#your witnessing an actual horror story | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

martyrlamb · 6 months

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✶ when the clock strikes / leon kennedy

pairing: leon kennedy x gn!reader

summary: you’re starting to think a certain agent might be faking his injuries to see you.

tags: sfw, pure fluff, a bit of angst as a treat, love at first sight basically, silly workplace love story, nurse!reader, 1 year post re4r!leon, no use of y/n, extremely mildly passively suggestive, leon takes his shirt off twice (woohoo!), kissing, swearing, leon is awkward as hell, you are too though so it’s okay, description of bruises, cuts and a muscle knot (not detailed), medical talk, slight mention of gore and blood, reader has a backstory, reader has a mother.

note: i blinked and suddenly there were 8k words in my doc idek how that happened. im actually so nervous to post because this is my first one shot ever!! my cherry has been popped… but also apologies if things are kind of all over the place bc im still trying to get the swing of it all. trying to write in the present tense was like being beat over the head repeatedly so im sure theres many grammatical mistakes in that department

word count: 8.5k (got possessed sorry)

Everyone thought you were crazy when you accepted the offer.

It is crazy—but you aren’t stupid. You knew what you were getting into a long time ago as a nurse; people get hurt, and then you save them. Clockwork.

Years ago, you started studying to be a nurse in some middle of nowhere midwestern school. You remembered the rolling hills and the ungodly heavy blankets of snow that fell during the winter months, the fallen leaves that the snow covered. It was all so peaceful for a while… until the outbreak.

You never saw it coming, no one did, really. At least, you hope no one predicted the atrocities that were about to be witnessed by thousands of innocents without warning.

Gnashing teeth and hands with dried blood that streaked down arms like veins plagued the memory of that point in your life. It was surreal to believe that you got up that morning and made your breakfast like any other day, you slid your shoes on and grabbed your keys, and then your foot hit the front porch and the trajectory of your life changed permanently.

The virus started as a woman with red-ringed eyes and pallid skin that reflected off of the blinding overhead lights—she looked visibly ill. That’s all that mattered at the time. You were actually the one who situated her and her husband in their room, he smiled at you and thanked you for your time and you scribbled down notes before hanging the clipboard and leaving the room for the doctor. The screeching horror music plays when you get to this part of the memory.

A type of calm before the storm. You hold your breath every time.

A few hours later people started screaming, and someone—something ran out of that room and wrenched its grip on the first person it saw. Blue scrubs dyed a nasty crimson, like crushed raspberries on cloth. The next part is a blur of running, watching your coworkers die, and using your medical expertise to help anyone who needed it. People were hurt. You saved them.

Like you said, clockwork. You try not to think about it too hard.

By the time help came, you had cramped a large handful of survivors—albeit, injured survivors—into a small house that was a mile or two from the hospital. Your quick thinking protected many people that day, and your skills were recognized.

A week prior, you were a simple nursing student who was lucky enough to be placed in a hospital, and by the next Sunday, you were being offered a position as a medic with the Anti-Umbrella Pursuit and Investigation Team. You finished your schooling, you got your specialized training, and now you’re on your way to your first assignment out of the country.

So, granted, maybe you are a little crazy for accepting such a prestigious and dangerous position after your humble beginnings. Your mother never ceases to remind you of this, with what little information you were allowed to tell her.

Iceland? she said, pulling her lips into a line. Are you crazy?

You begin to think that you are now that you stand in front of the base, arms tucked around yourself and teeth chattering as a sergeant points you around like one of his troops. Between the hustle and bustle of agents hurrying around and the amount of civilians sitting beneath the large, brown medical tent, you understand why they needed all the help they could get.

Things in Iceland were bad apparently; Umbrella thought the remote location would protect what little was left of them, and their research, from being exposed. Unfortunately for them, (and fortunately for everyone else) the AUPIT caught wind of what was happening and vowed to put a stop to it. You, freshly out of training, were sent to help with the sudden influx of displaced non-combatants and wounded agents.

Within the hour of the helicopter landing, you settle in and pull your cold weather scrubs on.

There aren’t many other nurses—only two—and neither of them seem to be very fond of you. The head nurse is older and straight-laced, following procedure, not mingling with you unless she has to. You don’t think you’re ever going to be put on a shift with the other nurse, but they spare you a few ireful glances. It’s like they could smell the fresh blood, and the scent made them turn their noses.

Nonetheless, you weren’t there to socialize, so you rolled up your sleeves and did your job, trying to ignore the passive aggressive looks being thrown at you from left and right. This kind of mutual ignorance worked for about three days, until you were placed on the night shift… every single night.

Before you came along, it was determined that the night shift could be manned by one person, as injured civilians were sent to the safehouses by nightfall and nearly all of the agents were either out on work or taking a much needed rest. There was no reason for both nurses to be awake when one could conserve their energy and rest while the other worked. So, most nights you spent alone, sitting by the fire in the back of the tent as you waited for the sun to come up.

One of those nights crept up on you again. You bounce your foot against the ground until your ankle aches, sitting in a lawn chair next to the fire with a wool blanket draped over your shoulders. Nothing chirps in the distance like the environment you’re used to, the only noises that float through the air are the wind rustling bare-armed bushes and your own breathing. There was a rip in the tent whistling, too, but you’d be damned if you let the incessant noise drive you insane. You were scared of the eerie silence for the first few days, but that quickly became replaced by the complete boredom that followed it.

You blow a raspberry as you spin a pen in your ungloved hand, fingers numb and stretched stiff with cold. I’ve ought to ask someone for a book, you thought to yourself, or a new job. You immediately push the second contemplation out of your head like it was something dirty and sat up a little straighter; your annoyance made sense, but this is what you wanted to do with your life. You want to help people in need.

Not that there were many people around.

In the distance, like divine intervention, you hear the crackle of wheels against snow, and a black mini-van rolls to a stop in front of the tent. A scuffle inside ensues for a moment, then the doors open and a man comes hobbling into the shelter with his arm over another man’s shoulder.

You nearly fall out of your seat with how fast you stand up and stride over to the men, assisting the injured one onto a cot.

“What happened?” you ask, pushing a cart of equipment to his bedside.

The uninjured one remarks from beside you, “Some snow gave way and he went down this hill with some pretty nasty bushes at the bottom.” His voice is quick and clicky. He looks young.

Clearly, they’re two agents, judging by the leather holsters strapped around their waists and shoulders. You purse your lips and place a lantern on the cart, gently inspecting the injured agent. There’s thorns lodged along the entirety of his left side, looking a bit like a child’s crude attempt at art with toothpicks and styrofoam.

He grunts when you gently lift his arm to check underneath, and you mutter an apology before you turn to the other agent. “I can take this from here.”

The agent nods and spins on his heel, disappearing into the darkness once he stepped out into the open air.

You turn your attention towards the man in front of you and pull on a pair of gloves, the latex makes a sharp snapping noise when you let go. His intense gaze follows your movements with great intrigue—or suspicion… you couldn’t really tell. You pick up a pair of tweezers and set them on the cart. You also finally got a good look at the wounded agent.

Blue eyes that strike down what little defenses you have and brows that spend their time permanently creased, almost erasing the space between them while he inspects you. His ability to make you feel thoroughly grilled with a simple fixated stare would have made you squirm years prior, but now you merely stare back with your eyebrows lifted. The blonde—possibly light brown haired, the darkness didn’t give much way in the form of colour—man averts his eyes first, as if he is caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

You’d be lying if you said he wasn’t attractive, but that’s not your focus right now.

“How are you feeling?” you ask, flicking on a flashlight to check his pupils. Healthy, good. He squints at you through the beam.

“Like I fell into a thorn bush.”

Looks like someone feels funny. You deadpan at him, unamused with the sarcasm while you try to help. Your expression beckons a better answer and he backpedals.

The man’s head bobs subtly, like a scale in his mind is weighing his thoughts on either side, and then he says, “I’m just fine.”

“Are you dizzy? Nauseous?”

“Fine.”

“Okay,” you reply, blowing out a not-so-inconspicuous huff of annoyed air that swirls above you in the cold. The agent raises his brow at your reaction but doesn’t seem too keen on speaking on it. “I’ll try to be as gentle as I can, but it’s going to be a lot of poking and prodding.”

He lets out another grunt that could have possibly been an Mhm… but you aren’t sure. You hold the tweezers between your fingers and begin to pluck them out, placing them on the metal pan on your cart. Clink, clink, clink. They fall from the tweezers with tiny noises.

To your surprise, he doesn’t writhe or make much noise, only occasional grunts and sighs and Shit’s under his breath when you pull at particularly deep thorns lodged in his arm.

Even for an agent, his arms are an impressive size, which means a lot more surface area to extract from. Not that you really mind, as you would have helped him either way, but surely you would feel differently if you were in his shoes.

However, the silence is… awkward; sitting there with your face inches from his huge arms—he could definitely feel your breath fan across the surface with how his skin dances with warmth and goosebumps and you do not want the attractive agent to focus on that. So, you break it with a question.

“You weren’t wearing a jacket?” A valid query, all things considered.

He blinks at you like it was obvious. “It came off.”

“Oh,” is all you say until you extract the last thorn from his arm and begin to slide the leather shoulder holster off of him. “I just need to take this off.”

He frowns slightly, and you realize his brows had been furrowed this whole time because that was all his face seemed to know how to do. When his expression changes, you stop.

“What are you doing?” he asks.

“Taking it off so I can look under your sleeve.”

“Why?”

“You could’ve pulled something and I need to bandage you,” you pause. “Is that okay?”

Maybe you wrongly assumed that he had done this a million times. Don’t get you wrong, you know how resilient agents had to be and how good they were at their jobs, so it isn’t like you thought he got hurt often… But with a short glance into his eyes, you could tell he’s a hardened delegate with years of experience under his belt. Wasn’t he bound to need help occasionally?

The man gives you a slight nod and shrugs off the holster; it falls to the bed with a soft thud from the weight of the knife tucked into the leather.

His muscles tense under your fingers when you roll the black sleeve over his shoulder. The feathered, pale edge of a bullet scar peeks out from beneath the dark clothing and it makes you wonder how he managed to get it. A mission? Probably. It looks old. You’ve seen scars of all kinds at that point, and each of them held a story that ended in pierced flesh.

They remind you that they will never not be where they came from—your own scars will never not be where they came from. You shake the thought out like a stubborn rock in your shoe.

“Lucky you, it doesn’t look like you pulled anything in your shoulder,” you comment under your breath.

“If this is luck, I’d like to see what happens when I get unlucky.” For the first time, there’s humor in his tone—so faint you nearly miss it, but it makes you chuckle. When he isn’t huffing out responses, his voice almost sounds kind.

You rotate his shoulder slowly and inspect the length of his side, finding fewer thorns than the amount anchored in his arm. Still, your lips press into a line, pitying the fact that his bare skin will be exposed to the frigid, below-freezing air so you could remove them.

“Well, you should’ve knocked on wood,” you reply, “I’ll need you to take your shirt off so I can get the rest of the thorns out and check your ribs.”

Silently, the man hikes his shirt up and over his ribs for you, snaking his arm out of his sleeve and then laying on his side.

As he comes down, stretching, he groans. You see his muscles tense under his skin when he inhales, the dips and divots of his torso flex involuntarily when the squall of air nips at his newly exposed skin. The surface holds blossoms of red and deep purple that litter themselves across his ribs like splotches of messy watercolor dripped onto paper. Scarlet scratches bleed pebbles that drip onto the fabric of the cot.

You suck in through your teeth as you inspect the area. Even without the damage from the thorns, it doesn’t look good.

“Not good?” the agent questions as if he could read your mind. From over his shoulder, he turna his head to look at you.

“Not good. You bruised your ribs, I’d be surprised if one of them wasn’t broken.”

“I didn’t hear a crack.”

“It should be monitored for a day or two, at the very least.”

“I have to get back to work.”

“Look, I understand—“

“I’ll be fine.”

You sigh softly and remove one of your gloves to rub your face in exasperation. Unfortunately, this wasn’t your first rodeo with stubborn patients, so you slide on another glove and begin to pluck at the thorns in his torso. “You won’t be doing much work if you permanently damage them.”

He twists his head away from you again and grunts softly, muttering a short, “Okay.”

How articulate. You guess he doesn’t get paid to talk to people.

“Okay? As in…?”

“As in, fine,” he replies, then pauses for a moment as if to prove a point. “But I’m sure you have better things to do.”

You laugh at this, then stifle it into your elbow so he didn’t think you were laughing at him. He still rolls over a little to look at you, confusion laces his eyes that dart around as they go from your face to the rows of empty cots behind you. Busy? You begin to laugh again.

He can’t be serious, you think as you fan your face. You let your laughter dissipate like it was being dissolved into water. “Sorry… no, you’re right,” you snort, “I was drowning in work before you arrived, agent.”

“I’m sure,” he chirps back, the ghost of a smile haunts his lips.

“I think I can squeeze you in, though. Might have to clear some of my schedule, but… I’ll make it work.”

The pleased look that graces your face is involuntary. You find it endearing how worried he is about becoming too much extra work for you and the other nurses, despite the fact that there isn’t any reason to gather that he would and—believe it or not—it’s your job.

The agent lets out an amused breath through his nose. “Should I be flattered?”

“Oh, of course.”

You place the last of the thorns onto the metal pan and tend to his wounds with gauze and bandages and nimble fingers that have done this hundreds of times before. Sometime along the way his body relaxed—just a little—and you think he fell asleep until he sits up like a puppet that had his strings yanked and puts his shirt on properly.

The sudden movement makes you blink, and he stares at you for a long pause filled with dead air and an expectant look in his eyes. That damn rip in the tent whistles.

Finally, his eyes flicker down to your badge, then back to your face. “I’ve never seen you before.”

“I started here not too long ago,” you inform him honestly, a little embarrassed to admit your newbie title to a seasoned employee of the organization.

He doesn’t say anything else, so you take the reins.

“Well, I think we’re set,” you say, rolling the latex gloves off of your hands. “Let me know if you need anything, Agent…”

You never asked him his name?

“Leon Kennedy,” the agent, now with the name Leon Kennedy pinned to his face, finishes for you.

His name twirls around your head and makes you dizzy to think about. I should have known, you think to yourself once he bids you farewell to report to his superiors.

From what little time you spent at the base prior to meeting Leon, you had heard whispers during dinner drift from mouth to ear of the elusive agent. That he was a man of few words (immense understatement, you consider it more socially awkward, but true); that he had half of the base swooning every time he walked by (you don’t want to comment on this); and that he was immensely attractive (that is also true). You have to admit… you see why he had such an air of intrigue around him. To be so quiet after such successes he’s accomplished—people were on the edge of their seats trying to figure him out.

You also had to admit that you weren’t immune to it either.

During your meals and breaks you found yourself playing Where’s Waldo? with Leon, attempting to catch glimpses of him in his natural state to confirm or deny these claims. Which was impressively difficult for absolutely no reason other than that he did it for his own benefit… the motive for this was lost, and still is, on you.

The few times you did spot him, he had the same clenched jaw and furrowed eyebrows. He never stayed in the same place for very long and frequently you only spotted him—or rather, his broad shoulders and white-knuckled fists as they turned corners and disappeared to do whatever he did all day. Important agent things.

Regarding your coworkers… it hadn’t improved much, either. The head nurse, who you later learned was named Winona, loosened up on you a bit—which was practically nothing when both she and the other nurse had been so cold to begin with. However, your determination to help those around you seemed to impress her… most days.

(Peeks of Leon’s ashy blonde hair stolen from cracks in the tent. His fur-lined coat hangs off of his sizable frame, enveloping his arms in the thick fabric—it makes them look even bigger. Not that you care, per say, but—

“You aren’t getting paid to stalk agents,” Winona jeers, jolting you back to Earth from your subject of stolen attention. You swear she smiles at you wryly. “Should’ve tried for one of their jobs if you wanted to do that.”

She turns on her heel and goes over to a trio of injured civilians with her cart, the knot of hair tied taut at the base of her neck stares you in the face. You’re left hot faced and embarrassed for the entirety of the next check-up with your patient.)

The endless night shifts never seem to cease rolling in and you’re afraid it’s begun to catch up on you. By the end of breakfast, when you could finally drag your corpse-like body to your quarters and into your bed, your head drooped comically into your bowl of oatmeal and some of the newer agents had a blast laughing at you. Whatever, assholes.

(You were deeply embarrassed.)

So, you opted for allowing a short nap in here and there during your shift—ten minutes at most—whenever your eyelids began to feel itchy and weighted and you couldn’t help but close them. You really couldn’t. Being sat by the fire with a hot drink made you so warm and the sounds of blowing wind lulled you to sleep in the darkness under the moon.

Truly, a terrible work performance from you, but no one was around to see and surely you’d be awoken by even a hint of an emergency.

Tonight, you count sheep with your wool blanket tucked up to your chin and your head lolls against your shoulder like it’s about to fall off its hinges. One, two, three. They mock you as they hop into their pasture and curl up into white, fluffy spheres, falling asleep within the warmth of their home.

From a distance, your ears almost register the sound of footsteps that approach the tent, crushing the crunchy top layer of snow under their feet as they stop in the entrance. It isn’t enough to completely wake you until they clear their throat and say, “Hello?”

Your eyes snap open and you turn your head so fast you think it might go flying across the room. Really smooth of you, considering Leon is the one to get your attention. By the smug look on his face and slight chuckle that wracks his frame, you know he isn’t fooled with your act awake performance.

He stands there, towering and rigid, unlike the night you first met him, with his palm outstretched flat like he’s trying to show the world something.

