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orcasoul · 3 months

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Joel Miller Headcanons

Joel's Reaction When You're Sexually Harassed

Ahhhh I love me some protective Joel :)

Joel didn't think nights like this could ever exist again; Night's reminiscent of the 'Before Times', when you could unwind, leave your stress and worries behind for a little while and just enjoy the moment. The jovial laughter and carefree atmosphere that fills the community hall still amazes him.

For too long, people in this world just existed, trying to make it from one lousy day to the next, always having to look over their shoulder. But here in Jackson it's different. Life doesn't just go on, it thrives, breathes, grows stronger, a testament to the resilience and determination of the human spirit.

Even though some things here seemed frivolous at first, Joel had to admit the room did look beautiful, with fairy lights strung up and handmade decorations adorning the walls - all for the anniversary of Jacksons' founding- but it all pales in comparison at the sight before him now.

There you are, his 'partner in crime' (as you so often playfully referred to the both of you as), looking effortlessly radiant as usual, long hair draping over both shoulders, the ends trailing down to the low cut top that accentuates your cleavage, (not that he's looking, nope, not looking at all), a pink tint to your cheeks and a smile that could bring Joel to his knees.

"Hey guys, mind if I sit?" you gesture to the empty seat at the table. "Please join us," Maria smiles warmly. Joel removes his coat from the back of the empty chair beside him and pulls it out, an invitation to make yourself comfortable. "Such a gentleman," you beam at Joel, gently nudging his shoulder with your own. Joel smiles, "Always am, darling."

He doesn't miss how your already pink cheeks flush even brighter at his response, but no, couldn't mean... nope she'll never see you that way, so don't even go there. He listens intently as Tommy and you discuss your patrols with Joel, blushing slightly as you praise him for his capability and competence beyond the walls, even going as far as to calling him a good teacher.

"Well, you're a quick learner. Not everyone catches on as fast as you." Joel has to fight with the small smile threatening to break into a full on grin at his pride in you. Tommy raises his eyebrows in amusement as he watches the easy back and fourth between you two. The night goes on and Joel wishes it would never end.

Just sitting here with you, listening to the sweet lilt of your voice, watching the way your face lights up in genuine laughter brings a warmth to Joel's already thawing heart. He watches you leave as you excuse yourself to go to the bathroom. He knows what's coming just from the smug looks his brother and sister-in law are giving him.

"Don't...," Joel rolls his eyes, "It's not like that at all." "Mmhmm...," Tommy hums, smirking into his glass. Joel huffs, returning his attention to his drink. A few minutes later he sees you making your way across the room, weaving in and out of dancing couples, when you are suddenly blocked from view by a large back and broad shoulders.

Joel is instantly on his feet, defence mode triggered in his brain, suspiciously eyeing this seemingly insistent man. The look on your face tells him everything he needs to know; You're uncomfortable and looking for a way out. His feet move as if they are their own entity, taking large strides across the floor, fists balled up and jaw clenched.

He can't make out what you're saying but it's obvious you are refusing this mans' advances. As you try to push past, the man grabs your wrist, making you wince in pain. Joe's eyes widen in shock. This fucker actually had the audacity to lay his hands on you. Pure, unbridled rage burst through Joel's veins, burning him from the inside out, his objective now crystal clear.

In the next moment, Joel had spun the asshole around, connecting his fist to his jaw, relishing the satisfying crack that resulted. "Don't ever put your fucking hands on her again!" Joel roared while pulling you behind him, shielding you with his large frame. He could feel you trembling as you placed a hand on his back, which only angered him more. How dare this entitled piece of shit treat you that way. You deserve to feel safe in your own community!

"What the fuck, man!" fumed the stranger as he picked himself up off the floor, rubbing his injured jaw. The room suddenly became void of voices, the jukebox being the only continuous sound for a moment, as all eyes shifted to the unfolding scene. The man's gaze shifts from Joel to you. "Seriously?!" he narrow's his eyes at you, anger painting his face red. "You'd rather fuck this old timer than me!"

"Back. The. Fuck. Off... Now!" Joel growled lowly. The guy looks back to Joel. "You know what...," he scoffs, "You're fucking welcome to it! God knows where that whore has be-" Crack!! He falls onto the table, then onto the floor with a sickening thud as Joel rains down, blow after blow. '"Joel! Joel stop!" He can hear you, but he can't stop, not after the vile comments aimed at you.

"Joel, please!" Only upon feeling your hand on his arm did Joel stop, turning to face you, hoping his actions haven't frightened you. But instead of fear or disgust all he sees is concern in your eyes. He turns back to face the man when he hears him groaning while being picked up and escorted out by a few other men.

Tommy appears at Joel's side, quietly reminding him that there are better ways to deal with people like that, - even if his look is silently conveying an 'I would have done the same thing' message -, then he makes sure you are okay before trying to ease the tension in the air by encouraging everyone to return to their business.

"Joel...," you whisper while gently taking hold of his bloodied hand, examining the gashes and forming bruises. "Let's go. We need to take care of this." Joel nods at you, allowing you to lead him outside.

Joel sits at your kitchen table, watching studiously as you sit in front of him, rummage through your first aid box. The deep concentration etched onto your face as you carefully dab at his split knuckles, stirs up a multitude of feelings in Joel's gut; Relief that you're okay and not afraid of what you saw, appreciation at how attentive you are and a fierce need to protect you from any more harm in future.

"I think it's broken," you say, sadly. "Yeah, probably just a hairline. It'll be okay," he shrugs it off, trying to reassure you. You sigh and shake your head. "You shouldn't have done that, Joel." Joel's brows knit together in confusion. "I shouldn't have helped you?" "I mean, I appreciate you defending me, I really do...," your eyes meet his and he can feel the sincerity of your words. You return your focus to Joel"s hand. "But he's not worth breaking your hand over."

It kills Joel that you sound guilty, as if you're blaming yourself for what happened, when it was all the fault of that arrogant prick. "No, he's not...," Joel replied flatly, then gently lifts your chin with his other hand to look softly into your eyes, "But you are." Joel watches as your frown softens into a heartfelt smile, your eyes glistening with un-shed tears.

His eyes momentarily drop to your lips, looking so soft and plump, he wonders if they'd feel as soft as they look. He doesn't have to wonder for long. In the blink of an eye his collar is in your grasp, your lips crashing onto his, and oh, they are soft, just like he knew they would be. Is this really happening?! Joel skims his tongue along your bottom lip and immediately you open, welcoming his tongue as it claims your mouth.

His hands settle on your waist, gently hoisting you up off of your chair and onto his lap. Joel feels your pert tits press against his chest and his cock press against his jeans. He moans into your mouth, running his good hand up your back to cup the back of your head. You respond by wrapping your arms around his neck and deepening the kiss, tounges and teeth battling it out in a game dominance and passion.

When you both finally part, panting for breath, Joel rests his forehead against yours and murmurs, " You don't know how long I've wanted to do that, baby." "You don't know how long I've wanted you to do that," you coo sweetly. Joel chuckles and kisses the tip of your nose. "I'll do that for however long you'll have me." Whatever is happening between you both, Joel knows this is the start of something amazing.

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal fandom #joel miller fic #joel miller imagine #joel miller x you #pedro pascal fanfiction #joel miller the last of us #joel miller #joel miller x reader

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tightjeansjavi · 6 months

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the feel of coldness only water brings

A/N: so this is the unplanned part two of this Joel drabble I wrote called wildflowers. I just woke up this morning to some lovely reblogs on it, thus inspiring this piece 🥺 oh, and I also thought of @beefrobeefcal and her beefy, fat! Joel fics that are so so good while I was writing this!

~word count: 1.6k~

Summary: you convince Joel to join you for a swim in a lake while on patrol despite his insecurities

Pairing | joel x f!reader

Warnings: implied smut, fluff, angst (so sorry) non specified age gap between Joel and the reader, body insecurities(Joel), self deprecating thoughts, real bodies, natural body changes with age etc, language, teasing, flirting, body appreciation/worship, peepaw!joel, grumpy!joel, sunshine reader, reader has no physical descriptions (outside of wearing a bra and panties) +18 minors dni!

Sweat beads and drips down from the base of his hairline and slowly seeps into the fabric of his shirt, staining the fabric naturally. His steel toed boots stop at the water's edge, soft ripples lapping at the worn leather with a soft audible swish. The lake is crystalline, and beneath the glass surface he sees a million different rocks, all shapes and sizes and textures. The mountain air is crisp, refreshing as he inhales deeply.

The high noon sun blinds his vision momentarily, but he welcomes it. The fabric of his shirt is beginning to grow itchy, scratching at his skin from the beading perspiration. He kicks a stray rock into water, watching as it sinks into the shallow depths.

“Joel.” Your voice carries over the water, your head and shoulders bobbing like a cork in the middle of the glistening lake. “You said it yourself, there’s no infected out here, and the water is so refreshing. Won’t you join me?”

His shoulders tense beneath the fabric of his shirt, his jaw clenches, teeth grinding. He squints, bringing his hand over his forehead to block out the blinding rays, “M’fine here, darlin.’” He chuffs out, “Besides, one of us has to be on alert.” He added, rationalizing his decision.

“Is it because you can’t swim?” It was a safe assumption to make.

He shook his head, kicking another rock with the toe of his boot. “It ain’t that.”

“Okay, so you can swim? Well, then what’s the issue? C’mon, baby. You’re practically sweating right through your shirt.” You said teasingly, hoping to see the corners of his permanent set frown quirk upwards, just for you.

“It’s silly.” He wavered, eyes casting downwards to his boots. “M’just—insecure s’all. Don’t want you to uh—see me like that.” He was never the best with communicating, but he tried with you, and that’s all you could ever really ask for.

“Joel, it’s not silly. If it makes you feel any better, you can keep your clothes on? It doesn’t matter to me because I think you're handsome, and your real body isn’t gonna suddenly make me stop feeling the way I do for you.” You reassured him with a soft smile.

“If I keep my clothes on m’gonna sink like a fuckin’ rock.” He forced out a chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck with a huff. “Y’say that now…” he trailed off, gnawing on the inside of his cheek. “But ‘m littered with scars, baby. Got grays on my chest and—m’barely fittin’ in my jeans these days. Should probably hold off on extra—”

“Joel.” You sighed, “I’m gonna stop you right there. Cause everything you just described to me?” You lifted your hands up from under the water in emphasis, “is a real fucking body. More importantly, it’s your body. You’re a healthy man, Joel. Your jeans ain’t fitting the same because you’re no longer in survival mode. You’re getting to indulge in a way that you weren’t able to in over 20 years. You're strong, but you're also soft in the right places.”

He doesn't believe you, of course. He would argue that it was because he had grown old and lazy like a house cat. You didn’t give him the chance, however.

“I love how soft and squishy your stomach is. You know why?”

He shook his head, feeling a flush creep up his neck and face,

“Because it acts as the perfect pillow for my head when we’re napping, and I love to grab onto your love handles when we’re cuddlin.’ Love to feel the way it presses into me when we hug. Or when you’re takin’ me from behind.”

“You’re just sayin’ that.” He scoffed.

“Am I?” You challenged him as you pulled yourself out of the water, dripping wet in just your flimsy pair of bra and panties.

“Don’t.” He warned you, taking a step to the side when you reached out to touch him. As if he was a frightened animal shying away. “M’jus’ a fat old man, darlin.’ Don’t gotta lie to me, sweetheart. I can accept the truth.” He was on the edge of snapping, nearly baring his teeth.

“Joel.” You said softly, “stop that. I ain’t have a reason to lie to you. Never have, never will.”

“You don’t have to protect my heart, darlin.’ S’okay. I ain’t deservin’ of your kindness. Don’t know why you even waste your time with a man like me—”

You looped your thumbs into the worn belt loops of his jeans and yanked him towards you swiftly despite his faint protests. “Would you shut up, please?”

