ദ്ദി(˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧

Music comes up through the floorboards before it ever reaches your ears proper, a steady thrum that felt like a second heartbeat buried somewhere beneath your ribs, settling into your bones.

Fiddle, guitar, a voice you don’t quite recognize yout bombarding the inside of your head, everything tangled together with laughter and warmth sensations building inside your chest.

Pausing just outside the juke joint, one hand resting against the rough wood of the outer wall at viewing how lit warm and gold from inside it is, lamplight spilling out through the cracks, Smoke curls from the chimney, carrying the scent of alcohol embodied by the humid air of the night.

There was still that same quiet, gnawin’ thing that’s followed you near your whole life.

Like you’re standin’ on the edge of rememberin’ something you never lived.

It hits a bit everyday, stronger whenever music reaches your ears.

You don’t linger on it long.

“Boy, you plannin’ on standin’ out there all night, or you comin’ in?”

The voice snaps you back quick enough and you glance over your shoulder to see one of the twins, red hat in hand and leaning half out the doorway, grin already crooked.

Hard to tell which one at a glance if you ain’t payin’ attention.

“I see y’ ain’t lost the thin’ of daydreaming,” he adds.

“Happens all the time I get annoyed, lucky me y’all have gotten patient on me.” Huffing under your breath while pushing off the wood.

He snorts, stepping back to let you in. “Ain’t no one here got patience for you. C’mon.”

Inside, the juke joint is packed tight and it’s full of movements between shoulders touching one other along bodies moving, laughing, shouting over one another.

Air’s thick with smoke and bottles clinking, boots scuffing the floor in uneven rhythm.

This is the first time the place had been inaugurated after being taken by the twins after they had returned in here and nobody seemed to question your presence.

Not with the twins vouching for you since you were all half-grown and running wild through fields with nothing but scraped knees and bad ideas.

“Took your sweet time,” Smoke says while appearing at your side, bottle already in hand and pressed halfway into yours before you can protest.

“Had to make sure the place was still standin’,” you mutter.

He grins. “Ya got doubts? With us runnin’ it?”

Burns go down as the liquor travels down your throat in a familiar pattern.

Still, that feeling doesn't leave, it has never gotten worse since tonight.

You end up near the edge of the main floor, close enough to the band to feel the music but far enough to stay out of the crush of dancers.

That’s usually where you liked to settle, half in and out. Watchin’ more than joinin’, it’s just a habit.

Truth is, sometimes it feels like you’re lookin’ for something, you just don’t know what.

Sammie’s up there tonight, recognized him quick with that guitar in hand even between the constantly shifting crowd.

From afar you can see Mary stepping into the smoky light of the juke joint and you knew right away what was about to erupt.

Soft lamplight dances over wooden floors, and the low hum of conversation starts to fade around you.

Her gaze sweeps the room until she’s stopped by Sammie at a corner table.

Sammie leans forward, voice dropping to what you could only guess being how she shouldn’t be here.

Her posture unwavering and already on the process to insults him about getting the fuck out of her face but he kept going before she could move to the side, continuing about how he was with the twins.

She realizes he was little Sammie and steps a little closer, takes hold of his hand and together they move while you tried to focus your earring to their conversation alone till they reached the bar ordering and she quickly ordered two wiskyous.

That was the only thing you could hear, now forced to obey simple overhearing and reach them as you saw the two tall twins approach them.

Stack arrives and soon speaks saying “Come on, let’s go”

“I’m not here for you” Mary stayed firm in her place.

“Then why you hittin’?”

“I came here for the blues.” Mary diverted her gaze to the side like you’ve learned she’d always do when showing hurt.

“They play the blues just fine in Arkansas,” he took hold of her arm and began moving her towards the exit.

“Wait Stack—“ Immediately you reached up, “come on don’t be so mean.” Tried to intervene to not let whatever was going on between them take an even uglier look but he seems unbothered by your attempt to calm down the waters.

An hand gripped your shoulder and your gaze was met with Smoke’s one, he didn’t yank or bark a word but you still moved when Smoke guided you by the shoulder till you and Smoke reached the corner of the bar and observed from afar, wood beneath your forearms was sticky with rings of spilled drinks.

Sammie had taken up his guitar again, his voice pouring out into beautiful song words that bled through the joint.

Conversations dip and laughter softens, a smile growing on your face when you’ve seen Annie come to take the man right next to you.

When they did checked real quick to see if you’d tag along, you gave a quick dismissal with your hand ‘cause that strange sensation came back again, only difference being tha’ it now hurts.

There’s a flicker of disappointment in their face but they’ve apparently expected that as they reluctantly went to dance deeper into the place and you observed both of the twins dance with the person they loved.

A pull in your chest sharp enough it makes your breath hitch.

For a second you swear you can smell smoke that ain’t from the lamps or hear wind where there ain’t none.

Suddenly the juke joint don’t feel like Mississippi no more.

For a flicker of a second there’s a great bonefire right ahead, towering flame against a black sky.

Old and slow drums echoes inside your ears, feet stomping dirt and voices rising together in a language you don’t know but somehow understand.

There’s a large forest far ahead you feel nostalgic for, smoke curling up into the night.

Your own hand are slick with something warm and there’s another set of hands holding them tight.

A low and extremely close voice right in your ear whispering words you can’t catch, but a feeling that hits deeper than sound.

Turning your sight to the side, there’s the shape of a face millimeters away from your own along something that sits low in your chest and refuses to move, belonging.

Shadows are twisting across the juke joint walls and your chest tightens hard to the point it almost hurts.

Staggering back a step, then another as the room feels too small and loud now, all the walls of the place are gone for half a heartbeat and replaced by large trees with the sound of water rushing nearby

Pushing through the crowd without thinkin’, breath uneven and jaw tight the more a headache threatens your wellbeing, until the night air hits you cold and unexpected outside.

Out there, near the edge of the door everything goes quiet but that feeling don’t leave.

Sliding down against the corner of the entrance until your behind is down onto the cold wood, you don’t even realize Cornbread’s presence there until he’s fully leaning down close enough to let heat radiate to your crouched form.

“Hey—hey, watcha got goin’ on? Y’ want me to call the twins?”

Glancing up at him you haven’t even realized the wet sensations scattered now all over your cheeks from unnoticed tears that slid down.

“M’ good,” you mumbled, trying to wipe the unwelcome wetness on your face. “Probably drank too much, need some air.”

All the giant man did was nod with no much conviction but respected your words either way.

Gazing at your left towards the entrance of the place, you observed everyone else dance and have the time of their life.

“Hi! We heard tale of’a party.”

The voice cut clean through the thick wall o’ sound spillin’ outta the juke joint, slippin’ right past the fiddle an’ the stomp o’ boots inside.

It settled behind your sternum quicker than liquor ever had, horribly familiar.

That unease you’d been carryin’ round your ribs the whole damn night had cracked open behind your eyes’ inside, answered.

Somethin’ deep in your chest leaned toward it without askin’ permission and the hair along your forearms stood itself straight up beneath the thin fabric o’ your sleeves.

“Ye wouldn’t mind us comin’ in, now, would ye?” An accent while the man spoke towards Cornbread was a drawl you’d heard anywhere round these parts.

Cornbread was already sayin’ somethin’ back, his big body a wall of heat near your side, but the sound o’ his voice blurred out because your head had already turned, pulled toward the voice, chin lifting off where it had been bowed against your chest.

He stood maybe eight feet off, just shy o’ the patch o’ lamplight spillin’ out the open door, the rest o’ the world softened behind him into night-blue an’ the silhouettes o’ two others stood a pace behind, one on either side o’ him.

Dark hair, damp at the roots an’ curlin’ against his temples like he’d been walking a lot, fringe stuck t’ the smooth plane of’ his forehead, flushed faint pink beneath the sweat. The top two buttons o’ his white shirt undone, generous enough to show the pale column o’ his throat an’ just a sliver o’ chest beneath.

Suspenders drew a lazy pair o’ lines over a chest tha’ looked broad even beneath the loose drape o’ his shirt. He had the build o’ a man who’d seemed to work hard fields.

A silver chain sat against the hollow o’ his throat, restin’ half on skin an’ half on damp shirt, catchin’ the lamp glow every time his chest rose.

You swore your eyes linger on that little piece o’ metal a second too long, almost recognizing it before your mind did.

His mouth was curved in half-amusement but it was when his gaze drifted past a retreating Cornbread that went to alert the twins, landing on your face tha’ somethin’ in him cracked.

That lazy amusement fell right off his mouth, lips parting slightly an’ that practiced charm emptied outta his eyes by recognition and ache.

His throat worked as he swallowed, silver chain catching the light again.

“Mo chroí,” words tumbled soft an’ quick out o’ him, intimate like he’d forgotten there was anyone else standin’ on the porch at all.

Somethin’ about them lifted the hairs at the back o’ your neck, not one syllable was comprehensive.

He took a step forward, then another before strangely stopping near enough tha’ you could see the lamplight catchin’ on individual lashes and smell the faint damp o’ his hair.

He’d halted right at the edge where the spillin’ light o’ the juke joint ended an’ the inside began, lip o’ the threshold as if somethin’ invisible had drawn a line across the doorway.

His weight shifted slightly, one boot planted half a finger’s width outside, not looking away from you at all.

“‘Scuse me?” You finally managed, an’ your voice came out thinner than you wanted, bleedin’ confusion right through the seams of it. “I, uh — I don’t…”

You shook your head, tried again, but no better words came and the corners o’ his mouth pressed together, brows drew together in the center as an undeniable confusion crossed them like he couldn’t fathom you not knowin’ him, fingers twitched once at his side.

The need in his face opened as a wound because he wanted to be closer an’ he was doin’ nothin’ whatsoever t’ hide it.

His mouth lifted a fraction, the flustered spread o’ pink creepin’ up your neck clearly noted and enjoyed.

“Ye don’t remember me, sweetheart?”

Gentle and careful, watchin’ any tiny flicker tha’ might prove you did.

Your mouth dried up entirely, pulse ticking all wrong against the base o’ your throat.

“I—” you started, then stopped. Glanced down briefly, caught the shine o’ tha’ silver chain on him again an’ yanked your eyes back up before he could notice again. “I’m sorry. I don’t… I don’t reckon I do. We met somewhere before?”

Strangely, you noticed tha’ the usual tightness tha’ sat in your chest since forever had loosened some. Not gone.

“Truly we ain’t,” you went on, stumblin’, “and I apologize for it if we have, mister, I—my head ain’t been right tonight.”

Somethin’ moved behind his eyes, near-boyish pleasure as a slow smile started pullin’ at one corner of his mouth an’ he dipped his chin a little.

“Would you believe me if I told you I worked m’ land the whole damn day?”

“Sir?” You blinked.

“Livestock gave me a hell o’ a time,” he went on an’ the corner o’ his mouth kept curlin’, like he was tryin’ to hold back somethin’ an’ failin’. “Stubborn beasts, the lot o’em. I am half-dead on m’ feet an’ I was only hopin’ tha’ there mighta been someone kind enough t’offer a weary man somethin’ t’ drink.”

The words landed right in a chamber o’ you tha’ hadn’t been opened in so long, breath caught halfway up your throat at the flirt hidden in it.

When he said those words to you in his first ever attempt to have a conversation with you after one many days of just staring in silence far away a thousand of years ago when he was a lad working the land along his father.

Whatever commission his dad sent him to do to the village, he’s always had a chance to stare at you writing alone by yourself until he finally made his move.

He remembered exactly what you had said to him.

“Ye don’t look tha’ tired to my eyes, farmer-lad.”

“May I say, y’ ain’t tha’ tired to my eyes, farmer.”

Whatever careful ease he’d been holdin’ onto cracked right down the middle, lips parting around a breath tha’ didn’t quite make it into a laugh.

One hand came up, drifted towards his own mouth without purpose, knuckles brushin’ his lower lip before fallin’ away again, Adam’s apple bobbing once hard, silver chain at his collarbone lifted and’ settled with the motion.

“Aye,” he breathed, almost laughin’ now and he took another step forward.

Your heart kicked so hard it half-jumped into your throat, you thought it strange tha’ a man who seemed like he wanted nothin’ more than to close the distance between the two o’ you was holdin’ himself a careful step shy o’ the wood beneath your feet.

His gaze slid slowly down the length o’ you, unhurried, warm, an’ back up, linger­in’ a breath too long on your mouth, an’ whatever he saw there made him wet his own lips without thinkin’.

Your face went hot and his smile widened a hair.

Oh, he’d always loved tha’. Tha’ moment when you glanced away an’ the pink crept up your ears.

A thousand years an’ he still knew how to find it, smugness eased into his mouth.

“D’you mind us comin’ in, darlin’?”

It was sweet and it took you a second to even register the ‘us’, eyes flickering past him an’ only then did you truly register the two others behind him. A man an’ a woman both very still, they hadn’t said a word this whole time.

A chill went up your spine an’ you couldn’t have said exactly why.

When your eyes slid back to him, his own were already waitin’, patient and unblinkin’.

“I—uh…” your voice came out a scrape. you cleared it. “I wouldn’t mind y’all here, no.”

Somethin’ lit up in him at tha’, the tiniest lean forward and hope so plain on his face it near broke somethin’ inside of you.

Two hands on each of your shoulders that sent you back a full step before your brain caught up to your body, stumbled backward into the wedge o’ space they’d made fer you behind them.

The twins had come up and you’d missed it clean because the whole world had narrowed to the man at a threshold.

Behind them, Cornbread had already drifted back a pace, an’ you caught a glimpse of’ Annie’s sharp watchful eye past Smoke’s shoulder, Mary half a step behind her, Sammie’s guitar silent for once.

In the space o’ a blink the expression of the man had changed, gone was the soft flustered boy-charm, a thin cold thing had slipped into the place of all o’ it.

His eyes had flicked down to the hands on your shoulder, an’ stayed there longer than was friendly. The fingers o’ his right hand, curled inward slightly.

You could’ve sworn, for the space o’ a second, tha’ the blue o’ his eyes had shimmered redder beneath, a faint ember that disappeared the second you blinked.

“Ye fellows must be the owners o’ this establishment,” he said, tiltin’ his head politely, voice calm.

“That’s right,” Smoke said, flat and quiet. “An’ y’ are?”

“Oh, we’re just travelers, is all. Come t’ play a bit.” Remmick’s smile widened. “Here. I’ll show ye.”

Without another word, in one quick easy motion all three o’ them swung banjos round from behind their backs. you hadn’t even clocked they were carryin’ ‘em.

They settled the instruments into their hands and began, music pouring out bright and his eyes were on you the whole time.

Stack’s boot started tappin’ before he could stop it, head bobbing twice to the beat.

Remmick opened his mouth an’ started singin’, an’ the accent slipped into the melody, something you could have sworn had heard before.

His gaze found yours mid-verse and he winked, causing you to forgot to breathe and face to go hot clean down to your collarbone.

“That’s enough.” Smoke’s voice cut through the song before it reached half its performance. “Y’all can’t come in.”

Remmick let the silence settle an’ then, slow, tilted his head at Smoke and Lord help you, there was somethin’ so damn adorable about tha’ tilt o’ his head and wrinkle between his brows tha’ your stomach did a small cruel flip.

“We ain’t lookin’ fer trouble,” he said with open disappointment.

“We’re just tired, sir.” He brushed his fingers along the line o’ his jaw in one slow lazy drag, thumb gliding up underneath his chin an’ back down.

“Hungry as dogs.”

Behind him, the man gave a single loose bark. “Woof, woof.”

An’ then laughed, joined by the woman.

His fingers stroked along his jaw a second time like he was thinkin’.

“An’ anyhow,” he said. Soft. Careful. “We wouldn’t be strangers in yer house. Not entirely.”

His eyes flicked back to you then, full-on, an’ tha’ smile shifted again, softer and intimate.

“Was only hopin’,” he said, an’ tha’ accent curled warm around every word, “t’ find a place to rest these tired bones o’ mine.”

His head dipped a little lower.

“Somewhere warm, like.” The corner o’ his mouth liftin’ and blood rushed to your face while the damn man just kept smilin’ at you.

Smoke spoke out the side o’ his mouth while barely gazing at your side.

“Ya know this white man?”

“I—” Your mouth went dry. “I don’t, Smoke. I don’t know him.”

Missing entirely the way Remmick’s eyes went darker because you were too busy tryin’ to keep your voice from crackin’.

Smoke didn’t move.

“Y’all can’t come in,” he said again, firmer this time and immovable.

Remmick let his gaze sit on Smoke for a long quiet beat, fingers drifting down off his jaw an’ hooked light through the strap o’ the banjo at his chest.

“Well,” he said at last, somethin’ hollow sat low in the middle o’ the word. “Reckon we’ll be movin’ on, then.”

His eyes cut to you one last time and he held you there, plain an’ open.

“But we’ll go slow, mind,” he murmured, still lookin’ at you. “Just in case ye change yer minds.”

Somebody pressed a glass into your hand on the way to a stool, you didn’t see whose hand or voice, just sat where your legs finally decided they’d had enough o’ carryin’ you, elbows landin’ heavy on the bar top.

Wood was sticky under your forearms with old rings o’ spilled beer while you lifted the glass and drank, alcohol sliding down the same way it always did, but the heat behind your ribs originated from the man you’ve met before.

Sweetheart. Mo chroí. Darlin’.

The accent kept curlin’ back behind your ears and you couldn’t shake it loose.

Somewhere further down the place, Stack was talkin’ to Mary but you couldn’t hear the words clean. They’d been at it, on an’ off, since she’d walked in tonight and it wasn't none o’ your business, only sometimes your ear caught a fragment o’ it without meanin’ to.

Not long after you saw Mary walk toward the door with her shoulders pulled up an’ her chin set.

All you did was just drink again and your head fell as pictures came.

They’d been comin’ all night in flashes, ever since the porch, an’ they kept gettin’ bolder.

A fence, hammer ringin’ and a mouth on yours tha’ tasted like iron nails.

Your own fingers wrapped round a bigger hand, guidin’ a stick o’ charcoal across rough bark.

Clean water of a river runnin’ fast over stones, somebody’s deep laugh rolling up outta a broad chest, laughter aimed at you as you were laughin’ too.

A hand cuppin’ water an’ tossin’ it at your chest, making shivers run down your spine followed by curses forming in a tongue you didn’t own.

A bonfire so tall the sparks looked like stars flyin’ upward to join their cousins.

Plain ring on your finger, two small words tha’ you still somehow knew what they could mean.

Blood in hay turnin’ it rust-colored in streaks.

Please. Don’t leave me alone.

A roof collapsin’.

You jerked so hard the glass knocked over at your elbow, a thin wave o’ whiskey spread across the bar top an’ ran toward the edge which you barely caught sloppily with the heel o’ your hand.

“Scoot, now. Gimme room.”

The pink dress slid into the stool next to you before you’d even lifted your head.

Turning your face slowly toward it, you saw Mary settling beside you with a soft little huff, smoothin’ the fabric across her knees, perfume wafting up.

Somethin’ in the air at her side was cooler.

“Hey, you,” she said before smiling, further playing into your confusion since she never paid much attention to you.

“Mary,” you said, careful, because your heart was still scramblin’. “Thought you was outside.”

“Was,” she said and waved a hand, vague. “Got cold so came back in.”

“Stack lookin’ for ya?”

“Always.” She rolled her eyes and somethin’ in your chest eased half a notch at seein’ it. “Man can’t keep himself occupied for two minutes without knowin’ where I’m at.”

You tried to smile and answer her warm one as she leaned an elbow on the bar and tipped her head toward you.

“Y’ alright, honey?” she asked. “Ye lookin’ pale, sittin’ here all by y’self.”

“I’m fine,” you said, quicker than was honest.

She hummed, a little noise o’ you’re-a-bad-liar-but-I’ll-let-it-pass.

Her eyes were on your face only and maybe a flicker to the hollow o’ your throat before snapping back up to your eyes.

“He was right handsome,” she said, light, teasin’. “Wasn’t he?”

Your face did the hot thing again up-the-neck thing.

“Oh,” she said, pleased, a girl catchin’ a girlfriend out in somethin’. “Oh, honey. Yer deep in jt.”

“M’ not,” you mumbled.

“He was handsome, though. M’ not right?” She asked softer now and no longer teasin’, eyes on yours steady as a lamp flame in still air.

“He was indeed,” you admitted quiet.

“Y’all know each other?”

“No,” you said. Then “…No. I don’t think so.” Shifting on the stool.

“Where you from again, honey?” She asked like she hadn’t known you since getting together wi’ Stack.

“…Mary, ya know where I’m from.”

“Oh, hush, I’m just talkin’. Here, humor me. Where were ya born?”

Replying back how it was the same town as hers, she nodded along like it was news.

“An’ your mama’s folks, where’d they come up from?”

“What’re ya askin’ all this for?”

“I’m just makin’ conversation,” she said lightly. “Ain’t nothin’ to get cagey about. A woman can’t sit next to an old friend an’ talk about fam’ly?”

Somethin’ in your gut clenched an’ you didn’t know why.

“You been actin’ strange.”

She turned to you full on then. An’ tha’ smile came out wider, prettier, so pretty it hurt to look at her straight.

“I’m just curious.” She said an’ reached out an’ put her cool, cool hand on your wrist where it lay on the bar. Her skin against yours was the temperature o’ an apple left out on a porch in October. “C’mon baby, don’t be stingy.”

Her eyes flicked down your face and the hollow o’ your throat where your collar sat open, a little bead o’ spit had gathered at the corner o’ her mouth.

Her eyes jerked back up to yours too fast. Somebody had yanked her gaze up outta the dip it had sunk into, yanked it hard by a leash you couldn’t see an’ her smile patched itself back over the crack in an instant.

“Mary, there you are.” Stack’s voice cut through the space, shoulders hunched up under his jacket, his eyes on Mary an’ only her.

“I been lookin’ all over for you,” he said to her slowly while sliding in between the two o’ you easily.

“I was just talkin’,” Mary said, pretty as pie. “Me an’ yer old friend here, catchin’ up.”

Stack’s eyes darted to you and the look between the two o’ you was identical of a what-the-hell-is-goin’-on.

“Come on, sugar,” he said, layin’ a hand at the small o’ Mary’s back. “Let’s talk.”

She sighed and slid down off the stool, her head turned back toward you and she smiled with all her teeth, a wet sheen on them.

“I had a nice talk,” she told you. Voice sugar. “Didn’t we, honey.”

“…yeah.”

She let Stack steer her away into the crowd till both of their bodies got swallowed up by dancing bodies as the band rolled into the next song.

Out beyond the floor, through a parted elbow an’ shoulder, you caught a glimpse of’ Mary an’ Stack dancin’ proper close. Her pink dress flush against the front o’ his jacket, cheek a breath from his mouth.

And between one blink and the next, the juke joint folded up.

In the same space, there was a field o’ tall yellow grass brushin’ the waist o’ a lad, an’ a dirt path with a fence line with a man bent over it cursin’ round a mouthful o’ nails.

You could see the sweat on his tunic where it clung to his back, calloused hand swingin’ a hammer and a crooked grin tha’ cracked across his face when he caught sight o’ you.

Your own younger hand reached out an’ took a nail outta his without askin’ an’ he kissed you in the next heartbeat, mouth warm an’ tastin’ like iron, an’ your palms cupped the scrape o’ his scruffy jaw.

Your breath came outta you in a shudder tha’ near knocked you off the stool, pressing the heel o’ your hand to your eyes.

Somethin’ was wrong with you tonight and ain’t-drunk-enough-to-explain-this.

Mary an’ Stack had drifted off the main floor into one o’ the back rooms on the far side, the little ones tha’ had a door you could close.

Across the floor, past a knot o’ dancers, Smoke’s head had come up, Annie was at his elbow, one hand on his arm, already sayin’ somethin’ low into his ear as they moved together with Sammie behind before reaching the same door.

Loud gunshots cracked the atmosphere and the laughters stopped, replaced by screams.

You were off the stool before you knew you’d stood, moving against the current of folks scramblin’ toward the front door, backin’ away from the back o’ the joint, and you were shoulderin’ through ‘em the other way.

Once you’ve reached the splintered doorframe, Mary had bursted through it, the pink dress now soaked in blood, mouth open and smeared in red while grinning with deeply yellow eyes, bright worse than a coyote caught in a lantern in a dark field.

“Oh, honey. He’s been waitin’ so long fer ya.” She sang, gigglin’ right after turning on her heel an’ ran, bloody footprints slappin’ a trail out across the floorboards.

Inside, the juke joint was now a wreck o’ stillness.

