TW: Reader works at a host club. Dirty talk (?), Pervert Denji, Lingerie, Intoxication, No Explicit NSFW. Hinted Aki x Reader, Cliffhanger, Imagines. sweat, if you squint. Bicuriosity. Suggestive.
SUM: Denji thinks he might be bisexual.
Just a short drabble while I work on finishing up my other fics. around 700 words. Let me know if I should make a continuation.
Suggestiveness under the cut.
"Denji-Chan,”
Your voice is sweet and teasing, dipping into the delicate canal of his ears and tickling the sensitive skin in a way comparable to the softest feather imaginable. Hearing his own name uttered from such tender lips sends a pleasured shiver up his spine.
Both your arms are wrapped around his shoulders, pink lips just barely grazing the shell of his ear as soft breaths flutter and trail through the blonde hairs decorating his nape.
See, when Aki had told him that he’d be picking up one of his buddies from their work and letting them stay the night, he wasn’t expecting this. He was expecting maybe some salary-dude as proper and organized as Aki, or maybe if he was lucky enough a sweet girl who works at maybe a convenience store or a coffee shop nearby. What he was not expecting was a pretty– no. Downright gorgeous dude with flirtation skills he could only dream of acquiring from some sort of host club ten-fifteen minutes away or so.
Aki had explained to him at some point or other that when you called him you were a drunk, sobbing mess, complaining about how awful your life is and how all the cabs keep driving past and you don’t feel like catching a train and that you’re cold. Most of it kind of went one ear and out the other, though.
So now he’s sitting here on Aki’s couch, a bishōnen wrapped around his neck while Aki and Power are fast asleep in their respective rooms. Your shirt is slipping off your shoulder and at some point he caught a glimpse of some sort of lacy bra pulled snug to your rather soft looking pectorals.
“Denji-chan,” You whine, once more, and Denji physically has to repress a groan.
“Pay attention t’me… c’mon,”
Denji has to reason with himself– practically remind himself that he’s not gay. That he has a goal. And that goal is not achievable with another man. Even with a man as gorgeous as yourself. He also tells himself— that ‘the stripper does not actually like him’ – and that you’re probably just too drunk to realize that you’re off the clock. You’re drunk. So drunk. He can’t do this.
Even though Denji refuses to lay a hand on you, he thinks to himself– well, what’s the harm in stealing a few glances? He’s not disrespecting you, or anything. And he’s definitely still straight. Still straight, even when you’re bringing your soft thigh up to rest over his lap and his eyes linger on the velvety skin for just a moment longer than they should– when he gets a whiff of whatever sugary cologne you’re wearing and it makes him feel just a little bit warmer. Even when he watches a droplet of sweat drip down the column of your throat and he has to swallow down the urge to lean forwards and lick it away, to sink his sharp teeth into the flesh of your nape and free his hardening dick from his pants and just pump into you like there’s no tomorrow.
Denji thinks that last thought must've been intrusive or something.
And the next few that come after that– the next few thoughts after that- imagining how soft your lips are, or how nice and warm your hands would be running up and down his bare back.
So, when you finally go limp in Denji’s arms, he’s a bit relieved. Relieved that now those intrusive thoughts could stop, and that you’re now finally asleep, since it is like… 2:38 AM, and that he can now put you down because it was getting kinda hot.
Your chest rises with each and every steady, slow, breath, Denji quietly slipping out from your arms and laying you down on the couch, fishing a blanket from the basket beneath the coffee table– a thin light one, so you’re still nice and cool– and draping it over your relaxed body.
Denji rubs the back of his neck, observing your lax body.
…What's that word again? He thinks. What is it… Bilingual?
Eh, doesn’t matter. He wouldn’t have a chance with you anyways. Especially not, if he considers Aki’s big fat obsession with you.
Synopsis: You were hired by the government to be Dex’s personal therapist, you slowly learn the relationship between you and Dex was all about giving and taking whether you realise it or not
Reader is Heather Glenn’s brother . Reader is a therapist. No use of Y/N.
Author’s note at the end :)
————————————————————————
“Hey, doc. It’s been awhile.”
You looked up from your desk to see Dex walk into your office with his usual smirk on his face before plopping in the usual chair that he’d sit in for every therapy session.
You cleared your throat, picking up your notebook that you used specifically for Dex since he was a special client.
When the government comes knocking at your door to demand that you take on a client or else they’ll shut your business down, you really didn’t have a choice.
Many people depended on you.
“Dex,” You greeted the blonde man before sitting on the chair across for him, opening your book before looking up at him with a small smile. “It’s nice to see you again. How was your work in Asia?”
Dex clicked his tongue. “Oh doc you know I can’t talk much about that, it’d probably give you a heart attack knowing what my actual job is but the sights were nice and the food was great.”
“Of course, I didn’t mean to overstep.” You apologised to Dex, shifting in your seat which caused Dex to smile at the slight tension forming between the both of you.
You’d be lying if you said you weren’t physically attracted to the man in front of you. His husky honey like voice was music in your ears and you’d sometimes think about Dex and his voice at night when you’d shamefully touch yourself in the comfort of your own bed.
“It’s alright, doc.” Dex’s voice snapped you out of your thoughts, making you clear your throat as you shifted your focus back to the present.
You tilted your head, giving Dex a comforting smile. “What would you like to talk about today then?”
Dex grinned.
~~~~~
“Heather? Hey, it’s me. Your annoying little brother.”
You knocked on Heather’s front door of her apartment, the sound of feet shuffling on the other side could be heard before you were met with an oddly disheveled looking sister.
You eyed her curiously. “Oh, I’m so sorry. I didn’t realise you were asleep, I can just come back another time.”
Heather’s eyes meet yours and she sighed as she shook her head before stepping aside and nodded at you to come in. “No, it’s fine. I just wasn’t expecting company. Usually you’d call or text that you were coming.”
“Well,” You walked into your sister’s apartment, a slight chill in the air that made your body stiffen for a second before you forced yourself to relax. “After what happened with the now ex Mayor Fisk, you weren’t returning any of my calls or texts so here I am.”
You turned to Heather, who was still standing by the open door with a scowl on her face. Your sister almost unrecognisable after months of no contact.
“Heather, it’s been two months. I wanted to give you your space but I’m worried about you.” You told her, your tone shifting into something softer.
Heather huffed, as if your words were more irritating than comforting before she shut the door fully. “You’re right. My head’s all over the place especially after what happened with vigilante Muse, so I’m sorry I haven’t been present with you but I’m sure you understand why I’ve been isolating myself.”
“Of course,” You replied, walking up to your sister and holding her hands. You were a little shocked by how cold her touch was but you were happy that Heather was slowly opening up. “I know I can’t relate to what happened but I’m hoping to at least be a listening ear to you whenever you’re ready to talk about it.”
Heather gave you a small smile before pulling you into a hug, her hand rubbing your back as she let out a sigh before letting you go and announcing that the both of you should get dinner.
You nodded happily at her before she left the living room to wash up and get ready, leaving you alone.
Your eyes wandered around her apartment, it was pristine as always with everything being organised except for one drawer that was slightly opened.
You huffed in amusement, knowing that Heather was a clean freak before walking up to the drawer to close it but you hesitated when you see something white poking slightly out of the gap.
You turned your head to look back at Heather’s bedroom door, seeing it closed before turning back to quietly open the drawer.
Your breath hitched, your stomach dropping when you saw Muse’s mask sitting idly in Heather’s drawer. You didn’t think twice before shutting it and then scrambling to the couch to calm yourself down before you got into a full blown panic attack.
Heather’s bedroom door opened and you looked up to see your sister dressed up with a smile on her face.
“You ready to go?” Heather asked.
You huffed, laughing nervously before nodding. “Yeah, let’s go.”
~~~~~
“You alright, doc? You seem distracted.”
You blinked up in surprise, looking back at Dex’s calculating eyes before sighing and giving him what you hope was a comforting smile.
You shook your head. “Nothing to worry about, Mr Poindexter.”
“Dex.” The other man corrected you.
You gave him a sheepish nod. “Right, Dex. I’m sorry.”
“No harm done.” Dex smiled at you.
You cleared your throat before opening up your notebook about Dex as usual. “So, last session we covered your Borderline Personality Disorder and how your job is currently helping you regulate your emotions. Although, you’ve mentioned that you might have to take a break until they call you for another job. How have you been handling it so far?”
“Well, I come here and talk to you. I know I don’t come here every day, just every other week but I like that this has become part of my routine at least.” Dex replied, getting a small smile from you.
You nodded, writing down on your notes. “What other things do you usually do on a day to day basis?”
“Nothing too crazy. Just morning workouts, walks in the park, people watching just to name a few but I don’t really go out of my way to make myself known.” Dex replied, getting a nod from you.
You were about to open your mouth to ask another question when a knock on your office door interrupted you.
“Weird, I wasn’t expecting anyone today. I’m sorry Dex, I’ll just be a minute.” You apologised to Dex as you walked up to the door and opened it to see an unfamiliar man on the other side.
The man smiled, his dimples on proud display and when he spoke, he had a British accent. “Dr. Glenn?”
“Yes, that’s me. How can I help you?” You asked the man.
The man smirked. “Apologies for dropping by so suddenly. My name is Buck Cashman, I used to work closely with your sister during Fisk’s run as Mayor.”
“Okay, is there something wrong? I’m in the middle of a session with a client.” You turn your body slightly, letting Buck look into the room to see Dex sitting on the chair.
You noticed the little flicker of recognition that Buck gave Dex before the British man cleared his throat and took a step back.
You tilted your head, now even more curious of the man in front of you.
“Well, I apologise for interrupting you with a very important client. I’ll take my leave but I would like to warn you before I go, to be wary of the people around you.” Buck told you cryptically, his last sentence dropped to a whisper before leaving.
You stared at the man’s retreating back, the image of Muse’ mask in your sister’s home flashed in your mind before you shook it off and closed the door to resume your session.
“I apologise for that, Dex.” You sighed, sitting down.
Dex just gives you a smile and a shrug. “It’s not a problem.”
You paused for a second, the thought of asking Dex if he knew who Buck was crossed your mind but you knew better than to cross that boundary as a therapist.
“Let’s continue then.” You smiled at Dex, the other man cocking his eyebrow at you before doing so.
~~~~~
“What the hell?”
You said to yourself when you inserted your key into your apartment’s front door and realised that it was unlocked.
You tried to recall your morning but you couldn’t think through the haziness of what was last night and earlier in the afternoon.
You shook your head, you needed a drink to calm you down.
You turned on the lights of your living room, hung your coat over one of the dining room chairs and left your messenger bag on the dining room table before you made your way to the glass bottle of scotch that you left on a table by the side of the room.
You opened the bottle and picked up the glass cup next to it, pouring the scotch into the cup before taking a swig, your eyes closed as you gulped the feeling of warm liquid down your throat.
You let out a groan, feeling your shoulders still a little tense from everything before you opened your eyes and poured yourself another drink.
In front of you was a mirror, a decorative piece of furniture that you hung by the table with the scotch. It supposedly made the room feel bigger.
You jumped, gripping the glass in your hand tightly when you looked into the reflection of the mirror to see a woman standing behind you with Muse’s mask over her face.
You didn’t even have a second to react or think if it was your mind playing tricks on you before the intruder strangles you from behind with a string of rope.
You immediately let go of the glass in your hand, hearing it shatter on the floor before you reached up to the rope to try and fight against the death grip the intruder had around your neck.
The apartment was now filled with the sounds of you choking as you struggled against the intruder.
Your vision was getting blurry, the air in your lungs were running out so you lifted your foot up on the wall before pushing backwards, sending you and the intruder to the floor.
You coughed violently, feeling your lungs burn at every breath you could take before you tried to crawl towards the front door of your apartment.
“No, please.” You cried out when you felt hands turn your body around before those same hands wrapped themselves around your throat.
The horrific image of Muse sitting over you was burnt into your mind instantly, you knew this wasn’t the original Muse that tried to kill your own sister but it was frightening nonetheless.
You looked into the eyes of your soon to be killer, just pure sadistic hatred staring back at you before something clicked in your mind.
“H-heather?” You choked out, feeling the hands around your throat tighten. You recognised your sister’s eyes, of course you do but it was now replaced by nothing but of pure evil.
You felt your eyes stinging, you didn’t even realise you were crying before your vision became spotty.
The sound of large glass breaks before something large pushes Heather off you, letting you breathe again.
Everything was a blur to you, the sound of fighting and grunting was heard but your vision was still hazy from the lack of oxygen in your brain before you eventually passed out.
You felt cold.
~~~~~
You woke up with a start, feeling soft warm sheets under your fingertips as your eyes adjusted to the darkness of the room.
You immediately sat up when you realised you weren’t in your room, wincing at the pain on your back and your throat as the memories of Heather’s attack slowly trickled back into your mind.
“You need water?”
You jumped, turning to the voice beside you to see Dex sitting on a chair with a weird blue outfit on.
“Dex?” You croaked out, tilting your head curiously.
The man smirked, nodding before he stood up. “I’ll get you some water for that fucked up throat, just sit still.”
You nodded, still a little confused by what was happening. One second you were getting attacked by your own flesh and blood in the comfort of your own living room, the next you’re in someone else’s bed with no recollection of how you got there in the first place.
The bedroom door creaked open and Dex walked in with a glass of water in hand that you gratefully took as you began taking small sips of water with struggles of swallowing due to your abused throat.
“Where are we, Dex?” You asked the other man after putting the glass of water down, the other man sitting down on the chair next to you.
Dex sighed. “My apartment.”
“Your outfit. Does it have to do with the government job?” You asked next, eyeing the blue suit.
Dex nodded. “Pretty much but I’m being truthful when I say, you don’t want to know the stuff I do while on the job.”
“Right,” You gulped, feeling the saliva roughly go down your sore throat. “What happened to the attacker last night?”
“They got away. I was more preoccupied with getting you to safety.” Dex replied, making you raise your eyebrows at him.
You turned your body fully to him, throwing your legs out of the bed, feeling the cold tiles of the floor touch your feet. “Why?”
“Why what?” Dex cocked an eyebrow at your question as if it was the most absurd thing he’s ever heard.
You met his gaze, a mixture of amusement and curiosity in his eyes as if he was figuring out what you were going to say next so he could give you an appropriate answer. “Why’d you save me? Scratch that, the better question is how did you know I was even being attacked in the first place?”
Dex was quiet, his mouth twitching as if he wanted to laugh but knew better than to mock someone who’s in obvious confusion and distress.
“You’re my North Star,” Dex told you, his voice dropping to a whisper. “But unlike that shipwreck, I’m going to protect you and the light that you shine upon others.”
You were silent, gobsmacked by Dex’s answer. You remembered the incident with the Northern Star that sank involving Daredevil and every single repercussion to the city after that under Fisk’s rule.
You wondered, if you were to run away and pack up your whole life behind and go into hiding, would you live your life happily or would you sink like the ship?
“I’m gonna take a shower, doc. I’d recommend you stay here in the meantime, the police are currently at your apartment and your would be killer is still at large.” Dex told you before stripping the tight blue shirt off his body, making you gulp at the sight of his massive muscles as the man disappeared into the bathroom.
You slipped out Dex’s bed once you heard the water running in the bathroom, carefully studying the environment around you incase you needed another way to escape if the front door was not an option.
You were pleasantly surprised to see how neat and bright the living room was, it wasn’t as furnished as compared to yours but it was enough for one person.
You see keys sitting on the kitchen counter but thought better than to just leave and face the consequences of what Dex might do, you already figured that the man was more than capable of tracking you down again.
You paused when you reached the open window, your mouth dropping in surprise to see your own apartment window staring back at you, it was a little further away and you can’t really see what’s happening inside but you knew what your apartment’s building looked like.
A million thoughts raced through your mind and you realised that Dex was watching you the entire time and had came to your rescue only because he could see what was happening.
You felt both grateful and terrified, your emotions confusing you before jumping when you heard Dex clear his throat from behind you.
You turned to see him dressed in a tank top and sweatpants, leaning against his bedroom door with a stoic expression on his face.
“I guess secret’s out.” Dex told you, watching as you looked away from him and back to the window.
You blinked. “My window’s broken.”
“I didn’t have time to buzz into your apartment complex and run up several flights of stairs to get to you before the wannabe Muse choked you to death.” Dex replied, almost getting a laugh out of you at how insane his explanation sounded out loud.
You were still confused about everything that was happening but it didn’t stop you from striding across the room and throwing your arms around Dex in a hug.
The action causing Dex to freeze before you felt his hands settle on your back, returning the hug and you closed your eyes and exhaled into his arms.
“Thank you.” You murmured against his shoulder.
You hear Dex’s breath hitch in response, followed by the sound of him sniffing your hair before he sighed. “You’re welcome.”
It was another minute too long of the both of you in each other’s arms before you cleared your throat awkwardly and removed yourself from Dex’s personal space.
“I think I need to go back to my apartment, talk to the police and let Heather know I’m alright since they probably called her.” You told Dex, getting an unamused huff in response.
Dex tutted. “Aren’t you a therapist? If you went back to the scene of the crime and had a mental breakdown, wouldn’t that leave you vulnerable for Muse to come back and kill you?”
“Then what am I supposed to do, Dex?” You replied, feeling slightly agitated that he was right. “I can’t stay here and lay low forever. I have a job, a life and people that depend on me.”
