prestopresto07

[prestopresto07]

Never Known Peace | 9

MCD x Fem!reader | Angsty | This happens after ep 100 when shadow knights are more prevalent and Laurence is more emo. This is intended to be Lurence x reader but I'm thinking about doing multiple endings or something. I'm just seeing where this fanfic goes. Also sorry you're right-handed. Also, I'm dyslexic so if you see any spelling errors, no you don't.

Masterlist!

Word count: 1583

The ship rocked gently beneath your feet, the endless expanse of ocean stretching in every direction. Wind caught in the sails above, pulling the vessel steadily forward into the unknown. Seagulls circled overhead, their cries distant, nearly drowned by the creak of wood and the splash of waves.

You stood near the railing, arms resting on the smooth, sun-warmed surface of the ship’s edge, watching the white foam churn in the ship’s wake.

You hadn’t spoken much since you boarded.

Laurance hadn’t pushed. Not yet, anyway.

The ache in your chest lingered, dulled only slightly by the salt-laced air and the distraction of travel. Your body was here. On this ship, in this moment, but your mind felt fractured. Part of you was still back in the Nether. Still bound to stone and flame. Still screaming in silence.

Still pretending to be fine.

“You’re going to lean over so far you’ll fall in,” Laurance said from behind you.

You didn’t turn to look at him. “Maybe I’m considering it.”

His footsteps padded closer. “You’d miss out on lunch. I hear Aaron’s cooking today.”

You huffed, just barely. “I'm not hungry.”

He leaned on the railing beside you, arms folded, watching the sea. “You’ve been quiet.”

You stayed silent.

“I get it,” he added after a moment. “This kind of quiet… the sea, the waiting, the uncertainty, it’s the perfect space for thoughts you’ve been trying to outrun.”

You glance at him then. For once, he wasn’t smiling.

“Do you ever stop talking?” you ask, more tired than annoyed.

He gave you a one-shouldered shrug. “When I think it’s worth shutting up for.”

You blinked, unsure if that was meant to be comforting or just another way for him to dodge sincerity.

But the thing is… it helped.

Even if just a little.

Even if only for now.

Your thoughts were cut short by the unmistakable sound of someone retching.

Katelyn, whom you hadn’t really spoken to before getting on the boat, was hunched over the side, gripping the railing like it might save her from being swallowed whole.

She had been throwing up basically since the moment the ship left the dock.

Laurance let out a low whistle beside you. “Hey,” he said, jerking a thumb over his shoulder at the blue-haired girl, “at least we’re not her.”

You really contemplate that statement.

You don’t want to be annoying, but honestly, you might disagree with him. Being seasick sounds a whole lot better than what’s been rattling around in your head.

The rocking of the boat lulls you back into your thoughts. Unfortunately, they only take you to one place:

The Nether.

Only fragments come to the surface, flashes of fire and brimstone, the clang of swords, the biting cold of chains. Sights and sounds that don’t belong in this quiet morning at sea.

It’s like your mind had been branded by that place.

In some ways, it had.

A gust of salty wind pulls you from your thoughts, dragging your focus back to the ship's creaking masts and the distant call of gulls.

"You okay?" Laurance asks, voice quieter now, less teasing, more careful.

You glance at him. He's still got that lopsided smile, but there’s something else behind his eyes. He noticed.

You shrug, noncommittal. “Just... thinking.”

“Dangerous pastime,” he says with a grin. “Want me to distract you?”

You roll your eyes, but it does earn a faint smile from you.

“I’m serious,” he adds, bumping your shoulder gently. “Could teach you how to tie sailor’s knots. Or point out which barrels not to sit on unless you wanna smell like fermented fish.”

That coaxes a small laugh out of you. It’s the first in a while that doesn’t feel forced.

Katelyn groans again somewhere behind you, and Aaron’s voice drifts up from below deck, calling out that lunch is almost ready, fish stew, unsurprisingly.

Laurance leans in slightly. “Come on. Let’s go help. Aaron’s gonna burn it if no one stops him from trying to multitask.”

You nod, pushing yourself from the railing. Waiting for Laurence to follow suit.

But he doesn't

He stays leaning over the railing, staring back over his shoulder at you.

You pause, catching the way Laurence is still looking at you. His hair’s a mess from the sea wind, the usual smugness gone from his expression.

You narrow your eyes. “What?”

He doesn’t flinch. “Just making sure you’re actually here.”

You cross your arms, the chill of the air suddenly more noticeable. “Where else would I be?”

Laurance’s jaw tightens slightly. “Still stuck in whatever you were dreaming about last night.”

You go still. That strikes a little too close to home.

“Right,” you mutter, turning on your heel. “Thanks for the concern, but I don’t need a babysitter.”

You hear him exhale, maybe even take a step after you, but you don’t wait around to find out.

You stomped down the narrow stairs, jaw clenched and arms crossed tight over your chest. The air below deck was warmer, heavy with the scent of something spiced and homey—like roasted root vegetables and broth.

You followed the smell until it led you to the galley.

You didn’t expect to see them already there.

Aaron stood at the small counter, sleeves rolled up, stirring a pot with practiced ease. Aphmau sat on a crate nearby, chin in her hand, watching him with a soft smile. Something about the way she looked at him, like they shared a joke you weren’t invited to, made you hesitate in the doorway.

“I still don’t know how you manage to make anything taste good on a boat,” she said, her voice light and warm.

Aaron just chuckled. “It’s not that hard if you don’t burn the bottom.”

They both laughed quietly.

You cleared your throat.

Aphmau looked up first. Her face lit up immediately. “Y/N!”

Aaron turned too, surprise flickering in his expression before he gave you a polite nod. You try to forget that only a couple of hours earlier, he was holding a giant sword to your throat.

You hovered in the doorway, trying to act casual. “Sorry. Didn’t realize this room was… occupied.”

Aphmau stood, brushing her hands on her skirt. “No, no, it’s good you’re here. We were just talking, nothing important.” Her smile didn’t falter. “Are you hungry? Aaron made enough for an army.”

Your stomach answered before you could. Traitor.

“I’m fine,” you muttered, but you didn’t move to leave.

Aaron gave you a look, level, unreadable. “Suit yourself. But it’s hot, and it won’t get better cold.”

Aphmau stepped toward you, eyes kind. “We’ve got time before the next shift on deck. Sit with us?”

You glanced between them, heart still prickling from whatever strange emotion that moment between them had stirred.

But you were tired. Bone-deep.

And the stew smelled good.

“…Sure,” you said, quieter now.

You stepped inside, closing the door behind you.

You took a seat at one of the benches across from Aphmau. Aaron set bowls in front of you both.

It looked delicious.

You mumble a quiet thank you to Aaron before pushing the stew in your bowl around with your spoon.

Aphmau looks up at you. Her amber eyes showed concern, maybe regret. You couldn't be sure.

“You doing okay?” Aphmau asked, her voice careful, not soft exactly, but measured, like she wasn’t sure how close she was to stepping on something sharp.

You shrugged, eyes still fixed on the stew. “As okay as someone can be after being dragged into an adventure they didn’t ask for.”

It wasn’t meant to come out so bitter. But it did.

Aphmau blinked, visibly taken aback. Aaron paused mid-bite but didn’t look up.

You sighed. “Sorry. That was... uncalled for.”

“No,” Aphmau said, shaking her head gently. “It wasn’t. You’ve been through a lot. I don’t blame you for feeling that way.”

You finally glanced up at her. There was no judgment in her face—just quiet understanding. But that only made it harder.

“Sometimes it feels like everyone else has a place in this. Like they belong here. And I’m just…” You trailed off, not wanting to say it out loud, but there was a multitude of adjectives you could think of to describe how you feel:

Useless, volitile, unstable, crazy, terrified.

You weren't sure if that was all of them.

Aphmau leaned forward slightly, resting her forearms on the table. “You’re not the only one who’s ever felt that way. But you’re here now. And we’re glad you are, even if you are a begrudging guest.”

