wasteland-library

[wasteland-library]

This was so good, I loved it so much, I’m such a sucker for non-sexual bathing, like it’s my greatest kryptonite

This was just so sweet, I need me a man like Johnny, who just…. Gets it and continues on. Who recognizes I just can’t talk sometimes, who doesn’t push me or force me to talk anyways. I just need him.

whisper day (broken doll)

Soap x gn reader

CW - reader is called “lad” once, has short hair? mental health struggles. neurodivergent reader (selective mutism, sensory issues, anxiety/panic). non-sexual nudity. attempted asl (sorry im american and im still learning) emotional hurt/comfort because I don’t know how to write anything else apparently.

—

A mug filled too full, scolding coffee sloshing onto your hands as you sit at the table. ‘Rise and shine’ etched just under the rim in much-too-bright yellow. Your eyes strained just from looping letters alone. There’s a grating jingle of keys at the door, before Johnny pushes through.

It takes him a moment to spot you, but when he does, a beaming smile spreads over his face. That should have been too much, too, but it’s him and you can’t possibly look away.

“Mornin’, baby.” Sweat clings to his clothes, slicks back his hair, transfers onto your skin as he kisses your temple. You hum a complaint as he pulls away. “You’re up early today. I’d have brought ye breakfast.”

You just shake your head, lamely reaching for him again. You need him, his touch, more than usual. But as always, he gives himself freely, letting you rest your head on his stomach.

“Everythin okay?”

A hand cups your jaw, pulling you to look up so he can map your face. Categorizing, calculating everything that’s doesn’t quite add up this morning. Dark, hollow eyes look back at him. Coffee before you showered. You’re quiet, clingy.

He usually greets you in bed after his morning run, and even then you at least gruff out a greeting of some kind, or tell him off for touching you while he’s got “outside” on him. But he’s yet to hear a peep this morning.

Instead, you raise your hand, shakily signing the letters “W.D.” before dropping it back on the table, as if the act alone was enough to drain you.

It’s a bad one, he realizes, brows bunching in concern. But, Johnny smiles for you, soft, his voice much the same now. “A ‘whisper day’, then, is it?”

You pout, eyes focus far away as you try to block out the humiliation from those words. ‘Whisper days’ dubbed for the days when everything is too loud, and can’t even form the words to tell him so.

A second-hand toy with a broken squeaker.

Useless. Damaged. Replaceable.

“Hey, no, that’s alright. We can work with that.” He kisses you, quick and delicate, just a graze really, but it’s enough to ease some of your shame, bring you back to the surface. His hand slips down, thumbing at the bend of your elbow. “Wanna shower wi’ me?”

You nod immediately. He guides you to the bathroom, hands on your hips, firm, but not too much.

“Alright?” A nod. Small, but steady enough that he believes it. “Well, be a lad, arms up, please.”

He undresses you slow, patient. After each article is removed, he would check in again, waiting for you to nod before he continued. Waiting longer if you hesitated. The water is checked once more - not too hot, not too cold - and he holds your hand as you step in, leaving the curtain open for him.

“Only water for you?” You wrinkle your nose at the question, shaking your head as he undresses. He laughs, “Full wash and scrub, then?”

An open palm across your chest. ‘Please.’

“Okay,” he steps in, pulling the curtain closed, both of you cringing at the initial screech. “Sorry, sorry.”

A weak smile and two lazy thumbs up, shook at the wrist, ‘All good.’

Damp hair clumps at your forehead and he pulls it back, letting the once short strands pull tight between his fingers. “Reckon you need a trim? We’ll take turns over the weekend- you do me, I’ll do you.” You roll your eyes when he shoots you a wink, but you reach to draw him in.

When you step close, he has a moment where he considers how he can position his hips away from you, not wanting to make you uncomfortable. But you wrap your arms around him, slippery skin flush to his, and he figures you don’t mind the semi he has pressed up against you.

Both of you are still for a few moments, and Johnny waits for you to peel away first. You just stand under the water - limp and useless - and let him manipulate you as he cleans you. A soft rag gently wiped along your eyes, nose, cheeks. A check-in, a nod. An arm lifted, then the other, each part of you tended to - with more care than you deserve - until any grime built up overnight is scrubbed off and rinsed away.

He kisses you again, then separates to wash himself. He’s good for that. Putting others first without complaint. Without worry for himself. You watch as the water trails along his skin, collecting in the dip of his clavicle, spilling along the lines of his chest.

A strong, reliable body, built from dedicated work and maintenance. In perfect working order. Battered, yes. Scarred, more than you’d like. But otherwise perfect.

Useful. Needed.

Opposites attract, you suppose.

“Still with me?” He grins, though his head tilts to your line of sight, his hand squeezing your shoulder. Checking in.

Blinking, you’re able to muster up a simple, “Mhm.”

It’s his turn to nod now, unconvinced. He moves you, hands on your hips once more. Moves you under the water again. “Turn ‘round for me? Head back.”

You obey, eyes slipping shut as he works the shampoo through your hair. It’s no salon, but his fingertips are just skilled enough to elicit a pleased sigh. A kiss to your shoulder, and he moves you again, letting you rinse yourself off this time.

Afterward is much of the same. You let him bundle you in a towel, let him dress you like a doll. His boxers, his shirt. He lets you cling to him, dewy skin on cloth, and he continues to check in.

“Is this okay?”

“Don’t have to tell me, just show me what you need.”

‘You.’ Broken squeaker or not, all you need is him.

He kisses you like you’re precious. Holds you like a cherished. Loves you like you’re valuable.

A collectible, something to restore and admire. Something that, despite the flaws, is worthy of adoration.

[wasteland-library]

I love this so dearly

I need to do this for someone or someone needs to do this for me, either way I need this. I equally want to hold a very large man and be held by a very large man

something something ghost using his sleeve to wipe your tears, while the other hand cups your jaw, but the idea of him being so gentle with you makes you cry harder so he gives up trying to stop it, and instead just forces your face against his chest, trying to go the route of deep compression to regulate you again

[wasteland-library]

Getting me to bed is half the battle, the easy half. Getting me to sleep is the other battle, and not even I win it sometimes

Plus you know… alone in bed on phone time is important to my mental health

“C’mon, baby. We gotta get some sleep sometime.” Gaz would sweetly prompt you to come to bed, pressing a kiss to your head as he hauls you to your feet. “That’s a love.”

“Dear…” Price would be sweet too, but just on the right side of frustration, so you’d feel bad and obey him. “I’m tired and don’t want to carry you off the couch when you fall asleep again. Let’s go.”

Ghost would just snatch whatever it is that’s keeping you up out of your hands and demand you go to bed with his hands on his hips. “Up. Get to it, now.” But he’d mutter a quiet, “thank you, doll” when you finally obey.

Soap’s just gonna yell at you from the bedroom until you get annoyed, and come to him. “BABY PLEASE! I’m lonely!” But he’d smile big enough to make up for it when you finally crawl under the covers.

[wasteland-library]

Shits going down and I am not sure how ready for it I am, there’s still so much to unveil, and so little time, the suspense is killing me but damn I am loving this series!

We finally got a break from the yearning to just be thrown back into it, the life of a DSO agent I suppose, romance and having something for more than fleeting moments isn’t very practical with the job, but I would like it to be. I would like for them to be happy together

This is definitely one of my favorite series ever, it flows so beautifully and the characters are just so beautifully portrayed, I will never get over it, nor will I ever stop recommending this to anyone who will listen

A Sinking Feeling [Chapter Eight – In Death, Sacrifice]

Summary: Face the consequences, or don't. Either way, they will hit when least expected.

Pairing: Leon Kennedy x reader

Word count: 3083

Additional tags: canon-typical violence, death, mutual pining, angst

Author's note: I swear I'm going to get this fic back on a schedule, summer is just kicking my ass 😭 might have heat stroke but fuck it we ball!

☣ read on ao3 ☣ | series masterlist

Empress stood outside, arms crossed over her chest as she stared down the long, empty road. The sun had set hours ago, leaving no light but the faint glow of fireflies far off spotting the horizon ahead of her. Dried blood began to flake off her skin as small raindrops begun to fall, mixing into a murky pink hue as it fell to the ground.

Behind her, Kaidan walked out of the building, a large black bag slung over his shoulder. Empress walked to the tailgate, pulling it down and walking away before he got to her side. Silently, she got into the passenger side of the truck.

Kaidan threw the bag down, making the truck shake slightly from the force. The thud of him closing the tailgate sent shivers down her spine.

“Where to?” Kaidan asked. Pulling himself up into the drivers seat, he looked over at Empress, waiting for his order.

Empress looked ahead, her eyes lingering on the darkened street before she turned to face him. “It’s time to go home,” she murmured somberly, almost to herself.

“Yes ma’am.”

He went to the drivers’ side, starting the vehicle as she got into the passenger side seat. Throughout the drive, he glanced at her from the corner of his eye as he drove from time to time. She paid him no mind.

Trees and houses flashed past, fading into dark nothingness the further he drove out of the town. Turning down an unmaintained gravel road, he slowed down, the drive taking all of his focus to not allow the truck to veer off into the deep ditches on either side. Rain splattered across the windshield, steadily growing heavier as he turned off into an unmarked driveway.

“Out,” Empress ordered. She didn’t wait for him to turn the ignition off, opening the door and stepping out. The rain soaked her instantly, her blue hair clinging to her face, feeling as if it cut through the burns across her skin.

Kaidan jumped out, closing the door behind him and walked to the tailgate. Groaning as the rain soaked him, he wiped water out of his eyes.

Empress stood beside the truck, silently watching as he pulled the tailgate down and grabbed the large bag. He dragged it towards him, tossing it over his shoulder. At the top, the zipper was slightly opened, a hint of red hair peeking out.

He walked away, hauling the bag further into the words. A few steps behind, Empress followed, her eyes never leaving the red hair. Further in, the trees thinned into a small clearing, flat land dropping sharply.

Looking back at her, he stared a moment. Empress nodded. He looked away and tossed the bag off the cliff, watching as it kept falling, seemingly being swallowed up by the earth. Empress looked away, staring at the dirty truck a moment before turning her attention back on him.

“One more thing,” Empress said quietly. “Where were you last night?”

Kaidan turned to face her, eyebrows furrowing in confusion. “Working… I was trying to find Wong – like you ordered.”

“Where else?”

“That’s it.”

“Where. Else?”

Thunder rumbled in the distance, Kaidan flinched at the sudden boom. “I wasn’t doing anything!” He shifted on his feet, swallowing nervously, like a caged rat. “I’m still trying to find where Wong fucked off to. Last I heard of her was something about her being in Edonia. Heard she really messed up a bunch of government assholes. D.S.O. maybe? Or B.S.A.A. – one of those, I think. I couldn’t find exactly who.”

Empress looked away, biting her flaking lip. “And that’s it?”

“Yeah,” he replied with a heavy sigh. “Look I get it. It’s really fucked up she did this. But I’ve never done anything. You know me.”

Empress sighed, her shoulders slumping downwards. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

“Yeah… me too.” He sighed, looking over his shoulder at the cliff edge. “I liked her too, y’know. All of this… fuck, I can’t believe she did it…”

Empress remained silent, clenching her hands into fists. Her nails dug into her skin, the rain running down adding to the stinging. His voice melted into the background, blood roaring in her ears as she stared off at the cliff. Not even the relentless stinging from the rain pelting her bloody, burnt skin held her attention. Only the lone jar left alone.

It’d been too long away, even without seeing the time, she was certain of it. She had to go back home. Nothing would ruin this, especially not the lack of her blood.

“…I’m glad you survived the fire though.”

Empress tensed up, her eyes darting back to Kaidan as he spoke. Her gut twisted, something picking at the back of her skull, an itch she had to end.

If her own wife nearly killed her baby… what would it take for him? Was he also responsible? How could she be so certain he was being truthful if Sophia hadn’t?

She walked up to him, placing her hand on his shoulder. “How did you know about the fire?” Kaidan tensed as she touched him but remained still, unable to speak. “Kaidan. How did you know?” Tightening her grip on his shoulder, her fingernails dug into his skin through his shirt. “Answer me!”

“I-I saw men there-” he sputtered.

“And you didn’t stop them?”

“I didn’t-”

“Do your job,” she finished for him, her grip on his shoulder painfully tight.

“No!” Kaidan protested. Trying to turn around, he winced as her nails dug in, blood welling up and slowly soaking into his drenched shirt. “I swear, I’d never-”

Empress cut him off with a hard slap, the sound echoing through the air. “I lost them because of you!” she growled. “I trusted you!”

Kaidan groaned, blood dripping down his nose as he spat out a mouthful of blood. “Dammit, ‘Liam’ was there too! I fucking tried.”

“Not hard enough.”

“Do you seriously think I would do that to you? To her?” he scoffed, bracing himself. “I loved her too!”

Empress’ vision went hazy as the roar of blood grew louder in her ears. She hit him again, her hand aching as blood coated her knuckles. Before he could retaliate, she shoved him backwards, watching as the earth swallowed him up. His screams echoed throughout the clearing, eventually petering out.

Sighing heavily, she pulled out her now soaked phone, dropping it in front of her. As it hit the ground, the screen lit up with the time, 2:03am. The rain began to fall harder, lightning crackling in the distance as she drove her heel down into the screen and kicked it off the cliff.

The phone disappeared into the darkness, nothing but the oppressive, rain soaked air surrounding her. Her legs gave in and she crumpled to the ground, staring up at the sky as the rain mixed with her tears.

***

In the morning, neither you nor Leon said a word. You refused to look up at him, bowing your head and turning away, eyes focused on the blankets in your hands instead as you stood up, tossing them aside and slinking away to the bathroom. Leon didn't hide that he had watched you the whole time, not paying attention to anything else that he did.

Sooner or later it would come out and you would have to look up, even as the shame was gnawing at the back of your neck, but you couldn't look at him. Not right now. Faking a marriage, saying I love you, that you could handle, barely, but you could, but crying on him as he fucked you until nothing else remained but him in your mind left you so utterly broken, anything more threatened to shatter your heart for good.

Yet you still watched him, when his back was turned and the hot mug clasped between his hands threatened to burn and his eyes were forced to drop down. Every morning was the same, even before your mistake. You didn’t need to see into his eyes to see the truth. To see that love permeated through it all, every careful movement around you, every glance thrown your way, every time he held you, every time he fucked you like he was in love, it was all love.

Love had no space in the D.S.O., not when any moment spelt your end, but it was far too late for you and him.

It was hopeless, anyone who could see the real you could see it plain as daylight. It was suffocating, binding you to him, killing you slowly whilst leaving you addicted and desperate for more.

It wasn’t fair.

