"Oh my God! My dick is so big and hard right now." Hal said, feeling the rod between his legs painfully hard right now. He was bare as the day he was born, and Y/N would have laughed if the situation wasn't so serious. An alien spider had crawled into Hal's suit and bit his balls.
"What kind of spider was it?" Y/N asked, taking a look at Hal's very purple and swollen ball sack.
"How the fuck should I know?!" Hal said. "It just bit my fucking balls."
"Hey, this like that one scene from We're the Millers." Y/N giggles. "Does it hurt when I touch it?" He pokes Hal's balls.
starring: jordan powell x male reader x vinnie hacker
request: can i get a jordan powell x male reader x vinnie hacker smut fic i CRAVE more vinnie hacker smut
warnings: smut, cursing, unprotected sex, creampie, overstimulation, handjod, making out
when you went out to have some fun at a bar you didnt expect to end up back at a hotel room getting fucked by two guys you barely met but i mean are we really against that (i know you aren't) but you really couldn't complain with such good dick fucking you right now.
i think the guys kissing you was named jordan and the other one fucking you was vinnie, and god was he fucking you good while you were slumped in the arms of jordan who was making out with you, his tongue invading your mouth and his teeth casually nipping at your bottom lip every now and then.
"good boy" jordan whispered in your ear as your head drooped onto his shoulder, vinnies hands snaking up to lift your face off jordans shoulder "mm mm we wanna hear those pretty moans some more baby" he drawls deepening his thrusts into your making you whimper while your hands tighten around jordan arms.
looking up at him with watery eyes from the hours of fucking, feeling so tired but wanting more and more just for him to smile back at you "y'know you look so good all desperate for some cock" he mutters before going back to making out with you, they both enjoyed the sight, vinnie loved seeing you lazily making out with jordan and jordan loved seeing you take vinnies cock.
"yeah just a little more" vinnie said from behind you as he fucked you a little harder, his grip tightening before he came in you, creaming your hole for like the 3rd time tonight, pulling out of you and switching with jordan who slipped into your loose hole easily "did you miss this face" vinnie asked taking jordan place in front of you.
as much as you wanted to make a snarky remark you did in fact like looking at his pretty face but it looked better when he was destroying you hole and before you could answer he was quick to kiss you down your neck, sliding his hand down your back to arch it more, giving him the perfect view of your ass getting fucked.
"keep it just like that mhm" he lowly ordered nipping at your neck making you mewl a little, jordan ran his hands down the insides of your thighs, inching closer and closer to your sensitive cock after hours of cumming "ngh please no" you whine making both of them chuckle before jordan leans over your shoulder "what can't cum anymore" he teases and you shyly nod your head.
"well i think you got one more in you dont you think so vin" he asks "id say he has about three more in him" vinnie answers slipping his hands down to fondle your balls a little snickering at how you moan into the crook of his neck more and more as jordan slowly strokes your aching cock.
vin leans back up to kiss you, quickly making you go quiet as all the pleasure worked your body more and more, hips bucking your ass back onto jordans hips a little more "so slutty huh" jordan says slapping your ass causing you to moan into vins mouth making his cock jump a little.
"c'mon just one more and were done okay" jordan coos next to your ear as his fist tightens around your length and your hole tightens around his cock "yeah just one more for us okay baby boy" vinnie adds holding your face to look at him before your cumming onto the soaked sheets, jordans load spurting into your ass not to soon after.
"good boy" vinnie whispers kissing you while jordan comes down from his high and you collapse onto the bed and soon fall asleep "i like this one" jordan says admiring your sleeping figure "y'think he'd come live with us" vinnie asks.
𝔖𝔥𝔞𝔯𝔢𝔡 𝔭𝔯𝔬𝔭𝔢𝔯𝔱𝔶
Leon Kennedy x male reader x Chris Redfield
Summary: You came to Lanshang expecting a fight with the next abomination created by bioweapons, not to end up between the two agents you’ve known and teased for a while, now pressing you between their bodies, using every inch of strength and heat to fuck you until you forgot what the mission even was.
Tags: Day 27 ‘gang bang’. No use of Y/N. Male reader. Top Chris Redfield. Soft dominant Chris Redfield. Top Leon Kennedy. Dominant Leon Kennedy. Bottom male reader. Size difference. Blowjob. Anal sex. Double penetration. Riding.
ℳ𝒶𝓈𝓉ℯ𝓇𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓉 - 𝓀𝒾𝓃𝓀𝓉ℴ𝒷ℯ𝓇
Words count: 2500
Two guns had been pointed at you only minutes ago, black barrels and cold eyes promising death. Now the same hands that held triggers were clutching at your body with heat and urgency, Leon and Chris crowding you until every inch of space was stolen and your skin seemed to crackle under the electricity of their touch.
Both of their bulges pressed against you like weapons of their own, one nudging at your ass, the other firm against your own tent, hot and insistent reminders of what you were about to take. Your lungs dragged for air, but it only came laced with the scent of sweat, leather and the faint gun oil clinging to their gear.
Leon leaned in first, breath ghosting over your neck, the corner of his lips curled into a crooked grin that had become rare the longer years went by. He hummed low in his throat, deliberately teasing the shell of your ear before dragging his mouth down to taste your pulse. “Guess you found yourself in another fine mess,” he murmured, voice sly and soaked in sarcasm that did nothing to hide the heat in his tone.
Teeth grazing over your skin, then his lips latched, sucking until a bruise bloomed hot beneath. His hand clamped on your chin, rough and assured, jerking your face toward him until you had no choice but to stare into those piercing blue eyes before his mouth crashed onto yours, hungry and claiming, tongue plunging past your lips with a brazen stroke that tasted of gunpowder and the adrenaline of too many firefights.
“Mmph—ahh—” your protest melted into a whimper, swallowed whole by the way his tongue mapped every corner of your mouth, ruthless and greedy, one gloved hand tugging at your pants until they slid free of your thighs. He chuckled between kisses, muttering against your lips in that playful, cutting way of his. “Didn’t think you’d be this easy to strip… m’ not complaining, though.”
Behind, Chris was the opposite, steadier and heavier, big hands sliding down your spine like he was cataloging muscle and bone, fingertips tracing vertebrae before hooking under your shirt. The fabric bunched and rose as he exposed your back inch by inch, mouth lowering to plant kisses against the nape of your neck.
His touch quick shifted lower, palm filling with the weight of your ass, squeezing until you gasped into Leon’s mouth. One thick digit slid inside, stretching and coaxing, circling until you shuddered against Leon’s lips, only for a second finger to slide in, scissoring your tight heat, pushing you open with patience.
You bucked forward against Leon and that was when Chris’s other hand wrapped around your cock, stroking in long, measured pulls. His thumb rolled over the head, smearing precum down the shaft while his free hand worked deeper inside your ass, stretching and twisting, pulling another groan out of your throat.
Leon’s cock pressed against your hip, grinding as he deepened the kiss, moaning into your mouth. “God, you’re already shaking. We haven’t even started, sweetheart.” He muttered against your lips, words rough and teasing before pushing his tongue deeper, turning the kiss messy, saliva-slick, your jaw aching from the force as he devoured you, breaking only to nip at your swollen lips before diving back in.
Leon seized the moment, hand snapping to your waist and dragging you with a predator’s confidence across the floor. Your body hit a wooden table nearby, creaking dangerously under the sudden weight. He bent you forward, chest to your back as his teeth sank into the side of your neck, sharp enough to make you cry out. The sting blossomed into molten pleasure as his tongue lapped over the mark, muffled laugh vibrating against your skin. “You sound even better up close,” he muttered, voice rough, words rasping directly into your ear.
His cock ground against your ass through his pants, thick and demanding, every thrust a silent question that became a verbal taunt. “Think you can take it?” Leon’s voice was low, a challenge wrapped in amusement. He didn’t wait for an answer, though, his hand slid up between your lips, fingers pressing deep into your mouth. “Slick it. Now.” The command left no room for hesitation.
Moaning around his fingers as your tongue coating them in spit, drool dripping down your chin as Leon’s eyes gleamed, watching every humiliating second. The sound of his zipper lowering behind you made your spine stiffen, anticipation clawing at your gut.
From the corner of your eye, Chris was stripping away what little was needed of his BSAA gear, every buckle and strap tossed aside until you caught a glimpse of his bare chest. He stepped closer, rough palm cupping your face with a surprising gentleness before guiding you down against the table until your lips hovered millimeters from the heavy weight of his cock, hand stroking over your cheek once more before pressing the thick tip against your mouth.
Behind you, Leon finally pushed forward, the head of his cock breaching your hole with a slow, merciless stretch. “Nnnghh—fuck—” the sound tore out of you as he slid deeper, inch after inch filling you until your body clenched and quivered around him. He leaned down, mouth against your ear, whispering filth in that drawling, cocky voice, “Tight as hell.” grip pinning your hips so you couldn’t escape or even shift as he buried himself all the way inside, the fullness making your eyes water.
At the same time, Chris guided his cock into your mouth, thick length pushing past your lips until your throat strained to take him, the salty and delicious taste filled your taste buds as he held your head steady, hips rocking forward with slow control until you gagged around the intrusion, drool spilling over your lips.
“Open up for me. You’re doing good.” He stroked your hair back with surprising care, cock stretching your mouth wide, filling every inch just as Leon filled you from behind.
They moved together, Leon’s hips drew back before slamming forward, the table groaning beneath each thrust, cock grinding against your deepest spot until sparks lit up your vision. Chris set his own rhythm, rocking into your mouth with measured thrusts and hitting the back of your throat again and again, each gag swallowed down by his quiet, approving growls.
Heat built impossibly fast, every nerve raw and blazing. Leon’s voice was a constant in your ear, teasing yet commanding, dripping with trademark sarcasm even as his breath hitched. “You’re clenching me so tight… cute.” Chris’s hand tightened in your hair, his thrusts growing harder as your throat spasmed around him, groans vibrating through his groin pressed close to your face. The rhythm turned brutal and overwhelming until your cock rubbed against the edge of the table.
Your muffled cries bled into moans, ass filled and throat fucked raw until your body gave in, release ripped through you as cum splashed against the wood in thick ropes, muscles clamping down hard around Leon’s cock.
The sudden squeeze dragged a guttural curse from him as he slammed deep, hips jerking once, twice before he spilled inside you, hot and heavy, his voice rough against your ear. “Take it. Every drop.”
Chris followed soon after, his thrusts losing rhythm as he shoved deep into your throat, cock pulsing as he groaned, thick spurts of cum shooting down your throat until you gagged on the flood. He held you there, face pressed into his groin until he was spent, only then pulling free to watch his cum drip from your swollen lips.
Chris’s hands were the first to loosen, those massive fingers that had held your face steady now softening, palm lifting to your cheek, rough skin grazing over your flushed heat in the aftermath of what they had just done.
His thumb brushed along your damp jaw, tracing a line of drool that still clung there before tilting your head toward him.
“Still up for more?” It wasn’t quite a question, he knew the answer already, but wanted to hear it either way..
Before you could answer, Leon’s voice slid slick and cocky, carrying that sardonic smirk you’d come to expect from him even in gunfire. “He’s up for more.” His hand dragged down your spine to your hips, fingers curling around your cock with a possessive squeeze that had you hissing through clenched teeth.
The overstimulation made you twitch, body jolting in shock at how while his grin only widened at the reaction. “Yeah, thought so.” His thumb brushed lazily over the tip, smearing your own cum down the length, gaze locked on the way you flinched between pain and desperate pleasure.
You forced your shaky arms to push against the table, peeling yourself off the sticky wood with dense liquid fluid still seeping inside. His hands didn’t leave, hot and insistent at your waist, following your shape while Chris shifted up alongside you, stubble rasping against your cheek as he leaned in, lips against your cheek.
When his lips finally closed over yours, it was nothing like Leon’s feral kiss, but more consuming in its steadiness, deep and unyielding, a soldier’s devotion wrapped in fire.
Your trembling hand found his shoulder, fingers digging into the dense muscle, a silent request with the last scraps of strength left. Chris broke the kiss but didn’t pull away that far, blue eyes narrowing as he searched yours before a faint, knowing smirk curved his mouth.
Without hesitation, he turned and lowered himself onto the edge of the table, the wood groaning under his weight, thighs spreading wide, powerful muscles shifting beneath your palms as you braced yourself on them, your own body drawn forward. His cock was already hard again, thick and heavy, nudging against the cleft of your ass as if reminding you what awaited while low and guttural sounds were dragged from somewhere deep in his chest, rumbled through you when the tip slid along your slick entrance, catching on the stretch Leon had left behind.
Chris’s hands bracketed your hips, strong and steady, guiding you up as he positioned himself. “Easy,” he muttered, voice as steady as the grip that anchored you. Then he pulled you down, thick head pushing through without resistance this time, sliding in smooth and slow, the stretch deep but pleasant, your body pliant from Leon’s rough claiming.
Your lips parted on a gasp as inch after inch filled you, Chris’s cock sinking inside with a glide that drew heat up your spine, your head falling back as you let out a ragged moan.
Chris’s groan matched yours, low and gravelly, brows knitting as he took in the sight of you lowering yourself on him, hands flexing hard at your hips, not restraining but steadying while savoring the tightness.
When you bottomed out, seated flush in his lap, breath hissing through clenched teeth, sweat gleaming at his temple. “Fuck… perfect fit,” he muttered, voice cracking just slightly as he shifted his hips to grind deeper.
You didn’t have long to savor the fullness before Leon stepped in, boots scuffing against the floor as he wedged himself between Chris’s spread thighs, blue eyes locked on the mess of your body stretched over his partner.
His cock was already freed, thick and flushed as he pressed forward, the hot length sliding along your already filled hole, the blunt head nudging insistently against your stretched rim. “What’s the saying? Double the trouble?” A breathless chuckle with that stupid joke as he lined himself up, leaning in so his breath fanned over your mouth. “Lucky you.”
Cock forcing its way inside alongside Chris’s and the pressure was maddening, the stretch impossible as your body fought to accommodate both, mouth opened in a silent cry before breaking into a stuttered moan as Leon kept pressing, inch by inch sinking inside until your walls were stuffed to breaking.
The sensation was searing, unbearable and exquisite all at once, the fullness almost dizzying. Chris grunted beneath you, his grip bruising at your waist as he felt Leon’s cock grind against his own. Leon’s groan came hot against your lips, cock finally burying itself completely, your body impaled on both of them at once.
The first thrusts were careful, shallow, testing the limits of how much you could take. Chris held you steady, his strong hands anchoring you while Leon set the rhythm, sliding back only to slam forward again, the force jarring Chris deeper inside.
Every movement made your vision spark white, each drag of their cocks inside you scraping along places you didn’t know existed. You moaned loudly, broken sounds that filled the ruined room, body a helpless mess caught between their relentless heat.
Leon laughed breathlessly, his forehead pressing to yours while those hips worked, voice mocking but ragged, “didn’t think you had it in you.” His lips crashed against yours mid-thrust, tongues tangling in a wet, desperate kiss. Chris’s voice rumbled below, rough and low, “Look at me.” You tore your lips from Leon’s to obey, meeting Chris’s eyes as he began to thrust up, his pace growing firmer, driving deeper with every lift of his hips.
Together they built a rhythm with Leon pounding forward, Chris surging up, your body caught and wrecked between their brutal synchronization as the poor table creaked beneath the three of you, the ruined room echoing with the sounds of flesh slapping, guttural groans and your ragged cries.
Sweat slicked your skin, dripping down your spine and mixing with theirs until you couldn’t tell where one body ended and the other began. Every nerve in you screamed with overstimulation as each thrust tore another raw moan from your throat.
The pace turned merciless as Leon slammed forward with a reckless hunger, teeth baring as his hands gripped your cock again, jerking it in time with his thrusts. Chris countered with the steadiness of a tank, hips grinding up with perfect precision and hands pinning your waist in an iron grip.
It was impossible to hold back, your body unraveling under the double assault. Cum spilled across Leon’s abs, shooting in hot ropes between your chests as your orgasm tore through you with a cry that bordered on a scream. The spasms of your body clenched hard around both men and that was all it took.
Chris groaned, deep and guttural, thrusting hard as he spilled inside you, hot and thick. Leon’s rhythm shattered into frantic jerks, voice sharp against your lips as he growled out a curse and slammed deep, cock pulsing as he filled you again, the heat searing inside.
Pinned between them, chest heaving, your body sagged limp, stuffed and leaking while Chris held you steady, hand smoothing over your back with a heavy, grounding weight. “Hell of a partner.”
Summary: What starts as a simple case turns into something far messier when Connor finally acts on the crush he’s catalogued in silence.
Tags: Day 20 ‘Breeding kink / cum inflation’. No use of Y/N. Male reader. Coworkers to lovers. Top Connor. Bottom male reader. Anal sex. Breeding kink. Overstimulation. Android stamina.
Gif
ℳ𝒶𝓈𝓉ℯ𝓇𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓉 - 𝓀𝒾𝓃𝓀𝓉ℴ𝒷ℯ𝓇
Words count: 2700
It began as a case so small it should have barely brushed your radar, two cars lifted from opposite ends of the same neighborhood, a string of thefts so low-profile that most of the senior detectives had waved them off with excuses about being overworked.
Having been on the force a short time, Captain Fowler had tossed the case your way with a pointed look that said “cut your teeth on this before asking for the heavier stuff.” A couple of stolen vehicles weren’t glamorous compared to murders or corporate sabotage, but you took it anyway, determined to prove yourself.
That’s when Connor inserted himself into your orbit. The sleek prototype android was still most often paired with Lieutenant Hank Anderson, trailing the older detective with quiet deference. Everyone at the precinct had made the joke at least once that Connor looked like Hank’s reluctant, overgrown son, but you kept the joke alive more than anyone else, partly because you liked the way Connor’s LED flickered yellow when you teased, as if he wasn’t entirely sure if he was supposed to correct you.
When he offered to help you with your beginner’s case, it startled you more than you’d ever admit. The great RK800, deviant hunter, revolution-savior, working on car thefts? Still, his smile when he extended the offer was different from his usual rehearsed expressions. It wasn’t tight at the edges or calculated to mimic humanity; it felt real, faint and hesitant, but warm. It's impossible to turn it down.
The revolution had changed everything and deep down you knew it was for the better, a city that now felt alive in a way it hadn’t in years with androids walking free, experimenting with choice and freedom, the precinct reluctantly but steadily adapting.
And there was now Connor, too handsome for his own good, far too easy for your eyes to linger on whenever you were supposed to be analyzing evidence.
You thought tonight was just another routine late meeting, one more night of coffee growing cold between you while you swapped notes and tried to connect the dots. The suspect list had narrowed, just a few names left to check.
What you had no clue of was that Connor had already solved it. The last man you interviewed still carried the crime on his skin, oily residues of gasoline and engine degreaser clinging to his hands, absorbed into his cuticles, faint sheens beneath his fingernails.
Your human eyes failed at detecting those but Connor’s sensors parsed the chemical profile instantly, octane traces consistent with handling unrefined gasoline, oxidized hydrocarbons embedding in fabric fibers of his sleeve. Too specific and impossible to mistake.
If Connor had wanted, he could have closed the case that moment, reported and wrapped it all neatly with his usual clinical precision.
But he didn’t. Hank’s words echoed in his memory to sometimes just… live. He decided to wait and stretch the case a little longer, because this wasn’t really about cars anymore.
It was about the time he enjoyed spending with you.
Nights where you sat shoulder-to-shoulder in the precinct, laughing over shared frustrations and half-joking that you were both married to the job already. Nights where you dragged him to bars that welcomed androids, your enthusiasm radiant every time he walked in beside you, thirium pump humming faster at the warmth in your voice when you ordered for the two of you. Ninety percent of your conversations weren’t even about work, dogs you both loved, movies you tore apart scene by scene, small preferences like how you hated watered-down beer but liked the bottles icy enough to sting your lips.
He logged every detail.
Tonight felt no different until you admitted, voice soft and hesitant, that you liked being with him, maybe more than you should. His response was immediate, characteristically blunt as he told you he had all your moments together catalogued, every file carefully preserved, that spending time with you had checked off every milestone he’d been told a partner should reach.
Then, zero filters and with an utterly deadpan expression, he asked you out on a date.
The shock must have been plain on your face because his LED spun yellow, processing outcomes while tilting his head to the right, lips pressed together, brows drawn low in concentration.
His pupils didn’t dilate the way a human’s would, but there was still a depth in his stare, confusion painting every line of his face hotter than anything you’d ever seen, a machine glitching on the most beautiful error, so precise in every other circumstance, but now staring at you like he couldn’t compute your laughter.
And oh, how you laughed. Too hard and sudden, hand coming up to cover your mouth as tears threatened at the corners of your eyes, laughing at the sheer absurdity of his clinical delivery, that perfect poker face paired with something so vulnerably human, tore the air out of your lungs.
Connor froze mid-analysis, his search algorithms halting, because every wave of your laughter filled his auditory canals with a sensation he had no metric for. The sound wasn’t something he wanted to classify, but keep forever on.
When you caught your breath, you asked him if this had been his plan all along, helping with your case just to have an excuse to ask you out. He nodded, simple and unembarrassed, confirming your suspicion with that same mechanical sincerity that made your chest ache.
The delight on your face softened into something warmer and deeper, your gaze heavy with adoration as you stepped closer. Both your arms draped over his shoulders and Connor’s internal readings spiked: surface skin temperature up by two degrees where you pressed into him, heart rate soaring from baseline. He processed the rise in your heat signature instantly, logged it as a sign of arousal, but what mattered wasn’t the data. It was the closeness, the living pulse he could feel against him.
You whispered to him then, words like a prayer, asking what he possibly found in you when he was already so flawless and perfect.
His answer wasn’t hurried. He looked at you steadily, tone calm but the content searing hot in its raw honesty when admitting that you occupied his every thought even when he wasn’t at work, that during long nights alone he reviewed surveillance feeds just to see you in the background. He confessed how, in the bullpen, his eyes always gravitated to your desk first and when you weren’t there, it triggered a sense of alarm he hadn’t been programmed to feel.
The words hit you with the weight of how this was how he really felt and it gave you no hesitation, convincing you to surge forward as your lips found his, soft and trembling.
At first, he was rigid and awkward, his mouth not quite matching the pressure of yours, movements stilted as though he were pulling from stored simulations of what kissing should be, then his programming caught up with his desire and lips softened, angled and parted.
A big and soft hand of his lifted to cradle the back of your head, thumb brushing against your hairline as he tilted you deeper into him. The kiss turned full consuming, no longer awkward but alive, tongue teasing against yours while his vision was filled with datas about you.
Connor had calculated every parameter of your body long before you even touched him, yet the moment your lips pressed to his, the flood of human unpredictability overwhelmed his predictive models.
His HUD lit with biometric data scrolling in streams: skin flushed to thirty-eight degrees Celsius, a spike of adrenaline lifting heart rate from resting seventy-two to one hundred thirty-one beats per minute, pupils dilating until only a thin iris band remained.
Every moan you choked out registered as both sound pressure wave and elevated blood oxygen demand, heightened oxytocin release.
Moments blurred, the desk forgotten, the case closed in silence. Sheets rustled instead, back against your bed, Connor’s weight above you as clothing vanished in quick, efficient motions. His cock slid into you with inexorable depth, stretch burning and every thrust lit his HUD with cascading readings: your prostate struck, pelvic tension spiking, heartbeat climbing to one-forty-six.
He heard every gasp and desperate plea spilling out as you clenched around him and catalogued them to replay in perfect fidelity when he craved you.
All while fucking you with relentless rhythm, data and desire merging. Semen release calculated, volume predicted, yet his system poured it into you like an inexhaustible cycle. He watched your abdomen swell subtly, sensors marking internal pressure as his cum filled you, each pulse syncing with your trembling moans, his own LED glowing yellow with the impossible sight of you taking more, more, more, while his audio systems drowned in your cries.
What began as minutes bled into something endless, a loop of motion and sensation so consuming that your brain had long since stopped tracking where you ended and Connor began. Your legs were locked high around his waist, ankles hooked tight as he drove in and out of your hole, the wet slap of skin and the obscene squelch of your body wrapping him echoing through the room.
Connor’s hands pressed firmly on either side of the mattress, caging you, pinning you into place beneath him, lips parted as faint low grunts passed through them, breaths perfectly measured in volume but too raw to be anything except genuine.
Inside him, systems that had never been touched before were lighting up. His sexual subroutines had been buried, unnecessary for missions, ignored like extraneous code. But now they activated one by one, mapping every microsecond of sensation as your body gripped him. The tight heat of your hole sent positive feedback signals cascading across his network, every squeeze a data point that spiked his pleasure sensors until his thirium pump surged faster than combat ever demanded.
Built for infinite stamina and durability that never faltered in case of chase with criminals, Connor was unleashing every ounce of that design into you who lost count of how many times he had already reached climax, releasing his synthetic semen and coated your insides with every spurt. But instead of shutting down, he simply reset and began again. Never have you asked him to stop and he never faltered in his pace of fucking you.
The mess inside you was staggering, possible to feel with every thrust, a wet fullness that made your body clench tighter around him, desperate for more even as you overflowed.
He measured every contraction of your muscles, every tremor that signaled the edge of your orgasm and adjusted his pace, angling perfectly until you cried out, arching beneath him, spilling against your stomach and his.
He never let you come alone, calculating perfectly to reach his own peak with you, cock pulsing hard, releasing another torrent of synthetic cum deep inside, forcing your walls to milk him harder, milking you both for every drop.
One hand left the mattress, shifting down to your abdomen. His palm pressed lightly against you, fingers splayed as he felt the swell beneath your skin, the way his own previous release had accumulated inside. Warm fluid displaced, slick pressure against his shaft as he pushed deeper. The sensation made your back arch, a hiss ripping from your throat as you trembled under the new stimulation.
Without hesitation, he leaned down, mouth sealing over yours, swallowing the moan that broke free. His hips drove in harder, deeper, perfect strokes that had you seeing white. You tasted faintly of salt and sweat, but he devoured it as if it was the most precious thing he’d ever known.
Then he bottomed out one final time, hips flush, cock buried to the hilt. His body jerked, releasing again pulse after pulse of thick, hot synthetic fluid pouring into you. The pressure built until you swore you’d split from the fullness and that was enough to tip you over. You cried out against his mouth, releasing shooting up your belly, splashing against his hard, perfect abs. He swallowed your sound greedily, fucking you through it, not stopping even as both of you shuddered violently.
The room was still heavy with warmth lingering in the sheets, the air damp with sweat and the faint musk of synthetic fluid that clung to your skin. You’d finally peeled yourself away from him, shaky-legged and laughing at your own wobble, insisting you’d collapse if you didn’t wash up. Connor, propped against the headboard with that perfectly composed posture, had logged every second of your walk to the bathroom, eyes tracing the marks he’d left on your thighs, the slick shine between your legs that he’d put there.
He sat in the silence after, processors whirring with the unfamiliar ache in his thirium pump. He should have shut down excess cycles, focused on self-diagnostics, but instead he initiated a call sequence. His HUD flickered, encryption keys exchanged, the line crackling as Hank’s gruff voice came through.
“Christ, Connor,” Hank rasped, voice thick with sleep, that perpetual gravel even rougher in the middle of the night. “What the hell’s wrong? It’s—” a pause, paper rustling, probably his clock—“three in the goddamn morning. Even my damn dog doesn’t get me up this late.”
Connor hesitated, LED flickering yellow, then blue again. His tone, though calm, carried something softer than usual. “Everything is fine, Lieutenant. I wasn’t certain whether or not I should call, but I decided… to go for it.”
There was a beat of silence on the line, and then a weak, tired chuckle. Hank’s laugh was like worn leather creaking, weary but genuine. Connor could visualize it perfectly with the free hand rubbing at his face, dragging down his white bearded chin in exasperation.
“That so.” He sniffed, voice softer than he’d admit. “Where’s the kid, then? He’s not makin’ you do extra paperwork at this hour, is he?”
Connor blinked once, lips twitching faintly. “He is in the shower. He said he preferred it, even though he initially wanted to sleep. I believe he required it after the activity we engaged in.” His voice didn’t waver, still that smooth monotone, but his words were loaded. “We had sex for one hour, thirty-seven minutes and twenty-six seconds, with brief intervals for repositioning.”
The sound Hank made was halfway between a cough and a choke. There was a sharp clatter, as though he’d nearly dropped his phone, followed by wet, sputtering hacks. “Connor—” he wheezed, “Jesus Christ—don’t—” he coughed again, a curse muffled against the receiver. “Don’t need a damn stopwatch on your sex life.”
Connor tilted his head slightly, LED pulsing. “I thought precision would help clarify the context. He invited me to join him in the shower, but I was… confused. I do not require hygiene protocols. Bathing is unnecessary for me.”
Another groan came down the line, long and beleaguered, like Hank was dragging every ounce of energy just to keep from slamming the phone shut. “Goddamn it, Connor. You don’t gotta tell me all the play-by-play. Sweet mother of…” His mutter trailed off, low and grumbling. “CyberLife’s crown jewel, state-of-the-art machine, but dumb as a brick.”
Connor’s brows furrowed, LED flashing yellow as he parsed the insult. “Lieutenant—”
The line clicked dead, leaving Connor in the dim quiet. He sat there, bare chest streaked faintly with the dried remnants of your release while listening to the water run in the shower. The sound wrapped around him, not like data but like comfort. His fingers brushed the sheets where your warmth lingered and though he didn’t have the word for it, every system in his body hummed with something bigger than programming.
You called out then, voice muffled by steam, teasing him to come in and he obediently stood, immediately already moving, the ghost of Hank’s coughing fit still echoing in his processor but overridden, completely, by the need to be near you again.
˚⁎⁺˳ . ⊹ you're in vancouver filming the new james bond movie when you secretly ditch the media ban to watch shane hollander and the metros play the vancouver canucks. when you're caught by the press, you need to come up with an excuse for your presence — one that shane is able to provide.
˚⁎⁺˳ . ⊹ male!reader, shane x reader. reader is an actor!
˚⁎⁺˳ . ⊹ part one!
“And we actually have a famous face in the stadium tonight, Isaac…” The announcer calls over the speaker, interrupting the sweeping shots of the audience that had been playing on the main stadium screens during the intermission. You wince, pulling your baseball cap further down over your face and slouching down in your seat. Surely not…
Ah, fuck.
A quick glance up at the jumbotron reveals an awkward angle of your side-profile, and you groan inwardly before straightening and pushing up your cap, shooting the camera what your agent, Laurie, affectionately calls your “fuck boy” grin.
Immediately, a chorus of cheers swells in the stands.
“James Bond is in the house! Unlike our boys on the ice, no matter how hard they try, Y/n L/n is the only one here tonight with a license to kill.”
You try not to let your grin slip at the bad joke. A headache is quickly forming at the corners of your vision, and people around you are already swiveling in their chairs to gaze at you, slack-jawed. You mime a fist bump at a kid who climbed fully around in their seat three rows ahead.
Mercifully, the camera cuts away after a few more beats, and you allow yourself to relax back into your seat. You wince, already imagining the conspiracy theories that were no doubt about to hit Reddit in a couple of minutes.
You were in Vancouver to film the next Bond movie; the snowy streets would dupe as Moscow, for about a million less in filming, transport, and crew fees — but the sequence of events was largely supposed to remain secret from the series’ rabid fan base. But this was Hollander’s last game of the season outside of Montreal, and you’d begged to catch it… Jesus. Sam was never going to let you live this down. You shoot a sheepish text to him.
got caught at that hockey game i went to. maybe they won’t draw any conclusions
Sam texted back immediately.
I am going to lock you in your trailer until I have finished directing this movie.
i am the main guy
Irrelevant
yeah actually i think rose could do this without me she’s so badass
By the time the game wraps up, the Metros pulling ahead with two absolutely beautiful goals from Hollander, your headache has manifested in full force.
You’re able to get out of your seat and halfway out of the stadium with minimal interaction before you run into the press.
It’s a crowd of sports reporters swarming a player, attention entirely focused on the athlete. You flip the hood of your Metros hoodie up, covering your face in shadow, and edge past the crowd.
The athlete mutters something, and you reflexively flick your eyes up — only to lock gazes with Hollander, of all people, whose freckles and sweat-damp hair are thrown into harsh contrast by the lights of the cameras. A grin tugs at the corner of your mouth and you nod at him once. His sentence trails off.
A reporter whirls around and shouts in surprise. You can’t bring yourself to be upset about being caught; most of your focus is snagged on the pretty smattering of freckles across Hollander’s nose.
“Y/n!” She calls, and the crowd instantly whips toward you. You’re guided by insistent hands to Hollander’s side, who’s shifting nervously on his feet. You turn to him and offer your hand, which he clasps in a warm, calloused grip. The flash of bulbs immediately consumes the space.
“Nice to meet you, dude.” You whisper, using your joined hands to tug him forward until you can lean down to speak directly into his ear. “You played really well.”
“Uh, I — thank you.” Hollander stutters back. God, he’s fucking adorable. An idea hits, suddenly.
“Play along?” You murmur, prepared to take the hit if he shook his head. Hollander only quirks an eyebrow and nods, though, so you withdraw and wink at him playfully.
“Y/n! What are you doing in Vancouver? Does this have anything to do with the next James Bond movie?”
“Tricky. I’ve been sworn to secrecy by my media director, so I can’t speak directly on that, but I’m actually here to see my buddy Shane play.”
A blush has risen high on Hollander’s cheeks. When the microphones pivot back to him, though, his voice is steady. “Uh, yeah. I invited him out to catch a game.”
The hubbub intensifies, and you sling an arm around Hollander’s shoulders. He melts almost unconsciously against your side, then seems to remember where he is, and straightens suddenly. You squeeze his shoulder, then guide him through the crowd of reporters.
“I think we’re gonna call it here, guys. Have a good night!”
//
The Canadian air is a jarring difference to the stifled heat of the press corridor. You shiver, even decked out in both a hoodie and a leather jacket, and Hollander laughs.
“I thought you were from Boston.”
You laugh. “And I’m freezing there too.”
You fall into a comfortable silence navigating through the parking lot; you’d both parked on the far end, it appeared, and your focus is mostly pulled to the icy ground to ensure you don’t faceplant in front of the hockey player glued to your left side.
You cut a glance at him. His nose is scrunched against the cold air, hair swept back. “Thanks for the save. Sorry if I put you in a tough spot.”
“I would’ve done it anyway,” Shane says, then shrugs, like the admission surprises him too. “It’s kind… kind of exhausting sometimes, isn’t it?”
You blow out a breath. “It is, yeah. I’m so grateful for all of my fans, and all of these opportunities… but I think I would like to just go to a hockey game and maybe get piss-drunk and make a fool of myself without it being the front page of People.”
Hollander laughs. “That’s not as much of a thing here as it is in America.”
You grin. “Yeah, probably for the best. I think Boston’s fucked with my perception of what’s socially acceptable.”
There’s a beat of silence. Hollander glances up at you, opens his mouth, then closes it. When he speaks, he does so quickly: “I’m, uh, a pretty big fan. I was really excited when I saw that you were doing a new Bond movie with Rose Landry.”
You grin. “Really? I’m a huge fan of you, dude. I think I drove like forty-five minutes to catch this game. You’re spectacular; my Dad is, like, obsessed with you.”
Hollander blushes.
“Just your Dad?” He asks.
“Don’t want to scare you off too early, Hollander.”
“You can call me Shane.”
You slow down in front of your car. “Then call me Y/n. This is me. Thanks again, dude. Hey — here.” You fumble for your phone. “Give me your number? You should come to the premier when it happens.”
He ducks his head to grope around in his hockey bag for his phone. You don’t want the moment to end, so when he leans forward to hand you the device, you blurt: “Actually, if you’re a fan of the movie, you want me to introduce you to Rose? I was about to go and meet her for dinner. My treat.”
You watch, fascinated, as red rises in Shane’s cheeks. “Uh, yeah. I’d love to.”
“Can I give you a lift?”
He nods and leaves to drop his bag off in his car, and you pull out your phone and shoot a text to Rose.
can i bring shane hollander to dinner? please say yes because i may have already invited him
SHANE HOLLANDER?? the hockey player? how did you manage this
he helped bail me out of a press thing
LMAO you were caught at the game? did sam threaten to kill you? yup he can come to dinner
thank you you’re amazing i adore you
//
It’s sort of surreal to glance over and see Shane sprawled across your passenger seat. He’s a big guy, and his knees are slightly cramped up where they don’t fit entirely under the dash.
You start the car, listen to the gentle hum of the engine. “Oh, sorry, man. The seat’s way forward; that’s usually Rose’s spot. You can tug it back… it’s kind of hard to find. Is it okay if I reach over?”
Shane smiles, slightly embarrassed. “Yeah, sure.”
You reach across his lap, mostly because the lever really is difficult to find, and slightly because you want to see him blush again, and pull it. The seat slides smoothly back. You watch Shane rearrange himself, and nod, satisfied, then latch his seat belt into place.
The road is surprisingly deserted, but icy. You used to just catch the bus when it got this cold in Boston. And then, of course, you got the lead in Running Man, and then Spiderman, and then you were the next James Bond, and suddenly had Uber money.
You’re yanked from your focus when Shane asks, voice almost faux casual, “So, are you and Rose dating?”
“Curious, are we?” You respond, even though his interest paints a grin across your face. Fuck boy grin, indeed.
“Oh, you know me. Can’t get enough of the celebrity dating rumors.” Shane deadpans back, and you laugh. He seems to be relaxing the longer he spends in your presence. You’re suddenly determined to preserve the wry smile on his face, the look in his eye — he’s gorgeous.
“Oh? You get any of those?”
“Mm. Not really. I don’t usually have time for anything other than hockey.”
“And juice commercials in see-through shirts, huh?”
Shane blushes. “You’ve seen those? That’s — my mom sets those up.”
“And she’s doing a service to the people, sweetheart.” You quip back. The endearment slips out almost unconsciously; you only realize what you’ve said when Shane chokes slightly.
“Fuck, sorry, I —”
“I don’t mind,” he says. His hands are folded in his lap when you glance quickly over, focus still pulled by the road, and his cheeks are painted a pretty pink.
You’re pretty sure that you can physically feel your heart skip a beat. Jesus, you need to get a grip.
“Yeah?” You ask.
“Yeah,” he responds.
//
You guide Shane through the rear entrance with a hand resting lightly on his lower back. He presses back into you, warmth radiating through his clothes, steady and grounding. His head darts around every so often to ensure no one’s watching, but the back alley is empty.
You pull open the door from him with a flourish. “After you.”
He grins. “Chivalry isn’t dead, huh?”
“Just go in,” You laugh.
When you step past the threshold, light floods your vision. The small building is well lit and heated. A low thrum of chatter fills the air, and you can smell the heady aroma of garlic and tomatoes. You let your hand drop from Shane’s back when he shifts slightly forward.
Rose waves you over eagerly from where she’s tucked into a booth. You pull her into a hug before ushering Shane onto the opposite bench and dropping down next to him. She arches an amused eyebrow at you.
“Shane Hollander, right? God, Y/n never shuts up about you. I think he knows your stats better than his lines.”
You huff in protest. “Christ, woman! The monologue is in Russian!”
You both hesitate slightly, then glance at Shane. Rose sighs. “Please don’t mind that. He’s incapable of not spoiling something.”
Shane just smiles and browses the menu. “Hear what?”
//
The rest of dinner is comfortable. Shane orders a side salad that he picks at enough that you slide half of your salmon fillet onto his plate, urging him to eat. Rose, inevitably, does not like her pasta dish, so you swap meals with her and Shane eats the tomatoes you pick out of the noodles.
You barely notice the time passing, and it’s only Shane’s slightly drooping eyelids that make you realize it’s been almost two hours since you last sat down. You pay for the check quickly, ignoring Shane’s attempts to grab the bill, then wave Rose goodbye and bundle a sleepy Shane in your leather jacket. He pulls the edges around himself and you lead him gently through the rows of booths and back to the car.
“You okay?” You ask.
He yawns. “Mhm. Just exhausted.”
He nods off in the passenger seat while you go to pay the valet fee, so you reach over and shake his shoulder gently when you climb back into the car.
“Shane? Sweetheart? Where should I drop you off?”
He grumbles slightly, shifting, and catches your hand, pressing it to his chest. “Just take me home. I don’t want to go back to the hotel.”
“I think we’ll have to, man. Montreal’s a five hour plane ride away.”
“Mm. Your place is fine, then. Can’t listen to Hayden snore or I’m gonna get arrested.” He grouses, then shifts and firmly shuts his eyes, which you take as your cue to drive.
The security at the temporary filming apartment is good, and it’s late enough that you’re not worried about cameras, so you maneuver a sleepily out-of-it Shane onto your back and hoist your hands under his thighs, carrying him up. You struggle a little bit more than your trainer would probably like with his hockey-bulk.
