Renee: Masochist/Sub/Brat/ Switch! 👅

He ended up taking you, kissing you and going down your neck.

Desperation hits you both that much and you don't even make it to the room: the sofa is more than enough for you.

He's attentive, patient, listens to how you feel and how you react to give you exactly what you're asking him for.

He's also a bit possessive, he can't control himself. You don't regret it, tho.

You definitely forgot how sex with Chris was, but definitely forgetting everything is totally worth it.

You can't stop moaning and can't even control yourself, surprising you since you weren't like that the very last times you had sex with Chris.

That definitely wasn't the only time you had sex. You didn't stop since then.

You both got the private rule of being friends with benefits secretly. It's a private and unspoken rule that stays between you two.

Sometimes, aftercare is great, with both of you lying together and worrying about the other, and even chatting a bit and then going for a second, and even third round. Other times, it's just one of you two quickly putting up with an excuse to leave.

The hardest parts for you isn't sex, but getting attached to each other again. Thinking about you both really being married and not divorced, as you definitely are.

Sex leads to Chris and you getting closer, specially him.

No matter that secret rule or what type of relationship you both have, sex becomes your best kept secret.

Chris finally gets open with you and shares his sexual fantasies with you. As you're deep down for that man, you obviously help him making them all true, always respecting each other's boundaries.

Your favorite ones? Definitely blindfolds, biting, handcuffs, roleplaying, submission, and sex board games.

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Unbearably gentle during aftercare. Just after sex would Leon's hardened mask cracks, and beneath it you get the softer, vulnerable man beneath. He'll always make sure to clean up, grab you water, rub your back until you’re settled. He would ground himself in your warmth and grounding you in his embrace by holding you close. If he's hella exhausted, Leon will nuzzle into your neck, murmuring almost weakly “you okay?”, checks until he’s sure you are. He can’t walk away until he knows you’re safe, even from the aftershocks.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

On himself, his arms as years of training, missions and brutal fights have made them big, strong. Best part if he knows very well how much you melt when he flexes around you or cages you in with them.

On you, your lips and thighs. He's dangerously obsessed with kissing you breathless, tasting every moan and word. Don't even ask about how much he dies to have your thighs on his hands, mouth and waist; his most favorite thing about your thighs? How they tighten around his hips or his head when you’re close.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Years of pent-up stress and tension pour of him everytime, making him orgasm way too hard. His cum is thick and heavy, often surprising in how much he produces. When his cum is inside, it fills you to the brim and leaves a slow, hot trickle after. However if it's on your skin, he couldn't resist smearing it with his thumb, possessive in subtle ways.

Taste-wise, his cum has a hint of saltiness and bitterness but is not overwhelming; strict diet and regular intake of water prevent it from being too bitter. He's not fixated on cum play, but seeing you stained in him gets him groaning low in his chest.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

One dirty habit of his is stealing your underwear when he's away on mission. He doesn't tuck a pair into his duffel for fetishistic reasons, but because it gives him comfort; that one piece of you to keep when nights become long and cold for him.

He'll at times jerk off with them pressed to his face, smelling the scent like he's starving. He's embarrassed to admit, but the ache of missing you makes him reckless.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

By the time you have him, Leon is extremely experienced. His early years in the police force were awkward and hasty, but all subsequent years toughened him into a man who has learned to enjoy. He knows what he's doing; not only in mechanics, but in reading you. He notices every twitch, gasp, and shiver. He’s not the type to brag, but in bed? He’s devastating.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Missionary, but not vanilla. He adores holding your legs on his shoulders, pushing in deep so he can watch your face, study every look. That constant eye contact gives him a fix for connection. He's also fond of having you from behind; strong hands on your hips, deep penetration, mouth at your shoulder as he growls in your ear.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Leon is never goofy in bed. He's focused, serious, hungry. But every now and then, he'll permit himself a smirk when you utter something desperate or when you whimper his name too prettily. His humor does not shatter the moment, it sharpens it.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Leon takes care of himself. His chest hair completely hairless. He trims pubically; tidy, neat, dark blond hair outlining him but never unkempt. It matches the controlled, disciplined man he presents. His happy trail is thin yet visible, leading the eye exactly where you want to go.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Leon is a physically intimate person. He makes eye contact, cups your face, kisses your jaw between thrusts. He says your name in a prayer. Even when he's fucking you hard enough to bruise you, there’s a tenderness behind it, as if every movement is a promise: "you are safe with me."

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Leon doesn't often jerk off as one may think. His lifestyle is way too hectic, making him tired most of the nights. However when he does, he does so deliberately with his hand working on his cock; slow, focused as he thinks of you. Just to feel more, he'll sometimes edge himself, letting the tension build until he can’t take it anymore. He rarely finishes without a muffled groan.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Praise Kink: Leon melts when praised, whether it’s a whispered “you’re incredible” after a rough thrust or admiring how good he is at taking control. Compliments fuel his confidence and push him to give even more pleasure. He craves that validation as much as the physical connection.

Hero-Complex Sex: He gets intensely turned on by the dynamic of “saving” you, whether from danger or vulnerability. That rush of power then flows into how he dominates you, fucking with the intensity of someone who believes they’re your protector, making you feel like you owe him your submission and trust.

Slow, Deep Sex: Leon takes his time, savoring every inch, every movement. He loves drawing out the pleasure, watching you go from breathless to desperate, teasing you with slow, deep thrusts that leave you begging for more.

Eye Contact: Constant, unwavering eye contact is his silent command. He wants to see your reaction, to feel the connection deepen with every shared glance during the most intimate moments.

Mutual Desperation: The electricity of both partners being on the edge; panting, shaky, barely able to hold back, drives him wild. He loves the messy vulnerability of mutual craving.

Guiding Hands: Whether it’s a firm grip on your throat, a possessive hold on your hip, or a gentle stroke on your cheek, Leon’s hands direct and claim you physically, making sure you never doubt who’s in control.

Uniform Sex: Kept parts of his Raccoon City cop uniform on during sex, especially when time is tight. The leather, straps, and badges add an edge of authority and danger, turning rushed moments into hot power plays.

Marking: Leon’s lips leave hickeys in hidden places. Behind your ear, on your collarbone, or along your ribs; as subtle but constant reminders that you’re his.

Oral Obsession: He is just as obsessed with giving as he is receiving oral pleasure. Leon’s tongue and mouth work with deliberate care and hunger until your legs tremble and your breath hitches.

Clothes Partially On: He enjoys keeping clothes on, pulling aside just enough fabric to drive you crazy. The tease of skin showing through uniforms or tight pants fuels the tension.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Leon secretly adores showers. The warmth of the water pounding down, your body slick against him, the steam misting everything in your vicinity, it makes him lose control. He can press you up against the tile, fuck you hard and deep as the spray masks your moans. Something about being both vulnerable and cleansed at the same time makes him go wild.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

It's always these unintentional moments; you grazing his hand a fraction of a second too long, catching him gawking at your lips when you're speaking, or the tension between you when you're standing close after a harrowing crisis. His instinct to protect you begins morphing into possessive desire.

Leon also gets turned on when you show you need him as much as he needs you. Quivering breaths, holding hands, soft pleas; these things fuel him, cause him to lose that carefully controlled restraint.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Leon will never do anything that makes you feel degraded, cruel, or belittling of your will. He doesn't appreciate sharing, either. You belong to him, and he won't bring others to the bedroom.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Leon is a god at oral. Patient, persistent, relentless. He devours you like it's his mission; slow, measured licks until you're writhing, then steady pressure until you're calling his name out. He enjoys the flavor of you.

Receiving? He likes it, but he so often gets so flustered watching your mouth on him that he’ll grab your hair and beg you to stop before he cums too fast.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Leon's natural pace is measured, slow, deep. He's not frenzied unless you push him to be. He likes to build a pace that grows gradually, each stroke deliberate, until you're desperate and begging him to go faster. When he finally snaps and slams into you hard and desperate, it’s because you’ve broken through his restraint and he loves when you do.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

He's had more quickies than he can recall, thanks to missions. He doesn't mind them; they're hot, dirty, efficient. But personally if asked? He prefers slow, drawn-out nights where he can savor every inch of you.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Leon risks his neck every day at work, but in bed? Cautious. He'll try things, of course, but he's not reckless. He'll want new things, but as long as they're safe for both of you.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Years of training and being on his feet as a government agent gave him almost a god-gifted endurance, and it shows. While extremely considerate for your wellbeing in bed, he can go for a long, long time, usually holding back until you've come multiple times before he, like a gentleman, would finish.

Max he can go, for your sake, is three rounds but to be honest? Multiple rounds aren't unusual for him at all.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Not against it, but doesn't have many himself. But if you bring them in, he'll be more than happy to use them on you. Vibrators while penetration? Yes. Restraints? Appreciates the control they allow. Leon won't actually use toys on himself, though.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Leon can toy with you, but he doesn't string you along for eternity. He'll push you, sure, but only until frustration blends with desperation; then he gives in, unable to resist how much he wants you too.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Leon isn't the loudest but boyyy the sounds he make are F I L T H Y to the T. Deep groans, sharp breaths, your name hissed between clenched teeth. He may be a talker, but not in a cocky way but more.... Raw, such as: “You feel so good,” “I’ve got you,” “Take it for me.” His voice is gravel when he’s close.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Leon has a tendency to finger you with his gloves on; leather tight, cool against your warmth. It began by accident once, but the feel drove you both crazy.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Leon’s circumcised cock matches his body; strong, well-proportioned, nothing exaggerated but undeniably impressive. He measures a firm 7.5 inches when he's fully erect, thick enough so that you always sense the stretch but not wide enough to be more than you can handle. The shaft is straight with a mild upward tilt, veins rippling slightly when his blood is running quickly, culminating in a flushed, pink head that becomes more sensitive with each lick or stroke.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

His libido is strong, but not careless. He's not always horny, but when he does want you, it's deep. It takes over him. He can shift from stoic reserve to kissing you breathless in seconds once desire sets in.

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Chris changes from savage beast to gentle giant within seconds. Once he's left you in a sweaty, trembling mess, he's immediately in caretaker mode. He'll take you to bed if he fucked you elsewhere, grab a hot towel to wash you off, and whisper things such as "You did so good for me" and "I've got you, sweetheart." His aftercare is not just physical and emotional; he'll rub warm circles onto your skin, massage tense muscles, provide you with water, and spoon you close against his chest. His heartbeat is your lullaby, and he won't rest until he can be sure that you're all right.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

On himself, Chris is proud of his arms and chest. Thick, sculpted muscle that you can sink into, hands powerful enough to hold you down but gentle enough to cradle you. He likes the way you feel safe, and turned on, in his arms.

On you, He is crazy for your thighs. He loves to hold them when he's pounding into your, bite onto them when he's famished, and spread them apart to expose you. Your stomach also sets him ablaze; he'll press his large hands there when he's deep inside, smile at the sight of your stomach bulging from his cock, and kiss it softly afterwards

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Taste-wise, Chris' cum is almost tasteless but the more you give him more of that gawk gawk, you'll notice a bit of the bitter taste like how cum usually has.

But undeniably, he cums a lot. Thick, hot ropes that flood you until you feel impossibly full. He groans super low when emptying himself inside you, his hips grinding to make every drop stays in. Though if he ever pulls out, he loves watching it spill over your thighs, sticky and messy.

Almost occasionally when absolutely relaxed and playful, he'll scoop up the remaining of his seed before pushing it back into you with a growl: “Not wasting a drop.”

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Chris has masturbated to thinking of you in danger before. It's not that he wants you to get hurt, but that his protective instincts is combined with lust; fantasies where he must rescue you, and then the adrenaline culminates in him fucking you against the nearest surface. He does feel bad about it, but it's his rawest, most primal desire.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

He's no stranger to sex, but life hasn't exactly provided him with a lot of time for long-term affairs. Chris, though, is a quick learner, adapts quickly, and closely pays attention of what drives you crazy. With experience aside, his natural intensity, physicality, and genuine care make him an unforgettable lover.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Not precise about what his position is but if genuinely asleep, his go-to position is definitely Mating Press. He loves to fold you under his massive frame, your legs pinned back by his strength as he pushes as deep as possible. It's intimate; he sees all your expressions, hear every sound; and it satisfies his drive to dominate, to possess you absolutely, as well as filling you the brim in the said profoundly erotic position.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Chris is serious in bed; intent, intense, and intensely present. But occasionally a crooked grin cracks through when you whimper or gasp, and he'll snarl teasing things like "Didn't think you could take it, huh?" His humor is exceptional but adorable; it breaks out when he's trying to coax you through overstimulation or when he's pleased with bringing you undone.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Chris is naturally hairy and embraces it. His chest is broad and dusted with hair, his forearms are strong and masculine, and a dense happy trail runs down to a patch of coarse hair at his groin. He keeps it trimmed enough to remain neat, but he's rough-around-the-edges; he looks and feels like a man who doesn't bother with more than what's necessary in terms of grooming.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Even when it's rough, sex with Chris is intimate. He kisses you hard and frequently, frames your face with his hands as he is thrusting in you, and speaks low endearments that hurt your chest. His passion isn't physical alone; it's emotional. He wants you to sense the depth of his love with each push, each caress, each moan.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Before you, he wasn't a regular masturbator; his life was too engulfed in missions, and tension ended most desires. Since you? He barely does it all. He'd prefer to wait for you, even if it's staying hard all night. Occasionally, when he cannot rouse you following a mission, he'll touch himself in the shower, his head bowed, imagining your body around him rather instead of his hand.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Breeding Kink: The thought of filling you up completely, leaving his mark inside you, sends Chris into a primal frenzy. It’s about possession, proof of connection, and raw, carnal dominance. Not to mention, the thought of you being full of his seed and/or swollen with his child makes him throb.

Protective Sex: His intense protective instincts bleed into his sex life. After a dangerous mission or near-death moment, the adrenaline spike pushes him into rough, possessive, deeply intimate sex where he stakes claim.

Wall Pinning: Chris loves pinning you against walls or surfaces, controlling your movement and space. The physicality and dominance in this act fuel his animalistic drive.

Overstimulation: He pushes you past your limits with rough hands and relentless touches until you can’t think straight, just pure sensation and submission.

Size Kink: Fully aware of his imposing frame and length, Chris uses it to intimidate and excite, watching the flush of surprise and awe on your face.

Lift & Carry: Picking you up to fuck, whether against a wall or on a bed, gives him a rush of power and intimacy combined, using his strength in the most physical way possible.

Rough Hands: His grips leave bruises, but each mark is a badge of his possession and affection, a rough signature.

Dirty Talk: Low, growled words in your ear, harsh but loving, mixed with commands and praises that drive you deeper into submission.

Sweat & Messiness: Chris loves sex that gets messy, with sweat and natural musk combining to create a wild, untamed atmosphere.

