and consciousness, not completely aware of your surroundings while still retaining a curious disposition. The temporary limbo ceases as both Isotope and Machine Head touch down on the polished tile.

The drugs Liu administered to you have not completely worn off yet. You lift your half-lidded eyes to see that he’s still cradling you, softly rubbing his thumb against your shoulder. He barks another order that you cannot understand, though, you can tell that Isotope is beyond panicked at the sorry state you’re in, frantically departing at Machine Head’s request. While you are carried to the lavish and extensive bathroom, Isotope returns with his hands full of tools to mend your wounds. Sealed packages of gauze, bottles of antiseptic, bandages and even a surgical sewing kit clatters on the marble counter. “Here’s the stuff you asked for, boss. Is she gonna be okay?”

“You let me worry about that.” Machine Head responds flatly as he sets you down, letting you sit on the edge of the bathtub. “That will be all, Isotope.”

“You sure? Cuz I can still-”

“I said,” Machine Head reiterates, less patience this time, “that will be all .”

“Yeah. ‘Course. Sorry boss.” The discipline is understandable. You’ve already been subjected to prying eyes and invasions of privacy. Now is the time for him to leave you both alone. “Ring if you need anything.”

Isotope disappears just as quickly as he arrived, the photonic flickers flashing in your eyes. Machine head begins with removing the soiled rags still stuck to you. You hiss in pain when he eases your arm to bend, slipping your shirt off by the sleeve and lifting it over your head. Despite not having a mouth to gasp from, the exasperating breath is practically punched out of him when he sees just how badly Liu worked you over. There are swollen welts fanned across your torso, some even scabbing over and aged. Nothing appears to be broken, but you’ve sustained immense superficial damage across every inch of your body.

As Machine Head tends to your wounds, you notice that his suit is bloodied and ruined, soaked in the ichor of your enemies. The layers of fabric cling to his muscles, outlining his lean silhouette and you cannot help but act on your urges. The drugs in your system efficiently dampen the pain, or else every nerve ending you have would be set alight right now.

As Machine Head touches an alcohol-soaked gauze pad to the gash on your cheek, you begin to absent-mindedly unbutton his waistcoat and tug at his tie. You slightly wince and recoil from the sting of the antiseptic, hissing under your breath. Though, this action does not disrupt your current plight in revealing that glorious junction of flesh and steel. You’re craving him. Starved for him to take you, but it’s going to require a little convincing.

“It’s getting hard to focus when you’re doing that.” Machine Head mutters, still trained on dabbing the apple of your cheek. Ignoring his request, you reach for his wrist, kissing his knuckles.

He gently grasps your chin and peers into your eyes. “What did I just say?”

You love when he scolds you like this. You know he’s not annoyed or upset in the slightest, but you can’t deny the fluttering in your stomach when he talks to you so sternly.

“But you’re just so sexy…” You mumble in response, finally succeeding in unbuttoning his shirt after fumbling with it for so long.

“That would be the drugs talking.” He dismisses your claims, never deviating from the more important task at hand. “Now would you stay still? I’m gonna be patching you up all night by the looks of things.”

“Then you admit it.” You bargain, a coy smile emerging on your face. “We have all night.”

“We have the rest of forever if you wana get technical.” Machine Head corrects you, putting the gauze down at last. Everything about his body language at this moment spells regret. Regret for getting to know you. Regret for falling in love with you. Regret for letting you get taken, but only because his care and attention put you directly in the crosshairs. After tonight, he has the opportunity to render you both untouchable. He clenches his fist, the singing of metal resounding as he tenses his knuckles. You kiss his hand, blessing his show of force with your loving approval. The pin-straight lines of separation contouring his fingers reveals the armaments hidden just beneath his faux skin, demonstrating infatuation with the very same tools that snuffed out lives. “I mean it.”

The mood shifts from your sinful insinuations to something more serious. His demeanor changes, squeezing both your hands as your softness yields to his armored exterior.

