SUMMARY: no summary. just the tip gf x balls deep bf trope.
TAGS: implied marathon sex, dumbification, overstimulation, unprotected sex, this is all consensual, but just in case, i will tag this as dubious consent.
THIS IS MEANT FOR FANTASY ONLY.
PAIRINGS: LEON KENNEDY/you, LUIS SERRA/you, ALBERT WESKER/you, JACK KRAUSER/you, CARLOS OLIVEIRA/you, CHRIS REDFIELD/you.
A/N: consider this as an apology for being away, and will probably continue to be away after a while. T_T but i hope everyone has been doing well.
NSFW UNDER THE CUT!
LEON S. KENNEDY. ♡
you don't know how long you both have been indulging in each other—all you know is that your cunt's jus' so sensitive. but you want more. you need more. thinkin' about being empty and not being stretched full by your boyfriend's makin' your waterline glimmer with tears.
"leoooon, please—,"
leon stared at you, in awe that you were still conscious. aware. clearly, he's not fucking you properly. "please what, angel?" "fuck me—fuck me, please. need your cock. just put it in," his fingertips tease your clit, and you whine, shaking your head. "nooo—nooooo . . need your cock. please, leon,"
today, leon finds out his ovulating girlfriend can turn into a literal succubus.
"but you said your cunt's all sore, sweet girl. you were crawling away," open-mouthed kisses are bestowed on your cheek. "just the tip. just put the tip in," leon could feel his cock stir, quickly growing erect with your neediness.
"okay, baby. whatever you say," he kisses your teary eyes before hovering over you and grabbing ahold of your legs. just the tip. just the tip. just the tip. leon has to repeat to himself, lathering the leaking crown with his creampie mixed with your slick.
just the tip. just . . the tip.
your creampied pussy makes a lewd squelch as leon slowly pushes the head in. but you're both in cloud nine, eyes rolling like it's the first time you've fucked each other. "y, yes, like that!" you whimper, reaching over to your hypersensitive clit and making aimless circles.
leon begins to move, only giving your cunt shallow, slow thrusts. "fuck, angel—," he lets his head fall back, pleasure enveloping his tip. your cunt's so fucking wet and warm. your fingers pick up their pace, cunt throbbing with intense pleasure. who knew you could jus' get off from just the tip?
"faster,"
faster?
how can leon do that without shoving himself balls deep into you? "faster—pleaseplease, leon," you sobbed. "y/n—i," he bucked his hips, trying to go faster without splittin' you open with his cock. whimpers are spilling from leon's mouth, growing needier by the second, his vision continuing to blur as he eased just the tip in, as per your request.
the way you were clenching around him, creaming around his cock—it drove him crazy. how could he not fuck you? leon has to reminded himself that you want just the tip. but he's relying solely on instinct. and before he could even realize it, he's plunged himself deep by accident, and you're wide-eyed, an unanticipated orgasm taking you both by surprise.
"leon—♡!"
"y/n—i'm sorry, sorry—,"
he can't stop. he won't stop, pounding you into the mattress and making sure you feel every length of him with every ferocious thrust. he's drooling, watching you squirm. something about seeing your pussy spurt out clear fluid with every push in makes him feral, potentially unlocked a new turn on and fantasy to jerk off to.
"t, told you just the tip," you whimper, sniffling, and leon cradles your head, essentially smushing your face into his chest. "sorry. 'm sorry, sorry—i l, love your cunt." leon sobbed, his hips doing all the work for him, pummeling into you without mercy.
spit's shining on leon's built chest as you automatically kiss and lick at the area. marks in the shape of your canines are left, and leon hisses when you bite him again.
"gonna cum, y, y/n—gonna cum—cumming. 'm cumming, oh god,"
he vigorously rams his cock in your leaking pussy, hard yet hurried; it's sloppy, and leon's just desperate to fill you again. your moans are muffled by his flesh, and leon has yet to notice that he's crushing you with his chest. not that you minded, either.
with a few more unrhythmic slams of his hips, he's spilling himself in you, all of his cum just overspilling as he kept rutting into you. "hah— h, haah . . so good—so good," he babbles, spit dripping on his chin as his eyes rolled back. "leooohn—," you grunt from beneath your boyfriend.
it's only when his orgasm finally comes down that he stops moving, clarity slowly seeping into his fucked out mind. he retires from you almost immediately, now-concerned eyes soaking in the sight of you. did you pass out? "y/n," a hand caresses your rosy cheek.
"y/n, please come back to me,"
"mhh . . "
oh thank god. he knows you're just fine, but he was still worried. "are you okay?" he whispers, brushing away the stray strings of your hair. "i'm sorry, i was . . too into it," you chuckle when you feel him pepper your face with kisses.
"i'm fine. still in one piece, baby."
you both groan when he slowly pulls out, the rest of his creampies spilling out of your gaping cunt. "i love you, leon." you mutter, weakly wrapping your arms around him. "i love you too, angel."
LUIS SERRA. ♡
"luis . . just the tip,"
you both really shouldn't have fooled around with these aphrodisiacs. it's been hours and his cock's yet to come down. luis isn't even sure if he can cum anym—
wait. did he hear that right?
"what'd you say, mami?"
it's harder to hear you when you're bent over, and especially when you're mumbling and barely coherent. "the tip—jus' the tip," you whine. "is my bebé sensitive?" he drags a finger over your slit, and you squeak, body jerking in response. your knees almost gave out. "luiiis . . jus' the tip, p, por favor . . "
you poor thing. he affectionately runs a hand over your spine, down to your ass where he kneads your curvaceous flesh. "por supuesto, amor. we can go slow. and . . just the tip," [ of course, love. ] he thought he could do it. luis can control himself, can go slow if requested—usually—but the drug that ran through his veins made that fucking impossible. swallowing a nervous lump, he prods the tip against your slit. fuck, you're so fucking wet. this wasn't fair.
with a slow push of his hips, your warmth embraces his sensitive cocktip. "oh, fuck. oh my fucking god. dios mio," luis's grip on your ass tightens, his own way of restricting himself. "sólo quiero follarte," [ i just wanna fuck you, ] he confesses, but only thrusts the tip in and nothing else.
"me estás matando aquí, bebé," [ you're killin' me here, baby. ] luis babbled on, a shiver running down spine. "are you sure you're sensitive? y, you've been—you've been always able to take it," turns out, he didn't have it in him to fulfill your request. luis could hear the obscene squelches your creamy pussy made, and his brows narrowed as he winced, almost as if he was pained from your instruction. yet, his restrained thrusts—it was more like gentle rocking, to be honest—continued, the tip pulling out with an obscene pop with every withdrawal of his hips.
he enjoyed it, of course. more than anything. but luis was a greedy, hungry man. yearning more. needing more. your pussy was just so fucking inviting, creaming all over for him with just the tip—fuck, you can't ask this from him.
"bebé—y/n, i can't—can't take it anymore. i have to. t, tengo que follarte," [ i have to fuck you. ] your eyes widened when luis slowly slides in an experimental inch. you squeal, reaching behind you with one arm, but luis just pins it on your back.
the moment he's stuffing himself completely fucking full into you, you're just sobbing, legs shaking from the mind-numbing pleasure. luis was, too, not even realizing he had just cum in you. his hips moved like clockwork, "luis! luiissss—fuck!" was all you could cry out. you squirmed, writhed, tried to crawl away from the addicting pain of pleasure, but he's tugging you right back and slamming himself into you to the hilt.
all that cum pouring out of you made it much, much easier to pound that cunt. "h, haaah—fuck! luiiss—," you sobbed, unable to stop your legs from giving out. his chest rests warmly on your back, and you feel a loving kiss pressed on your temple.
"te amo, te amo . . . " he murmured as he pummeled that pussy, making sure that the tip thwacked against your perky cervix and hitting all the right spots. your head rests nicely on the pillow, and you're so fucked out, you think you're about to pass out from all the pleasure.
the bed creaks as luis kept ramming his cock deep into you, and you squeal as another orgasm washes over your body. the nth orgasm made your eyes cross, made you see fucking stars as your legs quivered and you clutched the sheets helplessly. luis didn't see it, but he sure as hell fucking felt it as you squirt all over him and his legs. "dios—dios mio, you're making a fu, fucking mess,"
his thrusts begin to slow down, hard-on still intact, but the aphrodisiac wasn’t as strong as it was from the beginning. blinking, luis realizes he was crushing you by resting his whole weight on you. "shit, shit—y/n, i'm sorry," he shuddered when he slips out of your creampied pussy. "mierda, hace frío," [ shit, it's cold. ] is whispered to himself whilst he gently lays you on your back.
"luiiis . . " you huffed. "that's not the tip," "i know, i know. i'm sorry. but, in my defense, eso es imposible," [ that's impossible to do. ] an affectionate hand caressed your hair. "still sensitive, prinsesa?" you groggily nuzzle your face in his arms.
you only hummed. the next minute is spent in silence, as luis kept you warm and held you firmly. "next time, no more aphrodisiacs," you stir as he spoke, letting out a scoff. "what? booooo."
"wha—excuse you, señorita, why are you booing me?"
"oh, c'mon. don't lie. that was fun,"
"jesus, you are such a freak. me asustas. you need to read the bible or something,"
"wow. like it wasn't you who bought those pills!"
"oh. ehehe. right."
ALBERT WESKER. ♡
bro this gif im going to start s/creaming
you're already fucked out. already trembling from the orgasms wesker's given you, and it's all thanks to the new toys he had bought from his trip. a clit sucker and a vibrating, ridged, girthy dildo. you sobbed as wesker kept thrusting the toy in and out of you, making sure you take all of its length.
"f, fuck—! s, sir, cumming—, 'm cumming,"
there wasn't much you could do, not when a silk ribbon tied your wrists and ankles to the headboard. ( he bought those, too, by the way. ) "again? look at the mess you just made." you look over at the silicone, the base was coated in your creaminess—and it was already smearing to his already-soaked fingertips.
it was so easy for him to break you, and he hasn't even undressed himself yet.
your hips buck against the air, and the unintentional reflex just makes you grind your clit against the toy that lavished its attention on you. "fuuck—! fuckfuckfuck—, a, albert—!" you clutched onto the ribbons, eyes rolling as you felt your cunt throb with need. you were close, you could feel it in the pits of your stomach. "what was that?"
wesker clicked his tongue, clearly displeased. "you call me sir, brat. or are these toys getting into that head of yours?" you hear a few clicks, and your eyes widened when you realized that the clit sucker's set to its highest setting. "s, sir—i'm sorry! i'm sorry!"
the dildo could never compare to your sir's cock—never—but the extra sensations of the pulsations and the ridges quickly sent you to the edge, never missing where you were most sensitive, always grazing that spongy nub that made your mouth fall agape. "don't w, wanna cum anymore—too much," you whimpered.
"aw," he cooed, a small smile appearing on his lips; barely noticeable. "that's really too bad, pup." he taunts, giving you a slow, but hard thrust. you squealed, clutching on to your ribbons.
"you're not in charge here,"
your cries are music to his ears, and his eyes gaze over to your squirting cunt in amusement. even though you're trembling and drooling, he's yet to withdraw the toys from you.
"are you?" "n, no, sir!" he's tight-lipped and has yet to move an inch. "n, no, sir! i'm n, not in chaaaarge—y, you are!" "hm," good enough. much to your relief, both are turned off, and you're granted a few seconds of relief.
your body relaxes on the soft bed, chest rising as you pant. “colour?” wesker asks, a rough palm caressing your shaking thighs. “g, green,” you mutter. “good. ‘m not done yet,”
wesker retires from the bed, taking his sweet time in undressing himself. it was quite the sight, though; seeing him undo his tie, unbuckle his pants. his boxers had a wet spot from his leaking tip. “you’ve been a good pup, darling.”
the bed sinks with his added weight, and you watch him leave kisses on your inner thighs, stroking his cock with a spare hand as he lathered his pre all over his monstrous girth. fuck . . could you take that? you don’t think y’have it in you. but you didn’t want to stop. y’wanted him . .
“s, sir,”
you call, and wesker’s eyes tilt up. now that he was much closer, y’could see how blown out his pupils were. “yes, my love?” he asked as he positions himself, grabbing ahold of your thighs as he slaps his fat cock atop your mons.
“c, can you put just the tip i, in—?”
wesker acts as if he didn’t hear a word you just said, rubbing his length all over your slit—continuing to lubricate his shaft with your juices. you gasped when the tip slowly sinks in, and you finally get your answer when he slammed the rest of his girth into you. you screamed, back arching as your eyes crossed.
“why should i?”
he begins to rut into you, pummeling your sensitive cunt with mean thrusts. “tell me, pet. why should i?” you couldn’t utter out a proper response, not when your brain was turning to fucking mush as he pounded you. “speak up, slut.” the added nickname’s making you clench around him, and wesker only scoffed at your lack of coherence.
“gone stupid? from me just putting—hnngg—it in?”
with the position he had you in, it was impossible for the tip to not kiss your cervix, impossible for you to not scream for him as he mercilessly plowed that cunt. "s, sir—h, haaah . . ! fuck—!" your overstimulated pussy's fucking throbbing. a squeal's torn from you as his palm collides with your puffy clit with a smack! the sting's makin' your eyes fucking water, and you could feel your legs tremble again.
"will you tell me what to do again, pet?"
"n, no, sir!"
wesker grinned, rewarding your sore clit with a kind caress of his thumb. "good pet. that's—," he groaned. fuuuck, wesker shudders at the feeling of your cunt spasming around his girth. "—more like it. gonna—gonna fuck you how i want to," his words are emphasized with harsh thrusts, to drill that idea in your pretty fucking head.
"where i want to,"
"u, uh-huh!"
"when i want to,"
"u-uhnnn—y, yes s, siiiir . . ♡ !"
seeing how disheveled and how much of a drooling mess you were, were you even remembering what he was saying? probably not. but don't worry, he's more than willing to remind you where you belonged. he could no longer hold back his noises, but he wasn't even interested in trying, anyway.
the way he sounded—feral, almost beast-like, even—you'd be lying if you said it didn't incite more arousal from you. wesker ensured you felt all of him, hips moving without thought as he mercilessly slammed into that tight fit. unfortunately for you, he was more monster than he was human.
you were fucking tightening up around him—still adjusting from the sudden switch from silicone to flesh—and how could wesker ever resist ramming and bullying that pussy with his fat cock? the way he could see how he split you open, shuddering when his tip's right against your cervix—oh, you were such a sweet, sweet pet.
his cock throbbed with the ache of a release. you made it difficult for him to control himself. "fuck—'m gonna fill you up," he hissed. "think y'deserve a creampie from me, sweet girl?" smack! the collision of his palm on your cunt brings you back to reality for a brief moment. "i'm—i'm talking to you," he snarled, an you nod mindlessly. "s, sorrryyyy . . . y, yes sir! yesyesyesyes—please!"
you continue to beg him, plead for his cum whilst he busied himself with rearranging your fucking insides. it's all you could do amidst your fucked out state. don't you worry. wesker was more than satisfied with your expressions.
burying himself to the hilt, you let out a scream as an orgasm is forced from you again, fingertips affectionately rubbing on your clit. wesker can't decide where to look—if he should watch that pussy quiver as you squirted or your face that's contorting as your irises disappear behind your lids.
"yeaaaaah, just like that. look at you—fuck, you're such a slut,"
his hips stutter as spurts of thick, warm semen floods your womb and walls. wesker groaned, shivers pricking his skin. your cunt milked him so good; and not like he'll tell you, but he's fucking obsessed. obsessed with how you're so obedient fo him, how your cunt clenched around him as you quivered from overstimulation.
"tsk, you're leaking. tighten up, slut. don't spill any more," you only oblige him—it's all you could do in your fucked-out state. a groan echoes in the room as he slowly slips out from you. from where wesker knelt, he had the perfect fucking view of your gaping cunt, trying her absolute best to keep it all in as he asked. you squeaked when he caresses your puffy clit affectionately. "shh, shh . . i know," he cooed, the other hand undoing your restraints. you didn't have the strength to keep your eyes open.
the tension slowly rolls off your muscles as he sets your legs down slowly. "you did well, my love," you could feel him bestow kisses on your face. eyes, nose, lips—they were all showered in loving kisses. your wrists are set free as he undid the ribbons on your sore wrists, his lips ghosting over the red marks over your skin, too. "missed you, albert," you mumbled, eyes slowly opening. "i missed you too, my love," there's a faint smile on his face—meant to be witnessed by you only.
"you know we're not yet done, right?"
JACK KRAUSER. ♡
krauser really has lots of pent-up frustration and sexual frustration. blessed with inhumane stamina, it's really no surprise that he can last multiple rounds. 'specially when all of it just piles up on him, mmmm—god, he loves nothing more than taking it out on you and using you for fucking hours.
but krauser is mean. cruel. you want just the tip? that's really—
"too fucking bad, baby,"
that request is fucking impossible, because he's got you folded and locked in a full nelson hold. did you expect that he'd just not bury himself deep in your pretty cunt? your eyes widened as you watched his cock slowly stretched you out again. your cunt was too sensitive.
his balls only throbbed, eyes rolling as your pleas fall to deafened ears. your groans echo in the room as he pushes another inch or two into you. fuck, you need to breathe—
krauser laughed breathily in your ear. "what was that?" you couldn't muster a single word—it was all just pathetic squeaks. "just the tip, you say?" he'd purr, pushing in as slow as he can so your pulsating walls can feel every single inch stretching you. ruining you.
"c, can't—,"
"can't what? can't speak?"
he completely slams into you with a loud plap! you're speechless and fucking stupefied—but, frankly, what else is there to say? "urgg—feel that?" this fucking asshole just had to start gyrating his hips. you could feel the tip poke 'nd prod against that cervix, and fuck, you're trembling.
"c'moooon, sweets. y'better be awake,"
sticky drool's drippin' from those pretty lips as he began to pound you like he hated you. him doing all the work was not a problem, not at all. krauser could easily manhandle you, and he made sure that you knew. he was bouncing you on his cock like you weighed nothing and fuck—you couldn't even think of anything to say aside from his name and ah's! and oh's!
it didn't help his cock was a mix of both veiny and fucking gargantuan—you're convinced your cervix's all bruised because his tip kept hitting 'nd hitting all of your spots. "love your cunt—fuck, you like this? huh? bet you do. look at your cunt's reflection. messy fucking slut," he groaned, ramming into you vigorously. it's like he hasn't even broken a sweat.
