#miss oranje fics

[miss-oranje-disco-dancer]

life's not fair, but it could be (not old enough ch. 7)

pairing: leon kennedy x reader

cw: masturbation, idk? surprises?

summary: a mysterious stranger arrives with advice, you receive some life-changing news, and then your love returns, but will he accept you back, after all that's happened?

word count: 6.2k

ao3 link

At this point phone sex would be a gift from god. You were doing things the old fashioned way, which took longer. You were lazy and broke, so you decided not to take a trip to the mall and buy a vibrator. You could’ve bought one online, but it’d take forever to come - ha! Just like you. It wasn't really that funny anymore, though. It was actually quite frustrating. You were beginning to reconsider an errand to Spencers, or an equivalent, but the awkwardness one feels in the sex toy section of those stores is unparalleled. You really have no allies in the sex toy section, do you? It’s full of gross grown men who stare at your ass and giggly teenagers.

Leon didn’t have anything fun in his house. You looked. You were hoping you could find a dildo buried in a dresser or a playboy under the bed. Not that you really felt like getting off to a playboy magazine, but some reading material would help you pass the time until your boyfriend came back from his heroic quest across the world. 

There was a cucumber in the fridge, but that would require a new level of desperation and courage that was surely not worth it, considering the shame and the possibility of infection. God, what if you ended up on that show “Sex Sent Me to the ER” for getting a cucumber stuck up your - 

Wait. What was Leon’s computer password? Leon had two laptops in his house - one in the bedroom and one in his office. You were not to touch the one in his office under any circumstances because you didn’t have “top secret clearance and the government would send an army of men to kill you in your sleep if you so much as pressed one key” or something like that. But, Leon never said anything about the computer in his bedroom. You’d bet your savings on the fact that this bedroom computer was 100% certainly for porn. A laptop is portable, so why have two for work? What else is a computer for? Facebook? Instagram? YouTube? No, Leon is 41 years old. It is for porn. 

There were only two questions: How to get in? And what’s inside?

You took out a pen and paper to write out possible password combinations, so you could pick the ones you deemed optimal, not wanting to risk locking yourself out of the computer by guessing everything your mind could conjure up. 

What do people have as their passwords? Mother’s maiden name? Childhood pets? Birthday? Girlfriend’s name? 

“Hell yeah!” you said to the empty room when you guessed correctly on the first try. It was your first name. No numbers or symbols. Dumbass. 

There wasn’t anything saved locally, so you had to go to the internet and hope that he hadn’t deleted his search history. Yeah, you could just search up whatever you wanted to watch, but what’s the fun in that? You typed “P” into the search bar and the first thing that came up was Pornhub. Is Leon really that horny? Ew, gotta check the desk chair for jizz stains. Nothing you hadn’t tasted before.

You looked at his recent searches when you clicked on the site.

Amateur, lesbian, creampie. Pretty basic, nothing to do with stepmoms or women getting stuck in washing machines. How do they even get in there in the first place? What does sex have to do with getting them out? Your mind trailed off for a moment contemplating porn premises - maybe this was why you couldn’t get off...

Oh. There was something interesting. One word: Daddy. 

If only you could look at the time he’d searched it up. Was it after you’d called him that? Or had Leon always wanted to be your daddy? You clicked on some stuff with 'daddy' in the title, and tried to get into it, but it wasn’t Leon. That man in the video isn’t daddy, not to you. It wasn’t enough to get you off, not even close. 

Back to square one. You decided to search through your photo gallery. Leon’s face - hot. Leon sleeping shirtless - a little creepy, but hot. Leon straight out of the shower - really hot. Looking at Leon with a towel hanging around his waist was enough for your fingers to find their way back to your clit.

Leon wasn’t hairy per se, but he did have a nice happy trail leading from his belly button down to what you really wanted. The towel was riding low on his hips and you could see it, could almost see further. 

Finally getting a little excited, you continued to sift through your Leon catalog. The next picture had a perfect shot of that five o’clock shadow, the one that tickled your thighs when his face was between them. His lips, so soft against your skin, his nose that would press against your clit anytime he tongue-fucked you. 

Jackpot, A video. Of Leon. You were eternally grateful to past-you who took tons of pictures and videos, but especially this one. It was Leon, getting ready in the morning, so ridiculously mundane, but his raspy, deep morning voice. 

“Mornin’, Baby. What are you doing?” he asked. 

Touching myself halfway across the world from you, daddy.

This was way better than porn. Leon’s laugh once he realized you were filming. Hot. Leon slipping on a t-shirt, showing off his perfect physique... and the happy trail again. Hotter . Leon buckling his belt - unbuckling would be better, but clinking sound had long ago linked itself to the moment before you’d have him. Have him in your mouth, have him on top of you, have you on top of him. In bed, in the car, in the bar bathroom. Have him inside you however he wanted.   

You remembered his thumbs playing with your nipples, hands running down your sides, gripping your hips, pushing you down, so he could thrust up into you harder. If only your hands were Leon’s hands. Leon’s big hands. Leon’s big dick. Leon. Leon. Leon. Oh Leon . 

It’s a shame he wasn’t there to hear you moan out his name. 

Fucking finally. All you had to do was look at a video of the man. Yeah, you were fucked. No, you weren’t fucked, but you’d like to be. 

That night, you were up late, bored out of your mind. And lonely, very lonely. This was retribution for cheating on Leon. In a fit of every single emotion known to mankind, you betrayed the man you loved.

You made your bed, now go lie in it, you thought.

You were sitting on the couch, trying to balance the line between self-pity and self-loathing, while biding your time by watching rom-com after rom-com. The Holiday, When Harry Met Sally, Jerry Maguire. All of 'em.

The doorbell rang. The little unmistakable jingle bounced off the high ceilings and echoed through the room. Did you order strippers in your drunken stupor the night before? Was a serial killer dumb enough to ring your doorbell? Who the fuck was on Leon’s doorstep at midnight?

You got up and looked through the peephole before opening the door. On the front porch stood a woman -  a short black bob, maybe 5’7”, looked to be in her 30s, a bit overdressed for the occasion, but most of all, drop-dead gorgeous. Doesn't matter how straight you thought you were, you weren't not going to let her in. 

“Um, hi,” you said, cracking the door open, enough to lean your head out, but hopefully not enough for her to see your pajamas. 

“Hello,” she said, “Can I come in?”

“Are you looking for Leon? Because he’s not home.”

“I know he’s in Moscow. I’m looking for you.”

Was the government coming to kill you for breaking into Leon’s computer? Did the government monitor his porn too?

“Are you Hunnigan?”

She was the only person you could think of who would know Leon's location.

“My name is Ada.”

Ada . Leon’s infatuation began to make sense. 

“Okay,” you said and let her in, god knows why. Maybe you could pry more information out of her, but based on what Chris had told you, you weren’t optimistic. 

“You can sit down if you want,” you offered, trying to be a good hostess.

“Thanks,” Ada said and sat down on the living room chair. 

“Can I get you anything to drink?”

“I’m okay. Thanks.”

You downed a glass of water because your mouth had dried up completely in the last five or so minutes. As not to keep your guest waiting, you returned to the living room. You looked around at the cluttered room, blankets strewn around, an empty bowl of popcorn, the TV still on. 

“Sorry. I would’ve cleaned up if I knew you were coming over.”

“It’s not a problem,” she said, “Is this 10 Things I Hate About You?” 

“Yeah,” you said, pausing the TV, “have you seen it?”

“I have. I don’t usually like rom-coms, but I like this one.”

This could be the beginning of a beautiful friendship, you thought to yourself. You already had two things in common: you liked to watch the same movies and fuck the same man. 

You sat down on the couch, facing Ada. “If you don’t mind me asking, Why are you here?”

“I wanted to talk to you.”

“About what?”

“Leon.”

Alright. No beating around the bush with this woman.

“You love him, right?” she asked. 

“Yeah, I do. A lot.”

You felt uneasy. It sounded like the beginning of a ransom note. “You love him, right? Wire me 10 million dollars by the end of the day if you want to see him again”. You were completely off-base in your suspicions, however. 

“That’s good. He deserves someone who loves him.”

“You’re right. He does. He deserves someone way better than me.”

She waited in silence for you to continue. She seemed oddly unbothered by your guilty demeanor, but was clearly unsatisfied with your vagueness.

“I cheated,” you said quietly, unable to meet her prying gaze. 

“Okay. Not a great look for you. Does he know?”

“No, but I’m gonna tell him. I know it’ll break his heart, but I can’t lie to him,” you divulged way more to her than you’d intended to, but she was a good listener, “I wish I could take it back. I hate myself for doing it.”

“We all feel that way sometimes, but what’s done is done.”

Her nonchalance was getting to you. Is this how she felt about what she did with Leon?

“Can I ask you something?”

She didn’t respond, just waited for you to speak again.

“Did Leon tell you we were together?”

“He didn’t, but I did suspect there was someone. The signs were there - bobby pins on the bathroom counter, a thong in his laundry basket, you know, things a man wouldn’t have without a woman.”

“Why did you do it?” you asked the question that’d been bouncing around your mind since you’d let her in the house. 

Did you really want the answer? Yeah, no matter how much it might hurt, it was worth knowing.

“Why did he do it? Why did you do it?” she said.

You agreed with Chris’ assesment - mysterious. Mysterious had an undeniable allure, but it did not answer your questions, only posed more. Despite your frustration, you ended up answering her.

“I don’t know. I guess I just wasn’t thinking. I was pissed at him for sleeping with you and I was lonely.”

Talking to Ada felt similar to going to therapy, but if your therapist was the oracle at Delphi with her cryptic sort of guidance.

“I see,” she said, looking you up and down with her x-ray-like eyes. Ada, to your surprise, gave you her explanation in return, “He gives me a sort of love that I don’t deserve, and that I can’t get from anyone else, and he’s stuck in the past. He thinks of me as a person that doesn’t exist anymore. We like the people we pretend to be.”

“Do you think he’s stuck on you?”

“In some way, maybe, in the way that we all get stuck in the past, all too stubborn to change, but I still think that given the choice, he’d pick you.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“I spoke to him, recently, in Moscow. He talked about you.”

Un-fucking-fair that she got to see him. What if they-?

“Did you guys do anything?”

“No. I proposed the idea to him, and he said no. He said he’s in love.”

“And I broke his heart. I'm the worst person ever.”

You wanted to cry, bang your head against the wall, crumple up and die. 

“You’re not. You’re not, I’m not, Leon’s not. There are people in labs across the world creating viruses to wipe out millions. And they sleep well at night.”

“So, because other people suck worse, I should be okay with what I did?”

“No, but you’re young and naive. You make mistakes. I met Leon when he was around your age. He made worse mistakes because he was lusting after some woman,” Ada spoke of the past with a unique glint in her eye. Not quite nostalgia, but close.

You listened intently. She sure was interesting, that was for sure. 

“You got all wet over a second meathead of a man and cheated, but at least no one died,” she said matter-of-factly.

“I’m gonna break his heart. That’s like, practically killing him.” 

“You’re so dense. Perfect match for Leon.”

Ouch. 

“You care, Leon cares, and for some reason, I care enough to come here and try to play love-guru. You can work this out. You can give him a type of love that I cannot, and with all he’s been through, he deserves it.”

If Ada turned out to be just an apparition of your conscience, the angel and the devil on your shoulders, you wouldn’t be surprised. You’d despised her since the moment you found the condom in the trash can, despite the fact that you’d never met. It was easier to put it onto her than Leon. A faceless, nameless threat to your relationship. 

“I feel bad for hating you,” you apologized to her - not that she knew about your feelings in the first place. It just felt like the right thing to do. 

“Don’t. You have a right to be angry.”

“Do you wanna stay over?” You asked pathetically, still looking for friends wherever you could find them.

“Even more like Leon than I thought,” she said, and this time it didn’t seem like a jab. Her face said she found you a bit charming. “I can’t. I have somewhere I have to be,” she let you down easy.

“Well, I hope to see you again soon.”

She hesitated, but said, “Likewise.”

You hugged her before she left, which clearly took her by surprise. She was rigid in your arms, but seemingly tried to loosen up a bit, and gave you a friendly pat on the back.

At the door, she turned back and said, “Have you had your period recently?”

“Uh, no, why?”

“Take a test.”

You knew what kind of test she was talking about, but what in the fucking world? You didn’t have time to ask, though because she was already gone, practically disappearing into thin air. 

Leon had now been gone for around four weeks at this point. Still lonely, still guilty, but starting to feel a little nauseous in a way that couldn’t be accounted for by any of those feelings you had. 

You assumed Ada was just taking a shot in the dark with her whole ‘take a test’ thing, but maybe she was onto something. 

Your period wasn’t always on time, sure, but there was a normal range and it was obvious to you, even without tracking the days, that it had been too long since your last one. You really should’ve been more diligent about taking your birth control pills. “You’re young, you make mistakes.” Maybe this was what Ada meant.

You bought a pregnancy test. You spent five minutes waiting for the results to appear, sitting on the toilet while the plastic stick was next to you on the bathroom counter. You could easily glance over, but you didn’t dare look until you knew the five minutes were up. 

You took a deep breath, crossed your fingers, and picked up the test. 

Two lines. Clear as day. Couldn’t be a hallucination. At best, it could be a false positive. Luckily, you had purchased a three-pack, so a few hours later you took another one. 

Two lines. 

For good measure - though you were pretty sure two false positives would be so rare is was almost impossible - you took the third. 

Two lines.  

Good things do not come in threes. Three pairs of two little lines and one pregnant woman, alone in her bathroom. Good things do not come in any number. Good things do not happen to you. 

You had to tell Leon. But you’d have to get through Hunnigan first. You’d have to get to Hunnigan first. 

It was difficult to get her contact info, but you were persistent. Reluctantly, you called Claire, Jill, even Chris. None of them had any way to contact her. Claire however, gave you Sherry’s number. The little girl turned DSO agent he’d mentioned.

Sherry, god bless her, had Hunnigan's number and was nice enough to give it to you. You made the call and picked up on the first ring. 

“Hello?” Hunnigan's voice was more pleasant than you expected. Based on the fact that Leon was always so stressed when he picked up her calls, you'd expected her to be rude or aggressive.

“Hi, you don’t know me, but I’m Leon’s girlfriend”. You sounded like a high schooler when you said it like that. 

“Okay,” she said in a neutral tone, waiting for more information. 

“I need to speak with him.”

“I’m sorry, but that would go against all protocol.”

“It’s really important.”

“I understand that, but his life is on the line, and I cannot let him get distracted.”

“Please, just trust me, it’s so important. You have no idea.”

“What do you need to tell him? Maybe I can relay the message.”

“I’m pregnant.”

“Oh.”

Yeah, ‘oh’ is right.

There was a pause before you asked for the second time, “Can I talk to him?”

“I’m sorry, but I can’t let you do that. It would give him extra things to worry about, and he’s already incredibly overworked and stressed right now. Distraction can be the direct cause of death. I cannot have him get distracted by anything. It’s for his own safety, and I hope you can understand that.”

You wanted to tell her to fuck off or to force her to patch you through, but instead you just hung up. Great. You’re pregnant and alone. 

There were countless unanswered questions, making you feel queasier than you did before. 

How can I tell my parents? How can I tell anyone? Who do I even have to tell? What should I do? Give birth in 8 months or get an abortion? What would Leon want? What if Leon doesn’t even want me back?

The one you typed into the search bar was: How do I get rid of morning sickness? You spent the following few hours curled up on the bathroom floor. No, this was your retribution. 

As much as you felt like you should keep it to yourself for a while, you ended up having lunch with Jill. You figured it would be better to not speak to Chris, and on the off chance that you couldn’t keep your big mouth shut, you were wary about speaking to Claire for the time being. That whole situation was one you needed to talk out with Leon before anyone else. Jill seemed like a safer option. Plus, she gave off such a mature, pragmatic vibe that made you feel like she’d be the type of person you’d want to call for advice. To be honest, she reminded you a lot of Leon. Maybe if you could tap into her thinking, you could tap into Leon’s on some level. 

Jill offered to buy you lunch - a friend and a meal was a win-win. You convinced her to go to a diner with you, not letting her in on your little secret until later. You were already getting cravings - milkshakes, pickles, you name it. 

At some point during your meal, you couldn’t keep hold of the secret any longer, it was eating you up inside. 

“I’m pregnant,” you blurted out.

Jill spit out her soda. 

“Oh shit, I’m so sorry.” 

Dammit! You had the worst track record with making friends. 

“It’s okay,” she said, wiping herself off with a napkin. 

She stared at you for a moment once she’d finished dabbing the spill out of her clothes. 

“Wait, you’re serious?”

“Yeah.”

“Shit. That’s…”

“Not great, yeah, I know.”

“It sucks that you have to go through that alone. I shouldn’t even ask because it’s none of my business, but have you thought about what you’re going to do?”

“I don’t know yet.”

“It’s a scary decision, but I’m here for you no matter what you choose, and I’m sure Leon would feel the same.”

“You think?”

“Positive. He’s a good guy underneath all of the bullshit. Plus, he’s crazy about you.”

“I just wish I could tell him.”

“I know. I wish there was a way I could help you there, but I can’t. I have no way of reaching him. Did you end up getting in touch with Hunnigan? Is that why you asked for her number?”

“Yeah, I did, and Claire gave me Sherry’s number who gave me Hunnigan’s.”

“I assume Hunnigan said you couldn’t talk to Leon.”

“Yep.”

“That fucking sucks. I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, but I’m glad I have people here who are good to me, like you, for example.”

You realized that may have sounded a little bit cheesy, but what the heck, you thought, you were a pregnant woman, dealing with hormonal changes, it was okay to get sappy. 

“Yeah, you have me. And Claire, and Chris, and I guess you know Sherry now, too.”

It was definitely not time to tell Jill about the situation with Chris. One bombshell was enough for one lunch outing. 

You ended up talking to Claire as well, managing to keep the Chris situation out of the conversation. 

“Hey, how are you doing?” Claire greeted you with a hug. 

“I’m okay.”

You weren’t feeling super well, so you’d invited her over to your place - well, Leon’s place - rather than asking her to go out with you. 

“You sure? You’re looking a little pale. Do you think you could be coming down with something?”

“No, no, I’m fine. I mean, I’m - I’m pregnant.”

“Congratulations?”

You shook your head.

“I’m sorry?”

You gave her a little hand gesture to indicate that her answer was “close enough" to whatever reaction the situation should've warranted. Honestly, there wasn't a perfect reaction to that kind of news.

“Now you know why I’ve been sticking around the house.”

“Morning sickness?”

“Yeah. It sucks.”

“Sure does. Not that I’ve ever experienced it, but I’ve seen it in action and it takes a strong woman to be able to handle it.”

“I wouldn’t say I’m very strong when I’m sobbing into a toilet bowl.”

“Have you gotten in touch with Leon? I know I gave you Sherry’s number…”

“I did talk to Sherry, and she gave me Hunnigan’s info, but Hunnigan wouldn’t let me talk to Leon.”

“Did you tell her you’re pregnant?”

“Yeah.”

“And she still wouldn’t let you talk to him?”

“Nope.”

“I would rarely ever say this about another woman because I think it’s pretty sexist, but what a bitch! I can’t believe she’d do that to you.”

“I definitely thought that at first, but I know she’s just trying to protect him. Who knows how he’d take the news.”

“I’m sure he’d just wanna be there for you.” She put an arm around your shoulder. 

“I hope so. I really don’t know what I’m supposed to do in this situation.”

“There isn’t a ‘supposed to’. You do what’s right for you, and you only. Don’t worry about what anyone else might think because I’ll be there for you, and so will Leon, and everyone else.”

“You sure?”

“100%”

“Have you made an appointment yet?”

“For?”

“With an Obgyn. I’m pretty sure you’re supposed to go to one. No matter what you choose.”

“I guess I have to make one, then.”

“I could go with you, if you’d like.”

“Really?”

“Mhm. I know it’s not the same as Leon, but you shouldn’t have to go alone.”

And she did accompany you. The nurse asked if you two were partners and you explained that she was just a friend. The nurse seemed hesitant to let ‘just a friend’ come with you into the ultrasound room, but when she saw Claire holding your shaky hand, she let go of whatever was holding her back from allowing Claire to accompany you. 

The gel they put on your stomach is cold. The thing that looks like a grocery store scanner that they use to look into your uterus feels weird. They press harder into your skin with that one than you’d think. Claire holding your hand kept you from swatting the woman’s hand away. 

The three of you studied the monitor, though the nurse was the only one who could really tell what was going on.

“I can see an embryo in there.”

You sighed, letting reality sink in.

“I can see that you’re nervous. I won’t pry into your situation, but just know that there are many options available and no one is here to judge you for whatever you choose.” 

“Thanks,” you said simply. 

She was nice, but it didn’t make the choice any easier. It was tiring to hear everyone say ‘we support you’ and ‘we won’t judge you’, when all you wanted was for someone to tell you what to do. Ideally, you wanted Leon's input. You'd still have to make your own choice, but it'd be nice to hear his thoughts, considering he got you knocked up in the first place, and you definitely couldn't afford to take care of a baby on your own. 

You saw the doctor briefly and told her you’d think over your decision, but when she was about to leave the room, you remembered the dream you’d had the night before. You held a newborn baby in your arms while Leon doted on you both. Real life was never as perfect as it was in your dreams, but you could see a real future like that with him. 

“What if I want to keep the baby?” you asked when the doctor returned.

“That’s one of the multiple valid choices. If you decide that, I would suggest you book another prenatal appointment about a month or so out from now.”

“Where can I do that?”

“I can give you a slip to take to the front desk and they can get you set up.”

You and Claire were alone for a moment while you redressed. 

“So, you’ve made your decision?” she asked. 

“Yeah, I think so. Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“Do you think Leon would want me to choose this?”

“I can’t speak for Leon, but I’m sure he would want you to do what you think is best.”

The diplomatic answer.

“But if it were up to him, would he want to be a father?”

“I honestly don’t know. I don’t think it was in his plans, at least, not for some time. You know, he’s been through some shit, and his job is hardcore. He’d be a good dad, though.”

“You think?”

