[rawme-price]

Ghost and the secretary on base have been dating for the past three months, everyone knows this.

Well...everyone but you two.

It's painful for everyone else involved, watching you happily approach ghost with a "hey, si. We still on for tonight?" When most people go out of their way to avoid the creep who wears a skull mask all the time.

Really, it's so obvious you like ghost. You always carry around two lunch boxes, one packed specifically for ghost because "that poor bloke would survive on raw spinach and dog food if I let him."

Not to mention how physically affectionate you two are. The most physical ghost is with others happens on the field, pats on backs and rough bicep grabs in a show of military solidarity. But with you? Gaz swears he's seen you and ghost hold hands when you walk back to your cars at night, and soap has walked in on you and ghost cuddling in an empty meeting room multiple times.

But when anyone asks about it, you just smile and wave a dismissive hand "ah, simons a good friend, that's all."

As if you're completely blind to the way ghost only relaxes around you. How he waits for you at doorways and saves trinkets he finds to give to you at lunch. Its so damn obvious ghost is infatuated with you, and you him.

Or, that's what everyone thinks.

The truth? You and ghost had tried dating, when you first realized how well you clicked. It just felt like the thing you ought to do. Anyone else would've.

Only. Dating made ghost freezes up over everything, made you feel weird and trapped, made everything wrong and bad. You almost cut contact before coming to a solution.

No definitions. No words or labels for what you are. Friends, lovers, something in between or something completely different.

It's the happiest you've ever been with someone.

[sky-is-the-limit]

These are so Gaz coded, I'm unwell.

Thank you, Elliot. We all say in unison.

[handsomejagoff]

albert wesker art dump hehe

[rawme-price]

Thinking about gaz who has a mortifyingly intense crush on the medic the 141 tend to work with.

Which usually isn't a problem, he can stumble through conversations well enough so long as he doesn't get distracted staring at your hands patching someone up. Gaz has made sure to keep his crush tightly contained, no need to humiliate himself with that.

That of course, all goes out the window when he's shot twice in the stomach. Blood loss and adrenaline have the sergeant fully convinced he will be dead before you manage to save him.

Might as well confess, right?

"Love, i– i need to tell you something–" he mumbles, trying to grab your arm but being swiftly held down so he doesn't get in the way. "I always liked you. Really liked you."

For a split second, like a fucking amateur, you freeze.

Gaz doesn't notice, already rambling further "you're perfect, yknow? Christ– nights I've spent thinnking about thos' hands of yours. Wanna feel them wi'out gloves–"

"You're losing blood, sergeant." You mumble quieter than you would, trying to rationalize his behavior as nothing more than momentary delusions.

"M no' lying—" gaz huffs, head tossed back but still lucid enough to catch your implication. Not lucid enough to stop himself when he says "can't fuckin' get off to normal shite anymore. All medical porn, innit? thinkin' about you, sometimes just imaginations enough—"

"Sergeant." You warn mildly, pressing at his wound just that bit harder. Retribution for your burning face.

"Mghh! Fuck— keep doing that, love. Need my last breath to be under your hands—" gaz groans, truly having lost it now because you can see the way his cock twitches in his trousers. "Press a little harder, please—"

Ah. The drugs worked.

Gaz goes limp under you, and quietly you thank whatever above that you were the only ones to hear that. Face burning, you finish patching him up to drag to emergency evac.

"Almost had me fooled you felt the same, sergeant." You whisper, completely unaware that kyles comms have been on the whole time.

[moondirti]

gaz has a bad habit of slipping his thumb back there when he’s got you face down, ass up.

tells you it’s for leverage when you hiss and kick a foot back; dry, rough hand smoothing down your arched back, as if to soothe a vexed pet. and it doesn’t even hurt much anyway, does it pretty? not when he’s making room for himself in your little cunt, slamming in you all sloppy and hard. or when he shines that bright, pearl-toothed smile after you throw a look over your shoulder. all you need is some extra attention, yeah? quick slaps to your clit, or those tits grabbed and groped like they deserve. anything that’ll loosen you up, get you nice and pliant, docile, obedient, dumb with your impending orgasm.

maybe then you won’t have the mind to throw a big fuss when he breaches your virgin asshole. sinks into it, makes you take him, dry, up to the knuckle. just to test the waters, see how much you can do yourself before he spits to aid the pursuit. it’s clear you aren’t ready for him yet, no matter how eager you sound whining and whimpering into your pillow. but it’s why he does what he does.

your body is responsive in that special sort of way. so yielding to his desires. gaz is so sure that if he keeps pushing it, pushing you, just like this — slowly working his way up one more finger. then two. then three — then you’ll be ready to seat yourself on his cock. will jump at the opportunity to, even. spread yourself wide and sink down to the base in one go, like the greedy ass slut he knows you could be.

it’s just a matter of getting you there, first

[pp3lon]

doodles

[jiyuspassion]

excuse me while i drool omg.

[hawberries]

more shipchibis! i am excercising my free will!! (part 1)

[callsign-arson]

Price being in a meeting with the rest of the taskforce, then you walk in, and everyone else is wondering who the hell you are. Price guides you over to his seat at the head of the table and makes you sit on one of his thighs. "This is my daughter. Love, this is my team."

Everyone is in utter disbelief, they never knew he had a family. Little did they know, Price and you were dating. Its just that you're so young that everyone disapproves of your relationship.

So for the rest of the meeting, everyone focuses on the debriefing for the rest of the meeting. Sometimes Price bounces you on his knee and whispers something dirty into your ear. "You like being my baby girl, don't you?"

You feel the tingles of his fingers gracing your inner thigh and begins pulling your panties aside beneath your skirt. You muffle your gasp, eyes flinching up to see if anyone else can see.

"Shhhhh.. be a quiet little girl for me.." he'd whisper, already shifting you on his lap to spread both legs over his thighs. The subtle sound of his zipper being pulled down is lost in the presentation on the board. You feel his cockhead run through your pussy folds, and his fingers part them before he pushes inside.

He groans into your hair, murmuring "thats a tight pussy, huh? You like my big cock inside it?"

You nod profusely, shifting as he begins bouncing your up and down, just enough for your ass to lift up before settling back in his lap again.

Eventually the meeting ends with your face flushed and trying to hide against Price's chest. You cant even tell if any of his staff have noticed, though a couple definitely seem suspicious.

As soon as the door to the meeting room closes, he stands up, jostling you from your place on his lap, and roughly bends you right over the table. The glasses on each coaster jiggle, and you moan as he begins pounding his hips, making your ass slap with each thrust.

"Dadddyy-" you whine, and he stuffs three fingers into your mouth with a gruff, "Shut up, little girl. That's enough of you." He doesn't even let you come, just stuffs the length of his cock inside, his tip bruising your cervix, and fills you with cum like a worthless little pocket pussy.

You may gain a few interested looks when you stumble out of the meeting room with an uncomfortable limp.

[poreyneel]

I wonder how they treat him in remake

[bam-b00zle]

hands up who wants more of this stupid shit

[girl-lostconnection]

Hear me out on single mother Reader x obsessed+in love at first sight butcher Simon

You don't know him, you think, not really.

You've seen him a couple times behind the counter - large man in an apron, blond hair buzzed too short to his skull, surgical mask on his face and in the cool air of the butchery, it almost feels like you are the meat on his counter.

Stupid thought, really, probably because you haven't been resting much lately and maybe, because running from your child's father across the country is draining you of energy, money and hours of sleep.

'What can I get you?' He asks, voice vibrating through the space between the two of you invisible strings getting stroked because you have to crane your neck to look up at him, because his eyes don't blink at you as he stares, because you don't know how to ask for what you want and what do you even need- You shake your head, stepping to the side, pretending you are still looking at the display, letting the impatient man behind you step forward so that the line can finally get moving and butcher's head tilts to the side.

Not even surprised, for some reason.

Your pride and joy sleeps on your shoulder, arms wrapped around your neck - little boy with your eyes and your nose, his hair tickling your nose when you turn your head to breathe him in, trying to calm down.

His gp has already told you that he needs to eat more meat, but apple never falls far away from the tree - a picky eater has another picky eater, because your chid positively despises red meat, refuses any duck or lamb, spits out ground meat, whining about texture and doesn't take to fish kindly either.

And money's tight this month, you chew on your lower lip, fingers wooden with anxiety coarsing through your body like electrical current.

Buzzes in your arms, already aching because your 3-year old is a growing boy, and maybe you aren't getting stronger to hold him up for hours like before when he was an infant and you could pretend you can still carry him under your heart. Keeping him safe.

"What can I get you, luv?" The low voice slithers through your stupor, so you'd look up from the display and see that the large man from before is bracing his arms on the counter, leaning forward. "Been starin' for a while. What's the plan for dinner?" He asks, and you don't know how to push down the animal's urge to back off from him immediately.