“What are you implying?” You cannot imagine what he’s cooking up in that CPU of his, waiting with bated breath.

“Liu went after you because of me, but now that that bloated dragon is gone,” He reaches into his coat pocket, retrieving a small and square velvet case. He opens it to reveal a charming cluster of gemstones sparkling with a rainbow of colors while maintaining a light tint of pink. The band is made of the very same steel that his cybernetics consist of, offering you a piece of him to take everywhere you go. “I will assume control over The Order, and nothing like this will happen to you ever again.”

You stare at the ring, stunned by its unique appearance while the man who holds it takes your breath away. He watches your chest rise and fall in exasperation, taking it upon himself to pluck it from the velvet case so that he can slide it onto your finger. It sticks out like an idle star hanging on a backlit canopy when put against the grime and filth of your digits. You cannot find the words, nodding your head up and down repeatedly to suffice as an answer.

Even in your condition, you cannot hold back from throwing yourself at him, both arms swinging around his neck. Pressing your face into his chest, he receives you graciously, petting your head and sighing deeply into the embrace. The relief you both feel in making it out alive is unmatched. You’re grateful for each other, holding on tight as the world around you fades into obscurity. Nothing else matters when he’s there, and there’s no one he’d rather spend the rest of his life with than you.

While you hold onto him, he leans into you, of course in order to get closer, but to also twist the knobs on the snow-white porcelain tub, filling it with warm water. He tests the temperature with his fingertips; the receptors being cleaned of the blood on his hands. When he decides that the water is optimal, he scoops you up again, making it a routine at this point to bear all your weight himself.

You descend into the tub, the water immediately turning a murky tinge from the layers of blood still painting your skin. He grabs a ceramic saucer from the edge, using it to lightly drip water down the top of your head. As he cleans you, a question bubbles up in your mind. “So, this isn’t going to be a problem for us?”

“The boat has been rocked, no doubt.” He adds while lifting the saucer. “But these crime families adhere to a specific set of rules.”

“Kind of ironic you would say that.” You point out. “What’s stopping someone else from doing to us what we did to Liu tonight?”

“That’s the difference between him and I.” He reiterates the words he chose to use before when speaking to Liu. “When word gets out what we did to him and why we did it, they’d be stupid to try something. You’ll see come morning. The biggest problem we will have is gonna be what color to change the curtains in his office.”

He is so resolute in this, you have no choice but to believe every word. He’s right. Regardless of the political or economic infrastructure, they are bound to abide. Attacking you crossed a line that will be testified, regardless of the reasons Liu had for it. Innocents are off limits, and at the moment, he didn’t care what it cost him. His naive assumptions of the level of attachment Machine Head has for you should have never been trifled with. After today, it won’t be a secret when everywhere you go with him, eyes will be drawn to that cluster of rocks on your finger and his hand at your hip.

“Oh, you know, I’ve always been quite partial to blush or fuchsia.” You ease your head back to look at him, his gaze eyeing you up and down as you sit completely undressed in the tub. The reference to his rosy color scheme makes him chuckle and you’re certain he would be wearing a smile right now if he could.

The deep and expansive tub leaves more than enough room for him to join you. Stepping back, he straightens his posture and yanks at the loosened knot of his tie, releasing it the rest of the way. His coat and shirt plop down, staining the tiles, but neither of you care. His steel plating has been updated since you last saw him, extending further down his abdomen with striking new features appearing as far as his elbows.

You bite your lip at this new version of him, wanting to feel those metal arms hold you in place as he ruts his hips into you. Those hips of which are about to be revealed before your very eyes. He pushes the leather of his belt past its fastened loops, bypassing his buckle. You trace the angular creases of his stomach with your line of sight, following them all the way down until the prominent tuft of hair wreathed about his groin is uncovered. His slacks join the rest of the pile as he steps out of them and into the bath.

