jean-marie

I’m all wound up

[jeantique]

WHO’S THIS…JEAN-MARIE?

⠀:¨ ·.· ¨:⠀@jeantique

⠀ `· . jean-marie﹒ aka françoiseꜝ

⠀⠀✚ ₊⠀minors idrc if you interact. blk. agender, omnisexual. writer. angst, smut.

⠀⠀ dispatch. dc. anything that interests me, really. I follow back (to some extent). low motivation, lots of ideas.

[jeantique]

I’m alive

[velvetground-6]

explicit 18+ clark having hyperspermia and his girl creaming all over his dick makes their sex a messy messy affair…. the first time they fuck he had to force himself to pull out and warn her it’s always too much coming out. ends up nutting on her mound instead of the inside, drowning her with it, covering her pussy and her inner thighs in stringy thick white that just wouldn’t stop coming out. it was embarrassing for poor clark, wanting to just. stop. cumming already but every load kept pouring out stronger than the next, almost electrocuting him. he’s so shy about his body cumming for nearly two whole minutes, cock just violently whipping around while it spurts like it’s got a mind and agenda of its own. ridiculously throbbing and spitting out ropes like a hose.

after the first time she sees how much her boy really cums, how he was not exaggerating or lying when he said he had a rare benign condition she’d start begging him to creampie her. give her pussy his all. at a certain point early in midst of their raw fuck he looks down and sees rings and rings of her pussy cream staining up and down his length. soaking his member with every thrust. audibly wet and sticky.

‘we’re making a mess.’

he’s cheeky while he’s laughing still pounding her pussy but she just demands he starts pumping faster, more cum sloshing between their bodies while he obeys and speeds himself up. the pouring coming out never seems to stop, drips landing on the couch in nasty stains, even splashing to the floor.

‘it’s… it’s getting everywhere baby.’

‘shut up and don’t stop, don’t stop until you’re cumming in me.’

‘y—yes ma’am, I promise I won’t stop,’ he swears. smile wiped off his face and replaced with concentration while he watches their shared cum stream down his balls and on her cute pair of pj’s. it would be disgusting if it weren’t so fucking delectable to stare at.

he’s so shaky when he tries to grab the blanket in preparation for when he cums inside her, flustered while spreading the blanket out beneath where their bodies join. it wasn’t much but it was something.

the blanket and her pussy get stupid soaked when clark starts cumming another long load nonstop and she adores it. doesn’t matter if she thinks his cum overflows so much it might start going out of her eyes and ears and her belly button, she’s just so happy to feel the thick gooey warmth he always provides 🥛🏹🥛

. . .

bored at work so this is the gross result.

hyperspermia is hyper-superior :O

[rainrot4me]

Seven Minutes in Heaven - Jeff the Killer

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

──────────────────────────── 7 minutes in heaven - fall out boy

── .✦ do not copy, translate, or plagiarize any of my works. dividers by me.

CONTAINS NSFW, MINORS DNI

✦ . Summary: (No correlation to other parts, only prologue) The bottle lands on Jeff.

✦ . Characters: Jeff the Killer x Female Reader

✦ . Warning: Alcohol, weed, smoking, force feeding alcohol, flirting, dirty talk, forced proximity, making out, tongues and spit, teasing, groping, vaginal fingering, jerking off, mutual masterbation, whining, semi-public sex, risky sex, drunk sex

✦ . Words: 7.6k

✦ . Note: First part!!! I want to make it clear going forward that all of these parts are alternate endings to the same story! The prologue is the only “canon” thing, all these other parts are choose your own ending based (meaning nothing that happens in this part happens in the other parts)! Happy reading!!!

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It was agony, watching all this play out.

Everyone’s eyes were trained on the center of the coffee table, their pupils spinning in frantic circles to see where the tip would end up.

The bottle spun fast, the unopened beer sloshing around inside and making it spin faster. It wobbled, slowed, then came to a lazy stop with the neck pointing straight at…

Jeff.

The whole room snapped to attention.

Eyes darted between you and him frantically, trying to gauge reactions the best they could. Jeff’s wide, unblinking gaze locked onto you from his spot on the couch, that jagged smile lazy for half a second before it cracked into something bigger.

Ben punched his shoulder hard. “Ha!”

Jeff didn’t even flinch. Instead he looked straight over at Tim with the greediest, most cocky grin you’d ever seen on him. His mental instability was always lurking under that cocky front, but right now it was shining through bright and ugly, all sharp teeth and wild eyes and the ego of a much larger man.

“Ohhh, Timmy,” Jeff drawled, his voice wet with feigned sympathy. “Tough break, man. Maybe next round you can watch from the sidelines like a good cuck.”

Tim’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t say anything. Brian just exhaled through his nose, his arms still crossed.

Jeff pushed himself up with a dramatic stretch, his joints popping loud enough to hear over the low music. He snatched the half-empty vodka bottle he and Ben had been nursing earlier, took a quick swig, then tucked it under his arm.

“Alright, princess,” he grinned, turning that manic grin on you. “Up and at ‘em.”

He grabbed your wrist and hauled you up from your seat before you could protest. You stumbled into his chest for a second, the smell of cheap vodka and smoke hitting you all at once as Jeff wrapped his arm around your back and hauled you closer.

“Jeff—wait, hold on,” you started, trying to dig your heels in and push off his chest. “This is stupid. I’m not—”

“Really?” he laughed, already tugging you toward the hallway. “You gonna be a sore loser already?”

You bickered the whole way. “You’re such an asshole. Can you not be a cocky asshole one time?”

“Me? Never,” he shot back, still grinning like a lunatic. “You’re such a prude. C’mon, it’s just seven minutes. Don’t act like you’re scared of little old me.”

Some of the others were whooping and catcalling—Toby trying his best to whistle. But others stayed quiet. Tim’s glare was heavy enough to feel on the back of your neck. Brian watched with a tight jaw. The whole ordeal was uncomfortable.

Ben cranked the music up a notch, the gritty sound filling the living room again as Jeff dragged you down the short hallway toward the supply closet.

Jeff hauled you down the short hallway, his grip insistent around your wrist, his boots scuffing the old floorboards. The storage closet sat at the very end on the right, but it was nothing special, just a cramped little room the mansion had never bothered to clean out properly.

He yanked the door open without ceremony. Inside was pure darkness, coats hanging messily on the rod, stacks of dusty boxes, random junk piled on the floor that smelled like mothballs and mildew.

You hesitated at the threshold, your stomach twisting. “Jeff, wait—”

One firm shove between your shoulder blades sends you stumbling forward into the black. Your foot caught on something solid—a box, maybe—and you nearly pitched face-first before his hand shot out and grabbed your arm, hauling you upright with a rough laugh.

“Easy there.”

The door pulls shut behind him, cutting off the lights and the low chatter from the living room. Complete darkness swallowed everything. The music outside dulled to a distant, muffled thump, like it was happening in another house entirely. This tiny space suddenly felt like its own little world—hot, close, and way too quiet except for the sound of both of you breathing.

You couldn’t see a damn thing.

“Jeff,” you barked, your voice sharper than you meant. “Turn on the light. There’s a bulb in here, it’s above your head.”

He didn’t answer, he just stood there, close enough that you could feel the heat coming off of him.

You reached out blindly, your hands landing square on his chest. The fabric of his hoodie was warm and solid, your fingers landing on the zipper. Underneath, you felt the steady, fast thump of his heart.

Jeff let out a laugh before you. “Damn, eager already? We’ve only been in here ten seconds.”

Your face burned. You shoved him hard in the chest. “Shut up and turn the light on, asshole.”

“Alright, alright,” he chuckled, still sounding way too pleased with himself. “You’re so touchy.”

You heard him reach up and fumble for the pull chain. A second later the single bare bulb clicked on overhead with a static buzz. Weak yellow light flooded the cramped closet, throwing long shadows across the hanging coats and stacked boxes.

It wasn’t much, but it was enough to see.

You’d been seeing Jeff all night, but now in the close proximity, it was impossible not to notice all the distinct details about him.

Jeff stood barely a foot away, his longer black hair messy and sticking to his face in some places from sweat. The cut on his lip was still raw and glistening a little, but his grin was as wide and cocky as ever, the carved corners pulling tight around the dimples of his cheeks. His pale eyes were locked onto yours, those pupils bright with that wild, erratic energy that always seemed to simmer just under his skin and pop out at the worst moments. 

He was wearing his zip up hoodie, because when wasn’t he? The thing was littered with stains and tears in the sewing, but it fit him perfectly—in size and personality. What was new was the thick belt that hung low on his hip over his dark wash jeans, something you’d see in 2000’s emo culture and probably think was cool if this idiot wasn’t wearing it. But paired with his thick, black combat boots and black painted fingernails, Jeff looked just the part of some stupid emo boy with an ego much too big for his lean stature. 

The muffled music pulsed through the walls like a distant heartbeat. Outside, the others were probably already timing this, laughing or bickering or placing bets. In here, though, it felt strangely separate—like the rest of the mansion had faded away and it was just the two of you in this dusty, too-small space.

Jeff leaned one shoulder against the stack of boxes. He hauled the vodka bottle out from under his arm, brought it to his mouth, and took a quick, messy swallow. A drop escaped the corner of his split lip and slid down his chin before he wiped it away with the back of his hand.

He was trying so hard to look casual—his stature, his face, even the way he was trying to slow his breathing and even his tone—but you could see right through it. His fingers were gripping the bottle a little too tight, his breathing was just a touch too fast. The big, loud Jeff everyone knew was cranked up to eleven right now, all ego and swagger, because the second that mask slipped even an inch you’d see how nervous he actually was and he’d probably have to kill you for it.

He lowered the bottle and grinned at you.

“So,” he said, “we gonna stand here like idiots the whole time, or you finally gonna admit you’ve been waiting for a chance to get me alone?”

You rolled your eyes, crossing your arms over your chest. “You rehearse that in the mirror?”

He laughed, but it came out a little too loud. “C’mon, don’t act all shy now. I saw the way you were looking at me earlier when you were playing nurse with that beer bottle. Bet you liked having your hands on me.”

“God, you’re full of shit,” you muttered, shifting your weight. The coats behind you brushed against your back. “You’re nervous as hell and it’s showing.”

Jeff’s grin faltered for half a second before he forced it wider. “Nervous? Please. You were about to break down on your way in here.” He took another swig from the bottle, then pointed it at you. “You’re the one who’s all stiff. What’s the matter? Scared I’m gonna do something you might actually like?”

You stared at him for a beat, then let out a short laugh. “You know what’s funny? You talk so much shit, but the second the door closed you started chugging that vodka like it’s liquid courage. How many swigs is that now? Three?”

That one nicked him.

Jeff’s expression darkened fast. The cocky mask cracked, and the mean slipped out before he could stop it. “Fuck you,” he scowled. “At least I’m not some stuck-up little bitch pretending I’m too good for the rest of us. If you didn’t want to be in here you could’ve just started cleaning like the prude you are.”

The words hung heavy in the tight space.

You lifted your chin and looked him dead in the eye. “There it is. There’s the real Jeff. Can’t keep the asshole act up for more than two minutes without showing how insecure you are, huh?”

He just stared at you, his tongue pressing against the inside of his cheek with irritation.

You softened your tone just enough to tease. “It’s kinda cute, actually. Big bad Jeff Woods getting all nervous because he’s stuck in a closet with me.”

You really need to learn to not antagonize him.

Jeff shoved the vodka bottle onto a shelf beside him with a clatter and grabbed the front of your shirt, hauling you forward so suddenly you stumbled right into him. Your chest bumped his, your faces inches apart. You could smell the sharp bite of vodka on his breath.

“Try again,” he muttered, his eyes bright and wild as he huffed.

You didn’t pull away. Instead you wrinkled your nose and gave him a smile. “You reek.”

Jeff blinked a couple times. The mean edge melted off as quickly as it had come, replaced by that familiar smile. He held you there for a second longer, then reached past you with his free hand, grabbed the bottle, and took another long drink without breaking eye contact.

“Like I said—” you started, about to tear him up further.

But while he still had a fistful of your shirt, he tugged you forward just one more inch, close enough that your knees bumped his. Without warning, he lifted the bottle toward your lips.

You shook your head fast, wrinkling your nose. “No way. You and Ben probably pissed in that thing.”

Jeff’s grin sharpened. He let go of your shirt only to slide his hand up and grab your jaw instead, his fingers pressing into your cheeks with just enough force to force your mouth open. His grip was rough, his thumb digging into the soft spot under your chin and making you feel like a fish.

“Quit being a fucking baby,” he muttered, staring directly at your lips. “You’re way too anxious right now. This’ll loosen you up, make you all docile and sweet for me instead of this ego you’ve got going on.”

You stared straight into his pale eyes, trying to read for any ulterior motive or sick joke. For a second neither of you moved. Then you tilted your head back just slightly, giving in and letting your lips part wider.

Jeff’s smile widened with satisfaction. He tipped the bottle and poured the vodka straight into your mouth. The liquor was awful—burning hot and tasting like paint thinner and acid. It scorched down your throat in cheap, fiery gulps. His fingers stayed on your jaw the whole time, brushing along your skin as you swallowed, keeping your mouth open until he decided you’d had enough.

It took you hitting him on the chest before he snapped out of it.

When he finally pulled the bottle away, he was smiling—genuinely this time, the carved lines of his mouth pulling tight around gleaming teeth. He let go of your jaw and used the pad of his thumb to wipe the stray drops from your lower lip.

“There we go,” he murmured, mocking a pouty face. “Not so tense anymore, huh?”

The burn lingered in your chest and stomach, spreading warm and fuzzy through your limbs. The single bulb overhead made everything feel hazy and too bright at the same time. Jeff was still right there, inches away, one hand loosely resting on your shoulder now that he’d released your jaw. His breathing had evened out a little, but that nervous energy was still humming under his skin—you could feel it in the way his fingers flexed against you.

A small cough escaped you, eyes watering slightly as the heat spread through your chest and stomach through to your fingertips.

It hit you then—you hadn’t been keeping track of time at all. How long had you been in here? Three minutes? Four? Longer? The muffled music made it impossible to guess, and the warm buzz from the vodka that was starting in your head wasn’t helping.

While you were busy trying to calculate, Jeff’s thumb slowly swiped across the side of your neck, pressing lightly against your racing pulse. The touch snapped you back to the present. You locked eyes with him again.

He was staring at your neck, his gaze heavy and fixated, like he was listening to the blood rushing under your skin. The single bulb made the shadows under his eyes deeper, made his skin look even more rough, but you could still see the flush creeping up his pale cheeks. He felt warm too—too warm for it to just be the alcohol.

Your hand was still resting on his chest from earlier. Without thinking, you pushed him back just a little, enough to create a sliver of space between you.

“What are you doing?” you asked, your voice quieter than you expected.

Jeff didn’t move his hand. He just blinked slowly, that cocky mask flickering.

“Nothing,” he said.

You narrowed your eyes. “Liar.”

He let out a short laugh. The mean edge from earlier was gone, replaced by something almost boyish and nervous underneath all the asshole. For a moment the two of you just looked at each other—really looked—his pale eyes locked on yours, his face an unfamiliar expression of calm.

“You’re being weird,” you finally said, the words coming out softer than they should have.

Jeff’s grin returned, small and crooked. “But you’re not stopping me.”

The air between you felt thicker now, warmer. Your gaze dropped to his mouth for a second, noting where his lips split off into jagged openings in his cheeks, before flicking back up to his eyes. He did the same, his eyes tracing your lips, then back to your eyes, then down again. Back and forth. Back and forth.

He leaned in just a fraction, not enough to close the distance, but enough that you could feel his breath against your skin when he spoke again, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Tell me to stop then.”

You couldn’t.

Or maybe you just didn’t want to.

The distinction blurred somewhere between the burn of the cheap vodka and the way Jeff’s thumb kept stroking slow circles over your pulse like he was memorizing it.

Fuck it. It wasn’t the alcohol.

You were turned on as hell, heat pooling low in your stomach, making your breath come shorter and your awareness grow weaker.

Your fingers curled tight into the front of his hoodie, gripping the fabric to keep you steady. Jeff’s eyes flicked down to your mouth one last time. Then he reached over and set the vodka bottle on the shelf without ever taking his eyes off of yours.

For half a second you just looked at each other, finalizing your mind.

Then it snapped.

Jeff’s hands came up fast, one sliding to the back of your neck, the other wrapping around your waist. He pushed you back until your shoulders hit the wall behind you, the coats rustling loudly in the cramped space. The impact was urgent. His body followed immediately, pressing flush against yours.

His mouth found your neck first.

Hot, open-mouthed kisses dragged up the side of your throat, his teeth grazing just enough to make you shiver. He sucked at your pulse, then higher, until his lips finally crashed into yours.

The kiss was hungry, messy, and desperate from the start.

Jeff kissed like he fought, all teeth and tongue and no holding back. His lips snagged hard against yours, his hand pushing your head further against his to kiss you deeper. You kissed him back just as hard, one hand still fisted in his hoodie while the other slid up to grip the back of his neck, your fingers threading into his messy black hair.

He made a low, hungry sound against your mouth, almost like laughing, like he couldn’t believe you were actually letting him do this. His hips pressed closer, pinning you more firmly to the wall as one of his hands slipped under the hem of your shirt, his palm flaring hot against the skin of your lower back.

Jeff pulled back just enough to grin against your mouth. “You’re a terrible kisser.”

You laughed into the next kiss, nipping at his bottom lip hard enough to make him hiss. “Sorry. You’ve just got such a loud mouth, it’s hard to work with.”

He growled, but it turned into a low chuckle as he kissed you harder, his tongue sliding against yours like he was trying to shut you up. “Shut the hell up. It’s hard to kiss you if you keep bitchin’ at me.”

“Can’t help it,” you shot back, biting his lip again, “you’re so fucking annoying. It’s unfair.”

“Annoying? That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.” He laughed darkly, pressing you tighter to the wall, one hand sliding up your side. “Keep talking dirty to me.”

The hypocrisy hit you hard even as you kept kissing him—how the two of you spent half your time aggravating each other, throwing insults like punches, making everyone else roll their eyes… but the second the door closed and it was just the two of you, you couldn’t keep your hands off each other. It was stupid. It was juvenile. And right now you didn’t care.

Jeff’s hand crept higher under your shirt, fingers brushing the edge of your bra, clearly trying to push further.

You shoved him back with both hands, laughing as he stumbled into the opposite wall of coats and boxes. He caught himself, panting, his chest heaving under that stained white hoodie.

You were laughing too now, a little more tipsy than before, the vodka making everything feel funnier than it really was. You covered your face with both hands, cringing at yourself. “Oh my god, what the fuck are we doing?”

Jeff didn’t let you hide for long.

He closed the space again in one step, peeling your hands away from your face. His grip was surprisingly careful as he looked you straight in the eyes, his wide-eyed gaze intense for how close you were. For a moment you just stared at each other.

Then he took your wrists and slowly guided your arms up, draping them around his shoulders. His hands dropped to your hips, his fingers digging in just enough to pull you flush against him again.

“Stop thinking so much,” he murmured, his voice rough as he spoke, his forehead almost resting against yours. “We’ve got like three minutes left. Don’t waste ‘em.”

He leaned in slowly this time, giving you the chance to pull away if you wanted.

You didn’t.

You kissed him again. And again. Again. Your arms stayed looped around his neck, your fingers playing with the messy hair at his nape. Jeff’s hands rested heavy on your hips, his thumbs brushing lazy circles onto your hip bones.

