#S: corner gas

[harveywritings92]

R/n, to Ghost after noticing he was walking sluggish: You look tired. You sleeping enough?

Ghost: Four, maybe five hours a night.

R/n: You should lay off the coffee.

Ghost: I need it.

R/n: Why?

Ghost: I only sleep four, maybe five hours a night.

[harveyb-wabbit92]

R/n, to Miguel after seeing the bags under his eyes: You look tired. You sleeping enough?

Miguel: Four, maybe five hours a night.

R/n: You should lay off the coffee.

Miguel: I need it.

R/n: Why?

Miguel: I only sleep four, maybe five hours a night.

---------------- R/n = Reader’s name

[keeps-ache]

'i can't wish anybody good luck these days. it's like an attack on their character. maybe it is, i don't know.'

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

The Invisible String Theory

PAIRING: König x F!Reader

SYNOPSIS: You didn't expect the man who gave you his coat to be the same one to bust down the door where you and the other women slept - sniper hood scaring everyone within an inch of their life. You didn't expect him to become so important to you, either. (Based on König's in-game backstory).

WORDCOUNT: 9.2k

WARNINGS: Human trafficking, mentions of unwanted touching, trauma, blood, gore, guns, bullets, protective!König, soft!König, nightmares, mentions of bullying, etc.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

'DATE: 25, NOVEMBER, 2021

LOCATION: BERLIN, GERMANY

TIME OF EVENT: 0230

MISSION REPORT: PENDING….'

You don’t remember much from the day that could be called out of the ordinary. Ever since you’d been moved here with the other girls, everything was predictable down to the time the men would come over, to the point where the screams had to be muffled by pillows. 

Never in your life did you think you’d be part of the nearly fifty million people stuck in this situation, and neither did you think you’d be the one in one hundred who got out. But before you can think about November twenty-fifth and those pale gray eyes, you have to go back to the beginning. To Al-Qatala. 

You hadn’t been with this cell initially—you’d been moved around and bartered off more times than you could count; the initial founder of your predicament was long gone at this point. North and South America, Europe, Africa, Asia, and Oceania…you’d been practically everywhere and on every continent barring the obvious last. In Europe, you couldn’t name the countries, but you knew this for a fact: you’d never been to Germany before. 

They had you with five other women in a large SUV in the beginning, this international ring of human traffickers. You had watched from the window, face blank and eyes unblinking, at the men who met near the docks. They had brought you in through Hamburg, first—not only the largest seaport in Germany but the third largest in Europe; you think you read that on a flier at some point. One of those flimsy ones that you find in gas stations with bright lettering to attract the tourists with their interesting facts. 

You wished you were only a tourist. 

You’d watched the men shake hands, and that was when you knew your fate, as well as that of the five other women, was sealed. You were going to all be here for a long time. 

This Al-Qatala cell was ruthless, but you supposed with being around terrorists, ruthlessness was better than being executed. 

For days you’d be exploited with the false promises of moments of freedom, breaks, food, and water. For some of the women it was drugs or money, but when your stomach was empty and your eyes blurring from lack of sleep, even addictions seemed to pale for brief hours. But above it all was the threat of death at every corner. These men would kill you. 

It was only a matter of time unless you could give them what they wanted. 

You yourself had developed a system, and it was probably the only reason you were still alive. Pick one of the handlers, gain his favor, and pray that he treats you specially while you keep up the act of a mindless, weak, woman. 

Ivon was the man’s name this time around. Born and raised here in Berlin before the clutches of his fanatical ideations brought him to Al-Qatala. You hated him.

Hated his touch—hated his scent and how he talked; every bit of him was corrupted like a black dog at a crossroads, always leading people down the wrong path. Your only saving grace was that he was stupid. The other girls called you Cat—said you managed to nuzzle up to someone and soon after got them to give you what you wanted. Everything you wanted except freedom, that was.

You didn’t deny that Ivon did give you privileges, but that was the point. About a week into your stay in Berlin, he allowed you to go into public with him. Arm-candy.

A doll. 

The townhouse you’d been stuck in had disappeared into a spec behind the rearview mirror, the chilled air from outside making you shiver at the lack of heat and the thin shawl you’d been thrown. No jacket. 

The care of your health only extended to how well you were able to work—at the moment you were relatively healthy despite the bulge of bruises and constantly shell-shocked look behind your eyes.

But the trip—the trip. You supposed that was when it had fully started, and you didn’t even realize it before you saw those gray eyes again. 

“Come,” Ivon orders, holding tightly to your arm and dragging you along from the corner shop without making a scene. Your hands loosely brush the wrack of clothes, fabric soft under your fingertips as it sways. 

Fixing your shawl, you try to burrow your neck into it, gaining what little heat is available to you. It was cold out—you were shivering. People send looks, eyes tight as they shift up and down your form, but no one ever says anything. To be this bold, this cell had to have been at this for a long, long time. The realization didn’t make you feel any better. 

That was when you first saw him. 

You were standing outside a coffee shop, quivering like a newly hatched butterfly, Ivon making a call only a few feet away with fast motions of his arms. It was hard not to make a run for it right then and there; hard not to take those few seconds of open air and dash away—start screaming and yelling until the authorities came. 

It would save yourself, but what about the others? They wouldn’t be so fortunate, you’d be sentencing them to death. None of this was simple—it needed to be thought out. Two games of chess being played at the same time.

The irony of it was that König had been off-duty that day. It had been a shot in the dark. 

“Are you alright?” A thick Austrian accent makes you flinch as it appears beside your right ear, grating.

Your eyes snap to the side, moving one foot back as you blink wildly up at the blue-gray orbs that would become a staple. You liked to call it as everyone else did—the invisible string theory. A theory that stated that the universe connected people who were destined to meet one day. Through thick or thin waters, it was inevitable. He was inevitable. 

“Yes,” you say quickly, holding your hands tightly around you. The man ahead of you was tall, almost startlingly so, with muscles more bulky than a boulder and his buzz-cut head open to the chilled breeze. He wore a surgical mask over his lower visage, his hoodie under the thick material of a canvas jacket. “Yes,” you say again, hearing Ivon’s voice behind you still on the phone. “I’m fine, thank you.”

Gray eyes furrow slightly, gaze darting over your head. 

“Are you…sure, Ma’am?” 

“Thank you for your concern,” you fake laugh, eyes pained, backing up farther. That invisible string snaps into place, pulling tight at only those few simple words. 

His stature made you slightly nervous—large, intimidating; those hands could do quite the damage if given the chance. Your eyes had hit and bounced off the identity discs at his chest with little thought, too preoccupied to notice the fact that he was in the Service.

König’s eyes had narrowed softly, dark brows minutely moving in.

Ivon hangs up his phone. 

“Can I help you?” He asks, coming up and sliding a hand around your waist. The man had stared at him for a long minute, and you had felt Ivon tense slowly at the unblinking eye contact. 

This stranger had commented in German a long string of frim words, hands going to his jacket and grabbing at the arms—he slips out of it while still uttering. 

Before you can react, the large coat swallows you whole and you snatch at the heat that’s still inside instinctually, now only realizing how much you were shivering. Your body sags into the weight of the fabric, the scent of sweat and coffee. 

You don’t even pay attention to the growing tones, shocked. People look over to the two fast words being tossed.

Yet it could only last so long. 

Ivon’s hand latches onto the side of your arm, beginning to drag you back and away from this kind stranger like a lap dog while throwing curses behind him. Gray eyes meet yours as old shoes skid and stumble. 

König had taken a firm step towards you that day, his body tense and his hands clenched at his side—ready to do anything on a moment's notice should you ask for it. But all you do is stare, jaw loose, and the given coat still on your shoulders. You just couldn’t understand why he would do that. 

The stranger gets swallowed by the crowd, and just like that, he’s gone. 

That was all it had been; a moment—a few mere seconds in the large plot that was this almost impossible tale. You were glad it had been him, or else the events of the future could have been very different. 

Of course, they hadn’t let you keep the jacket, but the memory was enough to warm you for days even as old pains faded and new ones took their place. 

But those gray eyes would help you in the future, like a guardian; a protector in your dreams as you watched the snow fall from the sliver of outside light in your room with the others. Your mattress was on the floor like the rest, thin blankets and clouds of cold breath wafting up from sleeping forms. 

This was the time it happened, and you’d just woken up to find the curtains shifting as one of the women near it moved in her sleep. Shadows slip past, the light interrupted as it shifts over your tired face with broken fractures. 

You were always kept on the ground floor. 

'CLEARANCE: APPROVED 

TRANSLATING MISSION REPORT ‘RED FREEDOM’…

STAND BY…

Operation Red Freedom took place on November twenty-fifth, 2021, at approximately 0230 in the neighborhood of [REDACTED], at the residence of [REDACTED], Berlin, Germany. A squad of ten highly trained [REDACTED] personnel covertly entered the residence in two teams of five. Fireteam One advanced from the back entrance while Fireteam Two entered the residence from the balcony at the top floor, accessed via ladder.

Squad Leader [REDACTED], part of Fireteam One, set foot in the residence of [REDACTED] at approximately 0238 and began sweeping the ground floor as Fireteam Two cleared three of twelve known individuals belonging to the terrorist organization, Al-Qatala, on the top floor….'

You shift and shiver, your body trying to warm itself as the world blurs at the sides of your vision. Fingers twitch as your hand goes to wrap your waist, curled into the fetal position, creaking emanates from above you. Blinking softly, you frown and take a quivering breath, head nuzzling the thin mattress. 

“Cold,” you say, the following low exhale of air out of your lips only making it all worse as everything seems to drop another degree. The darkness didn’t help either, only that one line of light trying desperately to fill the room like a bucket descending into a dry well. 

You’re only clothed in the dirty and tattered remains of a large shirt, your legs feeling like they don’t hold any blood in them as they quiver without your knowledge—shaking the blanket above you. A few of the girls had said it would be okay to share, but everyone was afraid of the lock on the door clicking open and the men coming back in and seeing them. In the end, you could only look after yourself.

A thump makes you startle, drooping eyes snapping back open as you gasp. 

Head shifting, you blink rapidly upward to the ceiling, confused as to whether that had been a part of a failing mind or if you’d really just heard a muffled bump upstairs. Brows furrowing, you lightly sit up, hands still around yourself and legs limply outward; spine hunched. 

Your fingers had lost feeling, just as your nose had gone numb, but moving helped a little. Your hands dig into your flesh and your ears twitch at every creak in the wood—every pass of silent feet that suddenly becomes all the clearer as the sheen of fatigue slowly leaves your brain. 

Walking? Small pains move along your body like needles, poking and prodding, but you ignore them as easily as you do the vile hands that had touched you. Survival had forced you into a constant state of self-preservation—pain couldn’t bother you, because if you stopped, you wouldn’t get back going again. 

Your head tilts so you can side-eye the door to the room, sleeping forms all around shifting, singular groaning of tired lungs. But there’s something inside of you that stiffens like a prey animal, and you don’t know why. Inside of your sockets, your eyes hone in, bones stiff and your chest stilling as the grain becomes the most interesting thing to you beyond breathing. 

There was someone….out there. 

Watching, the sides of your vision shadow over to focus harder, your muscles tight. Your mind goes to the thumps from upstairs, the moving feet that sounded far more careful and deliberate than the ones your jailors took care to walk with. 

Inside your ribs, your heart patters a bit faster, adrenal glands sending a certain flight or flight through the few veins you hold that aren’t chilled over.

Something was happening. Something wasn’t right.

Only when you move to shake the shoulder of one of the women sleeping beside you does it happen. 

A yell. 

A scream. 

The girls in the room all startle awake, sounds of concern and shock entering the air that you mirror; faces snapping to the ceiling and the door. The townhouse erupts into gunfire and the sound of slamming wood—a warzone that only is separated from all of you by the thin material of the four walls.

You feel yourself being grabbed and held in fear in the dark, as your open face holds the expression of a rabbit in an open field, looking along the long, hidden grass. 

The sounds persist, loud German shouts going up over the house and echoing with heated fever. This continues for minutes, added in with the sound of doors breaking off hinges, bouncing off the ground, and shaking the foundation so hard that you can feel it reverberate. The women go silent. Stone-still. 

But the gunfire—so much gunfire. The constant pop of assault weapons and a pound of multiple booted feet. 

What was going on? You can't make sense of it, so you only freeze and listen; trying to understand the longer the fight goes on, heart hammering; mouth slack-jawed. And then it’s like it never happened.

Silence. 

You share quick looks with the others, all gripping one another and heads angled to the door. The heavy feet start back up again, coming closer. Your mind slashes to the window across the room, but it’s hard to think beyond the sudden body that shakes the door that leads directly to you all—the women scream, some standing up and racing to the glass with the same idea as you. 

'…Squad Leader [REDACTED], and both Fireteams successfully eliminated all targets inside of the [REDACTED] residence, leaving the room occupied by known hostages last to prevent casualties and/or the usage of bargaining chips. Squad Leader [REDACTED] made contact with hostages at approximately 0244 after the final sweep of the townhouse had been completed and all personnel accounted for.

Local authorities had been contacted by neighbors due to noise but were dismissed.' 

The door busts off its hinges and the room devolves into panicked yells and hurled bits of mattress material. Loud pleas and curses stuck like gums to teeth as they were forced out in fear and bone-crushing terror. You remember pushing back into the wall, many others doing the same, as a beast of a man enters the room with his face covered with a loose fabric hood of some sort. 

Large—brutish. Like a demon walking with the color of black printed over his entire body; gear hangs from a combat vest, hands holding an assault rifle as a sidearm is strapped to his bulging thigh. Forearms the side of your head stays near his chest, and in order to not hit his head on the doorframe, the individual has to bend slightly. Over that hood, the lenses and head-gear of a night-vision rig sit heavily before it’s moved back with a firm hand that is nearly double the size of yours.

A monster.

Your entire being is tight with quivering tension, eyes blinking away tears at the smell of blood that rolls in from the hallway. The women at the window duck down, hands to their heads as if expecting a bullet to carve its way between their skulls. 

“Cat,” one of the ladies behind you mutters, voice quivering. You shush her on bitten lips and move her farther behind you. 

“Don’t speak,” you mutter. “Don’t move.”

You don’t know what you expect, but nothing about this is correct. 

The man raises his hands, the rifle slapping his chest as it hangs from a strap. He speaks in German, and the heavy and fast noise of it makes your already addled head spin. No one answers beyond the slide of their own feet over the hardwood floors.

“Ich heiße König,” his head swivels from one to another, “Sprichst du Deutsch? Irgendjemand?”

You stare blankly, panting. 

After a moment, and a slow step forward from the stranger, he speaks again, though this time, it’s in English. 

“My name is König.” His voice is familiar to you, and you blink in confusion quickly, hidden near the back of the shaking bodies. “I am with the German Military, yes? We have conducted a raid on this residence.” 

Military? Raid? 

“...I am not here to hurt you.” He nears one of the women, beginning to bend down slowly. She squeaks, balking back—making him tense and halt. It didn't matter what he said, König was the epitome of a man who was intimidating on body alone; the gear wasn’t helping. Neither was the hood. 

A soldier appears in the doorway, calling out to him in his native language as you flinch at the noise. 

König calls back calmly, trying to keep an air of gentle strength around him.

The second soldier comes inside, dressed similarly despite the lack of fabric over his visage which instantly puts many at ease again. He clears his throat as König steps back, gargantuan hands coming up to rest at his vest collar as his legs shift. He seems a bit put off at the fearful stares from everyone, rolling his shoulders for a moment as he turns his head to look out of the doorway. 

Your eyes don’t move from him, though. A nagging feeling in the back of your skull. 

“We have to leave this place,” the second soldier tells you all, kneeling and resting a hand over his knee. “We’ll get you medical attention. Food. Water. There’s no need to suffer here any longer, hm? We can see to it that all of you will get the best care that can be provided.” A pause. “We can get you back home.” 

That certainly got the attention that was needed. 

Meek questions started falling out, then louder ones before pandemonium was roused in that tiny room pushed to the very back of the townhouse. Home. It was a word that had almost lost all meaning but was still that constant shining light in the back of everyone’s mind. 

Home.

Did you even have one of those left? 

As the rest of your fellows all got to their feet, taking you with them, you had to think over that fact as the soldier guided them gently out of the room to join the others waiting—trying to answer their questions and get them away from the gore before they saw it. 

You stayed behind, feet shifting over the floor and your lips thin. As the silence settles in, you hold yourself a bit tighter and glance at the mattress all mashed together and stained—those thin blankets as you shiver. 

“Are you alright?” Your head snaps over. 

You’d forgotten about König.

He still stands there, still and with his hands at his collar; he clears his throat softly, speaking up from his low utterance. “Please…do not be afraid.”

“I’m not afraid,” you say tinily, your voice cracking in the lie. 

You can’t see his eyes—not with the shadow from his hood or his head rig, but you can see the way his skull lightly tilts to the side, trying to see you better in the low light. 

“That is good,” he answers, not convinced. “I’m glad. I did not wish to scare anyone.” He moves back and motions with a hand to the door from where they hang. “Please. It is best not to linger, yes?”  

“Do I…” you hesitate, shivering. “Do I know you from somewhere?” 

König’s face isn’t visible, but you can still sense the feeling of confusion leaking out of him. The man takes a small step closer, and you gaze up at him until his eyes are visible. 

Blue-gray. 

You stare, mouth parting in shock.

König blinks twice, quickly making a noise in the back of his throat at the sight of your eyes gazing into his—the same woman outside of the coffee shop from days ago.

That little invisible string pulls you closer, small millimeter by small millimeter. 

“You?” You both say it at the same time, laced with surprise and shock. 

It’s a long moment of gazing into each other, a battered body and another more strong than an ox. All fear of the man dissipates. 

“You gave me your jacket,” you whisper, still torn up about it. 

König’s hood shifts as he glances back to the door, German speech over the radio strapped to his chest which he takes in and processes in the back of his skull. But he always looks back at you, eyes crinkled with concern and perhaps even a bit of misplaced guilt. 

A protective knife sides into his side.

“Come.” The man reaches out a hand, hovering it over your arm. You stare at the gloved limb for a moment before softly moving towards it with your breath caught in your throat, hesitant. König’s fingers delicately slide over the flesh, not closing around it until he feels your muscles loosen. “...Let’s get you warmer, Schatz, yes?” 

You blink.

“It’s cold here,” you mutter, letting him guide you along, his gray orbs always keeping you in the side of his vision. 

“Yes,” he agrees, nodding. “Very cold. Have you been to Germany during the winter before?”

Your head slightly shakes, bare feet padding along next to the pair of great boots—you lean closer unconsciously to the promise of warmth. König guides you away from the seeping blood on the floor and protects your eyes from the view of the bodies across the room with his own as a guard dog would. 

“No.” He notices your leaning and brings you nearer to him, letting you use him as a brace. The man knows the effects of shock, and you wear it as plainly as any other. “I’ve never been here before.” 

König hums and his free hand goes up to press into the radio, muttering in his native tongue. He releases the connection and asks as he blinks at you, “Do you require any immediate medical attention?” 

Again, you shake your head. 

“Where are the others?” You sink further into him, being guided to the front door, open to the soft snowfall and a chilled wind as your shoulder hunch. 

“Just outside,” König glances at the bodies across the room—the ones he’d riddled with bullets that still twitch even as the minutes draw longer. Gray eyes going from one to another, the house is heavy with the weight of dead men. Twelve in total and all getting colder just like the temperature outside. König didn’t feel bad about it, and when he’d finally busted open that door to find you and the women, he was satisfied with the blood on his hands. If hell were to be his home, he would walk there with a golden-fanged smile. 

But now wasn’t the time for that. 

“I will bring you to them,” the soldier speaks, snow blowing in from the entrance. “Slowly, now, Schatz, watch the steps. Allow me to help.”

You stop at the doorway, bringing a hand to your mouth to cover a haggard cough as König makes his way down the first concrete step ahead of you—large armored vehicles had pulled up from a ways away. The women huddle around one another, the rest of the soldiers sticking by them and opening the doors to the vehicles as the night gets only more cold and stormy.  

Gray eyes flicker for a moment down to your lack of proper protection, fingers twitching and tapping at his thigh as König remembers your expression the day he’d first met you. 

“Do you want me to carry you?” He says slowly, cautious in his approach. The man wasn’t stupid—he wouldn’t touch you unless you explicitly stated it was alright for him to do so. “I will be gentle, I promise. I do not wish for your feet to freeze, I...” He pauses as you blink, staring into his soul. “I…will not touch you if you do not tell me to do it. You have my word.” 

You continue to stand there for a moment, face unreadable before your head slowly turns to the vehicles in the street. 

The neighborhood was so normal it still caused you to wonder how no one had spoken up and seen something. Rows of connected houses now with their lights on—faces peeking from the windows like little children on Christmas morning; trying to get glimpses of Santa and the man’s reindeer. 

Finally, your gaze moves back to the hooded visage of König, able to see it better under the moonlight and the glare of falling snowflakes—a few of those frozen pieces sitting in the folds of the fabric.

“The hood scared them,” you utter about the others. König stiffens a bit, blinking at you but not looking away. “They’re used to people trying to hide their faces, but yours…with how large you are…”

“I understand.” König doesn't tear away his eyes. “...Did I scare you, Schatz?”

You don’t know why, but for what seems like the first time in years, the question makes you giggle. The beast of a man goes still with his feet on the ground, usually jittery and moving body captivated by the sound as it echoes over the night’s air—the puff of your breath as it moves around his hood; rustling it like leaves on a tree. 

Eyes widening only a sliver more, König’s breath is in his throat.

It was like listening to a bird’s song.

“Maybe only a little,” you whisper to him. “But it’s okay. I’m scared of most things.” 

He licks his lips, but you’re unable to see the slight quirk of them afterward. 

“Then I will make it up to you, yes?” He holds out a hand. “Let me? The car is warm and your friends are waiting for you. My men say they ask about your health.”

You softly nod, the shadow of the house trying to drag you back into it—its blackened arms reaching and latching onto old scars. When your hand connects with König's, the man takes his time putting one foot back to a step and scooping you up from behind your knees. With a tiny grunt, you settle at his chest, calming your heartbeat with the fact that you know he won’t hurt you. 

“I’ve got you,” he says. 

In his arms, your bare legs hang in the air, hand wrapping his neck, and with a slightly nervous look to you as your body hovers. König watches for a moment, hesitating before he begins walking to the same vehicle the other woman had been moved into out of the snowfall. 

“Can you tell me your name,” he asks to distract you from his hold, to get you more comfortable with him as his boots crunch through the packed powder on the ground—making sure to watch his step so as to not jostle you. 

“Everyone calls me Cat.” Gray eyes blink your way, visible skin painted black. König’s head tilts. You can’t help but find it endearing.

“Katze?” He hums, and you can imagine his lips moving slightly upwards from the innocent tone of his voice as if taken by the strange moniker. “That is…interesting.” 

You huff tinily, shivering again as your body moves to curl a little more. 

The soldier quickly reassures you. “Nearly there.” 

The vehicle is in front of you, and a nearby man opens the door for König as he carries you over. Nodding in thanks, the large individual eases you into one of the seats as the blast of warm air makes you sag—the other woman in there mulls closer, grabbing onto you and laughing through tears. 

Looking back at them, you smile and feel yourself get a bit teary-eyed as everything starts to slowly come into focus. 

Glancing outward, you stare at the snow that hits the dark hood of König, sticking and hanging off until the tiny white dots melt from the heat of his body. With his legs shifting he moves back a step and nods to you, eyes moving to stare at the ground for a moment. 

“We will take you to base. From there you will all be given dorms and fresh apparel to—”

“Thank you, König,” you interrupted him. He stares, lips parted with the half-tones of cut-off speech. “And please extend my thanks to your men as well.” 

“...Of course, Katze.” König stands straighter, always twitching fingers moving to the car door as engines start with a grinding roar. He nods again, the loose fabric swaying as the lenses of his rig stay firm at the movement. “There is no need to thank us. Relax. Sleep, if you wish to do it. The ride will be long.” The man’s gray eyes linger for a moment on your own, studying the bumps and small marks on your face. His hand tightens over the door as your gaze is stuck with his own; warmth blooming in his chest. He was glad he had found you. 

König slips out a soft, “There are blankets under the seats,” before he closes the door with a firm thump of metal. 

You can’t help but smile. 

'…Hostages were taken back to [REDACTED] and received minor medical attention on site. Housed in [REDACTED] and were admitted for needed treatments/medications - all details/names listed in File 3 Section 6 for future reference. DNA was placed into databases. 

Next of kin were informed of their family members’ position and/or state of being via phone call to the corresponding government official that then traveled through the appropriate channels once identified.'

You sit as a nurse hands you heating pads for your hands, which you take with a small thanks and clenched tightly, sucking every ounce of warmth from them to stop the shaking. Your body was heavy with the weight of new clothes and heated blankets, the room utterly normal in a way you’d not known for years. A corner table with books and a chess board—a connected bathroom stocked with amenities you may need; even a rug on the tile floor. You don’t know why that was shocking to you, but even the simplest thing was awe-inspiring. Your eyes had even slipped over a tiny nightlight near the door. 

It nearly made you cry. 

Your nurse moves back a bit, smiling down at you kindly. 

“Is there anything else you might need, Dear?” Her accent is prominent, though not as much as König’s had been. She waits for your answer diligently as the pitcher of water and a similar glass sit on your nightstand. 

“No,” you say, shaking your head. Your socked feet rub together like a grasshopper. “I think that’s all.” Your eyelids blink. “But…” you stop.

“What is it?” The lady asks gently, hands slack at her sides.

“The man—König,” you pause. “Is he here?” 

Blinking at you, the nurse tilts her head to the side in curiosity. “Not currently, no. At least, not in this specific building. He and his men are being debriefed across base. They will be there for a long while.” At your blank look, her brows slightly move up in accommodating comfort. “Would…you like me to tell him something for you?” 

Playing with the heating pads in your hands, your face gains a slightly embarrassed sheen. You liked the thought of being near König, truthfully. No one had made you feel safe like he did—him and his selfless action of a large coat given with no intention of getting anything in return. 

“Just,” you breathe softly. “Just that I’m sorry for losing his coat, and that I hope it wasn’t expensive.”

