HappyStarWarsNerd

it was a friday night, two weekends before thanksgiving break. carlos’s three roommates weren’t home and it was just you two. 

you were very comfortable, carlos had turned down the ac (since his roommates cranked it up even when carlos naturally ran hot) and you were freshly showered, dressed in a hoodie and shorts under one of his blankets. 

his laptop sat abandoned on the coffee table, an article about international security still open from whatever assignment he'd been avoiding.

you had just finished a freshly rolled blunt, smoke visible through the glow of the TV screen as he played elden ring. you were curled up next to him, stardew valley on your switch screen. 

carlos looked so good, it should’ve been illegal. tan skin, his dark curls damp from a shower, and biceps out in his cutoff shirt. 

“where are you at?” you asked him, looking up from your device. 

“i’m near the fire giant,” he says, large veined hands easily moving over the controller. 

“damn so you’re getting kinda close-ish to the end,” you hummed, knees brushing against his firm and oh-so-warm thigh. 

“like three-quarters,” he grinned, the smile lopsided and loose from the weed. you continued playing side by side, passing another joint and your weed pen around. 

this was probably the highest you both had ever been together. you felt weightless, limbs heavy and your head blissfully empty. you didn’t have the energy to farm your pixelated crops so you saved your game and turned off your switch. you let your head fall back into the cushions of the couch, eyes lidded as you watched him game. 

“you good?” he murmurs, patting your knee and pausing. 

“mhm,” you hummed, eyes flitting to his lazily. he only looked more handsome in the haze of the high, the whites of his eyes tinged red from the weed. carlos lets out a giggle at your slumped position. it looked as if the couch was swallowing you. 

”too tired?”

”too high,” you correct, cheek pressed into the couch. 

he snorts and turns back to his game, sliding closer into you and pressing his thigh firmly into your knee. he nudged your shoulder with his. “you’re gonna get a crick in your neck. use me as a pillow.” 

“if you insist,” you agree very easily, curling into his side and smooshing your cheek into his shoulder. He smelled like cedar and snakegrass. 

you wrapped your hands around his forearm, feeling his muscles flex under your touch when he moves his fingers on the controller. the warmth of him contrasted against your freezing hands. carlos’s right arm jolted from your ice-cold fingers. 

“jesus! warn a man!” carlos attempted to scold you. you just giggled and he had to bite his lip to hide his smile at the sound. 

you sat like that, your lead-limbed body pressed into his side. he didn’t mind—he liked the weight of you next to him, your soft curves against his firm planes. 

now—you were in the thick of your high, melting even more until you were practically draped over him. he could feel you slumping over him, eyes lidded still and lips parted. you were so beautiful like this—so open and he had the privilege to see you. so vulnerable and free. 

“c’mere,” carlos grunted, pausing his game and wrapping a big arm around your waist—easily pulling your body into his lap.

you squeaked in surprise, your ass on top of his firm thighs and knees dangling next to his. your back pressed into his chest, his chin resting on your shoulder. “wha—“

”comfy?” he whispered into your ear, warm breath brushing against the edge of your ear. your breath hitched, but you managed to nod. he reaches for…not his controller?

no—his hands find yours. his calloused fingers slide against the soft backs of your hands and wrap around them, guiding them to the controller. 

“carlos,” 

“what? you’ve always said that you wanted to play,” carlos hums, the sound vibrating against your back. 

“not like this,” you muttered, letting his fingers move your own as he unpaused the game and the character began to move. you were just trying to keep it together. 

you stared down at the controller in your hands.

"...i have no idea what i'm doing."

"i know," carlos laughed softly against your shoulder. "that's why i'm teaching you."

"rude."

"a little."

his chest vibrated behind you when he chuckled, and you hated how much you liked the feeling. every laugh, every breath, every tiny movement of his body brushed against your back.

he guided your thumbs over the buttons. "okay," he murmured. "move this stick."

you did.

your character immediately jumped straight off the edge of a cliff.

"..."

"..."

you slowly looked up at him over your shoulder.

he blinked once.

then completely lost it.

his laugh burst out of him before he could stop it, his forehead dropping against your shoulder as his arm tightened around your waist to keep you from nearly sliding off his lap.

"don't laugh!" you whined, already laughing yourself.

"i'm trying," he wheezed. "i swear i'm trying."

"you literally killed me."

"you killed you."

"technicality."

he was still giggling when he reached around you again, taking one of your hands in his.

"here," he said. "gentle movements."

his fingers settled over yours again, warm and rough against your skin.

"See?" his thumb brushed yours as he nudged the joystick. "small movements."

you nodded, trying very hard to pay attention to the screen.

trying.

because the problem wasn't elden ring anymore.

the problem was that you could feel all of him.

his chest against your back. his thigh beneath yours. his chin nearly brushing your shoulder whenever he looked down. his breath fanned across the shell of your ear whenever he spoke.

"...you listening?" he asked.

"mhm."

"what'd i just say?"

"...small..."

you glanced helplessly at the screen.

"...buttons?"

another laugh escaped him.

"close enough." you groaned, hiding your face in your hands.

"i can't think."

"too high?"

"too..." you hesitated. you almost said too aware of you.

"Yeah." instead, you just nodded.

he hummed quietly. "that's okay."

there was something about the way he said it that made your stomach flip.

not teasing. not embarrassed. Just...gentle. comfortable.

you let your head tip back for a second, resting against his shoulder without really thinking about it.

his body went still.

"...comfortable?" he asked after a beat.

you smiled with your eyes still closed. "very."

his arm around your waist tightened almost imperceptibly.

"good."

neither of you moved after that.

the fire giant had been completely forgotten.

your little character stood idle in the middle of a snowy field while the game music drifted softly through the apartment.

for a long moment, all either of you did was breathe.

you weren't sure if it was the weed.

or him.

probably the weed.

(it was definitely him.)

–

somehow...

you were still in his lap.

the fire giant had been forgotten.

so had stardew valley.

all you could think about was him.

probably the weed.

(it was definitely not the weed.)

—

carlos liked you back. the same—if not more—than you liked him

(in his opinion.) 

he was just comfortable enough to make a move. 

was it probably the best idea to do it high? well, no. probably not. but, you were in his lap anyway, and you didn’t get up. 

that had to be a good indicator, right? 

a man could hope. 

—

this man did not need to hope.  

your lips were moving against his, his hands on the curve of your hips as your hands ran through his hair. 

how did he end up here?

you making out with him.

your lips on his. 

feeling the heat of your cunt against his cock—

fuck. 

he may not have remembered how he got here, but you certainly did. 

you were always a little turned on by him. you were very attracted to him and your pussy never seemed to get the memo. 

(she did. and she wanted him just as much as you—maybe more.) 

to put it bluntly: 

you were fucking horny. 

you had been sitting in his lap. with his biceps pressed against your elbows. large hands completely encasing yours. feeling his abs brush against your back with each breath.

you were so wet. you were putting the niagara falls to shame. 

so you listened to your pussy. you straddled his hips with your large, plush thighs and kissed him. 

and you kissed him—hard. 

carlos made a strangled sound, his fingers pausing the game with pure muscle memory before he dropped the controller and grabbed your hips. 

you nipped at his bottom lip and immediately slid your tongue into his mouth as he gasped softly in surprise. 

he almost seemed frozen. but, he managed to kiss you back, nose pressing against your cheek as he deepened the kiss, hands sliding under your hoodie to feel the muscles in your back. 

carlos groaned into your mouth when he realized that you weren’t wearing a bra. 

you swallowed the sound, one of your arms wrapped around his neck as the other trailed down his torso, exploring the firm planes of his chest and abdomen through his shirt. 

you pulled back with a gasp, eyes lidded more and lips swollen. carlos matched your breath, deep brown eyes flicking between your own and your lips. 

his hand reaches up to wipe the saliva from your bottom lip, pulling it down to show the pinky soft flesh of the inside of your lip. 

“fuck baby,” carlos whispered, his voice deep and raspy. you felt your pussy throb in response. his hand moves from your lips to your cheek, rubbing the soft skin of your cheekbone. “you okay?”

you nodded. 

“words, baby,” 

“yes.” 

“good,” he whispered before his lips were on yours again. he couldn’t keep his hands still, one on the back of your head, the other gripping your ass or hips or rubbing your belly. 

god–his touch making you dizzy as hell. your fingers gripped his shoulders as you debated whether you should listen to your pussy, which is currently telling you to grind down. 

you do. 

you grind down, your cunt wet and his cock throbbed as the damp arousal of your soaked shorts smeared across his gray sweatpants

carlos lets out a raspy groan in your mouth, his hands immediately cupping your ass to guide your movement. “shit,” 

you part your lips from his, sinking down a little further and putting your weight into the grind. carlos tosses his head with a choked-out moan and his fingers tighten on your ass as his hips buck up instinctively. 

carlos leans down to kiss you again, noses bumping as he tilts his head to swipe his tongue through your mouth. you were both becoming a little desperate and too far gone. 

his fingers slide a little further down your ass, getting real close to the edges of the soaked gusset of your shorts. his middle and ring fingers slip under the fabric to feel your warm, wet inner thighs. you gasp in surprise, to which he just greedily swallows the sound. 

“can i touch you?” carlos whispers into your lips. you grab his hand and guide it to in between your thighs. he groans again and nips your bottom lip as his fingers slide right under your shorts and panties to properly feel you. 

“fuck–” neither of you knew who said it. 

you were soaked. you were so wet. his fingers slide easily through your folds. 

“holy shit,” he breathes out, voice raspy and shaky. he leaves your lips but presses soft, feather-light kisses down the side of your face onto your shoulder. “you’re so wet, baby.” he whispers, breath brushing the edge of your ear. 

you could only nod and tighten your grip on his biceps. 

(they were soooooo big….)

his calloused fingers brushed against your clit, the little bud throbbing under his touch and you let out a soft gasp. 

carlos’s breath was a hot, heavy weight against your neck, sending frantic shivers racing down your spine. he sounded completely wrecked, his usual confident composure dissolved by the sheer amount of moisture he was finding between your thighs.

"you're literally dripping," he murmured, his voice dropping an octave into a gravelly, primal register. he pulled back just enough to look at you, his dark eyes blown wide with a mix of hunger and pure, unadulterated awe. 

you were a goddess and he was your devotee. 

he circles it with a rough finger and you moan softly into the crook of his neck. 

“feels good?” carlos whispers, pressing a kiss to your temple as he continues to rub your clit as his other hand travels up and down your back. 

the sensation was overwhelming. the combination of the heavy, high haze in your brain and the sharp, electric jolts of pleasure made you feel like you were floating and sinking all at once. you leaned forward, pressing your chest against his, your nipples hardening painfully against the fabric of his cutoff shirt.

“yeah,” you breathed out shakily, hips rolling on your own as you sank a little further into his finger. 

“good,” he groans into your ear, letting his thumb replace his fingers on your clit to slide down and circle your entrance. 

you moan softly, feeling his thick, rough fingers tease the aching muscle as your clit throbs harder under his thumb. 

“carlos,” you whined, grinding your hips harder into his lap as you felt his cock grow harder beneath you. 

carlos let out a low, guttural sound, a mix of a laugh and a groan, as he felt the frantic rhythm of your hips. he was clearly losing his battle with self-control, his large hands squeezing your waist to steady you as you worked yourself against his thumb.

"you're so needy for me, aren't you?" he whispered, his voice thick with affection. he didn't sound cocky; he sounded completely enamored, his eyes searching yours with a tenderness that made your heart ache even as your pussy throbbed.

he slowly began to shift, his hands sliding from your waist down to your thighs, spreading them wider to make room for himself. he wanted to bury his face between your legs. he wanted to have your taste on his tongue and your smell engraved into his brain. with a slow, deliberate movement, he slid off the couch, settling onto his knees on the floor between your thighs.

"carlos?" you breathed, your hands reaching out to find purchase on his broad shoulders as you watched him descend.

"just stay right there, baby. don't move a muscle," he murmured, looking up at you with a gaze so sweet it felt almost dizzying. his pretty brown eyes. 

(you loved those eyes so dearly.)

he reached up, his hands trembling slightly as he hooked his fingers into the waistband of your soaked shorts and panties, sliding them down your thighs until they were a pile on the floor. the cool air hit your damp skin for only a second before the heat of his face replaced it.

he leaned in, his nose brushing against the soft hair of your mound, inhaling your scent like it was the only thing keeping him alive. he pressed a lingering, tender kiss to your inner thigh, making you gasp and arch your back. then, with a reverence that made your toes curl, he pressed his face into your heat, his tongue darting out to taste the nectar he had just been teasing

"oh god..." you choked out, your fingers tangling deeply in his dark curls as he began to lap at you, his tongue broad and warm, sweeping over your clit with a rhythmic, devastating precision.

the sensation was absolutely overwhelming. every time his tongue swept upward, catching the sensitive peak of your clit, a jolt of pure electricity shot straight to your core, making your hips buck instinctively against his mouth. carlos was being so thorough, so incredibly patient, as if he had all the time in the world to memorize every inch of you.

"carlos... please..." you whimpered, your voice cracking. you were so high that the pleasure felt magnified, a heavy, golden wave that threatened to drown you. your thighs clenched, pressing into his ears. 

he responded by deepening the contact. he used his tongue to swirl around your clit in tight, agonizingly perfect circles, while sliding a finger inside you slowly. the combination of the internal fullness and the external stimulation was almost too much to bear. 

“fuuuuuck,” you moaned, your hands sliding into his soft curls and tugging on them lightly as you grind your hips to his face. 

carlos worked his thick finger through your tight walls before adding a second one and you moaned again. they were so much bigger than your own and reached far deeper, juuust brushing that spongy spot on your frontal wall. 

he let out a muffled groan against your skin, the vibration of his voice traveling through your entire body. he pulled back for a split second, just enough to look up at you from between your thighs. his face was flushed, his lips glistening and wet with your juices, and his eyes were dark with a hunger that was both primal and incredibly sweet.

"you taste so fucking good, baby," he rasped, his voice vibrating against your inner thighs. "i could stay down here forever."

before you could even respond, he dove back in, his tongue lashing against you with more urgency now. he wasn't just teasing anymore; he was driving you toward the edge. he found that perfect, frantic pace, his fingers working in tandem with his mouth, driving you higher and higher until the world began to blur at the edges.

“fuck, baby,” you whimpered. the pleasure was becoming almost overwhelming, so intense it blurred into something almost numb. 

the high was no longer a haze; it had sharpened into a razor-edged intensity that made every flick of his tongue feel like a lightning strike. you could feel the tension coiling tighter and tighter in your lower abdomen, a heavy, pulsing pressure that demanded release. tingles ran up your lower body, starting at the tips of your curled toes to your cunt. 

"carlos, carlos!" you cried out, your voice high and breathy. your hips were moving of their own accord now, frantic and uncoordinated, trying to force him even deeper, to find more of that friction that was about to shatter you.

he heard the change in your voice, the way your breath hitched into shallow, jagged gasps. he didn't slow down; instead, he leaned into it, his tongue steady as he flicked your clit. he increased the pressure of his thumb against your clit, pinning it just right while his fingers inside you curled, mimicking a rhythmic thrust that drove you over the precipice.

the orgasm hit you like a physical blow. your entire body stiffened, your back arching off the couch as a violent, beautiful wave of pleasure crashed through you. you let out a loud, primal moan, your fingers clenching so hard in his hair that you were sure you were pulling out his hair. your internal muscles clamped down hard on his fingers, pulsing in rhythmic, desperate spasms that seemed to go on forever.

"yeah... just like that," he whispered against you, his voice thick with pride and adoration and the vibrations only extending your orgasm. 

carlos didn't pull away. he stayed right there, drinking you in, his tongue continuing to lap at you even as you shook, catching every drop of your release. he let out a long, low moan of his own, his forehead resting against your damp skin as the tremors finally began to subside.

“god, you were perfect, baby,” carlos whispered into your skin, pressing sweet, soft kisses on your inner thighs as they continued to shake. 

he looked up at you, his eyes soft and shimmering, watching your face as you drifted back down to earth, your chest heaving and your eyes glazed with pure, post orgasmic bliss.

carlos continued to leave kisses on your skin, trailing up your body starting at your cunt to the tops of your boobs. 

“you alright, sweetheart?” he hums, pressing a kiss to your temple. you opened your eyes again, breathing a little heavy as you searched his face. 

the heavy, golden haze of the high was beginning to settle into a comfy, sleepy cocoon, leaving you feeling limp and utterly cherished. your skin felt hypersensitive, every soft press of his lips against your stomach or the swell of your breasts sending tiny, pleasant ripples through your nerves. you felt completely undone, but in the best way possible–safe and seen. 

"yeah," you managed to breathe out, your voice a mere whisper of a sound. "just... wow."

carlos chuckled, a low, melodic sound that vibrated against your skin. he didn't move to get up or pull away; instead, he crawled up the couch, settling himself beside you so he could pull your heavy, trembling body into his arms. he tucked your head under his chin, his large hand splaying across your back in a soothing, grounding rhythm.

as he pulled you close, you felt a damp, warm heaviness in his gray sweatpants, a telltale sign that he’d reached his own peak while watching you shatter. he didn't seem embarrassed; if anything, the slight flush on his cheeks and the way he squeezed you a little tighter suggested he was just basking in the shared intensity of it all.

"you really did a number on me, too," he murmured, his voice a sleepy, affectionate rumble. he reached for the discarded throw blanket on the end of the couch, draping it carefully over both of you to ward off the slight chill of the room.

he began to pepper tiny, feather-light kisses along the top of your head, his scent a mix of cedar, sun-kissed skin, and a hint of lingering weed enveloping you.

it was really nice. 

"you're so beautiful," he whispered, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw. "i could just stay like this for the rest of the night. just you and me." you smiled softly. 

“so, uh,” you started, clearing your throat. now that the high was fading–along with the lust–it felt as if a bucket of cold water had been dumped on you. 

“yeah?” he hummed, his hands now trailing up and down your spine, counting the vertebrae. 

this is so intimate, holy shit. 

“is this when i pretend that it was all the weed and not that i have a big, fat crush on you?” you half-joke, half-holding your breath. as much as you wanted to pretend that it was all just the weed, you knew that it would only hurt you if you didn’t know what it meant to him. 

carlos pulled back to look at you, tilting your chin to meet his gaze. “no pretending needed,” he says, pressing a kiss to the tip of your nose. “i have a big, fat crush on you too.” 

your breath hitches and every molecule in your body freezes. 

shit. you didn’t think this far. 

“really?” 

“yes. really.” he just smiles down at you, his beard still glistening with your juices and his cheeks flushed. 

“shit,” you groaned before cupping his face and peppering kisses all over his handsome face. “you’re so perfect. so perfect.” you say, each word with a kiss and all carlos can do is smile like a schoolboy and laugh. 

“okay, that’s enough outta you,” his hands slide under your thighs and he picks you up easily. you squeak in surprise and grip his biceps. 

oh, his biceps. 

they were firm and warm under your hands and you couldn’t not squeeze them. he flexes them harder. 

“let's clean up and go to sleep,” carlos murmurs, nuzzling into your jaw as he carries you easily to his bedroom. 

you smiled, internally kicking your feet and giggling. 

this was not how you thought this night would end. but, are you complaining? hell no.

now, you got to sleep on a bicep. 

a big one. 

a good night indeed. 

you've been friends with Billy for a long time, long enough to notice if he'd ever changed anything about his appearance

slightly less red jacket? Hair less fluffy than usual? Eyes drooped down a little? Nicole called you creepy but you preffered the term caring

not that Billy ever minded, he lavished in your astute observations of his every little thing, often complaining how the rest of the cunning hares could barely tell when he added a brand new limited edition Starlight Knights pin

his recent addition to his model was a button in the middle of his chest

the thing you found stranger however was the fact that he tried lying to you about it

"What button?" He asked with all the nonchalance of a toddler trying to walk

you brushed it off, maybe he wanted to surprise you with some Starlight Knight related change

you were right on the money. Almost.

the day you saw him with his new form you could feel your heart hammering against your ears

you don't remember exactly when you started to find him weirdly attractive for an intelligent construct, you just knew when it happend it felt as though the sky had fallen; Billy was your friend! You can't see him in that way no matter how red your face got when he was near.

unfortunately your heart simply couldn't still, he looked amazing

he yapped about the modifications, striking a few poses every now and then to add some flair

you always pay attention to what he's saying, but at the moment you just couldn't get your mind off how unbelievably good he looked

you wanted to grab him and shake him around with how cute his facial expressions were with every explanation he gave

eventually though, a nervous air came about him

it wasn't completely unusual, he gets nervous about things, but you expected him to be the epitome of joy at this moment

"Is something wrong? I promsie I was paying attention!"

loud incorrect buzzer

"Nothings wrong! Uhm, I just wanted to say..."

he fidgeted with his hands, the sight was rather adorable

there he was, cool red scarf and jacket swaying, his horns ever so obvious against his white hair, yet here he was floundering abiut like a school boy

still, you were concerned, "Billy are you okay? Are the modifications painful or something?"

