#꒰✒️ rose fics ♡.꒱

[roseglazedlens]

⦑ 𝐟𝐢𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐮𝐭𝐞𝐬 ⦒ ✧.*

NANAMI KENTO X FEM! READER synopsis: Nanami is pent up after work, so you give him the best fifteen minutes of his day as a reward. content: 𝐒𝐌𝐔𝐓 𝐌𝐃𝐍𝐈, suit kink, unprotected p in v, hair pulling, degradation kink, semi-public exhibitionism, creampie, manhandling, cumdump, rough, daddy kink, pet name (princess) a/n: first jjk fic. blond in blue dress shirt supremacy... that is all. « 758 words┇masterlist┇reblogs appreciated! »

Nanami Kento is the kind of man who fucks hard. Especially after a long day of work and his stress is pent up in his system, Nanami will use your body like the cumdump you are. He claims your body has magical healing powers that can make any headache or muscle cramp disappear.

As he enters your shared home, you, the doting girlfriend as always, greets him: “How was work, honey?” But today, Nanami is not in the mood for conversation. The moment you are close enough to be held by him, he turns you around and without a hesitation says:

“Bend over.” The low drawl and commanding tone in Nanami’s voice triggers a surge of heat towards your belly. He knows you love his directness, and he’s not afraid to make you come in your underwear right now, knowing that he can make you come over and over again until you beg to stop. Looking down, you see how his dick tents over his expensive dress pants, and the mere image of him thinking about you during work or driving home gets you excited.

And that's exactly where you are now. Nanami unbuttons his white suit jacket, tailored so firmly it hugs his trapezius muscles and arms that it needs to be removed for easier movement, easier movement to fuck you senseless without hindrance. His cuffs roll up to his elbows, exposing his forearms that tenses as he unbuckles his belt swiftly with one hand. Then Nanami shuffles his pants down, just enough to take his massive fucking cock out and taunt you with his size. You shift your pants and underwear down yourself, because you know Nanami doesn't like waiting.

Your hole is already dripping wet, expected, the insides of your cunt still remembering how Nanami was fucking your insides into the bed this morning. He can only spare fifteen minutes with you before he leaves for work, and Nanami makes sure you always cum on time. You know your boyfriend is a horndog but he always has the decency, or patience (unlike you) to eat your home cooked dinner first before trying to get you into the bedroom. But today? He can’t wait—and so can’t you.

Nanami doesn’t waste a single second not inside of you. He slams himself right in, and your cunt instantly wraps and tightens around you, remembering the shape of him, just how he likes it. His grip on your love handles is firm, unrelenting. Each thrust of him forces a choked breath out of you, whimpered mumbles of his name to go faster and faster until your pussy catches the high you’ve been so desperate to release.

“K-Kento, what if someone hears us? Or worse… sees us?” You feel a whisk of wind through your calves, and look back to find the door not closed fully.

“Good. Let’s show them how much of a filthy slut you are for taking my cock.” Nanami loosens his tie, and your pussy clenches at the sight of it.

“Fuck, if I didn’t have to go to work, I would be fucking your pussy like my toy from morning to night. Windows wide open. Let them see the slutty look on your face when my cock is inside of you."

“Please, daddy.” You're begging now, your orgasm is threatening for release but you're not quite there yet.

“Say that again. Louder. Can’t hear shit with the sound of my dick slapping into your cunt.” Nanami doesn’t stop, fully intending to keep going until he reaches his own high, and you reaching yours.

“Please daddy... I want all of you...”

“So my load this morning isn’t good enough? You want seconds? Aren't you a greedy little girl?”

He pulls on your hair hard, and the moans that came out of you is indistinguishable from pleasure or pain. An electrifying sensation rushes underneath you, and this time, you give in to the feeling and come on his dick without restraint.

“I’m coming too, princess.” Only when you finishes cumming, he then permits himself to come too. Trails of white strings shoot inside of you, filling every crevice of your insides with his sticky goodness as he lets out a low grunt of pleasure.

When he’s done, Nanami pulls up his pants, and he’s wordless again. He looks at his watch, and it's been exactly fifteen minutes. Fifteen minutes of sex each time, just as planned, no more and no less. Even with sex, Nanami never goes overtime.

“Can't wait for my fifteen minutes tomorrow, Kento.”

thanks for reading! come check out my other works. —yours truly, rose. idk who likes jjk in my taglist but i think u guys know tags: @valsthea @httpsuguru @emilzke @j3llyd0nut @ovaryacted © roseglazedlens — please do not repost, plagiarise, or feed to ai.

[roseglazedlens]

Nanami baby fever 👁👁?

The user is female and has a kid already, but he likes, Why not other kids? What could be so wrong with that since user kidcis such a sweetheart?

⦑ 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐲 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 ⦒ ✧.*

NANAMI KENTO X FEM! READER synopsis: you've been busy, so Nanami organises you a day off to help you relieve some pent up stress. content: 𝐒𝐌𝐔𝐓 𝐌𝐃𝐍𝐈, reader is a mom, daddy kink, size kink, creampie, breeding kink, fingerbashing, cervix penetration, mating press, overstimulation, nipple play, praise, pet name (princess). a/n: thank you for requesting dear anon!! i love writing aggressive + soft nanami sm, hope you'll enjoy this! « 1.8 k words┇masterlist┇reblogs appreciated! »

You’re trying to take a relaxing afternoon nap. Nanami Kento doesn’t. His hand is running down your body as you lay, exploring and squeezing you in ways that are less than chaste in your eyes.

“Kento, w-what are you doing?” He moves closer, his front flushing against your back, and you feel the hardness of his chest muscles untense in your warmth.

“Isn’t it obvious? I want you.” Nanami draws out a whisper into your ear that resembles a low grunt. Something is nudging you on your thighs, and he uses this opportunity to round his arms around your body, reaching your breasts. They pert at his touch, and you let out a soft sound of relaxation. The firm pads of his fingers press against the plush, before coming together to roll them lazily against your nipple.

“Wh-Where’s all this coming from?” You whisper back even though there’s no one else in the house but you two. Nothing to hide. No reason to hold yourself back. But yet you do, especially when it comes to Nanami, he strips every remains of composure off your body. His other hand comes down to your belly, smoothing over with a gentle pressing grip until his fingertips crawl right above your underwear.

“I haven’t tasted you in so long. Since all the volunteering, the parent teacher interviews. I’m done waiting. Take these off.” Nanami hooks at your panties, pull on them and let it snap back against you.

“Oh, is that why you took my daughter to daycare? Is that what this is?”

“And? I have ulterior motives, so what.” Nanami knows what he wants, and he sure isn’t embarrassed by it. And right now, he wants nothing more than to feel himself inside of you. His fingers pick on your underwear once more, signalling you to lift your hips so he can pull them down to your ankles. “I can’t fucking wait anymore.” Nanami smirks, running two fingers up the length of your cunt that earns you a shiver. “Neither can you, it seems.”

You help him take off his glasses so you can see him clearer. When you do, his lustful eyes are still fixated on your body. Admiring the beauty you are in his life, speaking millions of promises to make you happy in the bedroom and beyond the bedroom with his gaze alone. That sincerity somehow makes your clit jump, but Nanami isn’t done preparing you yet.

He runs a few lazy circles along your clit, then getting impatient, places a finger inside of you, exploring the depths of you that clenches hard in attempts to fill the gap. He revels in the fact he’s making your back arch and heart race without even trying. Imagine how you will react when he does try.

Nanami’s cock is getting impatient too, his dick cramped inside his boxers begging to see your lewd face too. With the other hand that’s not occupying you, Nanami takes off the button of his pants, unzipping it to let his dick spring free onto his blue dress shirt. His other hand is not slacking either, fingerbashing into you relentlessly to let the slick of your desire permeate the air. Your cunt is drenching his finger, sucking him in, like you are desperately trying to make Nanami’s finger come.

“Fuckin’ hell, princess… Save some for me…” He cusses, removing his fingers inside you, and you let out of groan of refusal.

Your hole wants him, wants him to fill the void inside of you. Nanami rolls over on top of you, lifting both of your legs up to put over the shoulders of his shirt, now crumpled from all the action. He takes in the sight first, letting out a whistle of delight with a devillish glint in his eyes—one that he reserves only for you to see—before he lines up against you.

You feel his tip inside of you first, pussy already grasping at whatever he can give you. Your attempts at lifting and dropping your hips in desperation for more friction leaves you unsatisfied. That is when Nanami smiles, knows, and stops the teasing to indulge in your desires.

He ruts in you, difficult at first, but your body accomodates to his size soon enough.

“God… Just because I haven’t fucked your brains out in two weeks, you’re getting tighter… So you like it when daddy’s dick is too big for you?” Somehow when Nanami refers to himself as daddy, it makes your body react, pulling back your legs closer to your body for him to fuck you deeper. And he obeys, your walls wrapping tightly around him as he fucks you closer to your cervix.

“Fuck, nnh, that's it princess. Takin' me so well. You really want daddy to force himself into your tiny fucking hole and plant his seed inside of you?” Nanami's arms presses your legs down even further now, your knees almost touching shoulders, and you are pleasantly surprised to find how flexible you can be with some dick as your motivation.

“I'm going to make you into a real daddy, Kento.” Between his deep thrusts, the words slip from the back of your throat. Perhaps it's from the adrenaline of the moment. Perhaps that's how you genuinely felt. You don't know yet.

“Ohh, princess, don't make promises you can't keep.” Nanami is grinning and isn't against the idea. “But if you ever get knocked up, I'll love you, cherish you, make you the happiest mama ever.”

“Fuck...” You groan, a buzzing sensation shakes violently in your belly. Hands weakening, breath erratic, you're so close to the edge and you have to keep going.

“Hmm, does that mean you want me to cum inside?”

You ignore him, not giving Nanami the satisfaction of you saying yes, instead focusing on your belly at the knot of pleasure.

“Come on, princess. Don't get all shy on me now. You don't want me to stop now, do you?” Nanami slows his thrusts, too slow for your orgasm to reach anywhere.

“Don't stop. Please.” You meet Nanami's eyes, still playful. Still waiting for your answer. “Fine... I want you to cum inside.”

“Such an honest girl. Such a good girl for me.” And this is when he takes your breath away, plunging deep into you with newfound speed and eagerness. His dick is bumping into your cervix now, over and over and over again, until all that escapes your lips are filthy cries of your orgasm and gasping breaths of his name.

But Nanami isn't stopping yet. He's almost there, so close. Your overstimulated fluids that coat around his dick is the world's best lubricant to fuck you in till you can't walk. Then, his orgasm washes over him too, thick white ropes of his come spilling uncontrollably inside you with intention to make you his forever.

Nanami sighs, now heaving frantic breaths through the air as you both lie back onto your bed. You roll around, helping Nanami out of his sweat stained shirt that's probably a little too uncomfortable after their activity.

“Did you mean everything you said just now?”

“That I love you and want a kid with you? Of course.”

“It's a lot of work you know. Having kids. You sure you're ready for that?”

“With you, I'm ready for anything.” He brings himself forward to land a chaste kiss on your lips. His hand comes down to your belly to give it a gentle rub. “You already have experience with kids. How hard could this be?”

“Oh, you'd be very surprised.”

“Then I better start learning now.”

thanks for reading! come check out my other works. —yours truly, rose. tags: @kennedyswhore @emilzke @j3llyd0nut @ovaryacted © roseglazedlens — please do not repost, plagiarise, or feed to ai.

[roseglazedlens]

⦑ THE FUCKING DEAD ⦒ 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞

➠ series masterlist | 🔃girl’s route | 🔃boy’s route |

𝐒𝐌𝐔𝐓┇𝐇��𝐑𝐑𝐎𝐑┇𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐊𝐅𝐈𝐂┇𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐎𝐒𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐀𝐃𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐄 LEON S. KENNEDY & CARLOS OLIVEIRA X AFAB GN! READER ADA WONG & JILL VALENTINE X AFAB GN! READER chapter synopsis: You are amongst the top five selected for this infiltration to take down Glenn Arias. An argument unfolds between the agents and you are forced to pick a side. chapter content: smut in next chapter, resident evil: vendetta spoilers, zombies, haunted mansion, explicit themes throughout this series. a/n: welcome to my second series!! (need to finish my first one oops) on a thursday one month ago, i thought to myself 'zombie threesome hehehe', then i took the idea and sprinted with it and this series is born. so, uh... zombiefuckers rise up?? « 3.3 k words | general masterlist | ao3 | reblogs appreciated! »

Millions are dying—Mass infections are happening across the globe swamping the streets with an unbeknownst fear. The symptoms of this virus are faint, indecipherable next to an x-ray of a man who is perfectly healthy. Not even the carrier themselves are aware of how the virus lies underneath their veins, dormant, until a click of button is pressed from a commander far away, then their symptoms worsen: a headache, a cold, veins turning purple as the poison hatches in them, spreading, until the only thing that can manoeuvre their limbs is the word: KILL.

That’s the greatest strength of this virus. Anyone can be infected, and maybe, you already are.

This product first reached the underground market three months ago. Called the A-Virus; a bioweapon succeeded in the market for its ability to infect targeted communities remotely and leaving no evidence on the perpetrator, which no other distributors had successfully produced before.

Engineered by Glenn Arias, the researcher sold over thousands of this bioweapon, becoming a billionaire overnight at the cost of lives lost from the whims of the rich. He supplied the wealthy and corrupted, like insatiable brats, with new remote-controlled monster trucks, who only aims to tear down families and have their victims beg mercy to a monster that will not speak reason.

Hence, this problem brought attention to a global scale, having the DSO come in alliance with the BSAA and other independent mercenaries to hunt down the vaccine and put a stop to Arias’ grand schemes. Handpicking five agents who are equipped with both experience and skill to combat a zombie attack on this scale of doom and urgency.

Those five agents are Jill Valentine, Carlos Oliveira, Leon S. Kennedy, Ada Wong, and you.

A plan is already in place. A distraction concocted with your intel and the help of a senior researcher of all things bioweapons, Rebecca Chambers. While Arias is busy attending fake business meetings on the other side of the world, the five of you will infiltrate his private mansion to retrieve a concentrated sample of the A-Virus. Rebecca can use the sample to reverse engineer it into a cure and send her findings to facilities across the world.

The plan sounds brilliant in writing, but when you arrived his private mansion in Queretaro region, Mexico, something is off about this place.

Arias is a mastermind, you had been warned many times, in which you appropriately prepared all your best gear for this mission to treat it with utmost gravity. You’re thinking armed guards, well-equipped security, BOWs. But when the five of you pushed open the front doors of his mansion, it was quiet.

Empty. Not a single soul. Just five of you greeted by the whisk of wind through weakly hinged windows that somehow makes the humid air stick to your skin further. Did Rebecca get the wrong info? No one lived there. From what you heard when you were in town, not even the locals dare to venture anywhere near the odd gothic mansion on the top of the hill. They said it’s abandoned, cursed, rumoured to whisk away young children if they ever step foot inside.

It’s a story they say to stop the naughty kids, you remind yourself. It’s not haunted. And you’re not a kid anymore.

The inside is abandoned. Cobwebs lay thick between cornices and carved columns, the floors laced with a film of dust on the luxurious dark wood flooring, creaking with worn age as you take each step. Besides the chandelier, every single piece of furniture is either the same colour of black or red, or nothing else. The soft red velvet upholstery and the rug are made with the same fabric. And you can find the same dark wood in every corner of this house. It’s in the tables, the shelves, the chaise, the painting frames, and stone-like head sculpture whittled with the same exact dark wood, ridged the exact uniform way.

Then, you look at the wall. Black patches of mould smearing across the burgundy wallpaper like a crime scene.

Something creaks behind you. The hair on your arms stands up as you shiver, immediately followed by a wave of embarrassment. Despite the number of times you had taken down hordes of incoming zombies like they’re cardboard targets, why is a bit of wind freaking you out? It’s not a ghost, just old foundations, maybe mice, or wind kicking something off a table, like how every old house sounds like. You look around to see if anyone else catches you jumping at nothing, before Jill says, thankfully unaware of your worry:

“God, the smell. What have they done to this place?” Her hand flies over her nose as if that will help to shield any smell whatsoever. Unfortunately, the building is moulded far beyond salvageable that the stench lingers in every part of the mansion.

“I’m sure it’s not that bad. We get weeks-old corpses in body bags every day. It’s absolutely retching.” Jill’s earpiece fizzes into life, and she recognises the familiar playful lilt of Rebecca’s voice on the other side of the line.

“At least that’s refrigerated and contained, Rebecca. This fucking stinks.” Jill scrunches her face like she just ate something unpleasant.

“I’m sending my sympathies from my well-conditioned lab right now.”

Carlos appears from Jill’s behind, placing a firm, teasing hand on top of Jill’s shoulder. His wavy curls catch in the wind and his teeth glistens sparkly white. “Yeah Jill, got a problem with my natural musk?”

Jill shrugs his hand off, grimacing at his attempts at flirtation. “Take a shower first, then we’ll talk.”

In which Carlos laughs, holds his hand out at his heart as if it was just torn into shreds. “That hurts my feelings, Jill. Why aren’t you ever saying things like that to pretty boy over there?”

“I have a name, Oliveira.” The blond man turns around at the call of his nickname, familiar with the nickname, but it's not pleasantly received by him.

“I think pretty boy suits you more, Kennedy.” Carlos replies, a glint in his voice that hints something a bit less than friendliness between them.

“Ah, so you do know my name.” Leon quips back while staring directly into Carlos’ eyes, before getting cut off by Jill.

“I would, Carlos, but if I have to hear one more corny ass comeback from Leon’s mouth, I’ll throw myself out the window right now.”

“Takes a genius to get my humour.” Leon smirks.

Your eyebrows raise almost immediately to chime in. “Erm… I think we have different meanings for the word ‘genius’.”

Quiet chuckles ripple through the room. It helps that you have worked with these guys throughout the years and had come to know and get close to them—some a bit closer than just friends—but none of them are strangers by far. Usually, you would be working with only one or two of these guys, never in a big group like this, but it seems that everyone is already well-acquainted with each other.

You toss a glance at Carlos and catch him staring at you, smiling. Ah, you see now. Carlos must have been trying to lighten the mood because you had been jumpy ever since you had arrived. You nod at him, a silent thank you before the five of you venture deeper into the eerie atmosphere.

The goal is to arrive at Glenn Aria’s office. According to Rebecca’s intel, Arias hid a concentrated sample in a safe last time he was here. You will need Ada to crack the safe to retrieve the sample and deliver it to Rebecca. As you traverse the corridors, it twists and turns in different directions—whoever engineered this did not enjoy unexpected guests at all. But under Rebecca’s guidance, she walks you and your team through the labyrinth with ease and precision.

But unfortunately, not ease and precision on your part. You trip over your own leg and almost fall to the floor as you round a harsh turn according to Rebecca’s instructions, and Jill catches you right on the arm before you fall.

“Easy there.” Jill pulls you up the ground, and you regain some balance. “You good? Mind your step.”

“Why did I agree to babysit?” Ada speaks, finally, for the first time in this mission. Despite how quietly she spoke under her breath, her words abruptly cut through the air, and all attention is on her and the red sweater dress that curves into her frame perfectly now.

“Oh, I bet once you get your paycheck it will be worth it. Or will you be betraying us, huh, Ada?”

Leon smirks loudly. Ada’s face goes from tired to exhausted in one second. “You just can’t let bygones be bygones, can you?”

“That’s rich coming from someone who used to work for Wesker.” Ada’s heels come to a stop, and with a slow turn, she stares deeply into Leon’s eyes that speak a million threats without needing to be utter a word. Oh, and believe me, you do not want to be messing with Ada. You learnt that the hard way.

“Woah, guys. Let’s keep this civil. No need to get heated.” Carlos rushes to stand right between them as the duo glares at each other with passionate fury and resentment.

You nod, joining Carlos’ side to stand by him. “Carlos’s right. This is not the time to pick a fight.” But it falls on the deaf ears of Leon and Ada.

“Thousands were killed. I want what’s good for the people, and I’m not sure Ada here is on the same page.” Leon continues, adding fuel to the fire.

Ada lets out a disbelieved gasp in response, before recollecting herself and replying in her usual tone of calmness: “Someone has to pay the price. I’m just the executor.”

“Regardless of our motivations, we all are on the same side here.” Carlos attempts at resolution again, putting his hands up in between them, and fails embarrassingly once more.

The air is heated with hostility; Leon and Ada’s eyes are locked in a trance, a hazy spite that reigns their composure, that looking away from each other means forfeiting. You don’t see either of them walking away first, they are both prideful people after all.

“Uh… Jill? Some help?” Carlos looks around to find Jill, who is leaning against a wall, her arms relaxing by her sides, unphased by the fire stirring right in front of the crowd.

“Not my circus, not my monkeys.” Jill is merely waiting for either one of the parties roll over.

You feel speckles of flame through the two of them, as if steam is retreating over the top of their heads, burning not just them, but also everyone else in the room. Until the boiling point hits, and it erupts all in one second. The duo walks away, off to different directions in bitter adrenaline, until you and Carlos are just looking at each other.

“I guess we’ll take five. There’s a safe room up ahead.” Carlos is speaking, but you’re the one listening.

The five of you enters the safe room in silence. It is a storage room—despite its name, it’s quite large for a normal storage room—with boxes stacked on all ends that made the room seem smaller in comparison. A ceiling light illuminates the room dimly, but it isn’t enough to shade away years of old animosity from their past.

The lively conversations you had mere minutes ago is gone now. Just silence and awkward rustling as each of you sits in your own designated corner. Carlos and Jill find themselves a seat on top of a firm box. Leon and Ada giving each other the silent treatment, standing on farthest end of the room to each other. You are simply minding your own business, gathering materials to craft a flashbang to pass the time. Doesn’t hurt to have more supplies anyway.

There is a notable division on each side, an imaginary alliance that you choose to be on neither side. Until Leon crosses the boundary line, somehow making his way to you. He picks up an empty grenade case next to you, assembling the pieces together for your project.

“Sorry you had to see that.” A little guilt tugs at Leon’s voice.

“Not at all. I get why you felt that way.” Leon nods, a look of gratitude hanging softly through a smile. His other finger seals the flashbang cap and hands it back to you. “But you need to learn to control your temper. Especially when it comes to Ada.”

Speaking of Ada, a shiver runs down your spine suddenly. The feeling of someone sending laser signs and telepathic warnings towards you. You turn around towards the direction of the aura to find Ada, her back leaning against the wall, arms crossed without engaging or acknowledging anyone in the room. She stands by herself alone, and that’s how you had always known Ada—distant and in her own mysterious world. Not really a chatter, despite the number of times she had saved you in the past.

Ada does not look at you, but you can feel her glaring down—either you or Leon—with her entire body.

“Good to see the two of you getting along at least.” Carlos holds out two plastic water bottles to you two from a supply crate he found in the room, which Jill has finished downing two of them already.

You two gesture ‘no thanks.’ Ada does not spare Carlos a glance at his direction when he offers.

“You’re welcome, I guess.” Carlos says sarcastically, before taking in a generous sip from his drink.

There’s a moment of silence. Then, a moment of dry coughs; a squeak of footsteps, a joint click from a stretching neck. Then silence once more.

“I’ve had enough.” Jill slaps her hands on her thigh before pushing herself up from her seat. “You guys gonna keep acting like kids? Grow up, this isn’t high school anymore. Take your drama outside. If we’re gonna take down Arias, we have to get along. And yes, that means moving on from shit that happened… five years ago? Five years ago and you two are still hung up? Unlike you all, I’m actually looking forward to go home and get a decent shower, hopefully soon.”

You nod in approval as Jill speaks her mind, and you are glad at least the few of you have their priorities in order. Ada flicks her head away from Jill, but her silence is telling of how much she is thinking over Jill’s words.

“Leon, can you accept this?” Jill asks.

There’s a bit of reluctance in his voice, but he agrees anyway. “Fine.”

“Ada?”

Before Ada can respond, smoke is creeping into your vision, coming in quick. It merges into your view, obscuring it, and you whiff something artificial, some kind of chemicals that is piercing to your nose and eyes. You can’t help but wince, hands groping the air in attempts to find comfort in the person closest to you—anyone for that matter—to indicate you’re safe and is indeed not under attack. Your fingers find themselves in a fistful of someone’s shirt, muscles tensing tightly underneath the fabric on their shoulder cap.

“Leon. Is that you?” You cry out.

“It’s me. Stay close and don’t let go. It’s an ambush.” Leon pulls your arm towards him, securing your safety with his hand in yours.

There is some coughing through the air, faint panic in voices underneath the hissing of gas that seems to be coming from above. You hold onto Leon a bit tighter.

Carlos calls out desperately “Where are you guys? Is everyone okay?” as he flaps his hand around the smoke to stir it away. He finds you and Leon almost immediately, and looks down to your hands, finding them clasped tight against each other. Your hand lets go of Leon flying behind your back, but Carlos already saw it.

Jill is coughing deep from the smoke. “I-I’m here!”

“It seems like we’re all here.” Ada says, composed as ever despite the circumstances.

