Lovey

I covet coated love in powdered sugar, so stitch me with satin and sweet sighs.

[loveyline]

I am always open to requests, all content included, I also love personal interaction outside of writing requests, feel secure and open to anything on this blog, don't hesitate to send one or one hundred asks, spam is welcomed, and anonymous asks are on. If you would like more details, my guidelines are below.

‪‪‪‪‪‪❤︎ ~ Guidelines ~ Click Me

‪‪‪‪‪‪❤︎ ~ Masterlists ~ Click Me

[loveyline]

‪‪‪‪‪‪❤︎ ~ Pairing ~ Albert Wesker/Reader

‪‪‪‪‪‪❤︎ ~ Summary ~ Headcanons of Albert being an invasive and manipulative partner.

‪‪‪‪‪‪❤︎ ~ Content tags ~ Safe For Work, Gender Neutral Reader, Obsessive Behaviours, 'Yandere' Behaviours, Mentions of Spying, Mentions of Breaking and Entering, Suggestions of Discomfort.

He knows you better than you know yourself. All your little tells, if you bite your lip when you're anxious or if you avoid eye contact when you're lying, it's all catalogued in the storage of his mind. He can read you like an open book, and he loves nothing more than to exploit his knowledge. That fact makes him constantly crave to know more, not to mention he'll use it to make you more agreeable. If his prolonged eye-contact makes you a little weak in the knees and gets you a little nervous for him, It gives him that opportunity to apply some preassure, to make you mindlessly agree in a quick effort to get away from his staring.

Locked doors, windows, and drawers are trivial obstacles for him. They don't stop him, they don't even slow him down. Your home is a focal point, and if he wants in, he's getting in. It doesn't matter if you're home or not, or even if you're sleeping. He lets himself in and makes himself comfortable, any attempts to argue about it are met with a dismissive comment, he's your partner, it's his right to be in your space. Just give him a key. It's much easier for both of you. As though it's about convenience and not about his desperate need to infiltrate every facet of your life to fulfil some deep-seated need for control. Your behaviour of panicking when you find him in your home unexpectedly is ridiculous. The fact he broke in is irrelevant, a couple should naturally be comfortable with eachothers presence, learn to accept his. It's quickly turned into a flaw of yours instead of his should you be displeased with him breaking and entering. He loves to rearrange things too. Not in a malicious way, but in a way that's almost more unnerving, he'll put the sugar back in a different cabinet, or he'll move your favourite mug to a different shelf. Small, subtle changes that bring him minor satisfaction, and leave you noticing the proof of his presence he purposely produces overwhelming evidence of.

Your phone is a whole bundle of information, so naturally he has your password, as well as previously obtaining an in-person copy of your fingerprints, though getting that was... unrelated to getting into your phone. He absolutely considers installing a rootkit the second you leave any device unattended. He's going to read every message, sent and received. He'll check your call history, your search history, your location history, anything at his disposal is being invaded. Hell, he'll even go through your watch history on your TV. He's not looking for anything incriminating, he's just satisfying a gnawing curiosity, he needs to know everything there is to know about you. If he manages to convince you to willingly give him your password, you lose any form of argument that he is violating your privacy, he will quickly shut down any suggestions of it by reminding you of the fact you gave it to him, even if it was only a one time use for something as simple as making a call.

Though, despite him highly abusing the use of his information on you and his ways of obtaining it, it has a benefit, he finds it incredibly intimate. That level of trust and vulnerability, being invited into the private of your life, it's something he appriciates deeply, but also something he can't help but to twist for his own purposes. He does love you very much. By chance, what's the combination to your diary? You'll tell him, won't you?

[loveyline]

‪‪‪‪‪‪❤︎ ~ Pairing ~ Leland Coyle/Reader

‪‪‪‪‪‪❤︎ ~ Summary ~ In honour of my lovely @letternotekisses birthday today, a short drabble about her favourite Ex-pop chasing you down on your birthday.

‪‪‪‪‪‪❤︎ ~ Content tags ~ Not Safe For Work, Gender Neutral Reader, Implications Of Blood And Death.

Boots struck the tiles of the police station, an aggressive rhythm that rivalled your frantic heartbeat. The cluttered mess of the trial environment continuously overwhelmed your vision, hindering your ability to spot an escape as you ran. You rounded a corner, skidding on a slick patch leaking from an unresponsive Reagent. You didn't want to linger on it. His voice, a low amused growl, slithered from behind, catching up to you fast.

"Running out of puff, birthday bitch? Don't want your present?" Coyle called, the cheer in his throat was far more terrifying than any angry shout. You risked a glance back. He was close enough you could see the sadistic glee crinkling the corners of his eyes.

"Aw, look at you." he cooed. "All flushed and excited. Can't wait to see what I got you, huh?"

His laugh was a raw hacking sound, harsh against the air. He wasn't just chasing you, he was savouring this, drawing out the anticipation.

"Look at you run you sexy bitch! I'm gonna give you the gift that keeps on giving, you hear? A thick, white, creamy birthday surprise all over that pretty face, and you're gonna fucking thank me for it!"

[loveyline]

if you write for overwatch, could you do some sigma hcs or a little blurb with a fem reader who's much smaller than him, suggestive if you're okay with that ^^

‪‪‪‪‪‪❤︎ ~ Pairing ~ Sigma/Reader

‪‪‪‪‪‪❤︎ ~ Summary ~ Sigma's inner thoughts on the size difference between you both and how it makes his mind wander.

‪‪‪‪‪‪❤︎ ~ Content tags ~ Suggestive, Not Safe For Work, Size Difference.

Of course he isn't unaware of the differences in your sizes... how could he be? His body is one of extraordinary power and large mass, it envelops you completely. The difference is blunt, something he absorbs and files away with a quiet detachment. At least... that was his intention at first. But observation for him is never passive, it's an act of understanding and of unravelling every little detail. And he quickly begins to notice things like the way you have to tilt your head back, making that satisfying arch in your neck just to meet his view. He finds it compelling, hypnotic even. He'll purposefully stand closer than necessary just to see it, that difference he finds so oddly satisfying.

It's only natural that a man like him when presented with a new fascination, is compelled and even intrusive in his study, he needs to map the landscape of you completely. His hands, when he eventually gives in and allows them to touch, don't just skim the surface, they're insatiable in their exploration. He has them span your waist, his long fingers practically trembling in anticipation as they brush over your hips. He's astounded by the warmth of your skin, aroused by the soft squish of your flesh beneath his touch, and he doesn't shy in telling you it all, and just how enchanting he finds you.

He'll run the broad flat pressure of a palm down the slope of your back. He'll trace the skin of your collarbones with his fingers, fascinated by the structure that lies just beneath your skin, and when he kisses you, he has to stoop. The sheer action of it in the way he must contort himself, it's invigorating.

When he finally has you beneath him, his body crushing your smaller frame is an exquisite kind of pressure. His mind settled on images of his hips nestled between your thighs, spread and strained wide to accommodate him. He's consumed by the thought of it, the maddening duality of that stretch, the potential for it to border on discomfort only for that sudden, breathtaking shift into pleasure. How astounding you are.