Loose pebbles crunched beneath his heavy boots when you pulled him towards you and his hands naturally found your waist, big palms splayed across your damp skin. “Don’t you think you deserve yourself a real man? Someone who—isn’t like me?”

“You are a real man, Joel.” You gently remind him and slowly slip your thumbs from the belt loops of his jeans. “You’re beautiful, and I just wish you could see what I see.”

“Beautiful?” He scoffed, nose twitching when he felt your hands slowly slide up the expanse of his covered chest, “that ain’t me, sweetheart.” He rasped, tilting his chin downwards so he could watch your fingers gently toy with the buttons on his shirt.

“It is you, Joel. And one day you’ll wake up and realize it. And when that day comes, you’ll look in the mirror and tell yourself that you are beautiful, and you are loved, and you are deserving of kindness and softness for as long as Mother Nature lets me have you.”

He could feel himself slowly begin to cave from your words, tears pricking in the corner of his eyes, and he would claim that it was just from the blinding sun and the irritating sweat dripping from his brow. “Don’t know what I did to deserve you, darlin.’ Don’t think I’ll ever understand it. You could have your pick of men in Jackson, and you choose me?” He stifled a chuckle, dipping his chin down further so he could kiss the edge of your fingertips.

“You’re worth more than the whole damn bunch, Joel. Stubborn ass of a man, but I wouldn’t want you any other way.”

“Undress me.” He murmured, swallowing the lump rising in his throat, “M’yours.”

You smiled, dragging your thumb against his jaw and slowly tilted his chin upwards so your eyes could meet, “Remember, it’s just you and me out here. Nothin’ but miles and miles of wilderness.”

“Kiss me.” He whispered, tightening his grip around your hips, pulling you in closer.

Your lips brush, testing the waters before you fully kiss him. Tasting the sweat from his brow that had trickled down his lips. Soft, chapped, warm and familiar against your own.

Your fingers worked the buttons of his shirt open, exposing his skin to the warm rays from the sun. You pushed the strained fabric down his shoulders, letting the shirt fall to the pebbles below. You traced his scars with delicate movements, detaching your lips from his so you could follow the path your fingers created. You nipped at the softness of his bicep, pressing open mouthed kisses that trailed down his arm to his hand. You kissed each knuckle, each callous with your eyes staying locked on his.

You squeezed the soft plump flesh of his love handles, imagining yourself using them as an anchor when you would ride his cock in the early morning hours when neither of you could sleep.

You dragged your nose against the swell of his belly, feeling him tense up before melting into your touch like a pad of butter on a hot pan. You inhaled his musky scent, dragging your lips southwards through the dark hair of his happy trail, pressing a kiss there, too.

Your fingers moved in muscle memory as you undid his belt, tugging his too tight jeans over his hips and strong thighs, letting them pool at his ankles.

He watches your every move, brows furrowed together at the sight of you on your knees between his thighs. He hopes to god there is no danger lurking nearby. He wants this memory etched into his brain for the rest of his days.

He breathes out a strained puff of air from between his parted lips when you press the tip of your nose against the underside of his heavy cock, and the drag of your hot tongue through the strained fabric.

A groan bubbles up his throat, spilling over and he presses his hips into your face, the swell of his belly brushing against the crown of your head.

You giggle, nipping lightly at the fabric, feeling his cock twitch and harden. You watch his eyes roll back, words tumbling out in tandem.

“Do. Not. Tease. Me.” He growled and you giggled at his response.

“If you want more…you’re just gonna have to catch me!” You rose from your knees before he could grab ahold of you, stepping back with that glint in your eye.

“Hey! That ain’t fair and you know it!” He huffed, already struggling to unlace his boots so he could pull his jeans off completely. He cursed under his breath when he watched you dive back into the refreshing waters.

“Gonna get you back for this.” He grumbled to himself, fighting the urge to grin at the warmth that he felt flooding in his chest.

You heard a loud splash just as you resurfaced, and two dark brown eyes locked onto you like a target as you playfully swam away.

Your giggles and his deep, raspy laughter filled the hot summer air like a song that you would play on repeat, over and over again.

Banners made by the lovely @saradika-graphics 💕

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nectar-cellar · 2 months

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Downtown Roles Mod Tutorial - TS3 - Mature Gameplay Ideas

NSFW 18+ mature content / a long read

TLDR: this is a compilation/recommendation list of mods, a tutorial on how to set up NPCs, and how to tie it all together to add some mature gameplay to your save. 😈

Misukisu/Virtual Artisan had a “Downtown Roles” mod that sadly does not work anymore for the latest versions of TS3. Her mod basically allowed players to add role sims to community lots so your sims could have more NPCs to interact with, making the lots feel more alive in a mature "downtown" sort of way.

I was inspired by her mod and I want to share how you can recreate and expand her mod’s functions with Nraas Register and Arsil’s Custom Generic Role mod. Some players might already know how these mods work, but it was a new discovery for me. I didn’t know how useful role sims could be! It got the gears in my dirty mind turning.

The main purpose of this mod list/tutorial: to add role sims to community lots for your main sims to interact with, while they’re out on the town. These will be sims outside of your household. Their main “job” is to hang out at the lot. You can let the game generate new sims to fill these roles, or assign existing sims in the town to fill the roles.

Examples of role sims you can create:

A regular patron at a dive bar for your sim to befriend or make enemies with.

A sexy single sim at a beach, gym, pool, bar or club for your sim to mingle and hook up with.

An escort at a brothel for your sim to woohoo with (Passion mod).

A client for your sim to sell drugs/weapons to (MonocoDoll Vile Ventures mod and Arms Dealing mod) - I have not tested this but in theory it should work.

You can add multiple role sims on each lot. You could have a number of partygoers on a club lot/a number of escorts on a brothel lot/a number of mobsters or criminals on a warehouse lot who will always be there when your sim visits.

Why role sims?

Townies are unpredictable - you never know which lot they’ll show up on, and how long they’ll stay. Role sims will consistently be there as the supporting characters in your main sim’s story.

Having consistent NPCs at certain locations around town can help with story-driven gameplay scenarios.

You can move a household of your own sims into town and assign them to fill various roles. See pretty NPCs around town!

If you let the game generate new sims for the roles, then it saves you the hassle of setting up new households yourself. You can always edit them later in CAS.

Limitations:

According to Arsil, it seems like sims who are already employed (such as most townies) will be removed from their jobs if they are assigned to be role sims. So I would avoid using any employed townies for this unless you are ok with that. Use unemployed residents instead.

I believe the role sim cannot leave the lot during the designated work hours. Your sim cannot form a group with them and go to another venue. However, you can invite the sim over or hang out afterwards from the relationship panel.

Mods Needed:

Nraas Master Controller + Integration Module

Nraas Register

Arsil‘s Custom Generic Role mod (both the floor marker and the desk)

Passion (if you want your sim to be able to have sex with the role sims on the lot or have the role sims dance on the stripper pole)

MonocoDoll’s Vile Ventures mod (if you want to create NPC clients for your sim to sell to)

MonocoDoll’s Arms Dealing mod (if you want to create NPC clients for your sim to sell to)

How to Set Up:

Step 1: Install the mods listed above. Then, open the save file you want to add some downtown sleaze to.

Step 2: Find a community lot you want to add role sims to. This could be a bar, nightclub, brothel/motel/strip club, a run-down warehouse or block of buildings, casino, etc. I have downloaded many lots from Flora2 at ModtheSims and @simsmidgen here on Tumblr that fit the gritty urban vibe.

Step 3: Enter Build/Buy mode. You can do this from Live mode.

Press Ctrl + Shift + C, enter this cheat: testingcheatsenabled true

Press the Shift key and click on the ground of the community lot.

Click on “Build on this lot”.

You can also enter Edit Town mode to renovate the community lot.

Step 4: Place Arsil’s Custom Generic Role floor marker or desk on the lot. Place one for each role sim you want to create. They are located in Build Mode -> Community Objects -> Misc. If the desk looks out of place, use the floor marker instead.

Step 5: In Live mode, click on the object -> Settings to set:

The name of the role (clubgoer/stripper/escort/mobster/etc.)

The “work” hours the sim will be on the lot for

The days off

The motives to freeze or not (I recommend freezing all the motives to avoid interactions being interrupted/sims complaining due to low motives)

If the sim you want to assign to the role already lives in town, click on the object -> Nraas -> Register -> Select -> Choose criteria -> select the sim from the list. I would avoid choosing any employed townies as they may lose their job when switching to this role. Choose unemployed residents to avoid conflicts.

Remove assigned roles: click on the object to remove the sim from the role.

Step 6: In Live mode, click on City Hall -> Nraas -> Register

Allow immigration: choose whether you want new sims to be moved into town to take the roles (enable this if you want the game to generate new sims for the roles)

Allow immigration = False: if you set this option to false, then a new option called "Find Empty Roles" should appear. You can then assign any sim to the role object you placed, from City Hall.

Allow resident assignment: choose whether you want existing unemployed townies to be randomly assigned to fill the roles (I recommend to disable this. I had Buster Clavell show up to work at my strip club. NO!)

Pay per hour: I'm not sure how to adjust the pay for each custom role but you can just leave it at the default or change it globally

Remove roles: click on the object to remove the sim from the role, or click on City Hall -> Nraas -> Register -> Global Roles -> Remove by sim

Step 7: In Live mode, give the game some time to generate the role sims. Visit the community lot and have a look at your new role sims. The role sims should autonomously interact with other sims and objects on the lot. Using Nraas Master Controller, you can take the sim into CAS to give them a makeover, edit their traits, or replace them with a sim from your sim bin.

Step 8: Make your sim interact with the shiny new role sims and play out the storylines you always wished were possible. Public hookups, functioning brothels, selling drugs and guns - this is what The Sims 3 was made for, baby!!!

Related Mods:

Arsil’s Exotic Dancer Stage - if you have a club community lot, you can use this mod to hire dancers. You can use role sims to add other NPCs to the club such as guests, shady business sims, or non-dancer sex workers.

Nraas Relativity - this handy mod can slow down the speed of time so your sim can spend more time doing their "activities"

Nraas Woohooer - if you don’t want the explicit sex animations from Passion, you could use this mod instead to provide more woohoo options.

Passion - for brothels/strip clubs, this mod will add sex animations and the ability to have role sims dance on the stripper pole.

MonocoDoll’s Vile Ventures mod and Arms Dealing mod - you can use role sims to create more clients for your sim to sell drugs and weapons to, like different individuals/gangs/mobs. You could have different clients hanging out at different spots in the city.

LazyDuchess Lot Population - this mod populates community lots with townies, and they can interact with the role sims you’ve created.

Service Sims Out on the Town - this pushes service sims to visit community lots, to add even more variety to your crowds.

Conclusion

If you made it to the end, thank you for reading. Please let me know if you try out this style of gameplay, and if you have ideas for more role sims and community lots to make. This tutorial was NSFW-oriented but you could easily adapt it to create NPCs for SFW community lots.

#s3cc #ts3cc #the sims 3 #ts3

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sailor-aviator · 2 months

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We Abide: Chapter One

Pairing: Tyler Owens x Reader

Summary: It had started out as a small outbreak, but as weeks passed, it was clear there was no turning back. The disease spread quickly, and those who caught it and were unlucky enough to survive? Their minds were no longer their own, driven to hunting what was left of humanity. Your friend had gone West to help aid in recovery efforts before the world stopped, and now you found yourself trekking across the country to try and find her. You were fine on your own, only the company of your dog to help keep you sane, but your reputation catches up with you when a cocky man decides to tag along. (Apocalypse!AU)

Content Warning: Summer heat, allusions to PTSD, Graphic violence, Reader is attacked by a monster, Depictions of mortal wound, Graphic descriptions of blood, Death, Survival mode, Cursing, Crying, Flirting, Older father figure. I think that's it, but PLEASE let me know if I missed something!

