mj

[lvl.24] I reblog almost everything I see check out my photography on insta

[adriisocool]

Some pictures of Michael! 🤭🤭

[mj-airlines]

This man will not survive 5 nights in my bed

[aweskerspet]

sleepy reader and somnophiliac wesker

watching them have an orgasm mid nap, whimpering his name and bucking into the stimulation he provides, maybe drooling on his chest as he fucks them slowly and steadily.

mistaking it as a wet dream after awakening, all along, slick and overheated

[korpuskat]

Can I officially request nasty noncon torture stuff?

LMFAO YES

cw noncon oral, bondage (handcuffs, ring gag), praise and degradation, M/s

Umbrella Wesker's approach is almost... clinical. Umbrella doesn't care if Wesker fucks some of the test subjects, in fact the upper classes keeping pets is fairly common.

Initially Wesker sees himself as above such baser instincts, but the longer he's there... it's foolish not to take advantage of the perks of his job, right? And you're just so adorable.

He prefers if you fight or cry the first few times. He wants to feel like he's breaking you.

Wesker doesn't even pretend it's part of an experiment-- though he likely will use you for his personal studies. He'll handcuff you and force you to your knees. And because you're in some psuedo science Big Pharma black site, you think it's over; they're going to execute you and be done with it.

Instead, Wesker pulls his half-hard cock out and strokes a few times. You're horrified, disgusted. For all the things they've done to you so far, it hasn't been so overtly sexual. You don't even know how serious this is- if you refuse will he kill you? Is he going to kill you anyway?

He'll ask something- not negotiating or bargaining, he's not offering you anything. "Are you going to be a good pet and suck your Master's cock?"

You, of course, look at him with such revulsion. He loves it. You don't even need to show your resistance. He's had the ring gag in his pocket the whole time. If you refuse to open up, he'll pinch your nose shut until you have to breathe. If you keep your teeth clenched he'll squeeze on your jaw until you relent. One way or another, metal is going to force your mouth open.

He'll leave you like that a moment, watching as you try to force the gag out. Your tongue working against it, twisting your head to try to loosen the latch, all the while your saliva pools and drips over your lips.

When he's ready, he'll take a fistful of your hair and guide you back towards him. You can't bite. Can't scratch. All you have is the hatred in your eyes, sharpening as he taps his cock against your tongue.

He fucks your mouth slowly. Casually. He wants to feel you fight back, wants to see the futile tears over your cheeks. Whenever you quiet down, he fucks you a little harder. A test to see if you'll get riled up again. He goes on like this until you're worn out. When you finally let go- either in submission or dissociation or pure exhaustion- he returns to his preferred pace: slow and methodical and measured.

He'll praise you, too. What a good pet you are, taking him so well, how perfect you look, your eyes all red and swollen, spit and tears all over your face...

He shoves himself deep when he cums, burying your nose in the short, trimmed hair of his pubes.

He'll pull out and let you sniffle and cry for a minute, watching for if you turn to glare daggers at him or if you collapse in on yourself. Either way is nice, through he does prefer the latter. He has a soft spot for the pathetic ones.

Afterwards, Wesker takes you back to your room. He gives no explanation- and each time he returns after you have no idea if he's here to use you again or continue whatever horrid experiment you'd been chosen for in the first place.

[b00-666]

CW: NSFW!! Menstrual blood/blood drinking, degradation

Started my period and now I can’t stop thinking about Wesker demanding to eat you out while you’re menstruating.

It isn’t even normally his preferred way to torture you with overstimulation so you aren’t sure why he insists now of all times. You don’t even wanna touch yourself when you’re like this, cramping and bloated, thighs and pussy coated in blood. But he seems to adore the taste of your blood on his tongue, especially mixed with the humiliation it causes you to have his face buried in your core when you feel so disgusting down there. You flush and whine and cry about how gross you are, and he just feeds into it.

“Your cunt is filthy today; aren’t you so lucky to have me here to clean you up? Now say thank you, little lamb. I expect appreciation for such a kindness.”

When he’s finally done with you he has you lap up what’s left on his face, forcing you to get a taste of yourself too. This only serves to make you question even more why he seems to enjoy it so much, as you find the flavor as repugnant as you expected to. (Or maybe you enjoy it?)

[b00-666]

NSFW!! Some somno/sleeping with Wesker thoughts

If you didn't use a sleep mask and/or earplugs before, Wesker insists on you using them once you're sleeping together. "Better sleep quality" is the excuse, but he just loves your senses being dulled at night, it makes you that little bit more vulnerable in his arms. He would totally have one of those bedspreader cuff things set up on his bed at all times. Not just for the convenience, but for the threat that at any moment you could wake up restrained, open to him and at his mercy.

Waking up to nothing but darkness, ankles and wrists pulled taut towards each corner of the bed. No idea where he is, hell you don't even know if he's in the room until he touches you, as any noises he makes moving around are muffled by the earplugs. And he's always finding new ways to wake you up once you're tied down. Vibrators, his tongue, his fingers; even a harsh spank to your pussy, making you wake up sobbing and panicked...

[akiraaa1239]

Pairing: Zeno x widowed!colleague!fem!reader

Summary: Grace Ashcroft. A seemingly normal girl with a job most wouldn't think would fit her. Well, you'll be the judge of that. Stepping in your late-husband's footsteps wasn't on your bucket list, but it has to be done. Betrayal is found in the most strangest places.

SFW: reader working as a mole, office siren, TW - death, blood, choking; reader nearly dying and Zeno saving her once again, Zeno slowly falling for reader, reader having a soft spot for Grace

Wordcount: 5.6k

Note: also added a small flashback to the series that can be read with it or independently

Taglist: @halbravd @awesomesauce1313 @alexchase31 @themythicallifeofesmerelda @xxxxxxctu @un-trato-con-el-diablo @indiebat @joelsoftcurls @sardarasblog @unlikecharlie @lawfulrogue @veralovesanimeplusmanga @malumxsubest @maxipuff @leonkennedyswife69 @sdlmf @devillily29 @toorulee @awayaesworld @fandoms8 @nucifera-eve

Part 1 | Part 2

Series masterlist

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Masterlist

9:15

Great, you'd be ten minutes late for work. If only that bus driver didn't let in every person who came running from miles away. The heels of your shoes click against the pavement of the sidewalk as you basically run through the streets.

Being late wasn't the worst thing in your life, but it shouldn't be a common occurrence. I mean, coming late to a job that you didn't even work that hard for?

As you arrive at work a kind young man holds open the door for you, which you thank him for with a small smile. The elevator was luckily still on the first floor, as if it was waiting for you. Fortunately for you the office was just on the second floor. Colleagues greet you with the tint of respect, nodding as you make your way through the many bored-looking people. And there she was.

Grace Ashcroft.

Just an ordinary girl going after her work routine. Too ordinary for your liking. Well The Connections see that otherwise, having sent you to work as a mole in the FBI to get a better understanding of her. This was STARS all over again, but with you now as the rat. All you know is that you'd never be as cruel as Albert was. Never.

“Good morning, Ashcroft.” As every morning you greet her as you walk past her desk. The poor girl was always so nervous and immediately turned to you like a deer in headlights.

“M-Morning, Ma'am!”

You continue walking, the heels of your red shoes clicking on the ground as you make your way to your own desk, which was in a separate room close to Dempsey, who unbeknownst to everyone else in this building was working for the Connections as well.

As you arrive in your office, you put down your purse and dig through it until you have your phone in hand. The see through casing held some pictures of Albert and you with some stickers. One of them was with Zeno and you, considering you knew each other for nearly ten years now.

As if on cue the phone starts to ring and the caller ID shows that it's Zeno, who you had saved as “Addict”. You immediately answer in a quieter tone.

“Yeah?”

There was nothing on the other end until a deep and familiar voice spoke up.

“Did you arrive safely?”

“Yes, sir. She's working as always.”

“Good. I have asked Dempsey to send her to that place in Wrenwood so Victor can pick her up.”

“Alone? Isn't that a little.. too much? Her mother was murdered there, Z.”

The nickname falls off your tongue like it was nothing, and it wasn't. You've been calling him Z ever since you went undercover, liking the codename more than you let on.

“Of course not.” The words made you feel relieved for just a moment until he continued. “That's why I'm sending you with her.”

You could feel your heart skip a beat as the words sink into you, a lump in your throat having you stutter just like Grace always did.

“M-Me..? But, Z.. You know I could ruin everything.”

“You won’t and that's why I'm sending you. Someone like Dempsey is too risky.”

You let out an audible sigh before accepting the mission with a small “okay”, eyes darting to the door every few minutes to not see any uninvited guests.

“You owe me one.” Big time. He's been asking too much of you lately, even if it's your job.

With a dry chuckle he hangs up. The silence doesn't take long to disperse, for your door gets knocked down by none other than your ‘boss'. Dempsey wasn't bossing around any time soon since you were more likely to do so. Yes, it was all a facade for everyone working under this roof.

“Dempsey.” You get up from your office chair, a wide yet fake smile grazing your crimson lips. “What can I do for you, sir?”

You support yourself on your desk with your arms, watching him close the door after Grace enters. She was the last person you expected to just walk through, even if Zeno had informed you of your mission together with her.

“Miss Watson.” He addresses you with your undercover name. “Miss Ashcroft, do sit.”

Grace rambles out a small “okay”, face flushed as she smiles at you with politeness. She clutches a folder to her chest, legs pressed together so they don't go out of control again.

“Alright, ladies.” Dempsey starts with a bossy tone put on just for you. “There's been another investigation regarding these serial deaths. A new body has been found.”

Grace tenses at the mention of the case the FBI have been following for the past few months. Dempsey explains more and more about what you're dealing with.

“We need a good analyst at the crime scene.” His voice softens as he pulls out the folder that has been under his arm the whole time, opening it at the first page. “Wrenwood.”

The blonde girl's breath hitches at the name of where the newest death had been documented, her nails scraping at the paper folder of the same color. Scenes of incredible large trauma flashes before her eyes that even you yourself could read it off her face.

You lean forward in your chair, a hand shooting out to brush over her taut shoulders. That feeling was too familiar for you, something you had once told Grace herself when she grew too nosey for a shy girl as herself. Yes, you left out who exactly your husband was before his death.

Albert Watson. Hah, he'd laugh at the ridiculous name even if just as a huff.

“I know what happened to your mother.” Dempsey's acting is a little too real, something that pisses you off. Grace is really a sweet girl, something that had perplexed you when you met her not even a few months ago. “Which is why I ask you, Miss Watson, to accompany her.”

A firm nod is all you can manage, your thoughts with Grace as she battles with the tears threatening to brim over her eyes.

Dempsey steps forward, trying to soothe Grace with his disgusting sympathy that wasn't even real. You snap your eyes up at him, shutting him up promptly.

“Thank you, Dempsey sir.” The corners of your lips take effort to form into a crescent, shooing him out with another raise of your head. “I'll take it from here.”

Grace shivers from head to toe, still in shock of what her boss had asked of her.

“Grace.” You shake at her shoulder carefully. “You don't have to do this, Grace.” But she did, you know full well what would happen if she didn't accept this mission.