He's often so preoccupied by his mental rambling that he almost misses how much delight he derives from simply holding your face in his hands. The way your jaw fits so perfectly into his palm, your cheek resting against him, such a simple act of containment brings such a profound, grounding peace. Truly his world in the palm of his hand. Yet that grounding can so easily be lifted by glancing at your lips. That inner wet heat and all the ways he could breach it.

[loveyline]

Hi! Never really request so bear with me. I had an idea for a scenario of S.T.A.R.S Wesker. Reader is part of the team and comes back from a call in the city and is slightly in shock/traumatised from what happened, Wesker as the team leader comforts her/lets her sleep in the break room? Hope that makes some sense. Just an idea I had, feel free to change things up❤️

‪‪‪‪‪‪❤︎ ~ Pairing ~ Albert Wesker/Reader

‪‪‪‪‪‪❤︎ ~ Summary ~ After a traumatic mission leaves you disturbed and unable to handle silence, your Captain finds you staying behind in the break room, instead of the cold authority you expected, he offers something different and more comforting.

‪‪‪‪‪‪❤︎ ~ Content tags ~ Female Reader, Safe For Work, Comfort, Mentions Of Mental Distress, Mentions Of Death, Mentions Of Blood, Implied Romantic Feelings, Implied Favouritism.

It’s the quiet that gets to you, not the screaming, not the blood and not the sight of a life ending with a sickening smack on the wet rainy pavement. No, you can handle all of that, it’s expected, it’s part of the job. That's how you handle it, at work you can take it, it's easier to stay distracted on duty when you have more to do... But the quiet that comes after the silence, that makes it too easy to think about it all, that’s the thing that empties you out, even just the dread of it strikes your nerves.

You’re sitting in the break room, the cheap coffee in your mug long ago gone cold, but it's solid, simple but grounding against your hands. When you got back you hadn’t even bothered to strip off your tactical vest, just sitting still ever since your return, staring at a point on the floor in thought. The lights above hum white noise, only just enough to balm over the racing of your mind. The smell of antiseptic is always constant in the precinct, but tonight it seems especially suffocating, the type of strength that becomes part of a future memory of a traumatic flashback.

You hear footsteps, sharp and decisive, the same kind that makes everyone in the building straighten their spine, as a conditioned response to a certain man. They stop by the door, but you don't look up, you know who it is.

"Report." The word is clipped, cold business as usual, he is the captain after all. The captain who expects everyone to be better than this, to be stronger, the insecurity only worsens you.

You try to find your voice but it’s been a while since you've used it, your throat left dry from misuse and your chest hollow from the job. "Sir," you manage to force the title out, your voice weak. "We're all accounted for, but we lost a few civilians at the scene."

There's a pause between you, the silence stretching, awkward and uncomfortable. You expect to be dismissed with an order to pull yourself together, but instead you hear the soft click of the door locking. The sound makes you lift your head curiously, he's still standing there, a figure of discipline and control. You'd be envious if you weren't so tense. He pulls up a chair in front of you, the scrape of it on the floor too loud in the room, making the silence too exaggerated. He doesn't sit close, leaving a respectful distance, but from him, the act of sitting down beside you in the locked break room feels significant, scandalous even. He looks at you, not with the pity you'd expect from someone else, but with some sort of assessment. "The debrief can wait." he says, his voice lower now, calm and stripped of its usual commanding edge. "You need to rest."

"I can't," you bitterly mumble, the word scraping your throat. "I'd rather just do the work. I can't sleep lately, my house is too quiet. It just makes my mind wander." The confession comes out before you can think to stop it. You’re not sure why you’re admitting this to him of all people, the man carved from ice and ambition. Not to mention a terror to everyone, though... perhaps a little less to you. Maybe that's why. That hint of leniency he’d always shown you, the faintest whisper of favouritism so subtle it sometimes made you question if it was really there.

He watched you for a long moment, a considering look crossing his features. "What is it that your mind wanders to?" He asks, the question not what you were expecting. You were expecting... anything else, not an invitation to talk, he'd never do that for any of the others.

You shake your head, unable to pinpoint where to start in the messy bundle of doubt, insecurity and failure. "I don't know, It's just the usual. Repeating it all in my head, endlessly replaying where I went wrong. I just can't help but question if there was something more I could've done." Your gaze falls back to the floor, to the scuff marks and the stains. "I'm doing everything I'm told, but it feels like it's not enough, that everyone else is effortlessly doing better. I'm trying to be a good officer, I swear I am."

He leans forward, resting his forearms on his knees, the respectful distance closing noticeably. "Good people question their performance, it means they care, it means they will be better next time. The mind seeks patterns and it replays our actions. It's a process of self-correction."

His explanation makes it sound manageable, less like a failure. "I guess so." you murmur, the trembling in your hands lessening slightly as you think over his points.

"Rest is not optional, it is a tactical necessity and a mind deprived of it is compromised." He stands up, he doesn't offer any pity or empty reassurances. He offered logic only. And it worked, it reassured you in the way a hug couldn't. "You can not stay here. This is a public space. Someone could walk in at any moment."

"Yeah, I'll head home soon." You state, exhaustedly. You don’t move yet though, the idea of the long drive and then that silence, the loneliness is a weight too heavy to lift just yet, you need another coffee.

"No." The single word is firm, a command that still lacks the cruelty he uses towards others. "Driving is out of the question." He glances at the clock on the wall, then back at you. "Come with me."

It's not a request. You push yourself up from the chair, your muscles protesting. You follow him out of the break room, and he leads you to a familar door, his office. He unlocks it and pushes it open, stepping aside with an expectant look at you to enter. He closes the door behind you both, the click of the lock echoing with a finality that feels both anxiety inducing and strangely safe.

"Sit." he says, gesturing to the sofa pushed against the far wall. You do as you're told. He doesn't sit at his desk, instead, he stands in front of you, his gaze dropping to the straps of your tactical vest. There's a beat of silence, and a charged stillness in the air, you expect him to order you to take it off yourself and to get yourself together before the drive home, but he doesn't. He moves closer, kneeling down onto one knee in front of you, making your breathing uneven, a tell that he'd flustered you which you hoped hadn't been obvious. He didn't react.

You swing your legs up, lying back and the sofa is surprisingly comfortable, the cool leather a refreshing releif to the anxious heat of your skin. Your eyes drift shut and the exhaustion you'd been fighting is left finally catching up with you. A blanket is placed over you before you hear the soft scrape of his chair being pulled across the floor and the low hum of his computer starting up. You don't open your eyes. You just listen to the satisfying sounds of him working, the tap of his keyboard and the occasional rustle of paper.

He was close enough now that you could feel the faint warmth radiating from him. His hands moved with precision, not hesitating in the slightest while reaching for the straps, the sound of the velcro ripping open sounding loud in the quiet of the office, only slightly diffusing how overwhelmingly intimate it had become. It's over in seconds, the vest removed and in his hands, but it had felt much longer. He stands, placing it neatly on the floor by the sofa. "There. Now lie down."

