Forsaken Oneshots - Requests Open

by 0n3iroi

Summary:

A bunch of Forsaken:Roblox oneshots regarding the multiple available characters in the game :3

Tags will update as more oneshots arrive, requests are open, please read first chapter to understand request rules

Thank you :D

Chapter 1

Hello hello! Author here, welcome to my Forsaken Oneshots book :)

My very first work here on AO3 that I'll actually continue, I recently got into the Forsaken fandom so forgive me if I'm not entirely accurate, but I'll try to do so! (I'm doing my research as we speak)

If you'd like to request oneshots, feel free to! (Which I will try keeping as close as possible to the request)

Rules are simple:
- No fetishes
- No proshipping (ex: 007n7 x c00lkidd) (eugh) (or c00lkidd with anyone in general methinks)
- No smut (Im not good at writing it)
- No x reader (I am also not good at writing those)

Alrighty, thank you for reading! :D

Update: Please be patient with me as I am putting my best efforts into the requests, I promise you I am working on them!

List:
Chapter 1 - Request Page
Chapter 2 - Tired (Shedletsky/Guest1337)

Chapter 2: Tired - Shedletsky/Guest1337

Summary:

After a stressful round, Shedletsky and 1337 find themselves glued to the couch. Both enjoy the other's company.

Notes:

This is a request from CEOofChickenCutlet!! Thank you for your ChickenPunch request, had much fun writing this on the road :DD

 

TW!!:
- Blood and Gore
- Injury
- Decapitation (Implied)

Shedletsky found himself panting as his calves suffered treading through the tall grass and repeatedly tripping over the damp, rotten blades of browning green, falling once or twice into the poisonous river of purple liquid that he was sure The Spectre had in here to spite them. He thought it needless, but it proved effective against them, and now he was weakened; his skin smelled of burnt flesh as the liquid seared into his epidermis and slowly, continued to sink into the dermis.

His legs were starting to ache, the pain prominent in his joints, pursuing a pulsating manner that made it so it never dulled. His hands remained occupied; one clutching the handle of his sword and the other pressing against the open gash on his shoulder, attempting to stop the bleeding while he was on the run, aware of the consequences of pausing on the move when a bloodthirsty terminator sought to end him.

His wings dragged behind him, sagged and soiled, their color becoming one with the soil, missing multiple of his flight feathers. The admin carried on despite the soreness they brought to his shoulder blades, and most especially his muscles. He looked at his watch and took note of the remaining seconds. ’Just forty-three more seconds. Come on, you can survive getting blown up point blank, you can survive a bloodthirsty monster, He hyped himself to try and boost his spirits, but knew that all he’s ever thought were lies to try and trick his brain into believing everything was alright.

Still, he pushed forward to one of the last two generators.

Kneeling slowly, flinching as his burnt, wounded skin came in contact with the ground, molecules of dirt and grime fitting into the slim openings of his wounds, his hands left their previous duties and pried the generator’s panel open, revealing the mess of wires that always found themselves in multiple, messy positions every round. He swore Builderman could've finished one of these with his eyes closed, but either way, he set to work.

As he fumbled with the multiple colored cords, struggling to untangle and fit them without cutting or disrupting the connection to the wires he previously attached, the round progressively grew longer. What he thought were thirty-two seconds left shifted into forty-two, having him constantly glance towards his watch with beads of sweat running down his face, urging himself to hasten his work. He knew what had been going on behind the scenes for the timer to have extended, and he prayed that he could last at least a little longer to survive the round.

Why were generators so hard to repair?!

The admin was growing frustrated, questioning the sanity of The Spectre for granting them such pain.

Managing the last blue wire, Shedletsky quickly finished and ran the generator, swiftly grasping his sword and pushing himself up onto his feet, hissing loudly at the painful, stretching sensation that met his legs as soon as he did so, attempting to stomp off the pain as he ran around what little running grounds he had left, soon coming across the multiple corpses of his friends, silently dreading to come across a fairly specific one.