The nurse stares, very much confused but not about to question you. Her feet shift over the floor, and a light nod is sent your way. 

“Of course. I’ll tell him.” She motions to the bed with a hand and explains that whenever you wished to sleep, you were free to use the bed—and the TV was open to you as well, though you might not be able to understand the local stations. With that, she exited the room. 

Left alone, your head moves around the room slowly, taking it all in once more as the small bandages under your clothes pull at your flesh. The tears start slipping down your cheeks with no warning. 

Wrist coming up to your eyes, the limb presses in tightly, water staining the flesh as it dribbles down, and your lip quivers like a worm below it. You don’t know why you’re crying now and not when König had gotten you out of that townhouse. Why now, when there wasn’t anything prompting you to do so? 

But something was prompting you—the knowledge that you would never be going back to anyone who would mistreat you again. You had your own room. Good food. All the water that your stomach could drink down. A nightlight that pushes back the darkness even if you’re so used to living in it. 

Through your soft sniffles, chuckles move out, filling the space with a warm echo. You pull the blankets closer to you and collapse backward onto the mattress, smiling widely at the ceiling. 

That little invisible string dances as your heart pulls at it. 

—

König’s leg lightly jumps from under his table, signing off his name at the bottom of a report before he stands and rubs a hand over the top of his un-hooded head. He grabs the paper and slips it into a manila folder, hands pale with deep scars running the length of them like fissures in the earth. Deftly taking the item, he walks out of his office and begins moving down the length of the building, fingers tapping over the yellowish material with a small connection of flesh and thick envelope. 

Tap-tap, tappity-tap. 

His fingers were always fidgeting—moving, tensing, twitching. It was one of the reasons they never let him become a recon sniper; the more obvious being the blatant size of his body. Both of which had been the cause of much teasing throughout his childhood. 

But König’s mind was on something other than the report in his hands, and it was starting to become a very strong distraction. You. The women. Al-Qatala. 

He was angry he hadn’t acted outside of that coffee shop—angry he hadn't noticed the signs right in front of him even if he had been powerless to stop it then. The soldier’s jaw clenched, the strong muscles of his jaw roving. 

“Verdammt,” he hisses under his breath, glaring at the tile. “Should have done something.”

König gets to his commanding officer’s office and knocks, only staying long enough to hand him the folder with his finished report and leave once more. His mind wouldn’t stay silent tonight. There’s no doubt that he won’t be able to sleep unless he reassures himself that you and the others are okay. 

The man’s head shifts back to the email he had gotten from your assigned nurse, whom he’d taken it upon himself to know the name of when he carried you into the base’s hospital—Eva. 

‘...She says she wants to apologize for losing your coat…”

König’s heart had twisted at that—that was what you were concerned about? He had to tell you that it was alright, or else he would never know peace. Perhaps even ask how you’ve been treated so far, just to make sure that everything was comfortable for you. 

The man’s eyelids move slightly downward in thought, a pull at his heart to walk outside. He passes a few other soldiers in the hallway, nodding to them with a tiny greeting but unwilling to stop and talk. In only fatigues, König exits the main doors quickly, lightly moving into a jog as his body shivers at the sudden chill touching his arms under the black compression shirt. Under him the snow has grown deeper, the large lights illuminating the almost greenish reflections of the winter landscape of open roads and large buildings. 

Curfew was long past—this had to be quick. 

Just a check-in, König tells himself as he nears the hospital, his breath puffing in the air. Then I can wipe my hands of it. 

He slows as he nears the doors, huffing a breath as he pushes on the barrier, opening it with a squawk of hinges and metal. Entering, the front desk staff looked up at him in surprise, muttering his name in question.

“Katze?” He responds, pushing a hand over his head and feeling the melting snowflakes. His cheeks are a light shade of exposure-red, and inquisitive eyes shift over the two individuals slowly. “What room?”

The pair share a glance and tell him in the same breath. Room ten. 

It’s no sooner after that König finds himself there, hand hovering over the handle as the hallway clock ticks beside his right ear. His gray eyes blink at the door, feet shuffling from under him before he clears his throat under his breath, glancing away for a second in hesitation. 

Was this appropriate?

König didn’t have an answer, but the pull in his chest was tight and firm—he just needed to see you. A glimpse, nothing more. He raises his fist and raps his knuckles over the wood delicately, three tiny knocks that hit his ears like bullets from a gun; the bullets he’s put into pathetic Al-Qatala bodies and watched burst like sacks of fluid. 

He waits, hands going to grasp at his shirt collar, pushing out a low breath to calm himself. 

After a long moment, his foot taps the floor, blinking. Again he knocks—a bit louder. 

“She is sleeping, you evolutionsbremse,” he utters, accent low and grating. “Leave her alone.” But even if you are, his nerves peek their head over the brimstone wall of his brain. 

With his fingers caressing the handle, slowly moved to clutch it fully, swallowing the metal in his grip. König takes a deep breath into his lungs, letting it fill them up. Again, he tells himself, just a check-in. 

He twists the doorknob and sets his forearm on the wood, pushing the barrier open. 

König moves so that his body makes no noise, even with how large it is as he angles the side of his head through the opening. He finds a large mound of blankets atop the bed—stacked and layered so heavily that he has to blink in surprise at how you can breathe under them; because you were under them. 

Gray eyes make out the small sliver of skin peaking out from the side of the bed—fingers—and the top of your forehead near the pillows formed around your skull. Unconsciously, a soft smile works its way over König’s lips until he finds himself chuckling.

“Niedlich,” he mutters, scars over his face shifting as he speaks. 

Sighing lowly, König pulls back his head, beginning to close the door once more.

“König…?” Your tiny voice makes him halt like he had in the townhouse. 

Eyes wide and lips parted at being caught, the door remains open, only a sliver visible to your vision as your furrowed brows are stuck at the barrier. A red sheen moves across the soldier’s face in a slow sweep of embarrassment that goes bone deep.

With a lick of his lips, König re-opens the door slightly.

“I did not mean to wake you, Katze.” He finds your eyes and nods to you. “I apologize. Go back to sleep—you must be tired.” 

 “Wait,” you utter, moving your head fully out from under the blankets. König pauses, eyes staring as his other hand comes up to itch at the back of his neck. 

“What is it,” the man asks, opening the door fully and moving inside. “Do you need anything?” 

The question had hit you in your thin slumber, interrupted only partially by the opening of your door to the familiar pull of gray eyes and a strong build. A buzz-cut head. You take a slow breath to wake yourself up more, watching him from your bed. “...Did you know that I would be in that house?”

König tilts his head at the question, sighing slightly and glancing at the clock inside of the room on your nightstand. He frowns. 

“No,” he explains gently, coming closer. “No, I did not. I do not get told such things—only where to shoot and where not to.” The man tries a small smile, kneeling on one leg down by the bed and staring into your sleepy eyes. “But I am glad I found you again, yes? You had me worried.”

“You were worried?” You can’t quite grasp it.

“Ja,” he nods. “Your eyes—they have stuck with me, Schatz, you understand?” 

Your eyebrows pull up your face, blinking in shock. 

“...Yours, too,” you confess. König’s heart flutters, listening until your lips have fallen still. “They’re very nice, König.”

He goes sheepish, lips flicking up into a smile and his eyes daring away for a moment. “You can thank my mother for them, then.” He chuckles. “I have stolen the family's eyes, I was told.”

You chuckle with him, hand coming to rub at your cheek. A silence falls between the two of you.

“I don’t sleep well,” you tell him in the relative darkness, light from the hallway and your night light illuminating the dips and bone structure of his face. “I was awake when you opened the door.” 

He nods after a moment. “Ja.” A pause. “I don’t either…Nightmares?” 

You watch him before nodding tinily. 

“Ah,” he mutters. “They are not pleasant, I’m sorry that they have been plaguing you. Do you…” König wonders if he should leave—this was far more than he had anticipated. “Do you wish for me to stay?” 

 Why had he said that?

The string between the two of you tightens evermore, gaining another thread just as it would for the years to come until it became as unbreakable as steel.

“I don’t want to be a nuisance,” you begin but are quickly interrupted with a shake of a square head and a huff of a sharp nose.

“You are not. Do not call yourself such.” His accent deepens with emotion, eyes narrowing as the dark brows on his face pull in. “If you want me to stay, I will stay. Wake you if you become shaky, yes? Keep the bad dreams at bay.”

“But what about you?” Your voice moves around the room as König stands and goes to the table in the back, shifting one of the chairs so that it’s angled your way. You shift so you can watch him sit back, grunting as his legs move out in front of him, opening so he can be more comfortable. He needed a bigger chair, but he wasn’t going to complain about it. 

“I’m not tired, Schatz.” A lie. His muscles are heavy, and he longs for his bed in the barracks. He pushes out, “Please, go back to sleep. I’ll watch over you.”

You stare for a long while, studying him and how he fidgets in his seat of choice. A small laugh meets the man’s ears as he crosses his arms over his chest. König pauses, blinking over in confusion. His lips move upwards slowly. 

“What are you laughing at, then, hm?” 

“You look like you’re about to break it,” you mutter, head nuzzling the pillow under you as fatigue claws its way under your skin. 

König huffs, fingers twitching over the meat of his biceps as he slouches. He nods jokingly. “Perhaps,” he shrugs, the window behind him letting a slight tinge of cold air in from outside. “It would not be the first, I’m afraid, though it would be quite the embarrassment to do it in front of you, Katze.” He smirks. “But I’ll say, hitting my head on door frames hurts more than letting my arsch kiss the ground.” 

You laugh under your heap, your body jerking to the movement of your lungs. 

“I bet,” you say, fingers grasping one of your blankets and pulling it closer. “It’s a funny image.”

“You can laugh all you want,” König jokes, eyes soft as they gaze at you. “It does not bother me.” 

Your sweet sounds of amusement waft out from under the crack in the door, where a small group of curious nurses mull and listen with glances to one another. A doctor moves past the hallway where they stand, and all scatter on quick feet. 

'…Signed,

[REDACTED]

SUBMITTED: 0517, 25, November 2021

END OF MISSION REPORT ‘RED FREEDOM’

RETURNING TO SELECTION MENU…

STAND BY…'

It’s only after most of the other women leave—sent home to awaiting families or loved ones—that you know your time is coming to a close here in Berlin, Germany. While you’re excited to put this behind you, you can’t help but feel a bit…lost. 

There’s something that keeps you here, on this base, until you’re the last out of all of them, waiting. And then you’re given the green light to go—go home—and suddenly you have a backpack full of necessities and you’re closing the door to your room with the little nightlight’s plastic body pushing against your spine. Yet, you stand in the hallway for a long minute, fingers interlocked. 

You take a long, deep, breath. 

Over the weeks of recovery, König had been a constant companion when he wasn’t needed. He had eased you back into a comfortable state, letting you somewhat lose the black-and-white view you had gained of the world. But there was only so much he could do, even if his soft eyes were still stuck in your dreams—the good ones, of course. 

You needed to go home, and, today, the C-17 was whirring on the tarmac, waiting for you to be transported to a military base far from here where you would be processed and, ultimately, let go. 

Let go. It was jarring to think about, all of that freedom. What would you do with it? Right now, you don’t have the faintest clue. It was the best feeling you can remember having.

Smiling, you take one last look at the room behind you and walk on. 

At the entrance, you say a heartfelt ‘thank you’ to the nurses and doctors in broken German, shaking their hands as Eva kisses your forehead and whispers how happy she is to have had you here for such little time—you know what she means and you chuckle with her at the double-edged sword. 

König waits by the door, holding it open with…you blink at the item in his hands as well as his sudden appearance. Canvas fabric. A coat.

The coat. 

“I had to have it processed,” he says, smiling as you gape at him. “Very long process. It was found in the closet in the townhouse.” 

“Then why are you handing it to me,” you ask, tilting your head and walking closer. 

“I gave it to you, did I not?” The man hums, head tilting as he motions with it again. “It’s a good coat, Katze. Winters get cold.” Gray eyes crinkle gently. “I would hate for you to shiver, wherever it is that you end up, yes?”

You shake your head, cheeks hot. But your hands don’t hesitate to grasp the item, König’s hold on it remains fast, though, and you blink at him as you both keep it gently clasped like it’s worth its weight in gold. 

König stares at you, the door still kept open behind him. He opens and closes his mouth for a moment as you tilt your head. 

“Keep it safe for me,” is what he ends with, but his expression tells you he’s not talking about the coat. 

It makes your arms tingle—your heart skips a beat. 

“I’ll be sure it never gets lost,” you smile warmly, eyes malleable as the make of their color glints. There is a connection to this man that transcends words, and it is tied to you just as heavily as it is to him; unexplainable, incomprehensible, non-describable. 

Enigmatic. 

König’s reverential face is soft with care. 

“Good,” he mutters, unable to look away. “Very good.”

Clearing his throat, his grays dart to the floor, shifting his feet to move backward. He pushes open the door wider for you, and you hold your backpack in one hand as you shift past him and slip into his coat. 

It was exactly how you remembered it, and you sank into the fabric with a thankful sigh and a fluttering of your lashes. You shift the bag back over your shoulders, letting the straps fall into the bulk of the extra material. 

The snow wasn’t falling today, and the ground was shoveled of any white powder too. On the air, you can hear the whir of the C-17. 

König comes up beside you, a hand hovering over the small of your back as he guides you along. For the most part, the walk to the tarmac is silent with the weight of the future. You had no phone. No socials. You didn’t even know if you wanted any, to be honest. Your mind had convinced you that a good bout of soul-searching was exactly what you needed. And you had to do that alone. 

Your lips are thin as your legs take you closer to the plane, König’s scent stuck into the stitches of the coat and covered your senses. 

At the ramp, he stops as your feet take you onto the metal. Closing your eyes for a moment, you turn and lock gazes with him—gray hiding away what other, more human, emotions to be found. It was a slate of carefully crafted acceptance, and your own followed soon after. 

It had to be this. The string wouldn’t break, no, but it had to be stretched to such a point to come back stronger.

“Thank—”

“Don’t,” he says, not blinking, looking up at you. 

You smile. “What do you want me to say, then?” 

“You don’t have to say anything to me.” You hadn't known it then, but the both of you had truly thought that this would be the last of your meetings. It produced a pulse in both of your hearts that would never be told aloud. “....Live well,” König utters. “Heal, Mein Schatz.” 

The soldier wasn't one to give his chances to hope. 

Your eyes follow as he backs up, moving away as you stare. In his head, König pleads with you to stop and give him a reprieve from the hypnosis of your gaze, the addictive movement of your head as it tilts to the side. 

Live well. 

You send him a smile, a delicate thing, and then you back up a step and turn, disappearing into the darkness. 

The string follows, and it continues to do so even as your hands slip into your pockets hours later, bumping into the small form of a black flip phone. The note hidden inside of it. 

 ‘For whenever you find what you’re looking for.’

'REQUEST FOR ADMINISTRATIVE DISCHARGE

REQUESTED BY: [REDACTED]

ENTERED: DECEMBER 15, 2021

TIME: 1422

OPEN FILE?...

REQUEST CANCELED….

RETURNING TO FILE SELECT MENU…

FILE SELECTED….

TRANSLATING…

STAND BY…

REQUEST OF HONORABLE ADMINISTRATIVE DISCHARGE OF [REDACTED] APPROVED ON JANUARY 2, 2022

OPEN FILE?...

REQUEST CANCELED…

SYSTEM SHUTTING DOWN'

You sit in a coffee shop in Berlin, Germany, by the window. It wasn’t just any coffee shop, but you try not to think about all of that. It was all in the past—three years, now. You like to think you’d learned something in that time.

“Danke schön,” you say to the woman who brings you your drink, nodding kindly. You take a small sip, humming and winking at her teasingly. “Perfekt.” 

She chuckles, wiping her hands on her apron. “Möchten Sie noch etwas anderes dazu?”

“Nein, nein,” you shake your head, waving a hand that soft bumps the flip phone on the table. “Danke.” 

The lady walks away, and you take another sip of the hot beverage, never put off by the heat. 

It was winter again, and your eyes followed the flakes as they fell from a cloudy sky, finding the beauty in it easily as you sat inside. The scarf around your neck is loose—your gifted coat open. You smile to yourself and hum, watching people walk past outside, thinking about their lives and how they live them. 

A large form travels out from a shop across the street, a plastic bag in his loose grip. He was not small, no, this man was a beast of height and strength alike. The loping, canid-like, walk was accented by the twitch of his fingers over his quarry. 

Your wide eyes stay stuck to him for a long moment as he moves to the crosswalk, people shifting out of his way as he ignores them. Familiarity strikes like lighting—a buzz down your spine that leaves you straightening.

After a long moment, a breathless laugh sneaks out of you.

There were just some things that people were never meant to understand.

Your hand places your cup back on the table, picking up the old flip phone and pushing it open. Your thumb runs the keypad, moving to the only contact that had ever been entered into the device. 

Pressing, you move it to your ear as you watch with a soft expression, heart pattering. 

Across the way, the man tenses, hand patting his leg before the other hand moves inside his pocket and shifts the item out. People walk away, moving to the other side of the crosswalk as he stares at the contact. 

A minute passes, and all the while you hold your breath.

He presses and moves the phone to his ear, staying as still as stone. As still as a man afraid his hood might scare a group of terrified women. 

His voice graces your ear.

“...Katze?” You beam, trapped in the warmth of the coat around your shoulders.

“How do you feel about coffee, König?” 

Blue-gray eyes had never been more beautiful than when they snapped up to meet yours.

TAGS:

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[cheolism]

I am so upsetti spaghetti. I forgot to buy paper towels and I’m completely out and it’s one hundred perfect WHY I went to the store in the first place today. And I completely forgot it. I’m devastated

[bambiesfics]

⊹ 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞’𝐬 𝐓𝐰𝐨 𝐖𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐒𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐫𝐭 ⊹

warning: water-sports, extreme overstimulation, graphic depictions of lesbian smut, r!receiving finger bang, sarcastic Ellie, fluff + loving at the end.

vague description: reader has a full bladder and is trapped in Ellie William’s hatchback.

author’s note: re-upload of my fic from last blog, also don’t read this in public. It gets intense.

“Pinup paradise diner…home to… ‘The World’s Bustiest Milkshake Jars?’”

You read, with your face nosed deep into the crease of the monotoned map. You deflated back into your seat, irritated at the amount of eye-strain required to make out such small font. And let the roadmap blanket the top of your thighs.

“Is that where we’re going next?”

Ellie's eyes were intently focused on the red Honda Civic in front of her, the one she’d almost rolled her windows down to spit at, less than a minute ago. Her stacked bracelets clinked as she cracked the knuckles of each one of her boney fingers.

“Is that what it says on the map?”

You flipped back to the legend, squinting at the list of diners, drive-ins, and street trucks. The corner of her plump smile quirked, hearing you mutter,

“Jesus, how do you read this thing?”

Your squint jumped between Ellie and the page, “uhhhh…yes?—yes!”

“Then that’s where we’re going next.” She crudely cracked her pinky last. The last finger with chips of black nail polish speckled on it and a snug silver braided ring that hugged it. She settled into her seat, merging onto the left lane.

“Pinup Paradise? Really? Seems like an odd choice for a drink after going to Whopping Wrap.”

You flipped the map neatly back onto your lap as your girlfriend flicked the blinker up.

“Milkshakes after chicken wraps Ellie? Really?”

“Hey—Tommy said they have the best milkshakes this side of the state. That type of man, the fucking lumberjack he is, does not fuck around when it comes to satiating that gnarly sweet tooth.”

She muttered “He probably has cavities bigger and darker than the cracks in the Grand Canyon.”

And your tiny giggle teased a smile out of Ellie, as she half-heartedly blocked the swats you struck at her with the rolled up map.

Your girlfriend got such a fucked up kick out of busting Tommy’s balls, and he knew it too.

She flicked the signal light up higher once more and cruised right into the strip mall lane that led the car through to the drive-thru, the diner growing closer each second.

In a smooth slow crawl you and your girlfriend rolled towards ‘Pinup Paradise Diner.’

A canary yellow, vintage diner, littered with paintings of 50’s pinup models that decorated all of the glass windows.

A drive-thru swinging sign read ‘The World’s Bustiest Milkshake!’ above the order window.

You were incredibly humored, noting all the double entendres and puns that weaved through the slogans graffitied across the menu board and windows.

A young crew member poked her head out of the order window, smiling tightly before asking for both of your orders. She watched on while Ellie fished for her peeling leather wallet in the back pocket, and poked her head out of the side of the hatchback window.

“Hey, can I grab a blueberry crust milkshake? And she’ll have….” Ellie trailed off, shooting you back a look with her eyebrow raised.

“…What’ll you have?”

“I’ll have a vanilla bean milkshake please. Also could I get a bottled water, if you have that?”

“Okay, so right now we only have the 1 liter sized bottled water.. would that be alright?”

“Ah, I’m sure that’s no problem, I’ll take it. Thank youuu.” you sang, and the girl mirrored your gentle smiled. You settled back into your seat and she closed the window.

“Why’d you get water?”

Ellie observed, hastily touching up her upper and bottom lashes with mascara, in the dash mirror, before she had to put her foot on the gas.

Vain. You teased in your head.

….But so pretty.

The mascara made her already long lashes, even longer. Her dark brown eyeliner was smudged, yet the grittiness was still so attractive on her. “You should wear brown eyeliner more Els. It really brings out the green in your eyes.”

She side-eyed you suspiciously.

“Thanks?…”

And you rolled your eyes. Your girlfriend loved to pretend she was allergic to compliments unless they were talking about her earth-shattering service top abilities.

Ellie grabbed both your milkshakes. And used her teeth to rip the paper cover off her straw while passing you your drink.

She put her foot on the gas and peeled out.

“You still didn’t answer the question.”

“What question?”

“The question of what possessed you to buy an entire liter of water?”

“Because like, you know the sweet aftertaste left in your mouth after you eat something really sweet? I don’t know, but it makes my mouth feel dry.”

“Ah.” she responded.

“…that’s actually real as fuck.”

“Right?” You settled deeper into your seat. Hugging the milkshake to your chest while you stalked a few instagram stories, relaxing into the rhythmic roll of your girlfriend's beat up hatchback.

Townhouses and parked SUV’s started running on either side of the car as Ellie drove on, deeper into suburbia. You pushed yourself up to gaze out the window.

“Where are we going?”

Ellie turned right into a smaller street.

“To find a place to park. I’m tired of driving.”

“Hmm, sorry baby” you hummed as you rubbed her thigh. Your eyes lit up. “Then can I drive your ca—”

“—no. When will you stop asking?”

“When you finally let me drive it? Let me behind the wheel please.”

She scoffed, eyeing you up and down. “So I can end up with my knees touching the back of my skull? Yeah no.”

“You’re not funny Ellie.”

“And you’re the only passenger princess I’ve seen whining to do her girlfriend's job. Be a lady, damn.”

You broke down laughing, clutching your chest while Ellie bit her lip down to put a lid on her own laughter.

You shimmied close to her, your breasts squishing her upper arm.

“Then can I have some of your blueberry shake?”

She circled the straw around your mouth and made you chase it.

“uh ah-uh-hah—Ellie.” You whined.

Ellie barked a laugh at how adorable you looked, and then slotted the straw onto your puckered mouth.

“Mmm…”

“You like?”

“Yeah it’s so yummy. I should’ve gotten that instead.”

Ellie attempted to take her milkshake back, but with some struggle as you leaned further and further into her seat, pressing your front body into her arms just to keep tasting it. You were practically finished your own drink, and were now drinking half of hers. And in that moment you recalled at all the previous times your girlfriend had gripped your ass and whispered how you were a greedy little princess in your ear. Ellie was an asshole through and through.

But she spoiled you, and she loved doing it.

You eased back, and Ellie stole her milkshake back. She circled her tongue around the tip of the straw before sucking it. Wrapping her pink lips around the sticky tip your rosy lip gloss had covered seconds prior.

You dropped your empty cup in the cup holder and went to chug most of your water. It provided an indescribable amount of relief from the saccharine blanket on your tastebuds. A cool feeling that settled in you, as Ellie pulled into a grassy park parking lot.

Willow trees lined up along the curb, their weeping pose provided shade to several lots, including the one above you.

Ellie killed off the engine. She tipped her head against the headrest in relief. She flexed her fingers, stretching out the kinks, feeling the breeze run past.

Her head lolled limply to face you. “Do I really look that good in brown eyeliner?”

“Yes you really do.”

Ellie’s cheek dimpled.

“I love when you tell me stuff like that.”

“Like what? That you look pretty?”

You murmured into her shoulder, looking up at her.

“Yeah, makes me feel…dunno, not like a greasy loser.”

“Please, as if I would ever let a greasy loser bag me.”

Ellie rolled her eyes. “Jesus, kill yourself.”

She maintained eye contact with you, green eyes jumping between your own. Reflecting the amber beauty of the sun in its sparkle. She gave you a soft smile, you gave Ellie one back. A truce to the constant teasing. And Ellie took it as an invitation to dip her head down, and pull your lips into a kiss. One she’d been yearning to do since she’d first reversed both of you out of your driveway.

Ellie chased the kiss into the back seat. She gripped the fat of your hips to inch you slowly off of the center console and towards the back. She followed, kicking her loose driver’s seat forward with the sole of her sneakers. The slide adjusting rail had seen better days, and had been owned by better people than the currently horny, blunt, ungraceful young lesbian who had an avid penchant for violence, that owned it that day.

Ellie teased her hand up from your hips to the base of your neck, to grab the back of your head as she worked her puffy lips against yours. She was hungry for your little mouth, and it was seen in the way her jaw flexed.

Ellie kissed you with a remarkably intense eroticism.

Her hands ran down over the fabric of your milkmaid top before ripping the holes away from the buttons to let your tits spill out right into her hands. Each nipple immediately kissed the waiting pads of her thumbs, as they moved to greedily massage the sensitive head. Grazing each of your puffy tender domes over and over. “Fuck, need to suck these heavy tits baby.”

Ellie’s lips made their way down your chest. She suckled some swollen red marks into the skin, before making her way lower. Coming eye to eye with your nipples.

“Can you please squeeze your boobies together?”