The displaced water sloshes out a bit, spilling all over the tile. What a mess you both are making, but it’s the furthest from your priorities right now. He coaxes you to turn around, resting your back against his chest. He takes his time with cleaning you off, lathering you with hibiscus-scented suds, likewise shedding the filth away. Your eyes remain closed as you let him take over, cleansing you from head to toe. After a while of this, he grumbles to himself, resting his head on your shoulder. It’s that kind of grumble one lets out after a close encounter with fate.

“What’s wrong?” You venture to ask, nuzzling closer.

“Nothing.” He whispers dismissively.

“Don’t give me that.” You say, interlocking your left hand with his, drawing attention to your ring. “Spill it.”

He scoffs at this scheme, humoring your demands.

“I just thought-” he stammers, squeezing your hand as the incomplete thought hangs densely in the air, “I don’t know what I thought.”

“You thought you lost me.” You vocalize what he is unable to, and he clams up again, falling silent. He cannot bear to look at you, fearing your keen detection of his sentiments as he keeps his forehead atop the crest of your shoulder. “Didn’t you?”

“Don’t say it like that.” His arms descend with a ripple of the water, dipping beneath the surface where they enable him to hug you with his entire being.

“I’m still here.” You turn to look at him, raising his head from where it rests on your shoulder. He battles you slightly, posing resistance where your fingertips meet his chin, ultimately giving in. “Because of you, I’m still here.”

“I don’t deserve all the credit.” He touches his head to yours, wanting to kiss you so badly. Though, he’s happy with replaying the fantasy of what it would be like to taste your lips, to discover their flavor and wear it like a curse and crave you forever. “You held out as long as you did because you’re strong as fuck .”

There’s that lively attitude of his. His blunt honesty has you all aflutter when it brings you to acknowledge the gravity of the day. You are strong as fuck, still alive to tell the tale.

The awareness of your scantily clad appearance is pushed to the forefront. Your hand dives from his chin to trace the plating of his cybernetics. He studies your every move, stifling his moans as you travel lower and lower, your fingers tickling his sensitive skin. His breath hastens, each inhale growing deeper and more concentrated, that is until you force a pitiful whimper to escape him. You have begun stroking his hardened length, influencing it to grow exponentially while you pepper kisses along his neck and jawline. He sits back against the wall of the tub, letting you do whatever you want to him.

The opaque layers of flesh that blanket his steel knuckles are stretched thin as his grip on the edge of the tub increases. He fidgets excitedly, thrusting his hips upward into your hand to aid in your pleasuring him. He acts like every time is the first time you’ve touched him, spasm-like jolts possessing him with every pass over his length.

“You sure you wana keep doing that?” He poses the question, his modulated voice straining to come off as stoic and unaffected, but you know he’s putty in your hands. It’s about time for him to use those weapons of mass destruction to show how much he loves you.

“Are you telling me to stop?” At this consideration, you wring his cock even more, stroking vigorously to get the rise you want out of him.

“No…” He sighs gruffly, releasing the hold he has on the rim of the tub. “Hell no.”

He turns you so that your back is resting on his chest again, but this time his arms fall past the waterline, one hand making its way to the sweet spot between your legs as the other cups your voluptuous breasts. He traces his strong palms over your body, memorizing every hill and valley while being careful not to come in contact with any wounds.

He forcefully jiggles the meat of your thighs, watching their oblong shapes wade in the water. It causes a laugh to simmer through you when he does this. He always takes it upon himself to physically admire each of your precious assets, granting you a level of vigilance that one would only think to describe as revolutionary. You’re completely surrounded by his essence, his head nudging against you like a touch-starved kitten.

Using the same hand that was once throttling your thighs, he climbs up to your knees, separating them. His middle finger finds your clit, swirling and pressing hard in a repetitive rhythm. His other hand ascends your chest and neck so that he can position your face directly in front of his. As he talks you through the many levels of ecstasy, not a single expression goes without being witnessed. For a while in the beginning, you felt embarrassed when he would do this, having to stare at the blankness of his mechanized features while you’re helpless and howling. It isn’t until you formed a correlating hunch, making the consistent connection that he’s doing something much more mischievous.