Ichor dusted the blades of grass before he found himself on higher ground, desperately searching for the last generator. A force knocks him off the platform before he makes the last step, knocking him flat on his back on the ground, pinching his wings at a wrong angle that, when the source of the force above him moved, a loud, gooey crunch sounded beneath him.

A hand clasped over his mouth before he could scream, tears pricking the corner of his eyes as he fought to push the person off, trying to alleviate the burning pain that erupted from his back to his front. It wasn't helping that the pain had him panting for air that hadn't been available with the stopper that was someone's hand, leading him to biting down, harshly, on the soft flesh of the palm, causing its owner to groan quietly and pull away, allowing the admin to gasp for air, pushing over to his side, a single hand supporting his weight.

The tingly sensation from his legs became nothing compared to the blinding pain that erupted every few seconds, his eyes flashing white every time as he bit back his noises of agony. His mangled wing dragged like a heap behind him as he attempted to pathetically crawl away, legs shaking too much to balance his weight, his feathers soaked in blood as it left a trail of crimson in the grass, fully believing that he was about to lose.

Everyone knew what was bound to happen every time: die, wake up in that same old cabin, sleep, round, repeat. And Shedletsky was so confident he was about to follow the same cycle.

A strong pair of arms grabbed his shoulders and pulled him back against the corner between the wall and the stairs where he fell from, pulling a gasp out of him as he was forced to press against someone, his broken wing twitching as the person took care not to crush it in the position they retained. Before Shedletsky could fight back, his eyes gazed upon the trail of corruption that led from the stairs to its walking source, watching as the murderer strode past them without a clue, slowly stalking the path like any predator would do to silence their footsteps and lure out their prey who believed the ground to be safe.

The admin suddenly found himself grateful to the person holding him captive. He thought for a bit; captor wasn't quite the right word to use, but it sure fit.

Once the murderer was out of sight, Shedletsky breathed for what felt like forever and turned to face his savior. “Thank you so much—”

 

A squish sounded as something heavy dropped to the ground.

 

The admin stared at the item that landed next to his feet and rolled a few inches off. He swallows dryly, like he hadn't had water in days, his throat hurting as liquid finally moisturized it, his lips feeling like they were cracking simply from them parting to gape at the fallen object. The object's face stares back at him.

His breaths grew labored as his gaze hesitated, and his shaky hands reached up to feel the ones resting on his shoulders, no longer possessing the strength they had earlier to pull him back. He moves forward, his eyes never leaving their focus as the hands slip lifelessly off his shoulders and a second object hits the ground with a hollow thud and a splat.

 

“Survivors Win!”

 

Shedletsky finds himself falling toward the ground, his knees buckling as they grew weak, his head spinning with nausea, and the chicken he consumed prior threatening to rise back out. Expecting to meet hard ground, he shut his eyes and awaited the soil.

 

Except, he doesn't.

 

His head met a velvety fabric, yet having fallen so heavily upon it, he felt the skeleton beneath the cottony material. His eyes flutter open, and he's met with the cold yet blinding light of the cabin, and he would've shut his eyes once more were it not for a figure to loom over him and cast a shadow to protect his eyes from the wrath of the light.

He had thought it was Two Time at first for the messy hair, but as his vision cleared and enhanced from its state of being intimidated by the light, he took notice of the somewhat bright but also dull blue hair, and the scarred face of a man who's seen it through and through. Ah, Guest1337. Shedletsky swallowed thickly, images of the man’s bloodied, headless corpse printing themselves onto his brain, flashing the very moment where his eyes landed on the severed head every time he spotted the man’s blue hair.

“Hey,” Guest awkwardly greeted, unaware of how he should interact with the admin after the rather harsh round. Reading upon the admin’s gaze that he had been invading his circle, and quickly moved away. “Hey, did you win? I mean, I, uhm, couldn’t really tell,” Right, of course he wouldn’t have known. The admin thought grimly as he sighed. “Yeah, I suppose I did,” Shedletsky answered, pushing himself into a more comfortable position, wincing as he moved when he expected a sharp strike of pain to pierce through his body, only to be met with nothing, feeling his wings flutter nicely behind him.