You kept your distance for most of the morning, spending more time than necessary in the bathroom. Hands ghosting over your skin as you stand in the shower, hot water cascading down your skin leaving an almost soothing sting as you tried to forget the feeling of his hands. The warmth of the water helped ease the ache, the soreness of the tight grip he had on your hips leaving it hard to think of anything else.

It felt like a dream, a good dream, a nightmare. One you wished you never woke up from.

Soon the hot water cools, the sting replaced with rising goosebumps as it left you with no choice but to leave, to finally face the mess you had created in your stupid desperation.

Stepping out of the shower, towel wrapped tightly around your skin, you still took your time getting dressed. In the back of your mind, all you could think of was his hands as you pull your clothes on, the feeling of your hands over your skin leaving only an emptiness in their wake. The warmth of your hands brought nothing, unlike the careful touch of his.

You stood in the shared bedroom, fully dressed but still waiting for the courage to face him. Yet it never came and you were forced to leave, whether you could handle seeing him again or not. There was still work to be done, no matter how you felt.

With a heavy sigh, you looked out the closed window at the cloudy sky before walking out of the bedroom, leaving the safety of the closed door and walked into the kitchen. Like every other morning, you found Leon sitting down, back to you and hand wrapped around the same coffee mug he always used. Steam rose from the warm liquid, leaving a soft haze around it in the cool room like dragon’s breath.

Standing still, you remained quiet, seconds dragging on for what felt like hours. Finally, he broke the silence.

“Morning,” he murmured, his voice still raspy from sleep. He took a sip of his coffee but didn’t turn to face you, much to your relief.

“Morning,” you echoed quietly, eyes dropping away from his back as you walked into the kitchen fully.

Leon finished his coffee, then reached for the burner phone left on the counter in front of him. In all of your fucked up haze, you had lost track of the days.

Friday. Check in day.

The phone rang once before the other end is picked up, the familiar voice returning as your only contact to the outside world.

"Morning," Ingrid said, a forced happy tone used. "Finally get a good night's rest?"

"No, you know me," Leon answered, just as expected. It was never quite a lie, sleep never came easy to you or him. No rest for the wicked – or whatever you and him were.

“I’m sorry to hear that-”

You know you should listen, it was important, Ingrid might have something to help down the road, but you couldn’t. Her voice blended into the background, the haze clogging your mind making it easy to forget why you were even here.

Leon’s voice knocked you out of the haze briefly, his hand on your wrist, gentle but firm. “Go rest. I’ll handle it,” the phone is in his other hand, call on hold.

“No. I should-”

He cut you off. “Did you hear anything she said?” You looked down, the slightest hint of a frown marring your face. “There’s been no movement today. I’ll keep watch. You get some rest. I’ll wake you later, okay?”

You wanted to fight – you should fight it. What half-decent D.S.O. agent would do this? Yet looking down at him, you can’t bring yourself to fight him like you would normally. “Okay,” you responded after a moment. Seemingly happy with your answer, he let go of your wrist, eyes trailing behind you while you walked out of the room until you were out of sight.

Walking through the house, heavy footsteps echoing through the halls, it was almost too much energy to lift your feet, as if quicksand were sucking you into the floor. By the front door, the carpet on the inside of the door is kicked up, corner revealing the dirty underside, blackness matching the well-hated heels tossed to the side.

The bedroom door is opened fully, bed sheets left the way you’d tossed them, the top dresser drawer open just an inch, revealing the overly expensive dress clothes within. The wind softly blew in the partly open window, curtains shifting in the breeze.

It was nice outside. Not overly hot, not cold. A perfect day to go on a walk – a date, if you dared to dream. The clouds overhead blocked out the harshness of the sun, soft breeze keeping it pleasant without the overwhelming chance of rain.

You could almost picture it; perfect house, perfect life with your husband. Small town, far away from the clutches of the D.S.O., somewhere you could actually have a life. The life you dreamt of before.

Walking into the room, you go to close the window some. Outside, the clouds are darkening in the distance, far, far away. It might rain later, but for now, you were safe. The previous night’s thunderstorm had seemingly taken care of that, for now.

The window creaked as you pulled it down some, the grating noise sending shivers down your spine. Sunlight glinted off the silver wedding band on your finger, taunting you further. You couldn't help but wonder what a future might look like if the past hadn’t been so bloody.

Would you still know your family? Would they still be safe? Would they not be faced with the bloody mess that became of their child?

If that outbreak hadn’t happened… would you still be normal? A normal job, never knowing the feeling of blood upon your hands, never seeing and knowing what it looked like when someone died. Never being the one to take lives, to feel the moment that it all ended because of your hands.

What would it be like to be able to wake up with him, with nothing but worries over what to eat in your mind?

Going to turn around, an arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you against a chest and a hand grabbed your head harshly. A sickly sweet scent overpowering your senses, making you gag as you thrashed in your attackers grasp to no avail. Your mind fogged over, tiredness leaving your body like jello, well aimed hits moving like molasses as your legs give out, leaving all your weight in their arms. In the distance, thunder rumbled, everything else fading into blackness.

***

“It’s been quiet here,” Leon said with a heavy sigh, eyes falling to papers left in front of him he could relay off by heart. “Too quiet. Something doesn’t feel right.”

“There’s been no movement on my end,” Ingrid replied. “No emails, nothing. Like she’s completely off-grid now.”

“I wouldn’t be lucky enough for her to turn herself in, would I?”

“I wish I could give you good news.”

“I know.”

After everything so far, he should be happy there’s a day to rest some. He needed it – you needed it especially, even if you wouldn’t admit it. Yet now that he had it, it felt wrong, dangerous. Like the electrified calm before a terrible thunderstorm.

“Leon? Still there?”

“Yeah. Uh, I should go. Call you later.” He hung up the phone before Ingrid could reply, tossing the phone back onto the counter. Hunching over, he held his hand in his hands, head heavy and eyes prickling with the beginning of tears.

With his mind being pulled in a million different directions, all he could do was barely keep himself from bursting into tears.

He should be afraid. Everything was screaming that something was coming, the painful gut feeling demanding to run away and save himself. Yet all he could think of was you. The way you felt under him, having you in his arms finally after all these years. You crying in his arms as he fucked you senseless.

It was all a goddamn mess.

Upstairs, he heard a thump in the bedroom, though he couldn’t focus on it. You probably just closed a drawer too hard or stubbed a toe. You always were a bit clumsy when exhausted – not that he could say anything, the last few mornings it had been a fight to get his own feet to do as he wanted and not accidentally wake you up with swearing and a broken toe.

With a heavy sigh, he closed his eyes, forcing back the tears that threatened to escape. Just because he didn’t have to pretend around you didn’t mean he could give into that now. Work wasn’t going to stop just so he could cry.

Footsteps could be heard coming down the stairs, a little heavier than normal – though he didn’t think anything of it, only wondering how much your stubbed toe hurt.

“You okay, sweetheart?” he asked, wincing as the pet name left his lips without thought.

He didn’t hear anything as an arm snaked around his neck, pulling him off the chair and a hand clasped against his mouth, filling his nose with a sickly sweet scent. His vision went foggy as the sweetness clawed at his mind, panic soon following.

Reaching behind himself, he grabbed at the offending arms, nails sinking into the thigh by his face. Blood leaked down his hand as his mind slowly gave way to the darkness, eyes too heavy to keep open. Still, he fought it, forcing his body to fight as his eyes refused to open, until everything fell back into nothingness.

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©️ lightning-hawke 2024. I do not give permission for my work to be reposted, uploaded, copied, fed into AI or used in any other way, shape or form. If you find my work anywhere besides this blog and my ao3 account, please let me know.

[wasteland-library]

Nothing quite like infected reader, I love it so much. This was absolutely amazing!!

How Dark The Night (Leon Kennedy X Reader)

[Plus-size!Reader Friendly][POC!Reader Friendly][Fem!Reader Friendly][GN!Reader Friendly]

Summary ~ After being separated from Leon and Ashley, you are captured by Salazar and forced to go after your partner.

Disclaimer ~ I do not own Resident Evil or any of its characters.

Word Count ~ 3.7k

Warnings ~ Blood, Plagas doing what Plagas do, angst, injuries, knives, guns, no use of Y/n

Resident Evil Masterlist

A/n ~ This is part one of a two part hurt comfort fic (This one has ALL the hurt)

•I do NOT consent to have my work posted, translated or published to any third party site or app. If anyone sees my work anywhere but here, it has been reposted without my permission•

Part 2 Here!

••••••

The last thing you remember before blacking out was being separated from Leon and Ashley. While in the process of running from the bearded man who had been constantly after you since setting foot into the village, the three of you cut across a rather precarious wooden bridge that stretched across a large canyon. Halfway across the bridge a piece of the wood cracked and caved in under Ashley causing her foot to drop down into the hole and get stuck, Leon immediately rushed forward to start helping her pull her foot out while you turned on your heel with your gun raised to try and push back the hoard of villagers back.

Everything that happened next was made in split-second moments; the entire bridge began to sag and you knew that it was going to break any moment—the makeshift bridge simply wasn’t built to hold the weight of three people. So, in an attempt to give Leon more time to free Ashley’s leg, you walked off the bridge and back onto the side of the cliff while continuing to fire at the mob of angry villagers. Leon knew better than to scold you for this action since it was the same one he would have made if your roles were switched, so as he successfully freed Ashley’s now scraped ankle, he quickly ushered her to the other side of the bridge. Your back was to him as you stepped back onto the bridge—the sheer amount of people now rushing at you proving to be too much for you to handle on your own.

Ashley’s voice carried across the canyon urging you to make a run for it, a choice you knew wouldn’t work given the state of the bridge behind you.

“Leon, get Ashley out of here!” You yelled as you kicked one of the men in the chest sending him tumbling off of the edge of the cliff which gave you an opening to run to the side of the bridge, “That bridge won't hold.”

Leon called your name, his panicked voice threatening to get lost among the screams from the mob whose full attention was now on you, “I’ll find you!”

You had no time to glance back at your partner as you turned and ran down the gradually shrinking ledge, the sound of the bridge crumbling into the ravine edging you on as you holstered your gun and began to climb up the side of the rocky cliff. The jagged rocks cut into your calloused fingers as you pulled yourself up and wedged your boots between the rocks to try and get your footing, all while hands grappled to try and get a hold of you and pull you down. Somehow you were able to successfully climb up the steep cliff and roll onto the solid ground at the top, the screams of the frustrated villagers below reminding you that there was no time to stop and catch your breath.

Heavy footsteps sounded to your left as you hauled yourself to your feet, turning your gaze toward the sound and groaning loudly when you saw the same bearded man who had been pursuing you earlier was once again there.

“Really? Do you ever take a hint?” You cursed as you drew your weapon again and fired two shots at the towering man, both bullets hitting their target yet doing nothing to slow him as he lunged for you.

You rolled forward to avoid being grabbed by him only to be thrown off balance when he swung his other arm out and grabbed you by the back of the neck—like you were nothing but an unruly animal he had to tame—to effortlessly lift you into the air. The yelp that broke from your throat would have been embarrassing had you not been grabbed around the neck by the cloaked man, his large hand closing around your neck as he lifted you up to stare at you with a scowl.

“Still, you resist the holy gift, foolish girl.” His booming voice echoed in your head as your ears began to ring.

Kicking and thrashing like a trapped animal did nothing to loosen his tightening grip as the edges of your vision slowly began to darken, Mendez’s scowl turning to a sickening grin as your eyes drooped and your vision went black.

~

“Lord Saddler will be pleased,” a scratchy voice cackled to your right as you slowly came to, “Soon, the girl will be back in our possession.”

The smell of burning copper greeted your senses when you peeled your eyes open, the crackling of torches all around you cast a warm glow on the ground in front of you as you blinked slowly trying to regain your bearings. All at once you remembered what had happened before everything had gone black, you remembered separating from Leon and Ashley and being grabbed by the man in the village.

You jerked your head up and looked around at the cloaked figures crowding you, large clawed hands were wrapped tight around your wrists keeping you from rising to your feet—though you doubted you could have stood even if you weren’t being forced to kneel because of the hollow feeling in your head that seemed to worsen with each breath you took.

The hands holding your wrists tugged back so your arms were being held behind your back and the sharp claws of your captor pressed into your skin, small beads of blood dripping from your wrists onto the cracked stone floor.

“What do you want?” Your voice was hoarse as you croaked and tried to look behind you at who—or what—was restraining you, the creature you caught sight of making your eyes go wide as footsteps pulled your attention and your gaze back in front of you.

“M’lady, I am pleased to see you are awake.” The short pale man walked toward you, his arms folded behind his back as a smile spread across his face, “I trust Mendez wasn’t too harsh with you?”

You took in the man’s appearance; his blue coat and ruffled collar made you wonder if he had just come from some kind of war reenactment, his face was pale and cracked like it was made out of porcelain instead of actual skin, and his white hair stuck up in every direction as though he had stuck his finger in an electrical socket before marching in.

“Who the crap are you?” You raised a brow and tugged your arms forward again, wincing when the claws pressed further into your wrists.

The small man turned to one of the cloaked figures and took a metal bowl from him, “I am Ramon Salazar, castellan of this castle.” He gestured to the large room around him.

Only then did you realize that you were indeed in a castle, the towering ceilings decorated with torches, candles, and large banners only making you more confused.

“You seem a little young to be running a castle.” You knew your voice was far too cocky considering you were currently being held captive and were in no position to be poking fun at the man’s stature, “You let me go and I’ll choose to forget about this whole abduction thing.”

Against your will, you found yourself growing more and more nervous as Salazar neared you, the dark red liquid in the bowl only aiding in the growing pit inside your stomach.

“There is no need to worry, soon enough you will be back with your friends, the young girl and Mr. Kennedy.”

How did he know Leon?

Again, you pulled your arms forward to try and free yourself as Salazar stopped right in front of you. His short stature meant that even though you were on your knees you were still at eye level with him, looking at his face close up making your expression twist with disgust as you glanced nervously at the bowl in his hands.

“What are you doing?” Your voice betrayed you and let everyone around you know exactly how anxious you were as all of the cloaked figures around you began chanting.

Salazar dipped one of his fingers into the red liquid—the strong copper stench of it confirming that it was indeed blood—and swirled it around to fully coat it before pulling it out and reaching for your face. You leaned your head back as far as you could to try and get away from his hand, another clawed hand reaching around your neck to clamp down on your chin, preventing you from moving away anymore.

The blood was warm when it touched your face—which made you wonder just who the blood had come from as Salazar traced your face and smeared the blood across your skin. You cringed as he drew lines and dots along your cheekbones and across the bridge of your nose, the feeling of warm sticky blood being spread across your face making you press your lips together tightly out of fear of it getting into your mouth.

The chanting continued as Salazar smiled and pulled his blood-stained hands away from you, “You continue to fight his gift, so I will help you.” He turned away from you and handed the bowl of blood back to the man he took it from only to take a nearly identical bowl from the figure to his left, “This will ensure the Plaga takes hold, things will be easier for you now.” He turned to face you with the bowl clutched in his hands.

