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꒷꒦꒷ ; stelle ・❥・twenty three ・❥・she/they ・❥・aquarius ・❥・ dark trope luvr ・❥・monster fucker
꒷꒦꒷ ; i'll post as much as i can.
꒷꒦꒷ ; Scroll away if you do not like the au, genre, or details of the fic; this blog is dedicated to those who find comfort in chubby self-inserts. Majority of these will be Female or Gender-Neutral readers
stelle's picnic basket ao3 link
kinktober 2024
march munches
All DIVIDERS used here and in my fics are from: cafekitsune
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thinking about re9!leon and captain price sandwiching me <3 two of my big thick dilfs absolutely looking down on me while my thick ass self looks up at them with the most doe--yet most evil--eyes they've ever seen, like i am RUBBING MY HANDS TOGETHER LIKE FERAL SONIC bc im picturing them whimpering and groaning and reaching their limit so fast bc of their old ass age while me being in my prime mid 20s im just GETTING STARTED
The morning he does starts off with Ghost passing him in the hallway, a steaming to-go cup in his hand. The smell of coffee meets him.
"Since when do you drink coffee?" he says, halting in his tracks.
"Since the time you learned to mind your own business," Ghost says without pause in either voice or step, continuing his march like a man on a mission.
Soap snorts and keeps walking, thinking nothing of it until a few days later he spots Ghost with another coffee, this time along with a little paper bag. He makes the mistake of setting it on the counter for a moment.
Johnny immediately hooks a finger in the opening and peeks inside, the smell of sweet and warm baked goodness meeting him.
Ghost nearly takes Soap's hand off from how hard he slaps it away.
"Hands off."
"Ach, Jesus, alright." He rubs his stinging hand. "A good morning to you too, Lt."
Ghost rolls the top of the bag closed again and leaves just as suddenly as he appeared, mind and attention focused elsewhere. He disappears around the corner as Soap tries to think of how and why Ghost is walking around with warm pastries. Did he go off base and bring it back? Did he bake it himself? Now there's an image, Johnny thinks.
He's given the opportunity to find out just the next day.
He's en route to the shooting range to meet with Kyle when he runs into Ghost marching off with yet another bag in his hand.
"Hey, Lt," he calls, jogging over to him. "I'm headin' to the range, you in?"
"Later." Ghost doesn't look at him, instead scanning around searching for something. Soap looks down at the bag in his hand, seeing light condensation on the inside from whatever hot food is in it.
"Jesus, you doin' food deliveries on the side now or somethin'?"
"Or something," Ghost says in the tone of voice that actually means: "Shut the fuck up."
"Well if that's the case," Soap starts, willfully ignoring him just to rib him a bit, "I think I'd like to make an order for lunch—"
Ghost tenses. He does so in a way that Johnny only sees when there's a loaded gun in his hand and a soon-to-be corpse standing in front of him. It activates something in Johnny's lizard brain and muscle memory takes over, immediately stepping into a defensive position, facing whatever it is that's coming at them.
But all he sees are a couple of medics on their break.
You're sitting at one of the tables outside, trying to get as much fresh air as you can on the woefully short break you managed to get. One of your coworkers, someone who's worked on the same ward as you ever since you arrived at this base, walks up to you. You smile up at him in greeting. He hands you a styrofoam cup filled with a steaming drink, made from the overworked coffee maker which you gratefully accept.
The both of you are too far for either Soap or Ghost to hear. They can only see you kick out the other chair for him to take, see him sit in front of you, and start getting into a conversation that you both lean into.
You laugh at whatever he said and the sound of it reaches to where the two soldiers stand.
Soap swears the air drops in temperature a few degrees. He stills. The hairs on the back of his neck stand up. All he dares to move is his eyes to look over at Ghost.
Ghost stands there like the manifestation of cold wrath itself. His eyes, as dark as the thoughts running through his head with perfect clarity, stare down the medic sitting in front of you. As sharp as the knives that his fingers have the sudden urge to wrap around.
The sound of the bag in his hand collapsing under Ghost's deathgrip cuts through whatever spiraling void his mind began to fall down. Ghost heaves a quiet breath and resumes his march over to your table. Soap stays where he is, watching with a morbid fascination.
When he approaches, you look up at him and instead of the concerned (if not frightened) expression that Soap expects, you give him a beaming smile. He places the bag down in front of you.
In the moment that you're busy opening and looking through it, Ghost shoots the man across the table from you a look that Soap can't see from here, but the way that all of the blood drains from the medic's face gives him a pretty good idea.
You place the containers of food on the table and say something to Ghost. He rumbles something back to you and turns away without anymore fanfare. By the time he makes it back to Soap's side, the puzzle pieces have started to click together.
"Aye, so it's your lass who you've been sneakin' all those goodies to."
"Wot?"
"Ye know, your girlfriend?" He gestures to you.
"Fuck are you on about, Johnny?"
Soap is struck with the full understanding that A) Ghost is head over arse in love with you and B) Has no intention of doing anything about it. Which does and doesn't surprise him. The man's a workaholic, dedicated to the job just as much as any other of the 141; they wouldn't be alive if they weren't. But he's also not one to be passive about things. Ghost is about as blunt as a sledgehammer to the back of the head, doesn't waste time with tedious little social dances.
Which leads Soap to come to the other, most crucial realization of C) Ghost has absolutely no idea.
"Nothing. Never mind."
Ghost rolls his eyes and slinks off, leaving Soap standing there with a million thoughts racing through his head.
Soap disagrees with the notion that he's impulsive. Impulsivity carries the notion of thoughtlessness, of a lack of regard for the future. Instead, Soap sees no point in running in circles, hemming and hawing. He encounters a problem, sees what needs to be done, and executes. Hesitation gets you blown up.
Which is why, after encountering this predicament, Soap knows what needs to be done to solve it. All that is required now is the right time to act and the perfect opportunity strikes on an afternoon he's walking with Ghost to Price's office.
"Lieutenant!" your voice calls out from the other end of the hallway. The man in question immediately halts and turns back around. You come jogging up to the both of them, a small plastic container in your hands. "I was going to give this back to you earlier but, you know, busy." You hand the container to him which he takes. "Thanks again, it was really good."
"You liked it?" he asks, soft, timid, like your approval is what keeps the world spinning.
Soap wishes he had a camera right now. Or a pencil and paper. Just to immortalize the look on Ghost's face.
He stands with his chin tucked, like a bashful wee puppy dog if Soap had to describe it. He stares at you with his big, unblinking eyes, glittering like you just handed him the key to paradise instead of a piece of empty plastic.
"It was delicious," you say fervently, "you have to show me what recipe you used."
Sweet, steaming, bloody Jesus.
Ghost has been cooking meals for you.
Soap stares gobsmacked, open mouthed at the side of Ghost's head, mind reeling. Ghost doesn't realize because he's too busy looking at you. Nothing short of a bomb threat could pull his attention away.
Ghost shrugs, fiddles with the container like he all of the sudden doesn't know what to do with his hands.
"It was nothing. Just something I threw together." The way his eyes soften, sweet as melted chocolate at your praise screams otherwise.
"Well, either way. It was amazing." You look down to quickly check your watch.
"No rest for the wicked, eh?" Ghost drawls.
You sigh. "Tell me about it."
