Hi everyone! Here you'll find a complete list of all the imagines/fics/etc. that I've written. I've organized it in a way that I think makes it easy to find my works for different fandoms. I hope you find something you'll enjoy <3
Last Updated: 9/3/25
Total Works: 25
Currently Writing
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☆ Celebrities ☆
Shawn Mendes:
White Christmas - in preparation for christmas eve dinner with shawn’s family, y/n makes her famous christmas cookies. when shawn offers to help it leads to a mix of ingredients y/n wasn’t quite expecting and a night full of memories (watchmegetobsessed fanficmas 2021)
New Year’s Nightmare (CEO!Shawn) - new year's eve quickly takes a turn when y/n has a run in with a mystery man. after thinking she'll never see him again, one thing leads to another and suddenly she's trapped in an elevator with him during one of the biggest nights of the year
Luke Hemmings:
Here For You - when y/n notices luke drifting away from her, she decides to confront him on it. luke’s response leads to shock and a whole lot of heartache (goldensonlyangel 1k celebration)
Double Life (GangMember!Luke) - when y/n comes home early, she has a run in with her longterm boyfriend that leaves her questioning everything and wondering who exactly it is she’s in a relationship with (requested)
Timothée Chalamet:
Academy Attraction - it’s the oscar’s and once timothée and y/n spot each other on the red carpet, their attraction to each other is visibly undeniable, leading to a night full of awards in more ways than one
Austin Butler:
Gorgeous - after meeting austin at a party, y/n is left with a desirable impression and immediately writes a song about it. set to perform at the cannes elvis premiere after party, y/n takes the opportunity to let her true feelings be known. based off the song gorgeous by taylor swift
Invisible String - y/n and austin have known each other for years. each harbors feelings for the other yet they remain clueless to it until an accidental slip up from austin leads to a series of events that reveals just how destined for each other they've always been (requested)
In Sickness and in Health - when y/n wakes up sick in the middle of the night, austin does everything he can to make sure she feels better
Sweet Nothing - noticing y/n’s struggle to come up with a final song for her new album, austin offers his help which leads to a trip down memory lane and a whole lot of sweet nothing. based off the song sweet nothing by taylor swift (requested)
Flowers - after making a quick run to the store, austin comes home with a surprise for his favorite girl in the world (requested)
Birthday Blues - noticing her struggle with the loss and memory of her brother on his birthday, austin helps and comforts y/n with the celebration of his special day (requested)
Just Breathe - when attending the premiere of 'Elvis', y/n suddenly suffers a panic attack. seeing his girlfriend in distress, austin's there to make sure she's okay and that she knows she's not alone (requested)
Joe Burrow:
I Smell Snow - the first cincinnati snowfall of the season leads to a night full of magic and love
Die with a Smile - y/n and joe attend a prestigious gala where they share a tender moment out on the dance floor together
☆ Content Creators/In-Game Characters ☆
Dream:
Comfort (CC!Dream) - when dream is organizing the gifts from his subscribers, he becomes emotional and reflects on the past couple of weeks. y/n is there to comfort and assure him of his importance
Love Story (CC!Dream) - when taylor swift drops her rerecorded song ‘love story’, y/n and dream are excited and decide to stay up for the release. y/n thinks it’s just an ordinary night full of one of their favorite songs, yet dream has other plans in store for them
A Promise (SMP!Dream) - the smp is in shambles. tensions are high in the wake of tommy's death. y/n is still struggling with everything that happened with dream and wishes life could go back to what it used to be before everyone was hungry for power. y/n thinks of the promise dream made to them, and is oblivious to the fact dream intends on keeping it
☆ The Carrie Diaries ☆
Sebastian Kydd:
Alone - when delivering her annual thanksgiving tradition cookies, y/n discovers just how alone sebastian has been feeling, and she’s determined to help fix that
☆ Outer Banks ☆
JJ Maybank:
Nowhere Else to Go - during a storm, y/n discovers jj’s dealing with a lot more than he led on. in a mix of thunder and lighting, a whole lot of secrets and feelings are revealed
I’ve Got You - struggling with financial burdens, y/n starts to crumble under the pressure. jj notices the girl he loves is hard on her luck, so he does everything he can to help fix it (requested)
☆ Stranger Things ☆
Steve Harrington:
Dance With Me - while at a school dance, y/n struggles to enjoy herself. seeking comfort and solitude she wanders the school in hopes to clear her mind. what she doesn’t expect is to run into the guy who’s been occupying her thoughts, and to make a connection with him she’s only ever dreamed of
☆ Aliens in the Attic ☆
Jake Pearson:
Against All Odds - while on vacation with her best friends’ family, y/n gets a lot more than she bargained for when she encounters both love and…aliens!? (requested)
☆ Awake ☆
Clay Beresford:
•Heart to Heart - after crossing paths and connecting with new york’s most well known businessman, you end up in a whirlwind situation that’ll change your life forever
☆ Harry Potter Universe ☆
Dramione:
Rapunzel - stuck with the inability to meet with her boyfriend face to face on her own, hermione enlists the help of her best friend to get her there. meanwhile, stuck in a meeting of star-crossed lovers and nothing better to do, harry has a few quips for draco up his sleeve
☆ DC Universe ☆
Superman/Clark Kent:
Should’ve Said It - after having a fight at work with your boyfriend, clark, you go to his apartment in hopes of making amends. what you don't expect is to find out he's been keeping a big secret from you, leaving you with a mix of emotions
Description: You’re spider-man’s closest thing to a friend since the world forgot his name. Helping him with gadgets, cleaning his wounds…all without him ever taking the mask off. His true identity has always been a barrier between you two, but what happens when he gets hit with the pollen, and not only him, but the creature lurking inside him fixates on the only person he gets to call home?
Tags/warnings: sex pollen smut, fem!reader, porn with plot, whiny desperate peter >>>, dry humping, piv, riding, oral fem!rec, fingering, dark!peter taking over for a bit, orgasm denial, prone bone, so much yearning, mask stays on…or does it?
Note: You have no idea how giddy it makes me to write him again. He had NO business looking that good in the movie so I had to get this out of my system. Enjoy 🤍
Masterlist
You've seen spiderman hurt many times. When you signed the lease of the first apartment you could afford as a recent graduate, you never thought that would become your new normal.
The first time it happened was completely accidental. He’d arrived at the building in the middle of the night, bruised, bleeding and too disoriented to realize that the window he’d come through was not his.
That night, the noise of a heavy body collapsing onto the floor woke you up. For one terrifying moment, you believed someone had broken into your apartment, only to switch on the lamp and find the city’s superhero groaning and pressing his hands to his side. His suit was torn there, and blood soaked through the ruined fabric onto your rug.
He barely lifted his head when he heard you gasp, the lens of his mask focusing on your figure standing there with wide eyes, wearing only an oversized shirt.
“Wrong window,” he choked, then tried to hold himself up but immediately collapsed again. “Dammit,” he cursed, waiting for you to freak out any second now.
You could have, but instead you rushed to him and knelt beside him.
“Oh my god, are you okay?” Your hands hovered helplessly over his body, trying to see how bad the damage was in the dark. “You need a hospital–”
“No!” He snapped, trying to turn away but failing miserably. “I’ll be fine, I heal quickly.”
“You still need to stop the bleeding,” you countered, folding your knees under your body so you could rest on your calves. “Listen, I can help you. I took some medical courses last year and I have a kit somewhere.”
You looked at him with pleading eyes. He’d saved the city so many times, the fucking world, it was the least you could do to give something back.
He considered his options for a second, and to be honest he didn’t have many. His body was betraying him, and he couldn’t even get up to fix it himself like usual.
The blood loss made him nod, and you wasted no time in getting up and finding said kit. The blood loss also made him drift in and out of consciousness as you tended to the wounds on his ribs as much as you could.
It did not make him less cautious of you though. When you noticed the rip on his mask over a nasty gash on his neck and reached for it, his hand closed around your wrist and even half conscious, his grip was strong.
“Please,” he whispered. Pleaded. “Keep it on.”
The fear in his voice made you promise you would. Even if you couldn’t get to that gash properly. Even when he fell asleep on your floor and didn’t wake up for six whole hours.
The next morning, he opened his eyes and found you sitting on your bed, still staring at him.
His hands patted his chest, and confirmed his arachnid powers had done its job and healed him mostly. But most importantly, his mask was still in place. With no warning from E.V of it being removed. He learned that you’d spent the night making sure he was still breathing without seeing his face.
That had been one year ago.
After thanking you profoundly for helping him, he’d repaired your window, apologized several times, and disappeared into the apartment next door. He then considered moving into another building, but the thought was brushed away very quickly when he remembered the balance in his bank account.
So he acted more careful instead. For a while, he only turned back home when your curtains were already closed, or he only left the apartment when you had already left for your job (because yes, he absolutely researched the hell out of you after that night.)
Then he moved to the attic of the building. Bigger space, no neighbors, no risks. No you. Or at least he thought.
Because some nights…some delirious nights he still found your window a few stories down, and the accidental visits became less accidental. When he was too badly injured to care for himself, he came to you, even after you confessed your degree had nothing to do with medicine.
When he noticed you understood about his equipment malfunctioning, he’d bring it for you to inspect. When he became too reckless with himself you talked his ear off about how being difficult to kill did not make him immortal.
Somewhere along the way, you became spiderman’s friend.
Spiderman was safer. With you, spiderman was the only part of him he could let you see. Because that was the thing, you only knew the masked superhero.
He’d spent so much time blocking away his identity, making peace with the fact that there was no longer anyone in the world who would call him Peter and know exactly who that person was. That name only belonged to the people that once knew him, and no longer existed, so he never gave it to you.
Never showed you more than a sliver of skin when his mask rode up or glimpses of his abdomen when you tended to his wounds. He always kept that barrier and you respected it, even on those nights he was too weak to stop you. Even if sometimes not knowing the color of his eyes kept you up at night.
A promise was a promise.
Maybe that’s why he kept coming. Why he trusted you with a certainty he couldn’t understand. Why he eventually showed you his new living quarters in the attic and let you spend time with him. Why half a year ago, he added another chair next to his desk so you could work together, or help him when he was out patrolling and needed an extra set of eyes.
“I’m officially the girl in the chair, spidey,” you joked that time as you sat next to him, spinning around in your chair.
He’d gone quiet immediately, his body tensing up enough to make you frown, but then managed a small smile and said you were. You pretended you didn’t notice him being too quiet as he worked on his inhibitor after that.
He was wearing a hoodie, sweatpants and the mask. Always the mask that didn’t quite let you see through him. After a moment of quiet, you rolled your chair closer to his and nudged his arm playfully.
“You know I can’t keep calling you spidey forever, right?”
He snapped out of his trance, and the chuckle that came from under the fabric was unmistakable.
“Why not?” He nudged your arm back, but still focused on the device he was hunched over. “I like spidey.”
You put your elbow on the desk, resting your cheek on your hand so you could lean a little closer.
“I like it too, but it feels ridiculous after having my hands all over your body almost every night.”
The moment the words left your lips, you realized how bad that sounded. He straightened up, turning toward you.
“Wow.” Even if you couldn’t see the smile on his face, the lenses of his mask were quite expressive sometimes. He was amused.
“That came out very wrong,” you said immediately, before he bursted into laughter. He had been laughing more since you entered his life. “You know what I meant,” you whined, laughing too with heat flooding your cheeks.
“I think I know,” he chuckled, making you roll your eyes.
“I’m being serious though,” you added, a little more quietly. “You don’t have to say your real name. Just give me something.”
“Mmm…” he acted like has considering it, going back to tinkering with the piece of metal between his fingers, but then his eyes drifted to the flowers he’d bought that morning, and the name came out of his lips before he could think twice about it. “You can call me Maynard.”
“Maynard?” You repeated, suppressing a chuckle. “You don’t sound like a Maynard. That’s like an 80 year old man’s name.”
“That’s all I can give you,” he shrugged playfully.
You had a feeling it went deeper than that, but you’d also learned not to push it with him.
“Alright. Maynard,” you nodded, “but don’t expect me to use that name unless you’re dying. Guess I’ll stick to spidey for now,” you chuckled, going back to your own work as he hummed in agreement.
The conversation ended there. With him trying not to think about your hands all over his body in…different conditions.
Peter didn’t know exactly when his gratitude became longing. He could not identify the moment the friendship, the closeness, or just your smile, shifted into something he craved everyday.
Despite the mask and the fake name, he knew that after years of being no one to everyone, he had become someone to you. And you had become everything to him. Even if it was behind walls he’d built, you were the person who knew him better than anyone alive.
Which is why, the night he lost control of himself after an unknown dust was thrown at him in a fight, he chose not to crash land into your room.
Peter hit the floor of the dark attic with a loud thud, as his senses went overboard. His suit was sticking to his body uncomfortably due to the sweat coating his feverish skin. The fabric was intact, with no visible wounds in his body, just that burning sensation of something running through his veins.
And that dark part of him he’d managed to lock down with the inhibitor, trying to claw its way out.
“What the…what the fuck is going on,” he cursed, clutching his heaving chest as he panted against the worn wood floors. “I can’t–I can’t breathe…”
The computer’s monotone voice broke through the silence.
“You have arrived injured. I’m letting her know–”
“NO!” He cut the AI off, “EV, don’t tell her–”
“Message already sent.”
He glanced up at the digital clock on his desk. 2:18 am.
He groaned, grabbing his head when a wave of migraine hit him. He knew what came after that. The black eyes. The desire to break. To take. But this time something felt different. It was like a pull, looking for something or someone…for…for you?
Oh fuck.
You were going to come in and you were going to see him like this. No, no–
“Spidey?” You asked from behind the door, knocking exactly twice before opening it anyways.
The air changed the exact moment you walked in, and that something inside him shifted too. It became aware that the only thing it craved to survive was in the room now.
He needed to get to you. He needed to pin you down and–
“Don’t!” He managed to scream, holding his hand up weakly when you scrambled toward him.
You stopped right in your tracks, eyes wide and running all over him, searching for torn fabric, blood, or anything that would explain why he looked like every breath was painful.
“What happened?” You frowned, when you couldn’t find any source. “Did you get hurt?”
You instinctively stepped forward, but he waved his hand in front of him again.
“Stop, stop, stop,” he said quickly, “don’t come any closer.”
The harshness in his voice caught you off guard, but what sealed the deal was him dragging himself further away from you. It was barely more than a clumsy, desperate crawl, but he managed to put a decent distance between you before collapsing against the side of his thrifted couch.
He avoided looking at you. The oversized shirt covering your body, the comfy shorts you were probably wearing, the way your hair looked messy from rolling out of bed as soon as you got EV’s warning even if you had work the next morning.
You stayed right where you were, watching him. His suit had always fit him like it was painted on his skin, but every pant made his chest rise and fall beneath the fabric so violently that you wouldn’t be surprised if it ripped at the seams.
This reminded you too much of the changes that happened in him months ago.
It started with a sharpened temper, then the heightened sensitivity to everything, the black covering his eyes, and moments during patrol when his reactions became simply frightening for someone who had as much strength as he did. But you were supposed to have stopped it.
“Is it the inhibitor?” You asked, crossing your arms over your chest, “is it failing?”
“I–I don’t know…I was hit with some dust out there,” he breathed. “I think it’s tampering with it…my head is killing me. Everything is too much.”
You nodded, turning toward the workstation.
“I will check the programming. Just hold on.” Not your best attempt at reassuring him, but he groaned in acknowledgment.
“EV?”
The computer woke when you touched the keyboard, illuminating the dark attic in a wash of blue light.
“Online.”
“Please run a diagnostic on the inhibitor and any possible interference.”
“Beginning diagnostic.”
You waited impatiently for the results, tapping your fingers on the desk while you watched him from the corner of your eye.
Over there, he…he was doing his best trying to breathe.
This obviously wasn't his first time having sensory overload. When the animal tried to take over the human part of him, everything in the city became impossible to escape. Not a single movement, or sound, or simple existence within miles was unnoticed by him.
But this time? The rest of the city had disappeared. There were no sirens in the distance, or voices coming through the walls, or every heartbeat in the building pounding in his head.
There was only you.
Your rapid heartbeat echoing inside him. He felt every tap of your fingers against the wood, every slight catch in your breathing each time he made another involuntary and pathetic sound from his spot on the floor.