You didn’t reply right away. The warmth of the stew seeped into your hands through the bowl. The rocking of the ship, the creak of wood, and the low clatter of Aaron quietly cleaning behind the counter all made the moment feel more real than you wanted it to.

After a long pause, you offered a weak smile. “Thanks.”

The three of you sat in silence for a while. The only sounds were the distant call of gulls and the gentle slosh of water against the hull.

You finally took a small bite of the stew. It was warm, rich, comforting, far better than anything you expected on a ship like this.

Maybe you didn’t have a place yet. Maybe you were still figuring out what the hell any of this meant. But at least, for now, you weren’t alone.

And for the first time in a long time, that was enough.

~~~~~

:P <3

[prestopresto07]

Nightly routine!

[prestopresto07]

How I look after reading angst as if it was me personally in that situation

[prestopresto07]

If We Make It Out Of Here | Leon Kennedy x Reader | 3

If you haven't read Part 1 or Part 2, read that first.

Regular Resident Evil Violence and gore.

Things didn’t feel real.

Not in a good way.

In a this-only-happens-in-a-horror-movie kind of way.

Jumping through windows to escape the undead, the smell of blood always lingering, the sudden crack of a gunshot. This wasn’t what you had envisioned.

You and Leon had been running around solving elaborate puzzles while dodging zombies. Apparently, you needed to collect medallions to unlock a “secret entrance.” It sounded like a bunch of local legend nonsense, but so far, you’d found two out of three.

While combing through the police department, you’d started collecting newspapers. Headlines detailing the days leading up to the outbreak.

Family of Three Disappears in the Arklay Mountains Search Continues for Missing Girl

Every single headline pointed to a disappearance; one after another. The dates weren’t far apart either. You had heard about some missing persons before, but not to this extent.

Leon was rummaging through police lockers while you sat on one of the benches, taking pressure off your injured leg. Blood was starting to leak through the bandage again, but Leon hadn’t noticed. So, it wasn’t important.

“Have you seen all these disappearances?” you ask, flipping through your collection of headlines.

Leon faltered for just a moment, then resumed rifling through the lockers.

“Yeah. Lotta people have been vanishing up in the Arklay Mountains lately.” His voice was tight, like you’d struck a nerve.

You cleared your throat, stuffing the newspapers back into your bag.

“Any luck?” you ask, leaning forward.

Leon sighed, visibly annoyed with one stubborn locker.

“No. We should head out,” he muttered, rising to his feet.

He looked tired, well, you both did, but there was something deeper. Not just exhaustion. He looked defeated. Not the hopeful, almost lighthearted rookie you’d met hours ago.

“Leon, why don’t you take a break? Eat something?” you said, rummaging in your bag for a couple of granola bars.

“There’s no time. We have to keep moving.” He ran a hand through his hair.

You gave him a look.

“You won’t be able to keep moving if you collapse from exhaustion.” You patted the spot beside you on the bench.

He stared you down, those stormy blue eyes full of resistance. You held your ground. You’d been called stubborn more times than you could count—by classmates, colleagues, even strangers.

Eventually, Leon sighed and slumped beside you on the bench.

You held out two bars.

“Kudos or Quaker?” you asked lightly.

He looked at the bars, then at you. The hardened expression softened just enough for him to smirk.

“You know that junk barely counts as food, right?”

“It’s functional food,” you corrected, "that will give us energy, it's also the only thing I had left from my week-long road trip, mind you," you say, shoving the bars forward as you emphasize the week-long part. "Next time I'll try to find some gas station steak for you."

“Please,” he chuckled, snatching the Kudos bar from your hand.

You leaned back against the wall, chewing in comfortable silence.

“I feel like we don’t really know each other,” you said after a moment, turning toward him. “We haven’t had time to talk.”

“Not the easiest thing to do, given the zombies,” he said with a half-smile.

He was lucky he was cute, or you might’ve socked him.

“Well, we’ve got time now. So—why’d you become a cop? You seem kind of young.”

“I’m twenty-one.” He laughed.

“Could’ve fooled me. You look like you just left high school.”

He rolled his eyes.

“To answer your question: I had a mentor growing up—he was a cop. Kind of a father figure, I guess. He helped me through a lot, and I wanted to be like him.”

You hesitated, sensing this wasn’t an easy subject for him.

“So… straight from high school to the academy?”

He nodded, folding his wrapper neatly and tucking it into his pocket.

“What about you?” he asked, glancing at you. “Did you go to school for journalism or were you just born nosy?” He grinned. “Also, you look too young to have a degree.”

“I’m a full-fledged investigative journalist, thank you.” You tossed your wrapper into your bag. “Did some accelerated programs. Got my bachelor’s at twenty.” You swung your feet a little. “Now I’m working on my master’s.”

Leon leaned back against the wall, tilting his head slightly to look at you. It felt like he was studying you.

“So you’re really smart.”

There was no sarcasm in his tone.

You shook your head, smiling.

“Just didn’t want to pay for a bunch of unnecessary college courses.” You yawned, which made him yawn immediately after.

“Don’t do that,” he grumbled, squinting at you. “You’ll make me pass out.”

“Would that be so bad?” you said, rubbing your eyes. “We’re as safe as we’re gonna get right now.”

“We need to keep moving.”

“Just a little longer? Please?” you asked, giving him the best wide-eyed plea you could muster.

He stared at you for a long moment before pinching the bridge of his nose and sighing.

You grinned.

“Great!”

You leaned further into the wall and, for the first time since all of this began, your body relaxed.

Minutes passed. Or what felt like minutes.

Your eyes fluttered closed. You might’ve dozed off...

Then something shifted against you. Weight. Pressure.

Your eyes shot open.

Zombie?

No. Leon.

He’d slumped against your side, his breathing slow and steady. Light snores buzzed quietly beneath the hum of the overhead lights.

His hair had fallen into his eyes. You’d never seen him this still before, so vulnerable. It made sense, given everything you’d been through, but still…

He looked very cute.

Which, honestly, was so inconvenient in a life-or-death situation.

You thought you might stay awake. To keep watch.

But the warmth of his body leaning gently against yours, the quiet rise and fall of his breathing...

It all beckoned you to join him in dreamland.

And so, against your better judgment…

You did.

~~~~~~~~~

Hiiii Lovey's!!!! I'm really proud of this chapter! I hope you enjoy some chill time between them... While it lasts.

>:)

xxx

[prestopresto07]

Hello Loveys! So I want chapter 10 to be big and good, and I'm wanting y'all's opinions. So, do we want it to follow the main storyline? Or do I have creative freedom? I would love to hear your opinions. Please feel free to dm me with suggestions or even ideas of what you would like to see or how you think the story could progress.

xxx

[prestopresto07]

If We Make It Out Of Here | Leon Kennedy x Reader | 2

If you haven't seen Part 1 read that first.

Regular Resident Evil Violence and gore.

Word count: 1183

You move cautiously through the dark corridors, shadows twisting and stretching like some cruel joke. Every distant thump and every blind corner sets your nerves on edge.

Finally, you step into the main hall. It’s massive, the grand architecture standing in stark contrast to the overturned desks and scattered chairs. This place was meant to be a fortress—but now, it just looks abandoned.

At the center of the room, hunched over a laptop, sits a man clutching his side. Blood seeps through his uniform, staining the fabric a deep crimson.

He looks up as you and Leon step in, eyes sharp despite the pain etched into his face.

"You collecting strays now, rookie?" he asks, his voice unnaturally light for someone bleeding out. Still, he manages a small smile as his gaze flicks to you.

You take a hesitant step forward, eyes flicking to the deep red staining Marvin’s uniform. “Jesus, you’re hurt.” You say as you move towards him, reaching around in your bag for the small first aid kit.

He chuckles, the sound rough but amused. “Nothing gets past you, huh?” He winces as he shifts in his seat.

