Unini

ℒℯℴ𝓃 𝒦ℯ𝓃𝓃ℯ𝒹𝓎

Those tunnels under what used to be Raccoon City smelled green with a sharp acrid undertone you'd come to associate with the things growing down here.

Condensation rolled down the curved concrete ceiling and dripped into dark puddles.

Leon walked point, muzzle of his gun sweeping low.

Every couple of steps your boot would scuff a chunk of broken concrete, or your sling would tap your hip. Leon never said anything, just turned his head a fraction every time it happened with the corner of one blue eye catching you in his periphery, checking.

"Behind me," he murmured for maybe the fourth time in twenty minutes.

"Already am."

"Closer."

You closed the gap and the back of his tac vest was sweat-dark between the shoulder blades.

Vines were on the walls.

You'd been seeing them since the stairwell, thin at first and no thicker than a finger, threaded through the cracks in the concrete.

They got bigger as the tunnel got deeper, now as fat as your wrist and woven thick across the right-hand passage.

Worse, they were moving and had a mouth, pink puckers ringed with rows of needle teeth, exhaling a thin acrid mist.

One of them spat as Leon stepped past and it hit the wall behind you with a hiss.

"Don't shoot 'em," Leon said quietly. "Conserve ammunition, knife if you have to."

"I know, Leon."

He didn't look back and held up his free hand to make an easy gesture, palm down.

You'd been told a hundred times in the last forty-eight hours to conserve every shell in his shotgun and round in your pistol for the bigger threats.

The vines that blocked the path went in clusters of one or two and Leon would step up and pin one with his gloved hand at the neck just below the head, vine trashing and bleeding thick green sap from the wounds caused by his hatchet before going limp.

By the fourth tangle you had the rhythm of it and Leon let you take the lead on the cutting once you'd proven you could do it without flinching, the closest thing to praise he was going to give you today.

It was after the eighth or ninth tangle that you saw the light at the far end of a long, straight stretch of tunnel.

Then you stepped over what looked like a crack in the concrete but was a root instead half-buried in the floor with only the top arc of it exposed.

You'd been told to watch the floor as well as the walls and your boot came down on the top of it with all your weight, causing it to spam.

Everything happened in one motion.

The root whipped up out of the floor with a crack of concrete dust and something erupted out of a seam in the wall to your left.

A vine as thick as your thigh, knotted with mouths and took you around the ribs.

It hit you so hard the breath came out of you in a single huff.

One coil, two, three, wrapping with sickening speed and pinning your arms, knife still in your hand but pinned against your own thigh, your feet leaving the floor as it lifted your body 10 feet up, pressure starting instantly and your ribs creaked, vision starting to fog at the edges.

You couldn't get a breath in past the coil at your diaphragm as a big mouth on the vine opened wide right in front of your face, dripping green acid and uncurling toward your throat.

A clack of Leon pumping a fresh shell into the chamber striking the thing about two inches from the soft pink palate inside that gaping mouth, making the mouth explode into a wet green spray that splattered the ceiling and your jacket, rest of the vine convulsing, coils tightening on you in a brutal spasm and then the whole thing went over sideways, slamming you down with it.

Concrete met your shoulder, wind knocked out of you again as the dead vine kept its grip.

You'd half-expected it to relax with the way dead things relax but this was a plant, not a person, stored in charge of turgor pressure and contraction proteins that had nowhere to discharge to.

Every cellulose fiber in it had locked.

Rigor mortis with a body wrapped in a corpse.

You lay on your stomach on the wet concrete, one cheek pressed to the floor, dead coils crushing you flat from shoulder blades to ankles.

You could still move your fingers and wrist but not your arm, resulting in the knife you were clutching tightly being completely useless.

"…Fuck," you tried to wiggle, arching your back as much as the vine would let which was maybe two degrees and you tried to corkscrew your shoulders.

It was thicker around than your torso.

You held out for another thirty seconds of useless squirming, sweat starting to bead at your hairline, pride doing a lot of the heavy lifting.

"Leon."

Silence.

"Leon. Leon. Get over here."

You heard his footsteps, reloading his shotgun and watching you struggle.

"Yeah?" His voice sounded almost bored. "What do you need?"

You glared up at him as best you could from your position and he was backlit by the bright light at the end of the tunnel, hair hanging in his eyes slightly.

"Use that hatchet." You bit it out, ribs hurting. "Cut me out."

He didn't move.

"…Leon. The thing on your belt. Cut me out."

You waited for him to help you, say another one of his one liners or do anything.

A crunch of gravel came as he lowered himself to one knee beside you.

You couldn't see what he was doing with him behind your line of sight, somewhere down by your hip.

The vine had you pinned face-down, cheek to the floor and one arm folded under you with the other that splayed out with the knife still loose in your fingers.

His hand settled on the back of your thigh, sliding them slowly up the inside of your thigh, a wave of goosebumps crested at the back of your neck and made every hair on your scalp stand up.

"Y'know," he said in a low voice, "I can't actually remember the last time I saw you like this."

His hand kept moving, pad of his thumb tracing a line up the seam of your inseam and your hips tried to jerk but couldn't.

"Helpless, after another one of your stunts.” He clarified.

"Leon—"

"And I told you to stop doing this. You can't keep getting in front of me. I'm the one with the gun who's been doing this since forever. You stay behind me. And what do you do?"

His hand reached the top of your thigh, back of his knuckles brushing the curve of your ass through your pants.

"You get trapped by a plant right after another distraction.l

"Leon, it was concealed, I couldn't—"

"Mm."

His hand settled, flat, on the curve of your ass, palm big with the span of it covering more than half of one cheek. He squeezed to make his point and your whole body lit up.

"I think," he said, "I'm gonna take this opportunity to teach you a lesson about who's in command and who you listen to."

A spike of pure shocked heat went through you, followed by a delayed, panicked surge of ’no, absolutely not, this is not happening.’ You jerked against the vine again and nothing moved, face burning where it pressed against the wet concrete.

"You—" Your voice came out higher than you wanted. "You are not serious, Leon. Get that damn hatchet. We're in the middle of a mission!”"

"Mm-hm."

"Even if there was a world where I'd be up for it, I am literally pinned, Leon, I cannot move, you absolute arrogant, smug, condescending—"

You were working yourself up to a real head of steam and say things you couldn't take back.

He shifted and moved his weight smoothly and straddled the dead vine, kneeling between your spread-pinned legs, hips lowering down toward yours to press forward until the heavy bulge in the front of his tac pants pressed flush against the cleft of your ass through your own.

You stopped talking at the feeling of him hard and big, full weight of him settling against your hole through two layers of fabric, length of him dragging along the seam of your pants as he ground down once, a single unhurried roll of his hips that pressed the ridge of his head right against the spot where, even through cotton and webbing, your body knew exactly what it was being offered.

Every word in your head evaporated, mouth open as he let you feel him there, vine creaking faintly around your ribs as your body tried to push back into the pressure.

His hand was still on your ass and he squeezed a little harder this time.

"Are you done?" he asked, quietly.

You couldn’t answer, light at the end of the tunnel went on flickering its bright end, indifferent.

"…I'll take that as a yes."

You stayed quiet, lying there with your cheek pressed to the wet concrete and the corpse of a vine welding you to the floor, heavy ridge of his cock stopping in the grinding at the seam of your pants into your hole.

"That’s a good listening."

His hand left your ass and you heard the soft rasp of leather as he unbuckled something at his hip, followed by a heavy thunk of the hatchet head sinking into the dead vine somewhere up by your shoulder blades.

Three hard strikes and the coil around your upper back loosened, soon after the one around your ribs and that one across your ass.

He left a thick stub of vine pinning your shoulders and one arm pinned to the floor.

You understood the geometry of what he'd just done before your brain put it into words as he left you face-down, arms pinned and hips free.

"Leon—"

"Shh." He didn't even look up, setting the hatchet down beside your head.

A reminder, maybe.

"I told you. M’ teaching you a lesson."

His hands came back to you, settling on your hips and sliding up under the hem of your jacket, palms hot through the thin moisture-wicking shirt underneath as he ran them up the length of your back inside the vest.

He found the dip of your spine just above your ass and pressed his thumb into it, hard, your hips arched into his hand involuntarily.

"Yeah," he said quietly. "That's what I thought."

"I haven't said yes to anything," you hissed into the concrete.

"You haven't said no, either." His voice was so calm and flat.

“Tell me to stop and I stop. Just tell me to stop."

You opened your mouth and closed it just as fast.

He gave you ten full seconds before the small breath of a laugh breezed over the back of your neck and his hands went to the waistband of your tac pants.

Flipping the button with his thumb and dragging the zipper down, hooking his fingers into the waistband and boxers at the same time to peel both of them down to mid-thigh area, cold air of the tunnel hitting your bare ass and the back of your thighs.

"Mm." Leon's voice, from above and behind, was appraising. "Look at you."

His hand settled, palm-flat, on your bare ass and squeezed almost painfully as his fingers spread, kneaded once and then his thumb dragged down the cleft of your ass and slid down between your legs.

"Oh, sweetheart."

"Don't—" his hand wrapped around your erected dick.

"Christ. How long have you been like this?" He sounded almost amused.

"Shut up."

His thumb dragged forward all through the veins and circled on the leaking tip.

Your hips jerked, dead vine creaking.

"Leon.“

"I'm just askin'." Another slow drag.

He was barely touching your cock and you were already biting the inside of your cheek to keep from making sounds. "You don't have to answer. Your dick’s already telling me everything I need to know."

You made a noise supposed to be a curse that came out as something else entirely.

Hearing fabric between the clink of his own belt and rasp of his fly yet you couldn't see, cheek pressed to the concrete and your view was a wall.

Those noises your hindbrain put together from the audio were doing things to you.

His bare cock dragged, hot and heavy, across the curve of your ass.

You felt the weight from sheer mass of it as he laid it down along your crack and let it rest there.

You'd suspected he had always been this big, having caught glimpses of the outline of him through his pants on a hundred occasions when you weren't supposed to be looking, but suspecting and feeling were two different things.

The head of him was up at the small of your back, base of him was nudging your taint thick enough that when he gave a slow experimental roll of his hips and dragged himself along, you felt your cheeks part around the girth of him.

"Oh my god," your words got muffled by the floor.

Leon made a low, pleased sound. "Yeah," he said. "Yeah, you feel that?"

Trying to wiggle your body to get more friction but nothing occurred.

"That's what you've been mouthing off to for two years." Another slow drag and the wet head of him left a sticky line on your skin. "You feel how much of me there is, sweetheart? You think your smart fuckin' mouth is gonna keep being smart with this inside you?"

"You're so full of shit," you ground out and it would have been more cutting if your voice hadn't broken in the middle of it.

"We'll see." He laughed quietly before shifting and taking himself in hand, knuckles brushing the inside of your thigh as he dragged the fat head of his cock down through the cleft of your ass, over your hole and coating himself in you.

Every time it bumped your hole you twitched and the vine creaked, bulky man above humming a satisfied little hum.

He notched himself at your entrance under heavy pressure resting there.

"Last chance," he said quietly. "Say stop."

You didn't, mouth open against the concrete and letting you taste tunnel grit along your own breath together with the faint chemical sweetness of vine sap, feeling that obscene blunt pressure, body already trying to open for him on its own without your permission and the word stop was nowhere in your head.

Leon waited a beat longer, then he pushed, slow and steady.

The head of him stretched you, rim burning around the flare of him and your whole pelvis was lighting up with the strain before it popped past, the widest part of him breaching and you choked on a sound that wasn't a word.

He kept going, sinking deep and letting you feel every ridge and vein on the underside of him dragging along your front wall. He was so thick you could feel the walls of your hole straining around him in a stretch that was right at the edge of too much and he just kept coming, giving one last firm press of his hips, pelvis meeting your ass and you realized he'd bottomed out.

You were so full your eyes were watering, dick throbbing on the ground below as he twitched in a heavy pulse that matched your heartbeat.

Leon was very still on top of you.

He'd lowered down, chest against your back through the layers of your clothes and his mouth was somewhere near your ear.

The bastard wasn't even winded.

"There," he murmured. "There we go, breathe.“

You sucked in a shaking breath.

"Good." His hand slid up your side and along the underside of your arm, fingers lacing loosely with the hand that was still holding the knife. He squeezed. "Took the whole fuckin' thing."

"You're an asshole—"

"Mm." Almost fond. "I know."

He pulled out but not all the way, just the head was inside you now before he began fucking you.

The first stroke knocked the air out of you with how deep he went again with the full length of him sliding back into the root with one long unbroken push and your whole body shuddered around the intrusion.

He set a pace that was torturous to say the least, every thrust a full-length drag in and out of you, pressing his pelvis tight to your ass and making the dead vine creak under your shoulders.

"This," he said, low, his mouth at your ear, "is what you should've been getting two years ago."

You made a noise supposed to be a word.

"This is what happens," another deep stroke, "when you can't keep your fuckin' mouth shut," another, "and you can't follow simple instructions," another, "and you keep stepping in front of me like you're the one with seniority here."

"Ah—Leon!"

"Quiet." Firm, same voice he used in the field. "I'm talking."

He kept fucking you with consistency, every withdrawal pulled a slick squelch out of you.

Thighs and hands shaking, the one still tangled in his was squeezing his fingers white.

"You feel that?" he murmured. "Feel how deep I'm getting?"

"Y-yes—"

"Yes what."

"Yes— yes Leon—" You made a strangled sound into the concrete and he laughed quietly above.

"Good boy." Another deep stroke and his hand left yours to cup the back of your skull, holding your cheek firm against the concrete. "Good. Now. Tell me who's in command."

"You are—"

"Mm-hm."

"You are—"

"And who do you listen to."

"You.”

"And what are you gonna do," another stroke, harder this time, hips snapping forward and his pelvis cracking against your ass with a slap, "the next time I tell you to stay behind me."

"I'll—" Another slap. You couldn't get the words out, he was fucking the breath out of you.

“Fuck, Leon, I want you," another brutal thrust, his hand fisting suddenly in your hair.

He pulled almost all the way out and slammed back in to the hilt, over and over, pelvis cracking into your ass with a hard wet slap every time, sound of it ringing off the concrete walls of the tunnel.