“Get away from me.” Your breathing picked up as Salazar walked back toward you, “You can keep whatever nasty liquid you’ve got in that bowl because I do not want it.” You struggled against the clawed hand on your chin, the creature behind you letting out a low growl as it squeezed tight enough to hurt.

As Salazar drew closer, you were able to see the black liquid in the bowl, his shouted order for the thing holding you to open your mouth making the reality that you were about to be forced to drink the liquid finally set it.

Claws dug into the sides of your face as you were forced to open your mouth and watch as Salazar stopped in front of you and lifted the bowl to tip the liquid into your mouth.

The taste of the warm liquid made you cough and gag, your body began to seize up as the bitter liquid went down your throat and you were forced to swallow it. The hands on your wrists and chin were pulled away allowing you to fall flat on your face as you struggled to keep the sickening liquid down, your entire body feeling like it was trying to fight against itself as you began shaking uncontrollably.

Scuffed black shoes came into your line of sight as Salazar knelt in front of you and watched you struggle with a twisted look of satisfaction on his face, “Stop fighting it my darling, it will be much easier once you give in.” He brushed your hair out of your face and ran his fingers along your cheek.

You spat a spring of slurred curses at him, the words coming out as jumbled gibberish.

You have a job to do.

The words bounced around inside your head as the room around you began to tilt and spin, the ghostly face of Salazar being the last thing you saw before darkness took over your mind once again.

~

Once again you woke up to the sound of someone speaking, only this time it was a different voice.

You opened your eyes and stared blankly at the stone floor you were laying on, the bitter stench of the black liquid you had ingested still filling your nostrils as you slowly sat up and looked around the now-empty room.

You were completely alone in the room.

The voice you had heard when you came to sounded again just as a sharp pain shot through the side of your head making you scream and press your palm to your head.

You have a job to do.

Another scream ripped through your throat as the words echoed over and over in your head and you once again found yourself curled up on your side, the pain becoming unbearable as tears dripped from your eyes.

Then it stopped.

The pain was gone and the only sound you could hear was the rapid beat of your heart.

Your chest heaved as you sat up and caught sight of the black veins spidering along your hands and up your arms, the veins pulsing and darkening with each beat of your heart.

“What’s happening to me?”

Ignoring the shaking in your legs, you managed to stand to your feet as you spotted the open doors on the other side of the room.

You have a job to do.

“I have to find Leon…” you muttered to yourself.

The room finally stopped spinning and you began walking toward the doors, the sight of your combat knife sitting on the ground stopping you in your tracks. You knelt down and grabbed the knife, lifting the blade up so you could catch a glimpse of your reflection on the side; your eyes were bloodshot and spidering with the same black veins that were on your arms, the same veins that also moved along your cheeks underneath the lines of dried blood that covered your face.

It felt like your legs were moving on their own as you marched out of the room and stared down the long hallway, your body taking over as your mind grew fuzzy and a faint ringing began to fill your ears.

Soon enough, you couldn’t hear anything over the ringing in your ears, the gait of your walk taking up one of determination as you pushed open the set of double doors at the end of the hall with surprising ease.

At your sides, one hand was squeezing the hilt of your knife so hard that your fingernails pressed into your palm and the other one twitched on and off as though it was fighting to keep still at your side.

The castle was huge, and that much was sure as you wandered through the halls in search for your partner. The entire time you did so there was a small voice in the back of your mind screaming at you to stop, pleading with you to halt your search.

But you didn’t listen.

It took nearly an hour of traversing the winding maze-like halls of the castle before you heard the familiar voice of your partner coming from the other side of a closed door. When you got to the door and reached for the handle, you hesitated, that pleading voice in your head once again screaming only to yet again be ignored.

“Leon?” Your voice sounded like someone else’s as you pushed open the door and walk through, your eyes settling on the man who quickly whirled around with his gun raised, “Just me.” You raised both of your hands up in front of you, the torch light reflecting off the blade of your knife as you held onto it.

Leon lowered his gun the second he realized it was you, your name falling from his lips as he holstered the handgun. Ashley was behind him and instantly smiled upon seeing you, only for her expression to fall when she saw your appearance.

“Is that… blood?” Ashley asked while staring at you wide-eyed.

Leon walked forward and took in your appearance, his eyes searching for any injuries, “Are you hurt?” His hand went to your elbow and he gently held onto you.

You stayed silent—once again pushing down the panicked voice inside you—and shook your head, “No… I do-I don’t know?” You could feel the tears burning in your eyes that fell when you blinked, your hand shaking uncontrollably at your side.

“Hey,” Leon said softly while stepping in front of you and placing his hands on either of your shoulders, “What’s wrong?”

“I have a job to do.”

Leon was caught off guard when you lifted your knee up and hit him in the crotch, as he doubled over in pain you pulled his pistol from its holster and lifted your blade to your neck.

“Ashely, run!” Leon groaned as he regained his composure.

You raised the gun and aimed it at the young girl causing her to instantly freeze, “Lord Saddler gave me a job…” You mumbled, the edge of your blade cutting into your skin as you walked closer to Ashley, your hang twitching as you tried to keep your aim steady on her.

In the back of your mind, you were screaming at yourself to stop, but you couldn’t.

“Leon? What’s wrong with her?” Ashley bit back tears as you walked up behind her and pressed the gun to her temple, she was shaking.

Leon was walking slowly toward you with a hand raised as if he was approaching a cornered animal, “It’s the parasite.” His eyes were fixated on you, on the blade you were pressing to your neck to keep him a safe distance away.

Sobs wrecked your body as you fought against yourself to try and pull the gun away from Ashley, your job was to protect her not whatever this was.

“I can hear him… in my head.” You struggled to get the words out, “I can’t…”

The hand holding the knife dropped to your side, the sound of the blade hitting the stone floor making both you and Ashley flinch.

“I don’t wanna do this.” Tear marks cut through the dried blood on your face as you finally managed to pull the gun away from Ashley’s head.

“Ashley, walk over to me. Now.” Leon’s voice was low and unwavering as he ordered the young girl to his side, his arm shooting out in front of her the second she was behind him.

His eyes never once left yours.

He said your name quietly as he began slowly stepping toward you, “I know this isn’t you, this is that freak trying to control you okay?” The hand not being held up in front of him reached to his side where one of the pouches hung from his belt, “Look, Luis brought us the inhibitor for the parasite.” He pulled out a thin syringe and held it up for you to see.

You desperately wanted to drop the gun and run over to take the inhibitor, but your legs felt like they were anchored to the floor. Your arms were burning from the strain of fighting against yourself, the muscles in your arms flexing and cramping as you forced yourself to lower the gun.

With the gun no longer aimed at his head, Leon took a few more hesitant steps forward so he was once again standing directly in front of you.

The second Leon’s hand touched your arm you lost what little control you had and lifted the gun again, the shot aimed at his head making your ears ring again as he shoved your arm out of the way at the last second to knock off your aim. Leon grabbed your arm and twisted it behind your back as you struggled to get away from him, it didn’t take long for him to have both of your arms restrained behind your back and pull you down to the ground.

“Ashley, I need you over here.” Leon said as he held onto you tightly, his foot kicking the gun away from both of you as Ashley stared at him, “You gotta use the inhibitor while I hold her.”

She only hesitated for a moment before she ran over and snatched the syringe off of the ground, pulling the cap off as she hurried over to Leon’s side, “What do I do?” She asked frantically as she held the syringe in her hand.

Leon shifted his hold on you so one of his legs was wrapped around you and keeping you from struggling, “Right in her arm.” He said through gritted teeth.

You squeezed your eyes shut when the needle pierced your arm, the short sting was gone as fast as it appeared and you prayed that the contents of the syringe would work.

Almost immediately, your mind began to clear and you were able to stop struggling against Leon’s hold on you, his grip never loosened though. It wasn’t until your breathing slowed and the dark veins covering your arms and neck began to fade that he pulled his leg off of your middle and loosened his grip on your arms.

“Please tell me that worked.” Leon stared down at you with concern dripping from his voice.

You nodded slowly, “Please let go of me.” You were practically whispering.

Leon hesitated but released his hold on you nonetheless.

As soon as you were free you stumbled to your feet and moved to the other side of the room, nearly falling to the floor as your head spun.

“Slow down,” Leon called out as he ran after you.

“Get away from me!” You screamed as you turned around to face him, your back hitting the wall behind you as you backed away from him, “I don’t want to hurt you.” You grabbed one of your hands with the other and squeezed your palm to stop the trembling.

Ashley stayed back while Leon stopped where he was, “The inhibitor worked, you’re not gonna hurt us.” He assured you.

“Are you sure?”

He nodded without hesitation, “You’re gonna be alright, we’re gonna get out of this.”

Even though you knew he had no way of promising either of these things, you chose to believe him for now and rushed forward to wrap your arms around him.

“I’ve got you.” Leon held onto you, unlike before though when his hold was restraining and suffocating, his touch was comforting and you all but melted into his arms, “You’re alright.”

The sound of your shaky sobs filled the room as you clung to Leon, and the only thing keeping you on your feet was his tight hold on you as he smoothed his hand over the back of your head.

[wasteland-library]

Diabolical of this man, I need him.

I wouldn’t even be mad honestly, free doting husband for free, sign me up. What’s a little more head trauma? I can take it

For him, I can take it

While You Were Sleeping AU

Gaz x fem reader

He finds you in some dark alley on his way home one night. You’re barely conscious, battered and bruised, stripped of your phone, wallet, jewelry. Any chance of identifying you nowhere to be seen.

Except for the fact that he knows you.

He knows he’s gonna take you home to meet his parents someday, knows he can expect your smile every single morning (except Mondays and occasionally Fridays), knows he loves how you call his name. Well, how you read it off of his coffee order... But the point still stands.

He knows you.

Enough to tell emergency services your name, and what time you should have left your job. God, you must have been out here for hours. With a head wound like that, who knows how badly you’ve been injured?

Turns out, quite a bit. Swelling of the brain, they said, due to blunt force. You’ll have to stay in a medically induced coma until the swelling goes down, to avoid worsening your condition.

He learns this the next day, of course, after he spends the night in the waiting room. Some older nurse (she reminds him of his mum) asks if he’s family, he panics and says the first thing that comes to mind.

“Not… legally. Not yet.”

She respond with pitying realization in their eyes, nodding down the hall, “C’mon. She might not be awake, but there’s no reason you can’t sit with your girl.”

His girl.

Despite the circumstances, Kyle can’t help but think that’s the best thing he’s ever heard.

The hospital staff come to love him, of course they do. Such a dutiful boyfriend he is, braids your hair, makes sure you’re never too warm or too cold, applies lotion to your hands and feet, chapstick to your lips. Always says “please” and “thank you” when a nurse comes to adjust you in bed. He brings you flowers, and they don’t even have a chance to wilt before they tell him you’ll be waking up soon.

“We don’t know what she’ll remember. She might be disoriented.”

He just nods, knowing he should leave. Turn and never look back. This is asking for trouble. (What will he even say to you? How can he explain that he’s lead everyone on this floor to believe you’re his fiancée? Even went as far as looking at “replacement” rings with Brenda, the charge nurse; after all, they did take everything off of you, the bloody bastards who left you like this.) But his eyes stay focused on your face as they wake you, his feet stay firm on the speckled tile.

You come to, confused and scared, just like they said. But when you spot him a wave of recognition and relief flashes over your face for just a moment. “Kyle? Why’re you here?”

His name. You remember his name? There’s gravel in your voice, breathy and harsh from disuse, but you remember him! You know his name, really know it!

“I’m here, love.” It slips out, the endearment, paired with him grabbing your hand, and the nurse coos behind him.

“Whats hap- why’re you here?” More confusion, panic, fear, and he knows he has a choice to make. He can fess up, tell you he found you, that he was a just worried citizen, and let you heal and continue living your life without him.

Or…

His brows furrow, feigned heartache filling his eyes, his hand squeezing tighter.

“Baby… You really don’t remember your future husband?”

[wasteland-library]

This is literally so sweet I could die, I will definitely be coming back to this regularly for a reread because it’s just that good

He’s just so sweet and perfect and wonderful and I would do anything for him and anything to be with him

Gaz x gn reader

Elaborating on his section in this

CW - nightmare mentioned, anxiety over doctors, a demon puppet mentioned, eating / weak appetite mentioned.

—

The feeling of you flinching and tensing in his arms pulls Kyle from the edge of slumber. He was just a moment behind you in sleep, it took him just another to assess you. The slick at the nape of your neck, the thundering of your heart, the shallow, forceful breaths through your nose.

“Hey, shhshh. Settle, now, lovie.” You make a small noise, something like assent he thinks. He pulls you tighter against him, curling you into the fetal position. His arms wrapped securely around you. “Was just a dream, I’m here.”

“Sorry, yeah.” After allowing him to manipulate you, you grab one of his hands in both yours, your mouth pressing into the knot on his wrist. Your lips tremble as he shushes you again.

“That’s fine. Was it about tomorrow?“ The clock catches his eye, glowing blue numbers reminding him how few hours the two of you have before you have to get up.

You hum, weak, timid. “I dunno why I’m so freaked about it.”

“You don’t like doctors, that’s normal.”

“It’s still silly.”

“No sillier than any other phobia. Remember that escape room? With the puppet?” He feigns a shiver at the memory of said prop popping out of spring-loaded armoire. “Was worth the repair fee to punt that thing across the room.”

You huff, nearly a laugh. He takes it as a win. “Still don’t know why you picked that room.”

“Yeah, me neither honestly.” The room settles into silence again, you toying with the spinner ring on his index finger. “I love you, y’know?” He feels your heart pick up pace again, but this time he smiles at the cause.

“Love you. Thank you for being here.”

“Wouldn’t be anywhere else. Think you can get some more sleep?”

“Mhmm.”

“Good.” He kisses your shoulder before releasing you, rolling onto his back. “C’mere” You turn, leaning down for a quick kiss, before the two of you fit into place once more. The simplest of puzzles, you and him.

Sleep comes quick and easy then.

Sadly, dawn does too.

Kyle’s out of bed first, heading to the kitchen to set the coffee on and start breakfast. He hears you stir, lingering in the bathroom for a bit before you emerge fresh-faced and dressed.

“All ready?”

Your head tilts to the side. “S’pose so. Didn’t feel like putting in much effort today.”

“Well I think you look stunning as ever.” He grabs your hand, presses his lips to knuckles. You roll your eyes before he steers you to the table. “Not much of a spread today, figured you’d want something light.”

“It’s perfect. Thank you.”