[loveyline]

Hello! I lovee the way you write for Wesker! If you don’t mind, could you write another one kind of like the first one, hurt/comfort?

Wife!reader feels like he doesn’t love her anymore and only sees her as test subject for all his experiments and research. She soon starts to feel insecure of herself, wonders what happened to the Albert she married, and even misses his baby blues before they turned reptile-like. She doesn’t hate him now, she will always love him, and she makes that clear to him in the argument that arises after confronting him. She didn’t mean to start an argument, she just wanted to know why he was treating her so differently and if he still loves her, but he takes offense to her questions. The argument gets pretty bad, and in the height of it she says things like “I’m sick of your stupid science stuff, you’ve turned so cold” “I have feelings you know. Not everything is all about science, I’m a human being with a soul and conscience, not a brute beast who acts solely on instinct!” Then maybe she starts crying and runs off.

‪‪‪‪‪‪❤︎ ~ Pairing ~ Albert Wesker/Reader

‪‪‪‪‪‪❤︎ ~ Summary ~ Living in the shadow of Albert's work has slowly turned your marriage cold. Are you even still his wife, or just here for clinical observation? You can no longer ignore it and the tension finally breaks.

‪‪‪‪‪‪❤︎ ~ Content tags ~ Female Reader, Established Relationship, Mentions Of Experimentation, Starting Angst, Ending Comfort, Safe For Work.

The laboratory lights hummed over you, a sterile and clinical sound that had recently become the soundtrack to this marriage. You stood in the doorway watching his back as he hunched over a microscope, his shoulders rigid beneath the crisp white of his lab coat. He hadn't looked up when you entered, hadn't acknowledged your presence in the ten minutes you'd been standing there, you felt, no you were insignificant. This was his love now, a world of test tubes and the cold, hard pursuit of perfection, and you… you as a spouse had been deteriorated to just another variable in his grand experiment.

"Albert?" you called, your voice a whisper afraid to shatter the fragile silence, maybe more afraid of even just your voice facing rejection. He didn't respond. His gloved hands moved with precision, adjusting a knob and making a note on the tablet beside him. The tapping of the stylus on the glass was the only answer you got it made your heart sink, a familiar nauseating drop settling in your belly. You remembered a time when that sound would have been the scratch of a pen on a notepad as he jotted down plans for a weekend getaway, now it was just another piece of data, now he didn't want time with you. You took a hesitant step forward, your feet purposefully silent on the cool floor. "Can we talk for a minute?"

"Can't you see I'm occupied?" His voice was flat, a mournful contrast to the rich subtle tones that used to send shivers down your spine, it was the same voice, but hollowed out. The question was so dismissive, indescribably painful. "I know. You're always occupied." The words slipped out before you could stop them, laced with a bitterness you hadn't realized you'd been harbouring filled a resentful dig back at him to match the feelings he caused, even if unintentional.

He straightened up at that, turning his head slightly, just enough for you to catch the sliver of his inhuman iris of an eye. "My work is of paramount importance, you should understand that by now."

"I do," you insisted, your hands clenching into the fabric at your sides to seek any steadying form. "I understand that your work is more important than anything, more important than me."

That got his full attention. He turned completely, and the force of his gaze was enough to make you want to take a step back and give up on the whole idea of communicating. His features were perfect, unnerving, carved and devoid of the subtle lines that used to appear. The only reminiscence of the man you'd married was the stubborn set of his jaw. The eyes, they were the worst part, utterly alien. You found yourself missing the blue of his old eyes. Now, they were just… proof of what you lost. Reptilian. "That is a ridiculous and emotional assertion," he said, his tone dripping with condescension. "My work benefits us both. It secures our future."

"Our? Do you actually see me in your future or just my DNA?" The question hung in the air between you, frustrated and dangerous. You hadn't meant to say it like that, but the words had been building up inside you for months, a pressuring weight of doubt and insecurity.

A muscle in his jaw tightened. "Watch your tone. Your insinuations are illogical, you are my wife."

"Am I?" you shot back, your own voice rising with a pent-up frustration. "Because wives usually get to see their husbands. They talk, they eat meals together, they sleep in the same bed! You draw my blood, you monitor my vitals and make notes on your tablet about my 'adaptability'. I'm not a person to you anymore, I'm a data point!"

He took a step toward you, his presence overwhelming even from a few feet away. The lab suddenly felt smaller, the air thicker. "You are being hysterical, my observations are crucial for ensuring—"

"I don't care about your stupid science stuff!" you yelled, cutting him off, yhe dam of your composure had finally broken. Tears welled in your eyes, blurring the harsh lines of his face. "I'm sick of it! You've turned so cold, all you talk about is this research. What happened to you, what happened to the man I married? The man who used to hold my hand and tell me he loved me?!"

"That man was weak," he said, his voice dropping. "A limited, fragile human. I have transcended that. I have become… more."

"You've become a monster!" You sobbed the accusation. "I have feelings, you know. I'm a human being, not another one of your lab samples. I'm supposed to be your wife!" The silence that followed was deafening enough to drown out the hum of the equipment. You stood there, chest heaving with tears streaming down your burning face. You saw his jaw clench, his expression hardening into indifference.

"And I am your husband," he stated as if it were a simple, unchangeable fact. "And as your husband, I require your compliance, not your sentimentality. This outburst is counterproductive."

The words stung, but your mind lingered on the certainty in his tone his confidence in his status in your marriage, the narcissism. But it wasn't unchangeable, you had to make it known. "I can't do this anymore, Albert. I want out."

"No." The word was absolute, a gavel coming down. There was no anger in it, no shock, only finality, all said as if scolding a child acting-out. "Your emotional distress is clouding your judgment. You will go to our room and calm down, we will discuss this when you are no longer being irrational." He dismissed you with a look, turning back to his microscope as if your feelings were a minor inconvenience.

A choked, half disbeliving laugh escaped your lips. "You can't be serious."

"I am always serious."

You didn't go to your room, you'd go somewhere, but not there. You didn't want to do as he said, to give him the satisfaction of obedience. You couldn't bear the thought of that room, with its meticulously made bed and the wardrobe where his clothes hung beside yours. That room was just as much a part of him as his laboratory. It was a place he went to sleep, to recharge and maintain the body that held his god complex.

You had stood there in silent outrage for a few more seconds before the dam broke with hot tears, and you ran to the bathroom. You wanted to be able to shut yourself away, the flimsy lock on the door was the closest thing to reassurance. Leaning against the cold wood, you'd finally let the sobs rip through you raw and ragged, each one an angry denial of the love you still held for him, you didn't hate him. The love was too deep, too entwined with every memory you held, but you hated what the marriage had become, you hated how unloved you felt. Does he love you less? He must. Or has he become a person who's not capable of loving? Really a preferable choice, you don't want to be unloveable. You'd rather it be him, not you, you were certain it was, but insecurity never seems to stop its nagging lately.