Your scent…God, your scent filled the entire apartment.
The scent he found himself coming back to so often that it scared him. He didn’t want the attachment. The possibility of having someone again only to risk losing them again.
That same scent was making every muscle in his body react in a way he didn’t understand. It made him, and the other him, wanna do things to you he had only dreamed of in his wildest fantasies. Things he wasn’t proud of, things he wouldn’t dare to say out loud, even if he looked at you through the lenses of his mask and you couldn’t see the black in his eyes.
He pressed the back of his head against the couch harshly.
This was wrong. So wrong.
His senses were supposed to consume everything when the change came. Instead, they had fixed themselves entirely on you.
He could feel the heat of your body from across the room as though you were still in front of him. Could remember with sickening detail how soft your hands looked when they reached for him. Could almost feel the burn of the touch that had never landed because he stopped you.
What if he’d let you? What if he’d felt the way your hands ran all over his body? What if you’d moved them lower, and lower, as your mouth–
“Diagnostic complete.”
Your heads snapped toward the screen.
“There’s no external damage affecting the integrity of the device. I detected a foreign biotoxin in the bloodstream that may be bypassing the inhibitor, activating the suppressed arachnid hormones.”
“What biotoxin?” You frowned.
“Unknown. No matches found in available databases.”
Great. He thought. He had no time to take a bath with Yelena Belova to find out what the stupid dust was.
Tiny, microscopic potato, she would say.
The screen changed, displaying a model of his nervous system. There were yellow bright lines pulsing quickly, running all the way from the base of his brain down the length of his spine. Something unknown was moving through his blood, altering the part of him he had spent months forcing into submission.
He sucked in a breath as he watched you read the screen. Your eyes were focused, and a bead of sweat made its way down the side of your forehead.
He suddenly felt the need to lick it off.
Wanted to run his tongue from the base of your neck to the back of your ear. Wanted to fist your hair and make your heart beat out of your chest from how good he knew he could make you feel–
“The effects remain within his enhanced tolerance. However, prolonged exposure to certain hormones can cause extreme distress without relief.”
“What hormones?” Your voice, worried and unknowing of his thoughts only made him feel guiltier.
It took him a second to realize what you asked, but EV threw him under the bus before he could say anything.
“There’s a significant rise in reproductive hormones. The unknown toxin is inducing a strong mating response in him.”
Mating response. He stopped breathing.
Your eyes slowly moved from the monitor to him, and he saw the moment your attention dropped lower to the tent of his pants.
That suit concealed nothing on a good day. On one like this? Fuck. Fuck. Fuck–
He shifted almost immediately, but the movement only worsened the pressure, pulling a helpless groan from his throat that made your pulse jump. You looked away at once, turning back to the computer.
“Is there a way we can…umm…stop it?” You asked hesitantly.
“The subject is experiencing severe sexual arousal with a fixation on a nearby individual,” she explained, because fuck him if he wasn’t the unluckiest individual on earth. “Acting upon it can be a positive option to relieve sexual tension.”
He wished the floor would open beneath him, swallow him, and never ever EVER spit him back out again.
Your pulse was absolutely hammering after that. He caught the sudden change in your scent. There was a sharp spark of surprise, nervousness, and something else beneath it that his altered senses fed on immediately.
You kept your eyes fixed on the monitor, although the data had stopped meaning anything the moment you heard fixation on a nearby individual.
“Is that what you really feel?” You asked softly after a moment.
His head fell forward, catching it between his gloved hands. He didn’t know how to answer without making everything worse.
Although, after what EV said, could it really be worse?
“…Yes.” The word came out rougher than he expected. Yet still not enough for what was happening inside him. “It’s like…I can only feel you. All of you.”
Heat rose to your face once again.
“What does that mean?”
Don’t say anything, don’t–
“I can smell you.” Great start, idiot. He cleared his dry throat before continuing. “I can smell your shampoo…the lotion you use…the ink on your hands from your favorite pen.”
He chose not to mention he could also smell the adrenaline on you. The heat gathering slowly beneath your skin.
Your eyes dropped to your hands, and under the dim light of the computer, you caught the ink stains in them from your journaling session before bed.
“I can hear your heartbeat changing every time I speak,” he added. Okay, that one slipped out.
You swallowed. And god, he felt that in his own throat.
The suit was suffocating him at this point. He wanted to rip it off as much as he wanted to rip off the fabric covering the goosebumps on your skin.
“Is it only because I’m nearby?” You asked, gathering the courage to turn your chair to him.
White lenses met you across the room. He dragged in another shaky breath of oxygen made of you as he thought about his next words. He could’ve lied. He should’ve lied. But instead, chemically overwhelmed and stripped of every defense he possessed, he gave you the truth.
“No.”
His voice was firmer this time. No hesitation in it despite the thousand red alarms pounding in his head telling him to shut up.
“It picked you–no, I picked you for a reason,” he added. “And it’s not just me. The other…the other me wants you too.”
His voice went lower on the last part, that told you how much it cost him to admit that.
The silence following his confession was heavy. For a moment he wished he could read your mind. For all he could feel of you, your thoughts were unreachable.
His own mind was a mess. The impulses didn’t feel like thoughts anymore, just his body feeding him instructions.
Get up. Cross the room. Touch her. Breathe her in.
His palms shook with the urge to close around you. His teeth ached with the need to graze your skin. His eyes burned with the desire to see beyond fabric.
Every part of him seemed convinced that the small distance between you was a mistake he needed to correct. That he needed to breathe you in until his lungs burned. Drag his mouth along the inside of your wrist and taste the pulse there.
He hated it.
He hated that something inside him could look at the person he cared for the most and reduce her to an answer for his pain.
“EV, how long is this state going to last?” He asked the computer, followed by a weak cough as he clutched his side.
“Your enhanced physiology is struggling to break down the toxin’s structure. I estimate a time between ten to twelve hours before it’s metabolized. However, neurological collapse is expected before that timeframe.”
“What?” You looked at him. “There’s no way we’re letting that happen. Maybe I can–”
“Don’t even start,” he cut you off, shaking his head profusely.
“So what? I’m supposed to sit here betting on whether your body collapses on hour three or hour six?”
“I’ll just pass out, big deal. I’m not putting you in danger because of this. I can handle it.”
“You’re barely handling it now. There’s no danger in trying–”
“You don’t understand what’s happening inside me right now,” he argued, raising his voice. “This other thing, the one the inhibitor controls it’s…awake. That part of me doesn’t think like I do. It doesn’t care if you're scared, or hurting–”
“You wouldn’t hurt me–”
“You don’t know that!” He snapped, his fist struck the floor next to him, hard enough to make the worn wood crack beneath his knuckles.
The sudden noise made you flinch. He smelled the flash of fear moving through your body for only a second.
One second enough.
“Fuck–that is what I mean,” he cursed, covering his lenses with his hands. “I don’t…I don’t know if I’d be gentle. I can’t risk this, I can't…shit, I can’t risk you.”
The words, said with so much pain, and honesty, seemed to settle somewhere deep in your chest.
“Okay,” you nodded, settling deeper in your chair. “But I’m not leaving you like this. I can’t risk you either.”
He shuddered a painful exhale. His head dropped to the couch again, shutting his eyes in preparation of what the next hours of torture would be.
Except…he didn’t even last ten minutes.
The suit was killing him, so he decided he’d be better without it. He reached desperately behind his back, clumsily undoing the zippers that tied the suit together.
He could feel your wide eyes on him as he tugged the fabric off his shoulders, peeling it off his sweaty arms. He groaned when he lifted his hips and the suit grazed his swollen crotch. In a matter of seconds that felt like eternity he managed to break free from the spandex, and threw it away somewhere in the room. He’d undressed down to his dark boxers, mask still in place, revealing the marble sculpture of his body.
You let out a shaky breath from your spot, eyes raking over a body you’d only seen partially. He was covered in wounds most of the time, but this time, he only had faint bruises from the night before decorating his chiseled abs.
His tight muscles flexed with every rise of his chest, his bulge straining harder the more you devoured him, pressing against his pants, making him curse quietly.
You noticed, and returned your eyes to the screen to track his vitals.
He felt grateful that you’d given him that grace, but just you being in that room made it very hard for him to think of anything other than your existence.
Too hard.
Before he knew his hand drifted down the growing ache in his crotch, trying to feel some relief, but every rub he made over the fabric of his boxers sent a jolt of pain through his body instead of pleasure.
It only made it worse when he realized you were tense at the desk, trying very hard to keep your focus on the screen and not on the whines he was letting out.
“…I’m sorry,” he apologized instantly, breathlessly, moving his hand away. “I didn’t–”
“Don’t apologize,” you shook your head quickly, eyes still on the screen. “You…you can do whatever you need.”
He didn’t say anything, just whined in pain again, so you took it as a chance to say it before you regretted it.
“But my offer still stands, spidey.”
What a polite way of saying ‘I’d let you fuck me into next week so you can control your horny arachnid hormones, spidey.’
Fucking hell.
“I’m okay I just–God I didn’t–I didn’t think it would feel this way…” He laughed humorlessly, staring at the ceiling. “But I–I got this. Yes.”
You kept quiet, hearing him mumble to himself about a hundred times about how he had this.
“I’m okay…I’m good…it’s fine…”
He wasn’t.
“Fuck I don’t…I’m going to die…”
For God’s sake.
“I think I can help.”
By the time he registered the words and looked back at you, you had already moved from your chair and shortened the distance between you, kneeling in front of him.
His senses went from one thousand to one million. He forced his hands behind his back, trying to keep the animal from grabbing you and getting it over with.
“What–what are you doing?” He stammered nervously, the lenses of his mask going wide.
“Maynard,” you said quietly, ignoring the way his body tensed up at that name. “Would it make you feel better if I put my hand here?”
You placed your hand right in the center of his chest, and your cold palm met his overheated skin. He gasped, feeling every individual fingerprint on his skin. He wanted them marked on him. Tattooed.
His back arched from the couch, with a strangled gasp breaking from beneath the mask. The relief hit him all at once, through a simple contact that felt like salvation.
Your hand steadied him for only a glorious second, but now that you had touched him, his body knew precisely what it had been denied.
It wanted more.
His own hand closed around yours so suddenly that you almost pulled back, but he loosened his grip the instant he realized how tightly he was holding you.
“Sorry–”
“Don’t apologize.” You pressed harder.
He was burning.
The heat beneath your palm scared you, but what scared you more was the violent pounding of his heart beating against your hand so so quickly.
“Better?” You asked quietly, trying not to bite your bottom lip at the image of him crumbling under your palm.
“So fucking better,” he said breathlessly, pressing your hand tighter against his chest. “I…dammit–”
“Breathe,” you reminded.
His head fell back against the couch. Chest rising up and down, up and down, up and down.
Just take her, man, she’s right there–
Your free hand accidentally brushed his neck, right where the border of the mask started, snapping him right back. He grabbed your hand, not harshly, but firm enough to make your breath hitch.
“Please.” Was all he said.
Leave it on.
It brought you back to that first night he’d crashed into your life.
“I wasn’t planning on removing it,” you whispered, leaning closer. “You can keep it on. But let me help you…I really want to.”
See? She wants it. She needs it so bad.
He hated that the other guy was right. He knew you meant what you said because he could smell the proof pooling between your thighs.
Fuck it.
In a sudden movement he reached for your waist, dragging you forward so you were straddling his lap. The bulge you landed on made you gasp, hands instinctively grabbing onto his sweaty biceps for balance when he let out a broken groan that vibrated against your core.
His hand cupped your jaw, bringing it closer to his face, and your dilated pupils reflected on the white of his lenses.
“I can feel that you want this,” he mumbled, tilting his head to the side. “Please, say it again…”
You shifted your hips, barely, so minimal yet he felt it travel through his whole body. He hissed, tightening the grip on your jaw.
“I want this,” you repeated firmly, moving your head closer to his ear. “You can take whatever you need…”
You moved your hips again, more deliberate this time, pulling a broken whine from him. The toxin made every contact feel like electricity racing down his spine, straight to the heavy, aching weight of his cock under you.
“Yes…yeah just like that…” he panted. “Just let me…”
His hands landed on your waist, moving you back and forth at a quicker pace over his bulge. You gasped at the friction, fingers digging into his shoulders, while he let out a collection of muffled words you could barely understand.
“...M–more…” he whined, throwing his head back against the couch. “I can’t–I need…”
“What do you need? More what?”
“More contact.”
His hands left your waist to grab the hem of your shirt.
“Can I?” He whispered.
You nodded eagerly, gasping when his hands shifted to the collar of your shirt instead, ripping it off your body with a sharp pull.
“Oh fuck,” he cursed when he realized there was nothing under that shirt, and saw your nipples hardening instantly under the cold air.
He resisted the urge to bite them through the mask.
His hands, however, wasted no time to cup your breasts with a broken whine. His thumbs played with your nipples, tugging at them as hard as he could allow himself to without hurting you.
“Fuck you’re perfect…you’re so perfect…” he whispered, more to himself than you, pulling some soft whimpers out of you when he tugged a little harder. His hands drifted to your lower half, to the hem of the last piece keeping your body from his greedy eyes. “These too,” he said, “please, can I? I want to feel you.”
“Yes,” you nodded, already out of air.
You didn’t even know why you tried to get off his lap to take the shorts off properly, when he just did the same as the shirt: ripped it in half where it rested on your hips, yanked it off from your body and threw the ruined pieces far away.
You weren’t wearing anything underneath.
“I can smell you. God, I can smell you. You’re so–oh God…”
Now he could feel your wetness drenching his boxers, dripping onto the fabric. He could almost taste it in his mouth. He wanted nothing more than to drown in it for hours.
“Can–can I–?”
You didn’t even let him finish, you grabbed his hand and placed it right between your legs.
Water. He found water in the middle of the dessert.
His hand moved carefully through your wet folds once, twice, delighting in your warmth, the way you felt, the way you let out the prettiest sound he had ever heard in his miserable life.
“Fuck…” you cursed softly, moving your hips eagerly when he kept stroking slow. Too slow. “Touch me, please.”
He obliged, fingers finding your clit in movements that had you gripping his shoulders tighter, eyes fluttering shut so beautifully he had to bite his lip to not let out a pathetic sound.
“Been wanting this,” he mumbled. “Longer than today. Longer than tonight.”
His finger slid inside of you, making you moan when he curled it just right.
“There were…there were nights I thought about you riding my hand,” he kept going, voice cracking as he added a second finger, stretching you more. “I’ve wanted you for so long–not just because of this shit in my blood. Because it’s you.”
Every word made you clench around his fingers. Every admission pulled another shaky moan out of your throat. You were a mess already, breathless, hips rolling down to meet the thrust of his fingers.
“Oh my God–don’t stop, please don’t stop–”
“Not stopping, baby.”
He kept working you open, the white lenses of the mask never leaving your face. His free hand slid up your chest, settling between your breasts.
“I’m–I’m close,” you managed. “I’m so close–”
“Come on…you’re perfect. You’re so fucking perfect like this.”
The heel of his palm lifted to press against your clit. You were right there, right on the edge, about to come on his hand and drip down his boxers–
“Please,” he begged, unable to keep it in. “Let me fuck you after this…please. I need to be inside you. I’ve needed it for so long–just let me, after you come, please, please–”
The plea undid you.
You came with a broken cry, stopping your movements as your walls pulsed around him. The sound you made against his shoulder nearly finished him right there.
It took you a second to just breathe again, your chest synching up with his in the search of oxygen. He kept rocking his hand slowly, not just to work you through the aftershocks, but because the friction of your pussy in his hand brought the tiniest relief to him.
You just stayed there as the last soft waves rolled through you.
Once you were able to see clearly again, you let out a breathless chuckle and straightened back up.
He needed you. He needed you so badly you really thought he was going to die if you didn’t help him.
You placed one hand on his chest as the other reached under you, slipping inside the fabric of his boxers without breaking eye contact.
The second your bare fingers brushed him, his hips jerked hard under you.
“You said please,” you whispered breathlessly.
You wrapped your fingers around him and pulled him free.