Morning Sex: Slow, warm, and heavy sex at dawn when the world is quiet; he likes those moments of calm intimacy after rough nights.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Chris prefers beds for comfort and closeness, but adrenaline gets the best of him sometimes; against a wall, bent over a table, in a locked shower. He gets weak for secluded safehouses or cabins, where isolation makes him reckless.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

It's the little things; your lip trapped between your teeth, the ride of your shirt up your stomach, your laugh when you're not even aware he's on your mind. Wearing his shirt, clinging shorts, or tossing him that look over your shoulder? That's all it takes. Chris is lost to the things you don't even know you're doing.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Chris will never disrespect you. He's rough, but he won't insult or humiliate. And he won't share you either; he's quite the territorial type, and the idea of anyone else laying hands on you sends him into a rage.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Chris loves eating pussy/sucking dick, like, LOVES it. He buries himself like a starving man, growling at you, tongue-fucking you/sucking you off deep and his large hands keeping your thighs open. Doesn't stop until he's got you crying out his name. Receiving? He loves that too, but he likes watching you fall apart more.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Chris is versatile. He can make love to you slow and deep, enjoying your flesh, or hard and violent when his control gives way. He usually combines them; starting slow, teasing, and then reverting to hard-driving thrusts that would shake the bed.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

He'll do quickies when he must. Missions, tight schedules of time alone, or adrenaline-driven lust drive him hard and hard and fast. But he prefers to take his time; quickies only make him hungry for more.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Chris won't take risk unsafe, but adrenaline sex in semi-public or mission areas? You bet! The thrill of getting caught isn't what turns him on; it's the eagerness of needing you in an instant.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

For a man who has never had a drop of any virus in his body, his stamina is a godsend. Military training made him proficient, and his natural drive pushes him further. He can get through several rounds, going long and hard. He'll fuck you to tears from overstimulation, then keep on going.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Chris doesn't require toys, but he's not opposed to them either. He'll use vibrators or restraints on you if it will make you break apart. For himself? He doesn't see the point; his hand and your body are more than enough.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Chris isn't that keen on teasing but when he does? He can be so unfair. He'll thrust slow on purpose, whisper in your ear, hold your hips to hold you in place. He'll edge you to the point where you're pleading, then smirk as if he owns you. He doesn't tease in order to be playful; he teases to control.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Chris isn't loud, but the kind of sounds he makes is deep. Low growls, sharp grunts, broken moans when you hug him. His voice is commanding but gentle; he praises you constantly, calling you good girl, sweetheart, mine. The words are enough to make you melt.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Sometimes, after missions, he can't wait even to undress. He'll shove down just enough equipment to free himself, grab you, and fuck you dirty and raw while half-dressed. Boots still on, shirt ripped open, sweat cascading down his chest; those frenzied fucks are unforgettable.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Chris' cock is circumcized but undeniably thick and heavy, veined along the shaft, with a flushed, wide head that makes your mouth water. He's large; about 8.5 to 9 inches in length, but it's the girth that ruins you. His penis is thick, stretching you with each inch, filling you to capacity. The flesh is smooth as silk despite the vein-crested shaft, and when he's erect, he's erect. The feel of it heavy in your hand is too much to handle, and when it's thrusts inside you, it's a slow, burning stretch that causes your eyes to roll back in your head. With each push, you can feel every ridge, every vein, grinding against your walls. He's made to destroy and worship you both at the same time.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Chris's sex drive is high, but disciplined. He doesn't always attack, but when he wants you, it's intense; he needs you like air. The yearning is both physical and emotional; he doesn't merely want to have sex, he wants the closeness, the proof that you're his.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Leon S. Kennedy

The first time you shyly apologize for being soaked, Leon looks at you like you’ve lost your mind. “Wait, why are you embarrassed? That’s… that’s hot as hell.”

Once it clicks, he gets this mix of flustered and turned on; he can’t believe you want him that much.

He murmurs constant reassurance while his fingers slide between your folds, groaning at how wet you are.

“Baby, you’re dripping. That’s all for me? God, you don’t know what that does to me.”

He praises you in whispers, lips brushing your ear, making you clench just from his voice.

The mess only fuels him. His strokes get harder the wetter you get, because he’s obsessed with the sound.

He’ll rut into you, messy and needy, losing composure because he can’t keep up with how fast you soak him.

The way your wetness coats his cock makes him groan every other thrust. “Fuck, I could drown in you.”

He’d never let you feel ashamed; if you hide your face, he gently holds your jaw and makes you look at him while he praises you.

Leon is feral for it. Your body betrays how badly you crave him, and he thrives on that knowledge.

Chris Redfield

At first, Chris panics, thinking he hurt you. The second you confess it’s because you get wet too easily, he’s floored.

“You’re telling me… you’re embarrassed because I turn you on that much?” His cock twitches instantly.

He checks your wetness every time he touches you, sliding his fingers inside just to see how soaked you are.

“Shit, babe… you’re already dripping. I haven’t even started yet.”

Turns it into a game: how fast can he make you gush just from kissing? Spoiler: very fast.

Stamina king. He fucks you through every wave, reveling in how messy you make the sheets.

He praises you constantly. “Good girl… that’s it, let me feel all of it.”

He’ll finger you at the table, lean down and whisper “Already wet? Thought so.” just to watch you squirm.

Your responsiveness makes him insane; he takes pride in it, sees it as proof of how much you want him.

By the end, his cock and abs are drenched, and he loves every second of it.

Piers Nivans

The first time he notices, his face burns red. He’s shy but also instantly hard.

When you confess your embarrassment, he shakes his head furiously. “Don’t be ashamed. I… I think it’s beautiful.”

His kisses turn reverent he worships your thighs and whispers about how sexy it is.

“It just means you want me that much… and that’s the hottest thing in the world.”

He gets addicted to the way you soak his fingers, biting his lip when he feels it drip down.

Piers gets bold over time, he’ll tease you about how fast you get wet but in a soft, loving tone.

Oral is his favorite. He’ll groan into you, sloppy and needy, lapping everything up.

Gets completely lost in it, rubbing his cock against the sheets while eating you out because he’s that turned on.

Afterward, he always checks in gently: “Did I make you feel good? Because you sure made me lose it.”

Lowkey, he loves how desperate you get; it makes him feel wanted in a way that shakes his core.

Albert Wesker

The smug bastard notices instantly and smirks. “So delightfully responsive…”

He gets off on how embarrassed you are, your shame is his fuel.

“You’re soaked just from my voice? My touch? Pathetic… and perfect.”

Turns it into a dom thing, forces you to admit how wet you are for him.

He won’t let you hide. “No. Show me. Spread for me. I want to see exactly what I do to you.”

Fingers you clinically, fascinated by the mess, whispering about your body like he’s studying it.

Uses it as proof of his power over you: “Your body bows to me before your mind ever could.”

Gets sadistic, denies you for a bit just to hear you whimper about how wet and needy you are.

When he finally fucks you, it’s slow and brutal, making you hear every wet sound.

For Wesker, your wetness isn’t just arousal; it’s submission, and he thrives on it.

Jake Muller

Jake is thrilled. “You’re embarrassed? Babe, that’s literally the sexiest thing about you.”

He teases shamelessly, brushing his fingers against you just to feel how soaked you get instantly.

“Goddamn, I didn’t even do anything yet and you’re dripping. You want me that bad, huh?”

Brags about it constantly, calls you his “wet little mess.”

Loves how noisy it gets when he fucks you; makes a point of going harder just to hear it.

Will finger you semi public, whispering how fast you soaked through your panties.

Obsessed with eating you out. Sloppy, loud, leaving his face drenched.

The wetter you are, the cockier he gets. “Guess I’ve got the wettest girlfriend on the planet.”

If you’re shy, he laughs but pulls you close. “Nah, babe, that’s my favorite part about you.”

He’ll make sure you’re so soaked you leave stains on his sheets, then smugly point it out after.

Carlos Oliveira

Carlos grins wide the second you confess. “Babe, that’s not a problem... that’s a blessing.”

He moans the first time he feels it, rubbing his fingers through the slick like he can’t believe it.

“Fuck, baby… you’re soaking me already. That’s all for me?”

He hypes you up mid-sex like your personal cheerleader. “That’s it, soak my cock. Atta girl.”

Loves messy, wet oral; goes down with loud slurps, groaning into your pussy.

Groans loud just to rile you up when you gush around him.

Will tease you about it, but in the most loving way possible. “God, I love how needy you are for me.”

Totally addicted, he’ll finger you just to watch how fast you get wet.

The wetter you are, the more aggressive he gets. He wants everyone to know how much you crave him.

Ends up covered in slick, hair a mess, grinning like he just won the lottery.

Jack Krauser

Starts cocky: “Tch. So easy for me, huh?”

But when he sees you look ashamed, his tone shifts to something darker, protective.

“Ya think I’d complain? You’re mine. Don’t ever hide from me.”

Gets possessive fast, your wetness is proof that only he makes you feel this way.

“Already drippin'? Barely touched ya, sweetheart.” Growls it in your ear.

Loves fucking you raw and messy, pressing you into the bed while you gush around him.

A little mean streak: overstimulates you just to see you beg through the wetness.

If you try to cover yourself, he grabs your wrists, snarling, “Don’t you dare. I want to see it.”

Gets feral when he eats you out. Growling into your pussy, messy and unhinged.

He’ll fuck you so hard the sheets are soaked, then smirk at the wreck you’ve become.

Luis Sera

Immediately flirty: “Mmm, mi amor… dripping already? And you’re embarrassed? Por favor.”

He lives for it, thinks it’s the sexiest thing about you.

Dirty talk galore: “So sensitive… I could slide right in without even teasing.”

He praises you constantly. “I love how your body reacts to me. You’re perfect.”

Teases but sweetly: “Guess I must be doing something right, no?”

Worships your pussy; goes down like it’s his last meal, grinning when you gush on his tongue.

The wetter it gets, the more he groans, eyes rolling back in bliss.

Encourages you to let go, “Relax for me, baby. Don’t hold back.”

Loves pulling out mid-sex to show you how drenched his cock is.

Thinks it’s divine, calls you his “goddess” when you gush all over him.

HUNK

He pauses when he first feels it, assessing like it’s intel.

Calmly: “Not a problem. In fact… I like it.”

Doesn’t waste words. Shows you with actions. Straight to his knees.

He’ll eat you out like it’s a mission; efficient, precise, and relentless.

Doesn’t care about the mess. Gloves, gear, sheets, it doesn’t matter.

If you’re embarrassed, he cuts you off: “Never apologize for wanting me.”

Minimal dirty talk, but when he does? It’s filthy. “Soaked. Desperate. All mine.”

His composure never breaks, but inside he’s obsessed; target status: dripping, objective: fuck her senseless.

Fucks you quietly but rough, grunting every time you gush harder.

He’ll have you trembling, soaked, and wrecked before he even takes his mask off.

Karl Heisenberg

Bursts out laughing when he notices. “Holy shit, look at you.”

Immediately teases "Aww, you embarrassed, baby? You’re leaking all over my floor.”

Gets downright filthy, shoves fingers in just to watch it drip.

“Fuck, you’re making a mess. That’s so goddamn hot.”

Obsessed with overstimulation, makes it wetter and wetter until you’re begging.

Dirty talk is constant. Loud, chaotic, filthy. “You’re my little machine, running hot.”

Grinds against you, moaning at how slick everything feels.

Loves the sound of sloppy sex, his ego feeds off the wetness.

Goes down on you with zero shame, beard soaked, grinning like a madman.

Leon S. Kennedy

Praise Kink: Leon melts when praised, whether it’s a whispered “you’re incredible” after a rough thrust or admiring how good he is at taking control. Compliments fuel his confidence and push him to give even more pleasure. He craves that validation as much as the physical connection.

Hero-Complex Sex: He gets intensely turned on by the dynamic of “saving” you, whether from danger or vulnerability. That rush of power then flows into how he dominates you, fucking with the intensity of someone who believes they’re your protector, making you feel like you owe him your submission and trust.

Slow, Deep Sex: Leon takes his time, savoring every inch, every movement. He loves drawing out the pleasure, watching you go from breathless to desperate, teasing you with slow, deep thrusts that leave you begging for more.

Eye Contact: Constant, unwavering eye contact is his silent command. He wants to see your reaction, to feel the connection deepen with every shared glance during the most intimate moments.

Mutual Desperation: The electricity of both partners being on the edge; panting, shaky, barely able to hold back, drives him wild. He loves the messy vulnerability of mutual craving.

Guiding Hands: Whether it’s a firm grip on your throat, a possessive hold on your hip, or a gentle stroke on your cheek, Leon’s hands direct and claim you physically, making sure you never doubt who’s in control.

Uniform Sex: Kept parts of his Raccoon City cop uniform on during sex, especially when time is tight. The leather, straps, and badges add an edge of authority and danger, turning rushed moments into hot power plays.

Marking: Leon’s lips leave hickeys in hidden places. Behind your ear, on your collarbone, or along your ribs; as subtle but constant reminders that you’re his.

Oral Obsession: He is just as obsessed with giving as he is receiving oral pleasure. Leon’s tongue and mouth work with deliberate care and hunger until your legs tremble and your breath hitches.

Clothes Partially On: He enjoys keeping clothes on, pulling aside just enough fabric to drive you crazy. The tease of skin showing through uniforms or tight pants fuels the tension.

Chris Redfield

Breeding Kink: The thought of filling you up completely, leaving his mark inside you, sends Chris into a primal frenzy. It’s about possession, proof of connection, and raw, carnal dominance. Not to mention, the thought of you being swollen with his child makes him throb.

Protective Sex: His intense protective instincts bleed into his sex life. After a dangerous mission or near-death moment, the adrenaline spike pushes him into rough, possessive, deeply intimate sex where he stakes claim.

Wall Pinning: Chris loves pinning you against walls or surfaces, controlling your movement and space. The physicality and dominance in this act fuel his animalistic drive.

Overstimulation: He pushes you past your limits with rough hands and relentless touches until you can’t think straight, just pure sensation and submission.

Size Kink: Fully aware of his imposing frame and length, Chris uses it to intimidate and excite, watching the flush of surprise and awe on your face.

Lift & Carry: Picking you up to fuck, whether against a wall or on a bed, gives him a rush of power and intimacy combined, using his strength in the most physical way possible.

Rough Hands: His grips leave bruises, but each mark is a badge of his possession and affection, a rough signature.

Dirty Talk: Low, growled words in your ear, harsh but loving, mixed with commands and praises that drive you deeper into submission.

Sweat & Messiness: Chris loves sex that gets messy, with sweat and natural musk combining to create a wild, untamed atmosphere.

Morning Sex: Slow, warm, and heavy sex at dawn when the world is quiet; he likes those moments of calm intimacy after rough nights.

Albert Wesker

Control Kink: Wesker thrives on total control; your body, your pace, your pleasure all dictated by him. His dominance is precise, calculated, and unyielding.

Glove Play: Keeps his gloves on, even when touching you intimately. The contrast between cold latex or leather and warm skin is a deliberate tease, emphasizing his detachment and control.

Power Imbalance: He loves reminding you who’s in charge, taking every opportunity to assert his dominance, be it through positioning, tone, or physical control.

Edging: Wesker is a master of cruel, calculated denial, bringing you to the edge repeatedly and pulling back with precision, making your eventual release explosive.

Mirror Sex: Watching your reactions through a mirror or reflection adds a voyeuristic, possessive edge to his encounters.

Surveillance Kink: He gets off on the idea of watching you, sometimes through cameras, knowing every move you make, heightening the thrill of control even when apart.

Anal Domination: He approaches anal sex with cold precision and patience, taking his time to maintain control and inflict just the right amount of discomfort and pleasure.

Marking Without Mess: Prefers leaving visible hickeys or bites over messy signs like cum stains, emphasizing neat, deliberate claims of ownership.

Verbal Degradation: Sharp, cutting words that push your boundaries but leave you craving more, blurring pain and pleasure.

Temperature Play: Uses ice, cold glass, or metal against your skin to make you gasp before following with heat.

Carlos Oliveira

Praise & Reassurance: Carlos constantly tells you how good you are, building your confidence and deepening your connection through words and touch.

Messy Oral: He loves giving and receiving oral with enthusiasm, not shy of slobber or deep, sloppy kisses.

Lazy Sex: Prefers slow, languid sessions where you both lounge and take your time, but the satisfaction is just as deep.

Thigh Riding: Enjoys watching you ride him, especially grinding hard and watching every expression on your face.

Public Teasing: Whispering dirty things in your ear when you’re in crowded or semi-public places, teasing you with the risk of being caught.

Body Worship: Carlos wants to explore and worship every inch of your body, running his hands and lips over your skin like it’s sacred.

Sweat & Musk: Prefers natural, unwashed heat; the scent of your skin and sweat heightens the rawness of your connection.

Pace Switching: Alternates between slow, sensual thrusts and sudden fast bursts to keep you off balance and craving more.

Handholding in the Filth: Even during the roughest moments, Carlos likes to hold your hand, grounding both of you emotionally.

Quickies: Can’t resist spontaneous, anywhere-anytime sex; he loves the thrill and immediacy of quick, heated encounters.

Piers Nivans

Service Top Energy: Piers prioritizes your pleasure, focusing on making you feel incredible first before taking his own satisfaction.

Sensory Control: Uses blindfolds, gentle restraints, and subtle commands to heighten your senses and anticipation.

Slow, Deep Thrusts: He’s all about drawing out your pleasure, letting each movement linger and intensify.

Gentle Praise: Soft, encouraging words in a gentle voice, reinforcing your worth and his care.

Hand-Holding: Even during rough or intense moments, Piers likes to keep a connection through your hands.

Uniform Play: Likes to be slowly undressed by you, unbuttoned with deliberate slowness, adding erotic tension.