The butcher's eyes are dark and round, almost soft when his gazse is anything but.

'Cow's eyes', you think, swallowing a smile because you don't need no trouble and don't want to smile at another man to give him some bloody reason to get closer. 'If cow was a butcher, that is.'

"I'm not...sure." You say quietly, keeping your voice low and he hums, apparently not planning to pull back. "He uh...doesn't like meat much. But I need him to eat a little of it, something...just- just don't know what to try." Your lower lip wobbles and fuck, this is humiliating. But the month have been so rough and so long and you are so so tired.

"Okay." The man nods slowly, tilting his head to the right shoulder, eyes the bottomless well that you cannot get out of, thick stone of it muffling any screams. "Lad eat anythin' from meat or nothin' at all?" He clarifies, keeping his voice quiet and gratitude blooms in your chest for this small consideration.

"Uh, yeah, he..." you nod quickly, wiping tears on your shoulder hastily. "Likes chicken nuggets sometimes. In the shape of dinosaurs." You explain and the man makes a sound only adjacent to chuckle.

"Got decent chicken fillet this mornin'. Fresh." He proposes, nodding at the neatly arranged pale pink of chicken on your left. "Can coat breadcrumbs and bake 'em in the oven till golden. Should taste like nuggets."

It is so simple, so bloody easy but you have no energy to feel embarassed that you did not think of it yourself.

"I'll take two." You swallow the small shudder, because you cannot allow it while your boy's asleep. Can't risk waking him up.

"Four quid." The man nods, starting to move immediately, picking out the meat to wrap up for you and you fumble for your wallet, trying to get it out of the pocket without needing to set your child down.

The butcher huffs out air, but when you glance up at him, he is looking down on the meat he is packing for you. The only give away of his mood - eyes crinkled in the corners.

Is he smiling?

"Here you go, luv." He takes the money from you and passes you the wrapped up meat. "Let me know how it goes with the chicken." The butcher adds, not requesting but telling and you nod automatically, too glad to get it over with.

He is weird, you think. Weird, but he was nice and that's much more than you were getting in the last couple months.

Only back at your apartment when you get dinner ready, you realise something. The butcher didn't pack you two fillets. He packed four.

When you step into his shop few days later, your toddler, holding onto the bag of groceries you have in hand. "Helpin', mum" as he said to you, determined to do just that.

The bell dings above your head and the butcher emerges out of the backroom, his whole massive frame moving too quietly for someone of his size.

When he sees you and your boy, something changes in his eyes, almost eager. Anticipatory of something, when he gives you a short nod and circles the counter, leaning on it again, this time by the register, so he can see you proper.

So there is no glass between you two.

You open your mouth to greet him, only to pause realising that you don't know his name. Bloody hell, you didn't even ask it last time.

"Simon." He chimes in helpfully, eyes crinkling when you quickly nod. He is definitely smiling.

"Thank you for the last time, Simon." You smile, wide and relieved, reaching for your wallet. "But you've given us more accidentally. How much do I owe you for the extra two fillets we got last time?"

He makes a low humming sound, something satisfied passing through his eyes when he turns his head from side to side, slowly shaking it.

"Not accidental. On the house, luv." He says, glancing down at your toddler, tilting his head to the other shoulder when your son just stares up at him back. "Y'like the chicken?" Simon asks, casual and curious, not moving any closer but your baby quickly nods. Stands on his tippy toes to reach for the counter.

Breathes out 'thank u', a little shy in the face of a new person met and when you glance at Simon, his heavy shoulders sag down, dark eyes warm in a way you didn't expect.

"No problem." He says back to your son and glances back at you. "Same today, luv?"

"Uh...yeah, yeah, please." You snap out of your daze quickly and he nods, pushing himself up, suddenly towering over you. "Seems like we hit out jackpot with oven-baked chicken."

Fuck, you did not realise he will be even bigger up close.

"Breast's better today." Simon announces casually, not even looking up at you as he packs it for you just as quickly as the last time. "Same price as last time."

You are pretty sure that it should not be the same, but the big butcher sends you one glance and you promtly shut your jaws closed.

You will still be paying for the meat, so maybe it's okay if he wants to be kind to someone.

"Thank you, Simon." You tilt your head, mirroring his usual gesture without even realising when you take chicken from him. "Love, tell Simon 'bye-bye', we are leaving." You glance down at your child, currently watching Simon with rapt attention, clearly not planning to leave.

Simon huffs out 'g'bye', very obviously amused and says that he will see you later.

You don't question it. Not until you run into him in the grocery store. Then at the bakery.

Simon tilts his big head to the shoulder every time, large and tall, thick thighs wrapped in jeans that should be bursting at the seams by the looks of it.

Simon huffs 'hey, lad' at your son and breathes out 'mornin', love.", purrs 'evenin', luv' and practically savours the surprise on your face when you run into him in your apartment building when he tilts his head at you in the elevator and hold it so you can get in.

Smiles behind his surgical mask when you glance up at him and your throat bobs.

Not good for you and your kid to be all on your own. He could fix it for you, you know.

Simon nods goodbyes to you, says 'see you soon' instead of simple 'bye' and has the pleasure to watch the jump of your pulse at the base of your neck, breathing hitching.

Yeah, perhaps he should. Simon checked, there is no one with you and the laddie you haul on your hip everywhere.

You could use a hand and won't you look at that, Simon had two.

[anneofgreengabagool]

fruiting body | john price x reader | 1.8k words

tags/cw: 18+. explicit sexual content, historical (regency england) au, cis-female reader, dubcon, infidelity, secret cucking, breeding kink, in-laws fuckin', loss of virginity

navigate to: part one

part two (final)

Dinner is, of course, lavish as always.

As from the first evening, Lord Price has you sitting in the guest of honour seat, directly to his right. Cecil is further down the table, between the silent Mr. Riley and amiable Mr. Garrick.

Upon finishing your course of freshly caught mackerel, prepared with mint, Mr. MacTavish, to your right, leans toward you. "Mrs. Price, will you do me the honour to drink a glass of wine with me?"

You smile and accept. The courses are served, soft white breads and roasted swan with fennel, and no shortage of madeira and claret at the bequest of Mr. MacTavish.

Lord Price — you cannot think of him as Father — is an exemplary host, ensuring that conversation does not lag or suffer, despite Cecil's social weaknesses. Your eyes find your husband across the table, in his cups already, and you look away, embarrassed for him. For yourself. For another night not spent in your marriage bed with your husband. You will be grateful should he keep his head upright once you retire to the drawing room. He does not meet your eyes and you try to keep your jaw unclenched.

The candlelight masks the way your eyes soften with imminent tears, but before your nose has time to prickle with the telltale sting, a heavy weight finds your leg through your gown. Your head shoots up quickly; Lord Price is discussing something about the Americas, completely unaware of you. But his hand, large and hot, is rubbing your thigh under the tablecloth, hidden by bottles of drink and and grand candles and jellied desserts. Just as abruptly, his hand pulls away.

Dinner service ends in a fuzzy haze — Mr. MacTavish was so kind to offer drinks so you would not need to ask directly, but this may have worked against you, as you find that your full concentration is required to take steady slippered steps to the drawing room.

Mr. Garrick and Mr. MacTavish take their places at the card table, where, if the previous evenings indicate a pattern, they will argue goodnaturedly about their respective hands and tease about one another's poorly disguised bluffs. Your husband sits at the piano; he is a talented player, when he is of sober mind, but it does give him a purpose in this room. You simply wish his talent was up to snuff for this audience.

Mr. Riley takes up so much room, but settles in a comfortable armchair opposite Lord Price, who lounges on the settee closest to the lit fireplace. Before you consider a seat of your own, perhaps in a corner to do some needlework or look at portraits Lord Price has hung up, he beckons you silently.

You perch on the settee and listen to the ambient conversations over the crackling fire, cigars being lit and sucked by mouths, Cecil's slowing piano tinkles, glass clinking to glass as drinks are poured. Your eyes grow hot and drowsy from the near fire, the drink in your blood, and fall asleep.

Upon waking, the room has shifted imperceptibly. All three guests are now involved in a heated card game, and you no longer hear Cecil playing. A glance over the edge of the settee reveals he's asleep against the piano. And, most alarmingly, your legs have been brought up and are resting over Lord Price's lap. He is reading a book, his warm hand stroking over your stockinged anklebone. He glances over, sensing your shift into wakefulness. Your eyes are panicked like an animal's, there are no two ways to describe it.

His hand shifts higher, petting you, soothing you. His eyes watch you, sliding from neutral to heated and dangerous, as it skims slowly but quite assuredly up past your garters. You silently clap your hands down to your waist, as if you will be able to fluff his hands out from under your gown.

"Sir—" The whisper is smoke-thin. No weight behind it.

"Father," he smiles benignly. Hand making its way to the heat of you; hot from the fire, from your unexpected slumber, hot from the smoky room.