"Nope! Perfectly safe! It's just uh...you're the first person I'm showing this to..."

you smiled at that, heart warmed at the fact that you were the first person he wanted to show something so important to him

"That's really sweet of you," you placed a hand on his scarily muscular metal arm, "thanks for thinking of--"

"I like you!"

you stared, he stared, silence was shared

"I'm...sorry?"

"Gah!" He ripped his arm from your touch and grabbed his hair as though he made a grave mistake

"Shoot! I was supposed to say that way cooler! Uhm, could you pretend I didn't say that?"

"Pretend I didn't-- Billy I can't pretend!"

your face was fully on fire and by the looks of it, so was Billys. His hands shifted to cover his quickly overheating face, an eye peeking through his fingers

"This all went wrong! Wait, no, don't move!"

he quickly turned around, fixing his attire and smoothing out his hair before spinning back and throwing a finger gun at you with an attempt of a wink

and saying nothing

he starts fumbling again, somehow forgetting the crucial three words for a confession

you clutch your stomach. Not in pain, no, you couldn't stop laughing. Billy notices and his nervousness increases as does your laughing. He was so cute and bad at this while looking like he'd be the main character of an action movie

he let out an awkward laugh with you, gears still turning in his head as to how he could salvage this. He'd spent serious money on his upgrades and made sure you'd be the first person to see it in all its glory, a confession right after is the most Starlight Knight thing he could do, but of course he had to lose it when you smiled and touched his arm

he remembers so clearly the first time he saw you in a less than platonic way, he was planning on recounting the whole thing while staring lovingly into your eyes! -When you talked about Starlight Knights with him and called it cool, he swore his eyes could turn into those cheesy romance movie hearts, you were his new Monica!

you wipe a few stray tears away, blissfully unaware of Billys inner turmoil, "Sorry, sorry," you grab hold of his arm to tug him closer to you, "you were just so adorable."

his face overheats again, fans kicking in at the sudden proximity, "O-oh! That's good!"

you chuckle, "I like you too Billy."

you knocked him completely off his axis with such a simple sentence. Seriously, it would take an infinite amount of ethereals to make him feel as weak in the knees as you do

"Wait," his eyes widen, "but...but I didn't even look cool doing that!"

you roll your eyes, "Billy you always look cool, plus you have a charm of your own."

his eyes scan yout face as though he didn't believe the words coming out of your mouth before he abruptly picked you up by the waist and spun you around

"Haha! Yes! I am the happiest construct alive!"

"Mi amor, you’re still awake?" Luis’s voice carries from the doorway, half-amused, half-concerned, as he toes off his shoes with a tired sigh. The lab coat draped over the couch arm catches his eye first, his spare one, the one he keeps by the door at home for emergencies, before he spots you, curled under it like a makeshift blanket, glasses askew on your nose, hair spilling over the cushions.

The apartment smells like overcooked pasta and faint citrus from the half-finished mojito abandoned on the coffee table. You’d promised yourself you’d stay up until he got home, but the clock on the wall reads 2:17 AM, and the documentary you’d put on for background noise had long since given way to static. Luis crosses the room in three strides, kneels beside the couch, and brushes his thumb over your cheekbone. "Dios, you’re gonna give me a heart attack one day," he coos fondly, but there’s no real scolding in it, just warmth.

You blink awake, disoriented, then light up like a firework the second your brain registers him. "Luis!" The name bursts out of you, giddy, as you fling your arms around his neck. He laughs, catching you, his stubble scratching your temple as he presses a kiss there, then another to the bridge of your nose, then your forehead, relentless. "You’re home, you’re home- how’s Leon? Did you- ?"

"Shh, shh," he soothes, but he’s grinning, cupping your face in his hands like you’re something precious. "Leon’s holding on. Stubborn bastard." His thumbs swipe under your glasses, wiping away sleep crust, and you wrinkle your nose at him. "But you- mi vida, mi estrella- you should’ve gone to bed."

My life, my light.

You don’t answer, too busy mapping the exhaustion on his face, the dark crescents under his eyes, the way his shoulders slump forward like gravity’s doubled. The lab coat slips off your shoulders as you sit up, and Luis’s gaze drops to it, then back to you, his smirk lazy but bright. "Stealing my clothes now, cariño? Should I be flattered or concerned?"

Sweetheart.

"Both," you mumble, fingers already plucking at the wrinkled fabric of his dress shirt. "You smell like antiseptic and coffee." His laugh is a rough, tired thing, but he leans into your touch when you push his hair back from his forehead. "When was the last time you ate? Actually ate, not just- " you gesture vaguely at the empty energy drink cans littering his lab reports on the kitchen counter "Energy drinks and ashy protein bars."

Luis opens his mouth, then closes it when you narrow your eyes. "...Lunch?" he tries, and you groan, shoving at his chest. He catches your wrist, presses a kiss to your palm. "Ay, don’t look at me like that. You know how it gets when we’re close to a breakthrough."

"You’re worse than Leon," you grumble, but you’re already swinging your legs off the couch, tugging him toward the kitchen. He follows, compliant, his fingers laced with yours. The fridge light paints his face in stark relief as you rummage for the Tupperware you’d packed hours ago, arroz con pollo, his favorite, now cold but still edible. Luis makes a noise behind you, something soft and wounded.

You’d wanted to surprise him.

"You made this?" Luis's voice cracks as he watches you pop the Tupperware into the microwave, his fingers tightening around yours. The hum of the appliance fills the silence between you, the faint scent of garlic and saffron beginning to seep into the air. His thumb traces circles over your knuckles, a silent thank you, a silent “I’m here” even if his body is still halfway to the lab in his head.

You don’t answer, just press a Gatorade into his other hand, the one not currently clinging to you, as if you might vanish. "Drink. Now, babe," you order, nudging the bottle toward his lips until he obeys, the corners of his mouth quirking up around the rim. The microwave beeps, and you turn to grab the food, but Luis catches your waist and spins you back toward him. His nose brushes yours, his breath warm and sweet from the drink. "Te quiero," he coos, the words soft against your lips before he kisses you properly, slow and lingering, like he’s memorizing the shape of your mouth all over again despite years of marriage.

I love you.

The first bite of food is a revelation. Luis moans, shameless, his eyes fluttering shut as he chews. "Dios, I forgot what real food tastes like," he mumbles around the fork, already reaching for another bite. You snort, stealing a piece of chicken from his container just to watch him pout. "You’re lucky I love you," you grumble, but there’s no heat in it, just the same fond exasperation that’s been there since the first time you dragged him out of his lab to eat proper food.

The kitchen is too small for two people, really, but neither of you moves. Luis eats like a man starved, and you lean against the counter beside him, your hip brushing his, your fingers carding through his thick, wavy hair just to feel him sigh into the touch. His free hand finds your thigh, thumb rubbing absent circles through the fabric of his stolen lab coat. "You’re gonna crash soon," you murmur when his eyelids start to droop, his head lolling toward your shoulder. "Bed?”

Luis shakes his head stubbornly, even as his body betrays him, his shoulders sagging forward, the fork wobbling slightly in his grip. "Can't," he mumbles around another mouthful of arroz con pollo. "Need to review the latest viral sequences before- " A yawn cracks his jaw mid-sentence, and you press your lips together to keep from giggling.

"Before you faceplant into your microscope?" you finish for him, plucking the fork from his slack fingers. He blinks at you, slow and owlish behind his smudged glasses. "Luis. You've been awake for thirty-six hours. That’s a new record, honey."

"Thirty-eight," he corrects automatically, then winces when you pinch his side. "Ay, okay, okay, yeah, bedtime." He lets you tug him upright, his arms looping around your waist as he stumbles into you. His nose bumps against your temple, his breath warm and uneven against your curls. "But you're coming with me," he murmurs, half-plea, half-command.

You don't argue. The bedroom is dark, the sheets cool when you tumble into them, and Luis collapses beside you with a groan. He's asleep before his head hits the pillow, his arm slung heavily across your stomach, his face smushed into the crook of your neck. You card your fingers through his hair, still slightly stiff with curl gel, and listen to his breathing even out.

The quiet settles over you both like a second blanket, broken only by Luis’s slow, even breaths against your collarbone. His fingers twitch against your hip, some residual instinct from surviving Spain, before stilling again. You press a kiss to the top of his head, his hair smelling faintly of disinfectant and his own stupidly expensive cologne. The clock on the nightstand reads 3:02 AM, but you’re wide awake now, your brain buzzing with the leftover energy of seeing him home safe.

____

Morning comes too soon. The sunlight filters through the curtains, painting stripes across Luis’s back as he stirs with a groan. He blinks up at you, bleary-eyed and disoriented, before his face crumples into something unbearably soft. “You stayed,” he rasps, his voice rough with sleep. His thumb brushes your cheek, like he’s checking you’re real. “Thought I dreamed you.”

You huff a laugh against his palm, your fingers curling around his wrist to keep him there. "Where else would I go, idiot? I’m your wife." The morning light catches the gold in his eyes, the exhaustion still lingering but softened by sleep. His stubble scratches your fingertips as you trace the line of his jaw, memorizing the way his breath hitches when your thumb brushes the corner of his mouth.

Luis exhales through his nose, a half-laugh, half-sigh that ruffles your bangs. His fingers trail down your arm, pausing to fiddle with the cuff of his stolen lab coat still draped over your shoulders. "You look ridiculous in this," he murmurs, but his voice is thick with something that makes your ribs ache. He tugs at the collar, pulling you closer until your foreheads bump. "Like some mad scientist's beautiful assistant."

"You are a mad scientist," you remind him, but he's already rolling you onto your back, his weight a comfortable anchor as he noses along your jaw. His stubble rasps against your skin, his breath hot where it ghosts over your pulse. "Luis- "

"Fuck the lab today," he growls against your throat, and the vehemence in his voice surprises you both. He freezes, then pulls back just enough to meet your eyes, his own wide and startled behind his crooked glasses. "I mean- not fuck it, obviously, but- " He huffs, frustrated, and collapses onto his elbows beside you, his forehead pressing into your shoulder. "Dios, I can't even insult my own workplace properly anymore."

You bite your lip to keep from laughing, but your shoulders shake anyway. Luis lifts his head just to glare at you, but there's no heat in it, just exhaustion and fondness and the lingering panic of a man who'd almost lost too much already. His fingers find yours on the mattress, threading together tightly. "I need this to work," he says quietly, his thumb pressing into the hollow of your palm. "For Leon. For everyone."

The admission hangs between you, raw and unguarded, the first time he’s said it out loud since Leon collapsed at the DSO three days ago. Luis’s fingers tremble against yours, and you squeeze back, hard enough to ground him. “I know,” you whisper, pressing your lips to his knuckles. The taste of antiseptic lingers on his skin. “But you can’t save him if you’re dead on your feet.”

Luis makes a noise low in his throat, half-protest, half-surrender, before rolling onto his back to stare at the ceiling. The morning light catches the silver streaking his temples, the lines around his eyes deeper than they were a month ago. “I had the sequence right there, y’know?” he mutters, dragging a hand down his face. “But the viral load in his bloodstream, it’s adapting faster than we can…”

“Hey.” You straddle his hips, your knees bracketing his waist, and press your palms to his cheeks until he meets your gaze. His stubble rasps against your skin. “You’re the smartest person I know. If anyone can outthink this thing, it’s you.” His breath hitches when you lean down, your curls curtaining his face, and brush your nose against his. “But even geniuses need showers. And coffee. And maybe a break from smelling like a Petri dish.”

Leon S. Kennedy

You get hurt. You get hurt and he jumps to your rescue, of course. He’s used to being the one-man action team, after all.

When the enemies/creatures have been dealt with, he treats your wounds with a furrowed brow and some sort of tic in his eye. God, he’s fucking tired.

You thank him, and you look so very sincere, but he’s used to that too. And then he checks himself for wounds – he’s always second priority – and when he looks back to the room he’s surprised you’re still here.

People leave. That’s what they do. He helps, he protects, he saves the world every tuesday, he gets thanked, and then people leave.

But you don’t. You stay, you ask if he needs help or a bandage, you thank him again. You ask what your – both of you – next move is. It gets him hesitating, maybe his fingertips even tremble with hope and fear. He’s been carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders, all alone, for so long that it’s weird and a little bit terrifying to see you stay.

You keep going together and he keeps waiting for the other shoe to drop. For you to have disappeared when he turns back, or for you to take an opportunity to go your own way. And still. You don’t. You stay. You fight with him and banter with him and hurt with him.

Maybe you even call him « my hero », which gets him snorting because he doesn’t feel like a hero, more like God’s least favorite pest exterminator.

And because he is God’s least favorite pest exterminator, of course you end up getting separated by a concrete corridor crumbling on itself, only a tiny hole, about the size of your face, allowing you to see and hear each other. Already the weight of the world is back on his shoulders as you try and fail to open a passage on the other side, but when your eyes lock with his he sees desperation mixed with sadness, and he knows what’s coming.

But then you say : « I don’t want to leave you alone. » with a sincerity that he really doesn’t know how to deal with. He almost forgets to breathe. His heart is in his throat and he just nods.

You work together to find a way to regroup. You talk to him the whole time through his talkie. You keep encouraging him : « We’ve got this. » « Okay, one step closer. » « Are you alright ? Please keep talking to me. » And by the time you are finally back together, he knows you’re not going to leave.

And he sure as hell isn’t going to leave you either.

Someone please make one of these terrible github sparkly hello kitty edits of Leon with « God’s least favorite pest exterminator » written in glittery pink letter please the world needs it

Chris Redfield

To be completely honest, he’s a goner from the moment you walk in.

The way you answer him like you’re not scared of him in the slightest has him reeling and wanting you around all of the time.

He’s tired of being the responsible one, the strong one, the capable one. He’s tired of being in charge when the world around him is going to hell.

But you treat him like a normal human being, and it’s a breath of fresh air after drowning for so long. He’s just Chris with you. He loves it.

When you get in trouble he’s terrified. You have him doing stupid things that he would bark at his men for. But the way you thank him and smile at him makes it all worth it. And then you bring his squad stuff like homemade cookies to thank them, like they’re the firemen who got your cat out of a tree, like life isn’t so fucking complicated, and he swears if you weren’t here he wouldn’t care about the fate of the world quite as much.

When he has to leave for a long time and he can’t see you he gets cranky. His men have noticed. One of them even once had the balls to tell him to get one of these old-timey pendants with your picture in it, so he can stare at it while he’s gone like a WWII soldier. Chris put him back in his place swiftly, but in the privacy of his mind, he considered the idea for a moment, despite how ridiculous it is.

The men have a betting pool going on about how long it’s going to take him to ask you out. He knows it. He has thought about betting against himself because he knows he won’t ever do it. You deserve a normal life with a normal man. He’s just hoarding what little normalcy you can give him while he still has access to it.

When they come back this time, a lot of them are hurt and most of them are covered in blood, dirt, and whatever biological weapon it was this time. They get into the decontaminating showers – always too cold, and the pressure is so high it feels like the water is piercing their skin – and go through the battery of usual exams to make sure they’re clean. By the time they’re done it’s late into the night, and while some of them still insist on going home, most of them will spend the night in the rooms reserved for them at the facility.

Chris almost always sleeps there a few nights when they come back. He needs the time to adjust back. The bed is clean and the room is safe, and that’s all he needs to know.

But this time there is something on the bed, next to the pillow. It’s a teddy bear. There’s also a piece of paper with your handwriting. « Got him at the fair, he reminded me of you, so I got him for you :) Please be safe <3 »

The bear is a cheap thing, but it’s got a plushie cigarette sewn on its mouth and a serious look. It’s stupid, but it’s cute. And maybe it’s because he’s tired, but the dam breaks. He picks his jacket back up, takes the bear with him, and leaves the facility, headed to your place in the middle of the night.

He’s not going to ask you out, but he’s going to kiss you senseless, if you’ll have him.

Albert Wesker

You’re a tool. But a useful one.

And if he’s being honest with himself, a pretty one.

Probably his favorite piece on the board.

He knows positive reinforcements ensure loyalty, so he compliments you, makes sure to take notice of everything you do and that you are aware he notices. It starts out forced but it does get... easier and easier.

You respond positively each time, good, it’s working.

He starts getting closer. Drawn to you. Physically. Has trouble keeping himself from touching you. Your hair, your face, your waist.

He tells himself that developping a romantic (on your part) relationship would ensure your loyalty even more – people are stupid when it comes to love. So he does touch, more and more, gives sarcastic quips that you respond to. He loves when it comes to you easily, matching his intellect. He loves when you struggle to find words, his pretty little plaything trying oh so hard to win his favor.

He starts kissing your hands, playing the gentleman in all the right moments, just to get you hooked.

He ignores the way he wants to bite at your neck, mark you, tells himself it’s just lust provoked by all this playing around. He’ll get you there anyway.

When you try to leave – or he thinks you try to leave – it all changes. He goes nuts with anger. He’s not above playing a game of cat and mouse with you. Stalking you, hunting you. You are not allowed to leave.

He’s drunk on you, actually, drunk on something he hasn’t even had yet, but he’ll get it. You’re his. And his alone.

And when he catches you, he’ll make sure you can’t forget it ever again.

Ethan Winters

He’s been through so fucking much, died at least 3 times and was brought back through unethical experiments and the power of God’s twisted sense of humor.

Lost his wife twice. The only good thing left in his life is Rose.

When you come around, he’s wary and tired, but he accepts the help anyway, because if he stops thinking that humans are fundamentaly good he’s going to throw himself off a bridge, and it probably won’t even kill him.

And thankfully, you prove him right.

He only gets to come out of the « medical » facility they’ve got him under surveillance at when they need his abilities to... save the world ? Make it worse ? He doesn’t really know anymore.

You’re his usual companion – his guard dog, he thought bitterly at first – and you do your best to actually help him, not let him take all the risks and do all the work. You even fight for him to finally get an appartment outside of the facility, near Rose. He’s still under surveillance, and he has to attend weekly check-ups, but you’re there every time, if only to be a friendly presence.

He cannot thank you enough, really.

When he starts catching feelings for you, he beats them back into the darkness of his heart with a stick. He has loved and been loved and has had that love turned against him in the most painful ways already. He can’t go through that again.

Rose is different. Firstly because she’s his daughter, he really can’t help but love her unconditionally, and he does. Secondly, because she has powers that keep her mostly safe from all the wild conspiracy theory shit that’s happening around them, and he likely will not lose her the way he lost Mia.

But you ? You’re devastatingly human.

He also can’t bear the thought of spreading his monstrosity to you. You’re a good person, a light in the darkness really, and you deserve so much better.

So he keeps his distance. Or pines from afar like a schoolboy with a crush on the popular kid, according to Rose. Which is hard to do when you keep coming around, asking how he’s doing, being friends with Rose outside of work.

So one day, when you come to the appartment with flowers and food and a warm smile, and it’s a bad day with the mold, and you put the flowers in a vase while Rose puts the food in the fridge, when you put the vase down on the table in front of him and he brushes tired fingers against the soft petals, only to see them wilt instantly, he swallows all the anger and hate and misery and tries to hide it all behind his hands. But you are here at his side, all gentle and caring and worried for him. You lay a careful hand on his shoulder, assuring him it’s okay, you’ll just buy more, joking that hey, maybe you’ll buy plastic ones next time.

And he bursts. Send the vase and the rotten flowers flying across the room, shouting at you not to touch him. You jump and take your hand back in fear, and god, that makes him feel even worse. He slumps in his chair, tired from all of it. « I’ll just rot you, too. » he says with tears in his voice.

« Ethan Winters. » you bite after a moment of silence.

« Oh shit, full government name. » quips Rose from the kitchen.

« You are not a monster. » you continue, still looking straight into his eyes. « In fact, you are probably the best man I have ever met. »

He doesn’t see any doubt, or fear, or hint of lying in your eyes. And despite himself, he starts sobbing. In an instant, your arms are around him and you are rubbing his back and petting his hair and laying soft kisses to his temple like you can’t help yourself.

And he knows he’s fucked, he can’t do this without you. He loves you.

Carlos Oliveira

He knows he’s attracted to you fairly early. He’s got a big heart, and to be quite honest, he has been wanting to be in a relationship. So he’s been looking around for that spark and you ? Oh, you’re everything.

But the world is going to shit and there’s much to be done so he doesn’t really get the opportunity to ask you out on a date. Because, yes, he wants to date you. Take the time to know you, to have all the relationship-defining conversations and everything. He wants love, and he isn’t going to waste his time or yours.

But during and in between missions and running away from living nightmares you two are getting close. And he likes what he gets to see.

When you tell him about your hobbies and interests outside of this hell, he loves the way you can’t seem to stop. And he loves the way you can’t seem to stop listening to him when he shares his.

When you talk about the people dear to you, he sees how much affection you have in you, and really, he wants to give it back to you.

When one day the topic of clothing styles come up, and you tell him about you wish you could dress every day, he can’t help but imagine you in the outfits you describe and sometimes he remembers that conversation in the most inappropriate ways and it starts haunting the back of his mind at the most inappropriate moments

He loves your sense of humor, and more than that he loves your laugh.

