mya

[alluringskinwalker]

Welcome to my blog (҂°ロ°)୧

I'm okay with writing dark themes, and I usually put warnings on the post. *ੈ

I write for Resident Evil,One Piece, and John Wick !! Please be patient with your requests.

ཐི ྐ❤︎ ཋྀRequest are open !!

🥩 I'm an AFAB, so I mostly write for an afab reader or gender neutral. (¬ ´ཀ` )¬

[kuntprodukt]

Dad Leon wouldn’t use protection at all, that’s a thought he’d be worried over back in time at police academy. Leon mind is busy with your cunt, fucking you raw just to leave sperm oozing out and dripping down on the floor afterward — full believer his sperm is nuked after years of alcohol abuse and age just to find out his daughter ended up pregnant ahfjjad

[lilacgrayskies]

☁︎⋅ (18+) sucking off yummy smelling leon (request)

the heavy thud of the front door closing echoes through the quiet apartment, followed by a long sigh. leon is finally home. 

he doesn’t even make it past the entryway before he drops his tactical gear bag to the floor with a dull thud. he’s spent the last three days in the humid, suffocating climate of a coastal jungle mission, and it shows. 

his dark blue compression shirt was darkened with a layer of sweat and dirt. his hair was damp, clinging to his forehead and the nape of his neck. he looked absolutely wrecked, chest heaving slightly as he rests his head against the wall, eyes closing. 

 “hey,” he rasps, his voice rough from exhaustion. “don’t get too close, I smell like garbage.”

but you’re already moving toward him, like a shark drawn to blood. to anyone else, he might just look like a tired soldier needing a shower. to you, he smelled like absolute heaven.

the moment you stepped in close, the thick, heavy wave of his natural scent hits you. it was the pure, unfiltered scent of leon. sharp copper and a deep musky undertone of concentrated sweat that has soaked into his skin and clothes over days of physical exertion. it was intoxicating, making your mouth water.

before he could say anything, you wrapped your arms around his waist, burying your face into the crook of his neck. leon lets out a low chuckle, his hands awkwardly hovering above your hips. “c’mon, sweetheart, I’m dirty. let me go wash off first,” he groaned.

instead of pulling away, you slide your hands up his broad chest, feeling the damp heat radiating through his shirt. your nose drags along his jawline, catching the saltiness of his skin. 

with a soft, needy whimper, you nudge his arm upward. the compression shirt was absolutely drenched under his arms, holding the absolute potent concentration of his musk. you press your nose directly into the damp fabric of his underarms, taking a massive whiff. 

leon stiffens, a low groan catching in the back of his throat. his fingers twitch, finally digging into your waist to hold you steady. “you really are obsessed with this, aren’t you?” he murmurs, his voice dropping an octave.

“you smell good,” you smiled at him cheekily.

wanting to taste him just as badly, you lean up to kiss him softly, lingering on his lips just long enough to catch his ragged breathing before descending down his body. your hands work quickly, unbuckling his heavy tactical belt and pulling down his pants.

as his thick length springs free, the scent of his heat hits you instantly. you lean in close, taking a deep, worshipful inhale of his shaft, letting the heavy scent fill your nose before dragging your tongue slowly up the underside to lick the leaking tip.

“god, I could get high off you,” you moan against his skin, parting your lips and taking his swollen head into your mouth. 

leon lets out a ragged groan, his head snapping back as his fingers tangle in your hair. he leans against the wall for support, his thighs trembling slightly as he surrenders to your touch. he supposed he could let you have your way.

unable to hold back, his hips began to move on instinct, slowly thrusting into your mouth until a sudden sharp gasp left him. “g-gonna come,” he groaned.

he shudders violently, his grip tightening in your hair as he comes all over your face and mouth. breathing heavily, you look up at him through your lashes. your face is warm and painted in his release. you couldn’t help but smile as you were surrounded by his musky scent and covered in his fresh cum.

masterlist

© lilacgrayskies on tumblr

{dividers from @/cursed-carmine}

[litoperezito]

Nivanfield PRIDE🏳️‍🌈

[scr33nplay]

Baseball Wesker for my friend..

I used a baseball jc leyendecker piece as a reference!

[2yai]

now hear me out chris and leon having a threesome with you and they take turns using you then ada breaks in through the window and it becomes a foursome then jill walks in and it becomes a fivesome and then sheva walks in 30 minutes later and it becomes a sixsome and they all get u pregnant with there sperm and strapons that have sperm come out of them and 9 months later u give birth and it comes out looking like a blob fish

[alluringskinwalker]

[rebelliouscardinal]

please please please anything with jack krauser 🥺 i love that brick wall of a man...

perhaps the reader and him had history before the whole cult thing and they angstily reunite...

idk what it is about krauser but im such a sucker for size kink/sir kink/knife kink with this guy specifically lmaoo

id love to see what you cook up if you vibe with this request!! thanks 💖

𝐀 𝐏𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐋 (𝐉𝐀𝐂𝐊 𝐊𝐑𝐀𝐔𝐒𝐄𝐑)

pairing: jack krauser x EX!AFAB!reader

a/n: first request! i didn't know what gender you wanted, so i just made it gn. also i ran out of inspiration on the end so im sorry

description: you fell in love with a war. it was toxic, so you left. only it came back time after, to shred it's last of humanity.

God knows you tried to move on. 

But Jack Krauser was an experience, one you couldn’t outgrow easily, 3 years had passed since you left the mess of a relationship it was. He didn’t try to contact you, Jack didn’t chase, and he wasn’t going to make you stay. 

The relationship went downwards after one mission, the mission that left him with a wound on the arm, one he couldn’t heal. Jack couldn’t serve the army anymore, you thought it was a good thing, now he was home a lot more, and he could actually see you more, maybe enjoy life more. 

He didn’t even try. Post traumatic stress disorder was a terrible bitch, he got aggressive, yelling at you for the smallest thing, and turned to alcohol. 

It all came to a crash when he slapped you, he didn’t even say sorry. That same night you moved out, blocked him, and decided to leave. With no money and nowhere to go, you went to your friend’s. 

First year? You went to work, but cried your eyes out every night until you got your own place.

Second year? You went to therapy, had more friends, but still didn't even think of dating.

Third year? You felt normal, and your friends nudged you to go on a date. 

This year? You tried it. He was a nice guy, his name was Gabriel. and well, you felt.. As if betraying someone, Jack. 

You haven't heard from in three years. So you thought it was okay. Until you saw him sitting on your couch after a date with Gabriel. He looked.. Bigger, and the scar on his arm healed. 

His blue eyes stared at you, his hands fiddling with his knife. 

“J-jack-”

“So you moved on?” He interrupted you, a gulp was heard around the silent room “you’re dating… what was his name?” 

“..Gabriel, w-what are you doing here?-” He got up, talking confident steps in your direction, you backed away, but Krauser didn’t stop, backing you into your wall. “Jack-”

“You haven’t changed.” he declared, his knife moving to your neck, the sharp sting of a cut blooming in it. “But…”

“B-but?..” 

“You forgot who..who you belong to.” he rasped, his other hand clasping your face to stop you from looking away, his scar etched on his face, the knife moving to your cheek, trailing softly, as if with care. 

“Just have to remind ya’.. Who’s your man..” he breathed, moving closer, his mouth in front of your open one who gasped as his blade lightly nicked you. 

“J-jack..” He shut you up with a kiss, one with dominant energy, where your tongue was manhandled by his, his spit mixing, his head tilted to the side to deepen it. He moaned into it, then mumbled something like ‘I missed this’. He wasn’t pulling out to breathe so you tried to breathe through your nose, Jack quickly moved his hand down to choke you, he kept you there while he feasted on your mouth, as a man starved of what was rightfully his. 

“You’re mine, ya hear?” he growled, his big nose against yours, everything about him was big, no matter how you were, he was still bigger than you. He kissed you again, his mouth closing on your tongue sucking it in, his hips moved against your belly, pushing them in as he was humping you. 

“Hold onto me” he muttered onto the kiss, leaving your tongue alone for a second, the second you held onto him, his hands moved to your ass, and picked you up, his hips right against your core. As you whimpered, he chuckled against the make out session.

“Jack!-”

“Sir” he corrected “you don't get to call me that, sweetheart…” he grunted as he moved you through your home with a confidence that said ‘i’ve already been here’, as soon as Jack entered your room, he threw you against the mattress. “Yer’ still a pipsqueak, aren’t ya?” he asked you as he kneeled in front of your body. 

You didn't answer, he growled and smacked your ass “Answer bitch.” 

“Uh- uhuh!” he grinned like a predator the second you answered. 

“That’s a good bitch..” he panted, grabbing your thighs and pulling you against him, leaving the thighs dangling from his legs. His knife quickly ripped your clothes open, leaving you in your underwear. “Oh.. you wore this for him?” he rasped, as the blade trailed over your belly as he eyed your panties, silk, and looked snug. The dagger hooked under it and he huffed “He don’t deserve this..” he smacked your ass again “say it.” 

“G-gabriel..” your heart ached, Gabriel wasn’t a bad guy..

At your hesitation? He grew enraged, pulling at the rags of the teared clothing with force 

“I know how to make you talk” You wondered what he meant until-

SMACK

“Say it, bitch” 

He had smacked your clit, his calloused hand rough against your mound. 

Still, you couldn’t betray Gabriel. You didn’t respond and he reacted

SMACK SMACK

“N-no!” 

“No?!” he huffed “gonna make you talk, one way or another.”

SMACK SMACK SMACK

You squealed, trying to shut your legs, as soon as you tried, he smacked your thighs, muttering a ‘keep ‘em open’. You shook your head, trying to close them again, so he changed tactics. 

Jack moved between your thighs, they couldn't be held between his huge shoulders, so they rested against his head, his knife tore a hole in your panties and he used his big hands to rip them open.

“Last chance” he grumbled, face to face with your cunt.

You didn't answer, looking away into the ceiling. 

He grumbled as you didn’t look at him, it’s cool though, Jack had a method when you wouldn’t look at him. 

A kissing sound was heard, and you heard it too. Then a slimy muscle slithered in, and you tried to remain quiet, then? 

Kiss, shove, suck, retract, sucking kiss. 

He ate you out like a man on a mission, and like a dog, the second you looked at him? He gave you a treat, his massive fingers shoving inside of you, finding your g-spot like he remembered, he sucked on your clit while he hummed against the bundle of nerves, and the callous of his fingers massaged your walls. 

“Hah- S-sir!” he growled against your mound, motorboating it.

“You know, I missed her…but i also missed ya’ but ya need to say the words, sweetheart” 

You shook your head and he stopped, you whined at the loss, trying to move your hips closer to Jack’s head. 

“Nuh-uh, bitch, say the words”

You mumbled them, he didn’t like that. 

SMACK

“He doesn’t deserve this..” you barely mumbled “Deserve what?”

SMACK 

“M-me..” 

SMACK

“Who doesn’t?” “Gabriel!” “Who does?” SMACK

“You, Jack!”

SMACK

“Wrong name”

You whined “S-sir.. Please eat me out..” you sniffle

“Good, bitch” he rasped out, he lunged back in, kissing and sucking and making out with it. His hot tongue fucking into you. Your moans grew and he felt you get closer, letting you get closer.