Your cheek dragged against the floor with every thrust, pecs aching where they were crushed under your weight.

"I'm— I'm gonna—"

"Yeah?" His hand left your hip and slid under between you and the floor and his fingers found your dick, pressing down on it, hard and ground the pad of his middle finger into it in tight circles at the top of the head in time with his thrusts. "You gonna come?”

"Yes—fuck!" Out of nowhere your whole body locked up in one long convulsion that started in your hole and rolled outward through every muscle you had.

You clamped down on him so hard he grunted, hips jerking back into him on their own, riding the thrust, milking him, hole fluttering and squeezing in waves that didn't seem to want to stop.

He fucked you straight through it as he kept that brutal pace going, his fingers still grinding your pulsing cock.

He went tight all over, hips slamming flush against your ass one last time and staying there, pressed hard as he came inside you in long hot pulses that you could feel, heat of him filling you up in spreading flooding pumps that just kept coming.

A low broken groan against the side of your neck, forehead dropping to your shoulder and his whole big warm weight settling down onto your back as he emptied himself into you.

His big body draped over your smaller one, weight pinning you almost completely.

"…Okay?" he murmured, after a while.

The question was so quiet and sudden that you almost laughed.

"…Yeah."

"Mm."

"…My ribs hurt."

"Yeah." He kissed the side of your neck. "Yeah, I bet they do."

He pulled out then and you whined at the empty drag of him, cum sliding out of you in a thick hot rush, down between your thighs.

Rasp of fabric as he tucked himself away and his hatchet was in his hand, working you free.

When you were loose he turned you over gently and gathered you up against his chest.

You were a mess and he didn't seem to care about any of it.

"You did good," he said quietly, into your hair.

"…Don't you start."

"Mm." A breath of a laugh. "Fair."

"You good to move?"

"…Yeah."

"Behind me," he said.

You swallowed.

"Yes sir."

The corner of his mouth moved.

"Good boy."

ℰ𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓃 𝒲𝒾𝓃𝓉ℯ𝓇𝓈

The bayou stank of rot before you even reached the Baker estate.

You remembered telling Ethan as much, slouched in the passenger seat of his Dodge Challenger 1970, swamp pressing in yellowish on both sides of the dirt road.

He'd laughed at you in a tired way considering all the hours you had been inside his car to get to Louisiana, soft laugh that always made your chest do something stupid and reminded you that you didn't have to come but you'd insisted anyway because Mia was his wife and you'd liked her well enough back when she was around, but the truth you kept locked behind your teeth was simpler and uglier: you didn't trust Ethan to come back alone.

Having been in love with him since college.

Mia was in the basement of this place.

The first wrong thing.

Second one was that she remembered you, recognized Ethan, right away told you that someone she mentioned ‘daddy’ was coming.

Ten minutes later her veins went black, voice dropping two octaves and she threw you into the wall first, skull bouncing off old wood.

By the time you scrambled up, she had Ethan pinned by the wall and the noise of a chainsaw starting was the worst thing you had ever heard.

His hand came off and there was so much blood as you helped him up on his feet and pressed the wound to reduce blood loss.

Up in the attic there was a gun that Ethan used and emptied the magazine into his wife's forehead, making her drop on the ground while yelling how she loved him, before seeming presumably dead.

She had taken an axe to the neck and came back in no problem so you had a feeling this won’t be the last time you’d see her.

You remember Ethan staring at his own wrist where his hand used to be and remembered a big shape filling the frame.

“Welcome to the family, son.”

Jack Baker hit Ethan first, then he hit you and you’ve reached floor level.

When Ethan came to, he was tied to a dining room chair, severed hand stapled back to his wrist with industrial staples. The pain was distant with shock taking almost all the glory, body smarter than his head for once.

"Who are you?" he croaked at the disturbing family consuming human’ remains.

The chair next to him was empty.

"Hey. Hey— where is he? Where the fuck is he?"

Ethan process the next two hours quite rapidly between freeing himself, a cop dying right in front of him, a lot of shooting and phone calls with a woman trying to help him and herself escape this nightmare.

Under all of it was the same five words drumming in his skull.

‘Where the fuck is he.’

He searched and kicked open every door in the main house, mostly looking for you, calling your name in a hoarse whisper because something in him still thought the Bakers might not have noticed there was a second guest.

You weren't anywhere.

The phone in the trailer rang and he'd been told to come here by Zoe who had the missing head to make the cure.

"Heyyyy buddy." Lucas Baker's voice was a smear of grease and giggle. "I thought you should know, I decided Zoe needed a little time out. She and Mia are here with me. They’re keeping each other company.”

Ethan’s grip tightened around the receiver until plastic creaked. “Just let them both go. What do you need them for?”

“Nah-nah-ahhhh.” Lucas’ voice curled through the line like smoke. “This is family business, Ethan, and not your concern, understand?”

"Where is he, Lucas."

"Whoa whoa whoa, no how's it hangin'? Rude."

"Where. Is. He."

A long, theatrical sigh on the line followed by a giggle that crawled down Ethan's spine.

"Aw, you mean your little tagalong? Hooo boy. He's fine, Ethan. He's so fine… right here with me, actually." A pause, wet sound of Lucas licking his lips into the receiver. "Real pretty thing, ain't he? Didn't know you swung that way, big man. I mean, I don't blame you."

Ethan's grip on the receiver creaked.

"He's mine, by the way. I'm callin' dibs. Y'know, finders keepers."

"Lucas—"

"Nah nah nah, lemme finish. Bet your best friend's been pinin' for that big dumb dick of yours for years and you ain't never even looked. That's sad, dude."

"I am going to kill you."

"Awww really? Come on I made a gift for you! I got him all set up nice in the barn. You wanna see him again? Better hustle, hero. He's been askin' for you."

The line went dead and Ethan stood there in the trailer with the phone still pressed to his ear.

His staple-stitched hand was twitching, knuckles of his good hand white.

He left the trailer at a dead run.

The barn squatted on the edge of the property, a sagging structure of black timber and rusted hinges.

Sickly-sweet fungal stink hit his senses.

"…Ethan?"

Your voice cracked, muffled by something and coming from the back of the barn.

"I'm here," he said, and his throat closed up around it. "I'm here, just hold on!"

He rounded the stack of moldering hay bales and stopped.

There was a wall of plywood and two-by-fours hammered together, reinforced with steel banding and bolted into the barn's original beams.

It bisected the back of the barn floor-to-ceiling and in the middle of it, set at exactly the height of a man's hips, was a hole where he found you on the other side of the wall.

He could see your bare lower back, dip of your spine and curve of your ass where your jeans had been yanked down to mid-thigh along with your boxers shoved down.

Your hips were flush against the wood and there were leather straps bolted to either side of the hole that fastened around your thighs and waist, holding you locked in place at exactly the right depth, legs splayed back on the far side, bare feet braced uselessly against the dirt floor he couldn't see.

Your bare cheeks, cleft of your ass and pucker twitching glistening with either oil or lube and Ethan made a sound in the back of his throat.

"Ethan?" Your voice again, from the other side of the wall, thin and panicked. "Ethan is that you, please tell me that's you, I can't see anything."

"It's me. I'm here."

A speaker crackled to life from somewhere in the rafters.

"Awwww." Lucas. "Look at that. My heart, Ethan. Y'all are killin' me."

Ethan jerked his pistol up at the ceiling.

"Put the peashooter down for now and listen to your old buddy Lucas. I got a game for ya."

"Let him go."

"Mm. Nope." The giggle dropped out of his voice for a half-second and underneath was something colder. "I built that little contraption myself. Real proud of it. You see them tubes on the walls?"

Ethan looked and around the perimeter of the barn, snaked up the support beams, were translucent plastic tubes the diameter of a man's wrist. Inside them, sluggish and black and pulsing, was that same black mold.

"Those," Lucas chirped, "are on a timer. Ten minutes from when I stop talkin', they pop. Whole barn fills up with those monsters and they'll eat him from the feet up, eat you from anywhere they can reach."

"You're insane."

"And you're wastin' time! Tickety tock! There is, of course, a way to turn it off." A pause for effect. "Sensor in the hole, Ethan. Heat sensor set up so it deactivates the timer if there's a real specific kinda activity happenin' in there. Y'know. Activity."

Silence.

"…I am not," Ethan said slowly, "going to—"

"You are absolutely gonna. 'Cause if you don't, he dies and honestly, Ethan, I'd kinda prefer that, so part of me hopes you say no. But the other part of me wanna see his face when his big strong best friend finally gives him what he's been wantin'. Pick a lane, hero. Clock's tickin'."

The speaker got destroyed the second Ethan fired his gun repeatedly at it and the psycho’s presence was gone from this place.

"Ethan, don't listen to him, just find another way.”

He stood there, pistol hanging at his side and staring at the bare curve of your ass through the hole in the wall along the slick of lube smeared on you.

You had wanted him this whole goddamn time?

He stepped forward, barn floorboards creaking under his boots and set the pistol down on top of a hay bale within easy reach.

Behind the wall, you made a sound he'd never heard you make before.

A small, wanting sound when someone wants something the most in the world, is finally happening and it's completely wrong.

He stepped up to the hole and could feel the heat of you through the wood, that cologne you wore still strong and within his senses to pick up.

His staple-stitched hand came up and settled, careful and warm, on the small of your back.

You flinched. Then you pushed back into his touch.

"I'm here," he said, very softly, to the wall between you.

The timer in the tubes overhead began, faintly, to tick.

Ticking from the tubes overhead was soft at first, irregular pulse that Ethan counted under his breath without meaning to.

Roughly one tick a second, he'd done worse math under worse pressure in the last twenty-four hours.

His staple-stitched hand was still resting on your back, your skin was hot.

"Listen…" he kept his voice low. "I need you to listen to me real careful, okay? Can you do that?"

"…Yeah." Muffled through whatever was over your head, possibly a heavy fabric hood. "Yeah, I can hear you."

"There’s stuff in tubes all around the walls. He says they pop in ten minutes if I don't— if I don't do what he wants."

“Oh.”

"I'm gonna look for another way." His good hand was already moving, sweeping the wall on his side, fingers tracing the seams of the plywood. "There's gotta be a kill switch, or a wire… i don’t know just keep talking. What did he do to you? Did he hurt you?"

A long, shaky inhale on your end. "He knocked me out in the kitchen and I woke up here and he was talking the whole time, Ethan, he wouldn't shut up about you and me. About how I could help him in a sick game of his."

Ethan's fingertips found a bolt of steel he couldn't pry it out with his nails.

"Can't you find maybe a crowbar, or you have your gun, you could—"

"I'm looking. Keep talking."

His hand traced higher, the wall went all the way to the rafters and the studs were bolted into the original posts of the barn.

He could maybe shoulder it down, given an hour.

He stepped back and looked at the six tubes again, each one fed into a central junction box mounted high on the back wall, behind the partition that was holding you.

There was a power cord snaking out of the junction box and running along the rafter, coming down a support post and disappearing into a wall outlet near the barn door.

A wall outlet, two-prong wall outlet.

"Ethan?"

"I'm here. I'm thinking. Keep talking."

"What are you thinking?"

He looked at the outlet and at the tubes.

He had a magazine and a half left, the outlet was maybe twenty feet away. If he unplugged it, would that kill the timer, or trigger it early?

So. Don't cut power but the cord downstream of the timer, jump the contacts, bypass it.

He could use the pocket knife he had and currently less than nine minutes left.

But he could get there, climb up and the timer would die without Lucas knowing. Even if he had a remote control far away he wouldn’t be able to do shit.

As long as the heat sensor in the hole stayed warm and busy nothing suspicious should happen.

There was the problem of the psycho who could have placed something hidden for audio quality.

The risk of Lucas hypothetically figuring out Ethan’s plan and activating an hypothetical existing shortcut to your demise was bot something he was going to risk.

Ethan's mouth went dry.

He could save you without fucking you.

He could also fuck you.

He could do both in the right order if the sensor only needed a body.

Looking at you through the hole and the slick clutch of your hole, twitching with each breath, heat and pressure sensor presents.

If he could keep something warm and snug pressed inside you, the sensor would keep reading positive while he was working on the rafters.

His own cock stuffed in you to the root would do that beautifully.

Okay. New plan.

Fuck you, get Ethan's free hand to the pistol and one very well-placed shot through the junction box at exactly the right angle to short the timer without sparking the mold.

Ethan exhaled.

"Okay," he said to you, low. "I think I see a way, but I need you to trust me. Can you trust me?"

"…Always."

It was such a small word that hit him deeply.

"Then I need you to know two things." He stepped close to the hole again, until his hips were almost touching the wood. "I'm gonna do what he says… I'm so sorry. I don't see another move yet and the clock's running… but you don't have to do anything. Okay?"

A long silence on the other side of the wall.

"…Is there really nothing else? Like — couldn't you just put your fingers in me? Would that count? The sensor maybe just needs heat, maybe—"

"Maybe."

"—or— or what if I— I don't know, what if I, like, faked it, what if we made the right sounds and—"

"Hey."

You went quiet and he waited, letting the silence sit, interrupted only by the ticking of the tubes.

"You don't have to pretend you don't want it." He said finally, very gently.

Your breath caught in a sharp inhale.

"I'm not—"

"Lucas told me." He didn't say it cruelly. He said it like a confession. "On the phone. He told me how you wanted me."

Silence.

"…Oh."

"Yeah."

"…I'm sorry."

"Don't." His voice cracked, just a little.

In his pants his cock, which had been at half-mast since he'd first seen you through the hole, gave a hot, demanding throb.

A strange feeling of years of denial folding up and being put away.

The feeling of a man learning, in the worst possible circumstances, that he had been loved for a very long time.

"I'll take care of you, I promise. You don’t have to pretend.”

A long, shaky exhale on your end, fight going out of you in one slow breath.

"…Okay. Ethan, please."

His cock kicked again in his pants and he undid his fly, button popping and zipper sliding down and his half-hard length flopped out into the air of the barn thick and already flushed dark, weeping a fat bead of pre at the slit.

He was big and you were about to feel it.

Spitting into his good hand and wrapping it around himself, working slow strokes from root to tip as be watched himself fatten up the rest of the way in his own fist, veins more visible along the shaft, foreskin pulling back tight and thick enough around that he had to spread his thumb and middle finger to span it.

