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yurozo · 3 months ago

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holidays headcanons (resident evil)

┌─── ∘°❉°∘ ───┐ characters: chris, leon, jill, claire, rebecca, carlos, luis, ada, wesker warnings: mentions of alcohol, some swearing.

a/n: i know this is late but all the recent love for the restaurant au inspired me!! check that one out here! love u pookies and i hope you had a great holidays <3 if you want me to cover anyone else, or have any other suggestions for au's please let me know! └─── °∘❉∘° ───┘

chris redfield:

this man comes for one reason and one reason alone: the food. you best believe chris redfield is grabbing two plates piled sky-high and scarfing it down before the rest have even served themselves. because of a particular incident involving leon and a nerf gun, chris has been banished to the kids table for the foreseeable future. he gets to sit there with (baby) sherry in a shitty little plastic barbie chair that claire bought off amazon-- the legs are bowing under his weight and are clearly destined to snap during some point in the night. as for the games, chris takes no part in it. why? he's stone cold passed out in the lazyboy. i'm talking full on snoring, scratching at his chest, mouth open, and drooling asleep. nothing is waking that man up from his food coma, other than literally firing a gun three inches away from his ears.

as for you, chris softens a little bit. he'll reluctantly indulge whatever you want to do, even if he's grumbling about it a little the whole time. this man is a practical gift giver, unless claire gets involved and gets you something indulgent in chris' name. if it were up to chris alone, he's replacing whatever you have that's worn down or unusable. he just wants to see you comfortable and stress-free, and he really doesn't have the mind for other things.

leon kennedy:

respectfully, he's the typical white dad of the group. he eats a good amount of mashed potatoes and roast beef, downs a couple whiskeys, and he's out for the count. there's been a couple occasions that he's gotten a little too rowdy, and relentlessly barraged the dinner table with whatever one-liners or borderline traumatic stories that come to his mind. he's fine, he swears, it really was funny that time he almost got blown up.

god forbid sherry grows up and starts bringing partners around the place, leon takes it upon themselves to act like her personal bodyguard. he'll sit in an armchair and stare daggers at them every time they so much as touch her, and it takes a while for him to warm up to them. for the games, do NOT ask that man to play charades. honestly, it will just be embarrassing for the both of you.

leon really does try his best when it comes to you. his gifts are usually something you eyed while out with him somewhere, which he very sneakily bought while you weren't looking. however, he's downright terrible at hiding it for you if he buys it ahead of time. you have to just act surprised and loving about the whole thing, and leon's putty in your hands. there's always a hand around your waist when you're in the vicinity, and leon loves to brag about your title in casual conversations. (eg. "yeah, my wife/husband is a pretty good cook. it's no big deal")

jill valentine:

jill's been banned from helping in the kitchen for five years. it's not her fault, honestly, she got a little too distracted sharing war stories with the others that she forgot the yorkshires were still in the oven. she'll happily eat everything though, or bring a store-bought dessert if need be. every single year, she takes photos of chris passed out in the armchair until she can make a photo album to gift him. there's a framed photo of chris mid-fall after the barbie chair finally gave way that's hanging above the fireplace, courtesy of her. also likes to take lil sips of leons whiskey when he's not looking since he always brings the good stuff.

she claims that she doesn't get into the games, but she gets super intense about charades to the point that everyone's reluctant to team up with her. she's shouting answers like there's a ticking bomb that will go off when the time runs out, and she'll scold you if she thinks your acting performance wasn't oscar worthy. she's flinging around a beer can during the whole thing and nearly soaking everyone in the vicinity.

when you start coming around for the holidays, jill visibly relaxes. she can let a lot of her guard down, and everyone likes to give her shit about how lovesick and happy she becomes. she's also a victim of the practical gift giving trait, but occasionally she likes to buy you something just because she thinks you would look nice in it. but there's always an extra gift at home that she won't let you open in front of the others, she has to maintain some sort of dignity.

claire redfield:

her and rebecca are the only reasons this tradition goes on for as long as it does. rebecca does most of the logistics, claire is the one who keeps that ship running while it's happening. the two of them are such a scary pair when they want shit done, that everyone else just has to follow along. claire is the one that banished chris to the kids table, but still lingers around to keep an eye on sherry and make sure she's eating enough. when sherry's old enough to bring partners around, she's the welcoming one, and will secretly jab leon in the ribs whenever he starts acting up.

claire likes to experiment with the games every single year, usually after incidents or fights break out. white elephant got banned after four different people just bought gift cards to the gun store (im assuming this exists there, im canadian). she's shaking the box of names aggressively at anyone who tries to get away, and will tip chris right out of that damn chair. they rarely get to be together with all the missions, so help her god they're going to enjoy it.

you're the first person claire actually brings around. sure, she's had relationships, but bringing you around to family christmas is a big deal. and don't worry, everyone else will tell you just how much of a big deal it is. you're the first person she tells everything too, and on the drive there, she's giving you a full run down on what she thinks of everyone (claire has very strong opinions). for gifts, she loves to buy you things. her favourite gifts are outfits either you can wear on her motorcycle, or matching clothes she painted herself.

rebecca chambers:

the holidays are a stressful time for her. not only does she have to cook for the most ravenous group of people that definitely do not cook for themselves enough, but she has to make sure they don't kill each other during it. despite that, dinner is always amazing, and the desserts are just to die for. she takes a special pride in her desserts, and if a couple extra supplements sneak themselves into the dinner, she definitely does not know anything about that. one of the few things that gets her through the holidays is the extra sweet hot chocolate and egg nog concoction that she makes for herself. leon tried it one time by accident and nearly gagged at just how sweet it was.

rebecca is very into the games and gifts section. it's the one time she gets to sit down and relax a little bit, and she does love how intense everyone gets about the whole thing. she's just happy that everyone can get together, and maybe relax after everything that's happened. despite her enthusiasm and smarts, she is downright terrible at charades. her answers are always way too complex for the minute they have to guess whatever she's miming. how the hell is anyone supposed to guess t-011 from hand gestures?

rebecca is by far the best gift giver out of the bunch. whatever she buys you is well-thought out, personal, and helpful. she likes to have you hang around the kitchen while she cooks, and will always feed you little spoonfuls under the guise of taste-testing. really, she just wants to make sure you eat, especially before chris can get his grubby little hands on the entrees.

luis sera:

leon invited him a total of one time, and luis had just become a permanent fixture of the whole thing. you best believe luis is bringing a karaoke machine and performing bad renditions of holiday music complete with an improvised choreography. he tried to bring leon into it one time, and nearly got roundhoused so hard that rebecca had to take them both out like misbehaving dogs. despite that, he always brings around a home-cooked entree to dinner, which rebecca appreciated greatly. luis also has the tendency to spin great tales about what he did during the year, which are definitely all lies.

in part two of the party, luis likes to be a little tipsy for the whole thing. who can blame him, he likes a party. just don't get him talking about his work, he'll talk about it for hours with increasingly complicated language that only rebecca can understand. like her too, he also gets really into the games section. luis is mentally keeping track of the stores, and will argue with anyone that tries to get the one up on him. i mean, he really deserved the point on the last one, so what if he buffs the numbers a little?

luis love to brag about you to all the others, you're his lovely partner and somehow agreed to date him, how could he not? his gifts for you are always a little extravagant, because he wants everyone else to know just what a good boyfriend he is. you're also the reason why he got chewed out over pda during the holidays. luis is just not the kind of man that can keep his hands off you, it's the season of romance.

carlos oliveira:

he's the one person who rebecca allows in the kitchen. carlos is always willing to help, and he'll even do it with a cheesy little apron on. it just makes his ass look nice, and these people deserve a treat on the holidays. god forbid carlos, leon, and jill are sitting together for dinner. they're throwing around the worst jokes known to man, and cackling loudly the whole time, especially if they're a couple beers deep. he's used to a big family, so this kind of gathering is right in his element. he makes sure there's enough food and drink for everyone, even if he's next to chris in eating it all.

another victim of getting too into the games. he likes to have fun and joke around, so he's definitely energetic, but doesn't take it too seriously. carlos is ultimately there to have a good time, and if a pretty woman is telling him to play, he's definitely not going to say no. he's relaxing back in his chair, beer in hand, yelling out suggestions and laughing loudly.

for you, he's just happy to bring you around and show you a good time. you don't have to worry about a damn thing during the holidays, carlos is doing everything so you can just lay back and enjoy the festivities. your drink is empty? carlos is already up and heading to the fridge. you want more dessert? there's another plate already in your hands.

ada wong:

no one really knows the reason she's here. people suspect she found out the location through her own means and just started showing up. or that wesker invited her for insurance reasons. she'll offer to help in the kitchen, and they always turn her down because she's definitely overdressed and they don't want to risk her getting dirty. during the dinner, she just like to witness the inevitable trash fire, or chatting quietly with luis about whatever work drama happening with him.

she's not playing any games. don't ask her. ada will give you a mean glare until you leave her alone. she wants to sit there and watch the wreckage and drink her little drink, she is not playing charades even if there's a gun to her head. get her to gossip though? she will happily engage in telling you dirty secrets about everyone else ( no one can figure out how the hell she knows these things).

ada's rigging the whole thing so you win. she wants to see you happy, and you'll be even happier when you see what she's got you. again, there's no way to tell exactly how she knows what you wanted, but you can be sure you're getting it. and it's in a pretty box, carefully put together and wrapped with a red bow. there's also a mistletoe in her pocket, for when she can finally get you alone.

albert wesker:

no one knows who invited him. no one knows where he is the whole time (he's in the bedroom, pointedly avoiding everyone else). he'll come down to dinner, eat his food, say nothing, and go back upstairs. he's also not going to engage in any sort of ugly sweater tradition, he's wearing all black, and god help anyone who tries to get him to wear anything else. wesker will speak up about his open disdain for chris, but it's quickly shut down by rebecca before he can start a fight.

he doesn't really come around all that often. he prefers to do his work, have his own celebration, and pretend all these people don't exist. after certain events, he becomes a bit of an unspoken topic amongst everyone else-- just a person that used to come around thats' been replaced by their new family.

the only way he'll do anything for the holidays is if you're there. yes, he's going to complain and say he has better things to do, and he would much rather have your own private celebration, but he'll reluctantly do it if you bother him enough. he's giving you his present in private and away from prying eyes, because that relationship is just between you two, not these other people unworthy of even looking at you. whatever you tell him you want, he'll buy. money's no object for him, and anything that will make you happy while he works on other things.

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theartofcollapse · 3 months ago

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hey idk if this crosses a line with anything but maybe an olivia imagine where the reader got spiked while at a bar and called olivia when she realized something felt wrong and liv shows up and takes her home and kind of just takes care of her

a/n: thank you for requesting! summary: read it above pairing: Olivia Benson x female reader warnings: mention of drugs, vomiting word count: 1.7K

masterlist

Safe – Olivia Benson

The bar buzzed with energy as patrons crowded around tables, clinking glasses and laughing over the pounding music. You had come here to unwind after a long week, convinced by a coworker that a night out would help clear your head. It had seemed like a good idea at the time.

The first drink went down fine, just a light buzz to loosen the tension in your shoulders. But the second drink? That’s when you noticed something wasn’t right.

The world around you blurred, and your limbs felt heavy. Your head swam, thoughts sluggish and disconnected. You leaned against the bar for balance, your hand fumbling for your phone in your bag. Panic rose in your chest. You hadn’t had that much to drink.

You scrolled through your contacts, your fingers trembling as you found Olivia’s name. You hadn’t known her for long, just a few weeks, but there was something about her calm presence, her unwavering sense of justice, that made you feel safe.