“NGH!” as you felt right near your orgasm- he stopped, pulling out and standing back up again “S-sir!” you whined, feeling like throwing a tantrum 

“If you cumin’ anywhere, it’s on my cock.” he grunted, undoing his tactical slacks, revealing his leaking thick cock. Jack picked you up, one hand in your thigh, the other one in your ass. He held you up on his dick. 

You looked down, it.. It was bigger than the last time you saw him- had… had he done something?

“Hold on tight, sugar” he grunted as he pulled you down on his cock, you screamed as he speared you open, and the ex major didn’t give you a break, quickly pulling you up down repeatedly while you whined about him being bigger. 

“NGh- yeah- i got bigger sugar- that a problem?” as soon as you opened your mouth he was on you, his tongue licking every crevice of your cavity.

“Yer’ mine, sugar, not anyone’s” he growled into your mouth, his hips snapping against yours quickly, his balls snapping against your ass. 

He panted, kissing up your neck, leaving lovebites like a map. He got faster as soon as he got close 

“Ya ready for my creampie?” he roared, as he grabbed onto any skin he could find. 

You nodded wildly, panting and moaning. 

[kyamiia]

sinister mark LOVES to eat you out on your period,,,, he’s such a sick bastard.

he loves the way your blood oozes out of you. it gives him the delusion of actually eating you,,, satiating the crave of human flesh with human blood, with the bonus points of not having to hurt you ! what more could he ask for ??

his lovely girl laid out in front of him, kneeled between your legs as his hand presses down onto your tummy, “c’monnnnn.” he growls against your messy bloody cunt tonguing your hole as if trying to get any last drop of blood, palm massaging the spot just above your mound, an attempt to make more blood seep out of you.

[leonslolita]

Leon holding the requiem against your head while he's fucking you.. 🤤

[raccoonfruitloops]

[tokoyamisstuff]

ppl on Reddit be complaining about Thragg's babyface when this is literally him in the comics:

[miiroki]

𝐌𝐞𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐢𝐚 ┅ 𝖸𝗈𝗎𝗇𝗀! 𝖭𝗈𝗅𝖺𝗇 𝖦𝗋𝖺𝗒𝗌𝗈𝗇 & 𝖵𝗂𝗅𝗍𝗋𝗎𝗆𝗂𝗍𝖾! 𝖱𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋

𝘈𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘣𝘳𝘶𝘵𝘢𝘭 ‘𝘥𝘢𝘺 𝘰𝘧 𝘢𝘥𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘰𝘥’ 𝘪𝘯𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯, 𝘕𝘰𝘭𝘢𝘯 𝘪𝘴 𝘭𝘦𝘧𝘵 𝘣𝘢𝘥𝘭𝘺 𝘪𝘯𝘫𝘶𝘳𝘦𝘥. 𝘓𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘭𝘺 𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘢 𝘥𝘰𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘰 𝘬𝘪𝘴𝘴 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘢𝘸𝘢𝘺.

﹙𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭﹚

NOTE: fan art by @xiaoye12589 on x. This man is so fyneeee, if you ignore all the weird emotional parental and Viltrumite issues then he’s like perfect. I’ve lowky been sucked into the Invincible black hole. Also very ooc Nolan lol.

"Please, lie down."

You gently nudge Nolan, but he doesn't budge. He can't budge. Every bone in his body feels like it's been shattered and glued back together. You can see it, too. His face is a canvas of purple bruises and the scarlet red of his blood, along with an equally bloody gash across his nose.

Nolan always puts up a strong front, such is common with all Viltrumites. He always acts like nothing can touch him. But right now, he looks like a lost puppy, trying to keep his footing and failing miserably. He’s gritting his teeth, a low groan escaping his lips every time he tries to shift.

“Nolan, you are badly injured. You must rest,” you say, your voice cracking.

He winces, looking at you with eyes that seem a bit less intense than usual. He manages a small smile, but it’s twisted with pain.

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” he mumbles, trying to wave off your concern.

But you know he’s lying. The way he’s leaning against the wall of your room, clutching his stomach, says it all. You can almost feel the aches and pains radiating from him. It breaks your heart to see him like this. Despite being a Viltrumite yourself, and going through the normal initiations of adulthood, you never did have the taste for bloodshed. You wish you could just take away his pain, carry it yourself.

"You are not fine, and you know it. Now lie down." Your voice is firmer this time, and you can see a hint of annoyance in his eyes.

"No, I don't want to. This is just proof that I am ready for adulthood."

"Your mother shouldn’t have been so… so aggressive." You can’t help the bit of temperament that creeps into your voice. You hate that his parents put him through this, hate that they force him to prove himself again and again.

“You are our batch’s finest fighter.” You praise him.

He sighs, a sound that seems to carry all the weight of the world. "You should understand. It is the Viltrumite way."

“I understand that you’re in pain. And I’m going to help you. Most partners wouldn’t even dare do what I am doing, so just do as I say.”

Finally, he gives in, slumping against you as you guide him to the bed. He lets out a loud groan as he lies down, and you can see the blood on his Viltrum uniform seep into your bedsheets.

"I'm sorry," he whispers, his voice barely audible. It is very uncommon for a Viltrumite of his stature to speak such words, but ever since you’ve been together Nolan has started to open up his emotional barriers.

"For what? For being able to feel pain?" You're sitting on the edge of the bed now, running a hand through his hair.

He looks at you with wide, puppy-dog eyes. "For making you worry."

Your heart melts at his vulnerability. You lean down and kiss his forehead, then his nose, then his cheek. You can feel him relax under your touch, the tension slowly leaving his body.

You grab a cloth and a bowl of water, then get to work. You start with his face, gently wiping away the blood and dirt. He flinches at first, but then relaxes, letting you take care of him. You carefully clean the gash on his nose, then apply some ointment.

He will heal fast, you can already see the outer tissues of some smaller wounds stitch themselves back together.

You move to his chest, carefully removing the stained white clothes to reveal a massive bruise, and multiple open wounds that span the entire width of his chest. You run your hand over the bruise, wishing you could just smooth it away.

Nolan catches your eye, a small smile playing on his lips. "It looks worse than it feels."

You roll your eyes. "I highly doubt that." You start applying a soothing ointment to his chest, the cool gel providing a welcome relief.

“Not everyone has strange parents that refuse to initiate their child.” He spoke in a hissed tone from the ointments.

“My parents are different, yes, but I was still initiated. Left me with broken ribs.”

“I couldn’t tell.”

“Again, they aren’t as ruthless as yours, but as Viltrumites, strength is our goal.” You mumble.

“I’m glad they are not like mine. I for one could not bear to see you hurt.”

You spend the next hour cleaning and tending to his wounds. By the time you’re finished, he’s covered in bandages and looking like a mummy. But he looks better, less strained, more like the Nolan you know and love.

You climb into bed beside him, wrapping your arms around his uninjured side. He rests his head on your shoulder, letting out a long sigh of relief.

“Thank you,” he says, his voice thick with sleep.

"For what?”

"For everything. For not leaving."

You squeeze him tight, burying your face in his hair. "I’m not going anywhere, Nolan. Never."

He lets out a small laugh, a sound that warms your entire being. "Good. Because I don’t think I could survive another day without you."

You smile into his hair, the worry of the day fading away. You may not be able to stop his parents from putting him through hell, but you can be there to pick up the pieces, to dote on his wounds, and to remind him that he is loved, imperfections and all.

[hopeless-vt]

Bet On Losing Dogs - Chapter 2

═══════════════════ஓ๑♡๑ஓ═════════════════════

Pairing: Tsundere fem!Reader x Yandere RE:CV/RE4 Albert Wesker

Summary:

After losing your job and spiralling down into alcoholism, you think your life finally is getting better when Albert Wesker, one the most powerful men in the world, asks you to marry him. And you are really thankful for what he did for you so you agree to it: After all, no other man has went to such lengths for you.

But as years pass, the ring on your finger starts to tighten more and more like a noose around your neck.

Your husband starts disappearing for days and weeks without any warning. What is he hiding? Will you be able to discover his secrets and save your marriage?

(The Tumblr probably ate all the formatting so here's ao3 version, just in case)

Word Count: 6,546

CV/Tags (in the whole fanfic): smut, angst, Dead Dove, dubcon, non-con, violence, breeding, kidnapping, forced pregnancy, sadism, masochism, creampie, manipulation, hate sex, married sex, dollification, choking, spanking, bad BDSM etiquette, dark romance, rough sex, oral sex, vaginal fingering, depression, BPD, Wesker is written like a guy with NPD/Sociopath

Masterlist

═══════════════════ஓ๑♡๑ஓ═════════════════════

You fell asleep after a nearly never-ending night of trembling and hiccups. But you do fall asleep.

The next morning you don’t even remember what you dreamed about – perhaps it was a normal dream or a nightmare; this you don’t know.

When you wake up, you notice him gone. Your eyes blink tiredly at the sank space of his weight in the mattress, wondering what hour it is.

Then you hear the shower running in the adjacent bathroom and you realize it must be the early morning. Otherwise he wouldn’t be here. He has a knack for disappearing for a whole day after all.

The ache in your abdomen is bothering you, your legs feel like jelly. And yet, you somehow manage to walk away from the bed.

You carefully open the bathroom door and slide in. The shower door is transparent, showing every detail on his beautiful body.

The breath hitches in your mouth and your throat goes dry. Then sight reminds you of what happened yesterday.

You clear your throat out loud courteously, making him turn his head to you. You weren’t peeping on him, okay?

“You gonna be back for lunch or dinner?” You try to stay calm while saying this. “Or can I get a takeout?” Your voice off the walls, making you even louder than intended.

You always ask him the same question every day. Like a good wife you are supposed to be. Even if you don’t want to do that.

At last, he turns off the water and steps out of the shower. You cross arms under your chest, setting your jaw as you wait impatiently for his answer.

“I don’t know,” he replies neutrally, running a hand through his wet hair. Water is dripping down his toned chest and sculpted stomach, bringing out his muscles. “I have some urgent business to attend to today. I’ll let you know as soon as I can if I can make it back for dinner.”

Your eyes narrow as he stands there naked in front of you. Why is he not grabbing a towel? He’s doing it on purpose, isn’t he?

 A part of you is scared that what happened yesterday, will occur again. And as much as you hate it, a part of you longs for that. Wesker gave you more orgasms alone than all the previous men summed up.

But you’ll never say it out loud. Partially because you’re too proud to admit it and partially because you’re still mad at him.

You didn’t forget the last night. And all the previous nights and days.

He looks you up and he must like what he sees because his cock twitches in response. You look appetizing enough for him, even in the worst pajamas possible.

So embarrassing. You want nothing more than to cover your eyes and pretend it didn’t happen.

“But don’t wait up for me,” he finally adds after you being silent for a long moment.

He steps closer to you. You pray he’ll slip on the towel beneath his feet and fall over, but not in this life.

“I have a feeling I might be working late tonight.”

“I see,” you simply answer, swallowing thickly.

Please don’t blush, please don’t blush…

Why must he be so hot? You raise your eyes to the ceiling, trying not to look at his toned chest, wet blonde hair and abs flexing with each step he takes.

Then you look back at him. The short moment of averting you gaze let you regain some sanity at least.

“Don’t you worry. I won’t,” you retort with a smile. Two can play this game. “Good luck at work… whatever it is.” You sway your hand dismissively.

He reaches out towards your face; his hand cups your chin, tilting your head up to look at him. His thumb brushes slowly over your lower lip in a teasing, almost cruel manner.

Your jaw clenches as you fight the reflex to pull away.

