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almostempty · 1 month ago

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because of you (dave york x f!reader)

wc: 7k | other fics | rating: 18+ dddne | read on ao3 |

summary: You reveal at a party that you've never cried during sex, but Dave is going to fix that for you.

note: as per usual i took a prompt that could’ve been simple.. ‘never have i ever cried during sex’ x dave york .. and i thought.. how can i make him worse? so…here’s some dark!dave and no worries if any of the tags are a nope, i’ll be back with more threesomes soon

tags/warnings: explicit, dead dove do not eat, non con, unreliable narrator, delusional dave, infidelity, just a little bit of knife play 🔪 (no blood), pussy slap(s), face slap(s), a few uses of whore and slut, raw non-con piv and creampie (duh), bi reader has a wife!, crying during sex, little bit of ass play (whoa, who did that), obsessive behavior/ruminating, no york kids, no y/n, able bodied afab reader, ooc dave but also he’s a loving husband okay

thanks to: @auteurdelabre @gothcsz @syd-djarin @slimybeth69 @hoelaris @miss-oranje-disco-dancer @yxtkiwiyxt (…i think the gang’s all here lmao <3) it takes a village and thanks to y’all for support at different stages of this idea and over the darkest days of the year. i think this is the first thing i’ve been able to finish since December, so like we’re so back! (i hope) And to kiwi <3 i was so flattered you would trust me with a prompt for your man and, uh, i hope you would again after this lmao!

"Oh! Marina, do you still have that game?"

Heads swivel, all focus shifting to you–bouncing on the balls of your feet and sporting a sheepish grin as you realize you’ve interrupted your party host. Your neighbor is unfazed and parts easily from the other neighbors she was entertaining, finding the game for you as the party-goers voices resume buzzing.

The light in your eyes brightens, your whole face awash with excitement. Dave watches as you find a seat for yourself, cross-legged on the floor in front of your spouse, reaching for the box the hostess grabs from the shelf.

“I loved playing this in college!” You look like a kid on Christmas as you open up the box.

Autumn, your wife, shakes her head as she laughs. “You just loved using this game to make your move in college.”

Dave exhales a quiet chuckle, though something darker hums beneath it. He turns his wedding band between his fingers, but his eyes haven’t left you.

“Yeah, well it worked on you,” you jest over your shoulder as she passes your wine glass to you, in sync.

You’re too expressive—your reactions are instant, unguarded. Loud laughter, teasing quips, a warmth that feels too good to be real. He’s spent most of the night cataloging them, the faces you make, the sound of your voice, and the curve of your lips.

He wonders what your eyes would do if he wrapped his hand around your throat. Would they sparkle with the same joy? Would you be willing and eager for him?

That thought slithers in and settles in the front of his mind.

He can’t make out what it is about you that draws him in. But he keeps watching. Waiting.

And now, in a room full of people, you have his rapt attention. He’s glued to everything you do.

“What was your move?” Carol asks before Dave can.

Autumn starts to tell the story for you. In college, you were always that person who stayed up the latest. The one that was still in the kitchen at three in the morning, having a heart-to-heart with a friend or a stranger. How you’d convince anyone to watch the sunrise with you.

And that you had this habit of asking everyone their middle name before you’d finish your second drink.

You nod along as she describes the college version of you. Dave can picture it all clearly. He thinks you’d still stay up to watch the sunrise if anyone else at this party was willing. There’s something different about you–an energy that the rest of the run of the mill neighbors have had beaten out of them with HOA meetings and shitty bosses.

“But her real trick,” Autumn continues warmly, with just a hint of teasing, “she’d lure you in with her magnetic personality—”

“Is that what you’re calling my tits now?” The two of you laugh, ignorant to some of the uncomfortable husbands and wives shifting their weight as their eyes dart away from your chest.

“No. They know what I mean!” Autumn addresses the room again, “She’d take you by the hand and pull you somewhere secluded…”

“Not, like, immediately! I like to actually play the game too,” you edit before taking a sip from your glass, mesmerizing Dave with a behavior as simple as swallowing.

“I think you just liked trying to set up your friends before you’d run off with whoever you’d picked to get lucky.”

“I’m good at matchmaking.” You shrug.

“Is that what you wanna call it?” your wife teases.

“Mmm, what about..” you roll your head around like it’s heavy, “I’m good at reading when two people wanna fuck. And giving them a little push.” You squish two invisible people together between your hands with a satisfied grin, and when your eyes flick to match Dave’s he feels the world start to narrow.

“Right.” Autumn agrees, reluctantly. “So picture this,” she goes on addressing the whole party. “It’s late, you’ve been drinking, and now she’s got you with this look that says, ‘I wanna know everything about you.’”

“I do like getting to know people,” you mouth quietly, aware you’ve been interrupting. Your eyes are still on Dave and he lets the meaning of your attention sink in.

Until Autumn squeezes your shoulder, a silent I know, and you tip your head against her hand affectionately as she continues.

“But the thing is, you see, she’s still got your full name in here,” she taps your temple gently. “She’d play everyone right into her hand with ‘Never have I ever’ rounds that would make you blush.”

“So, now she’s got you all starry-eyed, right? All worked up and flirty, spilling your secrets... And that’s when she pulls out her move—” She cuts herself off with a smirk, looking across the room. “Dave, what’s Carol’s middle name?”

“Marie.”

“Show her,” Autumn murmurs in your ear. With a wave of your hand Dave shifts on the sofa, so you can squeeze in next to his wife. He lets you in, but stays unnecessarily snug.

Pressing your knee into Carol’s, you give her your undivided attention, gleaming eyes locked on hers.

“Never have I ever…” you tap your lip in thought, a hint of a smirk curling, “kissed a woman named Carol Marie.”

Neither of you move.

Dave’s skin heats up watching you hit on his wife—even if it’s just a demonstration—the chemistry is palpable. You hold his wife’s gaze for a long pause, letting the charge fill the whole room.

“You think you could help me change that?” you ask, putting on an innocent voice, and tucking Carol’s hair behind her ear like a hallmark romance movie.

For a second, Dave swears you start to lean in, but his wife breaks the spell.

“Well, I can see how you’d seal a deal with that move.” Carol laughs, a little breathy, shaking you off. You skip back across the room like you just won something, or stole it.

“All in good faith,” you claim with a wink, and everything comes into focus for Dave. You wanted him to watch, to get the front row seat. To feel the warmth of your body next to his. You were planting a seed, making a show of toying with Carol.

You’re good. He smirks to himself, before sliding back to his wife, a possessive hand resting on her thigh. “Thought you were going to whisk this one away from me for a second there,” he says, eyes locked on you.

“It’s powerful, right?” Autumn shares with pride, clasping her hands on your shoulders as you lean back against her knees.

“I did alright with it,” you add on. “College boys were almost too easy, though. Some strong eye contact and they’d fold without even getting into the game!” Your quip lightens the room, the charge between you and Carol fading away. But Dave knows it was a coded message. He’ll play your game.

Your story inspired some other college tales from the other neighbors. Marina’s husband brings out some more snacks and the conversations carry easily as the night wears on.

The room is softly lit and the drinks flow. Eventually couples file out and soon the party has dwindled just to you and your wife, the hosts, and Carol and Dave.

You convince the remaining couples to play the game for real, rifling through the cards and frowning at a few of the pre-written statements before shuffling them up. “After dark my ass,” you chide reading the marketing claim on the box. “Some of these are more like icebreakers for a corporate team building event but I saw some good ones in here too.”

There’s some kind of point keeping system written in the box that you immediately decide to ignore in favor of just ‘getting to know each other’s secrets’.

And, you’re right, of course. Some of the cards are more tame like, ‘never have I ever been in a hot tub’ or, ‘never have I ever shoplifted,’ though, you do end up revealing your sticky fingers as a youth to the room.

You laugh it off, claiming you were just a dumb kid that should’ve been caught. But Dave sees beneath it. You’re a thrill chaser. Too smart to get caught, even as a teen. Or maybe if you were caught, you’d talk your way right out of it.

Some of the cards are a little racier, revealing some intimate details Dave didn’t expect to learn about his neighbors, along with some “scandalous” stories he finds boring. Strip club stories, faking orgasms, a story about role playing in the bedroom that had Marina’s husband shrinking in his seat before she cut herself off.

Your answers are consistently on the adventurous side, he doesn’t see any shame in your face. Even when you surprise your wife with some answers.

Dave knows you watch him, he can feel you studying his reactions and keeping track of every answer. He feels you when he’s not looking, feels the connection between you tugging at him.

You hide it well, such a smart girl. Nobody besides him would be able to decode your silent communications. It makes the entire game more interesting to Dave.

You find yourselves locking eyes again as your lips meet your glass. The gleam in your eyes shoots straight down to the base of his spine, but he keeps cool. The game keeps unfolding as you take turns drawing cards and swapping stories.

Dave doesn’t volunteer any stories, more content with listening. He doesn’t balk when Carol shares anything, if anything it only adds to the buzz already present in his veins from the liquor, and strokes his ego. He decides your wife seems open, not embarrassed by much.