Time bled into a meaningless stretch of muffled crying and staring at the bathroom tiles, qny hope that he might come and that he might still care died. He would have followed by now, he would have pounded on the door demanding you open it. His silence was an answer, it was the same dismissive silence he'd given you in the lab. You were an inconvenient variable and now that you had removed yourself from the equation, he could return to his work. You lost all your energy, the house was so quiet but you could still hear the faint hum of the lab equipment through the walls, a constant reminder of the rival you would never be able to compete with.

The click of the bathroom lock was so loud in the silence that you jumped. The door swung inward by his figure filling the doorway, he hadn't knocked, of course. Another reason you gave yourself to remain closed-off as he stepped inside shutting the door behind him. The previously secure space suddenly made you feel captive, charged with the terrible energy left after a fight. He looked analytical, his gaze swept over you not with concern, but with a curiosity.

"I gave you an instruction," he said, his voice dangerously quiet.

You stared up at him, your vision blurry with tears. "I'm not one of your test subjects, Albert. You don't get to give me instructions."

He crouched down, bringing himself to your level, the movement was unnervingly fluid, a predator getting comfortable. "No," he agreed softly, a terrifying intimacy in his tone, a shocking duality to your expectations. "You're far more valuable than that." He reached out to gently brush a stray strand of hair sticking to your damp cheek. His touch was clinical, his fingers cool against your skin. "I can attempt to rectify the upset I have caused." he said, a subtle emphasis on the word 'attempt'. He was trying, that was something. But that something didn't stop the new wave of fresh tears once again pouring out.

You flinched away, but he didn't pull back. His fingers lingered for a moment before he dropped his hand with a sigh. "You don't understand what I'm doing," he continued, his voice a low, persuasive rumble. "You see cold experiments and data points. I see… permanence."

"Permanence?" You scoffed. "What are you talking about?"

"I am ensuring our future together," he said, with the same unshakable conviction he used to discuss his research. "Human life is a brief, flickering candle, fragile. Susceptible to disease, to age, to a chaotic world. We could lose so much of our limited future, all because of a failing cellular structure, I am eliminating that variable. For you. For us."

Your life was his research, you. He was talking about it like it was a problem to be solved, but beneath the factual detachment, there was a hint of something else. A motive that was rooted in affection.

"Albert," you whispered, your throat tight and sore. "You can't just play god because you're afraid of losing me."

"I am not afraid," he corrected, a hint of that old arrogance returning in his denial. "I am taking control, I am trying to make you better. Stronger, like me, so that we never have to face a future without each other. So we can have eternity, not a handful of decades."

The revelation hung in the air heavy and bittersweet, all while relieving. He wasn't just a cold scientist, he was a terrified husband who had found the solution to the fear of mortality. He hadn't stopped loving you, he loved you so much that he was willing to dismantle your humanity to keep you.

"You should have told me," you choked out, the tears starting to slow, leaving your cheeks hot and heavy. "You should have just talked to me."

"I am talking to you now," he said, his gaze unflinching. "And I see my miscalculation, my methods have caused you distress. That was not my intention." He shifted, moving from a crouch to sit on the floor beside you, an action so unusual it sent a jolt through you. The great Albert Wesker, sitting on the bathroom floor. The world felt like it was ending.

"Your emotional state is a variable I have failed to account for properly." he admitted, it was the closest he could get to a sorry. "I have operated under the assumption that the future result would justify any present discomfort. I see now that I cannot ignore your current suffering for the sake of our future."

He looked away, toward the tiled wall, as if the sterile surface held the answers he couldn't find within himself. "The man you married he was adept at expressing affection. Small, meaningless gestures, flowers and empty words." He paused, searching for the right phrase. "I have found such things to be inefficient, but they are not meaningless, not to you."

"I miss him, I miss your eyes."

"He is gone," he stated, but there was no finality in his tone this time, it was a fact he was stating to himself as much as to you. "And he is not coming back."

"I know," you whispered, wiping a tear from your cheek with the back of your hand. "I'm starting to understand that, but the man who's here, I don't know him. I don't know what you want from me."

He was quiet for a long moment, the silence stretching between you, taut with unspoken words. He shifted, turning his body more fully toward yours, a subtle closing of the distance. "I want what I have always wanted." he said, his voice lower now. "You. I want an eternity with you."

[loveyline]

I'm currently writing two Wesker asks I received, but I would love some more, if anyone is interested in asking for something feel free to fill my inbox! Currently I've written for Resident Evil, Outlast and Overwatch, though I’ll also be writing for Dead By Daylight. I'm also open to Genshin Impact, I haven't played in a year, but I've seen some very good writing which has me tempted, so don't be shy to ask.

[loveyline]

‪‪‪‪‪‪❤︎ ~ Pairing ~ Junkrat/Reader

‪‪‪‪‪‪❤︎ ~ Summary ~ What starts as a degrading and taunting bit of foreplay between you and Junkrat quickly turns into something awkward as you're caught. (I wanted to write something short and fun between asks, definitely not based on the Junkfood skin because of the icing and cherry on the boot, I was tempted by the ring-pop too but left it out.)

‪‪‪‪‪‪❤︎ ~ Content tags ~ Gender Neutral Reader, Boot Licking, Suggestive, Mentions Of Sex, Sexual Humor, Walked In On, Established Relationship, Roadhog Cameo, Playful Tone, Light Dom/Sub Vibes.

Your tongue flicked out, a wet thing against the fabric of his boot. The taste was immediate and overwhelming. Pure, sickening chemically sweet sugar that coated your entire mouth, so thick and cloying it rested in your throat. It was the kind of sweetness that burnt your tongue and prickled at the back of your mouth. Above you, he let out a ragged gasp, a sharp hitching sound was half a laugh and half something far more sultry.

"Ooh, that's the ticket!" he mostly moaned out, the words shuddering through his body to the sole of the boot and up into your jaw. "Get it good! Don't miss a spot."

His prosthetic tapped an erratic, impatient rhythm against the floor. The sound was excited. You could feel the tremors running up his leg, a vibration that screamed of tightly wound springs just about to snap.

You licked harder trying to please him, trying to follow the command. The icing was thick, sharp shards of sugar scratching against your tongue and resisting your efforts. You had to use the flat of your tongue with broad and slow strokes to peel it away, something he seemed especially delighted by. He tapped his left foot, lifting it up, accidentally causing the icing to smear across your waiting lips.

"Waste not, want not," he chirpped, his voice cracked slightly as he tapped it back down emphasising his taunt, the bastard did it on purpose. "Clean that up for me, will ya love?" The audacity. Was incredibly sexy, but still shit-eating. "And the rest too. Don't wanna have sticky boots now, do I?"

The room's door groaned open.

It wasn't loud or fast movement. It was painfully slow, a heavy thing that scraped against the floor, creaking on it's hinges while you both counted-down getting caught, too panicked and still to do anything about it. The sudden rush of outside air was cool against the room you'd both been heating up. Junkrat froze. The tapping stopped. You both went utterly still. The only sound was the wet, slick noise of the icing falling off your tongue, back onto the sticky boot.