"My hus—"

A gentle suck of the teeth, the smallest of head shakes.

You stare at the card table, but everyone's got their backs turned to you. You are alone. Alone with Lord Price and his climbing hand. Your eyes now turn to him, pleading.

The tips of his fingers reach you and your mouth drops open, stupid. His eyes crease in the cruelest smile you've ever seen and you can tell he can feel where you've grown damp. A fingertip becomes substantial in weight and size — a full finger, curled toward himself — beckoning you — sliding against your wet seam from entrance to clitoris. Come. You want to cry out, want to slap your hands against him, want to draw him into you, want to feel the full force of him against you. All it takes, in the end, is a strung-out minute of flicks and presses and you're jamming your legs down against his lap as it takes ahold of you. Your hand comes down and grabs at his, through the layers of fabric, to stop him, your mouth open and no sound coming out.

You retire for the evening.

—

The heat comes. Your bedchamber is stuffy and filled with Cecil's snores, and so you wander the hallways, knowing what you're seeking and pretending all the same. The servants are asleep in their quarters. The guests have bedded down.

If Lord Price is awake…you cannot let yourself think that far, but your brain is racing to the conclusion on its own. Filling your fuzzy head with lurid thoughts and pictures out of books you've seen. Naked flesh pressed into contorted positions.

In the end, you do not hope to discover he too shares in your wee-hour wanderings. You take yourself straight to his bedchamber. Slip inside the darkness, the only light source a hot bed of coals.

You hear the sharp inhale of a man awaking.

Every decision that brought you to his doorway has been one made in deep, absolute error. You stand in your white shift, clutching the sides. Boneless and alive.

"Come," he says, a sleep-rough edge turning his sonorous voice sinful.

You climb onto his elevated bed, feeling the heat radiate from his slumber-heavy limbs. You stare at him, although the light source is not enough to reveal what you want to see; perhaps there is no light source that could show you that.

"'s not right," he says loosely, his accent thicker. "Seein' a bride neglected, 'specially not one so pretty and sweet."

You kneel by his side.

"'as he breeched you yet?"

You shake your head. "The drink…" He had tried, once, but he couldn't remain stiff enough and it had hurt you too much.

He nods, and you know he already knew this to be true. "Can't be takin' that kinda chance on everythin' 've built. Need the line to continue, hm?"

You don't breathe.

"C'mon then, be a good girl. Get me ready." He holds out an arm to fasten around yours, and you almost bolt off the bed. He pushes the bed linens down and with a bit of adjustment, his nightshirt is pulled off with ease over his head, tossed to the side.

Son and father compare in no way. This is as far as your sensibilities can process.

His cock is hardening out of warmed sleep, pulling away from his body, flushing with colour. Your hand reaches out to grasp it — you've tried this with Cecil to mixed success — and you feel as if a great balloon has been placed inside your chest, consuming all your oxygen and shifting your organs. He feels hot under your touch, and he makes a little humming sound that pitches low toward your sex, and you take him firmly in hand.

You don't want to be another disappointment for Lord Price.

Pearly liquid leaks out the top of his cock when your fingers move up the shaft. Surely, he has not spent already with such meagre effort on your part? You pause and look up at him. He gives you the largest smile you've seen on his face and it pushes a shudder through your entire body. "Keep goin', sweetheart."

The liquid runs down over your fingers as you pump over his shaft, trying to make the motions seamless despite your lack of expertise. You watch his hips drive up a little.

"Easy," he warns. "Don't waste it."

"What?"

"My come, sweetheart. It'll be yers," he says. "C'mere."

He doesn't kiss you and you don't know if it's a mercy. He fits you under him and hitches your knees up so they're on either side of his broad hips. His hair is scratching you.

"Wait—Sir—"

"Gonna be s' good for ya. Gonna fill this cunny up with everythin' she needs, hm? Mak'er nice 'n full wi' me." You don't know who he's talking to anymore. The heat has spread like wildfire through your flesh, and you keep thinking about his finger beckoning you over the threshold, and why did you come here if not for this? "M' sweet bride, s' good." Muttering into your neck.

His cock presses up against your damp cleft. He spits on his fingers and coats you, startling you. He grins. Then fully seats himself inside you in two, no three, slow juddering motions. The terror on your face must soften when realization breaks over you: for all your fears, it is but an uncomfortable stretch. Odd and uncomfortable with this angle perhaps, but not unbearable or worth all your concerns.

Your breath punches out in a long, shaking exhale. Years released.

"Lord—"

"Father."

Revulsion snakes through, but it's grabbed by the throat when his cock drags out of you slowly and then fucks back in, hitting a spot you didn't know existed. "Father," you whisper, shame-faced.

He fucks you faster. You don't miss the connection.

"Yer cunny feels so fuckin' good 'round me, girl," he groans deeply into the crease of your neck. "Gonna fill you wi' my seed. Strong seed for m' bride."

His words disgust and pull at your skin in tandem with his cock, coating you with a film you can't scratch off. It's under your flesh, absorbing in.

"F-father," you cry.

It feels so good, so unlike anything you could have ever imitated with your own hands or fingers. The familiar spiral, one you've taught yourself to chase on lonely evenings, is upon you.

"Oh, daughter," he grits against you, his cock angled just right, and then his hand comes down between your bodies and rubs at your clitoris. "Oh, m' girl. Beautiful fuckin' bride f' me."

You lock up, your neck tensing and pulling away from his face that's much too close, sucking you in. "Ohhhhh," you cry out uncontrollably.

"'assa girl," your father-in-law croons softly, snidely, proudly. "Let it out, sweetheart. Don't gotta 'old it all in. Let 'em (him?) hear me give it to ya good, jus' like you deserve. Fillin' this sweet cunny full. Oh god, girl, open up f' me, don't close up like that on me — god you're so fuckin' tight on me. Lemme put a baby in ya." His chest is heaving, his words crawling into you, and then he's coming inside you, sending your own spiral into aftershocks as he throbs inside of your tightness.

Your face is streaked with tears. When his breath has calmed, he kisses your face, from temple to eyelids to tip of nose to your waiting mouth. Smiles down at you, then rolls off you. Cleans his cock with the edge of his nightshirt from the side of the bed.

Humiliatingly, he hovers close to your still-open legs and inspects where his spend is beginning to drip out. He kisses the hinge of your hip and pats your thigh. "Better clean up 'fore breakfast, daughter."

[anneofgreengabagool]

fruiting body | john price x reader | 1.3k words

tags/cw: 18+. explicit content to come, historical (regency england) au, cis-female reader, dubcon, infidelity, secret cucking

part one

Your wedding day is wonderful, although you were privately aggrieved on behalf of Cecil that his father, Lord John Price, was unable to attend. Lord Price did send along his congratulations to his son, as well as extended an invitation for you and Cecil to visit on your bridal tour, but part of you would have liked seeing father watch his son place the band on your finger. Although Cecil did not confide in you, there was talk that Lord Price was anxious over the matter of succession. His eldest son, James, had produced only daughters until now. And so, Cecil accepted the invitation, marking off a week out of the tour to spend time in Liverpool at his father's estate, before continuing on to the Lake District.

The house is beautiful, regal and befitting the self-made tobacco tycoon. You had fretted with your best cousin, Amabel, taking an eternity to choose your finest gowns for this particular leg of the visit. Lord Price, by all accounts, had exacting standards and it would not do to disappoint your father-in-law, the topic of succession notwithstanding.

You will later convey in a letter to Amabel that Lord Price has the countenance of a great steed from stories — striking and restrained — and more frightening for his restraint on his person. You are mortified that your eyes seek his figure in every room you enter, although your eyes fluttering to him does not give you relief, but cuts sharply into your understanding of self.

He is far from Cecil in every aspect so as to be borne from a different galaxy or molded from another's clay; you wonder that they even shared a roof. Cecil has told you that Lord Price was quite absent as a father, building his tycoon and ensuring the future success for his sons, and you suppose Cecil is altogether more agreeable for the latter being the case. His mother passed young, and Lord Price did not remarry, though there would have been no shortage of viable options available to him.

To stand in a room with Lord Price is to understand that he will brook no argument nor bend mealymouthed at words raised by another. It is akin to watching a stallion hold court amongst common asses, although the comparison does your new husband no favours. You endure secondhand embarrassment when Cecil, try as he might, attempts to win his father over with any matter of flattery or jest or talk of business.

Lord Price reclines. His long legs stretch out ahead of him, announcing him ahead of his own visage. All of the chairs in his estate seem to be designed and crafted for his lounging purposes, but you are not deceived: his reclined position does not connote a state of relaxation or congeniality.

His demeanour strikes a memory in you, lying down with your mother's books as a child, reading about marine life. You recall vividly the hand-drawn illustrations of sharks and the accompanying texts, describing their stillness in dark waters, using so little energy and motion unless needed. Primordial calculations taking place behind those dark eyes, unseen.

