New Fic Rec Blog

New Fic Rec Blog

Hiiii everyone i’m M and after years of reading fics on here I decided to share some of my favs and new favs as I continue reading. There probably won’t be a very in depth sorting system until a while later, but I’m going to start by reblogging all my favs. I’ll be so real this is 100% just so I can have them all in one spot and is very much just for me, but might as well share!

It’ll mainly be BTS and got7 fics with a few from my different interests here or there. Hope this helps you find your next fav!

-M

adonis | pjm x reader

🚨 summary: your crackpot of a neighbor will not rest until you throw yourself at the gorgeous paramedic in town. she's nuts, y'all.

🚨 pairing: reader x paramedic!jimin

🚨 genre: meddling neighbors? horny little old ladies with bad-slash-good intentions? awkward OCs who can't find the words to speak in the presence of greatness?

🚨 warnings: one very mouthy senior citizen, sweet/shy jimin, an OC who can't find a clean shirt throughout the entire fic, one very spoiled pomeranian, smoking, sexual innuendo, literally one line of implied smut

🚨 word count: 3.4K (lmao)

🚨 notes: this is my drabble *snort* for the possum anniversary and i am celebrating the wonderful @starlostjimin who is such a cool, funny, amazing, talented person. did you know that 911 is 911 in america AND canada? anyhoo. i hope you like my very first jimin fic ever, and i hope it delivers on the things that you wanted 💕

thank you always to @hobi-gif for being the most amazing beta and person in general.

If you had to wager a guess, you’d say it was Mrs. Choi from the fourth floor who’d dialed 911. That miserable old bat has always struck you as kind of a snitch.

At any rate, that’s how you find yourself standing outside your condo at ten o’clock at night, wearing nothing but a faded bathrobe and a pair of worn-out house slippers. Lights mounted on top of the fire truck idling at your building’s entrance turn the courtyard into a tragic makeshift disco, everything and everyone splashed in flashes of red and white. 

You mill around on the damp grass with the rest of your neighbors, each of you turned into temporary exiles in mismatched sleepwear. 

Mr. Nam from the sixth floor is yelling into his phone as he paces, giving someone an earful about the disruption. Mrs. Song from the seventh floor was smart enough to grab a lawn chair and she watches the scene unfold like it’s one of her beloved dramas. Mr. Baek from the first floor doesn’t pay any mind to the fuss around him, engrossed in a book good enough to drown out the grumbling and sirens. 

But you don’t spot the woman who lives in the unit next to yours – not right away – because it takes her an absurdly long time to heed this whole evacuation business. 

When Mrs. Yun finally breezes through the condo’s glass doors, she does so with all the subtlety of a pageant queen. She makes a beeline for you, decked out in a Hawaiian-print muumuu loud enough to wake the dead – accessorized by a full face of makeup, a full set of curlers, and her trusty Pomeranian tucked under one arm.

“What is all this fuss about?” she pouts, giving Chichi an affectionate scratch. You lean over to give the dog your own scratch and she licks your fingers as thanks.

“Hell if I know,” you shrug. “I came outside when I heard the sirens. Which, by the way, was about ten minutes ago.”

“I was busy,” Mrs. Yun sniffs, affronted by your reprimand. She sets Chichi down to pat her curlers and make sure each is still in place. “I have a friend coming over tonight.”

“A friend.”

“Yes honey, a friend,” she echoes, tone haughty. “You should try it some time.”

God, you really should. The only man in your life these days is the Doordash driver and the last time he’d come by, he’d made a clumsy joke about your sodium intake. You’d been embarrassed, sure, but somehow that pales in comparison to this reminder that you’re being outsexed by the little old lady next door.

“You should ask someone when they plan to let us back in,” Mrs. Yun says, tapping her foot impatiently. “You should ask – ” she pauses to look out over the crowd, eyes lighting as she points one fresh gel nail in the direction of the fire truck, “ – him.”

You follow the trajectory of that thin finger with your gaze until your eyes land on Mrs. Yun’s intended target. And then you blink as you take in what is surely the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen. Dark eyes and sandy blonde hair and a jawline so sharp, it could have been cut from granite.