Where there had been fiddle an’ stomp an’ laughter a minute past, now there were just a couple of traumatized people.

Stack was on his back on the floorboards, shirt discarded and remaining in a simple white tank top, no light on his eyes.

Annie had a hand on his shoulder, sayin’ somethin’ low tha’ was for him alone, words you couldn’t hear, words your ears refused to land on while Sammie’s guitar strung over his back, eyes big an’ shinin’ at the loss of his cousin while Pearline was halfway down on her knees against the wall o’ the hall, a hand pressed flat over her own mouth.

You stood where your feet had stopped you, about three paces back, starin’ at the edge of the exit where Stack’s once dead body had come back to life and sprinted outside right after Annie baptized him with some oil and garlic that caused his skin to hiss and show fangs identical to the ones Mary had.

Through the shuttered window, thin at first, a voice started up outside, clear and musical, accent wrapped round the syllables thick.

“In the merry month of June, from me home I started—”

The first verse rolled out easy, bright and playful as he sang, a clap started up on the first offbeat, all out in the dark beyond the shutters, boots started stompin’ somewhere.

“—left the girls of Tuam nearly broken-hearted—”

Your breath went outta you in a long slow pour as the juke joint went away.

One second you were standin’ on sticky floorboards with Annie’s hand a foot off your elbow an’ Sammie’s breath loud in your ear, the next you weren’t in Mississippi and those clothes of yours.

Elsewhere entirely, warm all over that started at the deep core o’ you, twisted half off the ground where hay was scattered everywhere, thighs achin’ sweet an’ loose and stretched out there was someone on his back, chest risin’ slow an’ fallin’ slower.

He was naked to the hip an’ the linen was thrown careless across his thighs an’ you had, with the last o’ your strength, come to rest with your cheek propped on the meat o’ his upper arm.

His skin was warm, chest sheened with sweat and a single drop o’ it was still travelin’ down the line from between his collarbones toward his sternum as you watched, hair dark and curls stuck to his forehead in uneven strands, mouth open a little, lips kiss-bruised an’ red, blue eyes were half-lidded but heavily fixed on you.

In a blur, you remembered him over, under and behind you, his mouth on the nape o’ your neck an’ the animal sound he’d made into it like low rough growl.

Memories of the heel of your foot against his tight but sturdy back, pushin’ him in, his voice had broken round your name and the same two syllables you’ve heard before of another language.

Big an’ callused hand on your jaw, turnin’ your face up to his so he could watch you while he finished you, laughin’ right after against his mouth because it had been somethin’ you both had said so many times now tha’ it had turned into a joke between you two.

“Come here,” he said and you pushed up on your elbow an’ leaned.

His mouth opened for you before you got there, kissing him slow. Lips soft and warm, taste o’ him salt an’ a hint o’ the ale you’d shared earlier while he made a low pleased sound into your mouth an’ his hand slid from your chin round to the back o’ your neck, big an’ warm as he kept you there, kissing you back deeper.

You broke the kiss to breathe and he didn’t let you get far, catching your lower lip softly between his teeth first, then opened his mouth an’ kissed you again, pullin’ you in by tha’ hand on the back o’ your neck.

When you pulled back a second time, laughin’ soft, he made a displeased noise an’ chased.

“Greedy,” you breathed against his mouth.

“Aye,” he said.

“You’ve already had me twice.”

“Thrice.”

“Thrice, then—”

“An’ I’m lookin’ t’ make it four, if ye keep puttin’ yer mouth on me like tha’.”

You laughed into his jaw and he laughed back, arm coming ‘round you an’ he rolled you half onto him, bare chest against his own bare chest, thigh sliding warm between his as he kissed you again, slower an’ longer as you let him.

Blinking down at him where he lay beneath you on the hay, hair a tangle and blue eyes blinkin’ up at you with a perfect mixture between love and hunger, chest risin’ in a slow deep rhythm.

“Hold on,” you said.

“Hm?”

“Hold still, I’ve got a thing.”

You pushed yourself off him and he groaned in a long sufferin’ way, dropping his arm across his eyes. “Ye can’t be serious. Come back down here, I’m not done wi’ ye.”

“Ye are fer tha’ moment, lie still.”

You crawled on the hay, naked as you were born, and rummaged in the basket at the foot o’ the bed fer the strip o’ parchment you’d been keepin’ for fool tunes like these.

Coming back wi’ it and a nub o’ charcoal as you straddled low on the thicker side of his thighs, balancing the strip o’ parchment flat against the hard plane o’ his abdomen.

“Yer usin’ me,” he said, deadpan.

“Exactly.”

“There’s a desk right there.”

“I know, thought ye could be o’ some use after all tha’ ye just did t’ me.”

“Aye, ’twas very nice moments, wanna repeat ‘em?”

“Maybe. Hush now.” He laughed at your answer that shook his stomach under the parchment an’ the charcoal skittered.

“Hold still,” you said.

“I am—” His abs tensed to flatten themselves fer you, shiftin’ under the skin, an’ the charcoal skipped again an’ drew a wobbly line clean across what was meant to be a D.

“Yer not.”

“It tickles!”

His laugh shook the makeshift table you’ve made of him and ruined the line entire. You shoved at his shoulder lightly, grinnin’ despite yourself, an’ he grabbed your hand on its way back an’ pressed a kiss to your knuckles before lettin’ it go.

“Alright,” he said, sober, tryin’. “Alright. Alright.” He pulled in a breath through his nose an’ held it, abs still with eyes gleaming up at you to write down things.

He watched you write, eyes on your face adorably until ye were done writing down the start of a familiar song, sitting up proper now an’ letting you stay comfy on his lap as you leaned down and kissed him so slow.

“Yer mine,” he said into your lips.

“Aye.”

“Mo chroí. Ye’ll be mine fer all o’ it?”

“All o’ what?”

“’Til I’m dust an’ after.”

Yoh smiled against his mouth. “’Tis a lot to promise.”

“Age, then. Fer all o’ it.”

His thumb traced the shape o’ your lips, eyes searching yours and you loved him, wanting to stay in this lost place forever… despite not even knowing his name.

The thought landed in you like a stone.

You blinked and the room round you began to fade but the man beneath stayed warm while you tried to search the name o’ him.

“Who are you?” You said near a whisper.

His eyes on you didn’t change and then, slow, a smile curled up the corners o’ his mouth.

“Ye know who I am,” he said.

“Hey.” Somethin’ was shakin’ your shoulder.

“Ya with me? Hey—” The memory broke as you came back into your own body with a shudder tha’ ran all down your spine an’ Smoke had you by both shoulders, shakin’ to wake you from whatever state you were in.

“Hey,” he said. “Hey, you with me?

You looked at his brown eyes while behind him, in a loose half-circle, the others stood watchin’.

“What happened to ya?” Smoke said.

“I—I don’t—”

“You was standin’ there with your eyes open an’ you wasn’t here an’ even smilin’.”

You own hand went up to your mouth.

For a man who had just lost his twin, he sure did a good job at hiding everything.

“Tha’ thing out there out there with my brother an’ Mary an’ God knows who else in his hand now, wants Sammie. Y’ heard tha’?”

You shook your head.

“Tha’ thing wants Sammie,” Smoke said again. “An’ tha’ thing’s threatenin’ Grace’s little girl through her own father out there, you hear me?“

Said asian woman made a small sound on the far side o’ the room, hand tightening on her belly.

“I don’t—I don’t know what to—” you said, trying to figure out what to possibly do. “We wait fer the sun. Tha’s what kills ‘em, ain’t it?

He didn’t answer you right off, eyes going from your face to the shuttered window an’ stayed there a long stretch,

“Don’t you tell me you don’t know tha’ thin’ when it keeps callin’ ya by some pet name in.” Revolver still at his side.

You took one half-step back without meanin’ to.

“I don’t know him,” you said, an’ your voice shook. “Smoke. Smoke. I don’t— I have never in my life met him! I don’t know what’s happenin’, Smoke, I swear to God I don’t—”

You could feel the others watchin’ like Annie and Sammie’ eyes.

“Elijah,” Annie said while placing a hand on his shoulder. “We ain’t gon’ eat our own.”

Her eyes drifted to you quickly an’ they weren’t cold but they weren’t settled either. She was doin’ the math in her head.

“Grace is near out o’ her mind,” Annie went on, quieter. Said woman’ eyes were shinin’ hard and she was off the bar an’ movin’ before anybody had time to catch her.

Smoke took hold of her shoulder but she yelled “Come on in, you motherfuckers!”

Annie was at her back tryin’ to haul her off but it was already too late fer holdin’ back anythin’.

Soon everyone, you included, moved all over the place to get ready for what was about to come

Somebody had shoved a rifle into your hand, stock o’ it tacky where somebody else’s palm had sweat on it.

The large doors of wood opened, you heard.

He came in front of the large road of turned people, soaked head to boot in blood, suspenders dark with it and collar sodden, jaw smeared along with hair plastered dark to his temples.

His red eyes as arterial come up and land on you heavy.

Grace’s arm come up hard, old glass bottle packed with kerosene and a rag that had been lit up was now thrown

Remmick’s red eyes stayed on yours before his hand come up and clipped the glass on its way, knocking it sideways and letting it slam into the wall to his left.

Kerosene an’ fire went up the wall climbing fast upward.

Smoke fired his revolver, Sammie and Pearl’ rifles joined soon after.

You raised your own gun as well but the inferno that was born inside this place aroused a memory thousand years old.

No longer inside the juke joint but now hidden in a small area behind the settlement, knees pulled up under your chin an’ your palms pressed flat over your mouth to quiet your breathin’ while voices outside were shoutin’.

You’d hear them break the door in and go through the rooms callin’ out in a tongue you didn’t know well right before lighting up the place on their way out.

The first crackle o’ the thatch came and black curl of smoke invaded your lungs.

Tried to crawl toward the door, lower level of the floor had lower air and you’d made it two paces, before your lungs had spasmed.

All that was left was the call of your name and those strong hands cradling your body before beams had come down.

Somethin’ lunged for you in the juke joint and you fired off the hip instinctively, catching the thing barely in time.

The roof above was fully afire now and bits o’ flamin’ thatch-woven were fallin’, air now thick grey.

Pumping the rifle and raisin’ it again when a long hand with black black claws moved the barrel sideways, too fast upward to twist it outta your grip

It clattered off somewhere behind Remmick now standing right ahead as you backed up, heart punchin’ your throat from inside.

Over his shoulder and through the smoke, you saw Annie with Stack’s mouth at the side o’ her throat while you couldn’t move.

“What you waitin’ on,” you said, voice coming out rough with the smoke an’ cracked at the edges.

His head tilted a little.

“G’on,” you said. “Bite me, then. Tha’s what you’re here fer, in’t it? Tha’s what you do.”

The fire roared around you, roof groaning somewhere above your heads as his red eyes searched yours.

“Ye really don’t remember me,” he said quietly.

Your mouth opened and stayed like that because you did remember and not at the same time.

He saw the flicker of hesitation and soon was on you in the blink of an eye.

Only felt the air push before he had you now boxed in against the wall with his hands flat on the wood on either side o’ your head, arms caging ‘round and his face was so close your own breath was warmin’ his jaw.

“Mo chroí,” his breath smelled o’ iron, stink o’ fresh blood heavy on his tongue and washed over your mouth as he spoke.

“Listen to me now. I’ve woke up back to those ruins o’ me place and dug in tha’ wreck with my own two hands to find ya, an’ I found only— only—”

His voice crack.

“I wandered fer years… crossed a whole ocean fer ya. I kept lookin’ all this time an’ I’d have kept lookin’ another thousand year if I had to an’ tonight—” He breathed in hard, red in his eyes shaking.

Fire roared an’ the roof cracked while the shoutin’ and firing of weapons kept going.

His hand moved, slow and careful like he used to do as a lad not wantin’ to startle a horse. He reached down to his trouser pocket and fumbled there a second, coming out with somethin’ small closed in his fist.

He opened his fist and revealed a small and plain ring of worn metal.

Darkened now to near-black on the outside from long handlin’, two words written on the inner side.

“Wos the only thin’ I found tha’ night I lost ye,” he said, an’ his voice had gone down to somethin’ only you could hear. “Kept it all these years, polished it as best as I could. Please. Please, love. Take it.”

You looked at his face and it broke you, shakin’ fingers hovering above his open palm a second and then you set the tips to the metal o’ the ring before picking it up.

In a flood every single moment came back.

“…Remmick,” you said quietly and his whole face lit up, mouth streaked in blood spreading open to show sharp fangs and his red eyes crinkled at the corners.

You surged forward and closed the small distance between you in one push off the wall an’ you had your arms round his neck, face in the wet crook o’ his shoulder, squeezin’ him hard enough to feel his bones while he was drenched in somebody else’s blood.

Arms that could have crushed your bones locked around your back and they dragged you in tighter, one hand flat in the middle o’ your shoulderblades while thr one big hand cradled the back of your skull.

“What happened to ye?” Ye asked into his throat. “Why didn’t I wake up like ye did? Love, what happened to ya, tell me, tell me—”

He shushed you into your hair, hand at the back o’ your skull pressing harder and tiltin’ your face deeper into the curve o’ his neck.

“It don’t matter, mo chroí. It don’t matter a bit. I don’t care.”

The smoke bit deep into your lungs ‘fore you even realized you were chokin’ on it.

He moved wi’ such unnatural ease, carryin’ you outside the burnin’ place to the back of it.

“Shh, mo ghrá. Stay hidden, you hear me? Stay right here. I’ll be back soon enough, I swear it on me own bones.”

He went t’ set you down but you clung to his shoulder, fingers twistin’ in the ruined fabric o’ his shirt.

“Where’re ye goin’?”

“That lad, Sammie. He’s got the gift of music that splits the veil clean in two. If I take it from ‘im, I can reach back. We’ll see ‘em again, mo rún. Our own kin. Ever’body we lost.”

His forehead pressed to yours, his breath tremblin’ against your lips.

“Don’t. Don’t go, Remmick, please, don’t leave me, don’t you dare —“

He kissed you, mouth crashing onto yours hard enough that your head would’ve snapped back if his hand hadn’t cradled the base o’ your skull. The taste o’ copper-sweet blood flooded your tongue and you didn’t care.

Opening for him his tongue shoved deep inside, greedy and stroking agin yours. A low noise rumbled up from his chest and his clawed hands slid down to your waist, big and possessive.

Your back met the wood o’ the burnin’ wall, gentle as he could manage despite his urgency as he pressed flush against you, his body cold where yours was fever-hot. His claws prick’d through the thin cotton o’ your shirt at your hips as he kissed you deeper, tongue slidin’ wet an’ filthy, teeth catchin’ gentle on your lower lip, suckin’ it into his mouth before lettin’ it snap back.

Fingers scrabbling up into his hair and he groaned into your mouth, rockin’ his hips once against you before he caught himself.

The kiss stretched too long for your mortal lungs as you started t’ whimper for air before he finally tore his mouth away wi’ a wet sound.

You looked up at him, dizzy and’ wrecked.

Drool hung in a slick silver strand from the corner o’ his parted mouth, runnin’ down over that blood-smeared chin, glistenin’, eyes blown wide and dark fixed on your throat where the wild pulse beatin’ there.

Hunger fightin’ in him before he wrenched his gaze away wi’ a strangled sound, turnin’ his face sharp t’ the side, dragging the back o’ his forearm rough across his mouth, smearin’ the drool an’ the blood away in one harsh swipe and floating upward.

Time stretched terribly as you hadn’t heard a cohesive noise outside.

By the time you’ve heard a loud crowd of vampires praying together, you crept t’ the window, seeing Remmick on the lake, dawn not yet cracked but threat’nin’. He caught Sammie by the collar, spun ‘im round, mouth openin’ wide, fangs glinting, ready t’ bite an’ take ever’thin’ that boy had before a guitar swung wild, and smashed full on the side o’ Remmick’s face.

His handsome face caving in on one side, jaw unhinged, perfect cheek carved an’ bloody, skin tornt open from temple t’ chin.

You’ve rushed to the lake and thankfully all the vampires ignored you from sharing the same pain of their master.

Only when you were right at the edge of the lake were you too late to see Smoke behind Remmick as he drove a stake through his back, bloody point o’ the wood burstin’ out the front o’ his chest.

Your feet were movin’ before your mind caught up, crashing through the lake water and caught ‘im as he swayed, sliding your arms under his an’ ‘round his back to hold ‘im up wi’ all the strength your human body had, his ruin’d face lollin’ agin your shoulder, blood soakin’ hot through the front o’ your shirt.

“No, no, no, I’m here, I’m here, a stór, I got you— Don’t you leave me alone again, Remmick, don’t you dare—“

Behind you, over the treetops, the sun broke, first ray hit him and he hissed, smoke curlin’ up off his skin in thin white ribbons.

He tried t’ push you away, so weak.

“Go — go, mo ghrá…get back, get —“

The flames caught as they leapt up his shoulders and they licked onto your arms where you held ‘im. The pain was unbearable now, skin blisterin’ but you did not let go, locking your arms tighter ‘round ‘im.

“Before the old spirits,” you murmured softly, voice on the verge of passing out from pain, “before earth, flame and the turning years… I bind myself t’ye.”

He made a wreck’d sobbin’ sound against your collarbone.

The fire took you both.

Remmick gasped loudly and he jerked back so violent that your entangled hands sticky of blood near ripped apart, blue eyes flying wide open

“Remmick!” Your heart slammed up into your throat from the fright he gave you. “Remmick, wha’s wrong? Wha’ is it?”

He stared at you, chest heavin’ like he’d run for miles. His hand flew up t’ his own face, touchin’ his cheek, findin’ it whole again and no longer smacked wide open.

He looked down at his own hands, turnin’ ‘em over, starin’ at the unmarked skin of his palms and lack of the usual sharp ended claws.

Then down at himself, no longer having suspenders and shirt soaked red in blood, seeing instead a simpler spare tunic, rough off-white linen stretching tight across his shoulders.

“Did you —“ His voice was horse. “Did you feel that?”

“Feel it? How could I miss it, ye great daft lummox? Ye gasped loud enough t’ wake the dead an’ scare ever’ rabbit an’ blackbird fer a mile. Look… even the heron took off.”

You pointed across the slow-moving dark water of the river from lack of wind t’ where a long grey bird was beatin’ her wings away low over the reeds.

But he wasn’t laughin’, lookin’ past you, eyes fixed on a figure across the river, tall and robed in something dark watching still o’ it gone just as fast the second you turned towards his gaze.

“Remmick,” you said again, softer now. “Tell me wha’ wrong, please. You’ve asked me t’ be with ye fore’er an’ now yer actin’ like ye’ve seen a ghost.”

He dragged his eyes all around the area he was in now, that same river deep in the forest tha’ will than lead to his land of work.

The look on his face when he dragged his gaze back on you was disbelieving.

He looked at the small cut on your palm previously linked to his, realizing now that there were no noises of invaders nearby that had interrupted your union.

This really was his place as it had been before everything went to ruin.

A sound tore out o’ ‘im resembling a mixture of a sob and a laugh as he lunged for you, wrapping you up so tight in his strong and human arms that your ribs creaked, burrowin’ his face into the crook o’ your neck, one big hand fisted in your hair an’ the other splay’d wide against your back, crushin’ you into his chest.

“Mo ghrá,” he rasped. “Mo chroí… I missed you somethin’ terrible, I thought—“

“Missed me?” you pulled back a little, bafflement written clear on your face, an’ reached up t’ cradle his cheek. “Remmick, love, I only clos’d me eyes a moment fer the prayer together wi’ ye. You’ve not been without me— “

Stopping as he laughed, broken little chuckle as you saw that his eyes had gone bright and glassy.

“Remmick.” Your voice softened t’ nothin’. “Wha’s the matter, a ghrá? Tell me an’ I’ll put it right.”

He turned his face into your palm, kissing the heel of your hand and closed his eyes, breathing in the smell o’ you.

“Nothin’s the matter a’tall.”

His hand slid t’ the nape o’ your neck, thumb stroking up under your ear and he tilted your chin wi’ his other hand to kiss you.

Completely different from the one you’ve shared outside the burning juke joint only he remembered.

A warm kiss, soft and devoid of blood and centuries of curses, lips moving against yours with devotion and when his tongue slid into your mouth it was unhurried, lickin’ along yours slowly and making your toes curl in your leather slippers.

He cradled your jaw in one big hand, tilting your head the way he liked so he could kiss you deeper still.

Whimpering small into his mouth and he groaned low in return, sound rumblin’ down through his chest an’ straight down into your abdomen.

His hand slid from your jaw down your throat and he felt your pulse there with the flat o’ his palm, living pulse of his own hammerin’ in his wrist where it rested against your collarbone.

Both of you alive.

When he broke away his eyes was half-lidded and his lips was shiny wet from yours.

“Mo chroí.” His voice had dropped a full octave, gone soft and husky while his forehead rested on yours. “Will you come back t’ my place wi’ me?”

“Remmick—“

“Back t’ our bed,” His thumb brushed soft along your lower lip, still flush’d from his kisses. “I wanna lay you down and hear them sweet little sounds fer me… let me hear your heart beatin’ against mine fer hours.”

The R.P.D. lobby felt cavernous but not from its size but rather for the lack of survivors or police force, leaving behind a hollow silence that pressed faintly against your ears.

Dust hung everywhere, faintly visible in the dim, fractured light filtering through high windows and the marble floors were now streaked with grime and darker stains you refused to examine too closely.

Leaning back against one of the wooden desks, edge digging faintly into your lower spine through the layers of your gear, arms wrapped tightly across your chest. The tactical vest felt heavier with its straps that snug across your shoulders.

Your fingers tucked under your arms, gripping your sleeves, more for something to hold than warmth.

Leon stood a few steps away, hands raised slightly as he adjusted his own vest, tugging at the straps and outlining the firm lines beneath in a way that was hard not to notice even in a situation like this and his brows furrowed as he glanced around, blue eyes wide with disbelief and tension.

“This place is completely empty,” he muttered, voice echoing.

Tilting your head back slightly, eyes half-lidded as they stared toward the ceiling for a moment before answering.

“Considering what’s happening outside,” you muttered, shifting your weight and glancing toward the shuttered entrance, “I’m not surprised.”

Your gaze drifted back to him, watching the way his jaw tightened just a fraction as he processed that.

“We should check if anyone’s still here,” you added after a beat, pushing yourself off the desk just slightly. “This is where we were supposed to start, right? First day.”

There was something faintly bitter about the way the words landed.

Leon nodded quickly, almost reflexively. “Yeah. Yeah, you’re right.”

His attention shifted toward the gate leading to the est side of the station, shoulders squaring just a bit in instinctive readiness.

He stepped closer, eyes scanning the mechanism and you followed more slowly, arms dropping from your chest as you approached.

His fingers hovering near the big red button there and, when he pressed it, the mechanism groaned to life with a grinding sound that echoed down the hallway beyond.

The gate began to lift, slow and uneven, metal scraping faintly as it rose just enough to create a narrow gap before it abruptly stopped.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Irritation in your tone flaring sharper than you expected.

Leon lowered himself down onto the floor without hesitation despite the dark smears that streaked across the tiles, metallic and stale smell hitting faintly.

He didn’t seem to care, or maybe he was just better at pushing it aside.

Lying flat, he angled his body toward the gap, one arm stretching forward as he clicked on his flashlight, the beam cutting into the darkness beyond.

You should have been focused on that but, instead, your gaze betrayed you as it dropped and lingered.

The vest hugged his back and stretched over defined lines of broad but not bulky shoulders.

Leon shifted, then quickly pulled himself back from the gap, pushing up onto one knee.

“I’m gonna check it out,” he said, lowering the flashlight slightly as he looked up at you. “There might be people down there.”

“What?” The response came out sharper than intended as you dropped down to one knee yourself, instinct kicking in. “No—no, I’m coming with you.”

Angling yourself toward the opening, ready to follow him through the narrow space despite the mess and smell. “I’m not letting you go alone.”

For a split second, surprise flickered across his face along something softer underneath it that made his eyes warm.

He reached out before you could move further, his hand settling on your shoulder.

It wasn’t rough or forceful, warm even through the layers of fabric.

“Hey,” he said, voice dropping just a little, gentler, like he was trying to ease you rather than argue. His thumb shifted slightly where it rested, the corners of his mouth lifted to form a small.

“I’ll be back in no time,” he continued, his tone carrying that quiet confidence that made it hard to argue, even when you wanted to. “You stay here, alright? If anyone comes in, they’re gonna need someone to help them.”

His hand squeezed your shoulder lightly before he pulled back.

And you hated how easily that look in his eyes unraveled your resolve.

