#flicker albert

[veganbread1]

have this silly doodle cause yea

[ivettel]

THE STROKES • LIVE AT TRNSMT 2022 ↳ for @andreagrimes

[debtsunpaid]

tag drop for CLARICE SACKVILLE, oracle-turned-socialite stealing the wicks out of other people's candles to keep her flame alive! her song is 'CANDLEBURN' by rabbitology.

[felassan]

The Flame Eternal

By Sylvia Feketekuty | Art by Albert Urmanov

Synopsis: "A pair of necromancers investigate what torments a distressed inhabitant of the Grand Necropolis."

"Thirty years ago, in 9:22 Dragon… “Well? You tore me away from an experiment for this, Volkarin.” The shorter necromancer caught a hissing monster of bone and dried gristle in a skein of light. A twist of her hand, and it was ripped apart. “What does the wretched thing want?” Emmrich Volkarin adjusted his collar pin. “Just a moment, Johanna.” “Fine.” Johanna Hezenkoss scowled at the skull cradled in Emmrich’s hand. “Anything to stop that howling.” The skull had started screaming, ceaselessly screaming, inside its niche in the Cobalt Ossuary of the Grand Necropolis. An attendant had noted it, informed the Mourn Watch, and a pair of necromancers had been dispatched. They came to a junction. Emmrich placed the shrilling skull on a plinth. “What insights on the dead it could—” “You already told me about your paper.” “Come now!” Emmrich turned. “What sort of passion drives one spirit above the rest? What tangle of thoughts and heart returned this soul?” “Mawkish drivel.” “You must admit it’s an interesting variation on possession!” The skull’s shrieks bounced through the corridor. “It’s only some petty spirit too weak to become a demon.” Johanna ducked under a collapsed lintel. Statues of corpses lined the passage. A flick of her hand, and a green bolt of light smashed into a lanky shape lurking at the end. The demon twisted up, wreathed in smoke, as another volley hit. It gnashed its teeth and collapsed into itself. “There. It should be safe for your corpse whispering.” Emmrich closed his eyes. Whispers came, and when he spoke, the air vibrated. “By breath and shadow. By endless night. Tell us what haunts you.” The skull’s sockets flared green. “Divided. Cold. Two graves where there should be one!” “Twaddle.” “Johanna!” Emmrich cleared his throat and turned back to the skull. “Tell me: what will grant you rest?” “Take this one… to sunken black walls… by silver flames…” The skull’s glow flickered, faded. It resumed its earsplitting shrieks. “You possess a grand talent, Volkarin.” Johanna gave the smallest inclination of her head. “And you’ve honed your command of sub-astral manifestation.” Emmrich beamed. “Why thank you.” “But what does this wailing nuisance want down in the Crescent Fane?” *** Emmrich leaned over a coffin ringed by bowls of silver fire. He placed the skull next to the body of an old woman, humbly dressed but crowned with white roses. The screaming stopped. “Mathilde…” “Your wife left gently, in her sleep, last midnight.” Emmrich smiled. “The records confirm she also wished to be interred together. You’ll not be parted again.” There was a sigh. Did the old woman’s mouth quirk, or was that the dancing flames? Johanna snorted. “All that fury, ending in another grave.” “Oh, I don’t know.” Emmrich ran a hand along the coffin’s snowy marble. “It would be rather fine to possess such an enduring affection. Besides, you did see this through.” “Someone had to ensure you weren’t beheaded while chattering with the dead.” “I am grateful for enduring friendships, as well.” “Bah!” They made their way back up the Grand Necropolis in companionable silence."

[source]

[weskie]

Love in The Stars (Albert Wesker x gn!Reader)

s.t.a.r.s wesker, fluff, wesker being treated softly (like he deserves!!!), wesker treating you softly (like you deserve!!!) | Fic Directory

Sometimes you catch him. 

When he thinks no one's watching, that the attention is elsewhere, Wesker lets his mask slip. That cool, indifferent demeanor fades. His stiff upper lip settles and his eyes soften, often gazing down to the ground. Something within him shifts as if overtaken by a profound sadness. 

It makes you understand why he wears those sunglasses all the time. You just happened to be at the right angle to see it anyway. 

You don't know how to bring it up. How do you tell your Captain such things? That you've caught his sorrow on full display would be a confession that you stare, which would be more than you want to let on. Of course, such musings are short-lived once his eyes suddenly flicker up to meet yours. They widen slightly, as if taken off guard, and then that mask of his returns in a flash. 

Cool, calculating indifference. 

From then on, you find yourself with a drive to interact with him more– anything at all, really, to cheer him up. You bring him his paperwork, his coffee, each one delivered with a warm smile and kind eyes. You stay late, always making small talk with him as you both lock up and head to your respective homes.  It’s awkward at first.

And then it’s not.  

It comes as a shock the first time you see a flicker of happiness in that icy gaze of his. A glimmer that grows, a spark that catches, and a warmth that spreads to both your cheeks and his– becoming more apparent with every interaction. 

Your run ins become less and less like those of a Captain and his subordinate, and more like friends on the verge of something forbidden and beautiful. 

One night, after the rest of the team left from their mandatory overtime, you nudge his office door open, coffee in hand, and find him with his face cushioned on his arms. His glasses lay aloft in his limp grip as if he'd only meant to rest his head momentarily before crashing altogether.  You smile sweetly at the sight.  Though he’s clearly exhausted, he still looks peaceful in his own way.

A glance around the room turns up no sight of anything to drape over his shoulders, but an idea hits you.  You scurry back to your desk to retrieve your jacket.  It’s nothing too thick– just a light knitted fabric.  Just enough to keep him cozy. At least you hope so, anyway.

You hold your breath as you lay it over his back.

He neither shifts nor stirs, so you simply turn off his clunky desktop monitor and office lights.  You leave his door cracked slightly so he’d have at least some light when he wakes.  

You head home that night with a soft smile on your face, giddiness bubbling in your chest at the image of him snoozing all but burned into your mind’s eye.

You’d never seen him look so serene before, and it’s hard to stop the thoughts of him like that.  What you wouldn’t give to be met with such a sight as you lay your head upon your own pillow…  To hear Wesker’s gentle breaths as he slumbers next to you.

You’ve never been a morning person, but you wager you might be if you could wake up to the sight of him.

Alas, you don’t. And that’s why it’s such a chore to drag yourself through your morning routines and back to work the next day.  Things are mundane as ever, though you do lock eyes with your Captain on more than a few occasions.  His smile is soft and warm, a slight quirk of his lips just subtle enough to avoid drawing attention.  In what world does Captain Wesker smile like that, you imagine would be the question that makes the rest of the team suspicious.  All the same, you know he knows exactly who covered him up the night prior. 

Not that it was difficult to figure out.  Even if he didn’t recognize your go-to zip-up, he still had access to the security cameras.  Puzzling, though, is that he doesn’t give it back to you as soon as he sees you, nor does he do so later in the day.  Even as the team leaves, all of them trying so terribly hard to pressure you and Wesker to join them for lunch, he makes no mention of the garment.  

You decide to be a little bit bold and snoop.  There would be no consequences to being caught, and you’re positive you could spin it as trying to see if he was busy before you came in to talk, so you huddle against the wall and lean over to peek through the blinds to his office window.

He’s invested in something on his screen, and you can faintly hear the sporadic clicking of his mouse as he works. Your cheeks go up in flames and a beaming grin makes its way onto your face when you catch the sight of his left hand.  Atop his desk rests your jacket, neatly folded, and on it rests his hand.  You can clearly see Wesker toying with it between his thumb and forefinger, almost as if it were meant to soothe him.  

Perhaps he was waiting for you to retrieve it yourself.  Maybe he felt no obligation at all to give it back.  Either way, it makes your heart flutter in your chest.

As you all but tip-toe back to your desk, you decide it’s his for as long as he wants it.  

It goes unmentioned even as the two of you leave later that night.

Long after you’ve settled into bed, you find yourself wondering what his reaction must have been when he awoke.  You drift off imagining all the different scenarios.

You’ll never know that he pulled the fabric close to his face and nuzzled it, inhaled your scent and committed it to memory as best as humanly possible.  Somehow, even with an aching neck from the odd position he’d drifted off in, he found that morning to have been one of the best he’s had in… a long time.

He plans another Friday for overtime.  He has to know if you’ll do it again.  

And you do.  He leaves your jacket strategically placed on the back of his swivel chair and feigns sleeping.  In you walk, fresh coffee in hand by the scent of it, and he hears you huff a small laugh.  God, he loves the way you think of him.  All your little ways of taking care of him…

The mug settles on his desk with a soft thud.

You admire him for a moment before grabbing your jacket from the back of his chair and draping it over his shoulders.  A thought runs across your mind that’s too good to ignore, and all too dangerous.  Then again, you’ve come to know your big bad Captain for the sweet man he truly is. There is infinite kindness under his stoicism. 

You lean down and press a kiss to his temple, lingering perhaps a second or two longer than you should’ve.  His skin is warm beneath your lips, and the faded aroma of his cologne blends sweetly with his natural scent.  

That warm fuzzy feeling blooms in your chest, only it turns to abject horror when you pull back and find him grinning and peering up at you.  Your eyes go wide and you freeze.

Oh no…

“You sure know how to tuck me in,” he says nonchalantly.

You’re mortified.  Neither of you have ever pushed this boundary before– never discussed it, either.

You watch Wesker raise his head from his arms and reach for the coffee you brought him, sipping at it with that same grin still etched on his face.  An apology stutters off your tongue in disarray as he stands from his seat to loom over you.  With a curled finger, he tilts your face up to look at him.

You can see in his eyes that he’s only half as confident as he seems.  Part of you is relieved.

“Thank you,” he says, thumb brushing over your lower lip, “for being so sweet to me.”  Your heart hammers a million beats in the short time it takes him to lean down and press his lips to yours.  Your breath catches, your head swims– you all but totally malfunction before some degree of sense hits your mind and you lean into it.  He kisses you slow, thumbing at your cheeks as if to soothe all that anxiety he’d struck into you just mere moments before.

You can’t describe it, but there’s a hint of desperation in the way he moves.  Lips pressing hard, hands pulling just a little more than necessary to keep you right where he wants you.

Like he’s afraid letting go will dispel the illusion.

How terribly understandable.  In a way, you yourself fear that you’ll open your eyes and it will all be a dream.  Perhaps, worse yet, you’ll still be standing there, pit forming in your gut, as your Captain lectures you on the importance of boundaries and personal space.  

Thankfully it is your dreams that come true, not your fears.

Even after your lips part, he doesn’t release you.  His hands remain at your cheeks and he presses his forehead to yours, sighing through his nose as a smile wider than any you’d seen before graces his face.

It’s only understandable that you’d want to kiss him again, right?

And again.

And again.

And again…

He’s got you backed against the edge of his desk by the time you both stop to breathe properly. Wesker makes a move you don’t anticipate.  His arms wrap around you, drawing you into a tight hug.  He buries his face against the crook of your neck.

You swear on everything you hear him murmur a thank you.  You may not understand why, but it doesn’t matter right now.

Not when those pretty blue eyes sparkle at you as if you were brighter than all the stars in the sky.

[jokeringcutio]

Albert Shaw x (younger f girlfriend) Reader - Unwind (Explicit/Smut)

Fandom: Black Phone

Pairing: Albert Shaw (the Grabber) x Reader

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Explicit Sexual Content, Rough sex on the couch, Consensual Sex, Creampie, Older man/younger woman, Age difference/Age Gap, Girlfriend Reader, College Reader, Mention of parents, mention of not being on birth control. (Not beta-read)

Unwind

The warmth of Albert Shaw's cozy living room enveloped you. The two of you were set on the grey soft couch, the flickering lights of the television screen forming patterns over Albert’s face. The sound was turned off – there were adverts on anyway. And so you studied him instead.

You thought back to the day you met Albert - a kid's birthday party, your younger brother's. His magical performance had left everyone in awe. You smiled at the memory as he sat across from you, his chestnut hair framing his face, flecks of grey at the roots.

How he had captured your heart with just a smile. You came to understand that picking you out as his assistant had not been a coincidence at all. But, as he later told you once things between you got serious, it had been love at first sight. And he had wanted to see you from up close.

"Another child went missing last night," you said softly, an uneasy tension settling over the room while outside the wind howled like a beast. "They're calling him the Grabber."

Albert flinched, his bright blue eyes darkening for a moment. He glanced towards the basement door, then back at you. "That's terrible," he muttered, his voice low and gruff. You noticed the way his fingers tapped nervously on the armrest of the couch, but you continued talking, trying to fill the silence that threatened to swallow you both.

"Everyone in Denver is terrified. No one knows who it could be." Your voice wavered, betraying your own fear. "Can you imagine what those poor families must be going through?"

Albert pursed his lips, staring ahead of him before his blue eyes finally found yours. You didn’t need to voice the fear that was deep inside of you. Your brother was just the right age to be of interest to the mysterious kidnapper that plagued your city.

“I don’t want you to worry about it, dear,” he said, voice low and smooth. Whenever you heard him you felt butterflies fluttering deep inside. How could a man sound like this and be real? It sounded too good to be true. But here he was, with you, comforting you.

“If you worry about your brother, know that I am here,” his hand gave yours a gentle squeeze, and a small smile played on his lips. “I’ll make sure the Grabber doesn’t get him.”

You let out a soft laugh. His words were exactly what you needed to hear. “Then I am happy to have such a heroic man as my boyfriend.”

Next to your side, Albert seemed to stiffen, then his eyes settled on you again and he placed a gentle kiss on the top of your head. “Yeah,” was all he said. But you’d noticed it. Something was off about him, had been off for a while. But today it was worse. There was a certain glint to his eyes, a twitch to his hands. As if he was nervous.

"Albert," you said gently, noticing his jitteriness. "Is everything alright? Did something happen at work?"

He avoided your gaze and shook his head. "No, nothing happened. I'm just... a little on edge, that's all." His fingers brushed against yours as he let out a low chuckle. "You know what could help me relax, though, don't you?"

You furrowed your brow, trying to decipher the meaning behind his words. He had always been a bit cryptic, but this time, you couldn't quite put your finger on it.

“Want some tea? Or a massage?” You stuttered, thinking of all the possible things that could help make him relax. “I could run you a hot bath?”

“Hmm, a massage sounds about right,” Albert hummed, hand withdrawing from the armrest as he turned to look at you, blue eyes glinting in the dim light of the room. “A very specific massage.”

You blinked at him, mind raking over the possible types of massage that there existed. “Sure,’ you said.

You watched as he moved his hands downward until they rested above the bulge between his legs. In the dim light, you hadn’t quite recognized the tent he was sporting. And when he remained silent and just observed you patiently, as if waiting for something, you grew worried.

"Is there anything I can do for you?" you asked, concern lacing your voice. You wanted to be there for him, to support him through whatever was causing him distress.

"Maybe you could... help me unwind?" Albert suggested with a sly grin, leaning closer to you. His hand slid up your arm, fingertips sending shivers down your spine. "You've got such a soothing touch."

You blinked in confusion, still not fully grasping the implications of his words. Your heart pounded in your chest, an odd mixture of anxiety and excitement bubbling within you. Albert's closeness was both comforting and electrifying, and you found yourself drawn to him like a moth to a flame.

"Of course," you murmured, unsure of what he truly desired, yet eager to bring him relief from his tension.

His lips descended on your hair again, then slowly trailed down to your cheek. Open-mouthed kisses, with his tongue peeking out every now and again. His hand grasped yours and placed it on his bulge where you felt him swell underneath your palm and e fabric. Your eyes widened when you finally understood what this was all leading to.

"Albert," you whispered, realization finally dawning upon you. "You want me to...?"

"Help me find release," he finished your sentence, his voice husky and low. The intensity in his bright blue eyes darkened as desire consumed him.

"Of course," you breathed, a shiver of anticipation running through you. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling yourself closer to him. His lips met yours hungrily, pressing forcefully against your own.

He responded with a needy growl, his hands gripping your waist tightly, almost painfully so.

"Such a good girl," he praised between fevered kisses, his chestnut brown hair brushing against your face as he moved to your neck, nipping and biting at the sensitive skin there. Your whimpers only seemed to spur him on further as his hand slid underneath your shirt and bra.

He peeled away your clothes one by one, mouth feverishly covering all parts of you, leaving no part of you unexplored. All the while, your hand moved up and down his bulge, still covered by his pants. A wet spot had started to form, soaking through his clothes. And a low groan near your ear made you look up to see a hunger in his eyes that left you breathless.

His rough hands explored every inch of your body, leaving no part untouched. The forcefulness of his actions sent waves of pleasure coursing through you, making you acutely aware of how much you craved this side of him. He bent you over the couch, flipped you, and angled you in such ways as gave him the most pleasure. The light of the television lit your body and formed patterns of fireworks and stars across your naked skin as Albert undid his belt.

The revelation made your mouth water. It wasn’t that you hadn’t ever done this before. Albert had been quite persuasive and you had been just as hungry for him to allow him to take you to his bed. You’d bled for him that first time, had tasted him out of curiosity, had allowed him to own you completely and fuck all of your holes. And now that he craved you, you felt you craved him as well.

Let him unwind. You could do with a little fun yourself.

"Please," you gasped, desperate for him to take you completely. "I need you, Albert."

He didn't need any more encouragement. He flipped you over until you were lying on your tummy on the couch. His hand pressed your head down while the other traced past your hip – gently.

His breath stuttered –  a deep inhale that sounded more like a beast ready to pounce on its prey. Perhaps it was, because, in one swift motion, he entered you, eliciting a sharp cry from your lips. He moved his hips without allowing you to accommodate, tight pussy being stretched unreasonably past its limits. The pain quickly gave way to exquisite pleasure as he started to move, and you pushed your hands against the couch as he thrust into you with a ferocity that made your head spin. The loud moan that escaped you had Albert halt.

“Be quiet now, baby girl,” his low voice grunted. “We don’t want to wake Samson.”

You glanced over at where the dog was, thinking that surely the creature would not mind. But Albert had been more often like this. One day he wanted you to scream, the next he wanted no one to know he was fucking his much younger girlfriend.

“Can you be quiet for me, sweetheart?”

You nodded, biting your lip to keep silent. But it took effort as his hips pushed against your pelvis deliciously hard, like a man possessed. For a moment you thought about asking him to be gentler with you, but then you remembered you’d promised to help him out. And if this was what he needed, then let him have it. You could take it.

He moved with fierce movements, cockhead hitting your cervix with bruising force, over and over. It was different than any fucking you had before. How could you remain silent like this?

You gasped and clawed your fingers against the couch in an attempt to get some leverage. He straightened his spine and then raised your hips, propping a pillow underneath, before he bore down deep inside of your cunt, grunting and groaning as he punished your pussy relentlessly with harsh thrusts. He was no longer a man, but something from Hell. Something devilish, both in looks and actions.

“So tight,” he groaned, words like hoarse whispers falling from his lips. “So fucking good.”

Soft gasps and unbidden moans escaped your lips as wet squelching sounds filled the room. A dull ache was felt deep below, and you bit your lip to keep from crying out. The scent of sex tainted the air and sweat made your bodies shimmer in the flickering lights.

Animalistic groans escaped the man above you and you wished you could see him. But he had your head pushed forward onto the couch, ass against his chest while his cock nestled deep inside your cunt while he groaned. He pulsed deep inside of you. Had he come? He hadn’t, right?

He left you no time to ponder because his hand grasped your hair and pulled at it, hand forming a fist as he lifted you from your current position. He was thrusting harshly inside of you again. You’d never known him like this before. So wild, so violent. Yet your pussy loved it, walls fluttering around his shaft in a way you never had experienced before.

