#butt plug.

Carlos trailed you like Nemesis after Jill. You got the feeling he’d knock down walls if he could. It wasn’t stalking. Because you needed to be with him. For your own safety. That was something you both wordlessly agreed on. So you were always going to be together. Neither of you knew that yet, but Carlos was starting to warm up to the idea. 

“Hey! Fuckface!”

Later that night, after your tryst, after Carlos retroactively decided it’d been love at first sight, you decided against joking that’d been directed at you. “Fuckface” could be an apt nickname. But you didn’t want him to start thinking your face was his personal fleshlight. Or pillow. Being used that way sent a jolt of pleasure down past your waist. 

Only later would you come to regret being seen by Carlos. After hitting Nemesis with the rocket launcher, the mercenary’s eyes met yours. You were clearly not the target. You were just trying to help your… What was Jill to you? A roommate? Friend? God, he hoped she was just a friend. You pointed your chin at her, forced yourself to smile gratefully, and got to your feet. 

How were you not even singed? Well, he could check your skin for burns later. Right now you wanted him to help her. 

“Name’s Carlos and I’m saving you!” 

He had an easygoing way about him, even in an emergency. Even when it became clear there was some siphoning darkness in his heart, Carlos was charm personified. 

The two of you supported Jill until all three of you were underground. In the subway. It was hard to carry on a convo when everyone was trying not to stumble on the endless steps, Carlos carrying a rifle while you both helped Jill descend.  

“We’ve been bringing survivors here.” 

Jill finally caught her breath and stood unsupported. “‘Here’ where?” 

“My guys have converted some subway cars into a shelter,” he answered, checking to make sure nothing came down the stairs. He nodded at you and Jill, but made to put his arm around her shoulder again.  

“I’m fine.”

“Personal space. OK. I get it. Let’s go.” It came out jovial enough. Carlos didn’t want Jill to think he was hitting on her. Somehow he hadn’t been able to “accidentally” brush his hand against yours when assisting her, though. If she was a rival, maybe it would’ve been better to let that behemoth take her. Sure, Carlos’s cute new crush would be traumatized. But with Raccoon City burning and infested with the hungry dead, well, he’d love to be the shoulder you cried on.

“I don’t have an issue with personal space,” you joked. It just slipped out. The mood drastically needed lightening. A rocket launcher might not be enough to take down that thing hunting Jill. You wanted to make a joke about Nemesis’s feet being too big to take the steps; he’d have to roll down. 

That phrase was all Carlos needed to hear. He tapped your forearm and you smiled for the second to last time that night.

“Let’s go.”

Before obeying, you spotted the vending machine. Carlos shouted at you to be careful while you gingerly moved your hand past the broken glass. 

Out of reflex, you took his hand. Your vice-like grip. It didn’t bother him. 

“Sorry, Carlos. I’m just… It’s just really scary out there. And I thought you might need to replenish your energy.”

You loosen your grip and he squeezes your hand reassuringly, thanking you. 

Jill questioned Carlos on that monster. That’s what she called it. “That monster.” Personally, it made you think of a troll or some other humanoid from folklore. It probably didn’t calcify in the sunlight, though. Then you remembered the tentacles. How could you forget? They were scary as fuck. Why were they even there?

“...it’s no zombie, it knows what it wants and won’t stop till it gets it. Don’t you like that in a man?”

“Normally,” you responded to Carlos. You shared a smile behind his back. “That’s not Jill’s type, though.”

“He’s all yours,” she added, also directed at Carlos. 

______ liked the persistent type. Great. And if he’d looked over his shoulder, he would have caught you shamelessly checking out his backside. 

“Look, I promise you’re in good hands. I’m with the Umbrella Biohazard Countermeasure Service. U.B.C.S. for short.”

Uh oh, you thought, a split second before fantasizing that Umbrella Corps gave butt plugs with their logo to their top employees. Any chance of Jill being taken in by this smooth talker was nil.  

“Are you kidding me? Are you fucking kidding me?! You guys are the ones who caused all this!”

Carlos woah’d four times. “What are you talking about? You don’t have to trust me, but we’re going to the shelter.” He opened the door to the subway’s station. “You comin’?”

Replaying that exchange in your mind later, you realized that if Jill had been outwardly angrier, she would have been a dead woman. Despite her tone, Jill’s body language hadn’t changed as she descended that penultimate flight of stairs. S.T.A.R.S. agent or not, Carlos only saw her as useful in the sense you liked her. Platonically. How would he have excused his actions to his fellow U.B.C.S. soldiers?