"k, krauseeeer—," you sobbed, absolutely broken and cockdrunk. "yeah? 'm here," he pants, eyes threatening to roll back. but he had to watch you in the mirror, had to watch you crumble and go fucking stupid just from his cock. "what does my baby want, h, huh? want me to go faster?" before you had the chance to respond, he's fucking pummeling into you faster than you could even blink; you're fucking dizzy and barely lucid, but that's okay. no need to think, krauser's got you. ♡
"'m c, cummingggggg—cumming. j, jaaaaack—♡!"
"my fucking goooood—fuuuuuuck . . look at this squirting cunt,"
clear liquid's spurtin' out of that stretched pussy, coating him and yourself as he forces an orgasm outta you. you're so fucking hot, fuck. krauser's never ever ever letting you go. "you love my cock, babe?" if it wasn't for how both his large hands held your head, you would have nodded. "u, uh-huh! love—l, love your cock—♡!" "attaaa girl. i love your cunt so, so fucking much—♡,"
krauser doesn't even realize he's drooling himself—completely immersed in the pleasure. he could stay buried in you for fucking eternity. "fuck—wanna breed you. lemme breed—lemme breed you. need to knock you up," he babbled on, focused on jus' chasing his release. and with the pace of how he fucked you—it wouldn't take long.
and you?
you're fucking spritzing all over him everytime his tip grazes against that spongy nub in your dripping pussy. why'd you even ask him to not put it all in? clearly, you loved this. but don't worry. for once, he'll humour you. "y'wanted just the tip, right?" "h, hnnngg—♡," good enough of an answer for him. you're brought back to reality briefly when his movements halt. confused, you only watched your obscene reflections whilst he shifted his hips. "j, jack, what're you—?!" your eyes widened when you feel his tip slowly bury into the tight barrier of flesh in your cervix.
krauser whimpered. fuuuuuuck, you were sucking him in so good. he can't even pull out. "baby—baby, oh god. fuck, fuck. i'm fucking—cumming. 'm cumming—oh my gooooood," it didn't take any more thrusts for him to start filling your womb up with fertile, sticky cum.
you whined as your cunt's flooded with his seed, and you couldn't do anythin' except for clawing on his built forearms as he held you in place. "urgg—yeah . . . just like that . . fuuuck, i love your pussy baby," you couldn't utter a word. you felt so fucking full. krauser finally releases your head, but still held your body close as he settles on the edge of the bed. you practically collapse on his muscular frame when he finally sits, and that's okay. ♡ krauser made sure he held you tight, wrapping large arms around your body and leaning into you so he could kiss your face.
"tongue out, babe. lemme . . "
you oblige mindlessly, sticking your pretty tongue out for him. krauser's scarred lips wrap around your wet muscle, groaning as he sucked on it. didn't take long 'til he was devouring your spit-stained mouth as you cockwarmed him.
"mmmm. ♡."
CHRIS REDFIELD. ♡
this gif is so? um.
chris usually loves to prep you. loves to spend his time devouring your pussy and having his lips wrapped around that sensitive clit.
but you've got work in an hour, and time isn't a luxury you both have. "chris, j, just the tip, okay?" you say, raisin' your hips as you bent over the dining table; weight propped up on your soft palms. of course you can't say no to him, especially when the outline of his erected cock on his grey boxers is all you've been seeing this morning. but you're just a girl. you have needs and wants.
"just the tip?"
chris asks, pressing his clothed chest against your back. you feel his stubble against your cheek as he pressed open-mouthed kisses on your skin. "i don't . . i don't think i can do it, princess," he whined as his hips push forward. you couldn't utter another word as the leaking head stretches your cunt out.
you shuddered, lips quivering as you clutched on to whatever surface you were bent over on. "y, you caaaan—a, aaah, fuck—you have to . . ” you whined. but chris was greedy. hungry.
he’s not sure where he gets the courage to pull out, but he does. the tip slides out from you with a lewd, almost muted, pop! and you’re both unsatisfied, left yearning with feeling the other completely; but it makes do. it has to. tonight, he can have you for as long as he wanted.
“y/n, p, please—,” he pleads, still fuckin’ you with just the tip. chris can feel just how wet you are, hear how that cunt squelched as bucked his hips. “n, nooo—chris, i’ll—i’ll be late,” “don’t go,” his canines graze your skin, and you squealed when he pushes an inch in. your cunt’s pulsating—trying to accommodate his fat cock without prep. “don’t go—y’don’t h, have to go. please stay,” “ch, chris, i—hnnn!” the rest is completely slammed into you, and your eyes cross. chris takes advantage of your agape mouth, kissing you and letting his tongue glissade over yours.
chris starts to pound that cunt, and muffled cries were swallowed by his lips. you can’t really lie, this felt waaaay better than just the tip. the way the tip bulges out from your lower tummy, the way the pink crown keeps kissing that sensitive cervix, it can’t compare. ever.
“mhhhf,” you groan against his lips, and chris playfully bites down on your lower brim. it was hard to take in air when every thrust into you knocked the air outta your lungs. chris parts from you as he held your hips with those big hands of his.
his pace quickens, ramming into you mercilessly. you're both whimpering, voices blending together in melodious sin; whatever thoughts you had before—gone. not when chris had the skill to turn your brain to mush. "goddd—fuck, y/n. y, y'feel so goooood . . " chris sobbed. if only you could see his face. brows scrunched as he struggled to keep his eyes open; only you could bring these facial expressions to this big, beefy man's face.
you squealed when a hand snakes under your skirt, fingertips rubbing against your neglected clit. "oh fuck!" you mewled, unable to keep your cries to a low. "feel good, princess?" chris purred whilst fucking you into oblivion. "u, uh-huh—♡!" fuuuuck, his balls are fucking throbbing.
"d, don't go . . jus' stay. be my pretty little wife. i can t, take care of you,"
he babbled on, rutting into you, stuffing you full with that veiny cock. chris wants nothing more than to fucking breed you, fill your womb with his cum. "'m g, gonna fucking cum," he pants, chest heaving. but he doesn't stop pummeling that cunt—goes faster, actually. chasing his release and eager to give you yours. the table's creaking, and everything on it shook with every thrust. upstairs neighbour behaviour.
you screamed when he lightly pinches that sensitive bud, and you're seeing stars; mouth agape and back completely arched as he coaxes an orgasm from you. your legs trembled, and chris bit on his lip. "fuuuuck, baby. you're so hot—love you, i love you," "chriiiis, fuckfuckfuckfuuuuck. love youuuuuu . . ♡,"
your lips crash together again, sloppily kissing each other as chris fucks you through your high. he grunts, wrapping his lips 'round your tongue, tasting you. with another slam of his hips, you moan against his mouth when he's completely buried deep in you; thick ropes of cum flooding your creamy, spasming cunt. he can't move any more, can't think anymore. he pulls away from you, because he's sure he'll forget how to breathe.
"oooooh, fuuuck—♡,"
spit's trickling down his stubbled chin, and chris is quiet for a moment; sent to cloud nine and completely fucked out. it takes a minute or two for him to recover, and he tilts your head to the side so he could briefly kiss you while he slid out of your cunt. you both groan, and chris kneads your ass, watching his cum slowly leak from your gaping pussy.
"heheh . . gonna call in sick?"
well, you couldn't feel your legs, so. yes.
CARLOS OLIVEIRA. ♡
carlos watched you writhe whilst you came undone from his tongue. your fingers were tugging on his already disheveled, raven tresses. it's your fifth orgasm—he thinks, if he's counting right; and he'd gladly give you more. his wet kisses trail up your tummy, chest, lips, and you liked how your taste lingered on his tongue.
"carlooos,"
"yes, meu bebê?"
carlos gets a realization tonight.
"want more. 'jus wanna feel you,"
he spoils you a little too much.
your cunt was still twitching with need. you'd do anything to satiate your hunger, anything to relieve that arousal pooling in your tummy. even though he's spent the last few minutes coaxing orgasm after orgasm from you.
but he loved seeing you like this. desperate. needy. like he was the only person you needed. you knew just how to get his gears going without trying. "hmm? but you just came, meu bebê. my beard's still wet," he teased, lips latching on your neck and tracing your skin with sharp canines. you held on to his built biceps, and carlos brings your knuckles to his lips. "j, jus' the tip. please. i want more," "i know, i know, bebê. shh . . "
he can never resist you. especially when you were begging him so prettily. didn't take long for him to prod his tip against your needy hole. you both gasp when the tip slowly sinks in, slowly stretches that wet pussy apart. your nails dig into his skin, and carlos bit his lip. "fuuuck, y/n. your pussy—," fucking warm 'nd tight. clenching on him like you needed him.
carlos didn't mind being bossed around by you, especially by you. he'd do anything you'd ask before you could even blink, but he just has to remind you who's in charge.
you gasped when he slowly sheathes an inch or two into your tight cunt. "carlos, w, what're you—?!" he makes sure to slide in nice and slow, so you'll feel every inch of him splitting him open. and also so he can savour that surprised look in your face.
especially when he harshly shoves the rest of his cock in your leaking pussy, god. you'll kill him. "y, you're so unfair, princesa. so cruel t'me," he cooed, not even giving you the time to process a thought as he began to pound you with ungodly stamina.
"you think i don't have needs too? think i don't need to fuck this cunt and to fuck you 'til you're cockdrunk and overstimulated?" nasty mouth, nastier thrusts. your eyes crossed, body jouncing with every slam forward of his hips.
"c, carlos—h,hnnngg!"
he grins. "yeaaaah, that's right, baby. scream my name." you were so sensitive already, flesh walls spasming around his veiny girth, but fuck, you were oozing so much milky essence, it smeared all over his balls. he leans in so your lips could crash together, and carlos grunts against your mouth as you instinctively wrap you legs around him. of course he had to pick up his pace. why wouldn't he? he was such a good boyfriend to you, paying attention to all your needs.
you whine when he parts from you, but he has to, or else he'd lose his balance. he needed to focus on fucking you, tire his pretty bebê out. he bites his lip when you run your palms all over his built chest and abdomen.
"fuckfuckfuck—carlos—♡!"
a hand wraps around your breast, kneading your tits and running his fingers over your erect nipple. whatever thought you had, he quickly fucked it out from that pretty mind of yours. whatever. not like you needed to think when he could do that for you. well, try.
"y/n—♡ godddd, minha linda garota," [ my pretty girl, ] he babbles on, absolutely hypnotized. god, what were you doing to him? carlos kept pummeling that cunt, bed creaking obnoxiously in the process but it seemed that neither of you cared.
more marks littered his skin, ranging from bites to scratches, and they were definitely going to be sore later, but that's okay, a little pain didn't hurt no one. spit trickles down on carlos's stubbled chin, and you lift yourself up a little jus' so you could lick it up.
"y/n—♡! f, fuck! você é tão porra de suja, m, merda!" [ you're so fucking filthy, shit! ] hooking his arms around your thighs and lifting it up to his shoulders, you squealed when he begins to fuck you faster. harder. sounds of skin slapping growing louder as he rammed you without mercy.
a spare thumb began to trace aimless circles on your clit, and you screamed as an orgasm was ripped from your poor oversensitive cunt. "c, carlos—♡! oh fuck, fuckfuckfuckfuuuuck!" you clutched onto the pillows, sheets, fucking anything. you sobbed, and carlos gently flicks his middle finger against that puffy clit—you squealed as you squirt in small fountains.
"you're sensitive, aren't you, bebê? eu te quebrei, princesa?" [ did i break you, princess? ]
and oh, the way you only responded in fucked out mewls, how fucking precious. now that you've coated his girth in your squirt, it was much easier for him to move in 'n out. you could hear jus' how wet he made you, how that soaking cunt squelched with every thrust. you were such a slut for your boyfriend, and rightfully so.
he stops being cocky when his orgasm nears, grunts turning into high-pitched whimpers as he fucked you into the mattress. carlos tried to keep his monstrous, merciless pace, but fuck, he was so close. the closer he was to filling your cunt up and flooding your walls, the sloppier his hips got, probably from fatigue.
but you were such an angel, his god-sent angel, movin' your hips as you tried to meet his thrusts halfway. carlos could cum at the fucking sight of you trying to fuck yourself against him.
"oh god—♡! oh god, fuck, fuuuuck. vou gozar. vou te engravidar. ai meu deus." [ gonna cum. 'm gonna get you pregnant, oh my god. ] carlos sobbed, and after a few more push of his hips, he's crying out as ribbons of thick cum filled that cunt.
he rides his high out with a few more mindless thrusts, combing a spare hand through his hair. he's in fucking heaven, jesus christ. it's you that brings him back to reality, rubbing his forearm and eventually interlacing your fingers with his.
"oh my god, baby. are you okay?" he caressed your face, and you tiredly smile at him. "never better," you kissed his palm, and carlos tucks away the stray hairs on your face. "you sure? you okay? does anything hurt?" "no, i'm fine. well, a little sore and sensitive, but it's okay. i like it," a grin tugged on his lips, and he shook his head. "you're such a freak, baby. it's okay, i love you," a kiss is pressed on your forehead, nose, and then lips.
you shuddered when he pulls out, and his cum slowly leaks from your used, gaping hole. "i love you . . " you mutter, scooting over to the side so carlos can have the space beside you. he sighs in relief when he finally lays down, absolutely spent. "c'mere," carlos sleepily grunts, pulling you to his arms. you took it upon yourself to cover both your bare, sweaty bodies with the blanket.
"did i tire you out yet?" "hmm . . no, not really," you jeered, and carlos chuckled. "well, i certainly tired myself out," you both laugh, and it didn't take long 'til you both dozed off.
end.
A/N: thank you so much for reading! more to cum. ;)
also, regarding carlos's fics, i will repair them soon and change his bilingual dialogue from spanish to portuguese. i'd like to apologize for mistaking him as hispanic!
Note: omg this was so fun to write! Thank you for the idea, anon. If you have more, my inbox is open 👀 Also, sorry for the repost. For some reason the original post didn’t show up in the tags.
If you want to support/commission me visit my ko-fi page. Thank you!
The moment he finds out how easily you get wet, he’s going to give you a hard time. Seeing you blush, seeing how embarrassed you get, makes him want to tease you more.
During a meeting with an asshole that wants a dozen tyrants, you are trying to negotiate the money and the delivery time. He wants more for less; you want fair compensation for your work. Next to you, Wesker is getting bored and has been absent from this conversation for a while. He glances at you from behind his shades, and a dirty idea creeps into his mind. You caught a glimpse of his smirk, but you didn’t pay much attention to it. That was careless of you.
A pen hit the ground with a faint clatter, interrupting the conversation for a brief moment.
“Sorry,” he said absently, as he reached downwards to grab the pen.
The conversation then continued its flow until you felt Wesker’s warm hand moving alongside your legs. He started from your calves, then he made his way up to your inner thigh.
At this point you couldn’t concentrate anymore. Anything that he was saying faded in the background.
Wesker wanted to torment you for a bit, so he kept stimulating the part that was so close to your burning core. Besides, he felt tremendous joy whenever you’d clamp your legs shut, trapping his hand. Then, the fun part came, where he’d manage to spread them easily, continuing his game. You had to remain still this whole time, so there was little fighting from your side.
You tried too hard to hide the moans, but every brush on your skin still pulled out needy whimpers out of you. Your hole would throb every time he’d caress your flesh and every time he’d make random circles with his fingers. You felt your panties getting warmer, and you could only imagine the wet spot growing bigger and bigger. You couldn’t do anything to stop your pussy from leaking.
The person in front of you was too dense to notice that you suddenly went quiet, that your cheeks were burning red and how Wesker’s arm kept moving under the table.
Luckily for you, he had to answer a call, so he left the two of you alone.
"Are you insane?” you asked.
“Yes,” he replied sincerely, hand still caressing your inner thighs.
“What if he catches on?”
“Hmm, then he’d have to leave the room.”
With a bold move, he reached to the forbidden zone. Your body jolted when his pinkie began to caress your cunt through your panties.
“Albert…stop it. He can come back in any minute…”
“Then I guess you’d have to keep your composure.” He said, smirking deviously. He had to suppress his own pleasure.
You closed your eyes and moved your head forward, your chin so close to your chest. You grabbed on to your dress and squeezed the material until your knuckles turned white. Despite your efforts to close your legs, Wesker was stronger than you.
His pinkie moved slightly underneath the fabric and pulled it aside, allowing two of his digits to explore and toy with your wet fold.
Wesker closed the distance, moving close to your ear.
“So wet for me…and I barely touched you.” He whispered.
One of his fingers kept moving along the folds, smearing your juices all over your panties and dress.
“I wonder…if you are ready for me.”
“Albert, please, he might come any minute.” You cried, feeling your cheeks burning.
“Hmm…that’s too bad. He’ll have to see how I finger-fuck you.” He hunched over you and bit your earlobe. The sudden pain made your cunt clench.
“Don’t be so shy… I can help you with your heat… Just say the words.” He chuckled as he increased the speed of his fingers, giving your clit some friction.
“B-bastard…” You opened your legs wider, allowing him to push his fingers deeper. You gasped for air, as the stretch felt so good.
As he began to fuck you, you grabbed his arm for support. Suddenly, all of your fears disappeared. Little did you know that Wesker told someone to call the client and keep him busy for a while, as he toys with you and pushes your boundaries.
If Chris loves something about you, it's how easily you get wet. You’re not aware that he knows. You believe that you kept this secret very well hidden, but he noticed it.
He knows how easily you get wet. Even the gentlest touch or the softest kiss causes a waterfall between your legs.
He could see the way your body reacted to his slightest touch, the way your breath hitched and your cheeks flushed a deep crimson. He likes to see you squirming during foreplay.
It was intoxicating, and he couldn't resist teasing you, pushing your buttons just to see how far he could take you.
One evening, when he needed a break from his reports, he decided it was time to tease you for a bit.