“Oh, hey, what do you need?” you reply quickly, standing from your chair as you let your blanket fall off of you.

Leon glances at his hand and then at you. “I, uh, got a papercut.”

“A paper cut,” you repeat, just to make sure you heard him right.

“Yeah.”

You stare at him for a moment, mouth agape as his words register as something he was actually saying to you.

“Well, get comfortable, then. I’ll patch you up.”

In reality, you’re terribly confused about a special forces agent needing first aid for a paper cut, but how could you complain? He needs help and you’re there to offer it.

The blonde sits on a cot near the fire—not before picking up your blanket from the ground and placing it back on the chair, though—and you situate yourself on a stool facing him.

You take Leon’s hand in yours gently and inspect the wound. It’s fairly shallow, but placed in the center of the webbed skin between his index finger and thumb. Tough spot. When your digits graze his rough knuckles he inhales sharply and you glance at him due to the sudden motion.

He doesn’t expect a reaction from you because he pauses for a second then asks, “You think I’ll live?”

“I dunno,” you answer, sucking your teeth. “Could be a close call.”

“Yeesh.”

“I know. My condolences.”

“For myself?”

“Uh-huh.” You turn his hand over so his palm faced the sky. “This’ll sting.”

When you disinfect the injury, Leon’s face twitches into itself but he keeps quiet, opting to focus his gaze on your face while you patch him up. You try not to shift under the intensity.

“What made you want to do this?” he queries, his voice cuts through the silence and startles you a bit. Leon looks pleased with himself and you roll your eyes.

“You’ll laugh.”

“Why would I do that?”

“It’s corny.”

Admittedly, it was—the original story as to why you wanted to be a nurse. You’ve had people laugh at it before and you mostly don’t want to repeat history with someone you find rather charming, but something in Leon’s face softens and he shakes his head briefly.

“Try me,” he challenges.

“Oh, fine.” Like there was a fight put up when you relent, smoothing a bandaid over his cut. “You know those things you’d fill out as a kid? Where it’s like, what do you want to be when you grow up?”

Leon nods.

“Every single time, I would write superhero,” you laugh sourly because you got used to other people laughing when you said this, but he listens as if you’re the only sound he’s ever heard. “I’d draw myself with a little cape and all that. Then at a certain age the teachers start telling you, pick a real job, pick something that exists. And, I dunno, I thought: there are real superheroes. They save people every day because they want to.”

“I mean, I always knew I didn’t have all the right assets to be the one rescuing people from burning buildings and punching the bad guys. I wanted to help people when they couldn’t help themselves, you know? I can't carry the weight of the situation—it’s just not in my nature—but I can carry them. That’s why I started doing this, I guess.”

The look he gives you when you finish speaking is indescribable. He gazes deeply into your face like he’s trying to find a new feature he missed the first time. Something akin to pulling apart your mind with his eyes as if it’s clay made for the shaping and a load of a melancholy that’s too heavy for him; like he’s asking you, how do I carry it? Tell me how to carry something like that.

Your hand still lingers in his, over the bandaid you placed on him; you slide yours so the curves of your thumbs interlock and you grip the hilt of his palm. A hidden embrace.

Leon’s eyes dart toward your hands and he makes no effort to remove you from his grasp, his fingers relax against your wrist. He feels your heartbeat. You feel his. When he looks up again, all he sees are your eyes.

You don’t know why you went on that anecdote in the first place, not really. Only that you were finished patching him up and wanted—needed—him to linger for a bit longer.

“What about you?” you ask, voice hushed close to nothing.

“I wanted to help people, too.” He sounds uncharacteristic—sheepish? “That’s it… I can’t follow up with something as articulate as you.”

“It matters just as much even if you can’t express it,” you assure him, your head tilts.

Leon clears his throat and nods, slipping his hand from yours and looking anywhere that isn’t you. You created a shadow in front of his face, back facing the fire, but you can see the subtle dark tinge of his cheeks when he avoids your eyes. He chooses to look at his feet. There he goes, being endearing again, you think.

The harsh edges of his face are lit up with an orange glow, darkness shoots somewhere in between in a soft gradient, and he looks positively ethereal. If you reached out and cupped his face, you know it would be warm to the touch like laundry right out of the dryer. It makes him look all the more delicate and this feels more natural than the pointed looks and pinched expressions he usually wears.

You look back down at his hands. You’re trying to memorize the way they felt against yours (coarse and hot to the touch) and you get the picture of how hopeless you are—even an idiot could see you have a crush on him.

That doesn’t stop you from protecting your pride and you keep it to yourself. You stand up to put the disinfectant supplies and box of bandaids away without a word.

Leon stares at his hand like it’s missing a piece.

You have your head buried too deep into the cabinet to think much about that. Screaming at yourself was an understatement for what you’re doing in your head… a better description would be begging the floor to swallow you entirely with one gulp.

Surely, Leon has someone at home. He’s an attractive, intelligent man with an arguably stable job that pays him oodles more than he would ever need; not to mention how well-built he is, but again, for what seems like the millionth time you push this thought to the back of your mind. You could not focus on that.

“Are you okay?” his voice carries from the cot.

You take a moment’s breather and shut the cabinet door. “I’m good. How are your ribs?”

“They’re good.” Leon pauses, then adds. “Thanks.”

The shake of your head comes faster than your words; muscle memory. “It’s what I’m here for.”

“You do a good job.”

“I’m just a medic.”

“A good one.”

As you utter your gratitude for his comment, you hope he couldn’t feel the heat radiating off of your face from so far away. You weren��t one to get shy from such simple words, but you find your eyes glued to your boots because of his gentle bonniness. Damn you, you curse at him in your head—it held no weight.

The blonde stands from the cot and walks over to you. He bends slightly to catch your eyes in his. “I have to go now, but... yeah. Thank you.”

“Of course, Agent Kennedy.”

“Don’t start using formalities now,” he half-laughs, half-breathes. His face contorts when he stretches back, and his hand came up to massage his right shoulder—you even go to comment on this movement, being a medic and all, but he beats you to it with a smirk. “Stick with Leon.”

And then, in a few strides, he’s gone as fast as he came.

Your entire body deflates when you let out a guttural sigh. How come every time you watched his back, you were left reeling?

Unfortunately for you, that blasted man had ingrained himself into your head, sitting pretty in your thoughts as snug as a bug in a rug while you tried to do your job, or attempted to focus on anything other than your feelings for him. On the contrary, he returned to clearing out Umbrella facilities for the time being, which meant he was out of the base for days, or even weeks, considering he was one of, if not, the best agent they had. This saved you from the embarrassment of being caught trying to catch glances of him from inside the tent or during meals.

This, however, did not stop you from daydreaming when work got slow.

You wondered how someone like Leon behaved domestically, if he was completely different outside of the AUPIT, or if he was still just the sweet, reserved man who needed your aid often. Did he have any pets? What music did he listen to? You guess you’d have to ask him later, but you imagined that the pieces would fall into place and suit him. They’d be so perfectly Leon that when he told you, you would think to yourself, huh, why didn’t I think of that?

The amount of daydreaming you did was not lost on Winona, and occasionally she snapped her fingers in front of your face and grumbled under her breath, “I’ll kill that boy.” With no real threat to her tone.

Please, you can’t help it. He has arms with the muscle definition of a god and he told you-you were a good medic; you were a goner before you even realized it.

On the other hand, your family never let up with their pleas for you to return home, despite the fact that it simply wasn’t possible unless you had a very good reason for it. Which you didn’t, and you didn’t want to—people just didn’t get it through their heads that, yes, your job was difficult, and yes, patients got on your nerves sometimes, but no, you wouldn’t trade it for the world. This meant more to you than anything else you could fathom. You knew the fear these people felt first-hand, and you knew they needed a saving grace; just like you had.

(“Just come home,” your mother coos into the phone, her voice static-y and chopped from the poor signal. You could imagine her face right now, all worried and exhausted like you’re a child balancing on a wet playground. “There’s a hospital not too far from here… I’m sure they’d take you.

You promptly spend the next hour explaining to her that it isn’t that simple, even if you wanted to, and you remind her every few minutes that you aren’t going to leave, either. You’re happy, all things considered; which is why you make the executive decision to leave out all of the bad parts of your work so far.)

As for the efforts against Umbrella, you hear whispers of successes during dinners and fewer agents appeared at the medical tent’s door in need of assistance than when you arrived. So, you think things are going rather well for your organization. Less tired eyes and solemn faces; the fight wasn’t over, but everyone could rest a little easier with every night that passed.

And yet, those damned night shifts. You swear Winona and that other medic were scheming against you for no reason other than pure spite, on the basis of simply because they didn’t feel like doing it. It has to be funny to them by now, seeing you half-asleep at breakfast and looking all mussed at dinner because you woke up ten minutes prior. You let them laugh all they wanted because frankly, you began to enjoy the night shifts. The world went to sleep, and you enjoyed some peace and quiet.

You kick your feet up onto a stool and drape a blanket over your legs, book in hand. The soft sounds of Icelandic pop music crackles out of the radio and floats throughout the tent. You mouth the noises of the songs, unsure of the lyrics, but you’ve heard it so often by now, you could recognize the tune from the first few beats. You scat a few of the instruments, tapping your foot along. You don't notice the figure that stopped in the doorframe.

“Enjoying yourself?” Leon. You shut your book and turn to look at him, embarrassed. “I always feel like I’m coming at a bad time.”

“Never,” you reply with a haste that humbles you further. Worried about his sudden appearance in the medical tent after being gone on agent duties for nearly two weeks, you ask, “Are you okay?”

The corners of his mouth upturn and you barely see a flash of uneven teeth between the slit it creates, cute. This distracts you from how smug his face is. “I think I have a fever.”

“A fever this time?”

“Yep.”

“Make yourself comfortable, Leon.”

A paper cut, then a fever. You begin to think of his inability to soothe his minor maladies as an excuse to visit the tent. Your stomach flutters at the thought, but you have to make sure… just in case he’d fallen ill out there in the cold.

You find the thermometer and placed it in his mouth gingerly. It hangs crooked from the corner and he watches you with a certain keenness that makes you smile. After a few minutes, you check his temperature: 98.7. An amused hum escapes your lips without meaning to.

“Dying?”

“I don’t think you have a fever,” you answer, using the back of your hand to press against his forehead and cheeks. The first cheek is cold, then the left cheek warms under your skin—Leon’s expression falls bashful. “But if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were looking for reasons to come see me.”

It’s his turn to hum in thought. “Maybe.”

“You could just come talk to me.”

“You’re on the clock,” the blonde reminds you, grunting. In a swift movement, his hand presses into the curve of his neck and he rotates his right shoulder, face straining.

You see an opening. “That I am. What was that?”

“What?”

“Your shoulder.”

“I was stretching.”

“Does it hurt?”

Leon grumbles a response under his breath, unimpressed that you might have found something you could actually treat him for. You raise your brows. “I’ll take that as a yes. Let me see.”

“It’s fine.”

“Agent Kennedy.”

He pretends not to hear you.

“Leon.”

“Fine,” he gripes like a child being forced to get a shot and maneuvers to lay his stomach flat on the cot, his back faces toward the ceiling. He takes off his brown, fur-lined jacket and discards it onto the next cot over. You get a whiff of musk and cinnamon from the breeze it makes.

The shirt that clings to him left nothing to the imagination—a tight, black compression shirt stretches snugly over his muscles. You spread your fingers like fans to warm them up, then begin to run them over his shoulder and along the meat of his back.

You tsk, full of knots. This man needs a masseuse. You make a mental note to refer him to a good one you knew.

With the issue at hand, though, you find an impressive knot in his shoulder, which is likely the cause of his discomfort.

You huff, your work cut out for you. “There’s a big knot in your shoulder, Leon. How are you living like this?”

“I wake up and roll out of bed.”

“I need to get this out.”

Leon turns his head, his cheek presses to the cot. He gives you a look that says nothing short of, are you serious? You smile as sweetly as you can at him, an attempt to coax him. To your surprise, he averts his gaze fast and relents. The blonde agent sits up and shrugs his shirt off. It’s tossed next to his jacket.

Under the fire light and the dim glow of lanterns that hang in a line down the center of the tent, strings attached to the ceiling, you see the way chills prickle over the surface of his skin. Goosebumps, like rolled carpets being kicked open, unfurl down his arms rapidly and he lays down on his stomach once again.

Your face burns in the dark—you’d be surprised if you aren’t glowing like one of those lanterns from the amount of heat it exudes.

You use a dollop of skin cream to keep the area relaxed and pliable as you work out the knot with your fingers. You push it in the right direction until you got it in a better spot, then you knead it firmly. It crackles within his body.

“Fuck…” he groans in relief, nestling his head into the fabric of the cot as he sighs. “They teach you massages in nursing school?”

“That might be just a learned from life thing,” you state in total honesty. You wipe the excess lotion from your hands on a rag.

Curiously, he peers at you from the corner of his eye. “You have someone back home you do that to?”

A laugh falls from your lips, though your face feels even hotter than before (if that is even possible). “No—not at all.”

Leon lets out a pleasant hum and sit up from the cot. Good, he says without saying it.

He snatches his shirt and tugs it over his head; you pretend to make yourself busy so you have somewhere other to look than at him. You hear him sigh with great reprieve as he rolls his shoulder back and forth, it must’ve felt like a freshly oiled hinge.

He comes up behind you, his shoulder skims the back of your neck when he peers down at what you were doing on the counter. Which is a whole lot of nothing; moving cotton swabs from one container to the other, counting how many rolls of gauze you had left for the hundredth time. Mindless hand ministrations to distract you from the heart that pounds in your chest.

“Is this what you do all night?” he questions, mildly amused.

“Sometimes.”

“Must be glad I showed up.”

“Something like that,” you tease, glancing up at him with a coy smile.

You watch his withstraint break a little inside of him. He inhales sharply, losing the words you said somewhere between your eyes and your lips—he couldn’t focus with your faces so close to each other and neither could you. Leon reaches for the hand that rested on the other side of you and drags you in between him and the counter, twirling you to face him. Then he pauses and appears lost, like he doesn’t know which way is left and right.

Maybe he doesn’t know what to do, you think. You don’t really know either, so you go on about what you do know.

“You should probably use kinesiology tape on your shoulder,” you comment, suddenly becoming hyper-aware of all of your limbs. His eyes don’t leave your lips. You’d be a liar if you say yours left his.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

The man’s body heat radiates off of him and it’s magnetic, pulling you closer, away from the bitter cold. Your breath hitches. His hand hovers over the curve of your neck, then it decides to rest on the side of your jaw, thumb pressed against your flushed cheek. You remember the texture of his warm palm, coarse and calloused from years of wear.

You try to memorize every fine line and crease that scuffs your face as he beckons you to close the gap with the slight tilt of his head. I’d make a terrible agent, my resilience is slim to none, you theorize when your body moves before your mind does. His mouth hovers over yours, his breath traces your cupid’s bow. You close the distance enough that your lips graze each other until someone clears their throat from a few feet away.

Winona stands like a judgmental statue, thin brows raise expectantly. You, and Leon, jump away from each other. It rocks the counter with a loud clatter that echoes.

“Agent Kennedy,” she acknowledges him first as a sign of respect. He nods back awkwardly. “You two look like you’re enjoying yourselves.”

Neither of you talk for a moment and you find yourself desperate to create any word that could explain what that was. Leon’s eyes dart around the room.

Finally, something solid comes to your tongue. “I’m sorry.”

And then she laughs in both of your faces. Her hand waves like it’s fanning your words away from getting inhaled. You and Leon glance at each other, brows knit in honest confusion.

“Kids,” she exhales. “Stop distracting my medic, Kennedy.”

Then he speaks, but it sounds more like a nervous cough. “Yes, ma’am.”

Winona shoos him with a gesture of her wrinkled hand and he musters a sheepish, apologetic smile for you as he hurries away from the tent. You don’t make much of an effort to move as you prepare your ego for the chew out it’s about to receive.

“And you. Try to keep the fraternization out of the tent.” With that, she continues past you to search through some files, snickering to herself and shaking her head.

You aren’t about to push your luck. You get to keep your job and ego intact, and that’s enough for you. So, you whisper a quiet, “Yes, ma’am.” And go on with your day.

The encounter with Leon left you feverish and all tingly in every limb whenever it crossed your mind over the following days. You saw him out and about around the base, and during meals he offered you frail waves that faded in a breath.

Truth was, you’re too afraid of rejection to ask him about that night—go figure. Maybe you’re a cliche. Maybe you’re both cliches. Who cares? Well, you do, and you thought the ruffled, pink-tinted expressions on Leon’s face whenever you crossed paths meant that he did, too, but neither of you made a move to approach the other. You questioned if you would rather be told that his only plans for you was a short work fling with no strings attached, or if he felt the connection that you did. A terrible predicament, really, and soon your desire for a straight answer outweighed the fear of hearing something you didn’t like.

When you went to find him in the meal tent, sitting alone in one of the back corners, he wasn’t there. Okay. You waited, then decided to check the nooks and crannies of the base where you knew he hung around, and nothing. Leon vanished into thin air the moment you gathered enough courage to speak to him. Somehow you thought he read your mind and planned for this to happen, just to be able to tease you without being present. But that was simply ridiculous. He had to go to work, just like you had to do yours.