He was right, of course. You couldn’t handle much more than your coffee and some toast, nerves filling your stomach instead. As always, your hand finds his across the table, drawn to the ring again. You’d gotten it for him, engraved it with a reminder for him (come back to me), something for him to hold when he was away, something to give his poor nails a break from his picking. You had gotten it for him, he knows, but he always liked that it brought comfort to you, too.

Watching you fiddling with it, tuned in only to the outer ring spinning on its track, he gets an idea. He pulls from your grasp, wiggling the ring from his finger. You blink, shaken from your daze, watching him with a curious smile.

“Want you to wear this today. Gimme your hand.”

You obey, and the ring slides easy over your thumb. Too easy. “It’s too big.” The ring clatters against wood as you shake your hand downward to prove your point.

“So it is.” Tutting, he grabs it again, curling it into his fist. He smiles, rounding to stand in front of you. “Look up, lovie.”

His fingers reach under the collar of your shirt, pulling out the necklace you wear every day. A simple thing, really, just a thin chain and a single charm. Carefully he unclasps it, nimble fingers reaching behind your neck as you watch him. You feel the chain tug, weighed down by the ring as he secures it back in place.

He smiles triumphant as he swoops down, kissing you square on the forehead. “There we are. Give it a go.”

One finger looped into the ring, sliding it side to side along the chain, your thumb spinning it by muscle memory. “Thank you, baby. Just for today though. It’s still yours.”

“Okay, just for today. I hope it helps.”

It helps, more than he could know. The weight on your neck as you pull down helps to ground you. When you start to panic in the waiting room the familiar noise and feeling of metal on metal keeps your thoughts close to Kyle, close to home.

Doctors, or helicopters, or puppets, you suppose none of it can be too scary, so long as you come back to each other.

[wasteland-library]

Oh my gosh this felt so healing, this was really just wonderful. I’ve thought about this a lot admittedly, and you’re so right with each of their characterizations in this situation

I just wish they were real

141 and you being anxious about an appointment? Something like that

Gaz is the one you go to the day before a big appointment. He’ll pamper you, and make sure you’re prepared. If you’re nervous, he’ll help you make notes so you don’t blank and forget to ask the important questions. He reminds you of some simple coping skills. Gives you one of his rings on a chain for you to fidget with. Tucks you into him, soothing you to sleep with his voice. Sends you on your way the next morning with a kiss and a hug with all the intention to heal.

Price is who you want to come with you. He’s steady at your side, hand in hand, lips to your crown as you wait. Taking notes as you nod numbly to whatever your doctor says. He isn’t afraid to advocate for you if the doctor starts to spout off some bullshit based on prejudices over medicine. He knows you’ve heard it all before and he’s not letting you leave with another doctor dismissing your symptoms.

Johnny comes next. Mother hen that he is. He has snacks prepared, a warm drink, your favorite show queued up and ready to go. You’ve no say in the matter, he’s settling you in early. Making you “a sick-bed” on the couch, his Ma always said it’s the first step to feeling better. He’s not much a of a chef, but he isn’t terrible so long as the recipe is detailed. You all but swat him away as he tried to hand-feed you. But the “airplane” bit got you to laugh so that’s all that matters in the end.

He switches off with Ghost. Letting him carry you to bed, tuck you in. He’s not much for words I situations like this, so he’ll soothe you back to sleep with a hand through your hair, before sneaking back out. He spends most of the evening cleaning up after Johnny, catching up on your laundry, double checking that your pantry and fridge are stocked. (he decides he’ll make a grocery run in the morning.) He leaves the pillows and blankets piled on the couch. Finally he’ll come to bed. He’ll pull you in, back to chest, hold you tight and close. He’ll count your breaths, his hand will lay loose over your throat, timing your pulse. Reminding himself that you’re here, now, that you’re going to be just fine. You have to be.

[wasteland-library]

Feelings. Feelings are always felt when you write. I mean seriously you write intimate moments like this so well, so filled with care. They tear at my heart

And gosh I can only imagine the information Empress has found her hands on, I’m assuming the other blonde is Krauser and she just found out about his time in Stratcom. Or his time in Spain. Either way it’s not great info for her to have.

I can’t believe there’s only four more chapters, I feel like we’ve just breezed right through this, it’s been so good and such a wild ride the whole way I can’t wait to see how you finish it up

A Sinking Feeling [Chapter Seven – Throw It All Away]

Summary: Pulling the trigger was never an easy thing to do, but when the eyes staring back remind you of those you once knew, it's all too easy to lose yourself in the bloody storm. Leon helps keep you anchored.

Pairing: Leon Kennedy x reader

Word count: 2913

Additional tags: hurt/comfort, smut with feelings (honestly it's mostly feelings), PTSD

Author's note: I have been stressing over this chapter it's not even funny but it's done. No matter how unsanitary it may be lmao

There's four more chapters left, including the epilogue 🥰

☣ read on ao3 ☣ | series masterlist

You stepped outside, the cool air barely kept your mind from wandering. Tears prickling at the corners of your eyes, you got into the car, slumping forward in the drivers seat. Drying blood was stuck under your fingernails, beginning to flake away as you sat there, hanging onto the steering wheel until your hands ached.

Is this the job you signed up for? Is this really what you had to do? It wasn't what you ever wanted to do.

If you had ever gotten a choice, this would not have even made the list of worst possible jobs to get. But you had no choice – that had been decided for you long ago. To go against orders now would destroy everything you cared for – more than it already had.

Movement caught your eye, as Leon stepped out of the building, the door slamming shut behind him. He didn't meet your eyes as he got into the car at first, trailing down the blood splattered across your body from Sophia, lingering longer then he seemed to realize. If it weren't for the blood leaving you nearing losing what little sanity you had, it could have left you overwhelmed in a far different, far more welcomed sense.

His eyes met yours only for a few moments before dropping down again. The question is on the tip of his tongue but he didn't ask, the answer plain to see. No. You're not okay. It was a stupid question, one you’re thankful he didn’t ask.

"Let's go home," he said instead, reaching for your forearm in a quiet attempt at comfort. You remained silent as you started the ignition.

The drive home was silent, just as the short walk into your home was. Leon stayed at your side like a puppy, most days endearing, now infuriating. Even as you tried to escape long enough to get rid of the blood covered clothing, he remained at your side.

"Don't. I don't need your help." You tried to pull away, twisting your wrist out of his grasp much to his frustration. He sighed and backed down, letting you pull away but he remained in the doorway of your shared bedroom, not giving you the privacy you desired.

"I know you don't," he said gently as he crossed his arms over his chest. "I'm offering anyways."

It wasn’t an offer. No matter how much he dressed it up, he wouldn't let you hide away like he did. That was his job, not yours – and he would remind you of that any chance he had to.

Turning your head away in a weak excuse to hide the tears gathering in the corners of your eyes, you nodded. "Fine. Stubborn ass." You can't help the stubbornness, the final attempt to push him away even despite knowing all that would happen was him giving you a smile or saying something snarky in turn.

To your surprise, neither happened. He didn't respond, only taking the relenting answer as is as he silently walked up to you, hands going to the bloody fabric clinging to your body. Ever so carefully, he peeled away the layers, not looking up at your face while you watched him. Layer by layer, eventually the blood soaked fabric lay on the floor in a heap, forgotten as his eyes trailed over you.

It should have left you nervous, yet all you saw in turn was his nerves as his eyes lingered too long on the scars crossing over your body. A worry all too familiar, leaving the pit of shame bubbling up even more, threatening to drown you from the inside.

The longer he stared, shameless and shameful, the further away everything felt.

Right, wrong, did it even matter any more? Did any of it matter any more?

You should be crying. You should be thinking of anything other than his hands on your skin. Yet, for the first time in months – years – the world felt as if it was slowly moving into place, a puzzle piece falling into line, finally completing a puzzle long-since sought after. Maybe the constant fighting, the constant death, every fucked up thing that went so horribly wrong within your lifetime was finally receding, if only enough for a little happiness before death took you.

Leon's voice broke though everything, his eyes finally rising to meet yours. "What is that one from-"

"Can I kiss you?" you blurted out, words leaving your lips before your mind can halt them. He stiffened at the question, blinking in confusion. Shame threatened to stop your heart where you stood as he stood there, silent, unmoving as it sank in.

A few moments passed, quickly lending to fear and shame so thick not even the blood dried to your skin could drown it out. "I'm sorry-"

Before you could run, his lips meet yours, drowning out the harshness of your thoughts. Pushing you down, he trapped you under him on the bed, utterly surrounded in him, not giving you a chance to think.

Was it your smartest idea? Not even close. But everything melted away as his hands ghosted over your skin, the remainder of yours and his clothes being shed and tossed off the bed.

"Stop thinking," he murmured between kisses, hot breath leaving goosebumps rising across your skin. "Focus on me, okay?"

"Okay," you nodded, eyes falling closed as you took a breath, trying to steady yourself. "Okay."

He leaned in and kissed you again, lips trailing downward across your skin. Every scar found under him garnered more, his lips ghosting over the worst careful almost as if you were porcelain. It should anger you, you could handle more, but you couldn’t. Every touch nearly threatening to leave you shattered beneath him.

Focus on him. Only him. Nothing else was around you. There was only you and him on the earth, nothing else.

His hands go to your hips, fingers slipping under the waistband of your pants as you lifted your hips to make it easier for him. Lips never pulling away from your skin, he yanked them down, the suddenness jolting your body into his.

“Sorry,” he murmured as his lips met yours again, yet you can’t bring yourself to care. His hands are on you, he was touching you, melding you into something you wished desperately to be for years, nothing else mattered anymore.

His pants join yours just as quickly before lowering you to the bed, hands anchored to your waist.

The sudden roughness was gone as quick as it appeared. Crowding you on the bed, trapped under him, his hands are soft, guiding you into place as his lips steal your breath.

“Fuck,” he breathed, nose bumping into your jaw, eyelids half closed. “I’ve wanted this forever.”

The confession left you breathless, heart feeling like it’d burst. You don’t get a chance to reply, if you could even bring your lips to utter more than a quiet moan, before he slowly slid his cock into you.

He moved slowly, carefully, as if you would break if he touched you too much. It was endearing and insulting all at once, lending to too much to think of when you desperately needed to not think.

“Let me be on top,” you murmured, breath catching in your throat as his lips ghosted over the sensitive skin under your jawline. “Please.”

He tensed up but he didn’t protest, eyes focused on you, questioning and worried as he pulled out and settled on his back. Remaining quiet despite the overwhelming worry, moving to wherever you needed, molding to what you needed like clay. Whatever you needed, he would do without question.

You shifted to sit atop him, thighs resting against his, hands on his chest to hold your balance. Slowly you sunk down on his cock, the stretch sending shivers up your spine. His body trembled below you, his hands grabbing at your hips tightly as if you were about to disappear.

Not meeting his eyes, you shifted, the slight movement leaving him holding on even tighter. Bruises were certain to appear later, the thought leaving less and less of a worry the more the thought stuck. The wedding ring bit into your skin, a painful sting where it nipped at your skin between his finger and it.

"You okay?" He looked up at you, hands loosening the harsh grip as his mind caught up with his body. Guilt crossing his eyes and worry seeping through the carefulness as his thumbs lightly rubbed across your stomach.

"Yeah."

It was a lie but the truth is even more bitter. Not words to utter while sitting on your best friends cock.

"You're such a bad liar."

Before he could finish his chastising, you rolled your hips, immediately shutting him up. He cut himself off with a quiet whine. If you weren't nearly in tears from it all, you would have laughed and teased him, but you didn't.

It was all too much for you, for him too you're certain.

Only the thought of moving your hips, bouncing on him, nothing more. Everything else got blocked out. Even trying to block out the subtle warming of the painful silver band on his hand from your skin.

Everything hurt, knifes digging into your flesh, guilt leaving you clinging harder and harder onto him, his hands in turn holding on for dear life. You only met his eyes once before quickly looking away, instead focusing on the whiteness on his shoulder, barely hidden away under new scrapes.

Leon didn't say a word, letting you control the pace, letting you control it all. If it weren't for the quiet whimpering every time you tightened around his cock, it nearly felt as if you were utterly alone.

You dipped your head down against his neck, the rhythm of your hips faltering at the new angle. Before you know it, tears begun to flow down your cheeks, pooling on his skin and dripping down his shoulder, soaking into the pillow below.

He tensed up, hands shifting from your hips and wrapping you up in a tight hug, holding you down against his chest.

"I've got you," he murmured, nuzzling against your cheek, lips against your skin. His words only further drag out more tears, your body shaking with each sob as it racked your body. Not even the fullness of his cock dulled the deadly ache within.

He sighed, grasp tightening as he went to pull you off. "C'mon," he whispered, raspy voice cutting through the ringing in your ears.

You shook your head as his hands go to your ass, barely lifting you enough to slip his cock out. "No," you whispered, swallowing back a sob and sitting up enough to look down at him. "Please." You don't say anything else, the words too heavy to utter, though you could see the war on his mind.

He remained quiet, hands holding onto your ass tightly, not enough to hurt but enough to ground. It was wrong, you just knew those words are racing through his mind. But you're asking and he couldn’t deny you anything. Not like this. Even if it felt shameful to have his cock in you whilst you cried on him.

But it was you. How could he ever say no to you?

"Are you sure, sweetheart?" his voice is quiet, almost broken. Nearly in tears because of you. You nodded, taking a shaky breath and trying to wipe away tears even as more replaced them. "Fuck," he swore under his breath, but he relented, just as he always did. "Okay... Okay, c'mere, let me... let me be on top again, okay?"

He pulled you close and flipped you onto your back, leaning down on you to give you the feeling of his skin once again. "Stay with me, baby, can you do that?"

"Yeah," you said shakily, sniffling a little. In the back of your mind, you cringe. How he could even stay hard still, you weren't sure. How you were wet at all, was an even greater mystery. Some fucked up trick of the mind. "Please... I just need-" you pleaded, blabbering whatever words come to mind in hopes he'd slip his cock back into you.

"Shh, it's okay, gotta give me a chance to get on you properly," he cooed, the raspy whisper sending shivers down your spine. "It's okay. I'm here still. Not gonna leave you."

You nearly burst into tears again, though the more he spoke, the more it became about him. Even though you still could hear the ringing in your ears and the crimson painting everything, it slowly faded into the background as he carefully thrust back into you.

He whispered your name, nudging you gently with his nose as he rested against you, fully sheathed once again.

"I'm here," you murmured. You're not, not really, too stuck within your mind but aware enough to cling to him more. Nails digging into his skin, thighs bracketing his hips as he laid atop you, unmoving, waiting for you. "Please."

He didn't knowledge your pleading, instead slowly rolling his hips against yours. The slowness adding to the feeling like you were about to burst as his cock dragged you further into the abyss.

Over and over, he thrust into you, hands grasping at you as he curled up around you, swallowing you whole with his being. Not once did his eyes meet yours, he kept his face planted firmly in your neck. For you, for him, the lines blurred together long ago. Blurred long before tears ever appeared. It was all the same now. It was too much, too overwhelming, every movement, every breath seeking to rip you asunder.