You ignore the joke, glancing at Leon and kneeling down in front of Marvin. “We need to help him.”

Leon sighs. “He won’t let me.”

Marvin waves a dismissive hand. “Not much you can do, sweetheart. Waste of supplies.” He pauses, giving you a once-over before smirking. “Damn, rookie. You sure know how to pick ‘em.”

Leon furrows his brows. “What?”

“Found yourself a real pretty one.” Marvin nods at you, eyes twinkling despite his pain. “And she’s got a good heart, too. You don’t see that often these days.”

Your face heats up slightly, but you roll your eyes. “Flattery won’t stop you from bleeding out, you know.”

Marvin chuckles again. “Maybe not. But it makes dying a little easier.”

You look at Leon and he gives you a sad shrug.

"Never mind that," Marvin states coughing. "I got the map that'll get you outta here." He says weakly handing it to Leon.

"What about you?" You ask, stepping a bit closer to Marvin, trying to see if you could do anything.

"Sweetheart," He struggles. "I've already accepted my fate. My only goal is to help anyone alive get out of here."

Your throat tightens at his words. “You're just gonna give up?”

Marvin gives you a weak but firm look. “It’s not about giving up. It’s about making sure you two don’t end up like me.”

Leon exhales sharply. “We don’t have time to argue. If there’s a way out, we need to move.”

You glance at Marvin again, searching for something—anything—you can do. But he’s right, isn’t he? He’s already made up his mind.

“At least let me make you more comfortable,” you murmur, kneeling beside him. Carefully, you adjust his posture against the chair, trying not to jostle his injury. He lets out a tired sigh but doesn’t protest.

He watches you for a moment before giving a small, almost amused smile. “Got a good heart. Don’t let this city take that from you.”

Leon shifts beside you, anxious. “We need to move.”

You nod reluctantly, stepping back. “I’m sorry.” It feels like the wrong thing to say, but it’s all you have.

Marvin just nods. “Don’t be. Just make it count.”

Leon places a hand on your shoulder, guiding you away. You hesitate for one last second before following him toward the next corridor.

Behind you, Marvin exhales, resting his head against the chair.

“Go.”

And with that, you and Leon disappear into the station’s darkened halls.

The two of you push forward, your footsteps echoing through the cold hallways of the R.P.D. The air is thick, the only sound between you is your sharp breathing and the distant, unsettling groans of the undead.

The echoing gunshots mix with the guttural groans of the undead as Leon reloads with practiced ease. You keep the flashlight steady, sweeping the beam across the hall—exposing the horrors ahead.

A body lurches forward from the shadows.

"Left!" you shout, stepping back.

Leon pivots, firing—one, two, three shots—before the zombie crumples to the floor.

"You okay?" he asks without taking his eyes off the hallway ahead.

You nod, swallowing hard. "Peachy."

The two of you press on, boots splashing in something that you don’t want to look at too closely. Your Doc Martains will need a good cleaning after this. The smell is getting worse.

Suddenly, a loud crash sounds behind you.

You whirl around—just in time to see a zombie forcing itself through a broken window, shards of glass slicing into its decaying flesh. Another one isn’t far behind.

No time to think.

Leon grabs your arm, pulling you forward. "Move!"

You push forward, breath coming fast. But suddenly—a sharp, burning pain rips through your leg.

You don’t even register what happened until you look down—your jeans are torn, and blood is spilling down your thigh.

"Shit—" You must have clipped a jagged edge of something while running, but there’s no time to dwell on it.

Up ahead—a door.

Leon rams into it with his shoulder, nearly knocking it off the hinges.

"Go, go!" he urges, ushering you inside.

The moment you’re through, he slams it shut behind you, throwing his weight against it as the zombies bang and claw at the other side.

Heavy breathing. Darkness. The distant moans of the undead.

You press your back against the nearest wall, clutching your leg. Your fingers come away slick with blood.

Leon turns to you—eyes widening when he sees the dark stain spreading down your thigh.

"Shit, you're bleeding."

You let out a shaky laugh. "Yeah, no kidding."

He kneels in front of you, pulling a small first aid spray and gauze from his belt. "Let me see."

You hesitate, but he gives you a look. "Now."

You sigh, pulling up the torn fabric of your jeans. The wound is deep but clean, like a blade sliced through, rather than jagged tearing.

Leon mutters a curse under his breath before pressing the gauze against the wound.

You suck in a sharp breath. "Jesus, Leon—"

"Hold still," he orders, holding onto your upper thigh, voice softer than his words.

He presses down, tying the bandage tight around your thigh. His hands are gentle but firm, and despite the pain, you feel a warmth crawl up your neck. Not every day do you have an attractive man holding onto you like this.

"You're lucky," he murmurs. "A little deeper, and you'd be in real trouble."

You force a smirk, ignoring the pounding in your chest. "Still in plenty of trouble, officer."

Leon chuckles, shaking his head as he pulls away. "Yeah, no argument there."

The moment is brief, but the way he looks at you lingers.

Then—a loud thud against the door.

Leon jumps to his feet, gun ready. "We need to move."

He quickly finishes wrapping the gauze around your leg.

You test your leg—it hurts, but you can push through it.

"Let's go," you say, gathering yourself.

Again

Part 2

[prestopresto07]

Never Known Peace | 8

MCD x Fem!reader | Angsty | This happens after ep 100 when shadow knights are more prevalent and Laurence is more emo. This is intended to be Lurence x reader but I'm thinking about doing multiple endings or something. I'm just seeing where this fanfic goes. Also sorry you're right-handed. Also, I'm dyslexic so if you see any spelling errors, no you don't.

A bead of sweat rolls down your temple, trailing slowly along your skin.

Your limbs feel sluggish, like they’re weighed down by something heavy. Your head throbs, and a strange numbness lingers in your fingertips.

You try to roll over, but something stops you.

Panic creeps in. You blink blearily, turning your head as much as you can. Cold metal bites into your wrist. Then the other.

Chains.

Your arms are bound—thick cuffs digging into your skin. You test your legs, only to find them restrained too. A strap presses against your torso, pinning you down against something hard and unyielding.

A table.

Your breath quickens. The air is stale, laced with something metallic. Shadows press in around you.

This isn’t the treehouse.

This isn’t Phoenix Drop.

You were safe, weren’t you?

What happened?

Your breath quickens, shallow and ragged. The air is thick—too thick. It clings to your skin, suffocating, burning.

The chains rattle as you try to move, but your limbs are heavy, weak. The more you struggle, the more the restraints bite into your flesh, cold metal turning searing hot.

A presence lingers nearby. Watching. Waiting.

You force yourself to look past the haze clouding your mind. The room is dim, flickering with an unnatural purple glow. Jagged stone walls pulse like they're alive, veins of crimson light snaking through them like a heartbeat.

A shadow shifts in the corner.

You know that silhouette.

She steps forward, heels clicking against the stone.

That cruel, knowing smile.

"Still fighting?" Her voice is like silk, smooth and mocking. "Haven’t you learned by now?"

You choke on the air, your throat dry. You try to speak, but nothing comes out.

She tilts her head, purple eyes gleaming. "No? Well… you will."

She runs her fingers through your hair, at the head of the table.

Her eyes gazing into yours. Not hiding anything. She's loving this.

You groan in pain, flaring through your skull.

She coos sweet words, a faux soothing sound.

Her fingers graze your temple—soft, gentle. A mockery of comfort.

Then—pain.

Searing, blinding pain splits through your skull, burning down your spine. You scream, but no one will hear you. No one ever does.

Then, everything fades.

Disolving.

The pain still lingers, but the scenery fades to black.

Luring you back to sleep.

The first thing you register is the sound of seagulls.

Their distant cries pull you from the heavy fog of sleep, each call a reminder that you’re somewhere unfamiliar. The scent of salt fills your nose, mingling with the crisp morning air. Your head is pounding, though not as fiercely as last night. Still, you groan as you push yourself up, stretching sore limbs and blinking blearily at your surroundings.