You learn this firsthand on your third evening.

—

You had hoped there would be all manner of other visitors at the estate to converse and dine with, but Lord Price keeps his company small. He has only invited several gentlemen, to which you'd been introduced upon arrival: his stoic right-hand man, Simon Riley, that seemed to be the only person he considered on somewhat equal footing, as well as a Scottish gentleman by the name of John MacTavish, and a kind-eyed man named Kyle Garrick. The men seemed to occupy themselves during meals; in particular, John and Kyle preferred to hold court with tall tales for your benefit only, it seems, and would often snub Cecil, although you chalked that up to a neglected sense of etiquette and a desire to liven up a quiet estate. As a result, you have become the de facto guest of honour; this has become an effort now, deferring many of your remarks over to Cecil. Doesn't that sound exciting, dear? Did you hear what Mr. Garrick just said, my dear?

Although your highest hopes were that Cecil would no longer be so interested in drink, meals and conversations with his father led to him falling asleep in armchairs, in a corner of a greenhouse, in Lord Price's parlour, and consistently in your shared bedchamber.

It had began as a joke that you teased him with lightly, hoping to provoke him into amorous affections, but you had not yet consummated the marriage. Perhaps the Lake District would settle him down and soothe his rankled mettle; he'd display his masculine drive to produce those desired heirs.

Currently, Cecil is unconscious on your marriage bed in the well-appointed quarters graciously provided by Lord Price, when you are taking your time moving from your bedchambers to the sitting room before dinner service is called. You do not anticipate another question about Cecil's health or whereabouts; you rather get the feeling that the questions are more for your discomfort in disclosing than for their own awareness.

You pass by Lord Price's study, a door that is always closed, for which you are grateful. It is not closed today, for you hear, "Mrs. Price." Not a question curling the words up at the end, but a statement: I have beckoned and you will come.

Stiffly, you pivot and hope that he was indeed in the hallway behind you, and that you are not being told to enter his private quarters unaccompanied, even as a married woman.

Just the door, slightly ajar.

The room is luxuriously furnished, lacking not a single element that would elevate it further. Lord Price is reclined behind his grand, shining desk when you enter.

He never smiles at you, but his eyes occasionally flash a modicum of warmth that you have not yet witnessed bestowed to another. A stallion looking upon a mare, perhaps. The comparison sours low in your stomach with a shift of language: broodmare. You swallow tightly, pin a marital smile upon your face, and stand uncomfortably for what he will hand out. Fatherly advice, even.

"Come." You settle your dress as you descend into the armchair meant for his male companions, certainly not a woman. Certainly not you. "Getting on?" It's underlaid with something you cannot detect and you feel as if you could be laying a limb in the open mouth of a large game trap.

"Yes, Lord Price. Our stay has been wonderful, in thanks to your gracious hosting abilities and lovely estate. Our gratitude cannot be understated on this matter." Your hands fuss with your dress but you attempt to maintain eye contact.

"I would have you lose formalities with me, Mrs. Price. Doesn't do much to encourage affection between family, does it?" His eyes, a little downturned in age, smile at you and you hold your breath.

"I suppose not," you smile weakly back. "Would Sir be an agreeable substitute?" You would prefer to keep him Lord Price, as it suited him best and kept him at a distance.

"Come." His mouth, full and stern, clicks back like you're a horse.

Your confusion is plain all over your face. You have already sat for him, where only gentlemen have sat. You stand, because what else is there to do? He pushes himself back from his desk, only slightly. Coming around the desk, your stomach hot and unsettled, you stand before your father-in-law, your fingers clutched at your waist to prevent visible tremors.

This time, he sucks his teeth appreciatively. "Tch. A beauty. My son has broken his life's history of of failures with you. You're a bride deserving of a man with the finest mettle."

"Thank you, Sir. Cecil will—"

"The finest of mettles." His eyes have taken on a new shape somehow, appraising you with a heat that you have not seen in another man's eyes. Perhaps not even Cecil's. He reclines just so, and you see that where the fabric has laid beautifully over his lap from the best tailor's hands, it is straining. He shifts in the chair and you know he wants you to see it.

"I—"

"I would have you call me Father," he bestows benevolently, a smile creasing those dark, calculating eyes. "I will see you at dinner."

navigate to: part two

[yousummonedme]

Just thinking about Simon’s wife treating him like a puppy

(Slight smut at the end. MDNI)

Most his colleagues know him as a Ghost, a legend who’d appear in the worst nightmares of their enemies and wipe them out like a Reaper. Most people know to speak of him with respect; and if they don’t, they learn. His wife, however, does not give a single shit.

— “Bad Simon! Bad!” She scolds when he brings dripping, muddy boots into the house.

— “Down, boy!” She warns— and she will do it right in front of his men if she has to— when he gets over agitated and pisses her off. He might be having a bad day, but that is no reason to spoil her mood too.

— “Siiitt! Stay!” She orders when he protests doing face masks with her. “You need some fucking skin care, Simon. You’re starting to look like a moldy, crackled onion.”

— Watching him take down and annihilate a small group of intruders who broke in is the equivalent of watching him do tricks. No, she isn’t the least bit scared— not with all that scary dog privilege. Simon would probably never admit it, but he was quite pleased with himself when she treated him to a tummy rub and extra steak that night.

— But what gets him best of all is when he’s feverishly rutting into her perfect pussy and she’s gripping onto a leash she made him wear. When she’s not satisfied, she grips it tight enough to choke him and makes him fuck her right. The blood goes straight to his heads and makes him whine. And when he hits all her spots and fills her full the way she commands, she’ll murmur in his ear, “Good pup.”

Mutually fucked up Price x reader blurb

[rawme-price]

dubcon gazghostreader where ghost and reader are like UNCOMFORTABLY touchy with gaz and talk about his organs and stuff 🙏🤤

Love the concept of gaz being their enrichment who gets flustered by their weirdness and maybe tries to lean into their methods...( ´∀`)

Oftentimes it's just fleeting comments, not all of them as violent as outsiders may think. Like when you watch him disassemble a rifle and hum "nice work, kyle. Wouldn't find a speck of blood on that if you wanted to kill me."

Or when ghost gifts him a knife on a random Tuesday while passing him in the halls, muttering "thought of you while cleaning this."

Some of the worst best moments are when you and ghost feel particularly frisky and decide to team up. Both of you cornering him against a counter, mumbling to eachother while ghost slips a thick, warm hand under his shirt to press at his fuzzy abdomen "good muscle, would taste nice, I bet."

"We'd have to fatten him up." You comment, slipping a hand down to squeeze his thighs in appreciation. "Pretty thing deserves a good meal."

All the while Gaz's face is burning under your attentions. He always got so damn flustered when ghost would do it, now you? It's like you guys want him to be half-mast all day.

Oh and if gaz ever corners you, bites at you're neck and groans "fuck, you'd bleed so nice for me." He barely gets a moment to bask in the flustered squeak you let out before bodily hauling him to ghosts bedroom like a cat with a fresh kill.

Turns out, you and ghost love feeling like prey just as much as he does.

[piscesladyy]

Overachiever

⭐️ Synopsis - At your professional breaking point, you speak out against your boss at a meeting and make it a point to leave the situation behind you as quickly as possible. Do you really think you can avoid Albert Wesker for very long after displaying such insubordination?

💫 Pairing - Albert Wesker x Reader

Word Count - 4.1k

CW - MDNI - Semi-public sex, danger of getting caught, power imbalance, boss/subordinate, violence, shoving, pinning, crying, choking, glove kink, finger sucking, fingering, orgasm denial, pussy slapping, breast fucking, blowjob, reader disassociates afterwards, aftercare, soft Albert Wesker.

Authors Note - Thanks @sugardollss for the request! I had too much fun writing this 😚 I hope I got the right amount of rough / sweet

Another late night meeting was adjourned and you practically fled the conference room. The moon shined through the upper floor windows but that did little to remedy the bad taste in your mouth. It wasn’t your fault that the rest of the scientists on your team were incompetent. An assortment of sycophants that said anything is possible because they were afraid of the boss. Unlike other people, Albert Wesker’s reputation proceeded him in a more bloody sense than others.

You worked twice as hard as they did to receive half of the recognition. With every report you sent away it came back with clear directives from Wesker on what to do differently. Which was amazing, clear communication is phenomenal; however, it was always far more than you anticipated on handling. Yet, somehow, you always delivered. Rolling up your sleeves, making the desired adjustments, recalibrating equipment, running simulations and taking on specimen after specimen until you achieved his near-impossible standards. Only to be burdened with another problem that couldn’t be figured out.

You were data oriented, practical, and no-nonsense which some of the more archaic people on your team did not like coming from a woman.

Speaking out against the scientists on your team was bold but speaking out against Wesker’s orders was unheard of for a subordinate.