“Oh yeah. If only you could’ve met him when Sherry was a kid. He was so good with her, sometimes in a way that I couldn’t be. I mean, I like to think I was a good mother figure for her, but he was a really good father figure. So, if I had to guess, I'd say that in any other life, Leon would’ve been a father already. If Raccoon City never happened, I think he’d be a dad.”

“Well, what about in this life?”

“It seems like he’s already on his way to fatherhood, and he doesn’t even know it.”

It was late in your first trimester when you got a call, a good call, the call you’d been waiting for. 

“Hey, baby, I’m coming home,” Leon said, so blissfully ignorant of the situation that it stung.

Still, you were overjoyed to hear his voice. 

“Yay! You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for you,” you said.

“I actually do. I’ve been missing you for the same amount of time.”

Oh yeah. That’s true. Brain fog. 

You weren’t going to tell him over the phone. He’d have a heart attack. The hours waiting for him felt longer than all the weeks he’d been away combined. 

When he got home, Leon settled on the couch with his feet up while you paced the room. He had a glass of whiskey - something you thought he’d given up, but you weren’t going to judge him for it. He was clearly exhausted and honestly, it might be better if he mellowed out a little before you gave him the news. 

“Baby, what’s up?”

“I gotta tell you something. Actually, multiple things. Don’t freak out.”

Not yet at least . 

“Okay… You wanna sit next to me while you tell me?”

You sat down next to him, still restless. 

“Do you want the bad news or the… surprising news first?”

“Good news?”

You shook your head. “Let me just get the bad news off my chest because it’s making me sick not telling you.”

The other news is making me feel sick too, but for a slightly different reason. 

“Okay…” Leon’s inquiring eyes seemed onto what you were about to say.

“I cheated on you and I’m really really really sorry.”

You broke down immediately, and his instinct to protect you took over any anger he felt. He held you in his arms and rubbed your back.

“Breathe, baby.”

“I’m so sorry, Leon. I love you, and I ruined everything. I fucked it all up because I was lonely and pissed off at you for what you did with Ada.”

“I understand,” he said with a sigh. He wasn’t happy, that was for sure, but he continued to soothe you with his steady, reassuring hands. 

Once you’d stopped crying, Leon said, “Who was it?” He was firm, but not angry 

“Chris,” you said, already on the verge of tears again, “I’m so so so sorry.”

Your words came out all in one breath, all laced with anxiety. Your whole world was about to crumble in front of you.

“Stop saying you’re sorry! It’s not helping either of us. I understand that you’re sorry.”

He’d never been harsh with you before. It was unsettling. The waterworks returned.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have used that tone with you. Even if I’m upset, that was wrong of me to snap at you.” Leon pressed you to his chest while he apologized and you could feel his heartbeat. Fast, and yet he was so focused on calming you. 

“How exactly did this come about?” He asked. 

“I was really lonely and so I texted Claire, but I was too shy to tell her that I wanted to hang out so I asked her if she knew how to change your AC, and she said no, but she could send Chris and I just accepted because I couldn’t tell her the truth about the AC…”

To your surprise, Leon was laughing.

“Why are you laughing?”

“Because that’s hilarious. Don’t get me wrong, I’m still upset about you cheating, but it just sounds like a dumb porn plot. You can’t figure out the stupid air conditioner so you have to call the maintenance man to come fuck you about it.”

After he got his giggling out, he sighed and said, “I doubt the rest is funny, but I still think I should know what happened.”

“It just happened.”

“What happened?”

“We made out and he…” You made a motion indicating ‘fingering’. 

“And then?” He sounded impatient, probably thinking you were holding back something. 

Well, you were, but not about the cheating. 

“And then nothing. Haven’t spoken to him since.”

“You fucked up, that’s for sure.”

“But please don’t get mad at him. He was the one who stopped me when I offered to ‘return the favor’. He told me not to tell you because he felt really bad and didn’t want to ruin our relationship. He wants you to be happy.”

“That doesn’t make him better than you.”

“I know.”

“You said you were pissed at me? That’s why you did it?”

“I missed you and was pissed at the whole world, but mostly because I asked Chris about who you slept with and I basically forced him to tell me, and he told me about Ada. Just hearing about your relationship with her and thinking about her in your bed and how you just expected me to never find out.”

You couldn’t hide the lingering bitterness when you thought about him intentionally hiding her from you. 

“I know. It was wrong of me to do that, and I’m sorry. There’s no relationship, though, just so you know. Me and Ada, we've never been in a relationship.”

“But you love her.”

“I do not love her.”

“But you did.”

“Maybe, but things change. I might’ve loved her 20 years ago, but that doesn’t matter anymore. What matters now is us, and working our shit out.”

He still wants to work things out? Well, that’ll be short-lived. Might as well bite the bullet and spill.

“Can I tell you the other thing?”

“There’s more?” Leon gulped down the last of what was in his glass and poured himself the equivalent of a shot which he also downed before gesturing for you to continue. 

“So, the more shocking thing that I mentioned.”

“I don’t know what else could shock me more, but go ahead.”

“I’m pregnant.”

He was silent, looking at your stomach as if he didn’t believe you. You didn’t have a bump yet, but that was to be expected at this point in the pregnancy. 

“Do you wanna see the ultrasound?” you asked, feeling shy about it since you couldn't decipher his reaction. 

“You got an ultrasound?”

“Yeah, I’ve been to two appointments.”

“Alone?”

“No, Claire went with me.”

You got up and pulled the pictures of your purse.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there,” he mumbled into his empty glass.

“Here,” you said, thrusting them at Leon. 

This was make or break. Your nerves made you feel sick to your stomach. Or maybe that was the morning sickness. 

“Wow,” he marveled at the pictures, “Where is it?”

“Here,” you pointed to the tiny embryo in the fuzzy black and white image.

“That’s in there?” he asked, pointing at your belly.

“Yep.”

“It’s not about me, but you have to make that choice pretty soon, don’t you?”

You couldn’t tell what he wanted from his tone, but you’d already made your choice. You were going to stick to your guns on this one. Yeah, you’d fucked up a lot recently, but this felt right. Unexpected, nerve-wracking, but somehow right. 

“I’ve been planning on keeping the baby... becoming a mom.”

“Okay. Then, I’ll be a dad.”

“Really? It’s that simple?”

“I think so.”

“But I fucked everything up and you have this weird job and we’re not married and -”

He cut you off with a kiss. “We’ll figure it out,” he said.

“You don’t hate me?”

“I never hated you.”

“Really? Even after everything?”

“Do you hate me? Even after everything I did?”

“No.”

“Then I think you understand.”

“Do you hate Chris?”

“No,” he sighed and paused, “but I’m going to have a talk with him. Does he know about the baby?”

“I haven’t told him.”

“Who knows? Other than Claire.”

“Jill and Hunnigan.”

“Hunnigan knows?”

“Yeah, I asked her to patch me through to you, so I could tell you, but she said no.”

“She said no?” Leon looked like he was about to snap again, you could see him tense up. 

“She was just looking out for you, didn’t want to let you get distracted and get yourself accidentally killed.”

“No, fuck that! I’m done with the DSO dictating everything about my life. They took away any plans for a normal life, a normal job, having normal friendships, every vacation I’ve ever tried to have, but now they’re fucking with my family? No. That’s it. I quit.”

Family? Family, you were going to be a family. Those pregnancy hormones were close to making you tear up.

“You said you can’t quit.”

“I’m going to.”

“What if they kill you?”

“They won’t.”

“How do you know?”

“I’d kill them first. They shouldn’t have trained me in combat if they wanted me to be a target.”

“You’re willing to put your life on the line?”

“I put my life on the line for way less for the last 3 months. For my kid? Hell yeah, I’ll put my life on the line.”

“Your kid,” you echoed, rubbing your tummy.

“Yeah, our kid, our little baby.”

Leon was smiling, really smiling. Okay, maybe good things do happen to you.

[jolapeno]

FIC RECS: DECEMBER EDITION

welcome BACK to what i read in december across tumblr, AO3 and books i held in my hand. i didn't get to read nearly as much as i wanted this month due to my brain being an absolute melt, so the tbr is still huge, but we're trying okay? for anyone else who struggled this month, we survived.

a, angst | f, fluff | s, smut

francisco morales

tour de frankie by @inept-the-magnificent | f

nut video with the sound on by @syd-djarin | s

in the winter drabble by @alwayslurkinginthebackground | s

more than letters by @almostfoxglove | f, a wip series

gold, frankie-cense & myrrh by @secretelephanttattoo | f

be my baby by @schnarfer | f

date night - an evening at the arcade by @artsy-girl-76 | f

call it what you want by @thelightsandtheroses | wip series

glimpses of us by @berryispunk | f, a

a self-preservation thing by @moonlitbirdie | f, s

*reread* designated person by @whatsnewalycat | s, a wip series

the sea is calling your name by @berryispunk | a, wip series

watching by @yopossum | s

epiphany by @guiltyasdave | a

joel miller

crazy on you by @goodwithcheese | complete series

im empty without you, so... @chronically-ghosted | f, s

joel drabble by @ozarkthedog | f

haunting me by @sixhours | a, f

sing a song of sixpence by @mothandpidgeon | f

everything's bigger in texas by @miss-oranje-disco-dancer | s, f

solstice by @covetyou | s, f

honey, it's cold outside by @trulybetty | f

remorse for remedy by @pedgito | s, a wip series

forehead kiss by @whocaresstillthelouvre | f

birds of a feather by @whocaresstillthelouvre | f

marcus pike

chrismas crumbs by @secretelephanttattoo | f

in the quiet of us by @maggiemayhemnj | f

a very british christmas by @secretelephanttattoo | f

javier peña

neighbors series by @gothcsz | a, s | wip collection

branded by @sawymredfox | a, f

almost merry by @goodwithcheese | f

dave york

the holiday in vermont by @punkshort | s

fear and delight by @pedgito | s

tim rockford

just one more by @sawymredfox | f, a

din djarin

wedding day by @djarins-cyare | f

life, lights by @yopossum | f

dieter bravo

save me by @jennaispunk | f, a

lucien de leon/flores

dímelo by @iamasaddie | a, s

the books i've held (or read on my kindle)*

*reread* funny story by emily henry

sandwich by catherine newman

blue sisters by coco mellors

other fandom fun

dear-uary writing challenge by ME (still so much time to enter)

christmas capers with the pedro boys moodboards - @morallyinept

mimi's moodboard celebration - @mrsmando

new year, same peña prompt challenge - @beefrobeefcal

wild ride challenge - @kedsandtubesocks (at the time of posting this had one prompt left...)

discovering tunes through fics - @toomanytookas (also for a breakdown of what prompt challenges are going off or fandom fun, check out M's list here)

**if ive missed fandom fun, im so sorry. i was trying something different this month and i promise its not personal!!

[almostempty]

maladaptive coping mechanisms - part 2 (javier x f!reader)

wc: 5.3k | other fics | rating: 18+ | read on ao3 | PART ONE HERE

summary: Looking for an escape from a horrible day, you take a sexy stranger home from the bar. 

tags/warnings: smut, pwp, dom reader/sub jav undertones, switch reader/ switch javi undertones, oral sex, piv sex, AU unprotected sex has no risks bc it's fictional, pwp but some feelings involved, pet names, dick & pussy pronouns

a/n: still practicing, would love feedback, constructive criticism, or delusional inspiration <3

thanks to @miss-oranje-disco-dancer for your thoughts on part 1, i hope this part lives up to the first, and to @gothcsz for encouragement, and the kind anon who asked for part 2

It hurts gasping to catch your breath. Lungs filled with water. Eyes shut so tight a dull headache starts behind them. Every second feels like an hour. In your empty room, alone in your bed. Drowning. Sweat cooling and drying on your skin as the airconditioner hums. A sticky, wet pool of come between your legs. Damp, sweaty sheets. Great, add them to the laundry pile and everything else from your life you’d like to toss out the window. And over what? A man you said ten words to before your smile and fingers digging into his bicep begged him to fuck you? 

When you open your eyes, you can still see his staring back at you deep, warm brown. A new mirage to haunt your mundane existence. You can still hear his baritone voice scratching your ears. You blink and blink, but it doesn’t fade. Javier is standing before you. No shirt on, jeans unbuttoned. Sweat on his golden chest still casting an ethereal shine. He’s holding a fresh glass of water. Your dehydrated body salivates. He’s not a mirage in a desert, though. His shirt is still on your floor with yours. 

You scowl at him, drawing a confused look from him. 

“Something wrong, cariño?” he asks pointedly. 

“No.” 

He sets the water down but doesn’t move closer. He gives you a look. Like he knows your ‘no’ was bullshit. How would he know? He doesn’t know you. Irritation creeps in, replacing the suffocating emptiness. He places a hand softly on your thigh. Gentle so you don’t bolt and run into the street to get hit by an unsuspecting driver in the dark, unable to see you until their headlights flood your eyes and reflect. 

“Thought you’d left,” you answer quietly but honestly. You don’t know him. Why do you care if he thinks you look pathetic? 

“That fast? Without a shirt?” 

You shrug. 

“You want me gone?” He asks, revealing nothing about his own desires. Stoic and frozen to avoid bias. 

“No,” you shake your head, grab the water, swallowing and swallowing. It's so cold it hurts. You hope it never runs out. He can’t see who you really are if you’re hiding behind a glass. Despite your wishes, the glass runs dry. Javi takes it from you and sets it down. 

You look at the man in front of you with sober eyes. He’s incredibly handsome. Without being fueled by blind rage, alcohol, or a contagious horny fever, you aren’t quite as confident. In fact, you suddenly feel overcome with vulnerability. A cord of insecurity wraps around your throat, constricting. You reach for another cigarette to escape the sensation, but Javi intercepts. He takes your hand in his, pulling you towards him until he gets you out of bed and standing before him. He pulls you towards his broad frame and holds you tightly. Pressed against him, chest to chest, you listen to his deep, slow breathing. Skin to skin, he co-regulates you like a baby, fragile in his arms. 

You fight against it. Feeling pathetic. Unable to bare your fangs. Unable to slash with your claws and push him away. He holds you too tight. A heavy lump in your throat renders you unable to speak. Too raw. You’re lost at sea. Circling a whirlpool of dark thoughts. You wait for his rejection. An excuse. A line. A wink and a slap on the ass. A reason to stop fighting and drown. You shouldn’t care if he leaves or ruminate on what he says. He was a distraction. A hot, talented, unforgettable distraction. Another cigarette to burn down to your fingertips and discard in the pile of ash. 

As if, once again, he could hear your hurricane of thoughts bellowing and howling for your attention, Javi shushes you. 

“Quiet.” He runs his fingers up and down your spine. A little light shimmers behind your ribcage. His touch is soothing, and his voice is grounding as he hums into your ear about how soft your skin is. You inhale, your face pressed against his body. He’s spicy, earthy, and smoky. You bite and lick at the flesh you can reach. A barely there noise rumbles in his throat, only for you, only for the ear flush against him, flesh and blood. 

“Shhhh,” he murmurs, “enough.” The light in your chest flickers again. It’s dim, but still, it could guide someone through the dark forest of viscera in your chest cavity to your heart. You shudder. Letting someone follow that beacon through the labyrinth to your jagged, glowing soul? No. What if they see the ugly shape, naked and scarred and bruised? What if they know what you need? What if they give it to you altruistically. 

A stony scowl sets in place. Corners of your mouth weighed down and brows drawn tight. You break out of his hold. Rough and harsh against the warmth between your bodies. 

“How do you know?” You demand an answer. 

“Know what?” 

“Why are you shushing me?” 

“Too loud up here,” he taps the pad of his finger to your temple. A fissure streaking down your stone barricade.

“How do you know?” 

“You have tells.” 

“You don’t know me like that,” you jab a finger at his chest. Hostile and baiting. 

“I’m observant,” he says like it’s a reasonable explanation, unperturbed by your bristling. You stare at him expectantly, waiting for more. Might as well cross your arms and tap your foot. Observant? What the fuck does that mean? 

His hands flex at his sides, his mouth twitches, and then he rolls his shoulders, staying loose and relaxed. Like some thought just rolled through his whole body. “I’m not a good guy,” he says like it’s a fact. Not a threat or self-deprecating. Neutral. 

“But, I know what I’m good at,” he continues, “you clench your jaw, start breathing shallowly, and your eyes–” 

“Got it. I’m a walking billboard,” you cut him off sharply. 

“No.”

You stare back at his face. Unreadable. You wonder what his tells are. 

“I’m observant,” he repeats. You raise an eyebrow at him. “And,” he pauses, “I may have some special training and experience.” 

“In …observing?” 

“Something like that.” 

“What are you Javi? A PI? Secret agent man? FBI?”

“DEA.” 

“DEA?” 

“Formerly.” 

“Formerly? Did you get fired? Caught on the take? Testing the product?” 

He snorts at you. You cracked a smile out of him. It softens you. A playful ease reemerging.  

“Retired.” 

He’s a man of few words, it seems. His walls have a strong foundation. You scrutinize his face and body swiftly and blatantly. 

“You either have some freakish age-defying genetics, or the DEA retirement age is earlier than I thought,” you muse, earning a little huff of air that sounds like a stifled laugh from him. 

“Chose an early retirement; resigned.” Something else is on the edge of his tongue. It doesn’t formulate. 

“Did you like it?” You ask with sincerity. He blinks. Unprepared for that question. Shit, was that the wrong thing to ask? You notice the lines in his face. He runs his thumb across his bottom lip in thought. You wonder if that’s one of his tells. It’s kind of a slutty one, you think to yourself, suppressing a smile as you focus on his mouth. His lips. Soft and plush. The way they fit against yours– 

“I don’t think so,” he decides, “maybe early on.” 

You smile up at him, “s’good that you’re out of it then,” you say with an assertive nod. 

He nods back with a deep exhale. Release. Like he’s letting go of something, but his eyes seem unfocused now. Another tell? Maybe you need special training to know. He seems far away in his head. Withdrawing. No, you want him to stay present with you. You liked how it felt when he appeared connected. Here. With you. You liked his confidence. The chemistry egged you on like you both were in on a secret. You think you might know how to bring him back. Plus, he needs it, you decide. You aren’t done with him, and he hasn’t disappeared completely. You readjust internally. More. You’re still smiling, but with an edge he hasn’t caught yet. 

“Hey, Javi?” You purr. 

“Hmm?” Still faraway. 

You pick up one of his hands in both of yours and kiss each finger. Watching his face. Looking for the light behind his eyes. The tactile sensation draws it out like a stagelight, he’s fixed on your mouth. The size of your hands around his. The hunger in your eyes when you look through your lashes at him. 

“What else are you good at?” You drop your voice. Your demons chitter and flap around the room. Maybe they’re chasing his. You drag his fingers down your body. Slowly. Both your heads droop, chin to chest, watching the private show. Just for you, except it’s for him. Between your breasts, down your soft belly. Lower and lower. Breathing your shared hot air. All you can hear is the fan in the airconditioner and your pulse. Time weighted down by the tension. You pause. His hand is heavy, dead weight in yours, letting you have him. You reverse, tracing back up, the same path, until you’re about to kiss his fingers again, but instead you wrap your lips around one and suck. 

“Fuck,” his eyes widen briefly, and his jaw hangs slack. You pull off his finger wetly. Alluring. You don’t have to act. The expression forming on his face brings out your devious seductress. Smiling, wide. You bite your lip, toning it down. Batting your lashes at him. You’re like an image from a dream he’s been having since he was a teenager. He hopes he doesn’t wake up from it. 

“Javi?”

“Yes.” 

“What else are you good at?” you repeat. Tolerant of his lapse in responding. For now. 

The switch flicks. He regains autonomous control of his limbs. Hands curl around your form, until one rests along the back of your neck, fingers slid into the hair at the base of your skull. The other wedges between your legs. Hot against the sticky mess you’d been forcing yourself to ignore since he first got out of your bed. He’s here, back. 

“Good at making a mess of this pretty little pussy.” 

“Mmm,” you agree. His voice unlocks something ravenous. 

“Good at making you come wrapped around these fingers,” he slips and swirls them through the mess between your legs. Obscene. 

“Mmm.”

“Good at filling you with this cock until you forget how to say anything ‘cept for ‘please, Javi’,” he declares as his other hand wraps yours around his growing length. 

“Yes.” 

“Good at giving you something to feel,” he continues on. He is no longer a man of few words; he’s not a laconic lover. A filthy little devil dances on his tongue. He’s a willing vessel. Tugging at your hair and slipping through your folds. 

You giggle airily, and he pauses his running list of sex skills, waiting for an explanation. What could possibly be funny to you right now. 

“Giving me something to feel,” you slip between another giggle. “Right now,” you pull at his wrist, “I feel like we could use a shower before we keep going. We’re messy.” 

He laughs with you, and you adore how his eyes crinkle when he smiles wide. 

You wash each other in the shower with care. Roles reversed from the cab of his truck, you sternly demand he behaves in the shower, citing an unreliable hot water tank. It’s hard to resist fooling around covered in soap, but he holds up his hands in surrender. He promises to behave. But his cock refuses. It pokes and prods at your soft belly and lower back. Teasing. Begging to be scolded for disobeying. Protesting in opposition to Javier’s earnest affection. He’s gentle washing your back. Vulnerable letting you wash his. It’s rejuvenating. He cleared your mind earlier, and gave you something to feel, with care and attention. You commit yourself to returning the favor. You’ll give him a break from whatever led him to brooding on a barstool. 

You have a feeling he doesn’t give up control very often. He’s such an attentive listener, though. He’ll do great, you decide. 

He knows something has changed. Wretched observant thing he is. 

You are busy thinking, but you don’t have the same look on your face as you did at the bar or when he came back to your bedroom after getting more water. Your mind is racing, but with vigor. It radiates through the hot steam. A sparkle in your eye. Fluid movement. As if it were all premeditated, you dry off and direct him. 

He’s bewitched by the riddle of you. Bold and quick witted, but raw and honest. It’s easy to notice when you’re lost in your head, but he can’t predict you. Time speeds up and slows down in your presence. Like he was knocked out cold, face to pavement. Then thrown in the backseat of a speeding car, but it’s on a cross country trip. When he makes eye contact with you in the rearview mirror from the backseat it’s unnerving. Is he your hostage? Were you the getaway driver? 