His cock sprang out, heavy and flushed between your bodies, so thick and hard and painful. The head was red and shiny, with precum dripping down the vein that ran along his length. The tip brushed the skin of your stomach, leaving a warm, wet patch that made the hair on your arms go up. He could smell the small flicker of intimidation sparking inside you, but the want that followed was stronger.
You stroked him a few times, slowly just as he’d touched you at first.
“Oh my God, your hand–your hand–”
Another thick bead of precum welled up and spilled over your fingers. Whether it was the toxin or just his enhanced physiology, he was dripping for you.
Flustered wasn’t enough of a word when you had his leaking cock in your hand.
His hands slid down to your hips, gripping tighter, guiding you up as if he was about to lift you then pulling you back down immediately.
Fuck her. Fuck her right now.
“Please, I need–I need to feel you…” he cried out. “Let me…let me…”
You nodded just as desperately, lifting yourself up as he helped, steadying you with shaking hands until the thick head of his cock nudged against your entrance. You both exhaled hard at the same time when you started to sink down, taking him inch by inch.
He was big. Almost too much. The burn of it made your breath hitch, but the way he cursed under his breath multiple times, completely at your mercy, made you keep going until he was buried balls deep.
You sat there for a moment, breathing heavily, and so full of him.
When the initial sting faded away, you started moving. He let you set the pace as you adjusted, holding back his need of thrusting up. His fingers dug on your skin, not lifting just holding you, but the more that you moved, the more that control started to waver.
He could feel it coming. The change.
You kept moaning, bouncing on top of him, completely unaware of his self restraint crumbling away.
His grip slowly tightened when his eyes began turning completely black under his mask. That careful, pathetic boy who’d been begging disappeared beneath something more…primal.
Fuck. Whatever had been holding him back finally snapped.
The next thing he knew, his hands slid under your thighs with sudden strength. He lifted you up in one motion until only the thick head of him remained inside you, held you there for a second as the last part of him tried to remember how to be gentle–then snapped his hips up hard.
That first thrust pulled a sharp moan out of you, but there was no chance to adjust this time. He set a relentless pace almost immediately, using pure strength to bounce you on his cock while he drove up to meet every drop of your body, buried so deep it stole your breath every time he bottomed out.
“Oh my–May…Maynard–” the name you barely used on him slipped out in the middle of the frenzy, but his hand reached behind your head to pull your hair back slightly as he kept thrusting up.
“Don’t call me that,” he snapped, his voice so different from just minutes earlier. “It’s Peter. Call me Peter when I’m inside you.”
He didn’t even give you time to process, still lifting and dropping you onto his cock at the exact hard rhythm he wanted. The only one that satisfied the need inside of him. Your hands instinctively reached for the edge of the arm of the couch he was leaning against, fingers digging into the worn fabric as he hit that spot inside you over and over again.
“Of fuck…Peter–fuck…yes…”
“That’s better,” he approved. “I was right, you’re so so perfect…taking every inch like you need it as bad as I do…”
A desperate sound slipped out of you at the praise, he could feel your walls clenching tight around him as your body went for that second orgasm, your eyes were fluttering shut, almost there–
“Nuh–uh,” he denied immediately, stopping mid thrust, holding you pressed against him as you gasped, surprised and confused.
“What–what happened? I was about to–”
“I want you to hold it for me. I know you can.”
That twisted part of him enjoyed the slow realization on your face.
Even if you couldn’t see his eyes, you knew the same spiderman he’d been without the inhibitor, was the one with your body at his mercy now.
Good.
He stayed buried to the hilt for a moment, breathing hard behind the mask. When your breathing finally slowed down and accepted that the high never came, he stood up. Still inside you, he walked you to the bed in the corner of the room.
His bed.
He pulled out with a wet sound that made both of you groan, then laid you down roughly near the edge of the mattress. He kneeled down, strong hands hooking behind your knees and dragging your legs over his shoulders, folding you open for him completely.
“Look at the ceiling,” he ordered. “Don’t look at me.”
You obeyed, staring up at the wood beams high above you while he tugged the bottom of the mask just high enough to free his mouth.
Peter leaned down and pressed a few soft kisses to your swollen folds. He wasn’t necessarily eating you out, just giving a few loud smooches that felt good enough to make you grip the sheets.
“M’sorry, you were so perfect there…” he mumbled condescendingly against your most sensitive spots. “But I need you to hold on a little longer. Can you do that for me, sweetheart?”
You nodded, eyes still fixed on the ceiling. Maybe too eager. Maybe too pathetic. Just like he’d been. Had he pumped that toxin into you?
Either way, you didn’t care. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t like this version of him.
He laughed right over your clit when you moaned loudly, after he moved his tongue in a slow, torturous swipe over it.
“Was back there too much?” He cooed. “Maybe I just need to stretch you more...”
Two fingers slid inside you, so easily, but the sudden stretch still dragged a whine out of your throat. He curled them immediately, finding the spot that made your hips jerk.
“Peter…”
“Huh?” He acted coy, pumping his fingers with a rhythm that kept you right on the edge without letting you tip over. He added a third finger, making your back arch from the mattress. “Keep holding it in.”
Every shake of your body fed the stupid toxin inside him. Having you like this…really trying to keep your body from coming apart because he said so.
God. He was never going back.
“You just took my cock. I think you can take three fingers with no problem.”
He kept the same relentless pace, chuckling when your body started twitching again.
“Shhh, you’re perfect, absolutely perfect…”
“Peter…” you called out again, hand dropping the sheet to find his shoulder instead. “I need…need…”
“Need what?”
“Need you inside me…please I won’t–I won’t hold for much longer just–fuck me.”
He stopped altogether, a smirk you couldn’t see stretching the corner of his mouth. He pulled his fingers out with a wet pop, licking them clean before tugging his mask back in place and standing up.
“Yeah?”
Your legs dangled off the edge of the bed for a moment before his hands gripped your hips and turned you over. He moved you higher up the bed, grabbing one of the pillows, and shoving it under your hips, tilting your lower body up for him.
He then climbed onto the bed behind you and knelt between your spread thighs, the mattress dipping under his weight as one hand stroked down the length of your spine.
But something made him stop.
“This fucking mask–” he cursed under his breath. “It’s suffocating me.”
The sweat on his forehead had pooled under the mask, making it so sticky over his eyebrows that it was affecting the lenses he was trying to see you through.
“I need you to be a good girl for me,” he added breathlessly, yet still commanding enough. “Keep your head on the mattress. Ass up. Don’t turn around.”
You nodded. Too eagerly again. Couldn’t care any less again.
He didn’t think twice, just yanked the mask off and tossed it aside. It landed near you, making you bury half your face on the sheets as if staring at the mask alone would be disobeying his commands.
The sound he made when the cool air hit his face was pure relief. He swiped the sweat off with his forearm, finally seeing you clearly. Face down. Eyes squeezed shut. Already clutching the sheets.
“You look so pretty like this,” he mumbled. “All spread out for me…waiting.”
“Peter…” you whined, lifting your ass slightly from the pillow.
“I know, I know. You’re okay.” He couldn’t keep the smirk away when he added, “you said please.”
He reached between you, guiding the thick head of his cock between your thighs until it nudged against your entrance. You were still soft and ready and perfect.
Peter pushed in slowly, letting you feel every inch as he sank deep and deep and deeper.
He braced one hand beside your head and kept the other on your hip, pushing you into the mattress as his thighs hit the back of yours. Slap. Slap. Slap. The position left almost no space between your bodies, with Peter pressing his chest against your back.
“Fuck…you feel so good like this…so pretty taking me.”
He kept going, making the mattress creak and the base of the bed hit the brick wall repeatedly. Your desperate moans ran through his body like electricity, making something inside him crack open again.
What? What is–
The moment his rhythm stuttered, he shook his head, trying to clear it. Beads of sweat flew from his hair to your back.
“God–you…you’re making me–” The roughness of his thrusts slowed down immediately, inhaling a sharp intake of air as he felt the change again. “I can’t, I can’t…”
He lifted his gaze to the window behind the bed and noticed his eyes had turned back to its original color.
“Oh my god,” he gasped, stopping altogether. He straightened up, still kneeling and inside you, but panicking. “I’m…I’m so sorry. I don’t know what happened I–“
“Peter!” You cut him off, pushing yourself back, closer to him, without turning around. “Shut up and fuck me.”
The order left your mouth breathless, pushing back against him even more to make the point clear. His hands twitched when they gripped your hips again.
“Okay, okay…” he panted, groaning when you dropped back on the bed and his cock almost left the warmth of your pussy. “I’m sorry–if I was too rough, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…”
He picked up the pace again, but the words tumbling out of him now were pure pleading Peter again.
“Don’t turn around–don’t turn around–fuck, fuck…” slap, slap, slap. “You can come now. Please. Please, I want to feel it–you’d come apart so pretty on me, I know you would…pleasepleaseplease–”
His final permission and the desperate way he said it made you crash harder than the first time, crying out into the mattress. The second he felt you coming around him, he knew he couldn’t last much longer either.
“Can I–inside…please, can I??…let me fill you up–”
“Yes–inside, Peter, do it inside me…”
He buried himself to the hilt with a strained groan and finally came. The orgasm tearing out of him was harder and longer than anything he’d ever felt, holding you there, filling you up.
You gasped against the sheets, breathless, as the waves of cum seemed to go on forever, flooding you with warm and thick ropes in every spurt as he emptied himself inside you.
“Thank you…thank you…” His forehead dropped between your shoulder blades, sending broken gasps against your skin as he kept coming. “You are so perfect–fuck…so perfect…thank you…”
The pollen wrung him dry until he could barely breathe, and even then he kept rolling his hips weakly, chasing the last of it while he slowly softened inside you.
When it finally eased, the pain, the need, the hunger…he pulled out slowly with a whine, and half collapsed over you. His arms held most of his weight as he planked above you, but you could feel every ridge of his muscles brushing your sweaty skin.
Peter’s eyes fluttered shut, feeling exhausted and aching in the best way, almost lulled by the sounds of your agitated breaths.
You both felt the warm trail of liquid leaking out between your bodies and neither of you moved or said anything for a while. He could’ve stayed like that forever, really. With your naked body under him, no masks, no barriers, just your swollen pussy leaking out his seed–
“Successful ejaculation brought down the arachnid hormone levels immediately. Inhibitor working within regular parameters now. Congratulations, Peter.”
EV’s monotone voice cut through the silence.
It took two seconds of shock before you both broke into breathless laughter. His teeth grazed your back as your bodies vibrated in sync from the amusement and overall flustering after everything that happened.
“Thank you, EV,” Peter muttered.
“You’re welcome. I gathered data and the released semen volume exceeds standard parameters by two hundred and twenty six percent due to the high hormonal concentration. Hydration, clean up and rest are advised.”
“For fucks sake…” Peter cursed under his breath.
“Oh god…” you mumbled against the sheets.
That was your call back to reality.
Peter felt you move under him, reaching blindly to the side until your hand found the mask. You lifted it over your shoulder, offering it to him without looking.
“I don’t want to,” he said, too quickly, then cleared his throat. “I…I don’t want to put it back on.”
“Then I’ll close my eyes,” you offered instead.
“No–I mean…you don’t have to. I don’t want to wear it around you anymore. Not after…all of this,” he admitted sheepishly.
“But you told me to not turn around,” you reminded him, dropping the mask on the mattress again. “And that was you, not the darker you.”
He chuckled, nodding even if you couldn’t see him yet.
“Yeah, because if I saw your face while I was balls deep inside you I would’ve busted before you came.”
There it was. He said it. No turning back now.
At least it got a chuckle from you too.
“Listen I…I meant everything I said. Everything. The wanting, the nights I thought about you,” he confessed. “I don’t want you to feel like I just used you when…when there was always a reason why I needed you like oxygen tonight.”
Your breath hitched, and his hand found your waist, pulling you closer to him, and when you didn’t push away…he exhaled in relief behind you.
“So maybe…you can turn around now. If–if you want to. Know the real me.”
“I would really like that,” you whispered without hesitation.
You tried lifting yourself up to turn around, but he did most of the job, moving away the pillow he had placed under you and helping you roll onto your back. You closed your eyes, at least until you were facing him completely, and took a deep breath. Holding onto his biceps for moral support, you finally opened them again.
Seeing his face for the first time felt so intimate, even after everything you just did.
There he was. The same guy who just fucked you into next week, looking more shy and boyish than you could’ve ever imagined.
Brown eyes. Dark, curly hair sticking to his forehead. A nervous smile tugging at the corner of his gorgeous mouth.
So young. So earnest. So yours.
Not spidey anymore. Just Peter.
Your Peter.
Thank you so much for reading 🤍 I used to write Peter so much back in the day (shoutout to my starktonyx era) and I’ve missed him dearly.
Summary: Six months after your day in Greece, you and Joe spend a week together in Samui and get to explore the island and see if there’s something real between you.
Word count: 6.9K
Part I
“How many cities has it been this month? And how many total?” Joe asks, adjusting his AirPods.
“Five, Joe. And it’s only been one city a month. I’m not on some—”
“Biotech US tour?” He finishes for you. “Because from where I’m sitting, that’s exactly what you’re on.”
You laugh, leaning into the camera so you can put on your earrings, not even registering that he’s taking up most of the camera space. Maybe you should’ve just done this in the mirror, even though you’d been on FaceTime enough times with him the last few weeks he probably wouldn’t mind sitting on the phone while you brushed your teeth.
“I will be home in two days…” you tell him with a sigh, “…just to do this all over again and get on another plane. Have you packed yet?”
He groans, “Fuck no. I might just throw some stuff in my suitcase and call it a day.”
Looking at yourself in the mirror one more time, you lift your phone and look him in the eyes. “You cannot show up to Thailand wearing bullshit. So pack carefully, fill up that suitcase. And lift with your legs, not your back, when you put it in the car. Pro tip, and I gave it to you for free. Most have to pay for my services.”
“You think you’re so funny,” he deadpans. “I’m hanging up. You have to go anyway. Enjoy your last stop.”
All of this started back in January after you responded to his DM. Honestly, you don’t even remember the exact words you said; all that really mattered was the conversation didn’t die down after that. It was every single day, random tidbits about your day, his gym adventures in LA, and his plans to stay there throughout the offseason. He was networking with celebrities, attending parties, then there was Super Bowl week.
In San Francisco, maybe 25 minutes from your house.
Life didn’t really make way for a romantic, post-vacation reunion like it does in the movies.
You came home from Greece and went back to work full-time. When Joe was in LA, you were at the office prepping for natural science conferences, awaiting private announcements of scientific advances that start-ups were wanting to showcase and get investors like your company to buy in to advance the field and drive innovation. When the Super Bowl came to town, you were in Boston for the RESI conference, Redefining Every Stage of Investment. Its focus this year was on early-stage life sciences, things like gene therapy and plant-based proteins. Joe called it “green thumb material” and swore your job was pretty cool.
One night, you spent five hours on the phone with him, recapping the day while he gave a thorough, very detailed, physiology-filled explanation of his latest Pilates workout. This accidental quality time made you feel less bad for missing out on what would’ve been a fun week spent with him.
“Something’s different with you. Your voice sounds different,” you told him over the phone a few weeks ago, a little after the draft.
He laughed a little. “I’m happy to be back at the facility, getting to meet the new guys.”
“And…Sexy Dexy?”
“Definitely helps things,” he admitted. “I don’t know. Things feel a lot different this year already. Body feels good. But there’s a new energy and I think—I think we have a real shot.”
There was genuine joy in him, actual excitement. You listened to him talk about workouts that were coming up and how the next few weeks would be busy for you both, but things would slow down in June.
“Football is great, but I’m thinking I need one more trip before training camp. Somewhere warm, probably, adding a stamp to my passport. It’s pretty empty.”
“Joe, what are you implying?”
“Our schedules haven’t worked out. Now they do. We should go somewhere.”
“You wanna go on another vacation, and you want me to come?”
“I want us to plan a trip together. Been long enough,” he clarifies with a shrug, like this isn’t a big deal.
Maybe it wasn’t to him. Maybe planning vacations was a thing he’d done before, but this was definitely a first for you. And yet, after four months of consistently trying to convince yourself that this was a one-day fluke meeting that meant nothing, that he’d get bored and move on, yet here he was going out of his way to see you again outside the country because it clearly wasn’t working when you’d been residing in the same state for the past few months.