You took your palms and pushed them together. Ellie's whiny sigh sent heat pooling in your tummy. She leaned in, licking a greedy stripe across both nipples, tickling their head with the tip of her tongue, tonguing the flesh around both areolas. And suckling your nipples intermittently then popping off them. Leaving both of them so puffed out.

Your squeaks filled the expanse of her small car, and her aroused groans joined to match.

She shoved her fingers in the waistband of your tiny denim shorts and tugged at them. They budged, but barely, so you helped your girlfriend. You lifted your ass off the seat and slid your shorts and thong down your thighs, before Ellie slid them the rest of the way off your ankles and threw them in the front seat.

The soft breeze blew past your cunt. Exposing the warm skin to a cooler environment.

“S-should we be doing this in a park?” you squeeked.

Ellie kissed her answer on your lips “there’s” *smooch* “no one” *smooch* “here.” As she shoved her hand down to palm the fat of your vagina. Feeling your pussy fill up her fingers. Ellie curled a middle finger into your tight hole, it barely wanted to split apart to accommodate her finger. But she marveled at how hungrily it sucked her in. She pumped shallowly before adding in her ring finger.

Her chrome ring grazed the swelling mound inside your hole; your g-spot. And it pulled a pathetic mewl out of you. She curled her wrist up, ligament appearing. And pumped harder. Enjoying your shaking thighs in the air.

Your brain was melting into mush. And all you managed were barely coherent babbles.

“…feels ss-s'good” your eyes were rolled backwards.

“God bunny…” Ellie marveled, “your pretty pussy’s so greedy.”

Ellie’s teeth dug into her lip “How did I bag you?”

All you could muster were delirious squeak noises in response as you tugged on the base of her ponytail.

“Look-look down” Ellie’s fingers grasped your chin, pulling your eyes away from her flushed aroused face and towards your own shiny pussy. “L-look at how you’re swallowing my fingers.”

Ellie’s forehead knocked against yours.

“Hey…c-can you squeeze for me?”

You never disobeyed her instructions, not when you both were like this. Nodding limply, you clamped around Ellie’s fingers, a choked moan escaped you. And a deep, throaty groan escaped her. Feeling how tightly you suckled in her fingers, how badly you wanted her there, made a warm heat throb between Ellie’s legs and left her boxers sticking to her sloppy cunt. Ellie could almost cry that she couldn’t bully a cock inside you, just to feel that desperate clamp around her cock.

Her ring pushed into your plump inner walls over and over, and dragged a new delicious zing of pleasure through the ribbed inner walls. Puffy, swollen, and sloppy with slick.

Ellie had a newfound resistance in her thrusting, the clamping, warm grip of your puffed out walls were holding her fingers still. But she kept pumping, like a suction cup being stuck on and popped off.

You were assaulted with thrilling pleasure from your walls clamping, chasing the press of her jewelry. And from your girlfriends frenzied, desperate thrusting. Ellie was just as hazy brained as you.

It was a costly mistake. All of the fluttering was stimulating your pelvic muscles. Which stimulated the other tiny hole snuggled in your pussy. The familiar pressure of a full bladder pressed behind the teeny hole of your urethra. Your squeaks came out strained. You scooted into different positions on the seat, trying to ebb away the pressure.

The shifting positions only made it worse as your tummy squished from movement, and as Ellie pumped upwards.

She jack hammered her fingertips against the puffy roof of your warm cunt. Her feverish ministrations put so much pressure on your bladder. You choked out a breathy plea.

Your hands skated up your girlfriend's torso, past her exposed waist and pebbled nipples that strained against her t-shirt, and finally towards her square shoulders in an attempt to push her back.

She needed off.

“I gotta…uhn… I gotta.” you whimpered.

“What was that?” Ellie sighed.

“I-ah!” The thrust felt so good.

You were whiny “th-think I needa pee.”

“I’m fucking you so good it’s got you confusing cumming for peeing? Y’so adorable it’s insane.” Ellie kissed your lips, picking up her pace.

She took the hand she’d used to squeeze and pinch your tits and brought it down to press on your lower tummy, as she thrust up.

Oh.

“Nnnnhnhn no! ph-please ewwie.. can’t—hold it.” You babbled the same desperate plea incoherently, but with a mouth nearly paralyzed from the incessant abuse of your hole Ellie was doing, you were left whiny and gulping, babbling tiny sentences at a time.

Sweat pricked at your skin, an orgasm was fucked into your vagina, and a full bladder pressed at your urethra. You didn’t know what to do as the mounting climax forced against your urethra left you with a desperate need for release, in the car.

Ellie’s lips kissed your jaw, snuggling against your head.

“You wanna let it out, big girl? Make a big mess f’me. We can clean it all up later, I promise.”

“nuh—ah Ellie no no…aghh! ”

Your urethra let out a thin light spurtle. Settling into the space between you two as more slick gushed out of your hole. You sobbed through your orgasm, from the joint pleasure of climax combined with relief from pressure pressing against your urethra. Ellie kept fingering you through each tiny pump of liquid that squirted from your urethra and through each contraction of its sloppy wet vagina, as slick spilled out of you and ran past your bare ass, onto her leather seats. With each aggressive thrust of Ellie’s fingers—fuck in—pull out—came out spurt after spurt, from each hole. She slowed down once you fell back into the seat softly; boneless and glass-eyed. Like an abused rag doll.

You both caught your breaths, Ellie from the aggressive thump and heat in her pussy. And you from your ‘accident’.

Ellie watched as the looming embarrassment creeped every so slowly onto your face, as the orgasm slowly ebbed away. She placed shaky kisses on top of your head. Cupping the back of it in support.

Sure, maybe her car wasn’t the best time to explore that kink. Seeing as the bottom half of her shirt and her belt was wet.

But she wasn’t going to let her girlfriend curl in on herself in shame, just because of her body’s natural reaction. Especially one that Ellie practically fucked out of you.

If not for the small space of the car she might’ve pulled you into her lap, to kiss away the upset creases between your brows. But she could do nothing more than hover above your trembling body, and caress your squished tummy with her free hand, until the shaking eased.

She was breathless. “You did so good, baby.”

You shoved your face into the crook of Ellie’s neck. The sweet cologne on the collar of her shirt calmed you down, with its medley of gourmands, lavender and florals.

Your girlfriend had a way of grounding you. Everything about Ellie had the ability to. From her cold, icy fingers, to her soft, pine scented hair. To her woodsy cologne, always left on the collar of her shirts, ready to tranquilize your unrest.

“nuh-uh I—.”

“—So good. My good girl, doing exactly what I tell you too, c’mere.”

Ellie unplugged her fingers out from your hole and suckled the last bit of slick cream off, then swiped it on her shirt. She licked her lips. Using her now clean hand to cup the side of your jaw and draw you into a heated kiss that left both of you trembling.

You shifted positions in the seat from discomfort.

“You still need to pee s’more?”

“No.”

“Babe…”

“Maybe.”

Ellie reached over and opened your door, then hopped out from her side. Jogging over to shield your body.

You crouched in behind her, her and the car towered over you from both sides.

You pouted up at her, and she glowered down at you. Her arms crossed firmly as she looked away briefly to scan around the area. Before parking her gaze back down at you as the remaining stream from your bladder emptied itself.

“No more vanilla bean milkshakes.” you winced at the feeling of the breeze tickling your swollen labia.

“Of course. Yeah, that was the real culprit. Not the mega-giant 1 liter water bottle.”

You frowned.

Ellie’s arms dropped from their cross, and her black fingernails pinched the fat of your cheek and pulled teasingly.

She reassured you.

“Yeah sure, we’ll blame it on the vanilla bean milkshake.”

[axeoverblade]

THINKING ABOUT…

42! Miles having to learn to drive from Uncle Aaron in their free time because Rio is too busy to teach him and he can’t learn any other way…

“If I say stop, you stop. understood?” Aaron reiterated for the fifth time. Miles nodded with a roll of his eyes, trying his best to not show how eager (and nervous) he was to be behind the wheel.

“Aight you’re goin’ to SLOWLY pull up here and make a right turn, S L O W L Y” Aaron said, checking for the seventh time to make sure he was buckled in.

Miles smiled, lightly pressing the gas to move the car forward.

He followed the correct protocols, making sure to stop at the stop sign, turn his signal on, look for cars, then swiftly (not so smoothly) turned his wheel to make the right turn. However instead of pressing the break to ease into the turn, he accidentally hit the gas making the car fly around the corner.

Aaron grabbed the handle above him, exasperatedly using his other hand to hold onto the dash in front of him. “STOP.” Miles winced, hitting the break harshly causing the car to jolt. They both rocked forward, the air falling into small awkward silence.

Aaron turned to miles aggressively, staring at him with a look of bewilderment “DAMN NIGGA I SAID SLOW.”

©axeoverblade

This has been on my mind non stop 😭🫶

Uncle Aaron and Miles:

[screampied]

Talking about Shiu…. Maybe you’ll consider this request, sucking him off while he is driving the car? 😇 Like he looks so sexy smoking the cigarette and you just can’t help it 😔 and maybe just maybe this leads to him fucking you in the backseat (or on the hood)…

❤︎ ໋𓈒 sucking shiu off in the car leading to you being on the hood

warnings. fem! reader, road head, shotgunning, unprotected, praise, dirty talk, semi-public, mdni.

“mhm,” he grunts roughly, briefly flickering his eyes towards you the duration of the ride—you’d be lean over the armrest that sat between the car, sinking your mouth down onto his hardened length. your tongue swirls around his tip, it leaks and leaks with candied pre-cum that you just couldn’t get enough. shiu’s abs underneath his shirt flexed and tense and he prepares to make a right turn. “good girl. such a good—good girl.”

you make sure not to use any teeth the entire time, he groans the more your warm throat goes down on him. “. . . shit,” he huffs out a single breath, lit cigarettes poking between his teeth. “needy baby. just couldn’t wait ‘till we get home, huh.”

a hand wraps around his length, skimming your tongue alongside the vein that runs down his cock before you briefly gag. he grunts and you watch as he stops at a red light. a few seconds to a minute of a shortened pause, all he really needed.

“keep those eyes up here, doll. might as . . well,” he rasps, and he keeps cutting off from how good you’re taking him. briefly, your eyes close before you feel the tip of his dick reach the very back of your throat. saliva starts to run down the corners of your mouth and he sneers. “messy girl. getting my lap ‘n y’erself wet,” and then with a thumb, he brushes it away before making you sink down even further once you’re about to mumble a reply. “nuh uh, don’t speak right now. manners, princess. no talkin’ with your mouth full, heh.”

a lustrous web of saliva departs from your lips as you pull up—giving yourself a moment to breathe.

shiu stares at you the entire time, a rough hand gingerly goes through your hair before gifting you a head pat. “ah, so pretty. satisfied yet?”

“. . no,” you murmur before sinking back down onto his hefty length.

“yeahhh,” he hums to himself before pressing a foot back on the gas, the entire vehicle growling before it picks up regular speed once the light shifts to green again. “thought so, baby. always been such a greedy girl.”

you end up sucking shiu off the entire car ride— it ends up being a good twenty minutes before he has no choice but to pull over.

you’ve been being too much of a brat, you made him cum twice before continuing to suck him off despite him being so sensitive. perhaps you wanted to piss shiu off…. just a tad bit.

now, that’s right when you found yourself bent all over on the very hood of the car.

he’s got your hips gripped firmly in place and you’re being stuffed with full inches of his cock. you bite your lip, sneakily trying to drag a hand down to feel between your parted legs and that’s when he smacks it away.

“nah,” is all he says, and you whimper, being fucked vigorously against the car.

he’s pulled over near the side of the road and thankfully it was pretty late at night. not that many people were out and about at this particular time but still…

there were a few cars driving past and you hoped they didn’t see you—then again part of you did. “don’t touch my pussy, girl. got some nerve pulling that on me.”

his voice was a raspy low, his cigarette was still in his mouth and occasionally he’d take it out— taking a few brief puffs.

his lungs were clouded, and he’s delving all through your cunt. you swallowed him whole, hugging his cock dry with your gummy walls and you were just a whiney mess.

“s—shiuuu,” you moan, feeling him use one hand to tug on your pulled up skirt. you couldn’t help but feel a smile pressing against your lips. the way his hips smacks back and forth, it’s got your head spinning. the coldness of the car slides against your skin and as your legs part. you’re just spewing out cute babbles over and over like a lewd mantra. along the lines of, “harder, fuck me harder.”

that earns a mean spank from him.

with such recoil, your ass jitters from his palm that kisses against your skin. he’s still got you bent over on his hood, his angry tip prodding against your g-spot every so often and your toes curl up in pleasure.

“. . . oh, doll, don’t tell me how to fuck,” he coos, and he lays his weight right against you. he’s so close, he smells so good. a rich expensive type cologne scent.

nowhere near cheap.

it fills up your nostrils, only making you crave him even more. “focus on those pretty moans you keep givin’ me, yeah?”

his voice, it was so smooth..

you could get wet from it all day — or was the saying you could listen to his voice all day, who cares. all you knew was that you were about to cum yet again, it was approaching, and it was approaching quick.

shiu’s grip remains on the back of your skirt, occasionally brushing his fingers against your waist before snickering.

“look at this gorgeous body,” he hums, staring at your merely perfect arch. your ass was up, all up just for him. with hooded eyes, he studies every inch of your frame before deepening the angle. “all mine . . mhm, fuckk,” he grunts, feeling his cockhead swipe against a spot that earns out a sweet whine from you. there. he knew it was that spot, one of your sweet spots that made you go stupid crazy.

you’re all arched, bent over the front part of his car — the hood. for some reason it makes you pulse even more at the sheer realization that the two of you were in public. it was pitch black out, but if anyone were as to squint or shine just the tiniest bit of light, you’d be spotted. spotted with the most lewd expression on your face, maw dangling, eyebrows parting, tongue lolled all out.

sweaty palms press against the car and you’re whimpering at his thick cock just drilling into you. ruthlessly, you can feel yourself starting salivate.

“such a cock hungry girl, ‘s all you think about, huh? could have been home already but someone couldn’t— fuckin’ wait.” and as his voice pitches at his last word, he spanks your ass just to watch it jiggle one more time. you’re so cute, each mewl escaping from his lips brings music to his ears. shiu was gentle with his touch, his fingers roaming all over your body. however, his thrusts were a different story.

he made sure you felt every inch, his dick ran through each spot— each hidden corner, crevice, he knew how to make you cry out. “i-i’m close, shiu,” you babble out, feeling the car jolt and shake the more you’re being ridiculously hammered against it. he stretches your cunt out so good—so good you could compare the stretch easily to an elastic band.

his girth, it had you drooling.

seeping even…

he was so thick it had your mind going for a loop, shiu pulls your hips back into him….. again and again and again, it’s repetitive.

“you are, aren’t ya?” he murmurs in a husked voice, taking another deep inhale then exhale of smoke. his rhythm picks up a bit more before you’re just a whiny mess, anticipating your incoming orgasm. “oh, she’s about to fuckin’ cummm,” he teases, and you’re losing your composure—losing your own rhythm.

everything within you clenched and you gasp once his tip brushes against your nub.

your clit pulses and your eyes roll back the very second you feel it. nerves sneak within you, bundles and bundles of sensitive nerves that was just waiting for this particular moment to arise. “f-fuckkk, shiu,” you’d pant, moaning again before eventually you end up coming. shiu chortles lowly, running a hand across your skin to make you shiver a bit more. it was powerful, your orgasm that he easily snatched out of you.

splaying a big hand against your lower back, he watches as you gradually dissolve. he slows down, still buried inside of you before his cock twitched between your folds— he doesn’t finish but he’s not too worried about that, as long as his pretty girl gets off, he’ll live.

“what a damn mess,” shiu jibes in a rough voice, hearing your cute pants. your teeth shatter a bit from still feeling such intensity roam freely all through you. “turn around, baby.”

your chest heaves and he pulls out for you to do so. while you turn around, he lifts you up before placing you to sit on the hood. as if instinct, your legs wrap around his slim waist and he leans right into you.

“open your mouth.”

you do, parting your lips for him with no questions being asked.

shiu leans in and you stare at him. he’s got a smug expression before he inhaled a single puff, removing his cigarette before blowing a good amount of smoke into your mouth. after that, he presses his hot lips into yours. you whine once more, a heel of yours running down his waist before he runs a tongue down your throat. as the smoke goes against your taste buds, you moan, only craving more—you missed being stuffed full already, and you wanted him to finish inside you this time.

after a while, he ends up breaking away, witnessing the pretty cobweb of saliva depart both his and your lips before swiping a thumb across your mouth. “atta fuckin’ girl,” he breathes, staring right into your eyes. he could tell you wanted more from your body language.

yet everything comes to a sudden end once the screeching sound of a police siren gets closer and closer towards you both.

shiu’s sly smile fades before he grunts, the two of you ended up getting caught, surprise surprise.

“…. shit.”

[such-expensive-mistakes]

When Oliver Queen was dead, he ended up in the Infinite Realms, where he inadvertently became the mentor to teen ghost hero Phantom. After Ollie came back to life, he made a point of reaching out to Phantom, just in case the kid needed anything.

DCxDP Week prompt: found family

Author's Notes: I've tried to make this accessible as possible to those of you who aren't familiar with the Arrowfam, but here are links to character primers on Oliver Queen, Connor Hawke and Mia Dearden if you want them. If you are familiar with GA comics, then just know that this is set loosely during the 2001 run. And finally, the idea of a hero in the Infinite Realms helping mentor Danny was largely inspired by Blueseabird2's fic Grave Promises. (It's excellent! If you haven't read it, go do that!)

-

"Do you remember it?" Ollie asks, looking at Superman out of the corner of his eye.  They're standing in front of Oliver's grave.  Always made the right enemies. It's a hell of an epitaph; Ollie wonders who came up with it.  Roy or Dinah, probably.

"Remember..." Superman says.

"Being dead."  

Supes gives him that same look everyone seems to be giving Ollie these days, like he's not quite sure if Ollie is all there in the head.  

"Never mind."  Oliver waves a hand.  "Just thinking."

-

He does remember it, is the thing.  He remembers the endless Infinite Realms, as green as any of Hal's constructs.  He remembers the ghosts-- the ones who had originally been alive like him, and the ones that had never lived at all.  Humans and aliens and otherdimensional beings, all together in one place.  He remembers being in the same costume he'd died in, only color-flipped to red.  (That was just wrong.  Red was Roy's color, not Ollie's.)

And he remembers Phantom.

He'd met Phantom pretty early on.  Time in the Infinite Realms was tricky; it didn't move like time did on Earth.  Sometimes it went slower, sometimes faster, sometimes it even seemed to go backwards.   So he didn't remember exactly how long he'd been in the Realms before coming across Phantom, but it didn't feel like long.

Phantom had been chasing down some magical artifact when he'd come across Oliver-- or rather, Red Arrow-- who had picked a fight with an asshole ghost way more powerful than him.

Some things never changed.  But hey, ghost arrows were pretty nifty.

Phantom had helped him out, and in return Ollie had offered to help Phantom with tracking down the artifact he was looking for.  As they talked, it quickly became obvious that Phantom was doing the whole teen hero thing-- and not just in the Realms, but on Earth.  He clammed up when Ollie asked too many questions, but it was pretty clear that he didn't have a mentor or anything.

"Do you have the Teen Titans in your world?" Oliver asked, having learned by that point that the Infinite Realms connected every dimension out there.

"Yeah," Phantom had said, looking wary.

"You should talk to them," Oliver said.  "It helps to have someone out there on your side, who knows what you're dealing with."  The Titans had been good for Roy.  Not just friends, although they were that, too, but an extra support system.  

But Phantom shook his head.  "I can't."  And then he'd gone on to describe the Anti-Ecto Acts and the GIW.  

Ollie had never exactly been a fan of the government-- too much corruption, too many rich assholes using the system to protect themselves-- but this still managed to surprise him.  And while he was pretty sure his own world's Teen Titans wouldn't stand for this kind of thing-- or even the JLA, no matter how badly they sometimes overreached-- he had no way of knowing whether Phantom's Teen Titans were the same ones he knew.  

"Tell you what," Ollie said.  "Next time you get a chance, track me down and I'll show you a few things.  I don't know how much help I'll be with superpowers, but--" 

"Really?" Phantom had asked, then surprised Ollie by hugging him.

That was the start of it.  They'd tracked down the artifact, Phantom had left the Realms to go back and do his hero thing on Earth, and Oliver was left to second-guess himself until the next time Phantom came around.  

Oliver wasn't exactly a perfect mentor.  He'd done his best for Roy, but there were so many things he would do differently if he had the chance.  But he was better than nothing, which was what Phantom had been working with before.

Phantom didn't need to learn archery; he had superpowers.  But Ollie managed to teach him a thing or two about picking your shot and waiting for the right moment.  About trusting your instincts and dodging bullets (or ectoblasts).  

Phantom was cagey about anything that wasn't hero work, but Oliver managed to glean a few details.  He had a couple of living friends who helped him out, he was frequently chased down by ghost hunters, and most of the town he was based in didn't think particularly highly of him.  And that was on top of his whole rogue's gallery of villainous ghosts, not to mention the GIW.

"You can't make people like you," Ollie advised him.  "Even if you do all the right things.  You just have to trust yourself and ignore the public opinion."  God knew plenty of people had hated the Green Arrow over the years.  

It had been rewarding, in a way Ollie had almost forgotten, watching Phantom grow as a hero.  Watching him grow more confident and more skilled-- and Ollie wasn't giving himself credit for all of that, but he'd helped bring those qualities out.

And then, Oliver came back to life.

-

"Where to next?" Roy asks, as they drive out of Central City. Ollie appreciates that Roy is willing to follow his lead on this, even though it's clear Roy thinks he's being ridiculous.  Sure, Wally would probably have let Ollie have that old ring of Barry's if he'd asked, just like the JLA would probably have let him have the diamond-tipped arrow.  But those things weren't theirs to keep or give in the first place.

"Amity Park, Illinois."

Roy gives him a skeptical look over the top of his sunglasses. "The hell is in Amity Park?"  He's bracing himself to hear about some other memorabilia Ollie left behind upon his death, something else that wasn't disposed of the way Ollie had requested.  Something else that other people-- even Roy-- think insignificant.

That would be easier to explain than this.

"Maybe nothing," Oliver says. "But I need to be sure."

-

Finding Amity Park in the first place is a task and a half.  It's not on the map Roy keeps in his glovebox, and they have to ask directions at multiple gas stations across Illinois before they arrive.  

It's immediately clear that they're in the right place.  Amity Park is a small city-- barely even a city, really.  But the property damage evident on the streets and the buildings is on par with the aftermath of an alien invasion.

Roy slides off his shades.  "What on earth..."  He glances at Oliver.  "Ollie, what is this?"

A green streak shoots across the sky, followed by a white one.  

Phantom.

"Follow them!"  Ollie points at the ghosts.  

By the time they arrive, it's a stand-off.  The other ghost has disappeared, but Phantom is hovering twenty feet off the ground, dodging blasts from a couple in brightly colored hazmat suits.  

The Fentons.  Ollie had heard a few stories about them while he was in the Infinite Realms, though Phantom had been reluctant to talk about them.

"Ollie," Roy says.  In his voice, Ollie can hear all the suppressed rage he himself is feeling, watching a child-- a superpowered child, but a child nonetheless-- getting shot at.

"Not yet."  Ollie wants to help, but he doesn't want to make things worse by jumping in without thinking.  Their help isn't needed in the end; Phantom manages to disappear from sight while the ghost hunters are distracted.

Oliver tells the whole story to Roy over dinner at the local fast food joint.

"Jesus Christ," Roy says.  

"So you see why I want to talk to Phantom," Ollie says.  

"Aren't you already training two kids already?  You gonna add all of this on top?"  

"Connor doesn't need training.  He could probably teach me a thing or two.  And no one is training Mia in anything."  Okay, that last part isn't quite true; Oliver knows for a fact that Connor has been giving Mia lessons in archery and hand-to-hand.  But as long as she's not trying to put on a costume and fight crime, he'll pretend he doesn't know.  Hell, it makes him feel better, knowing that she has a trick or two up her sleeve.

"Phantom can't be much older than she is," Roy says, a hint of judgment in his tone.

"Phantom is already dead," he says.  Roy flinches a little.  "And he doesn't have a Hal Jordan to bring him back."

They go back to their burgers.  It's not until Oliver is crumpling up his wrapper that he speaks again.  

"Look," Ollie says.  "This is a lot bigger than Phantom.  And based on what I know of him, he's not going to want to leave Amity Park.  But I want to let him know that someone's got his back."

Roy claps him on the shoulder.  "More than just one person."

-

Tracking down Phantom for a conversation is harder than it sounds.  Oliver doesn't know how much time he even spends out here, rather than in the Infinite Realms.  Not to mention the handy ghost power of invisibility.  

He suits up and stakes out a rooftop downtown, with Roy doing the same on the other side of town.  He's just getting ready to pack it in for the night and try it again tomorrow when a familiar form materializes next to him.

"Arrow?" Phantom asks.

Oliver smiles.  "Hey, kid."  

"What-- how-- you're alive?" Phantom sputters a little.

"Am now," Ollie says.  "A friend of mine brought me back."  He gives a quick overview-- Green Lantern, godlike power, decided what the world was missing was one Oliver Queen.  

"I'm going to do what I can about the Anti-Ecto Acts and the GIW," Oliver says.  "But if you ever need anything, give me a call.  Or just track me down in Star."  He hands a slip of paper with his phone number and email on it to Phantom.  

"Danny," Phantom says.

"Sorry?"

"My name.  It's Danny."

"Oliver."  Ollie holds out his hand and Danny shakes it.  "Good to meet you, Danny."

-

For a while, he only hears from Danny through irregular emails and the very occasional phone call.  Ollie leans on his Justice League acquaintances to help repeal the Anti-Ecto Acts and get rid of the GIW.  It's slow going-- much slower than Ollie would like.  Too many JL members are advising caution, wanting to find out more about ghosts and how dangerous they might be before they take a stand.  Luckily, neither Superman and Wonder Woman were happy about Oliver's news, and hold a lot of sway with the American public.  And rather conveniently, a number of reporters have suddenly begun looking into the Anti-Ecto Acts, stirring up public sentiment against them even more than before.

Things are looking good.  And then, Danny shows up at the front door of Oliver's brownstone.  