The thrusts were deep, too deep perhaps, and you were gasping, biting back pleas to be gentle because you fucking loved it. You loved how he roughly manhandled you until you knew that bruises from his hands would form on your arms and hips.

You loved how good his cock felt battering deep inside your cunt even if you knew it would leave you sore for days to come. You loved how he dominated you, uncaring about your well-being or your wishes or the fact that he wasn’t supposed to come inside. His hips moved against yours roughly, and as he tried to reposition you – being so strong despite his age – your arm bumped against the table next to the couch, accidentally knocking something off the table. You turned your head to look, even if Albert tried to pull you back for a kiss.

The television’s light became bright, illuminating a hideous grin that stared up at you. Taunting. Haunting.

“What is that mask doing here?” you wondered, catching a glimpse of what could only be described as a demonic-looking mask, bigger than Albert’s head.

Your head was forcefully tugged aside, the grip on your hair making you flinch and unable to look at the mask any longer, as Albert guided you back onto the couch until you were on your back with him on top, legs spread wide at either side of his chest, allowing him to plow as deep inside of you as your tight little channel allowed. When he re-entered you, the slick sounds were a disturbing indicator of how wet he had made you.

“I said, keep your mouth shut,” Albert said through gritted teeth, forcing your head to turn so you were looking at him again. A thrust of his hips, a wet squelch as cum slipped past the hilt of his cock, escaping the depths of your cunt.

He was on his way to his second orgasm, hips stuttering irregularly against your own. You did not see it though, only heard the wet sounds from where your bodies met and felt the irregularity of his thrusts.

“Lips sealed, sweetheart,” he muttered before he descended upon you once more, lips hungrily working against your own.

You gasped, allowing him easy access until his tongue was licking against yours. You kissed him back just as eagerly, hands finding a way to his chest to hold him – perhaps teasing his nipples a bit deliberately but he had definitely earned that.

The kiss ended abruptly. Your mind was foggy and no longer focused on the hideous mask you had seen. Instead, all you could focus on was his mesmerizing blue half-lidded eyes as he studied you in between thrusts. His right hand grabbed your wrist, pinning it above your head. His left rested on your waist, near your hipbone, pressing down possessively.

It felt good, so good.

"Mine," he grunted, eyes locked onto yours as he claimed you entirely. His relentless pace continued, pushing you both towards a precipice neither of you could resist.

"Yours," you managed to choke out, overcome by the intensity of the moment. The hard fucking was delicious, the battering of his cock against your cervix sent ripples of pleasure down your core until your walls pulsed around his shaft, milking him, begging him to come.

He hunched over you, his chest warm against your breasts as he rutted into you like a beast in heat. As the wave of ecstasy crashed over you, his grip held your hands above your head while your pussy pulsed around his throbbing cock. You gasped as he leaned in even further, folding you even more than you were, getting in so deep it hurt.

"Remember this," Albert panted, his gaze never leaving yours. The world around you seemed to blur and fade away, leaving only the two of you tangled together in a moment of raw, unbridled passion. “Only I can give you what you crave.”

And you believed him. He had ruined you, he once told you. And in this moment, you fully believed he had.

Albert groaned your name in your ear as he came, as the warmth of his cum filled you for a second time and a low groan exhibited his release. Wordlessly, Albert moved his hips against you, his cock moving inside you with less force now, thrusts light. You gasped, eyes searching for his. But he was studying the way your bodies connected. Another low groan as he carefully slipped from your core.

A deep sigh and a rustle of the couch as Albert got up off it to get some tissues. You watched through half-lidded eyes how he cleaned his cock, then got out some fresh tissues to dab between your legs. He halted there, looking up at you to make sure he had your attention, tissue still pressed against your weeping cunt.

“I got a bit rough with you, sweetheart,” he said, although you were not quite sure if it was an apology or just a statement.

You flashed him a small smile, lying on your back, sated. “Nothing I couldn’t handle,” you quipped.

Albert grinned and continued wiping your sore pussy clean. You noticed the copious amount of cum that came into the tissues, but decided not to comment on any of it. You’d get the morning-after pill, you decided quietly. He didn’t need to know or worry, and neither should you.

After you were both presentable again, you felt how Albert scooted on the couch with you. He held you close, his chest rising and falling in a slow rhythm. His lips, tender and searching, found yours in a kiss that was both soft and intense. It felt as if he was trying to convey his deepest emotions through the delicate press of skin against skin.

"God," he murmured, his breath warm on your cheek. "I don't know how I got so lucky."

His words wrapped around you like a warm embrace, banishing the chill that had begun to seep into your bones. You smiled, nestling closer to him as your fingers traced lazy patterns on the expanse of his chest.

"Me neither," you whispered, feeling a sense of belonging that you hadn't known was possible.

Moments later, Albert reluctantly untangled himself from you, his eyes lingering on your face as if trying to memorize every detail. With a soft kiss placed on your forehead, he rose from the couch and made his way to the bathroom.

As the door clicked shut behind him, you were left alone with your thoughts. The memory of Albert's rough touch lingered on your skin. A shiver ran down your spine as you realized just how much you'd enjoyed it. The raw, unbridled passion. You enjoyed it too.

And then, how you had allowed him to fully conquer you. It should raise questions. In a way, it did, because you should have stopped him from having this unprotected sex when he knew you weren’t on the pill. You wanted to, but… something about money. Plus, you were still in college and your parents were being a bitch about you dating anyone.

You couldn't help but wonder how you could introduce Albert to them. They would surely question your relationship with someone so much older than you. But you were certain they would come to see what a genuinely incredible man he was – if only they could look past the age difference. They had liked him at your brother’s party. Your dad had always spoken highly of Albert, knowing him of the Denver bowling team.

Carefully, you got off the couch, not completely surprised when a squelch announced some more cum escaping your core. Annoyed by the mess that dribbled down your legs, and the fact that Albert was keeping the bathroom occupied, you threw on your sweater and walked to the kitchen instead.

You rinsed your hands with water before taking another tissue to dab between your legs. Was sex always this messy, you wondered? The times you and Albert had been at it, he’d often pulled out and cum over your chest. You’d even swallowed his load a few times. But this… this was new.

Not to say you didn’t like it.

Lost in thought, you were startled by a sudden pounding noise coming from the direction of the basement door. Your heart skipped a beat as the eerie sound echoed through the otherwise silent house.

"Albert?" you called out, hoping that the noise was nothing more than a trick of your imagination. But the banging continued, insistent and undeniable.

“Samson?” you asked, hoping it was Albert’s dog. But Samson came padding around the corner and looked at you with blurry eyes, as if your call had just awoken him.

“Hmm, not Samson then,” you whispered, patting the dog on his head and telling him he was a good boy – even if Samson sniffed between your legs, pressing his wet nose a bit too close to your private parts before letting out a happy yip and scurrying back into the living room again.

Tentatively, you pulled the sweater lower so it covered most of your hips, making you feel a little less exposed as you as you approached the door. A sense of dread began to worm its way into your chest, tightening its grip with every step you took.

"Albert?" you called again, more urgently this time. There was no response, only the relentless pounding that seemed to grow louder with each passing second.

Finally, you reached the door, your hand hovering uncertainly above the doorknob. Inhaling a deep breath, you steeled yourself for whatever lay beyond. With your heart hammering in your chest, you grasped the cold metal and turned it.

~

Fin

~

AN: Whoops, sorry not so sorry about that ending. Anyway, I wrote this in a hurry and slept 12 hours after my latest hospital visit yesterday, so pardon any inconsistencies or mistakes.

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Love you all

[hamsternella]

A moment for us

Albert Wesker x Reader

Cw: angst, gaslighting, toxic relationship

I don't know what this is, really. It was supposed to be something fluff but suddenly it became toxic lol

The wind swept the dust in the street. The branches of the trees alerted you to an approaching storm; the smell of rain coming through the window along with the shaking of wood through the middle of the frames. You rushed from the kitchen, throwing your hands —tibiased from the heat of the stoves— to the brass handles, pushing the windows shut without much regard. The gloom was beginning to devour reaching the avenue; the lights of the street lamps flickering on as dusk came. It was the last thing you saw before drawing the curtains. Navy blue occupying your vision, distracting you from the cream color of the living room. The house was beginning to warm up without the breeze penetrating it.

You let yourself be enveloped by the smell of dinner resting in the kitchen, and dragged your legs the length of the room, reaching the hallway. You sighed deeply, taking in the silence. Everything felt dense and dull—sad, even. It was still early to eat, considering the schedules your husband had imposed since he started working from home. Since the day of the news you had come to feel blessed by the idea that now the routine would be different; but loneliness continued to occupy the side of your bed, and even the head of the table, where Albert's cup rested empty.

What was one to do in such a situation?

"Albert, honey?" your voice thundered along the hallway; barely a murmur as the storm came down hard outside. "Dinner's ready, Al.”

One, two, three, four... You made it to the minute when you felt your legs failing under your own weight. You had to go to the office door, knocking on the wood with your knuckles, gently.

"Al? Sorry, I don't mean to bother you," you said under a breath," but I already made dinner. I thought maybe you might want—well, not like this, because I know you don't like to eat this early... I mean, it's not early really; but I know you don't eat yourself at this hour. Sorry... Al?”

The embarrassment disappeared under the silence drowned by the storm. At no time did you get a response. You continued to stand behind the door, waiting for the long-awaited appearance of your husband, but you didn't catch a glimpse of his gaze or hear a glimmer of his voice; nor did you ask again or knock gently on the wood, opting instead to open the door a little until you came upon the light of a desk lamp.

“Excuse me…”

His cologne is the first thing that envelops you; then the warmth of the radiator. You close the door almost immediately, not wanting all the components —so pleasantly familiar to you— to leave the room. The lighting was warm, but almost nonexistent. Your head ached just imagining Albert straining his eyes behind those dark glasses he hadn't left for months. Why was still a mystery; but you learned not to question it too much when you saw him grimace once. Lesson etched in your memory like a burning ember against your skin. That was the dynamic with your husband.

A distant and even narcissistic man, who seemed more attached to his work than to his partner. Even now there he was: leaning on his desk, with his head on his arms and his glasses in his disheveled hair. One or two strands stuck to the sweat on his forehead, a product of stress. He always sweated when he was stressed; but he never made it known, no matter how obvious it was. Not even to you. He could be collapsing from exhaustion and would be resorting more to his safe space —the office— than to his bed, where his spouse waited patiently.

At this point you were nothing more than a servant, though saying it out loud sounded worse than keeping it in your head as a garbled mumble. It felt wrong to think it; it wouldn't have been the right thing to do perhaps. Albert had never made you feel like a servant, much less said it in words. You didn't think there was anyone else, either. It was just the job—that, and something else. There was a secret, a dark thing that hung on his back and kept him awake at night. Something haunted Albert Wesker and made him feel guilty; so much so, that even his spouse he couldn't face, perhaps.

But what was this thing?

Lost in thought you found yourself walking towards his body. You stopped at his side, raising a hand to his back, resting your fingertips to trace a caressing path along his skin. You felt him tremble under your touch; his figure bristling as you rested your full hand on a specific point of tension, close to his right shoulder. A low growl vibrated along his throat, reaching you as a muffled murmur. You couldn't hide a smile as you saw his eyes half-open on yours, expectantly. You had missed that soft, dull-toned look of fatigue. The eyes that greeted you back before going to sleep. Other times before leaving for the office, in the morning; from the threshold of the kitchen and with the sunlight kissing his face. They were the most beautiful eyes you had ever seen in your entire life.

Albert Wesker was the most beautiful man you had ever seen in your entire life, better said.

"Good night, sleepyhead," you whispered. You moved your hand away from his back, resting it on his cheek. You watched him close his eyes again, ecstatic with the caress. "How did you sleep?”

The answer was slow in coming; Albert being too drunk with your tact to repair to your question with the usual effectiveness.

"I didn't mean to fall asleep," he said hoarsely. "I'm sorry, dear.”

"That's okay," you gently denied. "That's what you need most, anyway. Why don't you eat something and then go to bed?”

You pulled your hand away from his cheek, watching him straighten his body. You held back a sigh of disappointment as he rearranged his glasses, once again hiding the ghost of tiredness behind the dark glass. The color of his eyes continued to replay in your memory; the sweetness of his gaze causing you to shiver.

Albert leaned back against the chair, taking a deep breath.

"Too much paperwork," he complained aloud. "It would be a disaster to finish it tomorrow, so it's probably best if you eat something yourself and then go get some rest.”

You nodded with a pursed lip, clearly disagreeing with the proposal. But you said nothing. You stayed in place, crossing both hands in front of you; your eyes fixed on Albert's glasses as he turned his face to return your gaze. He arched an eyebrow, intrigued by your stay.

"Any problems, my dear?”

"Why?”

"I see you're still here, waiting for who knows what. Is there something you need to tell me?”

“No… Not really.”

The storm grew more out of control outside. For an instant you diverted your eyes to the closed office window, looking with false interest at the patterns on the curtains. A throat clearing from your husband got your attention again. He seemed disgruntled.

"And now you're lying to me because...?”

“I'm not lying to you, Albert.”

“And now you call me by my name. I see.”

You folded your arms. "What else am I supposed to call you?”

"I'm not liking that tone of voice, my dear," he said in a warning tone. "What's the matter?”

"You should tell me.”

Albert was amused for a moment by your attempt to dig the situation; but his rigorous attitude immediately settled, forcing him to hide the smile that had begun to creep up his face. He pulled the chair back, stretching his legs a little further—each one on one side of your body, with his hands on his thighs.

"What do you think I should tell you?” he said.

"Are you really going to make me ask you the obvious?”

"It must not be that obvious if I haven't noticed it yet.”

You rubbed your face with both hands, sighing loudly.

"How much longer are we going to go on like this, Albert?” When you pull your hands away from your face, you find Albert straightening up in his seat, his full attention on you. You take courage. "What am I supposed to do? Keep feigning ignorance while I play house?”

"If it's because of my late arrivals," he hastened, "I swear to you, my dear, they haven't been because of anyone in particular…”

"I know there's no one in particular, Albert!" you interrupted him. "I mean whatever it is you're hiding with all this ridiculous theatrics about hiding and abandoning me to my fate; in this huge, empty house, where I freeze and... and I don't know, just—I sometimes…”

Your voice was starting to get smaller as you neared the end. You lowered your head, embarrassed with your own feelings, but returned your full attention to Albert when you heard him sigh. He patted one of his thighs.

"Come here, sweetheart," he murmured softly.

"I don't want cuddling, Albert," you shook your head. "I want answers.”

"Well, right now I plan to give you more than just answers.”

"It's always the same with you; these kinds of distractions keep me out of whatever is going on behind my back. I'm your spouse, Albert, I deserve some of your honesty.”

He held back a sigh, removing his glasses to leave them on the desk. He seemed to be processing slowly on what to answer, though it was clearly taking longer than it should have; you were considering it best to retire and go to sleep. You weren't going to get anything positive out of today—as usual.

"Where do you think you're going?"

You moved your hand away from the door, returning your gaze to his. "To sleep. You said it yourself, didn't you? That I should go to sleep. As always, Albert. That's the way it always is with you."

"I don't like your tone—and close the door, dear. Close the door... That's right, just like that. Come here."

"Albert..."

"I know you want this, too."

You bit your lip, walking towards him again before dropping into his lap. His arms wrapped around you, forcing your figure to mold into his chest. The smell of his cologne invaded your senses strongly, and you felt yourself starting to lose your mind.

"I've missed you so much," he whispered after a long silence. He got no response. His chest vibrated with the birth of a laugh; a deep sound that settled in your heart in tandem. "You didn't miss me?"

"Shut up."

Another laugh, this time louder and longer. You felt your face heat up—with anger or embarrassment. You had no idea.

"I started working from home so I could be with you, but the paperwork is too much," he explained. "I haven't been sleeping very well either; forgive me for these shortages I've been causing you."

"Apologies are not like you, Albert. This all feels forced. There's something going on, and you're hiding it from me..." You swallowed your words, trying to gather your breath before continuing. "I found the moving papers, with as many others referring to my information."

"Did you happen to find them in my office, where you know perfectly well you are not allowed to snoop?"

His hands pressed on your body. A warning; the second of the night.

"I'm tired of things being kept from me, Albert. We're supposed to be married for a reason... There is a reason, isn't there?"

"I guess there is."

"You guess?!"

You pushed with both hands on his chest, searching for his eyes.

"You guess, Albert? What does that mean?"

"Can you calm down a little bit, please?"

"This marriage feels like a sham! Where am I supposed to hold on to keep my cool? You're mocking me; this is humiliating." You struggled against his grip, not even trying to hold back tears anymore. "Let go of me!"

Wesker clicked his tongue, rising from the seat to force both of his arms around your body against the desk, pushing your hips with his. You stifled a gasp of surprise at the distinctive pressure of his member under his pants; the bulge pushing against the fabric of your own clothing, almost penetrating it with its heat. You brought your gaze to his, finding it dilated—not with desire, despite having glimpsed that ghost cross his eyes. This was anger.

You seemed to find a different reflection in the color, a turbulent tonality.

"I thought I had made the issues regarding this marriage clear from the first night," he whispered. "I am not for games, much less do I want you to be. This is ridiculous; I have never provided you with a reason to doubt what I do."

One of his hands let go of your arm, holding your face by your cheeks this time. His fingers dug into your soft flesh, pulling you closer to him.

"I hold the reins of this house. I see to it that you eat, that you sleep in peace, and that above all things you give me the same peace I deserve for supporting you. I am a model husband; I expect you to be a spouse to match. You're not showing it right now."

His breath hit your face with the release of a sigh. His lips fell on yours moments later—a quick kiss, devoid of heat. The butterflies in your stomach fluttered again in spite of everything.

"I don't want to talk about this now because this is how things are done. The way I want them. There's nothing you have to or, much less, should do about it. Is that clear?" Silence. That was all there was. Your look was the answer. "Very well."

And then he walked away. Albert returned to the seat, looking twice as tired as before. One of his hands continued to cover his eyes; a particular heaviness taking over his figure. It was almost as if he was making sure that something was not out of place with himself. And as usual, the glasses returned to his face, neatly arranged as with both free hands he combed his hair back, ridding himself of the strands on his forehead. That was all.

"Go back to the room," he finally said. "Try to get some rest and don't let it occur to you to come back until you've thought about what you did today. You've been terrible, and it's disappointed me."

"I'm not a child," you whispered.

The mistake fell on you like a bucket of ice water as soon as you saw him turn his face towards you.

"You are right. But you are mine, and you are supposed to respond to whatever I command. I know what you need—it's what I give you and what you don't appreciate. You're ungrateful." Another sigh; a heavy one, of frustration. "Now get to the room before I have to put you in your place myself."

[acknowledgetheabsurd]

Night had fallen now, the rain had stopped. The pale black sky still seemed liquid. In its dark, transparent water, low on the horizon, stars were beginning to flare. They flickered out almost at once, falling one by one into the river, as if the sky were spilling its last lights, drop by drop. The thick air smelled of water and smoke. And they could hear close by the murmur of the vast, motionless forest.

Albert Camus, Exile and the Kingdom (The Growing Stone)

[octuscle]

Experience abroad

Daichi was more than pissed off when he finally arrived at his shabby Airbnb in south London. He had been looking forward to the two semesters abroad. He had been looking forward to making new friends and improving his English. But when he arrived at his small apartment and opened his suitcase, he immediately realized that something was wrong. Instead of his carefully folded clothes and personal belongings, he found the rough, dark clothes of a skinhead. All stuffed into the suitcase rather than packed. And everything smelled of cigarettes, beer and sweat. The journey had been exhausting enough… And now this!