Lately he’s been loving your smell, and the way you say his name.

Yeah, okay, he’s getting sappy. But he still wants to do things right, and date you first. Besides, it’s still just attraction, nothing more, nothing less.

But then you don’t get paired up. And it’s okay, it’s just one mission, he’ll see you again.

By the time he comes back, you’re gone on your own mission. It’s okay, it happens.

But this back and forth lasts a month and he’s going insane. He can’t even catch you in between missions because when you’re free, he’s gone, and when he’s free, you’re gone. And he really fucking misses you. Is that how his cat feels when he leaves ? (Carlos is a cat man and you cannot convince me otherwise) Like the sun has set and won’t seem to come back up ? At this point he’d pay to see you smile on the other side of the street.

When you finally, finally come back to him, it’s like he can breathe again. And when you see him, there’s a barely contained happy bounce in your step as you approach him, smiling so wide you’d think he was holding the key to word peace.

The conversation starts a bit awkward, « long time no see », « how are you doing ? », but then you fumble with your bag and hand him something. « I got you this ! » you say, bouncing on your feet again.

He looks down and it’s the gaudiest, ugliest, most ridiculous Raccoon City magnet.

Forget dating. He’s marrying you.

Luis Serra

He’s flirting, you’re flirting back, the banter is easy and getting easier each day. He’s having fun talking to you, getting to know you, fighting alongside you, patching each other up. It’s fun, it’s easy, it’s the exact dynamic he’s always wanted to find. You’re a good friend. Right ?

You’re usually together one on one, when your paths do cross. He loves that he gets you all to himself, that he can pry you open slowly, like a treasure chest. And he loves what he finds inside. The humor and the intelligence, the caring, the kindness, the humanity. You both have seen messed up stuff and it’s a welcome reminder that the whole world does not amount to these horrors.

He has started touching you, a hand on your arm, a strand of hair brushed out of your face, an arm slung around your shoulders as he flirts harmlessly, and you’ve been smiling and letting him do it, sometimes even touching him too (a friendly slap on the arm, fingers brushing at a bullet-graze on his clothes), when you both come across another person and, naturally, he flirts with them too.

And suddenly, it all stops.

You don’t touch anymore, you don’t flirt anymore, hell, you don’t even smile at him anymore, except in this awfully polite, hypocritical way that he hates. The contrast is so brutal that it almost gives him whiplash. But he’s a smart man, and he doesn’t take him long to realize what’s going on.

« Are you jealous ? » he asks in his usual flirty, amused tone, once the other person is out of earshot.

He knows he fucked up instantly, because you clench your teeth so hard the vein on your neck starts pulsing. Your eyes are ice cold when you look at him and answer : « I am not jealous. I just realized I was wrong. »

He feels like his heart fell out of his chest and he wants to throw up. You thought- You were- Oh god. Shit. Fuck. Yeah, he flirted with you because that’s his nature, but when you flirted back he thought you were just joking, matching his energy. Honestly, he didn’t even think about it, the fact that maybe you could catch feelings for him, because usually, people don’t. He’s good for a flirt and a lay but that’s it.

Except now, he does have to think about it. Because you were the closest thing he ever got to a friend, and because he actually really liked having you flirt back, the way it boosted his ego like no one else did before. And the way those tentative touches had him lightheaded, wanting to touch more.

Oh. Oh.

He wants to swear in spanish and english and a few other languages that he can barely speak. But instead he says : « I’m an idiot. » Because he is.

You look at him like you’re waiting for him to tell you something you don’t know, and, yeah, he probably deserves that. So, slowly, as if he’s approaching a feral cat, he takes your hand in his.

« You weren’t wrong. But would you believe me if I said that I hadn’t realized it until now ? »

You close your eyes and scrunch up your face to repress a laugh, but you can’t keep a smile. « Oh my god, » you answer, rubbing at your eyes in amused disbelief, « I do. You’re such an idiot. » you add after a beat.

« I am such an idiot, » he agrees, smiling and looking into your eyes, before bringing your hand to his mouth and placing a kiss on your knuckles.

Jack Krauser

Someone in the chain of command tells him you would be better suited for another team, providing proof with statistics and graphs and all that jazz, and all he says is : « Absolutely not. » before storming out of the room.

He looks cold and in control on the oustside but on the inside ? Oh, he wants to burn that person and their entire family, hell, their entire world alive, for even suggesting that you be under someone else’s command.

And even he knows that’s an overreaction on his part.

He hates it but he does have to wonder why. So he examines your interactions, your missions, the times you fought together, the times you fought against each other, the respect for you that grew and keeps growing still.

The way if anything were to happen to you, he would kill anyone in the room and then bring you back in fucked up RE appropriate ways, because truly, it’s not that he can’t do it without you, but he doesn’t want to.

He grits his teeth when the feeling mounts into the conscious part of his mind and when it hits, he gets so infuriated he crushes whatever is on hand. It’s not good, it’s a weakness, it’s a danger to his purpose.

But it doesn’t have to be. He could use you as added motivation. He could put you in the right place, at the right time, so that the danger posed to you will make him dangerously feral. He can use these feelings to his advantage.

Prepare to be put on the front lines a lot, girlie. And if you do get hurt, you will still be barked at, because it’s your own damn fault. He’s already weak enough for you. Don’t make him weaker.

Karl Heisenberg

He knows he’s an asshole and he knows he’s unhinged bordering on totally insane. An asshole, he always was, but he really blames the madness on Miranda and her experiments and being stuck in this goddamn valley for decades with what is basically a cult and its leaders. It’s like cabin-fever. He knows the only way he could regain sanity would be to get the fuck out, but he also knows that the winged freak would never let him, and that he would just allow her plague to grow if he ever did manage to leave, anyway. So he’s stuck here but every second makes him even madder and angrier, like a nuclear reactor getting closer and closer to explosion.

And he knows that makes him fight with you about stupid shit.

And he knew it was only a matter of time until one of those fights turned really ugly. Because he’s an asshole and he’s unhinged bordering on totally insane.

But he must have done something right because ever since he’s let you stay with him you’ve been growing more and more confident around him, and yes, that also means you’ve been butting heads more, and you haven’t been backing down. He loves that. He hates that. On good days it makes him laugh like a maniac, but on bad days, like today, it makes him absolutely enraged.

He knows he almost blew the entire factory up. He knows he almost killed all his monsters, the villagers, and you. And he knows you know it too. You saw him start turning into the real monster that’s constantly bubbling under his skin, saw his body and face contort into terrifying, inhuman shapes.

He doesn’t know if you ran away. He wouldn’t blame you if you did. Metal was already flying everywhere in a chaotic ballet and the entire factory was rumbling under the force of the power literally pushing at its walls, when he felt himself changing. He saw the panic in your eyes and caught himself, surrounded himself in a thick layer of junk, like a straight jacket, like a weighted blanket, clawed at his own face in the darkness, screamed his voice raw, and when the self-hatred finally passed, he made himself breathe to kill what was left of the rage. The only thing left now was guilt.

The claw marks had healed already, and he was back to his « human » appaearance. But he didn’t dare let his metal cocoon fall away yet. You probably had ran away, actually, a very normal reaction to mortal danger. And he probably wasn’t the same person anymore, in your eyes. Maybe he wasn’t even a person anymore. He had accepted the fact that he was a monster now long ago, and it was only a matter of time until you figured it out too.

He finally comes out of his cage and, yeah, you’re not here. A wise decision. He’s not even mad, really. Just... alone. And it hits him harder than he would have thought. And it also hits him that he fucking got attached. He thought he was too old and too fucked up to develop teenager crushes, goddammit.

He sits down on the nearest chair and lets all of the junk fall to the ground in a deafening cacophony. He used a lot of energy on his outburst and he’s so, so tired now. Thanks to Miranda’s curse, he knows he’ll be right back to his usual chaotic energy in a few hours, but right now he feels the exhaustion in his bones. He leans back on the chair and pulls his hat on his eyes to maybe take a nap, when footsteps echo outside of the room. He raises his chin just in time to see you come in, all straight back and clenched fists. He doesn’t say anything, torn between wonder at the fact that you’re still here, and wonder at the fact that you’re still alive in this valley if your survival instinct is that bad.

« Get up. » you say, your eyes wet and your jaw set. He adjusts his hat back and he does get up, because what the fuck, and you take his hands with trembling fingers and raise his arms a little and examine him like he’s a pickpocket and you’ve found your wallet missing.

But then you ask : « Are you okay ? » with a shaky voice. Oh, you’re really stupid, he thinks, because sweetheart, what are you doing, worrying for the monster who almost ate you up ? But something else stirs in the back of what’s left of his humanity, something soft and fragile, and really, he can’t bring himself to lie.

« I haven’t been okay in a long time. » he snorts derisively. And you fucking sniffle. And ask if you can hug him. He is honestly too stunned to do anything but open his arms for you, and he has to admit that when you snuggle against him, it feels nice. Human. Almost normal, even.

LEON S. KENNEDY. ♡

you don't know how long you both have been indulging in each other—all you know is that your cunt's jus' so sensitive. but you want more. you need more. thinkin' about being empty and not being stretched full by your boyfriend's makin' your waterline glimmer with tears.

"leoooon, please—,"

leon stared at you, in awe that you were still conscious. aware. clearly, he's not fucking you properly. "please what, angel?" "fuck me—fuck me, please. need your cock. just put it in," his fingertips tease your clit, and you whine, shaking your head. "nooo—nooooo . . need your cock. please, leon,"

today, leon finds out his ovulating girlfriend can turn into a literal succubus.

"but you said your cunt's all sore, sweet girl. you were crawling away," open-mouthed kisses are bestowed on your cheek. "just the tip. just put the tip in," leon could feel his cock stir, quickly growing erect with your neediness.

"okay, baby. whatever you say," he kisses your teary eyes before hovering over you and grabbing ahold of your legs. just the tip. just the tip. just the tip. leon has to repeat to himself, lathering the leaking crown with his creampie mixed with your slick.

just the tip. just . . the tip.

your creampied pussy makes a lewd squelch as leon slowly pushes the head in. but you're both in cloud nine, eyes rolling like it's the first time you've fucked each other. "y, yes, like that!" you whimper, reaching over to your hypersensitive clit and making aimless circles.

leon begins to move, only giving your cunt shallow, slow thrusts. "fuck, angel—," he lets his head fall back, pleasure enveloping his tip. your cunt's so fucking wet and warm. your fingers pick up their pace, cunt throbbing with intense pleasure. who knew you could jus' get off from just the tip?

"faster,"

faster?

how can leon do that without shoving himself balls deep into you? "faster—pleaseplease, leon," you sobbed. "y/n—i," he bucked his hips, trying to go faster without splittin' you open with his cock. whimpers are spilling from leon's mouth, growing needier by the second, his vision continuing to blur as he eased just the tip in, as per your request.

the way you were clenching around him, creaming around his cock—it drove him crazy. how could he not fuck you? leon has to reminded himself that you want just the tip. but he's relying solely on instinct. and before he could even realize it, he's plunged himself deep by accident, and you're wide-eyed, an unanticipated orgasm taking you both by surprise.

"leon—♡!"

"y/n—i'm sorry, sorry—,"

he can't stop. he won't stop, pounding you into the mattress and making sure you feel every length of him with every ferocious thrust. he's drooling, watching you squirm. something about seeing your pussy spurt out clear fluid with every push in makes him feral, potentially unlocked a new turn on and fantasy to jerk off to.

"t, told you just the tip," you whimper, sniffling, and leon cradles your head, essentially smushing your face into his chest. "sorry. 'm sorry, sorry—i l, love your cunt." leon sobbed, his hips doing all the work for him, pummeling into you without mercy.

spit's shining on leon's built chest as you automatically kiss and lick at the area. marks in the shape of your canines are left, and leon hisses when you bite him again.

"gonna cum, y, y/n—gonna cum—cumming. 'm cumming, oh god,"

he vigorously rams his cock in your leaking pussy, hard yet hurried; it's sloppy, and leon's just desperate to fill you again. your moans are muffled by his flesh, and leon has yet to notice that he's crushing you with his chest. not that you minded, either.

with a few more unrhythmic slams of his hips, he's spilling himself in you, all of his cum just overspilling as he kept rutting into you. "hah— h, haah . . so good—so good," he babbles, spit dripping on his chin as his eyes rolled back. "leooohn—," you grunt from beneath your boyfriend.

it's only when his orgasm finally comes down that he stops moving, clarity slowly seeping into his fucked out mind. he retires from you almost immediately, now-concerned eyes soaking in the sight of you. did you pass out? "y/n," a hand caresses your rosy cheek.

"y/n, please come back to me,"

"mhh . . "

oh thank god. he knows you're just fine, but he was still worried. "are you okay?" he whispers, brushing away the stray strings of your hair. "i'm sorry, i was . . too into it," you chuckle when you feel him pepper your face with kisses.

"i'm fine. still in one piece, baby."

you both groan when he slowly pulls out, the rest of his creampies spilling out of your gaping cunt. "i love you, leon." you mutter, weakly wrapping your arms around him. "i love you too, angel."

LUIS SERRA. ♡

"luis . . just the tip,"

you both really shouldn't have fooled around with these aphrodisiacs. it's been hours and his cock's yet to come down. luis isn't even sure if he can cum anym—

wait. did he hear that right?

"what'd you say, mami?"

it's harder to hear you when you're bent over, and especially when you're mumbling and barely coherent. "the tip—jus' the tip," you whine. "is my bebé sensitive?" he drags a finger over your slit, and you squeak, body jerking in response. your knees almost gave out. "luiiis . . jus' the tip, p, por favor . . "

you poor thing. he affectionately runs a hand over your spine, down to your ass where he kneads your curvaceous flesh. "por supuesto, amor. we can go slow. and . . just the tip," [ of course, love. ] he thought he could do it. luis can control himself, can go slow if requested—usually—but the drug that ran through his veins made that fucking impossible. swallowing a nervous lump, he prods the tip against your slit. fuck, you're so fucking wet. this wasn't fair.

with a slow push of his hips, your warmth embraces his sensitive cocktip. "oh, fuck. oh my fucking god. dios mio," luis's grip on your ass tightens, his own way of restricting himself. "sólo quiero follarte," [ i just wanna fuck you, ] he confesses, but only thrusts the tip in and nothing else.

"me estás matando aquí, bebé," [ you're killin' me here, baby. ] luis babbled on, a shiver running down spine. "are you sure you're sensitive? y, you've been—you've been always able to take it," turns out, he didn't have it in him to fulfill your request. luis could hear the obscene squelches your creamy pussy made, and his brows narrowed as he winced, almost as if he was pained from your instruction. yet, his restrained thrusts—it was more like gentle rocking, to be honest—continued, the tip pulling out with an obscene pop with every withdrawal of his hips.

he enjoyed it, of course. more than anything. but luis was a greedy, hungry man. yearning more. needing more. your pussy was just so fucking inviting, creaming all over for him with just the tip—fuck, you can't ask this from him.

"bebé—y/n, i can't—can't take it anymore. i have to. t, tengo que follarte," [ i have to fuck you. ] your eyes widened when luis slowly slides in an experimental inch. you squeal, reaching behind you with one arm, but luis just pins it on your back.

the moment he's stuffing himself completely fucking full into you, you're just sobbing, legs shaking from the mind-numbing pleasure. luis was, too, not even realizing he had just cum in you. his hips moved like clockwork, "luis! luiissss—fuck!" was all you could cry out. you squirmed, writhed, tried to crawl away from the addicting pain of pleasure, but he's tugging you right back and slamming himself into you to the hilt.

"lo siento—lo siento bebé. feels good, h, haah . . " [ i'm sorry—i'm sorry, baby. ]

all that cum pouring out of you made it much, much easier to pound that cunt. "h, haaah—fuck! luiiss—," you sobbed, unable to stop your legs from giving out. his chest rests warmly on your back, and you feel a loving kiss pressed on your temple.

"te amo, te amo . . . " he murmured as he pummeled that pussy, making sure that the tip thwacked against your perky cervix and hitting all the right spots. your head rests nicely on the pillow, and you're so fucked out, you think you're about to pass out from all the pleasure.

the bed creaks as luis kept ramming his cock deep into you, and you squeal as another orgasm washes over your body. the nth orgasm made your eyes cross, made you see fucking stars as your legs quivered and you clutched the sheets helplessly. luis didn't see it, but he sure as hell fucking felt it as you squirt all over him and his legs. "dios—dios mio, you're making a fu, fucking mess,"

his thrusts begin to slow down, hard-on still intact, but the aphrodisiac wasn’t as strong as it was from the beginning. blinking, luis realizes he was crushing you by resting his whole weight on you. "shit, shit—y/n, i'm sorry," he shuddered when he slips out of your creampied pussy. "mierda, hace frío," [ shit, it's cold. ] is whispered to himself whilst he gently lays you on your back.

"luiiis . . " you huffed. "that's not the tip," "i know, i know. i'm sorry. but, in my defense, eso es imposible," [ that's impossible to do. ] an affectionate hand caressed your hair. "still sensitive, prinsesa?" you groggily nuzzle your face in his arms.

you only hummed. the next minute is spent in silence, as luis kept you warm and held you firmly. "next time, no more aphrodisiacs," you stir as he spoke, letting out a scoff. "what? booooo."

"wha—excuse you, señorita, why are you booing me?"

"oh, c'mon. don't lie. that was fun,"

"jesus, you are such a freak. me asustas. you need to read the bible or something,"

"wow. like it wasn't you who bought those pills!"

"oh. ehehe. right."

ALBERT WESKER. ♡

bro this gif im going to start s/creaming

you're already fucked out. already trembling from the orgasms wesker's given you, and it's all thanks to the new toys he had bought from his trip. a clit sucker and a vibrating, ridged, girthy dildo. you sobbed as wesker kept thrusting the toy in and out of you, making sure you take all of its length.

"f, fuck—! s, sir, cumming—, 'm cumming,"

there wasn't much you could do, not when a silk ribbon tied your wrists and ankles to the headboard. ( he bought those, too, by the way. ) "again? look at the mess you just made." you look over at the silicone, the base was coated in your creaminess—and it was already smearing to his already-soaked fingertips.

it was so easy for him to break you, and he hasn't even undressed himself yet.

your hips buck against the air, and the unintentional reflex just makes you grind your clit against the toy that lavished its attention on you. "fuuck—! fuckfuckfuck—, a, albert—!" you clutched onto the ribbons, eyes rolling as you felt your cunt throb with need. you were close, you could feel it in the pits of your stomach. "what was that?"

wesker clicked his tongue, clearly displeased. "you call me sir, brat. or are these toys getting into that head of yours?" you hear a few clicks, and your eyes widened when you realized that the clit sucker's set to its highest setting. "s, sir—i'm sorry! i'm sorry!"

the dildo could never compare to your sir's cock—never—but the extra sensations of the pulsations and the ridges quickly sent you to the edge, never missing where you were most sensitive, always grazing that spongy nub that made your mouth fall agape. "don't w, wanna cum anymore—too much," you whimpered.

"aw," he cooed, a small smile appearing on his lips; barely noticeable. "that's really too bad, pup." he taunts, giving you a slow, but hard thrust. you squealed, clutching on to your ribbons.

"you're not in charge here,"

your cries are music to his ears, and his eyes gaze over to your squirting cunt in amusement. even though you're trembling and drooling, he's yet to withdraw the toys from you.

"are you?" "n, no, sir!" he's tight-lipped and has yet to move an inch. "n, no, sir! i'm n, not in chaaaarge—y, you are!" "hm," good enough. much to your relief, both are turned off, and you're granted a few seconds of relief.

your body relaxes on the soft bed, chest rising as you pant. “colour?” wesker asks, a rough palm caressing your shaking thighs. “g, green,” you mutter. “good. ‘m not done yet,”

wesker retires from the bed, taking his sweet time in undressing himself. it was quite the sight, though; seeing him undo his tie, unbuckle his pants. his boxers had a wet spot from his leaking tip. “you’ve been a good pup, darling.”

the bed sinks with his added weight, and you watch him leave kisses on your inner thighs, stroking his cock with a spare hand as he lathered his pre all over his monstrous girth. fuck . . could you take that? you don’t think y’have it in you. but you didn’t want to stop. y’wanted him . .

“s, sir,”

you call, and wesker’s eyes tilt up. now that he was much closer, y’could see how blown out his pupils were. “yes, my love?” he asked as he positions himself, grabbing ahold of your thighs as he slaps his fat cock atop your mons.

“c, can you put just the tip i, in—?”

wesker acts as if he didn’t hear a word you just said, rubbing his length all over your slit—continuing to lubricate his shaft with your juices. you gasped when the tip slowly sinks in, and you finally get your answer when he slammed the rest of his girth into you. you screamed, back arching as your eyes crossed.

“why should i?”

he begins to rut into you, pummeling your sensitive cunt with mean thrusts. “tell me, pet. why should i?” you couldn’t utter out a proper response, not when your brain was turning to fucking mush as he pounded you. “speak up, slut.” the added nickname’s making you clench around him, and wesker only scoffed at your lack of coherence.