The smoke dissipates—until most of the fog fades away, escaping through the cracks underneath the door to the other side. Leaving the five of you standing in the same storage room darting eyes around, seemingly unharmed, and even more confused.

After what feels like a while later, Jill finally breaks the silence: “Huh. What was that?”

“No enemies.” Ada unholsters the pistol from her belt, inspecting the room and the door behind the room. “Clear on this side too.”

It’s strange. If this is an ambush, why isn’t there an attack?

Leon places a finger on his earpiece to activate his microphone. “Rebecca, come in. We’ve just been ambushed by some kind of smoke, but nobody’s hurt. Happen to know what’s going on?”

His earpiece buzzes into life. “Hmm, let’s see. From the architecture plans, I see the vents are connected to a lab below. It seems abandoned, there are no signs of anyone triggering an attack on my end.”

“Whatever it is, we need to investigate.” Leon’s voice is firm and serious. “I’ve got a bad feeling about this.”

You swallow deeply, fear settling back inside you. “You think it’s a trap?”

“I think…” Leon pinches his chin. “…Arias knows that we’re here.”

Your heart drops—Bundle of fear, anxiety and stress springing back into your nerves as you probe at the possibility of Glen Arias knowing where you are. What you’re trying to do. Making sure you will never reach that sample despite your hardest wills.

“He shouldn’t. Rebecca, didn’t Arias get on the jet?” Carlos is also thinking too.

“Affirmative. Security footage showed Arias walking into his private jet, and it took off four hours ago. He should still be in the air. No signal of them making a pitstop anywhere.”

You hear black pumps clacking against the hardwood floor. “I’m getting the sample.” Says Ada, her foot is already halfway out of the door. “Follow me or not, I don’t care. I’m here for the objective, and only that.”

“And what if something happens to you?” Carlos asks, genuinely concerned.

“I’ll deal with it if it happens.” Ada waves dismissively.

“Ada’s right, we could be set on a wild goose chase.” Jill chimes in. “Millions of lives are dying. We don’t have time to waste.”

“I guess it’s just you and me then, pretty boy.” Carlos rounds his arm around Leon’s neck, bringing him closer in an almost choking grip, a little too close and tight to his liking. And with Leon’s history with Carlos, Leon refuses to believe this is just a friendly gesture.

Leon grimaces, removing Carlos’ hand over him. “So that’s it? We’re splitting up?” The answer is unanimous. “Fine. I guess we’ll cover more ground if we split up.”

Rebecca, through the other side of your earpiece, speaks: “Be careful everyone. You don’t know what kind of schemes Glenn Arias had set up. Please stay safe.”

“We’ll be fine, as long as we don't have any traitors in our team.” Leon says the word ‘traitor’ while maintaining eye contact with Ada. She ignores him, simply deadpans.

“Well, what about you?” Leon nudges at your arm.

You are faced with two options. Indulge in your curiosity and find the source of the gas, or stick to mission as planned? Both options will be dangerous. So who will you trust with your life?

[OPTION A] “I’ll follow the girls.”

[OPTION B] “I’ll follow the boys.”

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 thanks for reading! come check out my other works! —yours truly, rose. i love my beta reader @scar-crossedlvrs! series taglist: @j3llyd0nut @ovaryacted @daydreamrot @madcap-riflette @access--granted @obsolescent @briermelli @secretiveauthor @ghosty-frog @navstuffs @slowcryinginthedark @rentaldarling @lesbntired © roseglazedlens — please do not repost, plagiarise, or feed to ai.

[roseglazedlens]

⦑ THE FUCKING DEAD ⦒ 𝐆𝐢𝐫𝐥’𝐬 𝐕𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 ➠ series masterlist | ⏪prologue | 🔃boy’s route | ⏩part 4

𝐒𝐌𝐔𝐓┇𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐑𝐎𝐑┇𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐊𝐅𝐈𝐂┇𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐎𝐒𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐀𝐃𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐄 JILL VALENTINE X AFAB GN! READER ADA WONG X AFAB GN! READER synopsis: You split ways with Leon and Carlos, choosing to accompany Jill and Ada to Glenn Arias' office. One of you is already infected... content: 𝐒𝐌𝐔𝐓 𝐌𝐃𝐍𝐈, dubcon, threesome, zombie fucking, oral (reader & f! receiving), toys (vibrator + strap-on in one hole), squirting, fisting, knifeplay, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, latex kink, face sitting, cervix penetration, tonguefuck, hand & finger kink, nipple play, mating press (kinda), choking, body marking, body horror, slight objectification, body fluids, and pet names (kitty, darling). a/n: am gay thanks for cumming to my ted talk « 6 k words | general masterlist | ao3 | reblogs appreciated! »

The five of you parted ways—for better or worse. Is there a choice for you anyway? This is unanimous from everyone. So, you decide to follow the most logical choice: complete the mission as you are instructed, instead of seeking distractions with time you can’t afford to lose.

Leon and Carlos bid the three of you farewell, venturing underground to locate the source of a gas that may or may not be a distraction or an ambush. You, Jill, and Ada will continue upstairs to infiltrate Glenn Arias’ personal office, retrieving the concentrated sample with utmost priority, and regroup with the rest before Arias has a chance to discover his merchandise has gone missing.

The plan is perfect, what’s there to be worried about?

“Our intel says Arias’ office should be on the top floor. The coordinates are on your watch. Proceed with caution, everyone.” Rebecca calls out into your earpiece. Twisting your elbow, you glimpse at your watch. It blinks with your location in green, and destination in red, two floors above you.

“Copy.” You and Jill acknowledge Rebecca, but Ada ignores, simply hiking forward with her pistol leading the way.

“She must be fun at parties.” Jill snorts, following behind her.

This is the first time Jill talks after splitting up with the boys. And even then, she only ever converses with you, and never to Ada. They have almost nothing in common between them, besides their stubborn attitude that only butts at each other’s heads. If you aren’t around, there will only be an air of dead silence between the duo.

But these two are your friends, and you like them both for different reasons.

You recall a past memory between you. “She’s not usually like this outside of missions. We went to a bar one time, and Ada got me free drinks all night. Poor suckers, she swindled them all.”

“Just the two of you?”

“No, it was an afterparty. Rebecca was there. I think you had to stay back for work that day. Why?”

Your eyes meet Jill in confusion, and they quickly dart away. Jill clears her throat to speak again. “So you and Ada are close, huh?”

“I think so,” Jill’s face hints a bit of disappointment, but she tries to force her lips to upturn into a nonchalant smile. You don’t notice this and continue talking: “But not exactly. She saved me a few times, so I’m grateful for her. But I wouldn’t call us friends.”

“And that’s all?”

You wonder where all of this is coming from. Didn’t take her for the kind who enjoys bars and loud spaces anyway. Spending time with Jill is usually just the two of you watching TV, laughing at the over-the-top reality drama from the comfort of the couch, cuddling up right next to each other like a couple of platonic best friends. Before you can speak, you feel a presence in front of you, standing in your way. You pause quickly at the last minute, almost colliding into the figure. Ada. She only looks at Jill when she’s talking.

“You two lovebirds done? Stay alert.” Ada deadpans with no intention of being friendly and warming. “Don’t hold me down.”

“Take care of your shit and I’ll take care of mine.” There’s bitterness in Jill’s voice, and Ada ignores her because your watch is beeping. The green and red dots overlap each other. You’re here.

You put your game face on. You land yourself on the other side of the wooden door to Arias’ office, while Jill and Ada have their backs against the wall closest to the door knob. Ada signals, counting down from three, and then finally kicks down the door. The three of you rush in, guns aimed forward in order to take down any security patrolling the perimeters.

“Huh?” You raise an eyebrow. You lower your gun when realisation sets in that you are indeed in an empty room.

You recognise this dark wood flooring. It adorns proudly, and even more repetitively, throughout the mansion. This room is no different. The desk, cabinetry and shelves are crafted with the same sinister timber that weighs down Arias’ office. Rows of portraits from Arias’ ancestors stare down at you with hollow beady eyes. A tall window, slightly ajar, to let in the cold nocturne wind. No mould.

This room had been cared for—dusted, cleaned, and prepared. Papers spread across the table, fresh ink, even the nameplate is polished into a shimmer. Arias frequents here, either for work—or for other sorts of shady businesses.

Ada immediately gets to work, and she finds a painting with a secret hinge to the side. It opens into a safe with two rotary dials. The sample is so close now, so close to your reach.

“I’ll check for any other clues that may help us.” Jill declares, and she’s flipping through papers on the desk for any information she can send to Rebecca.

But your eyes are still fixed upon Ada with her back facing you. Not leaving her even for just a second. Ada might have saved you a few times, but the amount of times she betrayed you is far greater. A memory sticks out from a conversation in the saferoom when Leon pulls you aside:

“Be careful. Something is very wrong about this place. I don’t know what it is yet…” His words hold weight and sincerity as he speaks. “And about Ada… I don’t trust her. You shouldn’t too. Don’t make the same mistake as I did.” Then Leon loosens the grasp on your arm, and reluctantly lets go…

You refocus, keeping your eyes peeled on Ada, before noticing how beautiful her hands are. How they pinch the dial with ease and precision, almost gliding as she hears the very faint click inside the clockwork of the safe. Her nails are short, painted dearly with scarlet red polish, palms so silky that they almost glisten lightly under the moonlight. You didn’t know the hands of a mercenary can be so pretty, unlike yours, calloused and scabs healed over.

“Are you done watching me?” Ada is still listening to the safe, but she knows you’re looking.

“Huh? I wasn’t—” Your cheeks redden from being caught.

“You think I’m as dense as that rookie? I see you guys talking. Did Leon tell you to watch over me?” Oh. She must be talking about Leon’s warnings in the safe room.

“It… wasn’t about you.” You hesitate and fiddle with your thumb. You are not a great liar, not by far.

“Just tell me.”

Ada turns around to look at you now, telling of how much she knows you. And it’s definitely well enough to see through your lies like translucent paper. Your words tumble under pressure: “He’s just concerned. Told me to keep an eye out.”

Ada scoffs; she’s turning the dial a bit more aggressively this time. “Of course he did. Predictable. The rookie thinks I’m out to get him every single time.” There’s another sigh of exhaustion.

“Well, isn’t that what you did?”

“That’s besides the point. It’s his fault for getting in my way.” Ada clears her throat. “Rest assured, I’ve been compensated well for this job, so you’re safe.”

“For now. I’m not taking my eyes off you.”

“Didn’t take you for the kind to let others tell you what to do.”

You clamp your lips shut. She’s right, and you know it. Your brain racks within itself for a comeback to defend your integrity, and realising instead: Why are you trying so hard to prove yourself to Ada?

Ada is challenging you for sure. Or entertained by you. You can’t tell the difference with her teasing grin that could be either, or both. Are your eyes fooling you, or does Ada seem more... relaxed? Her demeanour is drastically different from when you were in the saferoom, or when you were speaking to Jill. If you didn't know better, you swear Ada actually enjoys your company, maybe even a little bit more than friends.

The safe beeps, signal flashes green, and the hinge loosens to an open. The two of you peek inside. There’s a gold bar. A stack of paper (letters?) bound by a delicate string. But beyond that, nothing.

You hear rustling in the background. Papers falling to the floor. You turn around to see Jill frozen.

“We got the safe open. Did you find anything?”

Jill’s eyes are far off, fixed upon a particular spot. You look towards the direction of her glance, and beyond the window, it overlooks the mansion’s luxurious home garden, overgrown with weeds and wilt. Behind that, a bench and what appears to be either a figure or the trick of a light. It’s too dark to tell.

“Jill.” Ada repeats, slightly raised eyebrows indicating suspicion. Jill returns from her far off location, and sees the two of you in front of her.

“You okay?” You ask, wanting to put your hand on her shoulder. She shrugs you off.

“I’m fine.” Jill’s fist is holding some paper, and she scrunches it to hide it in her back pocket. “Nothing useful. Just old accounts… and stuff. You know.” Ada is watching. Jill changes the topic fast.

“But look what I've found in the drawers.” Jill removes a box from inside the drawer and opens it. It contains a bunch of oddly shaped devices, attached by a belt or some sort.

“Are those what I think they are...?” You question, not quite sure what to make of it just yet.

“In every colour too.” Ada says. “Seems like a 'hobby' of Arias'.”

“Maybe Arias had been using this toy in this room.” Jill snickers, pulling one of them out by the belt, and the girth of the black shaft is thick and erected.

“Jill, stop playing with it.” Your face looks visually disturbed. “Oh my god, my pure and innocent mind...”

“Don't tell me you've never used one of these before?” Ada is grinning, as if you just asked a silly question.

“And you have?”

“Who hasn't?” Jill laughs too. Meanwhile, you are still standing, a look of confusion in your eyes. They look at you, and look between themselves, a synchronous 'oh' left their mouths at the same time. You are still confused.

“Don't worry about it. So what do you guys got there?”

You pick up the stack, and read aloud the first sheet that is addressed to someone.

Dear Sarah, The world had been too cruel to us, separating us from each other far too suddenly, far too soon. Our lives were only just beginning, and fate had to take you away from me. We should’ve had so much more time. And we will. Don’t worry, Sarah, all of this is only temporary. I took your wedding dress to the dry cleaners and safekept it for your return. I still remember how beautiful you looked in that dress walking down the aisle. Yours forever, Glenn

You bring the sheet back to read the next letter.

Dear Sarah, My research was successful. I did it, Sarah, I DID IT!! I can finally bring you home, my love. Didn’t we always said we wanted a child? You told me underneath the moonlight you want to name our daughter Renee. And now, we can finally have them. We can finally be together. Things are in order to make this happen. Me, you, and Renee, for eternity. I’m so excited I’ve painted Renee’s nursery in your favourite colour, green. So much work to do, I’ll write to you again soon, Sarah. You won’t have to wait any longer. Yours forever, Glenn

“Is this Arias’ wife? What do you mean ‘bringing her back’?” Your whole body shudders at the thought.

“She’s dead. One of the many innocents that died in the wedding.” Jill almost punches the wall. “It should’ve been him.”

“He’s trying to revive her? …And have children with the dead?”

“What kind of fucked up shit is he planning?” Jill is shocked, grossed, disgusted all at once on her face.

Meanwhile, Ada, calm and unreactive as ever, is rummaging through the safe again. “No sign of the sample—” Ada confirms, and she withdraws her hand holding a gold bar to transfer it into her gear’s pocket. “—another dead end.”

“Did you just steal something?” Jill is in disbelief.

“Mind your business.” Ada shoots back a glare at her.

“There’s something really fucked up going on in this mansion, and this is how you act? Have some sympathy for the dead, would ya?”

“It’s been dead for a while. Doesn’t matter what we do or what we say, they can’t hear it. All we can do is focus on the present.”

“Why you—” Jill stops midway, like she accidentally swallowed back her words down the wrong hole. Her head is throbbing, heart racing, body attacking her from all sides within. Her throat is closing up, and for a second, Jill can’t breathe. She falls; collapsing onto the table with a loud thump, barely supporting herself with her elbow. Jill coughs; there’s blood.

“Jill! Are you okay?” You cry out, running to her aid, your arm rounding across Jill’s shoulders. It feels cold. Dry. Like you’re touching the furless coat of a dead animal with no warmth left in them.

“I… nnh, I’m fine.” Her voice is straining, but there’s some breathing at least.

“Don’t be stubborn. The colour on your face is gone.” You dip your hand onto Jill’s forehead. The cold sensation fades, and now it’s warm to the touch again, burning like a fever. You question yourself whether the coldness before was an illusion. Bringing your arms around her, you reach to your earpiece. “I’m calling Rebecca.”

“No. Don’t.” She coughs even harder with her weight leaning against you; she’s turning frailer and frailer by the minute. “I’ll be fine. We need to s-stop Arias.”

That is when you hear a click, cold metallic surface pressing against the fabric of Jill’s back. The safety’s off.

“Ada?” Your voice escapes like a pleading squeal, a forced laugh through hopeful desperation that it’s all a prank, that Ada isn’t going to hurt and betray you, just like all the other times. “…What’s up with you?”

“Jill. Get off. Now.” Ada raises her volume to a stern demand, and this time, you know she’s definitely not joking. Jill ought to do as she says soon, or else both of you may catch the bullet with a press of Ada’s finger.

“Ada—” Your voice shrivels into a pitiful whisper. Betrayal again? After everything?

“Jill’s infected. Face it. Thought it was weird why you’re acting funny. The virus is in your body as we speak.” Ada points her gun at Jill.

“Wha—What’re you talking about?” Jill’s face turns white. She coughs once more, hard. There’s blood all over her hand and on the corner of her lips.

“Ada. We need to take her to the hospital now.”

“Does she look okay to you? I’m not going to save your ass again. So get out when I tell you to.” Ada’s finger is firm on the trigger. Determined.

Jill scoffs. “This again? So you’re working for Wesker? You’re trying to take us out one by one. It’s not gonna work.” With a weak grip, Jill grabs her pistol with her remaining energy to aim right back at Ada. Ada doesn’t shoot. She should’ve, but she can’t.

Ada’s guard is up again. “Believe what you want. If you’d like to die today, be my guest. I won’t hesitate to shoot.” She flicks her wrist, demanding you to move aside. “This is your last chance.”

“Ada, please listen! She wasn’t bit. We were together the entire time. You were there too, Ada! She can’t be infected. She can’t be—” You yell in distress, but your sentence trails off into a mumble.

“The gas. The gas has something to do with it.” Ada says.

“Won’t the two of us be sick too?” You say.

Ada’s eyes glare harshly against the two of you, but you can see her thinking, the cogwheels in her brain processing the facts, and her speculation wavers. There’s pity behind the cold blooded glint. Sympathy. Ada’s pistol lowers—

And that was the mistake that costs their lives. Jill turns, roundhouse kicking the pistol off Ada’s hand in her moment of vulnerability. The gun falls, crashing against the rug far from reach. Ada is already reacting, drawing her TMP out but Jill moves faster. Too steadfast. Too superhuman. She tackles Ada to the ground, hands steady against her neck.

Jill’s gaze is obscured by flames, something blinding and controlling from something within her veins and arteries. Despite looking directly at Ada, she can’t see, nor can she distinguish friend or foe. Her hand tightens around Ada’s windpipe, leaving her grasping for air.

You pull up your rifle in a panic frenzy, unloading your round onto Jill. But she does not flinch, does not even look your way. There’s a dent in her skin where your shots land, but there’s no blood. “Goddamit, what the fuck, Jill! What is wrong with you?”

But Jill can’t hear you. Only the crackle of flame and roar of wildfire burning and reverberating through her head. Echoing twice and thrice over. Ada is grunting soundless moans, still attempting at escape with how she continues to fumble for the TMP on her waist belt. Then, Jill steps on Ada’s hand with sheer force and unnatural strength, crushing the smooth palm with the sole of her feet, twisting it until all the delicate bones become unrecoverable. And all hope was lost again.

Jill sinks her teeth into Ada’s neck, not with much mercy either. There is a sound of flesh torn, a blood crying scream to taint the air. The blood velvet rug paints a deeper red and Jill releases. Ada flops to the floor, paralysed, but not deadly enough for a fatality. Her beautiful skin, once full of vigour and charm, stained red with her own blood, the veins around turning deeper purple thriving like tree roots across the earth.

You look at Jill—and she’s smiling. It’s not the slight curve of her lips you’re used to when you tell her that her haircut is nice. Or the reluctant embarrassed grin she has when you thank her for standing up for you. This was something else.

This was something from hell.

She’s no longer the Jill you know. ‘Jill’ turns around to meet you in the eye. You back away, rifle aiming forwards despite knowing it’s all fruitless. Your hands shudder from within, none of your shots will hit even if you try. But you had no choice. You have to try even if it’s fruitless. Then you aim at Jill directly on the head. It’s harder than it looks, killing your best friend, even if they are a zombie.

It misses and lands on her shoulder instead. There’s a notable grimace on Jill’s face as she flies to catch the bullet from within her shoulder. She flicks the bullet away and her grin spreads widely, and she chuckles a sinister giggle. “That hurts, you know…”

“Jill?” These BOWs aren’t supposed to speak. They should be monsters. This is your first time meeting one of these too, and you did not expect them to be one of your closest friends. You should be careful. If they can speak, do they have the intelligence to manipulate you too?

“What’s wrong, kitty?”

“Fuck you.” You grit your teeth. “I’m not turning into one of you.”

She merely laughs. “Admit it. You think this is hot.”

“Fuck off.” You have Jill’s eyes locked, other hand inching closer and closer to your back pocket, reaching for the radio. But it was no use. A hand—bloodied and broken—grabs you by your wrist, twisting it behind you forcefully. You wince. Ada is right behind you, her eyes looking into yours with the same blank stare Jill has. She’s turned. And so quick too?

“Our darling, can’t seem to stay put? I think it needs punishment.” Ada’s breath is blowing against your neck. You shiver.

“Oh… like what kind?” Jill’s eyebrows are raised and intrigued.

Jill answers the question herself by unsheathing her pocket knife. You swallow hard as she takes each purposeful step towards you, savouring in your fear. Your wrists struggle against Ada’s grip, which she responds by tightening it further that your bones are almost breaking from her touch.

“It’ll hurt more if you resist.” Jill drawls out her words, licking the surface of the knife. She brings her knife forward, laying the flat edge of the knife against your cheek, drawing a little blood at first, then a bit more droplets gather onto the knife. She slurps on it, licking the crimson nectar clean off her knife. “Just relax, kitty. It’s us. Jill and Ada. Your teammates.”

“We won’t hurt you, darling. You can trust us.”

For a moment, through the hazy blink of a spell, you see your friends. Ada, mysterious yet always saving you during trouble. Jill, indifferent yet is always the first to defend you. They’re absolutely right. These are your friends. They mean so much to you, and you’ve just realised that now. You’ll do anything for them.

You let your body relax, your eyes stare into Jill, then Ada, then back at Jill again. She caresses your cheeks in her palm, bringing your face closer to hers with lips that only want to close the distance, and you close your-

Wait! No. Stop this! This isn’t right!

-eyes, before your lips crash together in a series of tingles. Jill deepens the kiss, her tongue prying between the seams of your lips, meeting your own tongue in the middle. You still taste a bit of blood, but that doesn’t deter you from returning the kiss. Jill licks your lips once more before finally parting with a heaved gasp. You slowly open your eyes, before another pair of familiar lips comes colliding back on yours and you’re nudged to close them again. This is Ada’s lips, rounder, thicker, with an unexpected forwardness. She nibbles on your lips, demanding, making room between the gaps of your lips, and kiss you just as passionately as Jill did.

Between kisses, a button pops off. Then another. You help each other out of your fabrics. Earpieces removed, abandoned by the floor. Jill strips off Ada’s dress and bra, and you help Jill out of her skinny jeans. A paper scrunches up from her back pocket. It’s been torn by hand, scribbled a note on lined paper where the words are either smudged or peeled off. Only one word is still faintly visible.

[ WATER ]

What could it mean?

You spend no time to ponder with Jill pulling you back into the present. Your naked torsos flush against each other as the duo fight for another taste of your lips. They catch your breath, one after another, with no intention of letting you out of their sight. Jill brings her hand around you, her fingers are already sending-

I need to get out of here! I need to warn-

-a violent fizz through your body, and Ada helps you fall to your legs onto the velvet rug underneath you. All the whilst your lips are trapped in Jill’s, and so is your body.

“That’s it… Be our good little darling.” Ada slips right behind you, letting your relaxed body lean against her, then running a hand up your torso with the friction of her latex gloves, before settling against your neck in a firm grip.

“We’ll take care of you, kitty.” Jill whispers into your ear, and you can’t hear any malicious intent. Jill and Ada aren’t hurting you, some part of you is very sure about this.

Then you hear something. A faint sound in your mind, a warning, a scream from far away. It’s telling you to run, run so far and fast before it’s too late. “Nnh… I…” It rings in your ear like a constant drum, forcing you for a response. But why? You feel so good right now…

“Stay with us, darling.” Ada coos, moving downwards to kiss along the strip of your neck. She’s gentle, enchanting you in her lovingness. The voice grows fainter, like a distant chatter that fades into the background.

And their hands are all over you, exploring every curve your skin has to offer. The crook of your neck, the gentle folds between your belly, thighs filling out into their palms, plushness against plushness. With how both of their breasts lay against you, it reminds you of a marshmallow cloud, and you’re drifting away into it. Away from the mortal world where only the three of you remain.

Ada runs her hands down your body, her latex glove palming your cunt now, circling it fully and firmly. You feel everything move, your hips rutting to find more friction against your clit. And she retracts her hand, pressing down against your clit as if you hears your demands, holding you and your emotions hostage, before repeating all the motions again.

“Shh… We’ll take care of you, kitty.” Someone says this, you don’t know who. You are much too focused on the pleasure throbbing in your body to notice. Ada moves her head downwards to watch your cunt more closely, pleasant to see you already drenching, soon to succumb to the inflictions of her loving touches.

“Goodness, so wet for me, darling.” Ada rewards herself with a finger down the stripe of your cunt, scooping your juices with the latex and licking her finger clean. Ada is taking her time with you, pecking gentle kisses along the seam. A few times you feel the firm pad of her tongue on you, but she retracts it before you can truly react to it.