For the first time, you let yourself really realize that he’s a man — it seems like a stupid conclusion to draw, but you’ve only let yourself sleep with or date women for the past three years. You’d been too much in the media eye, your career still too young; but looking at Shane’s freckles seem to make all of these reasons seem arbitrary.
God, you didn’t even know if he liked guys.
When you reach your door, you set him down gently, and he sways on his feet while you unlock your apartment door and lead him inside. You crouch down to pull off his shoes, and his hands immediately wrap in your hair, fingers carding through the short length.
“You can take the master, if you’d like? I’ll sleep on the couch.”
Shane mumbles in agreement, and you reach up to gently squeeze his wrist to release his grip before dragging him down the hallway. He collapses on your bed immediately, face-down, and you roll him until you can manage to tuck him under the covers.
“Sleep well, sweetheart.”
You close the door and make an aborted motion towards your bathroom to brush your teeth before entirely abandoning the endeavor and letting yourself tumble down onto the cheap, pre-furnished couch. Rose had insisted on leaving an obscenely expensive throw-blanket tucked over the cushions, and you drag it down over yourself and drift to sleep, mind spinning.
tws: fauxcest, age gap (20s and late 40s), male!reader, throatfucking, reader calls john "dad"
almost dad!price letting male!reader fuck his face after you have a shitty day.
he spots you entering the house with slumped shoulders or a pinched look on your face and just somehow knows exactly what you need—to turn off your brain and use him in a way that makes you forget all your problems.
"dad, seriously. it's fine–"
"hush, 'n c'mere. fuck else 'm i here for if i can't take care of what's mine?"
he’s gotten better at it over time, stuffing your cock into his mouth and wagging his tongue as it slicks down his throat. he coughs and gags but hangs on with hands behind his back, watering eyes looking up at you with a stare that says all you need to know.
‘that’s a good son. don’t need to breathe so long as you’re happy.’
by the end of it all, john is red in the face with swollen lips and a slick-soaked chin. panting through swallows of the load you’d fed him. and hard as a rock at the way you had held his head in place and pumped yourself past his tongue until your sack rested tight against him.
the next morning, price shows up to work with a sore throat and a little hoarser than usual. the boys only side-eye him as he coughs into his fist through the entire morning briefing before retreating to his office to find a mug for some tea.
𝔊𝔯𝔢𝔢𝔡𝔶 𝔬𝔣 𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔪
Chris Redfield x Ethan Winters x Leon Kennedy x male reader
Summary: The odds were never supposed to fall this way, three men, three familiar shades of blue all converging on you at once. Each pair of eyes coming with something hard even through layers, outline obvious in its own way, pressing and poking at you from three different angles until you’re forced to face just how greedy they all are and how little you want to escape it.
Tags: No use of Y/N. Male reader. Little to no plot and more getting used like their sex toy. Older men. Age gap. Top and dominant Leon Kennedy. Top and dominant Chris Redfield. Top Ethan Winters. Gentle Dom Ethan Winters. Anal sex. Blowjob. Hand job. Overstimulation. Cum inflation. Triple penetration (I even searched it online to make sure it was possible).
ℳ𝒶𝓈𝓉ℯ𝓇𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓉
Words count: 8000
Taking care of your colleagues in this particular way was never something you advertised or spoke about out loud. It was a quiet understanding that developed over time, born from long missions, broken sleep schedules, too much blood soaked into too many uniforms.
Something warm and human in a line of work that stripped people down to weapons and trauma responses.
They came back from missions hollowed out in different ways, some carried guilt, other rage and exhaustion so deep it lived in their bones.
Something noticed because you felt it too and because you had learned through trial and instinct that your willingness to give yourself over could quiet the noise in their heads better than words ever could.
Chris Redfield never asked for comfort.
He endured, pushed through, compartmentalized and moved forward, one mission stacked on top of the next like weights he refused to set down. You’d watched him do it for years, shoulders rigid even off the field, jaw clenched when reports came in, silence that followed him like a second shadow after operations that went bad.
Which was too often.
Everyone in the BSAA knew Chris as a constant, reliable and unshakeable. The kind of man who would put himself between danger and his team without hesitation, bark orders through gunfire and still remember everyone’s name afterward. He trained harder than anyone, slept less than anyone and carried more ghosts than he ever let show.
You’d joined the BSAA younger than him, less decorated, but competent enough that he’d taken you under his wing almost immediately. He trusted you in the field, trusted your instincts when things went sideways.
That trust extended beyond missions, starting small. A hand on your shoulder that lingered longer than necessary, low and tired exhale when he realized it was just you in the room. Conversations that drifted away from protocol and into more personal things he didn’t say out loud to anyone else.
Chris never framed it as needing help.
But you learned his words.
The way he’d seek you out after particularly brutal missions, voice dropping when he said your name.
Your “support” was never casual or careless, but private and rooted in trust that had been built over years of shared survival. You gave him space to stop being the commander, that unbreakable force everyone else leaned on.
With you, he could finally set the weight down.
His touch was rough from training, from weapons and years of fighting things that shouldn’t exist. But when it came to you, it softened. He grounded himself through contact and closeness.
Chris wasn’t gentle because he didn’t know how but because he trusted you enough to be.
His grip around your waist was ironclad, massive bicep bulging as he held you close, powerful body pressed against yours. Your ass was a fiery red, the skin sensitive and tingling from the force of his thrusts and hips slapping against you with a pleasurable rhythm.
His other hand, capable of punching through solid rock, held you down bent to his will, fingers digging into your hip, leaving bruises that you knew would be there tomorrow.
You could feel every inch of Chris's uniform against your naked skin, contrast of the cool, hard materials against your heated, sensitive flesh that sent shivers down your spine. Chris was still dressed from his recent mission, body tense with the adrenaline and pent-up frustration of the day.
Cock slipping in and out of you with ease, that thick length stretching you wide and filling you completely, feeling every ridge and vein as he moved inside you, groans echoing in your ear and drowning out all thoughts.
Chris's thrusts were rough, bordering on brutal, but you welcomed it, body hungry for more. You knew he was unleashing all his stress and frustration and you loved it. He knew your limits, had trained you to take everything he had to give.
His hand on your hip moved, cock finding your prostate, rubbing it in time with his thrusts. Your body convulsed, cock leaking pre-cum onto your stomach, breath coming in short gasps while Chris's groans joined yours, voice a deep, rumbling growl that sent vibrations through your body.
"Fuck, you feel so good," he grunted, pace quickening and cock slamming into you with a force that left you gasping. You could feel his body tensing, cock swelling inside you as he neared his release. With a final, brutal thrust, he buried himself deep inside, cock pulsing as he filled you up with his load.
Your own orgasm hit like a freight train, body convulsing and cock shooting strings of cum onto your stomach, milking Chris's cock for every last drop.
As you both came down from your high, Chris's grip on you softened, his hand rubbing soothing circles on your hip. He pressed a gentle kiss to your shoulder, voice soft as he said, "Thank you. I needed that."
Leon Kennedy never really got to have a normal beginning.
Everyone who knew the file knew the late arrival to Raccoon City, first day on the job collapsing into a nightmare of blood-soaked streets and things that shouldn’t move still moving.
Facts didn’t capture what it did to him. They didn’t capture the way that hell carved itself into his posture, the careful distance he kept between himself and the weight of it all.
By the time you met him, he wasn’t a rookie anymore, at least not on paper. The U.S. government had folded him neatly into a secret anti–B.O.W. unit, trained him harder than most people could survive, sharpened him into something precise and controlled.
That unit worked alongside the BSAA often enough that seeing Leon in briefing rooms or shared operations stopped being unusual.
He cracked jokes in places most people would go quiet, flirting with danger when moving through infected zones with a fluid confidence that made even veterans pause. You learned quickly that the humor was an armor to keep things light so they wouldn’t sink their teeth in.
You weren’t sure when that line got crossed. Maybe it was the first time he caught your eye during a meeting and raised an eyebrow like you were sharing a private joke, or maybe the way he gravitated toward you during downtime, two people who’d seen too much recognizing something familiar in each other.
Leon never pretended he didn’t want you.
He always found time.
Didn’t matter if it was between missions or after paperwork dragged late into the night.
The air in the abandoned house was thick with tension, the moans of pleasure mingling with the distant growls of the ganados outside. You whispered Leon's name, a soft plea for more that he answered with a mixture of a grin and a smirk, large and gloved hand covering your mouth to muffle your cries while his hips drove upward, thick length filling you completely and leaving you gasping against his palm.
Your legs trembled, knees settling on the massive thighs you'd seen crush skulls with a simple kick. Leon was a force to be reckoned with, and now he was using that force to drive into you, filling you completely and stretching your hole wide.
Leon's mouth descended on your neck, teeth sinking into the tender flesh and marking you as his, tongue lapping at the sweat on your skin skin, feeling the vibrations of his groan against your skin and sending shivers down your spine as you rode him.
Body moving in time with his thrusts and taking him deep each set while outside those ganados stirred, footsteps echoing through the house with that squelch of the las plagas inside them adding a dangerous edge to your passion.
Leon's cock hit your prostate with every thrust, sending jolts of pleasure through your body and building an orgasm for your body tensing, breath coming in short gasps as your own hard length rubbed against Leon's abs, the friction sending additional sparks of pleasure.
Leon's groans joined yours, mouth still pressed against your neck and hand muffling your cries. You could feel his body tensing, cock swelling inside your hole as he neared his own release and, with a final thrust, he buried himself deep inside you, cock pulsing as he filled you with his hot cum.
Your own orgasm hit hard, body convulsing as you came, cock shooting strings of cum onto Leon's abs and some even landing on his pulled-up compression shirt, body milking Leon's cock for every last drop while stilling on his thick thighs.
As you both came down from your high, Leon's hand slid from your mouth, fingers tracing your lips as he gave you a satisfied smirk, eyes twinkling with mischief. "That was fun," he whispered, his voice still thick with lust. "But we've got company."
He reached down, extracting your gun from where it was tucked in your pants, now pulled down to your knees. With a fluid motion he aimed your gun at the doorway where a ganado was now standing and shoot it straight through his red eyes and that head exploded.
Leon's hand cupped your ass cheek, giving it a squeeze as he whispered in your ear, "Hold on tight, babe. It's time to go." Words punctuated by the smack he gave on the now reddish flesh of ass, sound echoing in the room. "Let's move out," he said, voice firm and sarcastic.
A figure in particular came into your life not through shared command structures or matching ranks.
He wasn’t military when you first met him, obvious in the way he stood, solid but untrained, strength born of necessity rather than drills. He was a civilian who had been forced into a nightmare to save someone special to him and walked back out with scars no one could fully catalog, not even the scientists poring over reports and tissue samples and grim footage that only hinted at what he’d faced.
Three bioweapons of unknown strength for anyone else, erased by one man with no formal background, just desperation, stubborn love and an almost frightening refusal to stop moving forward.
Chris didn’t say much when he assigned you to him, just that Ethan needed training to fight and carry a weapon properly.
The first time you’ve met him, Ethan Winters smiled at you, taller than you’d anticipated, broad-shouldered in a way that looked natural rather than cultivated, short blond hair that were nicely combed unlike Leon’s one, a beautiful pair of blue eyes.
He listened when you spoke, asked questions and took corrections without ego, laughed when he messed up, even when his body was pushed to exhaustion.
Training him became routine, after that habit and then something you quietly looked forward to.
A year went by faster than it should have, Ethan’s body changed under the work done together, muscle definition sharpening day by day, stance more grounded and movements more precise.
Now you were painfully aware of how the compression shirts he had on would clung nicely to him, broad chest stretching the fabric, shoulders thickening and broad along with arms now roped with strength.
Learning about his stubborn loyalty, the way he still talked about Mia with a mixture of devotion and quiet hurt that made your chest tighten. You never badmouthed her, the cracks were obvious in the pauses or the way his smile faltered when her name came up, how much he’d given and how little space he seemed to allow himself to want anything back.
That was what made you feel bad and what made the line blur.
The day it finally tipped wasn’t dramatic, no alarms or missions, just another long session that left both of you warm and with now nothing else to do yet he didn’t go away once everything ended, having confessed already a month or two since your first meeting that he liked your presence.
Before you could overthink the possible consequences of what might occur, your fingers caught the hem of his shirt, tugging him back towards a place you had in mind inside the mostly deserted base.
He blinked, then looked down at you, grin spreading slow and bright, eyes crinkling at the corners.
“You need something?” he whispered, voice low and amused, already leaning in like he knew the answer.
No explanation back, you didn’t have to.
He lets you guide him with barely any resistance, steps light and quiet despite, following you down the corridor toward the equipment storage. His eyes flicked to your mouth when you glanced back at him, heat unmistakable there, something eager and open that made your pulse jump.
When you lifted a finger to your lips and murmured for him to stay quiet, he nodded, grin turning conspiratorial.
Once inside, the door shut softly behind, sealing off the rest of the world.
Arms sliding up around his neck first, drawing him down just enough that your foreheads met, breath mingling from shared exhale brushing skin. Ethan didn’t hesitate as his mouth found yours like it had been waiting, kiss deepening instinctively, hands coming up strong and sure around your waist, pulling you flush against him.
A loud thud once your back hit the counter behind, palm reaching back to brace yourself as you rose onto your toes, perching there while the kiss continued, solide and sturdy chest firm against yours as he offered support for you to ease yourself on top of that counter.
Wet and sloppy kisses mixed with muffled moans sided by gasps for air inside that secluded room. Ethan's hands roamed, tracing the lines of your body in devoted eagerness. Your hand buried itself in his short blonde hair, the other clutching one of his broad shoulder, keeping him close and urging him on.
Ethan's hips moved his thick shaft in and out of your hole, expanding your hole wide with every inch of him, the friction sending jolts of pleasure coursing through your veins. His whimpers and groans mixed with your muffled moans.
Your hand moved from his shoulder to his back, nails digging into the firm muscle and urging him on. Ethan's head rested on your shoulder, breath hot and ragged against your neck. "Fuck, you feel so good," he whispered, voice thick with desire.
The counter creaked under the force of Ethan's thrusts, sound adding to the symphony of your sloppy passion. Large and calloused hands held your thighs tightly, fingers digging into the soft flesh and leaving marks that you knew would be printed on the skin for a long time.
Ethan's thrusts became more urgent and erratic along with the rising tension building in your body, breath coming in short gasps.
"Ethan… I'm close," you managed to gasp out, fingers tangling in his hair and pulling him closer still. He responded with a groan, hips moving faster, cock sliding in and out of you with abandon even as your orgasm hit hard, body convulsing and clamping down hard on Ethan’s pulsing cock rooted deep inside, making him come with a guttural moan, large warmth flooding your insides.
As you both came down from your high, Ethan pulled out, abs glistening with your combined juices. He helped you down from the counter, legs wobbling slightly that pulled a sheepish grin on his face. "I think we need to clean up," he said, voice low with remains of desire.
What followed next in the shower together sealed your need to be carried by him back to your car.
You were halfway down the cracked street before your body really registered how done it was.
The gear weighed twice what it normally did, every strap and buckle biting into skin already rubbed raw from hours of movement. The tactical vest hugged your torso too tightly now, plates heavy against your chest, pouches clinking softly with each step. Your fatigues were streaked with grime and dried blood, knees stiff from kneeling in places you’d rather not remember. Even your gloves felt oppressive, fingers cramped after gripping weapons for so long, the reinforced knuckles scuffed and dulled.
Add to that the hours spent on the helicopter and that constant roar vibrating through your brain and it was a miracle any of you were upright at all.
You slowed just enough to spare a glance behind.
Chris and Ethan were far back, silhouettes under the dim streetlights. Chris had already fished a cigar from somewhere in his gear, a flick of his lighter bloomed orange against his face, harsh lines softened briefly by the glow as he cupped it against the wind. Ethan walked beside him, shoulders slumped now that adrenaline had finally bled out, one hand rubbing over his head like he was trying to scrub the day away.
“Hey,” you called, voice rough but teasing, “you coming or what?”
Chris answered with a muffled sound around the cigar, lifting a gloved hand in dismissal, irritation baked into the gesture even if there was no real heat behind it. The lighter snapped shut, cigar tip now glowing faintly as he took his first pull. Ethan just smiled, soft and tired grin on his face.
“Go on,” he called back, voice warm despite the fatigue. “We’ll catch up.”
You hummed in acknowledgment, turned and broke into a jog, the motion jostling your gear unpleasantly but getting you where you wanted to be faster.
The base bar was a low-lit refuge tucked away from the rest of the compound, its entrance quiet and unassuming. At four in the morning it was blissfully empty, the air cooler inside, smelling faintly of old wood and spilled alcohol.
The sight of Leon Kennedy sitting right in front of the counter drew a genuine smile from you.
“Leon,” you called softly.
He turned at the sound of your voice, a loose lock of blond hair falling free and hanging just in front of his eyes. One hand rested on the counter, fingers long and relaxed while the other held a small steel flask, cap unscrewed and dangling between his fingers. His blue eyes flicked over you in a quick, assessing sweep before settling on your face, something brightening there immediately.
“Well, I’ll be damned,” he said, a tired smile tugging at his mouth.
You stepped closer, shrugging off just enough of your weight to lean into the counter beside him and tugging one glove free, letting it drop onto his broad shoulder in an easy, familiar touch.
“When I texted you asking if you’d be here,” you murmured, tone light, “it was more of a joke than anything.” Your smile turned teasing as you glanced at him. “Miss me that badly?”
Leon huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head while you leaned over the counter, chest pressing into the worn wood as your arm stretched out to grab the first bottle your fingers closed around. The position pulled your gear taut over your hips and thighs, fabric stretched and molded by the angle, not allowing you to see Leon’s eyes drop, gaze tracking the curve, lingered and appreciated.
The moment you straightened, bottle in hand, Leon’s arm hooked around you, strong and sure, pulling you back and down in one smooth motion until you landed squarely on his lap, chair creaking softly under the added weight.
“Couldn’t sleep,” he said dryly near your ear, voice laced with that familiar sarcasm. “Figured I’d come drink instead.”
You made a small, surprised huff, carefully balancing the bottle so it didn’t spill, one arm slinging naturally over his neck as you settled there. Your breath ghosted over his cheek as you leaned closer, noticing the unfocused look in his eyes as he stared at the counter.
“Nightmares?” you whispered, softer now.
He didn’t answer right away. His hand found your hip, thumb rubbing slow circles through the fabric of your gear, jaw tightening as he slid the steel flask back into his jacket pocket.
“Where’d you crawl out of,” he muttered, attempting a deflection. “Heard that loud-ass helicopter from halfway across the base.”
Chuckling while lifting the bottle to take a burning swig, alcohol lighting a brief fire down your throat, quick and rough summary spilling out about the village, lycans and that mold creeping over everything.
Leon hummed in acknowledgment, low and thoughtful. Your free hand lifted to his jaw, fingers cradling his face, scratching gently at the stubble there and he relaxed into it immediately, tension bleeding from his shoulders as his forehead tipped forward to rest against yours.
“Who were you with?” he asked, voice dropping into a quiet purr.
“Those two,” you said, lifting the bottle slightly as Chris and Ethan stumbled in on cue.
Leon turned his head to look, hair falling forward again, obscuring part of his face. He nodded once as Chris approached, the big man answering with a gruff and familiar, “Kennedy,” as he took the stool beside him. Ethan followed, seating himself next to Chris, eyes still a little wide from exhaustion.
Leon’s hand slid from your hip to extend toward Ethan. “Leon.”
The other blonde man took and shook it firmly. “Ethan. Nice to finally meet you. They’ve been talking about you for a while.”
Leon’s mouth curled into a crooked grin as he side-eyed you, then looked back at Ethan. “Oh yeah?” Tone now light and teasing. “So tell me—”
His hand slid back down, squeezing your ass through the thick fabric of the gear that made it look even fluffier.
“—you fuck this ass too, or am I and Chris special?”
Ethan froze, face heating instantly and words failing him completely.
Chris moved his cigar from his mouth, already reaching for a bottle of whiskey and a beer for Ethan. “Cut it out,” he muttered to Leon, voice tired but firm. “Long day.”
While instead you proceeded with violence directly as you smacked Leon’s chest lightly, the solid muscle beneath his shirt unyielding under your palm. “Idiot,” you murmured.
He just chuckled, shaking his head. “Hey, just curious.”
Silence settled heavy after that, punctuated only by the sounds of caps twisting and liquid pouring as everyone took a sip of their poison.
Though, you were acutely aware of the subtle way of acting of each of them.
Leon’s hand stayed firmly on your ass, fingers flexing now and then. Chris’s hands twitched at his sides, gaze flicking to you more than once like he was weighing something internally. Ethan tried not to stare, failed and flushed when he realized he’d been caught looking.
“Wanna fuck?” you asked simply, setting the bottle down on the counter and breaking the silence.
The odds were stupid, honestly, something that only ever happens in horror stories and lottery commercials that you would normally laugh off with a muttered ‘yeah sure,’ because your life did not hand out soft wins.
Three men, three sets of blue eyes of that particular spectrum that made people stare, ocean-deep, winter-sky, sea-glass, the sort of color that looked too calm.
Statistically, it should have been near impossible, like rolling the same number on three dice over and over while someone shook the table and yet, here you were with the result pressed into your personal space, luck finally deciding to stop being cruel for once and instead being almost obscene.
Three pairs of sea-colored eyes watching avidly, each set coming with something hard even through layers, outline obvious in its own way, pressing and poking at you from three different angles until your brain started stuttering from the overload of it.
Chris stood behind you close enough that the front of his tactical gear grazed your back when you breathed, the heavy ridge of his erection pushing into the base of your spine, Leon crowded your left, hip angled in, his thigh nudging yours as the thick shape in his pants insisted against your hip and Ethan held your right side, warm and solid, bulge brushing your ribs every time he leaned in to press a kiss on your skin.
All at the center of it, pinned in the best way on top of the first table they had close by, the scratched wood cool under your palms for half a second before their warmth chased it away, heat of three bodies pressing in until there was no air left that did not taste like sweat and gun oil along with the faint bite of smoke from Chris’s cigar earlier.
Six large hands, rough palms and calloused fingers, moved over your body in sync as the dizzying shift of surrender, the way your body stopped trying to hold itself up because there was no need.
Leon’s mouth found your neck first, lips teasing, tongue flicking along skin with that maddening mix of play and precision and he hummed lowly against your skin, amused by how hard you shivered.
His breath was warm, voice warmer as he spoke in a soft, wicked murmur. “Look at you,” he murmured, teeth grazing, not quite biting yet, “all twitchy already. What is it, you gonna fall apart before we even start or are you just showing off for us.”
You made a sound that was halfway between a laugh and a gasp and Leon’s grin widened against your skin as his hand caught your chin rough, fingers firm enough to make you obey without thinking, turning your face toward him with and exposing your throat more.
Blue bright and sharp eyes fixed on yours while behind, Chris’s fingers slid in with a slow, practiced intrusion that made your entire frame jerk forward.
One thick finger at first, pressing and easing, patient pressure that coaxed your muscles to give, then a second, stretching you wider, scissoring slightly until the heat gathered in your gut and your legs threatened to shake right off the table.
Chris’s breath hit your ear from behind as you felt the faint drag of his knuckles as he adjusted and made you choke on nothing.
Leon watched your face while you reacted and he leaned in to speak again, lips brushing yours, not kissing yet but stealing your air. “Too impatient,” he whispered, “can’t even keep still, huh, pretty thing… always begging without using words.” His thumb stroked your lower lip as he spoke in a lazy, taunting touch that made you open your mouth on instinct and his eyes flicked down as if to say ‘good, that’s what I thought.’
Behind you, Ethan’s hands were warm and exploratory, sliding down your spine with an almost lazy sensuality that contrasted Chris’s purposeful pressure and Leon’s teasing, shivering when Ethan’s fingertips slipped beneath your compression shirt, pushing the fabric upward to expose more skin, air kissing your abdomen before Ethan’s mouth did, lips pressing there in a line of soft kisses that made your shoulders drop with a helpless sound.
His free hand moved lower to undress you, cupping your bulge firmly through your boxers and squeezing just enough to make you gasp.
Chris made you arch and lean back into him as his fingers pressed and stretched you for what was next, palm braced against your lower back, scissoring widely your hole, letting you adjust at the burning but pleasant sensation before adding a third finger and then resuming back in his assault, turning your thoughts into a blur of heat and lust.
Ethan tugged your pants down from your thighs, leaving you bare completely and no more barely exposed, hand taking a grip on your now exposed cock, stroking the sensitive length while his gaze tilted up to watch your face and gauge every reaction as Chris worked you open.
The pleasure was a layered thing, a stack of sensations that kept rising, Ethan’s hand sliding, thumb brushing the sensitive tip, smearing the slick precome there and coaxing a broken groan out of you while Chris’s fingers went deeper, pace quickening slightly as he grew bolder.
Leon’s mouth finally claimed yours in a kiss that was all heat and control, tongue sliding in with a confident and hungry sweep.
There was the maddening friction of their erections, hard and insistent, brushing against you no matter which way you shifted. Leon ground subtly against your hip as he kissed you, hands sliding possessively over your waist, Chris’s clothed cock nudged your lower back every time his fingers dipped and Ethan’s thick bulge pressed your side as he leaned closer to pinch and play with your nipples, watching your reactions avidly to learn your body like a map he needed to memorize.
Ethan’s lips returned to your neck, warm and quick while trailing downward with a slow path of kisses that left your skin blooming hot in his wake. “Right there,” he whispered, voice now roughening, “you like that, yeah, I can feel you shaking.” His mouth dipped lower, tongue dragging over a spot that made you jolt and he made a pleased noise.
Leon finally broke the kiss with a wet sound, leaving you panting even as his mouth moved down your collarbone to bite and mark, teeth scraping sharp pleasure into your skin and joining Ethan’s marks already there.
You barely had time to drag in a mouthful of air before Ethan stole Leon’s place to kids you, deeper and more desperate, tongue exploring with an eager thoroughness that made a rumbling groan vibrate from his throat into your open mouth, both hands on each of his broad shoulders to brace yourself due to how weak your body was at the mercy of the three older men.
His hand kept stroking your cock in time with the kiss, timed so perfectly it felt like your brain was being rewired around their touch.
Your head spun, heat coursing through every inch of you, amplified by the combined attention stripping away any sense of composure you had left.
Leon’s teeth sank into the tender flesh of your neck harder this time, a sharp flash of pain and pleasure that ripped a hiss out of you right into Ethan’s mouth which he swallowed it down, hands torturing your nipples in a way that turned your muscles weak and uncoordinated. Leon’s tongue followed, soothing and savoring the mark he left as he muttered against your skin in that low, amused voice, muffled by the press of his lips. “There we go, knew you’d show me that pretty noise.”
Ethan rumbled something that sounded like agreement, mouth latching on your nipple and you could not decide which sensation was going to kill you first, because all of this was still happening while Chris’s thick knuckles were buried deep in your ass.
All the strength in you faded, head hanging low, breathing ragged and Ethan and Leon held you up.
The sound of fabric shifting and a zipper sliding open behind you adding a dizzying edge to everything. Your nerves lit up, anticipation making your hips arch instinctively even with Chris’s palm holding you down.
From the corner of your eye you caught Chris stripping away the last of his BSAA gear, vest coming off, holster straps unbuckled, gloves tossed aside.
Broad and powerful chest with well-developed pectoral muscles that curve outward and upward with a light dusting of chest hair.
His big rough palm patted your ass, almost gentle and then you felt the fat head of him press in at your entrance, claiming space and making you breathe around the impossible thickness.
You fixed your legs so both knees braced against the table, leaning forward to give him the perfect view and access, when you lifted your gaze, Ethan’s handsome face was right there, close enough to touch, eyes blown dark with want. His large palm cradled your cheek softly, a contrast to everything else that you leaned into immediately, kissing his open palm, then taking one of his fingers into your mouth on purpose, obscene and grateful at once, one eye half open to gauge at his turned on expression.
All of this before lowering your face until it nearly rested on the table and you were millimeters from his big and aching tent.
Chris started to enter you slowly and the first push stole sound from your throat, a gasp as the stretch bloomed, pressure building and building until you felt full in a way that made your legs tremble, making you take him inch by inch, head of him spreading you open, the thick length sliding inside with a slow, relentless glide that had you clawing at the table for something to hold onto. Chris’s breath hitched behind you and his voice was low, gruff, command threaded with restraint.
“That’s it,” he muttered, like an order and praise all at once, “take it, you’ve got it.”
Your hands shook as they reached for Ethan, tugging away the last layer like you were starving and when his cock sprang free, hard and glistening at the tip, you stared for a second, enchanted, because your brain could not reconcile the sweetness in his eyes with how obscene he looked like this then you opened your mouth and fed on him, lips sealing around his thick member with a hungry moan. Ethan made a sound that was half a gasp, half a broken laugh of disbelief, one hand bracing on the table near your head, the other sinking into your hair like he needed something to hold onto.
“Shit,” Ethan breathed, voice cracking a little from the sheer intensity of the pleasure from your warm mouth. His hips twitched, careful, like he was afraid of pushing too hard and you rewarded him by taking him deeper, tongue working, saliva slick, taste of him flooding your mouth while your body clenched helplessly around Chris behind.
Chris bottomed out with a slow final press that made your vision flare white, the fullness settling deep, stretching you so completely it felt like your heartbeat moved into your hips. He paused there, giving you a second to breathe, hand splayed on your lower back, thumb rubbing a grounding circle and cock pulsing once inside you like it was angry at the patience.
Leon moved back into your space, fingers sliding under your jaw again, tilting your face just enough to make you look at him and the satisfaction in his eyes was wicked. “Look at you,” he murmured, voice thick now, humor sharpened into something hungry. “Relax,” he added, like he had any room to talk, “we’re taking care of you.” His hand drifted down your chest, over your stomach and to your cock, stroking you with slow cruelty, just enough pressure to keep you on the edge, grinning when you jolted.
Then they started to move in earnest, coordinated without even speaking. Chris drew back and pushed in again, slow at first but deep, hips pressing you into the table and making your body rock forward onto Ethan’s pubes while his cock took home in your throat. The motion turned it into a brutal, perfect feedback loop, Chris filling and stretching you while your mouth worked Ethan and every time Chris drove in, you took Ethan deeper without meaning to, gagging softly, eyes watering and Ethan groaned with a helpless sound that went straight to your core.
Ethan’s hand tightened in your hair, finding a rhythm with Chris so you were being used from both ends in a way that made your mind melt and Ethan started to thrust gently into your mouth, careful at first, then bolder when he realized you could take it and saw the way your throat worked, moaning around him like you wanted more.
Chris’s pace increased behind, the slap of skin and the wet drag of movement filling the room, hands gripping your hips hard enough to leave marks. “Open up, take it, take it.” he grunted. His cock hit deep, consistent and every time he drove in you felt the press that made your legs threaten to give out, body clenching hard around him and Chris growled low like that was exactly what he wanted.
Leon stayed close, not idle for a second, mouth returning to your neck, teeth grazing, tongue soothing, one hand still stroking you with merciless precision, the other bracing your shoulder so you did not slide off the table.
Your cock twitched in Leon’s hand, leaking and you could feel the coil tightening in your gut so hard it hurt, amplified by the way Chris filled you, by the way Ethan’s cock slid in and out of your mouth, by the way Leon kept you teetering and teased you for it like you were a game he fully intended to win. Your sounds turned messy, broken, muffled around Ethan, saliva spilling at the corners of your lips, chin shining wet and Ethan made another strangled groan, hips stuttering when you hollowed your cheeks and took him deep.
Your orgasm hit like a flashbang, sudden and blinding, body locking up with a choked cry around Ethan, cum spilling in hot pulses as Leon stroked you through it, cruel and perfect and the clench of your body around Chris was enough to push him over the edge. Chris drove in deep and stayed there, a broken sound ripping from him as he came hard inside you, thick warmth flooding your insides and his hands held you steady through it like he was afraid you would collapse completely.
Ethan groaned loud, hips jerking and he thrust once, twice, then spilled into your throat with a helpless shudder, warmth filling your gut as your Adam’s apple bobbed to swallow greedily because you could not think of anything else to do. Leon came last, breath sharp, stroking himself quickly with one hand as he watched the mess you had become, eyes bright with hunger and satisfaction and he spilled over your stomach.
Their bodies didn’t just pull away, they unwound from you in slow increments. The air felt colder, the instant pressure eased, like your skin had gotten used to being surrounded and now resented the empty space.
Chris’s big hand came up to your face, palm swallowing your cheek like it was built for it, thumb rough and steady as he brushed along your jawline. It was a touch that didn’t ask permission because it didn’t have to, not with the way he looked at you, eyes heavy with that post-adrenaline focus.
“You good?” he murmured, voice gravel-deep, the kind that always sounded like it belonged over comms and in crises, except now it landed against your skin like a private thing. His thumb swept once more, slower this time, as if he was grounding you with pressure alone.
Before you could even form a full answer, Leon slid in, mouth brushing close to your ear, breath warm and the words came out in that familiar mix of smug and sweet that made you want to shove him away and pull him closer at the exact same time.
“Aw,” Leon whispered, voice all amused sympathy, “look at you.” He let the silence hang a beat, like he was savoring the way you went tense. “Think you’re still up for more, or did we finally break you?”
When his palm finally brushed your sensitive cock, you hissed at the jolt of overstimulation, the reaction ripping out of you before pride could stop it and Leon’s quiet chuckle was immediate, delighted.
“That’s a yes,” he decided for you.
Ethan moved in on the other side, fingertips finfing your shoulder first, then slid up into your hair, combing through gently like he was steadying you through sheer softness.
“Hey,” he murmured, close enough that the word warmed your skin, “breathe. You’re doing so good. Just— yeah, like that.” A small pause and then, quieter, like he couldn’t help saying it out loud.
You pushed yourself around on trembling arms, the movement clumsy with spent strength, and even that got taken from you because Leon helped without making it obvious. He was suddenly at your side, palm braced against your ribs, steadying you with a possessive confidence that felt like a handprint.
You rolled onto your back, breath catching, chest rising fast, and Leon’s hands stayed on you like he was reluctant to let go, thumbs stroking your hips in slow circles that kept you right on the edge of too-much. Chris leaned down into your space and the first thing you registered was the rough brush of his stubble against your cheek, the scratch of it making your skin prickle in a way that felt unfairly intimate. He kissed your cheek once, then again, not rushed or hungry.
Then his mouth traveled sideways, unhurried, until he reached your lips for a kiss firm and warm that made you soften despite yourself, hands curling at the edge of the table as if you needed something to hold onto.
The weight of someone stepping between your open legs was soon registered by your fucked up senses, large thighs settling in, spine arching on instinct before anything even happened, body anticipating the next wave like it couldn’t help it.
Leon’s hand tightened on your hip with a deliberate squeeze, grounding and claiming at once. His other hand skimmed along your inner thigh, not quite daring, just confident, like he was checking your reaction with a professional’s focus and a flirt’s cruelty.
“Relax,” Leon said, like he hadn’t spent the last however-long making relaxation impossible. “C’mon. You already took Redfield like a champ. Don’t tell me you’re scared of me.”
You made a strained sound that might’ve been a laugh if your body wasn’t busy vibrating apart and Leon’s grin flashed quick, all teeth and trouble. He leaned forward and the heat of him crowded your senses, body so close it felt like an unavoidable wave.
Ethan’s hands stayed gentle at your temples, thumbs stroking in small, soothing passes, like he was keeping you from drifting too far into the fog.
“Just tell us if you need to stop,” he whispered and then, more quietly, more personally, “I’ve got you.”
Leon pressed in, slow enough to make you feel every inch of his dick about to breach inside and you arched hard with a sharp hiss.
Leon moved with a rhythm that wasn’t rough so much as insistent, building from measured control into something more driven as your body adjusted. He kept one hand locked on your hip, using you like leverage, guiding you into the angle that made your breath stutter and your eyes flutter. His face hovered above you, watching you with that focused, almost predatory attention he usually saved for targets.
“There you go,” Leon murmured. “That’s it. See? You take me so well baby.” He dipped his head, brushing a kiss near your jaw, then your cheek. “God, you make it hard to be a gentleman.”
Ethan, at your head, kept petting your hair back, the gesture almost domestic compared to everything else, except his eyes were blown wide and hungry while watching every time Leon’s hips drew a new sound out of you.
Leon’s pace kept building anyway, thrusts turning more confident, deeper in implication, the table shifting under you with each motion, your back arching as your nerves lit up again and again. He watched your mouth part, watched your throat work as you tried to pull in air, and his grin returned, sharp and pleased.
His hand drifted down between you, fingers brushing where you were already leaking, and you jolted with a strangled sound. The overstimulation was immediate, vicious, threatening to tip you over the edge too fast. Ethan’s hand followed instinctively, as if he wanted to help and make it even better, both of them reaching for you at once with the kind of eager teamwork that would’ve been flattering if it didn’t feel like it might short-circuit your brain.
You caught Leon’s wrist weakly, shaking, stopping him with a breathless protest and a desperate little headshake.
Not yet.
Not like that.
Not if it meant the moment ended too soon.
Leon’s eyebrows lifted, surprised, then amused, like you’d just told him the punchline to a joke he respected. “Oh?” he breathed and his voice dropped into something lower. “You’re holding out.”
Ethan’s mouth parted too, a soft exhale escaping him and the look he gave you was equal parts concern and want, like he was torn between taking care of you and devouring you. “You don’t have to—” he started, gentle, but you shook your head again, fingers tightening in his shirt, wordless insistence.
Chris understood instantly, hand slidding down to hold your thigh steady, thumb stroking once, grounding you. “He wants to feel it,” Chris rumbled, sounding almost proud. “Wants it to last.”
Leon let out a low laugh, the sound warm with approval. “Greedy,” he teased, and then leaned down, bracing himself over you as his movement stayed relentless. “Fine. We’ll do it your way. But don’t blame me when you start begging.”
Leon’s thrusts turned steady and punishing in implication, each one dragging a new sound out of you, each one stacking heat higher in your body without giving you the relief you were refusing. Your hands clenched around the table edge, knuckles whitening, your whole torso trembling as you tried to ride the sensation without tipping. Ethan kept whispering small encouragements into your hair, little praises and reminders to breathe, kissing your forehead while Leon took you apart piece by piece.
Leon drove the moment higher, breath turning ragged, control slipping at the edges.
“Shit,” Leon breathed and the word sounded like surrender. He dipped his head, pressing his forehead to yours for a heartbeat, a sudden intimacy that made your chest clench. “You’re gonna make me—”
Ethan made a small sound, almost helpless, fingers tightening in your hair. Chris’s hand gripped your thigh, steadying you as your body shook harder.
Leon’s face twisted with pleasure, his voice breaking into a low, strained laugh as he finally lost the last of his composure. “Yeah,” he rasped, “that’s it. Take it—“ before a new wave of hot seed came and gathered together with Chris’s previous release.
As your breath finally began to steady, the ragged gasps of passion slowly morphing into a gentle, satisfied rhythm, you felt Leon's retreat from your body.
Yet, your desire remained undiminished, a fierce, aching need that pulsed in time with your heartbeat, cock still painfully hard and yearning for more. Your hand, as if possessed of a will all its own, settled on Ethan's shoulder, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. With the last of your strength, you pushed, a silent plea for more, for him to understand what you needed.
Ethan, ever perceptive, turned on the table, his lap becoming your new seat when settling on his thighs, thick and erect cock nestled against your ass, hot and insistent, a promise of the pleasure to come, hands gripping your hips, steadying as he helped you rise, guiding you down onto his length.
The path was smooth, slick with the remnants of Leon and Chris's earlier attentions and you welcomed him with a sigh, body stretching to accommodate him. Ethan's hands, strong and sure, supported you, arms wrapping around your body, nestling you in his lap as he began to move. He was doing most of the work, strong and large hands moving you like your were a human sized fleshlight, hips angling just so to ensure that each thrust hit your prostate, sending jolts of pleasure coursing through you.
His breath was hot on your neck, face buried in the crook where your neck met your shoulder, grip on you tightening as he held you close, moans mingling with his grunts. "You're so good for me," he whispered, his voice rough with emotion and desire, "so good, taking me like this." His words sent shivers down your spine, body clenching around him and drawing a hiss of pleasure from his lips.
Leon, ever the opportunist, settled between your open legs, cock pressing against your already filled hole. Ethan paused, grip on your hips tightening as he used your body to guide Leon's entry. You gasped, face buried in Ethan's neck as Leon pushed in, filling you alongside Ethan and stretching you to your limit.
"Captain~" you breathed, a smile playing on your lips as you remembered Chris, stern face and powerful body.
As if summoned by your thought, Chris's hand appeared on Leon's shoulder, pushing him closer, body pressing against yours, cock nudging at your entrance. You laughed, a breathless sound as Chris muttered something about you being a "fucking minx," a smile in his voice despite the crude words. His hand snaked around, grabbing your ass cheek, thumb brushing against your hole, already filled with Ethan and Leon.