It was late. Daichi had been on his feet for over 36 hours. He had sat next to a screaming toddler during the flight. All he wanted to do was sleep. The last thing he noticed before he fell asleep was that smell. That male smell… He was dreaming wildly. A collage of boots, bomber jackets, but also brass knuckles, broken noses and soccer stadiums. It was still dark when he woke up all sweaty. He had slept naked. Naked except for the Prince Albert through his glans. Shit! He had no piercings. Daichi took his cock in his hand. Confused at first, but also somehow fascinated. The boots, the heavy jeans, the bomber jacket… And now the piercing. It was all so different from what he knew. Out of curiosity and perhaps a little out of a sense of adventure, he put on the clothes. When he looked at himself in the mirror, he felt strangely powerful and self-confident. It was a feeling he had never experienced before, and he liked it.

Even though he could have sworn the apartment was clean yesterday, there was now a full ashtray on the kitchen table. There were beer cans in the sink. He shook the cans. There was obviously something left in one of them. Stale and warm. It tasted like piss. He loved it. And he needed a cigarette to go with it. One of the butts in the ashtray looked as if he could get a few more puffs out of it. He felt a Zippo in his trouser pocket. Engraved on it was a stylized picture of a young man hanging on a cross. But no Jesus. The young man was wearing jeans, suspenders and boots. And was shaved bald.

Smoking and finishing his beer, Daichi inspected the apartment. He had been too tired yesterday. There were also full ashtrays on the floor next to the sofa, which was covered in burn holes, and on the bedside table. There were exhausted butts on the floor in the dirty bathroom. He had to piss. He wouldn't even sit on the dirty toilet to take a shit. But flip up the toilet seat? Shit, for losers! It felt good to have his impressive cock with the scrotal ladder and the PA in his hand and to shoot the yellow, steaming stream into the bowl. Everything felt good. Good and right.

Damn, he had to have more butts somewhere. A couple of hi-viz jackets and his bomber jackets hung on the coat rack. He patted the pockets. Thank God! He found an almost full packet in one jacket. He looked at his cell phone. It was 03:30. Saturday morning shit, and he was home. How pathetic! He put on the jacket in which he had found the cigarettes and left the apartment.

He liked the way the boots sounded on the asphalt. The boots were great anyway. They gave him strength and self-confidence. There weren't many people left on the street. However, he noticed that the people he met treated him differently - with a mixture of respect and fear. Daichi felt like he was being remote-controlled. He knew where he wanted to go. The club's neon sign flickered. A few mates stood outside the door, smoking and drinking beer. One evening, he was approached by a group of men who were also dressed like this. He greeted them with a curt "Oi", his mates nodded and respectfully stepped aside. Daichi was not necessarily known as a thug. But it was well known that it was better not to mess with him.

Daichi loved the club. Nowhere else was the air so impregnated with pure testosterone. Not even in the boxing gym where he trained his muscles every evening after work collecting garbage. And what was missing there was the additional stench of tobacco smoke, beer and piss. It was no longer necessarily full. But well-filled. The usual guys at the bar. They exchanged a few sentences about the latest soccer results, boxing matches and the pissers at the welfare office. But that wasn't why Daichi was here. His cock hadn't gone completely soft since he'd woken up. But here it was getting hard again, very hard. And he knew that a whole bunch of guys had moved in the direction of the piss chutes since his appearance. Another beer, and his bladder was ready to baptize a few of his new victims.

05:30. Slowly, the club emptied. Daichi's bladder and balls were also emptied. One last beer. It was time to go to bed. A few more hours of sleep. And then off to the stadium. The pissers from the opposing fan block were just waiting to make the acquaintance of his fists.

Inspiration by @felinefur0502

Pics by @ki-kink

[yaut-jaknowit]

If it's okay, can you have a trans male reader who needs help with changing the bandages after top surgery? And/or needing help. Since you can't lift you're arms up, or you'll rip out stitches

Its fine if you don't wanna do this request, I just thought it'd be wholesome in stuff

Coarse Hands Morph to Soft

Pairing: Mai'tuiudh (male Yautja) x FTM!Reader

Word Count: 2145

Summary: After your surgery, your movements are restricted. Even putting on a shirt is more difficult than it should be. Mai'tuiudh is here, at your side, to be your arms. He's there for you, through thick and thin.

Author Note: I want to state that Mai isn’t being transphobic or anything of the sort. I hope that I nudged towards his thought process enough. He just doesn’t understand. His mind works on the prey/predator/hunter lifestyle. A wound weakens you, makes you stick out and easy food. So he doesn’t understand why purposely hurt yourself to become more like prey. I do like to make my art semi-realistic.

Masterlist

Ao3

At first after the surgery, your mate was both confused and concerned about the whole ordeal. Mai’tuiudh didn’t know how to think about the fact you willingly changed your body. It puzzled him and his hunter brain. Why alter your body, putting yourself at risk for injury and infection? This made you look weak, something a predator would take advantage of.

Altering your body in this extent wasn’t part of his culture or society. When you had told them what type of surgery was happening, he freaked out and fretted over you. But you had sat him down and explained everything completely to him. He knew you preferred to be called by masculine pronouns. It only took him a couple of days to rewire his brain to do that. He still loved you nevertheless.

His concern wasn’t the fact you weren’t wanting to look feminine anymore. But now you’ve come home, weak, shaking, seeming drunk on Cn’tlip. Your friend leaving you to his caring hands for however long it’ll take for you to recover.

That first day, you slept off the drugs lingering in your system. You awoke to find Mai sitting on the end of the bed. A tablet in his hands, back bent at what had to an uncomfortable position. He thumbed the screen, scrolling through the words appearing.

You raised a fist to rub at your eyes but immediately hissed at the pain stinging. A reminder of what you did yesterday. Despite the pain, you smiled, eyes closed with content. It finally had been done.

It taken years of fighting, arguing, and dismissals to find the right doctor who ask if you wanted to this once. Then boom, a date was scheduled, and the surgery was completed.

The bed groaned under the shift of weight. Mai moved to sit at your side, hands cupping your cheeks. “Are you okay?” he questioned. Your eyes slowly peeled open to find your mate hovering over you. His burnt orange eyes were sealed on your face. They flicker between your own orbs. You laughed softly and lifted a palm to hold his lower mandible.

Yet, he sat to far up to reach. Unfortunately. Oh, how would you ever survive without him. “Yes, Mai. I’m alright. Not used to my limited motion now,” you explained and turned your head enough to lay a kiss on his palm. The Yautja’s shoulders sagged. He leaned down to pressed his forehead against yours.

Mai’tuiudh stayed there much longer than necessary but neither of you were complaining. His warmth left once he sat back up. You go to make the same move, albert slower and less delicate. A massive hand was place on your upper sternum. “Stay. I be back,” Mai demanded firmly before slipping off of the bed.

Amused about this new, different side you’ve never seen from Mai, you waited under the sheet for the Yautja to return. His years as hunter silenced his steps despite weight twice your own. He moved about the apartment, just showing up when he passed the open bedroom door. Just a flash of his navy blue skin.

In a reasonable time, Mai returned, arms full of supplies. Stuff that hadn’t been in your apartment before. An accusing look was thrown at the bad blood but he brushed it off.

The items were set at the foot of the bed. He shuffled through them. A water bottle was set on the nightstand next to you. “I’ve been up night, scanning information about… this. You need rest. No moving arms. Can’t shower. Bandages must stay clean. Nausea is possible. Have fizzle… drank and dry, crunchy squares. Those help,” he spewed out and motioned to everything he’s gathered while you slept.

Even though you knew he stole these things, your heart warmed at his determination. Your eyes sparkled while looking up at him. “Mai, I, I can’t say thank you enough.” His acceptance despite not understanding everything mentally was soul-stirring. Your eyes began to water. He stayed up to research the care needed after your surgery. He wanted to help you, protect you.

A grunt sounded from the blue Yautja. His head shook side to side. “No thanks. My mate needs me, I be there for him.” Your arms moved within their limited space towards him. Mai understood what was asked of him and crowded your space.

His weight was minded as he straddled your waist and didn’t dare put any other parts on you. This allowed your arms to reach for his sides. Just enough to give him a half hug. The Yautja purred thickly in his chest and tapped his forehead to yours.

The moment didn’t stay long. Mai untangled from you and stood back at the side of the bed. “Rest. Eat. Stay here,” Mai gave you his three conditions and pointed a firm finger tipped with a black claw at you. You couldn’t wipe the smile off of your face.

“Okay.” Not any arguments from you. He was your caretaker. He won’t let you lift a finger. Not while he was around.

His gaze stayed on you, knowing how you liked to sometimes defy him. This time, you stayed. He grunted and slowly walked backwards out of the room. Those orange orbs of his never leaving you until the wall physically blocked it.

You laid in bed at his order, unable to untense the corners of your mouth. Maybe the recovery won’t be so bad while you had your lover around.

.

After the first two weeks passed, moving became a little easier. For you, lifting your arms higher than your shoulders was still forbidden. Mai was right there for you. He rarely left your side if it could be helped. And when he had to leave the confines of the apartment, it was only to go on supply runs. Then, Mai’tuiudh would be back within arms reach to ensure you healed quickly. His hunter’s mind fretting over how much you looked like prey now. More than usual.

The surgeon had given the go ahead on changing the bandages yourself. This would be your first time. Said doctor specified to have someone here to help you change them. It required you to lift your arms a hair higher than what you’re comfortable with.

Mai didn’t mind. He preferred it to be him. As his years as a bad blood have gained him many, many wounds, he was well equipped to simply change your bandages.

With your butt on the counter, you gazed gingerly at the hardened, navy blue face of Mai’tuiudh. A shirt still hung off of your shoulders, too big for your body. The perfect size. His massive hands were gripping on your thighs while the Yautja peered into your eyes as well.

You leaned up carefully and placed a chaste kiss on the bottom mandible closest to you. The counter offered only an extra couple of inches to reach him. “I can’t thank you enough for your help, Mai.” He chittered quietly, mandibles clicking to each other after the kiss. He rubbed his forehead to yours, eyes closing almost all the way.

His fingers drifted up to graze against the hem of your shirt. A silent ask. You reached down yourself, an action you wanted to do. Your eyes clenched shut, thoughts on the verge of running wild when you felt a hand cup yours. No, you didn’t want to deal with this by your lonesome. There was someone here willing to do anything for your comfort alone.

Together, in tandem, the two of you began to peel the shirt up to reveal skin to the cool bathroom. Once you reached the limited range of your arms, you halted, grasp falling away. But you gazed up into Mai’s burnt orange eyes and quirked the corners of your mouth up. The tiniest of nods given to him.

He finished the rest of the way for you. The shirt carefully pulled off to reveal what you’ve done to your body. This wasn’t the first time he’s seen the bandages but this moment… it felt different. You were going to go further than before after the surgery with him.

His blue form pulled away, his warmth being stolen away. You released a whine and looked at him with doe eyes. He chuckled and rested those large hands of his on your hips. “Can touch wounds now?” he questioned patiently. Mai waited for you.

The lump in your throat was swallowed down. “Yeah,” you barely whispered above your breath to allow him. All of this was just soft, ginger movements and words combined into one. Not even the creaky bathroom fan could disturb the moment growing between the two of you.

After his release, Mai stayed where he was for an extra few seconds. His hands left your hips to cup at your ribcage. He didn’t move when you flinched, lungs seizing up. It was an uphill battle to take another breath afterwards. But, during this whole time, Mai didn’t move. He let you control the pace, being the one in control. Your heart swelled.

Your head dipped. Mai let a hand start to pick at the corner of the tape. It peeled up after the third try. In its bony cage, your heart thundered like a storm in your eardrums. Sharp talons pinched the tape and began to pull it off of your body.

Goosebumps prickled along your skin in reaction. The peeling didn’t hurt, not the way you would’ve thought with a bandage. Instead, it felt strange. That’s what you attempted to focus on instead of what was hidden now underneath. You knew it would take time to learn that the scars would be okay. Only a reminder of what you were once before. This was for the better.

More tape on the same side was removed in the same fashion. Mai took his time with each strip. A hunter knew patience. If they didn’t, they no longer breathe. It was a virtue. A necessary skill to be engraved into each Yautja that comes to life.

Once that side was completed, the tap and soiled bandages in the garbage, Mai’tuiudh stopped. His now free hand returning to its place to cup at your sides.

Slowly, you grasped at his other limb and rested it upon the last bandage to be removed. Mai took the silent permission to continue his pathing.

After the last tape fell away with covering, you shutter at the new cool air brushing against the sensitive skin. “You okay?” he rumbled and placed his foreheat to yours once more. It was a position he found himself in a lot. Not that he was complaining. Just a sign he truly cared about you.

“Yeah,” you hummed, eyes closed. Thankfully, he had you sitting on the counter, back to the mirror that hung off of the off white walls. Your throat bobbed with a heavy swallow. “Does…” your voice died off but Mai waited for you. “Does it look bad?” You don’t know why you wanted his reassurance. This had been something you’ve been fighting for for years. A change, a huge change like this was hard to come to terms with immediately. Like getting a new dog after your last one passed.

One of his thumbs glided across the skin underneath one of the open wounds. “The scars will show your survival,” is his answer. Right. Scars. His culture loved scars. Not that you minded his scars. Though, some did worry you. How did he survive if it looked like his guts were spilled.

“I don’t think I’ll ever accept the scars,” you spoke truthfully to your mate. Said Yautja tensed before making a chuffing noise.

His warmth was stolen away as the hunter stood up to his full height. He towered over you. Predator and prey. “Was this battle?” he asked, voice hardened the best it could with his alien accent.

It took a moment to release what he was getting at. You whispered a ‘yeah’ to him. “Your scars show battle has been won. You won this fight. You survived. Be proud. Wear scars proudly!” Despite being a bad blood, the Yautja still followed some of the codes grounded into his mind as a child. Some morals and thought process like when it came to scars.

If your mate accepted and fought for you, that’s all you needed in life. He didn’t understand a lot of things, like the need to change your looks in this sense. But guess what, he accepted you. He asked questions and went on his way. You smiled up at him with adoration shining brightly in your eyes.

“Okay,” you agreed. Mai’tuiudh leaned down and licked your cheeks, hands grasping at the sides of your head. Everything would be okay. You had your mate at your side, a place he deserved to be.

[shall-we-die]

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{Rejection}

How would they react to you rejecting their confession (or the other way around?)

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↬[Fandom]•⊰ {Moriarty the Patriot}࿐

↬[Warnings]•⊰ {Angst}࿐

☰[Main list]•⊰ ────┈┈{0067}┈─╮

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╰┈➤Likes/Reblogs are appreciated࿐

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↬|Albert|

Albert is very good at hiding how he actually feels. He'd obviously be disappointed about it- He'd take their rejection with a polite shrug, and a smile. He'd try to be encouraging, and try to get them to reconsider, but once it's a firm 'no' he'd back off almost immediately. He's not going to insist on a no! He'd be upset about it, but try to take it with a smile and wish them a good day. Albert's rejection and heartbreak would get worse at night, and he'd mourn in his room, maybe drinking some wine. But he does have his brothers to cheer him up, and he'd try hard to move on from his crush, but it would take him a while. Albert would try to still maintain the same polite distance he usually does, hoping their feelings would change, while subtly trying to get closer to them again when he can. At the same time, he'd be open to different romantic prospects, now that his feelings are one-sided.

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↬|William|

William is usually calm and rational person, but he may get slightly frustrated and emotional if his confession is rejected. However, he will try to hide his emotions and maintain his composure if possible. William believes that intelligence and rationality are his main assets, and he may think that his crush is not smart enough to understand his feelings. He may also get curious about why they rejected him and may try to analyze the situation with logical reasoning. William may try to approach his crush again later on, hoping that they may change their mind or that he can persuade them with his charm and wit. Over time, William may realize that his initial approach may not be the best way to win his crush's heart. He may start to think that showing a softer and more emotional side may appeal to them. William may try to find out more about his crush, such as her interests, dislikes, and things they value in a relationship. He may use this information to tailor his approach and show that he really cares about them as a person, and not just as an idea. William may also get frustrated or discouraged if he feels that his efforts are not paying off.

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↬|Louis|

Louis wouldn’t react with anger if his crush rejects him. Rather, he’d accept her choice with a smile, albeit with a flicker of disappointment in his eyes, and express his hopes that they can remain friends, though a part of him would remain wistful. He would also take some time to process and cope with his emotions, possibly through composing music or engaging in a relaxing activity to find inner comfort. In the days that follow, he might become somewhat more distant and reserved. Although he’d conceal his true feelings, occasionally there would be moments where it shows in his eyes. If she approaches him again, he’d make an effort to be kind and respectful, but would ensure that he doesn’t get too attached once more. He may even attempt to distract himself with further music writing and other creative outlets, as well as spending more time with his brother, whom he trusts the most out of anyone.

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↬|Sebastian|

Sebastian would feel very disappointed by their rejection, which would probably lead him to drink heavily to try and make the feelings of sadness and rejection fade away. He'd try and focus on other things until he's able to accept that his feelings for them wouldn't be reciprocated, and that the best thing to do for both of them would be to just move on and not hold onto his unrequited love for them. He'd probably try and keep to himself for some time, avoiding talking to or interacting with them as much as he can. He'd also probably try and spend more time with other people to try and distract himself from thinking about the rejected confession, as well as try to move on and find someone new. He wouldn't go as far as to hate her, and would still try and be friendly if he had to interact with them for a reason, but would most likely be a bit more reserved around them out of embarrassment and sadness over the failed confession.

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↬|Sherlock|

If Sherlock ever got rejected, he'd most likely put on a big, nonchalant display of how "He'd already lost interest and they'd be missing him," or something along those lines to save face in the moment. Inside though? He would be shattered, and definitely go into a period of depression. He's got too much pride to let himself mourn over it though, so he'd mostly try to stay busy and avoid any feelings that may creep in. Though he would make occasional snide remarks about them after that.  He'd certainly never forget about them. To be rejected by them would be a blow to his self-confidence as well since his intelligence is one of the core aspects of his personality. He'd most likely be extra cocky about other things, to pretend he's still that cool, confident guy. There would also for sure be a bit of moping and brooding, mostly late at night. He'd go through the five stages of grief, though he may skip straight to anger to try and get it all out of his system faster.

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↬|John|

When his crush rejects his confession, he'd be a bit dejected, but not entirely surprised. He'd probably say something along the lines of "I had a feeling" or "I expected that outcome." John often tends to keep his cards close to his chest when it comes to his emotions. However, a small part of him might still hope that they'll one day change their mind or realise their feelings for him. He'll ultimately accept their decision and carry on as usual, though he might need some time to process his feelings in private. After getting rejected, John might find himself questioning why they didn't feel the same way he did. He might wonder if there was something he could have done differently, or even if something was wrong with him. These doubts will eat away at him, even though he won't let it show. He'll try to distract himself by focusing on his work and throwing himself into whatever hobby he's currently fixated on. He might also seek advice from friends or family on how to deal with the situation or even try to date someone else to move on.

||[🅁ejection]||

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     ⇆ㅤㅤ◁🅀ㅤㅤ❚❚ㅤㅤ🅂▷ㅤㅤ↻

[ghostsvacuumcleaner]

So... I don't have a very specific request, I'm just a huge fan of your writing and particularly the smuts you've written with Leon lol, so I wanted to ask for something really naughty like AS PORNOGRAPHIC AS POSSIBLE and maybe related to degradation kink lol please I'M BEGGING YOU NOT TO JUDGE ME, I know this isn't much like canonical leon so feel free to use other characters you like, really just wanted to use the chance of asking you something before you close the requests <33 thanks!!