Jill is still kissing you; her hands are groping her own breasts to satisfy herself, while you lay limp under the command of the two. You moan back into the kiss, clearly aroused by Ada toying with your body underneath, and she grows increasingly jealous: “Having all the fun without me?” She abruptly parts your lips, and gently lowers your back onto the floor.

“Come on, kitty. Help me come too.” Jill pecks one final kiss on you, which you, too engrossed in the knot in your chest to struggle to even pucker your lips. She rounds her legs over your face, and your face is shaded with the shape of Jill’s cunt. Her arousal glistens in the darkness, seemingly twitch, maybe a bit vulnerable with how your eyes are fixed upon her aching parts.

“Put that tongue to good use, kitty.” Jill drops herself onto your face, fucking herself onto your nose. A moan escapes her lips, and yours too, your grunt muffled underneath the pressure, but she can still feel the vibrations through her cunt. She ruts against you, a signal for ‘more’, and you obey. You stick your tongue in, swirling and springing your tongue to feel Jill’s walls against the flat surface of your tongue.

Jill lifts herself temporarily, just enough for you to breathe and release the groaning mess that is trapped in the back of your throat. She slams herself back down onto you again. Your breath quickens, back arches in; you’re close. So fucking close. Ada isn’t stopping now, her lips are flushed against your cunt, extending her entire tongue inside of you to tonguefuck you until your heavy breathing is inside of Jill’s cunt.

“I.. nnh…fuck…” You cry, a tear gathering in your eye.

“Don’t be shy, kitty. Just let it all out.” Jill looks down at you, grinning, taunting. She drives her cunt deeper onto your face. And with her encouragement, you do. The sensation wells inside of you, stimulated on both end bringing your orgasm to escalate in speeds unimaginable. Your juices start to flow, without warning—you couldn’t control it even if you tried—and all your fluids spills directly onto Ada’s face, catching into her eyes.

“That’s it. Well done, kitty.” Jill praises, smoothing a hand over your hair.

Ada doesn’t wince from your juices in her eye, she doesn’t even feel the pain. Her irises are shifting red from her kind hazel brown. Her skin, paling, wherever she was applying pressure at you, those parts of her turns distinctly blue. And that’s when reality hits you: you don’t know them. But there’s no stopping now. It’s too late. At least you can make your death memorable—enjoyable—by getting fucked inside out.

Jill is feeling it too, her hips shaking, your tongue going into overtime eating her out, until she finally releases. She tries to lift herself off, but it was too late when Jill begins to squirt, her one finger guiding herself on her clit, drenching your face and some of your hair with her fluids. You wipe your face off with your hands, huffing and puffing. Whatever you two had, it was intense. Far more intense than any relationship you had with any other sex.

Ada lands right next to you on the rug. She’s reaching down to circle on her own clit and thrusting her fingers inside of her dripping mess at the same time. God, Ada looks so hot touching herself.

“Please. Ada. I want to taste you too.” You nudge Ada’s fingers out of herself, giving them a lick to clean those pretty, battered fingers off. Even damaged, her manicure is still perfect, and the skin still feels soft to the touch. You roll on top of Ada, exchanging places with Ada’s fingers to bottom her out.

Ada’s cunt is so smooth, cleaned and trimmed, just as put together as the rest of herself. Her hole is wide open, as if taunting you with how much she can take at one time. You hook her legs over your shoulder now, pressing them down closer to her body and reaching over to her swollen nipple to pull against it. When your fingers enter her, it’s like dipping your finger into melted butter. With one finger, it was loose. So you add one more finger, then another, until all four of your fingers are deep in her cunt.

“God, Ada.” You swallow back a heavy drool. “You’re all stretched out.”

“I have higher pain tolerance like this. That’s the best part about being a zombie.”

“Does that mean I can…” You thought four fingers was Ada’s limit, but after wiggling your hand around, you manage to slip the fifth finger inside. Ada lets out a delighted whine, swallowing your entire fist with a quick rut of her hips.

My god, Ada looks so beautiful like this. With how big she’s taking in, you swear that she’s more used to this than she’s letting on. But you don’t get to ponder long, because Jill is right behind you. She’s watching over you, grabbing your cheeks from behind and something is nudging between your thighs.

“I want to try something on you.” There is a belt around her, and a strap bouncing high and proud into the air. “Stick up your butt for me, kitty.”

The idea of getting fucked by Jill excites you very much. You perk them up, despite your eagerness, you don’t want to lose momentum with Ada in front of you, still squirming under your control. You expect your cunt to meet with Jill’s silicone tip, but instead she puts some kind of device inside of you. It vibrates in the lowest setting, only a tingle of sensation in your already aching and throbbing pussy.

“J-Jill?” You let out a low grunt, unsatisfied. The device is so small, you still feel empty even as it vibrates within you.

“Don’t worry, kitty. I’m just gonna write some thing on your body. It won’t hurt, I promise.” She picks up a knife, previously abandoned in the corner. She runs the sharp end of the knife along your ass cheeks, and you wince as Jill drags the knife down until it carves off a letter. ‘J’ on your left cheek, ‘A’ on your right cheek.

“Kitty looks amazing with our initials on it.” Blood is trailing along your butt. Jill lied. It hurts a lot. But the combination of pain on your skin and pleasure of the vibrator takes you to your wits end. Jill makes up for it by consoling the cuts, planting kisses and licking the blood off your cheeks. Then she grasps harshly onto the plush meat, and the pain is back again.

“Kitty…” She coos, fingering out some of your stickiness to lubricate the silicone. It lines up against you, ready for entry. You take in a deep breath, and Jill shoves all of her length in one go. Your body flinches, tongue stopping for a moment to recollect your composure as your internal walls fight to wrap both the vibrator and Jill’s strap at the same time, filling you up so fully.

“That’s it, kitty. Take in both me and the vibrator. Feel so good right now… So good for us.”

But she’s not stopping. Not intending to stop until you come over and over again, until you stain the rug with every bit of your juices. Moans ripple through the room. Each thrust heavy and welcoming to your pussy as you stretch wide to accommodate to this newfound size. You chase your euphoria, as it crash at you wave after wave of limitless pleasure. Jill tips you further into overstimulation, fucking the fluids of your orgasm back inside of you.

But you can’t speak, despite the desire to release your choked out breath, you are determined to make Ada come too. She’s close. You press her legs further down to flex her into a pretzel, her thighs touch her head, and your fist finds its easier to reach her cervix, abusing at her favourite spot over and over again until she’s bound to release her fluids onto your hand.

“You’re mine now…” Jill and Ada speaks almost simultaneously.

And the rest of the night was a blur. You aren’t sure how many times you came tonight, you only feel the aftermath of it. The inside of your walls are sore, penetrated repeatedly by tongue and silicone, and you find your consciousness fading… and fading… until you are gone completely.

A buzz. It rings in your ear like a fly in your sleep. Is this your alarm? No… Did you not leave for Arias’ mansion? How long ago was that? Why are you asleep? And where’s Jill and Ada?

You are alone. The portraits watching your naked body as you lie—criticising you? You hear the windows clacking against the hinges, night air whining inside and all over your bareness. But you don’t feel cold. Your body hasn’t felt anything in a while. Joints weakened everywhere and your lips feel like something dried over.

You hear the buzz again. This time much closer. There’s static. It’s saying something.

“Ji- Ad-”

You move your limbs, cumbersome from the soreness of your muscles, to reach to the sound underneath your clothes. An earpiece. You fumble it on.

“Jill! Ada! Are you guys there? Come on, why won’t this damn thing work?”

It’s Rebecca. You know this girl. From somewhere. It’s getting harder to think.

“Reb—” You try to talk, but it escapes like the low grumble of a zombie. You don’t have much time left.

“Finally! Thank god it’s you! Are you guys safe?”

“Water... It’s the water… The water’s infected…” You muster whatever bit of strength left to talk.

“Hello?? Shit. I can’t hear you… What did you say about the water?”

Your eyes feel heavy. It sinks without intention. All that remains is a fragile pulse at the hearth of your body. Not enough for you to move or think. Darkness envelops you, and there is silence once again in Arias’ office.

Then, a man steps into the room.

thanks for reading! come check out my other works. —yours truly, rose. kissing @scar-crossedlvrs and @obsolescent for beta reading this!!!! tags: @j3llyd0nut @ovaryacted @daydreamrot @madcap-riflette @access--granted @obsolescent @briermelli @secretiveauthor @ghosty-frog @navstuffs @slowcryinginthedark @rentaldarling @lesbntired @redvleanli @vinsiliors @whoisgami @gaylorvader @wxwieeee @eddsthemunson © roseglazedlens — please do not repost, plagiarise, or feed to ai.

[roseglazedlens]

⦑ a kiss away ⦒✶.*

pairing(s): leon kennedy x afab!reader synopsis: you and leon were supposed to be just friends. until one night, an impromptu kiss changed the trajectory of your relationship. content: smut 18+ only mdni, fluff, angst, friends to lovers, mutual pining, oral (m receiving), p in v, degration, hair pulling READ THE PREQUEL HERE « words: 2.1k┇masterlist┇ao3┇reblogs appreicated! »

You can’t stop thinking about the kiss.

You can’t stop thinking about Leon’s calloused fingers grazing over the plump of your cheek, scorching your skin with hands so cold it reminded you of the rifles you handled during those gruelling winter missions. You can’t stop thinking about how his pupils flared, and you basked in the glazed cerulean of his irises, so clear you could see yourself through them.

Worst of it all, you can’t stop thinking about him.

You shouldn’t. You know you shouldn’t. Leon Kennedy is your friend, your best friend. Your first meeting was five years ago on the field, clicked instantly from sharing the same corny sense of humour, and since then, your dynamic with him has been strictly platonic. You told him about all your exes, your sex life in detail, who you dated and when you had your one night stands. Hell, you even told him about your revolting bad habits that you kept secret from your exes. There was no chance this man could fall in love with someone like you, right?

…Right?

Truth is, you valued your relationship with Leon so much that you’re unwilling to risk it. You two connected beyond the small stuff, sometimes you find your conversations take a philosophical turn. You two discussed about life, family, dreams for a better world – it’s not the kind of connection you can find again.

And now you two have shared a kiss.

You were startled by the sound of your ringtone chanting through the Bluetooth speakers of your car, piercing through your train of thought. Your brain assigned autopilot, navigating you home after a laborious mission in the middle of Texas for the past two weeks. Darting your eyes at the screen, you recognised the familiar name on your contact list.

Leon. Speak of the devil.

You clicked a button on the side of your wheel. The ringing stopped, and the line connected. Immediately, you were embraced by a glee in Leon’s voice, but only ever so subtly.

“Hey. Welcome back.”

“How’d you know I’m back?” You gripped the steering wheel, a tiny concern brewed in you, worried he would catch your unusual behaviour.

“Chris told me. He’s surprised you didn’t say anything.”

A deep sigh left your throat from your core. You couldn’t exactly tell Leon that you needed time, time to catch a breath, time to process your yearn for this man. No matter how understanding he could have been.

There was no use hiding – Chris would have told him about your whereabouts if you didn’t. Chris and Leon are close friends after all.

“Can’t get a moment of peace with you two around.”

“Next time, call me. I can pick you up.” Your pulse took a leap. In another time or situation, those words would not meant anything to you. It was just how Leon was, his instincts to help others extended into his personal life too.

“So you don’t fall asleep on the wheel, stupid. Your death will not be on my conscience.”

That earned a giggle in your books. You could tell Leon’s light teasing was an attempt to comfort you, to make you laugh, to hear the snorty chuckle between your lips.

“Don’t worry. If I pass, I’ll make sure to haunt you for the rest of your life. Regardless whose fault it is.” You quipped.

“That sounds wonderful.”

Despite his sarcasm, Leon’s voice warmed at the sound of your laugh. You couldn’t help but appreciate these moments like this with him, and you prayed what you had together would never go away.

“Anyway, get some rest. I’ll bring you some food to your place at eight.”

You appreciated how he remembered that you prefer to stay home directly after a mission. After difficult missions, the presence of people could be daunting and uneasy.

Leon’s the exception.

He always brought a peace offering – a chicken sandwich from your favourite deli, a viral dessert you saw in a store once, your usual frappuccino order with ten customisations… If you want it, he got it for you.

“See you soon.” He hung up and you drove home.

You’re thankful for internalised heating and electric blankets. They’ve became necessities for post mission self-care routine like this one. You scrubbed yourself down, cleansing the scent of blood, grease and dirt that clings deeply to your body. So when you finished, you feel rejuvenated. You napped, checked for new mail, checked for bad food in the fridge and took care of any errands you missed when you had to leave swiftly for the mission.

You waited and waited. It was almost eighty-fourty, with nothing but a brief text that penned “Running late” from Leon. You texted back, no follow-ups, no ‘seen’, no double checkmark. You wondered what was taking him so long, before the bell buzz at your door.

You opened the door, prepared to give him a lecture, just to find Leon with a familiar takeaway bag in his hands.

“No way… Is that…?”

“Yes. It’s from your favourite place.”

“Wait, the one that’s always has a long line…?”

Leon helped himself into your apartment. His hair soaked, it shimmered under the ceiling light of your apartment. He must have waited a whole hour in the rain.

“I don’t know what to say.”

“Thank you would be nice.”

You hurried to your cupboard, picked up a fresh towel and handed it to Leon for him to dry off.

“Thank you. I mean it.”

Leon nodded, a gentle grin at the corner of his lips knowing that you’re grateful of his gesture. And you genuinely did. No man, no ex, no friend you knew would do things for you to this extent. With your help, Leon removed his wet jacket and revealed his top also drenched underneath, clinging to every bump, every muscle on his torso. You swallowed deeply, slotting your eyes anywhere but his chest.

“I’ve got spare clothes in the car.”

You insisted on grabbing Leon’s clothes for him, thankful for the opportunity to take yourself away from the situation. You took the keys, and took in some fresh air. Anything to distract yourself from imagining your best friend naked on the top half. You opened the truck, retrieved his spare clothes in his gym bag and returned to your home.

When the door opened, you found Leon with his shirt already removed, revealing those sculpted muscles from the results of his vigorous training.

“Sorry. It gets uncomfortable when it’s sticky.”

You gawked, your eyes planted on the slopes of Leon’s tauted arms, pelvis line drawing a deep v into his crotch. He’s showing off. You know it. You struggled through the desire of staring knowing it will just rub his ego even further, but your eyes betrayed you. Leon observed you, a smug grin that made you hold back a punch.

“Like what you see?”

Leon strided towards you, taking his time. You had plenty of chances to walk away now, but your feet are planted to the floor, his dry clothes still in your hand. With a hand over your head, Leon closed the entrance door, and shifted close enough for you to catch his scent – the musky woodiness mixed with rain and his odour enveloped your nose – his signature cologne.

A hand reached to your waist, pulled you in his embrace.

“Do you want to see the rest?”

His breath tickled your ears as he whispered.

You forgot how attractive Leon could be. How others flock to his attention. Begged me to give them his number. With full confidence, you believed those charms didn’t work on you. Blissfully unaware that Leon chose to withdraw his charms in front of you, contrasting to the unadulterated need his body radiated right now.

Breath tightened, pulse sped, unable to keep up with your thoughts. You felt a sensation shot down your spinal cord, knees trembled slightly, a look of mischief clung to Leon’s face. Your body betrayed you, nodding incessantly.

“So honest.”

Leon feet guided you to the couch, sat you till your eyes level to the bulge in his jeans. The blond undid his first button, and your gaze followed the zipper downwards. Leon grabbed underneath his boxers, and his dick sprung free onto his abdomen. With a curled fist, Leon hovered it at the bridge of your nose and pumped it a few times in your direct line of sight.

“Wet it for me, baby.”

He teased, inching his cock closer to the pucker of your lips.

Saliva gathered at the back of your throat, your tongue desperate to feast on him. A droplet of precome leaked from his tip. You grazed your tongue on the tiny slit, circulating the drop all over your mouth until it blended in your saliva. The light hint of saltiness was there, and it was gone again.

Leon hitched a breath, his hands crawling down your head to pull your hair back loosely for easier moment. You hollowed your cheeks, and slide his girth between your lips. Light gasp turned to needy grunts, the hands groping your hair tightened, pushing you further inside.

You curled your tongue all over the head, coating it with your slick, indulging in the smell of sweat intertwined with his sex. Corner of your lips dribbled down your neck, eyes forced shut from the ache of the shape of his cock head engraved in the back of your throat. But you couldn’t get enough. You let a hand go from Leon’s thigh, and reached for your underwear instead.

“Look at you. Can’t even wait five minutes.”

Leon’s blue eyes glistened with cunningness. His hand tugged harshly at your hair, eliciting a pained groan that pulled you off his cock out with a pop. With one swift motion, Leon removed your top and pants, until you are bare in nothing but your underwear. He slid his hand underneath you, pushed your underwear aside, and felt the stickiness as a finger went inside you.

“God, you want this so much, huh?”

“S-Shut up and fuck me, Leon.”

Leon’s expression changed when you told him that. It triggered something carnal within, and shoved your back onto the couch, underwear pushed aside, cock teased your entrance. With one deep breath, Leon thrusted himself in you, ignoring your needy pleas. You shrieked in pleasure, your jaw drowned in the juncture between his neck and shoulders, nails clawing his back.

“You’re sucking me in, baby…”

Leon’s skin flushed red, his sculpted shoulders strained in delight at the impact.

Without further ado, Leon slammed into your swollen, needy cunt. Squelches and the slap of skin to skin hovered the air, and a stir developed in your body, threatened to release. Your eyes tried to brace shut, but Leon’s hand stroked your face when you did, demanding you to look at him. Until your thoughts were filled with him as you finished together. Leon followed, removed you quickly and landed the streams of come on your lower belly.

It was supposed to be a moment of euphoria, but Leon’s expression turned grim, parting from your embrace after his fingers dwelled lightly on your shoulder blades.

“You should have run when you had the chance.”

Leon sighed, regret forming at his tongue.

“You could have had a normal life, be with someone who doesn’t chase death like me. But now that I have you, it’s impossible to let you go. I can’t ignore wanting you anymore.”

You sensed years of agony and sorrow behind his cerulean eyes – you never noticed these emotions he kept so secretively in his heart. How much did he had to suffer when you told him of all your relationships in the past, and Leon supported you each and every time. No matter how terrible your exes treated you.

“That’s not the life I want.” You affirmed, two fingers brushed his lips and reached his jaw. “I don’t want an easy life, Leon. I don’t care how hard it is. I want to be by your side.”

Leon pulled you in tighter into his familiar embrace. He laid his lips against yours, and you are reminded of that intimate kiss you shared two weeks ago. The passion, minty sweetness of gum is so distinctly Leon.

It was his plea, begged you to notice how much Leon loved you. How far he will go to make you happy. It took you so long, but you could finally accept him. You returned the kiss, just as gentle, loving – a silent vow to Leon that you will make him happy as he lived.

“Come on, baby. Let’s eat. The pizza’s already cold.”

EDIT: I wrote a prequel to this! thanks for reading! come check out my other works. ––yours truly, rose.

[roseglazedlens]

THE FUCKING DEAD

𝙬𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙚 𝙙𝙖𝙧𝙠𝙣𝙚𝙨𝙨 𝙢𝙚𝙚𝙩𝙨 𝙙𝙚𝙨𝙞𝙧𝙚

a spook/kinktober series + celebration [18+ ONLY] warnings: graphic sexual themes, depictions of violence, character death clips from re4r main game + dlc, vendetta movie and re3r

The death of thousands was damned from the beginning. The A-Virus is impenetrable, intricately manufactured to attack selectively from the shadows without a trace. You are one in five (Jill, Ada, Leon, Carlos) recruited all over the States to eradicate the bioweapon straight from the source—its headquarters in rural Mexico. Your objective: find Glenn Arias and stop him. At all cost.

But you didn’t know—Infection is already among you. Something different. Something more aggressive and violent that will drive you to the brink of lust and insanity.

Who will you trust with your life?

[Canon-Adjacent on the events of Resident Evil: Vendetta. This series has spoilers for Vendetta.]

CURRENT WORD COUNT: 33K [IN PROGRESS]

CHAPTERS:

i. THE BEGINNING.

PART 1: Prologue

ii. THE CHOICE.

PART 2: Follow The Girls Version PART 3: Follow The Boys Version

iii. THE RESOLUTION.

PART 4 PART 5 PART 6

iv. THE ENDING.

PART 6: Epilogue (Individual Endings for Leon, Carlos, Ada, Jill, and TRUE ENDING)

Has A Romance Ending: Jill Valentine, Ada Wong, Carlos Oliveira, Leon S. Kennedy Doesn't Have a Romance Ending: Rebecca Chambers, Glenn Arias & Chris Redfield.

FAQ: HOW DOES THIS SERIES WORK??

please let me know if you like to be added to the taglist!

@jellybonbons @ovaryacted @daydreamrot @madcap-riflette @access--granted

@obsolescent @briermelli @secretiveauthor @ghosty-frog @navstuffs

@slowcryinginthedark @rentaldarling @lesbntired @redvleanli @vinsiliors

@whoisgami @gaylorvader @wxwieeee @eddsthemunson

divider by baka-tsuki-2

[roseglazedlens]

Okay let's forget about all the agents Kennedy, alcohol and trauma in RC, Ada...ect,and turn to Leon s Kennedy as Your husband's policeman 36years is receiving a promotion to Chief Police Officer cuz I can't see my bbguy suffer more :(,you can add some nsfw if you want to

thank you for requesting lovely! i'm sorry i write so much angst hahhaha, but here is a change of pace! i've never written anything purely fluff (lol) and so many characters, so this is a challenge! i hope you enjoy!

⦑ take me home ⦒✶.*

pairing(s): leon kennedy x gn! reader synopsis: you throw a surprise party for your boyfriend's last day at work after his job promotion. content: pure fluff, established relationship, flirting, alcohol, leon is tipsy, but he's cute & not depressed ab it. claire, rebecca, jill & chris works in RPD. « 1 k words┇masterlist┇ao3┇reblogs appreciated! »

Today is an unusual sight for the usually hectic police department in Raccoon City. The office is adorned with balloons, garlands, and laughter, celebrating not just the promotion of a well-loved officer, Leon S. Kennedy, but also his farewell as he relocates to a new precinct.

You should be happy for your boyfriend – and you are – but part of you will miss watching over his figure from your desk, casting flirtatious grins back and forth in attempts to distract each other from the rigorous paperwork.

A banner suspends between the light fixtures, observing the lopsided words ‘CONGRATULATIONS’, strings twisted into the knot. The culprit of this handiwork, Chris, puffs out his chest proudly, while Rebecca looks at him in disbelief.

“Chris, leave the decorations to Rebecca, please.” You break apart the squabble forming between them. Rebecca smirks as Chris descends the ladder, defeated. “Don’t forget everyone, this is supposed to be a surprise.”

“Claire, where is the card?” You interrogate the next person in your line of sight, who happens to be Claire. All whilst you signal Rebecca to tilt the banner slightly upwards. “Has everyone signed?”

“Yep. It’s just you left.” She hands over the card, before resuming to the case files on her computer.

The card scrawls with heartfelt blessings from your team, a lot of ‘good lucks’, ‘we’ll miss you’, and nostalgia when he was just a rookie. He worked hard for ten years to be a sergeant, and you know he deserves this.

You pick up your pen – contemplating the words to express how amazing he is, how you will love him forever, how you will miss the sneaky make-out sessions in the work janitor’s closet.

…Marvin will be so proud of you. Yours, ....

The vibration in your pocket cuts you off mid-sentence – Jill. She is supposed to be on the case with Leon for another thirty minutes. You read the text out loud.

“I can't hold him back much longer, we're on our way. ETA in five minutes!!”

The floor scrambles in panic to finalise their positions. Rebecca quickly secures the banner with some tape. Claire is passing party poppers. Chris is putting away the ladder to the storeroom.

As Jill enters the space with Leon following behind, all the confetti releases at once.

The rainbow plastic ribbons catching in his hair like stardust in sand. You catch a glimpse of surprise in his reaction, following with a light on the corner of his lips.

“To Leon!” your team lifts their glasses high in the air, sipping beers and cocktails all night. Leon is the star tonight – you can barely talk to him without two other people buying him drinks all night along.

You catch him a whole two hours later in the circle booth, after some of the crowd has dispersed, his cheeks redden from the many drinks consumed all in a few hours. You squeeze yourself through three different people to sit yourself next to Leon.

“Having fun?” You try to get his attention by nudging at his forearm. “Don’t get too drunk though, I have to take you home.”

Leon lifts his gaze, when he sees you right by him, a grin tug at his face almost immediately. His cerulean eyes somehow more glazy than usual.

“Thank you for doing all of this. You are so good for me.” Despite the scent of beer merging with his breath, the grin on his face remains childlike. One that you only see in his drunkenness, which he lets down his guard to show more of his emotional side.

“Everyone helped. Not just me.” You are thinking how cute Leon looks when he’s drunk. “You are well-loved in here. I’m just the facilitator.”