“You’re stubborn.” Dex replied.
You scoffed. “I’m realistic. I’m more than aware that what happened last night was fucked up and I’m not stupid to not realise that it’s even more fucked up that I’m standing here in front of my own client and stalker in his living room.”
Dex’s jaw tightens at that, his eyes glancing to the window behind you.
“So either go with me to pick up the stuff that I need or wait here and watch me through the window like you always do before I come back.” You told him, getting a head tilt in response.
Dex squinted at you, his lips pursing. “You’re coming back here?”
“Where else am I supposed to go? You broke my window.” You told Dex before making a move for the front door, smirking when you hear the rustling sound of Dex throwing on a jacket over his body before he followed you out the door.
~~~~~
“You want to explain to me about how I’m your North Star by any chance?”
You asked Dex after updating Heather that you were alright and that you were going to lay low for a while, you didn’t want to give everything away in case she went after you again.
You might even have to change your office.
Dex huffed, sitting back on the couch next to you as you watched him sharpen his throwing knives.
It was weird how quickly you just accepted the reality of your situation but you’d rather stick by someone like Dex who could protect you rather than be alone and leave yourself out in the open for another attack.
Dex turned to you, his eyes boring into yours. “Because you were kind to me despite what Charles and the government had done to you by forcing you to take me on as a client, you didn’t treat me like I was some kind of gum under your shoe that just wouldn’t come off.”
“So what, this is some kind of hero worship? Dex, you and I both know that what we have is strictly professional. I truly appreciate what you’ve done for me by saving my life but none of this is normal, none of this is okay.” You told him, trying for a more comforting tone like you would use on your regular patients.
Dex huffed out a laugh, putting his knives down on the coffee table in front of the both of you before he turned his head to you with an amused smirk. “So when your eyes linger on my face for too long or when you get lost in your thoughts after I’m done talking, that’s professional?”
“What?” You replied dumbly, feeling your face heat up at being called out on.
Dex shifted closer to you on the couch. “What if I said the connection is mutual? What if I said that I like how you talk to me, how pretty you look whenever we’d sit down for our sessions?”
“Then I’ll say that you’re not really into me, you’re into this idea that I’m some sort of good person with good intentions that you cling onto so you could feel like you have some positive navigator in your life.” You told Dex honestly, seeing him process your words.
Dex’s jaw flexed. “Am I not capable of love then?”
“I think you are but it’s currently misplaced,” You sighed, watching as Dex was slowly closing off from you. “I think we’re both stuck in a very grey area in our lives and that this connection between the both of us is nothing but a farce, just a bad copy of what we see as romantic in our everyday lives.”
Dex looked away then, your eyes lingering on the long scar across his cheek. “You really are great at your job doc. Even after I told you why I like you, you somehow managed to keep it professional between us.”
“Dex,” You sighed, moving closer to him. “Even if there was physical attraction between the both of us, it’s not right for me to act on it. I would be taking advantage of you.”
“And what if I want you to take advantage of me? What if I want to prove to you that what we have is real? What do I need to do?” Dex asked you, his usual calm voice cracking as he kept asking you questions.
You gave Dex a comforting smile as you reached out to grab his hand. “I’m not a hundred percent sure if I have the right answer for that Dex. Maybe it’s just not the right time for us, everything’s changing way too fast and I don’t think I’m capable of giving you what you want other than just being your therapist.”
“So there’s a chance but you’re just too overwhelmed?” Dex asked you, his eyes suddenly rounding with a hopeful tone in his voice that you’ve never heard before.
You felt the side of your mouth twitch before you released Dex’s hand and stood up from the couch. “I think that’s enough of a heart to heart talk, don’t you think? You mind if I just took a nap or something in your room, my mind’s just a little tired from everything.”
“Go ahead, doc. I’ll wake you up for dinner.” Dex gave you a smile, watching you go into his room to lay down for the afternoon.
Dex’s eyes dropped to the knife he left on the table, picking it up to inspect it. “Don’t worry, doc. You’re my North Star after all, I’ll save you like you saved me. I’ll make things right.”
*****
Author’s note:
I know, I know it’s not a satisfying ending BUT that’s only because I know I’d be writing so much that I’d go over tumblr’s word limit and have to do rewrites so I’m stopping before I get ahead of myself
I think Dex’s character is so interesting to explore especially in a “what if he wanted to pursue a romantic connection” kinda thing but at the same time I wanted to be very respectful of everything that he went through and his bpd
I hope to find more time to explore and write for Dex, definitely expect a part 2 (or more) in the future
Summary: Reunited in a strange new century, you fall right back into the toxic, possessive grasp of a newly returned Soldier Boy.
CW: No use of y/n - Not exactly canon - Implied dark themes - Reader is German - Reader is a born Supe - Reader gets called 'Pretty Boy' - Reader is traumatized - Language - Slight angst
Words: 3k
A/N: Okay this started at like 900 words and I somehow ended up with this, I fucking hate this but I'm desperate to post something. God this is so bad and the German maybe off, cause I don't speak it at all. Last thing, forgive me for this garbage.
FEMALES DNI
The rain that night didn't wash away the blood; it just diluted it, turning the Alsace mud into a slick, crimson soup. Every breath you took tasted like copper and woodsmoke, a brutal reminder that despite whatever gifts God had seen fit to curse you with, you were still terrifyingly breakable.
If you had just kept your mouth shut. If you had just accepted that you were caught in the gears of a war you never asked to fight. If you had just died with what little dignity a conscript was allowed, it wouldn't be so bad. But the instinct to survive is a filthy, primal thing. It strips away pride until there is nothing left but the screaming in your chest.
Through the ringing in your ears, you heard the heavy, rhythmic thud of combat boots.
He loomed over you like a monument of olive drab and tarnished gold, the eagle emblem on his chest darkened by grease and German blood. Ben. Soldier Boy. America’s golden boy looked down at you with an expression that wasn't even hateful—it was bored. To him, you weren't a person; you were just another piece of foreign debris he had to clear off the board.
Panic, hot and sharp, overtook every fiber of your being. You scrambled backward in the dirt, your hands slipping in the mire.
“Bitte, ich tue alles!” The words spilled past your swollen lips, frantic and broken. “Ich werde euch im Krieg helfen! Bitte…"
Soldier Boy stopped. He tilted his head, his fingers casually hooking into his tactical belt, right near the heavy grip of his combat knife. He let out a short, scoffing laugh—a low, raspy sound that made your stomach drop.
"Help us?" he said, his voice dripping with that smooth, old-school Brooklyn arrogance. He took a slow step forward, the mud groaning under his weight. "What makes you think we want help from some kraut rat who can't even stand up straight? You're out of your depth, sweetheart. The whole damn fatherland is."
How could you prove your worth? How could you make a man like this see you as something other than target practice? Your mind raced, grasping for the only leverage you had left—the secret the German high command had tried to weaponize.
“Ich bin ein Supe!” you gasped out, desperate to bridge the language barrier before he lost interest. “I am… like you! Born with it. They wanted me for a spy. I can disappear—I can make shields. Please! Ich schwöre, ich werde alles tun!”
That stopped him cold.
The casual indifference vanished from his face, replaced by a sharp, calculating stillness. Soldier Boy crouched down, the heavy leather of his boots inches from your face. The stench of stale tobacco, cheap whiskey, and gunpowder wafted off him, suffocatingly thick. He reached out, his gloved fingers clamping around your jaw with enough pressure to make the bone groan. He forced your face up, staring into your eyes with a terrifying intensity.
"A supe, huh?" he murmured, his voice dropping into a dangerous, gravelly register. He twisted your chin slightly, inspecting you like a piece of livestock. "Funny. Usually, German science projects have a bit more fight in 'em. You're telling me you were born this way? No serum?"
You could only nod, a pathetic, jerky motion that sent fresh agony through your face.
Soldier Boy let out another laugh, but this one was darker, devoid of any humor. "Well, ain't that something. A naturally grown freak. And here I thought Vought had the monopoly on the special stuff."
He didn't look impressed; he looked annoyed that the world was more complicated than his propaganda reels suggested. His grip tightened for one agonizing second before he shoved your face away, letting you drop back into the dirt. He stood up, wiping his gloved hand on his trousers as if you had left a stain.
"Get up," he barked, turning his back on you as he signaled to the shadows behind him. "Move it, before I decide your little magic trick isn't worth the rations. We're taking him back to the command tent. Let’s see if this bird sings as good as he begs.”
None of it really mattered. You had simply traded one prison for another.
At first, the American command tents weren't much different from the German labs—just different men in different uniforms staring at you like a weapon they hadn't learned how to aim yet. But then, Ben took a liking to you.
It wasn't a kind sort of affection. It was the possessive, careless favor a man shows to a stray dog he’s successfully broken. He liked the way you looked, sure—the contrast of your sharp, European features against the rough canvas of his quarters—but mostly, he liked that "no" wasn't in your vocabulary. You became his shadow, his human shield, and his dirty little secret. When the artillery got too loud or the pressure of being America’s golden boy pressed too hard on his shoulders, he’d drag you into his private quarters. He’d take whatever he wanted from you, leaving you bruised and breathless, and in return, he kept Vought’s white-coats from dissecting you.
"He's a useful little freak," Ben had told the suits, his hand heavy and warning on the back of your neck. "Keeps his mouth shut, does what he's told, and his shields keep the shrapnel off my suit. We’re keeping him."
So you stayed. You let him mold you, use you, and call you his "pretty little kraut." It was entirely one-sided, a twisted transactional nightmare, but you endured it because beneath the degradation was a semblance of safety. As long as you belonged to Soldier Boy, the rest of the world couldn’t touch you.
But safety in Vought’s world is an illusion. When Ben vanished in Nicaragua in '84, your protection went with him. No longer deemed useful, Vought treated you like surplus military hazardous waste. They pumped you full of experimental stabilizing agents—burning cocktails that made your veins feel like dry ice—and put you under. A relic of a war everyone wanted to forget.
Decades later, you woke up to a world that had moved on without you.
Navigating the 21st century was a slow, agonizing rebirth. You forced yourself to shed every remnant of the old country. You practiced in front of mirrors for months until you could perfectly mimic a flawless, generic American drawl. You hid your invisibility and your shields so deep you almost forgot how to use them. You reinvented yourself entirely.
Yet, some habits never die. You still needed an anchor. You still needed someone to tell you where to stand so you wouldn't drown, and that was how you fell into the orbit of Billy Butcher.
A sharp, violent buzzing cut through the dark, heavy silence of your bedroom. You let out a low groan, shifting against the mattress as your hand blindly scrambled across the nightstand. Your fingers wrapped around the sleek metal of the smartphone—a piece of technology that still felt entirely alien to you sometimes.
Swiping the screen blindly, you pressed it to your ear and rolled onto your side. "Yeah? What d'you want?" you murmured, your voice thick with sleep.
"Oi, pretty boy. Get your arse out of bed, I need a favor," a raspy, gravelly voice barked through the speaker.
The familiar, abrasive cadence of Billy Butcher instantly cleared the fog from your brain. You sat up, the bedsheets pooling around your bare waist as you rubbed a hand over your face. "Butcher. It’s three in the morning. Why the hell are you calling me?"
"Because you're the only reliable bastard I've got on the payroll, that's why," Butcher chuckled, a dark, dry sound. "And lose the attitude, yeah? Sounds a bit too much like hard work. Look, I need you at the safehouse. Now."
You sighed, a weary, defeated sound. It was happening again. The same pattern, the same trap. You had traded Ben for Billy, always falling into bed or into line with men who smelled like gunpowder and bad intentions because you simply didn't know how to exist without a master. You couldn't say no. To Butcher, you were a ghost with a useful set of skills and a clean record, and you let him keep using you because it was better than being completely alone in a century you didn't belong to.
"What's this about, Billy? I told you, I'm trying to keep my head down," you said, though you were already swinging your legs out of bed, your feet hitting the cold hardwood floor.
"Let's just say an old mate of yours dropped by. A real blast from the past," Butcher said, his voice dripping with a terrifying, smug satisfaction. "Bit of a family reunion, you might say. Peep your texts, sunshine. Don't keep us waiting."
The line went dead with a sharp click.
A heavy dread settled into the pit of your stomach, turning your blood to ash. Your phone vibrated in your palm, a text notification lighting up the dark room. With trembling fingers, you tapped the screen and opened the attached photo.
It was a blurry, dimly lit surveillance shot inside a dilapidated building. Standing in the center of the frame, looking older, rougher, but unmistakably him, was Ben.
Soldier Boy was alive.
The drive to the safehouse was a blur of streetlights and cold sweat. Your hands gripped the steering wheel so tightly your knuckles turned white, the ghost of an old war humming in your veins. You hadn't used your real voice or your real name in decades. You had buried the boy from the Alsace mud deep beneath layers of American slang and a quiet, unassuming life.
But as you pulled the car up to the curb outside the derelict brownstone, the past caught up to you in a single heartbeat.
Billy Butcher was standing under the amber glow of a flickering streetlamp, a cigarette dangling from his lips. He looked as rugged and unbothered as ever, his heavy black trench coat shifting slightly in the night breeze. You killed the engine, but you didn't get out right away. You just stared through the windshield, letting the silence of the car envelop you for a few agonizing seconds. Your heart was a rabbit in a snare.
Finally, you forced your door open and stepped out into the damp night air.
Butcher watched you approach, his lips curling into that sharp, knowing smirk he always gave you. It was the look of a man who knew exactly which strings to pull to make you dance. Neither of you spoke for a moment, the tension thick enough to choke on.
Butcher took one last drag of his cigarette, dropped the butt, and crushed it beneath his boot. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a heavy brass ring of keys.
"Need you to play babysitter, mate," he said, his voice a low, gravelly rumble. He tossed the keys. They cut through the air, and your hand flew up automatically, catching them with a dull metal clack.
Before you could even form a question, Butcher walked right past you, giving you a rough pat on the shoulder that felt more like a warning than a gesture of comfort. He headed straight for his own car, leaving you alone on the pavement. You rolled your eyes, a heavy, tired sigh escaping you as you turned toward the heavy wooden door of the safehouse. You unlock it, the hinges groaning in protest as you push it open and step into the dim, musty hallway.
"Back so soon?"
The voice drifted out from the kitchen, low and raspy, carrying the distinct, heavy drawl of mid-century Brooklyn. A voice you had heard in your nightmares for forty years.
Your entire body went rigid. You froze in the doorway, your fingers gripping the brass keys so fiercely the metal bit deep into your palm, drawing pain that barely registered against the shock.
"Was zum Teufel…?" you whispered. The words slipped out before you could stop them, raw and unpolished, your carefully practiced American accent instantly shattering.
A figure stepped out of the shadows of the kitchen, holding a half-empty bottle of cheap whiskey. Ben. He looked different—his hair was longer, his face weathered by whatever hell Vought had buried him in—but the posture was exactly the same. The same arrogant, casual stance of a man who owned every room he walked into.
But when Ben’s eyes landed on you, he stopped dead in his tracks. The smug, careless look vanished from his face, replaced by a sudden, jarring stillness. He stared at you, his chest rising and falling as his gaze swept over your face, recognizing the sharp European features he used to hold in his grip.
"You're alive?" Ben breathed.
The words didn't come out as a taunt, or a boast, or even a threat. His voice dropped into a quiet, gravelly register that sounded entirely wrong coming from him. It sounded like... relief. Like he was genuinely, deeply grateful that you were standing there.
The unexpected softness of his tone hit you like a physical blow, sparking a sudden, bitter fire in your chest. You let your shoulders drop, abandoning the American disguise completely. When you spoke, your voice was thick with the harsh, rolling consonants of your native tongue, cold and sharp as winter ice.
"Maybe," you whispered, staring back at him with wide, unblinking eyes. "Or maybe... maybe I am finally dead, Ben. And you are only looking at your past mistakes.”
Ben didn’t move. He just stood there, the whiskey bottle heavy in his hand, looking at you like he’d just unearthed a ghost from the trenches. That arrogant, untouchable shield he always wore around his shoulders cracked, just for a second, letting something raw and horribly human blink out at you.
"Don't talk like that," he said, his voice dropping into that gravelly, low register. He took a slow step forward, the floorboards groaning under his weight, just like the mud used to. "You ain't a mistake. And you sure as hell ain't dead."
"No?" You let out a short, humorless laugh, the sound sharp and grating in the quiet house. You didn't back away this time. Decades on ice and a new century had given you a different kind of spine, even if the fear still pulsed like a phantom limb. "You think because I breathe, I am alive? Vought took me after you disappeared, Ben. They put me in a box. Cold. Dark. For forty years, I was nothing but ice because I had no master left to tell them I was useful."
Ben flinched. It was a minuscule movement—just a tightening of his jaw, a slight twitch in his broad shoulders—but you caught it. The great Soldier Boy, bothered by a ghost.
"I didn't know," he muttered, shaking his head. He took another step, closing the distance until you could smell the familiar, suffocating mix of stale tobacco and cheap liquor pouring off him. He looked down at you, his eyes scanning your face, searching for the boy who used to tremble under his touch. "They told me everyone was gone. I thought... I thought you died in Nicaragua with the rest of 'em."
"And if you knew? What then?" Your German accent bit into the English words, heavy and unforgiving. "Would you save me? Or would you just keep me in your tent like a pretty dog? A shield to stop the bullets?"