So you nodded and watched him disappear through the narrow opening.

Time stretched as you tried to convince yourself that he’d be back any second.

It felt like hours had passed of barely shifting your weight, pacing a short line near the table to somehow make time move faster.

“Idiot,” you muttered under your breath, though whether it was directed at him or yourself wasn’t entirely clear.

Probably both.

Scrubbing a hand over your face, exhaling sharply as frustration coiled tighter in your chest.

All because, when he looked at you in that soft and earnest look, it felt… too good.

He wanted to protect you because you mattered to him.

That was the closest thing you were ever going to get, wasn’t it?

A hand on your shoulder, a promise he might not even be able to keep.

You bit the inside of your cheek, the sharp sting grounding just enough to break the spiral.

Enough.

Waiting wasn’t doing anything.

If he wasn’t coming back, you needed to find out why.

Turning on your heel and moving toward the lobby’s computer system, fingers moving quickly over the controls as you pulled up the camera feeds. The screens flickered to life one by one, each showing a different part of the station as you cycled through them, faster and faster, scanning for any sign of him.

Faint gunshots echoed through the speakers from one of the west side cameras.

You had trained for this, graduated alongside him and gone through the same drills and expectations.

That bright and determined smile will not be the last thing you’ll see of him.

Turning toward the taped gate, your eyes caught a knife half-hidden near the base.

Crouching and picking it up carefully before using the blade to slide under the tape with a satisfying rip, sound loud in the quiet lobby as you worked through the layers, peeling them away one by one until the controls were finally exposed.

A large red button sat at the center and, once pressed, the mechanism groaned, gate lifting steadily and fully without stopping.

Standing there for a second as the opening widened before stepping forward.

The room you forced your way into was smaller than you expected, more of a cramped connector than a proper office.

Gun forward and flashlight aligned just beneath it as you advanced, beam cutting clean lines through the dimness, illuminating overturned chairs and a smear of something dark dragged across the floor, breathing staying controlled even as your pulse pressed harder against your throat.

At the far end, a door that you already knew where it led with the map you’d studied moments ago burned into your mind, that long hallway stretching across the west side.

Your hand reached for the handle slowly, fingers tightening just slightly before you turned it.

Rather than rapidly invading the room, you shifted to the side, pressing your back lightly against the wall as you pushed the door open to create a narrow angle, your head tilting so you could peek through first, minimizing your profile the way you’d been taught.

Two figures at the far end of the hallway, slumped awkwardly against the wall, head tilted at an unnatural angle, skin pale in the weak wash of moonlight spilling through a distant window.

Your breath caught at closer look on the other one.

Even in partial shadow and the distortion of low light, your heart recognized Leon immediately.

Pushing the door open wider and stepping in, feet quiet against the floor as you approached, closing the distance carefully until you were no more than ten feet away.

He was kneeling near the body of a cop, from the look of the uniform, sprawled across the tiles and as your boot made the faintest sound against the ground Leon moved insanely quick, surging up from his kneeling position in one fluid, coiled motion, pivoting sharply as his arm snapped up, handgun already aligned with your center mass while his flashlight flared directly into your face, blinding in its intensity.

“Don’t—!” The word cut sharp and rough, far more hardened than the voice you had heard in the lobby.

Everything about him was different, stance much tighter and efficient, the way he held the gun was fluid and practiced under pressure.

The jacket he had on hit you first.

A thick B-3 bomber, shearling lining spilling out at the collar in pale, dense curls that brushed against his neck.

Scuffs marked the surface, subtle creases worn into the leather.

Beneath it, his frame was… bigger.

Not just lean like you had always seen him, but built. Arms filling the sleeves, faint strain across his chest when he shifted his aim.

His hair was slightly longer, falling just enough to frame his face differently.

But his eyes were still blue and unmistakably his, cold at first.

Recognition morphed his features as tension in his shoulders faltered and his gaze locked onto your face.

His gun lowered, flashlight dipping with it, no longer blinding you but instead casting a softer glow that revealed his expression fully now.

Not just recognition swarmed his face, something warmer as well came in that settled low in your chest.

“You’re here too, Babe?” He said, voice rougher than anything you’d ever heard from him before.

Heat flooded your face instantly, sudden and overwhelming, brain stumbling over itself trying to process that along with everything else.

“What?” Your eyes narrowed despite the warmth creeping up your neck. “Leon, what are you talking about? We came in here together.”

That only made his confusion deepen, brows pulling together, gaze flicking around the hallway as his jaw tightened, like every inch of this place held memories you couldn’t see but he could feel pressing in on him.

Your gaze broke from his haunted one, dragging instead toward the cop with his jaw completely torn on the side and hanging awkwardly, his head lolled back against the wall.

“Did you see who—” You swallowed hard, forcing the bile back down but stopped talking after seeing Leon’s attention fixed upward, body tense again in focused attention.

There were a jagged hole in the ceiling before something too large and wrong, tipped with elongated claw-like fingers, erupted from it.

An inhuman shriek split the air, vibrating through your bones as the thing pulled itself into view.

Its body was flayed, muscle exposed in slick, glistening strands that stretched and contracted as it moved, skin entirely absent as if peeled away to reveal the anatomy beneath. Its head was made of an exposed brain that pulsed faintly, vulnerable and yet somehow more horrifying for it.

A long tongue snaked outside of his mouth as it crawled forward with unnatural speed.

Leon’s large and gloved hand found yours.

“Yeah,” he muttered, already pulling you with him, pace immediate and urgent as he dragged you down the hallway. “Because one nightmare wasn’t enough.”

His tone was dry, edged with a sharp sarcastic bite that felt completely out of place.

You stumbled slightly trying to keep up, grip tightening on your gun as your feet scrambled to match his speed, the world blurring at the edges as adrenaline surged and from behind that tongue lashed out.

A violent tug came at your back as it latched onto your uniform, fabric stretching and tearing as the force yanked hard, ripping away fully your gears and layers beneath, the sudden exposure sending a sharp chill across your skin as the creature lost its grip just as quickly.

Leon didn’t let you go until he hit hard two doors, bursting through with brute force as they slammed open and dragging you inside with him in one continuous motion.

Soon after he pulled you in his arms, back colliding with his chest in a solid impact.

The thickness of his chest pressed against you through the layers acting like a pillow, pecs firm and broad, rising and falling with controlled breaths that you could feel against your back. Beneath that, even through the tight shirt, there was no mistaking the defined strength of his torso.

This was not the same Leon you’ve known for many years, not even close.

His arm wrapped around your chest, bicep thick and swelling as they locked you in place against him as his other hand raised the gun again, aiming past you toward the doorway just as the creature dropped down.

One shot and the bullet precisely struck its exposed brain with a wet impact, the shriek it let out was high-pitched and furious before it skittered back, retreating with unnatural speed.

Leon moved fast, pulling away just long enough to slam the doors shut, grabbing a chair and jamming it under the handle as guttural groans from zombies echoed from the other side.

Heavy banging followed relentlessly.

Adrenaline faded away and your legs crashed all at once, dropping you to the ground as the reality of everything hit in a dizzying wave.

Before you could fully process it he was there, kneeling in front of you.

“Hey…hey,” his hand came up to cradle your cheek, large and warm, thumb brushing lightly against your skin in a way that felt impossibly gentle and intimate. “Babe, look at me.”

“What year is it?” he asked.

The question, like everything else happening, hit wrong.

“1998,” you answered, confusion twisting tighter as the pounding on the door grew louder. “Why are you asking me that?”

Something shifted in his eyes in understanding.

Without another word, he shrugged off his jacket quickly and draped it around your shoulders, pulling it snug around you with careful hands, fingers brushing against your arms as he adjusted it.

It was warm and soft on the inside, shearling lining cushioning against your skin, scent of leather and his wrapped all around your frame.

“There we go,” his lips quivered slightly as he muttered, almost to himself. “You always like to take it from me. Still cute.”

The chair behind him shifted as it toppled over once the doors burst open, two figures stumbling in, decayed and groaning.

Leon moved instantly up on his feet, gun raised and the first shot snapped clean through one of their skulls, impact jerking its head back as it staggered.

He didn’t wait, closing the distance in a flash, knife in hand, so similar to yours it made your breath hitch, and drove it into the creature’s neck with brutal precision before pivoting sharply.

His leg came up in a powerful roundhouse kick that connected solidly with the second zombie’s head, force snapping it sideways as it collapsed.

“Go,” he said, voice sharp and commanding without even looking back at you when he spoke. “I’ll catch up.”

Reluctantly you followed his command and the door on the other side gave way under your hand with a reluctant creak, hinges whining low and the moment the gap widened enough for your body to slip through, the air changed.

Another hallway narrower than the last. Two doors sat on either side, one to your right the other on the left, both shut tight, undead police officers lurked further down the corridor.

Three or maybe four of them. One brushed against the wall with a dull thud, leaving behind a smear that caught the weak light while another let out a wet groan that echoed enough to make the space feel smaller.

Your heart hammered so hard it felt like it might give you away on its own, each pulse loud in your ears, drowning out everything else for a second as your mind raced.

Fingers tightening around your handgun, familiar weight grounding you enough to push past the spike of panic clawing up your spine.

You lifted the weapon slowly, arms steady despite the tremor trying to creep in, lining up your shot on the nearest one.

One trigger and the muzzle flashed in a brief burst of red-orange light for a split second before the bullet hit clean, tearing through rotted flesh and bone.

Zombie’s head burst open as the body collapsed instantly, crumpling to the ground in a lifeless heap that twitched once before going still.

A high and piercing screech followed down the hallway, claws scraping fast on concrete until the Licker came into view above like some grotesque parody of a spider.

Its brain pulsed, fully exposed, shifting slightly with each tilt of its head to listen and figure out where the noise came from.

Engaging that thing with the amount of ammo you had left was suicide.

So you moved slowly with agonizing care, boots barely whispering against the floor as you edged along the hallway, gun still raised but your finger easing off the trigger.

A low, clicking sound left its throat, tongue twitching faintly between rows of jagged teeth, tasting the air and searching.

Almost there at the other side of the hallway, a sudden bang on the window shattered everything.

Your head snapped toward the source instinctively, eyes widening as you caught glass exploding inward as a zombie forced its way through, collapsing into the hallway in a mess of limbs and broken shards, a guttural groan tearing from its throat as it dragged itself forward.

Above you the Licker froze, its entire body snapped toward the noise with terrifying speed, attention locking instantly onto the new arrival and moved fast.

It dropped from the ceiling and landed directly onto the zombie with a crushing impact, claws sinking deep as it let out a shriek, claws ripping through decayed flesh.

It was right in front of you blocking your path completely.

Behind a groan came and you turned sharply just in time to see another zombie lunge forward, arms outstretched as, in turn, it grabbed the Licker’s attention.

This was it, your grip tightened on your gun, breath catching as you braced for impact.

Something moved fast from behind the zombie, soon followed by a wet, slicing noise from an hatchet that pierced the back of the zombie’s skull, bursting through bone and rotten flesh in a spray of viscous blood as the creature’s body jerked violently, head tilting upward in a final motion.

For a second all you saw was the hand wrapped tight around the metal handle, veins faintly visible beneath the skin, grip steady and controlled.

Then he stepped forward fully into view and twisted in a brutal 180-degree turn of the wrist along the blade that followed, head coming off clean and body dropping in a useless heap as the hatchet came free.

Behind you, the Licker snarled, dragging your attention back and instincts screaming as your gun came up again, finger tightening on the trigger but he moved first.

Stepping in front of you and for a moment all you could see was a broad and solid back that filled your vision, a tight black shirt clinging to him and stretched across wide shoulders.

They rolled slightly as he adjusted his stance, the motion slow and controlled that made the muscles beneath that shirt ripple.

The Licker’s tongue attacked fast as a whip but he reacted faster, hatchet intercepting the strike mid-air and not only pairing it, but fully slicing the tongue.

It hit the ground writhing, twitching violently like a snake and the creature let out a shriek of pure agony, stumbling back as both of its clawed hands came up toward its ruined mouth, movements almost human in their panic.

“Follow me.” His voice, just like the last figure you met, felt familiar in a way that hit somewhere deep in your chest, even if your mind couldn’t place it yet with how much rougher it was.

He moved forward, closing the distance in two quick strides before driving his boot up straight into the exposed brain.

The impact was brutal, forcing the creature on the ground for him to bury the hatchet deep, infected blood spilling out around it in heavy, dark rivulets before he ripped it free in one clean motion.

“Move.”

Up the stairs, your legs barely keeping pace with him as he led the way without hesitation like he knew every inch of this place.

The upper floor opened into another corridor, steam already hissing somewhere ahead, thick clouds spilling out and blocking the path entirely except, he didn’t stop, swinging the hatchet against metal that gave way under repeated strikes, damaged pipe bursting further as the pressure shifted, steam redirecting, clearing just enough space for him to push through.

You hesitated just for a second before a gurgle from a zombie cut through the air that gave reasons to your legs to move past the showers and around the corner just in time to see him drive a punch into a zombie’s spine, forcing it down before that hatchet came down again, ending it with the same efficiency.

He checked behind him again rapidly still not seeing your face with how dark the hallway was.

The door at the end opened into a small room with bright light and the statue of a gazelle right at the center.

His gaze lingered on it, something unreadable passing through his expression before he turned to the creaking of the door.

“You the only survivor in h—” The question came out low and rough before he stopped, pupils tightening before widening again.

“…No,” he exhales under his breath, barely audible. His grip tightens slightly around the hatchet.

The same reaction erupted on your face as well at seeing Leon again, though much older. His face carried lines that hadn’t been there before, jaw stronger and scruffy with the stubble that decorated it. Same hairstyle but slightly longer, falling just enough to frame eyes that were duller now.

And his body was bigger by the look of that dark shirt stretched across his chest, arms thicker, veins faintly visible beneath skin.

Aged like fine wine didn’t even begin to cover it.

“…Alright,” he breathed, more composed now, though the roughness hasn’t left his voice. “Either I finally lost it or something’s seriously wrong.”

His eyes flick briefly around the room before turning and walking outside straight into the library, waiting for this nightmare to end immediately.

What else could you do beside following him?

The vast space had shelves towering high the more you got closer to them, filled with books and an atmosphere that seemed almost normal despite the hell outside.

Of which you got immediately reminded of when something cold and rotten grabbed your leg.

A corpse on the floor jerked to life, fingers tightening that didn’t get far as Leon’s (?) foot came down hard, crushing the skull as his weight pressed into it fully, thick muscles of his thigh flexing with the motion, muscle tightening under the fabric as he applied more pressure, grinding the remains into the floor before pulling back, wiping his shoe clean in one smooth motion.

“You really haven’t changed,” he said, a hint of dry amusement threading through his voice now. “Still walking into trouble, sweetheart.”

Heat flared up your neck instantly.

“What do you—”

From behind him there was movement done stealthily so well you’ve only now registered it, knife already raised and angled for a clean slice across the throat.

The older Leon in front of you didn’t needed a warning, arm suddenly wrapping and tightening around your waist as that large bicep locked in and dragged you alongside him, body pulled flush against his side as he pivoted sharply out of the attack’s path.

The knife cut through empty air where his neck had been a fraction of a second earlier before charging again and his hatchet came up, both hands bracing it for control.

Metal met metal with a biting clang fore his leg snapped forward to send a brutal kick to the attacker’s chest, forceful enough to send the man flying back into a stack of old books that collapsed under him in a cascade of dust and paper, sound loud in the enclosed space followed by a grunt.

Your eyes snapped to the Leon who gave you his jacket as he recovered with frightening speed, already pushing himself up and reaching for his weapon, bicep viewable from the short sleeved compression shirt he had on bulging in the process.

“Back off,” he said, voice tight and restrained. “Leave him alone. Now.”

A protective tone that hit harder than the gun pointed forward.

Another sound of a safety disengaging followed and all three heads in the room turned towards it.

Your Leon, one you had walked into this nightmare with, with his Matilda raised in both hands, stance just a little too stiff and textbook compared to the others, but his aim didn’t waver as he pointed it at both of them.

“D-don’t move!” he ordered in a firm voice, blue eyes not scanning tactically but locked specifically on the hand at your waist, gaze lingering there a second too long, jaw tightening just slightly, fingers adjusting on the grip of his gun like he needed something to ground himself before his eyes flicked back up.

“Let him go,” he added, quieter but more pointed.

The arm around you tightened as he pulled you back against him by a fraction, spine brushing his solid chest.

“M’not keeping him hostage,” he said dryly, tone edged with something almost amused, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “‘Sides… M’not the one waving a gun around.”

Your Leon’s grip flexed as a flicker of hesitation crossed his eyes and you shouted his name the moment you saw the movement near him from the one now jacketless who closed the distance in a blur, his hand snapping up to knock the gun off its aim.

A shot rang out loud, slamming somewhere into the shelves above as the weapon was forced upward and, in the same motion, he disarmed him completely, twisting the gun free before shoving him hard to the ground.

“Shit—!” You broke free without thinking to rush forward and drop to your knees beside him.

“Leon are you okay?!” Up close he looked worse than when you left him, dirt smeared across his uniform, streaks of grime and something darker along his sleeves, hair slightly disheveled and breathing heavier.

“Are you okay?” he asked instead, voice tight with concern, scanning you quickly. “Did they—did they hurt you?”

“Why would I hurt my boyfriend?” A low, almost amused voice cut in, dry in disbelief while the figure extracted the magazine of the Matilda.

“What?” The man right next to you snapped, pushing himself up quickly, anger bleeding into his tone as he turned toward the speaker.

“What the hell are you talking about—” Arm moving before he seemed to think about it and wrapping around your waist to pull you back toward him, firm enough that you felt the way his bicep tightened against your side, holding you close.

The other Leon juggling a knife in hand tilted his head slightly, watching him with an expression that bordered on entertained while the hatchet-wielder leaned casually against a desk, dragging a sharpening stone along its edge in strokes that sent small sparks of orange flickering in the dim light.

“Relax,” he muttered, voice carrying that same rough, worn edge, though there was something almost nostalgic in it now. “You’ll get there.”

The younger one’s grip on you tightened slightly.

“Get where?” he shot back.

The man with the hatchet didn’t look up immediately, continuing the motion, metal against stone, the rhythm steady.

“Still before the train, huh,” the other Leon in a tight compression shirt and knife in hand said, almost to himself, though it was loud enough for all of you to hear. “Our first time together.”

Words loaded with meaning as he looked at you almost dreamily and it made heat spike through your chest.

The older one just huffed quietly, finally glancing up with something knowing in his expression.

“Yeah,” he added, almost fondly, as another spark jumped from the blade. “I remember that.”

Heat, heavy and dizzying, crawled under your skin under those six blue eyes, each a different shade but all carrying hunger locked onto you.

The much older one had pushed you on top of the first desk available with a quiet grunt, hatchet set aside without a second thought as his attention settled fully on you.

“Still got that same look… every time.” He murmured, voice a gruff baritone while his gaze dragged and took in every detail

Everything happened too fast.

The one near your age had his grip on your waist now, tightening like he was grounding himself before he let instinct take over. His fingers slid under the edge of that jacket still draped over your frame currently displayed on the desk for the three men around, brushing your now bare skin in a way that was almost shy and hesitant compared to the others.

A gloved hand caught your chin, tilting and forcing your gaze to meet his forward. His thumb dragged slowly across your bottom lip, pressing enough to part it as his eyes darkened with amused.

“Didn’t think you’d look this good in my jacket even now,” he murmured, voice dipping lower, teasing, that familiar edge of cocky charm sharpened into something far more dangerous.

The same culprit who took pleasure at slicing away the remaining of your clothes with his precise experience with that knife.

Your stomach flipped at the sensation of blunt and wide fingers pressing in with a knowing confidence that made your breath stutter, his chest brushing your back as he leaned in enough for his stubble to graze your neck.

“Easy,” he muttered against your skin, lips ghosting over the spot right below your ear before his teeth caught lightly in a teasing bite. “We’ve got time… gonna make sure you can take it.”

Slowly, one thick finger invaded your hole and the stretch came immediate, his other hand coming around your front to wrap around your now exposed cock at the same time.

Body jolting as his grip tightened, thumb brushing over the tip, spreading the first slick hint of precome just his finger curled inside you, realizing how he knew exactly where to press.

“Still this tight,” he hummed, voice coarse with approval, breath hot against your neck as his pace stayed slow but purposeful.

Your head fell forward as all your muscles relaxed to get through this and that was all the invitation the other two needed.

Knife-welding-Leon took the moment your mouth gasped in need of more oxygen and claimed it hard, lips crashing into yours with confidence that stole the remaining supplies of oxygen right out of your lungs, tongue pushing past instantly, claiming space and exploring deep with a low groan that vibrated straight inside your mouth.

Hand staying on your face and holding you in place as his tongue fought against yours, going deeper and more insistent to savor everything.

Behind that another thick intrusion came together the already existing one, thick fingers scissoring slowly, stretching you with patience and devoted work.

His thumb pressed harder against your cock now, stroking in a steady rhythm that matched the curl of his fingers inside.

Your body didn’t know where to focus as pleasure sparked everywhere, overlapped and built from each touch feeding into the next until it felt like your nerves were short-circuiting.

“Christ…” the Leon assaulting your mouth muttered against your mouth, pulling back just enough for his lips to drag down your jaw, teeth grazing your skin.

Your Leon was observing you like you were something fragile and fascinating all at once, hands moving slower than the others at first, careful and exploring on unknown territory unlike his other two counterparts.

They slid up your sides, fingertips brushing over your abdomen, lips following his hands, pressing hesitant kisses along your stomach, each one lingering just a second longer than the last.

Your hips twitched, body leaning into him without thinking and it that was all it took as a shift in his expression came in focus and determination.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered before his mouth moved lower, kissing down your abdomen when a hiss passed through clenched teeth the moment a third finger pushed in.

The sound got swallowed instantly as RE4 Leon pulled you back into another kiss, deeper and rougher, tongue shaking against yours as his hand slid down to your waist, gripping tighter.

Older Leon groaned low at the sound you made.

“Yeah… That’s what I wanted to hear.” He muttered, pace picking up just slightly, fingers driving deeper, curling harder and hitting your prostate again and again until your legs trembled from the assault on that bundle of nerves.

“Gonna take all of us like this?” he added, stubble scratching along your neck as he spoke, lips brushing over the marks already forming there. “Lookin’ this pretty…all worked up already…”

Their presence surrounding you completely, every direction you moved there was one of them as hard things brushed against you, insistingly reminding you constantly of what was coming next.

Leon forward you ground against your hip subtly, breath hitching into your mouth as he deepened the kiss again, tongue sliding slower now, thick tent in his pants stabbing you with more effects than a knife ever could.

Behind you, older Leon’s arousal pressed heavy against your lower back every time his fingers pushed deeper, control slipping enough to let you feel how much he wanted this.

And your Leon shifted closer, his bulge pressing against your side as his lips finally dipped lower, right below your navel.

Warmth spreads through you instantly.

“Tell me if it’s too much,” he murmured softly, even as his hands slid up to your chest, fingers brushing over your nipples experimentally before pressing, rolling them between his fingers.

You gasped again and he froze for just a second before his expression shifted into something quietly thrilled.

“Okay… you like that.” He whispered almost breathless before doing it again, more confidently this time.

“‘Course he does,” older Leon behind muttered, a smirk in his voice as his fingers pumped deeper, faster now, thumb still stroking your cock in sync. “Been paying attention, rookie?”

The loss of those fingers working you open made you whine.

“Yeah… you’re ready,” hatchet-wielding-Leon muttered, his hand coming down to pat your ass.

The loud sound of zippers followed and you shivered in anticipation, immense pressure from a clothed bulge pressing against your gaping hole.

“Don’t tense up,” he added, voice softer now—but no less intense. “Or I’ll have to take my time breakin’ you in myself.”

The one in front of you leaned in, hand sliding over your shoulder, squeezing once.

“Nah, he doesn’t want your old ass,” he murmured close to your lips, voice confident and teasing as his hand moved to your face again, softer now, thumb brushing your lip as he held your gaze.

“C’mon,” he whispered, voice taking a husky edge to it. “Tell ’em you want me first.”

Body moving with importance to the heart as you shifted and presented yourself fully to your Leon before drifting back to the surprise but aroused slightly older version.

A satisfied smile spread across his lips as his hand cradled your face and guided you down until your lips hovered just in front of that big bulge.

“Keep me busy while I wait my turn,” he added, voice low, amused, thumb pressing gently against your lip again. “Yeah?”

One moment you were trembling, stretched open and aching, every nerve lit up from the way older Leon had worked you apart, the next a different pressure followed.