“How about you work for me?” Leon brings the back of your palm to his lips. “I can pull some strings, now that I’m sergeant.”

“Sergeant Kennedy, using your influence for personal goals? It’s not even your first day.” You quip with a slight chuckle.

“And what if I am?” He peppers kisses from your palm to your fingers, the faint heat from his lips sizzle through your nerves. “Sure you’ll enjoy less time on the field, and more time in my office.”

“Well, if that’s the case.” You decide to let this banter go on a little further. “I expect to be well-compensated for my extra duties.”

“That will depend on your performance.” He raises a sassy eyebrow, pulling you closer until your noses touch.

“Good thing I always hit my KPI’s.”

“I do like a hardworking employee…”

Eyes fluttering shut slowly, you smile into the kiss. His lips lay gently on yours, sucking slightly at your cupid’s bow. Your bodies move closer, so close that you rests your hand on Leon’s thigh for support. The kiss deepens further, sloppier, tongues intertwined until…

“Ahem.” Chris clears his throat loudly, snapping you back to the present.

You open your eyes to find the whole table staring at the two of you. Your gaze finds its way to Jill, which she immediately, most awkwardly, rolls her eyes to the ceiling as if there is something to see there. Claire is nonchalant, sipping her beer and simply enjoying the scene.

You retract the tongue that is still shoved in Leon’s mouth. A hint of pink is running up your cheeks, you don’t need to see it to feel it. Leon, however, is unphased by the attention from his coworkers. Perhaps it’s the alcohol, perhaps it’s knowing that he won’t be seeing these guys next Monday.

“So… next rounds on me. Who’s in?” Chris attempts to diffuse the awkwardness, which earns a few curt nods from the table.

Leon holds you by the hand, picking you up from the seat. “Sorry Chris, we’re gonna call it. It’s been a long night. Thanks for the party, everyone.”

You two shuffle past Chris and Jill out of the booth, after a round of hugs with everyone, you can practically feel Leon sprinting out the bar.

“How ‘bout we continue where we left off at my place?”

Your cheeks turn a deeper red. It seems like he will be the one to take you home tonight instead.

thanks for reading! come check out my other works. ––yours truly, rose. tags: @carlosgf @sporeghost (pm me for tags) © roseglazedlens - please do not repost, plagiarise, or feed to ai.

[roseglazedlens]

⦑ 𝐛𝐨𝐛𝐚 𝐭𝐞𝐚 𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐞 ⦒✶.*

pairing(s): leon kennedy x gn! reader synopsis: leon tries bubble tea for the first time, much to his reluctance (he likes it!) content: fluff, established relationship, rebecca chambers & chris redfield mentioned. « 1.4 k words┇masterlist┇ao3┇reblogs appreciated! »

“How far is this place?” Leon lets out a heavy grunt, sight unbearable as the sharp sunrays glaring onto the scorching asphalt. Heat so nauseating it permeates through his clothing to form sweat at areas less desirable.

Leon would rather cuddle next to you at home right now, under the lulling breeze of the air conditioning. But you insisted– no matter the heat nor the distance, you must have your hands on this drink in this thickened fog of heat. It’s perplexing how you find space in your belly after such a hearty lunch today.

You loop both arms around his open elbow – propping up just for you to hold – as you flush your front onto his sides. Partial bribery, partial gratitude for joining you on this conquest despite the harsh weather conditions.

Leon lands his gaze on you – your lashes flutter, body fidget closer. There is no way he can deny you now. That you know and took full advantage of every single time. He groans in defeat, tilting his torso back as if to heave the weight of his well-satiated belly.

“What is this bubble tea? And why do you like it so much?” You call it a bubble tea, but he calls this concoction a monstrosity. Leon will never understand how one can make a drink already perfect imperfect?

“Oh, Leon. I’m about to show you a whole new world.” You spin your heels, skipping a little in the firm grip of his arms.

“I’m surprised you still have an appetite.” Leon’s tone sounds faintly like a jab.

“There’s always room for bubble tea.” He suspects you say this motto often with the way the words uttered so instantly.

Leon grumbles Rebecca’s name underneath his breath. Since you discovered it from Rebecca’s introduction, this supposed ‘habit’ soon evolved closer to an obsession. Replacing your usual coffee order with a tall plastic cup of milk tea. With how Rebecca sweetens her coffee, whatever she recommends can’t be good for you.

“I don’t think I want bubbles in my tea.” Leon tightens his lips.

“It’s not real bubbles, Lee.” You chuckle as you run your hands along his arms. “You’ll love it, trust me!”

Hand in hand with yours, Leon follows your footsteps into a slender laneway, shying away from rows of corporate office on the main street. Red lanterns hang high, adorn by banners of words you can’t read. You find familiar merchants chant a series of today’s sales across the street, hubbub of both young and old, nesting the air in this hidden away part of town. Even during a weekday, Chinatown is busy – endearingly so.

You approach a humble corner shop you often frequent. Walking up the front of the counter with one confident stride, only taking a step back at the realisation of your confused boyfriend.

Nudging at Leon’s elbow, you point at the signage that displays their extensive list of flavours, options and customisations. “Get the winter melon milk tea with extra boba.”

“Get your own.” He scoffs at your audacity.

“I want mango. But I also wanna try the winter melon tea.” You cling onto his arm, flushing your body onto his. Puffed cheeks, downturned eyebrows – you know he can’t say no. Leon can’t ever say no to you when you do that face.

“So I’m your experiment.” He sighs underneath his breath, but his countenance softens when he sees your toothy smile as the line moves forward. “What does winter melon taste like, anyway?”

“I dunno. That’s why you’re trying it for me.”

Before he can protest, it’s your turn to order. You face the register, shuffling out your membership card from your bag to beep it in front of the scanner.

“What would you two like to have?”

“One winter melon boba milk tea and one mango green tea...” Leon glances over the size options. “Medium, please.”

“Mini boba or standard boba?” The cashier fiddles with the system before them.

Leon pauses, contemplating out loud. “What does that mean?”

“What size boba do you want?” They repeat once more, gesturing to the list of toppings which puzzles him even more.

“Standard, thanks. Whatever it means.” A prompt nod, buttons are pressed. “Ice and sugar levels?”

“Standard everything.” Leon tries to sound calm, but the words escaped with a snapping edge.

Leon makes his payment, frustrated by the entire experience, but it all the more teases a giggle out of you to see the usual composed Leon fluster over ordering a simple drink. The barista calls out your number. You two occupy an empty table, drinks in hand.

The drink sits before Leon, black beads declining to the bottom, tall cup sealed with a plastic film – Leon has seen you do this a few times. He should know what to do. Leon lines the straw on top of the film, with a small burst, puncture the film through the pointy end. The other hand grips the cup a tad too firm, the impact splashing the tea from the puncture all over his hand.

Your laughter bursts at the sight – chuckling so hard that Leon is asking for napkins from the front counter, hands still a dripping mess. He hates you for it – just a little though – for not warning him.

“That went well.” He grumbles, wiping off the droplets from his fingers with the white napkin.

“It’s okay – I've been there, done that.” You repeat his motions, thrusting your straw in your drink with practiced ease before taking a generous sip. You rummage your phone out of your pocket, pointing the lens directly at him.

“What?” Leon fiddles with the straw, swirling the substance under his fingertips.

“Go on.” You tilt your head in encouragement. “Take a sip.”

“I can’t drink if you’re recording me like this.” He broods on the words slightly.

“Drink!” You demand out of impatience, waving your hands more exaggeratedly.

Leon gazes inside the straw, the thick pipe designed for easier travel of any toppings within. He is hesitant, especially with you watching intently at his every movement and reaction. He hopes you never send this video to Chris; Leon will never recover from the embarrassment if so.

“Here goes nothing.” With a deep breath, Leon sucks the liquid from the straw.

The liquid makes contact first: a blend of tea and sugary syrups complementing each other; the dew of wintermelon arousing a soft sweetness that is easy to consume and just as addictive. Flavourful, but not overwhelming so. Suddenly, something round and slimy enters his mouth through the pipe.

Leon winces, taken aback. Bites on it to find it chewy. Then swallows. Doesn’t taste like anything in particular.

“What are these made of?”

“Those are tapioca, it’s nice and chewy isn’t it?”

Leon nods, taking another sip, savouring the taste of all the flavours combined. With how invested he is sipping his drink, you can’t help but smile as the levels goes down steadily. He notices you staring.

“Do you… want to try?” He takes the straw out of his mouth, passing it over to you.

You light up, moving in so quickly it almost shove him aside. Sorry Leon, you should have known that your love for bubble tea is above your love for him.

“Is this what wintermelon tastes like? I love it!” You take a sip. Leon tries your drink, nodding in approval before moving your cup back to you. But you don’t, instead, with an almost guilty tone, said: “Do you wanna... swap?”

“Nice try – but no. You made your choice, stick with it.” Leon scoffs, removing his drink off your hands, which leads you to pout miserably.

After Leon's signal, you two leave the shop. Leon takes you to all the shops you want to visit – and you find your gaze trailing to his drink that is going down much faster than yours.

“So… what do you think about the tea?” You ask, hoping to get any kind of admittance on how this drink isn’t so bad after all.

“It’s okay… I don’t mind it.” Leon keeps his praise short, feigning playful stubbornness.

You see through him immediately, lighting up, before stealing another sip from his. “Back here again tomorrow?”

Leon’s lips upturned into a smile, but he lets you take another sip – which he will regret later, with how fast you’re consuming. His hand places gently on your head. Shaking his head in disbelief, fully aware that he is powerless against you – and you are likely to make a return trip together. Anything to make you happy.

“Get your self together, sugar addict.”

i was tempted to make reader chinese poc since i'm chinese myself, but didn't to make reader more relatable haha (missed opportunity tho)i'm sorry for making ur bf order at the counter (ordering bubble tea for the first time is so daunting) also! thank you @sporeghost for beta reading this & literally held my hand through a few sentences, especially 2nd last line, it's not mine!! thanks for reading! come check out my other works. ––yours truly, rose. tags: @valsthea @sporeghost @daydreamrot (pm me for tags)© roseglazedlens - please do not repost, plagiarise, or feed to ai.

[roseglazedlens]

⦑ seeking the light ⦒ ✧.*

NANAMI KENTO X FEM! READER SYNOPSIS: Nanami receives his final wish before passing, with you by his side in Kuantan, Malaysia. CONTENT: character death. SMUT MDNI. S2E18. hurt/comfort, unprotected p in v, oral (f! receiving), body worship (lots), missionary, slow sex, light choking, pet names (darling). briefly mentions haibara, gojo. A/N: nanami girlies, hope you guys are recovering (i am still struggling rn)... sending you all hugs and a care package. « 3.3 k words | masterlist | ao3 | reblogs appreciated! »

A body moves on its own accord in its nature to protect. For Nanami, it comes with a cost this time. Even now, at his final breath, even when his numbed, scorched body pleads otherwise, fractured beyond repairable, Nanami chooses someone else’s life over his. There isn’t a doubt about this choice in his mind. All this fighting, all this suffering, this sacrifice—it was for someone worthwhile. For a generation with bright futures ahead of them, not meant for battles like these.

Nanami doesn’t see his act as a virtuous gesture. After all, this is his job, and protecting children is his duty. Perhaps part of him thinks he a coward to stand compliantly and let Mahito end his life, taking the easy way out.

His only regret—not being able to say goodbye to you. Even when all that remains is a silver of consciousness, you are his last memory. He thinks about how you are praying and waiting for his safe return at home, hating himself for not being able to give you the simplest things in life.

“Nanamin…”

In his hazy mist, he hears Itadori’s voice. Lost of vigor, echoing through the isolated platform of Shibuya station with the two of them burrowed deep in this mess. Poor child, he’s about to cry. That’s not a good look on a young man like him.

“Itadori-kun… You’ve got it from here.”

His eyelids are forced to close as the pain becomes unbearable, embracing the cold blackness behind his eyes.

But in that darkness, Nanami isn’t alone.

Rays of light catches up to him, scorching the path ahead of him: burning, igniting, freeing. It illuminates a straight road that leads him into the end of darkness. Nanami had never seen this road in his life, but when he did just now, for some reason, an overwhelming urge makes him walk down this path.

As he tries to walk, something behind his ear cries out his name, asking him to close his eyes once more. Something in him obliges to do so.

.

..

…

“Kento?” Someone calls out.

There are sounds of children giggling away, adults conversing casually in another language accompanied by tunes from local street performances. And most prominently, Nanami hears the waves, rhythmically resonates when it crashes against the shore. He blinks open his eyes.

Light sharply enters his sight, wincing, shielding his face with a risen hand. A shadowed figure stands in front of his sight, slowly becoming apparent as his eyes adjust to the light.

And it’s you, clutching a smile on your face. Your hair catches sun streaks in beachy strands, cheeks sparkle with sand speckles that illuminates your face in some kind of holy light. The clouds, voices and shore freeze when you giggle in your own little world.

“Darling...?” He speaks hollowly as if this is just a memory, fearing that it is, that means it’s all over for real. “Where—am I?”

The world moves again, sounds beginning to rise up into murmured chatter, and his gaze raises in line with the horizon where the sky meets the sea, looking into the deep blue beyond.

“By the beach, sleepyhead. The book’s no good?” You giggle once more, but this time the world doesn’t stop with you.

Nanami has a finger prop up a page in an opened book. He finds himself wearing a tropical button up and pants sitting on an inflatable chair with sand between his toes. “I guess not.”

He doesn’t remember when he got here or how he got here. But Nanami knows exactly where this place is. A famous beach in the east coast of Kuantan, Malaysia—Teluk Cempedak. He saw this view on a magazine once and told himself he would travel here on his day off. That was two years ago. So this is what it looks like in person?

“Did I sleep for long?” He asks.

“Long enough for me to get the both of us something to eat.” You say as you pass an ice cream cone to him. He turns to grab it, and when he does, Nanami’s neck snaps to the seat next to him. A monkey sits comfortably by his side with its grin stretched wide, surprising him so much he drops the ice cream onto the hot sand.

Nanami hears a few tiny click of shutters as both the monkey and you giggle in unison. The camera lens point directly at him.

“You got me. Very funny now.” Nanami sighs, but behind that irritated frown, there is a smile that he reserves only in your presence.

On cue, the monkey reaches over you as you try to enjoy your ice cream, snatches it off your hands, and escapes across the beach.

The two of you stand in shock for a moment, staring at each other, before bursting into quiet smirks and giggles. When the laughter subsides, Nanami brings you close, landing a kiss on your soft lips. He sees his own reflection in the glaze of your eyes, and he realises he haven’t seen himself so carefree in a long time, especially not since he went to Shibuya.

“So, does that mean you won’t make me delete the photos?”

“Since I’m in a good mood, I’ll let you keep it this time.” He says, then corrects himself as you light up. “As long as Gojo doesn’t get his hands on it.”

“What’s he going to do with a picture or two?” You play with your phone, nervously fumbling the screen.

“Knowing that guy, blackmail. Probably.”

“Well… please don’t get mad at me.”

That is when something dings in his pocket consecutively. He reaches for his phone, and he sees the name Gojo Satoru on his screen, spamming rows of laughing emojis.

“I’m sorry! Gojo already saved it. I can’t unsend it anymore.” You whisper, retreating with your head hang low.

Nanami sighs again, but this time with forgiveness. It doesn’t matter to Nanami anyway. Small things doesn’t matter when he’s with you. He kisses your lips to reassure you. “That’s okay. You’re okay. I’m not really upset.”

And it is at this moment, you can hear a roar of music in the background. Some local nostalgic tune, even if he had never heard this song before. Nanami’s feet taps to the beat of rhythm, and an idea surfaces in his head.

“My lady.” He stands to lean his torso into you, mesmerizingly gentleman. “May I have this dance?”

You hesitate at first, an onslaught of eyes staring at his bold gesture in the middle of a fairly crowded beach. Nanami looks up at you, his drooping eyelids and focused gaze only makes him ever the more persuasive. His charms can’t be denied. Reluctantly, you reach for his hand.

Nanami immediately pulls you in to a dance. Jiving through the sand forming love trails with your bare feet, letting the humid wind sweep and sway through the air. He spins you with a raised hand, and when you do, you notice the many pair of eyes on you, momentarily embarrassed.

“They’re watching, Kento…” You whisper.

“Let them watch.” He whispers back into your ear.

It starts with lively children weaving through the crowd to find the lone couple dancing. They punch their fists clumsily in the air, people cheering and awwing, and suddenly, more people joins, forming a circle. Dancing without any concern of the world. A conga line forms, and the crowd livens in cheers and chants when the two of you leaves the dance circle.

“Look what you’ve done.” You say.

“You know I am only charming when I’m not at work.”

He picks up his phone, finding almost ten texts from Gojo with his face Photoshopped in different memes. You laugh at some of them, even though Nanami seem annoyed. He powers down his phone before you get to see more, in case it gives you any ideas.  

“That’s it. No more work texts on vacation. This trip is about us, and I’ll make sure you have a great time.”

And so he did. He took you to the best curry mee in town, and you had a sip of your teh tarik while overlooking onto the tide. He teases you with a tired loving smile over how you gawk at your food as you eat the kampung delicacies. Something you two would never have eaten in Japan, or Denmark, when he brings you home to meet his grandfather—and shows you that he intends to marry you.

But that’s not just all of his plans. Kuantan has much bigger delights than just the countryside; you took a taxi to all these places that Nanami briefly saw in a magazine. He tries painting batiks (and finds out it’s harder than it looks), walking and admiring local vendors, shop displays until it’s time for dinner again and you had the loveliest Nyonya style seafood that fuses between two cultures.

As the sun sets, there is one final spot Nanami wants to take you. You see the big Kuantan sign as you take a high speed elevator all the way to the top of the Skydeck. And it’s just you and him alone in the breeze of the night, watching streets light up with traffic, illuminating into the same horizon as before.

“Thank you for making my last day memorable.” He speaks into the deep dark sky, not a moon or star in sight.

And at that moment, you know he realises that none of this is real. That his body—or whatever’s left of it—is still back at Shibuya. But for whatever reason, even when he knows he’s already dead, Nanami is smiling. His blond hair reminds you of the moon hanging high in the sky, shining brighter than any spark of light on the streets.

“Mm-hm.” You reply, no other words needed.

Nanami’s arms come around your waist, pulling you close to him, until your bodies connect as one. He leans his head on top of yours, and breathes in your scent, your bashful reciprocation, and all of you that he will most definitely miss.

“Hey.” Nanami says, barely louder than a cricket. “I have one last request.”

“Yeah?”

“I want to taste you one last time.”

The two of you scramble through the linoleum flooring, giggling through the hotel lobby as you share private jokes between each other without a care for the world. Passerbys wonder: ‘I wonder if they’re on a honeymoon’. And it doesn’t matter if it’s the beginning or many nights, or the end of them, your love for each other remains just as passionate.

When Nanami touches the key pass against his door, you try to push him in while he’s distracted, but he smirks at your boldness, but ultimately he turns you around to kiss you instead. He likes how you try even if it always ends with him turning the tables on you, kissing you while his whole body pins you against the hard wall.

He kisses you with the same fervour as he did the first night you spent together in the bedroom, and even after many years together, that doesn’t change.

Nanami helps you out of your clothes, one article at a time, savouring the look of you with each piece undressed, until you lay stark naked in front of him. He removes his glasses to place them against a bedside table, then he gets to work.

Guiding you to plop your hips onto the edge of the bed, Nanami positions himself on his knees to face you. He nudges your legs to open first, and he can’t help but fall in love again with how beautiful you look down there. His instinct is to put your bud in his mouth, and a cold rush of shiver frights you on your lower body. Your fingers curl slightly in reaction to his forwardness.

“Sorry to keep you waiting. I’ll make it up to you, I promise.” Nanami smirks, kissing on your clit a few more times before his tongue peeks out, tasting at your delicate bud. He does that for a few minutes, varying the intensity and speed to edge you until it fizzes your lower body. Occasionally, if he thinks you sound cute, he’ll impress you by pressing down his tongue on your clit that makes your fingers curl and uncurl over and over. “You like this?” Nanami asks innocently.

Oh, he knows that you do. But of course, Nanami likes hearing you confess his charms from your own mouth.

“Kento…” You lower your voice. “I love everything you do. That goes without saying.”  

He hums, satisfied by your obedience.

“Now do th-that thing you always d-do, please…”

“As you wish, darling.”

Nanami loves to satisfy you, loves to obey you and make him yours. He takes your bud in his mouth, his tongue inside, circling along your clit while his middle finger dips in your wet coated slit. Long finger curls to meet your g-spot with ease, moving only his last knuckle on his hand so he can repeatedly rap at your sensitive spot until your whole body feels drowned in your own pleasure.

“Oh god…”

His tongue darts out in quick succession, letting the needy bud smack against the tip of his tongue until it grows swollen and sensitive to the touch. Nanami wonders if you are enjoying yourself until he hears a weak noise, back arching, cunt pulsing as the pleasure lightly tips you off the edge like a gentle ripple.

“H-Hey, that’s enough.” You say through huffed breaths.

“Five more minutes.” Nanami says, his breath just as uneasy.

You hesitate. “One.”

“Fine by me.”

Every passing of his tongue on you can’t seem to satiate him, he laps at your taste over and over again. Until foams of saliva bubble over your wet clit and you are soaking under his finger. His chin coats wet with you, with how delicious you are, but he doesn’t mind one bit of the mess. Taking his time is his priority.

“Nnh.” Just like he promised, almost sixty seconds later, he parts himself away through a throaty huff, withdrawing himself to lick his lips clean and wiping streaks of drool from his face with the back of his wrist.

Nanami moves in quickly for another kiss on your lips, and you respond with equal enthusiasm. He shuffles you backwards to accommodate him to enter the bed, lips bound together through the awkward motions. Naturally, you prop your legs on top of his thighs, and you feel his length taking advantage of you without obstructions, closing the distance until his tip meets you at your entrance.

He guides your torso flat against the bed through the firm pad of his palm, pressing them up form your pelvis all the way to your belly, your chest, your collarbone…

He stops moving. “How hard do you want it this time?”

“Hard.”

“As you wish, my darling.”

His left hand continues upwards to find your neck, curling around the circumference of your neck. Some pressure is applied, and you roll your eyes back. Gentle at first, until you’re comfortable with his hand, he settles his tip inside of you. Quiet grunts leave his body as he puts you in missionary, overcome by the need to probe at you further until he feels all of himself buried.

But he restrains, for your sake. Nanami knows, with his size, bottoming out in one go only hurts you more. So he takes his time when he does so, easing himself in and fucks you with the intent to make eternal love, letting him continue this dreamlike state that will soon come to an end.

“You’re gorgeous…” He grunts, simply gazing at you, into your heart and into your soul. You do the same, admiring all his worn-out features relax like creased fabric undoing in the presence of you.

Nanami blinks away a watery glimmer between the speckles of his eyes, hoping you didn’t see it even though you did, and moves again.

Throughout the whole time, he only wants to stare at you, think of you through the burning sensation in his body that continues to remind him his time is almost up. But that doesn’t deter him, in fact, it only makes him want to take as long as the both of you need with no urge to climax hastily.

Each part of this is an experience, one final pleasure before the curse of reality hits them. You, in front of him, probably isn’t real. But it feels so real. It feels like Nanami has been granted his final wish. You, and this lovely scenery.

Soft, sensual pulses throb below you in a flowing state, crashing like the low tide on the evening beach, just like the view outside your fancy hotel window. Until the orgasm comes, in due time, through the labour of his efforts. How Nanami comes down to kiss you in gratitude as come spills inside of you, and the both of you grin into the kiss.

As you snuggle under the sheets next to Nanami, he brings his arm around your belly, grazing, pressing, worshipping—that this is the last time his hands will feel the warm plush again.

“I don’t want this night to over.” You mumble weakly.

He pulls you in with a hand that weighs a thousand of thoughts in his mind.

“I know, darling. I know.”

He sees himself in your eyes for the final time. Looking through the clearness, Nanami’s real body, burned and bruised on one half. Yet you still look at him with eyes that would stay by his side forever.

But this is not your time yet.

You blink back the tears, a rainfall along your cheek. He brushes it away with a look of yearning.

“Promise me you’ll have a good life, darling.”

You nod, unable to say anything else, knowing the tears will return if you do. Between you two, no words are needed. He can read you, and you can read him without any words uttered. Reaching for his jaw at first, you graze your fingers along Nanami’s cheek, and rests his eyes to a close. He mouths something inaudibly in his sleep before he departs.

You do the same, but he can’t see you.

...

..

.

Nanami opens his eyes in the middle of nowhere. He fell asleep at a bus stop sitting afloat above the sea’s surface. He sees now, the same path as before, ablaze above the sea levels, leading into the horizon where the sun falls into evening glory. At the start of the road, stands a figure.

Yooo, Nanamin. There you are!

The blinding lights on the path dims when the figure takes big, energised strides towards Nanami. Upon closer inspection, it’s a man in uniform. He has a distinct lean of someone he used to know a long time ago.

“Haibara?” Nanami asks.

Long time no see, bud. You don’t have to suffer anymore.