Ben’s face darkened, the familiar, volatile heat flashing in his eyes. He set the whiskey bottle down on a nearby table with a loud, deliberate thud. He stepped right into your space, towering over you, testing the old boundaries. He reached up, his large, calloused hand hovering near your face for a fraction of a second before his fingers clamped around the back of your neck.
It wasn't the brutal grip of a captor, but it wasn't gentle either. It was possessive. Demanding.
"I kept you alive," Ben growled, his thumb pressing firmly into the skin just beneath your ear, forcing you to look up into his bloodshot eyes. "Don't you forget that. Those corporate suits wanted to slice you open the day we brought you in, and I told 'em no. I gave you a roof, I gave you food, and I kept you safe. You belonged to me."
"Ja," you whispered, your breath hitching despite yourself, your heart hammering against your ribs in that old, terrifying rhythm. The familiarity of his weight, his scent, his absolute certainty that he owned you, was an intoxicating, terrifying poison. "I belonged to you. Because 'no' was a word that would get me killed."
Ben’s gaze dropped to your lips, then traveled back up to your eyes. The anger in him seemed to simmer down into something heavy, thick, and complicated.
"Well, you're here now," he murmured, his grip softening just a fraction, his thumb tracing a slow, familiar line along your jaw. "And so am I. The rest of 'em... Payback, Vought... they're gonna burn for what they did to us. But you? You're still my pretty boy. Ain't ya?"
The trap was closing again. You could feel it. The keys Butcher had given you were still biting into your palm, a reminder that you were supposed to be the handler here, the babysitter. But looking at Ben, feeling the heat radiating off him in this strange, terrifying new world, you realized some things never changed. You were still the boy in the mud, and he was still the only monster big enough to keep the other monsters away.
"You have not changed at all, Ben," you breathed, your voice a fragile, rolling whisper against his chest.
"Why change perfection?" Ben tilted his head, a faint, dangerous ghost of his old smirk returning to his lips. "Now... tell me what kind of trouble we're making with that asshole.”
𝔏𝔬𝔬𝓀s 𝔩𝔦𝓀𝔢 𝔞𝔫 𝔞𝔫𝔤𝔢𝔩, 𝔦𝔰 𝔞 𝔪𝔬𝔫𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔯
Brett x male reader
Summary: To everyone else he was cruel and dangerous but with you, he was gentle and deeply obsessed. Nearly a year into your relationship, Brett has a surprise waiting at Eden Lake of a long night of passion together. If only you knew what he had done in that place…
Tags: Male reader. No use of Y/N. Established relationship. Brett (Eden Lake). Post-canon. Dark romance. Both Brett and M!reader are 18+. Obsessive behavior. Possessive Brett. Unhealthy relationship dynamics. Implied stalking. Protective Brett. Manipulation. Toxic devotion. First time. Smut. Bottom male reader. Dirty talk. Size difference. Anal sex. Virginity loss. Slight breeding kink undertones. Soft sex mixed with unhealthy attachment. Fluff if you squint. Brett is a walking red flag. Dark thoughts (non-con imaginations). Masturbation.
Request by an anon, hope you liked this.
ℳ𝒶𝓈𝓉ℯ𝓇𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓉 - gif
Words count: 3500
You'd met Brett on a grey Tuesday afternoon outside the corner shop on the edge of the estate, a place for a lad like you who kept his head down 'cos looking up too long in that part o' town got you noticed by the wrong people and Brett was the definition of wrong, though you didn't know it.
He'd been leant against that brick wall, fag dangling from the corner of his mouth, trackies tucked into white socks, sunglasses over ice-blue eyes.
You'd dropped a tenner on the pavement an' he'd picked it up, holding it out to you and when his fingers brushed yours he'd grinned lopsided.
"Oi, mate, you’re well lucky I’m an honest geezer, innit.”
You’d laughed at the funny way he talked before he asked your name and if you fancied a coke from th' shop, on him, 'cos he reckoned ‘ye looked like ye needed cheerin' up.’
When you'd said yes, that was that.
Door shut behind you and you didn't even hear it click.
He courted you proper, that’s the word for it even though Brett would've gagged hearin' it said out loud.
Definitely not the flowers an' chocolates type of lad or so you'd've thought.
He started turnin' up outside your block o' flats wi' a Mars bar and a can of' Lilt 'cos he'd remembered you said once that it was your favourite.
Nicking daffodils from the park's flower bed, three or four at a time, wrap the stems in a bit o' newspaper and shove 'em into your chest grinning.
"Don' say I never get ye nuffin'."
He'd walk you home from the bus stop every night, hands in his pockets, shoulder bumpin' yours, talking nonsense about football and his long gone dog Bonnie.
First time he kissed you it was on the little iron bridge over the canal, water black an' oily underneath. He'd stopped halfway across, turned to you an' said, "Oi. Don’ move.” And then his mouth crashed on yours.
It surprised you the sudden switch of behavior with going from into a careful and protective boyfriend to someone driven by hunger and he'd laughed against your mouth, breathless an' delighted.
He acted like a mixture between an angel and the perfect boyfriend, holding doors and your hand in the street even when his mates were watchin', dared them with his eyes to say a single fuckin' word.
Always kissed heavily your mouth before he went out at night and did the same when he came back.
There was one time where he had come back at three in the mornin' with his knuckles split and a smell o' petrol on his jacket that you didn't ask about.
He never raised his voice at you, not once.
You fell in love with him over time 'cos how could you not.
He looked at you with so much devotion, he listened and remembered anything you told him, even cackled at your shitty jokes and say how you were a funny cunt.
But.
There were the other things you filed away and didn't think too hard about because it would've meant pullin' on a thread you weren't ready yet, plus what you saw wasn’t too alarming.
There was the way his jaw is set when another bloke spoke to you too long at the bar, hand of his landing on your waist, fingers digging slightly too hard while his thumb pressed into your hip bone like.
He'd smile at th' bloke real polite and said person would go pale, finding somewhere else t' be.
If only you’d would have saw, later at night, the way Brett had beaten him up.
Another time you mentioned an old mate from school, just in passin', saying you'd run into a morning and was doing alright, hoping to meet him again to perhaps have a bit more people in your small circle that included only Brett.
Said lad nodded and smiled, kissing your temple and saying, "That’s nice, babe.”
Two weeks later you saw that same mate in the street with a butterfly stitch over his eyebrow and a limp, crossing the road to avoid you that left you a bit heartbroken, something Brett paid all his attention to attend to.
The way he talked about his mates always in past tense now, voice that would go flat as you asked once what'd happened to them and he’d looked at you for a long second before shrugging and saying, "Lost touch. People grow apart. S’life.”
Right before pulling you into his lap and kissing you a bit harshly till you felt like suffocating.
Bonnie's collar was on a different dog now, a young Staffie be called Bonnie because he missed that bitch every day (his words).
There were moments where he'd hold that collar in his fist staring at nothing for twenty minutes, knuckles white, jaw grindin', breathing through his nose like a bull. When you'd step forward he'd snapped out of it instant, plastered tha' grin on, said, "Alright, handsome? Fancy a chippy?” an' tha' were that.
All the news stories about that couple at Eden Lake, man found dead from blood loss and the lass missin', tha' came on th' telly one evening while Brett was on the settee wi' you, your head in his lap and his fingers in your hair.
Could feel the way his fingers had frozen, face blank and eyes fixed on the screen before he switched channel to Top Gear.
Maybe he knew those people? It’s what you told yourself to never ask him about Eden Lake.
You’d been together near enough a year and you hadn't done it yet.
Other stuff that included hands, mouths and slow grinding on his lap on a Sunday afternoon till you were both panting and laughing and he was telling you to stop before 'e came in his jeans?
All of the above had been done.
It was only missing sex and he had planned it for a fortnight.
You knew he was plannin' summat 'cos he kept disappearing on errands and grinning at his phone, telling you to mind your own beeswax when you asked.
"Pack a bag, babe. Warm stuff. I’m takin’ ye somewhere.” All thrown at you randomly on a Friday mornin'.
"Where?”
"Surprise, innit.” Back with that lopsided, ice-blue grin. "Trust me.”
Of course you trusted him.
The drive was nearly three hours and he'd put on a CD 'e'd burned you, a mix o' songs you'd mentioned likin' over the year, and he drove with' one hand on th' wheel, the other on your thigh, thumb strokin' slow circles.
Through town and suburbs, out into countryside you didn't recognise, hedgerows green an' dense, sky of silver-grey that made it hard to figure out if it was going to rain.
He turned off the main road onto a track, then onto a smaller one.
Trees closed in and your phone signal dropped to nothing.
You glanced at him and he was starin' straight ahead, jaw set, back to blank with his thoughts far away, somewhere you couldn't follow.
Then he felt your eyes on him and turned with a grin.
"Almost there, handsome. Y’alright?”
"Yeah. Yeah, m’alright. Where are we?”
"Special spot. Used t’ come ‘ere as a kid and I wanted t’ show ye.”
The track opened out and beyond th' clearin', through a gap in th' trees, there was flat and dark water ringed with reeds and.
Quiet and empty.
Brett killed the engine and sat for a moment, hands on the wheel, looking out at it.
"Eden Lake,” he said, soft. Pretty, innit?”
Your stomach did somethin' funny at hearing that name
"It’s beautiful,” you said.
"Yeah, It is.” He turned to you, eyes very bright.
He wasn’t looking at the lake.
He set up camp, tent up in fifteen minutes flat, sleeping bags zipped together inside and a new duvet on top.
He'd brought food that you cooked together on a little stove, sleeves rolled up, brow furrowed in concentration, tongue stickin' out the corner of his mouth like a kid.
Looking to the side when he caught you watchin' and grinning. "What?"
"Nuffin'. Just lookin' at you."
"Knock it off, then, ye soppy cunt."
Right after dinner, )e kissed the salt off your mouth and topped up with a can of beer.
"Y’know,” he said, looking out over the water, "there's nobody fer miles, just you an' me. Whole lake's ours."
"S'nice."
*"It's more than nice." He turned his head and looked at you sideways, summat hungry behind the ‘soft’ look "It’s exactly how I wanted it, I can have ye proper now.” He took a slow swallow o' beer from his can. *"Could shout th' fuckin' place down an' nobody'd 'ear." A laugh, low in his throat. "I want ye t' shout th' place down and let th' whole fuckin' lake t' know yer mine."
Your face went hot as you looked at your can of beer and his eyes were on your mouth.
“Ye sure? We haven’t done anything like that”
"Yeah. I wanna do it. Ye don’t love me?.”
"…alright," you said.
He set his can down on the shingle and reached over to take your chin between thumb and finger, turned your face to him. "Tha's my good fuckin' lad."
He smiled.
"Let's get ye in tha' tent, eh."
He led you by the hand up the shingle, fingers laced through yours, thumb strokin' the back of your knuckles in that absent way he always did when his mind was somewhere else. The sun was sinking proper now, light going copper as the lake behind took a tea color, heart in your rib going like a bloody drum.
He stopped outside the tent, turned t' face you and taking both your hands in 'is.
"Y'alright?"
"Yeah. M'alright. M'just—"
“Nervous, yeah, I know babe." He smiled tha' lopsided smile, and he leant in to kiss the tip of your nose. "Listen. I gotchu. Yeah? M’gonna make ye feel s’ good, I promise."
You nodded while he kept covering your neck in quick pecks, gasping lightly when his teeth took a small chunk of flesh.
"Tha's my lad," he murmured, ducking through the flap and pulling you after 'im.
Inside the tent the fairy lights were on, twenty little gold dots strung along th' poles, duvet puffed up over the zipped-together sleepin' bags.
There was a bottle o' lube he had stolen, now sitting on top of a folded towel by the pillows.
He'd been thinking about this for weeks and the thought made your stomach flip, flattered and a little frightened.
Pulling his cap off and tossing it to the corner, his hair stuck up at the back where the cap'd flattened it.
“C‘mere,” he said and took the hem of your hoodie, lifting it up, knuckles brushing your ribs and you shivered.
He pulled it off over your head, smoothed your hair down where it'd ruffled, kissed your mouth deep, tongue sliding in slow, tasting of beer and the fag he had after dinner, hands settling on your waist, then slid up, palms flat and callouses dragging.
His hands were cold and your skin was warm as you made a small noise into his mouth tha' made him laugh.
T-shirt over your head and tossed, he stepped back for a second to look at you, eyes roaming over your chest and collarbones, tongue coming out to wet his lower lip.
“Fook me. All mine, yeah?"
"Yeah," you breathed. "Yours."
He shut his eyes for a second when you said it, darker when he opened them again.
"Say it again."
"…m'yours, Brett."
"Fook." A tiny, ragged laugh. “Down on yer back, c’mon.”
While following his orders he stripped his own jacket and shirt, pale lean torso with abs and a thin scar across his left hip you’d asked about once and he shrugged off, tattoo on his forearm he had given himself.
Kicking his trainers off, left his jeans on for a minute and knelt over you, knee between your thighs, elbows planted either side of your head, hanging himself over to kiss you avidly, mouth going down to your throat, hollow above your collarbone as he found tha' spot under your ear tha' made you whimper and he stayed there grinnin' against your skin, suckin' on it till ye knew there'd be a bruise tomorrow.
Marking you up properly because he wanted everyone t' see you walking round all marked up.
Mouth going lower, sucking one of your nipples between his teeth, hard enough to make you gasp and arch as he pinned your hip with one hand to hold you flat down, mouthing at the waistband of your jeans, breath hot through the fabric while he looked up the length of you.
"Le's get these off, eh." He undid yer button, zip down and pulled your jeans down your legs, kissing the fronts of your thighs as he went.
You were hard already since he'd kissed you outside th' tent and he let out a long unsteady breath, leaning down and kissing the tip of your cock before sitting back on his knees and undoing his own jeans.
When 'e shoved them down with his boxers, you'd felt him before even seeing as he grounded himself against your bare arse.
You have had him in your hand, in your mouth once or twice but feeling him like this, fully out and hard, caused you to make a small sound in your throat you didn't mean t' make.
Quite big for his age, cock thick and flushed while standing up flat against his stomach, vein down the underside along a neat thatch of dark hair at the base.
He took himself in his fist and gave one slow stroke, watchin' your face.
“Tha' alright fer ye?" He said quietly and there was a flick of smugness behind it.
"…I dunno if it'll fit, Brett—"
"Aw, babe. I’ll make it fit don’t worry.”
He bent an' kissed ye again, reassuring. Mouth soft. “Gonna take care o’ ye.” He nudged your thighs apart with his knees and settled between them, reaching for the bottle, popping the cap and slicking his fingers.
His left hand spread on your inner thigh, to hold you open while his right hand went between your cheeks and that first cold circle of his finger over your hole made you jump.
Breathing out, his finger pushed in and worked you open with some excitement and rushed behind it, probably unable to wait for the next moment.
Two fingers came, scissoring while knuckles deep, watchin' your face the whole time and when he found your prostate, it made your hips jolt and he grinned before doing it again and again till you were leakin' onto your own abdomen.
"Th—Brett—"
"Mm?"
"M'ready, m'ready, please!"
"One more. Wan' ye properly ready an’ good fer ye."
Three fingers stretchin' and burnin' but when he crooked them you saw stars.
At one point you had half-forgotten where you were, some hot embarrassed thrill went through you.
He saw it on your face and his eyes went bright.
"Aye. Alright. Le's give ye what ye need."
He pulled 'is fingers out and slicked his cock, stroking himself while starin' down at you spread out under him and his mouth fell open as he looked like an animal.
His hand went under your right knee and lifted, pushing your leg back toward your chest as his other hand came under your left, openin' you up wide, forcin' your thighs apart further.
He held his cock at the base, lined up and let the head kiss your hole, blunt and hot.
"Look at me,” he said.
Your eyes looked on his just as he pushed.
The stretch of the head going in along the inevitable forwards of it made you gasp and grip at his forearms, eyes watering with every inch going in.
“Fook me," he breathed. “Tha’s so fuckin’ tight, look at ye takin’ it so fuckin' well fer me.“
You looked down and saw 'im halfway in, hole stretched red and shiny ‘round him and the sight nearly undid you entirely.
He pushed in deeper, watchin' your face for pain, kissing the insides of your thighs, muttering nonsense until his hips were flush against your arse and he was all the way in, dropping his forehead to your collarbone, trembling while fully feeling everything around him while buried to the hilt.
Barely letting yourself adjust, the burn was easing, fullness settling into summat tolerable
*"…go on," you whispered.
He moved right after, long and deep draws back near out and slowly pushed home, that punched a sound out of you because of the size of him. He had you folded near in half, knees by your chest, and his hips rolled into yours with a desperate need of chasing the addictive feeling.
His breath was in your mouth, eyes open and not leaving yours.
“Knew ye were made fer me cock.”
"Brett—"
“Louder, babe. Le’ th’ lake hear ye.” He drove in harder, hips snapping and causing you to cry out, voice ringin' loud in th' little tent as his rhythm built, hips workin' steadier, each stroke deeper as his hips smacked against your arse, creak of the tent floor under your back while he grunted into your ears.
"Fookin’ love this. Should’ve done this months ago. Could’ve ‘ad ye like this every fookin’ night. Mine, ye ‘ear me? Nobody gets t’ see ye like this.“
You couldn't think about anything else except him hittin' that spot inside you on every stroke now and your cock was slappin' wet against your belly while making broken little half-words.