She straightens and jumps out of her chair, clutching her folder even firmer against her chest. “But I do. M-Maybe I'll find out more w-who exactly killed her.”

You stride around your desk, turning her to you. This was wrong, the way you felt about her. Grace only smiles before nodding her head, leaving you behind in your now empty office.

Guess this was really happening.

–

The liveliness of Wrenwood kind of scares you, the inner introvert, one you have learnt to suppress over the time you have spent with Zeno and the Connections, screaming out of overstimulation. Rain splatters all over you with every drop falling from the sky.

People around you, no matter who or how they look, go after their daily lives while you follow a rather quiet Grace.

Many people rush past you in a hurry, clearly wanting to be somewhere as quickly as possible. One guy even bumps into Grace, his eyes burning a hole through her which you quickly return to shut him up.

Soon you stop behind Grace, who eyes the police tape plastered over one of the alley entries like a hawk.

“Hey, ladies?” A man's voice calls from not that far away, the siren light of the police car right next to where you stand giving the whole place a surreal look. “This is a restricted area.”

With a played poker face you pull out your badge, practically shoving it into his face. “FBI. We're here to investigate.”

His face falls at the revelation, immediately moving forward to pull up the tape for you both to enter. “Investigating these strange deaths, hm?” He looks back to Grace. “Fifth one now, right?”

It kind of annoys you how many questions he's asking, but you hold yourself back for Grace's sake.

“Do you think it's something infectious or terroism? Hah.. Why else would the FBI investigate?”

Judging his frown he's more likely addressing Grace, the more approachable one from the two of you. He swings his hand in front of her face, waiting for her to reply. “Hey, you with me?”

Grace only answers with a small nervous “yes”, also trying to keep her social battery high enough to understand what he wants from you.

Then he eyes you, hoping for a more detailed reply.

Your lack of reply silences him quickly which he takes as a sign to open the plastic curtains for you. “See you then.”

Both of you ignore him, Grace a little faster than you. She was more appropriately dresses than you anyway with her boots. Maybe your flats were a horrible choice, but the time with Zeno had influenced you just enough to make you look more into the stylish side of you. It's not that Albert didn't want you looking you best, oh yes he did, but he didn't find it the most important.

World domination was still a little more worthy than style. He was a very well-dressed man, but he didn't need fancy coats to his name.

“We're here.” Finally. The whole crouching thing is going on your last nerve.

“Ow..” You rub at your back, the umbrella in your purse not doing anything else than stabbing into your skin. The rain wasn't as bad as the news report said it would be, so you haven't used it yet.

Grace slowly approaches a building, one that was sure to house the homeless. It looks like a crime scene, alright. Everything looks like it would fall apart the moment a stronger gust of wind would come through.

“You sure this is the place?” It wasn't what you expected. At all. Yes, after the murder of Alyssa this place was abandoned and never reopened again, but it looks like it hadn't seen a single crime scene cleaner since 1989. Ironically all of that happened only about a decade ago. “It looks so..”

“The fire.” is all Grace tells you before she slowly opens the door that sounds like it needs oil. A lot of it.

Inside the darkness overtakes your eyes, which luckily gets fixed by Grace's flashlight. This reminds you too much of your first mission with Zeno. Same smell and all. You cover your nose with a suppressed exclaim of disgust.

You'll never get used to this.

Together you make your way through cramped hallways, stopping inside a kitchen with the worst smell of all. Grace opens a cabinet, feeling all the more brave as she peers inside. Judging by her disgusted expression it is something you don't even wanna peek at.

How horrible the state of this building is makes you feel a little uneasy. In the report you've read about the hotel you found out it was soon-to-be-demolished anyway. But still..

You swipe a finger over one of the counters, grimacing at the built-up dirt.

“I think–Grace?” The girl stands frozen in front of a door with a broken window, shoulders tense. “Grace? What's wrong?”

“I-I can't..” “Grace–” “It's too much..”

You walk up behind her, hands reaching for her shoulders – only hovering.

“You can do this, Grace.. Come on..” Her breath quickens, something you've noticed a lot over the past few months. Her anxiety is the one thing that everyone immediately notices when they get to know her.

Even though she tries to get herself to continue, her hand doesn't press down the door handle to open it.

“We can go back, Grace.” You try to reason with her, not caring if Zeno would choke out an answer out of you. “Dempsey will understand.”

Grace shakes her head repeatedly, finally opening the squeaky door with an abrupt push. You follow her, hot on her trail with your red shoes clacking against the dirty floor.

Outside the door is the crime scene you are supposed to analyse. Well Grace is. You're just there for a second pair of eyes if you ignore the other part of your mission.

Grace's nose is buried in the report, giving you no attention at all as you kneel beside the scattered glass of the small window. The girl soon disappears into the connecting bathroom where the victim had been found not that long ago.

It doesn't even take ten seconds for your phone to vibrate in your purse, your hand reaching in to take it out. From the unknown number you recognize that it's Victor. He likes to call with different numbers to keep his identity hidden.

“Victor.” You whisper into the phone. “Pretty early for a call, wouldn't you say so?”

His creepy laugh sends chills down your spine. “Mrs. Wesker. Oh.. No, Mrs. Watson. I will need you to leave Miss Ashcroft behind until I get to talk to her.”

You frown. “Alone? She's in no place–”

“Now, Mrs. Watson.”

Your mouth falls shut at his tone. His bossy personality has always been something you hate about him plus that ugly face of his. Zeno isn't all that different, but at least he has the face of Albert to go along with.

“Yes, sir.” The curse of working under both Zeno and him. You hang up and slowly rise to your feet, carefully extracting yourself from the room so Grace wouldn’t hear you.

Your heart is already breaking for what's about to come. Victor won't make it easy for Grace.

Outside you walk through the halls until you make it to the lobby, where everything looks just a tad less like a hoarder’s dream.

Buzz Buzz

The vibration of your phone makes you flinch from it ringing out of the blue again. First you think of just ignoring the call, but decide against it when you pull it out to see it being Zeno.

“Hey.” You soften your tone just a bit. “What's up?”

A quiet exhale makes you realize why exactly you renamed his Caller ID. The rasp in his voice still causes you to smile every time. “Mrs. Watson. How's the investigation going?”

You can't help chuckle at the use of your fake name. “I was asked to leave Ms. Ashcroft behind by your colleague, Mr. Zeno.”

“Gideon? He's your colleague too, sweetheart.”

You don't answer, but do pace the lobby up and down. These calls between you were so normal that you didn't lay in your bed anymore, crying about forgetting Albert's voice. Sometimes you do miss your old apartment, but getting to live in your own that you didn't even have to pay for. The Connections are strangely generous.

A new beginning.

A silhouette suddenly walks into your field of view to which you duck under a counter so it wouldn't see you. You peek over the furniture to see the same officer from outside. He is hunched over, holding his neck as if someone or something had stung him.

The calls from Grace for you didn't make it any better to stay quiet, but you manage.

You hear your name being called from your phone, which you turn off so he wouldn't notice you.

This has to be Victor's doing.

Grace walks through the same door you had used not that long ago, still quietly calling for you, or rather Mrs. Watson. She's even using your first name, how adorable.

She still hasn't seen the officer.

Everything goes silent, too quiet for your liking. You look for Grace, who seems to be digging her hand behind a portrait. What is she doing? A bag comes into view, but you only see her pulling out a notebook and something else you can't quite put a name to.

As soon as she turns, Grace gasps loudly at the man in front of her, who seems to be standing there like a wax figure.

“S-Sorry, officer..” Grace stutters. “What's wrong?”

Pause.

“S-Something.. stung me.”

Exactly as you had predicted. Gideon has used that virus he's been preparing for this moment.

“Are you OK?” The poor girl doesn't even know what's about to happen.

You watch as the silence consumes the room until the officer starts choking, the symptoms already revealing that he's about to turn. What if he bites Grace? From the files you know that Gideon thinks that she's immune. But what if she's not?

Grace suddenly screams, making you flinch at how it slices through the silence like a dagger. You get up from your hiding spot, hesitating if you should help her. The officer,fully turned now, lunges at Grace who just moments earlier got her jacket stuck on one of the baggage carriers.

If you don't do something now she'll die.

The officer raises a shotgun, something you haven't seen before. Not now or ever. He misses, which gives Grace enough time to free herself and push the carrier into the man, or what remains of who he used to be.

Grace runs through the lobby, throwing him off of herself over and over again until all that she can do is impale his eye with something she had found nearby.

It isn't over which Grace underestimates and lets her guard down, giving that thing enough time to dig his teeth into her flesh. She lets out a bloodcurdling scream until you come up behind to pull the officer away.

“RUN, GRACE!”

She seems rooted in place as she watches you pull out your gun.

“I SAID RUN!” She flinches once before running up the stairs, crying as she holds onto her bleeding arm.

It is a sweaty fight, with you nearly being bitten yourself but you have tricks up your sleeve you have learnt from Zeno. You dodge out of the way before placing multiple bullets into the back of his head. With the rest of your adrenaline you pull yourself up the stairs until you collapse against one of the walls, trying to catch your breath.

Once more your phone – which you had tucked into your now bloodied purse – vibrates against your hip. You take a deep breath, the movement to fish it out aches in your muscles. The years really are not being nice to you with how sore everything feels.

With how inclined the caller seems you were sure it was a ‘worried' Zeno waiting for you to answer.

Even though you knew that he needed clear answers there were more important things at stake. Grace. You take a deep breath, which hurts even more now that your ribs start to ache.

This is your mission. Kidnapping Grace has always been part of it, but with how brutal Gideon could be.. No. You stumble to your feet, darting up the last steps until you make it to room 203. Behind the old yet fancy looking door you hear faint classical music alongside the familiar voices of Victor's firm tone – that sounds too soft for him, fake – plus Grace's stuttering.

The door suddenly falls shut. A cry from Grace makes you shutter, the door handle shaking as she seemingly tries to open the door. Heavy footsteps close in until you hear choking. You gasp, throwing yourself against the door, your hand pressing down the handle to forcefully open it.

Inside you are met with a sight that would surely make you regret working with the FBI to begin with. Victor's back flexes as he uses his large hand to choke the living shit out of Grace.

“Grace!”

The girl tries to look around for you, your name softly murmured until her body falls limp in his arms.

You rush in front of the two, eyes filled with fury as you address your colleague. “Victor, you can't just choke the poor girl!”

He ignores you and before he throws Grace over his shoulder, where she hangs like a sack of potatoes, he whispers something to her.

Weirdo.

Without looking at you for another second he leaves out the door you just broke open, the frown on your face not interesting in any way, shape or form.

How would you explain this to the people outside? It's not like you had any car parked right outside.

–

Your worries become reality as at least two people stop to look at Victor carrying Grace through the now pouring Wrenwood. One woman even asks about what the hell all of this is about, not knowing that everything was soon to be overrun by an apocalypse, reminding you of Raccoon City.

Raccoon City.. Your old home. You still remember the bustling streets, the faint smell of caramel and hot dogs from the nearby stalls while you walk at Albert's side. Not many days were spent with him outside of his office or work at the department, but when they did come you were giddy inside at the feel of his warm hand enclosing yours – albeit always hidden by a black glove.