A week went by, then two; no sign of Leon’s reappearance cropped up and you began to worry you wouldn’t get the chance to speak to him at all. The only reminder that soothed you was the fact that you knew the organization was on the home stretch for completely wiping Umbrella’s power in Iceland. This reassured you for many reasons. Mainly, that you’d be able to sleep in your bed again at a proper time that didn’t leave you exhausted; but you also found comfort in the idea of finally getting a word with the blonde agent that clung to your brain like a disease once everything was over.

Of course, you had fleeting thoughts that he died and you’d forever be left wondering about what could have been. But, that was just ridiculous—he’s Leon Kennedy, the agent that saved the president’s daughter from certain death. So, you chalked it up to your anxiety being built up as doubt about the succession of the mission began to be put to an end. That yes, you would all return home soon, and no nothing terrible and tragic would happen just as you were about to win.

Eventually, you all received the verdict of the mission. Success. The sun shone through the clouds brighter that day, in ribbons of gold that elevated all of your senses to something dreamlike. Another catastrophe prevented. More people saved—clockwork. To say you were pleased with the conclusion of your first ever out of country operation would be an understatement; you were ecstatic.

Still, you find yourself fretting over that thing with Leon as you help pack up the equipment in the medical tent.

Winona, who has grown increasingly engrossed in your love life, gives you a knowing look when your lips tug downward and you send a pointed glance toward the entrance of the tent for the tenth time in the last hour. She tsks and shakes her head. It gains your attention.

“Just talk to him,” she insists, shoving a couple boxes of bandaids into the case. She’s unimpressed with your antics and just wants you to get a move on.

You sigh and preen your hair like he’ll walk in at any moment. “I haven’t seen him.”

“Hopeless,” she grumbles in response. “Hopeless. If you won’t do something about it, stop looking at the door like a kicked dog and help me.” Winona retreats further into the tent and you succumb enough to follow her.

You must glower the whole time because she won’t stop sending you dirty looks while she tapes the cardboard boxes with a tape gun. Her movements are threatening. You try to fix your expression when the line of spokes reflects off of the bright horizon outside the tent as it slices the tape.

After the innards of the tent are packed into a dozen or so boxes, you’re the person left to pick them up one by one and drop them off with the rest of the cargo that needs to be shipped. Your back is sore from the sorry excuses of beds you have and your arms ache from hours of cramming things. Kicking snow with each shuffled step, you heave out a lengthy sigh and pause to breathe. There’s a reason I’m not an agent.

“Need a hand?” Leon asks from behind you. You’re wondering how he’s always sneaking up on you.

Still, you nod and can’t help but be relieved. “Please.”

Like it’s filled with air, he takes the box from your hands and cocks a barely-there grin at your awed expression. Smug and content, he marches ahead with you in tow. You don’t really know what to say to him, if anything at all.

You walk alongside him for the first time in the daylight, and you take in his features now that they aren’t muddled in the darkened firelight or blurred by distance. He’s chiseled, sunken cheeks and high cheekbones with that intense look on in his eyes—but there’s something else—boyish, is what you think. Soft jaw. Moles and freckles litter themselves across his face.

Leon is beautiful and you would like to kiss him right now.

He stops at the drop off point, places the box next to the others and turns to you. Suddenly, he looks nervous and you feel some resolve escape your mind. He’s about to ask you something. He opens his mouth, rosy lips parting and you break—you pull him behind a tall stack of boxes and kiss him.

The collar of his jacket is clutched between your fingers in a moment and your lips are on his; the fur tickles your skin. His lips are chapped and cold but you create warmth within him, you could be a summer’s day in this frigid air. His hands come to your waist, then your hips and his fingertips make indents when he holds you tight like this was always supposed to happen. When you part, you’re both breathless.

He searches for his words again, the question he was going to ask. “Would you—dinner? On me.”

You hum in faux thought and peck him on the lips again, then again, and a third time for good measure. He smiles into the last one.

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t start that by saying you stubbed your toe and needed my help.”

Leon chuckles. “I thought about it.”

He pulls you in again, tongue grazing your bottom lip. You lean in further, desperate for connection until you both go slipping like baby deer. The thin layer of snow on the ground left everything icy. He tumbles into some supplies and you land on top of him. You’re both laughing into each other’s mouths. You’re both happy.

You chime together, like clockwork.

#leon kennedy #resident evil 4 #resident evil #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy fluff #leon s kennedy #leon scott kennedy #re4r leon #re4 remake #leon kennedy x y/n #leon kennedy oneshot #fluff #oneshot #resident evil fluff #nurse!reader #nurse!reader x leon kennedy #post re4r

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kishibei · 1 year

Text

LICK BACK

leon s kennedy x reader | smut, 18+ | >1k words

summary: back in your RPD training days, rookie leon was just too easy to pick on. now that he's all grown up, leon is dead set on getting his lick back in the way he thinks best: finally getting the chance to fuck you.

cont: f! reader, morally grey (?) leon, revenge plot, light degradation, choking, manhandling, rough sex.

just having turned twenty-one, the bright-eyed and blushy virgin who you thought had no real understanding of how the world worked, was just the perfect target for your teasing.

but running into leon who's all grown up now is such a trip. he's changed much more than he'll ever know, a seasoned expert at practically everything. you can tell he’s witnessed unspeakable horrors; everyone has, but his weary expression betrays that fact more than anything else, the perpetual downturn of his lips telling his entire story.

and despite everything leon's been through, he's still hung up over the little things; running through almost every single time you poked fun at him back in RPD, eyeing you from above with a steely gaze. he speaks slowly, making sure you hear it all from him, just a small reminder in case you'd forgotten all these years later.

you laugh awkwardly as he brings it up, fiddling with your hands before looking up at him with a timid smile. he was such a loser then, practically begging for the chance to be with you. but as he stands here now, you can't help but to notice exactly how much he's grown. that scrawny little frame you remember all too well had matured so well into this leviathan of a man, the very mountain of muscle and bone that towered over you.

he knows you find him attractive, it's evident in the way you shift your weight from one foot to the other, how you flutter those pretty lashes, and lean in real close when he talks, pretending you can't hear what he’s saying.

he smiles a bit crookedly now, and when you part those perfect glossy lips to speak, he can't think of anything else but slamming his cock down your throat, making you eat every last one of your mean words to him.

leon knows he should forgive you, really… you were so much younger then, unaware how deep the teasing had actually gone for him.

yet still, all leon wants to do is settle the score, to get his lick back for all the torment you put him through. he thinks for a moment, a quizzical expression flashing on his face for a moment. what better way to exact his little plot of revenge than by getting exactly what you'd been denying him of for years?

he's been waiting for this chance for ages, ever since the day he laid eyes on you at base. this was his opportunity; the opportunity to finally fuck you.

engaging in this conversation is all part of his newfound game, and when he’s finally got you split open on his cock, he knows he’s won.

...

"fuck, leon! 's too much!" you cry out, the words leaving your lips in the whiniest manner.

it's almost pathetic really— the way fat tears start to well in your eyes, just threatening to spill as leon pumps into you. he's got you folded in on yourself on this shitty mattress; long gone flat with springs exposed, stained with grime and the remains of other unidentifiable fluids.

it's so dirty, almost filthier than the way leon's fucking you now; pressing your legs so far into yourself that your knees practically muff your ears, just barely lowering the sounds of his slamming back into that sloppy cunt.

leon's pace is unrelenting, and when you look up at him there's something dark clouding his gaze; like this means more to him than you think it does. you can't help but to think it's the result of all your bullying back then, and you know you're not too far off when he grabs your neck, squeezing at your throat like a man gone mad.

your eyes roll into the back of your head, panting and whining as he fucks you like this, but soon your vision grows hazy and a certain panic starts to settle in your bones.

"leon... lee!" you strain, voice coming out a small whisper as you begin to claw at his hands, trying to pry his fingers off of you.

he's so much stronger than you, always has been— even back when you would push him around during training, you knew it better than anyone. and here he was: the same wimpy little leon, using that very strength against you, closing around your esophagus while he fucks you into oblivion.

you're gonna die, you think— no, you know. you've convinced yourself of it when you stop scratching at his fingers, just moaning wantonly as tears roll down your cheeks. he leans down to press a kiss against your ear, releasing you for just a second before he's back at your neck.

"stupid, ungrateful, bitch..." he seethes, spitting the words at you like venom as he drags his cock out of you, only to ram it back in again and again.

the words are mean— hurting just a little worse than the bruises you know are forming under his fingertips. but your body betrays you, that messy cunt just clamping down on him as he whispers those cruel words over and over.

"stop! just stop, leon!" you babble, gasping for air as he let's go of you for another moment, bringing his lips down to kiss all over the bruises he's just made. leon's eyes flick up to yours, a wicked grin taking over his features.

"you don't mean that, y'know you don't..."

he's right, more than that.

so you let him fuck you, whispering obscenities far worse than the one's you've called him all that time ago as you cry and wail for him, overcome with equal parts pain and pleasure.

"lee... leon, i can't!" you whimper, fingernails clawing at his back as you tense up, legs shaking while you hold onto him tightly.

"yes, you can... you're fine." he sighs.

his response is surprisingly reassuring, and the way he strokes your cheek as it leaves him causes the tight coil in the pit of your stomach to snap, making you spasm beneath him with weak cries of pleasure.

"see? there you go..." he cooes, looking down at you with a softer gaze now. "feels good when you aren't fighting, doesn't it?"

you cant say much, just whining as he delivers his last few strokes with a grunt, filling you to the brim with thick, hot spurts of cum.

"shit..." leon pants.

"isn't this the part where you tell me you're sorry?"

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txttletale · 2 months

Text

actually good doctor who video game ideas

disco-elysium style crpg where you play as the doctor, going around a Planet of the Week and intervening in personal and political conflicts, helping people, making moral choices, etc.

TARDIS spacetime geoguesser. you could make this a full-on edutainment game by mocking up historical time periods and locations

dalek FPS. think doom, with a dalek-like setup of a lone dalek escaping a space prison/research facility and reactivating its functionalities as it progresses

RTS with all the classic factions (daleks, cybermen, time lords, sontarans), and then some deeper/wackier cuts like idk draconians and judoon.

alternatively make this one a space 4x. 'endless space with daleks' is an easy slam dunk

first-person survival horror as either the doctor or a sally-sparrow type one-off companion character commujnicating with the doctor through Random Documents and Audio Logs

first-person environemtnal puzzler a la kairo or antichamber or the witness in e-space/the antizone/omega's antimatter universe/etc. where you play as the doctor just peacefully figuring out some puzzles in a surreal abstract environment

time travel puzzler kind of like that one titanfall 2 level meets return of the obra dinn where you take the tardis back into the past to affect your enviroment in the present

immortality/her story style FMV game where you play a confused normie trying to puzzle together the events of a typical doctor who episode plot through fragemnted police interview clips of a very exasperated doctor trying to explain that there's an alien dog loose

immersive sim/stealth game in the thief or dishonored vein starring one of the doctor's more-violent-than-him companions like ace or river song sneaking through buildings to foil a sinister alien plot

okay now that ive made this list theres no reason for the BBC to ever license out a shitty 2d platformer every again. Please

#tattletxt #doctor who

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oneshotnewbie · 21 days

Note

Reader walks through fire to save Emily Prentiss. That's it, that's the prompt. You can decide what you do with it. Thank you 💖

Authors note: Somehow lately I've had a thing for long oneshots that go well over the actual 1000 words. I just can't stop writing once I start haha. I wish you a nice start to the week ♥

⚠️Trigger Warning⚠️ This one-shot includes the slight mention of burn injuries and fainting. The plots are presented. If this triggers you too easily or you just can´t handle the subject, I urge you NOT to read this work. I am NOT embellishing this topic under any circumstance. Read at your own risk.

ᕚ---ᕘ

As Special Agent Emily Prentiss and you brought your car to a stop on a remote forest path, the dense treetops reached high into the sky, forming an impenetrable canopy of leaves that barely let in the light of the sun. It seemed as if nature itself wanted to keep a secret as a cold wind blew through the branches, carrying with it the whispers of the leaves.

A brief exchange of glances between Emily and you revealed the determination burning within you as you checked your gear and got your vests ready. As a well-rehearsed duo in the FBI's Behavioral Analysis Unit, you were familiar with the darkest depths of the human psyche and had faced the most dangerous criminals. But even for you, this case was of unusual intensity.

A series of brutal murders had terrified residents living on the edge of the Arkansas grove. The victims appeared to be chosen at random, and every lead the team found at the crime scene led to a dead end. But now a clue had led you here, to this dark place that was far from any civilization.

Together you made your way down the rocky and arduous path deeper into the forest, the cracking of twigs under your boots and the occasional call of a bird accompanied you like a dark melody. Imbued in your minds was the determination to solve this mystery and put an end to the evil that threatened the innocent inhabitants of this remote area.

Eventually you came to a small clearing dominated by a dilapidated log cabin. The centuries-old wooden walls were overgrown with moss and ivy, which covered the abandoned building like a veil. The windows stood empty and dark, like the eyes of a ghost from a bygone era, silently bearing witness to long-forgotten stories.

Emily sensed an eerie presence that seemed to emanate from the place, as if the walls themselves spoke of the horrors they had experienced. But she forced herself to suppress her fear and focused her gaze on the task before you both. Despite the ominous feeling that surrounded the place, your resolve remained unbroken as you prepared to explore the secrets of this mysterious place.

“Ah, here we are,” you whispered quietly to her as you crouched and crept up to the entrance, gun drawn. "Let's see what we can find and finally close the case."

You entered the abandoned building together, your flashlights cutting through the darkness and illuminating the path before you. A hint of decay hung heavy in the air as the old parquet floors crunched beneath your feet as if revealing the secrets of the building beneath you. But your resolve was still unshakable, and you searched every room with meticulous care, looking for clues that could solve the mystery.

As you began to move further into the next room, Emily paused in her position in the largest room and raised a hand to silence you before you could even begin to speak. You listened intently, and a quiet but distinct sound reached your ears - a gentle breeze that seemed to whisper through the gaps between the door and the frame.

“Over there,” Emily whispered as you returned to her, pointing to a locked door at the end of the hallway. The two of you approached the door slowly, your hearts pounding loudly in your ears as if anticipating the rhythm of the horror to come. With a quick nod, you released the lock on the door and entered the room first.

What unfolded before you chilled your blood. In the middle of the room sat an altar made of weathered stone, surrounded by extinguished candles and mysterious symbols that formed a dark coven around it. On the walls hung grotesque paintings of dark figures whose eyes seemed to pierce you, as if they wanted to explore your soul.

But the horror reached its climax with the sight of the body lying on the altar - a young girl, bound and mutilated, her face contorted in pain while an iron stake protruded from her chest, her breathing long stopped. The sight of her echoed in your mind, a cruel testament to the evil that permeated the place.

"What have we gotten ourselves into?" you asked, an ice-cold shiver running down your spine as the ominous scene before you slowly took shape. Emily shrugged, her gaze caught by the gloomy atmosphere as she swallowed hard to maintain her composure. "We have to get out of here and call for backup," she said firmly, but the undertone betrayed the growing concern that threatened to overwhelm her too. She signaled for you to back off as she took a few steps back to give you cover. "This is bigger than we thought."

You nodded in agreement, but before you could take a step, another sound echoed across the ceiling - a soft rustling, followed by an ominous hissing that seemed to be emanating from a hidden pipe, accompanied by the pungent smell of smoke coming from beneath the door.

Panic rose within you as you realized that you possibly were in danger and that the rest of the team might be taking too long to reach you. You were trapped, surrounded by the dark remnants of a ritual space that seemed to harbor evil and now encircled you menacingly.

As you walked up the short steps and opened the door to leave the basement, and hastily return to your vehicle to call for backup, the blockhouse was engulfed in thick smoke.

Emily felt the heat rising on her skin and the acrid smoke entering her lungs as she coughed and pressed her sweater under her nose to escape the choking smoke. "We have to get out of here!" she shouted over the infernal crackling of the fire, which threatened to spread greedily, as if it was hungry for more fuel.

You nodded in agreement and reached for her hand, and together you fought your way through the impenetrable fog, your eyes burning with tears as you searched for a way out of this nightmare. But the fire, which had spread for reasons still unknown, seemed to cut off your path, your every movement blocked by a wall of heat that threatened you and that blocked your view. You didn't know where the exit was. Every step you took brought you closer to the certainty that you were surrounded by the merciless forces of destruction that were driving you closer to the abyss with every second.

Fear gripped both of you tightly as you looked around and realized the terrible reality. The flames around you burned higher and higher, their glowing tongues lashing out greedily at everything in their path, spreading an atmosphere of desperation and chaos.

And as you progressed on your way, you suddeny saw the outline of a dark figure. You strained to sharpen your focus, to heighten your senses in this inferno. "The perpetrator! He's here!" You shouted out to Emily, your voice filled with determination as you moved resolutely towards the unknown, clutching your gun tightly, the desire for justice burning in your heart.

But in the rush of the moment, you didn't notice that Emily wasn't following you, her own thoughts torn apart by the urgency of the situation. Her eyes searched desperately for a way out of this blazing hellfire as she fought within herself against the panic that threatened to overwhelm her.

But as you got closer, you realized with horror that it wasn't the murderer, but just a shadow dancing in the pale light of the flames. A moment of relief quickly gave way to anxiety as you realized that the perpetrator was still lurking somewhere in the dark corners while you had lost sight of him. And now you were separated from Emily, your ally, your anchor in this burning hell.

Emily called out to you, but her voice was swallowed up by the angry crackling of the flames that raged around her like a wild animal. Her heart began to race involuntarily as she looked around and realized the cruel reality - she was completely alone, surrounded by the surging waves of fire that threatened to consume her and destroy her existence.