He shifted his weight and took your cock in his fist, slick with lube and your own leak, starting to work it in time with his thrusts.
"Come on,” he murmured. "Come fro’ me cock. Wan’ t’ feel ye go.”
You couldn't hold it, back arching, mouth open and you came, hard, in stripes up your abdomen and over his fist, vision goin' white at the edges as he milked you through it and the clench of your hole around him as you came was what did him.
"Oh—oh fuck, babe—“ His hips stuttered and he drove in deep, holding there as you felt him pulse inside you, hot wet flood of it deep in your guts, and he made a low broken groan, his whole body shuddered, forehead pressed against yours.
“Mine,” he breathed against your mouth over an' over.
He stayed inside you for a long time after, his weight half on you and half slumped t' the side, his arm thrown across your chest possessively while you stroked his hair.
When he finally pulled out he watched between yer legs as he did it, sight of his cum leaking out of you onto the duvet before he pressed two fingers and pushed it back in.
You were too fucked-out to do anything but laugh shakily and pull him back down to you, tucking himself against your side, head on your chest and ear over your heart.
You drifted off with his weight on you and his hand at your throat, happier than you’d ever been.
He didn't sleep, laying with his ear over your heart and listening to it beat for a long time before he turned his face and looked out through the open tent flap at the lake.
His mind wasn’t with you but far shore, that summer he was sixteen and all the shit he went through with that couple.
Then his mind did a trick to him and placed you there in that context, imagining you with that couple that had come up to the lake for a swim and a picnic.
Imagining your pretty face going white when he'd come walking out the trees with the lads behind 'im.
Imagined you thrashing and kicking back, that same voice that moaned his name an hour ago getting morphed by fear.
Getting t'you before the others did, pinning you down on that same shingle, jeans round your ankles and arms held over your head with one hand. ‘Shhh, m'just gonna fook ye’
The thought of how tight you’d feel, body squeezing down on him because it didn't want him, your nails on his shoulders, tears on your cheek as he never stopped till he’ll come inside you.
His cock had gotten so hard again under the duvet, pressed up against the soft underside of your thigh where you’d thrown a leg over him in your sleep, thick and warm, leaking a bead onto his stomach even though he just emptied himself in you an hour ago.
Question was whether t' tell you one of these days what he had done that summer, curious on how you’d take it, whether you’d run, freeze up or surprise him and say that it didn’t matter right before kissing him.
Or you’d hate him and he’d have t' deal with that too…
He shifted careful onto his side, slid his hand down between your bodies and wrapped his fist around his own cock under the duvet.
Biting his lip and closing his eyes, he worked his fist slow up the shaft and back down, knuckles brushing against your hip wi' every stroke while you slept, breath warm on his neck.
He kept your face in his mind when he'd first pushed inside you, eyes wet and mouth open.
His fist tightened and sped up, breath coming shorter through his nose as his mind bleed his current and real thoughts together with another film where your eyes were wet for a different reason.
Both of you were his, the one that loved him and the one that would have ended up doing anyway.
His hips twitched up in his fist, cock pulsing and pre-come slick down the length of him, making the slide easier.
He pictured coming on your face on the shingle or right now in the tent, waking you up confused before licking his come off your own lip.
Jaw locked so tight it hurt as he came bard, cock pulsing thick in his fist, ropes of it splashing across his own abdomen and his knuckles, one long shuddery exhale followed that he turned in to your hair so it sounded like nothing.
He'd decide when to say it, there were years of time and you weren't goin' anywhere.
"mark- I can't. So good. I swear I can't live without you. Please."
Mohawk Mark's hands gripped your waist, bouncing you faster on his dick. Sweat covered your bodies, clothes long discarded. His eyes were piercing into you, never letting you break eye contact. Everything you tried he gripped your face making your turn back to him. All these years, after losing you on his planet he couldn't believe he finally had you. It took almost nothing to convince you to get into bed with him.
Mark pushed you to lay down on your back. His thrust never stopped, thrust deepening with each stroke. His tongue slid up your body until he got to your nipple. Tugging harshly with his teeth made you arch yourself into him. The sound of skin slapping filled the room, mixing with your moans of "not so rough". Your nails dug into his shoulder causing blood to catch under them.
"He doesn't even know what he's missing. Think he's the original, lame ass. Keep going baby, gonna make you cum all fucking night.
ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ/ᴀꜱᴋ: "It doesn't really matter what you do or say, I'm never going anywhere anyway" "Just tell me I am yours"Jealousy/possessiveness
Conquest seem dot me like an obsessive lover because he hasn't felt love properly since birth. Him with a sweet and loving male reader that helps him through his problems and reassures him constantly
Conquest had always been very, very protective of you since he had met you; you were the first being in the entire universe who had shown him affection and kindness and compassion and a gentle hand with an understanding heart. You were a simple man, you lived a simple life that most Viltrumites would have scoffed at and scorned, but Conquest adored it.
It was mundane and innocent to him; the closest thing he had gotten to violence when he was with you was that time that he had accidentally smashed a vase.
A simple man with a simple life, and he seemed to fit into it well enough.
Gone were his days of never ending melancholy, gone were his days of being alone all the time; every night, he fell asleep with you next to him, and he spent a while watching over you before he eventually settled down himself.
Often, he found himself waking up hours before you, and walked around the house just to be sure that nothing was lurking in the shadows waiting to hurt you. More often, he did it in the morning as well.
He didn't want anything or anyone to take you away from him; you had given him friendship and romance and everything between. People smiled at him on the street, greeted him warmly, he had friends and people generally quite liked him; eccentric, and a little odd, but they figured that he was harmless.
Just another man who wanted to be left in peace and quiet, nothing too unusual. Nothing unjustified.
Every Saturday, Conquest went to get flowers for you, as he had learned from the films you liked that, to be a good partner, he needed to get you flowers; he got you yellow daffodils every week, fresh from the florist who always smiled warmly and knew exactly what he wanted.
Every Tuesday, he went out to get you coffee from the little shop around the corner; he knew your order well, and liked the way that you smiled when he brought it to you right as you were getting up.
He knew your routines; you would wake up, check your phone for a bit, go for a cigarette, have a coffee, and go about doing whatever needed doing here and there throughout the day; at two in the afternoon, you would pause for a meal, then go back to doing what needed doing.
At six, you would stop for good, and sit at the kitchen table with him for tea before snuggling up on the sofa and watching something on the television for a while. Finally, you would shower, get your pyjamas on, and snuggle into bed with him.
It was simple and it was easy, and Conquest liked that.
His prosthetic had long been replaced thanks to a friend of his who knew about Viltrumites; she was a Martian, Conquest came to find out, and although their relationship had started out rocky, she was his best friend in the world besides you, and helped him with understanding humans as well as getting a prosthetic that was built for being a simple man instead of a weapon.
She was, in fact, the very person who had told him that you were flirting with him to begin with, and she along with her wife helped him to figure out how humans courted.
The simple man with the simple life was perfect for him, and he would have done anything to protect both that life and especially you.
It was rare, but sometimes you went together on what you told him was a date night, and he always allowed you to pick the place and the time.
Tonight had been one of those rare nights, and although Conquest was having a nice time, he froze; beneath the blue and red lights, with "Purple Rain" by Prince playing loud enough that he couldn't hear himself think, you looked amazing.
It took his breath away as he looked at you, standing and waiting for the drinks at the bar, and he couldn't help the way that his expression softened, and a lump formed in his throat; it was the exact same thing that had happened when you first kissed him and again when you first snuggled into him whilst you slept.
His heart pounded, and when you caught him staring, you grinned, and waved at him; it only made things worse, his stomach was fluttering and he suddenly felt hot under his collar and he didn't understand it or know what it was, but he knew he liked it anyway, and quickly asked someone what the song was, wanting to play it endlessly just to think about how you looked a moment ago.
It was suddenly his favourite song.
But in the moments that he had taken his eye off of you, a stranger had approached at the bar, and was smiling and laughing with you, and Conquest knew that he had to step in; he gently placed his hand on your lower back, trying to remember what he used to be despite the way that you immediately flashed him a reassuring smile and leaned into the touch. For a second, his resolve almost cracked, until he remembered what was at stake.
He waited for you to turn around and grab the drinks, when he loomed over the stranger, and curled his lip into a threatening snarl. "He's mine. Only mine. Look at him again, worm, and I will destroy your entire skeleton. Piece by piece, until I rip your head off with your spine connected to it."
The stranger went wide eyed, and suddenly dashed away after a shake of the head and a stuttered apology; you turned around, looked at how tense Conquest was, and sighed.
You took him outside into the smoking area where it was quieter, letting him trap you between his body and the cool, damp, brick wall as you rolled your eyes so fondly and hoped that he wouldn't knock over the drinks when you put them next to his feet.
"Carl, what did you do?"
"I can't let anyone take you away from me," he whispered, just loud enough for you to hear. "I can't let anyone hurt you."
You smiled, taking a long drag from your cigarette before you softly kissed him. "Nobody's going to take me away from you, and nobody's going to hurt me. I'm safe, I promise."
"I-"
"Carl," you put your hand on his chest, and he suddenly felt like it was going to burst from his chest. "It doesn't really matter what you do or say, I'm never going anywhere anyway, and I'm certainly not letting someone take me from you."
His brows lifted slightly as he flashed you the puppy dog eyes. "Just tell me I am yours. Tell me you won't go away."
"I promise," you told him so softly that it made his chest ache. "You're mine for as long as I'm yours. You've come such a long way, do you know how proud of you I am?"
Conquest froze. Biting the inside of his lip just to know that he was not dreaming. You were proud of him, and for whatever reason, that meant more to him than anything else he had ever heard.
"Proud?"
"Very," you nodded. "When we first met, you had an awful temper, and you hated everything... now look at you... did you... you didn't expect me to tell you off for being jealous, did you?"
He didn't answer, and you grinned.
"Oh, Carl," you tutted, lifting yourself up against the wall enough to rest your legs around his waist. He was quick to support you with one arm. "Can I tell you a secret?"
"Of course," Conquest breathed out.
You leaned in close, flicking the cigarette aside so you could whisper in his ear, clinging to his broad shoulders. "It's kinda hot when you're jealous... really revs my engine... maybe I should flirt with people, if this is how you're gonna act."
He perked up a little at that, gently pressing you into the wall as he let out a shaky breath. "Don't you dare. You are mine. Only mine. Always mine."
You laughed under your breath, trailing a hand down his chest and humming. "Why don't you prove it?"
His eyes went wide as he nodded, kissing you hard enough that you thought your mouth was going to bruise.
it's not unusual for someone like Naoya Zenin to call for a service like yours, and it's certainly not unusual for everyday frustrations to shine through in those sessions. for Naoya you get to play breeding stock tonight.
You don't know much about jujutsu sorcery. Barely the basics your procurer voluntarily offered and little bits you could string together yourself, though few facts that are definitive. One of the things you do know very well, is that this client you're about to see must be some big-shot within that world, the huge estate you're currently navigating and the pure ego dripping off of him very telling. It's not your first time here, and you hope not your last either. He pays well and despite the occasional overstepping sadism and undeniable disdain for your line of work, you almost like him. You're lucky he's pretty, physically well off too, and dominant enough to do most of the work himself. If it wasn't for his personality, he'd be the perfect client.
Naoya Zenin. If that name should ever slip in the wrong company, you can count yourself dead. It was one of the first things you were warned of. Utmost secrecy under any circumstance. You assume it's the fact some family prodigy is calling a hooker over, or maybe it's the fact that you're a guy as he is or maybe you're dealing with someone far more dangerous than you think. Whatever. Your knuckles hit the wooden frame to his washitsu, three gentle knocks as always. "Come in."
You open the sliding door, slow and deliberate, respectfully traditional. You're not sure just how important these gestures are to Naoya, but you don't feel like testing your luck either. Better safe than sorry. The wood offers a small click as you slide it closed behind you and enter the room. The off-white tatami feels cool but soft against your feet, offering a somewhat gentle welcome, much in contrast to the rest of the room. Beige and controlled, no decoration, only few formal scrolls stored in the wall closet, next to perfectly folded kimonos and other robes, a floor desk at which he's currently sitting, and the pristinely white futon already rolled out.
You slip into character immediately. A deep bow paired with the formal "Naoya-sama," greets the man sitting on a cushion in front of the floor desk, facing you while leaning back on the light wood, one leg propped up and one arm bent over the elevated knee. It's a relaxed position still dripping that casual controlled power. With a lazy flick of his wrist Naoya motions you to come closer. "Get to work." You bow your head in acknowledgement of the order before approaching him, kneeling and finding familiar space between his legs. He doesn't help you untying and adjusting his hakama pants to finally free his half-hard cock among the fabric.
Naoya's heat engulfs you there between his thighs, cloth ruffling against you when you put your mouth on him. His shape and taste is familiar, and you take him in easily, hear the satisfied sigh above. His hand finds the back of your head, not that he'd need to guide you, but you realize he likes the control regardless of purpose. "Fuuuck, finally someone who knows what he's doing," Naoya groans, head tilted backwards, voice filled with satisfied leisure, pleasure enwrapping him like a warm bath after a long day. "Mhh not like my useless wife," his hips roll upwards to meet your movement, attention shifting to stare at you through narrow eyes, "taking my cock so well, yeah? Tell me you want it, slut. Beg for my cum."
You pull off with big eyes, bigger after a few seductive blinks. You know how to play this game, leaning far into it now as you press wet, open mouthed kisses up his shaft, spreading your saliva along your lips. You nuzzle against his base, tonguing at his balls while the length of Naoya's dick rests over your face. "Please, Naoya-sama," you start, sultry voice, "please let me have your cum, master." You flutter your lids, purposely desperate while kissing back up his length, "I'll take it all, take it 'til I'm swollen with your heir." You focus on his reaction, the words a hard guess driven by an instinct this job has gifted you. Or maybe Naoya is just that obvious with his preferences.
You know you've hit bullseye when your client's cock twitches hard against your face, and Naoya groans shamelessly when you suckle the oozing precum from his tip. "Fuuck, that's right, whore," he pushes you down again, grinding his hips into you after burying his dick all the way. You're pulled off roughly, and a sudden slap across your cheek makes you gasp, an unexpected but not unfamiliar pain searing through your skin. Naoya grabs your face, nails digging into your jaw but keeping you at a distance from his hardened features, a variation of his usual smugness. "Turn around. I'll pump you so full you won't remember your own name."
Your lips are parted slightly, glossy and breathless, part performance and part something else, something that makes your thighs feel the slightest bit too tense as you follow the order and present yourself backwards to him, pulling your pants off in the same motion, now bent over at a perfect angle. Your hips sway enticingly, enough to have an effect without making the seduction obvious. You hear him shuffling into position, one warm hand grabbing the curve of your hip, the other slapping his cock against your routinely prepped hole. The force of Naoya's sudden insertion is apparent physical manifestation of this now revealed breeding kink, and it drives your kneeing body forward further onto the support of your hands, tight muscle straining under his frenzy and the intensity of sudden pleasure.
He slaps the side of your thigh with brutal momentum, a harsh warning about the slightly too loud moan you couldn't hold back. The sting of pain makes your body jerk to the side, held in place by a rough hand, and Naoya doesn't even give you a second to breathe before he starts slamming into your with merciless pace. He never pulls out far before pressing right back in, his hips ramming into you with rabbit-like vigor, creating an overload of sensations that have you gasping for air and biting your knuckles to keep quiet. The hand that slapped you is by your nape, rough grip pushing you down into the floor. "Weren't you so eager just now? Show me you deserve it, slut," he growls from between clenched teeth and despite your inability to move, talk or even breathe fully, you attempt a response, which expresses in form of a pathetically half-realized squirm and a choked mewl, resembling none of the words you wanted to say.
The expected victorious laugh behind you makes you clench your teeth, hating that this feels good, that someone like Naoya Zenin would get under your skin like this. Dripping with utter confidence, and this conviction that he's in some divine way above everyone else, Naoya would be the last person you'd have selected to make actual tears of pleasure brim behind your lids. There are clients much nicer, much more deserving of real intimacy and yet your gasps and sweat are only honest when it's this brat of a jujutsu sorcerer slapping his hips against your ass, degrading and horrible. You're still being held down, his grasp tighter as he gets closer to cumming, and it gets harder to hold yourself back too. Work and shame forgotten, you concentrate on the electric warmth each of his thrusts elicits, knowing how this goes if you refuse to give into pleasure for too long. Your prediction holds painfully true when the rush of pleasure halts long before the materialization of your orgasm.
Naoya thrusts deep one final time before shuddering a full load into your guts, zero care for your half offended gasp, and frustratedly tensing hips, even reaching between your legs to slap your unreleased cock, a motion that catches you off guard completely. He usually avoids touching your dick like only fucking your ass would make any of this less of what it is. You can't help the impulse jerk forward, and provoked glare over your shoulder before schooling your temper and returning to a submissive enough body language. Naoya only smirks. He already leaned back, cleaning his cock off with a tissue only reserved for him. You're forced to pull your clean pants over the mess, cringing while pretending you're not frustrated and shaky from what his dick put you through.