The phone rang twice before she picked up.

“Y/N?” Her voice was steady but tinged with concern.

“Olivia,” you slurred, your words heavy on your tongue. “Something’s wrong. I.. I think someone put something in my drink.”

There was a pause, sharp and deliberate. “Where are you?”

You rattled off the name of the bar as best as you could, clinging to the edge of the counter.

“Stay right there,” Olivia said, her voice firm and reassuring. “I’m on my way. Don’t move, and don’t let anyone near you.”

You clung to those words like a lifeline, your vision growing hazier by the second.

The blur of neon lights and muffled sounds began to sharpen as Olivia entered the bar. She scanned the room with practiced precision, her eyes landing on you slumped at the counter. Her jaw tightened, and she moved through the crowd with purpose.

“Y/N,” she said softly, crouching beside you. She placed a steadying hand on your arm. “It’s me. I’ve got you.”

You blinked up at her, relief flooding through you. “Olivia…”

Her hand brushed your hair back from your face. “I’m here. You’re going to be okay.”

Standing, Olivia’s sharp gaze swept the room. It didn’t take long for her to spot a man lingering a few seats away, watching you with a nervous, guilty expression.

Her lips pressed into a thin line as she pulled out her phone, stepping just far enough away to call Elliot.

“Elliot,” she said, her voice low but firm. “I need you at the Silver Moon Bar. Now. There’s a suspect I need picked up, possible drugging.”

Elliot didn’t hesitate. “I’m on my way.”

Olivia returned to your side, placing a protective arm around your shoulders. “We’re going to get you out of here,” she said, guiding you gently to your feet.

The man tried to slink away, but Olivia’s sharp command stopped him in his tracks. “Don’t even think about it.”

Her presence alone was enough to keep him rooted in place until Elliot arrived, his arrival swift and professional as he handcuffed the man and read him his rights.

The drive to Olivia’s apartment was quiet, her car filled with the soft hum of the heater.

Once inside her apartment, Olivia guided you to the couch, wrapping a blanket around your shoulders.

“Do you want some water? Tea?” she asked, her voice gentle.

“Water, please,” you murmured, your throat dry.

She disappeared into the kitchen and returned moments later with a glass of water and a cool cloth, which she placed lightly on your forehead.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, your voice breaking. “I didn’t know who else to call.”

Olivia knelt in front of you, her warm brown eyes meeting yours. “Hey,” she said softly, her hand resting lightly on your knee. “You did the right thing. You called me, and I’m glad you did.”

Tears welled in your eyes, the overwhelming fear and vulnerability of the night finally catching up to you. Olivia didn’t hesitate, pulling you into a firm but gentle embrace.

“You’re safe now,” she murmured, her voice steady and comforting. “I promise.”

Olivia’s grip tightened ever so slightly as she felt you shudder in her arms. You pulled back abruptly, your body lurching with nausea.

“Bathroom - ” you managed to choke out before clapping a hand over your mouth.

Olivia was on her feet instantly, guiding you down the hall to her bathroom. She helped you kneel in front of the toilet just as the wave of nausea overtook you. You vomited, your stomach twisting violently, and tears streamed down your face from the strain.

“Shh, I’ve got you,” Olivia murmured from behind you. She knelt beside you, her hand holding your hair back while her other gently rubbed circles on your back.

Once the worst of it was over, you sagged against the side of the tub, trembling. Sweat beaded on your forehead, and you were suddenly aware of how cold you felt despite your overheated skin.

“I’m so sorry,” you whispered, your voice weak and shaky.

Olivia grabbed a washcloth, running it under cool water before gently pressing it to your clammy face. “Don’t apologize. This isn’t your fault,” she said firmly, her voice carrying that steady authority that made you feel safe.

The bathroom felt too bright, too small, and the nausea lingered, though not as violently as before. You curled in on yourself, shivering despite the sweat that clung to your skin.

“You’re freezing,” Olivia noted, worry flickering across her face. She grabbed a blanket she’d left on the couch earlier and draped it over your shoulders. “Let’s get you out of here. You’ll feel better lying down.”

You nodded faintly, letting her help you to your feet. Your legs felt like jelly, and she practically carried you down the hall to her bedroom.

“I don’t want to ruin your bed,” you protested weakly, clutching at the blanket.

“Y/N, don’t worry about that,” Olivia said softly, but her tone left no room for argument. She helped you onto the bed, tucking the covers around you snugly.

“Stay here,” she instructed, brushing the hair from your face again. “I’m going to grab some water and a bucket, just in case.”

You nodded, your teeth chattering now. The cold seeped deep into your bones, and you couldn’t stop trembling.

Olivia returned quickly, setting a glass of water and a bucket by the bedside. She sat down beside you, her eyes scanning your pale face.

“You’re still sweating,” she noted, reaching out to feel your forehead. “And you’re burning up. You might need a doctor, Y/N.”

“No,” you croaked, shaking your head. “I’ll be fine. Just need to sleep it off.”

Olivia frowned, clearly unconvinced, but she didn’t push. Instead, she reached for your hand, her touch grounding and reassuring. “Alright,” she said softly. “But if it gets worse, we’re going. No arguments.”

“Okay,” you murmured, your eyelids fluttering shut.

As the hours ticked by, the symptoms ebbed and flowed. Every time you stirred - whether it was to sip water, wipe away sweat, or lean over the bucket - Olivia was there. She stayed by your side, her unwavering presence a balm to the storm raging inside you.

By the time the first rays of dawn crept through the window, the worst of it had passed. You were still weak, your body aching and your throat raw, but the cold sweats had subsided, and your nausea was manageable.

“Thank you,” you whispered hoarsely, looking up at Olivia, who sat in the chair beside the bed, her hand resting on yours.

She gave you a small, tired smile. “You don’t have to thank me. You’re safe now, and that’s all that matters.”

Safe. That word lingered in your mind as you drifted off again.

When you woke again, sunlight was spilling through the windows, and Olivia was still in the chair beside you. She had her phone in one hand, her other resting casually on your arm. The faint lines of worry etched on her face softened when she noticed your eyes fluttering open.

“Hey,” she greeted gently, leaning forward. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I’ve been run over by a truck,” you croaked, your throat dry and voice hoarse. Then you managed a faint smile, despite everything. “This isn’t exactly how I imagined our next date going.”

Olivia’s lips curved into a small smile, though concern still lingered in her eyes. “Yeah, I don’t usually plan for my dates to include throwing up and police intervention.”

You let out a weak laugh, even though it hurt. “It’s a bold strategy,” you teased. “Really sets the tone for a relationship. How many people do you bring home after arresting someone for them?”

“Only the ones who know how to keep me on my toes,” she shot back smoothly, the glimmer of amusement in her eyes breaking through her worry.

You grinned, though it didn’t quite hide your embarrassment. “I mean, most people wait until, like, date ten before they start sweating through someone else’s sheets and crying in their bathroom. I just like to skip straight to the memorable parts.”

Olivia chuckled softly, shaking her head. “For the record, this isn’t the worst date I’ve been on. But it’s definitely one of the more dramatic.”

You groaned, covering your face with one hand. “Oh, God. Worst impression ever. I’m supposed to be charming and cool, not… this.”

She leaned closer, her hand gently brushing yours away from your face so she could look at you. “Hey,” she said softly, her voice grounding you again. “You don’t need to be charming or cool right now. What happened wasn’t your fault. And if this is your worst impression, you’re doing pretty well.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the warmth that blossomed in your chest at her words. “You’re really good at this whole ‘making someone feel safe’ thing, you know that?”

Her expression softened, her hand lingering on yours. “I try. And, for the record, I think you’re handling this a lot better than most people would.”

You sighed, settling back into the pillows. “Well, if I didn’t scare you off last night, I guess I’m doing okay.”

Olivia smirked, her eyes twinkling with affection. “It’s going to take a lot more than one rough night to scare me off, Y/N.”

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sochai13 · 5 months ago

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domestic dazai … <3 pt 2

— dazai’s eyes lighting up the moment he noticed you decided to wear a loose fitting shirt today. that day months ago you idly commented on how freezing his hands tended to be, it became routine of him to transfer that coldness onto your skin any chance presented. of course he had to play this out right and wait for a moment you’d be distracted— having grown much too accustomed to this habit of his. dazai’d watch as you got up from the couch and grabbed a glass of water, turning around and facing the counter to sneak up on you. his hands slid under your shirt, immediately pressing against your sides making your shoulders fly up as you let out a startled gasp. snickers sounded from behind as you slowly put down the glass you almost dropped.

— dazai stubbornly laying down after you finally convinced him he couldn’t casually walk about with a sore throat, sinus pressure, and a moderate fever. it was even more frustrating to get him to take just minimal medicine. complaints and whines that “it tastes bad” and “it makes me nauseous” left dazai’s dry lips as he attempted to cozy up beneath the sheets despite how his temperature fluctuated. he reluctantly agreed under the condition you’d massage his head with those magical fingers of yours (as he calls it). honestly, it was worth it. looking upon that peaceful expression on his face you (anyone really) rarely got sight of after he fell asleep within five minutes was enough of a reward. his eyes were closed, lips slightly parted as his chest slowly rose and fell. he’d trusted you enough to completely let his guard down forever ago, but it still caused a small smile to grace your lips at the sight.

— dazai using some pen he found in your bag to idly doodle on your hand and arm. the two of you were sitting on some empty bench in a park, water flowing in a fountain nearby. the weather had already began to cool down, leaves falling and breezes occasionally picking up as shivers would run down your spines. there’d been nothing to keep you entertained all day, the current scenario finding you both here. “you’re really good at that” you softly muttered as he used the black ink to create pretty flowers along your wrist. dazai simply flashed you a small smile before his focus redirected back to his little canvas.

— dazai lying in bed with you, his eyes half lidded. moonlight illuminated the room through the blinds. last time you checked, it was around 1AM… maybe? his gaze fixated on your face tiredly, eyes analyzing each one of your features like he was seeing you for the first time again. the side of his face rested on his palm as his elbow was propped against the pillow. his other hand ran through your hair, gently brushing the extra strands out your eyes. your fingertips ran along his skin, some areas calloused and some smooth. his whole body was yours to find solace in, save for a few spots currently covered by bandages. not many words were exchanged, just the sounds of your breaths and the fan above you two, though the silence was enough to provide a shared melancholy.

#i love writing these #dazai x reader #dazai x you #dazai osamu #fanfic #domestic dazai #ada dazai #fanfiction #dazai fluff #bsd dazai #bungo stray dogs

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tinkerleaf · 4 days ago

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Monday Migraines

a/n: I have migraines every now and then that are so debilitating it pisses me off. I had one Monday, and it ruined my day. Writing this made me feel better. Keep in mind that this is how my migraines are. I know everyone is different and deals with it differently, this is just how it usually is for me. w/c: 0.7k pairing: ADA/reader genre: comfort, fluff warnings: mention of sickness/vomiting m.list: here

˖ ݁𖥔.☁︎.𖥔 ݁ ˖

It hit you like a freight train going 738 miles per hour, carrying nothing but nails and elephants. You knew you should have taken some medicine earlier, but you figured it would get better after eating or getting some caffeine. Yet, here you are, head down on the desk. The pain is ripping through your head, and not even closing your eyes is soothing the dull ache in your skull.

In the corner of the room, Ranpo is yapping about some case he was working on last week that you can’t bring yourself to care about at the moment. Usually, you don’t mind, but right now, his voice feels like a hammer going through your head.