You catch him drifting away. Naked and wet in your too bright bathroom, exposed like he’s on an operating table under the bright fluorescent lights. You watch as he towels off on autopilot. 

He realizes he wants to stay longer, not because he knows the broken look from your face earlier, but because something else already stitches you together. You’re peculiar. Direct. Expressive. His speed. Some unspoken understanding, resolute and vibrant. Cutting through the void of the unknown. Real. He can read when you disappaer, but he can’t predict you. 

Javi shakes his head to himself, lost in this train of thought. You’ve known her for a few hours. A couple drinks, sex, and a shower, he reminds himself. He also knows how you taste and how you feel wrapped around his cock, whining please, and that thought fans the flames. 

Enough. You decide. He needs this. 

He smells fresh and sweet from your body wash as you lead him back to your bedroom. He pulls your back into his damp chest, running his hands along your body and nearly purring in your ear. Good.

You whip around and take a step back, surprising him. He hesitates. You’re analyzing. Calculating. Your eyes drag over his body. His big brown eyes and kiss-swollen lips register that you pulled away from him. His hands flex like a predator, ready to grab and pull you back to him, but restrained. His cock reaches out towards you unabashedly, shouting for your attention. 

You can’t help but feel the smile you feel pulling at the corners of your mouth. 

“Javi?”

“Yes?”

“Are you good at following orders?”

“Nope.” 

You laugh, surprised by his quick honesty. 

“Kind of oxymoronic,” you ponder. 

“How?” 

“Well, now I don’t know if you should earn my favor for answering honestly or if I should prepare a punishment if you’re going to misbehave.”

Something flickers across his face. He swallows it. 

“Let me try again.” You move closer and cup his cheek in your palm like he did to you when you first sat on your bed for him. You look into his eyes and speak softly, “You gave me what I needed earlier. Made me feel so good I forgot everything else.” He waits for you to continue, but you feel his chest puff with pride. “I’d like to give you what you need now, Javi.” He swallows again. You wondered if he’d have a quip for that, but he looks so serious. Focused. 

“But first, I need to know if you’ll be good for me, Javi. Can you do that? Can you be good for me?” 

You feel him melt slightly, into your palm, nearly imperceptible the weight shifting into your hold. 

More. The wildfire within you is lit. Blazing. 

“Yes,” he nearly whispers. A flush of heat crawls up his chest. 

“Can you follow my orders?” 

“Yes, mi reina,” he said, consenting. That’s new. 

“Mmm,” you purr at him. 

“Does your pretty cock know that?” 

He blinks with a thin veil of confusion at you. Uncertain. 

“Yes,” he confirms. 

“Look at me,” you order. 

You sink to your knees in front of him. You ego does flips in your stomach. He looms over you, but you hold the reins. You pepper little kitten licks up the underside of his shaft, holding his eye contact and pausing. You rest your soft cheek against his thigh. He’s tense. Waiting to know the rules. 

“Does he look greedy to you?” You study the precome weeping from the head of his cock inches from your face. 

“No, mi reina.” 

“No?”

You avoid his crying erection and impishly toy with his balls. Lazily, you kiss and lick and suckle at them for your own enjoyment. And when you stop, you feel the weight of his gaze, and his unanswered questions, the payback. 

“So good for me watching and not touching,” you praise. “But, baby, look. He’s drooling like a rabid dog.”

You swipe up a trail of the glistening fluid with precision, doing nothing to relieve him. He swallows tightly, his body buzzing with tension like a livewire. He finds it easy to dole out pleasure, direct his energy towards someone else, drown in unraveling a woman’s desires. But your knowing look at him is unnerving. Rattling his bravado. You move with precision, intensely. 

“Tell me, Javi,” you peer up at his face, “do you have a greedy cock?” 

You’re going to ruin him. 

“Yes,” he relents through an exhale. You’ve found it. Kept locked in a cage. Leashed in the dark. How did you find it? Did he lead you there? 

You tilt your head at him. 

“Yes, mi reina,” he adds. 

“Say it for me, baby,” you push. 

He takes a shallow breath. You grin at him like a Cheshire Cat. 

“I have a greedy cock, mi reina, a greedy disobedient cock.” Unlocked, you pocket the key. You’ve unleashed something within him. His feels a swirl of sick pleasure twisting in his core. 

“Yes,” you exclaim with a bright look that gives him a rush. He wants to keep making you look like that. 

“You can touch.” You reward him. Too easy. 

He reaches for you, and you swat at his hand. 

“No, baby, you can touch your greedy cock, not me.” 

A whiny little groan comes out of him, prickling with need. 

“Slowly,” you add, watching as he obeys. His hand pumps slowly. You can’t resist. Holding out your tongue, you move close enough that his rosy head taps against your wet tongue just long enough to get a taste. You hum. Pleased with his obedience and the taste of him. 

“Fuck,” he whispers, closing his eyes tightly. 

“Your eyes stay on me, though,” you remind him gently, with leniency for his current state of executive functioning. 

“Would you like to know a secret?” You tease as you stand up and lean into his ear. 

“Yes,” he pants. Breathy and gravelly. Delight coats your expression, you 

“I like your big greedy cock,” you lilt. 

A soft whine is pulled from his throat. You frown dramatically at him. Causing him to pause his tense strokes and his brow to furrow. You love the intoxicating feeling of having him at your mercy. 

“But you already knew that,” you admonish, shaking your head at him. 

“Already knew that,” he repeats. You’re not sure he could tell you what he just agreed to know. 

“Not a very good secret then, I guess,” you think aloud. You’re light and lucid, bouncing around him as he’s anchored in the quicksand of your spell. 

“But do you know,” circling behind him, you press your soft tits into his back, and you continue to rasp towards his ear, “how wet my pussy is now? Just from the idea of taking your cock down my throat? She’s about to drip down my legs.” 

“Fuck,” he pants again and stops moving. You feel like the sun. You urge him to turn towards you as you crawl onto your bed and lay in the center. His eyes flick all over you, wanting to see everything. 

He’s fighting to figure out where to lock his eyes. It feels euphoric to see how openly aroused he is by you. 

“Did you know that?” You repeat. 

“No.” 

“S’what I thought,” you reposition yourself, “you wanna see for yourself?” 

“Yes,” he answers rapidly. Eager. 

You show him. Parting your legs to display the evidence. So wet and tender for him. 

You’re locked in a timeloop. When you see his eyes flood with lust, and his body tenses, your desire swells in your core, flooding your glossy folds. When he sees your glistening sex fluttering and pulsing, it nearly brings him to his knees. A horny sisyphian wet dream. Turning each other on. But, crucially, you know how to break free. 

“You wanna taste?” You ask. 

“Yes, please.” Good manners. 

He starts to move towards you, and you press him back. 

“No, baby, lay right here, and I’ll give you a taste.” 

He’s obedient. Settling next to you. For a moment, he has the urge to drag you by the hips to sit on his face. To take you for himself, no games. But then he hears your sweet voice praising him and feels overcome with a dizzying sense of validation. 

“So perfect, baby, look at you,” you continue showering him with adoration. You’re mesmerizing with your sweet scent, wet lips, and your glassy eyes. Too good for him. He doesn’t deserve your attention like this. 

You see the crease between his brows as he starts to overthink. Enough. You bite sharply at his nipple, and he yelps and gapes at you. You straddle his waist and give him a stern look. 

“Stay here with me, Javi,” you order, ”don’t disappear in there.” You tap a finger lightly against his temple. He nods. 

You hover over him and slip his swollen head through your folds, easily coating his length. He shudders and groans. So openly vocal and responsive to you. That’s good. I like to hear you, baby. You use him as you please, like a toy circling your clit. But it’s everything about him that saturates you in pleasure. 

“Feel so fucking good,” you praise before pulling back and shifting down between his legs. 

You lick and suck your arousal off of him. Loud and messy. You climb towards his face. “Open,” you place your hand under his jaw, “taste,” you murmur before feeding your tongue into his mouth. Kissing hungrily he lets out desperate, deep groans. Relaxing into your movements he simply accepts what you give and lets you feel his uninhibited reactions. 

He finds you vexing and tantalizing. Letting him touch and taste, but not directly. He’d have half a mind to argue with you—despite having tormented you just the same—but how you light up and laugh when you best him fills him with a more profound desire. He likes how you look when you’re in charge. He likes that he just has to keep up. He likes being all consumed by the present moment, so caught up in you he can’t think about anything else. 

You break away, seemingly satisfied with his participation thus far. You’re ethereal and glowing above him. 

You slide down and return to your retribution. Teasing by lightly drawing your fingers around his leaking cock as it lies against his lower abdomen. You revel in delight over his muscles tensing and flexing, and he huffs impatiently as you increase the intensity of your vengeance. You trace the same outline with your tongue; you use his moves from earlier, breathing warm and cool air over his length and watching it twitch. 

You stare up at him as you run the flat of your tongue from his balls up to his tip. He looks wrecked, staring back at you, and you feel powerful, holding his attention.  

He catches the flash of a smirk before you slip your mouth around his tip and nearly overwhelm him with the warm slip of your tongue and the pressure of your mouth wrapped around him. 

“Fuck,” he rasps. 

You don’t let up, swiftly taking him further down. You focus on breathing and working him into the back of your throat, then back to just the tip. Your saliva drips and coats him as your hands work in time with your bobbing head. It’s messy, and the noises are pornographic as you pour your enthusiasm onto him. He’s cursing and groaning while you continue on, and you can’t take the sight of him anymore. You pull off him and crawl up the bed on your hands and knees. You sit up and pick up one of his hands. 

“Javi, I have a problem,”

“Shit, what?” 

“When your cock is in my mouth, my pussy gets jealous. She’s too empty,” before he can respond, you drag his hand through your obscenely wet folds. 

“Fuck,” he chokes out. It must be his favorite word. 

“Mhmm,” you agree. 

“Use me,” he says in a hoarse voice. 

“I intend to,” you reply. 

And you do. You ride him with an unrestrained vigor. You start bouncing up and down, tossing your head back to give him a little show. You drive him into a frenzy as you freely describe how good he makes you feel. And when he looks wholly fucked out, you taunt him for looking so pleased when his body is yours to use. 

When he breaks, you feel his hands caress your body greedily. He squeezes at your hips, and he gapes with stars in his eyes at your tits perfectly filling his hands. He gropes at your ass and digs his fingers into your plush skin, pulling you down harder onto him with each bounce.

You consider how you might torture him further for touching without asking, but decide you just need to see him come undone. A single thought crosses your mind like a brilliant marquee on an empty boulevard.

He remains happy to obey as you instruct him to swap positions. 

“You’re going to keep fucking me hard and deep while I come on your cock,” you order as you trail your hand down to your clit to your liking. 

“Yes,” he agrees. “Come. Come on my cock.” He chants raggedly as you do. Your orgasm ripples across your body until the oversensitivity hits, and you press your hand into Javi’s chest. He pauses, hovering over you. You breathe as you come down and observe the exertion written across his features. 

“Again,” you state, and he slides back into you. “I need it now, Javi,” you continue. “I need you to come. Fill me up. Just like you promised.” 

You can’t get there with him again fast enough, but don’t need to. You just want to feel him deep inside you, releasing everything he’s got. And he’s more than willing to follow orders. He thrusts into you deeply until his hips jerk, and you can feel him pulsing inside of you as he comes. 

“Please, take it.” You make out in between words that he smothers in your skin.  

When he collapses on top of you, and your fingers rake through his hair, it’s as if he turns to liquid, and your soul absorbs him up. 

You hum contentedly at him and push until he rolls off. 

You order him to stay in bed before you’re off to clean up, bring him a towel, and of course, refill water glasses for both of you. As you walk into the kitchen, you see the flashing light on your answering machine. You didn’t notice it when you got home earlier, but it reminds you of the reality of the night. You know it’s a scathing message from your ex for walking away hours ago. 

You feel a thread of annoyance, but it doesn’t escalate as you return to your bedroom. 

Javi is where you left him and watches you with a funny look in his eyes as you carry on about your tasks until you return to his side. He likes seeing you move about your space, naked and unhurried. How insistint you are about taking care of him, it feels natural. 

“What?” you grill him for staring. 

“Nothing, nothing,” he assuages, raising his hands in defense. 

You like how he looks in your bed with his dewy skin and mussed hair. 

“Seems like you can be good at following orders,” you note.  

“Depends on who’s doing the ordering, I guess” he shrugs, and you roll your eyes. 

You offer him a cigarette and notice the time on the clock on your nightstand. 

“It’s late,” you state, and he nods, taking a long drag. 

“Stay,” you suggest, hoping it doesn’t sound needy. 

“That an order, mi reina?” 

You didn’t expect to hear that endearment outside of sex. It makes you float. 

“Yes.” 

“Good.”

He’s there. In the morning when you wake up. Taking up too much space in your bed, sprawled on his stomach. Trapping you under a heavy arm. Snoring hot air into your shoulder. His body is a furnace, the sheet balled up towards your feet, leaving his bare skin exposed to the morning light. His smooth back and the curve of his ass are candid and honest next to you. You figured he would’ve disappeared before you woke up. Like a cryptid. You thought you’d be searching for any trace that he was real. Fortunately, you are surrounded by evidence. He is real, and unguarded. And somehow weighing your whole body down with just one arm. You squirm trying to check the time and he stirs. You still. 

“Morning,” he grumbles. Of course his morning voice is sexier than you could’ve imagined. 

“Morning.” 

He peels his arm from your skin, releasing you. Free to stretch you reveal the ache in your shoulders from sleeping in that position with a groan. The room smells like sweat and sex, with faint notes of your shampoo and his aftershave lingering on your pillows. You instantly miss his touch, despite the fact that you were overheating from his warmth. You wait for a clue. What happens next? He was supposed to be temporary. A high you chased. Just a distraction, help you avoid reality and your emotions. But you like having him spread out on your mattress in the morning. You’d like to hear more of his voice. 

He flips onto his back and scoops you under his arm. Oh. Head on his chest. You hear the strong beat of his heart in his chest. You might as well try. 

“You want–” “Can I–” 

You both laugh, your head bumping into his chest. You urge him to go first. Reveal his hand. 

“Can I take you to breakfast?” he asks, “maybe after another shower,” he adds considering whatever fluids are still pasted to his skin. 

You couldn’t have resisted the smile spreading on your face if you’d been warned ahead of time. You know he feels it pressed against his skin. 

“I was going to offer to make coffee, but that does sound better.” 

“Good.”

“Plus, I could use a ride back to my car. It’s still outside the bar.” 

“A ride, hm?” His voice melts over the top of your head. You’re not listening to the words. Floating in a cloud. Just the baritone of his voice keeping you in the air. “C’mere, I’ve got a ride for you, cariño,” he growls into your hair before pulling you all the way on top of him. You shake with airy laughter, sitting up. Your laugh lights up his eyes. He looks at you like he wants more. 

It’s enough. 

read on ao3 | PART ONE HERE | divider by @/saradika-graphics

thank you for reading, please let me know what you think <3

[burntheedges]

Roll-A-Trope Challenge Masterlist

Y'all the response to this challenge blew me away!! 🥺🥰 We are going to have so many amazing fics to read! 🧡 Check here for all of the character/trope pairings from when people joined.

I'll link each one as they're posted. Under the cut you'll soon find fics for Dave York, Dieter Bravo, Din Djarin, Dio Morrissey, Ezra (Prospect), Frankie Morales, Jack Daniels, Javi Gutierrez, Javier Peña, Joel Miller, Marcus Acacius, Marcus Moreno, Marcus Pike, Max Phillips, Nathan Landry, Oberyn Martell, Pero Tovar, and Tim Rockford! And so many amazing tropes!!

Last updated: 12/27 | Fic count: 56!

Dave York

Audience of One by @katareyoudrilling | 3k | Dave x f!reader Trope: famous person AU

Can You Remember Who You Were? by @punkshort | 9.1k | Dave x f!reader Trope: reincarnation

Danger Zone by @almostempty | 6k | Dave x Lana Kane (you) x Sterling Archer (crossover with Archer (TV)) Trope: snowed in

Down Bad by @schnarfer | 6.1k | Dave x f!reader | part 2 Trope: only one bed (and bonus, it's a coffee shop AU!)

It's Only Make Believe by @jennaispunk | 7k | Dieter x f!actress!reader Trope: fake dating

Sunshine & Rainbows by @jeewrites | 10.1k | Dave x f!reader Trope: amnesia

Dieter Bravo

Broken Hearts Mended by @bitchesuntitled | 6.1k | Dieter x f!reader Trope: time travel

Just like the Picture by @nerdieforpedro | 936 | Dieter x gn!reader Trope: landlord

Teleportation and Blue Whiskey (part 1) by @davnittbraes | 1.5k | Dieter x f!reader Trope: stuck in an elevator

this protector by @perotovar | 3.1k | Dieter x Din Trope: only one bed

Din Djarin

Familiar yet Foreign by @whxtedreams | 3.7k | Din x f!reader Trope: fake marriage

New Home (Part 1) by @weirdoneattheparty | 2.1k | Din x f!reader Trope: friends to lovers

something worse by @corazondebeskar-reads | 3.2k | Din x f!reader Trope: enemies to lovers

The Long Way Round by @din-cognito | 3.17k | Din x gn!reader Trope: road trip

Dio Morrissey

Crimes Against Each Other by @crowandmousewritingco | 2.9k | Dio x trans!reader Trope: enemies to lovers

Ezra (Prospect)

To Leave the Green by @cas-readsandwrites | 2k | Ezra & Cee, gen Trope: time loop

Frankie Morales

a kiss, my panacea by @skittlesfics | 917 | Frankie x gn!reader Trope: sickfic

Better Love by @docharleythegeekqueen | 3.4k | Frankie x reader Trope: snowed in

Dreamers (part 1) by @beefrobeefcal | 3.4k | Frankie x reader Trope: soulmates | now with Part 2!

Forever starts tonight by @sawymredfox | 3.6k | Frankie x f!reader Trope: pining

GOING DOWN by @aurorawritestoescape | 3.4k | Frankie x f!reader and Joel x f!reader Trope: exes

I Like You A Latte by @inept-the-magnificent | 752 | Frankie x f!reader Trope: coffee shop AU

I'm Yours by @ashleyfilm | 3.2k | Frankie x reader Trope: secret relationship

To Feel Your Body Against Mine by @flightlessangelwings | 4.5k | Frankie x f!reader Trope: secret relationship

Jack Daniels

i'd give anything for more time by @penvisions | 2k | Jack x f!reader trope: time loop

If I should die before you do by @maggiemayhemnj | 1.7k | Jack x f!reader trope: soulmates

Life's a Dance by @wordywarriorwrites | 2k | Jack x reader Trope: didn't know they were dating

Lucid Dreams by @fhatbhabiee | 3.2k | Jack x reader Trope: friends to lovers

Javi Gutierrez

Things You Knew by @eff4freddie | 8k | Javi G x reader Trope: soulmates

To Make a Day for You by @yopossum | 3k? | Javi G x f!reader Trope: stuck in an elevator

Javier Peña

3 sides of a man by @milla-frenchy | 3.3k | Javi x f!reader Trope: secret relationship

between two floors by @glowingxeyes | 1k | Javi x f!reader Trope: stuck in an elevator | there’s a part 2 and 3!

GOING DOWN by @almostfoxglove | 3.3k | Javi P x f!reader Trope: stuck in an elevator

good guys, bad deeds by @miss-oranje-disco-dancer | 3.9k | Javi x f!reader Trope: only one bed

Joel Miller

Birds of a Feather by @whocaresstillthelouvre | 5.3k | Joel x f!reader Trope: snowed in

Besties by @butterphii | >1k | Joel x f!reader

drive by @kedsandtubesocks | 2k | Joel x f!reader Trope: road trip

For Better or Worse by @captainredspade | Joel x f!reader Trope: fake marriage

Fragile State by @galway-girlatwork | 2.5k | Joel x OFC!Tara Trope: amnesia

Galway Girl by @yxtkiwiyxt | 7k | Joel x f!reader | part 2!! Trope: soulmates

If You're Reading This by @crowandmousewritingco | 4.5k | Joel x nb!reader Trope: epistolary

It Had To Be You by @jobean12-blog | 4.8k | Joel x f!reader Trope: enemies to lovers

Wish by @hotgirlbedtimescenarios | 1.7k Trope: time travel

Marcus Acacius

Searching for the stars by @the-mandawhor1an | 2.7k | Marcus x f!reader Trope: time travel

Marcus Moreno

Through Every Lifetime by @joelalorian | 4.5k | Marcus x f!reader Trope: reincarnation

Marcus Pike

Pike's Place by @pedges-world | Marcus x reader Trope: snowed in | series!!

Max Phillips

A Little Broken by @clawdeewritesfanfic | 3.2k | Max x f!reader Trope: pining

Time After Time by @grogusmum | drabble | Max x f!reader Trope: reincarnation

Nathan Landry

consensus ad idem by @sunshinehaze1 | 4.9k | Nathan x f!reader Trope: snowed in

Oberyn Martell

sweet and sour by @iamasaddie | 5.5k | Oberyn x f!reader Trope: fake relationship

The Correspondence of the Contagious by @crowandmousewritingco | 1.4k | Oberyn x gn!reader x Ellaria Trope: epistolary

Pero Tovar

Memories made, memories lost by @avastrasposts | 7.9k | Pero x f!reader Trope: amnesia

nothing is sure by @tinytinymenace | 2.5k | Pero x OFC Trope: didn't know they were dating

Tim Rockford

|Bump in the Night| by @dc418writes | Tim x black!reader Trope: friends to lovers

Keep Quiet by @auteurdelabre | Tim x f!reader Trope: secret relationship

When Only Memories Remain by @artsy-girl-76 | 3.4k | Tim x f!reader Trope: "shop" AU

[baronessvonglitter]

Summer's almost over, and since I've been officially posting on tumblr since June, I'm going to start compiling fic recs on a seasonal basis, so naturally we're starting with summer.