The treehouse is empty, save for the soft sway of the hanging lanterns. For a moment, you think about lying back down, savoring the rare moment of stillness. But then you hear the unmistakable clatter of wood against wood, the shuffle of hurried footsteps, the distant calls of orders being shouted.

Something’s happening.

You stand, hesitating only for a second before heading toward the ladder. The climb down feels steadier than the night before, though you still move carefully. As your feet hit the ground, the bustling scene before you becomes clearer.

People are moving in every direction, hauling crates and barrels toward a large ship docked just beyond the clearing. The vessel is sturdy, with large sails that flutter in the morning breeze. Ropes are being fastened, supplies are being secured—this isn’t just a small trip; this is preparation for something much bigger.

A hand suddenly claps onto your shoulder, making you jolt. You turn, only to be met with Laurance’s ever-present smirk.

“Good morning, sunshine.” His voice is dripping with amusement. “You look... well-rested.”

You roll your eyes, brushing his hand off. “Spare me, Laurance.”

He chuckles, falling into step beside you as you both move toward the shore. “Just making sure you’re still alive. You were dead to the world when I checked in on you earlier.”

You glance at him, raising an eyebrow. “You checked in on me?”

“Someone had to,” he says with a shrug, though his tone is lighter than before. “Besides, we couldn’t risk you running off in the night.”

You cross your arms, though you’re not entirely sure if it’s in defiance or just to warm yourself against the ocean breeze. “And what exactly am I being dragged into this time?”

Laurance gestures toward the ship. “We’re setting sail for new territory. Phoenix Drop and the rest of the Alliance need allies, and we’re going to find them.”

You exhale, processing this. A mission for the greater good. A journey into the unknown. And you, caught in the middle of it.

Laurance watches you carefully. “You coming willingly, or do I have to throw you over my shoulder?”

You shoot him a glare. “Try it, and you’ll be sleeping with the fishes.”

He grins. “That’s the spirit.”

With that, you follow him toward the ship, the weight of uncertainty settling in your chest. Whether you like it or not, you’re part of this now.

And whatever lies beyond the horizon, you have no choice but to face it.

There is still an undeniable ache in your bones.

You don't know if it's sadness or maybe pain.

Everything feels too normal, like you were pretending.