While you were cleaning the cabinet in the kitchen, Chris came from behind, wrapping his big arms around your small frame. You thought it was a nice gesture, but in reality, he just trapped you.
“How’s the report going?” You asked, fully unaware that Chris was making his first move.
“Slow, boring; I think I’ll just copy-paste from old reports and send it as it is,” he confessed as his hands slid down your arms, slow and gentle.
“I don’t think they read them… anyways.” You paused, feeling his hands seizing your waist. “Yeah…” As he was caressing your belly, you felt when he pressed his body on your back.
“Chris…, Can I help you with anything?” You said softly, gently caressing his forearms.
“I just want to hug my girlfriend, that’s all,” he chuckled lightly. Now he was pressing you further on the counter.
He noticed how you were starting to fidget. “Cute”, he thought.
On the other hand, you were pressing your legs together, cursing yourself because of how easily your core was heating up. Maybe it was in your head; maybe he was just affectionate.
“Are you alright?” He asked, pretending to be clueless.
“I’m…fine…” you said. It became harder and harder to ignore the feeling of your cunt clenching. “I’m such a pervert.”
Chris hunched a bit until he reached your ear.
“Then why are you breathing hard and sweating?” He whispered, making you even more embarrassed.
“I…it’s just hot here.”
You gasped in the moment he rubbed his erection over your ass. In that moment, you didn’t need any extra confirmation. He was just messing with you.
His hand roamed freely all over your body. Your breasts, your hips, nothing was left behind. He used his big thumb to slide down your pants and panties, then he brushed two of his fingers between your folds.
“And I barely touched you.” You could feel his defiant smirk and sense his cocky attitude in his voice. His fingers were already soaked.
“I’m going to draw dicks in your report,” you threatened as you rested your head on his chest.
“And I’m fucking you senseless.”
Unlike these two, he won’t tease you about it. Well, at least not too much. He finds it really cute that he can turn you on so easily with just his words or his gentle touches.
During a movie night at home, Leon will deliberately brush his hand against your inner thigh, smirking as you squirm and cross your legs tightly. He knows you’re already nice and wet for him, and the knowledge fuels his desire.
In the bedroom, Leon takes his time exploring your body with his hands and mouth, enjoying the way you respond to his touch. He'll slip a finger inside your cunt easily to arouse you more. Leon can feel his cock twitch in his pants as he looks at his glistening fingers, coated in your juices.
You moan, embarrassed, at the sight. You get turned on too easily. You fold into Leon’s touch effortlessly, which annoys you.
Despite your obvious frustrations, he continues to pleasure you. He added a second finger inside you, stretching you nice and slowly until his fingers were soaked.
‘Damn, babe, you have no idea what a sight I have.” He said it in a low growl, with a hint of admiration. Your cunt is swollen and extremely sensitive, and yet he chooses to maintain his slow rhythm.
“Leon,” you breathe between breathless moans, moving your hips desperately, searching for that friction that will bring you pleasure.
“Just a little, babe. I enjoy this too much.”
He pinched your folds with two fingers, struggling not to slip, and spread them until your clit arose like a blooming flower. The little bud was red and throbbing with each ragged breath, searching for attention.
If there was one word that described Leon’s action for that night, it would have been “cruel”. He pressed his big thumb lightly over your clit, dragging it in circles until your moans turned to cries.
“Don’t do this to me.” You plead, your back hurting from how much you moved your hips.
“Shh, it’s alright. Just a little bit.” He cooed, moving his thumb a little faster and pushing his fingers deeper. Your gasps, moans, and whimpers grow louder with each thrust. The faint pops and squelching as he curls his fingers against your walls, searching for that perfect spot, played alongside your desperate pleas.
You were leaking on the bedsheets at this point. Silvery strands of your slick leave his fingers glistening in the dim light of the candles.
“Please,” you pleaded one last time. Leon couldn’t keep his composure for too long; he was near the edge.
Your desperate cries turned into happy whimpers as he picked up the pace, hitting that spot inside you many times. The tension within you intensifies, building into a burning flame that threatens to consume you.
Your orgasm hits hard, turning you into a trembling mess. Leon's fingers continue to pump relentlessly, drawing out your climax until you're reduced to a quivering mess, delirious with pleasure.
As your breath comes to normal and your body stops shaking, you hear Leon fumbling with his clothes. You peek and see him standing at the edge of the bed, giving his hard cock a few strokes, before climbing in the bed again.
“Whatcha say? Do you think you can make it rain one more time?” He says with a dumb smirk.
You laugh, cover your face and spread your legs wide open. A new wave of pleasure crashes over you, your cunt contracting and pulsating as a fresh wave of warmth floods your depths. You feel it as it coats your inner walls, a slick, wet sensation that heightens your senses. You fear that the intense pleasure will shatter your body completely, but you know Leon will be there to catch you.
Krauser is a dominant and controlling man who loves to show off his power. Seeing you get so easily aroused and flustered by his touch only feeds his desire to dominate and control you. It also feeds his ego.
Krauser notices how your panties are already damp just from being in his presence. He'll smirk, trailing a finger along the soaked fabric and chuckling as you squirm in embarrassment.
"Look how wet you are for me already," he'll murmur, his voice raspy with desire.
During a heated makeout session, Krauser's hand slips under your skirt, cupping your puffy cunt and feeling the wetness that coats his fingers. He'll tease you, rubbing slow, deliberate circles around your clit until you’re gasping and writhing against his hand.
"You're dripping," he taunts, bringing his fingers to your lips. "Taste how much you want me."
He also loves to push your boundaries, seeing just how wet he can make you in public spaces. He'll bring you to a crowded bar, making sure to brush his hand against your inner thigh under the table or squeeze your ass when no one's looking. Later, when you two are alone, he'll whisper in your ear, "I know you're soaked right now, aren't you? Just from being out in public with me, thinking about what I might do to you..."
He finds all sorts of ways to shove you deeper into the pit of embarrassment. He finds ways to make your pussy throb and clench around the idea of what he can do to you.
Still, his favourite tease and torture from them all is toying with you during official army training. When you’re in line, waiting for commands, Krauser will walk past each one of you, inspecting your posture, your expression and your attire. As he approaches you, he gives you a playful smirk and gently grabs your belt with two fingers.
“This seems a little tight; go change it.” He commands as he closes the space between your bodies.
The Major will tease you all day, caressing your body gently and squeezing your flesh when no one is looking. At the end of the day, in order to cool down the heat from between your legs, you take a nice, cold shower. The water seems to rinse all the impure thoughts that tainted your mind. However, unbeknownst to you, Krauser’s sadistic game was not over yet.
Krauser stepped into the steamy shower, his mind consumed by thoughts of you. Your little, curvy body pressed against his, your tight little pussy gripping his fingers and cock as he claimed you over and over. Just imagining it made his dick throb painfully in his pants, straining against the fabric. Throughout the day, he'd had to adjust himself constantly, his erection a constant reminder of the desire you stirred within him. The hot water cascaded down his muscular body as he entered.
Krauser's large hands gripped your waist, pulling your back against his hard, muscular chest. A shiver ran through you as his familiar touch ignited your skin, his fingers massaging your flesh with an urgency born of built-up lust.
“All day, I've been thinking about this,” he growled in your ear, his hot breath sending goosebumps across your skin. His lips brushed against your neck, trailing kisses down to your shoulder. At the same time, his hand slid down your stomach, then your navel, until it reached your cunt. Two thick fingers parted your folds, stroking your entrance with an experienced touch. You could feel his cock poking your ass, and as the good girlfriend you were, you arched your back, grinding your hips along his shaft, giving him the attention he craved.
Your passion was well hidden behind the symphony of moans and the sound of water hitting the tile floor, which echoed.
USSTRATCOM was hell, and brutal training made many recruits desperate to blow off steam. For you? That resulted in earning the title of barracks bunny.
But Leon? You liked him too much to reduce him to a notch on your belt, so you avoided him as much as you could since he caught on. Easier said than done being Krauser's top two recruits.
And Krauser? Nothing got past him. He knew exactly what had you both distracted, and he knew how to fix it.
ao3 ⌖ wc: 14.5k ⌖ insp
part _ of three’s company
tags: Leon Kennedy/Reader/Jack Krauser, m/f/m smut, cisfem!reader, mostly leon/reader but also spitroasting, repressed feelings, p in v, creampie, degradation, slut shaming, begging, orgasm denial, cockdrunkenness, overstimulation, hair pulling, voyeurism, krauser backseat gaming from the cuck chair, krauser is a sadist, boot kink, dacryphilia, corruption?, slapping, choking, knife play, extremely dubious consent/noncon (reader enjoys/is non-resistant but the dove is in hospice, you’ve been warned)
a/n: I would like to apologize to feminism and also to god. wc is like 80% spice
Personal lives are nonexistent for the poor souls who train at USSTRATCOM; in fact, they’re outright forbidden. But the human will is a stubborn thing, and experiencing constant, extreme conditions makes many recruits willing to do extreme things to fulfill any personal desire at all. Whether it be sneaking a book to their bunk or rubbing one out in the showers, there’s only one rule: don't get caught.
But none are more stubborn than you and Leon Kennedy. It's why you’d each survived the experiences that landed you in military custody in the first place. You’re too stubborn to fail, too hard-headed to die. At least that’s what Krauser always says; that that’s how you both so quickly rose to be his two most-promising recruits
But being on Major Krauser's pedestal came with crippling pressure to keep ahold of his fickle approval. Every trainee lives under his constant scrutiny, and no slip-up is too small to go unnoticed. And his attention, good or bad, isn't something anyone wants to have.
Krauser stated his goal explicitly on the very first day of training— "I will break you" —and he makes good on that promise every single day. Those who he sees as weak are given extra drills and rounds in the fighting ring until they puke from overexertion, and those he believes in are pushed past their limits, resulting in the exact same end.
So to say that you’re stressed would be a laughable understatement, and you blow off steam in equal measure when you can. And since you’re constantly reduced to nothing but a primal instinct to survive, your vice of choice is somewhat primal as well.
You’re a classic barracks bunny. Sue you for having needs, but there are worse things to be. Besides, all female recruits are on a steady diet of birth control, so the number of risks are relatively few.
Leon, however, didn’t exactly seem to approve. He never brought it up, but you once locked eyes with him as you snuck out of the men’s barracks, and it didn’t take a genius to guess what you’d been doing there at such a late hour. He’d never make you feel bad about it, and you hardly had time to dwell on it in the scarce minutes of the day not spent training or sleeping, but you were sure you caught a sour look of disapproval in his eyes.
You and Leon were once as close to friends as anyone could be in a hellscape like USSTRATCOM, so if you’re being honest, yeah, you’re a bit embarrassed that he’d caught you like that, and you haven’t been able to fight off the pangs of guilt you feel in his presence now. So although the topic has gone untouched, it's been a little tense between you ever since; just enough to notice but not enough to address.
Besides, the kind of tension is the only thing that’s new between you and Leon. Tension sprouted within the very first days of group training and had grown ever since, and other people noticed, too. They all chalked it up to being competitive rivals, but it was anything but that.
You have the fattest, most hopeless crush on him ever. Hell, you’re one bad day or BOW incident away from admitting that you’re in love.
That’s what makes you feel so guilty about the subtle glint of disappointment you keep finding in Leon's gaze now. Wondering what he thinks about you makes you beyond anxious, and you doubt you'll ever have the time or courage to find out.
There’s a reason you sneak off into nearly everyone's barracks but his, after all: you like him far too much to seek him out for a quick and dirty indulgence. Leon means far more to you than a notch on your belt, and you wouldn’t be able to stand it if you put yourself in a position where he categorized you as a hookup and nothing more.
But what cuts the most? Assuming he feels disappointed in you might be wishful thinking. He most likely thinks you’re a whore, that you’re reckless and irresponsible, probably shares all the typical judgments you know get whispered behind your back.
Honestly, you wouldn’t be surprised if he hates you with how he’s been acting cold.
So despite how much you want him and how often you imagine his face while someone else is balls-deep inside, you’ll never invite yourself into his room, much less admit your feelings for him. Plus, it’s kind of comforting to pretend sleeping around will help you get over your crush.
But your vice of choice has more consequences than those of emotional repression. You have to sacrifice a non-insignificant amount of your already scarce sleep hours to sneak around— and today, the exhaustion has finally caught up to you.
Your aim isn't as sharp, you don't anticipate the most obvious counterattacks, and you’re all-around slower on your feet. Careless mistakes that are totally unlike you, big and small. And no matter how hard you try to muster your strength and focus, dammit, you just can’t stop fucking up.
And none of it got past Major Krauser. That results in him keeping you late for after-hours training, but he isn't one to make a recruit suffer alone. Knowing you’ve dragged someone else into it is a part of the punishment in itself.
So naturally, being the top two recruits, he chose Leon to join you. Just your fucking luck.
That's how you find yourself here in the indoor ring somewhere after 23:00 hours, the air pushed from your lungs as you crash back-first onto the floor with a knife against your throat for the umpteenth time in a row.
Krauser is seriously a sick bastard for making you spar with sharpened weapons, by the way, but that isn't breaking news. Just another "privilege" that comes with being his top recruits.
Leon never goes easy on you, either, but this feels different. Like he really does hate you and is taking his frustrations out with each painful blow to your body. The idea doesn't help you focus, and it isn't long before another miscalculation sends you back against the ground, staring at your tired eyes in the reflection of a knife that would've gouged them out in anyone else's hands.
"You're tired. It’s pathetic. You think the enemy will care that you didn’t get your beauty sleep?”
“No, sir,” you reply through a wheeze as you try to recover your breathing.
“Again.”
Despite your screaming muscles and the tiredness clouding your head, you stand up at once. You make yourself small as you shift your weight between your feet, poised to move wherever you’ll need to. As your combat knife shines in the gymnasium lights where you hold it in front of you, raised within your fist, you look Leon dead in the eyes and gear up for yet another fight.
“Go!”
Leon beats you to the opening move. You dodge to the side. For some reason you put your fucking hand out to block him, and it does nothing to stop his knee from reeling straight into your gut.
You cough and sputter but remain on your feet, stepping back to create a touch of distance to calculate your next move. But you’re more tired than ever now, and your body can’t keep up with your brain.
As riled up as Leon is, the late hours are getting to him, too.
In a second, he came at you again with a strong left hook. Too stong for an opening blow, especially with a fist instead of his weapon. At last, you see an opening for attack.
You use his momentum against him, pulling him through by the wrist. He twists sideways to stay upright, and needing to adjust your own balance, you send a sharp kick onto his back. Your eyes widen with adrenaline as it lands just as harshly as you intended; the upper hand finally seems within your reach.
Or not. He hooks an arm around the back of your knee while your other leg is still mid-kick, and with nothing more than a shove to your chest, you’re on the ground again, pinned in the exact same position as before.
You blink once at Leon who’s looking down at you with a similarly confused expression. Although you both fit the title, ‘rookie’ has long since been exclusively reserved for Leon. But you were the one who was called here tonight to be punished; why was Krauser drilling him?
Your knit brows turn to widened eyes as Leon attempts to rise but is stopped by a boot on his back.
“Why don’t you tell me what’s on your mind, pretty boy?”
It’s clearly a trap question, and the pet name is laced with anything but admiration. Leon purses his lips and opens them as he attempts to think of an acceptable answer, but he’s obviously at a loss. You wonder what sadistic plan Krauser has in store as he awaits Leon’s response, and you grow somewhat fearful for the younger man.
Though he speaks with a sure tone, Leon only manages a single word, like he thinks he can get around it by gathering more information first.
“Sir?”
Krauser adding weight to his stance on Leon’s back is all it takes to know it didn’t work.
“Do you think I’m stupid?”
“No, sir,” you and Leon say in unison.
“I wasn’t talking to you,” Krauser spat in your direction.
“Then tell me,” Krauser continued, his attention returning solely to Leon, “why you’re face-to-face with what’s distracting you, and you can’t tell me what it is. Do you think I haven’t noticed?”
You get halfway through the thought of “noticed what?” before Krauser pushes Leon down further, so close that the wispy ends of his bangs brush against your cheekbones. You gulp against the knife that still hovers over your neck, but the sharpened edge doesn’t make you feel nearly as nervous as whatever the fuck is happening right now.
You’re used to being in close proximity with Leon in training, but this is entirely different. It’s intimate. Uncomfortably so. It makes your head spin too fast to think about what Krauser just implied.
Instead, your attention is preoccupied with avoiding Leon’s eyes like you’ve been doing for weeks now, but with him this close-range, he’s everywhere, so close that your eyes threaten to cross. You can see every pore on his nose, the moles that constellate his neck, the lines in his forehead where he’ll have wrinkles in ten or so years.
God, he even looks good this up close and personal. Every detail makes your heart skip and your ears get hot, even in a nerve-racking situation like this. Even when you look away from his stupidly beautiful face, all you can see are his biceps straining as he holds himself over you, flexing against his shirt as he holds himself up against Krauser’s unyielding boot.
Your adolescent anguish is cut short by Krauser’s attention returning to you.
“That’s why you’re so tired today, isn’t it? From being in this position?”
Oh. Oh no.
A cold wave shoots through you as you realize what all of this is really about. Of course word got around about your late-night escapades; you just didn’t think it’d find its way to Krauser unless he caught you in the act. You now know what a fool you were for ever thinking that.
Krauser and Leon are by far the last people you're ready to address it with, and Krauser just had to bring it up while he keeps you pinned inches beneath the latter.
It has to be some kind of divine punishment. This is the absolute worst-case scenario. Far worse than you ever could've imagined. The only place to hide is behind the refuge of your eyelids, so you squeeze them tightly shut.
Krauser keeps on twisting the metaphorical knife with a devious laugh that rumbles in his chest.
“You’re awful quiet, rookie. Not gonna defend your lady’s honor? Or, don’t tell me… are you the only one she hasn’t fucked?”
Your heartbeat turns into a war drum that threatens to beat through your ribs. You're sure Leon can feel it thrum in the air between you. You pray to god in all his mercy to open the ground and swallow you whole, but no such thing will happen.
