blackbird

| she/her | straight | hobbyist | non-political | Writings - AO3 | Spotify | LGBTQIA+ ally | alternative aesthetic |

Languages: English, Dutch, German, (limited) French

I'm not here to participate in a popularity contest, nor to be the loudest voice in the room. I'm here to connect with equal-minded people who enjoy the same content.

I will actively avoid politically charged posts/blogs, or ignore posts tackling topics I'm uneducated on. I will also not engage in cat-and-mouse back-and-forth shouting matches, nor will I respond to disrespectful responses/messages/tags. You will interact with me with mutual respect, or you won't interact with me at all.

𓏶 I don't respond to any inquiries about commission artwork. 𓏶 I do take requests for fiction (writing), so feel free.

༻︶𓏶︶༺ my heart belongs to ༻︶𓏶︶༺

Haytham E. Kenway | Shay P. Cormac | Arthur Morgan | Aiden Pearce | Chris Redfield | Joel Miller | My cats | Hatsune Miku | V Flower | animals | (Zeno) Wesker

(clean, unedited version)

TW: NSFW, MDNI, 18+, Masturbation, Sub/Dom, Gentle Dom, Smut, Sex Toys Characters: Zeno (Resident Evil 9, RE9R) Pairing: Reader/Zeno Wesker Franchise: Resident Evil 9, RE9R Author's Note: I have to mention @lawfulrogue, since our conversation last night partially inspired me.

His breath hitched upon sensing the deliberate pressure of a thumb pressed between his shoulder blades, guiding him down to the hardwood floor. He instinctively shifted his weight onto his knees, a position familiar by now, though the accompanying anticipation never dulled. The click of a remote was drowned out by the sudden rush of blood to his ears, and his gloved fingers curled into his lap, fingernails biting into the leather. His back arched as a groan tore from his throat, and as you stood towering over him, your shadow draped over his large frame, akin to a blanket, you slide a hand into his silver lit hair. “Breathe, Zeno,” you reminded him as you tightened your grip just enough to ground the older man. You brushed a thumb along the knob at the base of his neck, watching as Zeno’s breathing started to become ragged and uneven, fingers flexed in his hair, anchoring his weight when his hips jerked forward involuntarily.

Zeno’s vision blurred around the edges as the vibrations pulsed deeper, a relentless rhythm that made his toes curl inside his leather loafers. Your thumb made its way from the nape of his neck, toward the shell of his ear, almost gentle in contrast to the sensational storm wrecking the man beneath said touch. “Look at you,” you murmured, the praise lighting a newly lit flame within Zeno’s core, making his long member twitch against his clothed thigh. He sought to match the rhythm, to rut against the fabric, in need of added friction, so the pressure that coiled at the base of his spine could snap, but the hand in his hair kept him still, forcing him to endure. The movements, however, caused the toy to shift slightly; the altered angle allowed it to thrum against his most sensitive areas. He gasped in response as his body tensed. Your hand slid down to cradle his cheek, thumb resting atop his sharply carved bone structure. Then, that very hand tilted the older man’s head backward, far enough to catch his lips parting around silent pleas. “Close?” you asked, and Zeno barely managed a nod, nesting the side of his damp face in your palm. You chuckled, caressing the heated skin present, before combing through his sweat-damp head of moonlit hair.

The leather overcoat draped over the older man’s shoulders slipped, the black material pooling around him on the floor. The vibrations had dulled into a constant pulse, causing his jaw to go slack on a soundless whimper. Beads of sweat had formed along the expanse of his forehead, mirroring the glisten in his eyes when the dim interior lighting hit just right. You traced your thumb along the line of his angular jaw, then swiped away the sweat that had gathered near his temple. His immaculate suit felt claustrophobic, encasing him and caging him, as it bordered on overheating. He nuzzled into your touch once more, before those grey pools came into view for a handful of seconds, locked onto yours. “That’s it,” you said in a soft whisper as you met his need for comfort. “Just like that.” Then Zeno’s eyelids fluttered shut again as he let his head fall forward, the crown pressed against your abdomen. Your fingers continued carding through those slicked back, dampened strands of ash, allowing the man a moment to ride out his impending orgasm. The vibrations were dialed back to something soother in reward. “Good boy,” you praised when he lifted his head upward, meeting your gaze a second time.