His grip on you tightened, quiet whimpers spilling from his lips, the only warnings before he's sent hurtling over the edge. Tears sought to break free as the overwhelming fire snapped in the pit of your stomach, shame only further pushing them along as you cried his name and clawed at his back seeking an anchor as you cum.

Before you know it, the tears return and your clinging to him still, hiding away in his sweat soaked hair, tucking your face up against his skin. For Sophia, for everyone you couldn’t save after selling your life away, for finally fucking him after all these years, you don't know. It was all the same anyways.

You're lost so far out in the storm, what you shed tears for didn't change a damn thing. It was hopeless no matter what you tried now, no life jacket would save you whilst the storm threatened to swallow you whole.

"I've got you," he panted, still breathless and shaking in the hazy afterglow, though it quickly was shattered as tears return. "I've got you."

He kissed your jaw, working his way up your face, wiping away tears with his lips. It doesn't work, not when you feel the bitter sting of fresh tears dripping onto your cheeks from above.

Tears mixing against your cheeks, he was quick to pull out and pull your body flush against him, arms wrapped tightly around your body as he maneuvers you to lay against him once more. Your skin felt like it was on fire, everything that touched it burning away until nothing but bone remained, every inch of skin against his no longer belonging on your body.

It would’ve been kinder for your heart to give out now. To fall into the painless, dreamless sleep and finally be free of all the suffering and gore your life had turned out to be.

You fell asleep soon after, face tucked under his chin. It wasn’t dreamless, it wasn’t peaceful. The only thing keeping you from drowning were the arms anchored around your waist.

***

Empress walked outside, the heavy door slamming shut behind her. Just as the sun was just beginning to set, thunder quietly rumbled in the distance. Taking a deep breath, she absentmindedly rubbed at her sore arm, scraping off the drying blood where it ran down her skin.

Her phone rang, the incessant ringing adding to the painful thoughts in her mind. She ignored it for a few moments, before answering it with a sigh, not bothering to look at who was calling. “Hello?”

“You’re never going to believe this-” Kaidan’s voice was rushed, tense. Not even the distorted tone and crackling from the reception steadily growing worse could mask it.

“Get on with it Kaidan,” she growled. Her patience was nonexistent and the crackling just added to her horrid mood.

“-ennedy! … Blacked out … She’s with him- … Sending pictures now-” The call was cut off before Empress could hear anything more.

Empress pulled her phone away from her ear with a sigh, clenching her jaw as she stared at the screen. “Dammit!”

It felt like forever as she stared at the now dark screen, his panicked voice picking at the base of her skull. Everything always seemingly went wrong – what was it this time?

A few moments later, the screen lit up again.

Haven’t found anything on Wong yet. Still looking.

But, look at what I found on your new guy…

The files attached showed parts of yours and Leon’s blacked out files and an old grainy photo of Leon, out somewhere with a larger blonde man.

Empress’ blood ran cold as she stared at the files. Her breathing grew heavy, the small phone weighing heavy on her hand.

“What have I done…”

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[wasteland-library]

Gaz really is the most perfect man, like he really is. And he’d treat you so unbelievably well, and he’d respect you, and your wishes, and your feelings. And I think I just need him to be married to me right now

Sigh… thinking about baby daddy Kyle comforting you after a bad date :(((

He was just lounging on the couch when you came home, tear-stained and let down. He didn’t even have a chance to ask what’s wrong before you’re throwing yourself in his arms, burying into the once-familiar embrace.

The little one is fast asleep, the house is quiet save for the washing machine… so you tell him what happened. You cry as you list all the ways you wish you could be treated, how it’s been so long since you’ve felt loved or desired. How you miss him the feeling of coming home to someone.

Sighing as he nudges your nose with his, encouraging you to look up at him.

Let him remind you how it feels, won’t you? He’s never stopped loving you, he’ll never stop desiring you. You can always come home to him, he’s not gong anywhere ever again, love.

[wasteland-library]

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH this was so good!!! Oh my gosh holy hell

It was like so perfect I loved it so much, I love Gaz so much, I would happily be his date any day any time, anything for the pretty boy

Gaz x fem reader

Gaz seeing you dressed up for the first time and unable to keep his hands to himself.

Warnings - semi-spicy lead up to smut, but no actual smut. Minor military inaccuracies(?). Hints of service dom gaz because I said so.

——

“Don’t laugh, okay?!” He does exactly that, rolling his eyes as you yell from the hallway. “I’m coming out now, but if it’s terrible, just, don’t say anything! Promise?”

“I promise, alright? Just come on. Price’ll be mad if you make us late. Again.”

“I know, I know. Hold on, lemme get my shoes on.”

“Oh, just grab ‘em. You know you’re goin’ to take them off on the ride anyway.” Kyle takes the chance to adjust his cufflinks, feeling all at once anxious to leave and dread to be going. Something about getting dressed up to be “rewarded and thanked” for his service - for the blood on his hands, that he would gladly spill again - feels just a bit unpalatable. He’s just thankful he’ll have you at his side for this, too.

“Okay, ready.”

His leg swings uncrossed and he stands, turning to face you, freezing as he sees you by the door. In a floor length gown, your hair pulled back, low and loose, a pair of heels hanging by your fingertips.

The moment stretches, but he doesn’t mind, relishing in the way your jewelry sparkles in your eyes, and the way the silky fabric hugs your hips, dipping low to show off your chest. You shift under his gaze, your thigh exposed for just a glimpse as the slit in your dress splits open. His mouth goes dry.

What would it be like to push your back against the door, to slip his hand just past the seam and grip the tender flesh of your thigh, hike your leg over his hip? Would you tense, fight him off? Or would you melt into his touch, expose more of yourself for him to-

“Well?” You lift your arms just slightly, expectantly.

“Oh, I- erm, yeah…”

Smooth.

“Fuck. It’s really that bad, isn’t it? God, I knew the hair looked stupid,” you drop the shoes, reaching up to start pulling pins from their hiding places, more strands falling loose, “and the dress was supposed to be a different color, it’s not gonna look right with the sho-“

“Hey, no, stop.” He pulls your hands back down, clasping them in his own. “I just needed a moment for my brain to reboot. You make a man go dumb lookin’ like that.” Kyle grins as you laugh, your cheeks warming with a bashful smile.

“Shut up- but thank you.” You pull back, hands in your hair again. “Guess I have to try to fix this in the car, huh?”

“No, don’t.” A finger twirls into a lock just behind your ear. “I like it like this.” He knows you’ll still fix it, still make it tidy, neat, but he really does like the idea of you looking just slightly undone while clinging to his arm, showing you off like one of the medals pinned to his chest. Maybe by the end of the night he’ll be the one to unravel you, make a mess of more than just your hair.

It doesn’t slip his notice, the way you map his face, the way you tilt your head closer to his touch causing his knuckles to graze your neck. The two of you have danced around each other for so long, lingering glances and hesitant touches, honest words passed on as inside jokes. Neither of you risking to push past that line in the sand.

You force in a breath, your chest swelling, voice quiet, like your voice alone is an intrusion. “We should go.”

“There’s no rush. They’ll start without us.” Your hands are pulled up, lips pressed to your knuckles. “But let’s get these shoes on, yeah? See the complete look.”

“What are you-“ You watch, wide-eyed, as he eases to his knees in front of you.

He supposes it’s washed away now, that line, the waves of his desires now lapping at the ground you stand on.

He holds you steady with a hand on your hip as he leans to the right to grab your discarded heels. The same warm hand smoothing down your calf before resting your foot on his thigh. He’s greedy with it, moving slow and precise, soaking up every inch of exposed skin he can. He guides your foot by the ankle, slipping it into the shoe. It takes all of his willpower to settle it back on the floor, instead of hooking your ankle over his shoulder.

You gasp, unsteady on the flimsy spike as he switches sides, your hand gripping his shoulder for support. Your lips part with an audible breath as he bends forward, scanning your face as his touch sneaks behind your knee, fingers pressing into the sensitive skin, bringing you closer.

“You look so beautiful.” His head is tilted, lips ghosting just over your skin on your wrist, still holding him firm. “Could make you feel good, show you how long I’ve wanted to be here.”

“Kyle…” If his name is a protest or a plea, neither of you are certain, but he takes it as an invitation nonetheless. Dipping forward, letting your knee knock against his ear as he kisses the inside of your thigh. “You said Price will be-” you hiss, the mention of the captain’s name causing him to nip at you in warning. “You said we’ll be late.”

“Fuck the ceremony. They’ll start without us.” In the back of his mind, he knows Price will have his head for this. Knows he’ll be aching from whatever physical punishment he’ll have to endure in training, or worse, from being hunched over, chained to a desk and held back from any real action. A small part of himself wishes he cared. “Wanna keep you to myself tonight.”

You slide your hand from his shoulder, instead coming to grip his hair as he continues to litter kisses along your thigh, his fingers now grazing just under your ass. “Why did you, why’d you put my shoes on then?”

He smiles, cocky, not having to look up to know your head has gone fuzzy, but he does anyway, holding eye contact as he bunches your dress over your hips, nosing at the nearly exposed skin.

“Better angle, that’s all.”

[wasteland-library]

The moment of small softness at the beginning of the chapter and then the small moments throughout between the reader and Leon are really what I live for, proof these two care so deeply about each other

I didn’t expect Sophia to die like that holy hell, Empress is brutal.

I’m so curious about how Ada is going to fit in this, how she’s going to affect Leon and the reader’s relationship. If she’ll come at all when Leon calls

I’m loving this series so much, it really feels like it’s own installment into the franchise even though it’s not canon or anything, it just has the same vibes as the source material, it’s so good

A Sinking Feeling [Chapter Six – Saudade]

Summary: Hiding in plain sight can only work for so long until the facade is burnt down and the dogs have to face the lioness.

Pairing: Leon Kennedy x Reader

Word count: 4098

Additional tags: PTSD, canon-typical violence/blood/horror, torture, death, needles, flashbacks, the D.S.O. being the D.S.O., Dead Dove: Do Not Eat

Author's note: so sorry this took so long! But I am free from house ducks finally and can write again lmao (everyone is doing good!)

I've also made a pinterest board for this and Fair (both are on the masterlists) and ASF's is also here :)

☣ read on ao3 ☣ | series masterlist

Nighttime was endless, sleep eluding you for most of the night. Most of the time spent laying on your back, staring up at the darkened ceiling. Leon tossed and turned next to you, waking himself up in the middle of the night, panting and barely holding himself together. Thinking you were sound asleep, he’d sat up, resting his head in his hands.

The urge to reach out was overwhelming, but you held back some, only shifting as if you were asleep still and pushed the back of your hand against his hip. He tensed as he felt the light touch, the bed shifting under you as he turned to look at your face.

Silence dragged on, almost daring you to open your eyes but you remained relaxed, praying he wouldn't recognize that your breathing was far too controlled to be from sleep.

He sighed. “At least I can keep you safe…” he mumbled, almost too low for you to hear. The bed shifted again as he stood up, barely making a sound as he walked around the bed to leave. “Goddammit…”

As the door closed behind him, you opened your eyes, met with the dark once more. Sleep continued to elude you for most of the night, the blinking clock beside you finally fading into unconsciousness as the sun began to peak through the clouds.

***

In the morning, you woke up to the high pitched squeal of sirens, drowning out any minuscule hope of sleep.

Jumping up from your bed, you found Leon still awake, standing by the window. Finger hooked on the heavy curtain, open just enough to look out at the source of the noise while hiding his face from the outside world. He looked over at you as your feet hit the ground and walked away from the window.

“They got her house,” he whispered somberly. “There’s nothing left. Burnt to the ground.”

“What?” Your blood ran cold, a lump rising in your throat. This wasn't the plan. You were too close, still less than a block away! You were supposed to be long gone, on your way out of the province when that happened. Not sleeping and stuck waking up to the ruins. “What the fuck, are they insane?!”

Leon looked over at you, deigning to answer. It's rhetorical, you already know the answer before the words left your lips. You were nothing but a tool. A weapon. Nothing the D.S.O. couldn’t – and wouldn't – replace at any moment.

You sighed and slumped back down on the bed, head in your hands. “Now what?” If you were still here, they had other plans for you and him. As tied up in everything as Ingrid was, she cared too much. This wasn’t something she could have warned for.

"She wasn't in there," Leon replied, his focus returning to the ruins outside. "We have to do it."

Biting back a bitter laugh, you looked back up at him and sighed. "What if..." What if Empress found out we were the rats? You didn't bother to finish the sentence, the fear lingered heavy in your minds. The same fear from the very beginning, only now even more a threat. How could you explain everything being destroyed days after your arrival?

"We do our job," he replied, bitter and steadfast. There was only one answer, no matter what Empress knew.

Or else.

***

You went about your day like normal, as if you weren’t standing on the razor’s edge, almost touching the end. Leon took the first watch, sitting beside the bedroom window, curtains pulled just enough to peer out as you worked on digging up whatever you could on Empress or Sophia.

Scrounging over whatever you could find; letters that had ‘accidentally’ fallen into your hands while chatting with the mailman, whatever you could find off of Sophia’s almost non-existent social media accounts. Anything you could get your hands on.

Halfway through the day, you switched places with Leon.

Nothing happened throughout the long hours, lending to you almost falling asleep waiting for something. Until the sound of Leon’s phone went off; the ringtone set for Empress.

He looked over at you, eyes meeting yours for a brief moment before answering it. “Hello?”

You couldn’t hear anything, only able to see as his face hardened the more she spoke.

"Okay, we'll be there," he answered before ending the call and placing the phone down on the counter. Before you can ask, he already had his attention on you. "Get dressed, we've got to meet her in the theatre."

Your stomach dropped, anxiety bubbling up as your mind ran wild with any possible explanation for why she’d want you too. Empress didn't give a fuck about you, why would she want you both, if not to make a show of power?

You were completely and utterly fucked.

Instead of voicing the fear, you only nodded. “Okay.”

Getting dressed, you don't waste time with fancy clothes, instead, simple clothes in the all too real chance you would be fighting your way out. Fancy suits and dresses would only slow you down, possibly costing your lives. Only wearing enough extra layers to hide the weapons against your bodies.

***

The drive to the theatre is tense, anxiety seeping through everything. Even driving, something that used to be cathartic, now held fear, the tension leaving you almost too shaky to keep the car on the road.

When you get to it, you could feel it before your hands ever touched the doorknob.

This was it.

Looking over at Leon, a silent plea between you and him; it’s not today. Neither one of you really believed it.

Opening the door, you walked into the theatre, you find it devoid of life, completely silent. There’s no one around, if it weren’t for the ominous call, it would not have felt real.