Soap watches the moment with certainty that nothing will come of this, can see in perfect vision that you'll leave and Ghost will do nothing but watch with the yearning they write about in poems. The both of you will live in complete ignorance about the near apocalyptic levels of longing that he just knows bothers Ghost more than he realizes.
He glances at Ghost. Glances at you. Formulates a plan. Sees every way it could go horribly and every consequence that could come of it. Commits anyway.
"Have to say, I really admire you medic folk," Soap says before you scurry off, leaning a shoulder against the wall, casual as can be.
"Oh," you say, taken aback by the sudden flattery. "Thank you, Sergeant."
Soap feels Ghost's presence behind him like a world-ending missile in its pre-launch phase. He swears he can hear a countdown start.
"Aye, some of the hardest workers I've seen. Nothing short of brilliant, too."
The missile's coordinates lock in right on Soap's head. He refuses to acknowledge the cold sweat that starts up along his spine.
You wave him off, a pretty heat making its home on the apples of your cheeks. Soap wouldn't have guessed Ghost had an eye for sweet little things like you. "Takes all sorts to keep the wheels moving," you say, a humble deflection.
"But you all are the ones that keep us in one piece. That's no' a small task," he leans his head in just a touch, as close as he dares with the Shadow of Death standing right behind him glaring holes with those demon eyes of his into the back of his skull. "Ah, careful though," he further dares to employ the little side-smile-eyebrow-quirk that's yet to fail him, lowering his voice into a gravely lilt that always gets him the attention he wants, "you keep on like that and you'll make the rest of us look bad, bonn—"
"You have training duty to report to," Ghost interjects in his full Lieutenant Voice that has Soap unconsciously shooting up from his slouch on the wall. By the time his muscle memory has passed, Ghost has already shifted his attention back to you. "I'll see you later, yeah?" he addresses to you, sounding like a completely different person from literally just a second ago.
You smile at him and nod. "Yeah." He returns the nod and watches in soft silence as you march off to whatever else the rest of your day has in store for you. The two of them stand in silence. He measures the air like he would the stability of a live explosive in his hand.
"So," Soap says once you're out of sight, hearing the countdown reach zero. "When's the weddin'?"
The sound of Ghost's palm smacking the back of Soap's head echoes down the corridor.
I have so much brainrot for Vergil and Dante right now. You can read this thinking of game or anime Vergil, the feeling is the same.
vergil x reader
The room was flooded with blue.
With him.
Dawn was still far from reaching the hidden place you called sanctuary. Night was beginning to surrender, but the sun had yet to appear, a place caught between both worlds. If it had to be described, it would be that uncertain hour where the darkness softens just a fraction, when the world breathes a little slower.
When it feels as though time might take pity on you and grant you just a little more.
Outside, it was raining. The sound was a murmur that bled through the walls with effort, like a distant conversation. You couldn't see it, but you imagined that the outside world was also blue: the cold hue of the early morning, of wet streets, of a cloudy sky blanketing the stars.
The hue enveloping you, however, was anything but cold.
Maybe this is what the ocean floor looks like, you thought, staring at the colored walls. But it couldn't possibly be this warm.
Your eyes blinked slowly, begging to give in to sleep, but you kept your gaze stubbornly fixed on the blue. The word adhered to your thoughts until it lost its shape. Blue, blue, blue. You couldn't see anything else. When the world remains this silent, thoughts can become devastatingly loud. You didn't want to close your eyes; if you did, the color would disappear. It would slip away.
You didn't want the gold of the dawn, but the deep indigo of the twilight.
The world sank further as more thoughts washed ashore. Deeper and deeper. Bluer and bluer.
Then, you were pulled back to the surface the moment a warm hand gently encircled your wrist beneath the sheets.
You thought he was asleep.
Your gaze drifted from the walls and settled on him.
The scarce lighting softened Vergil’s features, turning him into something more ethereal than lethal. His eyes, whose true depth remained unknown to you, cleared from a raging storm into a peaceful sea. Blue, blue, blue. A clear gaze, softened by sleep, locking onto yours.
While his expression was indecipherable most of the time, his eyes could be terrifyingly honest.
You wondered if he knew.
You never mentioned it.
Nor did you speak a word as your hand was drawn out from under the covers. He held it between the two of you, at the level of his chest, of your eyes. Vergil’s hand was larger, calloused where yours was soft, with invisible scars upon his palm that could only be felt when skin pressed against skin.
There was nothing special about your hand, it was merely a human limb.
Even so, Vergil’s touch was always cautious when it came to you. Not because he believed you were fragile and feared breaking you, though you knew he easily could. In reality, he touched you as if it were a surprise that he actually could, that you allowed it. Trying to see what he was looking at was in vain, but you knew his vision wasn't the same. What did he see that made him hesitate?
It should have been you trembling, yet it was his fingers that wavered as they covered your skin.
Sometimes, it seemed as though he were waiting for the moment you would reject him, as if scorn were inevitable.
You didn't pull away. You didn't dare break the silence. Words could shatter the fragility of the moment. Instead, your eyes never left him. His fingers separated yours slowly, one by one. It was hypnotizing. Painfully intimate.
You shifted your gaze from your joined hands to him. A few white strands of hair fell across his forehead, but he made no move to brush them aside. All his attention was anchored to the smaller palm pressing against his own. If he closed his hand, he would trap you completely.
As if he hadn't already.
Whatever he was looking for, he found it. You held your breath when he suddenly guided your hand to his face. It wasn't what you expected. His warm breath brushed against your skin, heating it. One, two, three deep breaths. His lips hovered, finding the right spot, and then pressed softly, then with more firmness, into the meat of your palm, his nose brushing your skin. It was a gesture far more expressive than any spoken declaration. Vergil closed his eyes, breathing in your skin, sighing into your palm, but you didn't dare blink. You just held him through it.
The ghost of his kiss remained as he pulled back slightly, just enough to follow the path he had silently chosen to trace. Vergil’s mouth ascended until it found the delicate skin protecting your wrist. Your heart responded by starting to race wildly, and Vergil caught the beats with his lips, feeling them, keeping them. He dismantled you completely.
Blue, blue, blue.
With Vergil, you had never known the edge of the blade. Nor the bite of ice. But tenderness was almost as terrifying as a stab wound. It was hard to discern which one could hurt more.
He did nothing without a reason, and you wondered if there was a hidden message.
There was.
He wouldn't tell you, but the thought was there, the words heavy at the back of his throat, pressing to get out. For someone who never hesitated to speak, he couldn't utter a single phrase.
If he were a better man, perhaps you would already know.
This is yours. Perhaps you don't know it, perhaps you suspect it, but he knows.
It is yours.
There isn't a moment where he doesn't think it.
If there was anything worth thanking the earth for—that devastated world he denies ever belonging to—it was you.
He could walk that earth simply knowing you are in it.
You felt his lips tremble against your pulse, pressing a little harder against that mortal fluttering. Distantly, you wondered if you had somehow managed to crack Vergil’s armor and slip inside.
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Vergil shows off his power and skills to you on hunts because it’s a mating ritual for demons, only the strongest get the favour of the mate. Send tweet.
"He told you to use him. Get off on him. That he would just watch. Take in the sights as you find your high. But what you didn’t think was going to happen was him actually staying true to his word."