La Petite Mort

Genre: Smut TW: 18+ mdni, gun play, object insertion, improvised sex toys, nsfw, kinkplay, injured dove add salt Characters: Zeno, Redemption? Franchise: Resident Evil Requiem (RER - RE9) Notes: no beta, but I'd rather write something flawed than use AI. The first time I saw Redemption, my mind immediately wandered. How could it not?

Zeno kicked the motel room door shut behind him with a booted foot, the impact of the force rattling the collection of generic portraits framed on the surrounding walls that were covered in flaky and peeling wallpaper. His snakeskin gloves came off first, sliding down his large hands with ease, the leather stiff with the remnants of aged blood and grime. He cursed under his breath at the resounding pop of his shoulder joint when rolling it. The movement caused his leather coat to peel down the curvature of his broad shoulders. Followed by the charcoal grey undershirt, which had clung to his damp skin in patches where sweat and blood allowed the fabric to fuse to his body.

He decided against running the tap and exposing said skin to the sensation of clean water, as said water would only run brown for that duration. Much to his chagrin, he was currently entirely devoid of patience. He brought a hand upward to unbuckle the holster strap of his custom-modified pistol, dotingly named 'Redemption'. The metal felt cold against his phalanges when the weapon slid into the expanse of his palm, the material worn smooth from years of habitual use. Zeno exhaled a weighted sigh as his large frame sank onto the edge of the shoddy mattress, the springs immediately groaning in protest under his mass. He ran his ungloved hands through his exhausted features before allowing his iced grey gaze to flick toward the engraved grip of the firearm.

The weight of it remained familiar in his hand, comforting in a way reality often failed in contrast. Not surprising, considering Redemption had been with him for at least a decade and a half. Had placed reliance on a tool of war, opposed to the human connection he lacked. He leaned back, his large body hitting the mattress like dead weight. The room was engulfed in a relentless silence, one that blanketed senses and, in turn, caused ears to spontaneously ring. His eyelids lowered, snow white lashes brushing the pale skin of his carved cheekbone. He craved decompression and distraction, and it manifested as an unbidden thought. Intrusive in nature in the most corrosive of ways. When he opened his eyes again, he found Redemption's sleek frame glinting under the faintest slivers of moonlight that managed to penetrate the withered and discolored blinds. With his grey eyes firmly fixed on the pistol, he snaked his hand toward the button on his pristine white slacks, the zipper teeth grating in the surrounding void. The sensation of the sudden introduction of cool air embalming his heated skin brought a trail of goosebumps in its wake. The material slipped over the curve of his hipbones before being discarded near the foot end of the bed, in the crumpled heap of cheap linen. His free hand reached for Redemption, long fingers gently curling around the grip as he lifted it. Breath stuttering slightly when the muzzle was pressed against the warm patch of skin on his inner thigh, the cold steel dragged upward. The ministrations were familiar in nature; he had been in this exact position before and had relished the perversion equally. The difference being that this time, the aim was death on a smaller, more controlled scale. He dragged his teeth across his fleshy bottom lip as the barrel breached his entrance, inch by painstaking inch. The initial stretch burned due to the muzzle shape, causing his hips to jerk involuntarily as he instinctively attempted to chase the sensation. He rocked forward, Redemption's barrel insistently pressing against that coveted bundle of sensitive nerves, eliciting a ragged groan that tore from his dried throat. The sound was entirely too loud in a room so entirely vacant, destined to become lost within the void and deprivation. As if mockingly, his conscience reminded him he still had the option to cease this corruption before it learned what parts to corrode, reminded him that he could have allowed the tension that consumed him by design to crest and fade, but he knew too well he had burned beyond that point. He withdrew Redemption momentarily, the barrel nestled between his thighs like a coveted pet, and fumbled for the bedside drawer with his other hand, opening it with enough force to rattle the contents. A small container of lube had to do.

Using his bare hands to lubricate Redemption's parts wasn't a foreign concept, a requirement for maintenance in essence, but the core intentions differed tonight. He caressed the lengthy barrel with slicked fingers, coating it with skill and precision. The act is oddly erotic in hindsight, and it birthed a thought. He propped the grip between his thighs in an upward position, then wrapped his fingers around the barrel, doing the same with his throbbing member. A hiss escaped past his lips as he moved both hands in tandem, the only notable sounds being those of the moist squelch of the lubricant spreading across both lengths. When his abdominal muscles pulled taut, he took that as his cue to retrieve his hand and focus back on the firearm instead.