“Are…you… recording me?” You manage to enunciate through bated breaths and undignified moans.

“Always.” He confesses, overtaking your train of thought when he starts working you up to a blissful climax. Your legs gain a mind of their own as they can hardly be contained, steamy water sloshing out of the tub and onto the floor again. He doesn’t stop at one, propelling you to a euphoric plateau that seemingly has no end.

Just when the first wave of butterflies radiates from your center to each limb, another follows, the swarm growing thicker and unrelenting as it buzzes through you. Your coy yelps transition into declaring screams, all downloaded into his personal archive.

When he thinks you’ve had enough, he lets the final wave dissipate, allowing you to catch your breath, but he’s far from through with you.

“We’re going into that bedroom,” he starts, computerized intonations overlaid with profoundly human lust, “and I’m going to fuck my fiancé like it’s the last night on Earth.”

“Is that a threat?” You join in playfully while he repositions himself to carry you.

Standing up in the middle of the tub, he nimbly climbs out of it while your feet are spared from making even the slightest contact with the ground. The plummeting temperature change when exposed to the cool air doesn’t last long as he traverses swiftly through the doorway and into the carpeted suite, plopping you directly on the plush comforter draped over the king-sized mattress. “It’s a promise.”

Your nipples are painfully erect after the chilly excursion, but he is alert and invariably in tune with your needs. He envelopes you in a far better blanket of heat than any number of these Egyptian cotton sheets, laying over top of you with both hands soothing the ache in your breasts.

Your legs straddle either side of him. The long pillar of his cock swings and rests at the center of your thighs. Slowly, he starts moving his hips back and forth, rubbing himself on the slick accumulation forming there. Your juices are mixing with the vestiges of the bath water and he’s smearing it all over himself in sensual preparation.

While teasing you with a frisky twist of your nipple, he puts a hand down there to really feel for himself how soaked you are. “You’re wet as fuck.”

“It’s… unf - the bath water.” You arch your back and grind yourself into his hand when a finger slides in, testing your arousal. You take in a sharp breath, unable to contain yourself when he curls his digit in just the right way, pushing your fabled buttons.

“Sure.” He scoffs at your denial, a deceitful account when he is actively building you up again in real time. “The bath water.”

He has a handle on pleasuring you down to a science, immediately causing your jaw to drop so that more cries can fall out of it. Though, before you could even finish riding out the surges of rapture, he puts the very finger he used on you into your mouth.

He thinks he’s gotten the better of you with this, but he isn’t privy to the fact you have him right where you want him. You bite down, fiercely and with no intention of letting go. You know he can take it, sucking his digit right down to his hand. The softness of an appendage sliding between both sets of your lips is enough to make him fumble, his concentration slipping.

He cannot let you take the lead, refusing to fall back on his word. While you wrap both hands around his wrist to keep his finger in your mouth, he works with the other to press his swollen tip to your entrance, ready to plunge into your lavish tightness. Adding to your decadent sampling of his fingers, he gives you an additional one to suck on, grabbing the entirety of your face to further trap you in his erotic snare.

That initial thrust opens you up so sweetly. You bite even harder the deeper he goes, steadily impaling you with every veiny inch of his cock. He slides in effortlessly, no resistance whatsoever. The few pumps after that measure up your resilience as he gauges just how much you are willing to take. With no objections, he prepares to fuck you with purpose.

As he pumps into you, the bouncing of your breasts catches his attention. He goes a little harder; a little faster. Since you’re still clutching his wrist and sucking his fingers, you’re pushing them together and adding to the allure of plentiful cleavage. His free hand finds your clit again, the rough pad of his thumb shoving down hard on it. The sensitivity is overwhelming, unsure how many more climaxes you’ll be able to handle. Regardless of this, he takes his time, pushing himself all the way into you and resting for a beat.