"Same time next week," he grins while handing you a small bundle of cash — extra payment for cumming inside without a condom. It's always more than he owes and you don't know if he does it on purpose or if he's just too proud to care about counting whatever he hands off to you. Not that you mind. Any cash that doesn't reach the greedy hands of your pimp is good cash. And enough for you to spend the evening without another client, relaxing at home and jerking off the remaining frustration, thinking about a version of Naoya that isn't as fucking insufferable.
it's not unusual for someone like Naoya Zenin to call for a service like yours, and it's certainly not unusual for everyday frustrations to shine through in those sessions. for Naoya you get to play breeding stock tonight.
You don't know much about jujutsu sorcery. Barely the basics your procurer voluntarily offered and little bits you could string together yourself, though few facts that are definitive. One of the things you do know very well, is that this client you're about to see must be some big-shot within that world, the huge estate you're currently navigating and the pure ego dripping off of him very telling. It's not your first time here, and you hope not your last either. He pays well and despite the occasional overstepping sadism and undeniable disdain for your line of work, you almost like him. You're lucky he's pretty, physically well off too, and dominant enough to do most of the work himself. If it wasn't for his personality, he'd be the perfect client.
Naoya Zenin. If that name should ever slip in the wrong company, you can count yourself dead. It was one of the first things you were warned of. Utmost secrecy under any circumstance. You assume it's the fact some family prodigy is calling a hooker over, or maybe it's the fact that you're a guy as he is or maybe you're dealing with someone far more dangerous than you think. Whatever. Your knuckles hit the wooden frame to his washitsu, three gentle knocks as always. "Come in."
You open the sliding door, slow and deliberate, respectfully traditional. You're not sure just how important these gestures are to Naoya, but you don't feel like testing your luck either. Better safe than sorry. The wood offers a small click as you slide it closed behind you and enter the room. The off-white tatami feels cool but soft against your feet, offering a somewhat gentle welcome, much in contrast to the rest of the room. Beige and controlled, no decoration, only few formal scrolls stored in the wall closet, next to perfectly folded kimonos and other robes, a floor desk at which he's currently sitting, and the pristinely white futon already rolled out.
You slip into character immediately. A deep bow paired with the formal "Naoya-sama," greets the man sitting on a cushion in front of the floor desk, facing you while leaning back on the light wood, one leg propped up and one arm bent over the elevated knee. It's a relaxed position still dripping that casual controlled power. With a lazy flick of his wrist Naoya motions you to come closer. "Get to work." You bow your head in acknowledgement of the order before approaching him, kneeling and finding familiar space between his legs. He doesn't help you untying and adjusting his hakama pants to finally free his half-hard cock among the fabric.
Naoya's heat engulfs you there between his thighs, cloth ruffling against you when you put your mouth on him. His shape and taste is familiar, and you take him in easily, hear the satisfied sigh above. His hand finds the back of your head, not that he'd need to guide you, but you realize he likes the control regardless of purpose. "Fuuuck, finally someone who knows what he's doing," Naoya groans, head tilted backwards, voice filled with satisfied leisure, pleasure enwrapping him like a warm bath after a long day. "Mhh not like my useless wife," his hips roll upwards to meet your movement, attention shifting to stare at you through narrow eyes, "taking my cock so well, yeah? Tell me you want it, slut. Beg for my cum."
You pull off with big eyes, bigger after a few seductive blinks. You know how to play this game, leaning far into it now as you press wet, open mouthed kisses up his shaft, spreading your saliva along your lips. You nuzzle against his base, tonguing at his balls while the length of Naoya's dick rests over your face. "Please, Naoya-sama," you start, sultry voice, "please let me have your cum, master." You flutter your lids, purposely desperate while kissing back up his length, "I'll take it all, take it 'til I'm swollen with your heir." You focus on his reaction, the words a hard guess driven by an instinct this job has gifted you. Or maybe Naoya is just that obvious with his preferences.
You know you've hit bullseye when your client's cock twitches hard against your face, and Naoya groans shamelessly when you suckle the oozing precum from his tip. "Fuuck, that's right, whore," he pushes you down again, grinding his hips into you after burying his dick all the way. You're pulled off roughly, and a sudden slap across your cheek makes you gasp, an unexpected but not unfamiliar pain searing through your skin. Naoya grabs your face, nails digging into your jaw but keeping you at a distance from his hardened features, a variation of his usual smugness. "Turn around. I'll pump you so full you won't remember your own name."
Your lips are parted slightly, glossy and breathless, part performance and part something else, something that makes your thighs feel the slightest bit too tense as you follow the order and present yourself backwards to him, pulling your pants off in the same motion, now bent over at a perfect angle. Your hips sway enticingly, enough to have an effect without making the seduction obvious. You hear him shuffling into position, one warm hand grabbing the curve of your hip, the other slapping his cock against your routinely prepped hole. The force of Naoya's sudden insertion is apparent physical manifestation of this now revealed breeding kink, and it drives your kneeing body forward further onto the support of your hands, tight muscle straining under his frenzy and the intensity of sudden pleasure.
He slaps the side of your thigh with brutal momentum, a harsh warning about the slightly too loud moan you couldn't hold back. The sting of pain makes your body jerk to the side, held in place by a rough hand, and Naoya doesn't even give you a second to breathe before he starts slamming into your with merciless pace. He never pulls out far before pressing right back in, his hips ramming into you with rabbit-like vigor, creating an overload of sensations that have you gasping for air and biting your knuckles to keep quiet. The hand that slapped you is by your nape, rough grip pushing you down into the floor. "Weren't you so eager just now? Show me you deserve it, slut," he growls from between clenched teeth and despite your inability to move, talk or even breathe fully, you attempt a response, which expresses in form of a pathetically half-realized squirm and a choked mewl, resembling none of the words you wanted to say.
The expected victorious laugh behind you makes you clench your teeth, hating that this feels good, that someone like Naoya Zenin would get under your skin like this. Dripping with utter confidence, and this conviction that he's in some divine way above everyone else, Naoya would be the last person you'd have selected to make actual tears of pleasure brim behind your lids. There are clients much nicer, much more deserving of real intimacy and yet your gasps and sweat are only honest when it's this brat of a jujutsu sorcerer slapping his hips against your ass, degrading and horrible. You're still being held down, his grasp tighter as he gets closer to cumming, and it gets harder to hold yourself back too. Work and shame forgotten, you concentrate on the electric warmth each of his thrusts elicits, knowing how this goes if you refuse to give into pleasure for too long. Your prediction holds painfully true when the rush of pleasure halts long before the materialization of your orgasm.
Naoya thrusts deep one final time before shuddering a full load into your guts, zero care for your half offended gasp, and frustratedly tensing hips, even reaching between your legs to slap your unreleased cock, a motion that catches you off guard completely. He usually avoids touching your dick like only fucking your ass would make any of this less of what it is. You can't help the impulse jerk forward, and provoked glare over your shoulder before schooling your temper and returning to a submissive enough body language. Naoya only smirks. He already leaned back, cleaning his cock off with a tissue only reserved for him. You're forced to pull your clean pants over the mess, cringing while pretending you're not frustrated and shaky from what his dick put you through.
"Same time next week," he grins while handing you a small bundle of cash — extra payment for cumming inside without a condom. It's always more than he owes and you don't know if he does it on purpose or if he's just too proud to care about counting whatever he hands off to you. Not that you mind. Any cash that doesn't reach the greedy hands of your pimp is good cash. And enough for you to spend the evening without another client, relaxing at home and jerking off the remaining frustration, thinking about a version of Naoya that isn't as fucking insufferable.
Meeting up with other youtubers wasn't exactly your forte, but you had promised yourself you would push yourself into actually meeting others. One of your friends had been pushing for a while, you had felt bad fobbing him off so much.
You double checked the text, hoping you got the right building. Once confirmed you hit the buzzer, almost running before you heard a click and a 'hello'. "Its (YT Name)." You awkwardly choked out, trying your best to take deep breaths and calm yourself. The door buzzed and you opened it, stepping inside. Your footsteps echoed through the building as you made your way up to the third floor, the smell of marijauna was rife in the building. You didn't have to check the text again as Lukas stood leaning against the door, a smirk and a joint in his mouth. You never thought he would have had glasses, they looked good on him. He took an inhale before reaching his hand out to shake yours, you hoped your hands weren't too sweaty.
He was taller than you expected, almost hitting the top of the door despite slouching. "In you go." He nodded towards the inside, you obliged. You figured he was a smoker, he had that draw to his voice. You walked in, trying not to jump when he shut and locked the door. You made your way into the livingroom, trying not to throw up when you saw an unfamiliar face sitting on the couch. "Hey." You stuttered out, swallowing down your stress.
He gave you a nod before taking a drag of his own joint, you wished he had at least told you he did smoke. You could've brought your own stuff, Lukas pointed to the seat next to the other guy. You tried desperately to hold yourself together as you took a seat next to him, being far too aware of the limited space between you. "You smoke?" You nodded and he handed it over to you. You thanked him before taking a drag, anxiety starting to settle. You took a couple more tokes before you passed it back.
You watched as the quiet guy picked up a bong, grabbing up a bag and a grinder. He packed himself a rather decent looking bowl before he blasted through it, coughing for a moment before emptying the bong. He sat back as he exhaled the last of the smoke, looking insanely fried. You couldn't deny the fact that he was rather good looking, he had a bit of weight to him and it suited him well. You felt far too anxious to ask his name now, or to even announce your own.
Instead you focused on the game that Lukas was playing, you recognised it as COD Zombies. Lukas was rather good at the game, catching your full attention. You heard someone clear their throat and you looked over to the source, eye shooting up when the bong was presented to you. "Uh, you sure?" He nodded and you took it from him, pulling a lighter out of your pocket.
It looked rather packed, almost brimming over the edge. You gulped and took it anyway, shooting back mid inhale as a coughing fit took over you. You covered the top, clutching it between your legs as your other band slapped over your mouth. "You gotta finish." Were the first words he spoke, your brain was too cooked to even recognize it. You finished the bong, shaking as you handed it back.
You coughed for a moment before you fell back against the couch, body forced to relax due to exhaustion. Both guys laughed at you, you felt a hand slap onto your thigh. You barely even had the energy to jolt at the sudden contact. "Good boy." He praised before squeezing your thigh, sending a deep heat to your stomach. It took you a moment to realise it was a voice that you recognised.
"Suck my dick like the good little boy you are. You fucking idiot."
Your head shot towards him in an almost comical fashion, eyes wide as you finally recognised him. That toxic asshole you had gamed with a couple times, the smug look on his face told you everything. "Took you long enough, princess." His hand had grabbed you by your nape, dragging you closer to him. "What was it you said? Oh yeah, 'loser cant even cheat properly'." You felt like a bunny in headlights, your entire body frozen as your brain ran about a thousand miles per hour.
"A set up. Se-serioudly?" You spat out, anger starting to take over. You tried to get up only for Thomas to grab your wrist, pulling you down into his chest. You tried to get out of his grasp but failed, shirt riding up as you squirmed. His free hand grabbed your neck, forcing you to come to a holt. He pulled you close, forcing his tongue into your mouth. He tasted like smoke and vodka, you mumbled against his lips as you held a death grip on his wrist. He pulled away, a string of saliva connecting the both of you. You got shoved onto your knees, between Thomas' legs.
You looked up at him through shocked, wet eyes. He chuckled as he unbuckled his belt, cock springing free. A hand twisted into your hair, forcing your face closer to Thomas' cock. "Open up, princess. You're gonna taste a winner's cock." Before you could bite back you were shoved again, gagging as you were forced to deepthroat him. You took deep breaths through your nose, trying your best to relax. You figured it would hurt less. It felt completely overwhelming, tears already leaking from your eyes.
"That's a good boy." Lukas teased, petting your head like a dog. You whined around Thomas' cock, corners of your lips stinging as they were stretched. Lukas forced you to move back and forth, your throat tightening. "C'mon, don't tell me you can't even suck cock?" You tried to glare at him, failing to come across as angry with a mouthful of cock.
Thomas began thrusting into your mouth without regard. His precum left a salty coating on your tongue and you had no choice but to swallow it down. You never would have expected it to go this way, you had honestly thought Lukas was straight. Much less that he would set you up with someone who seemed to go out of his way to hate you.
"Got such a pretty little mouth, nice 'n wet for me." Thomas groaned out, eyes locked on you. The sound of a shutter going off left you frozen, eyes shooting to the side to see a phone aimed at you. "Smile." Lukas teased out, steel eyes roaming over you.
You let out a spluttered choke when you were finally pulled off, coughing into your hands as you tried to catch your breath. You let out a moan when the hand in your hair yanked you back, forcing you to look up into the camera. Lukas bit his lips as he watched (EC) eyes stare up at him on the screen. He stopped recording and shoved the phone into his back pocket, helping Thomas to pull you back into his lip.
Thomas' hands grabbed under your armpits, Lukas' on your waist. It was happening too fast for you to keep up with, barely able to stop Lukas from pulling down your pants. Thomas' hands moved to your biceps, nails digging into your skin as he kept you in place. Lukas shoved up your top, swooping down to suck on one of your nipples. An embarrassingly desperate moan ripped from your lips, entire body practically vibrating.
"Aw, he’s so hard for us. Such a good bitch." Thomas taunted, sniggering into your neck before he began to suck a dark bruise into your flesh. One of his hands dropped to your cock, teasingly squeezing the base before slowly stroking you. You could taste blood in your mouth, teeth perforating your lip as you tried to hold back.
"C'mon, be a good boy. Let go." Lukas sang, smirking down at you. He thought you looked really pretty, your eyelashes were in clumps and you had tear streaks down your cheeks. You looked utterly perfect like this, he figured Thomas would agree once he watched the videos. He shoved three fingers into your mouth, dragging them across your tongue. "Get 'em wet. Suck it." You whimpered when his fingers hit the back of your throat but you complied, beginning to suck on his fingers and roll your tongue over the digits.
"Such a sloppy slut." Thomas teased. "Knew when I first heard that whiney voice of yours that you needed a good fuck, look how wet you're getting." You whimpered when he swiped his thumb over your head, circling the slit of your cock. You tried to deny it, shaking your head. "It's alright. You're our little slut." Lukas added, teeth practically sparkling. He pulled away just enough to shove one of your legs over his shoulder, crowding over you.
You felt utterly trapped, almost completely naked between the clothed men. Two fingers sliding into you was enough to drag you from your thoughts, gasping out as you were forced to accomodate. Lukas' fingers were almost freakishly long, they slid farther than yours ever had. It left you gaping, brain fogging over as he massaged your prostate.
Thomas' had to tighten his grip for a moment, you figured you were going to be covered in bruises after this was all over. You tried to refocus yourself, trying your best not to get swept up in pleasure. They didn't give you much time to think, their mouths attaching to your neck as their hands wandered over your body. "St-stop. Wha-what the fucks wrong with you?" You choked out, hand grasping onto Lukas' jumper. Thomas let out a loud laugh, his breath tickling you.
He grabbed your jaw, shaking your head just enough to announce his point. "The moment you opened your mouth, I wanted to stuff it. Thought you'd sound prettier gagging on my cock. Was right." You hated his mocking tone, despising the fact it went straight to your cock. "Hmph." You sobbed out, wriggling against their hold. Lukas pulled your leg down, Thomas instead hooking his hands under your knees and pulling them up to your chest.
"Lets get this pretty pussy stuffed." You felt red hot shame rush over you, screwing your eyes shut as you tried to prepare yourself. Nothing you could have done would have worked, your eyes shooting open when a fat head pressed against your rim. You looked down to see Lukas' hand wrapped around Thomas' cock, positioning it to enter you. You whimpered, nerves beginning to wrack you.
Thomas' tightened his grip on you as he began sinking you down onto his cock, he groaned openly into your ear as he got deeper. "Fuh-fuck! So good. Fuck. Knew you'd be tight." He sounded almost delirious, you on the other hand felt as if your breath had been stolen away. You threw your head back onto Thomas' shoulder, eyes staring at the ceiling as you let out a silent scream.
He forced you to take him, your voice sounding wrecked as you choked out the only name you knew him by. "You call me daddy." He rasped into your ear, dropping your knee to his elbow so he could wrap his hand around your neck. When you didn't respond more than a whine he thrust his hips up, catching you off guard. "Daddy!" You finally choked out, face burning red. "See? That's a good boy." Thomas lightly smacked your cheek twice, his hand slid back to your knee as he forced you to ride him.
Lukas watched as you lost your mind, tears rushing from your eyes like a waterfall. You felt like you had been pushed past every limit you had, feeling useless as he bounced you on his lap like you were nothing more than a sex doll. You hated how depraved your moans had become, almost squealing as your brain whited out. You came so hard and fast you almost blacked out, falling limply onto Thomas.
"S-so much easier now. So complaint." He praised, giggling. You heard the camera again, tired eyes looking into the lens. "Think we got a much better use for you. You make a cute cum dump." You barely had the energy to exhale at the comment, your brain feeling fuzzy.
A sudden slap had your eyes shooting open, shocked flooding you as your head snapped to the side. Thomas let out a loud moan behind you, slurring about how tight you were. You couldn't stop yourself from twitching around his cock as Lukas grinned down at you. "Wha-" You were cutoff by Lukas grabbing your jaw, the new angle letting Thomas' somehow fuck into you deeper.
"We ain't done with you yet." He pulled out a joint and lit it up, taking a deep draw before he pressed his lips to yours. He forced you to inhale the smoke, not letting you pull away. You huffed out a defeated sigh before you began to slowly kiss back, whimpering when Thomas started grinding against you. Lukas pulled away and you exhaled, head feeling light. "Good boy." Lukas chuckled, hand tightening in your hair.