He didn’t push in all at once, especially now, there was carefulness in him always present when it came to you. His hands found your hips first, fingers spreading wide, gripping just enough to steady you as he lined himself up behind.

“Tell me if it’s too much, okay?” He murmured, voice lower than you’d ever heard it, roughened by want but still threaded with that unmistakable sincerity.

He started to push in and God, the first inch alone stole the air from your lungs.

A gasp tore out of you, sharp and helpless, your body instinctively tightening around him as the blunt head of his cock pressed inside, stretching in a way that felt entirely different from the fingers that had prepared you.

He eased forward inch by inch, length sliding deeper into you with a steady, controlled pressure that made your entire body tremble around him as that solid weight filled and warned you up gradually.

“God…” he breathed, the word barely there, head dipping forward slightly, forehead almost brushing your shoulder as he focused on the feeling. “You feel really good..”

Another inch and your back arched as a broken sound left your throat.

It was overwhelming in the best possible way, body struggling to adjust as he sank deeper until he bottomed out.

A small pull back followed by a push forward again.

And that was worse, body reacting instantly, a sharp gasp tearing from your mouth as the movement dragged along every sensitive nerve inside.

The Leon in front of you was watching but waiting as well and, once you did remembered the other presence who you were now entirely sure was the same man currently balls deep inside, your trembling hands moved, reaching for the front of his jacket, then lower, finding the last barrier between you and what you’d been staring at this entire time.

“Go on,” he murmured, voice low and amused as his hand came up to cradle your cheek. “Been thinkin’ about it this whole time, haven’t you?”

Your fingers fumbled slightly with the fabric before finding purchase and pulled.

Fuck, he was hung.

Thick and heavy cock springing free, already flushed and leaking, head glistening under the light.

“Like what you see?” he asked, smirk tugging at his lips.

A question your mouth answered, leaning forward, closing the distance, lips parting as you took him in, tongue dragging along the underside as you guided him deeper, lips stretching around him until you sank down fully, nose brushing his skin as your throat adjusted around his length.

He sucked in a sharp breath.

“Fuck…” he groaned, his hand instantly coming to the back of your head. “There it is…”

You swallowed around him and that broke him in a way. “Yeah…yeah, just like that,” he muttered, voice rough and strained, his hips twitching forward instinctively before he caught himself. “You’re—shit—you’re still perfect at this.”

Behind your Leon groaned at the sight of your throat bulging around his older counterpart’s member, hands tightening on your hips again as his thrusts deepened.

Each push drove him fully into you, length dragging along your walls in a steady rhythm that made your body jolt forward and take more of the cock in your mouth without meaning to.

The connection clicked.

Every thrust from behind pushed you forward onto Leon, mouth forced to take him deeper, throat tightening reflexively around him as his grip in your hair tightened slightly in response.

“Fuck—” he groaned, watching you closely now, his breathing uneven. “Taking both of us like that… you trying to kill me?”

His hands slid up your body, one of them coming to your chest, fingers brushing over your skin in a soft, grounding motion as he watched you carefully.

“Is this okay?” The one behind you asked, voice strained but still so gentle, even now. “You’re— you’re not—”

You moaned around the cock in your mouth.

That was your answer.

“…okay,” he breathed, confidence shifting in his tone, maybe, or just the realization that you wanted this as much as he did.

His thrusts picked up, each one rolling his hips forward just right, dragging against your prostate repeatedly until your legs trembled harder, grip on the table tightening.

In front of you, Leon lost the last bit of restraint.

“Yeah… Take it just like that!” His hips started to move too, meeting your mouth halfway, cock sliding in and out between your lips in sync with the way you were being fucked from behind.

Your Leon leaned closer, chest pressing against your back as his hot breath came against your shoulder.

“You feel so good,” he whispered, almost like he couldn’t believe it, his voice breaking slightly as his pace faltered—then surged again. “I can’t—I can’t stop…”

In front—

“Don’t,” RE4 Leon shot back instantly, a breathless laugh mixing into his voice. “Trust me, he doesn’t want you to.”

Your body proved it as every thrust pulled another sound from you, cock twitching in overstimulation, but not forgotten as a hand wrapped around it suddenly.

“Don’t think I’m sittin’ this out,” he muttered against your ear, voice low and dangerous as his grip tightened just enough to make your hips jerk. “Go on… let go.”

Everything hit at once as a broken sound vibrated around the cock in your throat as you came hard, cock pulsing in his hand as release spilled over your stomach in hot bursts.

The sensation of your throat tightening pushing the one clogging your throat over the edge right after, grip tightening in your hair as he thrust deep one last time, spilling his load into your mouth with a low, strained sound.

Behind your Leon followed, a choked gasp leaving him as he buried himself fully inside you, hips pressing flush against yours as he came, warmth flooding deep inside.

Your body felt like it had been wrung out and put back together wrong, every nerve still buzzing, muscle weak, breath only just beginning to steady as the world slowly stopped spinning around you.

Yet, you were still painfully hard as a quiet, shaky breath left you, hand lifting to find its way to broad, familiar shoulders next to you, firm enough to communicate what your body couldn’t say out loud right away.

A low, knowing huff left him.

“Yeah… figured,” he muttered under his breath, voice rough but edged with that dry humor that never quite left him.

He shifted easily under your touch, turning and sitting back against the table in one smooth motion as you climbed into his lap, body sinking down onto his thick thighs, the heat of him immediately seeping into your skin.

Solid muscle beneath really told you how big he was, legs falling to either side of his hips and his huge tent nudged against your ass, heavy and insistent, blunt heat of it dragging slightly against your oversensitive skin.

A deep groan rumbled out of him instantly and you leaned closer once recovering, voice almost vulnerable.

“Did we… stay together for all those years?”

His grip on your hips loosened slightly, one hand lifting, fingers flexing like he was debating something before deciding and pulling his glove off, holding his hand up just enough for you to see a ring.

“…yeah,” he muttered, glancing at it briefly before his gaze flicked back up to you, a small, crooked smirk pulling at his lips. “Guess I was dumb enough to put up with you every day of my life.”

Sarcasm dry and familiar buy those duller blue eyes softened completely when he saw the happiness on your face that bloomed there before you could even try to hide it.

That was all you needed, leaning in to kiss him, stubble scratching against your jaw rough.

Then his hands tightened on your hips again and he moved you up enough to line himself.

“C’mon,” he muttered against your lips, breath warm, voice dipping lower. “You know the drill.”

He guided you down slowly, body tensing instinctively as the head of his cock pressed against your already slick and stretched opening.

The remnants of the others still coating you, making the slide smoother and easier.

Your mouth fell open as you sank down inch by inch, your hands tightening on his shoulders as your body adjusted again to his size.

“Fuck…” he grunted low, head dropping forward slightly, grip firm but controlled as he guided you.

He bottomed out and felt him pressed deep inside, so far in it almost felt like he was in your stomach, his heartbeat faint but real where your bodies connected.

Whimpering softly and he exhaled sharply at the sound.

“Always take me so good like you were made for it,” he muttered, voice roughening further, hands sliding slightly along your hips, thumbs pressing into your skin as you started to ride him.

Slow and weak at first, legs trembling as you lifted yourself just barely before dropping back down, motion dragging his cock along your walls.

But you didn’t have the strength.

“Easy,” he murmured, large biceps wrapping around your frame to pull you closer, chest pressed against his as he took over.

His thighs tensed beneath you, hands guiding your hips as he started moving you himself, lifting you up, then pulling you back down.

Each movement angled just right, hips tilting slightly to meet you every time, cock brushing against your prostate over and over until your head fell into the crook of his neck, your breath breaking into soft, helpless moans.

His pace didn’t falter, only getting stronger, breathing growing heavier against your skin as he kept you exactly where he wanted, pace picking up.

All until another presence came between your legs.

The other Leon older than you stepped in close, sliding between your spread thighs as you sat in his older counterpart’s lap, cock already hard again as it nudged against your entrance.

Older Leon stilled you instantly, holding you down firmly on his cock as his other hand came up to steady your hip.

“Hold on,” he muttered, glancing down briefly before looking back up at him.

“Relax,” the one about to join shot back. “I know what I’m doing.”

He pushed in, slow and careful, body of yours stretching again, a sharp gasp tearing from your throat as the second intrusion pressed inside alongside the first, walls straining and adjusting on both of them at once.

“Fuck—” you choked, your face pressing into older Leon’s jaw as your body trembled violently.

“Yeah… breathe,” older Leon murmured, his hand coming up to cradle the back of your head, holding you close. “You can take it.”

In front Leon groaned low.

“God, you’re tight,” he muttered, his hands gripping your hips as he slowly worked himself deeper, inch by inch until he was fully seated as well. “Missed this…”

Your body felt impossibly full and overstimulated, every nerve screaming as they both started to move.

Behind them, your Leon stood still, watching in absolute horny surprise.

Your head turned slightly, voice breathy and wrecked as you called out.

“…Leon…”

He blinked like he’d been pulled out of a trance.

“…yeah,” he answered quietly, almost dazed as the other Leon reached back, grabbing his shoulder and pulling him closer.

“Don’t just stand there,” he muttered, amusement laced through his tone. “Make him pleased.”

Just like that he was pulled in closer.

A hand of RE4 Leon’s gripped your ass, spreading you slightly as a thick drip of cum slid down.

Then your body git stretched again by a third presence pressing in.

You cried out, body shaking violently as all three of them filled every inch of you.

They moved together than, hips snapping forward, pulling back, thrusting again as your body was used between them, lifted, held, moved exactly how they wanted.

Kisses pressed against your mouth and neck… teeth grazed your skin along with hands everywhere.

Your mind went blank completely, moans breaking apart into nothing but sound, body giving in completely as they took over, driving you higher and higher again despite how sensitive you already were.

Your body tensed violently as you came again, cock spilling across older Leon’s abs, entire body shaking uncontrollably as the sensation ripped through.

They followed one by one, groans and grunts echoing along bodies tensing, followed by an uncontainable amount of heat filling you.

So much your body struggled to contain it as they emptied themselves inside you, movements slowing but not stopping until every last bit was spent.

Finally stillness.

Your body collapsed against them.

This has been building for days, slow at first with warmth all along your spine, restless ache in the hips and faint pressure low in the belly that tonight hit with the violence of a fever breaking. All nerves lit and every sensation sharpened to a painful, crystalline clarity.

Instincts dragged forward from an older animal buried beneath skin and reason.

Pulse hammering too fast and loud (the reason of how he found you in the first place), rushing hot blood through your limbs until your claws flexed compulsively, keratin tips clicking against dirt. All thoughts degraded in real time, collapsing into short gasping bursts barely resembling language while thick, musky odor rose from your own skin, glands activated by the hormonal flood as your sweat got flooded with pheromones, scent of a male wolf in full rut that would drive any dominant nearby into frenzy.

Your muscles twitched in involuntary contractions, thighs quivering as your cock throbbed painfully hard, dripping onto your abdomen with every desperate jerk of your hips.

You had felt so agonizingly empty before he came, prostate swollen, hypersensitive, and balls aching with the weight of too many loads backed up and ready, hole clenching around nothing, needing to be filled and claimed until the tremors subsided.

A primal need that clawed up your throat like a living thing, ripping whines from you, high and humiliating.

Emotionally, it hit even harder.

Remmick found you surrounded by a couple of weaker ones busy to fight on who could have you.

Both of them dead in mere seconds and the second his copper-sweet scent invaded your heightened olfaction you offered yourself immediately.

Never in his hundreds of years had he seen someone who looked so inviting.

Hence how both of you were in this state right now, your thighs wide open without conscious thought, long and sharp hands onto your shoulders to keep you shoved flat against the ground as his breath hit your neck.

That thick head of his cock tortured your entrance with how big and blunt he was before he slammed back in once again. Your back arched, claws digging deep into his broad shoulders, carving down to muscle in places.

He didn’t so much as flinch.

Instead, he let out a low and pleased groan while his hips never once stopped, stretch blinding and absolutely perfect for your needs as he stuffed you full, deeper than any of your peers could have.

Vision shattering into sparks while your mouth stayed open on a strangled cry as his shaft kept sliding in hot and thick, dragging against your walls until he bottomed out again, groin flush to your ass.

Instant and overwhelming relief hit as your insides clenched around him, but he pulled back an inch and slammed forward again, hard enough that your breath punched out of your mouth.

Your entire abdomen tensed, cock throbbing violently, spraying another hot streak of cum across your stomach just from the pressure of him dragging over your now overstimulated prostate. You’d lost count of how many times he’d already made you come, abdomen sticky and glistening.

Remmick felt you clench hard around him agin and snarled softly, leaning in.

“Already comin’ again? Greedy little thin’…”

Then his fangs sank into your neck in a possessive and claiming puncture.

Full-body tremor shaking through your body unable to die due to the curse you carried, blood immediately spilling over his lips as he drank greedily. The pain blended with pleasure until you couldn’t tell them apart. His cock rammed into you with ruthless rhythm, pounding your prostate every time, each thrust forcing another whine out of your open mouth.

Blood trickled down your neck in warm rivers, pooling in the hollow of your collarbone while Remmick’s jaw worked, tongue lapping at the wound between pulls.

His growls vibrated through your spine as he fucked you harder and faster, taste of your blood pushing him deeper into instinct.

All you could focus on was his cock driving slick thanks to your combined fluids, stretching you obscenely with every thrust. Every time he withdrew, your body tried to drag him back in, clenching desperately for the heat bursting behind your eyes.

Your mind and dignity was gone.

There was only him and need now.

Remmick finally tore his mouth away from your neck with a wet pop, breath heaving and thick strings of blood-tinged drool fell from his mouth to your cheek, lips and throat, viscous and warm on your already scorching skin.

His fangs glistened together with pupils blown wide in those burning red eyes as he hovered over your face, cock still pistoning without pause.

“Yeah…” he rasped, voice roughened by hunger. “Yer hole’s milkin’ me like ye were made for it, pup.”

Another hard and punishing thrust that slammed your prostate dead-on, claws dragging through his skin to keep him sealed right in that warm and hungry cavern.

He pushed his forehead to yours, snarling with a hot and blood-sticky breath.

“Feels so good inside ye and ye taste even fuckin’ better… sweet little creature bleedin’ for me. Open yer mouth.”

Instantly and instinctively obeying like a good boy.

He spat a thick rope of blood-mixed drool onto your tongue, cock jerking inside you as he watched it drip down your chin.

“Good pup…”

That word breathed in mocking tone made your entire body jolt, hole clenching helplessly around the big intrusion while a desperate whine tore out of your throat, golden and ringed in silver pupils wide and glassy from overstimulation, completely fluttered and unfocused.

He leaned down, lips brushing yours as he muttered.

“Act good an’ I might keep ye fer meself… Ahh fuck—“ His thrusts grew rougher. “Wanna have this needy hole molded t’ me.”

A sudden electric snap erupted inside you, cock jerking helplessly as you shot another hot load across his abs, coating the hard muscle with thick white streaks and your walls clamped around him so tight he groaned, head tipping back, mouth smeared red.

“Ah—yeahh—ye’re squeezin’—” Your convulsing body dragged his release out of him, hips stuttering as he slammed deep and stayed there while spilling in hot and heavy surges that flooded your insides like he knew how you wanted it, adding to the already unbearable fullness he stuffed inside, so much that it was leaking around his cock even as it kept pumping.

Remmick’s breath was heaving against your back, humid and stained with the copper stink of your blood when his hand slid up your spine. He pulled out with a wet sound that made your entire body quake helplessly as emptiness hit hard and a broken whine left your throat.

Remmick made a low purr shaped by hunger. “Damn near heartbroken without me dick in ye… couldn’t have found a better thin’ t’ keep me company.”

Your claws flexed weakly against the dirt, body shuddering and hole fluttering in the air where he’d been, dizzy blood loss slowly healing and overstimulation but you lifted your hips anyway, needy and shameless on all fours.

Eyes not even sparing a glance to those two dead bodies with their throats torn open.

Remmick’s fingers curled around your jaw and forced your head back until your throat arched beautifully for him. Those red eyes burned as he looked down at your teary gold ones, a lazy trail of his tongue swept over his lower lip, tasting the remaining streaks of your blood there.

Then he pressed a hand between your shoulder blades and pushed.

“Down.”

You dropped fast, chest lowering to the floor, ass still high in instinct and offering.

“Tha’s it. Good…” His hand slid to your hip, squeezing hard enough to bruise.

“Good filthy little bitch-in-rut.”

Heat, shame and want bloomed deep within, all tangled until your arms shook trying to hold yourself up, tailbone lifting higher, hole exposed and twitching in the open air, dripping with his cum.

“Knew ye’d learn fast.” He murmured approvingly, then the thick head of his cock pressed against your entrance again.

Even overstretched and aching, the size of him made your breath stutter as he leaned forward over your back, chest pressing heavy between your shoulder blades, his mouth grazing your ear as he growled:

You looked up at the waiter with a smile, nodding as you watched your empty cup get refilled for the fifth time tonight.

“Thank you.” You told the waiter, ignoring the pitiful glance he sent your way as he left. You checked your watch for the time and realised that it’s been almost an hour.

You closed your eyes and took a deep breath to calm yourself down.

“This is the first and last time I’m letting Zatanna play matchmaker.” You murmured to yourself, taking a swig of your water before slamming it down on the table.

You bit your lip, fighting away your tears as you began to pack up your things before jolting in your seat when a body slams into the chair on the opposite side of your table.

The figure fixes themselves properly on the seat and you blinked in shocked at who it was right in front of you.

“Clark?” You questioned the Kryptonian in front of you. The other man fixing the glasses on his face and dusting off the imaginary dust on the slightly oversized suit he was wearing, his hair slightly askew from when he forced himself onto the chair.

Clark cleared his throat, giving you a half smile that showed off the dimples on his face. “Hi.”

“Hi.” You eyed him warily as you put down your stuff that you already had in your hands.

Clark folded his hands on the table, his eyes looking around the restaurant. “You picked a pretty nice place for a date.”

“Thanks but this was all Zatanna’s idea. She suggested this place and told me that I had to pay for my own food.” You scoffed, feeling extreme pettiness towards your sister.

Clark eyed you in amusement through his glasses, a slight twinkle in his eye. “Yet you still came, why is that?”

“Seriously, Kent, you’re gonna use your professional journalist voice on me?” You gave Clark a look of disdain, the other man shrugging and folding his arms as he waited for you to answer.

Luckily for you, the waiter came by again with a very surprised look on his face. “Well it looks like the night is still young, gentlemen. What would you like to order?”

You and Clark quickly ordered your food with an appetiser to share between the both of you. The waiter smiled before glancing at Clark and giving you a wink.

“I see why you waited.”

You felt your face immediately flush. “Oh he’s not my-“

The waiter had already walked off before you could finish your sentence, making you sag on your chair with a defeated sigh. “Date.”

Your eyes meet Clark’s again, the other man still staring at you for an answer. You rolled your eyes at him, feeling the tightness in your jaw.

“Zatanna said that I needed to go out and enjoy life outside of the Justice League so she set me up for a date and the guy couldn’t even be bothered to leave a text to say that he wasn’t coming.” You told Clark truthfully, knowing that the other man would be able to hear the slight uptick in your heart and call you out on a lie with his super hearing.

You then realised that it was suspicious that Clark was now sitting in front of you. “Wait, how’d you know I was here?”

This time it was Clark’s turn to blush, sheepishly scratching the back of his head as his eyes divert away from yours.

Clark cleared his throat, resuming his previously confident position as he smiles at you. “I noticed that you weren’t at the Watchtower tonight so I asked around and Zatanna told me that you were on a date.”

“So you thought it was a good idea to crash it?” You snorted at Clark’s way of reasoning that made absolutely no sense to you.

Clark shrugged, not looking at all guilty by your accusation of him.

You squinted at him. “So if the guy had actually showed up, what would you have done?”

“Does it matter? He’s not here, I am.” Clark replied smugly.

You huffed out a laugh at the other man’s ridiculous response before seeing the waiter return with a tray of food.

“Thank you.” You and Clark said in unison, making the waiter raise his eyebrows at you and subtly giving you a thumbs up before leaving.

You were left a little perplexed, a part of you wanting to run to the waiter to explain the misconception but you knew it would just make you look like a bumbling fool.

“Hey.” Clark’s soft voice draws you back to reality, your eyes meeting his gaze and you feel your face flush at the attention.

Clark pursed his lips. “Don’t think about this too hard, just eat your food before it gets cold.”

“Says the man who inhales his meals in seconds.” You retorted, as you dug into your food. You watched as Clark deliberately ate slower, his eyes fixed on you the entire time as if challenging you to further comment on his eating habits.

You couldn’t help the smile forming on your face as you continued to enjoy your meal, taking your time as well.

“So, what does the mighty Clark Kent do during dates?” You asked Clark, feeling yourself finally relaxing at the situation that you found yourself in.

Clark chuckled, wiping his mouth with one of the napkins. “So this is a date?”

“Answer the question, Kent.” You felt your face heat up, deflecting Clark’s own question.

Clark flexes his jaw, your eyes dropping to his lips when he does so. You’ve known Clark for years, meeting him first as Superman before the both of you felt comfortable enough to reveal your secret identities to each other.

You won’t lie and say that Clark wasn’t easy on the eyes. He had a constant boyish charm that he exuded effortlessly as Clark Kent and a kind yet commanding presence as Superman.

You were glad to be privy to both his personas. He was, in a way, one of your best friends in and out of the superhero business.

“Well, as you know, the last person I seriously dated was Lois. Juggling myself as Clark and the other guy was a little tough for a while with her, so I guess my way of dating was making sure to show up when she needed me.” Clark opened up to you, seeing you nod in understanding.

You rested your hand on your cheek as you thought of another question. “Okay but what did you do to woo her?”

Clark laughed. “A lot of embarrassing things, like spelling her name up in the clouds for everyone to see and letting her use me as an inside scoop for Superman.”

You let out a surprised laugh at that as Clark recounted the number of times Lois would bait him into an emotional outburst during interviews, which devolved you into a fit of giggles with each story told.

You had tears in your eyes by the end of Clark’s tales about his dating life, the other man just grinning madly at you from across the table as you had to fan yourself to calm down.

You felt his foot kick yours lightly, getting your full attention on him once again with an amused raised eyebrow.

Clark chuckled. “Not a bad date tonight then?”

“I’d say so, can’t even remember the guy’s name that I was supposed to originally meet.” You let out a chuckle of your own, feeling a little better now that Clark was here.

Clark grinned, his signature dimples on full display as he leaned forward with his arms resting on the table. “If you’d let me, I would like to take you out on a proper date next time.”

You blinked at Clark in surprise, not expecting him to ask you out.

You tilted your head, uncertainty written all over your face. “I didn’t think you’d be open to dating again after Lois.”

Clark gives you a soft smile. “I wasn’t sure myself after Lois broke things off with me, I mean I thought I was going to marry her.”

You jumped slightly in your seat when Clark reached out to grab your hand from across the table, his large hand enveloping yours and it made you feel hot under the collar at the lewd imagery that popped up in your mind of Clark’s larger stature over yours.

“Then I joined the Justice League and met you.” Clark continued, his thumb rubbing over your knuckles as he spoke. He smiled when you squeezed his hand in response, patiently listening to what he had to say.

“You were like a bright light that I couldn’t look away from. You’re stubborn, headstrong and sometimes a little loud.”

“I hope there’s something good at the end of this sentence or else I’m walking out of here.” You interrupted Clark with a playful glare, getting a small laugh from the other man.

Clark shook his head. “You’re brilliant, you’re loyal and possibly the most beautiful man I’ve ever met.”

“Clark.” You were flabbergasted, feeling slightly breathless at how Clark sees you while you were completely oblivious to his feelings.

Clark lets go of your hand, his face flushed as he sheepishly nodded. Your fingers flexed on the table, already missing the comfortable heat of Clark’s hand over yours.

“I know it’s a lot of information that I just dumped on you tonight but when I heard that you were on a date, I just knew that I had to do something or else I’d regret it.”

You squinted at Clark suspiciously, a smirk playing on your lips. “You totally used your super hearing to eavesdrop on me.”

“When you started to get up from your seat, I might’ve freaked out a little bit and used my super speed to change into a proper suit for a date and flew here.” Clark sheepishly told you, his mouth closed in a thin line that accentuated his dimples and that made you want to reach over and kiss him silly.

You were starting to realise that you completely adored the man that was sitting right in front of you.

“Okay.” You told Clark, the other man giving you a confused look.

“Okay?” Clark parroted back at you, making you roll your eyes at him.