With her back pressed against the wall, she pressed her flashlight hard into the fog that permeated the room, hoping that the beam of light would attract you and lead you back to her. “Y/n, I’m here!” she cried desperately, her voice laced with the pain of isolation. "I'm trapped in the flames. Follow the light, please!" Her words echoed through the burning room, a silent cry for help amid the raging inferno.

Less than a minute later she heard a faint sound rising above the roar of the fire - the sound of a figure, a jacket over your head, fighting through the flames to get to her.

Emily turned to the side and watched in horror as you emerged from the blazing inferno, your face contorted with pain, your clothes scorched by them, and your skin marked by the cruel scars of the fire. “Oh my god, y/n!” she shouted, her voice filled with fear as you fell the last few inches towards her, her eyes wide in terror. "What have you done?"

You couldn't speak a word; the pain unbearable, your voice paralyzed by the torment of the fire. Your only job was to get your partner safely out of this burning house, so you placed a wet blanket over her head and body before carefully guiding her out of the flames, yourself also hidden under the blanket to protect yourself from further burns.

Her hand gripped yours tightly as she pulled you closer to her, feeling the pain and heat of your skin. "Y/n, you are seriously injured. Let me guide you," she whispered softly as she placed your arm over her shoulder, but the adrenaline rushed through your body, your mind numb from the agony that was coursing through you, her words unheard.

You struggled through the flames, your senses numbed by the unrelenting burn that accompanied you as you leaned heavily on Emily. Every step was agony, every breath a fight against the heat and smoke that threatened to suffocate your lungs. But despite the darkness of the inferno, you did not give up, but continued to fight, driven by the irrepressible will to bring Emily and yourself to safety, out of this hellfire.

As you finally made it out into the open and made your way to safety, a deafening bang ripped through the air, followed by a blinding flash of light that pierced the dark clouds of smoke and bathed the night in blinding daylight. Emily and you were thrown to the ground by the force of the explosion, the impact shattering your bodies as chaos erupted around you.

Fire shot out of the windows of the log cabin and quickly spread to the surrounding trees, the forest itself was going up in flames. The air was filled with an infernal crackling and hissing that shook the ground. The forest immediately became a burning fortress, enveloped in an impenetrable veil of flames that seemed to block any possibility of escape. "Y/n, get up," Emily urged, her voice firm and determined as she leaned towards you, "We have to get out of here. I'm going to take you to the hospital to get you looked after." Her words pierced the chaotic scene, a promise of rescue and hope amid the tumult of flames.

She shook your motionless body, but you didn't move. The adrenaline that had once fueled your senses was gone, and now your body was collapsing like a house of cards blown away by a merciless breeze. Emily gently turned your lifeless body onto its back, an act of tenderness in the midst of chaos that reflected your sacrifice and bravery - you had gone through hell to save her.

Half your body was scorched by the flames, your skin scarred by the fire, and your breathing was shallow and uneven, a faint sign of your struggle to survive.

Emily fought the panic that overcame her when she saw your badly injured body. "Stay with me, y/n," she whispered, her voice cracking with fear as the flames around her licked at the trees and ate through the undergrowth, a warning sign of destruction. "You can do this, you hear me? You have to do this. Please, y/n."

But you didn't move, unconscious and silent as death itself. Emily felt the tears burning in her eyes, but she forced herself to stay strong so as not to give up on you. Her hands rested gently on your bruised skin, a silent vow of loyalty and hope amidst the flames.

Emily pulled her cell phone out of her pocket, her fingers shaking with tension as she dialed the number for her boss, Aaron Hotchner. She raised the phone to her ear, hoping for a connection as the chaos raged around her, the flames spreading unstoppably.

"Hotch, we need help urgently," she said, her voice firm and controlled even as fear burned in her heart. "Y/n is seriously injured, we need firefighters and paramedics here. The whole forest is burning down. Now!"

He reassured her that help and the team was on the way, and Emily put the phone away, her thoughts entirely on you, still lying motionless in front of her. "Please, y/n. Wake up," she pleaded, running her hand gently over your burned neck, as if she could call life back into you through the touch. "You have to fight, you hear me? You can't give up."

The minutes passed like hours as Emily waited, her eyes fixed on you, counting every breath, watching every movement of your body as she evaluated your vitals every second. But nothing changed, you remained motionless, your face expressionless like a mask of ash, and your thoughts swirled in a whirlpool of fear and hope.

Finally, the sound of engines pierced the oppressive silence as firefighters burst through the flames and rushed to your rescue. She was accompanied by the paramedics who immediately lifted you onto a stretcher and took you into the ambulance while she followed you with a worried look, closely watching the rescuers' every move.

The ambulance raced through the mountainous streets, sirens blaring across the countryside, as Emily sat next to you, holding your hand tightly amidst the furious roar of the sirens and the rattling engine.

ᕚ---ᕘ

The bright morning light filtered gently through the hospital room window as you slowly came to consciousness. Every breath was accompanied by pain, every muscle in your body felt like it was filled with lead. A silent struggle against the stabbing pain shot through you as you tried to move, only to be thrown back into the soft hospital bed by a painful retreat.

Emily sat by your bed, her eyes full of concern, her hand gently stroking your fingers as if she was trying to ease your pain with her touch. Noticing you had awakened, a soft smile broke across her lips as she reached for your hand that wasn't injured. “Welcome back, y/n,” she whispered quietly, her voice warm and sensitive. "How do you feel?"

You tried to speak, but your voice was only a hoarse whisper, choked by the pain of your injuries, and you coughed painfully. Emily handed you a glass of water and gently held it to your lips, helping you take a slow sip before continuing. "It's okay, speak slowly," she encouraged patiently. "You've had a tough time, but we're here to support you." Her words were a promise of care and hope in the midst of the darkness you had lived through.

You nodded slowly, your mind raging like wild whirlwinds, flooding with memories of the past mission - the fire, the flames, the heat that had penetrated your skin. And then there was Emily, strong and unwavering, standing next to you and holding you as your body slowly gave out and you tried desperately to get her out of harm's way.

“I remember,” you finally whispered, your eyes cloudy with pain as you tried to form the words through the thick fog of memories. A faint hint of understanding crossed Emily's face as she heard your words, her eyes full of empathy and compassion.

"You literally walked through fire to save me," she spoke quietly, her voice laced with a hint of awe as tears pooled in her eyes, glittering like diamonds in the light.

A faint smile crossed your lips, trembling with exertion, as you slowly raised your hand and placed it gently on her cheek, your touch a delicate promise of love and devotion. “You were inside,” you murmured quietly, your voice a whisper in the quiet of the hospital room. "No fire in the world would stop me from saving you. I can't lose you." The words were a confession that reached deeper than words could, a promise that was anchored in the infinite expanses of your connection.

Emily reached for your hand, her touch as delicate as a gentle breath as she leaned against you, letting her tears flow freely. "Thank you for coming to get me," she spoke, her voice filled with admiration and gratitude. "You are incredibly brave. I was deeply impressed by your courage and willingness to sacrifice. I will always be there for you, just as you were there for me."

Your eyes shined with gratitude and a hint of relief. You knew the road to recovery would be long and difficult, but you also knew you didn't have to walk it alone. You had Emily by your side, strong and unwavering, and the team that supported you. Together you would overcome this challenge, side by side, hand in hand, ready to weather any storm that blew your way.

You knew that the bond between you both was strong, strengthened by the flames of fate you had traversed together. And so began a journey of recovery and growth for you that would bring you closer together than ever before. Every step you took together would show you that the love and connection you felt for each other was stronger than any darkness that threatened you.

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radio-writes · 2 months

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Love is Whatever You Can Still Betray

Synopsis: You recall a time when Alastor still saw you as friend, as an equal. You wonder: was any part of it even real?

Warnings: manipulation, mentions of drugs, violence and blood, physical harm to reader, power imbalance.

Tags: Relationship can be read in any way; Alastor x Reader; GN Reader

MDNI

At the back of your mind you vaguely remember a time when Husk had warned you.

"He's a sweet talker when he needs to be. You'd be better off not trusting a bastard like him."

You think that's what the drunk cat had said. You're sure it was somewhere along those lines, at least. It was a fair bit of time ago.

However, you do remember—painfully clearly—that you had laughed him off. You found the mere idea of Alastor betraying your trust ridiculous.

The Radio Demon would never dare cross you. You were a powerful overlord; one that practically held the whole ring in the palm of their hands. And, more importantly, you were friends; one of the very few that either of you even had.

Surely even someone like Alastor would think twice about stabbing a beloved friend in the back, right?

You almost wanted to shoot yourself realizing how naive you've been.

Now, having been a brilliant chemist during your life on earth, it wasn't really much of a shock that you turned to drug production when you got to Hell. You had to make a living somehow, right?

Besides, with the quality of the drugs you made, it only took you a few months to have Pride Ring's whole drug operations under your thumb.

But you were still so careful. You made sure to never deal with your clients or your distributers or your cartels directly. And on the rare times where you had to, you made sure to keep yourself as hidden as possible.

Very few people actually knew who this new Drug Demon was, and that's exactly how you wanted it be. You were smart, brilliant, a genius—if you do say so yourself; but what you weren't was strong.

Drug business in Hell was undoubtedly—and quite often literally—cutthroat. You wouldn't stand a chance if the enemies you made came after you, and you knew that. You'd probably have better chances of survival standing butt naked in the middle of the streets on extermination day.

So it made sense that the few friends you held dear were the only ones you trusted with your secret—with your life.

Alastor was...not really meant to be one of those friends.

Sure, he was the very first soul you met down here in Hell. You also both shared a love for soft jazz and easy nights and dancing your worries away. His dry comedic remarks and tendency to gossip made sure any time spent with him was entertaining enough to make you forget where you were, at least temporarily.

But still, you were cautious enough not to spill your darkest secrets to every charming young demon to slide to your side of the bar. Specially not to one that's been eager to steal your soul since the start.

Alastor was a friend, sure. But you weren't blind to all the blood he spilled, and much less so to just how much joy the Radio Demon got from it all. You hadn't failed to notice his grin stretching just a tad bit too wide, his eyes shining with glee with every limb he pulled from his victim's body.

Often times you found it hard to connect your silly little friend, wagging his finger to the tune of the live music, with the demonic horror you've witnessed happily feast on the corpses of his unfortunate prey.

Of course, that eventually started to change.

You think, it all started on your One Year Anniversary in Hell. It's been decades since you've chained yourself to your current predicament, but the bitterness of that night was still so hard to swallow.

"Hardly anything to talk home about. Simply bumping gums with an old butter and egg man. But Oh! The drama when his children came in. Ha!" Alastor had been recalling some story that night. You barely understood a word of it, if you were being honest. Alastor had the tendency to use old timey phrases when drunk—whether as a genuine habit or to mess with you, you were unsure.

"Didn't take you to be type to cozy up to the rich folk." You had jested, sliding a shot glass over to your companion.

Alastor had caught it, downed its contents in one go, and smiled at you. "And I didn't take you to be such a light weight, old friend." Alastor mocked you.

You laughed it off, accepting and drinking the shot he then slid to you.

Your eyes glanced across the bar in front of you, several empty bottles of alcohol scattered about already. How much time had the two of you spent there? You were unsure. Clearly it was at least a few hours past closing time; but it's not like the cowering demon behind the bar had the guts to kick the Radio Demon out.

"I'm not the one swaying in my seat with every breeze, old friend." You bit back.

"Ha! You must be absolutely stewed, dear. You're seeing things now!" He had slung a lanky arm over your shoulder, yanking you snugly to his side.

For a moment, the room spun; taking a whole second before steadying again.

Sure, there had been a slight slur in Alastor's words underneath all the radio static, but the demon wasn't far off with his observation still. You admittedly did feel a bit tipsy.

You had placed a hand on Alastor's chest, pushing yourself away from him, laughing all the while. "Watch the hair! You wouldn't want to piss me off now."

"Anger a sweet thing like you? Come now, you couldn't hurt a bee if it stung you in the eye," Alastor ruffled the hair on the top of your head as if to prove his point.

"Hey!— Fuck," You swore under your breath as you moved off your seat far too quickly.

Alastor materialized behind you, easily catching you by your elbows.

"Steady now, dear! Seems you're a lot further gone than I expected you to be," He laughed.

You twisted around in his grip and poked his chest rather sluggishly. "I'd have you know I'm not the same weak soul you met a year ago,"

You should have stopped. It was only ever meant to be a joke.

Your body should have just blacked out.

"I happen to run all of Pride Ring. I can get your Great Depression ass hunted down for messing my hair up," You boasted.

Alastor didn't seem to take your words for anything more than drunk ramblings as he helped you up to your own feet. "Is that what they call my time? I happen to have found the whole stock market crash hilarious, not at all depressing." He mused, he seemed to have been ignoring your ramblings.

"I'm serious, you know!" You puffed up your chest proudly, wanting to be taken seriously, looking him straight in the eye.

"I am the great scary Drug Demon after all."

You heard a record scratch.

Oh you were far beyond just tipsy.

You couldn't quite remember much else from that night. At least not after black tentacles swiftly protruded from Alastor's back, spearing right through the poor cowering bartender's chest.

He said something too. Something about how your secret would be absolutely safe with him.

It took you a long time to realize why he had sounded so odd to you in that very moment. But eventually, as the times flew by, you realized it was because he had spoken straight—not a trace of slurring tainted his tone. But that was a realization that came far too late of course.

You had been worried, absolutely scared shitless when you had sobered up. You spilled your biggest secret to someone so infamous. Someone so happy to hog the spotlight for all of eternity. You felt as if you might as well have broadcasted your identity on live TV for all the good it'll do you now.

But the Radio Demon had proved himself to be quite the trustworthy confidant.

Surprisingly true to his word, Alastor had never let a word of your secret slip from his lips. Never once even hinted at it to anyone, not even in jest.

Instead, what he did do was help you in secret. He had fed you information on the ins and outs on different turfs on the Pentagram; down to the smallest of details. Who was itching for a fix, who would have given up anything for their next high, what down on their luck sinner was desperate enough for any means of escape.

The promise of new information to help your business had made all your occasional catch-ups and night outs with Alastor all the more enticing for you.

Not only would you be out and about with a dear friend, having fun, dancing, and drinking, but you'd also get a chance to grow your influence even more.

And hell be damned if that hadn't gotten your greed to grow.

It wasn't long until you trusted Alastor enough for the flow of information to turn into a two-way street.

When he had given you intel, you had thrown what you knew back at him. Desperate sinners, gangs, cults, that you cater to that could really use a trusty deal to get out of rough spots.

You had also found that Alastor, being the schemer that he was, made quite a good soundboard to bounce ideas on. He'd hear your plans out, help you hammer out the kinks before putting them into action.

He had been there to help you out of tight spots.

He had been there to expanded your influence.

He had even been there to take care of any dumbass that dared to try to rival your business.

But there had always been one nagging question just simply gnawing at the back of your mind.

"Your soul? What in Hell would I want with that?" Alastor laughed when you asked if you needed to sell him your soul in exchange for all this help.

"No, my dear. I simply want you to keep me company! It's so hard to find such a like-minded soul in this dreadful cesspool." He explained, taking your arm to loop around his as he had lead you to take a walk with him.

You were his friend he had said. And after all he's helped you with—after all the years spent drinking, gossiping, dancing, and scheming—you believed him.

So you didn't question it.

You didn't question it when one night people broke into your home. They had yelled for the Drug Demon. They yelled for you.

You simply had to run. Break through your window, caution thrown into the wind, and run.

You had no choice but to flee with no plan in mind, nothing in hand. Run with nothing but the clothes on your back.

You didn't question it when heads had turned to watch you as your ran through the streets. Hell's nightlife well and alive, but did nothing to help your pathetic self.

The whispers felt like screams in your ears.

"The Drug Demon."

"That's them isn't it?"

The Drug Demon. The Drug Demon. The Drug Demon.

Everyone in the Pride Ring knew who you were.

You didn't question it when you had been cornered in an alley, a large hand squeezing your throat. Your body ached everywhere.

How many times had they bashed your head against the concrete? How many times had they punched you in the gut? How many times had they kicked your ribs in as you laid whimpering on the ground?

You were in far too much pain to have kept count.

You didn't question it—you should have questioned it—when Alastor showed up. Skewering the sinner just as they held a knife to your throat.

And stupidly, you still didn't question it when he made you that offer.

"You need to be much more careful than that, old pal." His gentle hand had patted dust off your shoulders. "You seem to be Hell's most wanted at the moment."

Your eyes had been wide as your body seemed to have moved by itself. Your arms wrapped around the Radio Demon in relief. "Alastor, thank fuck! I thought I was dead!"

You had felt his chest vibrate against your body as he laughed "My dear, you already are dead!" He joked, pulling your arms off him and stepping back. He had studied your shaking form, his grin stretched just the slightest bit more. "But I do say, you were lucky I was passing by just now. Can't say I can protect you all the time though."

Your throat had felt dry. You knew he was right. Had your good friend not been around, you were sure you'd have died right then.

Now that your secret was out, you needed Alastor. You needed his protection.

"Can't I just stay with you? At least for a little bit." You had said—pleaded, your voice still unsteady from the fear that ran through your body.

"Hmm?" Alastor's head tilted. He leaned his body on his cane in front of him. "Why of course you can! Although I don't quite see how that'll help much." He grinned.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, my dear, you've made quite a lot of enemies in the past few decades, haven't you? Torn apart many families and damned these poor souls further with all those recreational drugs of yours." In your distress, you had failed to catch the sheer glee in his tone.