“You tell me if it's too much and I'll stop, promise to find another way."

"…You won't have to."

"What?"

"…I want it." Your voice was barely a whisper. "I've wanted it for so long, please just give it to me, I'll take whatever you give me, please—"

Something hot and dark unspooled in Ethan's chest and he stepped up flush against the wall.

He gripped the base of his cock in his good hand and lined the fat, drooling head up against your slick, twitching hole. The heat of you radiated against his glans before he even made contact until he pressed and his cockhead nudged against the pucker.

"Hnnh… god, Ethan," a sound of pure want from your mouth.

Huge like that just from the tip and he pushed, staple-stitched hand had come up to grip your hip through the hole, fingers splaying across the soft flesh of your flank to hold you steady as he worked.

Whatever oily slick had you opening for him slowly, ring of your hole stretching wider and wider around his cockhead, fat flare of his glans popping past your rim and you screamed (not from agony).

"Ethan—Ethan, oh— oh fuck!"

His hand on your hip squeezed, he could feel you pulsing and fluttering in trying to figure out what to do with the intrusion all while giving you a full minute to adjust to pushing again.

He fed himself into you in patient slides and never withdrew, just more and deeper, your hands somewhere on the other side of the wall scrabbling at the wood.

"Halfway." His voice was wrecked.

"Halfway?" It came out as a sob. "Halfway— Ethan, I can't, I can feel you in my— oh god, oh god—"

"You can, you said you'd take whatever I gave you."

"…I did."

"C'mon. Take it for me."

Another long, slow push and your inner muscles clutching at every ridge and vein along his shaft.

His staple-stitched hand left your hip and traveled up, slid around to the curve of your ass cheek and his fingers spread wide as he palmed your whole right cheek perfectly in his big hand.

"Mine," he heard himself say very quietly, almost to himself.

He could feel the heat of your bare ass through the hole, wet seal of you sucking the rest of him in as he gave a final grinding push and his pelvis bumped up against the plywood, the entire thing of him lodged inside you, head of his cock pressed up against your prostate.

You were sobbing on the other side of the wall from overflow.

"Ethan— I'm gonna—"

"Don't come yet, baby. We've got a long time to go. He needs the sensor reading for a while.” He whispered the last part to you. “We're gonna take our time and make it nice, okay?"

"…Okay." A high, helpless whine.

He held there buried in you for a full minute of not moving and letting his own body remember how to think.

Up on the rafters, the tube nearest the apex of the roof had the mold inside shifting and settling lower, the timer's mechanism doing whatever it was doing.

He glanced up, the junction box was twelve feet up. He'd need a clear shot or a clear knife angle.

The sensor was hot and Ethan just had to put up his best performance while he slowly, patiently, set up his real move.

He drew his hips back, drag of his cock leaving indescribable between the way your inner walls clung to him and the cool air of the barn hit his shaft as it emerged.

Pulling out until just the flared head was caught inside your rim and then he pushed back in all the way as he started fucking you.

Long and deep strokes, pulling almost all the way out and than pushing all the way back in, slap of his thighs against the plywood becoming a slow rhythm as he kept his big palm planted on your ass cheek, kneading, squeezing and occasionally giving you a sharp slap that made you yelp and clench around him.

He shifted his angle and tilted his hips down as the next stroke ground the head of his cock right into your prostate again and you came apart in sounds.

Every stroke hit it now consistently and you were just noise on the other side of the wall, a mouth and a hole with a body offering itself up to him. He could feel his own balls drawing tighter.

He very carefully reached his good hand back to the hay bale and closed his fingers around the grip of the pistol, staple-stitched hand staying on your ass to hold the rhythm.

Ethan brought the pistol up, eyes tracing the line of the cord up the post and along the rafter to get on the junction box.

He took aim with one hand and squeezed, shot cracking through the barn as the junction box exploded in a shower of sparks, tubes overhead making a long, wheezing sigh as their internal pressure released harmlessly into the rafters.

The mold inside them sagged, now dead and inert.

Now the only sounds in the barn were the slap of Ethan's hips against the wood and your high, dazed moans.

You hadn't even noticed with how far gone and cock-drunk you were that the gunshots had just blurred into the background of the noise in your own head while taking it, mouth open against the wall as every nerve in your body was screaming.

Ethan dropped the pistol back onto the hay bale and put both hands back to fully fuck you, slow patient strokes that had turned into something harder.

"You're safe." He grunted it into the wood. "We're safe. It's— it's done, I just need to finish, I'm so close."

"Yes—yes, yes, yes, please, please!"

He gave you a dozen more long, deep, brutal strokes and his shaft was throbbing, every vein on him was pulsing in time with his heart as he buried himself to the absolute hilt one last time and he came in long flooding pulses, balls emptying everything they had into you as he felt you clench around him.

Then he felt you come as your whole body locked up, hole spasming around his cock and your own untouched length presumably spilled untouched onto the dirt floor on your side of the wall, all from his cock alone.

He kept pumping, slow, milking the last of it into you, hot trickles down the insides of your thighs.

You whimpered, already half-unconscious by the sound of it while coming down hard.

Very slowly, he eased his softening cock out of you and a white runnel followed down the cleft of your ass.

He tucked himself away and buttoned his fly, picking up the pistol and walking around the partition

You were strapped into a wooden frame, hands bound to a crossbeam above your head and hood pulled low over your face, bare from the waist down and trembling.

He undid the straps, pulling the hood off gently and your eyes blinked open, wide and dilated.

"Hi," he said.

"…Hi."

"It's done, the timer's off. We're okay."

A long pause while you tried to make the words make sense in your fucked-stupid head.

"You shot the timer during?" Your voice was hoarse.

"Couldn't risk him possibly noticing.” He couldn't help the small, lopsided and exhausted smile. "Multitasked."

You stared at him before starting to laugh and he gathered you up against his chest, kissing the top of your sweat-damp head as he held you tighter.

𝒞𝒽𝓇𝒾𝓈 ℛℯ𝒹𝒻𝒾ℯ𝓁𝒹 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒫𝒾ℯ𝓇𝓈 𝒩𝒾𝓋𝒶𝓃𝓈

You couldn't see your own body, that was the first thing your brain kept tripping over between the heavy pounding at your other end and the wet rasp of your own breath in your ear.

From the chin up you were free and had a view of half a collapsed corridor and the long shadowed mouth of the tunnel the woman in blue had vanished down hours ago.

From the chin down you were buried, slab had come down at an angle and that was the only reason you were still breathing with the way it had pinned you front-down with your face turned out and your chin caught right at the edge so your mouth and nose hung free in open air.

Your hips angled up against the back side of the rubble in a way that put your ass at exactly the height of a man on his knees.

Carla had known what she was doing when she pulled the trigger on that grappling line.

You'd been following her for three hours.

Following was a generous term.

Chasing her.

She'd dropped half a ceiling on you and walked off.

Chris had found you later.

How long ago you didn't know.

Time had stopped meaning anything a while ago. You knew it had been long enough for him to comm for the rest of his men and long enough for him to figure out he could not, on his own, lift the slab off you.

It had been long enough for him to come around behind you, take stock of the angle of your hips and the way your tac pants had been half-stripped down off your ass by the friction of the fall and make a decision.

An hour? More?

You'd lost count of how many times you'd come.

The first one had been an accident, he'd been getting you ready, two big rough fingers working slow and patient inside you while his other hand spread you open and somewhere in the second slow drag of his knuckles against your inner wall you'd come on his hand without warning, drool sliding out of the corner of your mouth onto the concrete in front of your face.

He'd huffed a low laugh.

"Yeah," he'd said. "Yeah, that's what I thought."

Then he'd pushed in.

He was big, the man was a fucking mountain you'd known for six years of field decon tents enough times that the size of him was not, in theory, a surprise, but theory and the thing itself were two different categories of knowledge.

So thick the stretch of it made you sob into the concrete the first time he bottomed out and assaulted your prostate, causing your vision to white out.

The thing itself, four orgasms ago, had not slowed down and set a deep merciless pace that kept rocking your trapped body forward against the slab with every thrust.

There was a puddle of drool and tears under your face now.

Behind and inside you, Chris was fucking you steadily and didn't stop.

"That's six," he said, somewhere behind the slab and he sounded barely winded.

"Mm." Another slow heavy thrust, full length of him dragging out and sinking back in, your hips jolting forward against the slab and your forehead bumping the concrete. "You wanted my attention, you got it."

His big palm came down across your bare ass and you flinched, whole pinned length of you twitching, every time your ass clenched too tight around him in a way he read as ‘trying to rush him’, he'd slap you and growl “patience” and slow back down to that same merciless grind.

"You wanna tell me," another stroke, "what the hell," another, "you thought you were doing," another, "going off comms?"

"Captain—"

"Don’t captain me from down there."

Another deeper stroke.

"Three hours, soldier. No check-ins or location pings. I had Piers running circles in the east wing looking for your body parts."

"I—I was tracking…fuck! I was tracking the—"

"I know what you were tracking." His voice didn't rise. It just got harder, the way concrete gets harder when it sets. "You were tracking Ada Wong. ‘Possible sighting, pursuing.’ You know what pursuing doesn't mean? Going dark for three hours and letting yourself get buried under a building."

Now a harsher slap came.

"I am not losing you because you got cute and went off-script chasing a coat."

"I'm— sir, I'm sorry, I'm—"

"Sorry's after." Another stroke, grind of his pelvis against your ass had become its own slow drumbeat, slap of skin behind you rhythmic. "Right now I need you to learn something. You hearing me?"

"Y-yes—"

"Good." His hand came down on the small of your back where it stuck out from under the slab and he pressed, anchoring you.

He picked up his pace, grinding his hips tighter, finding the angle that put the thick head of him directly across the swollen knot of your prostate and started rocking into you in shorter, harder strokes.

You sobbed into the puddle of your own drool, hips trying to jerk forward and couldn't as your whole body was being wrung out from the inside by a man who outweighed you by ninety pounds at minimum and you couldn't even arch your back.

Coming from his cock for the seventh time with a long high broken whine, your own dick spurting helplessly into the small white lake you'd been adding to for the better part of an hour, ass clamping so tight around Chris that he grunted above you and held still for a beat to ride it out.

You were trying to breath with Chris balls-deep in your ass that footsteps came running up the corridor from the east, cadence of a man who had been sprinting for a long time and was running on fumes and adrenaline.

"Captain?!"

"In here," Chris called back, easy as anything, without pulling out of you and there was a deep wish to die that bloomed in your conscience. "Slow down Piers, he’s stable."

The footsteps slowed and stopped about ten feet from your head, you knew the exact moment Piers got the picture because he made a small sharp sound in the back of his throat.

"…Captain."

"Nivans."

"Captain, what the fu—"

"He's pinned." Chris's voice was perfectly level, another slow grinding thrust into your ass and your forehead almost bumped concrete. "Slab came down on the column and I can't lift it on my own. You got eyes on the rest of the team?"

"Th-they're— they're fifteen out, sir, they had to reroute around the—"

"Fifteen minutes." A grunt another stroke. "Yeah, that tracks."

"Sir."

"Piers."

A long beat of silence as your glassy eyes slowly fixed on Piers’ face, fatigues in his face with his rifle slung.

Most loyal man ever to Chris Redfield, standing in a half-collapsed corridor watching his captain railing you into a slab.

"…Is he okay?"

"Yeah," Chris said. "Aren't you, soldier?"

"Yes sir," you got out into the puddle, gaze lowering again on the ground below in shame and aroused.

"He’s been a little distracted lately." Another slow thrust. "Going off comms and chasing leads without backup. Thought I'd take the opportunity to remind him about chain of command."

Another long silence from Piers before you'd hear footsteps again and stopped in front of you.

You saw his boots now, standard combat boots, scuffed, laced tight and planted shoulder-width apart on the concrete about two feet from your face and he crouched, handsome and sharp face now into your field of view.

Intense hazel eyes from someone who knew you had been quietly infatuated with Chris for about three years and now here you were with your ass being slowly destroyed by the captain.

He smoothed your hair back while behind the slab, Chris started moving slower this time.

"He's right, you know," Piers said quietly. "You can’t disobey orders from the captain."

"I know. We'll talk about it later. Right now I want you to focus." He brushed his thumb across your cheekbone.

Chris had picked up the pace again behind you and Piers watched the way pleasure rolled through your face and broke up all attempts of translating thoughts into coherent words and his jaw tightened.

His other hand came up to start unbuckling his belt.

"Captain," Piers said without taking his eyes off your face, "permission to give the soldier something to focus on, sir."

A grunt from behind the slab. "Granted, Nivans."

Piers's belt came open with a small click, followed by the rasp of his fly. He kept his eyes on you the whole time and you opened your mouth, making Piers's breath hitched.

He took himself out of his fatigues with his free hand and guided himself forward, laying the head of his cock against your bottom lip, so hot and hard, wet at the tip from witnessing his captain obliterate your ass.

Salt-bitter taste of it spreading on your tongue the second he made contact and let you have it, holding the base of himself steady and waiting for you to lean forward into him.

When you tilted your chin out and took the head of him into your mouth, closing your lips around the flare of him, Piers's whole body shuddered above you, hand fisting suddenly in your hair.

"Fuck!" He breathed.

"That's it," Chris said from behind the slab, timing his next thrust to push you forward onto Piers's cock and you sank down another inch on Piers with the force from it and said soldier groaned through his teeth.

Between Chris's slow heavy grinding strokes in your ass and the way each one pushed your face forward onto Piers's cock, along the way Piers had begun to rock his hips in shallow counter-strokes that fed himself a little deeper into your mouth every time you came forward, you found a rhythm.

It didn't require thinking, your body was being used at both ends by two men who knew how to work in coordinated formations like you were another tactical operation.

Chris thrust, you moved forward and Piers slid deeper into your mouth.

"Look at him," Piers breathed.

"I been looking at him for an hour, soldier."

"Captain!"

Piers's hand cradled the back of your skull when hearing your words and he let Chris's rhythm do the work, holding you there with his cock sliding in and out of your mouth.

"Easy on his throat, Piers. He’s been working hard."

You came again without warning, the way they all had been now and your body had given up on having control of its own orgasms about three back, ass clamping down hard around Chris, mouth slack and open around Piers while your own dick was spurting another helpless little contribution to the lake under.