I realize some of these fics are older, and some are even out of season ("Boo" takes place on Halloween) but this is my blog and I'm not gonna hold myself to too many standards 😜

Honestly, everything I reblog is an automatic "fic rec". The ones below are my particular favorites of this past summer 🌅

Abducted ~ Joel Miller x f!reader ~ by @propheticbride

Boo ~ Joel Miller x f!reader ~ by @pascalsbby

Brat! ~ Joel Miller x brat!female!reader ~ by @shellshocklove

Caught in the Act ~ pre-outbreak Joel Miller x roommate!fem!reader ~ by @mermaidgirl30

Cuts Like Glass ~ Dave York x f!reader ~ by @morallyinept

Dinner and a Show ~ Joel Miller x Roman Roy x f!reader ~ by @strang3lov3

Doctor's Pet ~ doctor!Dave York x nurse!reader ~ by @evolnoomym

Heavenly Bound ~ Jackson!Joel Miller x afab!virgin!reader ~ by @ozarkthedog

I Can Bring You in Hot ~ Din Djarin x Maxwell Lord ~ by @ghostofaboy

In the shadows of others, we grow (series) ~ Tim Rockford x Dave York ~ by @sin-djarin

Just Like That (series) ~ dark!perv!stepdad!Joel Miller x fem!reader ~ by @sweetpascal

My kingdom for a kiss upon her shoulder ~ Javier Pena x reader ~ by @miss-oranje-disco-dancer

The Nebble Files (series) ~ Tim Rockford x OFC Jane Nebble ~ by @inept-the-magnificent

Please, Sir ~ Marcus Pike x female!reader ~ by @mountainsandmayhem

The Police Officer ~ uniformed!Joel Miller x f!reader ~ by @myownwholewildworld

Privates ~ AU!Joel Miller x Javier Pena x afab!reader ~ by @eff4freddie

Push It ~ Joel Miller x fem!reader ~ by @milla-frenchy

Put it in, Coach ~ Joel Miller x f!reader ~ by @magpiepills

The Rift (series) ~ Marcus Moreno x Marcus Acacius x Marcus Pike x f!reader ~ by @whataperfectwasteoftime

Savior ~ dark!Joel x captive!reader ~ by @lokischocolatefountain

Strawberry Sugar ~ modern!Oberyn Martell x f!reader ~ by @guiltyasdave

Sweet Tooth ~ mom's bf!Javier Pena x f!reader ~ by @magpiepills

Table for Three ~ Joel Miller x f x Dave York ~ by @aurorawritestoescape

Untitled Joel Miller x f!reader ~ by @joelslastofus

Untitled Marcus Acacius x f!reader ~ by @joelslastofus

Volatile ~ Dave York x f!reader ~ by @javier-pena

The Wedding Night ~ Marcus Acacius x female!reader ~ by @ienjoywritingfilth

Wildest Dreams (series) ~ Dave York x f!reader ~ by @guiltyasdave

[porcelainseashore]

Into the Ether (11)

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Vampire! Toreador! Leon Kennedy x Fem! Reader

Summary: At the all-night events cafe you run, you’ve become acquainted with an elusive patron, Leon, though you can never remember the last moments of your interactions together. After a harrowing encounter, a love-hate relationship develops between the two of you as you grapple with your newfound status in a world of darkness and investigate the reasons behind the untimely attacks.

Content & Warnings: 18+ Resident Evil x Vampire: The Masquerade crossover, horror, mystery, romance, slow burn, strangers to enemies to lovers, angst, fluff, eventual smut, swearing, smoking, alcohol, drug references, non consensual blood drinking, blood bond, vampire turning, violence, injury, mild gore, torture, religious themes, minor character death, RE ensemble, VtM concepts.

Author's Note: Brief mentions of homophobia, bullying, and attempted suicide, as well as suggestive themes ahead. Finally, I wanted to do a shout-out to these underrated RE characters appearing in my fic: let’s hear it for my boys, Patrick (Infinite Darkness) and Kevin Ryman (Outbreak)! 🥰

Taglist: @admirxation @angelstargel @miss-oranje-disco-dancer ❤️‍🔥

AO3 Link

Chapter 11: Hideous

Given how things had blown up between you and Leon in public, it was only natural that word of your outburst had gotten around. Within a few minutes, you had been accosted by an irate-looking man and his entourage kindly informing the both of you, “If you can’t control yourself on these grounds, then perhaps Elysium is not the place for you.”

Were you always meant to suffer in silence? Why was it so highly lauded? Would you win some sort of prize for not running around, kicking and screaming your lungs out? The one thing you knew, though, was that at least for tonight, you had been humiliated and ungraciously banished from Elysium.

Having to make the journey back home with Leon made your skin crawl, but you survived it, like you always do. It seemed as if every time you took a step forward, something would come around and set you two steps back. Like a Russian doll, opening the closet revealed not just a single skeleton, but countless piles hidden within layers upon layers of boxes. You were tired of this charade, tired of what else might lie beneath the earth, if you dug a little deeper.

You were so absorbed in your thoughts that you almost didn’t hear him say, “I gave the documents to the Tremere Primogen.” It was quiet and unassuming, without any fanfare. He didn’t expect it to absolve him of his sins, but he just wanted you to know that he hadn’t played God and condemned another this time.

Was it too late? You never liked things being so finite, but you were tempted to end it there and then. However, a question lingered on your mind. “Who is Sherry?”

You were back at his apartment and he had busied himself cleaning the glasses you had drunken out from earlier to avoid addressing the elephant in the room. One of them slipped out of his hands, landing with a thunk at the bottom of the sink as the water continued running from the tap. 

His time with you was up; judgment had finally come for him. He had made a promise to you a few nights ago to always be honest with you, and he was going to keep it, regardless of the consequences. Shutting off the tap, he gripped the sides of the metallic basin. A knot in his chest tightened and he felt like he was suffocating.

“She was one of the vessels,” he admitted, and without further prompting, he revealed the detail that would damn him the most, “I found her when she was eight years old.”

Squeezing his eyes shut, he heard your loud gasp as fat tears streaked down his face. Everything he had was lost in a matter of seconds. If by some miracle you hadn’t already hated him before, you would hate him for the rest of his unlife now. Blood pooled in his mouth as he bit down hard on his tongue.

“You’re—”

He turned around, facing you for the first time since you’d gotten back. “A monster? Yes, that’s what I am.”

“Why?” You felt the air escape your lungs with a hiss, as if through a puncture wound.

He didn’t want to make any more excuses. You knew what was implying when he simply replied, “For Ada.”

There was nothing else left to hide. He had laid everything bare before you. You saw him as who he was now, in all his vulnerability. Just a man who had chipped away at his soul to be loved and, along the way, convinced himself that this was all there was to it.

The expression on your face hardened, eyeing him like he would never be redeemed. It was the final straw and whatever shred of empathy you had for him was gone. He would do anything to win you back, going down on his knees, begging and groveling, but you had already made up your mind. He just didn’t want to see you say it.

So, he was back at the sink again, holding the glass that had fallen in earlier with a shaky hand. He mouthed the words as you uttered them, as though he knew it by heart.

“When all of this is over, I’m leaving you for good.”

Minutes ticked away into hours. You had already gone to bed, while he stared down the basin, like a bottomless pit reflecting back into him. He didn’t even wince when the glass crushed in his hand, its shards piercing and embedding into his skins as thick, dark red blood ran in rivulets to his fingertips. He watched as it dripped like black tar heroin into the drain, at the same time, wondering, Is that all there is?

━━━━━━━━━━━

Your mind was all over the place at the cafe. It wasn’t like you to forget the program lineup, as well as the logistics of what needed to go where. You even ended up creating a mess when it came to sorting out the lighting and sound tech for the cabaret show that evening. Your colleagues shot you concerned looks as you walked around in a daze like a zombie.

“Do you think she’s burnt out?”

“Probably having an off night.”

“She’s always been a bit of a workaholic.”

Funny how Auspex just kicked in for you naturally now, and you could hear snippets of conversation from people who thought they were being so secretive.

Feeling a hand on the back of your shoulder and you spun around, coming face-to-face with Patrick. “Hey, why don’t you take it easy tonight?” he suggested. “I could cover for you. Besides, you’re the boss here.”

“One of them,” you corrected, as you stubbornly continued to unwind the equipment cords, plugging them in along the marked out areas on stage.

“Yeah, but er, the rest aren’t as active,” he reasoned.

“So?” You shrugged, heading off to the other end of the stage to check on the mic stands.

Like an obedient puppy, he continued tailing you, following closely behind. “Something’s off with you…” He wrinkled his nose. “Is it Leon?”

Upon hearing his name, you fumbled with the mic, nearly dropping it if not for your Celerity-induced reflexes. “Fuck, shit!” You held onto the stand, stabilizing yourself as you pressed your lips into a thin line.

“Alright, that’s it,” he stated sternly, prying the mic and stand away from your grip. “Head out back and I’ll join you — the usual spot.”

Before you could open your mouth to protest, he already signaled for another employee to take over. “I mean it,” he scolded. “You’re not lifting another finger.”

Sighing, you ran a hand through your hair which had begun to stick along the sides of your face in the humidity. Was the ventilation system broken again?

"I can still see you thinking about work," he said, narrowing his eyes and using both hands to shoo you away from the stage.

You made a fuss and grumbled, but did as you were told and went out into the cold alleyway. Sitting alongside a curb, you stretched out your legs and waited for Patrick to arrive.

“Hm, Gauloises,” you heard his voice coming from behind as you fiddled with the cigarette pack. “Fancy.” He plopped down beside you.

There were only two sticks left now, as you’d chain-smoked the rest in the last nights. In fact, you’d gone through a bunch of them on the way to work. You couldn’t get any nicotine high out of it, but the feel and taste of them against your lips comforted you.

“Wanna split the last two?” You extended the pack towards him.

“Sure.” He fished one out, lighting it straight away before helping you with yours. You tried to hold back your flinching. “Where’d ya get them from anyway?”

“Leon’s ex.”

“Oh,” he coughed out, choking on the smoke. “Well, that must’ve been awkward.” Cocking an eyebrow at you, he suggested, “Is this what it’s about then? He’s got his panties in a twist after seeing her?”

Sort of, but not really. “More like, skeletons in the closet, y’know?” You exhaled a long train of smoke, which coiled and entwined like tendrils in the air.

“Right.” He paused, growing unusually silent as if contemplating on something. “And you’re wondering if he’s a good guy.”

You locked eyes with him, probing for answers. How the fuck did you know? you wanted to ask.

“What if I told you that I wasn’t always like this,” he offered.

“You mean, this annoying?” you jested, snickering as he smacked your arm with the back of his hand.

“Hey, fuck you.” He wagged his finger in your face. “And I meant being comfortable with who I am, liking both men and women — that sort of thing.”

Patrick had moved to Raccoon City from a small town in the middle-of-nowhere, and you could only imagine how it must’ve been like living in a place where the community encroached upon everything that you did. Stifling, was the word.

“I’ve done some stuff in the past I’m not proud of,” he continued. “People can really make some fucked up decisions when put in a situation.”

“You don’t say…” you trailed off as your lips curled into a cynical half-smile.

He glanced over at you skeptically and huffed, “What if I told you that I outed a guy I was in love with, because I didn’t want to get caught?”

You frowned, considering his words as you stared at your smoldering cigarette which had disintegrated into a stub.

“That I bullied and ostracized him after we kissed, just so I could cover my tracks?” he added. “It got so bad that he had to move away. And the last I heard, he tried to—”

You saw him clench his jaw as he cleared his throat, wringing his hands uneasily. He didn’t need to complete his sentence for you to know what he was alluding to.

“Am I a good guy, then?” he forced out, his voice tense and paper-thin, like a razor blade slicing through flesh.

You mulled over what he had shared with you as the crisp, icy wind nipped at your cheeks and your breath came out in misty puffs. “You’re a good friend,” you finally determined.

He draped his arm around your shoulders, jostling you a little as you smiled at each other in understanding. “I can’t change what I did back then,” he conceded. “But what matters is what I do next. At least, that’s what I tell myself.”

Bumping his head playfully against yours, he posed a final question, “So, what’s Leon like now?”

━━━━━━━━━━━

“Feign to the right!”

“There you go.”

“Hold your guard up!”

A string of commands were barked out by the beefy brunette man in front of you, while you worked up a sweat, throwing quick jabs at him as he countered them with ease. You kept your feet light and springy, deftly ducking and sidestepping as he aimed a roundhouse kick at your ribs.

“Nice one!” his sister yelled through her cupped hands at the sidelines.

For a brief moment, you got distracted and found Chris’ fist landing squarely on your jaw in a brutal left hook which sent you sprawling to the ground. 

“Ow…” you groaned, rubbing the side of your face sorely as you scrambled to your feet.

Your mentor folded his arms, throwing you a harsh look as he admonished, “What did I say about blind spots?”

“Never have your back to the enemy,” you recited monotonously. “Always be aware of your surroundings.”

“Hey, Chris, lighten up will ya?” the redhead called out. “She’s doing just fine for a start.”

He sucked his teeth in response before spitting sharply at his side onto the dusty ground. “Fine, take five,” he relented. “We’ll work on some drills next.”

“Well, he wasn’t lying when he said he doesn’t go easy,” you muttered as Claire jogged up towards you.

“Yeah, he’s a bit of a pusher,” she explained, shrugging apologetically. “Used to be in the military.”

“Not surprised.” 

You peered around the vast, minimalistic space you were in. It was an industrial warehouse at the west end of Euston Street that had been converted into a makeshift gym. The bare, unpainted walls and stripped back decor gave it an illicit vibe akin to an underground fight club. Aggressive, punk rock music blared from the stereos, accompanied by the rhythmic clunks of metal hitting the ground as the weightlifters in their muscle tanks did their reps. 

From what you could see, it appeared to be a popular Anarch hangout, with the majority of them likely coming from the Brujah clan. The other Kindred at the corners of the room eyed you suspiciously as they wrapped their hands in strips of cloth for sparring practice. There were talks of you being a Cammy spy, fears that the Redfields tried to allay.

“Don’t worry about her, she’s with us,” they said, pulling you along behind them as they got bombarded with questions, which they took in their stride.

“Yeah, Leon’s childe.”

“Yes, that Leon. The one and only, you idiot.”

“So? He got to her first. Sucks to be you.”

It seemed like Leon’s name carried a certain weight to it. He must’ve been relatively respected within their social circles. You still couldn’t imagine him hanging around areas like this. It seemed too ‘unrefined’ for someone of his standing.

“I showed Leon a few tricks back in the day,” Chris boasted, his eyes twinkling with a faraway look as he recalled fond memories. 

“The same tricks you’re gonna teach me, right?” you prompted, trying your luck.

He threw back his head and laughed. “Gotta say, I like your spunk, kid. But you don’t have any basic training,” he pointed out. “So, learn to walk before you run.”

And that’s how you ended up here, being pushed to your limits as Chris dumped exercise after exercise onto you, and gave you an ass whooping during one of the practice fights. You were exhausted by the end of it, collapsing in a heap on the dirt floor, as you wiped the sweat and grime off your brow.

In fact, you found out that you actually weren’t as strong as you thought you were. The time you ripped off Leon’s bedpost was an anomaly. You’d probably triggered a Blood Surge without knowing, which temporarily buffed your physical strength. Another way was to learn the Potence Discipline, which came naturally to Brujahs and some other clans, but not yours. However, in order to do that, you would need to find the right teacher who possessed those Disciplines and drink from them before your lessons could begin. That was not something you were prepared to do, though Chris had mentioned a third way, and that was by training with the blood to enhance your physical capabilities.

“Rough night, huh?” One of the Kindred who’d been watching you from the start approached, uncapping what looked like a plastic water bottle, but topped up with blood instead.

“Yeah, I’m kinda new to all of this actually,” you replied modestly.

“Well, you got a tough trainer.” She squatted next to you, gulping down the liquid in satisfaction. “But it’ll be good for you in the long run.”

You jerked your chin towards her bottle. “How’d you get one of those?” 

It was an innocent question, but the bewilderment on her face told you that you knew close to nothing about their world, having been sheltered all this while by Leon. Your cheeks grew warm.

“Is that a trick question, or—?” she snorted, only to realize you’d been genuine. “Oh, um, I hunted and drained the victim?”

She followed up with another query, “Didn’t you already have your first kill?”

“What?!” you blurted out, not quite sure if you misunderstood her words.

“Like, the first person you drank from when you turned.” She moved her hands around wildly, as though it would aid in her explanation. “’Cause there’s no way they didn’t end up dead with that kind of hunger frenzy.”

“No, no… it wasn’t like that,” you sputtered, still shocked at what she had divulged. “Le— My sire helped me.”

“Wow, you’re lucky,” she huffed, clearly astounded and simultaneously jealous by the revelation you’d shared. “Some of us didn’t even get anything left for us to eat.”

“You mean, your sires just abandoned you?” you quizzed, baffled by how cruel some Kindred could be. Then again, it shouldn’t have surprised you, seeing as how you’d been treated by the rest of the Camarilla.

She nodded solemnly in response. “Yeah, pretty common among our lot, actually.” 

Waving to another group that had entered into the building, she mentioned, “Caitiffs, over there.”

Caitiff was a catch-all term used for Kindred who didn’t belong to any clan, either because they didn’t know who their sire was, or they had been rejected by their clan as the blood didn’t take. The latter meant that they had no real lineage, including the clane bane and its noticeable features. They were considered to be at the bottom of the social hierarchy, just above the Thin-Bloods.

“Why do you think we’re part of the Anarchs?” she asked rhetorically. “’Cause there was nowhere else for us to go.”

The more you talked with the rest of the group, the more you realized that Leon had been shouldering most of the burdens that should’ve been yours to carry. While other fledglings scrounged around doing someone else’s dirty deeds to be able to survive the next night, you didn’t have to move a muscle. Simply because Leon had taken it upon himself to do it for you. 

What’s Leon like now? Patrick’s question from the previous night echoed in your ears.

Kind, caring, protective — were the words that came up spontaneously. It astonished you that insults like disgusting, vile, revolting didn’t. But he had also been incredibly dense and obtuse at times. You facepalmed and stifled a laugh at the recollection of him dressing you in Ada’s raunchy lingerie set after the night of your Embrace. You’d been outraged at everything then, and when you’d asked him why he had done that, he blushed furiously and stammered, “I-I thought you would feel more comfortable in, uh, um… women’s clothes?”

“What’s so funny?” one of the Anarchs asked, bringing you back to reality.

“Nothing,” you mumbled, shaking your head and shrugging off the residual thoughts that lingered. But like a parasite lodged deep within the crevices of your skull, you couldn’t scrub the image of him abducting a child from your mind. 

That was why you were here, you reminded yourself severely. Not to think about the small pockets of good times with Leon that brought you much-needed joy. Not to make excuses for how he could be redeemed. He wasn’t your little project to work on. You wanted to be free and rid of this man once and for all. You were here to learn how to be independent and self-sufficient, so you would never have to rely on him again.

“How do you usually feed, Claire?” you popped the question out of the blue, so much so that she thought you were joking, just like the younger Anarch.

“What has Leon been weaning you off? Blood bags?” she giggled until she saw the look on your face. “Wait, you’re actually serious?”

An exasperated groan escaped her throat. “He really needs to stop babying you.”

“Tell me about it.” You leaned back against your elbows as you idly watched the others train.

“Well, I shouldn’t be laughing ’cause I’m actually a Bagger myself,” she disclosed. “Working at the charity blood drive at the hospital gives me a couple of privileges when it comes to siphoning off some supplies.”

Raising a finger in front of your face, she preempted your next question, “And no, sorry, I got dibs on that first. You’ll have to find your own way.”

“What other ways are there?” you pondered out loud.

“I dunno, be creative,” she suggested unhelpfully. “My brother’s more the stalk and knock ’em out kind. The Anarch you spoke with earlier prefers sleeping victims…”

She shuffled from her stretched-out position back to sitting on her bum. “Whatever you choose, remember that we’re predators, so think like one. That said, these are just our feeding preferences. In a pinch, you’ll do anything it takes to survive.”

You hummed, contemplating her lengthy exposition on the topic. If there was one thing you’d been good at in life, it was talking with people, getting them excited about an idea, making them feel heard and leaving them wanting more. There were two ways to go about this: either you became a charismatic cult leader or you resorted to the cheesy but tried-and-tested method of picking people up at parties. Naturally, you opted for the latter.

When you told Claire about your plan, she grinned cheekily. “Never took you as the seductive Siren type.”

“I’m not having sex with anyone,” you protested. “Just gonna ask if they’d let me do some weird shit to them.”

“Ooh, like a blood kink sorta thing?” Placing her chin between her fingers, she rubbed her bottom lip in anticipation. “That’s pretty smart, but also on the borderline of a Masquerade breach. You should be careful.”

“It’s kinda what I thought Leon had at first to be honest,” you admitted.

Her hand flew up to her mouth, covering it as she erupted in a burst of raucous cackles. Tears fell from her eyes and her shoulders heaved up and down. Her whole body shook uncontrollably.

“Hah— oh god— jeez,” she wheezed, grabbing onto your shoulder for support. “You’re killin’ me!”

Apparently, it spread like wildfire, since the rest of the crowd reacted similarly, except Chris, whose cheeks were dusted in light pink as he looked away in embarrassment. You never thought you’d be gossiping behind your sire’s back, but it was too late to retract that statement now.

You tried to spend most of these nights away from Leon’s apartment, hoping to get back each time when he had already nodded off to sleep, but you had no such luck. He’d be sitting there either in front of his desk or at the TV waiting for you like a strict parent. Once you got in, he’d glance over at you briefly, his eyes laden with grief, before quietly switching off the lights for bed. 

The change in atmosphere was jarring; you much preferred the liveliness of the cafe and the Anarch hangout, compared to the oppressive heaviness you felt at the apartment. You tossed and turned in bed, unable to find sleep, only to hear the rustling of sheets coming from downstairs, confirming that your companion suffered from the same fate. It was only in the very last moments before sunrise that your body automatically switched off like a clock.

No matter how well you tried to hide the cuts and bruises you returned with from your training sessions with Chris, nothing could elude Leon’s hawk-like scrutiny. He didn’t call you out on it initially, merely giving you perturbed looks, a raised eyebrow here and there, accompanied by a frown. It wasn't until one night, when you returned home with broken knuckles after getting a little over-enthusiastic during a combat fighting session, that he spoke up.