Between SynBioBeta and AACR in San Diego and Chicago in April and May respectively, you planned a trip to Thailand like a lunatic.
And you couldn’t wait to go.
There were several outfits laid out on the bed. Swimsuits on one side, cover-ups, nighttime clothes, a few oversized shirts and sleep shorts, and other random walking-around-the-villa-with-no-set-plans outfits. You tossed in some cute island casual wear, cute sets that would work for dinners, and some stuff that would be perfect for sightseeing. And you may or may not have packed the Alo hat and the matching set he sent you a month ago.
Again, in the back of your mind, you told yourself that it was insane that he sent you a package from his biggest sponsor. It felt weirdly intimate, but you could not let yourself dwell on the little things. Not the fact that he booked a private villa and offered to pay for your flight. You declined the second part after a lengthy discussion but compromised on the villa. It felt weird letting him pay for things for you, especially on top of spending an entire week with him in a foreign country.
You literally hadn’t breathed the same air as this man since the offseason started, half a year ago. And when you were with him, that was one day—not even a full 24 hours either. Was it gonna be weird to go to sleep next to him? To wake up next to him? What if you two realized that you’d been hanging onto this really good day and that you actually weren’t compatible outside of a phone call?
Great thing you had a 20-hour flight to think about the million questions running through your mind.
The driver waiting to take you to the resort was kind, his smile bright, your name etched neatly on the crisp white piece of paper he held for all to see. He helped you with your bag as you settled into the back seat. Everything outside looked like the epitome of a perfect postcard. The trees, the sky, the water you could see from the street—the island’s landscape was one of the Earth’s most incredible creations as far as you were concerned. There was no way this was a real place.
Joe’s text had come through as soon as you stepped off the plane, letting you know that he was waiting in the villa for you. When you got to the resort, the staff was impeccable, offering water and what seemed to be freshly squeezed juice. The offer was appreciated, but your skin was literally buzzing with excitement at getting in the room and seeing him, so you declined. One of the staff members took you to your villa via buggy, giving you a quick tour as he drove by the different activities available right where you were staying.
He gave you a business card with a phone number on it and said that your stay included unlimited service. There was a QR code you could scan for a full menu, delivered right to your door for breakfast, lunch, or dinner. Midnight snacking options and a full bar, right at your fingertips. You thanked him, and he smiled and said he hoped you’d enjoy your stay.
You took a deep breath and used your key to unlock the door and wheeled your suitcase inside.
This villa was by far the nicest place you’d stayed in. Not only was the constant service at your fingertips cool, but the view was unbelievable. You felt like you’d stepped into a season of White Lotus.
That thought—and any other—evaporated into thin air when you saw him.
He was barefoot, already comfortable in his home for the week in the most simple outfit: a plain white tee and black shorts that stopped above the knee. But you stared at him anyway. Like you couldn’t believe he was actually here, waiting for you. Some deep, dark, sinister part of you thought this whole thing was still an elaborate joke, that you’d pinch yourself and wake up from this fantasy you’d conjured up in your head.
But here he was, walking toward you, and you expected a hug. Not really knowing why, but him wrapping his arms around you wasn’t a surprise.
“Hi.”
He was warm and smelled great. The cologne was probably expensive, but you stopped thinking about that long enough to say hi back. Your hand tapped his chest, right at his collarbone, and you tore your eyes away from his collar and looked up at him.
Joe didn’t waste much time after that.
Once you locked eyes, everything shifted.
His lips were on yours in a hurry, lightly tugging at your bottom lip. It was a surprise, but a good one, and you parted your lips as the kiss grew in intensity. You felt his hands roaming down to your hips, giving them a gentle squeeze like he needed something to ground himself, almost as if he thought this was all in his head too.
Before you realized what you were doing, you had a fistful of his shirt, kissing him back with just as much urgency, more than making up for that almost kiss in Greece.
The kiss was more than a test in chemistry.
It was for that night he laid in bed after you left him in the street, thinking about how he should’ve asked for your number. Or on the plane when he felt like an idiot for taking an earlier flight. For the random times he’d thought about you since then. And the way he tried not to look toward the door every five minutes ever since he got to the villa.
It took every sliver of self-control he had left to come up for air.
“I’ve been waiting to do that for six months,” spilled out of his mouth before he could talk himself out of saying it.
“So have I,” you admitted with a breathless laugh, tugging him by his shirt and kissing him again.
He reciprocated, his composure slipping a little as he heard you sigh into the embrace. He had a speech planned, but he couldn’t remember a single thing he was going to say, not with you kissing him like that.
You rested your forehead on his sternum and took a deep breath before making eye contact.
Both of you just laughed.
“Glad you made it,” he said with a smirk. “Do you want a tour?”
Joe watched you nod, and you noticed him looking at your lips again, but you stepped away from him to grab your stuff that you’d forgotten about when you saw him.
Your shared place was still part of a larger resort. But there was complete privacy here. It almost felt secluded, like its own private island. This entire area—the pool, the terrace with outdoor seating, a TV in the bathroom, outside and in the main bedroom, two massive glass showers, and a floating stone double sink—all this open space was just for the two of you.
If you were to look up paradise in the dictionary, this would be pretty damn close.
“How’d you even find this place?”
Joe sighed, lips curled into a soft smile.
“I asked around. Knew some people that had been to Thailand before, and it was pretty easy from there. Pretty cool spot,” he said, looking out at the water.
“Pretty cool? Yeah, I’d say that’s the understatement of the century.”
A dry laugh escaped you in disbelief.
“I didn’t really notice how much I needed a break from…” You gestured aimlessly, unsure of how exactly to describe how exhausting being an adult with responsibilities and bills could be. “Needed a break from everything. And the company isn’t so bad, I guess.”
“You guess?”
He folded his arms over his chest, standing up straight. You knew he was trying to look intimidating, but his face gave him away. Every ounce of him was wordlessly screaming that he was thinking about kissing you again.
And Joe knew that you knew exactly what he was thinking, so he cleared his throat, adjusting his stance.
“You’ve been on a plane all day,” he said, changing the subject. “If you wanna get some rest before we explore, I don’t mind.”
“I’m not tired,” you told him quickly.
Truthfully, your entire body was still buzzing from seeing him and kissing him, and all the jet lag had practically jumped out the window.
“We should go see the sights.”
He turned and walked back to the living room and grabbed his shoes and his phone, texting someone.
“Car will be here in five. You sure you’re good?”
“Honestly? Never better.”
“Joe, look, there’s a 7/11 here.”
His eyes were bright, walking through the night market like this was Disney World. His phone was out immediately, no doubt taking a picture and sending it to Ja’Marr.
“Should we go in?”
“I think we kinda have to,” you nudged him, heading towards the gas station, dragging him along. Not that he seemed to have an issue with that.
This market had practically everything you could ever need—clothes, a British baked potato bar—but you guys were more interested in the street food. Joe was a little more apprehensive, understandably, with the whole athlete diet thing—but he honestly was less picky than you thought he would be. Probably because you started off with an easy, familiar option.
“These are the best dumplings I’ve ever had in my life,” he said between bites.
“Should we try the pad thai or the pad kee mao next?”
Joe continued staring intently at the menu.
“Let’s split both. And we can get the Chinese BBQ chicken skewers too, those look great.”
“They do.” You leaned over, seeing someone walk by with a full stack of them on a heavy-duty paper food tray. The food smelled so incredible it was almost hypnotizing. “And…mango sticky rice for dessert?”
“And mango sticky rice for dessert,” he affirmed with a slight chuckle.
Four plates sat between you as you dug in, sampling your finds without a care in the world.
“Do you remember our first phone call?” you asked, picking up a skewer. “I was so nervous, and then it felt almost weird seeing you again.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean I’d seen pictures of you leaving Oscar after-parties, and in the morning I’m seeing you eating egg whites in your Airbnb like life is completely normal.”
Joe laughed, shaking his head. “I forgot about that.”
“I didn’t. I remember thinking, ‘Oh, we just do not live the same life.’ And then you went to the MET.”
He reached for another spoonful of dessert before answering.
“And now we’re sharing mango sticky rice at a night market in Thailand.”
You looked around at the crowded tables, neon signs glowing in the background as other people were engaged in their own conversations.
“We flew across the world just to hang out with each other. It sounds a lot more insane now that I’m saying it out loud.”
Joe smiled, innocently wrapping his foot around yours under the table.
“A little crazy, but it feels like a full-circle moment. And I wanted to see you again.” He turned his spoon in the rice a little before he spoke. “Turns out FaceTiming someone every day makes you miss them.”
“I missed you too.”
A smile formed, blooming over your entire face, and you were glad he didn’t look up.
“And I wanted to see you. Phones are great, but nothing beats the real thing.”
The silence was comfortable afterward, a mutual sense of relief that the feelings you’d developed since the day you met weren’t exaggerated. And when the food was gone, you walked side by side to see what they were selling.
Your first stop was a sunglass shop. There were endless options, but you and Joe bought matching pairs of frameless yellow lenses, and Joe bought a waterproof camera at a souvenir stand to document the trip. There was a bag store, a customized claw clip booth that almost had you, but mostly you just enjoyed walking around shoulder to shoulder with him.
“Are you getting tired? We can head back.”
You shook your head no, even though you’d just yawned. Joe gave you a pointed look and walked ahead toward the buggies.
“You know we don’t have to do everything today, right? We’ve got time.”
You lagged behind a little, like him saying the word “tired” made you want to look at the back of your eyelids for the next 20 hours, at least.
“Okay, fine. I just need a shower and I’ll get my second wind.”
“Sure.”
“I promise I’m not tired,” you said for what was probably the fourth time that evening.
Joe looked up from unpacking the last few things from his suitcase.
“You’ve been awake for like thirty hours.”
“I’m fine.”
He studied you for another second before shaking his head. “Okay.”
You disappeared into the bathroom to shower and change, emerging in sleep shorts and an oversized T-shirt, feeling extremely grateful to get rid of that long plane ride.
“Movie?” you suggested, climbing into bed and grabbing the remote. “Kinda wanna do a Spider-Man rewatch before the new one comes out.”
Joe glanced over from where he was gathering his toiletries.
“Sounds good.”
By the time he finished showering and changed into a different T-shirt and shorts, you were scrolling through Disney+.
He stood in the bathroom doorway, toothbrush hanging out of his mouth while washing his face.
“Are we starting with Homecoming?” he asked, opening the floss container.
No response.
Joe looked up.
You were curled up against the pillows, remote still loosely clutched in your hand, completely asleep.
He couldn’t help but laugh quietly to himself because five minutes ago you’d been insisting you weren’t tired. He moved carefully, as quiet as he could, taking the remote from your hand and switching the television off before climbing into bed next to you.
The mattress dipped beneath his weight, and you shifted over as he pulled the blanket over your sleeping form. Joe shut the light off and stared at the ceiling, thinking about how this was so much better than anything he envisioned over the last six months.
But it wasn’t this super nice villa or any one part of the vacation he’d been looking forward to.
It was this.
The little things. You sleeping next to him after trying to convince him you’d make it through an entire movie.
“Liar,” he murmured affectionately into the dark.
“Mmhm,” you mumbled sleepily, not even opening your eyes.
Joe smiled and said, “Goodnight,” knowing he wasn’t getting a response.
He stayed on his back, arm behind his head, until he fell asleep.
He only teased you about the movie twice, which was fine.
You slept in, took your time in the morning lounging around, ordered breakfast, and got in the pool for a bit while actually watching Spider-Man: Homecoming. Your activity for the day didn’t start until late afternoon, so you got to nap.
And kiss him a few more times.
The ride to the elephant sanctuary didn’t take long, and the introductory presentation about the elephants, their behavior, and other fun facts was educational and brief. You’d obviously grown up watching America’s Next Top Model, dreamed of coming here and riding an elephant, but after learning how dangerous it is for them and how they’re exploited, you started looking into elephant sanctuaries.
Joe wasn’t a zoo guy. He hated seeing animals in captivity, so this was an easy yes for him as well. Seeing animals in their natural habitats, getting to interact with them and observe them, would be a once-in-a-lifetime experience that he was really looking forward to.
“We do have two new babies that’ll be excited for visitors,” your guide explained, walking you inside to get ready for your first activity. “They’ll be ready to eat in 45 minutes, so we’re going to cut this fresh fruit for them. They’ve been very into the watermelon lately. It’s very sweet this time of year, so we only give it to them once a week to avoid overwhelming them with sugar. Here’s everything you will need. You can fill up your rolling basket, and when you are finished, we can go out and see them.”
“There’s fruit and look.” You picked up the laminated instruction sheet. “You can make little rice balls for them.”
“Do you want to cut the fruit up first and then do the rice? Or we could split it? I can—”
You held up a finger.
“I think I should do the fruit. And before you say anything, yes, I know you know how to use a knife. You’re 29, not 4. But…the last thing I want on my conscience is you hurting your $40 million hand fighting with a watermelon.”
Joe made a face that almost looked like a wince.
“It’s $55 million actually.”
“Oh, even better. Yeah, you’re gonna make some life-changing rice balls today.”
You laughed, and he joined in, knowing you had a point.
Starting with the large fruit first, you cut large chunks of watermelon and placed them in your basket as Joe held the sticky rice in his hands with a level of concentration that you were sure he used at work.
And it made you feel warm inside that he considered wrapping these rice balls in banana leaves just as important as anything else. He really cared about doing everything right and making an effort, which made him even more attractive, and you placed your focus back on your portion of the task.
There was comfort in the quiet. Just you and him in the room doing your own things, not needing to fill it with small talk and meaningless noise. Just the sound of him wrapping his rice balls and you tossing fruit into your basket until both baskets were filled to the brim.
Your guide walked back in to check on you and walk you out to the open space where the elephants roamed free.
One by one, they slowly walked over to be fed. Your guide, Dara, carefully demonstrated the proper feeding method and allowed you and Joe to take over.
“What are their names?” Joe asked, running his hand gently down one of the elephant’s trunk.
Three of them had chosen to stay with you while others grazed from other guests partaking in the experience.
“This is Ziggy. He’s about 40. Malee is around the same age, and we’ve been calling this little one Sprout because she loves bean sprouts.”
“Sprout?” You placed a hand on your chest. “That’s absolutely adorable.”
“Do you have any bean sprouts we can give her?” Joe asked. “If not, don’t worry about it.”
Dara nodded. “I do have some. Let me grab them for you.”
“Thank you,” you both told her at the same time.
You handed out your watermelon pieces and watched the adults go to town while Sprout stayed close to her mom, nibbling on scraps here and there, not wanting to step too far until Dara handed Joe a bowl of bean sprouts.
He took some and held out his palm, and Sprout lifted up her trunk, placed it in his hand, and took all of the bean sprouts before shoving them into her mouth.
You watched him alternate between the sprouts and the fruit, mesmerized by her appetite and how she kept getting closer and closer to him.
Ziggy playfully threw pieces of banana in the air and walked in a circle while Sprout blatantly followed Joe around.
“I see you’ve made a friend,” Dara noted.
Her mom was still close by, but Sprout let Joe caress her face and feed her a few rice balls.
You walked around to the shaded area as the elephants went for a swim, observing them existing peacefully, learning that Ziggy used to work at a circus and now lived in a place where none of the elephants were forced to perform or do any kind of labor.
After a few hours watching and interacting with them, you were led to a restaurant. After thoroughly washing your hands, you got to enjoy a nice, quiet meal to close out a day in the sun.
By the third day, you felt like you’d known him and been with him for years.
“Did you put on sunscreen?”
He scoffed. “No, I didn’t, mom. Don’t need it.”
“I’m not putting aloe on your back when your skin starts peeling,” you warned him.
“The goggles are a great look.”
Joe raised the camera as you held your thumb up and smiled for the picture.
You held out your hand after adjusting your headgear.
“I’m gonna swim out and take some pictures, see what I can find.”
Thankfully, the water wasn’t very deep before you came across the coral. All of the colors blended together so harmoniously the sea plants resembled flower bouquets, and an octopus wiggled through the rocks, hiding from you and your camera. You just hoped if you clicked enough times you’d capture at least some of the legs.
There was a conch shell too, empty. You picked it up and held the bright pink and orange interior facing out, with the tan shell wrapping the outside, capturing the crystal-blue sea in the background.