But, with all the reassurance Jeff had just given you on time, came swooping away the minute you heard loud, sudden yelling from down the hall.

He always had been very unreliable.

“Time’s up, lovebirds!”

The door handle rattled violently. Before either of you could react properly, the closet door was yanked open, flooding the small space with brighter light from the hallway.

You and Jeff shoved apart at the same time, stumbling back into opposite walls in a scurry. Your face burned, so you knew Jeff was probably panicking himself.

Nina and Ben were crammed in the doorway and laughing their asses off.

“Oh my god!” Nina howled, doubling over. “Look at your faces!”

Ben was practically crying with laughter, one hand clutching the doorframe. “Holy shit, you two look like you just got caught stealing. Jeff’s all red—wait—Jeff’s embarrassed!”

Jeff snarled and lunged forward, shoving Ben hard enough to slam him into the opposite hallway wall. “Fuck off!”

Ben just cackled harder, bouncing back like it didn’t even hurt. Nina darted in and threw an arm around your shoulders, hugging you sideways while whooping right in your ear.

“Finally! I knew it! You’ve been flirting alllllll night.”

You were mortified, trying to shrug her off while your cheeks stayed on fire. “Nina—shut up—”

“No way! You’ve got lipstick—wait, no, your lips are just swollen. Even better!”

Jeff was still grumbling and shoving at Ben as the two of them half-wrestled down the hallway. Nina kept her arm locked around you, dragging you along while teasing nonstop.

“Bet you didn’t even make it the full seven minutes. Did he try the whole ‘I’m just gonna be really mean and hope you can tell I’m flirting’ thing?”

By the time you all spilled back into the living room, the embarrassment was in full bloom. The group had already moved on without you. Someone had cleared a decent patch of table space, and now they were all sitting in a loose circle playing cards. Nat was clearly winning—her pile of chips (or whatever random junk they were betting with) was massive, and she had the smuggest little smirk on her face, her legs lazily kicked over Toby’s lap.

Toby looked up first and let out a loud, stuttering laugh. “There th-they are! How was h-he-heaven?”

You cringed.

Tim and Brian both glanced over. Tim’s expression was unreadable. Brian just raised an eyebrow, but you could tell he was fighting a smile.

You dropped down into an open spot on the floor, trying to act normal. Jeff flung himself into the seat directly across from you, sprawling his legs out. He was still breathing a little hard, but the second he sat down his eyes locked onto you.

And he wouldn’t stop staring.

Every time you looked up from your cards that were shoved into your hand, his pale gaze was waiting. He kept licking the split in his lip like he could still taste you there. When Nina leaned over to whisper something filthy in your ear, Jeff’s grin only widened, like he knew exactly what she was saying.

The next round started almost immediately.

Someone slapped the (now empty) beer bottle back onto the coffee table. Toby gave it a lazy spin with two fingers. It twirled fast, then slowed, finally landing on Nina.

Toby’s head jerked up. “Oh hell—”

Nina let out a delighted squeal and grabbed his hand, already dragging him toward the hallway closet. “C’mon, pretty boy!”

The rest of the group whooped and catcalled as the closet door slammed shut behind them. Within seconds everyone had shifted back into the card game like nothing had happened, chips (and random stolen trinkets) clacking as Nat still smugly raked in her winnings.

You, however, were still riding the warm, fuzzy buzz from the vodka and everything moments ago. Your face felt too hot, your lips still tingled, and every time you glanced up, Jeff was staring at you from across the circle with that same hungry, cocky look.

You needed air. Or water. Or anything that wasn’t this room and all of these people who definitely looked like they knew exactly what happened.

You cleared your throat and stood up. “I’m gonna grab a snack real quick. Anyone want anything?”

A couple vague murmurs answered you, but no one really paid attention. You slipped out of the living room and hurried down the hall toward the kitchen, your heart still beating a little too fast.

The kitchen was quieter, the mess from earlier still everywhere but at least the lights were dimmer. You went straight to the sink, grabbed a clean-ish glass, and started filling it with water, trying to cool down.

Not even two minutes later, you heard the soft scuff of boots behind you.

Jeff slunk around the corner with his hands in the pockets of his hoodie, that nasty crooked grin already in place. He leaned one hip against the island counter, watching you with heavy-lidded eyes.

“Well, well,” he drawled, keeping his voice low enough that the music from the other room drowned him out to anyone but you. “Escaping? Thought we were having fun back there.”

You kept your back to him for a second, taking a sip of water to steady yourself. The cheap vodka still burned pleasantly in your stomach, making everything feel loose and warm, but also clouding your judgement.

Jeff pushed off the counter and wandered closer, stopping just behind you. Close enough that you could feel the heat coming off him again.

“You gonna pretend that didn’t happen?” he asked, tilting his head. His fingers brushed the small of your back, making your skin prickle pleasantly. “Because I sure as hell ain’t.”

He paused, then added with a chuckle, “Your lips are still red.”

You turned around to face him, arms crossing tight over your chest as you tried to look unimpressed.

“Shut up, Jeff.”

He didn’t. Because when does he ever?

He stepped closer, crowding you against the counter without actually touching you yet.

“Aww, c’mon. Don’t get all shy on me now,” he teased. “You were pretty eager earlier. Hell, you were gripping my hoodie so hard I thought you were gonna rip it off me.”

You rolled your eyes, trying to deflect even as your face heated up again. “It was the vodka.”

“Bullshit,” he shot back, leaning in so his face was only inches from yours. “Vodka didn’t make you shove your tongue down my throat. That was all you, sweetheart.”

He lifted one hand slowly, cupping the side of your jaw with surprising gentleness. His thumb brushed along your cheekbone, and damn it—you melted. Your arms uncrossed on their own as you stared up at him, caught in those pale, wild eyes. The cocky mask was still there, but underneath it you could see the nervous flicker, the way he was trying so hard to keep control of this moment.

Jeff’s smile softened into something greedier. He tilted his head and started leaning in for another kiss.

You stopped him with a hand flat against his chest, feeling the rapid thump of his heart under your palm.

“Not here,” you whispered.

He paused, his lips hovering just above yours. “Nobody’s gonna see,” he murmured, his breath warm against your skin. “They’re all busy with their other shit. Toby and Nina are probably already going at it. No one’s paying attention.”

You glanced over his shoulder, checking the hallway. It was empty. The living room was completely out of view from this angle, but you could hear just muffled laughter and the occasional clack of cards drifting down the hall. No one was coming.

That was all the confirmation you needed.

You fisted the front of his hoodie and yanked him forward, crashing your mouth against his in a rough, hungry kiss. Jeff made a surprised sound that quickly turned into a groan as he kissed you back just as hard.

He pushed you backward until your lower back hit the edge of the counter. One of his hands braced on the countertop beside you while the other slid to your waist, gripping tight and pulling your hips flush against his. 

Jeff broke the kiss just long enough to mutter against your lips, “That’s more like it.”

Your fingers tangled tighter into his messy black hair, gripping the strands as you kissed him harder. Jeff made a low, appreciative sound against your mouth, but he clearly wasn’t satisfied with just kissing anymore.

His hands started roaming, sliding up your sides, mapping your waist, your ribs, your back. The touches made your head spin, heat rushing through you in waves, making you plain dizzy.

Then his hands settled on your ribs, his thumbs stroking upward.

…Until they brushed the underside of your chest.

You gasped sharply into his mouth.

Jeff froze, his breaths coming fast and hot against your lips. For a second you both stayed perfectly still, your hearts hammering in cadence.

Then, carefully, he swiped his thumbs again, higher this time.

A louder gasp slipped out of you.

He pulled back just enough to look at your face, his pale eyes dark and looming under the dim kitchen light. Your cheeks were burning red, and you could feel the flush spreading down your neck.

Jeff didn’t say anything. He just watched you for a heartbeat, then slowly slid his hands higher until he was palming your tits fully, his thumbs brushing over your nipples through your shirt.

You groaned, eyes squeezing shut from pure embarrassment even as your body arched into his touch.

“Fuck…” you breathed through with a shaky voice.

Jeff leaned in again, his lips finding the side of your neck. He kissed there first, then started sucking gently, his teeth nipping just enough to make you shiver. All the while his hands kept working, squeezing and palming your chest with that same hungry confidence, his thumbs circling slowly over your nipples.

His mouth moved higher, sucking a mark right below your ear as he pressed his body closer, his hips pinning you firmly against the counter.

You could feel him through his ugly jeans.

“You’re so fucking sensitive,” he muttered against your skin, voice all smug and giddy, but there was that nervous edge underneath it, like he still couldn’t quite believe you were letting him do this. “Look at you… you’re so red.”

His eyes roamed over you.

“And your neck too—all the way down.” He hooked a finger into the collar of your shirt and tugged it to the side, exposing more of your shoulder. “Shit, even your shoulders are flushed.”

He let out a chuckle, clearly enjoying himself way too much.

“I wonder how far down it goes…”

Before you could answer, Jeff shifted his weight and slid one leg between yours, pressing his thigh firmly up against your center. The sudden pressure made you hiss sharply, your hips twitching forward on instinct.

“Jeff—” you hissed, “be quiet—”

He smiled against your neck, that crooked grin pressed to your skin as he rocked his thigh slowly, giving you just enough friction to make your head spin.

“Why?” he whispered, clearly delighted with himself. “You embarrassed? Or are you just worried everyone’s gonna hear how pretty you sound when you’re turned on?”

You were aching now, heat pooling heavy between your legs, the cheap vodka and the adrenaline making everything feel too intense. Your fingers tightened in his hair as you tried to catch your breath.

“We should just go to my room,” you managed, your voice a lot shakier than you’d like. “Right now.”

Jeff pulled back slightly so he could look at you again, still grinding his thigh against you. His eyes were dark, his pupils blown wide.

“No can do, sweetheart,” he said. “To get to the stairs we’d have to walk right past the living room. They’d all see us. They’d know exactly where we’re going… and exactly what we’re about to do.”

He leaned in closer, his lips brushing your ear as he added, almost sweetly,

“And I don’t think you want them hearing you when I finally get my hands on you, do you?”

His thigh pressed up harder and you had to sink your teeth into your lip to stop from whining.

You shook your head in response, your fingers gripping his arm tight and your heart hammering so hard you could feel it in your throat.

Jeff’s hands slid down your waist slowly until his fingers reached the button of your jeans. Your breath caught sharply as he popped it open with a bit of fiddling, then dragged the zipper down. The sound felt way too loud in the muffled thump of music only one room away.

“You’ll have to be quiet,” he murmured against your ear. “Think you can manage that?”

Your eyes kept darting between his gaze and his hand as it slipped inside your jeans. Your pulse was thudding so loudly you were sure he could hear it. Every few seconds your gaze darted nervously toward the hallway, half-expecting someone to walk in any second.

Nobody came.

You looked back at him, your breath shaky. “Hurry up.”

He snapped your jeans open wider and shoved his hand straight into your panties. At the same time, he crowded you backward into the corner of the island, using his body to block any view from the hallway. His chest pressed against your shoulder, shielding you completely.

He kissed your cheek, almost sweetly, right as his fingers pushed past the fabric and slid between your ridiculously soaked folds.

You both groaned at the same time.

“Fuck…” Jeff breathed, his forehead dropping against your temple. His voice was strained, almost reverent. “You’re so fucking wet already.”

His fingers moved slowly at first, gliding through the slick heat, exploring this uncharted territory. Your legs spread wider on instinct to give him more room, one knee bumping the cabinet beside you. You gripped the front of his hoodie with both hands, white-knuckling it trying to stay upright as pleasure shot through you.

Jeff’s free hand came around your back, holding you steady against him while two fingers eventually found and circled your clit, then dipped lower, teasing your entrance before sliding back up again. He kept his face close to yours, occasionally pressing open-mouthed kisses to your cheek and jaw.

“Quiet,” he reminded you in a whisper, even though he was the one letting out soft, ragged sounds every time his fingers moved through your wetness. “Don’t want the whole house hearing how good I’m making you feel, do you? Especially not Timothy.”

You glared at him, which only received an amused smile in return.

His fingers pressed more firmly, rubbing slow, hard circles right where it made your eyes begin to roll, making your hips twitch forward into his touch.

You buried your face in his shoulder, biting down on the fabric of his hoodie to muffle the sounds threatening to spill out. 

“Shit… that’s it,” he whispered into your ear. “Just like that. Let me feel you.”

His fingers slid away from your clit, trailing down until they pressed against your entrance. He pulled back just enough to look you in the eyes.

You gasped as he slowly pushed one finger inside you, the stretch sudden and foreign. Your eyes fluttered shut on instinct.

“Open them,” he murmured, almost anxiously. “Look at me.”

You forced your eyes open, locking onto his as he carefully added a second finger. The feeling made your breath hitch, your hips rolling forward into his hand.

Jeff started pumping them slowly at first, deep and slow, letting you feel every inch as he worked you open. The wet, slick sound of his fingers moving inside you was barely masked by the distant noise from the living room.

You could hear yelling and laughter echoing down the hall—probably Nina and Toby about to finish up their turn in the closet. Any minute now someone could come looking for snacks or wonder where the two of you had disappeared to. The thought sent a sharp thrill through you, making everything feel so risky.

But god, it felt so fucking good.

Jeff curled his fingers just right, pressing against your warm insides and making your knees weak and buckle in a little. You gasped sharply, and he immediately leaned in, licking into your mouth to swallow the whine that tried to escape. He kissed you quickly, drinking down every soft moan and broken sound as he fucked you with his fingers, the heel of his palm doing wonders as it pressed against your clit.

“You’re gonna have to tell me when you’re close,” he huffed, his fingers never slowing. “Because I’m not stopping until you’re cumming all over my fingers. Got it?”

You managed a shaky “Yeah,” barely more than a whisper.

Jeff’s lips curled into a grin against your cheek. “Good girl,” he murmured. “You’re so fucking wet… it’s dripping all over my hand.”

“It feels so good,” you breathed, your hips rolling into his hand before you could stop yourself. “We shouldn’t be doing this—”

“Then why aren’t you stopping me?” he shot back, but his fingers never lost their rhythm. He curled them again, pressing perfectly until your voice came out shrill and broken. He watched your face the whole time with his eyes narrowed and focused, reading every flutter of your lashes, every twitch of your mouth, every sharp little inhale.

He was being such an ass with his words, but his hands were careful. Precise. He adjusted the angle slightly, slowing when you tensed, speeding up when your thighs started to tremble. He was completely tuned into you, hunting down every reaction like it was a game he refused to lose.

You always forget just how smart Jeff is. Not in academics or anything futile like that, hell no. But his ability to read and react to situations? That’s where he thrives.

You wanted to laugh at him, but he began to add another finger into the mix, pushing it up until his knuckle caught on your tight entrance, stretching you so good.

You couldn’t think straight anymore.

Your hand slid down his chest, over his stomach, until your fingers reached his belt. You worked it open with clumsy, hurried tugs. Only when the buckle rattled did Jeff notice.

“Fuck—” he swore under his breath, his head snapping toward the hallway for half a second. When no one appeared, he crowded you even tighter into the corner of the island until you nearly had to lean back onto it to keep your balance. His free hand quickly helped you, popping the button on his jeans and shoving the zipper down just enough.

You reached into his boxers and wrapped your fingers around him, pulling him out into the cool kitchen air. 

Jeff is so lanky, you should’ve guessed his dick would be the same. He was so hard already, twitching in your hand and sending shocks through you in time with his fingers. Precum dribbled at the tip, smearing down onto your knuckles as you slid your grip to his tip.

Jeff let out a groan, his forehead dropping against yours as your hand gave him one stroke over his flushed head.

“Shit… careful,” he hissed, but there was no real protest in it. “I don’t think I’m… I’m not gonna last…”

You smiled, “One pump chump—fuck—,” but your teasing was cut short by his quick fingers.

His breathing was ragged now, his hips twitching forward into your grip even as he tried to stay focused on you. He kissed you again, but it was more of the two of you panting against each other’s lips.

You pumped him faster, your hand sliding up and down his cock with shaky, unsure strokes. You weren’t even sure if you were doing it right, but Jeff didn’t seem to care. He buried his face into the crook of your neck with a moan, his hot breath fanning across your skin.

His free arm wrapped around your hips from behind, pulling you snug against him sideways so the flushed tip of his cock pressed right under your bellybutton, smearing pre-cum against your skin with every twitch of his hips.

You were both moving frantically now, your hand working him quickly while his fingers pumped deep inside you, curling against your gummy insides and pooling slick into your panties.

Then the yelling started from the living room.

“Nina! Toby! Time’s up, you horny fucks!”

Laughter erupted, followed by Nina’s loud, giggling protest and Toby’s stuttering laugh as they were dragged out of the closet.

The sound hit you both with sudden urgency.

You both groaned at the same time and sped up, causing you both to be even messier than before. Jeff’s fingers fucked into you faster, lewd wet sounds barely muffled by your bodies pressed together. Your hand stroked him harder, your thumb swiping over the slick head on every upstroke.

“Fuck, you’re so wet… you’re gripping me so tight, sweetheart. Gonna cum all over my hand while everyone’s twenty feet away? Want them all to hear how good you feel?”

You whined.

“Fuck— just imagine if it was my dick instead. Imagine how good it’d feel. How deep I could get.”

The words overwhelmed you. Your thighs started shaking.

“I’m— I’m gonna cum,” you whined louder.

“Yeah?” Jeff growled, his lips brushing your ear. “Come on, baby. I’ve got you, let me feel you..”

That was it.

Your eyes rolled back, a broken moan catching in your throat as your orgasm crashed through you. Your walls clenched tightly around his fingers, your walls pulsing rapidly around his knuckles and sucking him in impossibly deeper.

At the same moment your hand gripped his cock like a vice, stroking him through it.

“Fuck— fuck—” Jeff cursed sharply, his hips jerking forward frantically.

He came instantly, thick ropes of cum spilling over your fingers and onto your lower stomach in hot, roped pulses. He buried his face deeper into your neck to muffle the groan he couldn’t contain, his body shuddering against yours as he rode it out, grinding his cock into your hand while his fingers kept lazily pumping inside you, drawing out every last aftershock he could milk.

For a few long seconds you both just panted against each other, bodies trembling, hearts hammering so hard you could feel his pulse where your chest pressed against his.

Then—rapid footsteps coming down the hallway.

Jeff reacted instantly. He yanked his hand out of your pants, shoved his hoodie down roughly to cover his still-open jeans, and spun around to step fully in front of you, using his body to block any view of your undone jeans and the cum streaking your lower stomach and shirt.

Ben turned the corner a second later, heading straight for the ashtray he’d left on the far counter earlier. He grabbed it, then glanced over at the two of you.

The kitchen went dead quiet.

“Jeff,” Ben said flatly, his eyes narrowing as he took in the scene.

“Ben,” Jeff replied, his voice thrumming with that fake menace he always used when he was trying to look tough.

Ben’s gaze flicked between the two of you once more, then he gave a single, knowing nod and scurried back toward the living room without another word, weed ashtray clutched in his hands.

The second Ben disappeared around the corner, Jeff’s shoulders sagged just a fraction. Pure anxiety flashed across his face for a split second before he covered it up with a sharp, menacing scowl that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

He turned back to you, looking you up and down slowly. A short laugh escaped him.

“Shit… you look like a fucking mess.”

You smacked his chest hard. “Asshole.”

Jeff just grinned wider, those split cheeks pulling tight. He reached over, grabbed a wad of paper towels from the roll on the counter, and started wiping you down. He cleaned the streaks of cum off your stomach and shirt first, then wiped his own mess from your fingers you had clutched behind your back from Ben. After that he quickly cleaned his own hand and tucked himself back into his boxers, fixing his belt and jeans with a few quick motions.