Going into the back, Leon was a step ahead of you. Before you reached the door leading to Empress’ office, he stuck his hand out, halting you in your tracks as he grabbed your hand, his grasp on your hand tightening to near pain.

You hear the sound of death, the scent of blood assaulted your nose and you tensed up, hand clinging to his tightly, the ache all but forgotten. Opening the door, bile rose in your throat, threatening to spill out.

Leon’s eyes flicked over to yours, realization dawning as he leaned over, his breath ticking your ear with each breath. "I've got you."

You don't look over at him, even as he tried to pull you close, eyes glued to the sight laid out in front of you.

Sophia sat in the middle of the room, her arms tied behind her, left hanging limply at her side at an unnatural angle. Blood ran down her cheeks, eyes swelled shut and makeup dripping down her cheeks mixed with tears. Beside her, Empress stood over her, watching with disdain as the man directly in front of her got in her face.

Empress’ skin was burnt, blue hair charred and uneven, like it had been hacked off at the ends. Her hands were wrapped in stained bandages, fresh blood seeping through the fabric, though she paid it no mind.

Forcing yourself to swallow the lump in your throat, you squeezed Leon’s hand and pulled away. He was here, you were not alone, it's not back them.

"What did you say, you bitch?" the man hissed, back handing Sophia as Empress turned away, her eyes closed. You winced as his hand met her skin, watching helplessly as she nearly fell to the ground, barely held upright by the ropes tying her to the chair.

Bile rose in your throat, seeing the woman that only hours prior had been in her bed, safe, content, now with only death to look towards. Leon's hand gripped yours even tighter.

Unthinkingly you go for the pistol hidden on your in your belt. It's too late, you know it, she's all but in the final throes of death, but still, it's your fault, you have to save her. She may have been a monster but this…

You could only see the face of your loved ones in front of you. Not Sophia. Sophia no longer exists, only the ghostly faces of those you couldn’t see any longer.

Leon's hand caught yours before your fingertips could slip under your jacket, silently shaking his head. It's too late.

You almost burst into bitter laughter. How twisted it was when he was the one pulling back, saying it was too late to save a life. It had always been your job to pull on the leash when it was too late, never his.He was the one that fought beyond that empty stare until it was his turn. Not you.

Staring at him, bottom lip quivering as you quickly wipe away the few tears that escaped, you nodded and returned to the forced relaxed position at his side. His hand squeezed yours again, rubbing his thumb over your knuckles.

The man finally noticed the audience, looking up at you and Leon with a grin, blood speckled across his face. Empress noticed you then, her eyes flitting over you and Leon as she walked over, ignoring the man as he turned back to Sophia.

"There you are," she said coolly. “I assume you’ve seen what happened.”

“We did,” Leon said.

“We’re sorry,” you added. “It’s… horrible.”

Empress waved off your apologies and walked to the other side of the room, rooting through the desk near the door. “It… doesn’t matter.” She paused, pulling a file out of the desk and skimmed through the pages. “This doesn’t change anything.”

You looked over at Leon for a moment but he remained focused on Empress.

“Are you still-”

“You’re going to find her,” Empress cut Leon off, pulling out a crumpled page and handed it to him. “Get her here. Now. I don’t care how you do it.”

You looked over at the page, nothing but a number and initials on it. A.W.

You didn’t need to read more to know who it was. Despite having only met her twice, you knew why anyone would want to keep contact. The first time, that first mission you’d unwillingly gone on with Leon, had cemented that. The second less so, but no matter what you did, you couldn’t forget the woman in the blue dress.

“What good is she for this?” you asked and you could feel Leon tense beside you.

Empress looked over at you, staring you down for a moment before answering. “She has a virus I need.” She turned her back once again, shoving the file back into the desk. “Liam, get it done. And you…” Empress paused, closing her eyes for a moment. “Help him clean this up,” she finally said, nodding towards the strange man beside Sophia.

She didn’t wait for a response, walking away from everything, leaving you and Leon to pick up the pieces.

Leon looked back at you, lips twisted in a frown. You refused to look back, forcing yourself to walk over to Sophia.

You had a job to do. Nothing else.

***

Empress walked into her office, slowly shutting the door behind her. Shedding her jacket, she tossed it on the ground without care, ignoring the thud as it fell with her phone in the pocket. Pulling the knife from her belt, she held onto it tightly, thumb grazing over the metal.

Tears threatened to fall, her vision growing blurry as blood welled up on her thumb, dripping down the blade.

“How could you do this to me?” she whispered, closing her eyes and taking a shaky breath. “I trusted you. And you almost killed him…” Her grip on the knife tightened, the blade digging into her skin more.

A few tears fell down her cheeks, the salty wetness sending fire shooting across her burnt cheeks. She took a deep breath and pulled her shirt up enough to wipe away the tears. Not bothering to fix it, her focus shifted to the desk with nothing on it besides a sealed jar.

Staring at the jar, she forced herself to forget. To forget the blood that was not hers that soaked into her hands, to forget the burnt, blistering skin aching and oozing with every movement. To forget the stupid hope at a new life that ruined everything.

Steeling herself, she walked towards the desk, her eyes never leaving the jar sitting in the middle. The murky, bloody water laid dormant, only her footsteps sending tremors across the surface. Gripping the knife tighter, she pulled the lid off and stared down into it.

“I know this isn’t the same, but you’ll see me again soon, sweetheart,” she whispered. “I promise.”

It should sicken her. The sickly sweet scent of rot should leave nothing but bile in her mouth, the flashes of being left with nothing but her son’s heart should leave her with a bullet lodged in her brain. But none of it mattered now. Her son would live, no matter how much blood she had to sacrifice. She would give her own tainted blood as many times as necessary, if only to see him just once more.

Lifting her arm above the jar, she slid the tip of the knife across her forearm, holding it steady as blood drained into it.

The water shifted, getting darker as blackness overwhelmed the murky water, seemingly drowning out what light remained. Small black tendrils crept up the sides of the jar, convulsing and sticking to the glass. Before they reached the top, Empress shut the lid on it.

Her mind grew foggy, her muscles tensing and aching, as if they were trying to escape their flesh prison and return to their heart. The steady thud of her heart beat faster, beating so fast she felt like she would faint.

Turning her back to it, she dug through the the drawers of the desk, unceremoniously tossing papers around until she found her prize. A needle hidden underneath the papers and a single vial. Closing her eyes, she quickly injected the last of the serum. Shivers ran down her spine, but she remained still, forcing herself to inject all of it. After a few moments, her heart rate began to slow back down, the aching receding some.

In the jar, it remained pitch black.

***

“Are you going to stand there, or what?” the man snapped. “Get the mop.”

"I'll do it myself," you interjected before you could think properly. The man looked at you with a raised eyebrow, forcing you to think of a quick, believable lie. "She insulted my outfit," you lied, trying to ignore the disgusting shiver that ran down your spine.

The man stared a moment, surprise written across his features before hardening once again. “Fine,” he shrugged, used to the pettiness of the wives in their fucked up family. “You’re still cleaning it up though.�� He held the pistol out to you.

Cringing internally, you took the pistol, gripping it tightly as Leon stared at you. Forcing yourself to look forward, to stare at her, you tried to ignore his eyes. If you met his gaze you would certainly burst into tears.

Such weakness couldn't be tolerated. It had to be rooted out before it went through the cracks further. Something that had been driven into your mind for years, you couldn’t forget it even if you tried.

It was plain as daylight; it was too late for Sophia. Within the hour she'd be gone if nothing else happened to her, whether you tried to save her or not. Ending it now was the best thing for her... besides never meeting you, or Empress.

She was here because of you, so you had to be the one. No matter how it'd kill you ever so slowly, you'd been the one to start the nail in her coffin, you had to be the one to end the pain.

Standing in front of her, you leaned down, from Leon's angle making it look like you spat in her face, when you really were just whispering a small comfort to her.

"I'm sorry. For everything. It'll be over soon, I promise," you whispered. Instinctively, you reach out for her, seeking to offer what little comfort you could before the end. As your thumb grazed her cheek she squealed, a bitter broken sound, the sound sending shivers down your spine. She didn't move, only her mouth and the shattered squeal.

It was the end. Death was waiting for her, hand outstretched patiently for her to take.

Standing up once more, you aim the pistol at her finger against the trigger. I'm sorry, you mouth. To her, to yourself, to everyone you couldn't save.

Taking a deep breath, you squeezed the trigger.

***

The gunshot rang throughout the room, echoing in the hallway as Empress walked back into the room, never looking over towards Sophia’s body. The only acknowledgment at all was something quietly muttered under her breath, in a language you didn’t recognize. A prayer, of sorts, you thought.

The blood dripped down the chair, seeping into the cracks of the cool concrete below.

The coppery tang overwhelmed your senses, choking you as you pulled away, eyes focused on Leon. He went to reach for your hand, only for Empress to step in front of him, any softness carefully hidden away. Wordlessly, she took the pistol from you, eyes focused on Sophia behind you. Blood ran down her forearm, dripping onto the pistol.

Why? Leon mouthed, stepping toward you once Empress was no longer between you two. You shrugged, not quite meeting his eyes. How could you explain something that barely made sense to you?

Sophia was a monster, just as Empress, just as anyone in Galea Styx. Things housed within her home were as much a testament to Empress' depravity as hers. Even the unfounded fiery jealousy held weight against her. Sin upon sin, she'd done more damage to innocents then most could dream of.

And yet, was she completely a monster? You saw the way she cared for her child, if it could even be truly called that any more. If you’d been given the chance to save your loved ones from everything… would it have been any different?

Empress stared at Sophia for a moment more, her hand tightening on the pistol. Closing her eyes, she sighed, face hardening. "We're done here," Empress commanded, turning away from you and Leon. "Leave. I'll call if I need a helping hand again. And Liam… a word," she gestured to Leon to follow her.

Leon tensed up at the order but stepped forward, going to you first in an attempt to comfort you. He called your name as you walked by him, hand outstretched for yours but you don't stop. You can't. You don’t dare burst into tears, not while that monster stood there, gloating over the senseless deaths she’d caused.

You felt his and Empress' eyes on you as you walked away, disappearing off into one of the backrooms. Leon's voice was too low to hear, all you can hear is Empress’ order.

“Get Wong here, now. Or she’s next.”

***

Everything ached. Your head throbbed. Sticky, dried blood coating the side of your face, dripping into your mouth. The thunderous beat of your heart hadn’t quieted, not since you were forced to leave your home. How you had made it so long without it bursting was a mystery – was it days, years? You couldn't be certain anymore. Sitting on a park bench outside, enjoying the sun on your skin, felt like a lifetime ago. It probably was.

The dark room left everything to your exhausted mind. In the corners of your blinded vision you still saw them; humans, dogs, something too terrifying to even be called a former human despite having bones like one. With every blink they stalked you, teeth snapping at your skin, millimeters away from digging into your flesh.

As the darkness stretched on; longer, longer, seemingly going on forever, you cannot focus on anything but the blood coating your shirt and arms.

It started off bad.

Outside, in a safe park, watching your neighbour and his barely adult dog play together. It had been a normal, quiet day, until one of the quieter neighbours from down the street wandered into the park, stumbling as if he was drunk.

Blood all over him, he had attacked the other man without thought. Before he got there, the dog responded in kind, giving her life to save her owner.

It was so quick, no time to mourn, no time to give her the proper rites. Your old neighbour’s beloved dog laid in your lap, her head in her owner’s hands, life slipping through your fingertips as you failed to stop the bleeding. He didn’t have time to say goodbye, to say thank you for saving his life.

As quick as she was gone, she was possessed. Jaws latching onto his arm, tearing through her human as if no thoughts remained in her mind. Eyes glassy and empty, but hunger spurred her on.

It only got worse from there, until it was just you and your family left alive. Only to be separated once safety had seemingly appeared in armed solders dealing with the… dead.

The harsh bright white lights flickered on, your head hurting more as it felt like you were being blinded. In front of you, a darkened window to the next room with your beaten and bloodied face looking back.

“Good, you’re awake,” a voice said behind you, the light in the next room turning on as the man spoke.

As your eyes grew used to the extra light, your blood ran cold. In the next room, a familiar face, swollen and bloodied worse than yours stared back. Behind them, a soldier walked up, roughly grabbing their hair and forcing them to look up, glazed over eyes barely meeting yours.

"Don't you fucking dare!" you snarled, the cold chains digging into your skin as you struggled against them. Digging further into your skin, you could feel the flesh underneath ache, bruising imminent.

The nameless man in front of you only laughed, amused by your struggle as if you were only a harmless puppy, lashing out with nothing able to back up your bark. "This isn't how this works."

"If you hurt them, I swear-"

Pain shot through your jaw, a harsh slap cutting off any further words. Heaving out a groan, you looked up at him defiantly, blood dripping down your chin from your lip.

"Wrong answer," he stared at you, waiting for you to try again. "Try again."

"You son of a bitch! I'll-"

Even bracing for the hit, it sent your head spinning, forcing you back down into the chair. Groaning, you spat out the blood dribbling into your mouth, the coppery tang leaving you nauseous. Regardless, you glared up at him, lips curved in a silent snarl.

"Are you done?" He waited, hand by his side, toying with you. Nothing you do meant anything to him, he didn't care. Submission or death, either way, he got what he wanted.

Forcing yourself to sit upright, the room spinning around you, you stared up at him, panting. It was a losing battle, the glaring blue symbol across his chest taunting you. The words too fuzzy to read, save for a 'D', the rest obscured in the fog crossing your mind, yet it's glaringly obvious this isn't a battle you could win.

He was here because of your home, the monsters, all of it.

"Are you done?" the man asked, taking a step towards you, hand raised as if he was about to slap you again. "I don't have all day."

You sneered at him, ignoring the biting pain in your lip but remained quiet for now.

"You have two choices," the man stated. Behind you, you could hear the heavy thump of footsteps behind you, the quiet click sending chills down your spine. "Join us. We need those with your... experience," he paused, eyes darting up above your head to the soldier behind you. "Or, they die.” As he spoke, the soldier pressed the barrel of his rifle against your skull. In the reflection of the window, his finger was on the trigger.

Tears threaten to force their way out, the words sending you spiraling. It was a choice, sure, but it wasn't.

You had to protect your family. Whatever it took.

"Well?"

You closed your eyes and answered.

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[wasteland-library]

I love this so much, I’ve been enjoying playing this game a lot recently

Thinking about Arthur Morgan, riding up near Valentine and hearing hootin' and hollerin' in some woods nearby and thinking nothing of it. O'Driscoll boys are common in these parts and he's not eager to get into any scuffles that might bring the law down on him- not after Blackwater. He's about to ride past it when he hears a scream.

A woman's scream.