“Are you thrill-seeking, or are you purposely picking fights I don’t know about?” his sharp voice rang out across the room.

You ignored him, heading straight into the bathroom as you loaded a pail with cold water and ice. Plunging your fist into it, you stuffed a towel into your mouth to muffle your whimpers. Then, you roused the blood, focusing your concentration on mending the wound. Within seconds, your mangled hand fixed itself like machine parts slotting into place, becoming brand new again. A pang of hunger arose deep within the bowels of your stomach and you growled reflexively. 

Shit, you needed blood. But you refused to touch the blood bags that Leon had been procuring for you night after night.

At that point, Leon stormed in. “Hey, answer me!” he demanded, his eyes flashing dangerously.

You stood up, facing him as you scoffed, “What’re you, my dad or something?”

“Now, if you’ll excuse me.” With a brazen look on your face, you stripped off in front of him. He stared at you in shock before averting his gaze out of respect for your modesty.

Stepping into the shower, you ran the tap, allowing the spray of water to wash away the dirt and crustied blood from your body. “Feel free to enjoy the show,” you jeered. There was a long pause before you heard his footsteps exit the room in a hurry.

You took your time getting ready, ensuring that not a single strand of hair was out of place and that your makeup was on point. For good measure, you applied a flirty cat eyeliner and chose a brighter, more youthful cherry red for your lips, blotting and smudging it along the edges to create a softer look. 

Pulling out a strappy, ribbed cotton dress from the clothes you’d hung in Leon’s wardrobe, you threw it on. The material accentuated your curves but had a semi-relaxed fit, giving off a casual, sporty vibe — perfect for what you were about to get up to. You favored the warm, earthy tones of its burnt orange hue against your complexion in the mirror. It reminded you of saffron spice and the ember glow of charcoal as the floral taste of shisha filled your mouth in some distant land. Adorning yourself with gold dangle earrings, you completed the look by slipping on a pair of black heeled sandals before making your way out.

However, a hand grabbed your wrist, spinning you around as you landed with your back against the door. “Where the hell do you think you’re going?”

Leon gave you a once over as his smoldering eyes swept over your outfit from head to toe. A multitude of conflicting emotions crossed his face, ranging from disapproval to admiration. He seemed to be leaning hard into the overprotective parent role and it was getting on your nerves.

“The night’s still young,” you argued, tempted to provoke his temper even further. Oh, well, YOLO. Giving him a devilish smirk, you added, “I’m heading out to have some fun. So, don’t bother waiting up for me.”

Wresting your wrist free from his grasp, you flipped your hair, turning towards the door as you strutted out of the apartment without looking back.

━━━━━━━━━━━

It was drizzling when you arrived at the front of the queue at one of the more commercial clubs popular with the younger crowd in downtown Raccoon City. The rain had moistened your skin, giving it wet, glistening sheen as the bouncer ushered you into the space.

Kaleidoscopic strobe lights flashed across the dance floor while a tired playlist of the current top chart hits reverberated through the state-of-the-art sound system. You wouldn’t call this place your usual haunt for a party, but it was your best bet at finding people who’d be willing to hook up and more. The latter part being the crucial factor here.

Scanning the room, you picked out a couple of potential targets — mostly singles who were either halfheartedly bobbing along to the music or restlessly standing at the sides, on the lookout for fresh meat, like yourself.

A buzz of eagerness and exhilaration coursed through your body. The Beast in you egged you on, smiling wickedly as you approached a lone man in the middle of the dancefloor. A well-loved banger came on just in time for you to conduct what you and your friends openly ridiculed and coined as the ‘mating call’.

Sashaying over, you made eye contact with the guy and winked, making sure he knew you had his full attention. He smirked, looking as though he had just hit the jackpot. Maybe he’d been here for a while with no luck. Taking a leisurely sip of his drink, he made no attempt to conceal his blatant ogling of your figure. He wasn’t bad looking himself, but something told you that he was a little rough around the edges and probably had a foul mouth.

As you drew closer, you noticed the way his medium-length, dark brown hair fell against his face in a tousled, layered style, complementing his rugged and laid-back appearance. His square jawline was clean-shaven and he had a broader, sturdier frame than Leon. Wait, why were you comparing him to your sire again?

“Aren’t you a pretty little thing?” He gulped down the rest of his drink for liquid courage before dumping the emptied bottle on the floor. Placing his hands on your hips, the corners of his mouth ticked up into a cocky grin.

Hm, forward, you thought. But at least you could get straight to it then.

You let him twirl you around as you gyrated your hips against his sensually, his chest hugging your back as you made small talk. “What’s your name, handsome?”

He chuckled, his breath tickling the shell of your ear as his gravelly voice dropped an octave lower. “For you, sweetheart, it’s Kevin.”

“Kevin,” you repeated coyly, allowing him to grind even harder against your ass.

“Mmm, that sounds so good on your lips,” he murmured, peppering the side of your neck with kisses. “I’d like to take this someplace else, if y’know what I mean?”

“Thought you’d never ask.” You emitted a breathy giggle, trying to play the part of a ‘seductive siren’ that Claire had mentioned. “Lead the way, Kevin.”

It turned out that his idea of ‘someplace else’ was rather uncreative, but you weren’t here to judge the man, you needed to satiate your hunger. He kissed you roughly against the door of a toilet stall you’d locked yourself into, ignoring the other patrons who were either drunk or high out of their minds. When you heard the metallic clink of his belt unbuckling, you knew it was time.

Pressing your index finger to his lips to stop him momentarily, you asked, “Would you let me do anything to you?” It wasn’t perfect, but it was close enough.

The confusion on his face shifted into a saucy smile, as his imagination began to run wild with interpreting what you wanted. “Didn’t realize I had such a dirty, naughty girl in my hands.”

Kneading your ass, he leered, “Come home with me, baby. I’ll show you a good time.” His hands continued to grope the sides of your body. “Got handcuffs, batons, you name it. Courtesy of the RPD.”

Huh, another police officer. Looks like you had a type apparently, you grimaced internally.

You ran your hands along his muscular chest, grazing your fingertips against his neck, causing him to shiver. “I will, but first, I wanna take a bite.”

“Fuck me, that’s hot,” he gritted. “You can do whatever you want, baby.”

Bingo. Pushing him back onto the toilet seat, you straddled his lap, feeling his hardened erection against your crotch. He let out a hiss at the friction building up between your clothes. Combing his hair away from his neck, you licked a thick stripe along the prominent vein you spotted at its side.

“Fuck,” he rasped, his eyes rolling back in pleasure and you took your chance, plunging your teeth into the vein as you drank from him.

Warm, sweet blood filled your mouth to the brim like a midnight dessert, and you could taste the alcohol and nicotine in it, giving you a double dose of wooziness. So, this was what it was like to get tipsy, you laughed to yourself. All at once, your Beast quietened down, the gnawing feeling at the bottom of your stomach numbed to a point where it was just a tepid throb.

This was where you should end it right? You hoped the man beneath you was still alive. Licking the wound close, you withdrew, quickly grabbing some toilet paper to wipe away the streaks of blood from his neck before chucking it into the bin. Messy drinker. You still needed to get used to feeding.

He was out cold, though his expression was one of pure bliss. I really should get paid for this, you thought, shaking your head as you checked his pulse. Yup, he’ll be fine.

Tugging down the hem of your dress, you smoothed out the creases and stumbled out of the stall. Whoops, you forgot you weren’t entirely sober now, especially in your heels. At the sinks, you peered at yourself in the mirror. Your lipstick was smudged and splotches of bright red decorated your mouth and chin. It was on the borderline — you could’ve just had a lot of makeup on that got ruined in the process.

A partially intoxicated woman at the next sink bumped shoulders with you merrily. “Had fun?”

Trailing a line across your bloodied chin with your finger, you sucked the remnants of Kevin into your mouth, before pulling it out with a ‘pop’. Smiling widely at your reflection, you declared, “Yes.”

Back at the main area of the club, a pair of vivid, crystal-clear blue eyes illuminated in the darkness, stalking your every move. His lips contorted into a vicious snarl, and his fingers wrapped around his sweating glass, gripping it in a chokehold. He looked hideous like this, but he didn’t care. It was only feeding, yet jealousy coiled and wound its way like a rose stem around his heart, its thorns lacerating through flesh and bone, nestling itself deep within its confines.

That guy? Keith— Kevin? Whatever. He was an acquaintance through his brief dalliances with the RPD. As far as Leon was concerned, that sleazeball didn’t deserve you. And neither did he, but he should’ve been the cop you went off with instead.

[crsssie]

fic rec masterlist!!!

bc since I no longer reblog on this acc, I'll make a post to update as I read stuff!!

LEON S KENNEDY

mandalhoerian (yeah just. just the whole account. yeah. go read. now.)

sex education (nsfw!) by uhlunaro

take me back to eden (nsfw!) by sweeterthanficstion

good morning, charlie by uncouth-the-fifth

my cuddly eldrich boyfriend! by leonw4nter

because i love you enough to turn around by vampiricgf

you could be someone by its-wolfgangster

coupons (angst no happy ending + smut FUCK this was good) by arquiiva

SAY IT BACK by delphi-shield

requiem for a dream by praisethegabs

eyes on my baby (nsfw) by vaaaaaiolet

RE: You don't even know my name by vaaaaaiolet

fish boy by mydarlingclaudia

restoring natural beauty by lottiies

sentiel by inkonparchment

color theory by clandestinedmeetings

slipping through my fingers (nsfw) by miss-oranje-disco-dancer

to lose a dream by messenger-of-babel

HADES GAME

No Light to Tell Us by pupkou (Zagreus)

HAIKYUU

stop an angel from losing its wings by 6okuto (Akaashi)

DC

blanket hog by breadbrobin (Tim Drake)

keep me here (with your skin on mine again) by luvrodite (Jason)

girl i wanna see you undo it by delusionsofgrandeur13 (Batboys)

bergamot by pluvialpoet (Dick Grayson)

how to disappear (nsfw) by pluvialpoet (Dick Grayson)

joker! Tim (suggestive) by chikaras-garden

GENSHIN IMPACT

An Encore of Betrayal by vivalabunbbun (Neuvillette)

[jolalibrary]

undercoverpena's birthday bash masterlist 🍊

a place where all the things birthday bash will be stored. and will be updated as soon as jo can, but if she's slow, she's eating cake* *cake may also be frankie morales

BIRTHDAY BASH INFO | BIRTHDAY GALS NORMAL MASTERLIST

THE PAINT SHADE CORNER

🎨 javier peña. the man. gifset - @iamasaddie

🎨 fern frankie moodboard - @secretelephanttattoo

🎨 pretty in pink (javi p x reader fic) - @sawymredfox

🎨 joel miller almond butter moodboard - @evolnoomym

🎨 three p's in a moodboard - @janaispunk

🎨 brakelight red javi gifset - @pedgito

🎨 pistachio pea (javi p x reader fic) - @morallyinept

🎨 english violet video edit (ft. tim) - @survivingandenduring

🎨 banana dreams ficlet moodboard (ft. frankie) @inept-the-magnificent

🎨 cadet gray (tim x plus size reader fic) - @nerdieforpedro

🎨 crushed berry moodboard - @elfhydrangea

🎨 aero sky fic blurb and moodboard (frankie) - @eupheme

🎨 pink melody moodboard - @hellfire-state-of-mind

🎨 in another life (javi p x reader) - @ozarkthedog

🎨 safe harbour (santi x frankie) - @yopossum

🎨 mauve memories (frankie) - @schnarfer

🎨 cerulean eyes (frankie + pool party) - @mothandpidgeon

🎨 atomic tangerine - @jennaispunk

🎨 cambridge blue (motorbike!frankie) - @toxicanonymity

🎨 rainy days (frankie x reader) - @thetriumphantpanda

🎨 unwrapping gifts (frankie x reader) nsfw - @msjarvis

🎨 renew blue moodboard - @milla-frenchy

🎨 wisteria way (javi p) - @hellishjoel

🎨 when can you come back again? (javi p x reader) - @thundermartini

🎨 midnight green - the day before (frankie x reader) - @just-mj-or-not

🎨 sunny day (frankie) - @kedsandtubesocks

🎨 woo red (dave) - @evolnoomym

🎨 and for dessert? (javi x reader) - @miss-oranje-disco-dancer

🎨 wait (joel x frankie x santi x you) - @luxurychristmaspudding

🎨 jardin green (frankie) - @valeeeez

JO'S SPRINKLES OF LOVE

🍊 el's beanery for @secretelephanttattoo

🍊 freedom felt like summer for @thetriumphantpanda

🍊 the dave york sight for @goodwithcheese

🍊 the yearly round up (fanfic)

[rubyklaasje]

now that i don't have to worry abt art im worryin about excerpt like.. i like this 1, it's the one i have on the actual ao3 post itself:

Ruby’s eyes searched the floor as she tried to cohere her singular thought (How dare you? How dare you? How dare you?) into a different, more specific question.

“Why did you- what did you tell them?” She had to hear it herself. Do we ‘have’ to?

Klaasje’s reply was immediate — tense and quiet, “'Them', who? I-I don’t know what you’re-”

Ruby shouted, almost laughing, “YES YOU DO! You do, Klaasje,” and Klaasje winced — not at Ruby’s rising tone… but at the use of that word. That soft, long, guttural sound which meant herself – Klaasje. Ruby squinted. That’s right… that wasn’t even her real name.

BUT!!!! IDK im like maybe one of these??? this one feels too long and dialogue heavy but also it's really not my fav passage.. like i dont rly like the 'prose' in this part at all:

"You didn't try to find me. No, what you did was send them after me.” Klaasje didn’t respond, frustrated to be continually interrupted. Her jaw was clenched as she let Ruby continue, “RCM. Pigs – worse, Madre’s favorite pig-” 

“He wasn’t. He didn't even have a gun, he could barely remember his own name-”

“He was clearly capable enough to arrest you!”

“They didn’t though… they let us both go-”

“You couldn’t have known that he would… They could have arrested me for my work alone, but they sought me out for a murder I didn’t commit, based on the false information you gave them.”

Klaasje finally addressed Ruby’s assertion, stumbling over her words, “Wh-what did they tell you?”

Ruby held Klaasje’s gaze. “Why don’t you tell me?”

or this one which will explain why klaasje 'looks like that' on the fic cover but i ALSO DONT RLY LIKE THE PROSE HERE EITHER.. SO ....:

Klaasje pulled on the vest and zipped it up, then pulled Ruby’s headphones off of her neck, onto her head. Ruby looked her up and down. This wasn’t Klaasje… it was 'Jean' – a tall, young man with poor eyesight and poorer posture from his short but intense driving career. Privileged, devout, and shaken from his first taste of the real world. His short yet overgrown hair stuck out, boyish and sloppy beneath the bulky headphones. Believable. Ruby’s hand throbbed. Fuck.

“You can drive?”

Klaasje nodded. 

“Yes.” Klaasje had always had some drawling length to her vowels that was especially pronounced when she’d had something to drink… but she seemed to draw them out on purpose now. Or, maybe, she had only stopped restraining her instinct to do so. It was subtle, and Ruby wasn’t even sure the change had been made.

Ruby turned, looking back at the lorry, at the flour bags growing soggy in the ditch. She turned again and looked out across the wasteland behind them.

"Fuck ."

idk all my fav bits of writing in the fic are way too spoilery or just nothing without the context... idk idk idk im leaning toward just keeping the first one and including a version of this old old description i wrote last year:

what would u do if u just found out yr failed talking stage framed u for her boyfriend's murder, and as u r bitterly fleeing your narrowly avoided death and/or imprisonment for this accusation, you coincidentally run into said failed talking stage in a bathroom just outside of town? context: she is also fleeing, but she's not leaving behind the wreckage of a life she worked extremely hard to build (like you are), she's fleeing the responsibility of the lives she destroyed, including yours.. would u see it as a chance to 'hold her accountable' for the wrongs she's done unto u ? some justice, some answer to all this needless death ? now that your life has ostensibly already ended, would you, for once, bring yourself to try out the one high-risk high-reward activity that never interested you before ? would u seek revenge ?

OR should i just use these actual disco quotes???

KLAASJE (MISS ORANJE DISCO DANCER) - "I think I know who did it. Who shot Lely... I can tell you. I can help you." KLAASJE (MISS ORANJE DISCO DANCER) - She's silent for a second -- as if looking into herself for certainty. Then, in a hushed voice, she says… KLAASJE (MISS ORANJE DISCO DANCER) - "Ruby.”

-

RUBY, THE INSTIGATOR - "I never did understand why, when someone dies, a hothouse's worth of flowers has to die too."

[gothcsz]

wip tag game 🖤 tysm @almostempty & @auteurdelabre for the taggggg

rules: list the names/titles of docs in your wip folder + open your inbox to asks about them! 💌

palvi phone sex for thoroughfare

chapter xix for thoroughfare

partition for fantasize series (javi x gatita limo sex on their wedding night)

supernatural for fantasize series (javi x gatita x f!oc threesome on halloween night)

interrogation threesome with @miss-oranje-disco-dancer (javi x steve x f!reader)

pornstar!javi drabble (f!reader gives in just a little but not all the way… i’m thinking he goes down on her 🤭)

onlyfans!javi pt 2 (f!reader wins his face reveal contest and gets to fuck him on camera)

bodyguard!javi x politician’s daughter!reader for em’s trope-off!

my dear melancholy fic outline (javi x stripper/informant!reader)

[miss-oranje-disco-dancer]

slippery when wet

pairing: post re8! chris x reader

cw: fingering, thigh grinding, thumb sucking, reader is frothing at the mouth (metaphorically)

summary: reader applies to babysit chris' child (he's rose's legal guardian in this one), and she's v into her boss. one day, she ends up in nothing but chris' shirt when her clothes are in the laundry.

a/n: title not inspired by the bon jovi album (doesn't really fit the vibe, despite having some bangers)

wc: 2.4k

“Jobs that don’t require a degree”. You type it into the search bar for the millionth time this week. Grocery store clerk, delivery driver, server, you’ve tried them all. And quit them all. You’re going to have to settle for working as a coal miner soon - and you’re a 21 year old girl who lives nowhere near a coal mine. 

Babysitter. You’ve done it before, when you were younger. In fact, as exhausting as the job was, you were actually pretty good at it. Maybe you could even get a referral from your neighbors. The job posting was on a local message board online. The pay looked like a sweet deal - top tier babysitter pay. Could probably hire a nice German or Spanish or Russian au pair and make your kid bilingual, but these parents chose to ask your town of American idiots to apply. Parent, singular - not even parent - you come to find. He’s her legal guardian, which probably means her parents are dead or in prison but you don’t think it’s appropriate to ask such invasive questions at your interview. Not if you want the job, at least. And you really want the job. 

The interview is surprisingly casual, which is good because it’s not like you own business attire. You expected this: a young woman with a tired - and very forced, almost pained - smile comes to the door holding the cranky child while the dad shakes your hand on the way out to spend the day with his buddies from college. Their attempt to quell their marriage problems by getting a sitter will not get them off their track to divorce.

But it doesn’t go like that at all. A man - older than you’d think a new father should be, but far from elderly - opens the door. (honestly, if he were elderly, then you’d be whatever the opposite of a cradle-robber is. A nursing home robber?). Mr. Legal Guardian tall, muscular, kind of intimidating, but also incredibly sexy. He could choke you out but you’d get wet if he tried. Actually, you’d probably soak his nice hardwood floors if he so much as touched you since all he’s done is shake your hand and you’ll probably need to change your panties when you get home. 

Either you’re good at hiding your feelings or he couldn’t care less about the fact that you’re trying very hard to keep eye-contact and avoid the overwhelming urge to look and see if you can tell what he’s packing through the pants he has on. 

“I’m Chris Redfield. Nice to meet you,” he says and you’re really hoping that you said your own name in response and not what you were thinking which was “Oh god, please fuck me, Mr. Redfield, I don’t care about the job anymore”. 

You’re pretty sure you kept that thought on the inside because he seems to think this situation is totally normal and ignores the obvious sexual tension - or maybe it’s just you and there’s no real tension. Maybe you need to buy one of those fancy Hitachi wands and fix the leaky faucet downstairs. You’d need money for that. Money… Oh, right, you can get a job! How convenient. 

You keep the conversation going because you want to hear him talk, you want to burn it onto a CD in your brain and play it on the car ride home. No, you’d crash if you did that. 

He tells you the baby girl’s name is Rosemary.

“That’s a pretty name. How did you decide on it?” Or did your wife choose it? Was the divorce bad? Or is she dead? 

“I didn’t. Her parents did. I don’t know if it was her mom or her dad’s choice,” he says, matter-of-factly. “I think it’s a good name, too,” he follows up with, “Mostly, everyone just calls her Rose, though.”

“It’s probably easier. I’d imagine it’d be hard for a baby to say ‘Rosemary’.” You realize you know very little about child development. “Can she talk?”

“Some. Only small sentences and she still pronounces half of what she’s trying to say wrong, but she usually gets the point across. She calls me ‘Dada’ because it’s easier to say than ‘Chris’.”

Is she gonna call me ‘Mama’? Does she need a stepmom… or whatever? Anyway, can you please, please have sex with me, Mr. Redfield? If you don’t get dick soon, they’ll have to institutionalize you.

You must’ve done way better than you thought because you got the job. You’re lucky that Rose is more well-behaved than most babies you’ve met. 

She does call you ‘Mama’, though. 

You bring a change of clothes to work every day because babies don’t know how to avoid making a mess of everything they get their little fingers on. Rose is pretty tidy for a kid her age, but her favorite food is ketchup, so half of your wardrobe is stained red by the second week of work. 

One day, she’s sitting in your lap holding a sippy cup of apple juice with a lid you were sure you’d closed, but as it turned out, it had not been screwed on right and the bottom of your shirt as well as your jeans end up soaked in apple juice. You only have yourself to blame. 

You brush off the issue to the kid because you don’t want to upset her, but you hate being sticky. She’s lucky she gets a bath. You don’t think Chris would appreciate finding you in his bathtub, playing with rubber duckies, unfortunately. 