You felt your rage building with each thunderous clack of your heels down the polished hallway. Resentment boiled in your stomach, if no one would listen to you, what were you even doing here? It was a colossal waste of time. The lights turned on automatically in each hallway as you entered before switching off behind you: a power saving mode used beyond normal working hours. You needed to go home to relax and put this day behind you. As visions of a warm bath with a glass of wine waiting for you at your quiet apartment brewed in your psyche, your phone dinged in your pants pocket.

Ignored.

You kept walking.

Probably your night shift team.

Perhaps you were fired.

You couldn’t care less at this point.

Let HR work it out in the morning.

Arriving at the elevator you pressed the button for the parking garage. Waiting, sighing, looking at your watch. After a moment you turned on your heel and went to the adjacent hallway to the stairwell.

As you turned the corner the wind was knocked out of you. Barreling through the doors into an empty conference room. A shuddering breath forced itself from you as your brain raced to keep up with the provocation. Leather gloves wrapped around you lab coat lapels. You head slamming into the dark window behind you.

“What the hell was that?” A familiar voice snarled, “Do you honestly think you can avoid me?” In your daze you took in the red eyes now above you.

Your breath left shakily, trying to compose yourself to the best of your ability, “We have to stop meeting like this-“ you began. Wesker’s eyes flashed furiously at your foolish attempt to joke. Letting you fall to the floor.

“I wasn’t avoiding you Dr. Wesker-“ you backtracked to his question. Leaning up from the impact. He was on you immediately. Perhaps being fired wasn’t the worst thing that could happen to you. Perhaps it was being snapped in half, defenestrated, or made into a bloody stain by your bioengineered megalomaniac boss. You hadn’t wanted to entertain that thought until it rose to became the epicenter of your fear response.

Gazing up at him as he towered over you, boots planted on either side of your ribcage. He crouched down, “Let’s not lie to each other.” He spat back immediately.

Your chest heaved. Heartbeat kicking like a jackrabbit trapped in your chest, wanting to flee the beast that bared down on you. His red irises that seemed to glow behind his glasses. The moonlight streaming through the window outside onto his blond hair magnifying his eerie aura. Your fingers clawed at the panes behind you, desperately trying to ground yourself. A gloved hand wrapped dangerously around your neck, “There’s a point where inconveniences will be dealt with. Are you going to be an inconvenience?” Blood roared in your ears. You had to fold, tears beaded at your waterline. The leather cracked as he tightened his grip, demanding an answer.

“Its- It’s not my fault you’re surrounded by sycophants who say what you want to hear,” you begin, “I’ve run through everything they’ve tried to steer you towards and it doesn’t work. They manipulated their conclusions and the data backing them-” Answering around the constriction of your throat.

Wesker’s eyes scanned yours, seeming to relish the fear, how they swam with tears as you tried to steel yourself. Allegedly, composure was of your strong suits; however, you’ve never had to maintain it while a man who is so capable of killing had his hand locked on your throat.

“So you speak to me directly. I’ll be happy to address your concerns one on-“

“Doctor, with all due respect your availability-“

“Not being quiet while I’m talking is your third error today… do you want to keep going?”

You averted his gaze momentarily, focusing on the moon out the window. The blinking lights of the city, the mirrored reflections of the neighboring windows, the lights shutting off in the hallways where you came from. Anything to try to keep from collapsing into fear. “No-”

“What you don’t do,” his frame boxing you against the floor. “Is cause a scene where you question my authority in front of subordinates… perhaps you need a reminder before your ego gets in the way of your better judgement.”

“That’s a rich assessment coming from you.” You counter. Foolishness again as his grip tightened on your throat, the supple leather digging into the tender flesh a final time fore he let go. You turned your head away and coughed. Head spinning, his hand seized your chin and tilted it up to him after your brief recovery.

“There’s only room here for my own ego, sweet girl.” He purred, danger lacing his tone. “You know this, we have worked together for how long? Yet you keep pushing me.” He came down on top of you, his knees now on either side, straddling you in flush against him.

“Is it perhaps… you enjoy me reprimanding you?” His eyes studied you appraisingly, like you’re a butterfly pinned to a board.

“I think you enjoy it as much as I do, doctor.” You lilted your voice so the honorific had a twinge of disrespect. You can see the tent in his pants of of the corner of your eye as you maintained eye contact.

“Albert is fine when we’re alone.” The covered pad of his thumb pressing against your lips, tracing your chin before digging into your pulse point before withdrawing. A shiver ran down your spine at the intimacy of the touch.

A predator and an equally capable prey that crossed paths. A lion and a hyena, trapped. weighing the odds of one another, seeing what sort of symbiosis can be achieved.

Or if one should annihilate the other.

He leaned down and you closed your eyes, expecting a kiss but his lips brushed against your ear. “Are you willing to give yourself to me?” Against the cold of the room from the floor-to-ceiling windows his body radiated warmth like a furnace. Daring you to come closer.

Silence hung in the air. Knowing he expected a vocalized answer. You took the pause weighing his words. “Yes.” Years of bottled desire finally being enabled by their object.

Albert traced a finger over your jawline, "There we go." His canines glint sharply in the low light, eager for a bloody meal.

Tilting your chin up his lips finally found yours. Initially soft, slow, deliberate but that was just the bait for you. The heat rising between you as his tongue traced your lower lip and you acquiesced. The switch came like lightning. Like he wanted to devour you. His mouth was hungry and insistent, tongue sliding against yours with his teeth biting down on your lower lip and swallowing your sugary moans. You kick your heels off and made short work unbuttoning your pants and stripping them down to your ankles.

He traced your body as more of your skin was  revealed to him, fingers landing on your your silky underwear. “Are these for anyone in particular?”

Shaking your head, “Just me.” You answered quietly, lips tingling from the roughness.

Humming, he brought a gloved finger to your mouth. “Suck.” He demanded.

You did as you were told, sucking on the leather. Taking him deeper into your mouth, and he eagerly added a second finger, the warmth of the skin underneath radiating against your tongue. Keeping focused on meeting his red eyes as you wrapped your tongue around his probing fingers. They pressed down on your tongue in an exploratory, measured manner, feeling each soft divot and sharp peak of your canines before pressing down your throat. You moan around the digits as you accept them deeper.

Savoring the way your lips looks against the black of his gloves, he wants to see you stripped down bare and ruined. After a beat he withdraws. Excess drool slipping from a corner of your mouth only for it to open at the sensation of the gloved hand cupping your pussy through your panties.

"You're soaked, is this all from me? Or from your pride?" You met his red gaze, biting your lip.

“You, sir.”

Breath hitching at the gentle caress, his hand dips between your legs to rub your wet entrance with the leather-clad tip of his pointer finger. He pushes it in deep without resistance. Crooking it gently against your walls feeling, pausing, assessing. Before dipping inside again and falling into a steady rhythm.

The tone of his voice dropped into a low whisper against your ear, "I know that you're just so ravenous, so eager to satisfy yourself." Each word punctuated with a thrust as he slips another finger into you, crooking them wickedly. Zeroing in on what made you moan. The desire to see you unravel from his fingers alone his singular motivation. Slowly, his other hand busied itself with unbuttoning your blouse. Albert’s eyes filled with a lovingly potent mixture of lust and control, never leaving yours as your breaths picked up and a small smile qirked his lips. With deft movement his fingertips traced your bra before unhooking it. Left nude, you found it hard not to grope at yourself for his pleasure. Heated eyes consuming you.

“Do you… like them?” You brought your hands up to hold them together, suddenly self-conscious. Black fingertips pinch your nipple, tweaking and tugging gently, making you moan in tandem with his fingers inside you.

“Quite beautiful,” he murmured, free hand palming at one of your breasts over your own. “In fact, they’re better than I imagined,” he answered coolly.

Better than he imagined? The thought cracked through your mind like lightning. The man fisting his cock, heavy breaths, flushed cheeks, thinking of you- your body. Whether it be in the shower, the stream of hot water snaking down his muscled shoulders or sequestered in his office in between meetings to relieve the stress of the day.

“You must have me confused with someone else,” you laugh quietly to yourself. A blush rising to your cheeks again.

“No. I strictly recall you my dear.” Your breasts hang heavy and flawless, soft in his gloved hand as he fondles one.

“Only you,” he says as he sucks your nipple into his mouth, coaxing it with his tongue until it’s hard and you’re squirming in his grasp. You nod your assent, breathless and flushed. You’re staring at him with reverence as his warm hands cup and stroke over the soft swells, tracing possessive patterns on your curves. He comes off of it with a wet pop. Behind his silhouette the lights in the hallways flick on, the night team was here.

Another leather covered finger pressed inside of you, the digits slipping between your pussy lips and caressing you delicately. The sound of your arousal sweetly dripping onto his palm with each crook of his fingers. A moan threatened to come out when he found that sweet spot.