Leon, however, is praying to a wrathful god to smite Krauser where he stands. He can’t handle it. The humiliation, the intentional offensiveness. The stunning accuracy. Being confronted with it in such a demeaning way. He could maybe take it on the chin if it'd only been about himself, but Leon has long since become protective of you, and he carries your degradation as if it's his own. It's the perfect setup to make him seethe, and Krauser pushes him further with every syllable.
“I asked you a question. Have you fucked her or not?”
Leon’s chest becomes thick with heat as his rage dials up to a fever pitch, nostrils flaring and knuckles whitening around the combat knife. It's hardly at your neck anymore, but you're keenly aware of it.
You're beyond uneasy, but you can’t do anything. You can’t move except to squirm, you don’t have a white flag to raise, and you don’t dare speak out of turn. Anything you say right now won’t be helpful anyway; you’re ultimately the reason you three are here, and any attempt to deescalate would absolutely be thrown right back in your face.
You scream internally to Leon as you see his anger dial up to ten, hoping he’s close enough that if your thoughts are simply loud enough they’ll be able to reach him.
Don’t put yourself on the line for me, you think over and over. But telepathy doesn’t happen to be a weapon in your arsenal, and Leon seldom possesses the ability to bite his tongue. So however reckless it might be, he tries to change the subject by steering it towards an argument.
“Go fuck yourself, sir.”
You wince as you prepare for Krauser to skin him alive, but to your surprise, he doesn’t take the bait. Leon avoiding the question is answer enough, so Krauser coolly clicks his tongue, and his level-headedness makes the situation all the more terrifying.
“Just as I thought. Is that why you threw all those haymakers? Want to keep pinning her down just to get a taste? You know damn well that won’t work on the field.”
It’s insane, the way Krauser can tie anything back to training, but his words hit right where he aimed them, and it’s Leon’s turn to be unable to face you as he tries to keep his cool. Tough work, since Krauser’s on a roll.
“She’s obviously easy; why haven’t you just asked her, Kennedy?”
Leon’s jaw sets tighter.
“Afraid that she’d reject you?”
Krauser hits a bullseye. It’s all too clear now that humiliation is Krauser’s goal, and neither of you can leave without it being shoved down your throats. Watching Leon reel between emotions is giving you secondhand whiplash, but it’s only a few seconds before he grits his teeth and lets go of his dignity.
“Because I—” he swallows hard, “I like her, sir.”
The confession hits you like a battering ram, and for a moment, the room is so quiet your ears ring.
He doesn’t hate you. He likes you. A part of you could cry you were so happy, but with the situation at hand, how could you possibly be content? It brings on a wave of emotions that surfaces all the ones you’d been shoving down for months.
Feelings like that are impossible to foster in a hellhole like this. Sleeping around is one thing, but romance? What could even come of it being mutual? For those reasons and many more, you’d accepted it being hopeless a long time ago. And now that Krauser knew— and had apparently set this all up because he’d known for a while— you were now sure that he’d brought you here just to murder your dreams in cold blood.
So there you and Leon lay on top of each other, no warmth or sweetness about it, faced with each other as symbols of your failures to cope. All you can do is wait for Krauser to rip your hearts out and incinerate them so they’ll never distract you again.
“What a goddamn sweetheart,” Krauser tuts, shaking his head. “You’re too soft. And you’re letting it get in the way instead of taking the clear fucking solution.”
The air goes still as you brace for whatever twisted “solution” he might have in mind, mentally preparing to run drills until sunrise or engage in some sick psychological simulation where you’d come to hate each other. Either would be perfectly up Krauser’s alley.
You were once again a fool to think you could predict him. You never would have expected what happened next.
He crushes his boot into Leon's lower back until his navel is fixed solidly against your center. Hissing at the sudden contact, Leon swiftly pushes away as much as he can, but it isn’t much; although you aren’t quite face-to-face anymore, the Major’s full bodyweight keeps Leon’s lower half trapped flush against you.
Startled astonishment washes over your face as you realize what exactly it is you feel pressed against you: at some point during tonight’s training, Leon got hard. You hadn’t noticed, but Krauser apparently did.
Oh my god you feel like an idiot. You were too distracted by your fucking feelings to notice that he was hard. What the actual fuck.
You’re trying not to panic. You’re exactly where you want to be, but it’s in the least conceivable scenario possible. You scan Leon’s face wildly to find some sort of confidence in him that you can hold onto, a muscle memory of the looks you’ve often exchanged to get through training, but he’s just as frantic as you are as he tries to stay still, to not move an inch against you.
Leon is very keenly aware of the fact that you didn’t ask for this, haven’t said that it’s okay, and the shame he feels at his exposed arousal sits like a death grip around his neck. He has no reason to think you were even interested in him; you hadn’t said anything since whatever the fuck this is began— and if you didn’t want it, what could you even do about it? It felt like a noose around his neck, and Krauser kept dragging him by it, tightening the rope with each syllable he spoke.
“Close encounters really do it for you, huh? You like holding a pretty girl down, feeling her struggle against your cock? Maybe you’re not such a boy scout; you’re more like me than you think.”
Any thoughts you had about his statement went in one ear and out the other as Krauser moves his heel to rut Leon back and forth against you, grinding his cock smoothly and firmly against your clothed cunt. You nearly choke at the electric current it sends rushing through your core.
Even though Leon isn’t moving on his own accord, even if the inner war he’s waging against himself is written all over his face, he’s pressed so staunchly against you that you feel every twitch of his cock as it grows harder.
It shouldn’t send a rush of thrill through you, but it does.
You bite your lip as another ebb of downward pressure increases the friction and makes the feeling too bright to ignore. Just as Leon can’t help his body reacting to yours, you’re resistless to the way you unconsciously arch into him.
“Don’t be so shy. Look at her, she likes it.”
That makes Leon finally look at you head-on, and your face floods with a blush so hot it burns, because it’s undeniably true. You did like it. It felt good. A mental hell alongside physical heaven, but heaven nonetheless.
His hips grind into your core again—shaky, but this time of his own volition— before he raggedly whispers, "Do you…? Do you want me?”
You struggle to keep the intensity of his gaze, but you know what he’s really asking for: the truth. You try to show as much surety as you can as you nod your head against the padded ground, sharing it like a lifeline.
“Y-yeah. Yes.”
Krauser interjects with an eye roll and his trademark condescension. “You’re still too goddamn soft. You still have a knife in your hand, for god’s sake, that’s all the permission you need.”
Twisted fucking bastard, Leon thinks, his grip tightening around the hilt of the blade where he holds it beside your head. He stares straight into your eyes with an intensity that says he isn’t readying it for you. Your gut churns all the same.
Luckily for you both, the major moves on from it. His boot leaves Leon’s back and he shudders in relief, exhaling deeply as he’s able to part his body from yours.
It’s a short-lived reprieve as a broad shadow falls from overhead. Krauser looms from above with menacing casualness, thumbs hooked in his belt loops as he cocks his head in amusement.
"Go on, then. Kiss her."
You freeze in place and watch Leon as you remain stuck under him, breathlessly waiting to see if he takes the opportunity, heart pounding as you wonder if he should.
Leon hardly pauses. An order is an order, and he’s getting used to that, as unconventional as they may be. He huffs, leans in halfway, and then retracts another inch; knits his brows together and shakes his head, either deciding against it or shaking off his last bits of resistance. You couldn’t tell which, at least not until he suddenly closes the distance.
It's the gentlest kiss you've ever received. His plush and impassioned lips skim lightly over yours as he still struggles to take what he so clearly wants. And god, you want him too, and you lift your chin in an attempt to press your mouths closer together, but it’s no use; he retreats just enough to leave you attached by the cupid's bow and a brushing of noses.
Krauser is less than impressed by the soft display. Gripping Leon by the crown of his hair, he admonishes, "I said kiss her, rookie," and all but crushes his face into yours.
You inhale sharply as Leon's lips fuse together intensely with your own. He twitches in surprise, grinding into you again inadvertently. The friction evokes a needy rasp from him, lips parting from the sound just enough for your tongues to meet— fleetingly at first, then reckless and deep as passion wins out against restraint.
Leon grinds again, this time with intention as you start to melt into each other, having nowhere to go but further into each other’s bodies. Krauser's hand leaves Leon's scalp as he becomes pleased, finally, with his energy. He circles like a shark as he keeps a watchful eye.
Leon becomes more intense as he gains full room to move on his own, like the levee broke for his desire to surge violently and freely, a desire that’d been held back for months of anguish.
The knife he’d held became forgotten on the ground as his hands grasped for you without instruction, shakily at first, then fervently all around you. His calloused fingertips run across your jawline and down your neck before roaming to your breast, but he doesn't squeeze, not until you arch to push into him yourself.
It instantly gives him permission to squeeze your flesh firmly, and every movement suddenly becomes urgent. Your tongues clash sloppily, his stiff bulge ruts back and forth against your core, and you can’t help but clamor for him in turn— your thighs hook tight around his waist to pull him further in, to help you relieve the growing pressure between your legs as your head becomes thick with need.
You nearly forgot Krauser was there at all until he speaks again with a gruff and low tone you've never heard from him before.
"Good. Keep going.”
You can't deny that someone else being in the room turns your brain somewhat mushy. In fact, it turns you on. You're adventurous, sure, but that's a shocking revelation even for you.
More shocking than that, the third party is your major, and he's telling Leon what to do as if he's giving normal orders. Those are ideas you'd laugh yourself sick at half an hour ago, but now here you are, and you feel your underwear slicken with each directive word and the ache to be permitted more.
But unbeknownst to you, that's the first of many things Krauser will awaken in you tonight. Right now, you don't even know how far he plans to take this. But you've spent months being primed to do whatever insane things he demands, and what you do know is that you'd do just about anything to earn more of the young man on top of you. So ever the good soldier, you let your commander lead you wherever he sees fit, and Leon does just the same.
“Take her top off.”
The cool gymnasium air contrasts with Leon's warm hand as it drags your shirt up your torso, leaving goosebumps in its wake as you shuffle to allow him to lift it over your head, lips parting only as long as they need to. Your top becomes discarded somewhere on the floor, forgotten before it lands.
You tremble under Leon's touch as he roams the soft curves of your stomach, gliding upward until he traces the top hem of your sports bra. He hooks his fingertips under the hem and pauses with trepidation, resting his forehead against yours as he bucks into you. By the look on his face, his trousers are becoming a painful confinement.
Leon waits for permission or to have the rug pulled from under him and be told this is all a sick joke, until Krauser gives the former. Just not before making him sweat first.
“You wanna fuck her, don’t you?”
“Yeah,” Leon shudders while looking down at you, relishing the slightest touch he currently has on your body.
“That’s ‘yes, sir.’ How many times have you jerked off thinking about it?”
Leon gulps before answering, feeling every ounce as humiliated as Krauser intended him to.
“T-too many to count, sir.”
“Then take it off.”
It crosses your mind that no one’s asked if you’re fine with being stripped in front of an audience of two, but you’re not exactly apt to complain about Leon getting you naked.
Leon fumbles briefly with the tight elastic band before it’s whisked over your head and added to the growing collection of forgotten garments on the floor mat. You turn your head to the side, shying away as Leon takes in a full view of your nipples as they pebble in the cool air. But when you look to the side, your gaze lands on Krauser.
“Mistake” is your first thought. “Was it?” is the immediate second. All you know is that he’s leaned coolly against the edge of the arena rubbing his thick bulge through his pants as he watches intently. The sight makes you feel like you’ve caught on fire, and you quickly look away.
You have no more time to dwell on it as Leon pinches your nipple between his index finger and his thumb, rolling it between them with a reverent sigh at your reaction, then pulling it up and letting it drop. He repeats it on the other side, and your thighs clench around his hips as the stimulation goes straight to your core.
You can barely stand the teasing, and your hands find their way underneath Leon’s shirt. The feeling of his taut abs does nothing to quell you, though. It only drives home that the current sensations you’re being afforded aren't anywhere near enough. But right as you feel like you’re going mad, it all comes to a stop.
“Sit up, rookie.”
You whine as Leon does as he’s told, your hands leaving the heat of his stomach as he sits back on his haunches, , still with the exception of the labored rise and fall of his chest, his hands clasped behind his back, and your spit still wet on his lower lip. You’re left deprived of all touch, breathless and exposed, brows twisted up with neediness as you wait.
Krauser’s heavy and measured footsteps towards you are menacing. You don’t dare to look until he comes into view on his own, and from the steep angle up that you have, the large tent in his pants is imposing. It nearly obstructs his face as he stands directly over you.
“Pretty…” He hums as he appraises the skin that’s been exposed on you so far, and it’s perhaps the first kind thing he’s ever said to you. It sounds foreign in his voice, but then he goes right back to his usual demands. “Strip down, all of it.”
You hesitate for a brief moment before sitting up and unlacing your boots with shaky hands, all too aware of the eyes on you as you discard them and lay back down to fumble with your belt and zipper. It feels all the more exposing to be undressing yourself as opposed to it being done for you somehow, and you try to push away the feeling of awkwardness as you raise your hips and push your bottoms down in one go. You keep your knees together as much as you can as you foot them off of your ankles and kick them away beside you, and rest back down, now totally bare.
The cold air is nothing against the heat of their gazes as you lie there totally bare, awaiting the first touch. It comes from the rubber of Krauser’s boot as he parts your legs with it.
If Leon weren’t already on his knees, he would’ve fallen to them right then and there. He practically salivates as your pussy is revealed before him, and every nervous twitch of yours makes your wetness glisten in the fluorescent lights. His hands flex where they’re clasped behind him, and his throat tightens as his cock becomes painfully hard within his pants. Still fully clothed, he feels hot, far too hot, as the first traces of sweat begin to form on his skin from the sheer effort it takes not to dive into you.
Krauser hums at the sight of you and takes the toe of his boot to the soft crease where thigh meets ass, and lets the rubber press onto your flesh to pull your cunt open to them. You whine as you feel your slick pool out as your opening flutters for touch.
“Look at that,” Krauser muses. “No wonder everyone wants a taste. A pussy like that is just begging to be ruined. Isn’t it, Kennedy?”
What is Leon supposed to do here? Say he doesn’t want to ruin you for anyone else? It’d be a bold-faced lie, and he’d agree with just about anything Krauser says right now if it lets him get what’s being dangled right in front of him.
“Y-yes, sir.”
“Your cock even big enough to ruin her? Or is that why you haven’t gotten with her?”
For perhaps the first time in Leon’s life, he suddenly feels unsure. He’s never been insecure about his size before, never had a reason to be. He knows he’s well-endowed. But the major always has impossibly high standards. What if this is no different? What will happen if he doesn’t meet them now?
Leon gulps before answering with a shaky breath, although he tries to sound more sure. “Yes, sir.”
“Let’s see it then.”
Leon nearly gets cold feet, but seeing you spread before him is enough to throw his modesty to the wind. His fingers are clumsy in their quickness as he undoes his pants just enough to get his cock free, and he hisses at the contact of his fingers pulling it out by the base. He can’t stop himself from pumping it once between his fingers, but it takes nothing more than a disapproving glance from Krauser for him to put his hands back at his sides.
His fists become white-knuckled as his hardness hangs obstinately in the air. It’s framed by his still-on t-shirt falling over his navel, the waistband of his briefs sitting snugly under his balls, and his cock springing free between his parted zipper; not much skin is showing, really, but it’s all the more lewd a sight for it.
“Oh, shit,” is all you manage to breathe out.
Short, dark blond hairs silhouette the base, and his tip is an angry pink as it begins to shine with the emergence of a clear bead of precum. It hangs heavily in the air, jolting up once as he bites his lip in arousal, and you catch sight of the coursing vein that runs up the side. He’s long and so thick in girth, and your toes curl at the thought of him trying to fit it all inside of you.
God, what a fool you’ve been for jumping between barracks for sex that was often unsatisfactory and only a means to an end. All this time, you could’ve had Leon instead.
It’s an undeniably captivating sight, even for Krauser, who inhales through his teeth as he too takes it in with his eyes. But still, he isn’t one to give his praise so easily.
“Not bad. Let’s hope you know how to use it.”
You whine in surprise as Krauser suddenly fixes the toe of his boot into you and slowly circles around your clit, and Leon grimaces as he tastes copper from how hard he bites down on his lip.
“Because if you don’t,” Krauser taunts, “I’ll have to take over.”
Your pulse soars at the prospect, fear and arousal intertangling into one. Whether or not that’d happen lies entirely with Leon, but it could very well be a trap; the same as being told that training could end early if you do well enough, but no one can ever do well enough for Krauser. He gets too much sick pleasure in dangling hope over your head, fully knowing you’ll never reach it and enjoying watching you struggle to anyway, and this situation is no different.
A moan leaves your parted lips as Krauser presses his boot more firmly into your clit and rubs it left to right. He chuckles thinly at your response.
“She really is easy, soaking just from my boot. Fucking filthy.” He glides it up and down to literally rub it in, making your legs twitch as he presses into your clit, then looks at you and nods towards Leon. “You like what you see?”
“Mmhm,” you nod needily through pursed lips as you tremble under the crude ministrations against your pussy your eyes still fixed on Leon’s increasingly leaking cock.
He lands a soft kick to your clit, nowhere near enough to hurt, but enough to feel the threat and a sharp jolt of pleasure up your spine.
“Yes, sir,” you correct yourself breathlessly.
He spreads your slick a little more, purely playing with it now as he addresses Leon again.
“Don’t let it go to your head. How many cocks have been in here just since training started…? Bet this whore could cum just from my goddamn boot.”
Krauser finally steps back, leaving you shaking and untouched yet again, your lips pressed into a thin line as you pray the question remains rhetorical. It does, at least for you.
“But you don’t mind, do you, Kennedy? You like her enough that you’re alright with sloppy seconds? Thirds? Twentieths maybe..?”
Leon's chest flares. Your body count has never once factored into his envy. He just wants you— evidently, by any means necessary. And you being degraded like that? It stokes his anger all over again, and he once again fails to bite his tongue, the contempt clear in his tone as he speaks through a snarl.
“She’s the whore? You’re the one treating your recruits like a harem, sir.”
Krauser seizes Leon by the bangs, making the younger man yelp as he’s yanked forward by the hair until he’s on all fours in front of you, his face inches away from your cunt. Leon hisses as thick fingers pull viciously at his roots and shake his head in front of your center like a cruel owner admonishing a dog.