Marina giggles again. Dave clenches his jaw. If this game got really dark, she’d be the first to pass out. He bets she’d faint before he even reached for his drink.

‘Never have I ever stabbed someone and watched the light fade from their eyes,’ he swirls his tumbler imagining the thud of Marina hitting the floor. She’d definitely pass out if he drank to that. But, you? You wouldn’t. He can tell.

Turns out none of the cards have any prompts about murder or espionage. Just more first date types of questions or kinky ideas for housewives.

But, there is one. One unassuming card that does something sinister to Dave. It sinks sharp little claws into Dave’s mind and latches on tight.

It’s not the most sexually depraved card. It doesn’t uncover some shocking truth about you. It’s not something he would’ve thought twice about before tonight.

But then, you read it out loud. In your too sultry voice for present company.

“Never have I ever…cried during sex.”

Your brow furrows in thought. Everyone, including Marina’s husband, takes a sip of their drink admitting they’ve shed coital tears.

But you’re still. Head tilted, staring into space like you’re trying to run calculations.

“This is what stumps you?” your wife jokes as you continue sorting through memories. “You saying I’ve never fucked you to tears?”

That gets a smile out of you. “No, things definitely get wet. Maybe some tears, but not, like–really crying? I don’t think so.”

“Not even messy makeup sex? After a fight?”

You shake your head. Marina frowns.

“Makes it more intense,” Carol floats. “Physically…emotionally.”

Dave glances at his wife with a smirk. He can feel the weight of everyone’s attention shifting between him and his wife. Whatever they’re picturing probably isn’t far from the truth.

“Right.” Your eyes flicker with something before you nod your head. You draw a card for your wife to read, clearly hoping to move on. But you don’t.

“Never have I ever…had sex in a car.” Autumn reads out. The whole room drinks to that one, and you raise your glass, jokingly toasting the room for the shared debauchery. But Dave sees the curiosity still brewing inside of you. He sees it the rest of the night. Between rounds and as conversations fizzle.

You never move on from the thought of really crying during sex. Breaking down, sobbing, wailing. The emotional release.

He knows you’re still thinking of it.

He’s still thinking of it. What you’d sound like. The way your entire body would jerk beneath him with every sob.

It’s late and Dave can tell Carol’s nearly ready to call it a night. She gives him a nod and they’re up and saying their goodnights. You and Autumn take the cue to leave as well, gathering your things and heading for the door at the same time.

You head out into the clear night, walking together for a block before waving Dave and Carol off and turning into the cul-de-sac. Dave can still hear your warm voice in the air as he opens the front door for his wife.

It echoes in his head the rest of the night.

He can still hear it when he wakes up.

When he closes his eyes he sees yours glinting back at him. Your smile and the long line of your neck when you toss your head back with laughter.

He can still smell the perfume you wore. The one that wrapped around his mind and lodged itself in his memory bank.

He can still feel the warmth of your body from when you sat next to him to put your move to work on his wife.

But, above all else one moment rings loudly–so salient he can touch it and taste it. It’s the wrinkle between your worried brows. The faraway look he aches to correct. The dreamlike yearning behind your eyes for a fantasy yet to be fulfilled. A fantasy he will fulfill. An idea.

An idea he cannot stop picturing. …a plan.

It haunts his waking consciousness and fills his dreams at night. Visions of you with tears streaming from your eyes, lips parted with his name rolling off your tongue. Between gasps you’re pleading, choking his name out between sobs, eyes wide, begging for mercy. It stirs something he can’t ignore, and it burns like embers, day and night.

At first, Dave indulges.

When he wakes with a throbbing erection and the ghost, the dream version of you against heating his skin, it’s simple. He transfers his passion to his wife, finding some relief as he spills hot and desperate inside of her.

If they don’t have time in the morning, he makes time in the shower, tugging earnestly at his cock until it pulses in his fist as your name haunts his mouth. He goes on like this for days, waiting for the intensity to pass. To ease.

But over time, Dave becomes irritated.

He can’t get you out of his fucking head. At work, at home, in bed, in the middle of the night, before he wakes up. Unprompted, unprovoked. You’re in his skin, in his blood, in his subconscious.

Your roots grow deeper. No matter how he twists it, the same image plays on repeat. Over and over. You, fixed in his mind.

Dave decides to start getting up even earlier. He goes for long runs in the morning, trying to reprogram his own body. Soldiering through this affliction. The exertion should be enough of a distraction, some other kind of physical outlet has to help. But as well intended as it is, the plan backfires horrendously.

Because of you.

You’re also an early morning person. Of course.

Dave passes you on the sidewalk, on the walking trail, in another neighborhood entirely. No matter which direction he starts in, he can’t escape your path. And worst of all you’re just as chipper before the sun is up as you are after it sets.

You wave and say good morning or hello or maybe you’re calling him an asshole he doesn’t know.

He doesn’t stop. He can’t.

Dave only nods, muttering a good morning as he passes you. His feet pound against the sidewalk as loud as his heart pounds in his ears.

He can’t stop. He won’t stop.

When he stops you’re thrilled, a wide grin spreads on your face as you confess you’ve been hoping to catch him on a cool down. That you’ve been delighted to see another person taking advantage of the calm before the world wakes up. You chat away softly as his mind races and he responds with appropriately timed grunts and nods.

Sweat cools on his back and his shirt sticks to his skin between his shoulder blades, a discomfort that pales in comparison to the twisted scream in his gut before it all goes quiet. Calm.

Dave walks back through the neighborhood with you mirroring the same glowing smile you wear.

He can allow this. Walking together. It's a coincidence really, it wasn’t something he planned.

And it’s easy.

Because of you.

You’re talkative and reliable. In the same place at the same time. Full of stories and jokes, and with an exceptional memory for details—at least for anything he shares about himself.

You don’t have the same strength as him—not cardio wise—but to resist. To abstain from the pull that connects you. The fated path that draws you together like gravity.

You brace a hand on his bicep when you laugh, you hold his gaze longer than necessary when you share something personal, and you only cement yourself deeper into his soul day by day. His walls stay up, he’ll hold the boundaries for you both.

He won’t break them. He can’t.

Danger is unpredictable and lurks in the most insidious places. A neighborhood barbecue. The draw between you is overpowering and with every glass of wine, you’re closer to asking a question he won’t be able to resist.

The night pulls in closer, wrapping around just the two of you. You want this. He can see it. Feel it in the way your body leans toward his and the whispers in your smile. When you sit next to him on Marina’s back porch he can taste the trouble rolling off of your tongue.

You ask for his middle name with what he swears is a wink, and you lean against him shoulder to shoulder, sighing so deeply he feels it in his bones. Like you were meant to hold each other up, to ease the weight of the universe.

Before you say anything else, Autumn saunters through the yard. She takes your hand and walks you home and Dave finds his own wife and does the same. Leading Carol just past the entryway of their home before he’s tearing off her clothes and sinking his cock deep inside her. It dulls the ache, but doesn’t fully soothe the pain. Nothing will.

Because of you.

You’re a splitting headache demanding his attention, pulsing beneath his skull and racing down his spine. Relentless and insatiable.

After that night, he notices you change tactics. You feed him little crumbs in every conversation. Leads you know he’ll follow. Hints about the weak spots in your relationship, your unlived dreams, your pent up desires.

He knows what you’re asking for. He reads exactly what you’re saying between the lines. His walls are crumbling and it gets harder and harder to be the one solely responsible for keeping the boundaries between you.

He compartmentalizes. Conceding. You can have his dreams, his showers, his mornings. Take them. Keep them.

But it’s never enough.

It grows stronger.

To obsession.

Inky and dark it slips through his morality calling to the part he keeps locked up. The part that lets him take a life and twelve hours later be a husband. The part that lets him distort casualties to unfortunate consequences of the work. The part that perverts complexities into black and white decisions.

Simplified.

Dave blinks again.

When he opens his eyes he stares at his dark ceiling listening to the sound of Carol’s breathing. And when he closes his eyes he sees you. He hears you begging for him. He can taste the salt on your skin and feel your nails digging into his shoulders. And it’s clear.

Because of you.

Clarity is a drug. You aren’t a distraction—you’re his path. This is what he was made for. Missions, execution. Giving you what you’ve been asking for? Child’s play.

He already has most of the information he needs. It’s a game of waiting and watching.

Learning.

It doesn’t take long to figure out the details. The challenge is that you and Autumn are rarely apart. You both work from home, leaving such small windows of time where you’re reliably separate. It’s not hard to get the intel he needs, he has all the connections he needs to find out about the companies you work for.

He knows every meeting on your schedule. Every professional development conference on Autumn’s company calendar.

From here, it’s effortless.

Dave walks up your steps, checking Autumn’s schedule once more on his phone before slipping it into his pocket and knocking on the door. You answer with surprise before inviting him in, apologizing that your wife is on a work call upstairs. He assures you it’s fine, he just wanted to give something to you.

Cookies.

Dave brings cookies that Carol made. A neighborly gesture. No ulterior motive. Aside from taking the opportunity to snoop around the house, scoping out everything he needs to know while you’re none the wiser and your wife never even sees him.

You’re gracious, of course, offering coffee or something stronger. And then your voice lowers and you’re closer without even moving your feet.