Okay... Your wish is my command! I hope you don't mind it that since you gave me freedom to pick a character, I actually chose to write Wesker porn. If it's not of your taste you can totally send me another request and istg I'll do it with any character you want lol now, I love Wesker, and I like to keep as close as I can to the cannonical personality, so I should warn this gives a hella toxic and abusive relationship hints! I hope you enjoy it, anon, as well as y'all &lt;;3

Bunny | 3.2k

ao3 | masterlist ✦ Pairing: Albert Wesker x f! reader ✦ Summary: You wake up in Wesker's mansion after accomplishing a difficult mission and he gives you a new drug he's been testing. The effects are quite... dear to you. ✦ TW:  HIGHLY NSFW MINORS DNI, explicit, very explicit, smut, very pornographic, f!reader, little to none f! physical appearence descriptions, very much porn, p in v, degradation kink, unprotected, he cums inside, dirty talk, petcalling, he humiliates you a bit, he's rather toxic as Wesker would be, uses you, no fluff (very slightly in his own wicked way) I inspired this in this song, since I'm dumb and don't know how to embed spotify songs in here, click here if you'd like to hear it &lt;3

You open your eyes to a big, vast dining room in front of you. The walls are adorned with exquisite wallpaper and ornate trimwork. The ceiling is high and vaulted, with beautiful light fixtures hanging from what seems to be golden chains. The room is lavishly furnished with a massive mahogany dining table, with beautiful wine-red chairs that seem to belong to a very expensive collection. Crystal chandeliers cast a dim, flickering light over the table, and paintings in ornate frames hang on the walls, with their eccentric content - suits the owner quite well. 

Doesn’t take you much to realize you’re in Albert’s mansion. You’ve never been here before, only perhaps by the gates, delivering something off to the doorman and that was far from enough to even wonder what secrets lived vivid inside of those walls.

“You’re finally awake… Good.” You hear his voice coming from behind you, and then his hands calmly taking over both your shoulders, his fingers brushing against the thin material of your shirt. As you look down at yourself, you realize you’re wearing completely new clothes, different from the used, semi-destroyed ones you were before on mission. You’re clean, you can feel the delicious smell of your own perfume sprayed along your hair and neck. “You've caused quite a stir among my colleagues, my dear…” He continues, with a faint smirk playing on his lips; you shiver.

“Is that so… May I ask why, Doctor?” You ask, your face lifting just enough over your shoulder so you can look up at him. 

Wesker chuckles softly, his pale blue eyes burning into yours over the rim of his glass. He takes a leisurely sip of wine before setting it down on the table, along with another glass - one he offers to you, in a hand gesture. You accept, sipping a bit from it.

“Do you underestimate yourself? Your talent? Your own dedication to me and my projects, you see - it is enviable for many, bunny.” His predatory grin widens in pointy canines. “And you succeeded again. I trust you encountered no complications in your way? Despite the clear miscommunication at the end, of course, dear I should’ve let you know about my little creation there…”

You feel a mixture of unease and a strange sense of satisfaction at his words. Deep down, you know that you want it - his twisted form of affection, his praising whenever you succeed at something he longs for. You can’t hold back a sly grin from forming on your lips as a response.

“I dealt with it.” You summed. “No witnesses, and your little creation almost killed me, Albert.” You sigh, and Wesker lets out a wicked soft laugh to your commentary. 

“Nonsense… I’d never let you go to waste like that. Do you really have so little faith in me?” One of his hands slides up from your shoulder, trailing a feather-light touch along your neck; fast enough, a motion of his wraps it up around your neck almost entirely. You feel shivers down your spine and straighten up your posture to the sudden bit of force he applies. 

“No, of course not… All I meant is, it was a complication. I don’t think I’d make it if it wasn’t for you.” You admit, your eyes gleaming through the dim light of the chandelier and gazing through his icy crimson eyes. Wesker’s free hand reaches out for your face, grabbing your cheeks between his fingers in a calm yet firm motion; it lifts your face and now you have no other option but to stare deep into his soul-eating eyes.

“Of course you wouldn’t. But then again, that’s what I was there for, hm?” He moves that bit of your hair from your face, wanting to see some more of you. The obscure gleam his eyes get anytime he lays them onto you is a terrifying feeling; not every man you met had enough power to unsettle you. In fact, none, till Albert. Till much before the weird chemistry and the hidden undertones to every aspect of communication between the two of you became unbearable, and you started falling for his disgraceful tongue, the desirable words he’d use against you. You started delivering yourself even further. If someone asked you when did it come down to becoming his personal object of pleasure - his slut, as he’d say himself, you wouldn’t know how to answer. The truth is, this has been happening for too much time now.

You get apprehensive, yet excited - he’s right. He wouldn’t leave you behind, he’d be right there when you needed him. You’re not that foolish - you know his goals are the highest peak of his life, but you definitely made your way to the top tier of his prized possessions, and you know that because it is for you he looks when he’s in need; it is for you he calls. Is that a good thing?

“Hm… you were keeping track of me all of the time? It didn’t look much like.” You ask, your eyes never really leaving his as they burn you in the gratitude facade he keeps whenever talking to you. You look suspicious for a moment, almost like you don’t believe him, like you accuse him of putting you through this risk. This man is a monster; you fell for those pretty lies he tells you; he plays you like a game, and you for one is having too much fun to let go.

“Oh, but I always am.” His thumb brushes your plump lips lightly, you feel fire spreading up across your thighs, a fluttering feeling brushing the walls inside you; your heartbeat speeds up ever so slightly, fact that doesn’t come unnoticed by his superhuman senses, almost like he can hear it - ba-dum, ba-dum. He smiles, a wicked grin, his laugh came out as a little nasal sigh. “Is this defiance I’m sensing right now? Are you mad at me?”

His demeanor is calm, calculated as it usually is; it doesn’t make you any less apprehensive now. Your heart beats faster. You regret doubting him.

“I’d never. You know so.” You refute, as quickly as you can. Your hand calmly reaches for his wrist, trying to ease the pressure he’s applying onto your cheeks right now; he doesn’t.  

"Then give me a kiss." he purrs, his voice filled with an unsettling cruel sense of amusement from the fear he can sense from you; not too much, not enough to make you run away from him, just enough to remind you of your place here. 

Your body leans towards his tall figure, you're devoid of self-preservation when it comes to him; your hand on his wrist seems to anticipate what comes next, when before you can even reach for his lips, his grip around your neck worsens and the air starts to feel thin around you; he doesn’t choke you enough to make you faint, he likes seeing you struggle, and there you are: this pathetic little thing struggling to find some air through his big slender hand, when he didn’t even bother taking off his gloves to touch you skin to skin.

“Where is my kiss, bunny?” He asks, his eyebrows furrowing in a psychopathic face of false pity. You struggle to talk, why do you like this? You feel adrenaline rushing through your veins, the need of winning or at least passing through this game of power he forces you through. “You can’t speak? Pathetic little whore, let me give you some help then.” 

In a sudden and calculated motion, he roughly picks you up by your neck and slams your body against the big dinner table. A cracking sound echoes through the room as his wine glass shatters on the ground, and the chairs move around by his motion. You gag as you desperately look for some air till relief washes over you when he finally loosen up enough so you can pull oxygen in again. You don’t allow a single tear to form in your eyes, no, not yet.

“Now now, I don’t like it when you defy me like this, bunny, just when I complimented your complacency?” He speaks out again while you still try to recompose, slight red handprints appearing across your neck; his red eyes wander over it with a sense of pride, his smile fades like it never existed. He’s sternly piercing at you now, an expression that makes it very clear he pities your struggle.

“It wasn’t my intention, Wesker-” You cough, your gaze following his; your eyes seem to be looking for his although he avoids them for your own torture. Wesker lays his forehead against your shoulder, his free hand lifts the hem of your shirt only enough so he can brush the bare skin of your waist. You thrill, intensely. A weird feeling starts taking over your stomach. “I really thought I’d die in that place.” You admit in a whisper, your voice comes out as a breath that hits hot against his neck skin. As your cheek brushes through his sharp jaw extension, his smell invades your nostrils - male cologne, expensive. 

“You’re suggesting then it was too much for you to handle?” He asks in a whisper against your ear, and you almost let out a warm, low groan in a response.

“No. I can handle it, I can take everything. That’s not- I guess I just-” You interrupt

yourself; his body is way too close to yours, he towers over you, you’re sitting over the edge of that table now with your legs around his waist - you feel something sparkling inside of your belly once again; your core throbs to the simple thought of his proximity to you, his cocks proximity to you. It’s so close, barely there, only a piece of fabric. Your entire body starts feeling weirdly hot, warm, burning desire consuming you as his hand starts pulling you closer, getting rid of any space between the two of you. You can barely breathe right now, What’s with me now? What the fuck…

“You just what, bunny, babbles, rubbish, foolish things, shut up. Talk straight to me.” He orders, and you can sense from his voice tone that he has a devious smile on his face now. Wesker squeezes your waist tight against him, his fingers now digging onto your skin, his lips brushing against your collarbone and you can’t hold the air in your lungs becoming tight in your throat; you let out a needy sigh, a whimper; please undress me. Please, undress me, fuck me, I’m burning up, I can’t take this, please. 

It was at the moment your mind cracked you finally perceived that although you’d tremble just at the thought of Wesker’s cock pushing hard onto your tight walls, that was not a normal reaction of your body. Not by far.

“What did you do to me- ahn.” You ask, your face flushing red, your entire body seems to be out of your control, you’re sweating and catching your breath. He laughs at your weakness. 

His hands start rubbing up your legs, your exposed thighs, grabs tight onto them - his fingers digging like he feels like hurting you today. You moan, incapable of holding your own reactions out; he smirks, raising up your skirt to your waist in a slow, precise motion. Haven’t come to your realization so far, that  you’re not wearing panties.

You can’t be angry at him. You can’t possibly concentrate on anything else but the wave of pleasure you feel at any slight move of his. Wesker pulls his hands back.

“Aren’t you ashamed of yourself? Brushing this needy little cunt of yours against me, you’re wetting my pants, slut.” He reprehends you, standing straight, not moving a muscle now. You look up at him, your eyes shining with need and your mouth watering in, your pussy aching for the touch he denies when he takes his hands off of you.

“Please.” You beg, realizing your hips are pushing against the hardened shape in the bulge of his social pants, staining it with your slick; he barely moves against you, his eyes locked onto your exposed throbbing cunt. 

“You don’t deserve it.” He growls, before his hand palms your navel and starts brushing up your skin to your stomach. Wesker raises the hem of your shirt up enough so he exposes your breasts now and takes a handful of one; without a warning, his grip tightens and you feel your drugged sensitive body squirm in pain, projecting upwards, and your cunt throbs once again as you babble incoherently. “Is my little bunny in heat now?” He whispers against your ear as he bends down to you. 

Thinking you can’t endure another second of this torture, your own hand trails down a path down your belly, and your fingers spread your folds - your middle finger parting them, rubbing at your own knob trying to give yourself some sort of release. He notices what you’re doing by the mewl you let out.

“Disgusting shameless slut…”

His hand grabs yours, stopping you from that momentary relieving pleasure. You whine once again, the heat you feel almost making you come to that very slight touch of his hand against your clit when he holds you. 

“I’m begging.” You pathetically whimper with teary eyes, aching for some more of his touch and as you do, you feel through his pants a throbbing spasm of his stiff cock. His hips push against you willingly this time in a lustful motion and he grunts, expliciting his arousal for seeing you cry. Psychopathic monster. You love that about him. “Wesker, please fuck me. i don’t need anything else just, I- oh-” 

“Shh.” He whispers, and his hand reaches up covering your mouth by grabbing on your cheeks, sushing you, and pushing you sitting up once again. As he does pull back from you, he sits back at the chair you were sitting before, and manspreads; the abrupt motion makes you fall on your knees in between his legs, and he leaves your face. “Earn it.”

You didn’t need a second to start desperately unbuckling his belt, unzipping his pants and setting free his long, throbbing length; it swings up and slaps against his navel, craving for you as you take it all in your small hands and start pumping it. 

Wesker’s obscure crimson eyes watch over you as you struggle to fit his shaft in your mouth, a sloppy mess of saliva decorating the corners of your lips - soon enough, you find your way through. You moan against his skin with your mouth full, in slow, delicious movements like you’re having dinner.

He drops his head back, low and deep pleasure moans coming out of his mouth in a hum, almost like he refuses to give you intense reactions; he slaps you in the face, one, two, three times till you’re a mess with strands of your hair glued to your face.

“Oh- that’s right… Swallow me, fuck- stop, hmm- stop.” He groans, before grabbing a handful of your hair and pulling you back with contained brutality. “Open up.” He orders, and you open your mouth, sticking your tongue out to him; he gathers some saliva in his mouth and spits it against your tongue, to which you willingly swallow. “Whose slut are you?”

“Yours.” You answer quickly enough, and he smirks, straightening up and tapping his lap. 

“Show me then.” He commands, and you finally and desperately hop on his lap, both thighs around him, your hands looking for support around his shoulders which he quickly refuses by grabbing them both together by the wrists on your back. 

With a move of your own hips and without any kind of tactile support, you guide your entrance onto his cock, your head flying back as you feel the warmth of his tip brushing against your dripping wet folds now; you rub yourself against him a couple times and your legs tremble to the shock of pleasure that quickly ran through your lower belly. Without any patience or restraint left in yourself now, you slide down his hard shaft deep inside your walls until your back meets his thighs. 

Your hips start rolling forward against him, his cock stretching your tight walls, a sound echoing through the dining room each time your skin meets his; he pants, squeezing his jaw and tightening his grasp on your wrists.

“Good fucking bitch- ah- so tight-” He groans, one of his hands grabbing painfully onto your waist and guiding you harder each second, his mouth quickly taking over one of your breasts that swing freely in front of him. 

You swear you’re losing your own conscience when your movements are hard enough for you to feel his tip hitting hard against your womb, a painful but pleasure soft spot for you; he thrusts against you again, again, and again, your mind goes blank and you let out a painful lustful moan as you bury his cock deep within yourself once more - hitting your edge, that point where you start feeling your insides twitching and your clit quivering in your deep orgasm.

“God- fuck!” You feel your legs weaken from both the pleasure and your effort, and Wesker uses his hips to lift you up only enough so he can pump his cock inside you a few more times, his face flushed red in effort, the veins in his temples showing up as he twitches his stomach muscles and feel his body contracting once he finally and deliciously releases his hot cum inside you, in spaced spurts of his cock.

He lets go of your hands as you collapse over him with your body exhausted and a bit dizzy, possibly by a residual effect of the drug he gave to you. You close your eyes for a moment, nearly fainting against his chest; 

Wesker holds you firmly, and slowly pulls out from you, fixing you over his lap trying to keep you steady and you give a little mumble in return, your forehead still a bit sweaty from all the effort and the drug withdrawing from your body, slowly,

“You need to rest, don’t you, bunny?” He asks, standing up and fixing his pants in place as he carries you like a bride around his mansion hallways, his hand slowly rubbing your shoulder in hopes you’ll relax and not experience terrible collateral effects now that the drug one is going away for good. “Let’s see how your body reacts… We need to get you prepared for the experimentation, don’t we?” He asks with a clever smile on his lips.

You can’t catch up with his talking, nor hear what he still has to say to you lastly for your body’s too weak and you’re almost fainting. 

He carefully lays you on his own bed and covers your body, fixing the pillow cozily under your head. He observes you for a couple moments, proudly; 

“You’ll be my best creation…” He mutters, caressing your cheek with the back of his fingers. “Rest well, bunny.”

[wil-o-wispy]

The Wife, the Lover and the Bastard Son - Part 5

Pairing: Chris Redfield x FEM!Reader

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 (You are here)

Summary: The more hours that pass, the closer he is to finding you.

Content: Canon typical violence/swearing, descriptions of blood, more reader lore drops, references to RE5, brief mentions of vomiting from seasickness, mostly next chapter setup but there's some juiciness in here, brief description of banging a head against a wall. Reader is referred to as 'Doc' and is the wife of (dead?) Albert Wesker and is a former Umbrella scientist.

a/n: That took longer than I thought but here it is. Once again, I appreciate you and thank you for reading!

w/c: 9.4k

It felt like you were running for an eternity after you witnessed Albert breaking out of his experimental confines. You didn’t look back. You didn’t have a plan. You didn’t even think on where to go next. Your only goal was to get as far away from Albert as physically possible.

Years of suppressed trauma from the day Albert died rears its ugly head and everything floods back to you in one overwhelming emotional wave that feeds your adrenaline and keeps your feet moving one in front of the other. Fear. Confusion. Anger. Devastation. Fear. You keep having to wipe away the tears that won’t stop leaking out of your eyes, trying in vain to keep your vision clear as you blindly wind your way through the facility.

But adrenaline highs eventually run out even if paralyzing fear is still present.

Your legs cramp. Your lungs scream for something more than just short puffs of air. Your heart works overtime from the strain of the situation and beats so fast it hurts and black dots the edges of your vision. Blood pumps through your veins so quickly that you can hear it in your ears so you can’t focus on anything else.

The moment you need to place your hand on the wall to keep yourself from collapsing is the second you decide to open whatever door is closest and hide out in whatever room is on the other side of it.

You’ve managed to run from the inner sanctum of the new lab all the way to an older, non-refurbished part. Is this the old lab? What used to be part of the military base? You can’t tell and you don’t care. You push open the door and sink to the floor as soon as you shut it again, trying to gulp some air into your lungs so you don’t keel over and pass out. As you try to slow down your breathing and collect yourself, only one thought is going through your mind.

This isn’t fucking happening he’s supposed to be dead.

There’s a sound that makes you jolt upright and whip your head to the edge of the room.

Whoever was here previously left in a hurry. There are loose DVD’s, clear DVD cases, and cases with DVD’s still in them scattered all over the desk in the back while a projector idly flickers against a white screen against the adjacent wall. The noise is coming from behind the projector.

You cautiously get up from the floor and make your way over to it, still wobbly on your feet but able to keep yourself from toppling over and discover the source of the whirring: a DVD player. The disk holder is trying to retract into the machine, but the machine is askew and miscellaneous office junk is preventing it from closing properly. There’s a date written in Sharpie on the disk: March 19, 2006. The day Albert died.

A note with an official looking letterhead sits next to the machine, partially crumpled up. You pick it up, unfold it, and read its contents.

RE: Wesker Collection: Africa Tanker July 2002 – March 2006.

To Our Most Esteemed Client,

We thank you for entrusting us with this extensive recovery project involving the late Albert Wesker and his surviving wife. It has truly been an honor to observe the infamous scientist in his private life while carrying out these services.

We are happy to report that 93% of the recovered footage provided from the Africa tanker was able to be upgraded to your UHD specifications, as well as remove the most glaring audio anomalies for improved sound quality. Please see the attached inventory sheet for a full breakdown. The full transcripts will become available in the coming weeks as previously discussed.

I would humbly encourage you to reconsider my suggestion regarding upgrading the remaining footage archive. There is much to be learned from his methods in creating the Uroboros virus as well as advancing the gestation of the Plaga parasite. Should you change your mind, we would be elated to welcome you back as a client.

You feel a gentle numbness come over you as you read the note. The DVD player whirs again. Your eyes flick over to it. You absentmindedly put down the paper, reposition the DVD player so it sits properly, and move the junk that’s preventing the disk compartment from closing. The little door finally closes with a soft tapping noise, and the DVD inside it whirs until it emits a soft hum.

The image flickers to life on the projector and you feel a lump in your throat. You recognize the room. It’s CCTV footage a captain’s quarters space with a metal chair in the center with straps to constrain an unlucky subject to it at the wrists, arms, and chest. On the screen, two distant voices outside the room are arguing: a man and a woman. As the voices get closer to the room, you recognize the sound of your own voice even before Albert kicks the door open and drags you into the room by your forearm while you struggle in vain against his grip.