You were still buttoning your own jeans when he gave you one more slow once-over, satisfied with how disheveled he’d left you.

“I know a way up the tree out back,” he said casually, shrugging his shoulders. “Climbs straight to my window. I use it sometimes to sneak past Tim and Brian when they’re being assholes.”

You hit him again, harder this time. “You’re such an asshole. We could’ve gone up there this whole time?”

Jeff caught your wrist mid-swing. “Yeah, but where’s the fun in that?” He leaned in closer, dropping his tone. “I liked sneaking around. Besides… it was hot as hell watching you try to act like you didn’t want me. Had to get you as soon as I could.”

He pressed one last quick, messy kiss to your lips, still tasting like smoke and vodka, before pulling back with a wink.

“C’mon. I wanna see what you can really do with those hands.”

Thanks for reading! Comments and kudos are appreciated!

๑ prologue

๑ back to my masterlists

── .✦ rainrot4me2026, all rights reserved. ꩜ .ᐟ

[oddri-art]

The Similarities of Frank Booth & Franco Barbi: A Character Analysis

cw: mentions of rape, assault

Notes: I originally watched the film Blue Velvet for the first time last year, but it's stuck with me ever since that the antagonist Frank Booth feels like he had to have been some of the inspiration behind Franco Barbi, and it's so fascinating to me primarily because I went into the movie without knowing that! Definitely give the film a watch if you haven't already, especially if you're a fan of Franco Barbi and can also handle dark subject matter.

Both Franco and Frank Booth's characters have a desire to intimidate and dominate others through physical violence/language, but what makes it interesting is that they simultaneously humiliate themselves in the process of doing so. They're both violent and aggressive gangsters that are quick to threaten others just to mask their own inadequacy and feelings of inferiority.

In Franco, this sort of self-imposed humiliation can be seen in the way he refers to himself as "Baby", carries around a pacifier, drinks from baby bottles, fake cries, and also becomes aroused by the idea of a mother figure dominating him (To Mother Gooseberry: "Mother, mother, mother... Baby needs discipline")

With Frank Booth, there is also this shared trait of referring to himself as "Baby" during his assault of Dorothy, but he also notably chooses to emasculate himself in his attempt to humiliate the main character when he puts lipstick on himself and kisses the unwilling Jeffrey.

Both Frank and Franco are incredibly insecure men who fear judgment from others, even if they would never admit it aloud. The following lines are incredibly similar to one another and showcase the fact that while they like being in control, there is this sense of shame in themselves that they are unable to mask completely.

This insecurity can also be seen in the way that they both crave male validation. For Franco, he seeks the love and approval of his father. Respectively, for Frank, he looks up to his friend, Ben, who is the one person he is seen genuinely praising (multiple times, in fact!) in the entire movie and trying to impress ("See, Ben? I can make [Jeffrey] do anything I please.")

Despite their obvious insecurities, they both try to uphold this masculine, powerful image by clinging onto violence whether through cruel actions, objects like their guns, or harsh language (Both characters also have an obsession with using the word "fuck" and seemingly the very idea of fucking itself.)

Another key aspect is that, in both men, their frustration towards the female sex and the idea of motherhood is evident and affects the way they regard the women in their lives.

With Franco, this is illustrated by climbing inside women's wombs, cutting off their nipples to use for bottles, caging them, "milking them," or breastfeeding from corpses.

Meanwhile, with Frank, this is shown in him kidnapping/torturing a mother's husband in order to exhibit control/sense of ownership over her and prevent her from leaving him, referring to Dorothy as "tits" rather than using her name, assaulting her, and salivating over her exposed breasts before hurting her (while saying "Baby wants to pinch them").

This isn't even mentioning that both men force the role of "Mommy" onto their female victims.

Both Frank and Franco associate the concepts of sex/love with violence. This is why when Franco assumes Gooseberry has a boyfriend, he immediately resorts to violent thoughts and imagines killing this supposed boyfriend in order to prove himself and stake his claim on her. Not so dissimilar from Frank Booth in the way that he kidnapped/tortured and then later shot Dorothy's husband, as well as beat and threatened Jeffrey for also getting involved with her, all for the sake of keeping her isolated and maintaining sole possession/control over her.

(Side note: Serious character analysis aside, it also amuses me greatly that the names "Frank Booth" and "Franco Barbi" are so similar, on top of their personalities. At this point, I'm more convinced that Frank is Franco's father than Salvatore.)

[jeantique]

I’m a freakkkkk I’m a weirdoooooo

[sinsofnivan]

please, I need more sex with Krauser🙏🙏 I NEED his cock and balls (⁠๑⁠•⁠﹏⁠•⁠)

behind closed tents. — JACK KRAUSER x YOU! — SMUT!

divider gif belongs to kdanie.

SUMMARY: this is what happens when major krauser sneaks off with his lieutenant.

PAIRING: JACK KRAUSER/you.

TAGS: fem bodied reader, fingering/fingerfucking, blowjobs, messy blowjobs , , pre-re4 krauser, ball sucking, asphyxiation except you choke on his cock and balls, throatfucking

WORD COUNT: 1142.

A/N: you want his cock and balls? i got you L/N = last name.

NSFW UNDER THE CUT!

the mission had gone awry. you, just like everybody else, were on edge, in bad fucking moods. you're lucky enough to have a tent for yourself, so your unit wouldn't have to see you down in the dumps. okay, except for one.

the major.

your major, major krauser, who's currently balls fucking deep in your throat right now. a new dalliance formed not too long ago, and you've been each other's stress outlet ever since. it was harder on him, you figured, because the unit moved on his orders. 'course, he was gonna fuck you harder.

"fuck,"

he quietly groaned, both his hands wrapped around your neck as your head dangled over the edge. you gagged—how could you not? nine fucking inches of virile with a monstrous girth, it was a miracle that you could take half.

krauser could see the bulge of his cock in your throat, and it only fuels him to snap his hips faster. harder. he didn't even spare a second for you to catch a breath, only when you were desperately clawing on his arms. right now, he just wants to rid of weeks-old frustration.

"fucking slut. bet you like this, huh?" he cooed, forcing himself to the hilt; there was no way for you to take air, not when his fat balls smothered your nose. "let's check, pretty. i wonder if your panties are wet," his chuckle fills the air, and so is the sound of your gagging.

spit is smearing everywhere. on his cock, on your chin, on your fucking face, and krauser grants you a few seconds to breathe as he impatiently yanked off your joggers—with the help of your legs too, of course.

you coughed, wheezing while his cock was pressed on your face. his balls are soon lavished on by your tongue, licking and lovingly sucked on. krauser shuddered from this. fuuuck, he rarely meets a girl who loved his balls.

"god damn, l/n,"

there it was, the transparent strings of your slick clinging onto the cotton. krauser slapped your pussy, and you gasped. "nasty. y'like bein' throatfucked like this?" he slowly positions himself again. the moment your lips part and wrap around his tip, he's slamming his hips down, forcing all of his length back in.

this position was very dizzying, especially when he was ferocious with his thrusts. but what absolutely left you dumbfounded the most, was when two of his thick fingers stretch you open. you hold onto his thighs, nails marking crescents on his skin, and grunting when he starts fingerfucking you just as rough.

"mphff! grkff!"

it's not like you could push off this six foot three, two hundred something pound brute off of you, but you liked the feeling of being helpless. how you wouldn't be able to escape the rough pumping of his fingers, or the rough pummeling of his cock in your throat.

"godddd . . fuck, fuck. stay quiet, slut. you're gonna . . gonna get us caught," krauser stifled his grunts, watching you slowly cover his fingers with your arousal. "think you'd like that, make everyone see you choking on this fat cock," his palm grazes over your clit, and it makes you choke, as he promised.

you squirm, 'specially when he sheathed the entirety of his cock in your throat again. this time, he stays absolutely still, and the filthy sounds of your throat is replaced by the squelching of your pussy. "be quiet!" he quietly scolds, but you were frantically tapping his thighs. you needed to gasp, to breathe.

"aw, 's right here, isn't it?"

his fingerpads are brushing precisely on that erogenous, pillowy nub, again and again and again with every knuckle-deep push in. you were beginning to feel dizzy, but you couldn't ignore that tightening knot in your stomach. krauser winces when he feels your throat involuntarily flex around his cock again, accompanied by panicked grunting. fuck, fuck, fuck. his balls throbbed.

another slap of his palm against your clit again, and you're cumming, soaking his sleeves and your sheets with your squirt.

and gagging.

krauser swears it's the most majestic feeling ever. he didn't even care if your nails scratched his thighs. just before darkness could take over your vision, you're granted reprieve when he pulls his cock out of your drooling mouth. he darts his gaze down, watching your spit-covered, fucked out face as you coughed.

" . . ass . . hole,"

you muttered, and krauser chuckled. in response, he slapped your sensitive cunt. "oh, i know," your eyes widened when both his hands hold onto your hair. just as you were about to protest, he rudely shoves himself deep into your throat.

he wastes no more seconds, beginning to facefuck you without a care in the world. didn't even bother to tell you to shut the fuck up when your throat made these alien gawk gawk—! sounds.

"god, you're such a good slut,"

krauser uttered, rolling his eyes and continuing to rut into your throat. "just l, lemme use you. oh, fuuuuuck . . " he has to bite his lip to keep moans from spilling. at least one of you is still conscious enough. "fuck, girlie. 'ya still awake? don't tell me you've passed out on me," you were still awake, of course. what was he expecting? intelligible words out of you?

with your head in his grip, you were under his mercy. your head's bobbing vigorously, and you're forced to gag as the tip meets the back of your throat over and over again. "gonna fill your throat, fuck," krauser feels himself drool. it was very difficult to keep moans in, after all.

"cumming. fuck—fuckfuckfuckfuck . . y/n—god,"

pushing himself to the brim, your throat is thoroughly filled and stretched as he spills a load into your throat. not your mouth. throat. it was lots. more than you both expected, and he rocks his hips a little more, and he's spilling a second batch. krauser could cry, completely in bliss as he lets out low, quiet whimpers.

slowly, he drags his softening cock outta your mouth, and his now-worried face meets your barely lucid mien. "shit, shit . . y/n. hey," he rushes to your sides, and fuck, his legs feel like jell-o. "hey," he taps your cheek, and you hummed.

"fuck, are you alive?"

" . . . i am, dipshit,"

you croaked, and krauser yanks a towel from a nearby desk and began to wipe your face clean off your spit. "you okay?" he asks quietly, sitting down on the edge of your bed. "fine. think i got a sore throat," you jibed, and you both chuckled.

once your face was clean, krauser leans in and captured your lips in a kiss, uncaring if he could taste and smell himself on you. you would have kissed him back enthusiastically if you weren't dead fucking exhausted.

"rest up,"

krauser says once you both part.

"rendezvous in the showers later?"

"fuck yeah."

end.

dedicated to: @gremlinfuck A/N: this is straight up just porn im so sorry (not)

[plutotheplum]

Take All My Love

leon kennedy x fem!reader

summary: to your chagrin, you get partnered with an irritating DSO agent who happens to take an interest in the case you're working on.

cw: nsfw (18+) - mdni!!, smut, re9!leon, fbi!reader, age gap, kissing, vaginal fingering, oral sex, blow job, p in v, spanking, choking, finger sucking, brat taming, praise kink

wc: 10k

a/n: obsession's gotten so bad i started having dreams about him <3

also on ao3!

There’s a man sitting at your desk. 

You’d arrived at work a little before 9, steaming cup of coffee in hand and a stack of case files tucked under your arm haphazardly. It was only until you’d heard the curious, hushed whispers that you’d realized your desk was currently taken, occupied by an unfamiliar man clad in a leather jacket. 

Were you being relocated? Promoted? Demoted? 

A barrage of thoughts flits through your mind as you approach your desk slowly, mentally preparing yourself to give the man a piece of your mind. The man doesn’t even flinch when the case files drop onto your desk loudly, your coffee cup following soon after as you set it down roughly before crossing your arms over your chest.

“Can I help you?”

His head tilts towards you, shaggy hair shifting as his gaze travels over you with interest. You stare back at him blankly, brows furrowing when you take in the scruffy stubble covering his jaw and the weathered look to his skin. He had to be at least twice your age, but even you could admit the man was stupidly handsome. You’re only left with more questions than you started with as you continue to stare at him, feeling bewildered. The flex of his gloved fingers catch in your periphery, distracting you as you glance down to find him piecing together a disassembled gun with practiced ease, the parts set out neatly on your desk. 

His voice is gruff when he speaks. “You’re younger than I expected.”

“You… were expecting me?” you ask, irritation seeping into your voice, patience growing thin. “Who the fuck are you?”

The man’s brows raise at your blunt question, fingers still moving deftly, his eyes flickering with mirth. 

“You know, the FBI promised me a warm welcome,” he says, the chair swiveling as he turns to face you fully. “Can’t exactly say you’re delivering on that promise.”

“Yeah well, I didn’t make any promises,” you retort, giving him a tight smile, watching as he leans forward, sliding his newly assembled gun back into its holster. “Besides, you still haven’t answered my question.”

He sighs, leaning forward, his arm outstretched as he offers you his hand. “Leon–”

He’s interrupted by the Unit Chief calling out your name. Your eyes narrow when you see the case file in his hands, glancing back at Leon before you leave him, stepping inside the Unit Chief’s office, the door clicking shut behind you.

“We’ve got two new bodies,” he says, handing you the case file. “Unsub’s been crossing jurisdictions and the local police department is… well, concerned to say the least. Think you can handle it?”

You nod, flicking through the pages, nose scrunching when you see the images of the crime scene – each more grisly than the last. Mutilated bodies, blood smeared across the walls, messily carved symbols etched into the wooden door of the victims’ home.

“Seems ritualistic,” you murmur, reading through the reports. You glance up at him, clutching the case file to your chest protectively. “You’re letting me take this alone? I’m flattered.”

“Ah,” the Unit Chief shakes his head, nodding towards Leon. “Not exactly.”

“What?” you scoff, looking at Leon who gives you a smile and waves through the glass. You glare at him, yanking the blinds shut. “The old man?” you hiss, “he’ll only slow me down.”

The Unit Chief sighs, taking a seat in his chair. “That man is Leon Kennedy. DSO. It’s only a precaution. He’s more experienced than any team we could put together and after what happened with Agent Ashcroft, the FBI is trying to be more… mindful.”

“Ashcroft?” you echo, remembering the Rhodes Hill incident. “That’s– that’s because they sent an analyst into the field of all things. She must’ve been terrified. I’m a field agent, I can handle myself.”

“Agent Kennedy took an interest in the case,” he replies, hands clasping together. “If there’s bioterrorism involved, he’ll be useful. If there isn’t, use him as an idea board. The Unit Chief peers up at you, his expression stern. “My decision is final.”

Your jaw works irritatedly before you huff out a heavy breath, nodding reluctantly. “Yes, sir.”

Despite your sour mood and the urge to slam the door shut, you carefully close it, making your way back to Leon. You drag a spare chair towards your desk, sinking down onto it. Leon shakes his head when you offer him the case file.

“I’ve already read it.”

“Huh,” you stare at him, lips pursing while your eyes squint in recognition. “Leon Scott Kennedy,” you drawl, jabbing your finger at him, “you’re the Raccoon City cop. I’ve heard stories about you. Shouldn’t you be…” you gesture to him pointedly, “retired?”

“Ouch,” Leon says, his hand moving to press against his chest as he feigns being hurt. “You really don’t want me here, do you?”

“All I know is that you’re some big-shot DSO agent that I don’t need on my case, Leon,” you shoot back, flipping open the file to read the autopsy reports more thoroughly.

“The first case you’ve ever been in charge of,” Leon muses, his leather gloves creaking softly as he picks up a stray pen, putting it back into its place. “I’m impressed. Not everyone gets to be a lead on a case like this. Then again, you’re pretty good at this kinda thing.”

Was he buttering you up? He had to be. You don’t bother looking up as you mark a few things of interest off on the report.

“Thank you,” you murmur, scrawling a few notes down on a notepad before you pause, head turning to find him watching you carefully. “How did you know that?” you ask, a hint of suspicion in your voice, “we’ve never met before.”

Leon shifts, grunting softly as he tries to get more comfortable in your chair. “I took the liberty of reading your file,” he replies flippantly, his expression darkening as he tries to work the chair’s jammed lever. “Fuckin’ chair… how do you sit in this all day?”

“I don’t sit all day!” you snap, “and you read my file? I don’t care if you have the fucking clearance, you can’t just–” 

You’re interrupted by a loud snap, teeth gritting together when you realize he’s pushed the lever too hard – or perhaps, underestimated his own strength – the lever cleanly detached and now clutched in Leon’s gloved hand. 

“Sorry ‘bout that,” he murmurs, setting the lever down on your desk, patting it awkwardly. “I’ll buy you a new chair.”

You have half a mind to reach over and strangle him. You even consider doing it, until he grumbles under his breath and shrugs off that jacket of his, your murderous intent forgotten as soon as you catch sight of his thick biceps. With those things, Leon could probably strangle you and have no problem doing it. 

The sheer size of him renders you incapable of tearing your gaze away, your stare settled firmly on his shoulders, arms and chest – every part of him unfairly thick and muscular – his skin-tight shirt leaving you barely conscious of the way your throat was beginning to dry up. 

Your newly broken chair creaks once more under Leon’s weight, the sound piercing through the haze of your shameless staring. You blink uncertainly, taking another lingering peek at his biceps while he’s too busy trying to get comfortable. 

“We’d better get going,” you announce, grabbing the file before standing up abruptly. “The local PD is probably waiting for us.”

“We can take my car,” Leon says as he follows you into the elevator.

“I’m not in the habit of getting into cars with strange men,” you say testily, pressing a button before turning to face him. 

“And I’m not in the habit of babysitting FBI agents,” Leon drawls, leaning against the wall of the elevator, his arms crossing over his chest. 

The movement makes his shirt stretch tighter if anything, the fabric clinging to his broad forearms stubbornly, his watch glinting softly in the lighting. Your head tilts, eyes narrowing with irritation when you register his insult. 

“No one asked you to babysit,” you say, shaking your head. “I have a gun,” you take it out of the holster attached to your hip, pointing it at him, “and I’m smart. I’ll have this case wrapped up in a day or two, so stay the fuck outta my way.”

A smile pulls at his lips, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he lifts his hands in mock-surrender. The amusement in his eyes makes him look a little younger, your heart fluttering with delight for a moment before you tamp it down violently. 

When the elevator comes to a stop, Leon takes your bag before you can protest, his gloved fingers brushing yours briefly. You step after him, brows raising with begrudging respect when you see his car. Big-shot DSO agent, your mind supplies as he puts your bag into the backseat, gesturing for you to get in. You sigh heavily, opening your mouth to argue but Leon’s already disappeared inside his car, the engine rumbling to life. Muttering a curse under your breath, you get in his car, pulling the door shut firmly. 

–

“What do you mean there’s only one room available?”

“What’s there to understand?” Leon asks, dangling the singular key in front of your face. “Rooms are all booked out. They’re celebrating some special harvest festival according to the receptionist.”

“Harvest festival?” you echo, peering up at him. “You gotta be fucking kidding me. That’s like the perfect cover for our unsub.”

“I would help,” he murmurs, nudging your shoulder gently to get you to step aside, “but you wanted me to, what was it?” you roll your eyes when he snaps his fingers, pretending to think. “Ah yes, stay the fuck outta your way.”