“Okay, you can take me out on another date.” You explained.

Clark’s face immediately broke out into a giant grin and it made your heart skip a beat at the fact that Clark adored you as well, maybe even more.

“I’ll foot the bill.” Clark confidently tells you, making you snort in response.

You shook your head at him, amused. “Not with the salary you’re earning as a reporter, I got this one.”

Clark pouted, forcing you to look away from him before you did something stupid like lean over and kiss him for the whole room to see.

“You’ll get the bill on the date you’re bringing me out to.” You reminded Clark, the other man raising an eyebrow at you.

Clark huffed. “I remember you complaining about having to pay for food not that long ago.”

“Which means you really have to step up your game, Kent.” You teased Clark, watching as the man flexes his jaw at your challenging tone.

Clark smirked, folding his arms. “I’m gonna charm your socks off, just you wait.”

You let out a sharp and loud laugh that catches some of the patrons near your table slightly off guard before you reeled yourself back in and called for the waiter to get your bill.

Clark grinning at you the entire time, entirely too proud of himself for making you laugh.

“You’re such a dork, Clark.” You shook your head at him with a small smile.

Clark returned the smile. “Only for you.”

~~~~~

When the both of you walked out of the restaurant, you were pleasantly surprised to see light snow falling from the night sky.

You were too distracted by the specks of snow to notice as Clark immediately took his suit jacket off.

“Here, you’ll get cold.” Clark told you as he draped the jacket over your shoulders, the oversized jacket practically covering most of your body.

You blushed as you immediately get hit with Clark’s scent that forces you to hold back a whimper.

You cleared your throat. “Aren’t you going to get cold too?”

“Of course not, I run hot.” Clark smirked down at you, making your face run even hotter at the fact that you almost forgot that he was Superman and that he looked absolutely delicious in a fitting dress shirt and tie.

Clark raised his eyebrows at you when he noticed how silent you became. “You okay? Do you need me to call you a cab?”

“No.” You grounded out, your heart racing at the thought that popped into your mind for what you were going to ask Clark.

Clark stepped closer to you, he frowned with worry. “Are you sure? I can hear your heart going crazy right now.”

“I want to go to your place.” You told Clark, the other man looking back at you in surprise at your request.

At his shocked silence, you continued. “Look I share an apartment with my sister, I don’t want to see her right now after she set me up with the guy that didn’t even show up and now it’s snowing so I don’t really have another place to go.”

“Of course but you mind if I fly us out of here? It’d be better and quicker to get you to my apartment.” Clark asked you as he directed you towards the empty alleyway next to the restaurant.

You nodded before you started to conjure up a spell. “Edih su morf gnirednaw seye.”

Clark blinked, looking around and seeing that nothing has changed. “What happened?”

“I put a cloaking spell on us. We’re able to see each other but others can’t see us so it’d be easier to fly away from here.” You replied, getting an impressed nod from Clark.

Clark sees your body shudder. “You’re shivering, let’s get out of here.”

“Wait, I need something to warm me up before we fly through the snow.” You told Clark, the other man opening his mouth to ask what you needed before yelping when you grabbed his tie and kissed him on the lips.

Clark closed his eyes and melted into the kiss, his large hands grabbing your waist as he pulled you closer to his body.

You sighed into the kiss, feeling Clark’s lips mould perfectly over yours. Your arms resting on Clark’s shoulders as you felt yourself suddenly get lighter.

You broke the kiss and laughed when you noticed that Clark had floated the both of you up into the air.

“Sorry.” Clark apologised with a sheepish smile, he held your body tighter as you clung to his shoulders.

You shook your head with an amused smile. “Don’t apologise, I don’t think I’ve ever made a guy fly into the air just by kissing.”

You felt Clark’s grip on you tightened around your waist as he pouted. “You’ve kissed other guys?”

“Stop that, let’s get out of here already.” You rolled your eyes at the jealous Kryptonian, foreseeing a lot of clinginess in the future.

~~~~~

“Golly.”

Clark breathed out next to you in his bed, the both of you naked as the day you were born.

Your brain couldn’t even comprehend what was probably the most amazing sex you’ve ever had, the both of you were even floating at one point.

Clark shifted so he could face you, a proud grin plastered on his face. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you so silent before.”

“You practically pounded my voice out of me, Clark. I didn’t realise you were that pent up.” You retorted, amused and if you were being honest, a little sore.

Clark chuckled, pulling you closer to his body before kissing you on the forehead. “I’ve craved you for so long, honey. I couldn’t help myself once I got a taste of you.”

“You’ve got a pet name for me now?” You laughed.

Clark chuckled. “Because you’re sweet, in more ways than one.”

You felt Clark’s hand slide to your ass, spreading your cheeks open as he circled his finger around your hole.

“You’re a little puffy down there, hun. Does it hurt?” Clark asked you, a smirk on his face when he hears your uptake of breath after he taps on your hole a couple of times.

You hid your face against his bare chest, feeling the heat rise in your face as you nodded. “A little bit.”

You then felt Clark lift your leg up as he descended his body so he could line his face up with your hole.

Clark frowned. “It’s really red, hun. You should’ve said something earlier, I would have stopped.”

“Clark, don’t make me say it.” You hid your face behind your hands in shame.

Clark looked back at you with concern. “What do you mean?”

You groaned, feeling embarrassed before glaring down at him at where he was resting his head against your knee.

Clark gives your knee a small kiss, rubbing his hand against the side of your leg in a comforting manner. “Come on, you can tell me.”

“Fine. I like it when you manhandle me okay? It’s hot when you get a little bit rough.” You murmured, looking away with red tinting your cheeks.

Clark blinked in surprise. “Oh.”

You felt a small tinge of doubt forming in your gut, thinking that Clark was repulsed due to his lack of response before letting out a surprised yelp when Clark lifted your legs instead.

“Even so, hun, if you want me to be rough with you then you’ll have to accept that I’m going to take care of you right after.”

You gasped when Clark’s large tongue licks your red and sensitive pucker, making your body shudder as Clark circles the rim of your hole.

Clark lightly blew on your hole, watching it open and close and chuckled when you tapped the sole of your foot on his shoulder as a warning.

“Sorry hun.” Clark smiled at you, his eyes twinkling with mischief before he resumed eating you out.

You felt heat pool up in your gut again and you let out a whine when you start cumming all over your stomach.

Clark pulls back with a grin, watching as you were left breathless again before crawling up on the bed to spoon you.

“God, we’re sticky.” You murmured as you felt Clark kiss the back of your neck before taking a deep inhale of your scent.

Clark rumbled happily. “Let’s take a nap first, I’ll help you in the shower after.”

You yawned feeling the night’s events finally hitting you as your eyes fluttered shut, your breathing slowing down before sleep took over you.