Lukas stood up, unbuckling his belt and pulling his phone out again. You were far too tired to protest, half heartedly glaring into the camera. Lukas pulled his dick out, lightly slapping it against your bottom lip. "Say 'Ahh'." Was the only warning you got before he shoved himself into your mouth. "Shit, he does have a nice mouth." Thomas chuckled, angling you so he could thrust into you easier.
You whimpered, saliva and precum dripping from the corners of your mouth. "Th-that's it. Move your tongue." You tried your best to comply, his hand in your hair keeping you still as he fucked into your mouth. You felt like a mess, covered in various fluids and choking on a cock. Thomas' sped up, skin slapping against yours and echoing throughout the room. You couldn't grasp a single thought, head empty as you slobbered on Lukas' cock.
You could feel Thomas' hands bruising your skin, his grip getting impossibly tighter the closer his orgasm got. You could feel another orgasm building up inside of yourself, unable to think further than the burning pleasure that threatened to boil over. Suddenly Lukas roughly pulled out of your mouth, leaving you coughing as Thomas' pulled your knees up to your chest. You wailed as Thomas' fucked you, eyed going cockeyed as you finally fell over the edge.
“Wait.” He suddenly called out in excitement. He pulled his glasses off and put them on your face, groaning at the sight of you. He hit record, making sure to capture Thomas pounding into you so hard the glasses almost fell from your face.
Your body was pushed beyond exhaustion, your second orgasm somehow hitting harder and causing you to paint your own face and his glasses. "Fuck. I got that. That was fucking hot. Like that porno." Lukas' sounded breathless, your eyes scrunching up as you were still getting fucked. You had tightened up, clamping down on Thomas' cock and sending him over the edge. He shoved deep into you, filling you up with his cum.
You were on the verge of passing out but you felt something thick and heavy tapping against your lips. You forced your eyes open, Lukas' cock tracing against your lips. You let out a tired whine, causing Lukas to chuckle. "C'mon, you can do it. We know you love cock." Lukas teased. You felt Thomas' lift you, sliding out from under you and setting you back down onto the couch. The only thing stopping you from flopping over was the grasp Lukas' hand had on your hair, keeping you in place as he pushed himself back between your lips.
"Oh yeah, he looks real cute taking a fat cock. Really made for it, huh?" You couldn't lie to yourself, they had just dragged you through an unbelievable pleasure. You were almost sure you were going to get hard again just from sucking off Lukas.
He took it surprisingly slow, mostly teasing you by rubbing his cock over your face. You could feel traces of his precum sticking to your skin, you felt sticky everywhere. You could feel Thomas' cum leaking out of your ass, it almost felt euphoric. Like he had staked some sort of claim over you, you tiredly looked over to his handsome smirking face. He had his phone in his hand, making sure to capture everything. "You've done so well." Thomas muttered, hand resting on your neck.
He stroked his thumb across your throat, enjoying the way your flesh twitched under him. Despite it being a slow and sloppy blow job, Lukas didn't take much longer before he pulled out of your mouth and painted your face. You looked at him in shock, body trembling with overstimulation. "COD?" Lukas suddenly asked, Thomas nodded and grabbed up a controller and joint.
He sat down and pulled your naked, tired body into his. He wrapped his arms around you before sparking up, throwing the lighter onto the couch. Before the game started he tapped the joint to your lips. "Smoke." Was the only word he said, you took an inhale and exhaled once he pulled it away. It took two more seconds before you passed out, Lukas let out a laugh. "I can't believe that shit worked." Thomas twisted his lips, a viper-like smile taking over. "Told you I'd make him my bitch." Was all Thomas said before the game loaded them in, resting his head on top of yours.
Working on a masky fic but my brain was consumed by this idea
Chubby!Streamer x Male!Bottom!Reader
Tags: Dubcon, Manhandling, Degradation, Rough Sex, Mirror Sex Technically, Filming
Synop: Your upstairs neighbours an annoying loudmouth streamer. You try to ignore how good he looks and he purposely pisses you off. He teaches you a lesson about banging on doors late at night.
A loud bang and a scream left you practically jumping out of your skin, rage flowing through you as you stared up at your roof with almost enough heat to melt through it. You hated that asshole. Your upstairs neighbour was a streamer and he was constantly live, constantly throwing controllers and slamming on his desk. You felt like he amped it up just to piss you off, the first time you had been rather polite to him despite the cockiness that coated him.
By the third time you had gritter teeth, a threat on the edge of your tongue as you almost banged his door down. He had opened the door, smirked at you and in the most snide tone you had ever heard spat out. "Piss off, princess." Slammed the door in your face and continued on. You could smell alcohol radiating off of him. You had found his stream a while back, he was entertaining, you couldn't deny it. You just wished it wasn't at your own expense.
He was larger than you, he had a bit of weight to him and you hated to admit that everything about him made butterflies rampage through you. "MOTHER FUCKERRR!" With that shout you threw the covers off, jumping up and storming towards your front door. You dashed up the stairs and started banging on his door. He took his sweet time in coming to you, opening the door and glaring at you. "You fucking dick. It's two am." Your voice was exasperated, pitching higher towards the end.
His face cracked and he smirked, looking you up and down. You were only in a long jumper and boxers, legs on full display as you chewed him out. He let out a dry laugh before roughly grabbing the collar of your shirt and dragging you into his flat. "W-what the fuck!" You yelped out, trying desperately to pull his wrists away. "That fuckin' mouth of yours never stops. It's about time I put those pretty lips of yours to use." Before you could stammer out a response he slammed his lips to yours, taking the chance to shove his tongue into your mouth. All you could do was whimper, his hands wrapping around your wrist and slamming them against the wall. You flexed your hands, brain reeling as you tried to comprehend what was happening.
He moved too fast, his presence dominating as he shoved you further into the wall. You whimpered when he bit your lip, his eyes glued to your face so he could take in every reaction. Finally he pulled back, leaving you gasping for air as you leaned against the wall with shaky legs. His dark eyes kept you pinned in place, allowing him to manhandle you. His fingers were rough, he played the guitar a lot and was rather good at it.
"You look so pretty when your mad, everytime you come here and all i can think about is bending you over and fucking that look off of your face. Im gonna fuck you up." His voice was low, whispering the last part as he looked you in the eye. His hands ran up under your shirt, scrapping his nails against your nipples causing you to yelp out. "Wai-" Your words were cut off with a moan, back arching as he grabbed at your cock. You felt like you had been swept into a tornado, you could smell his aftershave. He smelled like cinnamon and sweat, clearly he had just finished a session.
Suddenly he lifted you up, forcing you to cling to him. You let out a wet gasp against his neck, burying your face into his shoulder. "Should've known you just needed a good fuck, your ass is practically begging to be stuffed." You shook your head. "Y-you did this on purpose." You stated, chest heaving as his hands grabbed at your ass. His middle finger teased your rim, leaving your face burning bright red.
"And so what? It was the only way to get your attention." He dragged you over to his chair, sitting down and pulling you into his lap. "Y-you could have spoken to me!" You snapped, trying to get off of his lap. You could feel his cock pressing against you, you feel just how large and thick he was. "Wheres the fun in that? You're always alone. Probably gagging for it." You tried to deny his accusation, head shaking as you tried once more to get up.
He forced his lips back onto yours, almost bending you in half as he pressed you against his desk as he ground up against you. Your thighs burned, forced apart by his legs. You didn't know when you had started kissing back but you did, your tongue flicking against his. You whined into his mouth, he was addicted. The way he took complete control over you was almost enough to make you cum. You could taste smoke in his mouth, you could tell he smoked a lot of weed.
You felt like your brain had been cooked, you could barely focus on anything. You couldn't even remember why you had come. His hand came to the back of your neck, keeping you still as he pushed three fingers into your mouth. "Suck it, bitch." You hated the way his words went straight to your cock, that didn't stop your tongue from rolling over his fingers and getting them wet. He fucked your mouth with your fingers, eyes darkening with every gag he dragged out of you.
You felt your saliva drip down your chin, shivers wracking your body. He looked so cocky and confident, smirking as he leaned back. His dark hair was wild, he must run his hands through his hair a lot. He pulled his fingers from your mouth, hand shoving into your boxers and pushing two fingers into you.
"Sl-slo-slow down!" You cried out, arms locking around his shoulders as you buried your face into his neck. Your nails dug into his skin as your face scrunched up, head tilting back as you moaned. "You're gonna be a good boy and take what I give you. Maybe this'll teach you not to bang on doors so late at night." All you could do was choke on your whines, almost sobbing as he quickly fingered you open. You bit into his shoulder, muffled moans still spilling from your lips.
"S-son of a bitch." You whimpered out, mouth slack. You heard the sound of his mouse moving, clicking as he did something you couldn't see. You were about to question him when he pulled his fingers out, chuckling when you whined. "Got something much bigger for you, babe. Gonna stuff you full of this cock." His words went straight to yours, twitching against your stomach. He grabbed your ass to annunciate his words, dragging you close enough to reconnect your lips.
It was a sloppy kiss, your tongues swiping against each other. You ground down onto his cock, yearning for some friction. "Th-thats it, such a good boy for me. Bet you're gonna be so tight around my cock." He groaned out against your lips, biting your bottom lip and pulling it. "Fuh-fuck Thomas." You choked out, pupils blacking out your iris like an eclipse.
You pulled back, gasping as you looked at him. He had a cocky smirk, stubble apparent around his mouth. He had dark bags ringing his almost black eyes, he was also a toxic asshole. You had spent many nights listening to him hurl insults down his microphone, calling out other players for being 'absolute dog shit.'
By all accounts he was a dick, yet it turned you on. How cocky he was, he was bordering on an incel yet you found yourself ready to drop to your knees for him. You could see various hentai pictures on his walls, a couple figures dotted around his bookshelf. You knew he would be a pervert. He was so smug too, you knew he was damn good at games with an insane reaction time but the way he spoke to others could be deplorable.
Despite it all you were on his lap, desperately grinding down against his cock. "Ple-please fuck me." You finally begged. "Fuck me Thomas." He seemed to go wild after that, shoving you up and pulling down his stained sweatpants just enough for his thick cock to spring free. No wonder he was such a cocky asshole. He was well endowed. He opened a drawer and grabbed a bottle of lube out, watching you as he coated his cock. "Turn around."
You obeyed, jolting when he grabbed your hips and pulled you back. He rubbed the thick head of his cock against your hole, wrapping his free arm around your chest to keep you up. He teased you for a moment, his thumb toying with your nipple. "Please! Please, fuck!" You begged, the feeling of your rim being toyed with was driving you up the wall.
You were left speechless, breath stuck in your chest as he finally pushed into you. You knew it was going to hurt but you hadn't expected it to be this bad. He didn't stop either, shoving his cock as deep into you as he could. You let out a strangled noise when he finally bottomed out. He was rather gentle when he cupped your jaw, pointing your head towards the monitor.
"Smile, you're on camera." He whispered against your cheek, lips tickling you. Your eyes doubled once you finally noticed yourself on the monitor, you looked beyond fucked. Your hair was a mess and your face was red, thick tears rolling down your cheeks as you struggled to get used to having Thomas' cock in you. "Yoh-you can't." You whined, closing your eyes and trying to turn your head only to be stopped by Thomas' hand.
"D-don't worry. Just for me." He grinned, pulling you up and slamming you back down. You shouted his name, almost wailing as he made you ride him. "Shit. You looked s-so fucking pretty with my cock in you. Knew you'd be a good fuck." He suddenly leaned back and pulled you to his chest, his hand dragging one of your thighs up to your chest. You saw stars when he started fucking into you, the new angle causing your moans to come out in strangled chokes.
You finally collapsed, letting him use you as he pleased. "G-good boy." The praise went straight to your cock. The feeling of his cock sinking into you was mind numbing, harshly grinding against your prostate with every thrust. You could feel his soft stomach pressing against your back, his arms were thick and he easily could have easily done as he pleased with you. You supposed he did.
He wasn't afraid to moan into your ear, praising you and how tight you were. You could barely register his words, what you could register only pushed you closer to the edge. With another harsh slam you came, your cum shooting over your stomach and almost hitting your own face. It felt like fireworks had gone off in your mind, almost delirious with pleasure.
You threw your head against his shoulder, whimpering as he seemed to fuck you harder. You could tell by the grunts he let out that he was getting close.
He was surprised he hadn't came the moment your hole started spasming around his cock, it felt like you were trying to milk him. He couldn't believe his luck, he'd make sure he'd put your mouth to use next time. Maybe have you under his desk while he streamed. He couldn't deny he loved your ass, he couldn't tear his eyes away. He bit his lip as he watched your flesh jiggle with every slam of his hips, this was far better than he had ever dreamed.
He was glad he started to record this, he couldn't wait to watch it back and see your face as he pounded into you. He slammed you down, grinding into you as he came inside of you. You were boneless against him, body buzzing with electricity. "So pretty." He muttered, thumbs rubbing against the top of your thighs. He wrapped his arms around you, it felt surprisingly safe. You were too tired to ask him to pull out, you had the feeling he probably wouldn't anyway. You could feel his breathing slow down and deepen. It wasn't long before your own eyes closed and you fell asleep.
𝔜𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔡𝔞𝔡'𝔰 𝔟𝔢𝔰𝔱 𝔣𝔯𝔦𝔢𝔫𝔡
Ethan Winters x male reader
Summary: Ethan Winters thought sneaking around with the cute guy from the BSAA records annex was risky enough already between late-night flirting, hidden office hookups and desperately trying not to get caught at work. The only thing he didn’t know was that you were Chris Redfield’s son. Now there’s the horrifying fact that if Chris ever finds out, Ethan might not survive it.
Tags: Male reader. No use of Y/N. Ethan Winters/Male Reader. Age gap. Chris Redfield is M!reader's dad. Ethan's panicked face when the wires connect mentally. Ethan is the definition of a DILF. Size kink. Top Ethan. Bottom male reader. Sub bratty bottom energy. Workplace sex. Sex on a desk. Office hookup. Awkward but earnest dirty talking attempts (he's trying, okay). Breeding kink.
This has been sitting in my drafts for almost two months
ℳ𝒶𝓈𝓉ℯ𝓇𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓉 - gif
Words count: 7000
The fluorescents in the B.S.A.A. Eastern European outposts hummed at a frequency just shy of headache-inducing and you'd been listening to that hum for six hours straight. The analog clock on the wall of your dad's base read 16:47.
Outside the reinforced window of the records annex, snow was starting to come down in lazy flakes over the training yard and somewhere out there guys doing live-fire exercises on simulated mannequins.
Here you were instead, constantly clicking on a not-working computer.
"Come on, you piece of—"
The screen flickered, a little spinning circle of doom that kept spinning as you’d been trying to upload the same goddamn incident report — Sector 4, redacted, redacted, three confirmed B.O.W. specimens neutralized, blah blah — for the better part of an hour and the legacy database your dad's IT department refused to update and kept eating it.
Every single time you hit submit, the connection timed out and the form reset you had to retype everything because of course autosave wasn't a feature in this fossil.
Shoving back from the desk and dragging both hands down your face, trying to remember the breathing exercises one of the medics had taught you.
In through the nose for four, out through the mouth for eight.
Meant to lower your heart rate, mostly it just made you light-headed enough to want to throw the monitor through the window because you were in perfect shape and passed every physical exam they'd thrown at you, could even handle a sidearm and a long gun while running the obstacle course faster than half the new recruits.
And your father, Captain Christopher Redfield, assigned you in a beige room filing reports.
He'd never said it out loud but you knew he'd lost too much and want to lose you to the same nightmare that had eaten chunks out of him… but some trust in you would have been much appreciated on your part.
The doors at the end of the corridor banged open and your father's voice rolled in ahead of him.
You didn't turn around but instead jabbed at the keyboard.
ERROR 0x80070643. Encryption certificate not found. Reauthenticate.
"Oh you have got to be kidding me," you hissed at the screen.
"Hey."
You didn't even look up, knowing that voice along the Heavy boots, heavier shoulders and a permanent frown.
"Before you say anything, I swear to God this thing hates me personally."
A hand landed on the back of the chair next to you, tall shadow casted on the monitor and your dad was standing slightly behind the new figure, palm flat against the other man's shoulder blade in that ‘this is one of mine, be nice’ way he had.
You finally turned in a half-snarl because you were pissed but not a fool.
Broad as a barn, beard a little more salt than pepper these days while his big and glowed hand was resting on the back of another man who was—
Oh.
Blond, not as tall as your father but he'd still loom over you.
Stubble along a sharp jaw, eyes a sort of tired blue.
He was wearing a white button-down with the sleeves shoved unevenly to his elbows and a pair of cargo pants that were definitely military-issue and he had an exhausted-handsome quality that made men in their late thirties.
"Ethan," your father said, in his rumble, "this is Ethan Winters. You'll have heard the name."
Of course you had, everyone in any orbit of the B.S.A.A. had heard the name associated with the Louisiana incident and Eastern European mountain village all along the absolute meat-grinder of supernatural horseshit he'd come out of, twice, somehow alive.
He stuck his right hand out and gave you a small but friendly smile. "Hey. Nice to meet you."
