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YESYESYESYESYES! 

Dearest pookie reader, you are clearly so beautiful and spectacular because you’ve got 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, EIGHT Resident Evil men all tryna ask you out (9 if you’re including me, even though I'm not a man, or from Resident Evil...teehee!). 

Real question though, who will you choose? And nobody says you can’t have more than one ;)

Characters: Chris Redfield, The Merchant, Leon Kennedy, Jack Krauser, Piers Nivans, Luis Serra, Jake Muller, Carlos Oliveira  

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How the RE Men Confess

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Chris Redfield

He’s a confident man, so asking you out is no grave task…is what Chris originally had thought.

It was a late shift the two of you shared, waiting on the next pair of BSAA members to fill your positions. You had less than an hour left on the clock.

You and Chris had been engaging in lively conversation, spending little time actually monitoring the cameras in the surveillance room you were in. But when 45 minutes started counting down till the end of the shift, Chris began to develop a heavy weight in his chest. Was the room always this hot?

“All tuckered out from talking, huh?” You tease when Chris suddenly takes interest in watching an empty parking garage through the tiny monitor.

“No, no, just double checking the cameras,” he’d choke out, his throat dry despite his constant swallowing.

“Mhm,” you’d hum, walking close beside him, the side of your body gently brushing up against his. He’s completely frozen, totally paralyzed at the sensation. You look at the monitor screen.

“Wow, quite action packed,” you say sarcastically at the static video recording, which took great resemblance to a still image at this point.

Chris slowly turned his head to yours, your faces fractions apart. He can’t help but dart his eyes to and from your lips. 

He’s growing more and more weary with each passing minute.

What if you didn’t like him? If he were only a friend to you? Would he ruin the relationship you have now? What if-

“Chris?” You ask, breaking the silence. He snaps his gaze to your eyes—he’d been ogling your lips this whole time.  

“Sorry-” He’d cough out, but it was quickly followed by a long, heavy sigh.

“Listen,” he’d start, “I just- uh- wanted to share with you that I think you’re really… great. Nobody kicks ass like you do.” Chris let out a soft laugh. “I promise I’m not trying to be weird looking at you- I mean, you have a way of making me nervous sometimes.” 

He’s speaking more slowly now: “If you get my drift, I’d really like to take you out. You know, spend some time together outside of this military environment.” 

The room fell silent after his confession, the only sound being the gentle hum from the surveillance footage before you. 

Confidence sparks in your heart, giving you the courage to lean in and close the distance between you and him.

Your lips brush against his. It was so delicate that you couldn’t decide if it had really happened or not.  

“Now…if you get my drift,” you say jokingly, “that’s me accepting your offer.”

The rest of your shift flew by quickly, and you and Chris were a little more distracted than before. 

If anyone wanted to steal BSAA intel and get away with it, tonight was the night.

The Merchant

Trophies, trinkets, oddities—it’s a love language to him.

After you accepted one of his more outlandish offerings (that being a small collection of jarred bones), he became addicted to the reaction you had to each of his presented gifts.

“Not so much of a stranger anymore, hah!” He’d rasp out each time you passed each other in what you presumed to be some desolate corner of the Earth.

In truth, he started looking for you, tracing your steps so he could provide for you, whether that be guns or snakes, on every mountain top, island, riverbed, or range.  

Your current meeting place, Valdelobos Island, was indifferent to you from the rest of your encounters; for him, the weight was a little more evident in his chest.

“We’ve gotta stop meeting like this, partner,” he’d chime out innocently to you, but deceitfulness rendered itself conspicuously in his tone.

“Mm, sure…” You respond to him, smiling slyly at the cloaked man before you.

Unbeknownst to you, a warm blush plagues his cheeks, his ears rosy under his hood. Even with all his quick remarks and snarky comebacks, for the first time, his throat feels dry.

Just looking at you and the way you marvel at his supplies makes him feel worthy, as if he has a newfound duty to be ready for your every need.

“You know,” he squeaks out before aggressively clearing his throat (which is a first), “I think I might have something special ya might like.” You raise an eyebrow at him.

Shuffling beneath the counter, he pulls out an ornate locket, the engravings prominent yet delicate in the metal. Clearly, it was from before your time.

“It’s beautiful,” you say slowly, eyeing the jewelry before you. “I could only hope you don’t have a little stash you give to everyone who passes you.”

“Ha! I’ve got myself a stash, not of repeats, no, but beautiful imperfections all reserved for important clientele.” He’s speaking quickly, his gravelly voice almost making his words intelligible.

“Really? How many important clients have you got all the way out here?” You cheekily question him.

“Just you, darling.”

Leon Kennedy

Because of all the places you could possibly be to confess feelings of love and admiration, the best is one that is obscure, isolated, and completely uncharted.

Here you are, smack-dab in the middle of nowhere on a mission, accompanied by Leon Kennedy himself.

You took a wrong turn four wrong turns ago, and now the two of you are spending the night in a makeshift shelter, huddled together by a small fire. How romantic!  

Leon preoccupied himself with rotating the firewood, working to keep the surroundings warm. In truth, it was an effort to keep himself busy, not letting his mouth get a chance to say something he’d regret. He wanted to express his feelings to you over dinner, adorned with pretty flowers and a classic one-liner or two. This situation was far from ideal.