Soft Biting: Leaves light, playful marks, teasing without pain but full of promise.

Shower Sex: The warm water and slippery surfaces add a sensual, tactile dimension to intimacy.

Locked Eye Contact: Piers never breaks gaze during sex, using it to communicate emotion and dominance.

Tidy Aftercare: Carefully cleans you up, brushing hair away and making sure you’re comfortable after.

Jake Muller

Adventurous & Risk-Taking Play: Jake thrives on danger and excitement, so he might be drawn to scenarios that mirror that thrill. Intense, adrenaline-filled experiences.

Struggle-for-Control Sex: Wrestling for dominance mid-session, no matter who wins.

Hair-pulling & Face-grabbing: Rough grips, whether he’s yanking you closer or you’re holding him down.

Dominance & Control Dynamics: He’s confident, cocky, and used to taking charge, which could translate into enjoying situations where he’s in control.

Size & Strength Play: Lifting, pinning, or being pinned by someone stronger. Gets off on the push-pull.

Oral Control Play: Hand on your head when he’s domming, grabbing your hair while you ride his face when he’s bottoming.

Degradation & Praise Mix: Mocking you one second, growling filthy praise the next (loves getting the same back).

Biting & Bruising: Teeth marks as trophies; wears them like badges when bottoming.

Competitive Orgasm Play: Betting on who can make the other cum first; winner gets to choose the next round’s dynamic.

Post-sex Power Shift: Likes flipping the dynamic after the orgasm, taking or surrendering control to keep you on edge.

Jack Krauser

(Even though I've made an NSFW alphabet for him where his kinks are mentioned but I'll mention here anyway!)

Knife Play (Primarily): Cold steel tracing your skin, the sharp contrast of danger and pleasure drives Krauser’s arousal.

Blood Kink (Slightly): Small cuts or scratches heighten the adrenaline and intimacy; blood becomes a token of possession.

Possession & Ownership: Bruises, bites, and marks as proof that you belong to him, the physical claims satisfying his need for dominance.

Choking & Breathplay: He grips just enough to make you gasp, controlling your breath and heightening intensity.

Power Imbalance: Same kink as Wesker. Always the one on top, the controller in the dynamic, never relinquishing dominance.

Tracking & Stalking; Gets off on knowing where you are at all times; the psychological control feeds his desire.

Fear Kink: Your adrenaline, the thrill of danger, and the risk of getting caught act as aphrodisiacs for him.

Semi-Public Sex: Hidden corners, abandoned and shadowy places. Sex with a risk of being caught adds to the excitement.

Outdoor Sex (Forests, Woods, Jungles): The wild, untamed nature of the outdoors fuels his primal urges; secluded spots become arenas for raw, animalistic encounters.

Military Roleplay (Newly Added): Orders, commands, and discipline keep the dynamic tense, structured, and intensely erotic.

Luis Sera

Flirty Dirty Talk: Luis blends teasing charm with filthy, provocative language that keeps you on edge.

Eye Contact: Uses his smoldering gaze to seduce and hold your attention, making every moment feel intimate.

Slow Striptease: Loves the build-up of undressing you slowly, savoring every reveal.

Sensual Oral: Takes his time to please, using gentle, deliberate movements that make every touch unforgettable.

Worship Kink: Particularly loves worshiping your thighs and hips, appreciating the curves that move him.

Teasing: Keeps you on edge, making you wait and crave with subtle touches and whispered promises.

Wine & Sex: Incorporates decadence into his encounters, using wine to relax and heighten senses.

Wax Kink: Loves dripping warm wax on your skin, watching you shiver at the sting and heat, mixing pain and pleasure perfectly.

Light Bondage: Silk ties and handcuffs add an element of restraint without heavy domination.

Post-Sex Banter: Always cocky and playful after, keeping the energy alive even after the climax.

HUNK

Control Kink: Just like Wesker, HUNK has it too. Absolute, cold dominance as he takes charge with silent authority.

Mask Kink: Keeps his mask on, adding mystery and anonymity that heighten the erotic tension.

Boot licking: Makes you get on your knees, tongue over polished leather until it shines.

Silent Sex: Minimal words, maximum intensity; actions speak louder than words.

Position Control: Dictates where and how you move, maintaining physical and psychological dominance.

Restraints: Uses ropes, cuffs, or zip ties to keep you exactly where he wants you.

Stealth Kink: Comes and goes without warning, the unpredictability adding to the thrill.

Minimal Aftercare: Provides just enough care to keep you functional, no emotional fluff.

Unseen Watching: Likes to watch you without being seen, enjoying voyeuristic control.

No Names: Keeps it impersonal, referring to you only by commands or numbers to maintain detachment.

Karl Heisenberg

Hard Dom & Power Bottom Switch: Equally intense topping and bottoming; if he’s on bottom, he still calls shots.

Pegging: Shameless about it. Loves the mix of vulnerability and intense stimulation, but still tries to talk shit while you’re in control.

Rough Handling: Throws you around effortlessly, making you feel weightless and powerless in his grip.

Dirty Talk: Filthy, constant verbal degradation mixed with mocking praise that twists pleasure and humiliation.

Bondage with Chains: Prefers cold, heavy metal chains to rope, emphasizing strength and restraint.

Impact Play: Spanks, slaps, and grabs suddenly and hard, mixing pain with pleasure.

Grease & Sweat: Loves the messiness of physical exertion, the slick mix of sweat and grease on skin.

Semi-Public Workshop Sex: The risk of being heard or seen excites him, making every sound and movement more urgent.

Hair Pulling: Uses it to control your gaze and force submission.

Tease & Denial: Expertly frustrates you, drawing out pleasure and building tension for his own amusement.

Overstimulation: Pushes you past your limits, making you lose control.

Leon S. Kennedy

Favorite Sex Position: Missionary

“Stay with me… just like this. I’ve got you.”

He keeps his weight balanced on forearms to cradle your face, thumbs brushing your cheeks with every slow thrust. 

Eye contact is non-negotiable; he needs to see every flicker of pleasure in your gaze. 

One hand eventually drifts to lace fingers with yours, pinning it gently beside your head. 

Hips roll in deliberate, unhurried waves; like he’s savoring a secret only the two of you share. 

He’ll pause mid-motion just to kiss your forehead, nose, then lips, whispering your name like a prayer. 

Legs hooked over his hips give him deeper access, but he still keeps the pace tender. 

Sweat beads at his hairline; he lets it drip onto your collarbone before licking it away. 

When you arch, he mirrors the curve, chest flush to yours, heartbeat syncing. 

The room fills with soft gasps and the rustle of sheets; no rush, no chaos, just you. 

After you come, he stays inside, forehead pressed to yours, breathing you in until the world rights itself. 

Chris Redfield

Favorite Sex Position: Mating Press

“Take every drop, sweetheart. Gonna breed you so good you’ll feel me for days.”

He folds you in half with zero hesitation, knees pinned beside your ears, ankles locked behind his shoulders. 

Every downward slam rattles the headboard; the bedframe protests like it’s begging for mercy. 

His massive frame cages you, biceps flexing as he holds your thighs spread wide. 

Growls vibrate against your throat; raw, animal, promising to fill you until you overflow. 

One hand splays over your lower belly, feeling himself bulge inside with each brutal thrust. 

He watches your face for the moment you break, pupils blown, mouth slack. 

Sweat slicks both of you; he licks a stripe up your neck, tasting salt and need. 

When you clench, he snarls and doubles his pace, hips pistoning like a machine. 

He doesn’t pull out; stays buried, grinding deep, flooding you with heat. 

Only when you’re trembling and leaking does he ease your legs down, kissing the ache away. 

Albert Wesker

Favorite Sex Position: Doggystyle

“Look at you; bent and begging. Exactly where you belong.”

He fists your hair, arching your spine into a perfect bow before sliding in to the hilt. 

One gloved hand clamps your hip; the leather bites deliciously into skin. 

Thrusts are surgical; precise, punishing, angled to hit that spot that whites out your vision. 

He leans over, breath hot against your ear, voice a low rasp of superiority. 

The mirror across the room is deliberate; he wants you to watch yourself unravel. 

Every slap of skin echoes like a claim; mine, mine, mine. 

He’ll pause to trace your spine with cool fingertips, then snap his hips hard enough to jolt you forward. 

When you push back, he chuckles darkly and yanks you flush against his chest. 

Release is controlled; he spills inside with a hiss, holding you impaled until he’s satisfied. 

Only then does he release your hair, smoothing it down like nothing happened. 

Carlos Oliveira

Favorite Sex Position: Spooning

“Shh, I’ve got you, querida. Not letting go; never letting go.”

Piers Nivans

He molds himself to your back, chest to spine, one arm banded under your breasts. 

His cock slips in slow, inch by inch, until your ass nestles against his hips. 

Fingers lace with yours over your stomach, guiding your hand lower to feel where you’re joined. 

Hips rock in lazy circles, grinding deep, keeping you full without overwhelming. 

His beard scrapes your shoulder as he mouths lazy kisses along your nape. 

When you shiver, he pulls the blanket higher, cocooning you both in warmth. 

Every thrust is accompanied by a soft grunt, muffled against your hair. 

He’ll reach around to circle your clit in time with his rhythm, coaxing quiet gasps. 

Climax builds like a tide; gentle, then crashing; he holds you through every pulse. 

After, he stays inside, peppering your shoulder with kisses, whispering sweet nothings in Portuguese. 

Favorite Sex Position: Lotus

“God, I can feel your heart. Don’t ever stop looking at me like that.”

Jake Muller

He sits cross-legged, guiding you into his lap until you’re chest-to-chest, legs wrapped around his waist. 

Hands cup your face, thumbs stroking your cheeks as he sinks in slow. 

Rocking is minimal; just enough friction to spark, not burn. 

Foreheads touch; breath mingles; every exhale is shared. 

His fingers trace the notches of your spine like he’s memorizing you. 

When you roll your hips, he groans softly, eyes fluttering shut for a heartbeat. 

He’ll pause to kiss you deep and slow, tongue stroking yours in time with the grind. 

Your hands roam his scars; he shivers, pressing closer, deeper. 

Release is a quiet quake; bodies trembling in unison, clinging tight. 

He doesn’t move after, just holds you, heartbeat thundering against your own. 

Favorite Sex Position: Piledriver

“Fuckin’ acrobatics, huh? Bet no one’s ever had you like this.”

Jack Krauser

He flips you onto your shoulders, ass in the air, ankles by your ears like it’s nothing. 

Standing above, he lines up and drives down; his own athleticism doing half the work. 

The angle is obscene; he watches himself disappear into you with a smirk. 

One hand braces beside your head, the other gripping your thigh to keep you folded. 

Each thrust punches the air from your lungs; the slap of skin is loud and wet. 

He’ll spit on where you’re joined, thumb spreading it, grinning at your whine. 

When you claw at the sheets, he laughs breathlessly and angles sharper. 

Sweat drips from his brow onto your stomach, mixing with your own. 

He times his release with yours; pulling out only to paint your thighs, marking territory. 

After, he eases your legs down, massaging the stretch, stealing lazy kisses. 

Favorite Sex Position: Full Nelson

“Squirm all ya fuckin' want, doll. You ain’t goin’ nowhere till I’m done.”

Luis Sera

He hauls you up by the thighs, locking your legs back in a V with his forearms. 

Your back arches against his chest; his fingers interlace behind your neck, trapping you. 

He lowers you onto his cock in one brutal drop; gravity impaling you. 

Every bounce is controlled by his grip; you’re weightless, helpless, his. 

His breath is hot against your ear, growling filth with each upward thrust. 

The stretch in your hamstrings burns; he soothes it with rough bites to your shoulder. 

When you sob his name, he tightens the hold, pounding harder. 

Your arms flail until he pins them too; total restraint. 

He comes with a snarl, hips jerking, filling you while you dangle. 

Only when you’re limp does he lower you, cradling your spent body against his. 

Favorite Sex Position: Cowgirl

“That’s it, cariño. Ride me like you mean it.”

HUNK

He lounges back, cigarette dangling from his lips, eyes hooded as you straddle him. 

Hands settle on your hips, guiding but never forcing; letting you set the pace. 

Smoke curls around you both as you sink down, taking him to the root. 

He exhales a plume toward the ceiling, smirking when you clench at the sight. 

Thumbs trace circles over your hipbones, encouraging every bounce. 

When you lean forward, he flicks ash aside to palm your breast, pinching lazily. 

His hips buck up to meet you halfway, timing perfect, lazy precision. 

He’ll blow smoke against your nipples, watching them pebble harder. 

Release hits you first; he follows with a drawn-out groan, hands gripping your ass. 

After, he stubs the cigarette, pulling you down for a smoky kiss. 

Favorite Sex Position: Reverse Cowgirl

“Efficient. Keep moving, don’t stop until I say so.”

Karl Heisenberg

Because your back faces him and had your eyes closed (because he said so), his mask is off, yet sits rigid as you back onto his lap, facing away. 

Gloved hands grip your waist, lifting and dropping you onto his length with mechanical force. 

The angle lets him watch every inch disappear into you; clinical fascination. 

He doesn’t speak, just grunts low when you grind back against him. 

One hand snakes around to press two fingers to your clit, rubbing in tight circles. 

Your reflection in the mirror is all he allows himself; cold, detached, hungry. 

When you throw your head back, he yanks your hips flush, burying deeper. 

His pace never falters; steady, relentless, like a machine built to ruin. 

He comes silently, hips stuttering once before stilling, holding you down. 

After, he lifts you off with impersonal care, mask already refastening. 

Favorite Sex Position: Pronebone

The Merchant

“Fuckin’ take it. Gonna wreck this pretty little hole till you’re screamin’ my name.”

He shoves you face-down, yanking your hips up just enough to slide in. 

Chest to your back, he blankets you; metal scent, sweat, and ozone. 

One hand fists the sheets beside your head; the other grips your throat, not squeezing, just claiming. 

Hips jackhammer, the slap of flesh deafening in the workshop. 

He growls filth against your ear; feral, unhinged, promising to break you. 

Sparks fly from his fingertips, static raising goosebumps along your spine. 

When you push back, he snarls and pins your wrists above your head. 

The angle drags his cock along your front wall with every thrust; relentless. 

He comes with a roar, teeth sinking into your shoulder, flooding you hot and deep. 

After, he collapses atop you, metal arm curling possessively around your waist. 

Favorite Sex Position: Scissoring

“Heh, still in one piece? Good, let’s see what else these old bones can do.”

Glenn Arias

He twists his limbs into impossible angles, joints popping like old wood. 

One leg hooks over yours, the other sliding between, lining you up flush. 

Hips grind in experimental circles; testing friction, pressure, leverage. 

His coat stays half-on, treasures clinking with every roll. 

Fingers; too many knuckles, trace your clit like he’s appraising a gem. 

He hums tunelessly, eyes gleaming behind the hood as you shudder. 

The stretch is bizarre, intimate; he watches your face for every reaction. 

When you gasp, he adjusts the angle, grinding harder, sliding as smoothly as possible, urious. 

Release crashes through you both at odd intervals; his laugh rasping out. 

After, he untangles slowly, joints creaking, offering a trinket from his pocket. 

Favorite Sex Position: Countertop

“Time is money, darling. But for you? I’ll make an exception.”

He sweeps files aside with one arm, lifting you onto the desk in the same motion. 

Your back hits cool mahogany; his belt clinks open, pants shoved down just enough. 

Legs hooked over his forearms, he spreads you wide and drives in. 

Papers crumple beneath you; a pen rolls off and shatters, neither of you care. 

One hand braces beside your head, the other gripping your throat, thumb over your pulse. 

Thrusts are sharp, businesslike; efficient but no less devastating. 

He watches your face like he’s memorizing weaknesses, lips curled in a smirk. 

When you claw his shoulders, he leans in, teeth grazing your jaw. 

He times his release to yours; pulling out to stripe your stomach, marking the deal. 

Leon S. Kennedy

Favorite Sex Position: Missionary

“Stay with me… just like this. I’ve got you.”

He keeps his weight balanced on forearms to cradle your face, thumbs brushing your cheeks with every slow thrust. 

Eye contact is non-negotiable; he needs to see every flicker of pleasure in your gaze. 

One hand eventually drifts to lace fingers with yours, pinning it gently beside your head. 