FemReaderXChris Redfield (established relationship)
Word Count: 2.6k
Smut - No Minors 🔞
I'm back with more Chris...whooooooooo!
Other Ao3 Shit // More RE Fics
Warnings: Smoking, Explicit Language
also we ride like Leon in Requiem as its questionable if i proofread this.
“Yeah…that’s it….”
Chris’s voice was low as you watched him cut the cap off his cigar.
“Chr-” you rock your hips more into him. Your body begging for his hands on you again.
He gives you a snide smile as he continues with his focus on the cigar in his hands, “You’ve got this babe,” he looks up to you, “don’t you?”
You let out a little whiney moan, “But…Ch-ris…please”
Chris chuckles softly, and before he can light his cigar, he wraps one arm around your waist and thrusts into you deeply before resting himself back on the couch.
“Fuck Chris…” your eyes shoot open to the brief rough connection, your body savoring that feeling.
“Do this right and I’ll give you more of that,” Chris reaches for his lighter, “alright?”
You look down at him and nod. Your mouth holding back some moans as you continue to ride him. His hard length filling you so well that you can’t help but let him know by moaning his name after (what feels like) every rise and fall of your hips. He told you to use him. Get off on him. That he would just watch. Take in the sights as you find your high. But what you didn’t think was going to happen was him actually staying true to his word.
You felt like you were turning into nothing but whines as you begged for his hands on you. But every time you asked, he just shook his head and would go back for another pull on his cigar.
And fuck…why was that so hot?
You found your thighs getting tired, but you were so drunk on his length that you couldn’t stop even if you wanted to. And as he took another pull, the end of the cigar lighting up with a bright red glow, you snaked your hands around the base of his head. Your hands now wrapping your fingers around the back of his neck as you kept your steady tempo down below.
You moved your thumbs back and forth behind his ears, your long nails gently scraping over his skin. And as if instant, Chris lets out a low rumble as he takes in your touch. You watch as his eyes roll into the back of his head for a split second, your touch intoxicating to him.
“Mmm…that’s it babe.”
You grip the back of his neck and head slightly as you pick up your tempo. Those words starting something within you. The sound of skin meeting skin growing within the room.
“Chr-” you whine as you feel the burn in your thighs, “please…baby….please. I need more.” You catch on a bit of air as you feel your body wanting to release but refusing to.
Chris pushes out some smoke; its rough, dense, yet earthy sent hitting you straight in the face, “Tell me what you want then?”
You take in a sharp breath, “You”
Chris laughs as he sets down the cigar in the ashtray, “You already have me. Or did you forget whose dick you’re riding.” Chris laughs again, but lower, as he finally puts his hands on your body. “Don’t tell me,” his fingers gripping down into your supple waist, “that you’re so cock drunk that you forgot who you’re fucking?”
You keep your head low as you shake it from side to side, “No baby, never. I just – ah.”
Chris shifts his hips up into yours again, “Then use your words like a good girl and tell me what you mean by more. Cuz right now, you have everything you want.”
You push back a moan, only an annoyed hum leaving your lips this time, “Touch me Chris, for fuck’s sake touch me.” You begin to slam yourself into him, a bit out of annoyance and also out of a bit of need.
Chris hums, his one hand leaving so he could pick up his cigar, “No need to get so mad babe,” and as he brings the cigar to his mouth he can’t help but chuckle as he takes in your face, “you have hands too.”
You were clearly on the edge and just needed something more from him, but with how your brows were folding in on themselves, the glisten of sweat on your forehead, and the way your fingers were now digging into the back of his neck - your release was still far away.
You slow your tempo as you give yourself a short break. Your thighs taking in the pause as your body worked on coming back down.
Chris takes a pull, “Tired? Already?” He smiles smugly at you as he pushes out the smoke.
You groan, “No, just-”
Chris looks at you, his eyes growing dark as he watches you before him. The way your chest was moving through your elevated breathing, the slight shake in your thighs, and the way your arms were still resting on his shoulders. All such a perfect view for him as he enjoys himself. Enjoys you as you ‘use’ him.
“Come ‘ere beautiful…” With his free hand he grabs for your chin. His large fingers gripping down on your skin only to pull you forward. “Why are you being so grumpy, this was your idea?”
You look away from him, “I’m not, I just-” you sigh, “need more Chris.”
Chris takes a drag close to your face. Your eyes moving to watch the way he pulls in the smoke on the cigar. Your body reacting in a way he could feel. And soon there’s a cloud of smoke hitting you again, “Need or want babe?”
You lean yourself in closer to him, his hand now leaving your chin, finding its place back on your waist.
You bring your lips to his, that earthy tobacco filled scent he’s been hitting you with all night now on your tastebuds as you press your lips into his. And after that taste of him you find your hips moving again on his length. The roll of your hips causing him to let out a low deep groan from him that vibrates the kiss you two were sharing.
Chris pulls back a bit, “Yeah…that’s it. Mmm, just like that babe.” He sets the cigar back into the ashtray that hand coming to grip your waist. Chris looks up at you as you’ve pulled back a little. Your head hanging low as you let the pleasure build again. Chris pushes back some of your hair, his eyes taking in your new expression, “There she is,” he hums, “that gorgeous girl of mine.”
Chris’s one hand begins to skim over your skin. His calloused fingers leaving behind a rough sensation over your plush body. And when it begins to travel down you feel your body shutter. A smile on your lips when you notice exactly where it was headed.
Chris brings his other hand to wrap around the base of your head. His thumb resting on your cheek and without fail you fall into his touch. His hand holding your head as you pick up the tempo.
And with force he pulls you into him, your lips meeting his again.
“Mmm…” it was muffled but your eyes shot open when that first touch finally found you. “Mmm…Chr-” you push your face into his more for the touch on your bud was everything you needed. Everything you craved right now. And as his thumb swirled down below that blooming release was finally back.
And while you wanted to pull back, moan his name in a way that always gets him riled up, he kept your face close to him. His lips glued to yours. Only your muffled moans giving him the sounds he adored from you.
You move one of your hands to his forearm, your fingers gripping down into his muscle as you worked your thighs harder. The rise and fall of your body picking up as you were getting close.
And through an act of desperation, you find your other hand gripping on the back of Chris’s head, your fingers raking over his scalp wishing his hair was a bit longer so you had something to pull on.
You feel Chris smile up next to your lips. His body reading yours perfectly as you began to break above him. He pulls back, but instead of letting you go he pulls you in more. Your head now over his shoulder as he kisses you down your neck. The roughness of his stubble running across your skin, similar to those calloused fingers.
“You’re doing so well babe,” Chris finds his spot on your neck, just far enough down where it could be easily covered with clothes, to begin sucking and pulling at your skin. The way he pulled in what he could, just like a harsh drag on a cigarette, you knew that this mark he’d leave behind was going to be there for some time.
You take in the rough pull by curling your fingers over the back of his head again. Your long nails scraping over his short hair.
Chris chuckles, “Mmm yeah…that’s it babe…” before going back to your skin.
You move you head into his, your hand wrapping more around the back of his head as you pulled him in, “Oh fuck, baby…I’m-” you feel him press down more on your bud, picking up the pace of his continuous circles.