“You didn’t have to do this.”

“I know.”

It’s in your eyes again, that look he knows how to fix. “Thank you,” you speak deliberately, slowly. “Thank you for being more than a neighbor. For being…a friend.”

But you don’t mean friend. Not the way you tilt your head and the dopey smile you flash. No, he knows exactly what you mean. You don’t have to say it out loud.

He smirks to himself, satisfied not just with the intel he collected, but with how smitten you are with him in your kitchen. How bad you must need him—he can practically smell it on you. His fingers twitch, idly at his side.

He knows exactly how many minutes are left before Autumn’s meeting ends. The daylight and open windows don’t deter him. He could have you wrecked and put back together, presentably, in the minutes he has to work with. But he’s greedy. When he gets you to himself he’s not going to stop until presentable is no longer an option.

Days pass, routine and bland. He doesn’t see you for a few days. Then you’re back to your morning run. But it doesn’t matter. He’s consumed by the details of the next step. He channels everything into it. He’s been given purpose.

And when it’s finally here, the night he intends to execute his plan, he’s calm. His heart beats slowly, rhythmically, and he moves with steady, premeditated motions.

Carol is out of town, that was easy to arrange. Autumn is out of town. That required some coordination, pulling strings and cashing in on a favor. He organized an invite to an elite seminar in another state, confirming her arrival and attendance earlier this evening.

Everything is aligned as he designed it to be. He almost wishes his team was here, just because they work so seamlessly together and he gets off on the rush—but you’re going to be his and his alone tonight.

He slinks inside, avoiding the front door camera, disabling the alarm. Straight to your bedroom. As planned. You’re sleeping soundly for him.

You’re perfect.

The strap of your thin top is askew over your shoulder, the rest of you hidden beneath your covers. He could watch you longer, but that would be a disservice to you. You’ve been waiting so long.

You need this. You need him.

He pulls the cover off of you, pausing for the briefest moment to take in the smooth skin of your thighs, the dips and curves of your entire body, the serenity in your resting form.

He crawls over you slowly, his weight sinking into the mattress and pinning you down. He soaks in your sleep-warmed body beneath him, your scent coiling around his spine and your deep breaths. Your chest expands as your lungs fill with air, but it’s his blood that is oxygenated by your body.

The reality creeps into Dave’s mind. Here he is with you completely unconscious on your back underneath him. It’s a miracle you’ve both waited so long—or maybe it’s been purgatory.

Either way, you’re no longer a vision. You’re flesh and blood and he’s desperate to fulfill your fantasy. To make your dream and his a tangible experience.

He covers your mouth with one hand–you’re alone, but you still have neighbors, and he worries you might be disoriented at first.

Thankfully, Dave waited long enough that his eyes adjusted to the dim light in the bedroom, because he’d never have forgiven himself if he’d missed the expressions that flash across your face as you wake up.

Holding a finger to his lips, he conveys his request for quiet. With only the moonlight pouring into the room your eyes shine as they widen. Dave is struck by your beauty and the overwhelming closeness.

Your voice is muffled under his palm, but he can’t let you talk yet. The heat between your bodies keeps building and he lowers more of his weight against you. It’s intoxicating, just the shape of your body against his.

“It’s okay,” he coos, “I’m here now.”

You push and shove at his chest, then claw at his arms, it only makes him chuckle dismissively. You ease up eventually, just waiting beneath him for what happens next. Good.

The blanket shifts. It’s almost gentle—like a slow Sunday morning—until he adjusts. And then Dave grinds against you, expression darkening and a smile splitting across his face when you squirm and whine. “So sensitive, I know. Must be just aching already.”

You fight him again—hands pressing, nails biting into his arms, little jerks of your body beneath him. But Dave just watches. He lets you get it out of your system. And then, just as he knew you would, you go still. A little more acceptance settling in this time.

You still flinch and arch as he keeps one hand on your mouth, straddles your waist, and cups the swell of your breasts with his free hand.

Tears start to well and one rolls down the side of your face. Dave leans down and presses a kiss to the wet corner of your eye.

“Crying for me?” His voice is thick, drenched in lust and awe. “So pretty like that.” He pulls out a knife and you go rigid beneath him, head straining uselessly under his large hand.

The sound of metal sliding free makes your breath stutter. Then cold and sharp against your chest. You freeze. Heart hammering, every muscle tense.

"Oh, you like this?" he murmurs, almost amused.

He presses the flat of the blade against your sternum, dragging it up—just enough for you to feel it, for panic to crawl up your throat. Then he shifts it lower, skimming between your ribs, unhurried.

Teasing.

"Bet you’d let me cut these off," he muses, toying with the thin straps of your top. He could just rip them. But he wants to draw it out.

You don’t move. Can’t. Your breath is short, chest rising in shallow gasps beneath the steel.

You suck in a breath, but he’s already tilting your chin up, smirking down at you. "Smart girl," he purrs, tracing the blade’s blunt edge down your stomach, inch by inch.

Fear locks up your joints. He mutters to himself about how you’re better than he imagined. Going to be so perfect for him. Not good—because you’re not a good girl—but perfect. For Dave.

Tears roll freely now, your body trembling beneath him, making Dave groan. He kisses your cheek, savoring the way you shake for him. You’re wired tight and he’s flooded with everything he wants to do with you all at once. Your chest racks with sobs, pulling him to the present. The sounds are muffled beneath his hand, but Dave hears the way your breath hitches—you’re so tense. You need a release. Of course you do, that’s why he’s here. Ready to be what you need. And incredibly turned on.

Because of you.

“Fuck–” he hisses, grinding you deeper into the mattress with his pelvis pinned to yours.

You squirm, hips bucking, but it only makes his cock pulse with heat.

“You feel that?” His voice is dripping with pride.

Your eyes are squeezed shut and your crying gets wilder. Louder. “The more you sob, the harder it makes me.”

He doesn’t need to hear you to know. Your muscles respond to his lewd statement, quivering for him.

Impatient.

The corner of his mouth quirks. A subdued portrayal of his excitement. He drinks in the moment, the heat blazing between you and the glow of your dewy skin.

Your muted voice is amplified by the stillness of the night. The calm cover of dark. Dave was built to be nocturnal–like a wild cat, and he’s patient. Precise with his prey.

But that’s not what you are to him. You’re an equal. A creature of the night, just the same.

So as bad as he wants it and as vulnerable as you are right now–he waits. Swallowing down groans as a fierce need courses through his veins. His weight holds you in place, but he still feels all of the tension rolling within you.

He knows you can’t ask for this, that he has to give it to you. But, fuck, when you resist it makes him want you even more. Has him practically buzzing. Using the last of his patience.

Until you’re ready.

Surrender sinks in, deep, softening your limbs as you melt. He can feel the swell of emotions crescendo and dissipate as you transform with grace, becoming pliable and moldable.

And when you open your eyes, he knows. You’re offering yourself wordlessly, to him. Now.

He drags the back of his knife down your chest languidly, before dropping the tease and slicing your top and panties with finesse. You protest into his palm but he doesn’t stop exploring, he’s sure you have other sleep clothes or he’ll replace these.

He traces your body with the weapon, mapping different paths he’d like to trace with his lips instead. Dream versions of you feel like an insult, he confesses in murmurs–nearly imperceptible.

Your heart beats loudly for him, increasing as he toys with pressure and misdirection. He touches you everywhere except for where you expect. A mastermind. You don’t know when he’s going to touch you.

Time is an exquisite luxury tonight and he meditates with a clear mind as he breathes with you. Dave could stay like this for hours. But you start to twitch and flinch and toss your head. He laughs, amused with your show of discomfort.

He’s in control. Like you wanted. The longer the tension builds, the more your tears flow, wet, warm, and constant.

He drops his hand from your mouth, knowing you won’t scream now.

“Please,” you whisper into the dark. “Dave, please.” He’s darkly devoted to you, obsessed with how your body tells him everything. Your chest heaves, nipples strained and taut without being touched. Just at the prospect of it. And then there’s your glistening pussy, crying so pretty for him, just like you. He’s so entranced he almost doesn’t hear you.

“Please,” your voice cracks as another violent sob steals your breath.

“I know,” he purrs above you. “I’m here.”

Your words slur into garbled wails as he leans in close, pressing kisses to your wet temple, down your jaw and neck. He can taste the salt on your skin and it’s immediately addictive, but he stays focused.

“Let me take care of you.” His voice dips, velvety and gentle. The blade in his hand tells a different story, teasing a direct path down your stomach.

"She’s so swollen, poor thing,” he murmurs, tapping the flat of the knife against your cunt, making you jerk. "You need this. Don’t worry, I’ll fix it.”

His fingers replace the cold metal, stroking you, rubbing over your clit—slow at first, then cruel, faster and faster. You twist, struggling to get away, but it only makes him laugh under his breath.

“Relax.” He dips two fingers inside you, curling them and teasing.

“That’s good,” his breath is hot against your ear and he works quickly to free his drooling cock and guide it up and down your wet lips. You jolt, bumping against him at the raw heat and the pressure.

“She’s meant for this,” he murmurs drunkenly, “made for me.”