Like a weight was pressing down on you. Sleep wouldn't be enough to fix you..

~~~~~~~

Hello loveys! I am so sorry about my absence. This is my senior year, and things are cray cray. I haven't had lots of time to write or read, for that matter. I also know I said that this chapter was gonna be long, but I just feel like I need to give y'all something.

I hope you have a great day! <3

[prestopresto07]

Ahhhhhh! I promise I am working on chapter 8. I'm so sorry it's taking so long! Kinda in a writer's block rn and I don't even have a good excuse because I just had my spring break lol. I am still trying to figure out how to continue it, but I promise I am working on it, loveys! Also trying to figure out how to make a taglist lol.

[prestopresto07]

I really wish I wasn't so weak for men with dirty blonde hair and blue eyes.

[prestopresto07]

If we make it out of here | Leon Kennedy x Reader | 1

YOO this is WAY different from my regular fan fics, but I'm kinda obsessed with this man and I need to write about him.

Leon Kennedy x Fem!Reader

This is a kinda original story that takes place in RE2 but not, no Claire sorry.

This was gonna be a one shot but I fear I like it too much and the word count was getting too long so this is a part 1

Also warning this inclueds the typical reswident evil gore and grossness

Word count: 3,943

Just your luck—you pass through a town right as it descends into a full-blown nightmare.

You’re a journalist, sent to investigate some shady science corporation. The details? Still fuzzy. You’d planned to dig into the files tonight, maybe piece together a lead from the comfort of a coffee shop.

But fate—twisted, merciless fate—had other plans.

The countryside stretched endlessly before you, barren and quiet. Your beat-up sedan rumbled down the empty road as you flipped through the radio stations, searching for something—anything—to break the monotony.

Static. More static. Then—

"—seeking safety at the police station—"

You paused, fingers still on the dial.

The hell?

Frowning, you twisted the knob, trying to tune in the signal, but the broadcast had already faded into the void. Probably some weird emergency drill. Not your problem.

You’d been on the road for a week now, bouncing between cheap motels and stolen naps in your car. Isolation suited you just fine—no calls, no distractions. Just the open road and your music. It wasn’t a job for everyone, but it was perfect for you.

Tonight was different, though. You should’ve stopped hours ago, but the next motel was in Raccoon City, and you were determined to push through. Your interview was first thing in the morning, so you’d even made an effort—your hair neater than usual, though you kept things casual with jeans and a thick jacket. It was cold out, but you could always change in your car or a gas station bathroom before heading in.

You drummed your fingers against the steering wheel, glancing at the dark horizon. Just a little farther.

The glow of the city lights flickers on the horizon. Almost there.

You glance at the clock—4 AM. No wonder your eyes feel like sandpaper. A coffee stand would be a godsend right about now.

With a sigh, you crank up the radio, hoping the music will keep you awake.

"Perfect" by The Smashing Pumpkins hums through the speakers. It’s slower than you’d like, considering how exhausted you are, but you let it play, tapping your fingers against the steering wheel as you hum along.

A sign looms ahead, barely visible in the dim glow of your headlights:

"Welcome to Raccoon City – Home of Umbrella."

Umbrella. That’s who you were here to meet. Someone from the corporation, supposedly willing to talk about the company’s… questionable ethics. Mishandled pharmaceuticals, shady clinical trials, research participants left in the dark.

Your grip tightens on the wheel.

Then—static.

The music cuts in and out, and The Smashing Pumpkins are swallowed by white noise. You fiddle with the dial, but it’s no use. The signal is fading.

Just like everything else around you.

Something glows in the distance, just off the side of the road. It’s still too far, too fuzzy to make out.

As your car approaches, you ease off the gas, narrowing your eyes.

Fire.

The flickering orange light illuminates twisted metal—a car, wrecked and burning. The flames dance hungrily against the night, licking at the crumpled hood. As you creep past, the heat pulses through your window, making your skin prickle.

The hell?

You don’t stick around to find out. Foot pressing heavier on the gas, you put distance between you and the wreck, instinct tightening in your chest. Something about this doesn’t sit right.

You exhale, forcing your focus back on the road. Still fidgeting with the knob on your dash, you search for anything other than static. The closer you get to Raccoon City, the worse the signal gets—just fragmented noise and white hiss.

Then—

"—repeat, all survivors—"

The static shifts, a garbled voice crackling through the interference.

"—find shelter at the police station—"

You freeze, fingers hovering over the dial. The transmission cuts in and out, barely audible beneath the distortion.

"—Raccoon City P.D. is a designated safe—"

Silence.

Your stomach twists.

You’ve been on the road for a week, cut off from the outside world, but now… something is very wrong.

And you’re driving straight into it.

Your eyes flick to the gas gauge.

Almost empty.

You barely have enough to make it into the city.

Poor planning on your part. Normally, you'd push it to the last minute, but this time, it wasn’t your fault—there hadn’t been a single gas station along this route.

What now?

The scenery shifts as the countryside gives way to buildings, clustered closer together. Cars litter the road, abandoned at odd angles—like time simply stopped.

You weave through the wreckage, carefully maneuvering your car around debris, shattered glass, and empty vehicles. The silence is unnerving.

Until—

You can’t go any farther.

A semi-truck lies on its side, completely blocking the road. There’s no squeezing past. No going around.

With a sigh, you throw the car into park and reach for the map in your glove box. You’d taken the back way into the city, but thankfully, you’re not far from the police station. The catch? You’ll have to find a way in through the back.

Shoving the map aside, you twist in your seat, reaching into the back. Your fingers close around something familiar—your old canvas satchel, worn but reliable. You’ve had it since high school, and it’s never let you down.

You sling it over your shoulder, then start cramming in whatever you can. Water bottle. Snacks. The small first-aid kit from your glove box. Anything that might be useful. Anything meaningful.

You glance at the darkened city ahead.

Time to move.

The city feels wrong.

Not just empty—wrong.

You keep moving, your footsteps too loud in the stillness. The air is thick with the scent of gasoline and something metallic, something sharp. Every storefront is dark, the windows either shattered or smeared with grime. Torn newspapers and pamphlets litter the sidewalks, their edges curling from moisture.

Your fingers tighten around the strap of your satchel.

A streetlamp flickers above you, barely casting enough light to see. Here and there, abandoned cars sit at odd angles, their doors hanging open. It looks like people left in a hurry. But where did they go?

Then, you see it.

Dark streaks on the pavement. Thick. Uneven.

Blood.

It drags along the sidewalk in smeared handprints, trailing toward an alley up ahead. You stop walking, suddenly hyper-aware of how exposed you are. Your pulse kicks up, a cold weight settling in your stomach.

A shape stirs in the alleyway.

A person.

They’re slumped against the brick wall, their clothes dark with something you hope is just water. Their head is tilted down, chin against their chest, body unnaturally still.

You swallow hard.

“Hey,” you call out, hesitant. “Are you okay?”

No answer.

You step closer, scanning them for injuries. Maybe they were mugged? Attacked?

Your foot brushes against something soft. You glance down.

A shoe. A severed shoe—no, a severed foot, still inside.

Your breath catches.

The person in the alley shifts slightly, a slow, sluggish movement. A wet, rattling breath escapes them, and when they lift their head, your stomach drops.

Their eyes—milky, unfocused. Their mouth—slack, stained dark. Skin pale and wrong.

Something inside you screams to run.

But your body refuses to move.

Then, with an inhuman groan, they lurch toward you.

Your breath shudders.

Your brain scrambles for an explanation—maybe they’re injured, in shock, on something—but deep down, you know better.

Something is wrong with them.

You take a slow step back. Then another.

Their head twitches to the side, their jaw slack as they let out another low, gurgling groan. Their fingers twitch at their sides, barely responsive, like a puppet with half-cut strings. But their body… it sways forward.

Instinct grips you—don’t make a sound, don’t make any sudden moves.

Your heel brushes against a piece of loose gravel. It skitters across the pavement with a sharp clatter.

The figure jerks unnaturally at the sound.

A low, guttural noise escapes their throat as their body stiffens—then they lunge.

You stumble back, heart hammering, but they don’t move right. They fall more than they run, landing hard on their hands and knees, fingers clawing at the ground like an animal struggling to stand.

Your breath catches. You should run—you need to run.

But then—

More noise.

A distant thump. A car door creaking open. A shuffling sound not too far away.

You aren’t alone.

And whatever is wrong with this person?

They aren’t the only ones.

You don’t want to stick around to find out how many more are lurking in the dark.

You bolt past the thing on the ground, swallowing the panic rising in your throat. It lets out a low, garbled groan, fingers grasping weakly at the air as you rush by.

You need to find the police station. Now.

Then, like some cruel joke—there it is.

A massive, gothic-looking building looms ahead, its presence both imposing and strangely comforting. The heavy stonework and iron fixtures make it look more like an old museum than a place of law enforcement.

Your eyes land on a door, slightly out of place compared to the grand architecture. Stamped across the surface in bold letters:

R.P.D. STAFF ONLY

Well… better to be in trouble than dead.

You grip the handle and push.

It swings open with a groan, almsot too easy.

And as you step inside, the door creaks shut behind you.

You can’t see anything.

Heart pounding, you fumble through your bag until your fingers close around the small emergency flashlight. With a quick click, a weak beam of light flickers to life.

The building barely resembles a police station. Spent bullet casings glint on the floor, scattered among shards of broken glass. Dark stains smear the walls and tile.

This is beyond bizarre.

Somewhere in the distance, faint noises echo—too far to make out, but enough to put you on edge.

The radio broadcast said this place was secure… but you’re not convinced.

Your footsteps are too loud in the suffocating silence as you move down the hallway, the beam of your flashlight trembling just slightly. Every creak, every shifting shadow makes your pulse spike.

You're not alone here.

The beam of your flashlight shakes as you continue down the dark hallway. The oppressive silence makes every footstep seem louder, echoing in the empty space. You glance over your shoulder, half-expecting someone—or something—to be following you.

Then you see it.

The body of a police officer lies crumpled against a row of lockers, their head tilted at an unnatural angle.

For a moment, you think they’re just knocked out, passed out from exhaustion or maybe some kind of injury.

But the smell—it’s sharp and metallic, like blood that’s been left too long to dry.

You swallow the lump in your throat, but your feet don’t stop moving. Against your better judgment, you approach.