There’s a light tap on your desk. It makes you cringe. “Hey, you doing alright?” Atsushi quietly asks.

The noise that comes from your mouth is pitiful, and you begrudgingly raise your head. “I got a migraine…” You grab your bag from the back of your chair and dig through it, quietly whining in the process. As you look for some pain relievers, you unfortunately realize you’re all out.

“I have some ibuprofen if you need it,” Kunikida says without looking up from his computer. He opens the door to his desk diagonal to you, and hands you the bottle.

“Yeah, I gotta take something. Than-” You feel yourself gag, and you know you have to run fast before you throw up in front of the entire office. You slap a hand over your mouth and quickly jog towards the door. However, you don’t make it far before you have to grab the trashcan next to Dazai’s desk and just absolutely hurl.

Yosano quickly runs to check on you, while Dazai gently grabs your hair from behind you. He looks a little grossed out, but you can’t blame him. Kenji brings you your water bottle, which you were grateful for.

“Shit, I’m so sorry, I really tried to-” Your head hurts so bad that you barely move from the floor.

“Dude, don’t apologize for being sick…” Tanizaki comments.

“I need to take something but I don’t know if I can keep it down right now.”

Yosano guides you by the arm, “Here, I’ll give you something for the nausea and you can lay down in the infirmary.”

You can’t even deny her, you feel terrible. So you follow her, and she closes the door to keep the room quiet. She turns a fan on to cool you off, as well as give you a constant sound to focus on. When you lay down, you melt into the bed. She brings some extra-strength painkillers and then places an anti-nausea tab underneath your tongue to help keep it down.

After profusely thanking her, you try to fall asleep through labored breaths. She leaves the room, telling you to let her know if you need anything. Staying as still as possible, you eventually fall asleep.

After about an hour and a half, you begin to stir to the sound of Yosano and Fukuzawa quietly talking. You raise your head, feeling a lot better.

“I apologize for waking you,” his deep voice fills the room. “Has the pain subsided any?”

You nod, “Yes, sir. Thank you.”

“Don’t worry about your assignments, they’ve already been taken care of.”

This makes you feel guilty since you would have been willing to stay behind and finish everything. “I’m sorry sir. Thank you.”

“Please don’t apologize, we’re just happy you’re doing better.” He lays a hand on your shoulder. “Go ahead and go home for the day.”

“I appreciate that, but I can do more, I promise!” “Absolutely not. Just go home and take care of yourself, alright?” He smiles.

You go back into the office to retrieve your things to leave. The others are happy to see you back in order. “You here to vomit in my trashcan again?” Dazai teases, clearly able to tell you’re well enough to bully you a little.

“Classless idiot,” Kunikda mutters behind his monitor. “Why don’t you give them a break for one day?”

“I’m kidding!”

You shake your head at their bickering, a small smile forming on your face. You pick up your things and head out of the office, happy to have such a caring group of coworkers.

˖ ݁𖥔.☁︎.𖥔 ݁ ˖

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secretlyazombi3 · 22 days ago

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Ada Wong's Love Languages ….ᐟ ᰔ

ada wong x gn! reader

๋࣭ ⭑⚝ a/n: i’m so sorry for not posting!!! I was sick for a week to the point i could barely move, then the week after i had multiple tests at school in one week so i couldn't write 😭😭 i tried to keep this gender neutral but the reader kind of sways towards being fem. not proof read !

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

જ⁀➴ #1 - ACTS OF SERVICE ⊹₊⟡

᱖ ₍⑅ᐢ..ᐢ₎

╰┈➤ Ada can’t be there for you as much as she’d like. She’s always at work and always trying to keep you both safe, so she has to love you from a distance. She also loves caring for you - it’s a very welcome change from what she does for work every day.

╰┈➤ Whenever she has to suddenly leave again, she’ll do something for you. Sometimes she’ll leave you something you’ve been needing for a while - snacks, a refill of your favorite perfume, etc.

╰┈➤Sometimes she’ll leave you cash so you can buy yourself something while she’s gone.

╰┈➤ While she’s gone, she tries her best to still do things for you, so expect to have food anonymously ordered to your place randomly.

╰┈➤ When she returns home from her mission, she tidies things up before you come home or before she even lets you know that she’s back.

╰┈➤Ada’s a woman of few words, so she’ll do things to help you out without ever telling you. Sometimes you’ll notice that your car’s gas has been filled or that your car’s cleaner than usual.

╰┈➤She likes cooking for you, too. You’ll come home from work and find dinner already done and on the stove. It’s always a bit of a surprise when it happens because she never tells you what she’s planning.

╰┈➤Whenever she has to get up for work earlier than you, she’ll pack you your lunch for when you do leave for work.

╰┈➤She likes driving you places. Not only is it nice to just spend the little time she has outside of work with you, she likes helping you out. She’s also a bit jealous sometimes, so she wants to take you places so people know you’re taken.

જ⁀➴ #2 - WORDS OF AFFIRMATION⊹₊⟡

᱖ ₍⑅ᐢ..ᐢ₎

╰┈➤ Ada likes to keep herself cool and mysterious, but she still finds ways to express her thoughts and her love for you through small comments.

╰┈➤Ada’s compliments always drive you crazy, even when they’re something small and subtle. She knows how to make you flustered over the smallest things thanks to the way she speaks. She makes the simplest words sound seductive.

╰┈➤She likes making you flustered and needy. She hardly acts that way herself, but she loves teasing you, complimenting you, praising you until you can hardly stand it, until you’re begging for her.

╰┈➤ She loves making small compliments on your appearance. If you wear something new or dress up nice, she’ll look you up and down and say something small like “That outfit looks good on you”.

╰┈➤She likes slipping in small compliments by calling you things like ‘beautiful’ or lovely’ into her conversations with you.

╰┈➤Ada’s not lovey-dovey, but she does love it when you compliment her back. She loves every compliment she gets, whether it’s calling her pretty or complimenting her attentiveness to you.

જ⁀➴ #3 - PHYSICAL TOUCH ⊹₊⟡

᱖ ₍⑅ᐢ..ᐢ₎

╰┈➤ Ada really takes physical touch seriously. She likes being passionate, so she savors physical affection to make it extra special.

╰┈➤She likes being the one to initiate kisses, but she doesn’t kiss you super often. She likes catching you off guard with her kisses.

╰┈➤She gives you forehead/cheek kisses more than other types of kisses. It’s a small way for her to show you how much she loves you without her feeling that she’s being too intimate.

╰┈➤Neck and collarbone kisses are her favorite ever. Giving AND receiving. She really loves feeling your lips on her sensitive skin, it’s passionate and feels super intimate. She likes being a bit possessive over you, so sometimes she’ll kiss your neck to leave behind an obvious kiss mark so people know you’re hers.

╰┈➤Sometimes, though, she can’t help herself. If she’s drunk and needy or she’s just come home from a long mission, she just wants you. She’ll kiss you, long and hard, over and over, all over your face and body until you’re covered in her red lipstick.

╰┈➤She’s a bit shy on obvious PDA, however. She’s used to living in mystery and having to hide. She doesn’t want to make you a target either. So she limits the PDA as much as possible. She tries not to hold your hand or anything when you’re out in the open.

╰┈➤However, she’ll be a bit more lenient on it if you guys aren’t near many people/crowds or aren’t just out in the open. If you’re shopping together at a small store or something, she’ll let her guard down momentarily and hold your hand.

╰┈➤ Ada loves cuddling, she loves to spoon you mostly but she’ll accept you spooning her too. She likes cuddling you to make sure you’re safe all night beside her. She won’t admit it, but cuddling her is very reassuring. It helps her relax after a long day of work and reminds her that there’s someone there for her.

╰┈➤She’s also quite a romantic, even though she won’t directly say it. She likes to take a warm bath after she returns from a mission together so you can bathe together. She likes being physically close to you and likes when you wash each other. She loves the tenderness of just being able to clean each other.

જ⁀➴ #4 - GIFTS ⊹₊⟡

᱖ ₍⑅ᐢ..ᐢ₎

╰┈➤ Gifts mean a lot to Ada because she knows it’s one of the only ways she can be there for you always.

╰┈➤She’ll buy you jewelry/flowers/accessories whenever she knows she’s going to be gone again for a while.

╰┈➤ Or she’ll give you something of hers. Whatever it is, she wants you to have something she knows will keep you thinking about her for as long as possible.

╰┈➤She has a habit of borrowing things from you, too.

╰┈➤Clothing, perfume, jewelry, anything small she can take without upsetting you. She misses you as much as you miss her, and she needs something to keep herself reminded of you. She’s just borrowing anyways, your items always end up back where they originally were after a while.

╰┈➤And every gift she gives you is always either doused in her perfume or covered in lipstick kiss marks. She can’t help herself.

જ⁀➴ #5 - QUALITY TIME ⊹₊⟡

᱖ ₍⑅ᐢ..ᐢ₎

╰┈➤ Ada was used to not spending much time with other people, so she’s found ways to manage being away from you for long periods of time. The longer you two dated, however, the more difficult it was for her to be away from you so much for so long

╰┈➤So, she tries to spend as much time as she can once she’s away from work. She’ll drive/walk with you wherever you need to go and cherish moments together, even if it’s as small as running errands.

╰┈➤She likes to talk to you about her day or ask you about your day as you two are cuddling to sleep. She wants to make every moment valuable, but she tries not to keep you up with her rambling. She knows you need your sleep as much as she did.

╰┈➤Whenever she’s away at work and she has time for a small break, she’ll immediately call you. She loves being able to hear your voice and it’s reassuring to know you’re doing okay with her gone.

╰┈➤ She loves watching you as much as possible, taking in all the small details of your habits. Whenever she’s on the job nearby, she’ll sometimes make a stop by your place to check in on you. She weirdly loves watching you go about your day normally without you even realizing she’s there. Your presence is comforting and alluring to her.

#resident evil #fanfiction #{¬ºཀ°}¬ z writes ִ ࣪𖤐.ᐟ #ada wong #ada x reader #ada wong x reader #ada wong resident evil #ada wong x you

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novashelby · 7 months ago

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Would my Peaky Blinders community enjoy taking part in a community secret Santa? I notice we all pretty follow one another and /or communicate in some ways. We are a chill Fandom for the most part.

How it would work:

On October 1st, I will set up a way for people to submit their names(URL). And set the deadline for October 7th. I will use a generator to set up and match people to others.

Obviously, I am the one dealing with the URLS, so my name won't be in the "bucket". But I will be dealing with the oversight and people can ask me questions. I can even talk to their person without revealing who and what.

You HAVE to be over 18. Ageless blogs cannot join. EMPTY blogs cannot join. You should have some writing on your blog. I'll get to specifics later.

What you would do for your person: write a 1,500 one shot based off what they seem to like. Obviously, if they love intense smut and you are a fluff queen, you shouldn't write things that make you uncomfy. And vice versa. Don't write smut for someone who seems to mostly write fluff. It's a gift 🎁 so, I don't think it's right of anyone to expect any certain thing.

Again, specifics to come later.

All fanfics should be posted no earlier than December 20th and no later than 25th.

Once I know people are actually interested, I will answer questions and make a mass post explaining everything better.

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bettythemouse · 2 years ago

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Tommy Shelby Headcannon

A/N: Hi guys! This is my first writing post on my new account, any advice or criticism is greatly appreciated, please let me know what you think!

He sees you for the first time:

• Tommy seeing you for the first time would distract him greatly

• He’d be drinking at the Garrison, watching Arthur and John make drunken fools of themselves

• He’d go out for a smoke alone after a while, to catch his breath and concentrate on his thoughts

• And you?