But this wasn't the warmth you had once known. Wrenwood was nearly the same, but different. You now have no Albert at your side, only the most disgusting man you have ever known plus the rain that was trickling down on you. The umbrella was not doing much to keep you dry, the heavy breeze causing the rain to fall into your eyes.

Victor suddenly turns around, making you accidentally fall into his back. You first frown up at him but quickly look back at what he was looking at.

A man. A very good looking man. He seemed almost like someone important with the way Victor stopped just for him.

“What's going on?” A woman asks as she walks by the three of you. “Is she okay?”

“Oh,she’s fine.” Victor gazes up at the sky. “I'm just..” He pulls out a tranquilizer. “..bringing her home.”

Without another word he shoots her, a needle piercing through her rain coat. She gasps, but Victor doesn't care as he fires the same thing at the next three people passing.

The virus.

You watch with wide eyes as they look at you for help, but helping would only cause you to lose your job and maybe your life as well. With quick steps you run after Victor, who was already walking down the sidewalk. The man, who had been watching you, was hot on your trail.

“Victor!” He doesn't look back and just runs through the streets, shooting every person he sees. Some were already past the transformation, trying to get a bite out of you. One even scratches at your shoulder, but luckily doesn't injure you.

Soon you lose sight of the man and just run through the streets, abandoning your umbrella to get away faster. Inside one of the alleys you finally decide to call Zeno, hoping for him to pick up. The number dials itself, taking almost a minute for someone to pick up.

“Z-Zeno?” You whisper.

“Where are you? Are you with Victor?” The worry in his voice warms your heart, for he was a very serious man usually.

“No.. No.. He.. He left me behind. I think he forgot that he's a little faster than me.” You look out from your hiding spot behind some dumpsters, hoping none of those things would find you, like that man who was probably out for blood after seeing you both kidnap Grace. “But, I'm fine! Just.. Can you send someone?”

The other line is left silent for a moment or two, you still shivering behind the trash where you usually don't look for shelter. Groans and yelling is all you hear, plus the agonizing sounds of people being eaten.

Unfortunately you aren't safe with one of the undead finding their way to the alley you were in, noticing you as you peek out at the worst time possible. It mumbles something under its breath, almost sounding more life-like than any virus-overridden human you have seen.

“Shit!” You start to run, accidently losing your phone as you try to get away.

–

“Can you hear me? Hey!” Zeno slumps back into the car seat as he hears nothing except the end signal of the call. How dare Victor just walk off without keeping to the plan?

He throws the cigarette bud out of the window, taking in the fresh air right outside of Wrenwood where you were supposed to meet. Victor, him, you plus Grace.

Now he has to find out how to get to you.

With another exhale of the last smoke he gets out of the car, one that was a little too cheap-looking for him. The muscles in his shoulders tense, something he hasn't felt in a long time. Defeat. What good is Grace and Elpis to him if you aren't here to enjoy the thrill with him?

He buries his face in his gloved hands, trying to keep his anger at bay. How. Fucking. Dare. He.

“Fuck.. FUCK!” He throws a punch against the car, which starts to honk at the sudden impact. A hole is left inside the door, which he could care less about at the moment. If he didn't need the car he would've punched a hole through the driver as well, but he's grown too soft to do such.

“Hah, there you are.”

Think of the fucking devil. The rage in Zeno's eyes is enough to shut Victor up, who had just arrived to drop off Grace. His hair was disheveled from brushing through it, thinking of you being found half eaten in some hole.

“You..” In seconds he's teleported in front of him, pulling him in by his collar. Grace, who had still been thrown over the man's shoulder, nearly falls off of Victor. “How dare you? WHERE'S SHE?!”

“Who? Mrs. Watson?” “Wesker.” “Oh, uhm.. well she was behind me but–”

“BUT?!” He tries to stop himself from killing Gideon, obviously knowing that he was more important alive than dead. “She's important, you idiot! Without her.. we wouldn't even have gotten so far!”

Victor grins, arrogantly looking down at his coworker. “Oh, important? Maybe to you. You've grown soft.”

He screams at the taller man, but let's go. This would bring him anywhere. Killing Gideon wouldn't help you. Zeno digs his nails into his scalp, pulling at the previously combed back hair that still had residue of his favorite gel in it. How the hell was he gonna get you out of there?

“If you really want to save the woman.” Victor huffs as he throws Grace in the backseat, grinning at the hole in the door. “Make it fast. Leon Kennedy's in town, you know.. DSO's golden agent.”

“The guy who saved the previous president's daughter?” “Exactly.”

Fuck. If that really was the case you wouldn't be able to run forever. Leon was known around the Connections and not as some weakling. He's dealt with shit worse than some zombies and a woman like yourself. You'd be dead meat or worse.. a hostage of the government.

“We're gonna go back there and look for her. With or without you.” Zeno's tone holds a finality that even Victor can't shake off. The tall man sighs in defeat and just nods his head.

With Grace still unconscious, head resting against the tinted window in the back, the room was very little for the three of them. Victor being the tallest and hugest man between the two made it even more difficult. But Zeno didn't care. All he cared about was finding you unharmed.

–

A nightmare. That's what this is. You run through the streets, adrenaline keeping your body upright as you push past civilians and the undead, the latter mostly crowding the overrun city.

The only person running through your head was Albert, who even after his own death has always been on your mind. A marriage built upon business turned into yearning from your part. Sometimes you wonder if he had loved you just as much as you loved him.

Then there's Zeno. Yes, your feelings for him were mixed. One side was still holding onto Albert which led to you trying to find safety in his very being, but the other one has started to see more in Zeno over the past few years.

Soon you find yourself in a dead end, with three undead having followed you while screaming after you in an uncanny way. Your revolver only has two bullets left which would prove that you weren't as prepared as you thought you'd be. The officer and the other undead had taken everything you have had.

The tears roll down your cheeks, ruining your perfect makeup as you form a ball with your body on the floor, hands covering your ears.

“I-I'm sorry.. I'm sorry..” You sniffle out. “Z-Zeno.. Bertie..”

Multiple silhouettes form over you. You stop tensing up and just accept your fate, the tingling feeling in your body the only evidence of your fear. This is it, huh? You'd die a coward.

Everything goes too fast, the groans of the undead muffled by the blocking feeling of your ears. What you do notice is them suddenly falling in front of you, blood pooling around their heads as if something had pierced through their skulls.

Your eyes move up,the headlight of a car nearly blinding you. In front of it is the familiar silhouette of Zeno, holding up a gun that was smoking from the end.

He really did come back.

The exhausting feeling of the adrenaline leaving you makes you slump back against the dirty wall, tears still rolling down your cheeks.

“You came back..” Your voice cracks as he kneels in front of you, taking a good look at you to make sure you're not hurt. Without waiting for him to say anything you throw yourself into his arms, the tears not stopping. Zeno, instead of grumbling about the lack of space between you two, awkwardly rests his hands around you while burying his face in the crown of your head.

All of this reminds you of your first time together in the Spencer Estate, carrying you through the halls like he remembered a past he didn't even experience himself.

You rest your head in the crook of his neck until he puts you in the front seat with the driver, buckling you in. His touches were gentle, brushing over your shoulder up to your neck as if too scared to handle you.

“Sleep. We'll be back home soon.”

Home. That's something you could get behind.

–

The drive was a tedious task, with the car having to stop at Gideon's care center to drop him and Grace off. Only about an hour later Zeno's put you to bed after tending to your scrapes on your elbows and knees. You were really exhausted that you didn't even wake up at him taking off your shoes.

Now he sits there, at your bedside, one of his hands brushing back the hair from your bruised face. These feelings, strange and different for him, made him have these weird warm sensations in his stomach and heart.

Soft.

Maybe Gideon was right. He's feeling all of this for someone he has memories about that aren't even his to begin with. If only he could understand Wesker. He's the reason Zeno is even alive, let alone have these times of just sitting there and thinking of things that he shouldn't even care about.

Wesker. That man had more secrets to himself than Zeno himself. With how you talk about him he used to be a very sweet man, but the records say otherwise. A marriage for business turned romantic sounds only good in soap operas.

But watching you sleep, something that was sure to creep you out if you woke up right now, it was almost enchanting. For someone who was in her mid fifties you almost look like a princess in a deep slumber. No wonder a man, who had terroristic tendencies, could love you.

His fingertips hover over your head, barely brushing the curls away from your eyes.

Buzz Buzz.

Of course. Zeno flicks out his phone, the ID no wonder. Gideon sounds nearly jolly as he answers the call.

“What do you want?” Zeno grumbles into the device.

“Hello to you too. It's Grace.”

Zeno frowns and slowly leaves your room, closing the door behind him quiet enough to not wake you. “What about her?”

Gideon tells him about the status and the man who's been following him all this way to the clinic.

“So he really did come to rescue Grace.” Zeno lets himself fall into the lounge chair in your apartment's living room, a far cry from how your old quarters used to look. “You have this handled?”

Victor falls silent. “Victor. You have this handled, don't you?”

“Uhm.. well.. I did, but–”

“Not that but again.” Zeno pulls out a cigarette out of the package with his mouth, already flicking his lighter. Maybe he shouldn't, he knows how much you hate smoking. “Handle it.”

He ends the call within seconds, both lighter and cigarettes back in his pocket. You weren't well and smoking wouldn't help anyone, not even him. Now all that he needs to do is wait for you to wake up and then make your way to the care center where you'd pick up Grace to take her to Raccoon City. Hopefully she really is the key to Elpis.

If not.. Zeno would need to break it open regardless.

[yungbeaker]

Zeno is what people want Wesker to be. Zeno has emotions. He'd fuck. I love them both anyway

[theevilresidents]

Wesker forcing you to hump his boot if you wanna get off at all. Saying something about how it’s your punishment for getting mouthy with him earlier… he’s trying to act cold and demeaning but he’s so insanely hard at the sight. Subtly adjusting how he’s sitting quickly turns into him obviously rubbing at himself through his pants right in front of you while getting progressively more hot and bothered in how he’s scolding you. Throwing in some petnames n all that… eventually escalates into him shamelessly jerking off and not letting you touch him aside from continuing to grind on his boot.

[piscesladyy]

albert wesker/reader where he finds out she has nipple piercings? boob guy albert lmao

im wondering if hed want to use her tits for a boob job, to finish all over them

or !!! or if hed tease her through lets say a thin cami tank, degrading her and asking if she dresses slutty for his attention or that kinda shabang !!

thought it was a hot idea but feel free to deny, hun!! love ur work as per usual <3

Chrome

Synopsis - While your fiancé Albert was away for a few weeks you decided to get your nipples pierced as a surprise. Which he loves... but he doesn't love you doing it without his permission.

⛓️ Pairing - Albert Wesker × Reader

Word Count - 2.5k

CW - MDNI - Established relationship, dirty talk, teasing, degradation, praise, nipple play, nipple piercings, boob job / breast fucking, ejaculating on boobs, oral sex (f & m receiving), deep throating, mean Albert Wesker, dominant Albert Wesker

⛓️ Authors Note - Anon did you reach into my brain and pick out this scenario? This is so hot I could kiss you. Pushing my nipple piercing agenda fr (anyone thinking about getting them should, they’re so fun and cute) 😭🩷

I'm gonna make him mean in this one.