“Don’t keep quiet on my accord, darling. I want to hear how your voice sounds when I’m pleasuring you.”

“But someone might-“

“Might walk in? I thought you liked being the center of attention…are you shy about having one of your subordinates see you with my fingers knuckle-deep in your cunt?” he mused. “Might be good for morale after what you said to them.”

You clenched down at his filthy words, never hearing him curse outside of this single situation. It lit your nerves ablaze with each precise stroke.

“I sincerely hope we get caught.” He purred, breath fanning over your lips. “You’d look so pretty with an embarrassed blush. But I’ll settle for this one for now.” The softness of the leather turned sharp as his palm slapped against your pussy with each thrust. The sensation intense and so sweet you couldn’t help let a moan slip past your lips, irregardless of the steps sounding down the hallway. Your back jolts up the rough conference room carpet, breasts bouncing with each thrust of his fingers.

“Sweet little slut- you want to cum on my fingers, don’t you?” You nod and he squeezes your breast harshly, “Answer me properly.”

“Yes- Albert please-please don’t stop!” Tears roll down your cheeks as he pulls your hips back into place, his thumb pressing against your clit rubbing slow circles over the bud.

“Good. Do you think you deserve to?”

“I-“ You hesitate, most likely not but it feels too good for you to say no. “Yes!”

Albert hums, baring down and continuing to scissor you open. Slick and aching, you clenched around his fingers. His thumb rubbing your clit firmly and building pace. Your mind races on the precipice of release, on the edge of bliss. Before that edge came crashing down you felt a harsh pinch to your clit and a slap to your pussy as Albert withdrew his fingers. A wail rips from your throat before he captures your lips in a soft kiss, silencing you. The lights turn off in the hallway.

“I don’t think you deserve it.” He smirked before bringing his drenched fingers up to his lips. Tongue swirling over his fingers tasting the slick-stained leather. “Too bad what comes out of your mouth is nowhere near as sweet as what comes out of your lips here.”

Hot tears trickled down your face. “I can make adjustments for you, Albert.” You reply meekly with quickened breaths and sexual frustration broiling in your core. It was a raw feeling, the pain mixing with the arousal and pleasure that was swept out from under you. It mixed with a dire need to have him do it again.

“See to it that you do, darling. I’ll reward you properly if I see that.” He stood up taking a seat at the head of the conference table before giving his next order: “Kneel for me.”

As he takes off his gloves and puts them on the table, pale skin emerges from beneath the dark leather. Veins thread beneath the surface in thick blue lines, shifting with each flex. Knuckles pink. The sight feels far too intimate, vulnerable, as he cups your chin up to look at him from between his legs. He unzipped his pants and brought out his cock. Definitely on the longer side with a pretty pink head that had a pearl of precum forming already. You watched him stroke himself a couple of pumps.

“There we go, get it wet darling.”

Doing as you were told, you collected a large amount of spit in your mouth to drool onto his cock. After a moment of consideration, you took him into your mouth. He's heavy on your tongue, warm. The scent of amber and salt filling your senses while you grip his knees to steady yourself as you go a little deeper. You feel the head touch your soft palate, gradually growing accustomed to the feeling. After a moment your nose meets the blond curls of his trimmed happy trail.

“Overachiever,” he breathed, enamored at the sight. Eagerly, after a few good bobs, you pulled away. Drool dribbled from his cock. “Hold them up for me.” He purred. Nodding, you bring both hands around your breasts and brought them up. “Just like that.” Taking ahold of his cock as he leans closer. The leaking head nudging under your breasts before sliding into your cleavage slowly, teasingly.

Your pulse was racing with adrenaline trying to bring your breathing under control. The tip emerged from your cleavage near your throat. Moaning, you spat again down onto the head. Encouraged, Albert began thrusting in earnest, the combined saliva and precome making the passage slick, and moaned himself.

“Lean your head back- let me see your pretty eyes,” he says, and you do. When his gaze trails over you he can see you look like a work of art, your breasts heavy in your hands, spilling between your fingers where you’re holding them up, pressed together nice and tight. Still-watery eyes looking up at him with a reverence. The warmth of his bare hands cover yours as he slips his cock between your slick breasts, rocking his hips slowly. They feel tender enveloping him, impossibly supple and warm. Your blush deepens, surging all the way down from your cheeks to your chest, where he can feel the heat of it around his cock. All the while, he can feel your abandoned  arousal still hot like a live wire. The damp smell of those pretty silky panties from your starved orgasm tempting him.

You make a noise that pulls him away from the thought. It goes straight to the core of him, feeding it like kindling to the flames. The heat of his hands beckon you to arch into his touch. “So perfect for me.” Murmuring almost to himself as he cups your breasts, teasing your nipples with his thumbs. They feel so much better in his bare hands. Holding his gaze, you nod, too flustered to respond verbally, which only drives him. “Smart, beautiful and capable. Besides being a disrespectful brat socially, there’s not a field you don’t excel at it seems.” He thrusts in and out of your tits, his strong hands holding them steady.

As he moves, the tip gets close to your mouth, close enough to where you could lick it. So you do. You tilt your head down and lap at his tip on the upstroke, swirling it in your tongue. The head kissing your lips with every thrust. Lapping his pre with little kitten licks.

”Oh darling...” He groans, his head falling back and coming back forward to see the sight in front of him. The thrusts come a bit faster and you continue to lick and swirl the head while your hands push your breasts together, making the fit tighter. Humming as you focus on laving the underside of the head, hearing him groan each time your tongue came in contact with the sensitive skin.

“Cumming.” He grunts. A second later he paints your face, hitting your lips and cheeks. His seed drips down your face and beading onto your breasts.

Pulling away, he sighs, putting away his cock and zipping up his pants. His red eyes trace over your cum-covered face with a dark, hungry look. He swipes some of his cum off of your cheek with his thumb and presses it to your lips.

”Open.” You suck the cum off of his thumb and he grins wickedly. “Good girl…” After a moment of consideration he stands, “Stay for me.” Leaving you on your knees as he walks from the room.

The door closed behind him.

The silence of the room was deafening.

The carpet dug into your knees accentuating the sore feeling building in them. You looked down, grimacing, the sensation of cum drying on your chest made you shift uncomfortably. What the hell was this? Some sort of sardonic humiliation ritual? The cold from the room became more prominent and encouraged the wave of exhaustion washing over you. Grabbing for your thankfully clean blouse you tugged it over your shoulders. The feelings of the day and now finally catching up to you. Turning your head to the window, the cityscape enveloped you. Focusing on the blinking lights of the skyscrapers and the trails of lights the cars left in their wake. Tears brimmed on your lash line again. You use the heels of your palms to wipe them away. A shuddering breath leaves you. Unsure of how much time passed as you drown in the view of the city.

A warm hand on your shoulder pulls your glassy gaze from the glowing lights.

“Darling?”

“Huh?”

Albert was back, kneeling next to you on the floor, “You didn’t hear me just now? Or when I came in?”

You shook your head, “Sorry I…” you trailed off trying unable to put how you felt into words in the moment. “It’s been a long day,  I’m not sure how to process this.” You move your hands palms out in a circular motion in front of you to gesture at him.

“Understandable.” He took a damp paper towel and gently cleaned your chest and face with delicate strokes. Your heart swelled a little. “My advice would be not to think about it right now, any thinking done this late being this tired can be counterproductive…”

You nodded. “Thank you” pausing as he buttons up your blouse and straightens your lapel. His thumb tilted your chin up, looking for any bruising “No soreness on your neck, correct?”

You shook your head, a small smile forming on your lips, “A little in my throat.”

“That will go away with time.” He offered you a small smile at the compliment. A hand settled around your waist, his warmth guiding you to fall into him. Your head settled on his shoulder. The sweet smell of amber and leather and sweat filling your senses. “You did so well,” he murmured as you nuzzled him, fingers caressing your cheek. “Although, I wasn’t expecting our first time to be exactly… like this.”

“Opportunist.” You pouted. “I had a hard day. If I knew that all I had to do was to be insubordinate to get this treatment…well maybe I should have indulged.” You offer teasingly.

His arms wrapped around you protectively. “Another bit of advice… don’t push me any more than you have to, darling.”

Sighing, you agreed. Albert tilted your chin up and kissed you. You placed your hands on his chest and pulled away, “It’s just that… I feel like you’re so much more tough on me than others.”

“I have to be tough on you. You are my investment.”  A touch fell onto the nape of your neck as he stroked your hair softly. “I hand-picked you to lead this team because of your wit and your will that questions everything, which is critical. Socially, you’re headstrong and defiant which leaves much to be desired…” A minuscule smile qirks is lips. “But I can work around that. You remind me of someone I knew.”

“So…. I take it I’m not fired?”