Roadhog stood in the doorway, a massive imposing dark silhouette against the light of the hallway. He didn't move, he didn't speak. He just stood there, breathing, incredibly heavily. Neither of you could actually see his gaze, but you could feel it heavy, a physical weight as it settled on you both, you kneeling on the floor on all fours, your face buried in Junkrat’s ridiculous, icing-covered boot as he sat there like a smug prick, and the cherry on top.

A full ten seconds of quiet stretched out, suffocating, only heavy breathing audible.

Finally, Junkrat let out a high, nervous laugh. "Just... getting a bit of a polish is all!" He wiggled the boot you were... servicing. "The old thing gets scuffed something terrible you know? Can't have that can we? Not with my reputation!"

With the same silent painful slowness, he reached out taking the doorknob, and pulling the door shut, far too slowly, just staring.

Silence...

"Can we still have sex?"

[loveyline]

need ethan winters to save me from the clutches of karl heisenburg 🙏🙏 (but not really because they both fine) love your stuff 😫🫶

‪‪‪‪‪‪❤︎ ~ Pairing ~ Ethan Winters/Reader, Karl Heisenberg/Reader

‪‪‪‪‪‪❤︎ ~ Summary ~ You're left tied up while an unwanted intruder is dealt with, but the situation takes an unexpected turn when the intruder finds you first, and tries to play the hero. Unfortunately for him, Karl doesn’t take kindly to people touching what’s his, unfortunately for Karl it's not only him you find irresistible.

‪‪‪‪‪‪❤︎ ~ Content tags ~ Gender Neutral Reader, 'Captured' Reader, Possessive Heisenberg, Suggestive Themes, Light Bondage, Safe For Work, Thirsty Reader.

The scrape of metal on concrete echoed through the hall, a grating sound that made your teeth ache and body cringe. Each scrape was punctuated by a grunt of effort from the man lugging you. Your legs were useless things that refused to hold your weight, hanging below you. You had tried to use them, only to wobble and wince, the night before had proven strenuous. Your wrists were currently bound behind your back with a coarse rope that bit into your skin, the action a dramatic declaration of ownership.

"Come on now, don't be a dead weight," a voice rumbled above you, deep and coated in the tar of cheap cigars. It vibrated through his chest, a low thrum that you felt as much as heard. "I've barely had a chance to use you. Not even broken a sweat, and you're already giving up on me?" A chuckle. "So fragile today."

You were carried in one arm, folded at the waist and held tight under his arm. It was an undignified position to say the least, your head and legs left dangling down his side, treated like a bag of supplies. He raised his free hand to harshly spank your ass. "Still with me honey?" The hit wasn't too hard but had enough force to make you jolt.

"I'm here," you mumbled, the words slurring from how your head bobbed with each of his long strides. "I'm exhausted."

"Well, that's a shame. I was hoping later we could have a game of a chase. Makes the reward all the more satisfying." He adjusted his grip, shifting you higher up his torso, the motion a rough jolt. "We're here."

He stopped before a heavy steel door, scuffed and dented, with a wheel lock in the center like something from a safe. He let go of you, surprisingly gentle as he let you slump to the floor in a slow paced slide. You huffed, looking up at him as he fumbled with the lock.

"You know," you started, fiddling with the loose strands of rope, "I might have a habit of wandering off, but it's only to wind you up, this is rather dramatic. What is it you're going off to do anyway?"

He grunted as the lock finally gave, a heavy click echoing. "Don't you worry about that, sunshine." He heaved the door open, revealing a dark room smelling of oil, metal filings and something metallic and coppery. "Just a little pest control."

He hefted you up again, this time over his shoulder. The world tipped, the floor becoming a new sky, though only for a short second, before he dumped you unceremoniously onto a wooden chair in the center of the room. He was quick, using another length of rope to secure your torso to the chair back, your ankles to the chair legs. The knots were tight, cautious. Not just for show, like tying a dog to a lampost, desperate not to lose it. He leaned in close, the cloying scent of tobacco and sweat filling your senses.

"Now, how about for a change, you sit here and be a good little thing for Karl," he breathed, calloused fingers tilted your chin up, his thumb brushed over your lower lip. "I'll be back for you soon. And when I am, I'll see if I can continue putting those pretty legs to work again, properly."

He straightened back up, a smirk playing on his lips as he gave you a final lingering look. He left you, the heavy steel door clanging shut behind him and the lock engaging with a flat thud. The silence that followed was weighted, broken by the drip of something wet in a dark corner. You tested your bonds with an impatient huff. It's not like you truly wanted to leave, your relationship was entirely willing, you'd been equally as lustful towards him as he was to you, always unable to resist thirsting for the man, but the consequences you'd face from him if he caught you were... appealing. A temptation you regularly found yourself giving into to taunt him, a temptation causing your current predicament of having to be... contained. You wiggled, the ropes biting deeper.

And that's when you heard a different sound, the creak of the heavy door much quieter this time, the work of someone trying to be stealthy. You were alert, your head snapping towards it, a sliver of light widened and stretched across the room as the door was pushed open and a figure slipped inside. A man dressed in scuffed-up jeans and a worn jacket. His hair was a mess, and in one hand he held a small metallic flashlight that cut another beam of light through the room.

His eyes found yours wide and earnest and filled with a genuine concern. "Oh my god," he whispered rushing to your side. "Are you okay? Don't worry, I'm getting you out of here." He fumbled with the ropes at your wrists, his fingers clumsy but determined. "My name's Ethan. Ethan Winters. I'm here, I'll help you."

Ethan. You could only assume this was the man Karl had called 'pest'. He certainly looked the part. A pretty moth drawn to a flame, a well-meaning, handsome idiot stumbling into the spider's web. You could have told him to stop. You could have told him you were exactly where you wanted to be, that he was merely interrupting foreplay. But looking at his face, the words died in your throat, he had a face, and the sweet sense of care to make you weak.

"Thank you..." The words trailed off, muttered out in a distracted whisper as you admired his features.

Ethan finally managed to undo the knots around your wrists, moving to your ankles his touch was surprisingly gentle, only serving to fluster you more. He was completely focused, his brow furrowed in concentration and you stayed perfectly still for him, he was a hero after all, it would be rude not to let him play the part. He freed your ankles, then helped you to your feet. Your legs still trembled, a real enough ache from earlier activities,you stumbled, leaning against him for support. His arm went around your waist instantly, steadying you. "Easy there," he said softly. "I've got you."

He was warm. Solid. A different kind of strength than Karl's brutish displays. This was protective. Earnest. And it was, you had to admit, incredibly attractive. God, you were weak for these men.

"Can you walk?" he asked, shining the flashlight towards the door.

You shook your head, letting yourself sag a little more against him. "Not really, my legs are currently... weak."