(Tw: attempted assault, referenced domestic violence)

That catches his attention. A gang of men and a single, frightened woman never spelled for a good story. It's enough to make him coax his mare off the road, crouch low in the bushes and sneak towards the twilight camp hidden beyond the bushes. There's three or four men that circle around the camp eagerly. Maws dripping, fangs showing. A pack of coyotes circling a downed prey.

It's only when he's within shooting distance that he spots you- the pretty little thing hog tied next to the fire. You're curled on your side, dirty, hunched in on yourself defensively, dressed far too nice for a wild frontier like this.

When one of the men near you, you whimper. Arthur feels his blood come to a flashpoint boil.

Five shots ring out in the clearing, the fifth narrowly missing Arthur as he downs it's owner. The kidnappers lay dead and dying around the fire, and it's only then that Arthur stands from the bushes. When he approaches you, you flinch.

"Please-" You manage, voice choked, not looking at him, terrified.

"Not gonna hurt you." Is all he mumbles as he cuts you free. He expects you to bolt and flee, preparing himself to cut and run in case you scream for help and potentially bring the law down on him. Instead he's nearly knocked off his feet when you all but hurl yourself against his chest, sniffling a thanks that has him awkwardly patting you back. "Yer....yer alrigh' now."

Any potential thought he has about robbing you flees when you look up at him with teary eyes, and his heart hammers against his chest.

Heaven, you're beautiful.

Arthur hardly hears it when you explain through tears that the gang kidnapped you at the train station when you were trying to find the hotel. He's too distracted by the way your eyes catch the glint of the campfire to hear you hadn't even meant to be there in the first place but there's been trouble down the rail line and you had to find a place to stay and got lost-

You stop yourself, trying to breathe before finding a way to collect yourself.

You tell Arthur that you're expected in Saint Denis, that your...husband as it were- is expecting you. He'll pay handsomely if you're escorted back to town safely. There's a reluctance, a sort of surrender to your words when you say that- a tone which has thoughts churning like storm clouds over the horizon in the back of Arthur's mind.

He agrees to give you a ride. It's not far out of his way back to camp, and the promise of a payout is even more incentive for him to help lift you onto the back of his saddle.

It's not clear if it's nerves that has you running your mouth on the ride there, clinging to his back as the sun sets and coyotes howl at the moon. You tell him about the advertisement you put in the paper with the remainder of your funds: 'Young woman seeks matrimony, correspondence required prior to engagement' and how your fiance in Saint Denis had offered $200 to you plus the cost of a train ticket. Out of money, out of options, you accepted. It was only later that you learned the man was a scoundrel and a wife beater who's previous partner has vanished. Run off, they said. You aren't so sure.

"And you want to marry him?" Arthur asks, and you grow silent against his shoulder.

"I don't have a choice." You whisper at last. "He sent me a contract. I didn't know what it meant- I'm so stupid."

He saved you from a den of coyotes, only to hand you off to a viper, Arthur thinks.

He wishes he got a better look at your face. So he can remember it in his journal.

It's only once the lights of the town appear on the horizon that you suddenly grab at him, desperate.

"You could ransom me." You tell him, voice trembling. "I-I know he has money. Those boys- they said they were going to ask $800 for me. That's- that's a lot of money, right?"

"Do you even know what you're asking, girl?" He asks, voice low, dangerous. Showing the colors of the outlaw he truly is.

It doesn't seem you do. You've only just met the man and now you're begging for him to hold you captive in his camp with a den of outlaws with prices on their heads. Yet when Arthur pauses on the hill overlooking Valentine, turns in his saddle to look at you, the light in your eyes speaks of desperation- of a fear so unbridled you willingly throw yourself into the jaws of a wolf.

You tell him it won't be for long. Just long enough so that you can find another way out. Find a place that might not ask questions and take you in as an honest worker. Plus the money would be worth it, right? All he has to do is give you a place to sleep for a week, maybe two, get paid, and then you'll be out of his hair. It's a win win...right?

The night wind is cold as it sweeps over your shoulders, and you cling closer to his back shivering, pretty eyes pleading. Arthur thinks about handing you off to the sheriff, getting a fat wad of cash in the mail a week or so from now.

He thinks about how his chest clenched seeing you cry.

A wolf he may be, but if Arthur knows one truth about himself...

...It's that he's always been a fool.

[wasteland-library]

This was really fucking good, I love ghost Ghost so much. He has my heart <333

He’s kind of sweet in a oppressing way

bizarre thought.....shadow entity!ghost..... @sgtgarricks is responsible for this!!!

i already want to write another part to this LMAOOOOOOO

when you first moved into your new house, you knew it was old and had been vacant for a looooong time. it had a bizarre history of people living there and moving out months, even weeks later. most people declined offering a reason for their quick move but others would just vaguely supply that the 'energy was dark in that house', you weren't bothered.

it was a nice, big, house and for damn cheap too. you weren't about to look a gift horse in the mouth.

your first nights in the house, you understood what they meant. there was something off about the house for sure. at random times, you would feel the hairs on the back of your neck stand up, as if alerting you to danger. when you would turn around, there was nothing there. but it would leave you with sweaty palms and a racing heart.

it wasn't until a week into your new life that the first weird thing happened. it was like something from a stereotypical horror movie. you heard a strange sound and got out of bed to investigate. when you got to your kitchen, all the cabinets and drawers were open and your kitchen chairs were placed on top of your table -- which had also been moved across the kitchen.

you tried to take some deep breaths to calm yourself as you returned everything back to normal. you went over and over in your head for some kind of explanation for the event before finally landing on the fact that this house was fucking haunted.

strange events kept happening after that. lights would turn on, your kitchen cabinets would be open, sinks and showers would turn on, doors would slam from across the house. you were losing sleep over it. every single night you'd be woken up by some strange event and you were beginning to understand why the past tenants had moved out so fast.

this was a rotten way to live.

the final straw for you was the night the activity really seemed to ramp up. whatever spirit was haunting you wanted you out now. multiple doors slammed, jolting you from your sleep -- your heart racing from how hard you had been startled from your dreams. you got to your feet and turned on your lamp only to find it wasn't working.

next, you tried the overhead light. same thing.

fuck. it had caused the power to bust.

now you were really scared.

you grabbed your phone, using the flashlight to navigate your way out of the bedroom. the floorboards creaked beneath you, considerably louder without the hum of electricity.

you were halfway down the hall when you heard it. quiet at first, but definitely there. footsteps. mimicking your own, as if echoing after you took your own steps, making sure you knew it was there.

you spun around, shining the light upon nothing. you let out a heavy breath, noticing the way the flashlight shook from how hard you were trembling.

"a-alright, ghost," you called into the empty house, too scared to feel stupid that you were talking to nothing, "i-i'll admit i'm pretty scared right now. i-i know you probably want me out of your house. this is your house, i get it. bu-but i already sunk all my damn savings into moving in here s-so i can't leave!" you swallow, a loud gulping sound that would be funny if you weren't about to piss yourself, "s-so if we could just live together for a little while longer. i-i promise i'll get out the second i have the money!"

there was nothing but tense silence. you felt like an idiot the more seconds that passed. were you trying to make a deal with a fucking ghost? a spirit of someone who probably died in this house? what kind of shit had your life become?

you peered into the inky blackness of the hallway, blinking as you try to futilely see. it takes you a moment to realize you're not just staring into the darkness of your hallway. it's something else.

pure darkness. a dark entity taking form in the blackness of the night. you want to step back, primal fear coursing through you like you never felt before. whatever fear you were feeling was primordial in nature -- as if this entity was something you were born to fear.

the darkness began to swallow up the hallway, eating away at the light your flashlight had created. the air felt heavy and oppressive, making it difficult to take in oxygen.

you swear you could feel hands on you, grabbing you and pulling at you. the longer you stared into the darkness, the more you thought you could see things. eyes. hundreds of eyes. but when you blinked, the images vanished.

then, all at once, the entity was gone and your light was shining down the hallway again unimpeded. after another second, the sound of the electricity slamming back on filled the house and you collapsed to your knees.

whatever that was, it was dangerous. you knew that now.

but it didn't hurt you. perhaps it agreed to your terms and would leave you be now?

oh how wrong you were. sure, it wasn't nearly as scary as that night but now you saw it.

around every turn.

you could see the shadow take shape from the corner of your eye but when you looked, it would be gone. you would be brushing your teeth and when you looked in the mirror, it stood behind you, making your heart leap out of your chest. when you would turn, it wasn't there.

you were no longer woken up in the night, at least. but you weren't sure if you preferred the regular haunting stuff to seeing the ghost or not. you were on the fence about which was worse.

after another scare from the ghost, you jumped so hard that you almost fell over, "alright you -- ghost! will you quit scaring me like that!?" you found yourself shrieking.

to your abject horror, you heard laughter in return.

the shadow shit was fucking laughing at you. like it was enjoying this.

it wasn't evil laughter either. it sounded like pure enjoyment.

you suppose it wasn't out of the realm of possibility for a ghost to make sounds but it didn't make it any less horrifying.

you started talking to it more after that. once you heard its voice - sort of- it became easier. the fear also dissipated in time. sure it would jump scare you from time to time to get a laugh but other than that, it became like living with a really annoying roommate.

"will you get out of my mirror!" you snapped, mouth full of toothpaste with you facemask on. its disappearance was marked with its mirthful laughter.

you also noticed as the days and weeks passed, it stopped looking like a shapeless shadow and more like a person -- a big one at least. well over 7 feet tall. if you looked for long enough, you could almost make out what you think is a skull where the face would be on a human.

one night, you're laying in bed, comfortable. there's rain pelting outside on your window and distant thunder, too nice of weather to sleep away. so you just choose to relax and listen to it.

"ghost?" you find yourself calling into the darkness, "are you there?"

its silent but you feel the air grow heavy and you know that it's arrived. it seems to have...consciousness, you realized. it reacts to you and listens to you. there's one thing that's been plaguing you that you want to ask, though you're not sure if it will answer -- if it can answer.

"you're not really a ghost are you?" you ask.

you're greeted by silence for several, long seconds before you hear it. it's deep and masculine, a whisper of an echo following its voice when it speaks as if multiple things were speaking but only one voice was amplified, "no."

it's the answer you were expecting but that didn't mean you liked it. you swallow harshly around the lump of anxiety in your throat.

"are you going to hurt me?" you ask it, dreading the answer to this one. just because it's been toying with you doesn't mean it's not still dangerous.

"no," it responds again. you can hear footsteps, the entity walking closer and closer to your bed.

you let out a relieved breath at that. though, you're not sure if you should actually believe the dark entity that lives in your house. but at this point, you've really got no choice except to take it's word for it.

"what's your name?" you find yourself asking it.

"ghost," it responds quickly.

you laugh at that, "no, you're real name."

"ghost," it insist, "you gave me a name."

a lightbulb goes off over your head.

"is that why you're being so nice to me?" you ask, not sure if 'nice' is the appropriate word to use.

"i wanted a name," it answers, "you gave me one."

"a name in exchange for living in this house," you muse, deciding to roll over in bed, "alright then. goodnight, ghost."

"rest well," it responds before vanishing, freeing the room from that oppressive feeling.

you close your eyes and will yourself to fall asleep, briefly wondering where ghost even came from and what exactly it was.

this is unedited i wrote it in a fury of inspiration i hope u enjoyed it regardless of how WEIRD this was LMFAOOOOOOOOOO

[wasteland-library]

A New Dawn (Albert Wesker x gn!Reader)

descriptions of injuries, descriptions of violence, tentacle murder, tentacle affection, yeah that's a thing, shared shower, wesker lives au | Fic Directory

You found him by sheer luck.

That rock he’d crawled onto could’ve simply crumbled.  The volatile lava could’ve risen higher and submerged him completely.  Despite the odds being stacked so incredibly high against any hope of recovering Wesker, you managed to pull his legs from the impossibly hot liquid with the help of a small rescue team and loaded his charred body into a helicopter for what was arguably the worst moment of your life.

All you can do is stare at what he’s become– at the autonomous slithering of tentacles that, by some miracle, contained themselves to their host and did not spread to your shaking hands.  His lower body is marred entirely with burns and blisters so severe that you’re unsure if taking him out of there was even humane.  If, perhaps, letting him be swallowed by the earth would’ve been kinder than putting him through whatever is to come next.

Once he’s placed in a containment room, you call in every favor you’ve ever known him to be owed.  But it’s all for nothing.

The first attempt to prick his skin with an IV catheter results in bloodshed.  The entire team of medics stood stock still as the head doctor was impaled and dangled overhead by a mass of black, oozing tentacles emerging from Wesker’s body.  It happened so fast that you only realized it once the blood hit the observation glass.

Such would be the result of any attempts to address his injuries.  Not even a blanket was able to be laid over his bare form without retaliation. It was like the mass of tendrils had a mind of their own, geared only toward protecting their host– though it raises the question of why the initial recovery of his body hadn’t produced the same response.  Regardless, you wager they’re the only reason that Wesker is still alive.

For that, you’re thankful.

You talk to him through the intercom regularly.  You tell him about the BSAA’s seizure of Tricell and its assets, of how you’ve turned one of his hidden facilities into something livable for when he wakes.  That you’ll be there when he does, and how excited you are for the day.  That you hope he can hear you but feel none of the pain.

You pray he doesn’t.

At the end of the first week, you come to the realization that the tendrils are slowly engulfing his body.  Every day, more seem to appear until his legs are cocooned.

You take notes and photos of everything as best as you can, just as you know he’d want you to.  After all, this is his creation in action. The seed for his perfect world that was now seemingly consuming yours whole.

By the fourth week, they’ve risen as high as his clavicle. 

By the fifth, you feel as if you’re losing your sanity.  Alone in a massive underground facility, having not seen the sun for weeks on end, eating only MREs and having what little sleep you get plagued by stress and worst case scenario nightmares… 

You crack.

“I don’t know how to make it better, Al…”  You whisper brokenly, forehead pressed to the glass. “I can’t– I don’t know how to help you.”

Any assistance you could have possibly had turned their backs the moment the danger far outweighed the payment– which had been the case from the very start.  Though you can’t find it in yourself to fault them.  If it wasn’t for the fact your heart was lying on that table, you’d have probably followed. The threat of death can be very convincing. 

When the tendrils creep onto his face, you break containment.  And why not?  Why shouldn’t you go in?  You helped make this mess.  You helped create the organism consuming him.  For years, you worked alongside him to perfect the cure to humanity’s wretches– to cull the species destroying this planet and dragging the rest down.

Perhaps you deserved the same fate for sharing in his endeavors– for even having goals so similar and selfish.  But was it really?  Was it so selfish to want better for humanity? 

You drag your swivel chair behind you as you tread over dried blood smears and dehydrated viscera. 

“You always did like making me do things the hard way,” you jest as you approach him.  But you’re not in there to take notes or vitals.

You set foot inside to relieve your madness.