“You got that log already, Leon,” you say, smiling, interrupting his stream of thought.

“Oh, right,” he’d mumble awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck just to give his hands something to do. He’d find his place next to you, keeping a slight distance before sitting down.

“Not how I wanted to spend my Saturday night,” you admit. “It’ll be love at first sight when I see the chopper in the morning.”

“Yeah…love at first sight,” Leon echoed dryly. His remark would’ve gone unnoticed had he not flicked his gaze from your eyes down to his boots in such a hurry. You raise an eyebrow at his sudden shift in character.

“Right…well, at least I got company—although a little less beer than usual.” You shoot Leon a half smile. “How’d you spend your night, hmm? Tell me your perfect Saturday evening.”

Leon looked forward out into the night, pondering on his answer for a moment.

“I’d be at home,” he started, “there’d be a nice home cooked meal. Not like this preserved shit we’ve been eating.” You painfully agree with his last statement.

“And…” Leon trailed on, “maybe I’d have a…friend over. Someone that didn’t drain you. Makes you feel good, you know.” You only nodded in response this time. Leon moved his eyes back onto yours.

“It’s almost rare to find people like that today, someone reliable. It’s hard always having to look out for people. I- I just want someone to look out for me, too.” Leon’s eyes briefly widened at his own disclosure, suddenly embarrassed by how much he had shared.

“Not to delve into fantasy,” he’d mutter out in a sad attempt to redeem himself. The sound of your laughter broke the tension in the air.

“What’s wrong with fantasy? Seems to me you’re describing your perfect person, not a Saturday night,” you say teasingly.

“...It’s just that it’s really not fantasy,” Leon whispered under his breath, his voice almost unintelligible against the crackle of the wood. His eyes met yours again, the heat from the fire seeming much stronger than before. A silent moment passed between you. 

“Tell me how you’ll spend your night tomorrow, Leon,” you ask calmly, the orange light glowing against your skin.

“At home… with a home cooked meal…and you by my side.”

And with that, the distance between you and Leon had closed.

You decided this was the ideal Saturday night, the absence of beer a little less important now.  

Jack Krauser

Let’s be clear: the words “I like you, so let’s go out,” NEVER leave his mouth, let alone form a coherent thought in his thick head. He’s a man of action, after all. More ‘do’, less ‘talk’.

So, when he looks like he’s straining whilst walking you home, he literally is. Working hard to keep those ‘impudent’ thoughts at bay…but it’s really difficult when your hand keeps brushing his. Your skin is so soft compared to his own.

The walk is quiet, as it usually is with Krauser.

Reaching your porch, you fiddle with your key to unlock the front door. Typically, Krauser makes his leave at this time, his manly duty satisfied once he delivers you home safe. But he lingers a little longer tonight. He’s in conflict with himself.

Pushing the door open, you turn around, almost surprised to still see him looming behind you. His frame is so large that the porch light doesn’t reach the entirety of his body, leaving his face dark in the night. He’s unreadable. 

“You need to take a piss or something?” You ask him, opening your door wider so as to invite him in.

“No.” Krauser confirms, his voice stoic, almost defensive.

“Okay…? I’ll see you tomorrow then, good night, honey.”

‘Honey,’ you say to him, your voice so velvety, so utterly smooth that Krauser finally gives in. He’s weak for you, the only kryptonite against his constant bravado. For once, he lets his thoughts take over—he likes you, he needs you. No man or woman can experience the name ‘honey’; he's already decided it was exclusive.

As you step into your house, Krauser’s quick to grab your wrist. He spins you around, pulling you close against his chest. Looking down on you, his face holds a plethora of emotions. He was actually blushing, softly pink around the ears.

You could only peer back up at him, completely paralyzed by his sudden—what could only be considered—affection.

Krauser leans in, his lips slightly parting as they brush against yours. His scars are textured against your skin, leaving you breathless.

The kiss was over as quickly as it had started. Krauser leaned back, but his fingers remained clasped around your wrist.

“Take that as you will,” he orders you, the flush in his face no longer apparent. “I’ll pick you up at 7 tomorrow night, wear that outfit from the gala.”

Dumbfounded, you only nod at him as you watch him disappear into the night.  

Piers Nivans

The whole confession is planned out…excessively.

Different pathways of possible outcomes leading to the construction of several mental flowcharts (daring to manifest materially with pen and paper) have led Piers to become obsessed with a perfect execution.

In reality, it’s anything but perfect to him (you think otherwise, of course)

Walking along the lake’s shore, Piers becomes noticeably quiet.

Unbeknownst to you, he’s doing a final insurance check on which route to take to formally ask you out while appropriately expressing his feelings to you wholeheartedly.

“You still with me, Piers…?” You’d ask him as he stares off into the distance.

His first fumble.

Collecting himself, he’s already pink around the ears before verbalizing his internal dialogue.

“Actually, I’d like to share something with you…” He says awkwardly. He could’ve sworn his throat wasn’t this dry a moment ago, but that was before your eyes met his.

Bye-bye flowchart; his mind is blank.

You wait patiently for him to say something, smiling at the anticipation, but the longer he stands in silence, gawking at you, the more you can’t help but laugh.