• You’d be outside in the cold, smoking a cigarette of your own just a few meters away

• You wouldn’t dare go to the Garrison alone, despite how much you’d wanted a drink

• But Tommy would take the cig from his mouth, exhale, look around a bit

• and lay his eyes on you

• you

• Who were you?

• Suddenly all the plots and schemes and money stopped in his mind. He was distracted. Heavily distracted. Had he been talking with someone before seeing you, he would’ve shut up

• You didn’t see him yet. Even if you had, he stood without light in his face so you wouldn’t have recognised him or even realised who he was looking at

• But Tommy could see your face. He could see every detail, the mole on your cheek, the cupid shaped lip, the slight scowl on your face when ash blew onto your coat. And he was completely mesmerised

• You finished your cigarette, threw it to the ground and stamped on it. Cleared your throat and got ready to continue your walk-

• “Oh!”

• “My apologies.”

• “No, no, it was my fault, I couldn’t see where I was going.”

• You had unexpectedly bumped into someone. You couldn’t see them but you could tell they were male

• And polite

• You smiled at them, despite not fully being able to see their face and continued on your way, a little embarrassed

• And Tommy watched you. Watched you trail off into the night. And although he couldn’t see your face anymore, he was still mesmerised.

• And he knew

• Somehow

• That he’d see you again

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alvivaarts · 1 year ago

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Genuinely Correct Simulation Swarm Quotes

aka, an excuse for me to post funny little lines and zingers as I get over my writer's block

Don't let this fool you though, this entire fic is marginally more sad.

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allmoshnobrain · 6 months ago

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After a bad date leaves you with a twisted ankle, your quiet but protective roommate steps in to help.

✦ on this fic: simon 'ghost' riley x fem!reader, fluff, mentions of alcohol and a twisted ankle

✦ a/n: alright so this may or may be not based on my weekend lol i do love the roommate dynamics so if you guys have any suggestions or ideas for this au feel free to send me an ask! hope you enjoy the read 🖤

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

“Tell me how much it hurts,” he says, lightly pressing his fingers against your swollen skin.

You suck in a sharp breath, glancing down at him as he kneels in front of the couch, his fingers brushing over your ankle. He’s not being rough, you’re just in pretty bad shape right now.

“It hurts,” you say, keeping it simple, and he scoffs softly at the obvious answer. “I think it’s kinda swollen.”

“You think?” your roommate lets go of your foot, standing up and raising an eyebrow at you. “Remind me again how this happened, sweetheart.”

You blush. It’s Sunday morning, sunny, with a soft breeze coming in through the living room window. A perfect day for a walk, to get some fresh air — except you’re stuck on the couch with a twisted ankle, thanks to last night’s drinking that got a bit out of hand.

“I was out drinking with a date,” you mumble, feeling your cheeks heat up. “But I didn’t really eat much yesterday, so I guess I… overdid it. He was walking me home, and I tripped and twisted my ankle.”

“And what did he do?” Simon asks, sitting down next to you on the couch. You let out a soft noise as he gently grabs your legs, putting them on his lap. One hand rests on your knee, his thumb lazily drawing small circles on your skin.

“He wanted to call an ambulance, but I thought that was a bit much. So I just had him help me up, and we walked back. We weren’t far anyway.”

“You had to walk with a twisted ankle,” he said in that flat tone that made it obvious he was annoyed — not with you, but probably with your date. “Why didn’t he just carry you?”

“I don’t think he could… I’m too heavy,” you say, rolling your eyes.

“I can carry you just fine,” he grumbles. “What are you doing going out with guys who can’t even carry you?”

You don’t respond, just lean your head back against the couch and close your eyes. You can feel Simon’s hand still on your knee — his skin is rough but warm. He’d come home from whatever he’d been up to on Saturday night, only to find you passed out on the couch with a very obviously swollen and painful ankle.

Simon was a quiet, reserved roommate, and he wasn’t really around much, but that didn’t mean you two hadn’t built your own kind of intimacy over the last two years of living together. So, when he saw you were hurt, he took it upon himself to check things out. You’d told him it was just a twisted ankle and a moral hangover. Nothing too serious. But clearly, he didn’t think it was as "nothing" as you made it sound.

“I’m sure he’s never gonna want to see me again,” you mumble, eyes still closed. Simon’s thumb stops moving on your skin, a clear sign he heard you.

“Who?” he asks. You open your eyes to find him staring right at you, eyes serious and focused.

“My date.”

“Good,” Simon mutters. “He couldn’t even take care of you after you got hurt. Should’ve carried you upstairs, helped you clean up.”

“I can take care of myself just fine,” you say, a little defensive, which makes him chuckle.

“Yeah? Then why are you still stuck on this couch instead of upstairs getting a shower and some proper rest?” He smirks, and you just roll your eyes without answering.

“Where would you even be without me?” he sighs, standing up. You let out a small, surprised noise as he lifts you effortlessly into his arms, holding you close. You feel his chest rumble with a chuckle, the sudden move and how close he is making your heart race. “You’re lucky you’ve got me, princess.”

“Shut up,” you laugh, but you can’t help closing your eyes and letting out a small, relieved sigh.

Because yeah, you know you are.

#ada writes fanfiction #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you #simon riley x reader #cod x reader

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saturnplaza · 9 months ago

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𝐓𝐫𝐚𝐮𝐦𝐚 𝐁𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐀𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐎𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬. // 𝕄ℂℝ 𝕏 ℝ𝔼𝟚 ℂℝ𝕆𝕊𝕊𝔽𝕀ℂ

"When the city is in shambles and you have no one else to turn to, what's the problem with putting your full trust in strangers?"

'Reader' wakes up one night to find their home city in complete chaos. Raccoon City has fallen and turned to the worst. While escaping their apartment building they come face to face with their neighbor Mikey Way. They quickly grow an attachment to the man.

They make their way to the city's police department for safety but all they're met with is more horror. It's their job to find a way to safety while meeting others to help them along the way.

Hey, it's me again back with another fanfiction. This one is a little crazy but I love it.

This is crossover between Resident Evil and My Chemical Romance. In which the band boys and the characters of Resident Evil 2 are interacting with eachother.

Even if you know one fandom and not the other I believe it's still worth the read.

This fanfiction will end off with the 'reader' and Mikey Way as a romantic pairing, though there will be some kind of tension between all the characters.

The My Chem boys are written as themselves in the revenge era but feel free to imagine them in any era.

This fanfiction will follow the story of Leon's part A story, with a lot of changes but it keeps the same premise.

Updates on this fic will be posted on here, please let me know if you'd like to be tagged in updates.

CW: Canon typical violence, MAJOR character death, huge loss of hope, over all pretty sad with a happy ending (not for everyone)

Without further ado, I present to you the first chapter of my niche cross-over fanfic.

Trauma Brings Love Among Other Things.

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theartofcollapse · 4 months ago

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World’s Worst Detectives - Casey Novak

a/n: i'm taking requests, so feel free to dm me :) summary: you reveal your relationship with Casey to the SVU squad after 5 years. pairing: Casey Novak x female reader warning: none word count: 880

masterlist

The morning started like any other, Elliot sipping his too hot coffee, Fin scrolling through his phone, Olivia looking over case files, and Munch complaining about the copy machine. Business as usual, until Y/N walked into the precinct wearing a diamond ring the size of a small planet.

"Nice rock,” Fin said casually, before doing a double take. “Wait... damn, Y/N! What’s that about?”

“Yeah,” Olivia chimed in, narrowing her eyes. “What aren’t you telling us?”

Y/N smirked, leaning against the nearest desk. “What? This old thing?” she said, holding up her hand for dramatic effect.

“Holy crap, are you engaged?” Munch asked, adjusting his glasses like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

“Yep,” Y/N said breezily.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Elliot cut in, setting his coffee down. “Since when are you even dating anyone?”

“Since, like, five years ago,” Y/N said nonchalantly.

The room collectively froze. It was like Y/N had dropped a bomb in the middle of the squad.

“Five years?” Olivia echoed, her voice a mix of shock and betrayal. “You’ve been dating someone for five years and didn’t say a word?”

“We’re just private and don’t bring our personal lives to work,” Y/N replied with a shrug, clearly enjoying their stunned reactions.

“Private?!” Elliot gawked. “You’ve been in a five-year relationship and didn’t think to mention it?”

“Who’s the lucky mystery person?” Fin asked, leaning forward.

Y/N’s grin widened. “Casey.”

“Novak?!”

The room practically erupted at the revelation. And, as if summoned by their collective disbelief, Casey Novak herself walked into the precinct carrying a stack of files. She paused when she saw everyone staring at her like she’d just confessed to a major crime.

“What?” Casey asked, her brow furrowing.

“Oh, nothing,” Munch said, smirking. “We’re just learning that you and Y/N have been secretly dating for five years and are now engaged.”

Casey sighed, glancing at Y/N. “You told them?”

“They noticed the ring,” Y/N said with a shrug. “Kind of hard to miss.”

“Wait,” Olivia cut in, pointing between them. “How did you guys even get together? Like… how did this start?”

“Oh, that’s easy,” Y/N said, shooting Casey a playful grin. “She flirted with me during my deposition prep. Very professional.”

“I did not flirt,” Casey said, rolling her eyes. “I advised you. Thoroughly.”

“Uh-huh,” Y/N teased. “And that ‘thorough advice’ turned into drinks after work, then dinner, then…”

“Please don’t finish that sentence,” Elliot groaned.

“You live together?” Olivia asked, her mouth still slightly open in shock.

“For years,” Y/N replied, looking far too pleased with herself.

“For years?” Fin exclaimed. “How the hell did we miss this?”

“You’re the detectives,” Y/N said, dripping with sarcasm. “How did you not find out?”

Elliot threw up his hands. “I don’t know! You two never acted like… you know… a couple.”

Casey let out a dry laugh. “Are you serious? We’ve been dropping hints for years. You just didn’t notice.”

“What hints?” Olivia challenged, crossing her arms.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Casey said, her voice laced with sarcasm. “The time Y/N brought me lunch to court every single day during that Riker’s assault trial?”

“Or,” Y/N added, “the time we came to the precinct’s Christmas party in matching sweaters and you thought it was a ‘cute coincidence.’”

“Oh my God,” Fin muttered. “The ugly snowman sweaters. How did I miss that?”

“And don’t forget, that time Casey stayed over at my apartment during that snowstorm. Elliot, you called me to ask if she made it home safe, and I said, ‘Yeah, she’s in the kitchen making pancakes.’”

Elliot slapped his forehead. “I thought you were just being a good host!”

Munch adjusted his glasses, a suspicious look crossing his face. “What about that time we caught you two sharing a cab after that fundraiser?”

“We went home together,” Casey said bluntly.

Munch’s jaw dropped. “And I just thought… God, I don’t know what I thought.”

“Clearly, not much,” Y/N teased.

Fin leaned back in his chair, laughing. “Man, we really are slippin’. I can’t believe we didn’t piece this together.”

“Hold up,” Olivia said, narrowing her eyes at Casey. “So, when you storm out of here after Y/N gets assigned to some dangerous op, that’s not just you being a concerned ADA, is it?”

“Nope,” Casey said with a sly smile.

“And the way you glare at anyone who so much as flirts with her?” Fin added.

“Yeah, that’s me marking my territory,” Casey said dryly.

“I feel so betrayed,” Elliot muttered, shaking his head.

“Oh, come on,” Y/N said, laughing. “You didn’t really need to know all this. It’s not like it affects your jobs.”