The officer’s uniform is torn, the fabric stained dark, but it’s the face that makes your stomach churn.

Their skin is pale, sickly, like they’ve been drained of life. But it’s not the color that disturbs you. It’s the eyes—wide and staring, unblinking, as if they’ve seen something they wish they hadn’t.

A trickle of blood runs from their mouth, staining the concrete beneath them. And in their hand, tightly clenched, is a handgun, the grip slick with something dark.

But it’s the noise that makes you freeze.

A low, guttural sound—almost like a hum, escaping from the officer’s throat. It’s quiet, but it’s there. The sound of something wrong.

And just then, you notice the slight twitch of their fingers.

A terrible thought flashes in your mind: this officer isn’t dead. Not yet.

You can’t tell how much time you have before—

The officer’s body twitches again, and you freeze, heart hammering in your chest. Every instinct tells you to get out of here, but you can’t leave unarmed.

The handgun. It’s right there, still clutched in the officer’s hand. It could be the difference between life and death.

But you hesitate. You don’t know if it’s safe to touch them. You don’t know if they’re still... alive.

The officer’s groan grows louder, more unsettling. Their head shifts slightly, eyes still fixed in that wide, hollow stare.

You swallow your fear, moving cautiously toward the officer’s hand.

Your hand reaches out, trembling, and you quickly grab the gun.

The officer’s fingers clutch around yours, a sickeningly tight grip.

A jolt of panic shoots through you, but you pull back hard, tearing the weapon free.

They don’t stop you.

You stumble back, the handgun cold and heavy in your hand. You can’t believe it. The officer’s still breathing, barely, but alive—or something close to it. Their chest rises and falls in uneven breaths.

You don’t wait around to find out what happens next. The gun is now yours, and you have to move before their twitching turns into something worse.

You don’t know the first thing about handling a gun. Hell, you’ve never even held one before. But right now, it feels like the only thing standing between you and whatever else might be lurking in the dark.

The cold metal presses into your palm like a shield. It’s reassuring in a way you can't explain, like if you’re holding this, nothing can touch you—at least, that's what you hope.

With one hand gripping the flashlight, the other holds the handgun—awkward and unfamiliar, but steady enough. Your footsteps echo in the empty hallway, the beam of light flickering as you move.

Suddenly, one of the overhead lights buzzes and flickers, casting strange, uneven shadows. It’s a small thing, but it makes the whole place feel even more suffocating. Every creak, every groan of the building is magnified, and you can’t shake the feeling that something is watching.

Secure my ass.

At the end of the hallway, you spot a door, but there’s a small metal cabinet blocking your way, wedged up against it.

You pause for a moment, before surrendering the gun to your pocket—safety’s on. You slip it into your coat and take a breath before facing the obstruction.

With both hands, you push against the cabinet.

It groans under the pressure, heavy and stubborn. You grunt with effort, but it doesn’t budge.

Damn, this thing’s solid.

A final shove, and the cabinet shifts enough for you to slip past it. You wipe the sweat off your brow, sighing in small triumph.

Turning the handle of the door slowly, you feel the weight of the moment. The air in the hallway seems to tighten, and you wonder if the world on the other side will be any better—or worse—than what you’ve already seen.

You push the door open, bracing yourself.

As quickly as the door opens, you hear the sharp click of a gun.

"Don't move." The voice is male, commanding, but there's a thread of doubt woven through the words. "Hands up."

Your heart races, but you don’t hesitate. Slowly, deliberately, you raise your hands, dropping the flashlight to the floor. The soft clink of the plastic hitting the ground echoes in the silence, making the situation feel even more intense.

Slowly, he steps into view, still aiming the gun at you.

Oh, great. He’s cute.

And he's holding a gun to your head. Fantastic. Your mother always hated your taste in men.

His dirty blonde hair falls just slightly into his eyes—and oh god, those eyes. Piercing blue, sharp and focused as they scan over you. The R.P.D. vest across his chest confirms what you already suspected. A cop.

"Are you bit?" His voice is steady, but there's an urgency behind it.

"What?" You blink, momentarily distracted—by him, by the situation, by... everything.

"Are you bit?" he repeats, irritation creeping into his tone.

You hesitate. "I... don’t think so?"

Your hands stay raised as his sharp gaze sweeps over you, searching for something unseen.

"Look, I just got here," you say, trying to keep your voice steady. "I've been on the road for a week. I heard a radio broadcast saying this place was secure."

His eyes finally meet yours, unreadable, skeptical—like he’s waiting for you to slip up.

For a long, tense moment, he doesn’t move.

Then, finally, he exhales. A slow, tired sigh.

And lowers his gun.

"Sorry about that," he says, lowering his gun. "Can’t be too careful around here."

You slowly lower your hands, still feeling the adrenaline in your fingertips. "Quite the welcome. Is this how you greet everyone in Raccoon City?"

A hint of a smirk tugs at the corner of his lips. "Wouldn’t know. It’s my first day."

He extends a hand. "Leon Kennedy."

You shake it, his grip firm but not overbearing. "Charmed. Y/N L/N."

Leon exhales, shaking his head. "Can’t believe this is how my first day’s going."

You cross your arms, raising an eyebrow. "So what, rookie cop? Thought you’d show up, get a badge, and do some paperwork?"

"Something like that," he mutters, glancing around the dimly lit hallway. His grip on the gun tightens. "You said you heard a radio broadcast? From here?"

"Yeah." You nod, shifting your bag on your shoulder. "It said the R.P.D. was secure."

Leon frowns. "Then either that broadcast was old, or we’re in worse trouble than I thought."

A tense silence hangs between you. The weight of his words settles in your gut like a rock.

Finally, he gestures down the hallway. "Look, if you’re sticking around, you’re gonna need more than just that flashlight."

You pull out the gun from your pocket—the one you barely know how to use. "I don’t suppose you have any spare ammo?"

"Let’s check the storage room," he says, nodding toward a door further down. "If the armory isn’t completely ransacked, maybe we’ll get lucky."

You fall into step beside him, every creak of the floorboards making your pulse jump. As you walk, your eyes wander over the bullet casings and shattered glass littering the station.

"So," you say, trying to distract yourself from the eerie quiet. "First day on the job, and you're already saving civilians. That’s got to be some kind of record."

Leon huffs out a quiet laugh. "Yeah, well, not exactly how I imagined it."

You smirk. "Let me guess. You thought you’d be handing out speeding tickets, maybe rescuing a cat from a tree?"

"Something like that," he says, a little more amused this time. Then, his expression hardens as he stops in front of the storage room door. "Stay behind me."

Your fingers tighten around your flashlight as he reaches for the handle.

The door creaks open.

Darkness greets you.

And something inside shuffles.

Before you can react, a hand clamps down on your shoulder. Fingers dig into the leather of your jacket—tight, unrelenting. A pressure you could live without.

A startled yell rips from your throat as you whirl around, instincts taking over. You drive your boot into its gut—hard.

The thing staggers back, hitting the floor with a sickening thud. A guttural, inhuman groan rattles from its throat, sending a shiver down your spine.

A zombie.

You yank the gun from your pocket, hands shaking as you take aim. But before you can even flick the safety off—

Bang.

Leon fires.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four shots, straight to its head.

The zombie lets out a final, wet groan before collapsing, blood sputtering from its ruined skull.

You exhale sharply, chest rising and falling far too fast. Your grip on the gun tightens, your fingers tingling with leftover adrenaline.

Leon chuckles, breaking the tension. "Where’d you learn to do that?"

You blink at him. "What?"

Leon quirks a brow. “That kick of yours was impressive, but, uh… you do know you have to take the safety off first, right?”

Heat rushes to your face. “I was getting there!”

He smirks. “Uh-huh. Sure.”

You huff, shoving the gun back into your pocket. “Alright, sharpshooter, what now? This place isn’t as ‘secure’ as the radio made it sound.”

Leon exhales, scanning the darkened hallway. "Yeah, no kidding." He reloads his pistol with practiced ease. "After we get more ammo we need to get to the main hall—find out if there's anyone else still alive."

"Great. And let me guess… it’s not gonna be a straight shot there?"

Leon lets out a dry chuckle. "You catch on fast."

You sigh, running a hand down your face. “Of course. Because why would anything be easy?”

“Welcome to Raccoon City,” he mutters before nodding toward the hallway. "Come on. Stay close."

You flick your flashlight back on and follow, the shadows stretching long against the walls. The smell of gunpowder and blood lingers in the air, mixing with something else—something rotten.

"Not to be that person," you whisper, gripping your bag tighter, "but I feel like we're walking into a horror movie."

Leon throws you a sideways glance, lips twitching. "Yeah? Well, let’s hope we’re not the dumb characters who die first."

You snort despite yourself. "Speak for yourself. I’m making it to the sequel."

Leon chuckles. "We’ll see about that."

And with that, the two of you push forward, deeper into the unknown.

"Speaking of," Leon interjects, glancing at you. "What brings you to Raccoon City? You said you'd been on the road for a week?"

Your throat feels dry as you swallow. "I'm a journalist. I was sent to get information on Umbrella Corporation," you say casually, though the words feel heavier now.

Leon huffs, shaking his head. "Hell of a time to send you here."

He sweeps his gun across the dimly lit room, scanning every corner before muttering, "Clear. Look around—see if anything in here’s useful."

You nod and move to the lockers, prying them open one by one. Handcuffs. Empty utility belts. Nothing that screams life-saving necessity.

Leon rummages through a desk drawer. "So, what, you dig up dirt for a living?"

You glance over your shoulder. "Basically. People lie. I write about it."

He lets out a dry chuckle. "Well, you picked the right city. There's a lot of lies to go around."

Your fingers brush against something at the bottom of the locker—a flashlight battery, slightly corroded but still intact.

Jackpot.

You toss it in your bag. "You find anything?"

Leon sighs, holding up an empty first aid spray can. "Yeah—a whole lot of nothing."

You both exchange a look. This was going to be a long night.

"Well, we should get moving," Leon says, shutting the drawer with a sigh. "Marvin’s waiting in the main hall. He might be able to point us in the right direction."

You nod, slinging your bag over your shoulder. "Right. Let’s hope he has better news than we’ve had so far."

Leon gives a small smirk, but there’s a weight behind his eyes. He doesn’t look convinced.

As you step back into the hallway, the eerie silence feels heavier than before. The flickering lights overhead buzz like dying fireflies.

You tighten your grip on the flashlight. "So… Marvin. Friend of yours?"

"Met him today," Leon mutters, leading the way. "He’s injured. Badly."

Your stomach twists. "Shit."

"Yeah." Leon exhales, gun at the ready. "But he saved my ass earlier, so if there’s anyone left who can help us, it’s him."

A distant thud echoes down the corridor. You freeze.

Leon’s gun snaps up. "Stay close."

Yeah. Like hell you were straying now.