“Mhm, anytime Piers,” you remind him, letting him know that time was still passing despite it being frozen for him.

“Sorry-! I just- well…” He’s tripping over his words, finding it increasingly difficult to look back at you, your eyes the most beautiful thing to him.

With a heavy sigh, he gives up any chance of bravado and openly shares his feelings with you: “Sorry, I just…you’re really good at making me nervous, ya know?” He’s smiling from ear to ear, but his gaze has fallen onto his boots. “You’re such an amazing person; you don’t need me to tell you that. But spending time with you puts me at a loss for words. I’d really like to properly take you out sometime…on a- a date…only if you’re interested!- of course…”

You gently take his hand, which finally brings his eyes to meet yours. His face is flushed rosy, his eyes peering into you intensely as he awaits your answer.

“Yeah,” you say earnestly, “I’d really like that, Piers.” 

Relief washes across his body, the tension in his shoulders fleeting from him almost immediately.

You continue your walk around the lake, hand-in-hand now, his thumb tracing circles across the back of your hand the entire time.

Luis Serra

This man is undoubtedly the biggest romantic in the Resident Evil universe, a true beacon to the people of the world… (and a true loss) 

It doesn’t take a blatant confession for you to understand he has intentions to progress your friendship into something more; he’s holding your hand, brushing stray hairs from your face, all while serenading you with flowery language meddled with Spanish mumbles. You aren’t even dating yet! 

Your evening with Luis is nothing out of the ordinary; spending time at an elegant restaurant (at which he always covers the bill), eating high-quality dishes that almost transcend your taste buds into another dimension.

But the best part of the meal is always the Spaniard before you, constantly slipping flirtatious remarks between your bites.

“Try a piece of this, Muñeca,” he’d purr to you, holding out his fork to you. He’d watch you the entire time, completely enchanted by your beauty; his lips naturally curl upwards into a smile at the sight.

“Do you always stare at people this way?” You question him, propping your chin on your hand.

“Aye, just the beautiful ones,” he’d try to charm back to you.

“Mmm, so ‘beautiful ones,’ plural,” you’d tease. For once, Luis was caught in his response, suddenly nervous about what he should say next. A soft blush seeped through his skin, his cheeks growing hot to the touch. You had his heart in your hand, and you were playing with it. Luis lets out a soft laugh.

“Well, cariño, I do see you in every state, perhaps that makes it plural.” It’s his cheesy attempt at redemption, and you can’t help but laugh.

“I didn’t think I was that different each time we got together,” you’d say to him, raising an eyebrow.

“No…” Luis paused, “...everytime we're apart I cannot bring my mind to capture you, so perfectly crafted as you are in flesh. Each time I see you, I must take in everything before you depart again. To that, the cheap image I have of you is new each time, I can never perfect you.”

You were honestly at a loss for words. Despite his usual, flirtatious demeanour, the sudden vulnerability Luis expressed gave you butterflies in your stomach.

Luis reached out for your hand, gently taking it in his: “But, you know, if you were to stay with me, I’d never have to rely on any cheap image in my head again, cariño.”

“Mm, then I’ll stay,” you coo to him.

And so plural became one, for Luis only has eyes for you.

Jake Muller

You’re spending your weekly Friday night with Jake, sitting on a rundown couch in his shed whilst he works on putting pieces of metal back into his bike.

Flipping through your playlists, you shift between Alice in Chains and Aerosmith, Whitechapel to…ABBA?  

“Jesus, you’re the world’s most indecisive DJ,” Jake calls out from behind the motorcycle.

“Oh yeah? You wanna come out here and grace us with your musical taste or keep fingering those scraps? You got your tetanus shot, right?” You’re too amused by your own punchline to notice Jake throw himself on the couch beside you, the sudden shift in weight causing you to sink at his side.

Draping his arm around you, he snakes your phone from out of your hand, taking control of your playlists now.

“So, you mean to tell me you’ve had Acid Bath in here all along, yet you refused to play it?” Jake questions you, his arm still over your shoulders.

“And you mean to tell me you’re not a Dancing Queen?” You ask innocently, your laughter threatening to release itself again.

“Although you’re more Mr. Clean than any Queen I know,” you say, gliding your hand over his buzzcut. You start to imitate the sound of squeaking glass, sending yourself into a spiral from your own comedy show.

“You want an award for that?” Jake says sarcastically, before running his hands through your hair.

“You could give me some of this, ya know?” Jake says, entertaining your joke, “Real fucking selfish to let a ‘bald’ man like me suffer—my head’s cold.”

You go to open your mouth, ready with a witty comeback, when the mood instantly shifts. Jake’s hand was no longer traversing your locks but found itself moving down across your face. His expression was drained of any humour, his eyes locked onto yours.

You could’ve sworn his scent became palpable, the subtle hints of pine and sap emanating from his body. Your mind went quiet, void of any remarks it previously held just moments ago.

“...You know there’s a reason why I keep inviting you back here…and it’s not for your shitty DJ work,” Jake says. Looking back in his eyes, their blue hue bore a certain kind of lust that filled your senses.

“You gonna tell or are we playing the guessing game,” you respond to him, provoking his confidence. Jake only smiled in response, the curl of his lips excited by your challenge.