He breaks away from your skin, only to bring his lips close to your ear, “Gonna cum on this dick?”
You close your eyes tighter, only a nod coming from you to answer him.
“Mmm…and whose dick are you cumming on?” His fingers gripping down into your skin
Your brows were knitting into each other so perfectly as you let your mouth stay open, your moans growing whiney again as you kept slamming yourself into him, “Yours baby. Your dick…mmmm…fuck baby,” you slam your hips down into him, but this time not going back up as you feel yourself falling into him. Your one leg trying to push you off as you felt your release rush its way all over your body.
Chris breaks away from your bud only to take in one of your breasts. His tongue flicking at your nipple as he sucks down on your soft skin.
You hold back a whimper as your mind tries to focus on one thing. And as you fight between your release and his touch on you, you find your body growing heavier as you start to fall into Chris.
Chris pulls away from your breast, a snide smile back on his lips as he moves his hands over your body. Adjusting you in a way to help support you. He brings you down, getting your chest to lay flush against his as his hands ran over your back. And as you rest there, Chris waits until you wrap your arms around his neck before he adjusts your legs. Getting them snug up against him again.
And while you thought that you had earned a break, that clearly wasn’t what was going on in Chris’s mind. Oh no. For you feel that grip of his fingers on the back of your thighs and soon the way Chris was pushing his back onto the couch.
“Oh fuck- Chris-” the room was immediately filled with the sounds of skin hitting skin – hard - as he fucked you from below. Your arms wrapping around his neck and head tighter as he rammed his length into you. Him making sure that each thrust was him bottoming out inside you.
“Mmm fuck babe, fuck you always feel so good after you cum.” Chris bites down a little on your arm as you kept it wrapped around him. Your back arching a bit to that new sensation.
“Yeah- yeah…just like that. Fuck babe…” Chris picks up his tempo even more, something you didn’t think he could do from the position he was in. But it was fast, rough, loud as your hips and thighs took in the new dull pain that was starting below.
Chris moves one hand to your shoulder as he wraps his arms around you. His fingers gripping you so tightly that you knew he was close. He had to be close only for him to whisper in your ear, “Let me feel you cum again.” Chris lets out muffled groan as he continues his tempo, “Be a good girl and touch yourself. Get yourself off on me again.”
You pull yourself away from Chris, your body now in view for him again. And as his hands rested on your hips, he watched as your hand traveled low. Your fingers finding your bud just like he asked.
Chris moans as he presses his head into the back of the sofa, his body nearing its release.
And you do as he asks, letting your middle finger work its way around your bud. It’s pressure bringing in another rise for you. Your one hand planted on his shoulder as you balance yourself above him. Your body rocking to his pace as he grips down tighter on your waist.
“Come on beautiful…” Chris’s breathing was now noticeably labored as he pushes through these last couple of minutes.
“Isn’t this how you wanted to be fucked? Letting me fuck you so deeply you forget where you are?” Chris’s tempo slows down a little, but he sends a couple of hard thrusts into you.
You nod as you focus on your center more. Your body starting to crumble again as you could feel another release coming on.
Chris notices the changes and smiles, “Come on babe…come on…” he was pushing those last two words from his teeth as he did what he could to hold on.
And with the way your nails dug into Chris shoulder, the next sensation he felt was how your center squeezed down on him, his lungs pushing out a low moan. He fucks you for a couple of thrusts longer, making sure to fuck you as you came before finally- he pushes your hips down into his and releases all that he could.
You sit on top of Chris, your shoulders slumped and before you can go to move yourself off him you feel his hand on your back. You bring your gaze up to his and see him looking at you with a soft smile on his lips. You place your hands on his cheeks, your palms taking in his stubble, as you fall into him, pressing your lips so deeply into his your ears pick up on both of you taking in a sharp breath through your noses.
You hum, “We should do that again…”
Chris smiles, his warm brown eyes looking up to you, “And soon too.”
You chuckle and soon your eyes carry over to his ashtray, “Gonna stay and smoke for a bit longer?”
Chris nods, “Yeah, but-” Chris knew that the smell of his cigars weren’t exactly your favorite, but you did tolerate them.
You reach behind him, tugging at the blanket that was draped over the back of the sofa, “I’ll stay, just don’t give me a bad time if I fall asleep on you.”
Chris smiles and brings you back in for another kiss, “I won’t, just don’t get mad at me when I wake you up so we can get you cleaned before bed.”
You smile and nod while slowly moving yourself off his length, his hands gripping down on you tightly as your moment sent an overly sensitive jolt throughout his body. You give him one more kiss before falling onto the couch. Your tired legs now resting over his thighs as you moved the blanket over yourself.
Chris watches as you pull the pillow under your head, your hand reaching out for his free one before he reached for his cigar again. And it was fast the way you fell asleep, his hand now rubbing your legs as he enjoyed his version of post sex bliss with you.
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Summary: You never thought you'd get so involved with the same man who has taken away any semblance of peace from you. Trying to pick apart and understand the convoluted mess of emotions that was your relationship with Wesker was nearly as impossible as plotting your escape route, and you've given up on that quest a long time ago. However, some things are simpler than they first appear.
Notes: ~ 6k words. Ambiguous (toxic) relationship. Implied captor/captive dynamic. A touch of character exploration. Semi canon-typical Wesker. Brief none-explicit descriptions of sexual intimacy.
Credit: dividers by @/saradika-graphics
No matter how many years have passed you by, you remained by Albert Wesker's side for better or worse. And still he was an ever-evolving mystery to you. One would think that a man like him couldn't care less about sentimental things like human connection or trust, much less something like romance. And the truth was, you still couldn't even dispute that.
There were days when you wondered why you even still stayed instead of taking the easy way out. Escaping on your own was a thought downright fantastical in its potential success rate. Wesker was selfish, entitled, cold, cruel, sadistic, and all the unsettling characteristics trapped in-between. He was no gentle and misunderstood prince that was merely trapped behind the mirage of a vile beast cast upon him by some evil witch or wizard. There was no evil spell for you to break with a soft touch and a kind magic word. No true love's kiss to save the day and bring you a well deserved happily ever after.
Even though it was a fantasy you could occasionally indulge in, real life was very far from a fairytale.
You could've ended it all, you could've gone out with your head held high and on your own terms. What's the point of keeping yourself alive if you had no dignity left to defend? You could've proclaimed yourself a noble hero, someone who'd much rather take their own life than be used for evil. Sure, you'd never live to see the recognition of your selfless sacrifice, but... At the very least, you'd keep a clean conscience on you.
And yet, there were also reasons you've chosen to stay. Reasons beyond just being kept there against your will to complete your mission. As far as you were concerned, you've fulfilled your mission years ago already. You were still here, though. Still standing. Still feeling the firm pressure of his rough fingers wrapped around your own, in equal measure confining as they were grounding. Of course you've wondered about why you still stayed. But you've also wondered why he let you stay.
Perhaps it was that unfulfilled curiosity that has kept you here for so long. Even knowing he would never give you the satisfaction of realizing you were indeed special to him, you still wanted to get a glimpse behind the curtain one day - to prove that there really was more to him than he let on. It was your stubbornness, maybe. Or just foolishness. That's what he would say, anyway.
But you knew you weren't just seeing things, either. His actions spoke louder than words. Someone like Wesker didn’t allow touch - not without control behind it.