“Shut your goddamn mouth— put it to good use before I fuck her and make you watch.”
With no precursor at all, Leon is shoved face-first between your legs. You gasp in shock at the suddenness; with no prior warning for him to begin with any sort of finesse, he lands against you with panting, parted lips, his nose is squished down from the position, pressed just beside your clit.
It takes Leon a second to collect himself, though he does so as quickly as possible once he wraps his mind around his position, nose deep in the part of you he’s been starving for the most.
Krauser continues to hold him there harshly even as he begins to lap frantically.
“Where’s all that snark now, huh?”
Leon doesn’t answer— Krauser doesn’t pull him back for him to be able to— instead he moans hard at the taste of your cunt.
Your folds wetten with Leon’s spit as his face collects your arousal, and you whine continuously as he sloppily makes out with your cunt. Being constantly pushed into you makes each stroke of his tongue press firmly wherever it lands around and within the whole of your cunt. It drags up and down, drawing quick and sloppy circles around the expanse of your vulva and the soft skin between your lower lips, flicking over your clit at the top and darting fully into your hole at the bottom.
It’s so vulgar and divine, but it’s too intense too suddenly, and your thighs clamp down around Leon’s head. Krauser just presses him in even further and Leon sucks your clit in compliance, flicking his tongue against the bud inside the vacuum of his mouth, and you yelp and tense your legs harder around his face. But Krauser still has one hand free, and he uses it to hold you open by the knee nearest to him, and despite your whining efforts, his grip is far too strong to budge free of.
You groan in relief as Leon moves on from his onslaught of your clit and dig your nails into the padded floor as he assaults the whole of your core instead, all while Krauser keeps your legs spread wide for him.
The wet sounds of his tongue along with frantic moans from you both fill the room as you reel towards your seventh heaven, and Krauser can tell— of course he can. It’d be obvious to anyone that you’re on the brink from the way you increasingly arch against the floor. But the absolute sight of you isn’t the only thing that makes it obvious; you’re finding it increasingly difficult to muzzle yourself and you mumble pathetically between labored breaths.
“I– ah, ahhh, Leon fuck— oh-hh…”
And it’s borderline petulant the way you whine when Leon’s mouth leaves you all at once. Your head shoots up in shock at the loss, looking to see what caused your release to be denied, but nothing had happened except for Krauser’s cruel whim.
You’re equally shocked to see the look on Leon’s face. Still on all fours and held back by his hair, his mouth is swollen, pink, and shining with slick from the bridge of his nose to the cleft of his chin. His moans are light as if he’s breaking fever and his eyes are half-lidded like he’s drunk. His cock hangs neglected between his legs with a thick string of glossy precum connected from the head to where it’s dripped down to the floor. But the most shocking of all is the faint smile that pulls at the corners of his puffy mouth as Krauser pulls his hair a little tighter.
‘How’s she taste, huh?”
“Incredible, sir.”
“Yeah? You taste any cock still in there?”
Leon’s nostrils flare and his mouth opens into a snarl, but before he can spit whatever insult he has in mind, Krauser yanks his head back painfully and growls.
“Better watch that mouth, kid, or you’ll be eating my cum out of her next.”
Krauser sends him back on his knees with a shove to the head and then rises to stand again, jostling his hard-on thickly through his pants as yet another threat. “Or maybe I’ll shut you up another way, eh?”
The silent grimace on Leon’s face is much to Krauser’s amusement as he berates him with a smile, still stroking his bulge.
“That’s what I thought. Fucking ungrateful. I let you eat her out and you’re acting like a damn brat. You think I should let you fuck her? Huh?”
Swallowing his pride, Leon answers. “Please, sir.”
“That’s what I thought. Beg.”
That’s a demand Leon is a touch too stubborn to easily do. He clenches his eyes and grinds his teeth, still reeling from the lack of touch, and twitches restlessly as the words struggle to come.
But Krauser is impatient. He expresses it through a dull backhand to Leon’s cheek.
“That’s an order, Kennedy.”
Although the slap is ultimately harmless (and could even be considered kind compared to the many blows you’ve both received from the major throughout training), a sense of fear shoots through you. You suddenly realize just how badly this could end if it goes south. You’re still keenly aware that this began by sparring with real knives, a testament to how insane your instructor truly is.
But your wires are well and truly crossed, and although you tremble on the floor, it all feels thrilling just the same. You’re just as sick as Krauser, maybe, the way you ache for Leon to submit so he can give you what you need. Luckily for your throbbing heat and unluckily for Leon’s dignity, he complies.
“Please,” he begins through his teeth, “let me fuck her, sir.”
“You can do better than that. You’ve wanted this for how long…? Let her hear it.”
Your breath hitches at the thought that Krauser has seen what you couldn’t all this time. It’s reinforced by the way Leon hangs his head and his brows change from being knit with anger to upturning in a pained plea as he speaks straight into you.
“Please let me fuck her, sir. Wanted to for so damn long, I—” His cock twitches in the air as if to attest to it being true. “Wanna show her why she doesn’t need to sleep around, that I’d treat her better than all of them, that I am better. Tasted so good, she’s so— I just— fuck, I’d do just about anything, major, please.”
Leon looks up to search for a sign it’s good enough while you do a double take at such lewd words coming from his lips.
In a change of tone, Krauser speaks low and deliberately to the young man.
“You’re going to do exactly as I say. And I mean exactly. If not, I'll take over. You won't get to cum and I’ll make sure she never sneaks off into your bed. Understood?”
Leon nods rapidly and whispers the affirmative under his breath. Krauser nods once and turns around as he gives his first command.
“Take your shirt off and pull your pants down enough to do the job.”
As Krauser strides away, you and Leon shoot a look at each other behind his back. It’s perhaps your first unobserved moment of eye contact the entire day, you realize, and the brief moment seems to expand into something big and desperate and warm, like something that’s just yours. Then Krauser’s heavy steps land in the room and urge Leon’s hands to move.
Your eyes float down over his cut figure as his clothing finally joins yours on the floor. You’ve seen him shirtless countless times, sure, but never with the opportunity to stare, and certainly never with his pants around his thighs.
Your knees subconsciously part ever so slightly at the whole of him; his ashen hair unkempt and askew from Krauser’s disrespect to it, the valleys and peaks of each muscle on his whole torso and arms, and the kind of cock you thought only exists in porn you have to pay for—all of it flushed pink with pent-up desire for you and you alone.
The abrasive whir of a zipper steals your attention. Your eyes flick to the side and you see the major lean against the wall at the edge of the combat ring, pulling his own cock free as he settles in to watch. You feel like you see something you shouldn’t have for some reason, even though you hardly see his dick at all— and you yourself are naked and dripping on the floor, how can you still be embarrassed? Still, you immediately look away with your heart hammering in your chest.
“Kneel between her legs. Don’t touch yourself.”
You part your legs to make room and the flush spreads up from Leon’s chest to his cheeks as he shuffles forward on his knees. He winces as the head of his cock grazes hot against your folds, but he doesn’t dare to do anything about it.
“Slap it with your cock.”
Leon shudders as he holds the base and brings his head down onto your plump clit twice, pauses briefly, and then does it again and again at Krauser’s encouragement. Wet plap plap’s fill the room along with the sound of you sputtering at the teasing.
You fight the urge to curl your hips to get him to push it in; you know he won’t and can’t until he’s given the go-ahead. But it’s torture for you both as Krauser gives him no further instruction for minutes. Only when you both strain and cry out like you’ll break does he give his next demand.
“Stop.”
Not the one you want. Leon’s hands claw into his thighs to keep them fixed away from himself, and you feel hot all over as the head of his tip rests heavily on top of your clit.
Tense and restrained, you push your luck and start grinding against it, careful not to move to much to avoid detection. But if nothing else, Leon’s whine gives it away. Krauser doesn’t seem to mind.
“What a cock-whore,” he says through a devilish smile as he strokes himself leisurely. “She’s just dying for it. You still sure you can satisfy her?”
Leon can only moan and nod in response, and for once, the lack of formalities is accepted.
“Put it in. Stop when you bottom out. Let’s see how much she can take.”
As sadistic and unorthodox as Krauser’s methods are, the results of them are undeniable in the way Leon follows his orders at once.
He rests a hand against your thigh, his thumb rubbing up and down on the soft skin soothingly, as his other guides his shaft towards your entrance. You hold your breath as it notches there, and he wastes no time before he steadily sinks in with a hiss.
“Good god, you’re tight,” Leon chokes out as the head slips past your entrance.
You nearly wheeze as it does, your nerves on fire as they’re delivered the feeling they’ve endured all the torturous teasing for. The long shaft of his cock is hot against your walls and heavy as each new inch settles in, his girth burning the tight tissues of your entrance as they try to accommodate it. Despite the struggle, you keen into him, all to eager to take more, totally forgetting that when he gets to the hilt, he’ll stop.
Three long, tempered drags of his cock and he’s finally flush inside of you. His eyes roll back as he stills there, breathing harder than ever as he fights against thrusting instinctually. Your legs twitch as you sit with the feeling of his fat tip flush against your cervix, your walls hardly accommodating the whole of his dick, at least not yet, and Leon squeezes your parted knees with a frayed and empathetic look.
“Oh, oh f-fuck…”
Leon wants—needs— more just as much as you, if not more than, but he tries to focus on enjoying what he's presently afforded, and tries not to so much as think about how close he feels to cumming entirely too early.
“Enough sniveling— fuck her hard.”
Leon feels a pang of regret. He'd thought of this moment so many times before, ran through it like a waking dream on lonely nights spent lying awake in his cot. He’d always imagined starting slow, making you cum on his tongue and fingers before he entered you gently to hear your pretty breathless moans; to cradle you in his arms as he rocks into your perfect cunt, to hold you tight and kiss you all over—
—But that never happened, and while he dreamed of making love to you, you were busy getting railed in another recruit's room. Sometimes within earshot.
It’s an easy command to follow; he'll take what he can get.
Leon withdraws almost entirely before snapping in to the hilt. You cry out as he crashes powerfully against your cervix and fills every sweet spot all at once, acute pain sitting right alongside the overwhelming pleasure as your cunt stretches to its limits around him.
“Oh f-fuck, Leon—"
You cry out as he does it again with even more force this time, crashing into you so brutally that you slide back on the mat, but he just grips your hips to pull you back to him to continue.
With each new punishing thrust his navel smacks loudly against your center, and you desperately grasp at his wrists to hold on as you take it, moaning feverishly until your body adjusts to accommodate the brute impacts he delivers. When you do, it leaves only a fierce and overwhelming pleasure, and you arch off the mat like an animal in heat, writhing into and away from the intensity simultaneously.
He develops a rapid-fire rhythm he grunts in time to. It takes so much effort to take that you quickly become covered in a thin sheen of sweat that has you sliding back on the mat all over again.
“Grab her wrists and pin her down.”
Leon does it instantly, nailing you in place with an iron grip, your wrists fixed on either side of your head. It brings a new angle that has his cock beating mercilessly against your inner sweet spot, and with your ability to move being limited, you moan shamelessly as you take the bombardment.
He can’t keep himself quiet either, though he tries— he babbles through wet lips and grinding teeth as his eyes roll back in his head.
“Oh fuck, baby. Your pussy’s so perfect, god…”
Every time you twist in pleasure he hits a new spot that makes you see stars, and when you push against his hands, the fact that he so easily cages you in makes it all the better. But sweeter than anything, him pinning you down makes you face-to-face with him again.
The faces he makes are plucked straight from euro porn, full of lust as his expression contorts with every wanton moan. His full lips are a plump and rosy pink, occasionally being wetted by his tongue flicking over them mindlessly as he works; his blown pupils making his eyes a darker, oceanic shade of blue that you ache to drown in.
You tip your chin up to try and kiss him. God, how you want to kiss him again. And you're so close together, if you could just—
He looks at your lips and slowly closes the difference, and then—
Krauser barks your name, and you're yanked right out of your immersion.
“Look at me.”
You hesitantly turn your head away from Leon and towards your major. Your throat feels thick as you do, and your mouth goes dry as you see what, in the back of your mind, you knew Krauser has been doing the whole time.
At some point he's taken his shirt off and he stands bare-chested some five feet away, leaning against the edge of the fighting ring with a wide stance, his posture emphasizing the sheer broadness of his build. He's pulled undone his pants enough to pull himself out and nothing more, and now you know that truly every inch of him is imposing as he strokes his large cock with a strong, persistent grip.
Even sheathed in his big hands, it looks fucking huge. Perhaps equal in length to Leon, maybe an inch shorter, but absolutely formidable in girth and decorated in thick, bulging veins. Your breath hitches as you watch him tug hard up the length of it, squeezing out a bead of precum before smearing it slowly back down his length.
Your eyes flit between Krauser’s face and his cock, each one too imposing to settle on. He smirks like he knows the look in your eyes, like many people before have cowered in fear at his size, like he enjoys the terror that flashes in your gaze.
“Tell me what you think,” he tells you, holding his cock up by the base as if he’s arrogantly raising a weapon.
You struggle to speak with Leon holding your jaw tight in his hands and his cock striking the deepest parts of you— I mean jesus, it’s hard to even think coherently with how he’s rearranging your guts. But you don’t want him to be stopped more than you feel queasy, so you attempt it.
“I-I… you’re– oh– uh, ahh, big, and—”
Mercifully, perhaps, Krauser interjects with a ragged chuckle. “Cock-drunk already, huh? Try again. Come on.”
You completely and totally are, and it becomes twice as difficult to speak as Leon puts more weight into his hips, forcing your legs wider and barraging his cock at an even deeper angle in, like fucking you harder is all he can offer to distract you in the event you're watching something you didn’t want to see.
Do you want to see it…? You really don't know. You'd never looked at your instructor through this kind of lens before, and only were now because you were being forced to.
You try again, blubbering through the drool that trickles down the corner of your mouth and onto Leon’s fingers.
“You’re… it’s… oh—”
The air is pushed from your lungs as Leon sends his next thrust into you with aggressive force, sending your head tipping back as your eyes roll and a loud, wet smack echoes off the gymnasium walls.
“So fucking useless…” Krauser grumbles. “Can’t take a little hard fucking without turning stupid? Choke her out, Kennedy; give ‘er a reason she can’t speak.”
With a grunt, Leon wraps a hand around the whole of your neck. Not enough to hurt, just enough to press you into the floor by it. Still, his ragged breath shakes in surprise at his own lack of hesitation.
He’s even more surprised that he doesn’t hate it and that you don’t seem to either. He tests the waters and squeezes a little tighter, drawing a strangled moan from you that clearly isn’t from pain.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck…” he hisses in time with each thrust, swearing more at himself than anything.
He feels like he’s teetering on the edge of something dangerous. He shouldn’t think this is so hot. He could actually hurt you here.
Your cunt clamps down on him as you gasp, and something new washes over him. He grits his teeth and squeezes hard.
You sputter silently as your airway becomes constricted and something daunting builds in your core. Your pulse pounds in your skull as the oxygen in your brain grows stale and dies, you feel your muscles locking up, and you know you’d be moaning if you could make any noun at all.
Your vision slowly darkens around the edges, obscuring the vicious look on Leon’s face that sits in your periphery. In the center of the vignette stands the sight of Krauser’s hand working himself faster. Leon’s hold on your throat and the constant torrent against your inner walls are equally violent, and your pleasure grows violently in response. But all you can do is weakly keen into Leon’s cock as your body becomes completely flooded with unadulterated sensation.
“Slap her pretty face,” Krauser grunts.
Leon does. You’re barely cognizant enough to flinch and can hardly move enough to anyway, but it lands dully; not even enough to sting.
“Oh, don’t fucking insult me. Slap her.”
This time, your cheekbone blooms with heat in the wake of the rough calluses of his palm snapping against you.
“Harder.”
His hand crashes into your face and the whole room starts spinning.
You’ve taken countless blows to the face before, and many from Leon himself; you knew all too well how hard he could hit. Hell, you’d already have bruises tomorrow from the training session that led you here. But that blow landed utterly uniquely from any other you’d endured. No pain had ever caused this kind of disorientation.
Vision fixed on the voyeur and your cunt skewered on Leon’s cock, decreasing thoughts as your face tingles and your neck aches under a ruthless grip, lungs burning behind your ribs— clit swollen and oversensitive from each smack of Leon’s navel against it. Your eyes are bulging and body’s locking up, making your cunt grip around him tighter, pushing out a new surge of wetness around him—
Your vision darkens until all that’s left is the brute force of how good it all feels. Every ounce of pleasure and pain compounds into blindingly bright sensation, like white-hot lightning running through your every nerve, growing stronger and stronger as your faculties weaken.
Your face feels hot as you try in vain to gasp for air, hips working sloppily to try to meet Leon’s pace as he thrusts into your sweet spots over and over. Krauser speaks, but you don’t grasp the words until Leon’s free hand frantically connects with your clit.
“Look at that, she fucking loves it. Go on, make her cum on your cock.”
The grip on your neck lessens just enough to seize a rough gasp of new air as your orgasm rallies. Your back arches so acutely, you feel like Leon’s hold is the only thing stopping you from levitating. Krauser’s mumbling between barks of orders as you tear at the seams—
“That’s it, give her what she needs. Keep her eyes on me.”
Leon captures you by the cheeks to turn your face back towards Krauser. You breathe desperately and watch him while your hands reach haplessly for Leon, nails dragging everywhere they land as you steal ragged breaths through the nose. It’s all so good, so much, and god the mindfuck of it all— your eyes glued to Krauser jerking himself off while another man pistons his cock inside of you, like they're both being cucked somehow as your physical and mental attention is divvied between them.
It’s all just so insane— the fact that Krauser is getting off to you being split in half and manhandled by your opponent, telling him how and when to fuck you— like Krauser is the director and you and Leon are the stars of his own personal brand of violent pornography.
And it’s a role Leon plays well. He’s grown to be barbaric in his own right, a part of him no one including himself knew existed until now.