“Who knows? Maybe by the time I come back, you'll be in a better mood. Perhaps ready to be a good wife again.” He gives you a cold, domineering smile.

With that, he releases you abruptly. Then he steps back to grab a towel and wrap it around his waist.

Good. He was enjoying watching you suffer for far too long.

You turn your back to him and approach the door. A part of you yearns for him to grab your hand and hug you. But you know he’s not capable of it.

“Whatever,” you mutter out, pressing down on the doorknob.

***

You don’t kiss him goodbye. And a part of you fears he’ll get mad at you.

But it seems that your interaction in the bathroom must’ve been enough for him. He’s completely silent as he passes through your shared bedroom.

You pretend not to see him – hoping it’ll hurt less this way. And deep down you feel the urge to watch him from afar; to stalk him, to follow him until you discover all his secrets.

And you know what it sounds like, but you are the sane one! It’s him that is constantly surrounded by smoke and mirrors. You’d never pry if he didn’t make you feel so anxious.

For example, you know he’s not exactly normal. His eyes are enough of an indicator of it: yellow-orange that sometimes glow red when you two are having sex.

No big deal, right? There are people who have heterochromia and weird eye colors, you’ve heard of that.

The thing is… His eyes aren’t the only weird thing about him.

After you accidentally hurt him with a kitchen knife, the wound healed up right away in front of your very eyes. And he – left with no choice – explained that his regenerative abilities are better than most humans’.

At first, you couldn’t complain – anything as long as it keeps him healthy and safe, right?

But you’ve started to have mixed feelings over the time: He was disappearing for days, sometimes even for weeks from home. And he never told you what his job actually is.

At some point, you even suspected he was having an affair. It seemed valid back then - the female perfume, the black hair on his coat… Everything checked.

It would’ve had a perfectly normal explanation. You wished it was that.

But he said the hair and the perfume belonged to Ada – his colleague at work. She happened to trip over during the work. He had no other choice but to carry her and use some of the first aid kit to help her.

What was even stranger, he even introduced you to that Asian woman later on… And she was so chill about it, confirming his version! It messed with your brain so much that you didn’t know what to think.

As you keep thinking, you’re washing the dishes after breakfast. Your mind is in shackles now.

He mentioned he served in the army and that he has PhD from the virology… But what the hell is his job even? What person wouldn’t disclose the details on their job position or the workplace, especially to their wife?

Is he working under the cover? Maybe he’s smuggling uranium to Chechens? Or perhaps he’s working on some secret drug alike to Viagra?

Whatever it is, you hope it’s nothing serious or dangerous. But deep down, you feel like it is - otherwise, he would have told you about it long time ago.

Your hands still in the soapy water. A sudden, chilling, dark thought crosses over your mind.

He’s a damn virologist. It’s a very niche field, right? He stepped down from the army long time ago so no way he could choose a different career than connected to his PhD.

Your eyes narrow. Could it have something to do with the Raccoon City incident? You haven’t been there to witness it but you’ve heard about it in TV.

Having been a waitress in Raccoon City, you remembered that the whole thing was funded by Oswell Spencer. And he… He ran a pharmaceutical company, the Umbrella, right?

You feel yourself shiver. The uneasy feeling blooms in your stomach, twisting your guts in knots.

The whole city got nuked in the end. But it wasn’t the governmental orders, it was the virus that led to their doom, wasn’t it…?

You shake your head, trying to get rid of the thought. You want to laugh at your own paranoid suspicions.

What are you thinking? He’s your husband. You would’ve known.

He may have… controversial views on many things, but you refuse to believe he’d be able to kill all those people.

You swallow thickly. Why would he anyway? He never seemed to entertain the bold ideas without any good enough goals.

But as you stand there in silence, staring absently as the dishes, you feel yourself growing more and more unsure of your knowledge on your own husband.

You barely knew about his past when you two got married. You just blindly obeyed him when he said that your future self shouldn’t be determined by the past one.

You frown, biting the inside of your cheek. He played you like a fiddle, didn’t he? You’re almost at awe in that.

You know that if you start looking up information on him, trying to discover the truth, your married life will never be the same. A game of cat and mouse will turn into pure mind games – with you attempting to hide the fact that you’re in the middle of finding the dirt on your own husband.

“Fuck,” you hiss, realizing that the water has been running for a while now.

Hopefully, he won’t nag you about the high water bill. You turn off the faucet and wipe your hands into the rag.

As much as the idea of you, facing his wraith if he catches you red-handed terrifies you, you know you can’t ignore the signs any longer. You need to find out the truth, no matter the cost. Even if it meant lying to him and saying goodbye to your old married life.

With a heavy sigh, you put the dishes back into their place and steel yourself for what lays ahead.

You can’t live like this any longer. Even if it means breaking his trust and losing him for good. After all, he betrayed yours way too many times for you to turn a blind eye to this.

***

The rest of the day went on normal. The daily, mundane tasks help you escape the racing thoughts for a little, letting you think about something else.

You’ve managed to clean up the whole house, including that goddamn bathroom. After you two did it yesterday in the bathtub, you can’t escape the memory of it – it flashes in your memory over and over.

You shake your head, rubbing on your red cheek. Now is not the moment – girl, get yourself together.

You wonder what he’s doing now. How is his work going? Is he safe?

Well, at least he managed to call you that he’ll be home at dinner. Good that you know he’ll show up today… How merciful.

You made the salad for dinner along with some sandwiches; you also prepare some steamy hot sausages. It’s nothing fancy but you try to make it feel like home, like you usually do.

This, plus the variety of food like he always wants you to. After all, you two can afford it. He can afford it since you’re basically unemployed now.

You grab the bottle of the wine to place it on the table. Then comes the porcelain set and the crystal clear glasses, making the casual dinner look like an actual feast for gods.

As you take off your apron, a thought strikes your mind: People have an easy access to social media these days, right? And Wesker gifted you a laptop on your birthday…

If you type in his first and last name in the Google browser, maybe his work’s official website will show up or something. It’s worth trying it. At the worst case possible, you’ll encounter a random porn site and no other available results.

***

You rush to the bedroom and open up your laptop. Your fingers almost make the keys flying as you furiously type in ‘Albert Wesker’ and press ENTER.

The browser shows multiple results. You raise your eyebrows, deciding to look up through the photos first.

It seems like he used to be one of many virologists for the Umbrella. So you were right about him…

… Or not? Your eyebrows knit together as you read more carefully.

He’s a former Umbrella employee. According to the Google, he officially left his workplace before the whole Raccoon City Incident happened.

Then you skim to the website of the company claiming that Wesker currently works for. A hum leaves your lips as you try to find something useful, anything that confirm your suspicions.

The thing is, it doesn’t look unusual. Just another outsourcing company, sending people to their respective job posts.

 “Huh…?”

Your eyes widen as you hear the sudden click from the downstairs. You don’t manage to read the comments.

You rush down about to greet your husband.

“A-Albert…!” you call out. “You’re early.” You give him an awkward smile.

Shit. You almost got caught red-handed.

Wesker raises his eyebrow, positively surprised at you not sulking anymore. He doesn’t address it though – probably so as not to remind you of it.

He watches you step down as he takes off his black coat with the navy accents. Whether he likes it or is just sentimental about it, you don’t know – but for some reason he very often wears this one.

“Early bird gets the worm,” he teases, hanging the coat on the rack. “Why? Can’t I finish my work early to see my beautiful wife?”

Not, if you are shamelessly spying on him. If he showed up a few minutes ago, you wouldn’t be able to hide it.

And you both know he rarely shows up sooner than intended. He’s the type to work overtime, not to leave his workplace early. He only does this when he does something wrong – and you can’t blame him for it; the last time when you were mad at him and he was late, you sent a plate flying at him.

“Nay-nay. I’m actually happy to see you.” You shrug.

He gives you a rare, genuine, warm smile. It makes his sharp features go soft, reminding you somehow of an angelic smile. But deep down, you know that if he’s an angel, then definitely not a good one.

He pulls you into the usual hug. The movement is mechanical, like it’s alien to him.

His arms always squeeze you so tight that you want to scream, afraid of being crashed. Perhaps he’s never been taught gentleness – that’s why such displays of affections are so difficult for him.

He keeps you there and you don’t fight it, automatically reciprocating the hug – just with less force. But a part of you wonders if he’s enjoying the feeling or just following the rules on how a good husband should act. Maybe both.

After a moment, he pulls away and nods to the kitchen.

“What’s that smell? Don’t tell me you missed me that much,” he quips as he eyes you up playfully.

You know that if you hadn’t prepared dinner, he wouldn’t do anything bad to you. Still, you’d need to suffer through his never-ending monologue on how he provides for you and how you can’t do such a simple thing as preparing him a meal. And you don’t want to hear that.

He steps past you, heading towards the kitchen and the appetizing smell. You can see a satisfied smirk forming on his face as he takes in the view of the table.

This time you didn’t forget about anything. The forks, the glasses, the tablecloth and everything else is where it belongs. Just like he always tells you to.

“It’s not like that,” you finally reply, shaking your head slightly. You shouldn’t give him any reasons for suspicions. “I’m still mad at you… But it doesn’t mean I’ll let you starve. You’re my husband, after all,” you hum, crossing arms under your chest.

You boil the sausages and place the plate on the table. Your own appetite long gone due to the uneasy feeling in your stomach. Who knows what kind of truth those 4chan posts may be hiding?

Wesker raises an eyebrow at your words. A corner of his mouth raises in a half-smirk.

You know that reaction – he thinks he outplayed you. Oh how wrong he is.

You put a salad on the table. Your own hands are shaking a bit – both out of anger and out of fear.

He watches you sit and sighs. Then he runs a hand through his hair and do the same – taking a seat right next to you, despite the table being very long.

He pours himself a glass of wine. He takes a short sip before setting it down and turns his attention to the meal before him.

Good. At least he’s not looking at you anymore. Less chance he’ll notice anything.

“Thank you for dinner,” he murmurs and reaches for a sausage.

Well, at least he sounds thankful. Even if he actually doesn’t mean it.

You play with the food on your plate, itching to come upstairs. The air between you two marked with the unspoken tension.

His hand covers yours and you twitch a little. You didn’t expect it. Your lips form into a thin line.

Your raise your gaze to look at him. His thumb is slowly brushing over your knuckles, making it hard for you to focus; a gentle gesture like this is so unlike him.

“Talk to me, ____,” he coaxes. His voice lacks the usual low, commanding tone. “Tell me what’s on your mind. I know I haven’t been… forthcoming about my work. But that’s not a reason to throw a fit.”

You feel your temperature going up, the blood already boiling in you. You grit your teeth, trying to sit still.

Is he for real?! He’s the one who’s lying all the time, dismissing your question and requests and he blames you for all of that? You fight the urge to grab the fork and sink it into his hand – not to hurt him, just out of spite.

To be absolutely fair… It’s not like you didn’t have anything down your sleeve – literally, in this case. When you were in the middle of serving dinner, you hid a kitchen knife in your clothes, making sure he wouldn’t see it.

Of course – you know the knife won’t be enough to stop him. His quick regeneration would allow him to heal it up in no time. But somehow this knife makes you feel safer, even if it’s just a delusion.

As his fingers trail higher, almost reaching your sleeve, you immediately pull away. For a moment, you thought he noticed the knife.

His eyes narrow but he says nothing. Did you overreact a little?