Joe came up behind you, arms wrapped around your shoulders, examining your find.
“That’s pretty awesome. Where’d you get that?”
“Right over there,” you nodded towards the little cove.
“I went over there. I didn’t see anything like that. How do you find all the cool stuff?”
You handed him the shell, and he turned it over a few times, feeling like the star of one of those National Geographic specials.
Holding up the camera, you told him to smile as he held up the shell that doubled as your trophy for the day before you swam out, putting it back where you’d found it.
At the end of your snorkeling date, you sat on the speedboat and looked through all the pictures you’d taken so far.
Yesterday’s art explosion when you visited several temples and fulfilled the history part of your vacation. The Red Temple, Wat Ratchathammaram, had a dress code and was worth wearing pants for. The Buddhist temple was a visual masterpiece, and getting to see the gold sculpture again through the eyes of your market camera was still breathtaking.
“These pictures are so high quality,” you told him, remembering Joe trying to capture as much as he could as he walked. It was hard trying to be present in the moment, to read what the symbols meant, but also document the artistry.
Then the lengthy gallery of food pictures. So many meals had been shared it wasn’t even funny. You were kind of thankful you’d been swimming all day, getting a workout, because the rolled ice cream last night was going to be something you’d think about for a while.
Joe’s hand rested casually on your leg as you looked through underwater photos, deleting blurry ones and stopping at the one he took of himself holding your hand as you swam ahead. You hadn’t even realized he was holding the camera then.
“I can’t believe both times we’ve hung out you’ve gotten me on a boat.”
“What can I say? I like to keep you on your toes.”
You placed the camera back in the bag as the boat reached its next destination.
Joe stepped off first and immediately turned and offered you his hand. You happily took it and let him help you step off the boat.
The sand was delicate and bright, this baby-powder texture and smoky white color, the brightest sand you’d ever seen. You knew it was blinding and you weren’t just being dramatic because Joe actually put on his sunglasses when he looked down.
And in the water, right next to you, marched four legs ready for a swim.
This was a regular occurrence for them. They hadn’t paid any attention to you or Joe or the watercraft that had just stopped in their way. They just went around on both sides.
“Are those…pigs?”
“Welcome to Koh Madsum,” the boat driver announced excitedly. “Pig Island.”
You laughed, watching them trot in the turquoise water, pink snouts glistening in the sunlight.
“They love it here.”
“A local rescued them a few years ago. They have roamed free on this land ever since.”
Joe knelt down to touch one that was super close.
“Cool. Not as cute as Sprout, but I guess they’re alright.”
“Please don’t tell me you got attached to the baby elephant at the sanctuary,” you said flatly.
Although the look on his face made his feelings pretty clear.
“We had something good going. I don’t think she wanted me to leave. These guys aren’t as personable. Sprout welcomed me with an open trunk.”
You stared at him for a second, trying not to make a big deal about how cute it was that he actually missed the elephant he’d spent one afternoon with.
“And mouth,” you noted. “We did have food.”
Pig Island also had little gift shops. You gave the pigs walking around in the sun a drink of water. They were precious.
Giving them the rest of your water was fine because on your walk you got to try Thai tea from the source, trying the Hop Apple Jasmine tea, and Joe had the Lemon Berry.
He took maybe two sips of his drink before saying, “Switch,” and handing you his cup.
You hadn’t held hands in public. He hadn’t placed his hand on your shoulder or outwardly shown any interest in PDA, which was fine because you felt like swapping drinks was intimate in a different way.
Slowly but surely, there had been a level of trust built this time around. No nervousness or awkward what-ifs. He’d literally tied your swimsuit for you that morning before you left and kissed you behind your ear afterward, so gently it tickled. Neither of you had said anything about it. He’d just smiled when you swatted at his arm and told him to hurry up before you missed the boat. Joe then explained he was trying to get both ears, to keep the balance. You let him kiss you again before telling him you really, really did have to get going.
Joe pulled you out of your thoughts. “What are you thinking about?”
“Huh?”
“You look like you’re pondering something big.”
Your shoulders shook with laughter. “Pondering?”
He nodded, proud of himself. “Thinking very carefully before making a decision,” he explained, even though you knew what the word meant. “We’re almost back at the villa. You thinking about a nap?”
“A nap does sound good. But I was more thinking about how I can’t believe we’re leaving soon. And thinking about how I don’t really want to.”
“Yeah,” he breathed out. “This was a great decision.”
“It was yours,” you glanced over at him with a sideways expression.
“Hm. Was it?”
You stepped off the boat and thanked your driver, walking to your door and heading straight to bed “This vacation, a nap. You’re just full of good ideas. I might have to keep you around,” you joked, resting on his chest.
His eyes were already closed, but the smile on his face let you know he heard every word and just wasn’t going to respond. You pressed your lips lightly against his jaw anyway.
The entire trip so far had been filled with excursions, unique activities catered to seeing as much of the island as possible. No amount of naps was going to physically and mentally prepare you for the flight home. So you guys went for the next best thing.
Traditional Thai massages are closer to yoga, focusing on blood circulation, flexibility, and relieving muscular tension through mobility work. You didn’t want to ask, but it was probably Joe’s favorite part of the week. Both of you were fully clothed, resting on the padded mats on the floor rather than typical massage tables as the licensed therapists used their elbows, hands, knees, and feet to assist in the stretch.
The therapeutic experience was meant to balance internal energy, enhance circulation, and support overall health. At least that’s what the brochure said. They allowed you to completely shut your brain off, allow positive activity to flow through you in this almost meditative state with your body and mind at rest even though you knew you weren’t sleeping.
“I feel like I took a two-hour nap,” Joe said as you walked towards the next room.
He’d booked out the spa for a few hours, and you both got to choose which activities you wanted in a total relaxation package. A mud bath was next. You’d never done one, and it seemed harmless enough.
“Seriously, I didn’t think that would feel like that. It was so peaceful.” He nodded, and you looked down at his clothes. “Did you get me this workout set so we could match?”
Joe snorted, taking in your all-black Alo two-piece, essentially the women’s version of what he was wearing.
“Maybe.” He turned away quicker than normal, hiding his glee.
There were two steps to the mud bath. One larger area where you could put the mud on yourself, kind of just an excuse to touch each other, which you weren’t opposed to. So you would stay in that area while the staff filled two tubs full of mineral-rich clay for you to soak in for 10–15 minutes.
“What’s the point of this?”
“Mostly skin detox, exfoliating dead skin. And the soak helps your joints and inflammation, I think. So there’s health benefits. I know that’s what you wanna hear.”
You told him after you’d both gotten in your swimsuits and covered your hair. Clay and mud didn’t exactly sound like something you wanted to dig out of your head tonight. Your answer seemed to satisfy him enough that he dug his hand in the bowl and scooped up some of the mud, using his fingers to put it on your shoulders and back.
Once he was done and you turned to face him, you did the same, lathering it onto his forehead.
“You need this stuff to nourish your skin since you refuse to wear sunscreen. You’re gonna look 80 when you’re 40.”
“My skin is fine.”
“Yeah, it’s blemish-free, but it will wrinkle earlier than it should if you don’t introduce it to some SPF.” He rolled his eyes and kept applying the mud on you, meticulously, like he didn’t want to miss a spot.
“You know you don’t have to do everything perfectly, right?”
“If I’m gonna do something, I wanna do it right. If not, then what’s the point of doing it at all?”
You paused, taking your hands off him. “Are you talking about the mud right now? Or us?”
Joe stood still, wanting to run his fingers through his hair out of habit, but one, it was covered, and two, there was excess mud dripping from his wrist.
“Can’t help it. I’ve been thinking critically about… a lot of stuff. And I want to do this right. I want this to make sense in real life, not just foreign countries and sporadic phone calls.”
“I get that. We are professional overthinkers. That’s what drew me to you in the first place, but—” One of the staff members came in to let you know your baths were ready, and you thanked her, heading into the room.
“We can figure out all that stuff later, we've done it before. I didn’t think I’d ever talk to you again after you left Greece but you made that happen. So I’d say you’re doing pretty well so far. Don’t let yourself get so lost in your head that you don’t get to live in the moment.”
Gesturing towards the clay-filled tubs, you sighed and told him, “We have a lot to talk about when we get home. We know that. But for now, let’s just sit in it…literally.”
He shook his head with a short chuckle and stepped into the warmth. “This feels kinda gross.”
“It does. Now sit and stop thinking so hard for ten minutes.” Your eyes were closed as you leaned back, and he followed suit, trying to get back to total relaxation like he had in the massage room.
He didn’t want to sit in his feelings, or the bath, for that matter, for too long, but he had no other choice.
When the timer rang and the staff ushered you to the showers, giving you privacy, he honestly did feel a lot lighter.
“Why don’t we just shower together?” Joe asked, back to himself. “To conserve water.”
“Right, of course.” You stepped into the shower, and he closed the door behind you, letting the spray wash off the mud and clay and everything else that you’d just been fully submerged in.
When you hugged him, most of the mud was already gone, pooling at your feet in some strange gray-brown mixture flowing down the drain, but he wrapped his arms around you anyway.
Your bodies were pressed against each other so closely that his heart was beating out of his chest, and he hoped you couldn’t feel it through his skin.
Getting on the tips of your toes, you reached as much as you could and kissed him. You hoped that there would never come a day that you’d forget what kissing him felt like, his low laugh that he tried to bury in the back of his throat but couldn’t help, the bliss that consumed him while your mouth was on his. The water disappeared. The spa, everything. It didn’t even occur to you that you were still standing there for a full minute, fully immersed in this, with this person you couldn’t get enough of.
He cupped your face and placed a kiss on your lips again before grabbing the soap and remembering what you two were actually in there for.
You’d almost forgotten how early in the day it was, somewhat surprised by the sunlight on the walk back to your villa where you changed and got back into the water because it was scorching outside.
Joe turned the next movie on after he got new swim trunks on and waited for your food before getting in.
“Do you need help?” you asked wide-eyed, seeing him come down the small steps carrying a huge tray.
“I got it.” He carefully stepped in and walked the tray to the edge of the pool, closer to the TV.
“Are we supposed to eat all of this?”
Joe handed you a fork.“Guess so. Hope you’re hungry.”
“Hungry for one meal, not…” you looked at the platter and counted all the items you saw, “…six.”
“This is definitely not enough for six meals.”
You shrugged. “Maybe not for you. But I don’t play professional sports and get pantsed on national television. I eat normal-people meals and do not take flag football too seriously.”
“Okay, that was essentially an Olympic tryout, so yeah, I wanted the call,” he defended. “The pants weren’t super high on the list of priorities.”
“Oh, they weren’t high, period. That was the problem.”
He laughed, telling you about the time in college when it was his bare ass instead of compression shorts, so this time was a lot less revealing. “The fact that this has happened to you twice?”
“I know. Believe me,” he stressed. “I know.”
You poured a little of the coffee into your glass and tasted some of the bread, one of three grain options sitting in front of you.
“Would you want to play in the Olympics?”
“Yeah. Getting a gold medal would be pretty sick. And it’d be in LA, the world’s biggest stage. Sounds like a lot of fun. I’ve been missing that with football the last few years, but getting to play in that and then camp with the team, it’s been the most fun I’ve had in a while. I’m excited to get started, to win something meaningful.”
“Sounds like the Bengals are gonna make some noise this year. In a good way.”
“I think we will,” he said confidently.
Not in an arrogant way, but in a hopeful way.
“And maybe you can come watch in person? Our next vacation could be a staycation. In Cincinnati.”
“Joe, do you think I like you enough to spend an extended amount of time in Cincinnati, Ohio? On purpose?”
He looked at you and was actually beaming, his perfectly white teeth were definitely worth the investment.
“It’s not that bad of a place.”
“I don’t care,” you admitted. “Because at this point, I like you enough I’d visit you anywhere. Unfortunately.”
“Good.” Joe paused, leaning in to kiss your cheek.
“Because going another six months without getting to do this again would really suck.”
⭒ Clark Kent ⭒ Part 02 ⭒ Part 03 ⭒ Part 04 ⭒ Part 05 ⭒ Part 06
⭒ Detective Comics (DC)
Masterlist | @staseras
Masterlist | @snoopysupe
table for two | @hearts4hughes
meet the kents | @/hearts4hughes
wanna be yours | @/hearts4hughes
the trouble with jimmy | @myladybelle
when you move from smallville to metropolis, clark thinks he finally has his chance to confess. instead, he ends up with a front row seat to you gushing about jimmy olsen every day. what he doesn’t realise is that you’re trying to set jimmy up with your neighbour, and you’re starting to see clark as more than a friend.
front page crush | @/myladybelle
everyone at the daily planet knows about your hopeless crush on superman. what nobody expected was for him to save your life, agree to an interview, and maybe even flirt back. least of all clark, who’s had a crush on you for years.
yes, ma’am | @night-scare
Clark likes his editor, even if she's a little mean to him.
IN PLAIN SIGHT Masterlist | @anon-188
you’re in love with superman. clark’s in love with you. the only problem? you think they’re two different people.
Will you marry, kiss or kill me? | @vitoriadior
Where you decide to kill Oliver Queen, kiss Clark Kent, and fuck/marry Bruce Wayne. Clark hears you and can't stop overthinking about it all day—why would you want to marry or even fuck Bruce Wayne and not him? You don't want to marry him? To fuck with him?
Soup Deliveries | @starluved
You don't come to work for a while, Clark worries about you and brings you soup.
DOPPELGANGER | @clarktologist
a night out goes a bit awry when you forget your boyfriend is both superman and clark kent.
Field Trip Savior | @caoimhewritesfics
Your field trip gets rudely interrupted by another inter-dimensional monster. Superman saves the day and steals your heart
Imagine | @siriuslylantsov
using clark as your own personal heater, or rather a blanket.
things my chronically offline bf does | @staseras
clark kent thinks tiktok means the passing of time, you’re a (wannabe) influencer. what could possibly happen? answer includes but isn’t limited to thirst traps, using your hot bsf to go viral, online anonymous confessions, and one really old cat named bean.
My daughter doesn’t fly | @orobaxis
Bruce has to watch Leia and Damian for a night. It was doable, until Clark Kent’s daughter started flying around the batcave.
My daddy is Superman! | @/orobaxis
Leia tells her kindergarten class that her dad is Superman. When mild-mannered reported Clark Kent comes to pick her up, the entire class is disappointed.
Your Favorite | @caoimhewritesfics
Clark makes you his your favorite food for dinner. Based loosely off the scene between Clark and Lois
Field Trip Savior | @/caoimhewritesfics
Your field trip gets rudely interrupted by another inter-dimensional monster. Superman saves the day and steals your heart
guilt of the quiet one | @fromsil
your life was unraveling, little by little. bored and drained by your job, terrified of your brother, and silently denying the weight of your own depression. nothing made it easier, especially when one of metropolis’s most persistent reporters began digging into places he definitely shouldn’t have.
Masterlist | @finelinevogue
bare minimum or princess treatment | @/finelinevogue
you ask clark the tough questions; whether something is the bare minimum or princess treatment
come home, smallville | @/finelinevogue
you’re in a car accident, your boyfriend is living in another city and it all gets too much
i’ve got you | @/finelinevogue
clark saves you just in time, but you don't make him aware of the extent of your injuries
FROM GOTHAM, WITH LOVE | @mcumorningstar
you meet clark when he's on red kryptonite and, even though he's back to his "normal self", you can't stand him and his nice guy act. things come to a head at the school dance.
the clark kent problem | @hexedlover
Your washing machine breaks, and Clark Kent—perfect, helpful, devastatingly kind Clark Kent—immediately offers his. The same Clark you’ve been pathetically avoiding because being around him hurts too much when you’re this gone for him. But it’s late, it’s raining, and he’s being so characteristically sweet about it that you can’t say no. What could go wrong?
Smallville, 11:59 | @/hexedlover
You’re a little tipsy on your mom’s Riesling and hiding from a house full of family. He’s the boy next door who smells like safety and saves the world in his spare time. You’ve been in love with him your whole life, and tonight, with the New Year about to dawn, you get the feeling he might just feel the same way.