Upon reintroduction to his intimate zone, the man's head tipped backwards into the stained pillow, brows knit together as he worked the barrel deeper, the pointed tip catching on his rim and walls in a way that made his muscular thighs tremble in submission. The lubrication had eased the motion, but the length of the barrel alone remained a challenge, one he relished.

The formerly cold steel had assumed his heat, and his fingers flexed around the grip again, knuckles whitening as the tips brushed the safety trigger on occasion. His muscles rippled under his pale skin as he writhed on the bed, and he fucked himself shamelessly and relentlessly on the barrel. The bed frame creaked in protest with each uneven thrust, beads of sweat both forming and trailing down his temple, his dark pink-hued cock twitched against the abdominal muscles pulled taut. Neglected, aching, yet overstimulated all at once. Redemption's length dragged against his sensitive inner walls, the friction just shy of becoming overwhelming. Zeno's hand scrambled at the sheets, gripping the fabric in a desperate attempt to anchor himself.

The pleasure was starting to become all-consuming, his body instinctively clenching around Redemption like a vice. His toes curled inward, knees raised, hands and thighs trembling. He withdrew Redemption, only to push it in again, slow at first, the rhythm gaining more force with each thrust. In that exact moment, as the heat of his nearing orgasm coiled tight in his gut, the absurdity of it all crashed over him like an unassuming tidal wave. His most trusted tool of war... His right hand... degraded to a meager tool of perverted pleasure. His voice broke into a choked moan when his orgasm hit his nervous system, washing over him with a searing warmth that traveled down his limbs. The orgasm rippled through him like gunfire, pun strongly intended.

"Red.."

Forevermore

Genre: smut TW: 18+ mdni Characters: Zeno/fem!reader Franchise: Resident Evil (9) Requiem No beta. But I'd rather write something flawed than use AI. Notes: ... I write this, actively having not played the game. So, if Zeno is out of character.. I apologize. Also, in my headcanon, he's a classy mf that's a gentle dom, okay?

The elevator was a mirrored capsule that reflected her frame in fractured pieces. The slope of her shoulders, the curve of her hips, even the way her fingers trembled before she clenched them into fists. Zeno's gaze flicked upward as he watched the illuminated numbers climb. “Are you nervous, little raven?” It made her exhale through her nose, her reflected gaze meeting his in the glass as the doors slid open with a mechanical-sounding whisper, revealing the jet-black marble expanse of tiling, the city below glittering through the floor-to-ceiling windows akin to spilled ink. The penthouse smelled of sandalwood and something faintly antiseptic. She made her way over to the grand piano stationed in the corner of the room and trailed her fingers along the polished surface of the fallboard. The moonlight cast her lithe frame in silver shadows, painting her in the image of vintage photographs. Timeless, a hint of surrealism.

With a painted black fingernail, she lifted the fallboard, revealing the keys beneath, and pressed it down on middle C. The note echoed against the high ceiling. "Out of tune,” she remarked. Zeno stepped closer, noting how her scent, a combination of the remnants of alcohol and something earthy, like petrichor after a storm, filled the space between them. The grand piano bench creaked as she leaned against it, fingers splayed across the polished wood. The taller man noticed the rapid flutter of her pulse at the very base of her throat, which sparked her to speak. “You’re not going to touch me.” The corner of her mouth twitched when he didn’t respond. “You want to, but you won’t.” Zeno’s gloved fingers twitched, but he decided to lower his hand, taking a measured step back. The distance was sufficient to observe her reaction. “You’re testing me, doll,” He said, voice oddly calm despite his best attempt at masking the confusion present. “Why?”

“A man like yourself could have anyone..” She pushed off the grand piano and walked past him toward the window. “Why settle for less?” Silent footfalls indicated he had followed, his eyes finding hers in the reflection as his hands settled on her waist. She didn’t tense or pull away; instead, she exhaled, her shoulders relaxing into his touch. The warmth of his palms spreads to her pale skin. “Tell me to stop,” Zeno said, voice barely above a whisper, his mouth grazing the shell of her ear. “And I will, little raven.” She turned in his arms, her smaller palms pressed flat against his chest. The silk fabric was warm beneath her fingers. As he nestled his nose into her head of inky hair, his grip on her tightened.