“No, that’s–“ Your bottom lip trembles as you shift uncomfortably on your seat. “I just wish you told me more about your job, on what project you’re working on… I’m not only curious; I’m worried, you know. Don’t you trust me?” You give him a bitter smile.

Yes, you’re tugging at the strings of his icy cold heart. If this doesn’t help, you also have a computer.

A loud inhale from him, followed by a sigh and his hand returns to his side. He leans back in his chair and starts analyzing your words in silence.

After a moment, he finally looks at you, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

“____, I know I haven’t been… particularly open with you about my work. It’s not that I don’t trust you, it’s just… complicated.” He pauses, searching for the right words. “I work for a company that specializes in… biotechnology.”

“What’s that?” You blink. You hate this doctor-ish language.

“We develop treatments and vaccines, things that could save billions of lives,” he patiently explains. “But the work is dangerous, and the people we need to work with… let’s say they aren’t exactly pleasant.” He winces, probably remembering something awful.

“Vaccines?” you tilt your head in concern. “You mean… like the drugs? You’re producing stuff just like Pfizer does?”

The gears begin turning in your head. If it was just a pharmaceutical company, he would surely mention it to you, wouldn’t he? And he’s never mentioned he worked for the Umbrella either…

He drags his tongue across his teeth, thinking carefully on your questions.

“No, not quite like Pfizer,” he calmly responds. “What we do is... more targeted. More specialized. We work on rare diseases, on biological threats that other companies have no interest in.”

You bite the inside of your cheek and nod.

“I see.”

“My job requires a high level of discretion, secrecy,” he continues on. “I can’t always tell you everything, and sometimes… sometimes I have to do things that you may deem sudden and unexplainable. But I promise you, it’s all for a greater good.”

He’s still lying. He didn’t even mention working in the past for the Umbrella.

The handle of the knife digs into your elbow, encouraging you to finish the meal quickly and return to the room. If he doesn’t want to tell you, you might as well ask the Internet for help.

“I know it’s not much, but… I promise you that everything I do, it’s all there for a reason,” he adds. His words sound too good to be true. “And someday, maybe I can tell you more. But for now… you’ll have to trust me.”

He betrayed that trust long ago when he bounced off every accusation and question of yours directed at him. And he thinks that it’s still perfectly okay to feed you the colorized version of the truth?

Goddammit. Did he not realize it? You two are already at the point of no return.

“Try to have faith in me, even when it’s hard,” he hums, brushing the hair off your face. “Try to have faith in me, even when you don’t fully understand. I’m on your side, always. Never forget about it.”

You know that eye-tearing speech. He always says that, instead of giving you the definitive answer.

He’ll tell you about it ‘someday’… He’ll keep repeating it but this day will never come. He thinks he’ll fall again into his spider web. No chance – not this time.

But you can’t show him you’re not entirely convinced. Not if you want to safely unravel his secrets.

So, you force a smile onto your face and cross your legs, sitting more comfortably now.

“Of course.” You pat his hand gently. “Mind if I take a shower now? I feel a bit sweaty… You can leave the dishes in the sink. I’ll take care of them later.”

You stand up and grab the plate to place it into the sink.

Then you head upstairs, trying not to speed up. You haven’t said the last word yet.

***

You’re completely locked onto the laptop now. Your gaze immediately falls onto the post on 4chan, where your husband is mentioned.

You knit your eyebrows together. Apparently, Wesker is one of not many employees that survived the Umbrella’s fuck-ups.

The illegal practices the company was engaging in, led to many researchers dying in the outbreaks or secret experiments. Not many of them stepped down before the Umbrella officially fell though.

Your husband was incredibly lucky that he changed his job. One of not many virologists that outlived that wicked workplace.

Your eyes narrow as you see somebody writing about the Connections – a shady company that pretends to be legal. Wesker is currently working for them.

“What the hell,” you mumble out, scrolling down.

But before you can read any further, Wesker’s hand snaps a laptop shut with a loud thud. A yelp leaves your lips.

“The last time I remember, you were supposed to take a shower, wife,” he whispers behind your shoulder.”

Your eyes widen in fear as you turn over to look at him. His eyes look so predatory that you thickly swallow.

Shivers run down your spine. And the realization strikes you: He knows.

“Explain yourself,” he lowly commands. “I knew you’re not as innocent as you pretend to be. And I think it’s time for you to start being honest with me.” His eyes narrow as his lips turn into that ever-so-familiar snarl.

What an asshole. He’s the one lying to you and selling you the wrong version of his life and he accuses you of being dishonest?

Your fear turns into anger. You clench your jaw, glaring daggers at him.

“You have only yourself to blame!” you snap back, standing up abruptly. “You’re my husband so why is it so bad of me to do the Google search on you?! I just wanted to check your social medias… Little did I know, that you have no Twitter, but the users on 4chan know you all too well!”

You rest your hands on your hips, pretending to look more confident. The thing is: You’re a ball of nerves inside.

You’ve heard about the Umbrella before. And nothing that you even heard from the first-hand, was good.

“Besides, you have some guts to accuse me of lies,” you laugh out in disbelief. “You’ve been always the one hiding everything from me! I don’t know where are you working, what is the company you’re working for… And you dare tell me that I’m lying to you?!”

You shake both in anger and in helplessness in front of him. You’re on the verge of breakdown.

“When were you about to tell me that you worked on some… illegal experiments for the Umbrella, huh?!” Your eyebrows are pulled together as you glare at him.

You don’t even know for sure if he was directly involved in human experiments. It was all a bluff – you said it in the heat of the moment, hoping it’ll get him talking.

He takes a step closer and you automatically try to back off but your back hits the chair. His tall frame is looming over you like a judgement day as he invades your personal space.

“You think you know everything about me, about the Umbrella? You have no idea what you got yourself involved in.” His voice seeps with the unspoken threat as he makes sure to enunciates every word.

He reaches out to wrap his hand around your chin. Then he tilts your head up to force you meet his dark gaze. His thumb presses hard against your jaw – not quite hard to leave any bruise, but hard enough to remind you of your place.

“I have protected you, kept you safe… And this is how you repay me?” he furiously murmurs. His breath feels hot on your face. “By sneaking around behind my back, digging up dirt on me? Is that how a good wife behaves?” he mockingly laughs.

“Then I hate to break it to you but you got married to the wrong woman,” you retort, maintaining the eye contact. “You know I wasn’t a wife material… But I’ve never hidden anything from you! Meanwhile you’ve never even mentioned working for them!” Your tone is as accusatory as never before.

You pull out a knife from your sleeve. Keeping it behind your back, you pray that you won’t need to use it.

“Is that so?” he asks ironically with a small snort. It makes you want to wipe off that smirk from his face. “Then all of this just because you wished to know more about the Umbrella? Fine. I’ll entertain you. But believe me, you’re not ready to hear the truth.”

“It’s not only about them!” You shake your head, feeling the tears gathering in your eyes. “I’ve… I’ve accepted you just the way you are I’ve turned a blind eye to your eyes and the fact that your wounds heal up so quickly… Is your work at Umbrella’s the whole reason you are like this?!” you yell it out before you can think it over.

A moment of silence as his grip on your jaw tightens, threatening to crash your

“You know what? At this point, I may just tell you everything. But then where would we be?” he replies. “So I suggest you drop this. Right. Now. Before it’s too late. Before I’m forced to do something we’ll both regret.”

“You always do things that we both regret,” you cries out regretfully. “I trusted you and you… And you…”

It’s a matter of seconds. Like he has a speed of the light.

His hands move lower to grip on your jaw. Then his hold tightens, threatening to snap your bones.

“S-stop it…!”

And then, what you do, is purely instinctive. You use the knife to dig into his ribs. To once and for all free yourself from his grasp.

Wesker’s eyes widen in shock and pain as he feels the sharp edge of the knife sink into his flesh. The warm trickle of blood begins to soak through his shirt. Despite letting out a low growl, his hold on your jaw doesn’t falter.

Instead, his hand tightens, until you gasp in pain. You wince, helplessly clawing at him as he effortlessly pulls out the blade with his free hand.

The risk you took was calculated. But man… Are you bad at math?

Intentionally, you wanted to stab him and use the opening to escape. He may regenerate quickly, but it doesn’t mean he’s prone to pain, right?

In theory, it should’veworked. But in practice? It was a whole different story.

Because he barely bulged from pain. And your legs? Your legs felt like they were pinned to the floor – you couldn’t move from the spot, rendering any attempts to escape futile.

“You think you can stab me? Get away with it?” he snarls. His voice is a menacing rasp sending shivers down your spine.

You gulp, shaking your head energetically. Tears are streaming down your face as you try not to piss him off anymore.

He leans in closer to murmur into your ear, “I could snap your neck now. And no one would ever know. No one would even care…”

Your face is twisted by pain as his hand slides down to wrap around your throat. The grip is restricting your airway, making it difficult to breath.

He effortlessly lifts you off the floor, making you squeak in panic. Your legs helplessly dangle around like doll’s limbs.

“…But I won’t,” he continues on. “I won’t give you what you’re asking for. Instead, I think it’s time for you to learn the truth; the real reason I left the Umbrella. The real reason I’m the way I am. Do you wish to hear it?”

You can’t utter a word like this so you only sob and nod in reply. At this point, you’re just desperate for air, willing to listen to him no matter what. Any attempts at uncovering the truth don’t mean as much to you anymore.

“As a kid, I was a part of a special project. That, well, program was designed to create the perfect leaders. A brilliant mind, a well-trained body and ability to overcome most of the viruses and the complete disregard for human life... That was their agenda.” You blink at him, afraid to give him any other reaction. “My eyes and fast regeneration are indeed a product of the virus I’ve used on myself. So here I am – the ultimate weapon. And you, _____, have not a slightest idea what I am capable of.” His eyes are glowing red now as he looks at you.

Your eyes widen. Then, to some extent, you were right. And you wish you weren’t.

Holy shit. You’d put your head into the fridge if you could now. You can’t believe it.

He’s a literal walking… How do people professionally call it…? A bioweapon?

How could he hide it from you all this time? Your mouth opens and closes interchangeably as you’re fighting multiple emotions all at once. Fear, anger, shock and sympathy mingling with each other, rendering you speechless if you could only say anything with his hand around your throat now.

“So… Drop the knife and listen carefully,” he states. His voice doesn’t sound as dangerous as before. He must’ve calmed down.

He lowers you back down to the floor, but keeps his hand firmly wrapped around your throat – not enough to restrict your breathing, but enough to remind you who’s in charge here. His eyes gaze intensely into yours as if threatening to swallow you whole.

“Listen to me now. I’m only going to say this once,” he sighs. “The Umbrella you know is… was a company that produced the bioweapons on a mass scale. Viruses, mold, parasites… and the people who worked there, were the ones who brought them to life. Iwas the one that brought them to life.”

He pauses, gauging your reaction. Your bottom lip is trembling slightly but at least you’ve stopped crying.

“But that’s not all.” He shakes his head. “The company I worked for? It was rotten to the core. And when I realized the true extent of their depravity, of their stupidity… I simply walked away. I left them behind, and I’ve been hiding ever since. You know why?”

You shake your head in reply.

“Because they won’t stop coming after me, after what I know.” His lips turn into a bitter smile. “And they might come after you too now.”

A moment of silence between you as you stare at each other. None of you know what to say – even him, ever as smooth-tongued, can’t find the words in him for the first time.