You took his big and calloused hand along the heel of the palm and on the pads of his fingers, all felt as he shook with a firm grip and let go without dragging it out, which you appreciated because your face was already going hot for reasons you were going to refuse to examine.
Exchanging your name, Chris almost immediately spoke back.
"He’s processing all AAR submissions," your dad said to Ethan. "Anything someone file, it goes through him first. So play nice."
"Always," Ethan said, with that same tired smile.
Your father's hand was still on his back between the shoulder blades before he leaned in and said something low into Ethan's ear that you didn't catch, gave him two solid pats and turned to go.
At the door, he paused.
"Try not to break the monitor, kid."
"No promises," you muttered.
He was gone and then it was just you and Ethan Winters standing in the middle of your records annex looking around like he wasn't entirely sure why he was still there.
The little circle of doom on your monitor kept spinning.
Connection timed out.
You let your head fall forward and thunk gently against the desk.
"Bad day?" Ethan asked.
"Bad century. I think this computer was assembled by hand by a man who hated me personally."
There was a quiet huff of laughter as you lifted your head. He'd taken a step closer, hands in his pockets, head tilted at the screen the way a dog tilts its head in curiosity.
"What're you trying to do?"
"Upload an AAR. The form keeps timing out and I've retyped this thing four times."
"Mm." He was looking at the screen now, eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "May I?"
You scooted your chair back and he came around behind you, leaning over your shoulder and his shirt sleeve brushed the back of your neck as he reached past you for the mouse and the combination of smell between clean laundry, gun oil and, faintly, coffee reached your senses.
"This is the Falcon-3 backend, right?" he said, mostly to himself, clicking through. "Yeah, okay. So they never patched the session timeout on legacy forms. Stupid, but yeah, hold on."
"You know this system?"
"I'm a systems engineer," he said absently. "Or I was. Before, you know." A small wave of his hand with an ugly scar wrist-level. "Crazy infected family, village full of lycans… ‘Super sized bitch’ countess." He said it deadpan and the corner of his lips lifted when he heard you chuckle at his words. "Not my words. Anyway, watch."
He hit a key combination you didn't see in a quick flicker of his fingers and a developer console popped open at the corner of the screen.
He started typing fast, lines of code scrolling as he made a small thoughtful sound in his throat.
"Yeah, okay. They've got the session token expiring at six hundred seconds and they never refresh it. So if you sit on the page longer than ten minutes, the form's already dead by the time you hit submit, the server just doesn't tell you until it tries to write." He glanced down at you over his shoulder. "We can either bump the timeout client-side, which is technically against IT policy, or we can stage the form data locally and post it via direct API once we— yeah, we'll just bump the timeout. Don't tell your boss."
"He'd kill you," you said, dryly.
A flicker of amusement in his face like he could tell there was a private joke there but couldn't pin it down. "Probably. Okay. Type your report into a text file first this time, just in case."
You opened a notepad obediently and started copy-pasting from your scattered notes while stood close behind you, one hand braced on the edge of the desk by your elbow, the other working the keyboard.
His forearm was right next to your face, sleeve of his shirt shoved up unevenly, cuff bunching around his elbow and you could see the flex of tendons when he typed.
You tried, very hard, to keep your eyes on your own screen.
"There," he said, after a few minutes. "Try it now."
You hit submit and the little circle spun as you braced for failure.
Submission successful.
A green checkmark, the first one you'd seen in eight hours.
"Oh my God."
"Told you," he said and it was so smug you were surprised in the first place it came from him.
He straightened up off your shoulder and stretched, one arm overhead, line of his torso pulling tight under that white shirt. "Easy fix once you know where to look."
"You're a wizard, Mr. Winters."
"Ethan. Just Ethan." He scratched the back of his neck. "I'm just a guy who used to fix computer networks for a living."
You looked up at him properly for the first time. Up close, the tiredness in his eyes was still there, but there was a careful gentleness in him still.
"Thanks," you said, real this time and not snippy.
He smiled, small and genuine. "Anytime."
It became a thing.
He had no reason to keep showing up at your annex considering the military training he had to do as your father was running him through the same rigorous program he ran the rookies through, even though Ethan was thirty-something and had survived more in a week than most of those rookies would in a career.
Three days after you met him, he showed up at your door with two coffees from the commissary, black for him, with one sugars and a splash of cream for you, because he'd asked the second time you'd seen him and apparently he remembered.
"How's the Falcon-3 treating you?"
"Like an enemy combatant."
"Mind if I look?"
He was always very careful, you noticed, about that little bit of distance. He'd lean over your shoulder to look at the screen but he kept his weight on his own feet, never on you.
Laughing at your bad jokes like the dry pissy ones you made about the fluorescent lights and the analog clock.
A week in, you caught yourself looking forward to him.
A week and a half in, you caught yourself dressing better for work, tucking your shirt in, wearing the henley that fit a little snug across the shoulders.
He had this thing he did when he was thinking where he'd run his thumb along his bottom lip.
A nervous tell is hideously unfair.
And he was kind, that was the thing that got you.
After all the things he'd seen and read in the classified files between his daughter, ex-wife and what had happened in Romania, he was just kind.
He noticed when you were stressed and made dumb little comments to defuse it.
It gave you enough confidence to start flirting with him, cautious at first.
You'd hand him a folder and let your fingers brush his, hold the contact a half-second too long… lean over his shoulder when he was at the desk and pretend to look at the screen while breathing him in.
Even catch his eye across a room and hold it ‘fore smiling at him and spotting a red take on his cheeks.
He noticed.
There was a little flicker in his face and at the corners of his mouth, but he didn't take the bait, just kept being kind and calling you by your first name in that slightly rough voice that did embarrassing things to your spine.
Two weeks in, you were genuinely losing your mind.
Three weeks in, the computer started acting up again.
It was a Thursday late night and the records annex was empty except for you and the buzz of the fluorescents.
The computer froze, then unfroze and repeated this procedure constantly.
You'd been at it since seven in the morning and it was almost ten at night and you were going to start crying or screaming.
"Hey."
You looked up and Ethan was in the doorway in workout clothes, heather-grey t-shirt that fit him nicely along dark sweatpants and his hair was damp like he'd just come from the showers after a late training session.
He had a bottle of water in his hand and an apologetic look on his face.
"Had to look after Rose for the whole day and Chris wouldn’t let me skip training today… so here I am." he did a little with his hands in the air to joke and the awkward grin on his face grew more genuine when he saw you smile back. "Saw the light on, thought you might've been the cleaning crew."
"Nope. Just me and this junk slowly killing each other."
He came in like usual and set his water on a nearby filing cabinet before crossing to your desk and looking over your shoulder except this time he was barely a foot away from you and he smelled like soap and clean sweat.
His arm was bare and right next to your face, bicep of a good size from said military training showing its results as it flexed.
"What's it doing?"
"Freezing, then unfreezing… then freezing. I think the whole disk is dying."
"Mm." He pulled a chair over from the next desk and dragged it close to sit down beside you so that your knees were almost touching. He didn't seem to notice but you definitely did. "Let me look."
He took the keyboard and started running diagnostics.
"Yeah, okay, the swap file's huge, that'll do it, this thing has like four gigs of RAM and they're trying to run a database client on it, we can clear the cache and see if that helps, but honestly the long-term solution is they need to give you a new machine, the disk's reads are awful, look at this…"
His forearms were on full display, strong veined muscles flexing under the skin every time he moved his fingers.
You were not listening to a word he said as you leaned closer and pretended to look at the screen.
"Mm-hm," you said, like you were following along.
"…so the kernel's basically choking itself trying to allocate enough memory to—" He paused when noticing your shoulder. "Are you following any of this?"
"Not even a little."
He laughed under his breath. "Okay, fair."
"Keep talking, though. I like it when you do the nerd voice. It's hot.”
He looked at you sideways and didn't move away from your shoulder, kept looking at the screen but he wasn't really seeing it, thumb coming up to his bottom lip and rubbing along it.
The reattached hand on the keyboard stilled, cursor stopping and blinking.
"Thanks…" A breath of a laugh. Almost pained. "No one said it to me."
“It’s a shame, I could hear you for hours…”
A long quiet interrupted barely by a hum of the fluorescents.
He opened his eyes and looked at you, his eyes were so blue and serious.
"I haven't done this in a long time," he said.
"What?"
"Anything." A small, helpless sort of shrug. "With anybody. Since… you know."
"I’m aware… can I kiss you?"
He swallowed and you watched his Adam apple work.
"That's a slippery slope, kid."
"Don't call me kid."
"…sorry."
You leaned in slowly and you gave him every chance to pull back but he didn't, eyes dropping to your mouth and staying there, thumb dropping from his lip as you kissed him.
He made the smallest sound before his hand came up and cupped your jaw, tilting you a little to kiss back.
There was a slight off-rhythm at the start but he caught it within seconds, thumb stroking your jaw. His mouth opened against yours and you opened to him just as his tongue brushed yours and you made a noise you weren't proud of before grabbing the front of his t-shirt with both hands.
He pulled back an inch, forehead pressed to yours.
"This is a bad idea," he murmured.
"Yeah."
"…okay," he said. "Tell me to stop and I'll stop."
"Don't you dare."
He kissed you harder before standing up out of his chair, pulling you up with him and walking you backward until your hips hit the desk.
Keyboard skittered and papers fluttered but didn't seem to care as both of his big hands settled at your waist and he kissed you the way you'd been wanting him to kiss you for three weeks, bending down to do it and you had to tilt your chin up, something hot coiling low in your stomach.
Once he pulled back, panting hard against your mouth, you could see how red he had gotten.
"Door," he said.
"What?"
"The door. Lock it."
Stumbling past him you almost tripped on your own chair to get to the door and lock it and pulling the little blind down over the window for good measure until you turned around he was right there and he caught you by the back of the neck to walk you backward to the desk and lifting you up onto it.
He swallowed every noise you poured in his mouth.
"Quiet," he said into the kiss. "There's people."
"I— yeah. Yeah, sorry."
"You’re cute." His hands were under your shirt, warm palm skimming up your sides and ribs to reach your nipples with his thumbs and brushing them and you bit down hard on your lower lip to keep from making noise.
When he pulled your shirt up and over your head, he tossed it quickly on the desk before leaning down and kissing every inch of skin exposed, light stubble scraping faintly every place his mouth went.
He bit, gently, at the soft place just under your ribcage and you arched against him, grabbing his soft dirty-blonde hair, fisting them in your hand and he made a low, hot sound against your skin that went straight to your cock.
"Ethan~”
"Mm."
"Ethan, please—"
"What do you want, hm?" He'd straightened up, mouth at your ear while his hand had slid down between your bodies and was working open the button of your slacks. "Tell me. Use your words."
"I want you."
"Yeah? How long?"
"Since the first fucking time I saw you."
He laughed, sounding deeply pleased. "Good. That's good."
He had you out of your slacks on the same desk you spent every day at and he was standing between your knees in his stupid heather-grey t-shirt and sweatpants that weren't hiding anything, a big and hard tent against your thigh.
"You got anything?"
"What?" You blanked before remembering, in the drawer, you kept a thing of lube there because you'd been using it on yourself in the bathroom most days at lunch because this current thing you were imposed to do was boring.
"Of course you have lube in your work desk," he said.
"Don't judge me."
"I'm not. I'm thanking you."
He slicked his fingers and you spread your legs wider on the desk, cool of the laminate against the back of your thighs.
His fingers found your rim and rubbed slowly in little circles until you were squirming and biting your lip again, until you made a noise of pure frustration through your nose.
"Ethan."
"Patience."
"I'm gonna die." He laughed softly and pushed one big and long finger in.
You'd done this to yourself thinking he might be tentative and hesitant given how he kissed.
Nope, he was sure of everything as he pushed in to the second knuckle and curled causing your head to fall back and he caught the back of your neck with his hand to offer support.
"Easy," he murmured. "Easy, I got you." He worked you open with patience.
One finger, two and by the time he had all three you were panting, hips rolling against his hand, your cock leaking against your stomach.
He kept watching your face and making little soft sounds when you tightened around his digits.
"God, you’re so good for me." He grunts now, voice wrecked, the Texan lilt he mostly flattened out years ago creeping back.
"Ethan, please!”
"You sure?"
"Yes, oh my god, yes—"
"Quiet, baby." He pulled his fingers out and shoved both his sweatpants and briefs down enough to let his cock sprang free and you got a good look at it.
Yeah, okay. You'd been right to flirt with this man while looking at the thick length with the head of it heavy and shiny.
He slicked himself and stepped between your knees, hooking one arm under your right knee and lifting to open you and line himself up with his other hand.
"Tell me if it's too much." He said before pushing in.
It was so much to the point you couldn't breathe from how he was stretching you and he kept going to the point you were grabbing his t-shirt with both hands and biting your lip to keep from making noise.
His forehead was pressed to yours and he was breathing through his teeth.
"Fuck," he hissed. "Fuck, you're tight, baby,"
"Ethan—"
"I know. Almost there." He bottomed out and you felt his hips against the soft flesh of your ass along with the heat of him deep in your gut. Your eyes were watering a little, from the sensation of being so full.
You could feel him trembling the tiniest amount from holding still.
"You okay?" he whispered.
"Yeah."
"Need a second?"
"…yeah. One second."
He kissed your lips while you adjusted around him.
A sweet gesture given the fact he was balls-deep in you on a government desk.
He kissed your top lip, then your bottom lip, sliding to the corner of your mouth while one of his big hands stroked your hair back from your forehead.
It made you absolutely melt.
"Okay," you whispered. "Okay. Move."
He moved slowly at first, long drag of him out, then back in and the slide of it was almost too slow to bear, gasping.
"Quiet, baby."
"I'm trying!” You hissed at him through clenched teeth before he set a slow and deep rhythm.
He'd pull almost all the way out before pushing back in until his hips were flush against you again and letting you feel the thick stretch every time while he’d murmur something low and soothing against your mouth.
The desk creaked quietly while, somewhere in the periphery, a notification of probably the connection finally timing out came from the computer and he huffed once against your throat.
"Sorry about your file," he murmured.
"I really don't care right now."
"Mm." A grin against your skin. "Good."
Every thrust was hitting your prostate and made your spine try to leave your body. You bit down and whined on the heel of his palm when he put it over your mouth and he hissed, but it wasn't a complaint.
"Harder." Something stupid that you muttered when letting go of his hand and tilting your face away to whisper said thing.
He paused, mid-thrust. "Yeah?"
"Yeah. Please."
Something in his eyes like a leash he'd been holding carefully went slack.
"Okay," he said quietly.
He hooked your other knee up over his arm, lifting and opening you wider, almost folding you in half as he braced his hand flat on the desk by your head the large fingers of his palm spread wide as he started fucking you in earnest.
God. You couldn't make a sound even if you'd tried, breath getting punched out of you with every thrust.
The desk was creaking constantly now and you couldn't care of anything beside holding on to his shirt and stare up at him.
He was looking down at you, jaw clenched and eyes almost completely dark as his hand came down to your cock previously bouncing against your abdomens painfully hard and now he wrapped that big warm hand around it and stroked in time with his thrusts as your whole body locked up.
"Ethan! I'm gonna—"
"Yeah. Come for me… please."
You bit your lip as you came so hard your vision went white at the edges, painted his hand and your abdomen as a moan broke out of you helplessly before he clamped his hand over your mouth and fucked you through it.
He didn't stop like you thought he might, kept going while you were still pulsing around him, oversensitive and trembling as he was getting close.
"Ethan—"
"Almost…"
"Inside."
"What?"
"Inside, please, inside." And he made a low broken thing he didn't manage to muffle before he was burying his face in your neck and thrusting, hard and deep as you felt the heat of him growing in volume, pulse of it deep in your gut while his teeth were on your shoulder, breathing your name constantly.
Your fingers were in his hair while his hips stuttered to a stop and he sagged against you, panting.
The computer went a loud ‘bing!’ again, plaintively.
"…your file definitely didn't upload," he said into your shoulder.
"I really, really don't care." You laughed and it came out as a wheeze.
He huffed a laugh and kissed your shoulder where he'd bitten, half-collapsed against you, his weight warm and yet he was being careful before he eventually pulled back, flushed all the way down his neck.
"Hi," he said.
"Hi."
"…you want to come back to my quarters?"
"To do this again?"
"Eventually." A small, self-conscious smile. "Mostly because I'd like to take you on a date now. Retroactively. I feel weird about how this went."
He had just fucked you on a desk and now he was being flustered about not having taken you to dinner first.
Couldn't help the laugh that came after and he joined too, kissing your forehead and helping you off the desk as he found your shirt and handed it over.
"Walk me through what counts as a date in your book, Mr. Winters."
"Ethan."
"Ethan."
"…the commissary's still open till midnight."
He was smiling in a way you suspected he hadn't smiled in a long time.
"…can I hold your hand?"
You took his hand and he laced his fingers through yours without letting go ad you closed the door where the malfunctioning computer was still going bing! in the empty annex behind you closed the door on it.
It had become a pattern that went like this: you stayed late in the records annex and he would happen to wander by. The lights turned low because the overhead fluorescents were giving you a headache and those blinds got drawn due to sunlight being ‘in your eyes’ (it was night).
Tonight was a Tuesday and the base had emptied out hours ago. You'd parked yourself at your desk with a mug of coffee gone cold and a stack of intake forms you had every intention of filing eventually because Ethan had shown up in a golden hooded zip-up jacket, layered over a dark sweater and paired with rugged blue jeans button-down and that had been the end of any productivity in your immediate future.