Cupping his other hand to your face, he moved his lips closer to yours. “You…me… we can do this forever,” he whispers against your jaw. 

“Mm, my very own Mr. Clean…”

And so goes the story as to how Jake Muller adopted his newest, undying nickname—as well as the start of your love story, of course!  

Carlos Oliveira

The two of you have already spent several weekends in a row embarking on random side quests; from exploring abandoned malls to finding that weird vendor only located at one specific street corner, you’ve done it all—together.

It wasn’t long before Carlos started looking at you a little longer, noticing the things that made you laugh, or the journeys you enjoyed less than others (he’ll be sure to cross those out on his to-do list crafted just for you).

On one particular weekend, your traditional impromptu mission became more organized when Carlos suggested a simple dinner. Nothing overly fancy, just dinner at his apartment.

Obviously you complied, and if anything, it was one less meal you’d have to cook yourself.

Boy, were you in for a surprise. When he opened his front door, he was dressed head-to-toe in black attire with a small bow messily crafted around his neck. Around his waist bore a white apron, and he cheesily draped a dishcloth over his left arm.

“M’lady,” he says to you, inviting you into his home. You couldn’t help but burst out laughing, his silly demeanour almost bringing you to tears.

He dramatically escorts you to a little table he had set up in his living room, plating in front of you none other than your favourite takeout meal. The fast food was meticulously arranged on a dish that just so happened to be a 2004 Disney cameo. You haven’t even formally said a sentence to him yet, unable to kill your own laughter.

Carlos sprints to his bedroom, the sounds of rummaging loud from behind the door. In a quick 30 seconds, he returns, now in his normal attire, to join you for dinner.

“Man, that waiter was kinda cute,” he says to you, a goofy smile wide across his face.

“Oh yes, very dashing,” you respond to him sarcastically.

Four hours had passed in what seemed to be a quarter of that time. Your cheeks were sore from all the laughter the two of you had shared. That was until Carlos had a slip of the tongue…

“God, I could just marry you,” he’d say casually after you concluded your story. It wasn’t until he froze himself that you actually processed his words.

“What…?” You’d say to him, your face suddenly rosy for another reason entirely.

“Fuck, I mean- I just think- well…” Carlos is stumbling over his words, a burning blush creeping slowly up his neck.

To his surprise, you break out into laughter again, the room easing off its previous tension.

“You’ll have to take me out on a date first before all this marriage talk,” you’d finally say, clutching your stomach that was now cramping from your laughter.

Carlos finds himself smiling again, his confidence growing back after his impromptu confession. “This could be our first…right?” He’d say, his voice a little more shy.

“Yeah…this’ll be our first date,” you respond to him, the tips of your ears suddenly feeling hot.

“In that case, forget what I said about that fuckass waiter,” Carlos joked, returning to his usual, silly self. You enjoyed the rest of your date with him.

Fortunately for Carlos, you never saw that cute ‘waiter’ again. ;)

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Requested by @maria-crossover "I'm going to ask you for some Headcanons about a Shipp of Clyde Perry with a reader Ex-Pop/Prime Asset that had interested romantically in him. Ajjsajuajwuw Reader can be gender neutral :00" Clyde perry x Prime Asset! Gender neutral! Reader romantic headcanons. Summary: Your love follows you into Sinyala, even while you're a prime asset. Content warnings: mention of torture (not insanely descriptive), animal death used as a descriptor(?), no use of Y/n. Word count: 1k AI was not used for the writing, please do not use any of this for AI. Ultimate outlast masterlist Welcome board

ྐ❤︎ ୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ

It’s surprising that you love Clyde at all. All the prime assets don’t like him at all. Mother Gooseberry has no interest in him; Futterman holds enough hatred for both, Coyle disliked him enough to break his fingers, and Franco did the most damage with his Lupara. If anything, your love is rather refreshing. 

Your first meeting with Clyde Perry was through an interview. Finally meeting him to see if you’re “fit enough” to be a prime asset for Murkoff. The moment you had met him, you had turned to flirting with him, whether it was because you truly had a thing for him or because it was an instinct of yours didn’t matter to him. 

Obviously, you’re given off to Murkoff and are housed in Sinyala, hopped up on enough drugs to kill a horse. When you were taken by Clyde, you had been reasonable, simply asking him where you were both going and saying something funny to try lightening the mood. 

Your time spent in Sinyala is murky, constantly in a drugged state and barely remembering anything besides your tasks against the reagents and Clyde. Your words would be slurred, your face sometimes going numb, or hallucinating random people talking to you, which ranged from random people you had seen before Murkoff or some of the doctors you saw in passing. 

“Clyde,” you hum, looking at him from across the table. It was another interrogation, something having to do with a woman named Amelia? Who knows who that is. 

“What?” He said back, setting what seemed to be long metal hooks on a tray beside him. 

“I’m in love with you,” you say blankly, like it was an obvious thing for everyone and everything to know. Clyde paused, staring back at you with a mix of confusion and hesitation. 

“No, you aren’t,” he stated sharply. 

“Yes, I am.” 