“No. I don’t fire people. I terminate them.” He chuckled. Ice water flooded your veins momentarily. You don’t think ‘terminate’ meant what it typically means in this context. His hand found yours. “That being said. I expect you to come to me with any concerns. I promise you the most severe reprimand I’ll give you will not end in death. That would be wasteful and darling, I am not wasteful.”

“Understood.” You both sat for the moment, silence hanging in the air before you willed yourself to pull away. “It’s late… I have reports due tomorrow.”

“Delay those, take the day off. Here. Let me walk you to your car,” Albert stood up with you, offering his hand as he gathered his gloves from the table. Walking together from the conference room, he wrapped his arm around you. As you allowed yourself to lean on him your body yearned to rest. “Also,” he pressed the button for the elevator, “please make a list of any personnel you have that fabricated data or anyone who has given you trouble.” You looked up at him and he returned your gaze with a fondness, smiling softly. “I’d be happy to help them come to their senses.”

Who do you think Wesker was talking about near the end? 🤔

2 kisses to whoever guesses correctly

[piscesladyy]

Lab Etiquette

🧪 Synopsis - You invite Wesker to tour your lab and he doesn’t follow safety protocols

🔬 Pairing - Albert Wesker x Reader

Word Count - 3.2k

CW - MDNI - Sex pollen, hate sex, rough sex, banter, slapping, kissing, biting, smut, handjob, vaginal sex, safe sex, multiple orgasms, choking, begging, overstimulation

Authors note -

This is lowkey a crack fic but I just wanted to write fun smut where reader is a professional rage baiter, enjoy! Also I was a biology major in college (until biochem happened and made me crash out) so forgive the obnoxious science jargon 😔

“Damn it!” You hissed as you set your coffee mug down on the counter. A piping hot stain blossomed on your shirt.

“Hey, you got some shirt on your coffee.”

“William, you are so not helping me with that observation.” You groaned as you fruitlessly blotted at the stain on the bone white fabric of your blouse.

“Happens to the best of us.” At that moment the break room door opened. William smiled, “Good morning, Albert!”

You sighed loudly through your nose at seeing the blond. His eyes fell onto the stain immediately as he grabbed a mug. “Trouble looking presentable this morning, doctor?”

“Everyone is so incredibly observant today,” you smiled ruefully. “ Dr. Whisker, right?”

“Wesker.”

“Apologies.” You feigned politeness.

Albert Wesker. You knew his name, unfortunately. Umbrellas golden boy, star in the executive training center working in experimental virology. Cold, calculating and a total hard ass. You knew of him through William who you typically met in the break room in the mornings to chat before going your seperate ways. It was a nice ritual, until he showed up. That couldn’t be helped, William followed him around like a lost puppy.

“What was your department again?” Wesker asked you, boredom evident in his voice as he poured hot water for his tea.

“My specialty is exotic plant synthesis for our cosmetic department, which I oversee.”

“Cosmetic department,” he repeated with a thin smile, “such a waste of resources.”

You took a step forward steeling yourself, “It happens to be one of the most profitable sectors of the company.” Taking a pause you sized him up, “You’re in experimental virology research, right?”

“Yes.” He answered coolly.

“I haven’t really heard of any advancements you’ve made-“

“I certainly hope so. It’s beyond your clearance.”

“In any case. I’d wager that just the cosmetics floor alone generates more in a month than your budget is allocated in a year.”

William barked an awkward laugh and Wesker hit his shoulder. “Well-“

“Which is unfortunate. You should have more money… you seem to have a dire need considering the obscene amount of dead specimens that leave your department.” You let slip a small smile at seeing Wesker seethe with William awkwardly trying to maintain some sense of civility between you two.

“Maybe you should come by and see what it is all about yourself. I wouldn’t want to keep such a capable mind away from our developments. Who knows, you might learn something.” You smile and clap his shoulder. Even with his sunglasses on you can feel his icy blue eyes bore into you.

“See you around, William. Wesker.”

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

Hours later you were you were eyeballs-deep in a green fern when you hear the familiar sound of a card key unlocking the lab door.

Looking up you see a familiar pair of sunglasses, “How unexpected.”

“You invited me to come by. If you can recall.” Wesker drawled.

You glanced up at the clock. Late. Far later than you anticipated. Your staff had gone home for the night you wouldn’t be surprised if the janitors were finished up too.

“How sweet of you. I recall, just wasn’t expecting you to be here this late.”

“Don’t be flattered. William made me.” He bristled as he stepped into the lab. “So this is the botany center?”

You gestured to the plants, “ What clued you in?”

“It’s… quaint.” Wesker wrinkled his nose. “Let’s get this over with, quickly.”

Nodding you went over to the supply drawer grabbing a new pair of gloves for yourself and for him. As he put on his gloves you walked him over to the florals. At the center of the table stood a flower with thick petals and star-shaped blooms climbing along its stem. Its white petals were dotted with red spots, giving it a beauty that looked both delicate and sinister.

“This is our current specimen. An orchid. He’s incredibly unique.”

“He?”

You nod, “The flower has a strong pigment in it’s anther where it holds pollen, which will be the basis in a new line of vegan cosmetics.”

“It is an interesting specimen. Origin?”

“Country of origin is Madagascar. Because of its isolated nature there are so many unique flora species there. We bred a mirror species that can survive in a less tropical, western environment.” You trailed off. “Would you like a closer look?”

He nodded, interest piqued.

“Here,” You offer him goggles like your own.

He puts a hand up, pointing to his sunglasses. “These are fine for eye protection.”

You shook your head, “Lab protocol, sealed goggles.”

“I’ll be fine darling.” His voice dripped with condescension.

You blink, “If you insist. We need masks too-“ before you could react Wesker had reached to caress the strange petals.

“Wait!”

Too late. With a small jolt the orchid spewed red pollen into his face.

Quickly he stepped back, stripping off the mask and taking off his sunglasses. You took in the situation before grabbing a tissue from nearby offering it to him.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.“ he grumbled as he cleaned the pollen off his glasses. His eyes were red, the irritation highlighted his blue irises.

“You’re looking a little pale-”

“I said I’m fine, it’s just hot in here…” He grimaced as he tugged on the neck of his black turtleneck.

You looked towards the wall to the thermostat. The lab was still at a sterile and cold 68. You looked back to Wesker. Discreetly you move your lab folio across the table towards you, grabbing a pen. “Now would you say you feel feverish?” You ask.

“Feverish isn’t the right word. But I feel hot, burning almost-“ Looking up at you his hand covered his face, eyes lidded, he stared at you. His watering blue eyes were piercing in the clinical lab light. “Are you… You’re writing this down?”

“Of course I am, I’m logging your reaction.” A look of realization spread across his face.

“You knew this would happen-”

“I knew you would be too arrogant to follow our lab etiquette.”

“This is because of you!” He growled.

“I’m just taking advantage of the opportunity. You’d do the same I’m sure…We’ve done small scale testing but not human subjects yet. In fact, you’re our first primate-“

“Primate!” He rasped angrily, “I’m not some lab monkey you can do your primary experiments on. Do you have a death wish?” He stripped off his lab coat and tugged on the neck of his turtleneck again.

Leaning in, you placed two fingers under his chin on his corotid artery, “Elevated pulse.” You murmured. That wasn’t the only thing that was elevated you noticed as he turned away, purposefully shifting his hips out of your line of sight.

No, this is just a chemical imbalance. An unexpected reaction. He rationalized internally. But why is he focusing on the way your glasses frame your face so perfectly? Why is he noticing the way you bit your lower lip as you observed him? And had your perfume always smelt so good? He leaned closer to you, his cheek nearly brushing your neck.

As you looked up from your notes you noticed his eyes staring at your cleavage,

“Wesker! You slapped him, a red mark blossomed on his cheek but the pain sent a jolt of pleasure through him. He keeled over his hand finding purchase on the lab table.

“Your touch,” he moaned, “Give me more.” A hot blush rose to your cheeks, flustered at the man in front of you begging for your touch. “It’s so much- and not enough all at once. It feels too fucking good-“ he groaned.

You nod as you write, “Subject begging for attention and touch. Subject showing signs of infatuation-“

“Damn it! It doesn’t mean anything. You’re convenient.”

“Truly? I wonder if William was here if you would find him convenient.”

“Hah- fuck you. I need more-“ Ripping off his gloves, his bare hands found your hips pulling you flush against him.

“Wesker, I - you’re not yourself. I’m flattered, but you’re not thinking right.” You stutter.

“I’m perfectly cognizant. You smell so sweet,” he breathed, before you could say anything he crashed his lips onto yours.

You stilled before returning the kiss. His eyes closed instantly the second your hand touched him. A rough sound escaped him beneath his breath. Your stomach tightened. For a moment it was sweet before devolving into tongues and biting. As you gasped he took the opportunity to dip his tongue between your parted lips. The faint taste of earl grey and the tang of blood blossomed in your tongue. You deepened the kiss using your free hand to tilt his chin up further. He could drown in the taste of your lips, the feel of your hair between his fingers as he threaded his hand behind your head. He ground himself against you in discomfort and sighed in relief into your breath.