“Cute.” Clark chuckled against your skin as he let sleep consume him as well.

~~~~~

You walked into the break room of the Watchtower and paused when you saw Clark standing suspiciously in front of one of the tables with his hands behind his back.

His Superman suit and cape were wide enough to cover most of the table so you couldn’t see what he was hiding.

You unbuttoned your tailcoat as you walked closer to him with an amused smile when his hungry eyes drop to your waist for a second before looking up at you again.

“And pray tell what’s my boyfriend trying to hide behind him?” You teased Clark as you stood on your tip toes to peck him on the lips, the other man reciprocating with a small smile.

Clark stepped aside and you gasped at the sight before you. It was a romantic candlelight dinner with roses in the middle of the set up.

“This is the second date, I assume?” You quirked an eyebrow at Clark, who chuckled in response.

Clark pulled out the chair for you to sit down before going to the other side to sit across from you.

“I know it’s a little difficult right now for you to have some free time between The League and doing shows with your sister so I thought I’d bring the date to you.”

You grinned, your heart skipping a beat at how perfect your boyfriend was. “You’re such a sap, Kent.”

“Only for you.” Clark winked.

After the dinner, Clark grabbed for your hand. His thumb rubbing the back of your knuckles nervously.

“What is it?” You asked, suddenly worried.

Clark looked up at you, determination written all over his face. “Move in with me.”

“What?” You gasped, feeling Clark’s hand squeeze yours as if you were suddenly going to run away.

“Move in with me. I know we see each other often here at the Watchtower but I want to be with you, I want you to be the only person I wake up to every morning and be the last person every night. I’m so deeply in love with you and I want to always come home to you.” Clark spoke passionately and you felt your heart swell at his conviction.

“Okay.” You replied with a small smile.

“Okay?” Clark gasped out, surprised.

“Okay, let’s move in together.” You confirmed, making Clark let out a whoop before standing up and pulling you along with him so he could embrace you.

You giggled at his antics but returned the hug as well.

“I love you too.” You told Clark, making him pull back from the hug with a giant grin on his face before locking your lips with his.

You felt yourself get lost in his lips before pulling back with a dazed look on your face and laughed when you realised that the both of you were floating in the middle of the room.

“Sweetie, you’re making us float again.” You murmured against his lips.

Clark sheepishly chuckled as he floated down to the floor. “Whoops.”

*****

Author’s note:

I have so many drafts but I saw David’s audition tape for Superman and this fic immediately popped into my mind and I knew I just had to write it

Everything was just too crowded. The Avengers Tower had slowly devolved into an unofficial frat house, and the lack of privacy was driving you crazy. Between the original team occupying every common area and the constant influx of new recruits, the halls felt smaller every day. Getting your own place wasn't just a luxury anymore; it was a necessity for your sanity.

​You had tried to keep the hunt low-key. The only person who knew was Thor, and that was only because he’d stumbled upon you at 3:00 AM in the lounge, illuminated by the glow of real estate apps on your laptop. But secrets didn't last long in a building full of spies.

​The sound of boots against the floorboards made you look up. Bucky was standing in the doorway of your bedroom, leaning against the frame with his arms crossed tightly over his chest. He watched you tape the bottom of another brown moving box, his expression reminding you of a kicked puppy. His blue eyes were soft, focused entirely on your hands as you worked.

​“You’re really doing it?” he murmured. His voice was low, carrying a hint of gravel that usually only surfaced when he was tired or upset.

​You paused, sitting back on your heels in the middle of the floor. The room was already looking sparse, stripped of the posters and gear that made it feel like home. “Yeah,” you breathed, wiping a stray hair from your forehead. You patted the hardwood in front of you, inviting him into your bubble. “It’s just getting to be a bit much, Buck. I need air.”

​Bucky didn't hesitate. He crossed the room and sat directly in front of you—so close that his knees brushed yours. He didn't seem to care about the mess of packing tape and crumpled newspaper. As you reached for a pile of hoodies to fold, he reached out, his metal hand resting briefly over yours before he pulled back.

​“At least let me help,” he said. It sounded less like an offer and more like a plea. You could see the internal struggle in the set of his shoulders; he looked like he wanted to wrap his arms around you and refuse to let go, to tell you that the Tower would be far too quiet without you. But Bucky knew better than to crowd you when you were already feeling suffocated.

​“I can’t ask you to do that, man,” you sighed, offering him a small, weary smile. “It’s not fair to drag you into my heavy lifting, and besides, I’m not going far. Just a few blocks over.”

​“Close enough to hear the sirens, then,” Bucky joked weakly, though his eyes didn't lose that shadow of worry.

​“Close enough that I’ll still be here for the mission briefings,” you reminded him. It was the truth. You weren't just staying nearby because of the rent; you were an Avenger. If the comms went off, you needed to be able to hit the ground running. “And close enough that you can come over whenever the Tower gets too loud for you, too.”

​Bucky didn’t wait for a second invitation. He reached for a stack of books you’d left precariously piled near the closet, his movements deliberate and steady. The mechanical whir of his left arm was a quiet, familiar hum in the silence of the room. He began tucking them into a small crate, his eyes scanning the titles.

​"You're taking the vintage Hemingway?" he asked, a ghost of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Thought you said it was too depressing for a new start."

​"It is," you admitted, reaching for a roll of bubble wrap. "But the cover looks good on a shelf. Makes me look like I’ve got my life together."

​Bucky chuckled, a low vibration that seemed to settle the restless energy in the room. He moved with a grace that belied his size, navigating the maze of half-filled boxes to reach the bedside table. He picked up a framed photo—a candid shot of the two of you at a hole-in-the-wall diner in Brooklyn, both of you mid-laugh with grease-stained napkins in hand.

​He lingered on it for a second too long, his thumb tracing the edge of the glass. "You should keep this one out," he murmured, before carefully wrapping it in a layers of tissue paper. "Don't want the glass to crack."

​As the hour stretched on, the room grew emptier, and the conversation drifted into a comfortable rhythm. Bucky took over the heavy lifting, effortlessly stacking the weighted boxes by the door while you handled the smaller, more personal items. There was something grounding about the way he worked—he didn't rush, didn't complain about the heat or the dust. He just focused on being there, filling the space you were about to leave behind.

​At one point, you found yourself struggling with a particularly stubborn roll of packing tape that had lost its edge. You let out a frustrated huff, picking at the clear plastic with your fingernail. Without a word, Bucky leaned over your shoulder. His chest brushed against your back, a brief spark of heat that made your breath hitch. He took the dispenser from your hands, his metal fingers finding the seam instantly.

​"Easy," he said, his voice vibrating right near your ear. He taped the box shut with a single, smooth motion and handed it back, his gaze locking onto yours. For a moment, neither of you moved. The air between you felt thick, charged with the things Bucky wasn't saying—how much he’d miss the late-night visits, the shared silence, the sense of having someone who truly understood the weight of the suit.

​He cleared his throat, breaking the spell, and stood up to grab your duffel bag. "That's the last of the closet," he noted, his tone back to its usual steady calm. "You got your toothbrush? Or are you planning on coming back tomorrow morning to 'accidentally' see everyone again?"

​You laughed, the tension breaking. "I think I can manage a night on my own, Buck. But the offer for you to come over stands. I’m serious. I’ll have a spare key with your name on it."

​Bucky’s shoulders seemed to drop an inch, the tension leaving him at the mention of the key. "Yeah?" he asked, looking back from the doorway. "A key?"

​"Yeah," you said firmly, standing up to face him. "A key. I'm moving out of the Tower, not out of your life.”

The move itself was a blur of New York humidity and the smell of diesel. Bucky had insisted on driving the truck, his large frame looking slightly out of place in the cramped cab, but he handled the narrow side streets of Manhattan better than any professional mover.

​When you finally pulled up to the new building—a modest brownstone with a heavy iron gate—Bucky was out of the driver's seat before the engine had even fully cut out.

​"Third floor, no elevator," you muttered, looking up at the steep flight of stairs. "I’m starting to think the Tower wasn't so bad."

​Bucky just let out a short, dry laugh, already hoisting two of the heaviest boxes onto his shoulders like they were filled with feathers. "Don't start complaining now. I’m the muscle, you’re the navigator. Get the door, and I’ll handle the heavy stuff."

​The next two hours were a rhythmic dance of sweat and effort. Bucky was a machine, his super-soldier stamina making short work of the stairs. You followed close behind with the lighter crates and your duffel bags, the two of you passing each other on the narrow staircase. Each time you brushed past him, there was a brief moment of shared heat—the scent of his cologne mixing with the metallic tang of his arm and the honest grit of hard work.

​Inside the apartment, the space was small but bright, filled with the late afternoon sun streaming through the tall windows. As the boxes began to pile up in the center of the living room, the "frat house" chaos of the Tower felt miles away.

​"Where do you want the bed frame?" Bucky grunted, maneuvering the heavy metal pieces through the bedroom door.

​"Just lean them against the wall for now, Buck. You’ve done enough."

​"I'm not leaving you with a half-built bed," he countered, his voice muffled from the other room. You walked in to find him already kneeling on the floor, hex wrench in hand, his leather jacket discarded on your mattress. His t-shirt was clinging to his back, showing the powerful shift of muscles as he began bolting the frame together.

​You stood in the doorway for a second, just watching him. It was a domestic side of Bucky Barnes you didn't see often—not the soldier, not the assassin, just a man helping a friend build a home.

​"You're staring," Bucky said without looking up, a small, knowing smirk playing on his lips.

​"I'm supervising," you corrected, stepping into the room to grab the other end of a support beam. Together, you worked in a comfortable, focused silence. You held the pieces steady while he tightened the bolts, your hands occasionally overlapping. Whenever your skin met his—the warmth of your palm against the cool vibrance of his metal fingers—the air seemed to hum between you.

​Once the bed was finally together, Bucky stood up and wiped his brow with the back of his hand. He looked around the room, which was now cluttered with your life but felt remarkably peaceful.

​"It’s a good spot," he said softly, his blue eyes landing on you. "Quiet. No Stark drones, no Clint in the vents. Just yours."

​"Ours," you said, the word slipping out before you could catch it. You cleared your throat quickly. "I mean—you’ve got that key. It’s your escape pod, too."

​Bucky stepped closer, the distance between you vanishing until you had to tilt your head back slightly to look him in the eye. He reached out, his hand hovering near your shoulder before he finally let it rest there, a heavy, grounding weight.

​"Thanks," he murmured, his voice dropping into that low, intimate register. "I think I'm gonna need it more than you realize.”

The sun had dipped below the skyline, leaving the apartment bathed in the amber glow of the streetlights outside. The living room was a graveyard of empty cardboard boxes and packing peanuts, but the heavy lifting was over. You were both exhausted, slumped against the base of the sofa because you hadn't found the energy to actually move it to its permanent spot yet.

​Two lukewarm beers sat between you on the hardwood floor, alongside a half-empty box of greasy pepperoni pizza you’d ordered from the place on the corner.

​"Best pizza I’ve had in years," Bucky mumbled, leaning his head back against the sofa cushions. He looked completely wrecked, his hair a mess and his shirt streaked with dust from the moving truck, but he looked more relaxed than you’d seen him in months.

​"That's just the hunger talking," you laughed, taking a pull from your bottle. "But yeah, it’s not bad. Better than whatever synthetic protein shakes Steve tries to force-feed us after training."

​Bucky let out a genuine huff of laughter, the sound echoing in the high-ceilinged room. For the first time, there were no sirens, no crashing sounds from the floor above, and no JARVIS announcing a mission. It was just the low hum of the refrigerator and the distant sounds of the city.

​"You're really here," Bucky said, his voice dropping an octave. He turned his head to look at you, his gaze searching yours. "No more 'accidental' run-ins in the kitchen at four in the morning."

​"No," you agreed softly, setting your beer down. "But like I said, you have the key. You don't need an excuse to be here, Buck. You don't have to wait for a nightmare or a loud floor to come find me."

​The silence that followed wasn't heavy; it was expectant. Bucky shifted, closing the small gap between you on the floor. His metal hand settled on the floorboards, inches from your own, while his right hand reached out, his fingers ghosting over the pulse point at your wrist.

​"I'm not great at this," he admitted, his thumb tracing a slow, rhythmic circle against your skin. "The 'normal' stuff. Moving. Having a place to go that isn't a barracks or a battlefield."

​"We'll figure it out," you said, turning your hand over so your fingers could lace through his. You squeezed his hand—feeling the contrast of his warm skin and the cool, unyielding metal. "One pizza night at a time."

​Bucky leaned in, his forehead coming to rest against yours. It was a simple gesture, but coming from him, it felt like a confession. You could feel his steady breath on your lips, smelling of salt and the cold New York air.

​"Stay for a bit?" you whispered. "The bed’s made, and I’m pretty sure I have an extra pillow somewhere in one of these boxes."

​Bucky pulled back just enough to look you in the eye, a rare, genuine smirk tugging at his lips. "I helped build the bed. It’d be a waste of labor not to test it out."

Ever since you had been old enough to understand how the world arranged itself, life was not something one chose so much as something one was assigned.

Born into a time where a person’s worth was measured not by softness or longing but by utility.

Land, name, bloodline, coin.

Having learned these words before poetry.

Winters here were not meant to be so cruel, as said by the elderly. Snow belonged further north, not to lowlands and riverbanks where cotton once ruled. But this year snow lay thick across fields that had known too much labor.

A plain life on the surface. Respectable, being known as dutiful, well-mannered, unremarkable in a way families prized. Living under a roof that did not leak, ate meals prepared with careful thrift, wore clothes that were mended rather than replaced. Attending church, nodded at neighbors, kept your eyes lowered when expected.

Basically doing everything correctly.

Having been raised knowing marriage would come not about love, considered a dangerous indulgence, but about consolidation.

Your family’s holdings were dwindling, not ruined but fragile and another bad season could shatter them entirely. There were debts tied to land and obligations to names.

An alliance, then, was necessary. A marriage arranged with a family further east, closer to the Atlantic trade routes.

Having been sent north, away from your birth place and everything familiar to a household that needed your name as much as yours needed their capital.

You would live well enough, be safe and respectable.

No one asked whether you would be happy.

It was not until much later that you realized you had been watched long before that decision was made.

There had always been moments that felt…askew.

Times when the air seemed heavier, when you would glance toward a window or a darkened street and feel the peculiar certainty of being observed with intent and patience.

Once, returning late from one of the small, half-hidden gatherings you sometimes slipped away to, you had paused at the edge of the square, heart still racing from stolen joy and thought you saw someone standing just beyond the lamplight, while silhouette black besides two red dots where human eyes should be.

When you blinked, he was gone.

It was imagination, the remnants of wine and music humming through your veins. You could not have known then that red eyes, unnatural and burning, had followed the line of your throat as you laughed, had lingered on the way you held yourself slightly apart from the others.

Remmick had known long before you did.

He watched you from the edges of your life, the shadowed side of your family’s house when the lamps were extinguished and you finally allowed yourself to breathe freely.

From the far wall of a gathering where you pressed yourself into a corner, content to simply exist beyond expectation for a few stolen hours, learning you the way a predator learns terrain.

When the news of your arranged marriage came, it angered him.

You were told of the match on a morning when snow fell thick and silent outside the windows, the family you were to marry lived far from there, beyond the reach of familiar humidity and slow summers, in a place where winters ruled. You would be sent north by carriage, escorted across miles of white wilderness to a town whose name sounded sharp and foreign on your tongue.

Accepting the news with the same quiet obedience you had always offered, though something in your chest tightened painfully. Packing your belongings carefully, folding shirts and letters with meticulous attention, as if order might keep the unease at bay.

The next day, placed into a wooden carriage, interior lined with rough wool, the smell of old leather and cold iron thick in the small cabin. The driver snapped the reins and the world you had known began to slide away behind you, swallowed by snow and distance.

You did not see Remmick until the carriage lurched to a halt.

The road ahead was empty, the forest pressing in on either side, trees heavy with frost, branches creaking under their burden.

Driver’s voice got cut off abruptly, replaced by a gurgling sound like he was choking, then silence.

The door opened slowly as the servants and officials in there went to check and in that moment curiosity won as your head popped out of the warm cabin to see what occurred.

Remmick stood there over the now dead body, shirt soaked in a big patch of fresh blood, eyes unmistakably of the same tone of crimson, glowing with something ancient and hungry.

The forest you’d been delivered into had every tree stripped to its bones and varnished in frost so the trunks stand like dark pillars, branches above interlacing and arching upward the way ribs might, all of it buried under snow so thick like a huge blanket to fight off cold. It does not fall evenly either, not here, not in the crooked woods where wind snakes between trunks and changes its mind every ten paces, so the ground becomes a landscape of drifts and hollows, soft rises and abrupt dips.

Even the rocks look gentled, softened into blunt knuckles, black faces peeking out in patches where the snow thins and clings and every thing you do make loud crunches in a place meant to be quiet and dead.

Everything turns obscene each time your palms are forced down, palms sinking into the powder, cold not a simple chill but an immediate bite that burns and numbs.

The pressure of him behind drives you further into it, body too warm from fear and exertion with how you’ve been hauled and handled and kept moving until your legs tremble and your fingers curl reflexively, trying to find something solid under all that white.

Remmick is solid, settled over you, not deadweight but a firm press, ownership made physical, chest flush to your back like a brand.

His once clean shirt now damp with blood, sticky and wrong in its warmth, letting you feel the ridges of him through cloth, hard plane of his abdomen tightening when he shifts, the snow beneath you so deadly cold it turns pain into numbness while the heat of his thick length settled deep inside and all the white juice that had already been unleashed by that fat head, liters stored warmly in your tummy.

Cheeks flushing, throat working and sweat beading at your hairline even as your hands go stiff.

Your breathing fogs in frantic bursts and then catches again when his mouth finds your neck.

A pause before teeth, the intimate hover of lips that aren’t warm the way they should be, faint drag of a tongue that tastes you like he’s confirming something he already knows.

Then the puncture comes, sudden enough to make you jolt and sharp enough to steal your voice, it’s almost worse that he doesn’t have to hold you down with brute force because he’s already got you pinned by his weight and the pressure of his hips.

Each thrust pushed you forward, hands sinking deeper into the snow, knees pressing harder into the frozen ground.

The river wound through the woods, its once crystal clear waters now stained red with blood. The thin layer of ice that had once covered its surface was now shattered by the bodies that now laid strewn along its banks, lifeless eyes staring up at the sky, flesh torn and ravaged. The river flowed steadily, carrying the blood downstream, red darkening and lightening as it spread, like ink thinning.

Remmick's hands left your hips, fingers trailing down your thighs, lifting them to open you up to him further. The change in angle sent a jolt of pleasure through you, body tensing as he hit your prostate and causing your vision to swim.

He began to move faster, hips slapping against your ass, cock driving into you with a force that was almost punishing, mouth that kept dragging sloppily on the wound he created, warmth spilling out of you and was immediately stolen by him.

When he finally draws back from there it’s with a wet, reluctant sound, like he has to pry himself away. Blood falls quickly and eagerly, a small river of its own down the side of your throat, hot against your skin for a heartbeat before winter tries to chill it and drips into the collar of your clothes, darkening the fabric.

His eyes catch what little light the overcast sky offers and turn it into something crimson, the sound he makes is not human, a vibration at the back of his throat, growl that you feel more than hear because he’s pressed so close, soon breaking into a grunt like pleasure, head tipping back as he licks along the edges of those teeth with slow, avid attention.

Drool threads from the corners of his mouth in thin, shining trails, stretching and snapping as he moves, sliding down to his chin where it mixes with the dark, metallic smear of blood, turning it glossy. He swallows and you hear it, breath coming out in a rough exhale that fogs white in the air, a brief ghost vanishing almost as soon as it appears.

His large hand, bare, cruelly warm compared to the world around you, slides under your jaw and tilts your face just enough that you have to feel the sting at your neck again. His thumb smears at the edge of it, not gentle or careful, then he brings that thumb to his mouth and sucks it clean with a soft, obscene sound that makes your stomach tighten with something that isn’t only fear.

Remmick shifts his weight on your back and you feel it in your spine, snow compressing harder under your knees with a loud, wet crunch and he makes a sound like amusement, savoring your reaction as much as he enjoyed your blood. His hand slides down your torso with proprietary calm, fingers spreading and voice drops intimate.

“They’d have taken ye,” he says, as if he’s explaining something simple, something practical. “Put ye in a house that wasn’t yours and called it blessed. An’ you’d have smiled and done what ye were told, wouldn’t ye, pet?”

You remember, in fractured flashes, the road done so far and the way your life was already leaving you mile by mile before he ever stepped into it, the cold interior lined with rough wool, smell of leather and iron, hands folded too neatly in your lap as if politeness could protect you.

Now he is here behind you, the snow is the only bedding and the river runs red because of his actions.

He lifts his head again, nostrils flaring and you hear the animal part of him enjoying the scent of what he’s done. There is blood on him in more places than one, not only at his mouth and smeared at his chin, but splattered along his sleeves and across the front of that once clean shirt in dark patches.

“Cold as a corpse down there, but ye’re burnin’ everywhere else.” He notes and there’s a pleased roughness to it, palm sliding over your side, presses to your stomach where he felt his own dick.

Remmick’s mouth brushes your neck again, not biting this time, tasting.

“Still bleedin’ f’ me,” he says, almost conversational, like he’s commenting on the weather. “Mmh, yer a generous thin’.”

He makes a low sound in his throat, half growl and half sigh before laughing softly, the sound startling in the dead woods because it’s warm, because it’s human shaped even if he isn’t.

“I’ve a mind to keep ye fer good,” he says. “D’ye understand that?” Punctuating his words with another trust that shocks your whole core, gasp mixed with moans from your moans.

His hand moves up to your face, fingers tangling briefly in your hair as he tilts your head back further, forcing you to expose yourself and not giving the chance to keep your head down, hiding it in shame.

Your breath stutters out in a foggy gasp and he watches the steam leave your mouth.

Remmick makes a pleased grunt at the sound and he pulls away just enough to look at you, blood still shining at the corner of his mouth, eyes bright as coals.

He could kill you right now.

That awareness sits in your mind, heavy and undeniable, because you’ve seen what he’s capable of doing to those who try to keep what he wants, you’ve seen the bodies that made the river red and you know the distance between you and them is only a choice.

His choice.

He doesn’t kill you but instead keeps you on the knife edge.

You remember the men who escorted you, the ones meant to bring you to a new home, a new cage dressed up as salvation and you remember the abruptness with which their lives ended, saw fingers lengthen into something sharp. When one of them tried to run into the dead woods, Remmick simply rose, floating up through the branches with a grin that showed too many teeth before dropping down on the fleeing figure like a thrown shadow, ending it with brutal economy.

The memory lodges in you, not as a clear sequence but as a feeling, the certainty that escape is not an option.

And then there was his seemingly endless energy. Having been with him for hours, body flipped and turned, positioned in various ways as he ravished you on your back, your stomach, side, even against a tree as he drove between your open legs with force.

Each position brought a new sensation as he hit spots inside that you never knew existed, body moving with a strength and endurance that was inhuman.

He had held you down, hands gripping your wrists and hips, body pinning you to the ground as he took you.

The feel of his dick, thick and hard, as it slids in and stretching, filling you unbelievably over and over again.

The river is louder up close, a steady, slithering rush beneath broken plates of ice, current has been ruined into red, colour deepening like aged wine..

Remmick’s long fingers, pads of his fingertips pressing into your scalp with no gentleness in the angle of his grip, it let you see your warped reflection for a heartbeat, flushed skin and wide eyes, blood dark at your throat before the surface breaks as he forces you forward.

Cold slams inside your lungs.

Water surges over your mouth and nose, floods senses and fills your ears with a roaring hush, for a moment the whole world becomes the river’s underside with that red-stained current, drifting threads of darker colour and tiny bubbles clawing upward.

You jerk instinctively, but your body is wrecked with exhaustion, limbs heavy and untrustworthy, muscles trembling without strength in them and his large hand is absolute on your head, pinning you in the moment as if you’re a struggling pet he’s decided to teach.

He holds you there long enough to make the lesson settle in your bones.

Then he yanks you back.

Air tears into your lungs in a ragged gulp, a sound that’s half cough and half sob, water streaming from your lips and chin, spilling down your throat and collar to freeze in the fabric, face burning with cold and heat at once, skin stinging as blood rushes back into it while sucking in another breath and it hurts in that scraping way that makes you aware of your own vulnerable throat.

Remmick leans down, mouth wet and fangs flashing when his lips part, there’s a smear of red at the corner.

“Say it,” he murmurs, consonants roughened by desire.

His other hand slides to your waist, steadying you in a way that isn’t kindness so much as control, body presses in behind, heat radiating through soaked cloth. The contrast is vicious between skin numb where the water touches while the warmth inside refuses to let you go.

Remmick's fingers, long and sharp as claws, sank into the flesh at the nape of your neck, tips digging into your skin and turning any attempts to talk into gasps at the cold, hard press of them against your skull as he forced your head down, down, down, face submerged in the icy water of the river continually.

Your muscles twitched, body fighting to survive and just as you felt your vision beginning to darken, Remmick's hand lifted you from the water, breaking the surface, gasping and choking, body wracked with coughs as you fought to expel the water from your lungs.

But Remmick gave you no time to recover, hips slamming forward and plugging that thick length deep with force that stole your recently acquired breath all over again, that fat head of his cock pressing against your prostate, sensitive gland already battered from the hours of relentless pounding it had taken.

His cock moved in easily, your hole slick and stretched from his earlier releases, every ridge and vein perceptible from your overstimulated walls as he moved, length sliding in and out with a steady and punishing rhythm. Your body was weak, muscles exhausted from the exertion and lack of oxygen and you could do nothing but take him as he used you for his pleasure.

Remmick's tongue, rough and sandpapery, lapped at the bite mark on your neck, wound now cold and numb from the water. He growled, a low rumble that vibrated through his chest and into your back.

"Ye're mine, ye hear me, boyo?" he grunted, his hips slapping against your ass, his cock driving deep.

He punctuated his words with a sharp tug on your nape, face plunging back into the water, world going silent and dark once more while his cock slid in and out of you.

When he pulled you back up, you gasped for air, body wracked with coughs as you fought to fill your lungs.

"Ye like that, don't ye, boyo?" he growled, his hips moving in a steady, punishing rhythm. "Ye like me cock inside ye, don’t ya? Ye little slut—"

Another tug and your face was submerged again, the other free inhuman hand taking hold of your ass as his movement grew more erratic and desire-driven.

Something pale drifts past your field of view.

A face, softened by water and cold, skin waxy beneath the river’s stain. The body lodged among stones isn’t far from you at all, closer than you realized, the current worrying at fabric, limbs pinned in a slow, awful stillness and the throat is a torn ruin, gaping dark beneath rippling water, even through the distortion you can see the edges of the wound.

Your stomach lurches, limbs going weak with a nausea that has nowhere to go.

Remmick keeps you there just long enough to make you see it and allows your mind to connect the shape of your fate to the shape of that corpse’s ending.

Then he drags you up again by your hair.

Coming up coughing again, water spilling in bright arcs and breath tearing, Remmick only laughs softly behind, chest pressing into your back as his hips keep driving forward.

The pleasure is building, body tensing and muscles clenching around him as you feel the orgasm approaching.

Remmick must have felt it too, his grip tightening and body tensing as he drove into you one last time, head thrown back and mouth wide open. Thick and viscous drool pouring from the corners of his mouth onto your back as he came, cock pulsing with seed flooding and marking you.

Hot and rich, fighting for space with the countless loads he had already given you. Your body convulsed, own orgasm ripping through you as your cock pulsed (again), seed mixing with the water, blood and snow.

Remmick's breath came in a quick puff of cold air that circled around your head as more weight got applied on your back, his cock, still hard and leaking, pulsing with the aftershocks of his orgasm. A pair of thick and strong arms wrapped around your frame, holding you close, voice a satisfied rumble in your ear.

"M’ gonna enjoy havin’ ye wi’ me," he growled, mouth wide open with sharp small blades pricking at the flesh there on your neck.

Taking care of your colleagues in this particular way was never something you advertised or spoke about out loud. It was a quiet understanding that developed over time, born from long missions, broken sleep schedules, too much blood soaked into too many uniforms.

Something warm and human in a line of work that stripped people down to weapons and trauma responses.

They came back from missions hollowed out in different ways, some carried guilt, other rage and exhaustion so deep it lived in their bones.

Something noticed because you felt it too and because you had learned through trial and instinct that your willingness to give yourself over could quiet the noise in their heads better than words ever could.

Chris Redfield never asked for comfort.

He endured, pushed through, compartmentalized and moved forward, one mission stacked on top of the next like weights he refused to set down. You’d watched him do it for years, shoulders rigid even off the field, jaw clenched when reports came in, silence that followed him like a second shadow after operations that went bad.

Which was too often.

Everyone in the BSAA knew Chris as a constant, reliable and unshakeable. The kind of man who would put himself between danger and his team without hesitation, bark orders through gunfire and still remember everyone’s name afterward. He trained harder than anyone, slept less than anyone and carried more ghosts than he ever let show.

You’d joined the BSAA younger than him, less decorated, but competent enough that he’d taken you under his wing almost immediately. He trusted you in the field, trusted your instincts when things went sideways.

That trust extended beyond missions, starting small. A hand on your shoulder that lingered longer than necessary, low and tired exhale when he realized it was just you in the room. Conversations that drifted away from protocol and into more personal things he didn’t say out loud to anyone else.

Chris never framed it as needing help.

But you learned his words.

The way he’d seek you out after particularly brutal missions, voice dropping when he said your name.

Your “support” was never casual or careless, but private and rooted in trust that had been built over years of shared survival. You gave him space to stop being the commander, that unbreakable force everyone else leaned on.

With you, he could finally set the weight down.

His touch was rough from training, from weapons and years of fighting things that shouldn’t exist. But when it came to you, it softened. He grounded himself through contact and closeness.

Chris wasn’t gentle because he didn’t know how but because he trusted you enough to be.

His grip around your waist was ironclad, massive bicep bulging as he held you close, powerful body pressed against yours. Your ass was a fiery red, the skin sensitive and tingling from the force of his thrusts and hips slapping against you with a pleasurable rhythm.

His other hand, capable of punching through solid rock, held you down bent to his will, fingers digging into your hip, leaving bruises that you knew would be there tomorrow.

You could feel every inch of Chris's uniform against your naked skin, contrast of the cool, hard materials against your heated, sensitive flesh that sent shivers down your spine. Chris was still dressed from his recent mission, body tense with the adrenaline and pent-up frustration of the day.

Cock slipping in and out of you with ease, that thick length stretching you wide and filling you completely, feeling every ridge and vein as he moved inside you, groans echoing in your ear and drowning out all thoughts.

Chris's thrusts were rough, bordering on brutal, but you welcomed it, body hungry for more. You knew he was unleashing all his stress and frustration and you loved it. He knew your limits, had trained you to take everything he had to give.

His hand on your hip moved, cock finding your prostate, rubbing it in time with his thrusts. Your body convulsed, cock leaking pre-cum onto your stomach, breath coming in short gasps while Chris's groans joined yours, voice a deep, rumbling growl that sent vibrations through your body.

"Fuck, you feel so good," he grunted, pace quickening and cock slamming into you with a force that left you gasping. You could feel his body tensing, cock swelling inside you as he neared his release. With a final, brutal thrust, he buried himself deep inside, cock pulsing as he filled you up with his load.

Your own orgasm hit like a freight train, body convulsing and cock shooting strings of cum onto your stomach, milking Chris's cock for every last drop.

As you both came down from your high, Chris's grip on you softened, his hand rubbing soothing circles on your hip. He pressed a gentle kiss to your shoulder, voice soft as he said, "Thank you. I needed that."

Leon Kennedy never really got to have a normal beginning.

Everyone who knew the file knew the late arrival to Raccoon City, first day on the job collapsing into a nightmare of blood-soaked streets and things that shouldn’t move still moving.

Facts didn’t capture what it did to him. They didn’t capture the way that hell carved itself into his posture, the careful distance he kept between himself and the weight of it all.

By the time you met him, he wasn’t a rookie anymore, at least not on paper. The U.S. government had folded him neatly into a secret anti–B.O.W. unit, trained him harder than most people could survive, sharpened him into something precise and controlled.

That unit worked alongside the BSAA often enough that seeing Leon in briefing rooms or shared operations stopped being unusual.

He cracked jokes in places most people would go quiet, flirting with danger when moving through infected zones with a fluid confidence that made even veterans pause. You learned quickly that the humor was an armor to keep things light so they wouldn’t sink their teeth in.

You weren’t sure when that line got crossed. Maybe it was the first time he caught your eye during a meeting and raised an eyebrow like you were sharing a private joke, or maybe the way he gravitated toward you during downtime, two people who’d seen too much recognizing something familiar in each other.

Leon never pretended he didn’t want you.

He always found time.

Didn’t matter if it was between missions or after paperwork dragged late into the night.

The air in the abandoned house was thick with tension, the moans of pleasure mingling with the distant growls of the ganados outside. You whispered Leon's name, a soft plea for more that he answered with a mixture of a grin and a smirk, large and gloved hand covering your mouth to muffle your cries while his hips drove upward, thick length filling you completely and leaving you gasping against his palm.

Your legs trembled, knees settling on the massive thighs you'd seen crush skulls with a simple kick. Leon was a force to be reckoned with, and now he was using that force to drive into you, filling you completely and stretching your hole wide.

Leon's mouth descended on your neck, teeth sinking into the tender flesh and marking you as his, tongue lapping at the sweat on your skin skin, feeling the vibrations of his groan against your skin and sending shivers down your spine as you rode him.

Body moving in time with his thrusts and taking him deep each set while outside those ganados stirred, footsteps echoing through the house with that squelch of the las plagas inside them adding a dangerous edge to your passion.

Leon's cock hit your prostate with every thrust, sending jolts of pleasure through your body and building an orgasm for your body tensing, breath coming in short gasps as your own hard length rubbed against Leon's abs, the friction sending additional sparks of pleasure.

Leon's groans joined yours, mouth still pressed against your neck and hand muffling your cries. You could feel his body tensing, cock swelling inside your hole as he neared his own release and, with a final thrust, he buried himself deep inside you, cock pulsing as he filled you with his hot cum.

Your own orgasm hit hard, body convulsing as you came, cock shooting strings of cum onto Leon's abs and some even landing on his pulled-up compression shirt, body milking Leon's cock for every last drop while stilling on his thick thighs.

As you both came down from your high, Leon's hand slid from your mouth, fingers tracing your lips as he gave you a satisfied smirk, eyes twinkling with mischief. "That was fun," he whispered, his voice still thick with lust. "But we've got company."