It’s very unlikely that Clyde will respond well to your feelings at first. He’s here to be professional and he’s been able to be professional with many different people that have been interested in him. The prostitutes when finding Franco, Mother Gooseberry and her carnal actions with nearly everyone, he’s able to fight against your feelings for a while. 

Doesn’t mean he won’t be stunned though. As said before, he has never had this reaction out of any prime asset. You could talk about his eyes and say how beautiful they are, and he would just go quiet before continuing with his work. He’s not above reporting your behavior as “idiotic”. 

But your sanity and knowledge will make him more curious about your “love”. If you’re shown to remember a lot from before you were captured, Clyde will wonder if your feelings are real. Of course, if you don’t remember anything from before Sinyala, he won’t believe any of the sweet words you say to him. 

“I like men in suits,” you’d remark, hoping to gage his interest. Clyde pressed his lips into a line and shifted in his seat; a hint of discomfort and confusion was quickly hidden away by a stern face. He cleared his throat. 

“Good for you,” he muttered, looking back down at the files in front of him. You took the opportunity to look him over again. “That isn’t the question I asked you.” 

"I thought this place needed the minds of the people participating,” you scoffed and tilted your head. “I was simply saying what was on my mind: you.” 

Being as realistic as possible here, Clyde would use your care for him to get information out of you. He’d use things such as visits, talks, and if he felt really giving that day, he’d sit on the same side of the table as you. He’d ask about Amelia and offer a kiss or something you’d greatly enjoy (you probably won't get a kiss).

In some world where Clyde starts to reciprocate your feelings, he’ll use the interrogations, as you do. It will be the same as any other, finding some random file to use as a reason to speak to you. The guards would still be there, so if you’re smart enough to realize his dumb remarks are innuendos for flirtatious words, you’d have a better time than saying “what?” for an hour straight. 

Once he fully realizes how you’ve dug your way into his brain, he’d try reeling with the implications before acting on them. A prime asset getting hold of a man of status was despicable work and could end with him being fired, executed, or something he couldn’t even think of. He wouldn’t doubt himself, of course. He’d try going as long as possible before turning to show his affection for you. 

Naturally, Clyde needs to act like he’s torturing you, so expect to be hurt in some way. You could have needles forced into your palms, or burns set to your arms, anything his mind can think of to keep the guards from believing one of the prime assets was getting a leg up on an important man. If he feels it will benefit both of you, he’ll tell you it’s for your own good that you’re being hurt. 

If Clyde could get you alone in the interrogation room, he’d take it. He’d make up some excuse like “it’s not for guards’ ears” or something personal that pertained to your life before Sinyala. The moment wouldn’t be romantic enough for a cheesy 50s romcom, but it would be enough to set a difference in stone. It would range from a small statement to a kiss to your knuckle, depending on how long you’ve been having private meetings. 

It’s possible that Clyde will give you proper affection, such as compliments to your work in a recent trial or having a response to your flirting that wasn’t negative. Most physical forms of affection will not be given, kisses are rare and almost never on the lips, holding hands, or holding each other rather, wouldn’t be present either. 

Clyde is a more “take what you can get” sort of guy when you’re a prime asset. If he got the opportunity to act on some form of love he held for you, he would, but he won’t do it while he has bigger, better things he must hold dear to his heart: Murkoff. 

ྐ❤︎ ୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ

The confidential documents of the Murkoff Corporation, kept hidden until now. Turns out there's debauchery in their midst.

Franco gets his creature comforts [Franco Barbi x Mother Gooseberry]

A stand of wits and russian roulette [Hendrick Joliet Easterman x Leland Coyle]

Franco's a little freak [Franco Barbi x Mother Gooseberry]

Hendrick observes an experiment [Hendrick Joliet Easterman x F!Reagent x Clyde Perry]

Easterman recovered [Hendrick Joliet Easterman x F! Murkoff Secretary!Reader x Clyde Perry]

Knotted up [Berserker x F!Reagent]

A pet's a pet [Hendrick Joliet Easterman x F!Reader]

A problem Hendrick solves [Hendrick Joliet Easterman x F!Protester!reader]

Rage and a writing desk [Hendrick Joliet Easterman x Clyde Perry]

Little bunny rag doll [Hendrick Joliet Easterman x Shy!F!reagent]

Shocking urges [Hendrick Joliet Easterman & Alice Bradley Avellanos]

Pitiful dog [Alice Bradley Avellanos x Silas Knisely]

A shower of humiliation [Hendrick Joliet Easterman x Leland Coyle]

A dutiful betrayal [Hendrick Joliet Easterman x F!Reagent!reader]

Gin and whiskey [Hendrick Joliet Easterman x Clyde Perry]

Continued on ao3 exclusively >>> Link here!

Murkoff discovered the technology to investigate alternate realities... this information has been sealed since 1961 and its contents have only just been release to the public electronically, pending the investigation following a whistleblowing incident.

The technology used is temperamental despite over fifty years of research. They still never know what the test subjects will end up seeing during the experiments. There's no way to know until they return.

These are their witness accounts.

Absolute chaos.