He pushed in slowly, stretching you further, cock joining Ethan's and Leon's in your tight channel. You could feel their cocks filling you, bodies pressed against you, hands roaming your skin and leaving trails of fire in their wake. Ethan's mouth found yours, tongue pushing in, dominant and demanding.
Leon and Chris's mouths were everywhere, kissing and biting, leaving marks on your skin, branding you as theirs, a toy for them to use and you loved every minute of it. Your body moved with theirs, hips rising and falling in time with Ethan's thrusts, your ass pushing back against Chris and Leon, eager for more.
Ethan's hand wrapped around your cock, stroking you in time with his thrusts, tongue still in your mouth as you felt your orgasm building up, body tensing and breath coming in short gasps.
Coming with a cry, your body convulsing as your cum spilled onto Ethan's abs, body milking his cock and drawing out his orgasm, cock pulsing inside you as he came, hot and heavy load of cum filling you.
The feeling was indescribable, warmth spreading inside, body stretching to accommodate it all, pressure building, ass cheeks growing slick with Ethan's release as it spilled out (who knows who it really belonged to, honestly) and dripped down your thighs.
There was no time to appreciate or bask in the glow of his orgasm, because Leon and Chris were right there with him, bodies tensing and cocks throbbing as they came as well.
Leon's hands gripped your hips, fingers digging into your flesh as he held you in place, cock pulsing inside and filling you with his hot, thick cum, mixing with Ethan's and coating your insides. Chris's hand on your cock faltered, body convulsing as he came, cock buried deep inside, cum joining Ethan's and Leon's juices.
The pressure building inside your gut was overwhelming, body stretching to its limit. You could feel the way your ass cheeks were slick with their combined releases, dripping out and coating your thighs and balls. A complete filthy cum-covered mess and you loved it.
The room spun, your vision blurring as you were consumed by your pleasure, body wrung out and completely spent. You felt their hands on you, gentle now, soothing you as they helped you ride out your orgasm.
This was just the beginning, there was so much more to explore, so much more pleasure to be had, ready for it all, be used and loved, eager for whatever came next.
Summary: How each resident evil men reacts to getting asked of stacking donuts on their cocks.
Tags: No use of Y/N. Male reader. Sub!RE2R - Dom!RE4R - Dom!RE9 Leon Kennedy. Dom Chris Redfield. Gentle dom Ethan Winters. Dom Carlos Oliveira. Fluff and smut. Blowjob.
A request that I got from a friend of mine
ℳ𝒶𝓈𝓉ℯ𝓇𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓉
Words count: 5000
ℒℯℴ𝓃 𝒦ℯ𝓃𝓃ℯ𝒹𝓎 - ℛℯ𝓈𝒾𝒹ℯ𝓃𝓉 ℰ𝓋𝒾𝓁 2 𝓇ℯ𝓂𝒶𝓀ℯ
“What?!”
The word came out sharper than he meant it to as all that lingering exhaustion under his bright blue eyes was gone. Completely wiped out by pure, unfiltered disbelief, brows that shot up and lips parting.
It was almost ridiculous.
“You can’t be serious…” he muttered quieter this time, yet right now his eyes were locked entirely on you to the point you actually had to look away because the laugh building in your throat was getting dangerous.
“Look here,” you said, voice steadying as you slid the box toward him, cardboard scraping lightly across the desk. The lid fell open just enough to reveal the ridiculous assortments of glazed, frosted and colorful things.
“They bought too many again,” you added, nudging it closer to him. “They’re just gonna get thrown out.”
You leaned in slightly.
“…please?”
The look you gave him made his shoulders drop.
Leon groaned quietly, dragging both hands down his face.
“…sure,” he mumbled finally, voice muffled behind his palms.
Your chair scraped loudly against the floor as you moved closer, closing the gap between you in a second. His hands were still covering his face when you reached for them, fingers curling gently around his wrists to pull them down.
A kiss that started soft and gentle not for long.
Leon melted into it almost instantly, lips parting against yours, a quiet breath slipping between them as his tongue met yours, hesitant at first to then become more certain.
Your hands cradled his face, feeling how smooth it was, the sharp lines of his jaw and that faint tension still lingering there.
A low and soft sound slipped from him unintentional, hands finding your waist to pull you closer until your body pressed fully against his and those bright blue eyes shut tight.
Then your hand moved down and his breath hitched sharply as your fingers wrapped around the growing heat beneath his pants.
“—hn—” a startled sound escaped him, forehead bumping lightly against yours and soon the whole reason of why this had started in the first place surfaced back in his mind.
You pulled back to look at him, smiling faintly at the way his face had already started to flush.
“…you’re too easy,” you murmured.
“Am not—” he started breathless, but the argument died the second you sank down right onto the desk, wood creaking softly under your weight as you settled between his legs, the box of donuts now sitting right beside you, forgotten for a brief second as your focus narrowed completely.
Everything else disappeared, all blocked out by his frame as your head stayed between his thick and muscular thighs with that prominent bulge straining harder now against his clothing.
Leon glanced quickly toward the office doors left and right while your fingers were already at his belt.
“Relax,” you murmured, glancing up at him as the buckle clicked open. “It’s just us.”
Working his gear loose with ease, knuckles brushing against him through the layers.
“Marvin’s out, remember?”
Leon let out a shaky breath at that, shoulders dropping slightly.
“…yeah,” he mumbled, though his voice was thinner now, distracted.
Your mouth pressed against him through his boxers right over the tip.
“—ah—” his head tipped back slightly, one hand bracing against the desk behind him while the other hovered awkwardly in the air, unsure where to go.
Once you pulled him free, the cool air hit him first, followed immediately by your mouth when a soft kiss was placed right at the tip and Leon shuddered.
The first donut was awkward as you lined it up carefully, pressing it against the head and immediately met resistance.
The dough stretched just enough to give, sliding over the tip inch by inch, dragging along his length in a way that made his hips twitch involuntarily.
“Holy—shit—” You leaned in, placing a quick kiss just below it and his cock jumped, twitching sharply at the contact.
“Sensitive?” you teased softly.
“Shut up—” he shot back weakly, already losing ground.
One donut became two.
Then three.
Each one easier to push down than the last with less road to do.
Col and sticky icing smeared slightly against his heated skin. Bright colors streaked along him, cock visibly throbbing with every movement you made.
“Four,” you said softly after the last one slid into place.
You leaned back slightly, admiring your work.
“That’s impressive.”
Leon blinked down at you, dazed.
“…how is that impressive?”
“Each of these is, what—three inches wide?” You glanced up at him, a slow smile forming as his face went to a darker shade of pink.
Your lips brushed him once you leaned down and Leon’s entire body lock up, a broken moan slipped from him while your tongue dragged along the exposed skin, lips sealing around him more and more as you cleared the path.
The sweetness melted.
“—fuck—” Leon gasped, voice cracking, hips jerking slightly before he caught himself.
Your mouth took more of him deeper and he lost whatever composure he had left as his breathing turned ragged, uneven.
ℒℯℴ𝓃 𝒦ℯ𝓃𝓃ℯ𝒹𝓎 - ℛℯ𝓈𝒾𝒹ℯ𝓃𝓉 ℰ𝓋𝒾𝓁 4 𝓇ℯ𝓂𝒶𝓀ℯ
A scoff left him instantly as his head turned away from you, jaw tightening to try and suppress the grin threatening to break through.
It tugged at the corner of his mouth anyway, stubborn and crooked.
“Oh, you’ve gotta be kidding me.” He muttered.
The inside of the Spanish police car reeked of cigarette smoke and worn leather.
One of his large and gloved hands came up to shove you back across the seat, your shoulder bumping lightly against the opposite door with a dull thud.
“Knock it off,” he added, though the amusement in his voice completely ruined the authority of it.
Same damn idea. Of course it is.
Before you could respond, the driver’s door creaked open and the remaining Spanish officer leaned halfway back inside, cigarette still between his fingers, ember glowing faintly as he spoke in thick, accented English.
“I go… see my friend, sí?” he said, gesturing vaguely into the darkness. Then his eyes flicked between you and Leon, a slow grin spreading across his face.
“No hagan cochinadas, eh?” Tone playful that left little room for interpretation.
He reached back in, grabbing the box from the front and handing it over casually.
“For you. Want some?”
You took the whole thing without hesitation and the officer barked out a rough, smoker’s laugh, stepping back out of the car as he shook his head.
“Tu novio…” he added, glancing at Leon with a smirk, “le gustan mucho los dulces.”
Leon’s eyes shifted slightly to land on you and the box in your hands as recognition hit him instantly.
“You’ve gotta be—” he exhaled through his nose, shaking his head again before leaning back into the seat.
“Sí, claro… y yo soy el problema, ¿no?” He muttered something quick in Spanish before the door shut again and silence fell.
The second it did you moved fast and Leon didn’t parry you.
His gloved hand moved but to slid into your hair and grip the back of your head, anchoring you in place as you dropped down between his legs.
“…you don’t waste time,” he muttered, voice already dropping lower and rougher.
Your fingers were at his belt in seconds, metal clicking softly, sound loud in the confined space as you worked it loose and his thighs spread slightly to accommodate you, muscles shifting under dark fabric while he observed, grip tightening as you tugged his jeans down enough to free him.
Already fully hard, a visible twitch from the heavy piece of meat veined as cool air made contact.
Your lips brushed the head testing and his grip tightened in your hair.
Reaching for the first donut and lining it up, you pressed it against the tip and was met immediately with resistance.
You pushed slightly, applying slow pressure to not get the thing to break as it began to give inch by inch.
“…keep going,” his jaw clenching immediately after as sensations sparked along his entire length.
You leaned in to press a quick kiss just below it and a small grunt caught in the back of his throat.
Each tasty circular food you added gave a small fight, stacking them lower and lower. Icing smeared faintly, cold against his heated skin, leaving streaks of sugar that clung stubbornly along his length and into the hair at his base.
“New record,” you murmured softly after another slid into place and you looked up at him, a small smile forming. “Think you just broke it.”
Leon’s eyes flicked down to take in the sight, grip in your hair tightening slightly, tugging to pull your face closer.
“Then maybe you should get to work,” he said, voice dropping into something huskier edged with heat as a faint smirk tugged at his lips. “Before those cops come back and see how mentally ill you are.”
A low grunt escaped him as your mouth moved again, lips brushing him as you tore into the donut, tongue immediately following to drag along the newly exposed skin.
Leon’s head dropped back against the seat with a dull thud.
“—fuck—” word coming out low and strained while your mouth worked lower and deeper, tongue flicking over sensitive spots that made his thighs tense on either side of you.
Sticky sweetness mixed with heat the more space cleared, lips sealing tighter and Leon’s breathing turning uneven.
Whatever composure he’d been pretending to have was now gone.
ℒℯℴ𝓃 𝒦ℯ𝓃𝓃ℯ𝒹𝓎 - ℛℯ𝓈𝒾𝒹ℯ𝓃𝓉 ℰ𝓋𝒾𝓁 ℛℯ𝓆𝓊𝒾ℯ𝓂
Leon didn’t even need to look.
“I married a freak.” His groan came out long and dragged, head tipping back slightly as one gloved hand came up to cover his face. The gummy material dulled the sensation of the scruff that had grown in over the last few days.
Laughing brightly and unbothered while shifting in your seat beside him, one leg folding slightly under you as you made yourself comfortable.
“Yeah?” you shot back easily. “M’ surprised you didn’t propose with a donut then.”
Leon huffed, an amused exhale through his nose as his hand dragged down his face, revealing a knowing smirk.
“…yeah,” he murmured dryly, voice rough by age and experience. “Would’ve saved me a hell of a lot of money.”
That faint and crooked smile was still there.
You tapped lightly on the box with your short nails, recreating the little rhythm Sherry had shown you of many online.
Leon’s eyes flicked down briefly, then back up when you leaned a little closer.
“…please?”
He sighed long and resigned, completely unsurprised.
“…fine,” he muttered. “Not like you’re gonna shut up otherwise.”
Permission granted, you moved instantly.
Leaning down between his legs, hands already at his belt as you worked it open. The metal clicked softly beneath your practiced fingers.
Leon’s gaze stayed fixed out the windshield, scanning the empty road out of habit before his large and gloved hand came down against your ass in a brutal smack enough to jolt you forward, face bumping straight into the bulge in his jeans.
A low chuckle rumbled in his chest.
“Focus,” he muttered.
You huffed against him, breath warm through the fabric, hands fueled by desire resuming immediately to work the zipper down.
Fabric shifted until he was free, an heavy arousal that came from someone who had secretly developed a thing for this. His cock stood firm against his abdomen, veined and flushed, tip already damp catching the dim light inside the car.
The first donut was too tight, it stretched slightly under your fingers not enough to slide easily.
“You’re really committed to this, huh?” Leon’s brows knit faintly as he watched you twisted it gently, applying slow pressure as it began to give.
“…ah—fuck—”
That cold thing slid lower, catching briefly in the coarse hair at his base, pressing it down awkwardly before settling.
You leaned in, placing a quick kiss just above it and a small grunt slipped from the back of his throat.
More sweet treats followed in slow but quicker process from less road to perform, stacking one after the other. The icing smeared faintly, cool against his heated skin, sugar clinging to him in uneven patches.
His breathing changed, glove creaking as the grip on the steering wheel tightening.
“—swear t’ God, If you make a mess…” he muttered, though his voice lacked any real threat.
By the time you were done, there were several stacked along his length, slightly uneven and pressed tight against his thickness.
Incredibly obscene tower of wonders.
“…you done decorating?” he asked, voice rough and edged with something darker now.
Instead of answering you just leaned in, soft tear of dough tearing by your lips while brushing his skin and making his entire body tense.
Precome had already begun to gather at the tip, spilling down and mixing with the sugar and adding a new layer.
Salty-sweet treat.
His hand dropped from the wheel, fingers gripping your shoulder now as your mouth took more of him deeper.
“…yeah—” he muttered under his breath, voice strained now, control slipping in quiet increments.
His cock throbbed against your tongue, twitching with every movement and flick the more of him got freed.
He was completely into it.
ℰ𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓃 𝒲𝒾𝓃𝓉ℯ𝓇𝓈
His head turned so fast it might as well have cracked something, eyes wide, blinking hard like he’d misheard you.
There was a full stunned pause before the realization hit.
“…You’re—” he let out a short, incredulous breath, voice rough with disbelief, “—you’re actually serious?”
The look on his face was priceless, layers of shock, mild horror and a flicker of reluctant amusement.
There was also something dangerously reactive beginning to stir.
His lips twitched like he didn’t know whether to laugh or scold you and the faintest flush crept up the back of his neck.
All the elements of a child’s birthday clung faintly to the air between sugar, cheap frosting and the waxy ghost of blown-out candles.
Both you and Ethan looked exactly like men who had survived a room full of children who got slowly recollected by their parents.
Dirty blonde hair of his, slightly wavy in places from absentminded hand-raking, fell messily over his forehead. His face carried the weight of the day between the faint stubble shadowing his jaw, lips slightly chapped and eyes half-lidded but still alert.
Broad shoulders slouched into the couch, shirt wrinkled and tugged loose at the collar, exposing a glimpse of collarbone and the strong line of his neck.
You were draped against him, cheek brushing his throat, lips hovering enough that your breath warmed his skin affectionately.
His hand rested loosely at your side, fingers flexing and already relaxing into the quiet right after cleaning the place.
Right before you offered those words and everything snapped.
He’s not joking… absolutely not joking.
Not answering right away, you instead leaned in closer. lips brushed the side of his neck in a quiet, drawn-out kiss followed by another.
“Please.” Voice low and coaxing.
Ethan exhaled sharply through his nose, head tipping back slightly as your mouth worked upward, breath dragging heat along his jawline.
“…God,” he muttered, voice dropping, fraying at the edges. “Are you my husband or some horny teenager?”
One of his large and calloused hands settled more firmly on your waist now.
This is such a bad idea
You hummed against his skin in amusement, pressing another kiss just beneath his ear.
“What’s wrong with being both?”
That earned you a deep and resigned groan straight from his chest.
“It’s a waste,” he grumbled, though there was no real conviction left in it. “Those wer—those are perfectly good donuts.”
Your lips found his cheek now, soft and teasing, peppering him with kisses that made his jaw tighten.
“Mm, yeah?” you murmured, voice laced with mock innocence. “You want Rose to eat all of them instead?”
A pause.
“I could eat them all for you.”
His cock jumped at hearing those words, trapped beneath denim that suddenly felt far too restrictive for the situation.
He huffed out a breath, trying, but failing, to cling to some thread of rationality.
“…Right,” he muttered, voice dry but strained, “so you get all of them and Rose doesn’t? That’s your plan?”
Followed by a faint smirk tugging at his lips.
“Kind of gluttonous, don’t you think?”
Laughing softly at his words, the sound seemed to ripple through him as you leaned in closer, lips ghosting over his ear, voice dropping into something purposely seductive.
“Would you rather deal with a sugar-rushed kid that keeps you wide awake for hours…” you murmured, breath fanning against his skin before your mouth dragged down the side of his neck.
“…or me in a sugar rush?” A pause as your lips hovered just above his pulse. ”…wanting to play with you instead?”
The next puff of air left him in a shaky exhale, chest rising and falling a little faster now and the grip on your waist tightened without him even realizing it.
Underneath, his cock twitched harder this time, pressing insistently against his jeans.
“…I don’t really have a choice here, do I?” he muttered, voice rough, edged with reluctant humor and far less restrain.
“…Alright.” He leaned in, chasing your lips instinctively but he barely got halfway before you were already gone, going across the room to reach for the box of wonders.
The faint sugary scent grew stronger as you approached and, without hesitation, you dropped down in front of him right between his legs.
Ethan’s posture shifted instinctively as his legs spread wider, knees angling outward. His hands hovered for a second, unsure what to do with themselves, before one dragged down his face in a disbelieving pass, surprise melting the more he observed you in this position, tongue pressing briefly against the inside of his cheek as he watched you handle the box.
The soft clink of his belt buckle came as Ethan’s hands, now steady in firefights, felt strangely clumsy as they worked at his jeans. Leather slid free with a muted hiss, metal catching the warm lamplight before dropping loose.
Meanwhile, the box rested open in your lap, scent of sugar and fried dough thick in the air while your fingers moved with surprising care, picking up one of the smaller donuts.
“What are you doing?” Ethan’s brows knit slightly as he watched you.
You didn’t look up right away while pressing two thumbs into the center of the donut hole to slowly widen it without breaking anything. The soft dough stretched, sugar flaking off in tiny crystalline grains that clung to your fingertips.
Then you glanced up at him, playful and knowing look with a grain of wickedness.
“Well…” you murmured, tone teasing but heavy with intent, “I know my husband.” You lifted the donut slightly, tilting it. “And I know these probably won’t fit.”
Your gaze dipped to point toward the growing tent in his jeans.
“Not without some effort.”
Ethan let out a short, breathy huff that almost passed as a laugh, head shaking once in disbelief but his hips shifted upward anyway as he pushed his jeans down to free himself.
Thick and fully, visibly erect, heavy looking while also veiny along the sides, flushed deep at the tip.
A kind of girth that made your earlier comment feel less teasing and more a genuine logistical concern.
The faint trail of darker hair at his pelvis framed him, already catching a few stray grains of sugar that had fallen from your hands as the first donut met resistance immediately.
You held it steady, guiding it carefully over the tip, fingers brushing along the sensitive head just enough to make a low, surprised grunt slip from him, hips twitching upward involuntarily.
“Easy,” you murmured, almost soothing, though the glint in your eyes said otherwise.
Twisting slightly and patiently applying more pressure on the soft dough as you worked it down over the head and thicker ridge, causing Ethan’s jaw to clench as sensation sparked along every inch it passed.
“Fuck—” he exhaled sharply, head tilting back for a second before snapping forward to watch the donut finally sliding and settling lower along his shaft.
Another one followed right before another one slid in.
Each one required effort from your fingers pressing and working them down inch by inch. The soft dough compressed slightly against his girth, tiny crystals of sugar scattering and sticking to his skin, catching in the fine hair at his base.
Cool pastry and rough sugar against warm and sensitive flesh twitching with every movement.
“…hn—ngh—” low, uneven sounds began to build in his throat, his breathing growing heavier as you worked. His hands gripped the edge of the couch now, knuckles whitening slightly.
Every time you pushed one lower, you were leaning in so close your lips brushed his shaft, a warm kiss placed above where your fingers worked and a visible shudder passed through his abdomen, cock jerking under your touch, making the donut you were guiding slip just slightly before you steadied it again.
“Hold still,” you murmured, though your tone was more amused than commanding.
“…You try—” he shot back breathlessly, voice breaking halfway through.
By the time you were done, there were several of them stacked one on top of the other, some slightly misshapen from the effort, others sitting snugly, creating a ridiculously obscene contrast between a sweet treat and something very, very not.
Leaning back to admire your work, a slow smile spread across your face.
“Wow,” you breathed, voice dripping with satisfaction. “That’s a lot.”
Eyes flicking up to his.
“Guess I underestimated you.”
Ethan let out something between a groan and a disbelieving laugh, head falling back against the couch cushion.
“Yeah,” he muttered, voice strained, “feels like it.”
Your breath ghosted over him again as the soft tear of dough came from a bite you took, followed by a faint crunch of sugar, lips brushing his skin as you pulled back, taking part of the donut along the road.
“Hh—fuck—” His head dropped back fully now, throat exposed, more sounds spilling from him as your mouth returned, lips grazing and tongue flicking against the newly exposed skin as you cleared space inch by inch.
The sugar melted under the heat of your mouth, leaving faint stickiness behind that only made every pass of your tongue more clingy.
His cock throbbed under you, each twitch sharper than the last.
One hand of his finally dropped to your head, fingers threading lightly through your hair, grounding himself as your pace shifted and more of him was freed.
Less obstruction, more access for your mouth that now closed around him properly and Ethan’s entire body reacted.
“—ah—shit—!” Hips jerking upward before he caught himself, grip tightening in your hair as he tried to keep still, tongue dragging along where sugar still clung, lips sealing tight as you took him deeper, ready for the salty treat to contrast the sweetness dominating your palate.
𝒞𝒽𝓇𝒾𝓈 ℛℯ𝒹𝒻𝒾ℯ𝓁𝒹
Chris didn’t say a word, he just stared at you hard.
To anyone else, it would’ve been enough to make them shut up immediately. His blue eyes, now darkened and heavier by age, locked onto yours with weight, jaw set tight, beard rough and untrimmed along the edges.
It genuinely looked like he might punch you.
He’s thinking about it.
You clapped your hands together lightly in a smack, tilting your head with a casual ease that completely clashed with the intensity of his glare.
“Relax,” you said, almost breezy. “Ethan and fake-Mia-actually-Miranda won’t be back for hours.”
Chris’s eyes flicked away because he was done arguing.
A sharp exhale left him as he turned his head toward the window, pulling a cigar from his gear and lighting it, orange flame flickering briefly in the dark before teleporting to the tip.
“I don’t have time for your shit,” he muttered, voice gravelly los, smoke curling from his lips as he spoke.
Outside, the quiet rural dark stretched endlessly as you leaned your head back against the seat, watching him.
“…please?”
The softer tone you’ve used made Chris sigh deep in his chest.
A sound of defeat you’ve learned too well.
Your hands moved carefully down to his tactical gear, working at the buckles and straps.
He didn’t stop or even looked at you, shoulders broad and unmoving.
Your lips brushed his scratchy cheek, beard dragging against your skin with every kiss, a faint rasping sensation that lingered as you pressed more while trailing slowly along his jawline.
Chris grunted.
Annoyed on the surface without opposing.
Your hands finished their work as his girth stood firm against his clothed abs.
Chris exhaled quietly, head tipping back against the seat as he took another drag from his cigar.
The dough from the first donut strained instantly, soft ring deforming against his thickness as you pushed before cracking along the edge, sugar flaking off and sticking to his skin.
Barely intact, it slid lower, settling near the base where it pressed awkwardly into the coarse hair there.
Leaning in to place a kiss just above it, tongue following to lick along the underside, gathering the sugar that clung stubbornly to sensitive skin.
A quiet exhale left him, longer this time.
The next donut split as you forced it down, pieces bending and compressing against his girth as you worked it into place and you’ve given up completely.
One barely holding together with pieces of the other stacked along his shaft, sugar scattered unevenly across his skin and into the hair at his base.
“Damn,” you murmured softly but Chris didn’t answer, his large hand moved to settle on the back of your head.
Your lips brushing him as the carcass of that sugar bomb tore beneath the pressure of your tongue, dragging along the exposed skin beneath.
Chris’s grip tightened slightly as a low grunt slipped from him, head tilting back again, throat exposed as his breathing shifted to a deeper tone.
Warm lips wrapping around him properly now, nose brushing against the thick bush of his pubes as you worked him.
𝒞𝒶𝓇𝓁ℴ𝓈 𝒪𝓁𝒾𝓋ℯ𝒾𝓇𝒶
A wide grin broke across his face instantly, full of teeth and pure interest.
“Oh, hell yeah—” The CQBR rifle hit the ground with a dull clatter, completely abandoned without a second thought as he straightened to full height right in front of you.
“Now that’s what I’m talking about.”
His hands were already moving quickly to unzip and tug at his tactical gear now that he finally had the chance to break the monotony.
“You’re a lifesaver, you know that?” he added, voice warm with amusement.
Finally something fun.
The boredom of keeping safe a train car not at all infested with zombies was making itself felt too much, you assumed.
By the time you set the small box beside you, he was already out.
His cock dropped free with a heavy and unrestrained motion, bouncing once from the sudden release before settling thick and solid between his thighs.
Big with veins running along the length, head flushed and already glistening faintly.
Carlos exhaled low through his nose, looking down at you with a lazy hunger in his gaze.
“Vai, deixa gostoso pra mim,” he muttered, voice dripping profoundly with suggestiveness.
You looked up at him, lips parting slightly as your gaze lingered on the way he hung just inches from your mouth, heavy and inviting.
The first one was pushed down roughly, soft dough immediately straining and cracking slightly as it tried to stretch around his thickness.
“Shit—” Carlos breathed, head tipping back slightly as the pressure dragged over the sensitive head.
The surface split faintly as it slid lower, sugar coating flaking off and sticking to his skin, catching in the dark bush at his base.
“Damn—” he muttered, a low grunt forming in the back of his throat.
Quick kisses pressed along his shaft as you worked another donut down.
Warm mouth, cool sugar and rough texture all against sensitive skin of his twitching cock.
“Yeah…yeah, keep doing that—” he added, voice dropping, rougher now.
The next one nearly fell apart in your hands as you forced it down, cracks forming along the edges the more it stretched over him.
“…fuck,” Carlos exhaled, one hand bracing against the seat behind you as his hips shifted forward the more things that weird sensation enveloped entirely his member.
You leaned in, licking along the underside to gather the sugar that clung stubbornly there.
“Maybe you should thank me,” he muttered, voice husky and thick with amusement, a small smirk tugging at his lips as he looked down. “‘Fore a zombie walks in and sees how damn hungry y’are for ma cock.”
Your lips brushing his skin as the first donut tore away, your tongue immediately following, sweeping along the exposed length.
Carlos’s head dropped back with a low grunt.
“—yeah—fuck—”
His grip tightened slightly in your hair as your mouth worked, lips sealing around him more and more as space cleared.
Sticky sugar melting under your tongue and mixing with the saltiness he had beneath your sugar-drunk tongue.
“Yeaaaah, just like that—” His hips rolled forward to further go down your throat.
Can I request Clark kent (smallvilIe) x male reader please :)))
Clark being a total pervert for reader which then turns to him begging reader to ride him
Kinda like a subtop Clark and a Dombottom reader
have yet to see any clark Smallville fics :,)
Pls and thank you<3
BEG FOR IT, FARMBOY
Clark Kent x Male Reader
WARNING:
18+ SMUT AHEAD
The Kent barn always smelled faintly of hay, oil, and Clark himself. You’d gotten used to it. The sweet, clean sweat that clung to his shirts, the warmth radiating off his body when he thought no one noticed. Clark had always been good at hiding things, but lately? His eyes lingered too long. His breath hitched when you leaned too close.
And the way his jeans sat, tight around thighs that could crush steel, told you everything about the fantasies he wasn’t confessing.
It started small. You caught him staring while you stripped your shirt off in the heat. He swallowed, turned away, but you didn’t miss the flush racing up his neck. Then came the nights when he’d “accidentally” brush too close, pressing against you, pupils blown wide like he was fighting every instinct not to beg.
And tonight, Clark finally snapped.
Pinned against the loft wall, you had him by the collar. His fists clenched, his body shivering under yours, though he could’ve thrown you across the barn if he wanted. Instead, he trembled like a guilty sinner in church.
“You think I don’t notice?” you murmured, lips grazing his ear. “The way you watch me, the way you get hard when I tell you what to do?”
His voice cracked. “I—I can’t help it.”
You smirked, dragging a hand down his chest until it cupped the bulge in his jeans. He gasped, hips bucking helplessly. “God, you’re pathetic, Kent. All those powers, and here you are, begging with your body.”
“I’m not—” he started, but the protest died when you squeezed him through the denim. His knees nearly buckled.
“Say it,” you demanded, grinding against him until he whimpered. “Tell me what you want.”
Clark’s breath came ragged, his hands gripping your shoulders as if you were the only thing keeping him upright. His lashes fluttered, his lips parted, and then, brokenly, it spilled out:
“Ride me.” His cheeks were crimson, chest heaving, but his eyes burned with desperate honesty. “Please.”
Your grin was sharp, cruel in the way that made him shake harder. “There it is. The golden boy begging to be fucked. Get on the ground, Clark.”
And he did.
The farmboy who could bench press tractors laid himself back in the hay like he was waiting for judgment, cock straining against his jeans, eyes locked on you as if you were the sun he couldn’t live without.
You stripped slow, just to watch him squirm. By the time you straddled his hips, he was a mess of bitten off moans and twitching need. “Beg louder, Kent.” you growled, lining yourself up as his hands gripped your thighs like lifelines.
“Please,” he gasped, shameless now, rutting helplessly beneath you. “Please ride me, make me yours, don’t stop—”
You sank down, and his cry echoed off the barn rafters, raw and broken. His hips twitched, trying to buck up into you, but you slammed a hand against his chest, pinning him to the loft floor.
“Don’t move,” you ordered, grinding your hips in a slow, cruel circle. His whole body shook. “You don’t get to fuck me. I fuck you.”
His voice broke. “Please—please, I can’t—”
“You can.” you cut him off, riding him in a steady rhythm, dragging yourself along his length until he was babbling beneath you. Every thrust wrung another strangled sound from him, his usually steady farmboy composure shattered into raw need. His eyes glazed, lips red from biting back moans until he couldn’t anymore.
“F-fuck,” Clark choked, his head falling back into the hay. “You feel—so tight—so good—”
You reached down and wrapped a hand around his throat. His eyes flew open, pupils blown wide, and he moaned louder than before.
“That’s it,” you taunted, bouncing on his cock harder now, riding him like you owned him. “Beg for it. Beg me to ruin you.”
His voice cracked into a desperate cry. “Please! Please don’t stop—ride me—ride me until I can’t breathe—‘til I can’t think—oh god—”
Your grip on his throat tightened slightly, enough to make his moan shatter into a whine. His hips bucked helplessly now, but you slammed yourself down onto him harder, taking him so deep he nearly sobbed.
“You love this, don’t you?” you hissed, your pace brutal now. “Being used. Being my pretty little toy.”
“Yes!” Clark nearly shouted, tears of pleasure brimming in his eyes. “Yes, I love it—I’m yours—I’m yours—”
The sight of him like that—Superman, the perfect Kansas boy—reduced to a trembling, begging mess under you, set fire through your veins. You rode him harder, faster, until the loft echoed with the slap of skin and his shameless cries.
Clark’s whole body arched, trembling under your control. His fists pounded weakly into the hay, muscles spasming as he broke completely. “I’m gonna—fuck—I’m—please let me—”
“Not until I say so.” you snarled, slamming down on him again, milking every inch.
He sobbed, hips rutting wildly now, his composure gone. “Please, let me—please—”
You leaned down, biting his lip until he cried out, then growled against his mouth: “Cum for me, Kent.”
Clark shattered. His whole body convulsed as he came hard inside you, moaning your name like a prayer. You didn’t stop riding him through it, drawing out every last pulse, every whimper. By the time you collapsed against his chest, Clark was trembling, gasping, utterly wrecked.
Summary: Zombies are the easy part.
The hard part is surviving Leon Kennedy when he realizes you ran off alone again. His patience finally snaps and he has a very particular way of dealing with reckless partners.
Tags: No use of Y/N. Male reader. Badass Leon with his hatch. Protective Leon Kennedy. Power imbalance. Age gap. Older man/younger man. Brat reader. Manhandling. Marking. Top Leon Kennedy. Bottom male reader. Size kink. Breeding. Blowjob. Anal sex.
ℳ𝒶𝓈𝓉ℯ𝓇𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓉
Words count: 4500
Coming here alone had been a terrible idea, should have known it minutes after that moment the lounge bar doors burst open and you had taken that decision at given opportunity.
From the impact that slammed wood against wall so hard the hinges shrieked, a smell of antiseptic and metallic tang of blood that had long since dried into the floors and walls engulfed the hallway you and Leon were about to march.
A mass of former patients staggered out, white hospital clothing now grayish and soaked red.
Their skin had turned almost black and waxy, lips split and dark with yellowish eyes from failed liver activity, all of them looked at you and Leon.
The first one lunged forward with an hungry growl and Leon pistol’s muzzle flashed for a split second as a bullet slammed into the creature’s chest, the impact snapping its torso back to stun the undead.
It was Keon’s turn now to march forward and kick it hard on the face, thigh flexing beneath the tight tactical fabric of his pants with violent power.
The kick landed square into the zombie’s face as it crashed against the wall not before colliding the other two it had behind.
They all collapsed on the ground and you would’ve loved to stay just for the sheer size of his thighs alone as he brought his boot against the zombie’s skull and it gave way under him.
Bone fragments burst outward, gray brain matter splattering across the tile floor as Leon twisted his boot to make sure the thing stayed down.
An opportunity had opened and the gap in the mass of bodies blocking the hallway temporarily was gone.
Boots of your own hammering against the tile as you sprinted past the collapsing group, one of the fallen bodies began twitching as the mass of walking carcasses began to get back up.
“HEY!” A roar of your name echoed through the ward behind but you were already gone, lights flickering in epileptic flashes in the hallway that made every movement seem jerky and wrong.
“nnn—rrr—don’t run in the hall—” A zombified nurse lurched from the side, mouth opening in a gargled moan and your heart slammed into your ribs as her fingers grazed your arm, unbearably cold to the touch.
You kicked free and sprinted harder while behind gunshots started again just as a wave of groaning bodies poured into the corridor.
Turning just long enough to see the moment everything went wrong for him with zombies closing in with more of them spilling from the lounge area along the fallen ones rising again.
One corpse lunged at him with jerky speed and Leon twisted sideways, hand snapping up under the creature’s jaw, jamming the barrel of his pistol straight against the soft underside of its skull, finger squeezing the trigger and the entire head detonated.
Even surrounded, he looked terrifyingly calm.
You raised your hand slightly from the stairwell railing and silently mouthed to him a ‘Catch up later’ since you didn’t want to draw the zombies towards your direction.
The wooden steps groaned beneath your weight, dust puffing from the railing as you grabbed it, hauling yourself toward the third floor and missing completely the murderous look on Leon’s face.
Down in the corridor, he stood among the swarm with his jaw clenched so tight the muscles twitched under his stubble.
Another zombie lunged and he shot it without even looking.
Upstairs, you pushed open the door toward what should’ve been Gideon’s studio, gunshots echoing from downstairs again.
Your stomach tightened at the situation Leon was in.
He was going to be pissed.
Undoubtedly.
But he had always known what it meant to work alongside you.
Reckless to get the job done right and annoying, too quick to run headfirst into things.
Strangely enough though… he never seemed to mind your presence that much.
At least not enough to leave you behind.
Though he did have a very particular way of shutting you up when you talked too much like back to the drive earlier with the low hum of his Porsche’s engine as you leaned across the passenger seat, knees digging awkwardly into the leather while you bent down between his legs, face buried in the warmth of his lap.
He was thick and heavy even down your throat, forcing your jaw open wider than was comfortable, your lips stretched tight around him as you tried to take more.
Nose brushing a thick layer of bush while your head hovered dangerously close to the center between his defined thighs.
The tight black fabric of his pants hugged every curve of them, heat radiating through the material and against your cheeks as you knelt between them.
One large gloved hand rested on the back of your head to hold it there close to the space between those two beefy mountains while the other hand stayed casually on the steering wheel, car humming quietly along the empty road.
Tongue sliding along the underside of his length, tasting salt and warmth as you tried to get used to the thickness stretching your mouth, each movement made the muscles in his thighs flex slightly, he occasionally would let out a low grunt in a quiet acknowledgment of someone enjoying himself.
Your lips slid further down, throat tightened as the head nudged deeper and Leon’s hand finally pressed down.
“Yeah,” he muttered, voice low and gravelly above. “That’s better.”
Your nose brushed the inner side of his thigh left as he guided you further, heat down there almost suffocating while he adjusted his foot on the gas pedal, cock further pressing deeper into your throat.
You gagged slightly and Leon’s grip tightened, a quiet grunt left his chest as he felt your tongue moving along him.
“See?” he murmured, eyes still on the road ahead. “Much better when you use that mouth for something useful.”
His thumb brushed the back of your head slowly, not letting you pull away.
“Instead of running it all the damn time.”
The Porsche’s engine purred softly while Leon Kennedy drove calmly down the empty highway with your throat wrapped around his cock, occasionally giving a satisfied grunt whenever your tongue did something particularly good.
Another gunshot echoed from downstairs and you got mentally teleported back to the present.
Yeah.
He was definitely going to be pissed when he caught up.
Taking the stairs two at a time, boots hammering against concrete steps that echoed up the narrow shaft of the building as the air grew progressively thicker the higher you climbed, heavy with the copper stink of blood and the stale rot of bodies that had been left too long without burial.
By the time you reached the upper landing your lungs burned from the sprint while your fingers were already tightening around the suppressed handgun in your grip, thumb flicking the safety with practiced motion.
The door at the top stood slightly ajar, light from your flashlight cutting a thin white line across the floor as you nudged it open with your shoulder, immediately wishing you hadn’t.
The meeting room beyond looked like a massacre with all the bodies moving and twitching with those broken motions, jaws slack and smeared with thick crusted blood, corners of their mouths split where teeth had torn flesh in endless hunger.
One of them slowly lifted its head toward the sound of the door creaking open, cloudy yellowish eyes from failed liver activity sliding across the room in a blind search.
Heart kicking hard as you slipped fast and crouched beneath one of the two large sofas, fibers already damp with old blood that soaked through the knee of your pants.
Your thumb clicked the flashlight off and now only the faint ambient glow leaking from the lights on the ceiling revealed silhouettes of legs slowly dragging across the floor.
Suppressed handgun resting steady in both hands as you controlled your breathing and, once a pair of shoes shuffled closer near the edge of the table till they stepped fully into your field of vision, your finger squeezed the trigger.
The suppressed shot felt like a small cough in a loud mess of growls inside the large room, bullet punching through the kneecap and the corpse collapsed instantly, crashing sideways against the floor with a dull thud that made your pulse spike.
Its head twisted violently toward you as yellowed iris, empty of thought but still brimming with an endless gnawing hunger, settled entirely on your hiding form.
Before a single sound could leave its throat your other hand lunged forward, knife sinking into the side of its skull with a wet crunch, burying itself deep in the gray mush beneath.
The corpse twitched once before going still.
You held it there for another second, breathing slow through your nose as the other figures in the room continued their aimless wandering.
Carefully you pulled the knife free and dark fluid spilled across the carpet.
You shifted forward on your haunches and peeked around the corner of the table as a female zombie stood only a few feet away, back turned towards you.
She stood in that strange dormant twitch that infected bodies often fell into, shoulders jerking slightly while her head rolled in tiny mechanical circles.
Perfect.
Moving slowly and keeping low as you crept along the side of the sofa, each step controlled enough that the carpet barely rustled beneath your boots.
When you were close enough you placed one palm against the polished wood edge of the sofa, weight shifting for a kick into the back of her leg just behind the knee.
The joint folded instantly and she collapsed forward with a broken wheeze, dropping onto both knees.
Knife immediately drove up from beneath her chin, blade punching through the soft tissue under the jaw and sliding upward inside the brain.
Resistance vanished and her entire body spasmed violently before slackening.
You pulled the blade free with a wet sucking sound and stepped back as the corpse pitched sideways, face hitting the floor with a hollow thump.
For a brief second the room went quiet again before a low animalistic snarl erupted inside someone’s throat due to a zombie spotting you.