Oliver is making himself a sandwich when he hears the knock at the door.  Mia (who had finally gotten Ollie to agree to let her be Speedy a few weeks back) is with the Teen Titans for the weekend, and Connor is working at the youth center for most of the day, so there's no one else here to answer the door.  Ollie wipes his hands on a kitchen towel, and opens the door.

Ollie doesn't know it's Danny at first.  The Danny he met was a ghost, complete with jumpsuit and white hair and superpowers.  The kid that shows up at Ollie's front door is a living, breathing kid.  He's got pale skin and dark hair and he can't be any older than sixteen.  He's a little on the thin side, though given his age, he could just be going through a growth spurt, and the backpack slung over his shoulder is decorated with a NASA patch.  

"Ollie?" the kid asks. 

"That's me," Ollie says.  "What can I do for you?"

"It's Danny.  Phantom," he clarifies in a low voice.  "From Amity Park."

He can see it, now that he knows to look.  The face and build are the same, just color-swapped.

“I need your help,” Danny continues.

The kid looks like he’s about to fall over from exhaustion or stress or both. 

Ollie opens the door a little wider.  "Come on in.  I was just making myself some lunch.  You can tell me what's going on."

Danny follows him into the kitchen and takes a seat at the counter.   Ollie finishes the sandwiches and slides one over to Danny.  

Danny doesn't pick it up at first, busy fidgeting with the sleeves of his hoodie.  “I don’t know where to start."

"Well, I gotta say," Oliver says.  "You're looking pretty alive for a dead guy.  I mean, same could be said for myself, but I told you how that happened."

Danny grimaces.  "About that.  It's kind of complicated."

Oliver leans against the opposite counter.  "Hit me with it."  

He already knows it's bad.  He was worried about Phantom in the first place; that's why he gave Danny a way to contact him if necessary.  Whatever made Danny travel halfway across the country to see him?  It can't be good.

"My parents are the Fentons," Danny starts.

Immediately Oliver knows the story is going to be worse than he anticipated. "The ghost hunters.  The ones who built the portal."  Ollie had heard all about that portal during his sojourn in the Infinite Realms-- some from Phantom, some from other ghosts.

"Yeah.  Well, the portal didn't exactly work at first.  My friends wanted to see it, and..."  Danny shrugs.  "It worked better than anyone gave them credit for, it's just that they accidentally put the switch on the inside."  

He can see where this story is going.  "And you accidentally turned it on."  

"Yeah.  It killed me, but all the ectoplasm coming through the portal brought me back to life.  So I'm only half-dead."  Danny finishes up his sandwich but Oliver, who is familiar with the eating habits of superhero teenagers, hands him another one.

"I'm guessing your folks don't know."  

"My sister does.  My parents don't."  Danny fidgets with the sleeves of his hoodie.  "That's not important."

It seems a little bit important.  

“It don’t know if there’s anything you can do,” Danny adds. “I just… I didn’t know where else to go.”

“You can stay here as long as you need to," Ollie says.  There's an extra bedroom that Stanley used as an office, back when this place belonged to him.  He'll need to get the junk cleaned out, but it should work for Danny.  "But it might help if I had a few more details.  Is someone gonna come looking for you-- or for Phantom?"

"I don't think so," Danny says.  "Well, the GIW might, but they're not super active outside of Amity Park."

"We'll handle them if they show up."  Oliver would love the chance to put a few arrows in them, and he's sure Connor and Mia would feel the same.  

There's obviously more to this story than Danny is currently telling him, but Ollie isn't gonna press.  Not yet.  Long and difficult experience has taught him how badly that usually goes when dealing with teenagers.  

Danny finishes up his lunch, and Ollie shows him around, eventually leaving him to hang out in the living room and watch TV.  Ollie himself starts packing up the junk in the spare room.  Danny might have to sleep on the couch for a day or two, until they get a bed for him to use, but it's an alright couch.  Ollie has certainly slept in less comfortable places.

He doesn't realize how much time has passed until he hears Connor call him from downstairs.

"Dad?"  

His tone of voice is carefully measured, but it's enough to remind Oliver that Danny is downstairs-- and that he didn't let Connor know about their new guest.

He dashes down the stairs and, sure enough, Connor and Danny are watching each other warily from other sides of the living room.  Danny in particular looks like he wants to bolt.  

"This is Danny," Oliver says.  "He's gonna be staying with us for a while.  And Danny, this is my son, Connor.  He's the other Green Arrow."  

"Nice to meet you," Connor says to Danny.  Then, "Dad, can I talk to you for a minute?"

Ollie follows Connor downstairs to the training room in their basement.  He has no idea how far Danny's enhanced senses extend outside the Infinite Realms-- or even if they work at all when he's not a ghost-- but Ollie suspects this conversation might not be as private as Connor is hoping.

"Are you sure about this?"  Connor asks.  

"He doesn't have anywhere else," Ollie says.  "What do you want me to do?"

Connor runs his hand over his face.  "I don't know.  But have you even talked to Mia about this?  When did you even meet this kid?"

"It was a sudden development," Ollie says.  "So no, I didn't.  But I don't think Mia's gonna tell me to send him packing."  He knows that's not what Connor is worried about; for all her bravado, Mia is still insecure about many things.  "As for how I met him... that's a bit of a story."

"Okay," Connor finally says.  "As long as you're sure."

Ollie clasps his shoulder.  "I appreciate it."  

-

They don't explain anything further to Connor that night, which is probably unfair to him.  But Ollie doesn't really want to make Danny explain more than once, and Mia won't be back until the next day.

Danny sleeps on the couch, and in the morning, he helps Ollie and Connor clean out the spare room.  Mia shows up a little after noon, having gotten a ride back from one of her powered friends, and finds the three of them eating pizza in the living room.

"You better have saved me some," she says, as she tosses her overnight bag on the floor.

"Didn't your friends feed you?" Ollie asks, but he passes her the box of pepperoni.  

Mia takes a slice and perches on the back of the couch, right next to Danny.  "Hi!  I'm Mia."  She gives Danny a look that is probably intended to be flirtatious.  

Danny looks a little like a deer in the headlights.  "Uh, hi?"

Connor raises an eyebrow at Oliver, and yeah, maybe having a teenage boy staying in the same house as Mia is a bad idea.  Then again, he's closer to her age than the guys she usually hits on.  

"This is Danny," Oliver says.  "Danny, Mia is my other kid.  She's also Speedy."  

They give Connor and Mia the cliff's notes version on ghosts and the Infinite Realms.  Danny knows a lot more than Ollie does about all of it, but he's much worse at explaining.  He either gets lost on tangents about inconsequential details, or he assumes they have more baseline knowledge than they do.

"I'm sorry," Mia says.  "Can we go back to the part where ghosts exist?"

"We've fought actual demons," Connor says.  "How are ghosts harder to believe?"

"Ollie was never a demon," Mia says with a shrug.  Then she narrows her eyes at Oliver.  "Were you?"

Ollie laughs.  "Definitely not."  

-

The next week or so is pretty quiet, by their standards.  The Green Arrows and Speedy go out and handle low-level crime in the city every night, though Phantom stays in at Ollie's suggestion; if the GIW is looking for him, it's better if he lies low.  It's a little worrying how easily he agrees.  It had never been that easy to convince him to do anything when they were training in the Infinite Realms.

Mia, who is better with technology than Ollie is, helps Danny send a message to his friends, letting them know he's safe.  

"It's better if I don't give them too many details," Danny says.  "Anyone who's looking for me will be watching them.  All of our devices are encrypted, thanks to Tucker, but I don't want to take any chances."

Danny comes with them to help out at the youth center, even while Ollie tells him that he's welcome to stay home and play video games or whatever.  Danny hasn't said anything about it, and so Ollie hasn't either, but Danny doesn't seem to want to be left alone for long.

Oliver wonders if that's because he's worried about himself or about them.

"So, where do your folks think you are?" Ollie asks at one point. 

Danny shrugs.  "Does it really matter?"

"Well, I'd like to know if I'm likely to be charged with kidnapping."  Connor and Mia both shoot him judgmental looks, but it's not like either of them were under any illusions about Ollie's ability to be delicate.  "I mean, I can handle it if I am, but I'd like to be prepared."

"I don't think you have to worry about that," Danny says, and that's the subject closed for the moment.

Mia corners Ollie one afternoon at the youth center, while Danny is playing basketball with some of the kids.  Danny is losing, badly.  Turns out he's incredibly clumsy when he's not using his powers.  The kids don't seem to mind, though, and Danny is a pretty good sport about it.

"We're keeping him, right?" Mia asks.

Oliver gives Mia a level look.  He hasn't noticed anything beyond some flirting on Mia's side, but that doesn't mean much.  

"Not like that," Mia says, rolling her eyes.  "I mean, he's cute, but he's kind of dense."

"Funny, I'm pretty sure the same has been said about me," Ollie jokes.

"Whatever he's not telling us... it's got to be pretty bad, right?" Mia says.  "But he seems happy here.  And we won't let anything happen to him."

There's a lot Oliver could say here: Danny has parents, he has friends, he has a home he obviously misses.  By almost every measure, he's far more powerful than Ollie or his kids, and whatever has him scared is quite possibly out of their league.  But the truth is, he feels the way Mia does.  

"It's up to him," Oliver finally says.  "But he's welcome to stay as long as he wants to."

-

Green Arrow and Speedy are crouched on a rooftop, taking aim at a couple of drug dealers, when Connor's voice crackles across the comms.

"I've got eyes on some guys in white suits," he says.  "At Fifty-first and Green."  

That's halfway across town, though nowhere near the brownstone.  If something goes down in the next few minutes, Connor is going to be on his own.  

"Don't engage," Ollie says.  "We're on our way."

They break up the drug deal and make their way toward Connor, who has been updating them on the GIW's movements the whole while.  

"I think they're looking for something," Connor says.  "They keep stopping and checking some kind of device-- I think it's a tracker of some kind."

"They're looking for Danny," Mia says.  

"How did they even know he's here?" Ollie wonders, but neither Mia nor Connor have any idea.  He makes a split-second decision.  "Mia, head back home and keep an eye on Danny.  Tell him Connor and I are handling it."

Mia is obviously put out by being sent away from the action, but she complies.  Oliver catches up with Connor, perching next to him on the edge of a roof.  Down on the street, a couple of men dressed all in white exit a white van and wave around a couple of handheld electronic devices.  They don't look up, which seems like a mistake from people who ostensibly deal with ghosts.  Convenient for the Green Arrows, though.

Trailing the GIW agents is a piece of cake.  Their all-white getup makes them clearly visible from a distance, and they seem to rely on their equipment rather than their eyes or ears.  

Their apparent incompetence makes Oliver get a little cocky, and that's where things go wrong.  He lands on the building closest to the agents, sure that they won't look up and see him-- and he's right.

Unfortunately, their device starts beeping just at that moment, and the two men are suddenly on high alert.  Ollie gets the bad feeling that something about him is what set it off.  They pull out their guns and look around wildly, until one of the geniuses gets the bright idea to look up.  That's when they start shooting wildly at Oliver and Connor.  

Their aim isn't great, and whatever kind of energy weapons they're using are only powerful enough to do some superficial damage to the building facade, but Ollie isn't eager to find out how it would feel to get hit by one of those.  Fortunately, he and Connor are both much better shots than these guys.

They shoot the weapons out of the agents' hands first, then Ollie puts an arrow through one guy's hand while Connor puts one through the other guy's foot.  

For a minute, it seems like it's going to be that easy.  Then, three more white vans come peeling down the street and a dozen more agents pour out.  Now, it's Oliver and Connor who are pinned down, ducking behind the roof's edge to avoid getting hit by those energy weapons.  

Ollie puts an arrow through another guy's shoulder, and is just a smidge too slow getting back out of the way.  The energy blast is going to hit him right in the shoulder.  He braces to take the hit--

A green shield appears in front of him.  The energy blast hits it and dissipates.

For a moment, Ollie thinks it's the work of a Lantern.  And then he sees Phantom, a bright white and glowing target hovering above the street.  

The GIW agents have completely disregarded Ollie and Connor, and are frantically shooting at Phantom.  Phantom is dodging the blasts easily; there's no sign of the clumsiness that he's beset with when he's a normal human.  One of the agents gets an arrow through his shoulder, and Ollie spots Mia perched on a roof across the street.  

In hindsight, he really should have expected this.  Neither of those kids are the type to sit at home when they could be helping instead.  Even so, he doesn't like it.

With Danny distracting the agents, it's much easier for Ollie, Connor and Mia to hit them.  They may be outnumbered, but the GIW agents are terrible shots.  At some point, the agents seem to realize this, too, and flee back into their vans, limping and bleeding, and drive away.  

"Follow them?" Connor asks.  

"No," Ollie says.  "I don't think they're going to try anything else tonight."  

The four of them make their way back to the brownstone.  

"I told you to stay here with Danny," Ollie tells Mia, once they're inside and putting away their gear.  

"Did you really think I was going to listen?" Mia asks. 

Ollie runs his hands over his face.  "A man can dream."

"Besides," Mia adds, "from where I was standing it seemed like we bailed you two out.  Right, Danny?"

With a flash of light, Danny transforms back to his human form.  "I'm sorry," he says.  "I don't know how they knew I was here."

"I'm not sure they did," Connor says.  "They were looking pretty hard for something before they went after the two of us."

"But they were looking for me specifically," Danny says.  

Ollie gives Danny a closer look.  He's clearly nervous.  More than just nervous, he looks like he's on the verge of taking off and running.

"What makes you so sure they're here for you?" Oliver asks.  It's not that he doesn't trust Danny's instincts, but he doesn't feel like he's got the whole picture.  

Danny leans against the workbench, almost knocking a set of half-finished arrows to the floor.  "They've been trying to catch Phantom since the beginning," he says.  "I kind of made their lives difficult."

"Good," Connor says, crossing his arms.  

"Plus, a lot of Amity Parkers kind of... don't like Phantom?  So the GIW heard about what a menace I was, and that didn't help.  But then you got Superman and Wonder Woman and all of them to talk about how bad the GIW and Anti-Ecto Acts are, and that helped, and-- I had it handled. "

"So what happened?" Mia asks.  

"My parents found out.  And I kind of freaked out?  And I flew off, and the GIW caught up to me."  Danny looks around, takes in their stricken expressions, and hurries to add, "Not for long!  But then I headed back home and my parents were telling everyone I was dead.  I didn't know what to do, so I came here."  

Oliver's head hurts just thinking about this mess.  He walks across the room and wraps an arm around Danny.  "We'll get this figured out," he promises, though he's not entirely sure how.  "First things first.  What do you want to do about your parents?"  

Mia scowls at him-- she's clearly already formed her opinion on Danny's parents.  Ollie can't say he disagrees, but he's made his own share of mistakes in the parenting department.  He hopes that the Fentons might be able to come around, if only because Danny clearly loves them.

"The GIW..." Danny begins. 

"I've got a few ideas about them."  Ollie is a little torn between hunting them down himself, pointing Supes or someone in their direction, or letting it leak to the public that these government lackeys chased a kid halfway across the country.  "Do you want to go back to your parents?"

"I don't know," he says. "I miss them, but... I don't know if they'll believe I'm really me. They think all ghosts are evil. But even if they believed me..."  He trails off.  

"You can stay here," Mia insists.  "Right, Ollie?"

"Of course he can."  He didn't actually need Mia's prompting for that.  "You're welcome to stick around as long as you want, but you should at least stay until we get the GIW shut down."  

Danny looks around the room at the three of them.  Whatever he sees must reassure him because after a long minute, he nods.  "Okay.  At least until then."

[eilidh-eternal]

Nasty Man™️ Johnny MacTavish would be such a sleazy car salesman, both to work with and buy from. (cw: Johnny is a sleazy scumbag)

Whether you’re a receptionist or another salesperson for the dealership he would constantly hover near your desk, always sitting himself down on the corner and spreading his thighs like he owns the damn thing. He’s even asked you if you’ve ever watched porn in the office, says it with such a straight face and nonchalance that you can’t quite tell if he’s just making an inappropriate joke or if he’s serious. But the glint in his eyes, the way he leans a bit too far into your personal space… you know deep down he’s serious.

If you know anything at all about cars it gives him a raging fucking hard on when he listens to you talk about it with clients or Simon, the shop foreman for the dealership. He just can’t help the twitching of his cock listening to you rattle off the specifications for the sleek little sports car they keep in the showroom, discussing and debating the power output and handling of a straight-6 versus a V6 with the poor sod who thought he knew more than you. He has to make up an excuse to leave his clients and go take care of himself in the bathroom, sends them to talk with Gaz in financing while he rubs one out.

And if you don’t know how to drive manual? Oh you’re really in for it. He convinces the general manager you need to know how to drive manual if you’re ever gonna sell that Lotus Emira or the M4 you’re always talking up to wealthier clients, and Price agrees. So, you stay after hours one day, and Simon generously offers up the imported challenger he wrenches on in his free time for you to learn with, an older model from the 90’s that he picked up from an old friend in Kentucky.

And shameless, nasty Johnny makes you sit in his lap to learn, says you need to feel when and how to push the clutch in and let it out as you give it more gas, and you can only do it if you sit in his lap while he drives. He even traps your hand between his and the shifter so you can feel where all the gears are and when to shift so you don’t grind the gears Simon’s worked so hard to maintain.

You can feel something hard pressing against your ass the entire “lesson” and it’s uncomfortable, makes you squirm in his lap and rock your hips trying to find a more comfortable position. Simon’s car has a pretty hefty harness instead of a normal seatbelt. He says it’s something to do with laws regarding the power output of the car and needing a full harness for it to be street legal nothing about that bad boy is legal. You ask Johnny if he can readjust the buckle across his lap, shifting your hips again, but the only answer you get is a ragged moan.

The car jerks to a stop, the engine stalled, and he has an iron grip on your waist as he grunts behind you, “‘S not the seatbelt bonnie, ‘s my cock.”

Nasty Man™️ Masterlist

[harveywritings92]

[After (Reader name) reveals they used to be a semi-pro athlete when she was younger coming in the top 5 back in their home country, after some prodding from Gaz and Soap it’s revealed it was in Static Apnea. Now everyone won’t stop making fun of R/n.]

Price: Hey, I remembered what I wanted to complain about before.

R/n:*sarcastically*  Isn't that terrific...

Soap: Ah, go ahead, Cap. Anything you say to R/n is confidential. She won't breathe a word.

Gaz: Ah-ha. Pow.

Soap: Hey, the pow's my thing.

Price: What are ya powing? Oh, because she's in the freak sport, floating around underwater. How do ya stand it?

Roach: How do the spectators?

Soap: Pow.

R/n: For the record, It’s a very complicated sport the training itself requires a lot of patience, you have learn to slow your heart rate down, entering a near comatose state!

Gaz: Oh. My heart rate's slowin' down just hearin' about it.

Soap: Powathon.

R/n: Argh!!

[R/n storms off annoyed, as Ghost follows after her intrigued, as an awkward silence fills the room.]

Soap: *a little scared* Holy crap, she can actually slow her heart rate?

[harveyb-wabbit92]

[Peter is showing Spider-chef the sign outside of the cafeteria.]

Sign outside of the engineering floor’s cafeteria: COME FOR THE OIL CHANGE STAY FOR THE GREASE!

Peter B: Hey, what do you think of my new slogan?

Spider-chef: I'm changing the sign.

Peter B: Come on, it's a joke! People like that kind of thing. Plus, I was careful to choose a slogan where the letters couldn't be rearranged to spell anything embarrassing.

R/n, who was passing by stops intrigued: What slogan?

Peter B: "Come for the oil change, stay for the grease."

R/n, sips her coffee and thinks for a moment:...

R/n, flatly: "Choose Glen Frey for a ménage à trois."

[Everyone looks at her baffled as she walks away, cut to later Peter is writing the slogan down trying to see if Rn was right.]

Miguel, who heard about it from Rn: Don't bother checking, it's right. Another option would be: "My thighs are hot for goat felons."

[pupcuck]

AND I LOVE HER !

ft. leon s. kennedy x fem!reader

tags. omg.. fluff and that’s it im sick, age gap, like brief mentions to sex idk, slight angst

note. don’t know what happened to me! ignore typos/mistakes this isn’t edited :3 rbs n feedback always appreciated omg im embarrassed ngl this is just leon feeling guilty as always

“Okay, and so we get bored, right?” You tell him, perched on the bathroom counter, peeling back your false lashes to reveal– you guessed it, your natural layer of lashes which look identical to the fake pair. “Like, there wasn’t a lot to do, I mean it was snowing, we couldn’t leave campus, we couldn’t even leave her bedroom, right?” Leon gives an Mhm to show you he’s listening and totally not dozing off to the sound of your voice. Sorry, babe, sometimes it just puts him to sleep. The same way white noise does. “We go on Bumble - you know what that is, right?”

“Oh, yeah, obviously,” Leon scoffs, when in fact he doesn't know what that is.

“So, yeah, we're swiping, swiping, not a single right, right?” Another Mhm from his side, you’re using a cotton bud to remove your eye makeup, the black smears and becomes streaky on your skin. Cute, that’s how you look after a nice, hard fucking. His mind wanders far away to the sanctum that is his bedroom, the room on the opposite side of the hall. “And so Ashley, you remember her, right?”

“Rings a bell,” It rings no bells, not a single one, the only Ashley he knows is ex-First Daughter Ashley Graham. “The short one?” All your friends are short, he makes a purposely vague guess to hide his disinterest. Leon would put more into this conversation if he wasn’t five seconds away from conking out on the closed toilet seat.

“Yeah, that one, her fucking boyfriend pops up!”

“From where?” He asks, genuinely concerned for your wellbeing, was the freak hiding out in his girlfriend’s dorm room, under the bed of some shit?

“On Bumble?” You shoot him an odd look through the mirror, “Anyway, his profile says some shit about an open relationship, that his girlfriend wants a threesome, like, all this shit.”

“That’s awful.” He gets the gist, the dude is a cheater, still has no clue what a Bumble is.

“I know, and he’s ugly, that’s the worst part, she’s out of his league.” You hop off the counter, running the tap to wash your face in that ritualistic manner. Scrub, splash, wipe. Shit’s obsessive, Leon’s only ever ran his wet hands over his face, uses his thumbs to get the gunk out the corner of his eyes. “She was totally upset,” You say, lathering your face in foam, “She wouldn’t stop crying, and don’t, like, tell her or anything, babe,” You rub circles on your cheeks, the soap bubbles up, the tap has been running five minutes too long.

“Wasn’t planning on it, babe.” Leon tips his head back to soothe the tension in his neck, when you cup your hands and splash water into your face, droplets splatter on the counter.

“Good, well, to tell you the truth, she was pissing me off,” A few more minutes of what looks more like a facial massage than a wash and you’re done, “Like, he was never even nice to her, he made her pay for dates, and she was really crying hard, Leon, like, snot and everything.”

“Lousy guy.”

“Yeah, and so we find a place that’s open on the map, like, a convenience store, I mean it was like gas and groceries, but it was so fucking shady, babe,” You pat your face dry with a towel, hanging it up on the rack, “And, like, we try to get an Uber, or like literally any cab at this point, but no one wants to drive in that weather, you saw what kinda clothes I took too!”

Oh, Leon did, and he did the right thing and warned you that tie-up tops and mini skirts so mini they could be classified as belts would do nothing for you. Well, they do everything for your figure, but nothing against the least windy of winds. Like a shaky orange leaf clinging to the weary branches of an autumn tree, those scraps of Lycra would go flying, leaving you topless and bottomless and defenceless without a Leon to take care of your sorry ass.

“So, I’m like so sure I’ve got frostbite as we’re walking, but it’s five minutes away, we keep going, none of us had an ID by the way, not even a real one,” The second part of your routine involves applying lotion so thickly, it secretes enough palm oil to give back to those Amazonian orangutans, solving the deforestation issue one nighttime routine at a time.

“Babe,” Leon says in the tone of a disappointed and slightly exasperated father who wants nothing but the best for his daughter while being emotionally distant all at once, because he just has that kind of voice, “You can’t be doing that, it’s dangerous, could get in a lot of trouble, and it’s bad for you, y’know?” His liver cries out in disbelief as it has been subjugated completely by his alcoholism, “You don’t need drinks to have fun, you just need your friends.” His words pass through you. Leon has changed the world through his Special Agent status, he’s saved it time and time again, what he has not done is change your world like he suspected he would with that half-assed motivational speech.

“So, Ashley, the bitch, she shoves me in front, and all the girls are like oh, you go up, you look soo much older than us, which is so fucking rude. Like, I know I look it, everyone says it to me, doesn’t mean she should say it. So, I go up, and babe - I swear to god, he doesn’t even ask, like, he just kinda looked at my tits and scanned the bottles.” You use your hands a lot when you speak.

He blinks at you bare-faced, and it all comes falling down, on top of him like gigantic Jenga blocks that he himself misplaced. “You’re a baby,” Leon tells you. Not in the way most older men do when they talk down to young girls - to make them feel like even younger girls. It’s not to put you in your place, after all, it is Leon that needs to be put in his place more than anyone. He says this with the utmost sincerity as he spirals head-first into a frantic epiphany of sorts. He’s fucking a baby. A baby with a heart-shaped ass and a penchant for clothes that cover a single nipple at best.

“No, I’m not a baby, I’m just not old,” There’s a lack of hardened lines on your face, not quite baby-faced, but visibly young.

“Yeah, okay, baby,” Leon pats your head, rolls his shoulders back to relieve him of an ache, “I’m going to bed.”

“So am I.” Your lips jut out, “I was going there first actually.” Holy Mother of God, you’re a kid. Don’t do this to him. Usually, Leon likes his women menopausal, Norman Bates would agree, that’s insensitive, rather Mrs Bates would agree. It’s just that when you’re forty-six, fucking older women goes into grandma territories. Women his age are beautiful, but half of them settled down over ten years back, the available ones are career women that keep him on his toes, and he doesn’t like that. Being kept on his toes is too much, his back hurts and he wants to rest. The other half come with kids, Leon would rather scoop out his brain with a tea spoon than come into close contact with a child. The appeal wears off either way because Leon wants them to be older than him, but he’s not twenty anymore so the older women won’t be forty and stern and beautiful in the way worn out housewives are, they’ll be sixty and senile.