You snatch the key hanging from Leon’s finger, ignoring his aggrieved sigh as you push past him and stomp back down the stairs to the reception, ready to demand another room. All the receptionist does is give you an apologetic smile and offer you a discount. You swallow your pride as you trudge back up the stairs, doing your best to avoid Leon’s eyes when you find him leaning beside the room’s door, his brows raising amusedly.

“I don’t want to hear it,” you mutter, slotting the key into the lock.

Leon shrugs non-committally. “I wasn’t going to say anything.”

The door is heavy as you push it open, Leon’s hand moving to keep it open for you as you step inside. You fumble in the darkness for the light switch at the same time Leon does, his strong, calloused fingers brushing over yours. It’s enough to have an unwanted shiver running down your spine, warmth blooming in your chest and a flush settling high on your cheeks despite your stubborn annoyance with him. 

“Fuck me.”

You follow his gaze when he swears, taking in the lit room. There’s a shitty couch in one corner, a tiny area with a coffee machine and table, and… a bed. 

“Okay,” you say slowly, staring at the one, pitiful bed you had been afforded. “Great! So I think you should go and chew out the receptionist.”

“I’m not doing that,” Leon scoffs, bending down to take off his boots, his gun clattering against the table as he sets it down. “I can take the couch.”

You look back at the couch, brows furrowing. “That’s really nice of you and all, Leon,” you begin, stepping further inside the small room, “but I don’t think you’re exactly going to fit.”

“You care about me or something?” he drawls, looking over at you with a smile as he opens his duffle bag to pull out a towel and a set of clothes. 

“Get over yourself. I’m just worried about your…” you gesture towards him vaguely, “potentially geriatric bones.”

Leon chokes on a laugh, his brows shooting up. “Geriatric? I’m 49. My bones are in perfect working order.”

“Right, nevermind. You did break my chair.”

“I did you a favor,” he retorts, slinging the towel around the back of his neck. “It was a hunk of junk.”

“It was in perfect working condition!” you scoff, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Do you always defend inanimate objects with such passion?” Leon muses, stepping closer until he’s only a few inches away, head cocking to the side.

“When they’re close to my heart, yes.”

“A chair is close to your heart?”

You decide to double down. “Yes, Leon.”

“Huh,” he nods slowly, clicking his tongue. “You got attachment issues?”

“Did my file not tell you that?” you smile up at him snarkily.

Leon grins, shaking his head. “I’m afraid I skipped over your psych eval.”

He turns, disappearing into the bathroom. You glare at the door and huff out a sigh, removing your shoes before grabbing the case file and flopping down on the bed tiredly. You flick through the pages absentmindedly, settling on the symbols carved onto the door. You hadn’t seen anything remotely like it before and the database search you’d done earlier in the car had come up empty. 

“Fuck,” you mutter under your breath, glancing towards the bathroom.

You’d exhausted all your options save for one. A reluctant groan leaves you as you stand, approaching the bathroom, leaning against the doorframe. 

“Hey, Leon?” you call out when you hear the spray of water come to a stop. “I… might have been a little difficult earlier,” your voice sounds strained, “but if you could maybe take another look at the file, then I would… you know, probably appreciate it or whatever.” You swallow, face twisting with discomfort. “Please?”

Leon laughs, the rich, deep sound seeping through the crevices. “Don’t hurt yourself,” he says, sounding entirely too entertained by your attempt to ask him for help. “I’ll take a look for you.”

You frown at the door, jolting when it swings open suddenly. A few wisps of steam escape, and you blink owlishly, finding yourself face-to-face with his bare chest. It’s hard to keep your gaze from wandering over his exposed skin, a light dusting of hair covering his chest coupled with a few scars. A strange, gurgling noise escapes you when he shifts back to grab his towel, his broad, muscled back now visible to you. You sway, moving to grip the doorframe, knees feeling weak. 

“You okay?” Leon murmurs, glancing over at you as he ruffles his damp hair, brows furrowing.

“Yes!”

Your voice is shrill, pitching up awkwardly until you clear your throat and give him an equally awkward smile. 

“Perfectly fine,” you clarify, this time sounding breathless as you try and fail to not look down, inhaling sharply when you see his defined abdomen and the dark, coarse hair below his navel, disappearing into the waistband of his sweatpants.

“It’s just that you look…” you trail off, fingers itching to reach out and squeeze and touch. Hot. Attractive. Fuckable. Really fucking fuckable for a 49-year-old man. “Like shit,” you settle on, the words tumbling out of you in a strained manner as you force yourself to meet his eyes. “You– you look like shit, Leon.” You pat his shoulder jerkily. “Unfortunately.”

“Right, sure,” he says, his head tilting as he stares down at you, unconvinced. “You really know how to flatter a man.”

“I’m charming like that,” you say, hands clasping behind your back. 

Leon hums, and you stare back up at him, gaze flitting away for one moment to get a glimpse of his left hand. No ring. Perfect. You pinch yourself as soon as the thought comes.

“You gonna let me out?”

“What?”

When Leon gestures towards you, you realize you’re still standing in front of him, blocking the way out. You move to the side sheepishly, pushing the case file into his chest quickly before locking yourself in the bathroom.

You let out an embarrassed groan once you’re in the shower, burying your face into your hands. What the fuck was wrong with you? There was no way that all it took was some dorky, attractive, older man to have you feeling out of sorts. A dull ache flares between your thighs at the thought of Leon, fingers sneaking past your folds to rub at your traitorously swollen clit. It doesn’t take much, just the image of his body pressed against yours, his arms wrapped around you, mouth pressed against your ear while he grunts–

You cum with a muffled whine. Scrubbing the rest of your mortification off of your skin with soap, you dry off, slipping into a pair of sleep shorts and a hoodie. You pad out of the bathroom to find Leon sitting at the table – thankfully with a shirt on – a few containers of food littered across its surface while he’s hunched over his laptop.

“Hey,” he greets when he sees you, gaze travelling over you briefly before turning his laptop towards you. “I had a look. Your guy might be part of a cult,” Leon brings up another image, showing it to you, “they’re not the exact same, but similar enough. Might be worth looking into.”

“Cult? That’s fun,” you murmur, dropping into the chair beside him, watching as he runs his hair through his hair. “Thank you for taking a look, and the food.”

His brows raise. “Those might be the most sincere words to come out of you today.”

“Shut up,” you say, although a small smile pulls at your lips.

Dinner is quick as you both make a plan for tomorrow – visit the local PD, check out the crime scene and investigate a few related areas of interest. Leon settles down on the couch soon after, adjusting his pillow a few times before grunting as he tries to get comfortable. You were right, he doesn’t fit. He looks so awfully crammed, knees bent and back hunched at an awkward angle that even you feel bad about it.

“Leon,” you say exasperatedly, “we can both fit on the bed. That can’t be good for your back.”

“This is fine,” he replies stubbornly, shifting onto his back uncomfortably, arm hanging off the edge. “I’ve slept in worse places.”

“I can’t deal with you complaining about your back tomorrow,” you say, gesturing towards the bed. You lay down, squirming to the side to make space. “See? You can have the other side.”

“You sure your boyfriend won’t mind?”

“What?” you ask confusedly, sitting up on your elbows. “I don’t have a boyfriend.”

Leon grunts as he gets to his feet, dropping down onto the bed without further protests. It’s a tight fit, but you both manage, a sliver of space left between your bodies. You stare up at the ceiling, lips pursing, feeling antsy. 

“Did you…” you glance over at him, feeling entirely too bold for your own good, “did you ask because you were interested?”

He stares back, brows raising. “Interested in what?”

“In what?” you repeat irritably, “are you seriously playing dumb?”

Leon smiles back at you, shrugging lazily. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. Maybe if you clarified what it was you wanted from me–”

“I don’t want anything from you!” you sputter, flushing hot. The bed creaks as you flop onto your side, facing away from him. “You’re old and weird and infuriating and–”

“I feel like you’re avoiding my better qualities.”

“Fuck you.”

“Yeah, I know you want to, baby.”

It’s a miracle your neck doesn’t snap with how fast you turn to look at him. 

“May I remind you that this,” you gesture between your bodies wildly, “is a professional relationship?”

“Yeah?” Leon murmurs, raising his brows, “is that why you got off in the shower? Rubbed one out to make yourself feel better ‘bout liking me?” He looks unfazed when your jaw slackens, tapping the wall behind his head. “Thin walls.”

“That is none of your business.” You lean closer, eyes narrowing in an attempt to hide your growing embarrassment. “HR is going to have a fucking field day with you.”

You flop back onto your side, trying to put some distance between you, but there’s such a little space on the bed that you end up half-dangling over the edge. Leon doesn’t say anything, the silence between you thick and stretching on uncomfortably until you sit up, turning to face him.

He stares back at you, the bed creaking softly as he shifts, folding an arm under his head. His shirt stretches tight, thick bicep flexed and the sight is enough to make you lose your last nerve. 

Your hand cups his jaw, head dipping to press a kiss to his lips. It’s meant to be quick, fleeting, to get whatever the fuck you have bottled up inside of you. Leon doesn’t seem to agree as he returns your kiss roughly, stubble scratching against your skin, his hand moving to cup the back of your head, blocking your escape.

“Where’re you going?” he murmurs, lips brushing over yours.

“This–” you whine softly when he kisses the underside of your jaw, fingers tightening into his shirt. “This is a bad idea.”

“I happen to be full of those.”

“You’re so fucking corny,” you groan, mouth dropping open as he trails kisses along your jaw lazily.

His lips are soft, calloused fingers massaging your scalp whilst an arm slides around your waist to pull you into his side. Another whine escapes you, head tipping towards him as his hand wanders under the hem of your hoodie, hot skin drifting over your waist and higher, his thumb grazing the curve of your breast.

“And you’re a fucking brat,” Leon says, watching your expressions closely as you whine and pant, pulling him towards you for another kiss, arms wrapping around his neck tightly. 

He groans into your mouth, lips slotting over yours feverishly, his hand squeezing at the back of your neck. You squirm, throwing your leg over his hip, mewling when he licks into your mouth. Leon’s a good kisser, you think dazedly as his tongue strokes against yours in a filthy motion that has heat blistering in your stomach. His hand moves, circling around the front of your throat, squeezing gently.

You blink up at him hazily when he pulls away, lips slick with spit and pupils blown out. A smile spreads across your lips as you arch into him, hands sliding up over his strong forearm, fingers wrapping around his wrist.

“You can squeeze harder,” you whisper, pressing his fingers into your skin harder, gasping when he grants your request, eyes rolling back as the pressure around your throat constricts.

“That’s a little fucked up, baby,” Leon breathes out, watching as you writhe and suck in a ragged breath, his brows furrowing. 

His brows raise when you glare at him, leaning over you to let his nose nudge against yours, kissing you gently before he tightens his grip a little more, drawing out a choked noise from you. There’s a heady fog settling over your mind the more he keeps you from barely breathing, something slow and syrupy creeping into the crevices of your brain as he presses a kiss to your cheek. He’s letting go before long though, brushing the pad of his thumb over your lips roughly. 

“I can handle it,” you mumble hoarsely, head tipping as he massages your throat, huffing out a breath when he laughs against your cheek.

“Yeah?” Leon rasps, his gaze darkening when you suck his thumb into your mouth, tongue swirling around the digit needily, head lifting as you feign bobbing your head. “What, you want me to put you in your place or something? Is that what you need?”

The idea is appealing. You’ve been strung tight for months, between work and the never-ending cases that were stacking up on your desk, you hadn’t exactly gotten much time to yourself, to wind-down from the constant wear and tear brought about by the commitments demanded from you by the FBI.

“Maybe,” you say slowly, looking away. “I don’t know. I guess I just want some… attention or whatever.”

“From me?” Leon says, his fingers sliding over your jaw to guide your gaze back to him. “Your way of asking for attention is acting bratty?”

“I don’t know!” you sputter, pushing at his chest, feeling shy. 

“Oh, that’s cute,” he coos, smiling down at you. “Don’t worry, sweetheart, I’ll give you all the attention you fuckin’ need.”

You squeak when he moves suddenly, sitting up before he’s dragging you towards him, maneuvering you until you're bent over his lap. A whimper is punched out of you when he squeezes the fat of your ass through your shorts, lashes fluttering when each consecutive grope grows rougher until it stings lightly.

“Guess if you’re into choking, you should be into something like this,” Leon murmurs thoughtfully, squeezing your ass greedily. “‘s been a while since I’ve done this with someone.”

“Since you’ve– ah– groped someone?” you ask, hips wiggling when his touches disappear, ass lifting involuntarily to chase after his touch.

“Kissed, touched,” he sucks in a sharp breath, “groped… fucked.”

You glance at him over your shoulder, brows raising curiously. “Can you still get it up?”

A sharp yelp escapes you when his hand comes down on your ass, hard and punishing. It stings, the pain spreading out over your ass unforgivingly. You try and glare at him but his hand is coming down again, landing another heavy spank to your other ass cheek. 

“It was just a question!” you protest, squeaking when he spanks you again and again, eyes squeezing shut as the red-hot pain spreads over your ass, the ache in your pussy beginning to burrow deeper.

“I know,” Leon murmurs, his fingers hooking into the waistband of your shorts. “Do you want me to stop?”

You pout into the sheets, voice quiet. “No.”

He huffs out a soft laugh, tapping your hip. You lift them, letting him tug your shorts down, mewling softly when he squeezes your ass, his fingers dipping past your panties, stretching them before letting them snap back against your skin.

“Cute panties,” he says, his hand rubbing over your stinging ass, fingers sneaking between your thighs, brushing over the drenched, ruined fabric. “Too bad you’ve made them all messy, baby. So fucking wet for me. You like my hand on your ass?”

“Yes,” you grumble, glaring at the wall. “Stop asking stupid questions, you jerk.”

You jolt when he spanks you, letting out an agitated breath when his hand palms over ass before coming down again in several repeated motions. A whimper escapes you when pleasure bleeds through your body, teeth sinking into your lower lip when the pace of Leon’s slaps quicken. It hurts but feels so good all the same, your thighs trying to squeeze together with how uncomfortably wet your pussy is becoming.

“Don’t– fuck! Don’t stop,” you mewl, arching your back, tears prickling at your eyes. “Leon– please ah–”

“Please?” Leon echoes, “look at that, you’re back to being polite. Good fuckin’ girl.”

You whine in agreement, nodding dazedly as you look back at him, unfocused eyes finding his lopsided smile, heart fluttering in your chest. You reach back for him, hand fighting his shirt, lips parting, eyes slipping shut when he leans towards you, head dropping to kiss you deeply, his fingers squeezing at your ass gently.

“You gonna stop being a brat? Hm? You wanna be my good girl, baby?” Leon rasps against your lips, stealing another soft kiss, his hands still palming at the blistering flesh of your ass, squeezing every now and again to force a pitiful whine out of you. He clicks his tongue when you slur, nose nudging against yours gently. “I asked you a question, sweetheart. Use your words for me.”

“Yes,” you manage out, pushing your ass back into his greedy, awaiting palm, a few stray tears dripping down your cheeks. “‘m gonna be– nghh– ‘m gonna be your good girl, Leon.”

“Yeah?” he breathes out, voice sounding rough as his thumb strokes over your cheek, wiping away the tears. “My sweet, pretty girl.”

“It– it hurts,” you babble, jerking in his lap when he rains an unsuspecting slap down onto your ass, teary eyes rolling back when his fingers slip between your thighs suddenly, rubbing at your swollen, aching clit through the dampened fabric of your panties. “Leon– ah fuck!”

“I know it does,” he soothes, pressing harder against your clit until your legs kick up, “but you asked for this, baby. Remember? You came up to me all pretty and said you wanted attention.”

“Stop being mean,” you hiccup, leaning into his palm when he offers it to you, nuzzling into the warm, rough skin.

“Mean?” Leon whispers, “‘m taking care of you, sweetheart.” He hums as he wipes away the saliva beading at the corner of your mouth, spreading it over your lips before his thumb presses down more firmly, a grunt of satisfaction leaving him when your lips part obediently. “There you go,” he breathes out, “suck on my thumb while I play with this needy, little pussy, baby.”

You whine, fingers clinging to his wrist as you suck lazily, tongue swirling around his thumb. His fingers rub against your wet panties, drawing out a soft mewl from you as he pets your clothed pussy.

“You can take them off,” you mumble around his thumb, biting gently before sucking again, happy to have your mouth occupied. “Want you to touch me.”

“I kinda like ‘em on,” Leon murmurs, his fingers grabbing at your thighs before they move, slipping past the waistband. “Besides, I can touch you like this.”

Your eyes flutter shut when his fingers glide through your sticky, puffy folds, breath hitching while Leon groans when he feels your wet pussy. His fingers are thicker than yours, slipping over the soft skin before the calloused pads find your clit. Your thighs twitch, toes curling when he starts to rub your clit using slow, measured circles.

“Is this how you do it?” he asks, leaning down to kiss your cheek. “Did you play with your clit til you came in the shower?”

“Mhm,” you nod, peering up at him, lashes fluttering. You lap at his thumb, tongue flicking against the tip playfully, letting him watch. 

“Fuck,” Leon rumbles, his thumb brushing over your bottom teeth before rubbing against your tongue. “So fuckin’ gorgeous, sweetheart. Look at you.”

You smile, lips wrapping back around his thumb soon after, eyes rolling back when his fingers leave your clit to play with your fluttering hole. A long whine leaves you when he circles your hole teasingly, the tip of a finger pressing in briefly before he draws them back out to rub at your clit.

“Put ‘em in,” you mewl, hips beginning to roll against his hand, one of your hands squirming underneath you to try and move his wrist. “Leon,” you grumble, pulling his thumb out of your mouth when he tries to press against your tongue again. “Put ‘em in.”

“What happened to being polite?” he muses, dipping his finger in again and then pulling it out. 

“If you put ‘em in, I’ll be polite,” you reply, blinking up at him sweetly, a smug smile on your face.

Leon laughs, watching as your mouth drops open when he finally inches one finger inside of your clenching pussy, beginning to slowly fuck it in and out of you.

“Go on then,” he coaxes, “beg all pretty for me, sweetheart. Tell me what you want.”

“P– nghh– please fuck me with your fingers,” you whimper, fingers moving to rub at your throbbing clit. “Please, Leon? Want– fuck– want another finger.”

He doesn’t make you beg any further, sinking another finger into you. You shove your face into the sheets, hips wiggling back to meet the thrust of his fingers, your fingers quickening their pace against your clit. 

“Taking me so good,” Leon murmurs, using his other hand to spread you open. You flush, feeling entirely too exposed as he stares down at your pussy stretching around his fingers. “Pretty fuckin’ pussy just sucking my fingers in.”

Your walls flutter around his fingers at that, hand reaching out for him blindly, fingers managing to curl into his shirt. You yank him down, mumbling something incoherent around his lips before dragging him down further, lips pressing against his. You moan into his mouth when he starts thrusting his fingers in and out of you harder, curling them just right. 

“Leon,” you pant against his mouth, biting his lower lip before tugging it. Leon groans, his fingers scissoring before you moan again, lapping at his lips. His eyes roll back when your lips find his neck, head tipping to bare more of it to you until you manage to move, crawling up onto his lap, his fingers slipping out of you momentarily.

His back hits the bed when you push at his chest, his fingers finding your pussy again, thumb rubbing at your clit while his fingers sink back inside. You shove your face into the crook of his neck, breathing him in with a mewl, pawing at his firm chest as you let your hips drop, fucking yourself on his fingers.