One bullet from your gun punched square through the center of its forehead and he dropped instantly, limbs jerking in twitchy spasms before going limp against the carpet.
You stood there for a moment, chest rising and falling slowly as relief tried to creep into your muscles but not fully.
All those bodies had already died once, what was stopping them from rising a second time?
Stepping over one of the corpses and making your way toward the far door that led deeper into the studio section of the building, gun still raised while your shoulders remained tight with tension.
The handle turned quietly beneath your grip and you slipped inside.
This next room was smaller, a private office of some sort.
Two bodies lay sprawled across the floor near the wall, thick streaks of blood trailing behind them where they had clearly been dragged or had crawled before finally collapsing.
You moved quickly toward the desk, computer screen flickering dimly when you tapped the mouse.
Most of the files were corrupted.
Administrative junk, schedules and structural blueprints of the building.
Nothing useful.
Just when you were about to turn away, a sound made the back of your neck prickle.
A twitch of muscles as one of the bodies moved, the entire arm now jerked violently and the second corpse began shaking as well.
Their bodies convulsed with violent spasms, heads starting to swell and skin bulging grotesquely, stretching outward in pulsating lumps beneath the scalp like tumors rapidly inflating beneath the flesh.
Veins turned full red as the skull distended, blistering outward until patches of skin split open.
Brain matter exposed, throbbing and glistening with viscous fluid as the corpses rose, charging at a fast rate.
You jumped onto the desk just as the first creature slammed into it with explosive force, hands raking across the wood while its swollen head pulsed violently with each motion.
Bullets tore from your gun into the bloated mass but it barely slowed down despite receiving an entire magazine emptied into it, it even jerked a fire axe off the ground and swung it wildly at you in midair, whistling past your chest close enough that you felt the rush of wind.
One shot cracked into its leg as you aimed lower and the knee shattered, making it collapsed right at the base of the desk.
Jumping down you drove your knife directly into the spongy and pulsing growth, texture soft in a revolting way before it popped in a violent explosion of blood and gray pulp that splattered across the floor and your boots in a thick cascade.
The body went limp but from the other room you suddenly heard the other zombies screaming now as well in those horrible noises of transformation.
You barely had time to react before the second creature launched itself across the desk with terrifying speed and slammed into you like a truck.
Due to the impact your back crashed against the wall, air blasting out of your lungs as its twisted head lunged forward with snapping jaws, trying to rip your face apart, breath smelling worse than decay.
All at once a meaty thud erupted behind the mutilated monster and it halted in its assault.
A gloved hand grabbed its shoulder from behind and the entire weight of its body was lifted off you rapidly by Leon and his other hand drove a hatchet straight into the back of the swollen skull.
Leon ripped the hatchet free and struck again, faster this time, steel biting into the neck with brutal precision before the third motion came in a vicious sweeping arc, causing the head to separate from the body.
Blood erupted in a violent spray that painted the wall and splashed across Leon’s cheek as the body collapsed at his boots.
He stood there breathing hard, chest rising beneath the tight dark shirt that clung to his torso, each breath stretching the fabric across broad pecs and shoulders.
His blue eyes locked onto you, cold and furious.
Not a single word came together with the murderous look on his face, instead he turned and walked to the desk.
A small framed drawing sat on the wall behind as he grabbed and yanked it aside.
A hidden lever clicked beneath, wall shifting with a grinding rumble as the wooden panel slowly slid aside, revealing metal bars and a concealed passage beyond.
Carefully stepping closer beside him while he kept staring at the wall slowly revealing a passage.
“Leon… thank—”
He moved before you finished, hand shooting out and grabbing the collar of your shirt.
In the next second you were once again slammed against a wall and lifted clean off the floor, his arm locking you in place as his towering frame stepped closer, thick biceps flexing beneath the dark fabric as he pinned you there effortlessly.
Blood-stained hatchet rising again and for a split second you truly thought he might bring it down directly into your skull.
The blade slammed into the wall beside your shoulder instead with a violent clang, impact rattling the entire wall and leaving you half suspended, body tilting awkwardly with one side lifted slightly by the embedded weapon.
Leon leaned in close panting, heat rolling off him with every breath as anger radiated through his posture, jaw tight and shoulders tense.
“You got a death wish?” he growled quietly, voice rough and dangerously low while dull blue eyes flickered over your face, fury in them tangling with something else entirely. “What you think would have happened if I don’t get there in time?”
“I can handle myself.” Your voice came back at him sharper than you intended, more bark than bite, words rushing out with a stubborn edge that didn’t quite match the tremor still lingering in your muscles.
It sounded weaker the second it left your mouth.
“Yeah,” Leon muttered, jaw flexing. “Saw that real well.”
Blue eyes burning now, pupils blown wide with adrenaline.
“You were about two seconds from getting your throat ripped out,” he continued harshly, voice tightening. “And I’m getting real tired of having to worry ‘bout your stupid ass every five minutes.”
Blinking at him surprised.
Your head tilted slightly, a crooked and almost cocky smile tugging at the corner of your lips despite the way he looked absolutely terrifying right now with those hair disheveled, cheek with a streak of ferrous and scarlet liquid streaked with grime along the veins in his forearms bulging from extended activity.
“Oh?” you said quietly, voice softening towards a teasing edge. “So you do worry about me.”
For a moment Leon didn’t answer, his chest rose and fell before he exhaled heavily, sound almost a growl.
He stepped closer until the wall pressed cold against your back and his forehead came down against yours with a dull tap, his breath warm as it puffed across your lips and cheeks from his nose.
“Should’ve let that thing tear you apart.”
Your lips parted slowly, gaze dragging down his face, over the hard line of his jaw and the way his Adam apple bopped when he swallowed.
Then back to his eyes.
“Why let the zombie do it,” you murmured softly, voice thick with something reckless and dangerous yet again, “when you could do it yourself?”
Something in Leon snapped as his large and rough palms slipped down your sides before gripping the backs of your thighs and he lifted you straight up off the floor with a small grunt of effort.
Your back thudded harder against the wall as your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist, his mouth crashing into yours in a hungry and demanding kiss like he hadn’t decided yet whether he wanted to beat you up or devour you.
Optioning for an option something in between as your lips were crushed between his, breath stolen instantly as he pushed forward, chest pressing into yours, the weight of his body pinning you firmly against the concrete, heat pouring off him despite the cold hallway.
Adrenaline still pumped through your veins from the fight, heart hammering wildly as the kiss deepened, tongues sliding together in a messy and desperate rhythm while your fingers tangled into the collar of his jacket.
Pressed right against your ass, grinding between your bodies through layers of fabric, was the hard and heavy clue you weren’t the only one afflicted by it.
Thick length of his cock tented beneath his jeans, pushing insistently against your backside as his hips rolled upward almost unconsciously. Each slow grind dragged the heavy bulge along the curve of your ass, friction building with every movement.
Leon’s breath hitched inside your mouth, a low grunt and purr rumbled in his chest as he exhaled hot air through the kiss, hips jerking again, seeking more contact.
He finally tore his mouth from yours, both of you breathing harder with a bridge of saliva connecting your swollen lips.
But he didn’t pull away, instead you felt the scratch of his stubble down your jaw before he took a bite of the skin on your neck, hard enough to make your body jolt while his teeth scraped the sensitive flesh beneath your ear before his mouth closed over it, sucking roughly while his hips bucked forward again.
“You like this?” he muttered against your skin, voice rough and vibrating through you. “That why you pull this reckless shit?”
Another bite.
“Running off,” he continued darkly, “getting yourself into trouble.”
His hand tightened on your thigh, there would be marks for sure there, even larger than the one he was producing all over your neck due to the imprint of his hand.
“You just like seeing me pissed off?”
Your breath caught sharply when his hips thrust forward harder, friction sending your own erection grinding straight into his chest through your pants, the pressure delicious and overwhelming all at once.
At the same time his thick bulge dragged up against your ass again, the double stimulation sending a shock of heat straight through your spine.
A broken moan almost escaped you because it got trapped halfway when Leon’s hand suddenly moved from your thigh upward.
You felt his fingers at your waist, working quickly at your belt.
Your breath shuddered.
“Leon—”
“Shh.” His fingers paused just long enough to tilt your chin upward so he could look directly into your eyes.
“All I wanna hear,” he murmured, the buckle of your jeans popping open. “is how good I’m making you feel.”
Your pants were shoved down just as two thick fingers pressed back into your now exposed rim.
The stretch made your breath hitch immediately, though your body accepted them far easier than the first time tonight, slight curl of his fingers inside you as if confirming something as a gravel sound rumbled in his chest.
“Yeah,” he muttered against the side of your neck, thumb pressing down firmly while his fingers moved again, spreading you open with slow scissoring motions that dragged along the sensitive walls, sensations making your thighs tense around his waist.
Your mind flashed instantly to the cramped interior of his Porsche hours before with the way he had bent you forward over the console, body definitely remembering it as well.
Each push of his fingers came easier than the last, your muscles already used and anticipating the much larger stretch that was coming.
Leon’s fingers curled deeper, pressing where your prostate was that made your stomach tighten every time, forehead dropping against his shoulder as a quiet sound escaped you before you could stop it.
Leon huffed softly through his nose.
“Thought so.” His fingers continued working you open not because you needed much preparation, but he wanted to feel you react. Every slow push and pull made your body twitch against him, your hips instinctively rocking toward his hand.
Leon’s attention stayed completely on you while his fingers dragged out slowly this time, knuckles brushing your rim before he pushed them back inside again.
Nails digging into his broad shoulders.
“Leon…” Your voice came out shaky and he leaned closer to your ear.
“You want it done fast or done right?” His fingers curled again, stretching you wider for a moment before slowly pulling free. The sudden emptiness made your body clench automatically, hips shifting slightly against him.
For a brief moment your body was just hanging there, back pressed to the cold wall while Leon’s arm held you up by the thighs, legs staying wrapped around his waist out of instinct.
He loosened his grip just enough to move, forehead pressing briefly against the wall beside your head while the now free hand dropped to his belt.
The metal buckle clinked sharply in the quiet corridor.
You felt his arm tighten again around your thighs as he worked the belt open quickly with one hand. The zipper followed immediately after, sounding loud in the otherwise tense silence.
Your body lifted slightly as Leon repositioned you higher against the concrete, hand gripping the back of your thigh again with crushing strength and something ponderous brushed between your legs.
Leon exhaled slowly through his nose as the head of his cock pressed against your entrance and the sensation alone made your spine arch from the broad crown nudging and spreading you slightly just from the pressure.
He didn’t push in yet but let it sit there for a moment and your body reacted immediately, muscles loosening further as if inviting him inside like his good boy willing to ask forgiveness.
Leon let out a quiet grunt.
“That eager, huh.”
Then he pushed, the first inch forced its way inside slowly, the thick head stretching you open again and your mouth fell open as the sensation spread through your body in a sharp wave.
Even after earlier, Leon was still very much hung.
Your fingers tightened in his jacket as he continued forward, pressure building steadily, making your breath stutter as your body tried to adjust around him again, back pressing harder against the wall as he sank deeper.
His grip on your thighs strengthened, holding you firmly in place as he filled your orifice.
Halfway in, your head tipped back as a groan escaped you and Leon moved, the rest of him sliding inside in one slow, powerful push.
Your breath left you completely while Leon groaned low as his hips finally pressed flush against you, cock buried deep inside your body that had muscles constantly clench involuntarily around him.
He stayed there for a second, then he pulled back, not all the way, to drag his cock halfway out before thrusting back in again.
Your body jolted as the movement knocked your shoulders lightly against the wall behind you.
It happened again and again, the rhythm started slow but powerful, each thrust rocking your entire body upward in his grip. The strength in Leon’s arms made it clear you weighed nothing to him considering he lifted and dropped you slightly along his cock with each movement.
The wet sound of his thrusts echoed faintly through the corridor together with Leon's breathing that grew heavier.
Low grunts slipped from his throat with every push of his hips, rough and uncontrolled as he drove into you repeatedly.
Your body moved helplessly with every thrust up and down, back scraping roughly against the concrete wall while Leon lifted you slightly each time he pulled back before slamming you down onto his cock again.
The force made your vision blur, hands clutching at his shoulders as that enormous cock inside stretched you completely with every deep thrust, each movement dragging along your inner walls.
Leon’s grip tightened further and his fingers dug into the backs of your thighs as he began thrusting harder and faster.
The anger from earlier poured into every powerful snap of his hips as he fucked you against the wall like a man burning off all the adrenaline and wrath still racing through his body.
A low growl slipped from him.
“Only thing you’re good for,” he muttered through clenched teeth followed by another hard thrust that made your body jolted upward.
Instead of stopping, Leon drove into you even harder, using his strength to lift you higher against the wall while his hips hammered forward again and again in wet smacking sounds.
Your cock rubbed desperately against the clothed abs on his chest, friction building too fast, breath turning uneven as pleasure climbed rapidly through your body, each brutal thrust pushing you closer to the edge.
That was it, your orgasm hit suddenly, cock jerking as hot streaks of cum shot across the front of his shirt. The white liquid spread across the dark fabric in messy lines while your body trembled violently in his grip.
Leon swore under his breath once your muscles clenched tightly around his cock.
That did it.
His thrusts became rougher for a few more seconds before he buried himself fully inside you again with a deep groan, hips jerking twice as he came hard, thick warmth overflooding your insides in white.
He stayed pressed against you afterward, both of you breathing hard.
His grip on your thighs tightened slightly.
“Told ya. Things go a lot smoother when you listen to me.”
Note: Gonna now focus on the Dark Leon fic along some other fics I had in mind <3
Summary: Mark Grayson dies of jealousy every time his flirty, easygoing, and perpetually exhausted best friend—who he may or may not have a huge crush on—makes out with random guys behind the school. Until the day you confess you’re a half-breed, like him. But not quite like him. Because while he’s half-Viltrumite, you are... half-incubus? Whatever that means… Mark’s more than willing to find out.
w.c: 19.7k | a/n: Heeey, it’s been forever!!! DID YOU MISS ME? Because I definitely missed you! I’m really sorry for being so inactive lately. I've been so busy between a nasty case of writer’s block, college stress, and work chaos... yeah, life sucks. Anyway! Here’s a little big treat I managed to squeeze out between bursts of inspiration and writer’s block. As always, English isn’t my first language, so please forgive any mistakes here and there. Hope you enjoy it!
You have a reputation.
You know it. Mark knows it. Hell, probably half the school knows it.
It clings to you like a second skin—whispers in the hallways, smirks in locker rooms, giggles that trail behind you in class. You’re a flirt, and not the harmless kind either.
The kind who’s always leaning just a little too close in crowded hallways, disappearing behind buildings with someone breathless and flushed, only to reappear like they’ve won the lottery. But then a week or two passes, and you’re gone. Slipping out of their lives like it never mattered. Like they never mattered. One minute, you’re all sultry glances and lingering touches. The next, you’re onto the next curious set of eyes across the room.
People talk. Some resent you. And yet, no matter how many times you walk away, there’s always someone new, eager and willing, thinking maybe they’ll be the exception.
And today, Mark sees it happen all over again.
He watches from across the cafeteria as you chat up some guy in line. You’re leaning in close—closer than necessary. Your shoulder brushes his, and your head tilts slightly when you laugh. That slow, lazy grin slides across your lips like it’s effortless. The guy blushes. Of course he does. He leans in without realizing it, like he’s being pulled by a string.
Mark doesn’t even taste the food in his mouth anymore.
He stabs his fork into his tray, jaw tight, eyes fixed on the casual way your hand lingers near the guy’s arm, the light in your expression that no one else ever gets to keep. His stomach knots.
You’re just playing. Again. He knows it. But that doesn’t stop the heat from rising in his chest. Doesn’t stop the slow burn of something he doesn’t want to name.
Then you laugh at something.
The guy laughs back, awkward and eager.
Mark’s knuckles go white around his fork.
“Uh, Mark to Earth?” William says, waving a hand in front of him. “I’ve been talking to you for, like, five minutes.”
Mark blinks, forcing his jaw to unclench. “Huh? Sorry. What?”
William raises an eyebrow, following Mark’s gaze to where you’re now smirking at something the guy said.
“Oh. Y/N again,” William mutters, deadpan. “Shocking.”
Mark’s ears are already burning. He glances down at his tray. “What about him?”
William sighs like he’s had this conversation in his head a hundred times already. “Dude. At least pretend to be subtle. Jealousy isn’t a good look.”
“I’m not—” Mark starts, a little too fast. He swallows hard, tries again with forced calm. “Whatever. It’s just—I’m worried, okay?”
“Oooh, worried. Right. Sure,” William drawls, nodding slowly like he’s humoring a toddler. “Totally not jealous that Y/N’s out there reeling in his next victim while you sit here pouting and crying about it.”
Mark nearly chokes. “What are you even—oh crap, he’s coming back. Shut up.”
He watches, frozen, as you murmur something to the guy before breaking away, walking straight toward them.
Mark jerks his eyes down to his tray, only now noticing the fork in his hand bent clean in half from how tightly he’d been gripping it. He swears under his breath, quickly ducking his hands beneath the table to fix it. He’s midway through smoothing it back into shape when you slide into the seat beside him, smooth as ever.
You sigh, lazy and soft. “Hey, nerds. Sorry I’m late. What’re you gossiping about without me?”
Your head props in your hand, elbow on the table, eyes flicking between them with something like curiosity—but dulled, like even that costs energy.
It’s always a bit of whiplash when you’re around them. The version of you the school knows—the smooth-talking, flirtatious heartbreaker—melts away almost instantly. With them, you’re just you—that quieter, wearier version only your close friends ever get to see. Your posture slouches. The sharp smirk fades into something hazy. Your eyes, once bright and teasing, grow distant.
It’s like watching a performance end the second the curtains close.
Mark watches, fascinated and frustrated in equal measure. He hadn’t been lying earlier—he is worried. Because behind the easy voice and sleepy grin, he sees it—that edge of exhaustion you try so hard to hide. That distracted look in your eyes, like your mind’s always somewhere else.
“Oh, we were just talking about Mark being jeal—ow!” William yelps, his leg jerking under the table.
Mark glares daggers at him, foot still pressed against William’s shin. His look says shut up so loud it might as well be spoken.
You raise a brow at the exchange, unimpressed. Even that tiny expression looks like it takes effort. Still, your gaze stays on William, waiting. “…About Mark being what?”
Mark straightens too fast. “Oh! Uh. Just—just excited! Y’know. About the tour. The Upstate U thing. It’s gonna be… fun.”
William grumbles into his food, refusing to look up. “Super fun.”
Your eyes light up just slightly—just enough to make Mark breathe easier. “Oh yeah! Right. Thanks again, William, for letting us crash your date with that hot pre-med guy.”
“Oh, well, since Mark insisted, how could I possibly say no? I love having my two best friends third- and fourth-wheeling all the time. Makes it so romantic.”
You snort, your posture loosening as you lean back and wink. “Don’t worry, Will. I’ll make sure to drag Mark away the second we get there. I’m not about to cockblock my friends.”
William’s smile turns razor-sharp. “Good. Make sure you keep Mark busy all day. And by all day, I mean all night too. You two are sharing a room—trust me, you don’t wanna know what I’ll be doing in mine.”
“Done,” you reply breezily, nudging your knee against Mark’s under the table without thinking.
Mark jerks like he’s been shocked, spine going stiff as his leg instinctively shifts away. He pointedly ignores the smug look William throws his way.
But of course, William isn’t done.
“So,” he drawls, “what were you talking about with that guy in line? You seemed real into it.”
Mark stiffens, lips pressing into a thin line as he shoots William a warning glare, one William very obviously avoids.
You blink, like the question catches you off guard—like you’d already forgotten about that guy entirely. Then realization sets in, and you wince a little. “Oh—that. I was just… hungry,” you mumble, eyes darting away. “Wanted to cut the line. Said something dumb to distract him, but standing around that long kinda sucked. I got tired.”
“Hungry?” Mark echoes, the irritation draining from his face as concern rushes in to take its place. “You’ve already had, like, four trays. You still hungry?”
You glance at him, giving a half-hearted shrug. “I have a big appetite?” you offer, lips tugging into a weak sort-of-smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes.
Mark catches it—the pout in your mouth, the barely-there glance toward his tray of food, the subtle tremble in your tone.
He doesn’t hesitate. Quietly, he slides his tray across the table toward you, nudging it close enough to make the offer clear.
Your eyes widen just a bit.
“You can have mine,” Mark says, trying to play it off with a shrug. “I’ve had enough.”
Your face lights up instantly, all exhaustion momentarily eclipsed by a bright smile “Seriously? Dude, thank you! God, I’m starving.”
Without another word, you pick up the fork—Mark’s fork—and dive into the food like you haven’t eaten in days.
Mark tries very hard not to think about how you’re eating off the same fork he used. That it’s kind of like—well, not a kiss. Not really. But also kind of not not one. He’s not five. He knows that. He tells his face that too, willing the heat in his cheeks to die down.
William snorts around a mouthful of his own food. “Jesus, you eat like you never did before. Got a black hole in there or what?”
You snort too, pausing just long enough to swallow. “Feels like it.”
Mark watches you. Watches the way your cheeks puff as you chew, the smooth motion of your throat as you eat, the quick swipe of your tongue across your lips between bites.
He swallows, too.
“Almost like you’re… insatiable,” he murmurs, without thinking.
You pause. Not for long—but enough. Your rhythm falters as you glance back at him, something unreadable in your expression. Like he just struck a chord you weren’t ready for.
It vanishes quickly. You laugh, not quite as bright as before. “Yeah,” you say, chuckling, “feels like it.”
But something’s changed. The words feel heavy now. Like a joke that isn’t really a joke. Like there’s something you want to say, but won’t.
Mark notices. Of course he does.
But, as always, he doesn’t say anything.
Mark never seems to know what to say around you.
So he sits there.
Watching you.
And in his own quiet way, maybe he’s insatiable too.
By the time you all arrive at Upstate U and meet Rick, you make good on your promise to keep Mark out of William’s hair. You wave William off with a cheeky salute and a wink, then drag Mark into your own version of a tour: one that includes skipping the official info sessions, sampling from half the food trucks on campus, and wandering through hidden places neither of you expected to find.
Mark doesn’t complain. In fact, he’s having a good time—a great time, actually.
He’s laughing too much. Smiling too easily. He tries not to notice the way his body jolts when his shoulder always ends up pressed against yours whenever you walk side by side. He tries not to focus on the way his chest swells a little too much every time you laugh at something he says. He really tries to ignore the way his heart picks up every time your eyes catch his and hold, just for a beat too long.
But what Mark can’t ignore—no matter how hard he tries—is the way your breath hitches after walking for too long. The way your pace slows, like your legs are dragging. The way your body leans into him like you don’t even notice you’re doing it—like gravity’s pulled you sideways and he’s the only thing holding you up. The way you keep rubbing your eyes, like you were trying to scrub the exhaustion out of them.
Eventually, Mark can’t pretend anymore.
“Hey,” he says gently, his hand brushing your shoulder to guide you toward the nearest bench. “Let’s sit for a bit.”
You blink, but let him. The second you sit down, your body sinks into the bench like it’s doing half the work your legs can’t anymore.
“How’re you feeling?”
“Peachy,” you mutter, voice low and strained. “Why?”
Mark watches you carefully, his brows pulling together. You’re sweating slightly, and your skin has that drained, almost translucent look to it.
“You’re pale,” he says quietly. “And kind of… out of it. Are you sure you’re okay? We can go back to the dorms. You don’t have to push yourself.”
You don’t answer right away, eyes darting to the ground, breathing shallowly like you’re barely holding it together.
And what Mark doesn’t get—what drives him a little crazy—is why you keep pretending you’re fine.
Especially with him.
“I’m just—” you start, then stop yourself, jaw tightening as you press your lips together in visible frustration “—hungry.”
Your eyes drift past him, unfocused, flicking over the stream of students walking by. You look like you’re scanning them. Assessing.
“I should eat,” you mutter, dazed. “I should… eat something…”
Mark straightens in his seat, alarm rising in his chest. “I can get you something,” he offers quickly, ignoring the fact you’ve already eaten enough for three people today. He just wants to help. “Something sweet. Maybe your blood sugar’s low?”
You look up at him then, and something in your expression knocks the wind out of him. Your brows pinch, eyes cloudy, lips parted like you’re about to cry.
“That’s not enough,” you whisper.
Mark blinks. “What do you mean?”
Then, without hesitation, without shame, you whisper, “I wanna kiss someone.”
Mark freezes.
“What?”
“I need someone,” you repeat, more firmly this time, bracing your hands against the bench like you’re about to stand. “I’ll find someone. Just—stay here, okay? It won’t take more than fifteen minutes.” You push yourself up, but stumble as you take a step forward.
Mark doesn’t move. Doesn’t breathe. Just stares at you like he doesn’t recognize you for a second.
Kiss someone? Now? You were clearly unwell—too pale, too drained, barely standing—but even now, even like this, you were going to throw yourself at some stranger? After spending the entire day together, after laughing and joking and walking shoulder-to-shoulder like you actually wanted to be around him?
His throat tightens. A bitter coil wraps around his heart, hot and suffocating and impossible to shake. Something ugly rears its head in his chest. A sick twist of frustration and hurt and—
God.
William was right.
Jealousy.
Mark presses his lips together. He doesn’t want to be the kind of guy who gets angry about this.
He’s not entitled to you. He never was.
But that doesn’t stop his hands from curling into fists in his lap, knuckles white.
Because you’re clearly hurting. And you won’t tell him why.
Because you’re pushing yourself toward strangers, toward danger, when he’s right here.
Because, for once, he wants you to pick him.
And you don’t.
Before you can take another shaky step, Mark stands up and grabs your wrist.
“No.”
The word comes out sharper than he means it to—clipped, almost angry.
You stop, turning to him with startled, uneasy eyes. “I’ll be right back, Mark. I swear.”
“No,” he says again, firmer this time, his brow knitting. “You’re about to collapse, Y/N. I’m not letting you go to—what, kiss some random guy just because you’re feeling off?”
You blink, taken aback by his tone. “Look, I get you’re worried, but—”
“No, Y/N,” he cuts in, voice rising, frustration breaking through. “I’ve never judged you for the crap people say about you, alright? Never cared what they whispered in the halls. But this? This is insane. You’re sick, and your solution is to hook up with a stranger? We’ve been here less than a day!”
The next words slip out before he can stop them.
“Can you not act like some hormone-crazed idiot for five minutes and just take care of yourself?”
The second the words leave his mouth, he wants to take them back. But it’s too late.
You go completely still, eyes going wide.
Then, slowly, your expression hardens.
“Hormone-crazed idiot?” you echo, voice low and cutting, disbelief flickering in your eyes. “Is that what you think I am?”
“Wait—Y/N, I didn’t mean—”
You tear your hand from his grip, expression stony. It’s like a dam breaks beneath your exhaustion, a spark of rage reigniting the strength that had been fading from you all day.
“What am I then, huh? Just some horny screw-up who can’t go a day without climbing someone? You think this is fun for me? That I like being like this?”
Mark shakes his head, panicked, but not quite understanding the meaning of your words. “No—God, no, that’s not what I meant, it’s just—”
“Guess I shouldn’t be surprised. Everyone else thinks I’m just some—some fucking slut who can’t keep it in his pants. But you—” Your voice breaks. “I thought you knew me better than that, Mark.”
Mark’s stomach drops. “I do! I swear I—”
Before he can finish, William’s voice cuts through the charged air, calling over the crowd, his arm linked with Rick’s.
“Hey, idiots! Having fun with—oh…” William’s voice trails off, sensing the thick tension between you two. He awkwardly lowers his raised arm. “Hey… is everything okay…?”
Mark barely holds back a groan, cursing himself for the words that slipped out so stupidly. He wants to apologize, to pull you aside, to fix it—
But then a sudden explosion shakes the ground beneath them, a cyborg-looking-monster crawling out of a hole.
What happens next is a blur of instinct and adrenaline. One second he’s Mark Grayson, desperate to take back his words—the next, he’s Invincible, saving his best friends from death.
And when it’s over, when he drags himself back, bruised and breathless, to where William and you are huddled in safety—
William stares at him, whispering under his breath, “Mark…?”
And you—you’re not surprised. Not even angry. You just frown, gaze deliberately avoiding his, eyes unreadable and distant.
It’s in that moment Mark knows he’s screwed up big time.
You don’t speak to him again until later, when the nightmare finally ends—Sinclair in GDA custody, William shaken but safe, and Rick badly wounded but alive.
“Can’t believe Sinclair nearly turned you into one of those things,” William mutters, arms wrapped tightly around Rick.
Mark stands off to the side, awkward and out of place in the fluorescent-lit room. You’ve long since excused yourself, mumbling something about sleeping this fucking day away. The words had been dressed up as a joke, but Mark saw through it—the way your hands trembled as you gripped the doorframe, the deep shadows under your eyes, the sheen of sweat clinging to your pale face.
He remembered the way you leaned on him earlier, how your steps had faltered, how you kept pretending you were okay.
You weren’t.
And now, after everything that’s happened, Mark’s worried sick.
“I’ll…” he starts, voice flat, drained. “I’ll go to bed too. You guys, um… get some rest.”
Rick nods. William does too, but his eyes linger—sharp, knowing, and meaningful. A silent get your shit together.
Mark tries.
The room is dim when he slips in, cold moonlight pooling faintly through the curtains. You’re already curled up on one of the beds, facing the wall. For a moment, he feels crushed because you’re still mad at him.
Moving quietly, he strips out of his clothes with mechanical, resigned motions, slipping into his pajamas—until your voice cuts through the silence.
“Mark?”
He freezes—mid-motion, halfway through tugging his jeans off—heart leaping to his throat.
He turns quickly to face you, finding you sitting up groggily in bed, hair tousled, eyes heavy with exhaustion.
“Y/N,” he breathes, almost stumbling over your name. He’s so relieved to hear you talk to him again, but the guilt crashes in just as fast. “Are you—did I wake you? Sorry, I didn’t mean to—”
You shake your head slowly, blinking away the haze. “No. I wasn’t really sleeping anyway.”
Mark hesitates by the edge of his bed, torn between giving you space and wanting to inch closer. “Do you… need something?” he asks softly. “Water? Food? Anything?”
You’re quiet for a beat, looking at him in a way that makes his heart clench—like you’re still tired, still hurt, but no longer angry. Just… worn down.
“Nah,” you murmur, voice low. “I’m fine.”
Silence stretches between you.
Mark sits there, the weight of everything unsaid pressing down on him. He hates it—the tension, the awkwardness, the distance, especially when you were having such a good time today. The kind of fun that only happens when you’re with someone you really like.
And Mark likes you.
Probably a lot more than he wanted to admit.
Probably enough to get on his knees and beg if that’s what it would take to fix this. He’s already forming the words in his head, some clumsy apology laced with sincerity, when you speak first.
“So… Invincible, huh?” you mutter, the faintest edge of amusement cutting through your exhaustion.
Mark latches onto the sound of your voice—that tone—like a lifeline.
“Yeah,” he chuckles awkwardly, rubbing his neck. “That’s, uh. That’s me.”
You hum, noncommittal, gaze drifting toward the window. “Were you ever going to tell us?”
Mark’s breath catches. His smile falters. It would be easy to lie. To say yeah, eventually, of course.
But all that comes out is a quiet, “...I don’t know.”
You don’t say anything right away. You just rub at your eyes again, the way you always do when you’re trying to rub away sleep. It sets Mark on edge. His fingers twitch with the urge to reach out—check your temperature, get you water, make you take something, do something.
But he stays put.
Eventually, you exhale a long, slow breath. “It’s fine. I’m not mad about that.”
That.
Mark winces, the word cutting a little deeper than it should.
And then, finally, it spills out—earnest and clumsy and too fast.
“About—about what I said earlier…” he begins, voice low. “I didn’t mean it like that. I don’t care what you do—or don’t do—with other people. I swear. I was just… I was just really worried about you. You looked like you were about to pass out, and then hearing you say you wanted to kiss someone—God, I didn’t know what was happening. And I panicked. And I said something shitty. I’m sorry.”
Your expression doesn’t change at first. And Mark waits, his stomach a mess of nerves, the silence dragging sharp between you.
Then you sigh—long and heavy—and finally meet his eyes.
“I know,” you murmur. “God, I know. You don’t understand—can’t understand what—who I am. I shouldn’t have gotten mad at you for not knowing. That’s not fair.”
Mark frowns. He doesn’t feel any better—if anything, worse—because it sounds like you’re taking the blame for what he said. And that doesn’t sit right with him.
“What do you mean?” he asks, voice quiet. “I was the one who basically called you a hormonal mess to your face. That’s on me.”
You press your lips together and shake your head. “Yeah, well… I was the one who said I needed to kiss someone right there. Without context, that sounds…” You trail off, flinching, dragging a hand down your face. “I was out of it. I shouldn’t have said it like that, but I was desperate. Still am.”
Mark’s frown deepens, confusion flickering across his face. He opens his mouth, then closes it, unsure of what he even wants to ask. But the question lingers in his chest, heavy and jealous and aching.
Desperate? Still?
“You still…” he starts, then hesitates. “Still want to kiss someone?”
You blink at him, startled—but not like he’s wrong. More like you didn’t expect him to say it out loud.
Mark clears his throat, awkward, trying to shove the twist of jealousy in his chest down, his imagination running wild with images of you seeking out someone else’s lips in the dark.
“I… I think I’m gonna need a little more explanation than that,” he says carefully. “Because if this is still about kissing someone, I’m—uh—I’m not following.”
You go quiet for a moment, just looking at him—eyes uncertain, troubled, teeth pressing into your lower lip like you’re holding something in.
And that’s when Mark really sees it.
It’s serious. Whatever this is, it’s eating at you. And suddenly, he’s crossing the room without thinking, settling gently at the edge of your bed like he’s afraid to startle you.
“Hey,” he says softly. “You can tell me anything. You know that, right?”
You look at him, eyes wide and tired, like you haven’t slept in days. And then, with a dry, humorless smile, you shake your head.
“Well,” you whisper, “now that I know you’re Invincible... guess I owe you some truth too.”
Mark’s pulse jumps. “Truth?”
“Call it… an exchange of secrets,” you say, voice quiet, almost shy in a way that makes Mark’s stomach flip.
He leans in without thinking, drawn like gravity. “A secret?” The word comes out breathless. He’d thought he knew everything about you.
You hesitate. Nervousness is written all over you—tense shoulders, twitching fingers, the way you can’t quite sit still. But even so, you meet his eyes, refusing to look away.
“Promise you won’t look at me differently,” you whisper, so quiet he has to lean even closer to hear. “Promise this won’t change anything between us.”
Mark doesn’t hesitate. “I promise.”
Because really—how bad could it be?
You lick your lips, glance down at your hands, still fidgeting in your lap.
“Mark,” you begin slowly, “my family has... a curse. It’s been in our blood for generations. And—” Your hands fist in the sheets. “There’s nothing I can do to stop it. I need you to understand that. This isn’t—it’s not a choice, okay?”
Mark’s brows knit together, already twitching with worry as his mind jumps to every worst-case scenario. He’s heard of curses. He’s seen what they can do. Amanda—Monster Girl—was proof enough that they were never just quirky inconveniences. People suffered under curses. People died because of them.
And the way you’re speaking now—so serious, so insistent, practically pleading—hits something raw inside him and twists.
He nods, quickly, urgently. “Okay,” he says. “Okay. I believe you.”
You swallow hard, hands tangled tightly in the bedsheets.
“I’m…” You close your eyes for a moment, like it physically hurts to say it. “I’m not—I’m not fully human, Mark.”
The silence that follows is thick.
Mark’s eyes widen, those words bouncing around his skull, impossible to ignore.
“Part of my bloodline—on my mother’s side—is something else,” you continue, carefully, assessing his reaction with anxious eyes. “We call it a curse, but it’s more like a... condition we inherit.”
Mark listens intently, piecing together the implications, nodding slowly along.
Finally, you exhale shakily, gaze steady but vulnerable.
“I’m part incubus.”
The words hang heavy in the air.
“That’s why I needed to kiss someone earlier,” you admit, fingers twisting in the sheets. Your cheeks burn even in the dim light. “Normal food... it’s not enough. I can eat it, but it doesn’t sustain me. I need—” A shaky exhale. “Arousal. Desire. Intimacy. The energy that comes with it.”
Mark watches as you shrink into yourself, the confession leaving you vulnerable in a way he’s never seen.
“And when I don’t...” You hesitate, then force yourself to go on. “When I go too long without it, my body starts to shut down. You saw it earlier today. That’s what it looks like when I’m starving. I was trying to hide it because I didn’t want—I didn’t want you to know this part of me.”
Mark just stares, stunned—not with disgust or fear, but with a dawning realization. His mind scrambles, trying to make sense of everything. Okay.You’re part incubus. He’s not totally sure what that entails, not really, but he can piece it together. You feed off arousal—off desire. And without it, you get sick. Really sick. Okay. That much he gets.
Then finally, softly, “You’re sick because you’re starving.”
You grimace at that, the words clearly stinging, and glance away. Still, you nod—just barely. A small, exhausted gesture.
“You kiss people to… eat?” he asks slowly. “So back at school—when you were with people—you were feeding?”
You don’t nod this time. You wince instead, tilting your head with an awkward expression.
“Not exactly,” you murmur. “I don’t feed from kisses. That’s not enough. I just…” Your voice dips, suddenly shy. “I just mess around long enough to make people feel... something. Get their arousal going. When things start to, y’know, heat up.”
The second that last phrase escapes your lips, you let out a groan and bury your face in your hands.
“God, I hate saying it out loud. I hate how it sounds. But it’s not like I can turn it off, okay? If I could, I would. Believe me.”
Your voice is muffled behind your palms, frustration and shame coloring every word.
“Hey, hey,” Mark says gently, reaching out to take your hands in his. He pulls them away from your face with soft insistence, making sure you see the sincerity written all over his expression. “I don’t care, okay? This isn’t something you chose. It’s not—it’s not your fault.”
Mark swallows hard, glancing at you again—really looking. You’re still pale. Still swaying a bit where you sit. There are dark, bruised shadows beneath your eyes, and you look one bad night away from collapsing.
“I mean… if you didn’t feed,” Mark says slowly, working through it aloud, “you’d be like this all the time, right? That sounds like it’d really suck. I mean, look at you now. You’re still…”
He trails off, his gaze drifting over you with a worried crease in his brow.
A short, dry huff escapes you. You blink at him, tired and a little amused. “Yeah. It sucks. I could even die.”
You say it so lightly, like it’s no big deal—like you’re joking—and it knocks the breath right out of him.
Mark stares, stunned for a beat, the weight of that sentence finally settling in.
Then he leans forward, closing the space between you, close enough that his breath brushes yours. His hands slide up to your shoulders, firm and grounding as he pulls you gently toward him.
“You could die?” Mark hisses, panic tightening his voice. His fingers dig into your shoulders, eyes wide with fear. “How—how much time do you have left? Why didn’t you tell me? Shit—we should find someone immediately. God, I was the one who stopped you earlier—I’m such an idiot. Oh my god, are you dying?”
“Mark, Mark, breathe,” you say, raising both hands in a placating gesture, a genuine—if tired—smile tugging at your lips. “That only happens in really extreme cases, alright? I’m nowhere near that point. I swear.”
Mark lets out a shaky breath, but his grip on you doesn’t ease.
“Then why not—” He swallows hard, hating the question even as it leaves his lips. “Why not stay with one person? Wouldn’t that be easier than constantly finding new people?”
What he really wants to ask is, Why aren’t you ever serious with anyone? Why not choose someone, stay safe, be safe?
But your eyes drop, the smile fades, and something heavy settles over your expression. You look sad.
Mark hates it instantly.
“Mark…” you murmur, hesitant. “You understand I feed off these people, right? What do you think that means?”
You don’t wait for his answer.
“There’s only so much I can take before they start breaking down,” you say, voice low. “At first it’s subtle—just a little fatigue. But after a week or two, it’s worse. They lose sleep. They get distracted. Their appetite drops. Their energy drains. And I’m not even feeding properly. Just kisses, Mark. Barely enough to keep myself upright, and it already wears them out.”
Mark’s brows knit together, the weight of your words hitting hard, sinking deep.
“And that’s me holding back,” you say, shoulders tense. “That’s me playing it safe. And it’s still not enough.”
You glance at him then, eyes glinting with something close to fear.
“What happens if I stop holding back? What if I lose control? What if I finally taste the real thing—and I can’t stop? I’m scared, Mark. I’m scared I’ll hurt someone. Kill someone.”
The raw honesty in your voice does something to Mark’s pulse. He should be shocked. Maybe even disturbed. But all he feels is an overwhelming pull—an urge to make you feel safe, to ease that pain etched into every word.
“The real thing?” he echoes, voice rough despite already knowing the answer.