~~~~~

Part 2

Thanks for reading!

Any support is appreciated! :)

[prestopresto07]

hi hi!!!! i love the laurance series you’re writing and i just wanted to ask if you’d be willing to start a taglist for it? ^^ (and if yes then may i please be added hehe)

I had a couple people ask me this and Yes I will! I got to figure out how to first lol. I will have one with the upload of chapter 8. So if anyone else would like to be added to a taglist let me know in the comments here! :)

Also thank you for the support lovey <3

[prestopresto07]

WOOF! This is awesome. Hot even...

WELCOME BACK LAURANCE !!!

[prestopresto07]

I feel the exact same way. I feel like this could've been an opportunity to reach out to her older audience, but instead it was her new kid-friendly style. MCD was not made for kids or at least it was meant to be more serious. Mockery is exactly what it feels like.

What are everyone's thoughts on the mcd anniversary video?

I'll be honest, I'm a bit torn. It's amazing that she still remembers this series and put the effort into making a video about it. But it almost feels like a mockery putting it in this new cringe content format.

I just... all the references and lore jumbled into a barely conceivable mess. It was such a good story, her best story, and it feels like she's not doing it justice.

Like every time she tries to go back to it, it gets worse and worse.

Season 1 and 2 were amazing. But then she stopped working on it and moved onto mystreet. When she started season 3, you could tell the difference in her writing style. How it had more weird jokes and the tension was off.

Then years later with rebirth, the same thing happened but worse. She took the whole concept and shoved it into the ground. Turning Aphmau from this selfless, loving lord into a barely functioning human who has the knowledge of a child.

And now this. This video that just jumbles reference after reference into her weird format. It's such a clash. Especially when Jess is voicing her new chirpy persona and Irene. It's literally hearing her old voice vs what she puts on now.

I just miss her. I miss her old videos. I miss when she used her real voice and wove together amazing intricate stories. I miss her banter with Satiel and Castor. She feels so different from the person I grew up watching.

But hey, at least her old videos are still there. At least I can watch season 1 and 2 of minecraft diaries where the worst of it was tropes and flirty one liners instead of every other line of dialogue being cringe and chirpy and off.

Someone, please tell me I'm not alone in this. That I'm not the only one who feels torn by this anniversary video. I'm only 10 minutes into it, and I started crying because of the harsh dissonance, and I honestly don't think I can finish it. It's like she's milking our fond memories of the series for content and I hate it.

[prestopresto07]

Invalid take maybe but throughout the progression of Aphmau's roleplays, characters have gotten less and less exciting as a lot of things have been taken away and put on Aaron's and Aphmau's character, discarding lots of story from the other characters, especially in Mystreet.

For some example, Laurence and Garroth became less interesting because some traits were put into Aaron and Aaron became the new troubled cursed man with issues, which was Laurence's story. Aaron's family problems were looked at deeper than Garroth, who's had family problems from the start.

Travis was more deep, and I'm not saying he isn't anymore, but his character really swallowed, like all the men in the early mystreet seasons. Dante's caring behavior was coming erased and faded away to be just another competitor for Aaron early on.

They all still have their moments, you could say, but most characters that haven't been completely not used in Mystreet have been faded to a background in some way, because Aphmau and Aaron really steal a lot of the spotlight.

The beginning of Minecraft Diaries was all in first person, so it feels so odd that later, which is more 2nd and 3rd person, have been capable of actually lessening the character's depth and perspectives shown.

[prestopresto07]

This is kinda a rant

Okay, so I know I just posted about the 10 year anniversary of MCD but that was before I saw the new video Aphmau posted. I don't follow her new stuff really lol.

The point of this account isn't to be controversial, and I know a lot of people are excited, and you are allowed to be excited! This is exciting! I am also excited!

I just wanted to say that I really wish this was geared towards her previous audience. I understand her brand is marked towards younger kids now. But Minecaft Diares was originally viewed by this older audience. And I think that this video should've been posted on her fantasy channel or something, but I really wish that this video had more of the original style with the original dramatic cutscenes. Less flamethrowers lol.

All I'm saying is that I think that this 10-year anniversary video could've been an opportunity to extend a branch to her older followers, but it was geared towards her new followers.

I don't know. Does anyone else feel this way or is it only me?

[prestopresto07]

Never Known Peace | 7

MCD x Fem!reader | Angsty | This happens after ep 100 when shadow knights are more prevalent and Laurence is more emo. This is intended to be Lurence x reader but I'm thinking about doing multiple endings or something. I'm just seeing where this fanfic goes. Also sorry you're right-handed. Also, I'm dyslexic so if you see any spelling errors no you don't.

You were never a knight—just a mercenary, paid to escort someone into the Nether. But instead of protecting them, you were the one betrayed, left for dead in the depths of that hellish realm. And you did die… or at least, you think you did.

Now, you're something else. A Shadow Knight.

Transformed, confused, and afraid, you barely escape with the help of a stranger named Vlyad. But the world beyond the portal is no safer. You don’t know where you are, how you survived, or what you've become. All you know is that you're running—and the fear hasn’t left your bones.

A:N just a trigger warning I guess, reader drinks some special drink but not drunk!

The night had continued without incident.

The atmosphere was quite pleasant, laughter and music flowed through the air.

You think that Levin had too much to drink. At this point in the night he wasn't acting very lordly. He was currently teaching the kids in the village how to dance.

Aphmau and the others laugh.

This seemed like a coming home party, you don't feel they get to relax like this very often.

You enjoyed getting to observe from your place at the table. Dinner was delicious and quite filling.

Everything felt sort of normal.

Except.

Laurance.

Had followed you around like a shadow the whole night. Never taking his eyes off of you.

When you offered to help Kawaii~Chan clear the table. The second you stood up, he had gotten up from his spot across from you and began clearing the table as well.

When you got up to refill your glass he was right behind you.

Like a shadow.

You ignored him to the best of your ability.

Instead, observing everyone in this quaint little village.

As the night progressed, more people came to join and eat dinner.

A family with two rambunctious young boys, a scruffy man, who you presumed to be their father from how he barked at them to sit down and behave, and a woman holding a small baby.

Things were happy, you felt good, probably escalated by whatever drink was flowing through your veins.

You felt warmth, like a blanket was wrapped around you.

What was in this drink?

You laughed watching the kids run circles around Levin.

You could hear Laurance chuckle.

When you turn to him, he wasn't looking at the current scene unfolding.

He was looking at you.

You narrow your eyes at him.

"What?" He asks, faking innocence, the look that comes across his face makes you wanna punch him.

"What are you looking at?" You ask. The drink is making you feel more bold than before.

He smirks, crossing his arms and leaning on the table. "Maybe I just like looking at you?"His tone is teasing, but there's something else behind his eyes—something unreadable.

You roll your eyes, "You’ve been following me around all night. Bit much, don’t you think?"

Laurance chuckles, taking a sip of his drink. "Can’t be too careful. You’re still a bit of a mystery."

You scoff, swirling the drink in your hand. "That’s just a fancy way of saying ‘suspicious.’"

Laurance chuckles, his eyes glinting with amusement. "Or maybe it’s just a fancy way of saying ‘pretty.’"

Your face heats up before you can stop it, and Laurance must notice because his grin only widens.

Oh, he’s enjoying this.

You smirk, tilting your head. "If you like staring so much, should I strike a pose? Maybe make it easier for you?"

Laurance raises an eyebrow, clearly pleased with the challenge. "Go ahead. Give me your best."

Without hesitation, you prop your elbow on the table and rest your chin on your hand, batting your lashes dramatically. "This better?"

Laurance chuckles, leaning in slightly. "Oh, much better. I’ll have to thank that drink for giving you the confidence."

You narrow your eyes playfully. "And I’ll have to thank it for making you so talkative."

"I’m always talkative. You just bring out the best in me."

You roll your eyes, but there’s a small smile tugging at your lips.

He's right though. Never in a million years would you be letting your guard down this much.