“Were you now?” He keeps the bile down in his stomach where it should be, takes you to bed, fucks you into the mattress one last time, kisses the mole between your breasts and leaves the following morning. What drug was he on the night he met you? Leon doesn’t know, and he doesn’t know if he’s still on it, or if dating younger women is a side effect of it.

The car windows are frosted over when he makes his way out without a de-icer in hand, it melts slowly as he sits in the driver's seat with his head bowed, drooped on top of the wheel. Leon pats himself down, feeling for his keys, he gets out, into the elevator and returns to face the front door. He slots his key into the lock and enters the apartment because it is his apartment, not yours. He’s so used to walking out on people that he walked out of his own home. Selfish tendencies that surely stem from some fucked up part of his brain.

“Leon?” You’re stood there in the doorway rubbing your eyes, “Did you go out?”

“Yeah, babe,” He grunts when you take your seat on his lap, the weight is pleasant, grounds him, “I went out, just for a minute, had to take a call, didn’t wanna wake you.”

“I woke up the minute you got out of bed.” The softness of your skin on his is dizzying, sleep-swollen lips coming to kiss his scruffy face with all the tenderness of a young adult woman, that’s a lot of tenderness, they feel a lot. Heart might not be on your sleeve, but it leaks out of you in the most insignificant moments, it’s in every single word you say to him. “You’re not very quiet, Leon. I don’t know who hired you, they should reconsider.”

Smiling, he cradles your close, takes your tit in his hand. Love is stored in these things. That’s why your heart is in the left one, not on your sleeve. “Was I that loud?”

“Yeah, I heard you stub your toe, and you were like fuck, fuck, fuck! for a good minute,” You recount, “And then I heard you talking to yourself in the bathroom, and you were brushing your teeth, you kept making those gross gagging noises, my dad does that too.”

“Trying to get it all out.” Leon shrugs, his chin rests atop your head.

“Get what out? Your uvula?”

“No, stupid, just, I don’t know, stop asking questions.”

“Okay, whatever, and then you walked out still talking to yourself, and then you were looking for your keys, moving furniture,” That he was, “Sounds like you scraped up the floors,” That he did, “Then you found them and they kept fucking jingling, then you shut the door really quietly, and I was like where is this loser going. Hey, Leon, you know I can see your car from here, right?”

You’d seen him. Seen him throw a sulky manchild tantrum in his car. How embarrassing. “If I’m being honest, I didn’t know that.” He admits.

“Well, I saw you sitting in there, I know you didn’t go to the store, I know you’re lying to me, but it’s okay,” You kiss his Adam’s apple, your nose tucked into his neck, “I know you didn’t mean it.”

“I didn’t— I didn’t mean it,” Leon confirms, he holds you tighter to him and thinks that you're more mature than he’ll ever be. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” It comes easily to you, and he wishes to do the same, “You can talk to me instead of, like, trying to drive away from your own apartment, that’s pretty weird, Leon.”

“I know, I’ll talk to you,” He won’t, and you know that, and he knows you know that, but it’s okay, it takes time for this sort of stuff, “I love you,” Leon says again, his lips meet yours, swallows up the response on your tongue, he eats your love.

[slow-motionlovepotion]

𝒅𝒆𝒍𝒊𝒄𝒂𝒕𝒆 | 𝒋.𝒎𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒆𝒓

𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈:  Joel Miller x f!Reader

𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕: 4.6K - this was not meant to be this long, oops.

𝒂/𝒏: I'm feral for Joel Miller and I won't apologise for that. This ended up so much softer than I planned but Joel Miller deserves to be loved, goddmit. part two is already in progress ~ no beta, we die like men

𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔: 18+ - smut, post-apocalypse, pre-Ellie, age gap (mid/late 20s!reader x early 40s!Joel), first time, loss of virginity, fingering, oral (f!receiving), unprotected sex (wrap it kids), Joel Miller has a big dick, risky creampie, multiple orgasms, dirty talk, manhandling, angst, implications of rape (does not involve reader or Joel), soft!Joel, fluff, idiots in love, innocence kink, Joel Miller is down bad. - minors do not interact.

𝒔𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚: Sometimes when I look into your eyes, I pretend you're mine, all the damn time

Joel had found you cowering in the corner of a store in some godforsaken town somewhere in deep Texas, the twitching body of an infected splayed in front of you. He’d eyed you cautiously, keeping his distance, gun pointed directly at you, not afraid to pull the trigger. 

“No, please, no. I’m okay, I’m fine, not bitten. I promise. Please” you were frantic, begging for your life. 

“Just the one?” He’d asked, voice gruff and dark, he exuded danger. 

You nodded “It was out the back, I checked but I didn’t see it, then it just came out of nowhere”

He nods once “You alone?” 

“Yeah, it’s just me” you hadn’t moved from your spot on the floor, hands raised in surrender, shaking in fear.  

“Christ” the man mutters more to himself than to you, giving you the once over he lowers the gun “C’mon, I’m not leaving you here” 

Your time together was meant to be brief, Joel had planned to find you somewhere safe to stay, people you could live your life with, some sense of normality. Life would never be like it was before the outbreak but maybe he could find you a new version of living. 

It took two months to find the first group of settlers but Joel didn’t even let you near them, he’d checked them out alone, swiftly deciding it wasn’t a safe place for you, he didn’t say why. Another six months until the next group, they initially seemed better but the cries echoing outside the commune at night told Joel all he needed to know. 

It’s been exactly 2 years since he found you in that abandoned store, you’d managed to survive for six months, barely, living in a constant state of fight or flight. And then Joel came, Joel who took a chance on you, who shared his supplies and taught you to survive. Joel, who stood watch and let you sleep despite being exhausted himself, who bandaged your wounds, and made his own life harder just to make yours a little bit easier. 

Joel, who would watch the world burn just to make sure you were safe. 

You could still to this day, pinpoint the exact moment you fell in love with Joel Miller. You watched the world burn. Well not the world, just a decrepit cabin on the side of a road somewhere in Texas. He'd thought it was safe, he’d checked and double checked, the place was free of infected, or so he thought. The thick knit of your scarf was the first thing that saved your life that night, when the infected had come at you from behind, jumping out of the dark and going for your neck.  Joel hadn’t even hesitated, gun drawn and a bullet in its skull before you could even cry out for help. He’d reached for you, entwining his fingers with yours as he dragged you out of the building, kicking the cap off a gas canister as he went and throwing a lighter behind him as the door had shut. He pushed you ahead of him, protecting your body from the flames licking at the dry timber frame behind him.  

You realised you loved him, were in love with him, laying on the dusty ground, with Joel’s imposing body shielded yours. You felt safe, he was firm behind you, chest heaving with laboured breaths, arms wrapped around you, keeping you close, muttering softly into your ear, “it’s okay, it’s okay, I got ya”.

So by the time you came across the third group you’d become quite the survivor. Joel had taught you to defend yourself, how to shoot a gun, how to actually use a knife, the weak spots of a man. You’d wondered why he was teaching you this, why you needed to know how to break the grasp of hands around your throat, how to use his body weight against him. When you’d stumbled across a group of men, animals really, surrounding a woman on her knees, her sobs echoed in your ears and you’d immediately searched for Joel, hands shaking as you grasped at his arms, eyes wide and terrified, you finally understood.

“They… they. Shit Joel, they were…”  He didn’t need you to finish, he knew what they were doing. Within 20 minutes he had you both packed and on the road. 

You felt like you’d been walking for weeks, in reality it had only been three days but you were exhausted. You were heading East, Joel had heard about a group of women that had settled just across the state border. You trudged slowly behind Joel, the unseasonable heat making you sweat, boots kicking up dust with every step, lost in your own thoughts.

“What’s bugging you?” Joel’s voice pulled you from your thoughts

“We should’ve helped her,” you confessed.  It didn’t sit right, that you just left her there for those men to take what they wanted

“There’s nothing we could’ve done, no guarantee she’d be safe in the next place” he’d explained softly 

“Is that why you’ve not left me?” The question slips from your lips before you can stop it.

Joel stops, his eyes meet yours but he doesn’t answer, he can’t, can’t admit that he won��t leave you, can’t admit why he won’t leave you. He can’t admit that he loves you.

Darkness has fallen by the time you reach a safe house, a favour from a friend, he’d said. The house was neat, tidy and clean, if not a bit dusty. Joel clears downstairs first, checks upstairs and calls you up to the bedroom.  A small puff of dust is released from the bed as he drops your bags. One bed. There’s two of you and more than one bedroom, but you know he won’t let you out of his sight. He won’t risk it. 

“Joel?” you croak, voice trembling as you sit on the end of the bed.

“Hmm?” He’s stood by the dresser opposite the bed, removing his jacket and boots. 

“I… there’s something- uhh, shit” you pause, taking a shaky breath “listen, please don’t make a big deal of this but I want you to fuck me” 

“Darlin’, I’m not gonna do that” he responds almost immediately, doesn’t give himself time to even think about it, doesn’t let himself indulge in the possibility. 

Not that he’s not thought about it, God knows he has. He’s wanted you, wanted to feel your lips on his, feel your nails claw at his back as he takes you. But you never gave any indication you wanted it too, so he stayed respectful, well, as respectful as he could. There’d been nights he’d fisted his cock, your name a whisper on his lips as he came into his hand, while your sleeping body lay just inches away.

“Please” you barely whisper, he goes to speak, to reject you again, but you cut him off,  “Joel, please. I don’t- I want it to be you, I don’t want it to be like that” your eyes are pleading, silently begging “please” 

“You’ve not…? There’s not been anyone?” He asks tentatively, hoping he’s misunderstood, that you’re not actually asking that of him, he crosses the room, sitting next to you on the end of the bed. 

“I’ve been kinda busy, what with the end of the world and all that” you try and make a joke but it falls flat, sobering, shining a light on all the ways your life has been taken away from you, all the experiences you’ve missed out on. 

It shouldn’t be him, he knows it shouldn’t, he’s so much older, he’s cruel and ruthless and angry. You deserve something else, soft, gentle, loving. He can’t give you that. 

But if he doesn’t, if he says no and doesn’t do this for you, there’s no guarantee the next guy is going to love you, no guarantee that he won’t hurt you. For Joel, that decides it, he can’t give you what you deserve but he can give you something better than what’s out there. 

Cautious fingers on his leg startle him out of his thoughts, “Just once, just this once” His agreement doesn’t soothe you, it ignites something, butterflies rolling in your belly; you want this. 

You’d seen other men on your travels, the way they treated women, both good and bad. You’d thought, naively, that Joel might be like that too, that Joel might take you to his bed, fuck himself into you then roll over, pretend it never happened. But he never did, always respectful, barely ever touching you unless he had to, you’d shared beds, and bandaged each other up, but he’d never touched, never taken it further. “All right?” He nudges when you don’t respond

You nod tightly and whisper a “thank you”, sitting quietly in awkward silence, you don’t know what to do next, you’ve read books, you knew how to do this before but you didn’t know how to deal with an arrangement like this. 

Joel breaks the silence first “Do you want to… tonight or would you rather w-?”

“Tonight,” your response is a bit quick and Joel huffs an almost laugh “tonight is good”  

You don’t know how to phrase ‘lets just get it over and done with’ when you’re about to fuck someone for the first time. He stands then, grabbing something from his bag then dropping it to the floor. Liquid sloshes as Joel brings the flask to his lips, drawing in three times, brow furrowed. He hands the  flask to you “Drink” and the look in his eyes tells you not to question him. 

You take a sip and nearly retch, the taste burning your throat and nose, eyes watering. You hadn’t liked whiskey much before and while it’s rare to find anything else these days, you still hadn’t got used to the taste. You take another sip, stomaching this one better. You hold the flask back out to Joel and he takes another drag before placing it on the dresser with slightly more force than he meant.

In two steps he’s back across the room, his hands finding your face, calloused fingers dragging along the skin of your jaw, bringing you to meet his lips. The kiss is bruising and feverish, hot lips pressing to yours, he licks into your mouth and you moan, it’s sinful and sweet and Joel wants more. He wants to pull more pretty noises from you, wants to hear you scream his name. His cock responds eagerly, hardening in his jeans, he’s not felt desire like this in years, it’s burning through his blood, overwhelming his senses. 

Joel stands between your legs, tilting your chin up, bringing a knee to rest on the mattress between your thighs. One of his large hands moves to support your neck, the other tracing the line of your throat, gripping gently. The kiss has grown sloppy, Joel is breathing hard, nipping at your lips. His knee between your legs moves to press into your clothed core and despite the layers of fabric you can feel the heat of his thick thigh, your hips roll, chasing more pleasure and a groan escapes your throat unexpectedly. 

Joel’s hand drops from your throat, following the neckline of your shirt, down between your breasts, flicking the buttons open, exposing you to the humid air. He pushes the flannel off your shoulders, taking the straps of your bra with it, reaching behind you to unclasp it, inwardly pleased he managed the first try.   

You slide your hands to his waist, dragging his shirt with you, brushing your fingers across bare skin. Your fingers trace the waistband of his jeans but he reaches for your hands, wrapping a large hand around your wrists he pushes you flat, pinning your arms above your head. The other hand joins his knee between your legs, fingers teasing the seam of your jeans. 

“You asked me to fuck you,” he pulls a nipple into his mouth, teeth nibbling at the sensitive bud “n’ I will” It may have been a while but it’s really just second nature to him and he feels you shiver beneath him “gonna make you feel good darlin’”

“Joel” Your throat is dry and your voice cracks but it’s enough, his hands reach for the button of your jeans, working them down your legs while his mouth assaults your breasts. You can’t focus, it’s too much, his mouth, hands, the feel of his body, large and imposing over yours. He finally gets your jeans off, discarding them to the floor.

You reach for him, finding the buttons of his shirt, tugging gently but making your intentions clear, he allows your trembling fingers to fumble with the buttons for a minute before helping you, making quick work of the buttons, all but ripping the shirt down his arms, throwing it to the floor behind him before positioning himself between your thighs.

Joel’s hand runs up your outer thigh, fingers digging into the flesh of your bum. He trails kisses over your skin, behind your ear, down your jaw, across each of your breasts, fingers playing with the nipple neglected by his mouth. He moves his head down your exposed torso, tongue tasting the salty sweat on your skin you gasp softly as he reaches the waistband of your underwear, black lace, a little luxury that makes you feel pretty and feminine. He nudges the fabric with his nose, breath ghosting over your skin and you shiver, 

“You don’t have to” you whisper into the darkness.

A soft “yeah I do” is mumbled into your skin. He makes quick work of removing your underwear, dragging the lace down your legs and dropping them to the floor in a rather obscene gesture.

His mouth is back on your hips working his way to nuzzle at your folds, leaving open mouthed kisses and grazes of his teeth on your skin. His hands press against the back of your thighs, pushing your knees up to your chest, spreading you wide. Joel’s eyes roll back in his head at the sight of you, pussy glistening in the dim light, the low growl that sounds in his chest shakes the bed and it takes all his restraint to take it slow, make it good for you. 

“This all for me?” He rubs his thumb through your folds, gathering your wetness and spreading it up to your clit, circling the little bundle. You look down at him between your spread thighs and nod. 

The sound you make when Joel flattens his tongue and licks a stripe up your cunt is unholy, and when he flicks his tongue against your clit you can’t help the way a hand reaches for his hair and tugs, nor can you help the sharp cry of his name. 

Languid, is the word you’d use to describe the way Joel works at your cunt. Long, slow, lazy circles around your swollen clit, soft passes over the entrance to your cunt, not giving you more than that for what feels like hours. You catch on, quite quickly, that this is as much for Joel as it is for you, and you think he might be enjoying it the most.  

Joel hums around your clit, sucking it into his mouth, and the arch of your back is violent, a stark contrast to Joel’s gentle movements, biting down on the fleshy part of your thumb to muffle your scream. 

“Don’t do that” a hand reaches up in the dark to pull your fist from your mouth, “wanna hear you” his breath is hot against your core, tongue lapping at you like a man starved. 

You’re hot, skin prickly with a layer of sweat, hips rolling, pushing your soaked pussy into Joel’s face, your clit catching on his nose as he teases your entrance with his tongue. 

“Jo-el” your voice is whiny to your own ears and your face heats at the sound “more, please more” 

Joel lets out a hum at your request, bringing two thick fingers to slide into you and already you feel the intoxicating spark of your orgasm approaching. Your cunt clenches around his fingers and the feeling shoots straight to his cock. 

“I’m gonna cum,” you breathe, your grip in his hair painful even to you.  “Fuck, fuck, I’m gonna cum, Joel”

You’re so close that when Joel crooks his fingers and continues his assault on your clit, your orgasm tears through you. You stiffen, hissing a “Yesss”through gritted teeth, hands clawing at the sheets and Joel’s hair.

“‘Atta girl” he coos around your clit “tha’s it baby” The sound of Joel’s voice is muffled by the ringing in your ears and when you open your eyes all you can see is stars, flashes of white clouding your vision. 

Sensing his movement, you open your eyes and when they’ve adjusted to the darkness again, you can see the burly outline of Joel kneeling between your legs, his eyes drag down your body, fingers of his left hand gently caressing the bend of your knee. You sit up, reaching for his belt, tugging at the buckle. Joel watches as you pull his belt free, fingers ghosting over his length confined in the denim as you pull down the zip. 

When your fingers dip inside to grasp him he can’t stop the choked “fuck” that escapes his throat. Pulling him free of his boxers, your jaw drops at the size, fuck he’s thick, so thick, and swaying heavily between his legs, dripping with precum. With hesitant fingers you run the pad of your thumb down his slit, smearing the fluid, stopping to rub your thumb on the underside of his head. Joel can’t help the jerky twitch of his hips at the stimulation. You take that as a positive, repeating the action once, twice more, before calloused hands still your movements. You look up to Joel, confusion clear on your face. 

“Won’t last if you keep that up” Joel explains, his voice a whisper, vulnerability evident even in his low tone. 

You release his length from your grasp, bringing your thumb coated in his arousal to your mouth, sucking tentatively. You don’t notice Joel watching you through hooded eyes, but he makes quick work of his jeans and boxers, kicking the offending fabric off as quick as his aching bones will let him.  

Experienced hands lift your legs to hook over his hips as he settles himself between your thighs again. You can feel the thick length of Joel’s cock pressed firmly against you, sliding through the wetness left by his mouth and your orgasm as he ruts against you. It takes the entirety of Joel’s willpower to not fuck into you, coming back to himself, he remembers why he’s doing this. 

“Gotta tell me if y’need to stop” he slurs against your temple and he feels you nod as he presses a soft kiss to your clammy skin. Joel rests the heavy weight of his cock against your entrance, running the head between your folds, bumping your clit and soaking himself with your wetness. He presses himself in to your tight heat and you feel like you’re being split open, wincing at the burn “I know, ‘m sorry darlin’, it won’t hurt for long promise”   

Joel pushes your sweat-damp hair out of your face, big hands cupping your face, open mouth dragging against yours. He tries to distract you with wet kisses to your jaw but when he pushes himself deeper you cry out, hands flying to claw at his hips, stopping him from moving any further. 

“We can stop” Joel mutters into your open mouth but you give a quick shake of your head 

“No. I’m okay, I’ll be okay” The feeling is foreign, neither his fingers or tongue could’ve prepared you for the stretch of his cock, nor the desperate ache that settled deep inside you, the one you know only Joel can satisfy. 

You can feel him throbbing inside you, and it’s taking everything in him to hold still

“Eyes on me darlin’” Joel orders as he pries your hand off his hip, entwines his fingers with yours, and pins your hand to the mattress. Your eyes meet through the darkness and there’s a softness in Joel’s eyes you wish you could bottle and keep.

You tense up in anticipation of Joel’s next movement, squeezing your cunt around Joel’s cock

“Fuckin’ Christ  darlin’, y’gotta relax, just relax” you will your body to relax, to release the squeezing of your core, “that’s it, doin’ so good, you’re doin’ so good. Takin me so well” and yes, you keen at his praise, the throb of arousal in your stretched cunt is heavenly and Joel takes your moment of distraction to sink the rest of his length into you. 

“Fuck” you whimper, the sharp stretch shocks you, eyes widening.

He shudders a breath above you, “‘m sorry, ‘m so sorry”

“So big Joel. ‘T  hurts” you practically sob and the sound breaks his heart in ways he didn’t expect. Joel breaks eye contact first, fixing his eyes on where you’re currently impaled on his cock. He moves to pull out but you tighten your thighs, keeping him still “No, don’t. Don’t wanna stop. Just give me a minute” you close your eyes and breath in deep through your nose, letting a shaky breath out. 

“Touch yourself,” Joel orders, bringing your hand still clutching his to his mouth, wetting your fingers with his tongue before pressing your fingers against your clit “‘t’ll make you feel better” 

You obey, stroking your bundle of nerves, still sensitive from your previous orgasm “that feel good?” He asks as you tighten involuntarily around him. 

“Yes,” you pause for a moment, continuing to stroke at your clit. Warmth blooms under your fingers, arousal spreading through your body, loosening your muscles, the discomfort subsides, leaving behind a different kind of ache “can you move? Please” 

The way you ask him, with your pleases and thank yous, still so polite despite the harsh world you live in, it’s innocent and sweet, and he loves it. It activates something primal in him, some deep desire to protect you, to please you. To pleasure you. 

Joel settles his knees wide on the mattress, pulling his cock from your depths before pushing back in slowly, when you don’t stop him he repeats the action. “shit darlin’, so fuckin’ tight”, and he’s not wrong, the girth of his cock is stretching you in ways you’ve never been before, you can feel every vein, every ridge, every goddamn fucking inch as he works himself in and out of you. It’s steady, controlled, almost gentle, the way he rolls his hips, leaving enough space between you for your fingers to continue working your clit, not that you need the distraction anymore. 

He could cum right there, your aching cunt absolute bliss around him. The whine that leaves your throat is of pleasure not pain and the tightness in his chest borders on uncomfortable. He’s done this before, he’s experienced, he’s had women screaming his name but nothing compares to the breathy sound of his name leaving your lips. You’re so sweet, eyes fluttering, fingers ghosting across the skin of his hips, the softness of his belly, the firm muscles of his chest and his broad shoulders. 

You could pretend, wrapped up in Joel like this, that it’s not the end of the world, that this comfy bed in this nicely decorated house is yours and Joel’s. You pretend, just for a minute, as he’s fucking himself into you, that he’s yours. Your hands reaching to wrap around his back, nails scratching at the muscles working beneath the skin, it’s intimate.

You feel his pace falter, “‘m close darlin’” he mumbles into the thick air above you, “fuck, y’gotta come for me baby, come on” it sounds like he’s begging and you find that you quite like the sound of Joel begging, especially when he’s begging you to cum for him.  

He can see you’re close, legs twitching, breathing heavy, he can feel the tell-tale flutters in your cunt and he knows “what d’ya need?” He pants, chasing your high, no care or regard for his own anymore, he just wants you to get there. 

“Joel, I need mo-” he drives himself into you deeper, tilting his hips to rub his cock against your sweet spot. With fluttering eyes and heaving chest you whine a tight “that’s it” fingers working furiously at your clit, hips rocking down as you meet his thrusts “Joel, yes” you groan, the sound reverberating in your chest. 

He feels your cunt squeeze him “tha’s it, good girl”, he needs to stop or he’ll cum but you don’t care, continuing to rock your hips, thrusting down forcefully against him, cock reaching deeper than you thought possible and you tense, muttering a “fuck” as you cum hard around him. You can’t comprehend that this is what it feels like, the violent quivering of your muscles, tight and squeezing. Fuck, you don’t want to let this feeling go, Joel’s cock buried so deep inside you it hurts, you never want to cum without this ever again. 

Joel gives a few tight thrusts, “Shit, what a sight” He has to pull out, he can’t cum inside you, can’t take the risk but the rhythmic pulsing of your walls is dragging him kicking and screaming to the edge.  You let out a breathy “inside Joel, inside,” the way you say his name sends a shiver down his spine, but the way you moan the softest “please” has him cumming, cock twitching violently, hips rocking, pushing his release deeper. 

His mouth meets yours roughly, ragged groans escaping between harsh kisses as he continues to pump inside you. He can’t remember the last time he came this hard, beyond satisfied and completely drained but he still can’t break his lips from yours. The kiss is soft now, tender and lazy, something close to loving. His sweaty weight above you is grounding, bringing you back to reality. 

Joel groans and drops his forehead to your chest, cock still buried deep you can sense his reluctance to part from you, you tangle your fingers in his hair, allowing him to rest against you. He stays for a minute or two before groaning, aging knees and shoulders protesting as he hovers over you. 

He moves slowly, dragging his softening cock out from your over sensitive heat and you moan low in the back of your throat as he disappears, returning from the en-suite with a damp towel, 

“There’s warm water” he mumbles as he wipes the towel gently between your legs. You hum contentedly, your tired body drowsy and dopamine drunk. You briefly think about the long hot shower you’re going to take in the morning when the bed dips next to you and Joel reaches for you, rolling you into his side, your head on his chest. If you had more energy you’d say something but the gentle caress of Joel’s thumb behind your ear and the slow thump of his heartbeat quickly has your eyes closing and your breath steadying. 

“Was that” Joel pauses, what, good? All right? Just okay? he thinks it’ll kill him if it was bad for you

“Good, it was good” you offer him a soft smile “thank you” 

“Christ darlin’ so fuckin’ polite” he can feel himself stirring again beneath the sheets, and fuck he’s depraved, he’s convinced you could make him cum just by saying please. 

Joel must think you’re asleep and you feel it more than you hear it, his whispered admission of “love you” spoken into your hair as he presses soft kisses to the top of your head. 

𝐉𝐎𝐄𝐋 𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐑 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

[dev1lm4n]

familiar face

ko-fi | series masterlist

pairing: porn star!joel miller x f!reader

summary: you're wicked fantasies' number one fan, who would've guessed that he'd be a part of your host family.

word count: 3.9k

warnings: explicit (18+), pre-apocalypse, masturbation, internet porn, age gap (joel's in his mid 30's and reader is in her early 20's), reader is an exchange student but nationality is not mentioned

notes: this is set on 2013 like the game, but characters are potrayed like how they did in the series. send me a req or chat me!