You broke the kiss reaching and pulling his turtleneck off. His body radiated heat like a furnace compared to the cool lab air. The look on his face nearly unraveled your composure. Not lust. Hunger. A need so overwhelming it had become painful to contain.

With that out of the way you kissed his neck, clavicles, pecs before you slowly pulled back and reached for his belt.  

“Don’t be a fucking tease-“ he snapped.

In that moment he tore your blouse buttons pinging onto the floor. “Wesker!”

“It was ruined anyway- I’m doing you a favor.” He groaned into your neck. Kissing down your chest grabbing your breasts in his hands as he boxed you in with his weight, pressing you down onto the lab counter.

“Sweet,” he groans out into your skin.

“Huh?”

“You taste sweet, like sugar. Your breasts are beautiful,” he groaned again into your chest.

An earnest compliment. It made you blush. “Yeah? Are these the fist pair you’ve seen?”

“I’ve seen plenty.”

“Cadavers don’t count-”

“Shut your mouth.” He breathed, cock throbbing painfully in his slacks as he ground against you. Tears of semi-relief and frustration had collected in the corner of the blond’s eyes at the contact.

Your fingers carefully inch down his abdomen until they’re at the hem of his underwear. Slipping them down, the skin to skin contact made him let out a low, pained moan. Your eyes widened, his cock large and heavy with the head flushed red. You grab him fully and pump once. He hisses, precum is oozing into your hand. His pretty red tip twitches at the contact.

“So much,” you murmur. Your thumb circles the tip, spreading it around.

With a rough, raw grunt, his cock twitches in your palm until sticky ropes of cum shoot out. Enough to drench your hand. Relief hit so fast it almost hurt. When Wesker opens his eyes again, they're half-lidded, drunk.

His free hand brushes your hair out of your face before leaning in to another kiss, taking your sweet; swollen lips again. You ran your hand down the blond’s broad back. He shuddered at the touch.

“This isn’t helping. I need,” he moaned again as your palm squeezed his still erect cock. “I need more-“ His once meticulously done hair now hung in damp strands framing his face, shadowing eyes already fixed entirely on you.

You nodded in understanding, “Protection. It’s in my purse-“

“Are you going to help me or not?”

“Quit whining. I don’t know you and I don’t want to catch anything. You’d do the same.”

He bit back his objection. You were right, he would be apprehensive but the pollen made him lose rationale.

“Quickly.” He muttered, letting you up. You went over to the hook your purse was on and dug inside. Pulling out your wallet and taking out a condom and tossing it to him. Wesker tore the wrapper with his teeth and rolled it on before reaching for you and pushing you back against the lab table. He hiked up your pencil skirt and tore your tights. His hands immediately come to the soft parts of your thighs and squeeze hard enough to bruise.

“Why,” he swallowed, “Why are you so wet? I thought this only affects males-“

“Maybe it has something to do with you kissing my tits, genius.” You bit back panting hard in anticipation.

“Or you really do like me,” he breathed as he trailed the head down your center, “Let’s see, shall we?”

A stifled groan left his lips as he sinks in fully.

As you stretch around his cock, a moan tears from your throat as the uncomfortableness dissipates into pleasure. A stifled groan left his lips as he sinks in fully. Flesh flush against flesh. You're panting hard, adjusting internally, trying to stay in control of yourself. Steadying himself, he scans your face for a moment before he slowly pulls out and thrust in with a snap of his hips. His pace quickens, thrusts violent and punishing. Your whines are audible, even when muffled by his tongue in your mouth.

“Taking me well” he compliments against your cheek. One of his hands grips at your breasts, the other hiking your thigh up as he corners you into the table. “Fuck, you’re tight. Feels good, grab onto me-” he grunts between breaths, grip on your neck tightening lightly. Tears brim your eyes at the rough treatment as his fingers find and circle your clit. The feeling is euphoric as he drives his hips into you. The clapping of your skin fills the room.

Crying out with a moan, you grab onto his shoulders. Nails raking down the his muscle, “Fuck- Wesker! You’re enjoying this-“

“Just the pollen, I don’t like your type.”

“Beautiful?” You chanced.

“Beautiful. Bitchy. Snide. Obnoxious.” A thrust punctuated each word as he adjusted his grip against your neck.

“Yeah, I don’t usually go for the arrogant asshole - fuck you’re deep!” You sniffed.

“God, I hate you.” He breathed heavily.

“I can stop…”

“No! Don’t stop,” he seethed, “I’ll hate you more if you stop,” he looked down at you with teary eyes. As if you were giving him the cure and he needed more. Blue eyes burning through you, want and desire taking you in like a man possessed. “Please more, need more-“ His hips snapped up into yours mercilessly. Hands shifting to pin your hips down so you could do nothing but take it.

Gasping, panting, and whining, your fingers threaded through his gelled hair loosening more strands to fall into his face.

You tugged his head back so you could kiss and bite at his neck. Bruises blossom from your lips. “Not as much as I fucking hate you,” you return. “Cum again for me.” With glittering eyes you emphasize your point, rotating your hips while he's stuffed inside you.

Tears of pleasure run down his sharp cheekbones as he follows your order to the letter and spills.

For a brief moment he holds you. Breaths shaking against each other. You thought he was going to stop there but with a burst of strength, he lifts you suddenly, slamming you against the nearby wall and pinning you against it. The action knocks the breath out of your chest as your legs instinctively wrap around his waist, straddling him while his lips attacked your neck with biting kisses.

“We’re not done. Make sure you take note of how you’re tightening around me. I wouldn’t want you to miss that.” He purred in your ear. “You’re dripping, darling.” His fingers find your throbbing clit, pinching it, then rubbing to soothe it right after. He grinds his hard cock inside your aching heat, his length burying itself inside again and again.

“Fuck! Albert-“ you whine, grasping against him, closer to the torture and pleasure.

His lips find your ear again. Pushing your hair aside as he purrs “Oh? So you do know my name.” His thrusts resume their quick deep rhythm and cut off whatever smart remark you had queued up. His palm spayed out on your neck, squeezing while his other hand held you up guiding you down onto him. Your eyes squeeze shut in pleasure.

“Now now, you need to see this. Open your eyes.” He commanded. “Document it, memorize it, have it etched in your cells how good this feels, you wouldn’t want to miss this critical research darling.” He drawled feeling you stiffen in his arms as your walls tightened around him in pulses.

“Gonna-fuck, Albert, I’m gonna-“

You didn't need to tell him. He could feel your orgasm on his cock. It milked him of another of his own. His pace was brutal and unrelenting through your orgasm. When you finally came down, he was still snapping his hips at an ungodly pace. Your overstimulated whines and moans spurring him on to the point he was spilling into you again. A broken animalistic groan ripping through his throat.

His knees gave out and you slid down the wall, cradling you. You panted heavily, feeling the bruises rise from under your skin. Wesker was still. Eyes closed, face flushed, chest rising and falling heavily with every breath. You pressed a hand to his forehead, his overt body heat dissipating.

“Are you-?” He nodded weakly. “More?” you asked.

He shook his head. “I’m feeling more like myself.” When you tried to pull off of him, his hands came to your hips again and pushed you back down. “Just…stay.”

You hesitated, “I’m not sure if that’s a good idea.”

“Please.”

After a moment you nodded, feeling his head settle into the crook of your shoulder. His hand holding the nape of your neck, tracing small circles. Exertion swept over you. He felt our shoulders slacken as you cuddled down onto him, his cock still inside you.

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

Albert woke up to the sun peeking through the windows. Looking around the unfamiliar room his eyes fell on you leaning against the doorframe. His sunglasses perched on top of your head.

“Good morning. Sleep well?”

He had slept well, some of the best sleep he’s had in recent memory. “Where am I?

“My apartment.”

He looked around as if appraising the environment you put him in. “I don’t remember much after what happened. Did anyone…?”

You shook your head. “I got us here. It was discreet enough so nobody will ask any questions. Tea?” You offer.

He nodded, reaching for the mug and taking a sip. Earl grey. “Such hospitality. How unexpected.”

“I’m not a monster, Albert.” You sat down on the bed. “I filed a lab incident report as well so we both have today off.” You took a sip of your coffee. “You can go home when you like. Your clothes are in the laundry-“

“I think I should stay here, in case there’s any lingering effects…” he trailed off.

You shook your head, “I took your vitals as soon as we got back. And again in the morning.” It took you a moment to see what he was getting at. “Oh. I guess I can keep you for observation… just in case.”

He smiled thinly at you, “Maybe you’re not as horrible as I thought you were.”

“Give it time. You owe me breakfast. And I’m keeping these.” You pointed to the sunglasses on your head.

Writing Wesker is DIFFICULT and I really hope I did a good job guys ;-;