He reached down, extracting your gun from where it was tucked in your pants, now pulled down to your knees. With a fluid motion he aimed your gun at the doorway where a ganado was now standing and shoot it straight through his red eyes and that head exploded.

Leon's hand cupped your ass cheek, giving it a squeeze as he whispered in your ear, "Hold on tight, babe. It's time to go." Words punctuated by the smack he gave on the now reddish flesh of ass, sound echoing in the room. "Let's move out," he said, voice firm and sarcastic.

A figure in particular came into your life not through shared command structures or matching ranks.

He wasn’t military when you first met him, obvious in the way he stood, solid but untrained, strength born of necessity rather than drills. He was a civilian who had been forced into a nightmare to save someone special to him and walked back out with scars no one could fully catalog, not even the scientists poring over reports and tissue samples and grim footage that only hinted at what he’d faced.

Three bioweapons of unknown strength for anyone else, erased by one man with no formal background, just desperation, stubborn love and an almost frightening refusal to stop moving forward.

Chris didn’t say much when he assigned you to him, just that Ethan needed training to fight and carry a weapon properly.

The first time you’ve met him, Ethan Winters smiled at you, taller than you’d anticipated, broad-shouldered in a way that looked natural rather than cultivated, short blond hair that were nicely combed unlike Leon’s one, a beautiful pair of blue eyes.

He listened when you spoke, asked questions and took corrections without ego, laughed when he messed up, even when his body was pushed to exhaustion.

Training him became routine, after that habit and then something you quietly looked forward to.

A year went by faster than it should have, Ethan’s body changed under the work done together, muscle definition sharpening day by day, stance more grounded and movements more precise.

Now you were painfully aware of how the compression shirts he had on would clung nicely to him, broad chest stretching the fabric, shoulders thickening and broad along with arms now roped with strength.

Learning about his stubborn loyalty, the way he still talked about Mia with a mixture of devotion and quiet hurt that made your chest tighten. You never badmouthed her, the cracks were obvious in the pauses or the way his smile faltered when her name came up, how much he’d given and how little space he seemed to allow himself to want anything back.

That was what made you feel bad and what made the line blur.

The day it finally tipped wasn’t dramatic, no alarms or missions, just another long session that left both of you warm and with now nothing else to do yet he didn’t go away once everything ended, having confessed already a month or two since your first meeting that he liked your presence.

Before you could overthink the possible consequences of what might occur, your fingers caught the hem of his shirt, tugging him back towards a place you had in mind inside the mostly deserted base.

He blinked, then looked down at you, grin spreading slow and bright, eyes crinkling at the corners.

“You need something?” he whispered, voice low and amused, already leaning in like he knew the answer.

No explanation back, you didn’t have to.

He lets you guide him with barely any resistance, steps light and quiet despite, following you down the corridor toward the equipment storage. His eyes flicked to your mouth when you glanced back at him, heat unmistakable there, something eager and open that made your pulse jump.

When you lifted a finger to your lips and murmured for him to stay quiet, he nodded, grin turning conspiratorial.

Once inside, the door shut softly behind, sealing off the rest of the world.

Arms sliding up around his neck first, drawing him down just enough that your foreheads met, breath mingling from shared exhale brushing skin. Ethan didn’t hesitate as his mouth found yours like it had been waiting, kiss deepening instinctively, hands coming up strong and sure around your waist, pulling you flush against him.

A loud thud once your back hit the counter behind, palm reaching back to brace yourself as you rose onto your toes, perching there while the kiss continued, solide and sturdy chest firm against yours as he offered support for you to ease yourself on top of that counter.

Wet and sloppy kisses mixed with muffled moans sided by gasps for air inside that secluded room. Ethan's hands roamed, tracing the lines of your body in devoted eagerness. Your hand buried itself in his short blonde hair, the other clutching one of his broad shoulder, keeping him close and urging him on.

Ethan's hips moved his thick shaft in and out of your hole, expanding your hole wide with every inch of him, the friction sending jolts of pleasure coursing through your veins. His whimpers and groans mixed with your muffled moans.

Your hand moved from his shoulder to his back, nails digging into the firm muscle and urging him on. Ethan's head rested on your shoulder, breath hot and ragged against your neck. "Fuck, you feel so good," he whispered, voice thick with desire.

The counter creaked under the force of Ethan's thrusts, sound adding to the symphony of your sloppy passion. Large and calloused hands held your thighs tightly, fingers digging into the soft flesh and leaving marks that you knew would be printed on the skin for a long time.

Ethan's thrusts became more urgent and erratic along with the rising tension building in your body, breath coming in short gasps.

"Ethan… I'm close," you managed to gasp out, fingers tangling in his hair and pulling him closer still. He responded with a groan, hips moving faster, cock sliding in and out of you with abandon even as your orgasm hit hard, body convulsing and clamping down hard on Ethan’s pulsing cock rooted deep inside, making him come with a guttural moan, large warmth flooding your insides.

As you both came down from your high, Ethan pulled out, abs glistening with your combined juices. He helped you down from the counter, legs wobbling slightly that pulled a sheepish grin on his face. "I think we need to clean up," he said, voice low with remains of desire.

What followed next in the shower together sealed your need to be carried by him back to your car.

You were halfway down the cracked street before your body really registered how done it was.

The gear weighed twice what it normally did, every strap and buckle biting into skin already rubbed raw from hours of movement. The tactical vest hugged your torso too tightly now, plates heavy against your chest, pouches clinking softly with each step. Your fatigues were streaked with grime and dried blood, knees stiff from kneeling in places you’d rather not remember. Even your gloves felt oppressive, fingers cramped after gripping weapons for so long, the reinforced knuckles scuffed and dulled.

Add to that the hours spent on the helicopter and that constant roar vibrating through your brain and it was a miracle any of you were upright at all.

You slowed just enough to spare a glance behind.

Chris and Ethan were far back, silhouettes under the dim streetlights. Chris had already fished a cigar from somewhere in his gear, a flick of his lighter bloomed orange against his face, harsh lines softened briefly by the glow as he cupped it against the wind. Ethan walked beside him, shoulders slumped now that adrenaline had finally bled out, one hand rubbing over his head like he was trying to scrub the day away.

“Hey,” you called, voice rough but teasing, “you coming or what?”

Chris answered with a muffled sound around the cigar, lifting a gloved hand in dismissal, irritation baked into the gesture even if there was no real heat behind it. The lighter snapped shut, cigar tip now glowing faintly as he took his first pull. Ethan just smiled, soft and tired grin on his face.

“Go on,” he called back, voice warm despite the fatigue. “We’ll catch up.”

You hummed in acknowledgment, turned and broke into a jog, the motion jostling your gear unpleasantly but getting you where you wanted to be faster.

The base bar was a low-lit refuge tucked away from the rest of the compound, its entrance quiet and unassuming. At four in the morning it was blissfully empty, the air cooler inside, smelling faintly of old wood and spilled alcohol.

The sight of Leon Kennedy sitting right in front of the counter drew a genuine smile from you.

“Leon,” you called softly.

He turned at the sound of your voice, a loose lock of blond hair falling free and hanging just in front of his eyes. One hand rested on the counter, fingers long and relaxed while the other held a small steel flask, cap unscrewed and dangling between his fingers. His blue eyes flicked over you in a quick, assessing sweep before settling on your face, something brightening there immediately.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” he said, a tired smile tugging at his mouth.

You stepped closer, shrugging off just enough of your weight to lean into the counter beside him and tugging one glove free, letting it drop onto his broad shoulder in an easy, familiar touch.

“When I texted you asking if you’d be here,” you murmured, tone light, “it was more of a joke than anything.” Your smile turned teasing as you glanced at him. “Miss me that badly?”

Leon huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head while you leaned over the counter, chest pressing into the worn wood as your arm stretched out to grab the first bottle your fingers closed around. The position pulled your gear taut over your hips and thighs, fabric stretched and molded by the angle, not allowing you to see Leon’s eyes drop, gaze tracking the curve, lingered and appreciated.

The moment you straightened, bottle in hand, Leon’s arm hooked around you, strong and sure, pulling you back and down in one smooth motion until you landed squarely on his lap, chair creaking softly under the added weight.

“Couldn’t sleep,” he said dryly near your ear, voice laced with that familiar sarcasm. “Figured I’d come drink instead.”

You made a small, surprised huff, carefully balancing the bottle so it didn’t spill, one arm slinging naturally over his neck as you settled there. Your breath ghosted over his cheek as you leaned closer, noticing the unfocused look in his eyes as he stared at the counter.

“Nightmares?” you whispered, softer now.

He didn’t answer right away. His hand found your hip, thumb rubbing slow circles through the fabric of your gear, jaw tightening as he slid the steel flask back into his jacket pocket.

“Where’d you crawl out of,” he muttered, attempting a deflection. “Heard that loud-ass helicopter from halfway across the base.”

Chuckling while lifting the bottle to take a burning swig, alcohol lighting a brief fire down your throat, quick and rough summary spilling out about the village, lycans and that mold creeping over everything.

Leon hummed in acknowledgment, low and thoughtful. Your free hand lifted to his jaw, fingers cradling his face, scratching gently at the stubble there and he relaxed into it immediately, tension bleeding from his shoulders as his forehead tipped forward to rest against yours.

“Who were you with?” he asked, voice dropping into a quiet purr.

“Those two,” you said, lifting the bottle slightly as Chris and Ethan stumbled in on cue.

Leon turned his head to look, hair falling forward again, obscuring part of his face. He nodded once as Chris approached, the big man answering with a gruff and familiar, “Kennedy,” as he took the stool beside him. Ethan followed, seating himself next to Chris, eyes still a little wide from exhaustion.

Leon’s hand slid from your hip to extend toward Ethan. “Leon.”

The other blonde man took and shook it firmly. “Ethan. Nice to finally meet you. They’ve been talking about you for a while.”

Leon’s mouth curled into a crooked grin as he side-eyed you, then looked back at Ethan. “Oh yeah?” Tone now light and teasing. “So tell me—”

His hand slid back down, squeezing your ass through the thick fabric of the gear that made it look even fluffier.

“—you fuck this ass too, or am I and Chris special?”

Ethan froze, face heating instantly and words failing him completely.

Chris moved his cigar from his mouth, already reaching for a bottle of whiskey and a beer for Ethan. “Cut it out,” he muttered to Leon, voice tired but firm. “Long day.”

While instead you proceeded with violence directly as you smacked Leon’s chest lightly, the solid muscle beneath his shirt unyielding under your palm. “Idiot,” you murmured.

He just chuckled, shaking his head. “Hey, just curious.”

Silence settled heavy after that, punctuated only by the sounds of caps twisting and liquid pouring as everyone took a sip of their poison.

Though, you were acutely aware of the subtle way of acting of each of them.

Leon’s hand stayed firmly on your ass, fingers flexing now and then. Chris’s hands twitched at his sides, gaze flicking to you more than once like he was weighing something internally. Ethan tried not to stare, failed and flushed when he realized he’d been caught looking.

“Wanna fuck?” you asked simply, setting the bottle down on the counter and breaking the silence.

The odds were stupid, honestly, something that only ever happens in horror stories and lottery commercials that you would normally laugh off with a muttered ‘yeah sure,’ because your life did not hand out soft wins.

Three men, three sets of blue eyes of that particular spectrum that made people stare, ocean-deep, winter-sky, sea-glass, the sort of color that looked too calm.

Statistically, it should have been near impossible, like rolling the same number on three dice over and over while someone shook the table and yet, here you were with the result pressed into your personal space, luck finally deciding to stop being cruel for once and instead being almost obscene.

Three pairs of sea-colored eyes watching avidly, each set coming with something hard even through layers, outline obvious in its own way, pressing and poking at you from three different angles until your brain started stuttering from the overload of it.

Chris stood behind you close enough that the front of his tactical gear grazed your back when you breathed, the heavy ridge of his erection pushing into the base of your spine, Leon crowded your left, hip angled in, his thigh nudging yours as the thick shape in his pants insisted against your hip and Ethan held your right side, warm and solid, bulge brushing your ribs every time he leaned in to press a kiss on your skin.

All at the center of it, pinned in the best way on top of the first table they had close by, the scratched wood cool under your palms for half a second before their warmth chased it away, heat of three bodies pressing in until there was no air left that did not taste like sweat and gun oil along with the faint bite of smoke from Chris’s cigar earlier.

Six large hands, rough palms and calloused fingers, moved over your body in sync as the dizzying shift of surrender, the way your body stopped trying to hold itself up because there was no need.

Leon’s mouth found your neck first, lips teasing, tongue flicking along skin with that maddening mix of play and precision and he hummed lowly against your skin, amused by how hard you shivered.

His breath was warm, voice warmer as he spoke in a soft, wicked murmur. “Look at you,” he murmured, teeth grazing, not quite biting yet, “all twitchy already. What is it, you gonna fall apart before we even start or are you just showing off for us.”

You made a sound that was halfway between a laugh and a gasp and Leon’s grin widened against your skin as his hand caught your chin rough, fingers firm enough to make you obey without thinking, turning your face toward him with and exposing your throat more.

Blue bright and sharp eyes fixed on yours while behind, Chris’s fingers slid in with a slow, practiced intrusion that made your entire frame jerk forward.

One thick finger at first, pressing and easing, patient pressure that coaxed your muscles to give, then a second, stretching you wider, scissoring slightly until the heat gathered in your gut and your legs threatened to shake right off the table.

Chris’s breath hit your ear from behind as you felt the faint drag of his knuckles as he adjusted and made you choke on nothing.

Leon watched your face while you reacted and he leaned in to speak again, lips brushing yours, not kissing yet but stealing your air. “Too impatient,” he whispered, “can’t even keep still, huh, pretty thing… always begging without using words.” His thumb stroked your lower lip as he spoke in a lazy, taunting touch that made you open your mouth on instinct and his eyes flicked down as if to say ‘good, that’s what I thought.’

Behind you, Ethan’s hands were warm and exploratory, sliding down your spine with an almost lazy sensuality that contrasted Chris’s purposeful pressure and Leon’s teasing, shivering when Ethan’s fingertips slipped beneath your compression shirt, pushing the fabric upward to expose more skin, air kissing your abdomen before Ethan’s mouth did, lips pressing there in a line of soft kisses that made your shoulders drop with a helpless sound.

His free hand moved lower to undress you, cupping your bulge firmly through your boxers and squeezing just enough to make you gasp.

Chris made you arch and lean back into him as his fingers pressed and stretched you for what was next, palm braced against your lower back, scissoring widely your hole, letting you adjust at the burning but pleasant sensation before adding a third finger and then resuming back in his assault, turning your thoughts into a blur of heat and lust.

Ethan tugged your pants down from your thighs, leaving you bare completely and no more barely exposed, hand taking a grip on your now exposed cock, stroking the sensitive length while his gaze tilted up to watch your face and gauge every reaction as Chris worked you open.

The pleasure was a layered thing, a stack of sensations that kept rising, Ethan’s hand sliding, thumb brushing the sensitive tip, smearing the slick precome there and coaxing a broken groan out of you while Chris’s fingers went deeper, pace quickening slightly as he grew bolder.

Leon’s mouth finally claimed yours in a kiss that was all heat and control, tongue sliding in with a confident and hungry sweep.

There was the maddening friction of their erections, hard and insistent, brushing against you no matter which way you shifted. Leon ground subtly against your hip as he kissed you, hands sliding possessively over your waist, Chris’s clothed cock nudged your lower back every time his fingers dipped and Ethan’s thick bulge pressed your side as he leaned closer to pinch and play with your nipples, watching your reactions avidly to learn your body like a map he needed to memorize.

Ethan’s lips returned to your neck, warm and quick while trailing downward with a slow path of kisses that left your skin blooming hot in his wake. “Right there,” he whispered, voice now roughening, “you like that, yeah, I can feel you shaking.” His mouth dipped lower, tongue dragging over a spot that made you jolt and he made a pleased noise.

Leon finally broke the kiss with a wet sound, leaving you panting even as his mouth moved down your collarbone to bite and mark, teeth scraping sharp pleasure into your skin and joining Ethan’s marks already there.

You barely had time to drag in a mouthful of air before Ethan stole Leon’s place to kids you, deeper and more desperate, tongue exploring with an eager thoroughness that made a rumbling groan vibrate from his throat into your open mouth, both hands on each of his broad shoulders to brace yourself due to how weak your body was at the mercy of the three older men.

His hand kept stroking your cock in time with the kiss, timed so perfectly it felt like your brain was being rewired around their touch.

Your head spun, heat coursing through every inch of you, amplified by the combined attention stripping away any sense of composure you had left.

Leon’s teeth sank into the tender flesh of your neck harder this time, a sharp flash of pain and pleasure that ripped a hiss out of you right into Ethan’s mouth which he swallowed it down, hands torturing your nipples in a way that turned your muscles weak and uncoordinated. Leon’s tongue followed, soothing and savoring the mark he left as he muttered against your skin in that low, amused voice, muffled by the press of his lips. “There we go, knew you’d show me that pretty noise.”

Ethan rumbled something that sounded like agreement, mouth latching on your nipple and you could not decide which sensation was going to kill you first, because all of this was still happening while Chris’s thick knuckles were buried deep in your ass.

All the strength in you faded, head hanging low, breathing ragged and Ethan and Leon held you up.

The sound of fabric shifting and a zipper sliding open behind you adding a dizzying edge to everything. Your nerves lit up, anticipation making your hips arch instinctively even with Chris’s palm holding you down.

From the corner of your eye you caught Chris stripping away the last of his BSAA gear, vest coming off, holster straps unbuckled, gloves tossed aside.

Broad and powerful chest with well-developed pectoral muscles that curve outward and upward with a light dusting of chest hair.

His big rough palm patted your ass, almost gentle and then you felt the fat head of him press in at your entrance, claiming space and making you breathe around the impossible thickness.

You fixed your legs so both knees braced against the table, leaning forward to give him the perfect view and access, when you lifted your gaze, Ethan’s handsome face was right there, close enough to touch, eyes blown dark with want. His large palm cradled your cheek softly, a contrast to everything else that you leaned into immediately, kissing his open palm, then taking one of his fingers into your mouth on purpose, obscene and grateful at once, one eye half open to gauge at his turned on expression.

All of this before lowering your face until it nearly rested on the table and you were millimeters from his big and aching tent.

Chris started to enter you slowly and the first push stole sound from your throat, a gasp as the stretch bloomed, pressure building and building until you felt full in a way that made your legs tremble, making you take him inch by inch, head of him spreading you open, the thick length sliding inside with a slow, relentless glide that had you clawing at the table for something to hold onto. Chris’s breath hitched behind you and his voice was low, gruff, command threaded with restraint.

“That’s it,” he muttered, like an order and praise all at once, “take it, you’ve got it.”

Your hands shook as they reached for Ethan, tugging away the last layer like you were starving and when his cock sprang free, hard and glistening at the tip, you stared for a second, enchanted, because your brain could not reconcile the sweetness in his eyes with how obscene he looked like this then you opened your mouth and fed on him, lips sealing around his thick member with a hungry moan. Ethan made a sound that was half a gasp, half a broken laugh of disbelief, one hand bracing on the table near your head, the other sinking into your hair like he needed something to hold onto.

“Shit,” Ethan breathed, voice cracking a little from the sheer intensity of the pleasure from your warm mouth. His hips twitched, careful, like he was afraid of pushing too hard and you rewarded him by taking him deeper, tongue working, saliva slick, taste of him flooding your mouth while your body clenched helplessly around Chris behind.

Chris bottomed out with a slow final press that made your vision flare white, the fullness settling deep, stretching you so completely it felt like your heartbeat moved into your hips. He paused there, giving you a second to breathe, hand splayed on your lower back, thumb rubbing a grounding circle and cock pulsing once inside you like it was angry at the patience.

Leon moved back into your space, fingers sliding under your jaw again, tilting your face just enough to make you look at him and the satisfaction in his eyes was wicked. “Look at you,” he murmured, voice thick now, humor sharpened into something hungry. “Relax,” he added, like he had any room to talk, “we’re taking care of you.” His hand drifted down your chest, over your stomach and to your cock, stroking you with slow cruelty, just enough pressure to keep you on the edge, grinning when you jolted.

Then they started to move in earnest, coordinated without even speaking. Chris drew back and pushed in again, slow at first but deep, hips pressing you into the table and making your body rock forward onto Ethan’s pubes while his cock took home in your throat. The motion turned it into a brutal, perfect feedback loop, Chris filling and stretching you while your mouth worked Ethan and every time Chris drove in, you took Ethan deeper without meaning to, gagging softly, eyes watering and Ethan groaned with a helpless sound that went straight to your core.

Ethan’s hand tightened in your hair, finding a rhythm with Chris so you were being used from both ends in a way that made your mind melt and Ethan started to thrust gently into your mouth, careful at first, then bolder when he realized you could take it and saw the way your throat worked, moaning around him like you wanted more.

Chris’s pace increased behind, the slap of skin and the wet drag of movement filling the room, hands gripping your hips hard enough to leave marks. “Open up, take it, take it.” he grunted. His cock hit deep, consistent and every time he drove in you felt the press that made your legs threaten to give out, body clenching hard around him and Chris growled low like that was exactly what he wanted.

Leon stayed close, not idle for a second, mouth returning to your neck, teeth grazing, tongue soothing, one hand still stroking you with merciless precision, the other bracing your shoulder so you did not slide off the table.

Your cock twitched in Leon’s hand, leaking and you could feel the coil tightening in your gut so hard it hurt, amplified by the way Chris filled you, by the way Ethan’s cock slid in and out of your mouth, by the way Leon kept you teetering and teased you for it like you were a game he fully intended to win. Your sounds turned messy, broken, muffled around Ethan, saliva spilling at the corners of your lips, chin shining wet and Ethan made another strangled groan, hips stuttering when you hollowed your cheeks and took him deep.

Your orgasm hit like a flashbang, sudden and blinding, body locking up with a choked cry around Ethan, cum spilling in hot pulses as Leon stroked you through it, cruel and perfect and the clench of your body around Chris was enough to push him over the edge. Chris drove in deep and stayed there, a broken sound ripping from him as he came hard inside you, thick warmth flooding your insides and his hands held you steady through it like he was afraid you would collapse completely.

Ethan groaned loud, hips jerking and he thrust once, twice, then spilled into your throat with a helpless shudder, warmth filling your gut as your Adam’s apple bobbed to swallow greedily because you could not think of anything else to do. Leon came last, breath sharp, stroking himself quickly with one hand as he watched the mess you had become, eyes bright with hunger and satisfaction and he spilled over your stomach.

Their bodies didn’t just pull away, they unwound from you in slow increments. The air felt colder, the instant pressure eased, like your skin had gotten used to being surrounded and now resented the empty space.

Chris’s big hand came up to your face, palm swallowing your cheek like it was built for it, thumb rough and steady as he brushed along your jawline. It was a touch that didn’t ask permission because it didn’t have to, not with the way he looked at you, eyes heavy with that post-adrenaline focus.

“You good?” he murmured, voice gravel-deep, the kind that always sounded like it belonged over comms and in crises, except now it landed against your skin like a private thing. His thumb swept once more, slower this time, as if he was grounding you with pressure alone.

Before you could even form a full answer, Leon slid in, mouth brushing close to your ear, breath warm and the words came out in that familiar mix of smug and sweet that made you want to shove him away and pull him closer at the exact same time.

“Aw,” Leon whispered, voice all amused sympathy, “look at you.” He let the silence hang a beat, like he was savoring the way you went tense. “Think you’re still up for more, or did we finally break you?”

When his palm finally brushed your sensitive cock, you hissed at the jolt of overstimulation, the reaction ripping out of you before pride could stop it and Leon’s quiet chuckle was immediate, delighted.

“That’s a yes,” he decided for you.

Ethan moved in on the other side, fingertips finfing your shoulder first, then slid up into your hair, combing through gently like he was steadying you through sheer softness.

“Hey,” he murmured, close enough that the word warmed your skin, “breathe. You’re doing so good. Just— yeah, like that.” A small pause and then, quieter, like he couldn’t help saying it out loud.

You pushed yourself around on trembling arms, the movement clumsy with spent strength, and even that got taken from you because Leon helped without making it obvious. He was suddenly at your side, palm braced against your ribs, steadying you with a possessive confidence that felt like a handprint.

You rolled onto your back, breath catching, chest rising fast, and Leon’s hands stayed on you like he was reluctant to let go, thumbs stroking your hips in slow circles that kept you right on the edge of too-much. Chris leaned down into your space and the first thing you registered was the rough brush of his stubble against your cheek, the scratch of it making your skin prickle in a way that felt unfairly intimate. He kissed your cheek once, then again, not rushed or hungry.

Then his mouth traveled sideways, unhurried, until he reached your lips for a kiss firm and warm that made you soften despite yourself, hands curling at the edge of the table as if you needed something to hold onto.

The weight of someone stepping between your open legs was soon registered by your fucked up senses, large thighs settling in, spine arching on instinct before anything even happened, body anticipating the next wave like it couldn’t help it.

Leon’s hand tightened on your hip with a deliberate squeeze, grounding and claiming at once. His other hand skimmed along your inner thigh, not quite daring, just confident, like he was checking your reaction with a professional’s focus and a flirt’s cruelty.

“Relax,” Leon said, like he hadn’t spent the last however-long making relaxation impossible. “C’mon. You already took Redfield like a champ. Don’t tell me you’re scared of me.”

You made a strained sound that might’ve been a laugh if your body wasn’t busy vibrating apart and Leon’s grin flashed quick, all teeth and trouble. He leaned forward and the heat of him crowded your senses, body so close it felt like an unavoidable wave.

Ethan’s hands stayed gentle at your temples, thumbs stroking in small, soothing passes, like he was keeping you from drifting too far into the fog.

“Just tell us if you need to stop,” he whispered and then, more quietly, more personally, “I’ve got you.”

Leon pressed in, slow enough to make you feel every inch of his dick about to breach inside and you arched hard with a sharp hiss.

Leon moved with a rhythm that wasn’t rough so much as insistent, building from measured control into something more driven as your body adjusted. He kept one hand locked on your hip, using you like leverage, guiding you into the angle that made your breath stutter and your eyes flutter. His face hovered above you, watching you with that focused, almost predatory attention he usually saved for targets.

“There you go,” Leon murmured. “That’s it. See? You take me so well baby.” He dipped his head, brushing a kiss near your jaw, then your cheek. “God, you make it hard to be a gentleman.”

Ethan, at your head, kept petting your hair back, the gesture almost domestic compared to everything else, except his eyes were blown wide and hungry while watching every time Leon’s hips drew a new sound out of you.

Leon’s pace kept building anyway, thrusts turning more confident, deeper in implication, the table shifting under you with each motion, your back arching as your nerves lit up again and again. He watched your mouth part, watched your throat work as you tried to pull in air, and his grin returned, sharp and pleased.

His hand drifted down between you, fingers brushing where you were already leaking, and you jolted with a strangled sound. The overstimulation was immediate, vicious, threatening to tip you over the edge too fast. Ethan’s hand followed instinctively, as if he wanted to help and make it even better, both of them reaching for you at once with the kind of eager teamwork that would’ve been flattering if it didn’t feel like it might short-circuit your brain.

You caught Leon’s wrist weakly, shaking, stopping him with a breathless protest and a desperate little headshake.

Not yet.

Not like that.

Not if it meant the moment ended too soon.

Leon’s eyebrows lifted, surprised, then amused, like you’d just told him the punchline to a joke he respected. “Oh?” he breathed and his voice dropped into something lower. “You’re holding out.”

Ethan’s mouth parted too, a soft exhale escaping him and the look he gave you was equal parts concern and want, like he was torn between taking care of you and devouring you. “You don’t have to—” he started, gentle, but you shook your head again, fingers tightening in his shirt, wordless insistence.

Chris understood instantly, hand slidding down to hold your thigh steady, thumb stroking once, grounding you. “He wants to feel it,” Chris rumbled, sounding almost proud. “Wants it to last.”

Leon let out a low laugh, the sound warm with approval. “Greedy,” he teased, and then leaned down, bracing himself over you as his movement stayed relentless. “Fine. We’ll do it your way. But don’t blame me when you start begging.”

Leon’s thrusts turned steady and punishing in implication, each one dragging a new sound out of you, each one stacking heat higher in your body without giving you the relief you were refusing. Your hands clenched around the table edge, knuckles whitening, your whole torso trembling as you tried to ride the sensation without tipping. Ethan kept whispering small encouragements into your hair, little praises and reminders to breathe, kissing your forehead while Leon took you apart piece by piece.

Leon drove the moment higher, breath turning ragged, control slipping at the edges.

“Shit,” Leon breathed and the word sounded like surrender. He dipped his head, pressing his forehead to yours for a heartbeat, a sudden intimacy that made your chest clench. “You’re gonna make me—”

Ethan made a small sound, almost helpless, fingers tightening in your hair. Chris’s hand gripped your thigh, steadying you as your body shook harder.

Leon’s face twisted with pleasure, his voice breaking into a low, strained laugh as he finally lost the last of his composure. “Yeah,” he rasped, “that’s it. Take it—“ before a new wave of hot seed came and gathered together with Chris’s previous release.

As your breath finally began to steady, the ragged gasps of passion slowly morphing into a gentle, satisfied rhythm, you felt Leon's retreat from your body.

Yet, your desire remained undiminished, a fierce, aching need that pulsed in time with your heartbeat, cock still painfully hard and yearning for more. Your hand, as if possessed of a will all its own, settled on Ethan's shoulder, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. With the last of your strength, you pushed, a silent plea for more, for him to understand what you needed.

Ethan, ever perceptive, turned on the table, his lap becoming your new seat when settling on his thighs, thick and erect cock nestled against your ass, hot and insistent, a promise of the pleasure to come, hands gripping your hips, steadying as he helped you rise, guiding you down onto his length.

The path was smooth, slick with the remnants of Leon and Chris's earlier attentions and you welcomed him with a sigh, body stretching to accommodate him. Ethan's hands, strong and sure, supported you, arms wrapping around your body, nestling you in his lap as he began to move. He was doing most of the work, strong and large hands moving you like your were a human sized fleshlight, hips angling just so to ensure that each thrust hit your prostate, sending jolts of pleasure coursing through you.

His breath was hot on your neck, face buried in the crook where your neck met your shoulder, grip on you tightening as he held you close, moans mingling with his grunts. "You're so good for me," he whispered, his voice rough with emotion and desire, "so good, taking me like this." His words sent shivers down your spine, body clenching around him and drawing a hiss of pleasure from his lips.

Leon, ever the opportunist, settled between your open legs, cock pressing against your already filled hole. Ethan paused, grip on your hips tightening as he used your body to guide Leon's entry. You gasped, face buried in Ethan's neck as Leon pushed in, filling you alongside Ethan and stretching you to your limit.

"Captain~" you breathed, a smile playing on your lips as you remembered Chris, stern face and powerful body.

As if summoned by your thought, Chris's hand appeared on Leon's shoulder, pushing him closer, body pressing against yours, cock nudging at your entrance. You laughed, a breathless sound as Chris muttered something about you being a "fucking minx," a smile in his voice despite the crude words. His hand snaked around, grabbing your ass cheek, thumb brushing against your hole, already filled with Ethan and Leon.

He pushed in slowly, stretching you further, cock joining Ethan's and Leon's in your tight channel. You could feel their cocks filling you, bodies pressed against you, hands roaming your skin and leaving trails of fire in their wake. Ethan's mouth found yours, tongue pushing in, dominant and demanding.

Leon and Chris's mouths were everywhere, kissing and biting, leaving marks on your skin, branding you as theirs, a toy for them to use and you loved every minute of it. Your body moved with theirs, hips rising and falling in time with Ethan's thrusts, your ass pushing back against Chris and Leon, eager for more.

Ethan's hand wrapped around your cock, stroking you in time with his thrusts, tongue still in your mouth as you felt your orgasm building up, body tensing and breath coming in short gasps.

Coming with a cry, your body convulsing as your cum spilled onto Ethan's abs, body milking his cock and drawing out his orgasm, cock pulsing inside you as he came, hot and heavy load of cum filling you.

The feeling was indescribable, warmth spreading inside, body stretching to accommodate it all, pressure building, ass cheeks growing slick with Ethan's release as it spilled out (who knows who it really belonged to, honestly) and dripped down your thighs.

There was no time to appreciate or bask in the glow of his orgasm, because Leon and Chris were right there with him, bodies tensing and cocks throbbing as they came as well.

Leon's hands gripped your hips, fingers digging into your flesh as he held you in place, cock pulsing inside and filling you with his hot, thick cum, mixing with Ethan's and coating your insides. Chris's hand on your cock faltered, body convulsing as he came, cock buried deep inside, cum joining Ethan's and Leon's juices.

The pressure building inside your gut was overwhelming, body stretching to its limit. You could feel the way your ass cheeks were slick with their combined releases, dripping out and coating your thighs and balls. A complete filthy cum-covered mess and you loved it.

The room spun, your vision blurring as you were consumed by your pleasure, body wrung out and completely spent. You felt their hands on you, gentle now, soothing you as they helped you ride out your orgasm.

Clark turns to Lois and Jimmy, the both of them already have had their names written on the sign up sheet on the bulletin board in the middle of the school hallway.

Clark shrugs, gulping as he jots down his name along with the others. “I mean it’s our senior year when will I ever get the chance to do something like this in the future?”

“You mean trying your luck with the Zatara kid and hoping he’ll fall for you because you’re so different from the other cool kids in school?” Jimmy snickers on the side before yelping when Lois elbows him in the ribs.

Lois gives Clark a warm smile. “I think you’ll do great, besides it’s just auditions. You might not even get the part.”

“Golly, Lois. Thank you for the vote of confidence.” Clark rolled his eyes at his best friends.

Lois shrugged in response. “Okay to be fair, you know I’m crap at emotionally supporting the both of you.”

“I think you broke a rib.” Jimmy whines next to Lois, making her huff at his overdramatic display of injury before grabbing him by the arm and hauling him away.

Clark chuckled and shook his head, watching his friends go.

“The three of you are always so lively.” Clark jumped before whirling around and staring in shock at the object of his affection.

Clark opened and closed his mouth repeatedly, trying to figure out how to respond.

You chuckled before your eyes drifted to the sign up sheet behind Clark. He watched as your face bloomed into a giant grin.

“You’re auditioning?” You asked Clark, your eyes sparkling with interest.

Clark felt his face flush at finally getting your attention on him. “Yeah, I’ve always been interested but never had the guts to do so before. Are you here to sign up too?”

“Nope.” You smirked as you continued reading all the names on the list.

Clark felt his shoulders deflated, disappointment settling in his stomach. “Oh, I thought you auditioned every year. You’ve been in all the shows.”

“You’ve seen all the shows I was in?” You asked with a raised eyebrow.

Clark tried sputtering out a response, only receiving a laugh from you.

“I’m directing this year’s show, Kent.”

“Oh wow that’s so cool.” Clark breathed out, memorising your face and your facial expressions to heart.

He doesn’t know when he’ll get the chance after years of pining from afar.

You smirked up at him. “I guess I’ll see you in auditions, Kent. Break a leg.”

Clark nodded as he watched you walk away, he felt a little breathless seeing you sway your hips confidently with every step.

He huffed to himself, thinking about the perfect audition song he could think of to impress you with.

Clark glances at the direction that you went off to, his heart skipping a beat at how close the both of you were not that long ago.

He’s hopeful that it won’t be the last time.