“That’s it,” he sums up at last. “I would have told you about it soon if only you didn’t pry,” he adds with disappointment.

But you know him better than this: No moment felt right for him. He was only postponing this conversation until he had no other choice but to spill the tea.

 “Now, ____,” he finally says. “What will you say to that?”

His leg comes between you own ones, preventing you from escaping. His hand slowly lets go of your throat.

“W-will you make me another one of your experiments?” you utter out before you can think. “I-I don’t wanna die… Please, please, don’t kill me.” You shake your head, feeling the tears gathering in your eyes once again.

His eyes widen and he gives you a mocking, breathless laugh. You feel the urge to pinch yourself, wake up and never come back to this nightmare.

“Kill you? Oh my sweet, naïve wife… I could never kill you. At least, not in such a way.”

He pulls away his leg and wrap one of his hands around your waist, pulling you closer. His hard body contrasts with your soft curves.

“It would be a waste to turn you into one of my experimental subjects.” He rubs your cheek with his free hand. “Well… Unless, you really insist for it,” he chuckles darkly, a hint of threat hanging in his voice.

Your heart is hammering in your chest, making you think you’re about to have a heart attack. You swallow thickly as he softly caresses your cheek.

“What will it be?” he asks as his fingers are trailing down your jaw. His voice is emotional, completely unlike him. “Will you accept me for who I am just like I’ve accepted you?”

You know he’s manipulating you. He’s never this nice to you unless he sees the benefits in it.

“I…” you whisper. Your legs threaten to give out anytime soon now. “I do. I choose you… I’ll always choose you.”

You have nobody else. No place to come back to. Of course he expects you to say that – you are left with not much choice after all. And you give him exactly that.

“J-just… Don’t hurt me,” you whimper.

He really gave you a scare there for a moment. You thought he was about to kill you.

“Good girl,” he coos.

He lets go of your waist and brings the same hand to your head. You twitch at the gesture but allow him to pet you like you’re his loyal dog.

“See? That’s what a good wife acts like. It wasn’t that hard, was it?” he gives a humorless laugh.

You hesitate for a moment but nod at his words. Your gaze remains glued to the floor, waiting for him to pull away, allowing you to go downstairs. You know he likes it when you are obedient and ask for permission.

“C-can I go down now?” you meekly ask. “… To wash the dishes?”

Wesker’s hand lingers on your head for a moment longer. His fingers affectionately stroke your hair as he takes in the rare sight of you being so unmoving and obedient.

He finally drops his hand and sighs, “Of course. You may go downstairs and finish your chores.”

After all, you did say you would take care of the dishes later. And he’s never been a fan of washing them.

“I’m sure you know what happens if you try to run away, don’t you?” he whispers darkly into you ear, gripping unexpectedly onto your elbow for a moment.

Your eyes widen in panic: Does he know? No way!

“I-I do,” you reply, giving him a quick glance.

He steps back, allowing you the space to slip past him an flee downstairs like a terrified mouse. Your feet are moving quickly and quietly as you scurry away, wanting to disappear from his field of view as soon as possible.

***

This time you’re not going to scream for help. It’s not the first time your husband was violent – he had a talent for the dramatics so it’s clear as a day that your neighbors once again won’t listen. Besides, being loud would alert him too.

Instead, you use the moment to your advantage, approaching the back door. Your trembling hand reaches for the doorknob.

You didn’t bring any clothes or other stuff with her – everything to avoid the suspicion. At this point, you’re just determined to get out of here as soon as possible.

However, before you can open the door, you feel the hand wrapped around your waist, prying you away from the exit. Your lips form into a silent scream.

Then comes a sharp pang in your neck and the feeling of your legs weakening. Your vision becomes hazy as you fall onto the floor or maybe… Wesker’s arms? With your consciousness slipping, you can barely see anything.

“You will be the death of me,” sighs the familiar voice behind you as your whole body melts into a puddle. “Always so impatient, always jumping to conclusions… It’s a miracle we’ve made this far.”

You vaguely feel his hand brushing a strand of your hair away from your forehead. Your vision is black by now, only the sound remains.

“You’re more beautiful when you’re asleep anyway,” he chuckles.

[tokoyamisstuff]

hireath [n.] - homesickness for a home to which you cannot return

Thragg x f Human! Reader

Synopsis: Thragg has taken the mission of repopulating into his own hands.

Warnings: kidnapping, forced pregnancy, Stockholm Syndrome, not proofread, OOC Thragg (the show made me weak with how passionate they made him ngl)

Does time pass different in the void of space?

Sure, you've once read somewhere that other planets have significantly longer or shorter days, but what are the rules for the vast nothingness between them?

A silly thought to have, but you started to wonder exactly this while standing in front of your abductor's quarters, gathering your courage until the swelling of your feet became unbearable by now.

The entrance was always unlocked, not even any guards were stationed nearby - that's just how confident the leader of the Viltrumites was in his own strenght.

Finally, with an inept but determined push, the heavy door swung open just enough for you to slip through.

There he was: The ultimate lifeform, exceptional even among his own kind. His power absolute, his word law.

A huge window showcased Earth from afar, this spaceship lingering in it's orbit like a predator cicling it's prey. He seemed almost in trance, overlooking the very planet that started yet another cascade of doom threatening his people.

Like this, he almost seemed...tired. Worn down by centuries of witnessing his culture dwindling near extinction as a direct consequence of his own shortcomings and misjudgements.

Every single death weighted heavy on his heart and yet it would never be enough to make him collapse, relentless in his efforts to lead his people into a brighter future.

Viltrum prevailed, despite all hardships they had encountered.

And their Empire will be restored to past glory - through your assistance as well.

Thragg had once given you a brief lesson about their history - directly after ripping you out of the life you knew and loved - to serve as explanation for his course of actions.

Not much later, Thragg had implemented his directive - and in face of his sheer limitless power, you had no other choice than to obey.

Surprisingly, it didn't hurt. He could've taken you by force easily, the way his people were used to procreate: Quick, efficient, methodical, without regard of the mate they had chosen to overpower.

Yet instead he asked what custom humans prefered, tried to accomodate you as gentle as a man of his calibre is able to.

After all, you served a great purpose and shall be treated accordingly...

...though of course that didn't make it less cruel.

Until now, you were the only one - and that was a deliberate choice. A man of his position would not want several children to battle one another in aspirations to claim the throne. It would be a waste of time and ressources.

One would suffice. He's done his part, the rest was up to his subjects.

"Great Regent?" Your voice cut through his brooding and Thragg sharply turns his head, eyes narrowing at you briefly before returning to observe the blue-green sphere displayed ahead.

"Drop the title" he dismisses you with a wave of his hand. "We're alone, there's no need for courtesy among mates." That last word left his lips easier than he anticipated, but there was obvious conflict in his tone nonetheless.

You swallow, his imposing presence never failing to intimidate you even when he chooses to speak appeasingly. After a few seconds of hesitation you move, vigilant and cautious, until you are standing right next to each other. Even that little walk left you wheezing and pressing against your lower back for relief - the weight of carrying the future of an alien civilization being straining in more than one way.

Thragg however was still acting captivated by the constellations rather acknowledging you - nothing new, really.

You had stopped walking on eggshells around him a while ago - when you realized you were simply too insignificant to ever become target of his righteous fury.

Even now he remains distant, barely interacting with you except when it is absolutely necessary. And yet he also keeps you around constantly, wanting to supervise the progression of his heir firsthand.

It only made sense.

Except for the baby that's growing inside, you are nothing to him - an insect to crush under his boot if it wasn't for their desparation to increase their numbers.

"What brings you here?" he finally asks, and you immediately go rigid under his scrutinizing gaze.

You nervously shuffle around in place, gripping the fabric of your clothes to ground yourself before wringing out the request. "I-I...miss my family." It honestly sounds ridiculous now that you said it aloud.

"Seeking me out because of such trivialities..." His voice is soft, unbearably so compared to what you know he is capable of. "Bold. Foolish, but bold."

"I-I just-I..." Your pitiful display only fuels his irritation, but at least it indicates that you know your place. "It causes me distress, and I think it would be beneficial for the pregnancy if-"

"You are granted every luxury imagineable, and yet you dare complain?" He is towering in front of you now, a mountain of muscle and yet his skin immaculate despite countless battles. "I will not debase myself and roam among those vermin."

"...yet one of them is carrying your child." And you are safe as long as you do so...right?

Thragg grimaces in barely veiled disgust, hands clenching into fists as if you had reminded him of a fact he deliberately chose to cram far into the back of his mind - the permanent blemish your inferior heritage would leave on his bloodline.

But Nolan's offspring was promising, closest they've gotten in years. He could tolerate you as long as the ends justify the means.

You regret the words as soon as they left your lips, however you wouldn't back down now, instead glaring at him as the remnants of your remark echoed through the room.

Such defiance in spite of your situation...it is almost endearing.

"Do not provoke me" he grits eery calm, "Your status ascended when you were chosen by me. But don't forget that you are just as expendable...you were merely lucky."

Tears fill your eyes as you nod in defeat, and the Great Regent sighs - not in sympathy, but aware that your mental state could affect the baby negatively.

"I will take your wish into consideration" he announces placatingly yet no less impassive, his face stuck with his composed mask of a man literally created to lead.

And yet the sharp edge of his features seems to soften just a bit, almost unnoticeable to most - but after lingering in his shadow for so long, he couldn't hide it. Not from you anyways.

Your eyes dwell up again - with shocked gratitude this time - and you reach out to him in a sourge of emotion. He remained still as a statue, hands folded neatly behind his back, curious in his knowledge that you were far from able to harm him in any way.

A muffled gasp escapes him as your hands lay flat on his chest. Such unexpected gesture, how delicate you were touching a man that had done nothing but used and belittled you until now. He had expected you to lash out, hurl insults or simply leave, all being inconsequential actions to him. But this?

When your hands dare to roam upwards, slipping his robe - the very symbol of his burden - over his shoulders, Thragg's moustache tilts into a crooked line as he nearly snarls, teeth grinding against his jaw in a grating noise.

And yet, against all of his instincts, he lets you proceed.

"Please..." your beg is merely above a whisper, fingers tenderly running across his muscles, firm like polished marble.

In the beginning you had felt nothing but fear beyond all reason, incapacitating you from ever daring to hope again.

But over time that feeling shifted into pure hatred, burning with an intensity that threatened to consume you,

And yet you were also so, so lonely that you'd do anything for something - or rather someone - to mend your strickened heart...

...even if it's the very man that struck it in the first place.

He doesn't protest even when your hands cup his own, prying his balled fist open and placing it to the swell of your belly. His gaze drops down to where he can feel the unborn rummage beneathe the stretched skin, before you lead it to rest over your own heart.

Thragg is very well aware that even an inheritly hostile race such as Viltrumites are susceptible to attachments - and as much as it pains him, he is no exception.

But he prohibited such inferior sentiments for a reason, had successfully eradicated this flaw that he deemed the very reason his culture is facing complete annihilation.

Any bonds do only cloud reason, they are a weakness that distracts them from the ultimate goal.

They are dangerous.

So right now, naturally, all his thoughts are revolving around indulging in violence - about killing you without a trace to excise that rot he feels infesting his heart once again, before it gets a chance to strike roots.

Thragg's face turns pensive for a long moment, the silence hanging heavy in the air. His fingers twitch slightly as he contemplates, sensing the way your feeble heart practically hammers against your sternum.