You rub your eyes, hoping that will sober you up.

Laurance watches you, amusement flickering in his gaze. "Getting tired on me already?"

You sigh, dropping your hands from your face. "I think I’m just… too relaxed." It’s not a lie. The warmth in your chest, the easy laughter around you—it’s disarming.

Laurance hums in thought. "That’s not a bad thing, you know."

"Feels like it is."

He tilts his head. "Why?"

You hesitate. How do you explain the unease crawling up your spine? The way your mind keeps waiting for something to go wrong? Because every time I let my guard down, something terrible happens.

Instead, you just shrug. "Old habits."

Laurance studies you for a moment before pushing himself up from the table. "Come on," he says, armor creaking as he stretches his hands over his head.

You blink at him. "Come on where?"

"Back to the treehouse. You look like you're about to pass out at the table." His tone is teasing, but there's a softness in it, an unspoken understanding.

You hesitate, glancing back at the others. The night is still alive with laughter and conversation, but the exhaustion creeping into your bones is undeniable.

Finally, you sigh. "Fine. But only because I don’t want to wake up with my face in a plate of leftovers."

Laurance grins. "See? You do trust me."

You scoff, rolling your eyes as he leads you away from the table and toward the softly glowing path back to the treehouse.

It was now, while you were walking, when you realized you'd had too much to drink. You weren't normally one to drink this much, and when you did you weren't this much of a lightweight.

You were in no means drunk...just dizzy.

The ground felt uneven.

Laurance must have noticed because, without a word, his hand shifts from the hilt of his sword to steadying your elbow.

"You good?" His voice is lighter now, teasing, but there’s a flicker of actual concern in his eyes.

"M'fine," you mumble, though you’re not entirely convinced yourself. The ground still feels like it’s swaying beneath your feet, and you blink hard, trying to focus.

Laurance snorts. "Right. And I’m the Lord of Phoenix Drop."

You shoot him a half-hearted glare. "Just a little dizzy. It’ll pass."

"Uh-huh." He doesn’t let go. If anything, his hold on your arm steadies just a little more.

For a moment, you consider shaking him off, insisting you don’t need the help. But the warmth of his hand is grounding, and honestly? You’re too tired to argue.

You sigh, your voice softer this time. "Thanks."

Laurance glances at you, something unreadable in his expression, before he smirks. "Anytime,"

You must be insane.

He must be insane.

Just a few hours ago, he made it very clear that you were a prisoner. Or 'guest'

You straighten yourself out, but his hand remains fixed on your forearm.

You glance down at where his fingers press lightly against your sleeve, warmth seeping through the fabric. He doesn’t seem in any hurry to let go.

"You know," you murmur, tilting your head slightly, "for someone who was so eager to throw me in a cell earlier, you’re being awfully nice."

Laurance huffs a laugh but doesn’t deny it. "I have layers."

You arch a brow. "Like an onion?"

That gets a real laugh out of him, a low chuckle that makes your stomach twist in a way you’re not ready to acknowledge. "More like a very charming, very handsome puzzle."

"Debatable," you mutter, but there’s no real bite to your words.

Laurance smirks, then finally—finally—drops his hand from your arm. But he stays close, his presence like a shadow at your side.

"Come on," he says, nodding toward the towering treehouse ahead. "You’re about to pass out on your feet. Let’s get you to bed before you start seeing two of me. Though I don’t think that's a bad thing.” He says posing slightly.

You scoff but don’t resist when he gently guides you forward. Maybe, just this once, you’ll let someone else be the one to keep watch.

You two move down the gravel path, only slightly stumbling.

Starting the climb up the tree seems very daunting at this point. You had little issue climbing the stairs, though Laurance did have to help you once.

But now you were standing at the bottom of the ladder. A much different task in your state.

"What? Do you need me to carry you up?" You don't have to look at him to tell the look on his face would make you wanna punch him.

You shake your head, summoning what little sobriety you had left and grasping the ladder.

You did it, slowly, and you did think you might fall and die at one point, but you did it.

Laurance follows up after you, his presence steady just below. You can feel his eyes on you, probably watching to make sure you don’t slip. Or maybe he’s just enjoying your struggle.

When you finally haul yourself onto the wooden platform at the top, you sit back with a huff, catching your breath.

"See?" you say, glancing down at him as he climbs up with ease. "Didn’t need you to carry me."

Laurance smirks as he swings himself onto the platform. "Shame. Would’ve been fun."

You roll your eyes, pushing yourself to your feet with a little more effort than you’d like. The cool night air feels nice against your flushed skin, but the exhaustion is creeping in, heavier now that you’re away from the noise of the village.

Laurance watches as you rub your temples. His teasing tone softens. "You should get some rest."

You nod, too tired to argue, and step toward the entrance of the treehouse, you pause, glancing back at him.

"Laurance?"

He raises a brow. "Yeah?"

You hesitate for half a second before mumbling, "Thanks. For, you know... not letting me fall on my face."

He grins. "Anytime."

And as you finally step inside and collapse onto a bed, you swear you can still feel his eyes lingering on you.

You turn slightly, looking at him through your hair.

He was looking at you. Without his usual smirk, something more somber.

"What?" You ask, lifting the hair from your face.

He looks off into the distance, not at anything in particular. Just thinking.

Your question hangs in the air for a moment, unanswered. Laurance's gaze flickers away, lost somewhere in the dim glow of the treehouse. It’s different from his usual teasing—like he’s searching for the right words and not quite finding them.

"Nothing," he finally says, shaking his head. But you don’t believe him.

You shift on the bed, the exhaustion in your limbs warring with the nagging feeling in your gut. "Doesn’t seem like nothing."

He exhales through his nose, almost like a laugh, but there’s no humor in it. He leans back against the wooden railing of the treehouse, crossing his arms. "You just… went through a lot. More than most people ever do. And now you’re here, acting like it’s normal."

You blink. That was not what you expected.

"What else am I supposed to do?" You force out a dry laugh. "Curl up and cry? That won’t change anything."

His eyes meet yours again, steady and unreadable. "Maybe not. But pretending you're fine won’t, either."

The words hit somewhere deep, in a place you’ve been trying to ignore. You look away, suddenly very interested in the knots of the wooden floor.

Laurance sighs, pushing off the railing. "Never mind. Just get some sleep."

He turns toward the ladder, but before he steps down, you speak—quieter this time.

"You’re not staying?"

It slips out before you can think better of it.

Laurance pauses, glancing back at you. There’s something unreadable in his expression again, like he wasn’t expecting that either.

"I was gonna keep watch from outside." He gestures vaguely toward the platform. "Figured you’d want some space."

Do you?

You don’t know.

But the thought of being alone right now, after everything, makes your chest feel tight.

You shift, looking up at him. "You could... stay. Just for a bit."

The words are barely above a whisper, but he hears them. His brows lift slightly, and for once, he doesn’t have a clever remark.

Then, after a beat, he gives a small nod.

"Alright."

And as he settles in nearby, close enough to be a presence but far enough to give you space, you finally let yourself breathe.

~~~~~~~~~~

Part 8

A: Ahh sorry this chapter is short! don't worry next one will be soooooo long! Also speaking of chapter 8, anyone got ideas? I have a general direction of where the story will go, but I would really love any ideas or suggestions! I think my inbox is open, but suggestions in the comments are great too! Thank you for reading!

Any support is appreciated! :)

[prestopresto07]

Happy 10 year anniversary!!!!

It's crazy to me that this series is over 10 years old and it makes me really sad that we still don't have a resolution :( At this point I'm afraid it will never happen, but I'm holding out hope.

I wish she could just remake it into a comic or something.

Sometimes I feel like I'm too old to hold this so close to my heart but MCD and Aphmau have really affected who I am today. It's a big part of my creativity and personality. But 10 years ago it became a major part of my life and has been since.

I love MCD and don't think I will ever stop rewatching it lol.