Masterlist | @maiamore
KILLSHOT| @/maiamore
Clark Kent scores an interview with Bruce Wayne's infamous sister — you. Except you don't make it easy for him.
MINDS OF MEN | @/maiamore
Clark gets more well-acquainted with Bruce Wayne's sister — covering a gala following the death of Gotham's mayor.
you overhear something, clark defends you | @headkiss
you’re shy and not the best flirt, clark likes it (and you) | @/headkiss
find me somebody to love | @supershit-hits
clark has the perfect plan to get to know the love of his life. it consists of eight dates, eight carefully crafted steps, and if all goes well, a happily-ever-after. but when jimmy sets him up on a blind date with you, sticking to the plan turns out to be a lot harder than he thought.
mysteries of our disguise revolve | @/supershit-hits
you’re just the new intern at the daily planet—anxious, invisible in your books, and falling for the man who, disguised, saves the world between coffee breaks. he could catch the sky if it fell. but for some reason, he keeps choosing to catch you.
i never was the good samaritan | @/supershit-hits
a stupid bet between two coworkers with allegedly opposite morals. if all’s fair in love, war, and corporate life, then who’s willing to be kinder for a month?
work wife | @clarkkentluvr
baby daddy | @/clarkkentluvr
superman reveal | @/clarkkentluvr
Can't Lose You | @pellucid-constellations
Clark always made you promise to run at the sight of danger. You listen to him—usually.
The Weight of Us | @/pellucid-constellations
You find out Clark is Superman, and he finds out what it feels like to lose you. In more ways than one.
clark’s got a crush! | @peachyparkerr
jealousy, jealousy | @marwrite
superman doesn’t get jealous- but clark kent does. he lets it linger, lets it fester, lets it shape months of almosts and maybes- until a harmless lie turns into shared routines, soft touches, and feelings neither of you were meant to fall into.
figure it out | @/marwrite
clark shows his love for your friendship in many ways. fetching your lunch, carrying your things for you, always being there when you need him- but who could have imagined it would include kissing you on the lips? every casual peck makes your head spin, your heart stammer; until one night, one lingering kiss finally answers all your questions… and then some.
sweet mr kent | @/marwrite
clark found every excuse to be near you; fixing, helping, pretending it was harmless. but every smile, every soft thank you dragged him toward a line your youth made unforgivable. you were temptation itself, and even the good men fall.
the one thing clark can't do | @/marwrite
it’s no secret; superman can do anything. save worlds, stop disasters, even play the role of a clumsy reporter. but after the day he saved you, there’s one thing he can’t do: forget you.
Companion | @murdockparker
You were an adult, with adult money. You can buy things that bring you joy! Hopefully your boyfriend never finds out about it.
Cat Got Your Tongue? | @/murdockparker
Your cat is your life, lovable and sweet... to you. She seemingly is allergic to strangers—all but one in a red cape, it seems.
just one | @geminiwritten
you and clark have been best friends since college, and you know everything about each other—including his superhero identity—but tensions have risen since you started working with him at the daily planet, and after superman is exposed to a 'truth telling toxin' you decide to take a little advantage of the fact that he can't lie.
Complicated | @/geminiwritten
you've been best friends with clark since high school, but moving to metropolis—and crashing at his apartment until you get a job and find your own place—is stirring up old feelings you thought you'd buried for good. so you accept the only job offer you've gotten... at luthorcorp, which somehow turns into a date with lex luthor, and you're left praying for someone super to swoop in and save you.
e.t. | @aliendickrocks
You are a scientist that is assigned to a top-secret government facility that houses an extraterrestrial subject to learn more about where he came from. In this he is not Clark Kent or Superman, just Kal-El. Martha and John did not find him, but the government did.
yes, ma'am, part 2 | @night-scare
clark likes his editor, even if she's a little mean to him.
family album | @/night-scare
clark doesn't want to ruin what you both have.
Superman | @pretty-little-mind33
Lois and Jimmy have a theory that Clark likes you, which has to be ludicrous, right? Why would Clark Kent like you of all people? You don't understand…well, until Clark tells you himself.
some protector | @eulogiez
it had months since you and clark had broken up. months of mutual heartbreak and turmoil, whether either of you knew or not. little did you know, clark had been watching you for months now, even in your distance wanting to make sure you've been okay. miraculously, superman's there when you experience a little run-in with the wrong person at the wrong time.
loving is easy, | @/eulogiez
clark is so easy to love, and he’d like to say he tries to make you think the same of yourself. maybe his efforts have been futile, because you don’t feel any less motivated to break things off one random saturday; but he’s not willing to let you go that easily.
a simple kiss, kissing clark headcanons, | @/eulogiez
tabloids and toothache, | @/eulogiez
you’re nothing if not committed to your work. so you’re saying yes in a heartbeat when your boss prompts your suggestion that you get an inside scoop on clark kent, renowned daily planet journalist, on his ties to superman. but one thing leads to another when the relationship that kindles between you becomes something more, something real. needless to say you’ve become committed to more than the bit.
silver springs | @dumbbandpoetic
clark loses the girl he loves more than anything in the whole world, so his solution is to pine and yearn and wait for her, with no real clue as to what he's going to do when he gets her back. basically, clark kent gets haunted by his ex-girlfriend.
first day | @/dumbbandpoetic
in which clark kent and his wife haven't had a quiet day in their house since their daughter april was born, but now that it's time for her first day of school ever, they're both a little upset by the silence.
heat vision | @/dumbbandpoetic
in which clark kent has a little problem he can't control. specifically, every time he gets just a little turned on, he sets something on fire with his eyes. pair that with a beautiful girl who's already onto his secret? not a good match...
Surviving Kent @lo-vearchive
You spoke to the cute reporter from the Daily Planet for the first time at your local coffee shop. You had seen him many times before. He was hard to miss with how he towered a foot over everyone else, squinting through his thick glasses to see the menu on the wall. Then one day he asks you out to dinner only to not show up. Life in Metropolis was just great! You just loved being clowned by a boy you liked. You hope that Superman beats the shit out of him for breaking your heart.
Big Blue | @/lo-vearchive
You think your coworker Clark is actually Superman. You ask him out to dinner to determine the truth, only to hurt his feelings. One bad confrontation and two sexually charged encounters later, you decide to stay clear of him at work. Except you really can't, especially not when you know he wants you just as bad, too. That's okay. You'll just have to seduce him into giving in.
Cherry Coke | @/lo-vearchive
You’re not sure when the hating game between you and Clark Kent began, but you did know you were going to win it. He was unprofessional, perpetually late, blatantly disrespectful, and just too average to be promoted to senior journalist. So when you get an opportunity to interview Lex Luthor, you jump at the chance to drag Kent’s face through the mud with a high-profile article of your own. Too bad you both don’t seem to understand that love and hate are two sides of the same coin.
leave a message at the tone | @simplyseveredslut
in which Clark becomes very familiar with your voicemail after choosing work and Lois, once again. when you finally call, he’ll drop everything for you.
Rock Me, Sway Me | @bowandlacy
superman accidentally reveals his secret identity through a hug.
Neighbourly | @little-miss-dilf-lover
Cocktail Umbrella | @kitywrites
Reader is a field photographer for the Daily Planet, specifically tasked with photographing Superman. You’re always getting into strange and dangerous situations for the perfect photo, knowing that Superman can save you. Unfortunately, Superman doesn’t have time for selfies, but Clark will always make time for you.
Is there an application process? | @/kitywrites
You comfort Clark (your best friend since college) after the news of his secret harem gets out.
What you don’t know | @mayfieldss
In which the reader has a crush on Superman and Clark at the same time, unaware they are the same person.
dating Clark Kent headcannons | @/mayfieldss
What Everyone Knows | @tw1sters
Your not-so-tiny two-year crush on Clark Kent is an open secret in the office, hopefully one that he still isn't privy to. However, the holidays have a way of bringing feelings to the surface, regardless of whether you’re ready or not.
tow your heart away | @theworstwolvie
you were just doing your job. how were you supposed to know superman would fall in love with you?
All's Fair in Love and Tug of War | @kaciidubs
You really couldn't fault Krypto, you knew his favorite game was tug of war - you just didn't think he would try to play it with you... or your towel.
Sleep Alones | @/kaciidubs
You leave Clark alone after a shared nap, and he's quick to let you know how he feels about it.
Little Things, Big Things | @froggibus
after cancelling date night yet again, Clark reminds you that you are the most important thing to him
Should’ve Said It | @tbyfandoms
after having a fight at work with your boyfriend, clark, you go to his apartment in hopes of making amends. what you don't expect is to find out he's been keeping a big secret from you, leaving you with a mix of emotions
a mission goes awry when you're infected with a fever virus...and there's only one way to cure you.
warnings: smut, fem!reader, sometime after re4!leon, sex pollen (kind of), possible dubious consent 'cause it's fuck or die but really everyone here wants to be there and consents heartily, feelings realization, confessions, desperate sex turned tender sex, dry humping, fingering, p in v sex, oral (f receiving), leon kennedy one liners, canon-typical violence, a few sneaky references to other re games/movies, fake science i made up
a/n: picture your favorite leon for this. it was just sex pollen but became lots of plot with sex pollen and mush in the second half. what can i say, i'm a lover at heart. just like leon!
--
It starts with bad intel.
The facility is supposed to be abandoned. No bio signatures on the initial recon scan, no movement from hostiles after an extended stakeout, nothing. An abandoned underground lab for an experimental arm of Umbrella, potentially full of important documents on bioweapons research.
Your mission is to gather as much information as possible, should any of the viruses created there pop up on the black market or worse.
Easy, compared to the shit you're usually assigned.
Leon agrees.
Well, you think he agrees. He treats every mission as seriously as the last. You've grown to appreciate his consistency. It makes him easy to trust, which is essential in this line of work.
He's the best partner you've ever had. Thorough, direct, and smart. He never questions your abilities and relies on you just as much as you rely on him.
And, god. He's kind. Funny, too, when he wants to be. One time on a weeklong stakeout in the middle of nowhere, Argentina, he explained to you, in detail, the plot of The Count of Monte Cristo, all because you said you'd never read it. You hadn't even known he liked to read.
He's hard to crack, though. Professional to a fault, more dedicated to the cause than anyone you've ever met. And he's handsome.
How could you not fall in love with him?
You keep your ever-growing feelings to yourself. Asking him if he feels the same isn't worth ruining your partnership, isn't worth being someone else who wants something from him that he maybe can't give. Not when you can have him this way -- at your side with your life in his hands, his in yours.
In some ways, this is more intimate than any regular relationship you've ever had.
You'd spent the chopper ride here watching him as he looked out the window, even though you knew he felt your gaze. He's always doing that, always taking in everything around him with militant attention. You wonder what he sees that most people don't. Connections, patterns, maybe even beauty. You've never asked. Whatever it is has kept him alive this long. It's kept you alive, too.
And so, the mission.
You drop from a very long hatch into dark, stale air. The ladder leaves your hands aching and your shoulders tight, but there's no time for recovery.
Training takes over. Leon leads, with you at his right flank. Flashlights on, service weapon at the ready.
"Stay sharp," he says.
Sometimes you tease him about it, his constant readiness for a threat. But you feel it this time. Something's not right here, scans be damned.
Flecks of dust and grime float through your bright beams. The corridor ends maybe 15 meters in front of you in a set of metal doors, no windows. The security pad on the left side blinks a dull red.
"Emergency power," you say.
It was in the brief as a possibility but not a guarantee. Leon approaches, and you follow, digging into one of your belt pockets for the access card some other agent had to steal last week for this purpose.
"You want to do the honors?" you ask.
Leon shakes his head. "Be my guest."
The red light blinks green with a hover of your hand, and the unlocking mechanisms creak to life. The doors open slowly with a hiss. You're greeted with a dark lobby, dull yellowish lights lining the base of the walls.
"Must be on throughout," Leon says. Sometimes these places are zoned, or some other needlessly complicated system of power distribution. "Hopefully that means doors will keep opening."
He's still tense, arms outstretched to shine his light into the new space, shoulders taut. You feel it too, a prickle at the base of your neck.
"If not, I'm sure the power systems will be super easy to find with no issues," you say lightly.
He huffs, as close to a laugh as you can hope for at the start of a mission, but it's a win.
"Ready?" he asks.
You dip your chin. He glides into the room, clearing one side as you clear the other. There aren't any signs of disturbance, but that's how it goes with these places. The closer you get to the exit, the more normal it seems -- because all of the horrible things happen behind closed doors.
And no one makes it out.
"Clear," Leon calls. You echo it.
There are two single doors that reveal a bathroom hallway and the security office, as well as a set of double doors that resemble the locked entrance, another keypad glowing red at one side. Leon finds a map of the facility in the office and spreads it on the desk.
"That locked door will take us to an elevator that goes down to the labs," he says, tracing the path with a finger under the beam of his flashlight. "Three of them, all on different levels, connected by staircases instead of the elevator shaft, only accessible by keycard and on the other side of an anti-contamination corridor."
"Isolated," you observe. "In case of an outbreak?"
"It's bare bones compared to the other Umbrella stuff we've seen. This must be really out-there shit. Less resources, less of a footprint, less of an issue when it goes wrong."
You try to commit the map to memory. Leon will undoubtedly fold it into one of his pockets, but it's hard to consult a piece of paper when you're running from a B.O.W..
"Greek," Leon mutters. "More creative than T-virus, that's for sure."
This is just like him, surprising you after countless missions as your partner.
"Do you speak Greek, Leon?"
He shrugs.
"Not really." He tightens the strap on his glove, a cue that he's frustrated. You know most of his tells by now. "I don't know the last one. Fire, maybe?"
"Not really, he says," you tease. "What else are you hiding, Kennedy?"
He rolls his eyes at you, but if the lights were on, you're sure you'd see some pink in his cheeks. Battle-hardened agent he may be, Leon S. Kennedy still blushes for you.
If only...
No. You swallow the pang in your chest and roll your shoulders. "Start with B1 and go down, then loop back up?"
It wouldn't be out of the question to divide and conquer, but the slimy unease dripping down your spine prevents you from suggesting it.
He grunts his agreement, eyes still on the map, frowning.
As a pair, you work so well together because of your communication. It took practice, sure, but now you know each other across a crowded room, through the heat of a fight, in the dark. You don't let things go unsaid.
Well, most things, your traitorous heart says.
"Leon," you say. "It feels off, right? We're missing something."
Blue eyes meet yours. He sighs.
"Yeah," he says. "Guess we just have to find out what."
You can't help it -- you put your hand on his bicep and squeeze just a little, holding his gaze. His fringe hangs in his eyes. In another life, you'd push it back.
"Be careful, okay?" you ask him, faces so close you can feel his breath.
Leon got shot on your second ever mission together. It was a clean wound, through and through, except for the fact that he'd already been shot in that shoulder back in Raccoon City. The bullet fucked up the already fragile joint, so he needed surgery and was benched for six weeks (he was back at your side in four).
There was nothing you could have done. It was nobody's fault. But you felt responsible for waylaying your new partner, who was one of the most well-known agents in the whole damn place, so you went to see him in the hospital to alleviate your guilt.
"They have you with anyone while I'm out?" he asked you.
They did, actually, but hadn't told you who. Leon was troubled by it.
"Well, be careful," he said, as if he didn't trust anyone else to watch your back, even then.
"Only as careful as you," you replied, pointing at his shoulder.
That was the first time you made Leon Kennedy laugh.
Now, it's something you say to each other in the field. A mantra, a reminder, a promise.
Leon gives you a small smile.
"Only as careful as you," he replies, like he always does. We keep each other safe.
You release him and busy your hand at your belt immediately, god forbid you touch him more.
He rolls his shoulders back and checks the chamber of his sidearm.
"Into the depths, huh?"
"Into the depths."
--
Level B1: MENIS
The elevator opens to a dead contamination chamber. Nothing happens as you walk through the three zones where you'd expect to be scanned, doused, and dried. Another set of metal doors opens with a hiss when you tap the keycard. The smell of death hits your nose and makes your eyes water.
There are at least 10 bodies piled on the other side, most of them in pieces.
"Fuck," you curse, sidestepping a caved-in head.
"Looks like the party started without us," Leon says quietly.
"Great," you mutter. "God, that's nasty."