The morning light of summer spilled through the windows and across the cold sheets beside you. You could have sworn you heard him come home last night. A distant memory of boots on hardwood and the creak of the stairs. Yawning, you pushed yourself up, shrugging on your robe and leaving it open as you padded downstairs.

You found him in the kitchen, pouring water for tea. Tall, dressed immaculately even in the early hour. You wrapped your arms around him from behind, pressing your chest flush against his broad back. "Welcome home," you murmured, voice thick with sleep.

Albert turned and his gaze swept over you. "Good morning," he purred, the corner of his mouth twitching. "Coffee?"

You nodded as he retrieved a mug for you while you reached for the sugar. As you turned back toward him, his hand caught your shoulder. A firm, grip that stilled you mid-motion. With his other hand, he tugged the robe aside. His glacial eyes dropped, thumb brushing the thin fabric of your camisole, tracing the outline of a barbell beneath.

"Thought I felt something different."He set the mug down on the counter with a soft clink. "When were you going to tell me you had this done?"

A blush crept across your cheeks. "I wanted it to be a surprise."

He hummed low in his throat, stepping closer until his chest nearly touched yours. "I suppose if that's the case, you wanted me to notice." His hands came up to cradle the weight of your breasts in his palms, thumbs sweeping over the peaked fabric. "I thought I told you if you wanted any modifications done to your body, you let me approve first. Even a single hair cut from that pretty head of yours, I want to know about it.” He trailed off for a moment as he admired. “Is it healed?”

You nodded, whimpering as he pinched lightly through the fabric. "Yes- I wanted to surprise you. You were gone for months, Al-"

"Sensitive," he murmured, more to himself than to you, intrigued.

"Do you like them?"

"Darling, you'd know if I didn't." He pressed his hips forward, grinding against you, letting you feel exactly what he thought. "I think you can deduce that I like them a great deal."

One finger traced down the neckline of your camisole, hooking the fabric and pulling it aside. Your breasts spilled free, nipples pebbling in the cold morning air, accentuating the silver barbells that pierced each center. Albert hummed in approval, eyes darkening.

"Tell me," he said, voice dropping to a silken whisper. "Does it feel good to show these off to me? Getting my attention?"

"Yes," your breath hitched as his palms cradled you again, thumbs circling the sensitive peaks. He leaned your head back, pressing a kiss against the column of your throat. "I missed you so much. I just wanted to make you happy." A soft groan escaped you as he nipped at your neck, teeth grazing the tender skin.

"These do make me happy," he hummed with amusement. "You make me happy." His thumb flicked the barbell, making you jolt. "Such a slut for my attention, aren't you?"

"Only for you," you moaned, clutching his arms.

He caressed the soft flesh, admiring the metallic glint catching the morning light. "Do you prefer my fingers running over them? Or pinching?"

"B-both."

"Greedy." He clicked his tongue. "Did you play with them before I got home?"

"Yes," you whispered. A blush rising to your cheeks. "Thinking about you."

"Good girl." His hand slid down your stomach, past the waistband of your shorts, two fingers threading through your slick petals with practiced ease. He plunged inside and you whined, knees buckling as you steadied yourself against his body. "Darling, you're soaked. Just from my touch?" He withdrew his fingers, lifted them to his lips, and licking your essence clean with a slow swipe of his tongue before taking a sip from his mug. "I'm going to enjoy this." He set the mug back down. "Strip. Go to the bed, lay on your back. I want my breakfast."

You nodded, tugging your top back into place as you headed upstairs.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

You spread out on the mattress, heart pounding. Withdrawing from the kiss, he drew himself up with a predators grace at the foot of the bed, drinking you in, his gaze dragging over your exposed skin. The morning light cut across your body, highlighting the glisten of your thighs and the chrome of your piercings.

"Perfect," he murmured to himself.

His mouth traveled down your body in a cruel worship, licking and biting at your breasts, paying special attention to the barbells. With each caress his tongue laved the metal with saliva. You cradled his head close, fingers carding through his blond hair, whimpering as he sucked dark blossoming marks onto the soft flesh and down your body.

A sharp gasp escaped you as his hot tongue licked between your thighs, dragging up from your entrance to your clit in a devastating stroke. His hands gripped your thighs to spread you wider, holding you open for him to devour. Devour he did, lapping at you with methodical precision, circling your clit with the flat of his tongue before flicking the tip against it, alternating pressure and rhythm until you were a whimpering mess. Your fingers tangled in his perfect hair, clinging onto him with white knuckles. The hum of approval he let out around your clit sent another wave of pleasure through you. He sucked softly at the swollen flesh for a moment, drawing a keening moan from you before delving deeper, tongue pushing inside you to taste. His hand reached up to grip your breast, thumb and forefinger pinching the pierced bud. You gushed against his tongue, crying out, hips grinding against his face while ecstasy tangled in your chest.

"That's it," he murmured into your flesh, his breath hot and wet. “Let me taste how much you missed me."

Everything in your mind narrowed onto the sensation of his mouth, his tongue, his hands gripping your thigh and breast hard enough to bruise as you rode out your crest of your orgasm. He pulled back just enough to speak, lips brushing against your sensitive core.

"You're dripping," he observed clinically as he pulled up, hands returning your breasts, kneading them his thumbs brushing against your nipples.

The onslaught of sensation was so much as he pulled you into a possessive kiss, tasting yourself on his lips, drinking in your moans. His cock ground against your pussy, sliding through the your arousal and cum, the pressure against your clit nearing overstimulation.

"Please, I want you to finish inside me- need it- missed you so much.” You whine into his chest, looking up at him with doe-eyes.

He tilted his head, examining you like a specimen. "Do you really think you're worthy of that after disobedience? Knees."

Obeying, you sank down onto the plush carpet in front of him. "I thought you liked them," you murmured, hands falling to caress his thighs.

"I do." He tilted your chin up, your gaze meeting icy blue. "But you disobeyed me. They don't cancel each other out." His thumb swept across your bitten lower lip. "I missed you, that's why I rewarded you with my tongue. Now I get to see how pretty your tits look wrapped around me. Since you wanted my attention so badly." He paused. "Get it wet."

Nodding, you took the silky weight of him into your palm. He was thick, especially at the base, length was still glossy from your own arousal. You admired the pretty flush of his skin as you gave a slow pump. Leaning in, you pressed a soft kiss to the tip before wrapping your lips around him. His fingers threaded through your hair and anchored to your scalp, guiding your rhythm as you lave your tongue along the underside of his shaft, tracing a prominent vein.

You took him deeper until the tip hit the back of your throat, suppressing a gag as he gripped your strands and thrust deeper. A gurgling sound escaped as you struggled to breathe, eyes watering as your nose met the well-kept blonde curls at his base. A smirk crept across his lips while he held you there, watching your lips flush against the base until a drop of drool slipped down over his balls. He pulled back. You coughed, sputtering into the carpet.

"Beautiful,” he murmured, holding your breasts in his hands, pressing them together before threading his cock between them. Slick and hot against your skin, the silver barbells catching the light with every movement. You pressed them together tighter, your hands interlacing with his. When you looked up at him you caught the way his jaw tightened at the sight, glacial eyes hooded as he watched himself disappear between your breasts.

"Look at you," he breathed, canting his hips in an unhurried rhythm. "Did you think about this when you got them?" His thumb traced the barbell where it peeked out from the side of your breast, flicking it hard enough to make you shudder. "Did you imagine me fucking your tits while you sat in that chair, letting some stranger pierce what's mine?"

You whimpered, arching your back to give him more, to feel him drag against the sensitive metal.  "I-I thought about you-"

"Of course you did." A cruelly soft laugh left his lips. "You think about me constantly, don't you? When you're touching yourself. When you're getting dressed. Even when you're getting holes put in your body without asking my permission." His hips rose in pace, thrusting faster, the wet sounds of your saliva and his precum filling the quiet room. "You're obsessed with me. I find it... endearing.”

The word hung in the air as a semisweet compliment, but his grip on your breasts was bruising, controlling the pressure around his cock. The head peeking out from the top of your cleavage, flushed and glistening, before sinking back down into the soft valley of your skin.

“Spit.” He commanded.

You let a string of spit fall from your lips and onto the head of his cock. The sight made his grip tighten. The mix of drool and precum coated his shaft, slicking across your breasts.

"Look at the mess you've made," he murmured, reaching to gather a drop of saliva from the corner of your mouth,

spreading it over your lower lip. "Drooling all over yourself like a bitch in heat and you call yourself my partner."

"Fiancée," you corrected weakly, breath hitching as he snapped his hips forward, balls slapping hard against your sternum.

"Oh, you’re correcting me now? So bold for a slut who has my cock between her tits." He slowed to a maddening grind, letting you feel every inch of him, thick and heavy against your chest. "You're right, though. My fiancée. My pretty, disobedient little fiancée who's going to learn that surprises come with consequences." He thumbed the barbell again, twisting it gently, you gasped.

"But I suppose I can't stay mad at you. Not when you're so eager to be used."

"I wanted to make you happy, Albert," you whimpered. Arousal dropped down your thighs.

"You have." His tone softened. "You've made me very happy. So happy I might just forgive you for the disobedience." He reached down, gripping your chin, forcing you to look up at him. "But first, I'm going to use these perfect, pierced tits of yours until I'm satisfied. Then I'm going to cover them in my cum so everyone who sees you today knows exactly what you are."

"Your slut," you gasped.

"That's right." He released your chin, both hands returning to squeeze your breasts, fingers digging into the soft flesh, controlling every thrust. "My slut. My pretty slut with the pierced nipples, a dripping cunt and the mouth that never knows when to stay shut." His rhythm stuttered slightly. "You want to cum again, don’t you? I can feel it in the way you're trembling. How you're clenching around nothing, wishing it was my cock inside you instead of between your tits." He hissed through gritted teeth.

"Please," you whined, tears pricking at your eyes. "Please, I need-"

"You need what?" The wet sounds from his quick thrusts obscene in the quiet room. "To come? To have me fill you up?" A cruel smile curved his lips. "You're not getting that. You came on my tongue today, and that's more than you deserve. This?" He groaned lowly. "This is for me. I want to watch this pretty face of yours looking up at me, desperate and ruined, knowing you'll do anything for my attention."

"I will," your chest heaving.

"See, that's what makes you so perfect." His voice gentle, totally at odds with the brutal pace of his hips. Albert cupped your face with one hand, thumb stroking your cheek, even as his cock ravaged the soft valley of your breasts. "You're my pathetic, needy little thing and I wouldn't have it any other way." The hold on your face tightened, fingers gripping your jaw, and you watched his eyes go dark. "Open your mouth, stick out your tongue.”

You obeyed instantly, lips parting. He pulled out of your cleavage, the sudden loss of him pressing against you making you whimper, and pumped himself twice, three times, before hot stripes of cum painted across your lips, your tongue, your cheeks, catching the barbell of your left nipple as he angled down. A deep groan left him, hips jerking through the last pulses of release. The head of his cock teasing at your piercing, slathering his cum against the sensitive skin. When he was done, he stood there, chest heaving, blond hair hanging over his brow. He looked down, taking in the state of you: face glazed, breasts smeared, piercings glinting through the mess.