What is this feeling? Overwhelming pain, or relief when meeting a long, lost friend? There is so much Nanami wants to say he doesn’t know where to begin.

That he should have been stronger ten years ago, should have rescued Haibara in a battle beyond both their abilities even though he was just a kid. How he spent the rest of his life repenting, dedicating himself to protect the children who didn’t deserve to be in war. How he tried and failed and made it here…

… but none of that matters anymore after death.

Nanami jumps into his arms, bringing Haibara into his tight embrace. He hugs back. Nanami closes his eyes when he feels a sting behind his cheeks, then opens it again with newfound determination. Haibara bellows a laugh, pointing at Nanami’s reddened eyes which he fails to rub away.

Let’s head on to the other side, shall we?

Nanami nods. And they walk forward, side by side, towards the end of the path. He knows it’s all going to be all okay.

thanks for reading! come check out my other works. —yours truly, rose. ITINERARY: > Teluk Cempedak > Lunch (Hoi Yin Restaurant) > Dessert (Kula Cakes - not mentioned) > Natural Batik Village (batik painting) > Kuantan 188 Skydeck taglist (open): @valsthea @kennedyswhore @emilzke @daydreamrot @navstuffs @j3llyd0nut @ovaryacted © roseglazedlens — please do not repost, plagiarise, or use in ai & other machine learning programs.

[roseglazedlens]

⦑ 𝗻𝗲𝗲𝗱 𝗮 𝗵𝗮𝗻𝗱? ⦒ ✶.*

pairing(s): ethan winters x afab gn reader synopsis: ethan can't sleep again. as his doting partner, you reach under the sheets, giving him temporary solace to his nightmares at the village. content: smut 18+ only mdni, soft dom ethan, hand & finger kink, sensual, oral (m! receiving), deepthroat, finger fucking, body worship, pet names, hurt/comfort, events in re8, mentions of trauma, nightmares, scars, stitches & prosthetics. a/n 2: please check out my friend @emilzke's ethan winters x reader work called 'rebuilding' which i absolutely love (she got shadowba-nned so give her some love thanks!) a/n: belated birthday gift to @obsolescent, one of my favourite people on this app! sorry this took so long! ! even if its not your bday anymore, hope you still had a good night lovely! enjoy! also inspired by this art of ethan. « 2.2 k words┇masterlist┇ao3┇reblogs appreciated! »

It all started from a little small talk, quiet reassurances of ‘how was your day’ shared intimately under the privacy of the moonlight and each other’s eyes until both of you drift into slumber. The bed, in which you rest together when night falls. Two bedside tables, lived in, and for a moment, a sense of normality has returned.

Ethan was restless in his sleep—a side effect from full-day’s work of software debugs and upgrades that he maintains on the daily. Or perhaps, something more. Something that happened in the village that he spends every minute trying to forget. And despite the passing of seasons, the memory lingers like persistent heat.

His hand fidgets under the covers, shifting fingers up and down in desperation to find yours, as if you might disappear, kidnapped by the shadows of his nightmares and he’s back there again, finding missing flasks, patching you together piece by piece like a detached puzzle. But what he’s actually looking for are parts of himself, that seem to still sit underneath the crumble and debris of the buried village.

“R-Ro…” Ethan’s voice hitches out—frantic, weak.

Through muffled strings of your sleepy breath, you rummage under the sheets to find his hand.

“My dear… It’s me. I’m here.” You turn around to lean into the column between his neck and shoulders, made perfect for you. The moment your hands meet, Ethan clasps them tightly, before relieving, loosening in your reassurance. “You’re okay now. Rose is okay.”

Ethan’s eyes open lightly and just like you promised, Rose is in the cot by your side, gentle baby's breath floating through the air. He brings you closer to his chest, just to nestle into your warmth as he peppers kisses on the crown of your head.

“Did you sleep?” You coo, hands running up his naked torso just to feel them against you.

“A little. I’ll go back to sleep soon. Just need a second.” His chest heaves in front of you, and from what you know about Ethan, his quickened heartbeat will only take a while for him to calm down.

You look up to see him, and find that his eyes are wide awake, simply staring at the ceiling, as if counting sheep to hypnotise him back to sleep. Through lidded eyes, Ethan sees you; and smiles at how you look. His hands move unthinkingly, bringing them to your face before he even realises he’s caressing it, sending a gentle shiver of warmth through your spine.

“Ah.” Ethan puts his hand in the air to stop him, chuckling bashfully. “Sorry for keeping you up. Get some sleep. You have work tomorrow.”

“I’m awake now.” You grumble, catching his hand in the air back to your face, like a toy stolen from a child. You press his hand on your cheek, keeping him there, which Ethan has no problems with.

His hands are different now, you thought as you run your fingers down his hand, feeling every stitch, bump, and rough texture that ran along the back of his palms before hitting you with the cold knuckle of his metal prosthetic fingers along where his ring and pinky finger should have been.

What used to be the compliment getter for Ethan, through the bruise and burns had lost its natural shine, not even his superhuman healing speed is immune to the scars. But to you, the rugginess simply enhances his beauty. Stitches tracing like a map to a treasure, red patches of scar like cherry kisses gracing along the soft plush of his palms. You love it all.

Those are proof of Ethan's survival—That was all you wanted. To hear and feel his presence in the mundane. Side by side with the man you love. But to him, he lost something that day. A part of his soul ripped apart, still underneath the crumble and debris of that buried village.

“Do you need help sleeping?” Your half-lidded eyes can’t obscure your devilish glint in your eyes, hand rustling underneath the sheet, obscure him from the view of what you’re about to do to him. His eyes meet yours, staring right back in disbelief, but simultaneously unable to resist what you have to offer for him in this quiet night.

“Now?” He seems to be genuinely considering the idea. “What if Rose wakes up?”

“She won't if you keep quiet.” You bring his hand to your lips to pepper kisses on his hands, slowing as you’re licking the length of each finger. The pain goes away, replaced by lust, but only ever so slightly.

“Can you do that for me?” You pause, waiting for his answer, and he nods surely. “Good boy.”

Wasting no time to help to get comfortable, you dive your head under the covers just to resurface as a lump under the sheet. Ethan clears his throat in anticipation as you tuck your fingers into boxers, removing just enough for his cock to spring up and meet you in the face.

You run your tongue at the tip of his crest, swirling in small circles to tease his precum out of him, in which he squirms, pushing in his legs slightly before relaxing. It was difficult to see where you are in the darkness of the sheets, but you make do, finding where his crest meets his shaft and following it down the rest of his dick to find the prominent vein on the underside of his cock.

When his cock is wet enough to your liking, you meet his tip with the soft seam of your lips, taking his length inch and inch at a time as you tongue around his hardening cock. A low grunt escapes his lips, and you can hear his thoughts fading him as you play with him some more.

He places his hand on your head, blood surging down his body, not quite wanting to hurt you, or accidentally snag on your hair to make it painful.

That’s who your husband is, even when he’s enjoying, he would never want to hurt you. Or at least tries not to.

“O-Oh... m’ god, so fuckin’ goo- Nnh.” That is your cue to move in deeper, hopefully to catch him between words and leave him hitching his breath as you finish him under your nose. Your tongue clashes against his dick that only fills your mouth, eventually leaving no room for your tongue to explore him. The bobs of your head become more messy and difficult, and his whimpers only make you even more excited.

“L-Let m’ see you, babe.” Ethan stifles the words out, lifting the covers up, and you’re embraced by the light of the bedside lamp. A glimpse of Ethan’s silhouette and his round beady eyes staring right into your position that exposes you and the hunger you have for him.

With you now able to see, you catch how his eyes snap shut, brows twist in, feeling every single pulse climbing through his body. His hand that rests on your head grows tighter, one that is neither rough or gentle, just a reassurance and consolance of what you are going through. You feel yourself pooling from how lewd it all sounds.

“Fuck, how did I get married to someone like you?” Ethan whines, bumping his head into the headboard behind with a light thump, but he doesn’t care. You are right in front of him, and he’s taking in the sight of you in with every glimpse of attention he can offer.

The tip of the dick is at the back of your throat. Only now you feel the gag reflex—but you shut your eyes tightly, holding in a little longer until the feeling surely goes away. This is when you feel his hips jerk up against you, thighs widening to welcome you as he whimpers bitten pieces of your name until his spine shakes from the fervour of affection you have been pouring into him.

“G-Get off… I’m fuckin’ gon-gonna…” Ethan’s raspy groan erupts through the room, melodious to you, as his hand struggles to push you off, made weak for any movement from how your skilled lips have treated him.

Ethan falls back to the sheets, with one final grunt, unloads himself directly onto your tongue. And you accept, letting your sore jawline hang wide to receive the fruits of your labour. His hand untenses from your head, abandon to the side of him in order to recollect his thoughts.

You reach over the bedside table to retrieve the tissue box in order to spit out his cum for disposal. You roll back to your side of the bed, checking at Rose's slumber, and when you did you bring the sheets upwards, preparing for your sleep.

“Good night, Ethan.” Are your final words creeping a yawn before turning the lamp off.

Ethan pauses to catch his breath for a moment, then wraps his hands around you, coaxing warm kisses into your neck: “How’d you expect I sleep without tasting you first?”

“I’m on morning shift tomorrow. Need my eight hours.”

“You sure?” There it was. That sweet voice lined with a hint of mischievous tone. The one you can’t resist.

“I’m very sure.” You don’t hesitate, because you know it will give yourself an opening.

He runs his hand up your belly, slightly exposed from your lifted shirt, pressing strokes that almost feels like a massage. Ethan seems to know where to touch you every time to untense you. “By the time I’m done, you’ll sleep like a baby.”

You can be convinced. You can be convinced very much. Especially with how he reaches down to tease you, and knows how your body betrays mind, with how you have wet a patch in your underwear.

“Not very honest, aren’t you?” Ethan lets out an amused grin, as if returning the favour of what you’ve done to him at his barely awake state. “You’ll still get your eight hours. I’ll make you come in five minutes. Guarantee it.”

You roll your eyes and wave at him to go ahead, but secretly, your clit is pulsing at his forwardness, increasingly eager to let him please you. In which Ethan helps himself, running a teasing finger up the length of your cunt just to stop at your clit, swirling lazy circles which only earn a groan from you that Ethan has been desperate to hear all night.

“Etha-an… Hnng… B-Babe…” The feeling run into your veins, growing in need, knotting itself low in your stomach. He delivers as he promises with only his nimble fingers, through slick and slurp, explores the depths of you, finding the spot you desire with skilful ease. You let out a soft moan, closing your eyes to feel him filling you with his fingers alone, and encourages him to continue.

He spreads you, adding his second finger now, the cold metal of his ring finger, lacing them on the length of your cunt with practiced ease. The contrast between cold and warm only excites you more. Ethan dotes on your sweet voice, slipping the two curled fingers in and out through a perfect angle that pushes a muffled groan between clenched teeth.

“God, baby.” He takes that as a sign to continue faster and harder, jamming his fingers until the sound of your slick permeates the air, every muscle clenching at him. “You like it when my finger fucks you, huh?”

You let the sensation continue, allow yourself to completely give away control to the man you love. Let him take care of you, like you always do to him. Ethan is merely returning the favour. A slight pain enters through his sensitive finger that still aches from a past wound, in which he winces, and you catch on almost immediately.

“Y-Your hand…”

“Shh… Just be quiet and feel good.” He smiles, not intending to stop anytime soon. Ethan quickens his pace, before you start squeezing into his fingers, demanding urgency, speed through how your thighs close in, as if that would allow more friction on your naked skin.

You open your eyes now, and all you see is sincerity in his eyes, fixed upon you this whole time to make sure you are indeed enjoying what he’s doing to you. And somehow, that is the one action that tips you over the edge, rippling high moans through the back of your throat as you chase your own high directly between his fingers.

“Wow.” Ethan whistles, a bemused grin hanging by his lips as he feels your juices release, spilling on his fingers. “You came so much.”

Ethan brings his fingers up his lips, admiring his handiwork, dripped in your sweet juices, before putting them into his mouth. He runs his tongue around the sides of his slender fingers, savouring every part of his reward.

“Heh. Told you I just need five minutes.”

“That was ten minutes, Mr. Winters.”

“Maybe I can beat my record?” Ethan winks, quite terribly, frankly, and despite how his silly charms would normally convince you, this time, you are functioning with five hours of sleep.

“Don’t even try, Ethan.” He shrugs, slightly defeated, as he joins you into the cosy embrace of your shared bed.

...

“In the morning?”

“Are you serious right now, Ethan?”

thanks for reading! come check out my other works. —yours truly, rose. god i'm so feral for him, every night i'm plagued by the thoughts of ethan cradling me to sleep and whispering into my ear (yes this is a marriage proposal). tags: @valsthea @httpsuguru @emilzke @daydreamrot @navstuffs @j3llyd0nut @ovaryacted @obsolescent © roseglazedlens — please do not repost, plagiarise, or feed to ai.

[roseglazedlens]

⦑ spoiled girl ⦒✶.*

requested by anonymous pairing(s): leon kennedy x f!reader synopsis: after the lost of your non-biological father, you find a way to come to terms with your grief with your stepbrother in the most unexpected ways. content: smut 18+ only mdni, stepcest, leon & reader are adopted, hurt/comfort, found family(?), grief smut, family member death, unprotected p in v, mating press, oral (f! receiving), praise kink, degradation kink, mentions of death, childhood trauma « 1.6 k words┇ao3 ┇masterlist┇reblogs appreciated! »

That man was never Leon’s blood father, but he was as close to one could be. Both just as stubborn, protective. Apprehensive at first, Leon found new comfort in calling this man ‘dad’, a word so foreign it spat off his tongue when he uttered it for the first time in sixteen years.

Leon first met you on the summer of ’95. You were antsy, untrusting, straight out of the orphanage. He recognised the signs - how your fingers tap restlessly against your thigh, eyes averted - you reminded him of his younger self. He didn't care if you two weren't bound by blood, instead, took it upon him to care for you like a real sibling he never had.

Sometimes, feeling beyond that with the wildfire looks exchanged through the hallways of your shared living quarters. Granted, none of those emotions will survive to daylight.

That is until your father passed away in a car accident five years later, he drew breath to his final words – “Take care of your sister, son.” Which will grow to be the latest memory Leon will remember of him.

Screeches echo the entrance as Leon opens the front door, embraced by a gust of cool air, chilling to the spine, into the hallway of darkness. You expect to hear the usual rattle of cookware and a distant hum of Billy Joel, but only the mutters of toneless eulogies ring in your head.

“I’m going to my room.” You murmur. Leon doesn’t say anything as you surrender yourself to the hollow in your room.

The door shuts behind you, piercing through the silence that once filled with countless occurrences of laughter and jest. Leon observes the sofa in the living space, one that he often finds his dad sitting on to watch a game. He picks up the throw, relieved to smell lingers of his dad's scent on them.

Maybe you'll appreciate it. He picks it up, folding the corners neatly together, as if the gesture alone can preserve the scent within. He grabs a box of tissues too, you’ll probably need it.

“Hey.” Leon knocks on your door.

“Go away.” You sniffle.

“I’ve brought you something.” You didn’t say anything, which is a signal, as he had learnt through the years, for him to come in.

Leon finds your figure sitting at the edge of the bed, a photograph of the three of them burying into your face, the tears dripping along the metallic frame onto your black pencil skirt, one you haven’t worn since your first job interview.

“How are you doing?” Leon positions himself right next to you, one hand extending the tissue box slightly to you.

You appreciate the gesture, instantly snatching a few strips to wipe the tears on your face and blow your nose deeply into the tissue.

“I… I already miss him, Leon.” You choke through the words, feeling another sting in your eye. The throw is draped in front of you, and you can't stop remembering how much your father means to you.

Leon almost didn’t know what to say. “Me too.”

“I don't want to be alone again.” Another sniffle threaten to escape.

“You won't. You still have me.” In an effort to comfort you, he slides his hand on your back, rubbing small circles at your centre.

Your hands fly underneath his arms, tears drenching over his tailored black suit, one that snugs around his figure. Leon hasn’t cried once ever since the orphanage, but today, he almost did. He runs his hand into weaves of your hair, massaging your scalp slightly as he pulls you closer into his embrace.

A sigh left your throat, almost a bit content. Pleasured. Leon catches your breath on his shirt, and his breath hitches ever so slightly. Leon parts with your embrace just a tad, just enough until your eyes meet. The smell of your childhood bedroom runs into his nose like juicy steak dangling right in front of his lion’s claw – he was so close to have it all.

“I’m sorry…” Leon cups your face, tilting his closer to you.

He runs his lips to yours, breaking the spell that has been keeping him away this entire time. Your lips twitch in resistance for a brief second, before losing control into the softness of his lips. Gently, he pushes you down till your frame meets the soft mattress as he plants his palms on each side of your face.

“We don’t have to do this…” His lids are hooded, cautious words contradicting the burning desire hiding behind the hardness pressing onto you. Leon tries to pull away from you out of conscience, but it has become impossible looking at how obedient you are underneath him.

“I can't say I don't want this...” Your hands come up to feel the mole next to his adam's apple. “You've always been more than just a brother to me.”

Leon kisses you on the forehead, this time with endearment. “I’ll be gentle, don’t worry.”

You nod, stifling a chuckle between your covered mouth. The kisses grow hungrier, more erratic. His hands start running down the zip on your skirt, pulling it down just slightly. Leon's fingers slither into your underwear, grazing lightly against the tiny bud that pulses slightly upon touch. A moan gasps at the back of your throat as he circles it gently, feeling you throb through your clit. Your thighs jolt together for a second, then relaxes, widening your stance for easier access. Leon runs a hand along your slit, collecting the juices onto the pad of his finger, bringing it up to his lips for a taste of that nectar.

“God, I didn’t know my sister is so spoiled.” He whistles, pulling your legs up his shoulders, basking in the wetness between your thighs.

Leon preps his cleaned fingers for another entry. With a skilled movement, he presses his thumb against your clit, index finger teasing at your entrance as he feels around your folds.

Your breath hitches at the impact, composure falling apart and melting into a puddle of your own pleasure. Leon parts his lips and land them right in front of your bud, exchanging places with his fingers. He breathes onto it lightly, triggering a tickle sensation that lets out a giggle in you before he takes in all of it in his mouth. Suckling on them. His fingers resume, moving in between your folds, thrusting his digits into you.

Your moans turn into a strangled pant, crying his name out loud, chasing the high that he instils into you. Leon watches you through the whole thing. When he sees your movement starts uncontrollable twitch, he releases your bub with a wet pop.

He moves his face lower, putting his tongue inside of you, thrusting and licking your sweet juices until you almost unravel on his tongue. Before he suddenly takes his tongue off you, his finger still pressing firmly in your pulsing clit. You whined out, clenching to nothing.

“L-Leon… Let me c-come…”

“Wait for me, baby. I want us to come together.” He kisses your inner thigh to as if to apologise before Leon removes his shirt revealing his chiselled body. He gets his pants undone and let it fall onto his knees. He wrings out of them awkwardly, tossing to the side of the bed.

You see his cock for the first time, looming in front of you. The crest of his cock slightly bulged in pink, tip drooling to enter you.

“Be a good girl for me and lift your legs up for me, won't you?” Leon curls his hand around his cock, fisting it a few times. You can't take your eyes off him as you lift your bottom upwards. He nods in gratitude as he hooks your knees across his shoulders, pressing you down so slightly until your knees almost touch your jaw.

You squirm involuntarily, a light gasp left your mouth as he lines himself up against you. You buck your hips closer, getting impatient. His breath turns heavy before thrusting himself into you.

You use this opportunity to lock his waist with your ankles, securing him just enough for his movements to become strained. The curse that left Leon’s mouth was almost carnal. He buries himself into you, elbows losing balance for a second and falls onto the mattress before he picks himself back up. Your thighs start to quiver under him, a welling of emotions chasing the high of your euphoria. His dick twitches, groans turning into desperate whimpers. He pulls himself out of you, shooting strings of white onto your sheets as he pants in relief.

“Where did you learn how to do all that?” Leon rolls right next to you, asking with a heaved breath.

“You know I’m already twenty-four, right?” You chuckle. “I’ve had some experience.”

“You’re already twenty-four?” He releases a heavy breath, mentally counting the years. “I would’ve graduated high school seven years ago… Man, I'm getting old.”

“Shut up, you’re just a year older than me.” You run your fingers to the soft of his waist, tickling him in the spot you know he’s sensitive to.

Leon guards his sides defensively, hands held in yours to stop you. You chuckle at his reaction, but he holds your hand firmly this time. His eyelids hood the cerulean of his eyes, gaze fixed upon you like wildfire meets turbulent waves.

“I’ll take care of you. Whatever it takes. Always.”

Leon’s hand grip onto yours, a bit firmer. You let a grin tug your cheek, and lunge to hug him.

He intends to keep every bit of this promise.

i've never thought ab stepcest in this way, until this kind anon asked me to write this. ngl i wasn't sure how to approach this at first - but i think i did my best? ik stepcest can be kinda controversial, i just enjoy writing angst in all forms lol thanks for reading! come check out my other works. ––yours truly, rose. tags: @carlosgf @sporeghost (pm me for tags) © roseglazedlens - please do not repost, plagiarise, or feed to ai.

[roseglazedlens]

⦑ a night away ⦒✶.* prequel to a kiss away, and how it all happened.

requsted by anonymous (ask at the end) pairing(s): leon kennedy x gn!reader | friends to lovers synopsis: heartbroken, you find yourself back at the bar, unsure if love is meant for you. leon wants you, so badly, but he restrains himself (unsuccessfully) thinking someone else is better suited for you, someone that is not him. content: suggestive imagery, one kiss, one excited leon, hurt/comfort, mutual pining, mentions of alcohol, addiction, oral (m! receiving), death special thanks to @sporeghost, for the beta, for being a sweetheart of a friend, and for his drop dead gorgeous writing. « 2.1 k words┇masterlist┇ao3┇reblogs appreciated! »

Loving is easy. To be loved is difficult.

It’s easy to love perfection after all. You might not be perfect, like no one is, but you’re damn close to it. But Leon? He thinks his soul is fractured – by the blood in his hands, by the poison he consumes, eternally cursed by the perpetual guilt of living.

Your smile is crooked – full-teeth, gum-showing. Yet you smile like the sun after a weeping rain, a smile that outshines the worst every single time. Your steps summon life underneath you, summon life within him. You are blinding, bestowing your shine to all, up and high, beyond reach.

If he tells you his feelings, will you find happiness with him? Or will you follow him into the dark, and never see the light again?

You look best in the sunlight. Not six feet under, decaying in his own pain and darkness. Peeping at your glow is more than enough for Leon. He isn’t worried about heartbreak at all, because heartbreak with you is healing. That’s the kind of effect you have.

So you can imagine his worry when he hears your voice slurring through the phone, almost inaudible against the bass-heavy party music in the background. Leon doesn’t know where you are, or what you are doing, but he wants you safe. Needs it.

Thankfully, it doesn’t take long to find you at a bar three blocks away from your apartment. You don’t normally go to bars, that he knows and appreciates. He’s well acquainted with the aftereffects of alcohol.

Leon evades the crowd, manoeuvring through the waves of hazy drunks, cigarettes in one hand, clinking glasses in another. They don’t know how intoxicating it all smells, how deep one can possibly fall into the bottomless pit of a martini glass. Perhaps they know. Or don’t care. After all, they came to escape too, just like you.

He finds your lone silhouette slouch into the bar table, a full glass and empty bottle next to you. Leon didn’t recognise you at first.

“Didn’t expect to see you in a place like this.” Leon picks a bar stool closest to you and takes a seat.

“Leon…?” Your eyelids weigh you down. “H-How did you...”

You don’t look at him, instead readjusting yourself just slightly to bury your face in your palms. Guilty, and you know it.

“Don’t talk.”

Leon rests his hand on your forehead, feeling your temperature burn lightly against his hand. While he has you there, he signals the bartender for a glass of water. You remind him of himself two years ago, deep into a bottle before midday.

You try to reach for your drink, but Leon moves the glass away. Replacing it with the iced water served to you. “Drink this.”

Leon watches you take in a big gulp. Your eyes blink open aggressively, regaining a bit of conscious since Leon arrived.

“Better?”

“Better.” You heartbeat slows by a fraction, voice clearer now, but your surroundings are still spinning. Leon waits for you to finish your next swig before talking.

“What happened?” Leon offers you his kindness, lacing with an undertone of concern. You plant your face into your drink. “You can tell me.”

“H-He…” Your tears well up, and his heart breaks at the sight. “He b-broke up with me, Leon. Over text too. I tried calling him, but I keep reaching voicemail. Did the four months meant nothing to him?”

That sucker you met on a dating app. Leon can’t recall his name, that’s how much he hates the guy. Promising you the world, delivering all but crap.

A man who hurts you like this isn’t a man. Just a child. It’s been three times since he watches your heart broken with fake proclamations of love by one of these men. Leon knows he can kiss you better, love you better, make love to you better than any other man on this world. Anything you want, he can do it better. Except that he can’t.

You are the light he doesn’t deserve, the light he depends on.

“Fuck ‘em. He doesn’t deserve you.”