Holy shit.

“I’ll say,” Mrs. Yun grins, and your face burns with embarrassment when you realize you’ve spoken out loud. It flames even hotter when she raises an arm to wave him over. 

“Sir? Sir!”

“No. No, no, no, no, no.”  You panic, whispering in the most threatening tone you can muster. “Put your hand down. Don’t – ”

But it’s too late. Mrs. Yun has already caught the attention of this Earth-bound Adonis. He makes his way towards you both without delay, wearing an easy smile so devastating it makes sweat bead at your temples.

“Hi there,” he greets kindly. “How can I help you?”

“Thank you, Mr. – ” Mrs. Yun pauses to squint at the name embroidered on the man’s dark navy uniform, “ – Park. What’s all this uproar about tonight, huh?”

“Yeah, sorry about that,” he chuckles, and you find yourself mesmerized by the way his eyes crinkle at the corners. “Someone called 911 because they smelled smoke, so we had to come check it out.” A radio secured to his shoulder crackles with an incoming transmission and he pauses to listen before he speaks again. “Pretty sure they’re almost done checking the building. Old places like this, we’ve always got to put in a bit more attention where the wiring is concerned. Wouldn’t want to leave you ladies in a dangerous situation.”

“Oh, of course not,” Mrs. Yun purrs, making no effort to hide the cheeky once-over she gives him. “We certainly appreciate you being thorough.”

The Adonis – Mr. Park – flushes, clearing his throat as the tips of his ears turn pink. You make a mental note to sit Mrs.Yun down later to explain that a few things have changed since her heyday.

The radio crackles again, a garbled voice coming over the line.

“Sounds like they’re almost done,” he explains, looking down at his feet to find Chichi sniffing at his boot. He crouches down to pet her and she curls into the curve of his hand, eager for his touch. 

Somehow you’re willing to bet this man has that kind of effect on everything in his path – men, women, and houseplants alike.

He gives Chichi a few firm scratches before getting back to his feet. The rigid fabric of his uniform pants strains against the lean muscles of his thighs as he moves and Mrs. Yun’s eyes practically bug out of her face. You’d jam an elbow in her side if you thought there was a chance you could pull it off without being caught.

“I’d better get back,” he says, turning to you with one of those debilitating smiles. Your toes curl inside the shabby velvet of your slippers. “Please don’t hesitate to let me know if you need anything.”

“Oh, we won’t!” Mrs. Yun calls out, appreciating his retreating form with a lifted brow. You wait until the man is well out of earshot before turning on her.

“What the hell was that?” you demand.

“That – ” she says with her nose in the air, “ – is why you never leave the house without your face on.”

“You were practically undressing that man with your eyes,” you accuse hotly. “You do know what sexual harrassment is, don’t you?”

Mrs. Yun huffs as she bends down to scoop up Chichi. “I wasn’t harassing the man, I was appreciating him. Fine art is meant to be admired.”

“Oh, please,” you grumble. “And don’t think I missed that little detail about the smoke.”

She narrows her eyes at you.

“Mind your business.”

🚨🚨🚨🚨

One week later, a knock at the door nearly startles you right off the couch. You frown into your half-eaten carton of ramen and set it down on the coffee table, taking a moment to seriously contemplate pretending not to be home.

But then there’s more knocking – more insistent this time.

You pad across the floor, crack the door open and the ramen in your stomach threatens to come right back up.

“Hi again.”

You blink. 

“Sorry to bother you, it’s just that your neighbor suffered a fall and she said you would have a key to get into her place.”

The Adonis – Mr. Park – looks a little sheepish as he stands in the doorway, waiting for you to speak like a normal human being with a passable set of social skills. He shoves one hand through his sandy blonde hair and the locks seem to fall back in slow-motion.

“I – y-yes of course,” you stutter, so flustered that you nearly trip over your own feet in your haste to scramble for the kitchen. You dig Mrs. Yun’s spare key out of the silverware drawer and rush back to drop it into his waiting palm.

“I hope she’s okay,” you worry, biting at the inside of your cheek. “I’m right here if you guys need anything else.”