Ethan didn't hesitate. "Alright, hang on." He bent down, hooking an arm behind your knees and his other around your back, lifting you into his arms. You looped your arms around his neck, resting your head against his shoulder. He had the cleanest scent you'd smelled after a long time of being here, other than the noticable iron blood. It was... nice.

"Just hold on tight," he murmured, already moving towards the door. "We need to be quiet."

You gave a small nod against his neck, a thrill running through you. This was exciting. A fun little detour. A beautiful, brave man sweeping you off your feet from your big, bad, incredibly handsome captor. You allowed yourself a small, private smile into the fabric of his jacket. There's no harm in savouring it a little longer, you'll return to waiting for Karl soon, once Ethan's had fun playing saviour, and the butterflies in your stomach have settled.

He pushed the door open with his foot, peering out into the empty dimly lit hallway, the coast seemed clear. He started down the corridor, his steps quick and careful, his heart thumping a steady, reassuring rhythm against your ear. He navigated with a surprising confidence, ducking through doorways and skirting past rooms. His focus was absolute and he was in his element. You on the other hand, were having the time of your life, playing the needy in his capable arms. A game of two sides, two men, and you were currently enjoying both teams.

He found a storage room, pushing the door open with his shoulder, inside there was a small grimy window, high up on the wall. He set you down gently, your feet touching the cold concrete. "Okay," he said, his voice a low whisper. "I think I can boost you up, it's a bit of a drop, but the snow outside should soften it. I'll be right behind you." He cupped your face, his thumb stroking your cheek in comfort. His eyes were so blue, so sincere. "You're safe now. I promise."

You leaned into his touch, your gaze holding his. For a moment, you felt bad. Time to call it an end, you'd finished savouring the thrill, time for him to escape on his own and for you to return to the vault, but he was indeed kind, he deserved the truth, that you were fine, to ease his mind which worried for you. "Ethan..." you started, your voice soft. "There's something you should know..."

But you never got to finish. The storage room door didn't just open, it was torn from its hinges, smashing into the floor with a deafening crash that showered you both in splinters and plaster dust. Standing in the empty doorway framed by the flickering corridor lights, was Heisenberg. Though he didn't seem angry, he was amused. A wide grin spread across his face, his eyes glinting.

"Well, well, well," he drawled, taking a slow step into the room. "What have we here?" He looked from you, to Ethan, back again. "Did I give you permission to touch my things, Mr. Winters?"

[loveyline]

Thank you for being interested in my writing, I have characters mentioned in each list I have not yet written about for the sake of writing about them in the future or inspiring requests, but if you would like to request a character not yet mentioned, please go ahead, I encourage you to ask for anything you'd like, all forms of interaction make me very happy, ask for whatever, whoever and spam however much. Masterlists below.

I also write for overwatch but have yet to post that Masterlist.

‪‪‪‪‪‪❤︎ ~ Outlast Masterlist ~ Click Me

‪‪‪‪‪‪‪‪‪❤︎ ~ Resident Evil Masterlist ~ Click Me

[loveyline]

‪‪‪‪‪‪‪‪‪‪❤︎ ~ Albert Wesker

‪‪‪‪‪‪❤︎ ~ Summary ~ You waited hours for him to come home, excited to see him. Only to be let down and upset, leaving you starting to confront the distance in your engagement recently. Harsh words are exchanged and fears spill out until you can't take anymore upset, and go to bed. ‪‪‪❤︎ ~ Content tags ~ Gender Neutral Reader, Established Relationship, Starting Angst, Ending Fluff, Alcohol Mentions, Comfort, Safe For Work. ‪‪‪❤︎ ~ Link ~ Click Me

‪‪‪‪‪‪❤︎ ~ Chris Redfield

❤︎ ~ Currently Empty

‪‪‪‪‪‪❤︎ ~ Claire Redfield

❤︎ ~ Currently Empty

‪‪‪‪‪‪❤︎ ~ Ethan Winters

❤︎ ~ Summary ~ You're left tied up while an unwanted intruder is dealt with, but the situation takes an unexpected turn when the intruder finds you first, and tries to play the hero. Unfortunately for him, Karl doesn’t take kindly to people touching what’s his, unfortunately for Karl it's not only him you find irresistible.

‪‪‪‪‪‪❤︎ ~ Content tags ~ Gender Neutral Reader, 'Captured' Reader, Possessive Heisenberg, Suggestive Themes, Light Bondage, Safe For Work, Thirsty Reader.

‪‪‪❤︎ ~ Link ~ Click Me

‪‪‪‪‪‪❤︎ ~ Jill Valentine

❤︎ ~ Currently Empty

‪‪‪‪‪‪❤︎ ~ Lady Alcina Dimitrescu

❤︎ ~ Currently Empty

‪‪‪‪‪‪❤︎ ~ Leon Scott Kennedy

❤︎ ~ Currently Empty

‪‪‪‪‪‪❤︎ ~ Karl Heisenberg

❤︎ ~ Summary ~ You're left tied up while an unwanted intruder is dealt with, but the situation takes an unexpected turn when the intruder finds you first, and tries to play the hero. Unfortunately for him, Karl doesn’t take kindly to people touching what’s his, unfortunately for Karl it's not only him you find irresistible.

‪‪‪‪‪‪❤︎ ~ Content tags ~ Gender Neutral Reader, 'Captured' Reader, Possessive Heisenberg, Suggestive Themes, Light Bondage, Safe For Work, Thirsty Reader.

‪‪‪❤︎ ~ Link ~ Click Me

[loveyline]

‪‪‪‪‪‪❤︎ ~ Emily Barlow

‪‪‪‪‪‪❤︎ ~ Summary ~ You return from another trial bloodied and filled with Franco’s bullets, but your favourite Nurse Barlow, your Emily, is always there to put you back together. ❤︎ ~ Content tags ~ Safe For work, Gender Neutral Reader, Comfort, Reagent Reader, Mentions Of Blood, Mentions Of Wounds. ‪‪‪❤︎ ~ Link ~ Click Me

‪‪‪‪‪‪❤︎ ~ Franco Barbi

❤︎ ~ Currently Empty

‪‪‪‪‪‪❤︎ ~ Hendrick Joliet Easterman

❤︎ ~ Currently Empty

‪‪‪‪‪‪❤︎ ~ Leland Coyle

❤︎ ~ Currently Empty

‪‪‪‪‪‪❤︎ ~ Liliya Bogomolova

❤︎ ~ Currently Empty

‪‪‪‪‪‪❤︎ ~ Mother Gooseberry

❤︎ ~ Currently Empty

‪‪‪‪‪‪❤︎ ~ Otto & Arora Kress

❤︎ ~ Currently Empty

[loveyline]

This is a multifandom writing blog, I’ll be writing for anything I’m interested in at the time whenever inspiration strikes, so my posting dates will be quite erratic, as well as the content. A running list of fandoms and characters I’ve written for will be maintained and updated for you to browse through or have an idea of what you'd like to request. There are no strict rules or content restrictions as I find it limiting and want everyone to be comfortable on my page, request anything you would like whether it's Safe For Work or not, If I’m not comfortable with an ask I won’t respond, no judgement, no call-outs, no banning, your fantasies aren't my business and I will respect that. If you have unusual or darker tastes, that's okay, everyone has something, and I hold no judgement, I myself enjoy darker content and might post some of my own volition. On that note, there may be sensitive or triggering pieces, though it will be tagged and cropped accordingly to ensure no accidental viewing. Please be mindful and don't read sensitive pieces if it may be harmful to you and follow the expected age restrictions. Be comfortable here and stay safe, and feel welcome. I really appreciate your interest.