Recorded incidents >>>

Baker!Eddie Gluskin

Cheater!Jeremy Blaire

Girl dad!Clyde Perry

Mayoral candidate!Leland Coyle

Community leader!Easterman

Uploading from electronic database >>>

Debt collector!Clyde Perry

Prey!Jeremy Blaire

Librarian!Waylon Park

Hunter!Chris Walker

Hopeless romantic!Jameson Lawler

Researcher!Easterman

Hotel manager!Jeremy Blaire

Divorced!Richard Trager

Married at first sight!Eddie Gluskin

Darling!Eddie Gluskin

Bluebeard!Leland Coyle

Club owner!Trager! x Exotic dancer!

Dad bod!Clyde Perry

Dad bod!Leland Coyle

Chat Log Name : Business continues below.

Chat Log Description : Five head canons about Clyde Perry's relationship with a Murkoff Scientist.

online users : Clyde Perry, Murkoff Scientist! User

‼️CONTENT WARNINGS : OOC! Clyde Perry, Semi-canonical behavior of a Murkoff Scientist, References to Amelia, Gender neutral Reader, Reader is implied to not be a good person. ‼️

"His feet are light and nimble. He never sleeps. He says that he will never die. He dances in light and in shadow and he is a great favorite. He never sleeps, the judge. He is dancing, dancing. He says that he will never die." - From Blood Meridian

Posted this a few days ago, but it flopped severely and I spent way too much time on this dumb drawing.

Sadly, bubble was right

Inspired by the new trial

Leland Coyle x Gn!reader

Smut

Reader giving a blow job but also overstimulating him

Leland acting very sub and needy

"WHO'S GONNA FINISH ME NOW?!" his yell echoed through the hall. Good thing you got an amswer for him.

"I volunteer"

He whipped his head around. You smirked at him from the shadows. He could barely make you out, but could tell someone was there. Someone asking for something they cannot handle, he thought.

"Oh? Then come get some you sick-o!" He full on charged at you. He couldn't lie, he was still horny... He was mad as it is, you better not make a fool of him or he swears he'll turn you inside out.

You slowly kneeled down, keeping eye contant as he run down the hall towards you. He stopped running a few steps before you, surprised to see you act so,,, obedient. He liked it.

His frown turned to a smile as he walked up to you, stopping just a few inches from you.

"...You better keep to your word...or else.." he thugged on his belt, eager to play along with you.

"Would i lie to you?" You caressed his legs.

"Hmhh, let's find out, sweetness." he undid his belt, and before he could unzip his pants, your hands flew up and you did it yourself. He doesn't know but watching him get sucked off really did something to you. You took out his cock and began to stroke it, looking up at him.

"Desperate, are we?" He pet you on the head. You gave his tip a lick in response. He let out a low 'Hhn' sound.

"What are ya waiting for? You don't wanna back out now do you?" He hurried you impatiently.

"Wouldn't dream of it." Not wanting to make him wait any further, you took him in your mouth. He moaned and with a grip on your hair he helped you slide up and down on his shaft.

He groaned and whined as you slid your tongue around him.

"Like..some fucking..snake.." you heard him quietly groan out.

He let go of you, letting you do your wonders. He was a bit anxious about being caught and rudely interrupted, he wouldn't want you to bite him too, it already hurt enough. Now you ease his pain, it doesn't even hurt anymore. Infact, he feels great.

"Look at me...and don't you d-dare stop!" Your eyes met his again, he looked like he was trying to keep himself togheter.

He was getting lost in pleasure. He started asking absurd things of you. To play with the 'deputies' which you assumed he was refering to his balls, you were happy to oblige, sucking and playing with them too.

He asked you to call him daddy, it was hard to speak when your mouth was full of his cock and when you did try to say something it just vibrated through him and he humped into your mouth.

He felt close. You knew cuz he began to breath harder and his hips twitched ever so often.

"Ahhn, fuck... Don't stop.." his hands flew back to grab you, holding you as he humped into your mouth. You hugged around his waist, squeezing his thights with one hand. He came with a loud grunt. You swallowed every drop, he whimpered as he heard you gulp it down. Such a good pup he thought.

You smiled up at him and he just stared down at you, breathing heavily. He appreciated the help but could never bring himself to say that out loud. You on the other hand was just proud to make him cum. Actually it was so fun,,, you wanna do it again!

You lifted his shirt enough to get a look at his belly, and gave it a few kisses. He chocked on air and looked around in panic, he wouldn't want to be caught letting a low criminal like yourself giving him this kind of attention. He whipped his head back as he felt your hands on his cock. Gently stroking it, still kissing his tummy.

"--wa'the fuck are you-?" Your hand slid up his shirt, squeezing his chest.

It didn't get him long to get hard again. He bit his lips as he stared down at you. It felt nice...too nice. He shouldn't be feeling this way.

He should be the one in control. You are kneeling infront of him so how come he doesn't have the upper hand on you? He couldn't figure that out.

While he was lost in his own head you took the opportunity to unzip his jacket. You slowly got up, not to scare him into thinking you were gonna attack him or something, and slid his shirt all the way up to his neck. You were still stroking him, occasionally playing with his tip or balls. The only reason he didn't stop you.

He put his hand around your back, panting, clearly still not over his earlier finish. You played with his breasts, groping the soft flesh, pinching his nipples. He layed his head on your shoulders, moaning into your neck. It sure was the sight. You've been meaning to get your hands on his slightly chubby and hairy chest. Not to forget his belly either, and his little happy trail leading to his cock that was currently in your hands.