He doesn’t pull out or drive himself back in. He opts to fill you to the brim and hold you there, knowing you cannot resist the swivel of your own hips, begging him to keep going.

He flexes his cock inside you, its hardness colliding with that bulging button deep within. The expression on your face tells him far more than words ever could. The distended sensation is combatant with the impending release you’re encroaching upon, but as soon as you reach the cusp of it, he rears back and slams his hips directly into your ass. “Gah- that’s so fucking good.”

You lie there and take everything he has to give you. Your pleasure is his pleasure. Seeing you crack a smile when he is slamming sends him to the stratosphere. Your little squeaks and sighs punctuate his own tempered moans, chirping programmed inflections like staccato instances of mechanical interference.

Reaching out, you take fistfuls of the comforter nested around you, anchoring yourself to the bed. He removes his hand from your mouth, pinning your legs back so that he can watch the billowing of your thighs as he inches closer and closer to his own extravagant finish.

The compression of your flesh and his joined into one causes him to slump over you, an idle hesitance to his exploits. He interrupts his own plight, not at all immune to the throes of rapture. That distended sensation balloons to an exceeding pressure as he empties himself into you. His orbital sockets blink with a lightning flash as his circuits spark from the exertion. His exhaustive grunts are music to your ears; a carnal melody sung for you alone.

He lifts himself up, his length still wedged deep inside, pleased with himself and what he’s about to say. “Told you I keep my promises.”

Rolling off and beside you, the scorching hot stream of his come flows out like a plug being pulled. You lay there together, exhausted and consumed by the afterglow. You scoot into his space, resting your head on his chest and he eagerly wraps his arms around you. As breathing patterns soften to a calmed pace, the accumulated exertion of the day in its entirety closes in. You’ve ridden wave after overstimulating wave, and at this point in time, you’re not sure if you can keep your eyes open for another second.

He mumbles something, his voice resounding from a cozy place in his chest, but you cannot understand it, lazily requesting him to repeat himself. “Mmm… What was that?”

“I said I love you.” He asserts, stroking the steel plate secured to his cheek across the top of your head.

“I love you too.” The response is second nature, but when you look up at him to share your smile, it is clear he has fallen into sleep mode. You chuckle to yourself, following his lead and snuggling up to pass out along with him.

You wake up incredibly sore, but the feather-stuffed pillows and linen your weary bones yield to take a considerable amount of the edge off. At first, you considered it to be nothing but a dream, until you spot the ring on your finger.

A cashmere ensemble lies folded at the edge of the bed with a floor-length robe to match as evidence that the night before has been cleansed from the environment. You put the garments on, dressing yourself carefully so as to not ignite the irritation and discomfort of your still-healing wounds.

The smell of cooking eggs, sizzling bacon and fluffy pancakes fills the air. Your doting companion is busy working away at conjuring a great spread to welcome his fiancé, full of appetizing foods to give you the strength needed to face the day.

Upon closer inspection, you see that there is an assortment of sliced fruit, oatmeal with crunchy granola clusters, chilled yogurt and freshly squeezed juices filling the counterspace. Your eyes widen at all the food, your stomach turning over on itself with an awakening of stubborn appetite.

“I hope you’re hungry.” He says while professionally flipping a flapjack.

“I didn’t know you could cook!” You sit at the loaded island bar in front of him, salivating as he makes you a plate with a little bit of everything. He won’t have a single bite of it, but it warms his soul knowing he is the one who gets to fill your heart as well as your stomach.

“There’s a lot about me you’ve yet to learn.” He joins you, sitting in one of the chairs while pouring you a cup of juice. “It’s a good thing we have the rest of forever, isn’t it?”

You pause, absorbing the significance in his speech as it mirrors the vernacular he used during his proposal. He holds your left hand, his thumb passing over the ring on your finger.

“It is.” You agree, kissing his knuckles. The remainder of your life spent with him? Now that sounds like a happily ever after if you could think of one.

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