The air at S.H.I.E.L.D. HQ was thick with the sterile hum of high-tech machinery, but in the dimly lit corridor outside She-Hulk’s private quarters, Tyrone felt like he was drowning in a swamp of his own making. The 18-year-old stood there, a mountain of muscle sculpted by Hydra’s cruel experiments, his massive frame trembling with nerves. Sweat poured down his chiseled forehead, dripping onto the floor in a pathetic little puddle. His oversized endowment—house-sized, thanks to those same twisted experiments—strained against his too-tight pants, making every tiny shift of his weight a comedic, painful struggle. He adjusted himself for the hundredth time, muttering curses under his breath, before raising a trembling fist to the door.
*Knock. Knock. Knock.*
His breathing was ragged, a mix of raw nerves and an arousal he couldn’t control. Each knock felt like a plea, a desperate cry for mercy from the green-skinned goddess on the other side. The door swung open with a suddenness that made him flinch, and there she was—Jennifer Walters, aka She-Hulk, in all her towering, intimidating glory. Her green skin glistened with the sheen of a recent workout, her tight tank top and shorts leaving little to the imagination. Her piercing eyes narrowed at the sight of him, taking in the drenched mess of a man before her.
“Jesus, Tyrone, did you just run a marathon through a sauna, or are you always this much of a hot mess?” Her voice was sharp, laced with a playful suspicion that made his already racing heart stutter. She leaned against the doorframe, one muscular arm crossed over her chest, sizing him up like a predator toying with prey.
Tyrone swallowed hard, his voice cracking under the pressure. “C-can I come in? Please, Jen. I… I can’t—” He gestured vaguely at himself, his massive hands shaking as he fought to keep his composure. “I can’t deal with this out here.”
She-Hulk’s lips curled into a smirk, her gaze flicking down to the obvious bulge in his pants before snapping back to his flushed face. “Oh, look at you, a lost little puppy in heat. Fine, get in here before you flood the hallway with your damn sweat.” She stepped aside with a dramatic flourish, her tone dripping with mockery as she gestured him inside.
Tyrone stumbled in, nearly tripping over his own feet as the door slammed shut behind him with a resounding thud. The room was warm, filled with the faint scent of her—earthy, powerful, intoxicating. He fumbled with his pants, his hands shaking so badly he could barely grip the fabric. With a frustrated grunt, he finally freed himself, his monstrous, throbbing member springing out like a beast unleashed. The sheer size of it was absurd, and he couldn’t meet her eyes as he stood there, exposed and vulnerable.
“Jen, please,” he blurted, his voice a desperate rasp. “I’m begging you. You remember… back in the classroom, your thighs—God, those thighs—and that time in here? I can’t take it anymore. I need… relief.”
She-Hulk crossed her arms, her expression unimpressed as she arched a perfectly sculpted brow. “Oh, for fuck’s sake, Tyrone, did you just whip it out like we’re at some kinda freak show? What am I, your personal sideshow tamer? Put that thing away before it takes out a wall.”
His face burned with shame, but his body betrayed him, twitching and dripping with precum as he shifted uncomfortably. “I’ve been staring at you all day in class, okay? Every damn second. I can’t help it. My body—it’s not listening to me. I’m a mess, Jen. Please.”
Her gaze flicked down to the throbbing beast between his legs, and for a fleeting moment, something like pity softened her sharp features. But she masked it quickly with a scoff. “Lack of self-control doesn’t even begin to cover it, kid. You’re a walking disaster. I should charge admission for this kind of entertainment.”
Tyrone’s shoulders slumped, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’m sorry. I just… I don’t know what else to do.”
With a begrudging sigh, She-Hulk uncrossed her arms, stepping closer with the kind of confidence that made the room feel smaller. “Alright, fine. But let’s get one thing straight—I’m doing you a favor, got it? Don’t think for a second this is because I’m swooning over your sad puppy eyes.” Her tone was commanding, leaving no room for argument as she took charge of the situation with the ease of someone who always got her way.
She reached out, her grip firm and expert as she handled him with a precision that made his knees buckle. Her strength was on full display, her movements controlled and deliberate, but she couldn’t resist tossing out a few biting quips. “Seriously, Tyrone, how do you even walk with this thing? It’s like you’re smuggling a damn battering ram. Ever heard of subtlety?”
He groaned, half from relief and half from embarrassment, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. “I—I’m sorry, Jen. I didn’t mean to—oh, God, I’m gonna—”
She rolled her eyes, her grip unwavering even as she cut him off with a dry laugh. “Already? You’ve gotta be kidding me. What are you, a two-second wonder? Hold it together for at least a minute, would ya? I’m not running a charity here.”
Tyrone’s face contorted with a mix of relief and mortification, his voice trembling as he warned her. “Jen, I can’t—I’m gonna lose it. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry—”
“Save the apologies, kid,” she snapped, her tone sharp but her movements steady. “Just don’t make a mess of my floor, or you’re cleaning it up with your tongue.”
Her dominance was unshakable, her control absolute, and as Tyrone teetered on the edge, he couldn’t help but marvel at the sheer power of the woman before him. She-Hulk wasn’t just helping him—she was commanding the moment, and he was utterly, helplessly hers.
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