You praised him. Finnaly having the chance to speak you made sure he gets all puddy in your hands. You called him a good cop, a good boy. You could even refer to him as daddy now, it sure did turned him on.

He bit and licked your neck. You only let him play that game until you grabbed him by the chin and forced him to look at you. He looked a bit irritated but his face was flushed red. You scratched his beard and he let out an annoyed grunt. Your hand stopped jerking him, instead you hugged him close just to kiss him. He looked too adorable for you not to.

He positioned himself and begin humping, sliding his shaft between your thighs.

His nails clawed into your back. He moaned into your mouth. He came once again. You were quite the company...

You kissed his nose and let him go. The problem is his hands were still around you. His shirt slowly dropped down, as you weren't close anymore to hold it with your body for him. He peaked down and realized he should zip his pants and jacket back up.

He did just as that but quickly whipped his head back up as he noticed you moving. You went back to the shadows and gave him a little wave before disappearing.

He missed you already, he hurried into the shadows after you. He hated the thought that he wanted you so badly. He doesn't need love...he's not lonely.. But you made him feel loved and kept him company..

He counts on catching you. And when he does, he'll make you love him more.

✰ cw. 18+. established relationship. sex toy. overstimulation kinda. multiple orgasms (f!reader). unprotected p in v.

an. thank you so much for this request anon!! hope you like it <33

it had started reasonably enough. you'd tried, in your defense. you'd been good about it all week and it had been four days and you had needs and leon was right there and you'd asked nicely.

"i'm tired," he'd said, not looking up from his book.

"you're always tired lately."

"i'm getting old."

"you're not that old."

MafiaBoss!Chris Redfield x Reader

Coming home battered and bruised isn't uncommon for your husband, and it's your job to make him feel better. If he can take it, that is...

based on this request

taglist: @cakeofhorrors @rainyxie @venus-in-roses @ghostieistiredd

You’re not totally sure what Chris does when he leaves the house at the break of dawn, coming back when the night sky is indigo and speckled with constellations of glittering stars. He won’t confide in you, not about that, always telling you (with a kiss on the top of your head) not to worry your pretty little self about what he does to keep food on the table, and manolos on your feet. 

So when he saunters into your bedroom, soaked from the rain, you glare at him with a suspicious glint in your narrowed eyes, sight honing in on a scratch below his ear and busted knuckles dripping red into the carpet. 

“Had to break the window, honey,” he excuses the gash when he sees that you notice. “Forgot my keys.” 

You didn’t hear glass break, and there’s a bulge in his front pocket that bares a striking resemblance to his gaggle of brass he keeps with him at all times like it’s a fifth limb. 

Or maybe he’s just happy to see you, and it really is a fifth limb. 

“Patch me up?” 

—Dear Husband.

Tw(s): obsessive and possessive behavior, emotional manipulation, gaslighting, coercive control, stalking, isolation from others, psychological abuse, unhealthy relationship dynamics, dependency, implied emotional abuse, invasion of privacy, and yandere themes. This work depicts fictional toxic relationship dynamics and should not be interpreted as healthy or aspirational behavior.

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Husband Leon who makes sure you never lift a finger in anything. Whether it's housework or cooking, he insists on doing it all by himself, shutting down your protests and attempts to help by a ‘You should rest, darling’.

Husband Leon who, despite his exhausting work, wakes before you to prepare a tray of breakfast and brings it to your shared bed before gently shaking you awake, sealing a kiss on the very middle of your forehead then murmuring a honeyed ‘mornin’, sweetheart.’ against your skin.

Husband Leon who makes sure you eat. Skipping a meal is almost impossible during his constant watch and if you happen to manage he becomes a tad between upset and angry. ‘Do you want to make me sad, darling?’

Husband Leon who adorns you from head to toe with gifts. Expect jewelry, roses or a box of chocolates as soon as he steps a foot into your shared apartment. If you ever throw a thing he gifts you away or shift an atom of your expression to dislike, he'll look at you with those blues of his, arming a sadness that causes your heart to stumble on its own rhythm with guilt. ‘Don’t you like it?’

Husband Leon who every evening asks about your day, in complete detail, unabridged. The littlest details are something he regards as precious, wanting to dig deeper and see how your mind engineers him. ‘Do you miss me when I'm away?’

Husband Leon who at any given chance, wouldn't keep his hands and lips to himself. A kiss in the morn, one in the evening, and a rain of them before bed. Holding you among his arms, cradling your head just above the heart. ‘You have no idea how much I love feeling you.’

Husband Leon who waits by the room’s door when you're on the phone with someone. If the call gets too long, he chokes you with questions. ‘Who was that? Why did they call? What do they want?!’

Husband Leon who immediately frowns when you mention you want to be alone. ‘I was just worried about you.’

Husband Leon who glares at you when another name but his rolls off your lips. ‘Who are they?’

Husband Leon who, despite all of his loyalty to you, can't help but to sense you're unfaithful. ‘Darling, are you playing behind my back?’