“You gonna do that on my cock?” Leon moans, his fingers tangling in your hair when you kiss his neck feverishly, teeth scraping against his throat, the action enough to draw a hoarse growl from him. “Gonna ride my cock like you’re riding my fingers, gorgeous?”

“Yeah,” you murmur against his neck, latching onto his skin and sucking, all with the intent of leaving a mark of your own, like he had done on your ass. “Wanna– ahhh– wanna ride your cock, Leon.”

“Fuck,” he mutters, an arm clamping around your waist to hold you flush against him, his thumb pressing against your clit harder, the lewd noises of your pussy growing louder with every snap of his wrist. “You’re gonna drive me fucking insane.”

You smile against his throat, kissing the underside of his jaw when his throat bobs uncertainly.

“We haven’t even fucked yet,” you whisper, fingers slipping into his hair, pulling at the strands to make him expose his neck further, drawing out a pretty whine from his lips. “Think you can handle me?”

Your smile fades when his fingers pull out of you suddenly, a sharp yelp leaving you when he grabs your hips and manhandles you onto your stomach, the fabric of your panties tearing loudly as he rips them off of you and pulls your ass into the air. 

“Those were comfy!” you protest, glaring at him. “Leon?” you jolt when he slaps your ass hard, pulling your asscheeks apart. “Leon, wait– ah fuck!”

You squeal when he buries his face between your thighs, lurching forward unsteadily on your knees, hands grabbing out for the pillows. He’s ruthless, tongue gliding through your warm folds, drinking down your slick with a rough growl, his hands squeezing at your hips, tugging you back onto his mouth when you try and squirm away. The stubble on his cheeks and jaw isn’t helping, scratching against your skin deliciously as he nips and spits onto your cunt.

“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?” he snaps lowly, biting punishingly into your thigh when you try kicking at his chest. “Huh?”

“I didn’t–” your leg jerks when Leon bites the back of your thigh, fingers curling into the pillows tightly when he bites the fat of your ass soon after, tongue laving over the bite.

“You didn’t what?” Leon asks, thumb finding your swollen bud, his tongue drifting over the inner crease of your thigh, barely shy of your aching pussy. “You didn’t mean it, is that it, baby?” he drawls, wet fingers rubbing over your pussy. 

“Yes!” you choke out, hand slapping against the pillow when he sucks your clit into his mouth lazily, his nose pressing into your pussy, rough hands massaging your ass. “I– nghhhh– I didn’t mean it, Leon.”

“Oh, I think you did,” he sighs heavily, feigning disappointment. He clicks his tongue condescendingly. “I thought you were being my sweet girl, but turns out you’ve just got one hell of a mean streak. Just can’t help being a bit bratty, can you, pretty baby?”

“I’m not a brat,” you wail, shoving your face into the pillows the same time he presses his face into your pussy.

You don’t think anyone’s touched you like this before, let alone used their mouth like this. Leon’s strong, his hands clamping down onto you to keep you in place as he flicks his tongue over your clit, teeth scraping over the sensitive bud. You drool messily, whimpering and whining as he laps at your cunt, his tongue prodding against your hole.

“Oh fuck,” you whisper, glancing behind you, eyes wide to find Leon looking at you hungrily, his gaze dark and feral. You swallow nervously, thighs twitching when he kisses the curve of your ass. “Leon, Leon– oh fuck!”

A squeal escapes you when he presses his tongue into your clenching cunt, eyes squeezing shut so tightly that you feel dizzy, hips pressing back needily to meet the movements of his tongue. He fucks it into you, head tilting as he holds you against his mouth, a hand moving under your hoodie to stroke over the length of your back. 

You arch, mewling, hips swaying dazedly as he caresses your pussy with his tongue. A soft, ragged moan leaves you when his mouth moves, returning to your clit, toes curling when he presses his fingers back into you.

“You sound so pretty falling apart on my tongue,” Leon murmurs, rubbing his tongue over your clit with a groan, his fingers crooking inside of you. “You gonna cum, baby? Pretty pussy’s clenching around my fingers.”

“Nghhh–” you slur into the pillows, trying and failing to keep your eyes open, your lids drooping shut when his fingers press against that spot inside of you, his fingers rubbing over it with just the right amount of pressure. 

His stubble brushes against the backs of your thighs, lips soft as he trails hot kisses all over your skin. Your hips jerk when he fucks his fingers into you harder and faster, the pressure in your lower stomach growing greater. When his mouth latches back onto you, you moan loudly, knees beginning to buckle.

“Fuck! ‘m gonna cum– ‘m gonna fucking cum, Leon,” you whine, hugging the pillow to your chest, a sharp breath of air leaving you.

“Cum then, sweetheart,” he whispers, “be a good girl and cum for me.”

You cry out when he sucks harder on your clit, his face pressing harder into you, nose buried into your pussy. Leon groans loudly, the vibration shooting up through you, making your pussy clench around his fingers tightly. Your body trembles, knees giving out finally when his tongue flicks at your clit, another moan tearing its way out of your throat as you cum.

“That’s it,” Leon snarls, managing to hold you up despite your arms feeling rubber. “Cum just like that. Good girl. Good fuckin’ girl.”

You whimper, still twitching as he laps at your cunt gently, tongue sweeping over your folds as he slurps down your slick, his thumb rubbing against your clit to draw out the final waves of your orgasm while his fingers slow their pace inside of you before pulling out completely.

Leon’s body is hot when he hovers above you, his hands brushing away the sweaty hair clinging to your skin, head dipping to press soft kisses to your cheek, his stubble oddly soothing as it rubs along your skin.

“You okay?” he asks softly, hands drifting down over your back, squeezing your waist soothingly, hands petting at your still reddened and slightly bruised ass. “I guess I’ve been a little pent up.”

“A little?” you murmur, fingers sliding into his hair when he kisses your neck. “I think you’re more than a little pent up, Leon.”

He grunts in agreement, dropping another kiss to your neck before laying down on his back, letting out a heavy breath. 

“I haven’t exactly had time to relax,” he sighs, “too many fucking responsibilities ever since Raccoon City.”

You hum, sitting up, arms still a little wobbly. Leon watches you, his eyes tracking your every movement. You smile at him, eyes twinkling, fingers hooking into the hem of your hoodie before you pull it up over your head, tossing it to the side. He sucks in a sharp breath when he sees your breasts, hand reaching out before he pauses mid-reach. You take his hand, pulling it toward your breast, smile growing wider when he squeezes.

“Are my tits helping you relax?” you ask innocently, hands landing on his chest as you swing a leg over his hip, straddling him.

“Guess so,” Leon says, his other hand joining the fray, squeezing your untouched breast. “Pretty fuckin’ tits, sweetheart.”

Your eyes flutter shut as you let him play with your tits, distracted momentarily by the way his fingers move – pinching and tugging, thumb sweeping over your hardened nipples. It’s when you shift on his lap that you become aware of how hard his cock is, hips rolling against the clothed length.

“To answer your question,” he murmurs, tracing the curve of your breast, gently cupping one in his hand, thumb stroking over the soft flesh. “I can, in fact, still get it up.”

You snort, unable to stop the laugh that bubbles out of you. Leon grins back, his head tilting as he peers up at you, hands sliding down over your sides to grab your waist.

“I didn’t doubt you for a second,” you breathe out, voice laced with amusement, your hands beginning to pull at his shirt. He helps you, lifting his arms so that you’re able to pull it up over his head easily. “You do look pretty good for a 49-year-old.”

You lean forward, kissing him gently before you trail kisses down his neck and over his chest, lips brushing over his thick pecs. Leon sighs, his eyes slipping shut, a hand cupping the back of your head as you continue to lay his skin with kisses. You kiss his scars tentatively, squirming lower to kiss his abdomen, tongue darting out to trace the defined ridges of his abdomen.

“You tryna make me cum?” Leon rasps, half-lidded eyes watching you as you bite at his side playfully.

“That is a priority, yes,” you say, following the trail of coarse hair that lies under his navel and the thick bulge laying further down.

His hands in your hair tighten when you nuzzle into his sweatpants, nose brushing against the fabric. When you breathe in, you can smell him, all heady and musky and arousal is seeping into your bones once more, mouth sucking at his clothed cock.

“As much fuck– I would like that,” he grumbles, hips bucking when you mouth at him again, spit dampening his sweatpants, “I’ll cum if you put your mouth on me, baby.”

“Just one suck,” you mumble stubbornly, pulling his sweatpants and boxers down. 

Your eyes widen when his cock bobs heavily, struggling with its own weight. You swallow, blinking dazedly as you take in the length and the thickness and the heavy balls that sit underneath. The tip is flushed angrily, darkened and dripping with globs of pre-cum that don’t seem to stop, his cock twitching when you lean towards it slowly.

“It’s big,” you whisper, glancing up at Leon before your eyes find his cock again, pussy beginning to throb as you imagine the stretch. “Really fucking big. You’re– you’re that hard for me?”

Leon grunts, his hand wrapping around his cock, giving it a quick pump. “Yeah, just for you, sweet girl.” He pumps it again, holding his cock towards you. “You said you wanted a taste, go ‘head, pretty baby.”

You don’t need any further invitation, licking your lips hungrily, tongue lolling out. You drag your tongue along the hot length of his cock, feeling the smooth skin and saltiness of his pre-cum. Leon groans, his hips bucking again, another glob of pre-cum dribbling out. You lean forward just in time, catching it on your tongue before your lips wrap around his thick cock.

“Fuck– fuck, baby,” Leon moans, twitching underneath you as you bob your head, beginning to suck. “Your mouth– hah– fuckkk.”

You peer up at him, eyes glittering as you let your tongue swirl around the head before you pull off, pressing a wet, sticky kiss to the tip of his cock. 

“Don’t do that,” he mutters hoarsely, shaking his head, “don’t fucking kiss my cock like you’re fucking in love with it.”

You do it again, brows raising when his cock twitches, looking over to find his hand clenched into the sheets, knuckles nearly white. 

“I think you like it,” you tease, moving to wrap your hand around his cock, stroking it slowly. “And… I think your cock likes it too.”

“Fuck me,” he growls, head tipping back when you take his cock back into your mouth, sucking and slurping lewdly. He groans and grunts through it, eyes peeling open to watch you swallow around his cock, your pupils blown wide with lust.

When his head lolls to the side, you take your chance, head dipping before he can stop you to suck one of his balls into your mouth. He tastes so dizzyingly nice, spit beginning to leak from the corners of your mouth. Leon’s cock kicks and you land one last kiss to the tip before he’s pulling you up towards him, muffling your whine with a messy kiss.

“Wanna ride it,” you mumble against his lips, worming closer, breasts squishing up against his firm chest.

Leon doesn’t answer, too busy tipping your head up by your chin to kiss you again, stealing your breath. You paw at his chest, fingers finally latching onto his thick biceps. Squeezing, you moan into his mouth when his tongue strokes against yours, arms wrapping around his neck as he pulls back up onto his lap. 

Your hips roll, bare pussy gliding along the length of his cock, the tip catching on your newly swollen clit, making you twitch. He refuses to let up with the kisses, groaning into your mouth when you pull at his hair, feverishly swallowing up every little noise that bleeds from your throat.

“Yeah?” he breathes out finally, head tipping back for a moment as he catches his breath, calloused hands squeezing at your hips. “You wanna bounce on it? Hm? This needy pussy of yours need a fat cock to keep it happy, baby?”

“Mhm,” you nod, biting your lip, arousal blistering over your skin, lust beginning to cloud your thoughts once more. You press closer, lips brushing against his ear as though telling him a secret. “It needs your fat cock, Leon.”

“C’mere,” he mutters roughly, moving you up onto your knees, hand grasping the base of his cock to hold it steady for you. “Sink down on it, sweetheart.”

You shift, lowering yourself slowly, letting out a muffled gasp when you start to take his cock, the head of it already beginning to stretch out your pussy as it bullies its way past your entrance.

“‘s just so fucking thick,” you moan softly, peering up at him.

Leon hums, his thumb stroking over your lower lip while his other hand strokes over your hip soothingly.

“You got it, baby,” he smiles, dropping a kiss to the corner of your mouth. “You took my fingers and my mouth so fucking good. Only got a few inches left, yeah?”

Your brows furrow as you bite your lip harder, gasping when you finally take all of him, pussy fluttering around his cock wildly in an attempt to adjust to his sheer size. You feel so full, so much so that you think you can feel him in your stomach.

“Good fuckin’ girl,” Leon whispers, his arms wrapping around your waist as he leans against the headboard of the bed. “Take what you need from me, sweetheart. ‘s all yours.”

“Leon,” you mewl, dragging out the syllables of his name, whimpering against his mouth when he kisses your cheek. “I… I can’t,” you say, flushing hot, “it’s too big, I don’t–”

“Good girls don’t give up,” he breathes out, hands moving to squeeze at your waist, “not to mention you were so headstrong earlier. Where’s that attitude now, baby?”

“You fucked it outta me,” you retort poutily, shoving your face into the crook of his neck. 

“And to think you said I was old and weird– shit, baby–”

You relish in the loud, guttural groan he lets out when the walls of your pussy squeeze around him. Nuzzling closer, you kiss the spot under his ear before your hips move, rocking and rolling in a lazy rhythm as you get used to his size. 

“I’m not giving up,” you murmur, glancing up at him as he watches you, head tipping back when his hand moves up over your breasts, slipping between them to wrap around your throat. 

“Atta girl.”

Leon squeezes and you moan, grabbing his wrist as your knees dig into the bedding, hips beginning to rise and fall. He pulls you into a sloppy kiss, growling into your mouth, panting as his tongue slips over yours messily, his thumb prying your mouth open. You pant, tongue lolling out as you ride his cock, the bed creaking from your motions as you fuck yourself on his cock needily.

“Fuckin’ gorgeous,” Leon rasps, watching you with dark eyes, his hair messy and hanging over one side of his face. “So fuckin’ gorgeous, sweetheart.”

You smile at him dopily, breath slowing when his hand tightens, starting to cut off your intake of oxygen. His nose nudges against yours, breath hot as he kisses you, lips working against yours eagerly until his grip loosens, letting you suck in a breath.

“You trust me that much?” Leon asks, smiling back at you with a feral look in his eyes when your hand wraps around his throat. “You think that’s a good idea, sweetheart? You wanna choke me out while you ride my cock?”

“Oh, you can take it,” you whisper, tightening your grip. Your movements don’t slow, thighs smacking against his as you bounce on his lap, your hand landing on his shoulder for leverage as you drop yourself down on his cock harder, setting a firmer rhythm. “Heard you– ahh– kicked ass back at Rhodes Hill.”

He grins, eyes glinting, a ragged noise leaving him when you pant into his mouth, licking at his lips. 

“Yeah, I still hah– got it,” Leon muses, hands squeezing at your ass. 

Your brows furrow when his grip tightens, a moan punched out of you when he grips your hips starting to lift you, using you as he fucks you on his cock. 

“That’s it,” he drawls, controlling the rhythm and you, his forehead pressing against yours as he jerks you up and down his thick, throbbing cock. “Take my fat fuckin’ cock, baby. Cute, little pussy’s just swallowing me up.”

You whimper, hand sliding to cup the nape of his neck, your bodies moving together as his cock carves its way through your pussy, nestling against that spot before it glides out and drives back in. His chest is pressed against yours, firm muscle pressed against your soft breasts, the coarse thatch of hair at the base of his cock rubbing along your clit. 

“Harder,” you whisper, eyes finding his, hips starting to sway back to meet his thrusts when he plants his feet into the bed, knees bending as he fucks his cock up into you. “Want it– nghh– harder, Leon.”

“That might strain my joints, baby,” he says softly, smiling up at him when you huff out an annoyed breath. “What? You were concerned about my bones.”

“Fuck your bones,” you groan, pushing at his chest, squirming off of his lap onto your hands and knees, ass swaying up into the air. You look back at him over your shoulder, hand worming between your thighs to spread yourself open for him, wet, dripping pussy all on display for him. “‘m so empty,” you whisper, voice lilting. “Fill me up?” You bat your lashes, “please?”

Leon mutters a low curse, his chest heaving as he rises up onto his knees, using your ankle to pull you toward him, his hand stroking his cock with uneven motions, knuckles tightening when he sees the slick webbing between your puffy folds and clinging to your thighs.

You’re half-expecting some witty remark, but all Leon does is brush a rough kiss to your shoulder, grunting into your ear before he’s notching the head of his cock against your aching pussy and driving his cock into you.

“Too– fuck! Too fast!” you squeal when he starts thrusting hard and fast, the bed beginning to rock with every snap of his hips.

“But you said you were empty,” Leon rumbles into your ear, “‘m just filling up this needy, pretty fucking cunt for you, sweetheart. So stop squirming,” his hand clamps down on your hips, “and fucking take it.”

You wail into the room, thrashing under him when his hips smack into your ass, balls slapping against your throbbing clit, the lewd noises echoing through the small space. He draws moan after moan out of you, his cock pounding into your pussy unforgivingly. You think you can feel it in your throat, his fat cock sliding through your gripping, fluttering walls. 

Leon’s body is draping over your back, his mouth settling right next to your ear as he grunts and groans. Your toes curl, back arching when he pushes down on the small of your back, his breathing ragged as he grinds his impossibly thick cock into you.

“Fuck,” you mewl, spying his flexed bicep near your head, drool pooling into your mouth. Your head tilts as the muscle bulges, all inhibitions lost when you follow the line of his arm to stare hazily at his veiny forearm. You lean towards his bicep, teeth sinking into the thick muscle with a moan.

Leon’s breath hitches, his hips stuttering for a moment when he realizes you’ve bit him before his thrusts start up again, his hot, heavy cock pounding back into your needy pussy. You lick his bicep, tongue laving over his warm skin, eyes rolling back when his arm moves, wrapping around your throat, his bicep pressed up against the side of your neck.

“You keep– fuck– staring at my arms, sweetheart,” Leon rasps, grinning against your cheek when you let out a choked moan, his breath cut off by a low moan of his own. “Is this what you need? A strong arm wrapped around your throat, fat cock pounding into your needy cunt and sweet, little kisses?” He punctuates his question by kissing your temple.

“I– nghhh– need you,” you whine, feeling dazed as he drops his weight onto you a little more, enough so that you can feel every inch of him against your back. 

You can’t really do anything but take it, his skin slapping against yours and breath rough in your ear. When his fingers move, finding your clit to rub the swollen bud, you whimper, clutching the sheets, nails raking against the fabric as the string of pleasure draws tighter.

“‘m gonna cum,” you say hoarsely, cunt clenching around his cock desperately. “Leon– Leon, Leon, Leon!”

“‘m right here, baby,” Leon whispers, kissing your cheek, “taking my cock so well. Doing so– fuck– good for me, yeah? Cum whenever you want, sweet girl, I’ve got you.”

Your body jerks when his fingers rub against your clit faster, a ragged scream erupting from you as you cum violently. Leon swears, his grip on you faltering, the arm on your throat drawing away as you twitch on his cock, grasping at the sheets, at the pillows until Leon offers you his hand.

Your fingers lace together with his and you squeeze tightly, gasping uncontrollably until his mouth finds yours, capturing your lips in a kiss. You whimper into his mouth, knees weak and thighs tired, your death-grip on his hand loosening when he soothes you with soft kisses. Your pussy clenches and Leon groans into your mouth, his hips jerking forward unevenly.