“Dave,” you cry weakly. He grins, pleased that you’re already so wrecked you can barely speak up.

"Say it louder."

You shake your head, biting your lip. Refusing.

He hums, low and disapproving. His cock slides against you, teasing—pressing, not quite giving in. Until he realizes you’re serious about arguing. Then, he pulls back and with a quiet, steady voice tries again.

"Say my name."

When you don’t, his palm comes down against your clit—sharp, shocking, and disorienting. You gasp, writhing, but he only looks pleased.

"Oh, she liked that," he purrs, doing it again. Another slap. A roll of his thumb, a wicked, relentless rhythm that makes your body push against him, reaching for more. He watches the pain and pleasure on your face meld.

"Say. My. Name."

You choke on it, barely more than a whisper—“Dave.”

“Mmm. Again.”

You hesitate. Another slap. Harder.

“Louder.”

You sob his name.

“Good.”

He knew he’d win, but he decides you deserve a reward for that. He doubles down, using his hands and keen observations to work you closer and closer, catching every tremble of your muscles and tensing of your hips until he feels your cunt clenching pathetically around his fingers.

“There you go.”

You gawk openly as he coats his cock with the arousal shining on his fingers, before he’s sliding it along your seam once more. Then, he starts to sink inside of you, forcing himself to take it slow. Savoring the tight stretch, the resistance, when you yelp— “Wait!”

"No," he growls, pressing your hips down. “No more waiting.” Then he buries himself inside you with one hard stroke. "Oh, fuck—"

It’s slow at first. He saws into you with long, drawn out strokes. Unhurried and mesmerized by the tight grip of your cunt and your hands. You dig your nails into his shoulders like his dreams predicted, but he never could’ve imagined how soft and wet you’d be for him.

He thrusts in deeper and deeper as you clench firmly around him. “You feel so fucking good,” he rasps, losing himself to the perfect fit of your bodies. He rocks into you, steadily building up speed, and his groans cut off his words.

He fucks you like you’re the love of his life. Giving you all of this part of him. Determined to prove that he’s been listening this whole time.

The way you sob—it’s different than he imagined. More raw. But the way you arch under him? That’s real. That’s instinct. You don’t even realize the way you’re sucking him in.

"Yeah,” he groans. “So fucking pretty when you cry for me."

His lips brush softly over your temple, so gentle it feels mocking. Then, in the same breath—

"My perfect little whore. Look at you—a mess. So needy.”

He pounds into you, hard enough to knock the air from your lungs.

“Listen,” he orders and you stifle your gasps and pleas. The only sounds are the slick, slapping noises where you’re joined and the grunts he tries to muffle when he meets the end of you.

“Taking it so well, just like that. So good for me.”

You wince when he praises you. He notices. He laughs.

"Oh, but good girls don’t drip all over my cock like this, do they?"

You don’t say anything. Letting your head loll as he keeps up the same pace.

“That’s it,” he encourages. Praising you for existing. The moment stretches and shrinks from forever to fleeting.

His words dissolve into grunts. He folds your knee to your chest, fucking you harder—brutal now.

Quiet whimpers escape your lips as your body bounces from the force of him. The sweet sound incites a primal fire inside of Dave, drawing all of his focus.

“You like it rough, don’t you?”

Your answer is just a choked, broken sound. It’s not enough.

“Say it.”

You slam your eyes shut, refusing. He’s not playing this game again. The slap is instant. A sharp crack across your cheek that stuns you.

“Say. It.”

Your voice shakes. “I like it rough.”

“My filthy fucking slut,” he groans, fucking you deeper. Your hips shift, proving his point.

“Of course my perfect girl likes it rough. Wants it harder too.”

His voice drops lower, rougher. “Now say thank you.”

You whimper, shaking your head. The slap is instant. Sharp. Blistering.

“Say it.”

“Thank you.” You spit the words out quickly.

“Mmm, that’s better. So polite.”

He manhandles you onto your stomach, pinning you ass up. His weight crushes you into the mattress—and then he slams back inside, deep.

The angle knocks the air right out of your lungs, choking gasping breaths fill the room and he curses behind you.

“Look at you. Clenching down on me like you don’t want me to leave.”

He watches as he sinks inside you again and again, and you cry louder, unable to quiet yourself. Not when he’s giving you what you’ve been begging for all this time.

Your whines are stuttered by his hips snapping into you and muffled by the mattress you’re pressed into. If you had anything to say he wouldn’t be able to listen now. But it doesn’t matter anyway.

You rock against him, not coordinated in your timing, but more urgent, primal. The tight, wet squeeze of your cunt pulling him deeper is close to divinity—debaucherous maybe, but still heavenly. Engulfed by your warmth, deep as he can reach, your muscles contract pulsing around him dangerously. But he catches on.

“Trying to milk my cock, already?” He huffs the question, memorizing the way you mewl with disappointment as he slows down.

“No. You’re not done yet.”

You sway, relying on him for support. He steadies you easily with a firm hold, fingers digging into your waist, gliding his other hand up your spine. It’s a soothing touch, just resting along the curve of your ass, until he starts to knead and spread your cheeks wider for a better view.

He grins as you twitch under his gaze, before he spits on your other hole. He groans, a deep rumbling sound that comes from his chest as he spreads his saliva with his thumb.

As if compelled by a voice from within, Dave resumes his pace. He fucks you hard and fast now, watching your plush flesh ripple as you bounce against him. He keeps hitting it just right, adding pressure at the perfect angle to make you cry out his name.

He knows you’re getting close, the tension in your core pulls tighter even despite your exhaustion. You almost let go before he makes it a guarantee, working his thumb into your ass until he hears it. The moment you stop thinking. You’re too fucking full to think, to speak, to feel any shame.

“Come for me.”

Honest, ragged sounds pour out of you.

“Of course, my needy whore isn’t happy with only one hole filled.”

Everything is unfiltered as your muscles contract and you writhe against him. The strength builds from somewhere deep, beyond your control. Your body all but gives out, jerking faintly as you take everything he gives you.

The sounds you make go straight to Dave’s head. You’ve gone dumb for him, empty-headed, out of tears. The satisfaction gives him a heady rush, and he surges into you with renewed vigor. His grunts and curses punctuate the obscene sounds coming from between your bodies as everything starts to blur.

In one swift show of strength, he lifts your upper body, holding you against his chest. He kisses your cheek, wet and sticky from your tears—then he’s gasping, low and raspy as he fucks his come into you as deep as he can manage.

“Fuck.”

Your intermingled breathing is louder than any other sounds you’ve made tonight.

“Easy,” he husks, “let me stay.”

He lowers you with care, ultimately pinning you under his weight. His cock is still buried inside you, thick and leaking, making sure every drop stays where he put it.

“Stay just like this. I want you to feel me dripping out of you all night.” You’re still collapsed in a heap when he gets up, and still stuck to the sheets when he returns. You barely stir when he sets a glass of water on your nightstand, or when he peels the torn scraps of fabrics you’d worn earlier from beneath you and drapes the covers back over your body.

But, when he leans toward your face you flinch away, turning your head. He doesn’t like that.

He grabs your chin, forcing you to look at him. His thumb strokes over your bruised cheek, mocking softness.

Then, a kiss—pressed against your damp temple. His breath lingers, warm. You shudder.

Overwhelmed.

He sees the fatigue clouding your eyes and his pride swells knowing you’re as sated as he is.

“Because of you,” he whispers.

He doesn’t wait for you to reply, leaving as quietly as he entered.

A few months later it’s game night at Marina’s again. The Never have I ever box is open on the table.

The prompts spark laughter and more stories of mildly adventurous escapades and college memories.

They’re a few rounds into the game when Dave pulls another card. He stops himself from rolling his eyes at the prompt. It reads like an idea pitched by a 21 year old corporate intern. Instead, he pretends to read from the card using his own idea.

“Never have I ever…cried during sex.” A crooked smile spreads on Dave’s face. You sip your drink this time, holding eye contact without blinking.

divider by @/saradika-graphics

general tags <3

@lovely-vamp-princess

@gothcsz

@auteurdelabre

@adoreyouusugar

@swankyorange

@itwasntimethatdidit40

@ivoryandflame

@indiegirlunited

@syd-djarin

@harriedandharassed

@bbyanarchist

@94namkooksworld

#nhie2025 #dave york #dave york x reader #dave york x you #dave york x f!reader #dave york x female reader #dave york smut #dark!dave york #pedro pascal character fanfic

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vaaaaaiolet · 2 months ago

Note

Your writing is so superb , but I would appreciate it if you could recommend other Leon Kennedy fan fiction blogs you think are as superb as your work.💛

AWWW GOSH 😭 you're too sweet :)

what i CAN do for you is recommend some very fantastic authors (in no particular order) who i look up to immensely 🫶 and rest assured they're far more skilled than i am so you'll def find a new fic to love in their masterlists!!

please be respectful when perusing their work and don't bother them with asks to write leon fic bc many of them have moved to other fandoms :) and mind their dnis!!

@miss-oranje-disco-dancer (masterlist):

never penelope, always calypso haunts me enough that i've written shitty poetry to cope about it in my SPARE TIME, liz's angst is that good. her writing packs a sucker punch every time without mincing words and her attention to detail never misses!!!