Chris grunted while Piers swore softly and pulled back just enough that he didn't choke you while you spasmed, easing back in once your jaw remembered how to work.

You made a noise around Piers's cock that was meant to be ‘yes please’ and it came out as a wet hum. It vibrated up the length of him and Piers's whole body jerked.

"Fuck!" Piers came with a long shuddering groan through his teeth, hand tight in your hair, cock pulsing hot down your throat in spurt after spurt and the sheer volume of it told you exactly how long he'd been wanting this and how much of it had been bottled up.

Swallowing because there was nowhere else for it to go and your throat worked around him.

When he was empty he pulled back slowly, head of him slipping out of your mouth with a long string of spit that connected you to him until it broke and fell.

Hair stuck to his forehead, flushed face looking at your forehead while you stayed slack-mouthed, still being rocked forward and back by Chris's steady rhythm.

Piers held your face in his hands and looked back.

"Tell him," Chris said, "what you're gonna do better from now on."

You looked at Piers’s steady eyes on yours and the shame of it should have killed you.

“I'm gonna check in on comms—"

"Every," Chris said.

"Every single time—"

"Good, what else."

"I'm not—ah— I'm not gonna pursue without backup."

"And?"

"I'm gonna listen!"

“Good.” His voice was strained now, deep slow grind of his hips starting to come apart into shorter harder jabs. "Good. You hear that, Piers?"

"I heard him, sir." Piers's thumbs stroked your cheekbones as he looked into your face.

"Then we're done teaching."

Chris came, hips driving flush against your ass and stayed there, grinding deep as you felt him pulse inside you in long heavy throbs that just kept going, letting out one low controlled breath through his teeth, big hand on the slab above your body as his weight settled forward against it.

"Five out," came a crackle from Chris's comm.

"Copy," Chris said, voice already back to normal as you felt his pants zipping behind the slab, rasp of fabric and click of a belt buckle. "Take the long way around. We're gonna need to brace the slab before we lift."

"Copy, captain."

Chris came around the slab, big shoulders with fatigues neatly back in order, face perfectly composed except for the slight flush high on his cheekbones and dampness at his hairline.

"How we doin'," he said.

"…Tired, captain," you whispered.

"I bet."

𝒞𝒶𝓇𝓁ℴ𝓈 𝒪𝓁𝒾𝓋ℯ𝒾𝓇𝒶

Currently stuck under half a ceiling in the bowels of Raccoon General Hospital with your rifle out of reach and radio crackling somewhere above your head.

Let's back up.

The hospital had gone bad really bad like everything in this city, bow overflowed with zombies from every corner.

You and Carlos had been trying to clear a path back to the staff stairwell, his rifle chewing through magazines and muzzle flash lighting up the hallway in stuttering orange pulses while you'd been on his six with your sidearm doing cleanup on anything that got past him.

You'd burned through a magazine and a half doing that and come out of the hallway into the records room with maybe seven rounds left between your sidearm and your spare, splitting off to look for anything to help against the army of undead while he held the door.

The records room had a maintenance access panel that opened on a low crawl tunnel running under the floor and about fifteen feet down the tunnel inside a case sat a hard-shell weapons open, on its side, contents spilled out across the concrete.

A Lightning Hawk, long barrel that could delete head and shoulders of anything.

The tunnel was tight, maybe two and a half feet high, three feet wide and you'd hooked your rifle sling over your shoulder so the weapon trailed behind instead of catching on the lip while starting to crawl.

You'd made it about ten feet when the ceiling had decided it was done, face now pressed against cool concrete and your ass in the air along your dignity in some other zip code.

Your shoulder had bumped a support beam on the way past and the whole section of ceiling about six feet in front of where you'd been had given up its career as a ceiling and become, effectively, a slab of fallen concrete sitting on top of your back.

It had landed on your tac vest, that was the saving grace with your gear taking the weight instead of crushing your spine.

You also could not, however, move.

Tried to push up for about ten minutes or crawl forward and simply couldn't, hips caught at an angle where the slab pinned the back of your vest to the floor and your ass was wedged up against the underside of the rubble at exactly the wrong angle.

Tried to wriggle backward and it worked the worst of all, because your tac belt had snagged on something on the way down and now any backward motion just yanked your pants further down your hips.

Your ass was bare to the open air of the tunnel and you could not, for any amount of leverage your arms were giving you, get your pants back up.

You'd been working on a plan of using your sidearm to shoot the support strut to your left, which you thought might, possibly, redistribute the weight of the slab off your hips enough to let you wriggle forward.

"Tell me my eyes are lyin' to me right now."

You closed your eyes.

"Carlos."

"'Cause from where I'm standing, my eyes are tellin' me that my partner got his ass stuck in a hole and I gotta be honest with you, parceiro, I was hopin' for a better answer than that."

His voice was getting closer while he crouched now, moving up the tunnel toward you and you could hear his gear shifting. "I’m been poppin’ zombies’ head with my rifle and you decide to play ostrich?"

"I'm not playing ostrich! I’m fucking stuck. Look, six feet in front of me, on the ground."

A pause as Carlos's boots stopped scuffing forward and you heard him shift his weight, going quiet, looking down the tunnel past you to spot the weapon.

"…Caralho."

"Yeah." A long low whistle.

"Okay. Okay, fine. I take back the ostrich thing. Mostly, like sixty percent of the ostrich thing."

"Thank you."

"That's still a lot of ostrich, just so we're clear."

You heard him drop, shift of his gear along a small grunt as one knee went down behind you. He was kneeling now right behind you. He didn't say anything for a beat.

Then his voice came, lower:

"Now, you wanna explain to me why your bunda is hangin' out the back of your pants, parceiro? Not complaining."

"Belt got snagged when the ceiling came down. I can't—" you tried again, just to demonstrate, small hopeless wiggle of your hips that did absolutely nothing except waggle your bare ass at him in a way that made you immediately regret it, "—I can't get 'em back up, my arms can't reach—"

"Mm. Yeah I see that."

A pause.

"Y'know," he said, "you got yourself in a real interessante position here and I'm thinkin' to myself, Carlos, meu amigo, you been workin' real hard upstairs. Your shoulder hurts from the recoil and here is your partner presentin' to you like a—"

"Carlos."

"—como uma oferenda, okay?"

"I am not a thank-you note."

"You sure look like one."

His hand landed on your ass, heavy and warm, calluses across the knuckles from a decade of rifles and ropes, spread of that hand across one of your bare cheeks covered nearly all of it and squeezed.

"Mm. Look at this ass stuck down here in the dark with no one to appreciate it but me."

"Carlos, are you— now? Like this?"

"Why not?"

"There are zombies upstairs."

"Door's locked on my way down, heard you yelpin' on the radio so I came lookin'."

"I wasn't yelping—"

His hand kept moving almost possessively down the curve of your ass, across the meat of your thigh where it disappeared under the slab, back up.

"So," he said simply. "You up for this or what? 'Cause I gotta tell you. I'm lookin' at what's in front of me right now and I'm motivated."

"Carlos..:"

"Just say the word. Yes or no. I ain't gonna be weird about it, tá?"

You were quiet for about three seconds.

"…that magnum's still down there."

Carlos laughed and his hand slapped your ass, almost playful.

"That a yes, parceiro?"

"…That's a yes."

You heard him work his belt, the fly went and the rasp of his fatigue pants down his hips. You couldn't see it but your imagination filled in the gaps with details not helping your blood pressure.

"Lemme see what we're workin' with," he muttered to himself, both hands spreading you, big thumbs dragging across the seam and you felt the breeze of the basement on parts of you that had not, in your professional life, ever been exposed to the breeze of a basement.

"Hm. Okay. You ain't been broken in for a while, né?"

"Jesus, Carlos!"

"What. I'm bein' polite."

You heard him spit and felt it land on you, thumb rubbing it down into you in slow circles.

"There's lube in my belt pouch," you got out.

"Oh? Olha só. My man came prepared."

"It's for gear maintenance Carlos."

"Yeah, sure, where's the pouch."

"Left side, belt. Second pouch back."

He found it as you heard the click of the pouch unsnapping, rummage and small grunt of triumph when he came up with the little foil packet. You heard him tear it open with his teeth, squeezing it onto his fingers and rubbing them together to warm it.

One slick fingertip circling your rim in slow easy passes and only when he felt you breathe out and ease did he press in.

"There you go, Calminho."

"Carlos, you don't have to. I'm not made of glass.”

"Yeah, but I am big and I ain't tryin' to wreck you on the floor of a hospital, tá? So we go slow."

"How big."

A small dry laugh.

"I'm not gonna stand here in a duct measurin' my dick for you. Just open up."

His finger sank deeper to the second knuckle and held it there, letting you breathe around it before starting easing it in and out in careful drags, hand still on your ass, big palm splayed out across one cheek holding you steady.

"Y'know," he said conversationally, as if his finger weren't currently buried inside you, "I been thinkin' about this for a while."

"Yeah?"

"Mm-hm. Truck rides, you fall asleep in the passenger seat sometimes with your head against the window. I look over and I think to myself ‘that right there is a problem.’"

"A problem."

"Yeah 'cause I'm tryin' to drive and keep my eyes on the road."

He'd added a second finger while he was talking and you felt the stretch open up around him.

You sucked in a breath against the concrete.

“Relaxa pra mim."

"I think we're… Yeah. I gotta tell you. Sittin' here lookin' at you all spread out makes me feel like a lucky man tonight."

"Carlos please…"

"Please what."

"Please get on with it!"

You heard him slick himself, low grunt he made when he gripped his own length and you heard the change in his breathing, slow exhale as he worked himself slick.

Then the head of him pressed against you and you realized Carlos had not been fucking around about the size thing.

Blunt head of him at your entrance thick, sheer girth of him stretching you out at the rim before you'd taken so much as the tip.

"…Ah—Carlos!"

"I do not joke about things like this."

He pressed in with one hand on your hip and one hand on the small of your back where it stuck out from under the slab and he eased inch by careful inch.

God, he kept going. You'd thought you had the measure of him from the first stretch at the rim but he was still pushing in, opening up around him and the burn-stretch of him kept getting deeper.

He bottomed out and you felt his hips meet your ass, rough fabric of his unbuttoned fatigue pants brushing the backs of your thighs, pelvis flush against you as he held there a good long minute, letting you breathe and get used to it, heavy length of him sinking deep and the slow grind of his pulse against your inner walls.

"Olha pra você." His voice was rougher now, easygoing teasing edge stripped down a notch.

His big palm slid up your back where it stuck out from the slab and back down to your ass as he squeezed.

Then he started moving, full length of him dragging in long unhurried strokes.

He angled his hips and the thick head of him dragged directly across your prostate on the next slow stroke, making you see white behind your eyes.

"There it is. Found it." Pleased. “Keep makin' that noise for me.“

He fucked you on that angle without stopping, heavy stroke nailing the spot inside you that turned your bones to water and you were drooling onto the concrete, cock hanging hard and untouched between your legs leaking down to the floor,.

"You gonna come for me? Without me touchin' your pau?"

"Yes!" You came harder than the situation seemed to warrant, your whole pinned body going taut and your ass clamping down around Carlos's cock and your dick spurting helplessly onto the concrete underneath you in long pulses you couldn't control.

Carlos groaned above you and held his hips flush against your ass, grinding in deep through it, riding you out, pulse of you milking him in a way that almost broke his rhythm.

"Inside?"

"Carlos, I swear to god…"

"Just askin'! I am being polite!"

"Inside. Yes. Inside, please!"

"Tá bom, parceiro. Tá bom."

He picked up the pace, slow patient grind breaking into something harder and faster, slap of his hips against your ass echoing off the concrete walls of the tunnel in wet rhythmic cracks, small grunt he made on every thrust getting tighter and shorter as he climbed.

With a long ragged groan through his teeth he came, hips jamming flush against your ass and grinding deep, thick pulse of him spilling inside you in spurt after spurt while grip on your hip tightened to the point of bruising.

"That was… give me a minute. I'm seein' colors."

"Take your minute."

He did while staying buried in you for it, big palm rubbing slow soothing circles on the small of your back, breath gradually evening out behind you.

Softening slowly inside you while nestled inside the slick mess of him already starting to leak down the inside of your thigh.

Eventually he eased out.

"Hold on." He fished around in his own pouches, came up with a field cloth and you felt him cleaning you up, down your thighs and the small ‘tsk’ he made when he saw how much of him was leaking out.

"Made a mess of you, parceiro."

"…Yeah."

"You gonna be able to walk?"

"…Give me a second."

"Take two."

He lay there next to you in the tunnel while humming two notes and his hand found yours in the dark, squeezing.

You'd be okay for the next stretch.

Fratboy!Gojo who managed to strike up a conversation with you that very night. He asked about your course, which dorm you were staying in, and, most importantly, whether you were single. Obviously, all of these questions coming from a typical frat guy made you feel like he was either trying to become dude-bro friends or make fun of you. You were surprised when trying to wave him off with a 'cool party bro' didn't work; Gojo was still trying to chat to you all night. Who could blame you, though? The man was a solid six-foot-something, had a backwards baseball cap on, and was pretty ripped; his arms were on full display in his white tank. Any other guy that looked like him woulda called you a fag and moved on!

Fratboy!Gojo who would go out of his way to run into you on campus and chat. After that first party of his, you two continued to make small talk at parties. You'd say 'hi' to each other, complimenting Gojo's unique skill of throwing insane parties and how he was always generous with his alcohol, and then you'd split off to hang out with your friends. Though throughout the night, Gojo would always make his way towards you from time to time and make the most of having your attention. Though this eventually became insufficient for the fratboy, a couple of parties every month only to talk to you for maybe a total of 30 minutes per night, just wasn't enough. Which is why you found yourself running into Gojo much more often on campus; outside of your lectures, inside of cafes, and even around your dorms. What a stalker. Though he always meant well. Really! Gojo deadass just wanted to see you for as long as you'd let him and talk to you; get to know you and commit the details of your pretty face to memory.