Anonymous asks will remain on for anyone who prefers privacy or would rather not attach their name to a request, I'd like everyone to feel comfortable on this page so you're welcome to use or abuse that feature. If you notice errors or inconsistencies in a piece, send me an ask, I would really appreciate the action and I’ll quietly correct the mistake, thank you so much for helping me improve my writing.

You’re more than welcome to request continuations, alternate scenarios, actions, or different outcomes for my existing pieces. Requests don’t have to be entirely new concepts, i’m happy to revisit and expand on my previous works or develop them into longer pieces or series if you like them, I really appreciate any form of interest and interaction so don't be shy and make yourself at home, if that's through spamming me with multiple requests at a time, I'll be eager to read through them all.

[loveyline]

‪‪‪‪‪‪❤︎ ~ Pairing ~ Nurse Emily Barlow/Reader

‪‪‪‪‪‪❤︎ ~ Summary ~ You return from another trial bloodied and filled with Franco’s bullets, but your favourite Nurse Barlow, your Emily, is always there to put you back together.

‪‪‪‪‪‪❤︎ ~ Content tags ~ Safe For Work, Gender Neutral Reader, Comfort, Reagent Reader, Mentions Of Blood, Mentions Of Wounds.

"Back again, I see," she began, her tone even and measured as she gestured toward the examination table. "Up you get. Let's have a look at the damage this time."

"Don't you have to stay at the pharmacy?" You questioned as you complied, the effort of hauling yourself onto the cold, tissue lined surface sending a fresh wave of nausea through you. The question wasn't born of concern for the pharmacy's structure, but instead a disguised desire that she'd abandon the desk for you, coddle you, even just for a short moment. You weren't left wanting for long. She seemed just as keen to have a moment with you, something only you were ever able to recognise in the way her lips twitched or the way she lowered her lashes. Something only you seemed to lose your breath to.

"The other pharmacists are watching the station. I told them I had a special case to attend to," she replied, her voice a low murmur that settled comfortingly with the sterile silence of the room. She leaned in, her closeness a familiar comfort against the sharp, alcoholic scent of antiseptic that clung to the room. Her gloved fingers, cold and sure ghosted over the lumps on your arms. "My, my, Franco decided to use you as a pin-cushion this time, didn't he?" Her words, though sharp, lacked their usual bite. They were softened by an undercurrent of something else, something that sounded to you, deliciously like concern.

You flinched unintentionally as her touch made contact with the swollen, purple, inflamed flesh surrounding a bloodied premolar embedded deep in your forearm. "I hate that fucking thing, how does he have so much range with a sawed-off shotgun?!" you managed, your voice a hoarse, irritated rasp. Each word struggling to push past the rawness in your throat. "Not to mention how disgusting it is to see bodies lying around that are all gums and no teeth. I swear he was shooting me through walls."

"So I see," she hummed, her gaze sweeping over you, cataloguing the collections of injuries. "Alright, i'll need to pull these out, it's going to hurt." Her statement was flat, a simple fact of the matter. But as she said it, her eyes met yours, and in their depths, you saw a flicker of something just for you, something she tried so hard to keep buried, the ghost of an apology. For a moment the clinical Nurse Barlow vanished, replaced by the woman who sometimes brought you extra gauze and a snuck you a bitter but calming tea in the sleep room, through the pharmacy window on a rough night. Your Emily.

"Alright," you breathed out, bracing yourself. "Just do it." You clenched your eyes shut, focusing on the feel of the rough and crinkled paper beneath your fingers, anything but that sharp burning pain you knew was coming, even the throaty screaming coming from down the hall, formed by reagents in the making was less sickening than the anticipation.

The first yank was brutal, a hot, searing, white-flash agony that ripped a strangled gasp from your throat. The tooth slick with blood, grated against the deep bone as she worked it free, pulling side to side. Then came the next, and the next. But through it all, her presence was a warmth. A grounding, comforting force. She never faltered, her hands steady as a surgeon's, her focus absolute. When it was finally over, a cold sweat beaded on your forehead and you were trembling violently, your breaths coming in ragged pants.

"All done," she announced, her voice softer now, the professional mask slipping away completely. She tossed all the bloodied teeth into a metal tray with a series of clattering sounds, a grim follower to the aftermath of your agony. Then she was back to you, her clean hands now ungloved and gently wiping your face with a cool damp cloth.

"You're a mess," she whispered, but the words were affectionate, a perfect contrast to her usual clinical detachment, even when she was her usual kind and caring to the other reagents, they never got to experience the true beauty and warmth you found in these moment with her. Her thumb brushed a stray tear from the corner of your eye, the gesture so tender it made your chest ache with a longing that had nothing to do with your wounds. "But you're safe now. You're back, and you're doing so incredible. You're going to earn your freedom and make history, and then everyone will know how magnificent you've become, not just little old me." She paused with an empty detachment, silent as she took a minute to think about something, something that looked extremely unpleasant from your view. "You'll still just be mine though, won't you? I still find myself selfishly wanting you to stay, I don't know what i'll do with myself if you leave." Her words were a warm flattery against that lingering frozen look in her eyes. She leaned closer, her hair tickling your cheek as she pressed a soft, lingering kiss to your forehead, her lips whispering another plead to stay against your skin. The cloth raised again to wipe away the red lipstick stain that was left behind, a small intimate act that made your heart stutter.

"I'm not going anywhere," you promised. "Not if you're here."

A rare, genuine smile graced her lips, crinkling the corners of her eyes and bringing out her prettiest wrinkled lines. "Good," she murmured, her fingers tracing a path down your jaw. "Because I'd have a very hard time letting you go." She lingered for a moment longer, her gaze holding yours, a silent conversation passing between you both in the white light of the room. Then with a soft sigh, she straightened up, the nurse persona settling back into place like a well worn coat.

[loveyline]

‪‪‪‪‪‪❤︎ ‬~ Pairing ~ Albert Wesker/Reader

‪‪❤︎‬ ~ Summary ~ You waited hours for him to come home, excited to see him. Only to be let down and upset, leaving you starting to confront the distance in your engagement recently. Harsh words are exchanged and fears spill out until you can't take anymore upset, and go to bed.

‪‪❤︎‬ ~ Content Tags ~ Gender Neutral Reader, Established Relationship, Starting Angst, Ending Fluff, Alcohol Mentions, Comfort, Safe For Work.