Alastor melted into a pool of shadows, before he reappeared right behind you, his hands at your shoulders. You had jumped in his hold but it didn't seem to bother the demon.

"Sure you can stay with me for a while, but what after?" His tone still as cheery as ever. "And what about when I just have to leave you? You can't expect me to be at your beck and call for every second, after all. I'm your dear friend, not a pet."

"Please, Al." You begged, turning around to face him. You weren't sure what you were even asking for. You weren't sure what you wanted him to even do.

All you knew is that you were scared. You were scared because for how smart you were, you were sure there was no way you'd survive a night on your own now.

"Of course, there is something we could do to ensure you stay safe." Alastor had smiled at you, circling you like a vulture; elated that it was now the perfect time to swoop in on a long awaited meal.

"What?" You said, desperation clear in your voice.

"We could make a deal." He grinned.

You should have ran.

"A deal?" You asked, for all the fear you had, part of you was still wary.

"A deal." He confirmed. "If I owned your soul I could summon you whenever I want to. Should you fall into harm's way while I'm not around, I'd be able to pull you out and back to my side with a snap of my fingers."

You'd have been better off facing all the enemies you made. You should have ran.

"I can make sure you're safe and sound; untouched by all these ruffians after you. And it's not like you'll be selling your soul to a stranger now. Haven't I proven myself to be such a caring friend all these years?" His sickly sweet voice, and that overwhelming radio static filled your ears.

He had stopped in front of you, bent down to your height when he extended a hand your way. "So what do you say, darling? Do we have a deal?"

You should have known the worst creature stood in front of you. You'd have been better off facing all the enemies you made. You should have ran.

You bit your lip, eyes glanced away from Alastor in uncertainty. Surely, there must be other ways. If you could just have one night to think it through—

The sharp pain that had come from your back almost blinded you.

"I found them! They're over here, fellas!" You had heard someone shout from behind you, at the opening of the alley.

Your arm reached behind you, feeling something sharp lodged into the back of your shoulder. Your hand quickly dampened by your own blood.

"Fuck. Fine, yes, it's a deal." You had hissed through your teeth before you could think. Your hand reaching out to clasp your friend's outstretched palm.

A bright green light cut through the night's darkness, sealing your fate into Radio Demon's hands.

"Lovely." He drawled out, pulling you behind him as a flood of sinners made their way towards the pair of you.

"Pleasure doing business with you, boys, but I'm afraid I have no use for you anymore." Alastor had greeted the crowd.

"Who's this loser?"

"What the fuck is this bitch talking about?"

"Shut up and hand us that trash!"

You heard many replies to Alastor's words before the screaming started. Shadows ripped through the sinners as essily as if they were simply wet piles of tissue paper.

And then your blood ran cold. No, not because of the sound of flesh tearing from bone.

But because you were sure you had heard one of them say: "Weren't he the one that broadcasted Drug Bitch's name anyway?"

Surely—surely—you had heard wrong, right?

"Why, of course, I did!" Alastor had cheerily answered you. "Got a good deal from it too. Couple of Overlords happily forked their souls over just to know your name!"

It had been a couple of weeks after the deal when you finally worked up the courage to ask.

It hadn't been the answer you were hoping for. You had spent all this time convincing yourself that Alastor would have never done such a thing. That he was your beloved friend—your trusted friend. That he'd never have put you in harms way just to get a couple more souls under his belt.

The tray you had held bent with the grip you had on it. "You sold me out?" You wished you could bash the tray over his stupid shit-eating grin.

"Hello? Yes, that's what I just said. Did you not hear me, pet?" He finally glanced up from the paper he was reading to meet your glare.

"Oh don't look at me like that," He said folding the newspaper and setting it aside. "You're no patsy, surely you saw it coming."

"We were friends, Alastor!" Your voice had risen in volume.

A heavy, glowing collar materialized around your neck before you knew what was happening.

With a harsh tug you had stumbled, barely catching yourself on the armrests of Alastor's chair when he yanked you down to where he sat.

His free hand had reached up, anchoring itself heavily on your shoulder.

"Yes we were!" His voice was cheery, but there was an edge to his grin now. "That made the betraying part all the more entertaining, if you ask me."

"You piece of shi—" Your voice caught in your throat, the collar shrinking around your neck.

"I don't quite appreciate that kind of disrespectful language, darling. Specially, not from my pets." His pupils had turned to radio dials as you fought hard against his pulling just to remain upright.

The rush of anger in your veins froze as you met his eyes. You had felt your blood turn to ice in that very instant.

You've been with this man for so long.

You've seen him skewer crowds of sinners without batting an eye. You've seen him swallow limbs whole with a smile.

You've seen him happily throw friends to their deaths for...entertainment? Was that what he said?

His grip on your shoulder had tightened. Claws dug into your flesh and ripped your recent wound wide open.

Your poor little broken, indignant, heart could wait.

With the flash of pain stinging up your arm, you knew that every second that passed without a reply from your lips was a step closer to death's door again.

So you willed yourself to speak, despite the collar barely allowing enough air to reach your lungs. You managed to struggle out a weary "Understood."

And in an instant, the chains were gone, Alastor was back leaning against his chair. Newspaper back in hands as he idly read the print.

You had clutched at your neck, greedily sucked in air as you stumbled backwards.

"I like my breakfast on the raw side, by the way. And no sugar in the coffee next time; I do have a distaste for sweet things," He said dismissively.

Normally, you'd have cussed at him. Flipped him off and walked away. But there had been no fight left in you then. Your world was reeling from the revelation, from the fact that your friend throughout all these years, didn't even feel the slightest bit of remorse for betraying you.

That he'd happily dispose of you himself for something as simple as disrespectful language.

You had meekly nodded, and hurried to leave the room.

Now you stood, listening to the princess of Hell herself rambling on about how much of a big help Alastor was to the hotel she made. How he's been so supportive.

How he's been such a good friend.

You just couldn't stop yourself.

"You know, your highness, Alastor's a sweet talker when he needs to be. You'd be better off not trusting a bastard like him."

She laughed you off. To her, the idea of Alastor betraying her trust was just absolutely ridiculous.

Surely he'd never betray a beloved friend, right?

#tw: physical harm to reader #tw: manipulation #tw: mentions of drugs #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin alastor #alastor x reader #alastor x gn!reader #alastor #hazbin alastor x reader #hazbin hotel x reader #Vien Writes #Not me studying 1930s slang for a few lines of dialogue

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wrens-writings · 20 days

Text

Pretty Boy

: ̗̀➛ Jason Grace x clearsighted mortal!gn!reader

: ̗̀➛ In which you witness something horrible and wake up wishing it was just a dream, only to be met with the prettiest man you’ve ever laid your eyes on

: ̗̀➛ oh my gods??? hi??? yall absolutely ATE UP my percy fic??? i was actually SO nervous abt posting my writing, but the positive feedback made me so happy :,) also yes, this is set during HoH. do i care? no! piper is a gay icon and im sorry but i clocked in IMMEDIATELY that she wasn’t straight. my gaydar is just THAT good. also, i’m not entirely the biggest fan of this piece, but i believe in posting what i make. i use it as progress markers :)

: ̗̀➛ WARNINGS: probably out of character, near allusions to a panic attack (mr stapler eater thwarts it quickly 😌), jason being FINE.

‘oh my god, oh my god, oh my god!’ you think to yourself as you stare, unable to tear your eyes away from the Neptune statue that you frequently found yourself at this summer.

you watch as two weird furry things giggle and laugh at two boys. you don’t understand any of what’s happening right now, but you do know that whatever those weird ass creatures are, they stole the boys belongings.

you’ve never been the type to just let people get harassed, even if you don’t know them, or if their harassers are… four foot tall furry things… “hey! those don’t belong to you!” you growl at the creatures, stepping out of the shadows of the alleyway and approaching the broken fountain.

you let out a startled squeak as the shorter boy lights his hands on fire out of shock and defence when you approach. the sound that left your body as well as the EVERYTHING happening around you somehow distracted you from the telltale feeling of lightning preparing to strike on you.

in a flash, golden cords extend from Neptunes fingers, wrapping mostly around the blond boy. one of them misses the brunet, only to latch itself onto you.

just as you’re caught up in the tight golden cords, your body pressed tightly against the blond boy’s, a bolt of lightning strikes Neptunes trident, and suddenly the world went black.

vaguely, you can hear someone telling you to wake up, almost as if they were in a panic. thinking it was your mother trying to tell you that you’re going to be late for school, despite it being july, you curl yourself tighter into the nearest surface.

‘wait a damn minute…’ you think to yourself briefly. ‘this… this isn’t my pillow or my blanket…’

your eyes fly open, and are met with the clearest blue you’ve ever seen. theyre so blue that you weren’t sure if you were looking at the sky for a split second. and then it all comes rushing back.

“oh my god!” you cry, your voice shaking with confusion. it was real? why did it have to be real? why couldn’t this whole thing have just been a dream??

the pretty blond boy was clearly panicking a bit himself. “hey! hey! calm down, it’s okay!” he says over your panicky breathing. “my name is Jason. everything is oka— breathe, dude oh my gods calm down?!”

well that snapped you out of it.

“excuse me?!” you snap, your eyes narrowing with distaste. “don’t you tell me to calm down when i’m hanging upside down with some himbo lookin’ ass who’s acting like this is a regular ole thursday!”

the boy, Jason, bites his lip to stifle a laugh. if he wasn’t so damn attractive, you would’ve been incredibly offended. “sorry.” he giggles.

as you study his face, your own softens slightly. Jason didn’t portray it with his heart on his sleeve, but looking deeper into those mesmerizing clear blue eyes, you could see the horrors. something tells you that he doesn’t get to let loose very often.

“y/n.” you say, much softer than before. “my name is y/n.”

Jason smiles, and the small scar on his lip twitches. briefly, you wonder what the story behind it is. “it’s nice to meet you, y/n. i’m Jason. i wish it could’ve been under better circumstances.” he offers kindly.

you scoff and roll your eyes with a hint of fondness. “yea yea. you know how to get us out of this, Pretty Boy?” you ask with a small, slightly nervous smile.

Jason chokes, clearly not expecting the compliment. “er- yea. uh, just… don’t freak out when i pull out my sword.” he says sheepishly.

your eyes widen. sword?! before you even realize it, there’s a satisfying shrng! of metal in the air. Jason’s golden blade cuts through the cords that hold the two of you up and you tumble to the ground.

you wince and cradle your head. “ow…” you murmur, a frown on your lips.

despite you CLEARLY being in pain, Jason laughs at you softly. he offers you his hand to help you up, and with a shy smile, you take it. “these streets probably aren’t that safe right now… let me walk you back to… er… wherever you came from?” he offers kindly.

you can’t help but chuckle now yourself. “oh, sure, let’s walk to america.” you say with a snort as you begin to walk down the pretty streets of italy with an equally pretty boy. “won’t your friend need help, though?”

Jason shrugs your worry off. “nah, Leo’s fine. he’s as resourceful as they come.” he tells you with a smirk.

you nod and continue walking. “so i assume that there’s a reason i could see those weird things?” you ask softly, almost afraid of the answer.

Jason nods stiffly. he opens his mouth to answer you, but you don’t hear it. you’re too busy staring at him. at those clear, electric blue eyes that are shielded by a pair of glasses and hide so much pain. his soft looking pink lips and the scar along them. his windswept blond hair, as though he’d been flying through the sky without any protection. the way he talks and walks, as if he’s been trained his whole life to be a diplomat.

jesus christ, this boy is pretty as they come.

when you finally tear your eyes away from him, you frown. you’re somehow at the home your family has rented for the summer. already?

“thank you, for walking me back.” you say to him shyly as you look back into his gorgeous eyes.

Jason’s cheeks light pink, just barely, but enough that you can see. “of course. it’s no problem.” he responds as he rubs the back of his head nervously. “take care of yourself, okay, y/n?”

you nod and say your farewells, watching him as he turns and runs back the way you walked, intent on finding his friend. you wonder if you’ll ever see him again, if the fates will ever allow you to cross paths with such a beautiful person ever again.

your eyes fall as you watch him leave, but snap back up quickly. damn! he has a nice ass, too…

#ೃ⁀➷ wrens writings #ೃ⁀➷ wrens ramblings #ೃ⁀➷ wrens tidbits #jason grace x reader #percy jackon and the olympians #percy jackson and the heroes of olympus #house of hades #pjo

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usopps-devotee · 6 months

Note

Taking a break from our irregularly unscheduled The Bird and the Bunny AU HCs to dump play everyone’s new favorite silly little game —

Would There Be a Wedding?! Tonight’s special guests are: Mihawk! Sanji! Usopp! Buggy! And Crocodile!

Mihawk: Probably not. Besides little niggling things to take into account like (he isn’t close enough with anyone to have witnesses, he doesn’t want anyone fucking up his land, it puts a target on your back). as far as Mihawk is concerned, you’re already married. Think of it as a common law marriage, set by his own rules since you both reside on his own island. After all, you’re one of the very, very few people he tolerates and respects; you both take care of his home and garden; you read together; you cuddle into him, show no fear, make love — if that isn’t a spouse, then he refuses to let any man, piece of paper, or law decide what is for him. You are his, and he is yours. At the very most, if you insist on it, he might prepare a feast for two and acquire a beautiful outfit for you to wear. But that being said, an actual wedding ceremony is just unlikely.

(If Shanks finds out, an actual party winds up happening anyway when the Red Hair crew makes landfall on Kuraigana, bearing wedding gifts, food, and plenty of alcohol.)

Sanji: PLEASE give his boy a wedding PLEASE. He borderlines Groomzilla, he would be so hands-on. But know that it comes from a place of love. Besides being extremely invested in the preparations for the menu (“There’s such thing as a seven course meal?! HOW?!?!”), he wants everything to be symbolic of the two of you coming together: We’re talking symbolic colors, complimentary flavors and dishes, whatever he can conceptualize. There’s honestly a chance there will be multiple ceremonies — one for just you guys and the immediate Strawhat crew, one for the guys back at Baratie, etc. And no matter how many or how few attendees there are, it will always feel like a massive party. Also…if you don’t mind it, he would really, really like to take your surname. You’re his family, after all.

Usopp: He wants a wedding, though honestly he mostly wants to have one to prove himself to you. He knows he’s not the bravest or strongest person out there (hell, he’s not even the bravest or strongest Strawhat). But he wants so desperately to give you the best life you can have as the spouse of a notoriously wanted pirate crew. And while he’s sure finding the One Piece may open so many more doors that could make that happen, he’s not sure he can wait that long. He wants you to know the depths of his love as soon as possible, and no story he tells can truly encapsulate it all. He’s running out of hyperboles and allegories that express to you just how important you are to him! It honestly takes Nami talking some sense into him for him to truly grasp that it’s not the ceremony that counts, but what you’re meant to gather for: To bind your love and lives together. Which, frankly, you’ve already done after so long adventuring together. But just to play it safe…You have a small ceremony thrown by the crew on the ship. Your honeymoon is only one night spent docking on he nearest island, allowing the both of you time to, Ahem, consummate in a hotel. It’s simple. Some might scoff rustic. You wouldn’t have it any other way.

Buggy: Buggy would want a wedding for the showmanship and you know it. He’s not so much in for the sentimentality as he is looking for the next hot ticket item. And heaven help everyone if he decides to hold the wedding in a village he’s taken hostage: The villagers, of course, are going to be forced to watch and pretend their tears of horror and frustration are from being happy; the crew is going to be cracked down on to assure a perfect performance; and you’re going to deal with Buggy being a total groomzilla, demanding perfection at any and all corners or else he. Will lose. His shit. And that’s without getting into how he wants to show you off. Honestly, this is one of his driving factors: He will gladly parade you around the main ring, bright lights on you as if to tell the world “Look! See what I could get? ME!! I got them!!” So…yeah honestly, a wedding would be an ego trip for him. (Though if you shut that shit down, he’ll listen. Pout, but listen.) However it’s during the actual exchange of vows that the mask cracks and he might start bawling because wow holy shit, he got YOU. HIM!!

Crocodile: Similar to Mihawk, I don’t think he’s in any rush to have a wedding. He doesn’t necessarily see you through terms of spouse or bedwarmer — you’re simply, well, his. Though I guess if anyone outside the relationship had to say anything, then yeah, for simplicity’s sake, you are Crocodile’s spouse. (I feel like people like Croc or Hawk are so beyond conventions and comfortable with themselves that they simply just decide y’all are married and that’s enough.) That being said, in addition to this, there’s a bit of risk for a man of his position to have something as vulnerable as a ceremony that basically screams two things to the world: That he is capable of tenderness, and that the recipient of that tenderness is you. It puts more targets on the both of you than he feels like dealing with. But if you insist on having a big ceremony and party to celebrate y’all’s union, then… *sigh* It can’t be helped, can it? He could easily protect you, should something go wrong. Hell, he could easily afford the security as an extra precaution. It’ll just be another big party after all. And the cherry on top at least is him asserting to the world that you’re his. You will likely spend the entirety of the reception attached to him in some way: His hand on your hip as you greet guests, perched on his lap as higher-standing/rich guests come to pay their respects and present to you wedding gifts. He won’t admit it but…he kinda likes the vibe.

Yo like I've been trying to come up with something to say about this but it's perfect. What I will add is:

I feel like no one told Shanks, more so you pestered Dracule to at least get you a ring, which tipped him off. You know he loves you, but having the physical ring made you feel better. Black opal for the stone in the ring.