Hips roll in deliberate, unhurried waves; like he’s savoring a secret only the two of you share. 

He’ll pause mid-motion just to kiss your forehead, nose, then lips, whispering your name like a prayer. 

Legs hooked over his hips give him deeper access, but he still keeps the pace tender. 

Sweat beads at his hairline; he lets it drip onto your collarbone before licking it away. 

When you arch, he mirrors the curve, chest flush to yours, heartbeat syncing. 

The room fills with soft gasps and the rustle of sheets; no rush, no chaos, just you. 

After you come, he stays inside, forehead pressed to yours, breathing you in until the world rights itself. 

Chris Redfield

Favorite Sex Position: Mating Press

“Take every drop, sweetheart. Gonna breed you so good you’ll feel me for days.”

He folds you in half with zero hesitation, knees pinned beside your ears, ankles locked behind his shoulders. 

Every downward slam rattles the headboard; the bedframe protests like it’s begging for mercy. 

His massive frame cages you, biceps flexing as he holds your thighs spread wide. 

Growls vibrate against your throat; raw, animal, promising to fill you until you overflow. 

One hand splays over your lower belly, feeling himself bulge inside with each brutal thrust. 

He watches your face for the moment you break, pupils blown, mouth slack. 

Sweat slicks both of you; he licks a stripe up your neck, tasting salt and need. 

When you clench, he snarls and doubles his pace, hips pistoning like a machine. 

He doesn’t pull out; stays buried, grinding deep, flooding you with heat. 

Only when you’re trembling and leaking does he ease your legs down, kissing the ache away. 

Albert Wesker

Favorite Sex Position: Doggystyle

“Look at you; bent and begging. Exactly where you belong.”

He fists your hair, arching your spine into a perfect bow before sliding in to the hilt. 

One gloved hand clamps your hip; the leather bites deliciously into skin. 

Thrusts are surgical; precise, punishing, angled to hit that spot that whites out your vision. 

He leans over, breath hot against your ear, voice a low rasp of superiority. 

The mirror across the room is deliberate; he wants you to watch yourself unravel. 

Every slap of skin echoes like a claim; mine, mine, mine. 

He’ll pause to trace your spine with cool fingertips, then snap his hips hard enough to jolt you forward. 

When you push back, he chuckles darkly and yanks you flush against his chest. 

Release is controlled; he spills inside with a hiss, holding you impaled until he’s satisfied. 

Only then does he release your hair, smoothing it down like nothing happened. 

Carlos Oliveira

Favorite Sex Position: Spooning

“Shh, I’ve got you, querida. Not letting go; never letting go.”

Piers Nivans

He molds himself to your back, chest to spine, one arm banded under your breasts. 

His cock slips in slow, inch by inch, until your ass nestles against his hips. 

Fingers lace with yours over your stomach, guiding your hand lower to feel where you’re joined. 

Hips rock in lazy circles, grinding deep, keeping you full without overwhelming. 

His beard scrapes your shoulder as he mouths lazy kisses along your nape. 

When you shiver, he pulls the blanket higher, cocooning you both in warmth. 

Every thrust is accompanied by a soft grunt, muffled against your hair. 

He’ll reach around to circle your clit in time with his rhythm, coaxing quiet gasps. 

Climax builds like a tide; gentle, then crashing; he holds you through every pulse. 

After, he stays inside, peppering your shoulder with kisses, whispering sweet nothings in Portuguese. 

Favorite Sex Position: Lotus

“God, I can feel your heart. Don’t ever stop looking at me like that.”

Jake Muller

He sits cross-legged, guiding you into his lap until you’re chest-to-chest, legs wrapped around his waist. 

Hands cup your face, thumbs stroking your cheeks as he sinks in slow. 

Rocking is minimal; just enough friction to spark, not burn. 

Foreheads touch; breath mingles; every exhale is shared. 

His fingers trace the notches of your spine like he’s memorizing you. 

When you roll your hips, he groans softly, eyes fluttering shut for a heartbeat. 

He’ll pause to kiss you deep and slow, tongue stroking yours in time with the grind. 

Your hands roam his scars; he shivers, pressing closer, deeper. 

Release is a quiet quake; bodies trembling in unison, clinging tight. 

He doesn’t move after, just holds you, heartbeat thundering against your own. 

Favorite Sex Position: Piledriver

“Fuckin’ acrobatics, huh? Bet no one’s ever had you like this.”

Jack Krauser

He flips you onto your shoulders, ass in the air, ankles by your ears like it’s nothing. 

Standing above, he lines up and drives down; his own athleticism doing half the work. 

The angle is obscene; he watches himself disappear into you with a smirk. 

One hand braces beside your head, the other gripping your thigh to keep you folded. 

Each thrust punches the air from your lungs; the slap of skin is loud and wet. 

He’ll spit on where you’re joined, thumb spreading it, grinning at your whine. 

When you claw at the sheets, he laughs breathlessly and angles sharper. 

Sweat drips from his brow onto your stomach, mixing with your own. 

He times his release with yours; pulling out only to paint your thighs, marking territory. 

After, he eases your legs down, massaging the stretch, stealing lazy kisses. 

Favorite Sex Position: Full Nelson

“Squirm all ya fuckin' want, doll. You ain’t goin’ nowhere till I’m done.”

Luis Sera

He hauls you up by the thighs, locking your legs back in a V with his forearms. 

Your back arches against his chest; his fingers interlace behind your neck, trapping you. 

He lowers you onto his cock in one brutal drop; gravity impaling you. 

Every bounce is controlled by his grip; you’re weightless, helpless, his. 

His breath is hot against your ear, growling filth with each upward thrust. 

The stretch in your hamstrings burns; he soothes it with rough bites to your shoulder. 

When you sob his name, he tightens the hold, pounding harder. 

Your arms flail until he pins them too; total restraint. 

He comes with a snarl, hips jerking, filling you while you dangle. 

Only when you’re limp does he lower you, cradling your spent body against his. 

Favorite Sex Position: Cowgirl

“That’s it, cariño. Ride me like you mean it.”

HUNK

He lounges back, cigarette dangling from his lips, eyes hooded as you straddle him. 

Hands settle on your hips, guiding but never forcing; letting you set the pace. 

Smoke curls around you both as you sink down, taking him to the root. 

He exhales a plume toward the ceiling, smirking when you clench at the sight. 

Thumbs trace circles over your hipbones, encouraging every bounce. 

When you lean forward, he flicks ash aside to palm your breast, pinching lazily. 

His hips buck up to meet you halfway, timing perfect, lazy precision. 

He’ll blow smoke against your nipples, watching them pebble harder. 

Release hits you first; he follows with a drawn-out groan, hands gripping your ass. 

After, he stubs the cigarette, pulling you down for a smoky kiss. 

Favorite Sex Position: Reverse Cowgirl

“Efficient. Keep moving, don’t stop until I say so.”

Karl Heisenberg

Because your back faces him and had your eyes closed (because he said so), his mask is off, yet sits rigid as you back onto his lap, facing away. 

Gloved hands grip your waist, lifting and dropping you onto his length with mechanical force. 

The angle lets him watch every inch disappear into you; clinical fascination. 

He doesn’t speak, just grunts low when you grind back against him. 

One hand snakes around to press two fingers to your clit, rubbing in tight circles. 

Your reflection in the mirror is all he allows himself; cold, detached, hungry. 

When you throw your head back, he yanks your hips flush, burying deeper. 

His pace never falters; steady, relentless, like a machine built to ruin. 

He comes silently, hips stuttering once before stilling, holding you down. 

After, he lifts you off with impersonal care, mask already refastening. 

Favorite Sex Position: Pronebone

The Merchant

“Fuckin’ take it. Gonna wreck this pretty little hole till you’re screamin’ my name.”

He shoves you face-down, yanking your hips up just enough to slide in. 

Chest to your back, he blankets you; metal scent, sweat, and ozone. 

One hand fists the sheets beside your head; the other grips your throat, not squeezing, just claiming. 

Hips jackhammer, the slap of flesh deafening in the workshop. 

He growls filth against your ear; feral, unhinged, promising to break you. 

Sparks fly from his fingertips, static raising goosebumps along your spine. 

When you push back, he snarls and pins your wrists above your head. 

The angle drags his cock along your front wall with every thrust; relentless. 

He comes with a roar, teeth sinking into your shoulder, flooding you hot and deep. 

After, he collapses atop you, metal arm curling possessively around your waist. 

Favorite Sex Position: Scissoring

“Heh, still in one piece? Good, let’s see what else these old bones can do.”

Glenn Arias

He twists his limbs into impossible angles, joints popping like old wood. 

One leg hooks over yours, the other sliding between, lining you up flush. 

Hips grind in experimental circles; testing friction, pressure, leverage. 

His coat stays half-on, treasures clinking with every roll. 

Fingers; too many knuckles, trace your clit like he’s appraising a gem. 

He hums tunelessly, eyes gleaming behind the hood as you shudder. 

The stretch is bizarre, intimate; he watches your face for every reaction. 

When you gasp, he adjusts the angle, grinding harder, sliding as smoothly as possible, urious. 

Release crashes through you both at odd intervals; his laugh rasping out. 

After, he untangles slowly, joints creaking, offering a trinket from his pocket. 

Favorite Sex Position: Countertop

“Time is money, darling. But for you? I’ll make an exception.”

He sweeps files aside with one arm, lifting you onto the desk in the same motion. 

Your back hits cool mahogany; his belt clinks open, pants shoved down just enough. 

Legs hooked over his forearms, he spreads you wide and drives in. 

Papers crumple beneath you; a pen rolls off and shatters, neither of you care. 

One hand braces beside your head, the other gripping your throat, thumb over your pulse. 

Thrusts are sharp, businesslike; efficient but no less devastating. 

He watches your face like he’s memorizing weaknesses, lips curled in a smirk. 

When you claw his shoulders, he leans in, teeth grazing your jaw. 

He times his release to yours; pulling out to stripe your stomach, marking the deal. 

Leon S. Kennedy

Not Leon initially trying way too hard to stay quiet. His jaw clenched, head tipped back and one hand gripping the nearest surface like it's the only thing that'll keep him from melting into a puddle for the BJ he's about to get. The moment you swirl your tongue around the tip, a cracked “fuck” slips out and he stops pretending.

He enjoys threading his fingers through your hair, though he never pulls but just holds you gently yet firmly like a lifeline.

When he's close to orgasm, his hips are the first to give out these tiny involuntary thrusts he immediately feels guilty about and mutters “sorry” even while his thighs are shaking.

Expect post-orgasm Leon to be clingy in the most softest way. He would pull you up to kiss you lazy and slow, tasting himself on your tongue, whispering “you’re too good to me” like he still can’t believe someone wants to take care of him. 

Has a secret thing for when you hum while he’s in your mouth; the vibration makes him grip the back of your neck and groan like he’s been shot all over again.

Chris Redfield

Chris is a big man and he knows it; he spends the first minute just watching you with this awed, almost nervous look like he’s worried he’ll overwhelm you. Once you take the lead, though, that worry melts into the lowest, filthiest growl you’ve ever heard. 

He’s a thigh-clencher. Both hands tangle in your hair, not guiding, just resting there because he needs to touch you while you work. When he gets close his quads flex so hard you can feel it against your forearms. 

Praise king. Every few seconds it’s “just like that, baby,” “God, you’re perfect,” and when he finally comes it’s with your name in that rough, broken voice that makes you ache. 

Likes when you tease the scar on his lower abs with your tongue on the way down; it makes him twitch and huff a laugh that turns into a moan. 

Aftercare is immediate: hauls you into his lap, big arms wrapped around you, kissing your forehead and telling you how good you made him feel until you’re both half-asleep.

Albert Wesker

Wesker doesn’t ask; he expects. He’ll tilt your chin up with two fingers, voice cool and clinical: “On your knees.” But the second your mouth is on him, that god-complex falters; his breathing goes shallow and sharp. 

He keeps the sunglasses on. Always. Watching you through those red lenses while his gloved hand cups the back of your head is peak power-trip Wesker. 

Surprisingly sensitive at the tip; flick your tongue there and his composure cracks; a low hiss, a rare “enough teasing,” the faintest tremor in the thigh you’re gripping. 

When he finishes it’s silent but intense; head back and one gloved hand tightening almost painfully in your hair before he forces himself to relax and stroke your cheek like nothing happened. 

Will 100% return the favor later with terrifying precision, smirking the entire time like he’s taking notes for next time.

Carlos Oliveira

Carlos is loud from the jump; filthy Portuguese praise rolling off his tongue the moment your lips touch him. Calls you “princesa,” “meu anjo,” all while grinning like he won the lottery. 

Loves when you grab his hips or dig your nails into his ass; it makes him laugh breathlessly and buck into your mouth with zero shame. 

Has a habit of talking through it: “yeah, just like that, don’t stop; fuck, your mouth is insane.” When he’s close the words slur into desperate groans. 

If you cup his balls at the same time, he’s done for; head dropping forward, his immense curls falling into his eyes.

Post-nut Carlos is a cuddly mess; flops back, drags you on top of him, kisses you stupid while mumbling how you’re gonna kill him one of these days and he’ll die happy.

Piers Nivans

Piers is shy at first; cheeks pink, trying to keep those pretty eyes anywhere but on you actually doing it. Takes about thirty seconds before he loses the battle and can’t look away. 

The sweetest boy; keeps asking “is this okay?” while his voice is already shaking. When you hum a yes around him his head thunks back against whatever surface is behind him and he whimpers. 

Surprisingly sensitive balls; give them a little attention and his whole body jolts, hand flying to cover his mouth like he’s embarrassed by the sound he just made. 

When he comes he tries to warn you, always; “babe, I’m.. shit...” and if you swallow anyway he stares at you like you personally hung the moon. 

After, he’s peppering your face with soft grateful kisses, blushing hardcore, whispering “I love you” like three times in a row because he still can’t believe you did that for him.

Jake Muller

Jake acts cocky until your mouth is actually on him; then the smirk drops, eyes go wide, and all that bravado turns into a stream of “oh fuck, oh fuck, holy shit.” 

Loves when you take control; push him back against a wall or down onto a bed and he’s instantly pliant, hands flexing like he doesn’t know where to put them until you tell him “touch me.” 

Has a thing for when you moan around him; the vibration makes him curse and his hips snap forward before he can stop himself. 

Will try to keep the dirty talk going right up until he’s too far gone, then it’s just your name repeated like a prayer while his hand tightens in your hair. 

After he comes he laughs; this low, disbelieving sound; then drags you up to kiss you messy and grateful, smirking against your lips with a “you trying to ruin me, sweetheart?”

Jack Krauser

Krauser doesn’t sit back and enjoy; he looms. One massive hand collars the back of your neck, thumb pressing just under your jaw like he’s reminding you who’s in charge even when you’re the one on your knees.

Growls more than moans; deep, guttural sounds that rumble in his chest every time you take him deeper. When you hollow your cheeks, the growl cracks into a sharp “fuck” that sounds almost angry.

Despite being an immensely dominant man, he'd sometimes get off on the power shift: the second you hollow your cheeks and take him deep, his breath actually stutters and that iron control slips for half a second; priceless.

Loves testing your limits; slow, deliberate thrusts just to watch your eyes water while he mutters “good girl/boy” in that gravel-low voice. If you gag, his grip tightens and his smirk is pure predator.

When he finishes he holds you down until the very last second, only letting go when his thighs shake. Then he hauls you up by the armpits, kisses you rough, and mutters “you’ll pay for that later” like it’s a promise.

Luis Sera

Luis is dramatic from the first lick; head falling back, Spanish curses flowing like poetry, calling you “mi reina” and “dios mío, your mouth should be illegal.”

Smokes right up until you sink down on him; then the cigarette falls forgotten as he groans your name and threads both hands through your hair like he’s praying.

Cannot shut up; filthy compliments, half-laughing pleas, teasing you about how you look with his cock in your mouth until the words dissolve into desperate gasps.

When he comes it’s with a string of breathless praise and that charming, wrecked laugh; then he hauls you up to kiss you senseless, tasting himself and grinning like a devil who just found heaven.

Lights another cigarette after, offers you a drag, and spends the next five minutes tracing lazy circles on your back while telling you you’re the best thing that ever happened to him.