Word Count: 4.5k

Series Masterlist || Playlist || Moodboard 1 || Moodboard 2 || Tyler Moodboard

Sweat dripped down your forehead, the summer sun beating down on your brow even between the dense foliage of the trees up above. You supposed it wouldn’t be so bad if it weren’t for the damn humidity that seemed to grip your throat like a vice. You stopped in your tracks, the snapping of the twigs beneath your feet sounding amongst the forest noises. Cicadas screamed angrily all around you, the tweeting of birds filling the air as they swooped up above.

You slumped against a nearby tree, tilting your head back to try and feel some of the warm breeze that trickled by, offering little comfort from the heat. If you had to guess, it was probably around July about that time. You didn’t keep a close enough eye on the date as you traveled, and quite frankly, it didn’t worry you all that much.

You closed your eyes against the blinding sun, reaching blindly for the water bottle you kept tucked away in your backpack. You frowned at how light the canister felt in your hands, the sloshing of the liquid within causing you to sigh. You were running low again, and you couldn’t be sure as to the safety of the water in this area. Hopefully, you’d run across an abandoned house or survivor community soon. Judging by the map, you weren’t too far from Lake Beaver. You had seen the “Welcome to Arkansas” sign only a couple hours prior, so it would make sense that you were closing in on the large body of water at this point.

The thought of soaking in the cool, lake water nearly made you sigh in relief. You hated the heat—always had. Of course, you grew up in one of the hottest areas of the country, the AC often giving out in those early years until your father finally broke down and bought a new one. You’d sit in front of that window unit for hours, just enjoying the cold air until your mother harped at you for blocking the cool air from getting to the rest of the house.

Rustling to your left pulled you from your thoughts, your head jerking forward as your eyes snapped open. You reached back to pull the hatchet out from the confines of your pack, body tensing as you crouched into a ready position. It wasn’t often that you encountered a snapper during the daylight hours, but it had happened enough that you knew you couldn’t take the chance.

The sound of a twig snapped, and you braced yourself, drawing your arm back to strike when a figure bounded forward.

You let out a startled gasp, eyes wide as your brain processed what was happening. The dog was a large, mixed breed, shaggy red fur and facial features indicating it was mixed with golden retriever and something else that you couldn’t quite place. Big, brown eyes stared up at you as it trotted forward, tail wagging excitedly as it stopped to sniff at your feet.

You let the hatchet drop to your side, a scowl on your face as placed a hand on your hip.

“Dammit, Mars,” you groused, crouching down so that you were eye level with the mutt. His tail wagged faster at the mention of his name, stepping forward and relishing in the touch you were giving him as you scratched behind his ear.

“You nearly died just then, you know,” you admonished, but Mars paid you no mind, head jerking to the side as something caught his attention. Probably a squirrel.

“What were you up to, anyway?” You asked, standing straight as the dog trotted off with his nose to the ground. You watched after him for a moment, wondering how he managed to keep up so much energy amidst the miserable heat. With a shake of your head, you put your items away before pushing off of the tree trunk.

You’d heard mention of a survivor community around those parts, the folks up near the outskirts of Springfield and Branson assuring you that you’d find folks down this way who would aid you on your journey.

It had been a year and a half since you left New York, if you had to guess. You had trekked down along the eastern seaboard, stopping at the different communities you could find along the way. Most welcomed you in, offering you food and a place to stay, others wanted an exchange of some kind, and you found that you were surprisingly adept at hunting. Still, there was the occasional community that didn’t welcome you at all, rather chasing you out of the area and back onto the road.

The locals up in Missouri had assuaged your fears, however, assuring you that the folks of Beaver Lake would welcome you just as they had.

Letting out a heavy sigh, you whistled for Mars, the mutt perking up before bounding back towards you.

“Let’s hoof it,” you told him, readjusting the strap on your pack. “I want to get there before nightfall.”

You came upon the water maybe an hour later, the promise of cool relief nearly tempting you to stop and enjoy it. You eyed the horizon, the sun slowly inching downwards, and you let out a longing sigh as you forced yourself to continue. You stuck by the edge of the water, sure that the survivors would stick near the fresh body of water. You saw the splash of fish, making a mental note to try your hand at fishing before you left. If you caught enough, you could use them to barter for other goods or use them as a repayment for hospitality. The folks in Missouri had been kind, refusing to barter, but there was no telling what the people of Beaver Lake would want.

The sun sunk lower and lower past the trees, and a coolness began to creep into the air. You still had about an hour or two of light, if you had to guess, and you were hoping you’d come across the settlement sooner rather than later. You’d spent many nights out in the new wilderness by yourself, and while it wasn’t ideal, you knew you could hold your own against a snapper or two. But, there’d been once or twice when you’d caught sight of a large grouping of them, creeping along the ground as you sat in an abandoned home or up in the branches of a tree. They never bothered with Mars, much, the snap of his teeth enough to deter the wayward snapper if they did happen across his hiding spot.

The sound of a motor caught your attention, Mars’ ears perking alongside you. Your head snapped towards the water, watching as a small motorboat made its way towards the dock just a little ways ahead of you. You saw two figures on the boat, one steering and the other looking out over the edge towards where you stood.

As the boat drew closer, you began walking once more, albeit faster this time and with Mars hot on your tail.

The boat docked as you trotted up onto the wood of the platform, your steps echoing as you approached.

“Ain’t ever seen you ‘round these parts,” one of the men said as his companion tied the boat to a post. “Wasn’t sure if you was snapper or friend.”

“Friend, I hope,” you offered smoothly, earning a grunt from the same man. The other finished tying his knot, standing straight to look at you. Both men were older, perhaps somewhere in their late forties or early fifties with graying hair and weathered faces. The man who spoke to you had clear, blue eyes that assessed you with curiosity, the man next to him watched you with caution in his dark eyes.

The first man brought a hand up to scratch his bearded chin thoughtfully.

“You the one then?” He asked gruffly, eyes drifting down to watch Mars seated next to you. “The one my buddy up in Cassville radioed me about? What’s it they call you? The Wanderer?”

You held back a scowl at the mention of the moniker you had earned on your travels. No one traveled as far as you did, if they did at all. The only ones that moved outside of the communities these days were those running supplies to and fro.

“I’d rather you didn’t call me that, actually,” you told them, supplying them with your name instead. The man repeated it, mulling it over before nodding slowly.

“Alright then, little miss. I suppose you’ll be wanting a place to stay then, hm?” He asked. His friend stepped past him and onto the dock, grabbing a box that jangled with its contents before walking down the dock and towards a shack that lay past the water’s edge.

“It’d be nice,” you agreed, watching as he grabbed a box of his own to carry towards the shack. “I don’t have much to barter with at the moment, though.”

“Well, we can worry about all that later. How’s about you grab a box or two and help us unload? The sooner we get this done, the sooner we can head back to LaRue and get you settled.”

You followed suit, grabbing a box that was much heavier than it looked and catching yourself before you stumbled back into the water. You fell into an easy rhythm between the blue-eyed man—Bill as you would later learn his name was—and Les.

About a half hour later, the boat was fully unloaded, and you sat on the back bench across from Bill as Les prepared the boat for departure. The sun sank lower towards the horizon now, level with the surrounding treeline. You bounced your leg in a nervous habit that you had never quite been able to shake, only stopping when you caught Bill watching you.

“You nervous?” He asked finally. In the short time you had known the two men, it was clear that Bill was the talker.

You shrugged, pressing your lips together and picking at the skin around your fingernails—another bad habit you had yet to break.

“Y’ain’t got nothin’ to be nervous about,” he assured you, leaning forward on his knee. “You’re somethin’ of a legend, you know. Folks around LaRue have been itchin’ to see if you’d make it this way. The young ones ‘specially’ll be all up and over you when we get there, I reckon.”

You always felt a little embarrassed whenever your newfound celebrity status was brought up to you. You didn’t consider yourself famous in the slightest, and quite frankly you were surprised there weren’t more people like you out and looking for their loved ones. You supposed, though, that making a trip cross country on foot was an asinine idea in this world—especially with the snappers posing a looming threat on all those caught unawares. You’d had a couple of close calls to be sure, a snapper sneaking up on you in the Appalachian mountains had come the closest to doing some permanent damage.

It had been snowing that day, and you’d cut it close with finding some kind of shelter. The sun had just disappeared below the horizon, and Mars had still been small enough to fit in your backpack. Your breaths came out in clouded puffs, your legs shaking with exertion when you stumbled upon the tiny cabin. A relieved sigh had left your lips, but you stopped when you saw a figure standing along the treeline past the dilapidated sanctuary.

The figure’s movements had been jerky, their body contorting oddly, and your adrenaline began to spike at the danger you found yourself suddenly in. Your eyes darted toward the cabin. All you had to do was make it the fifteen or so yards to the front door. If you could do that, you could lock yourself inside and barricade the entrance until morning. Slowly, you inched your way towards the door, careful to not make a sound that would alert the snapper to your presence. You had seen one once not too long before—its teeth digging into the flesh of a deer, human hands clawing at the skin of the dead animal as it tried desperately to satisfy the hunger it would never sate. The sight of the blood dripping down its pale skin would haunt you forever.

You remembered the zombie movies Kate used to drag you to. You had never been a fan, finding the creatures boring rather than scary. It wasn’t that the snappers looked like zombies because they didn’t, really. No, they still looked horrifyingly human—they were still human somewhere deep down. The disease attacked the nervous system, yes, but it also prevented the hosts from absorbing the necessary nutrients from food, causing them to look gaunt and weak. They were strong though, despite their appearance. The waif-like beings haunted your dreams, waking you from a dead sleep on more than one occasion. The howls and shrieks as they roamed the outdoors under the night sky sent a wave of fear up your spine no matter how often you heard them.

Slowly, you had crept along the clearing, eyes never drifting far from the snapper in front of you. Your ears remained alert as you listened for any sign of a companion. While snappers tended to move singularly, it wasn’t unheard of for them to travel in pairs or even packs on the rare occasion. You were about halfway to the door when Mars began to squirm in your pack, and your heart skipped a beat at the movement. Praying that he remained quiet enough for you to reach safety, you picked up your pace. You made it three feet before a twig snapped under your heel, a silent curse on your lips as the snapper’s head jerked up towards you. You could see it—her—more clearly now. Matted, brown hair framed her ghostly, white face, eyes glazed over in white stared back at you as her shoulders jerked violently. Your eyes darted around you, looking for something to defend yourself with should you need it. They landed on an abandoned hatchet next to a rotted out tree trunk before back up at her.

Just as you thought she would turn away, Mars let out a small bark from behind you, and your heart sank to your stomach. The snapper’s face contorted into blind rage, her teeth bared as she launched herself in your direction. You dove for the hatchet, gripping it in your fingers. You hadn’t anticipated her speed, having had just enough time to shrug off your pack, but as you stood straight once more, she was already on you, knocking you to the ground. You grunted as the air left your lungs, and you struggled violently against her, Mars barking in the background. The snapper snarled at you, foam dripping from her mouth as she snapped at you, her teeth clacking in an echo that sent ice through your veins. You held the hatchet between the two of you, the tool acting as a barrier as you scrambled to gain purchase. Your feet kicked against the ground and the snapper’s legs until finally you were able to plant them firmly into the cold ground beneath you. With all your strength, you pushed the snapper off of you and to the side, scrambling to your feet in the confusion.

She was on her feet a second later, long fingernails slashing at you as you dodged them. Your heart hammered in your chest, survival instincts driving you. You swung blindly at her with the hatchet, desperate cries coming from your lips as you fought for life. Her glazed eyes watched you tauntingly, saliva dripping down her chin and neck as she gnashed her teeth once more at you. Mars still barked and whined behind you, and you took a deep breath to try and ready yourself. Your eyes squeezed shut just as you swung the hatchet again, pleading with whatever god or gods were listening to you in that moment.