“I’m not like you!” You retort defiantly.

“But you are my dear, in more ways than you care to admit.” Albert replies, clearly getting impatient with how you’re acting.

“Like hell I am! Statistically, I’m gonna end up like any other one of your test subjects!”

“Don’t you dare compare yourself to those weaklings!” Albert spits, incensed at your response and abruptly forcing you in front of him so his angered expression is up close to your nervous one. Albert breathes heavily for a moment, then speaks in a colder, more pragmatic tone that is expected of him.

“You will evolve beyond your limits, and you will thank me for it.”

You watch Albert force you into the chair despite your continued protests. You watch as he straps your wrists to the arms of the chair and your torso to the back of it so quickly that the video appears to buffer on Albert’s main movements while you fail to struggle against him. You know it’s not the video. He was just that fast. You continue to struggle even after Albert takes a step back with an angered look.

“I have a rendezvous with an old colleague that I can’t afford to miss, but when I return-” You watch Albert roughly grasp your chin and turn your face to look up at him and you freeze. Albert’s voice turns into a deadly, low tone.

“I want a satisfactory answer out of you.”

After staring you down for a moment, he releases your chin and walks to the door, intending to close it. You watch him go with a defeated look.

“Please don’t do this.” You beg with a small voice.

You see Albert pause at the door and sigh with his back to the camera. He doesn’t turn to look at you. “It’s happening with or without your participation my dear. I suggest you be in good company when my New World emerges from the embers of humanity.”

Albert slams the door and you jump in your seat. A lock engages, then heavy footsteps quickly get further and further away. Once it’s quiet again, you immediately resume your attempts to wiggle out of the chair.

With no warning, the footage erupts into pixelated static, a slideshow of random frames you can barely make out, then it finally cuts to you later, still strapped to the chair in that room, and screaming at the top of your lungs.

“HELLO? I’M IN HERE! GET ME THE FUCK OUT OF THIS THING!” Your voice is strained from shouting and thick from crying. You remember the ship rocking from side to side so precariously that you thought it was going to flip over and you’d drown in that room. There’s methodical, forceful banging on the door and you can see it straining from the force of your rescuers on the other side of it.

In the real world, you hear heavy footsteps stomping towards the room you’re in and you’re suddenly very aware of how loud the projector is. Whoever heard already knows you’re here, so you just grab the closest thing to a weapon you see, which happens to be a stapler, and crawl under the desk and pull your knees to your chest. All the while, you hear yourself keep screaming for help on the projector.

A moment later, the door to the projector room flies open with so much force that you hear it slam against the wall followed by quick and heavy footsteps rushing into the room.

At the same time on the screen, you hear the door to that room finally break open, and Chris’ words trying to comfort you as Sheva and him undo your binds. Their chorus of ‘It’s okay’s’ and ‘you’re alright’s’ are ignored by you, and you get straight to business as usual, albeit with a rattled voice.

“What was that? Why was everything shaking?”

You can’t see the screen, but you know Sheva and Chris are looking at each other. Sheva finally answers.

“Excella was rejected by Uroboros.”

You’re silent for a moment on the projector. “… I tried to warn her.”

You hear yourself struggling to get to your feet, your seasickness coming back at full force as you struggle to walk in a straight line and you hear Chris grab your arm to steady you.

“Careful!” Chris says with a worried tone.

“Forget about me! We have to hurry we’re running out of time!” Your voice is strained like you’re about to vomit and you hear yourself quickly stumble out of the room while Chris and Sheva hurry after you.

The three sets of voices retreat from the room on the screen and the projector grows silent.

In the newfound silence of the room, you realize your breathing is much too loud so you cover your mouth to silence yourself.

But it’s too late for that.

You hear the footsteps stealthily approach closer.

And closer.

And closer.

You sense the presence stop right outside of your range of vision under the desk.

Albert found you. This is the end.

You yelp in surprise and raise the stapler to bludgeon whatever just discovered your hiding spot, but you freeze like a deer in headlights when you see Jake with his pistol raised.

For a moment, he just stares at you while you try in vain to steady your staccato breathing. You know you look like a mess. Tears streak your terrified face, hair sticks out in every direction, and most notably, there are blood splatters that stain your clothes.

“Doc? Jesus what happened to you?”

Jake holsters his gun and brushes your arms out of the way. He looks closely at your clothes, looking for entry points for injuries.

“It okay it’s… it’s not mine. I-I just can’t get a grip.” Your voice is hoarse and strained. No matter how hard you try you can’t seem to slow your breathing enough to even think about calming down.

Jake stops looking for injuries and directs his icy gaze to your tearful expression. “What happened?”

“He’s-” You take in a deep and shaky breath, “-he’s alive b-but he’s… he’s not himself and I… I don’t know if that’s better or worse-”

“Doc. Take a breath. Who’s alive?” Jake is trying to be the voice of reason in your panicked state, but his tone has an edge of seriousness to it.

“Wesker! These people excavated his fucking corpse and decided it was a genius idea to reanimate him. That director guy took me to the chamber, then he woke up and there was carnage when he heard my voice and… and…I can’t… I can’t do this again Jake!”

You slam down the stapler onto the ground and you put your head in your hands trying to get some sense of comfort. You mumble in your hands, still not wanting to believe your new set of circumstances.

“Why do people keep doing this? This kind of shit never ends well. You’d think people would learn but they just don’t.”

It never ends. People will always think they’re smarter than their predecessors.

Your head is pounding behind your eyes so you move a few fingers to pinch the bridge of your nose for some relief.

“What do you mean?”

You blink. Your hands retreat from your face and your eyes slowly move to Jake’s. “What?”

“You said you couldn’t do this again, what do you mean?”

Right. You did say that. You take a deep breath and finally muster up enough composure to answer.

“I… it’s a long story but to make it brief, I was the one who blew the whistle on the Uroboros project.”

Jake’s serious expression doesn’t change. You look at your hands.

“I finally realized how apocalyptic the project really was and I needed to tell someone. By a stroke of dumb luck I managed to get a B.S.A.A. radio and alert the African division.”

You feel your eyes growing hot again and you blink away the heat.

“Two agents were able to get to me about two weeks later and I told them how to kill him.”

You take another deep breath and continue.

“I told you earlier he needed regular doses of the virus to keep it stable. I knew that giving him too much would cause adverse effects. Or at least slow him down enough so the B.S.A.A. could put him down.”

You swallow the lump in your throat.

“So I showed them where he kept the extra doses. And then I showed them where the virus warheads were.”

You close your eyes and lean your head back against the underside of the desk. Jake doesn’t need to know the rest. He doesn’t need to know that Chris noticed how sickly and scared you were and put his hand on your shoulder to comfort you. He doesn’t need to know that Albert saw his nemesis touching his wife and was seething with barely contained rage because of it. He doesn’t need to know how your heart got caught in your throat when you felt Albert’s inhumanly strong arms wrap around your waist, your body move dizzyingly fast, and before you realized what had even happened, he had your back to his chest and his hand wrapped menacingly tight around your throat as he growled in your ear.

“It’s in your best interest to listen to me dearheart. We wouldn’t want any accidents to happen in front of our guests, would we?”

Jake doesn’t need to know that everything in your body betrayed you at that moment. You should have screamed, you should have thrashed, you should have done quite literally anything to try to escape his grip as futile as it would have been. But you didn’t. Jake doesn’t need to know that you’d seen Albert angry a handful of times but this was the first time you felt that he could actually kill you for going against his wishes. It wouldn’t do anyone any good if he knew it was a thinly veiled threat at best, but it was more than enough to rob you of your voice, freeze in place, and cause tears to prick at the corners of your eyes, just like today.

You don’t tell Jake any of this, but he seems to understand the subtext of your words perfectly anyway. When you feel confident you’re not going to burst into tears again, you look back at Jake.

“Albert saw. He knows what I did. He’s going to kill me for betraying him.”

Silence weighs over the two of you like a thick fog, choking any semblance of hope in the haze of reality.  You sit there wallowing in the harsh reality of your words. You knew in your soul that it was the truth, but it feels so much more real when you hypothesize Albert’s intentions with you out loud. Jake is silent, the wheels turning in his head on what he should say.

“That was a long time ago you can’t know that for sure.”

“He’s not the forgiving type, Jake. He never was.”

You hear a distant clang, and something you could have sworn was a monstrous roar from the direction of where you last saw Albert outside of the room. You freeze. Jake glances outside of your hiding place, then back to you, now aware of how distressed you actually are. Jake holds out his hand to you. He gestures you to come out.

“C’mon. I found someplace safe we can hide out for a while.” He whispers in a confident tone.

You don’t look at him. Your eyes are trained on the open door to the room.

Would Albert inject you with a virus first? Terrorize you? Gloat? Kill you outright?

“Doc, we have to go. You can’t stay here, it’s not secure.”

The ‘not secure’ comment breaks through to you, and you turn your head away from the hallway to nod up at Jake. You let him help you to your feet.

It takes much longer than you would have liked to get to the safe place even though it’s only a few hallways past the room you ran into. You freeze at nearly every distant noise, but Jake is surprisingly patient with you. He gives you incentivizing but firm words to keep your feet moving, occasionally putting his hand on your back to encourage you to keep going.

The ‘safe room’ ends up being a hybrid communications room. One part is dedicated to running the security cameras with over a dozen different monitors flickering to different parts of the facility with an intercom system attached to it. Another computer system close by it has a complex-looking computer system with a microphone attached to it. Yet another part is made up of a large console for computers and a hodgepodge conglomerate of tech for listening to and watching different sorts of media, some storage boxes, as well as a professional assortment of radio equipment. Jake sees your eyes light up upon seeing the radio setup, then shakes his head with a serious expression.

“Don’t get your hopes up yet. It’s busted.”

Your shoulders slump.

“… great.” You utter quietly. You drag your feet over to a table overflowing with scattered papers, a pair of headphones and a personal computer on it, and slump into a chair.

“Hey, we’re not out of options yet. We’ve still got this thing.” Jake says optimistically, lightly smacking his hand on the control panel of the large computer system with the microphone. “All it needs is a key card with enough clearance.”

You sigh, wanting the computer route to work out but also trying not to get too invested in the idea if it doesn’t. “Try this.” You mutter, pulling out Youju’s white keycard and holding it out to Jake. The blood on it has dried to a sickly brown color and has a faint coppery smell. Jake takes it with an eyebrow raised.

You shrug. “It was Youju’s. He won’t miss it.”

“…. I’m sure he won’t. Give me a couple minutes.”

Jake heads over to the computer and you hold your head in your hands, leaning over the table on your elbows trying to process everything that’s just happened.

Albert’s alive.

You destroyed the only Uroboros sample on this godforsaken island.

You’re willing to bet the military part of the facility isn’t stocked up on a convenient rocket launcher to get you out of this mess.

You aren’t one to wallow in self-pity but given the unthinkable circumstances, you can’t help but feel like you’ve already been backed into a corner that you have no hope of escaping.

You take another deep breath and stare absentmindedly at the papers on the table. You weren’t particularly looking for anything, but you can’t help but notice the format of the documents in front of you. All of them are audio transcripts. One of them catches your eye with its title in bold letters at the top of the page. The heading reads WESKER/GIONNE UROBOROS MEETING– JANUARY 18, 2006. A few inches below it, there’s a handwritten note in the right margin: No good. Audio too distorted and she doesn’t say anything we can use. Positive depictions of the wife only.

Positive depictions of you only? That piques your interest.

You think back to what Youju said before you woke Albert up. We’ve tried recordings of your voice and they’ve yielded positive results but not the ones we’re looking for.

You turn your attention to the computer, then eye the headphones. You dig for the mouse under the mountain of papers and wiggle it when you finally find it. The computer monitor hums to life, already logged in. On the screen, there’s a video file already pulled up of the meeting.

Out of curiosity, you put on the headphones and hit play. As the audio recording runs, you alternate between looking at the transcript and watching the footage.

The footage plays and you see a board room with a presentation on a projector. The angle is from above the projector so you can’t see what’s on the screen, but you have a good view of you and Albert sitting on opposite sides of a conference table with a cloaked figure standing not too far from you.

Jill. She deserved a better chance than you to rescue her from hell.

You recognize Excella’s thick Italian accent before you can even see her come into view. You can’t really hear everything Excella is saying due to her being in such close proximity to the camera microphone, but you recognize choice words throughout her presentation.

Tanker.

Uroboros.

Transport.

Warheads.

You remember this presentation. Excella was talking about transport protocols for Uroboros leading up to the actual virus release. Albert insisted on your attendance. While you never gave verbal feedback on his experiments at this time, you eventually figured out that Albert would carefully watch your facial expressions and body language to get your thoughts instead. You perfected your stone-faced expression out of necessity in not accidentally contributing to his plans. You watch yourself paying rapt attention. You have to give yourself credit, your poker face looks good here even though you know you were scared out of your mind. It was finally sinking into your head that the world would end if you didn’t do something to intervene.

While you’re lost in your thoughts, Excella finally finishes her speech and sultrily saunters behind Albert’s chair. Now that Excella is farther away from the microphone, it’s picking up the rest of the audio in the room much better. Even so, the audio still sounds grainy.

“Albert?” Excella croons, putting her hands on Albert’s shoulders and lightly rubbing them. She leans down close to his ear.

“Do you have any contributing thoughts?”

Albert doesn’t even look at Excella. Instead, his sunglasses adorned face turns to you sitting across the table. “I’d like to hear what my wife thinks of this contingency plan of yours.”

Excella’s mouth morphs into a thin line and she straightens her posture, not happy about that request but not saying anything to refute it. She puts on a fake smile but doesn’t take her hands off of Albert’s shoulders. “Of course.”

You don’t look at him. You only stare blankly at the presentation on the projector. You can’t tell from your body language, but you know that in this moment you were already thinking of ways to combat the Uroboros plan. But you also knew that voicing your honest thoughts would throw a wrench in any plan you would make in the future.

“Excella has already outlined the important details and caveats. I have nothing else to add.” You reply politely. Even through the slight graininess of the footage, your stiff posture and unwillingness to look in Albert and Excella’s direction are very noticeable.

Albert grunts with a nearly imperceptible frown, not satisfied with the answer. Or with the fact that you’re refusing to look in his direction. “Very well, but I still want your thoughts on the project.”

“You already have the project in good hands. End of thought.” You finally turn your head away from the screen and gesture to Excella with a neutral expression.

You knew that Excella wanted Albert, but you were almost certain that he didn’t want her. He only mentioned her in passing in whatever limited conversation he had with you, but there was always an underlying message in his choice of words that he thought she was beneath him. A pretty face with brains, a bankroll and resources behind it, but too caught up in wanting to be recognized as a legitimate member of her prestigious family and not having enough self-awareness to know she was in partnership with a viper in the grass that would discard her when it became convenient. You were almost certain because even though you knew this, he never pushed her off or rejected her advances in front of you.

“I feel tired. I’m turning in early.” You get up from your seat and briskly walk to the door.

It would have been easy to miss if you didn’t know Albert’s mannerisms so well, but you see him let out a sharp breath through his nose. He’s miffed by your response. He knew you were growing more distant by the day. He knew you didn’t like his plan. He knew you were slipping through his fingers like grains of sand that he methodically kept trying to contain by constricting his grip even more heavy handedly than he did before.

Any other interaction like this behind closed doors would have progressed to him subtly forcing his proximity to you; following you out like a suffocating shadow and pulling your attention to any mundane conversation that would ultimately lead to him explaining himself with yet another angle that didn’t justify his end goals in the slightest with the intention of you at least understanding why he thought this was the only viable course of action. Saving the known world is an admirable adventure in a number of epics old and new. But saving the world by starting anew? A new world with superhumans could never be justified by sacrificing billions of lives.

On any other day he would have followed you.

Instead, Albert is forced to save face in front of his suffocating business partner.

“Escort her to the suite.” Albert orders the cloaked figure, which follows you right on your heels. His tone is short. Controlled.

As soon as the door shuts behind you, Albert raises from his seat and shrugs off Excella’s wandering hands. Excella has an annoyed look on her face for a moment, but quickly covers it up with an alluring smile.

“You hear that, Albert? The project is in good hands.”

Albert doesn’t even bother to look at her. He only prowls to the front of the projector clasps his hands behind his back. A map of South Africa is reflected in his sunglasses. “Then ensure it stays that way. I won’t tolerate any further delays or incompetence,” Albert replies in a cold tone.

The video ends.

You pull off the headphones with a scowl on your face. The son of a bitch was trying to make you jealous on purpose.

Despite your annoyance, your eyes keep drifting back to the note in the margin. Positive depictions only.

If this one was rejected, then what do the accepted ones have you saying?

You begin looking more closely at the scattered papers.

It appears that Neo Umbrella was only working from security footage that was obtained from the Africa tanker. It’s not surprising they weren’t able to find a lot of usable audio from you. You were falling out of love and didn’t have a lot of sweet things to say to your husband. Even with that in mind, you’re surprised at how little they were able to scrape together with the gargantuan amount of media they had to work with. You knew Albert liked his cameras, but you didn’t know he kept footage of you that was this extensive.

From what you can see from the transcripts, the only ‘useful’ audio was you calling Albert one of the few pet names he liked hearing; dear, darling and love, sometimes with a ‘my’ thrown in there. Albert insisted that other terms of endearment sounded too casual, although in the early days of your marriage you’d call him increasingly ridiculous nicknames until he’d put you in your place in a way that left you both shaking and satisfied. There was a time where he liked it when you challenged him. Not just on the domestic front, but in the Umbrella labs. You weren’t afraid to tell him he was wrong or that there were more efficient methods of doing things. Sometimes you were right. Other times, Albert proved you wrong. Even with the latter, Albert would always at least listen to your input since he saw you as someone who was worth listening to.

Among the other transcripts, strangely enough, there was a fifteen page document of you reading plaga laboratory results to Albert. This was a routine occurrence. It wasn’t uncommon for Albert to ask you to read things like that aloud to help him think or as a way to review previously explored experiments before diving into new ones. It was a small ask in your eyes and it was a good way to stay informed on what Albert was doing, so you didn’t object unless you felt too seasick. What surprised you was how positive the margin notes were: Yes! She sounds interested and engaged. Find more of this to put in the rotation.

Talk about desperate for something other than curt politeness and apathy when talking to your husband. Nearly every other transcript has less satisfactory notes:

Wife too combative. Exclude from rotation.

She sounds too demanding. Discard.

This one has Gionne talking over the wife. EXCLUDE the audio if Gionne is present in future selections.

Too disinterested, but keep on file just in case.

They’re fighting again in this one. Do not use.

Can’t you read? Wesker clearly didn’t respect Gionne stop giving the lab team audio of her flirting with him.

“Doc, we’re in business!” Jake’s victorious exclamation pulls you out of your investigation.

You whip your head over to the monitor Jake was working on and to your delighted surprise, instead of the Neo Umbrella logo, you see a landing page with a number pad.

“What does it need? Radio frequency? Phone number?” You ask intensely, shooting up from your chair and standing behind his to look at the screen.

“Phone number unfortunately. The radio stuff is out as well.”

You blink, unsure why he made that sound like a problem. “Do you not have number you can call in your phone? Like your captain?”

Jake’s facial expression turns something close to sheepish.

“I lost it. Let’s keep it at that.”

You look at him blankly. Do people these days not memorize important numbers like that?

“… I know who we can call.” You mutter, shooing Jake out of the seat so you can type it in and speak easily into the microphone. You’re not sure if he’ll pick up, but he’s your best bet.

For a moment, you hold your breath hearing the dial tone come in over the speakers. Is he on a mission? Asleep halfway around the world? Stuck in a never-ending cycle of training exercises?