One of the few times where Sanji is the one who has lost his head, and the closer it gets to the ceremony, the worse his attitude is. Poor baby is just so nervous and wants everything to be perfect for you, he wouldn't have anything less for the love of his life. Sapphire and Topaz for the statement gems in the ring.

The crew has been waiting for this moment for what feels like forever. All bets had long been surpassed and everyone is damn near ready to yell at you two to tie the knot. One of the happiest days among the crew. As for the events after the wedding, the happy couple did not return till late in the afternoon. I'm thinking Chrysoberyl; this stone can have a really pretty star cut. That's exactly what he gets; if not, then Simpsonite.

Buggy for sure said he wouldn't cry but there was definitely a tear or two that fell down his cheek before you even took your steps down the aisle. The whole thing feels like a dream for the both of you completely unreal. Parade you around even more now that you're officially his and no one can take him away from you. You thought I would say Ruby, SIKE. Red Berl fuckers and diamonds ofc.

Croc would get on your fucking nerves at first, you overhear him calling you, his spouse. If you like it then you should've put a ring on it, last time you checked there wasn't a ring on your finger. when you confronted him about this, he thought it was just a ploy to get more jewelry, so he just took a ring off his finger and gave it to you. it was placed on his desk as you angrily walked out, that is what got him to realize that he fucked up and you were serious about the ring. Crocodile gives into your whims, giving you the wedding you deserve. Truth be told he's happy he did it, Croc never thought he was the type of man to get married yet here he was. Happy spouse, happy house. flat out asked you what you wanted, this whole thing was more for you and not him. Doesn't matter if it takes him years to get his hand on it, your every wish it his command.

#high☆talks #ask kush♡#one piece x reader #one piece #usopp x reader #buggy x reader #crocodile x reader #mihawk x reader #sanji x reader #sanji fluff #usopp fluff #mihawk fluff #crocodile fluff #buggy fluff #one piece fluff

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selfishdoll · 5 months

Text

࣪ ִֶ　𝜗𝜚　‧ MANI’S GRIMM RETELLINGS !

ㅤ 𐔌᭥ᩙ༉ㅤ through an era of frog princes & poisoned apples, witness the many stories starring reader and jjk men that take twists that range between innocent and quite deadly. each retelling is based off the grimm brother’s fairy tales (except greymist fair which is based off of francesca zappia) & will share elements.

AUTHOR’S NOTE. these fics are in celebration of 1k followers! thank you very much for the support & while it it a little overwhelming i’m extremely happy you all enjoy my works and much more. i’ve been wanting to do this for a while & decided now was the perfect time. with that being said if there is a character & fairy tale you’d like to request— please let me know! i would love to write for you.

WARNINGS BEFORE ENTERING THE FAIRY TAIL(s). while i am not one that typically writes dark content, i believe only one will have it (it’ll be obvious who). & when i say dark content i do not mean incest or stepest or rape. i mean killing, gaslighting, etc. such warnings will be properly tagged both here and on the actual fic. thank you. and these fics will have smut so please be wary.

✦ᣞ ⊹ ݁ GREYMIST FAIR ✶ ˖ ࣪

STARRING: RYOMEN SUKUNA

greymist fair was a simple village, known for the dangerous woods seated at the edge of the town. no one dared to enter in fear of what resided in them. yet the ever-curious and humble tailor known as [name] didn’t know the meaning of fear. she always teetered on the line of the forest, struggling not to enter. the older villagers would dissuade her, even shouting at her at times when she got far too close.

she was so tempted.. so.. desperate to see what was inside the forest. something was holding her back.

well that something dissipated the moment a body was found infront of the tree-line, causing the ever so curious, ever so nosy [name] to enter.

✦ᣞ ⊹ ݁ BLUEBEARD ✶ ˖ ࣪

STARRING: KENJAKU

being married off to the widowed kenjaku was supposed to be simple. he was a caring man, sweet and attentive to your needs— always listening, always there for you. you believed all was perfect, you were settled for life; surely.

things, however, take a dark turn when you noticed a foul odor from the basement within your lovely home. you ask kenjaku about it countlessly times yet he assures you it is nothing.

and well, your adoring, loving husband had no reason to lie— right?

✦ᣞ ⊹ ݁ ROBIN HOOD ✶ ˖ ࣪

STARRING: NANAMI KENTO

constantly chasing a person was exhausting, wasn’t it? being right on their heels only to fail to capture them for the millionth time. that’s how nanami kento felt when it came to you, his town’s own little robin hood. he knew your identity, your cause, everything and yet— he never succeeded in capturing you. the frustration was clear with each step he took, with each visit to the tavern nestled in the corner of the town.

today was like any other, nanami failing to stop the weekly heist you conducted. he was tired, annoyed, and ready to drown his concerns in alcohol.

until he sees you, in his favorite spot.

✦ᣞ ⊹ ݁ RAPUNZEL ✶ ˖ ࣪

STARRING: TAKUMA INO

a sheltered young woman by the name of [name] resided inside a tower, kept in a hidden place within the vast forest. for years she longed for a visit besides her mother that only ever returned to brush and braid the beautiful locks that protruded from her head. she would spend days at the window, singing pleasantly in hopes of something, someone to hear. & her prayers are answered, one day.

✦ᣞ ⊹ ݁ CINDERELLA ✶ ˖ ࣪

STARRING: GOJO SATORU

your life was hell the moment your father was buried. you went from a loving family to a grueling partnership; forced to work to the bone to appease your step-mother and step-sisters. you hated it, hated them, and hated the life you were destined for. you wished for a night away from it all, to be a normal girl for once. of course, you would never get such a thing.

you weren’t even invited to the ball.

however, all hope isn’t as lost as you think the moment a woman sprouting wings appears infront of you and declares she will make sure you make it to that ball.

MORE CHARACTERS TO BE ADDED

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gliphyartfan · 5 months

Text

@yanderelinkeduniverse @stars-for-thought @imprisioned-in-the-hole @screaming-until-god-hears-me @crestfallenmermaidan @ice-cream-writes-stuff @linked-heroes @eternadreeblissa

heeheeee....(I haven't slept yet) (Buut i will now!)

Legend made me write too much!

---

----

Link was no stranger to nightmares.

At this point, they happened like clockwork as his subconscious weaved and re-weaved each moment for his mind to relive.

And at the end of every nightmare, whether he woke in a cold sweat or with his old wounds aching, Link always felt bitter about how real those dreams felt to him. At the time, the places and faces that haunted him felt perfectly captured and the fatigue and pain within them were so genuine to his memories.

Ha! If only he could see just how much of a shoddy job those nightmares had done.

Because, even if that traumatic moment would always be a core memory to him, the truth is that years had past and Link had grown up; that wound had scabbed over and scarred, he didn’t need to carry the bleeding pain everywhere anymore.

And as such, those night terrors turned out to be quite the vague recollection in the long run.

There was always crucial details that would eventually be left out.

Because in those dreams, Link couldn’t feel the weight of his Uncle’s sword in his too small hands, couldn’t feel the way they wouldn’t stop shaking. He couldn’t feel the stinging pain of his bare knees digging into the stone ground and scraping them. And he couldn’t feel the traces of wet blood that lingered on the hilt.

But this, this was all too real.

The gods could only be this cruel, to make him relive this pain.

----

Occasionally he wonders what his uncle, a former knight, would think of him?

Would he look at him with anger? Shame? Or with horror, covered in the blood of Hyrule's 'noble' knights.

Some knights his uncle no doubt once served alongside.

He recalled the stories his uncle once told him, the acts of bravery and courage that the knights preformed. How could he forget when his uncle would happily tell it to him whenever he asked?

Yet when he was staring down at the bodies of those knights, his tunic splattered with their blood. Men who's only crime was being brainwashed to serve Agahnim. He felt nothing.

How would his uncle react to him? To witness him staring down at the cooling bodies without a single trace of grief or guilt.

Would he recognize him as his nephew? Or think him an impostor?

It was irrelevant in the end, he could speculate on that for years and still never come to a conclusion.

He was numb to it.

(...Even though a part of him feared the answer all the same..)

---

"While I can't tell you what to do Mr. Hero, I can assure you that having something to eat would help put some life in that body of yours all the same."

"...I'm not hungry."

"Please...All you've had was a bowl of broth two days ago..."

"..." Ravio wrung his hands anxiously, staring at the young hero seated in the corner of the room next to a window where the sun could shine it's days over him.

Eyes stared blankly at nothing in particular, staying utterly silent unless Ravio urged an answer out of him.

It was rare for to see him stay in one place for long, normally Ravio would only catch sight of him when he came to restock his supplies, only to swiftly leave as silently as he came.

If it wasn't for the fact that it would mean never seeing him period, Ravio would have preemptively prepared his usual stock of items and set them aside for him to grab at his leisure.

He always left after restocking, gone for days at a time before returning for an hour or two at most. Looking more haggard each visit.

But this time, it's been a week since his most recent return, and he has stayed put since.

The only benefit to his recent return was now Ravio could actually check on his injuries, with him bruised and wounded whenever he came by.

It always scared Ravio, that every return could very well be his last.

Yet, no matter the injuries, he never showed signs he was in pain.

Never much of a said a word. Just eyes staring blankly from a pale bruised face.

Ravio knew on the rare occasion he caught him, his eyes were red and puffy, as if he had finished crying. But no tear stains were ever seen.

He didn't dare ask for the cause of his state.

(In a way, it looked like he was mourning. He couldn't imagine the level of loss needed to send someone like Link into such a state.)

Ravio felt so utterly helpless, yes he provided Link with items and weapons. But now he feared doing so would lead to his death.

Because that's how it looked to him, like he was purposefully walking to his death.

But to think that wouldn't imply that Link wanted death.

and the young hero who silently accepted to help him did not seem to have even the slightest sense of purpose to even have an urge for death.

A enjoy shell that simply did what was needed and if it died...

...Well he may as well be half way dead with the way he rarely took care of himself.

That was why he always tried to get Link talking, tried to ground him in the present, even if it was a failing effort.

He wanted to offer help, yet he feared any wrong word could be the final thing that tipped the hero over the edge.

What could he tell him that didn't sound strange? That didn't make him look like a fool?

He didn't know, and he refused to risk it, so he played it safe.

"Alright...could you at least drink some broth?" He asked, reaching to the tray of food he placed on the nearby table and grabbed the small bowl of broth.

An exhale escaped from the Hero's lips. "No...Maybe later.."

"Please, just a little bit, it'll settle your stomach." Ravio insisted, holding the bowl out, "I know it must be unhappy with the lack of food you've had lately."

For a while there was silence between them.

But before Ravio could pull the bowl back, Link finally gave in, and slowly took it from his hands and brought it to his lips.

The room was silent, save for quiet gulps as he drank the warm liquid. After a few gulps, he set it on his lap, staring down at it.

"Thank you."

Ravio blinked in surprise, "For what?"

Another sigh. "...Being kind." Link finally spoke up again, his voice soft and quiet as if he was speaking to himself.

"...Well...you're welcome." A shaky smile twitched on Ravio's face.

Legend nodded but didn't look back up.

Ravio frowned slightly, then decided to change the topic.

"Do you think you'll be able to get some sleep tonight?" He ventured, looking away from the hero to look at the sky outside the open window.

He didn't expect an answer, nor was he disappointed at all when he got none.

Instead of asking questions further, he turned and moved towards the door, softly saying, "Please at least finish the broth." before closing it behind him.

Eyes followed him until he vanished behind the door.

—

If Legend had the energy, he would have felt bad for stressing the Lorulian, yet the pressure the weighed down his body left him much too tired.

He didn't want to deal with the things that surrounded his life right now, he really didn't.

So instead he simply sat there and allowed his mind to wander, hoping he could just cease to be, for just a moment.

It was difficult, considering the amount of thoughts bombarding his brain.

If Ravio had asked him about any of his previous journeys, he would have answered with full honesty.

He barely recalled any of it.

Just pain.

So much pain it made him utterly sick.

Enemies that should have easily been slain with a simple swing of his sword left his utterly breathless with exertion.

His endurance, his strength, every pain filled experience that earned him the skills he had accumulated over the years.

All of it, reduced to nothing.

He had scars in areas that shouldn't be scarred.

He had unscarred skin in areas that should have been scarred.

He had memories he wished he hadn't, things which he did not wish to dwell in the slightest.

(To realize it may have all been one beautiful dream-No...no he couldn't dwell on it. Not for one second. It would break him.)

And despite this, despite everything that he'd gone through, he remained the hero he always was forced to be.

Had there truly been a point in time where he felt any pride for his title? (Had it truly existed at some point?)

Had there been a time where fighting for the sake of the kingdom, even when he thought he was about to collapse from the constant battles, was worth it?

If he had a chance to recall any such moment visually, he certainly couldn't recall it emotionally.

Couldn't even pull up a scrap of the pride he may have once felt. There was none left. (Because it may as well not have-stop right there.)

He was just...so tired.

...What was the point of going on.

—

Link left the next morning.

The empty bowl of broth next to the tray of cold food the only indication he had been there. (At least he finished the bowl.)

Ravio sighed at the sight of the empty chair, turning his gaze down to the letter in his hands.

It was a strange request he received a while back. (Very strange, He was a merchant, not a postman.)

Deliver this to the Hero, Link. That was what he had to do.

He could have refused, but his curiosity (and self-preservation) got the better of him.

It seemed rather personal, and although Ravio found it suspicious he felt compelled to follow through, because it could very well be something important.

He didn't need to know what exactly was written inside this mysterious envelope, just deliver it and be done with it.

But with the state Link was in. He was uncertain when was a good time to hand it over.

He had decided to swallow his anxiety and simply give it to him. But it seems he waited too long to make his decision.

Now he doesn't know when he'll will return.

Perhaps Mr. Hero won't return for several more weeks.

Ravio sighed, shoving the letter into his pouch, heading back towards his room.

----

His limbs hurt.

The Gibdo continued to approach.

He had been too focused on eliminating them, so much so he had forgotten the white Bari.

Electricity had coursed through him, leaving him stunned long enough for the Gibdo to strike him.

It was all he could do to block each attack aimed at him, blocking and dodging even as he grew weaker by the second.

Each hit that landed (hits that shouldn't have landed, he should have been better than this.) it landed hard, making his head ring and his vision become blurry.

With his strength spent, with his body weakening by the second due to exhaustion. it took all he could give to finally defeat them.

He allowed himself to collapse on the floor. Even as his body protested the sudden movement.

He gasped, closing his eyes for a moment.

The pain he felt in every inch of his body pulsed strongly. He felt dizzy...sick...heavy...

How utterly laughable. He genuinely would have chuckled if he had the energy to do so in this state.

He couldn't even handle such weak enemies, even when he knew their weakness and strengths.

He should be able to handle this better. What did it matter if he was bleeding from several cuts. He should be able to fight longer, fight more fiercely.

Why couldn't he fight like he once did?

What was the utter point of these memories, (they were real, they had to-stop, just stop. It'll break you.)

"Why..." he rasped out, hand weakly clenching the handle of his sword as a large shadow covered him.

"Why can't I just let myself give up..?"

The Wallmaster descended on him, he didn't bother to struggle, and the Wallmaster did not hesitate to pull him into it's grasps.

"I want to give up." he continued to speak, his raspy voice echoing into the dungeon room as he was pulled from the ground.

"I want to give up..."

He repeated over and over again, tears falling from his eyes as his eyelids fell heavy with weariness and exhaustion.

All he wanted to do was give up, because this wasn't just a nightmare. A nightmare he could wake from. This was crueler than any nightmare.

This was actually happening. This was real.

Everything that was supposed to be true had become false. (No one was where they should be. Nothing was as it should be. It was all so very wrong.)

And yet, he couldn't give up.

He wanted to give up, yet he kept going.

There was no point in giving up. Just as there was no point in going forward. He wouldn't get to return to where he wanted to be even if he did.

Return to everyone.

Was he still going forward because a part of him believed there was still a chance?

That if he continued on, he'd see everyone again?

He never learned from his foolishness did he?

The world around him faded to black as the Wallmaster carried him away in it's grasp

and he let it. It’s not like it was going to hurt him.

He simply didn't want to think right now.

-----

He's dying.

If not physically, than certainly mentally.

Ravio didn't know how to feel, staring at the unconscious form lying in the bed.

He wasn't going to even try to understand how Link managed to return in such an injured state. No healing items in his pouch, his weapons and shield in terrible conditions.

If Sheerow hadn't brought his attention to the weak rise and fall of his chest. Ravio would have considered the collapsed body a corpse.

The thin trail of blood indicated he brought himself here. (hopefully the dark clouds in the sky meant rain, blood trails were bad for business.)

Yet here he was, alive.

He looked so broken, so exhausted. He was paler than ever and looked as though he hadn't eaten for days even if the lack of food in his pouch indicated he had eaten something.

He had bags under his eyes that spoke volumes of his lack of sleep and he was shaking, breathing uneven and irregular breaths causing Ravio's stomach to turn in response. (a fever?)

What kind of land was Hyrule if it allowed it's hero to become like this?

A land that didn't seem to care about it's hero who had suffered for its sake.

(Even after everything he seemed to have done for this place..)

"You really are a useless one..." He said to himself. His smile was fragile, his tone harsh.

All he could do was offer Link items and minor assistance. He doubted his companionship was worth much right now.

But it was all he could give.

"...I'm sorry..."

---

He didn't know how long he sat there. His head down in his knees, arms wrapped around his legs.

The sound of waves almost soothing in a cruel way. The sand beneath him, a gentle cool feeling that briefly distracted him from the ache he was experiencing.