Pathetic.

And he does not mean you.

"Once a week" he ultimatively declares, looking over your shoulder in a sole attempt to avoid meeting your eyes. "And two guards have to accompany you at all times."

"T-Thank you...Thragg." Against better judgement, you wrap your arms around his middle in an almost-embrace, the heat radiating off of him being the only comfort he could provide. He doesn't return the gesture, doesn't even know what a hug is, really - just stands there stunned into silence as he watches you cling to him like it actually meant something.

Maybe it does.

And that thought frightens him more than anything he had experienced in his long, long life.

[Next Chapter]

[cats-lolmao]

Why isn’t there more Nolan and thragg smut you assholes

[hopeless-vt]

Bet On Losing Dogs - Chapter 1

═══════════════════ஓ๑♡๑ஓ═════════════════════

Pairing: Tsundere fem!Reader x Yandere RE:CV/RE4 Albert Wesker

Summary:

After losing your job and spiralling down into alcoholism, you think your life finally is getting better when Albert Wesker, one the most powerful men in the world, asks you to marry him. And you are really thankful for what he did for you so you agree to it: After all, no other man has went to such lengths for you.

But as years pass, the ring on your finger starts to tighten more and more like a noose around your neck.

Your husband starts disappearing for days and weeks without any warning. What is he hiding? Will you be able to discover his secrets and save your marriage?

(The Tumblr probably ate all the formatting so here's ao3 version, just in case)

Word Count: 7,168

CV/Tags (in the whole fanfic): smut, angst, Dead Dove, dubcon, non-con, violence, breeding, kidnapping, forced pregnancy, sadism, masochism, creampie, manipulation, hate sex, married sex, dollification, choking, spanking, bad BDSM etiquette, dark romance, rough sex, oral sex, vaginal fingering, depression, BPD, Wesker is written like a guy with NPD/Sociopath

Masterlist

═══════════════════ஓ๑♡๑ஓ═════════════════════

This evening would be almost relaxing to you. As a spouse of one of the most powerful men in the world, you had many things to worry about, but this time it’s not about him being away from home.

This day is something special – to have him here is a really rare event. Normally you were living here all alone, haunting this big house like a ghost – and obviously, the said house had been bought by him because you were too broke for it.

With everything mentioned… No wonder it has always felt more like a dollhouse than your place.

He rarely paid attention to you, spending most of his time at work – even when he was working remotely. However, it all changed tonight.

Before you managed to do anything, you were stripped and dragged to the bathroom – straight into the bubble bath with your spouse, Albert Wesker. And to be honest, it turned out to be the most mortifying experience you’ve ever had with him. This motherfucker always did something to play with your weak heart – but this time he even outdid himself.

You didn’t expect him home so early. Did he come back sooner because he had no more work to do? Or was it because he was looking forward to seeing you?

It’s been so long since you two were intimate like this… Why is he doing this? Did he suddenly remember he was supposed to play the role of the perfect husband?

You shift uncomfortably between his legs. His erection is digging into your back and you want nothing more but to flee far away from it.

“Quit squirming around,” he hums into your ear. His breath feels hot against your skin. “Should I remind you that you’re my wife? I have a wish to take a bath with you and I will.” He wraps his hand possessively around your waist, securing you on the spot.

You don’t need to look to know that Wesker is glaring down at you with his orange-yellow eyes. He always does that.

Aside from the fact that the whole situation is a bit embarrassing to you – not only because it’s been a while since you two did it, but also because he rarely engaged in such intimate moments, making you confused – the atmosphere is rather relaxing. You can’t help but close your eyes at the sensation.

Your previously tensed shoulders naturally melt under the scent of the bath salt. The colorful water with multiple bubbles on the top looks like a bath specially prepared for a princes. And the warmth of it makes your toes curl in bliss.

You open your eyes, knitting your eyebrows together. Or is it something else you’re reacting to?

The way his raging hard-on is digging into your back, makes you try to pull away. Why couldn’t you two just sit there opposite to each other? The bathtub is big enough.

But as you attempt to move, his hand tightens around your waist, bringing you closer back again. He tuts and you can immediately feel yourself growing smaller.

“You can’t behave,” says he in that condescending tone. “What to do with you?”

A light blush covers your cheek as you try to sit still. He’s doing it on purpose, isn’t he?

“I will, if you keep that hard-on away from me,” you mumble out, wanting to sound unaffected. Sadly, instead of as a brilliant retort, it comes out as a squeak.

Your eyes narrow as you chew on your lip. Does he want you to beg for it? Not happening. Not in your current life nor the future one.

“That's one hell of a dangerous weapon, you know that?” you mutter out, not needing to take a look to say that.

You straighten up your legs, using to your advantage the fact that the bathtub is big enough to accommodate them. Your hand is resting on the verge of porcelain as you try your best not to move.

Wesker lets out a harsh, cold chuckle at your remark. His voice sends shivers down your spine.

He tightens his grip on your waist even more, fingers digging into your plaint flesh as he pulls you impossibly close. Your back is presses firmly against his toned chest, rendering you unable to escape.

He leans in closer. His lips brushing against your ear as he speaks in a low voice, “Careful, dearheart. That’s not the only dangerous weapon I possess.”

If it was your first time with him, you’d gasp, keeping him entertained. But over the past years, you got used to his teasing. So you just rewarded him with the silence, rolling your eyes instead.

His hand slid up your side, tracing the curve of your breast before giving it a rough squeeze. Even through the thin, damp fabric of the towel, he can feel your nipple stiffen beneath his touch. An approving hum leaves his lips.

“Eek– Stop,” you gasp, gripping his hand.

There’s a reason to why you put a towel around you as a last resort. Normally you didn’t do it, but you know where it ends. You being naked around him doesn’t sound good – the towel is the last barrier separating you from him.

He leans back, pulling you with him until you’re practically sitting in his lap. His hard cock is pressing insistently against your ass through the thin material.

You gulp. His erection grows hotter and harder with every tease of his and it makes you feel weird.

He makes no move to hide it, clearly showing who’s the top here. Instead, he just reaches for a glass of whiskey, taking a long sip before he sets it back down on the edge of the bathtub.

The warm water makes you think the heat you’re feeling, is only a result of the hot bath. Your lips dry out and you nervously lick them.

Wesker’s hand rests high on your thigh, his thumb rubbing slow, teasing circles on your soft skin. Each of his touch is like a blaze left on your body.

A part of you wonders if he’s aware of the effect he has on you. But soon enough you want to laugh at your own stupidity: Of course he is, he’s your husband after all.

He leans in closer, his breath feels hot against your neck as he whispers, “I can smell your arousal, _____ . Don’t hide it from me.”

You stiffen at his words. It’s as if he’s reading your mind, even after being away for so long.

His hand slides further up your thigh, his fingers brushing against the damp fabric covering your most intimate area. Despite your best wishes, you can feel yourself growing wetter.

You swallow down, hoping the water will mask it. You hate how he always plays with you.

“Then maybe you’re mistaking it for something else,” you scoff, trying to sound bold. “Maybe it’s the new shampoo I’ve used.” You click your tongue in annoyance.

What is it that he wants? For you to beg him to fuck you? If so, not a chance. You’d feel too awkward to say it.

You can feel him smirk behind you as he nips at your earlobe, giving it a sharp tug with his teeth. A whimper leaves your lips.

His fingers dig into the soft flesh of your breast, pinching and rolling you sensitive nipple between them, until you let out a few small mewls one after another. It only spurs him on, his erection twitching below you.

“Mm, is that so?” he purrs, making you tremble a bit. His voice vibrate against your skin, causing goosebumps. “Well, let’s put this theory to the test, shall we?”

The air between you is so thick, it can be cut with a knife. From the open door, you can hear the distant sounds of rain, reminding you how cozy is your bathroom.

“Be a good girl and spread your legs for me,” Wesker commands. His voice is a low, dominant growl; you know you’re affecting him as well.

Hesitantly, you open your legs. A pout on your face is present, as you do that.

Without any warning, his free hand slides beneath the water. His fingers find the edge of the towel and yank it away in one swift, effortless motion.

You gulp loudly as if caught red-handed. Your face is full crimson as you realize you’re completely naked in front of him now, your pussy at full display for his inspection. Even if he can mostly see your back in this position, it still makes your heart beat faster.

Then you close your legs, too ashamed to admit it. If he’s going to coax it out of you, he needs to work for it.

You can bet he’s taking in the way your thighs are pressed together in a futile attempt to hide yourself from his hungry eyes. Even so, he can probably see the enlarged clit of yours, can smell the intoxicating scent of your need.

“I think the shampoo is working just fine,” he muses, his thumb brushing over your sensitive nub, making your hips buck involuntarily. “But I think we both know what’s really making you wet, don’t we, dearheart?” Your pet name rolls of his tongue in such way that you immediately want to find the riposte.

His fingers continue their torturous exploration, circling you clit with the insanely slow strokes while his other hand continues to knead and tease your breast. He knows your body by heart now, making you whimper and moan.

You bite your lip, trying to stifle the sounds. You’re caught between two different feelings: The desire to submit and your stubborn pride. Which one should you choose?

Wesker leans in closer, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispers, “You may lie as much as you want, but your body is always honest with me.”

“Fu-fuck you, leave me alone! Ah–” His fingers keep on expertly playing with your clit, making you more fidgety and breathless with each caress. “I’m not wet– Haa, it’s just the water…”

His fingers unexpectedly slip inside you, just barely, enough to make you moan out his name and clench around them. But soon enough, he pulls back, denying you the fullness you crave.

You whimper in disappointment – even if you don’t want to. He’s right, of course. Your body sings for him when your mouth can’t.

“Tell me, wife. Do you want it? Do you want me to fill you and make you scream?” he murmurs into the juncture of your shoulder neck, nibbling on the sensitive skin there.

You know he hates it when you deny him. To everyone he may seem the most patient man in the world but in bed? He has always been rough like an animal, even when you didn’t ask for it.

“N-no,” you breath out desperately, gripping the bathtub. “Fuck off.”

His grip tightens possibly on your body at your defiant outburst. He could feel your trembling form against him, the way your breath hitched in your throat as his fingers continued their relentless assault on your most intimate parts.

And he heard that needy whimper you let out when he pulled out his fingers. You’re sure of that; it was a pretty loud sound after all.

“Tsk-tsk,” he chides. His voice is a low growl that sends shivers down your spine and makes your clit throb against nothing. “Such a vulgar language from my wife. I wonder… What should I do to punish you for it?”

Before you can react, Wesker’s fingers slip in deep inside you, curling to find that spot that makes you see stars. A piercing cry escapes your throat at the sudden sensation.

Your walls squeeze him tightly as you try to not faint right here, right now. You feel so hot, while trying to adjust to the unexpected stretch.

His thumb presses firmly against your swollen little pearl. Rubbing in slow, deliberate circles, it makes your hips roll shamelessly into his hand. Your protests die out in your throat.

He can feel your muscles squeezing his fingers faster, the movement becomes even easier. You can feel him smirking into your neck. More slick covers your walls, even if the water bubbles are hiding it.

Your body responds to his touch the way he wants it to – always. Even as your mind tries to deny it, your eyes close and your hips seek the friction he provides.

It’s intoxicating to participate in this dance of wills between you and him - for both of you. He loves breaking you down like this, loves watching you battle your own desire. And he knows that deep inside you actually like it. Even if you still feel embarrassed about the act itself.