A gruff, annoyed voice that makes you weak at the knees finally answers on the last ring. A crowd of voices can be heard in the background. “Hello? You’ve reached Captain Redfield.”

“Chris, it’s Doc.” You breathe a sigh of relief. Even though it’s just Chris’ voice, you already feel a little better knowing rescue will imminently be on its way.

“Doc?” Chris’ tone immediately shifts to a relieved one as sounds of rummaging erupt on his end of the call. “Are you alright? Do you know where you are?”

“Well… debatable considering the circumstances and somewhere in the Pacific. Jake Muller has more info on that.”

The rummaging abruptly stops. “Wait, Jake’s with you?”

“Right here Redfield.” Jake says nonchalantly. However, you notice a sliver of something in his tone but you can’t place what it is. You have a feeling Jake isn’t on the best terms with Chris considering his role in Wesker’s death at the mansion. Second death at the Spencer Estate? Third death in the volcano? Does the third one even count at this point?

“Yep. We’ve already been introduced. He’s got an interesting history with the B.S.A.A. I’m shocked we weren’t introduced sooner since we’re both consulting.” There’s an underlying message of I know who Jake is and you’ve got some damn explaining to do in your words, but now is not the time to read Chris the riot act.

You hear Chris sigh on the other end of the line. “Well Doc I tried calling, but you’re a hard woman to reach.” Chris doesn’t sound accusatory. Just… stung. You feel your face heat up at that. You had been dodging his calls ever since that intimate moment in your kitchen a year ago. However, any guilt you feel is overshadowed by frustration in not being informed about Jake until today.

“You could have given me a little context and I would have made the time.” You reply through your teeth. Jake gives you a weird look as you’re leading this exchange. He silently points between the microphone and you, then holds his hand up in a ‘what’s that about’ gesture. You mouth back ‘long story’ as Chris ignores your comment starts addressing Jake. “Jake, your orders were to find the location of the G-sample.”

“I’ve done that boyscout.”

You hear Chris huff in annoyance. “Your orders were to find the location of the sample and not leave the mainland.”

“Well… when opportunity arises, I take it.”

“Do you have it?”

“… still workin’ on that.” Jake replies with a sour expression. You jump in.

“Chris, we’ve got bigger problems than the sample. Albert’s alive.” The words feel wrong coming out of your mouth, but you have to let any personnel know what danger is waiting for them.

Silence. Even the hum of the people in the background grows quiet. For a moment, you’re worried the call may have dropped from the old machinery.

“Did you hear me? Say something.”

“Heard you loud and clear. What’s his status compared to when we saw him last?” Besides sounding more serious, Chris doesn’t even seem phased. He’s in soldier mode: Know the enemy. Come up with a plan. Rescue the hostages.

“Physically, very similar to your encounter with him in the volcano. Mentally… he’s different I don’t really know how to explain it.” You try to put on a brave face, but even without seeing you Chris picks up on your current vulnerability.

“That’s alright. The important thing is that you’re safe and you stay safe. Are you two able to hole up somewhere until we arrive?”

“Well… we have a safe place for now. And how long’s that gonna be?”

“Depends on your location. Jake, do you have any coordinates?”

Jake responds with a latitude and a longitude. You hear talking on the other end of the line, then you hear something that has to be a curse from Chris before he finally gives you an answer.

“Seven hours, give or take.”

You sigh. That’s too long but you can’t shorten the length of the ocean, so you accept it. “Okay. Just operate off the assumption that he’s going to be hard to put down. Use flame-based ammunition, magnums, rocket launchers, and anything else you got that packs a punch.”

“I’ll pass that along. Keep this line open, I’ll be back. Don’t hang up.”

“Roger that. We’ll be here.”

You mute the microphone and lean back in your chair with a tired sigh. Jake gives you a pointed look.

“You have Golden Boy’s number memorized, but you talk to each other like that?”

You give Jake an annoyed look. “Not important right now! We have bigger problems.”

You get up from your seat to pace the room. You need to come up with a plan. “As of right now, we have absolutely nothing in terms of defense.”

Jake leans against the computer system with his arms crossed and watches you. “Not exactly. There’s too many gas masked bozos walking around here for there not to be an armory somewhere.”

You look at Jake, exasperated. “Machine guns and pistols aren’t going to make a big enough dent. There were five guards unloading everything they had on Albert in the chamber, and it didn’t even phase him. You’d need something stronger. A lot stronger.”

“Well maybe they have some heavy-duty stuff stashed away for emergencies. Point is, we won’t know unless I go out and look.” Jake pushes himself away from the monitor and starts to walk towards the door but you stand in front of him before he can get too far.

“You’ll be a sitting duck out there!” You chastise, ready to put what remains of your fighting spirit to convince Jake not to walk straight into the maw of the beast, but your facial expression shifts to a haunted look when something on the security system catches your eye.

One the center console, a hulking figure that makes your blood turn to ice comes into view. You see the black, elongated, tendril engulfed arm grasp the corner of a hallway before the rest of Albert’s body comes into view. The blood of all the unfortunate scientists is splattered across his face and chest. His red eyes are very clearly dilated, and he has an uncharacteristically wide grin on his face.

Jake notices your expression and looks behind him. Jakes expression and tone turn cold and serious.

“That him?”

You nod, unable to tear your eyes from the screen. You walk toward the console as if you’re in a trance and sit in the chair in front of it. Like driving by a car accident, can’t take your eyes off of the disaster that Youju insisted on causing. You see Albert’s lips move, but nothing is heard.

“Does this thing have audio?” You mutter the question to yourself more than anything, but Jake is quick to come to your side and flip on a switch on the control panel. Albert’s voice, somewhat morphed from the audio system, is heard loud and clear.

“My looooove? Where did you go lovely? We have so much time to make up for…”

Albert speaks in that same ‘off’ tone from before; direct and garbled. However, now it has a… singsong quality to it? Your fear is momentarily replaced with confusion. Jake glances at you, then back to the screen just as confused as you are. This is his infamous father?

“Did he… talk like that?” Jake asks, watching the screen along with you.

You keep watching the screen with a befuddled look on your face. “Absolutely not. The lava, or whatever Youju’s team tried to do to wake him up before today fried his brain or something. It’s a complete personality shift.”

You and Jake continue to watch Albert on the screen as he leans against the wall walking down the length of the hallway, leaving a trail of black gunk dripping down the pristine paneling along where he’s touched in his wake. When Albert’s in the center of the hallway, his posture grows rigid and he stops walking. His unengulfed arm attempts to reach behind him in the center of his shoulder blades in jagged movements. After a couple seconds, Albert’s body twitches again and the free arm drops back down to his side and he keeps calling out to you and continues his journey down the hallway.

You lean forward closer to the monitor that Albert was on.

“Wait… he was clawing at something on his back.”

Jake nods and pauses the footage. Then rewinds. As you saw before, Albert stops sauntering down the hallway and jerkily tries to reach behind his shoulder to something on his back. It’s easy to miss with all the black Uroboros tendrils overtaking his upper body, but there’s clearly a circular device between his shoulder blades.

“You’re right. What is that thing?”

You tilt your head and squint, recognizing the shape but confused as to why it’s there. “It’s hard to tell from the angle, but it looks like a regulator.”

“Regulator? For what?”

You shake your head, still confused. “Nothing Uroboros related.”

“Then why is it there?”

You don’t have an answer. You sit back in the chair and keep looking at the regulator in the center of the screen. “Before Albert woke up… Youju said all avenues of breaking his comatose state had been exhausted,” you think out loud.

The gears in your head are turning. Once solitary threads of thought gradually intertwine to form a loose weave until they tighten into a tapestry revealing the answer. The sample room. The audio recordings of your voice. His comatose state. Him acting much gentler with you than he ever was when you knew him. The regulator.

You sit up in your chair so quickly that it startles Jake, but you’re too caught up in your revelation to care. “Neo Umbrella gave him a parasite!” You exclaim excitedly, turning towards Jake. “We can use that.” You don’t wait for Jake to reply, you’re already up and out of the chair looking for some kind of map.

Jake looks at you blankly, not following your thinking. “A parasite? And that’s a good thing?”

“I think I know what Youju meant! There is no reason for them to have that extensive of a virus collection unless they were using it for something. I bet they tried injecting Albert with a bunch of viruses to see if they could wake him up. When that didn’t work they turned to parasites.”

A map of this floor of the facility hangs on the wall from haphazardly placed yellow tape next to the door. Your smile grows bigger and movements more animated the longer you explain your thought process as you grab the map off the wall. You turn back to Jake.

“But not just any parasite. The Nemesis parasite.”

Jake is still confused, not knowing what that means so you continue, walking back to the announcement system and putting the map on the console.

“Back when Umbrella was making Tyrants, big beefy bioweapons that were designed to be soldiers, they were impressive physically, but had limited brain function as a result of the T-Virus so they could only follow simple commands and they couldn’t talk. ‘Kill everyone you see,’ ‘guard this thing,’ you get the idea. They were trying to find a way to make them a bit smarter. They’d hit a dead end with viruses, so they added engineered parasites to Tyrants.”

You pause to make sure Jake is still paying attention. He is, but he still has a look that says, ‘how is this relevant?’ so you keep going, taking a pen from the table and trying to find the locations of the cameras to mark them on the map.

“The Nemesis still had limited brain function, but he could say a few words and it could carry out detailed commands and use weapons. ‘Kill these specific people, use this rocket launcher’ etcetera etcetera. But there was still a high risk of over mutation when the parasite was inserted, so they smacked on a regulator to help mitigate that.”

Jake blinks, still not understanding. “So?”

“So if they gave Albert the parasite, that means he’s going to be much more susceptible to taking orders from me.”

“From you? Weren’t you worried about him killing you earlier? Why would he take orders from you?”

“Like… the parasite has been told for however long it’s been in there to wake up because its wife is here. It’s only been given carefully curated audio snippets of my voice, so it’s forced to view me as a positive… figurehead in Albert’s life.” You point to the transcripts on the table, trying to make Jake see your point before turning your attention back to him.

“He told me he missed me, Jake. I’m willing to bet if I use that announcement system, I can lead him anywhere the system is-”

“-and give me a window to slip in and get the sample and some supplies.” Jake finishes with a serious expression.

“And if everything goes right, we just might hold out until reinforcements get here.” You’re smiling, still riding the adrenaline high from finally figuring out the bigger picture of what’s going on.

Jake crosses his arms and stares at the monitor with Albert still on it. “It’s a crazy plan Doc.”

Your face falls and you’re about to try and plead your case, but Jake smirks before you can answer.

“I’m in.”

_____________________________________________________

“Albert? Where are you darling? I can’t find you.”

You croon into the microphone and watch Albert, yet again, jerk his head towards the hallway you just projected your voice to and use his Uroboros arm to drag himself along the wall in the direction of your voice.

On the walkie talkie Jake scrounged up from the storage boxes that were by the broken radio equipment before he left, Jake provides an update on his search for better weapons plus the G-Sample.

“216 through 245 are bust. It’s just storage.”

“Copy that.”

You respond on your walkie talkie, marking off and labeling the relevant rooms on your map and watching Jake continue to navigate through the labyrinthine facility on the cameras.

Considering the circumstances, everything has been going well in the half hour Jake has been gone. Albert, in his limited mental capacity, hasn’t caught on to the fact you’re talking to him through the announcement system. Plus, Jake is making good time going through each hallway in the facility thanks to Youju’s white keycard.

 Chris’ professional voice from the computer system breaks your concentration.

“Doc? Jake? You there?”

You close your eyes and take a breath. You were hoping that the universe would be merciful, and the connection would drop so you’d have a valid reason not to talk to Chris.

You weren’t so lucky, so you check the cameras one more time to ensure that Albert and Jake aren’t going to cross paths, then roll your chair over to the microphone on the other module. You flick off the mute button.

“You’ve got Doc. Any updates?”

“We’ve got an army of guys on their way to your location. Time of arrival is estimated at seven hours.”

You feel your shoulders visibly relax. Rescue is on the way.

“That’s great news.” You mutter.

“Is Jake around?”

For a second, you think about lying so he doesn’t know you’re alone. Nothing convincing comes to mind. “No. He stepped out to get supplies. I can pass along a message on his walkie though?”

“That’s alright.”

Awkward silence.

“How’s working in Germany?” Chris sounds less professional this time.

You sigh and close your eyes. “I don’t think this is the best time for small talk.”

“Just making conversation. We’ve got time. I want to know how you’re liking it.” Chris says. You can hear the slight smile in his voice. The genuine nature of his words.

You always had a weakness for his kindness. He had a way of worming himself into your good graces without even trying.

“It’s good. The people are great. I miss having reliable air conditioning though.” You joke.

You hear Chris chuckle. “Yeah, the Europeans aren’t big on that kind of thing.”

Despite everything, you find yourself smiling. As much as you hate to admit it to yourself, you missed his laugh. How easy it is to talk to him.

“What about you? How’s Claire doing?” You ask.

“She’s still helping the world in her own way with TerraSave. She’s also been breathing down my neck about cutting back on smoking.”

“I’m sure you don’t mind that. If she’s breathing down your neck, that means she’s visiting.”

Another chuckle that makes butterflies erupt in your stomach sounds over the speaker. “If she were doing it in person, I don’t think I’d mind so much.”

Both of you sit in comfortable silence.

“I’ve missed seeing you around, but I’m glad you’re doing alright.” Chris says, vulnerability underlying his words.

Your throat gets tight, and you bite back the words before you can say them.

Don’t tell him you miss him too. It will make him feel worse.

Luck is on your side this time. Jake’s voice emanates from the walkie talkie in your lap.

“Doc? I need eyes on something.”

You let out a sigh of relief, then speak to Chris through the microphone. “Jake’s calling. I’ll be back.”

“I’ll be here.”

You mute yourself on the microphone and wheel yourself back over to the security system.

“I’m here. What do you need?”

“Can I get your professional opinion on what’s happening in front of 250?”

Your eyebrows scrunch in confusion, but you pull up the necessary camera to see what Jake is talking about. All you can do is stare for a moment at the grim sight. Most of the lens is obstructed by a black substance, but even with the limited visibility you know it’s the personnel and guards that were unlucky enough to be in Albert’s way when he escaped containment. Black gunk saturates the walls and ground that you’re able to see.

You force yourself to respond.

“Part of the lens is blocked, but those are casualties of Albert. Just step around them. The dead don’t come back naturally with Uroboros. It just makes them harder to kill.”

“Not talkin’ about that Doc. Give me a second.”

You’re about to ask what Jake means by that, but before you can, you see something wiping the lens of the security camera you’re looking through. After a few seconds you see an uncomfortably close view of Jake’s nose as he wipes away the gunk from the lens.

How the hell did he scale the 12 foot height to wipe that gunk off?

You use one of the other screens to pull up an angle of the hallway Jake just cleared, and you can see that he scaled the wall by somehow using his balance and strength to tuck himself into the corner where the two hallways meet.

“Were you raised in the fucking circus? Where did you learn that?” You say into the walkie in disbelief.

“By being a teenage shithead, now look!” Jake replies, exasperated and moving out of the way of the camera and revealing a body almost completely overtaken by worms of Uroboros. Your disbelief quickly shifts into grim realization.

That needs to be burned.

Your voice comes out eerily calm.

“Don’t touch it. Don’t shoot it. Don’t interact with it. Uroboros needs to be burned for proper disposal.”

You see Jake crouch to look at the body from a different angle. You see him bring the walkie to his lips.

“Will touching it infect me?”

“No, but it might eat you since you’re organic material!! Just don’t ingest it, keep your distance and you’ll be fine.”  You spit through your teeth, not liking Jake’s series of questions or what it could mean for his future actions.

Jake looks at the body for a moment longer then stands up with the walkie to his lips, looking at you through the camera.

“Don’t lick the weird black stuff. Seems simple enough.”

You groan. “Let’s just hope these Neo Umbrella guys had the foresight to keep a flamethrower on hand.” You tiredly respond.

On one of the other monitors, you see Albert meandering in the direction of Jake’s current location. You speak into the walkie.

“Hey sit tight for a minute, I need to redirect Albert.”

You see Jake give you a thumbs up on the camera and you flit your attention to one of the other monitors. While Albert isn’t alarmingly close to Jake’s location, it’s still too close for comfort. You set the microphone to make an announcement in the opposite direction.

“I’m over here love! Come find me!”

You see Albert’s face light up on the screen and turn to follow your voice, but he freezes mid-turn. You tap the screen, thinking that the old equipment froze up on you. But then you see Albert’s face twitching.

It’s mild at first; only one of his red snake eyes twitch. But then it’s his whole face. The uncharacteristically wide grin twitches downward, a scowl gradually etches itself into his visage, and his blown-out eyes undulate like a heartbeat smaller and smaller until they’re thin slits.

You hear a guttural groan of something akin to agony escape Albert’s lips as he attempts to reach behind him towards the regulator in between his shoulder blades.

“I will not be subdued!” Albert seethes through his teeth, arm, body and face twitching from an invisible battle for control. It’s a losing battle, and Albert isn’t on the winning side, but he realizes it too late. The second his eyes start to dilate and his arm stops grasping for the regulator, he throws his body against the wall in a vain attempt to remain coherent by bashing his head into the smooth white plaster. He shrieks in a heart wrenching combination of frustration and agony. You recognize it with dreaded clarity from the day he died in the volcano. The plaster is marred with a watercolor painting of red, pink and black splotches. Then, as quickly as it started, Albert freezes in place, his face twitches back to what it was before, then he meanders towards the direction he last heard your voice, not bothering to wipe off the blood or black substance from his face.

“Dearheart? Where’s my little wife?” Albert asks with an uncanny grin, leaving a trail of black liquid in his wake.

All you can do is sit and try to process what you just saw with a haunted look on your face. Albert hasn’t changed. It only appears like he has.

You slowly bring the walkie to your lips.

“Jake there’s been a development.” You speak into the walkie lowly.

“I’m guessing it isn’t the good kind.” Jake quips.

You don’t acknowledge his attempt at humor. “It looks like Albert’s fighting with himself.”

Jake is silent for a moment. “And what does that mean?”

You take a deep breath to collect yourself. “This is only a theory, but I think because Albert has a natural immunity to a lot of viruses and parasites, his subconscious is buried but mostly intact.”

“So… the parasite’s driving the car but Wesker’s in the backseat trying to take the wheel.”

“Exactly. And I don’t want to find out what happens if he succeeds.”

You glance back at the monitor where you last saw Albert. From a surface level perspective, he’s back to how he was when he broke out of the chamber. It’s apparent that the Nemesis parasite currently has the upper hand. But what happens when it doesn’t?

You shake away the thought and keep talking to Jake through the walkie.

“Look, try to find Youju’s office and try to figure out exactly what they did to try and wake him up. I can give a much more accurate game plan on how to handle this.”

“What’s the theory without it?”

“If he overpowers the parasite, we’re fucked.”

“Find the papers. Got it. Just keep the old man busy.”

“Will do. You keep laying low.”

You set the walkie on the security panel, already feeling exhausted. You watch Jake continue his methodical room check on the monitor, then drag your attention over to where Albert is heading, his sudden clarity sending a chill down your spine. Then you look over to the computer system where Chris is still waiting to hear your voice.

You groan and let your head hit the back of your rolling chair.

This is going to be a long night.

Tag List: @killerwendigo @appreciativemediaconsumer @kaymarnun @chucklefak

a/n 2: Thanks again for reading! I've got an AO3 account now so I'm cross posting this series on there if that's where you prefer to read your fics. Based on my outline, it looks like this thing is gonna be a 10ish parter so stick around!