“gone stupid? from me just putting—hnngg—it in?”

with the position he had you in, it was impossible for the tip to not kiss your cervix, impossible for you to not scream for him as he mercilessly plowed that cunt. "s, sir—h, haaah . . ! fuck—!" your overstimulated pussy's fucking throbbing. a squeal's torn from you as his palm collides with your puffy clit with a smack! the sting's makin' your eyes fucking water, and you could feel your legs tremble again.

"will you tell me what to do again, pet?"

"n, no, sir!"

wesker grinned, rewarding your sore clit with a kind caress of his thumb. "good pet. that's—," he groaned. fuuuck, wesker shudders at the feeling of your cunt spasming around his girth. "—more like it. gonna—gonna fuck you how i want to," his words are emphasized with harsh thrusts, to drill that idea in your pretty fucking head.

"where i want to,"

"u, uh-huh!"

"when i want to,"

"u-uhnnn—y, yes s, siiiir . . ♡ !"

seeing how disheveled and how much of a drooling mess you were, were you even remembering what he was saying? probably not. but don't worry, he's more than willing to remind you where you belonged. he could no longer hold back his noises, but he wasn't even interested in trying, anyway.

the way he sounded—feral, almost beast-like, even—you'd be lying if you said it didn't incite more arousal from you. wesker ensured you felt all of him, hips moving without thought as he mercilessly slammed into that tight fit. unfortunately for you, he was more monster than he was human.

you were fucking tightening up around him—still adjusting from the sudden switch from silicone to flesh—and how could wesker ever resist ramming and bullying that pussy with his fat cock? the way he could see how he split you open, shuddering when his tip's right against your cervix—oh, you were such a sweet, sweet pet.

his cock throbbed with the ache of a release. you made it difficult for him to control himself. "fuck—'m gonna fill you up," he hissed. "think y'deserve a creampie from me, sweet girl?" smack! the collision of his palm on your cunt brings you back to reality for a brief moment. "i'm—i'm talking to you," he snarled, an you nod mindlessly. "s, sorrryyyy . . . y, yes sir! yesyesyesyes—please!"

you continue to beg him, plead for his cum whilst he busied himself with rearranging your fucking insides. it's all you could do amidst your fucked out state. don't you worry. wesker was more than satisfied with your expressions.

burying himself to the hilt, you let out a scream as an orgasm is forced from you again, fingertips affectionately rubbing on your clit. wesker can't decide where to look—if he should watch that pussy quiver as you squirted or your face that's contorting as your irises disappear behind your lids.

"yeaaaaah, just like that. look at you—fuck, you're such a slut,"

his hips stutter as spurts of thick, warm semen floods your womb and walls. wesker groaned, shivers pricking his skin. your cunt milked him so good; and not like he'll tell you, but he's fucking obsessed. obsessed with how you're so obedient fo him, how your cunt clenched around him as you quivered from overstimulation.

"tsk, you're leaking. tighten up, slut. don't spill any more," you only oblige him—it's all you could do in your fucked-out state. a groan echoes in the room as he slowly slips out from you. from where wesker knelt, he had the perfect fucking view of your gaping cunt, trying her absolute best to keep it all in as he asked. you squeaked when he caresses your puffy clit affectionately. "shh, shh . . i know," he cooed, the other hand undoing your restraints. you didn't have the strength to keep your eyes open.

the tension slowly rolls off your muscles as he sets your legs down slowly. "you did well, my love," you could feel him bestow kisses on your face. eyes, nose, lips—they were all showered in loving kisses. your wrists are set free as he undid the ribbons on your sore wrists, his lips ghosting over the red marks over your skin, too. "missed you, albert," you mumbled, eyes slowly opening. "i missed you too, my love," there's a faint smile on his face—meant to be witnessed by you only.

"you know we're not yet done, right?"

JACK KRAUSER. ♡

krauser really has lots of pent-up frustration and sexual frustration. blessed with inhumane stamina, it's really no surprise that he can last multiple rounds. 'specially when all of it just piles up on him, mmmm—god, he loves nothing more than taking it out on you and using you for fucking hours.

but krauser is mean. cruel. you want just the tip? that's really—

"too fucking bad, baby,"

that request is fucking impossible, because he's got you folded and locked in a full nelson hold. did you expect that he'd just not bury himself deep in your pretty cunt? your eyes widened as you watched his cock slowly stretched you out again. your cunt was too sensitive.

"n, no—krauser! don't! d, don't—pleasepleaseplease—,"

his balls only throbbed, eyes rolling as your pleas fall to deafened ears. your groans echo in the room as he pushes another inch or two into you. fuck, you need to breathe—

krauser laughed breathily in your ear. "what was that?" you couldn't muster a single word—it was all just pathetic squeaks. "just the tip, you say?" he'd purr, pushing in as slow as he can so your pulsating walls can feel every single inch stretching you. ruining you.

"c, can't—,"

"can't what? can't speak?"

he completely slams into you with a loud plap! you're speechless and fucking stupefied—but, frankly, what else is there to say? "urgg—feel that?" this fucking asshole just had to start gyrating his hips. you could feel the tip poke 'nd prod against that cervix, and fuck, you're trembling.

"c'moooon, sweets. y'better be awake,"

sticky drool's drippin' from those pretty lips as he began to pound you like he hated you. him doing all the work was not a problem, not at all. krauser could easily manhandle you, and he made sure that you knew. he was bouncing you on his cock like you weighed nothing and fuck—you couldn't even think of anything to say aside from his name and ah's! and oh's!

it didn't help his cock was a mix of both veiny and fucking gargantuan—you're convinced your cervix's all bruised because his tip kept hitting 'nd hitting all of your spots. "love your cunt—fuck, you like this? huh? bet you do. look at your cunt's reflection. messy fucking slut," he groaned, ramming into you vigorously. it's like he hasn't even broken a sweat.

"k, krauseeeer—," you sobbed, absolutely broken and cockdrunk. "yeah? 'm here," he pants, eyes threatening to roll back. but he had to watch you in the mirror, had to watch you crumble and go fucking stupid just from his cock. "what does my baby want, h, huh? want me to go faster?" before you had the chance to respond, he's fucking pummeling into you faster than you could even blink; you're fucking dizzy and barely lucid, but that's okay. no need to think, krauser's got you. ♡

"'m c, cummingggggg—cumming. j, jaaaaack—♡!"

"my fucking goooood—fuuuuuuck . . look at this squirting cunt,"

clear liquid's spurtin' out of that stretched pussy, coating him and yourself as he forces an orgasm outta you. you're so fucking hot, fuck. krauser's never ever ever letting you go. "you love my cock, babe?" if it wasn't for how both his large hands held your head, you would have nodded. "u, uh-huh! love—l, love your cock—♡!" "attaaa girl. i love your cunt so, so fucking much—♡,"

krauser doesn't even realize he's drooling himself—completely immersed in the pleasure. he could stay buried in you for fucking eternity. "fuck—wanna breed you. lemme breed—lemme breed you. need to knock you up," he babbled on, focused on jus' chasing his release. and with the pace of how he fucked you—it wouldn't take long.

and you?

you're fucking spritzing all over him everytime his tip grazes against that spongy nub in your dripping pussy. why'd you even ask him to not put it all in? clearly, you loved this. but don't worry. for once, he'll humour you. "y'wanted just the tip, right?" "h, hnnngg—♡," good enough of an answer for him. you're brought back to reality briefly when his movements halt. confused, you only watched your obscene reflections whilst he shifted his hips. "j, jack, what're you—?!" your eyes widened when you feel his tip slowly bury into the tight barrier of flesh in your cervix.

krauser whimpered. fuuuuuuck, you were sucking him in so good. he can't even pull out. "baby—baby, oh god. fuck, fuck. i'm fucking—cumming. 'm cumming—oh my gooooood," it didn't take any more thrusts for him to start filling your womb up with fertile, sticky cum.

you whined as your cunt's flooded with his seed, and you couldn't do anythin' except for clawing on his built forearms as he held you in place. "urgg—yeah . . . just like that . . fuuuck, i love your pussy baby," you couldn't utter a word. you felt so fucking full. krauser finally releases your head, but still held your body close as he settles on the edge of the bed. you practically collapse on his muscular frame when he finally sits, and that's okay. ♡ krauser made sure he held you tight, wrapping large arms around your body and leaning into you so he could kiss your face.

"tongue out, babe. lemme . . "

you oblige mindlessly, sticking your pretty tongue out for him. krauser's scarred lips wrap around your wet muscle, groaning as he sucked on it. didn't take long 'til he was devouring your spit-stained mouth as you cockwarmed him.

"mmmm. ♡."

CHRIS REDFIELD. ♡

this gif is so? um.

chris usually loves to prep you. loves to spend his time devouring your pussy and having his lips wrapped around that sensitive clit.

but you've got work in an hour, and time isn't a luxury you both have. "chris, j, just the tip, okay?" you say, raisin' your hips as you bent over the dining table; weight propped up on your soft palms. of course you can't say no to him, especially when the outline of his erected cock on his grey boxers is all you've been seeing this morning. but you're just a girl. you have needs and wants.

"just the tip?"

chris asks, pressing his clothed chest against your back. you feel his stubble against your cheek as he pressed open-mouthed kisses on your skin. "i don't . . i don't think i can do it, princess," he whined as his hips push forward. you couldn't utter another word as the leaking head stretches your cunt out.

you shuddered, lips quivering as you clutched on to whatever surface you were bent over on. "y, you caaaan—a, aaah, fuck—you have to . . ” you whined. but chris was greedy. hungry.

he’s not sure where he gets the courage to pull out, but he does. the tip slides out from you with a lewd, almost muted, pop! and you’re both unsatisfied, left yearning with feeling the other completely; but it makes do. it has to. tonight, he can have you for as long as he wanted.

“y/n, p, please—,” he pleads, still fuckin’ you with just the tip. chris can feel just how wet you are, hear how that cunt squelched as bucked his hips. “n, nooo—chris, i’ll—i’ll be late,” “don’t go,” his canines graze your skin, and you squealed when he pushes an inch in. your cunt’s pulsating—trying to accommodate his fat cock without prep. “don’t go—y’don’t h, have to go. please stay,” “ch, chris, i—hnnn!” the rest is completely slammed into you, and your eyes cross. chris takes advantage of your agape mouth, kissing you and letting his tongue glissade over yours.

chris starts to pound that cunt, and muffled cries were swallowed by his lips. you can’t really lie, this felt waaaay better than just the tip. the way the tip bulges out from your lower tummy, the way the pink crown keeps kissing that sensitive cervix, it can’t compare. ever.

“mhhhf,” you groan against his lips, and chris playfully bites down on your lower brim. it was hard to take in air when every thrust into you knocked the air outta your lungs. chris parts from you as he held your hips with those big hands of his.

his pace quickens, ramming into you mercilessly. you're both whimpering, voices blending together in melodious sin; whatever thoughts you had before—gone. not when chris had the skill to turn your brain to mush. "goddd—fuck, y/n. y, y'feel so goooood . . " chris sobbed. if only you could see his face. brows scrunched as he struggled to keep his eyes open; only you could bring these facial expressions to this big, beefy man's face.

you squealed when a hand snakes under your skirt, fingertips rubbing against your neglected clit. "oh fuck!" you mewled, unable to keep your cries to a low. "feel good, princess?" chris purred whilst fucking you into oblivion. "u, uh-huh—♡!" fuuuuck, his balls are fucking throbbing.

"d, don't go . . jus' stay. be my pretty little wife. i can t, take care of you,"

he babbled on, rutting into you, stuffing you full with that veiny cock. chris wants nothing more than to fucking breed you, fill your womb with his cum. "'m g, gonna fucking cum," he pants, chest heaving. but he doesn't stop pummeling that cunt—goes faster, actually. chasing his release and eager to give you yours. the table's creaking, and everything on it shook with every thrust. upstairs neighbour behaviour.

you screamed when he lightly pinches that sensitive bud, and you're seeing stars; mouth agape and back completely arched as he coaxes an orgasm from you. your legs trembled, and chris bit on his lip. "fuuuuck, baby. you're so hot—love you, i love you," "chriiiis, fuckfuckfuckfuuuuck. love youuuuuu . . ♡,"

your lips crash together again, sloppily kissing each other as chris fucks you through your high. he grunts, wrapping his lips 'round your tongue, tasting you. with another slam of his hips, you moan against his mouth when he's completely buried deep in you; thick ropes of cum flooding your creamy, spasming cunt. he can't move any more, can't think anymore. he pulls away from you, because he's sure he'll forget how to breathe.

"oooooh, fuuuck—♡,"

spit's trickling down his stubbled chin, and chris is quiet for a moment; sent to cloud nine and completely fucked out. it takes a minute or two for him to recover, and he tilts your head to the side so he could briefly kiss you while he slid out of your cunt. you both groan, and chris kneads your ass, watching his cum slowly leak from your gaping pussy.

"heheh . . gonna call in sick?"

well, you couldn't feel your legs, so. yes.

CARLOS OLIVEIRA. ♡

carlos watched you writhe whilst you came undone from his tongue. your fingers were tugging on his already disheveled, raven tresses. it's your fifth orgasm—he thinks, if he's counting right; and he'd gladly give you more. his wet kisses trail up your tummy, chest, lips, and you liked how your taste lingered on his tongue.

"carlooos,"

"yes, meu bebê?"

carlos gets a realization tonight.

"want more. 'jus wanna feel you,"

he spoils you a little too much.

your cunt was still twitching with need. you'd do anything to satiate your hunger, anything to relieve that arousal pooling in your tummy. even though he's spent the last few minutes coaxing orgasm after orgasm from you.

but he loved seeing you like this. desperate. needy. like he was the only person you needed. you knew just how to get his gears going without trying. "hmm? but you just came, meu bebê. my beard's still wet," he teased, lips latching on your neck and tracing your skin with sharp canines. you held on to his built biceps, and carlos brings your knuckles to his lips. "j, jus' the tip. please. i want more," "i know, i know, bebê. shh . . "

he can never resist you. especially when you were begging him so prettily. didn't take long for him to prod his tip against your needy hole. you both gasp when the tip slowly sinks in, slowly stretches that wet pussy apart. your nails dig into his skin, and carlos bit his lip. "fuuuck, y/n. your pussy—," fucking warm 'nd tight. clenching on him like you needed him.

carlos didn't mind being bossed around by you, especially by you. he'd do anything you'd ask before you could even blink, but he just has to remind you who's in charge.

you gasped when he slowly sheathes an inch or two into your tight cunt. "carlos, w, what're you—?!" he makes sure to slide in nice and slow, so you'll feel every inch of him splitting him open. and also so he can savour that surprised look in your face.

especially when he harshly shoves the rest of his cock in your leaking pussy, god. you'll kill him. "y, you're so unfair, princesa. so cruel t'me," he cooed, not even giving you the time to process a thought as he began to pound you with ungodly stamina.

"you think i don't have needs too? think i don't need to fuck this cunt and to fuck you 'til you're cockdrunk and overstimulated?" nasty mouth, nastier thrusts. your eyes crossed, body jouncing with every slam forward of his hips.

"c, carlos—h,hnnngg!"

he grins. "yeaaaah, that's right, baby. scream my name." you were so sensitive already, flesh walls spasming around his veiny girth, but fuck, you were oozing so much milky essence, it smeared all over his balls. he leans in so your lips could crash together, and carlos grunts against your mouth as you instinctively wrap you legs around him. of course he had to pick up his pace. why wouldn't he? he was such a good boyfriend to you, paying attention to all your needs.

you whine when he parts from you, but he has to, or else he'd lose his balance. he needed to focus on fucking you, tire his pretty bebê out. he bites his lip when you run your palms all over his built chest and abdomen.

"fuckfuckfuck—carlos—♡!"

a hand wraps around your breast, kneading your tits and running his fingers over your erect nipple. whatever thought you had, he quickly fucked it out from that pretty mind of yours. whatever. not like you needed to think when he could do that for you. well, try.

"y/n—♡ godddd, minha linda garota," [ my pretty girl, ] he babbles on, absolutely hypnotized. god, what were you doing to him? carlos kept pummeling that cunt, bed creaking obnoxiously in the process but it seemed that neither of you cared.

more marks littered his skin, ranging from bites to scratches, and they were definitely going to be sore later, but that's okay, a little pain didn't hurt no one. spit trickles down on carlos's stubbled chin, and you lift yourself up a little jus' so you could lick it up.

"y/n—♡! f, fuck! você é tão porra de suja, m, merda!" [ you're so fucking filthy, shit! ] hooking his arms around your thighs and lifting it up to his shoulders, you squealed when he begins to fuck you faster. harder. sounds of skin slapping growing louder as he rammed you without mercy.

a spare thumb began to trace aimless circles on your clit, and you screamed as an orgasm was ripped from your poor oversensitive cunt. "c, carlos—♡! oh fuck, fuckfuckfuckfuuuuck!" you clutched onto the pillows, sheets, fucking anything. you sobbed, and carlos gently flicks his middle finger against that puffy clit—you squealed as you squirt in small fountains.

"you're sensitive, aren't you, bebê? eu te quebrei, princesa?" [ did i break you, princess? ]

and oh, the way you only responded in fucked out mewls, how fucking precious. now that you've coated his girth in your squirt, it was much easier for him to move in 'n out. you could hear jus' how wet he made you, how that soaking cunt squelched with every thrust. you were such a slut for your boyfriend, and rightfully so.

he stops being cocky when his orgasm nears, grunts turning into high-pitched whimpers as he fucked you into the mattress. carlos tried to keep his monstrous, merciless pace, but fuck, he was so close. the closer he was to filling your cunt up and flooding your walls, the sloppier his hips got, probably from fatigue.

but you were such an angel, his god-sent angel, movin' your hips as you tried to meet his thrusts halfway. carlos could cum at the fucking sight of you trying to fuck yourself against him.

"oh god—♡! oh god, fuck, fuuuuck. vou gozar. vou te engravidar. ai meu deus." [ gonna cum. 'm gonna get you pregnant, oh my god. ] carlos sobbed, and after a few more push of his hips, he's crying out as ribbons of thick cum filled that cunt.

he rides his high out with a few more mindless thrusts, combing a spare hand through his hair. he's in fucking heaven, jesus christ. it's you that brings him back to reality, rubbing his forearm and eventually interlacing your fingers with his.

"oh my god, baby. are you okay?" he caressed your face, and you tiredly smile at him. "never better," you kissed his palm, and carlos tucks away the stray hairs on your face. "you sure? you okay? does anything hurt?" "no, i'm fine. well, a little sore and sensitive, but it's okay. i like it," a grin tugged on his lips, and he shook his head. "you're such a freak, baby. it's okay, i love you," a kiss is pressed on your forehead, nose, and then lips.

you shuddered when he pulls out, and his cum slowly leaks from your used, gaping hole. "i love you . . " you mutter, scooting over to the side so carlos can have the space beside you. he sighs in relief when he finally lays down, absolutely spent. "c'mere," carlos sleepily grunts, pulling you to his arms. you took it upon yourself to cover both your bare, sweaty bodies with the blanket.

"did i tire you out yet?" "hmm . . no, not really," you jeered, and carlos chuckled. "well, i certainly tired myself out," you both laugh, and it didn't take long 'til you both dozed off.

end.

You knew that whatever he wanted was going to have nothing to do with shooting.

“Not bored of it, yet?”

“Is that everything?” Merchant asked, reminding both of you of his existence.

Not looking him in the eyes, you nodded and paid before making your way to the elevator with Luis, with his hand now on the small of your back as the elevator door closed.

Since he joined you, he couldn't keep his hands to himself. At first he brushed it off as making sure you were okay or simply helping you up when needed, but the more time you spent with him, touches went from feather light to this - almost not shameful to them, no pretending that he didn't enjoy being close to you.

And it would be a lie to say that you weren't fond of it too. From the smallest, briefest touches on your arm, to the way his hand was on your waist. Or the way his eyes would take a quick glance at your lips as you talked, then he would take a little moment before responding, as if he was talking himself out of kissing you right there and then.

But now, he was all yours. No Las Plagas, No Ganados, no Leon. Just you and him.

“So what do you wanna do, Serra? Or you gonna pretend this is about my “amazing aim”?”

“No, teroso.” His hand moved from the small of your back to your waist. “I'm gonna do what I have been looking forward to for so long.”

The door opened with a soft ding and before you knew it, Luis pushed you against the nearest wall.

“Can I kiss you?” He whispered. His face was so close to yours you felt his warm breath on your lips. One of his hands stayed on your waist, the other was on your cheek as his thumb caressed it gently. His breath shuttered a little when your fingers moved to his face, your thumb feeling the softness of his bottom lip. Even if he wanted to hide how much he wanted you, he couldn't and he was well aware of that.

“Don't torment me, amor.” His lips barely brushed against yours. He was practically begging for it, just to feel your lips against his own.

And it crossed your mind to tease him a little, but you wanted him as much as he wanted you. And you weren't going to deny yourself now that you finally have him all for yourself.