“We’ll take good care of her,” another voice promises, and you crane your neck to peer past the stunning Mr. Park to search for the source of it. A second man stands out in the hallway, a heavy duffel bag slung over one muscular arm covered in a myriad of tattoos. His face is boyish and beautiful and soft, a stark contrast to his powerful body.

Jesus. Who’s doing the recruiting in this city?

“We’ll have this back to you right away,” Mr. Park promises, and your neck heats when he rewards you with one of his sweet smiles. 

The second they leave, you make a beeline for the bathroom – and cringe as you stand in the mirror and peel one half-dried ramen noodle off the front of your shirt.

🚨🚨🚨 🚨

15 minutes later, Mr. Park’s picture-perfect partner is knocking at your door.  

“Hey there.”

You might have run a brush through your hair and dabbed on a bit of tinted chapstick in the last five minutes, but he notices that – or the absence of one half-dried ramen noodle, he makes no indication.

“Hi again,” you say. “Is she okay?”

“Oh, for sure. Maybe a little banged up, but otherwise she’s alright. She’s asking for you though, if you can walk over with me.”

“Yes, of course.” You shuffle into the hall and let him lead the way, through the open front door to Mrs. Yun’s unit and the narrow foyer that opens up into her living room. She’s upright on the couch, holding an ice pack to her head. The glorious Mr. Park is bent down on one knee at her side.

“I’ll tell you what,” she says, looking as pleased as a queen holding court, “I’m grateful every day for the very dedicated public servants in this city. That was terrifying.”

“But you’re okay, right?” you ask.

“Nothing broken, so far as we can tell,” the Adonis says. “She’s probably going to be good and sore tomorrow, but for now she’s doing just fine.”

“Thanks to Mr. Park and Mr. Jeon here,” Mrs.Yun says sweetly. A little too sweetly, in fact. The wheels in your brain start to turn and you eyeball her from across the room. She peeks at you from behind the ice pack and dons an angelic smile.

“Yes, they are certainly appreciated,” you say slowly, the skepticism in your voice vibrating at a frequency only Mrs. Yun can hear. She beams at Mr. Park as he gets to his feet and starts to pack up his things.

Mr. – Jeon, was it? – slings his heavy duffel bag over his shoulder. “Be sure and take those anti-inflammatories tonight, okay? You’ll be all locked up in the morning if you don’t.”

Mrs. Yun practically preens at the personal attention she’s gotten from these two insanely good-looking men. “I will.”

“You’re lucky to have a good neighbor,” the Adonis says to Mrs. Yun, turning to you with a genuine smile. Your heart thuds in response. “If it’s alright with you, keep an eye on her tonight? She might need your help.”

“I’ll keep an eye on her, alright,” you say with a tight smile, and Mrs. Yun clears her throat.

🚨🚨🚨🚨

“Promise me – right now – that you really fell.”

“What did I tell you about leaving the house with your face on?”

“Answer the question,” you fire back and Mrs. Yun sighs, tossing the ice pack down on the couch.

“Yes, honey, I did fall. I fell in love with that scrumptious Mr. Park the second I saw him. And if I were a woman thirty – ”

You raise an eyebrow. 

“ – Okay, fifty years younger than I am, I would be taking him for a spin myself. But since I’m not, I’ve decided that you should have him. Did I bend the truth a little? Yes. But for a good cause. I’m a very thoughtful person, you know.”

“You are outrageous,” you hiss, pacing as Mrs.Yun pretends to look for dirt under her fingernails. “This is a waste of public resources! They’re supposed to be responding to emergencies. Real emergencies.”

“First of all – ” Mrs. Yun is defiant, chin in the air, “ – Nothing ever happens in this town. Nothing. And second, there’s dust in your panties, sweetheart. If that’s not an emergency, I don’t know what is.”

Your mouth falls open in a silent scream and Mrs. Yun ignores it, climbing off the couch with ease to cross the room and crack open a window. She pulls a box out of the tiny accent table perched beneath it and proceeds to light an absurdly long cigarette.

“You’re too damned young to be shut away in your house all the time,” she argues, pursing her lacquered lips to blow a stream of smoke out the window. “Work. Couch. Work. Couch. How can you stand it? Let me tell you what I’d be doing right now if I could turn back the clock and have your youth again: Mr. Park. I’d be doing Mr. Park. You should be doing Mr. Park.”