Krauser had that effect on his recruits, and apparently this was no exception: he’d made the rookie into exactly what he needed to be to rise to the occasion. And the result is animalistic, further evidenced as Leon licks a flat-tongued stripe up your jugular and bites down before growling into your hair through sharp teeth.
“Fucking feel me.”
His voice pulls the pin on the live grenade of your arousal, and in seconds flat, you combust.
Your orgasm hits you like a devastating blow to the core, tearing through your body as if somewhere within your center an atom had split in half. You writhe like you’re dying, and high-pitched moans flood out of your pursed lips that are still squeezed taut in Leon’s grip. He has to hold you even tighter just to keep you from falling away, and he puts a hand on your stomach with weight that lets you both feel each time he bulges through your stomach.
The cracking sounds of his hips connecting with your cunt become wetter and more crude as you gush around him with each shockwave of seizing bliss. Leon starts falling apart himself, moaning wildly as you tighten around him like a vice. He looks down to see the base of his cock covered in the creamy white slick of your cum, and that's enough to make him see stars.
“Oh fuck, jesus fucking christ I’m—“
Cruel as ever, Krauser makes his next command.
“Stop.”
Leon is in a full breakdown as he tries to; he lets go of you to claw his nails into the ground, pained sounds ripping from his chest as he struggles to keep still, but he can’t keep his hips from twitching forward to save his life. He was so close to cumming and he has to force himself not to as he keeps himself bottomed out again, a guttingly difficult task as your walls continue to pulse around his cock as you come down from your high.
The stakes heighten as Krauser approaches with heavy boot steps, and Leon’s whole body strains as he fights to comply before he gets there. Leon swears under his breath as the tendons in his neck clench and small veins begin to pop against his temple, grabbing your weak body by the hips to fix you on his cock instead of fighting the involuntary jolts of his hips.
“Fuckfuckfuck, m’sorry, I’m t-trying, ahh…”
Krauser stands over you again, pumping his sturdy dick in a firm but leisurely grip at the absolute sight of you two. You can only imagine how obscene you must look lying numb and weak on the ground— you’re still panting as you come down from your high, your wild hair sticking to your sweaty neck and forehead, fucked-out and used with Leon’s cock still stuffing you full while you let your major jerk off above you.
But as downright shameful as you look and feel, Krauser takes his sweet time soaking it in, enjoying the unfiltered vulgarity of it as he pumps himself a hair faster.
You’re grateful for the time to catch your breath, sure, but the longer you’re there, the more his attention burns. As seconds roll by, your sweat cools uncomfortably on your skin, you regain enough feeling in your body to feel a small amount of what it’s been through, but most of all, you become more aware of where you and Leon connect.
Your orgasm made you twice as sensitive, and the lack of motion is as maddening to you as it is for Leon as he throbs inside your walls. You can’t help but to squirm around for relief, and you can’t help but to moan as the movement drags the head of his cock against your g-spot.
“Jesus, you still want more? Is one cock not enough? Should’ve fucking known,” Krauser tuts, twisting his fist around the wide base of his dick. “You’ve always been tough. Shoulda known you wouldn’t break so easily. Always making me get my hands dirty…”
He pushes Leon to lean back and out of the way for a thick droplet of spit to fall from Krauser’s lips all the way down to your clit. You jolt at the sensation of it landing, but it doesn’t compare to when Krauser drops to one knee and rubs it in with two firm fingertips.
He massages his spit into your clit with rough fingerpads that move in tight and steady circles, building you towards another bout of sensory overload with calculated precision. You look rapidly between Krauser and Leon and your own body through wet lashes, frantically trying and failing to get a grip.
It’s all too much, but somehow, it isn’t enough. You need Leon to move like you need air to breathe.
“Nnhg, m-major…” you moan hesitantly
“What?” he says dryly, as if he isn’t causing your undoing. You only manage a throaty whine in response, and he chides you by increasing his speed on your clit. “Speak.”
You try, but your words are bracketed by thick heaving breaths. “Hhha, I… oh, ahh…. p-please…”
Krauser leaves his weighty cock to hang in the air as he adds his other hand to your body, staring at you intently as a high pitched shriek gets caught in the back of your throat. He pinches your nipples one by one before flicking them each sharply, matching his rhythm on your clit, stimulating every part of you continuously. He just smirks as your brain melts in your skull, your mouth falling open with nothing comprehensible coming out of it.
“Please what?”
You squirm in an attempt to lessen the overwhelming feeling, but he doesn’t falter once, only leaving your clit to dip his fingers around either side of Leon’s shaft to gather your wetness to slicken your sore nub. Leon sputters at the brief yet unexpected feeling and he bucks into you so deep you both choke.
“F-fuck, I… I need… ahhh,” you whine hard, your head flying back on the ground.
“You can take it. If you’re not gonna use your words, then be quiet.”
You really do try and stay quiet at that, biting your lip so hard you think you might taste blood, but you just can’t.
You can still feel Leon pulsating inside of you, can still hear the sweet sounds of his agonized grunts as you’re brought back to the brink. Leon holds your hips tight for his own sake so he doesn’t cum before he’s allowed, his fingers pressing deeply into your soft flesh to keep you from bucking into him more than you already are, and the dull pain where his short fingernails dig in just add to it all. You’re trembling severely, the meat of your thighs shaking uncontrollably, and it all just feels too good.
All at once, Krauser pinches a nipple painfully and strums you so quickly his hand blurs, and you all but fucking scream.
“Oh, shut the fuck up,” Krauser snarls and removes his touch altogether.
It’s easier to swallow your sounds as the sensation fades, but the damage has already been done. Your vision swims as Krauser grabs the since-forgotten combat knife and tosses it to Leon before kneeling beside your head.
Leon catches it on pure instinct and stares dumbfoundedly at it in his hands.
Krauser frames your face with his thighs and his cock becomes inches away from your face. Close enough to see every short wheat colored hair on his navel, every vein that courses up his substantial width; close enough to smell the salt on his skin, even.
He guides it to stroke the length of it overtop your plush, drool-covered lips.
It’s fucking denigrating, the way he does it, dragging his cock over your face with a gruff hum as he holds you in place by the crown of your hair. The shocked face of shame you wear only makes him leak with pre.
Krauser hooks his fingers behind your bottom teeth and pulls your mouth open to slap his tip against your tongue, and you shudder at the sweet taste of his precum. Then he lets go and notches the tip between your puffy lips.
Leon watches with the knife still in his hands, a quiet horrification in his tone as he speaks.
“Sir…”
“Hold it against her neck,” Krauser answers like it’s nothing, “or I’ll do it.”
Krauser plugs your mouth with his cock at the same time that cold steel meets your neck.
Leon watches the sight wide-eyed and disturbed. This is going too far, he thinks— but he’s gone too far to stop himself, too.
Krauser is clearly getting off to the sight of you being borderline assaulted, and Leon is a partner to it. He’s the one holding the flat of a blade to your jugular while your superior sodomizes you, the one who’s still struggling not to cum and wishing he could fuck you fully again. He’s already an accomplice, or more accurately at this point, a willing participant.
He thinks now that Krauser might’ve actually been right, that in these ways they’re alike. It horrifies him and shatters his self-image, but his cock aches with need regardless.
You’re mindless to it all as you start to suck Krauser off. Your lips struggle to stretch around his girth, your whines are muffled as you take more and more, and you feel so fucking dirty that you rock into Leon without thinking.
Fuck, you’re actually enjoying this. A lot.
‘Maybe I am a whore’, you think as your toes curl against Leon’s calves— but how could you possibly care about that right now? You don’t, and you can’t— all you can think about is making Krauser fit inside your mouth so he’ll let Leon keep going.
Leon is harder than he’s ever been in his life, another fact that has him dumbstruck with himself. He even envies the man for getting to stuff his fat dick past your pretty lips, for being the one who’s making your face twist up like it is.
But the final nail in his moral coffin? The sight of you slowly being face-fucked, struggling to suck such a big dick with enthusiasm, while he holds a knife to your neck… it brings him right back to the edge of release. Not in spite of it— because of it.
So when Krauser tells Leon to fuck you again with a reminder not to cum until he’s given permission, he does it without a hint of hesitation.
When he does, you’re no longer on planet earth; you’re floating somewhere above it, your senses more overloaded than ever. It takes focus you barely have to keep Krauser’s girth from hitting your teeth as he picks up speed to roughly fuck your face.
Krauser alternates between striking the back of your throat and holding your chin down to push it against the inside of your cheeks, watching his head bulge out your face before continuing his assault on your throat, using your mouth like exactly the kind of whore he’d made you out to be. All while Leon delivers blunt thrusts, each one thumping against the most electric spots inside your cunt, and each harsh snap of his hips cracks in the room like lightning.
And every few seconds you feel the flat of the blade bump against your neck, a chilling reminder of the control you’re under.
Krauser truly is a goddamn psychopath. That’s never been more evident than now. But it fills you with a certain thrill to be at the mercy of a certified killing machine and his most promising rookie. Both of them are more than capable of causing you serious injury right now, but all their brawn and might is being utilized to ruin you in a way that feels good, and it’s the best, most exhilarating experience you’ve ever had.
Maybe you’re all psychopaths. Maybe Krauser’s promise on the first day of training held a particular purpose for you and Leon. Perhaps the training broke you long ago, and at some point you couldn’t place, he’d reassembled your bleeding hearts into corrupted, submissive subjects, ones perfectly crafted for him to play with, to even enjoy his sadistic demands.
Tears prick at your eyes as Krauser presses himself as far as he can go into your mouth and you choke around him. He’s too thick to take so deeply, and your throat seizes up in rejection. He slaps your cheek just enough to feel it sting as he forces you to keep trying.
“That’s it, choke on it, bitch.”
And choke on it you do, with horrible sounds emanating from your throat as he likely bruises it. Your hands grasp for nothing at the overwhelm and Krauser pins the arm nearest to him under his knee, and Leon holds the other down by the bicep before Krauser even looks at him.
“There you go, now you’re fucking behaving,” Krauser pants at you both. “My two most obedient soldiers… hah.”
A thick string of spit connects your lips to Krauser’s tip as he pulls out suddenly, giving you a chance to gasp for air. He slaps its weight against the red welts in the shape of Leon’s hand on your cheek, making the sore skin shine with spit. Your tongue lolls out on its own and he goes right back to skull fucking you, holding you firmly by the sides of your head to keep you at the right angle.
You moan as his cock vein drags up and down your wet, flat tongue as he thrusts in and out decisively, and your eyes roll back as he starts working your nipples again, catching them in his fingertips as they recoil with Leon’s thrusts.
Leon can’t help it; he can’t stop watching. It brings him closer than ever to breaking. His orgasm has been denied so many times when he’s right there on the edge, and the thought of holding it back again is devastating. So all on his own, he begs.
“Krauser, please, let me… let me cum, sir. I need to, I need—“
And Krauser is all too aware of his staring.
“You like watching me use her mouth that much? Gonna get off to it while you have a knife to her neck? You’re a sick fuck, kid.”
Leon chokes out a sob at the fact and that his plea went totally ignored. But looking between you, Krauser falters too, and he pounds your moaning mouth more wildly.
“Fuck, you’re both crying. You two are so damn dirty.”
Krauser grunts, and nearing his own edge, he makes sure to bring you with him. He reaches over to wedge his hand between you and Leon’s bodies to rub your sopping clit again.
You try to writhe, but you’re too pinned down, and too big of a movement sends your jugular dangerously close to the knife. All you can do is take it, teary eyed and pliant, trembling like an earthquake as you near another peak.
Leon whines as Krauser dips his fingers down to your cunt, but this time, they don’t pass there just to collect your slick. He keeps them fixed around Leon’s cock while he cups your pussy, and each time Leon thrusts, his shaft passes through the tight friction of his fingers.
He braves a glance down at where you all connect and god, it is dirty, just like Krauser said— and Leon is weak to it. His gut twists as your cunt and the major’s fingers both grip around him, warm and velvety wet and threatening to milk him dry.
Ever the coach, Krauser starts encouraging you both, his steady tone in stark contrast to Leon’s as the younger man starts begging again.
“That’s it, take it. Cum for us so he can get his.”
“Please, oh fuck she’s so tight, m’not gonna make it sir, I—”
“Just a little more, Kennedy, don’t quit on me now. Where’s all that endurance?”
“I can’t sir I can’t, needta cum so bad, oh god it fucking hurts.”
Krauser’s own cracks finally show through, the grumbling under his breath the first sign he has any weakness at all as you suck him off with urgency, trying to catch him up to your contemporary.
“Shit, yeah, suck my cock just like that. Sound so good when you beg for me, rookie, jesus.”
A pathetic sound comes from Leon as his thrusts grow sloppy, and he leans over you on his forearm as his muscles begin to buckle. It makes you feel even more caged in, traps Krauser’s palm against your clit, forces your legs a little farther apart— and suddenly, you snap.
You convulse completely as you cum, and the rough sounds the two men make in response only bring you higher until the pleasure is blinding. Your ears ring and mute the strings of profanities they’re chanting as they feel it soar through you and gush around them, and you’re putty in Krauser’s hands as he pulls out and keeps your slack jaw open.
“That’s it, shit, cum for her, Kennedy, fuck.”
“Where, where—?”
"In her, fill her fucking cunt— ahh, fuck—”
You flinch in surprise at the first hot rope of cum that falls onto your tongue. While Krauser paints your open mouth white, Leon collapses over you, and you thread weak fingers into his sweaty hair as he cries out into the crook of your neck.
His words are only for you.
“Oh god, I’m cumming, I’m– oh, ohh fuck—”
He devolves into a mindless stream of consciousness as he pumps you full of it.
“Shit, you feel s’fucking good, fucking take me.”
And when he remembers the knife in his hand:
“Oh god, I’m so damn sorry.”
You can’t think enough to even wonder what he’s sorry for as you swallow your mouthful of cum, shuddering at the mild tang before suckling the last drops from the head of Krauser’s dick.
All the while, you feel every single drop that Leon buries inside of you, warm in the depths of your cunt and slightly stinging the sore skin at your entrance as tickles escape around his base. It seems like his orgasm will never end; there must be so much of it, and even when you no longer feel new ropes of his cum pooling into you, he ruts it shallowly into your cervix as he shakes with aftershocks.
It takes a long time for you both to settle, and for lengthy minutes, you just lie there together, eyes closed and adrift. Your whole body is abuzz as you run your hands up and down his back, feeling it rise and fall with his staggered breathing as he lies flush against you, a drunken smile on your face as you come down for good. You sink heavily into the floor, no thoughts whatsoever in your head, and nothing behind your eyes but stars.
Leon too is perfectly exhausted from the way he’s been thoroughly drained, and he’s more than happy to join you in your empty-headed daze. So lie there you do, long enough to be overtaken by fatigue as your blown minds weigh down with sleep, even long enough to forget about what Krauser might be doing.
Leon rolls off of you, knife clattering to the ground as it slips from his limp fingers, and you open your blurry eyes to see the cause: Krauser’s boot.
Krauser doesn’t look angry at all, more so inconvenienced. He shakes his head at the way Leon’s dead weight falls beside you, too tired to even react to his soft dick slipping out of your sopping cunt.
“Good god…” Krauser mutters under his breath, scoffing at the soft display of you and Leon in a puddle on the ground— an understandably dissonant sight after what you’ve all just done. But it doesn’t cut through your euphoric afterglow at all; Krauser’s disapproval is too familiar to blink twice at even now; if anything, it’s casual coming from him. You even weakly smile until he speaks again with a touch more bitterness in his tone.
“You two look just pathetic.”
Blinking away the stale tears that cling to your eyelashes, Krauser sharpens into view. He’s collected himself completely in the time you’ve been drifting away.
And there you are in stark contrast, completely naked on the floor, your limp limbs in a tangled heap wherever gravity took them, your hair a mess of sweat and frizz— and the most indecent sight of all, the cum drying on the corners of your mouth and leaking out of your swollen folds.
Leon lies beside you in an equally tragic state: his hair is a disaster, his trousers are loose around his knees, and a final drop of cum leaks from the tip of his sore cock.
No wonder Krauser’s displeased. There’s truly no world where he’d be glad to see his top recruits looking half dead in front of him, especially when he somehow managed to be so unaffected himself.
“Get up before you stain the mat.”
You and Leon are all creaks and groans as you pull yourselves to your knees, not yet daring to try your feet and instead crawling to find your clothes. You fight against your lightheadedness as you sit upright to redress, trying to do it quickly before Leon’s cum spills out of you and onto the floor. You can feel how much there is, and you don’t know if you’ll have the strength to clean it up, which you’d surely be made to if it did.
But in the minutes you have somewhat to yourself, your throat feels tight all over again. You feel like you’re back at the beginning in the exact same predicament as before: How the hell are you supposed to look Leon in the eyes?
When you’re finally dressed, you stumble to your feet, and you hardly look at him at all before you both shy away. But as you stand in the room on wobbly legs, you find a new predicament, too: What the hell happens now?
You’ve stumbled into completely uncharted territory, and you have only your major to guide you. So on pure routine, you both look to your superior to tell you what to do next.
It has to be the most hilariously pathetic attempt at standing in formation ever, the way he looks incredulously at the two of you as he shrugs on his olive green overshirt, pausing at the sight.
“You’re both so fucking clueless” he grumbles and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Hit the showers and go to bed.”
You stumble shame-faced through yes sir’s and turn heel to the gymnasium door, and your mouth goes dry with each new step.
That’s it then..? You have to pretend it never happened without so much as an acknowledgment? You half wish Krauser had shaken you by the shoulders and told you what to think as usual, for him to set right your spinning head.
“Hey,” Krauser calls just before you reach the door. You both look back and wait, your hearts beating in your chest, but he only looks at you. “I don’t like rumors. I better not hear any more. Understood?”
He stares you down sharply with a lift in his brow. You inhale deeply as you catch his drift. “Y-yeah. Understood, sir.”
Krauser calms and nods once, then turns away. You take the opportunity to slip out of the door.
The walk back to the barracks is painfully quiet; neither of you know what to say. Your bootsteps are the only sound echoing in the dim halls, and your heartbeat is the only thing in your ears.
It isn’t a long walk before you reach the fork between the male and female barrack halls. Your steps slow until they reach a halt and Leon lingers behind you. You turn halfway to face him, but nothing comes of it; you both can only stand there with open mouths that don’t say anything.