Fratboy!Gojo whose touches would linger. Whenever he'd move you out of the way of someone passing by at a party, his rough, masculine hands would gently sit on your waist longer than needed. If the man was teasing you or complimenting you, the concurrent hand placed on your shoulder would stay there as Gojo looked into your eyes and smiled. Shared looks across campus would become more and more prolonged, the adjacent smiles more captivating. You found it became harder and harder to tear your eyes away from Gojo's dumb, toothy grin. The tension between you two at parties also became thicker by the day; Gojo's face inching closer to yours every night, the two of you splitting off from large crowds inch by inch until it was just your back up against a wall and Gojo lookin' down at you as you two talked. Your relationship also bloomed with time, even if you both passed it off as friendship. Late-night calls talking about nothing were part of your daily routine at this point; Gojo's deep, tired voice sending shivers down your spine as he mumbled about his day. You could swear, some nights, you'd heard the man let out some shaky sighs and tell you to keep talking, though you haven't deeped it too much~

Fratboy!Gojo who'd had enough of the sexual tension between the two of you. It had been almost an entire year, and the man was desperate to have you already. Not just sexually, Gojo would be happy with any drop of water in such a drought; a drop of your affection would satiate his thirst. The first time Gojo kept leaning in, you tried to convince yourself your hopes that the fratboy felt the same way about you, had gotten the best of you. But when Gojo didn't pull back and laugh at you, and instead pushed his rough, licked lips against yours, your heart almost exploded. As his tongue made its way past your lips, Gojo's hands wrapped around your wrists, pushing your hands against the wall and taking full control of the situation after seeing that you wanted this as much as he did. You let out small, muffled moans and mewls as the man's tongue toyed with yours - and when his hand moved from your wrist down to your waist, your eyes fluttered as Gojo rubbed his palm up and down your side.

Once you two had finally broken the kiss, a thick string of spit kept your lips connected; Gojo's blue eyes looked deeply down into yours as a small smirk graced his lips. Safe to say, that became a routine occurrence at parties. You and Gojo would start chatting and slowly split off from whoever else you were with, conversation would get more intimate and personal, until eventually Gojo's face was lowered enough that the two of you couldn't resist any longer; desperate to taste each other and the alcohol you had just consumed. With his hands on your hips or roaming underneath your t-shirt, your hands on his broad, muscular shoulders and huge chest, you both physically couldn't get enough of it. Your relationship definitely shifted, too, though you had no complaints. It didn't become awkward. If anything, your relationship with Gojo improved even more. Chatting on campus and late-night calls became slightly more flirty but even more raw and real than before, and the two of you would make plans to see each other every other day or so; literally going on dates but neither of you having the balls to say so.

Fratboy!Gojo who was buzzing with excitement when his gamble of asking you to come back to his dorm actually paid off. After hanging out practically the whole night at a party, making out in a corner, and hands roaming each other, you both said fuck it and walked to Gojo's dorm. The walk over wasn't even awkward; the two of you just talked more about lectures, future goals, and, of course, shamelessly flirted with each other. When you finally arrived at Gojo's place, your first impression was... 'how cliche ' to put it nicely. His room was that of a stereotypical frat guy; filthy. You'd think his entire wardrobe was on the floor, his bedding and sheets were barely on his bed, and if it weren't for the dorm providing a bedframe, you just know this man's mattress would be on the floor. Nevertheless, you let him hit. If anything, how much of a gross man Gojo was, turned you on. It wasn't like he didn't care for his hygiene and appearance; you knew for certain that he did from how hot he constantly looked and how fucking good he smelled.

Fuck were you glad you let him crack you despite the state his bedroom was in! The two of you got straight into it, making out as Gojo manoeuvred you both towards his bed; his hands roaming your body, from holding your jaw to caressing your chest, hips, and ass. The kissing continued as you lay on the man's bed - Gojo holding himself above you by his elbows, his jacked frame covering your entire body. You could feel how hard he was and how big he was as Gojo was grinding his dick against yours; his lips not leaving yours for a second. After what felt like years, the man finally let you breathe as he moved his lips lower down your body. Gojo started at your neck, kissing and marking sensitive spots across your throat, then as he slowly stripped you, his lips would move down lower - from your collarbone, to your nipples, to your stomach. His lips sealing his affection to your skin.

When you were finally stripped down to your underwear, you joked with Gojo about how unfair it was that he was still fully dressed; of course, leading to the man stripping all the way. You were way off about his dick size, it was bigger than you thought... A solid eight and a half inches, veiny and uncut; throbbing and standing proud, curving slightly towards his abs. If it weren't for the vodka in your system lowering your inhibitions, you would have been a little worried, but instead, you couldn't wait to get that monster inside of you. After some more sloppy foreplay (again, you were both a little drunk), Gojo's fingers were finally inside of you, your lubed-up, tight walls squelching lewdly as he scissored his fingers open. For a smug frat-guy, Gojo looked so cute, subtly focusing on making sure he loosened you right and that you were feeling good; a faint blush on his face from your moans and the pornographic sounds coming from your hole.

At last, when you were desperate for Gojo's dick, and you were safely loose enough to take his massive cock, Gojo manhandled you into position. With your legs on his broad shoulders, Gojo leant down and practically bent you in half as he positioned his tip at your entrance. The push-in was rocky to put it simply; it burned a little, but being tipsy and incredibly horny helped with that. But when Gojo bottomed out after pushing his huge dick in inch by inch, you let out a satisfied moan. Your eyes rolled back slightly, and your mouth dropped agape as you moaned and sighed from the feeling of being so fucking full; Gojo's dick pushing against your walls everywhere and resting against your prostate so maddeningly well. The sounds you were letting out and the way your body contorted gently in pleasure turned Gojo on so fucking much; he thought you looked beautiful, tears pricking the corners of your eyes as you screwed them shut in pleasure, your back arching, making your body position so nicely, and your hands gripping his pillow. Fuck, you just looked so hot.

After some more soft kisses and compliments falling off of Gojo's tongue and into your ears, the man finally started moving. And it felt incredible. Your hands tightened even more into Gojo's bedding and pillows, your toes curling and your moans increasing in pitch and a bit of volume; everything you were doing naturally, just working to egg Gojo on more. Once he'd established a rhythm which made you feel like you were in paradise, stuffed full and dripping precum like a faucet, Gojo let out moans in harmony with you as he let himself get lost in the tightness of you and your presence. He couldn't deny that the fact that he clearly had feelings for you really made the experience a million times better. Though as much as the man tried to keep his eyes on you and take you in, he couldn't fight the way he needed to either drop his head or roll his eyes back as his mouth dropped agape from how fucking good you felt. With every thrust, the two of you would let out a symphony of moans, groans and whimpers; your walls clamping down on Gojo's thick dick as he rubbed against your prostate every thrust, making him thrust into you even more. It was the most pleasurable, vicious cycle you'd ever experienced.

There was an audible change you registered, as well as a small shift in Gojo's hips thrusting against your ass, which you soon learned was him on the edge of shooting his load inside of you. His moans became more pathetic; a sound which was even hotter coming from the muscular dude-bro above you who still had a fucking cap on as he fucked you. His thrusts also became more prolonged; Gojo grinding his dick deeper into you after every thrust. Either he was trying to rub your prostate and make you feel good, or he was doing it for himself; either way, it felt fucking amazing. With a load, broken groan of your name, Gojo gave one final, hard thrust and buried his dick as deep inside of you as he could; finally cumming inside you. You weren't far behind the man, your toes curling in pleasure as his tip kept grinding against your prostate and his washboard abs kept brushing against your sensitive tip; eventually, you were also pushed over the edge.

Fratboy!Gojo who woke up the morning after and basically pulled a 'what are we?'. Though he tried to be a lot more nonchalant about it, but also tried to be dom; it was cute.

"So like... we're dating now, right?"

Ever since that night, it's been an upward trajectory. You and Gojo see each other every day, even if it's a fleeting chat on campus before lectures and exams. Date nights were surprisingly sacred to Gojo, who always made sure to take you out at least once a month to a nice place and always paid!

"Don't worry 'bout it, babe. You always pay me back in bed anyway ~"

He loved making you embarrassed and flustered by saying shit like that. It also stoked his ego and soothed his eternally jealous self by making it well known you were his. The frat guy showed his jealousy very overtly. A muscular arm snaking around your hip if another man was flirting with you subtly, or he would straight up tell some guys to fuck off.

"He's mine bro, don't bother" His bicep comfy on your nape as GOjo put his arm on your shoulders, pulling you into his chest.

You always try to stroke his ego in bed, though! Make up for being so attractive that guys wanna chat you up constantly, y'know. You constantly mention how big he is, how good he feels, how good he's doing, how Gojo is the only man for you. Once enough time had passed, you even started to throw broken 'I love you''s in there; sayin' that along with some moans always made your boyfriend cum~

"F-Fuck babe- Agh! Cummin! Fuck I'm Cumming, I love you so fuckin' much, (name)- Angh!"

You would think this man was trying to get you pregnant, by the way! From the way Gojo would grind his dick deeper and deeper inside of you as his dick throbbed and literally flooded your ass. Genuinely, the man would cum a solid two tablespoons. It had you worried at one point. You told Gojo to go to the doctor for God's sake! Anyways, the amount he'd cum and how hard Gojo would work to keep his thick, warm nut inside of you always made you feel like you were being bred. If only you knew the kinda thoughts that go through Gojo's head~

"Fuuuuck he looks so hot with my cum inside of him... I wanna knock him up so bad. Stuff him full of my babies and take care of 'im"

Aftercare was always 10/10 with this man. You genuinely couldn't complain. Gojo was an amazing boyfriend - he fucked you within an inch of your life and then cleaned you up real nice. We're talkin' warm towels and changing the sheets! Him! The slob who fucked you in a room full of dirty clothes! He changes the bed sheets for you after fucking! Him buying delivery food is also a typical occurrence after sex, letting you cuddle up on his chest as you snack on some fries and complain about your ass hurting.

Fratboy!Gojo who was a filthy, kinky motherfucker. Gojo fucking loved it when you worshipped his muscles and complimented him. Again, it stroked his ego, but it also made him feel proud and like he actually deserved to be with you. Yeah, sure, it made him rock-hard to hear you call his arms and back sexy, and he could cum just from watching you kiss his body and lick his sweat, but it was also an emotional thing! Really, he's a dumb puppy in a gym-bros body, but you wouldn't have it any other way.

Nerd!Gojo who has had a little (huge) crush on you since your first day at university. The two of you attended similar lectures due to overlapping electives and modules, and, as fate would have it, you were constantly put in groups together. Group work eventually developed into a small friendship and study-buddy status; the man is smart, so of course you'd take him up on his offer to study together. An offer Gojo obviously made to spend more time with you.

Nerd!Gojo who would always hold friendly conversations with you during group work and study sessions at the library. The work you two were doing would slowly be put on the back burner to make room for the smooth-flowing chats you would have with Gojo about friends, parties, career goals, and everything else. Eventually, the two of you would go 'round each other's dorms for study sessions, even though it had gotten to the point that study sessions were just an excuse to hang out.

Nerd!Gojo who offered you extra tutoring, his reasoning of wanting to help you get even better grades 'cause he believes that you have the potential to even outsmart him, masking the real reason that he just wanted to see you even more. Your routine had completely changed then; instead of seeing Gojo once or twice a week outside of lectures, the man was in your dorm, or you were 'round his place, every night.

Gojo made the most of this tutoring, too. He would sit down next to you, knee touching yours, and innocently keeping his hand on your thigh after patting it as he flashed an innocuous smile. Safe to say you weren't learning much from the tutoring; all you could focus on was Gojo's soft, slightly veiny hand on your thigh, the way his glasses and hair framed his face so sharply, and how fucking hot his voice sounded as he talked you through the content. Little did you know he was doing it all on purpose, though! Gojo took the golden opportunity to be all up in your personal space and thanked every God of every religion that you didn't move away from him. Despite him fluently explaining the questions on the paper in front of you both, all that was running through the nerd's head was that you smelled so fucking good, and that your face looked so pretty up close as you blushed, and how kissable your lips looked, and how hard he was... Fuck. This man was hard as steel! The tent in his chinos was so obvious, too! How embarassing! Had you noticed? Did you mind? Did you like it?

"Gojo? You okay? You look a little red..."

"Yeah- It's hot! I'll get us some water"

Nerd!Gojo who worked his magic and made sure that, over time, study sessions became more of a monthly/exam season thing, since the two of you would rather just hang out and do something fun or talk. Don't get it twisted, though, he would make sure that study sessions still happened and that he could get all up-close and personal with you! Although that doesn't mean that you two wouldn't have some moments when hanging out that people would easily mistake for flirting or a moment between lovers. Your legs being draped over Gojo's lap as you watched a film, his hand holding your chin up to face him when you tell him you have something in your eye - moments like those became too commonplace for a platonic relationship.

Nerd!Gojo who you had convinced to join you on a night out. Sure, the man drinks at bars or with a meal when with friends, but Gojo barely goes out. No fun, you'd say. Obviously, 'cause this man physically cannot say no to you, you dragged him to the club. He's so cute when tipsy, with a faint blush on his face and his eyes half-lidded, but as soon as he's fully drunk, Gojo is almost a different person! Okay, maybe that's a bit of an exaggeration, but he does act differently! The nerd lets out his more dominant side; a hand on your shoulder as you both dance, and if another guy tries to make a move on you? Gojo's hand is wrapped around your wrist gently as he drags you to the bar - justifying his actions by saying he was thirsty, his hand moving to your hip and holding you close to him.

Nerd!Gojo who worked up the courage to kiss you for the first time during a study session at your place. Again, the man was all up in your personal space (not that you minded one bit), sitting on the floor at a coffee table with worksheets spread out. He just couldn't get the idea of his head. He'd wanted to kiss you for so long, and your lips just looked so soft like they were calling his name! When his soft lips gently pressed against yours, and not only did you not pull away, but rather you fluttered your eyes closed and kissed Gojo back? He knew he scored big time. Gojo's lean fingers gently held your chin as the kiss deepened; his tongue toying with yours carefully, both of you testing the waters slowly. Once the kiss had broken, the two of you silently looked into each other's eyes; the sound of you and Gojo softly panting out of breath was all that could be heard. After a split second of thinking, you both seemed to reach the same conclusion: fuck it. Gojo pulled you towards him by your wrist, pulling you into another kiss. Both of you were lying down on the floor, kissing, with you on top of Gojo; your hips softly grinding against the man's groin. You could feel him, already hard, throbbing and twitching from time to time as he poked your belly, reciprocating your grinding.