He could forcibly yank someone near him or place his foot on their neck at any time if it allowed him to look down upon them with that spine chilling tyrannical gleam in his eye, but he would never be seen lightly touching someone's shoulder or providing a reassuring pat on the back. And he certainly didn't enjoy it when that was done to him, either. You had to learn that the hard way in the first few weeks you've spent with him. Back then, he looked at you as if you weren't even a living, breathing being worth paying any heed to, more like some bothersome toy to be commanded and hauled around as he wanted.
That's how it started, anyway. It was far from a romantic meet-cute for you two, that's for sure. In the beginning, he only ever reached out for you and your hand out of practical necessity, nothing more. He merely didn't want you to get lost in the crowd and end up somewhere he didn't plan for you to be. Albert Wesker treasured his time, after all. He'd much rather prefer to concentrate on what truly mattered rather than squander his time trying to find you among the crowd. So, his hand would wordlessly wrap itself around your wrist like a vice, and not let go for a second until he was sure you'd stay right where he needed you to be like the good little pet you were. Really, it was more humiliating for you than touching. At least, that's how you felt about it in the moment, face heating up with frustrated embarrassment and your lips pressing together into a thin line to stop yourself from saying something stupid that would probably get you killed.
But that didn't stop you from still occasionally letting your mouth run wild on him. That would get his attention. You still remember how your heart sprang up to your throat the first time Wesker had abruptly gripped your entire face in one hand, his fingers digging into your cheeks as he all but yanked you close, a quick reminder of where you truly stood with him. Back then, your life had quite literally literally flashed before your eyes right then and there. You were confident that this was finally the end for you. And what a stupid way to go, having your neck snapped by some crazy megalomaniac instead of some heroic feat of glory, all because you just had to open your big dumb mouth and call him out on his egotistical bullshit.
But... It's been almost a decade since that fateful day, and your head remained securely attached to your neck. You didn't even need to credit that to some life altering virus. It took you a while, but eventually, you figured out why he let you go relatively unharmed for your occasional antics. He may have appeared utterly cold and emotionless at first glance, but the truth was that he actually enjoyed the struggle. He enjoyed having you talk back to him once every few days or so when your resolve would waver. He enjoyed the challenge and the thrill of pushing and intimidating and forcing that fiery will of yours to slither right back into the safety of your inner thoughts.
It turned out that even Albert Wesker could become bored. No wonder he suddenly started purposefully tormenting you with coarse words and forceful touches for seemingly no good or logical reasoning. It was his very twisted way of taking a quick break and relaxing instead of taking a nap or doodling like a normal person would. A rather twisted and sadistic one, sure, but also fitting for a man like him.
...You weren't sure if you should have felt honored or insulted to be given the unspoken new title of his personal stress toy. But you tried to concentrate on the fact that it at least kept you alive and standing for the time being. His scarce touches of practical necessity have somehow shifted into a calculated game of poking and prodding instead, a scheme with the sole goal of uncovering each and every single way possible to make you tick. No longer would he ignore you as if you did not exist in his vicinity. Instead, you'd find yourself wishing he wouldn't pay you as much close attention to you as he did.
Anything that made you squirm, jump, or shudder would elicit a deep chuckle of approval from him. It demonstrated your continued usefulness for his amusement, sure, but it simultaneously kicked your already ruined sense of pride even further into the ground. Sacrificing your pride for your life wasn't so bad, you supposed, there were far worse fates out there. But it didn't mean you had to appreciate it whenever he'd grab at your chin or run his fingers down the length of your spine in a way that was very far from comforting.
It was nerve-wracking to say the least.
He was like a cat playing with a mouse without ever intending to end its torment and devour it; all he did was relish the excitement of seeing you try to scurry away and fight fruitlessly to escape from his claws. You could never predict whether he'd be soft and gentle with you, or forceful and downright cruel. Of course, you were well aware that he did this on purpose. Everything he did held some sort of bigger purpose to it. Even the most gentlest of touches can be cruel if all they do is make you wonder if something terrible is about to happen once it's over. This contrast of hot and cold, of you never fully breaking but still conceding to his whims - was exactly what has kept you under his watchful eye for this long without you being discarded.
You couldn't recall the exact time when that has also began to shift. Perhaps instead of one pivotal moment, it was a series of smaller ones. You did recall the first time you touched him without him recoiling or clamping down on your wrist like a vise.
Stress toy or not, you still had the privilege of remaining by his side far longer than most. Excella's injections provided him with the horrifying strength that elevated him far above any living human, but they also had their drawbacks. He'd always get a bit more... intense after them. And you were the one who had to handle that.
Of course it was you. Excella was far too important to waste her time on something like this; she'd simply leave you to it with a saccharine smile and a sympathetic pat on your arm that was as far away from genuine as they come. She knew you wouldn't be enjoying yourself in any way. You could have been irritated by her arrogant looks, but you couldn't really blame her either. Hell, you'd probably do the exact same thing if you switched places with her. You were not a flawless angel, either.
Wesker never suffered the same horrifying effects you were unfortunate enough to witness with your own eyes a couple of times. After all, he was unique, one of a kind. Ouroboros has accepted him, a privilege granted to very few. If your never-ending streak of bad luck was any indication, you'd most likely be denied this privilege, too. But that didn't mean he was entirely unaffected by it, either. You had no idea if he was hurting. If he was, you'd guess he wouldn't show it to you easily, anyway. However, he would become noticeably more frantic and woozy for perhaps an hour or two. Whether he was in pain or not might have been unclear, but the cold sheen of sweat on his brow and the strain in his breath spoke of some discomfort, at the very least.
Additionally, there were behavioral shifts, too. Those were the ones you've always dreaded the most. On your regular days, Wesker might have been harsh, nasty, and arrogant merely to toy with you and irritate you enough to justify punishing you later. But it was at least calculated on his end. For those crucial hours following his injections, you couldn't say the same. You could handle him rambling on about concepts your feeble brain couldn't even begin to comprehend: from all the evolutionary failures of humankind to the potential of godhood, or a simmering anger towards a man from the past that should've been left buried and incoherent tangents on the memories you couldn't fully discern. They were confusing, yes, but your life has long since stopped making sense. Besides, it didn't seem like he was even all that interested in your feedback. Most of the time, you couldn't even tell if he was speaking to you or to himself.
You preferred it that way, frankly.
But there were occasions when he would become erratic, restless, irritated. If Albert Wesker was unpredictable in his normal state, whenever he'd get like this, that unpredictability would be upped to eleven. And wasn't the entire purpose of stress toys to release those kinds of emotions? So, that's exactly what you'd be used for. You'd take him toying with you on purpose over him hauling you close by your neck or slamming you into the nearest wall on any day of the week. He didn't even seem to be enjoying it. It felt like you were simply being used as the closest thing to take his frustrations out on.
You could take being treated as a tool, but you never did grow used to fearing for your life.
You couldn't remember if you did so just out of sheer desperation to avoid getting roughed up again, or out of some strange genuine feelings of twisted attachment you've formed after so long stuck in captivity, but- On one of those frantic nights, instead of covering away from him like you usually would, you reached out and... touched him. Apprehensively, gently, not expecting anything in return and with nothing left to lose. You remembered that his cheek felt hot to the touch - too hot to be normal - his skin clammy with sweat.