He knew without looking that the moon was large and full, that the stars were plentiful in the island's sky.

It was peaceful. Peaceful and familiar and he hated it.

He didn't have to open his eyes to know it wasn't real. That this was a dream and eventually he would awaken, find himself in bed being watched over by Ravio most likely.

(He never slept well anymore. When was the last time he felt rested? He never knew if it was a blessing or curse that he could when he was dreaming. Everything he remembered always ended with cruel realizations.)

So he simply sat there with his head buried in his knees, forced to listen to the waves and waiting to awaken once more.

He ignored the scent of sea salt floating along the breeze, the touch of mist from the ocean spray tickling his skin.

And he did everything to ignore the (false Not real) presence next to him.

Because if he acknowledged that presence, then he would be forced to endure the pain that came with it, and he did not need to relive those memories again. He had lived with that trauma far too often.

But the presence next to him remained. And still he tried to ignore it.

But it didn't work. It never worked.

"Are you going to keep pretending I'm not here?"

His heart jumped at the voice.

"I'm afraid so." (He didn't mean to answer, didn't mean to react, but he could never deny her when she spike so kindly to him.)

Soft laughter was his answer, and he could feel his traitorous heart quicken with joy.

He didn't want to acknowledge that someone was there beside him. (That she was there.)

That it was the person that could bring him peace when he needed it most.

Just as he didn't want to acknowledge the feeling he felt whenever she spoke to him, that warmth in his heart. The joy he felt whenever she laughed joyfully at him.

The happiness he felt every time he was around her.

"I guess we're stuck together, aren't we?"

She moved closer. He could hear her. He tried to tell himself she wasn't there. He tried to tell himself he was hallucinating. He tried to remind himself he was dreaming. Yet his breath quickened. He swallowed heavily against the lump forming in his throat.

But he could never refuse to acknowledge it.

He knew it wasn't possible. And he knew it was a dangerous thing to admit to himself but still he couldn't help it.

"Don't tell me you are truly mad at me for being here?"

She teased him lightly. (She had a wonderful laugh, he wanted to hear it more.)

"I could never be mad at you." He answered honestly, never daring to make her think he felt anything less than affection for her.

Because he couldn't dare imagine spending a life without seeing her smile. Hearing the genuine laugh that escaped her lips. Seeing her eyes sparkle with happiness when he told her funny stories.

It was unfair. All the things he remembered. All the happy moments they had shared together. He wanted to forget.

Because they were nothing but a dream he had been forced to wake from.

They could never be real just because he wanted them to be true.

They weren't real. She wasn't real. (How that thought hurt)

Everything here was fake. Everything he was experiencing right now, was all a lie, a dream.

(Nothing here is real.)

Everything was an illusion. There was no hope for it to be real.

A dream of which tore itself from him when he finally gave in to it's sweet allure.

"Then why does your face look so upset?"

"Do I appear upset? Do I have something to be concerned about?" He replied. (because he couldn't let her ever believe he was upset with her. He couldn't bare to handle the hurt that would cross her face.)

"Yes. You don't sound pleased to see me."

"...I will always be happy to see you." (Never a lie)

"...Then why don't you lift your head up?"

He was tired, but he didn't care about any fatigue. He just wanted her to go away. (No, he wanted her to stay. To never leave. she should never leave. He needed her here. Hecouldn'tloseheragain-)

"Please..leave me alone." (Why did he say that? He didn't want her to leave? Please, she mustn't leave-)

"Why?"

"I can't stand the sight of you right now..." (Shut up. Why won't he shut up? Why was he saying those things to her when he didn't want to let her go?)

"Is that what is making you upset?"

"Yes." (No)

"Then why won't you look at me?"

"..Because.." (He was terrified.)

"You should look at me."

But he couldn't.

He wasn't strong enough.

(Why was he always unable to resist temptation?)

"So you don't want to see?"

"See what? I'm sorry."

"I'm asking if you don't want to see my face?"

She was close now, he could hear her breathing. Could almost feel her next to him.

A part of him prayed she would close the distance, reach out and pull him towards her so he could be wrapped her warmth.

(To have her lift his head up to gaze at her, caressed his face, run her fingers through his hair...)

When he thought about her it made his whole body shiver. And there was nothing that could calm him down, save the simple fact that it was her presence that filled his entire world.

"Link-"

"Just go!" He could feel the tears gathering in his eyes as he raised his voice at her. (Don't say his name. Don't say it. It's too much. It'll weaken him further. He'll give in. He'll give in if she says his name and give her what she wants.) He refused to allow those tears free rein.

(It was stupid and selfish of him, but he didn't think he'd resist it if they fell.)

"Just leave..." He rasped out, hugging his knees tighter. "Just leave me."

(Please...please, I beg you…don't leave. I'll have nothing else left. Don't leave me. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.)

"I'm not leaving you Link, not while I'm right here." He flinched as her hand touched the top of his head.

(Warmwarmwarmwarmsowarmsoutterlywarm) Her fingertips running across the top of his skull.

"Please look at me?" She whispered.

"Leave me.. please…"

Her fingers continued to brush his scalp.

(He didn't want her to stop. He didn't want her to leave. Pleasedon'tleaveme.)

Slowly, she moved her hand down, he shivered as her touch left a trail of wondrous fire in its wake. Slowly and gently, she pulled her hand away from his head, and he nearly whimpered.

He could hardly breathe as she placed the palm of her hand on the side of his face, sliding it under his chin and gently pulling his head up.

"There you are," Her voice soft and gentle.

He felt a tear slip down his cheek, yet he was unable to look aware from her.

Not when she looked at him with such a loving gaze.

Her thumb wiped the tear away and it burned where her skin met his skin. A small sigh escaping his lips as her gaze traveled over his face. His eyes closed and he leaned into her hand as it cupped his cheek and allowed himself to get lost in the love he felt.

It was like the world disappeared around him. Nothing mattered anymore. He only cared about the warmth of her hand against his cold skin.

"Why do you keep crying over me?" She chuckled. Her thumb rubbing his cheek softly. She didn't know how much he loved when she did that.

(He couldn't answer her. He couldn't bear to hear her response.)

His eyes opened, and he found her smiling. It lit up her beautiful features perfectly. Her eyes twinkled with kindness.

He wanted to stare at her forever.

He reached out and took her hand in his, interlocking their fingers as he intertwined his fingers between hers, squeezing tightly.

"I'm afraid I can't answer that." He breathed.

She nodded. "Why?"

"Because then you'll realize what kind of a selfish fool I am."

"What makes you think that?"

He sighed heavily, trying to find the words to describe everything, but he was exhausted and it didn't take long until the tears started falling again.

"I hurt you..." He whispered to her.

She stayed silent.

"I hurt you and cared for only my own wants...and you suffered because of it."

"..You must really feel guilt over that, don't you?" She commented softly. He didn't answer her question out loud. She didn't need a response.

(Yes...Yes I do...I never stopped regretting)

He tightened his grip on her hand. He was trying so hard not to cry. To push back the emotions that threatened to engulf him and show her how much he truly regretted the pain he put her through.

He squeezed her hand and he leaned forward. Her forehead was resting against his, both of their breaths mingling together. Her hand holding his tightly as well. It was a comforting gesture, one that he craved.

"I hate myself for what I did to you."

"We all hate ourselves sometimes." she smiled, brushing the tears from his cheeks with her thumb. "We're human after all."

"What matters is what you do afterwards." She looked at him kindly.

"So what do you plan to do, Link?"

He couldn't speak for a moment, but her gaze never wavered from his face. Her eyes were filled with nothing but understanding.

"Whatever it takes to make it up to you, I will." He answered honestly. He wouldn't hesitate in doing anything to make her happy. Anything to prove to her that he still had a heart inside. "Anything I must."

"Then don't worry about it right now." She said. She slowly brushed his tears away and she rested her forehead against his once more.

"Just relax and take a deep breath. The outside world can wait for a moment." She spoke reassuringly.

He shook his head, still trembling.

"If you keep shaking like this I might just think that you're mad at me." She laughed.

The laughter of a woman who was willing to give him another chance.

(How can she be so kind to him?)

"And then I'd start getting worried again." She laughed softly. He couldn't help but laugh as well. She pulled away from him, moving to sit pressed next to his side.

Her arm snaking around his waist to pull him closer.

He was able to relax and lean against her.

His heart was beating faster than it should be. He knew that he shouldn't, but he still couldn't bring himself to move away from her touch.

Her fingers began stroking through his hair. It felt nice.

They remained sitting in silence, watching the waves, simply enjoying each other's company.

"...I don't want to wake up..." He murmured quietly, "I want to stay here, with you." finally admitting his true feelings out loud.

(He didn't want to return to a world where she wasn't there. It hurt. It hurt every second he was awake and away from this peace.)

"We all have to wake up from our dreams eventually." She answered, smiling as he relaxed into her embrace. "Even the ones we enjoy."

"But I'm not ready for that." (I don't think I'll ever be...)

"You're wrong." He twitched, realizing he had spoken that aloud, "You deserve everything good in life. You don't deserve to trap yourself in a dream. You deserve to be happy."

She gave his hair an affectionate stroke.

"And I'd be very happy if you gave yourself a chance."

(I can't...not after what I did...)

The tears were streaming down his cheeks. He felt a lump in his throat, as the tears threatened to choke him.

"...Close your eyes Link." She whispered softly.

"I..." He hesitated but soon relented. (He could never deny her when she asked him so gently.)

He did as she asked, and she held him close.

He leaned his head onto her shoulder, her scent calming him as he tried to control his sobs.

"Just drift away now, you shouldn't stay here forever you know." She said, pressing her lips to his forehead.

(She was warm and smelled good. Comforting. Like finally returning home.)

But how could this be? She was never meant for someone like him. She deserves someone

better. Anyone better. But he was selfish, he could never let her go.)

"I wish I could." He sobbed.

"But you can't." She replied, "You'll see...you'll see...everything will work out."

He didn't reply; he just held her closer. He buried his nose into her neck, shoulders shaking, inhaling her fragrance deeply.

"Link?"

"...Yes?"

"...Good Night..."

He sniffled and tried to burn every part of this moment into his memory. Even as a heaviness slowly pulled at him away from it all.

"Good night...(y/n)..."

And then, he was gone.

----

"I...um...I have this letter for you." The spoonful of stew paused it's trip into his mouth as he looked at Ravio.

He blinked, "...Is that so?" and set his spoon down when Ravio nodded.

It had been two months since he had woken from that dream. A month since he stopped Yuga. It had taken him time to recover from both it and the injuries he had sustained.

He had been letting himself recover slowly, mostly at Ravio’s insistence; going about life as best as he could after the last battle.

Yuga was slain, Ganon defeated once more, Lorule was restored, and Hyrule was at peace for the time being.

Ravio had eventually returned a few weeks after everything was settled. Using the excuse that business was better in Hyrule than back home.

(He threw a spare key at his head and told him to clean up after himself.)

He never had that same dream again. A part of him felt angered that the only source of happiness he had received in so long was ripped from him once more.

Yet another part of him felt both numb, yet somewhat accepting about it.

(She did say he couldn't stay there forever. Even as a dream, (y/n) was always watching out for him.)

He watched as his friend fiddled with the surface of the small envelope in his hand before handing it over to him.

He stared down at it, wondering what kind of letter it contained. He flipped it around, but the outside of the letter was blank.

"Who gave you this?" He asked, placing the letter on his lap for the moment.

Ravio fidgeted.

"Nobody! I-I mean, no one in particular...Not to say it's not not anyone in particular...i" He laughed nervously, "P-Perhaps the contents of the letter can answer your question? It's a really weird story."

Link nodded, he doubted Ravio would hand him a dangerous letter.

"I-I um...haven't looked through it yet."

...Or maybe he would. At this point he wasn't sure anymore.

"Trying to get rid of me after I did your job for you?" He bluntly commented.

Ravio sputtered and tried to defend himself but Link simply handed him his nearly empty bowl.

"I'd like some more please."

Ravio blinked and tried to decided between reacting to the now clear teasing or to immediately get him another bowl of stew.

But his desire to see him eat more trumped his desire to complain.

"...I'll make sure to heat it up." He said as he grabbed the bowl and left with a small huff.

He relaxed against his pillow for a moment before he picked up the letter again when Ravio left, and stared at it. Something about this letter didn't feel quite right. But it didn't feel wrong enough.

He eventually decided to open it.

Peeking within, he saw several folded pictures. He could see images of the sky in many of them. Pulling them out, a small slip of paper slipped away and fell on his lap.

Looking down, he noticed writing on it. It took him a moment to register what dialect it was written in, and only then did his heart begin to race at top speed.

It shouldn't exist here. This dialect shouldn't exist in this era.

How-

Legend looked at the door. As if Ravio would come in at that very second. But the merchant didn't.

Looking back down at the slip of paper, he swallowed.

'To the Hero of Legend.'

He wasn't called that yet. In this moment in time, he was just the Hero of Hyrule.

His title came later.

A shaky exhale left him as his hand trembled a bit harder holding onto the note tightly.

Looking at the folded pictures on his trembling hand, he slowly unfolded it, the contents within revealing-

...Captain..? There was no doubt who was in the picture. No other person could possibly come to mind.

He re-folded the photograph, as if to take a moment to gather his wits.

(Was it real?) His mind whispered, (was it truly?)

His breathing quickened. His stomach felt like a knot. Every nerve in his body was on edge as his heart was ready to burst.

Slowly...he unfolded the picture again, gazing at the calm face of the Hero of Warriors staring back at him.

It...It was him.

There was no mistaking who it was. No mistaking the sword only a Hero could wield.

(Could it actually be true?)

He looked through the next picture and a lump formed in his throat.

The sailor, a bit younger than he last remembered (a bit thinner as well), but still so easily recognizable. (The captain must have used his Picto box)

Even young and without his markings, Legend could easily recognize the old man. (He looked as tired as Legend felt. Yet there was a sense of peace in his gaze that could only have come from being near his most trusted.)

A genuine smile appeared on his face, the first one in...so long that he couldn't truly remember.

Legend's breath caught in his throat. (It was him. It was actually him.)

His vision became blurry, and before he even realized it, tears were running down his face, his body shaking.

He quickly brought a hand up, swiping his eyes to try and regain composure.

He kept shifting through the pictures. Eyes devouring each and every new image that he saw next.

Warriors. Time. Wind. He even saw Ravio. (And he suspected he could figure out how this letter came into the merchant's hands.)

Each image sent his heart soaring. (It was new. new new new new and real)

There was Zora Princess Ruto and the Goron Chief Darunia from the Old man's era. The Sage of Earth and the king of red lions from the sailor's.

People he shouldn't recognize but did. it set his mind spinning.

But it was the last picture that made him pause.

The last one that left him breathless.

Her smile, her blue dress, the Hibiscus in her red hair.

"M...Marin.." He choked out.

It was impossible...she shouldn't exist...she had been a dream.

But to deny her image in this picture would mean to deny the images of all the others.

And he simply couldn't handle that possibility.

It was her. It was truly her.

"(y/n)..." He whispered, he stopped trying to fight the tears that continued to fall. "You were right."

She had once told him of a possibility.

'If there are parallel worlds that even you've been to. Wouldn't that mean Koholint was just a world that fell into the Windfish's dream like you did?'

He had considered that possibility many times. But it never went far. because how would he prove it? By the time he met (y/n) and the others, Koholint was years behind.

He had considered, but never truly believed.

Because how would he go about finding evidence?

...With a picture it seemed. A picture that showed her happy and healthy and alive.

The realization shook him to his core.

All this time, he thought he mourned a life he had believed was forever lost.

All those times he wondered why he had been burdened with that weight, even if it was a weight he carried by his own choice.

The nightmares that haunted him for years.

But this one image...It left him dizzy with joy. She hadn't disappeared.

She was alive.

He took in each picture over and over, trying to absorb every little detail he could.

If Marin was alive... His brothers remembered...than that meant...that meant (y/n)....

Legend covered his mouth, unable to control the sobs escaping. He could hardly breath as he struggled to hold back the cries.

(Y/n) was alive.

All that he went through hadn't been for nothing.

Marin was alive. Most likely back home now that the war was certainly finished. (Not gone. Not a mere memory.)

His sword brothers, they were all out there, waiting just like he was.

Waiting to be reunited once more.

It made him so utterly happy.

"Mr. Hero?" Legend looked up at Ravio who nervously stood by the door with the tray of food.

"Are...you okay?" He asked, slowly approaching, scanning Legend to see if he wasn't injured again.

His eyes settled on the pictures that had fallen from his grasp and onto the bed, surprise crossing his face as he registered what the pictures contained.

"I.." Legend breathed, a smile stretched across his face. "am more than okay."

That's what mattered, after everything he had to go through. It was all real.

Everything that mattered to him was real.

All he could do was cry from the joy of that simple fact.

#linked universe #yandere linked universe #linkeduniverse #lu #loz #linked universe x reader #lu legend #ttau #ttau rewrite #rewrite #gliphy writes #(y/n)

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constellationcore · 8 months

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The story of Jonah Marshall is one of rose colored glasses and loneliness, and it feels like the more we learn more about Adam and the formation of the modern iteration of BPS his story gets sadder.

It's easy (and fairly understandable) to typecast Jonah as the cowardly stoner, and that's largely to do with the way his character is framed by a primary character in the story. Much of what we know about Jonah is informed secondhand through Adam. It is also abundantly clear that Adam has a strained relationship with Jonah, and only seems to want to describe him as unserious, cowardly, and a stereotypical stoned slacker. And while I don't think any of that is necessarily wrong, there is potential for there to be more to his character than just a surface analysis.