You stifle a disbelieving laugh. The novelty of your neighbor’s loose lips and bad habits wore off a long time ago, but sometimes she still manages to catch you off guard.

“Well, I’ve got an early morning so unless you have any more unsolicited sex advice to share, I’m going to have to call it a night.”

Mrs. Yun blows another long stream of smoke out the window. 

“Nope. I’ve got it all off my chest.”

“Good then,” you say, turning on your heels. You make it all the way to the door before you pause and call out to her.

“And put that thing out!”

🚨🚨🚨🚨

Three days later, you find yourself struggling with an overloaded paper bag from the grocery store. Yes, you’ve purchased the reusable ones and yes, they’re a hell of a lot stronger – but you never miss an opportunity to leave them hanging in the closet on your way out the door.

Something in the bag is wet – well, moist at the very least. And it’s enough to have you gripping the bottom tight with both hands as you try to maneuver your way through the revolving door at the entrance to your condo. It’s an awkward fit inside the narrow sliver of space and as you’re shuffling forward, the door’s momentum dies. You push at it with one foot and lose an onion from the bag, nearly losing your balance in the process.

You blow out a heavy breath and go to push the door again, only this time it smoothly glides away before you even make contact. The misstep makes you jerk forward, but at least the door keeps moving long enough for you to step out of it.

“Think you lost something back there.”

Most of your hair has slipped out of your ponytail holder by now, the strands matted to your forehead with the sweat you worked up on the walk from the car. But when you turn, you can still make out the glorious Mr. Park quite clearly. He drops the onion back into your bag and smiles at you.

“Please, allow me.”

He lifts the bag out of your arms, carefully securing the bottom like you’d done just moments before. With your hands now free, you push your hair out of your face and silently pray that you don’t look as unfortunate as you suspect you do.

“You don’t have to do that,” you demur. “But I appreciate it anyway. Mr. Park, right?”

“Well, I’d much prefer you call me Jimin,” he laughs, the sound of it making heat bloom inside your chest. “But yeah, it’s me again.”

He’s not wearing his uniform, you realize. And though some small part of you mourns the loss of those fitted shirts and pants, his off-duty look – an oversized sweater, jeans and pair of sharp boots – sure as hell doesn’t disappoint.

“Do you… live here?” you ask stupidly, as though a man this handsome could live anywhere on this entire street without someone taking notice. “Or – ”

“No, no,” he says quickly. “I came by to check on your neighbor. You know, after the fall and all. I told her she could call me if she ever needed anything and she asked me to stop by.”

“You gave – ” you pause, shock forcing your voice at least an octave higher, “ – You gave Mrs. Yun your phone number?”

His cheeks pink at the observation. “She’s in her 70s, you know? Lives alone. I really don’t mind.”

You truly have no idea how your chain-smoking, jazzercising, oversexed hellion of a next-door neighbor has managed to convince this man she’s a frail old woman in need of a hero.

Will wonders never cease?

“Besides,” he says, “She’s kind of...quirky, you know?”

“That’s a very strange way to say unhinged,” you counter.

He laughs.  

“You’re funny. Come on, I’ll walk you up.”

yun: DID YOU HAVE YOUR FACE ON [ 9:15 PM ]

yun: he told me he helped you with your groceries [ 9:15 PM ]

yun: now tell him to help you out of your clothes [ 9:16 PM ]

you: go to bed [ 9:16 PM ] 

Two days later, legs like noodles from spin class, you limp through your front door and sag onto the couch. You might have napped for a second, you’re not entirely sure – but after a knock sounds at your door, you are most definitely alert. Your thighs protest as you force yourself off the couch to answer it.

You crack the door open and it’s him. Adonis. Mr. Park. Jimin. 

And you’re wearing a gray workout shirt with what you are certain is one very sizeable sweat stain down the front. Good God, will there ever be a time when you see this man and don’t look like a complete wreck?