The city lights blurred behind them, brush strokes of gold and navy. But his attention was fixed on the flutter of her long, dark lashes when his lips brushed the hollow of her throat. She arched into him when she sensed the graze of his teeth along her collarbone. Once more, the grand piano bench skittered across the tiled flooring as she was backed into it, the wood noticeably cool against her thighs. Her polished fingernails tangled in his slicked-back silver locks, anchoring herself when his hands slithered underneath the fabric of her dress, his gloved thumbs caressing the undersides of her breasts. Zeno moved achingly slow, almost reverent. Undeniably expecting more hesitation, the tentative and clumsy touch of someone unaccustomed to these acts. Instead, her nails raked down the nape of his neck, caressing the short hairs at the base. He then pulled back, voicing a startled grunt. Her pale features were dusted in a hue of pink, the dark red lipstick smudged imperfectly. The taste of copper bloomed on his tongue. “You bite..”

He chuckled lowly, approvingly, tracing the inside of her small wrists with his lips. Where the skin was thinnest, where the proof of life pulsed against his tongue. The fall board slammed down when he lifted her onto the grand piano, sheets of music crumpling beneath her weight. The hem of her black dress rode higher up the plains of her leg, baring the pale skin that gleamed like marble under the moonlight. A gloved hand trailed upward, skimming the sensitive skin. Her breath stuttered, though she managed to school her expression. “Does it truly matter to you, darling?” He muttered when her fingers tightened in his hair. The sharpness of the sting was enough to send a jolt down the length of his spine. A  sensation so visceral that it caused his grip to tighten around her thigh. “Yes..” She confessed in a whisper. His gloved hand slithered higher, and the edge of her lace underwear caught on his thumb. He pressed an open-mouthed kiss to the inside of her thigh, the skin tasting of salt. “It is a foolish game to question desire, little one.” She arched off the piano with a gasp that dissolved into a silent moan when his fingers slipped beneath the lace. The sound was raw, imperfect, and it undid him more so than any practiced seduction ever could have.

A sheet of music slipped to the floor, the remaining pages following suit, fanning out in silence. Zeno drank in her reactions, the way her lips parted on a breath she couldn’t quite catch, the flutter of those long lashes when he pressed his finger deeper. Every movement was unguarded, beautifully human, and he committed each one to memory. “Ze..” Her voice smothered upon sensing the slow, deliberate circling of his gloved thumb. Her thighs clenched around his wrists upon instinct, the lace of her underwear soaked through. Zeno inhaled her scent, then rubbed his nose along the curve of her neck. “What is it, darling?” Her words dissolved into water when he bent his fingers, her hips rolling helplessly against the invasion. The taller man could feel the exact moment her resolve shattered, signaled by the hitch in her breathing and the thoughtless manner in which she had dug her fingernails into his shoulder. Coming with a sound that bordered on a sob. Zeno hummed, satisfied, lifting her off the grand piano effortlessly, a small smile pulling on the corner of his lips when she wrapped her legs around his waist.

Cashmere sheets mirroring the darkness her wavy hair held, caressed bare skin as he lay her down, the darkness a stark contrast to her moonlit limbs. Her thin wrist lazily reached for his leather belt, and Zeno caught it, pinning it above her head on the bed. With his free hand, he had made quick work of the zipper on her dress, the fabric parting like tissue paper. The lace now bared matched the darkness of the sheets that surrounded her, but sheer enough for the dusky pink of her nipples pebbling to be visible. He dragged a gloved thumb across one. He pulled the garment lower, revealing more of that skin untouched by sunlight. Pale as the moonlight illuminating her, save for a small scar present just above her hipbone. A jagged line of mixed hues of pink and white. He traced it with his tongue, relishing in the way her abdomen pulled taut. Her hand reached upward, and he leaned into her palm with his cheek, his hands moving skillfully, her underwear now strung between her knees. The scent of her arousal was heady, his grip tightening on her skin. The first lick drew a whimper from her throat, smothered entirely when Zeno pinned her hips to the mattress with a carefully placed hand as she attempted to grind against his mouth.

“Stay still, darling.”