this takes place after 312. anyway here's some changes i made: reader kinda replaces maria and james kinda OOC for *cough* plot purposes *cough* ps: he's kinda crusty and culty so heads up for that.
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he stood in front of a secret-door of a room he couldn't even name for the literal life of him from how decayed it was. his hand rested on the doorknob, hand hesitating to turn it and risk entering it, the secret room wasn't exactly secret per say, but he had only noticed it after knocking down a bookstand during another ambush of those... things.
he opened the door and froze, his body tensing up on learned instinct to shine his light at every corner, only to see that it was another dressed-up mannequin, he expected another run in with some rusted cryptic puzzle, maybe more of those distorted monsters, but not... a copy of your body, wearing your uniform, an actual nurse's uniform with the blue shirt and scrubs instead of those sexy halloween costumes he had seen in the previous wearers.
he stepped closer, his calloused hands held your plastic face by the cheekbone, supporting your jaw with his ring and pinky and circling his thumb on your lower lid.
"is... this... another puzzle?" he twisted your head from side to side, he knew it was a mannequin, he knew it wasn't truly you but... the resemblance is uncanny, apart from the flat and printed imperfections of skin and the obvious creaking joints.
this... is the first time he has seen you this close before, he had only occasionally bumped into you during your rounds and made some small talk during his visits to the hospital but never did anything aside from listening to your ocasional comforting pep-talks, but why would he? he had a wife at the time---
had.
but then that changed, didn't it? specially after what he had done. it was for a rightful cause, wasn't it? because she was suffering--- she was doomed from the beginning and this was a mercy kill.
his hand cradled the plastic face, moving from holding your jaw to linger dangerously on the neck, fingers resting on the sides and thumb rubbing the adam's apple.
or was it because he had already moved on to some eye-candy? he imagined you with those skimpy nurse outfits while his wife slowly died in his hands, he wanted to speed up the process just so that he had a measly chance of talking to you when he no longer was tied-down, maybe he liked the attention of being a widower from you, slip inside your personal life with just your pity.
his hand moved to trace your collarbone, finger breaching under the collar and feeling smooth plastic, dipping his bitten-short nails into the gap of the joints of the doll's neck.
but was it worth it? he managed to get your number after you treated him some drinks at the bar. did he regret it? obviously he did, but when he came back into his senses the deed had already been done and the sheer euphoria that flooded his senses upon the fruits of the aftermath almost outweighed the shame, almost.
his grip on the mannequin moved to your shoulders kneading them and digging his fingers into the fabric, he felt dizzy, stabling himself by using the plastic body as support.
the dull high-pitched sound of a flat lining machine, him scrambling to hide the pillow, him falling to the floor in a panic as you barge in through the door to save her but it was too late. you mistaking his panicked state for grief and saying these soft words.
'it wasnt his fault'? how wrong you were.
he feels shitty from how fast he had 'moved on' from mary and latched onto you, he feels shitty from fact that he held tenderly something that only resembled you, just like how he replaced mary, he now replaced you.
but then again, did it even matter anyway? since when he didn't see you like that? like an object, a pretty thing to look at, a mannequin that he would play 'dress up" mentally whenever he stayed up late. but what changed?
what caused him to change his mind? the fact that he finally made you human so lately? that he finally acknowledged his sins? what cause him to accept that letter's request? a letter that 'belonged' to his late wife? was it to drown in those feelings and rot like everything else here?
was it to redeem himself?
but he's not actually feeling guilty over it, isn't he? he's just scared of getting caught, last time was just luck. because, what if you vision of him distorts?
his knees buckled, grabbing the fabric of your clothes as he fell with a thud, his hand holding a fistful of your shirt as he pressed the fabric against his watering eyes.
what if you finally realise that he doesn't deserve your comfort? what if you recoil in disgust instead of pity? what if you finally see what a monster he truly is for letting himself be tempted by his desires?
how can he redeem himself? how can he make himself worthy? how can he clean himself of his sins?
then... a thought, a horrible but adoring thought.
he remembers seeing an exposition, during his visits to silent hill, one of it's attractions being about a cult that formed shortly after the founding of the town. who commited brutal torture and executions deemed righteous by their own judgenent.
punishment, is what they called.
redemption by punishment, but by who?
he looks up at the plastic body, he sees it now. the pattern of mold on the wall behind you, it resembled a halo, and then, he became aware of his kneeling position, how it seemed like he was praying to you. a sinner begging for forgiveness.
no, no the plastic body wasn't a mannequin, but an idol.
so, he shall atone, with his flesh and blood... make a ritual to prove himself worthy of your presence once again, and pray that you may take pity upon him.
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i could feel masahiro ito's disappointment the entire time i was writing this, so lmk what to my future (pyramid head) chapter and make it even worse.
YOU ARE READING
Saccharin『 yandere o.shots』(Requests: OPEN)
Fanfictionself explanatory. more info in first chap +lower case