You didn't answer with words, you just kissed him. Luis was slightly surprised by it, but wasn't disappointed by any means. You heard it in the way he moaned into your lips and melted against you. His hand moved under your shirt as he pushed himself against you, desperate to feel as much of you as he possibly could. And you felt it, how hard he was against your thigh, almost grinding against you while his kisses became sloppy and wet.

You didn't realize when he got so hard. Was it now or was he walking around with it all this time and you were too busy not dying and protecting him to notice? But did it really matter that much when his lips were on you and you wanted to do so much to him with the little time you had.

A soft moan came from his lips again, when your thigh pushed right against him.

“You're such a tease, amor.” He whispered, tilting his head to leave kisses to your jaw and neck, his stubble tickling you slightly. “I need you so much and I can't have you yet…” His hips continued their movements, he didn't even try to hide how much he needed you.

“You can't. But I still plan on being nice to you.”

“Qué?” He didn't realize when you grabbed him by hips, turning him until he was the one pushed against the wall, breath knocked out of him from the impact.

“I said I'm going to be nice to you.” You said again, tilting your head to get a better look at those pretty eyes of his. One of your fingers tugged at the loop in his jeans. “Do you want me to be nice to you?”

He didn't need much convincing, he nodded eagerly the moment he heard the question. “Sí, be nice to me.”

You dropped to your knees without a second thought, hands moving to undo his belt and unzip his pants.

“Eager, aren't you?” He tried to tease you, but the blush on his cheeks said how truly flustered he was.

“Me? You were just grinding on me.” You let out a soft snort.

“You want me to be shamed? I wanted you the moment I got my eyes on you.”

“I can see that very clearly, believe me.”

You pulled out his cock from his underwear, giving him an experimental squeeze at the base. His hips twitched involuntarily, another soft sound came from him. He looked so pretty like this. You licked your lips before giving him soft kisses up his shaft, listening to the little noises that Luis didn't bother to cover up. No hands on his mouth or anything, but his hand was almost instantly in your hair, pushing it away gently from your face.

“Por favor, don't make me wait.” He begged again, pure desperation in his eyes.

You would have loved to tease him more, but with the mission in the back of your mind, you knew it had to wait. You gave him one more kiss, now to the very tip of him and took him inside your mouth.

The feeling of your warm, wet mouth made Luis mouth part, a small broken sound came from his lips as he tilted his back, hitting the wooden wall lightly. It was followed by a groan when he felt that you started moving, his hand holding the back of your head to guide you. He was melting already, eyes fluttering but he forced himself to look down and watch you.

“That's right.” His other hand also grabbed onto your head, guiding you a little faster. “Pat my thigh if you need me to stop.” He felt you hum around him in response, causing him to twitch in your mouth.

Luis didn't want to admit, but he was already getting close. Maybe it was because he was waiting for it since the moment he stuck with you or maybe it was you, simply you, and he didn't need anything more to get him going. It was a little embarrassing to get this close this fast, but he couldn't care less.

“Don't stop. Please don't stop.” His breaths became quicker, heart thumping hard and fast and heard it in his ears loud and clear. “Almost there…”

He grasped at your hair, not meaning to be rough with you but he was so close and he would hate to not reach it.

“J-just a little more, amor. You're doing so good for me.”

You hummed around him again, making him gasp. He didn't stop and you just let him do what he needed, your nose brushed against the hair around his base whenever he pushed his cock deeper in your mouth. You grabbed on his thighs to keep yourself steady, feeling how tense they were.

He gave you a few more thrust before he came, muttering some curse in Spanish as he twitched in your mouth. He held you there for a moment, catching his breath and riding out the sensation with a few slow, much more gentle thrust compared to the previous once. After that, he let go of your hair and allowed you to pull back. With your mouth free of him, you swallowed his seed.

“Are you alright? Didn't mean to be so rough.”

You nodded.

“I'm okay, you?”

“Haven't felt so good in a while.” He grinned at you softly.

While he fixed himself, zipping up his pants and buckling his belt. At the same time, you stood up, cleaning your pants from dirt when you heard Leon's voice coming from your earbud.

“____________? Where are you?”

“We uh..” You straightened up immediately. “I went with Luis to the shooting range, though both of us could use a little moment to unwind.” You glanced at Luis, noticing that his grin widened.

“Right…” You could tell by Leon's tone he wasn't entirely convinced by your explanation. “Just come here, I'm waiting by the merchant’s.”

“Of course.” You said and disconnected, glad he didn't ask you to elaborate. With your hand on Luis's arm, you pulled him inside the elevator and clicked on the button.

“I hope you know I plan to return the favor after this is done.” He leaned closer to you, whispering.

You let out a soft laugh at that.

And ever since the first time you spoke to him, he didn't stand a chance. You were young and pretty, and so charming with your innocent optimism… Before Joel realized, he was fantasizing about you during the lonely evenings, dreaming of your voice late in the night, and looking for you in the crowd when he was out of the house.

He was way too old to feel this kind of way, and every now and then it felt like he was balancing on a tightrope between being stupid and borderline creepy. Such a sweet girl like you wouldn't look twice at an old man like him if she knew the things that sometimes ran through his mind when he was seeing other men flirting with you, seeking the same warm light that Joel grew addicted to.

That was the poison mixed with your sweetness – even though it was irrational, with you everything seemed easier than it was.

…even falling in love.

And fall Joel Miller did. It was an embarrassing, tainted experience, especially when he remembered how much older than you he was. But he couldn't help it, and once this burning want became clear to him, he didn't really want to fight it, either.

You were everything he should stay far away from – young, pretty and so bright with your smiles, your hope, your innocence. A sinner like Joel Miller had no place in your life, and yet he couldn't muster the courage to let you go. It was selfish of him, he knew, but spending time in your company was one of the few brightsides of his life… and he didn't have many of those, lately. He genuinely enjoyed being near you – a lot more than he probably should.

That's why, when he noticed you skipping his way with a bright smile splattered across your cheeks, he felt his heart instantly lighten. It was a hard day of work at the construction site and he was relieved to finally be heading home, but just the sight of you made the weariness disappear from within his bones.

“Joel! Hi!” Something must have stirred you quite strongly, for you were practically bouncing with excitement. The words were spilling out of your mouth before he even had a chance to say hello. “I need your help, right now. Please.”

“Slow down, darlin’,” he chuckled, letting you drag him by the arm to a wall of the nearest building and away from the crowd. “You alrigh’?”

“Yeah, yes, of course.” You waved to someone passing by, totally unfazed – or maybe just ignorant – that you were being seen with him in public. “I just need your help.”

“Well, what is it?” he repeated the question and finally, you turned to face him. Joel couldn't help but match the pretty smile on your face, but it quickly faded when you blurted out your next words.

“I like someone.”

That short, simple sentence wrecked Joel’s world by the foundations. For a couple of seconds he just stared at you with his mouth slightly agape while you fidgeted with your hands nervously, but still overjoyed.

“Wh– uhh, sorry?”

“I like someone,” you repeated excitedly, as if your words weren't piercing right through Joel's heart. “And I need your help.”

All of the sudden, the world lost all its colors, as if all the meaning was sucked out of the universe just by your words.

Why it was such a surprise to him, Joel didn't know. Of course you'd sooner or later get together with someone. He should have expected it. You were young, pretty and such a joy to be around, people were gravitating towards you instinctively. Like moths to a flame.

Just like him – yet he was always destined to only get burned.

“Joel?”

You leaned closer and Joel's eyes instinctively focused on your lower lip worried between your teeth.  You were obviously oblivious to his feelings, as well as the effect you had on him – otherwise he doubted you'd tempt him like that, unknowingly making his mind fixate on how perfect your lips would have felt under his touch.

But no, it wasn't his caresses you wanted. There was someone else, someone far more deserving of you, and you were asking Joel only for his help. And though it hurt him – it killed him to lose this small sliver of affection you had been giving him so far – he nodded supportingly.

“Wha… what do you need help with, sweet girl?” he asked softly, trying not to show how devastated he felt inside. Joel had no desire to hear about whoever was fortunate enough to gain your favor, but again, luck wasn't on his side.

“I made a plan to meet him,” you explained enthusiastically, grabbing his forearm. Joel looked at where your fingers touched his skin, barely listening to your words. “Tonight. And I need you to come with me.”

That woke him up from his reverie. Joel huffed and shook his head sharply, looking at you like you were out of your mind.

“No.” His tone was almost biting, but through his firm refusal, a trace of panic was slipping through. You pouted, squeezing his forearm lightly.

“Oh, come on, please? I just want to make sure everything’s perfect.”

“No,” Joel repeated, much weaker this time. “Hell no. Why would I–” Then, a dark thought bloomed in his mind and his face turned concerned. “You're worried he'd do somethin’ to you?”

“Oh, no, no!” It was your turn to shake your head, and you actually cracked a smile at Joel's worried tone. “No, he'd never hurt me.”

Your voice got softer; your smile turned serene. Joel wanted nothing more than to turn away when your eyes started to wander across his features, but again that proved to be too herculean of a task compared to the hold you had over him.

“He's kind,” you continued absentmindedly, and on the edge of consciousness Joel remembered your hand was still on his arm, tracing small lines with your thumb. “Respectful and thoughtful… A real gentleman.”

“A-and who’s he?” Joel found the courage to ask, breaking you out of your daydreams. You smiled happily again – that damned, sweet smile of yours – and removed your hand. He immediately started missing the feeling of your touch.

“You'll see.” You looked over your shoulder when someone shouted your name a street away, and waved from the distance. You gave Joel one last pleading look, clasping your hands together. “Come to the Tipsy Bison at 9. Please? You can just sit in the corner but I'll feel so much better and safer with you there.”

Once Joel looked into your beautiful, pleading eyes, he was a goner. He never could deny you anything either way.

Even when he would kill for a chance to go on a real date with you.

“Okay,” he finally caved in. “Alrigh’. I'll be there.”

The overjoyed smile you gave him was almost enough to soothe the hollow pain in his chest.

Almost.

Great. Fucking great.

Joel made another turn around the street, trying to build up the courage to approach Tipsy Bison. The flannel shirt he wore was itching uncomfortably, but he was already half an hour late and there was no time to go back home and change.

He regretted ever setting foot in Jackson. It was a nightmare situation for him, having to spend the evening in a room full of loud, drunk people and watch as you go about your date with another man. Joel thought a dozen times about making up some excuse as to why he can't chaperone your date after all. He even went as far as to beg Tommy to accompany him, just that he wouldn’t have to suffer alone, but his younger brother just gave him a pitying look, saying something about spending time with Maria tonight. Joel could always cancel, lie that he can’t make it after all… but then he remembered how hopeful and thankful you looked, and all his resolve was wavering again. He couldn't ever say no to you, even though he desperately wanted to.

He looked at his broken watch, sighing at the hour. He delayed the inevitable long enough, so with heavy steps he approached the bar at last. You asked him to go through the back door, for whatever reason, and he was too tired at the time to point out there’s nothing back there except for the kitchen and storage rooms. Whatever. You probably were already in the main hall, with your date, and either you were angry at Joel for being late, or not thinking about him at all. He wasn’t sure which one would be worse.

Once he stepped over the threshold, he carefully closed the door behind him. The racket from the bar was muffled here, but from the nearest room he could hear someone muttering. Joel swallowed heavily and cleared his throat to alert whoever was on the other side of the wall.

“Joel?” he heard your voice before you appeared in the doorway. At the sight of him your shoulders dropped and with confusion he noted that you didn’t look angry or disappointed – you seemed relieved. “Goddammit, finally you’re here. You took your sweet time, huh?”

Before he could answer, you walked forward and took his sleeve, half-dragging him behind you. Words of protest bubbled on his tongue, but they all died quickly when Joel saw the room you emerged from.

The storage shelves were decorated with fairy lights and in the middle of the room stood a small table with two chairs opposite each other. The only other source of light were a couple of candles on the table and around the room. There was food on the table – probably cold by now – and a bottle of wine. But most importantly – there was no one else in the room except for Joel and you.

While he was looking around like an absolute fool, searching for an explanation for this situation, you cautiously closed the door and walked around the man, coming to a stop by the set table with your hands clasped in front of you.

“...Well?” you asked after an uncomfortably long silence, letting out a nervous laugh. “What do you think?”

Joel blinked, not sure if you were talking to him.

“Where's the guy?”

You threw him a confused look, but truly, it was the only thing Joel could think of. He glanced around the room again, as if his mysterious competition was going to jump up from behind one of the shelves, but there was no trace of anyone else here.

“Your… your date,” he clarified after a moment and cleared his throat once more. A spark of understanding flashed in your eyes and you pressed your lips together. “It's late. Is he… He didn't set you up, did he?”

“That depends,” you finally answered softly, keeping your wary but hopeful eyes on him. “Are you finally gonna sit down?”

A cog clicked into its place in Joel's mind and he turned his head, not sure if he had heard you right. You smiled nervously and motioned to the table.

“The food’s probably cold by now, but I can heat it up. It’s your own fault, though, since I asked you to be here forty minutes ago–”

“I don’t…”

He didn’t understand. Nothing made sense, but he had to make sure, “So there’s no… there’s no date?”

You were clearly nervous, judging by the way you were fidgeting with your hands, but you sent him a shy smile nonetheless. “I mean, you’re here…”

Joel didn’t answer – frankly, he didn’t know what to say. So many conflicted emotions were swirling in his chest, blocking his throat from squeezing out even a sound. It created almost a physical pain between his ribs, especially when your eyes were still on him, so hopeful and patient.

After another pregnant pause, you let out a quiet breath and took a step forward, throwing him a lifeline since he clearly must’ve looked like an idiot. “There’s no one else coming, if that’s what you’re asking. I made all of this for you – for… us, maybe. I just…” You half-shrugged, and only now Joel realized how nice you looked, wearing a dress he never before saw you in, “didn’t know how to tell you.”

Joel swept his gaze over the room once more – the dinner, the lights, your pretty dress… and you. And it was all for him, apparently.

“Why?” he breathed, the weight of his age almost making him collapse to his knees. He desperately wanted to say something more profound than one word at the time, but his voice was failing him. Thankfully, you were always kind enough to fill in the silence.

“Why did I lie to you or why did I drag you here of all places?” You rounded the table, eyeing the decorations with a proud smile. “Well–”

“No, darlin’, why…” He shook his head. Everything felt too unreal, too sudden. And he felt so tired. “Why me?”

That made you pause and you turned to him with a surprised look, like what he just said was the last thing you expected to hear.

“What do you mean, why you?” you huffed incredulously, leaning forward against the back of the chair, and though you tried to look casual, the nervousness in the tension of your body was apparent. “You’re just… I mean, it must be pretty clear that I really like you… And I thought you might have felt the same. You know, with all the ‘darling’s’ and looking at me, and stuff…”

Was it a dream? You always looked like you were out of a dream, but something about this moment… the fairy lights, your shy demeanor, the words he never thought he’d hear from you… Joel didn't know if he was still alive or maybe that's what the afterlife looked like.

“...You could say something,” you half-joked with a trace of worry in your voice, obviously growing uncomfortable at his lack of reaction. “You know, Tommy only let me have this place ‘til midnight before they come by to restock the bar. We can at least eat and talk a little, right?”

“Did Tommy put you up to this?” Joel asked bitterly, unable to stop himself at the mention of his brother’s name. He recalled the look Tommy gave him earlier today, his excuses as to why he can’t come with him... What other explanation could there be for such a gorgeous, young woman to be interested in Joel of all people, if it wasn’t just a product of his kin’s poor humor? However, he instantly regretted asking you this when your soft smile disappeared altogether, and you wrapped your arms around yourself.

“You can just say if you don’t feel the same way,” you said dryly with an angry and hurt furrow on your brow. “No need to be a dick about it.”

You walked by him, apparently done with Joel’s accusations and grumpiness, but he quickly caught your arm before he could think better of it. You spun around, probably ready to tear into him, but he wouldn't hear a word either way – no while a vortex of doubts and questions raged in his mind. Joel didn’t know how or why you’d ever take interest in an old man like him, but he was now certain of two things.

One, you were telling the truth. For whatever reason, you really liked him – enough to plan and prepare a whole dinner date just for him.

And two, if Joel let you walk out now, he’d regret it for the rest of his life.

You must’ve noticed the change on his face when his eyes flickered to your lips because you froze, the words of hurt and disappointment drying out on your tongue. Joel swallowed and wet his lips, looking for any sign of hesitation or regret on your face, but there was nothing in your eyes but pure, fragile anticipation. He delicately put his hand on the side of your face, the rough pad of his thumb brushing your cheek slowly. Your eyelashes fluttered closed and you let out a shaky breath, and that was all it took for Joel to lean down and press his lips to yours.

The kiss started delicate, but almost immediately turned into a fervent, hungry thing, which you ardently reciprocated. Joel wanted to take his time, to test the waters and build up the anticipation until you were ready to beg for him, but he didn’t expect just how fucking good kissing you would feel – and how eager you were for his touch. The smell of you, the feel of your hands on his chest and arms… it was driving him crazy with want, and without thinking twice, he spun you around and pinned your back against the edge of the table, making you whimper into his mouth.

“Goddammit, baby…” The term of endearment slipped out before he realized it, but judging by your reaction you didn’t mind at all. Your breath hitched, making him smirk to himself as he started to realize just how much power he held over you. It certainly shouldn’t excite him as much as it did. “Are you absolutely sure that’s what you want?”

“Joel, if you don’t stop questioning me…” you started, and although your words were firm, your voice leaned into a deliciously needy pitch, the kind of which he yearned to hear for far too long. Joel groaned into your mouth, moving down to press hot kisses against the line of your jaw and down your neck, greedily drinking in the noises you were making.

“Tell me, darlin’,” he asked in a low voice, experimentally running his palm up your thigh under the pretty dress you wore. The effect was immediate, and you pressed your body closer to him, seeking his touch the moment it left your skin. “I need to know if you really mean all this.”

“For fuck’s sake, Joel–” You made a surprised noise as he hoisted you up and onto the table, but it turned into another needy whimper when he knocked your knees apart and slotted himself between them with ease. You glanced behind you, worried that you'll push the silverware off the table, and Joel took this moment to resume the onslaught on your neck, kissing and sucking every inch of skin he could reach. You choke back a moan as his touch made a shiver run up your spine. “Joel, please…”

“I need to hear it, sweetheart,” he murmured lowly against your skin, slowing down to tease you when he felt your heartbeat quicken up beneath his lips. “Need to make sure you know what you're gettin’ into.”

“I do, I promise,” you assured him fervently while your hands went to the back of his head, fingers tangling into his gray locks. “You have no idea how many times I thought about this. I wanted you for so long, Joel, please…”

“Wanted you, too, darlin’.” He put one of his hands on the small of your back, pulling your lower half closer to the edge of the table so you could feel what you were doing to him. “God, every time you smiled at me it was all I could think about… So kind and beautiful, never thought you'd look twice my way.”

You didn't bother to answer this time, instead angling his head up to kiss him deeply again. The doubt and fear were still present in Joel's mind, but he honestly couldn't focus on them with you in front of him. You were so warm under his palms, so pliant and eager, a literal putty in his steady hands. He could never imagine how incredible it felt to be wanted by someone so much, but at the same time he knew he had to take his time. As much as he wanted to keep going, to make you see stars and sing his name, it was more than just lust with you.

So when you reached for the buttons of his shirt, he gently grabbed your wrists and moved them away, finally regaining his self-control. You whined disapprovingly, but the crease between your brows quickly disappeared when Joel kissed your fingers softly, not taking his eyes off you.

“Shh, sweetheart, don’t rush,” he cood, earning a small disappointed pout. He had to close his eyes, lest he caved in. Fuck, the sight of you before him – your pupils blown wide, lips swollen from his ministrations, your heavy breath and the dress bunched around your hips… Joel was sure you’d let him do anything to you right now. And God, he couldn’t wait. “Let me do this properly, yeah? Have a nice date with you, then maybe take you home if you don’t change your mind…”

“We can skip the dinner,” you quietly offered, your breath still uneven and cheeks flushed. He huffed a laugh with fondness and leaned in to plant a soft kiss on your forehead, his own breathing also slightly erratic.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he murmured against your skin before taking your face in his hands. “Someone did say I’m a gentleman, no?”

You seemed to regret your previous choice of words, accentuating it with a disappointed whimper and a buck of your hips. Joel groaned and kissed you deeply again, almost able to taste all the impatience and desire on your tongue. Surprisingly, you didn’t fight him further and instead obediently slid off the table, wrapping your arms tightly around his neck to be as close to him as possible.

Joel was grateful for this moment of calm before even more excitement – and he didn’t mind spending it by watching you, standing so close and smiling up at him as brightly as the sun itself.

“You believe me now?” you asked teasingly, stifling your giggles when Joel rolled his eyes playfully. “Good. You will have to make it up to me, then.”

Worry crept back onto Joel’s face, but you were quick to calm him down with a tender kiss to his jaw, and then another one lower, on his pulse point. “You were late. If you got here on time, we could’ve been doing this at least half an hour longer.”

