Chapters: 23/?
Fandom: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Alcina Dimitrescu/Reader, Alcina Dimitrescu & Reader, Alcina Dimitrescu/You
Characters: Alcina Dimitrescu, Bela Dimitrescu, Cassandra Dimitrescu, Daniela Dimitrescu, Karl Heisenberg, Donna Beneviento, Salvatore Moreau
Additional Tags: Bakery and Coffee Shop, Cozy, Romance, Family Drama, They’ll kiss in the first few chapters probably, Dom Alcina Dimitrescu, Fluff and Smut, Smut, Vaginal Fingering, Oral Sex, Face-Sitting, Outdoor Sex, Strap-Ons, Anxiety Attacks, Car Accidents
Series: Part 1 of Bakery Tales
Summary:
Running a bakery on your own is tough work. You never have time to yourself, let alone time to pursue love. After firing your last “employee” three months ago, you’re tired of dealing with the rush alone and end up hiring three sisters, your only applicants.
Soon after, a new regular starts hanging around, and draws your attention.
(I know there’s a lot of little cozy coffee shop/bakery AUs out there, but I’m gonna write this one anyways since I actually work in a bakery and it’s all I’ve been able to think about at work lol)
Reader's family get to meet Alcina's close friends
Chapters: 22/?
Fandom: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Alcina Dimitrescu/Reader, Alcina Dimitrescu & Reader, Alcina Dimitrescu/You
Characters: Alcina Dimitrescu, Bela Dimitrescu, Cassandra Dimitrescu, Daniela Dimitrescu, Karl Heisenberg, Donna Beneviento, Salvatore Moreau
Additional Tags: Bakery and Coffee Shop, Cozy, Romance, Family Drama, They’ll kiss in the first few chapters probably, Dom Alcina Dimitrescu, Fluff and Smut, Smut, Vaginal Fingering, Oral Sex, Face-Sitting, Outdoor Sex, Strap-Ons, Anxiety Attacks, Car Accidents
Series: Part 1 of Bakery Tales
Summary:
Running a bakery on your own is tough work. You never have time to yourself, let alone time to pursue love. After firing your last “employee” three months ago, you’re tired of dealing with the rush alone and end up hiring three sisters, your only applicants.
Soon after, a new regular starts hanging around, and draws your attention.
(I know there’s a lot of little cozy coffee shop/bakery AUs out there, but I’m gonna write this one anyways since I actually work in a bakery and it’s all I’ve been able to think about at work lol)
Not sure if anyone has asked, but since we’re in a RE craze; have you ever written a Lady Dimitrescu x reader fic before? (Asking for a friend ofc… 👀)
contractual
Summary - Having been reassigned from the kitchens, you enter Lady Dimitrescu's room only to find the lady of the house perched on her own bed. What follows is something you could never have anticipated. (2.6k)
Entering your mistresses’ private quarters with a stuttering heart, you keep your eyes straight as you quietly cross the length of her bedroom and shuffle over to her personal dining table. Picking up the empty wine bottle which sits in the centre with unsteady hands, you dare to issue a low exhale which is filled with relief. New to this particular role, your work within the kitchens temporarily halted to replace one of the missing staff, you want nothing more than to be out of this unknown part of the castle and nestled back within the comfort of the kitchen space.
The stories which haunt the hallowed rooms of Castle Dimitrescu are something which live within your heart and any change to routine makes your anxiety spike as it puts you at greater risk of encountering those you would rather avoid as you perform your duties. Routine was safe, routine would keep the worst from happening.
Typically, the appearance of the elusive Lady Dimitrescu was reserved for larger events where all staff were expected to be present as a sign of opulence. Events such as private luncheons with the Duke to barter for fresh supplies and family meetings as ordered by the glorious will of Mother Miranda herself were few and far between but they were catered for precisely. Maids like yourself did not encounter the lady of the house often, as her daughters were typically instructed to pass orders to experienced staff with the expectation that the information would be filtered down the food chain to the appropriate channels.
So, to turn and find Lady Dimitrescu herself sitting in total silence as she perches on the edge of her bed – the elaborate wooden framing littered with expensive pillows and bedding – you are only just able to contain your gasp of pure shock as your fingers go dangerously slack around the neck of the wine bottle.
Watching you, her eyes pierce your own and pure disdain radiates from her expression as she drops one long arm to adjust the fabric of her white dress where it gathers at her crossed legs.
“And who are you?”
Terrified, your heartbeat seems to ring in your ears as you gape at her like she is nothing but a ghost; a mirage brought on by the tension headache which is threatening the roof of your skull. Eventually, you realise that silence could be taken as insubordination and you manage to stutter out a response.
“Apologies, mistress. My name is-”
“Not your name,” she cuts you off with a pointed and somewhat irritated tone, “I care not for such trivial things. Who are you to be here in my bedroom? You are not known to me.”
“I am a kitchen maid, mistress. I was asked to retrieve the remnants of your evening supper by the head cook to replace your usual maid. I can leave immediately if it pleases you, mistress.” You repeat her title with a pleading prevenance, eyes keeping to the floor between short glances at her to show a healthy and expected respect.