To say you’re obsessed would be an understatement to the severity of your addiction. 

Enslaved to this certain habit of yours, your mind was wrapped around it like a wrapper to a gas station lollipop. Tacky and overzealous. A constant revolting urge that needed relieving, tension that made guts throb and lungs squeaking out for dear life when not pleased. This addiction of yours wasn’t as customary as slender rolls of cigarettes and weed brownies, it was a little odd and shameful to admit to. Still, it was a part of you. Even when you’d rather shuffle it into a dark corner than be confronted by it.

You couldn’t remember how it all started, but it seems to have taken on a life of its own. Would it be shameless if you openly admit that you always open up a schedule for it? It became a routine. Perhaps the unfinished papers, the impossibly low marks, and the frequent suffering was what drove you to it. It served as an easy release. No hassle. No awkward ha-ha-has and faking ah-ah-ahs. No mindless chattering over football or the current state of the government to earn what you truly want: a good fucking orgasm.

This addiction comes in the form of a man. 

A man who exists within the confines of your 13-inch laptop. More precisely, within a specific site that begins with the abbreviation for pornography and ends with hub.

Your eyes cruised over the edge of your lousy laptop, which still continues to emit a weird helicopter noise despite your latest visit to a technician, to find the time. To your pleasure, it marked precisely 11 PM, the exact time in which you promised yourself to put an end to your essay despite how unmethodical it looked. A silent smile made its way to your lips as your cursor quickly pressed the x button, before surely making its way to create a new tab.

“P”

Just the single letter quickly brought up your most frequent website. A simple website predominantly black with splashes of yellow accents, though what was exceptionally appealing was the instant stimuli given from the front page. Your eyes twinkled like a starved pervert. What greeted your eyes first was a lady facing your way. Preppy rounded glasses with a shade of mauve lipstick you’re quite fond of, dressed in what you could only assume to be a dollar tree medical gown. She looked like she’s in pure bliss, like the curved cock stuffing her cunt was enough to leave her boneless. “Creepy Doctor Convinces Young Asian Medical Intern to Fuck to Get Ahead” - what an odd title you remark internally.

You scrolled lower with two fingers on the track pad as if it’d get interesting - you knew it wouldn’t, but you couldn’t help feeling curious at what other people jerk off to. “Amateur FOURSOME have FUN. Rough, wet, & sloppy” was what caught your eyes next by the sheer visual it played out as a preview. Two girls were slobbering on two separate weeping cocks. Blinding porn lighting harsh against their faces as they forced their heads down it with overdone expressions. You knew it didn’t feel good. Not when he’s rubbing her labia like a DJ. Not when he’s pistoning in her like he’s a horse in heat with no tempo whatsoever. Were you being way too tough on porn production? Unreasonably so.

Just like you’re programmed in your line of codes, you typed out his channel next.

“Wicked Fantasies”

His channel popped up on top with 150K subscribers, 4.1K friends, and 50.7M video views. For a minute, your mind raced to imagine if you’d stood out to him compared to the rest of his 149.999 subscribers. If he'd like you. If you're pretty enough to join his selected pick of co-stars. It’s stupid, you’re painfully aware, to fantasize about getting personal with a porn actor. You shook the silly thought away immediately as you slowly glided your fingers across your touchpad to admire his works. He was just so.. breathtaking in every single video despite the lack of face in some. A diverse line of co-stars - pale, tanned, dark - did nothing but help put his devilish charms forth.

You let your fingers stroke the inside of your thigh, the part that’s lightly exposed. It’s shameful to admit that you’ve watched all his videos, but you did. Each and every one of them with no fail. Despite the familiarity, every footage presented on his page does nothing but rile you up, sending you to a frenzied madness. You let out a small longing sigh. Your gentle fingers slowly brush over the thin material of your panties, over your throbbing hole, feeling the moisture grow there.

“20 year old Babysitter takes a rough fucking for extra cash Watch her face when it goes in!” appealed to you more than anything. Partially because you’d wish you could babysit his children if it meant you’d be able to get that kind of method of transaction, you practically salivate at the thought alone. The preview played. Short clips compiled together to compel watchers and god damn was it working. Your breath grew shallow as if the oxygen surrounding you was as good as solid matter. Still, you worked your way down the page to evaluate all your options thoroughly.

“Please cum in my pussy. Sweet May earns a huge creampie after a deep sensual fucking” was what you settled with. His promise was what drew you in, to cum in her pussy and show his masterpiece. The way you clicked onto the title was feverish, even more when you had it on full screen. Your laptop was cushioned on a haphazard of pillows, allowing you to get into a more accommodating position. You laid on your side, before shuffling off your shorts from the waist band. A nervous puff of air barely escaped your lips as you clicked play.

The video ran.

Your throat bobbed nervously.

His videos were always edited in a way that shows his age. Cursive letters noting down his and his co-star’s name - with a font you knew only people over the age of thirty would use - entered your screen for a split second before it quickly cuts off to another scene. What you could only describe as a reassuring grunt seeped through your cable earphones and onto your nerve receptors, causing your hole to twitch impatiently.

You could see him clearly now.

Well, not all that clear, but you could see his half hard cock prodding the girl’s soft lips. Her dirty blonde hair framed her face prettily as she took him in with such expertise. He molded her mouth to the shape of his cock - slow but sure - right to the very hilt, before pulling her back out. A sloppy wet trail left behind to gleam under the dim lights. It’s incredibly sensual, none of the obviously fake porny moans in motion, and it left you wondering if he’d morph your chaste mouth to the size of his as well. Would he like that? 

Another scene cuts through the view. This time he was gently running his calloused fingers down her core, barely over the thick stripe of hair, then it went over her hip bone and back to her thighs. May, who you knew by heart from all the videos she had with him, didn’t say a word. Not even a small hitch in her breath. If you were there, you’d sure to be a whimpering mess just by him touching. Just by that throaty chuckle he lets out when he's amused.

You’re five minutes into the video when he finally relieved you of your suffering. He was on his knees, bending her pliant body down on her fours. His large hands gripped over the skin on May’s hip for support as he sheathed himself in one go. It went deep, you know that for sure from the way she let out a satisfied moan. Her face contorted when he pulled back and thrusted all the way in once more. You could feel it now; the way your pelvis spasmed at the sight even when you’re barely hovering your palm over your clothed center. She was the one getting fucked, but you could feel his phantom thrust pounding slowly. Over and over again.

He was cut off right by the shoulder, but he made an appearance when he slightly leaned down to gather her hair into a loose bundle and he was a dream. Dark hair with light speckles of grays you could barely make out from the quality of the video. His brown eyes pierced into the camera - as if he’s watching your needy expression, making fun of the way you couldn’t help but rub your fingers over your sensitive nub because God does it feel good. It sent shivers right down your spine,  

You were entirely sure he was trying to edge you, because the next scene had you bucking your knees forward to add that extra pressure. He had May down on her back with his camera hovering over her, capturing the way in which he forced his way in. His ruddy tip nudged her hole as if it was a gentle knock to a neighbor’s door. It wasn’t enough anymore, you had to pull your panties to the side. With your bare cunt exposed, you gently tapped your clit with the tip of your finger, feeling the sensitivity start to build at the directness.

Your unoccupied hand slowly slipped under your shirt, tracing over your oversensitive skin before it nestled around your nipple, squeezing and running your fingers right on the center of the hardened lump. May didn’t even resemble you, but you could fantasize yourself in her position. He abandoned the camera spotlighting his close-ups to bend her in a nicer position. With her legs up together facing the ceiling above them, in order to create a nice tightness for him to make use of. May bit her thumb in exchange. A chorus of soft, feather-light feminine moans followed his every move. You could hear him now, breathing terribly unstable as he found a way to insert himself deeper.

“Such a smart girl,” he whispered.

He had her in a mating press. His large forearm supported the rock of his hips and you obsessed over it, how it’d perhaps feel when he held her by the thighs. How it’d feel if it found its way around your neck to constrict it, to choke you as he bullied his cock in your leaking pussy. You let your pointer finger spread the slickness down your heat, making its rounds around your clit, before probing it right inside. Just one because that's all you managed to get confident in. The cushy feeling was way too familiar for you and you wished it was someone else’s finger - maybe a larger one like Wicked Fantasies’ - but you’re well grateful with yours.

“Yeah. You like it deep?”

He asked with that Texan twang of his. The teasing lilt of his voice does well to compliment the skillful way in which he stretched May’s hole. You could barely see him in frame, but you’d catch glimpses of his boyish grin each time. It drove you to pump your finger faster, In and out, in and out, steady to the way he moved his hips.

“You feel it in your tummy?”

He attempted once again, but the helpless girl could only moan out a barely there response. You were reacting frantically though. So turned on by the sight alone that you had to dig your canines onto the tender skin of your hand. You wanted him so badly, it’s making you spill all over. Slick ran down your thighs to your unmade bed, drool spread across your hand as you continued to muffle out your pathetic noises.

“Please cum in my pussy,” May could hardly whimper. The desperation in her voice made you grind your pelvis onto your palm in an equally desperate manner.

“You want me to cum in your pussy? Want me to fill you up?”

Yes, please, please fill me up, plagued your mind. You curled your fingers inside, a pathetic attempt to stroke that sweet spot inside. 

Over and over again as the man in the video groaned lowly. When he let out an almost animalistic growl to end his rodeo, you faltered quickly. Your leg twitched as your orgasm began to taper. Quickly like a full sweep on a bowling course, knocking down all that’s left of your dignity. You managed to keep your voice low, but you couldn’t say the same about the absurd amount of wetness soiling your bed sheets. The scene cut off to him showing off his pearlescent load deep inside of her and it almost made you cum a second time.

Wicked Fantasies had 149.999 other subscribers, but you’re sure you were the filthiest out of all of them.

Austin was nothing like you’d expect. The vibrant blue van you’ve rode in for an entire day or so slowly rolled to a stop in front of a classic suburban home. Empty roads and loud calls of cockerels audible even from within the confines of metal walls. The van’s engine hummed softly as it idled, tinted windows reflecting the honeyed rays of the morning sun. This was your stop. A house of character with an eye-catching letter eleven hammered sloppily down the porch, a lone pick-up truck parked right down the center, and a red mailbox that was stuffed to the very brim with spam.

As you stepped out, you were quickly enveloped by warm air, causing beads to form evidently on your forehead. The humid climate was a good reminder that you’ve stepped into another realm, a new page to your life which held Texas’ scorching sun and faint whiffs of leather. You looked rather.. constipated standing on the very end of the driveway. Like a knock-off salesman with a large tote slung over your left shoulder and a suitcase tight against your right. The look on your face didn’t help either, a concoction of sleep deprived and nervous.

You willed yourself to march towards the front porch.

That went well.

What came next was to knock and you swore you get entirely weak in the knees when the realization came sweeping in.

After a series of pacing back-and-forth and tugging at both ends of your lips to train a polite smile on, you knocked on the large front door. Once. Twice. Then, one last time. Wooden doors always sound incredibly heavy and imposing, you cringed at the mere sound.

A few hurried thuds echoed to where you’re standing and you’ve never felt more desperate to make a run for it before someone made it to the front door. What if they’re a sleazy nasty couple who’d want to traffic you into some weird foot-fetish chain? What if they’re a pair of delusional flat earth believers that unironically declined the existence of climate change? What if-

The door swung open in one grand motion. 

You had always been a pessimist - the world always seems to fuck you up in the most creative way possible - but what met your gaze was a young girl. Her hair was like coils of pure earth, softly reflecting the light of the sun; each curl trembled subtly in a humid breeze, a compliment to her doe eyes. She greeted you with a gentle smile. One that speaks language the two of you understood without fail. In return, you tilted your head in a friendly manner as you adorned a sheepish look.

“Hey. You’re the exchange student, right? Come inside!” She invited you in with an astonishing amount of energy considering it’s barely past six. “I’ve been waiting for you all morning, y’know.”

You nodded surely as you awkwardly shimmied your way around her lithe figure. It’s taking all of you to not do a full head-to-toe scan of what she looks like out of sheer curiosity, but you thrive in the short glances you could catch of her. Was she the daughter in this family? It’d be nice to have someone you could relate to, maybe.. maybe you could even paint your nails together and relish in fun girly activities.

“Sorry. Our van broke down on the highway,” you gave your lousy excuse.

“No need. My dad’s not even up yet,” she spoke with a small sigh. Her long fingers massaged circles on her knotted temple as if emphasizing her irritation. “Just put your bags down here. I’ll sort ‘em out for you this afternoon.”

With her confirmation in mind, you pushed your suitcase over to one side of the hallway, along with the tote which weighed more than you do. Without the accessories you’ve been holding onto from the very start of your trip, you felt naked and exposed. Unsure of how to position your arms and legs. It wasn’t a good look, but you stood entirely still like a Barbie display. Both of your eyes stared down at the younger girl as she swayed her hips to the light music, cooking up something skillfully with the flip of her hand.

“What’s your name?”

“Sarah. Sarah Miller. I know what yours is from my dad,” she looked over her shoulder cheekily.

“Sarah’s a nice name.”

“Is it? I think it sounds aggressively Texan. Like I’d go yeehaw, howdy young lady with cowboy boots and a good plaid shirt on,” she chuckled. “Oh and then I’d lasso you real good.”

Her remarks were as refreshing as a summer breeze even when they’re a tad bit snarky. You already knew that she’s going to get along incredibly well with you. Witnessing her shimmy her shoulders carelessly made you unaware of the heavy thump steadily making its way down the stairs.

“There’s the genius who landed me the name,” Sarah whistled out, pulling you out of your hazy daze.

You turned your head in a one-eighty motion, every last inch of self-control being betrayed at the motion of being finally able to see the man who’d house you. The head of the house who’d you continue to see for the rest of the year. There was a lot of expectation you bore on your shoulders, but what fell beneath your eyes exceeded everything. You weren’t even doing a good job in pretending you’re not entirely taken aback, wide-eyes bulged out of your sockets and you looked more like a cartoon sheep more than anything.

He was beautiful. 

“Hey, babygirl,” he greeted Sarah with that rugged voice of his. You could hear the weight of his step as he made his way over to his daughter. Every move that he made, even the part where he hastily tucked his shirt in his worn-out jeans, made your blood drain. At his arrival, he wrapped his large forearm around her shoulders before landing a sweet kiss on top of her head.

“Our guest has arrived, hm?”

“Yes. You were rude not to greet her in front of our door,” Sarah protested openly as she took hold of the plates she cooked up. She made a double trip from the kitchen to the dining table for the first time in forever since they’re finally upgrading to a three person party.

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart,” he offered her a gentle apology before taking a seat in front of the piping hot plates. His legs spread out enough to occupy two leg spaces, though he was left in a masculine position that was charming enough to have you forgive the action. Sarah placed a carton of orange juice on the table aggressively. Some of the containings spurted out and left a pooling mess right by his plate.

“No coffee for you today, dad,” she huffed. Sarah was impatient in starting her breakfast, cutleries already in hand as she dug into the charred sausages.

That was until she realized that you were still standing there on the edge of the room, as out-of-place as ever, looking down at the two as if you’re watching a live sitcom show.

“You’re invited to breakfast too, y’know,” she laughed good-naturedly.

“Oh yeah. Sorry,” you muttered out a brief apology at that before making your way over to the empty seat between the two Millers.

For once, you hoped Sarah wasn’t observant enough to notice the way in which you had your eyes stuck to Mr. Miller’s face with every step that you took. He had the kind of face that stopped people in their tracks. You guessed he must get used to that, the sudden pause in a person's natural expression when they looked his way followed by overcompensating with a weak, embarrassed smile. It didn't help that he wasn’t so modest with it. You weren’t sure if you’re imagining things, but you swore his every movement held intention. What his intention was you couldn’t figure out just yet.

“So you’re in your third year of college?” He attempted small talk. You knew it was small talk, but the way he looked in your eyes with such grave intensity had you faltering.

“Yeah. I am.”

“Thought I’d bring a college gal in to bring good influence to this naughty daughter of mine,” he grinned. “She’s been slackin’ off as of lately.”

Sarah beamed him a petulant pout, in which he responded with a handsome smile. His dark brown hair bounced around seamlessly and for a second, just for a split second, he looked rather.. familiar. Was he an old neighbor of yours by chance?

“What d’ya major in?”

“Computer science. I know. Real nerdy, but I swear I’m not a nerd,” you explained before stuffing your mouth with a generous amount of scrambled eggs.

“I don’t know. You’re not all that believable,” Sarah teased. “Bet you read weird comic books for a hobby.”

You jutted out your lips playfully at her response, which earned a hearty set of snickers from your side. Mr. Miller was thoroughly amused by the banter you’ve played out in front of him and in response, blessed you with an array of gruff chuckles. One in which you swore you’ve heard before. The memory was right there on the back of your head, but you could barely reach out for it at the moment.

“Such a smart girl,” he spoke mindlessly.

It was the exact phrase that made your mind slot in the last piece of puzzle to what you’ve been searching for, a reason of why you think he was oddly familiar when you knew for a fact that he lived miles away from you. You weren’t hallucinating, nor were you delusional. 

You knew him.

Far better than you knew anyone else.

He was the man you’ve been watching every day of the week, whether in the depth of the evening or the early mornings. He was the exact man you’ve fantasized for years on end, stuffing your pussy with your fingers or even your toothbrush if you’re feeling adventurous to the thought of him ravaging you. You knew every part of his body, every beauty mark and calluses. You knew which things he liked the most, how he enjoyed being licked on his tip or how he enjoyed plunging into the very hilt. You knew the noises and praises he’d let out.

You knew him in the foulest manner possible.

“Are you okay?” Sarah’s voice brought you back into the real world. The world in which you’re sitting across your porn star crush, eating a good plate of breakfast as if everything is normal. 

“Yeah,” you breathed out the palpable tension.

“Yeah. I’m okay.”

pls reblog n comment if u enjoyed this!

[roseglazedlens]

⦑ THE FUCKING DEAD ⦒ 𝐁𝐨𝐲’𝐬 𝐕𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧

➠ series masterlist | ⏪prologue | 🔃girl's route | ⏩resolution |

𝐒𝐌𝐔𝐓┇𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐑𝐎𝐑┇𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐊𝐅𝐈𝐂┇𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐎𝐒𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐀𝐃𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐄 LEON S. KENNEDY X AFAB GN! READER CARLOS OLIVEIRA X AFAB GN! READER synopsis: Leon, Carlos, and you, ventures into the laboratory downstair to investigate the mysterious gas. Something about the place doesn't sit well with you... content: 𝐒𝐌𝐔𝐓 𝐌𝐃𝐍𝐈, 𝐃𝐔𝐁𝐂𝐎𝐍, canon-typical violence, zombie fucking, threesome, love triangle, positions (doggy, cowgirl, eiffel tower), double penetration (one hole), oral (m receiving), throatpie (extreme), creampies (extreme), grinding (a lot), face-fucking, swallowing, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, gaping, frotting, masturbation (reader), use of restraints (handcuffs), impregnation kink, degradation kink, corruption kink, breeding, cum inflation, womb fucking, body indentation, fingering, zombie transformation, body worship, body horror, cumdump, mutual(?) pining. mentions of: sexual experiments, medical syringes, disagreements, fist fights, wounds (graphic), blood (a lot), firearms, knives, & death. a/n: thank you all of you sweethearts for waiting on & supporting this series, it means so deeply to me, really. my recommended order is to read girl's route before this to build tension, but it is optional (though appreciated). lots of plot in this installment, enjoy!!! « 12.2 k words | general masterlist | ao3 | reblogs appreciated! »

Your objective today—retrieve the concentrated sample from Arias’ mansion and escape.

And so far, things have been smooth sailing. A bit too smooth sailing. In the span of three hours with you and your team in this freakish mansion, not an enemy appears in your sight. Nothing formidable or sentient anyway, just stray zombies along your path that you silently eliminate without mercy and afterthought. This is nothing to you—after all, you have survived countless zombie outbreaks prior to this, and that had ingrained you with reflexes and level-headedness to combat any feat.

Thoughts about the saferoom, again, drifts into the back of your mind. You recall a constant hiss whispering from the vents, and a brooding gas before dispersing into thin air—seemingly left the five of you unscathed. You have suspicions that this may be an ambush, but of what kind?

It never hurts being too careful in this line of work, especially with bioweapons. One wrong move, and it’s game over. No re-dos or second chances. Despite your reluctance to split up into two teams, you agree to join Leon and Carlos to seek the laboratory downstairs—which Rebecca suspects to be the source of the gas—and find the cause of this unexplained mystery.

There are no lamps in the hallway leading to laboratory, only the full moon illuminating the silent, cramped corridor. You smell death on the floors, the mould deafening your nose with a hint of what smells like rot in all four corners. The walls are lined with formal sitting down portraitures of Arias, Arias’ father, and his father before, dating back to the first Arias in the 1800s. Then, the paintings repeat, over and over down this bottomless stretch of wallpaper.

“How’re you holding up?” Leon approaches you from your side, a palm resting on his forehead and on yours to check your temperature.

Ever since you contracted a slight cough, Leon checks on your condition regularly, perhaps more doting than his other teammates. His excuse: “Just making sure my team is safe”. And it makes sense—Leon is a natural protector after all, especially among his friends. He verifies your temperature, normal. Then your pulse, normal enough, perhaps a tad faster than usual.

“For the third time today, I’m good. Eyes forward, Leon.” You roll your eyes to the side, gesturing at the direction in front of him with your Blacktail pistol.

“Just checking in.” Leon lets out a harmless grin, unphased by your cold reaction. His free hand brings itself onto the crown of your head, almost instinctually, threading through strands with slow, loving movements. The ruffling gets your attention, but this time, you don’t dust his hand off your head like you normally would.

He notices this. “Something’s on your mind. What is it?”

“It’s nothing.” You remove his hand from your head, fixing your hair to keep your hands busy in the lie.

“That doesn’t sound like nothing.”

Leon sees through you anyway, like always. He leans in now, close enough that you can feel his breath against the tip of your nose. You peek up, the cerulean in his gaze peeled onto every twitch of your reaction, swimming in the sight of you. A little self-conscious, you clear your throat lightly, but audible enough for Leon to notice how close he is. He backs away in arduous embarrassment.

You change the topic quickly before things turn more awkward from here. “Just thinking about Jill and Ada, that’s all.” And that is the truth, to some degree. Ever since the girls ventured upstairs to Arias’ office, you can’t stop thinking about them.

“Oh, they’ll be fine. I may not trust Ada, but I gave Jill my word.” Leon nods. “I’ve worked with them both—I know they got this.”

Leon does his best to reassure you, and as much as you appreciate the gesture, some part of you can’t shake away this weighted feeling within. There is no reason to doubt their abilities; as they have proven to be beyond competent with their jobs. The five of you have been selected for this mission, for this very reason.

“Yeah.” You agree, albeit a bit forced. “You’re right.”

“That’s the spirit.” Leon’s features relax, chest puffed up slightly in confidence that he can comfort you. His hand comes up to meet you on the cheek, lightly pressing your cheeks together. “Getting so worked up for your friends. It’s really cute when you do that.”

“Yeah sure. You say that with just anything about me.” Leon had called you cute so many times, the word starts to sound like sarcasm.

“Well that’s because I-”

A bare tint of redness creeps onto Leon’s face, barely visible when shaded behind the moonlight. Leon stumbles on the words to explain himself, but before he can tell you them, a hand comes down to press hard on one of his shoulders. Leon breaks his train of thought when he almost falls into his unbalanced leg.

“What about me, pretty boy? Any compliments for me?” Leon turns to find Carlos and his signature smirk. He mutters something underneath his breath, a curse of some sort, and he brushes the hand off his shoulder.

“Haven’t found a thing to compliment you on.” Is Leon’s only snarky response. When it’s not about you, he always finds a comeback effortlessly.

“Oh come on, y’know I’m just joking.” Carlos laughs, slapping a few times against Leon’s back, playful yet hard. “Besides, we know you’re the cute one here, Leon.”

“I’m not cute. And don’t call me pretty boy.” For how often Leon uses the word ‘cute’ on you, he sure hates to be called that.

“You don’t have to get worked up by a nickname, pretty boy. It’s a compliment.”

Leon locks his eyes on Carlos in his razor-sharp gaze, but for some reason, Carlos is relaxed, unthreatened by Leon’s cautions. Until Leon breaks eye contact first in bitter acceptance. “I’d rather not be called that, thanks.”

“Are you sulking? If you want a hug you can just say so, little man.” Carlos brings his arm around Leon’s shoulder, which Carlos knows he despises. Their height and size difference is distinct, and Carlos immediately overpowers Leon in his domineering grip, suffocating Leon just a tiny bit.

“Whatever.” Leon is only able to struggle free when Carlos loosens his grip. Carlos smiles widely while Leon scowls harder.

Things between the two of them had always been unpleasant. With Carlos’ playful dominance and Leon’s stubborn seriousness, their first meeting in Raccoon City immediately hits it off the wrong way. Around you, the duo tries to be cordial to each other, sweeping their disputes under the rug, but it’s no secret to you—resentment always bubbles through.

You toss a stern expression between the two of them, so they surrender from each other’s throats and continue forward in deafening silence, until the three of you finally arrive at the laboratory door. There is a sign: [AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY]. The door is slightly ajar. On the other side of the door, it’s dark.

“Don’t mind if I do.” Carlos walks in first without hesitation. You and Leon follow behind him.

The room reeks of antiseptics, sterilization and behind all of that, the familiar artificial smell that jabs painfully into your nose. You bear with it, letting your flashlight aim forward. A faint blue light glows from a corner of the lab—some sort of lit-up computer screen. The three of you move closer to the light source.

“I’ll go around and find a light switch.” Leon says, and you see the illuminating circle of his flashlight move away from the two of you as it rustles into a different direction.

“Ah shit. My batteries’ flat.” Carlos taps at his dimming flashlight, and it turns off completely. You stand in the darkness, alone, and then you hear a creak. Probably from an appliance somewhere or a trick of wind. But in the shadows, your uneasiness doubles.

“Carlos. Are you there?” No reply.

There’s a brush of air behind you. You convince yourself it’s yet another trick of wind. But this wind, it comes right up on your shoulder, unusually soft and unsuspecting. Then, you feel a presence right beside your ear, tickling your cheeks with its luscious tendrils.