@uhlunaro (resi masterlist):

a tale of grief in ten parts is literally what made me start writing. leon's (hell, every resi character's) characterization is FLAWLESS in ro's fics. using my full chest to say i've cried to their writing multiple times yeah what about it🧍‍♀️

@crsssie (leon masterlist):

nobody does a delicious back-and-forth dialogue like cressie :3 you'll either be crying of laughter or punching your screen wishing it was leon (in the best way). that racer leon au you've been seeing? she pretty much invented it. and in 20k words no less.

@sweeterthanficstion (masterlist):

if you've ever wanted to taste sunshine in writing form, YOU'VE FOUND YOUR GIRL!! with her soothing flow and fairytale prose, amber's writing always has me blushing and crushing like the first time i laid eyes on leon <3

@inkonparchment (masterlist):

ink is leonblr's classics author and we are spoiled BADDD with her writing!! her leon is just as - if not more - charming as a jane austen male lead. give class of '95 (or any of her fics) a read and invest in a fainting couch for when you swoon ;)

@byexbyez (masterlist in pinned):

ronnie writes like a freaking renaissance painter. you WILL feel everything with all 5 senses in her prose. i found her through love me more in '23 and it STUCK WITH ME until '24 when she finished it like a NOVEL in both length and quality. she's that good.

@mandalhoerian (resi masterlist):

HOOOOO BOY. you know the "hide them from mappa" meme. apply that to shai but with publishers bc her prose deserves to be BOUND IN GOLD AND LEATHER and WE OUGHT TO PAY TO READ IT. come prepared with kleenex. trust me.

@comatosebunny09 (masterlist):

some of the DREAMIEST writing i’ve ever read. i highly rec lighting candles and going over her leon musings as self care bc YOU DESERVE IT. more often than not i read bunny’s work only to end up taking notes 😭

@uncouth-the-fifth (resi masterlist):

she is MAGIC!! user uncouth's prose reads like MOVIE SCENES i'm not kidding. please give her leon works a go bc they far surpass mine in their worldbuilding, narrative voice, and just in general. her leon is so very real and dear to my heart <3

#if you'd like to be taken off or untagged PLS LET ME KNOW i totally get it <3 #and lovely anon i am SO SORRY for answering your ask so late 😭 i got nervous and psyched myself out w/ the tags #embarrassing myself in front of my insanely talented mutuals #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy fanfiction #📞 answering machine #📚 fav fics

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dontlookatme121 · 1 month ago

Text

here are all of the fics i enjoyed between march 1st-11th 2025! some new, some old. mostly smut so MDNI!

characters: javier peña, joel miller, frankie morales, dave york, marcus acacius

if this works out, i may keep posting these little recaps whenever i have a some recs built up. i wanted to share my thoughts and some quotes instead of just listing the name and author, and i quickly realized a monthly list would be too long for that. i hope you can find some good reads and show the authors a little love!

note to the authors: ilyyy. you all have amazing minds, and deserve so so much appreciation. thank you for sharing your work, and enabling me to read smut instead of watch movies <3 if you were tagged in this and would like to have your work removed for any reason, please let me know!

WARNING: many of these fics contain dark themes that could be triggering. i will try to label accordingly, but PLEASE read the warnings. not all of these are for everyone!

smut- ♡ angst- ★ fluff- ✿ dark- !!

♡ wicked whims by @myownwholewildworld (wc: 1.1k - oneshot)

pairing: javier peña x f!reader

summary: javi catches you playing wicked whims in the sims and decides to make your fantasies a reality.

thoughts: march started out incredibly strong with this absolute banger. this fic IS FOR ME. i feel seen, i feel understood, i feel sexually frustrated. i will be reinstalling wicked whims tonight, consider my first sims 4 phase of 2025 activated.

★ ♡ who will i say goodnight to when you're gone? by @miss-oranje-disco-dancer (wc: 3.6k - oneshot)

pairing: javier peña x reader

summary: you are javi are just coworkers who sleep together, nothing more

thoughts: AGHHH. the smutty angst is so good. i cant put it into words so i’ll just let it speak for itself:

'Maybe Javier kisses because it's the one form of intimacy that doesn't force you to look the other person in the eye. Eyes are the window to the soul, they say. Javi's eyes contain a softness that you cannot find outside of warm summer nights that exist so far in space and time that you can barely reach the memories. He holds hope in his entire body — hope isn't usually a pretty little thing that Emily Dickinson said it was - it's hardened and stubborn, it is the fucking metal bars that keep him here in Colombia despite it all.'

♡ !! nena mala by @pedrosyouknowwhat (oneshot) !! TW !!

pairing: Dark! Javier Peña x Dark! Reader

summary: After the fall of the godfathers, Peña takes his personally desired target.

thoughts: god i love it when javier peña is the worst person ever. hello my old friend, degradation kink.

★ The boyfriend act, part 7: "The one with unexpected visit” by @capuccinodoll (ch wc: 10.4k - series) (★- only angst as of now?)

pairing: frankie morales x f!reader

SERIES summary: All you wanted was to get to Austin, but instead of your brother, it’s Frankie —Santi’s best friend, the one you can barely stand— who shows up in Dallas. He’s just doing your brother a favor, but the trip takes an unexpected turn when a stop puts you face to face with your ex — the guy who broke your heart three months ago and is now about to get married.

Out of pride, you blurt out a lie: Frankie is your boyfriend. Surprised but willing to play along, he agrees, with one condition — you must accompany him to his mother’s birthday. His plan? Dodge his family’s meddling and their endless matchmaking schemes.

thoughts: im absolutely obsessed with this series, you really dont want to get me started… this WILL continue to show up in future fic rec posts because it’s so so good omg (read it). if for some reason you’d like to read a more extensive version of my thoughts on this chapter, you can read this incredibly long reblog.

♡ Eight Ball Corner Pocket by @thechaoticcherub (wc: 7.7k - oneshot)

pairing: Jackson!Joel x Plus Size!Reader

summary: Reader goes on a really bad date, Joel steps in to help make her forget it.

thoughts: this was such a lovely read (and so hot omfg). i cannot recommend this enough.

'“Quit it,” He said, “Don’t you think for a single second that you’re the one reachin’ here, i’m old enough to be your daddy and you’re…look at you.” You could see barely controlled lust in his eyes as they roamed over your body and the way he did it didn’t make you feel like he was appraising you to see if you were worth it. He was appreciating you. Appreciating the way your breasts stretched the fabric of your dress and the way you could see the curve of your belly, the way your thighs pressed together. You stared at him, trying to take in the truth of his statement, trying to remember how pretty you had found yourself that morning before you had been reminded of all the insecurities of your teenage years.'

♡ !! because of you by @almostempty (wc: 7k - oneshot) !! TW !!

pairing: dave york x f!reader

summary: You reveal at a party that you've never cried during sex, but Dave is going to fix that for you.

thoughts: ill never forget you, unreliable narrator dave york. the way he obsesses over the reader, picking apart all of their conversations and interpreting everything in his special delusional way. UGH ITS SO GOOD. to keep this part brief, i will simply implore you to READ THIS (after you read the warnings), its brilliant.

'After that night, he notices you change tactics. You feed him little crumbs in every conversation. Leads you know he’ll follow. Hints about the weak spots in your relationship, your unlived dreams, your pent up desires. He knows what you’re asking for. He reads exactly what you’re saying between the lines. His walls are crumbling and it gets harder and harder to be the one solely responsible for keeping the boundaries between you. He compartmentalizes. Conceding. You can have his dreams, his showers, his mornings. Take them. Keep them. But it’s never enough. It grows stronger. To obsession.'

update: the award for the fic i thought about most after reading it goes to this beauty. i admitted in my reblog that i had never seen the equalizer movies, but this made me want to finally watch them so i could appreciate this to its fullest extent, and i did! i also sent this to my friend who doesn't read ppcu fics because its just that good. i'm not getting over this any time soon.

✿ Just Coffee by @daryltwdixon (two parts)

pairing: joel miller x reader

'"Coffee. Just coffee." You could’ve kissed him right then and there. And he was handsome enough that you wouldn’t even have to close your eyes. He must’ve caught the way your shoulders relaxed, how the sigh left your body like a weight lifted.'

♡ Just Coffee II

summary: Joel picks you up after a long day, taking you somewhere small and familiar, where conversation flows as easily as the wine. As the night winds down and Joel insists on driving you home, neither of you are ready to say goodbye quite yet.

thoughts: this healed the ex-barista/assistant manager in me. to put it simply, pt.1 is fluffy joel gold and pt.2 is smutty joel GOLD. chefs kiss.

unnecessary lore drop: i (18 at the time) got asked out by a regular (65) and he DID NOT look like joel miller. maybe gary was the hot old man for someone, but def not for me. the owner of the coffee shop (50, married) had a huge crush on him, so that was amusing i guess.