You broke the kiss again, this time to pull your jumper off and start stripping to your underwear. Gojo watched in awe from below you, staring up at you with crooked glasses and a thin blush as he pulled his tie loose. Gojo unbuttoned his shirt with one hand as he softly complimented your looks and eagerness, to which you responded flirtatiously with a little wit. Fuck did Gojo look hot so dishevelled, you were gonna eat him alive~

And eat him alive you did! The man made sure that the foreplay was good; fingering you gently and marking you all over. But when it was your turn to freak Gojo's shit, you blew his mind. You gave that nerd the best head he'd ever had! Sure, he'd been on Grindr hookups and had girlfriends, but holy fuck did you change his life. The way your lips softly wrapped around his huge dick, the way your tongue swirled around his tip before you deep-throated him, and the way you hollowed your cheeks just tight enough - Gojo was a panting, moaning mess within five minutes flat.

However, that isn't to say that this man is a subby little bitch boy! Sure, he whimpered and moaned in that sexy voice of his as you gave him head; his soft fingers curling in your hair and guiding your pace. But as soon as Gojo was eight inches deep inside of you? You'd think he was drunk again from how he showed a more dominant side. Seriously though, the man was talking you through it, praising you for taking him so well in between his own moans; his hands roaming your body and his lean muscles flexing so nicely above you.

Nerd!Gojo who is the perfect boyfriend. Not even mentioning his fucking incredible looks, sexy, soft voice, or his skills in bed, Gojo is just a good boyfriend. He'll plan fancy dates for you, or picnics in summer, or even study dates when you have exams. He gives you space whenever you want it, but is there at your beck and call when you want him; which tends to be most of the time...

Even though when he's drunk, he has his more dominant side, Gojo tends to be the rule follower in the relationship, with you wearing the pants and making the rules. He also shows his jealousy in a very covert way! Bottling up the way that another man making you laugh and his hand on your shoulder makes him feel, choosing to bring it up in private. Such a healthy guy.

One thing that really gets him going is when you compliment him on his smarts. Gojo will deadass pop a boner if you joke about spending all his money once you're married, 'cause he's bound to get a cushy job with all those brains of his.

Toji Fushiguro

🩷 Love-Hate - You wake up in Toji's bed, why this dickhead?? (Drabble/Imagine)

Ryomen Sukuna

❤️ Someone Older - Meeting Sukuna in a club and your 'relationship' ensues

Zenin Naoya

🖤🩷❤️ Forced mate - Alpha Naoya gets to choose his Omega. Lucky you... Right?

Satoru Gojo

🩷❤️ Two sides / same coin - Dating and smut with Frat!Gojo & Nerd!Gojo

Toge Inumaki

Sorcerer busy - come back later!

Yuji Itadori

Sorcerer busy - come back later!

Megumi Fushiguro

Sorcerer busy - come back later!

Kento Nanami

“I wanna have sex.”

Those four words slipped out of your mouth, directly stating what you want from your boyfriend. You rolled over from your current position, nuzzling and resting on Miguel’s side and arms, to straddle his thick thighs; your hands resting on his expansive, hairy pectorals.

The bed groaned and squeaked under the newly added weight, a soft grunt escaping Miguel’s lips—his large hands instinctively jumping to hold your thighs. Your ass was pressing and grinding on his clothed bulge.

«¿En serio, amor? I thought you wanted to rest? Pero no me importa».” Miguel chuckles, rubbing circles into your thighs with his thumbs and rolling his hips in response to your grinding—pushing his growing bulge in between your cheeks; letting you feel what was coming.

Searing heat flooded your face, prickling underneath the layer of skin; a soft moan escaped your lips, gasping from feeling the once soft, flaccid cock slowly hardening into a massive thing. You couldn’t help but arch your back, your plump ass pushing outward—increasing the friction between your bodies.

Your dick was hardened, already throbbing and sensitive from the mere interaction. It was chubbing in your underwear when you begged Miguel to come to bed with you. That was when you deemed it was time to give your sacred virginity to the man. There was an uneasy feeling, a tight knot in your stomach, but it was overshadowed by the anticipation building up and your dick.

A part of you expected Miguel to grumble something about staying glued to his monitors, observing the wide multiverse and calculating his next moves—waiting for any threats that would throw everything off balance. To your satisfaction, he agreed, saying that he’ll pass the workload onto one of the other Spider-Mans or LYLA. You eagerly watched the man peel off what little clothing he had—leering at his massive, hulking physique.

Everything about Miguel was massive. His broad shoulders and back tapering sharply down to his taut, coiled waist; hefty pectorals that looked like they needed a bra to be supported; and two massive, hairy thighs that could crush a watermelon.

And you couldn’t forget about his impressive equipment. You'd never seen it, maybe heard some rumors from the other Spider-Men about how massive and thick it was. You never saw it, given that he was the only Spider-Man to possess a hard-light hologram instead of the traditional fabrics. Now, you had an idea of what it was—the massive, thick piece of meat grinding against your ass, pushing your cheeks apart. Soft whimpers under your breath as the realization was setting in, but it made your hole twitch—aching to have your cherry popped by Miguel’s massive, thick cock.

“Yeah, I did say that, but I wanted to take initiative. I want you to be the one,” you whined, biting your bottom lip and nail digging into the flesh of Miguel’s pectorals. The Mexican man is aware that you’re a virgin, keeping your cherry unplucked for a man worthy enough. He felt his pride swell from the declaration—a bright bloom in his stomach. He was going to make sure you enjoyed your first time. Give you the taste and feel the throes and ecstasy of sex and pleasure.

Plus his dick cheered and jumped, pumping with blood to full erection from the thought of being the one to take your virginity.

“I’m honored, mi príncipe.” Miguel purrs, moving his hands to your hips, gripping the flesh before grounding you on his crotch—halting your needy grinding and teasing. Soft grunts and moans filled the space. You could feel the Mexican man’s meaty, rough hand groping and pulling at your hips, then transitioning to kneading your plump cheeks.

“Let’s begin, mi príncipe.”

Lesson one — Blowjob

Your knees dug into the carpet-covered floor with Miguel sitting on the edge of the bed. Miguel’s meaty, thick thighs spread open, giving entrance and space between them. Your eyes zeroed in on the prize, a massive one at that. Your breathing deepened, hitching and choking. You could see the massive thing twitching underneath the soft fabric—you noticed a dampened spot near the front. Your dick and hole twitched; this was it.

“Go on, mi príncipe. Es todo tuyo.” Miguel spoke, cupping your cheek and lifting your head to face him. You nuzzled your head into his palm, whining softly as he pulled away. You gulped, grabbing onto the waistband, slowly pulling the drawls down—Miguel lifting himself off the mattress. The moment you’ve been waiting for happened, ever since you announced that you were dating the leader of the Spider-Society. Your eyes widened, and your pupils dilated, expanding like the smile spreading across your face.

Miguel’s massive, thick cock and heavy balls that looked egg-shaped plopped out of their imprisonment. As mentioned before, everything about Miguel is massive. You surmised the meaty piece of flesh to be nine inches—the immense shaft standing tall and proud. The thickness made your mouth dry. You could see veins pulsating and pumping on the sides and undersides. The flustered, pink cockhead peeked through the foreskin guarding the head.

You were practically salivating at the sight; your mouth felt empty and needed filling. The massive shaft twitched, the vein pumping. A heady, overwhelming scent invaded your nose, clouding your train of thought. It was rich and intoxicating—you were getting drunk off the musky scent. Was this what other men enjoyed and experienced? You read books and watched videos, but never understood the buzz—now you do. Yet, you were still intimidated.

“No tengas miedo, mi príncipe. Go slow, and I’ll guide you.” Miguel said with a soft voice, gliding his hand through strands of your hair.

You nodded, inching closer to the massive, intimidating shaft. The musky scent was getting stronger and more potent, further shutting down and fogging your head with lust. You reluctantly touched it, wrapping your fingers around the massive, thick shaft. Your fingers barely touched each other, a testament to the thickness. Miguel’s dick felt heavy in your palm, almost like someone lifting weights for the first time.

“¡D-dios mío…!” Miguel moaned, stuttering and choking as he felt the warmth of your palm wrapping around his sensitive dick. His hips involuntarily thrusted, eager for more, but he grounded himself. It's been weeks since he’s last relieved himself; his dick throbbed and ached for an immediate climax.

The heat in your cheeks grew as you slowly started to stroke, gently gripping the heavy, thick shaft—starting at the top, you moved Miguel’s foreskin up and down, exposing the flustered, pink cockhead. Thick strings and beads of precum gathered at the slit. Miguel gave his approval with low grunts and groans, tilting his head back. You could not help yourself and buried your nose in the area between the base and sack, inhaling the overwhelming, masculine scent straight from the source.

Then, you pressed your tongue against the massive dick, starting at the base and tracing it towards the pink cockhead. The flavors hit your taste buds as you licked the cockhead and foreskin. It was salty and bitter, but rich—uniquely Miguel. You paired your flicking tongue and stroking together, moving with rhythm to impress the Mexican man.

“Eso es, cariño. Keep it up,” Miguel says, letting out throaty moans. His hand stroking your head as he feels your tongue flicking and licking his sensitive cockhead, toying the spongy tip like it was candy. Your hand gently stroking the remaining inches. Your dick oozed more precum from the praise. A warm feeling flooded your body from hearing Miguel’s praise and approval. This is what you wanted, and you need more of it.

Taking a deep breath and internally coaching yourself, you took the throbbing cockhead into your mouth. Your lips widened and tightened around the cockhead, securing it in your mouth. You slowly and nervously bobbed your head, only sucking the tip. Your tongue continued to toy with the sensitive thing, swirling and flicking—even playing with Miguel’s foreskin. Your soft whine and moans muffled, but added further stimulation—earning muttered grumbles and praises.

“¡Ah, carajo!” Miguel screeched, his grip on your head tightening. His teeth clenched with a pained expression.

Your teeth accidentally grazed and bit down; the sensitive head sent pain signals through Miguel’s body, causing him to shudder and yelp in pain. You pulled back; a wet pop echoed. Globs and strings of saliva and precum combined to make a web, connecting your mouth to the tip. You looked up to see Miguel panting, eyebrows furrowed, and nose wrinkled—his heavily muscular body glistening in the low light from the sweat accumulating.

“Sorry about that…” You mumbled, embarrassed for the mishap. You proceeded to use two hands to lather the rest of Miguel’s cock with your saliva and precum. It could be interpreted as a sorry for accidentally biting his dick. Your wrist moved in a circular motion, moving up and down until every crevice was covered.

“It's okay, amor. Just watch your teeth next time, okay? You can do that for me?” Miguel replied, reassuring you, which calmed the embarrassment and anxiety filling your nerves. He patted your head, playing with the strands of hair, his fingers dancing and prancing through your scalp. Not hearing any opposition, you continued to stroke—spitting and lathering, repeating this pattern until Miguel’s massive dick was shining. With each spit, the squelching noise became more prominent.

Testing another technique, you flattened one hand with the other continuing to stroke the rest. You rubbed your flattened palm on the sensitive tip, swishing it back and forward. Miguel gave praise with choked groans and grunts, his eyes rolled back and mouth agape from the sensation. Where did you learn this from? Probably from the internet and its various sites. You had Miguel digging his claws into the mattress, tearing through the thin layer and into the plush filling. He needs to feel the warm, wet velvety interior of your mouth.

“Necesito esa boca otra vez, amor. Why not try taking more? Go slowly, take what you can. Don’t forget to breathe through your nose.” Miguel advised, his breathing heavy and chipped, failing to mask his needy desire to have your mouth wrapped around his cock.

You removed your palm from the glistening pink tip, resting it on Miguel’s thick, muscular thigh. With some guidance, your lips returned to the tip. The taste of precum was more prominent than before—most likely because you smeared and coated the spongy tip with the fluid. The bitter, salty taste triggered another muffled moan. Your lips widened to accommodate the massive dick entering, taking as much as you could—with each inch swallowed, Miguel’s throaty growls got louder. You were huffing and puffing, stuttering breath as you stopped halfway.

Stilling your movements and tightening your lips around the desired point, you let the heavy piece of meat rest on your tongue. Doing well so far, your teeth hadn’t scratched the sensitive head or veins running across the massive thing.

“Lo estás haciendo genial, cariño.” Miguel moans. With the words of encouragement, you slowly started to bob your head up and down—soft and slow deepthroat, taking a few more inches with each swallow. “Relax your throat… yeah, just like that, cariño.” The Mexican man’s groans grew more audible, both of his hands holding your head—pushing you softly on his dick. You started to incorporate your tongue, bobbing up and down and flicking the appendage—teasing the spongy head, tracing the veins, and swirling around the massive thickness.

There were a few hiccups, gagging and choking as the cockhead rammed into your gag reflex. Tears prickled your eyes from the sudden ramming, Miguel gently pulling your head back to let you breathe and recuperate. After a couple, you returned to servicing the massive dick—now delightful and eager to have it in your mouth, slurping and slobbering all over it. You could see thick globs of precum and saliva accumulating around the base with some bubbles littering the length.

“T-that’s it, cariño. Don’t forget my balls.” Miguel says, letting out guttural groan after groan. You didn’t hesitate to follow, pulling back and latching onto his heavy, hanging sack. They were hefty, filled with weeks worth of cum sloshing around in them. You gargled and slurped on both sacks while stroking the shaft—switching between the two roles with ease. “You deserve a reward.”

Your ears perked at the mention of a reward. Your head was gently pulled back and turned to face Miguel. His ruby red eyes met yours, satisfaction and adoration mixed with lust while you were in a daze—eyes half-lidded as you waited for more. Your breathing was soft and hitched, saliva coating your mouth. Your hair was disheveled, messy strands sticking to your sweaty forehead.

There wasn’t any resistance when Miguel manhandled you, picking you up from the scratchy carpet and laying you on the bed once again—displaying every part of your body to him. Your knees ached and cracked from the sudden lift, and your dick flopped as if in the wind. Soft breaths escaped as your body melded with the plush mattress and fluffy sheets—nuzzling and cozying into them. Your eyes, once again, met the same polished, ruby red eyes—this time, he was positioned between your legs, your dick lying on his sharp cheekbone. There was something in his eyes, but you didn’t have time to think.