A sickening thwack sounded, the snapper’s screeching cutting short, and slowly you opened your eyes. To your shock and horror, the hatchet was buried halfway through the snapper’s neck—bright, red blood trickling out from around the blade. You stared in horror as the snapper clawed at her neck, desperate whimpers gurgling out of her mouth. You let go of the hatchet, stumbling back as the trickle of blood became a steady flow, staining the clothes she still wore as she stumbled towards you. She only made it a step or two before collapsing to the ground with a thud, her hands still clawing at the gaping hole before finally she stilled.

The clearing was silent, save for Mars’ quiet whimpering and the sound of your heart still thundering away in your chest. The snow continued to fall, careless of what had just transpired, and it wasn’t until a gust of wind whipped around you that you realized you were crying. The shock of the cold broke you from your spell, and after wiping your cheeks, you walked back over to your backpack. You checked Mars to make sure he was okay, earning a few licks to your cheek as you hoisted the pack back over your shoulders. You paused, contemplating before turning back around. Your hand gripped the handle of the hatchet, pulling until the blade let go of the snapper’s flesh with a sickening squelch.

LaRue was a small community, and by the looks of it, it had been even before the outbreak. Les stopped the boat at one of the docks in the marina, making quick work of tying it to one of the posts.

“Larue and Bland merged after everything went down,” Bill explained as he led you toward the street. “They used to be two different communities, you know. But folks came together to survive.”

Mars sniffed the ground as you walked, watching as people walked to and fro. Some caught sight of you, and before long, people were looking at you everywhere you went.

“Cathy’s place isn’t too far now,” Bill told you, waving as you passed a group of older people, there eyes trained on you curiously as they returned the gesture. “She’ll fix you up and get you settled, don’t you worry.”

You were beginning to feel anxious from all of the attention, eyes darting around as you began picking at your fingers once more. You saw a group of what looked like teenagers whispering to each other, their fingers pointing at you as they chattered excitedly. You stiffened slightly, increasing your pace so that you stood side by side with Bill. He led you a little further down the street before veering right towards an old, brick building. A sign that read “Cathy’s Place” hung above the door, and a bell rang as he pushed the door in. The room was spacious, hardwood floors spanning all the way to the back as different tables took up space and a couple of booths lined the walls. A bar was arranged in the middle, several men and women gathered around it, conversation lulling as the two of you stepped in. Mars stuck close to you, ears perking at the different sounds around him.

You followed Bill towards the back, ever mindful of the watchful eyes that followed you, and you were sure you looked worse for wear. You had showered in Branson, but the long day of trekking had left you sweaty and caked in dirt.

Bill plopped himself down at a table, leaning back in his chair with a tired groan as his joints popped. You slowly sat down across from him, careful to take in your surroundings without making eye contact with anyone there. You weren’t sure how long you’d be staying, but you didn’t want anyone to get the wrong idea.

“Well, look what the cat dragged in.”

You turned to see an older woman with graying, blonde hair stroll up to your table. Her jeans were worn, and a green apron was wrapped around her waist. She smirked down at the man across from you, hands on her hips as she took him in, eyes glancing at you for one curious moment.

“Heya, Cathy,” Bill greeted, hands resting on the top of the wooden table.

“Heya, Cathy,” she mocked with a cluck of her tongue. “Cutting it a little close to nightfall today, aintcha?”

“S’pose,” Bill agreed with a nod, a twinkle shining in his eyes. “Les and I had a lot to move around today.”

Cathy hummed disapprovingly before glancing at you once more. “Gonna introduce me to your friend here?”

“Cathy,” he grinned, gesturing across the table at you. “This here is the wanderer.”

All conversation stopped at the mention of your moniker, and you bristled at the sudden lack of noise. A couple of seconds passed before the whispers started, and you shot a scowl at Bill.

“I’d rather you called me by my name,” you groused, giving it to the hostess. She nodded.

“Heard a lot about you,” she said. “Heard you’re headed west.”

“I am,” you confirmed. Before Cathy could continue her questioning, your stomach let out a loud growl, your hunger suddenly catching up with you.

“How’s some chicken fried steak sound, sugar?” The older woman asked. “An old family recipe.”

“It’s been a while since I’ve had beef,” you muttered, your mouth watering at the thought. Cathy let out a chuckle at your unwilling eagerness.

“Lucky for you, we just traded for some the other day,” she smiled. “I’ll get you some water and something for your little friend here while I’m at it.”

She grinned down at Mars who wagged his tail excitedly at the sudden attention.

“I’ll pay you back,” you promised her, resting a hand on Mars’ head. Cathy opened her mouth to respond, but stopped as the chair between you and Bill was pulled out with a scrape against the floor.

“You can put it on my tab, Cathy.”

You turned to see a tall, blond man sit down in the seat, a wide grin on his face as he looked at you. He was handsome, some scruff littering his jaw and green eyes twinkling in delight.

Cathy rolled her eyes, but turned to walk back towards the kitchen. Your cheeks warmed at the attention from the man next to you, and Bill cleared his throat.

“Tyler,” he greeted, though it sounded more like a warning than a friendly acknowledgment.

“Evenin’, Bill,” Tyler nodded, his eyes never leaving you. “Knew you’d bring back something interestin’ one day.”

You stared at him, keeping your features schooled as you met his gaze. Tyler continued to study you in silence, the corners of his lips twitching into a wider smirk as if he liked what he saw. The two of you never broke eye contact, even as Cathy came back with water for your table, dipping down to lay a dish on the floor for Mars. The dog lapped up the water happily, tail wagging all the while.

You arched a brow in challenge to the newcomer, daring him to say something else. He only smiled at you, leaning back in his chair with a tap to the tabletop.

“Oh, for Christ’s sake,” muttered Bill, running a hand over his face. “Can’t you let us eat in peace, kid?”

Tyler’s eyes finally left you, looking over at the grumpy, older man.

“It’s not everyday we get a celebrity in these parts, Bill,” he drawled. “Especially not one with an interesting story, wouldn’t you say?”

Bill scowled at the blond, tearing his eyes away as Cathy came back with three plates, once more setting them down in front of you, Bill, and Mars.

“Mars, sit,” you commanded, and the dog obeyed, wolfing down the chicken Cathy brought out for him.

“‘S a good-looking dog you got there,” Tyler commented, nodding over towards Mars.

“Thanks,” you said, cutting into your own food. You nearly moaned at the taste. It wasn’t often you got a cooked meal, even rarer that you got them on back-to-back nights.

“They not feed you up in Branson?” Bill teased in a chuckle.

“They did,” you assured him. “Just been a while since I had a good country fried steak.”

“You staying long?” Tyler asked, leaning forward and resting his arms on the table. You offered him a shrug, unsure of how to answer. It would be better if you left sooner rather than later.

“Not sure yet,” you amended. “Haven’t made much progress in the last week or so. I’ll need to take stock of my supplies.”

“Suppose you’ll need more bullets for the road,” he agreed with a nod. You scrunched your nose up and shook your head.

“Guns are too noisy,” you told him, your exhaustion making you chattier than usual. “They attract snappers more than deter them. No, I keep a hatchet with me. It’s lightweight, but it gets the job done. Can use it for more too.”

Tyler let out a quiet laugh, a grin plastered on his face as he sat back once more.

“A hatchet,” he breathed, shaking his head in disbelief. “Well, look at you.”

“I hate to rush y’all,” Cathy said, walking over with her hands in her pockets, “but the sun is setting any minute, and you know they don’t keep those lights on for long. I’ll need to get closing up here in a second.”

Bill nodded, wiping his mouth with a napkin. “Yeah, alright. You wanna get her a box, and we’ll get it sorted out where she’s stayin’ tonight?”

“She can always stay with me,” she hollered as she moved back to grab you a box for your half eaten steak.

“Y’ain’t got no room, woman!” Bill guffawed, patting his stomach. “You got four kids and all o’ their kids livin’ under your roof. Where’s she gonna sleep? The roof?”

Cathy scowled at him as she handed you the box.

“Well, she ain’t gonna stay in that shack you try to pass off as a house,” she snapped.

“She can stay with me.”

All three of your heads snapped to look at Tyler, a self-satisfied smirk on his face.

“Ain’t no way-” Bill began, but Tyler cut him off.

“Everybody else has already booked it back home,” he pointed out with a serious look, and for the first time you noticed that it was just the four of you in the room. How had you missed that?

“Besides,” he continued, his smirk crawling back into place. “I’ve got the room and I don’t live that far from here. You can come and check on her first thing in the morning.”

The room was silent, and you allowed yourself to glance between everyone. Cathy pursed her lips, but didn’t refute him. Bill didn’t look happy about it, but he finally sighed.

“Yeah, alright,” he groused. “But, honey? He tries anythin’ funny, and you got my permission to chop a couple of those fingers off, you hear?”

A/N: Lowkey? This might be one of my most favorite things I've ever written. I'm having so much fun exploring this world and flexing my writing skills. I hope you guys are enjoying it so far! Let me know!!

As always, reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated. If you would like to receive updates on when I post, please follow my sideblog (@sailoraviator-library) and turn on post notifications! You can also find my works on AO3 under the username sailor_aviator. Until next time!

#wa #we abide #apocalpyse!tyler #tyler owens x reader #tyler owens x you #tyler owens fanfic #tyler owens #twisters fanfiction

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kalki-tarot · 1 month

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COLLECTIVE SEPTEMBER PREDICTIONS 🎀 ♡

using tarot and intuition, may not resonate with everyone <3

Some situations which took place in the month of August gave you a reality check, you will go in the hermit mode in September to work on yourself and come back 10x times better and improved. You will do some internal reflection and try to understand deeper parts and aspects of your life and personality.

A new job offer, a love offer, an email or sudden communication which you were not expecting or waiting for since a long time will come to you in September. Communication blocks will be released.

Your hard work will pay off and will be rewarded in this month. Some of you may get a promotion or increase in salary. Also, some of you can win a lottery or prize.

Some of you will finally speak up for yourself and release all the baggage that you've been carrying behind your back since so long. You will take bold steps for yourself.

Some of you may go through periods of self doubt and isolation but remember that this is just a lesson for your growth. Thrive outta it. It's for your own benefit.

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not-so-casualenjoyer · 3 months

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Simon (trying to be) casual about the mask

By that I don’t mean he’d take it off whenever you asked. Of course not. You have to have very, very special privileges to see his face, and even each of the 141 members practically had to pry it off him once he agreed to let them see.

Simon’s mask is what makes him Ghost. It’s what makes him able to slip into work mode. It’s what holds him together when he needs it and what lets him block out everything else and pretend it’s never happened. The mask allows Simon to assume another identity.

He puts it on at night after his nightmares, when he feels like the world is crumbling down around him. It holds everything together, making sure his scars won’t tear apart at the seams, letting him find reprieve in his second skin.

The mask is an essential, immovable part of who Simon is. Who Ghost is. And he doesn’t take that thing off for just anyone.

Simon is an intimidating, bloodsoaked, unadmittedly sad, broken man. All these things, coupled with lesions on emotions beat into him by his father, make for a not so smooth approach to communication.

By which I mean, almost none at all.

Which isn’t a fault of his own. He likes to shove everything down, and almost nobody he knows is willing to risk his temper enough to dredge it back up again. So he gets to keep it locked away in a tight little bottle. He’s never had to express himself, communicate with another person, explain the reasoning behind his sometimes irrational actions (and he is not willing to admit it may be akin to the fact that he doesn’t quite know why he does them himself sometimes).

But when you came around, it jolted his entire world.

You, little firecracker you, who doesn’t flinch when he glares or snaps and pushes him to explain until he wants to scream his tar-soaked lungs out in newfound frustration.

You’re so different. You don’t fear his wrath. You meet it with a firm hand and a possibly more stubborn attitude. The team has never seen someone who can go head to head with Simon, and they don’t think they’ve ever seen him get so irritated either.