You also remembered that, to your complete surprise, he didn't recoil from you at that moment. Perhaps your hand simply felt nice and cool against the abnormal heat his body and mind were burning up with as his physical being scrambled to adjust to the injection and its effects. You had no idea, and he never actually told you, either. You just knew that he leaned into your touch, a heavy exhale falling from his chapped lips that sounded downright labored. That was also the first time you've gotten a real, proper look at those eyes of his. Eyes that could not belong to a human being no more. In the darkness of his private study, your round pupils met his snake-like slit ones: red, pulsating, and almost glowing dimly. You didn't know back then that this signature glow you were so mesmerized by seemed to be somehow tied to his emotions. You just found yourself thinking that it was... oddly beautiful.
Though, considering its actual origins, it was a rather strange and perverted kind of beauty. Not that you got to linger on that thought for too long. Because before you could do as much as utter a single word to him to break the tense silence between you, he wordlessly pulled you in by your shoulders, and suddenly his heated mouth was on you.
You remember being horrified with yourself for actually enjoying it after it had long ended and you were left rinsing off the residual sweat from your body. Although what you really wanted to rinse off was your creeping sense of shame.
That was one hell of a post-nut clarity for you, that's for sure. You were meant to hate this man, weren't you? Hate him with every fiber of your being, and you'd be more than justified in that hatred. But you couldn't deny the humiliating truth in the way your limbs have buzzed with pleasant warmth and your mind has flashed back to the heated memories of the few hours prior.
It was... nice to actually feel in control for once. It was also nice to receive pleasure without any strings attached for a change. The truth was, you definitely needed that, and you enjoyed it thoroughly.
Neither you nor he discussed it with each other later. You didn't have the guts to bring it up with him. That single night of shared vulnerability did not instantly alter the existing status quo between you. But it was the first little nudge that made the first domino piece drop. You could no longer regard him as just your brutal captor, no matter how much you might have wanted to. Especially now that you knew how he tasted on your tongue, or how his breath would stutter slightly when your hands pulled at his hair just right.
You could have been just as ruthless with him, or at least tried to while the chance presented itself. It would be only fair, after all. And yet, your touches were anything but. Excella would touch and caress him every time she cooed in his ear about this new world they were creating together, but you weren't intrusive nor demanding in the the way that you touched him.
You didn't bend to his will completely and you still took charge, but you never truly attempted to step on his toes, either. Perhaps that was the catalyst for true change. Somehow, eventually, that has become an unspoken routine for you two. He didn't force you into accepting it per se. Though, to be completely fair, not that you ever tried to refuse him. And perhaps that was for the better.
To be honest, you simply didn't mind it. You've already learned to make the best of your circumstances, and this arrangement was certainly way more beneficial to you than simply being used as a walking stress ball on the good days, and as a full-on punching bag on the bad ones, being given little to no agency at all. But with this, whenever Wesker reached for you or drew you in during one of his episodes, you could set the pace. You could control your own pleasure. You could genuinely connect to him in a very strange way for a brief moment in time.
You'd think someone like him would be a selfish lover, taking what he needs and leaving you there once he got his fill. But that didn't appear to bring him all that much pleasure. In fact, he seemed to get off on the fact that he was the one who'd have you shaking underneath him, your head utterly overwhelmed with the pleasure he was giving you, whether that was his long and expert fingers or him filling you. Without a doubt, the intense pleasure he would provide you made begging seem far less degrading in the moment.
And the longer it went on, the bolder you became. You were initially hesitant to do as much as cup his cheek or place your hands on his heated chest, too concerned about his reaction. But then, once you've figured out that he didn't want a simple obedient toy that simply does whatever he tells it to - after all, he already had plenty of those, variety is what keeps things entertaining - you've grown more and more sure of yourself. You would take advantage of the fact that your touch seemed to calm the hot fever that would rage through his body and mind during such moments. A caress over his hot forehead here. Your hands moving up and down his back in a comforting caress there. Never biting off more than you could chew. Even while you may have had every right to do so, you never tried to hurt him or put him down below you.
Until one day, you somehow got to touch him without it turning into one of those heated moments of passion. You remember him rambling on frantically about things long forgotten, names you didn't know, memories you didn't have any access to, unsolved grudges festering inside his brain like a raging tumor. You didn't know what nudged you into placing a gentle hand on his arm, your thumb swiping over the warm fabric of his dress shirt in a way that was... very simple. Not a suggestion, not an invitation, nor even a question. Just a mere touch of comfort he probably didn't deserve. However, your heart has long stopped thinking rationally. Good or not, this man was all you knew now.
You didn't have any special blood cells on you or unique DNA to exploit. You weren't particularly strong physically or intelligent, and your name alone didn't hold any weight or influence to it, either.
You were a nobody. A dumb, unlucky human who was unfortunate enough to be used for what little you could provide. And yet, all of that aside, somehow, you could offer him something nobody else could. A quiet companionship with nothing to gain. You weren't Excella, a brilliant and confident young woman, pushing her ambitions to gain more power. You weren't Jill, a broken soldier that was forcefully molded into nothing more than a tool with no sense of autonomy left remaining. And you weren't even Chris, a name still a complete mystery to you, but an impact of which was undeniable even to someone like you.
You were just... you. You were just by his side. Nothing to gain, nothing to push, nothing to win. And you freely offered him your touch and comfort without using it against him. You supposed, that's what made him slump into your arms on that night. You did nothing more than simply hold him through it. And ever since then, his touches have lost all sense of logical purpose that still remained. They were just... there, just like you were. Granted, you never really pressed him to explain himself. But it did become a strange kind of routine between you.
...You'd never take someone like Albert Wesker as particularly touchy or clingy, and yet-
His foot would touch yours under the table during meetings, his head would loll itself onto your shoulder the moment Excella would take her leave after administrating his regular injections, his arm would loop over your middle and stay there as he gave off his orders, and... His hand would find yours whenever he made his rounds. Instead of holding onto your wrist, now he'd securely lock your fingers together.
Granted, you still would be sooner caught dead in the ditch than to call him a romantic, even now. His touches felt sloppy half the time: far too rough and stiff to be considered swoon-worthy. But in some roundabout way, that's exactly what made them feel more genuine than the ones he subjected you to before this.
Now, he reached for you out of want rather than necessity. A want that went further than mere boredom. Instead, it was a quiet desire to feel you under his touch and indulge in you one way or another. To feel close to you.
His fingers were long and slender, oddly soft to the touch without his usual leathery gloves covering them. You'd expect them to be rough and dry, but instead, they were rather pleasant to the touch. Warm, too. But he was constantly warm, definitely warmer than a normal human being should be. You supposed, that was a perk whenever you'd get particularly chilly in the colder months.
Similar to tonight. You didn't get many chances to get out and enjoy the outdoors, but this secluded balcony would suffice. There was supposed to be a full moon tonight, and the night air felt especially icy against your cheeks as you watched your breaths transform into small puffs of fog that vanished into the night. You did grab yourself a jacket before you went out, but you still found yourself shivering a little whenever a particularly harsh gust of wind would blow through you. The crystal-clear night sky here was one of the very few benefits of spending the rest of your days here. You wouldn't see the stars or the moon nearly as clearly back home, where the city lights were all the constellations there were to admire. But out here, tucked far away from the world to keep some very terrible secrets hidden from sight, the sky looked deceptively lovely.