You give a dry smile, raising a brow. “Sex, Mark.” Then your gaze drops, and color creeps into your cheeks as you mumble, embarrassed, “I think it’s the only thing that can truly sustain me. Maybe for months, if I’m lucky. But humans are—” You pause, frustration coloring your voice. “Humans are just so... fragile.”
Mark swallows hard, throat dry. He’s still holding onto your shoulders, the heat of your skin seeping through the soft fabric of your t-shirt. He can feel the tremor in your muscles, subtle but undeniable. The shallow rise and fall of your chest. Even now, even after spilling everything—you’re still trying to hold it together.
And he hates it.
Hates that you’re suffering.
Hates that he can’t fix it. Not unless you found someone to—
Found someone—
Someone.
Mark’s breath hitches. His eyes flicker from your face to his hands on you… then back up. The idea hits him like lightning—sudden, bright, impossibly simple and obvious.
His mouth moves before he can stop it.
“Can I help?”
Your head snaps up, eyes widening. “What?”
Mark doesn’t back down. His grip tightens slightly as he leans in, voice dropping to a whisper. “You’re starving. And I’m... here.” A beat. “Let me help.”
The offer hangs between you, trembling in the charged silence.
Mark can feel the heat rising to his face, nerves unraveling beneath his skin. He’s suddenly hyperaware of how close you are—close enough to see the way your pupils swallow the color of your eyes, close enough to feel your breath hitch.
“Mark,” you breathe, stunned. Then you shake your head quickly, like you’re trying to shake the thought loose. “No. That’s—did you not hear what I just said? I don’t wanna hurt you. You could end up dying—”
“I’m not human!” he blurts out, voice rising a little in panic, desperate for you to understand. “I mean—I’m not entirely human, like you. I’m half Viltrumite—that’s why I have these powers. An alien race on my dad’s side and—” He stops, shaking his head hard. That’s not the point. “Anyway! I’m strong. Durable. I heal fast and have insane stamina. I won’t—won’t get hurt if you…”
He trails off, drowning in his own embarrassment. God, he hopes he doesn’t sound desperate—just a friend trying to help. Nothing weird about it. Even if—shit—even if it means kissing you.
Mark nearly chokes on his own spit.
Yeah. Right. Kissing. That’s what he’s offering.
No—it’s more than that.
He feels it land in his stomach, heavy, hot, terrifying.
“If we have... sex,” he finishes, cheeks flaming. But the moment he says it, he feels stupid and awkward, his eyes darting everywhere but yours. “I—I mean, we can try. You feel awful all the time, right? And I’m strong. I can take it—I know I can. Because, you know…” He lets out a nervous, breathless laugh, too fast, too forced. “I’m, uh… I’m Invincible. That’s—ha—that’s me.”
The laugh dies a quiet death in his throat.
He bites his lip, eyes dropping to the floor. Silence settles between you again, thick and suffocating. Mark can hear the pounding of his heart, wild and humiliating, slamming against his ribs like it’s trying to escape. God—he sounds so stupid. You probably think he’s being weird. Or desperate. Or both.
Offering to—God. He can’t even say it in his own head without his face going up in flames. But he’s thinking it.
Worse—he’s been thinking it for a while now.
He starts remembering all those times you snuck off after school, slipping behind the gates with someone new, someone who wasn’t him. All those nights Mark lay in bed wondering what you were doing, what it would feel like if you picked him instead.
He remembers how you smiled at him in the middle of crowded hallways—just for a second—and how his heart would stutter in his chest like it forgot how to work. Only for that smile to shift to someone else a moment later, while Mark just stood there, swallowing disappointment like it was a habit.
He remembers how you flop onto his bed whenever you visited, casually thumbing through his comics and calling them lame with a crooked grin, even though you keep reading them anyway just because he likes them.
Your body stretched out in his sheets, your scent lingering in his pillows long after you’ve left. The way your lips tug into a smirk when Seance Dog does something stupid, or how you bite your lower lip when you’re focused, brow twitching every time a plot point annoys you. The way your smile sneaks in, helpless and honest, when you stifle a laugh just to mess with him.
Mark’s thought about kissing you before. Right there, in the quiet of his room, while you were sprawled across his bed, completely at ease. But he never dared.
And now, sitting here in the stillness of this dorm, you only inches away, the thought slips back in.
Mark thinks of kissing you again. Now. But he’s still too shy to try.
Then, soft and amused, you chuckle quietly, breaking the silence.
Mark’s head snaps up, lips already pulling into a nervous pout, bracing for your usual teasing.
But you’re not teasing.
You’re looking at him with something else in your eyes—soft wonder, a kind of startled tenderness, like you’re seeing him clearly for the first time. Your smile is crooked, small. “Invincible, huh.”
Mark swallows thickly and nods. “Invincible.”
A beat.
Then your fingers reach for his collar, curling into the fabric with a tremble he can feel, and Mark’s heart just stops.
“Mark Grayson,” you whisper, half awe, half fear, “do you have any idea what you’re signing up for?”
Mark’s never been more certain about anything.
“I do.”
You smile at him—soft, fond—and for the first time in what feels like forever, the exhaustion in your eyes eases, just a little. Just enough to make Mark’s chest tighten.
Then you tug him closer by the collar of his shirt, and Mark’s breath stutters. Your breath mingles with his—warm, steady, grounding—while his comes out shallow and trembling, lips parted, eyes half-lidded, skin flushed with want.
You’re so close. So unbelievably close. The heat of your lips brushes his, barely there, and Mark leans in without realizing, drawn to you like a magnet.
You inhale deeply, and then let out a soft, pleased hum, one that shudders down his spine.
“You really want it,” you whisper, almost to yourself, voice tinged with wonder. “I can smell it on you.”
Mark doesn’t get the chance to ask what that means—how you can know. Because then your mouth crashes into his, and you groan into the kiss like it’s a relief, like it’s something you’ve needed just as badly.
Mark’s eyes flutter shut, and melts.
It starts slow—tentative. Testing. But Mark sinks into the kiss like he was made for it, hands finding your waist and gripping tight. You sigh into his mouth, lips parting, and Mark doesn’t even think—he just deepens the kiss, tongue brushing yours, hungry and desperate and real.
And the noise you make—
God.
Mark’s never heard anything better.
He presses into you, completely lost in the moment—lost in the feel of your mouth against his. Slowly, your back meets the mattress with a soft thud, and Mark follows, bracing himself on his elbows and palms above you. But neither of you pulls away—not even for a second. The kiss deepens, tongues greedily tangling, hungry for more.
Heat coils low in Mark’s gut. His mind spins, thoughts breaking apart like static. It’s overwhelming—in the best possible way. Your mouth is warm, wet, desperate, kissing him like you want to devour him.
And maybe… maybe you do.
When he finally pulls back, gasping, the sight of you steals what little breath he has left. Color has returned to your cheeks, your eyes bright and focused now, dark with want. The transformation is startling—like watching a wilting flower spring back to life after rain.
Mark swallows thickly. “Better?” he asks, voice barely above a whisper.
You inhale, lips slick and a little swollen. “Better,” you murmur. Then you raise a hand, fingers brushing tenderly along his cheek. “You?”
Mark pauses. He thinks about the warmth simmering in his chest, the way his skin tingles under your touch, how every nerve feels alive. If you’re better, that means it’s working—that you’re feeding off his arousal. Off him. But he doesn’t feel drained. Not really. Just the heady buzz of desire, the thrill of finally having you beneath him. If this is what feeding you feels like, he’d gladly offer himself up again and again.
“Still good,” he murmurs, smiling crookedly. “Really good.”
Your smile lights up the dim space between you as you pull him back down. Mark groans into the kiss, body sinking against yours when your hand slips behind his back and pulls him in. Chest to chest. Hips to hips. The contact burns through his clothes, sending sparks dancing along his nerves.
This is for you, he thinks wildly as his hips jerk forward of their own accord. To make you strong again.
The moan you let out against his lips is downright sinful. Your legs part instinctively, guiding him to slot perfectly between them. “Mark—” you gasp, fingers tightening in his hair, “are you sure—”
His answer comes in another sharp roll of his hips, drawing a punched-out sound from your throat that goes straight to his cock.
Yes. God, yes.
No words could possibly capture the certainty thrumming through his veins. You seem to understand anyway, arching up to meet his next thrust with a filthy grind that has you both moaning into each other’s mouths.
The heat between you is unbearable now—the drag of fabric against oversensitive skin, the way your hardening lengths press together with each desperate movement. Mark’s never been this hard in his life, every nerve ending alight with the need to give you more, more, more.
“So good,” you slur against his lips, voice thick with pleasure. “Fuck, Mark, so good—”
The words go straight to his core, and Mark’s eyes flutter shut, hips moving faster, chasing that sound, chasing that praise. He wants to hear it again. He wants to earn it. Relishing the way your body trembles beneath him—not from exhaustion now, but from the pleasure he’s giving you.
He can feel it happening; the strength returning to your limbs even as his own energy wanes. It’s not unpleasant—just a deep, satisfying fatigue, like after an intense flight. More than worth it to see color flooding back into your face, to feel your grip on him growing steadier by the second.
So he keeps going, harder, faster, grinding against you like some hopelessly horny teenager.
Turns out the hormone-crazed idiot had been him all along.
“F-Fuck—” Mark chokes out, his voice raw with need, skin flushed and hypersensitive. “Y/N... god, Y/N...”
You moan in response, fingers twisting in his shirt as you drag him closer. The kiss turns messy—all biting lips and clashing teeth, the kind of desperate intensity that leaves you both breathless. Your hands slip beneath his shirt, palms scorching trails across the sweat-slick planes of his back. Mark shudders violently, muscles jumping under your touch.
“Mark—” you gasp, arching up against him, pleasure painting your features. “Mmh, Mark—”
And it hits him.
You’re in the dorms.
William and Rick are probably still very much awake. It’s the middle of the night. And both of you are getting way too loud.
Mark’s face flames with embarrassment.
And when you open your mouth to moan again, he panics—just a little—and presses a hand gently over your mouth to muffle the sound.
Your eyes fly open, dazed and confused, locking with his. And shit—the sight of you like that nearly makes him lose it right then and there.
“Shh,” Mark whispers, breath ragged, forehead pressing against yours. “They’ll hear us.”
You go still for a beat, eyes flicking to the door like you’ve only just remembered where you are. Then you nod slowly, locking eyes with him again.
Mark gives a shallow thrust, still holding his palm over your mouth, just in case. This time, with your lips no longer fused together, his eyes remain open—watching every microexpression of pleasure that crosses your face. The way your pupils blow wider with each thrust. The tension building in your jaw. Most striking of all—the life flooding back into your exhausted features as you meet him halfway.
The silent exchange is somehow more intense than the noises you’d been making before. Mark reads every hitched breath in the flutter of your lashes, every spike of pleasure in the way your fingers dig into his back.
The room is filled with nothing but the sound of heavy breathing, the faint creak of the old bed, and the rustle of tangled sheets. Your gazes lock, dark and searching and hungry. And god, god, Mark has never felt anything like this.
There’s a thrill buzzing down his spine, a flutter in his chest that’s got nothing to do with nerves and everything to do with you. His heart pounds wildly, not just from exhaustion, but from pure, surging adrenaline—pumping heat into every vein, every muscle.
His muscles twitch and flex instinctively from the sheer pleasure wracking his body. His breath catches and his cock aches, hard and leaking into his boxers, needier than it’s ever been.
Mark wouldn’t trade this moment for anything.
The heat coils inside him, slow and molten, building pressure with every thrust and grind of your hips against his. Your eyes never leave him, and it wrecks him. That look—like he’s the only thing in the world that matters. The way you’re giving yourself to him, trusting him, wanting him.
Wanting him.
You want him.
The realization hits like lightning, and Mark’s whole body reacts—hips grinding harder, cock pulsing desperately, breath coming fast and uneven as the world narrows to nothing but you. His brain short-circuits, every rational thought evaporating under the weight of that need.
Then your hand slips down.
Past his waistband.
Fingers wrap around his cock, warm and sure and so willing.
Mark chokes on a breath, buries his face in the crook of your neck just as you stroke him—once, twice.
And that’s all it takes.
His whole body shudders violently as he comes, hard, gasping into your skin, cock pulsing in your hand, spilling over your fingers with a soundless cry. His hips jerk helplessly as you milk every last drop from him, until he collapses against you, sensitive and spent.
His breath comes in shallow, uneven gasps, thighs twitching, mind blissfully blank. The exhaustion hits him like a wave—a deep, satisfying lethargy that weighs down his limbs, his eyelids fluttering as he fights to stay awake.
“You okay?” you murmur, voice rough, fingers still lazily stroking his oversensitive flesh. Mark shudders, biting back a whimper, and instead sinks his teeth into your shoulder—not hard, just enough to ground himself. “Mark?”
“I’m fine…” he slurs, voice thick with sleep and satisfaction. “God, I’m so fucking fine.”
You chuckle, low and warm, but your grip tightens again, just for a second—just enough to have him whining, squirming, his spent cock twitching pathetically in your hold before you finally relent.
Mark forces himself up on shaking arms, giving you space to breathe. But in that exact moment, as your hand slips free of his boxers—fingers glistening with his release—he sees something that nearly undoes him all over again.
With zero hesitation, you bring those cum-slick fingers to your mouth—and lick them clean.
Mark’s brain short-circuits.
His mouth goes dry as he watches your tongue flick out, slow and deliberate, catching every drop like it’s something precious, your eyes locked on his the entire time—daring him to look away.
“Shit—” Mark chokes, his spent body throbbing weakly at the sight. “Y/N—”
You hum, eyes fluttering shut as if savoring the taste, lips curling into a sinful little smirk.
Mark swears under his breath, his energy draining further, vision blurring at the edges—but even now, even exhausted, he can’t tear his gaze away.
And all Mark can think is he did that.
He made you feel alright.
He gave you strength again.
Because you’re glowing—god, you’re glowing.
“Y/N…” he breathes, voice trembling. “Are you—are you feeling okay now?”
You hum contentedly, licking the last traces of cum from your fingers with a satisfied sigh. “Never been better.”
Mark’s answering smile is drowsy but genuine. “Good. That’s... good.” His eyelids flutter despite his best efforts to keep them open.
“Mark?” you ask gently, sensing the shift in his body—how it droops, how his muscles go slack.
He blinks at you, slow and owlish, trying to hum an answer. He’s fighting it—desperately trying to stay awake, to prove to you that he’s okay. That you don’t have to worry. That he’s strong enough to do it again, whenever you need it.
But he can’t.
It’s like trying to fight anesthesia—his consciousness slipping despite his will, soft and slow and inevitable.
To his surprise, you don’t panic. Instead, a tender smirk curves your lips as you guide his swaying body off of you, helping him roll onto his side so he lands beside you instead of collapsing on top. You tug the sheets over both of you with a quiet, satisfied sigh, then curl around him, limbs tangling comfortably with his.
Mark still has just enough strength to pull you closer, wrapping his arms around you in return.
The very last thing he feels is the soft brush of your lips at the corner of his mouth.
And then, everything fades.
Since that night, nothing’s happened between you again.
The very next morning, you thanked him with a soft kiss to his cheek, all warm affection and casual ease. You seemed energized, almost thriving, while Mark woke up feeling sluggish and tired—though nothing serious enough to make either of you worry.
You even laughed when you noticed how drained he was. “If I tried that with a regular human,” you said thoughtfully, “they’d probably drop into a small coma, I think.”
So… yeah. Mark had to admit, his Viltrumite heritage did come with some perks beyond just strength.
And for a while, you were fine. More than fine.
Mark watched you through the days, then weeks—half expecting you to suddenly corner a random classmate and start making out with them just to feed again. But you didn’t. Not once.
Which probably had something to do with the fact that you’d… well. Eaten his cum. You mentioned it offhandedly once, saying it gave you an “energetic bonus,” like it was a protein shake or something. And Mark—Mark thought about that for hours. Days, maybe.
He’d let you do it again in a heartbeat. Every day, if you asked. At any time. Anywhere.
And that’s the problem.
You haven’t asked.
Apparently, whatever you got out of him that night was enough to keep you going for weeks. Which is honestly impressive, considering the two of you didn’t even have full-on sex. You just… grinded against each other and you gave the world’s shortest handjob—and he still passed out immediately after like some overwhelmed virgin.
Because, well, he was overwhelmed.
Mark tells himself he needs to work on his stamina. He can’t let that happen again—not if he wants to actually get to the next phase with you. Not if he wants to please you, the way you made him feel that night.
But it’s also true—you were starving back then. Maybe you pulled more from him than you usually would. Maybe the lust, the arousal, the craving he felt for you gave you a bigger energy hit than either of you realized.
Whatever the reason, ever since he tasted your lips, Mark’s been a mess.
The memory of your mouth on his, your body moving against his—it’s been looping in his head, like some kind of self-inflicted torture. Every brush of your shoulder in the hallway sends sparks racing down his spine. Every laugh, every look, every accidental touch leaves him dizzy and desperate.
But no matter how much he’s burning for it, you haven’t brought it up again.
And it’s driving him insane.
Until today.
Today, everything crashes in on him at once—final exams before graduation, the pressure of saving the world, the delicate balancing act of being both Mark Grayson and Invincible. And on top of it all, the world is still feeling the aftermath of his dad’s betrayal—cities still recovering and people still mourning.
Nobody’s surprised that he’s been... off lately. Tense. Angry all the time.
And today, today, he needs to forget. He needs to focus, needs to scrape his mind back together and make it through these tests. Needs to at least try to get into that stupid university where, in some far-off dream, he’d get to kiss you for the first time all over again.
So it happens that morning.
You’re standing by your open locker, flipping through your notes with a nervous sort of energy—brows furrowed, lips pressed together, eyes flicking over the pages like you’re trying to memorize your way out of a breakdown.
Mark drags himself to the locker beside yours, slow and heavy, his limbs weighed down by too many thoughts—things he doesn’t want to forget and things he wishes he couldn’t remember.
Then, his gaze flickers—unconsciously, inevitably—toward you.
Mark sees the pinch in your brows, the way your eyes dart over your notes, how your foot taps restlessly against the tile floor. You’re clearly stressed, just like him. But that’s not what gets him.
What always gets him—every damn day, at every damn hour—is your mouth. The shape of your lips. The way your tongue sneaks out to wet them. The soft pink-red shade. The memory of how they felt, how warm they were, how much he wants to kiss them again.
And again.
And again.
“Mark?” you ask suddenly, voice cutting through his spiraling thoughts.
He flinches, eyes snapping up from your lips to your eyes.
“Y-yeah?” he stammers, cheeks flaring with heat.
You stare at him for a beat too long—head tilted slightly, brow raised, eyes scanning his face with something unreadable. Then, your nose flares subtly, like you just smelled something... good.
But instead of saying anything, you just shrug and turn back to your locker.
“Man, these exams got me super stressed out,” you say, casually, as if you hadn’t just caught him staring like a lovesick fool. “I just want school to be over already.”
Mark exhales, trying to ground himself, shoving thoughts of your lips out of his head. Focus. Focus on the tests. On anything else.
He forces a grin. “Tell me about it. I’ve been studying and dreaming about studying. Like—actual nightmares about textbooks chasing me. It’s the worst.”
You huff, amused, tossing the last of your things into your locker before checking the time on your phone.
“We still have time,” you say simply.
Mark grabs a single book and looks at you, hopeful. “Wanna keep studying?”
But you snatch the book from his hand and shove it back into his locker, slamming the door shut. Mark blinks, wide-eyed, and barely has time to react before you step in—closer than close—close enough for your breath to ghost against his ear.
Mark goes completely still.
“Don’t you wanna do something else?” you whisper, voice a low, teasing purr that sends a sharp shiver down his spine. “Like… come with me behind the school. Just us. I can help you unwind. And, y’know…”
Your fingers trail down his chest slowly, making Mark swallow hard, until your hand finds his wrist and wraps around it, firm and sure.
“…I’m feeling kind of hungry.”
You pull back just enough to meet his gaze, eyes gleaming with mischief, a small smirk tugging at your lips like you already know the answer.
And you do.
Mark, predictably, nods dumbly, heart hammering against his ribs.
Your smirk deepens, and without missing a beat, you spin around and tug him along by the wrist. Mark follows—half dazed, half panicked—as you lead him somewhere behind the buildings, wherever it is you always take people when you’re like this.
His face burns, pulse racing—not just from anticipation, but from the very public nature of this. People glance your way, eyes trailing from your linked hands to Mark’s flushed face, some raising their brows knowingly.
Because you have a reputation.
And when you disappear behind buildings with someone flushed and breathless, it only ever means one thing.
And Mark’s flushed and breathless, alright—practically being dragged to that one secluded spot you always claim for yourself.
Is this... is this what it is? What he is? Just your new hookup to mess around with?
No—no. Because unlike the others before him, Mark’s your best friend.
You wouldn’t just discard him. Right?
Besides, Mark’s stronger. Better. He can handle you feeding on him, handle the drain, handle you. He’s not like the rest. He offered. He wanted this.
You chose him.
That’s what he tells himself when you shove him gently against the cold concrete wall behind the school, shadows swallowing you both whole.
You smile at him—soft, sweet—before leaning in and kissing him.
And god, that’s exactly what he’s been craving since the first time.
Mark melts, instantly, like wax under your touch, his arms sliding around your waist to pull you closer. You fit against him like you’re made for it. Your mouth, your kiss, your tongue—everything syncs with his like it’s something you’ve done a thousand times before. Like it’s natural.
Yet, a treacherous part of Mark’s mind—still conscious, still worried—whispers that maybe all the others you’ve kissed against these very same walls thought the exact same thing. That they were special. That they could handle you.
Only for you to leave them two weeks later when they couldn’t keep up.
And now Mark’s heart pounds, not with lust—but fear.
He has to hold it together. Has to prove himself.
He doesn’t want to be another body you use and then forget. Doesn’t want to be weak—doesn’t want to collapse every time you touch him.
He wants to be the one you keep coming back to.
And then—
Then your hands move down, fingers fumbling with the buckle of his jeans.
And Mark completely loses it.
He tears away from your mouth with a breathy gasp, eyes wide, voice ragged. “Y/N?”
You pause, blinking at him, fingers still lightly tugging at his belt. Your expression softens—almost embarrassed.
“Is this okay?” you ask, voice quiet. “I wanted to… suck you off. But I don’t know if—”
You stop yourself, shaking your head like you’re mad for even thinking it. Your fingers begin to retreat, pulling away from his jeans.
“Forget it,” you mutter, avoiding his gaze. “We have exams. You’re already tired. I don’t want to make you worse if I—ugh. Stupid of me. Kisses are fine.”
You lean in again, lips parted, ready to claim his mouth like before—but this time, Mark stops you.
Because the moment the words suck you off left your lips, he stopped hearing anything else.
“You can,” Mark rasps, voice thick. “I want you to. I can take it.”
You pause—eyes searching his face, unsure for just a second. But then your nose flares again, catching his scent, and you close your eyes like it’s the best thing you’ve ever breathed in.
“Fine,” you murmur, voice thick and hazy. “Tell me to stop if it’s too much.”
Mark nods—more a reflex than a conscious answer—because he couldn’t form real words even if he tried.
And then, with aching slowness, you sink to your knees in front of him. Your hands move to the waistband of his jeans, careful and deliberate as you tug them down, freeing his straining cock from his underwear.
Mark’s hands instinctively fly back, palms splayed flat against the wall as his knees buckle slightly. He needs the support, because if he doesn’t hold himself up, he’s sure he’ll collapse the moment your mouth touches him.
Your eyes flick up at him, half-lidded and glassy with heat. Then you reach forward and wrap your hot fingers around his cock.
Mark yelps, his whole body jolting, cheeks burning red from the base of his throat to the tips of his ears.
“Y/N—” his voice cracks embarrassingly as his cock twitches in your grip. This can’t be real. This can’t actually be happening.
You hum approvingly, pumping him slowly once, twice, watching with rapt fascination as a bead of precum wells up at his tip.
“Already so hard for me,” you muse, thumb swiping through the moisture.
The casual observation makes Mark’s head thud back against the wall, a quiet, mortified groan leaving him.
But whatever embarrassment he feels is drowned out by the overwhelming flood of arousal, lust, and whatever else it is you feed on coursing through him.
You probably enjoy it—how easily he falls apart for you, how effortlessly his body responds, like you don’t even have to work for it.
You probably love it. Because then you lean in, face close to his cock, eyes fluttering shut as you inhale deeply—drawing in the raw scent of his arousal straight from the source, your warm breath ghosting over the flushed, sensitive tip.
“Fuck,” you whisper, pupils blown wide. “You smell perfect.”
Mark doesn’t have the brain to process what that even means, not when the question gets stuck in his throat and dissolves the second your tongue flicks over the tip of his cock.
A choked groan tears from his chest as you start to lick, slow and deliberate, savoring the precum with deep, focused sucks. His knees buckle slightly, and he squeezes his eyes shut in a desperate attempt to ground himself, to focus on anything other than the maddening heat of your mouth.
But it’s impossible.
You’re shameless—licking and sucking him like this is just natural for you, like it’s not embarrassing at all the way it’s mortifying for him. Your tongue moves up and down his shaft in wet, lazy strokes, then circles the head with practiced ease before you suck again, harder this time.
You groan, low and satisfied, and the vibration shoots straight through him.
Mark shudders, his hips jerking slightly, and helpless little sounds tumble out of his mouth before he can even think to swallow them down. And then—shit—then your mouth opens wider, lips stretching, tongue curling, and you take more of him in. Inch by inch, hot and wet, deeper and deeper.
Mark nearly loses it right there.
His back slams harder into the wall, his fists curling uselessly at his sides as he fights the urge to completely fall apart. But it’s not because you’re draining him—not yet, at least—it’s because it’s you.
Y/N. His best friend. The guy he’s been crushing on for way too long. On your knees behind the school, mouth full of him like it’s nothing, like it’s something you want.
It’s insane. He’s insane.
Shit—shit.
Mark dares to glance down, eyes wide and glassy with stunned pleasure, needing to see it to believe it.
And the sight nearly breaks him.
You, between his legs, hands steady on his hips, eyes half-lidded with hunger and focus. Your lips, stretched wide and glistening, moving up and down his cock with obscene wet sounds. His shaft gleams with spit and precum, slick and throbbing, disappearing and reappearing between your lips.
He moans again, soft and wrecked, unable to look away.
Meanwhile, you’re letting out soft, muffled sounds around the thick length stuffed in your mouth—like you really like it. Like you’re losing yourself in the sensation of having Mark buried so deep, your mouth full of him, nose flaring with every push of his hips. The wet, obscene noises echo in the tight space, and your brows furrow—not from discomfort, but something heady, something near-blissful.
It’s like pleasure for you. Something Mark can’t fully grasp, not when you feed off this—feed off him—like this is more than just sex, like it’s sustenance.
Then, on a particularly sharp thrust—Mark can’t help it, his hips moving on instinct—his tip hits the back of your throat.
You gag softly, breath hitching, teary eyes snapping open, glassy and dazed.
Mark curses under his breath, panicked, already pulling back, the apology forming fast on his lips—
But then you moan.
Loudly. Lewdly. Fingers digging into his hips, dragging him back in.
Mark nearly collapses.
“Oh—oh god—” he chokes out, his grip on the wall slipping as his thighs tense.
You don’t stop—don’t even slow down. You just suck harder, deeper, hungrier. Mark can feel the heat of your mouth wrapped around every inch of him, and it’s too much—it’s so much.
“Y/N,” he gasps, “God—I’m gonna—”
But you don’t let go. If anything, your pace quickens, mouth working him with precision and purpose. Mark’s knees shake, buckling slightly, and he nearly traps your head between his trembling thighs without meaning to.
“Y/N—fuck, I’m so—so close!”
You hum again, low and satisfied, like that’s exactly what you wanted to hear. Like his desperate moans and breathless whines are feeding you, pouring that raw energy straight into your core. And you take it, eyes fluttered shut in bliss, like this is your version of heaven.
“Y/N—” Mark gasps, a final, desperate warning.
But you don’t stop. Fierce and hungry, you take him in again—once.
Twice.
And that’s all it takes.
Mark comes with a deep, guttural groan, his head thrown back against the wall, hips jerking forward to bury himself to the hilt in the wet heat of your mouth. Hot, bitter release spills from him in thick pulses, straight down your throat—and you gulp it down without hesitation, moaning like it’s the best thing you’ve ever tasted.
The sounds you make—hungry, pleased, possessive—echo in the tight space, and Mark’s entire body trembles under the weight of it all.
His thighs shake violently, straining from the effort to stay standing. His vision flickers at the edges, a burst of white noise flashing across his mind. He’s faintly aware of the wall at his back, of the air that won’t quite fill his lungs, and the overwhelming, foggy pleasure that steals every coherent thought.
He’s fine. He tells himself that. He has to be.
Because he wants to prove he’s stronger than the others. That he can take it. That he can give and keep giving if that’s what you need.
Even as the lightness threatens to pull him under.
But just as his cock begins to soften, your mouth stays—closes tight around the tip, fingers curling around the base where your lips can’t reach. You start stroking again, firm and insistent, while your tongue circles his oversensitive head.
You’re milking him. Ruthlessly. Determined to get every last drop.
Mark jerks with a sharp cry, the overstimulation sending electricity through his nerves. His hands claw at the wall, legs quaking uncontrollably.
“Y/N—” he breathes, voice high and wrecked, “Jesus Christ, that’s—! I—I can’t—!”
And finally, finally, you stop.
You pull off him with a soft gasp, your breath hot and ragged. His cock slips free, flushed and twitching, coated in your spit and what’s left of his release.
You lick your lips lazily, and smile. That same satisfied, gleaming smile that tells Mark you got exactly what you wanted.
Slowly, you rise to your feet, flushed and glowing—energized in a way that almost radiates off your skin—while Mark’s left trembling, still caught in the aftershocks of his high.
“My god, Mark,” you huff a breathless laugh, eyes sparkling. “That was—I’ve never felt anything so—” You cut yourself off when you finally take in his state—the sweat beading at his temples, the way his chest heaves. Concern flickers across your face. “You good?”
Mark immediately shakes his head, trying to clear the static clouding his thoughts. “M’fine... I’m just—overwhelmed,” he admits, voice hoarse but honest.
You pause, frown flickering briefly across your lips as you glance him over more carefully. He’s pale. Wobbly. Still fighting to steady his breath. A pang of guilt twists in your chest—maybe you took too much. Maybe he wasn’t ready. Maybe he’s going to drop right here and hit the damn pavement.
But Mark, breathless and clearly drained but stubbornly determined to prove a point, straightens off the wall on shaky legs.
“I’m fine,” he says again, firmer this time. “Really. That was—” he exhales deeply, a dazed smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, “that was so good.”
Your face lights up again, the concern replaced by a beaming grin. “Damn right it was! Mark, you taste amazing. I’ve never tasted so much—fuck, I didn’t think I’d ever get to have that much cum,” you ramble, fast and thrilled, practically buzzing with glee. “It energizes me so much, like—Jesus, I could live off you... Do you need help with that?”
You gesture toward his pants, still hanging open. Mark blinks, dazed and stunned by your casually filthy words, but still gives a small nod.
You hum, pleased, as you crouch slightly to tug his jeans back up, fingers moving with practiced care. You even take your sweet time buckling his belt again, still grinning to yourself like this is the best thing that’s happened all week.
Meanwhile, Mark struggles to steady his breathing, eyes half-lidded as he watches your every movement. He savors the careful way you straighten his clothes, tugging his shirt down gently before reaching up to brush a strand of hair from his damp forehead.
His breath catches when your palm lingers against his cheek.
“You okay?” you ask again, softly, trying to sound serious—but the buzz of energy beneath your skin, the high of feeding, makes your voice a little too bright.
Mark smiles, slow and fond. “Amazing.”
“You’re not, like… out of it, are you?” you press, brows furrowed. “Still with me?”
He lifts his hand to cover yours, holding it against his cheek as he leans into your touch like he never wants you to let go.
“I’m fine,” he murmurs. “Better than fine. I actually feel…” He trails off, searching for the right words. There’s some drowsiness, sure, but it’s the good kind. “Relaxed. Like—really relaxed. Not anxious anymore.”
Your smirk is immediate, the faintest blush touching your cheeks. You look so alive—flushed and glowing, like the fatigue Mark had always assumed was your default had never really belonged to you. For months, he thought you were just… exhausted all the time. Turns out, you were starving.
“Good,” you say, lacing your fingers through his. The contact sends a fresh spark along Mark’s nerves. “Come on—we’ve still got time to meet up with William, Eve, and Amber. We can cram together before the test.”
Mark stumbles after you, legs still shaky, cheeks still burning, head still in a haze—but for entirely new reasons. The memory of your mouth on him lingers like a brand, and the knowledge that he alone can sustain you without breaking sends a possessive thrill through his veins.
He’ll be ready whenever you need him again.
When you need him again, Mark’s in the middle of arranging his things at the Upstate U dorms.
He’s been trying not to sulk about the dorm assignments. Really. It’s fine that you’re rooming with some random guy instead of him. Totally fine. And hey, it’s not all bad. He’s rooming with William, and you’re only three doors down.
However, when he’s strolling back with his Seance Dog action figure on hand, he spots it—the damn sock on the doorknob. The one William had declared as their “do not disturb” signal. Mark freezes, then groans loudly enough that a passing freshman gives him a weirded out stare.
Rolling his eyes, Mark turns on his heel and makes a beeline for your door instead. No knock. No warning. He just pushes it open like it’s a completely normal thing to do.
You’re in the middle of unpacking, back to the door, bent slightly as you shove clothes into your half of the closet.
“William’s having sex,” Mark grumbles as his greeting, shutting the door behind him.
You let out a startled laugh, glancing over your shoulder. “Already? It’s literally the first day of college.”
“Right?!” Mark perks up, pointing at you like he’s just been seen. “I was thinking the exact same thing! Who even has sex on the first day of college? I haven’t even finished unpacking.”
You snort again, amused, and turn back to your stuff. “Sucks for you,” you say with a teasing smirk. “But since you’re here, wanna help me put my stuff away?”
Mark’s shoulders sag dramatically as his eyes sweep over the room—half-open boxes everywhere, clothes spilling out, chaos even worse than his own side of the dorm. “Aw, man.”
“You chose to come here, Mark,” you say with a grin, reaching out and grabbing his wrist, pulling him toward the mountain of chaos you call your stuff. “Now suffer the consequences.”
Mark lets out a dramatic sigh as he lets you tug him along, but his protests are half-hearted at best. He grumbles the entire time—loudly and performatively—but never actually stops helping. He jokes through it, snickers when he finds weird stuff in your boxes, and keeps rearranging things the way he thinks they should go, just to mess with you.
He doesn’t really mind. In fact, Mark loves it—being near you, touching your things, asking dumb questions just to hear you talk. Every little trinket you pull out is a new excuse to stay a little longer.
By the time the bed is made, your desk is mostly arranged, and the floor is walkable again, Mark flops down face-first onto your mattress with a dramatic sigh. He rolls over onto his back, one arm slung lazily across his chest, and watches you fiddle with the last few decorations on your desk.
“What’s up with that thing?” he asks, nodding at a pretty trinket you’re setting in the corner. “Looks ancient.”
You glance over your shoulder, then shrug. “Oh, this? Just a stupid family relic. Supposed to bring me good luck or something.”
Mark pushes himself up on one elbow. “Family relic?”
“Yeah!” you nod brightly—then pause, eyes flicking to him with a slightly sheepish look. “Y’know. That side of the family, if you get me.”
That perks Mark right up. You rarely mention your incubus lineage, let alone the mysterious relatives who share it.
“Does it actually work?” he asks, genuinely intrigued. “The luck thing, I mean.”
You chuckle, fingers brushing over the trinket. “Sure it works.”
Mark straightens completely, eyes wide and full of wonder. “Really? How?”
You turn to him slowly, expression softening into something warm and deeply fond. Then you rise from the chair, walk over, and drop down beside him, the mattress dipping under your weight. You don’t say anything at first, just smile as your hand reaches up, tenderly cradling his cheek.
Mark’s breath catches.
“Well,” you murmur, thumb brushing lightly over his skin, “I met you, didn’t I.”
And Mark’s heart just—melts. There’s no other word for it. It swells in his chest and bursts behind his ribs like a supernova, a rush of feelings he doesn’t bother to hide.
Then he leans into your touch without thinking, eyes fluttering for half a second. “It must work both ways, then,” he says, voice barely above a whisper.
You laugh gently—and god, he loves that sound. It lights up your whole face. There’s something about it, that laugh, that smile, like it always bubbles out of you before you can stop it. Like you can’t help but be happy in his presence.
Mark watches you, eyes soft, his heart thudding like it’s trying to tell him something—like this is the moment. His hand is a little clammy against the blanket. He’s thinking about kissing you. Really kissing you.
But he doesn’t.
Because the truth is, aside from those two times you fed off him, you never actually kissed. Not once. And not because you didn’t want to—but because if you weren’t hungry, if there was no need to satiate that part of you, neither of you ever crossed that line.
Still, you liked touching him. You liked brushing shoulders when you walked together. Liked laying your head on his shoulder during long movies. When you visited his house, you liked sneaking into his bed just to nap together—curled into him like you belonged there.
Mark misses your lips. But if you weren’t hungry—if you didn’t have to feed—then both of you stayed in your safe little bubble.
Would it be weird if Mark kissed you right now?
Would you think he’s being a weird friend?
Mark doesn’t know where the two of you stand. Yeah—you’ve grinded against each other, you’ve sucked him off behind the school. But what did it mean? Just a way for you to feed yourself? Or did it mean more?
Did he mean more?
Mark can’t tell. Isn’t sure.
But when you look at him like this—all soft eyes, quiet smiles, that unshakable tenderness lighting up your whole face—Mark lets himself wonder. Can he believe for even a second that you feel the same way he does?
Can he kiss you?
“You can,” you whisper, soft as a secret.
Mark freezes.
Eyes widen just a little in surprise. For a moment, he thinks maybe you read his mind—but then he realizes…
He said that out loud.
And you said yes.
“…Really?” he asks, heart in his throat.
You laugh, soft and fond, thumb brushing along his jaw. With the same hand still cradling his face, you guide him closer, slowly, until your lips almost touch. “Really.”
Mark closes the distance.
He kisses you.
Not like before. Not the frantic, life-sustaining kisses you’d taken from him. This is something softer. Something given.
His heart races, hand rising to cup the curve of your cheek, thumb brushing your skin as he closes his eyes, savoring the softness, the warmth, trying to burn the sensation into his memory, into his very flesh.
You sigh softly, lips parting slowly as you deepen the kiss. Mark holds back a groan, turning it into a breathy gasp instead, his tongue meeting yours with a shy hesitation. He tastes the faint hint of chocolate from the snack you’d eaten earlier while taking a break from unpacking. Unable to resist, he gently sucks on your tongue, and you shudder against him, a soft moan slipping free.
God, Mark loved it. Loves it. Couldn’t get enough. Wanted this—wanted you—forever.
He tilts his head, deepening the kiss further, teeth catching on your bottom lip in a playful bite. One hand sneaks around your lower back, pulling you closer—
Then someone knocks on the door.
You freeze against each other, lips still brushing as you pull apart just enough to share a wide-eyed look. Your cheeks are flushed, your breathing uneven—beautiful, Mark thinks, already mourning the loss.
“Probably my roommate,” you murmur, catching your breath as the knocking comes again. “I’ll check.”
Mark pouts, reluctant to let go, but quickly squares his jaw and puts on his best tough-guy face. If this is your roommate, then he’s definitely marking his territory. No one’s stealing his best friend.
You give him a faint, sheepish smile when he slides a protective arm around your waist, and then you reach for the door handle.
But the second it swings open, you both freeze again.
Right there, in the hallway, is fucking Seance Dog in the flesh.
Mark reacts immediately, stepping between you and the bizarre cloaked figure before him, grabbing its body. “Who the hell are you—?”
The creature—Seance Dog—launches into a rambling explanation, but Mark barely registers it. His attention is locked on the hallway beyond the open door, where students pass by, oblivious.
You spin on your heel, eyes wide, rushing to the window. “Go! I’ll find backup!”
Turns out “backup” is William, who stumbles after you through the wooded edge of campus, half out of breath and half-convinced this is some elaborate prank, while you yell, “Yes, the Seance Dog! No, I don’t mean cosplay!”
When you both catch up, Mark is standing in a clearing, arms crossed, face tight with frustration. Mark turns when he hears your voice and immediately starts explaining—Thraxa, billions of people in danger, yada, yada. It’s all so sudden, and he watches you both closely as the explanation sinks in.
William nods along, immediately agreeing. “Dude, you have to go. We’re talking, what, forty-two billion lives?”
Mark flinches, glancing toward you, searching your expression. You haven’t said anything yet. Arms crossed, eyes narrowed.
You finally speak. “For—for how long again?”