♡ One Of The Girls by @gothcsz (wc: 1.1k - oneshot)

pairing: Marcus Acacius x F!Reader x 3 F!Nameless OCs

summary: General Acacius has three women that he keeps solely for his indulgent pleasure and control, you want to become the fourth.

thoughts: GORGEOUS. the picture has been painted in my mind and it’s going to haunt me. this is just insane work, really. i need 4 more parts and a few days to recover.

‘The first time you heard whispers of his indulgences, you had thought them scandalous. A man of bloodshed, ruthless on the battlefield, bringing that same ruthless discipline into the bedroom. But when you had seen him that night, wielding pleasure like a weapon, you had known—this was the life you were meant for. Since then, obsession had taken root in you, winding tight around your ribs, pressing against your lungs with every thought of him. You spent your days languishing in fantasies, picturing what it would be like to be one of his girls—to be chosen, touched, tamed.’

♡ First Sight by @gothcsz (wc: 3.5k - oneshot)

pairing: Frankie Morales x F!Reader

summary: Two strangers discover they’ve been swapping movies through a communal space, each leaving a note in return until curiosity forces a meeting.

thoughts: great smut. great banter. HOT. i need that man so bad.

'Things escalate fast. You’re sitting on the couch, the low hum of the movie playing in the background, the two of you exchanging quiet comments between drags of the joint he so effortlessly rolled. The space between you shrinks. His fingers graze your thigh, intentional but unhurried. You don’t remember who moves first. Maybe it’s you. Maybe it’s him. But your bodies are pressed together, mouths hungry, hands wandering. His cap gets flicked off, curls spilling into your fingers as you tug him closer, inhaling the scent of smoke and tasting the candy he’d been snacking on. The movie is forgotten. The joint smolders in the ashtray. You straddle his lap, rolling your hips down, and he groans against your mouth, gripping your waist.'

dividers by: cherry divider- @uzmacchiato, mdni divider- @strangergraphics, red divider- @animatedglittergraphics-n-more

#fic rec list #ppcu fics #ppcu smut #javier peña #javier peña fic #joel miller #joel miller fic #frankie morales #frankie morales fic #dave york #dave york fic #marcus acacius #marcus acacius fic #pedro pascal #smut #my post #fic rec #aggnm

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burntheedges · 8 months ago

Text

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: 3/29/25 | Fic count: 57!

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

late night. by @trulybetty | 6.3k | Dieter x f!reader Trope: enemies to lovers

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

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stylesispunk · 19 days ago

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fics I love on this app: Some march recs ✍️✨

i'm thinking i'm gonna start doing this to spread love and share the wonderful pieces of writing people share with us on this app. Please forgive me if this seems rushed but I did on my phone but with so much love for it.

I haven't had a lot of time to read the past few days but i'm sharing the reads I've enjoyed the past few weeks and days!

Writers on this app deserve love 💌 (i'm suck at words but i'm trying to not to say a lot to not spoil the stories)

p,s; please share your recs with me, too.

I must dedicate a special place for these two fics that have stolen my heart ✨💌

the boyfriend act (frankie morales x f! reader) by the lovely @capuccinodoll

I can't express how perfect this whole story is. Since the first chapter you fall in love with the characters, the story, the writing and i'm dying to find out more about what's happening. The characters are so unique in different ways, the tension is so well written that you feel like you're watching the best rom-com just right out from the 2000s' but so much better.

falling (Joel Miller x oc!female character) by @damneddamsy

Once again, i have no words. One day I just found this fic and I fell in love with it. The story is such an original concept and I love the way all characters are so complex and full of stories that reach a point in common. One of the best on this app.

Stories I have enjoyed the past few days:

Then send me a son (outbreak! Joel miller x f!reader) by @miss-oranje-disco-dancer

I found out about this one a few days ago and when I say It left me speechless, it's true. The story combines angst, fluff and smut in such a wonderful way just as a wonderful story itself. I think the plot is perfect and original

To go, please (harry castillo xf!reader) | part 2 by @lonely-ey3s This story fueled my desire to watch the materialists and to find my own harry to take. The story was amazing, and I love the whole story. I think it is a good read to spend time enjoying because is wow.

Be my guest (no outbreak! Joel Miller x f!reader) by @aurorawritestoescape

I believe this was one of the things I enjoyed most these past few days. It got me kicking my feet and giggling the whole time I read. The plot was amazing, original and straight out from one of those perfect rom-com.

You in my eyes (Javier peña x f! reader) by my loooovely @greenwitchfromthewoods

You know I always love a good story of my man Javier peña and Aneta delivered as always. The story is the enemies to lovers type we all deserved to sit and read to enjoy a good time, And so far, this has it. I'm loving it.

Also by @greenwitchfromthewoods A white stone | from her short stories from life (Joel miller x f!reader) these stories are one of the best things you can come across with on this app, you should go and read them all.

Ace of hearts (Harry castillo x reader) @pedgito

I think you all must have read this one by now, but it's amazing. I love every single minute of it. I'm down for the stories where characters realize what they have in front of them and try to make all work. Also, this story got me kicking my feet and blushing the whole time. One of the best I've read ever.

The seamstress (marcus Acacius x fem!reader) by @yxtkiwiyxt

For all the Marcus Acacius girlies, this one here is a great read! I loved the emotions captured in this piece the written. Also love how the reader stands by herself all the time.

Amor Vincit (Marcus Acacius x f!reader) by @misguidedasgardian

When Jo came to me to tell me she had written something inspired by my "The soldier in the armour" fic, I felt flattered. This story is amazing! From the Bethroned prompt to love being a complex thing...give it a go I know you will love every single minute of it.

Don't give up on me (Harry castillo x f!reader) @punkshort

What can I say? This was so good to read. It was perfectly well written, and I enjoyed it very much. I love it when women make grown men cry haha.

#monthly recs 💌#my recs 💌

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baronessvonglitter · 8 months ago

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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

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porcelainseashore · 10 months ago

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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.

#leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy #leon kennedy smut #leon kennedy angst #leon kennedy fluff #resident evil #vampire au #vampire the masquerade #vtm #crossover #fic: into the ether #porcelainscribbles

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miss-oranje-disco-dancer · 1 month ago

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who will i say goodnight to when you're gone?

pairing: javi x reader

cws/tags: angst, smut, fwbs, p in v, oral

summary: you are javi are just coworkers who sleep together, nothing more

a/n: title is from cornflower blue by flower face

wc: 3.6k

thank you to @almostempty for beta reading!

taglist | ko-fi | masterlist

It’s easier this way.

That’s what you tell yourself.

Your job is your life, whether or not you want it to be, and it would be unfair to subject a partner to that. It’s not just long hours at the office, it’s the constant threat of death, worse, the way it percolates your mind even when you’re sleeping —something you struggle to do these days.

At face value, it might seem like you should date a coworker, someone who gets you, who already stands beside you every day. But who would be there to comfort you when panic comes over you in the middle of the night? Putting two agents in the same room just makes you both a more convenient target. Imagine, they could kill two lovebirds with only one raid.

Some might say you’re like rabbits in the bedroom, but you’re not enjoying the spring weather, sitting in a bed of flowers. Rain is beating down on the windows, adding to the summer humidity, and you only end up on Javier’s uncomfortable mattress about half the time.

Sometimes, it’s the living room couch after a glass of whiskey or three. Other times, you choose convenience and share the cramped shower, maybe on the sink afterwards if there aren’t any clean towels and you have to air dry. Sometimes, when Javier throws the condom in the trash, he sees the cotton balls covered with hydrogen peroxide and blood.

He says more when he’s inside you than he does when he patches you up. You patch him up too, and you can tell he tries not to wince every time even though your hands are gentle. He will clean the wounds you received from others, only to bruise you. Usually, it’s on your hips or your thighs, anywhere below the neckline.

It’s the kindest thing he can do for you.

He doesn’t make you beg because he knows you would. He doesn’t beg because he knows he doesn’t have to. You knock on his door and he knows what you want.

You did this sort of thing often. Sex, they call it. Friends with benefits, casually hooking up after a bad day at work or a drunken night out, better yet, a drunk night in — no need to pretend this is about having fun. This is stress relief. It’s less sustainable than the habit you’ve picked up of a shared cigarette afterwards, but it’s better for your lungs.

It started like a glass of wine after work. If one could be a sommelier of sex, it’d be Javi. A taste, another taste, another, and you learned quickly how every drink goes down smoother than the last. Until it doesn’t.

It was hot and heavy in the beginning. Javier loved when you wore pencil skirts and heels, he loved to shove your skirt up, rip your pantyhose, pull your panties to the side while you’re up against the kitchen counter. He’d run two fingers over your slit before pushing them both inside, making his fingertips slick when he rubbed your clit and taunted you for your wetness.

“Were you like this all day at work? Or did it just take a kiss to make you this wet?”

“All day,” you’d admit shamelessly. “I’m sure I wasn’t the only one who wanted this.”

“You’re right about that. I had to take an extra smoke break outside after you bent over in that slutty little skirt.”

“Did you do anything about it?”

“What do you think?” He’d press his hips up against your ass, still clothed but you could feel how hard he was.

“I think you should do something about it now.”

It was vulgar, it was gossip, it was a tidbit to dish out when you got tipsy with your girlfriends. You’d tell them all about how he fucked like no man ever had before and they’d beg for his number, but you’d never reveal his identity. He was more of a myth than a man.