You push him until he snaps, spitting his reasoning and thoughts to you, explaining with a growled “I don’t know, okay?!” when you push him too far. You bend him on topics that make him itch until he breaks, and then you soften. You lower your voice, sweeten your tone, comfort him with words that make his stomach churn with how kind they are, and drag each word of explanation and processing out of him with coaxing gentleness.

You learn more about him than he intends over time.

You learn about the scars that cut through him–his mind, his heart, sometimes his flesh body. Sometimes when you look at him, he thinks you can see them, the slashes and cuts that mangle his body. His gnarled heart, his twisted mind.

That doesn’t scare him the way it would if it were anybody else. It doesn’t scare him because no matter what he shows you, you always come back. You always learn more, and you always show him that syrupy, worried look whenever he bears a new mark to you, physical or not.

So he wonders, in spite of himself, what would you think of his face? His cleft lip, his scarred cheek, his cut brow? What would you think of his eternally crooked nose, his drawn brows?

He hopes the scars on his face won’t stop you from giving him that sweet look, because none of his scars have before.

Simon isn’t quite sure how to integrate his bare face into the equation.

He wishes he didn’t have to go through all the muss and fuss, could just take it off with no overdramatic theatrics. He just wants to rip the bandaid off as quickly as possible.

So, that’s what he does. Saunters into the rec room one day while it’s just you, completely maskless.

He casually walks to the kitchen counter (despite how he thinks he might be having a heart attack from how hard his heart is beating against his ribcage) to make some tea.

You glance over your shoulder when you notice his presence, and–

“...Simon?”

“Yeah?”

“Did you forget your mask?”

He turns the knob on the stove to light a fire under the kettle.

“No,” He grunts.

You blink at him, speechless, for lack of a better word, trying to process this situation and the face in front of you.

It’s almost surreal, seeing it all come together. Those familiar eyes, the glance of jaw and lip, his light brows, furrowed down. Now connected with the rest of his face, a crooked nose and a gnarled cheek, lines in his forehead from scowling so much.

“What?” He mutters from his spot at the counter, seeing how you’ve twisted around to stare at him over the back of the couch.

“Nothing,” You say quickly, turning back to your phone with a grin.

a/n: haha hey guys sorry i fell off the face of the earth! i do that sometimes ANYWAYS gonna try to write some more 😭 i have little thing in the works rn but it takes me at least three days to start writing literally anything beyond a base idea so

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drabblesandimagines · 4 months

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Sliding Doors

Leon Kennedy x female reader, Chris Redfield x female reader, fluff, angst

For the lovely @porcelainseashore who commission a continuation from Forever Hold Your Peace. Thank you for all your love and support ❤️

“Should anyone present know of any reason that this couple should not be joined in holy matrimony…” the minister begins, but as you stand opposite Chris – a soft, adoring smile on his face, shedding a tear when he’d saw how beautiful you looked as you walked down the aisle – you can’t help but meet the gaze of the best man’s icy blue eyes for a moment. “..speak now or forever hold your peace.”

Leon clenches his fists.

“No.”

It’s a muttered plea more than a loud proclamation, but it’s audible enough for several pairs of eyes to focus on him due to the interruption.

The minister smiles, awkwardly, his eyes flitting between the members of the bridal party to gauge whether it was a joke – heaven knows he’s seen them fall flat before - before he clears his throat to proceed with the vows.

“Christo-”

“No.” It’s louder that time, Leon’s voice echoed around the room like a gunshot.

“Not the time for your jokes, bud.” Chris forces out a laugh as he replies over his shoulder, before turning back to you and offering a reassuring smile.

“It’s not a joke.” You wish the ground would swallow you up as Leon remains focused on you. “Don’t marry him.”

“Leon”, Claire hisses from over your shoulder, looking furious. “What are you doing?”

He ignores her. “I’m not saying marry me, but just… Don’t marry him.”

You shake your head, subtly, eyes wide in fear as the small congregation of friends and family begin to whisper amongst themselves.

This isn’t happening. It can’t be happening.

Chris’ fists are now clenched as he turns to his supposed best man, his brow furrowed as he tries to analyze the situation, his mind automatically heading into work mode – assess, strategize, action.

“What is this?”

Leon ignores Chris too, instead taking a step forward. “I’m different now – I swear. Just give me another chance. The connection’s still there – I know you felt it when we kissed-”

“Kissed?!” Chris and Claire reiterate almost in unison, and someone in the seated crowd gasps.

“What kiss?” Chris presses, turning back to look at you in disbelief. “Honey, what’s he talking about?”

Your mouth feels drier than it ever has, your tongue heavy in your mouth. “I didn’t, Chris… I… I mean, he…”

“I kissed her, Redfield.” Leon cuts across, rolling back his shoulders as he sidesteps in front of the groom, blocking you from his sight. “When you asked me to deliver that gift earlier, I kissed her. Can’t say it was the first time either.”

You should say something more coherent than your mumbled excuses – explain what Leon means by that because it definitely makes it sound worse than it is - but your heart is pounding and you’re beginning to feel a little faint.

This isn’t real, it’s a bad dream and you’re going to wake up in the hotel suite, Claire knocking on the door, hair stylist and make-up artist in tow to help you start getting ready.

The minister tries to soothe tensions instead. “Perhaps we should take this somewhere more private to-“

“What the fuck does that mean, Kennedy?”

“We were a thing-”

“We were not a thing, Leon,” you shift a little to the side then so you can see Chris, finding your voice at last.

You wished you hadn’t moved as hurt flashes across Chris’ face - sweet, loyal, dependable Chris.

Chris, who never fails to set up coffee machine timer to greet you with a freshly brewed batch when he has to leave early, who would always find some sort of way to communicate with you even if he was halfway across the world, who never shied away from holding your hand or kissing you in public, who told his closest colleagues about you openly, who didn’t treat you like a dirty little secret.

Chris, who, despite how much you tried to convince yourself, has never made you feel quite like Leon did.

“-before you two started dating.” Leon presses on, ignoring how the taller man’s shoulders grow more and more tense, seething breaths now coming out of his nose. “I treated her rotten, drove her into your arms and regretted it every minute since. I’m not gonna let her make the biggest mis-”

Chris’ fist meets Leon’s face – it’s so swift that the whole room takes a moment to realise what’s happened. The agent is surprisingly not knocked off his feet by the blow but stumbles back and you automatically reach out a hand to steady him by his arm, unaware of how it looks in that moment.

Leon wipes a trickle of blood from his mouth, looking smug as he relishes your touch. “Not gonna say I didn’t deserve that.”

Chris is staring at your hand on Leon’s arm and you pull it back when you see the hurt in his eyes, wringing your hands together as you begin to plead.

“I’m sorry, Chris. I should’ve told you, but it… It was nothing. A blip. It wasn’t anything like what we have. He kissed me earlier and I pushed him away and I told him. Please.”

“Is this why you were crying?” Claire demands, stepping over to stand besides Chris in an act of support. Her shoulders are high, ready to protect her brother at all costs. “In the suite earlier, when Leon was there.”

“N-no,” you shake your head furiously, but your voice isn’t convincing enough to your own ears, especially in comparison to Leon’s firm “Yes.”

You’re hot, the wedding gown of your dreams feeling stifling, too tight, the veil tugging heavily at your scalp.

“Chris, please, can we go talk somewhere?” You step forward, past Leon, hand outstretched to take your fiance’s. You want to take him away from all the prying eyes, the disbelieving murmurs, away from all the tension, have a discussion with clear heads, but he pulls his hand from out of your reach.

“Do you love him?” Chris’ voice is so flat it makes you feel sick. It’s the same tone he has when he comes back from missions where he’s lost comrades, the one that you can slowly break him out of after days of soft words and touches.

You never wanted to be the cause of it.

“It’s been years.” There’s the crack in your voice again, your next words a little too rushed. “I love you. You’re sweet. You’re so sweet, kind and loyal.”

Everything Leon wasn’t.

“I said, do you love Leon?”

You stare deep into Chris’ eyes then, his lips pressed together in a thin line. There had been something when Leon had kissed you less than an hour ago, how easily you’d almost fallen back into threading your fingers into his hair to deepen it, how your heartbeat had remained elevated since.

Leon is a wildcard and Chris is steady, dependable – everything you should want.

Everything you’ve been convincing yourself you did want.

One more look into your fiancee’s eyes is all it takes. He doesn’t deserve this but he does deserve the truth.

You take a shuddering breath and nod.

“I’m sorry, I-“

“Right.” Chris nods, as casual as if he’s just been given his latest set of orders. He turns on his heels and heads back down the aisle – the aisle he was meant to be walking down with you on his arm as his new wife – with his head and shoulders held high, Claire hurrying after him, dropping your bouquet as she does.

As you stare at his retreating form, Leon slips his hand into yours and squeezes.

And, as tears begin to stream down your face again, you squeeze back.

He drove you away from the venue on his bike, your cheek pressed firmly against his back and your veil floating behind you in the wind.

Cars honked in celebration around you, all under the impression that a husband was taking his new wife for a celebratory ride, not that the best man had just absconded with the bride.

He takes you back to his apartment, a thing he’d never done when you were ‘together’, but it made sense now, considering. You lived with Chris, a two-storey on a cul-de-sac, white picket fence – you could hardly go back there today.

Or ever.

“What can I do, sweetheart?” Leon asks, cautiously, as you both stand in his living room a few feet apart. It feels more like a show-home than your place – no personal affects, the coffee table empty besides a remote control for the widescreen.

“I… I need to get out of this.” You huff, ripping the veil from your scalp at last, the pins holding it in place scattering over his polished wooden floor and you fling it down on the sofa. You know you won’t be able to undo your dress yourself so you turn, flustered. “I can’t…”

“I’ve got you, it’s okay.” Leon soothes, closing the gap between the two of you and deftly unpicking the laces of the corset with nimble fingers. You feel it loosen immediately, but it doesn’t ease the suffocating feeling in your chest.

“There.” The dress drops a little and you quickly wrap your arms around yourself, keeping it up, before Leon steps around the coffee table, heading towards the hallway. “I’ll… I’ll grab you a change of clothes.”

Your clothes, right. They’re all at yours.

Oh, God, how are you going to get them?

How could you ever face Chris again?

You remain standing in the living room, forcing yourself to breathe deeply. You can hear Leon opening and closing some drawers, obviously looking for something that you can wear. He emerges a few moments later, holding a grey sweatshirt and some black gym shorts.

“I think these will work. Shorts have a drawstring, so…”

“Where’s the bathroom?”

“Oh, yeah. Sorry, down the hall, second door on your left.”

You take the clothes from his hand, avoiding eye contact and head to change. Your hands are shaking as you turn the lock, quickly shedding your dress and wedding night lingerie – not how you thought you’d be removing it tonight, that’s for sure, but you can’t bear to keep any of it on. Finally, you slide a lacey white garter off your thigh and bundle everything together into a ball, placing it on top of one of the two laundry baskets in the corner, noting he separates lights and darks.

You pull the sweatshirt over your head – it feels odd, oversized but not as oversized as any of the things you’d stolen from Chris’ dresser – before putting on the shorts and double-knotting the cord to keep them up.

You wet your face in the sink next, washing off your make-up as best you can. A glint catches your eye from your right hand – your engagement ring moved over in preparation for the wedding ring being slipped on.

You’ll need to return it.

Carefully, you pull it off your finger and place it on the sink, undoing the latch on the necklace Chris had sent Leon up with – does he regret that now? Is he sat somewhere with a whiskey, mulling over what would be different if he hadn’t sent his best man to the bridal suite? - and thread it through the chain, fastening it back around your neck and tucking it under the sweatshirt, out of sight.

You don’t want to wear it, really, the idea making you feel sick being adorned with gifts that Chris had picked out lovingly - but you don’t want to lose it somewhere in Leon’s apartment either.