HUNK

Silent. Deadly silent. The only sounds are his measured breathing and the occasional sharp inhale when you do something particularly evil with your tongue.

Mask stays on; always. But if you reach up and brush your fingers along the edge where skin meets tactical gear, his gloved hand will catch your wrist; not stopping you, just holding, grounding himself.

The second you take him to the root his entire body goes rigid, thighs flexing under your palms like he’s fighting every instinct not to fuck your throat.

When he finishes it’s with one low, barely audible grunt and a gloved hand tightening almost painfully in your hair before he forces himself to relax and strokes down your spine in silent appreciation.

He’ll vanish five minutes later, but the next time you see him there’s an extra magazine or a rare herb left on your bunk without a word; his version of a thank-you note.

Karl Heisenberg

Karl’s mouth runs even filthier than his factory machines; constant stream of “that’s it, buttercup,” “fuck, you’re gonna make me blow the whole grid,” while sparks literally dance across his metal knuckles (I'm sorry but I so imagine some parts of his body parts being metal cause... WHY NOT!?).

Loves when you let him set the pace; fists both hands in your hair, hips rolling slow and deep, growling praise through that shit-eating grin.

The man is loud; half the time he’s laughing in delight at how good you feel, the other half he’s snarling your name like a curse when you suck hard enough to make his toes curl in those boots.

When he comes it’s with a roar that probably rattles the windows, magnets clinking wildly around the room, then he yanks you up for a bruising kiss tasting of metal and smoke.

Immediately starts plotting how to get you on your knees again tomorrow; “round two in the workshop, sweetheart; I’ll even turn the smelter off for you.”

The Merchant

Surprisingly shy behind the hood at first; raspy voice softer than usual, asking “you sure about this, luv?” right up until your tongue touches him and he exhales a reverent “bloody hell.”

Keeps the coat on but lets you push it open; those gloved hands hover like he’s afraid to mess up your rhythm, then finally settle gently on your head with the lightest touch.

When you take him deep his accent gets thicker, words slurring into broken “so good, Christ, just like that,” until he’s reduced to needy whispers behind the mask.

Comes with a muffled groan and a full-body shudder, fingers tightening in your hair for only a second before he’s stroking it apologetically.

Pays you back in rare treasures later; a fully upgraded weapon, a stack of pesetas, and a quiet “anything you want, it’s yours” murmured like a secret.

Glenn Arias

Glenn expects perfection and you give it. He watches you with that cold, calculating gaze at first, but the moment your mouth is on him the mask slips; lips part, breath hitching behind perfect teeth.

One elegant hand cups your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek while he murmurs soft praises that gets rougher the closer he gets.

Loves when you trace the line of his suit trousers with your tongue before freeing him; the control freak in him unravels at the deliberate tease.

When he finishes it’s controlled but devastating; a sharp inhale, eyes squeezing shut for once, your name hissed like a prayer before he composes himself and smooths your hair back into place.

You hadn't meant to become so enraptured in the tournament. Truly, even as you were painstakingly tying ribbons through your hair and dawning your finest summer garments, you told yourself it would just be a quick glimpse of him and you'd leave it at that. But how could a glimpse ever be enough? The moment you laid eyes on him- found him in the sea of gleaming metal- you could feel heat rise in your face and tumble swiftly down your whole form.

There had been countless hours dedicated to watching Zevlor go about his training- one of the many things he indulged you in. It had taken what felt like an eternity to be sure he wasn't just being polite and dutiful to your lingering presence. You had strung together a mountain of silly excuses to speak with him. Had done laps around the castle just to pass by the hall he had been stationed in. By now you had memorized the little tells that separated the way he spoke to you from his other 'superiors'. The softening of his words, the crinkling of the corners of his eyes, his tail springing to life. It all worked to take your breath away. So you made a habit of passing by the stables past midday to watch him spar.

But today was something special. A tournament;all the knights finely decorated and ready to show their worth to the court. Or to win the favor of a special some. Blush bloomed over your cheeks as you smiled at the thought trying to impress you Had he been searching the crowd for you as you had for him?

Needing to be closer you moved past the seated stands and pushed - as gracefully as you could- forward until you were right against the barricade. You spied him easily and stood completely transfixed; he seemed the picture of strength and bravery- the perfection of knighthood, the kind one would read about in a fairy book. Zevlor was clad in shining silver, his surcoat a pattern of fine green and gold. He moved even in battle with a grace and mastery of himself he held with him always, making his movements look effortless. His helm hid his face but could not mask the molten glow of his infernal eyes.  

This was the first time you had seen him fully armored and fighting with less restraint than in his lessons. A side of him saved for the unrelenting heat of battle. It enchanted you completely. Your eyes locked on his domineering form, on his command of his long sword and the sheer force of his strength. In more than one fight he had shattered his opponent’s shield making your heart skip a beat. You watched in awe at the expertise of his riding and cheered, perhaps a little too loudly, as he knocked a combatant clean off his horse with ease. All the while his fiery eyes gleamed under the shadow of his helm, stoking the flames he had lit in your blood . You could have sworn he fixed those eyes on you more then once during the tournament, each time weakening your knees. With the excitement in the air emboldening you, you dared to wave your kerchief as the knights trotted by. As you had hoped Zevlor didn't waste a moment in galloping to you and snatched your token before any other knight had the chance. He bowed his head to you, lingering for a moment before wordlessly carrying on.

You had come to know Zevlor well and understood him to be a gentle soul. He held himself with dignity and only ever acted as a gentleman towards you. However you adored the way he could ignite with passion. Whether it be in a heated debate, in advocating for his people or- on occasion-  during one your midnight rendezvous. It was a side of him you longed to see more of for some time but now the notion of just how easily he could move you, lift you -even over power you- if he wished left you dizzy, suddenly pressing your thighs together to quell the heat pooling there. Zevlor had never come close to manhandling you but you couldn't say you wouldn’t mind if he had a change of heart. If anything, being a human made him all the more cautious and careful in his actions when you were together. But you would take the role of the more adventurous one when the time called.

Both to your dismay and delight Zevlor ranked highly but was barred from the final rounds. Unsurprisingly the court didn't fancy the idea of honoring a teifling in such a way. However you intended to take advantage of the distracted crowds. All it took was wrangling a pageboy with some hurried nonsense and you were led straight to his tent.

Heart hammering you slipped through the opening, gently closing it behind you.The sunlight through the fabric casted the humble inhabitants in a warm, almost ethereal glow. You hesitated momentarily, again in awe of your lover. Having already rid himself of his helmet and surcoat Zevlor worked at unfastening his shoulder plates. His eyes snapping to yours pushed a breath from your lungs. Gods he was handsome like this; his wet hair wild and clinging to his sweat drenched skin.

Zevlor let his eyes fall, scanning your form before rising back to your face. For a moment he looked as an animal sizing up their prey. Perhaps he did mean to  devour you whole, his mind and body still racing with adrenaline. There was hunger there, unmistakable.

"You're going to miss all the fanfair,  you know." He spoke with a smile.

"I wanted to see a champion up close."

He laughed as he rid his arms from their casings and set the metal down with care.

"You'll find none here I'm afraid."

You scoffed at his words and caught his eyes again locked on your body. You were well aware of his thoughts and understood the meaning of his low tone and sharp eyes. The desire for the day Zevlor would be more forthcoming with his feelings was all consuming. Of course, in part you understood his hesitation and believed in his unending devotion to do right by you. He wanted to keep the both of you safe from those that would protest such a relationship. But still you longed to see him run into your arms and kiss you without a single worry of who might see. Taking the kerchief was one of the more unrestrained actions you'd seen him take in public.

"You know you were the best man on the field." Your voice bloomed with pride. "You're the one that should be out there now."

"You're very kind, but I have little desire to be paraded around and sit through an unending feast with the royals." Zevlor said as he navigated more starpes.

"I thought you liked dining with the court." You pouted, teasingly.

"Well," Zevlor spoke, his gaze once again tracing your curves. "I suppose it depends upon what I'm dining."

You breathed, a shiver running down your spine as you lost whatever quick witted responses you were trying to stitch together. If he wanted teasing, you were ready to indulge him.

"Are you weary, hellrider? Why are you fumbling so with your armor?" 

Swiftly you closed the distance between you, your hands running down his sides before moving to undo his breast plate.

"Let me help you." You spoke in barley a whisper as you lingered in the closeness and took care to let your hands wander. The scent of him alone had your mouth watering. You were lost in a haze of sweat, warm metal, fresh dirt and incense- a concoction so painfully Zevlor it left you aching. Just as he was for you; his shifting movements, his energetic tail and shy smile told you such.  

Working together you made short work of his metal shell and had striped him down to his mail. To your great delight you spied your kerchief tied carefully around his neck.

“You are too kind, my dear.” Zevlor murmured as he brought a weathered hand to caress your cheek. “I fear I may be overcome after all.”

"I don't blame you. I can hardly imagine carrying all this around." You slowly ran your hands down his chest admiring how tightly the metal stretched across his muscle.

"I meant in mind not in body." He chuckled. "I can never seem to think straight with you near me."

"Oh?" You grabbed the hem of his mail and attempted to lift it off him but failed utterly. Luckily he followed your lead and removed the garment with ease, leaving him only in his oversized white tunic and hose.

Acting on instinct you melt against him pressing your hips to his, finally feeling your prize, hard and wanting through the fabric.

"And why is that?" You grind against the tiefling drawing a sharp gasp from his lips. "Perhaps I could help clear your mind?"

"We can't actually-" Zevlor tried to steady his voice. "Not here, what if-"

"It's not over yet, nobody's around. Besides," You press yourself flush against him allowing your breath to glide over his neck. "What kind of noble would I be if I did not reward my champion after such an impressive display."

A low moan escaped his throat as you felt a shiver run through him. You slid your hand under the fabric slowly, enjoying the feel of toned, scared skin that lay underneath. Gently Zevlor grasped your wrist, stalling you, concern heavy on his face.

"Fine." You took a step back as your hands darted to the ties at your chest. "You're feeling overexposed then? Shall we even things out?" 

"My heart, you don't half to..." Zevlor stammered. By the time the words were out you had already unlaced your top exposing your breasts to his hungry gaze.

You reached for his tunic, this time pulling it off him with no resistance. You could not stifle the sigh that fell from your lips at the sight waiting for you beneath. The thin fabric  of his codpiece stretched taut over his bulge, fighting to contain his prominent erection. It was plaster so finely you could make out the delicious marks of his hellion heritage. You licked your lips at the very thought of feeling them- anywhere and everywhere- which did not go unnoticed by Zevlor. His eyes bore into you, dark with lust and as wild as they were desperate. A part of you wanted to keep him like this to see what he might do. If he would snap his fangs down on you like some great serpent. But the ache between legs drove you forward. 

You lightly brush your fingertips down his chest before digging them into his hips as you fall to your knees before him.    

Unable to help yourself you brushed your nose against the tented cloth relishing in his scent. Suddenly playful- perhaps intoxicated on the desire to adore him- you nuzzled and peppered kisses over him. You hummed in satisfaction as you suckled at his head through the now dampening fabric.

"Gods." Zevlor's voice wavered with effort. "You're going to be the death of me.”

"Patience, Sir knight." You smiled up at him coyly, but reached for the laces all the same and pulled them apart as slowly as you could stand it.

The ties were barely undone when the tiefling's member sprang to freedom, earning a soft moan from you and an awkward chuckle from Zevlor.

In a second you were on him, tracing his veins and ridges with an eager tongue. Closing your eyes you take his leaking tip into your mouth to relish in the salt and musk of his flesh. At long last you freed one of your hands from Zevlor’s hip and furiously hiked up your dress enough to bring yourself some relief. You couldn't suppress the jolt that hit the second you ran your fingers over your arousal. 

"Look at me." Zevlor all but purred.

You obeyed, your hand moving faster under the heat of his eyes. Zevlor ran his fingers through your hair with a gentleness that made you shiver.

"You always touch me so delicately it's hard to believe how strong you are, Zevlor."  You muse between kisses. "Seeing you today, seeing what you can do- what you could do. I could hardly stand it."

The knight raises a brow in surprise.

"Did- did you enjoy it?" He asked. 

The lustful timber of his voice vibrated through your whole being and you swallowed him down as far as you could manage at once. Again you lost yourself in the act of worship. The pleasant ache of your stretched lips bobbing over his length. The jumbled flurry of grunts and praise that fell from Zevlor’s open mouth. The way he’d try to calm his bucking hips which so longed to thrust with abandon.

A firm grasp on your hair yanked you back to the world as Zevlor pulled you off him. Before the question could form on your lips he crashed his mouth against yours. In moments your head was spinning. His tongue explored your mouth as his hands greedily raked over your breasts and thighs. You were gasping for air by the time Zevlor moved to bite at your neck. He pulled moans and whines from you with ease. You'd never felt the perfect sting of his teeth on your skin before, even when you had asked for it.

"I want to be yours." You gasp, mimicking the words you'd uttered in the past when Zevlor seemed overcome by the guilt or doubt of his actions.

"You are mine. Oh sweet one, every inch of you is mine." Zevlor swore his voice thick with fervent desire.

His mouth continued biting and sucking bruises across your chest until you could feel your heart pulsing in your core. As if sensing your need the teifling spread your thighs, his large hands giving them a squeeze for good measure. To your surprise he hooked his arms under your knees and with a firm grasp on your bottom he pulled you up into his arms as he stood.

Throwing your arms around his neck you claw at him for stability. The half hearted protests died quickly on your tongue as Zevlor pressed you to him, dragging his member against your throbbing sex. You feel weightless, helpless; stunned at the realization of just how well he can control you.

He grinds against you, sliding his slick head over your clit with precision. You dug your nails into his firm shoulders trying your best to adjust your hips but to no avail. You didn't need to utter a word for Zevlor to come to your rescue as he brought himself to nudge at your entrance.

Both of you cried out as he - at last- sheathed half his thick cock in you in one motion. The delicious ache of being stretched by him had you mewling like a cat in heat as Zevlor pressured into you farther. He then slowly withdrew entirely, his burning eyes locked on yours before slamming it all back inside with a single thrust. A scream tore from your throat followed by a chorus of wanton moans as Zevlor continued pounding into you at a pace you had never felt from him before.

Your whole body pulsed, your mind dizzy with pleasure. You swore, gasped and grunted in a manner wildly unbecoming of your station and adored it all the same. If Zevlor could grant you his unrestrained need you would do the same. You couldn't bring yourself to care if anyone heard you chanting his name like some ancient spell or the rhythmic slapping of your skin. You had needed him like this for so long.

Zevlor was only spurred on by your vocalizing, his pace practically leaving you breathless. He rutted into you with abandon, hitting his mark relentlessly. A new tightness rippled through your muscles with surprising intensity. The pleasure was overwhelming, making your whole body twist and coil with bliss. Zevlor's grip on you only tightened, continuing to bounce you like a toy on his cock with ease. You came suddenly, hips bucking, your body contorting with ecstasy. It seemed unending as you spasmed around him over and over. Your legs shook uncontrollably as you rode out the blissful ache.

Just as suddenly as it overtook you it released, leaving you limp to bury your head in Zevlor’s heaving chest. A starry vision passed your eyes until a ragged moan ripped from Zevlor's throat. You shuttered against him delightling in the sensation of being filled with the heat of his seed.

Slowly and with great care he lowered the both of you down to the grassy earth until he lay over you, keeping himself inside you. Your body was heavy, still twitching but you welcomed the grounding weight of your lover on you.

Zevlor, still breathing hard, looked you over his eyes wide and uncertain. You couldn't help but beam at him as you combed your fingers through the damp mess of his hair. 

"Was that-" Zevlor hesitated searching for the word. "Alright?"

You laughed grinning ear to ear, overjoyed to watch the concern on Zevlor's face melt into a soft smile. Before he could protest you brought his head down to lay on your chest and hummed as you felt the tension leave his body.

With ease you could have fallen asleep as Zevlor lavished your breasts with attention. A loud cheer in the distance, a reminder that you would have to part sooner rather than later.

"Would that I could rest here forever." Zevlor murmured, breathing you in.

"Come to my bed tonight." You said, praying today truly had been a breakthrough and he might actually accept the offer. "Everyone will be drinking themselves to oblivion anyhow. No one would be around. Come to my bed and sleep in my arms, love."

 Zevlor paused and then sighed, contentment in his voice.