Guest took notice of the subtle movement, and guilt started to bore into him. “Right, I apologize for what I did earlier, I panicked and ended up–” Shedletsky was quick to shut him up, pressing a finger to his lips before he could proceed with his sentence. “‘I know,” He simply replied as he lay back down on the couch, wings spread out with a loud sigh, leaving Guest to awkwardly stand in front of him as though he still had an unfulfilled debt to the man. The admin patted the empty space beside him. “I won’t ask for anything as an apology. Sit with me, I’m tired.” The admin was known to be very straightforward with what he wanted, and that much drained the others of any sort of hope they could get a more emotional appeal out of him.

Guest felt wrong sitting beside him; the guy acted like nothing happened.

The other survivors within the cabin began to filter out into their respective chosen rooms, with Dusekkar and Builderman stopping by him, both meaning to ask the admin whether or not he’d use his room, but after noticing the subtle cradle of his feathers over the war veteran’s shoulder, the two decided to leave him be.

Left to themselves, Shedletsky and Guest sat on the couch, the atmosphere sounding with the gentle crackle of the fires and the warmth emanating from it stronger than usual days. The cabin’s worn-out material provided no heat, and it hadn’t helped that it had been constantly dark out; no sun would make up for the cold nights. If it weren’t for their watches, their sense of time would’ve been completely messed up, not that either had sane sleeping schedules anyway.

“You were a…Divine being, right?” Guest mustered the confidence to finally speak. This courage never matched the one that bred itself when he watched a bullet lodge itself into Matt, nor did it match the one that bloomed in his chest when he came face to face with the General, and only when he broke it down, did he realize what it was. It wasn’t powered by malice.

The topic had been sudden, but it mostly had been out of not finding it favorable to discuss the last round’s events. Especially, that– yeah..

He found himself curious, wondering. There are many stories he’s heard of each survivor, each killer; like how the red one turned out to be a kid to one of the survivors, and he pitied the father, really. Or how there reigned a rather high amount of Roblox’s admins in this forsaken realm, wondering what they could have possibly done to earn themselves a spot in these sick games; The Spectre probably found entertainment in watching them run around like little ants to spiders, deduced from their high power to nothing but bugs.

Shedletsky took his time to respond. “Yes, in a sense,” He sounded reluctant, like a hint of guilt laced his voice. Guest confirmed his suspicions; it was no wonder that the bird-man, from time to time, spoke like a seasoned, wise old man who’s seen the universe through and through. It was funny, on certain occasions, it rivaled Two Time’s praise for The Spawn and how they preached in the same manner, and it was quite entertaining to watch the shorter try to boast their extravagant word choice; all in the name of Spawn, of course.

Guest stilled, choosing to hide his hands behind his head, fingers brushing against soft plumes instead of the velvety fabric of the couch. “So then, what happened?” His voice struggled to remain casual, cool, and aloof, like his heart wasn’t pounding from the feeling of silk meeting his skin. Shedletsky sighed, and his bottom lip jutted out like a pout before he slumped against the couch.

 

“I don’t know,”

 

…

 

“Seriously?”

 

Even Guest had to break his respectful character after that. The tales he’s heard of Tela—Shedletsky were beyond great. No Robloxian, not even Builderman, could equal the sheer divine powers of a god like him. He was considered holy, on similar heights with the so-called Spawn, their crazed teammate praised ever so generously, a being capable of comprehending the universe and sparing it from its death, and yet found himself lazing away on a couch.

“What??” Shedletsky’s head rose from where it was resting on the backrest of the seat, his hands gesturing upward like he had been offended, his wings puffing out slightly before they slowly relaxed, steeling himself. “I don’t know what happened, then I don’t know what happened,” He shrugged, folding his arms as he returned to his resting position, huffing loudly, feigning dismay.

Guest had been oblivious, however, falling for the display and quickly apologizing.

Shedletsky simply smiled.