~~~~~

“Hi, I’m Clark Kent. I will be auditioning for any role that you think is suitable for me.” Clark told the three people sitting in the makeshift booth for judging.

His eyes scanned the three faces.

Mr. Perry White, the Theater Club’s Advisor, sat on the far end, you in the middle and Lex Luthor sat on the other end while sporting an unimpressed glare thrown at Clark.

Lex leaned forward. “And pray tell what our dear quarterback is doing, auditioning for our show?”

“Luthor.” You tutted disapprovingly at the man beside you before directing a soothing smile at Clark as you adjusted the glasses on your face.

“Okay Clark, I know this is your first time. So just take a breather before you start singing for us.”

Clark nodded, his sole focus was on you as he started to sing when the background music started playing.

He didn’t really choose a character for the show, he didn’t think his acting or singing skills were good enough.

As Clark sang and moved his body across the stage, his mind drifted elsewhere.

Usually on the field with football, he was moving with precision and an obvious goal of getting the ball across the field as fast as he can with the help of his team.

It was a lot of stress especially as the quarterback, feeling like the whole world was on his shoulders.

Whereas on stage, he felt happy, giddy and even free.

He couldn’t really see anything or anyone by the auditorium seats except the light shining on the three people sitting in the booth but even then his eyes were fixated on you.

Clark didn’t even realise he had completed the song before he sees you stand up and clap with a bright smile on your face.

Mr. White clapping along with you while Lex rolled his eyes before clapping as well.

“Thank you, Clark. Check the bulletin board again in the next three days to see your results. Up next is Kendra Saunders.” Mr. White announced as Clark walked away slightly dazed.

He sees Lois and Jimmy smiling brightly at the side before they went up to him with congratulatory hugs.

“You did it, Clark! You were amazing up there.” Jimmy crowed.

Lois nodded in agreement. “How long have you been hiding those pipes of yours, Kent?”

Clark shook his head, trying to regain his focus.

He actually stood up on stage and sang!

He couldn’t believe it.

Now it was just the waiting game.

~~~~~

“Congratulations, Kent.”

Lex snarkily tells Clark in front of the bulletin board before shoulder checking the taller jock and walking away after posting the results on the board.

Clark didn’t care for Lex’s attitude, he didn’t even feel the shoulder check because he was too busy staring in awe at his name on the paper.

Clark was the male lead of the show.

“Holy shit.” He heard Lois and Jimmy say simultaneously as they stood next to him.

Clark tutted at his friends. “Language.”

“Luthor didn’t seem too happy when you auditioned but it looks like even he could agree that you have a lot of potential.” Lois mused as her eyes scanned the names on the list to find hers.

Jimmy smiled noticing his name as well. “This is awesome, Clark. I get to be your understudy!”

Clark smiled at his two best friends but his mind strayed to the thought of you.

“Congratulations guys, I’ll see you tomorrow.” Clark told his friends before making a hasty retreat.

Lois smirked, watching Clark walk away with a new pep in his step. “Say hi to your future boyfriend for us!”

Clark almost tripped on his own two feet, his face blushing furiously as he made his escape with the sound of his friends’ laughter fading behind him.

Clark hurried to where he knew you would definitely be at.

The school library.

You were always there after school, having volunteered to keep your credit score up.

Clark sighed remembering the first time you both met and it was at the library, freshman year.

Clark was this tall, lanky kid with glasses who hadn’t joined the football team yet and you were the new kid that moved from somewhere out of town.

He felt lost, walking through the endless maze of literature, trying to find a specific book for a school project.

You had found him in one of the random stacks, looking like he was having a mental breakdown.

Clark jumped in surprise when he felt your hand land on his shoulder, making him turn to you in surprise.

You gave him a gentle smile and introduced yourself.

Clark blinked owlishly. “I’m Clark Kent.”

“Hi, Clark. You look like you’re about to have an aneurysm, you mind if I help you out?” You tilted your head with a smirk.

Clark sheepishly shook his head. “Oh sorry, I was just trying to find this book but I can’t find it for the life of me.”

That was how Clark developed his crush on you, watching you behind the main desk on the library’s computer to search for the book he needed before he obediently followed you to the proper section to get it.

“Don’t be afraid to come up to the desk and ask about a book. I promise the head librarian won’t bite your head off but if you’re scared of her then you can just look for me instead.” You winked at Clark as you checked out his book out of the library system.

Clark felt his face flush before nodding with a smile as he took the book from you. “Thank you, I’ll return this as soon as I’m done with it.”

“Don’t be a stranger.” You smiled at him before heading back to your original task while Clark walked out of the library with a small smile on his face.

Clark had thought he would get more of your attention when he joined the football team but he quickly realised that you were in a world of your own with theater club, being a librarian assistant and keeping your grades up.

You were at the top of your classes.

It somehow made Clark yearn harder whenever he’d see you in the school hallways or when he’d come visit the library to borrow a book for one of his classes.

Clark, of course, had random people try to flirt and hit him up but they were never you.

And now he had found himself, yet again, standing in the middle of the stacks in the library to look for you.

The sound of a cart being pushed makes Clark turn his head and he meets your bright and curious eyes, staring straight at him.

“Is it me or is this déjà vu?” You greeted him with a slight quirk to your lips as you started to shove books into the shelves.

Clark gulped. “I didn’t think you’d remember that interaction.”

“Clark.” You glanced at him, chuckling slightly.

Clark shivered at the sound of your voice saying his name.

“Of course I remember. You literally come to the library every other week to borrow a book for one of your classes.”

You looked down at a book in hand before you lifted your head up to scan the shelves to see which section the book belongs to.

You quickly shoved the book into its respective section as you pushed the cart forward, Clark stepping to the side to let you pass.

“Well yeah but it’s not like we do small talk or say hi to each other in the halls.” Clark replied, not realising that he had inadvertently revealed one of his insecurities to you.

He sees you wince. “I’m sorry Clark, I guess I haven’t been too aware of my surroundings. My dad says I’m doing too much and not enjoying my youth.”

“Sounds like your dad may have a point.” Clark said in amusement, watching you roll your eyes at him and huffing out a laugh when he sees you get on your tip toes to place a book on the highest part of the shelf.

You turn to playfully glare at him through your thick rimmed glasses. “Not all of us are freakishly tall.”

You took out another book from the cart and rose to your toes again, your shirt riding up and exposing the bare skin of your hips.

Clark gulped before he stepped up and grabbed the book out of your hands to help you place it on the top shelf.

“Oh, you didn’t have to do that.” You blinked up at Clark, your bodies now closer to each other.

Clark smiled down at your flabbergasted look. “I didn’t mind.”

He sees your face flush before you gently pushed at his chest so you could make your way around him to finish up your task.

Clark bit his lip, silently watching you place books back on the shelves. The feeling of your fingertips still lingering on his chest.

“I know you didn’t come here to help me shelve these books and you don’t seem to be in a haste to find one for class, so what’s up?” You asked Clark, turning your whole body around to face him while crossing your arms.

Clark sheepishly scratched the back of his head before sighing. “I was wondering if I got the part of the male lead because of my status in school.”

Your eyes widened in surprise before you shook your head. “God, no. Clark you got the part because you’re talented and you deserved it. I wouldn’t have chosen you otherwise.”

“Oh, thank you. I mean this is your last high school musical so I thought you’d want someone more experienced as the lead.” Clark replied, suddenly feeling ashamed.

“A lot of people auditioned for the lead Clark but you had the most potential. You said it yourself that you’d audition for the role that we, the judges, think you’d be most suitable for. It just so happened to be the male leading role.”

Clark nodded, feeling slightly better at your words. “Right.”

You huff out a small laugh before walking up to him, your hand gently rubbing his arm. “Take it easy, you already have a lot to juggle as it is as quarterback. The school can’t have you have a mental breakdown over a stupid musical.”

“Musical’s not stupid. You’re directing it.” Clark murmured, seeing you give him a soft smile.

You walked back to the cart, already pushing it. “I’ll see you in rehearsals, Kent.”

“See you.” Clark watched as you disappeared into a corner, the feeling of doubt slowly leaving his body.

He walked out of the library with a new sense of determination.

~~~~~

Clark decided that theater was tougher than football.

Besides learning the songs, he also had to memorise his script and unsurprisingly, he had a lot of lines as the main lead.

Not to mention his disastrous mishap whenever he needed to exit stage left or stage right.

Clark felt like a goddarn fool running around on stage with Lex’s snickering in the background whenever he’d make a mistake.

It was only day one and he’d already disappointed everyone.

“Okay guys, I think that’s enough for today. Go home, rest and memorise your parts.” Mr Perry White announced to everyone before leaving the auditorium.

Clark’s shoulder sagged noticing the pitiful glances and glares thrown his way by the other students.

He sighed before slinging his backpack over his shoulder to leave as well.

“Hey, Clark. Do you mind staying behind for a bit? I’d like to have a conversation with you, if you don’t mind.” You called out to him from the piano that was backstage.

Lois and Jimmy gave him comforting head nods before they left the auditorium, leaving him alone with you.

“Hey.” Clark timidly greeted you as he walked up to where you were sitting on the bench by the piano.

You looked up at him with a small smile, adjusting your glasses slightly as you closed what seemed to be a notebook in your hand.

“Hi, Clark. Thanks for staying back, I know it’s been a tough first day but I’m happy you’re here.”

“I guess that makes you the only one.” Clark replied as a joke although his voice betrayed him by how it trailed off after his sentence.

You frowned up at him. “Clark, you know that’s not true.”

“I don’t know, between Lex’s condescending laughter to the glares everyone just gave me, I think the evidence speaks for itself.” Clark shrugged, his face reflecting your frown.

You sighed before getting up from the seat and standing next to Clark, looking up at him since he was admittedly taller than you are.

“It’s your first day in the auditorium and you’re just starting to learn theater etiquette as well. I’m not gonna fault you for your inexperience when you really have none. Also, Lex is an asshole while the other students will be getting an earful from me.” You told Clark, your hands resting on your waist.

Clark smiled seeing you defend him. “It’s okay, I get it. I’m the newbie and I’ll work on improving myself. Also maybe don’t call Lex an a-hole, that’s just not nice.”

“I’m sorry, am I just finding out that the school’s beloved quarterback is also a boy-scout? Should I rewrite the whole script and put in swear words just for you?” You teased Clark with a grin.

Clark’s face fell in shock as he laughed nervously. “You’re not actually going to force me to say them, right?”

“No, of course not.” You told him with a smirk as you gathered your things from the piano.

Clark cautiously followed you as you walked out, not believing you. “I don’t think my parents would like it very much, you know.”

“Noted.” You said offhandedly as you locked up the auditorium, Clark looming nervously behind you.

You turned to see Clark fidgeting at the side before you mindlessly reach out to play with the letterman jacket he was currently wearing.

“Relax, Clark. I’m just pulling your leg, you need to learn how to relax while you’re here.”

Clark nodded dumbly, too distracted by the fact that you were tugging slightly on his letterman jacket before you patted him on the chest with a small smile.

“Now, let’s get out of here. I think we’re done for the day, I’ll see you in rehearsals.”

As Clark left the school grounds, he felt his heart beat faster as he remembered your gentleness around him.

It was getting harder for him not to tell you that he was completely enamoured by you as the both of you spent more time together.

Clark sighed, he really needed to get a hold of himself.

~~~~~

Clark was getting used to the flow of the musical, it took a couple of sessions but he thinks he’s confident enough to not mess up the simple things.

It helps that he’d hear your praise and see your bright smile aimed at him whenever everyone goes through a smooth run.

He admired your work ethic as you maintained a professional tone with the other performers as well.

Sometimes Clark would see you and Lex in a corner, chatting with laughter and that would make Clark feel a little iffy about how the close the both of you were.

“If looks could kill.” Clark jumps in surprise, turning his head to look at Kendra.

She was the female lead and his romantic partner for the musical.

Clark blinked dumbly at her. “What?”

“Oh, come on.” Kendra scoffed. “You always look at our dear director like he personally hung the moon every night for you. It’s a dead gay giveaway.”

Clark laughed and shook his head. “No, come on. I’m just admiring how hard he works.”

“Like that’s any less gay.” Kendra replied with a knowing smirk.

Clark rolled his eyes at her. They were pretty close friends, considering that she was dating his cousin, Kara.

“Ugh.” Kendra groaned looking through the script.

Clark eyed her curiously. “What’s up?”

Kendra lifted up the script in her hands. “We gotta kiss on stage, can you believe that?”

“Oh.” Clark replied, his voice getting a little high at the thought of it.

Kendra raised an unimpressed eyebrow at him. “What, can’t kiss your cousin’s girlfriend for a show?”

“That’s definitely not what I’m implying. It’s just you know, I’ve never really had an experience like that before.” Clark replied, trying to be vague.

Kendra tilted her head. “On stage or in general?”

Clark’s sudden silence makes Kendra’s eyes widened in surprise before she nodded in understanding.

“Hey guys!” Your cheery voice causes both of them to jump. “Is there a problem?”

“No, of course not. Clark just had an issue with the ending where we have to kiss in the show.” Kendra told you, causing Clark to turn his head towards her with an accusatory expression.

Kendra chose to ignore his glare.

You tilted your head in confusion. “Oh what’s wrong with it?”

“I think you need to go and have a personal talk with him, director. It’s pretty private.” Kendra whispered to you before walking away, leaving you and Clark alone.

You turned your attention to Clark, your expression softening. “See me after rehearsals?”

“Yes, dear.” Clark automatically replied, freezing when he realised what he said and judging by your raised eyebrows, you had definitely heard it too.

“Director. Our dear director.” Clark chuckled nervously before making a strategic exit, leaving you alone with your mouth slightly agape.

He was doomed.

~~~~~

“Okay, start.”

Clark was shaking from where he stood in front of you, unable to find the proper words to convey his feelings toward you.

Darn it, Kendra.

“Clark.” You sighed when the taller man in front of you wouldn’t say anything.

Clark jumped when he felt you grab his hand, pulling him to the floor to sit with you. He mindlessly followed, getting comfortable on the floor as you sat across from him with a soft smile.

“Okay how about we do a little trust exercise between the two of us? Just nod if you’re okay with that.”

Clark nodded, grateful that you’re fast at adapting to his sudden muteness.

“Since we’re both here alone, I think it’s the perfect time to be more open with each other, don’t you think?”

Clark nodded, receiving a small smile in return.

He could listen you talk to him all day if you’d let him.

You sighed while adjusting your body on the floor to get more comfortable, your legs crisscrossed.

“Are you having a hard time getting out words to express your current emotional dilemma with me?”

Clark’s eyes widened but he nodded, shocked by how fast you were able to read him.

“Does it involve the kissing scene in the script?”

Clark nodded.

“Does it involve having to do the scene with Kendra?”

Clark shook his head, earning a confused head tilt from you.

God, he thought you looked so adorable in front of him.

You adjusted the glasses on your face, quietly stewing in your own thoughts.

“Does it involving the act of kissing in general?”

Clark hesitated, feeling his cheeks warm up before he nodded.

He sees your eyes widened, silently processing the new information.

“When you called me dear, earlier. It wasn’t a mistake was it?” You sheepishly asked, your eyes looking away from Clark.

Clark huffed out a small laugh, his hand reaching out to hold yours. It makes you look up at him in surprise.

Your mouth open and closes, unable to form your own words this time and it makes Clark grin.

“This wasn’t the way I had thought of telling you.” Clark finally voices out, making your face flush.

You gave him a soft and shy smile that makes Clark slightly feral, excitement running up his spine at the mere thought of you reciprocating his own feelings.

“So you really haven’t kissed anyone before?” You asked him, making Clark smile as he leaned towards you before shaking his head in response.

You leaned in next, batting your eyelashes up at Clark. “Do you want to?”

“Absolutely.” Clark breathed out before capturing your lips with his.

It was clumsy, Clark not knowing which way to angle his head so your glasses hit his nose and your teeth clashed against his.

You laughed against his lips, pulling back with a hand cradling his face. Clark leaned into your touch with a soft smile.

He had dreamt of this countless of times over the years, he hoped this wasn’t a dream this time.

“You need to slow down, Kent.” You whispered with a small smile before leaning and pecking him on the lips.

Clark was dazed as one peck became two and so forth, the softness of your plump lips against his as you took charge of the kiss.

Clark hears you breathe through your nose as you deepened the kiss, the vibrations of your moan against his lips causing him to get slightly dizzy at how good it felt.

A thought of wondering where you learned to kiss so well came into Clark’s mind but he quickly shoved it down in favour of enjoying the moment.

He felt you push your body against his, climbing into his lap and letting your arms rest on his wide shoulders.

Clark’s hands resting on your waist, letting you get comfortable as you sat squarely on his lap before capturing your lips with his once again.

His tongue prodding on your lips, asking for permission to be let in before slipping in and exploring your mouth once you let him.

Clark relished the sweet moans and whimpers that you gave him, swallowing every sound you make that drove him insane.

He felt your hands push at his chest, causing the both of you to break your kiss. You panted as you looked at him with confusion.

“What’s the matter, baby?” Clark purred, making you flush.

You cleared your throat. “I thought this was your first kiss, where’d you learn to use your tongue like that?”

“Honestly? It felt like a natural thing to do and I’m not opposed to learning from porn.” Clark grinned when you laughed in surprise.

He squeezed your waist, making you shudder in his lap. “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing.” You grinned. “I didn’t think the school’s boy-scout would be so dirty.”

Clark groaned at your teasing. “Oh come on, I’m not a boy-scout.”

“What are you then?” You bit your lip, continuing to tease Clark.

Clark leans in and pecks you on the lips. “How about your boyfriend instead?”

Your eyes widened in surprise.

“I didn’t think you’d be interested in me like that.”

“I wanted to be with you since you helped me in the library back when we were in freshman year, will you please bestow me the honour of being yours?” Clark asks you, his eyes scanning the entirety of your face before resting on your lips.

You giggled, kissing him. “Theater must be rubbing off on you if you’re speaking like that.”

“Yeah? Turns you on?” Clark grinned watching your face reddened before you slapped his shoulder.

“Clark.” You scolded him, letting him pull you closer to him so he could shove his face into your neck and take a deep breath of your scent with a groan.

“Gosh, you smell so good.” Clark murmured against your neck, his lips moving against your skin and making a noise of approval when you tilted your chin up to expose more of your skin for him.

Clark couldn’t help but nibble on the skin of your neck, making you jump slightly in his lap at the slight sharp pain before he apologetically soothes it with his tongue.

He felt your hands push on his chest again, making him pull away from you with a frown that makes you laugh.

“Enough of that. Now that we’ve uncovered the problem, I’m guessing you’re okay going through with the kiss in the show?” You teased him with a smirk, Clark huffing out a small laugh as he nodded.

He frowns again when you got up from his lap, pouting when he sees you fix your clothes to look more presentable.

Your smirk still on your face when you look down at him still sitting on the floor. “You’ll get more once the show’s over.”

“Tease.” Clark retorted, standing and dusting off his clothes before putting his hand out for you to take.

You raised your eyebrow at him in amusement before linking your hand with his and leading the way out of the auditorium.

“You know this means everyone in school’s going to be talking about us till the end of the week.”

Clark shrugged. “I’ve waited for you for about four years, I can handle senseless talking.”

“You’re such a dork.” You snorted as the both of you made your way out of the school, hand in hand.

Clark grinned goofily. “Yeah but I’m yours.”

~~~~~

Clark grinned as he walked up to your locker.

It was the day after the school musical and everything went smoothly. Clark had even met your dad after the show.

Turns out your dad was a fan of Clark judging by how many times you and your dad had attended Clark’s football games.

Clark grinning like a maniac the entire time while you stood at the side with a furious blush at your dad blabbering about how it was always your idea to attend the football games.

Now, Clark gets to tease you about being as obsessed as he was about you over the years.

“Hi, honey.” Clark greeted you, causing you to flinch in surprise with a blush on your cheeks as you smiled shyly at him.

Unable to control himself, Clark leaned in and stole a kiss from you before pulling back with a smug grin at your surprised expression.

“Clark, we’re in public.” You whispered at him, your eyes glancing around but you had a satisfied smile on your face.

Clark hummed. “Don’t care, you’re my boyfriend.”

“Speaking of.” Clark shrugged off his letterman jacket before handing it to you.

You gasped as you took it into your hands, your fingers playing with the material of the jacket as you stared down at it dumbfounded.

“The big game’s coming up, it’s my last so I want you there and wearing this so everyone knows you’re mine.” Clark told you, making you laugh as you tried out his jacket on your body.

It was a size too big on you but Clark found it adorable.

“Possessive much?” You quirked an eyebrow at Clark, only to get an eye roll in return.

Clark leaned his body towards yours, his impressive stature towering over yours as captured your lips with his mouth.

When the both of you separated, Clark couldn’t stop the grin that formed on his face as he stared lovingly down at you.

“What’s on your mind, Kent?” You asked, amused by Clark’s blatant staring.

Clark smiled softly at you. “Just can’t believe I finally get to call you mine.”

You laughed as Clark pulled your body in for a hug.

“Such a dork.” You muttered against his chest, making Clark chuckle.

“Only yours.”

*****

Author’s note:

Happy New Year’s Eve!

I thought I wasn’t going to finish any other fic but I managed to do this one!

This has been in the drafts for quite some time and had a much bigger story in mind but I decided to go against it once I realised I needed some fluff instead