"I am your knight, my heart, above all things.” Zevlor smiled as he kissed your skin with revelry. "I can deny you nothing."

Heroes prowled the sprawling penthouse floors in costume, their laughter drunk and wild. The modern chandeliers were draped in fake cobwebs that swayed in the slightest breeze. You kept telling yourself you didn’t belong here, not really, not dressed like this, in the ridiculous black satin bunny ears Valentina had shoved into your hands with a wicked grin, and the costume that clung to every curve, riding up your thighs no matter how many times you tugged the hem down.

The music was too loud, the whiskey too bitter on your tongue, the crowd too chaotic, all too much it was overwhelming. Yelena in all black clothes and just cat ears had thrust a drink into your hand earlier with a barked “Stop sulking, зайчик,” her smirk sharp enough to cut glass, and you were left with no excuse but to mingle.

So, you wove through gods and assassins, sidestepping sequined wings and foam armor, your pulse quickening every time someone’s gaze lingered a beat too long. The air tasted like spilled liquor and expensive cologne, and you were doing fine until Alexei loomed into your path like a mountain in a red tracksuit looking like Santa, his bear-sized chest catching the full splash of your drink when you stumbled.

You sputtered apologies, cheeks burning hot, but his booming laugh drowned you out, rattling your ribs. “You are light, little rabbit!” he barked, slapping your shoulder hard enough to nearly send you sprawling.

You should have slipped out after you spilled your drink, after you went and replaced with another...and then another. Should have made an excuse to no one but your self, grabbed your coat and vanished into the cool October night. But the crowd carried you, room after room, until the bass in your chest felt like a second heartbeat, a thumping metronome deep in your chest, until your skin was warm and your thoughts were soft and your body slightly more relaxed.

Johnny Storm was lounging near the bar like he owned it, draped in a sexy firefighter garb, shirt undone to display his chest, the plastic red hat he’d abandoned, clutched in one hand. He was grinning like the party belonged to him, tossing lines at everyone who passed, until his gaze landed on you.

His eyes dragged down the costume, slow and shameless, lingering on the curve of your hips, the dip of your neckline, the ridiculous bunny ears perched on your head. “Well, well,” he drawled, pushing off the bar, his grin widening into something mischievous and playful. “Guess I’m not the hottest one here after all.” And then proceeded to laugh at his own joke.

It was shameless, but it made you laugh before you could stop yourself, a breathless little sound that slipped out before you could swallow it down. His grin only widened, eyes crinkling at the corners, and he stepped closer, close enough that you could smell the whiskey on his breath, the smoky woodsy scent that was probably his natural scent, like a walking wood fire burning in autumn.

“That laugh’s dangerous,” he murmured, leaning into your space just a fraction. “You gonna let me buy you another drink?” And you couldn't help but nod with a smile on your lips.

Suddenly Kurt appeared, the scent of sulfur marking his bamf, the sharp tang of sulfur cutting through the whiskey haze. He materialized at your side in a dashing black and gold pirates coat, complete with sword at his hip and a feathered hat. His golden eyes were wide and soft, his tail curling tighter around an empty glass.

He was grabbing a refill when he spotted you, tilting his head as his gaze sweept over the costume, the ears, the flush in your cheeks, and something tender flickered across his face.

“Wunderschön,” he murmured to himself, quieter than the music, his accent curling around the words like velvet. He blushed the second you glanced his way, his tail flicking nervously.

“Du siehst wunderschön aus” he said to you, and then realized his mistake. “You look beautiful.” he said an again an indigo flush rushing to his ears. The warmth in his voice tugging at something deeper than Johnny’s brazen teasing.

Bucky, wasn’t even looking for company. He stood at the edge of it all, sleeves of a plain black shirt rolled high, forearms corded with muscle, the metal of his left arm gleaming dully under the lights. Earlier when he'd run into Yelena and she had scoffed at his outfit, he told her his costume was a ninja, but she just gave him a deadpan look and walked away. He’d been staying to the wall and the closest exit, content to nurse his drink and watch the chaos unfold from a safe distance, but when your laughter drifted over the music, bright and breathless, his head lifted.

His gaze found you across the room, caught on the way Johnny leaned too close, the way Kurt hovered shyly at your side, and something shifted in him. He drifted toward you, his presence cutting through the noise like a blade.

Three men orbiting the same point, drawn in without realizing it, their attention zeroing in on you like gravity, and you, buzzed and aware of every look and smile, every brush of a hand, every whispered word, were flustered.

Johnny's hand found the small of your back, warm even through the thin fabric, his fingers splaying possessively as he leaned in to whisper something that made heat crawl up your neck.

“This costume is killing me, you know that?” His breath ghosted over your ear, and you felt the vibration of his voice next to your ear over the pounding music.

Kurt’s tail brushed your ankle, a feather-light brush against your sensitive skin.

“Entschuldigung,” he murmured, but he didn’t pull away. Instead, he shifted closer, his shoulder nearly touching yours, and when you glanced at him, his golden eyes were darker than before, pupils blown wide.

“May I—” He hesitated, fingers twitching toward the ridiculous bunny ear that had slipped askew. “May I fix this?”

You nodded, throat suddenly dry, and his touch was impossibly gentle as he adjusted the headband, his fingertips grazing your temple, sliding through your hair. The intimacy of it made your breath catch, made you hyperaware of how close they both were, how the space around you had shrunk to just the three of you.

Bucky materialized at your other side, silent as a shadow, and you knew his presence before you even saw him. His metal fingers curled around your wrist, to pull your attention away from Johnny’s wandering hand and Kurt’s tender ministrations.

“You good?” His voice was low, rough, edged with something you couldn’t quite name. His blue eyes searched yours with an intensity that made your stomach flip, because you knew that look. You’d seen it before, in quiet moments, in passing glances that lingered too long.

“Buck! I’m...yeah,” you managed, but your voice came out breathier than you intended. The whiskey was making everything soft and warm, and you were acutely aware of the heat radiating from all three of them, the way they’d unconsciously boxed you in, creating a pocket of space that felt separate from the chaos swirling around you.

“You sure?” Johnny’s grin had sharpened, taken on an edge that made your stomach flip. “Because you look a little flushed, bunny.” His thumb traced a slow circle against your lower back, and you felt it like a brand.

“She needs air,” Kurt said quickly, his tail flicking with agitation, or maybe something else.

Your brain short-circuited. “I...sorry, I just—” You pulled back, stumbling a little as you extracted yourself from their orbit, your skin still tingling where they’d touched you. “I need some air. I’m gonna...yeah.”

“Wait—” Bucky started, his brow furrowing, concern flickering across his face, But you were already moving. Weaving through the crowd with your heart hammering against your ribs, your cheeks burning so hot you thought you might combust. Your thoughts were a jumbled mess of Johnny’s wicked grin, Kurt’s tender touch, Bucky’s intense stare, and the way your body had responded to all of it, like every nerve ending had been set on fire.

You shouldered past a group of laughing heroes, nearly collided with Thor squished into an inflatable dinosaur costume, and finally burst through a side door that led to one of the Tower’s quieter balconies, not the main one, but a smaller alcove tucked away from the party’s chaos.

The October air hit you like a cold shower, cutting through the whiskey haze and the lingering heat of too many hands, too many eyes. You pressed your palms against the railing, the metal biting into your skin, and sucked in a shaky breath. The city sprawled below, a glittering expanse of light and shadow, and for a moment, you just stood there, trying to get your racing heart under control.

What the fuck just happened?

Johnny had been flirting, that was just Johnny, he flirted with everyone. Kurt had been sweet, gentle, maybe a little smitten, but that didn’t mean anything. And Bucky… Bucky. Your chest ached at the memory of his expression, the raw vulnerability in his eyes, like you were something he wanted but didn’t know if he could have.

You groaned, dropping your forehead against your hands. This was a disaster. You’d just run away from three gorgeous men who were clearly interested, and now you were hiding on a balcony like a coward, your bunny ears askew again and your thoughts spiraling.

After a minute of thinking, of letting the cool air settle the chaos in your chest, you gathered your courage like armor and stepped back inside. The bass hit you immediately, the heat and noise swallowing you whole, but you pushed through it, your eyes scanning the crowd as you made your way back toward the bar, but they weren’t there.

The spot where they’d been standing was empty, just a cluster of abandoned glasses and a group of laughing strangers who’d claimed the space. Your stomach dropped, something like disappointment curling cold in your gut. You told yourself it was fine, that you’d been the one to run, that you couldn’t expect them to just wait around for you to get your shit together.

Still you looked for them, you wove through the party, scanning faces, searching for Johnny’s cocky grin, Kurt’s tail, Bucky’s broad shoulders. Nothing. The crowd swallowed you, gods and assassins and heroes blurring together in a kaleidoscope of sequins and foam and laughter that suddenly felt too loud, too much. Your chest tightened, and you didn’t know if it was disappointment or relief, maybe something you didn’t want to name.

After what felt like an eternity of searching, you found yourself drifting away from the main rooms, down one of the Tower’s quieter hallways. The music faded to a muffled throb, the lights dimmer here, the air cooler. You didn’t know where you were going, just that you needed to go somewhere.

The hallway stretched ahead, lined with closed doors and soft ambient lighting, and you walked slowly, your heels clicking against the polished floor, your thoughts still a tangled mess. You were so lost in your head that you almost didn’t notice the figure leaning against the wall ahead of you, half-hidden in shadow. Your breath caught, your steps faltering, and then he shifted, stepping into the light, and your heart kicked up into your throat, Bucky.

He was alone, his metal arm gleaming dully, his sleeves still rolled up, and when his eyes found yours, something flickered across his face, relief, it made your pulse stutter.

“Been looking for you,” he said quietly, his voice rough, and he pushed off the wall, closing the distance between you with slow, deliberate steps.

“I—” Your voice came out shaky, and you swallowed hard, trying to find words that didn’t sound stupid. “I thought you left.”

“Left?” His brow furrowed, and he stopped just shy of touching you, close enough that you could feel the heat radiating off him. “Why the hell would I leave?”

“I don’t know, I just—” You gestured vaguely back toward the party, your cheeks burning again. “I ran off like an idiot, and when I came back, you were all gone, and I thought—”

“You thought wrong.” His voice was firm, almost stern, and his hand came up to cup your jaw, tilting your face toward his. “I told them to give you space. Didn’t want you to feel cornered.”

Your breath hitched at the touch, at the way his thumb brushed over your cheekbone, and you couldn’t look away from his eyes, couldn’t ignore the intensity burning there.

“But I’ve been out here,” he continued, his voice dropping lower, rougher, “waiting. Hoping you’d come back.”

“Bucky…” His name came out like a plea, and you didn’t know what you were asking for, only that you needed something, needed him to close the gap; to stop looking at you like that unless he was going to...

Suddenly he kissed you, a desperate clash of tongues and lips, his metal hand sliding into your hair, tilting your head back as his mouth claimed yours. You gasped against his lips, and he swallowed the sound, his other hand gripping your hip, pulling you flush against him. You melted into it, into him, your hands fisting in his shirt, your body arching into his touch like you’d been starving for it.

When he finally pulled back, you were both breathing hard, his forehead resting against yours, his eyes dark and wild.

"That okay?” he murmured, and there was a ghost of a smile on his lips, something almost smug that made your stomach flip.

“Yes,” you breathed, and then you were kissing him again, harder this time, and he groaned into your mouth, backing you up until your spine hit the wall. Somewhere down the hall, a door opened, and you both froze.

“Well, well,” Johnny’s voice drawled, lazy and amused, and you broke the kiss to see him leaning in a doorway, his arms crossed, his grin absolutely wicked. “Guess we know where she went.”

Kurt appeared behind him, his tail flicking side to side like a curious cats, his eyes wide and dark as they took in the sight of you pressed against the wall, Bucky’s hands still on you, your lips swollen and your breath coming fast.

“Mein Gott! excuse me,” Kurt breathed looking away, but the you saw heat in his gaze made your knees weak.

Bucky didn’t let go of you. If anything, his grip tightened, and when he glanced over his shoulder at them, there was something blazing in his eyes. For a long moment, the four of you just stared, laughter and music pulsing like a heartbeat behind the closed doors.

You could have walked away. None of them would have stopped you. Instead, you lingered, pulse quickening, something electric hanging in the narrow space between.

Johnny and Kurt exchanged a glance, something unspoken passing between them, and then Johnny’s smirk turned rueful, almost resigned. “Aaalllll Right, let's go blue,” he said, pushing off the doorframe, his hand going to Kurts shoulder to guide him away. “Guess we’ll let you two Have fun.”

Kurt turned his tail dropping slightly, the tip dragging against the floor as he turned to follow Johnny back down the hall.

A noise escaped you before you could stop it, something small and choked, caught between your throat and your lips. It wasn’t quite a word, but it was something, and Bucky heard it. His head tilted down, his eyes finding yours, and a low chuckle rumbled through his chest, a dark and knowing sound.

“That so?” he murmured, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip, and there was something in his expression that made your face burn hotter.

“Wait.” Bucky’s voice cut through the hallway, sharp and commanding, and Johnny and Kurt both froze mid-step. Johnny glanced back over his shoulder, one brow arched, and Kurt turned fully, his tail lifting slightly, something flickering across his face.

You snapped your gaze up to Bucky, eyes wide, flustered, your heart hammering so hard you thought it might crack a rib. “Buck—”

“They should stay,” he said simply, his eyes still locked on yours, reading every flicker of emotion that crossed your face. “Shouldn’t they?”

Your breath caught, your lips parting, and you couldn’t speak, couldn’t think, couldn’t do anything but stare at him as the weight of what he was suggesting settled over you like a blanket.

Johnny’s smirk returned, slower this time, more cautious. “oh.... really?...That what you want, bunny?” he asked, his voice softer now, stripped of its usual bravado.

Kurt stepped closer a hopeful glint in his eye, his tail curling nervously, his golden eyes searching yours.

Bucky’s hand slid from your jaw to the back of your neck. “Go ahead, bunny” He murmured, his voice a low rasp against your ear. “Tell us what you want.”

Your throat was dry, your pulse a wild and erratic, when you finally found your voice, it came out shaky. “I—yes. I want—” You swallowed hard, your gaze flicking between them, and then you nodded, shy but sure.

Johnny’s grin turned playful, and he prowled back down the hallway, his eyes raking over you like he was already planning what he’d do. Kurt followed, slower, his tail flicking with barely restrained excitement, his hands flexing at his sides like he was holding himself back.

Bucky’s grip on the back of your neck tightened, just enough to make you gasp, and when he leaned in, his lips brushing the shell of your ear, his voice was pure sin. “Dirty girl.”

And then they were surrounding you again, all three of them, but this time there was no hesitation or uncertainty. Johnny’s hand found your hip, his fingers digging in as he leaned in for a slightly hesitant kiss, and Kurt’s tail curled around your calf, his touch feather-light but possessive. you curled your arms around Johnny and Bucky pressed himself to your back, his metal hand slid down your sternum and around your waist, pulling you back against him, and you were drowning in them, in the heat and the sheer intensity of it all. 

Your gasp caught as Kurt pressed closer at your side, careful as ever, but bold enough to rest his hand at your hip. His breath brushed your cheek, his voice a whisper against your skin. “you’re serious…”

Bucky’s grip on your waist tightened pulling your ass flush to his hard-on in his jeans, making you gasp against johnny's lips before Bucky leaned in, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. “That’s what you want, right?”

“Yes,” you breathed, the word tumbling out before doubt could catch it. Bucky presence was a wall at your back, metal arm glinting in the low light. “We can stop if you want it to stop,” Bucky murmured. against your ear as Johnny pulled you back and kissed you deeper, Kurt against your other side.

And you, confidence drunk, half dazed, separated from Johnny, a silver string still connecting your lips, and whispered, “Don’t stop.”

Johnny groaned his eyes glowing bright as he went back to kissing you again, Kurt flushed a deep Indigo before flashing you a charming smile with fangs, and Bucky kissed behind your ear, all three men caging you in without force. The party roared on outside the hall, but here it felt like the whole tower was holding its breath.

Johnny kissed you like he’d been holding back all night, teeth knocking a little against yours, messy and unashamed. His fingers skimmed your hip, tugging at the satin hem of your corset, thumbs brushing bare skin through your tights. He made a low, satisfied sound when you arched forward, chest brushing his. Bucky was anchoring you between his solid chest and Johnny’s fire.