Your hand quakes as it hovers above his forehead.  You’re unsure if you should even touch him due to the blistering and ripplings of infection marring his skin.  The burns have healed a tad since bringing him in, but not nearly as much as they should’ve.  Then again, it’s been weeks since he’s had a dose of suppressant to keep his strength balanced.

You lower the back of your hand toward his nose, relieved to feel the faintest tickling of air.

“Thank god,” you whisper tightly.  “I really miss you...”

Which was the honest truth.  You miss your mundane nights with him, sitting near as you both worked independently. Stacks of paper, the clicking of keyboards, endless hours in the laboratories spent refining mere dreams into reality.  You miss his cold affections and strange ways of expressing that he, too, had been infected with that parasite known as love.

You let your hand rest shakily over a section of his hair that hadn’t been burnt down to the scalp.  You hold your breath and wait.

And wait.

And wait.

You are not added to the stains of violence on the walls, nor are you impaled in the blink of an eye.

But you are greeted with a much thinner tendril creeping up over his brow and forehead to inspect you.  It nudges your thumb and your whole body goes tense, veins chilling as if your blood had turned to ice.  It slithers over the bumps of your knuckles, leaving a thin layer of ooze over every inch of skin it touches as it trails to wrap around your wrist.  For a brief second, you’re petrified of it taking hold of you like that.  Would it try to bind with you?  What if it did to you what it had done to your precious Albert? What if it rejected you?

And if it did, how would you continue to try to help him? 

But it doesn’t.  It does nothing of the sort, just simply continues snaking up the length of your arm.  The tip rests atop your shoulder in a strangely… docile manner. You cease petting Wesker’s hair for but a moment to calm yourself, and then you feel it do something odd.

The head of the tendril lifts itself and plops back down on your shoulder, stroking backward little more than an inch before repeating the process.  You watch with wide eyes, both fascinated and terrified.

It’s mimicking you.

You pet Wesker’s hair once more and it ceases its movements.

You stop; it begins again.

Was Uroboros itself doing such an act?  Could it?

A flicker of hope flashes in your mind and tears prick at your eyes.  It’s so fucking unlikely– nearly impossible even.  And yet–

“Is that you?”  You ask softly, inching just a little closer to him.  You can see the way his eyes dart around beneath his eyelids– an entirely new development.  Was he dreaming? 

The tendril wraps the slightest bit tighter around your arm. 

“Can you hear me?”

The head of it lifts and falls against you once more.

It couldn’t be… but, at the same time, it had to be.   The tears you’ve fought against so hard fall and you grin from ear to ear.  All of that fear fades away, the desperation, the depression and hopelessness– it’s all gone.

You lean forward and press a kiss to his brow, suppressing your silent cries as you revel in the joy that your love is still in there.  This is no mere corpse kept alive by the resilience of a virus. The tendril wraps tighter the second your lips brush his skin, and you know in your heart that it’s how he’s able to reciprocate.

“We're going to figure this out,” you promise him. “I love you.”

Two weeks pass before his flesh starts to peek from between those slithering lengths.  You’d almost lost hope again.

It’s his lower body that starts to emerge first, bit by bit, starting from the feet up.  Flesh that was once marred an angry red, blistered and scorched beyond recognition, was now a scarred pink.  Amazingly, some patches seemed to have healed flawlessly, as if he’d never submerged in the fires of the earth to begin with.

Notes and photos.  Tests where possible.  Anything you could do to make sure Albert had every scrap of information possible about his otherworldly creation.  

Uroboros works.

Not only that, but it can bring its host back from the brink of death– if not perform a complete resurrection. 

Day by day, more of him is revealed until the pink line at his waist shows you just how deep he’d been submerged.  There are splatter patterns elsewhere, you notice.  Tiny specks of scarring from where lava had touched him long enough to burn through the dermal layers.

You decide to finally attempt to cover his body again.  A simple blanket, but hopefully one that’s warmth would not go unappreciated in the chill of the sterile room. 

When his hands are freed, you hold and press countless kisses to them.  You rest your cheek in his palm, telling him about your findings– that he’s almost healed and that you’re so goddamn excited.

“Uroboros is a success, my love.  You’re proof of it.”

The most fascinating of all, though, is the amber-like formation embedded in his chest.  From what you can tell, it is from this that the tentacles on his body are emerging.

You dare not touch it. Not yet, anyway.

Six days later, you find yourself kicking around in the barren kitchen of the complex.  There’s nothing but crumbs, and you’re miserable.  You haven’t left since arriving, and these compounds of his were never meant to be more than a brief hideaway.

You drag your feet as you make your way back to the bedroom.  Seems there’s little more to do than throw yourself in the shower to start your day, so you do exactly that.  Though not with any degree of enthusiasm.  Instead you sit on the ground and hug your knees, eyes shut as you ignore the complaints of your stomach.

You’ll have to find transportation to and from the nearest town– if there even was one.  It’d be lucky if you spoke the language or could even find the currency, but you’ll figure it out.  You have no choice.

In the absence of your awareness, coupled with the white noise of the shower, you fail to hear the door creak open.  Not even the disoriented shuffling against the tile floor rouses you.

Suddenly, the shower curtain is ripped open, and you startle– damn near knocking your head off the floor as you slip around like a fool.  But you clamber to your knees in an instant, arms flinging around the intruder who had fallen to your level.

You can’t help but weep.

“Al?!  Oh my god!” you exclaim through the tightness of your throat. Your hand strokes at the nape of his neck.  “I’m so sorry… I’m so sorry.”

You should’ve been there when he woke up.  You should’ve fucking been there.

He shouldn’t have had to find you.

You move back and cup his face in your hands, pressing a smiling kiss to his lips despite the torrent of emotion rocking you to your core.  You pull away and find that he looks exhausted.  Completely and utterly drained.  His eyes are hooded, but the blue irises peeking out from under his lashes confirm that he is, in fact, exactly that. The formerly bright formation on his chest is dimmed nearly black.  All of his energy had gone into merely surviving.  Your poor, sweet love looked death in the eye for a second time and emerged victorious.

You help him get under the stream of water where you sit and hold him close.  You’ve never seen him like this before.  Vulnerable was an understatement.

He’s quieter than ever, staring straight ahead at the wall.  Shame, you surmise.  Humiliation.  He was defeated again– maybe even flat out killed.  His pride has always been its own Tower of Babel, built high enough to reach heaven and godhood.  But now it was truly shattered.  Crumbled to bits and buried in the sands of his failure.

There are no words to say.  Not yet, anyway.  He’s already heard them all.  Instead, there is shampoo to massage into his scalp and soap to trail over his body.  You may not be able to fix his pain, but you can wash away the remnants of volcanic ash and ooze tarnishing him.  The burden of grime is at least gone by the time the water runs cold.

You dry him with a towel, taking note of how his hands shake and how he balls them into fists to hide it.  You wonder if he still hurts, but you know he’d never admit to it even if he was truly in pain. Even wincing was out of the question, so you pretend not to hear it when he does.  You pretend like he doesn’t lean on you for support as you walk him to the bed, like he doesn’t need your help to lift his legs high enough to settle in.

He lets you hold him while he sleeps, something so out of the ordinary it leaves you blinking in confusion the second his head lays upon your chest.  Nevertheless, you do it anyway.  You pet through his hair, even occasionally running your fingertips over the healed sections of his scalp.  Normally he would stir if you so much as shifted, but he doesn’t even groan in his slumber.  

You hold him as though he's made of ceramic, basking in the tenderness of hope until your own eyelids grow heavy.  The world can wait.  Rebuilding can wait. Hell, even revenge can wait.  All that matters is this– is him. Your precious Albert, safe and very much alive in your arms, is more than you could ever ask for.

For the first time in weeks, your eyes flutter shut without fear of tomorrow.

loose followup fic here

[wasteland-library]

Eye of the Storm (Albert Wesker x gn!Reader)

post spencer confrontation, what if wesker was loved and allowed to feel the pain of his emotions | Fic Directory

You find him in a fit of rage.

He’d been gone for a few days. A business venture, he’d said.  One you weren’t permitted to join.

You never expected this.

You hadn’t even heard him arrive. No greeting, no shutting of the front door nor footsteps that normally tipped you off to his presence. 

You hear a heavy thud, not unlike something being slammed against a wall.  Then another, and another, and another.  You scurry through your home toward his office, finding the sounds of snarling growls and shattering, splintering wood to be that much louder.  You’re almost afraid to open the door, but you know you must.

Whatever happened, whatever state he’s in– you swore long ago that you’d be by his side through it all.  The creaking of the door makes him spin around, eyes a sharp red even through the dark tint of his glasses.  His chest heaves with heavy breaths and his fists are balled so tight you can practically hear the creaking cry of crushed leather. He seethes through bared teeth as if to warn you away when you take that first step inside.

You know better.

“Al,” you croon, treading slowly. Glass crunches beneath the sole of your shoe and he appears to flinch the slightest bit.  “Sweetheart,” you take another few steps closer, hands in front of you to show the surrender within your approach.  You don’t know what to say.  It seems as though nothing in the world can quell the hurricane brewing within.  

His unrelenting gaze all but dares you to cross the fray.  Will you be so bold as to enter the eye of the storm? Could you?

As you come closer, you notice the damage.  His black coat is torn in several places, bloodied in others– flecks of it in his hair.  Gloves scuffed at the knuckles. Glasses cracked at the corner, sitting at an odd angle due to a missing nose pad.

You reach up slowly to remove them, pushing them up to rest atop his head.  His breath catches audibly.  Wesker’s upper lip curls and trembles, nose scrunching in a way that you would ordinarily find cute were it not for the typhoon of rage written across his face. 

Your hands trace slowly down his temples to cup his cheeks.  You can tell he’s reluctant to let you touch him.  He doesn’t speak, but he also doesn’t look away.  His eyes drill straight into you.  It’s as if looking away means to be consumed by the same force that split the desk in two and wrecked the room.

“Breathe, Al.” You whisper, thumbs tracing the curve of his cheekbones. You watch him take a shuddering breath before his hands shoot up to grab your wrists.  You wince at the tightness of his grip.

He falls to his knees, head lowered.

You go down with him.

Whatever splinters you’ve landed on sting, but there are matters far more pressing than that.

“I am nothing.”  

His voice is small and so incredibly unlike the man you know.  There is no authority, no edge, no strength to it.  With a hand at the back of his neck, you pull him to hide his face against your chest.  You’re about to open your mouth to counter such a terribly false statement when a crushing grip settles on your shoulders.

“Manufactured.” 

His hands shake despite the force of their hold.  Something had truly rattled him to his core, something big.  Flashes of memories blow through your mind of every time you’d seen that perfect composure crack.  His fury at his old teammate, frustrations with achieving his dream, and–

Like shattered glass revealing an unspoken truth, you connect his words with his most persistent anxiety.

The old man.

You realize why your presence was forbidden, why he wouldn’t tell you his whereabouts nor his plans.

For every night he’d laid awake chewing a hole in his lower lip, tossing and turning, fretting and torturing himself.  Each moment he’d lose the time staring at the wall, contemplating his strange fixation on none other than Oswell E. Spencer himself.  All of the time and resources spent tracking down a ghost.

Had his efforts paid off?

His grip grows stronger as he launches into a tirade– Umbrella, Spencer, Project Wesker.  You merely listen with wide eyes as he tells the tale of his creation, and everything you know of his upbringing becomes so much more sorrowful.  Not merely an orphan, nor a prodigy with exceptional ideals and a mind to change the world.

A product.

An idea.

Another man’s dream.

A borrowed last name.

A boy stolen from those that would have nurtured him.  Taken from the people who would have celebrated his mind, not simply capitalized off of it.  Who would have cared for his milestones and held his hands through each one.

Who would have loved him.

His eyes are unfocused as he tells every detail.  It’s as if he’s gone to hide within himself.

You suspect such a state is far worse than his rage could ever be.

He’s silent for a time, though the tightness of his grip remains.  His mouth twitches, lips parting as if he means to say something, over and over again…

“Who am I?”

The quiver in his voice shatters you.  Those cracks in his poise you’d seen during those anxious frets over finding Spencer, of finding Chris, his disgust with the human race and their penchant for self destruction and cruelty– it’s all split wide open now.  You see the raw nerve that he truly is. And all you want to do is shield him from the pain.  

But you can’t.

The damage is done.  It has been for decades.

The best you can do is hold him close and coo love and reassurances in droves.  You encourage him to feel it.  

Don’t suppress it.  Don’t swallow the pain nor bury it deep to drown in itself.

Feel it.

You card your fingers through the hair at his nape.  He seethes and shakes to hold back his cries.  You still feel the tears soak your shirt all the same.

“Whoever you are,” you whisper, pressing a kiss to his hair. “Whoever you want to be…”

His grip slackens.

“I will love you, always.”

[wasteland-library]

Brave (Albert Wesker x gn!Reader)

obsessed w kissing this man | Fic Directory

You know you’re special to him. 

You can tell from the way he relaxes around you.  Tight shoulders loosening, the edge fading from his voice…

His gloves coming off.

That last one is how you come to such a bold conclusion.  Wesker doesn’t take his gloves off for anything these days.  Well, anything except for you.

And he certainly doesn’t put his bare hands on anyone unless he can absolutely help it.  It’s almost a mystery that it’s taken you so long to come to the realization that this man, this god, is infatuated with you.  That it wasn’t just mere circumstance that had his knuckles brushing against yours as you walked together in the halls, nor a stroke of fortune that he’d come to show you such favoritism. 

So when that bare fingertip trails along the edge of your jaw and he gazes down at you, eyes glowing behind his shades, you find yourself leaning into the touch– finally giving yourself permission to reciprocate at least some degree of his tactile advances. 

“Peculiar little thing,” he murmurs, lifting his glasses away.  That was special, too.  It wasn’t often that he took those off, and you felt privileged to behold the odd beauty of his inhuman eyes.  Better yet was how soft they seemed for you.

Those featherlight strokes along your face become more, and he smooths the backs of his fingers along your cheek.  You’re not technically trapped, but his proximity and the wall a foot behind you make you feel that way.  But it’s not a bad feeling.  Not at all.

No, you like this.

You like the way he takes your chin between his thumb and forefinger, titling you perfectly to gaze into his crimson eyes.  You like the carnage hidden within them, and you like that they look at you as though you’re the most perfect sight he’s ever come across.

You watch the tip of his tongue glide slowly over his upper lip, which curls into a smirk.

Oh, fuck it, you think to yourself.  You grab the lapels of his jacket and bridge the divide to kiss that pretty little grin right off his face.  To your surprise, he doesn’t take the lead.  He lets you kiss him senseless, only moving his hands to pull you closer. It’s as though he means to both indulge you and satisfy his own need to see just how far you’ll go– how brave you’re willing to be to take what you want from a god.

You’re in the best kind of trouble when your back hits the wall.

part two here