Leon is still standing in the same place in the living room when you emerge, the only difference being his tie is now off and thrown over the coffee table, one hand in his pocket. You stop a couple of feet in front of him and stare, trying to read his gaze.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t set out to say those things, baby. I just-” You throw yourself into his arms, sobbing – for what’s just occurred and for how horrible you feel when being in his arms immediately just feels so right, more natural than being wrapped in Chris’ ever did.

Leon presses kisses to your crown, pulls you back and down onto the sofa and hooks your legs up into his lap, rocking you back and forth like a child who needs consoling.

“It’s all right. It’ll be okay. And I’ll be better, I promise.” He murmurs against your ear when your sobs begin to slow, his white shirt significantly damp with your abundance of tears. “I’m not fucking up again. Not after this, baby. I’ll spend every damn day showing you how serious I am about you, about us.”

Chris remains a gentleman, despite everything. The first you hear from him is one week after the wedding, via email, letting you know that he’ll be out of the house for a few days if you’d like to go in and collect your things. He’s going to put the house on the market after, said he’s taken a new position within the BSAA and will be permanently relocating to the European branch, so doesn’t see the point in keeping it empty. It’s not surprising, really, Chris has been headhunted a couple of times since his work in Europe, but he’d always wanted to remain on American soil, with you.

He adds he’s going to sell the furniture as a job lot too, so to take anything you like and then leave the keys under the doormat once you’re done.

He signs it best regards.

He’s too nice for what you’ve done to him.

A fact Claire had reminded you of daily – scornful text messages and voicemails telling you exactly what she thinks of you and Leon. They cease only after Chris can be heard in the background of the final voicemail, telling her to stop.

You’re living in a short-term rental when you pick up your things – not that you would’ve taken any of the furniture anyway. You’d stayed at Leon’s for a week after, sleeping in his spare room. He’d returned to the venue and picked up the things you’d left in the bridal suite as you lay in bed, festering in the horrible combination of guilt and relief of what had transpired.

Leon wanted you to move in permanently, but you told him it was too much, too soon. You made demands this time, wanting to take it slow but also testing the limits of how much he had meant it when he said things would be different, that he would be different.

You were selfish with them at first – he had to date you properly, take you out for lunch, coffee and dinner dates, walks around the park, weekend trips away and trips to the movies, hold your hand and kiss you in public.

You told him you wanted him to try therapy, to learn how to communicate.

And, to his credit, he does it all. He hates the first three therapists, only managing a session or two with them, but he keeps going until he clicks with the fourth and sees them every Wednesday – always reschedules for another day of the week if he’s away with work.

You’re never sure how he’s going to be immediately after – sometimes he emerges with the weight of the world resting even more heavily on his shoulders, other times he seems to have a pep in his step until, gradually, he comes out lighter and lighter every time.

He tells you he loves you when you make a dumb joke over dinner in a cheesy diner – so loud in his proclamation that the waitress gives the two of you a slice of pie each on the house, extra whipped cream.

There are things he’s still uncomfortable with but he’s better at communicating, each of you compromising as you settle into the relationship.

“Do you want to get married?” He murmurs in your ear one night a year and a half later, spooning you against his bare chest. The bedroom has a pile of moving boxes stacked in the corner - your first night in your new, shared apartment.

“Honestly? I don’t know,” you take one of his hands, fidget with his fingers. “What about you?”

“I don’t mind either way,” he grasps hold of your wrist and rolls you over in a smooth notion. “Whatever you want.”

“Uh-uh,” you correct, “we’re partners, remember?”

“Right. Whatever we want.” He kisses you then, slowly, as if he has the whole night to while away. He’s never in a rush when it comes to you, not any more.

“I love you.” You mumble between kisses, feeling him smile as he captures your lips once again.

“I love you, sweetheart. Always and forever.”

“Leon?”

“Huh?” He’s spaced out – Chris, Claire, the minister and you all staring expectantly at him.

“Got the rings, man?” Chris is holding out his hand, an amused smile on his face.

Right, the rings.

Best man hands over the rings.

He stuffs his hand into his trouser pocket and tugs out the little mesh bag they’d been placed in. He can’t imagine Chris wearing his for long, not with his line of work. Leon wouldn’t either, truth be told. He’d get a nice chain, maybe, have it hang over his heart.

Chris takes the bag with a nod of thanks and empties them out onto the minister’s book, big fingers fumbling to pick up the ring he’s about to slide on your finger, following the minister’s prompts in reciting his vows.

Leon stares at you as you look up into Chris’ eyes, smiling so much your cheeks must hurt, and tries not to think about how when you had looked at him like that, he’d left you the next morning with nothing but a note on the pillow.

“Now, ladies and gentlemen, if you would please be upstanding for the new Mr and Mrs Redfield!”

Leon hadn’t realized he’d be sat next to you at the top table. He hadn’t thought much about the reception at all, besides the speech Chris asked him to make.

But, fuck, you look so happy walking in with him that it takes his breath away. Your fingers interlaced, surrounded by cheers and applause. Redfield can’t help himself – Leon wouldn’t either - swings you around and dips you into a kiss in the middle of the floor. You look embarrassed when he releases you, but there’s a giddy smile on your face too.

He couldn’t give you that. He couldn’t. He’s not sure Redfield can either – setting you up for disappointment and heartbreak.

He doesn’t know why anyone else is seated at the top table – you and Chris only have eyes for each other throughout dinner. He drinks more than he eats, wondering if he can make Redfield regret putting on an open bar.

“Now, for the best man – Leon Kennedy.”

He pulls the notecard out of his jacket pocket as he stands - he’d started writing it so many times but never got particularly far. That morning, he’d searched generic best man speech on his phone and jotted it down.

“You’ll be pleased to know that I’ll be keeping this short and sweet – two words you probably wouldn’t use to describe Chris Redfield.” He pauses, polite laughter rippling through the crowd.

“There’s two things being celebrated here today. The first being that it’s finally been acknowledged that I am, in fact, the best man between us.” He pauses again, taking a pre-emptive swig of his drink to help dull the ache of the words to come.

“Secondly, of course, the union of this… wonderful couple. May your lives be filled with love and happiness. To the bride and groom!”

The guests raise their glass in unison and Leon sits down heavily in his seat, downing the rest of his drink as Chris stands up, thanking Leon for his speech and leading an applause. He picks up a champagne flute and looks down at you, adoringly.

“Truthfully, I’m wondering if I should’ve gone first, because mine’s even shorter than Leon’s. Thank you all so much for coming here today to celebrate with us. All that’s really left to say is, I love you, darling – always and forever.”

Chris bends down to steal another kiss and the guests applaud and cheer once again – Leon swears it’s louder than what his speech received.

“I love you so much, Chris.”

Leon wishes it had been louder still to drown out your response.

“You ready?” Chris murmurs into your ear before pressing a kiss against your jaw. You didn’t think it was possible – you’d never seen Chris drunk ever – but it seems the numerous glasses of champagne have gotten to his head. He’ll deny it in the morning if you accuse him, tell you it wasn’t the alcohol which was making him act that way, no, it was you that was making him love-drunk, before capturing your lips in a kiss.

You nod and squirm with a giggle, his stubble tickling your neck. You had sat down at the table for a breather, after completing a round of the tables to greet your guests as well as a couple of dances with your friends. You haven’t seen Leon since dinner and, truthfully, he’s the furthest thing from your mind ever since Chris slipped the ring on your finger. Your new husband takes your hand and grabs a chair with the other, leading you to the middle of the small dance floor and places it down. Once he’s happy, he lifts his other arm above his head to twirl you into position and down upon the chair.

You feel giddy – from love, champagne, happiness – as Chris kneels before you and gently begins to lift the hem of your dress up and over your knees.

Someone in the crowd wolf-whistles, probably one of the squad, and Chris turns in the direction to mockingly glare. He then resumes his work of pulling your dress up a little more, cautiously, until he found what he was looking for – a lacey white garter on your thigh.

Chris asking if you wanted to do the garter toss part of the ceremony had come completely out of left-field, so much so you were thankful you hadn’t taken a sip of your drink before he’d asked, lest you had spit it out in his face. He scratched the back of his head, gave you a dopey-looking smile that made you want to cuddle him rotten and said he wanted to do things by the book. He wanted the tradition, some sense of normalcy in his life with the whole white wedding, and having no strong feelings about it either way you’d agreed.

Now, though, as he looks up at you with that up-to-no-good smirk, you wonder if you should’ve said no.

“Hands or teeth?”

“Huh?”

He lightly pings the garter on your thigh. “Shall I remove it with my hands or teeth, darling?”

“Chris!” You laugh, sure he was joking.

He tilts his head. “Uh-uh. Pick, please.”

“Fine.” You smirk back, buoyed in confidence by the champagne. “Teeth.”

“Excellent choice, Mrs Redfield.” He plants a hand on your other leg to steady himself, before lowering his head and you feel his teeth graze your thigh as he nips the lacey material and begins to tug it down, all to the hooting and hollering of the assembled crowd.

Leon takes a long sip of whiskey as he watches from the corner. He would’ve used his teeth to remove it too, but only in the sanctity of the bedroom later that night.

It flies over the heads and outstretched arms of the bachelors – Chris always did have a good throw - and eventually smacks Leon right in the chest.

“All right, Kennedy!” Somebody cheers, and before he can really think about it, he bends down and snatches up the garter, aware that the eyes of the room are on him. He holds it aloft in a mock display of triumph.

He looks for you then, wondering what you’ll think – a sign from the universe that you’ve made a mistake – but your eyes are fixed on Chris, cupping his face in your palms as he remains knelt in front of you, pressing a long kiss to his lips.

Leon stuffs the garter deep in his trouser pocket.

Leon doesn’t see either of you for six months – thanks to a relentless run of missions, intercontinental travel and briefings all keeping his mind occupied – and it helps dull the ache in his chest too.

An email pops up in his inbox though, inviting him to the Redfield’s housewarming BBQ in a couple of weeks, but he never replies to the RSVP.

Still, he finds himself parking his bike up outside the new house – it has a white picket fence, for fuck’s sake, nestled on a quiet suburban street. To his trained eye, he can see some additional security measures, so at least Redfield hasn’t become completely complacent. The gate clicks a little louder than usual when he opens it, probably linked to some sort of surveillance system, the panes of glass in the window are clearly bullet-proof and the front door is steel, disguised to blend in with the rest of the street.

He rings the doorbell – looking direct into the pinhole camera.

Chris answers soon after, a black apron on for grilling duties over blue jeans and a white tee. He looks good, annoyingly so compared to the dark rings Leon has under his own eyes, but he’s perhaps a little softer around the edges. Leon had heard down the grapevine that Chris had taken more of a consultant type role at the BSAA, office hours, trying to move away from always having his boots on the ground – something he never thought he’d see.

“Hey! You made it. It’s great to see you, man.” Chris greets him, a genuine smile on his face. “Perfect timing – I’m just about to fire up the grill. We’re all just out in the yard.”

He steps over the threshold – his eyes immediately finding the framed wedding photo on the hall table, the one where you’d all signed the registry and the photographer had Leon stand by your side and Claire by Chris’.

He wonders if, when you look at it, you can tell his smile is fake.

He doesn’t take in much else of the house as he’s led through, instead forcing himself to take a deep breath in preparation of seeing you again. He’s tried to forget about the kiss through a string of dates from the office and one-night stands, but he still has your stolen garter tucked in the back of his bedside drawer.

It’s over, he chastises himself.

It didn’t even really begin either.

You’re facing away from him when he follows Chris through the kitchen and out onto wooden decking, a set of stairs leading down to a large rectangle of grass. There’s a good 15 or so in attendance, only a handful of people present that he recognizes, some from the wedding, all congregated in little groups, a long table set up with bowls of salad, chips, rolls, sauces and other snacks, a bucket of ice, rapidly melting in the midday sun, in which various drinks are nestled.