“Your turn,” Miguel purred, a smile stretched across his face before taking your dick into his mouth.

This was your first blowjob and it had your back arched, hands desperately holding the sheets or running through Miguel’s slicked-back hair. Your thighs clapped around Miguel’s head—burying him between your plush flesh. A slew of cries and moans slipped out, your body spasming and shaking from the sensation, but it felt euphoric.

It felt like the oxygen and soul were being sucked out of your being. Your eyes widened, shuddering panting oozed from your lips as Miguel’s warm, wet mouth swallowed your dick—deep throating and taking every inch without a sweat; no gagging. His tongue focused on your tip, pressing the appendage into the tiny slit. Your dick was a throbbing mess, gushing precum like it was a fountain, and Miguel drank every drop.

“M-Miguel…” You whined. The burning heat that started in your groin swiftly spread to every corner of your being—thanks to Miguel. This electricity is flowing through every vein and flooding your brain.

“Shhh, cariño. This is all for you. Has sido un niño muy bueno, mi amor. You deserve this.” Your dick plopped out of Miguel’s mouth, letting the man speak. You whimpered and whined at the loss of the moist warmth. Your dick twitched from the brushes of air gliding on it. You watched as Miguel tapped the tip against his tongue—repeating this while stroking your saliva-coated shaft, making direct eye contact.

With this being your first, you didn’t expect it to last long, especially since it looked like Miguel wasn’t stopping anytime. He continued to slurp and slobber, adding another stimulant by fondling your balls with his hand—rubbing his thumb into them and gently massaging them. The edge came not long after, your breath heavy and body shaking with the force of an earthquake. Your dick throbbed and your balls pulled back before spurting its load into Miguel’s mouth—gushing a wave as the Mexican man eagerly sucked and drained every drop of your seed down his gullet. He gulped it like it was precious nectar.

You were left drained, dozing off, staring at the ceiling. Miguel released your dick, licking off any remaining cum from the tip and his lips. The once squelching, slobbering, noise-filled room was reduced to soft panting and quiet creaks.

“Sabes a gloria, mi amor. Hasta la última gota.” Miguel moaned, his lips pressed against your thighs, leaving a trail of wet kisses, slowly moving up your body. He gave your dick a few kisses, then on your pubic region and chest until he halted at your neck. Your body tingled from the ministrations.

Miguel’s overly massive body overshadowed you, his hands now pinning you down on the mattress as he rested on top of you. The hard, defined planes and crevices pressed against yours as he littered your neck with bites, hickies, and marks. His sharp canines dug into your skin, drawing some blood to seep through the puncture wounds—he eagerly lapped up the thick, metallic substance.

He made sure not to inject you with his venom. That was for later down the line if you were up for it.

Everything felt hot in a good way. You yelped every time Miguel sank his teeth into your flesh, your arms coming to wrap around his neck, authorizing and encouraging him to continue. The screams and cries of pleasure muted to soft panting again. Your dick was flaccid but was chubbing from the various markings.

“I got this from here, mi amor. Let me show you what you’ve been missing out on. Just lay here.”

Lesson two — foreplay and sex.

You withered away in the comfort of yours and Miguel’s bed. The Mexican man repositioned himself to the side, pulling you closer to him as he dealt his magic. He lathered three thick, long fingers with his saliva and moved them to the tight ring of your sphincter. Choked gasps slipped past your lips, your back arching as you felt them teasing the rim—circling the tight muscles and teasingly pretending to penetrate. Your flaccid, chubbing dick shot back to an erection as shaky moans and whines escaped from the sudden intrusion of Miguel’s thick fingers pushing past the tight rim.

“You’re so tight, boy. Sucking my fingers deep into your ass.” Miguel groans, his hot breathing brushing against your shoulder blades. He didn’t move far to bite your earlobes, letting you hear his throaty growls and groans. There was some resistance; your ass spasmed and clenched around the intruders, attempting to push it out but instead pulled the thick fingers deeper. The pain spread shivers down your spine and body, but the saliva alleviated the discomfort.

Your jaw remained dropped as two more fingers pushed in, filling your crowded hole with more thick appendages. At the same time, Miguel latched his mouth onto your pectoral, sucking and nibbling—using the same tactics he used to drain your dick of cum. Loud moans and cries of pleasure filled the room as the three fingers worked in unison—drawing out more shaky noises from probing a sensitive bundle of nerves in your ass—and Miguel devoured your nipple.

The squelching sound coming from your ass and the slobbering, sucking sound mixed with your moans to create a symphony of sex and lust. This was more intense than you anticipated, but your dick was bobbing and leaking another flood of precum from the tip. Your head tilted back, your body trembling from the sensation—hips thrusting into the air and ass clenching around the thick fingers.

“That’s it, mi amor. I think you’re ready, are you?” Miguel asks, pulling back from your pectoral with an audible, wet pop. He pulled his three fingers out of your stretched, prepared ass. Soft whines left your lips from the emptiness that was left behind—the hunger to experience and feel the real thing was becoming unbearable. Some doubts and fears filled your guts, like how were you gonna take that massive thing? Would it even fit?

“Yes, yes, I am.” You replied. There was an undertone of hesitation and fear—wanting to flake out at the last minute. There was still lust in your eyes, but it masked the growing hesitation. The reality was setting in. Miguel picked up on this; of course, he would.

“We can stop here, if you want—”

“N-no, I’m ready!”

“Are you 100%?” You nodded in confirmation, biting your bottom lip. “Okay, tell me when to stop or if it hurts too much,” Miguel said, flipping you over onto your stomach. Your plush, plump rear was on full display for him—Miguel licking his lips at the sight, a delectable meal.

You grabbed the nearest pillow, gripping the fluffy thing with an iron grip and biting down on it—your saliva soaking the sheet. Your dick ground against the mattress before you arched your back to give Miguel a better vantage, presenting yourself to the hungry man who was gonna pop your cherry—your dick throbbed in anticipation, ready to feel the real deal. A shaky gasp slipped out as Miguel’s large, calloused hand pulled your cheek apart, exposing the tight bud that was buried. His massive dick twitched from seeing the rose bud winking at him.

Grabbing his dick and positioning it towards your entrance, Miguel slowly pushed forward. The Mexican man snarled, gritting his teeth as your hole was putting up resistance. You clenched the pillow tighter as whimpers filled the space. The hyper tension and blunt force pressing against the rim was sending pain signals throughout your body, the searing electricity coursing through your veins.

A symphony of moans and throaty grunts bounced off the walls as Miguel’s dick pierced the rim—officially popping your cherry. The blunt cockhead pressed deeper, slowly dragging along your inner, tight walls. The pillow muffled your moans and twinges of pain. Miguel gripped your hips, throwing his head back and letting out guttural groans as he felt your warm, tight ass clenching—almost suffocating his dick like it was about to be ripped off.

You were squeezing too tight.

«¿Estás bien, cariño? Do you need me to stop?” Miguel inquired, his breathing heavy and hitched as he halted his movement, not wanting to bring you harm or ruin your first experience. His massive dick wasn’t halfway in.

“Y-yes, please.” You replied, whimpering and holding the pillow tighter. Your hips faltered and collapsed back to the mattress, squishing your throbbing dick in the process.

“Okay, cariño. Take deep breaths and relax. Tell me when I can continue.” Miguel said, leaning down to litter kisses and soothe the pain.

Following Miguel’s advice, you breathed in and out, calming your muscles and releasing the tension. The pain was still there, but it was quickly subsiding, and Miguel could feel your muscles relaxing—the chokehold on his dick being lifted. Taking a few minutes of recollection and breathing, you gave Miguel consent to push forward.

Hushed moans and grunts grew louder with each inch. Your ass was being split open and filled to the brim with cock. You could feel the various veins rubbing against your walls, the cockhead hitting depths you didn’t think would be met. It wasn’t long until Miguel’s massive dick rested fully inside you—his pelvis pressed against your cheeks and heavy balls mashed against yours.

“So deep… cariño. So tight.” Miguel groans, collapsing and squishing you underneath his massive body—his sweaty torso melded against your back.

You let out small whimpers, trying to get used to the feeling of Miguel’s dick. Your walls clamp around the massive thing, massaging and sucking it. You could feel everything, especially Miguel’s dick twitching and oozing precum—the veins pulsating like it was alive. Pleasure shoots up your spine as your dick twitched underneath, already on the verge of a second climax. Miguel allowed you to adjust appropriately.

After another period of readjustment, Miguel started pulling his hips back, dragging his massive dick out before gently thrusting back into your tight warmth. It was a slow pace, one to ease you into the sex escapades of the future.

Everything in your body was turning into mush. Your body trembled underneath, and a flurry of moans drowned out Miguel’s own groans. Miguel’s heavy balls clapped against yours, and the wet, squelching noise mixed with skin slamming against skin.

“So good… So beautiful for me, cariño… todo esto para mí,” Miguel groans into your ear, nibbling the lobe. “Let me hear your voice.” You sense the desire and hunger in his tone, a man turning feral over his boyfriend. The pillow you were clenching was tossed aside and replaced with Miguel’s hands intertwining with yours—his hands tightening.

Without your pillow, more pathetic whimpers and moans were pulled out. Your hands gripped Miguel’s tighter as the man’s cockhead rammed into the same bundle of nerves—the same one his fingers assaulted.

Your eyes rolled back, jaw hung open, as that was the tipping point. It was obvious to Miguel that your orgasm was fast approaching. The way your body was trembling and your ass clenching and unclenching around his massive dick were clear signs.

“Cum for me, cariño,” Miguel commands, sucking on your skin. Your dick grinding against the bed, combined with your prostate being toyed, and Miguel sucked on that special spot, caused it to spurt. You choked out cries of pleasure as hot, thick ropes of cum painted the sheets and your abdomen—Miguel’s thrusts causing it to smear and stain. Your balls churned and throbbed until every drop was squirted out.

Miguel continued his pace, but it was becoming sloppy as he was reaching the end of his rope. Your body went lax and surrendered. He continued to rut into your ass sloppily. His heavy balls mashed and clapped against your ass, but they were pulling back as a massive load was flowing to the tip.

“I-I’m cumming, cariño!” Miguel says with a low moan. You couldn’t respond, stuck in a post-orgasm haze—only with a hushed whine. After thrusting for the last time, Miguel slams completely inside you. His body shuddered, and his teeth sank into your flesh—blocking his guttural growl. Your ass tightened from the sudden flood.

Miguel’s massive dick throbbed and painted your insides white, unleashing a week’s worth of cum like it was a biblical flood. Your moans and his groans mixed. Extreme amounts of euphoria and adrenaline flooded Miguel’s system as he pumped more cum until you were filled to the brim with his seed.

You could feel every twitch and pulse, the massive thing throbbing as it unloaded its contents deep inside your ass. You could feel the thick warmth filling your bowels, feel the cockhead’s slit opening to gush. So much cum was dumped that it started to seep around Miguel’s dick, plugging your entrance and sliding down to your balls.

“You were amazing, cariño,” Miguel said breathlessly, pulling his teeth from your skin. You were out of it—acknowledging what he said by squeezing his hands. He smiled, tilting your head to face him before pressing his lips against yours. What an experience. You definitely wanted more, but your body was screaming to rest and sleep.

THE END

Author’s note: Hello, my strawberries! First fic for Pride Month! I hope this was good, and my birthday is approaching soon… turning 20 (dying on the inside).

Special thanks to my proofreader — @sagethegaywitch

The day Princess Izumi was born was one of the most joyous days you had seen since the Hundred Year War ended. Though it was a day of great excitement, it was still shrouded in secrecy. 

You never had outright asked Zuko who Izumi’s mother was, and you were always too busy as his retainer to do any sleuthing of your own. Rumors had swirled around longer than you could keep up with, always taking each and every one that you heard with a grain of salt. 

You had your own guesses and theories, but really, you were just happy to see Zuko happy. 

Weeks later, when the palace had finally begun to calm after Izumi’s arrival, Zuko made a familiar move. 

You had worried at first when you turned around to find Zuko standing so close, but quickly decided to pay no mind to it. “Am I extinguishing too many candles?” You asked, trying to deflect the concern that you felt still lingered with a tight laugh. You knew how Zuko liked reading official documents before bed, even if it irritated you. 

“Zuko?” You had asked after finding him half asleep at the desk in his chambers, “why are you still awake?” You asked, helping him up from his chair. 

“I wanted a bedtime story,” he answered tiredly. 

“You should have told me!” You replied, trying and failing to keep your anger in check, “instead, you are sitting here putting an ache in your back,” you said, getting an arm around his shoulders. 

Zuko lets out a laugh, “a small ache has never held me back before,” he said, letting himself be led to bed. 

“You snapped at me when I tried to help you put in your royal headpiece,” you grumbled under your breath as you turned down the cover. 

“I said I was sorry!” Zuko replied with a laugh, “besides, you were yanking my hair.”

You looked down at your hands after pulling the covers up after Zuko had gotten in, “I suppose,” you let out a soft sigh, “I could be more careful.”

Zuko pulled one of his hands from under the blanket, “I forgive you,” he said, gripping your hand. You both let out a laugh after you rolled your eyes, “now,” he began, a smile lighting up his face, “I was promised a bedtime story.”

“Zuko?” You questioned as the man stepped closer, “are you feeling–”

Your question was cut short as Zuko manhandled you onto his bed, his legs moving into the space between yours, which hung off the edge. 

It had felt like years since Zuko had last kissed you. It wasn’t like you were jealous, you knew Zuko needed an heir, and knew that you couldn’t give him one. But that didn’t stop him from trying. 

You had just thought of it as a form of stress relief, but Zuko seemingly had a different idea. 

“One isn’t enough,” Zuko breathed after he pulled away from the kiss, warm fingers sneaking under your clothing.

“Zuko,” you breathed, “I can’t,” you whispered, even as you craned your neck as his lips trailed down your skin. You could feel excitement, just as much as you felt apprehension, knowing exactly how long it’s been since you laid with Zuko. 

He had been rough the last time, obviously frustrated that it wasn’t… taking. You could feel the stares from other members in the council room when you arrived the next day, trying your best to hide the marks Zuko left with your collar. It made you wonder if you could find a water bender to heal the bruises away. 