Following him to the train car, you let Jill hang back a moment. Something felt off. Maybe it was the creepy posters. Normally you’d be all over a Skull Stalker double feature. Trying to keep your friend safe from a real stalker quelled that desire. 

“Hey, Captain. ______ and this fine young lady could use our help.”

The peculiar introduction didn’t escape your notice. Mikhail, as he was about to introduce himself, nodded at you before admonishing his underling for not asking Jill her name. Turns out he knew of Officer Valentine. Carlos’s proximity also didn’t escape your notice. Despite the fact you were a civilian, neither he nor Mikhail expected you to join the others. You listened to the rest of the conversation on your feet. The other three were sitting down, or in Carlos’s case kneeling. 

Probably practicing proposing, you mused, unaware how not far off the mark you were.  

“...hey, it’s cool, we all want the same thing,” he said, dragging you out of your thoughts with a glance. 

“Alright, supercop,” he addressed Jill. “Here you go. We can use this to stay in contact.”

“I know what a radio is.”

Somehow it wasn’t immediately apparent that Ryan was a stripper. Slipped in and out of fun personas for a living. Like you. (The massive hotness should have been a giveaway.) Ryan wasn’t doing a good job of hiding the fact he recognized you, though. Not even in front of the others. They probably thought he was developing a crush. Unaware he had been crushing on you for a few years. 

You began to suspect as much in Emily Jaunt’s exercise room. Emily sat on a workout bench; you sat on a couch behind her. She stared at the floor, gun in hand, while you drank in Ryan’s unconscious body. Weaponless, you readied yourself to pull Emily back if he was infected and she lost her nerve. You wouldn’t blame her. 

Just as you were pondering whether the undead were smart enough to uncuff themselves, Ryan woke up. 

“Take these off,” he said, jigging his wrist. “My fever’s gone. I’m feeling human again.”

“They’re toy cuffs,” explained Emily, “just push the button.” 

Ryan did. Then noticed they weren’t alone. His eyes darted to you. And widened. 

Occasionally people recognized you in public. Now most of them were probably more interested in eating brain than giving it. This firefighter might be the last compatible man on earth. Hopefully not, but the interest was definitely mutual from the get go. Waiting for the bitee to wake up, you wanted to touch him so badly. Like how he’d wanted to touch you so badly since stumbling upon your OnlyFans. 

“So if you’re a firefighter,” you drawled, taking in his semi-nude form. “So if you’re a fireman… Does that make you, um, the authority?”

Ryan groaned from his seat on the bed. Half-naked and semi-erect, he’d do anything for you. Anything he’d seen you do in those videos. And more. That’s what he told you on the way to the guest bedroom, where you whipped out a handheld camera. He ditched his shirt outside the door and you unzipped his pants. You almost wanted him to leave them on, but that ass. Just get him to lower them, duh, you told your lust-addled brain. Then you had an idea. You always carried an enema-kit, for any impromptu shooting. Not just bulbs, but a tube that could dilate a hole up to three inches ad hoc. Then power wash the colon. And you’d never recorded a partner rinsing himself out for your cock. 

You initially wanted to ask Emily for another pair of handcuffs, then decided nah. You’d make your new boy do the work. 

“I’m sure your partners ask you to roleplay a lot, right?”

Flushed, Ryan nodded. You’d suspected he hadn’t so much as set foot in a fire station. Or a police station, because he hadn’t been able to tell they were toy cuffs. (Even if he had shown up to Emily’s impersonating a cop, you’d be the one conducting a cavity search.) Later, he’d mention he did have experience with handcuffs. It was just that, waking up, he hadn’t exactly been thinking clearly. 

“I’m not going to ask you to fireman carry me or anything… Unless you want to try it.”

It wasn’t like you could nestle a regular hose’s nozzle, let alone a fire hose, inside his tight ass. And Emily wouldn’t appreciate you utilizing her shower cord that way. For all you knew, that was her personal pleasurer. 

If Emily wasn’t already a mainstream actress, she’d make a great adult-

Ryan’s groan brought you back to reality. He needed something fit snugly inside that hole. Stat. His hands were already enticingly spreading his cheeks apart. 

“Yeah, a little wider,” you encouraged, zooming in, prompting Ryan to further splay his asshole. Frequent rewatches of your videos let him know it’d soon be spread to its limits. At least you had lube, from that kit you just happened to be carrying with your other stuff. Ryan would reflect on how happy he was you kept it in case of unexpected ass-fucking proposals. Post-apocalyptic ass-fucking proposals.