“We’re detectives,” Olivia said, throwing her hands up. “We’re supposed to notice things like this!”

“Maybe you should take a refresher course,” Casey quipped, earning a round of laughter from everyone except Elliot, who still looked like his world had been turned upside down.

“Well,” Munch said, standing up and grabbing his coat. “Congratulations, I guess. But if you two start making out in the precinct, I’m filing a complaint.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” Y/N said, shooting Casey a wink. “We save that for home.”

“Stop,” Elliot groaned, covering his ears.

Casey smirked, pulling Y/N toward the door. “Come on, babe. Let’s leave them to process.”

As the two of them left, hand in hand, Olivia let out a deep sigh. “I can’t believe we missed this.”

“Maybe next time,” Fin said, still laughing, “we should start paying attention to what’s right under our noses.”

Munch shook his head. “Or maybe we should all just retire while we still have some dignity.”

#Casey novak #casey novak x reader #Casey novak x y/n #law and order svu #Olivia benson #law and order #fanfiction #fanfiction writing #wlw #lesbian #lgbtq #ada Casey novak #detective #elliot stabler #odafin tutuola #john munch #alex cabot

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yurozo · 1 year ago

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the wolf and the lamb (leon x reader)

chapter two, a mouse trapped in bloodied claws:

synopsis: a seed of doubt begins to take bloom in your chest, watching ada slowly succumb to the infection. before you can react, you run into the agent that's meant to take away everything you've ever known. (ao3)

a/n: leon's finally here baby! let me know what y'all think

word count: 3.5k

Nothing seems truly alive here, in this crumbling village just past the borders of Spain. There is only the quiet, occasionally interrupted by the grumbling of villagers below you that fill the air’s emptiness. A flood of bustling footsteps marching in unison temporarily breaks the silence. The sound echoes throughout, a rattling thump, until it fades into nothingness. Weapons carved from homogeneity, born into a persistent numbness to their existence before. You almost envy the simplicity of their existence, repeating the same domestic rituals with dragging feet and half-garbled sentences.

Wesker told you to start at the village, wait until she makes herself known, and keep your eye on anyone who might try and interfere. The woman in red is trustworthy enough for him, but the whispering of another actor in his grand design is too loud to ignore, a man determined to bring down everything he holds dear. To take you away from him, his precious masterpiece, and turn you into a weaker thing. Thus, you were cast from your iron podium, nothing more than a spectator to his and the woman’s scheme unless the moment called for it.

For such a critical factor of his ineffable plan, it is painstakingly boring .

You whisper ramblings to the open air to no answer, a meek attempt to quell the rising boredom that slowly lulls you to sleep. A monologue to an absent god, if anyone even existed up there. Sitting at the bell tower’s highest level allows you to see everything happening, but it’s far away from the action. Occasionally, your eyes wander over to the bull mulling about in its pen, and you wonder how its blood would feel between your fingers.

You close your eyes, if only for a moment, allowing yourself to get lost in the daydream. Your mind supplies images of your hands digging inside your own chest, gripping the tendons and flesh holding the fragile organ together. Your fingers struggle to squeeze the organ in a futile attempt to keep it still.

The sound of a scream breaks your reverie, along with the livelier bustle of villagers as they file out of their desolate houses. You watch them drag a screaming man to the middle of the square, his blood mixing into the dirt.

A flash of blue. A uniform.

There’s this aching feeling in your chest, your heart hammering itself against your ribcage like angry fists on a concrete wall.

The man wails as the nails are hammered into his limbs, pinning his body to a crudely made cross. His screams fill the emptiness moments later as the fire licks upwards and consumes him entirely. You hear his final words– a desperate cry to the sky above. It’s enough of a show to entertain you, for the time being, until you can catch wind of your real target.

Who is pointedly still not here for some reason.

You hear a knife being unsheathed and the sick crunch of bone when you realize the show is only beginning. Crawling to the edge of the bell tower’s ledge, you watch a man gingerly place the body of one of the village women out of sight before swiping at an herb to shove it in his pocket. The other villagers spot him moments later, rushing toward him with relentless anger. That aching silence is once again shattered by the unrelenting sound of gunshots.

You watch the fight ensue, chin resting in your palm, momentarily sated by the entertainment of seeing the villagers fall one by one. The man is clearly experienced, obvious in the practiced elegance with which he handles his weapon, but still young– if the momentary stiffness in his shoulders every time a villager prepares to fight is anything to go by. The hoard seems never-ending, and as time ticks by, the man is clearly starting to reach the limits of his energy. This sophisticated dance of bullets and blood is nearing its conclusion, and you’ll be damned if you let those blubbering subordinates get a one-up.

If what Wesker said about this agent is true, it will be you who gets the glory of the kill.

Your foot shoots out and kicks the bell, the sound reverberating in your ears. The ringing is enough to signal to the horde that their momentary goal is completed, leading the stragglers to wander off towards the tower. They saunter off with glazed eyes, leaving the man standing in complete bewilderment. Before you can hop off the ledge, you hear him mutter something to himself, and you can only huff in passing amusement.

A second later, you see a streak of red shoot past you, disappearing among the houses before you can react. The game is beginning.

–

The woman in red, for the little that you trust her, is at least a more entertaining watch. She’s incredibly skilled, precise in each shot with a steadfastness that almost scares you. Every attack is perfectly timed, each movement without a wasted breath. There’s a reason why Wesker chose her– she’s efficient, deadly, and clearly knows better than to ask questions. Some unbidden part of you admires it, how easily she can follow orders without giving into any desire for more . She flourishes in this institution with a grace you could never achieve while still being able to retain an inherent virtue that you envy.

Despite your obedience, despite this binding attachment to Wesker, a part of you always wondered if there was more to this. More than the lab, than the cell, than this inescapable position at the heel of his foot. Perhaps if you were better, if you obeyed every command without a moment’s hesitation, maybe he would make you more than just a conveyer of his whim. Maybe you could be more like her, unattached and cool in the face of everything.

Someone like her is who he would always prefer. You knew that.

Your earpiece crackles as you hide yourself behind a chimney.

“Update.” Wesker’s voice rings through your ear, a touch of annoyance in his tone. He’s upset about something, and a part of you cowers at being the target of his ire. “We’ve lost Luis’ signal in the forest. I’ve sent Ada to track his last known location.”

“Understood.” You sigh, eyes flicking down to where Ada racing away on her grappling hook. “I’ll make sure to follow and keep you updated.

Wesker is uncharacteristically silent on the other end, only the faint sound of breathing audible over the earpiece. “Any sign of the man?”

Your heart stutters in your chest and slows to an eventual halt. He knows. A part of him must know, aware of this growing seed of doubt in your chest. “Caught him once in the village. He seems skilled.”

“That’s not what I asked.” Wesker snaps, the noise squealing in your ear. You wince.

“I know. I’m sorry.” You try to take a steadying breath as you step off the roof, your boots crunching in the dirt below. Despite every movement accomplished in Wesker’s name, it always ends with you begging in forgiveness– kneeling at his boot and pleading for another chance. “I don’t think he’ll be a threat."

–

Something instinctually doesn’t trust Luis. There’s this aching disdain towards his position as a researcher that unsettles you, something core in his existence that boils this pit in your gut. You wonder is he shares the same affection towards his construction as the man who created you, or if he’s acting out of regret for all that he’s created. You wonder if the answer would change anything.

Even if you’ve never met the man, you can’t help but wonder if his life is really all that worth saving. He made the Plagas, turned these humans into these weaker things that are doomed for extinction. Something stronger will only come around and put them out of their terrible misery.

Ada stumbles back to the village below you, clutching the side of her chest with a wince. A momentary instant of weakness there, this human part of her that seeps through her stone exterior. She stumbles forward, her head folded down.

There’s something wrong .

You hear the gunshot before you can see what she’s aiming at. There’s just enough time to hide behind a stone wall, knees folded into the harsh gravel. With a harsh breath, you peek your head out just enough to see into the square without exposing yourself fully. Ada is shooting into the open air, launching herself at nothing in particular. She must be seeing something you’re not, mind clouded by something you can’t put a name on.

It isn’t until you see the cloaked figure of a bioweapon behind her that everything clicks into place. This sick feeling of disappointment twists in your chest. You crumple behind the stone, pressing your earpiece once with a sigh.

“Update.” You whisper into the mic, voice quiet so as to not attract Ada’s attention. You’re not even sure if she can hear you over the gunshots, but you can’t risk Wesker’s anger.

His voice cuts in a moment later. “Speak.”

“Something isn’t right.” The gunshots falter, the click of an empty magazine clear through the village, and you hear her groan in pain. “She’s infected. Looks to be early stages.”

Wesker heaves a deep sigh, his voice clipping in annoyance. “Compromised?”

You peek over the wall once more, watching her inspect the handgun with great focus and mutter something to herself. “Most likely. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. Fix it.” The earpiece crackles before finally falling silent.

The silence gnaws at this softer part of you, one hidden beneath tears of calloused skin. For someone trusted enough to be given such a significant responsibility in his project, for someone who navigates Wesker’s design without uncertainty, Ada is thrown away like nothing. Part of you wants to believe that this is a necessary evil, this ability to know which pieces in the game to sacrifice for the greater good.

If a greater good exists in this circumstance. The thought of more people like you wandering the same land you occupy, teeth bared at all the weaker things who are unfortunate enough to be in its proximity. You wonder what would happen to you in those circumstances, if Wesker would remove the dagger or simply let the skin grow around it.

Ada crumples to the ground, weeping silently in pain. Wesker would have been disappointed at such a blatant sign of weakness, would have held a gun to her head and ended the pain as swiftly as he could. That’s what he valued most: strength. The strength to survive every circumstance and the strength to take out the faulty pawns when they could no longer move across the board. The sight of Ada slowly succumbing to the infection and clutching at the gashes in her arms would have been enough reason to toss her away with the rest of them.

You remember the tubes of littered corpses in the lab, forever stuck in this stasis of not-quite-really-living. It would have been a waste of her, you think, of her physical prowess reduced to this barely living corpse. You silently rise to your feet and walk into the closest building, careful to stay out of her sight. It would have been easy to tear her apart when she’s distracted and injured; soft flesh is nothing to sharpen and aged claws. Her back is facing you– half the work is done already.

Something stops you, something much stronger than your desperate need to obey.

There was no satisfaction in killing someone half-dead already, and that terribly soft part of you rises to the surface.

You suppose the infection would take her one way or the other.

–

The Ganados are an easy enough target for distraction. Slashing through bone feels easy– natural, even. This animalistic instinct to end this sad existence they’ve carved out for themselves overtakes you, and it’s not long until their blood is pooling around your feet. It’s the better alternative to thinking about your momentary weakness, that hesitation to follow orders from the only person who ever cared about you. Disobeying Wesker is not an action that comes without consequences. It is a darkness veiled over you that festers guilt like a mold.

He gave you strength, and this is the payment you give in return. He built you from nothing, meticulously stitched parts of you back together until you became something more than some sniveling weak child. He tore every soft part of you and replaced it with metal and bone and helped you when the pain pulled at each fiber of your being.

And yet, you hesitated. All because you wondered if he would love you still with the soft parts intact. If he would throw you away if something stronger took your place.

You hear the door swing open as you rip into the last Ganado’s chest, hands dripping with its ichor. There’s barely time to react before you hear a loud shot and feel a bullet tearing its way into your shoulder. The pain is only momentary, a slight distraction from the intruder who had the nerve to shoot you.