Also I'm on AO3 now at wil_o_wispy if you like reading your fics on there!

AO3 link for this part.

[godsfavdarling]

02 morning surprises

pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!oc

summary: Spencer and Brittany decide to go to lunch together.

list of chapters, also available on wattpad and Ao3, my masterlist

warnings: none for this chapter

words: 3,3k

As Spencer navigated the college hallways, a sense of eager anticipation filled him. The bustling atmosphere and familiar surroundings signaled the start of another week, fueling his excitement for the day ahead. With each step, he felt a renewed sense of purpose, ready to dive into the joys of teaching.

Pushing open the door to his office, Spencer's gaze fell upon Brittany, who sat at her desk with a small mirror in one hand and a wipe in the other.

A flicker of concern crossed Spencer's features as he observed her, his brow furrowing with worry. "Brittany, is everything alright?" he asked, his voice laced with genuine concern.

Brittany looked up, her laughter dancing in her eyes as she caught sight of Spencer's expression. "It's just a makeup wipe.” she replied with a reassuring smile.

Spencer breathed a sigh of relief, the tension in his shoulders easing as he absorbed her words. "I see," he said, his voice softening with relief. "Good to hear."

Glancing at Brittany's appearance, Spencer couldn't help but notice the slight disarray of her hair and the black dress with thin straps she wore. "Long night?" he ventured, a hint of curiosity in his tone.

Brittany chuckled, a playful twinkle in her eyes. "You could say that," she replied cryptically, a secretive smile playing at the corners of her lips.

She retrieved her mascara from her bag, unscrewing the tube with practiced ease. With a steady hand, she carefully applied the mascara to her lashes, each stroke enhancing the natural beauty of her eyes.

Spencer couldn't help but watch in fascination, his gaze fixated on her graceful movements. Caught off guard by his intense scrutiny, Brittany glanced up with a playful smile.

"What? Never seen your girlfriend put mascara on before?" she teased, her tone light.

Spencer blinked, momentarily taken aback by her remark. "I don't have a girlfriend," he replied softly, his gaze lingering on her.

"No?" Brittany responded, her smirk widening as their eyes locked.

Maya entered their office with two ice lattes, placing one on Brittany's desk with a gentle thud. "Here you go," she said with a warm smile.

Brittany's eyes lit up with gratitude as she reached for the latte, her hands wrapping around the cool cup. "Oh my goodness, thank you!" she exclaimed, her voice laced with appreciation as she took a sip.

Maya chuckled at Brittany's animated response. "Had too much fun?" she teased, a knowing glint in her eye.

Brittany's smile faltered slightly, a hint of annoyance flashing in her eyes. "Define 'fun'," she replied curtly, her tone tinged with irritation as she shared a pointed look with Maya.

Maya's smile widened, sensing Brittany's annoyance. "Oh, you know," she said with a playful shrug, "the kind of 'fun' that leaves you regretting it the next day." She winked, a mischievous glint in her eye, before taking a sip of her own latte.

Brittany let out a sigh, her annoyance dissipating as she shifted the conversation. "You wouldn't believe the morning I've had," she began, her voice tinged with exasperation. "I thought I was going to be late, so I practically ran here, only to realize that my classes don't start until 10, not 9."

She shook her head, a rueful smile tugging at her lips. "And now I can't remember if I left enough food for my cat. And thank goodness I always keep spare clothes in my desk for emergencies."

As Brittany stood up and retrieved a blouse and skirt from one of the drawers in her desk, Spencer couldn't help but notice the simple black dress she wore, paired with black heels and sheer black tights. "You have a cat?" he asked, curiosity coloring his tone.

Maya chimed in excitedly, "Yes! He's all black with two white front paws, and he's sooo cute. His name is Albert."

Spencer's eyebrows lifted in surprise. "After Einstein?"

"No, after my grandpa," she replied flatly, as she grabbed a small toiletry bag. With a quick excuse about needing to change, she left the room.

Later that day, Brittany approached Spencer at his desk, a hint of nervousness in her demeanor. "Hey, Spencer," she began, her voice tentative. "Do you... do you have time for lunch? I was thinking maybe we could grab something together."

Spencer looked up from his work, a small smile playing on his lips. "Sure," he replied, his voice warm with sincerity. "I'd like that." He gathered his things and they made their way to the nearby café.

Brittany let out a frustrated sigh as they joined the line, a hand pressed to her temple. "I'm sorry, Spencer," she murmured, her voice tinged with discomfort. "I've got a bit of a headache."

Concern flickered in Spencer's eyes as he turned to her. "Do you need a painkiller?" he asked gently, his tone filled with genuine care.

Brittany shook her head, a wry smile touching her lips. "No, I already took some," she replied. "I'll be fine. I just should've been smarter. I'm not in my 20s anymore; I can't just drink on Sunday and not feel the consequences for the next two days."

As she spoke, Brittany's gaze wandered across the café, her expression shifting suddenly as she spotted a familiar face. A shadow crossed her features, and she muttered under her breath, "Oh god..."

Spencer furrowed his brow, concern deepening. "What is it?" he asked quietly.

Brittany let out a frustrated sigh. "Why is it that in a city as big as this, you still run into people you don't want to see at the most inconvenient times?" she muttered, her tone laced with exasperation.

Spencer's lips parted to respond, ready to delve into the statistical intricacies of chance encounters in a city as vast as Washington D.C. But before he could utter a word, Brittany held up a hand, cutting him off.

"Spencer, it was a rhetorical question," she interjected, her tone gentle but firm. "You can't possibly know the answer to that."

Spencer's brow furrowed slightly, a determined glint entering his eyes. "Actually, I do," he insisted, his voice steady. "You can analyze the data, and statistically speaking..."

As Spencer began to delve into the statistical analysis, Brittany raised an eyebrow, intrigued by his response. She listened attentively as he outlined his theory, her skepticism gradually giving way to curiosity.

"Really?" she exclaimed, her interest piqued.

Spencer nodded, a small smile playing on his lips. "Yes, based on population density, social patterns, and various other factors, it's entirely possible to predict the likelihood of chance encounters in a city like Washington D.C."

Brittany's skepticism wavered, replaced by a growing sense of admiration for Spencer's analytical mind. "That's... impressive," she admitted, a hint of awe in her voice. "I guess I shouldn't have doubted you."

Spencer offered her a modest shrug, his expression humble yet proud. "It's all in the data," he replied, his gaze meeting hers with a sense of quiet confidence.

"Everything's in the data," Brittany echoed, her attention fully absorbed by Spencer's explanation. Lost in the discussion, she failed to notice the unwelcome presence standing before her until his voice broke through her concentration.

"Hello, Brittany," the unwelcome guest greeted, his gaze shifting between Brittany and Spencer with a puzzled expression.

Brittany's heart sank as she reluctantly tore her attention away from Spencer, her eyes meeting the gaze of the person she had hoped to avoid. With a forced smile, she replied, "Oh, hi...," her voice trailing off as she braced herself for an awkward interaction.

There he stood, tall and imposing, with a buzzcut framing his hardened features and a myriad of tattoos peeking out from beneath his leather jacket. Dark jeans clung to his form, adding to the air of rugged masculinity that seemed to emanate from him.

Spencer, sensing the tension in the air, regarded the newcomer with mild curiosity. "Hello," he greeted cautiously, offering a polite nod in the man's direction.

The man's gaze flickered between Brittany and Spencer, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips. "Who's your friend?" he asked, his tone laced with thinly veiled amusement.

Brittany's jaw tightened slightly, her disdain for the man evident in her icy glare. "This is Spencer," she replied curtly, her voice devoid of warmth.

Spencer regarded the man with a polite smile, though his instincts told him to proceed with caution. "Nice to meet you," he offered, extending a hand in greeting.

The man's smirk widened into a cocky grin as he clasped Spencer's hand in a firm grip. "Likewise, I’m Rex" he replied, his tone dripping with arrogance.

Rex's smirk widened into a smug grin as he addressed Brittany, his tone dripping with condescension. "So, Brittany, you disappeared pretty quickly this morning," he remarked, his voice tinged with amusement. "I was hoping to get your number before you took off."

Brittany's jaw clenched at his words, her irritation mounting. "You won't be needing it," she retorted sharply, her tone leaving no room for argument.

Spencer, sensing the tension escalating, interjected with a diplomatic attempt to diffuse the situation. "Well, it was nice running into you, Rex," he said, his tone polite but guarded.

Rex's gaze flicked briefly to Spencer, his smirk never faltering. "Likewise," he replied casually, before turning back to Brittany with a knowing glint in his eye. "Guess I'll see you around, then."

Brittany offered him a curt nod, her expression unreadable as she silently willed him to leave. As Rex sauntered away, Spencer couldn't help but notice the tension radiating from Brittany.

She let out a frustrated sigh as Rex finally walked away, her shoulders slumping with relief. She turned to Spencer, her expression apologetic. "I'm sorry you had to witness that," she said, her voice tinged with embarrassment. "Rex is… a real asshole."

He offered her a sympathetic smile, his gaze warm with understanding. "It's okay, Brittany," he reassured her, his tone gentle. "You don't have to apologize for someone else's behavior."

Brittany nodded gratefully.

"Rex does seem like an asshole," he agreed, his tone tinged with understanding. "He's probably a narcissist."

Brittany raised an eyebrow, intrigued by Spencer's insight. "How can you tell?" she asked, her curiosity piqued.

Spencer nodded thoughtfully, launching into an explanation. "Well, narcissists tend to exhibit certain behaviors," he began, his voice measured. "They often have an inflated sense of self-importance, lack empathy for others, and seek constant admiration and validation. They can be manipulative and exploitative, using others to fulfill their own needs without regard for anyone else's feelings."

Brittany listened intently as Spencer outlined the traits of narcissistic personality disorder, finding herself nodding along in agreement. "That definitely sounds like Rex," she mused. "I've only known him for a few hours, but I already know."

Spencer offered her a reassuring smile. "It's good to trust your instincts," he affirmed. "They're usually right."

As they sat on the outside bench of the café, savoring their food and drinks, Spencer glanced around at the bustling city streets, searching for a topic of conversation to break the comfortable silence between them.

"So, Brittany," Spencer began, his tone gentle. "What made you decide to become a sociologist?"

Brittany took a thoughtful sip of her coffee before replying, her gray eyes alight with passion. "Well, it all started in college," she explained, a nostalgic smile playing on her lips. "I've always been fascinated by human behavior and societal dynamics. Sociology just felt like the perfect fit for me."

Spencer nodded, genuinely interested in her story. “What aspect of sociology do you find most compelling?"

Brittany paused to consider Spencer's question, her gaze turning introspective. "I think it's the way society shapes individuals and vice versa," she replied thoughtfully. "The interplay between culture, institutions, and individual experiences—it's endlessly complex and... endlessly fascinating. We are all human, and we… created all of this, and it all affects... everything."

She continued, her passion evident in her voice, "And as for technology, it's such a significant aspect of our lives now. In my work and everybody’s work, we rely heavily on technology for research, data analysis, and staying connected with colleagues. Social media, in particular, changed everything"

Spencer listened intently, genuinely interested in her perspective. "Do you use social media a lot yourself?" he inquired, curious about her personal habits.

Brittany nodded, a playful smile crossing her lips. "Oh, absolutely," she admitted. "I'm pretty active on various platforms. It's a great way to stay connected with friends… keep up with the news, and share my research findings with a wider audience. It’s fun!"

She turned the question back to Spencer, her curiosity evident. "And what about you, Spencer? Do you find yourself using a lot of technology in your life?"

Spencer shifted slightly, his gaze turning introspective as he considered Brittany's question. "Actually, no," he admitted with a slight chuckle.

"I'm kind of a technophobe, to be honest. I only got a laptop when I started teaching, and even then, it felt weird. I've never been one to rely too much on technology." He shrugged, a sheepish smile playing on his lips. "I guess you could say I'm a bit old-fashioned in that regard."

Brittany chuckled, impressed by Spencer's admission. "That's impressive that you managed that long without a computer at home," she remarked. "But at least you have a smartphone, right?"

Spencer shook his head, a small smile playing on his lips as he reached into his pocket and pulled out an old-fashioned phone with a keyboard. "Actually, no," he replied, holding up the dated device. "This is all I've got—a relic from like 15 years ago."

"That's actually incredible," she remarked, her eyes sparkling with mirth. "I sometimes wish we could all go back to flip phones. I loved mine, and there was something so satisfying about ending a call by snapping it shut. Plus, they had those cute pink ones!"

Spencer's interest was piqued by her mention of the pink phone. He couldn't help but notice the predominance of black in Brittany's attire and surroundings. "You seem to really like black," he observed, his tone curious.

Brittany nodded, a small smile playing on her lips. "Yeah, I do," she admitted. "It's just... comforting, you know? Plus, it goes with everything.”

Brittany stared at him, a playful glint in her eyes as she noticed his penchant for purple. "And you wear a whole lotta purple!" she remarked, her tone teasing.

Spencer shrugged, a faint smile playing on his lips. "I just like it," he replied simply.

"Exactly," Brittany replied with a nod, her smirk widening. "You definitely rock the purple."

Spencer's lips quivered into a small smile at her compliment. "Thanks," he said modestly.

"I do have some whites and grays in my wardrobe," she admitted. "But keeping everything black just makes things easier. Everything matches, and I don't have to think too much about it. Colors can be overwhelming, especially when it comes to choosing what to wear… Keeping it simple is… a smart approach."

"I agree," Spencer responded, a small smile forming on his lips.

Brittany chuckled softly, her eyes dancing with amusement. "Don't diagnose me with anything," she teased, her tone light and playful.

Spencer's laughter bubbled up in response. "I'm not," he reassured her, his eyes crinkling with humor.

"Good," Brittany quipped with a grin, enjoying the playful back-and-forth. "I'm aware of my OCD tendencies."

Spencer let out a soft chuckle, his demeanor relaxed and comfortable. "That's… good," he replied, his tone warm and genuine.

The next day, Spencer made his way to the college campus, the brisk morning air invigorating as raindrops danced around him, creating a soothing rhythm. Clutching two cups of coffee tightly, he navigated through the rain, his steps quickening to avoid getting too wet. One cup contained a rich black brew, sweetened to perfection with plenty of sugar, while the other held a refreshing iced latte, the condensation on the cup providing a cool contrast to the dampness of the rain-soaked surroundings.

As Spencer entered the office, he noticed Brittany seated at her desk, her posture relaxed as she leaned back in her chair, engrossed in a colorful women's magazine. With a gentle smile, Spencer approached her desk, the aroma of freshly brewed coffee wafting through the air. He placed the iced latte on her desk.

"Hi, Brittany," he greeted warmly, his voice soft but genuine.

Brittany glanced up from her magazine, her eyes meeting Spencer's with a mix of surprise and curiosity. As she took in the sight of the coffee, a smile tugged at the corners of her lips. "Well, hello there," she replied, her tone playful yet appreciative.

Her eyes widening in surprise at the unexpected treat. "Spencer, You didn't have to," she exclaimed, genuine appreciation evident in her voice.

"I owed you one," Spencer replied simply, his smile widening.

Brittany furrowed her brows in confusion. "What?" she asked, puzzled.

Spencer hesitated for a moment, recalling the incident at the bar last week when Brittany had kindly ordered drinks for them. "Well," he began, his words coming out a touch awkwardly, "you bought our drinks at the bar last week.”

“Honey, it was water... it was free," she explained.

Brittany's use of the endearing term caught Spencer off guard, a faint blush rising to his cheeks. He shifted uncomfortably, uncertain of how to respond to her playful teasing.

After a brief pause, Brittany's curiosity prompted her to continue, her tone light and inquisitive. "Besides, how did you know what coffee I like?"

Spencer's lips twitched into a knowing smile. "The day we met, an iced latte was on your desk. And yesterday, Maya brought you one. The details of your order are on the cup," he explained, a hint of pride in his voice.

Brittany's eyes widened in amazement as she glanced at her cup, realizing that it was exactly what she always ordered.

"Small iced latte with almond milk. It's quite simple," Spencer replied modestly, though a flicker of satisfaction danced in his eyes.

Brittany continued to stare at him, her mind buzzing with questions. "Oh... and how could you know I was gonna be here now? What if the ice had melted?" she asked, her curiosity piqued.

"I saw your schedule. You have a 45-minute break between classes now. There's no point in going somewhere, and it's raining. You'd be somewhere on the campus," Spencer explained matter-of-factly.

Brittany's eyes widened in astonishment. "You remembered my schedule?" she exclaimed, incredulous.

Spencer nodded, his expression earnest. "Yes," he replied simply.

"How? I don't even remember it. Why would you remember it?" Brittany pressed, still trying to wrap her head around it.

"I just looked at it," Spencer answered casually.

"And you remembered?" Brittany persisted, her disbelief evident.

"I have eidetic memory," Spencer explained, his tone casual but tinged with a hint of pride.

"What memory?" Brittany asked, her curiosity piqued.

"Eidetic," Spencer replied, his tone matter-of-fact. "It's a type of memory where individuals can recall images, sounds, or objects with remarkable precision and detail, sometimes even after a brief exposure. Essentially, it's like having a photographic memory."

"Oh... oh..." Brittany exclaimed, her first "oh" filled with impressed wonder at the thought of such a useful ability. But the other with a hint of fear creeping in. "So, you remember everything?" she asked with a sense that the thought of remembering everything sounded like an absolute nightmare.

"I couldn't live like this," she admitted, her voice tinged with apprehension. "I love the ability to forget. Not knowing is bliss."

Brittany's concern softened her features as she peered at Spencer. "Do you like it?" she inquired gently.

Spencer offered her a reassuring smile. "I can manage," he replied, his tone steady. "It's just how my mind works."

Brittany nodded, her expression thoughtful. "That's scary," she admitted softly.

"Sorry," Spencer responded, sensing her unease, a pang of worry flitting across his mind. He didn't want Brittany to see him as some sort of oddity, especially when she seemed so incredible to him—confident, compassionate, and effortlessly captivating. His heart raced slightly as he wondered if he had said too much, if he had inadvertently revealed too many layers of his inner self.

"No, that's not what I meant," Brittany clarified quickly. "It's just... life is a lot, you know? Just the thought of remembering everything seems... heavy..." Her voice trailed off, her words weighted with the enormity of the concept.

"Sometimes it does feel heavy," Spencer admitted quietly, his gaze drifting away for a moment as he reflected on his own experiences. "But it's also... a part of who I am, you know? And I've learned to find... peace in it, in a way."

As Brittany nodded with understanding, Spencer felt a wave of relief wash over him. In the depths of her eyes, he glimpsed a glimmer of compassion—a reassuring sign that perhaps he hadn't scared her off, that she was willing to see beyond the surface and embrace the complexities of his mind.

[weskie]

Lover, Leader, Liar [Savior, Sinner] - (Albert Wesker x gn!Reader)

2.4k words | pining, mutual pining, hurt/comfort, the arklay incident, flashbacks, s.t.a.r.s era | Fic Directory

when wesker makes a promise, he keeps it. even if it hurts.

The clock was quite literally ticking.  Every second wasted was a second closer to the inevitable blast.  But there was a… variable that he hadn’t considered.  A scream, a stumble in the room above just barely loud enough to hear over the sharp bang of each discharged round.  If it were anyone else…

But it isn’t, so he bolts.  Shoves through body after body, practically leaping halfway up the stairs.  His boots fall quick and heavy and the door separating him from you is no match.  He rams into it and breaks it clean off the hinges, and there he finds a sickening scene.

That lumbering beast is upon you, trapping you in the corner of the room while you tremble and shake, clambering back until you’ve nowhere else to go.  The slide of your gun is locked open.  You’d spent your entire magazine on her, surely.  Poor thing.  Of course you wouldn’t know.