Office romances are sexy, particularly the fictional ones, and in the books you browse to humor yourself on the occasion that you have some downtime, the characters always seem to get caught or fall in love or both, often both. These are horror stories wrapped up as fantasies. Getting caught fucking in the file room is bad, everyone knows that, but falling in love is certainly worse.

You only fucked in the office once, and fucked is a bit of an exaggeration as it was only a blowjob, preceded by a wager-less bet.

“What’s this?” Murphy asked, plucking the book from your purse.

Before you could snatch it from him, he read the title aloud, “Loving Is A Full-Time Job.”

“It’s nothing. It’s just a stupid book a friend recommended to me.”

He turned it over, skimmed through the reviews on the back. “Warning: there’s a lot of inside-her trading in this one.”

You were halfway between disgust and amusement, though you should’ve been thoroughly embarrassed. Regardless, you let him know, “I’m on page 104 and there hasn’t been anything inside her thus far.”

Of course, you’d only fed his appetite, and he flipped to the page you’re on.

“Read it out loud,” Javi chimed in. “You’ve piqued my interest.”

So, he did. He read out the scene of the financial advisor getting sucked off by his colleague while he’s taking a phone call.

“Totally unrealistic,” Murphy remarked. “No way they wouldn’t have gotten caught.”

“Nah,” Javi said. “You just don’t have a good poker face. I guarantee you I could pull it off.”

“Maybe you can invite one of those ‘CIs’ to the office and try it out,” you said, patronizingly to hide the arousal you felt at the idea.

You assumed the discussion had ended when Murphy left the room and returned the book to you.

“Is someone a bit jealous?” Javi taunted.

“No, I am not jealous of your whores.”

“You sure? You really looked like you were enjoying that book earlier. Were you thinking about performing a scene with your sexy coworker?”

“I think you’re projecting, Javier.”

You could see the mischief in his eyes, daring you to do something.

“We would one hundred percent get caught even if we tried.”

“No. I’m great under pressure. I can keep a straight face. Swear.”

You glanced towards the door and saw no one in the hallway. “Are you serious right now?” you asked.

He said nothing, just pulled out his chair, letting you climb under his desk. You grimaced at him, but you’d made your choice already.

“You owe me,” you said before unbuckling his belt.

“You want me to do the same for you? Because you know I will.”

“No, I don’t want to risk getting in trouble twice, thank you very much.”

“I figured. You can’t seem to keep quiet whenever I—” he cut himself off with a groan when you took him as far as you could without gagging.

“What were you saying?” you asked, pulling back with a string of spit still connecting your lips to his tip.

He made the mistake of looking down to see your pretty face when your lips found their way to his cock again. He bit his fist to hold back the groan you could hear in your own head, pulling it from a memory, which only served to make you want him more.

As much as you would’ve loved to see Javi break, you knew you shouldn’t try. Murphy’s the only one who re-entered the room — and seemed relatively unbothered by your absence — still, you didn’t need him to see this.

Only Javi gets to see you like this.

It was glorious to see him come like this — for you — despite his victory. It was miserable to sit on the tiled floor for over an hour, particularly when you were so close to the man you wanted more than anything else.

In the parking lot, you learned he wanted you even more than you wanted him, and sprawled out on his couch, he proved it to you.

“Just made me want you more,” he murmured. “Seeing you like that.”

“You wanna see me like that again?”

“No, I need to make you feel good.”

With that, he yanked your pants down along with your panties. While one hand stroked your g-spot, the other was clamped over your mouth because his tongue does dangerous things, and you couldn’t get another noise complaint.

It was routine like any other, the typical progression you learn as ‘bases’ in adolescence. Unlike baseball, it did not last nine innings. He took you over the edge quickly, not sparing any time. When you opened your eyes, he was already ripping the foil packet with his teeth.

You passed a cigarette back and forth in silence until your feet hit the floor and you gave him the classic, “see you at work.”

After a typically stressful day, you knock on his door and are greeted by only his voice, not his face. You have a key to his apartment. He doesn’t need to let you in, you can do that yourself, but it still strikes you as rude. Are you really a guest in his home anymore?

You made yourself look sort of presentable, a bit more fuckable, in the traditional sense. Before walking down the steps to his apartment, you changed your dress into one that’s easier to pull up or down, prepared to let him take you however he wanted.

But, when you open the door, there’s a cigarette in his left hand and a glass of whiskey in his right. There is nothing left of him to hold you.

He’s shirtless, his pants are on, but they’re unzipped. Your skin is a bit dewy because it’s hot outside, but his sweat is unmistakable. You’re looking at him and he’s looking at you, but he notices you noticing first. Though, what is there to notice about you?

Your mouth opens before the words come out.

“I’m gonna go,” you say, pivoting on your heels.

“Why?” he asks.

What angers you most is that he’s asking for an explanation when he already knows the answer.

“I feel like I shouldn’t be here right now.”

“There’s no one else here.”

“I didn’t think you’d invite me in if there was.”

He nods, so you nod back. This time you’re looking into each other’s eyes, and seeing each other, deeper than before, but something is still missing, something that you do not find until much later in whatever' ‘relationship’ you have with him.

“Goodnight, Peña,” you say as you leave, really intent on it this time.

But if you didn’t want him to know, you wouldn’t have given him the hint. You call him ‘Javi’, maybe ‘Javier’, but you don’t call him by his last name, not even in the office.

“So that’s how it is, huh?” he calls after you. “You’re pissed at me?”

“No, I’m not.”

“You’re not happy.”

“Are you really going to make me say it? You know exactly why I’m leaving.”

“I thought we knew how to talk to each other. I don’t hold shit back from you.”

You scoff, turn your head to the door like it’ll open and the wind will carry you away.

“You just slept with someone else,” you say, gesturing to his body, only looking him in the eyes because that’s the one place that seems untouched.

“And? I didn’t know there was an exclusivity clause in this deal.” Deal, he calls it with a finger pointed between the two of you, almost accusatory now.

“There isn’t. I don’t care if you sleep with other women.” Except you do. “I’d just rather you shower in between.”

“I can go shower if you care that much.”

“I don’t care if you shower or not.”

“You just said that you did.”

“I said that I’m not having sex with you because—”

“Because you’re mad at me — unjustifiably, by the way.”

“I’m not mad at you. I’m just a human-fucking-being.” You should leave, but you don’t. “What if you came over and I had obviously just had sex with some other man? Wouldn’t you leave?”

“No. I wouldn’t give a fuck because I know I’d fuck you better.”

You’re seething, one fist strangling the strap of your purse and the other balled into a fist. You think about hitting him, but you wouldn’t, couldn’t, shouldn’t. He’s right, he hasn’t technically done anything wrong.

“Fine.” You stomp towards him and he stubs out his cigarette, like he’s making space in his hands for you.

You stand in front of him, look down, and say only one word: “shower”. You point towards his bathroom, and he goes along with it. He rarely submits to you. It’s not really his thing, he’d say. But, he returns with a towel around his waist and his skin dewy with something new. Plus, a condom between two fingers and a face that pisses you off even further. Cocky, per usual.

You can see the smart remark before it comes out of his mouth, and you shush him. “You don’t speak, you don’t touch me, you do exactly as I say, or I’ll leave. Got it?”

“I thought you wanted to show me how you could fuck me better.”

“I never said that. Those were your words. This is for me. Not for you.”

“Have at it,” he says, dropping the towel before falling back onto the sofa.

You could taunt him for being hard but this isn’t about him. Not at all. This is about finding some way to hurt him the way he’s hurt you — really, if you plan to even the score, you’ll have to make him do it all himself.

But when you walked in, he was satisfied, worn out, in an unusually peaceful state. Now, he’s won again. He gets to have you, to know that you still want him even when he wants other women.

You suck on his collarbone, the nape of his neck, up to the point just below the neckline of the shirt he’ll wear to work tomorrow. If you were braver, you’d mark him up higher. But he’s not yours, no one else can know about this. Except for that woman. Whoever she may be. If she comes around in the next few days, she’ll see the bruise, she’ll know.

His moans are shameless. You suppose, no matter how hard you try, you can’t make him feel the same insecurity. But he leans his head back, exposing more skin, almost daring you to do it. He doesn’t know that you prepared yourself a bit for this, but you shove two fingers in his mouth and drag them over your slit so you can act like you’re not already as wet as you are.

You sink down effortlessly, take him all inside you, set your own pace. You only touch him to dig your nails in, to bite him, to put your hands around his neck just to see if he’d let you choke him. But you don’t dare squeeze.

There were two possible outcomes in your mind: one, you would make sure you came first, and immediately retreat from him, leave without a word, or, two, you could make him come first and keep going until the point of complete overstimulation, you could make him beg and cry. But, his stamina is too good, and you end up at a standstill, you’re both holding back, waiting for the other to break. Your breath is heavy and ragged but you bite back every moan until one slips and it’s his fucking name, a sob. He lifts his head, which had lolled back long ago, says to you softly, like he’s not breaking the rules if he’s quiet, “let me help you.”

Javier Peña always gets to be the hero.