Husband Leon who aborts all of your attempts to leave, using his connections and resources. A job opportunity vanishes, a landlord rejects your application and someone who knew you for a very long time steps out of the picture. It leaves you frustrated, disappointed, and at loss. Before you can cry, he's already there, wrapping his arms around you like a vice. ‘Don't cry, you have me, forever.’

Husband Leon, who truly does not imagine letting you go. Who thinks you're part of him and he a part of you, like two hearts conjoined by a sole artery. ‘We're one and together, baby, never let go of me’.

SubbyRE9!Leon Kennedy x Reader

Leon's had a rough week at work, and all he wants to do is come home and love on you if you'll let him, and you better let him...

based on this request

taglist: @cakeofhorrors @rainyxie@venus-in-roses@ghostieistiredd

Fucking rough, that’s what it was. His day was fucking rough. Matter of fact, the whole week was terrible, between traveling back and forth between the mission site, to extracting the virus, to almost getting infected with it. All around shit-show nightmare.

And all he wanted to do was go back home to his wife who was, preferably, in a good mood. The kind of mood that grants him full access to every inch of her body to devour until he was drunk enough on her skin to forget just how horrible his job is. He’s sure he’d knock his children down–his own flesh and blood, created with love–just to get to you. And now, he’s just three steps away from seeing you again. 

The front door opens before he even gets the chance to search for his keys, and it’s your face that he sees on the other side, a literal angel glowing brighter than the pale moon hanging in the sky above. 

Gosh, he’s one cheesy bastard, he thinks to himself. 

Leon S. Kennedy: Leon thought hey I'm going to do my laundry before the next big mission so he did proud that he got a head of it. Leon had to leave to help Sherry with something and when he came back Leon heard giggling that belonged to his beloved so he follows the giggles to the bedroom and what Leon saw made him stop moving but did make his body react. You are standing in front of the mirror in one of his compression shirts on you even have his gun holster on like he usually wears it

Leon chuckles and speaks. Oh honey look at you I dare say you wear it better than me baby but I bet you would look even better without it.

Y/n giggles then runs because ya no you know that look in his eyes and you are in a world of chaos if he catches you.

Chris Redfield: Chris has been looking for his shirt that goes to his BSSA uniform and he can't find it he has damn near looked everywhere in the apartment ,Chris walks past his bedroom he shares with Y/n he stops dead in his tracks when he sees Y/n wearing his uniform shirt.. how does she make it look better on her then it does on him?!

Chris clears his throat he speaks. Really sweet pea come on now I need my shirt give it to me or do you want me to take it off for you?

Y/n giggles and runs and Chris gives chase ya he's not going to get it back for awhile.

Carlos Oliveria: Carlos knows Y/n is doing some spring cleaning going through stuff they don't need and all that but he didn't expect to come back and to find his wife wearing his old mercenary gear and she makes it look better than he ever did.

Carlos feels hot he shifts and speaks. Ah dios mio you look amazing my esposa you know what you do to me while I would love to see you wear my things all day I do believe it may kill me how about we get you changed hm?

Y/n smiles and speaks. Hm tempting but I like these so I think I will keep them on unless you take them off me but you will have to catch me first handsome.

Before Carlos could speak Y/n runs fast and he gives chase Carlos knows this will be a long chase

Jake Muller: Jake loves his leather jacket a lot he doesn't let anyone touch it well his girlfriend Y/n is allowed to she does take such careful care of it so he was a bit shocked but pleased to see her wearing it when he walked out of the bathroom after showering ya you are in danger there's no saving you.

Jake smirks and calls out. Y/n why are you running?!

Luis Serra Navarro: Luis had managed to save his leather jacket ya there is a stitched up hole in the back but hey he can still wear it and he does when he is not working. Luis comes home from helping Leon out to find his wonder lover wearing his jacket around their house she smiles when she sees him and that's when Luis knows he is a goner because he knows it will be a mini war to get it back but part of him wants you to keep it on because you make it look good really good.

Luis whistles and rumbles out. Dios Mio you look good enough to eat mi vida but you would look so much better without it on don't you say now hm.Why are you running no no come back don't run away?!

Piers Nivans: Piers can't find his BSSA uniform at all it was on the bed and now it's not there he was about to blow a fuse until he sees his sweet girl wearing his uniform his brain stops working. After a bit Piers moves closer and pulls Y/n close by her hips

☆ I kind of went a little off track with this one... I don't know what came over me when writing it so I apologise in advance 😓

★ Slightly angsty? Again, not sure where it came from... oops...

☆ I could probably do something more in the realm of headcanons if that was more of what you wanted me to go for, but please let me know!! (I really like this prompt so I am more than happy to write more for you, anon!)

★ I hope you enjoy nontheless :)

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Vox x Alastor's Assistant!Reader

☆ WORD COUNT: 2, 160

★ GN Reader!

☆ SUMMARY: Vox finally has his rival under his thumb, but was it ever really about his feud with Alastor?

You grunted as Alastor’s shoulder hit yours. A low growl vibrated in his throat, although you knew it was hardly directed at you. The two of you exchanged a brief look, but he was becoming impossibly harder for you to read as of late. Vox’s smug grin flashed in front of you and the brightness of his screen was harsh on your eyes. They stung and watered, causing you to have to squeeze them shut. He only laughed at the reaction.