“‘m gonna cum too, pretty baby,” he grunts, fingers pushing at your ass gently, hips beginning to pull away. “Greedy, little pussy’s clenching around me too tight, I can’t–”

“Inside,” you mumble, letting your hips sway back tiredly, trying to swallow down the length of his cock. “Cum inside.”

“That’s– shittt– a bad idea, baby,” Leon groans, his head dropping forward to rest against your shoulder as his hips rock into you, pace stuttering.

You can feel his cock throb and twitch, a soft mewl escaping you. “You said you were full of bad ideas.”

Leon lets out a startled laugh, his breath coming out in short, choppy bursts. “I did– hahhh– I did say that. Take my cum then, sweetheart, gonna flood this perfect fuckin’ cunt with cum.”

He grips your hips, thrusting forward with a hard drive of his cock. Leon swears under his breath, his hips jerking into your ass as he cums, cock kicking and throbbing as hot, thick cum floods your pussy.

You let out a contented noise when he moans into your ear, low and guttural, the sound making you feel warm. His softening cock slips out after a few moments and Leon pulls himself away from you, the bed protesting under the weight of you both. You curl up into his side, head dropping over his chest, eyes drooping when you feel the steady beat of his heart.

Leon’s hand settles on your head, stroking over your hair lazily as he pants, chest rising and falling.

“Do you feel relaxed?” you murmur, peering up at him with a sleepy smile.

“I feel fucked out,” Leon mutters, his thumb tracing the curve of your cheek, rubbing at the spot of drool that had pooled at the corner of your mouth. “You did a number on me, sweetheart.”

“I aim to please.”

He laughs, hauling you closer and you smile, kissing the underside of his jaw. “You went above and beyond, I can tell you that much.”

You snort, arms wrapping around his neck. “Am I gonna get that in writing?”

“I’ll think about it,” Leon murmurs, his fingers slipping under your chin to tip your head, lips pressing against yours. You hum into the kiss, fingers tangling in his soft hair, a quiet noise leaving you as he squeezes your ass.

When Leon pulls away, you chase after his lips, eyes fluttering shut when he returns your kiss just as eagerly, your thigh hooking over his hip, brows furrowing when you feel his cock against your thigh.

You look down, cheeks flushing when you find his spent cock beginning to harden, the fat length bobbing gently as it fills out.

“Already?” you murmur, sighing softly when he leaves stubbly kisses along your jaw.

“What can I say?” Leon whispers, his hips bucking when your hand wraps around his hardening cock. “You uh… bring out the best in me, I guess.”

You raise your brows, unable to stop the wide smile that spreads across your face. “Your best attribute is your cock? That’s a little disappointing.”

He grins, groaning when you kiss his pec. 

“You didn’t seem to think it was disappointing when I fucked you with it.”

“It is nice,” you acquiesce, head tipping back as he leans into you, trailing hot kisses down your neck, his hips beginning to rock lazily, meeting the strokes of your hand.

“I do have other nice, non-sexual attributes,” Leon says, his hand cupping your cheek, thumb stroking over your skin gently. There’s a light flush settled on his cheeks and he clears his throat, sucking in a soft breath when you squeeze his cock. “Maybe you’d like to find out sometime?”

Your smile softens, affection beginning to creep in through the cracks of your ribs. Leaning forward, you kiss him gently.

“I’d like that, Leon.”

[clockoftheheart]

Secretary (2002) // Hey Jupiter by Tori Amos

[veejiez]

ㅤ💗 THE ULTIMATE EROTICA CHEATSHEET ! 18+

ㅤA SMUT WRITER'S RESOURCE — smut vocabulary, ideas per sex act, kinks list, etc.

ㅤI originally made this to be a resource for myself whenever I felt out of practice writing smut, but I thought it might be helpful for other writers who may be new to writing smut/feeling uninspired/translating from another language.

ㅤSometimes I've felt awkward or have cringed about writing smut (especially when I was new to it) but then I realized that sex is art; in all its nasty, sexy, heavenly, gross, glory — sex is art and a beautiful part of life. So after that I just let myself write freely without feeling ashamed.

ㅤWith that out of the way, I present to you my fundamental list of smut writing essentials. Hope it helps you even if it's just to find a word you're looking for.

MEGA VOCABULARY !

wet, sloppy, soaked, slippery, gushing

hard, firm, rigid, stiff, curved, straight, hooked, pinkish/purplish/crimson/etc., red hot, flushed, swollen, pulsating, throbbing,

graze, hover, linger, brush

grab, grope, squeeze, tease, test, overstimulate, stimulate, encourage

spread, pry, split, shape, mold, press, squish, grind

smack, slap, hit, spank

roughly, softly, sweetly, nastily, heavily

sweat beading (off forehead), trickling, squelching

rub, circle, sweep, flick, curl, fingering

rolling, grinding, stuttering, staggering (hips)

panting, heaving, gasping, huffing

hiccoughing, sobbing, weeping

clamp down, constrict around, milking

clawing, scratching, digging

hug, cling, wrap, locking (legs around waist)

squirm, wiggle

obsessively, feverishly, thirstily, hungrily, lustfully, needily, greedily, desperately, sensually

tantalizing, addictive

horny, lewd, erotic

abuse, pummel, beat, bully (G-spot)

(of balls) taut, tense, full, empty, drained, milky, heavy

(of cum) pungent/salty, thick, creamy, frothy, leaky, juicy, gooey, stringy, smeared

dizzy, drunk, delirious (from lust/pleasure)

dirty, sloppy, nasty

abused, swollen, pounded, bruised

speeding it up/slowing it down, quickening (pace)

flushing, blushing

plush/pursed/pressed (lips)

unrestrained, restrained, strained

repressed, suppressed, stressed

instinct, impulse

animalistic

movement, motion, action

writhe, thrash, twist, turn

ㅤFOREPLAY !

ACTS — breast play, dry humping, heavy petting, hickey-giving, grinding, lap dance, body worship, massaging, kissing/make-out, sexting, reading smut, mutual masturbation, bathing/showering together

ㅤORALJOBS !

VOCABULARY — Salivate, drool, suck, suckle, slurp, kiss, lick, lap, choke, gag, spit, swallow, drink, gulp, pressing, swirling, rub, sweep, dribble, ooze, leak, throating it, bobbing on it

VISUALS — Saliva/(pre)cum rolling down chin/neck, jerking what can't fit, making out with... (cockhead, shaft, balls, clit, etc.), cheek bulging with cock, hollowing out cheeks while sucking harder, rolling eyes back in ecstasy, tasting them, pulling in for a dirty kiss afterwards, juices smeared across cheek, lips glistening with slick

DEEPTHROATING — watery/glossy/dewy eyes, choked up, throat constricting, throating the length, tip prodding the back of the throat, choking, gagging, spluttering, coughing, gasping for air, using hair as a handle to control how much is taken, headrush when coming off for air, being held down on it, feeling bulge in throat

CUNNILINGUS — buttery soft tongue sweeping circles, flicking, nipping and kissing at clit, sinking inside, wriggling around, feasting on pussy, thumbing clit while tongue-fucking, curling against sweet spot, lapping at slit/folds, long strokes, squirting on their face

ㅤHANDJOBS !

VOCABULARY — fingering, jerking, stroking, thumbing, weighting, pressuring, pump, thrust, stuff, shove, prod, push, glide, slip into

VISUALS — wetting palm/slicking fingers with juices, stroking at g-spot with fingertip, stroking his length, grazing fingertips down, eye contact as they ruin you with their handiwork

FINGERING — warming up with teasing, working at the clit simultaneously, using their whole arm, tensing their biceps the more they exert pressure, switching up techniques (stroking back and forth, sweeping/massaging circles, 'come hither'), curling fingers inside, sucking/tasting sweet slick off fingers

JERKING — cock hanging heavy or drooping from its weight, jumping in anticipation to be touched, throbbing hot in palm of hand, wielding at the base, brisk/quick or languid/slow strokes, balls jiggling each time wrist meets the base

ㅤPENETRATIVE SEX !

VOCABULARY — pump, thrust, stuff, shove, pound, prod, push, glide, piston, fill up, (jaw) slacking, aching, falling/locked/wrung open, curve, arch, lean, wobble, jiggle

VISUALS — the skin of the base of a cock wrinkling up when bottoming out, getting balls deep, skin sticking/slapping against skin, sweat dripping down, balls tightening up and muscles flexing (when a cock is about to cum), abs flexing, leaky cockheads and sticky precum oozing, splitting open hole on a big cock and watching it stretch into a wide O shape to accommodate its girth, holes twitching and spasming like they're aching to be touched or are overstimulated or have just orgasmed, heavy-hitting thrusts or short, quick strokes and which spots the tip is rubbing against, giving it to you/taking it/letting you have it, blissing out/pulling a lewd face/feeling high off an orgasm and rolling your eyes back, hissing through gritted teeth when it feels too good, the way your ankle wobbles over a shoulder in certain positions while getting pounded into, wet sounds getting sloppier/getting wetter and sweatier the longer it goes on, being splayed/trapped underneath them, letting you feel the stretch

SEX TYPES — hate sex, car sex, gentle/rough sex, phone/cybersex, shower sex, (un)protected sex

POSITIONS — mating press, doggystyle, spooning, cowgirl (riding), prone bone, holding ankles, standing, against wall, standing in front of mirror, pushups on top of you, side split, etc.

ㅤDIRTY TALK !

VOCABULARY — moan (duh), groan, seethe, hiss, rasp, mewl, croon, coo, murmur, coax, grunt, scream, rasp, purr, hoarsely, breathy, feathery, reverberating, quavering, quivering, whimpering, needy, high-pitched, staccato, commanding, firm, cheeky, cocky, playful, teasing, muddling, babbling, garbling, gargling, gurgling, speechless, breathless, incoherent, inaudible

DIALOGUE IDEAS — behave, do as i say, watch that attitude of yours, let me guide you, watch me fuck you, don't take your eyes off me or I'll stop, use your words, on your knees, open wide, you love it don't you? filthy slut, don't hide your face, let it all out on me, fuck me like you mean it, all for me?, dirty mind you've got there, need me to take care of you?, just like that, you take it so well, then come and get it, you like that huh?, i know you're into it, cum with me, say my name, who's fucking you this good?, can't resist you, irresistible little slut, take it, spread your legs for me, try a little harder for me

SWEET PET NAMES — baby, bambi, angel, darling, bunny, doll, babydoll, sweetheart, butterfly, good girl/boy, little Aphrodite, goddess, baby girl/boy

VULGAR PET NAMES — (nasty, dirty) slut, whore, bitch, toy

ㅤORGASMS, CUM, 'N CREAMPIES !

VOCABULARY — whipped cream, frothed up/frothing (after creampie), cream, milk, release, baby batter, seed, sticky, gooey, thick, pungent, potent, spilling, spurting, squirting, shooting, dripping, oozing, bubbling (out hole after creampie), running (down slit), decorating or marking (body), salty, nasty, bitter, sweet

VISUALS — ropes of cum, trickling down the shaft to the balls, balls tightening/tensing during release, squirting, creaming/gushing all over cock/hands/toy/etc., shuddering or caving into yourself, buildup to an orgasm being stronger or weaker, stopping or not stopping until their orgasm is over, creampie dribbling out hole

ORGASM TYPES — clitoral, vaginal, cervical, blended, hands-free, cumshot/facial, in panties, etc.

CREAMPIES — warm, dripping, nasty, frothed up, leaky, juicy, deep, rushed, taboo, risky, shallow, oozing, gooey

ㅤCONSENT & AFTERCARE !

VOCABULARY — let me have you, can we...?, is it alright?, unless you don't want to, do you like it?, go faster/slower, let's take a break, are you okay (in the middle or after an act), can you take it?, is your jaw not sore like this?

AFTERCARE IDEAS — getting cleaned up together (bath, shower), carrying you, pillow talk, cuddling, having food, giving water, massaging numb/sore/tired parts, soothing bite/hit marks, brushing hair out of face, kissing forehead, praising for taking it so well, helping put clothes back on, making jokes, petting hair, telling you how much they love you, confessing their feelings

ㅤKINKY STUFF !

LIST — praise, degradation/humiliation, overstimulation, consenting multiple times, dom/sub, breeding, rough sex, voyeur/exhibition, size difference, somnophilia, dacryphilia, nipple play, body worship, anal play, threesome/gangbang, impact play, spanking, slapping, spitting, hair pulling, choking/holding neck, pinning down, cockwarming, age gap, virginity loss, double penetration, infidelity/cheating, jealousy

TROPES — one bed, brother's best friend, office romance, enemies/friends to lovers, forced proximity, fake relationship, playboy in love, ex-partner/spouse, mafia romance, toxic relationship, friends with benefits, professor/student, pornstar au, sugar daddy, arranged marriage, unresolved sexual tension

BDSM — safe words, cuffs, collars, leashes, tying wrists, primal play, knife play, brat play, edging, etc.

ㅤTOYS !

VOCABULARY — buzzing, humming, whirring, maximum, toying

VIBRATORS — rabbit, vibe, egg, bullet, suction, thrusting, app-controlled/remote/etc.

DILDOS — hot pink, plum purple, curved, ribbed design, thick, long, real-feel, glass, transparent, etc.

PLUGS — for plugging a creampie, (bunny, cat) tails, heart-ended

OTHER STUFF — aphrodisiacs, clit stim gels (cooling/heating effects, heighten sensitivity, etc.), lube (flavored or not), nipple clamps, blindfolds, (fluffy) cuffs/ties/ropes

ㅤXTRA RESOURCES !

Minnie's 500 nouns, verbs, and adjectives for sex scenes

KJ Scott's lewd vocabulary survey

ㅤ⋆ 𝖛𝖊𝖊𝖏𝖎𝖊𝖟

[jeantique]

I wanna write but my mom is hogging my laptop cause she started college snore snore omg snore

[mugerci]

(dispatch) sonar x reader

not enough fanart of the boob lover side of sonar imo

[jeantique]

I’m alive

[cinnamonvenus222]

[bambiiaangel]

no one’s gonna take my soul away, i’m livin’ like jim morrison

[lolli-apop]

Weak - Varang x Reader x Quaritch // NSFW

Synopsis- You are Varang's quiet and sweet mate. When Miles Quaritch comes taking her attention, you develop a distaste for the demon—that is until it becomes glaringly clear they're in competition for you.

Warnings-Smut, dirty old perv Quaritch, toxic!Varang, dubious consent, power-imbalance

A/n- MERRY CHRISTMAS!!! I managed to (barely) make it... At least for my time zone hehe! This was my first time writing smut and omg... I have so much respect for Smut authors... It was so hard???? Anyway, as always, I hope you enjoy!

Varang knew exactly what kept her breathing.

Spite.

It sat in her lungs like soot and settled behind her ribs like a coal that refused to die. Every memory she carried tasted of burned soil—blood soaking into blackened ground, screams rising like smoke. Hers. Her clan’s.

“Please, great Mother. Eywa, save us.”

It left her mouth in a whisper. Not a prayer, never a prayer.

She bent over a grove of saplings—young, thin things, barely taller than her waist. Infants compared to the old thunks that once crowned the forest. Their green made her stomach turn.

“Please, great Mother, balance of all. Eywa,” she crooned.

Her hand closed around a thin trunk, green where wood would grow. She drove it into the earth until it snapped with a soft, wet gasp.

She paused.

Do they pray? Did they beg Eywa when the sky-people burned the forest? Did they learn what refusal felt like, too?

“Tsahik.”

The voice came from behind her. Yepa stepped around a bushel of leaves, stripes still damp from the paint he had earned only days ago. A boy-turned-hunter, proud and awkward in the same breath.

Varang turned just enough to meet his eyes. Smiled. “Yes?”

He read the violence in her stance, the splintered tree at her feet, and managed a small, careful grin. “It’s Y/n. She asks for your presence.”

Ah.

Y/n.

Varang’s breath softened, just barely. Yes—spite kept her alive. Spite moved her hands, her teeth, her every step through the burned forest.

But there was something else that pulled herfrom the ruins. Something gentler. Warmer. More dangerous than any hatred she’d survived.

“If she asks for me,” Varang murmured, straightening. “it is only natural I answer.”

She stepped forward, leaving the crushed sapling behind her.

Y/n.

  Y/n.

    Y/n.

Her name throbbed in Varang’s chest like a second heartbeat.

“Y/n.”

You were crouched beneath a leaning pillar of old wood, shoulders tight, attention fixed on something beyond Varang’s first glance. When she stepped forward, she saw it. Him. Sapok.

The elder’s breaths were slowing, the chest rising more from will than its usual habit. A man held together by tendon, and even those were loosening.

You lifted your gaze to her, a soft frown creasing your features.

“It’s time.”

Those two words carried the finality of the situation. The kind that meant a soul would not return through the roots of the Tree, not tonight, not ever. Time meant the moment Eywa reclaimed what was left—unless, as in Sapok’s case, He refused. 

Sapok had been split open long before his body began to fail—grief hollowing him when fire took his children, then his grandchildren, then the home his mothers grandmother had woven and built. Some wounds refused to close.

Grief had rotted him from the inside, until madness carved out his eyes with his own hands.

“I curse Eywa,” he’d spat at Varang once, voice shredded. “Do not let me return. Let my energy be mine, and mine alone.”

And she had promised.

Varang lowered herself beside you, knees against the soft earth. With deliberate care she drew her blades—curved shypers that caught what little light seeped through the smoke. Sapok could not see her, could not know whose hand would free him—but she swore his breath steadied, as if some part of him knew she was there.

She angled the blade.

Then she opened his throat.

With a second practiced motion, she severed his queue. The neural tendrils sparked with a frantic, chaotic flutter before collapsing.

Varang laid the queue against her hip, another to the collection.

“To the fires we will see you,” she murmured, pressing a kiss to the cooling skin of his brow, “and in the ash of your remains, we will carry you.”

You joined her in the ritual. Together you washed his body in ash, coating every wound, every ridge, every piece of him that grief had kept. You bound the flesh with cloth and quiet hands, sealing him for the journey he had chosen.

Tradition demanded quiet before the flames rose, and so you held your breath. Thinking.

Varang leaned in first (she always did) and brushed a soft kiss to the curve of your neck. You shifted, shy. “Not now,” you muttered.

But she only hummed and wrapped an arm around your waist anyway.

“Why not?” she whispered against your skin. “Life should be savored when death sits so close, no?”

You shot her a look. Annoying. So annoying. You gathered your tools, bowls—your things, and packed them into a hollowed gourd. “Do not be like this.”

One ear flicked. “Like what?”

“Crude,” you snapped.

Varang smiled. She always smiled. It never meant anything except whatever she wanted it to.

“You’re angry,” she said. She caught your hand and pressed her mouth to each knuckle, slow, though her eyes never left yours. “Tell me. What have I done?”

Your lips thinned. Your tail gave you away.

“The sky-person,” you grumbled. “The one with the strange voice and the uglier face.”

Varang paused. And for the first time, her smile shifted into something fond. Now that angered you. You pulled your hand away and turned, jaw tight.

“Oh. Him?” she said at last. “Miles Quaritch.”

She reached for you again, palms gliding up your forearms, barely touching. She tried to catch your eye again.

“Him?” you mimicked her airy tone. “Yes. Him.” With a sudden twitch to your tail you groaned. “Eywa preserve me. I will not have a lovers quarrel beside Sapok’s dead body.”

“He would laugh,” she offered lightly.

You hissed and shoved her back with a flat hand. She pouted, and somehow that made it worse. “I need to do some things.”

You slipped out of the hut, brushing past the hanging beads. Of course she followed. Her stride matched yours.

“That is very vague, Y/n,” she said, tone almost sing-song.