Mark hesitates, his heart thumping. “Just—just a few weeks. Give or take.” He turns to the bug alien. “Right? A few galaxies away?”
The bug alien nods solemnly.
Mark looks at you again, eyes quietly pleading. He wants you to say no. He hasn’t even had his first class yet. You kissed, for real, for the first time not even an hour ago, and now he’s supposed to just…leave?
If you said no, he wouldn’t go. Not for anything.
You fold your arms, brow furrowed in deep thought. “I mean… if we’re talking about that many people… and he came from so far just for you, then…”
You trail off.
Mark’s heart sinks. He wants to help, really—but he also wants to stay. Wants to start this new chapter with you, complain about professors together, compare how bad the cafeteria food is, sit next to you in class and whisper jokes under his breath just to make you snort.
And—and he hadn’t even fed you properly. Not really. Not the way you needed. Not the way he wanted to.
But then your eyes meet his again, steady and sure despite the tightness in your jaw, and you nod. “…Then I guess you should go.”
And that’s it.
He suits up. The blue and yellow slide over his body like second skin, and Nuolzot is already gesturing toward the sky, to the ship hovering in low orbit.
But Mark pauses. He turns back to you. In two steps, he’s standing in front of you again, gloved hands rising to cradle your face.
“A month,” he says, voice rough with emotion. “A month tops. I swear I’ll be back before you even notice.”
You smile, but it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “Alright, Invincible,” you say, trying for playful. “Go save that planet. Come back before you flunk out before classes even start.”
That makes him laugh, breathless—and then his eyes drop to your lips.
And he kisses you before he can second-guess himself again.
Your mouth meets his instantly, warm and sure, like you’re afraid this will be the last time you get to feel him like this.
When you part, breathless and close, Mark wants to say it. The words burn on his tongue.
I love you.
But he doesn’t.
Instead, he chuckles awkwardly, as if laughter might hide the way the words nearly slipped out.
“Alright,” he murmurs. “See you soon.”
And then, without waiting another second, he shoots up into the sky, trailing after Nuolzot and leaving the ground—and you—behind.
William’s voice echoes upward. “Wait, wait, wait—since when are you two together!? I need details!”
Mark doesn’t look back.
If he had, he might have seen the way your smile faltered the moment he turned away.
Mark returns to Earth two months later—twice the time he promised you. And somehow, that’s the part he can’t stop thinking about.
He should be happy to be home. Should be focused on the fact that he’s safe, alive. And still, a small part of him is terrified. Terrified that you’ve moved on. That in the time he was off-planet, you got bored of waiting, maybe met someone new—someone who actually stuck around like they said they would.
So he doesn’t go to you. Not right away. Not even when every fiber in his body aches to.
First, he goes home. He sees his mom—because of course he does. She needs to know he’s alive. That he’s okay. That he’s now the older brother to a half-bug alien baby. He spends time there, takes his time, and tells her everything.
And then, finally, he makes his way to Upstate U.
Now he has to see you—has to face whatever version of you he left behind. The one who might hate him, or worse… be totally fine without him.
He stops by his dorm first, quickly changing out of his suit and into something more casual. The more he thinks about you, the tighter his stomach clenches with anxiety.
When William remarks, “You were gone a long time, like forever in college years,” it feels like salt in the wound.
Mark winces, tugging his shirt over his head. “Yeah. I know.”
Surely you’re upset.
If not upset, then… indifferent.
And Mark honestly can’t decide which would hurt more.
Still, there’s something bubbling in his chest—nerves, maybe. But also that warm, fluttery anticipation he always gets when he’s about to see you. God, he missed you so damn much. Thought about you more times than he can count while everything around him fell apart in space.
So he throws on clean clothes, rakes a hand through his hair, and takes a deep breath to ease his nerves.
“Wait, where are you going?” William asks as Mark heads for the door.
“Y/N’s room?” Mark says it like it’s obvious. Because it is. You’re three doors down. Three doors he’s been counting since he landed.
William’s expression shifts. “Oh. Uh. Y/N’s not here.”
Mark freezes. “What?”
“Went home two weeks ago. Medical leave.”
The words hit like a punch to the gut. “Medical leave?” Mark’s voice cracks. “What happened?”
William shrugs helplessly. “No clue. He’s been sick for weeks though. Like, really sick.”
Mark’s mouth goes dry. His pulse spikes.
Sick?
Sick?
His thoughts spiral—there are only a few things he can think of that would make you sick. And none of them make sense. None of them feel random. Not for you. Not with what you are.
“What—what kind of sick?” Mark demands, already striding back into his dorm room, his voice tight, too fast. “Like a cold? Stress?”
But he already knows.
God, he doesn’t want to, but the truth is already clawing up the back of his throat. Gnawing at his brain like it wants him to panic.
William frowns, thrown by the sudden shift. “I don’t know the full details, man. He just said he was feeling weak… too tired to even make it to class. He even passed out once—that’s why he asked for the medical leave.” William’s tone is a mix of concern and confusion. “Something about malnutrition or whatever, which is weird, right? I mean, he usually eats enough for twenty—hey. Hey, where the hell are you going?”
Mark is already halfway out the window.
“Where do you think?” he snaps, voice cracking with the edge of panic. “I’m going to see him!”
And then he’s gone.
The wind tears through the dorm behind him as he rockets into the sky, leaving William shouting something he doesn’t hear.
Mark doesn’t care. He can’t. Not now. Not when all he can think about is getting to you.
So he pushes himself faster—faster than he’s flown in weeks. His hands clench and unclench in the air, sweat slicking his palms, speeding toward your home.
He arrives within minutes, and in those minutes, his brain spins through every worst-case scenario imaginable. Why are you even sick? Why’d you stop feeding? You need it to survive. That’s what you told him. So why? Why would you stop? It makes no sense.
Why the hell would you let yourself waste away?
Mark doesn’t bother with the front door. Not when your bedroom window is right there—always open. Always left unlocked. For him.
Mark flies up to it without thinking, presses against the glass, peering inside. It’s dim and quiet. Then his eyes dart to your bed—rumpled sheets, blanket kicked off, and you curled up there, too still, too pale. His chest seizes.
“Y/N?” he calls, voice uncertain—like he’s afraid to startle you.
You don’t answer.
Mark climbs through the window on shaky feet, moving to your side with heart pounding. His hand hovers before gently settling on your shoulder.
“Y/N,” he says, lower now. “Hey. It’s me. I came back.”
No answer.
His eyes scan you closer—the dullness in your skin, the dark shadows beneath your eyes, the faint sheen of sweat on your forehead, your cracked lips, the sunken look in your face.
Mark’s heart drops. His grip tightens on your shoulder, and he gives you a soft shake, panic bleeding into every movement.
“Y/N, please.”
Then—finally—you stir.
A soft, low hum escapes your throat. Your face scrunches weakly, like even blinking takes effort, and you crack one eye open, confused and half-dazed.
Mark lets out a shuddering breath, part relief, part fear, and drops to his knees beside the bed.
“Oh thank god,” he breathes out, his voice cracking, reaching up to cup your cheek gently. “Hey. I’m here. I’m here, okay?
“…Mark…?” you slur, voice cracked and barely a whisper.
Mark leans in immediately, heart racing, face just inches from yours. “Yeah, yeah—it’s me! Are you okay? Y/N, what’s going on?”
You blink slowly, trying to will your eyes to stay open. Then, with some effort, you shift on the bed, uncurling from yourself like a bear out of hibernation—sluggish and disoriented. You squint at him, dazed. “Mark, hey.” A weak cough follows, your throat dry and raw. “How’re you doing? It’s been so long.”
The casual way you say it—like you’re not on the edge of passing out on your own bed—shatters Mark all over again.
“Y/N…” Mark says, voice thick with disbelief, worry pulling hard at his face. “Forget about me—what happened to you? You look…”
He trails off, unable to say it, but his expression says enough. His eyes, wide and glassy, trace every hollowed detail in your face.
“Oh,” you exhale, trying to play it down. “It’s fine. I’ve just been… a little weak, is all.”
“A little weak?” Mark repeats, voice rising in disbelief. “You’re not a little weak, Y/N. You’re—God, William said you’ve been like this for weeks.”
You grimace, trying to smile through it, to keep him from worrying. But Mark sees right through the act. He watches, helpless, as you try to sit up, bracing yourself on trembling elbows—only for your arms to give out, your head dropping back to the pillow with a soft thud.
Mark stands and shifts to sit on the edge of your mattress, hands settling gently on your shoulders like he’s afraid you’ll slip away if he lets go.
“Hey—hey, don’t push yourself,” he says, voice low but firm. “Just—just stay still, okay?”
You don’t resist. Couldn’t even if you wanted to. You simply lie there, head sunk into your pillow, eyes barely open. You’re too tired to argue, too tired to even pretend you’re okay. Your breathing stays shallow, lips cracked, face drained of color.
Mark’s chest tightens. He watches you for a second that feels like forever before finally breaking the silence. “What happened, Y/N?” he asks, even though deep down, he already knows. He just needs to hear you say it. “What is it?”
You make a face, like there’s a million things you could say—but none of them are enough. Still, you force your lips to part.
“It’s just—” your voice wavers, then you let out a breath, helpless. “I haven’t fed off… you know…”
Mark’s brows draw together, his lips pressing into a tight, thin line.
You don’t look at him when you admit it—voice barely above a whisper. “Not since you left.”
There’s silence. A thick, awful silence.
Mark flinches like the words hit him in the chest. His heart starts pounding again, harder this time. “Why didn’t you go to someone else, Y/N?” he blurts—too sharp, too panicked. It comes out like an accusation, and he instantly regrets it.
You flinch too, like the words cut deeper than he meant. You look away, your features tight, skin grayed with exhaustion, eyes watery and dull. “…Should I have?” you ask, small and fragile.
And the answer is obvious. So obvious it makes Mark feel like a damn idiot for even saying anything.
No.
No.
Mark exhales shakily, one hand moving to cradle your cheek as he leans down, his forehead pressing gently to yours.
“No,” he whispers, voice thick. “Of course not.”
Only him. You’d only ever wanted him.
And god—god—isn’t that selfish of him, when your life was literally on the line?
But you smile. It’s small and tired—drained, really—but it’s a smile all the same. Like those words were exactly what you needed to hear. Like there was no one else you wanted to feed from anymore but Mark.
You tilt your head up, lips brushing his in a soft exhale. “Then… kiss me.”
Mark doesn’t hesitate. He bridges the last inch between you the second the words leave your mouth, pressing his lips to yours in a kiss that’s soft, careful—desperate in all the ways he won’t admit out loud. Your sigh against him is so content, so relieved, it almost brings tears to his eyes.
He kisses you like he’s trying to make up for every lonely day he was gone.
His hand slides to your jaw, tilting it gently, thumb stroking your cheek as he deepens the kiss. His heart stutters at the way your body slowly starts to respond—weak, yes, but responding. When his lips part yours and your tongues meet, Mark groans softly into your mouth, heat coiling low in his gut.
He doesn’t rush, but the rhythm quickens just a beat. Enough to let himself feel your breath grow steadier against him, the slight tremble in your limbs easing, pulse pushing just a little stronger beneath your skin.
Then—God, your hands. They reach for him, still shaking, but purposeful. Fingers gliding up his chest, slow and searching, until they hook around his neck and pull him closer.
Mark obliges without hesitation, his other arm sliding beneath you to lift you gently against him. He feels your grip strengthen with each passing second, your kisses growing more urgent. And when you finally arch into him with a reawakened hunger, Mark knows he’ll give you everything.
Again and again and again.
The kiss breaks with a soft, wet sound, your shared breaths mingling in the thin space between you.
“Oh, Mark,” you whisper, voice rough and shaky, “I missed you.”
You look better already—cheeks touched with color, eyes less glassy. But it’s still not enough. Not even close.
There’s still tension in your brow, a strain in the way you lie beneath him, like it hurts to be hungry and still not full. Veins faintly shadow your temple. The dark bruises beneath your eyes haven’t faded. And the way your tongue drags across your lips—it’s need, raw and unfiltered.
“Missed you too,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “I’m so sorry.”
He knows one kiss won’t fix this. He knows better than to think you’d recover after just a moment of closeness. It’s been two months. Two months without feeding. Without touching. Without even knowing if he was coming back.
You needed more. Needed more than friction, more than mouth and tongue. You probably needed more than just getting him off like the last times—where you fed and then let him go, always asking for nothing in return.
You probably needed the real thing.
Mark’s throat tightens.
“I’m gonna—” he starts, breathless, almost shy, “—gonna make you feel good, okay?”
His hand trails lower, until it cups the heat between your legs, the bulge already thick and straining through your sweatpants. He squeezes, just enough to make you gasp, and the soft whine you let out snaps something in him.
Because for the first time, Mark thinks about it.
You’ve made him come—twice now. And afterward, he’d always been so wrapped up in his own high, in the rush of it, the haze, the way you looked so content with just tasting him... he never stopped to reciprocate the favor.
God, he’s been so selfish.
Mark’s throat bobs as his hand strokes you again, this time with more purpose—his thumb grazing the sensitive head through the fabric of your sweatpants. You keep making those greedy little sounds, soft and needy, and right then Mark decides—he’s going to make you fall apart under him. He’s going to make you shiver and whimper his name as you come undone.
“Mark,” you sigh, arching against his hand. “Oh, Mark.”
He picks up the pace, leaning in to capture every gasp and whimper straight from your mouth. Your tongues meet again—hungry and messy—as Mark begins grinding against you, his own arousal building, knowing you can feel it, feed off it, and revel in it.
It doesn’t take long for the pressure in his jeans to become unbearable—his cock straining hard against the fabric, pulsing with every beat of his heart. He can’t take it anymore. Can’t wait. And besides, this—this—is the fastest way to get you back on your feet, glowing with strength.
He pulls away from your lips just enough to murmur, “Let me,” breathless, fingers already hooking into your waistband. “Let me take care of you.”
Your soft, desperate moan is all the permission he needs.
With trembling hands, Mark peels down your sweatpants and underwear in one fluid motion, careful as he slides them past your legs. You shudder at the exposure, but you don’t hide—you open your legs willingly, inviting him in. Your face is flushed, the color blooming down your neck and ears. It’s the first time you’ve ever been this vulnerable with someone. And from the look in your eyes, you’re glad it’s Mark.
He drinks in the sight of you, chest heaving. Then, in one smooth motion, he strips off his shirt and tosses it aside, eyes never leaving you.
“Shit…” You bite your lip, but there’s a glint in your eyes—a flash of mischief under all that exhaustion. “You’re so sexy, Mark.”
Mark flushes, his skin warming as your hands roam his chest, greedy and sure, fingers tracing over muscles that flex and shudder under your touch. It’s too much—almost overwhelming—and he has to brace himself, hands planted on either side of your head to keep from collapsing on top of you.
“Fuck—” His hips jerk involuntarily when your hand travels lower, undoing his belt, pulling the zipper down. “Y/N…”
You breathe out a needy sound when his cock springs free, hand wrapping around him without hesitation.
“Jesus,” you murmur hoarsely, licking your lips. “I’m so—so hungry, Mark. I can’t wait.”
Mark moans at the sight of you, the desperation in your voice making his head spin. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” You stroke him with trembling fingers, and Mark’s hips move in time with your touch, his breath growing ragged. “Yeah. Fuck. I’ve been—starving for you.”
Mark groans, eyes fluttering shut for a moment, undone by the way your fingers work him—confident, greedy, like you need him. And yeah, you do. He knows what his pleasure does to you. Knows how his arousal, his moans, even the steady pulse of precum leaking from his tip—slicking your fingers—is what makes you stronger. What feeds you.
But it’s not enough.
He wants to see you come for once. Wants to hear you gasp and writhe because he’s making you feel good.
“Can I…?” he breathes, eyes locked on yours, his voice tight with restraint. “Can I fuck you?”
Your hand slows, eyes going wide, startled by the question—but then you smile, soft and full of something like fondness.
“Yes,” you whisper after a moment. “Of course.”
Mark exhales like he’s been holding his breath for months, pressing his forehead against yours. When his lips find yours again, the kiss turns desperate—all teeth and tongue and months of pent-up longing. You meet him with equal fervor, legs parting instinctively as his hands grip your hips, pulling you flush against him.
“Should I—” Mark gasps between kisses, his voice thick with both desire and hesitation. “Should I prep you or—”
“No.” The word comes out sharper than intended, your fingers digging into his shoulders. “I’m not some fragile human who needs coddling. Just fuck me, Mark.”
There’s something feral in your voice now—primal and wild in a way he’s never heard from you. The more energy floods your system, a spark of life returning to your features, the more your instincts take over.
“Okay,” he rasps, more to himself than you. “Okay, just—”
Mark swallows hard, his gaze trailing down your body with a mix of awe and nervous hunger. His breath catches at the sight of your cock straining between you, at the way your hole flutters impatiently.
His eyes drop—slowly, hungrily—trailing down your body, pausing at the sight of your flushed cock, your spread legs, your willing entrance. He swallows thickly, breath catching in his throat.
“It’s fine,” you whisper, voice softening just enough as your hand continues to stroke him, thumb grazing the sensitive head, coaxing more precum from his tip. “I’ll guide you.”
And guide him you do.
You pump him a few more times, slicking him up while he groans, every sigh vibrating against your lips. Then you part your legs even further, just enough for his hips to fit between them snugly. One hand steadies his cock, the other resting on his hip as you line him up, brushing the tip against your entrance.
“Just like that,” you sigh, arching beneath him. “Push, Mark. Please.”
Mark’s hips stutter, his cock sliding between your cheeks with desperate, jerky movements. He’s achingly hard, every nerve alight with need.
“Is this—” His voice cracks as the head of his cock catches at your entrance. “God, Y/N—is this okay?”
Your answer comes with a whimper, head tipping back against the pillows. “Yes. Fuck me. I want you.”
Mark’s hips stutter, and then your legs hook around his waist, pulling him in—forcing him deeper.
“Fuck—” he chokes out, voice tight.
The head of his cock sinks into you, your body welcoming him in a slick, hot pull that makes both of you moan, trembling against each other.
“Yes—” you gasp, fingers curling against his back. “Push, Mark. I don’t care. Just do it.”
Mark bites down on his lip, squeezes his eyes shut, and pushes.
The glide is smooth, easy—thanks to the slick layer of precum and your guiding hands. He shudders all the way in, your body stretching to take him, tight and perfect around him. You groan, hands digging into his back as if to hold him there forever.
“Yes, yes,” you moan, eyes fluttering shut. “Fuck, Mark, yes.”
For a suspended moment, when he’s fully buried inside you, all Mark can do is feel—the way you pulse around him, the desperate clutch of your hands on his back, the dizzying realization that this is happening.
He barely remembers how to breathe, barely manages to stay upright with how shaky his arms feel braced on either side of your head. His whole body is trembling—and maybe it’s not just the exhaustion from space. Maybe it’s not just the days without sleep, or the long journey back.
Maybe it’s you. Draining him with every moan, every squeeze, every drop of arousal he gives you.
And still—still—he doesn’t want to stop.
“Move,” you order, voice low and hushed.
Then you move beneath him first—hips grinding upward, taking him in deeper—and all of Mark’s coherent thought shatters.
“Harder,” you gasp, nails scoring down his back. “Please—”
Mark obeys with a broken moan, thrusting out and back in, out and in again. The pace he sets is clumsy and frantic, but it doesn’t matter—because you love it. You moan louder with every stroke, squirming beneath him, nails digging into his back, dragging down hard.
“So good,” you sigh, head tipping back as pleasure ripples through you. “God, Mark—so good.”
The room fills with the slap of skin on skin, the choked-off noises Mark makes when you clench around him, the way your shared breaths grow ragged and uneven.
Mark buries his face in the curve of your neck, teeth scraping against your pulse point as his muscles tremble with exertion. There’s a familiar tug at his consciousness, a slow drain of energy that should terrify him but instead sends a thrill down his spine.
Because when you moan in his ear like that, when you shiver around him, when you praise him in that wrecked voice—
“Like that.” Unsteady but sure. “Just like that.”
Mark couldn’t stop if he tried.
The renewed vigor in your movements—the way your fingers clutch at him with renewed strength—tells him it’s working. You’re coming back to life beneath him, flush with stolen energy, even as his own vision starts to blur at the edges.
“Don’t stop,” you beg, voice wrecked.
Mark doesn’t. Not when you feel this good around him—hot and tight and his.
So he fucks you through it, chasing your pleasure even as his body screams for respite, determined to give you every last drop until you’re sated.
Until you’re whole again.
Then Mark’s thrusts begin to falter—his rhythm stuttering, teeth sinking into your shoulder— and he gasps, voice wrecked and shaking, “I’m gonna—I’m gonna come—!”
You groan, biting your lower lip hard enough to sting.
“Come inside me,” you moan—half-whimper, half-command. “I’m so fucking close. I want you inside.”
Mark whimpers at your words, hips jerking wildly now, erratic and desperate. The thought of finishing inside you scrambles whatever’s left of his composure.
“Y/N—” he chokes out, barely audible. “I’m—I’m coming—”
And then he does.
His entire body goes taut, trembling, his hips giving one final, deep thrust that buries him to the hilt. His orgasm hits like a wave, a raw, broken cry torn from his throat as he spills into you, thick and hot. You arch beneath him, eyes fluttering shut, a moan clawing out of you as you feel it—every pulse, every drop filling you.
It’s that—the heat of his cum flooding you, the sheer intensity of his release—that finally pushes you over the edge.
You come untouched, back arching off the bed, spilling hot across your stomach as you cry out his name.
“Fuck, fuck,” you babble, shuddering. “Fuck, Mark—”
He’s still moving, just barely—his hips twitching in helpless, involuntary thrusts as he rides out every last wave of his orgasm, cum leaking from the edges of your hole. It’s messy. It’s perfect. It’s so good it makes you smile through the aftershocks, warmth blooming in your chest with every stolen breath.
“Fuck,” Mark sobs, forehead dropping against your shoulder, gasping like he can’t breathe. “My god…”
His muscles spasm—thighs trembling, arms shaky and weak—and finally give out. With a groan, Mark collapses on top of you. You huff out a breath, wrapping your arms around him, a soft, breathless laugh escaping your lips.
“Mark,” you whisper, voice soaked in satisfaction. “You good?”
He doesn’t answer. His face is still buried in your neck, breath warm and erratic against your oversensitive skin. He wants to answer, to lift his head and kiss you—because God, you felt so good, because you made him feel incredible, and for once, he knows he made you feel good, too.
But he can’t.
His limbs feel like they’ve turned to stone. Not just his head, not just his arms—everything. The weight of exhaustion hits him all at once like gravity’s been waiting for its moment to strike. The fatigue he’s been running from all this time finally catches up, drained utterly by you. He blinks, trying to fight it off, but it’s useless.
“Mark?” There’s concern edging your voice now, even as your fingers continue their soothing motions along his spine. “Mark.”
You’re warm, energized—glowing with renewed strength—and that, at least, feels like a win. He tries to respond, but the only sound that escapes is a slurred, “Hnng?”
Sleep is pulling him under fast. Even your voice—the one thing he wants to hear—is fading, like it’s coming from another room, another world.
You shake him once. Then again. But he’s already slipping, the darkness too heavy, too deep.
The last thing he’s aware of is the way his cock still twitches inside you, the way your thighs tighten reflexively around his hips, and the way you keep whispering his name—like a lullaby echoing in his ears.
If this is how he goes out, Mark thinks dimly as darkness claims him, it’s one hell of a way to go.
When Mark wakes up, he’s curled around a pillow that smells like you, drooling on it like a damn baby.
He blinks, sluggish and unfocused, head heavy, limbs like lead. His whole body aches—not in a bad way, just in that spent, used-up kind of way. He feels wrung out and dazed. Did he not die?
Groaning, Mark pushes himself up onto his elbows, muscles trembling under his own weight. He glances around, eyes squinting as the pieces slowly fall into place: the decorations on the walls, clothes scattered on the floor, sheets half-draped over his bare body. He recognizes all of it.
And when he hears your faint humming from somewhere beyond the door, it all crashes back.
Oh. He had sex with you. Like—real sex. And somehow, he lived to tell the tale.
His eyes widen as reality slams into him. He jolts upright on your bed—your bed—heart pounding. Shit, did he pass out? How long has it been? What day is it? What year is it? He feels like he’s been out for decades, and yet somehow still not enough to shake the heavy fog pressing on his consciousness.
Then your humming gets louder. He snaps his head toward the door just in time to see it swing open—and there you are.
You spot him, freeze mid-step, and for a split second, the whole room holds its breath.
Mark’s dry lips part. “Y/N—”
“Mark!” you gasp, face lighting up with a wide grin. “You’re awake! Oh, thank god!”
You cross the room in three eager strides, arms open, all warmth and affection. You throw yourself into him without hesitation.
Mark lets out a soft oof as he catches you, the momentum knocking him flat on his back again. The room spins briefly, but the second he registers the weight of you on his chest, the warmth of your skin, the sound of your voice—he relaxes. He smiles, soft and dopey, and buries his face into your shoulder, breathing you in like he’s never been more grateful to be alive.
“Hey,” Mark greets, voice hoarse but tinged with amusement. “How long was I out?”
You don’t answer right away. Instead, you press your face into his chest and hold him tight—like if you let go, he might vanish. Then, after a long moment, you pull back. But instead of replying, you cup his cheeks with both hands and kiss him.
Mark melts into it without hesitation, hands sliding to your waist, holding you close. He sighs against your lips, groaning softly as he kisses you back like it’s the only thing keeping him awake.
When you break apart, your smile lingers, bright and full of affection. “I was worried you wouldn’t wake up for at least a week,” you murmur, thumb brushing gently over his cheekbone. “Most humans wouldn’t. But you—it’s only been, like, sixteen hours.”
Mark jerks upright so fast he nearly headbutts you. “Sixteen hours?!”
You wince, guilt flashing across your face. “Y-Yeah. But—I called your mom! I didn’t exactly explain, but she knows you’re here. She told me to make sure you call her as soon as you’re up.”
Mark exhales, half in disbelief, half in relief. “Jesus. I didn’t think I’d be out that long.”
“…I’m sorry,” you whisper, glancing away. “I shouldn’t have pushed you like that. I didn’t think—I shouldn’t have risked your life just to feed. Just to—be close to you like that.”
“No.” Mark cuts in, his hands sliding up to your shoulders, squeezing gently. “Don’t say that.”
His eyes are steady when you meet them.
“It’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” he says, firm but soft. “No matter the consequences. Me. With you. Like... that.”
He blushes, and you blush, and suddenly neither of you can hold eye contact.
“The best thing?” you murmur, fingers fumbling with the sheets. “Really?”
Mark swallows hard, his embarrassment obvious, but the truth is already bubbling too close to the surface to hold back. Everything he’s felt for you, everything he’s been trying to keep buried, is rising—unstoppable now.
“Yes,” he says softly, voice a little shaky. “Having sex with the person who matters most to me... because you needed me. Because I—”
The pause stretches, fragile.
“Because I love you.”
Your eyes widen at that, the guarded concern melting into something raw and vulnerable.
“Really?” you ask again, a little breathless.
“Of course,” Mark says, a little more sure this time. “I love you, Y/N. And I’d do it all again in a heartbeat if it meant seeing you like this—your real, bright, happy self—again.”
Your lips part in surprise, then you smile—wide and brilliant and so full of love it practically blinds him. Before his tired brain can catch up, you throw yourself at him again, arms around his neck, kissing him open-mouthed and deep.
“I love you too, Mark,” you whisper against his lips, soft and sure.
Mark kisses you back, slow and full of affection, even though his body still feels like it’s made of lead. His chest aches, but in the best possible way—because it’s full of you.
“I’m sorry I was gone so long,” he murmurs between kisses. “If I hadn’t been in space, you wouldn’t have been starving. That’s on me.”
“Don’t say that,” you roll your eyes, but the affection in your voice makes it feel more like a caress. “It’s my nature, okay? Not something you can control. And I waited for you—because I knew you’d come back.”
You lean in and peck the pout off his lips, soft and loving, and then both of you just… look at each other. Breathing the same air. Sharing the same space. The silence stretches, but it’s not awkward—it’s warm.
God—he loves you. Loves everything about you. And loves even more that you feel the same.
“So… does this mean…” Mark hesitates, cheeks pink, “we’re a thing now? Because I want us to be. I really do. I don’t ever want you kissing assholes behind the school anymore—or, well, now at college—because… you have me.”
You giggle, flustered, cheeks glowing. “Yeah—I have you.” You kiss him again, square on the mouth like you couldn’t possibly get enough of him. “And you have me.”
Mark grins, red-faced and beaming, before he pulls you tight against his chest and kisses you again—deep and slow and full of all the words he’s still too overwhelmed to say.
Like I love you.
Like I don’t ever want to let go.
Like don’t ever let me go either.
Then you say, casual as anything, “By the way, my parents want you to have breakfast with us.”
“What?!” Mark pulls back instantly, blushing so hard it reaches his ears. “They—they were here the whole time?!”
“What? No!” you say quickly, just as flustered. “But when they got home from work and saw me fine—you know, they kinda figured out what must’ve happened for me to be this fine. And, ugh—” you roll your eyes, groaning into his shoulder, “they wanna thank the boy who saved their ‘stubborn son’s life,’ or whatever.”
Mark exhales, still pink but processing. “Oh. Then… sure. I mean—do you think they’ll be okay with us? You and me?”
You smile, full of quiet certainty. “Mark, they’ve always liked you. Remember the cake my mom made you for your sixteenth birthday?”
“She decorated it with Seance Dog comic panels,” Mark mumbles, still flushed.
“Exactly,” you laugh. “I’ve been telling them about my crush on you since forever, Mark.”
And Mark flushes all over again, helpless to do anything but smile and pull you back in for another kiss.
A/N: thank you for readingggg, kisses and hugs and more kisses for dealing with me (●'◡'●)
Summary: multiple scenarios with the trope ‘stuck in a hole’ with various RE men.
Tags: No use of Y/N. Male reader. Dubious consent. Dark Leon Kennedy. Dark Chris Redfield. Dark Ethan Winters. Dark Carlos Oliveira. Dark Piers Nivans. Top Leon Kennedy. Threesome and double penetration (Chris and Piers scenario). Top Chris Redfield. Top Piers Nivans. Gentle dom Ethan Winters. Dom Carlos Oliveira. smut. Anal sex. Size kink. Breeding.
A very old request that I got
Words count: 10000 (2500 per character)
ℳ𝒶𝓈𝓉ℯ𝓇𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓉
ℒℯℴ𝓃 𝒦ℯ𝓃𝓃ℯ𝒹𝓎
Those tunnels under what used to be Raccoon City smelled green with a sharp acrid undertone you'd come to associate with the things growing down here.
Condensation rolled down the curved concrete ceiling and dripped into dark puddles.
Leon walked point, muzzle of his gun sweeping low.
Every couple of steps your boot would scuff a chunk of broken concrete, or your sling would tap your hip. Leon never said anything, just turned his head a fraction every time it happened with the corner of one blue eye catching you in his periphery, checking.
"Behind me," he murmured for maybe the fourth time in twenty minutes.
"Already am."
"Closer."
You closed the gap and the back of his tac vest was sweat-dark between the shoulder blades.
Vines were on the walls.
You'd been seeing them since the stairwell, thin at first and no thicker than a finger, threaded through the cracks in the concrete.
They got bigger as the tunnel got deeper, now as fat as your wrist and woven thick across the right-hand passage.
Worse, they were moving and had a mouth, pink puckers ringed with rows of needle teeth, exhaling a thin acrid mist.
One of them spat as Leon stepped past and it hit the wall behind you with a hiss.
"Don't shoot 'em," Leon said quietly. "Conserve ammunition, knife if you have to."
"I know, Leon."
He didn't look back and held up his free hand to make an easy gesture, palm down.
You'd been told a hundred times in the last forty-eight hours to conserve every shell in his shotgun and round in your pistol for the bigger threats.
The vines that blocked the path went in clusters of one or two and Leon would step up and pin one with his gloved hand at the neck just below the head, vine trashing and bleeding thick green sap from the wounds caused by his hatchet before going limp.
By the fourth tangle you had the rhythm of it and Leon let you take the lead on the cutting once you'd proven you could do it without flinching, the closest thing to praise he was going to give you today.
It was after the eighth or ninth tangle that you saw the light at the far end of a long, straight stretch of tunnel.
Then you stepped over what looked like a crack in the concrete but was a root instead half-buried in the floor with only the top arc of it exposed.
You'd been told to watch the floor as well as the walls and your boot came down on the top of it with all your weight, causing it to spam.
Everything happened in one motion.
The root whipped up out of the floor with a crack of concrete dust and something erupted out of a seam in the wall to your left.
A vine as thick as your thigh, knotted with mouths and took you around the ribs.
It hit you so hard the breath came out of you in a single huff.
One coil, two, three, wrapping with sickening speed and pinning your arms, knife still in your hand but pinned against your own thigh, your feet leaving the floor as it lifted your body 10 feet up, pressure starting instantly and your ribs creaked, vision starting to fog at the edges.
You couldn't get a breath in past the coil at your diaphragm as a big mouth on the vine opened wide right in front of your face, dripping green acid and uncurling toward your throat.
A clack of Leon pumping a fresh shell into the chamber striking the thing about two inches from the soft pink palate inside that gaping mouth, making the mouth explode into a wet green spray that splattered the ceiling and your jacket, rest of the vine convulsing, coils tightening on you in a brutal spasm and then the whole thing went over sideways, slamming you down with it.
Concrete met your shoulder, wind knocked out of you again as the dead vine kept its grip.
You'd half-expected it to relax with the way dead things relax but this was a plant, not a person, stored in charge of turgor pressure and contraction proteins that had nowhere to discharge to.
Every cellulose fiber in it had locked.
Rigor mortis with a body wrapped in a corpse.
You lay on your stomach on the wet concrete, one cheek pressed to the floor, dead coils crushing you flat from shoulder blades to ankles.
You could still move your fingers and wrist but not your arm, resulting in the knife you were clutching tightly being completely useless.
"…Fuck," you tried to wiggle, arching your back as much as the vine would let which was maybe two degrees and you tried to corkscrew your shoulders.
It was thicker around than your torso.
You held out for another thirty seconds of useless squirming, sweat starting to bead at your hairline, pride doing a lot of the heavy lifting.
"Leon."
Silence.
"Leon. Leon. Get over here."
You heard his footsteps, reloading his shotgun and watching you struggle.
"Yeah?" His voice sounded almost bored. "What do you need?"
You glared up at him as best you could from your position and he was backlit by the bright light at the end of the tunnel, hair hanging in his eyes slightly.
"Use that hatchet." You bit it out, ribs hurting. "Cut me out."
He didn't move.
"…Leon. The thing on your belt. Cut me out."
You waited for him to help you, say another one of his one liners or do anything.
A crunch of gravel came as he lowered himself to one knee beside you.
You couldn't see what he was doing with him behind your line of sight, somewhere down by your hip.
The vine had you pinned face-down, cheek to the floor and one arm folded under you with the other that splayed out with the knife still loose in your fingers.
His hand settled on the back of your thigh, sliding them slowly up the inside of your thigh, a wave of goosebumps crested at the back of your neck and made every hair on your scalp stand up.
"Y'know," he said in a low voice, "I can't actually remember the last time I saw you like this."
His hand kept moving, pad of his thumb tracing a line up the seam of your inseam and your hips tried to jerk but couldn't.
"Helpless, after another one of your stunts.” He clarified.
"Leon—"
"And I told you to stop doing this. You can't keep getting in front of me. I'm the one with the gun who's been doing this since forever. You stay behind me. And what do you do?"
His hand reached the top of your thigh, back of his knuckles brushing the curve of your ass through your pants.
"You get trapped by a plant right after another distraction.l
"Leon, it was concealed, I couldn't—"
"Mm."
His hand settled, flat, on the curve of your ass, palm big with the span of it covering more than half of one cheek. He squeezed to make his point and your whole body lit up.
"I think," he said, "I'm gonna take this opportunity to teach you a lesson about who's in command and who you listen to."
A spike of pure shocked heat went through you, followed by a delayed, panicked surge of ’no, absolutely not, this is not happening.’ You jerked against the vine again and nothing moved, face burning where it pressed against the wet concrete.
"You—" Your voice came out higher than you wanted. "You are not serious, Leon. Get that damn hatchet. We're in the middle of a mission!”"
"Mm-hm."
"Even if there was a world where I'd be up for it, I am literally pinned, Leon, I cannot move, you absolute arrogant, smug, condescending—"
You were working yourself up to a real head of steam and say things you couldn't take back.
He shifted and moved his weight smoothly and straddled the dead vine, kneeling between your spread-pinned legs, hips lowering down toward yours to press forward until the heavy bulge in the front of his tac pants pressed flush against the cleft of your ass through your own.
You stopped talking at the feeling of him hard and big, full weight of him settling against your hole through two layers of fabric, length of him dragging along the seam of your pants as he ground down once, a single unhurried roll of his hips that pressed the ridge of his head right against the spot where, even through cotton and webbing, your body knew exactly what it was being offered.
Every word in your head evaporated, mouth open as he let you feel him there, vine creaking faintly around your ribs as your body tried to push back into the pressure.
His hand was still on your ass and he squeezed a little harder this time.
"Are you done?" he asked, quietly.
You couldn’t answer, light at the end of the tunnel went on flickering its bright end, indifferent.
"…I'll take that as a yes."
You stayed quiet, lying there with your cheek pressed to the wet concrete and the corpse of a vine welding you to the floor, heavy ridge of his cock stopping in the grinding at the seam of your pants into your hole.
"That’s a good listening."
His hand left your ass and you heard the soft rasp of leather as he unbuckled something at his hip, followed by a heavy thunk of the hatchet head sinking into the dead vine somewhere up by your shoulder blades.
Three hard strikes and the coil around your upper back loosened, soon after the one around your ribs and that one across your ass.
He left a thick stub of vine pinning your shoulders and one arm pinned to the floor.
You understood the geometry of what he'd just done before your brain put it into words as he left you face-down, arms pinned and hips free.
"Leon—"
"Shh." He didn't even look up, setting the hatchet down beside your head.
A reminder, maybe.
"I told you. M’ teaching you a lesson."
His hands came back to you, settling on your hips and sliding up under the hem of your jacket, palms hot through the thin moisture-wicking shirt underneath as he ran them up the length of your back inside the vest.
He found the dip of your spine just above your ass and pressed his thumb into it, hard, your hips arched into his hand involuntarily.
"Yeah," he said quietly. "That's what I thought."
"I haven't said yes to anything," you hissed into the concrete.
"You haven't said no, either." His voice was so calm and flat.
“Tell me to stop and I stop. Just tell me to stop."
You opened your mouth and closed it just as fast.
He gave you ten full seconds before the small breath of a laugh breezed over the back of your neck and his hands went to the waistband of your tac pants.
Flipping the button with his thumb and dragging the zipper down, hooking his fingers into the waistband and boxers at the same time to peel both of them down to mid-thigh area, cold air of the tunnel hitting your bare ass and the back of your thighs.
"Mm." Leon's voice, from above and behind, was appraising. "Look at you."
His hand settled, palm-flat, on your bare ass and squeezed almost painfully as his fingers spread, kneaded once and then his thumb dragged down the cleft of your ass and slid down between your legs.
"Oh, sweetheart."
"Don't—" his hand wrapped around your erected dick.
"Christ. How long have you been like this?" He sounded almost amused.
"Shut up."
His thumb dragged forward all through the veins and circled on the leaking tip.
Your hips jerked, dead vine creaking.
"Leon.“
"I'm just askin'." Another slow drag.
He was barely touching your cock and you were already biting the inside of your cheek to keep from making sounds. "You don't have to answer. Your dick’s already telling me everything I need to know."
You made a noise supposed to be a curse that came out as something else entirely.
Hearing fabric between the clink of his own belt and rasp of his fly yet you couldn't see, cheek pressed to the concrete and your view was a wall.
Those noises your hindbrain put together from the audio were doing things to you.
His bare cock dragged, hot and heavy, across the curve of your ass.
You felt the weight from sheer mass of it as he laid it down along your crack and let it rest there.
You'd suspected he had always been this big, having caught glimpses of the outline of him through his pants on a hundred occasions when you weren't supposed to be looking, but suspecting and feeling were two different things.
The head of him was up at the small of your back, base of him was nudging your taint thick enough that when he gave a slow experimental roll of his hips and dragged himself along, you felt your cheeks part around the girth of him.
"Oh my god," your words got muffled by the floor.
Leon made a low, pleased sound. "Yeah," he said. "Yeah, you feel that?"
Trying to wiggle your body to get more friction but nothing occurred.
"That's what you've been mouthing off to for two years." Another slow drag and the wet head of him left a sticky line on your skin. "You feel how much of me there is, sweetheart? You think your smart fuckin' mouth is gonna keep being smart with this inside you?"