Currently sitting in his lap while he was on your own chair with his rather muscular legs splayed out and his big hands settling at your waist, head tipped back so you could kiss him properly with both your arms looped around his broad shoulders and your knees on either side of his hips on the seat.
His mouth was warm as he kissed you enjoyably slow, which was funny because the man had survived two separate hells and you'd think he'd have learned to do everything fast.
Tongue brushing the seam of your lips as you opened for him and he licked into your mouth as you made a quiet noise against him and pulled at his hair.
"Mm," he hummed against your mouth, vibration more than sound.
You could taste the coffee on him since he'd brought you both fresh ones when he came in, his black he always took and never sweetened even though you'd seen him grimace at the first sip every time.
His tongue stroked yours lazily, sucking gently on your bottom lip when he pulled back and your whole spine went liquid.
He was totally here helping with your computer like you’ve agreed on as he kissed the corner of your mouth, trailing down your jaw where he knew you were ticklish and you squirmed against him, feeling that he was hard underneath against the inside of your thigh, warm thick weight of him through his jeans and you'd been ignoring it because you were enjoying the kissing too much and didn't want to break the rhythm.
So much to the point you haven’t noticed his hands at your waist had gone almost possessive as he parted your lips more to let his tongue go further in your mouth.
The thumbs of his palms were rubbing little circles into your hip bones.
"Ethan."
"Mm."
"The computer's broken again."
"Is it?"
"It's making this throbbing sound from the under-desk area."
"Mm. Yeah." Deadpan. "Real concerning. I'd better look into that."
"You should, I'm worried about it."
"I bet you are."
He kissed you again and one of his hands slid down off your waist to your ass, squeezing, making you gasp into his mouth and rolling your hips down without meaning to.
"Hey," he murmured. "Hey."
"What?"
"Lube?"
"Yeah."
"Where?"
"Drawer."
"…same drawer as before?"
"Same one."
"You restocked."
"I'm a professional."
He laughed again and buried his face in your neck, warmth of his breath fanning your skin along the scrape of his stubble and the firm press of his hands on you.
Completely in love with this man.
"Okay," you said. "Okay, hold on, I gotta grab that stuff."
"Stuff."
"Yeah."
Climbing off his lap your legs were wobbly as you crossed to the filing cabinet by the door, where you'd taken to keeping a small zipper pouch in the back of the third drawer, behind a stack of triplicate forms that no one had ever looked at and never would.
Yanking it out, inside there was a fresh bottle of lube silicone-water hybrid along a small remote-controlled thing you'd been wanting to try with him for weeks and hadn't worked up the nerve to bring out yet.
The handle of the door turned, which you had not yet locked because Ethan had walked in five minutes ago and you'd jumped him before getting to the lock.
Whipping the pouch behind your back and jamming it against the small of your back so hard you were probably going to bruise, your face went the temperature of the sun.
Across the room, Ethan, who had been mid-rise out of his chair to come help you root through the drawer, sat back down fast and slammed himself against the desk so that his hips disappeared under the lip of it, hands going flat to the surface in a posture of casual professional industry.
Your father walked in.
"Hey, kid. Saw the light on."
He paused and he looked at you, then Ethan.
You made the most innocent face you had ever made in your life, feeling the muscles of your face strain with the effort.
"Dad."
"…what're you still doing here?"
"Computer. It's been giving me hell. Won't push the AAR backlog. Etha— Mr. Winters was just helping me with it."
Across the room, Ethan's face moved when he heard something concerning just like his eyebrows that did a little thing, eyes flicking to your father than to you and the little furrow deepened.
The wires connected, synapses firing, file cabinet after file cabinet of memory getting yanked open and re-sorted.
BOYFRIEND'S — SLEEPING-PARTNER-WHOSE-RELATIONSHIP-STATUS-WE-HAVEN'T-DEFINED'S — DAD IS CHRIS REDFIELD.
His face went, briefly, the color of skim milk before it went a more diplomatic color due to your dad looking at him.
"Yeah, just running some diagnostics. The Falcon-3 backend is a mess, Chris. They really need to swap out these machines."
"Mm." Your dad scratched his beard before looking between the two of you again. You held your breath.
"Winters."
"Chris?"
"Don't know how the hell you did it, but you got him interested in this stuff." A grunt, almost a laugh. "Couldn't get him to look at a computer screen for more than five seconds, now he's pulling all-nighters with you."
"He's a quick learner," Ethan said. His voice did a thing at the end.
You bit the inside of your cheek so hard you tasted iron, looking at the mountain of a man with your most earnest look.
"Yeah," you said. "He's been really patient with me."
Ethan made a very small noise that might have been the one of a soul leaving a body.
Your dad huffed. "All right. Don't keep him here too late Ethan. He's got the morning brief at oh-eight-hundred."
"Sure Chris."
Your dad was looking at him, hand on the doorframe while giving Ethan a look you had only ever seen him give to subordinates who had failed their missions.
"Get some sleep tonight."
"…yes, Chris."
The door closed behind him and the silence that followed had lots of weight while you stood frozen in your earnest little pose and across the room Ethan sat at the desk with his hands flat against the laminate, entire upper body very still.
You waited until you heard the outer door of the records wing slam before exhaling.
"Wow," you said and climbed back into his lap, hands coning back up to your waist on autopilot, kissing his forehead.
"You still in the mood?" you said. "Or did my dad scare your dick down?"
His eyes refocused slowly.
"You could have told me," he said, "that your dad is Chris Redfield."
"I figured you'd notice eventually." You grinned without helping it since the look he gave you was the funniest thing in the world. "You never asked."
"You think I wouldn't have wanted to know that information before—"
"Before what?"
"Before anything! Your dad punched a boulder."
"I know. You're cute when you panic."
"He's going to drag me out into the training yard and shoot me himself." He said deadpan.
"Probably." You started kissing his cheekbone, the bridge of his nose while he made a noise of protest in his throat that was not, you noticed, accompanied by any actual physical attempt to stop you. "Or he might just put you on a really bad rotation for a year."
"Don't kiss me."
"Why?"
"Because I'm trying to have a crisis and you're being adorable—"
You kissed his mouth and he shut up as you felt his hands settle back on your waist, defeated.
"He doesn't have to find out right away." Pulling away barely to whisper those words. "Might as well enjoy your last days alive, no?"
You said it light with a grin in your voice and, to demonstrate the sentiment, you rolled your hips down slowly against the lap you were sitting on, finding that, interestingly, Ethan was still hard.
A little muffled, valiantly attempting to recover from the shock, but very much there, thick line of him pressed against the seam of his jeans and when you ground down on him slowly his breath hitched and his hands tightened on your hips.
"That's not fair," he said quietly. "You're going to be the death of me… literally."
"Yeah, yeah. Famous last words. C'mon, old man, focus."
"Old man—"
You laughed as he scowled before grabbing your jaw with his big warm hand and tilting it up to kiss you.
Laughing into it, his teeth caught your bottom lip and your laugh turned into something quieter.
"There we go," you murmured when he let your mouth go.
"Brat."
"DILF."
He flipped you over off his lap and onto the desk in one motion and your back hit the laminate with a thud that knocked the air out of your lungs and he was on his feet between your knees, chair rolling away behind him and bumping the wall.
"Lock the door."
"I locked it the second your dad walked out."
"…you did?" He cracked a grin too before he was leaning down over you with both arms braced on the desk where you were and his weight settled between your spread knees.
"Your dad said to not keep you up too late." He murmured against your mouth. "He thinks you're working."
He had a hand at the hem of your shirt, sliding it up your stomach while the vowels had gone slow and rough. "When really, you're just up here being a slut for me. Aren't you?”
He grinned against your jaw despite sounding a little uncertain at the edges, like someone trying out a new language with a decent accent but still hunting for vocabulary.
He was trying, though, because he'd figured out that you liked it and provided it.
"Yeah," he said, kissing under your jaw. "Yeah. Captain wants his—" He paused, mouth at your throat. He had clearly just remembered, in the middle of this, who the Captain was.
"…you know what, on second thought—"
"No, no, no, keep going.”
He laughed helplessly against your throat as you felt the warm puff of his breath and the scrape of his stubble before he was biting gently and pulling your shirt up over your head.
"Pouch," you said.
"What?"
"Pouch on the desk."
He found and unzipped it.
"…what is this."
"It's a thing for, you know… plug it in. I was gonna bring it up."
"Okay. Okay. Maybe… maybe later. For now—" He set it aside on the desk and took out the lube. His ears, you noticed, were pink. They went pink whenever he was a little flustered, a little out of his depth, and it was the most unfair thing in the world that a man who'd survived two bioterror events still went pink in the ears at the mention of a sex toy.
He kissed you and worked your slacks and your boxers off in two motions, smooth, practiced now, broad warm hand wrapping around the base of his cock and pulling him free of his briefs right before grabbing for the lube.
"Easy," he murmured. "We've got time."
"Do we?"
"…yeah. Yeah, we've got time."
"My dad—"
"Your dad is the worst topic of conversation right now, can we please…"
You laughed and he poured lube into his palm, warming it between his fingers ever since you'd told him once, weeks ago, that it had been cold and he'd never make the mistake again.
The thoughtfulness of it broke your heart a little.
His finger pressed at your hole before into the first knuckle, out and back into the second.
"Good?"
"Yes."
"More?"
"Please." He added a second finger and scissored them to work you open as you arched on the desk and bit your lip while trying to be quiet.
There was a wall between this room and the corridor and that wall was not, fundamentally, sound-proof.
"Quiet, baby." A third finger found its place inside your tight walls, a place he'd mapped out methodically over a month of practice as he stroked it once and your hips jumped clean off the desk.
You bit your fist and tasted blood as he kept working until you were boneless and panting and almost crying with how badly you wanted him to fuck you already.
Right away he pulled his fingers out and you whined at the loss but he hushed you again while lining himself up.
"Want it?"
"Yes."
"Beg."
"…what?"
"Beg, baby. C'mon."
"Ethan, please."
"Yeah?"
"Please fuck me. Please. Please, please—"
"Good boy."
He pushed in and you couldn't have made noise if you'd wanted to, breath punched out of you in a voiceless rush while he pushed in slow, long thick stretch of him sliding in and splitting you open in the way you'd come to crave.
Once he bottomed out, hips flush against yours, you could feel him so deep to the point he reached your gut. He was breathing through his teeth, gripping the edge of the desk with his reattached hand, another warm hand on your hip stroking little soothing strokes with his thumb.
"Okay?"
"Yeah, move." He did, the first few thrusts were long and deep, dragging him out almost all the way before he pushed back into the hilt and your eyes rolled back, hands scrabbling for purchase on the desk as you tried to remember to breathe.
He bent down over to kiss while fucking you, cupping your jaw with his big warm hand and licking into your mouth while rolling his hips into you with that same patient deep rhythm.
"You're so good for me," he whispered. "Chris'd be so proud, hm? His son is working so hard."
He clamped his hand over your mouth while he kept going and you were going out of your mind as he twisted his hips. He hit that spot. Your back arched.
"Really you're just up here taking it so good and letting me fuck you on your own desk."
Sobbing into his hand, muffled against his palm until took his hand off your mouth, brushed his thumb across your bottom lip and you sucked it into your mouth without thinking.
His hips stuttered in their rhythm at witnessing that right before speeding up due to his self-control being a thin and beautiful thing, desk creaking and keyboard rattling the second he started fucking you in earnest.
You bit your lip and you whined into your own throat as you held onto the front of his jacket with both fists.
"Yeah," he was breathing. "Fuck, you're so tight."
There was a strand of damp blond hair stuck to his forehead and he looked beautiful having the best night of his life.
Fat head of his dick began hammering your prostate and your eyes were watering.
"Hands off.” The hand with all fingers still attached and previously on your hip wrapped around the one you had on your own cock and it got slammed upward where your head was. “Don't touch yourself. Come just from this. Show me."
He kept going hard and deep in that same place until your whole body went tight and you came untouched, all over your abdomen and his shirt, a thin broken whine in the back of your throat that he caught with his mouth as he fucked you through and past it while mouthing repeatedly ‘yes’ against his jaw because no sound was making it out anymore.
"Where?" he panted. "Where do you want it?"
"In.”
"Yeah?"
"Inside, please, Ethan, please."
"Christ." He buried his face in your neck and came, constant pulses of him panting your insides white as he groaned against your skin and sagged against you.
His heart was pounding through his dark sweater while you ran your fingers through his damp hair.
"You okay?"
"…your dad is going to kill me."
"You just said no more dad—"
"I know. I'm sorry… give me a minute. I'm having a moment."
You laughed quietly and his shoulders shook with the laughter he rumbled out as well.
Eventually he pulled back carefully, pulling out of you as you felt the trickle that followed and he made a small possessive sound at the sight that made your spent cock twitch valiantly.
"Stay there," he murmured before grabbing the towel from the pouch and cleaning you up gently, wiping himself and tossing the towel aside.
He helped you sit up and helped you back into your clothes as you let him because you were too tired to do anything else and because you liked it.
He sat down in the chair and you pulled yourself into his lap, curled against his chest.
"…we're not telling him," he said.
"Mm."
"He's going to find out at our wedding and shoot me at the altar."
"At our wedding, huh?"
He went pink in the ears.
"…I— I didn't— I meant— it was a hypothetical.”
"It's okay. I liked the wedding part."
He buried his face in your hair and you felt him smile against your scalp.
Both of his arms tightened around you as you stayed there in his lap for a long time until the computer, abandoned on the desk, finally went ’bing’ with the failed connection notification.
"Want me to fix it?"
"…if you wanna."
He kept you tugged against his chest as the chair you were both on rolled forward until your back made contact with the desk and you heard from behind your ears quick clicking noises from the keyboard.
"I'm really glad I helped you with this junk that first night."
You smiled into his neck, debating keeping the awful device just for what it brought you.
"Me too, old man."
"Stop calling me old man."
"Make me."
He huffed a laugh and kissed you again.
All of this with your father who had no idea his only kid was being thoroughly dicked down by one of his most trusted friends.
Imagine being Thragg’s only male consort? You were plucked from the ruins of mall and hauled into the bowls of a large alien spaceship. You were tested and probed, needles injected that made your blood boil and the searing pain. Once they were finished experimenting, you were escorted to a plain, white room. The guy with the red, cybernetic eye informed you of your new position.
Imagine being Thragg’s only male consort? You laid on the massive bed motionless, twiddling your thumbs and staring at the ceiling. This Grand Regent hasn’t shown up, but the cybernetic eye guy said he was busy breeding the other consorts. He’ll eventually come. You questioned why you were even here and what use you had—cybernetic eye guy responded with “all is ours, even your body will be put to use.”
Imagine being Thragg’s only male consort? Having waited for a couple of days, he finally arrived. Your body moved upright to see the hydraulic door open. Thragg walked in and approached you. He was colossus, standing at 6’6. His frame was a wall of rippling and hardened muscles with broad shoulders that showed his utter strength and dominance. His form-fitted crimson and grey suit hugged every nook and cranky. His hair was jet-black and cropped buzzcut, his mustache thick. You could feel his dark, obsidian eyes bore into you—examining you. You were in for it.
Imagine being Thragg’s only male consort? You were pressed underneath Thragg’s heavily muscular body, his mustache tickling your neck as he littered your neck with bites and marks. He pulled his massive dick out before thrusting into your tight ass, his hips snapping forward—slamming deeper into your depths. He fucked you like an unrelenting machine, delivering deep plunges that created pleasure inside you. Your moans mixed with the Grand Regent’s low, primal groans, snarling as his pace became more savage.
Imagine being Thragg’s only male consort? You were out of it. Moans tore from your throat, your eyes rolled back as you let yourself be ravaged by the Viltrumite. Your cock throbbed against between your bodies, smearing precum as it nearing the edge. Thragg’s heavy balls slapped against your ass, his dick continuing to drag in and out of your gaping hole. He shifted positions and put you into a mating press—like he did with the other consorts.
Imagine being Thragg’s only male consort? The new position sent shockwaves through your body. You clawed at the white sheets, screaming and tightening around Thragg’s massive dick as ropes of cum squirted from your slit. Thragg wasn’t far behind as he continued his deep thrusts, lodging himself deep inside your ass. With a roar and buried to a hilt, the Grand Regent cock pulsed hot, thick cum—filling you to the brim. Viltrumites must cum a lot as he continued to unload rope after rope.
Imagine being Thragg’s only male consort? You lay spent, your body quivering and air knocked out of your lungs. Your hole ached as thick globs of cum gushed out once Thragg pulled out. Your hole tightened around nothing, gaping as it begged to be filled again. The Grand regent fixed himself and informed you that he’ll come back.
And come back he did. You were barred from wearing clothing as Thragg wanted full access to you and your body. He fucked you almost every other day. You were littered with marks and cum leaking out your hole, a testament to Thragg and his capabilities. Unknowingly to you and Thragg himself, you were becoming his favorite consort.
The other consorts were just means to expand the ranks of the viltrumites. It’s unfortunate you can’t bear his offsprings, but that could be arranged. Thragg hasn’t claimed any heirs to his lineage.
Authors note: writing this at 5 in the morning so some of this might not make sense. I really need to fix my sleep schedule.