I'd ask that you consider an alternate framing of Jonah, informed by some of the canon we learn from Adam's diary, Vol 2, and Vol 4.

Jonah gets a message from someone online asking for help with his ghost investigations, likely because of Jonah's interest in the paranormal or filming (probably the latter if we're considering his popularity on the BPS YouTube channel and his tendency to be the one operating the camera equipment). The opportunity is advertised as dangerous and potentially threatening, but at the intersection of living in your successful father's shadow and needing the chance to make something of yourself in a backwater town, any opportunity is a good one. This portion (to the next line break) is informed mostly from personal experience rather than canon, but this sort of willingness to take even the most dangerous opportunity with a complete stranger screams lonely, ignored teenager. The way he interacts with Adam in a potentially annoying, jokey sort of way is exactly how I tend to act when trying to make myself seem more fun while making friends, or how my siblings and I acted when we wanted our busy parents' attention.

Perhaps instead of just being a bored teenager who needed a way to pay for weed, Jonah used the new opportunity with BPS to make something for himself and to not be in the same lonely, isolated space as before. He tries to be friends with the person he works with, joking with Adam at any opportunity. For Adam, these investigations are extremely serious and has a lot of personal importance. But for Jonah, BPS doesn't have the same personal stake, rather it's an opportunity to do something he enjoys (to some degree) with people he's friends with. Specifically referencing a line from Vol 4, Jonah views himself and Adam as best friends, which is telling to how attached he is to Adam: even if the friendship is, in actuality, only one way. Jonah sticks with Adam during the more alternate-centric investigations because he truly wants to believe that Adam is his friend and the investigations will help him find/cope with the loss of his mother. It paints their Vol 2 argument in an entirely different light: instead of it being strictly about Jonah being cowardly during the entire investigation and not wanting to confront the truth/alternates (as Adam seemed to believe), it's Jonah's final attempt to reason with Adam. The rose colored glasses are off, and he's finally understanding that Adam will do whatever is necessary to know the nature of his mother's death and his own existence, and Jonah was just a stepping stone to get there.

Part of what made Jonah's character so effective to me is because he is such an everyman. Instead of staying and witnessing the existential horrors locked away in the basement, he does his best to convince his friend to choose self preservation and their friendship over a veritable death sentence. and when that doesn't work? He leaves. Presumably both with the intention of saving himself and to tell Sarah and any BPS associated party what happened, maybe to get help in some way and dying enroute (which is what occurs in Jonah's biblical counterpart's story). But what makes Jonah's death via M.A.D. so punchy is what he's torn up about: leaving his friend behind. This links directly back to what I mentioned about the argument as a last effort to get make his friend understand the danger he is in, but the way the alternate preys upon him? The most effective way to make Jonah succumb to madness, given the extent of existential terror a being like an alternate is capable of reaping on someone? The guilt of losing one of the only friends he had—and by extension one of the only things he cared about. That he would be all alone again through no fault other than his own.

#constellationcore writes #the mandela catalogue #mandela catalogue #jonah marshall #adam murray #i want to clarify that this is absolutely /not/ an attempt to villainize adam !! man has his own problems and i adore his character #rather i wanted to use his tendency to be an unreliable narrator due to his.. being an alt.. as a way to explore jonah's character potentia #also NOT A SHIP holy shit this is an exploration into an objectively very unhealthy friendship do NOT tag it as such #this is not a tmc ship friendly blog #also also this is obvs not canon! idk what the intention was behind jonah as a character but this is how i see him! w my big autistic eyes

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jellys-compendium · 1 month

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My Papa

A Cozy Dad!Vash Drabble

Rating: G

Summary: Vash tries to teach his two rambunctious twins a new word. Cw: Soft Dad!Vash will make you melt. Prepare yourself. Word Count: ~1K A/n: More soft Dad!Vash on the way! This drabble is based off of my Trimax series. Hope you all enjoy this one!

“Alright!”

Vash takes a seat at the kitchen table, his two toddler-sized infants sit side by side on their high chairs just opposite him. Their big blue eyes are on him, alight with delight and curiosity as their papa theatrically reveals the children’s book that he’d been hiding behind his back.

“Behold!” Vash proclaims, proudly holding the book upright before his children and giving it a little shake. Luca and Layla giggle at their father’s goofy antics, their plump little fingers reaching out to try and take the book from his hands.

“Nuh uh,” Vash pulls it just out of their reach. “Both of you will get to look at it when I’m done. Right now, your papa is going to read you a story!”

The twins look at Vash quizzically, but once Vash excitedly opens the book, their eyes are immediately glued to the colorful pages before them.

A tender smile spreads across Vash’s lips at their eagerness. For a man who had seen everything—who had met all sorts and witnessed horrors unimagined as he wandered the desert, the ex-humanoid typhoon would never tire of the wonder in his children’s eyes.

“Today, I’m going to help the two of you say a new word.”

Vash scooches in closer and Luca and Layla wordlessly follow suit. The three of them lean in close to one another as they partake in the story that is about to unfold. Vash turns to the first page. On it are adorable drawings of a laughing child and a bearded man. Vash points to the picture and begins to enthusiastically read.

“This is my papa! I love him and he loves me!”

Vash grins, lifting the page just enough for his twins to grab it. Without missing a beat, the two turn the page, both transfixed by the colorful drawings and their father’s dramatic reading.

Vash’s smile widens. He is positively giddy. He just knows in his gut that he’ll get them to say it this time. He can feel it!

“My papa is tall!” Vash reads, standing up from his seat at his full height. His children erupt in a fit of giggles before turning to the next page.

“My papa is strong!”

Vash flexes his muscles before turning around and lifting the chair he’d just been sitting in up and over his head with a single arm. The twins roar with laughter as Vash makes a show of pretending the chair is heavier than it actually is. Then as Luca and Layla turn the page, Vash puts the chair back down and reads.

“My papa is fast!”

In an instant the energetic father of four sprints from the table and across the kitchen. His children’s laughter follows him and Vash can help closing his eyes and reveling in that angelic sound for the briefest of moments.

But no sooner does Vash take that moment, he opens his eyes and turns back around quickly, racing back to his two little munchkins. Vash’s fingers are outstretched and ready to tickle the twins’ plump little cheeks and necks once he reaches them. Luca and Layla squeal with delight, wiggling in their high chairs as they try to tickle him back, and Vash’s heart practically melts into a sappy little puddle on the floor.

Vash stops his tickles, then he sits back down and turns the page.

“My papa is gentle.”

After he reads those words, Vash reaches over to his two children and pats their heads tenderly. The two of them coo, their own fingers reaching up to capture and caress his palms. Vash smiles, and continues the story. He’s read it to them so many times, he doesn’t even need to turn the page. He knows it by heart.

“My papa is brave.”

Vash stands up and leans over the table to plant soft little kisses on his children’s foreheads. He nuzzles each one, closing his eyes as his heart swells so full of love it’s near bursting. And as Vash recites the next line, his voice cracks, just like it does every single time he reads them this story.

“M-my papa is kind.”

Vash then leans back and holds his hands up. His children don’t miss a beat, both reaching up to put their hands in his. Vash is ever so gentle as he wraps up their fingers in his tender hold.

“My papa holds me tight.”

Vash smiles and his children smile back, connecting as he recites the final line.

“My papa loves me. Morning, afternoon, and night.”

Silence fills the space then, and Vash waits for his children to respond. But the twins just look at him with happy little smiles on their faces. Vash leans in and whispers.

“Okay, go on you two. Come on, say ‘papa’!”

Luca and Layla look at Vash curiously, their adorable little heads tilting to the side as they try to grasp what their father is getting at. But as the seconds tick by in silence Vash sighs, the weight of defeat beginning to sit heavy on his chest.

“‘Papa!’ Come on, you can do it! Papa, papa, papa!”

But his children simply grin and reach for the book, turning the pages back to the beginning and looking at Vash expectantly. Vash sighs dramatically, throwing his hands up in the air as he leans back in his chair. If he didn’t know better, he’d think that the giggling from his two little babies was the universe’s way of mocking him.

“This is the fiftieth time I’ve read this to you two. What will it take for you to say ‘papa’?”

The front door opens, and the three Saverems look towards the kitchen’s threshold as familiar footsteps vibrate across the family home.

“Let’s bring these groceries into the kitchen.”

The sound of your comforting voice rings gently through the house, and upon hearing it, both Luca and Layla immediately perk up and shout out loud,

“MAMA!”

Vash groans as despair sets in his bones. Distraught, he hides his face in his hands as you, Nico and Nova enter the kitchen. It only takes one second for you to deduce what happened once you enter the scene.

Vash buries his face deeper into his palms when he hears you softly chuckle.

“You can’t win them all, typhoon.”

Want more cozy dad!Vash drabbles? Check out the series here!

divider source

#trigun #trigun maximum #vash the stampede #vash x reader #vash x you #vash the stampede x reader #vash the stampede x you #dad!vash #trigun x reader #trigun fanfiction #jellywrites

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midnight-talescape · 7 months

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𝒫𝑒𝓉 (𝒮𝓁𝑒𝓃𝒹𝑒𝓇𝓂𝒶𝓃 𝓍 𝑅𝑒𝒶𝒹𝑒𝓇)

Kinktober Day 11: Pet play + Sensory Deprivation

I had to revert back to my creepypasta phase to write this story, lol.

Bring back memories of when i was like 16ish and had nightmares for days and sleep paralysis of slenderman before waking up and continue reading them, because i have a problem.

Also like i wanted to do humiliation, i tried to do humiliation but like mr daddy long leg, just doesn’t feel like one that will humiliates their sexual partner, so yeah.

Warning: yeah no you got kidnapped, your like a pet now, tentacles, ooc etc, etc you get the point not for kid

Genre: filthy filthy smut

Word Count: 1696

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You were different,

You were always different,

Uncaring and desensitized to the world,

It wasn’t like you didn’t care, because you did,

You were just…disconnected.

From your feelings and your life, always feeling like an outsider as you watch your daily life happen,

Like your soul was an audience that's watching your body acting on a stage…

So when one day you saw a scribbled note on a tree outside your window…

Well, let's just say you didn’t hesitate to take it, despite your entire being telling you to run and get the fuck out of there.

I mean, what is the fun in life if you don’t take a little risk?

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You stare at the tall humanoid being standing in front of you, before looking up at where his face would be if he had one asking,

“Are you going to kill me?” your tone was indifferent and your eyes held no fear, only curiosity of what is to come,

That intrigues him, how does a mortal like you show such indifference to death? Are you not afraid of the things he could do to you?

Out of impulse he slithered out a tentacle and picked you up by your shirt, before walking back to the mansion.

He has enough time on his hands to keep a pet and to test just how far your indifference will go.

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It's been about 3 months since you have been here, and the curiosity Slenderman has for you has only increased.

After all, not all mortals have the audacity to chase Jeff around the mansion with a chainsaw, after being waken up by him saying,

“Go to sleep!”

The first time he saw it, like the very first day he took you back the entire mansion had the pleasure of witnessing you chasing down Jeff while screaming profanity,

“Go to sleep, my ass! You fucking slut! I'm about to make you go to sleep!”

Slenderman watched in amusement as he wrote down in a journal,

Dislike being woken up in the middle of the night.

“Is that my chainsaw???” Ask one of the proxies watching the chaos,

Good at taking stuff without people noticing

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The entire mansion knows you were Slenderman’s pet/property and you seem to take that role with stride. Fitting in almost immediately with the rest of the proxy.

Most of them had tried to kill you at some point, since Slenderman wasn't going to stop them.

Survival of the fittest after all, you might be his pet but your life was not his concern.

But he was pleasantly surprised to see you managing to fight back and survive against the horror that live within his home.

You are truly entertaining...

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And annoying.

So very annoying.

Do you not understand that he could kill you at a moment's notice?

You probably do, and just simply don't care.

He sighed as you sat on his desk and looked at what he was doing curiously,

“Hello, (Y/N).”

“Hello, Slendy. What you doing?” you ask as you look at the paper he’s writing on,

He tilted his blank face toward you, seemingly studying you before saying, "Making a list of things that need to be done,"

You nodded your head before asking again,

“Soooo is the suit you wear an actual suit, or is it your skin? If it's the latter are you naked all the time? If it's the former where have you been getting these suits?”

Dear god, you always seem to have so many questions.

“That is none of your business, pet. I can kill you in a moment's notice, do you not have the concept of self-preservation?” he sounded annoyed by your never-ending questions,

“Nope none at all,” you said cheerfully,

Your smile was bright and cheerful, but he saw nothing in your eyes. Only the cold indifference to the world around you that he has gotten used to in the last few months.

He doesn’t like that, you’re his pet and you should look at him in either adoration or fear. Not the cold indifference in you have in your eyes right now.

He will teach you to either love or fear him, after all, he hasn’t seen either of those emotions on you before.

Your eyes widen and you let out a panicked scream when he suddenly lifted you up with his tentacles.

One of his tentacles wrapped around your throat, a silent warning for you to shut up, while another wrapped around your eyes. Not tight enough for you to be uncomfortable, but enough to make your field of vision nothing but darkness.

“I think it's time to teach you a lesson, pet,”

Your body trembled as Slenderman's tentacle slipped under your clothing to wrap around your body, your body getting goosebumps from the coolness of his tentacle.

“S-slendy? What the fuck are you doing?” you asked trembling unsure of what was happening,

Slenderman didn’t bother answering you, only using his tentacles to rip through your clothing, leaving your body bared and naked under the frigid night air.

You let out a soft gasp/moan as you felt his tentacles curling around various parts of your body tightly. The lack of sight makes your body more sensitive, as you have no idea what he will do to you next, anticipation and fear coursing through your body.

Slenderman can feel your body tensing up as he begins pushing a tentacle into your fold. Your body shaking in pain from his action.

He has heard of humans feeling pleasure and pain from sexual intercourse, yet he never thought to try it out on you.

Never too late to try, I guess…

He does enjoy the soft whimper that you make as his tentacles play with your body, causing a feeling he’s unfamiliar with in his body.

You let out a scream as he shoved the tentacles forcefully into you, your body clenching tightly around his tentacles as he began to thrust them inside you.

“F-fuck! I-I'm sorry okay? You’re hurting me!” You cried out as he spread your leg apart so he can have easier access to your cunt,

As your cry gets louder and louder, Slenderman can tell you are getting close to your climax.

His assumption was correct when you gave a loud whine and your body shuddered violently around his tentacles. Your juice rushed out from around his tentacles, staining his carpet.

He felt pleased when he saw your mouth open panting from the sensation. Your body flushed a delicious pink, as his tentacles played with your body. He dragged you closer to him so he could study your reaction more closely.

"I wonder how would you feel if I played with you like this more often... Would you enjoy it?" His voice was almost void of emotion except for a hint of curiosity as he held you in his arm forcing you to stay still as his tentacles had their way with you,

“F-fuck…s-slendy take it out… i-im sorry okay? I-i will be good…” you sobbed out desperately as you tried to hold on to him,

With an almost unexpected spark of amusement and curiosity from your reaction, Slenderman pulled his tentacles out of you, leaving you writhing in discomfort and confusion. Just as you try to catch your breath, he slams his tentacle back into you harder than before, causing you to cry out in pain and shock.

As he watches your body convulse on his tentacle, he decides that he enjoys the feeling of doing this to you, to watch you struggle and cry on his tentacles. To watch you who, is usually indifferent to what people do to you, reduce to a crying begging mess.

“Have you learned your lesson, pet?” He asked as he forced multiple tentacles inside you,

You let out a loud desperate cry as you came over and over on his tentacle,

“Y-yes! I learn my lesson, ma-master please!”

The pleasure was breaking your mind and your shell, it was forcing your soul to endure this painful pleasure as Slenderman dealt out his lesson and punishment toward you.

With a dark chuckle, Slenderman watched as you writhed and cried in pain. Your back arched as your body clenched his tentacles tightly. He wondered if you had ever felt such pleasure before, or if you even enjoyed it. Regardless of your feelings, it was his duty to torment his pet in any way he pleased.

The pleasure built inside you, becoming unbearable as your insides trembled from the brutal way he was fucking his tentacles inside you. Your mind is fogged, and you can only scream for it to stop.

As you let out another sob, your body climaxing again, Slenderman finally removed all his tentacles from you, before holding you in his arm.

You sobbed into his chest, your body feeling like it's been abused and run over. You can feel his hand on your back in an almost comforting motion.

Slenderman wrapped his arms around your trembling form, feeling the faint pulse of life against his chest. His mind was filled with curiosity, desire, satisfaction, and a lingering fascination for human pleasure.

He decided that he liked having you feel like this, to have your eyes all glassy as you looked up at him.

To feel like he has tainted and dragged you into the darkness that surrounded him.

You hiccuped one last time as your body calmed down, before slipping your hand under his suit and saying,

“S-so this is an actual suit…” you looked down at the black secretion on your body that was left behind by his tentacles as you continued, “A-are these like your cum? I think there's some inside me, will I get pregnant?”

As you rambled on Slenderman can feel a vein throbbing in his forehead…

Why are you like this?

His arms tighten around you as he begins carrying you to his bedroom, taking care to make sure no one sees the two of you.

“It seems like you need another lesson, pet…”

He has all the time in the world to teach you how to obey him and to discover everything you have to offer…

#no i don’t have problems #reader insert #reader smut #x reader #kinktober #kinktober 2023 #slenderman x reader #slenderman x y/n #slenderman x you

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