Joel chuckled and lifted your chin with his finger, before kissing you briefly one last time.

“Baby, let’s enjoy the dinner you prepared, first. After that, I swear I’ll make it up to you in however many ways you want.”

The woods were still crisp for early summer. It was something you'd come to appreciate about Wyoming, after all. No matter how bad winter had been, or how slow spring had sprung, you could always count on a beautiful summer, and even better summer mornings.

But this morning was far from beautiful.

You were sitting with a few others from town, mostly newer folk who'd settled in and were looking for work to do. The woods were quiet around these parts, a couple miles out from Jackson, where the trees thinned just enough to make room for the patrols to see into the valley. It had been a lookout since the beginning, or so you'd heard. A small cabin with a slanted roof, a fire pit out front ringed with blackened stones, a target range cut into the dirt nearby, and guns and ammo stored in the basement in case of emergency and training.

Why you were here, when you could be baking loaves of bread for folks getting out of Sunday worship or sending actual lookout shifts off with their breakfast freshly made, was, well…because you'd started to feel a little useless.

Not useless exactly. That was probably unfair. You did have multiple jobs. You were a part of the community of Jackson. You had a few close friends and plenty of acquaintances. You got along with almost everyone. It was nice, feeling like you knew who took their coffee black, who liked the butt of the bread, who always tried to sneak an extra roll into their coat pocket when they thought you weren't looking. You gardened and sometimes even helped with the horses or the livestock.

But still.

There was a part of you that knew, if anything ever went to shit, you'd never be able to defend your town, let alone yourself. So you'd come out with a group to train up on an early summer morning.

But you sure as shit were terrible at it.

Luckily, the ammo you used on the training grounds were empty shells, nothing actually being wasted on your awful, awful aim.

Because an hour later, the glass bottle in front of you remained whole and smug on the fence line, catching slice of sunlight along its shoulder while the wood of the fence several inches to its left had suffered greatly.

It didn't help that the man that was meant to be teaching you was a grade A Asshole.

Joel Miller was many things. Strong, capable, brave. So many epithets that could be used to describe him. You'd even dare to add handsome if he wasn't always frowning at you or cursing under his breath every time you managed to miss something standing perfectly still.

But the main thing you wanted to call him, was Asshole. Though…you thought if you ever did to his face, it might just be the last thing you ever do.

He was helping a kid down at the end adjust his stance when you heard an argument from beside you about a bet.

“Bullshit,” one of the boys hissed. Matthew, you thought. Maybe Michael? He was one of the kids from town you'd seen around the stables with hair too long, cheeks still a little chubby, and an ego too big. “You did not get Maisie Bell to kiss you.”

“I didn’t say kiss,” the other one said, and in the corner of your eye you watched as he lined up his shot, one eye squeezing shut. “I said she would’ve.”

“That ain’t a bet.”

“It is if I’m right.”

“You’re not right.”

“Two ration cards says I am.”

“For Maisie?”

“For Maisie,” he said, then nodded toward the line of town below the ridge, where you could almost see the church roof through the trees. “And the redhead from the kitchens. Sheesh what I wouldn't do to my hands on 'er. Oh, and that new girl Dina?" he let out a low whistle, "She is so goddamn fine I could—"

The heat that went through you had nothing to do with the morning sun. It rose hard beneath your collar, crawling up your throat until your jaw clenched around it. It pissed you off. Dina was funny and charming and more than a hot piece of ass for some stable boy to run his mouth over. Maisie and Riley were nice girls too, both in your book club, both worth knowing for more than the curve of their mouths or the sway of their hips.

“Maybe you two should spend less time betting on girls who wouldn’t touch you for a warm bath,” you spat, turning toward them, “and more time actually practicing—”

But you'd turned without lowering your gun.

Worse— you'd turned without taking your finger off the trigger.

A loud sound cracked through the clearing.

It wasn't like a typical gun shot, just a sharp, quick pop that punched the rest of your sentence out of your mouth.

Michael grabbed his shoulder and stumbled back, knocking into the rack behind him. A glass bottle tipped from the table and burst in the dirt by his boot, spraying green shards through the dust.

For one second, no one moved.

Then he said, “Ow—fuck!”

Your hands were still around the shotgun, finger still squeezing the trigger, your body stuck in shock.

The kid beside him lowered his own gun in a hurry. A low muttering started to rise from around you— someone else asked if Michael was all right, and Michael, pale and furious and embarrassed, said, “She shot me!"

"Think it's more of a graze—" someone was saying, pulling at the torn cap of his sleeve.

More voices began to overlap as people clustered around him, worry amplifying the noise until you couldn't hear anything because of the panicked buzzing in your ears.

"Give me that."

You blinked to your right. Joel Miller was looming next to you, a thunderous look over his features.

You looked down at the shotgun still in your hands, a gasp running through you.

Your fingers opened at once as if you'd been burned by the wooden barrel. The shotgun dipped toward the ground, and Joel caught it before you could swing wrong again. He took it from you with a look that made your stomach hollow out.

Your mouth open and shut, your voice quiet and lost to the rising murmur around you: "I'm—I'm so sorry—"

Joel didn’t answer. He checked the shotgun with a hard jerk of his hand, jaw tight, eyes not leaving the chamber until he was sure. Then he bent down, grabbed your pack from the dirt, and pushed it into your arms.

“Go.”

You froze with your hands around the straps. A burning, icy thrill ran through your spine, your skin lighting up in humiliation.

“I got no use for kids who don't give a shit about rules or make habits of gettin’ other people killed,” he said. “Go on now. No use to me here.”

You didn’t even think you could speak if you wanted to. You looked down at your backpack, torn and duct-taped in spots, the top strap sewn back down at least ten times since you'd gotten it.

You'd shot someone. What if it hadn't been a blank? What if it hadn't just grazed?

“I—”

“Don’t wanna hear it,” Joel cut in. “Go tell Jesse you're done for the day. He’ll take ya home.”

You bit your lip so hard you tasted copper and nodded, turning away.

For the next two weeks, you went back to being useful.

That was the word that seemed to dig its way into your head, after all. Useful. You baked loaves in the morning with flour dusted up your forearms and dough stuck beneath your fingernails. You wrapped bread in cloth and stacked it on the front table before the church bell rang. When you were done, you gardened the weeds that to creep into the squash beds and watermelon patch, and spent the late afternoons mucking stalls. You went to bed so exhausted you barely thought about what happened at the range.

Michael was fine, of course. He'd come by to apologize for his words the next day with Maria's stone face behind him. You apologized too, made sure he was really okay. Offered him a free bagel or two in exchange for maiming him.

Sometimes you saw Joel.

He didn't laugh or pat your arm understandingly the way the others did when retelling the story that of course made its way around town like wildfire.

He hardly looked at you at all, really. And at first you were grateful for it, too embarrassed to even meet his eye if he ever came by the stables for the horses before training or patrol up in the mountains. You'd run and hide before he even got the chance to spot you, truth be told. And when he came by the bakery, you'd disappeared into the back so fast that one time you’d knocked over an entire sack of rye flour in your haste to vanish.

But by the third week, it'd began to piss you off. Because it was one thing to be ashamed—and you were. But Joel was walking around town like you were something to be scraped off the bottom of his boot. It began to put a sour feeling in your stomach, the fact he had so much power to make you feel so small. Fuck him. Fuck him and his stupid glare and his silent brooding.

You stopped hiding.

The next time he came into the bakery, you were at the front counter with your sleeves rolled up as usual, tying string around a parcel of bread. Ellie was next to him as they entered, talking with her hands, telling him some story about Dina and a loose chicken that morning.

“Morning,” you said when they sidled up to the counter.

Ellie looked over, her green eyes brightening. “Hey.”

Joel said nothing.

You pulled down the ration bread from the shelf with their name and house number written across the paper wrapping.

Ellie grinned as you handed it to her, "Do you have any of those sweet rolls from last week?"

You hazarded a glance at Joel, who said nothing again.

"Sure do. You staying for breakfast? I could make some coffee."

Ellie perked up, looking at him. “Can we?”

“No,” Joel said stiffly.

“Oh, come on—didn't you hear her say your favorite word, old man? Cofffeeeeeee!" she sung out before huffing a breath, "Do I need to get your ears checked by the nurse again?”

“We got work.” he grumbled, ignoring her jab.

“You always have work.”

“Funny how that happens.”

You reached for the tray beneath the counter and set a couple rolls out, taking your time. “There’s fresh icing too from this morning, I just need to drizzle it on.”

You went into the back, grabbing the small bag of sugary sweet icing you'd made, and began letting it fall in a steady cascade onto the sweet buns.

Ellie leaned both elbows on the counter. “See? Now we have to stay. It would be rude not to.”

You pretended not to notice how Joel's jaw ticked under his beard.

“She makes a good argument,” you said, sliding the small plate toward Ellie next to their wrapped weekly bread loaf.

Finally, those dark eyes landed on you. It was quick and could almost pass off as an accident. A muddling of color that shown in the morning light, his mouth flat. The same hard set to his face as always. But you smiled back anyway.

Because fuck him.

Ellie took one and barely hesitated before taking a giant bite, delighted. “Thank you.” she said with her mouth full.

You looked away quickly, back at Ellie. “Anytime.”

Joel reached into his pocket and set the ration slips on the counter. His hand was close enough that you could see the scar across one knuckle, the dust caught in the creases of his fingers. He took the parceled bread from the counter, leaving the second sweet bun untouched.

"Let's go, Ellie." he said stiffly. Before you could even call goodbye, they were walking out the shop, Ellie throwing you an apologetic glance and a wave of her hand as she stuffed the roll into her mouth.

You picked up the rations he left, and for a moment, thought about chucking that leftover roll at the back of his head as he disappeared from view.

Instead of learning how to shoot guns, you began learning how to take care of them.

Learn it from the inside out, you told yourself.

And to be fair, you picked it up rather quickly. Quicker than you’d picked up aiming, anyway. There was a comfort to it that shooting never gave you, all the pieces laid out on an oil-stained cloth in front of you, metal pins and springs and screws set in neat little rows beneath your hands. There was no bottle on a fence line waiting to make a fool out of you here in the small rec room of the cafeteria after the dinner shift had come and gone.

Tommy Miller taught the class every other night, his sleeves rolled to the elbows and voice patient and kind as he showed you and a few others how to take a handgun apart and put it back together. He had a way of teaching that was so different than his brother. He was patient, never made you feel stupid for asking questions. If a piece didn't fit, he'd simply say: “The gun’ll tell you what it needs most times. You just gotta quit arguin’ with it long enough to listen.”

And maybe, a small mean part of you liked the fact that the first time Joel Miller saw you there, he stopped dead in the doorway.

You'd bitten your cheek so hard to keep the smug smile from tugging your lips as he made his way across the room with a box of empty shells the night you were learning how to make ammunition. His eyes moved across the room to his brother, who patted him jovially on the back, and then the elder Miller's eyes came back to you. And you knew you didn't look very nice—smudge of grease across your cheek and your hair pulled haphazardly away from the gunpowder, thick work gloves that hardly fit and your plaid sleeves rolled up.

But he'd stared long and hard anyway. And then, as if nothing was amiss, his face went back to its hard, frozen state, and he walked out.

It was that night that you woke from an awful dream.

A horde of infected had broken through Jackson, tearing through everything you'd always loved and cared for. The gate was splintered open, the watchtower burned down to the ground. People were running through the street in their nightclothes, slipping in mud and blood, screaming names you knew.

You woke in a drenched sweat, feeling every bit as useless with a gun in your dream as you did in waking life.

But it was the kind of dream that didn't really feel like a dream at all. You'd felt like you were there, like the chill of night was actually on your face, like the roars of infected in your ears were truly bone-chilling. Your chest had filled with so much doom as you tried to fight back. But you couldn't. Every shot went wrong, every squeeze of the trigger sent another round into a fence post, a doorframe, the packed dirt beside an infected's rotting foot.

You could load the gun. You could take it apart and put it back together. You could clean the pieces until the metal shone beneath your fingers. You'd done it a hundred times now.

But you couldn't shoot.

In the dream, it had been all your fault. The deaths. Friends, loved ones, people who had waved to you from the church steps and leaned over the bakery counter telling you all about their latest town gossip.

Even Joel Miller.

He had died in the dream too. Because of you, and your awful aim, and your utter uselessness when it came to defending anything you cared about.

So, instead of trying to fall back asleep— afraid the dream might return—you got up and headed downstairs. Making your way through your dark house that was a small thing in the middle of town, you heard the floorboards creaking beneath your socks until you stepped into your boots properly.

You threw on your Carhartt over your nightclothes, fumbling with the zipper in the dark. It was just the start of summer now, but the mornings still could be biting. The mountains liked to keep their cold weather as long as possible, holding to it until the sun finally dragged it out when summer solstice came.

On the kitchen table, the shotgun you'd been working on for Tommy’s class sat wrapped in an old cloth, its oiled barrel catching a thin line of moonlight from the window.

You stared at it for a moment.

Then, decision made, you slung the strap over your shoulder and headed out.

Surprisingly, Joel Miller was awake at the odd hour as well.

As you walked down Rancher Street, you spotted him on his porch in the old rocker, one boot planted against the floorboards to keep the chair steady. A steaming cup of something was in his hand as he looked out onto the empty street. No one was up at this hour. You shouldn’t've even been up either. You wouldn’t have to open the bakery for another several hours, and the whole of Jackson seemed to know it. The curtains of the houses you passed were still drawn in the houses along the street, the chicken coops were quiet. Even the dogs that usually barked from behind fences must have been sleeping away the dawn with their owners still in bed.

It made your boots sound so loud on the road.

When his eyes caught the movement of your form coming toward the house, you saw him pause. His brows shot up high, then narrowed back into their usual glower. As you got closer and closer, it seemed so did his brows, threading deeper, causing harsher lines to form between them. The sun was just barely beginning to peek over the east mountaintops, the sky beginning to let go of its inky blackness with only a pale line of light touching the surrounding rooftops.

Joel Miller didn’t say anything as you stepped up from the street onto the path to his house. Or as you walked through his front yard. But his eyes never left you.

You tried—very hard and very much in vain—not to care what he saw as you walked up to the porch. He was an asshole, after all. An asshole who had told you he had no use for you, dismissed you for one mistake, and ignored you for weeks after. You shouldn't care if he saw some clumsy girl with a gun too big for her hands, or the bags under your eyes, or the matching floral sleep set beneath your jacket, long sleeves buttoned to your wrists and matching cotton pants tucked messily into your boots.

"Good morning, Mr. Miller." you said, stopping just at the bottom step of his porch.

He took a long sip of his steaming cup before resting it between his hands on his lap.

"To what do I owe the pleasure of your company, kid?"

In any other circumstance, that could’ve been a polite greeting. But the flatness to his voice, the utter disapproval or contempt that threaded through it, made it sound exactly as he meant it.

You stared at him for a long, long moment.

He just stared back.

The rocker gave a faint creek under his weight. You could just smell the contents of the mug—coffee, for sure then. Bitter and dark how he liked it. You shifted the shotgun off your shoulder and set the butt of it into the dirt beside your boot, one hand rested at the top so it pointed up towards the sky.

Finally, it was Joel who broke the silence as he sighed, getting up to stand at the railing, setting one large, calloused palm against the wood as he looked down at you.

"Kid, I don't know what yer—"

"Shut up."

Joel Miller, for the first damn time since he'd met you, seemed to be stunned. His eyes went wide in disbelief.

"Excuse me, young lady?" he scoffed, standing still on his porch.

"Shut up—" you said, and if your voice shook a little, he made no notice, "and listen."

His eyebrows lifted. Then he looked down the empty street, like maybe someone else had heard you speak to him that way and he needed a witness. But there was no one, of course. Not at this hour. Only the closed houses, the pale line of morning over the rooftops, and a dog two porches down watching through the fence with its nose pressed between the slats.

When Joel looked back at you, he only gave a small shrug, one palm tipping up from the railing.

Go on then.

"I am a baker," you said curtly, taking in a shaky, deep breath, "I am a gardener, I am a sewer, I've become a damn good gun cleaner. I've been in Jackson for two years. I deserve to be here."

"Never said—"

"—and I deserve to learn how to defend it too."

Joel's eyes never left you as he heard your case. His face didn't change much, but at least it wasn't glowering anymore. He made no move to dismiss you or walk back inside even if he'd have enough reason to.

"Just because I had a shit first day doesn't mean I can't still learn, old man." you said. It wasn't a term of endearment. "Just because I'm not shooting bullseyes or killing infected yet doesn't mean I can't try, alright? I— I'm brave and—and—" you took another deep breath, "And you're going to teach me how to shoot."

"Like hell—" he stopped, scoffing again, and then went on, shaking his head: "Kid, you and I—clearly, we ain't jivin', why don't you ask another—"

"No."

Joel clicked his teeth, shifting his weight between his feet behind the wooden balusters.

"No one is as…" you glared up at him, the words searing your tongue before you could force it out, "No one is as good as you. If anyone is gonna teach me, it's you Mr. Miller."

There was a long pause, and Joel set down his mug, the steam wafting in the chilly summer morning. You almost wished you hadn't come, that you could go back to ignoring each other for weeks. What was it to you, what this man thought of you? You knew you looked ridiculous standing here, asking for help. You should be shouting at him, telling him he's mean and grouchy like a dog.

"Christ," he sighed, "you don't give up do ya?"

"Nope."

He pulled in another deep breath, looking up and down the road again for a long moment, before his eyes found you once more. You saw how they roved over your figure, over the muck boots and the white blue floral set, over your tan Carhartt, and then onto your face, where he paused for a moment before saying:

"Well first thing, don't hold the damn gun like that."

You looked down where you were leaning your palm over the muzzle of the shotgun.

"Gonna blow a hole in your palm, then I wouldn't be able to teach ya shit."

Your face burned, but you moved to grip the barrel lower and pulled the gun carefully across your belly, holding it with both hands now, pointed well away from either of you.

He nodded, lifting his mug and taking another sip of coffee, watching you, The slurp of the drink filling his mouth held the silence while the birds began waking up around you.

"You sure you'll be warm enough?" he asked finally.

You nodded.

"Alright. Let me get my shoes and we can hit the trails. Stay put."

You nodded again, and then—

"Joel?"

He turned.

"I um... I promise I won't let you down."

He took one more look at you, the harsh line of his mouth eased, eyes settling in a way you hadn't seen before.

He nodded once, and said: "I know, kid."

The sun was well over the mountain top by the time you made it to the ridge.

He hadn't taken you back to the training ground, whether it was to save you the humiliation of seeing the leftover shards of green glass on the ground, or because he liked the view better by the forgotten ranch, you weren't entirely sure.

It sat a few miles out from Jackson, tucked up where the land opened into a long slope of yellow grass and thin fence posts. One of the old checkpoint places, Joel had told you on the ride over. Not one people used much anymore, not unless they were cutting through on patrol or needed to seek shelter from a storm. There was a little graying house at the top of the rise with peeling paint along the porch rail and a tin roof gone dull from years of snow. Beside it, an old barn leaned slightly into the hill, its red paint worn down to bare wood in places, its door hanging open on a rusted hinge.

You barely registered the bird song that filled the skies as he set up a training course, the beautiful view of the mountainside and your horses grazing in pasture of the barn. Every now and then you saw one lift its head to look at you, ears flickering around, before bending down and resuming its peaceful morning loitering.

Joel was beside you, close enough that you could smell the pine of his body wash and the musk of sweat lining his shirt. He had been mostly quiet on the ride here, but not in the punishing way, you began to realize. Just quiet and focused as his is eyes kept moving over the land, the fence line, the barn, the empty windows of the little ranch house behind you.

“Lean just a little over now,” he said from behind your shoulder as you got into position by the wooden posts. “Use the fence as a brace. Easier when you got something steady under the stock.”

You shifted forward until the gun found the flat part of the top of the wood. The air was still chilly through the sleeves of your sleep set, the fence rough enough to catch on the ribboned cuff of your pant leg when you moved into it. Ahead, he’d pinned a target to the trunk of a tree, three rings and a bullseye in the center.

“First thing,” he said, “you don’t point that barrel anywhere you ain’t willing to put a hole through. Don’t matter if you think the thing's empty. Don’t matter if I told you it’s empty. You treat it like it’s loaded every second it’s in your hands.”

"I know, Joel."

"Repeat it," he said, a little firmer, and the way his breath brushed the side of your neck, it made you shiver. You didn't reaalize he'd gotten so close.

"Treat it like it's loaded." you muttered, leaning over the stock, looking down the line of the barrel.

"Good." he grunted. "Finger stays off the trigger til you're ready, keep both eyes open."

"You sure are bossy." you said under your breath.

"'Scuse me?" he chuckled, "Ain't you the one who dragged me out here at the brink of dawn?"

You rolled your eyes, but bent forward.

“Careful with that,” he said. “Eyes are useful for shootin’. Would hate for 'em to get stuck like that.”

You couldn't help the chuckle you let out—great, so he's got dad jokes too.