You shook your head. “Nobody loves me, Leon. Nobody wants me. I’ve never had a relationship that lasted over a year.”

“That’s not true.” Because I want you. More than you’ll ever know, more than you’ll ever need. I want you like a plant wants light. Hell, I need you like a plant needs water. “All of D.S.O loves you.”

You sigh deeply. He knows the fact that’s not what you meant, but some secrets are not meant to see the light of day.

“I need a drink.”

“No. You don’t.” Leon cuts you off, pouring out the poison into the sink by the bar. “Drinking won’t solve anything. You should know this.”

The music in the background crudely echoes, much harsher and obstructive this time. The people around you are chatting, cheering, dancing – but there is only two of you in the room. At least that's how it feels like. Leon watches your hand twitch on the glass, eyes avert with guilt. You know he is still marking the days, thirty-seven weeks of sobriety. You know he is right.

“You shouldn’t be here.” It’s your turn to move his hands away from the glass.

“I’m here to take you home. Don’t worry, I’m not going to relapse anytime soon.” Leon puts a hand over yours. An act of comfort, consolation.

“Go wash your face.” You obey, and it helps just a little. By the time you’re ready to leave, Leon is waiting for you with your bag in his hands. “Come on, let’s go.”

“What about the tab?”

“It’s all sorted.” It’s the least he can do for you.

The summer nights should have been cool, but as if to compensate for the heat of the day, the wind taunts harsher. The gust prickle your bare skin that wears only a T-shirt and jeans. Your balance tips ever so slightly.

Leon leans to you right before you slip, hands gently grasping your shoulders. You catch your feet, fistful of his jacket for support. The smell of your fresh cherry blossom shampoo melt into his senses.

He pulls you aside around the corner of the building – you are too unbalanced for the nighttime crowd, almost tripping three people in your fall.

“Lean back.” Leon peels you off his chest, almost reluctantly. You feel so good in his arms. “Take five.”

Beyond the neon skyscrapers, fogged starless sky, you share the moon together. You vision rotates and coils around the glowing sphere, but next to Leon, you feel safe, relieved, despite everything that happened today. You, who witness your third relationship fall apart. Him, who witness your light slowly fading away.

“Leon…” Your words are slurring again.

“He’s such an ass.” You didn’t let Leon respond, and he didn’t try. Leon knows you just need to vent right now. “Every time I’m at work, he says I work too much. Then he says I’m too controlling when I’m home.”

“I hear you.” Leon nods, watching at how your face twist and turn when you talk about this jerk who doesn’t deserve you.

“He’s always out with his friends. When I do the same, it’s a bad thing. I never complain about anything, ever. What gives?”

Leon listens, nodding responsively.

“You know what’s worse? He told me I give bad head.”

Leon freezes, blood that ran along his nerves surge between his legs. It wasn’t weird for you to share details about your relationships. It prides Leon that you entrust him with such information.

But for you to be this forward about your intimate activities? That’s a first, probably conspired by the alcohol in your system. Leon can only wish that the alcohol in you isn’t going to catch him adjust both of his pant legs, hiding the strain between his pants.

“Well, are you?” Leon teases, feigning nonchalance.

“It’s not my fault I have a small mouth.”

His gaze passes your lips, open and close as you speak, tongue peeking underneath all that plumpness. He shouldn’t. Definitely shouldn’t be imagining your lips grazing against him right now. Or how your mouth will look around his cock, your tongue swirling against his length…

Leon clears his throat once more. You unintentionally cut off his imagination before it can go rampant.

“You know… I’ve realised you never talk about your relationships.”

You raise your hand to scratch your chin, recalling if there is anyone that makes him double take. But Leon Kennedy never double takes. There’s not a moment where he’s breaking his stoic, cool-guy demeanour. Not even at Jill, which you would drool over at.

“Not much to tell.” Not much he can tell you.

“C’mon, we’ve been through too much for you to act coy now.” You nudge him on the shoulder. “Guy like you? You must have someone.”

“Not sure what you mean.” Leon can feel you snuggle in closer, almost brushing against his strained jeans at your lower abdomen. He strategically smooths slightly away from you, desperate to suppress himself.

“I mean… You have a really nice jaw. And a nice body.” You gaze at him up and down, eyebrow raising, tongue peeking and rolling over your teeth.

“You think I’m handsome?” Leon offers you his crooked grin. “That’s quite bold of you.”

His cerulean eyes lit up, for a sparkle, staring intensely into yours. Your throat clears itself, unaware of the warmth sinking into your cheeks. Leon wonders if you know how cute you look right now.

“I-I’m just saying what others think.” You shuffle away from the wall, moving in sync with your feet towards the well-lit street. “Let’s get going I’m feeling much bett-”

“Not so fast.” Leon holds you in place. Your body turns against your own will, finding your back curving into the wall.

“Leon…?” You ask, barely above a whisper.

Look at you. So sweet, doe-eyed as you walk right into the lion’s den. The sensitive part of your neck partially exposed just to entice him. Thinking everyone is made of good intentions, that they just want to be your friend, and that no harm will ever become of you. That’s just in your nature.

It’s also in people’s nature to take advantage of someone like you. Even when your wrists locked against his, body trapping you, you still trust him. He’s internally conflicted – conflicted whether if he wants to pounce at you or protect you. Both, in that order.

Leon brings his lips closer to yours ever so slowly. So softly, leaving you plenty of space to withdraw, to stop. Begging you to stop him from ruining something so perfect between the two of you.

Waiting… Waiting for any sign of uncertainty, any lace of hesitation, any reason to push you away and laugh it off. But you don’t. You don’t flinch, in fact you close the distance more.

He tilts his head down, and your head up. Leon moves his hands, feeling a bit bolder too, wrapping them around your back. Reciprocating all the same, your irises capture the moonlight in your eyes, glowing in the dark. Leon can’t keep fooling himself anymore about how you want this. You want this too.

He closes his eyes. Lets your raspy breath guide him to your lips until they brush lightly against yours. Magnitude of emotions riled up within him, pouring into an endless stream of longing finally fulfilled.

“I, uh…” Leon silences your thoughts in place of another heated kiss. Taste of your tongue lingers with the filth of alcohol, Leon wants nothing more than rid the taste of it from your mouth. His body flushing against yours, burning, drowning, into all of you. Into all of the love you grace him. Platonic, romantic – none of it matters. He just needs you.

The parting of lips is almost melancholic, a separation of two souls connected by this ephemeral moment. You are losing balance, eyelids closing, consciousness fading into a light snore.

“Let’s get you home, sweetheart.” Leon lets out a tiny grin when you lean your body weight on his torso, which is cue to take you home.

Under his care, Leon helps you into your apartment. Doesn’t leave you like that – no, that would be too cruel. He helps you remove your jacket and shoes, carrying your slumbering body to the bed. Tucking you in. And a cheeky kiss too, while you’re unconscious.

Maybe you’ll remember what happened, maybe you won’t. Leon knows that he will cherishing this memory for a very long time.

thank you sm my sweetest for the ask!! i hope you enjoy this fic even after i took some liberties (hehehhee). i absolutely, absolutely LOVE writing for friends to lovers, and something ab first kiss with all that yearning makes me swoooonn harder than smut haha

also, thank you all who liked, commented, reblogged so graciously on 'a kiss away' (the sequel), it has 950 notes now?? sometimes i still go huh, how did that happen?? rlly can't do it without with you guys, from the bottom of my heart thank you smsm

thanks for reading! come check out my other works. ––yours truly, rose. tags: @carlosgf @sporeghost @navstuffs (pm me for tags) © roseglazedlens - please do not translate, copy, repost or feed to ai without permission - thanks!

[roseglazedlens]

⦑ THE FUCKING DEAD ⦒ RESOLUTION [PART 5]

➠ series masterlist | ⏪part 4 | ⏩part 6 |

𝐒𝐌𝐔𝐓┇𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐑𝐎𝐑┇𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐊𝐅𝐈𝐂┇𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐎𝐒𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐀𝐃𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐄 LEON S. KENNEDY / CARLOS OLIVEIRA / JILL VALENTINE / ADA WONG X AFAB GN! READER As the rescue team retraces footsteps of their MIA agents, they find out the virus is more than what it appears. Waiting to be opened like a pandora's box inside this eerie mansion. NOTES: 🔞18+ READERS ONLY - NO MINORS🔞 descriptions of blood, zombies, injuries, death, realistic dolls, virus, fire weapons, rotten food, and mould. mentioned pegging. many action elements, a little closer to the plot reveal. includes two minor oc's in the unit. written in chris and rebecca's pov (reader is mentioned, not present). 8.7 k words | reblogs appreciated!

EMPLOYEE QUARTERS – 3:02 AM.

Who knows since when, the front door entered by the last squad is bolted shut, windows on the first and second floor barred. Inspection around the perimeter reports none of the side doors can be budged. Except one, secretly veiled away through a narrow, overgrown path only accessible from the backstreet.

An inconspicuous door can be found at the end of the passage, made of the same stone brick wall attached onto the thick mahogany door, vines enshrouding the exterior.

Presumably, this is the employee’s entrance. Much less glorious than the fountain driveway view where an imaginary doorman invites you into the residence by the ten-feet-tall double doors. This entry desperately needs weeding; the door is worn, rusted metal handles and weak hinges signal negligence in maintenance for years.

Chris, leading in first with his impromptu rescue squad of six, pushes down the copper handle, and lets it swing out. Wood squeaks slowly until the hinges fully extend, thudding serenely to a stop.

From within, a hollow void. Not a sound, nor a creak to be heard from the blackness of the echo chamber besides the six footsteps. A cold chill like a woman’s breath blows onto their necks from the outside, slowly swallowed by the thick odour of mildew and mould.

Someone rummages for a light switch, clicks it, and clicks it the other way again. Power’s out, of course. Chris presses on his earpiece, and just as he thought, communication to the outside is already fizzing into distortions. There will be no one from the outside to rescue them once they venture into the thick of this freak house.

They turn on the flashlight attachment on their rifles for convenience. It’s going to be difficult navigating through the dark, and vital for the unit to err on the side of caution. Who knows what ambushes Arias had conjured for an unwelcomed surprise, knowing his guarded nature.

“Agent Chambers. Do we have location?” Chris asks.

“I can’t track our exact location until the GPS is fixed. But I can tell you that the unit should be around south-east of the mansion according to their last known coordinates, which is approximately… that way.” Rebecca draws out an old-school compass from her pouch and points towards the left side of the hallway according to her device.

“Thank you, Chambers.” Chris states blankly. Rebecca taps her head down to acknowledge once. The air is damp with bitterness, only felt between them.

The front of the entrance invites them to a mudroom with a wide nook sweeping along the broads of the wall. The inner wood panel is enveloped by speckles of mould; more than half of the hangers are still occupied. Chris traces a thin sheet of dust along a puffer jacket.

“Captain, take a look at this.” A thick Hispanic accent gravels out. The figure behind Chris is almost as tall as himself. His face concealed but his personality undeniable focused and direct. Chris vaguely remembers the man’s name through a rushed introduction, Gabriel, sent by B.S.A.A.’s South American branch as a gesture of goodwill.

Gabriel points to the vague darkness behind himself. Chris turns away from the racks, directed into the lounge room around the corner. It is adorned with modest furniture: a few couches, a television, openly connected to the kitchen, and long dining table.

Above the table, there lies a bitten sandwich with splotches of green mould, mugs drank only halfway and meals abandoned before they were done. Leaving the uncut vegetables, dairy, raw beef, as they were for the inhabitation of fungi.

Everyone in the room right now is grateful for Rebecca’s last-minute idea for the masks to give them some coverage for the stench.

“November 19. Tch, all the food had expired five months ago. What a waste, tch.” This voice is deeper in timbre than Gabriel’s with a tendency to click his tongue at any inconvenience. He must be the other assigned unit, Miguel.

“That week was the first A-Virus attack in the world.” Rebecca comments solemnly. Can there be such a coincidence?

“Whatever they had to do, they left in a hurry.” Chris glances around the room once more. What business could they have to evacuate so suddenly?

“A-Are they going to be o-okay?” Nerves are getting a hold of the rookie; the flashlight circle from Johnny’s rifle is visibly shuddering. “What if those m-m-monsters got to them?”

“Can’t be since there’s no struggle. Like they’d blipped in time.” Mike suggests the possibility by recreating the events with his free hand, even uttering a fainted pooof! drifting into the silence for sound effect.

“Nothing had been in and out of this place for a week. Whoever’s left might be starving.” Unless all the employees had left way earlier. But there is an aching dread in Chris’ gut that fears this may not be the case. Just like the other MIA agents who are somewhere in this lodging. There must be more to this story.

“Search for any survivors in the area and stay in line of sight. Don’t ever split up.” Chris orders, looking directly into the darkness of the narrow hallway beyond.

“Yes, Captain!” Five voices bark in response.

- - -

It feels like they had walked for an eternity, through a series of sharp turns, with no visual signs of the end, only mould growing thicker and thicker the further they venture. It was the same portrait, same console table, decorated by the same damned tablecloth over and over again.

On top of the white laced cloth, there is always a baby, barely three months old.

It shook Rebecca in the beginning until she notices the infant is completely still. It’s only a doll. A very realistic one at that, dressed from head to toe in pink and frills.

After what seems like the tenth doll, the discomfort in her brews whenever Rebecca passes by. She can’t help but notice how glassy their eyes, how those irises and pupils look too damn realistic. Like real human eyes, staring. Like it can cry. Every time light hits those pearly beads, whatever light the darkness can spare anyway, Rebecca swears the doll is looking directly at her each time. She wonders if she had gone crazy.

Perhaps it was one of Arias’ secret hobbies… like Arias’ pegging fetish she unfortunately discovered in the depths of a gossip forum. Hey, it’s not her place to say what a billionaire can or can’t do for recreation if it isn’t harming anyone… besides his own crack, maybe.

That took her mind off the creepy temporarily. Nobody else seem to mind, or if they did, they didn’t say a thing. Chris in particular—his mind never left the objective.

“Anyone home? This is B.S.A.A. We’re looking for survivors. Any survivors? Survivors, please show yourself.” Chris announces their presence at every door that meets him along the corridor, bellowing out to make survivors known of their rescue.

But only the echo of himself returns his call, corridor after corridor, room after room, in the humble living quarters that is nothing more than a bunk bed and two desks. Not a soul nor a zombie in sight. But they haven’t given up yet. There is still plenty of the mansion unexplored.

The next door they encounter is different, standing out prominently against the rest with its steel surface, while the rest mahogany wood. And despite this whole area already zoned off from general access, a sinister sign on top warns that this place is off limits to even most employees.

The six of them look at each other and decide silently in unison to investigate inside.

LABORATORY – 3:17 AM

Chris is the first to enter the laboratory, stepping inside the darkness without hesitation to encourage his subordinates to follow suit without fear. Some sticky sensation is caught between their soles, leaving their every footstep. Mike notices first, and he aims his flashlight onto the ground.

Blood red pools, splattered across the bleached tiles in trails like spider lilies, painted across white coats of motionless bodies only several feet away from them… fifty of them. Beyond that, a daring splash of struggle across the mighty propane tank hulking over the centre of the laboratory.

Rebecca winces at the sight; her first time witnessing such a bloodshed. Chris notices, bringing a step forward to shield her from the sight.

“What the fuck happened here…” Chris growls. Before he can take another bloodied step, he hears someone making a retched groan.

It was Johnny, tightening his vocals to hold back a scream, but instead, it erupts into a high pitch shriek of fear instead.

The bodies react to the sound, starting to move. At first, only slight like the trick of an eye. Then, the torsos rise in isolation, head turning slow almost 180 degrees, eyes affixed on the intruders. Their skin ashen grey, veins and arteries pop out freshly, where the stench is the most putrid here.

All six soldiers ready their rifles. Avoiding big movements, slowing their limbs backwards to the way out. The zombie hoard of many dozens in front of them matches their pace, unsure whether friend or enemy.

Something falls. Slipping away from Rebecca’s back pocket, a metallic cylinder case—long and thin, that a ballpoint pen will fit perfectly inside. It crashes onto the floor, a light thud. But in the quiet room with nothing but hostile hisses and crackling of bones, the zombies pounce at the same time at the sign of confirmation.

Gunshots fire, without restraint, bullets whizzing across the room, taking aim. Shots pierce into the desaturated skin, but no blood manifests from those wounds. The water source that pumps into their hearts had dried up a long time ago. Even bullets hitting directly into the skull merely stuns them temporarily, and they rise back onto their feet in no time.

The unit is very effective and spares little ammunition for the unnecessary—but they are solely six humans in an army of undead. They can’t hold them off forever. If they are cornered, that’s it.

Rebecca, however, has her eyes set on something else instead of the massacre in front of her.

My case…. Where is my case! She thinks as her eyes dart around the ground in desperation, between legs and fallen bodies. Something shiny under a chair peeks out in the corner of her eye.

There it is! Despite every fibre of her gut opposing her, Rebecca advances further inside to retrieve it at all costs. She doesn’t dare to stray her eyes away from the container, fearing it will escape her again. Someone kicks it; the metal leaps and rolls near the lab console next to the large cylinder tank.

She makes her way over and tries to lay her rifle on top of the console. It slides due to its slanted surface, so she leans her rifle against the tank for support.

Some of Rebecca’s right palm brushes the metal sheet, and immediately, a stinging heat like a million thorns set her hand ablaze. She flings her arm away, winces, and notes the parts of skin that contacted the tank is patched red with small cysts forming.

The propane tank can easily fit 200 gallons inside. With closer observation, she can hear the flow of water bubbling, churning in its mechanism, pushing out steaming sounds. Rebecca notes that the tank is connected by ductwork.

“What’re you doing, Rebecca!?” Chris explodes, and Rebecca jolts in place, bringing her consciousness back to the present where she remembers they are amid a zombie attack.

She plants her entire body flat onto the ground, detecting the cylinder stuck under the console through a thin gap. The console isn’t secured to the floor, so Rebecca tries budging it to no avail. It’s too heavy.

Rebecca shoves her arm into the gap; her fingers slid in successfully, but it’s stuck on the protruding bone of her wrist. She outstretches her fingers, the tip of it almost reaching the roundness she is seeking. She just needs a bit more distance.

“Rebecca! Out, now!” She can hear Chris warn from afar. “This is an order!”

“One second!” Rebecca thrusts in a bit harder, and a bit more of her wrist enters at the cost of rough friction scratching her wrist bone. Her nail catches it, and she rolls it underneath the pads of her fingers. Now she just needs to lea…

……Wait. Wait, wait, wait. She can’t leave. Her wrist is jammed. Rebecca can’t take it out even if she uses her entire body weight to lean against the pull. Her face is still planted and vulnerable.

Danger is advancing ever the closer. She can hear it even if she can’t see it. The irregular beats of staggering footsteps increase in volume, snarls getting curious. It won’t be long before she is discovered. But what other choice does Rebecca have now?

As if a sign from above, dim light starts to creep under the table as it lifts, freeing her wrist. Rebecca grabs the case securely into her hand and pulls it back.

Right behind her is Chris, forearm muscles pulsing in tension as he hoists the entire console, slamming it face first onto the two zombies eyeing at them both. They tumble backwards and groans.

Chris’ face darkens with rage, grabbing Rebecca’s shoulder around his arm as if to caution her reckless behaviours, and commands: “You. With me. Now.”

Rebecca, simply glad that she is still alive, nods and lets Chris pull her up in one forceful motion. As soon as Rebecca’s weight is back on her feet, he pushes her along with both arms, propping the rifle under his right arm, tunnelling his vision to the exit. But zombies are visible from all four corners. They are surrounded.

Abruptly, a cold arm wraps Chris from behind, ensnaring the captain in place to serve him on a platter to its zombie friends. Chris squeezes the rifle closer to his sides, and with the strength of his entire triceps, thrust the blunt edge of his bump stock into his assaulter’s torso. He can hear bones cracking, weakening, enough to free Chris of its tight grasp.

With practised ease, Chris adjusts his finger swiftly to the trigger; other hand over the handle in under a full second and fires at the next target leaping his way.

Rebecca wants to help Chris too. She presses down an empty space on her back. She had left her rifle next to the tank still. And now, the HK416 is idly resting behind five limping enemies with no intentions of letting her pass by.

That rifle is practically gone as far as she knows, so she unholsters her back-up pistol, her trusty Samurai’s Edge, tailored to her own needs and got her through thick and thin.

Rebecca knows she isn’t as much of a good shot as Chris is, lacking in almost a decade of combat experience behind Chris, but she kept up a fair deal of gun training and hand to hand combat during her research years for emergency purposes. And now, those skills are coming in handy.

Her shots are careful, only decisive ones of enemies that come between her way to the exit. Always looking over her blind spots in wariness because Rebecca knows one bite from a zombie is all it needs to take her out. She can’t be messing around here.

A zombie leaps directly into Rebecca as she heads checks, baring its fangs and curling its squirming fingers. Too close for a shot, she raises her arms to a block, tossing them aside when the pale hands advance closer to her neck. The nails are sharp, clawing into Rebecca’s skin as she shoves them away. Rebecca front kicks the thing away, and while it stumbles, gave her the perfect opportunity to take out its head in a burst shot.

But no matter how many enemies the two fended off, the path becomes more and more obscured by zombie heads and limbs, leaving no room for breath besides defending their own.

Gunshots other than their own starts firing around them. The other four comrades are clearing the way while guarding the exits.

“Captain! Rebecca!” Mike cries out.  

For a brief second, a window of opportunity surfaces, and their eyes catch sight of the clear line of exit between them and the zombies.

“Run! Just run!” Chris’ voice thunders over the gnarly crew of zombies.

But Rebecca didn’t need instructions for this one. They dash straight for the door, and when they passed, they didn’t stop either.

The others did a head start, already racing away; Chris and Rebecca eventually joining them at the end of the line, with Chris slamming the steel door in their enemies’ faces before he leaves. It will slow them briefly, but that won’t last forever.

The six of them sprint along the corridor, and a loud clang penetrates the air. Zombies had destroyed the entire metal door itself, following right behind, trying to overtake each other, despite the narrow width of the hallway that fits only two people side by side.

The hoard collides and tramples on each other, but their chase is relentless, showing no mercy until each and every one of their prey is devoured. Closing in distance, an inch at a time, but slowly and surely catching up to inevitable fatigued limbs of humans.

“W-We’re not going to make it, Ca-” Johnny, coming first in the sprint, sobs, but he isn’t allowed to slow down no matter even if his heavy backpack weighs him down, no matter how deep his leg sores. The sudden brake will trip everyone behind him, toppling his captain and colleagues together. And it will be all because of him. He can’t stop.

Chris can hear the stomping footsteps grow louder; he can feel it on the floor too, the wooden boards quaking in fury from withholding such strength and speed in the tight path. He turns his head, and the outreached arms of the zombies are within a few feet away from his own neck.

Chris had to think fast—no, don’t think. More time thinking means less action. They’re quickly approaching the end of the hallway several yards away, and beyond that darkness. It can be a dead end too, what then?

Till he hears a chime.

Tick, tick, tick.

He sees it. A grandfather clock propping up on the side of the wall, right before the cloud of darkness. Chris can use that.

First, it was Johnny who made it to the other side of the clock. Then Miguel, Gabriel. Then Rebecca. Then Mike. And when it was Chris turn, he spins his body 180 degrees, meeting the hoard eye to eye.

He claws all ten of his fingernails onto the intricate engravings into the heavy wood. With a heavy shove, pulls the entire seven feet tall clock sideways to barricade the corridor.

All can hear the break of the bell when it crashes and the mechanism within fails. The hourly melody starts playing abruptly in malfunction, failing its fundamental ability to read the current time. Only the crooked and solemn tone resonates throughout the hollow vicinity.

That won’t be enough. They can still crawl underneath, between and over the gaps of the wood. Chris readies aim between the gaps, waiting for the zombies to peek through.

But Chris can’t see any heads. Or any movement, matter of fact. They freeze at the call of the chimes, and after a few seconds, their bodies retreat. Over the gap, Chris can see zombies with their backs turned, returning into the darkness of the hallway once more like they were never there in the first place.

There is a moment of silence, first. A moment to catch their breath. But this moment doesn’t last when Chris storms towards Rebecca, grabbing her forearm, forcing her to take a backwards a step.

“What the fuck were you thinking? You coulda died!” Chris seethes with a face of pure rage; everyone clenches their fists in fear.

“C’mon now, Capt. Go easy on her.” Mike tries to stand between Chris and Rebecca, a valiant attempt to diffuse Chris’ temper, but is unsuccessful.

“No. There’s no need.” Rebecca assures him. This is something between her and her captain. Her own accountability she had decided to take on herself.

“Would you like to explain yourself?” Chris asks, his tone abrasive.

“It was important.” She tries to brush aside the issue. Rebecca can’t tell her about the metal case, not yet. He will be too protective about it.

Chris takes one big step to close the gap, she can feel the heat from his eyes scorching her.

“Chris! I need you to trust me on this!” Rebecca pleads, though it doesn’t provide the clarification Chris wanted at all.

“That’s Captain Redfield to you!” Chris roars, and all sounds turn still.