“Oh my gosh, did she call you again?” you ask, incredulous. “You are so sweet to do this for her, really but this is too – ”

“ – She didn’t call,” he interrupts, looking just the tiniest bit bashful.

“Oh.”

“Listen, this is kind of embarrassing and maybe not entirely appropriate given I know where you live, but it’s just that I don’t have your number.”

Your eyes widen and your already distressed legs start to feel a bit more weak. Jimin scrubs a hand down his jaw before he speaks again.

“I was actually wondering if you might let me take you to dinner sometime.”

You blink. 

“Or I could cook you dinner. I make this really great prawn dish? But again, I’m not trying to be a creep or anything and it’s okay if you’re not comfortable with that – ” he’s backpedaling now, his words coming out in a rush.

“– You are not a creep,” you insist, when you’ve finally come to your senses and figure out how to access your words and use them to form sentences. “I just – I was just not expecting that. But yes, I’d love to go to dinner with you.”

Your knees threaten to buckle at the slow smile that comes over him.

“That’s great.”

🚨🚨🚨🚨

You fling the silverware drawer open and practically rip Mrs. Yun’s key out of it in your mad dash to her apartment. No, you do not feel guilty for letting yourself into her house, the woman has absolutely no boundaries and could use a taste of her own medicine.

You slam the door behind you when you walk in, and Mrs. Yun squints at you from her perch in the window. She blows out a perfect ring of smoke and then raises a brow.

“Got a bee in your bonnet?”

“Give me one of those,” you demand. “Right now.”

🚨🚨🚨🚨

There’s a knock at your door – again – only this time, you already know who’s on the other side. It’s your beloved Doordash driver, bringing an order of your beloved shio ramen. Two, actually.

You open the door to grab your food and Jimin calls out from the couch.

“Need some help with that?”

“Nah, I’m good,” you say over your shoulder. 

When you turn back to thank the Doordash guy, he’s staring into your living room, eyes wide and trained on Jimin. You clear your throat and he snaps his focus back to you.

“Have a good night,” he says pleasantly.

And then he gives you a thumbs up.

yun: can the two of you keep it DOWN  [ 11:22 PM ]

yun: some of us need our beauty sleep [ 11:22 PM ]

THIS SERIES. I have never seen writing so perfect. I loved every part. Also still in progress but you’ll fall in love two paragraphs in and be just as invested as I am

“It’s a refurbished student housing,” you explain as they trail after you like ducks in a row. Even if they don’t understand what you’re saying, they seem to be clinging to every word. Wherever you look there’s always at least one pair of doe eyes staring expectantly back at you a.k.a. what do you do when you open your doors and find a certain retired boyband for some reason wants to move in

• type: ot7 x fem! reader (poly) • genre: (ex) idol! au, roommate au, soulmate au, slice of life, fluff, crack treated seriously (?), angst, slow burn like an elderly dog with a limp slow, lack of communication • rating: mature • status: ongoing

#1 Wacky Wednesday

#2 Tenebrous Thursday

#3 Solicitous Saturday

↪ #3.5 Jin Ponders the Meaning of Time over a Pot of Soup

#4 Munificent Monday

#5 Tiresome Tuesday

#6 Surreal Sunday

↪ #6.5 Namjoon Discovers the Definition of Love (His Own)

#7 Tender Tuesday(s)

#8 Furious Friday

#9 The Last Step Towards You

↪ #9.5 Jimin’s History of Having Bad Birthdays

#10 The Getaway Ploy

#11 Sh*t, again

#12 A New Slate

↪ #12.5 Jungkook and the Meaning of “Oh”

#13 Few Rights, Lots of Wrongs

#14 Helping Matters

#15 On Middle Grounds

↪ #15.5 134340 (slowed)

#16 The Tale of Two Sisters (& 8 Uncles & 1 Surprise)

↪ #16.5

#17 Mom

↪ #17.5 Neither, nor

#18 First, Tentative Steps Into Light

#19 Life Goes On

↪ #19.5 Jung Hoseok

#20 The Letter

#21 October 12th, 2012

↪ #21.5 The Long and Unexplored Road to You

#22 Goodbye.

The End.