“Now stay where you are,” he said. “I’m gonna move the shotgun where it’s supposed to sit. Easier than tryin’ to explain it five different ways, alright?”

You felt your cheeks burn a little, but nodded.

He moved behind you, close enough that the warmth of him settled at your back before he ever touched you. One hand reached around yours, thick fingers closing over the fore end of the shotgun to shift it against the top rail of the fence, enough to settle it steady against the wood. His other hand came to your shoulder, guiding the butt of the stock into place. It was heavy, but bearable thanks to the support of the fence in front of you.

"Want it over your shoulder, not pushin' into the collarbone. S'gonna kick harder than a mule and you'll be hollerin' about bein' sore for days."

You scoffed a bit, but let the stock settle over the crest of your shoulder as he positioned it.

“Now press your cheek right here,” he said, moving his hand from the barrel to tap the side of the stock. You tilted your head, trying to place it right. You nearly gasped when you felt the thick press of his fingers on the other side your neck as he guided you into position without thought. Not rough or impatient, only warm, certain, his callouses catching lightly against your skin. "There ya go."

Your body became suddenly very aware of him from that one touch. The scrape of his jacket against yours as his chest came in closer, the weight of him behind you, the heat of him against your back.

"Stay still, you're squirmin'—"

"—am not—"

You felt the breath of a laugh over your shoulders, and it made your skin rise in gooseflesh. The target was becoming blurrier by the moment.

"Now—"

You held very still as you felt him line his body behind yours, his breath now against your neck, his voice low and gravelly like honey on hot asphalt.

“Think about all that bullshit you been carryin’ around,” he grumbled. “Starin’ daggers at me for weeks. Comin’ up on my porch tellin’ me to shut up, callin’ me old, actin’ like I decided you don’t belong.”

"Joel—" you protested.

"S'okay, didn't take none personal." he said as he stepped up even closer, one hand going to your hip. “Breathe in.”

You sucked in a shallow breath.

He clicked his teeth. “Try again. You know none of that is true, don't ya, darlin'? Let it all go here. Don't belong in that head a'yours.”

You closed your eyes, annoyed and a little embarrassed, and pulled air in deeper this time, taking in the smells of the open Wyoming air. Cold morning. Damp grass. Coffee on his breath. Mint from when he'd been chewing the sprig on the way there. Pine soap. The fence rail rough beneath the gun.

His breath was so warm against your cheek as he murmured: "That's it, now let it out."

You let the breath leave you, nice and long and through your mouth—and with it went the bickering on his porch, the shame of the range, the weeks of him not looking at you, the ugly little voice that kept saying you were useless no matter how many loaves you baked or horses you brushed or shotguns you cleaned.

"Open your eyes now, and squeeze that trigger." he murmured, lips brushing your ear. As he said the word, his hand pressed forward on your hip, long, thick fingers winding around the sensitive skin just under the waistband.

When your eyes opened, the sun felt a little brighter, the day a little clearer. The target sharpened against the tree, the black rings settling in your sight.

Your stomach dipped for one horrifying moment, and then—you squeezed.

The shot cracked across the ridge, echoing off the sides of the mountains. Joel was right—the butt of the gun kicked hard, but you only felt it jostle your body back into his, harder, the force caught by your shoulder instead of biting into your chest.

You gasped, everything happening so fast before you were blinking rapidly and seeing the paper on the tree ripped just left of center.

“Shit—”

“Not bad for a first try.” you heard him say.

"I wanna go again." you said, breathlessly.

“Jackson’s gonna be needin’ their morning bread soon,” Joel chuckled, but he didn’t move. “Tommy’s gonna be wonderin’ where his cinnamon rolls are.”

You smiled wide, the adrenaline of the shot still coursing through you.

As your breath settled, both of you were still leaning over the fence, your body pressed back into the hard line of his. His hand hadn’t moved from your hip. Neither had yours from the shotgun. It would’ve been easy, maybe, to step away. To laugh, to clear your throat, to make some comment about those cinnamon rolls or old men or how if he'd stop being so bossy you could've probably hit the bullseye.

But…you didn't.

You only tilted your gaze over your shoulder.

He was so close—so close you could see almost every gray hair in his thick beard like winter's snowy streaks in a dark sky. You could see every line on his plump bottom lip, the shining spot where his tongue had just passed over it.

"Thank you, Joel." you whispered, "For…"

You trailed off, because Joel wasn't looking in your eyes anymore. They were such a pretty hazel you'd never noticed, and were fixed on your mouth.

"You're welcome." he whispered.

Your lips parted lightly when he tilted his head over your shoulder, and he took that as invitation to lean in.

He was so warm.

Like kindled fire in a cabin, like the first morning of solstice. The prickle of his mustache brushed your nose as he took your lips with his, breathing you in so deeply it made your knees go soft beneath you. You let out a whimper, hands tightening around the barrel and grip of the shotgun, wishing so badly to put them in his hair, all over his broad shoulders and thick muscles.

He seemed to know exactly what you needed, his one hand coming up to take the gun from your hands, placing it quickly but carefully against the fence. He only broke the kiss to turn you fully towards him before his lips were on you again, hungrier and needier as he pushed his body into yours.

His hands were all over you in an instant, planted on your hips and squeezing you harder, making you whine under his touch.

Your tongue traced his bottom lip, teeth nipping, begging wordlessly for entrance, and he gave it so easily. So eagerly. He groaned, opening his mouth for you, letting you lick inside, suckling on his tongue before you nipped again at that nice bottom lip.

His hands were everywhere—under your jacket but above your cotton top, sliding up your waist and back down again, never settling for long. They were so big and broad, squeezing and groping anywhere he could hold.

Yours wound around his neck so you could drag him closer, breasts pushed to his chest, the layers between you suddenly unbearable. His jacket. Your sleep shirt. His flannel. It was too much fabric—too much of everything that wasn’t his fevered skin against yours.

How could you ever have thought he was such an asshole? This grumpy old man— this stubborn, bossy, impossible man, was just as needy as you. Maybe worse. All that silence, that staring. Those weeks of pretending he didn’t see you across bakery counters and barn aisles and muddy streets. He needed this as much as you did, someone to set him straight, yes, but also… to tell him he was needed and good, too.

You moaned when his hands traveled lower, both palms filling with the round flesh of your bum, dragging you up against him. One hand pulled up beneath your thigh so your leg was over his hip, opening you enough for him to grind the hard denim of his cock against you.

“Oh shit—” you gasped as your back got pushed into the rails of the fence.

He was thick. You could feel it even through his jeans, through the stiff seam and the metal of his zipper, the heavy shape of his length ground into the cradle of your legs perfectly.

Joel’s mouth left yours with a wet sound and moved to your jaw, then your chin, then the side of your throat. His beard scraped at your skin, his mustache rough beneath your ear.

“S’alright, darlin’,” he murmured, rocking into you again, slower this time, meaner for how much control he had over it. “Just needed someone to show you how it’s done, didn’t ya?”

Your nails bit into the back of his neck.

“Joel—”

“Been fightin’ me all mornin’,” he said, his mouth dragging lower, teeth grazing where your pulse beat too fast. “All damn month, really.”

You couldn’t even argue. Not with his hips pressed just right and his hand gripping your thigh harder, holding you open against the fence.

“S’okay,” he said, voice rough against your throat, tongue laving over your carotid. “I’ll show you how to take me just as good, yeah?”

“Oh, yes,” you breathed, already nodding. “Yes, please, Joel.”

"What good manners you have, baby," he cooed.

Luckily he couldn't see the way your eyes rolled at that, but your mouth fell open as he bit down on the tender flesh of your shoulder.

"Oh!"

He growled, pleased, the sound vibrating up from his rib cage and against your skin before he push his cock into you harder than before. The fence post pressed into your back, a little painful through your jacket, his hands holding you tightly between it and himself.

“Tell me,” he groaned. “How long?”

"How long what, old man?" you tried to clipped retort, but it came out more like a whimper as his hands pulled you closer, dragging your cotton-covered seam over him harder. You had one hand thrown back over the fence rail to keep your balance, the other fisted tightly in his hair. Your head fell forward to watch where his lap met yours, thin floral pajama pants bunched tight where his stiff denim pressed into them over and over, the friction making your thighs tremble around his hips.

"How long has this sweet little pussy been wet —since we got up here, hm?"

"Fuck you," you moaned, which only made him laugh.

His head came up to look you straight in the eye, one hand going to the side of your face, thumb against your cheekbone, the wide breadth of his palm covering your cheek. His fingers dug lightly into the side of your neck as he forced your gaze back up to him. It was shockingly sweet for how menacing his smile was.

“Your little act doesn’t work on me, sugar,” he murmured, staring at your lips. “C’mon now. Tell me.”

You glared up at him, though it was a weak thing with your chest heaving and your leg hooked around his waist. "You're such an asshole."

He bent down to nip at your nose, "'fraid I think you might like that most about me."

The both of you were very still now, though you'd brought both of your ankles up to lock at his lower back, fully relying on him for balance. Your chest heaved with fresh lungfuls of air, finally catching up to what had felt lost and shallow before.

"And what about you?" you asked, tipping your chin up. "You really hate me as much as you act like you do?"

“Could never hate’cha,” he murmured, leaning down again, his voice lower now, almost too soft for the way he was still holding you against the fence. “Only thing I hate is how fuckin’ bad you make me want you.”

You blinked up at him.

"Is it really that much of a surprise, baby?" he added when he saw your expression.

"I mean—you—"

He was beginning to kiss you again, your flustered state seemingly invitation enough to resume his affection, gentler this time. He kissed your mouth softly, then the corner where the seam of your lips met, then up your cheek and over your brow.

"—you said we don't get along, that I should find someone else to teach me—that, that you had no use for me—"

Joel pulled back one more time, looking down at you. The hand that had been hooked under your knee came up to your face too, until he was holding your head between both hands, palms rough against your cheeks, fingers cupping the bowl of your skull.

His eyes moved over your face, and for once, there was no glower there. No hard set to his mouth. Just Joel, looking at you like the words had been sitting badly in his chest too.

"Should'a never said that, I know. I'm sorry. I was an asshole up at the trainin' range that mornin'."

"Yeah, you were." you pouted.

“Only said them things on the porch ’cause I know I shouldn’t want’cha like I do.” He shook his head, jaw tight, the confession seemingly costing him something. “Can’t fuckin’ help it though, baby. I can’t.”

“Then don’t,” you whispered.

"You're too young—" he whispered, "—too sweet for me. You're right, I'm old, I'm mean as a dog…"

Your delicate fingers wrapped around his thick wrists, holding him there, keeping his hands on your face.

“Truth?” you offered.

He nodded quietly.

Out there, you could just hear the breeze over the open fields around you. The soft nickering of the horses grazes, the birdsong of the woods beyond. It was awfully quiet where just you and Joel stood pinned against the old fenceline.

"I've wanted you for so, so long." you murmured.

His eyes flickered between yours, narrowing, almost disbelieving. Your grip on his wrists tightened.

"I have. And…and… I've been wet since we got here. Thinking about this—being all alone with you and—even if I can't fucking stand you glowering at me like that—"

He pushed his lips into yours again, but this time, it wasn't only the flame of hunger and eagerness, but the gentleness of tender affection.

“C’mere,” he whispered into your lips, hands sliding down your sides.

His hands were back on your body, pulling you closer, slipping under your jacket once more before finally reaching under your cotton night shirt. You could feel just how rough-hewn his fingertips were, how calloused and worn they were against the tender flesh of your body. But they felt so right, like this was where they belonged all along.

“You’re so soft, baby. Wanna feel how soft you are under these.” His fingers hooked lightly at the waistband of your cotton pants. “Take ’em off for me.”

You listened, of course you listened. He let your wobbly legs down gently from his hips, one hand staying firm at your waist until your boots found the grass again. Your knees felt useless beneath you, weak from the heat of him, from the way his voice had gone low and syrupy thick against your mouth. You reached for the ribboned hem of your sleep pants with clumsy fingers, and Joel watched you like he was trying very hard to stay patient.

The cotton slid down your thighs, catching for a second at your knees before you stepped out of them and your boots. Morning air touched your bare skin at once, cool enough to make you suck in a breath.

You started to pull your coat off too, but Joel caught the front of it in one fist and held it closed around you.

“You’re gonna get cold, baby,” he murmured, bringing you back into his arms to kiss you on the lips once more. “Keep it on.”

He was soon bending, kissing your chin, the soft skin of your throat, down your top and lifting it just enough to lick into your navel, making you giggle and squirm. He threw you a knowing look when you bit back a laugh at the crack of his knees, and you nearly opened your mouth to say something rude before his lips found your skin again.

He kissed lower, down the soft slope of your belly, until his mouth was pressed just above your mound where your panties still covered you. Stupid sleep underwear, you chastised yourself, suddenly annoyed you hadn’t thought this far ahead. But Joel didn't seem to care. He kissed the little bow at the waistband, something slipping from his mouth that sounded awfully like 'how cute'.

Your breath caught in the crisp morning air when his tongue dipped out over your cotton panties, right where your clit pulsed beneath. He let out a low hum of satisfaction, one thick finger coming up to pull the cotton aside.

“Why don’t you spread these pretty legs for me, hm?” His eyes flicked up to yours. “Or do I need to teach ya how to do that too?”

You scoffed, still in your head enough to want to bite back a curse at him, but he was already moving your leg for you, pushing your knee toward the fenceline until your boot found footing on the bottom rail. His eyes never left the damp spot darkening your panties.

As he pulled the cotton aside fully, he sighed, face tilting a little as he looked.

“You’re staring,” you murmured, nervousness fluttering in your belly.

His eyes glanced up at you, and your heart ricocheted into your throat. You felt bare. Exposed. Ready for him to turn cold again, to go back to that surly look and stone quiet like he’d only just remembered himself.

Instead, his thumb stroked once along your thigh.

“S’just so pretty,” he murmured. “Tryin’ to take my time, is all.”

Your mouth opened in another quick gasp as his lips pressed onto the swollen bud of your clit. You felt his tongue dip out lazily, curled like a basin for collecting the arousal that had pooled for him. He licked up and up and up, before suckling on your sensitive bud again. He moaned with you when your head fell back, your fingers digging harder into the fenceline where you held yourself up.

"That's it, that's it," he cooed when he pulled away to blow gentle air against your pussy. "What a good girl you are, just want a little taste before I put my cock in ya."

Oh god, the old man really had a filthy mouth.

He was diving back in again, now with a finger to prod at your entrance. Your knees suddenly felt wobbly, hardly able to keep you standing.

He licked and sucked at your pussy like he’d been waiting for it, messy and hungry now, no patience left in him. His finger pushed inside, thick enough to make you gasp, your walls clenching down around it as he groaned into you.

"Ohhhh…" you chorused together.

"Fuck, you're tight," he breathed.

"Oh god, Joel." you said at the same time.

"I know, I know," he cooed again. His voice had gone dark and syrup-thick, coated in arousal, every word dragged rough from the back of his throat.

“Just gotta open ’er up,” he murmured, kissing the inside of your thigh before looking back at where his finger disappeared inside you. “Ain’t no way my cock’s fittin’ in here before I get you ready.”

“It will,” you chanted, hips undulating up into his mouth. “It will, it will—”

He moaned at your eagerness, crooking his finger before pulling it out to the first knuckles, and inserting a second finger. You gasped, stretched over his thick digits, the ache of it full and perfect and worse because he looked so pleased with himself. Because he knew exactly where to press, where to push, how to lave his tongue over your clit until your body was singing his praise.

“Fuck, baby,” he breathed, watching your face as his fingers worked deeper. “There you go. There you go.”

Your head tipped back against the fence post, wood catching at your hair.

“She gonna squeeze my cock this tight too, huh?” he murmured, mouth brushing slick over your clit. “She likes my fingers in ’er.”

"Yes, yes, yes," you whispered, your eyes hooded but forcing yourself to watch him. Your other hand carded into his thick graying hair at the crown of his head, nails scraping through, and he made a rough, pleased sound into you. Almost a purr. Almost a growl. His eyes fluttered for half a second before he looked back up at you, mouth wet, beard shining, fingers still buried inside you.

"M'so close, Joel, so so close, pleeeaseee…"

"There's those sweet manners again, baby. Why don't you go ahead and beg me some more? Maybe I'll let you come right now, and then I'll make you come again around my cock. Huh? Sound good? Let me hear your pretty little begging again, baby, go on now."

He said it all while panting, tilting his head up so his eyes could watch you. You put on your best pout, bottom lip sticking out so he could see how much you really really wanted it.

"Pleeeeease, Joel, please—" you mewled, "your fingers feel so good, so thick, please let me come. I'll be good, I'll be good."

"Good girl," he murmured, breath hot against you, "go on, let me feel her soak me. Come, baby,"

It felt like your belly had been waiting for the words. The overwhelming build finally tipped, the wave cresting hard before crashing through you all at once. Your body went molten as you locked up around his fingers, pleasure coursing through your veins in hot, licking bursts. Your eyes squeezed shut, your mouth falling open around a low, obscene moan you had no control over.

Joel rocked you through it, fingers pushing in and out, fucking you with them while his tongue pressed gently at your overstimulated clit until you were twitching and pulling away from his mouth.

When he pulled his fingers from your walls, you nearly fell to the ground, your legs unable to hold you up. Joel caught you before you could drop, hands firm beneath your thighs as he lifted you fully against him, both your legs winding around his waist now. Lazily, sleepily, you watched him shrug out of his coat and throw it down over the grass. Your eyes were still too heavy to take all of him in properly, so your hands did it instead—big shoulders, broad chest, thick arms built from hard work and long hours.

Just as much a part of Jackson as you were. Maybe more.

He could do everything. It made you a little sick with envy, even now, even with your body still humming from his mouth and his fingers.

Joel saw your face change, but he was busy lowering you onto his coat, easing you down into the grass instead of keeping you pinned against the fence.

“What is it, baby?” he whispered, one hand cradling the back of your head as he settled over you. “What’s in that pretty little head of yours?”

He was half watching you, half working open his jeans until his cock was freed from the denim, heavy as it bobbed, flushed red and bobbing thick between you as he leaned closer.

You licked your lips, reaching for him, but Joel caught you by the wrist before your fingers could wrap around him. You gasped in surprise, but he only brought your hand to his mouth, kissing each pad of your fingers one by one.

“Don’t think I’ll last too long if you start that,” he murmured. “Tell me what’s goin’ on.”

You shook your head. “Nothing. You’re just…you’re so…”

You sighed dreamily, distracted by the feeling of his swollen, wet lips against the tips of your fingers.

“Old?” he offered. “Cranky? Rude?”

Your mouth twitched. “Yes, and…”

He laughed a little, but you went on anyway.

“I was just thinking about how perfect you are.”

Now he really smiled wide, shaking his head before nipping at your index finger. "Think you've got the wrong man, baby," he groaned a little, and then leaned over you.

You shook your head again, winding your arms around his neck, one hand cupping the nape of his hair while your nails scraped lightly along his scalp.

“Don’t think so.”

He hummed, kissing you again, and began to roll his hips against you so his cock slid up your belly, heavy and hot against your skin. The kiss deepened, lips slotting together, wet and tender, tongues sliding slow as your hands tightened in his hair and his weight settled over you.

“I don’t know if you’re gonna fit,” you whispered when he pulled his hips back too far and the head of his cock slipped up through the seam of your pussy.

He licked his lips, looking down at you. “Told ya I’d teach ya, didn’t I?”

You smiled, nodding. “M’nervous.”

“Don’t gotta be. I got ya, baby.” His thumb brushed along your hairline. “We’ll start nice and slow.”

He did as he said, sitting back a little just so he could grasp his cock in one hand, the other still cradling your head, petting your hair where it had fallen across his jacket. The head of him notched at your entrance, wet with arousal and spit, but the difference between two fingers and his cock suddenly felt impossible.

“Easy now,” he whispered, kissing your lips. “Take a breath for me, honey.”

You did as he said, for once without some retort, and pulled in a deep breath.

What started as control quickly turned into a gasp as he pushed inside.

“Oh fuck!” you squealed, clawing at his shoulders over his shirt.

He chuckled, and you wanted to slap him.

“Come on now, honey,” he murmured, kissing the corner of your open mouth. “You’re all tensin’ up. Curl your toes. Deep breaths. C’mere, gimme a kiss.”

Your toes curled automatically, did your best to pull in another breath, and he leaned down to kiss you earnestly, swallowing the next rough sound that left you as he pushed in another inch.

His tongue licked behind your teeth. His chest pressed yours down into the coat. The weight of him made the ground feel farther away somehow, the grass cool beneath your hips, his jacket bunched soft and worn under your shoulders.

“Oh yeah,” he breathed against your mouth, rougher now. “Ain’t that so good, baby? How’s that feel?”

Your head fell back onto the collar of his jacket. “Soooo…full. Fuck.”

“Almost all of it,” he murmured, jaw tight. “Just a little more. Pussy feels amazing, baby. S’like heaven.”