"You're so full of shit," you ground out and it would have been more cutting if your voice hadn't broken in the middle of it.
"We'll see." He laughed quietly before shifting and taking himself in hand, knuckles brushing the inside of your thigh as he dragged the fat head of his cock down through the cleft of your ass, over your hole and coating himself in you.
Every time it bumped your hole you twitched and the vine creaked, bulky man above humming a satisfied little hum.
He notched himself at your entrance under heavy pressure resting there.
"Last chance," he said quietly. "Say stop."
You didn't, mouth open against the concrete and letting you taste tunnel grit along your own breath together with the faint chemical sweetness of vine sap, feeling that obscene blunt pressure, body already trying to open for him on its own without your permission and the word stop was nowhere in your head.
Leon waited a beat longer, then he pushed, slow and steady.
The head of him stretched you, rim burning around the flare of him and your whole pelvis was lighting up with the strain before it popped past, the widest part of him breaching and you choked on a sound that wasn't a word.
He kept going, sinking deep and letting you feel every ridge and vein on the underside of him dragging along your front wall. He was so thick you could feel the walls of your hole straining around him in a stretch that was right at the edge of too much and he just kept coming, giving one last firm press of his hips, pelvis meeting your ass and you realized he'd bottomed out.
You were so full your eyes were watering, dick throbbing on the ground below as he twitched in a heavy pulse that matched your heartbeat.
Leon was very still on top of you.
He'd lowered down, chest against your back through the layers of your clothes and his mouth was somewhere near your ear.
The bastard wasn't even winded.
"There," he murmured. "There we go, breathe.“
You sucked in a shaking breath.
"Good." His hand slid up your side and along the underside of your arm, fingers lacing loosely with the hand that was still holding the knife. He squeezed. "Took the whole fuckin' thing."
"You're an asshole—"
"Mm." Almost fond. "I know."
He pulled out but not all the way, just the head was inside you now before he began fucking you.
The first stroke knocked the air out of you with how deep he went again with the full length of him sliding back into the root with one long unbroken push and your whole body shuddered around the intrusion.
He set a pace that was torturous to say the least, every thrust a full-length drag in and out of you, pressing his pelvis tight to your ass and making the dead vine creak under your shoulders.
"This," he said, low, his mouth at your ear, "is what you should've been getting two years ago."
You made a noise supposed to be a word.
"This is what happens," another deep stroke, "when you can't keep your fuckin' mouth shut," another, "and you can't follow simple instructions," another, "and you keep stepping in front of me like you're the one with seniority here."
"Ah—Leon!"
"Quiet." Firm, same voice he used in the field. "I'm talking."
He kept fucking you with consistency, every withdrawal pulled a slick squelch out of you.
Thighs and hands shaking, the one still tangled in his was squeezing his fingers white.
"You feel that?" he murmured. "Feel how deep I'm getting?"
"Y-yes—"
"Yes what."
"Yes— yes Leon—" You made a strangled sound into the concrete and he laughed quietly above.
"Good boy." Another deep stroke and his hand left yours to cup the back of your skull, holding your cheek firm against the concrete. "Good. Now. Tell me who's in command."
"You are—"
"Mm-hm."
"You are—"
"And who do you listen to."
"You.”
"And what are you gonna do," another stroke, harder this time, hips snapping forward and his pelvis cracking against your ass with a slap, "the next time I tell you to stay behind me."
"I'll—" Another slap. You couldn't get the words out, he was fucking the breath out of you.
“Fuck, Leon, I want you," another brutal thrust, his hand fisting suddenly in your hair.
He pulled almost all the way out and slammed back in to the hilt, over and over, pelvis cracking into your ass with a hard wet slap every time, sound of it ringing off the concrete walls of the tunnel.
Your cheek dragged against the floor with every thrust, pecs aching where they were crushed under your weight.
"I'm— I'm gonna—"
"Yeah?" His hand left your hip and slid under between you and the floor and his fingers found your dick, pressing down on it, hard and ground the pad of his middle finger into it in tight circles at the top of the head in time with his thrusts. "You gonna come?”
"Yes—fuck!" Out of nowhere your whole body locked up in one long convulsion that started in your hole and rolled outward through every muscle you had.
You clamped down on him so hard he grunted, hips jerking back into him on their own, riding the thrust, milking him, hole fluttering and squeezing in waves that didn't seem to want to stop.
He fucked you straight through it as he kept that brutal pace going, his fingers still grinding your pulsing cock.
He went tight all over, hips slamming flush against your ass one last time and staying there, pressed hard as he came inside you in long hot pulses that you could feel, heat of him filling you up in spreading flooding pumps that just kept coming.
A low broken groan against the side of your neck, forehead dropping to your shoulder and his whole big warm weight settling down onto your back as he emptied himself into you.
His big body draped over your smaller one, weight pinning you almost completely.
"…Okay?" he murmured, after a while.
The question was so quiet and sudden that you almost laughed.
"…Yeah."
"Mm."
"…My ribs hurt."
"Yeah." He kissed the side of your neck. "Yeah, I bet they do."
He pulled out then and you whined at the empty drag of him, cum sliding out of you in a thick hot rush, down between your thighs.
Rasp of fabric as he tucked himself away and his hatchet was in his hand, working you free.
When you were loose he turned you over gently and gathered you up against his chest.
You were a mess and he didn't seem to care about any of it.
"You did good," he said quietly, into your hair.
"…Don't you start."
"Mm." A breath of a laugh. "Fair."
"You good to move?"
"…Yeah."
"Behind me," he said.
You swallowed.
"Yes sir."
The corner of his mouth moved.
"Good boy."
ℰ𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓃 𝒲𝒾𝓃𝓉ℯ𝓇𝓈
The bayou stank of rot before you even reached the Baker estate.
You remembered telling Ethan as much, slouched in the passenger seat of his Dodge Challenger 1970, swamp pressing in yellowish on both sides of the dirt road.
He'd laughed at you in a tired way considering all the hours you had been inside his car to get to Louisiana, soft laugh that always made your chest do something stupid and reminded you that you didn't have to come but you'd insisted anyway because Mia was his wife and you'd liked her well enough back when she was around, but the truth you kept locked behind your teeth was simpler and uglier: you didn't trust Ethan to come back alone.
Having been in love with him since college.
Mia was in the basement of this place.
The first wrong thing.
Second one was that she remembered you, recognized Ethan, right away told you that someone she mentioned ‘daddy’ was coming.
Ten minutes later her veins went black, voice dropping two octaves and she threw you into the wall first, skull bouncing off old wood.
By the time you scrambled up, she had Ethan pinned by the wall and the noise of a chainsaw starting was the worst thing you had ever heard.
His hand came off and there was so much blood as you helped him up on his feet and pressed the wound to reduce blood loss.
Up in the attic there was a gun that Ethan used and emptied the magazine into his wife's forehead, making her drop on the ground while yelling how she loved him, before seeming presumably dead.
She had taken an axe to the neck and came back in no problem so you had a feeling this won’t be the last time you’d see her.
You remember Ethan staring at his own wrist where his hand used to be and remembered a big shape filling the frame.
“Welcome to the family, son.”
Jack Baker hit Ethan first, then he hit you and you’ve reached floor level.
When Ethan came to, he was tied to a dining room chair, severed hand stapled back to his wrist with industrial staples. The pain was distant with shock taking almost all the glory, body smarter than his head for once.
"Who are you?" he croaked at the disturbing family consuming human’ remains.
The chair next to him was empty.
"Hey. Hey— where is he? Where the fuck is he?"
Ethan process the next two hours quite rapidly between freeing himself, a cop dying right in front of him, a lot of shooting and phone calls with a woman trying to help him and herself escape this nightmare.
Under all of it was the same five words drumming in his skull.
‘Where the fuck is he.’
He searched and kicked open every door in the main house, mostly looking for you, calling your name in a hoarse whisper because something in him still thought the Bakers might not have noticed there was a second guest.
You weren't anywhere.
The phone in the trailer rang and he'd been told to come here by Zoe who had the missing head to make the cure.
"Heyyyy buddy." Lucas Baker's voice was a smear of grease and giggle. "I thought you should know, I decided Zoe needed a little time out. She and Mia are here with me. They’re keeping each other company.”
Ethan’s grip tightened around the receiver until plastic creaked. “Just let them both go. What do you need them for?”
“Nah-nah-ahhhh.” Lucas’ voice curled through the line like smoke. “This is family business, Ethan, and not your concern, understand?”
"Where is he, Lucas."
"Whoa whoa whoa, no how's it hangin'? Rude."
"Where. Is. He."
A long, theatrical sigh on the line followed by a giggle that crawled down Ethan's spine.
"Aw, you mean your little tagalong? Hooo boy. He's fine, Ethan. He's so fine… right here with me, actually." A pause, wet sound of Lucas licking his lips into the receiver. "Real pretty thing, ain't he? Didn't know you swung that way, big man. I mean, I don't blame you."
Ethan's grip on the receiver creaked.
"He's mine, by the way. I'm callin' dibs. Y'know, finders keepers."
"Lucas—"
"Nah nah nah, lemme finish. Bet your best friend's been pinin' for that big dumb dick of yours for years and you ain't never even looked. That's sad, dude."
"I am going to kill you."
"Awww really? Come on I made a gift for you! I got him all set up nice in the barn. You wanna see him again? Better hustle, hero. He's been askin' for you."
The line went dead and Ethan stood there in the trailer with the phone still pressed to his ear.
His staple-stitched hand was twitching, knuckles of his good hand white.
He left the trailer at a dead run.
The barn squatted on the edge of the property, a sagging structure of black timber and rusted hinges.
Sickly-sweet fungal stink hit his senses.
"…Ethan?"
Your voice cracked, muffled by something and coming from the back of the barn.
"I'm here," he said, and his throat closed up around it. "I'm here, just hold on!"
He rounded the stack of moldering hay bales and stopped.
There was a wall of plywood and two-by-fours hammered together, reinforced with steel banding and bolted into the barn's original beams.
It bisected the back of the barn floor-to-ceiling and in the middle of it, set at exactly the height of a man's hips, was a hole where he found you on the other side of the wall.
He could see your bare lower back, dip of your spine and curve of your ass where your jeans had been yanked down to mid-thigh along with your boxers shoved down.
Your hips were flush against the wood and there were leather straps bolted to either side of the hole that fastened around your thighs and waist, holding you locked in place at exactly the right depth, legs splayed back on the far side, bare feet braced uselessly against the dirt floor he couldn't see.
Your bare cheeks, cleft of your ass and pucker twitching glistening with either oil or lube and Ethan made a sound in the back of his throat.
"Ethan?" Your voice again, from the other side of the wall, thin and panicked. "Ethan is that you, please tell me that's you, I can't see anything."
"It's me. I'm here."
A speaker crackled to life from somewhere in the rafters.
"Awwww." Lucas. "Look at that. My heart, Ethan. Y'all are killin' me."
Ethan jerked his pistol up at the ceiling.
"Put the peashooter down for now and listen to your old buddy Lucas. I got a game for ya."
"Let him go."
"Mm. Nope." The giggle dropped out of his voice for a half-second and underneath was something colder. "I built that little contraption myself. Real proud of it. You see them tubes on the walls?"
Ethan looked and around the perimeter of the barn, snaked up the support beams, were translucent plastic tubes the diameter of a man's wrist. Inside them, sluggish and black and pulsing, was that same black mold.
"Those," Lucas chirped, "are on a timer. Ten minutes from when I stop talkin', they pop. Whole barn fills up with those monsters and they'll eat him from the feet up, eat you from anywhere they can reach."
"You're insane."
"And you're wastin' time! Tickety tock! There is, of course, a way to turn it off." A pause for effect. "Sensor in the hole, Ethan. Heat sensor set up so it deactivates the timer if there's a real specific kinda activity happenin' in there. Y'know. Activity."
Silence.
"…I am not," Ethan said slowly, "going to—"
"You are absolutely gonna. 'Cause if you don't, he dies and honestly, Ethan, I'd kinda prefer that, so part of me hopes you say no. But the other part of me wanna see his face when his big strong best friend finally gives him what he's been wantin'. Pick a lane, hero. Clock's tickin'."
The speaker got destroyed the second Ethan fired his gun repeatedly at it and the psycho’s presence was gone from this place.
"Ethan, don't listen to him, just find another way.”
He stood there, pistol hanging at his side and staring at the bare curve of your ass through the hole in the wall along the slick of lube smeared on you.
You had wanted him this whole goddamn time?
He stepped forward, barn floorboards creaking under his boots and set the pistol down on top of a hay bale within easy reach.
Behind the wall, you made a sound he'd never heard you make before.
A small, wanting sound when someone wants something the most in the world, is finally happening and it's completely wrong.
He stepped up to the hole and could feel the heat of you through the wood, that cologne you wore still strong and within his senses to pick up.
His staple-stitched hand came up and settled, careful and warm, on the small of your back.
You flinched. Then you pushed back into his touch.
"I'm here," he said, very softly, to the wall between you.
The timer in the tubes overhead began, faintly, to tick.
Ticking from the tubes overhead was soft at first, irregular pulse that Ethan counted under his breath without meaning to.
Roughly one tick a second, he'd done worse math under worse pressure in the last twenty-four hours.
His staple-stitched hand was still resting on your back, your skin was hot.
"Listen…" he kept his voice low. "I need you to listen to me real careful, okay? Can you do that?"
"…Yeah." Muffled through whatever was over your head, possibly a heavy fabric hood. "Yeah, I can hear you."
"There’s stuff in tubes all around the walls. He says they pop in ten minutes if I don't— if I don't do what he wants."
“Oh.”
"I'm gonna look for another way." His good hand was already moving, sweeping the wall on his side, fingers tracing the seams of the plywood. "There's gotta be a kill switch, or a wire… i don’t know just keep talking. What did he do to you? Did he hurt you?"
A long, shaky inhale on your end. "He knocked me out in the kitchen and I woke up here and he was talking the whole time, Ethan, he wouldn't shut up about you and me. About how I could help him in a sick game of his."
Ethan's fingertips found a bolt of steel he couldn't pry it out with his nails.
"Can't you find maybe a crowbar, or you have your gun, you could—"
"I'm looking. Keep talking."
His hand traced higher, the wall went all the way to the rafters and the studs were bolted into the original posts of the barn.
He could maybe shoulder it down, given an hour.
He stepped back and looked at the six tubes again, each one fed into a central junction box mounted high on the back wall, behind the partition that was holding you.
There was a power cord snaking out of the junction box and running along the rafter, coming down a support post and disappearing into a wall outlet near the barn door.
A wall outlet, two-prong wall outlet.
"Ethan?"
"I'm here. I'm thinking. Keep talking."
"What are you thinking?"
He looked at the outlet and at the tubes.
He had a magazine and a half left, the outlet was maybe twenty feet away. If he unplugged it, would that kill the timer, or trigger it early?
So. Don't cut power but the cord downstream of the timer, jump the contacts, bypass it.
He could use the pocket knife he had and currently less than nine minutes left.
But he could get there, climb up and the timer would die without Lucas knowing. Even if he had a remote control far away he wouldn’t be able to do shit.
As long as the heat sensor in the hole stayed warm and busy nothing suspicious should happen.
There was the problem of the psycho who could have placed something hidden for audio quality.
The risk of Lucas hypothetically figuring out Ethan’s plan and activating an hypothetical existing shortcut to your demise was bot something he was going to risk.
Ethan's mouth went dry.
He could save you without fucking you.
He could also fuck you.
He could do both in the right order if the sensor only needed a body.
Looking at you through the hole and the slick clutch of your hole, twitching with each breath, heat and pressure sensor presents.
If he could keep something warm and snug pressed inside you, the sensor would keep reading positive while he was working on the rafters.
His own cock stuffed in you to the root would do that beautifully.
Okay. New plan.
Fuck you, get Ethan's free hand to the pistol and one very well-placed shot through the junction box at exactly the right angle to short the timer without sparking the mold.
Ethan exhaled.
"Okay," he said to you, low. "I think I see a way, but I need you to trust me. Can you trust me?"
"…Always."
It was such a small word that hit him deeply.
"Then I need you to know two things." He stepped close to the hole again, until his hips were almost touching the wood. "I'm gonna do what he says… I'm so sorry. I don't see another move yet and the clock's running… but you don't have to do anything. Okay?"
A long silence on the other side of the wall.
"…Is there really nothing else? Like — couldn't you just put your fingers in me? Would that count? The sensor maybe just needs heat, maybe—"
"Maybe."
"—or— or what if I— I don't know, what if I, like, faked it, what if we made the right sounds and—"
"Hey."
You went quiet and he waited, letting the silence sit, interrupted only by the ticking of the tubes.
"You don't have to pretend you don't want it." He said finally, very gently.
Your breath caught in a sharp inhale.
"I'm not—"
"Lucas told me." He didn't say it cruelly. He said it like a confession. "On the phone. He told me how you wanted me."
Silence.
"…Oh."
"Yeah."
"…I'm sorry."
"Don't." His voice cracked, just a little.
In his pants his cock, which had been at half-mast since he'd first seen you through the hole, gave a hot, demanding throb.
A strange feeling of years of denial folding up and being put away.
The feeling of a man learning, in the worst possible circumstances, that he had been loved for a very long time.
"I'll take care of you, I promise. You don’t have to pretend.”
A long, shaky exhale on your end, fight going out of you in one slow breath.
"…Okay. Ethan, please."
His cock kicked again in his pants and he undid his fly, button popping and zipper sliding down and his half-hard length flopped out into the air of the barn thick and already flushed dark, weeping a fat bead of pre at the slit.
He was big and you were about to feel it.
Spitting into his good hand and wrapping it around himself, working slow strokes from root to tip as be watched himself fatten up the rest of the way in his own fist, veins more visible along the shaft, foreskin pulling back tight and thick enough around that he had to spread his thumb and middle finger to span it.
“You tell me if it's too much and I'll stop, promise to find another way."
"…You won't have to."
"What?"
"…I want it." Your voice was barely a whisper. "I've wanted it for so long, please just give it to me, I'll take whatever you give me, please—"
Something hot and dark unspooled in Ethan's chest and he stepped up flush against the wall.
He gripped the base of his cock in his good hand and lined the fat, drooling head up against your slick, twitching hole. The heat of you radiated against his glans before he even made contact until he pressed and his cockhead nudged against the pucker.
"Hnnh… god, Ethan," a sound of pure want from your mouth.
Huge like that just from the tip and he pushed, staple-stitched hand had come up to grip your hip through the hole, fingers splaying across the soft flesh of your flank to hold you steady as he worked.
Whatever oily slick had you opening for him slowly, ring of your hole stretching wider and wider around his cockhead, fat flare of his glans popping past your rim and you screamed (not from agony).
"Ethan—Ethan, oh— oh fuck!"
His hand on your hip squeezed, he could feel you pulsing and fluttering in trying to figure out what to do with the intrusion all while giving you a full minute to adjust to pushing again.
He fed himself into you in patient slides and never withdrew, just more and deeper, your hands somewhere on the other side of the wall scrabbling at the wood.
"Halfway." His voice was wrecked.
"Halfway?" It came out as a sob. "Halfway— Ethan, I can't, I can feel you in my— oh god, oh god—"
"You can, you said you'd take whatever I gave you."
"…I did."
"C'mon. Take it for me."
Another long, slow push and your inner muscles clutching at every ridge and vein along his shaft.
His staple-stitched hand left your hip and traveled up, slid around to the curve of your ass cheek and his fingers spread wide as he palmed your whole right cheek perfectly in his big hand.
"Mine," he heard himself say very quietly, almost to himself.
He could feel the heat of your bare ass through the hole, wet seal of you sucking the rest of him in as he gave a final grinding push and his pelvis bumped up against the plywood, the entire thing of him lodged inside you, head of his cock pressed up against your prostate.
You were sobbing on the other side of the wall from overflow.
"Ethan— I'm gonna—"
"Don't come yet, baby. We've got a long time to go. He needs the sensor reading for a while.” He whispered the last part to you. “We're gonna take our time and make it nice, okay?"
"…Okay." A high, helpless whine.
He held there buried in you for a full minute of not moving and letting his own body remember how to think.
Up on the rafters, the tube nearest the apex of the roof had the mold inside shifting and settling lower, the timer's mechanism doing whatever it was doing.
He glanced up, the junction box was twelve feet up. He'd need a clear shot or a clear knife angle.
The sensor was hot and Ethan just had to put up his best performance while he slowly, patiently, set up his real move.
He drew his hips back, drag of his cock leaving indescribable between the way your inner walls clung to him and the cool air of the barn hit his shaft as it emerged.
Pulling out until just the flared head was caught inside your rim and then he pushed back in all the way as he started fucking you.
Long and deep strokes, pulling almost all the way out and than pushing all the way back in, slap of his thighs against the plywood becoming a slow rhythm as he kept his big palm planted on your ass cheek, kneading, squeezing and occasionally giving you a sharp slap that made you yelp and clench around him.
He shifted his angle and tilted his hips down as the next stroke ground the head of his cock right into your prostate again and you came apart in sounds.
Every stroke hit it now consistently and you were just noise on the other side of the wall, a mouth and a hole with a body offering itself up to him. He could feel his own balls drawing tighter.
He very carefully reached his good hand back to the hay bale and closed his fingers around the grip of the pistol, staple-stitched hand staying on your ass to hold the rhythm.
Ethan brought the pistol up, eyes tracing the line of the cord up the post and along the rafter to get on the junction box.
He took aim with one hand and squeezed, shot cracking through the barn as the junction box exploded in a shower of sparks, tubes overhead making a long, wheezing sigh as their internal pressure released harmlessly into the rafters.
The mold inside them sagged, now dead and inert.
Now the only sounds in the barn were the slap of Ethan's hips against the wood and your high, dazed moans.
You hadn't even noticed with how far gone and cock-drunk you were that the gunshots had just blurred into the background of the noise in your own head while taking it, mouth open against the wall as every nerve in your body was screaming.
Ethan dropped the pistol back onto the hay bale and put both hands back to fully fuck you, slow patient strokes that had turned into something harder.
"You're safe." He grunted it into the wood. "We're safe. It's— it's done, I just need to finish, I'm so close."
"Yes—yes, yes, yes, please, please!"
He gave you a dozen more long, deep, brutal strokes and his shaft was throbbing, every vein on him was pulsing in time with his heart as he buried himself to the absolute hilt one last time and he came in long flooding pulses, balls emptying everything they had into you as he felt you clench around him.
Then he felt you come as your whole body locked up, hole spasming around his cock and your own untouched length presumably spilled untouched onto the dirt floor on your side of the wall, all from his cock alone.
He kept pumping, slow, milking the last of it into you, hot trickles down the insides of your thighs.
You whimpered, already half-unconscious by the sound of it while coming down hard.
Very slowly, he eased his softening cock out of you and a white runnel followed down the cleft of your ass.
He tucked himself away and buttoned his fly, picking up the pistol and walking around the partition
You were strapped into a wooden frame, hands bound to a crossbeam above your head and hood pulled low over your face, bare from the waist down and trembling.
He undid the straps, pulling the hood off gently and your eyes blinked open, wide and dilated.
"Hi," he said.
"…Hi."
"It's done, the timer's off. We're okay."
A long pause while you tried to make the words make sense in your fucked-stupid head.
"You shot the timer during?" Your voice was hoarse.
"Couldn't risk him possibly noticing.” He couldn't help the small, lopsided and exhausted smile. "Multitasked."
You stared at him before starting to laugh and he gathered you up against his chest, kissing the top of your sweat-damp head as he held you tighter.
𝒞𝒽𝓇𝒾𝓈 ℛℯ𝒹𝒻𝒾ℯ𝓁𝒹 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒫𝒾ℯ𝓇𝓈 𝒩𝒾𝓋𝒶𝓃𝓈
You couldn't see your own body, that was the first thing your brain kept tripping over between the heavy pounding at your other end and the wet rasp of your own breath in your ear.
From the chin up you were free and had a view of half a collapsed corridor and the long shadowed mouth of the tunnel the woman in blue had vanished down hours ago.
From the chin down you were buried, slab had come down at an angle and that was the only reason you were still breathing with the way it had pinned you front-down with your face turned out and your chin caught right at the edge so your mouth and nose hung free in open air.
Your hips angled up against the back side of the rubble in a way that put your ass at exactly the height of a man on his knees.
Carla had known what she was doing when she pulled the trigger on that grappling line.
You'd been following her for three hours.
Following was a generous term.
Chasing her.
She'd dropped half a ceiling on you and walked off.
Chris had found you later.
How long ago you didn't know.
Time had stopped meaning anything a while ago. You knew it had been long enough for him to comm for the rest of his men and long enough for him to figure out he could not, on his own, lift the slab off you.
It had been long enough for him to come around behind you, take stock of the angle of your hips and the way your tac pants had been half-stripped down off your ass by the friction of the fall and make a decision.
An hour? More?
You'd lost count of how many times you'd come.
The first one had been an accident, he'd been getting you ready, two big rough fingers working slow and patient inside you while his other hand spread you open and somewhere in the second slow drag of his knuckles against your inner wall you'd come on his hand without warning, drool sliding out of the corner of your mouth onto the concrete in front of your face.
He'd huffed a low laugh.
"Yeah," he'd said. "Yeah, that's what I thought."
Then he'd pushed in.
He was big, the man was a fucking mountain you'd known for six years of field decon tents enough times that the size of him was not, in theory, a surprise, but theory and the thing itself were two different categories of knowledge.
So thick the stretch of it made you sob into the concrete the first time he bottomed out and assaulted your prostate, causing your vision to white out.
The thing itself, four orgasms ago, had not slowed down and set a deep merciless pace that kept rocking your trapped body forward against the slab with every thrust.
There was a puddle of drool and tears under your face now.
Behind and inside you, Chris was fucking you steadily and didn't stop.
"That's six," he said, somewhere behind the slab and he sounded barely winded.
"Mm." Another slow heavy thrust, full length of him dragging out and sinking back in, your hips jolting forward against the slab and your forehead bumping the concrete. "You wanted my attention, you got it."
His big palm came down across your bare ass and you flinched, whole pinned length of you twitching, every time your ass clenched too tight around him in a way he read as ‘trying to rush him’, he'd slap you and growl “patience” and slow back down to that same merciless grind.
"You wanna tell me," another stroke, "what the hell," another, "you thought you were doing," another, "going off comms?"
"Captain—"
"Don’t captain me from down there."
Another deeper stroke.
"Three hours, soldier. No check-ins or location pings. I had Piers running circles in the east wing looking for your body parts."
"I—I was tracking…fuck! I was tracking the—"
"I know what you were tracking." His voice didn't rise. It just got harder, the way concrete gets harder when it sets. "You were tracking Ada Wong. ‘Possible sighting, pursuing.’ You know what pursuing doesn't mean? Going dark for three hours and letting yourself get buried under a building."
Now a harsher slap came.
"I am not losing you because you got cute and went off-script chasing a coat."
"I'm— sir, I'm sorry, I'm—"
"Sorry's after." Another stroke, grind of his pelvis against your ass had become its own slow drumbeat, slap of skin behind you rhythmic. "Right now I need you to learn something. You hearing me?"
"Y-yes—"
"Good." His hand came down on the small of your back where it stuck out from under the slab and he pressed, anchoring you.
He picked up his pace, grinding his hips tighter, finding the angle that put the thick head of him directly across the swollen knot of your prostate and started rocking into you in shorter, harder strokes.
You sobbed into the puddle of your own drool, hips trying to jerk forward and couldn't as your whole body was being wrung out from the inside by a man who outweighed you by ninety pounds at minimum and you couldn't even arch your back.
Coming from his cock for the seventh time with a long high broken whine, your own dick spurting helplessly into the small white lake you'd been adding to for the better part of an hour, ass clamping so tight around Chris that he grunted above you and held still for a beat to ride it out.
You were trying to breath with Chris balls-deep in your ass that footsteps came running up the corridor from the east, cadence of a man who had been sprinting for a long time and was running on fumes and adrenaline.
"Captain?!"
"In here," Chris called back, easy as anything, without pulling out of you and there was a deep wish to die that bloomed in your conscience. "Slow down Piers, he’s stable."
The footsteps slowed and stopped about ten feet from your head, you knew the exact moment Piers got the picture because he made a small sharp sound in the back of his throat.
"…Captain."
"Nivans."
"Captain, what the fu—"
"He's pinned." Chris's voice was perfectly level, another slow grinding thrust into your ass and your forehead almost bumped concrete. "Slab came down on the column and I can't lift it on my own. You got eyes on the rest of the team?"
"Th-they're— they're fifteen out, sir, they had to reroute around the—"
"Fifteen minutes." A grunt another stroke. "Yeah, that tracks."
"Sir."
"Piers."
A long beat of silence as your glassy eyes slowly fixed on Piers’ face, fatigues in his face with his rifle slung.
Most loyal man ever to Chris Redfield, standing in a half-collapsed corridor watching his captain railing you into a slab.
"…Is he okay?"
"Yeah," Chris said. "Aren't you, soldier?"
"Yes sir," you got out into the puddle, gaze lowering again on the ground below in shame and aroused.
"He’s been a little distracted lately." Another slow thrust. "Going off comms and chasing leads without backup. Thought I'd take the opportunity to remind him about chain of command."
Another long silence from Piers before you'd hear footsteps again and stopped in front of you.
You saw his boots now, standard combat boots, scuffed, laced tight and planted shoulder-width apart on the concrete about two feet from your face and he crouched, handsome and sharp face now into your field of view.
Intense hazel eyes from someone who knew you had been quietly infatuated with Chris for about three years and now here you were with your ass being slowly destroyed by the captain.
He smoothed your hair back while behind the slab, Chris started moving slower this time.
"He's right, you know," Piers said quietly. "You can’t disobey orders from the captain."
"I know. We'll talk about it later. Right now I want you to focus." He brushed his thumb across your cheekbone.
Chris had picked up the pace again behind you and Piers watched the way pleasure rolled through your face and broke up all attempts of translating thoughts into coherent words and his jaw tightened.
His other hand came up to start unbuckling his belt.
"Captain," Piers said without taking his eyes off your face, "permission to give the soldier something to focus on, sir."
A grunt from behind the slab. "Granted, Nivans."
Piers's belt came open with a small click, followed by the rasp of his fly. He kept his eyes on you the whole time and you opened your mouth, making Piers's breath hitched.
He took himself out of his fatigues with his free hand and guided himself forward, laying the head of his cock against your bottom lip, so hot and hard, wet at the tip from witnessing his captain obliterate your ass.
Salt-bitter taste of it spreading on your tongue the second he made contact and let you have it, holding the base of himself steady and waiting for you to lean forward into him.
When you tilted your chin out and took the head of him into your mouth, closing your lips around the flare of him, Piers's whole body shuddered above you, hand fisting suddenly in your hair.
"Fuck!" He breathed.
"That's it," Chris said from behind the slab, timing his next thrust to push you forward onto Piers's cock and you sank down another inch on Piers with the force from it and said soldier groaned through his teeth.
Between Chris's slow heavy grinding strokes in your ass and the way each one pushed your face forward onto Piers's cock, along the way Piers had begun to rock his hips in shallow counter-strokes that fed himself a little deeper into your mouth every time you came forward, you found a rhythm.
It didn't require thinking, your body was being used at both ends by two men who knew how to work in coordinated formations like you were another tactical operation.
Chris thrust, you moved forward and Piers slid deeper into your mouth.
"Look at him," Piers breathed.
"I been looking at him for an hour, soldier."
"Captain!"
Piers's hand cradled the back of your skull when hearing your words and he let Chris's rhythm do the work, holding you there with his cock sliding in and out of your mouth.
"Easy on his throat, Piers. He’s been working hard."
You came again without warning, the way they all had been now and your body had given up on having control of its own orgasms about three back, ass clamping down hard around Chris, mouth slack and open around Piers while your own dick was spurting another helpless little contribution to the lake under.
Chris grunted while Piers swore softly and pulled back just enough that he didn't choke you while you spasmed, easing back in once your jaw remembered how to work.
You made a noise around Piers's cock that was meant to be ‘yes please’ and it came out as a wet hum. It vibrated up the length of him and Piers's whole body jerked.
"Fuck!" Piers came with a long shuddering groan through his teeth, hand tight in your hair, cock pulsing hot down your throat in spurt after spurt and the sheer volume of it told you exactly how long he'd been wanting this and how much of it had been bottled up.
Swallowing because there was nowhere else for it to go and your throat worked around him.
When he was empty he pulled back slowly, head of him slipping out of your mouth with a long string of spit that connected you to him until it broke and fell.
Hair stuck to his forehead, flushed face looking at your forehead while you stayed slack-mouthed, still being rocked forward and back by Chris's steady rhythm.
Piers held your face in his hands and looked back.
"Tell him," Chris said, "what you're gonna do better from now on."
You looked at Piers’s steady eyes on yours and the shame of it should have killed you.
“I'm gonna check in on comms—"
"Every," Chris said.
"Every single time—"
"Good, what else."
"I'm not—ah— I'm not gonna pursue without backup."
"And?"
"I'm gonna listen!"
“Good.” His voice was strained now, deep slow grind of his hips starting to come apart into shorter harder jabs. "Good. You hear that, Piers?"
"I heard him, sir." Piers's thumbs stroked your cheekbones as he looked into your face.
"Then we're done teaching."
Chris came, hips driving flush against your ass and stayed there, grinding deep as you felt him pulse inside you in long heavy throbs that just kept going, letting out one low controlled breath through his teeth, big hand on the slab above your body as his weight settled forward against it.
"Five out," came a crackle from Chris's comm.
"Copy," Chris said, voice already back to normal as you felt his pants zipping behind the slab, rasp of fabric and click of a belt buckle. "Take the long way around. We're gonna need to brace the slab before we lift."
"Copy, captain."
Chris came around the slab, big shoulders with fatigues neatly back in order, face perfectly composed except for the slight flush high on his cheekbones and dampness at his hairline.
"How we doin'," he said.
"…Tired, captain," you whispered.
"I bet."
𝒞𝒶𝓇𝓁ℴ𝓈 𝒪𝓁𝒾𝓋ℯ𝒾𝓇𝒶
Currently stuck under half a ceiling in the bowels of Raccoon General Hospital with your rifle out of reach and radio crackling somewhere above your head.
Let's back up.
The hospital had gone bad really bad like everything in this city, bow overflowed with zombies from every corner.
You and Carlos had been trying to clear a path back to the staff stairwell, his rifle chewing through magazines and muzzle flash lighting up the hallway in stuttering orange pulses while you'd been on his six with your sidearm doing cleanup on anything that got past him.
You'd burned through a magazine and a half doing that and come out of the hallway into the records room with maybe seven rounds left between your sidearm and your spare, splitting off to look for anything to help against the army of undead while he held the door.
The records room had a maintenance access panel that opened on a low crawl tunnel running under the floor and about fifteen feet down the tunnel inside a case sat a hard-shell weapons open, on its side, contents spilled out across the concrete.
A Lightning Hawk, long barrel that could delete head and shoulders of anything.
The tunnel was tight, maybe two and a half feet high, three feet wide and you'd hooked your rifle sling over your shoulder so the weapon trailed behind instead of catching on the lip while starting to crawl.
You'd made it about ten feet when the ceiling had decided it was done, face now pressed against cool concrete and your ass in the air along your dignity in some other zip code.
Your shoulder had bumped a support beam on the way past and the whole section of ceiling about six feet in front of where you'd been had given up its career as a ceiling and become, effectively, a slab of fallen concrete sitting on top of your back.
It had landed on your tac vest, that was the saving grace with your gear taking the weight instead of crushing your spine.
You also could not, however, move.
Tried to push up for about ten minutes or crawl forward and simply couldn't, hips caught at an angle where the slab pinned the back of your vest to the floor and your ass was wedged up against the underside of the rubble at exactly the wrong angle.
Tried to wriggle backward and it worked the worst of all, because your tac belt had snagged on something on the way down and now any backward motion just yanked your pants further down your hips.
Your ass was bare to the open air of the tunnel and you could not, for any amount of leverage your arms were giving you, get your pants back up.
You'd been working on a plan of using your sidearm to shoot the support strut to your left, which you thought might, possibly, redistribute the weight of the slab off your hips enough to let you wriggle forward.
"Tell me my eyes are lyin' to me right now."
You closed your eyes.
"Carlos."
"'Cause from where I'm standing, my eyes are tellin' me that my partner got his ass stuck in a hole and I gotta be honest with you, parceiro, I was hopin' for a better answer than that."
His voice was getting closer while he crouched now, moving up the tunnel toward you and you could hear his gear shifting. "I’m been poppin’ zombies’ head with my rifle and you decide to play ostrich?"
"I'm not playing ostrich! I’m fucking stuck. Look, six feet in front of me, on the ground."
A pause as Carlos's boots stopped scuffing forward and you heard him shift his weight, going quiet, looking down the tunnel past you to spot the weapon.
"…Caralho."
"Yeah." A long low whistle.
"Okay. Okay, fine. I take back the ostrich thing. Mostly, like sixty percent of the ostrich thing."
"Thank you."
"That's still a lot of ostrich, just so we're clear."
You heard him drop, shift of his gear along a small grunt as one knee went down behind you. He was kneeling now right behind you.
He didn't say anything for a beat.
Then his voice came, lower:
"Now, you wanna explain to me why your bunda is hangin' out the back of your pants, parceiro? Not complaining."
"Belt got snagged when the ceiling came down. I can't—" you tried again, just to demonstrate, small hopeless wiggle of your hips that did absolutely nothing except waggle your bare ass at him in a way that made you immediately regret it, "—I can't get 'em back up, my arms can't reach—"
"Mm. Yeah I see that."
A pause.
"Y'know," he said, "you got yourself in a real interessante position here and I'm thinkin' to myself, Carlos, meu amigo, you been workin' real hard upstairs. Your shoulder hurts from the recoil and here is your partner presentin' to you like a—"
"Carlos."
"—como uma oferenda, okay?"
"I am not a thank-you note."
"You sure look like one."
His hand landed on your ass, heavy and warm, calluses across the knuckles from a decade of rifles and ropes, spread of that hand across one of your bare cheeks covered nearly all of it and squeezed.
"Mm. Look at this ass stuck down here in the dark with no one to appreciate it but me."
"Carlos, are you— now? Like this?"
"Why not?"
"There are zombies upstairs."
"Door's locked on my way down, heard you yelpin' on the radio so I came lookin'."
"I wasn't yelping—"
His hand kept moving almost possessively down the curve of your ass, across the meat of your thigh where it disappeared under the slab, back up.
"So," he said simply. "You up for this or what? 'Cause I gotta tell you. I'm lookin' at what's in front of me right now and I'm motivated."
"Carlos..:"
"Just say the word. Yes or no. I ain't gonna be weird about it, tá?"
You were quiet for about three seconds.
"…that magnum's still down there."
Carlos laughed and his hand slapped your ass, almost playful.
"That a yes, parceiro?"
"…That's a yes."
You heard him work his belt, the fly went and the rasp of his fatigue pants down his hips. You couldn't see it but your imagination filled in the gaps with details not helping your blood pressure.
"Lemme see what we're workin' with," he muttered to himself, both hands spreading you, big thumbs dragging across the seam and you felt the breeze of the basement on parts of you that had not, in your professional life, ever been exposed to the breeze of a basement.
"Hm. Okay. You ain't been broken in for a while, né?"
"Jesus, Carlos!"
"What. I'm bein' polite."
You heard him spit and felt it land on you, thumb rubbing it down into you in slow circles.
"There's lube in my belt pouch," you got out.
"Oh? Olha só. My man came prepared."
"It's for gear maintenance Carlos."
"Yeah, sure, where's the pouch."
"Left side, belt. Second pouch back."
He found it as you heard the click of the pouch unsnapping, rummage and small grunt of triumph when he came up with the little foil packet. You heard him tear it open with his teeth, squeezing it onto his fingers and rubbing them together to warm it.
One slick fingertip circling your rim in slow easy passes and only when he felt you breathe out and ease did he press in.
"There you go, Calminho."
"Carlos, you don't have to. I'm not made of glass.”
"Yeah, but I am big and I ain't tryin' to wreck you on the floor of a hospital, tá? So we go slow."
"How big."
A small dry laugh.
"I'm not gonna stand here in a duct measurin' my dick for you. Just open up."
His finger sank deeper to the second knuckle and held it there, letting you breathe around it before starting easing it in and out in careful drags, hand still on your ass, big palm splayed out across one cheek holding you steady.
"Y'know," he said conversationally, as if his finger weren't currently buried inside you, "I been thinkin' about this for a while."
"Yeah?"
"Mm-hm. Truck rides, you fall asleep in the passenger seat sometimes with your head against the window. I look over and I think to myself ‘that right there is a problem.’"
"A problem."
"Yeah 'cause I'm tryin' to drive and keep my eyes on the road."
He'd added a second finger while he was talking and you felt the stretch open up around him.