There aren't any claw marks or avid stains or other tell-tale signs of B.O.W.'s you see with this caliber of violence. One look at Leon and you know he's realized the same thing. You tilt your head down the hall. He nods, following your lead deeper into the floor.
Red emergency lights pulse along the base of the walls, illuminating the blood splattered pretty much everywhere. You pass the occasional corpse, most of them so horribly disfigured it's hard to tell if they were staff or test subjects or something else.
There are so many things you want to say, but you keep them to yourself until Leon leads you to the floor's main office. You slide in but don't relax.
"They look like they were torn apart," you say as soon as the door is closed. Leon frowns at you, since you didn't clear the room first, but it's a square office. You can see all the corners from where you're standing.
"I know," he replies. "But no sign of what did it."
You sigh. "So, are you going to tell Hunnigan the location survey was wrong, or should I?"
"I think I've run out of my 'bad news' calls for the year," he says. "That one's all yours once we get topside."
"How generous of you."
Leon smirks. "I'm a giver."
The office is small and the computers are dead. There are papers scattered around, so you divide and conquer.
You find an official logbook. Mostly in-the-weeds science stuff, but you skim until you find a change in handwriting.
LOG #57:
Development continues under new staff. Blood transmission remains the only method that carries enough sample to infect a host; airborne tests were unsuccessful. Vaccine/suppressant formulas abandoned for the time being after we were told that our subject supply would be steady. B2 wants to set one of theirs against one of ours, which seems pointless because any B1 subject will win that fight. B3 is a joke, but they're insistent that it'll work.
No vaccine...that's not good news. But what were they actually testing here? Infecting people with what?
You flip more pages until you find something that makes your blood run cold.
LOG #63:
We've finally gotten a host to survive. B2 and B3 are nowhere near this. We won't be sharing. Their subjects die within hours. B3 is practically useless, anyway. What use is controlling people if they die on you in an hour? But here, we've cracked it. I managed to figure out how to get the virus to work with the host's adrenaline production, stabilizing it into a constant state of fight or flight without short-circuiting the nervous system. If this batch survives the week, we'll ask permission to start on the suppressant. Once we have that, we'll be able to control the whole herd. The future of hostile takeover is here! Now, if only they'd let us out of this fucking dungeon more often…
Holy shit. They were making viruses to infect large populations, to control them. But using what? Changing their brain chemicals, making them reliant on suppressants? Leon told you about this kind of manipulation, how it infiltrated a military unit and even made its way to the White House a few years ago. Who knows how far they got this time?
"Leon," you call, turning with the folder in your hands. "You should look at this --"
You make eye contact and fall silent. He's got his finger over his lips and his gun at the ready.
You toss the papers aside and take your place on the other side of the door.
That's when you hear it.
Groans, grunts, screams. Footsteps -- a lot of them.
He holds your gaze.
Clear the chokepoint, get into the lab rooms down the hall around the corner, make for the stairwell on the other side of the floor.
That's what you'd do, so you know it's what he's thinking, too. No confirmation needed.
The door bursts open. You duck, missing the arms reaching for your neck. It's dark in here, but you rely on muscle memory and gravity to sweep the zombie's legs out from under it and stomp on its head while you fire at the next one.
The attackers are -- well, they look mostly human. But their eyes are wild, blood running down their faces like tears, pink foam and spit dripping from their mouths.
Leon's movements are sharp and decisive. Headshot, parry, twist. Uppercut, knee sweep, headshot. He occupies the air around you like he's magnetized to your movements, always filling the space where you aren't, ceding room when you need it. After hours upon hours of mat practice between the two of you and hundreds of field opportunities to master it, you work together like a well-oiled machine.
It's exhilarating.
You're forced back from the door, but you keep firing, slicing, covering each other. It's essential that you get into the hall sooner rather than later to avoid being trapped in this room.
A zombie rips the arm off another in its attempt to get to you. That's new.
"What the fuck were they doing with this shit?" Leon grunts. He's splattered with blood now. No doubt you are too.
"That's what I was going to tell you before our party of two got crashed," you say between shots.
"They wanted to control people."
"Yeah, this sure looks like control to me!"
"We have to clear it or we'll have to fight through on our way back up."
Leon grunts his agreement. "They're not biting." His aim is true, as always. He downs two, three, four infected. "They just want to rip us apart!"
"We need to go into the hall. Cover me," you say, dodging bloody fingers and sliding through the door. "Switching weapons!"
Your assault rifle is strapped to your back. You holster your pistol and reach around for it, but something catches your jacket and pulls.
The fabric tears. For a split second, you worry your flesh will be next, but then the tug disappears. Leon grunts and he breaks the neck of whatever had you.
You keep your gaze on the approaching pack, maybe 10 or 15 strong. Leon keeps taking them down while you holster your pistol and check the new cartridge.
"Gonna need to reload in a second here," he calls. "Six left. Five. Four --"
"Ready," you shout. Leon stabs a zombie in the neck and walks behind it, using it as a wall against reaching fingers until he's at your side again. He tears his knife free and slides beside you, solid, ready.
You open fire.
That's all it takes. The hallway is soon empty and bloodier than before. All you can hear is your combined panting.
Leon lowers his gun. "Nice job," he says.
You drop yours, too. "What was this floor called again? Menace?"
"Basically," he says, slamming in a new clip. "Divine wrath or anger."
"No shit." You look down at the tear in your jacket. "God damnit, this is my favorite."
Leon checks his chamber. "I'll get you a new one," he says.
You laugh. He almost smiles, like that was his goal all along.
The rest of the floor is mostly clear. A few stragglers here and there, but they're no match for the two of you. The containment chambers seem to be where the infected gathered in the months since this facility went dark -- the walls are covered in scratch marks.
"I can't believe they didn't kill each other," Leon says with mild disgust. "Not having control of yourself like that...I wouldn't wish it on anyone."
You've read the report from Spain. He knows how it feels.
"Do you think they're aware?" you wonder aloud.
He looks so sad for a moment that you almost reach for him. "I hope not."
--
Level B2: KAMATOS
The stairwell is a mess. The door to B2 is barricaded, but you manage to get through after slamming your shoulders against it over and over.
This floor is quiet, but in a different way than upstairs. Years of field-trained instincts tell you there's nothing left alive on this floor. That, and it made a hell of a lot of noise getting the door open, and nothing popped out.
It's dustier down here, like things have been still for longer.
"What's this one mean?" you ask. "This virus."
"Extreme fatigue," Leon tells you.
"So if they controlled adrenaline levels on the first floor to make them angry, they're depriving people of sleep on this floor?"
He shrugs. "Maybe they found a way to keep the brain awake without killing it."
They did not.
The documents you find suggest the virus was a failure. The bodies you find confirm it. Hosts died from heart failure, self-inflicted wounds, a number of things, no matter what the scientists did to keep the mind from giving up. All by depriving them of sleep.
Being so tired that you see no other way out…
The horror of it all rises in your throat. You leave Leon with the corpses so you can press your forehead to the cool hallway wall.
This job asks a lot of you. Your time, your well-being. Your security, your personal relationships, your hobbies. It's overwhelming and can bury a person. The things you see, the things you do -- it gets to you. It’s easy to shove it down, to pretend like you're untouchable, but that's no way to live, either.
Sometimes you just have to feel it.
These poor people.
Leon's hand is light on your shoulder. Not patronizing, not rushing, just there. Warm, solid.
You take a deep breath, then stand up straight.
"Let's take a quick break before the last floor," Leon says.
"I'm fine."
You turn to face him, but he's already crouching, back against the wall.
He grins, a real smile this time. It makes him look younger. "Who said it was for you?"
It's like he's giving you permission to put it all down for a second. To forget where you are, why you're there, what you're doing. Leon's guard is rarely fully down, and right now he's telling you that he's got you. Rest for a second, I'll take care of us.
He's proven to you over and over that he will.
So you smile back, shaky but genuine. "Getting old, Kennedy?"
"Something like that." He looks up at you, grin softening into something fond. "Do you remember Greece?"
You slide down the wall to his level. "Do I remember Greece? Be serious. How could I forget --"
"All those stairs," Leon finishes. "Exactly."
It was last year in the height of summer. A small, sleepy cliffside town, except for the fact that a scummy billionaire moved into the monastery and started developing B.O.W.'s in the catacombs.
The town was evacuated. You were sent in to apprehend the guy and secure whatever virus he was using. It turned into three days of running up and down stone staircases away from bats with tentacles and lizards with thousands of teeth where you wouldn't expect teeth to be.
Over the course of your partnership, you've seen each other in all states, but you've never seen Leon as exhausted as he was after that mission.
"I thought I was going to have to carry you to the rendezvous point," you remind him. "You fell down so many stairs."
Leon rubs his knees as if remembering the way they smacked stone over and over.
"And you would have," he says.
He catches your gaze and holds it. He's reminding you that you're in this together. That he trusts you, something you do not take lightly. It's hard to know who you can trust in this job, even your very own employer, but he never doubts you. You never doubt him.
The familiar ache of everything you feel for him sits warm and heavy on your chest. He's the best man you've ever known.
"I would have," you say.
Leon dips his chin, his mouth curling into a smaller smile than before, but this one is just as fond.
"We should go back," you say without meaning to.
It surprises him, but he hides it well.
"That would be nice," he muses. "I don't know the last time I took a vacation."
"We could go to the beach," you continue. It's scarily easy to imagine -- Leon in swim trunks, cheeks pink from the sun. "Stay at the bottom of the stairs and not walk up a single one."
"But you liked the monastery," he reminds you. "We'd have to go back up to see the windows."
Of course he remembers how you'd looked up in awe at the stained glass, gun in your hand and blood on your face.
"I'll climb up by myself. You can relax."
Leon sighs. "Relax," he says. "I don't even know if I know how to do that."
"You're good at everything," you say. "You'll pick it up in no time."
Whatever game this is, you're having too much fun playing it. Leon doesn't lie to you, so while he might be indulging you, there's a part of him that means all of this. He has to know that you mean it, too.
He stands and offers you his hand.
"One more floor," he says. "Then we can go to Greece."
--
Level B3: PYRETOS
The hit comes out of nowhere.
Maybe you're distracted by talk of vacation, or your guard is down after the silence of B2, but you don't see it coming. One second you're rounding the corner, the next you're flying backwards through glass, back slamming against a cabinet. You land heavily on the ground, more glass and something wet raining down on you.
Leon yells your name.
You try to catch your breath, but it's stuck in your chest. He's still calling for you in between gunshots.
"Fuck," you croak, finally finding air. You roll onto your side. Glass crunches under your weight as you try to figure out what the hell just happened.
Everything hurts, but you try to shake it off and push up to standing. Leon hauls himself through the broken window. He begins to clear the room after he sees you on your feet.
"Clear. That was one ugly son of a bitch," he says. "Must have gotten down here from upstairs."
You open your mouth to say something, anything, but the words catch in your throat.
Something isn't right.
Your skin feels tight, like you already went on vacation and got burned to a crisp. Your pulse won't slow. Deep breaths feel impossible. Strangest of all, it's almost like –
Well, your core is buzzing. You press your legs together and try not to panic.
In the early days, after Leon got shot but well before Greece, you hid an injury from him.
You took a knife to the ribs during a fight. It wasn't too deep, but it was wide and bleeding steadily. Adrenaline allowed you to get through it. You figured you could patch yourself up the next time you slowed. But Leon pushed on ahead, and you followed without saying anything.
That is, until you left a bloody handprint on a door. He stopped immediately.
"Is that yours?" he said. "Where are you hurt?"
"It's nothing," you protested. But Leon S. Kennedy does not give up easily.
"Show me," he said, pulling out bandages from his hip pouch. "When did this happen?"
"I'm not compromised," you said, even as you lifted your jacket to show him.
"I know you aren't," he said. "I want to know when you're hurt so I can make sure you're okay."
"I'm fine," you said weakly. He patched you up quickly and thoroughly.
"We're partners," he told you. "We have to help each other."
Here, now, you don’t hide from him.
"Leon," you croak. "Something's wrong. I think I --"
He's at your side in an instant, so close your breath hitches. Why are you so affected by him? Why are you so warm?
"The rip in your jacket," Leon says. "Your arm is bleeding."
"Liquid," you gasp. "It felt wet when I hit the cabinet."
The pieces come together. Shattered vials at your feet, an empty cabinet behind you. The dull red emergency lights make it hard to tell what color the puddle is, but you know it can't be good.
"They wouldn't keep a virus out in the open, would they?" you ask weakly. You're shaking now, shivering even though you don't feel cold.
"Fever," he breathes. "Pyretos. It means fever."
You've rarely seen Leon afraid. He's human, so it happens, but normally he faces things head-on without complaint.
Right now, he looks terrified. That scares you more than anything.
"Leon," you whisper. "What do we do?"
He snaps into action. He hands you a roll of bandages.
"Wrap it," he says. He presses a few buttons on his watch until it beeps. Setting a timer, no doubt. Just in case. "How do you feel? Describe it to me."
"Feverish," you say. "But not dizzy. I can think clearly."
Leon starts to dig around the lab, tearing open drawers and rifling through what he finds. The office on this floor wasn't in the same place as the other two, so any information must be in here, right?
"What else?"
You follow his lead, desperately searching for anything helpful. How do you explain the fact that your entire body is pulsing with a very specific kind of need? It scares you, feeling this out of control physically while also being in your right mind.
You land on achey. The buzzing under your skin gets worse every minute you spend looking and finding fuck all.
"There's nothing here," he says, frustrated. "Shit."
You're thinking the same thing: no vaccines. Any hope for you is in this lab.
But then -- your eye catches on a cabinet sitting on deep grooves in the floor.
"There's a door," you tell him, already heading for it. A wave of need hits you so suddenly that you have to brace yourself on the wall to catch your breath. Leon brushes by you. The slight contact has you swallowing a moan.
Jesus Christ.
He shoves the cabinet aside. Behind it is a door that opens into the lab office, as dark as the others.
You follow him in and start searching the shelves. Leon drags a table into the perfect place to effectively barricade you in.
"We don't have time to be interrupted right now," he says. He starts searching the desk.
You're sweating now. If this thing is going to turn you, Leon can't be here for it. You don't want him to see it. "Maybe you should go back to the surface --"
"I'm not leaving you," he interrupts. It's sharp, final.
"But if I turn--"
Leon whirls around. "I'm not leaving you," he says again.
Your nose stings. It's not the rational choice, but it's the Leon Kennedy choice. You can't help but be grateful for it.
He returns to the papers. Everywhere your clothing touches your skin feels heavy, almost painful. Your skin is sensitive, your throat dry, breath still fast.
You're so turned on, you think you might explode. It's all you can do to just stand there and try to keep it together.
"I found something," Leon says. He says nothing else. It's hard to see his expression in the dark without being close to him. You don't know if you can handle that right now.
"Bad news, doc?"
He swallows and begins to read.
"In an effort to bend the subject to commands, a fever is introduced via the bloodstream that increases testosterone and dopamine to near-unbearable levels of arousal. We have successfully altered the balance to allow the mind to be unaffected, making the reaction purely physical. The fever, if detected and combated within 1 hour, can be reduced by repeated bursts of oxytocin until the subject's internal temperature returns to normal. Required oxytocin levels seem to vary by subject; no pattern discernible at this time."
"What the fuck does that mean?" you pant. Your skin feels too tight. You still can't take a full breath. Control is becoming a missed opportunity. "Do I have a sex fever?"
No answer.
"Leon."
He exhales sharply.
"I think you need to be touched," he says. "To release the chemical that will help you fight this on your own."
Your responding laugh edges on hysterical.
"I do have a sex fever. So, what, you're going to hug me and hope I don't die?"
"I could," he says. He runs a frustrated hand through his hair. "I just don't think it'll be enough. This says bursts, and a lot of them. The best way to trigger that kind of response is --"
It clicks in your mind.
"Orgasm," you whisper. "Oh, god."
Leon closes his eyes for a second too long.
"I don't know what to do," he admits. He looks at his watch. "It's been 10 minutes. I don't know what--"
"I'm so sorry," you breathe. The gravity of your situation is like a bucket of cold water. If only it actually made you feel cold. You have to fuck your partner or die. What kind of sick joke is this? "Leon, I'm so sorry. You don't have to do anything, this is my fault --"
He tosses the file onto the table.