You turn your head– a small, barely noticeable movement. Your features begin to catch in the light as you step forward, firm muscles and vein-riddled skin splattered with blood. A flash of blue fills your vision before it trains on the pistol aimed directly between your eyes, white knuckles hovering over the trigger. You see his eyes fall to your hands, at the still-pulsating heart clutched desperately within bloodied, sharp claws.

“The hell are you?” The man snaps, taking a step back. His eyes flit up to your shoulder, where the flesh is rapidly stitching itself back together. It’s clear that your appearance takes him aback: the matted hair, sharp eyes, and veins bulging out of scarred skin. Every part of it is unnatural, like something fighting to break its way out. A woman poised and bred to kill.

His eyes eventually wander back down to your hands, to the blood dripping down unceremoniously onto the floor. Your head tilts slightly, but his expression doesn’t change, still stern and serious.

You recognize what he’s doing: sizing you up, seeing where he lies on this hierarchy of predator and prey.

You smell his fear and know his answer.

Prey.

That delicious scent of fear reminds you of someone, although you can’t quite place who. It doesn’t really matter; you can only focus on the way it permeates every sense and sharpens that instinct to devour. There’s something different about him– this thrill to destroy seems amplified a thousand times over. It’s been so long since you tasted it: bioweapons aren’t truly controlled by survival instincts, simply throwing themselves at their goal with reckless abandon to their own life. This is different, this is someone in a shitty situation with everything to lose. Its taste is magnified by some other feeling you can’t name, but it’s fucking delicious.

You can only smile at the man’s realization, this sharp and crooked action that feels entirely unnatural. He takes another step back. You step forward in response.

His eyes are flickering across your face, searching for something. Perhaps some kind of sign, a hint of humanity or empathy behind those pitch-black eyes. He finds only a forest fire of rage, restrained only by your obedience and lightened by curiosity.

“Leave.” Your voice cuts through the dense air between you, fully turning towards him. A part of you hopes that he will pay heed and run for it. There was always something about the chase, the unpredictability of someone skilled enough to keep it difficult, that always had your heart pounding in your chest. This could be the recompense for your unforgivable sin, bringing back the head of the agent that threatened Wesker’s mission. It was easier to kill someone willing to fight back and sharp enough to bite than one scrambling and pleading for a chance to live.

“Like hell I will.” The man scoffs, straightening his back. A meager attempt at confidence, you think, like a stray cat backed into a corner with its fur straight.

You grin. “Final warning.”

His body visibly tenses, adrenaline pumping through his veins. You can almost admire his steadfastness, the way he doesn’t cower in front of you but only tightens his finger on the trigger. He’s strong despite his age. Despite his soft flesh and beating heart that could be easily torn to shreds.

“I’m not leaving until I know what-” He pauses, a slight tremble in his hands. “ -who you really are.”

His statement confuses you, if only for a second. There’s a flicker of curiosity blooming in your chest at the man who still refuses to shoot her again. Being fearful of a beast coiling around your chest is one thing; asking for its name is another. Most of your targets never hesitate in their responses, either attacking in a scant attempt at continuance or folding when they realize they’re outmatched. This man does neither. He stands his ground and stalls. His decision lies in this void of ambiguity– questions the dog baring its teeth.

He doesn’t seem happy with your lack of an answer. “Who are you?”

“Does it matter?” You finally answer, tilting your head playfully at him like a cat toying with a half-dead mouse.

“It matters to me.” He breathes out, his lips pursed in thought. “A fucking sentient bioweapon. Just my shitty luck.”

If only he knew. If he could understand this weight thrust upon you as a beast of burden, doomed to live in an eternal position of obedience. Where softness is weakness, to be tender-hearted in your world is to resign yourself to death without a chance of fighting back. It means your final words will forever be an echoing and dying bark.

“Something like that.” Is all you can answer.

“Great.” He chokes out a nervous laugh, gritting his teeth in frustration. His fingers tighten on the pistol. “Another one of you, let out of the lab for God knows what reason.”

Your chest stings at the comment and hardens your expression. “Sounds like you have experience.”

“I’ve seen my fair share.” There’s a faraway look, if only for a moment, as if he’s reminiscing on something far lost to him. You had that look once, too, many ages ago, when there was something other in your chest than wrath and sinew. “You don’t look like any I’ve seen.”

You watch the slight tremor in his hands, a giveaway to the fear hidden beneath that stony facade. There’s no doubt in his experience, you’ve witnessed the adept way he handled the ones in the village. A second nature almost, not too dissimilar to yours.

“There’s no one else like me.” Your lips curl into a sharp grin, all devilish sharp teeth. For now , at least.

“That I don’t doubt.” He pauses for a moment, lowering the gun a fraction. “You going to make me kill you?”

“You shot first. I believe it’s my move.” You take a slow step towards him, a fluid and practiced motion of intimidation. “Shall I give you a headstart?”

“Whatever the hell you’re planning, I want no part of it.” He takes another shaky step backward, pressing himself against the front door. “I’m here for the girl, and that’s it.”

A beat. You freeze, brows furrowed in confusion. “Girl?”

Your hesitance clearly doesn’t convince him; his eyes narrowed, and his mouth turned into a frown. “Don’t bullshit me. The president’s daughter. Tell me where the hell she is, or I’ll shoot you again.”

You decide against telling him that it would be futile and would only succeed in momentarily slowing you down. Wesker claimed he was there to throw a cog into his grand design, to take you away and tear you apart like they do the others, not save some girl . Maybe Wesker had plans for her. The very thought of it makes you sick, thinking of him replicating you onto some lesser thing.

“You’re not here for me?” You take a step back, your voice faltering slightly. Wesker couldn’t be wrong. He wouldn’t lie to you. This agent is here to rip you away from your life and dismantle this precarious control you’ve carved out for yourself.

He scoffs. “I don’t even know who the hell you are.”

He should. There was only one of you. You were Wesker’s grand design, not something to be copied onto those who couldn’t handle the weight of this burden. You couldn’t be lumped into a circle with these lesser beings that only existed as a testing ground. No one else would understand this terrible strength you were given– they were the losing dogs in this ring of power, and you and Wesker were the winning dogs.

Before you can answer him, you throw a flash grenade onto the ground and disappear from sight.

#leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy/reader #leon kennedy #resident evil #resident evil 4 #re4r #resident evil x reader #leon kennedy imagine #leon kennedy fanfiction #albert wesker #ada wong #bioweapon reader babey!!!#yuro's writings

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territorial-tarot-tahr · 3 months ago

Text

Word count: 6.1k+

CW: Minor body horror ig

Summary: Leon's Plagas is insistent that the middle of the mission is prime reproductive time

If you found my A03 from this, no you didn’t. Shut up.

There are minor spoilers for Resident Evil 4

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🚨This was not proof read and I hate reading my work so I have no intention of proof reading it🚨

Feel free to commission me or donate

𝕙𝕥𝕥𝕡𝕤://𝕜𝕠-𝕗𝕚.𝕔𝕠𝕞/𝕤𝕒𝕪_𝕔𝕙𝕖𝕖𝕤𝕖

It's uncomfortable but it does bring a curl of a smile to his lips, imagining Ada's form twisted up with his own as a mess of sweat and hot breath divided them.

It's a pleasant fantasy, and one that despite the circumstances, he finds himself indulging in more frequent stollen moment of envisioning the scenario. Moments of safety are scarce, and ones where Ashley isn't talking or holding onto his arm with an intensity that suggests death with failure, are scarcer. The villagers have already overtaken the majority of the land, and the only few areas he's found that guaranteed solace from the clambering voices of the villagers as they spit and grab for him and Ashley's already infected flesh, have been the merchants stand.

The mysterious stranger who greeted him in a similar name as he grabbed the folded cloth of his coat and pulled open the side to show off his wares and weaponry in hopes that Leon might cave and fork over some of the pesetas he'd managed to accrue. The oddness of the merchant wasn't lost on Leon. Despite the circumstances he was still able to acknowledge the speedy movements of the merchant when it came to arriving at locations before him. His insistence on staying anonymous via his garb did less to affect Leon's perception of him, in all honesty if things had gone according to plan and he'd simply ended up in a rural village instead of a parasite fueled nightmare, he didn't believe he'd have been tossing out his name very frequently if it all.

A soft whistle of effort left Leon's lips as he peaked around the corner, gun clenched tightly in his hands and heart hammering in his chest. A near silent Ashley was behind him and despite her good natured behavior, she has been antsy, thoroughly aware of their close-at-hand demise but also of the parasite crawling through their skins at nearly every moment.

Hearing about the parasite take root and then actually noticing the effects of the parasite were two different things. Hearing about how it was overriding his senses and brain patterns, versus finding himself jumping at the slightest of sounds he wasn't sure he had been heard. Twisting coils of paranoia setting in as he lost trust in his own senses, leaving him double checking everything he did no matter how minute in fear that the time he didn't double check would be the time that he missed something crucial and led both him and Ashley to a bloody defeat.

There was also the uncomfortable reality he'd found for the parasite. It's goal was to infect and spread, and it believed it's control and adoption of his anatomy was just as viable as its own original biological process. What did this mean in practice?

It meant that Leon would find himself swatting Ashley away or leaving her with the merchant as he claimed he was "scouting something out" before leaving the room, finding a small corner and then fighting to deal with the strain of his cock against his pants.

It meant that Leon's encounters with Ada left him having to swallow a whimper whenever she so much as touched him. Fighting the urge the grab her shoulders and push her against the nearest wall for him to try and slough off his garments and rid her of her own.

And it meant that his snatched moments of imagination had begun to occur more frequently as his brain attempted to force the idea of procreating into his normal stream of thought. In normal circumstances, he was sure the impulsive thoughts or glimpses would be quite pleasant, but finding himself on the receiving end of an unintentional boner as the parasites sporadic whim wasn't entirely pleasant.

It left him palming at his pants, dragging his finger tips across the bulge of his groin as he felt the sweat cling to his brow. It left him grunting behind his teeth despite the terror as Ashley stood pressed tight against him even if there were Ganados lurching around, practically inches away from whatever hiding spot the two Americans had managed to slip themselves into. It left him tugging the collar of his shirt up almost habitually despite the fabric never staying high on his neck the minute his fingers left the rim, leaving his neck exposed again which for some reason had become a fact that refused to sit right with him.

He couldn't be sure if Ashley was facing the same ailments, but he didn't feel comfortable enough asking her. Not when she was his junior by around 7 years, and not when she was the child of what was effectively his boss. Snowball's chance in hell.

"Hey kid, Plagas been giving you girl-boners randomly? No? Just me?"

Fat fucking chance. Keep it to yourself.

He waves Ashley forward as they take the next quick steps into the small room under the stairs, the current hiding place or storefront for the merchant, and a good place to catch their breath for Leon and Ashley. Though Leon was almost certain Ashley's deep swallows of breath weren't sparked and inspired by the same clawing feeling that he had begun to feel tightening around his throat as every inhale sent a fresh smell wafting off her.

It could've been perfume, he was sure. Some random fruity scent that she'd picked up and smothered her and her outfit in before she'd been yanked from her college campus. An offhanded attention move in hopes of a compliment or two. A ploy to cover up a mismanagement of time that left her unable to fit in a shower. The scent was intoxicating, and whatever it was, she had practically soaked in it with how pungently the smell of overly ripened fruit was suffocating him. Despite the time period that lay from when she could've possibly put the scent on, to now, it still smelled fresh, fragrant as though just spritzed onto herself. Or at least that's what Leon's Plagas was insisting.