The flat was quiet, too quiet, it was the kind of silence that rang in your eardrums, muffled as a heavy loss of comfort. You sat on the plush sofa with a mug of tea left cooling on the coffee table beside you, its string of steam had long since vanished in the air as you'd forgotten it, left to sit with only a sip taken. The city's colour blurred through the living room window, smears of warm streetlights splayed across the polished floor, occasionally interrupted by the red glare of a car light. The clock on the wall ticked, a tiny consecutive sound that managed to feel overwhelming loud.

Three hours past the time he'd said he'd be home. Three hours of waiting and of the tea you'd cooked growing cold in the oven, of being let down every five minutes as you repeated to yourself that the man you were missing would walk through the door any second, it was only when you gave up that the sharp snap of the lock pulling back in the front door finally broke the silence.

You didn't move, an attempt not to look too eager, only your eyes shifting towards the doorway. The door swung open and he stepped inside, bringing the chill of the city air with him, it would have been hard to tell which was making a shiver run up your arms, if you weren't all too aware of the warm elation blooming in your chest outweighing the cold. He moved with a tense, contained energy, shrugging off his coat and tossing it carelessly over the sofa. His face was usually a mask of regulated authority, but tonight it was etched with lines of exhaustion, opposite to your eager smile. He didn't look at you, his gaze fixed somewhere on the wall as he ran a gloved hand through his hair.

"Albert," you began softly, your voice barely a whisper, putting your sense of concern before your yearning.

He flinched at the sound, turning his head sharply. His sunglasses were still on, even in the dim light of the apartment, but you could feel the intensity of his glare. "What." It wasn't a question. It was a clipped, tired demand that made your smile drop with a cold weight.

"I... I was worried. You're very late." You gestured vaguely towards the kitchen. "I made dinner. Though it'll be cold now."

He finally looked at you, really looked at you, and what you saw in the tight line of his mouth and the slight furrow of his brow made your stomach churn. He looked... annoyed. Not relieved to see you, not apologetic, but annoyed.

"I had things to do." He moved past the sofa, heading directly for the liquor cabinet. "I don't need you hovering."

"I wasn't hovering," you protested, standing up. "I was waiting for you. I thought you'd be home at a reasonable hour tonight."

"Don't," he snapped, his hand freezing on the reflected amber glass of a whiskey bottle. His back was to you, the muscles in his shoulders visibly taut beneath the fabric of his shirt. "Don't start. I've had a sufficiently infuriating day without coming home to this."

"This?" you echoed in offense, your own mood starting to dampen. "Me caring that you're okay? Well i'm sorry for the inconvenience."

He turned around, a glass of the expensive liquid in his hand. He took a long swallow before speaking, the action seeming to steady him. "Your concern is noted. Now, can I please have a moment of peace in my own home without the third degree?"

The words were like a hot slap. "This is our home," you said, your voice trembling slightly. "I'm not interrogating you. I just miss you. I love you so much but I feel like I'm living with a ghost, it feels like you don't even like me anymore, let alone love me."

The ghost sighed, a heavy weighted, burdened sound. He set the glass down on the side with a little too much force, causing a noisy clunk sounding from the marble. "My job is demanding, you knew that when we got engaged."

"I know your job is demanding." The tears you'd been holding back finally stung your eyes. "But this is different, you're treating me different. You come home and you're silent or you're angry, you ignore me, have a drink and then you go bed. We haven't had a real conversation in weeks, we haven't had any intimacy in even longer. I'm trying to be understanding, Albert. But I feel like I'm the only one who's trying."

He stared at you, and for a short second, you thought you saw a crack in the resolve. A twitch of something that looked a lot like remorse. But it was gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by that familiar, infuriating coolness.

"I'm tired," he said, his tone flat. "I don't have the energy for this melodrama."

"Right," you whispered, the fight draining out of you completely. You felt hollowed out. "I'll... I'll just leave you to it."

You turned and walked towards the bedroom, your shoulders curled in on yourself in comfort. Each step made the hurt feel more tender than the last. The sound of him pouring another drink followed you down the hall, a stinging sign his mind was somewhere other than you, that he didn't even care.

You didn't cry, you couldn't, you were too tired after that. You just layed on your side of the bed, staring at the wall, tracing the faint pattern of the paint with your eyes while your mind repeated each word said. The teary sting had faded, leaving behind a vast, aching emptiness. Was this what your future looked like? A cycle of waiting and being let down, punctuated by moments of cruel criticism? Perhaps it wasn't the wait that hurt, it was the duality between you. You had been so excited to see him, yet he couldn't have been less exasperated.

The door opened a while later. You didn't turn, and just listened to the soft sounds of him moving around the room. The metal clink of a belt buckle, and the rustle of clothes being removed. Finally the mattress dipped behind you as he took a stiff sit down. The silence stretched, pressuring and uncomfortable. You could feel the warmth of him, a few inches away, yet the distance felt like a severance. You expected him to just lie down and go to sleep, to maintain the fortress he'd built around himself.

Instead, you heard deep contemplative breathing, until you felt a hesitant touch on your shoulder. His fingers, usually so firm and decisive, were gentle, beginning to massage and stroke your skin.

"Are you asleep?" he asked, his voice quiet. Stripped of the earlier sharpness, it was just a deep, tired baritone.

You shook your head slightly against the pillow, the rustling of the cotton blocking out the depths of his breath you had found yourself too fixated on. His hand moved from your shoulder to your hair, slowly combing through the strands. It was a gesture he used to make all the time, a silent apology, a way of reconnecting. You hadn't realized how much you'd missed it until now.

"I'm... sorry," he said, the words sounding rusty, as if they hadn't been used in a very long time. "What I said... was out of line."

"It was horrible," you admitted, your voice small.

"It was," he agreed, not trying to defend himself. "You were right. I have been... difficult." He paused, and you could almost hear him searching for the right words. "Things at work... they're not good. There's a situation. I can't talk about it, not really, but it's... consuming."

You remained silent, letting him speak.

"I come home and all I want is to switch off my brain, but I can't. I've been taking it out on you. The one person who... doesn't deserve it." He sighed, and you felt the warmth of his breath against your neck. "The thought of losing this... of losing you... is the only thing that's managed to cut through the noise." He shifted, lying down beside you, close enough that you could feel the length of him against your back, but not quite touching. "When you said you thought I didn't love you anymore... that wasn't melodrama. That was a failure on my part."

You finally turned over to face him. In the darkness, you could barely make out the sharp planes of his face, but you could see how his silhouette leaned toward you. You slowly shuffled closer in response.

"I love you," he said, and it wasn't a declaration or a performance. It was a simple, raw statement of fact. "More than I am equipped to handle, most days."

You reached out, your fingers finding his on the mattress between you. You laced them together, and he squeezed your hand, a firm, grounding pressure. You gave a content hum, he pushed closer, wrapping his arms around your midsection and burying his face into your neck, inhaling a deep huff of your scent.

Lifting himself to rest his chin on your head, you were pulled into him completely, flush against his chest, an embrace so tight you thought you could hear and feel the rhythmic beat of his heart.

"I do love you." He repeated.