“I’ll take my time,” Zuko replied, before he stepped away to grab that familiar container. You weren’t jealous, you told yourself as you tried to look into the container to see if there was less in there. To see if Zuko shared what he used on you with Izumi’s mother. 

Upon his return, Zuko swooped down into another kiss as he wrestled your clothing off, throwing the garments away like they personally offended him.

“You’ll be with my child,” Zuko declared, “tonight.” He yanked at his robes, your hands, on instinct, moved to help. 

“Let me,” you said, “you’ll burn another pair.”

Zuko huffed out a laugh, his golden eyes watched your hands move without thought, “you are excellent with your hands,” he observed softly.  

You looked up, eyes locked with Zuko’s golden ones, “that is because I am your retainer, my lord,” you whispered. Your hands hovered between your bodies when Zuko’s robe was out of the way, fingers just shy of his waistband.

You looked away and moved up the bed. A place you’ve cleaned and made up countless times, but have not rested upon in months.

Zuko crawled slowly after you, like a dragon hunting its prey. Only for a moment were you closed off, but then, at the feel of Zuko’s warm fingers on your ankles, your legs were spreading for him. 

Two fingers closed around your chin to turn your head up so he could look you in the eye, they then moved to cup your cheek, making it so you couldn’t turn away. 

“You think you’re just a royal retainer to me?” He asked, not even giving you a chance to answer as he claimed your mouth in a soft kiss, “you are the most beautiful man I know,” he said against your mouth. 

“Zuko,” you said as you turned your head as much as you could out of the next kiss he tried to initiate. You struggled in holding back a shiver when Zuko’s lips trailed across your jaw, “it’s not poss–”

You were interrupted by Zuko’s lips against yours, and when you tried to finish your sentence, Zuko only saw that as an invitation to deepen the kiss. 

“Much crazier things have happened,” Zuko said with a laugh as he pulled away and stood up from the bed. Even if you had just tried to talk him out of it, you still missed his warmth. “I took down the Fire Lord and ascended the throne as a teenager,” he said as he removed his crown. 

Back in its protective casing, your mind went back to one of the many times he left it on. In fact, nearly all of his clothing had stayed on, but was instead opened enough to get his hard cock out. You had ridden him that day, right there on his throne, Zuko muttering sweet nothings in your ear about how this time it would take. 

“Perhaps you are right,” you said once it was over, Zuko cock still softening inside you. 

“Perhaps you are right,” you repeated, your cock throbbing at the thought of the smile on Zuko’s face that day and the feel of his hand on your stomach. 

It startled you when a flash of orange lit up your vision, the room left much brighter, but once you realized what it was, all you felt was annoyance. 

“I just put those out,” you said, hoping Zuko could see your eye roll even with his back turned. You couldn’t help but reach a hand between your legs to wrap your fingers around your cock as you watched Zuko get the rest of his clothing off. 

“I needed to see you better,” Zuko replied. 

Need. You had to bite your lip to hold back the sound you wanted to let out. 

“You must fold those,” you said, after you watched Zuko toss them carelessly. You and everyone else in the palace made sure Zuko’s room was spotless, but that didn’t mean you wanted to let his clothing end up on the floor, even if there was no dust or debris to stain them. 

Zuko whipped around in all of his naked glory, his hair a dark veil that swooshed with the movement, “I must?” He questioned as he stepped up to the bed, “I must?” He repeated, grabbing your ankles when close enough. 

You yelped when he yanked you down the bed, Zuko’s hands moving to wrap your legs around his waist. “I’m sorry,” you breathed, “that isn’t what I meant.”

“Oh?” Zuko purred, “I think it’s exactly what you meant,” he said before he moved down to press his lips to yours. 

“I’m sorry,” you tried once more. You didn’t actually think Zuko was angry, if the hard cock poking you was anything to go off of, but it never hurt to apologize. 

“Enough of that,” Zuko commanded, pressing a soft kiss to the side of your mouth, “you challenge me,” he said, making his way down to nip at the skin of your neck, “make me a better man,” he whispered into your ear. 

“All I said was to fold your clothes,” you replied, feeling confused.

“Must I repeat myself?” Zuko questioned, his forehead pressed to yours. 

You gasped when a wet finger traced the edge of your hole– when had he?

“Been a while,” Zuko said, an edge of sadness to his words, “has anyone?” He trailed off. 

“What?” You questioned incredulously, “my lord,” you gasped, “there’s been no one.”

Zuko pulled you into a rough kiss, his tongue moving past your lips as his finger pressed inside, “good,” he whispered, “you’re mine.”

Barely able to adjust to the first, a second joined, “Zuko,” you whined, the name sounding foreign on your lips. You couldn’t remember the last time you said his name, instead choosing to use the common honorifics said around the palace. 

Devastation wasn’t the right word. It was only realistic that Zuko would want an heir. You could remember that night easily. Rejection. That was it. 

“Am I to stay with you tonight, Lord Zuko?” You had asked. 

“No,” Zuko answered, not looking up from the scroll he was reading, “your services, in that regard, are no longer necessary.”

“Ah,” was all you could muster while you felt as if a bucket of cold water from the Northern Water Tribe had been poured on top of you, “very well, Zu– my lord.”

That caused Zuko to look up, but you were already out the door, not wanting to see the look on his face. 

What burn you felt from Zuko’s eager fingers was soon overtaken by pleasure. Even after all this time, Zuko was still able to expertly find your prostate. He pulled you into a wet kiss, swallowing your moans as he spread his fingers, preparing you for his leaking cock smearing precum against your thigh.

You pushed at Zuko’s chest, sucking in air through your nose as you tried to breathe, the pleasure overwhelming you. 

“Breathe,” Zuko commanded softly, his voice sounded far away, like it was in the back of your mind. “Breathed,” he tried again.

Upon taking a deep breath in, you felt like you were back in your body, a slow, steady hum of pleasure still thrumming through your veins. Lifting your head up felt like it took all the effort in the world, and when you did, all you could see was the lack of space between you and Zuko’s body. 

You gave an experimental clench down and groaned when you felt Zuko’s cock deep within you. “Oh,” you mumbled, and ran a hand down your chest, a mess of come and sweat on your fingers when you pulled away. 

Your heart rattled in your chest when Zuko reached out and wrapped a hand around your wrist. You gasped when he guided your hand to his mouth, his wet, warm tongue poking past his lips. You felt your cock give a valiant twitch when your fingers were sucked into the wet heat of Zuko’s mouth, the man groaning around the digits. 

Letting gravity do the work once he let go, your fingers fell free from Zuko’s lips with a slick noise, his hands finding purchase on your hips, “back with me?” He asked, running his hands soothingly up and down your sides. 

“Yeah,” you croaked, “I don’t know what that was,” you said, looking down at your body. You looked back up at Zuko, noticing a glint of concern in his eyes. “It was,” you clenched down on Zuko’s cock, “intense.”

Zuko moaned, his hips twitching forward, even if he had barely anywhere to go. He moved his hands to your thighs, running his fingers across the skin until you relaxed. He lifted one leg to his shoulder, his lips brushing the thin skin of your ankle. Next, the other, and then, Zuko nearly had you bent in half.

Zuko’s knees rested on either side of your body, finding purchase in the covers. He gripped your hips in a tight hold, keeping you in place as he started fucking in and out. In only a few thrusts, your cock was fully hard once more, leaking in the space between your bodies. 

You grabbed at Zuko’s broad shoulders, burying your face into the sweaty crook of his neck. It did little to muffle the sounds you let out, but it seemed as if Zuko didn’t mind, his pace doubling. The entire palace was bound to know what you were up to. 

Your second release of the night built higher and higher on each thrust, to the point that it only took a few slick pulls of your fingers around your cock to come. 

You opened your eyes slowly, not even realizing you had closed them. It took a few seconds to register that Zuko was speaking to you, your brain catching up moments later. 

“Do you realize how you look?” He asked, “stuffed full of my cock?” Zuko’s cock throbbed wildly inside, his thrusts becoming sloppy.

He came with a loud moan, ending with one final thrust that left his cock deep. It overwhelmed you, like a dam of emotions bursting after months of building. “Zuko,” you breathed, not even knowing what you were asking for as tears spilled from the corners of your eyes. 

To be completely, unfiltered, absolutely and a hundred percent truthful,

Yuuji can be kind of scary like this.

Scary-- scary when he's focused, and calculated, and so insanely devoted and concentrated on something that nothing can stop him. In any other scenario you would've been less afraid, maybe more-so-appalled, giggle, and give him some sort of sweet treat or maybe simple affection as a reward later on for working so diligently on something.

But in this scenario, with Yuuji between your spread legs, thick, callused fingers dragging against the gummy slick walls of your hole, with his free hand expertly stroking up and down and up and down the shaft of your cock, it's a bit hard (no pun intended) not to be scared.

"Yu-uji, s'-- knock it off, s'not g-gonna... nuthin's gunna..."

"Shhh,"

Yuuji gently kisses the tips of his fingers against your swollen sweet spot, a small groan fluttering from his lips as he watches your spine bow and your toes curl.

"I got this. Y'don't believe me, baby?" His words come out slurred and hot, mingling with the sounds of your moans and whines. "Have I ever failed you when it comes t'..."

Yuuji presses a warm, sloppy, wet kiss to the sensitive tip of your cock, practically making out with the poor swollen thing before sucking hard, then pulling off with a filthy slurp followed by a loud 'pop!'.

"...makin' you feel good? Hm? Baby? My baby?"

All you can do in response is whine. Yuuji isn't wrong, and you both know this. It's just...

A few hours ago, everything was perfectly fine. You guys hadn't had sex in a few days, and besides getting handsy here and there, Yuuji seemed fine. In absolute mint condition, if anything. And then, miraculously, he just happened to scroll across some stupid reddit post talking about men squirting. And instead of behaving like any rational person, and just continuing to read through the strings of posts and comments, he just immediately decides that using you as his personal guinea pig is the best course of action.

So, you've been sitting here, legs forced open over the width of Yuuji's shoulders, fluttering hole stuffed with fingers with your poor cock forced to come for what's been maybe the fourth time tonight. in the past hour and a half.

You've tried everything just to try and get a break. You've squirmed, you've kicked, you've cried, you've tried to physically get up off the bed and crawl away, but nothing seems to work. It's just... nothing seemed to get through that thick skull of his.

You can't say you'd like to completely stop, but a break... a break would be nice.

While he's so dead set on making you squirt, you're adamant nothing is going to happen.

You let your head drop back, hips jerking and rolling uncontrollably when he angles his fingers and thrusts right into your prostate, his other hand wrapped around the base of your cock-- rough thumbpad gently petting the seam of your balls.

"Hm."

You let your eyes flutter shut, letting out a little moan of relief when Yuuji's free hand gently releases your cock. Your hips buck at the loss of stimulation, but ultimately, you're relieved. You let your thighs open wide and fall lax, unbothered to how absolutely debauched and utterly lewd you might look from Yuuji's point of view. Not that he'd care, anyways.

Lidded eyes watch the way your puffy rim swallows up the thick of his fingers, drooling and soft and oh-so-warm-- and, suddenly,

Yuuji gets an idea.

"Baby... baby," Yuuji practically purrs. Hesitantly, you lift your head to look down at him.

"'Need y'to be really, really good for me, okay? yeah?"

Yuuji tuts and coos when you drop your head back with a whine, thighs trembling and beginning to shut before he wrenches them open again.

"Oh, don't be like that, babe. S'just... just sit still, and I'll make you feel really good, okay? really good. Jus'..."

Yuuji doesn't wait for a reply-- instead, he spreads your thighs wide for easier access, slips his digits in just right and angles them so they dip against the soft of your sweet spot, and settles the thumb of his free hand against the silky skin of your perineum. Your cock twitches and jerks, dribbles of precome swelling at the tip in little pretty pearls.

He starts with light little taps, then small, tight circles-- then lastly, progresses to firm but gentle up and down petting motions against your perineum-- a weird, indescribably good feeling coiling deep in your gut and causing you to squirm. Meanwhile, his fingers lavish attention on your sweet spot from the inside as well, causing that same delicious feeling to intensify what feels like a thousand times more.

it feels so weird.

You try to buck away from the feeling but Yuuji just shushes you and applies a fraction more of pressure, not letting you escape the onslaught of weird, weird, so fucking weird but undeniably good sensation.

... Suddenly, another odd... but new sensation settles. Not in your tummy this time, but in your bladder.

"Yuu-- Yuuji, Yuuji--"

"Hmm?"

"G-Get it out-- get them o-out, need'ta, need t'pee, I th-ink, need--"

"No, no, sweetheart. You don't need to pee. S'not pee. It's working, you're close. S'okay, jus' let it happen, 'kay?"

Yuuji leans forwards to kiss you, his eyes fluttering shut, but you crane your neck away before he can land a successful kiss-- which, he grumbles at.

"I'm s-serious Yuuji, I ne-ed to pee, m'not fuckin' a-around--"

"Shut up n' listen to me, baby,"

And you do. Save for the occasional incoherent whines and cries.

So you sit there and take it. Just... just take it, despite this overwhelming pressure in your bladder, despite the waves of pleasure rolling off your spine, despite the over sensitivity of your hole and your cock and your body just begging for a break.

And you're so distracted by your own thoughts that when you do (finally fucking) squirt, it hits you hard. Really hard.

With a mangled shout your body curls in on itself, hands scrambling for Yuuji's shoulders as you try to force him away from you-- yet, he keeps up his gentle ministrations alllll the way through your orgasm.

It's like-- It's like that pressure in your bladder releases itself in a way that feels so fucking good, your sloppy, messy hole fluttering and clenching tight around his still pumping fingers, the muscles in your tummy tightening and contracting in such a satisfying way as you experience what doesn't feel... quite like an orgasm, but something different, and just as intense.

Something wet, something clear, but not quite as thick and sticky as come, but not pee-- shoots from your cock in messy spurts, soaking Yuuji's wrist and the sheets and leaving a little puddle on your tummy.

"O-Oh fuck, fu-uck--"

"Told you that'd feel good, hm?"

Gasping and heaving, you barely manage the beginnings of a sentence before your eyes flutter shut and you immediately pass out.