welcome to hell

A year ago, you told me, “You’re dead to me,” and I was convinced the obituary would follow shortly after. It didn’t. I’m still here. I don’t cry much anymore. Sometimes, sure. Usually when I remember something that still makes no sense no matter how many times I replay it.

That’s the hardest part. Not losing you. Losing any confidence that I ever understood what happened.

I survived the grief. I survived the silence. I even survived becoming the villain in a story I was never allowed to read. What I haven’t survived is the confusion. The realization that I can examine every conversation, every memory, every ending, and still walk away without an answer.

“Ghosts aren’t real” it’s very fair and rational that you believe that

“Ghosts aren’t real anymore” I’m about to hear a poem or very sad story

Upon your arrival you greeted everyone accordingly, settling into the barracks. For the rest of your first day Soap kept attempting to get to know you, but hell you were even less talkative than Lt, just nodding along or dryly responding to his questions, your face emotionless for the entire duration of the small talk.

Then, Ghost mutters a single dry comment from the corner of the room and you smirk—fucking smirk, nearly chuckle too.

After that, Soap couldn’t stop noticing the tension between you and his Lieutenant.

The lingering eye contact during briefings. The arguments that felt too personal. The way he would stand just a little too close beside you during training, gloved hand brushing your shoulder as he corrected your stance.

“You’re overcompensating,” Ghost said one afternoon behind the shooting range.

“I’m adjusting for wind.”

“You’re adjusting badly.”

You shot him a glare over your shoulder. “Funny coming from someone who missed center twice.”

Soap felt like he was interrupting something with the way the two of you stared each other down like the rest of the world had vanished.

Later that night, he cornered Ghost near the armory.

“What's going on between ya too?”

Ghost didn’t even look up from cleaning his rifle. “Nothing.”

“Oh, piss off,” Soap scoffed. “It’s bloody obvious.”

Ghost reassembled the magazine with slow, deliberate movements. “You imaginin’ things.”

“I’m telling you, Lt, every time she walks into a room, you both look ready to either kill each other or tear each other’s clothes off.”

That finally earned him a glare, “Drop it, Johnny.”

first game there's chris redfield who has some of the craziest feats in the series and then SUPERCOP jill valentine, THEE "we have jill" VALENTINE!!!

second game we got a crazy powerful rookie that had such crazy skills the government was like "yeah come with us" because they couldn't let him be on the opposing side, and then claire redfield who showed up leon so bad it was crazy leon at least got police academy training but claire is just out the gate surviving raccoon city shooting down william birkin and in future games OUTRUNNING A HELICOPTER!!

then jumping to ethan winters who is just. i genuinely don't even know how to talk about him bc he was a regular guy that did it just for the love of his family idk what his fucking issue is but he's also genuinely insane bc he drove hours after hearing from his wife once in multiple years and immediately got to shooting infected down

and finally grace. just a regular person. yeah she's an fbi agent and has trauma but there's no mold no clones no bow's in her life, until suddenly there is, and you as the player And her as the protagonist are just like "oh my god i hate this i hate this i'm so scared oh my AHHHHH" grace is shaking in her boots, she's only fighting because it's the last choice, she's shaking holding a gun, she's not solely responsible for saving everyone like chris or jill, she doesn't do it because it's part of her job, she isn't in a job just to help people like leon, she's just a regular woman pulled into a disaster

a minute ago he was pounding into you, the rhythmic slap of your bodies echoing in the room as he chased your orgasm, his cock repeatedly bruising your cervix. but now, he just wants to pause. to feel. he can feel that spongy little knot of nerves deep inside you that the head of his cock is nudging, a promise of the pleasure he can give you even in stillness. he just wants to admire the beautiful woman he somehow managed to get on top of him, the one he could finally call his.

the age gap between you two is always enough to turn heads whenever you’re out doing things together, you in your mid-twenties and him pushing fifty, but god, it only turns you on more. you’ve always loved older men. guys your own age felt like fumbling boys; they could never satisfy you, never in the way leon has. he’s one of a kind, and you fully intend on keeping him forever. it might sound silly to anyone else, but you’ve never been more serious about anything in your life.

his voice, a low and gravelly rumble, pulls you out of your thoughts. “fuck, baby, i could stay buried in you all day, with no complaints.” his hands slide from your hips, moving up your stomach to cup your breasts, his thumbs teasing your already hard nipples. “she was made just for daddy, huh?”

you let out a soft, breathy sigh at the feeling, leaning into his touch. “mhm, just for you. nobody else.”

a slow, impossibly smug smirk spreads across his face. he loves when you’re little miss possessive right back.

“music to my ears, sweetheart.”

RESIDENT EVIL REQUIEM (2026), dev. Capcom