“Boo.”

The sound is no louder than a whisper, but the squeal that flees your lips is bloodcurdling nonetheless. You twist your hips with your entire body weight, swinging the Blacktail in the air out of reflex with the force of your entire elbow. Your other hand readies itself on the hilt of your knife, preparing to unsheathe and attack the figure as another line of protection in case it decides to strike again.

Your gun whiffs in the air, thankfully, missing your target. “Porra! Watch where you swing that.” The darkened figure says.

The fluorescent lights hum into life now as Leon clicks the power switch against the wall. You see Carlos ducking his head behind you. One second too late and you may have wiped the smug grin off his face with the blunt of your pistol—for better or worse. Carlos’ hands fall to his knees, suppressing a deep laugh that rises from his chest.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Carlos! Are you trying to give me a heart attack?” Your let your relieved hands drop from the hilt onto your sides.

“Your heart raced for me, didn’t it?”

“This is lame. Even for you.” You roll your eyes so far back to avoid making contact with his victorious smirk.

“Don’t you mean ‘charming’?”

He brings himself closer, lifting your chin up with his thumb and index fingers so your eyes are forced to meet with his. The audacity of it all makes your grimace crack into an unwilling grin, corner of your lips upturning with a will of its own. “You wish, Carlos.”

“Hell yeah, made you smile.”

You force yourself to grimace again. “Keep your mouth shut, or I’m gonna hit you for real this time.”

“Well, d’you feel better now?”

Carlos relaxes into your gaze, eyelids drooping and hazel irises dilating. Despite almost being scared out of your wits mere seconds ago, your nerves are now easing, heartbeat regulating into a constant pattern. You are grateful to have Carlos as your companion. He can warm up a room in a heartbeat, always finding ways to make everyone comfortable. And to you, that’s no exception.

“Thanks.” Carlos grins, cockier than usual, so you correct yourself. “Though your methods are terrible.”

What you didn’t notice is Leon already stalking towards the two of you, awfully curious what kind of exchange you two are having that requires such loving glances. Leon’s eyes set himself on top of Carlos first, arm reaching around your waist to pull you closer to him without speaking a single word.

“Having a good talk?” Leon doesn’t break eye contact with Carlos when he closes his fingers around your waist, catching you off guard.

“Uh ha- hey, Leon.” You feel Leon’s grip tighten, and something is telling you not to irritate him any further. Unfortunately, Carlos does not share the same sentiment.

“Take it easy, pretty boy. You upset?” Carlos lets out a chuckle, whether his intentions are to provoke or to jest, you aren’t quite sure.

“No—not at all.” But Leon’s word contradicts his actions, seemingly moving you ever so slightly away from Carlos. Leon cocks up his head, puffing out his chest to channel his larger frame, even if it only make him just a few inches shy to match Carlos in height.

“Just a bit of harmless fun, that’s all.” Carlos shrugs his shoulders, casting a wink to your direction. “Isn’t that right, sweetheart?”

“That’s enough, dickhead.” With eyes burning with a fury, Leon tugs at Carlos’ neckline, forcing him to look eye to eye. But Carlos feels no intimidation. In fact, his stance is open, slapping himself on the chest a few times to taunt his anger.

And that’s all it takes for Leon to throw the first punch. He aims his swing directly at Carlos’ face, too sudden, that neither you nor Carlos is expecting it. Carlos manages to bring his arm forward just in time to block it, taking the impact of the blow on the sides of his forearms. Carlos merely smiles in amusement like it didn’t hurt, but the spot already starts to redden.

After the first hit lands, Leon raises his fist again, unsatisfied. You quickly put yourself in between the two, stopping the fight before more injuries occur. “Enough!”

Leon pauses, of course, he would kill himself first before he hurts you in any shape or form. His fist hovers in the air, and it lowers, slow and reluctant.

The boys’ earpiece fizzles into life, and Rebecca is immediate to comment about the duo.

“What’s going on between you two? Do I need to have a word with Jill?” Rebecca lectures in her teacher voice, so loud that you can hear it through their earpieces. Nobody messes with Jill. She can, and will, teach them a lesson in less than savoury means. Leon releases Carlos by the collar, casting him aside that manages to falter Carlos’ footsteps.

“Anything but that.” Leon smooths his own shirt as he pleads for his innocence.

“You’re taking this too far, Rebecca. We don’t have to resort to violence.” Carlos too, the first real fear of the night flashes between his eyes.

“Good. Promise to behave.” Rebecca says. “Such big babies, I swear to god.”

“Speaking of Jill, haven’t heard from Jill and Ada in a minute.” She thinks out loud, before closing with a final remark. “I’ll get in contact with them. Good luck, three of you. Don’t cause trouble.”

The line closes, and with the lights turned on now, the three of you start to explore the laboratory. This time, nobody messes around after heeding Rebecca’s warning, focusing on the task at hand.

The big lamp flickers, ticking like some sort of timer, as the three of you enter the space. It looks weirdly futuristic, floors polished so clean that it reflects everything above, making you see double. Lined against the walls, you find workstations, refrigerators, and foreign machines (a dispenser perhaps?) that doesn’t quite make sense to you. In the centre, illuminated by a ring of fluorescent lights, displays a gas tank triple the size of you, like a strange kind of monument.

A gas funnels out the top shaft, hoisting the substance into the vents up above, presumably, to the safe room where the five of you were. As you approach the control panel, the synthetic, nasty smell overwhelms you so much you have to clutch your nose. You press the red square button. The tank stops rumbling, and no more gas runs out from the other end.

“This must be how they did it.” Leon comments, pacing around the cylinder to read the labels on it, but the ink had been melted into illegibility. “I can’t read any of the labels.”

“So you were right, pretty boy. It’s an ambush.” Carlos says. They had known that the five of you are coming. But for how long?

You think this through. If this is an ambush, why had there been no attack? There must be a reason the three of you are standing on your feet right now, and not becoming zombie fodder in Arias’ schemes. “Nothing about this makes sense.”

Leon nods in agreement, but there is still more in this room they haven’t investigated yet. He walks into the direction of the monitor screen. “Maybe we can find more info here.” The two of you follow.

A team works here, or at least used to, with how loose paper scatters across the floor and the aftermath of test tubes fallen into thousands of pieces, ruining the surface of the station with corrosive liquid. Whoever worked here had to evacuate, fast. And it didn’t seem that long ago either.

Leon clicks with the mouse a few times, and it boots up, flickering into life. He enters the first profile, and to no one’s surprise, he reads: “It’s password protected.” You tsk out loud, bumping your fist on the desk with slight frustration. “Please scan employee card for access.” The scanner pad lights up.

“Where are we gonna find an access card?” Leon asks.

Carlos looks around the laboratory, and behind the tank, he sees a double glass window looking into a separate, contained room—an interrogation room of some sort. A labcoat figure lies in the centre of that room, and in front of her chest, a lanyard prints a single word in bold: STAFF. Bloodstains surround the figure; the woman lays limps on the medical bed. Maybe even dead.

“Score.” You and Leon turn around and join Carlos in front of the glass window.

“I don’t like this at all.” You say, can’t help but notice the blood looks fresh.

“Sounds like someone’s scared.” Carlos is quick to pick on you, entertained by how your grip is putting pressure onto your Blacktail, shaking ever so slightly.

“Ha. You wish.” You quickly straighten yourself up. “Bold of you to think you can scare me twice.”

“Oh don’t worry. I won’t resort to cheap tricks like that. But if you’re scared, you can always jump into my arms.” Carlos jokes, but you know enough to tell there is always a bit of truth behind his playful demeanour. You roll your eyes in response, determined to not give him a reaction that will set you up for more teasing.

“That’s enough, Carlos.” Leon brings his hand down right between the two of you, a little furrowed eyebrow hangs on his face. “You’re going too far.”

“Unless you want to take one for the team, pretty boy?” Carlos’ eyes land on Leon, and there it is again, the spark of hatred. It quickly dissolves as they slowly recall Rebecca’s threat.

“We shouldn’t separate. Let’s go in together. That guarantees our best chance of survival.” Leon, of course, comes up with the most logical answer. But Carlos is anything but logical right now. He wants to see Leon tremble in fear.

“C’mon pretty boy. You afraid?”

Leon hesitates for a second; his pride not allowing him to refuse the challenge. Especially not to a guy like Carlos. There is something in Leon that wants to prove himself in front of you. “Fine. Just no funny business, Oliveira.”

“Oh, you flatter me.” Carlos holds the door open for Leon, mocking a condescending bow just to add fuel to the fire. Leon hesitates one more time before moving. He thinks to himself: in spite of their disagreements, Carlos is not the type to sabotage the team. Still, that isn’t his main concern. Leon is more worried about what Carlos will do to you without him there.

“Aww, miss me already?” Carlos provokes.

Against his better judgement, Leon steps in the room with resolution. The heavy door closes behind him. A faint click of metal hinges come together resonate from the other side. There is a tiny exposed window at the door for Leon to see through. He mouths and gestures the word from the soundproof room: “I’ll be watching you.”

Carlos smiles. “Watch me as much as you want.”

LEON

The interrogation room is bright, clinically so. The walls are tiled with white, and there is nothing else in the room but the medical bed in the centre. It certainly doesn’t look like a room used for interrogations, but more of an experiment chamber, for isolation and observation by researchers from the other side of the screen. Just being in the room sends a shiver up Leon’s spine.

The lone researcher on the bed starts to growl, waking from its slumber, and rushes forward to attack Leon with its twisted, crushed fingers. Leon draws his CQBR assault rifle and takes out the zombie’s head. It collapses onto the floor harshly as Leon swaps out his magazine.

“H-Help…” The researcher groans, before her head plops onto the cold, bleached tiles.

A moment of weakness overcomes Leon as the zombie speaks. He momentarily forgets that he is fighting a zombie; did he just shoot a human? But it definitely looked like a zombie—lifeless skin and erratic movement—there’s no doubt about it. Yet at the zombie’s death, it speaks like a human uttering their final breath. And were those tears running down his cheeks? Leon had never seen a zombie like this.

He checks the body one more time to make sure it’s dead. There is no movement. He rolls the body to face the ceiling, so the lanyard can be easily removed around her neck. Upon close inspection, that is when Leon realises the body is stark naked underneath the lab coat. What kind of experiments is Arias doing here?

There isn’t any time to waste or to contemplate about the dead. Leon looks away from the body out of respect, covering it up. When he circles the lanyard over her head, something falls on the floor behind her. A gentle thump with something shaking inside. The lady was holding a square case, guarding it with her life. There is a report taped onto the top of the case. Picking it up, Leon reads it:

CATHY WHITE DECEASED Female, Caucasian Success Rate: 48% The latent virus had been injected into the subject prior before moving to Phase 2. The subject’s vitals are normal throughout. On Day 3, prototype [__] (the word is smudged with blood) was released, upon inhaling the smoke, the subject started to show signs of zombie infection. Symptoms include: high pain tolerance, cravings for human flesh, heightened sexual arousals, violent outbreaks, enhanced speed and physical strength. During the transformation, the subject’s breath oozes with pheromones to attract their prey. Handle them with caution. The subject also remained sentient, and when interrogated with their memories, was able to successfully recall events dating back to the subject’s childhood. That makes it possible for them to disguise among other humans. In the final phase, subject is successfully impregnated, however, both the baby and mother died during childbirth. With further investigation, we can refine the virus so the infant may survive. The subject's teeth discharges traces of their blood, using their teeth as a weapon to transmit the virus into a new host. We have provided a cure in this case, to use for emergencies only.

Parts of this document feel very familiar to your current situation. So this zombie—no, this researcher—she’s still conscious? Leon clenches his fist together, heavy guilt coursing through his body for killing a civilian. Yes, even if it was for self-defence, it still guilts at his chest regardless.

Now with overwhelming urgency, Leon needs to find this cure fast. He needs to show you and Carlos this document and watch for all these symptoms.

Leon flips to the next sheet, containing rows and rows of scientific jargon and exact numbers and results to this experimentation. None of this comprehensible to Leon, but perhaps it may be useful for Rebecca. He opens the case underneath it. There is one medical syringe inside. It has a clear substance with a metallic shimmer. There should be another syringe inside, but it’s missing.

So this is the cure? If Leon sends all these data back to Rebecca, she may be able to use this for her research. As Leon thinks about Rebecca, his earpiece lights up, speaking of the devil, and Leon answers the call immediately.

“Rebecca! I found some info on the virus.” Leon says as he pockets the access card, case, and report all into his gear. “There’s some other interesting stuff in here too. I’ll send them over ASAP.”

“We need to talk, Leon.” Rebecca tries to keep her voice calm, but it’s apparent that she had been running around her lab. “Something bad has happened.”

“What’s going on?”

“Jill… Ada… I can’t reach them… I think they’ve turned.”

“Turned? Turned when?”

“I’m not sure.” Urgency floods at her words as she types something hastily in the background. “I think they are. The last thing I heard was something grumbling in the background, like a zombie. Then silence. I can’t reach them anymore.”

“Shit.” Horror sinks into Leon’s face, panic settling into adrenaline. Leon thought he had more time before someone got into danger.

“This is a much aggressive virus, Leon. All of you, get out of there, now.” Rebecca makes another call in the background simultaneously. “I’m sending back-up. Hold on tight.”

“I think I know what caused this. The gas is an ambush. I saw it in the lab report. But how?” Leon thinks with his fingers between his chin.

“Before I lost signal, there was a message. The word ‘water’. Not sure what that means.”

Water. What can this mean? Some kind of water source—A river? Rain? And after a short moment of reasoning, something clicks in Leon’s head. It makes sense now. He knows how Arias had been ambushing them right from the very beginning.

“The water. Of course.” All the evidence is connecting inside Leon’s brain.

“What’s making sense, Leon?” Rebecca almost cries out to snap Leon out of his ‘aha’ moment.

“There’s more than one virus. You have to be infected twice to turn.” Leon reads the report once more, clarifying all the details in his head.

“So you’re talking about some sort of water supply working in conjunction with the gas?” Rebecca asks.

“Yes. If my guess is right.”

“Are you saying Jill and Ada drank the water supply…?”

“Not just Jill.”

Leon spins his head with utmost urgency, hoping that he is wrong. There are only two people who have drank from the water bottles in the safe room, and one of them is presumed dead. Darting across the tiny window through the door, Leon catches something in the corner of his peripheral. The tall muscular figure leaning down; both of his hands cupping your cheek, and Carlos’ lips right on top of yours.

It’s too late.

CARLOS & YOU

Carlos closes the big metal door shut, his hand swiftly going around the lock to secure it in place. That’ll teach Leon a lesson. Don’t worry, he’ll let Leon out when the time comes. But won’t it be so funny to see him struggle the door open? Carlos chuckles devilishly under his breath, and he turns to find you leaning against the tank, watching Leon take down the researcher on the other side.

Even when it’s just the two of you, your eyes somehow always finds its way to Leon. Carlos joins your side, trying not to feel defeated so soon. The two of you stand in silence for a moment, before you abruptly break it:

“You can be a bit nicer to Leon, you know.” You cross your arms as you speak, eyes catching on the clock above the glass that leaps to your attention. The antique décor stands out decadently amongst the futuristic laboratory; its clockface a gold emblem plate of a lyre, a snakehead at each curved end of its arm. You pay no mind to Arias’ strange interior design decisions and return your gaze to Leon.

“Of course you’re on his side.” Carlos sighs through his smile. He follows your sight to stare at whatever you’re looking at too. He can’t tell what you’re thinking through your blank expression.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You toss him a side eye.

“Leon swung first.” Carlos says, massaging at the spot in his arm, bruising a swollen purple. “It hurts you know. Pretty boy is such a heavy-hitter. If I didn’t know better, I’d assume he wanted to knock me out. And hey… If you’ll give me a kiss, it’ll heal faster.”

You ignore Carlos. “You were making comments.”

“And he took those comments personally.” Carlos shrugs; there is no remorse in his eyes. And then he sighs heavily, but not heavy enough to take the weight off his chest. “You have no idea, huh.”

Carlos stands right in front of you, pulling you by your hand, meeting you face to face. You peek at him before looking away flustered. He seems sincere, no longer that playful smile or teasing about kissing you, like there is something he needs to tell you. “Do I have to spell it out to you?” Carlos’ voice is husky yet when he leans in. 

You clear your throat, feet planting to the floor to not let Carlos push into your space any further. Turning your head, you gaze strongly into his eyes. “What’re you talking about?”

“C’mon, can I make this anymore obvious?”

Carlos pulls you into his embrace, cutting off the tension bubbling towards the surface, and wraps his arms around you. His lips crashes onto yours, and his tongue is telling how long Carlos had been wanting you, waiting for you to notice. The kiss is gentle at first, slightly hesitant. After your lips are accustomed to each other, Carlos grows bolder, rolling your bottom lip between his, and you smack your teeth open to taste your tongue against his. It tastes like the soft bud of a candy. Carlos grasps you hard now, pulling you in for a deeper kiss. There is something in that kiss that changes your brain chemistry, almost like magic. Your lips part, taking a heavy breath from the action.

“Is this obvious enough?” Carlos mutters, and you nod obediently.

BANG. BANG. BANG.

The abrupt, punching noise is coming from the door. The knob turns erratically a few times, but it doesn’t click open. Its hinges slams against the lock mechanism. You can hear muffled screaming from the other side.

You should let Leon out, you think, but Carlos traps you in his assertive kiss once more. Both of his hands come around your back, circling them in his tight, comforting hug. Even when your body commands you to move, you can’t. Do you really enjoy the kiss so much?

Leon bangs onto the glass, it doesn’t break; instead, you can hear the hollowed hard thump in front of you. You look at Leon, suddenly guilty for no reason, and your hands come forward to push Carlos away. But your hands are weak in his love.

“Eyes on me, darling.” Carlos takes control of you, peppering kisses on the corner of your lips. What you and Carlos have together isn’t kissing anymore—it’s more like an exploration of tongue, leaving you to gasp for air whenever your lips temporarily parts, just to close them together in his eagerness.

“Leo—” kiss. “—Could’b—” another kiss. “—in troub—”.

Carlos peppers kisses on the corner of your mouth, down your exposed neck ready for him, and into the crook between your shoulder. His curls tickle against you lightly, and you let out a slight giggle as he kisses you down.

“Que pescoço bonito…” Carlos mumbles, his lips softening around your skin. It starts with a light, teasing bite, nothing far of a nibble. All of the sudden, the lovingness mutates into something else, something possessive. He suckles the soft skin between his lips, focusing on a particular spot, and it sends a light pain onto your neck.

“Carlos… I think that’s enough now…” You wince slightly.

But he doesn’t pull away. Worse—Carlos sinks his canines into your skin, ripping out the flesh from within and feeding onto the softness with it a twinkle of joy in his eyes. Pieces of your muscle fall out, blood streaming from the sides of his mouth as Carlos’ head cocks to the air, swallowing his meal in a loud content gulp. You fall to the floor, faint groans muttering in agony; your hands try to press down the wound, but the bleeding just won’t stop.

The door bangs louder. Leon thinks, “fuck it,” as he lunges his entire body weight against the door that holds him hostage in this tiny room. The lock clangs, hinge weakened from the impact, and so Leon spin kicks right underneath the knob and it finally breaks, crashing open outwards.

“The hell is wrong with you!” He resists the urge to pin Carlos against the wall right at this instant. That’s not the time or place now, Leon needs to take you to safety first and foremost.

He sprints towards your direction to pick your fallen self from the floor, blood mixed with flesh crumbs trickling like a muddy stream through the gaps of your fingers, pooling around your head. Leon checks your pulse: You are still breathing, thank goodness for that. But not for long. The forked veins along your wrists starts to darken, until they are fully visible through the river of your arms: you’re turning.

He retrieves the case from his gear, then the syringe. Leon can’t let you turn—not you, anyone else but you. Turning you sideways, he removes the syringe cap, crosses his fingers, and injects it right below your shoulder cap. You start to pant, muffled like something is strangling you in your sleep and eating you out from the inside. The agonised moans escalate louder and louder, until it finally stops.

Leon’s heart tightens. He checks your pulse again, but there is none. The black veins continue to crawl closer inside of you, twisting and turning through the labyrinth to reach your heart’s core.

“Shit, shit, shit! The cure isn’t working.” Leon throws the empty syringe across the floor, and it breaks into shards on the floor. “C’mon. Stay with me. Please.”

As if his pleas have been heard, your hand rises, coming on top of his hand. Leon lets out a sigh of relief for a second, before your fingers tighten with the strength of a bear on top of his clenched fist, digging your claws into it. Your eyes fly open, and Leon sees your irises dilating so far it turns hollow, void of colour and soul.

“Leon…” Your words tear through his heart in a million different ways.

“Not you too.” His voice hitches.

Your fingers hook into Leon’s pliant skin, until it bleeds through the calloused surface on the back of his palms, dragging them down for a straight cut. A sharp pain runs along his hands, nothing Leon can’t handle, but it will most likely leave a scar. He somersaults backwards, hand coming down to prepare his rifle, and ready to aim when he recovers into a stand. Leon can’t bring himself to aim at you. So he aims his gun’s barrel directly at Carlos.

Carlos doesn’t react, merely licks his bloodied lips clean. “Look at him, poor little thing.”

Leon clenches his gun and twists the selector on his rifle, firing a burst of three rounds directly at Carlos. They all miss. Carlos dodges all three bullets with animalistic speed, smiling through it, and disappoints when Leon holds his fire at the sight.

“What do you want, Oliveira?” Leon spits out; there’s no use wasting ammunition right now.

“Just a bit of fun, pretty boy.” Carlos utters, his grin stretching so wide that his features become distorted. “Care to play with us?”

“Fat chance.”

Blood is no longer gushing out of your neck. The hand supporting it lets go, finding the blood dry. If there is supposed to be pain, you don’t sense it. In fact, you feel the opposite. Recharged and spirited than ever before. Your body moves like butter, but then again, you don’t remember moving them.

Your body creeps behind Leon’s back, and push down his two elbows, clasping the two arms together behind him in one swift momentum. The rifle falls to the floor. “I’m so hungry, Carlos.” The whines that escape your mouth are not yours even if it did comes out of your own. It plants love marks on Leon’s trapezius, tainting his pale skin with redness. “Can I have him already? I want him now. so. bad.”

Somewhere within you cringe at those words, but your physical manoeuvres with a mind of its own, regardless of your intentions. It chases your thoughts away, until it falls and falls into a dark well behind your sockets. And with one final push, your mind shuts you out, numbing your resistance as your hollow grin turns wider.

“Remember. He isn’t ours.” Carlos corrects you, but you don’t seem to be listening, merely focusing on the blond in front of you. “But we can still have a bit of fun.”

“Fun, fun…” You smack your lips like a mechanical doll, inching them closer to Leon’s lips through the blankness of your gaze. The warmth of your skin fades as your nails grasp against his neck with aggressive affection, like you can and will break his neck out of his cuteness. Leon flinches his face sideways, holding in his nostrils to not take in your poisoned breath even as you drool over his checks like a beast in heat. Despite how you have taken form of your human body, that’s the end of the resemblance between the real you and this… monster.

An idea forms in Carlos’ head right before you sink your teeth into Leon, and he stops you. “Don’t turn him yet.” Carlos says. “I want to taste him fresh.”

Your lips twist in disappointment, in spite of your intrigue, you are unable to keep your lips filling the entirety of Leon’s neck with your love marks. Under a different kind of circumstances, Leon would absolutely love this from you. But this isn’t you. He doesn’t know if any part of you is still inside.

“So what d’you say, pretty boy? We’ll treat you really well.” Carlos says. Surely, Leon won’t agree to this. Perhaps a swift death will be less agonising than whatever the two of you have in store for him. At the same time, Leon remembers the piece of important evidence in his gear. He can’t afford to die right now—the hope of mankind lies in his pocket. 

As Leon pauses to consider his options, his earpiece cries out, and Rebecca blurts from the other side of the call: “Leon! I’m sending a chopper to the rescue. Mike’s on his way. I need you to stall for time before he arrives.”

Leon pretends he never heard the transmission in fear of rousing suspicion. Stall for time, huh? Leon can certainly do that. There is nowhere else out of here. Between him and the exit, it’s roughly fifteen feet. He can run now, but it will not take the two of your combined forces long to catch up. If he plays your stupid games, Leon may have a chance at survival. And so does humanity. Maybe.

“Fine.” Leon says. “Think I can fit it in my schedule.”

“Charmer as always, pretty boy.” Carlos grins, bringing Leon’s chin up to bring him in for a kiss. Carlos purrs into the kiss, and the gentle, tingling vibration sends a gentle gulp down Leon’s throat, almost rising into a moan, but he refrains it—out of pride.

“Fuck off.” Leon utters the word quietly.

“You kinda like this, don’t you?” Even if it’s the truth, Leon will never admit this, especially knowing that he, to some degree, is still the dickhead Carlos he knows. But damn, Carlos can sure kiss well. So much so that Leon is leaning in, increasingly harder to resist the onslaught of warm softness on top of his own. But like hell Leon would ever admit to something like this.

You break away his wrists, unable to wait any longer. Your knees and palms land against the icy floor, eye level to his crotch. Leon swallows, taking in the sight with a mix of reluctance and eagerness.

You smack your wet lips when you pull Leon’s zipper down. Leon swallows halfway, holding his breath instead. This is all part of his ploy to stall time for the rescue, but the sight of you—zombie or not—on your knees in front of him had been the item of his imaginations for years. For a moment, watching your eyelashes flutter underneath him with a drunken expression, like a trick of the light or his imagination, Leon thinks it’s you. He has fantasised about the different scenarios to catch you in this position, but now in person, Leon doesn’t even know where to put his hands.

Noticing this, you let out a youthful giggle. You unbuckle his pants, and the chuckle stops when you see how his dick already tents over his black compression underwear, a ring of precum luring you to have a taste at it.

“Look at you, baby. All ready for me.” You bring down the elastic of his underwear, and it springs up to welcome you.