© sor-vette, 2021 - 2022

another fake dating college frat au i know i know i have a thing for them BUT the banter in this one is SO GOOD i absolutely love it

“how much do you hate me?”

pairing: fuckboy!mark tuan/reader

genre: college!au, childhood neighbors, enemies to lovers, fluff, mild angst

word count: 2.3k

a/n: you should know how much i love enemies to lovers ok i really really love it,,,, this is based off the drabble prompt “how much do you hate me?” “not enough to say no immediately what do you want” enjoy! xx

Keep reading

when i saw this fic again i practically squealed. This is the perfect example of life changing character development and writing that should be making millions

the wedding planners | jjk

↳ alternative title: ‘til death do us part? i’d rather die than be with you.

⇒ summary: jeon jungkook is three things: cocky, terrible, and your worst enemy. then your best friend hoseok gets engaged to the love of his life, and suddenly jeon jungkook is four things: cocky, terrible, your worst enemy, and the man you will be spending the next seven months with in order to plan your best friend’s wedding. 

and then, as if your life couldn’t get any shittier, you make the poor decision of sleeping with him on the first day of the job.

⇒ enemies to lovers!au, wedding!au

⇒ pairing: jungkook x female reader (and some side yoonseok)

⇒ word count: 28k of self-indulgent banter

⇒ genre: fluff, light smut, light angst

⇒ warnings: alcohol consumption and too many clichés

⇒ a/n: woo boy. i don’t want to make this a/n too long but i know it will be. first, this is the longest fic i have ever written, ever. second, thank you to all of the support i’ve gotten while writing the original fic and the revamp. it’s been a long 6 months, people. third, i am tagging: @jeonhoney, @wicdrop, @gukhopes, @workofteaguk, and @army-author for being so damn supportive while i was writing this, and @kitschkylo because u asked me to! fourth, this is way better than the original fic and thus makes me even more proud of it. i finished it, you guys. it’s here. also, @macfullyloaded17 made this Hecking Amazing playlist for this fic that you should 100% listen to while you read this, and shoutout to her. 

⇒ DISCLAIMER: in no way is this a realistic portrayal of planning a wedding/getting married. if you’re planning a wedding, don’t rely on this fic to guide you. it’s just a bad idea.

check out the post-script drabble here!

Keep reading

Unsteady

Pairing: Leon Kennedy x Reader

Genre: Hurt/Comfort

Little could throw Leon off, especially when he’s laser-focused on his objective, but the moment he hears that cry of pain all thoughts of acting rationally are out the window. 

He’s a steady man. 

Everything Leon does is meaningful. The way he moves, striding with purpose, the way he talks, to the point, those remarks rolling off his tongue naturally, the steady motions of his fingers as he smoothly reloads his gun with one hand, tossing a grenade with the other. 

Deployed to investigate an outbreak in the middle of the ruins of a city, Leon hadn’t liked being paired with her at first. 

Love and duty didn’t mix after all. 

“Watch your six.” She yells out, ducking to parry an incoming knife from the particularly agile species of zombies they found themselves in the middle of. Leon turns just in time to dodge a zombie lunging for his neck. A bullet through the head sends it down. 

Together the both of them move as a deadly, well-oiled machine. Wordless communication glances that silently request support or warn, a punch there, a chamber of bullets lost here.

“There’s too many of them, we’re overpowered!” He calls out, holding his position. 

“Retreat back to base for now!” She yells back, yanking her knife back out of a creature’s head with a sickening squelch. She scowls as the blade comes out half broken, tosses it aside, and extracts another one. “We’ll regroup and come up with any strategy. Charging forwards isn’t working-”

A creak cuts through the air, halting all conversation. Even the mangled corpses go quiet. 

“Move!” She shouts and before Leon knows it, he’s shoved roughly away as an old oil tanker collapses mere inches from where he stood. The massive barrel explodes on contact with the ground, engulfing the world in flames, bright red and hot. She lets out a strangled yelp as it burns right through her shoulder and chars her skin. A surface burn but still stinging and painful. 

“Are you alright?” Comes a yell from the other side of the wall of flames. “Shit, are you hurt?” He sounds…panicked? No, that wasn’t right. Leon Kennedy didn’t panic. He fought, thought, and charged his way through any problem. 