Kurt’s hand found your other side, palm pressing lightly at your waist as though you might vanish at any moment. His tail slithered slow from your wrist up your forearm, velvet-soft, until it curled along your waist. He ducked his face in, lips grazing your jaw, hesitant at first, until you tilted your head, granting him more. “Mein Gott,” he whispered, the words vibrating against your skin, “you are…so warm.”

Pinned between them, you felt Bucky shift as he leaned closer curling around you, not fighting Johnny for your mouth or Kurt for your throat. His flesh hand settled heavy on your thigh, fingers curling over fishnet. The heat of his palm contrasted with the cool of the metal arm braced against hip, his presence grounding even as it threatened to undo you.

“Look at her,” Johnny muttered against your lips, cocky even with his voice wrecked from kissing. “All dolled up, letting us…fuck, you like this, don’t you, bunny?”

You gasped, trying to answer, but Kurt stole the sound, kissing you at the edge of your jaw, tail tightening in delight when your breath shuddered against him.

Bucky’s mouth brushed your ear, rough and low “Answer him, doll.”

Your thighs pressed together, helpless, your voice cracking as you admitted, “I—yeah. I like it.”

Johnny chuckled pleased, tugging harder at your costume. Kurt moaned softly in German, words tumbling too fast to catch. And Bucky, he groaned deep in his chest, thumb dragging along your inner thigh through flimsy tights. 

The satin costume wasn’t made for the all-consuming attention of three superheroes, it was going to be ruined, tugged and pulled until seams groaned. Johnny was slipping his hand under the corset’s hem and grinning like he’d just discovered buried treasure. “I wanna rip this off,” he muttered against your lips, teeth scraping, “I just know you are hiding something pretty under all this satin.” His other hand slipped lower, brazenly exploring the sheer stretch of tights where your thighs pressed together.

Kurt shifted lips brushing your neck in small kisses while his tail slid boldly down the curve of your hip. It slithered between your thighs, stroking up your thighs and under your short skirt with a deliberate tease. The brush of blue velvet against your skin made you whimper, head tipping back against Bucky's shoulder. Kurt whispered something a groaned plea straight into your flushed ear. “Bitte, let me touch you more.”

Bucky stayed just behind nosing and kissing at under your ear, content to listen to you moan and writhe, his presence a solid wall of heat at your back. His palm settled heavy on your thigh, fingers splayed wide, and you felt the slow drag of his thumb against the fragile mesh of your tights, the way the fabric strained against your skin. When you didn’t resist, your breath coming too fast, your body already trembling, he used one hard tug to tear the fabric open, shredding it with a vicious pull. The sound echoed louder than the bass thumping through the walls outside, and you gasped as cool air hit bare skin, as you realized you were almost completely exposed under the tiny black mini skirt you wore, the ruined tights hanging in tatters.

“These need to go,” Bucky murmured, his voice low and certain, rough with want, and it made your knees weak. Bucky held one thigh in his hand as the other came up to touch your breast through the corset. Johnny dropped to his knees almost before Bucky finished speaking, his grin curling on his face as he pushed your other thigh apart with his hand, spreading you wide.

“Trick or treat,” he rasped, his breath hot against your skin, and then he dragged his tongue along the tear in your tights, tasting bare skin where tights had been, lapping at the soft flesh of your inner thigh as you jolted, a broken cry tearing from your throat.

Kurt swallowed the sound, his mouth crashing into yours, his tongue darting past your lips with desperate, hungry need. He kissed you like he was drowning, his hands cupping your face, his tail coiling tighter around your waist, pulling you closer even as Johnny worked between your legs.

Your hands fumbled for something to hold, something to ground you in the overwhelming flood of sensation, Kurt’s ruffled shirt in one fist, the fabric bunching and twisting, Bucky’s metal wrist in the other, cold and unyielding against your palm. Johnny buried himself deeper between your thighs, his mouth relentless, sloppy and wet, his tongue pressing flat and wide against the soaked fabric of your panties, groaning like he was starving.

Kurt moaned into your lips as he felt your body tremble, your hips bucking involuntarily, and his tail coiled firmer around your waist, pressing you closer to him even as Johnny pulled you apart below. He broke the kiss to gasp, his forehead resting against yours, his breath ragged. “Gott, you taste good...Johnny, slow, she—”

“Don’t tell me to slow down,” Johnny groaned against your cunt, his voice muffled and rough, his lips shining with spit and want. He pulled back just enough to meet Kurt’s gaze, his grin feral. “She’s dripping for it.”

And then he plunged back in, his fingers hooking into the ruined tights, tearing through more of the delicate mesh with a sharp rip, and then his fingers slid into you, slick and eager, curling deep. You cried out, your head falling back against Bucky’s shoulder again, and he caught you, his metal arm wrapping around your chest , holding you upright as Johnny fucked you with his fingers, his mouth latching onto your clit, sucking hard. Your back arched, a keening moan spilling out, and Bucky’s other hand closed around your throat, holding you steady as your knees tried to buckle. His flesh thumb stroked lazily at your pulse, voice rough silk. “it’s okay I got you, doll.”

It all blurred together, Kurt kissing you, whispering endearments in German, Johnny eating you out like candy, Bucky watching from above, his gaze burning as though undressing you with his eyes. The costume clung tighter with every gasp, but Johnny was laughing breathless.  “This little bunny suit’s not surviving the night.” 

The laughter and music outside the hallway suddenly spiked, as group of guests stumbling to the door, voices carrying, one of them reaching for the hallway door you and Bucky were pressed against. Your heart lurched, but Bucky was quicker. His metal arm shot out, catching the handle before it could turn.  you all froze waiting for some superpowers individual to burst through the door, but eventually figuring the door was locked they drunkenly shuffled away, laughing loudly the whole way until the sound became muffled behind the door.

Johnny barked a laugh, still crouched between your legs. “Guess the hallway show’s over, bunny.” He rose in a smooth glide; grin aimed at the others. “Time to take this private.”

You barely had time to nod before Kurt’s tail wound tight around your wrist, tugging you gently but insistently toward one of the many guest rooms. Bucky opened the door with a push of his shoulder, and Johnny was already ushering you inside, He was at your back, his hands under your small skirt, the heat of his palms was startling against your ass. His fingers dug in, kneading the soft flesh, making your knees buckle.

"Johnny!" you yelped, twisting to look over your shoulder. A furious blush painted your cheeks, but he just smirked tilting his head, and winked. He gave your ass another rough, appreciative squeeze, shoving you forward into the waiting room.

The door clicked shut. The music became a dull throb beyond the walls, replaced by the sound of your breath and theirs, ragged and hungry.

Bucky was the first to touch you once the lock slid into place with a soft, final click. He turned you, his hands firm on your hips, spinning you around and pressing you back against the nearest wall, the cool surface a shock against your overheated skin. His broad frame boxed you in, caging you, and the sheer size of him made your breath hitch.

His flesh hand dragged down your sternum, his fingertips tracing the delicate line of your collarbone before finding the bow and lace-up at the front of your corset. He hooked his fingers into the ribbon, and with a couple of harsh tugs, the satin began to unravel, the fabric loosening with each pull, your breasts threatening to spill free.

“Let’s get this off, huh?” he muttered, his voice thick, rough with want, working your clothes off he couldn’t stand the barrier between his hands and your skin for another second.

Johnny laughed again, but softer this time as he stepped closer, his hands joining Bucky’s to help peel the corset away.

"Look at you," Johnny purred from in front of you, his eyes blown black with lust as they raked over your disheveled appearance. He stepped closer, the heat radiating from him like a furnace.

"All caught. No place to run." His hands shot out, fisting in the fabric. "Let's get this out of the way." He kissed each inch of revealed skin as it appeared, your sternum, the swell of your breasts, the soft curve of your ribs, his lips warm and wet, his breath ghosting over your flushed skin.

“Fuck, you’re gorgeous,” he murmured against you, his voice hushed, almost awed, and it made your chest tighten, made your breath come faster.

A new sensation slithered up your spine. Kurt’s tail, finally releasing your wrist, had coiled around your waist like a velvet serpent. The spade-shaped tip tracing a path over the curve of your ass, dipping between your cheeks before tapping lightly against your clothed cunt. You whimpered, bucking against the door, trapped between Bucky’s unmovable body.

Kurt knelt next to you, hooking his fingers into the waistband of your skirt, dragging it down over your hips, over your thighs, letting it pool at your feet. He followed with the ruined stockings, peeling them away, his three-fingered hands gentle against your skin.

When the last piece of costume hit the floor, you stood bare under three pairs of hungry eyes. The air in the room thickened, molten, charged with something electric and inevitable. You felt exposed, vulnerable, but not afraid.

Bucky’s flesh hand cupped your breast, his thumb brushing over your nipple, and you arched into his touch, a soft whimper escaping your lips. Johnny’s mouth found the other, his tongue flicking over the sensitive peak, sucking it into his mouth until you cried out. Kurt’s tail slid higher, curling around your thigh, the tip brushing dangerously close to where you ached, where you were slick.

Johnny pulled back just enough to grin up at you, his lips wet, his eyes dark. “We’re gonna ruin you, bunny,” he promised, his voice a low rasp. “In the best way.”

They led you to the bed, hands guiding, steadying, as your legs threatened to give out beneath you. Bucky’s metal hand stayed firm on your hip, Kurt’s tail wrapped around your waist, and Johnny pushed you backward towards the bed , his grin never faltering, his eyes raking over every inch of bare skin like he was memorizing you.

When the backs of your knees hit the mattress, you sat without thinking, and suddenly they were towering over you, three silhouettes backlit by the dim glow of city lights filtering through the windows. The bed dipped as Bucky climbed onto the bed behind you, his body pressing against your back, you could feel the hard line of his cock through his pants, pressing into the small of your back. His flesh hand came up to cup your jaw, tilting your face toward his, and when he kissed you, it was slower than before, deeper, his tongue sliding against yours.

Kurt sat beside you, his thigh pressing against yours, solid and warm. his tail coiling around your waist, pulling you flush against him. He groaned softly, his lips finding the curve of your shoulder, kissing, nipping, his hand sliding up your stomach to cup your breasts.

“So soft,” he murmured, his accent thick, his three-fingered hands kneading gently, his thumbs brushing over your nipples, and you arched into his touch, a broken moan escaping into Bucky’s mouth. 

Johnny was in between your legs, his hands firm on your thighs as he parted them wider, spreading you open like a gift he couldn’t wait to unwrap. His kisses peppered the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, hot and wet, making you gasp as you looked down. His blue eyes locked on yours, dark with intent, and the sight of him there, on his knees, lips swollen, chin glistening from earlier, made your core clench with desperate need.

He yanked his firefighters jacket off and pulled his trousers down to free himself, cock flushed and thick and lined himself against your slick entrance. he ran his cock through your folds a few times, each drag across your clit causing you to cry out. when he finally pushed in, a single deep thrust that had your back bowing, your cry muffled as Kurt who was sitting next to you kissed you hard, his tail tightening around your waist to hold you steady for the stretch.

“Scheie,” Kurt groaned against your mouth, his hand trembling at your breast as he felt your body clench. His tail dipped lower, teasing along the seam of your ass, slicking itself in your wetness before pressing lightly at your rim. The new pressure had you whimpering, nails digging into Johnny’s shoulders.

Johnny rocked deeper, curses spilling in rhythm. “Fuck, bunny, you’re squeezing the life outta me.” He drove in harder, faster, sweat beading his brow, reveling in how you writhed beneath him.

Bucky didn’t just watch, he pressed your knee to the mattress with his, while his metal fingers came around you to grab your throat while his flesh hand wrapped around his own cock, pumping slow as he timed himself to Johnny’s thrusts. “that’s a good girl,” he rasped. “That’s it, take him all the way.”

Kurt broke the kiss to pant into your ear, golden eyes blown wide, tail pressing firmer against your ass before he stripped off his pirate blouse and then his pants.

The room swelled with heat, every thrust and groan echoing off the walls, your body spread open for them, and ready for more.

Johnny had you spread wide, his thrusts steady, filthy praises spilling hot against your cheek. He was so deep your belly ached and bulged, every stroke dragging another broken moan from your throat. Bucky loomed behind you, his cock heavy in his hand as he watched you flutter around Johnny’s length.

“Move over,” Bucky growled, though his eyes never left you. Johnny just smirked, hips snapping hard enough to make you cry out.

“You want in too, Tin man?” Johnny taunted, sweat dripping down his temple as his hips slammed into you. “Plenty of room in this sweet little bunny.”

Bucky was gripping your waist tight, metal fingers spreading you wider around Johnny’s thick length. You gasped pulling back from the kiss to look into Kurts eyes, as Bucky’s cock pressed against your already-stretched cunt, nudging insistently where you were already stuffed full.

Kurt voice was soft against your lips, tail winding around your thigh like a tether, as his lips trailed to your temple to press a kiss there. “It’s okay, Liebe.”

You turned your head just enough to meet Bucky’s hungry stare over your shoulder, your voice wrecked, breathless. “ahhh—please.”

Bucky was slicking himself quick and rough before lining up alongside Johnny. The broad head of his cock pressed against your entrance, pushing against the tight stretch already claimed by Johnny. You cried out at the first press of his slick tip, your body clenching down hard, making Johnny groan.

“Holy fuck...she’s choking me out,” Johnny gasped, eyes rolling back as your cunt clamped down around them both. “Jesus, Barnes, hurry up before she kills me.”

“Easy,” Bucky growled, jaw tight, sweat slicking his temple as he forced himself inch by inch into your fluttering hole. His lips brushed your ear, voice gravelly, commanding. “Relax for me. That’s it...good girl.”

The stretch was brutal, fire tearing up your spine, your arms trembling as your nails clawed the sheets. But as Bucky pushed deeper, sliding alongside Johnny until his hips finally met your ass, the fullness left you shaking apart.

Two cocks shoved into the same dripping cunt, their combined thickness splitting you open, stuffing every inch until your vision blurred and your cry ripped from your chest into a sob.

Johnny’s head tipped back, a broken groan spilling from his throat. “Fuck me…she’s perfect. Tightest thing I’ve ever felt.”

Bucky held you steady, hand splayed over your stomach to keep you from crumpling, his voice low and rough in your ear. “Look at you. takin’ us both. Greedy little bunny.” And you were, wrecked and trembling but begging for more as they started to move.

Kurt was moaning with you, kissing your damp temple, the spade of his tail sliding down from your waist to stroke your clit in desperate little circles as if he couldn’t bear to be left out. “So full, mien Herz.”

Johnny’s thrusts started thrusting again, shallow at first before plunging deep, dragging Bucky with him in rhythm. The friction had you sobbing, their cocks grinding together in your wall, sparks of sensation exploding with every movement.

Bucky’s voice rumbled low against your back, his thrusts steady and ruthless. “You can take it. Look at you. split wide open, still begging for more.”

Your cry came out strangled, muffled against Kurt’s mouth as he kissed you again, his tail relentless between your thighs. Johnny’s groans were growing louder, ragged, each thrust harder than the last.

Johnny had been pounding into you like a man starved, reveling in the way your cunt clamped around him even tighter with Bucky stuffed in, but now his pace turned erratic, his groans sharper, each thrust almost frantic. Sweat dripped from his brow onto your chest as he pressed his forehead to your chest kissing your breast, gasping, “Fuck, bunny, I’m not gonna last—”

Your answer was a strangled moan against Kurt's mouth as you ran your hands through johnny's hair, bucky's groans in your ear as he kissed and nipped at the lobe, your body caught in the impossible stretch, every nerve ending burning with sensation. Kurt’s tail rubbed circles over your clit with quick, teasing flicks, and you couldn’t stop the sob that spilled from your throat.

Johnny’s hands locked around your thighs, and with one final thrust he buried himself to the root, shuddering violently.

“Ohhh fuck,” he groaned, spilling hot and messy deep inside you. You felt the flood of his release, thick spurts coating your walls until it leaked around his cock.

He collapsed forward onto his elbows, breath ragged against your collarbone, pulling out his seed dripping from him, and you as Bucky shifted behind you.