"Beautiful," he murmured, "look at you. My perfect little slut." Reaching down, he swiped a thumb through the mess on your cheek, bringing it to your lips. "Clean it."

You accepted, pink tongue lapping at his thumb, the taste of him blooming over your tongue with notes of salt and musk. You sucked until he pulled away and tilted your chin up to meet his satisfied gaze.

"Good girl." He pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, a stark contrast to the filth cooling on your skin. "Now get cleaned up. I want my tea before it goes cold." He turned and walked toward the door, pausing with his hand on the frame.

"Oh, darling?" Turning, your eyes met the lazy smirk that curved his lips. "When I get home tonight, I expect a full tour of every modification you've been hiding from me. If I find any surprises you didn't tell me about..." he paused, letting the threat hang in the air."You will be on your knees for a lot longer than this." The door clicked shut behind him.

Took this req as a little break from my longer Boots fic continuation that will hopefully be done by next week. In the meantime I hope you enjoyed this bc I certainly did 😚

[sangvineblue]

Yandere Serial Killer Classmate ⋆˚꩜｡

First post hehehehe (and it’s literally just a random storyline that has been plaguing my mind in headcanon form because I was too lazy to write out a full fleshed one shot)

Word count: 2.2k

Content Warnings!! This post contains violence, stalking, profanity, obsession, graphic details, attempted SA, creep behaviour and is, overall, a dark work. The reader is gender neutral, whilst the yandere is male.

I do not encourage this kind of behaviour in any way, shape, or form, this is purely a work of fiction.

‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

⋆˚꩜｡ Due to your parents’ recent divorce, you moved to a sketchy small town in the hopes that you and your mom could get a fresh new start. How exciting, surely nothing could go wrong? Right?

⋆˚꩜｡ You weren’t exactly thrilled to leave your old environment with all of your friends and memories behind, especially since, at least compared to this rainy dingy crime-filled pothole, your old place was by far much better. But alas, it wasn’t your choice to make. So, here you are, living in a tiny apartment and starting smack in the middle of the year in a new school where you know absolutely nobody. Wonderful.

⋆˚꩜｡ First day comes and, misfortunately enough, the only available seat was right next to some random edgy looking dude. Whatever. So long as he leaves you alone.

⋆˚꩜｡ Introducing your classmate. To say he was less than enthusiastic for you to be seated with him was an understatement. His space was sacred, and the fact that you were now in its proximity didn’t particularly thrill him. Don’t get him wrong, he didn’t care in the slightest about the rest. He was just annoyed, nothing more, nothing less.

⋆˚꩜｡ Personality wise, if you didn’t know any better (which you don’t at this point in time), he seems to be as expressive as a piece of moldy white bread. Other than mildly annoyed occasionally, he appeared to be constantly bored, neutrality and arrogance resting on his face perfectly. He definitely seemed to hold his worth higher than others, as if to say he is superior to all of the filthy ants surrounding him. In translation, he was exactly the type of person you could categorically say you despised. Honestly, you would rather eat dirt than interact with him, which is funny because you are literal desk mates. At least he doesn’t seem to be thrilled to be next to you either, so that means you are bound not to converse much.

‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

⋆˚꩜｡ The murders in your area have been increasing as months passed by. Now, any step taken even during dusk felt ridiculously unsafe, which meant that your walk home after school left behind a bitter paranoia on your tongue.

⋆˚꩜｡ There has been no improvement with your desk mate. He is just as irritable as he was before, and you’re just as unwilling to talk to him as you were at first.

⋆˚꩜｡ You were now walking home after yet another exhausting day. Snowflakes fell from the greyish-purple sky above, landing on your reddened cheeks like miniscule needles puncturing them. Tiny clouds of vapour formed with each breath you took, the cold never quite leaving your bones no matter how much you tightened your coat around you.

⋆˚꩜｡ Surprisingly, instead of the usual unease that followed you home, a simple serenity replaced it, allowing you to enjoy the dark cityscape more than you did on the days before. That was until you heard a pair of footsteps following you.

⋆˚꩜｡ Despite telling yourself that you were simply imagining it, you couldn’t help but speed up your pace, tightening your grip on your bag. Shit, maybe you should’ve invested into some pepper spray or some other cheap self-defense item people claimed would keep you safe regardless of the situation.

⋆˚꩜｡ Too bad that right as you passed by a shoddy alleyway, you got shoved right in it. As your bag tumbled just out of reach and you landed comically enough right on your ass, you could see a middle-aged man snickering. As he crouched down to your level, you shut your eyes tightly. (We all know what he’s intending, there’s no way I’m going into detail)

⋆˚꩜｡ Before he could even do anything, a loud crunch resounded through the alleyway, the man toppling over onto the snow carpet, staining the pristine white with an ever-growing dark red puddle.

⋆˚꩜｡ A figure clad in black stepped forward, not even paying you any mind as you froze. They made their way to the man, not hesitating before swinging the gross looking crowbar again.

⋆˚꩜｡ It wasn’t the following two crunches that snapped you out of your stupor, nor a few specks of blood landing on your cheek, but the delighted chuckles of the person. The moment you heard them, you ran out of there, forgetting completely about your bag. You only realised you left it behind as you made it to the safety of your apartment. Way too late to go back for it. Not to mention the risks implied.

‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

⋆˚꩜｡ Your classmate glanced at the discarded leather bag after he finished mangling up the corpse.

⋆˚꩜｡ He ran a hand through his disheveled locks with his signature annoyance. How careless of him to let you escape like that. You were now a liability and he couldn’t have that.

⋆˚꩜｡ As his gloved hand wrapped around the strap of your bag, an idea made him smile beneath his mask.

⋆˚꩜｡ What better opportunity to gain a new victim?

‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

⋆˚꩜｡ You barely managed to fall asleep that night. You have no idea what you were more scared of, the now-dead middle-aged man, or the crowbar man.

⋆˚꩜｡ You shuddered at the memory as your bare feet touched the soft fibers of your carpet. Most definitely the crowbar man. Hell, just the thought of him brought you chills.

⋆˚꩜｡ You froze as you glanced at your desk chair. On it sat your bag, albeit a bit beaten, with an envelope on top of it.

⋆˚꩜｡ You slowly made your way to the desk and grabbed the envelope, ripping it open with shaky hands. Inside was just a note with a rather short yet ominous message.

⋆˚꩜｡ You dropped this. :)

‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

⋆˚꩜｡ Well, if you were paranoid before, you certainly were even worse now. You keep glancing behind your shoulder, even if you know nothing is there, all in fear of the crowbar man reappearing. How did he know where you lived? Did he follow you home that night? Were you in danger? What if you will be his next victim?

⋆˚꩜｡ The lack of sleep was definitely catching up to you, prompting you to begin snoozing anywhere involuntarily. This only amplified the unease, and it certainly didn’t help that your desk mate seemingly gained a third emotion. What was he so amused for? Didn’t he have something better to do? Man, you really need some sleep.

⋆˚꩜｡ Little did you know, that over the past two weeks, he had been watching you a bit too closely for your comfort. Slowly, he went from simply following you around as you did your scarce errands to even breaking into your apartment. He hasn’t left any notes just yet, as he did when he left your bag, but oh did his hand itch to pick up the pen to taunt you further.

⋆˚꩜｡ Seriously, your paranoia was simply too adorable! But he wouldn’t make himself noticed just yet. He’ll allow you to calm down, and only then, as he did with all of his other victims, he will allow himself to proceed. What can he say? He loves taking his time. But for now, only watching you will suffice. Besides, despite your ordinary lifestyle, you were quite interesting to observe. He didn’t see himself get bored just yet.

⋆˚꩜｡ He has even gotten accustomed to you sitting next to him. He no longer felt annoyed when he saw your now sleepy figure trying not to dose off, only amusement at being the source of your sorrows.

⋆˚꩜｡ He just wishes you wouldn’t deprive yourself of sleep so intensely. After all, he wouldn’t pounce just yet. Where’s the fun that comes with a victim so eager to escape when they are too tired to even blink?

⋆˚꩜｡ If one were to ask, no, he doesn’t care about your well-being. But, oh, would he be a liar if he said he didn’t try to make your life easier. He only did small things, just enough to make you question your sanity. Like disposing of your expired food items or sneaking hard candy into your bag. Nothing too complicated. He did, after all, enjoy the grimace you made each time you found them. Just cut him some slack, they aren’t poisoned, he wants to murder you himself! He even went out of his way to pick your favourite flavours.

‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

⋆˚꩜｡ Gradually, the notes came back. At first, you found one on your bedside table, just as concise as the first one, but much creepier: You are adorable when you glance over your shoulder to look for me. :)

⋆˚꩜｡ When you saw it, you dropped it as if it burned you. What. The. Fuck. Just when your paranoia faded a bit, you discover that you were right all along. You might be his next victim.

⋆˚꩜｡ And then more. One on your bathroom sink. Your smile is beautiful. :) On your kitchen counter, right after your mother left for her night shift, and you were left to get ready for bed. You should wear the red sweater tomorrow, it suits your complexion the best. :)

⋆˚꩜｡ Each creepier than the last. You discovered some in your school bag too. I wonder if you know just how close I am. :) Anywhere really. I wonder how your screams of terror sound like. I bet they are delightful. :)

⋆˚꩜｡ You even found yourself at one point covered neatly with a blanket with a pillow placed carefully beneath your head when you fell asleep on the couch after a particularly exhausting day. At first, you didn’t pay it any mind, until you saw the note on the coffee table. You need to take better care of yourself. I wouldn’t want you to die right before I have the chance to kill you myself. :)

‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

⋆˚꩜｡ His face fell the moment he saw you with him.

⋆˚꩜｡ How dare you? Who is this gross specimen, and why are you allowing him to hold you and slobber all over your beautiful features?

⋆˚꩜｡ He couldn’t have that. You were his. His to toy with, his to watch, his to compliment. Sure, you two weren’t the closest, hell, you didn’t even talk! But that didn’t make you any less his. You were his victim, not this disgusting unwashed primate's.

⋆˚꩜｡ Plus, he didn’t treat you as well as he did. He didn’t tuck you in or check in on you throughout the day. He didn’t know all of your favourites by heart like he did, nor your schedule, not even your dislikes. Even he knows you don’t like roses because you consider them cliche, but you prefer lilies because of their meaning. Why does he get you roses when they clearly aren’t your favourites?

⋆˚꩜｡ He won’t let it slide, mark his words.

‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

⋆˚꩜｡ The guy you started dating was nice. Sure, he wasn’t the most attentive, or really your type for sure, but he brought a sense of comfort to your otherwise paranoid mind.

⋆˚꩜｡ Last night you got another note. You’ve gotten used to them in the meantime. Sure, they are creepy, but it’s not like the crowbar guy threatened you in any way, right?

⋆˚꩜｡ On your kitchen counter was your vase with a fresh bouquet of neatly picked lilies and gardenias. Cute. The note, however, wasn’t. The clear warning brought chills down your spine, despite how warm your kitchen was. Break up with him tomorrow unless you want to see him dead. :)

⋆˚꩜｡ He surely doesn’t mean it like that, right?

‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

⋆˚꩜｡ You obviously didn’t break up with him. What, you were gonna throw a perfectly good relationship out the window just because a random serial killer said so?

⋆˚꩜｡ And, naturally, when your boyfriend didn’t end up dead at your doorstep, you weren’t surprised in the slightest. It was clear the crowbar guy was messing with you.

⋆˚꩜｡ Although, the fact that he hasn’t been answering your texts for the past three days did make you quite worried. Did you do something wrong? Was he mad at you? Was the threat real? You haven’t gotten a note in over two weeks too, when you used to get one every few days or so.

⋆˚꩜｡ Oh, you should’ve listened to his warning. You should know by now that he isn’t the type to bluff.

⋆˚꩜｡ You saw the box on your kitchen counter, and you instantly knew who it was from. The note was simple, nothing more than an I hope you enjoy my gift. :) written on the thick paper, and yet it didn’t fail to put you at unease.

⋆˚꩜｡ A scream escaped your mouth the moment you opened the box. Inside was a human heart with a medium-sized kitchen knife staking it right where the four rooms of the organ met. You dropped the lid as you brought your shaky hands to your mouth.

⋆˚꩜｡ As you took a step back, your back hit something sturdy. Two hands gripped onto your upper arms as your back rested against his chest, and a familiar voice brushed your ear.

⋆˚꩜｡ Did you enjoy my gift?

‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

Should I write a series based on these headcanons?

[youryanderedaddy]

Kinktober - 11th October

tw: female reader, non - con, captivity, somnophilia (kinda), sedative drugs, degradation/dehumanization I wasn't gonna participate in kinktober but seeing the other authors inspired me :33

Being reduced to just your body - it's an idea, a phrase, an impending sense of doom and dread and horror every woman knows by heart, or has to learn eventually. Maybe you're 13 and you suddenly feel heaviness in your chest, you can grab a handful of flesh for the first time, but quickly you realize that so can the others with their eyes on you, on that very same heaviness. Or perhaps you're a bit older, well into college, when a sleazy boyfriend or some hockey jerk at a party, gets a bit too handsy, so close, so intimate and all you feel afterwards is the void. Maybe it's your boss making a seemingly innocent comment in passing that seems to hang off his teeth and not his tongue.

Maybe you like it. Maybe you even enjoy it - maybe somewhere deep down hidden under layers upon layers of shame, you actually want it, to be nothing more than a rag doll for the boys. To lose control and feel instead of think, to let go for a second.

You thought you knew that feeling well - hell, you wrote a whole thesis on it, on objectification, dissociation, what it means to exist in a female body, to be desired, but not wanted, to be taken and never take. And you thought that made you, somehow, untouchable. You had learnt your lesson - you had washed your hands clean, you were self-aware, you were protected, because you knew the signs, the gaze, the fangs in place of teeth. And yet, you've never felt less human than now.

"Oh, baby, darling, you're so warm, ah, you're taking me so well." He groans, leaning over you, kneeling fully on the bed so he can push himself deeper inside of you, pulling your legs towards his shoulders. "You're beautiful like this, you know?" He pauses to kiss you on the cheek chastely, as if it was your wedding night, as if he didn't have you handcuffed to the bed and wrapped around his torso like an anchor. "So sweet, so pliant, so very much mine..." The man whispers, stroking your hair gently, and you want to laugh and laugh, but your muscles refuse to bugde.

"You're trying so hard to stay awake, it's honestly adorable. I can see that little brain of yours ticking." He smiles, heavy hands caging you in tightly with no space to breathe. His voice is coming from above in waves, sweet and velvety, almost hypnotising like a mantra. "Ah, you never learn, do you?" His nose brushes against yours affectionately and your stomach clenches as you feel the sweat dripp off his neck. "Silly girl. Once the needle goes in, your stupid, slutty little self goes out." He's still patting your head, but now it feels calculated, patronizing - as if you're a wild animal caught in his lap.

You are supposed to be numb, to be asleep - but you feel it all. You feel the tears drowning you, but not the release of crying out loud. You feel his thursts, the brutality with which he pushes in and out of you, but there is no pain, no blood to make it feel real, to allow you to grieve, to hang onto reality. You're just an outlet for his lust, for his anger and angst, with no feelings of your own. You exist to take it.

"I used to worship you, once. I used to put you on a piedestal, used to think I was undeserving of you," he takes a deep breath, brows furrowing together like a storm. "God, I was such a fool. Look at you now - little more than a hole for me." Your captor smiles with a sense of victory so condescending it sends shivers down your whole body, but you can't look away. You're stuck in-between states of consciousness, in a never-ending nightmare.

"Oh, baby, you're shivering. Are you scared?" The man tilts forward, resting his forehead against yours, voice lower than a curse. "Are you scared you'll be my rapedoll forever? Scared you'll never see your precious friends again?" He bites at your neck, sucking at the tender heating flesh with greed. "Scared that you'll always wake up in my bed, underneath me, spread out with my seed leaking out?" He grips your throat, staring you down with burning eyes. "Scared that all you'll ever be in this life, is mine?"

You inhale deeply - you try, at least, but you know you're suffocating, drowning, slowly fading into nothingness. You want to fight, and there are no weapons. You want to scream, but his lips are on yours, and your words die against them. And now you just want to sleep and never wake up.

"You should be scared, love. You should be scared." He whispers as he takes your limp hand into his and kisses it softly - the way he never kisses you. "Because this is forever."

[yanderenightmare-reblogs]

the dialogue in this does things to me

[darkbluekies]

Lucky

Yandere!mafia oc x reader

Summary: Silas has been kidnapped and now SIC has to keep an eye on you all while the time is running out to save Silas

Warnings: mentions of gore and a few descriptions (cut off tongue, cut hands, pulled teeth), SIC threatens to break darlings legs b it doesn’t, he’s not very nice in this one, darling is grey in what they think about Silas? Please remind me if you think I missed any!!

Word count: 2k

Otto is lying at your feet in the big bed, but apart from that you’re alone. Silas hasn’t come home yet. You’re not sure why, but you can’t sleep because of it. It’s not rare that he gets home late at night. Your intuition tells you something is wrong.

Ottos big eyes watch you. He’s not sleeping either.

You don’t want to worry or feel bad for Silas. It’s his own fault for putting himself in those situations. Serves him right to get in trouble.

But the part of you that do like him worry. When he’s not the ‘Organisation’s leader’, when he’s just Silas … he’s actually kind of interesting to be around. He’s more childish than people can believe. Petty. Steals food of your plate because ‘he’s bigger and needs all the food he can get’ … like it’s troubling times and he doesn’t have his bank card.

And, another part of you, worry what’ll happen to you if something were to happen to him. You’re married to him, connected to him by an invisible string. He’s the one making sure you’re hidden from records and lists, so that none of his enemies will find you. If he’s gone …

Otto whines quietly, as if asking you why you’re awake and if he can help you.

”No, sweet boy”, you whisper. ”I’m okay. I’ll go to sleep.”

You lay down again and force yourself to think of other things, but it’s nearly impossible.

Instead you grab your water bottle, taking a sip in hopes to swallow the hard block of worry and guilt in your throat. The tablet lays on the bedside table. You grab it. Silas has disabled internet so you can only watch the movies you’ve downloaded, but you’re not in the mood for something new. Instead you put in one of the animated series you’ve watched a million times and place it on Silas’s side—the left side—of the bed, screen facing you. You fall asleep to it.

When you wake up, the bed is still empty. The tablet is still where you left it, meaning Silas never came home.

At this point, you’re actually confused. Silas’s has promised that you’ll never wake up alone. He’ll always come back—to you.

Otto scratches the door and you go to open it. Unlocked? Someone forgot to lock it. Otto runs downstairs to go to the bathroom. You follow, quiet steps on the floor. There’s a heavy atmosphere in the air. Slowly, you make your way to the top of the stairs, slowly down. Silas’s study, right by the stairs, has the door ajar and voices can be heard inside. You peek through the gap. SIC is pacing back and forth. A man stands in the middle of the room.

“Just pay the goddamn ransom!” SIC’s voice can be heard like a siren through the house. He’s not a little angry. He’s furious, shouting. “Who left him?! He was to be escorted at all times!”

“I don’t know what happened!” someone else replies, panicked. “He was there one second and then gone the next.”

The next sound is him groaning in pain. SIC has hit him. The man falls backwards, grabbing the desk with one hand and his bleeding nose with the other. SIC kicks him hard, probably breaking a rib or two, before running a hand through his hair and breathing out.

“You are good for nothing”, he mutters and turns around, suddenly stopping and looking at you. Realization and annoyance covers his face. “Oh, my fucking God—”

You open the door. “What’s going on? Where is Silas?”

“You are the last fucking thing I need right now.”

“SIC, where’s Silas?”

The man on the floor groans and coughs blood. SIC looks at him as if he is nothing more than a disturbance. You try not to look at him.

“Silas has been taken by some lowlife gangsters who don’t know what they’re doing”, SIC replies. “We’ll get him back, though. You just stay out of the way.”

“What?” you gasp.

“Go back upstairs, I’ll catch you up on it later. I need to sort this shit out now.”

Go back upstairs? And wait? Is SIC stupid? You can’t just sit and wait around while things happen. Your life is at stake too. If Silas dies … you’re without protection. You won’t be free without him. You’ll be the easiest target in the country. You can’t just sit and wait.

“But—”

SIC, seeming to be annoyed that you are still here grabs you, throws you over his shoulder and decide to put you back in the bed room.

“Let go of me!” you scream. “You’re hurting me, you idiot!”

“I am not your friend”, SIC replies. “I don’t care if I hurt you, as long as you stay where Silas would have wanted you and stay safe. Until he’s back, I need to make sure you don’t get killed or kidnapped. I can’t fucking deal with two ransoms right now. I swear I will tie you to the bedpost and leave you there until he’s found.”

He carries you back up the stairs and basically throws you back into the bedroom, almost closing the door. He stands in the gap so that you can’t get out.

“Listen to me”, he says. “Stop fucking around and listen to me. Right now, all of our attention need to be directed towards Silas and getting him back. You need to stay out of the way, and stay safe. As soon as the news about him being captured spreads who do you think his enemies will go for revenge now that they can’t get him? You.”

You freeze.

“I don’t like you”, SIC says. “I don’t have anything against you either because you make him happy. I tolerate you because you’re my best friend’s spouse. To me, you mean nothing personally, but I will be damned if I will have let you get killed when Silas comes back. So, you are going to stay in here with Otto and not go out at all.”

“But—”

“Zip it. I mean it. This is not something to be tested. If you go outside this room, you will get hurt. The bounty on your head will rise the more time goes. You’re not getting killed on my watch. I will break your legs if I have to. I don’t care. You are safe here. As long as you’re alive, I will do what I need to do to make sure Silas has his spouse when he comes back. Any questions? No? Good.”

With that said, he closes the door and locks it. You hit the door once with your fist and he hits it back twice as strong from the other side.