“I’m fine!” She tries to find a way to him, but the wall of flames produces so much heat it makes her eyes burn from the smoke. Pulling the collar of her shirt to cover her mouth and nose, she gives up finding a path back to their original position. 

She curses under her breath, “I’ll meet you there! Go back to base, I’ll find another way!” His protests come through, but she ignores his demands for her to stop and find another way. If she stayed she’d be charred to toast. The fire spreads onto the old creaky building, columns of flames mounting higher and hire. The creatures at least seem to have just as strong a dislike for the heat as she does because they’re nowhere to be seen. 

“Go!” She yells one last time before taking off into the nearest alley, clutching her burning arm. 

Getting separated was never ideal, but it couldn’t be helped. She knows he’ll be alright. Leon was anything but stupid. He was deadly, he’d be fine she tried to convince herself. 

As she starts to think she might have gotten her bearings back, a crack sounds from above her. She whirls around, gun aimed to the ceiling of the wooden beams she’s passing under, thinking it’s a zombie. 

It’s not. 

The beam creaks under the weight of the fire eating away at it, and before she can dive out of the way, it cracks and falls straight into her, trapping her in rubble and splinters, pinned to the ground. 

She screams, hot wood pressing against her skin as the fire around her seems to close it. “Fuck,” she gasps in a breath, trying to think. Prying the beams off of her does little but burn and embed splinters into her palms. 

Shit, Leon. She had to meet Leon back at the base, had to let him know she was alright, had to know that he was alright. 

 After a couple of minutes of struggling, it dawns on her that she’s not going anywhere. Her lower half and left arm are trapped. There’s no way she can lift the beam on her own, not with her injured shoulder at least. 

Was this it? She squeezes her eyes shut, chasing the thoughts away as she sweats and burns. Was this how she was going to go out? Smoke threatens to choke her, acrid and bitter in her throat, in her lungs. 

She imagined she’d go down protecting someone, maybe even her boyfriend, or that she’d be torn apart by some sort of bioweapon, but no.

She’d burn and suffocate under a goddamn beam. 

Feeling tears prick her eyes at the thought, her head feels too heavy to keep lifted, her forehead dropping to press against the dirty pavement below.

Leon…God, she hoped he wouldn’t blame her too much. 

They’d just started to make a life together. Years of dancing around, subtle flirting, and lingering glances finally led to them dating a year ago. She loved him. She really did love him and now she was never going to see him again. 

Two beady eyes glare at her from the far end of the alley.

Cold and dead. 

A zombie staggers towards her, snarling unfazed by the fire around them. It stumbles and drags itself closer and closer.

A dry sob rips itself out of her throat, the heat unbearable, panic clawing at her. Breathing short and shallowly, she wishes she could reach for something to end her pain a little quicker, but she can’t reach any of her for any of her weapons. 

Helplessness threatens to drag her under until her eyes catch on a sharp splinter of wood the size of her palm just within reach. With a shaking arm, she reaches towards it, crying out when her movements put more of the wood’s pressure on her. The splinter of about the size of her palm, is wickedly sharp. 

Glancing up again is almost too much effort to handle in between her hacking coughs. It’s halfway down the alley already.

She’d rather kill herself than end up like them.

Trembling, she presses the sharp point of the wood right onto her jugular, swallowing nausea and hesitation. 

She couldn’t let herself turn. What if she was the one who found Leon? What if she hurt him? No, she couldn’t bear it. 

Another sob wracks her body as the living corpse staggers closer. Steeling herself, she closes her eyes and tries to think about anything else. 

Don’t be too mad at me, Leon, she thinks to herself, before-

The sharp bang of a gunshot startles her, her hand jerking and digging painfully into her throat. Before she can blink away the blurriness in her eyes, her wrist is yanked away from her neck forcefully, the grip on it like iron as the wood is ripped out of her hands. 

“Not yet, baby.” She could cry at the voice, low and determined. “You’re not done yet.” 

“Le-Leon.” She coughs, “You won’t- the fire.“ A gasp rips out of her when he tries to tug her free. “Stop!” She cries out. “Can’t-you can’t. I’m stuck. Go before it’s too late.” Is all she manages to choke out. 