"I'm not going to let you die," he says with all his usual conviction. He really believes it, and it makes it easier for you to believe it, too. "Not when there's something I can do about it."
"But not like this," you croak. "This is --"
"I know."
God, you wish the lights were on. You want to see every detail of his face to discern what he's feeling. Can you ask him to do this? Will it ruin everything forever?
A tremor wracks through you. You have to brace yourself on the desk.
He yanks open drawers until he finds a thermometer. It beeps alive, somehow, and he holds it up to your forehead.
"Shit," he mutters.
"What?"
Leon flips the device to show you the screen. 103.2.
"Shit," you echo.
Your brain is going to cook in your skull sooner rather than later. You swallow frustrated tears along with your pride.
"I'm so wet," you whisper. It's the lewdest thing you've ever said to him. "I can feel it."
Leon inhales sharply, standing ever-so-still just next to you, just out of reach.
The pain radiates through you, molten lava in your veins. It's strange to be able to think so clearly. You want Leon as badly as you always do. That's bearable. But the pain. The heat. It's something else, something all-consuming.
You need him to touch you.
"Please don't make me beg," you whimper, turning towards him.
"Jesus," he mutters, filling the space you make for him. His hands find your face. You groan. The contact is like a balm, even through his gloves.
"Oh god."
You nuzzle into his palms. It's like you can feel the battle in your blood, the virus doing its best to cook you from the inside out, but Leon's touch is giving you a foothold, a reprieve.
If it wasn't so awful, you'd laugh at the idea that you're so horny you might die.
"Whatever you need, I'll do," he says. His voice is already hoarse. "But just -- you have to tell me if it's not okay. And I'll stop. We'll figure something else out."
You lean back on the desk and grab his elbows. You've touched plenty, but never like this. Never loaded with all of the unspoken things between you, never with such desperation.
"It's okay," you tell him. "Whatever it takes, it's okay. I trust you."
His thigh slides between your legs.
"Can you forgive me? If I do this?" he whispers, lips so close to yours. You lean forward on instinct, pulled to him by more than just the fire in your core.
"There's nothing to forgive," you say, and then you're kissing.
What you need is an orgasm, but this is something you've wondered about for a long time. Something you've wanted. It almost feels selfish to take it now.
But, fuck, it's good.
He's not shy. You trace the seam of his lips with your tongue. He opens for you immediately, licking into your mouth as he pulls you forward and onto his thigh.
His kisses are desperate, exposing his worry, but also tender, exposing his care. You're in good hands, hands you love.
Even through your pants, the pressure of your cunt on his thigh is enough to steal your breath.
"God," you gasp.
"Not quite," Leon says, kissing a path from your mouth down your neck. "Does that help?"
You grind down on him in reply. His palms have made their way to your hips, aiding you in your quest for pressure on your core.
It's too much. It's not enough. But still, the coil tightens. "Sorry, I just need --"
You chase it, grinding down on his thigh even harder, panting into his neck. You're close, you can feel it. You're chasing it, that snap, that reward. Leon just lets you take and take and take.
You thread your fingers through his hair, panting into his neck. When you tug just a little, he bounces his leg and you keen.
"More, please."
It only takes three more bounces before you're coming, shudders ripping through you, his name on your lips.
When you return to your body, Leon is dragging his palm up and down your back.
"Did you just--"
You're becoming very familiar with the fabric of his shoulder, his leather harness pressing into your cheek.
"Mhm," you manage.
There's a world where you're embarrassed. In that world, you asked Leon out for dinner and then up to your place after. In that world, you made out on the couch and ground down on his thigh until you came. In that world, he laughed with you, utterly charmed, and it was the beginning of something wonderful.
In this one, he gently tilts you back so he can check your temperature with the thermometer.
"Holy shit," he breathes. "102.1. It worked."
You don't feel that different, but the number doesn't lie.
Leon is panting, too. "More?"
You nod. Your cunt aches like you didn't have an orgasm at all.
He tugs off a glove with his teeth, dropping it god knows where.
"Don't know how clean my hands are," he says.
A laugh bursts out of you, but it sounds close to a sob.
Two fingers go in his mouth faster than you can open yours. He doesn't waste too much time wetting them, given how turned on you already are, but he gives them a good suck. A trail of spit hangs from his lip when he finishes.
You work at the buttons of your pants, unbuckling your tactical belt. It clangs onto the desk behind you. Leon slides his hand down under the waistband of your panties. You collapse into him with a guttural moan.
"Leon," you gasp. He holds you up, no problem, even as you go utterly boneless at just his fingers in your folds.
"You weren't kidding," he says, breathy. "You are wet."
"I'm sorry," you pant into his shoulder.
"Please don't say sorry again," he groans. "I can't take it."
"Can I say thank you?"
"That's worse," he says, sliding two fingers into you at the same time. "I just wish it wasn't like this, is all."
The absurdity of the whole thing makes it hard to keep your emotional walls high. What's the point? You're having sex with your partner to save your life in an underground Umbrella laboratory. You're way past keeping your emotions from him.
So you hear his words for what they are. For what he's not saying.
"Oh, yeah?" He curls his fingers and you groan, arching into him. "You have something you want to tell me, Kennedy?"
"Little late for that."
He presses his lips to your jaw, but you pull back so you can see his eyes. He's flushed, his pupils taking over almost all of the blue you love so dearly.
"I always want to know how you feel," you tell him. It's honest, raw, perhaps out of place when he's knuckle deep in your cunt.
"Fuck," he breathes, like eye contact is enough to undo him.
"I just want to help you," he says. "I always want to help you when you need it." He picks up the pace with his fingers. "I like being the guy who has your back."
His thumb circles your clit. It’s all you can do to hang onto his shoulders and ride it out as he keeps talking.
"I want to give you everything you've ever wanted," he says. "I miss you when you leave the room. I trust you more than anyone I've ever met."
"Oh, Leon," you gasp, grinding down onto his hand. "Me too. Me too."
He scrapes his teeth along your neck. "Yeah?"
"Yes, yes, yes --"
The orgasm washes over you. You clench around him over and over. He carefully pulls his hand from your panties and licks his fingers. Good god.
Something has shifted between you. It's still about the mission, about breaking your fever, but now it's more. It's more, because you both want it.
Leon leans in for a kiss. You meet him halfway, tasting yourself on his lips.
Beep.
"101.3," he says.
You push his hair back from his forehead. "Is that low enough?"
This time, you do feel a bit different. Maybe it's the confirmation that Leon has feelings for you, but your muscles feel more relaxed, your skin less taut. The need still burns, though.
"There's no way to say this without sounding like a creep," he says wryly. "But I think you should have a few more."
You drag your hands up and down his torso, but your gaze lands on his makeshift barricade.
"Do we think we have time?"
Even as you ask, you're toeing off your boots and shoving your pants down. Leon is quick to help you.
"If anything comes through that door," he says, fingers hooked in your underwear, "I can kill it with my eyes closed."
He hooks his hand under your thighs and helps you up onto the desk fully, sweeping everything onto the ground.
"So could you," he adds. You hum in agreement. Your hand returns to his torso, trailing it down to the front of his pants.
He's hard.
It's not entirely a surprise, but you're pleased.
"I know, I'm sorry, it's kind of fucked up --" he tries. You don't let it get very far.
"Don't you apologize," you say. "You're allowed to want, Leon. I promise you, whatever you want, you can have. You already do."
His answer to that is a kiss, not searing and heated like before, but soft and slow. Like he's memorizing you, learning every inch of your mouth just because he can.
A wave of heat rolls through you, so intense and unexpected that you have to close your eyes and grit your teeth against the pain.
Leon rubs your back and tells you to breathe, it's okay, you're going to be okay.
The heat dulls. "How long has it been?" you ask through gritted teeth, eyes still shut.
"26 minutes."
His thumbs stroke your cheeks, helping you come back to yourself.
"Are you okay to keep going?" he asks. "I'll do whatever you want."
You reach for his belt with shaking hands. Not because you don't want him, or because you're scared, but because you need him. You need him to survive. This was just as true before you got infected as it is now. And you have him.
He has you.
Leon lets you unbuckle his pants as he undoes his harness and his tactical pouches. They both fall to the ground.
You take him in hand and he hisses. His cock is warm, another layer of heat against your already burning skin. His hips jerk when you stroke him root to tip.
His fingers circle your wrist to stop you.
"Another time," he says. He kisses your chin. "Okay?"
There will be another time. Leon doesn't say things he doesn't mean, so you take it to heart. This will happen again.
It's not exactly romantic, the way you lean back on some long-dead bioterrorist's desk naked from the waist down, Leon's pants shoved down his thighs and his cock in his hand. But it's what you've got, and it's what you'll take.
You spread your legs for him. He sucks in air like a man just saved from drowning.
"Ready?" he asks. You feel his tip at your entrance and can't swallow the moan that rips from your throat in the shape of his name. He wastes no more time sinking into you in one stroke.
You come immediately, legs wrapped around his hips. You might scream, it's hard to tell. But you're so full and it finally feels right. Like you've been missing something all along and finally found it.
Leon says your name over and over, like a mantra, like a prayer.
"I wish I could see you properly," he says, voice breaking. "I wish –
His hips jerk forward even though he's bottomed out. He leans forward until he's bracing his forearms on either side of your head, brushing your nose with his. He's right. It's hard to see him fully in the red-washed office.
"You know what I look like," you tell him.
"Not like this," he shakes his head. "Not like this."
"You're doing so good," you say, lips brushing the shell of his ear. "Leon, it feels so good --"
It's a strange sensation to feel your blood cooling while he's inside you, to regain control of your body just as you surrender your heart.
Leon starts to move his hips, a slow drag at first, but it quickly becomes a snap. You dig your fingers into his biceps and hold on. You can hear how wet you are as he fucks you.
The coil in your core tightens again. "Leon," you moan. "I'm gonna--"
He kisses you, hips slowing to a grind. He reaches between you with one hand to find your clit and give it some messy circles.
"Go ahead," he says against your mouth. "I can take it."
Your cunt clenches around him. Tears prick in your eyes not from overstimulation but from everything else -- the heat in your veins, the tenderness of his hold, the way he's kissing you as you fall apart, swallowing your gasps.
"So beautiful," he says. And god, it sounds like he means it. Half-dressed, sweaty and bandaged, he means it.
Leon goes back to shallow thrusts, but they're becoming more erratic.
"How many is that?"
"Four," Leon says.
"Are you..."
He nods. "I'm close."
His forehead is damp from the effort. You wipe it with the heel of your hand.
"It's okay," you tell him. "It's okay, Leon. You can --"
You tighten your legs around him to hold him inside.
His breath hitches, but he picks up the pace without argument.
The smack of your flesh fills the room. The only thing on your mind is Leon Leon Leon.
The noise he makes just before he comes inside you is a punched-out whine of your name. He stills above you entirely, eyes screwed shut in pleasure.
"So beautiful," you echo. "So beautiful, Leon."
He keeps his weight off you but presses his face into your neck as he catches his breath.
"Fuck," he says. "How do you feel?"
You need to check your temperature, but remarkably better. The heat in your veins is an expected one. You can feel sweat cooling on your skin. The incessant need in your cunt has dulled to a satiated ache.
"Still alive." You kiss him chastely, considering he's still inside you.
"Let me check -- where the hell did that thing go?"
He pulls out. You both hiss just a bit, but he finds the thermometer on the ground.
Beep.
"98.3," Leon says. "That's normal."
You feel boneless and make no move to get up from the desk. If you did, you'd surely make a mess.
"Finally, something normal about today."
Leon tucks his cock back into his briefs, buttons his pants. He drags his hands up and down your thighs.
"Can I clean you up?" he asks.
Even though you now know how he feels, know that he wants you just as much as you want him, he's done so much for you today. Your temperature is back to normal. You still need to make it back to the surface.
"You don't need to," you say. "Just...give me a clean bandage, or something --"
"Let me do this for you," he interrupts. Begs, really, already getting on his knees between your legs. "One more. Just to be safe."
The heat that builds is nothing like the wild, uncontrollable fire of before. This is all you, all Leon.
The fact that he wants his mouth on you, wants to lick his own come from your cunt.
"Okay," you breathe. You thread your fingers through his hair. He preens.
He kisses the inside of your thigh and pushes your legs wider.
Maybe you should feel exposed, but you don't. You feel wanted. You feel safe.
Leon pulls your folds open with his thumbs. He starts with long licks with the flat of his tongue along your seam, flicking your clit when he reaches the top. But your entrance quickly becomes his focus, and suddenly he's a man possessed.
He laps up his own release as it drips from you, humming when you tug on his hair. He hardly comes up for air, but you know he's paying attention to your reactions based on the way he moves his mouth. He sucks on your clit. Your hips buck, so he does it again.
"Leon," you gasp. How is it possible that you're going to come again? But you feel it, the rising tide in your core. All it takes is a glance down to find him watching you, soaking in whatever he can see in the dim light.
He keeps his mouth on you through your final orgasm. This time, a few tears leak from your eyes. Your breath evens out and your heartbeat actually slows the way you expect it to. The fever is broken, you're certain of it.
"Just to be safe," you say to the ceiling. "You just wanted to show me how good you were at that."
Leon wipes his face with the back of his hand.
"I like to be thorough," he replies. He stands, drags your underwear and pants up with him.
"Are you okay? How are the symptoms?"
"I think so." You scoot forward on the table so he can pull your clothes over your hips. "It doesn't feel like a fever anymore."
"What does it feel like?"
Your legs are a little shaky, but you stand and wrap your arms around him. You've just had sex to save your life, but you don't know if you've ever hugged Leon before.
"It feels like you," you tell him, cheek pressed to his shoulder.
Leon stills, but you can hear his heartbeat pick up. He envelops you in his embrace, lips pressed against your temple, his inhale shaky.
"I'm glad," he whispers. "I'm so fucking glad."
He's hidden his fear from you so well this whole time, but you saw the look on his face when he realized you were infected. You hug him tighter, willing the fear to leave him. You're okay. You're here, in his arms. He saved you.
"What now?" you ask. You turn in his arms. He releases you so you can reach for your tactical belt.
"We get out of here in one piece," he says. "We get you to medical."
"Fucking medical," you mutter. You shove your foot back in your discarded boot.
"I won't leave you there," Leon says. They could keep you for days, but you know he means it. "Then I'll take you home. And we'll sleep for days."
You almost forget that you don't have to keep your feelings from him. You let the joy take over your face. "Yeah?"
"Yeah," he says, a little sheepish. "If you want to."
"I want to," you assure him. "I want to."
You'll have to talk about this, surely. The way it changes your partnership, how to navigate field work. There is so much to learn about him. What he's like on a quiet morning at home instead of a stakeout. The noises you can pull from him in a real bedroom. His face when you tell him you love him.
The future is bright.
Leon buckles his harness. He laughs to himself, tearing you from your thoughts.
"What?"
He straightens your belt and grins crookedly, boyish and lovely.
"Are you writing this into the mission report, or am I?"
One thing I am just loving about Austin and the way he's handling his career is the fact that he's not afraid to take risks!
He doesn't mind playing a villain or a complicated and flawed human-being (ie. OUATIH, Dune Part 2, Lance Armstrong biopic, The Brigands of Rattlecreek).
He's not afraid to ugly up for a role (Dune Part 2).
He isn't afraid to take on small, co-star/cameo roles where he's not playing the lead (Eddington).
He isn't afraid to play the imperfect hero (Caught Stealing).
He isn't afraid to take the path less-traveled and not do Marvel/superhero roles (not that there's anything wrong with them at all).
He's not afraid of doing smaller, original films (Caught Stealing, The Bikeriders, Eddington, etc. )
And lastly, he's not afraid to keep us guessing.
That's what makes Austin so special and so interesting to watch for me. He doesn't play it safe. He's constantly doing something different. You can't really put him in a box. He's doing a little bit of everything.
I really think we have only seen him tap into the tip of the iceberg of his talent potential, and I still feel that one day, people are going to appreciate his acting, and just him as an actor overall, so much more than they do now. ☺️ I think it's just going to take a little bit of time due to the negativity, hate, and smear campaigns against him over the past few years.
But one day, people are going to be eating their words when it comes to him -- I can feel it.