You sucked in a breath against the concrete.
“Relaxa pra mim."
"I think we're… Yeah. I gotta tell you. Sittin' here lookin' at you all spread out makes me feel like a lucky man tonight."
"Carlos please…"
"Please what."
"Please get on with it!"
You heard him slick himself, low grunt he made when he gripped his own length and you heard the change in his breathing, slow exhale as he worked himself slick.
Then the head of him pressed against you and you realized Carlos had not been fucking around about the size thing.
Blunt head of him at your entrance thick, sheer girth of him stretching you out at the rim before you'd taken so much as the tip.
"…Ah—Carlos!"
"I do not joke about things like this."
He pressed in with one hand on your hip and one hand on the small of your back where it stuck out from under the slab and he eased inch by careful inch.
God, he kept going. You'd thought you had the measure of him from the first stretch at the rim but he was still pushing in, opening up around him and the burn-stretch of him kept getting deeper.
He bottomed out and you felt his hips meet your ass, rough fabric of his unbuttoned fatigue pants brushing the backs of your thighs, pelvis flush against you as he held there a good long minute, letting you breathe and get used to it, heavy length of him sinking deep and the slow grind of his pulse against your inner walls.
"Olha pra você." His voice was rougher now, easygoing teasing edge stripped down a notch.
His big palm slid up your back where it stuck out from the slab and back down to your ass as he squeezed.
Then he started moving, full length of him dragging in long unhurried strokes.
He angled his hips and the thick head of him dragged directly across your prostate on the next slow stroke, making you see white behind your eyes.
"There it is. Found it." Pleased. “Keep makin' that noise for me.“
He fucked you on that angle without stopping, heavy stroke nailing the spot inside you that turned your bones to water and you were drooling onto the concrete, cock hanging hard and untouched between your legs leaking down to the floor,.
"You gonna come for me? Without me touchin' your pau?"
"Yes!" You came harder than the situation seemed to warrant, your whole pinned body going taut and your ass clamping down around Carlos's cock and your dick spurting helplessly onto the concrete underneath you in long pulses you couldn't control.
Carlos groaned above you and held his hips flush against your ass, grinding in deep through it, riding you out, pulse of you milking him in a way that almost broke his rhythm.
"Inside?"
"Carlos, I swear to god…"
"Just askin'! I am being polite!"
"Inside. Yes. Inside, please!"
"Tá bom, parceiro. Tá bom."
He picked up the pace, slow patient grind breaking into something harder and faster, slap of his hips against your ass echoing off the concrete walls of the tunnel in wet rhythmic cracks, small grunt he made on every thrust getting tighter and shorter as he climbed.
With a long ragged groan through his teeth he came, hips jamming flush against your ass and grinding deep, thick pulse of him spilling inside you in spurt after spurt while grip on your hip tightened to the point of bruising.
"That was… give me a minute. I'm seein' colors."
"Take your minute."
He did while staying buried in you for it, big palm rubbing slow soothing circles on the small of your back, breath gradually evening out behind you.
Softening slowly inside you while nestled inside the slick mess of him already starting to leak down the inside of your thigh.
Eventually he eased out.
"Hold on." He fished around in his own pouches, came up with a field cloth and you felt him cleaning you up, down your thighs and the small ‘tsk’ he made when he saw how much of him was leaking out.
"Made a mess of you, parceiro."
"…Yeah."
"You gonna be able to walk?"
"…Give me a second."
"Take two."
He lay there next to you in the tunnel while humming two notes and his hand found yours in the dark, squeezing.
You'd be okay for the next stretch.
Note: Curious to know which one was your favorite <3
You dropped Max, Lucas, and Erica off at the Creel first before the rest of you made your way back to the trailer park. Nancy had run through the plan about a hundred times, but she still kept insisting on going over it, not wanting to risk any mistakes. Not that you could blame her, not after that pain you felt at the field.
“Okay.” Nancy said. “I wanna run through it one more time. Phase one.”
“We meet Erica at the playground.” You answered. “She’ll signal Max and Lucas when we’re ready.”
“Phase two.”
“Max baits Vecna.” Steve said. “He'll go after her, which'll put him in his trance.”
“Phase three?”
“Me and Eddie draw the bats away.” Dustin said.
“Four.”
“We head into Vecna's hopefully newly bat-free lair, and…” Robin held up one of her Molotovs. “Flambé.”
“Nobody moves on to the next phase until we've all copied.” Nancy said sternly. “Nobody deviates from the plan, no matter what. Got it?”
“Got it.” You all responded.
You all grabbed your gear and made your way out of the RV. You and Steve both had your nail bats with you and you even had Nancy’s revolver while she had the Makarov and a shotgun. Robin had the backpack full of Molotovs and Dustin and Eddie had the spears and shields.
You all ducked down low as you quickly and quietly passed by the trailers to get to Eddie’s. Steve reached the trailer first and opened the door, the rest of you filing inside behind him. Steve slipped off his backpack, getting ready to make his way through the gate so that he could drag the mattress over on the other side.
“Be careful.” Dustin said.
“Thanks, buddy.” Steve patted him on the shoulder and then grabbed the rope. “Here goes nothing.”
Steve climbed his way up the rope, pausing for a moment as he hung in the air between the gate before dropping down onto his feet. He looked back up at you guys and just shrugged before walking off.
“Whoa.” Robin mocked. “What does he want us to do, applaud?”
To be honest, he probably was looking for some praise from you, always having to show off just because he could. And because he knew you couldn’t help but smile every time he did something he considered cool. Though, you would never tell him, he always looked more dorky. It was adorable watching him try, though.
Steve returned a moment later and dragged the mattress into place under the gate. “All right.” He said. “Let’s go.”
You stepped up first, tossing your backpack with the nail bat inside to the floor before hoisting yourself up the rope. Nancy and Robin had their hands hovering around you as you climbed up, making sure you didn’t overwork yourself and end up slipping. Once you hit the other side you felt gravity change directions and you released the rope, allowing your weight to take you, and you fell backwards onto the mattress. Steve held his hand out immediately and you took it.
“Gotcha.” Steve said as he carefully hauled you to your feet, the two of you coming face to face for a moment, eyes locked in a soft gaze, before letting each other go to help everyone else across.
Nancy climbed through next, and then all three of your bags and weapons. Next up was Eddie, and then the shields, and then Robin. Dustin’s backpack was tossed through and then his and Eddie’s spears, and then Dustin dropped down last. He was a bit shocked by the drop, so you and Steve grabbed his shirt and hauled him to his feet.
You all grabbed your respective weapons and gear and strapped it back on before exiting the trailer. You kept thinking back to that small pain back at the field, and Robin’s worrying words. You hoped that she was wrong, that it was just her nerves getting the better of her and that you really were gonna win this time. Because you couldn’t fail, you had to win. You had to kill Vecna. And you had to save Max.
“Hey, guys, listen.” Steve announced and turned on his heel to Dustin and Eddie. “If things here start to go south, I mean, at all, you abort. Okay? Draw the attention of the bats. Keep them busy for a minute or two. We'll take care of Vecna. Don't try to be cute or be a hero or something. Okay? You guys are just—“
“Decoys.” Dustin cut him off. “Don't worry. You can be the hero, Steve.”
“Absolutely.” Eddie said. “I mean, look at us. We are not heroes.”
Dustin and Eddie turned and smiled at each other before turning back to Steve. But you could see the unease in their eyes. You had known Dustin long enough to tell when he was lying.
You stepped over and wrapped your arms around Dustin, pulling him into your chest. He immediately hugged you back, and you were just grateful that you at least got to hug one of the boys before walking off to what might potentially be your death. At least Mike wasn’t here this time. Even if something was going on in Lenora, it couldn’t be as bad as this.
“You kill that son of a bitch.” Dustin said into your chest.
You ruffled his head before pushing him away, holding him at arms length. “I promise.”
You let go of Dustin and turned back to Steve, Nancy, and Robin and you all started to take off again when Eddie suddenly stopped you.
“Hey, Wheeler?” Eddie called out and you turned to face him. “Make him pay.”
You took a deep breath, steeling your face, and gave Eddie a curt nod in response before turning back around again. The four of you finally took off, making your way into the woods as you headed for the Creel house, careful not to step on any of the vines along the way.
~~~~~
The walk from the trailer park to the Creel house was long, and dangerous. You weren’t as exhausted as the first time, but you were still lagging behind everyone else. Steve had your hand in his, your fingers laced together in a secure grip, keeping each other close.
“Uh… I don’t mean to freak anyone out.” Robin announced after a while of walking. “But I swear we’ve seen this tree before.”
“That’s impossible.” Nancy said.
“That would suck, right?” Robin asked shakily. “If Vecna destroyed the world because we got lost in the woods?”
“We’re not lost, Robin.”
Robin chuckled nervously and started to rush out ahead of the three of you.
“Robin, hey.” Nancy called out. “Watch out for the vines! Hive mind. Remember?”
“Thank you!” Robin shouted as she jumped off up ahead and Nancy quickly rushed after her.
“Don’t worry about her.” Steve said as he gave your hand a comforting squeeze. “She’s just stressed. You know, scared.”
“Yeah.” You nodded. “I know. It’s just…”
“She’s a super klutz?” Steve provided and you let out a small laugh.
“Did you know that it took her longer to walk than most babies?” You asked.
Steve chuckled. “I really shouldn't laugh. When I was a baby, I actually crawled backwards.”
“Crawled backwards?” You echoed.
“You know, I'd push with my hands like this.” Steve started walking his hands backwards. “Beep. Beep. Always in reverse, you know?” You didn't quite know what to say. “Well, come on, it makes sense. You push to move, right?”
“No.” You laughed. “It doesn't make sense.”
“Well, it did to my tiny little Harrington brain.” Steve sighed. “That is, of course, until I reversed my baby butt down a flight of stairs and thumped my head real good.”
“Wow.” You mused. “That explains so much.”
“Yeah.” Steve chuckled. “I guess you're right. I think, like, right out of the gate, like, I'm super confident, you know? But I'm also, like, an idiot. Which is just... I mean, it's a brutal combination. But, I mean, the good news is, I get a big enough bump on my head, I can change, you know? I can learn. I can crawl forward. Listen, I guess what I'm trying to say in a really stupid, roundabout way is, um... thank you.”
“Thank you?” You asked as the two of you stopped walking and turned to each other, your hands still laced together.
“Yeah.” Steve said quietly. “I mean, after we fought the Demogorgon, and you put me in my place and all. I guess I just… it made me realize that everything that I had done before, you know, all that shit with Tommy and Carol, it wasn’t good. Not for anyone. And, I just… I couldn’t stand the thought of losing you. Of breaking up. Cause, I just… I love you. More than anything.”
“I love you too.” You said softly. “And…” You drawled out. “I never told you this, but I had a crush on you for a while. I’m talking, like, first day of high school when you tried so hard, but utterly failed at doing your hair.” You laughed as you remembered the frizzy mess. “I mean, not that anyone said anything. You were already popular.”
“Oh, god.” Steve groaned in embarrassment, his cheeks turning pink. “It was really bad, wasn’t it?”
“Yeah.” You shrugged. “Which is why I just couldn’t believe that I thought you were cute.”
Steve’s embarrassment grew. “I didn’t even notice you like that until junior year.” He confessed.
“It’s okay.” You reassured. “I never expected you to. I mean, I never even expected you to like guys.”
Steve smiled shyly. “That first day, when you walked into class, I was just, like, transfixed. You know? Had butterflies and everything. Couldn’t believe I never noticed you before. It was like I was feeling the sun for the first time ever.”
You opened your mouth to say something, but you couldn’t get any sounds to form, too stunned. Steve had always been so open with his affection, always complimenting you, on your looks, on your brain, on your achievements. But you didn’t know just how deep his love ran.
“I was actually nervous about taking to you.” Steve continued. “Took me about two months to even work up the courage to switch seats. I just… I didn’t think you liked me. Didn’t even think I was good enough for you. But I had to do it because I just… I… you were just so damn gorgeous, more beautiful than anything else in the world. Honestly, I don’t think I would’ve been able to handle it if you rejected me.”
“Steve.” The word came out like a whisper, tears forming in your eyes from the overwhelming amount of affection.
“Hey, guys!” Robin shouted as her and Nancy suddenly came running back over. You quickly sniffed back the unshed tears as you and Steve turned to them, you holding onto Steve’s hand just a little bit tighter. “You guys! Awesome news! Looks like we weren’t going to wrong way after all. Come on.”
You and Steve followed after Robin and Nancy until you hit a break in the tree line. You had made it to the Creel property, the house just off in the distance on the other side of the road. Your eyes raked over the area, landing on the run down playground, and you could see a small golden glow illuminating the air.
“Erica.” Steve said.
You all took off towards the playground and you stuck your free hand into the glow, tapping out the signal for Erica. It was silent for a few seconds as you waited for her to signal Max and Lucas.
Okay, the lovebirds have copied. Erica's voice echoed through the air. Max is moving into phase two: distracting Vecna.
“So far, so smooth.” Robin said.
“Yeah, we're not even at the hard part yet.” You commented.
The four of you stood around for a good few minutes, anxiously waiting for Vecna to take the bait. To take Max. You still weren’t feeling any pain, and you had pieced together that it had only happened when Vecna was actively killing, not when he was just tormenting. So, as long as you weren’t in pain, then Max was still alive.
Okay, she's in. Erica's voice echoed a few minutes later. Initiate phase three.
“She's in.” Robin said into the radio. “Move on to phase three.”
“It’ll be okay.” Steve reassured as he dragged you under the playground. But you didn’t know if you quite believed him.
Nancy and Robin huddled up beside the two of you as you laid low and out of sight, waiting for Dustin and Eddie to initiate their distraction.
The sound of Eddie’s electric guitar sounded from the distance, the chords to Master of Puppets filling the air. Some of the bats that were circling the house screeched, having heard the noise, and began flying towards it, leaving the house unguarded.
Nancy shot up from her spot and started making her way across the yard, Robin hot on her trail. You and Steve followed after them, hands still holding securely onto each other as you made it to the front door.
Steve used his free hand to slowly push the door open, still refusing to let go of you as he glanced over after seeing the state of the place. The entire house was covered in vines, the slimy things writhing around and leaving almost no surface untouched. You knew what you would have to do, you were gonna have to jump through them all.
“Oh, shit.” Steve breathed. “That's not good.”
Steve glanced over at you again, a pained look on his face as he had to physically tear his hand away from yours before turning his attention back to the house. He then jumped forward to an empty space, and then another. He nearly lost his balance for a second before recovering and jumping to the next spot.
You took a deep breath, focusing on the fact that there was still no pain in your head, and followed after Steve. You carefully jumped your way from one space to the next, making sure to be quick but also cautious.
Robin jumped inside after you, and Nancy took up the rear. You could feel your nerves starting to act up as you worried about Robin’s terrible coordination getting the better of her. But, to everyone’s luck, she managed to get through without a single problem.
You made it to the bottom of the stairs, the vines in your way and making the simple step now a large, hazardous hop. You took a small breath, eyeing up the clear step you were aiming for, and you jumped forward. Your foot landed on the wood, avoiding the vines, but your other was still in the air, and you went wobbling to the side. You went to reach out for the banister, but it was covered in vines. Suddenly, a hand grabbed yours and steadied you out.
You looked up and saw Steve fixing you with a terrified look, his fingers trembling against you. You slowly pulled your hand from his grip, silently urging him forward, and he listened, turning back around and making the last few jumps to the top.
You hopped up the rest of the stairs easily, the girls following closely behind as you all made it to the landing. The attic door was already wide open and you reached over and slipped out Nancy’s shotgun for her, handing it over before grabbing your nail bat, Steve doing the same.
Just as you were about to make your way forward the entire house started to shake, sending you all stumbling around. Steve reached out and grabbed onto your arm, his other hand grabbing onto the railing. You reached out with your free hand and grabbed a hold of Nancy as she got a hold of Robin. The four of you held tightly to each other, huddling up close as the house continued to shake. And then it stopped.
You all slowly let go out each other and took in a deep breath, relieved that it was over and no one disturbed any of the vines. And then you felt something, could hear slithering, and you looked down to the floor and saw a vine. It was slowly wrapping itself around your ankle, making its way up your leg. But before you could even get the chance to react you were yanked to the floor and then thrown backwards up against the wall, the nail bat falling from your hands and clattering to the floor.
“Steve!” You screamed as a vine wrapped itself around your throat, its pressure strong enough to cut off your words, but not your breathing.
Steve swung his bat down at one of the vines as Nancy jabbed the butt of her shotgun against another. The vines squealed in pain from their attack, but their hold refused to loosen, the one on your throat squeezing down tight enough to leave you wheezing, but overall still breathing.
A vine suddenly shot out from the opposite wall and grabbed the bat in Steve’s hands, pulling him up against the wall. Steve tried to yank it free, but more vines flew out and wrapped around him, pulling him up and off the ground as they pinned him against the wall. One came down around his throat and he struggled for pry it off.
Nancy and Robin whipped around to Steve, temporarily letting down their defenses, but just that split second was long enough for more vines shoot out and wrap around their ankles. They were yanked to the floor, Nancy managing to crawl forward a bit before the two of them were yanked back again.
The vines were strong, too strong for any of you to fight off on your own, and they easily pulled the girls up against the wall, pinning them in place as they began to choke them. You kept wheezing as you struggled against their hold, starting to get a bit lightheaded at the minimal oxygen.
And then you were free. You were standing on the floor, your floor. You were in your bedroom, in the past. You and Steve, younger versions of yourselves, were sitting on top of your bed, the stack of flash cards you had given him already long discarded.
“You’re cute when you try to hide your laugh.” Steve smiled at you, whose head was bowed slightly as you bit your lip.
“And you’re cute when you’re saying sorry.” Your past self laughed, openly, freely.
Steve smirked at you. “Sorry.”
Your past self fixed him with a playfully stern look before grabbing your pillow and lightly hitting him in the side of the head.
“My hair.” Steve exclaimed.
“Oh, stop being so superficial.” You waved him off.
“It’s my best feature.” He argued.
Your past self shrugged with a look of feigned innocence. “I like your moles.”
Steve froze for a moment, a small look of shock gracing his face. “You like my moles?” He asked quietly, hesitantly, and your past self hummed in response. But you knew now how self conscious he was about his moles, how embarrassed he was at having them. But you loved them, always had.
You spun around, turning your back on the memory as you reached out for the door, swinging it wide open and stepping through back into your room again. There was no hallway, just another memory. What the hell was Vecna trying to do? Was he trying to hurt you? Was he trying to distract you? It didn’t make sense.
“Are monsters real?” Holly, tiny, little, four year old Holly asked, curled up in the bed beside you.
“Well…” Your past self drawled out, trying to think of the right thing to say. You still weren’t sure if your choice was words were right. “If they are, then I’ll kill them. Do you know how to kill a monster?”
“No.” Holly shook her head.
“Well, guns won’t work.” Your past self said with a small smile, trying to explain it all in a fairytale type of way. “You need fire and something sharp. And most of all, you need wits. You need to outsmart them.”
“What if I can’t?” Holly asked, voice so small and scared as she curled up a bit that it nearly broke your heart. She was so tiny.
“I know you can.” Your past self reassured. “Because us Wheelers are a lot tougher than we look. You can beat any monster that comes your way.”
“Can Mike beat a monster?” Holly asked, causing both your current and past selves to laugh a bit at the omission of Nancy.
“Yes.” Your past self confirmed. “Even Mike can beat a monster.”
You turned towards the door again, hating to tear yourself away from the sweet moment, but knowing that you needed to get back. But the moment you walked through the door your eyes snapped open and your body dropped to the wooden floor of the Upside Down Creel house.
Steve ran over instantly, dropping to his knees beside you as he checked you over for any injuries. But there were none, just the memory of memories. What the hell did those memories have to do with anything? Was Vecna trying to tell you something? Was he taunting you? Showing you the happy life that he planned to rip to shreds?
“Hey.” Steve shook you gently, eyes and voice dripping with concern as he knocked you out of your thoughts. “Are you okay? What happened?”
“I… I was in my head.” You explained. “I saw my memories. You and me studying for chemistry. And then me comforting Holly after a nightmare.”
“Those aren’t bad memories.” Robin pointed out.
“Exactly.” You agreed.
“So why show them to you?” Nancy asked. “Why show you something good instead of showing you something bad like with everyone else?”
“I… I don’t know.” You shrugged, still at a complete and utter loss.
“Well.” Robin announced. “I don’t believe in a higher power or divine intervention. But that was a miracle.”
Nancy took the silent push and cocked her gun. “Then we better now waste it.”
“Phase four.” Steve said as he helped you up to your feet.
“Flambé.” Robin finished.
You and Steve picked your fallen nail bats up off the floor and then the four of you headed up to the attic. The vines weren’t blocking your path anymore, none of them covering this part of the house, and you were able to easily run up the stairs and into the room.
You all slowed to a stop as you made it into the room. Hanging there from the ceiling, with vines sticking out of every part of his body and holding him suspended in the air, was Vecna.
Robin slipped off her backpack and her and Steve each picked up one of the Molotovs. Steve held his bottle out to Robin and she lit the fabric. Then Steve drew back his arm, the Motolov alight, and he threw the bottle. It hit Vecna square in the chest, shattering on impact and engulfing him in a burst of flames. You all instantly reeled back as the heat of the flames licked at your faces.
Vecna awoke, a loud, pained scream escaping him as the vines sizzled and retracted themselves from his body, and he dropped to the floor, flames licking at every square inch of his disgusting skin.
Vecna growled lowly, dangerously, and slowly pushed himself up to his feet. He stared right at you, eyes full of rage, and you glared right back, all you could think about being Max, outrunning and outwitting her death just for you to make it this far, and Holly, the dreams of monsters and the drawing of Henry. You were doing this for them, whatever happened to you tonight made no difference, just so long as they survived.
Next to you, Robin lit up her Molotov. She switched hands, gripping the bottle tightly as she drew back her arm, and then she threw it straight towards Vecna. It hit him square in the chest, knocking him back a step as the fire bursted through the room, and you all flinched back.
Nancy recovered first and stepped forward, her gun aimed, and she took the shot. The slug blasted through Vecna’s shoulder, knocking him back again. She wasted no time in cocking her gun again and taking the next shot, this one hitting Vecna in the stomach. She shot again, hitting his shoulder. But Vecna was strong, too strong for a few bullets and fire, and he started stalking towards her again.
Nancy cocked her gun and released another shot, knocking Vecna to the side. But he recovered quickly that time, and he regained his footing. He screamed out at Nancy, his anger palpable, and she took another shot, landing the hit right in his stomach again. But he only stumbled. She hastily released another shot and the force sent him flying back against the wall. He tried to move forward when she shot again, and he went flying through the boarded up window.
You all instantly spun around and flew back down the stairs and into the main house, running as fast as you could straight for the front door and out to the porch, but you all froze when you got out there. In front of you, the grass was sizzling away, blackened and charred. But there was no Vecna.
Tick-tock. Tick-tock. Tick-tock.
The grandfather clock in the house chimed and you all whipped around to it. It chimed again and you all ran back inside. The clock chimed again. And then it chimed one final time.
Four chimes. Four deaths. End of the world. But that couldn’t be right, he couldn’t have gotten Max. You didn’t feel anything, no pain, no blurry vision, nothing. He had used you during every other death, so why not this one?
“Four chimes.” Robin said.
“Max.” Nancy whispered.
“But I… I didn’t… there wasn’t…” You stumbled over your words, too confused, too shocked, too full of grief to spit them out. “The pain… there wasn’t… I didn’t… no pain.”
“What?” Nancy asked pointedly, her head whipping in your direction. “Then how?”
You opened your mouth to respond, to say something, even if it was just more broken words of confusion, but you were cut off before you even got started. The entire house started shaking violently, sending you all stumbling around. Steve reached out and grabbed onto your arm, using his other hand to steady the two of you against the wall. You reached out for Nancy, clamping down on her own arm as her and Robin held onto each other, Robin grabbing the railing for support.
It didn’t make sense. None of it made sense. You were supposed to be in pain when Vecna killed someone, you were supposed to feel it when he used his powers, when he used you to amplify them. You were supposed to be his battery. So why didn’t he use you? Why did he choose now to finally leave you alone?
~~~~~
It had been two days since the gates had opened, ripping four deep caverns straight through the town. Countless people had died and the body count just kept on rising. Numerous people were still missing and unaccounted for. Hundreds of families had lost their homes, sucked down straight into the earth—if that was even what was down there. People were fleeing town left and right, but one person who was still here, who wasn’t on the list of those lost, was Max.
It still didn’t make sense to you, her dying and then her coming back to life. The doctors said it was a miracle, but you had other suspicions. But you still didn’t understand how she even died in the first place if you had never felt it.
You had all gone to your house that day to help pack up donation boxes. You were all gathering any items you could; clothes, blankets, toys. Anything you could do to help out.
You grabbed a box from the couch, some of Mike’s old stuff in there, when you spotted Holly sitting over in the corner. She was hunched in on herself, a notebook in her lap as she drew furiously on the pages. Your mom said she had been really shaken up from the earthquake, sitting wide eyed for hours after the fact. You thought there was probably something else going on, Vecna taunting her with another nightmare as you executed your futile attack on him.
You turned around, deciding to leave Holly alone for now. You’d talk to her later, when you were alone and had plenty of time. She didn’t look like she would answer you right now anyway, probably just giving you more ‘I don’t knows’ just like she had done last summer when you asked her about the drawings.
Your knee bumped into the coffee table and you let out a small hiss of pain just as the little robot figure in the box came to life. Its red lights started flashing in your face, little whirs and clicks sounding out to mimic machinery. You reached a hand up and knocked it upside the head, trying to get it to shut up, but it refused.
You huffed in annoyance and set the box down, taking the stupid toy out and turning it over to remove the cover. There were two batteries inside and you took them out, tossing them into the box before tossing the robot back inside.
With the stupid toy now quieted down you picked the box back up and made your way out to the driveway. Everyone else was standing around as they waited for you to bring the last box out. You handed it over to Steve to put in the trunk.
“Did someone order pizza?” Your mom asked.
“Pizza?” Dustin echoed.
You all turned your attention to the top of the driveway and saw a yellow van with a red surfboard on top pulling to a stop. The doors opened and out stepped El, Mike, Will, and Jonathan. And some other guy with extremely long hair that you didn’t know. You felt relief wash over you as you saw them, all of them, alive.
They all ran towards you, everyone wrapping someone else in a hug. Mike ran for you mom first, Jonathan over to Nancy, and Will and El made a beeline straight for you and Dustin. You and Dustin wrapped them up in your arms, both of you squeezing them tightly.
You hadn’t been able to contact any of them in over a week, completely cut off when you had needed each other the most. But they were alive, they were all alive. And that was all that mattered.
When you finally broke away from Will and El you felt another body crash into you from the side, stunning you for a second before you realized that it was Mike. You hugged him back quickly, his head dropping to your shoulder as you pulled him close. He was never this openly affectionate, ever. But you didn’t say anything, not wanting him to let go any sooner than you both needed.
~~~~~
Nancy went with Mike, Will, El, and Jonathan to the hospital to see Max as you, Robin, and Dustin packed into Steve’s car and headed to the school that had been turned into a relief center.
You carried the boxes of donations into the packed gym and brought them over to the donation table, Dustin limping along beside you as his leg still hadn’t fully healed yet.
Dustin had been a wreck, full on breaking down in you and Steve’s arms when you had found him. He had been kneeling on the ground outside the trailer, Eddie, eyes glossed over and body stained with blood, hugged closely in his lap. It had taken a lot of convincing to get him to agree to leave Eddie in the Upside Down, the prospect of bringing him back to Hawkins being both too technical and surely to draw unwanted attention.
“Hi.” Robin said to the lady behind the table as you all set the boxes down.
“Hi.” The lady said back.
“So these are blankets and sheets. And some... some clothes and... and some kids toys.”
“Wow.” The lady said as she checked out the boxes. “It's already so organized. We appreciate that. Do you want a tax receipt for it?”
“Um... no. I don't think we need one. Thank you, though. But is there anything else that we can do to help?”
The lady was taken aback for a second, stunned that you all wanted to lend a hand, and then she sent you all off to different stations. You and Steve went over to help sort the clothes while Robin went off to make sandwiches and Dustin helped to pass out water.
You were busy folding some of the shirts as Steve worked on the blankets. It hurt to see the town like this, to see so many people seeking shelter all because you had failed. You had never failed before, you had always won. You lost some people, something you wished desperately that you could reverse, but you still won. You won every single time. And then you didn’t.
You turned to grab another shirt from the box by your feet when you felt gravity shifting, your body stumbling to the side as the world blurred and swam in your vision. You reached out instantly, arms flying blindly to where Steve was, but you couldn’t find him. You couldn’t find anything.
Did you really think that you were my only source?
Vecna’s voice blasted through your mind, the only noise you could hear as the rest of the world was drowned out to an eerily still silence.
Batteries have two sides, you know. Positive and negative.
You tried to reach out for the table, for anything that could help steady you and bring you back to reality. But it was like you were floating through a haze of color, nothing except for you and the sound of Vecna’s voice.
You need both to create a charge.
The world snapped back into focus and you found yourself staring down at a half folded shirt, your eyes trained on your unmoving hands.
“Steve?” You called out, turning slowly towards him, unsure of how to even tell him. But his focus was elsewhere, his eyes trained on the wall of windows. Outside the clouds had darkened, and there was ash raining down from the sky.
“Are you seeing this?” Steve asked, looking back at you over his shoulder. And then he saw it, your face, the fear in your eyes. “What happened?” He asked urgently, rushing over and grabbing onto your shoulders. “What happened?”
Boom!
A strike of red lighting struck a jagged line through the sky, the entire world flashing red for a moment, and your head exploded. The nail drove down through flesh and bone, slicing right through your eyes and sending you straight to your knees with a loud, anguished scream. The world faded to nothing, only a blank haze. And then it was there again, the line of grey beneath your knees, soft. It flashed before you, flickering in and out of existence, and then it stopped, coming into crystal clear view. It was a carpet. But not just any carpet. It was the carpet in your living room.
edit: i have decided to replace “reader” with “(name)” bc i was being lazy yesterday lol. i hope yall don’t mind the change.
so i had an idea. (name) is bruce’s biological son, and in his mothers side he has brothers (they’re supposed to be parallel to dick, jason, tim and damian), and (name) has a good relationship with them. he knew them longer than the bat brothers, but he doesn’t live with them anymore because bruce took full custody of (name) (he has the money and power after all).
“where are you going?” damian questions as he watches (name) walk down the grand stairs from the top. (name) stops mid-way, he lets out a sigh to quickly prepare himself for this interrogation. he turns to face damian who looks back at him with narrowed eyes and crossed arms “im going to my brothers- i mean… my biological brothers house.” (name) explains, “i am your blood brother.” damian says firmly, empathising the ‘i’.
(name) hums, he understands the kind of mentality damian was raised into, so he didn’t judge “yes you too, but i mean my brothers from my mothers side. theres no hierarchy here, damian. you are all my brothers.” he reassures. damian only scoffs “ill tell father that you’re leaving.” he responds, sounding almost like a threat really…
he turns to retreat back to his room, planning to draw his frustrations out or something because thats what his father advised him to do a while back. knowing damian, he probably believes that there is a competition between the two group of brothers, and they need to be number one.
—
“whats in the bag?” dick asks. (name) had been walking down the hall to his room but was stopped by dick who decided to stay for dinner tonight. “oh just a bunch of clothes…” (name) informs him, slightly holding up the paper brown bag full of clothes, “what? you went shopping? why didn’t you ask me to come with you? i sent a text to the group chat that i was visiting!” dick says, sad that his little brother didn’t ask him for anything.
(name) shakes his head “i didn’t go shopping. its “(older bio-brother’s name) clothes that he doesn’t use anymore, he let me keep them since they fit my fashion sense.” there was a soft smile on (name)’s face as he explained to dick.
dick’s expression went blank for a moment, he had forgotten that you have active family members on your mothers side. “hm.” his lips tighten to a line before he gives reader a forced smile, “ah! thats nice of him..” he managed to not say that out from gritted teeth. dammit why didn’t he think of that?!
now this has him stressing, his fashion sense is completely different from (name)s! how can he compete?! to calm himself down, he pats (name)s head “when you’re free, lets go somewhere before dinner.” he asks, (name) nods.
—
“so, still need help with your documents?” tim asks, approaching (name) who is seated on the couch with his laptop on his lap doingssome school work “nah, its alright. (bio-brother’s name) helped me. im just doing a bit of editing before i submit it.” reader says.
tim stays silent for a moment, he then sits right next to (name) and watches with intense eyes over (name)s shoulder who is just trying to focus on editing. “tim you don’t need to-“ “shut it.” “ah… okay…”
as much as tim is happy that (name) has a bond with his biological family, he certainly wants to keep (name)s bond with this family going as well! he doesn’t want to feel… useless…
—
“hey (name), need me to drop you off today?” jason asks as he watches (name) walk down the grand stairs “nah its fine! (bio-brother’s name) is dropping me off, you can relax” (name) says as he heads to the big door that alfred already opened for him, the butler holding out (name)s lunch box for school.
jasons eyes narrowed as he stands in place, watching his little bro walk off so casually. (name) doesn’t think that (bio-brother’s name) is batter than him does he? (name) does like hanging out with jason right? blood doesn’t mean anything! right?!
jason cant help but feel worry, but he shouldn’t be angry at (name)… but damn he can’t help but feel like he needs to prove something…
jason just spent the whole day to himself, feeling angsty. he texted (name) that he will be picking him up after school, despite (name) trying to tell jason that his brother that dropped him off to school will do it, jason was insistent. jason is glad that his little bro has a bond with his biological family, really he is! but jason still has issues… he already had a hard time accepting getting “replaced” by tim. he isn’t sure if he can handle being replaced as a brother…
yeah thats all i have LOL, a bit rushed on the end bc my brain is ugh and i really wanted to get this out! anyway, hoped yall liked it!
Fanfiction etiquette is decaying in its grave I swear
People who write X reader, PLEASE, if the reader in your fic is intended to be a woman, TAG IT FEM!READER
if in your fic reader is implied to be a woman, TAG IT FEM!READER
if the reader in your fic is GN! with some elements that LEAN Fem, idk that’s kinda a grey area imo, i’m not gender nonconforming so that’s not really my place to speak
but generally, if the fic you write, has a clear implication of Fem!Reader as opposed to any of the other expressions of reader, it. should be tagged. FEM!Reader
I can’t even count the times i’ve been halfway into a beautifully executed fanfiction prompt, and am suddenly slapped in the face by a random description that makes it clear the reader is intended to be read as a woman, and it just ruins the whole immersion for me, because I can’t connect as well with it anymore
For context, I do understand that a lot of fanfiction is written by women, and I have nothing against Fem!Reader stuff as a genre, love that for you guys, used to partake back when I was a gal myself, but as someone who is now a man, and would also like a turn at imagining silly things with fictional men, girlies, please please please tag your fics so others at least know. Thank you kindly and have a wonderful time.
Being roommates with Jason Duval. Art credit goes to qai_san and TFireuwulf on twitter and the divider goes to @firefly-graphics. As always, this is for 18+.
Jason Duval x male reader. Happy Valentine’s Day, I’m gonna drink my loneliness away
You were fired for snapping back at an employee/customer and now without a job; you began to miss rent and car payments. It wasn’t long before you were kicked out of the apartment building you called home. Despite finding employment elsewhere, which was surprising given how bad the job market was, you didn’t have enough time to make up for the lost payments.
Thankfully, you managed to score a housing by being roommates with another man. He needed help with playing rent and you needed a roof over your head. It was a win-win for everyone. The introduced himself as Jason Duval. He didn’t give much details other than he had a shot in the military before returning back to Leonida. Didn’t much mention how he got his money but you were too focus on a room instead question it.
But by god that man. When you first saw him, you felt a tingle in your stomach and heart. He was shirtless, showing off his toned, muscular body; defined abs, biceps, and juicy pecs that were dusted with hair and a tattoo on the right side of his body. You could tell that Jason just finished working, his sweaty body glistening under the beaming sun. He looked like god sculpted from the man above or his time in the military.
He wore some brand of sunglasses and backwards cap on his head. You were getting jock, dudebro vibes from him. You could see some resemblance of a beard but a stubble now.
“Sorry, bro, just finished some things. Excuse the mess and smell, didn’t have time to freshen up.” Jason said, chuckling as he moved aside to let you into the home. And yeah, he was right. Was a complete mess. Yet, you were hit with a masculine scent of sweat and cologne, a mouthwatering smell that made you weak in the legs and the urge to just drop and worship Jason.
“I feel like me and you are gonna be great roommates.”
The living situation was great with some draw backs. One of the positives was that Jason walked around shirtless with only shorts or sweats on; giving you opportunities to see the man’s bulge and it looked massive despite it being flaccid. You could only imagine what he was like erected. Another positive was his hospitality and acceptance of you being gay! You took him as a guy that would yell slurs and insults plus misogyny but that was proven wrong.
The negatives were that he was messy: never cleaning after himself or freshening up the house. You filled in that role as you didn’t want to leave in a pig pen — Jason jokingly called you a hot househusband. Which turned you on… being that hunk of meat husband. And that led to the second negative: Jason bringing several women and fucking them in his room. You could hear the women screaming in pleasure and the grunts of Jason through the walls.
You pulled your cock out and masturbated to it; imaging you were the one receiving Jason’s dick, having your ass split open by that cock. Fingering yourself, imaging it’s Jason. You imagined the other man being degraded; calling you his cocksleeve or slut as he rammed his cock into you — telling you that he dint have to bring anyone back since he’s got a slutty man as his roommate. But at last, you didn’t have a chance. Jason is straight.
“Wanna suck my dick?”
What?
You were taken aback by what Jason proposed, choking on your water and violently coughing. Your straight roommate asked you to suck his dick. When asked why, Jason replied with that it’s been two weeks since he last gotten pussy or head and his balls and dick were starting to ache an it began interfering with his job. He needed someone and picked you. “You don’t have to. Totally on you. Can always put on some porn and jerk off.”
If you denied the offer, you’ll never have another chance! You accepted it, much to Jason pleasure. The man grins as he pulled down his sweats; whipping out his cock, the massive piece of meat slapping his abdomen. Jason grabs ahold of it and started to stroke it slowly, he chuckled. “That’s what I’m talking about. Biggest dick you’ll on this side of town.” Jason moans, thrusting his hips into hand.
You were hypnotized by the sight of Jason’s cock. It looked 9 inches (22 centimeters) with perfect amount of thickness and veins. You could see the cockhead was angry red color, throbbing and leaking precum like a fire hose. Jason wasn’t kidding when he said he was backed up; his balls looked swollen and heavy with so much cum.
“This all yours, man. Come get your favorite treat.” Jason said with grin as he removed his hand to let his massive cock stand straight. You fumbled onto yours knees, getting in between Jason’s legs, coming face to face with his cock. An intoxicating smell hit your nose, the scent was mouthwatering. Your body was reacting to this, aching to be used by Jason. Your wet dreams were finally coming true.
Without wasting any time, you took the head into your mouth. You both groan: Jason from relief at a hot mouth sucking his cock and the taste of his precum touching your taste buds. You eagerly began sucking him: taking as much as you can into your mouth while stroking whatever remained, slobbering and gagging on the massive shaft, coating the thing with so much saliva that it glistened, and fondling Jason’s heavy nuts.
Coming up every so often to breathe, thick globs of saliva and precum coated your lips while a web of fluids connected your mouth and Jason’s cock.
“Fuck yeah… shit… eagerly bitch aren’t you? Fucking hell… if I knew you were eager cocksucker, I wouldn’t have to bring anyone over.” Jason moans in approval, his hand gripping your hair while also guiding. You moan and danced happily knowing that Jason was liking your efforts! It filled with so much that you wanted to impress him.
Relaxing your throat and breathing through your nostrils: you pushed your limits — wanting to take Jason all the way to the base. Jason’s breathing got heavier as he felt every inch of his cock being swallowed by the warmth of your mouth. Your jaw started to ache but you ignored it until your nose touched Jason’s pubic hair.
“Fffffuccckkkk.” Jason groans, throwing his head back as he felt you take his entire cock. This was the best blowjob he’s ever received. “You’re a natural…” Jason said as he started to ever so slowly began thrusting into your mouth, his heavy balls slapping against your chin as he chased his release.
After a couple of minutes, you felt a strong, heavy shot spurting into your mouth. Wave after wave of hot, thick cum filled your mouth and stomach. Jason held your head in place, wanting you to take every drop of cum. You then feel your hair being gripped and pulled back, giving you the chance to breathe again.
“Here’s a new deal, you can be my personal cocksleeve. Whenever you’re not at work, your entire world will revolve around my cock — sucking it, licking it, playing and sucking my balls. Or we can ignore this ever happened and go back to what it was.”