Another step closer and they might've been fused at the hip considering how close she was. She'd stumbled into the room right alongside him, though her hand was still ghosting along his leg as if searching for his non-dominant hand simply to hold. A small flicker of comfort that allowed her a breath of fresh air in the almost stagnant atmosphere of the cupboard they'd managed to squeeze into.

Her fingers trace along the line of his pocket in an unintentional move, her nails giving the slightest bit of pressure where the tips trace against the skin. Though she seems greatly unaware that she's making him swallow back remarks and hold back his screaming instincts.

No, not his. It's the Plagas. He'd never even humor this shit if it wasn't for that dubious parasite, squirming through his flesh and working it's way into his mind. That's the easier way to think it. The way that still leaves him with dignity.

He attempts to shuffle his way out of her reach, but the grind of cloth on his skin feels as though he's just been engulfed in the snarling jaws of hungry flames. Every nerve on end and crying for attention as his brain goes haywire at the friction.

The quiet groan leaves his mouth before he can stifle it. Though his hand snaps up just as quickly when he goes to quiet the sound, all too late. The rigidity in her present movements leads him to believe that she heard him, and the blush spreading to her face as she wrestles to keep her expression neutral all-but confirms it as she holds steady, keeping her gaze fixated ahead.

Acting more professional than you, dipshit

He seems to realize that his legs are his to move, as though he'd been under the impression that the disgusting, writhing insect nestled in his diaphragm had been calling the shots. With an overtly thespian flair, that he can only imagine that he gained out of sheer embarrassment and desperation to not tackle or even acknowledge his prior *ahem* mishap, he spins to face the Merchant.

A gentleman of heavily clothed figure and of few words besides sale pitches for whatever product he's insisting Leon needs in his artillery. The man is lean, around Leon's height though with a drastic stoop that leaves Leon wondering about his real stature. His pale skin seems scarred from what's visible or left exposed by his fingerless gloves and facial mask. While Leon projects his air of confidence and authority, he can't help but be unnerved by the prickling that creeps up his neck whenever he turns his back on the man. Or even just finds himself in the man's proximity in any capacity.

The villagers seem to pay him no mind which Leon would assume would earn the man the label of "Foe" in relation to Leon. Maybe the man had been saddled with a Plagas similar to the one Krauser seemed to sport. One that left his mind free but his body eager to evolve at the slightest twitch. Though through the reliable service as well as the vending of a rocket launcher, Leon had found himself convinced that the man was more "friend" to him instead.

Even if he didn't trust the man with his life, he was comfortable enough to mumble around certain aspects of his mission around the gentleman, even if not in much detail. Though this didn't seem to lessen the general unease that the man seemed to bring with him, like an oppressive aura. Friend or foe, it didn't matter. The man creeped Leon out.

And yet, now Leon got to choose, look back at Ashley and risk acknowledging what just happened, or keep staring at the weathered face of the Merchant.

In all honesty, Leon wasn't sure Ashley would even acknowledge the small interaction. He couldn't imagine it was any easier for her than it had been for him. Embarrassing on both ends. But he also wouldn't pretend that he hadn't noticed her stealing glances across his form like a kleptomaniac in a trinket store.

Even in his heightened stage of lust though, he wouldn't pretend that justified or lessened the curling and coiling desires that seemed to fester and multiply in a matter of seconds across his flesh. Sweat seemed more than eager to fill all the available space that his body had, and despite the cold interior of the castle and the room, his skin didn't seem discouraged in shoving more beads of salt-filled water to the surface in an attempt to cool down the furnace that he felt he was becoming.

The first huff of breath he puffed out in the Merchant's direction, left him wondering about the humidity he'd just sent the other man's way. The idea of heat mixing with the sour smell of road kill had crept into his mind while he tugged at the collar of his shirt. For the first time since it'd happened, he was glad he'd lost his bomber jacket. He couldn't imagine he'd have been able to endure a single second of the warm wool clinging to his form as he attempted to keep his composure.

Though Ashley's smell of overripe fruit had returned, only emphasized by the close quarters of the room again as Leon begun having to hold his breath to avoid taking in another breath of the alluring scent that he was sure would go straight to his cock which was already yearning for attention. With some attempt at casualty, he leaned closer to the Merchant. Hoping the smell of mothballs and sweat would prove more pungent than Ashley's scent.

In Leon's peripheral, he saw and acknowledged the thick, oaken surface of the door that led to the adjourning safe room. The shooting gallery he was sure. A room he was sure the Merchant was proud enough to set up at each spot, regardless of the fact that Leon barely spent any time bothering with it no matter which location. But for now, that seemed like the best answer or hope for solitude that might allow him a moment of reprise or hope of dealing with his Plagas induced boner.

A shift of his hips as he attempted to lean against the counter for faux casualty with the Merchant, left him wincing as the fabric of his pants grabbed and clung to the protrusion of his boxers, nearly bringing tears to his eyes from the discomfort. It was at moments like these that he was grateful for his strenuous and arduous work into training his facial expression and demeanor.

His brow twitched and Leon took a breath, a quick motion to quell the itching tension and anticipation rising in his body. A moment longer and he finally found the strength to speak to the Merchant, who's gaze had begun to dull in the moments it had taken for the interaction to actually start. As though he'd been staring through Leon's panting and sweat-soaked form, ignoring the furnace his body was becoming.

"Mind if I use the other room?"

The question was met with an easy grin that reached the man's eyes as the salesman that had presumably been at rest, was stirred.

"Of course, stranger. Gallery's all set up. You walk in and shoot the targets. Hit enough of 'em and you'll win yourself a gorgeous piece o' work."

His accent had consistently made Leon cock his brow, but this time he couldn't find the energy to question the man's way of speaking, even mentally.

"Forget the reward. Just going do some self-proctored target practice if that's alright with you." The sweat drops on Leon's face were driving him him up the wall. Sweat clinging to his cheeks, nestled in the fibers of his eyebrows, resting on his upper lips, slipping down his forehead. The feeling of the salty water tracing the path down his face, but being unable to even fathom touching or wiping at the sweat without drawing more attention to it. He could play it off as simply a result of the job. A fierce roundhouse kick that had left him winded, a room they'd passed through that had been a bit too warm for his liking. Or even simply just claiming that he was finally getting fatigued. But those all drew far more attention to it than he knew would be given if he simply pretended nothing was happening.

"'s alright with me, stranger." Underneath the bandana, Leon was sure that the Merchant was still pulling his lips into some kind of smile judging from the continued crinkle of his eyes. Though he wouldn't have laid money on it, as he supposed the traveling salesman had more than his fair share of experience and as such, Leon expected the man could fake a grin with only his twinkling eyes.

"Thanks." Was what Leon eventually spat back out after seemingly remembering the two-way nature of conversations.

Leon's boots ground against the floor as he turned himself to face the door, a stooped posture and a quick and lengthy stride brought him to the well-worn handle in a handful of steps. His steps weren't accompanied by Ashley's as they had been for the entirety of the journey up till that point. The quick click of her boots and the clunk of her buckle embracing the leather beneath in a jostled hug as she tried her best to keep up to his pace. In an environment such as the one they were in now, it wasn't as though there was much wiggle room for denying or ignoring his commands regardless of if she saw the imminent danger he was anticipating or not.

"Stay." And she'd hear the chorus of gunshots after he rounded a corner and encountered whatever creature of flesh and parasite he'd encountered.

"Come on." And she'd find the brown leather of the underside of her boots, smeared with blood as she navigated the corpses Leon had newly procured. A gallery of limbs mangled from the bullet spray Leon had fired into their infected forms. Despite having been grabbed and hauled over the shoulders of grumbling infected, despite being forced to sprint alongside Leon as they narrowly avoided an enraged "El Gigante" or the swinging chainsaw of Dr. Salvador, she followed and stayed when he asked. He knew best.

But the prickle of eyes on the back of Leon's neck told him that Ashley had decided in this instance, without him having to tell her, that she needed to wait outside. Her feet planted firmly where she stood. A glance over his shoulder earned him an image of Ashley with her mouth contorted into a thin line as she gnawed away at the inside of her mouth, brows scrunched together as she stared at him like a wounded puppy.

She took a step back as he twitched, and that seemed to push him over the edge as he finally pushed open the door and stepped into the small shooting gallery, shutting the door behind him with an obnoxious creak that demanded the parties attention as it swung shut with a thunk as it locked behind him.

The wood of the counters was blistered, not yet sanded and hastily put together. He wasn't sure what he'd expected, maybe some bottles along a shelf in the back? But the the varyingly distant shooting targets seemed well-painted and smoothed into having an almost glossy cover that made the dim light of the room, practically shine off them. The contrast between the two items was puzzling enough, though he supposed it wasn't outlandish to assume the Merchant had simply picked a room, found it already had the counters and just utilized the environment by slapping his markers onto the rim. The room was colder than the prior. Not yet tampered with by bodies that radiated warmth as sweat dripped off their face. Though he supposed he would soon amend that.

He willed his legs to move despite their sudden insistence on dropping down to his knees right there and indulging. He wasn't that much of an animal yet.

A few firm and confident strides brought him to stand at the corner where the counter met the wall, and with that, he slumped down with a thud that made his teeth snap together in a clack that rattled through him with a pained groan. Staring at his legs splayed out before him left him acutely aware of the sheer amount of grime and strain he'd forced his clothes to deal with.

Mud and dirt flung like old friends to the rim of his shoes, uneven knots of the stuff poking out from underneath the sole of it. His pants were coated in different patches of blood, some human and some from whatever monsters had been thrown his way in a desperate attempt to make his next breath, his last. His shirt was fringed. Torn along the edges and soaked with his current mess of sweat that left his face red with a flash of embarrassment.

He despised how pathetic he must've seemed. Stumbling off to go deal with an awkward boner like some pubescent teen all over again. Ever since his time in Raccoon City, a night filled with screams and the smell of his own blood, a night that left his clothes flecked with more brain matter than he should've seen in his entire life, a night that left him cautiously touching at his neck every few minutes as sweat dripped down his forehead, just to ensure the canines of the undead hadn't managed to puncture his skin and condemn him to a similar fate of rancid flesh rotting on his still moving bones. Ever since that night, it was though he'd been sleep walking. Floating just under the surface of a lake that had frozen over and refused him escape, a dull thrum reminding him of all that was just out of his reach and blocked by the watery coffin lid.

He didn't feel human, not as if he was better or superior, mind you. Instead, as though he didn't have the right to indulge in human emotionality. Every situation had to be handled with precision and grace, otherwise the victims wouldn't be just himself anymore. He didn't have the liberty of finding his situations terrifying. He didn't have the luxury of hesitating or thinking of his safety in a moment of peril.

So to be reminded of his own humanity in this kind of fashion?

A dry chuckle attempted to work it's way to his lips, fighting the constricting muscles of his throat as his watery eyes and chapped lips demanded attention from their less than benevolent owner. Instead, he just wanted the distress to be over.

He dragged the tips of his fingers across his forehead, the material of his gloves eagerly grabbing and collecting the salty secretions before he dropped one to his side. Chilled stone against his skin seemed to accentuate the heat practically radiating off his again as he groaned in relief at the colder surface.

A shifting of his legs as he leaned further back against the wall reminded him of his less than ideal ailment, and so with an attempt at restraint so as to not risk further discomfort in the state of heightened sensitivity, he began to undo his belt buckle. The soft clink of metal against metal seemed defending in the otherwise quiet environment of the room.