“I can share with you my stories,” The admin offered, his wings unfolding in a gesturing manner before one draped over Guest, encouraging the taller to embrace the warmth they provided. Flustered, Guest accepts the gesture, leaning into the soft feathers.

His heart beats against his ribcage, not in the same manner as it would when he ran across the battlefield or when he narrowly avoided the murderer of each round, as the soft material brushes over his skin. They’re softer than anything he’s felt, softer than cotton, and they surprisingly pulsed with warmth, with life. They buzzed and vibrated as Shedletsky spoke.

They sat on the couch for what felt like endless hours, the mere crackle of the fire becoming their music as the admin continued to portion his tales amongst the heavens, lining code by code into the world and ensuring peace remained amongst Robloxians. Though he had been unsuccessful during the war with the Bacon Soldiers, Guest was grateful to hear how much effort he made in an attempt to.

And all the while, the veteran traced his feathers, absentmindedly undoing the knots or tangles in them, extending his focus to the sound of Shedletsky’s heart, finding it eerily calming. He never let a word slip into one ear and out the other, a gentle smile caressing his face as he sought to remember each tale, occasionally joining in the admin’s quiet chuckles whenever a fun moment was brought up.

They exchanged lazy stories, not one saying a word to intercept the other. They just listened and spoke.

The ambience of the late night bugs and critters whatnot became prominent as they continued, and eventually, Shedletsky found himself propped up against Guest’s chest, the other holding him close as one hand toyed with the curls of his brown locks, his scent being the only smell that he breathed. They rested, peacefully, tangled in each other’s arms from the exhaustion of the day.

“It’s getting late,” Guest commented, having eyed Shedletsky’s watch for a while now, yet the bird man on top of him simply groaned in refusal, his wings fluttering, shaking, before they puffed and calmed again, scattering feathers all over the room. The veteran blinked as a feather landed atop his head. “What was that?” He asked with a chuckle, looking down at the shorter man.

Shedletsky’s voice came out muffled. “Nerves,” He mumbled against the fabric of Guest’s clothes, looking up at him through a slim angle. Guest tilted his head, gesturing toward the cabins outside where their beds were, before the admin shook his head. “It’s comfortable here,” He simply explained before resting his head once more against Guest’s chest, and that lulled a snicker out of him once more.

 

“They’ll wake up to see us here, you know?”

 

“And what do I care?”

 

“Right,”

 

And so, lulled by the melodies of the wind and the chirps of the cricket, accompanied by the rhythm of the fire and the slow tick of a watch, they rest their heads, eyes fluttering closed as they nod to a peaceful slumber.

…

 

…

 

The morning rose, and Chance found himself walking hand in hand with a rather grumpy Elliot, still wrapped in a blanket. The gambler asked if he knew where the tap with the drinkable water was while the deliveryman had recently woken, so it would be understandable that he was rather displeased to be guiding a grown ass man by the hand like you would a child.

Seriously, it was around like, three in the morning.

As they entered the main cabin, they were met with quite a sight. Feathers found themselves everywhere, and their owner lay on the couch flat on his stomach, large wings draped over the backrest and the other spilled onto the floor. Though after squinting, Elliot took notice of a taller figure buried, nestled under the bird man, both comfortably deep asleep.

Elliot envied them for a moment. They looked so comfortable asleep.

“Why can’t we be like that?” Chance asked with a pout, and suddenly, the deliveryman is reminded of the reason he found himself here, turning around swiftly to land a fisted bonk on the gambler’s head, not enough to injure him but enough to hurt, pulling an ‘ow’ out of him.

Slowly, Elliot moved toward them and unwrapped his blanket from his shoulders and rolled it over the slumbering figures, a hesitant smile tugging at his lips when a low coo sounded from Shedletsky.

Then he turned to Chance, gazing upon the man who resembled more of a sad, wet cat.

Yeah, why can’t they be like this…

Notes:

AAAAA this was so fun to write!! Thank you for your request so much!!! I hope it matched, I'm not very good at writing fluff yet haha :DD