Once Rose is in new, dry clothes, Chris walks in the door. Rose reaches out to him and he picks her up. He notices the wet patch on your jeans and you realize how it looks when he raises an eyebrow. 

“Did you piss yourself?” 

“No!” 

You’re about to explain the apple juice spill situation when Rose chimes in, repeating what Chris said, without any idea what she’s saying. 

The way he groans makes it seem like it’s not the first time she’s picked up bad language. “Those aren’t nice words. Don’t repeat them.” Chris tries to remain serious, but you’re both holding back laughter. 

“It’s just apple juice,” you clarify, “My fault, not hers.”

“Do you need new clothes?”

“In theory,” you say because you do, but you don’t want to impose. 

Rose yawns and Chris says, “How about you put her down and I will find something else for you to wear?”

“Okay,” you say because it’s shorter than, “No, no, you don’t have to do that.” Plus, he will inevitably insist that “Yes, yes, he has to do that.”

Rose is reluctant to go to bed without saying goodnight to ‘Dada’. Luckily, he joins the both of you in her bedroom, holding clothes for you. 

“Here,” he says, “I don’t have any pants that’ll fit you, but I think this shirt will probably go down to your knees.”

“Thanks,” you say, taking the shirt. 

“No problem,” he says, “Go change and bring me your clothes so I can wash them.”

You nod and walk into the hall bathroom. Chris is right - the shirt is about mid-thigh length, so as long as you don’t bend over, you’re covered. It was probably a bad day to wear a thong to work, though. Or maybe it was a great day to do just that. Glass half-full?

You find Chris in the hallway and you give him a slew of apologies and thank you’s because you feel bad that he’s doing your laundry. He dismisses them all kindly, but the look in his eye has changed - scrutinizing, yet amused. 

“Normally, I would say, ‘you’re free to go’, but -”

Am I getting punished? God, fuck, yes, please. 

“- You probably shouldn’t wear that out.”

You look down at your state of dress - or undress, depending on how you look at it. Yeah, you definitely shouldn’t go out like that.

“You can if you want,” he says, “but you’re welcome to stay at least until your clothes dry.”

“That’s probably a good idea.”

You’re standing awkwardly in his living room when he says, “You know you can sit down, right?”

You sit down next to him on the couch - an appropriate distance away, of course. There’s an awkward silence while you try not to stare at him. 

“Why are you so nervous? You’re acting like you’ve never been here before,” he says.

“For one thing, I’m not wearing pants right now. And, two, I’ve never been here while you’re here. I’m always here alone with Rose.”

“Do I make you nervous?” His smile says he knows more than you think. 

“No, not really.”

“Not really?”

You smile and nod. 

“Rose told me something she heard you say while I was gone…” “Oh shit. Did I swear in front of her? I try not to do that.”

He shakes his head. “She said, ‘Dada is sexy’, and as you can imagine, I was curious as to where she heard that…” He doesn’t finish his sentence, but his eyebrow is raised. He knows.

Your heart is beating out of your chest and you can feel your face flushing. 

“She must’ve heard that from someone else,” you lie. 

“Who else would’ve said it?”

“I bet most people think you’re sexy. I mean, look at you, it seems like the most obvious conclusion any normal person would come to.” You shrug, trying to play it off as if you didn’t just reveal yourself entirely. 

“So, you didn’t say anything about my attractiveness in front of Rose, but you do think I’m ‘sexy’? Am I correct?”

“Is this a trick question?”

“No, it’s a rhetorical question.”

You’d bolt out of the room if you had pants on, but now - wearing nothing but Chris’ t-shirt and a thong? It looks like you’ve already slept with him. 

You try to form a sentence, but much like Rose, all you can do is echo Chris’ words. “Do you think I’m sexy?” you ask. 

“Much more so than you were when I walked in - you know, with apple juice all over you.”

“So, you do feel the same way about me?”

“Correct.”

He looks like he’s thinking, considering next moves, but you’re already scooting closer to him on the couch. He hums in approval. He picks you up and puts you in his lap. 

“Do you wa-” He tries to say, but you cut him off with a kiss and he takes it in stride. One of his hands rests on the back of your head and the other is on your waist. His tongue is in your mouth and you think you can feel him getting hard, which makes you wetter than you already were, and now you’re really considering if this thong was of any use at all. Guess one more thing needs a wash. 

Chris reaches between your thighs like a psychic, though he acts surprised at how aroused you are. “Are you always this wet?”

“No, not always.” Liar.

“I’ll take it as a compliment then.”

As he should. 

His hands snake their way under your - his - t-shirt and find your tits. His fingertips brush your nipples and you absent-mindedly start to grind on him, longing for any friction you can get. You’ll ruin his pants at this point. Another load of laundry to do. 

He takes your hips and positions you on his thigh. 

“This should help,” he says. 

Out of embarrassment, you halt the movement of your hips. 

“What? It seemed like you wanted to get off and I’m not going to stop you.”

He acts nonchalant but it borders on teasing because you can see the amusement in his eyes. Maybe he’s not used to desperate little girls like you. 

You grip his shoulders to steady yourself - if you’re going to pathetically grind on this man’s thigh, you’re going to do it right - and you resume your back and forth pattern. You catch a glimpse of the smirk on his face and you let your head drop, not allowing yourself to look him in the eye. There’s no way you’d be able to continue like that. He lifts your chin, but it’s not to force your eyes back on him - he kisses you again, more passionately this time. Not romantic passion, the sexy, sloppy kind. You pull back first to catch your breath. Maybe it’s just nerves, but this whole thigh-riding activity is doing a number on you. Chris takes note of your struggle and puts his hands on your hips, taking on half of the work. Somehow, he does a better job than you, and if he’s this good at something so simple, you wonder about his other skills. 

“Suck,” he says simply, putting his thumb between your lips. 

In that moment, you discover your oral fixation - and Chris is observant enough to recognize it too. 

“Good girl,” he says, removing his thumb from your mouth and using it to rub your clit. He really didn’t need the lubrication and he must’ve known that. Admittedly, you’re a bit disappointed when he takes his thumb away from you. 

“It seemed like you were enjoying that,” he says, rubbing his other thumb over your bottom lip. You open your mouth and hope he won’t make you beg for it. “You’re lucky I have two hands.”

He flips you around so that you’re sitting in his lap with your back pressed against his chest. He returns his thumb to your mouth before you can grab it and shove it back in there yourself. You are lucky he has two hands, you come to fine, when he begins pumping two of his fingers in and out of you while rubbing your clit simultaneously. You moan around the finger in your mouth and he can tell you’re getting close. 

“Gonna cum for me?” he asks. 

You hum and nod frantically as your orgasm approaches quickly. Your inner walls clench and release as you gush around his fingers. When you come down from your high, you notice that you’ve left a considerable wet patch on the couch and on Chris’ pants.

“Don’t worry. We can do another load of laundry after this one’s finished,” he says. He checks the time and then says, “It looks like we have about 25 more minutes until the washing machine’s done. What do you want to do until then?”

“Depends? How much laundry detergent do you have left?”

[almostempty]

Hiiiiiiii lovely💖💖 for to EOY asks I would love to know the following 2, 13, and 18

-> 2. a work i'm proud of??????? (speaking of javi heh) Maladaptive Coping Mechanisms Part 1 and Part 2

and to yap briefly: i think it was the second thing i wrote and it was a big exercise for me trying to find a style and to express something even if it's only pwp. i reread it the other day for the first time and thought i would cringe and panic and want to delete it--it could use an editor tbf but the comments from @auteurdelabre, @gothcsz, @miss-oranje-disco-dancer, @sofiacaterina, and @hoelaris (and everyone truly) meant so much to me and i still think about them and read them so tysm

13. a fic from another creator that made me happy?

-wellll lonely hearts club fucked me up bc i love me a jorkin' joel 👀

-my secret santa fic from @xdaddysprincessxx bc i love me a threesome pleaaaase i'm obsesssssed

-i've been all over @gothcsz's jock today but i stand by everything on the masterlist is a 100/10

-Mutual by @luxurychristmaspudding i somehow only recently found which is insane BECAUSE ALL I WANT IS TOXIC FUCKBOI LUCIEN AND HE DOES MAKE ME HAPPY

-the roommate agreement by my og s2s @auteurdelabre IS SO MUCH FUN and that makes me happppyyyyyyy

sorry did you ask for one fic or 500

18. the creation that took the most amount of time

Cowboy!Joel took a while and i tried to edit him since he was a gift and all.. OR creed!joel pt 3 took longer than i intended bc of the feeels

[burntheedges]

Roll-A-Trope Writing Challenge!

Let's do a writing challenge! I hit a milestone so I wanted to do something fun with all of you. 🥰

So, the challenge: send me a Pedro Pascal character of your choice and I’ll assign you a trope by rolling a d20. I’ve already assigned ~classic fic tropes~ to each number, 1 through 20, but I’m keeping them a secret. 👀 (Note: if you really need to see the options before you join, dm me.) Ok fine, here are a few examples: only one bed, snowed in, didn’t know they were dating, epistolary, road trip, and more! 😏

What to do: starting now, send me an ask with a Pedro character of your choice, all Pedro characters welcome! (no rpf, please)

What you’ll get: a trope 😎 (with an explanation, just in case)

What to do next: write! Write as little or as much as you’d like. 

When you should post: by September 30 but if it's after that I won't be mad (I will, in fact, be excited)

About the tropes: 

All numbers can be assigned more than once, so everyone can play! Yay!

All tropes can be gen or fluffy or angsty or smutty or whatever you’d like, it’s up to you what you do with the trope. 

None of the tropes are specifically smutty (so they’re open to your interpretation) but all of them can be smutty, if you want. 😏

Some of them are definitely more romantic, though, so if you’d like a non-romantic one just specify and I’ll reroll if needed.

You're welcome to do more than one, if you'd like!

The masterlist for this challenge is here! Remember to use the tag - #roll a trope challenge. I'm going to reblog and tag some folks who might be interested. Please reblog and share!

Let’s roll. 😎

For now I'm going to track the character-trope matches here, just so we can find them easily! And look at our assortment!! Y'all this is amazing. I don't think it will let me tag everyone so I'll get some of you in the comments!

Dave York

@almostempty - #11, snowed in

@jeewrites - #19, amnesia

@katareyoudrilling - #12, famous person AU

@punkshort - #5, reincarnation

@schnarfer - #3, only one bed

@sizzlingcloudmentality - #10, pining

Dieter Bravo

@beelzebeth87 - #1, epistolary

@bitchesuntitled - #20, time travel

@davnittbraes - #14, trapped in an elevator

@jennaispunk - #15, fake dating/married

@trulybetty - #4, enemies to lovers

@perotovar - #3, only one bed

@papurgaatika - #18, friends to lovers

Din Djarin

@corazondebeskar - #4, enemies to lovers

@din-cognito - #2, road trip

@djarins-cyare - #17, secret relationship

@jksprincess10 - #8, "shop" AU

@pentechnics - #13, time loop/groundhog day

@secretelephanttattoo - #1, epistolary

@weirdoneattheparty - #18, friends to lovers

@whxtedreams - #15, fake dating/married

Dio

@flyingthroughheaven - #4, enemies to lovers

Ezra

@bumblepony - #17, secret relationship

@cas-readsandwrites - #13, time loop/groundhog day

@multiversed-daydreamer - #2, road trip

Frankie Morales

@ashleyfilm - #17, secret relationship

@aurorawritestoescape - #9, exes

@beefrobeefcal - #16, soulmates

@docharleythegeekqueen - #11, snowed in

@skittlesfics - #7, sickfic

@inept-the-magnificent - #8, "shop" AU

@sawymredfox - #10, pining

Jack Daniels

@fhatbhabiee - #18, friends to lovers

@maggiemayhemnj - #16, soulmates

@penvisions - #13, time loop/groundhog day

@prolix-yuy - #14, trapped in an elevator

@syd-djarin - #15, fake dating/married

@wordywarriorwrites - #6, didn't know they were dating

Javier Gutierrez

@eff4freddie - #16, soulmates

@yopossum - #14, trapped in an elevator

Javier Peña

@almostfoxglove - #14, trapped in an elevator

@dunphycharm - #7, sickfic

@infernalrusalka - #1, epistolary

@luxurychristmaspudding - #4, enemies to lovers

@milla-frenchy - #17, secret relationship

@miss-oranje-disco-dancer - #3, only one bed

@puddles221b - #13, time loop/groundhog day

@your-voice-is-mellifluous - #18, friends to lovers

@wannab-urs - #2, road trip

Joel Miller

@abbonation - #18, friends to lovers

@ak-vintage - #13, time loop/groundhog day

anon - #8, "shop" AU

anon = #5, reincarnation

@beardedjoel - #3, only one bed

@captainredspade - #15, fake dating/married

@evolnoomym - #12, famous person AU

@galway-girlatwork - #19, amnesia

@hotgirlbedtimescenarios - #20, time travel

@idioticcatss - #6, didn't know they were dating

@jobean12-blog - #4, enemies to lovers

@kedsandtubesocks - #2, road trip

@ovaryacted - #9, exes

@rexamongthestars - #7, sickfic

@whocaresstillthelouvre - #11, snowed in

@your-voice-is-mellifluous - #1, epistolary

@yxtkiwiyxt - #16, soulmates

Marcus Acacius

@the-mandawhor1an - #20, time travel

Marcus Moreno

@joelalorian - #5, reincarnation

Marcus Pike

@dancingtotuyo - #17, secret relationship

@pedges-world - #11, snowed in

@yopossum - #2, road trip

Max Phillips

@clawdee - #10, pining

@grogusmum - #5, reincarnation

@sizzlingcloudmentality - #2, road trip

Nathan Landry

@sunshinehaze1 - #11, snowed in

Oberyn Martell

@iamasaddie - #15, fake dating/married

@ladamedusoif - #12, famous person AU

@noxturnalpascal - #13, time loop/groundhog day

@flyingthroughheaven - #1, epistolary

Pero Tovar

@avastrasposts - #19, amnesia

@tinytinymenace - #6, didn't know they were dating

Tim Rockford

@artsy-girl-76 - #8, "shop" AU

@auteurdelabre - #17, secret relationship

@dc41896 - #18, friends to lovers

@sp00kymulderr - #16, soulmates

???

@mountainsandmayhem - #11, snowed in

@ace-turned-confused - #20, time travel

@galaxyedging - #18, friends to lovers

Frankie or Javi G

@flightlessangelwings - #17, secret relationship

Javi P or Dave

@pedgito - #4, enemies to lovers

[rokutouxei]

speaking your language

part 5 of atelier heart

ikemen vampire: temptation in the dark theo van gogh/mc, vincent | T |  2506 | [ao3 in bio]

spoiler warning: key plot points mentioned in chapter 10 and 15 are used in this fic, with the vaguest hint of chapter 24 at the tail end.

also: my deepest apologies to people who actually speak dutch, i’m taking all of your con/crit with an open heart.

The first Dutch word you’d ever learned was hondje.

Dog, you’d learned. Or puppy. Not the worst first word to learn in a new language, but definitely up there if one considers the fact that it was meant to refer to you. It’s not that bad, though, and puppies are pretty cute, so it was easy to let it slide.

Then, knabbeltje. A snack, a little nibble. Not that Theo has any interest in taking any bite at you. He’s made that clear from the first night. For someone who’s so good at smooth talking his clients, that was a weird word to use for you, you’d thought. But, Theo has his reasons, you supposed.

Which is exactly what makes you so keen into learning the language.

You’ve learned that a little bribery can get you a long way when it comes to Theo—as in, get him invested and you’re good to go—so that morning, you take the extra effort. You rise earlier than you’ve ever done to prepare pancakes for him, whipping the egg whites with as much vigor as you can muster to ensure that the pancakes are as fluffy as humanly possible. You make sure every portion is peak jiggly, and they are, because you can’t help but tap them contentedly on the plate as they cooled, watching them wobble. Then, like a cherry on top, you take out the special pancake syrup you’d bought the day before, having come with Sebastian to buy groceries, the one you’d chosen specifically for Theo. (And oh, only for Theo, because no other mansion resident with the right mind about sugar would dare try it.)

You try to keep it a secret as long as you can, presenting the plate of sweet goodness to Theo once he’s come down from his room. The both of you are alone at the dining table, because it’s still way too early. He’s already dressed and ready to go, even if it’s just six-thirty a.m., and if he has a comment about you being already up when you usually aren’t, he holds it back.

Good choice—you want him to focus on the pancakes, and a smile erupts on both of your faces when he begins to munch happily away on the syrup-drenched disaster of a plate. The sigh he makes goes straight under your skin.

But you can’t let your guard down, because you still have a mission, and that is: to convince him.

When his shoulders relax, you finally pop the question.

“Won’t you please teach me some Dutch?”

Theo’s fork hovers in front of his mouth. “What?”

Over the past week, you’d learned two basic Dutch phrases from Theo, in the notes he’d written for you. Tot ziens, which he said meant goodbye for now, and Dank je, thank you. That makes four total things you can now say in Dutch. Not much, but clearly already much more than what you started with. You belatedly realize you don’t actually have a reason you can dare tell him as to why you want to learn Dutch, but never mind that.

“I said, won’t you teach me some Dutch, sometime?” you repeat. “I still have three weeks to spend out here, and while my French and English are pretty fine, I can’t really keep up with your Dutch. I thought it wouldn’t be so bad to learn, especially since you’re bringing me along to work anyway.”

Cringe. That wasn’t a good reason, you were sure. But maybe the pancakes will make Theo’s steel heart a little more malleable for your favor.

What other reasons do you have? Well, maybe he’ll be able to better explain to you certain things about art and their work if he reverts to his mother tongue, right? There are certain things translations miss, after all, and maybe if you learned the language, it’ll be much easier on the both of you? Oh, wait, but does that mean you’ll be intruding on the shared, perhaps too-personal language he shares with his brother? Oh, no, that wasn’t what you meant. Maybe—

“Dutch syllables are very different from English and French,” Theo says, instead, after a long moment, a not-really yes or no.

You narrow your eyes with his response, but quickly realize maybe he’s just testing your will to do it. You are motivated. Learning languages are fun. “That’s fine, nothing practice won’t conquer. It’s really not cute that all I know how to say is stuff like dog and snack.” He snorts. “I mean, if you’re not up to it…”

Theo sighs. A sigh of defeat. “Okay, but you’ll have to work hard for it.”

You grin. That morning, you learn pannenkoek and siroop.

-

The learning curve for languages always differ according to the person, their own mother tongue, the language itself, and of course the work one puts into studying it, but one factor that really ups the vocabulary and grammar retention is being able to hear the language being spoken, rather regularly. This is how you end up having Vincent help you out with your little adventure in learning Dutch.

Having gotten used to conversing in French to each other, the brothers take time to adjust switching to their mother tongue for you. But when you’re looking at them with amazement exchanging words you can barely say, much less understand, there’s little they can’t do.

(Theo is mortified to have to surrender to it, but when he’s transparent to his brother, does he have any other choice?)

All of this happens just in time for the preparation for the exhibit to begin. The three of you spend much time together, selecting paintings, planning the exhibit orders, looking for themes. The two decide that this isn’t just a good opportunity to learn, it might also be in your best interests if they team-teach you the language.

Counting the paintings, Vincent teaches you the basics, hauling canvas after canvas going—een, twee, drie, vier, vijf, zes, zeven, acht, negen, tien. With the chosen paintings laid out on the floor, you point out colors and he teaches you their names—rood, oranje, geel, groen, blauw, paars, roze. He teaches you how to introduce yourself, say your name, teaches you greetings, basic nouns, the kind you will learn in introductory Dutch classes in universities if you were back in the 21st century. Vincent is gentle and kind and claps when you get the words right. (It makes you feel like a child. The word is kind.)

Theo, on the other hand, focuses on teaching you things related to the work at hand: een gallerij, een tentoonstelling, een schilderij—of course, a gallery, an exhibit, a painting. Teaches you words to describe the things you see, like mooi, for beautiful, and interessant, for interesting. He corrects your grammar, teaches you how to say, “let’s go home” or “I’m hungry, let’s eat”. When you don’t get the phrase right, he gives you a look, completely ignoring what you’d just said until you finally say it right. He corrects your pronunciation to the best of both your abilities.

He’s also found great joy in teaching you phrases before telling you what it means, and that’s how you’ve practiced saying misschien ben ik een hond die een jurk draagt as if you were a dog wearing a dress.

But you hear his laughter and it doesn’t matter as much.

-

Theo buys you a notebook to compile the words you’ve learned. In only a few days, you’ve amassed a wide range of words you now sprinkle throughout your sentences like a playful multilingual. You’ve gotten odd stares, sure, but it’s always better to keep using the words you’ve learned, because that’s how you make it seem natural.

So far, though, for the ones you’ve learned, it’s the Dutch verbs that are trickier than you expected. The conjugations keep tripping you up. They seem simple, and in fact a lot of them sound pretty close to their English counterparts, but Theo’s stares and (im)patient waiting for you to correct what you’ve said betray your misuse of them over and over again.

So at night, you practice. Staan for stand. Zeggen for say. Helpen for help. Leren, for learn.

Blijven, for stay.

Sorting Vincent’s paintings at the gallery Marquis Vollard had lent you, you bump shoulders with Theo and ask, “How do I say, ‘I love this’, in Dutch?” as you pull out a canvas from the stack.

“Ik hou hiervan.”

“Hmm.” You put aside the painting and pull out your notebook and pen. “So hou means love?”

“Houden, means to hold,” Theo says. “Like a hand, or a book. Hou van is what’s used for love.”

“So it’s ik hou van…?”

“Ik hou van jou,” he answers, without a thought.

A long moment, before the realization hits.

He turns away from you, and you’re thankful because of how hot your face feels.

“You use the same for other things,” Theo says. His voice is as even as always, and it makes your heart fall a little. “Like paintings, and art.”

“I see,” you say, before dropping the topic altogether.

You’re getting good at this keeping your heart tucked away thing, so you write ik hou van jou in looping letters on your notebook before returning to work.

All the while thinking: to love means to hold.

-

So you hold him.

After the fire.

After wheatfields.

After Gauguin.

Even when it hurts to hold.