His fingers move faster now, pumping in and out of you. His thumb works on your clit with expert precision.

The water sloshes around you two, splashing over the sides of the tub. Normally, he’s a neat freak but right now it’s the last thing on his mind – he has no intention of stopping now.

A knot slowly forms in your stomach, making your toes curl. Your body begins to quake with the approaching climax.

Wesker’s other hand travels from your breast to firmly grip your chin, forcing you to look back at him. Your mouth opens at the way his dangerous, predatory eyes are swallowing you.

“Tell me, wife,” he murmurs. “Tell me what you want. Tell me, and I’ll give you all you’re wishing for.”

His fingers twist inside you, pressing against that spot that makes you cry out. Your back arches as your mouth falls agape; with greatest force you’re fighting the pleasure building in your core.

Why does this feel so good? He always ignites the fire inside of you, no matter how much you try to resist it.

You try to keep your lips sealed but it’s useless. The breath hitches in your throat as your mouth despite your will waters.

“S-stop…” you weakly protest, kicking your feet.

Eyes roll back into your skull. You can’t even register what he says to you anymore.

“Leave me… alone,” you choke out. You try to send him a death glare through your shoulder, but it’s in vain once you let out a pathetic whimper, trying not to come on the spot.

“Mm, that’s it,” he purrs, reveling in how your walls clamp around his fingers. “Keep fighting it, I don’t mind,” he chuckles.

You both know how it ends. He’s not the type to just stop after fingering his significant other. And most certainly he’s not the type to stay until morning. Instead, he only thinks about the work.

Perhaps this is the thing you’re the most scared about. And the reason to why you always throw a fit.

It’s not about the lack of your chemistry in bed – or anywhere else, in this case. You two are good in terms of it. But how he behaves after sex is just… You want to punch him sometimes.

His thumb presses harder against your clit as his fingers continue to stroke over and over your sweet spot. Your desperate whimpers and cries bounce off the walls, coloring your face bright red.

You’re getting close – both him and you know that. His free hand smoothly moves to grip your hip, holding you still as he increases the pace.

“Come for me,” he whispers into your ear with a husky voice. “Come for your husband. I want to feel you clench around my fingers.”

And you do. It’s like an order you cannot refuse.

A shudder runs through your body, your back arches off his chest. A choked moan escapes your lips. Your inner walls obediently tighten around his long fingers, your clit pulses wildly with the force of your climax.

Wesker works you a few more times, determined to pull every last drop of pleasure form your body. Your eyes close tight shut as he helps you ride down your high.

After a moment that seems like the eternity to you, you finally stop trembling. You tiredly slump back against his toned chest; your breath is broken and uneven as you hungrily gasp for the air.

Your husband removes his fingers from inside you, making you wince. You look up at him dazedly as he brings them to his lips and licks them with a satisfied smile.

“Delicious.” His voice rumbles in his throat as he admires your disheveled form.

You can’t help but gulp at how he sounds, praying he doesn’t hear it. A new blaze appears in your tummy. Perhaps you love hearing his voice as much as he does.

“Now, I think it’s time I got what I’m here for.”

Without giving you any warning, he stands up in the tub. Your eyes widen at the sight of his cock. You nervously lick your lips.

His manhood is fully erect, standing proud and thick in front of you. The tip is already red and leaking the precum. A part of you wants nothing more but to give him a blowjob; to apologize for how long you were denying him.

The problem is, the person this beautiful thing is attached to… Well, you’re still mad at him.

He reaches down and grabs you under the arms. Completely effortlessly he lifts you up and places you on the edge of the porcelain tub, making you let out a small surprised yelp.

Your legs are spread open now as your most intimate parts are glistening with your arousal. You see how your petals flutter around nothing and you look to the side, gnawing on your lip in embarrassment.

You bet he’s enjoying it. Making you face your own horny body is like the worst torture for you, and the best way to spend his time.

Wesker steps between your thighs. His hands move to grip your hips after he properly positions himself. A whimper escapes your lips as he presses the head of his hard cock into your wet entrance – not entering you yet, just teasing.

At this point you want nothing more but to sink below the water. The embarrassment in you reaches its peak.

Doggy was usually his favorite position so why do you need to face him now?! Does he intend to humiliate you…? Is that it?

“Now, dearheart,” he purrs. “I think we’re past this rebellious stage of yours. Ask for it like you always do.”

You know he’s right. You always break in the end. You’re helpless around him.

“You are the one who needs it, not me,” you mutter out with a pout.

Sure, you don’t mind fucking. But what you need more, is a loving husband doting on you. Someone who doesn’t trigger the unstable episodes in you. Someone with a secure attachment style… Not a motherfucker who disappears from home for days, without any information where to and then comes back as if nothing happened!

His eyes narrow dangerously at your defiant words. His grip tighten on your hips, making you squirm in pain.

“Is that so?” He tilts his head slightly as he presses the tip of his cock more firmly against your entrance. Your hands automatically grip his biceps, making him smile. “Then why are you already soaked for me, hm? Why are you dripping all over, waiting for me to put it in?”

His eyes soften for a moment, losing their usual darkness and unspoken threat lingering deep in them. It’s like he’s tormenting you. He wants you to find an answer when he perfectly knows that your mind can’t think of anything else but him now.

“I-I…” You look down sheepishly.

“You what?” he asks. His voice is filled with intensity as he eyes you up like a prey.

You don’t know what to say. With his firm manhood pressed against your hole, his fingers digging possessively into your hips and the impossible heat from the bath, it’s hard for you to form a proper sentence.

“That’s not–”

Well, you took too long for his liking. He grew impatient.

In one swift, brutal thrust, he buries himself inside you. A cry leaves in your lips as you throw back your head in a mixture of pleasure and pain. Normally you are used to his size, but he did it so suddenly, you had no time to adjust to it.

You can feel every vein and ridge of his cock as you clench your jaw, trying to accommodate him. Your breathing quickens, your legs wrap instinctively around his waist in case he threatens to drop you. And yes, he sometimes said that just to mess with you and feel you tighten around him.

“You’re so tight, so wet… So perfect,” he groans. His breath feels hot against your sweaty forehead. “It’s been so long, yet you still feel the way I remember,” he chuckles.

“Don’t say that,” you mumble out, hiding your face in the juncture between his neck and shoulder.

Still, it feels nice to have him nestled inside you again. You ought to give him that. You’ve missed him – despite how cool you’ve been trying to play it off.

His hands grip your hips more securely as he begins thrusting in and out of you. His movements are slow at first, letting you feel every inch of him. The water in the tub sloshes wildly around you two, splashing onto the floor as he carelessly increases the pace.

The loud sounds of skin slapping against the skin fill your ears, making you even more slick. Why do you need to be so lewd?

Well, whatever. At least it feels good. You may just as well go with the flow at this point. You grip his shoulders hard for the support as he drives in and out of you, pulling each delicious moan and cry out of you with each thrust.

You raise your face to look at him. He always looks attractive to you, but the most when he’s doing this. His usual composed façade fades away, leaving nothing but carnal lust.

His eyes meet yours as he seems to find as much pleasure in watching you as you in watching him. A breathless laugh leaves his lips as he tries to maintain the pace.

“What, dearheart? You’re not denying it anymore?” He swallows down and leans down to capture your lips in a demanding kiss.

You just shake your head, unable to form any other response among the sounds escaping your hoarse throat. At least you won’t give him a reason to tease you anymore or at least – you hope so at least.

His thrusts become more aggressive and possessive, as if he intends to claim you all over again; to shape you to his cock, rendering you broken for other men. It reminds you of your first night together.

His cock is twitching, alerting you of your husband’s building climax. After so many times you two did it, it’s hard for you to mistake it for anything else.

“Tell me you want me to come inside you,” he demands lowly. His voice only makes more of your wetness drip down your thighs.

His thumb works your clit, rubbing it fast in circles as he continues to thrust inside you. His other hand finds your chin and grips it firmly, keeping your gaze locked on his.

“No, never…!” Your protests die in your throat as he sends you flying for a second time.

For a moment, your vision flashes white and you let out a loud wail. You even forget where you are, as your toes curl in a mind-numbing pleasure.

“A-Albert…!”

The tremors overtake your body as your welcoming walls spasm around his cock. You grip his shoulders hard, clinging onto your dear life.

His thumb rubs your furiously pulsing clit as he helps you ride your high. Your head is trashing wildly in the aftershocks of your recent orgasm.

The remnants of your sanity must still somehow remain in you. As his pace becomes erratic, you dazedly look at him, pushing at his chest.

Your mouth struggles to form a coherent reply, but you manage to stutter out, “N-no, wait! Not inside…!”

But it’s too late now. He always fills you with his seed, no matter if you want it or not. He barely gives you any hickeys so it’s the way for him to stamp you with his signature; making all the world aware you’re his.

He sheathes himself deep inside with a final, brutal thrust and he comes. His cock pulses, painting your walls white with his hot, thick seed.

He’s trying to stifle the groan but it still escapes, boosting your ego. His head is tipped back as he pumps more and more of his sperm into you. His hips are jerking involuntarily into you with no abandon. You watch in mortification and dark fascination as his perfect image completely breaks. The more carnal and vulnerable side of him exposed to you and you can’t help but feel good about it.

Your fists rest weakly on his chest as you both are slowly coming down from your high. He uses you like his personal fleshlight and it gets on your nerves. Not because you don’t feel good when he does – it’s because you don’t know how to do the same to him. You lack the charisma and confidence he’s known for.

He keeps on rutting into you a few more times, making sure not a single drop is wasted. His cock starts to soften as you try to catch your breath.

After a long moment, the tremors in his body begin to subside and Wesker slumps forward, careful not to crash you. He can feel your slick body beneath him and the way the sweat on your skin slowly grows colder.

You can bet the bathwater is no longer warm now. The bath itself long forgotten as you two engaged in the act of debauchery.

He slowly pulls out of you and you almost fall off. The sheer force of your last orgasm turned your limbs into a molten gold and you have trouble using your legs.

You tiredly raise your eyes to look at him. You can feel your own juices combined with his sperm escaping your hole. He smirks, watching the dribbling mess between your thighs with the satisfaction.

“Mm, look at that,” he purrs smugly, marveling in how the mix of your fluids drips down your skin. “So much of my cum inside you. I wonder… Will you be able to keep it in once you get on your legs?”

What an asshole. You pout at him. He knows you’re in no condition to walk and still teases you about it.

He reaches down, running a finger through your wet folds. Then he brings your combined fluids to his lips and puts up a good show of licking it clean.

You gaze to the side, biting your lip. Stop embarrassing your wife: Challenge failed.

He doesn’t like that and he grips your cheeks, making you properly look at him. His eyes are locked on you, watching you with a predatory gleam.

He won again. But you don’t need to admit it.

“Tell me, wife,” he hums. “How does it feel to be thoroughly filled with your husband’s cum? Does it make it you feel claimed? Owned? Or perhapscontent?”

His voice sends shivers down your spine. Your hole flutters around nothing and you can’t help but squeeze your legs with each other.

You take too long to reply so he grips your hair and pulls your face closer to his. There’s no pain to it, at least not yet, but you still wince.

“Answer me.”

“Uncomfortable,” you mumble out. “I told you to pull out! You never listen to me.” You grit your teeth loudly in anger.