You’re talking to Claire and a guy he doesn’t recognize, but he has his arm draped around her shoulders. You’re dressed in a sweet floral sundress, capped sleeves, white sandals. He wants to slip in to the conversation, no fuss, no announcement, but Chris has other ideas.

“Hey, Leon’s here!”

You turn at your husband’s call, a little surprised. Chris had told you he’d invited Leon, of course, but noted that he hadn’t accepted or denied. Really, you weren’t sure if he’d show at all, given what had happened at the wedding and the fact he’d been off-grid for so long after.

Those bright blue eyes only meet yours for a moment before they trail down to your stomach, and the protective hand you’ve placed on top of it – only a recent habit since your bump had properly popped.

“Oh, yeah,” Chris chuckles, clocking on to exactly what Leon is staring at. He slaps him on the back, ushering him forward as he does. Leon wants to dig his heels in, maybe if he keeps his distance it won’t be real and only a trick of perspective, but his legs won’t co-operate.

“Sorry, should’ve said - turns out we brought more back than souvenirs from the honeymoon.”

Claire groans. “Are you going to use that line on everyone, Chris? It’s too early for you to be cracking out dad jokes.” She takes a swig of her beer, before nodding at Leon. “Hey.”

Leon nods in Claire’s direction, but his eyes are still fixed on you.

“Leon.” You smile, a little worried at how much colour has drained from the agent’s face. “We’re so glad you could make it. It’s been ages!”

“I…” He swallows, shaking his head a little as if he could shake off the feeling of disbelief. “Congratulations. On the house and the… baby.”

Redfield smirks as he steps over from Leon’s side to yours, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and pulling you in close to press a kiss to your temple. “Thanks, bud. Gotta admit, I’m feeling a pretty lucky guy.”

“The luckiest.”

Chris cocks his head at the lack of sarcasm, almost put off by how genuine Leon sounded.

“Sorry, is there any more beer?” Someone he doesn’t recognize – one of yours or Chris’ other friends, maybe – interrupts.

“Of course! I’ll go get it.” You barely make it a step out of Chris’ embrace before he wraps his hand around your arm and stills you with a furrowed brow.

“Babe, we tal-“

“We talked about me carrying heavy things.” You correct with a feigned huff. “The baby will be heavier than a box of beer.”

Chris looks apologetic. “All I was gonna say is you need to be careful – don’t want you wearing yourself out and missing the party.” Leon feels a stabbing pain once again in his chest as he watches Redfield cup your face, caressing your cheek with his thumb. “Let’s be honest, darling, you’re usually on your second nap by this time.”

You pout, more so annoyed that Chris is right. The move, plus the second trimester had you feeling permanently fatigued. “True, but-”

“Let me go grab the beer,” Leon interrupts and Chris drops his hand from your face, as if he just realized Leon was still there. “Just tell me where.”

You frown at his offer. “You’re a guest.”

“A lousy guest - didn’t even bring a housewarming gift,” he berates himself. “Being the beer lackey can be it.”

“You didn’t need to get us anything – your company’s gift enough.” You place a hand on his arm and squeeze in reassurance - he swears his heart skips a beat. “It’s probably easier if I show you where. Come on.”

“Thanks, Leon.” Chris pats him on the back and turns to the grill, declaring it hot enough to finally start cooking.

Leon follows you, dutifully, back up the steps onto the decking, one hand poised ready to steady you if need be. You lead him towards the opposite end of the kitchen and towards the pantry, hesitating before you open the door.

“I’m sorry, if this was a shock.” You jerk your chin down at your stomach. “We were just sorta telling people as and when we saw them, rather than do any real big announcement.”

“Yet you announced the house?”

You smile, wryly. “I think Chris just wanted an excuse to buy that grill. He’s trying out lots of hobbies. I caught him looking up ride-on mowers the other night.”

“Heard he’s office-based now.” There’s a beat and it comes out before he can even think, always ready to justify his actions even when no-one’s called for it. “I couldn’t have done that for you.”

Suddenly, you’re thrown back to that hour before your wedding – something you truthfully hadn’t thought of until this moment.

“You think I asked Chris to do that? That I demanded a wedding and a house and a baby and…” Your voice cracks a little before you take a deep breath. Your emotions are high strung enough at the moment with the pregnancy and you try to compose yourself, digging your nails into your palms.

“You know what? No – I’m not going through this again. Relationships are about compromises on both sides, it’s unfortunate that’s what you still don’t seem to understand.”

You slide open the pantry door then, pointing to the back where a couple of boxes of beer are stacked, in amongst tubs of protein powder. “Just grab any of those, please. I’ll see you outside.”

Leon’s hand wraps around your wrist as you step away. It isn’t a firm grip by any means, just holding you loosely in place. “Just tell me one thing - are you happy?”

“I’m really happy, Leon.” You reply without a beat’s hesitation, because you are. “I hope one day you allow yourself to be happy too.”

He doesn’t say anything to that, only drops his grip on your wrist and turns into the pantry in the guise of retrieving the beer. It’s only when he hears you step back out onto the decking that he bends to pick up the box, half wondering if he should just quietly leave now.

No, that would only cause you grief, surely. He’s done enough of that.

After a few moments have passed, he lifts up the box and heads out, pulling the door shut to the pantry behind him. He heads back out into the yard, pausing at the top of the stairs to see you back at your husband’s side, laughing at something he’s said, looking up at him like he’s everything.

Chris wraps his arms around you, helping you up to your tip-toes so he can kiss you as passionately as he did on the wedding day, and every day since.

Claire wonders, loudly, whether your honeymoon phase will ever be over, but she’s smiling as she says it.

Leon silently carries over the box and opens it, adding a couple more cans of beer to the ice bucket before Claire hands him an open one, proposing a toast to the new house and baby Redfield.

Instead, Leon toasts to the life he could’ve had.

Masterlist . Requests welcome . Ko-fi

Comments and reblogs make my whole day x

#ghostdogwrites #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy fluff #leon kennedy angst #chris redfield x you #chris redfield x reader #chris redfield angst #chris redfield fluff

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selineram3421 · 6 months

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*in feral mermaid mode* Araghafjk-!

Other Worldly

Part 1

Prologue

Alastor X Shy Reader

(Oneshot turned short story)

Warnings ⚠

⚠ selectively mute reader, signing-ASL, shaking head = no, italics = thoughts ⚠

Alastor curiosity grew after that encounter with the shy demon in the library.

So much so that he went to the Princess for more information.

"Oh uh..what would you like to know?", Charlie asked, turning away from activity plans.

"Nothing too important!", he said with a closed eyed smile. "Just wondering why they don't speak, such a quiet thing they are."

"I-", the blonde stuttered. "It's not my place to say, you'd have to ask them yourself.", she said firmly.

Oh? So the Princess knows exactly why..

"Hm..", he hummed and turned away to face the door. "Fair enough! I'll leave you to go back to your planning.", he said before walking out of the office.

Now all I have to do is find the interesting demon. He thought.

With a pep in his step, the deer demon used the shadows to travel around the hotel in search of them.

You were anxious.

Fiddling with the collar of your top as you walked down the stone path of the hotel's garden.

It was an accident. You thought, glancing at the red rose bush. Still, I should have at least checked to see if anyone was in the room.

Sighing, you made your way over to the pond. Watching the odd glowing fish swim around in the water.

Maybe I should check to see if he's ok? You shake your head soon after. No, Vaggie said to be careful around that demon.

The lingering feeling of guilt still sat in the pit of your stomach. You wanted to make sure he was alright but the previous warnings told you to stay away, now you were at war with your choices.

Being too distracted by your thoughts, you didn't notice the figure conjuring up behind you from the shadows.

"Hello!"

"AH!", you jumped in shock and turned to see the demon, but your foot hit the edge of a rock and you lost balance.

Now Alastor did enjoy giving them a good scare but he didn't try to do that this time.

Perhaps they were too occupied with their thoughts.

He saw a flicker of fear in their eyes as they fell back into the water. Now there was some slight concern on his end but it was just water, he knew there was nothing in the pond that could harm them in any way.

Then there was an odd bright green glow coming from the water, causing him to lift his hand to block some of the light.

Once it stopped, he heard a splash of water.

Lowering his hand, he saw them clawing their way out of the pond.

"Apologies, I did not mean to frighten you so-", the deer demon started, kneeling down to help them out but he paused once noticing something red peeking out of the water.

Red fins and scales, a fish tail where their legs once were, then when he looked down at their hands. Seeing that it also changed, now having webbing between their fingers. The scales were vibrant. Red, scarlet, and speckles of candy apple red littered here and there.

It was quite the sight to behold.

Then he noticed them shaking. In fear or of cold, he was not sure but the Radio Demon lifted them out of the water and carried them back to the hotel.

"As I was saying dear, I apologize. I didn't know you were swimming in your thoughts.", he glanced at the mer and grinned when finding them peek up at him. "You had quite the splash."

They pouted and looked away from him.

Moving their hands, the left palm flat and facing up, while the right was similar to the left, it was vertical as it went down on their open palm like a knife on a cutting board. (Stop)

"You'll have to communicate with me another way dear.", he replied.

They let out a click of annoyance and remained quiet.

Maybe I could keep them.. Alastor thought as he entered the hotel. I wouldn't mind a pretty fish in my room.

I am excited for MerMay. More mer fics for me to read! 🪼

~Seline, the person.

Part 2

Taglist@

@c4rved-pumpk1n @scary-noodlesblog @stolas-thebirb @naelys-the-aster @biromanticboba @lbcreations-blog @ducky-died-inside @kiraisastay @pooplyface1423 @line-viper @117s-girl @spiderlegsling @alastorsgoldie @repentant-repeller @kcsketches @lofasofabread @kotaleee @im-coolrat @superzombiewho @speckle-meow-meow @jammcookie @dilucragnvindr-my-beloved @trashbin-nie @koioli @fatherlesschild2 @mmik3yy @just-here-reading @nealeart @hudiexiaoying @crystal-multiplefandomlover @glowinggoldfish0 @tiredgamerhere @fluffy-koalala @valenfawkes @willowshadenox @aria-tempest @alastor-simp @+?

ML I Alastor🎙 | ChL OW🦀

#shy reader #x reader #alastor x reader #the radio demon #gn reader #alastor #alastor hazbin hotel #alastor the radio demon #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel alastor #mer reader #hazbin hotel #oneshot #siren reader #kinda?#around there #alastor x shy reader

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rendy-a · 5 months

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Here it is! The winner of the reverse trope poll: Accidentially kidnapping a mafia boss! I had a lot of fun writing it and hope you enjoy it as well!

An Accidental Deal

'Think of the puppies and kittens,' you tell yourself sternly. You stand outside of Ramshackle Shelter and try to psych yourself up for this confrontation. Countless affirmations run through your head. You can do this! The question still remains in your head; when they arrive, will you be able to do it?

The news has been tremendously shocking to all the volunteers: Ramshackle Shelter was all but sold to an entrepreneur to build a branch of a popular ocean-themed cafe. You'd heard of Mostro Lounge but never dared go to such a place. Not because the cafe wasn't nice sounding, no, it was due to the owner. It was an open secret among the residents of your city that the sly restaurateur Azul Ashengrotto was, in fact, mafia boss Don Azul. And now that scummy bastard was this close to shutting down your shelter.

You'd protested at city hall to block the zoning (failure), written to the paper to get the community to object (failure) and tried to raise funds to buy the place yourself (failure). Now, you were down to extreme measures only. So, this was it; you were really going to kidnap someone. You pat the pocket of your jacket where you have a cloth soaked in chemicals to knock someone out. Just one small thing stands in your way, abject fear.