It sort of reminded you of Wesker, in a way.
It seemed as though you could just reach up and touch the stars as they twinkled down at you, let them carry you away from here and up into the wonderful emptiness of space with them. But... Of course, you weren't that naive. Even this magnificent beauty above you was misleading in nature. Who knows how many of those stars were still even there, still just as bright and full of life as you saw them as. All you could see down here were mere echoes of stars that had long since been left behind in the past.
You were not sure how long you've been up here, reminiscing and contemplating. As of recently, you seemed to really struggle with the concept of time quite a bit. Whatever the case, it was long enough for a familiar calm voice to suddenly reach your ears from somewhere behind you.
"-You'll get sick if you stay out there any longer. Go back inside. Your dinner is waiting for you."
You lowered your head with a gentle, somewhat amused huff, but you did not immediately turn around to face him. Words like that would probably sound sweet and romantic coming from anyone else. However, you were well aware that for him, that was only a factual statement, nothing more. You catching a cold would render you useless for him for at least a week, and your dinner was always brought to you daily at a strict schedule. After all, proper nutrition is essential for both mental and physical wellness, or so you'd expect him to say in that matter-of-factly tone of his. You knew him and his mannerisms well enough by now. Albert Wesker was a creature of logic. On most days, at least.
That did not mean that you'd stop yourself from selfishly enjoy this small fantasy of yours just for a little bit longer.
"Why? Don't tell me you missed me."
You weren't serious, of course. You weren't even being sneaky or anything. It was just some light-hearted fun on your part. You weren't in the mood to play the risky game of teasing him tonight. You heard him scoff under his breath in a way that sounded kind of similar to a petulant huff. You wouldn't call him out on it. That was an observation you'd silently keep to yourself with a tiny smile as you listened to him approach, the fancy leather of his coat crinkling with every step he took.
"I am simply ensuring my assets remain in adequate condition. I need you at your best tomorrow morning. Not bleary-eyed and confused."
You'll take that as a yes.
"Good thing you came to remind me, then," you said simply, turning around to face him with a faint smile. Over the years, you've most likely gone a bit nuts. The you from the past would have been furious with you for acting like this: shooting easy smiles and following along with the very same horrible man who's been a deadly thorn in your side for so long. However, you figured that the past is in the past for a reason. All you had at hand is now.
And now, Wesker's composed stare was fixed upon you. Calculating and a little bit intimidating, as it usually was. His expression was as impassive as ever, too, but his gloved hand was already outstretched towards you, no words spoken for you to understand the hint. You did not hesitate to take it, allowing him to lead you out of the balcony and into the warmth of the study. His hand was quick to warm up your frosty fingers, and you couldn't help but compare him to a living heater of sorts. Of course, you would never dare to utter such a thought aloud, either.
But it was a nice joke.
Once you were inside, he still wouldn't let go of your hand, and this time you couldn't hide your growing smile at the observation.
"...You're in an unusually good mood tonight," Wesker remarked dryly, his grip on your hand tightening imperceptibly. But you couldn't help but notice a fleeting hint of curiosity behind those shades. You've learned to read him way better than he probably even knew. He was always a creature of curiosity. For worse... But also, sometimes, for the better. Like now. He huffed, quirking a brow: "I hope this isn't some attempt at sentimentality."
You're one to talk, Albert.
But you merely shrugged, nodding slightly toward your still joined hands.
"No, it's just... I noticed how you still hold my hand even though it's just us here," you said, squeezing at his hand a bit for emphasis. You were aware that this was a risky action on your part. It was a gamble whether or not he'd appreciate you actually pointing out the lack of logic in his actions. But you hoped... You hoped that your obviously positive reception would smooth over the potential hit to his pride.
If Wesker was irritated by your remark, he did not show it. But then again, he was never very open and blatant with his emotions, outside of an hour or two after his injections. He wouldn't make it easy for you to figure out what he really thought beneath that stoic demeanor of his. But that wasn't bad. You've discovered that you liked the challenge of unraveling the intricate jigsaw piece that is Albert Wesker. Just like he seemed to like the challenge of deciphering your feelings for him as they shifted and changed over the years.
"And... What sort of conclusion does that observation lead you to, then?" He honestly seemed more curious than peeved off, much to your relief. You were lucky to catch him on a good day, then. You'll take that.
You took a moment or two to consider your response. What was your conclusion exactly? Was there even one? The truth was that you mostly said it just for the sake of it. Not to necessarily prove something or get a particular answer out of him. "That you... like touching me?"
He scoffed, disappointed: "How simplistic."
You nearly sighed and rolled your eyes. He wasn't wrong, but he didn't have to make it sound like an insult. You tipped your head up, feeling a bit more emboldened, and gave him a defiant look. A lighthearted one, of course, you'd never have the guts to genuinely defy him, but a testament to your change over the years nonetheless.
"Well, not everything has to be complex to have worth, you know. Some things are worth valuing because of their simplicity, don't you think?"
The corner of his mouth twitched up into an amused smirk, and you could see that he was intrigued by your quiet but firm argument, just as you had anticipated. This time, he didn't try to disguise it from you. You were no Excella, who could probably compete with him when it came to debating some scientific material you couldn't even begin to understand by yourself. You couldn't possibly try to challenge him on something that he knew well. This included many complex things. But you could offer him some perspectives he wouldn't get to hear from anyone otherwise, precisely because you came from a world so different from his own. Of course, that didn't mean he'd actually consider what you had to say, but... You supposed, he found your worldview entertaining enough to humor you sometimes.
"Hm. And your belief is that touch is one of those simple things worth valuing then. Correct?" he inquired, though you honestly weren't sure whether he was being curious or just sarcastic with you. Knowing him, you'd say it was probably the latter. But who knows. There may be a few sincere notes of curiosity mixed in there.
He pulled you into him, making you brace yourself against him with a hand to his chest. He did have a heartbeat. He was still flesh and bone, just like you. Technically. When it came down to such basic things, you often pondered just how different he really was from you. You both could bleed, you both could feel. And yet, it appeared like he was holding himself up on a plane of existence that was so far removed from you.
Wesker hummed lowly, continuing his train of thought.
"Touch... It's among the five most basic of human senses. The simplest, most primitive way for human beings to seek comfort... Connection."
As he spoke in that slow, precise delivery of his that you were subjected to many times before, his free hand came up to rest on the small of your back. The smooth baritone of his voice was so close to your ear that you had to admit it was a little bit difficult for you to focus on what he was saying at all. It made you shiver involuntarily. That said, you did not waver, even if you did need to swallow and wet your lips before speaking up.
"True... When we are first brought into this world, torn away from the warm safety of the womb, the first thing to bring us comfort is the warm touch of our mother," you murmured thoughtfully.
For a moment, you pondered whether he even had a mother. But then again, that seemed to be a stupid thought: he was brought into this world one way or another. There were only so many ways to accomplish that, after all. But he also wasn't exactly like anyone else on this Earth. You didn't really think of it before, but that sounded... kind of lonely. He seemed to parade his uniqueness as something that gave him a tremendous advantage, not a flaw or a setback, but... How would you feel if you could wield a power that nobody else in the world could comprehend or share with you?