Otto is allowed back in a few minutes later. He runs up to you where you sit on the bed and start to lick your hands.

Hours go by without any news. SIC opens the door to give you food every now and then—fast food he’s ordered, nothing you like in it.

As the night approaches, you find yourself almost missing Silas.

SIC comes in as you’re about to sleep after having been out with Otto. The tablet plays the same show as last night.

“I got some news, if you’re up for it”, he says. “He’s alive and we’ve found him. We’re thinking of paying the ransom, but it’s a shit ton of money they want. You could send all of your future children to the best university in the world with that type of money. But I am getting him home. I’ll pay it. That was all. Go to sleep now, Y/N. Sleep and this nightmare will be over when you wake up.”

You follow his advice, although finding it harder than ever. He’s alive. Is he hurt? SIC seemed sad when he said goodnight. He’d never be that kind to you. So … raw. Is Silas that hurt?

Worst case scenarios play out in front of you. Hands being cut off, teeth pulled out. Tongue sliced.

You start to cry. Otto, sensing the sudden emotional outburst, wiggles closer and licks away your tears. You hug the Doberman and hide your face into his fur. Otto stays awake long after you’ve cried yourself into exhaustion.

You are woken up by Otto suddenly sitting up. Dazed and confused you sit up. He jumps down from the bed and runs over to the door, scratching and whining. You follow and open the door for him. He seems certain of something. You follow him. Otto makes his way down the stairs. You follow.

“Sit still", SIC says from the living room. “Don’t be a baby, it’s just some bruises. Put on a band aid and you’re good to go.”

A hiss answers him, like someone is choking back pain.

“Just some bruises?” a familiar voice answers, low as a growl. “I’ll give you some bruises if you keep acting like a bitch.”

Silas.

Your feet move on their own. Unbeknownst to what’ll await you when you turn the corner to the living room, you walk.

The living room is dimly lit. He’s sitting on the couch with his back towards you, SIC in front of him trying to use the first aid kit on the living room glass table. You take a careful step forward until you’re in the light. SIC notices you and halts. Silas seems to notice his abrupt stop, because he turns his head towards the entrance. Darkness surrounds one of his eyes and his lip is busted. His upper body is bare and you’re sure it’s a mess. Usually, he’d never show himself like this to you. But now, all his eyes scream to see you.

“Y/N”, he whispers, as if tasting the world, like he hasn’t said it in a thousand years. “My beautiful Y/N. Come here. I need to hold you.”

“Silas, you should stay still”, SIC says, but Silas glares at him before softening towards you again.

You walk towards him. The closer you get to him, the worse he looks. Bruised and beaten badly. As if someone enjoyed it. You’ve imagined Silas being beat up a lot of times, usually when you’re mad at him for what he’s done to you, but the actual sight makes your stomach churn. He looks so small, so young and vulnerable.

You stand before where he sits, for once taller than him. He doesn’t try to stand up. Just sits there and looks up at you with his black eyes, but for once they aren’t hard. Just a bottomless pit of love and guilt. He reaches up to touch your cheek. Even his fingers are hurt. Dried blood on his knuckles. Your eyes start to blur again.

“My pretty little thing”, he whispers. “Oh, how happy I am to see you again.”

“What did they do to you?” you ask and your voice wobbles.

His chest is filled with what looks like scratches in your blurry vision, but you know they’re deeper.

“Nothing”, he answers and that infuriates you.

“You can’t just answer that!” you burst out, voice cracking. “You always say that but look at you!”

He smiles slightly and leans forward, resting his head into your stomach and wrapping his muscular arms around your waist. Instinctively you hug his head. Dried blood covers his scalp.

“I’m fine”, he promises. “What happened to me doesn’t matter. I’m home now and that’s all I care about.”

SIC rolls his eyes but you can tell he’s not annoyed. Opposite, actually, but you’re sure he doesn’t know how to handle feelings.

“But , Y/N?” Silas asks.

“What?” you sniffle.

“Can you borrow me ten bucks I’m broke and I’d really like a cheeseburger.”

You blink. SIC chuckles and looks relieved. You slap Silas's shoulder and he whimpers, but still smiles.

“Stop joking!” you cry. “Stop turning it into something lighthearted.”

“He’s fine, Y/N”, SIC says. “He can joke. He’ll be alright.”

Silas can’t go up to the bedroom, so you and SIC sit with him in the living room until morning. He sleeps on the couch with a blanket over him, holding your hand the entire time while Otto sleeps at his feet.

He’s home, but you’re sure this won’t be the last time he’s taken. You find yourself hope he’s lucky next time as well.

[darkbluekies]

Oneshot teaser? Kinda?

Backstory: I’m used to writing both Y/N’s and Silas’ perspectives but since this is supposed to be their ”first” he’s supposed to be introduced and mysterious, so I decided to scrap this part but it’s still a little fun and very telling of SIC and Silas and shows what the oneshot will be about!

See this as a blooper lol

“Shit”, Silas hisses, one hand searching for his phone on the seat next to him while keeping the other on the wheel and his eyes in the rear view mirror.

He knows he should have stopped to check on the poor pedestrian he almost ran over, but with the cop car ten meters behind him there’s no way he would manage.

His hand fishes up his phone and he calls the first contact on his screen; his trusted Second In Command, shortened to ‘SIC’ for convenience and hide his identity. Silas hasn’t used his real name in years and start to doubt if even that was his real one.

“What’s up?” SIC answers.

“The cops found out about the meet up with that sketchy guy”, Silas breathes, checking the rear view mirror again. “They followed me and I’ve tried to shake them off, but in the midst of that I fucking hit someone with my car!”

SIC laughs on the other side of the phone.

“It’s not fucking funny”, Silas growls.

“Are the cops still following you?” SIC asks, and the clear smile in his voice makes Silas want to reach through the screen and choke him.

“No, I think they stopped to check the person. Fucking Hell, SIC, I didn’t see them!”

“So?”

“The fuck you mean ‘so’? That was not the plan!” Silas groans. “This just gave me so much more goddamn work.”

“Why? Just think of it as a coincidence. They basically saved you from getting caught by the cops.”

Silas doesn’t answer at first. For the first time SIC has said something smart. Silas groans even deeper.

“That’s not better, you dumb fuck”, he hisses. “That makes it worse! You’re going to find out who it is so that I can pay off this debt.”

[rawme-price]

Okay now imagine omega!reader who is so fucking tired of being pursued all the time by the alphas on base that act like their knot is a gift from god.

So you come up with a...dubiously ethical solution tha has you picking the lock on ghosts door while he's on a month long mission. You pick through his clothes for one with his scent, and find a plain black hoodie that fucking reeked of his scent.

Sure, kyle and soap may have wrinkled their nose the first time you passed by with that hoodie, knowing damn well ghost didn't give it to you. But an entire week without someone trying to get their knot in you is totally worth the rumors you're starting.

Or so you think, until ghost arrives back on base. He fucking growls when he sees you, dragging you into the closest closet. "How the fuck did you get this hoodie?" He's yanking it off of you the second he can, totally ignoring your pathetic explanations "why the fuck do you have this? Yer nose broken? Don't you know it's mine?"

He growls more, then pauses when he inhales. Ghost can't help tucking his head into your neck, inhaling both scents mingling together with a groaned "fuckin' hell...seriously?"

"...it makes the other alphas fuck off..." you try to reason.

Ghost just grabs at your hips, licking over your skin lightly "mhh, really? Because it's making me want to get you pupped, love."

...on the bright side, everyone already thinks you're fucking ghost, so you only have to deal with your teams judgment after walking out of the lieutenants room in the morning with a limp.

[callmezayka]

Ex-boyfriend!Simon x Sex Worker!Reader

How big was your surprise when the door of your client's apartment opened and there was Simon, your ex.

Well, yes, it has been around ten years since you saw each other and he definitely had a glow up from the gaunt, funny boy you met back in the shitty neighborhood you two lived in Manchester. Same neighborhood, same type of family, same struggles growing up. You two had everything in common and could've ended up getting married and living in a one bedroom apartment in the same old neighborhood.

But he left.

Without goodbye, without explaining, he just left. You found out by his brother that he had joined the military. You were devastated, to say the least.

You stayed behind, having to take care of your ill mother since your father was a drunk bastard. Until he died when you were nineteen, killed during a bar fight. With the employment rate near to zero in the area you lived in, your solutions were either prostitution or drug dealing, and you refused to be involved with drugs.

That's how you ended up in the sex business. The money was good and you and your mother moved to London, and you started getting richer clients. That's how you ended up there, face to face with the man who broke your heart when you were only sixteen.

You two stared at each other in dead silence for a couple of seconds until you decided that he probably didn't even remember you, so you just acted normal, like you didn't remember him too. The money was too good to reject it.

–You're the one who called me, handsome?

You asked, your voice sickly sweet. He didn't answer, of course. At least not with words.

Without saying anything, he cupped your face with his big, callused hands, attacking your lips with his with deep, burning passion, the taste of his lips heavy with a mix of whiskey and tobacco. The taste had changed, but the way he kissed you, like a starved man, was the very same since you were both teenagers.

But, oh, he remembered you. More than you could've expected. And the moment he saw you standing right in front of the door, the feelings he had butried so deep came back to life in a explosion, leaving him blind with passion and longing.

After a moment he finally let go of your lips, pulling away just enough to get some air, his hands never leaving your face as he whispered in a raspy, rough voice who almost made you moan.

–Can't belive you're bloody real... Ten years, bunny. It's been fucking ten years.

And your heart stopped. He remembered. And hearing him call you the petname he had used with you so many times in the past made your heart twist in knots, eyes burning with tears that you refused to let fall. Your makeup was too expensive for it.

–I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry for not saying goodbye.

He murmured, kissing you again and again as he pulled you inside, shutting the door close without letting go of you.

Each kiss, each touch, everything about him and his presence was an explosion of feelings and sensations you couldn't describe, ecstasy cursing through your veins at each pump of your heart, lungs suffocating with the smell of his cologne at each uneven breathing, brain melting with every sweet word that left his mouth, body shuddering with every thrust of his divine sculpted dick.

–I'm never letting you go again, bunny...–another thrust –Gonna marry you...–another thrust –Gonna fill you up and make you a mommy, yeah?

All you could do was nod, your brain barely registering his words as he overwhelmed you with pleasure and love, and even if what he said wasn't true, it didn't matter at the moment. At that moment, you were both the old Y/N and Simon again, hiding inside his father's old truck at night to have a moment alone.

Your mind turned into a puddle as an overwhelming, destructive orgasm hit her, your warm and soaked cunt clenching and throbbing around his cock, and after a few more thrusts he made his words come true, filling you up to the brim.

Sure, at the moment you didn't actually believe he would marry you and take care of you, but then six months later you found yourself sitting on a comfortable armchair, hand resting on top of your round belly as you watched the most handsome man in the world build your daughter's crib in her pink room, under your inspection of course. Guess he took his promises way too seriously because after the first encounter in two months you were married and moving to a beautiful house in a nice, calm neighborhood, and everyday he made sure to remind you that you didn't have to lift a finger, he was your man, he's supposed to take care of you, right?