It’s so goddamn genuine. It’s your own battle you’re fighting against no one, but he tells you that you’ve won. That it’s fine to give in, that you’ve done well at whatever it was you wanted to do.

You just nod — it’s your turn to stay silent because, as you both know, every word you say can and will be held against you.

He flips you over so gently, gracefully, has you crying through languid thrusts.

“Just let go.”

“No, you first.”

“I will, baby, I will.”

Baby, baby, baby. He doesn’t call you that because he’s not allowed to — that is one of the few rules. It’s not the word itself, but the way he says it. It’s not ‘my love’ or ‘my wife’, but you can hear devotion creep into his tone and it’s dangerous. It feels like he’s reserved the word for you, like it belongs to you just as much as your own name does.

“Mm-mm. You first.”

“Baby, I need to see you come first. I need to feel it. Please.”

Please. That’s it. Politeness — you wouldn’t have thought Javier had it in him. When you come, you know you’ve won.

You cling to him for dear life as you cry out his name, and he insists, “I’ve got you, I’ve got you.”

When you put your clothes back on, you notice he looks more worn out than he did when you arrived and that’s good enough for you.

“Are we good now?” he asks.

“Yes. See you at work,” you say.

Which is how it always ends.

You file it under ‘things we’re not going to talk about’ — it’s a simultaneous, mutual action, but you don’t say a word to each other about it because we’re not going to talk about it.

What happens in the bedroom — proverbially — stays in the bedroom because it would be too complicated otherwise.

Until the night he shows up at your doorstep, looking more disheveled than ever. The word ‘please’ only gets halfway out of his mouth before yours shuts him up.

You want to take care of him tonight. You drop to your knees, silently offering. But, he pulls you up to your feet.

“You don’t want me to—”

“I want to kiss you.”

It’s not that you never kiss. You just don’t kiss like that, like wanting, like longing — still needy, but with an adoration you cannot face.

Maybe Javier kisses because it’s the one form of intimacy that doesn’t force you to look the other person in the eye. Eyes are the window to the soul, they say. Javi’s eyes contain a softness that you cannot find outside of warm summer nights that exist so far in space and time that you can barely reach the memories. He holds hope in his entire body — hope isn’t usually a pretty little thing that Emily Dickinson said it was — it’s hardened and stubborn, it is the fucking metal bars that keep him here in Colombia despite it all. But, there is something kinder hidden, a flicker, something you haven’t seen in the mirror since you were a child. It’s something more than hope.

Taking care of Javier is letting him give himself to you, listening to every noise you make and repeating whatever he did to hear it the first time so he could hear it again. It’s making you come twice, the road to each orgasm drawn out, leaving tears in your eyes when it finally hits you. It’s pretending not to hear him say your name after a muffled whimper when he finally lets himself come.

He undresses before getting into your bed because he doesn’t want to carry whatever sweat, blood, and guilt that stained his clothes.

Rarely would you see him like this, so vulnerable — only when you were atop him, and though you’d always see a second sense of release whenever you ended up in that position, he would insist it isn’t his favorite.

Javier’s favorite position is the one you spend most of the night in — missionary, the type of sex you’re supposed to have on your wedding night when you lose your virginity to your soulmate, the love of your life, and maybe Javi sees it that way.

It’s not like that, it can’t be. You’re coworkers, you’re sleepy and he’s exhausted. He needs you to help him sleep. And this time it has nothing to do with an orgasm. When he decides he should stand up, he lingers by the bed.

You’re both too scared to be the one to ask, so no one asks, instead, you tell him: “stay”.

It’s quiet, like maybe you can get him to believe no one ever said it. But not weary, you’re strong even in your weakness. At your most vulnerable, you are commanding.

So, he does. He resigns himself to the fact that he is powerless in the face of such sincerity. He needs to sleep, so he does — entangled with you, naked still.

In the morning, you want to say, “Let me go make some coffee” or “Get back in bed” or “I love you”, but none of those words have the chance to leave your mouth before Javi reaches the door.

“See you Monday,” he says.

You see him before that, though, in a dream, then a nightmare, then a memory, and a glimpse of him getting into his car and driving away.

And, as promised, you see him on Monday. His fingertips that ran along your skin fumble over the keys on his typewriter, he holds the phone between his head and his shoulder — where you should’ve left a mark, his lips that kissed you only days ago wrap around the last cigarette in the pack. There is nothing left for him in his desk drawer. He stubs it out in the ashtray next to him. If Javier knows one thing it is how to light a flame and turn it to dust before your eyes.

#javier peña x reader #javier pena fic #javier pena smut #javier peña #javier pena x reader #javier peña smut #javier pena fanfiction #miss oranje fics

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almostempty · 9 months ago

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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

#javier peña #javier pena x reader #javier pena fanfiction #javier pena x you #javier pena smut #javier pena narcos #javi pena #narcos fan fiction #smut #pedro pascal fanfiction #pwp fics

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crsssie · 7 months ago

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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)

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)

#pic credits to user 605248566 on xhs!#☾.masterlist #i'll update more after tmmw promise but here's everything that was on this account at one point #☾.fic recs

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clawdee · 16 days ago

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March Fic Madness 2025 by @the-blind-assassin-12 !

I'll probably be able to read a few more fics before the time is up, but between work, working on my own fics, working on sibling's birthday present, and being a POS with executive dysfunction, I'm definitely not getting 63 fics read (considering I'm on, at like, 16...).

I read a good handful of new authors, and some new characters I haven't read before (or read a lot of) and had fun! Hoping to do better next year lmao

But here is the current list of reader inserts I've read this month!

Baby, where's your underwear? - @iknowisoundcrazyreads (Javier Peña, Smut)

Who will I say goodnight to when you're gone? - @miss-oranje-disco-dancer (Javier Peña, Smut/Angst)

Awake - @burntheedges (Marcus Moreno, Fluff)

Sunday Kind of Love - @artemiseamoon (Ezra, Fluff)

Office Hours with Dr. Richards - @cxrsed-angel (Reed Richards, Slice of Life/Fluff)

The Favorite - @flightlessangelwings (Javier Peña & Comandante Veracruz, Smut)

Keep Up with Me - @liltangerineart (Din Djarin, Smut)

The Stakeout - @toxicanonymity (Javier Peña & Steve Murphy, Smut)

The Condom - @toxicanonymity (Javier Peña & Steve Murphy, Smut)

Crawling Back to You (Dieters Version) - @604to647 (Dieter Bravo, Angst/Fluff)

The Feel of You - @majestyeverlasting (Joel Miller, Smut)

When it Rains - @couldsewyouastitch (Javier Peña, Slice of Life/Fluff)

Body Talk - @boxofbonesfic (Bucky Barnes, Fluff/Smut)

Joyful Night - @cinewhore (Santa Claus (Nikamund The Red), Smut)

Pleasure Riding - @mandaloriankait (Clint, Smut)

Flex - @gothcsz (P-Boy of your choice, Smut)

#fic rec #MarchFicMadness2025 #MarchFicMadness25 #I keep seeing everyone do just 25 when the original post said to do 2025? I've been tagging with 2025 #personal

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spareham · 6 months ago

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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."

#literally so much text under this read more enter with caution #im just brainstorming what excerpt to use for the big roadtrip fic post when i post it...

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burntheedges · 1 month ago

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k's march fic madness 🍀

alright, y'all. I have organized my tbr pile (aka tag) and I am ready for March Fic Madness (hosted by @the-blind-assassin-12)! the goal is 63 reblogs and I have more than that on my tbr, lol. I'm going to track them here as a fun fic rec list! 🧡

consensus ad idem by @sunshinehaze1, Nathan Landry x f!reader

good guys, bad deeds by @miss-oranje-disco-dancer, Javi P x f!reader

Oh, Your Love is Sunlight by @djarins-cyare, Din x gn!reader

The Morning Commute - ch 6 and 7 by @iknowisoundcrazy, Javi P x f!reader

Mine by @sawymredfox, Din x f!reader

Between Two Floors by @punkseyes, Javi P x f!reader (part 1)

Between Two Hands by @punskeyes, Javi P x f!reader (part 2)

Between Two Hearts by @punkseyes, Javi P x f!reader (part 3)

Galway Girl by @yxtkiwiyxt, Joel x f!reader (part 1)

Galway Girl part 2 by @yxtkiwiyxt, Joel x f!reader (part 2)

New Home Part 1 by @weirdoneattheparty, Din x f!reader

Things You Knew by @eff4freddie, Javi G x reader

3 sides of a man by @milla-frenchy, Javi P x reader

Audience of One by @katareyoudrilling, Dave x f!reader

With time by @toomanystoriessolittletime, Joel x f!reader

... I did not get to 63, lol. But I'm going to keep going through April!

#fic rec #marchficmadness25

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rokutouxei · 4 years ago

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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.

#ikemen vampire #ikevamp #ikemen vampire theo #ikevamp theo #ikevam #ikevam theo #atelier heart #fic #me and my 41 duolingo dutch crowns worked hard for this #speaking your language

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porcelainseashore · 9 months ago

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Into the Ether (14)

Series Masterlist

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

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.”

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