If you can only use one word to describe Leon’s dick, it’s ‘beautiful’. His long and slender cock is adorned by a few purposeful veins that reaches to the seams at the end of his shirt—it’s the dick of a Greek god. And it looks so fucking tasty. Precum beads over his tip almost immediately, tearing up at the sight of you watching him with such intent, tempting you to soothe it. And so you do, lapping at the slit of his tip, licking a bead off, just for another to immediately pool on the slit, over and over again.

“This is wrong.” Leon says, but his gaze is cemented at the bead on your tongue, disappearing when you pull it back into your mouth.

“Then tell me to stop then.” Leon tries to, his hand placing firm on both of your shoulders. But when he pushes you off, his hand goes limp against his better judgement. “See, you can’t.” You resist with all your strength to slow, licking around the crest of the tip. Leon shivers in Carlos’ kiss, moving his hand to under your chin, wanting to see you clearer in the light.

“Ohh.” Your grin grows wider and wider, staring back with all seeing eyes. “I get it now. You have a crush on me.”

He withdraws his hand too swiftly for an innocent man. “You’re wrong.”

“Your face is giving you away. And so is your cute dick.”

Leon is defensive, immediately, and despite how much he wants to tell you otherwise, it may be too late for those words. Leon’s leg turns into rubber as you breathe onto his shaft, and for a fearful second of weakness, he wants to tell you the biggest secret that he had been holding close to his heart all these years. Leon snaps out of the thought. If he wants to ask you out, he’s going to do it properly, not like this.

“Shut up.” He quips back. “Did I tell you to stop? That mouth should be wide open, sucking me off right now.”

Leon felt a little guilty saying that, but that’s the only thing that can probably stop you from continuing this conversation. And it does work. Leon’s unexpected command immediately pools your underwear as you swallow your defiance into the back of your throat, simply murmur and obey: “Yes, sir.”

For you, so far, you had just been teasing him. Playing with your food before devouring it. But now, you want him all. Without much force from your end, your mouth opens to take his fat cock. The length of him doesn’t deter your cheeks to hollow out to suck him in with much enthusiasm. The warmth of his dick contrasts against the cold dead body, and it makes your whole body tremble in ecstasy.

Slowly at first, you move in front of the first half of his pulsating shaft, in spite of your lower pain tolerance, you don’t wish for your jaw to fall out before you finish your first dessert of the day. His dick curves when he enters, prodding against your soft palate as you widen out your throat to take more of his size. You think to yourself: How wonderful it would feel if he was hitting you from the back, but you are unwilling to let go of his tasty length, salted lightly with his taste.

The words that leave Leon’s mouth contradicts himself, mumbling apologies through series of whimpers, as if he was speaking to you, the real you, and not whoever you had become in the crossfire of Arias’ experiment, until an interruption by a gruff voice that sets you back to cruel reality where you are already gone.

“Baby… Let me have some fun too.” Carlos touches your waist, guiding your hips to lift into the air and feet to stand, all whilst your mouth is still occupied with another man’s sex. You can’t see what goes on behind you, only hearing the haste shuffling and the clink of a belt unbuckling and zips forcing open. Its tip meeting at the end of you, preparing.

“God, you’re drippin’ wet.” Realisation sets in that your juice is running down both of your thighs generously, air conditioning blowing on them and making your legs cold. Your underwear has been sticking against your legs since you first saw Leon’s dick, coming in your pants through the eagerness of it all without noticing it.

Carlos guides your underwear off your pathetic self, which you’re grateful for having the sticky fabric leave your body and let your wetness flow freely without obstructions. Carlos runs two fingers along the stripe of your cunt. “So swollen… You like being looked at, don’t you?” You shiver when the pad of his finger rests a little too long on the head of your clit, pressing it like a button that instantly discharges your lovely juices on Carlos’ palm. He lubricates his other finger with it, then dips two fingers inside of you, finding it already loose and ready. Despite the stickiness, Carlos slurps at his dripping finger like melted ice cream, savouring every bit of your taste.

“Just like how I imagined it…” He corrects himself. “No, even better.”

The virus has coursed through your body rapidly, and every second your sexuality is unsatisfied it throbs a sharp pain straight into your gut. You can imagine it must be the same for Carlos too, using up his entire willpower not to thrust into you raw and to relief some of that pain off his body.

As you draw your lips out of Leon’s cock, relaxing against his tip, you ram yourself backwards. Your cunt swallows the entirety of Carlos’ warmness and girth, moaning a deep, lusted sigh. Carlos groans too, low and heavy, taken aback by your forwardness.

“God… Fuckin’ hell…” Carlos adjusts himself; his hands grabbing a handful of your ass, squeezing it so tight it fills out his fingers. He fucks you doggy style, with not much reservations from his part either. Your eyes roll back at the impact, mouth ajar with Leon’s cock in your mouth. Jealousy gets the better of Leon, and with a heaved pump, he thrusts himself right into your gaping mouth, hitting against the back of your throat that triggers a gag reflex in you. A blend of your saliva and Leon’s precum rolls down your jaw, making a satisfied response that is incomprehensible from the way Leon fucks your mouth while glaring at his competition.

“Oh, so that’s how it’s gonna be, pretty boy?” Carlos smiles at Leon in return, accepting the challenge, thrusting you into your cunt faster and harder than ever before, determined to make sure you moan the hardest when he fucks into you.

“Get to work, baby.” Through your blurry haze, it becomes harder to tell who is speaking, even if their voices sound distinctively different. So you obey the voice anyway—satisfying both by slurping Leon’s dick faster, while simultaneously arching your back to help Carlos reach further inside of you. It gets messy, really messy as the obscenity of you gets fucked on both ends permeate through the empty laboratory.

“Baby, you can take a bit more than this, can’t you?” Leon pats your head, and you nod eagerly.

You have already taken his entire length all the way to the base, what more can he mean? But Leon finds a way to make you feel even better by shoving himself even deeper down your throat. Your jaw unhinges to accommodate his force, his balls pressed firm onto your chin. Fear settles for a second before realising there is no pain, and you can take him even deeper with your jaw unhinged like this. You reposition yourself, and his dick prods further at the back of your throat, then down your windpipe, stretching the narrow tube wide open. His tip pokes out of the skin, outlining his tip onto your throat like a forbidden adam’s apple.

“That’s it, good work. You can drink my cum too, right? You kinda have to now.”

Leon had never felt anything like this before. It was phenomenal, downright terrifying how much he enjoys it. Something he thinks isn’t possible—and it shouldn’t have been—but you have outweigh his expectations once again. That doesn’t mean he did not hesitate at first, especially when he sees how the tears run down lightly along your cheek, and your jaw twitching with a burning sensation that weighs at your throat. Your eyes meet his with a desperate gaze, so fucking dirty with how you plead for him to cum with your eyes alone.

So he fucks into your face one last time, and the white sticky goodness comes undone in your throat. Even if it doesn’t hurt, it is uncomfortable for your windpipe to be stuffed with hot, thick cum that chokes you against his limp dick.

Carlos can feel you tightening up fast, more stickiness within as Leon groans out a distressed howl, and your torso shudders heavily again. He knows you had just came with him inside, ripples and ripples of pleasure taking control of your body. He fucks your cunt into your overstimulation as the pleasure continues to hit you in waves from your behind.

“Oohh baby. You look so fuckin’ hot right now, baby.” His hand grasps your cheeks tightly, leaving behind a firm handprint on your luscious booty. “You want me to fuck a baby into you, huh?” Behind you, Carlos lets out a growling moan, the soft tendrils falling over Carlos’ face as you clench your insides and threaten to keep you there, letting your walls ride against the sex.

“I got a big load coming. Can you handle it?” You nod again and again. Even if you already came once, it’s not enough. You want more.

Carlos races to the edge of bliss, and he comes so unexpectedly, thinking he still has a bit longer. But nevertheless, Carlos watches his tip release thick white strings into your cunt, then plugs it back far inside of you as your second release crashes on top of your first.

“The perfect fucking cumdump.” are Carlos’ final words as he draws himself out, plopping his weight against your back in exhaustion.

With your body stuffed full, you lie in the pool of your own pleasure, liquids flowing into each other. Carlos huffs his chest, burying his chest into your back, losing sight of Leon in their post orgasms. Your neck exposes upwards to the sky, pulsing to Leon’s attention. The three of you remain there for a while, every breath a struggle to catch up with the intensity of the aftermath.

Then, Leon drops his head—his eyes catch sight of the tactical gear he is wearing. His combat knife reflects the fluorescent lights in its sheath at his breast, then Leon looks back at the two of you, paying himself no mind. It’s an opening. If he hits you on the crook of your neck at the top of your spine, it may not be fatal, but it will allow a moment of paralysis, just enough for him to break free and flee to safety.

Leon slows his hand as he reaches for the knife, not to startle either you or Carlos. You are oblivious, choking up his cum and coughing it onto the floor. His fingers reach the hilt now, curling along it as draws the knife out of the sheath slowly. And with a deep breath, Leon plunges the knife down, aiming straight into the back of your neck. It never made it that far. The blade is caught by a rough hand.

“What’re you doing?” Carlos questions as his eyes land on Leon, perhaps giving him the benefit of the doubt. But it’s no mistake what Leon’s intentions are with how the knife is maimed towards your head. “You know, I can see your reflection on the floor, right?” Carlos’ expression turns dark, crooking into a displeased frown that warns Leon, once again, that his attempts are fruitless. The sharp end runs through his fingers, and he lets the blood drip down his palm. “Such a bad boy.”

Carlos yanks the weapon away from Leon, spinning the hilt in the air, and catches it securely between his bloodied palm. He rounds one arm around Leon’s chest, and the other hand lining the blade parallel against Leon’s neck. “If you want to live, do as I say.”

Leon knows better than to struggle against a man holding a weapon to his neck. He does as Carlos says, backing himself into the isolated room under Carlos’ guidance, pushing the door with the broken hinge aside as they enter. Carlos kicks the dead body away from the bed, and it lolls limply to the other side of the room.

“Lie on the bed.” Carlos demands and Leon obeys, climbing on top of the medical bed. The texture of the mattress resembles weak foam when Leon drops his weight on top.

Leon’s wrists are forced to jerk backwards before the top of his head. He winces at the touch of cold metal circles around his left wrist, and it clicks. The chain goes around the metal headframe, and Carlos repeats the same on Leon’s right wrist, securing tight with finality. Leon watches you and Carlos tower over him, the fury of two disappointed parents overseeing him. Leon struggles his arm free, but he recoils when the chains tug him back.

Is this the end for Leon…?

Clothes start to come off; Carlos strips off every remaining fabric and gear on him, and you follow too. Leon’s clothing—cuffed against the bed had to be ripped off his body, allowing witness to the most intimate parts of their bodies. Carlos makes the first move—not giving Leon a moment to breathe when he jumps on top of Leon’s figure, locking his splayed body down. He struggles underneath, wiggling and kicking Carlos off in desperation, but he’s too strong.

“Don't resist, Leon. It’ll hurt more if you do.” There’s a void of emotion in Carlos’ words, and the speed of a cheetah as he plunges his sharp teeth into Leon’s reddened neck, marked with your loving insanity. As he leans down, Leon can see the veins around his eyes bulging and pounding like a heartbeat. Fear takes over Leon; he desperately wrestles Carlos off him as a last ray of hope. But all of it turns futile when Carlos manages to bite into a bit of that skin—and a bit of that skin is all the venom needs to take over the host, contaminating his blood, his cells, with the dreaded disease.

“Fuck!” Leon yells from the bottom of his lungs, and the part where his teeth lands burns, even if it doesn’t bleed furiously. The entirety of his left arm is turning numb, and that feeling spreads across his body, trying to reach his heart and mind, and clouds away his sight. It reaches further into Leon’s system, and he coughs out blood from the corner of his mouth.

“Hang in there, pretty boy. It’ll feel good very soon.” Leon hurls a loud scream at Carlos. “Here, I’ll help you take the pain away.”

Carlos strokes himself, still lubricated from your juices, and so is Leon. That makes things easier for Carlos to let the crest of his dick meets at Leon’s base, running it up the length of the slender shaft. Leon flinches, holding back a displeased yet relishing whimper that surprises Carlos, and he wants to hear more of that cute sound.

“Such a pretty boy with a pretty dick, Leon.” Carlos whispers into his ear, their tips circle each other a few more times, and it does help Leon subside the pain, but the lack of friction isn’t enough, almost unbearable as the virus attacks his body.

Leon’s dick twitches in agony, and he whimpers once more. Carlos whistles with delight. “You want more, pretty boy?”

“Only if you stop talking so much shit, Oliveira.” Leon uses whatever movement that isn’t restrained by the cuffs to urge himself closer to the fat, girthy cock. Carlos’ dick taunts him into submission, and Leon does not like Carlos having so much power over him.

“That works with me.” Carlos raises his eyebrows, licking his bottom lip with a lust-laden expression. He brings both cocks together, rubbing them parallel against each other’s shafts and jerks it up and down. Carlos can feel his dick grinds along Leon’s vein, and their precums start to overflow all over, making the duo moan in unison.

Seeing them dripping onto each other makes you feel left out. You have been fingering yourself against the wall this entire time, but your wrists turn sore, and the stimulation isn’t enough anymore. You need more. Carlos sees you through the corner of his peripheral, and he gestures you to join them, squishing around to make room for you in the middle.

You heave on top of the bed, with Leon feeling most of the weight at the bottom. The metal hinges scratch hard against the frame with its abrupt impact, probably exceeding the weight limit. But that’s not on the list of your priorities right now. If the bed falls apart from fucking too hard, then so be it.

You grind along both of their lengths, having them fuck you between your folds. The three of you continue to move against each other, rubbing, grinding with fervour to relish in the friction on each of your sensitive parts. Every time one of the tips brush your clit, your cunt drips wet and coats their dick with your juice.

After their dicks have been lubricated, the boys lean back so their dick points the sky to receive you inside of them. Taking turns, you lower yourself onto Leon and Carlos’ lengths one at a time, instantly adapting around each of their length and girth with a harsh whine, bouncing from one dick to the other.

But Leon doesn’t want to share you at all. When you plunge down onto him, he uses this opportunity to thrust into you from below over and over until you suck him in desperately, each thrust relieving a bit of pain from his and your gut. You let him—unwilling to withdraw yourself from easy pleasure.

Carlos’ tip rubs against the gap between Leon’s dick and your cunt. “Hey, make some room for me.”

“Why’re you squeezing in here? Use the other hole.” Leon takes up more space inside of your cunt out of spite.

“And let you have all the fun, pretty boy? I don’t think so.”

“C’mon. Help us out.” Carlos presses a warm pad of finger onto the skin of your belly, and that urges you to reposition yourself. You adjust so Leon lays closer to your clit, leaving Carlos enough room to enter from the other end. “That’s it, baby. You really want us to fuck you in the same hole, huh? That’s how cock hungry you are?”

“I… Fuck… Yes, please...” Whatever dignity remains in you is gone now, excited by the idea of having your guts penetrated by two fat dicks; carnal needs turns into blind desperation.

“As you wish, baby.” Carlos moans, lining his dick in your pussy right above Leon’s, and the crest of Carlos’ tip crawls into your cunt with much strain and patience.

“It's not going to fit, Oliveira. You’re too fuckin’ big. Get off.” Leon grumbles.

Carlos glares at Leon to stop whining, then soothes your back with a gentle press to encourage you more. “You can do this, baby. You'll make it fit, won't you?” Another inch of Carlos slides inside of you, and you howl in slow agonised enjoyment. Both of them together is too much, even for you. The pleasure swoons into you, flushing your skin a colder red as your pussy throbs open some more.

Half of Carlos’ fat cock slides inside of you now, almost making it all the way. A wave of overwhelming anguish surges to your stretched out entrance, and the ghastly sound behind your throat wants to cry out loud. Instead, you chew on your tongue, hard, bursting the taste of your blood onto your palate.

That is when Leon drops his voice to a whisper for your ears only: “Hey, don’t hurt yourself. Bite onto my hand if you need.”

Even after everything that has happened, Leon only ever offers you his kindness. You appreciate the sentiment, a bit touched. Under his sweet encouragement and almost chewing off half of Leon’s arm, you gape your hole wider. Carlos’ arm tenses as he fucks his entire cock in with one final push, filling every crevice of your cunt with their shapes bent against your walls.

“Puta merda… It’s so tight in here.” Carlos breath chokes in the back of his throat, but he’s smiling.

“No shit, Oliveira. Your fault for forcing yourself in.” Leon kicks Carlos in the thigh with his free foot that’s not buried under the pressure.

Carlos moves first, stretching you out, and Leon groans at the back and forth friction against Carlos’ pulsating dick. Your breath is ragged, feeling both dicks cramped inside the tiny hole, until Carlos utters: “Gonna fuck both our babies into you.”

Your breath quickens in unruly speed as they start to move, taking turns thrusting inside at varying speeds and aptitude, not allowing your pussy even a moment of rest. Leon pulls back when Carlos forcefully thrusts in, then it reverses with Leon’s length curving up ever so perfectly to read your g-spot, fucking against your sensitive womb so deeply as the tip indents at the skin of your belly with every heaved thrust. Sometimes they thrust in at the same time, but most times, they like to make it distinct which dick is fucking you.

It's this competition they have going, to see who can make you moan the loudest. And right now, there is no clear winner. The cockiness in Leon and Carlos dies out as the pleasure renders them unable to speak, communicating their pleasure solely through a chorus of pleasured outcries, and you are the main vocalist.

The tip of their dicks throb inside of you; Leon and Carlos sensing that they are both close. Tossing each other a raised eyebrow, they scheme something with their eyes alone. They nod in sync—one slow nod, two slow nods, and on third—Leon and Carlos explodes their pent up nut inside of you, stuffing you with what feels like almost endless shoots of cum until it rims your cunt with white, overfilling, and eventually bursting out from within you like a water fountain from the other end, gushing your hole so full your belly grows almost double size.

As Leon releases himself into you, his vision suddenly turns hazy as nausea washes over him from the sheer ecstasy of it all. Until eventually, his sight falls into darkness.

Tick, tock, tick, tock.

Leon wakes to the voice of someone mumbling the four-word ritual over and over. His bareness is sticky, sweating into the mattress of the bed. Moving his hands, he remembers they are still cuffed against the bed frame. Leon looks above him to find the cuff rusty on the chains, and he may be able to break them if he uses a bit of force. Leon tugs at the chain over and over till his delicate wrists are scratched and bleeding. He brings down the chain harshly one more time, and it finally breaks apart.

Leon rises from the bed, examining the scene. You and Carlos are not with him in the room—where have they gone? That same tune rings inside his head once more, singing in shrieking calmness.

Tick, tock, tick, tock. His life seconds numbering, Tick, tock, tick. It stopped short, never to go again.

Leon falls to the floor. The throbbing pain against his forehead upsets him further, and Leon recalls the events of what happened, and remembers—that he’s no longer human. But for whatever reason, he can still think for himself. Through the corner of his eye, he catches something stuck between the metal post of the bed.

Leon’s guts urge him to reach for it. And he does, retrieving a small cylinder from the dusty metal, and opens his palm to find a syringe. It labels ‘S’ in faded text. He remembers seeing something similar in the case, and there was a missing syringe inside. Could this be what he was looking for?

There’s not much time left, as the voices in his head grow louder and louder, deafening his thoughts out and pushing his conscience further behind his mind. Without hesitation, Leon removes the cap and injects it in himself.

The sharp end pierces into Leon’s skin, a harsh sting floods into his body, then the pain and the song fades away like a distant memory. All the pain hits him at once—his injured neck, half-eaten palm,  the soreness of his wrists tied up against the frame for what seems like forever, even the tip of his dick is burning from the energetic activities from today.

Regardless, there is no time for self pity. Leon rummages through his gear for his employee card, and rushes back to the main laboratory in front of the computer. He plops himself on the swivel office chair as the taps the ID on the scanner, and it beeps green, logging in successfully.

There are almost every document Leon needs here. Information about Prototype A and Prototype S, its composition and construction, research material, all of it. Prototype S? Leon hasn’t heard this before, not even in the confidential documents Rebecca provided at the start of the mission.

“Rebecca, come in.” Leon calls into his earpiece, but he is met with fuzz and cracked static. The signal is jammed. But it doesn’t matter—most importantly, Leon needs to send all this data back to Rebecca ASAP.

Leon removes his watch to place it on the RFID scanner, moving all the files into his watch that will synchronise the documents to Rebecca’s laboratory. Leon watches the upload percentage, fifty percent… sixty… seventy percent. When the bar hits seventy-five, the monitor fades to black.

What? Leon clicks at the screen a few times but it’s unresponsive. He spins backwards from his chair, clicking on the solitary red button to boot the system. There is no light. The power cord had been pulled out from behind. And the other end of the wire meets you with a familiar face Leon had seen many times from the wanted posters.

“Agent Kennedy.” Glenn Arias. Leon isn’t expecting Arias to be so calm, so weighed down by age.

Arias holds up an emblem hanging by a long gold chain, pendulating it in front of him. There’s a singular clock hand on it, ticking down the seconds. What on earth is that symbol? Leon doesn’t realise this then, but it shares the same sigil as the antique clockface.

Whatever Arias is trying to do with this technique—it does not work for Leon as he lunges forward. Arias resorts into drawing his pistol, unloading his rounds at Leon’s head. Leon ducks in response, spinning the office chair, and the bullets fire into the backrest, missing Leon completely. Arias swaps out his magazine, and this gives Leon just enough opening to swing a side kick with the momentum, his heel forcing the pistol off Arias’ hand.

The weapon goes flying, landing on the bleached tiles with a harsh clang. It’s victory for Leon. He can arrest Arias here and now, and end the misery for the millions who have suffered through his schemes. That is, until, a quickened whisk of air follows Leon from behind, its strong force grasping him on his neck through a familiar domineering grip.

“Son of a bitch.” Leon winces, struggling to keep his eyes open as he watches Carlos clench his suffocating hands around Leon’s neck. You surface right behind him, waiting for your orders as you watch indifferently at Leon’s suffering. The orbs in your eyes are pitch black now with a reddening centre, stripping away whatever natural colour and glaze that used to look so pretty.

“Good job, the two of you.” Arias dangles the chain again; you and Carlos dart your gaze onto the strange symbol, mouthing the familiar words in silence: Tick, tock. Tick, tock.

Arias raises a graceful finger and brings it down. Carlos strikes Leon towards the floor. A bone or two breaks somewhere within him. His throat stings and burns. Leon tries to sit up, but the pain is too overwhelming for him to stand. Arias presses his black aniline leather shoes against the back of Leon’s neck, holding him there, crushing that pretty little neck of his if Leon even dares to move.

“Seems like you really enjoyed yourself, Agent Kennedy. Might have to charge you for this one.” Arias’ expression tries to be placid, but still, it cannot hide the amusement in his face.

Through strangled breath, Leon utters. “How do you know my name?”

“You work for the government, don’t you?” Arias’ face twists into disgust, like he just ate a whole lemon. “Leon S. Kennedy.” He lets the name roll off his tongue. There is a heavy pause as Arias seems to be recalling something. “I hate guys like you who think they’re always right.”

“And the guy who makes bioweapons is better?” Leon scoffs in disbelief, almost uncontrollably, and it causes the burn in his throat to flare up. “T-Talk about hypocritical.”

“I never claim to be better. Only smarter.” He toys with the emblem skilfully between two fingers, and stops the spin halfway. 

“You should have been executed.” Leon growls.

“And somehow fate is on my side. Yet again.” Arias retrieves Leon’s watch from the scanner, and pockets it along with his gold chain. Arias turns the other way, walking towards the exit, visibly bored. He was hoping to have a bit more fun with Leon. But now, the game is over before it even began.

“T-Th-They’re coming f-for you.” Leon’s cracked voice grates against the background. Arias immediately stops in his tracks, turning his neck to Leon without moving the rest of his body.

“Who’s coming?” Aria’s voice is quiet yet demanding.

Leon tries to speak, but the words escape him through a weakened, quiet voice, barely audible. Arias stomps back to him, planting his leg back onto Leon, cleaning the dirt on his sole onto his bare neck. “Talk. Now.”

Leon grins, biting back blood inside of his mouth. He doesn’t say anything.

“TELL ME.” Arias’ eyes burn a deeper red, a rage blazing through the torch in his eyes and seethes out of his ears. You and Carlos gets into position, fully intending to do whatever it takes to make Leon talk. Arias waves them away. “You better fucking tell me right now.”

Leon responds with a tight-lipped smile, still strained from his injuries.

Arias resists himself from punching the smugness out of Leon, stroking at his wedding ring instead. It calms him immediately to feel the familiar mineral around his finger, knowing that it means more to him to sully the vows of his love with the blood of someone as pathetic as Leon. Arias closes his eyes to recollect himself in a deep breath. When he opens them, a smile hangs on his face like nothing happened.

“Doesn’t matter. You have already lost.”              

“You should be. He’s a tough fella. Killed so many villains like you.” Leon spits on Arias’ shiny shoes, testing Arias’ composure to the limits. “And he’ll take you down, and that stupid empire of yours.”

Arias’ fists clenches fully in an instant, so hard it bleeds right through his palms. Brows furrowing so hard it comically pops out his veins. He finally cracks, feet pressing down so hard that Leon groans and chokes. But even so close to his death, Leon looks arrogant in Arias’ perspective.

Letting this man die so easily? Not a chance.

And with newfound determination to prolong his agony, Arias dangles the chain in front of you and Carlos, murmuring a final discontented order:

“Take him to the cage.”

thanks for reading! come check out my other works. —yours truly, rose. PORTUGUESE TRANSLATION: (thank you @navstuffs ilysm) Puta merda = Fucking shit Porra = Fuck Que pescoço bonito = Such a beautiful neck kissing @scar-crossedlvrs for the beta read, my carlos specialist @navstuffs, for helping me with the portuguese! and @j3llyd0nut for keeping me sane and not distracted by jjk thirsts through discord calls!! please check them out i love them so so much!!!! taglist (open): @j3llyd0nut @ovaryacted @daydreamrot @madcap-riflette @access--granted @obsolescent @briermelli @secretiveauthor @ghosty-frog @navstuffs @slowcryinginthedark @rentaldarling @lesbntired @redvleanli @vinsiliors @whoisgami @gaylorvader @wxwieeee @eddsthemunson © roseglazedlens — please do not repost, plagiarise, or feed to ai.