You stiffly turn away, but then Leon speaks your name quietly and brokenly, and everything unspoken is left in the ellipses. He gulps once and feels his dry tongue cling to the roof of his mouth as he opens it to speak, and a shaky voice comes out that echoes your very same need.
“Tell me it’s okay.”
You turn around and finally manage to look at him, and it cracks your heart wide open. He looks so much like he did when you’d both arrived here, a scared young man who arrived fresh from the horrors he’d witnessed, who’d do anything to keep everything in one piece despite how much he himself needs saving.
It’s the face you’d first fallen for and fell for all over again as it sharpened into the fierceness he had now. The same face that held you impossibly close just moments ago.
You fall all over again and crash into his chest at terminal velocity, clinging to him with all the energy you have left in you to give.
“It’s okay.”
You hold each other there in the hall for a long time. Neither of you know what you’ll wake up to in the morning or how the hell you’ll pretend everything is normal, but right now, you don’t need to. You just need to hold each other long enough to know that the other one is there.
When you slowly pull away, your fingertips linger over each other’s before you finally break apart. And with one last breathless look into his blown blue eyes, you head towards the women’s showers.
You squint in the fluorescents and avoid your reflection. You step into the shower while it’s still running cold and let the tension wash away in the water as it grows to a calming steam.
You wash yourself with purpose— it’s well past one in the morning and you don’t have sleep to spare— but your fingers linger between your legs as you clean where you feel the most dirty. Feeling the slick slip of cum against your sore, swollen lips as it commingles with the suds, you smile.
⌖⌖⌖
The next morning, everything seems to scream. The wake alarm. Your muscles. Your head from three fleeting hours of sleep. Your thoughts as you remember the source of your freshly aching body.
The very beginnings of bruises bloom in greens and purples under your skin: on your wrists, your hips, and the distinct shape of fingers on your bicep. Your neck is sore and your cheek is tender, nevermind your throat and between your legs. As nervous as the evidence of last night being visible makes you, there's no cause to worry about the curious glances your comrades give you. It really does just look like you got your ass beat in combat, which is... true enough, you suppose.
Still, you can hardly look anyone in the eyes without your blood feeling hot about the new secret that you're keeping, but you don’t have many chances to.
First formation comes in place of breakfast. You’ve never stood so straight in your life; it wouldn’t be a good day to have Krauser pick on you. Definitely not.
Every time the major’s eyes glance over you, goosebumps prick your skin. You have no idea what he thinks about last night’s events, and so you dread his reprimands more than ever.
And when your eyes catch against Leon's, although you catch a hundred different things in his gaze, disappointment isn't one of them, and it's comforting somehow to know that he's feeling the same dizzying mix of emotions as you without having to ask.
But somehow, despite your cloudy thoughts, your aching body, and the ever-present signs of sleep deprivation, you excel.
And so the day goes on without incident as far as USSTRATCOM goes. You’re well ready for sleep by the time you’re relieved for the night, but you stay awake until you know everyone is asleep.
You take your time standing up from your cot, careful not to make it creak or shuffle the cheap blankets noisily. You watch your bunk mate snore as you tip-toe to the door in your socks. Boots would sound too heavy, and besides, you aren’t going far.
Your heart races as you scamper to the men’s wing and look for the right door, but you can’t seem to find it. Maybe it’s farther down than you thought? You turn back down the hall with knit brows to check the room numbers again. No dice. Maybe you passed it already.
You turn again and freeze as a doors opens and none other than Leon walks out.
There’s still no disappointment in his face, though. This is full-on despair. His face drops and his shoulders sink before he stammers and looks away, ducking back inside his room like he’s the one who shouldn’t be here.
“I’m, uh… sorry, I’ll just—“
“Leon, wait...!"
You cross the distance in seconds flat and catch his wrist just as he’s halfway enveloped back in the dark of his room.
“I… I came here to see you.”
end notes: pls infer that you and leon made sweet, comforting love all night long :) or that he violently fucked your brains out without krauser there to make him hold back. whichever
synopsis: “This,” He holds up the syringe, shaking it slightly for effect. It’s filled with small red beads that look like fish eggs. “is for your own good.”
warnings: gender-neutral reader, leon x reader in the background (?), mild violence directed at reader, slight sexual tension, jealousy & one-sidedness etc.
authors notes: *starts humping my couch* 5.3k words got slightly loosey-goosey with some lore but idc, lightly proofread
You don’t know how things went south so quickly.
Hobbling through a mining system, illuminated by oil lamps that served as proof that you weren’t alone. Someone else, many someone’s, had been through here. Probably were still here. You’d been alone the entire traverse through. Alone, with an injured leg and a handful of bullets left, and a radio that wasn’t getting any signal. Antsy that your luck would soon begin to run out.
What a waste of training.
Mosquitos or some sort hum an awful tune and you don’t know why you can still hear them underground. Their noise has faded into your background like tinnitus. Your fingers have remained curled around the handle of your pistol for so long that they hurt when you uncurl them to feel along the cave wall. Waiting for any reason to pull it out where it’s been shoved into your belt and shoot. You put your weight on your good foot, using the wall to support weight. Nothing felt broken, at least you had that going for you.
Even if you found Ashley right now, you doubt you’d be able to protect her.
One minute, you and Leon were escorting her though the Spanish forestry. The next, a mob of villagers with ratted clothes and torches and bulging parasites swinging from their heads were descending upon you. When the bedlam cleared, Ashley was gone. Two people cover more ground apart than they do together, and so you and Leon split up in search of the president's daughter.
You twisted your ankle somewhere along the way. You think you did, anyway. Hurt like hell to walk on. All that fighting, making every last bullet count, chipping the barrel of your gun by slamming it against the head of one of your attackers. You’d gotten careless somewhere, not watching your step, foot caught into a gryke in the rocks. It left you with a sprain and blood coming from your nose onto your upper lip from falling face forward.
Nothing to be done but keep moving forward.
A sudden breeze of air brushes over your face and through your hair. Wind coming from further into the cave, the scent of dirt and outside being carried with it. Outside. The entrance or the exit of this shaft was up ahead. Leon might be up ahead. A cold hand comes to wipe crusted blood off of a cut in your brow, and you pick up your pace.
The breeze gets stronger, and to your relief, it isn’t a larger cave in the system. It really is outside. It’s much darker now than it was when you and Leon separated. How many hours has it been? The sun is setting in the distance, the sky is a deep orange beneath a darker blue. You fish your radio out from your pockets, fiddling with it to get anything useful. No dice. From here, wherever here is, you can’t see the silhouette of the castle anymore. Must be the other way.
Dark trees sprawl and wind upwards like wire cages in a stadium, the leaves have already begun to fall. Wood cabins and huts lay deserted and in one of them you find a handful of bullets. Enough for a fully loaded gun and then some. Leon must have been around here, then. Maybe he knew you were in the area. Improbable, but it could’ve been a lucky guess. Either way, you’re grateful.
Though… it is an awful lot of ammo to leave behind on the off chance that your partner would be lurking around. Maybe he found extra? More than he could carry. There’s a piece of paper, too, under the cardboard boxes the ammo are supplied in. Torn out of a notebook, there’s a few words pressed firmly onto the lined page. See you soon.
It isn’t Leon’s normal style of handwriting, but you can’t afford to think too much about it. So Leon left you some ammo and a note to show he’s still alive. That’s good. Benign. You’ll see him soon. On the off chance it isn’t him, at least you have enough bullets to defend yourself now. You keep going, and the orange has faded from the sky now. Clouds roll in the distance and you’re worried they’ll block out the moonlight. Your flashlight still works, but you aren’t sure how much you want to be swinging around a military-grade night light in the pitch blackness of the woods. Might as well toss out some confetti while you’re at it.
Aside from the crunch of leaves beneath your boots, there isn’t a sound in the valley. You can’t hear the insects anymore, and there aren’t any crows or night animals or even people in the distance. You’d been thankful earlier for the absence of the locals, but you’ve passed through multiple signs and small cabins, outposts and the like. The silence is beginning to hurt your ears, and each wooden hut you check is empty aside from spiders and dust.
Where is everybody?
You get your lighter from your pockets, striking the wheel with your thumb. Once, twice, a third time. Just when you think it won’t work, it lights and you hold your arm out in front of you to guide your way. The cold wind blows the heat from the small fire back into your face, something more welcome than you’d have thought. It’s cold, very cold. It seeps under your clothes and rattles your lungs. You’re certain that you’re being watched, but you can’t say from where.
It can’t be Ashley or Leon, either one of them would’ve come running to catch up with you by now. You could be walking into an ambush by the locals, would explain the lack of people. Maybe they’re all hiding, with axes and rakes and their brains bulging against the suture lines with the parasite. Las Plagas. You found a few scattered papers in the mines, scrabbled journal entries and something that looked important left behind. You pocketed what you could and left what you couldn’t.
Everything in this region was backwards. You could feel something like pity if you gave it enough thought. People living like their ancestors with no way out of a land ridden with flapping parasites and worms. Even the birds around here couldn’t go anywhere else, fly as they might. Their bellies accustomed to stinking flesh and picking at dead overgrown things, sorry excuses of life. Where could they migrate to? Who would take them? Valdelobos is one vast sepulchre. It’d be yours if you weren’t careful.
There’s an equal chance that whatever is watching you is just wolves. That would be a safer explanation for the lack of birds and such, too. In any other scenario, a pack of wild animals would be more troublesome than some ratty villagers. You’re sure the wolves would be nicer, eat you up before you got sacrificed or mutated into something else. You force yourself to think about something else, anything else. Ashley is the priority, not morbid fantasies about your own death.
The sky darkens with each passing minute, and even though the moon is full and bright, you still use the lighter to see where you’re going and for warmth. More walking, and you’ve almost forgotten that one leg is bad. Not bad, no. Just sprained. It almost feels natural to walk favoring one side. The dirt path splits, a wooden sign that’s been chewed and scratched so much that you can’t read what either arrow points to is planted in the ground a few feet ahead. You stop in the dirt, looking both ways as if you had enough light to see where either path leads.
A loud crack comes from somewhere behind you. It sounds much louder with how still the night is. Far enough away and yet too close all the same. You nearly drop your lighter, the flame flicking wildly. The fire startles and moves like it’s trying to get away from you to save itself, but it’s bound tightly to the lighter. Don’t burn yourself. You whirl around, holding out the lighter as if it were a weapon to protect yourself with.
If it’s Ashley, you’d be leaving her to die by not going to help. If it’s not Ashley, you’d be walking to your death. Another noise, and much closer to your ear. A sharp whistling sound, and the culprit lands a few feet behind you, stabbed into the dirt.
A knife.
There’s a blooming pain in your arm, and you realize you’ve been nicked a few inches down from your shoulder. Not deep, not that you can feel. The fabric of your shirt is torn, though. You look to the knife, then back in the direction it was thrown from. Heart hammering in your chest; you hope to God they’re within shooting distance. As you’ve fumbled to replace your lighter with your gun, something else has gone in the air. It lands behind you with a grunt and it sounds much heavier than a knife.
The figure plucks his knife from the ground, wiping the blade across his pants to get the dirt off before sheathing it in a practiced motion.
“There you fuckin’ are, been waiting for you all night.”
It’s Major Krauser–or just Krauser. He left the military as far as you were aware, or something like that. He still has that red beret, sitting at an angle on his head. Neither you nor Leon were given any details on the matter, essentially being told to drop it. You didn’t press Leon on it or the mission that preceeded Krauser’s discharge. You both look at each other, maybe five, seven feet between you. You’re within grabbing distance, something you both know. Your lighter has fallen to the ground, casting eerie shadows across Krauser’s face.
His face looks different, it’s dark enough that his scars blend in with his skin and you can’t quite see where they start and where they end. The flame is reflected in both of his eyes, which are looking into your own with some feeling that makes your skin crawl. You look back at him as if he were a conglomerate of things masquerading as a person. He can see the wheels turning in your head yet makes no offer to supplement your scattered mind. It takes you all of five seconds to assess that for whatever reason he’s here–in Spain of all places, at the same time as you and Leon’s mission, he hasn’t come to you as a friend. “What’s that look for? Aren’t you happy to see me?” He mocks, palms out.
He must be able to tell that you’re not in fighting condition, and in a way you feel self conscious. How pitiful you must’ve looked, tottering like a drunk with one good foot and a lighter held out like an offering. How long had he been trailing you? The smell of smoke and ash from your lighter and blood and sweat from Krauser are blown into your face by the wind. He smells like an animal.
You try to ignore the pain in your arm, levelling your gun at him preemptively. Krauser doesn’t move, not taking any inch of you seriously. Standing languidly, waiting to see what you’ll do. If you do anything at all. He’s putting the ball in your court so willingly that it makes you uneasy. What is he doing? Why isn’t he doing anything? Don’t think about it, just take the opening and feel bad about it later.
He points to your gun. “You going to use that thing? Or are you just going to stand there?” You don’t answer him, throat dried up and the gun feeling too heavy in your hands. You get a weird feeling at being chastised by him, it takes you back some years. “What, you’re too used to Leon telling you what to do?” He says Leon’s name with disdain. The words you want to say crowd on your tongue and finally you get some of them out.
“What the hell are you talking about?” You want to ask if he knows where Leon is, but he probably wouldn’t tell you if he did. Must be crazy. As crazy as everything and everyone else here is. Krauser doesn’t answer nor does he seem entertained anymore. “Anyone else would’ve killed you for hesitating so much.” Hesitating. You realize he’s right, though unable to pinpoint why he’s positioning himself in this way. A second realization that you’re still hesitating, and you go back and forth with yourself mentally.
Think about it all you want later. You’re here and he is there. If you don’t act now, in a few minutes he will still be there, and you’ll be in the ground.
Taking him to mean well on his unspoken threat, you aim at him properly—which seems to be what he wanted—right between the eyes. You don’t want to shoot, you don’t even know why he’s here. It doesn’t seem like he’s come to your rescue or aide, though. If you don’t do it now, you won’t get another chance. Finger on the trigger, you try to steady yourself. What other options did you have? Mawkishly try to appeal to him? The man sliced your arm open and is taunting you into attacking him.
You fire, but it doesn’t hit him. He’s bridged the gap between you quicker than you could comprehend, and in a swift motion, he’d grabbed your wrist and made you lose your aim, wrenching it up and your gun out of your grasp. The shot rings out and your bullet is wasted. His hand swings back to hit you across the face, forcefully knocking you to the ground with a yelp. He’s fast, faster than you remember and faster than you’d expected.
The wind is knocked out of you when you hit the ground, not having been able to use your arms to block the fall. You can see your gun where Krauser threw it aside. Slid across the ground and into the rocks and half decayed underbrush. He kicks you onto your back with his boot, staring down at you. Really getting a good look. “You’re in worse shape than I’d thought you’d be.” You can’t tell if he’s finds it funny or if he’s disappointed.
You push yourself onto your elbows to get up, and Krauser in response presses his boot down on your abdomen. There’s a million questions you could ask, most of them starting with the letter ‘w’. You open your mouth to speak, and his presses digs deeper and he gets a breathless squeak out of you. He likes that.
Sometimes, during training, years ago, you’d mess up or fail to parry Major Krauser (no–just Krauser, now) on purpose just so he would reprimand you. It was wrong, and probably made you seem less competent in his eyes, but being handled roughly was a guilty pleasure of sorts. Your one respite in an otherwise soul-sucking period of your life. You’d like to think he didn’t catch on, you hope not. You don’t know why you’re thinking about it now.
Krauser isn’t holding back, and you shouldn’t either. Your knife, your knife, get your fucking knife. Your arms still work, do something. Clumsily grabbing your knife from its holster in your belt, opposite side of your gun. Stab him, stab him somewhere just get him off. Your free hand grasping at his leg, you drive the blade as far as it’ll go into the side of his shin.
Krauser grunts in pain, though it sounds like it didn’t hurt him all that much. “There you go,” you look back up at him, and you think he’s smiling. “That’s more like it.” He lifts his foot from your abdomen and you visualize him stomping right over your organs or kicking you as hard as he can in the jaw. You take the chance to move out from under him while he yanks your knife out of his leg as if it were a mere splinter.
Scrambling to your feet, sweat collects on your forehead and your palms. Your gun is next. Sweet, loaded and heavy in your hands. He threw it over here, right? You have to find it; even if you run and lose him now, Krauser isn’t the only danger around here. You think you see it, moonlight shining across the cool metal.
Just as your fingers brush against the handle of the gun, a heavy force shoves you back to the ground. It makes you groan in pain and your tongue gets caught between your teeth. A knife to the leg didn’t slow Krauser down, hell, it didn’t even make him sweat. Your arms are able to break your fall this time, though you think you’ve hurt your already injured ankle even more. At the very least, irritated the sprain. You’re pushed onto your back again and this time Krauser is crouched over you, his knife held against you like a ward to keep you still.
He’s looking at you like you’re something in a jar. Something that he can poke at and tap the glass until you give him a reaction. One of his knees is pressed between your legs, right up against you in a way you think might be intentional. No, no, it’s not. Don’t think like that, do not think like that. You can’t believe yourself. There’s a thin layer of blood crusted over his face, it makes his eyes stand out and look even crazier. You doubt it’s his.
“You can’t do anything else, can you?” You don’t respond to his half-taunt, but he already has his answer. “All out of tricks,” He laughs, tapping the flat edge of the knife alongside your face, trailing it down to your neck. The blade presses a little harder against your thin flesh. Your fingers dig into the dirt and grass, clinging to the earth like a safety blanket. If nothing else, you can’t be afraid. Don’t be afraid, don’t give him that satisfaction. “All that training, and you’re still just a weak link. Wouldn’t have done Leon any good if you were with him.”
He can see the wheels in your brain spinning and getting caught on each other to come up with a way out of this, and he puts a little more force on the knife against your throat to draw your attention back to him. Krauser doesn’t press hard enough to draw blood, rather checking to see if you’ll whimper or squirm and cut yourself on your own. You breath hitches and you look like an animal that knows what’s coming, but you don’t move against him. He pulls his knife back from your throat and sheathes it again. “Don’t worry, I’ve got something for you.” You’re given no room to move out from under him, and he’s replaced his weapon with something else from his pocket. The moon’s light filters through its transparent parts and bounces off the metal ones.