Even when it’s him that’s let you go.

Even after you’ve heard the gunshot.

You hold on to him, even if you’re not sure if the both of you are speaking the same language anymore, if you’ll still ever be able to understand the other.

You hold on even if there’s blood everywhere.

Blijven means to stay.

And herstellen… means to recover.

The hospital is rather cozy. Quite similar to the ones in the 21st century, but still different from the sterile whiteness of it. You sit next to Theo on the bed, waiting for him to speak. You are alone for the first time since he’d said goodbye.

You hadn’t left him yet.

That night, he presses the words please forgive me into your lips, praying it’s the last time he’ll ever have to hurt you that way. You cradle his face in your palms and hold his love in your hands gently, as you exchange promises that it will no longer break.

-

You learn a lot of words after that, too.

Like wheatfields, tarwevelden. And forever, voor altijd. Each word learned is linked to a memory, making them hard to forget. Like katje, the day a kitten spooks Theo in the garden. Lekker, once you’ve made him a delicious batch of syrupy pancakes once again. Schat, treasure, and schatje—that is, you.

You’re still years of practice away from being fluent in Dutch, but at this point you’re fluent in Theo, and that’s really what matters.

And one night, Theo’s got you in a kiss when the both of you enter the room. You push at him just enough so that he sees the look on your face. “Teach me Dutch,” you say, half-teasing, and he laughs as he joins you in stripping off your clothes.

There’s no easier way to remember vocabulary than to learn it viscerally, carve it against your skin into a memory, and Dutch is no exception. You both fall into the bed in an entanglement of limbs, righting yourselves up just to catch each other in another kiss.

You cup both his cheeks, and he teaches you, “gezicht.” Face.

You kiss his forehead, and he says, “voorhoofd.”

You gently run your thumbs under his eyes, and he says, “ogen.”

“Kus,” he says, “is like this,” pulling you toward him in a kiss. You sigh into the word without much grace.

Pressing his lips against your throat, he teaches you, “hals.”

Grazing a fang onto your shoulder, “schouder.”

He sucks a bruise onto your collarbone and says, “sleutelbeen.”

The sensation makes your hand fly onto his hair, and with a chuckle he teaches, “haar.”

He takes your hand in his, presses a kiss onto your wrist. “pols.”

You cup Theo’s face in your hand and scour his body for more words, like a dictionary made of flesh. Your free hand grazes the scar on his back and with a sigh he teaches you “litteken.” You wonder if the same word applies to those found in his heart.

“Rug,” he teaches you, the vast expanse of his back.

Your hand goes down to his waist and he says, “taille.” You touch his hip and he says “heup.”

He gives you a mischievous look, one that suited his boyish features so much, your heart nearly stops. “Where is je favoriet?” he asks you, teasing. A phrase you’d learnt earlier. Your face flushes at the connotation but you refuse to give him the answer he wants, tapping his nose (“neus”) with a finger.

“You are mijn favoriet,” you respond, and you know when he steals your lips even more deeply than earlier is only because you’ve made him flustered. You laugh into the kiss and he growls.

Never one to be outdone, Theo pushes you backward onto the bed. The two of you share a short moment of intimacy, staring at each other’s eyes with the kind of searing fondness that always leaves you breathless, before he’s on his way down again to teach you.

“Dij,” he mouths against your thigh; lifts your leg up toward him, pressing kisses all the way down. “Knie. Kalf. Voet.” You nearly kick him when he kisses your foot but he holds you still. “Enkel.”

“But I haven’t taught you the most important one,” he says. Crawling back upward, he cups the apex of your thighs and grins. “Paradijs,” he says, and you hit him on the shoulder, covering your mouth with one hand. The laugh that rolls out of him makes your embarrassment worth it.

You pull him upward to take another kiss from him, and while you could have at it tonight, you just want to bask in his presence. You whisper “omhelzing?” hoping to get the pronunciation right or else he’ll ignore your plea to cuddle, thankful that he pulls you up to switch position.

He rests his head on your chest and says, “hoofdkussen,” with a sigh, and you’re not an expert yet, but you’re pretty sure that’s not what it should be.

You push him off with a groan (“you’re heavy!”) and the two of you switch to your usual cuddling position, Theo holding you in his arms and your head on his chest.

You don’t realize your hand has hovered over the spot on his chest right over his heart until he places his hand on yours.

Whispers into the listening night air:

“Voor altijd van jou.”

---

in the atelier: The Kiss by Gustav Klimt 

also in the atelier, hidden somewhere hard to find, is Gustave Courbet's L'Origine du monde. (and because it is hidden, you’ll have to find it on your own. do be careful when you look it up though.) that painting singlehandedly inspired the paradijs bit, so it has to be mentioned.

[porcelainseashore]

Into the Ether (14)

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Vampire! Toreador! Leon Kennedy x Fem! Reader

Summary: At the all-night events cafe you run, you’ve become acquainted with an elusive patron, Leon, though you can never remember the last moments of your interactions together. After a harrowing encounter, a love-hate relationship develops between the two of you as you grapple with your newfound status in a world of darkness and investigate the reasons behind the untimely attacks.

Content & Warnings: 18+ Resident Evil x Vampire: The Masquerade crossover, horror, mystery, romance, slow burn, strangers to enemies to lovers, angst, fluff, eventual smut, swearing, smoking, alcohol, drug references, non consensual blood drinking, blood bond, vampire turning, violence, injury, mild gore, torture, religious themes, minor character death, RE ensemble, VtM concepts.

Author's Note: Drug and mild gore references ahead. I’m back from sailing around the Norwegian islands, which made me realise how much I missed outdoor activities, especially in the summer! As I’ll be engaging in more of that and playing in two VtM campaigns, I have less time for writing overall. So, I won't be able to update this fic regularly, though I intend to finish the story. For everyone who has been following me this far, thanks a million for your support! I hope you continue to enjoy my writings, however spontaneous they may be ❤️

Taglist: @admirxation @angelstargel @miss-oranje-disco-dancer @delulusimps @g0thesqe ✨

AO3 Link

Chapter 14: Renegade

It was the first time you’d jolted violently awake, no sweat, your body frigid and gray. Your eyes snapped to the digital clock by the bedside, its angry red numericals burning white spots into your retina. The sun had already set, but it was still early. Leon hadn’t moved a muscle.

Quick steps along the stairs, your feet were light and hurried, as you peered around the apartment to check if everything was in order. It was. 

You fiddled with the remote, opening the shutters so that you could view the night sky. Was it intact too? Shades of lavender spread across the horizon, merging with rich indigos in the encroaching darkness. You could already spot a multitude of faint stars emerging in the background. A pale crescent moon hung overhead. 

Nothing seemed out of place, but you couldn't shake the uneasiness that had plagued you since rising from your slumber. No, wait, that wasn’t right. You remembered dreaming, but you couldn’t recall what about. It wasn’t normal for corpses to dream, was it? You were sure it wasn’t the Abyss or the Beast speaking to you, so were there other causes that Leon hadn’t known and informed you about?

Instead of pursuing it any further, you grabbed a blood bag from the fridge and emptied its contents into your mouth, not even bothering to use a glass. You would’ve hunted tonight, but Rebecca had required both of you to be present in advance to prepare the ritual chamber before the prisoner would be brought in.

You heard him lumbering down the stairwell, lethargic and sluggish, like he’d willed himself to wake up before his usual time because of you. Leaning his weight against your back, he snaked his arms around your waist, mumbling incoherently into the crook of your neck, “Nervous about the appointment?”

Placing one hand over his grasp and the other around his head, you massaged his scalp languidly as he hummed with satisfaction. “Just a bad dream,” you sighed, downplaying the pervasive, ominous feeling that had lingered.

He twitched, an obvious sign of his concern about what you had revealed. “Hmm, that doesn’t usually happen; not that I’ve heard of anyway.” His voice was nonchalant, but you could detect an uneven stammer at its edges.

Turning you around to face him, he tilted your chin towards him, his eyes veiled with worry. “Do you wanna talk about it?”

“I would, but my mind’s coming up blank,” you admitted in frustration. “It just feels like something’s gonna go wrong.”

He drew you in, clinging to you staunchly as he whispered against your chilled skin, “I’ll keep you safe, I promise.”

“I know,” you whispered back, your crisp breath tickling his collarbone. “I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“I know,” he echoed.

You allowed yourself to melt fully into him, savoring a moment of peace where time seemed to be suspended. Both of you understood they were rare and hard to come by in these nights, especially with your journey ahead. 

When you breathed again, he hoisted you up effortlessly, carrying you in his arms as he returned to where you came from. He excused it as “snoozing for a bit longer” in bed, though you did anything but. 

And all too soon, it was time to go, but his scent and mark on you still remained.

━━━━━━━━━━━

“Oh, I’ll handle that,” Rebecca said, taking the unusual apparatus out of your hands as she set them aside. “No offense, but they’re kinda delicate.”

She handed you a bunch of trinkets and a musty cloth with occult sigils imprinted on it. “Maybe you could lay these out instead? Just follow the shape in this diagram.”

You studied details on the page she was pointing at a leather bound manuscript, attempting to replicate the same design on the floor. Leon was busy speaking with Jill, placating her as she grumbled about not being allowed to be present at the scene when the ritual took place. 

Rebecca had insisted on you being her guide and for Leon to keep watch outside, so there would be no interference. After all, it was the two of you who were personally assigned by the Prince to take on this task, and not the Sheriff. The fewer people around in the ritual chamber, the better chance Rebecca had of completing it successfully.

“I actually learnt this ritual from a Tremere Thinblood, well, I guess they’re all just Thinbloods to the Prince,” she revealed, smiling wistfully as she mixed the contents within an apparatus. “I just tweaked it a bit so that you could focus on specific memories, piecing them together, rather than relying on the whims and fancies of what the Kindred deemed as important.”

“You’re not called an expert for nothing,” you pointed out, smiling back at her while you worked. “What happened to the Thinblood anyway?”

You weren’t optimistic, after all, the Thinbloods or Duskborn were those whose blood were too diluted from Caine to be considered as part of ‘normal’ Kindred society. They were the weakest, but also the most lifelike of all vampires. Jealousy and fear made them direct targets of everyone else, particularly the Camarilla.

She heaved an audible sigh, pausing her intricate preparations for a moment. “Destroyed by the Scourge, along with his sire.” 

Though she could not voice her opinion on the matter, you could tell that she did not agree with the outcome the Prince had dictated. From what Leon had told you, the Scourge reported directly to Wesker and was somewhat regarded as his personal executioner. It was also a backup option in case Jill ever strayed from her loyalty. In this case, weeding out the Thinbloods was one of their duties, and that made your disdain for the Prince grow.

“It’s a shame, since he was so talented,” she added quietly, just loud enough for you to hear. 

You threw her a sympathetic glance, mouthing an apology which she acknowledged gratefully. Then, she walked over to check on how you were getting on before asking, “You ever been on a drug trip before?”

“What?” you choked, slightly taken aback by the sudden change in subject. “Um, sure, yeah…?”

“Great, well, this is something like that,” she continued as if it were part of everyday conversation. “I’ll be incapacitated, so you’ll need to make sure that I’m where I’m supposed to be while in Memoriam. As you’re my only link to the tangible world, I’ll need your reassurances every now and then through voice and touch. That’ll prevent me from slipping away.”

You nodded. It sounded easy enough.

“And, uh, you’ll have to watch the timer,” she instructed, handing over an analogue alarm clock to you. “It is absolutely crucial that I’m back and awake by the 15-minute mark, otherwise weird shit starts to happen.”

“Like what?”

She shrugged indifferently. “Mental trauma at the very least.”

You guffawed in disbelief, realizing this was no joking matter. “And at the very worst?”

“Permanent torpor.”

“Jesus!” you blurted out. “Rebecca, are you—”

“I’ll be fine.” She squeezed your shoulder, seemingly still in good spirits. “Just remember to start reviving me a few minutes in advance.”

“Everything alright back there?” Leon called out, eyeing your discussion curiously. Jill had disappeared.

“Yeah, we’re good to go,” Rebecca commented with a thumbs up sign.

Eventually, Jill returned with the prisoner in tow, scarred and dragged around by the chains. He was no longer thrashing about like what you had witnessed in the video recording, but mute, as his will had been broken. You could see it in his listless eyes; he was a slave who had accepted whatever fate befell him. It sickened you to the core that Jill had tortured him to the extent that Final Death was considered the most peaceful option. However, if what Rebecca had promised was correct, you knew you had made the right decision.

“Hunnigan and I will be watching from the monitors,” Jill commented gruffly as she bolted the prisoner in place to a reinforced anchor on the floor, positioned just in the middle of the markings you had made with the materials provided to you earlier. “So you better not try anything funny, usurper.”

It was a pointed remark aimed at Rebecca, but the Tremere took it in her stride, offering nothing but a polite wave as Jill exited the room.

“Ladies,” Leon nodded to the both of you courteously. “I’ll be on the other end of this door. Stay safe, please.” The last word was drawn out, almost pleading, as the blue of his irises flickered, holding your gaze.

“We will,” you asserted, as he tore his eyes away from you, reluctantly closing the door behind him with a secure click.

You followed Rebecca, making sure you stayed by her side every step of the way. Lighting a row of candles on the altar table, she held out the apparatus containing the liquid she had prepared, chanting in a language that sounded ancient and otherworldly — none that you could recognize. The liquid thickened and congealed, sizzling as she clutched the apparatus close to her heart, using her fingers to stir the contents as the black concoction clung to her skin like tar. Steam rose from it, and though it appeared to be scalding hot, she was not affected. She did not burn nor yelp in pain. Her eyes glazed over white, glowing like a jackal’s at night.

The captive mourned aloud as she drew symbols on his face, as if he were crying for the loss of his unlife and knew that his Final Death was near. You felt terrible for him then, but you suppressed the urge to stop the ritual, knowing that whatever awaited him at Jill's hands instead would be far worse.

Finally, Rebecca took a lit candle, dousing its fire into the liquid which sparked a brilliant white flame, so dazzling that it hurt to look at it. There was a deafening whoosh and smash as she flung the apparatus to the ground in front of the captive, and he lit up like a bonfire, just like the one you had seen the night you died. However, there were no smoke or screams. Like an illusory magic trick, the Kindred had vanished into thin air, leaving only pale gray ashes in his wake.

She looked at you knowingly before sinking to her knees as you accompanied her. Feeding the ashes hungrily into her mouth, she devoured them whole as though it were her last meal. Powered dust swirled around the room, glittering under the dim sources of light. The more she stuffed into her mouth, the more she coughed and gagged, but she didn’t let up. The ashes decorated her chin like parched chalk and the rot of death, flaking and peeling off as others took their place. 

Soon, she slackened, her movements stuttering like a malfunctioning machine as her body turned rigid. Her eyes rolled towards the back of her head as she slumped into your outstretched arms. Gently, you laid her down within the marked out area where the Kindred had been confined earlier.

“I’m here,” you murmured, holding her hand as you kept an eye on the clock.

There was no response. If you didn’t know better, you would have thought she was a mummified carcass, a relic waiting to be found and entombed in some museum halfway across the world. You reassured yourself that this was just the beginning, and you didn’t need to worry yet.

Time seemed to pass by excruciatingly slowly, like the fluid from an IV drip gradually entering the body through a network of catheters and needles, the effects of which you could never feel until it was too late. Every so often, you stroked Rebecca’s hand, verbally reminding her she had a place to return to. However, you were met with blank silence, and it seemed as though you had gone crazy and were talking to yourself.

By now, the ten-minute mark had been reached and there was still no sign of her coming back. At the moment, there was enough buffer time for you to revive her, and you prayed that this wouldn’t end up any worse. 

Tapping her cheek lightly, you called out, “Rebecca? Can you hear me? There’s only five minutes left, you need to start waking up.”

At first, you merely coaxed her, but as each minute passed, your taps and voice grew more urgent. However, she remained out cold. Why was she taking so long? What was holding her back?

Three minutes remaining. Not good.

You broke out into short, rapid little breaths. “Come on, Rebecca?” You were shaking her lifeless body now. “If you can’t find the rest of them, just leave it!”

Two minutes. Shit!

Your heart raced in fear and your nerves fired up as you doubled down on your efforts to bring her back into the real world. Nothing was going to stop you from doing so.

Meanwhile, Leon had been waiting patiently outside the chamber. So far, things were mind numbingly boring and quiet, which was good. Why Rebecca had requested him to physically stand watch at the location baffled him. There wasn’t anything the cameras wouldn’t be able to catch, and not to mention, the security systems in Elysium were top-notch. However, she seemed to trust Kindred instincts more.

Then, he heard some noises coming from inside the room. Focusing his senses, he heard your frantic voice yelling at Rebecca, trying to rouse her from her comatose state. Before he could head in to help you, the light beams flickered, as if the power had been cut for a split second. 

He glanced up, noticing that someone had killed the cameras. They weren’t blinking red anymore. His muscles tensed, instinctively shifting into a combat stance as he readied himself for the incoming intruder. 

Just as he predicted, a blurred figure from the corner of his eye whizzed past. Sharpening his reflexes, he timed his move, reaching out to grab the culprit by their arm. All at once, he came face-to-face with the last person he wanted to be stuck in a corridor with.

“Ada? What the hell?” he snarled, finally piecing together the last parts of the puzzle. “I should’ve known…”

“You never should’ve underestimated your sire,” she tutted coyly, running her other hand up his chest provocatively.

He recoiled from her touch in disgust, throwing the hand he had seized back at her. “The Prince will have your head for this!” he hissed.

“Resorting to threats now, are we?” she laughed derisively. “Well, don’t worry, I can always counter with my own.”

Grazing a stiletto fingernail along the pulse point of his neck, she leaned in and whispered suggestively, “If you and your childe want to live to see another night, you better listen to what I have to say.” 

She cocked her head, peering behind Leon at the door as she narrowed her eyes. “And from the sounds of it, she doesn’t have much time…”

“We should go in,” she decided, stepping forward, only for him to block her path.

“Ada, I don’t know what fucking mind game you’re playing, but I swear to god, if you so much as lay a finger on her, I will—”

She sighed in vexation, interrupting him as she patted his chest condescendingly. “Relax, big boy.”

Taking his hand, she pressed it against the touchpad, and the door slid open. Instantly, they were greeted by the sore sight of you desperately trying to revive Rebecca. There was only one minute left before she would be in trouble.

“For fuck’s sake—”

And that’s when you looked up, your eyes darting between the two Kindred in a mixture of complete shock and confusion.

“Ada?” you exclaimed. “Leon? The fuck—”

“Ada!” A voice next to you screeched, choking and sputtering as if she was recovering from nearly drowning underwater. “You… Heisenberg… the Baker boy… you’re planning a coup. But why?”

30 seconds. You shut off the timer. That was close, way too close.

Despite the chaos and her accusations, you’d never been more relieved to see Rebecca back to life. You pulled her in hastily for a quick hug, before turning to the rest for a much-warranted explanation.

“We only have a few minutes until Jill storms in. Hunnigan is stalling her, so I’ll make this quick.” Ada sauntered towards you with cat-like grace, while Leon trailed behind watching her suspiciously. “The Prince is getting too big for his own shoes. Even I know that the benefits of working with the Anarchs, as long as they’re kept at an arm’s length, outweigh the cons. Unfortunately for Wesker, greed will be his downfall.”

Squatting down beside you and Rebecca, she stated, “You see, I just happened to stumble upon his plans to exterminate every single one of the Anarchs here in Raccoon City, so that he can rule uncontested.”

Nodding in Leon’s direction, she addressed him, “All the time you spent with them, along with his sending you as his emissary, allowed him to gather valuable information about your friends from you.”

He shook his head in abhorrence, huffing, “You’re saying, he used me as a spy?”

Instead of responding directly, she mentioned, “Of course, to keep up appearances, he couldn’t actually have you defecting to them. Though with the increase in SI presence recently, he sensed an opportunity to redirect the threat towards Heisenberg and his crew.”

Idly inspecting the apparatus that Rebecca had dropped when she fell unconscious, she chucked it aside when she found nothing of interest. “Foolish and reckless,” she criticized. “So we’ll give him a taste of his own medicine.”

“And you expect us to trust you?” Leon spat, his jaw clenching and unclenching as he glanced between the door and Ada.

“No,” she replied simply. “But you still have a boon to pay, and your missing vessel.” She flashed you a malevolent smile as Leon drew closer, situating himself between you and his sire defensively. 

Before Rebecca could speak her mind, Ada cut in, “Your Primogen is ready to finish what Glenn started if you decide to take matters into your own hands.” That caused her to shut her mouth and sink back in defeat.

So, there were others in the Camarilla who were in on this as well, you figured. In spite of the odds, you pushed back, detesting the woman’s methods from the start. “Let me guess, you have something to threaten me with too?” you jeered.

Leaning in, she sniffed your neck deliberately and simpered, “Mmm, I can smell him on you. How wonderful it must be to still enjoy such humanly pleasures…”

“Ada…” Leon warned, but she waved him off dismissively.

“With you, my dear, I wouldn’t need to lift a finger,” she gloated confidently. “No one’s going to believe a fledgling, especially without proof. And even if they do, would you really choose to endanger your beloved sire for lying?”

She was relentless, refusing to wait for your answer as she questioned rhetorically, “Or are you particularly fond of Wesker? Seeing as you know what he’s capable of.”

It was true that you held nothing but disdain for the man, given how he had treated you from day one, setting you up to fail with his ‘tests’ and what he had done to Leon with Sherry. Maybe it was time for him to go, you found yourself agreeing with Ada, in somewhat abject horror. But were there really any better candidates to take his place?

“Think about it,” she said, getting up as she ambled towards the side of the room. Fishing out a device from her pocket, she aimed at a metal grill in the ceiling and fired a shot. A grapple hook attached itself to the grill and she yanked it down.

“What’s in it for you?” you asked.

She gave you one final smirk as she turned towards Leon, winking at him. “I’ll be in touch very soon.”

With that, she clung onto the grill, blinking up into the crawl space above as she secured it back into its original position.

At that very moment, Jill burst into the room with her Doberman in tow, growling ferociously at the three of you. Her hand had morphed into a monstrous claw, sharp enough to dice anyone into pieces and ready to tear the place apart. “Someone had better tell me what the fuck is going on!”