The thought prompted you to caress the back of his hand with your thumb, almost instinctively on your part. You must have gone completely mad, feeling sympathy for a man like him when he's never once asked for it, and yet, you didn't even try to hold back the next words that fell from your lips in a soft murmur: "...Touch may be simple, but it's the one thing we crave when everything gets too much to handle on our own."
"...You speak boldly," you heard him say, a somewhat uncharacteristic pause to his words that wasn't as familiar to you as everything else about it. He certainly still didn't sound soft, or sentimental. But with someone like him, you'd catch on and cling to even the tiniest of changes, however absurd that may have been of you. "Almost as if you think you understand me."
That prompted you to raise your head. Some part of you hated that he was wearing those shades right now - you wanted to look him in the eyes. It was hard to understand him. It always was. Just as before, he stood motionless, silently maintaining eye contact with little openings for you to take. But he was still touching you. He was still holding your hand and allowing you to to touch him in turn. Impassive tone or not, that stupid calculating look of his or not, that had to mean something. Albert Wesker didn't do anything randomly.
"-Do I?" You simply mirrored upfront. With great care, your hand that was resting on his chest slowly moved up, gliding across his shoulder, tracing up the side of his neck, and ultimately coming to rest over his cheekbone. It wasn't really sensual or teasing. It was sincere on your part. He was free to either lean in or step away from you, should he only wish to.
He did not provide you with any definitive response, positive or negative, but you didn't anticipate that he would. The slow intake of breath and the subtle tense of his jaw under your fingertips was more than enough for you. Wesker was a creature of extremes. Either he showed as little as humanely possible, or it all would explode all at once like a raging volcano, no holding back at all, for better and for worse. However, this sufficed. Him letting you touch him sufficed. Him not responding to you right away more than sufficed. Instead, your question lingered in the air around you - a simple one, yes, but just as you told him, some things can be worth examining because of their simplicity, not in spite of it.
Finally, he moved, lifting his hand from the small of your back to clasp it around your wrist. It wasn't a harsh grip, nor was it to yank your hand away from his face. Just... there.
"Perhaps..." He mused thoughtfully, his voice quiet, curious. He had never looked at you like that before, as far as you could recall. You were no stranger to his curiosity: he was a scientist, after all. But the sharp gleam in his ruby eyes beneath those shades was something new. Almost like he was seeing something he hasn't noticed about you before. Although you didn't know if that was a good or a terrible thing for you, you did know that his attention caused your heart to race in your chest. He could probably feel it, too, with the pad of his thumb resting on the underside of your wrist. "Perhaps you do see more than I give you credit for."
And somehow, he truly didn't need to say anything else. There was no one there to see you right now, save for the full moon and the stars above, but your hands remained clasped together. He didn't need to explain that need to you. You felt it, too, after all. It was simple. But it was the same simplicity that allowed you to slowly work your way into his heart in the first place. Or... Whatever analogy of a heart he possessed. But you knew his heart could feel, however human or inhuman it might have been. His touch was your sole and irrefutable proof of that.
And it was through touch that you could communicate without saying a single word.
there’s just smth so tragic yet comforting beneath those steel colored eyes: you find a scared little boy still calling out to his mother and twin brother, afraid and alone. a shattered soul who forsook his humanity, tearing himself apart bit by bit, mourning the man who he once was.
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Notes: i'll silently drop this drabble here and run awaaay @falsevacuum @morganroot92 @lawfulrogue @scarlunesstuff
image is from this post
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Zeno had no idea how touch starved he was until he met you.
At first, It's hard to believe someone would love him with no ill-intent behind it and not as a way to use him, but simply because they care. So, when he eventually loosens up around you and decides to let his guard down, Zeno allows his heart to slowly open up to you.
Gradually, small kisses turn to longer, lingering ones, either on your knuckles, lips, neck, cheeks, temple. It doesn't matter, his lips will brush, stroke and kiss each patch of your skin, any part they could get to, just so he knows you're there. His usual quick embrace turns to frequent tight hugs, desperately holding onto you like a lifeline, calmly inhaling your sweet scent, a stark contrast to the tobacco aroma stuck to his expensive clothing. His golden eyes always seem to follow your figure anytime you're around, somehow entranced by the way you make his thoughts cloud. More times than one, when you two are in public, he makes sure to protectivey keep a steady hand on your waist or lower back.
Zeno adores the pout you give him when he unexpectedly ruffles your hair, often laughing at your annoyed expression, which doesn't last long since he would rather go through hell than have you be mad at him, so he places a soft peck on your lips with an almost quiet apology, before his deft fingers thoroughly fix your messy hair. It's innocent moments like this that make him seem like a completely different man. This side of Zeno reserved only for you.
However, there are times when the urge to be as close to you as possible drives him to request certain physical intimacies, mostly for the need for comfort over pleasure, like when Zeno can't help but ask you to cockwarm him, which you delightfully agree to.
Today it feels longer than usual. Maybe because your memory blurred between the moment you walked into his dimly lit office, up until the point where you're straddling his lap right now, your skirt slightly bunched up, barely hiding the closeness of both your bodies, the way his full lengh is buried deep inside you.
Zeno is focused on his work, tranquilly reading a pile of documents he has little to no interest in. His hands aren't even touching you, yet you silently crave for them to roam your body. It's intoxicating, having to stay still like this, aching for any type of friction. Your eyes blink, your head nuzzles deeper into his chest, already dazed. The delicious feeling of him stretching you out is purely maddening as your walls tightly clench around Zeno's throbbing cock. You wanted to do this for him, you wanted to be patient, but he makes it so difficult.
"Sweetheart, stay still, please.", he whisprrs, his deep, velvety voice going straight to your core, and he can feel it.
Zeno knows how sensitive you can become in a position like this. He can't deny dragging out your pleasure is one of his favorite things. Allthough he likes to pretend hs isn't affected by the way your pussy perfectly wraps around him, his composure teeters on the edge of breaking nearly betrays him. Unexpectedly, Zeno's self control briefly falters the second his ears pick up the smallest whimper coming from you and his breath hitches, a blazing heat suddenly washes all over him, his cock excitedly twitches inside you.
"Fuck, Zeno.", you mewl, fingernails digging into his shoulder, your hips weakily thrust forward, the familiar tingle of his cockhead hitting that sweet spot inside causing a breathy moan to fall from your lips, back arching.
"How impatient you are.", a low growl escapes him. Zeno sharply inhales, his voice softens. "Baby, please. I still have a lot of work to do.", his tone deepens. "I promise there is a reward for you afterwards."
Roughly biting your lower lip, you try to steady your erratic breathing, the pounding of your heart. You try to fight the urge to rub your clit, knowing it would only lead to punishment and no satisfying reward. You close your eyes, mind attempting to linger on the pleasant pressure buildimg in your aching core. Even when you feel his length swell up inside you, you eagerly resist the impulse to selfishly stimulate yourself.
Hazily, your eyes travel upward, looking up at him with a lust-filled gaze.
"Okay, fine.", you give him a sly smile. "But hurry up or I won't last long."
"Brat.", Zeno huffs out a laugh, a smirk painted on his lips.