Your eyes flicker to him, blown wide with raw terror.  You’d been afraid since the moment Alpha Team touched down in the woods, though you'd tried your best to hide it.  The last time he saw you, Wesker had to rest a hand on your shoulder and reassure you that everything would be okay.  No one else would die.  You wouldn’t die.  Not under his command.  Not if he had anything to say about it.

Such is the promise he’s chosen to keep.

He draws his gun at lightning speed and unloads three rounds into Lisa Trevor’s back.  She stumbles toward you but whirls around to face her assailant.  Damn thing had been stalking him since he rose from the dead, so what was a little more time to tango?  Lisa wails at him, lumbering forward, which gives you enough time to crawl under a desk and run to him.  He’s almost resentful that you can’t quite match the pace of his sprint, but, so long as your hand is in his, you will not perish to that creature.

Your frantic breaths and the warmth of your touch are his purpose as he mows down beast after beast.  Hunters, dogs, zombies… it makes no difference.  The two of you must be out of here before time runs out.  There’s no time for your blubbering about the blood splattered all over his body from the wound that no longer exists.  There’s no time for your sputtering when he shoves another gun in your hands, nor any for your hesitation when Lisa reappears and blocks your exit.

He fights tooth and nail.  When that chandelier comes down, impaling and trapping her, Wesker hoists you onto his back and takes off as fast as he can.  It would not do to have you running after him.  Even hand in hand, you wouldn’t be able to make it far enough with what little time remains.  But now, with his new abilities, you’re no more than a mere feather.  Not even the death grip you hold around his shoulders phases him.

You whimper at the deafening boom.  He lowers you behind a thick tree and huddles close, pressing you against the trunk, taking cover against the shockwave that pulses through the forest.

“C-Captain…”

He finds you staring, tears rimming your eyes.  Could be any number of reasons you were on the brink of crying.  He’d wager it was, well… everything.  From finding Bravo Team’s bodies to your first encounter with the living dead, to nearly having your skull shattered by Lisa’s devastating strength, all the way to outrunning enough explosives to leave a crater in place of the mansion.  Your lower lip trembles.

The sight of you calls him back to the night before this whole debacle began.  You’d brought him coffee and dinner from the beat up diner down the road.  You mentioned how nervous you were to find out who the perpetrators were of the string of murders plaguing the area.  It wasn’t uncommon for you to visit his office.  In fact, your relationship had been inching further and further away from purely professional and more toward… well, whatever it was going to be.  Part of him always wanted to cave to those feelings brewing in his chest, but he knew better.  Or, at least, he thought he did.  Truth be told, your odds of surviving the manor had been slim to none and he was going into the situation nearly certain no one would make it out.  He’d been incredibly tempted to fire you just to keep you alive…  Words could never describe the regret he felt when the day came that it was too late.

But, then again, you could be like this because you knew that he was in on it.

Cold, shaking hands land on his forearms.  “Captain… your eyes…” You whisper shakily.  Not what he was expecting.  A nice right hook would’ve made more sense than the way you pat him down, searching for injuries.  He all but fully flinches when your fingertips graze his exposed abdomen.

“That’s not necessary,” Wesker says, pushing your hands away.  

He grazes your fingers with his.  A big stack of paperwork filled out perfectly, just the way he’d asked. “Thank you,” he hums.  Pink tinges your cheeks and a smile settles right in.  You feel it too, then?

“W-Were you hurt?”

Softness drapes over his shoulders.  He’s barely conscious, far too exhausted from his two-day stint without sleep to open his eyes.  There’s a soft clicking noise and the high pitched, barely-there buzz of the computer monitor ceases.  He knows it’s you.  Only you would do this.  Only you would take care of him this way…

“I was.”  He says, turning, still hand in hand with you, to walk away.  “Best not to waste any more time.”  Every three-letter agency in the world would be finding its way to the scene in no time.  Moreover, with the rest of Alpha-Team knowing of his involvement, said agencies would be beating down the door to his home within the day.  There was little to gather, but he certainly needed to stop there before disappearing.  “Come.”

It took many miles on foot before stumbling upon a residence with a perfectly procurable vehicle, and the drive back to Raccoon City had been tense.  You were still on edge, obviously.  It’s when he leads you to sit on the edge of his bed– he can’t let you out of his sight– as he gathers documents and necessities that you finally lean forward, hand over your eyes, and bite back your weak cries.

“D-Did you really… You knew?”  You sputter.  “You knew, and you just let us walk in there?”

Wesker holds your gaze as he strips his ruined vest, uniform button-up, and undershirt away.  Can’t sport the S.T.A.R.S logo anymore. Not that he even wanted to. “Yes.” He says, tugging a black sweater over his head.  He expected you to run.  He’s unsure why you haven’t tried.  At first he thought it was shock.  Perhaps you had been too shaken to consider it an option, but you’d calmed significantly during the drive and now…?

“You don’t have to stay late.”  He tells you, standing halfway in the doorway to his office.  Everyone else went home hours ago.  

“I know,” you say, looking up at him from your screen.  “I want to.”

He catches sight of his eyes in the mirror mounted beside his closet door.  Ocular mutations weren’t uncommon, but it would be one that he must hide from time to time.  Suppose, though, that it was simply solved with a new pair of sunglasses.

Wesker snags the duffel bag he’d prepared before the mission.

“– why did you save me?”  He’d been tuning out your sorrowful rantings, but there could be no ignoring the weak sob that preceded such a difficult question.  Why indeed…

His doorbell rings, jarring him from his focused writings. He opens it to find you, tupperware container in hand, with your eyes practically sparkling.  

“Hi– sorry!  I was just coming back from the little birthday lunch we did for Jill and I–”  You hold the container out for him.  “I dunno, I just thought you’d maybe like some cake?”

He regards you with amusement for a moment.  He’s only seen you in normal clothes a handful of times, usually if you were stopping into the precinct on your day off, but it never failed to tickle some small, cold part of his heart.  In turn, he knows this is the first time you’ve seen him out of uniform.  He’s dressed down, sporting a sweater and jeans, signature glasses left elsewhere.  He quite likes the way you try to hide your wandering eyes.

Wesker takes the container and gives you a soft, grateful smile.  Part of him feels that he should invite you in and offer you something– coffee, perhaps.  Engage in the rules of reciprocity drilled into his head with every etiquette class required in his schooling years.

“Would you like to come in?”  The smile on your face is all he needs.  “You’ve brought quite a large piece.  I might need some help with it.”

“You could’ve left me there!”  You’ve got him by the shirt now, wet eyes boring into his.  “You brought us there to die, so why didn’t you leave me!?”

He clamps a palm over your mouth, spins, and presses you to the wall.  

The chime to the flower shop signals his arrival.  He towers over the old woman tending the plants as he explains to her his need.  

“The most elaborate bouquet you can make for a grief-stricken recipient,” he says.  “Price is no object.”

The moment he picked up that phone and you explained your need for time off through poorly suppressed sobs, he was already sure of where he’d be headed on his lunch break.  Your parents, you’d said.  A head on collision with a drunk driver.  It was believed they died on impact, but such a mercy didn’t quell your sobs.  Frankly, nothing could except for time’s power to numb the pain.

Wesker has no family to mourn.  No parents, no siblings.  As an orphaned boy in boarding school, he’d done his crying when the others would leave to spend the holidays with their family.  He can’t quite fathom the grief you feel at losing your only family, but this? He can do this.

“What would you like the card signature to say?”  Asks the old woman as she scribbles her notes.

He contemplates for a moment, weighing his options.  But he knows, deep down, the best and worst possible options are one and the same.

“With love,” he recites. “Albert Wesker.”

“You have two choices,” he tells you.  Wesker shows extra care to ensure the hand covering your mouth does nothing more than silence you.  You need not suffer any more pain.  “The first: I leave you behind.  You answer questions for every agency under the sun and hole up in your apartment while you wake, alone and afraid, every night when your dreams bring you back there. Just to spend every day adrift in a city that, I assure you, is doomed for worse than the mansion.”

Your eyes widen at his prophecy, but it’s the truth.  Birkin would be continuing operations in the area and, frankly, bad things come in threes.  Between the manor and the train, more was bound to happen.  You could choose to stay, or…

“Or you can come with me, where you need not be alone.”  

You hugged him as if your life depended on it when he showed up at your door.  The flowers had arrived earlier, delivered by the seller as instructed.  The crickets sing their song as he holds you, right hand rubbing between your shoulders while you hide your face against his chest.

“Thank you, Captain.” You murmur into his shirt.  You look destroyed.  His heart lurches for you, practically desperate to burst from his chest and engulf you in whatever crevice within it craves you so badly.  

“Albert is fine.  We’re not at work.”

You invited him in.  Showed him where you put the extravagant floral arrangement he’d sent.  Eventually, minutes of conversation turned to hours, and hours turned to the sun tickling at his eyelids, rousing him from the upright position he’d slumbered in upon your couch.  Your head rests on his blanket covered lap while you get your much needed sleep.  All because you asked that he stay.  You didn’t want to be alone.

“After everything we’ve been through, I won’t simply leave you alone.”  Fresh tears brim in your eyes and he removes his palm, letting it trail down and rest against the side of your neck.  “Come with me.” Wesker urges.  “Let me keep you safe. Don’t go down with the others…”

The conflict in your eyes coupled with your lack of response devastates him more than you’d ever know.  He turns, grabs his bag, and makes his way through the humid nighttime air to the car.  He grips the wheel tight enough to crush indentations into it.  He waits.

And waits.

And waits.

He should’ve known it was only a pipe dream.  After what he’s done, there would be no going back to the old ways.  No more cake and coffee in his kitchen, no more sheepish smiles as you hand in your work, no more…  no more you.

“You’re afraid?”  He asks, doing all he can to keep the remorse from seeping into his voice.  He should’ve cut you loose last week like he planned.  Now you’ll be walking into hell itself for the sake of data collection and it’s all his fault.

“I just…” You try, pursing your lips as you think of the words.  “Bravo Team went missing out there.  That’s not– S.T.A.R.S members just up and vanishing?  I’m scared something really bad happened up there.”

He reaches across his desk, taking your hand in his and giving it a reassuring squeeze.  “No matter what happens, you’ll be okay.  I’ll make sure of it.”

He made his choice.

You made yours.

Wesker turns the key in the ignition and the engine sputters to life.  He fiddles with the seat once more to make it less uncomfortable than it had been on the ride back from the mountains.  In the rearview mirror, he can see the way his eyes glow.  Cat-like pupils stare back and accuse him of failure.  The tyrant, the restricted data, and–

The passenger door opens slowly.  His breath catches in his throat.  It’s like the whole world is moving in slow motion while you climb in and he can hardly believe his eyes.  In fact, he rubs them just to make sure.

“If we’re doing this,” you say warily, “I need to pick up a few things from home…”

Wesker can’t control the smile that spreads across his face.  Though he supposes now there’s no need.  Not anymore.  

[jokeringcutio]

Stepdad!William Afton x Reader "Barbecue" - Mature/Drabble [ 1 ]

FNAF | William Afton (stepdad!) x (f) Reader | MATURE Warnings: Mention of arousal, Jealousy. AN: Wrote a quick drabble. For my Grabber fans, he is my favorite neighbor to crossover with (: Enjoy.

The sun beat down on your exposed skin as you stood in the backyard, the scent of sizzling meat filling the air. You were dressed to impress, hot pants hugging your curves and a tight top that left little to the imagination. Your neighbor Mr. Shaw manned the barbecue, his chestnut hair cascading down to his shoulders, the roots already touched by grey revealing his age.

"Great day for a barbecue," he smiled at you, his eyes twinkling with warmth.

"Absolutely," you agreed. You came to stand next to him, hungrily trying to have a peek to see if anything your taste was being put on there.

The conversation was casual and rather dull at first, with Mr. Shaw talking and you smiling kindly while listening and asking polite questions.

You hadn’t been much in the mood for this barbecue, but you didn’t want to disappoint your parents. Your stepfather was an intimidating man, always criticizing you. You tried your best not to irk him, to be polite and kind when around him. All you wanted was to have him praise you, even if it would only be once, and call you a good girl.

You just wanted his approval.

You felt the weight of your stepfather's gaze upon you from across the garden. William Afton, the man your mother had remarried not too long ago, was watching you intently. It seemed as if he was watching you most of the time these days, his scrutinizing eyes following your movements across the lawn.

You were doing your best to be the perfect stepdaughter, to get him to like you. You dressed up nicely and were socializing with his friends. What was it that you were doing wrong that he watched you like a hawk?

Mr. Shaw started telling you about his side job as a magician, catching your interest and distracting you from your stepdad’s watchful gaze. You couldn't help but let your enthusiasm show. His tales of dazzling tricks and spellbound audiences drew you in, and you found yourself leaning closer, eager to learn more.

"Really? And then what happened?" you asked, caught up in the excitement of it all.

But your stepdad had other ideas. In an instant, William was beside you, gripping your arm with a force that made you wince.

"Excuse us, Albert," he said through gritted teeth before dragging you into the house.

You stumbled along, trying to keep up with his angry strides. You didn’t miss how he led you into a room far enough from the party to ensure privacy before slamming the door shut behind you. Confused, you looked up at him.

There was a harshness in his eyes that for a moment seemed to flicker. As if your innocent eyes angered him even more.

"What do you think you're doing?" he spat, his voice harsh and cold.

"Talking to Mr. Shaw?" you answered hesitantly, unsure of where this hostility was coming from.

"Keep your distance from him," William growled, his fingers digging into your arm. "He's old enough to be your father."

Your stepdad’s words puzzled you. Keep your distance? Less than an hour ago he had wanted you to step up to them, had been lecturing you about it.

"But you're friends with him!" you protested, trying to make sense of your stepdad's sudden change in demeanor.

"That's different," he snapped. "Stay away from him, understand?"

"Fine," you muttered, your heart racing with confusion and fear. "I didn't mean to upset you," you murmured, searching his face for answers.

His touch lingered on your arm, and you felt a shiver run down your spine. You slowly became aware that he was deliberately finding excuses to touch you. When you passed each other in the hallway, his arm would accidentally brush past yours. When you needed to get to college in the morning, his hands would linger on the lunch he had prepared for you.

You knew exactly how his fingers felt.

The texture of his skin, the roughness of his palms, the warmth they exuded. You knew it, because he kept brushing his hands past your bare skin – whenever your shirt had no sleeves or whenever it slid down your arm to reveal your shoulder.

"Older men like him, they only think of one thing," William said, feigning concern. "Pretty young girl like you…” you saw him press his lips into a thin line, thinking before he spoke again. “I just want to protect you. Even though I'm not your real dad."

His words made him sound like the concerned father figure, but something in his eyes betrayed him. You saw through his act, recognizing the jealousy simmering beneath the surface.

"Okay, Dad," you whispered, meekly apologizing. "I promise to behave better."

The way you called him 'Dad' seemed to ignite something within him. His grip tightened, and you could swear you saw a hint of arousal in his eyes. With that realization, you made a silent vow to test your theory. Could it be that your stepfather had the hots for you?

"Thank you," he said, releasing you. "Now, go back outside and enjoy the party. But remember, no boys."

You locked eyes with him, searching for an answer to the many questions that swirled inside your head. “No boys,” you promised, thinking that Mr. Shaw was, after all, a man.

Not a boy.

You returned to the garden, feeling his gaze on your back as you went. The sun still shone brightly, casting long shadows on the grass. Laughter from the guests mingled with the sizzle of the barbecue. It all felt so normal, yet you couldn't shake off the tension that now wrapped around you like a second skin.

After weighing your options, you slowly made your way back to the food again. Most of the guests here were male. Men around your stepdad’s age. They were his friends mostly, after all. The women had gathered in a corner, your mom included, talking about topics that didn’t interest you at all.

"Are you okay?" Mr. Shaw asked, noticing your return. His kind eyes searched yours, genuine concern etched on his face.

"Of course," you smiled, pushing the unease aside. "Let's talk more about your magic tricks."

You leaned in closer, engrossed by his stories once more. But this time, you kept one eye on your stepfather, watching as he glowered from the sidelines. There was a small gesture of his hand as he stroked the obvious tent in his pants, rearranging himself discreetly, blue eyes still burning upon you.

You leaned a little closer to Mr. Shaw, eager to see your stepdad’s reaction. His eyes darkened, lips clipped. And then he took a step toward you.

You felt a twisted sense of satisfaction at his reaction – now you knew for sure.

"Wow, that's amazing," you said to Mr. Shaw, your voice louder and more enthusiastic than before. "You must be an incredible magician."

"Thank you," he replied, grinning. "I enjoy sharing my passion with others."

“Perhaps you can share your passion with me one day,” you said, aware that your stepfather must have heard every single word.

Mr. Shaw’s movements stilled, his strong hands holding the tongs in mid-air, veins clearly showing. His eyes seemed to darken. He was an attractive man, you noticed. Perhaps you could -

“I’d love to,” his deep and gravelly voice came.

But your eyes were no longer on Mr. Shaw. You couldn't help but notice William's clenched fists and darkened expression as he hurried toward you. This dangerous game was only just beginning, and you were fully aware of the risks. But somehow, that made it all the more enticing.

The moment was fleeting – the sudden grip of William's hand on your arm as he pulled you away from Mr. Shaw once more.

"Sorry to interrupt," he growled, a forced smile plastered on his face. "But I need to talk to my daughter… again."

"Of course," Mr. Shaw said, eyes narrowing slightly in concern.

William led you into the house again, his fingers digging into your flesh. You were certain bruises would form later. The thought, however, made you feel fuzzy on the inside. As if he was somehow marking you as his, and wasn’t that a thrilling thought?

Once inside, he pushed you against the wall, the action making you gasp. You squeezed your legs together involuntarily, your core hot and slick by nasty thoughts. Your stepfather looked powerful like this, dominating. His chest heaved up and down, gritted teeth showing. His blue eyes blazing with anger.

"Didn't I tell you to stay away from him?" he hissed, his breath hot on your face. "You're being a bad girl, deliberately, aren't you?"

"Wh-what do you mean?" you stammered, trying to maintain your composure. His proximity made it difficult to think straight.

"Your outfit," he spat, his gaze scanning over your tight top and hot pants. "It's too revealing. It's like you're inviting him to look at you."

"Thank you, Daddy," you whispered, your voice trembling as you started to talk. But then you caught sight of how his eyes slightly widened at your words, pupils blown.

You continued, "for being concerned about me."

As you slid past him, your fingers brushed against his arm, lingering for just a moment longer than necessary.

Returning to the garden, you decided to join your mom, settling down beside her on a lawn chair. The sun warmed your skin, but you couldn't ignore the heat radiating from William's stare. He watched you intently, his hands gripping the edge of the table as if he could barely contain himself.

But you obliged to his rules, avoiding eye contact with any of your stepdad’s male friends and sitting with the females of the party instead.

The little silly cat-and-mouse game the two of you had played was pushed to the back of your mind as you listened to the conversations around you. Dull as they were, they took away the ache you had started to feel dance between your legs.

Until your stepdad appeared in your vision, placing a glass of freshly made juice before you.

"Here," he said abruptly. "I thought you might be thirsty."

"Thank you," you murmured, meeting his eyes as you brought the straw to your lips. Slowly, deliberately, you sipped the cold liquid, watching the way his pupils dilated with each movement.

"Is everything all right?" your mom asked, oblivious to the tension between you and William.

"Everything's fine," you replied, eyes still locked with his. The air crackled around you, electric with unspoken desire. It was a dangerous dance, a game of control – and you were both playing with fire. ~ AN: For more, follow me (: ~~ Masterlist - Request Box -  Support me on Ko-Fi ~~