Rebecca was the first to respond, “I had some difficulties in Memoriam. Leon had to assist his childe in getting me back safely.”

“The cameras were cut,” Jill fumed, not backing down as she scanned your reactions for answers. “Hunnigan seemed to have a rough time bringing them back online.”

“We were kinda busy down here,” Leon claimed, already well-versed in the art of omission and partial information when it came to any form of interrogation.

“You better watch your step, smartass,” she cautioned, still not fully buying Leon’s half-truth. Her eyes gleamed dangerously. “I’m going to investigate this matter myself, and if I trace anything back to you… Carlos here is gonna have a field day ripping your goddamn balls out every night for the rest of your unlife.”

At this, her Doberman let out a series of sharp, piercing barks as it wagged its tail enthusiastically. You bristled at her threat as something within you snapped. Without thinking, you sprang up, shielding Leon with your body, almost hissing in defiance. However, Leon reined you in, his face plastered with alarm as he grasped your arm, knocking some sense into you.

“Oh, so the little diva wants to play, huh?” Jill grinned viciously, her claw twitching with anticipation.

“She meant no offense,” Leon said calmly, attempting to relieve the tension between the two of you. “Besides, you wanted the report from Rebecca?”

A diversion. He had always been a clever one.

Leon exchanged cursory looks with the Tremere, who got the hint and cleared her throat before piping up, “I know who’s behind it. They’re all Sabbat members.”

“Bella, Cassandra and Daniela,” she rattled off the top of her head.

Whatever tall tale Rebecca had come up with seemed to work as Jill relaxed her stance, quirking an eyebrow at her. “Lady Dimitrescu’s childer?”

“Yes,” Rebecca affirmed. “Beneviento’s involved too.”

“That Ugly-Ass Psycho Doll?” Jill remarked, shifting uneasily. “Hm, explains the Dementation, I suppose.”

She straightened up, her feral eyes sweeping across the room one more time before issuing a set of commands. “Right, clean this mess up, and then you and I are gonna have a talk with Hunnigan to see if the info checks out,” she directed to Rebecca.

“As for pretty boy and his harlot here, the Prince wants to see you, stat.”

Your temper flared at the insult, but you bit your tongue in an effort to suppress it. With that, Jill turned to leave. Once she was a safe distance away, you whispered to Rebecca, “Did you just lie about all those Kindred? How did you come up with that?”

Her blue-eyed gaze met yours. “Because it wasn’t exactly a lie,” she explained carefully. “They appeared in his memories too.”

━━━━━━━━━━━

It turned out that your meeting with the Prince this time was more of a private affair, so instead of the greenhouse, you found him lounging on an opulent and richly-textured couch in the presentation room. He sat there regally, sipping on an artisanally crafted chalice with feigned indifference, not even bothering to acknowledge your presence when you and Leon walked in. 

The Scourge stood diagonally across from him, monitoring your actions intently. He was keeping watch while Jill was busy with the previous technical hiccup and questioning Rebecca. You didn’t have a clue as to why the Prince had requested this meeting, but nothing he wanted could be good news.

The man in question bided his time, draining the chalice to the last drop at a leisurely pace, making you and your sire stand around and wait like idiots in utter silence. Finally, he spoke up, his voice laced with sarcasm, “Ah, not maimed yet, I see. Congratulations are in order.”

It took you a moment before you realized he was talking about you.

Before you could react, Leon had stepped forward, crossing his hand over his heart as he bowed in veneration. “My honorable Prince, how may we—”

However, Wesker saw through his bullshit. His patience waned at Leon’s obvious attempts at sweet-talking his way out of the situation. Brandishing the empty chalice in your direction accusingly, he remarked, “Your fledgling seems to be making quite a name for herself.”

Your mouth ran dry. What Leon had warned you about during your big fight with him came rushing back. 

“I don’t want to be ordered by the Prince to destroy you.”

“If you step out of line, he will ask me to.”

You had been too careless in your dalliances with the Anarchs, and naturally, word had gotten around, as well as back into the viper’s nest.

Leon hung his head low in submission, averting his gaze. “Prince, I can assure you, I have put a stop to the issue at hand.”

Ignoring him, Wesker smirked, “Like sire, like childe.”

“Do you have any idea what I do to traitors of the Camarilla?” he asked as the Scourge shifted slightly, his dual curved blades glinting under the fluorescent lights.

A mere glance from Wesker at the Scourge caused him to back down. “Go on, why don’t you take a guess?” he beckoned you.

Although an immobilizing fear rippled through your body, you still managed to cough out, “Final Death?”

At this, Wesker bellowed with laughter. “Oh, no, no… that would be far too merciful for the likes of such filth.” 

“Wouldn’t it be more appropriate and resourceful for me to have my scientists conduct their work on them?” he suggested, tapping on his chin thoughtfully. “Or perhaps I should string them up in a cellar somewhere with their limbs chopped off, and have them bleed out into my waiting cup, hmm?”

You noticed the way he had emphasized ‘them’ sounded more like he meant ‘you’.

Placing his chalice on the side table, he leaned forward with his hands in a steepled position and grinned deviously. “I mean, all these marvelous reviews have left me wanting to have a taste…”

You gulped at his insinuation, your hands trembling as you tried to conceal them from his sight. Then, you felt Leon nudging you protectively behind him.

The amber of Wesker’s eyes glowered through his shades. “And why do I get the feeling you’re not telling me everything, Leon?”

“My trusted Sheriff has her suspicions that you’ve not been fully cooperative on the case,” he alleged, looking to your sire for an answer.

“The information turned out to be more difficult to acquire than expected,” Leon explained guardedly. “But I have provided Jill with everything I know, and so has Rebecca.”

Truth be told, you were in two minds when Ada had approached you with her request. However, the way this meeting had unfolded caused the hatred you harbored for Wesker to grow exponentially — so much so that you said nothing when Leon was lying through his teeth. You had taken your stance.

There was a long, agonizing pause as Wesker considered his words. “Very well, you’ve made your bed, Leon. Just be aware, we will find out whatever it is you’re hiding…” he trailed off before stating in a deliberate tone, “You of all Kindred should know how much I love personally gutting traitors.”

Angling his head towards you, he warned, “One more misstep and we’ll see about that drink I am dying to have…”

You nodded feebly, preparing to take your leave with Leon who was ushering you out hurriedly.

It was only when you had reached the door of the room that Wesker tutted, “I’m not quite done with you yet.”

Like a sly predator toying with its prey, he had lulled you into a false sense of security, only to yank it away at the last minute. Whirling around, you caught a glimpse of the diabolical uptick in his lips as a side door slid open. 

A slender blonde woman with a layered, cropped haircut walked in apathetically, seemingly oblivious to the tense atmosphere that permeated the space. She was dressed in a fitted beige blouse, olive khaki pants, and lace-up utility boots. An arctic blue scarf adorned her neck even though the temperatures within Elysium were well-regulated.

You heard Leon's breath hitch as he suddenly gripped your hand with a vice-like hold. The woman smiled placidly at the two of you, and it was then that you could see the blank stare in her glassy blue eyes. Was she—?

Wesker flung his arms open dramatically, as if unveiling a prized possession. “Ah, Sherry! How nice of you to join us.”

[drizzitwrites]

Deleted Scenes

So... I still feel badly that I (a) haven’t managed to get this fic done in SEVEN ENTIRE MONTHS and (b) don’t have anything written for the lovely @heatherxlovett‘s birthday OR a fic for Christian’s birthday (I have one planned, but I need to write these other two first, so probably in three years you’ll see it). 

To remedy that, here’s the chapter I’ve been working on editing for the last week and then on Sunday realised I needed to change it because there’s a storyline in here that I LOVE, but am planning to work into the AU I’m writing so I didn’t want to work it in here in an effort to maybe pretend I don’t just write the same fic over and over again.

So... here you all are. To one of my most loyal readers, who always leaves the comment I want to come back to when I’ve had a terrible day and am convinced I’ll never be any good at this writing thing.

Gelukkige verjaardag, lieverd! I hope it’s a good one!

(For context, a few chapters ago, Vincent found out that Ben knows he and Christian are together, so that’s what they’re talking about in this scene)

“Vincent,” Ben said as he slipped back into the living room. “Hold on a second, mate. I’ll give you a hand with all that.”

“There is no need,” Vincent said, glancing down at the stack of crockery in his hands. “It isn’t much.”

It wasn’t. Three plates--one still at least half full of the small sandwiches Vincent had made earlier, despite his insistence that Ben and Coco help him out and eat a few of them. They’d obliged, both of them complimenting his pairing of flavours if not his presentation, although he still wasn’t convinced their praise hadn’t been out of some sort of sense of politeness. Christian, for his part, had dutifully finished the one he’d been given earlier and grabbed a second one absentmindedly a few minutes later, but hadn’t offered Vincent anything more in the way of comment.

In fact, he hadn’t offered Vincent much more in the way of anything, instead focusing in on the match and engaging Ben and Coco in an in-depth analysis of tactics, positioning, and ball movement. Vincent could have joined in, but he’d found he didn’t have much to say on the subject.

After all, who wanted to listen to someone who’d failed out of club football, gotten himself injured, and then spent their summer watching the competition instead of participating in it?

He might have been the one to call this little gathering into being in the first place, but all it had done was make him feel resentful—of the easy way Ben and Coco fit into Christian’s life, of his teammates and friends cheering and hugging as they cleared yet another hurdle on their path to the World Cup trophy. Of his entire place in the world, or lack thereof, if he was being honest.

It was stupid, he knew, but if there was one thing he’d learned in the past few years of his life it was that you couldn’t help the way something made you feel. All you could do was process those feelings and move on.

So move on he would. He’d done his best to enjoy the match alongside his friends. Later, he’d thank them all for coming, wish them well, and tell them he would see them at training on Monday.

Then, hopefully, he could finally fall into Christian’s arms and forget all about the World Cup and Oranje and Spurs and Fenerbahçe and everything that wasn’t the heat of Christian’s body against his own.

Clink of glass, and Vincent looked up to see Ben attempting to gather up the empty bottles of beer, water, and fruit juice from where they’d been strewn about the various tables. Vincent had planned to drop the crockery in the kitchen then retrieve the drinks bottles and sort them into the bin for recycling, but he certainly wouldn’t refuse the help.

“Thanks.”

“Anytime. I thought…” Ben’s face went suddenly serious, an expression Vincent rarely saw him wear off the football pitch. “Are you alright?”

“Am I…? Yes, I think so,” Vincent responded. “Should I not be?”

An interesting question. Vincent could cover the front and at least half the back of an A4-sized paper with all the reasons he had to not be alright, but Ben didn’t need to know about most of them.

“Dunno. I just thought…about our conversation earlier.” He reached up and absently scratched at the back of his head.

“Oh. That.”

Truth be told, Vincent would rather they just forget the incident in the kitchen had ever occurred and go about their lives.

“I admit it was not what I expected,” he said. “But… everything is good. You’re never sure about these things and how people will react. So. Thank you. For not being…” He finished the sentence with a shrug and a vague sort of hand gesture.

Ben rewarded him with a soft laugh. “I’m not one to judge. Especially not when it comes to something like this.”

“Still,” Vincent said. “Thanks.”

He reached down to lift a stray fork from the table and found that his hand was trembling slightly. Clearly, he still wasn’t ready to face this new reality where Ben—and probably others—knew about his relationship with Christian, no matter how accepting of it they might be.

It should be a relief; a weight lifted off his shoulder, allowing him to breathe easier. But somehow, the idea that Ben had somehow managed to figure out the secret Vincent thought he’d so carefully kept hidden only made his heart slam in his chest and a lump rise in his throat.

And…how the hell did Ben know?

The words rushed out of he mouth before Vincent could even hope to stop them. “How did you find out? About Christian and I?”

Flash of white teeth as Ben grinned over at him, eyebrows raised. “Seriously? I mean… you two aren’t exactly the most subtle about things.”

At the look of panic that had clearly flickered onto Vincent’s face, Ben held up a hand.

“Okay.” He dropped his gathered up drinks containers to the table with a series of clinks and thuds, then lifted the stack of plates out of Vincent’s hands. “First things first, I’m taking these before you drop them. The last thing either of us needs is a broken foot. Or Christian rushing in here wanting to know why there’s a mess of sandwich remnants and broken pottery all over his floor.”

Vincent thought about protesting, but he realised Ben was right. This wasn’t a conversation he should be having while carrying anything heavy or potentially breakable.

Ben set the plates on the table beside the collected drink containers then sat down on the sofa, motioning for Vincent to join him.

“Was I that obvious?” Vincent asked once they were both seated, Vincent once again in his customary seat by the door, Ben in Christian’s seat in the centre. “I mean…does everyone know?”

“Not everyone,” Ben said. “Probably. Its not as though you’re telegraphing your passes or anything, just…”

Ben tipped his head back to stare up at the ceiling for a few seconds before turning back to Vincent, his usually cheerful face now sombre. “Let’s just say that when it comes to Christian… I have some experience with things like this.”

“Hm. Yes,” Vincent said. “I suppose that is true. You and Christian have been friends for years. I forget sometimes, because I feel I’ve known him forever, but… Sometimes I think you know him better than I do.”

This time it was Ben’s turn for an impromptu coughing fit.

He doubled over beside Vincent, chest pressed against his thighs as his body shook and his eyes widened, face turning red as he gasped for air.

Vincent stared over at him, hands raised in some futile gesture to do something, although he had no idea exactly what.

With his luck, he’d try to intervene and end up making it worse. Better if he stayed out of it. He could see the headlines already: FAILED SPURS STRIKER NEARLY STRANGLES EX-TEAMMATE TO DEATH. No thank you.

After what felt like an eternity, Ben slowly sat up, sucking in breath after breath as he leaned back into the sofa cushions.

“Wow…” he managed to choke out. “That’s… I mean… Wow.”

He drew in one last deep breath and blew it out in a slow hiss, his eyes closed, his cheeks and ears still pink.

“That’s…” He flicked his eyes open and glanced over at Vincent. “Not quite what I meant. I mean… time was I would have been thrilled if you were right, but…”

“What?” Vincent asked, tipping his head to the side and studying Ben’s face as though it might reveal something he’d missed—some odd turn of phrase or alternate word meaning he hadn’t picked up on. What had Ben meant? What did Ben think he’d meant?

Not for the first time, he wished he could have this conversation in Dutch. His English had improved massively since his move to Turkey, where the only way he’d been able to communicate with just about anyone had been halting conversations in broken English on both sides, but he still wasn’t very good at getting his point across, let alone parse the alternate meanings of everything.

Ben’s choking coughs turned to laughter, and Vincent held up a hand to cut off whatever he was about to say. 

“Godverdamme, I didn’t ask to have this conversation.”

He flung himself backward into the sofa cushions until the back of his head collided with the rounded top, wondering if there was any way he could manage to absorb into the smooth fabric and disappear.

Ben made a noise that was half-cough, half-laugh. “Honestly, mate, I didn’t even mean to take the piss with that one, it sort of just happened. I can’t help it. I’m British. We’re always a half-step away from utter buffoonery.”

“Of course. How lucky for me.”

“Right,” Ben said. “Let me just… start over. Or something.”

Vincent twitched both his eyebrows upward in response, then realised Ben couldn’t actually see him with his face tipped up towards the ceiling and begrudgingly sat up, arms folded across his chest.

“Christian and I are good friends, and I’m glad of that. Wouldn’t change it for anything, but…”

He shook his head, face set in a wry smile.  “I don’t know if you know, but Christian tends towards the oblivious when it comes to these things. Relationships and the like.”

“Yes,” Vincent said. He couldn’t help but return Ben’s derisive laugh. Did Vincent know? He’d spent months of his life completely convinced that Christian hated him, despite Jan and Mousa’s repeated reassurances to the contrary.

“Thought you might,” Ben said. “Honestly, trying to get through to him is like repeatedly slamming your entire body into a wall at full tilt. You keep doing it, hoping somehow you’ll budge it or break through or whatever, but eventually, the day comes when you realise what you’re doing is pointless and you’re never going to get anywhere. Unless you’re either really stubborn or really stupid.”

Vincent narrowed his eyes, trying to keep up with Ben’s logic He was fairly sure there was a thinly veiled insult in there somewhere, but he wasn’t quite sure.

“Don’t worry, mate,” Ben said, clearly noticing Vincent’s confusion. “Pretty sure you’re the former. Or… more the former than the latter, at least.”

And that was definitely a thinly-veiled insult, although if Vincent thought about it, he couldn’t really argue with it. These days, it seemed like his entire life had been built on stubbornness and stupidity.

Ben barreled on, not giving Vincent an opportunity to speak any words in his defense even if he’d had any.

“It’s not as if I’m any less stubborn. Or stupid. I kept trying for years. Long past the point where any sane person would have admitted nothing was ever going to happen between him and me and packed it in.”

He let out a wry laugh. “But that’s my way, I guess. Honestly, if you hadn’t rocked up I’d probably still be at it. So, really, I ought to thank you. For saving me from myself.”

Vincent felt his mouth drop open as he stared over at Ben. He knew he should close it. Could hear his mother’s voice in the back of his mind. ‘Doe je mond dicht, Vincent. Je zult vliegen vangen.’ But… had Ben just implied…?

“You…?” Vincent finally managed to stammer out. “But…”

He dropped his chin to his chest and ground the heels of his hands against his forehead. What was his life today, seriously?

He’d spent months convincing himself that the little spark of jealousy that had always flared in his chest whenever he saw Ben and Christian together had been ridiculous and his suspicions of something more between them unfounded.

They were close friends, and nothing more. A mantra Vincent had chanted to himself on repeat until he finally convinced himself.

Ben and Christian had been friends for years before Vincent had flickered into Christian’s orbit. He had no claims on Christian and no reason to feel any anger or resentment towards Ben for simply existing in Christian’s life.

And now Ben was telling him that all his suspicions had been right all along?

Vincent’s head was back to spinning again; this time with a completely new set of questions. The first and foremost being a simple, “What?”

“What?” Ben echoed. “Me and Christian? Oh my God, mate, did you honestly not know?”

The pitch of his voice ascended with each word. He stared at Vincent, mouth slightly open, eyes wide.

“No,” Vincent said, blinking over at him. “Was I supposed to know?”

“I just…” Ben said. “I thought everyone knew. Well. Everyone but Christian, of course.” 

He let out a huff of a laugh. “Apparently it’s ‘accidentally spill your deepest secrets to your mates’ day. Good job we’ve already had the party.” He punctuated this by lifting his hands in front of them and shaking his wrists, making his hands flutter “jazz hands” style.

And…did Ben seriously think Vincent had known he had feelings for Christian and then charged ahead with his own feelings regardless? He’d like to believe he wasn’t quite that insensitive.

Then again, considering Vincent had performed twelve different kinds of mental and emotional acrobatics to convince himself there was nothing going on between Christian and Ben, he honestly couldn’t say he would have done anything differently had he known.

Would his feelings towards Christian have changed? Would he actually have backed away from his pursuit and given Ben space? Or would he have blundered on as usual, only with the added foolishness of turning it into a competition that no one could hope to win.

More than likely, the whole thing would have dragged into endless tension between them, all of it undoubtedly spilling out into the dressing room and onto the pitch until it crashed to an end— Vincent and Ben forcing themselves into professional civility and nothing more; Christian still single and blissfully unaware.

Which… might have been alright for Christian, really. 

“I’m sorry,” Vincent said. “If I had known…”

Ben waved him off. “None of that. Honestly, I’m long past it. I admit I was a bit put out at first—I think I’d convinced myself that Christian just wasn’t the type to go in for any sort of relationship with anyone, so when he started turning down invites to go out in favour of spending time with you, I’m not afraid to admit that it stung a bit. But when I see the way he looks at you when he thinks no one is looking. I mean… here.”

He slid over to the other end of the sofa and examined the long shelves lining the wall, index finger raised as he scanned back and forth over the rows of framed photographs. Finally, he let out an “ah”, snapped his fingers, grabbed two of the pictures, and slid back over towards Vincent.

“So what it is is… consider this, right. I mean, look at this photo of Christian and I during Pochettino’s first mid-winter training camp in Barcelona.”

He held out the frame, and Vincent took it. The photo depicted Christian and Ben seated together behind a table in a restaurant, heads tipped together and arms slung around shoulders. Now that Vincent knew about Ben’s feelings he could see them written on his face as plain as day. He was looking at Christian with more than just his usual bright smile, this one instead laced with all the longing and adoration Vincent had grown all too familiar with in his own pursuit of Christian.

Christian, for his part, was also smiling—grin wide, blue eyes squinted slightly as he laughed at whatever Ben had just said. It was a genuine smile, not one of those forced, strained things he tended to put on for the media, but it didn’t convey anything more than his joy in the moment—Christian surrounded by friends in a place he loved.

Ben shoved another photograph at him.

This one Vincent was intimately familiar with. He and Christian side-by-side in a dimly lit restaurant. It was the night before they’d all left on international duty at the start of last season—Vincent still in London, for the time, but not expecting to return.

He had the same photo on his phone Had printed it out and framed it to sit beside his bed in his lonely, cramped Istanbul flat so he could look at it every night before he went to sleep—a cautionary tale of the mistake he’d made by not saying yes to one of the loan offers that would have kept him in England. He’d gotten arrogant and greedy, and while he’d enjoyed his time in Istanbul and truly hoped to return there in a few weeks time, he’d wanted to remember that moment. To learn from it.

“Look,” Ben said. “ Same setting—or at least, the same idea—but… I mean, look at him, Vincent, he’s positively glowing. I’ve known Christian for a minute now, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen him look at someone the way he’s looking at you there. So yeah, mate, if I hadn’t conceded defeat long ago, I’d be stupid not to do now.”

Vincent stared down at the two photos for a while longer, studying each of them in turn before slotting them back into their places on the shelf.

He smiled, then shook his head and punched Ben lightly in the arm. “Still. I will have my eyes on you, Davies.”

Ben let out a laugh and held up both his hands in a gesture of surrender. 

Friends, mate, nothing more. I swear it.”

“Good. Christian is lucky to have you. And so am I.”