The look Leon gives her is one that she might have laughed at if she were in the laughing mood. 

“Like hell.” He says roughly, “We’re staying together.” She knows that tone of voice, the one that’s immovable and molded out of iron. Too tired to argue, she nods. He moves out of her field of vision behind her. 

“I’m going to lift the beam.” He says calmly but quickly. “I need you to drag yourself out from under when I do. Can you do that for me, sweetheart?”

When she doesn’t respond, he calls out her name, repeating himself more urgently. 

The most she can offer him is a weak nod. Her throat feels like it’s on fire.

Suddenly the crushing weight is gone, and all she wants to do is sob in relief and curl up right there and then, but Leon’s voice filters in and out of her mind. With the meagre remaining strength she has left, she claws her way out of the rubble, collapsing a bit away onto her stomach. 

Leon doesn’t waste any time asking questions when he runs over to her and picks her up, ducking through a gap in the brick wall a couple of feet away. 

“You’re going to be okay.” He says aloud, glancing down at her as he moves. Steady. Always so steady and calm. She takes comfort in it, but it’s only when she sinks farther into his grip that she notices. 

The tremor in his hands. 

The slight shake of his voice.

The poorly hidden panic in his eyes whenever he glances down at her. 

He’s panicking. Leon Kennedy is panicking. 

“Shit, don’t close your eyes.” He urges, squeezing her closer to his chest. “Stay awake. Stay awake for me, okay?” He talks, getting increasingly shaky when she can’t find the will to respond to any of it. 

In and out of darkness she drifts. Every time she feels herself swim too deep, his voice always pulls her back, like an anchor she couldn’t lose even if she tried.

When she comes back to this time, clinging onto his voice to drag her back she finds they’re back in the bunker they’d chosen as their temporary base for the mission. She’s laying on her bedroll, Leon’s roll draped over her to keep her warm. 

The man in question is wrapping her shoulder with a bandage. The numb coolness suggests he’s treated the worst of her burns

Trying to speak, nothing but a hoarse noise comes out. 

“Don’t talk.” He instructs, immediately reaching for his canteen. Gently he props her up in his arms and brings the vessel to her lips, guiding her to drink. “That’s it, sweetheart.” He praises her as she drinks. “Slowly.” 

Swallowing a few times, she tries again. “Are you…are we?” 

“You’re alright.” He assures her. “I got you out in time.” Still, in his arms, he feels her physically relax at the assurance. 

It’s not enough. Seeing her accept her demise, laying there half-trapped with a weapon to her jugular ready to end it all before his eyes…

He feels sick thinking about what would have happened if he’d been a mere second late. Seeing her slit her throat in front of him…he may have just pulled the trigger on himself there and then. 

The thought washes over him, overwhelming. He can’t stop himself from clutching her tighter, drawing her into his chest and tucking his chin over her head. “Thought I lose you for a second.” He admits hoarsely.

“I…I thought I did too.” She whispers, feeling him draw his arms around her tighter. “Thank you.” 

“I wasn’t going to leave you there.” 

“How did you know?” She asks, shifting to meet his eyes, taking solace in the deep blue. 

“I heard you scream.” 

It had stopped him in his tracks, all thoughts of anything regarding his own safety and the mission dissipating with the single sound. The only thing on his mind was to find her, to help her, to make sure she was alive and that she never made such a sound ever again while he was alive. 

“I’m glad I did, then.” It’s a weak joke that doesn’t pull a smile or a chuckle out of either of them. 

“Scream or stay silent, I’ll always find you, sweetheart.” He mutters into her hair. The trembling in his body seems to have subsided now that they were out of the fire. 

Her heart warms at his words, and even as their world is quite literally burning down outside their little safe haven, she finds that there wasn’t a place she’d rather be right now than in his arms like this, comfortable and safe. 

“Rest. I’ll take watch.” He presses his lips to her forehead, lingering there for a couple of seconds. 

Her last mumbled thanks barely makes it past her lips before she’s out cold, trusting him to keep her safe while she recovers. 

Requests Are Open!

(22/06/2023)