Whatever feeling you were trying to shoo off in your lower abdomen quickly dissipates when you see what's in his hand. A capped syringe, the barrel filled with a translucent liquid. The needle isn’t any kinder looking, a strong 16 gauge. You finally find your voice again, eyes wide and throat rasping. “What the fuck is that?” Krauser’s scarred mouth turns upwards into a self-satisfied smirk. “This,” He holds up the syringe, shaking it slightly for effect. It’s filled with small red beads that look like fish eggs. “is for your own good.”
Your stomach lurches and instinct kicks back in. Whatever is in there is about to go inside of you, and you scramble to get away from him. Gotta get the fuck out of here. Gotta find Leon. Krauser wrestles you to keep you pinned beneath him, and he must’ve set the syringe down because both of his hands, large and calloused, are on you and grabbing your arms to keep them down. You try to get up, and Krauser drags you back down. You’ve ended up on your stomach in an attempt to crawl away and Krauser straddles you to keep you there.
One side of your face pressed into the dirt and gravel, you struggle to get a good look at him. It’s harder to make out the expression on his face now, your lighter must’ve been gone out. His knees on either side of your hips, Krauser grabs your arms to pull them against the small of your back. He holds them there with one hand, having picked the syringe back up and trying to get a good angle for injecting this thing. It’s supposed to go into a vein, and neither of your arms are a good choice in this position.
Like a small animal, you kick and struggle and thrash and call him every name under the sun. Demand to know what he’s doing, and why he’s doing it. He makes no attempt to cossete you, only increasing the force applied to your body until you can’t move. If he had the patience, he might’ve let you squirm a little longer until you started pleading with him. Wouldn’t that be a sight? You only stop moving when he makes a threat of breaking the one arm he’s got pinned behind you. Had to squeeze the circulation out of it to get you to listen.
At least Leon was able to put up a fight. To your credit, you weren’t caught in a good position. Something that shouldn’t have happened, wouldn’t have happened if Leon was more careful with you.
Well, good thing that you’re with him now, instead.
He uncaps the syringe with his teeth, spitting the plastic top off to the side. “You’ll thank me for this,” He can’t get a good enough opening on your arm to inject like he wanted to, so he settles for the side of your neck. Before you can get out more than two words, Krauser guesstimates where your jugular vein is and gets the needle in. You let out a strangled shriek, and if he were a better man he might have felt bad for doing this to you.
You’re only still for a few seconds before resuming your squirming. First, fruitlessly trying to get away while he pushes the needle plunger down (he’d been told to do it slow, something neither of you are enjoying), to which Krauser has to tell you to Cut it out before you skew the needle the wrong way. He watches the last of the eggs squeeze through the hub, then the shaft, and under the skin through the bevel, into your body.
You lay limp beneath him for a few seconds before more movement. Spasmodic writhing, jerky twitching motions that are uncoordinated and accompanied with more pained noises. When the needle is done with, Krauser tosses it to the side so he can use both hands to keep you still. One hand holds both of your wrists behind your back, the thumb of his free hand presses on the injection site. He feels your pulse against his thumb, and when he retracts it there’s blood in the ridges of his fingerpad.
After what feels like minutes, your movements slow to a stop. You wallow under him quietly, no trying to claw your way out or twitching your hips against his. Only shallow breathing and limp muscles. In. Out. In. Out. When he thinks you’re ready to listen, Krauser speaks again, tone marginally less abrasive. “I offered this sort of power to Kennedy, but he thought he knew better.” He scoffs, you can’t tell if he’s speaking with amusement or disdain. “And look where that got him. But you,” He pauses his sentence, looking back down at you.
Grey in the face, clammy and unfocused. You’re not in any state to listen to what he has to say after all. He thought you had finally calmed down, but you look too sick to speak right now. A thought comes to him that he needs to get off of you and take some steps back in case you start to hurl. Would hate to get vomit on himself.
He knew there would be a brief adjustment period, Saddler cautioned him of much. It makes him a little more appreciative that he was able to withstand the parasite so well. You manage to get something out, however garbled and weak. Krauser almost mistook it as another pained noise, but it sounded close enough to a word. Maybe two? Though not getting up, he does slightly ease the pressure he’s putting onto your body.
“Whuh hatheth Lee?”
He leans down towards you curiously. So you weren’t completely out of it. That’s a good sign, he thinks. There’s drool coming from the side of your mouth, and he lets go of the arm he’s got behind your back to wipe it away with his thumb. You keep your arm in place, and your unfocused eyes don’t catch Krauser getting a taste of your saliva.
“…You’re gonna need to speak up.”
You don’t respond with anything intelligible at first, swallowing back something (a failed second attempt or bile, one of the two), before spitting it out finally. “Leon!” You say his name like you were pushing your head out of the water, gasping for air after nearly drowning. Like it meant something to you.
Of fucking course.
His lips twitch into a disgusted sneer. Leon, Leon, Leon, it’s always fucking Leon with you. You must not have known, then. He wonders if he should tell you, take you to where whatever’s left of him is. Suppose it wouldn’t hurt to let you go and stumble upon it yourself–it’s not like Krauser would be far behind. He puts that thought aside for now. There’s no reason to hurry or rush things, not anymore. All the pieces had begun to fall in their place.
Whatever victory he felt is diminished by your call for help. “Your little boy-toy isn’t coming to save you,” You’re writhing like a bug under his weight. “It’s just you and me.” He leans down to say it in your ear, and relishes in the way you squirm underneath him. You smell like sweat and fear and all the things he likes. You try to get away from him again, and Krauser holds you in place, your legs kicking uselessly behind you. Stubborn idiot.
He’d thought once that whatever he felt for Leon would fade. Trickle into apathy, a sour memory. It wasn’t his fault alone, of course. And yet, months rolled into a year and it never felt any better. Leon got to go back home, back to you. All for what? So you could cling to him like a fucking dog? Some runt with half the experience he had, while he was offered to rot in government housing, on a government pension, with an arm that doesn’t fucking work.
And look where that got him.
Time hadn’t cauterized his wounds, it’d made them fester and weep, and even now he doesn’t feel like they’ll heal anytime soon. The plagas didn’t ever heal his arm, not really. Just turned it into something useful. Something strong. Maybe he can use you to numb the sting, if nothing else. Weren’t you just the perfect victory prize?
You’ve gone still again beneath him, occasionally twitching in a way you can’t control. Your fingers claw at the packed earth, dirt getting further caught under your nails. While he was in his own head, you’d coughed something up. Phlegm tinged with blood. Whimpering and whining like a sick child beneath him. Less force is needed to hold your arms back, and you don’t try to wrench them away or fight against his grasp, so he keeps both arms held with one hand instead of two. His free hand smooths out your hair, petting it in a way that feels awkward. He’s not sure if it’s helping or not.
That hand trails from your head to your shoulder, then down to your side. Krauser’s fingers feel your side, feeling the flesh of your torso and where it curves to your hip. Is this a view Leon got to see often? Don’t think like that. He can make guesses and get himself worked up over the idea, but he can’t pinpoint the true extent of you and Leon’s relationship. Maybe he’ll draw the truth out of you one day.
He can’t say which is a more appealing thought: That Leon never got the chance to get his hands on you and taint you—or that he could force you to admit that Leon could never please you like Krauser could. He could fuck you here, right now in the dirt. It’s too bad he ran into Leon before you, he could’ve kept Leon alive. Make him watch Krauser fuck you properly. Like a real man. Maybe it isn’t too late, he can dig up Leon and get Saddler to do something.
…There’s a few risks with that fantasy that makes him decide it isn’t worth it. Besides, he’s already asked for one favor too many.
His attention is drawn once again by your now marked lack of movement and quiet. You haven’t lurched or babbled any half-sentences in a while. He looks down, and your head is turned to the side. Your respirations have become irregular, and though it’s hard to tell in the dim light, he thinks some of the veins around your face have darkened. A finger feels at your injection site, and it’s warm. The rest of you is pretty cold.
“Hey!” He tries to jolt you awake. Damn it, that old geezer didn’t give him a faulty strand, did he? Your breathing becomes even again and Krauser is able to draw another noise out of you. He can’t tell if you’re trying to talk again or if you’re just in pain. His own go with the parasite hadn’t been nearly this bad, albeit he got a stronger and perhaps more stable strain.
…Well, all the more reason to get you out of the woods and somewhere warmer. Somewhere with adequate lighting so he can better monitor you. (If anything did happen, it’s not like he could call up Luis to take a look at you). He just got you, doesn’t want to break you before he’s gotten a chance to do anything with you. You’re lethargic, and a thought that you’re playing it up to get out of conversation with him is quickly stamped out. You’ll come around soon enough, see that this was the right decision.
Krauser cautiously lifts himself off of your prone form, watching to see if you’ll bolt or make any sudden movements. You don’t. He crouches down to hoist you up and over his shoulder like a sack of grain, one hand on your back to keep you in place. You start moving again, not staccato twitching but actually trying to move off of his shoulder. Sluggish and slow squirming, Krauser tightens his hold and his other hand comes to steady your legs.
“Hold still. Faster I can get you to where we’re going, the faster I can put you down.” He isn’t sure if any of that meant anything to you, because you don’t respond to him. You don’t writhe anymore either, whether it be from his words or that his grip has tightened. Hopefully he can get you to the island before you regain full consciousness and control of your body.
You wouldn’t be like those ganados, stupified and lumbering over themselves. Not if Krauser could help it. Saddler hadn’t—couldn’t have cheated him. Not after all the work he’s put in. No, you’ll be better, stronger.
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Characters were currently accepting requests for! VVVVVV
Idk, there is something about unreasonable big or tall men being your blanket, that is quite appealing.
I mean, Pierrot from TFC, for example. What a cutie. I like the silent Yandere type, and how hesistant he is. Shows a lot about his thought process and reasoning, which I find fascinating. There is something about a tall being, which is very attractive, however, do I not know just what it is. No, it isn't his lower region, before any of you mention it. Hm. Perhaps it makes one feel safe, in the way a child is supposed to feel safe with it's parents? The kind of safety, that you can rely on the taller being.
On the other hand, when this being hugs you, you just...get enveloped. Warmth from all sides, safety from all sides, kind of like being in the womb again. And then there is the factor of danger. We, as humans, are often attracted to it. Within reason, hopefully.
Same goes to the Doctor between (I adore his accent so much!!!! AUGH-). Also, he is birb, so he gets extra plus points. And is fully concealed, so mysteriousness is added. And he is scientist. I love scientists. (Though not purely anymore. I have fallen to the propaganda of others...)
Which kinda makes me think...I wonder if the creator of The FreakCircus is okay with how his characters are represented in media. I mean...there's already a lot of.....erotica about them. I mean, yeah, this fandom is supposed to be 18+, but still, those are his own characters....
Hm.
Anyways, as much as I like Pierrot, that was actually a build-up, to write about how satisfying it would be, to have Krauser as your blanket. He is the unreasonably big man. Wide. Like....Wiiiiiiiiide. And also, he looks quite heavy, which is even better for the blanket effect. You're just there, on the couch or the bed, minding your business and suddenly (assuming that this man is even capable of the slightest domestic gesture, which is highly unlikely) your lungs are empty, air is gone, and you are being crushed because he flopped down on top of you. Weighted blanket.
Wesker? Uh.....slightly weighted, slightly taller blanket. So, in the middle, perfect for those who want a balance. Assuming he would even do that, unlikely.
.....
Yeah.
That....that was it. That was the post.
...come on, what did you expect. Look at my username, OF COURSE I will find a way to make this about Krauser. (And Wesker, slightly. For his intelligence is as attractive as he is delusional. My delulu scientist. Pls don't destroy your world....destroy ours first.)
Summary: If you ask for something, you damn well better do it properly. Otherwise, he’ll take over and do it for you.
Pairing: Jack Krauser x reader
Word count: 1234
Additional tags: 18+ only/MDNI, smut, bicep riding (is that a thing? I'm making it a thing. look at those arms-), face sitting, multiple orgasms, marking, degradation (kinda? he's a bit mean but not too much), a tiny bit of praise if you squint
Author's note: I like Krauser a totally normal amount (lying. outta my way Leon let ME have a weird homoerotic whatever the fuck kinda relationship you got!!)
Also I totally didn't mean for the word count to be 1234... I feel like a joke lmao
Tags: @velvel1901 @stop-pressing-e
kinktober 2024 masterlist // read on ao3
There are two constant things in your life; large hand print bruises on your hips – matching with hands you know could do so much worse without any effort at all – and the knowledge of being able to push for things no other living being could get from who those prints belonged to.
Jack was not one to back down, no matter how much you pushed, no matter how much you talked back, there was no winning unless he let you. And yet, you still somehow found the tiny sliver leading underneath the scales, right to his heart. Not that he hadn’t done everything save for leaving you to fend for yourself to stop it.
He wouldn’t outright refuse your requests, no matter how weird. Rarely would you ever hear a ‘yes’, but you won’t be denied.
Want to sit on his face? You’ll have hand prints on your thighs as he forces you to actually sit down, all but smothering him. Want to top him? You better be able to tie decent knots so he couldn’t escape, but you’re welcome to try. Even something he hadn’t thought of before, despite the many longing looks towards his arms is fair game – if you’re willing to put in the work.
If you ask for something, you damn well better do it properly. Otherwise, he’ll take over and do it for you.
“Are you just going to sit there? Move already,” he ordered. Flexing his arm underneath you, he purposely held his hand up, almost moving to rest it on curve of your ass before dropping it back down against the bed. “I’m not waiting here forever.”
“Do you ever shut up?” you grumbled. The words come spilling out without thought – by now you’ve somehow mastered walking the incredibly fine line between being a complete brat and pissing him off so much he ended whatever new thing you wanted to try and fucked you until you were mindless.
He raised an eyebrow at you, his arm curving under you as the thick muscle underneath you dragged against your clit. Pleasure pooled at the base of your spine, warmth of his hand resting against your back and the sparks running over your skin as his nails dug into your flesh leaving everything hazy.
“Needy fucking brat,” he hissed, the low rumble in his chest adding to your excitement. “You’re lucky I like you.”
Looking down at him, lips curved into a cheeky grin, you keep watching him as you slowly dragged your cunt across his arm. The slow, painful ache refused to leave you, only added to by the torturous urge to claim him.
He huffed a laugh, tongue darting over his bottom lip as he watched your hips move. “Yeah, you’re a brat alright,” he muttered to himself, his eyes never leaving your skin.
You shifted on his arm, slowly rocking your hips against the thick muscle trapped between your thighs. Warmth slowly bubbled up, boiling over as you rocked against him. Leaning down, you grabbed a fistful of bedding in one, his shoulder in the other. Slick coated his arm, painted across his skin akin to paint on a canvas. Your canvas.
You don’t say it outright, the words too heavy, too venomous for whatever was there. But it was there regardless.
He watched, flexing his arm underneath you at random to watch you squirm more.
It’s cruel, you thought, the outright cruelty of the mocking laughter hiding the reverence just below the surface. No one else got this, no one else dared try. You dared the fire, now it was yours. Not yours to control, to tame, but yours nonetheless. You cannot tame it, to try would lead to ruin. But it is yours.
The painful coil snapped in your core, the desperate, ruinous need for more tumbling down into darkness, his hand on your back the only anchor within the storm. Your muscles tightened, a choked whine barely leaving your throat as you tried to work through it.
It’s too much, the rippling of flesh underneath barely keeping you afloat. Calloused fingers dragged across your skin, nails raking across the painfully sensitive flesh on your inner thighs in search of their mark.
“Atta girl,” his voice barely pulled you back. Your eyes opened a sliver, just enough to see the veneration scratching the surface before you’re quickly shoved back down as his fingers circle your clit.
Stars flashed in your eyes, darkness creeping in your vision as he worked you though it. Hand tightening on his shoulder, your nails dug into him, red crescent shapes marking the scarred skin beneath you.
It left you exhausted, ruined beyond hope as he forced you through it. Slick coated his arm and the insides of your thighs, cooling as the biting air left a painful buzz against your shaking skin.
“Happy now?”
Nodding, you shifted enough to hold yourself up somewhat as he pulled his hand back. Fucked out and tired, you can’t think properly, a heavy fog over the world. You tried to speak, the heavy panting leaving it hard to do much else besides whine a quiet “yes”.
He laughed, pulling your thigh over and slipping his arm out from under your trembling body. “Good, now get over here.” He gave you no time to comply, his hands roughly grabbed your hips as he forced you up over him. “Now for what I want,” he murmured, his eyes glued to your cunt as he pulled you up towards his face.
His lips are against your cunt before you could protest, eagerly shoving his tongue into your cunt. The slow syrupy fog running over your thoughts only further leaving you out in the blissful haze as he kept you down against his face.
He fucked you like he fought, relentless, burning away what little defenses you had. Nothing could keep him from what he desired, not even the necessity to breathe.
Heavy hands kept you against his face, his grip certain to add to the bruises marking your skin. You’re consumed with the destructive force burning away everything else. The fire left nothing in it’s wake, he never left a moment to breathe.
Your hips bucked against his face, clit dragging across his nose as he pulled you down harder, helping you rock down against his nose. The knot in your belly tightened, over and over, every forced drag across his nose pulling you further to your demise.
Muscles tightening, everything faded out as he curled his tongue in you, eagerly taking whatever you had. Chest heaving, you fell forward, barely catching yourself above him on the bed as the knot snapped.
Tears gathered in the corners of your eyes, your orgasm hitting you harder than the first. All slow, lazily burning at your nerves as he licked up everything.
Blackness crept back in, everything fading away for what felt like a lifetime until you felt him push you up some.
“Still with me?” he asked, licking his lips.
Nodding slightly, you opened your eyes as you leaned back against his chest. Slick coated his lower face, some on his nose. He watched you, eyes never leaving your body as he licked it away, like a dog proud of it’s catch.
“Good.”
You can’t tame it, but braving the flames was worth it when he looked up at you like that.
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