Bucky wasn’t finished. He grunted, metal hand gripping your hip hard enough to bruise as he pulled back and drove forward again, shoving Johnny’s spend deeper with his own relentless thrusts. The sound was obscene wet, squelching, cum already leaking out and smeared across your thighs as Bucky used you without pause.

You cried out, body trembling, leaning back instinctively into the solidity of his chest. He hooked an arm around you, hauling you upright until your spine was pressed to the scarred muscle of his torso, his metal arm wrapped tight across your stomach to hold you steady as he fucked up into you. His breath was hot against your ear, voice guttural.

“He’s done. But you’re not, are you?” you vigorously shook your head, tears welling in your eyes.

To the side of you Kurt’s wide, glowing eyes never left your face. His tail slowed, trembling as if he felt everything through you, his lips parted in awe. You reached for him without thinking, fingers tangling in the soft midnight-blue fur of his chest. His breath hitched when you tugged him closer.

“Kurt, come here,” you whispered, dazed and needy, when he shifted forward, Bucky’s thrusts rocked you against him, your lips brushing the velvety skin of Kurt’s lower belly. You looked up at him through heavy lashes, then opened your mouth sticking your tongue out.

Kurt gasped something in German as his cock, flushed and aching, pressed to your lips. You licked a slow stripe up the shaft, tasting salt and heat, before taking him in, moaning as Bucky slammed into you. The vibration made Kurt’s thighs tremble. His hands shot out fisting into the sheet by your hips to catch himself, tail quivering as it tangled around your wrist.

“Lieber Gott,” he choked, hips twitching as your mouth worked him deeper, his tip nudging the back of your throat as you gagged around him, spit pooling in your mouth around his cock and spilling out from the corner of your lips. “You...so good, so gütig—”

Johnny groaned weakly where he lay over you, subtly grinding his semi-hard cock over your clit. “Christ,” he muttered hoarsely, watching you stretched and stuffed, “you’re fucking unreal.”

Your body trembled violently, every thrust from Bucky tapping against your cervix, every suck on Kurt’s cock making him whimper and plead in German, every drop of Johnny’s cock patting against your puffy swollen clit, while his cum leaks out only to be pushed back in by Bucky’s relentless rhythm.

The room smelled of sweat and sex. You were the center of it all, pinned by their hands, cocks, and tail claiming every inch until you weren’t sure where you ended and they began.

Bucky’s thrusts turned feral, each one punching a keening moan out of your chest, his arm locking across your middle to pin you against him. The wet slap of his cock driving into you was drowned only by the growl against your ear.

“Gonna fill you up, sweetheart. Gonna stuff you so full you’ll leak for days.” His hips stuttered, and then the dam broke. He sank in deep his crown nudging the deepest part inside you and stayed there, cock twitching violently as hot ropes of cum spilled inside you, forcing Johnny’s own spend further into your cunt. The sheer fullness had you clawing at Kurt’s fur and stomach, muffled cries around his cock.

Kurt gasped at the sudden tight suction, golden eyes rolling back. His tail thrashed wildly behind him as your lips sealed tighter, your tongue flicking against his vein while Bucky’s brutal pace shoved you deeper onto him.

“Ohh mien Gott, ich—” His sentence cut off into a moan as he spilled down your throat, thick ropes of salty heat flooding your mouth. You swallowed hungrily, clutching fistfuls of soft fur while he shivered, his tail wrapping desperately around your arm to anchor himself.

For a moment, the room was only gasps and groans. Bucky slumping behind you, Kurt trembling above you, his cock twitching still against your tongue. And then, Johnny stirred.

“Holy fuck,” he rasped, his grin dazed, eyes glazed with lust as he watched cum drip from your stuffed cunt onto the sheets. His cock, twitched as if angry at being left behind. He dragged himself upright taking his now hard cock, pushing it back in and pulling out with a wet squelch, strings of cum trailing after. “Think I’m done?” He slapped his half-hard length against your swollen folds, smearing the mess. “Not even close, bunny.”

You whimpered, throat raw from Kurt, your whole-body trembling from overstimulation. But when Johnny shoved back in through the mixed heat of his own spend and Bucky’s fresh load, your cry was as much need as it was desperation.

“Fuuuck, she’s still so tight,” Johnny groaned, already thrusting shallow, rocking his hips to force every drop of cum deeper. He leaned over you, hair plastered to his forehead, lips brushing your temple. “Don’t tell me you’re done yet, baby. You can give me one more.”

Bucky’s chest rumbled behind you, his hand coming up to palm your breast, thumb teasing your peaked nipple. “She can take it,” he murmured darkly. “Look at her. still greedy for more.”

Kurt, dazed and panting, dragged his tail down to circle your clit again, a gentle tease that made you scream against Johnny’s shoulder.

Johnny slammed harder, deeper, they’re cum spilling down your thighs with each thrust, the overstimulation dragging you to the edge again. Your nails raked his back, your body twitching helplessly between them all, until the room was nothing but heat, moans, and the squelch of too many loads stuffed inside you.

Johnny’s pace turned punishing, his thrusts hammering through the thick mess inside you, each snap of his hips pushing Bucky’s cum and his own deeper while Kurt’s tail never left your clit. You were sobbing now, fingernails clawing down Johnny’s slick back.

“Shhh, let go, bunny,” Johnny panted into your mouth, before sitting back to press your knees to the bed, his cock dragging along swollen, abused walls. “You’re so fucking close, I can feel it. Don’t fight it. just cum.”

Bucky’s lips pressed to your ear, his voice a low growl, “Come, doll.” His metal hand slid down to spread your folds wider for Johnny and kurt, thumb pressing hard against the bulge in your belly where they’d both stretched you to the brink.

Kurt’s tail sped up, circling with merciless precision, and his mouth latched onto your nipple, sucking desperately. “Bitte, mein Herz, show us how good it feels,” he begged against your skin, golden eyes blown wide. Your body snapped, back arching.

The orgasm ripped through you violently and unstoppable, your cry strangled into a raw wet sob as your thighs shook uncontrollably against their hold. Heat flooded out of you in a gush, clear liquid spraying around Johnny’s cock, splattering across his stomach and the sheets. The sensation was overwhelming, your body clenching and convulsing as if trying to push him out, only to clamp down tighter, milking every last drop.

“Holy fuck,” Johnny groaned, hips stuttering as he grinned down at the mess soaking him. “She’s squirting. fuck, look at you, bunny, drenching me—” He kept thrusting through it, chasing your orgasm until your screams dissolved into broken sobs.

Bucky held you up, his arm a steel band across your chest as you collapsed against him, body jerking helplessly with each aftershock. He pressed his mouth to your temple, whispering, “That’s it. That’s our girl.”

Kurt whined sweetly, lapping at your nipple as though tasting your pleasure, his tail stroking gently now to prolong the tremors, not ease them. “So beautiful…,” he murmured, voice cracking.

Even as your cunt convulsed and gushed around him, Johnny couldn’t stop, his cock plunging through the flood, wringing out every last tremor until you were shaking violently, tears streaking your cheeks.

Your body went limp at last, utterly spent, collapsing against Bucky’s chest while Johnny groaned, still rutting shallow, cum and slick dripping in obscene rivulets down the curve of your ass onto the ruined sheets.

You were wrecked, used, undone completely, trembling in their arms while they kept your spread, filled, wrung out of every last drop of pleasure you had to give.

The silence that followed was thick and hazy, broken only by the pounding bass from the party bleeding through the walls and the wet, drip of cum seeping out of you onto the sheets. Your chest heaved against Bucky’s, body twitching weakly, overstimulated nerves still sparking. You couldn’t have moved even if you’d wanted to, your limbs were boneless, your throat raw from crying out, your whole-body slack in their hold.

Johnny was the first to peel back, his cock slipping from you with a lewd schlck, a flood of mixed spend spilling after him. He groaned at the sight, dragging two fingers through the mess and holding them up with a wicked grin.

“Look at this, bunny,” he murmured, smearing it over your clit just to watch you jolt. “So, fucking messy.” Then, before you could whimper, he sucked his fingers into his mouth, humming. “Sweetest thing I’ve ever tasted.”

Bucky’s metal hand kept you steady as his flesh one slid down between your thighs, spreading your folds wide so he could watch his cum pour out of you. His breath was harsh against your ear, He pressed a thumb against your swollen entrance, just enough to make more of the slick spill down your ass, his growl vibrating through your bones.

Kurt, trembling still leaned in close, tail brushing soothing circles along your stomach now. His golden eyes were molten as he pressed his lips to your temple.

“Du bist Wunder Schön,” he whispered, before lowering himself, almost shyly, between your thighs. His tongue darted out, kitten-licking at the mess they’d made of you, lapping delicately where Bucky held you open.

You gasped, too raw to bear it, as you reached down to shield your overstimulated core, but Kurt’s moan vibrated against your cunt, his tail wrapping around your wrist to stop it .

“I want… to clean you,” he pleaded softly between licks, voice breaking with sincerity. “You deserve it.”

Johnny chuckled, flopping onto the bed beside you, hair plastered to his forehead, “Christ, blue, you’re making me look bad,” he muttered, though his hand came to rest lazily on your thigh, thumb rubbing circles.

Bucky finally eased back, shifting you gently onto the bed so you could sprawl in the wreckage of sweat-soaked sheets. He tugged someone shirt over, wiping your face with the soft cotton, brushing away tears and damp hair.

“Easy,” he rumbled, lowering himself beside you. “You did good. Real good.”

Johnny pulled your hand to his mouth, kissing your knuckles playfully. “You wrecked me, bunny.”

Kurt crawled back up, licking his lips clean, his expression dazed. He curled himself along your other side, tail winding loosely around your wrist like a bracelet. “Rest, Liebe. We will take care of you now.”

The four of you collapsed into a tangle of limbs, sweat-slick and sticky, the scent of sex heavy in the air. Cum streaked your thighs, the sheets ruined beneath, your body still twitching faintly with aftershocks as their hands smoothed over you as they helped you clean up, Johnny teasing but gentle now, Kurt soft and gentle, Bucky solid and protective.

The party raged on outside, oblivious. But in that guest room, tangled in bodies and breath and the ruin of your costume, you were cocooned between three superheroes in every possible way.

The first thing you registered was the dull ache in your body, the soreness that spread from your thighs up into your spine, layered with the sticky, spent warmth of bodies tangled with yours. The room still smelled like sex and the faint tang of sweat. Your eyelids fluttered open, and before you could orient yourself, something sharp tapped your forehead.

You jolted upright with a muffled gasp, only to see Yelena standing there in her black catsuit and cat ears, smirk carved across her face like she’d won some secret bet. A bag of candy in her hand that you can only assume is what she pelted you in the head with.

“What the hell are you doing?” you whisper-yelled, your voice a raspy croak from too many moans, your hands immediately tugging the sheet higher over your chest. Around you, the men were a sprawl of limbs. Johnny on his stomach, one arm flung off the bed; Kurt curled like a cat against your side, his tail twitching faintly in dream; and Bucky, broad and heavy behind you, arm slung over your waist, breathing slow like he was still asleep.

Yelena didn’t lower her voice at all. “Me? I’m just checking in on my little bunny. I thought you hated the party. You said-what was it... ‘heroes only, not for me.’ And yet…” She gestured with both hands toward the bed, eyebrows raised. “…you seem to be doing just fine, no?”

“Shhh!” You swatted at her, panic flaring as Johnny stirred and mumbled incoherently before settling again. “God, do you have to be so loud?”

Yelena cocked her head, pretending to consider. “Mm. Yes.” Her smirk widened. “You look like you went through hell and back, by the way.”

Your face went hot. “Yelena!” you hissed, glancing nervously at Kurt’s sleeping form. “Get out before they wake up.”

“Oh, relax.” She folded her arms, leaning against the wall like she owned the place. “They’re all passed out. Probably dehydrated. Except—” Her eyes flicked briefly to Bucky. “That one’s faking.”

Your stomach dropped. You twisted just enough to glance over your shoulder, and sure enough, though his breathing was slow and even, you caught the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth. Bucky was awake, and he was listening.

You shot Yelena a death glare, whispering, “You’re going to kill me.”

She only shrugged. “No, you’ll survive. Probably.” Then she winked, already stepping back toward the hall. “Next time, don’t bitch about the party if you’re going to end it like this.”

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. Behind you, Bucky’s chest shook once, just enough that you knew it was a silent laugh.

Your heart was still hammering when you shoved at Bucky’s heavy arm draped over your waist. He didn’t resist; just let it fall away with a grunt that sounded suspiciously like he was still pretending to sleep.

Heat rose in your cheeks, as you scrambled upright, wincing at the soreness between your thighs, and scanned the room. Clothes were everywhere. Kurt’s pirate sash on the lamp, Johnny’s jacket on the floor, your poor bunny ears mangled on the nightstand. You caught sight of Bucky’s black Henley, hanging off the chair, and snatched it before you could think twice.

It smelled like him, soap, whiskey, something darker that clung to the cotton, and it was long enough to hit mid-thigh. You yanked it over your head, sleeves swallowing your hands, and padded to the door as quietly as you could manage.

The hallway was cooler, quieter, filled with the light of dawn, the throb of the party long since died down. Yelena was sauntering away, smug as ever.

“Hey!” you hissed, jogging after her, bare legs beneath the oversized shirt. She turned just in time for you to smack her shoulder. “You can’t just do that!”

Her grin widened. “Do what? Wake you up from your Disney princess nap? Interrupt your gangbang honeymoon suite?”

You groaned, dragging the collar of Bucky’s shirt higher over your face like it could swallow you whole. “You are impossible. Do you ever shut up?”

“Nope.” She popped the p with a smile. “Besides, you probably wanted an excuse to sneak out. What’s the matter? Scared of the awkward morning-after pillow talk?”

You sputtered, half-whisper, half-yell. “I was not sneaking! I was—”

Yelena raised a brow. “Escaping? Running? like a puppy with its tail between its legs?”

Your face burned hotter. You crossed your arms, sleeves dangling comically past your wrists. “You are the worst.”

“Da.” She smirked, unbothered. “But admit it, you’re glad I showed up. Now you can avoid the ‘so what are we’ speech.”

You froze mid-step, the words hitting closer than you wanted to admit. For a moment, you were back in that room, the heavy warmth of bodies pressing in, murmured praise into your ear. Your stomach flipped, confusion tangling with aftershocks.

Yelena nudged your shoulder, softer this time. “Hey. Don’t make that face. You can figure it out later. For now…” She tilted her head toward the kitchen down the hall. “Coffee?”

You exhaled, tension slipping out. “Fine. But you’re bringing me my first round of Tylenol.” Yelena’s lips twitched, and you added under your breath, “That’s the last time I babysit your guinea pig while you’re on missions.”

Her smirk broke through, sharp and smug again. “Please. You love Boris.”

Your glare faltered, because she wasn’t wrong, you did. The little furball was extremely cute, but she didn’t need the satisfaction of hearing you admit it.

You muttered, “He bites.”

Yelena grinned wider, looping her arm through yours and tugging you toward the kitchen. “Only because he takes after me.”

From behind the cracked guest room door, Bucky lay awake, smirking faintly to himself as the sound of your footsteps and Yelena’s banter faded.

✦┈┈┈┈┈⛧┈┈┈┈┈┈✦ 𝖆 𝖓 𝖔 𝖙𝖊✦┈┈┈┈┈⛧┈┈┈┈┈┈✦

Day 30 is finally done, I'm so soorrry! I honestly thought it would be done yesterday morning but this one had a mind of its own. I hope you enjoy! I will be double posting day 31 today as well so look out for that!

As for the fic...I have no excuse pls forgive me... I am but a whore for marvel men...honestly I would have loved to also include quicksilver but I figured this was already a lot lol Side note do y'all remember the tower fics? ahhh those were the good days.. Bring those back I want the new tower fics. Bob being sweet, yelena teasing, alexei yelling, John being a little shit, Bucky being an old man, Ava having to deal with everyone's shit.

…𝕻𝖗𝖊𝖛𝖎𝖔𝖚𝖘 𝕯𝖆𝖞 ✦✧✦  𝕹𝖊𝖝𝖙 𝕯𝖆𝖞...

✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦ 𝖊𝖓𝖉 𝖔𝖋 𝖋𝖎𝖑𝖊 ✦ see you in the next life ✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦

 This post was brought to you by BUNI ✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦

  ₍ᐢ .  ̫ . ᐢ₎