Your eyes squeezed shut as he pulled back a little, your mouth opening in a small, helpless shape when the drag of him caught every tender place he’d opened with his fingers.

“Yeah,” he sighed, watching your face. “There you go. She’s warmin’ up to me now.”

One of his hands slid from your hair to your throat, resting just beneath your jaw, not squeezing, only holding you there while his thumb brushed the jumping line of your pulse. "think she's even startin' to like me."

“You’re so corny,” you groaned, but your chastising cut off when he slid his cock in all the way, his heavy balls pressing against your ass at last.

“Oh—” you choked. “Oh, oh oh.”

Joel nodded like he felt it too, like he needed the confirmation just as badly as you did. Then he kissed you again, and you let him, loose and dazed beneath him, tongue sweeping out to taste his. You could still taste yourself there, musky and sweet on his mouth, and it made your walls contract around him.

Your body was starting to understand him now. The first sharp stretch softened into heat, your muscles loosening by degrees, letting him settle deeper until the fullness became less frightening and more necessary.

“Fuck,” he breathed, forehead pressing to yours. “You okay? How’re you feelin’, baby?”

“So good, Joel,” you whispered, fingers flexing in the fabric at his shoulders. “So good. Please, please fuck me.”

He groaned, ducking his face into your neck. “Gonna give it to you good, baby.”

He started slowly. Though, you weren't sure if he was exactly gentle. He was so big and there was too much of him for anything to feel really gentle. But he was careful, controlled in the sawing of his hips that pulled halfway out, and then pressing back in. Each stroke was concise, your fingers digging harder into his shirt, each little hiccup of air pressed from you.

His coat dragged beneath your back, the grass brushing cold against your bare thighs. Your sleep top had ridden up beneath your own jacket, leaving your stomach exposed to the morning air, but Joel was warm over you, broad and heavy and panting against your throat. Every time he pushed in, your body shifted against his, the ground catching you, the earth taking what the fence no longer had to.

The open air of the field collected your simpering sighs and loud, mewling moans, the day warming around you so that you saw sweat beginning to dapple his forehead when he brought his head up to look at you.

“So pretty, baby,” he breathed. “Such a pretty girl takin’ cock so well.”

You cried out when he changed the rhythm, picking up speed.

“I know, I know,” he moaned, his voice catching rough in his throat. “God, you feel so good, baby. Pussy feels like it was made for me, huh?”

“Yes, Joel, yes—ohhh, yes, yes, yes.”

“She’s tightenin’ up on me again,” he panted, eyes dragging over your face. “Gonna come for me already? What a good girl you are. C’mon, I wanna feel it around my cock.”

Your eyes widened when Joel’s hand slid down your body again, over your thigh, hooking it higher until your leg was thrown up over his shoulder. Your body folded beneath him, his cock reaching deeper as he leaned down into you.

“Fuck!” you squealed, holding tightly onto his hair.

He looked down at you with a little pout, a mock-sympathetic expression pulling at his mouth.

“Doin’ so good,” he murmured. “Takin’ my cock like such a good girl, baby. Come on now, let me feel her again. She feels like fuckin’ heaven.”

“Jooooel,” you whined.

But that crest of a wave was swelling worse now, higher, blood coursing hot through the river of your veins, sparking as it flooded your belly. Your hips tightened. Your muscles locked. Your whole body seemed to pull toward him, toward that hard, dragging stroke, toward the pressure building so tight you could hardly breathe around it.

“Oh god,” you gasped. “Oh god.”

“Make your old man happy, baby,” he panted, hips snapping harder now. “Come on my cock. Know you wanna. Know your pussy loves it.”

“Shut up,” you cried. “Shut up, shut up.”

He grabbed your face again, mock pout gone, teeth bared with the strain of holding himself together.

“Where are those sweet manners you had not too long ago?”

You squealed as he built up a faster rhythm. His hand hooked around your neck, pulling you up just enough to make you look down between your bodies, where his cock was splitting you open over and over.

“You see that, baby?” he groaned. “She’s milkin’ me. Beggin’ me to let her come, ain’t she? Look how good she’s takin’ me.”

“So good,” you murmured between moans.

It was true. His cock was covered with your thick arousal and come, pearly white and glistening around the shaft every time he pulled out, only to swing his hips back into you again.

“So why don’t you use those good manners and ask me?” he rasped. “Hm? Too proud already? Or are you too cock drunk?”

You pushed weakly against him, and he let you lay back down fully, following you down to kiss you. His mouth was wet, his breath uneven, his body still working yours into the coat beneath you.

“Gonna make me beg for it now, sweetheart?” he asked against your lips. “That it?”

You shook your head, too far gone to answer properly.

“I ain’t above beggin’,” he chuckled, though the sound broke wetly into a groan when you clenched around him again. “Wanna feel it so badly.”

He reached down between you, his thumb finding your swollen clit and strumming it with the perfect pressure.

Your eyes popped open, you didn’t even have time to beg. To ask. To tell him.

Your body locked up all at once, eyes squeezing shut as the pleasure burst bright and black behind your lids. It tore through you in waves, hips jerking beneath him, thighs shaking where he had you folded open. Your mouth fell wide around a sound you barely recognized as yours.

Somewhere outside the buzzing of your orgasm, outside your own moans and the pulse pounding in your ears, you heard Joel groaning louder.

“That’s it,” he gritted against your cheek. “Fuck, that’s it, baby. Give it to me. Good girl. Good fuckin’ girl.”

His thrusts started to lose their rhythm, turning deeper, rougher, his hips driving into you with less control each time. His hand tightened at your jaw, his forehead pressing hot to yours mouth open against yours, and then he pushed into you one last time, burying himself as deep as he could go.

Joel groaned your name like it had been dragged from somewhere low in his chest, and then he filled you, cock pulsing inside you as his body went heavy over yours, his breath breaking against your mouth.

For a moment, neither of you moved. There was only breath.

Yours, thin, uneven, still catching in your dry throat when you tried to swallow. He felt heavy over you, his breath thick against your cheek. His weight felt good, like a blanket, though your legs had begun to cramp until he let your leg down.

The open summer morning moved on around you. It all came back to your ears eventually, the cricking of the open barn door, the horses in the pasture and the birds singing from far away. The field smelled like fresh grass and weeds and sunshine, Joel's coffee still faint on his breath.

You hummed against him as he kissed the crook of your neck, his mustache and beard prickly against you. He feathered his lips up your throat until they were over your own lips, which you pressed gently against his. He pulled back, just looking at you. And you did the same. You brought your hand up to his face slowly, tracing the line of his brow, down his sharp nose and over the bow of his top lip.

"You are so perfect." you said dreamily.

He breathed a little laugh through his nose, a crooked, disbelieving smile pulling his lips. A shyness you weren't sure you'd ever seen.

The heat between you had started to cool. Your skin prickled beneath your open jacket, the air finding every place his body didn’t cover. You shivered, and Joel noticed at once.

“Chilly?”

“Only a little.”

He sighed, like he hated that he had to move, then leaned down to press one more long, lingering kiss to your lips before sitting back.

You made a small sound when he pulled out of you, your body too sensitive for even that. Joel’s eyes dropped between you, his jaw tightening for a second at the sight of himself slipping free, slick and spent against your thigh.

"Poor baby," he said, his thumb reaching out to slide up your wet and abused folds. You whined at the touch, and he pouted down at you.

"Easy, easy, I know. Gonna take care of her when we get home."

He sat back on his heels and tucked himself away first, hands slower now, less steady than they’d been when he’d taken the rifle from you. Then he reached for your sleep pants where they’d been left in the grass, shook them once to knock off the loose dirt, and turned back to you.

You blinked up at him, limp and boneless, still spread over his coat.

Joel looked down at you for a second, one brow lifting. “Don’t make me do all the work now, baby.”

You smiled sleepily. “You seemed to like doing all the work a minute ago.”

His mouth pressed into a line, but it didn’t hide the amusement in his eyes. “Smart mouth,” he muttered.

Still, his hands were gentle when he guided one foot through the pant leg, then the other. He pulled the cotton up your calves carefully, pausing when the fabric caught at your knee, easing it loose before working it higher. You lifted your hips only when he tapped them, and even then, barely.

“There ya go,” he murmured, drawing the waistband back into place beneath your rumpled top. He helped you sit up slowly in his lap, one hand braced behind your back, the other fixing the front of your coat around you. His knuckles brushed your stomach as he straightened your shirt, then pulled the jacket closed enough to keep the morning air off your skin.

You stayed like that for a moment, hiked up over his thighs, and he let your limbs fold around him again, hands back into his messy hair.

"I meant it—you—" you began, then licked your lips, staring up into his pretty hazel eyes again, "you're good, Joel. You're perfect."

He opened his mouth to protest, but sighed instead.

"Thank you for bringing me out here," you went on, "I'm sorry if I was mean earlier."

He smiled crookedly, "I was too."

You shook your head, "You had reasons to be."

He leaned down and pressed a soft, chaste kiss to your lips, "Bakery is gonna be wonderin' where you are, we better get back."

You held on tight even when he began to move, and a little mischevious smile twitched your mouth.

"What?" he asked, smile growing.

"One more shot?"

Hazbin men x f!reader

Characters : lucifer, vox, alastor

Warnings : mentions of val. Swearing i guess? I think this is actually one of my more tame posts but if you guys find anything i need to put in the warnings let me know in the comments :)

A/n : it was very difficult to characterise Alastor's part i'll be honest so I hope i did my guy justice. I'm deffo gonna start writing for human vox and alastor soon, because Alastor was so fine when he was alive bro. Also is anyone getting tired of just working constantly? Feels like i have had zero time to myself lately, shit sucks. My only interactions with people have been with coworkers and I hate all of their guts like bro let me have time to hang out with my actual friends type shift 🙏

▢ vox ᯤ

This man acts like he's above having a crush on you but the second you walk into his office he turns into 10% flustered glitching, 40% panic that he hides beneath jokes, and 50% smug peacocking.

His screen brightness auto-adjusts whenever you compliment him, the blue more vibrant. Like you literally light this man up

Competitive flirting!!! If you're chaotic, he's more chaotic. If you're witty, he's faster. If you lean in close, he presses his screen so close to your face you can feel the heat radiating off of it. Sometimes he'll slip up and he'll short-circuit, but he pretends it's just a glitch claiming smoothly - "that was intentional, sweetheart. Artistic effect, y'know?"

His love languages : Gift-giving + physical affection. He leaves tech gifts on your desk every morning - WON'T admit they're gifts, though - "They're not gifts you idiot. They're corporate perks. Completely professional."

Like Alastor once pointed out bluntly, Vox almost always is touching your shoulders. It's usual a weird power-play thing with others but with you? It's complete affection.

He'll come up behind you when you're working, shoulders immediately captured by his claws as he talks you through the email he had sent you. When yapping, he's absentmindedly just start massaging your shoulders. Like bro is not subtle with his feelings at all.

Adjusts your tie, picks off fluff or lint from your blazer, and guides you by the waist.

Talks shit about everyone else around you. This man is a fucking gossip gremlin. Loves that you match his energy as well -

"Im so goddamn sick of Katie's weird fuckin' flirting but she's one of my best news anchors so I can't do shit about it."

"She's literally drenched in perfume everytime she comes in here, Vox. Like - she'll walk passed my desk in the morning and it will fucking linger until the end of my shift. I work for 12 hours."

"Oh shit I'll install an air-freshener in your desk, sweetheart. that sounds like torture."

Pretends he doesnt crave your approval but starts malfunctioning when your praise him.

"Is that a new suit? You look hot."

The background of his face literally turns into hearts and he's quick to throw his arms across his face to hide it," Fuck - ignore that."

The most pettiest jealous man in hell. If one of the other Vees mentions you too fondly, he malfunctions.

Velvette : " I need Y/n to model for me-"

Vox : " WHY. YOU HAVE YOUR OWN STAFF FUCK OFF."

If Valentino flirts with you? Vox actually becomes visibly angry. He knows the nature with why Valentino flirts, so he'll always sweet talk the moth into shutting his trap and walking his ass away.

He purposefully calls you into his office to watch him do something impressive, always seeks your approval for the littlest things. Your approval was important to him.

"Look, sweetheart, I upgraded our entire network firewall in 10 seconds. I'm literally the shit."

"Sir, you could have just emailed thi-"

"Nope. I needed you as a witness. Now tell me that I'm the shit."

"... You're the shit."

"I fucking know, right?"

Will play music from his speakers when you walk into his office, or play soundbites of an audience clapping and cheering. He claims it's meant to "empower" you as a woman.

Becomes weirdly soft when he sees that you're visibly tired or stressed. One time you fell asleep at your desk and he stops his typing to just admire you for a moment, definitely not taking a photo from the webcam of his screen of your sleeping face, and then takes off his blazer to wrap around your shoulders. You wake up surrounded in the smell of his expensive cologne and him sitting at his desk, casually greeting you with a - "finally awake, sleeping beauty?" Isn't mad in the slightest.

He loves making you laugh. He tries so fucking hard. Not even subtle. When you laugh at something he says, he stands taller, voice drops and his screen brightens - he's basically preening. Then he promptly brags about making you laugh.

"Did you hear that, Val? She laughed at MY bit. MY comedic timing. Don't fucking talk to me like I'm not funny as shit."

"Ay, dios mío..."

▢ alastor ⌖

He does NOT fall easily. So the first flicker of interest towards you genuinely just irritates him more than anything. Why is it that you catch his attention more than the chaos of the hotel? It makes no sense to him.

He tries to observe you from afar like you're an oddly fascinating wildlife specimen. He's not sneaky about it in the slightest - he stares unabashedly and smiles sharpy like he's plotting your death, which, to be clear, he isn't.

Probably.

He likes to be a witness to your hobbies and routines. He enjoys knowing things that he's not supposed to know.

"Oh, you're having mint tea today? I thought your favourite was jasmine. Curious."

"Are you stalking me??"

His love languages : Words of affirmations + acts of service. He compliments you in old-fashioned, theatrical ways that make everyone else in the room uncomfortable, but you? You fire right back.

"My, my, you're looking positively radiant today, cher!"

"And you're looking like a man who rehearsed that line in the mirror."

"... Perhaps I did."

He likes when you challenge his compliments, or make him work harder to get a reaction. Like bro is delighted when you straight up reject his compliments.

He "coincidentally" handles tasks and chores before you get to them. Dishes? Done. A stuck window he saw you struggling with earlier? Fixed. A resident being too flirty and touchy with you? Silenced.

This guy loves making your life easier. When you notice what he's doing, he merely laughs like he's been caught in the middle of a murder he's proud of - "whatever do you mean, my dear? I only wish for your days to be smooth and your spirit unburdened!"

He'll engage in chores he normally finds beneath him just to hear you say," Wow... thanks, Al."

That single phrase could power him for a week.

Teasing is his favourite form of flirting. He loves someone who not only receives his taunt but also throws the knife back.

"You keep hovering around me, dear. Are you smitten?"

"Don't flatter yourself. The only thing I'm smitten with is cold hard cash."

"Ah! A fair point!"

He pushes your buttons deliberately, trying to see how far he can go before you snap or blush. But loves it when you land a good hit on him with your words, his cold dead heart would be thumping away like the wings of a butterfly if it could. It makes him lean in, grin sharp, voice dropping just for you - "Hmm... aren't you deliciously bold today."

You fluster him rarely. He flusters you constantly. It becomes his daily enrichment activity. He literally keeps mental score :

If you blush? +10 points.

If you stumble over your words? +50 points.

If you glare at him, trying to fight back a smile? He's just won at that point.

▢ lucifer 𖤐

He falls hard and embarassingly fast for you. One day you're organising his paperwork, the next he's privately composing sonnets about the way you handed him a pen.

He sticks his tongue out in concentration as he's writing in a sparkly diary - "Her grace... her poise... the divine elegance with which she passed me that pen.... I need her. Carnally."

He's the king of hell, and yet one (1) compliment from you and he crumbles like wet paper.

"Nice job today, Lu."

"Oh uh- thanks! You too!" He's internally imagining how he's going to propose to you and where you should go to for your honeymoon.

This man is PAINFULLY transparent. Bro isnt even trying to hide his crush. He gets all twitchy when you enter a room and he absentmindedly tap a love song on the handle of his cane. He glows around you, smile permanently etched onto his face.

His love languages : Physical affection + gift-giving. He finds excuses to be near you at all times. Standing too close? Absolutely. Touching your elbow to guide you? Constantly. Accidentally brushing your hand? Commonly.

He loves hugging you. LOVES. Oh, you're in a professional setting? Doesn't matter to him, he always requires a hug after such a tough and tiring meeting.

"Y/n, I require emotional refueling. Talking to Michael for a full hour has bummed me the fuck out."

His gifts are either wildly over the top or painfully sentimental. No in-between.

A diamond-encrusted pin of your favourite TV show character.

A hand-sketched portrait he stayed up all night drawing because he thought you looked particularly lovely that day.

A personalised planner that he's left little notes on every page for you.

He just loves seeing your face light up when he hands you something. He gives your little daily offerings. Fresh tea. A bouquet. A single shing trinket. Manifesting fireworks for you when you finish a task because you called them pretty one time.

"Just a token of appreciation for my radiant, brilliant assisstant keeping my kingdom from falling apart, y'know, no biggie."

He is shamelessly dramatic about how much he adores you. This man yearns like it's a full time job, one that he is fully committed to.

Stares longingly when you're focused on something else. Sighs wistfully when you leave the room.

Sometimes he'll drop the dramatics and lean in close, his voice silky sweet - " take a brake from work, yeah? I want your full attention."

Leaves you flustered from the random and sudden smooth flirting.

toji towers over you the same as always—broad shoulders blocking out half the sky, scarred forearms bracketing you like a fortress. at six months pregnant, you still feel small against him, just the way you did the first time he lifted you clean off your feet in a moonlit alley and carried you toward freedom.

toji huffs a laugh and the sound vibrates through you. “trouble’s already here. married it. gave it my last name and everythin’.”

you reach up and thread your fingers through the dark hair at his nape. he lets it grow longer out here. no more sharp cuts, just soft black strands that curl against his collar when he forgets to tie them back.

you tug lightly, “you’re the one who keeps checking the ridge line every sunset like you expect a posse.”

“old habits,” toji shrugs. one massive hand slides forward, covering yours where it rests on your stomach. his palm swallows both your hand and part of the curve of your belly, “new ones too.”

the baby rolls under the pressure, a slow, lazy somersault that makes you suck in a breath. toji goes still.

“again?” he murmurs.

you nod, “she likes your voice.”

toji lets out a low disbelieving sound. like he still can’t quite believe anything this soft belongs to him. slowly and carefully, he turns you in his arms until you face him. even on the raised porch you have to tip your head way back to meet his green eyes. those eyes that still carry that dangerous glint when he looks at the rest of the world—but never at you.

not anymore.

toji sinks to one knee without warning, bringing his face level with your stomach. one scarred hand splays wide over the swell, thumb brushing back and forth like he’s petting something wild and precious.

“hey, little terror,” he says, deep voice pitched softer than you’ve ever heard it in the old days, “you plannin’ to keep kickin’ yer mama all night, or ye gonna let her sleep?”

another kick—harder this time. right against his palm.

toji’s mouth curves, slow and crooked. “yeah. that’s what i figured.”

he leans in and presses his lips to the taut skin just above your navel through the thin cotton of your dress. a kiss so gentle it barely stirs the fabric. then another. and another. like he’s counting blessings he still doesn’t think he deserves.

you comb your fingers through his hair again, holding him there, “you’re gonna spoil her rotten before she’s even born.”

“damn right.” he doesn’t look up, just rests his forehead against you, eyes closing. “gotta make up for all the years i spent bein’ the worst kind of man.”

the wind moves through the cottonwoods, carrying the scent of dry grass and distant rain. somewhere in the pasture one of the horses nickers. ordinary sounds. safe sounds. so unlike the ones you’ve been used to hearing ever since a year ago.

you bend as far as your changing center allows and kiss the top of his head. a small gesture back.

“you’re not that man anymore,” you whisper.

toji exhales. when he finally stands he pulls you against him—careful, always careful now—chin resting on your crown.

“maybe not,” he murmurs, the words vibrating against your scalp. “but i’ve got enough scars and enough stubborn left to make damn sure nothin’ ever touches either of ya. and enough sense now to know that’s all i want.”

you tilt your face up. your cheek slides against the worn flannel of his shirt until you can press a soft kiss to the underside of his jaw.

“awww, my big, scary rancher,” you giggle, letting the tease curl warm between you.

toji lets out a rough chuckle, amused at the way you always know just what to say to tease him, “mhm. scary’s still on the table if anyone comes lookin’.”

his free hand drifts down, palm flattening over the curve of your belly again. his thumb sweeps in lazy, protective arcs. the baby answers with a quick flutter, like she’s agreeing.

toji’s low voice drops even quieter, “you two are the only soft thing i’ve ever been allowed to keep. ain’t lettin’ the world or anyone take that away.”

you slip both arms around his waist as far as they’ll go and squeeze, “then keep holding on tight. we’re not going anywhere.”