Don Azul was terrifying. You'd expected an aura of danger and power, but when you saw the teal-haired gentleman step from the limo and adjust his hat, you realized you'd grossly underestimated him. He looks like he could bite your arm off... and would probably enjoy it. By contrast, the silver-haired fellow who emerges next in plain shirt sleeves seems far more kidnappable. 'Why can't you be Don Azul?' you think sadly. You watch from your alley hiding spot as the formidable Don and his secretary(?) head inside to inspect the building.

You hurriedly cross the street and slip into the side entrance. You had all the access codes from your years of volunteering, so it was easy for you to navigate the halls quietly and arrive behind the little inspection party. The two men were talking, and the secretary was gesturing in a way that made you feel like they were discussing how to set up the space. After they threw you and the animals out. You grit your teeth and scowl silently at the figure of Don Azul and pat your pocket again; he'd get what was coming to him soon enough.

Then, in a moment that takes your breath away, Don Azul looks up and into a mirror on the wall. For a moment, you think you meet his mis-matched eyes. You feel your heartbeat race as you enter panic mode. Then the Don sneezes, which breaks the illusion. You back your way down the hall and into a storeroom. Maybe you couldn't do this after all. There was no way you could face down that man when you couldn't even stand to meet his gaze.

You need a Plan B. Fast. The adrenaline causes you to shake and you rest your shivering form against a wall to think. What can you still do in this moment? You tap your pocket with the cloth, all set up to abduct someone. Well, that's a waste. Or was it? Your mind strays from the intimidating Don Azul to his companion, the secretary. Was a mafia secretary worth anything as a hostage? You consider the possibility that he might know a great deal of Don Azul's secrets. Maybe that was enough to negotiate for them to leave this place alone?

You hear barking from beyond the hall and guess they've opened the door leading to the dog kennels. In this moment you are decided; for the animals, you can do this. You were kidnapping that little secretary of Don Azul’s. The barking intensifies and then fades to a dull drum. You figure they've gone in back and closed the separating door. It's the perfect time for you to get into some sort of position out front for an ambush. You creep into the entrance room and jump back when you nearly bump into Mr. Secretary. He seems as surprised to see you as you are to see him. His light blue eyes flicker to the door where the frightening Don had disappeared.

"Didn't go in with the boss?" you mutter softly. "The boss?" he questions quietly before his eyes return to the door, and he puts it together. "Ah, yes. I'm sensitive to the dirty, ah, I mean, delightful animals." You scowl at him, "They aren't dirty. And they are a lot more charming than you." The mild man gives a shrug of his eyebrows as though to say, ‘If you say so.’ He seems tired as he sighs heavily and gives you a once over. You’d guess he’s done this any number of times while by the Don’s side. He is experienced and appears to have sized you up in one simple glance. “I take it you were affiliated with the location’s prior business?” This rubs you the wrong way and you whisper shout back, “Its not ‘the location,’ its Ramshackle Shelter and I’m not so sure it’s a prior business either! I’ve got some points to talk over with your boss!”

The man gives you a pitying smirk and another sizing glance. You appear to have been found wanting as he replies, “Is that so?” in a condescending tone. You frown hard, both angry and embarrassed at the interaction. “Anyway, it’s not up to you. I’m not here to make deals with some nobody secretary,” you tell him mockingly. His eyes widen for a moment and then you see the visible effort he makes to hold in his laughter. Ok, this has gone on far enough. Plus, you need to make sure you leave before the evil Don returns. You approach him in what you hope is a decent appearance of menace, “You better just come along quietly.” Finally, he appears to take you seriously as you see his chest expand to take in a large breath before a shout. Unfortunately for Mr. Secretary, you prove faster and thrust the cloth from your pocket over his mouth before he can sound the alarm.

It works like a charm and the small man is very easily knocked out. You run to the storage room and drag out a flat-bed cart used to haul animal kennels back and forth between the entry and back. On the cart is a large and empty kennel big enough to hold a great dane, so you figure one skinny secretary will fit pretty well too. Except, passed out mafia secretaries are significantly more difficult to shove in a kennel than a dog. You heave and shove his limp form until you mentally decide he isn’t so small after all. Fortunately, you manage to get him marginally concealed in the kennel and out the back before you hear the barking of dogs that signals the Don’s return. Time to hustle this cart down the back alley and into the waiting warehouse.

After getting your (not so little) secretary back to the warehouse, you look at him laying limp in the kennel and decide that’s a little too cruel for your taste. So, again, you take the effort to haul his limp form from the kennel and get him settled in what appears to be a reasonably comfortable position on a chair. Then you take a seat in another chair to wait for him to regain consciousness. Plus, you need the time to plan. Before, all your ideas had stemmed from having Don Azul as your hostage. Now that you only had his secretary, you were no longer sure how to even let him know that. Can you just call up the mafia and ask to speak to the Don? That…didn’t feel like a real thing.

You were pondering your options when a groan brings your attention to your hostage. You wait for him to open his eyes, place a tentative hand to his head and groggily ask you what happened. “I kidnapped you, of course,” you cockily reply. He holds up his unbound hands in front of him, “Shouldn’t you have at least tied me up then?” You feel your mouth fall open as you look forlornly at the hands held out for you to see. “Are you going to keep gaping like that? I might mistake you for a guppie,” he states in a cold tone. You slam your hand against a crate and shout, “Better watch that language or I’ll have you singing with the fishes!”

He gives you a startled look and then starts to laugh, “Singing? I think you mean sleeping.” Ok, this could be going better, but you can’t back down now! “I said singing! Maybe I want to hear you sing me a little song, beautiful. I’ve got to get the most out of my little captive princess before I turn her back over to her family,” you finish with a mocking leer. The barest hint of ‘beautiful?’ can be heard coming from the secretary’s mouth. You point at him and declare, “You’ve got two options; stay over there and start talking or walk your pretty little self over here and sing me a song. What’s it going to be, Princess?”

The man gives you a look from deep beneath his long lashes and says, “Those are quite the options.” Then he flushes and gives you another one of those sizing up looks. This time, it takes him several minutes to make up his mind, which you suppose is an improvement. Finally, he narrows his eyes in challenge and says, “Very well, if that’s how you’d like it,” and stands. You don’t quite know what to do when he marches over and sits in your lap. Then he looks at you coyly and whispers, “Did you have any requests?” This certainly wasn’t in your plan. You shrug helplessly and finally from the depths of your throat you hear, “Row, Row, Row your Boat?” emerge from your mouth. The corner of his lips curl up momentarily before he schools his expression, “Of course, as you wish.” Then he begins singing.

You feel silly for having requested such a childish song but, to his credit, he gives it a serious effort. And he sings amazingly. You listen attentively and when he finishes, you apologize, “I’d clap but I’m afraid that would knock you from my lap.” He smiles for a moment before replying in a serious tone, “That is an important point to consider. Perhaps you could join me in a verse instead.” Then he runs his thumb along your bottom lip with a coy gaze and breathlessly starts another round of Row, Row, Row your Boat. You feel a bit silly, but it would be rude to refuse after all that, so you timidly join him. When you finish, he smiles, “There, that wasn’t so hard, was it?” You suddenly remember that he is The Enemy and frown sternly. “Come now,” he chides playfully, “I’m just pointing out that I’m not that difficult to work with, Angelfish.”

“If you lot were so reasonable to work with, then why is my shelter being closed down!” you shout with tears forming in your eyes. You hate this feeling, like you are the vulnerable one when he is the one who is kidnapped. He looks deeply into your wavering eyes and finally sighs, “That place is really important to you, isn’t it?” You look up at him and answer passionately, “Not just for me but for all the animals. They have nowhere else to go. No one to look after them. If we turn them away, what will happen to them?” You can’t stand to look at his sympathetic gaze and turn to look at the floor instead, “Your boss’s café could go anywhere. Why take this from me? From them?”

The man, who you decide is far more gentle than you originally thought, appears to genuinely be considering your argument. For the first time since you met him, you give him one of your friendly smiles, “I know it isn’t your fault. You aren’t the boss.” Then you pat him gently on the back. “Don’t worry about it too much. I’m going to fix this somehow.” His breath catches and he whispers, “You just might at that.” You give him a grateful look, “At least someone has confidence in me. I feel like I’ve done nothing but mess up all day.” The gently man is having none of this, “I don’t know what you mean, Angelfish, you seem to be doing quite well from my perspective.” You laugh and give him a grateful smile, “Well thanks for that. I think I needed some cheering up.”

The kind (you’ve upgraded him to kind) man gives you a small caress on the cheek, “Is there anything I can do to help?” You look deep into his beautiful eyes and remark, “I wouldn’t mind another song.” He brushes a stray hair from your forehead and begins to sing again.

And that is when they find you. An amused chuckle from the door alerts you to his presence and you stop your duet immediately to turn, horrified, to face Don Azul. You fearfully meet the eyes of the lovely man in your lap and stammer, “It..its Don Azul, he found us.” Your statement causes the intimidating man to open his mis-matched eyes wide. Then, he bursts out into an unhinged laugh. Your fear compounds exponentially when you hear another voice emerge from the unguarded back entrance, “What’s so funny? Go ahead, I’m in the mood for a joke.” You turn your head and can’t help but blurt out, “Holy shit, there’s two of them!”

Your companion gives a resigned sigh and stands up, “Jade, Floyd. Come along. We’re leaving now.” You look up at him, entirely overwhelmed. He meets your eye and then smiles sadly, “In case you aren’t quite finished with me yet.” Then he reaches into his breast pocket, retrieves a small case and extracts a business card. He slips it gently into your hand and then walks confidently past the intimidating man (Jade? Floyd?) and out the door. The frightening twins give you amused (and terrifying) smiles as they silently turn and follow him out the door. It is several minutes before you regain your senses enough to turn over the card in your hand. It reads in flowing script: Azul Ashengrotto, CEO of Mostro Lounge.

-Several months later-

You sit at your desk and page through another document. In the background, the sound of barking dogs is almost soothing to your ears. Then, a nervous volunteer practically runs into your office, “Director! Someone is here. I…I think he might mean to tear up the place!” You calmly look up from your desk, “And then serve you tea afterward or burn the place down?” The volunteer looks at you like you’ve lost your mind. A moment later, a fearful comprehension crosses their face as they mutter, “Oh my god, there are two of them!” You nod, so, it’s both.

When the pair of twins saunter into your office, you smile welcomingly, “Jade, Floyd. How nice it is to see you today.” Floyd comes around the desk to drape an arm over your shoulders, “Hey Shrimpy, bossman sent us to pick you up.” You nod agreeably, “That’s right. Its opening night.” Jade places a palm to his chest, “The newest branch of Mostro Lounge will be most delighted to have the Director’s patronage for this special occasion.” You nod and direct them to wait out front as you finish things up back here.

When they leave, the fear struck volunteer questions you, “Who were they? They look like the mafia!” You shrug, “As far as I know, they are just employees of Mostro Lounge. As far as I know.” They give you a look, “Isn’t that the place that nearly shut us down a few months ago?” You grab your long purple jacket and give them a reassuring pat on the shoulder, “Yeah but we’ve come to an agreement since then.” The volunteer gives you a considering look and backs a half-step away, as though suddenly wondering if they’d misjudged the familiar Director of Ramshackle Shelter.

You understand, you’d been there before, so you pay them no mind. Brushing past the volunteer to flick off the light, letting them hide in the darkness of your office. Then you head out and wave to your waiting escort, “Come on boys. I’ve got a date with the princess. Time to make him sing for me.” Your inside joke never fails to amuse them, and they laugh appreciatively. Your relationship was a complicated thing. You weren’t sure who was supposed to be the hero or the villain in the whole story but, you supposed, you didn’t really care. Floyd held the door of the long black limo for you, and you stepped inside. You could ponder the morality of the whole thing later; you had your Princess waiting for you tonight. And, if you were lucky, you’d have Azul sing your song for you again. Ah, life was but a dream.

#twst #twisted wonderland #twst wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #azul ashengrotto #azul x reader #azul ashengrotto x reader #reverse tropes

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