The dirty-blonde sighed tentatively as he pulled the two sides of his fly apart, the coarse material feeling like a cats tongue against his skin as the sweat practically dripped off him. His boxers were tented, but he had been expecting that. The large damp spot that made it look like he'd pissed himself from the sheer amount had not been on his bingo card for this event.

With care, he began to peel his boxer's hem down, letting another stifled groan stay at his lips for a few moments before releasing it with a hiss through gritted teeth at the relief from the now unbearable texture of his clothes having been removed from his appendage. The feeling of cold air on his dick made his fingers curl into fists, his nails digging into the palm of his gloves with such force that Leon was sure he'd be drawing blood if the fabric scraps had been stuffed in his pockets like he kept promising himself he would.

His relief and discomfort were shortlived though as his eyes trailed along his dick with great scrutiny, occasionally taking the curled knuckle of his pointer fingers to press against his eyes in hopes of clearing whatever vision or hallucination was ailing him. He pressed harder, his mind racing and repeating like a mantra how the sight would just disappear in a few seconds and all would be fine. A desperate plea with no one in particular that left him breathing a quivering exhale as he tried to let ease soak back into his bones.

Leon didn't count himself as well versed in the genitalia of creatures besides that of humans. And even then, his experience with dicks besides his own had usually taken place from an angle at which he couldn't see his partners, or they'd held his head down with their fingers knotted in his messy dirty blonde locs to ensure he couldn't sneak a peek.

However he was well aware that this thing wasn't normal across any boards and his mind began racing to rationalize.

I'm high. One of the villager's drugs from when I was tied up still hasn't worn off.

Why is this the only thing you're hallucinating?

Concision. Shovel to the back of the head scrambled my senses.

Too good of a reaction time and a shot to have a bad enough concussion that would cause hallucinations.

...side effect of the Plagas?

Ding ding ding!

You've had that piece of work crawling around in your system for hours now. That's hours of it searching for flaws or wounds, genetic deficiencies, and ailments for it to latch onto and fix. For it to "evolve".

So a healthy host, what does the Plagas do? As much as it disgusted him to admit it, it wouldn't be too far fetched to reason that his Plagas has jumped the gun and decided that the working host could simply be better. Fix the broken ones. Upgrade the healthy ones.

Leon grimaced at the thought, his face contorted to a mess of wrinkles and creases as his lips drew back, exposing the pink of his gums.

Slight discoloration was the first thing he noticed, a gradient that faded into his normal shade the closer it got to the top and head. The discoloration was gleaming as though slick, and another glance over revealed the culprit to be his own precum, dripping down in opaque beads as he panted.

With tentative movements, he brought his pointer finger to touch at the skin, noticing the firmer and smoother texture that summoned images of beetle shells to his mind. Insectile and crawling with an inhumane chitter that slipped through his memory before seemingly disappearing under his skin to rouse a shiver from him.

Laying his hand flat at the base left him feeling a series of bumps, curved almost like shark dorsal fins that trailed along the underside of his dick in a single file line, gradually getting smaller before disappearing at the line of his reddened head. The grimace took hold of his expression, eyes glossy as he touched along the bumps with a delicate curiosity. A shiver slithered over his spine like the run-off of an icicle along his skin, a discomforted grunt passed his lips as he peeled his gaze away from the discoloured canvas of his length.

It wasn't permanent. It couldn't be. The destruction of the Plagas inside his chest would leave his body to attack the tumorous or foreign cells, yes? It wasn't as though he was expecting everything would go back to normal and he'd be able to take a piss without cringing within a week. No, he expected there'd be a lot of tissue sampling and studying, much to his distress, before any of the scientists back at the D.S.O could give him some kind of tonic or salve that would allow him to take a girl home on a Friday and not have her scream like a chick in a black and white horror flic if they happened to get handsy with each other and his belt happened to get yanked off.

But he wasn't there yet. Right now he was gently squeezing the warped surface of his length, a finger resting between the evenly spaced notches of the small bumps. His thumb ran along the top side of his dick, tracing where he was used to feeling the swollen lines of veins.

A hand twitch or a subconscious urge left him giving his cock a squeeze that left him bringing his free hand to lay across his eyes as though it might distance himself from his current situation.

Get it over with. Just hurry up and get the Plagas calmed down.

It took more time than he'd care to admit, but his hand eventually grew steady enough to allow him to confidently run his loose palm over the ridges of the underside without irritating or fearing irritation of it a few times. Each bump of his skin against the ridges sent a discomforted grunt to his throat as if he'd just brushed a series of severed wires, a shock bolting through his body before disappearing into the chaffed wood below.

In his chest, he felt the Plagas practically squirm in delight, presumably under the impression that he'd found some implanted village folk or another creature of a similar affliction. He assumed the creature would've made him waltz over to Ashley and bond more intimately with her if it got its wish. Though instead, it would have to deal with his hand and his imagination for the time being.

In mention of his imagination, he allowed his thoughts to drift from the present situation in order to envision a more pleasant environment. Specifically that of his companion and he didn't bother to try and deny his indulgence when the recesses of his mind brought forth the image of Ada, clad in her short sweater-dress with the firm material of her boots trailing up her legs and attempting to obscure the smooth canvas of her skin.

Her hair gleaming like a crow's feather under the pale moon as it soared by. Her cunning smile, the upturn of those glossy lips as she laughed inwardly at joke, some comedic stroke of genius or irony that she didn't intend to divulge to him till it was too late. Her eyes creased at the edges as she wore a condescendingly expression mixed with a grimace.

He'd never had the pleasure of actually laying with her, but he wasn't alien to this particular fantasy.

He'd find himself actually useful to her, bringing something to her besides just a sigh with a passive smirk. It was crude and he was well aware. A guilty blush crossing his face as he imagined the front of her shoe pressed tight against the front of his clothed groin. Practically toying with him while he attempted to maintain composure. It would go on for a few minutes, then she'd grow bored and would gesture for him to unzip his pants which he'd do with an almost frantic or wild relief. Wether it was related to his own hand dragging up and down along his cock, or if he found himself that deeply relieved even in his imagination, he found a sigh passing his lips.

A few minutes more, and her tongue swiped across the head of his cock as he stared at the wall of the room, too embarrassed to make any kind of eye contact. He intended to close his eyes, but a spasm of the Plagas in his chest dragged his attention and made his grip feel like iron around his cock, letting him hiss an exhale through his teeth as the scenario faded from his mind.

"Fuck!" His irritation lay more with his predicament as a whole, though he was sure that "imagination Ada" felt a bit hurt that the loss of her hadn't been his main lament.

Sitting here was humiliating. Knowing the Merchant and Ashley were sitting outside waiting for him to come back out was humiliating. Having his own dick be foreign in some element to himself was humiliating. This whole thing left a sour taste in his mouth that refused to slither back into his stomach, though he guessed that he was too unlucky to ever hope to achieve anything similar to that. Too good for him. And for a moment, he debated stuffing his too-hard dick into his too rough-textured pants and hoping everything else went smoothly, ignoring the problem might bring some kind of victory if he was able to drag his mind out of the gutter for long enough actually complete his mission.

But wishful thinking wasn't getting him anywhere, and his cock was already aching in the absence of his palm's warmth. This wasn't a problem he could easily ignore, and his mouth curled into a sneer as he leered down at his chest, hopefully cutting eyes at the parasitic creature.

His hand resumed it's place, gripping tightly between the notches which he hadn't the foggiest notion of the use for. Grip? Friction? Pleasure for the partner? A disgusted and almost sluggish shiver crept over his sweat-slicked body. He didn't want to think about it anymore and quickly discarded the thought as he gave his cock a few testing pumps, ending with his thumb dragging across the slit to collect and wipe away the precum he'd been leaking at a pace he was less than comfortable with.

He fought his gaze away from his misshapen dick again, returning it too the spot on the wall, discoloured and stained from what he would assume was years of neglect. Left to the rot and mold that had crept into the base of the castle, sinking it's diseased teeth into the tree carcasses.

"Get it over with. They're waiting on you."

He nodded to himself in his solidarity, though no one would've questioned whatever will he was trying to prove or reinforce. A few more gentle pumps of his dick drew a whimper to his lips, but he quieted himself.

Again, he imagined Ada's appearance. The curves of her thighs and his desperate want to run his hands over her sides. Holding and squeezing her hips as he basked in the scent that emulated from her whenever he managed to get close enough.

During Raccoon City, he'd imagined it was a perfume. Something from a bottle she would toss on or swipe onto her neck in order to make herself that much more irresistible. A carnivorous plant coughing out the most alluring scents in order to bring ignorant or misguided creatures scrambling to them. And Leon had scrambled more than once or twice. And yet Ada hadn't found it in herself to permanently terminate their working relationship yet.

Still, he considered what she was doing crueler. Misgivings and misinformation disguised as hopes that passed her pretty lips with a subtle smile. And yet it was still that smile that he longed to see when he woke up in the morning. Her hair disheveled yet still seemingly perfect as she let him wrestle on top of her. Her shapely form laid out before him as her palms rested on his bent legs, her fingers tracing the flexed muscles of his thighs.

Leon grunted into his free hand as his pace quickened, the Plagas sending a seemingly thrilled spark and shiver through his body to let him know if it's approval for what he continued to believe as it's apparent approval for its misunderstanding of the current situation.

While doing his best to ignore the creatures opinion, he flicked his wrist into giving a small twist near the end of his reddened head which made him grit his teeth, gnashed together like a chewing mule.

The feeling of Ada's own thighs on either side of his head, squeezing with varying intensities as he licked needily at her pussy, intent on attempting to get her to cum once like this. And while he was sure she would, she seemed intent on playing the uninterested lass. A uncaring or even bored expression plastered on her face as she glanced at her nails.

His nails dug into her hips with a more than spiteful whine leaving his lips as he stared at her from his post between her legs. A kick to his back in retributive action was delivered swiftly in trade for the nail marks, though he seemed without care as he began kissing and licking gently along the insides of her thighs like an overeager cat, or as she loved to remind and taunt him, "a lovesick puppy". A few times she'd chastised him enough to try and bully him into wearing dog ears during their endeavors, but that was one decision he intended to stay loyal to in his denial of it.

He gnawed on the inside of his lips and mouth as he kept himself quiet this time, barely aware of the pace and vigor with which he was practically assaulting the roughened exterior of his cock now. He felt his back begin to arch as he tried to push himself further into the sensation that already seemed all enveloping and consuming.

Her graceful behavior continued in bed, her back a smooth arch and her lips scarcely parted to vocalize anything besides the occasional teasing remark. It's not for his lack of trying, in his fantasies, he's tried nearly everything that comes to mind and yet she still refuses to break that illusive yet alluring façade of her disinterest. Leon's sure that it's something he's attracted to even if he doesn't want to admit it to himself. A moment of finally not being in control after having spent years being the one to be relied on. The one who had to fix everything and the one on who's shoulders everything seemed to fall despite his irritation. So to let her take control and act as his higher power for once? He wouldn't pretend the idea wasn't at least a little bit liberating.

With-

He felt the warm seed coat his knuckles and his fantasy quickly disappeared. He cursed out the Plagas and it's seemingly overeager tendencies. To some amount of relief though, he found his cock softening in his grip. Or at least softening as much as the chitin would allow.

Shaking off his knuckles and sending a small droplets of the opaque liquid to lay on the planks of wood.

He just wanted this mission to be fucking over already.

As if on que, the Plagas squirmed in his chest again, presumably still ecstatic from what it assumed was a successful infection of another being.

Tough luck. Was his mental response. A thought tossed out like a crumpled up piece of paper. We've both got trouble with women, little bug.

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