He pauses, immediately regretting his words and tone. Once again, Chris gazes directly into her eyes that displayed only sincerity. This isn’t like the open book personality Chris knows of her. Something is up. Something Rebecca doesn’t want to share. He can’t push her—what kind of person will that make him?

Only his final thought reaches her ears. “More important than your own life?”

The room turns silent. Rebecca’s answer says a lot without saying anything at all.

The grip tightens on her arm, and Rebecca flinches. This is when Chris sees the state of the arm he is grabbing—secondary burns, bruised wrist, and strips of fresh blood free-flowing from both arms.

“…Get her fixed up.” Chris releases the arm gently, so it doesn’t fall too hard, releasing out a heavy sigh that sounds older than his years.

“Roger, Captain.” Johnny lets down the backpack of supplies with relief.

“Anyone else injured?” Chris queries the group, significantly calmer since his reflection. He casts his eyes over everyone, deliberately avoiding Rebecca’s.

“I think I broke my foot.” Gabriel was running fine before, but after the adrenaline had died down, he begins to feel every pain on his leg. He now staggers and the injured foot is hovered slightly.

“Let me have a look.” Rebecca gets down onto her knees to examine the foot. She advises him to roll up his pant leg. The spot is swollen red and soft, and it flinches when touched. Rebecca asks him to move his ankle: he can’t.

“It’s a fracture. You might not be able to move your leg for a while.” Rebecca pats herself up. “Ice would be ideal here but nothing we can do now. There are some bandages in the first aid. That should help with the swelling.”

“Alrighty, I needa resupply anyway! Those zombies took quite a few mags.” Mike is already three magazines down in his front pouch.

Rebecca needs a resupply too; there should be spare rifle in there for emergencies. Her Samurai’s Edge is reliable, but she needs something stronger if she wants to survive the rest of this journey. She can’t risk turning back and aggravating the zombie hoard once more.

The fresh face unzips the backpack, reaching in. Initially, puzzled, then slowly morphs into the face of horror. His calm searching turns into frustrated shuffling, emptying out the contents of the bag one by one.

Lying on the ground are bags after bags of military rations, counting to fifty bags. After a while, he gives up. Everyone is fully aware now of his royal fuck up. Johnny had picked up the wrong backpack on his way in.

“Come on, rookie! You had one job!” Gabriel starts yelling, losing whatever composure he had just a moment ago.

“I’m sorry- I’m so sorry! I’m so sorry, sir!” repeats Johnny’s brittle apologies, fists trembling.

“Qué pinche pendejo eres… tch.” Miguel grumbles to himself, and as an act of self-comfort, massages his hand with each other and feeling the wedding ring on his hand.

“You motherfucker!” Gabriel tries to rise, and almost trips over his broken ankle when he finds it unsteady. Johnny rushes in to support him.

“Mind ya business!” Gabriel flails his arms at the poor child, before lowering himself down slowly through a strained grunt. “I’ve got a fucking broken leg here ‘cause of you! You shoulda be glad I can’t whoop your ass right now! Once this foot is working again, you’ll be sorry!”

“It’s not that bad, really…” Mike tries to console, but this time, it’s more a desperate attempt for self-reassurance.

“Stay out of this, American.” Gabriel snaps back.

“Enough. Both of you. We’ll find a way out of this.” Chris interrupts before things escalate too far.

“Tch. And what do you suggest, Captain?” Miguel scoffs.

There’s no point in changing what can’t be changed. They can only adapt to what they have not. Be it without supplies or ammo. There is always a way around, if it means taking things slow or conserving ammo for their future fights. However…

Chris peeks at Rebecca’s arm. Her skin is turning white from blood loss. She needs first aid, ASAP.

“Let’s look around. Maybe there are supplies.” Chris says.

“There better be. This leg’s not gonna fix itself.”

KITCHEN / LAUNDRY – 3:39 AM.

Johnny had offered to carry Gabriel, but he refused without sparing a glance at the rookie’s face. But he didn’t complain when Miguel haul him instead, all whilst announcing their passive aggression about incompetent American soldiers and how they can only trust each other.

Meanwhile, Chris is focused on getting problems solved than whining about them. There must be a weaponry, maybe medical supplies somewhere in this damn fancy house. If only he can figure out how this foreign layout works.

The end of the corridor spreads out into a large open space, giving them much needed room to explore and not bump into each other shoulder to shoulder. There is a kitchen if they continue straight, enough to fit an army of private chefs with a glass room of wine display proudly to the side.

And towards the right, there is a laundry room. Beside it, a door that hangs a sign: [STORAGE AREA]

Hopefully they will find what they need here.

STORAGE ROOM – 3:41 AM.

For a storage room, it is quite spacious. Cardboard boxes stack high to the ceiling around the room, labelled with its contained items: [CLEANING], [MEDICAL], [AMMUNITION]. They look around potential hiding spots for zombies: there is none. It seems like they are safe for now. And for that, the unit is relieved.

“Alright. Let’s get you fixed up.” Rebecca immediately starts rummaging through the medical drawer. Miguel carries and rests the injured onto a large cardboard box for his treatment, then finds himself in the ammunition box.

This detour is much welcomed by everyone. After restocking what they need, hope has returned—whatever they can afford in the present state of things—uncoiling the tension brewing inside each of the soldiers. Chris can even hear Mike’s good-humoured banter ripples a warm laugh through Gabriel and Miguel. And Johnny is chattering next to them.

Chris relaxes his guard too, finally, for the first time today. As captain, he is always expected to be one to straighten his subordinates. And he does. Sometimes even at the cost of having his emotions get to him. Like just now, with Rebecca.

Sometimes, what the team needs is not just a guy yelling at their faces, but rather someone with Mike’s charm, or Rebecca’s friendliness to light up the room and boost squad morale.

Which Chris appreciated them for—doing the things he can’t do as captain. As captain, he must always remain a respectful distance from his team. He is the most senior member of the squad and must act that way even when situations are dire.

That got him thinking about his old team, still nowhere to be found, where their long history of acquaintance allows the lines of authority to blur. Many of those missions with them are often exchanged with laughs…

Chris bumps his arm onto a table beside him. Atop lays a vintage typewriter, a piece of paper is stuck to it.

It has been an unspoken protocol between S.T.A.R.S to document their adventures on the go, in case an accident occurs, so their stories are remembered and not forgotten. That ritual followed Chris and his team into B.S.A.A. He picks up the note; the ink is still very faintly lukewarm.

To whoever is reading this,

There is something really creepy about this mansion. It’s just too dang quiet. Where on earth is everyone? I know that Arias should be on a plane to a different continent now, so nobody’s home but—

“…Ch-.” A voice can be heard in the air while he reads; he pushes the sound out to focus.

…But I feel a chill down my back. If you’re in this room now, ge—

A heavy hand slams onto the table, winces, then goes back on the table again. The entire forearm is bandaged, and the palm is wrapped in some translucent cling film.

“Chris! I’m talking to you.” Rebecca taps her foot impatiently.

“And I heard you. You don’t have to say my name twice.” Chris looks at her for a second and brings his eyes down back to paper, reading between the blurred lines. “I saw you were tending to Gabriel when you were in a much worse state. You should prioritise yourself first.”

“I actually called you three times!” Rebecca clicks her tongue, crossing her arms now.

Chris shrugs. Rebecca continues when she realises he isn’t going to say anything else.

“I can take care of myself, don’t worry, captain.” She utters the word captain with much disdain that it irks his eyebrow slightly.

“Suit yourself.” Chris pretends to read, but Rebecca is still staring intently, so he asks: “How can I help you, Chambers?”

She picks the paper out of his hands, and declares: “Maybe we should address the elephant in the room.”

“There is nothing to discuss.” Chrisfolds his arms to match hers.

“Clearly there is. Or you wouldn’t be ignoring me.” Rebecca’s voice comes out a little louder than it should, sounding throughout the room as everyone peeks at the duo. Chris doesn’t need an audience for their petty drama, lest appearing unprofessional to his own personnel.

“Let’s talk outside.”

The two promptly walk to the exit, with Rebecca behind Chris so he can’t escape. They leave the room, facing the wet laundry, as Chris closes the door behind him to avoid prying ears.

“Alright, talk then.” He begins, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed.For a man like Chris, he can be cold when he is upset. Even among his close ones. But there is still a bit of warmth in his voice, a bit of unspoken openness to listen. But for Chris to be convinced, it is still highly dependent on what Rebecca says next.

“Hey- I just want to say.” All of a sudden not knowing where to start, or when. After trying to get Chris to make peace with her all day, she finally has his attention. But when the moment comes, Rebecca is lost for words. Stuck behind her throat and tongue ice frozen.

“I know you don’t want me here. Putting my life in danger.” says Rebecca quietly.

“Like I said, you are free to do what you want.” Chris deadpans. “…And you did. What’s done is done.”

“Hey, don’t give me that. C’mon, Chris. You know it would be better if I was here. I know this virus better than you do. I’ve been researching this for months, and- and- you know my radio won’t reach you in here with the signal jammed.”

“Everything beyond these doors are unknown territory. Did you forget five of our best agents went MIA here?” Chris releases one long, arduous breath.

Rebecca is silent. She hasn’t forgotten, will never forget if the agents are dead—but doing anything is better than doing nothing. She will rather put her life at risk than the waiting game just to be told her friends are dead. “Yes. I know that. But you need me here.”

“And what I need most, is for you to be safe.” Chris places both hands firmly on her shoulders, sighs, and lets go.

Chris admits; there is truth in her words. The virus is alive, a living subject. They must tread carefully. And who else knows about this virus better than Rebecca? She may be the means of life or death.

“We are still a team. We watch each other’s back. We trust each other.” Rebecca hesitates for a moment, then continues. “…Just like S.T.A.R.S, the good old days.”

Chris tries to push away the betrayal from the back of his mind and focus only on the good parts of the memories. But it didn’t work. The clockwork of life kept running, wondering if the same fate will happen to him once more.

Trust? How long has Chris trusted someone? Put his life on the line of other people’s desires, capabilities? How many people have died trying? When has that ever worked out for Chris? He knows that the only person he can rely on saving himself and others is his own self.

Abruptly, his thought process is interrupted by cheers cascading from the other side of the door. Chris opens the door, and Rebecca’s curiosity peeks inside.

The crowd is cheering at Miguel, passing around bottled water around the circle. In this house trapped with years’ worth of heat, rotted smell preserved in humidity, water is a found treasure to these men. Especially after the laborious sprint earlier, they can feel half of their bodies’ liquid lost, throat turning dry and lips crackling.

Rebecca recalls her discovery about the water supply. She remembers warning the crew about this. Yet through the corner of her eyes, she sees Gabriel cracking open the bottle seal, shimmying his mask out the way, his lips touching the lip of the plastic bottle.

“DON’T DRINK THAT!” She yelps, as loud as she can possibly muster.

And everything happened all at once.

STORAGE ROOM – 3:57 AM

Gas starts to sizzle into the room through tightened air pressure, escaping rapidly into the space. Engulfed in smoke, Rebecca clutches onto her mask, hoping that the cheap material will be sufficient. At the minimum providing a bit of resistance before they remove themselves from the smoke-filled room.  

“Squad! Make your way to the exit!” Chris orders.

Chris and Rebecca guide the team out one by one. Individuals start shuffling out of the mist from within. Johnny comes through first, then Mike, Miguel, and Johnny.

“Captain!” Johnny cries, pointing a wobbly finger into the puffs of smoke. “He’s still…”

Faintly from the haze, a figure manifests, sprawling on the floor. It grunts in fear, choking and coughing with arms extended.

“I… I can’t move! My… my leg…” His facial features slowly uncover from the smoke, and there is Gabriel desperately dragging along his broken foot towards the door. The injured had completely slipped Chris’ mind. He needs to get him out of there, now.

Chris pushes himself inside, but Mike grabs him before his foot makes its way in. Mike utters in grave realisation: “He’s unmasked.”

“I swear to god I’m alright! I swear on my life!” Gabriel cries even louder, swallowing a lump of smoke into his chest, and he chokes. “I didn’t drink the water!”

“Captain… what do we do?” asks Miguel, voice softening in desperation. He knows the answer to that question, but Miguel refutes that option, denying it like a child in the face of loss. “Captain! What do I do?”

Chris does not say a thing, nor it is his place. This farewell is reserved between him and his friend. Then afterwards, Chris must do what must be done.

“Miguel… ¡No me dejes aquí!” They can barely hear Gabriel’s sobs over the continuous hissing, louder through time, breaking free of the closed room to contaminate the air outside too.

That is, until Rebecca cuts in: “It’s not too late. The gas is useless by itself, as long as he didn’t drink the water. He’s going to be fine. But we shouldn’t risk it… Just in case.”

“Fuck this, I’m not leaving him there.” Miguel sprints past Chris and Mike into the white without looking back. They try to grab hold of him before he does anything reckless, but Miguel flings them away. “I’m not leaving him behind. We grew up in the same town. Enlisted together. Same squad for years. I’m not letting him go now.”  

Miguel searches inside the fog, and finding the lightly conscioused Gabriel quivering with his chest on the floor. Miguel hauls Gabriel’s body weight onto his own.

“We’re getting out of here alive, Gabito.” Miguel swings an arm around his friend’s shoulder, pulling Gabriel’s feeble foot upwards and lets his torso limp over himself.

“Tch c’mon, haven’t we been through everything already? I’ve seen you worse when you broke your arm and ribs.”

“I remember that. You carried me all the way back to camp just like this.” Gabriel speaks with a mellow voice in reminiscence. Miguel can hear something clicking its throat, sinisterly gargling the air. Miguel pauses to look around, there is no other presence. Right, he already checked the room. It’s safe. So, he continues forward.

“And we will get through this one too. Your abuelita will be heartbroken if you’re gone. I can’t do that to her.” They are approaching closer to the ray of light at the end of the door. Gabriel falls to his side.  

“Hang on, man! I’ll get you out of here. You can trus—”

Rebecca hears a clack, the sound she recognises to be bones snapping in half. She can’t see where Gabriel and Miguel are, with the fog blurring her sight. The vague silhouettes that can be seen before are now gone.

She leans in, peeking into fuzziness, but Chris’ arm moves in front of her, blocking her from getting any closer. He, too, is cautious of the sound.

“What’s taking them so long?” Mike calls out their names but there is no response from the other end. “That’s it, I’m heading in.”

“Mike, wait!” cries Chris.

Mike steps inside, warily inspecting. When he lifts the other foot, he almost trips. “What the—?” He shifts his leg around some more.

“I can’t move my foot!!” Mike’s shrieks are like little girl squeals throwing a tantrum. He wiggles back and forth to readjust balance with all his might. “Eek! Some slimy shit’s holding me down!!”

“Get it off me, get it off me!” The three of them attempt to pull Mike out and the foot lifts into the air. As if noticing the traction, the mist yanks Mike’s leg backwards. “Fuck shit fuck fuck!! Lord have mercy!!”

What is this power? How can it be this strong? There shouldn’t be anyone else in the room, Chris had already done all the check spots. The only people still in the room are just Gabriel and Miguel. What happened to the two of them anyway?

Mike had enough; he pulls out his handgun and shoots at the general direction of the force. The strength loosens, and they can see the whole foot now and the mysterious force dragging him back.

A bloody hand fastens around Mike’s ankle, fingers tightening sturdily around the soft skin. Another hand appears abruptly and secures right above the other hand. It has a different complexion, a silver coated wedding band over its ring finger. This is Miguel’s ring.

Something can be heard from within the fog, distinctly Gabriel’s voice.

“Mike… we’re having a party in here. Come join us!” The cheerful tone sends goosebumps rushing down Mike’s back.

“Shit! It can talk!?” Chris tries to pull the leg again, but it’s planted to the floor.

“It’s okay, Mike. Let’s have a lot of fun!” This doesn’t even sound like Miguel, but it is his voice.

There’s a bullet hole through its palm from Mike’s shot. It bleeds all over the other hand, still able to grab persistently despite suffering from such a wound.

“No, no, no! This… This isn’t supposed to happen!!” It shouldn’t be possible for the virus to activate only on gas alone, Rebecca was confident about this. It was one of the key implementations of this virus for its remote activation.  

Yet the impossible is right there in front of her, the evidence of the vein-popping, skin-crackling bloody hand lay bare contradicting her every hypothesis.

Mike’s foot stumble further backwards, his hamstring swallowed now. The shrieks are turning into despair, losing his childish tone, becoming more pleading, demanding.

Chris draws his dagger from his holster and stabs straight down into the mist, briefly missing Mike’s foot and directly into both palms, skewering the two hands together. Both hands let go simultaneously, withdrawing into the white once more.

“Now!” Chris orders, and the four of them backs away from the entrance, with Chris slamming the door shut behind. He secures the door with his entire back, feeling the full force of banging. He growls out: “Barricade!”

Rebecca, Mike and Johnny shuffle around, dragging a table, cabinets, chairs—anything heavy to prop in front of the door. Chris stuffs the tiny door gap with vintage draperies to confine the poisonous air, taken directly from the curtain racks itself.

Whatever that is left of Gabriel and Miguel can still be heard snarling, clicking their throats, gargling air beyond the closed door. Occasionally muttering to themselves, pleading the rest on the other side to open the door ever so slightly with their gentle persuasion.

LAUNDRY – 4:06 AM

“I thought I was dead meat for sure.” Mike leans against the other side of the wall, checking his own foot. There is a purple bruise on his skin, but his ankle moves freely. All his joints are fine; nothing is twisted. “Thanks, you guys.”

Rebecca and Chris nods.

“So we lost two, huh…” Mike dry laughs at the situation, even when there is nothing funny going on right now.

There is another moment of silence as each of them thinks about their own fate in this mansion. With their numbers dropped by a third, their chance of survival is looking rather slim.

“Hey, if it helps, I never like those two anyway.” Mike tries to break the suffocating atmosphere with some humour, before a voice that had been quiet for a while suddenly speaks up.

“Gabriel and Miguel wouldn’t have died if he didn’t get false info.” utters Johnny.

“You, rookie?” Mike stops to eye Johnny up and down, who is currently sitting right next to him, with his hands and definitely his ass clenched too. “Defending the guys who yelled at your face?”

“It was ‘cause of my own fuck-up.” Johnny clenches his own fist, guilt dripping through every word. “They shouldn’t have died regardless.”

“In this line of work, people die.” Chris states. It’s a matter of fact. They all knew what they signed up for. “Don’t take it personally.”

“Even so… If they did know about the gas, they would have been alive. At least, Miguel would have been!” Johnny stares directly at Rebecca for responsibility.

When confronted directly, Rebecca hesitates, she knows the blood is in her hands. “This… This is also news to me too… I have read the reports multiple times, there is no mention that A-Virus is capable of such transmission. It doesn’t match up to the research.”

“What if the report was a plant?” Johnny asks. “Arias sent fake data to your email.”

“It can’t be. Each transaction requires a single use security token to grant access to my private cloud storage. This token can only be authenticated via fingerprint recognition. So Leon must have sent the files himself.” Rebecca clarifies. In her mind, her system is impenetrable, mostly…

“And what if he’s dead? Or held hostage? Arias could force his thumb to send whatever he wants.”

Rebecca pauses, then she speaks: “That is a possibility.”

“Clearly, you have not thought of everything.” Johnny leans back.

If Johnny’s theories are right... Rebecca instinctually pats down her back pocket, feeling the cylinder case she tried so hard to save in the laboratory room... then this would have been a waste.

“You—” Chris grabs Johnny on the arm in an uncomfortable angle, squeezing it hard for a lesson. “Enough, kid. I don’t need you going around insulting the best B.O.W. tech I know. She’s doing everything she can. So zip it, focus on your own shit, and follow my orders as I tell you. And I’m ordering you to be quiet.”

“Fine, fine. I got it.” Johnny shrugs off Chris’ hand and rises. “Where’s that same energy to the doctor, huh?” He walks towards a pillar far from the three of them but still within sight.

Chris considered raising his voice, but he drops the idea. Instead, he plops down onto the ground next to Rebecca, patting on her head like he would to his own sister. “Never mind that guy. He’ll lose that attitude real soon. I remember I used to be the same rookie who would talk back to my captain too. Got my ass whooped. Never did that again. At least, not in front of their faces. Maybe I’m going too easy on these fresh ones, who knows…”

A rare moment of gratitude flashes across Rebecca’s eyes; Chris simply dismisses it with a wave. It’s his job to ensure they focus on the present of objective. Not their past, nor their failures. Moreover, B.O.W. techs are more valuable than brawny field soldiers like himself by the hundreds.

Rebecca reaches for something in her bag, and a paper floats to the floor, crumpled from action.

“It’s the letter I took from you.” She should give this back.

He refuses, instead says: “Let’s read it together.”

Trust is rebuilding again, brick by brick.

Chris whistles at the other two and Mike carries himself towards them. Johnny does not move, hand on cheek looking at everything but them even if he did hear the captain. Mike and Rebecca exchange a ‘just let him be’ glance with Chris.

So, Chris unfolds the paper, and reads it out loud, from the part he left off in the storage room.

Get out of there this instant. We think the storage room is booby trapped. I thought the gas was going to turn all of us, but I feel fine. Carlos and Jill though…are off. I accidentally brushed against them, and they felt… cold. When I try talking to them, they seem distracted for a split second. Far off.

Or it could be a false alarm. We don’t know yet. We decided to split into teams for efficiency: Jill and Ada to retrieve the sample while Leon, Carlos shall investigate the pipes. And for me… we’ll see. Once we’re done, we will meet up and get the fuck out of here. I trust Rebecca and the team; we would get through this. We always find a way.

If this is you reading, Arias, get shit on, sucker! The sample will be ours, good riddance to your little game! Justice prevails once more!

There is a hand drawn winky face next to it. Chris and Rebecca scoffs, that optimistic trusting behaviour. So typical of you. And oh, so wrong you were about everything.

“So, the lab, huh? That’s the one by the corridor?” asks Mike.

“Most likely. I know three people was last seen on the ground floor, the others on the top floor. And it’s likely Carlos and Jill to be turned first, according to Leon.” answers Rebecca.

“Could they have split up to divide numbers so they can infect them?” asks Chris.

“That explains why they went MIA. Either infected, or worse, dead.” Mike comments, but none of this is looking too favourable on their side right now.

Chris shakes his head. “I don’t think it’ll be so easy. I know these guys. They’re not the kind to give up without a fight. And these guys are some great fighters.”

Rebecca nods reluctantly. “True—That is, if they know a zombie is among them. These zombies can fucking talk. They wouldn’t have seen it coming. And from what we saw today, they can blend in and entice with their human speech. We have to be very careful.”

What’s to say one of them is not between them now? But she seals her tongue from making such bold statement. Rebecca eyes over a suspicious glance at everyone, including Johnny, checking for any irregularities. None she can notice from a fair distance away.

“But how does the infection work then? Was Gabriel bitten?” Mike asks.

“No, it was only a fracture. The bite marks would be distinct. He only made contact with the ga—” Rebecca pauses.

Her brain starts chugging, like a cogwheel in a complicated mechanism with fragments of facts. Neither of the boys dare to interrupt Rebecca from her thoughts. When she is in the zone, nothing anyone say will get into her head. And it clicks.

“Arias, you sneaky bastard…” She grins. She would kiss her brain right now if she could.

Chris and Mike look at each other in confusion.

“The poisoned water is all around us. It’s the air.” Rebecca elaborates, smiling wide the entire time after her newfound discovery. 

“The air?” Chris and Mike gasps in unison.

“Don’t you think it’s strange that when you stepped inside the house, it’s musty?” She pauses to let the boys think. “But the outside, it’s cool.”  

“Well, there must have been residual heat from the day still trapped in the house.” Mike comments. It seems abandoned for a long time after all.

“What residual heat during April? It should still be dry season in Querétaro. It’s the humidity! Arias had been pumping up the humidity in the house, that’s why mould is everywhere.”

“And how does that tie to—” Halfway through Mike’s sentence, he snaps his fingers. “Oh.”

“The water supply in the humidifier, of course.” Chris grins, nodding his head in approval.

“The bottled water in the storage is bait. It never had anything to do with the virus.” Rebecca points at Chris and does an a-ha! sound. “The tank in the laboratory is actually just a large-scale humidifier, sending the virus through water vapours in the air. All around us. That’s what those employees were guarding.”

“Gabriel was the only one who took off his mask.” Mike hits his palm with a fist. “And Miguel was infected by being bitten. Then why was Carlos and Jill the ones infected?”

“They had all been infected since the beginning.” Rebecca says, which is the scariest part about this whole operation. What would have happened if Rebecca never suggested the masks?

She continues: “How it activates, I have no clue. The speed of activation drastically varies from person to person so far. The A-Virus attacks always happen either immediately, or up to an hour. I wonder if it’s individual resistance to the virus.”

“Regardless! That’s a major discovery!” Mike launches himself up in joy. “My lord, you’re a genius, Rebecca!”

“As long as we keep our masks on, we should be fine.” Rebecca states, for real this time.

“I’ll let Johnny know the good news.” Mike scoots off. It’s just Rebecca and Chris alone now.