“You’ll get bruxism if you keep doing that, dearheart,” he says lightly. “I’ll strongly advise against it.”

He always plays the deaf one to your complaints. Especially when it concerns him coming inside you – he’s basically obsessed with it, rendering any attempts at stopping him useless. He rarely comes anywhere else than in one of your holes.

“Answer it, dearheart,” you hiss, splashing water in his direction and narrowing your eyes. Maybe what you said, wasn’t exactly a question but you still deserved a reply.

His eyes turn into thin slits, his jaw clenches at your words. His grip on your hair tightens, securing you in place.

“Never listen to you?” he laughs out; his voice is dripping with underlying resentment.

He lets you go harshly, standing up from the tub. Some of the remaining water sloshes around him.

What?! So now it’s all your fault?

“I just gave you two orgasms and filled you, oh, so generously with my cum,” he says with disbelief. “And yet you still have the audacity to complain?”

If he didn’t have the nerves of steel, he’d raise his voice now. But he knows that yelling doesn’t work on you – you’d just yell back louder at this point.

He turns back to you and a part of you want to slap his butt. Just out of spite – but you’re aware it won’t end up well for you. Not in this case.

He steps out of the tub and you watch how the water drips down his body. The sight is oddly erotic, despite you two being in the middle of the fight.

“Let me make something clear, _____,” he coldly states. “I don’t have to listen to you. I don’t have to ask for permission. You signed the agreement of your own voluntary will.”

He dries himself off with the towel, not giving you a single look. His eyes are glued to the foggy bathroom mirror.

“You are my wife, and as such, you are mine to do with as I please.” He wraps the towel around his waist.

You stare at him daggers from the bathtub. You should probably move now, but you prefer not to let him see how you struggle with walking. You’re not going to give the motherfucker the satisfaction.

“Now, you can sit there and sulk all you want. But it won’t change the fact you’re mine,” he adds with a cruel smirk.

He runs his hand through his hair, looking at you for a moment. Your eyes meet and you drop down your gaze awkwardly, breaking off the eye contact.

What? It’s not your fault his hair is disheveled now. He was the one who wanted to do it.

“Every inch of your body belongs to me. Never forget it.” With that, he turns to walk out of the bathroom.

“Tch, that’s so typical of you,” you growl, finally gathering the courage to stand up. “You always leave the mess behind for me to take care of!”

You throw the nearby towel at him, but he dodges it with the grace of the panther. You let out a loud sigh of annoyance.

Once again, he leaves you alone with your racing thoughts and the mess between your thighs.

***

He left you alone in the cold water and you weren’t sure whether to cry, rearrange the whole bathroom’s layout or slosh the water everywhere like a petulant child. You’re despise the way he makes you feel: vulnerable and helpless.

You sit there for a moment and, after taking a deep breath, you clean yourself up thoroughly. Then you pee just to make sure nothing ruins the sheets and wrap a towel around yourself.

The uncomfortable feeling still persists, the ache in your groins and thighs serve as a friendly reminder to what you two just did.

It happens a lot: He wants to fuck, you two fight, then he fucks you, you want to talk and… And the cycle continues – like a worn, cliché tape.

You close the door to the bathroom behind yourself and see him resting on your shared bed. Is he really read a book now?! You click your tongue in annoyance.

“Are you ignoring what just happened?”

He glances up from his book; one corner of his mouth curls as he looks at you. One-handedly he closes it smoothly with a soft thump, setting it aside on the nearby nightstand.

“Hmm? What’s the matter, wife?” he innocently asks as he leans back more comfortably against the headboard. He crosses his arms behind his head, eyeing you lazily like a satiated lion. “Did I forget to repair the sink? Or perhaps you need me to help you pick up the groceries?”

He knows fully well what he has done and pretends not to see it. You run your hand down your face as you try not to burst.

“No, wait a moment… I think I know exactly what’s bothering you,” he purrs with a smirk. “Could it be that your husband just reminded you where you belong? To whomyou belong?”

His voice is telling you he got pretty worked up too. You’ve started noticing the subtle change in his tone over the years living with him – whenever he’s mad or upset, you can catch onto that.

He stands up from the bed. His movements strike you as fluid and predatory as he approaches you. You feel small in front of him, having only a towel wrapped around your delicate frame.

“Or perhaps…” He grips your chin and tilts your head up to meet his gaze. You give him a challenging glare, not wanting to be any worse. “…you’re still mad that I made you come two times before you could even protest properly?”

His thumb brushes teasingly against your bottom lip. You bite the inside of your cheek, not giving in.

“Tell me, ____ …” His hand rests on your hip, pulling you closer despite your resistance. “What exactly are you asking me to acknowledge here?”

You gaze at him spitefully. Your eyes narrow, your heart starts hammering in your chest.

“You’re acting as if nothing happened,” you retort.

Your fingers grip the towel, making sure it doesn’t fall. That’s the last thing you need now.

“And you came inside!” you yell, thumping your leg like a bratty kid. “You know I’m not ready for a baby, but you still keep on doing that!”

The chances are low because you’re taking hormonal pills, but still. It would put you at ease to have him pull out. People should have babies when they’re ready to take responsibility for the other life; not under the heat of the moment.

You asked him so many times to not release the sperm inside. But it’s like your consent doesn’t really matter to him; for him, being his wife is the same as being his possession.

Wesker’s eyes flash with annoyance at your outburst. His clenches your chin tighter and leans in closer. His lips are so close, he could kiss you if he wanted.

“Not ready for a baby?” He smirks, his voice low and mocking. “I think we both know it’s not true, is it? Your body is more than capable of carrying my child.”

No. You still feel like a kid yourself. And you’re too mentally unstable for that!

“Besides, the last time I’ve checked, this is what the married couples do,” he nonchalantly states.

You shake your head, your mouth falls agape with disbelief. Did he tell you this just to piss you off? Or did really put a ring on you solely for this?!

His free hand travels down your hip to rest at your abdomen. His fingers are splayed over the soft surface of the towel.

“As for me spilling my seed inside you… well, that’s a husband’s right, isn’t it?” He tilts his head to the side with a cold smile. “You’re my wife. Therefore I’ll fill you up whenever and however I want.”

You tremble in anger in front of him. The tears gather in your eyes. What a misogynistic piece of shit.

He leans in closer, his lips brush against your ear as he speaks in low, calm voice like it’s a fact, “Your body, your womb… It’s all mine. And I mean to use it as I see fit.”

This is the last straw. Tears are running down your cheeks as he releases you from his hold and pulls away.

“Now, stop your petulant behavior and be a good wife.”

You pull away, shaking all over. This dominant tone of his, this stupid pride he has… It all drives you crazy.

But you don’t need any more of him humiliating and punishing you. You’re so fed-up with it. You don’t want to spend another fifty minutes in the bathroom peeing, sobbing and cleaning yourself up because he had to take it all out on you.

“As you wish,” you hoarsely reply and turn over to rush to the closet. Time for divorce. “I’m sleeping in the guest bedroom.”

You grab some of your clothes quickly so as to never step into this room ever again. If you can’t talk back, then at last you’ll make sure to give him a silent treatment until you meet in the court.

You’ve never filled out the form before but it should be easy. Easier than dealing with him.

His hand shoots out and grabs your wrist. His grip is like a piece of steel coiling around you before you can slip out of his reach. He yanks you back towards him.

“Oh no, you don’t,” he growls. He keeps you pressed against his chest, trapping you in his arms. “You’re not going anywhere, wife. And definitely not to sleep in a guest room.”

His other hand tangles in your hair, forcing you to look at him. Your eyes are filled with both fear and rage as you yelp in pain.

“Listen to me carefully, ____,” he hisses. He’s done with your disobedience. “You are my wife. And as such, it’s your duty to be by my side, in our bed, every single night.”

He shakes you, empathizing each word with a sharp tug to your hair. You cry out in pain, your face wet from tears.

You are his wife just like he is your husband. Maybe you two have never been a typical married couple – after all, his eyes look nowhere like normal – but at some point, he started going to work and return god-knows-when. And he’s never told you what he’s doing either!

You knew he was a privy man when you first met, but now… You realize he’s a literal fortress of the secrets.

“Really?” you give a breathless laugh. “So rich of you to say that, when you’re my husband and disappear for weeks, ugh… Then you come back without a word like nothing’s ever happened!”

You wince as he tightens his grip. A bad idea – a very bad idea.

“Don’t talk back to me,” he lowly says next to your face. “And don’t interrupt me mid-sentence.”

You gulp, too afraid to fight back. He’s really pissed off now.

“You don’t get to run away and sulk. You don’t get to punish me with silence. I won’t allow it,” he says through the teeth. “Now, drop these ridiculous notions of sleeping elsewhere and get back in our bed. Or face the consequences.”

His eyes narrow as he releases your hair. However, he is still gripping your wrist firmly, waiting for your response. The air between the two of you is heavy with the tension.

“O-okay,” you finally utter out. “Just… Just let me get pajamas from the closet.”

You wait for him to let go of you, knowing that any attempt at resisting is futile. He’s way stronger than you. He could snap your arm like a twig.

A moment of silence, then he sighs. His shoulders tighten for a short window of time, barely noticeably, and he releases your wrist.

When he speaks up again, his voice is less strained and calmer. The worst storm has already passed.

“Fine,” he says. His jaw is clenched tight as he take a step back from you. “Go and get it. But don’t take too long. I expect you in our bed within the next five minutes.”

He turns away from you and you see how his hands clench and unclench at his sides. Does he want to hit you? Your eyes darken.

“Think carefully before you speak again,” he warns through his shoulder. “Push me too far, and I won’t hesitate to put you back in your place… again.”

Of course he’d do. His paranoid need to control every little thing is destroying your life – both yours and his.

You’ve asked him about his past once but he seemed to be so sensitive about the topic, that you had to drop it. But you know: Something happened to him that broke him. That’s why he drinks power like salt water – it must give him a foolish sense of safety, all because he cannot swim.

A breath hitches in your throat as you shuffle through the clothes, trying to find the most normal, unsexy pajamas. Doing the deed again after the fight is the last thing on your mind.

You may love him, but a part of you hates what he’s doing to you. And that part today wins.

Your hands tremble as you hurriedly grab the pants and the top from the closet. This should be enough.

***

You close the bathroom door and change into the different clothes. Only now, you let yourself fully wail, weeping remorsefully over the situation you’ve found yourself in. You try to keep it down to not let him know, but it’s useless – the damage is already done.

After you finally calm down, you spray your face with the cold water. The soft towel presses soothingly against your skin as you try to get rid of every trace your tears left.

You carefully brush your hair; now even messier thanks to the harsh way he tugged onto it.

Then you quickly brush your teeth and look in the mirror to make sure the same strong woman you know, gazes at you from the reflection. The bile in your throat is present though – the mix of disgust and bitterness he made you feel.

You leave the bathroom and clumsily climb down into bed. You lie down in the very corner, facing away from him.

You don’t want to see his face; not now when he hurt you so deeply.

You vaguely hear his sigh and the mattress shifts under his weight. You close your eyes, curling your form, afraid of another blow.

A part of you hopes for him to scooch closer to you: To kiss away your tears and to hug you as he promises to talk about it tomorrow. That’s what couples in the romcoms usually do.

But this is the reality. And he’s nowhere close to the Prince Charming you once thought he was.

[zwlsjp]

i really thought there would be a rise of thragg smut with the new season of invincible im so disappointed