You turned your head back, hands failing about. “Oh that's very vague?! You-”

You suddenly hit someone's chest. “Oh!”

Your eyes looked up. Golden eyes, hair along the brows and a meatier, softer impact. Who else other then:

“Miles Quaritch.” You said his name clumsily. It was the demon language, English. But it earned something of a smile from him. Like Varangs, cocky. Unlike Varangs, surprisingly warm.

“Watch where you’re going, cupcake.”

You barely understood him. Varang seemed to, though. Her demeanor changed, she tilted her head. “Demon.” She briefed a nod, and he tilted his head back, gesturing to a nearby Yurt.

“We got some things to discuss.” He grumbled.

Varang soothed a hum, before gently taking a strand of your hair and pinching it. “I’ll see you in the evening.”

You watched as she led him, and glared at Miles Quaritch, who eyed you before following her.

Great.

.

.

.

You had seen death stare at you.

It wore a woman’s face—pleasant, almost gentle. Golden-amber eyes that caught the light, hatred folded neatly behind patient lips. Black against black: wax-dark hair braided with bones of past loves.

Death came as kisses pressed to your cheek, as queues offered in submission, heads bowed. Death had a name here.

Varang.

Quaritch was not death, but the feeling curled similar in your chest. It lodged beneath your ribs and dragged its way down your spine, coiling into your legs until instinct screamed. Move, idiot. Move until he catches you.

You stared at him as he stared at you, the bonfire crackling between. Varang had told you his story: human once, died, reborn na'vi. That's why the pair made sense together, you supposed—he'd crossed the threshold and returned, and if Varang was death itself, then he must be the one who guards her door. Gatekeeper. Guardian. Something worse.

Now the spirit would not stop looking.

You turned away first, fixing your attention anywhere but him. Your mouth pulled into a soft pout as you drank from the skull-cup—nectar cut with water. Too sweet, you felt your teeth ache.

“Your pet has a staring problem.” You grumbled. 

Varang lifted an eye, her smile widened, and she played with your beaded top. “He is curious.”

“He should be curious somewhere else.”

“Now, Y/N,” Varang chided softly, “do not be hostile.”

You almost laughed at that. Do not be hostile. When has Varang ever uttered such words?

You flickered back at him, and he winked. His lips quirked up at your sneer, too-perfect-teeth reflecting the orange of the fire. Like stained blood. Then he drank from his cup, and then lifted up.

You had actually flinched at the movement, cocked your head to Varang in slight panic, but she only laughed. He moved, settling heavy beside her. “Evenin’, girls.” He tipped his head in your direction. You scowled back. “Mhm, not so touchy huh?”

“She does not understand you, Quaritch.”

He paused, cup halfway to his mouth. "Huh." A beat, then that grin widened. "Well. Guess I oughta teach her. She'll be talkin' to human grunts soon enough."

Varang's grin widened. She glanced at you, and you felt the weight of her attention like a hand at your throat. "He says he will teach you the demon language, Y/n." You knew that tone. "Take it."

"But Varang—"

And there it was. 

The shift. The moment her eyes turned sharp and her smile crooked just enough to bare a hint of fang.

Your ears flattened. You looked at Quaritch—that stupid, shit-eating grin still plastered across his face—and swallowed every word clawing up your throat. Barely managed it. 

Varang's fingers—meanwhile, found your hip, she dug in hard enough that tomorrow you'd wear the shape of them in bruises and adorn them like a kiss. That’s all you could do, anyway. She wouldn’t allow for anything else.

You bowed your head before you could stop it, face twisting despite yourself.

"F-Fine."

You turned the glare on Quaritch instead. Poured every drop of frustration and helpless fury into it, let it burn there where Varang couldn't track it. Never at her. Never where she could see. She wouldn't forgive that.

Her grip released. She rose—graceful and already dismissing you. She shoved you toward him with one careless hand. The push sent you stumbling forward before you caught yourself with Quaritch’s bicep.

"She'll do it, Quaritch."

"Atta girl," he drawled around a mouthful of meat.

You hissed at him. “Teylupil,”

.

.

.

Quaritch was everything you'd imagined and worse—arrogant, obtuse, swaggering through life with the blissful ignorance of someone who’d never met a problem his fists couldn’t solve. Worst of all, though? The man was charming, and with the several weeks spent between you two… fond.

You'd never say it aloud. Eywa could strike you down first. His ego needed no more compliments, it was swollen enough to crowd a room. Yet there it was: he made you laugh.

"Aww, c'mon. Like this." His tongue curled with exaggerated precision. "Patient. Pati-eee-nt. Feel that? The tongue goes up, not back."

You mimicked the shape of his mouth, lips pulling awkwardly. "Pati-eee-nt."

A low chuckle rumbled from his chest. His palm landed twice against your thigh—approving pats. "That's right. Good job."

Your ears flicked traitorously forward. Heat crept beneath your skin as a smile tugged at the corners of your mouth. Varang had never been this patient, this rewarding. Good things from her meant extra morsels of food. But Quaritch kept a pocket full of those wrapped things—candy, he called them, and handed out those small, colorful spheres when you or another na’vi did something good. 

"Patiee-nt. Patiee-nt," you murmured again, testing it.

One brow arched. His mouth quirked. "You're picking up my accent. That's a Kansa's special right there."

"Accent?" The word felt strange on your tongue. Your grasp on this language remained amature at best. You frowned. "Accent... what?"

"What's an accent," he corrected, softening his tone. "What is an accent, you mean, doll."

You tipped your head forward, eyes wide, a question within the angle. Something in that expression pleased him—his thumb caught your chin, tugging playfully. "It's like... hm. Well, not everyone talks the way I do." A laugh escaped him, warm like the sun. "S'funny, actually. You and the other Na'vi pickin’ up my way of speaking. All of you runnin’ around sounding like cowboys. The guys'll lose their minds if they hear you."

"Funny." You paused, tail curling uncertainly behind you. "Not... normal?"

He nodded, something careful entering his expression. "You ever listen to Wainfleet talk?"

"Bald one?"

Quaritch barked a laugh. “Yeah, the bald one. But don't let him hear you say that or he'll yank your tail."

That drew a smile, even if you struggled processing the words.

"Speak—" your tongue was slow and clumsy against the language. "—sloowwwlly." You tapped at your flickering ears. "Hear. Is trying to."

He hummed, tilting his head in consideration. "Yeah, that's right. Alright, I think that's done for the day." He lifted himself up and carefully reached for your hand.

The fourth finger still felt strange against your palm—foreign in the way the knuckle was twice your size. But it was nice, too. Bigger than any of the other males in your clan. No wonder Varang liked holding it. She always liked different.

"You're a quick learner, cupcake. Better than I ever was learnin' Na'vi." His voice carried some old frustration. "My boy, Spider—he tried getting it through my thick skull. An' I could barely string a sentence together."

"Spider. Son." You gave a distant nod. Varang had mentioned him once. He had a son. Wanted him back. No harm to come to him, you remembered that much.

"Mhm." His gaze drifted somewhere past your shoulder, through the woven walls to a place you couldn't follow. For once the mask of bravado slipped, and beneath it was grief of missing someone.

You didn’t really care. That was his business. And yours…

Your lower lip jutted forward in a small pout. Hand reaching out, expectant.

That snapped him back. The grin returned, easier now, and he dug into his cargo pants before pulling out the small bag. "You really like Skittles, huh?" He poured a few into his palm, fingers sorting through the colors before plucking out the red ones. You seemed to really like those. "There you go, little lady."

The taste was different from anything on Pandora, but you liked it. "Mh, good." You nodded. You immediately plopped them into your mouth and chewed. Yum.

He watched you for a long moment—longer than necessary—then bit his lower lip and reached over to tug gently at your cheek. "You're the cutest of the bunch, y'know that? Not so bad when you're like this." His thumb brushed the edge of your jaw, voice dropping quieter. "No wonder Varang keeps you around."

"She is, isn't she."

Varang sauntered through. Her body shifted like the dancing of flame, but you knew her enough. You saw her for the fire, not the warmth. You bowed your head and drew your shoulders in. Small gestures for necessary ones.

Varang's mouth was a thin, bloodless line—aimed directly at Quaritch.

She stepped to your side and pressed her hip against yours. You felt the decorative bones pricking your side, stabbing your soft skin. The contact pinned you there while her gaze carved into him. "I told you to teach her."

"And what am I doing?" Quaritch's head canted, dismissive. He wasn't the yielding type.

“Making her weak.”

He scoffed—an amused sound that bubbled into genuine exasperation. His hand found your forearm. “Hm? And how am I makin’ her weak, buttercup?”

Varang hissed.

That surprised you both. 

She hauled you back, fingers tight enough to bruise. "You may see. Not touch." Then she stepped closer to him, and the tension in her shoulders melted into something silk-smooth. Run, Quaritch. You tried telling him with your eyes. You are prey. But Varang had a way about her, captivating.

"Besides," Varang murmured, trailing one finger along the freckles of his throat, "you already have me." her lips ghosted over his pulse, and her fingers trailed down to cup the front of his pants. He hissed, a different one—a pleased one. "Do well to remember that."

She turned then, and the sultriness drained from her the moment her back faced him. Her hands found your arm again and you winced as she dragged you forward. 

You cast one glance back at Quaritch. His face had gone stony.

Her grip on your arm tightened and you winced, allowed yourself to be turned.

"Varang—" you began, stumbling to keep pace.

She didn’t slow. She dragged you into her yurt, shoving you down onto the woven mat with a force that knocked the breath from your lungs. Firelight dnced along the walls, casting her in molten gold as she paced before you.

You breathed slowly, words aching to come, yet withheld under her stare.

She paced forward, steady. You lowered your head, looking anywhere but her—the woven floor, the yurt’s wooden beams, the way ash fell between the light. Her fingers found your chin, and forced your face upward. "See me."

You did. You looked up. "I... I do see you."

That made her calm, just a bit. Her heart gentled and her expression softened into something sweet. She tilted her head, studying you with the intensity of someone memorizing a dying lover, before pressing a kiss against your lips. Her eyes never shut. They watched for your reaction, golden and unblinking, and you knew exactly which one to give.

You closed your own eyes, kissing her back, hands gripping her shoulders. Warmth bloomed where skin met skin—hers fever-hot, yours clammy. "You make me weak," she finally whispered against your mouth.

That gave you pause. She either didn't notice or didn't care.

"Varang." You tilted your head up, felt her lips brush underneath your jaw, trailing heat. Your eyes felt particularly hazy—fatigue, pain, something else entirely. She slowly brought her own queue over her shoulder, and your eyes caught the restrictive tie wrapped around the tendrils.

You glanced, freckles flashing in slight embarrassment. "R-Right now...?"

She gave a nod.

You brought your own queue forward with trembling fingers, a headache already forming. She let the tendrils bond together. The both of you shuddered. Her anger crashed over you first—the frequent memory of the volcano. The screams of her mother, the passive voice of her father: “If it is Eywa’s will, Varang… be like your sister, Varang.” Then her hate followed, the taste of salt and rock.

But underneath it lay something girlishly needy, embarrassingly seeking. A vulnerability she showed no one else. Only you were allowed such a look into her soul.

"Hm."

She walked backward then, pulling you with her until she hit the hammock. It swayed under the combined weight as she settled, then drew you into her lap, tugging at your hair. “Shhh,” She cooed.

Varang pressed a hand underneath the wrapping of your top, lifting it to kiss the skin there. You’d pierce your nipples months ago, and the bone that settled between the nubs made her mouth water. “Such fear,” she whispered against your damp skin. “But you love me. I see it. I know it.”

She licked a broad wet stripe across the sensitive areola, then drew the tight bud between her mouth, swirling her tongue around the piercing and faintly tugged. 

You whined, frowning, fingers finding the ridges of her collarbone. "You always question it."

"Naturally." She nuzzled your shoulder, breathing in the ash still clinging to your skin. Her lips switched to its twin, finally fluttering her eyes close to gently suck, saliva coating your breasts. You grinded against her thigh, pressing your face against her shoulder. “Such a needy little thing, come—”

“Tsahik,”

Yepa stood where the privacy cloth was, eyes cast down. He knew better than to interrupt Varang when she kept you to herself. Her eyes sharpened, fingers pausing where they'd been toying with the piercing.  Heat crawled up your neck. You looked away, cheeks burning. 

"Speak." She said.

Her hand drifted lower, tracing the edge of your loincloth, circling just above your mound while her mouth pressed dizzying kisses along the curve of your cheek. "Forgive me, Tsahìk," Yepa murmured. "We've spotted a new caravan. The windtraders."

Varang exhaled through her nose. Her touch stilled. For one fleeting moment, she looked at you—something almost apologetic flickering behind her eyes.

Then it was gone.

You made a soft, plaintive sound, fingers curling around her wrist. "Stay." The word came out smaller than you meant it to, and you hated yourself for it. Varang despised weakness. You were weakness.

She pushed your hand away with her usual ease. "Others hunt the meat you eat, Y/n." She didn't look at you again, said it in a cooing tone that made it all the worse.

You rewrapped your chest with fumbling hands, tail lashing hard enough snap at the air. You shoved past Yepa without meeting his eyes, head bowed low.

Not fair. The thought curled bitter in your head. She could refuse you. You could never refuse her.

Around you, the clan stirred with new activity. Warriors readied their ikran, voices risingto prepare. Blades were sharpened, the new demon-weapons brandished with eager hands. 

You weren't allowed on raids. Varang forbade it.

So instead you sat on the edge of camp and kicked rocks, watching them disappear into the embers of the sun.

"You're not going?"

You froze mid-motion, glancing back.

Quaritch.

Your frown deepened.

"Varang angry," you said quietly. She’s angry, and doesn’t want you near me. Is what you meant to say. But how could you? He was an idiot. Or maybe it was you, for not knowing how to say it.

You moved to walk past him, but his hand caught your shoulder—firm, four fingers pressing and encompassing most of it.

"So?" He snorted. "She throws a hissy fit and what? Law doesn't apply to me."

They do. Your eyes narrowed. You are one of us now. They apply.

But you didn't say it. Instead, you sighed and looked away, fingers tapping absently against the skin where your heart was underneath. "I…" You hesitated. "Weak. Not strong. Varang worry."

A pause.

"Don't tell," you grumbled.

Quaritch gave a slow nod, tail tracing a lazy arc. He leaned forward, weight shifting onto the balls of his feet. "You ever use a gun?"

You blinked. "Gun…?"

He lifted one of those compact metal bows from his holster, blocky and compact—nothing like the carved wood your people used. "Yeah. A gun. You've seen Varang use it." He jerked his chin toward the distant yurts. "Come on. I'll show you. Just don't blow my tail off."

Your gaze drifted to Varang's yurt, then skyward where the war party had departed hours ago, her Ska'avum among them. She'd be gone until dusk at least. You pressed your lips together.

"Yes. Okay."

.

.

.

The first shot made you jump, ears pressing flat against your head.

"Yeah! Booyah!" Quaritch's hands landed on your shoulders, shaking hard into your frame. "Clear damn shot. You're a natural at this, kid."

He thrust his palm upward, some human gesture you'd never seen before. 

You stared at it, confused.

Then lifted yours suspiciously, mirroring the angle.

His hand met yours with a sharp smack.

"High-five. Well—high-four," he amended, grinning wide enough to show molars. His palm found your spine, a push that was encouraging and commanding. "Come on. Again. Let's see if it was a fluke."

He was close now. Close enough that if Varang were here, if she saw—

You swallowed the thought. No. This isn't about Varang.

You adjusted your stance the way he'd shown you: shoulders angled, weight forward, breath held. The target swam into focus. You squeezed.

Bullseye.

Your tail betrayed you, wagging before you could stop it—then his hand cracked against your ass and you squealed. "Ngh!" The hiss tore from your throat, glaring at him. You almost forgot he was an asshole first, friend second.

He was already moving past you, plucking the gun from your slack grip. "And she calls you weak." A scoff.  He studied the target, grinning like some prideful mentor. "Feel pretty powerful, huh?"

You nodded slowly, studying the cluster of holes punched through the painted target. When you glanced back, he was counting the rounds with his usual efficiency.

"Think we'll add firearms to your training rotation." He didn't look up. "No point wasting time on that bow sissy-shit when you've got real stopping power available."

You stepped closer, watching his hands work. "What doing?"

"What are you doing," he corrected. "Grammar, kid. Makes me sound like some kind of assh-shat teacher." He whistled. "Anyway, I’m cleanin’ and reassembling. Maintenance. All this volcanic shit clogs the mechanisms. Messes with the equipment."

This was news to you. You paused.  "Varang…knows?"

The question landed betwene you two.

His lips peeled back—too much teeth. "Nah." He didn't look up. "Keep it that way."

A secret. You had a secret now. The thought bloomed warm, and Quaritch must have seen it written plain across your face because he chuckled, low and knowing. "You're a little minx, aren't'cha?"

You didn't know what that was, but nodded anyway.

He dug into his pockets again, fingers closing around the crinkled bag. Your hand shot out before you could think to stop it, palm up, giddy. 

He caught your wrist to steady it—the tips of his fingers padded in callouses. “You’re spoiled, you know that?” He shook the bag near your ear, grinning. "Never had much of a sweet tooth myself. Spider did, though." A pause. His jaw worked. "I traded my good socks for this."

The silence came. Then he pressed the entire bag into your palm, closing your fingers around it like it was something precious.

"Just keep it." It came out rough, almost embarrassed. "And don’t let the others see." He looked away.

You stared at the bag. Bright red plastic stamped with the strange alien letters from his world. Red. Yellow. Orange. Green. Purple. You traced each color with your eyes before lifting your gaze back at him.

You didn't know what you were thinking.

You kissed his cheek.

Quaritch actually stumbled back half a step. His ears snapped forward, eyes gone wide and startled as a spooked hexapede's. Before he could recover, you pressed another kiss to the corner of his mouth. You felt reckless, daring. The power that Varang held, you wield it now.

You skittered backward, clutching the candy to your chest, a shy smile blooming despite yourself.

"Thank you, Quaritch," you whispered.

His lips quirked, just a bit. He tilted his head back, pushed air between his teeth in a low whistle that might've been a laugh. "Yeah," he muttered, but you think it was more to himself than you. "Yeah, alright."

You left then, the bag pressed tight against your chest, tail swaying in wide arcs all the way back to the yurt.

Another secret.

.

.

.

Things were different now. You felt different, you supposed.

This shared secret between you and Quaritch had festered into something physical. It lived in the space between breaths, in the pause before he spoke your name.

And Quaritch? Quaritch was all physical.

You couldn't walk past him without a slap to the rear or a pinch to your side, something too boyish for a man his size (and his age, as you liked to remind him). But there it was anyway, that grin splitting his face, the wink that followed. "That's it, baby girl." The words dripped easy, thick as the molasses you once tasted.

The lessons were no different. Or rather—no different in how he touched you now. Instead of sweet candy he'd nudge your lips apart and kiss.

"Say it. Patient."

"Patient."

Quaritch just grinned against your mouth. "Still got that accent. It's cute." Your eyes fluttered shut. You licked away the chapness of his lips, tasted salt and something faintly bitter.

Evening meals were distant, of course. Formal. When Varang sat beside you, eating whatever meal she'd presented—she’d present a kuru, sometimes several, gifts of power and affection—you'd accept with the usual grace. The usual smiles.

And later, after you'd ignored him through dinner and feigned disinterest, Quaritch would return. That all-too-easy smile waiting for you in the dark.

Varang wouldn't know. You were happy with that.