Rebecca takes in a nervous gulp now they are alone. She had forgotten to tell him the most important thing. Rebecca owes him that at least. “Hey, Chris… About the metal case…”

“It’s okay, Becca.” Chris shakes his head understandingly. “You don’t have to tell me anything. Only if you want to. Only when you’re ready. Because we’re going to see this to the end.”

“The both of us?” Rebecca suggests with much confidence.

“With everyone. I’ll make sure we all get back home.” Chris reassures, and this time, he can see clearly what lies at the end of the rainbow.

But what they didn’t know, is that during their heartfelt revelation, Johnny had let a tear fall in private, lifting his mask ever so slightly to wipe the wateriness from his cheek.

TFD SERIES MASTERLIST // RESIDENT EVIL MASTERLIST

MY BELOVED BETAS: @scar-crossedlvrs @jellybonbons the plot really boggle my brain i made so many changes last min. my first longfic so forgive me. on the bright side, we're so close to the finale omg!! the next chapter will take me a while, just a heads up! whoever is still reading this, i appreciate you guys for still staying tuned and from the bottom of my heart, thank you for still believing in me. i love you all sm.

TAGLIST:

@jellybonbons @ovaryacted @daydreamrot @madcap-riflette @access--granted

@obsolescent @briermelli @secretiveauthor @ghosty-frog @navstuffs

@slowcryinginthedark @rentaldarling @lesbntired @redvleanli @vinsiliors

@whoisgami @gaylorvader @wxwieeee @eddsthemunson

[roseglazedlens]

⦑ no life without death ⦒✶.*

pairing(s): luis serra navarro x f!reader synopsis: you watch the love of your life leave in pursuit of repentance from his former sins. inspired by @luisnavarros content: character death, hurt/slight comfort, sad letters, mentions of trauma « 0.7 k words┇masterlist┇reblogs appreciated! »

“Why are you crying, hermosa?” Luis’ smooth hand journeyed to your waist, the velvety graze of his palms pulling you closer. A sensation he knows will yield your uncertainty, the gentle act dulled the anxiety away, even if it’s just for a moment.

“You’re leaving, Lu.” The words spat out, brimmed with exhaustion. You’re about to lose him again.

Luis secured the strap of his duffel bag onto his shoulder, the other hand crinkling the one way flight ticket to Spain. Sorrow re-emerged Luis like an old friend, something that never truly goes away, especially after all the atrocies he had enabled, all the lives killed as a result. Paying the price for it, still, seven years after the incident. “And I’ll be back before you know it, eh?”

“I don’t care if you worked for Umbrella… please. Just don’t go.” Your brows writhed against each other, pupils glossy.

Luis wanted to hold you. Never let you go. Submerged you into his arms. But how could he protect anyone with hands made of destruction? How could he protect you like this? The guilt, like the black mould itself, festered in his very soul. It was now or never.

“Don’t cry, mi amor. Tears don’t look good on such a beautiful señorita like you.” His finger brushed against your lower lash line, collecting the tears in his lovingness. The steel ring on his index finger chilled your face as he moved, and you know it was futile to stop the man you love. “I must go. You know it.”

“Let someone else do it. Let them take the burden in their hands. It doesn’t have to be you.” Years and years of therapy Luis attended had allowed him to speak more about his past and came to peace with the memories. You thought he was doing so well. That he was finally going to let the past go, be with you forever. “You’ve done enough repenting. What about your happiness?”

As if consumed by your affection, Luis soothed your body into his. You saw Luis as who he was, and not just a pawn of Umbrella.

“Señora Dulcinea.” Luis ensnared your lips into his, capturing your breath through a soulful press of the lips. He planted his everything, his yearning for him, his tenderness, into a kiss so passionate, it seeped through layers of built-up apprehension. A kiss so beautiful, and one that you will never forget to be the last kiss you two will ever share. “Siempre te querré, cariño.”

“I will always be your Señora Dulcinea.” The tears almost poured out of you as you spoke, but you wanted Luis to leave on a good note. One that did not have you drowned in your own tears.

You smiled, and before you knew it, you slept in peace with Luis’ surrounding you with his warmth. Luis picked you off his embrace and placed you on the couch with a blanket over you.

A final kiss, a farewell on your forehead. He hated to leave without saying his final goodbyes, but Luis feared that his legs won't leave if you’re awake. His heart had been strung along so far by you, whether intentional or not. And that would never change.

Luis walked out of the door, and you are still waiting for him to come back to this day.

Until.

Six months later, a gentleman arrived at your door. Blonde, black suit from head to toe, guilt lingered his eyes. “My name is Leon. I worked with Luis.”

“Is he okay?” you asked, desperate. He didn’t respond, which told you exactly what you needed to hear. What you didn’t want to hear.

“Luis left a message to you.” Leon uttered and passed an envelope to you. “It took me a long time to find you. He kept you a secret, to protect you from Umbrella.”

You picked up the envelope, ripped it as fast as you could manage without damaging the contents and read:

My Señora Dulcinea, If you’re reading this, I’m probably dead, eh? Miguel de Cervantes once said ‘Hasta la muerta es toda la vida.’ There is no life without death. You gave me a second chance at living. After everything, you forgive my wrongdoings. Without you, I am a wandering nomad without purpose. Without a reason to live for. You freed me. That’s why I need to leave… If only to save one in many I’ve killed… Señora, I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me one last time, for leaving you. To protect you from this plaga that cursed our home. And I’ll do it all over again just to see your smile, cariño. Yours forever, Luis Serra Navarro

NOTE: I don't speak spanish. if you do & there's any inaccuracies, i would appreciate any corrections. translation:

Hermosa - gorgeous

Siempre te querré, cariño - I will always love you, darling.

Señora Dulcinea - Lady Dulcinea - a princess in the book Luis references throughout RE4R "Don Quixote" by Miguel de Cervantes

thanks for reading! come check out my other works. ––yours truly, rose.

[roseglazedlens]

⦑ undercover secret - pt 1 ⦒✶.*

pairing(s): leon kennedy x fem!reader (use of the word 'mum', gn otherwise) synopsis: this was supposed to be just a job, then you can finally live beyond paycheck to paycheck as a single parent. but you fell in love with your target, leon, that you were using as leverage. your boss calls you out of the blue, delivering you an unpleasant order that will result in heartbreak. content: smut 18+ only mdni, single parent/spy reader, porn with plot, fake-dating (kinda), table-fucking, manhandling, kidnapping, guns, nuclear weapons, mentions of death. « 2.5 k words┇masterlist┇reblogs appreciated! »

You’ve broken rule number one.

Never, under any circumstances, fall in love on the job.

Sounds of gunshots echoed through the range, cardboard figures sequentially collapsed, speared through the faded print. Leon brandished his new rifle, two steady hands supporting the rifle, a slight tilt of his head when he aimed. Your sight drifted from his targets to how his fringe draped lightly to his right, shoulder caps strained tightly against his compression shirt, the hem lifting up just a fraction to reveal a small of his back when he crouched into the scope.

Despite the murk of dried blood, dirt and sweat of Leon’s body, your eyes are drawn to the movement of his chiselled body.

“Well, what do you think?” Leon flicked his eyes at you, a light smirk on his lips.

“You’re good… I’ll give you that.” You drawled out the vowels, hands clapped deliberately with your legs extended from the barrel seat. The light in Leon’s eyes lustered ever so slightly – almost imperceptible to everyone else, but obvious for you.

Leon can’t fool you, even if he tried. Your keen eyes were trained to discern his every reaction. He is not the kind to emote with his face, rather subtle motions done unconsciously in attempts to conceal his true thoughts. You noticed.

How he would tuck his hands into his pocket when he’s anxious... how his lips pursed when he’s upset, how brows twisted together in a twitch when he’s happy…

After all, you had Leon meticulously analysed and deconstructed before your existence was known.

It felt like yesterday when Wesker walked up to you at your night job, third job that day, at a crusty bar in the middle of Texas.

Stuck in a dead-end job, working eighty hours every week to scrape by rent, food, and school bills for your six year old daughter. You had no diploma, no certificate to prove yourself. But you are good with people. More accurately, you are good at lying.

You lied about life at the bar, making your life appear more enticing than it is to earn more tips from customers.

Yesterday, you were a theatre kid dreaming of making it big in Hollywood. Today, you are loosely related to the famous artist, Claude Monet. Tomorrow, who knows what you’ll be. You illustrated your life through the dreams you wanted, and maybe then, the pain might go away, even if it’s just for one night.

But Wesker saw through you. He saw through who you are. He knew you were perfect for the job.

Desperate for money, you accepted. Wesker paid you a hefty sum each week to watch over Leon. You observed him for months during his day-offs, places his frequented, memorised his schedule through countless nights staking out in front of his apartment. You studied him to the bone, so you could be his perfect partner for your agenda.

Three months later, you revealed your fabricated façade in front of him, under the guise as a researcher with field experience. Leon couldn’t resist – not the you in the red outfit, dyed hair, trained voice so seductive it summoned his attention in mere seconds.

You let Leon believed he made the first move, that he managed to win you over with a cheesy candlelit dinner, despite the objective you carried. Within a short three weeks of dating, Leon uttered his first ‘I love you’ . It was all according to the plan, until you received the most devastating news from your heart.

You fell in love.

“Baby. What’re you thinking?” The blonde next to you brushed his lips on the back of your raised palm, a gentle kiss, a quiet reassurance. His unkempt hair and muddied face simply accentuated the blues between his lashes, igniting an emotion you so desperately want to suppress.

Detach your emotions. You reminded yourself, but it resembled a cry for mercy to your heart.

“Imagining how I’m going to play with you after this mission.” It was true, but untruthful all in one. You teased a grin out of your lips, an urge to break free the shackles of falsehood restrained behind your bitten tongue.

Leon’s features softened into a grin, glancing away as if to avoid your sight to his lightly tinted cheeks. The ink in his pupils dilated, groomed eyebrows repelling from the centre, crow’s feet dangling in joy. In solitude with you, Leon became familiar with how his emotions would spill in front of you, always wondering what he ever did to deserve you.

He was too in love to see what you're doing to him. He was too in love to see you’ve been detouring his route. He was too in love to see that you will never make it to Ashley Graham in time.

Guilt trickled into your chest, slow yet constant, eventually filling your heart with a weight of the impending day that you would leave Leon forever at the end of this mission. With nothing but a farewell note to grief his sorrows.

Leon dropped his head to kiss you on the lips ever so gentle and trusting.

You still have time. You don’t have to think about that now. You can just pretend for a moment this will last forever.

The sound of muffled vibrations from your pockets snapped you from your thoughts. One glance at the caller ID, and you paused.  

“My research lead’s calling.” You gestured to your phone, swiftly leaving the gun range to hide, answering when you're out of earshot. Irritated, your voice flipped to your natural tone and cadence.

“What is it, Krauser?”

“New orders. The Amber is retrieved. Wesker sent a nuke to wipe out the island. It’s arriving…” His gruff voice grew into an audible smirk. “in T-minus thirty minutes.”

“What about me?” You panicked. Wesker was going to leave you behind.

“You’ll be just out of range.” He paused. “I think. But the rookie must live. I’ll kill him with my own hands.”

Your mind instantly thought of your daughter, Abby, that if you were to die today, she would be alone… the thought broke your heart.

“I can’t do this anymore. I want to go. Home.”

“You don’t get a choice – it’s either this, or your daughter dies.” The phone buzzed at the static of Krauser’s growl. Your head goes blank. Suddenly, you can’t think straight.

“What did you do to Abby?” Your voice cracked, almost fuming, phone clutched tighter. “Don’t touch my daughter, you filthy scum.”

“Then do as you’re asked.” Just like that, Krauser hung up.

Quick to jump to conclusions, your brain imagined the worst possible scenario – your baby daughter starved, held against her will, crying for her mother’s help. Cold sweat collected at your quivered hand, almost slipping your phone off your hands.

The blunt sound of rounds fired through the shooting range. You paced to Leon quickly, mind in a daze, urgently snapping back to the present. Fear tied you to the railway tracks, and the train is rapidly approaching.

“What did your lead sa– ” In one swift motion, you draped your arms around Leon’s waist before he could finish his sentence. With your front flushed against his sturdy back, you brainstormed your next move while the clock counted down. “Did something happen?”

25 minutes.

You mentally adjusted to the time, while shaking your head to his response.  “I just really miss you. That's all.”

Twenty-five minutes, that’s all you needed. Ashley Graham would have to find her own way out on this one.

You nuzzled into Leon’s back deliberately, pecking gentle kisses light enough that tickled just enough for him to turn around. You pounced at this opportunity to kiss him on the lips, breathing sweet nothings into his ear. “I want you.”

“Right now?” A raised eyebrow, a glance around his surroundings, and a sneer like he had just been pranked.

You crawled your hands to his biceps, seizing the bulge where his sleeves and skin meet, picking the garment off.

“Sweetheart…” His breath turned chesty, audible. “Don’t do this to me…”

Leon displayed no signals for you to stop, despite his words betraying him. His calloused fingertips ventured to your waist, squeezing lightly on your love handles as if that alone will satisfy all his urges.

The air between you two thickened, his finger coming up to between your cheeks with his thumb and index finger, until your cheeks were secured in his palm, until his eyes could carve out every curvature of your lips. Leon’s softened expression extorted something in you that you desperately wanted to suppress – something trivial that should not be your priority right now.

Stay focus, you. Your daughter is hurting.

15 minutes.

Yet your heart pulsed electric, conducting a spark that obsessed you wholly. A relentless force compelled you to run your breath down the slight-sloped trapezius. It called for you to play with fire just a bit longer, at least until the calmness in his gaze dissipates. Transforming into a stare so carnal you felt you were about to be preyed upon.

“C’mon, baby. Just five minutes. Then I’ll wait till we’re home.” You prodded at his desires with a whisper, arms hooked around his neck, summoning his eagerness with a murmur into his earlobes. “I know you want it too.”

Leon’s throat cleared, jaw clenched in resistance, swallowing back the temptation and reminded, not just to you, but to himself. “We’re on duty.”

Begrudgingly, he is determined to see this mission through.

You unclipped your tactical gear, letting it land on the floor next to you. Next your belt went too, along with your jeans and underwear in one tug. Leon stared at you with eyes charged with lust as you revealed your bareness in front of him, your top still clothed. A tear of slick ran down your thigh.

“Fuck…” Low growls released between Leon’s breath. His fists clenched white, a futile attempt to resist his desire. “You always want it your way, don’t you?”

When Leon started unbuckling underneath you, you know you have won.

“I’ve convinced you, huh?” You used this opportunity to pull off yours and his ear piece in the heat of the moment. If Hunnigan called to warn Leon about the incident, you would be in great trouble. “Taking these off so Hunnigan can’t hear us.”

“Stop talking.” He cut you off, tone abrasive, commanding.

Leon hoisted your whole body, which led you to shriek, hooking your legs around his waist for support. You groaned in pain as your butt slammed harshly against the bench on the shooting range while he ensnared your lips into his, devouring your taste.

“You wanna test me? Fine. I’m not going to hold back anymore.” Leon grimaced, eyes veiled with a fiery lust you haven’t seen from him in a while. It was evident that both of you have been pent up after weeks of chastity. His hand dipped southwards, circling your inner thighs with his thumb, not quite at the speed you wished he would be at.

“Lee… please.” You pleaded, grinding yourself against his hips.

Leon slicked his hand up with his spit, coating his dick damp, and buried himself inside of you. You arched yourself at the edge of the bench, both hands behind you bracing the impact of his passion. You swallowed a mouthful of cold air, a hazy gasp liberated you from the knot of stress, all while Leon’s eyes fixated on your every squirm.

“Is that what you want, baby?” Your heart pounded against your chest, and you nodded through bitten lip.

The sound of your slick permeated through the dimly lit room, perfectly atmosphered for this kind of activity. Leon leaned onto his knees, slamming you deeper until your torso almost tipped over the other side of the bench, forcing you to readjust. The wood furnishings creaked loudly at each thrust as your mind blanked.

You flushed your body against his, a deep groan rooted from your core. Your breath hastened, a welling of excitement begged for release. No coherent thought passed your brain as you chased your orgasms together.

Leon slumped on top of your body, cheeks tinted pink as your chests heaved in exertion. The roughness of his hands dissipated, in favour of affection. His nails stroked along your scalp, brushing away the ill-sensation that lingered in you.

“You’re so beautiful.” Leon planted a kiss of gratitude and sentiment on your forehead. The words tickled you slightly at the throat, letting out a sighed chuckle.

“What’s so funny?” He raised an eyebrow.

“Nothing.” He would laugh too if he knew that you were, and still is, the opposite of beautiful. A lying, money hungry, hideous witch on the inside. You glanced down at your watch face, timer counting down to five minutes.

“I’m going to call my lead.” You dressed yourself, pacing away urgently. Anxiety returned as quick as it had left, and the surge of concern ran through your mind, desperate for answers. Desperate for any kind of affirmation that Abby would be okay.

Your finger dialled the number in your recent list, connecting the line.

“Oh, if it isn’t you.” Krauser’s tone condescending. “My orders were to keep the rookie distracted.”

“Leon won’t make it to the island in five minutes by boat. He won’t be a problem, I swear.” You clarified. “Now, where’s Abby? Tell me where she is.”

“Don’t worry about her. She’s alive… for now.” Through gritted teeth, you silenced your anger. You need to know at all cost. “Let me hear her. Please.”

Krauser snickered, his voice fading into the background and a familiar voice, was muffled, panted deeply in release.

“Mum!”

“Abby?” Your fist unclenched your phone, softening at the sound of your daughter’s voice despite Abby’s much restraint and struggle. “I’m coming to rescue you sweetie. Mummy’s coming, love. Hang in there for me a bit longer, okay? I miss you so much, my beautiful.”

“I miss you too, mu–” Her words cut off before she could finish.

Footsteps. Leon’s.

“We need to go. There’s an incoming attack.” Leon darted around the corner in urgency, his hand pressed into his ear piece with Hunnigan through the other end. Your eyes met his, phone broadcasting the cries of help from your daughter, struggled and muffled groans crying out ‘mum’.

One reddened eye, that was all it took. Without warning, tears escaped through your eyes like a bowl welled up to the very brim, one droplet away from crumbling the barriers you worked so hard to build, your very foundation itself. Your daughter is going to die, and the love of your life knows that you’re a liar.

This is it. This is the end.

“What’s going on?” Leon marched to you, each step slow and deliberate. “Who’s that girl?”

To Be Continued in Part 2.

thanks for reading the first part of uncovered secrets! it's also my first attempt on a multi-part series, so i'm super excited & nervous! if there's anything i can do better, please let me know. i'm open to constructive criticism! ––yours truly, rose. reblogs, likes, comments are greatly appreciated! / my writing masterlist tags: @luisnavarros (pm me if you want to be tagged on all my works) © roseglazedlens - please do not translate, copy or repost any of my writing.

[roseglazedlens]

⦑ close wounded ⦒✶.*

pairing(s): chris redfield x b.s.s.a gn!reader synopsis: you suffered a gunshot wound on the field. your captain checks in on you, concern lingering on his face. content: angst, mutual pining, shirtless reader (body parts not mentioned), mentions of medical treatment, blood, gun wounds, death, trauma. « 1.3 k words┇masterlist┇reblogs appreicated <3 »

When you were a wee lad, you wanted to do something cool.

Serve the country despite disapproval from all ends. You didn’t learn the real cost until you join B.S.A.A. The memory of your dead friends stalked you, ostracising you from the peace you desperately desired till this day.

There was no room for grief. No room for emotions to weaken you. Yet why does your heart dance when it was just you and your captain staking out at the rest site? Why do you read the newspaper on your off days, skimming through the ‘R’ names on the obituary, praying his name is not listed?

You’re in no position to worry about others, every day your training was more gruesome than the previous. The fields were worse – not only physically abuse, but the mental torture that paints a vivid image of corpses, died in countless methods too gruesome to explain, making you imagine what yours would look like when you die.

Your weakness was how you ended up right here. Face drained of colour from the loss of blood, lips bled from holding back your screams, wrists gripped so tight your nerves protrude. Your thoughts drifted into a middle point where you’re in tune with your subconscious.

“Hang in there. Worst part’s over.” The medic retrieved the bullet that was submerged in your flesh, proceeded to clean the wound fast. They ran out of anaesthetic long ago. She needed to operate quick, you lost too much blood.

It hurt like hell.

But you’ll live. For better or worse. After everything you had witnessed. For a second, you envied the soldiers next to you who died a quick death, while you are bound by the curse of living. You relieved when the medic started wrapping you with a bandage.

Your ears sharpened at the sound of Chris’s boots hitting the floor on the other side of the curtains of the makeshift operation room, a very distinct pace you recognise everywhere to be your captain.

“Are they okay?” Chris moved the curtain aside and walk in, just to walk out the same way immediately with eyes averted before the medic could respond.

You looked at yourself, the throbbing pain on your belly led you to forget that your shirt was off, as requested by the medic for easier access to your wound. Your cheeks flushed slightly, putting your shirt back on as fast as your wound allowed you. With a long list of injured soldiers, the medic left promptly, finding the next injury to tend.

“Captain. You can come in now.” You uttered.

You watched the mud coated boots lift under the curtains, paused a beat, before entering with apprehension.

“How are you feeling?” Chris straightened up after seeing you clothed. Relieved.

“Better. Still stings though.”

You commented, keeping your sentence short in attempts to not aggravate him further. Chris was already plenty upset when you ran into the open field to save a lost child from the onslaught of bullets.

“You’re lucky you got way with one bullet wound.” Chris scoffed.

“She needs our help.” You affirmed, despite how much you liked Chris, you did what you needed to. “If I don’t make a difference, who will?”

Chris let out a deep groan. His eyebrows furrowed, exhausted. Years of baggage resting underneath those bloodshot hazel eyes. You wondered if he had a moment to rest since you guys retreated into the safehouse hours ago.

“I won’t let my team die. Not under my watch.”

The word held weight in his breath – filled with pain, sorrow, and remorse. Your hands, as if possessed by the Plaga of your own undeniable desire, outstretched an arm to place your hand on his. Chris’s gloves was all scratched up, but you can feel his exposed fingers from the glove, rugged with a sensation of safety.

You can’t find the words to say – to be fair, there was nothing you could say to him at this moment. Chris had been through so much, and you had only seen a fraction of the nightmare he had witnessed.

“You’re right. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I know you can take care of yourself.” Chris nodded, the ghost of a grin loomed over the corner of his lips as he placed a tender hand on the crown of your head, ruffled messily at your hair.

Chris rarely smiled. This is the closest you’ll get. You watched as his irises captured the colours of his surroundings, reflected the speckled dust of debris and shimmer radiantly. Only Chris could make the dirt and blood on a war field looked so spectacular.

You wanted to tell him how beautiful his eyes are, you want them to look at you forever.

And maybe it’ll feel like this world isn’t fucked up for once. That you two can just be two normal people. Maybe then you’d have a chance in love.

You expect Chris to brush it off, nod respectfully as he does to any other soldier, politely excusing himself. Only that he doesn’t. Drooped eyelids accentuating his long, thick lashes, eyes plastered on yours, expression softened.

Was it you… or was it him that stared first? Suddenly, the details are a blur.

Chris’s hand no longer laid on your head, but on your chin, a finger brushed the corner of your lip where the adhesive strip on your cheeks stuck. His blistered thumb thawed the coldness away on your cheek, melting away your barriers.

“God. Be careful. Please.” Chris whispered, almost pleading. You thought you were fooling yourself, Chris’s voice sounded… tender… loving even. “Who will take care of you when I’m gone?”

You mustered the strength to stop, but your body moved on your own. Chris’s words summoned a force so powerful it sent the butterflies straight down your spine, fluttering in your stomach. It ignited something you never thought you will have, almost forbidden and despite your body’s resistance, you found yourself inching closer and closer.

Chris didn’t respond, but his lidded eyes darted around your face, observing every trivial mark on your face, like this was the first time his eyes ever laid on yours.

“May I..?” You nodded promptly.

Chris leaned in before you could finish your second nod, no hesitation in his movements. Chris already knew your answer just from your looks. You wanted it too. You wanted it just as long as he did.

You fluttered your eyes closed.

A gentle warmth spreads from his lips to yours with just a brush, both of his hands cupping your face now. You pulled Chris closer, flushed against his bulletproof vest. It was stained with the blood of enemy and reeked pungently with decay of the undead, but you sensed a faint of warmth through it. A faint of hope, after all that you two had been through together.

It felt just right. You know it.

His chest rising and falling against yours, a breathy groan released from the depths of Chris’s throat as his grip on you tightened like Chris didn’t want to let you go.

Chris slowly parted his lips with yours, leaving you disappointed. Not satiated yet with the taste of him. The feelings come pouring out from inside of you, and the need to be with him transcended your fear.

“I have something to tell you, captain.” You said, a quiet whisper, your gazes inseparable. You wanted to tell him, pour all out all these emotions you can no longer hold together.

“I already know, my love.”

And he sealed your love for each other with a tender kiss, an imprint of much more to come.

thanks for reading! come check out my other works. ––yours truly, rose.