[writersdrug]

For the alpha/omega one, forced proximity on one of his missions he gets sent on, and she is basically standard issue along with his weapon. She’s around his stuff/in his bunk 24/7, her sent slowly permeating everything, eventually his mask, driving him crazy/rut if that’s interesting. She gets captured, he starts to realize how much he’d unconsciously relied on her, goes feral, tears enemy base apart and she nurses him back to health? Hehehehe I love feral könig

Oh, he's pissed.

Warnings: mentions of violence, attempted sexual assault (very minor and brief, guy gets what's coming to him)

When Ridgeback had informed the team that they had a new assignment, König was sighing in relief. Finally, a moment away from that damned omega. A chance to prove that he didn't need some weak, not-so-self-sustainable thing to "improve his performance" (if anything, you were just making him grumpier, with how often you complained about the standard-issued nesting material. He already said he'd buy you some new blankets, ok?!).

But then, Ridgeback announced that any partners belonging to the soldiers would be included on the deployment. Meaning omegas. Meaning you.

You weren't happy, either. You thought you were going to get an entire two weeks to yourself, including the entirety of König's room and bathroom and a chance to roll around in his clothes and scent uninterrupted. You'd get to chat it up with the sweet beta corporals that accompanied you to the mess hall in your Alpha's absence. But now? Being flown out to god-knows-where with König, a.k.a. Chuckles? With even fewer nesting materials of an even lesser quality? Great. Just perfect.

König hated how you were everywhere. He hated how your scent, ocean breeze and warm sandalwood, had clung to every article of clothing he owned. He hated how you built your (rather lackluster) nest in the top bunk with a literal wall of pillows around you - he wasn't even in there with you, why were you adding insult to injury? He hated that you were even here in the first place. Who's idea was this?! Now he has to growl at anybody that approaches his table in the dingy cafeteria where the two of you eat in silence, or sit in in the briefing room with you squished to near death in the corner, just to keep you away from other alphas. Not to mention, projecting his scent to cover yours is very inconvenient, you should really stop smelling so nice.

It was a breath of fresh air when they finally landed at the objective rally point for the mission - but the gunshots and acrid smell of blood did little to drown out the thoughts of you. What were you doing without him there to scowl at you? He didn't like the idea of some random beta from this random base taking you to meals, but it was better than an Alpha, he supposed. Your scent clung to his mask, and although it made his senses keener and sharper, he really wished it would just go away, so he could stop thinking of you and focus on the mission. Thankfully, it didn't last too long.

Thank goodness he was still in overdrive when the heli touched base, though - because he quickly found out that you were not where you should be: in his room. He'd have half a mind to think you ran off to do your own thing, if it wasn't for the sour scent in the room, rather than your usual sweet, slightly angry notes. You didn't leave intentionally.

Everyone was instantly on edge when he burst out of the room, nostrils flaring and pupils shrunken in his rage. Horangi rushed after him as König stormed throughout the base, following the trail of your scent (he has to make sure his friend doesn't kill anyone - innocent, that is). He hadn't claimed you yet; a decision he was regretting more and more by the second. What kind of Alpha was he? Leaving you alone on a foreign base without a nice, toothy mark on your neck. No, he didn't need you (🙄), but you were his. He should have made that clear. He didn't like it when people tried to take his omega.

It didn't take long before he heard you - some idiot Alpha had dragged you into the back of a humvee, and König could see your limbs kicking and scratching underneath the man (who had a decent, bloody scratch on his face - good on you). Your snarls and hisses echoed through the cracked windows - which König promptly shattered as he smashed his arm through it, grabbing the sergeant by his collar and pulling him out through the broken glass. You suddenly froze at the sound of the man being punched relentlessly, smelling a familiar cinnamon, woodsmoke, and earth, combined with the smell of blood. König's scent smelled like straight blood when he was angry, and it was terrifying, even to you.

Horangi was quick to interject König and his death sentence to the sergeant, pulling him off of the smaller Alpha - a bold move, even dangerous, but their pack bond was thicker than iron, and König wouldn't mistakenly swing on his friend.

Horangi shoved König back, muttering a quick "get your omega", before pulling the now-unconscious sergeant up by his armpits. "I'll do something with him."

König took a moment to clear his head, breathing in deeply and exhaling through clenched teeth. He then moved to the other side of the car with stride, yanking open the back passenger door and reaching in. You made a sound, a frightened squeak, still alert and cautious, as he promptly dragged you out from the back seat. After a quick brush of your clothes with his hand, making sure there's no lingering shards of glass on you, he tossed you over his shoulder with a grunt and made back for the barracks, leaving Horangi to deal with the soldier.

You assumed you're in deep waters with him now. König didn't say a word to you, just stormed through the halls and huffed at anyone he passes. You were a bit embarrassed by the whole ordeal: you had been dragged out, kicking and screaming (and gave a proper, internal fuck you to the surrounding personnel that did nothing) from the barracks, and now here you were, being dragged right back in - just without the protest.

He reached your shared quarters and shoved his bulky frame inside, kicking the door shut behind him. You were about to explain yourself when he slipped you off of his shoulder and put you back on your feet - then promptly leaned down and shoved his face into your neck, inhaling rather obnoxiously while gripping you by your arms. You whined at the sudden, atypical behavior, gently pushing against his chest to get away from the behemoth of a man. He ignored it, picking you up again and carrying you into his bunk bed. He drags you in between himself and the wall, chuffing when you fit so nicely against his frame. Had you always been so comfortable? Why didn't someone convince him to hold you like this sooner?

You, on the other hand, were not as comfy. This wasn't your nest - you didn't have that stupid, grey, felt blanket that was five feet too long, nor the extra pillows you had stolen from the empty room across the hall. You didn't have your border, your flimsy wall of protection against the rest of the world. You squirmed in König's grip, shoving against his taut abdomen and trying to climb over him. He growled, a sound that had you bristling for a moment, but you pushed past it.

"Gimme a sec-"

"Schatz, please-"

"Just a minute!"

He huffed and let you go; you scrambled over him and out of his bed, the thick, muscular cords of his abdomen tensing as you used it to support your weight. He lay on his back and sighed. He just saved you from some cocksure, weaker Alpha - weren't you thankful? I mean, really - this was truly insulting. Here he was (oh, look, his fist was bleeding from smashing the car window, didn't that show you he was a good protector? A good mate?), fresh off of deployment, fighting the demons of the world just for you, and you had the audacity to turn your nose away from him and shuffle back to your precious little nest. How sweet of you. Very appreciative, liebe. Why don't you-

He was torn from his thoughts when a blanket was tossed over him. He pulled it back, confused, as he felt you shoving pillows into his side. You tucked them around him, forming a barrier around the side of him that was closest to the edge of the bed. He watched as you fussed for a bit, beating and fluffing the pillows until they were just right. You then tossed one more onto the bed - one that was wearing his shirt as a case, which had him melting - and climbed overtop of him again.

His chest rumbled with an affectionate sound as you took a damp bathroom towel and began wrapping it around his busted hand. You held it against your chest as you curled into his side once more, not protesting or scrunching your face when he wrapped his other hand around your waist and rubbed your back. He preened when he felt the reverberations of your purr against his hand, your sweet scent filling the air and causing him to relax his shoulders and neck muscles. It permeated his brain and made his Alpha sigh with relief, happiness, and satisfaction. Your scent was finally untainted by that bitter, angry note that you usually had.

"Thanks for... today." you said, deciding to leave the details unspoken. "Sorry about the-"

"Don't be sorry." he rumbled, rubbing his thumb back and forth across your lower back. "I'm sorry I wasn't there."

"You couldn't be."

"Well, now I am."

You sighed, letting your eyes flutter shut. He's not so bad... getting sent off by my family to some random military company was bad, sure, but... my Alpha's a good one. This could be good.

"You're purring very loudly, schatz."

"Shut up."

[unadulteratedvoidtragedy]

cw: swearing, alpine divorce is a warning in itself, yandere König towards the end, implied stalker König

I keep seeing the term "alpine divorce" going around on the internet and it got me thinking about reader whose shitty partner tries to pull something like this, but you clock things early and prepare yourself. You keep the water bottles and car keys in your backpack, having left your location on and letting a friend know where you were going. You can tell he's getting ready to leave you behind, saying to go off the trail to see some waterfall and that of course he knows where he's going. You barely manage not to roll your eyes at how obvious he's being, but go ahead as he starts walking faster and faster, struggling to catch up to him.

There is indeed a waterfall, the sight of it catching you breathless, staring at it for a few minutes. By the time you open your phone to take a picture your now ex-boyfriend is nowhere to be seen. Although expected, you still find yourself dissapointed and a little hurt. Who even does something so fucked up? Let's see how he's gonna do without supplies on his own, letting out a chuckle at the thought of him realizing he still doesn't have the car keys.

"That's an unexpected reaction at being left alone in the wild."

Startled you turn around in the direction of the unknown voice and see a giant of a man, dressed in hiking gear, holding a half eaten sandwich that looks comically small in his hands. He sits crouched on a stone and even like that he's still taller than you when you get in front of him. Before you can open your mouth to say anything, your stomach starts growling loudly, which makes him chuckle at your embarassed expression. He takes out another sandwich from his backpack and wordlessly offers it to you.

He is a stranger in an unfamiliar place that knows your partner left you behind, but at this point you don't care anymore. Taking the sandwich from his hand you motion for him to scoot over so you can sit. He complies more than happily, the smile streching along his face and the slight blush on his cheeks making him look quite endearing.

The two of you start making conversation while admiring the view and you find out his name is König and he works in the military, a colonel he tells you rather smugly. He's surprisingly talkative and quite the gossip, you're probably never gonna meet this Horangi guy, but you got to hear so many embarassing stories about him that it feels like you already know him.

Maybe it's the fact that he's a complete stranger that lets you speak so freely around him, ending up revealing some of your insecurities, most of them caused by your now ex-boyfriend. König talks about his severe social anxiety and how he still struggles with it to this day:

"And yet you've been talking with me for the past two hours."

"It's easier with you, sparkly eyes and adorable expressions. How could I not talk with you?"

You clear your throat trying to mask just how much that simple compliment affected you. If his hand brushes yours a few times, none of you says anything about it.

As you and König get down the mountain and finally have some signal, the notifications on your phone start going crazy with messages from your ex-boyfriend frantically asking you where you are, that he's sorry and tried to come back to you. Apparently he took a bad step and fell in some valley, hurt his leg and now is begging for help. You show König the messages and he mutters something in german that sounds like cursing. You're not completely heartless so you call the emergency services to rescue the asshole.

König walks you to your car, body leaning over the open window, obstructing most of the light, a hand on the roof of the car. Maybe you should feel a bit caged, but you can't look away from his puppy eyes as he asks if the two of you could go out sometimes and you gladly accept.

He feels giddy as he waves you goodbye with a new contact in his phone. It's only after your car drives away that he checks the tracker he planted on it. It's only to make sure you get home safe, he cares about you, unlike that boyfriend of yours. Good thing he followed the two of you when you went off the trail. It's a shame that he only got his ankle broken when König pushed him off for leaving you stranded in the woods, but he had to hurry to make sure you were alright. Don't worry, little maus, he'll take care of you from now on.