"Stop moving," you grumbled.

You painted the whites and reds against his face in careful strokes, slapping his hands when they wandered.

"It's damn cold," he hissed. But he remained still, huffing through his nose. The pigment was thick, it had to be. Smelling just a bit of crushed minerals, rendered fat, and berries. You had to change the recipe for him, he sweat too much and smeared it everywhere—too impatient to let it dry.

You rolled your eyes. The two of you were tucked beneath the newly constructed yurt. Varang had moved everyone to the RDA base, and Quaritch had been more than eager to accommodate the clan into the facility's sprawling guts. If he wasn't with her, or the strange pink-skins, then he was with you.

"It's cold because you take too long." You swept your thumbs in parallel lines along his cheeks, forming a sharp V that cascaded down the bridge of his nose. The pattern was traditional, though your hand trembled slightly as you worked. 

You watched him through your lashes, heat creeping up your neck when you realized he'd been staring back. "What?"

Quaritch clicked his tongue, angling his head low. He pressed his cheek against your palm, the paint smudged just a bit, but you didn’t correct him. "Nothin'... just—sweet is all. You're sweet."

Your fingers drifted to your songcord almost unconsciously, tracing the amber bead you'd added most recently. Inside, suspended in golden resin, a single red skittle.

"I didn't think you'd be so sappy," you murmured, a smile tugging at your mouth.

"Sappy? Now where'd you learn that word?"

"Lyle." You said innocently. “The bald one."

Quaritch grinned, and his hand found your back—thumb pressing the base of your tail. "Course it was. The bastard—"

"Do you think I am a fool?"

Your tail went rigid mid-sway, ears swiveling before the rest of you caught up. You turned, careful, already knowing what you'd find.

Varang stood at the threshold, stripped of her usual paint and accessories. She looked exactly as she had when you were both girls and the forest still held its green—Vulnerable.

"Varang," you started, placating. "We were almost—"

A hiss tore from her throat. Her nose wrinkled, lips peeling back from her teeth. "Do not." She lifted one hand, fingers curling through the air in a white-knuckled clench.

You'd never seen her this furious. Not even since—

Your ears flattened against your skull.

"You do not ask permission, sky-man." She began to circle Quaritch now, and her hands drifted to the twin buugeng blades strapped at her hips. 

Quaritch's expression didn't shift. If anything, it settled into something lazier. Bored, almost. He tracked her with his eyes, then let out a low chuckle that rumbled through his chest. "And when have you?"

He rose slowly, joints popping, and your handprint still blazed red across his cheek.

Varang faltered as she eyed the paint. For just a heartbeat—her brows pinched into something wounded—but then she shook her head, and the mask slammed back into place.

"Seems to me, cupcake," Quaritch drawled, stepping into her space, "that you and I are too similar."

His gaze slid to you.

Then his hands found Varang's shoulders, turning her to face you instead. "She don't seem too concerned." His voice dropped rough, his lips brushing the shell of her ear. "And I bet she'd take both of us sweetly. Hm?"

Varang stared. Her expression smoothed into something unreadable, eerily calm, yellow eyes locked on yours.

"Have you two bonded?"

Your stomach dropped. "No. Varang, we—"

"Nah." Quaritch's answer came quicker than yours, easier. "We haven't. You can keep that if you want." His lips grazed the curve of Varang's neck, breath hot against the delicate skin there. His hands slid lower, palms molding to her waist, then dipping to the swell of her hips. "If it makes you feel special."

He grinned.

Varang twisted free in one fluid motion, closing the distance between you in two strides. Her hand fisted in your hair, dragging you close enough that you could see every fleck of amber in her yellow eyes. "You smell like him."

Then she kissed you.

Hard. 

Her canines caught your lower lip, tugging until you tasted copper. A sound escaped you, swallowed just before it turned pitiful..

Behind you, Quaritch shifted closer. You couldn't see him, but you felt the heat of him, the broad wall of his chest almost brushing your shoulder blades. His hand came down heavy on the curve of your ass, grabbing an absolute fistful.

And you, you felt multiple hands now. Varang's fingers worked the braided top, peeling it free until your breasts were bare beneath her palms. They bounced just a bit, purple nipples perking. Behind you, Quaritch's thumbs traced the curve of your ass before lifting the weight of each cheek. He let them plop down, and groaned.

"Fuck," he muttered, voice dropping to gravel. "Won't you look at that." His knuckles grazed the stripes that contoured around the flesh, mesmerized.

Miles…" You turned your head, the syllable half-formed. Instinct seeked his face, but Varang's fist caught your braids and wrenched you back. 

Her teeth found your lower lip.

"Not at him." The growl rumbled against your mouth. "Me."

Quaritch's laugh was low, almost lazy. "Think she likes me better. I ain't so punishing." His palm cracked against your rear—only once, but something purple was already forming. "Say my name again, doll."

"Miles—" But Varang swallowed it, mouth sealing over yours, and she shot him a look that could've drawn blood.

"You ain't playing fair," He had that smile, you knew he did even if you couldn’t see it.

Both hands rose to cradle your jaw, now. Thumbs stroking the jaw where tension pooled. She pressed kisses all over—the corner of your lips, the hollow of your throat, the slope of your shoulder where your scent glands were located. Marking you with her own scent.

"If you can only win by fairness," she whispered, lips brushing your shoulders "you are no true warrior."

Then she kissed you again

Quaritch's mouth twitched. Without warning, he hauled you back against him, fingers sinking into your hips, grinding you into the hard line of his pelvis. "So you wanna play like that?"

Varang pulled back with a hiss, chest rising. She looked at you—just once—then stepped forward. She wore seduction in her hips now, curling her lips, tasting her skin. "Only if you think yourself capable."

"Hm. Challenge accepted." His attention dropped to your chest, dismissive for just a moment before he took another look. He pinched a nub. "Fuck, baby girl. You had these the whole time?"

He flicked the other with his thumb, feeling the bone piercing. Your body jerked, a gasp wriggling out. “O-Oh…” His mouth went lower, descending a hot trail while his hands lazily hooked your loincloth to the side. His calloused fingers found your clit, the rough pad of his thumb circling.

"Miles, please…" Your head fell forward, brows pinching together, and the sound that left you was barely coherent.

Before you, Varang sank to her knees.

You'd never seen her like this—all that fierce pride folded into something softer, reflective of her soul. Her palms smoothed up your thighs, reverent. When she looked up at you through dark lashes, blinking slow, you blushed.

“You beg for him,” She undid your loincloth properly now, throwing it over her shoulder to the fire nearby. “Now you will beg for me” She simply lowered her mouth and licked—a long, flat, possessive stripe from your entrance to your clit, pushing Quaritch’s thumb aside with the force of it. 

He only grunted. His fingers traced your ribs, mapping each curve, each rise of skin. Up, then down. Feeling. Always feeling. He nudged your legs apart. Varang needed room, afterall.

She took it.

Varang nudged her face, nuzzling the purple flesh and mouthing your pussy. Suckling the flesh. When she looked up, her eyes were hazy with peace—and if you dared to call it—love. You watched her tail sway behind her. A soft huff escaped you.

She spread your pretty pussy lips with her thumbs, then spat. You watched the silver strand descend, sliding down your slit in complete arousal.

“So pretty,” she cooed. “You like this, yes?”

Her finger brisked along the opening, pinching your folds together. They were undeniably swollen, plump. She always liked how engorged they became when you were aroused. Like a dumpling. She thought.

She pressed one fingertip to the left lip, and watched it bounce back. “Varang.” You pushed your hips forward, pouting.

Both chuckled. “What did I say?” Quaritch mused. “Spoiled. Absolutely spoiled.”

He lifted you—just slightly—and chucked his loincloth aside. You glanced down.

Your mind emptied of everything but his cock.

Your hands flew to his forearms, fingers digging into the muscle there just as your legs kicked in a brief instinctive pedal. “Wait—wait!”

He went still, swallowing. “Somethin’ the matter?” He glanced over your shoulder to look at Varang, who now leaned back on her hands, head cocked into something teasing.

He settled you on his thick thigh instead, tracing numbers over your stomach. 

You dragged your gaze back down, helpless. It was… big. Long, thick, veined with ridges that made your mouth water and your lips tremble all the same. The head was a broad, blunt crown, flushed a deep, violent purple, and below, his balls were heavy and full. 

A low, involuntary sound escaped you as you gave a tiny, shameful shuffle, the slick heat of you grinding against the muscle of his thigh. You bit your lower lip until you tasted the copper hint of blood.

“Well… it’s…”

“She’s never taken a man.” Varang’s murmur was matter-of-fact. Her eyes shifted to you, her smile softening.

For once, he seemed surprised. “What? But you and her have—”

“I have never allowed a man to touch her.” Varang’s scoffed, as if the idea was ridiculous. “Any who’ve tried I’ve killed myself.” She leaned forward now, before going on a crawl. Her eyes, now heavy-lidded, inspected his cock. 

She bit her own plump lip, then leaned in to press a soft, lingering kiss to the tip. Her eyes fluttered shut as she did it, and above you, Quaritch hissed—no doubt pleased.

“It doesn’t bite, Y/n.” Varang stroked your trembling thigh, her touch gentling, before she turned back. She opened her mouth, suckling the broad head, wetting it thoroughly, then licked a long, torturous stripe from root to tip. The sound was obscenely wet.

“Ngh, fuck…” The groan was torn from Quaritch’s chest, you never thought you’d hear such a sound from him.

It felt right, strangely.

He buried his face against the junction of your neck and shoulder, his arms locking around you, binding you to the solid wall of his heat. His breaths came in uneven puffs. His large, warm hands splayed across your stomach, fingers pressing in rhythmic, almost absent-minded taps. “Not so much now…” he managed, voice strangled.

Varang only scoffed around him, the vibration earning another jerk of his hips. She bobbed her head, taking him deeper, her cheeks hollowing. “This is not for you,” she shot back, pulling off with a wet sound. “So weak. Cannot even last.”

That earned a guttural grunt. He fluttered his eyes open, the yellow within them hollowed by the black of his pupil.

He turned his head and bit the shell of your ear. “You listenin’ to her?” he hummed. You felt his pout. “So mean to me. But you ain’t, darlin’. You’re good. All good and sweet stuff.” He nuzzled, then placed a softer, startling kiss on your cheek.

You both watched, mesmerized, as Varang returned to her work. Your own hands reached and took what she couldn’t. He groaned then, thighs bouncing, dragging against your clit. 

“Ngh,” You whined.

Finally, she withdrew with a slick, echoing pop. She slowly unraveled her tongue, giving one last lon lick from across his shaft.

“There.” Her cooed. “Nice and wet for you to sit on, my beloved. A proper throne.”

“T_Thank you, Varang.”

You thought it was so strange, how someone like Quaritch could be so… gentle at times. His hands found the back of your knees, planting a squeeze against the delicate hinge. Then, he pressed your cheek against his.

“You ready, buttercup?”

You felt the vibration of his voice against your back, rumbling from his chest to your bones. He was like that, of course—all consuming.

Your eyes found themselves downward before you managed the smallest nod. “Y-Yes.”

It was all he needed. “Good girl.” The praise sent warmth all around your body. “Knew you could.” He pat your thighs.

Then he lifted. It was an easy strength he had, lifting as if it were nothing. He shuffled, bringing your knees to your breasts, cocking his head to the side to see. Instinctively, your hands flew behind you, fingers searching for the anchor of his shoulders.

You felt it first, the wet head jutting against your cunt. The broad slick head grazing your slit, parting it just enough to make it audible. Your pussy clenched, and you drew in your breath. 

“Shh… relax.” He cooed. “I won’t move until you want to.” 

He began the slow work of getting you used to it. His hips rolled in a shallow, circular tease, moving his hips so his dick coated itself with your slick. 

Then, with a controlled shift, he gathered both your knees in the vice of one formidable arm, the other hand wrapping around the base of his shaft. 

A groan, raw and deep, tore from his chest as he notched himself at your entrance.

Varang watched, transfixed at the sight.

He pushed.

The burn was instant.

Your eyes flew wide, seeing nothing and everything. “Big—it’s big, Miles—” You babbled, already trying to claw away.

He grunted, and his teeth found the end of your flickering ear.  “The more you squirm, the more it’ll hurt. Shh… shh, it’ll be okay, sugar.”

You tried to obey—really you did, but you couldn’t help the tears that flowed down in wet fat blobs. “Thats it.” He settled you down slow, inch by inch. “See? Its not so—Fuck!”

Varang pushed your hips down, and naturally you screamed, suddenly impaled. Miles, caught off guard, bucked upward with a startled hiss, his ears pinning flat against his skull. Varang’s giggle was a light, airy thing that quickly boiled over into a full-throated laugh.

“So weak,” she snarled, the sweetness evaporating. She patted your trembling thighs before pushing them wider, folding you open and giving herself a perfect, obscene view of either sex.

“You’re fuckin’ crazy,” Miles breathed.

Your belly was full of him. A distinct, visible bulge swelled at your lower tummy. Your cunt was stretched to a painful pink halo around the thick blue of his cock. You just breathed, glancing down—at her, at him.

“Ngh… j-just go…. Please, Miles.”

The words left you in spent sigh, so fragile.

He shuddered where he held you—and nodded. “Alright, buttercup.” He pressed a single fat kiss to the crown of your head, then moved.

Miles Quaritch did nothing by half-measures. His hands locked around the curve of your hips, fingers biting into flesh as he pulled you down and drove himself up. You swore you could feel the tip bristle against your cervix. 

“Oh… fuck.” The curse was low, a rumble you absorbed through your spine. “So fuckin’ tight.”

The force of him made your world condense to sensation. To the deep, stretching fullness, the slap of skin, the dizzying bounce of your breasts. One of his palms slid up to capture a peak—holding it to a squeeze.

And then, because he relished in it, he buried his face against your shoulder, his breath coming in delicious puffs. You could feel every stifled groan turn into a grunt, only to dissolve into a moan.

He likes this. He likes me. You blushed.

Varang shifted closer. Her cool fingers traced the sweat-slicked tension of his balls, cupping the heavy weight before her tongue swept over your clit.

You squealed. “Oh!” You pressed both hands over her head, eyes wide. 

“You look so pretty, Y/N,” she murmured, her voice a honeyed smoke against your fevered skin. “So perfect, split open like this.” You heard the rustle of her loincloth, the wet sound of her own fingers working between her legs, the slick rhythm of her thumb on her clit. 

Her moan was low, and the vibration of it against your most sensitive nerve sent pure pleasure tearing through your core.

“I love you—” The confession was a needy thing, meant for both, owned by neither. But they knew, you were sure they did. “I’m…ah…!”

Miles stole most of your speech, dragging your hips to meet his punishing pace, folding your body to fit him deeper. The angle was brutal, perfect. “Fuck. Gonna cum inside this pussy,” he growled. “Gonna flood you.”

Varang’s mouth left you with a soft pop. “No,” she hissed. “You will not.”

He laughed, somehow teasing and joyful…maybe a bit disbelieving. “Fuck yeah, I will. Gonna pump this tight cunt full. Gonna fuck a baby right into her.” He was sneering at her, a direct challenge even as his hips began to lose their rhythm, succumbing to a ragged, urgent pounding.

“Thrones do not talk, Quaritch.”

“T-This one does.” A stutter from him, a victory for her.

You could feel it. The ache of release. His balls drew up tight against you. Varang felt it too. Her hand tightened around a ball sack, vise-like warning.

He hissed. “Agh—Shit! Woman, don’t you—!”

And then you clenched. Not a voluntary act, your inner muscles clenching around him in a series of frantic, milking pulses. 

A broken yelp escaped you as you came, turning liquid and mindless around his huge dick. Now he was trapped: between Varang’s iron hand and your sweet, convulsing vice.

“Ngh—Christ!” His whole body locked, eyes rolling back in a spasm.

Varang moved, she wouldn’t allow him. She hauled you off him, a gasp torn from your lips at the sudden emptiness, and her fist was around him, stroking, pumping, directing. His release shot in thick, pearlescent ropes across her cheek, her chin, the proud arch of her neck.

She blinked slowly, unimpressed. A single, sticky strand dripped onto her collarbone. She caught it on a finger, flicked it away with utter disdain. “You will not get her pregnant,” she stated, and it was final.

Miles was a spent force, chest heaving. He let out a winded puff, then a low, sated laugh. One eye slid open, crinkled with admiration. “You’re evil,” he rasped, pulling your boneless form against his solid thigh. He nuzzled into your hair, both hands coming up to weigh your breasts, holding you to him as if claiming spoils. 

You on the other hand were dazed, trying to remember how to breathe.

Varang scoffed. “Well.” In one smooth motion, she took your wrists, pulling you from Mile’s slackened grip toward her. He yielded with a grunt, shifting heavily on the mat, already feeling exhaustion in his bones.

“Our turn,” Varang said. And she smiled, a true sweet thing.

You blinked. “...Uh… What?”

She laid you back on the woven mat, the fibers imprinting on your sweat-slick skin. Her loincloth fell away. “You haven’t made me come yet,” she pouted. “It’s no fair.”

You offered a weak, sheepish smile. “Let me—Oofmp!”

She pushed you flat, and climbed over you. “Shhh…” Her thigh brushed your cheek, then she settled her weight, the hot, musky scent of her arousal enveloping you. She sank down onto your waiting mouth with a soft, shuddering moan.

Then she glanced over at Miles, already snoring softly. She scoffed, rolling her eyes, and her hips began a slow, commanding grind against your lips.

“Weak.”

A/n- I tried challenging myself to 5000... It was not 5000 it was 8000 🫩. I should be called the slow-burn queen. How people write 3000 or less... I wish for their skills. Anyway—have a Merry Christmas everyone! Remember to drink water and eat well!

[softaestluv]

Sonar can hear you through the walls. 18+ | Pt. 2

Sonar’s not listening— on purpose at least.

He hears everything; it’s not entirely your fault. He’s sure that if you knew he could hear the faintest sound, you wouldn’t do most of the things you do in your apartment.

Truly, he would feel guilty if it weren’t for the innocent facade you wear, ducking your head coyly and biting your bottom lip raw when he sees you like you don’t keep your hands busy at night.

Pretending like you’re shy, like some innocent fawn stumbling over your feet when he flirts with you in the hallway.

But he hears you.

Hears the way your heart flutters just a beat faster when you think about doing it, the way your panties—god, he can only imagine what you’re wearing, sound sliding down your legs. The way your breath already sounds uneven before you’ve even managed to touch yourself.

He rarely feels anxious, that’s a feeling that’s long been forgotten, but he can feel it through you. Through your heartbeat and the speed at which your lungs fill.

And when you do finally touch the moist warmth between your thighs with a wet squelch and soft gasp his ears stand tall, turned towards your apartment.

God knows he’s a pervert, but he can’t help it when your shallow breaths become his favorite sound. Or the cute noises you make, voice quivering weakly as you continue your ministrations.

It’s gotten so bad that he knows when you’ve got your fingers plastered to your clit, when you press them into your cunt, even when you’ve got a toy inserted.

Could you believe that? His ‘coy’ neighbor with a dildo to appease the cravings in their core.

The vibrators are his least favorite, even if they do make you whimper the loudest. The annoying vibrations muffle the way your pussy squelches, and if he can’t see it, he wants to hear exactly how drenched you are.

By the time your heart is racing in your chest and your breath is stuck in the walls of your throat as you reach your climax, he’s painfully hard against the metal of his zipper and debating if he should rub one out.

He’s just grateful you’re never satisfied with just one orgasm.