“Hmm,” Dimitrescu tilts her painted mouth slightly, regarding you with a predatory gaze as she clearly debates something internally, “Well, you are here now, so conduct your business.”
In her usual white gown and oversized hat, she cuts such a striking figure that you can’t help but feel the slightest blush cross your cheeks as you take in the low cut of her dress and the milky skin below. She is beautiful in the way that the ocean was beautiful, something so vast and terrifying that you cannot help but admire it.
“Yes, mistress.”
Giving a deep nod, one which extends to your body bowing at the waist, you turn gently and take one step towards the door before a slight intake of air from the bed pauses you in your tracks.
“You are bleeding.”
Dimitrescu’s voice is sharp and clear as glass, demanding an answer without every truly asking the appropriate question.
“I shed some blood earlier, mistress.” You explain quietly, turning and clasping your hands gently over your apron in another showcase of respect as you tilt your arm and expose the small bandage which covers your injured arm, “A small, careless cut as I prepared a wild rabbit for the staff supper for this evening.”
“Come.”
Your feet move without hesitation, fear creeping up your spine as your legs feel more leaden with every step. You stop before her, her gargantuan height still placing her taller than yourself despite her seated position and you keep your eyes cast downward as she plucks the wine bottle from your fingers and places it gently on her sideboard.
From such a close proximity, you can smell her perfume. A delicate bouquet of something soft, almost like winter violas, but beneath it sits something which makes your nose twitch as you inhale it in. Decay. A similar scent to the one which clings to the carcasses of the various animals which have passed through your talented hands as you prepare the various meats which the hunters bring.
Floral death.
It’s a scent which makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand up as the primal part of yourself which recognises danger screams its discomfort with being this close to your mistress.
“Show me your wound.”
Deft fingers, only trembling at the tips, are quick to unwrap the stained bandage and expose the freshly healing cut below.
Dimitrescu’s hand snaps around your wrist and you have to bite your lip roughly to keep the cry of surprise from slipping free. Her touch is ice-cold and absolute steel, something inhumane and unyielding which you know could squeeze your bones to dust if the whim to do so gripped her. She brings your arm up to her mouth and inhales softly, taking in the scent of your injury with the faintest flicker of interest.
“A shockingly sweet note to it,” she mutters, more to herself than anything. “Very surprising for one so…simple.”
Without asking and in a move of total, easy dominance of the situation,
Dimitrescu’s reddened lips part and her tongue appears to roll across the barely healing cut with a softness which is totally at odds with the steely grip which her huge hand maintains on your wrist as she keeps you close. A single bead of blood, one which is threatening to drip free of the cut, is immediately caught by her tongue and a soft almost growling noise emits from her chest as she pushes your arm harder into her mouth and continues to lick along your wound with a touch more fervour.
Vampire.
The staff whispered the truth daily and time had shown enough that you knew the claim to be honest but such a close experience of such perversion was…intense. Fear still grips you, sweat breaking out across your back as you remain as still as possible to allow your mistress her taste, but with the fear comes a flicker of something warm – an unwilling arousal which burns low in your gut as her tongue and lips continue to caress your skin.
After a minute, she pulls free and her pale skin is as white as ever as she fixes you with a look so predatory and cold that your body stiffens in place as your knees begin to tremble anew.
“You wish to please your mistress?” Dimitrescu asks, the question more of a purr than anything else as temptation curls around each syllable – her very presence like a chilled bath as it envelops you and pulls you into her thrall.
Images of the various girls who were cosigned to the dungeons flash through your mind as a fresh thrill of pure fear laces up your spine, “Yes. More than anything.” You answer dutifully and with as much enthusiasm as you can muster.
“You will taste me, as I have tasted you, and will most likely taste you again.”
Genuine shock roots you to your place as you dare to meet her eyes once more.
“Mistress? Do you mean- am I required to…”
“You are no virginal flower. I can tell that the pleasures of the flesh are known to you. But, perhaps not like this.” She pauses long enough to release your wrist and bring the soft skin of her knuckles to stroke along your cheek with a faux-gentleness – a snake playing with a field mouse.
“Have you ever allowed the mouth of a woman to touch you or have you always settled for the filth of men?”
Heat burns across your cheeks at the invasive question, your thighs pressing together instinctually as you answer the shockingly blunt ask.
“Only men, mistress. Two men.”
Disgust fills her expression, her hat tilting down as she inclines her head towards your lower positioning and sniffs.
“Revolting, but perhaps some experience is still preferable to none when it comes to pleasure. Whores are never without their champions.” She muses, her hand slipping to your shoulders and pressing down with such force that you fall to your knees before her with a gentle thud.
Dimitrescu continues, stroking your head as though you were little more than a pet to her.
“You will slip beneath my skirts and pleasure me until I am quite satisfied.”
Again, shocked by the boldness but unable to refuse as anxiety and arousal swirl within your head to make you dizzy and only allow you to give the response you are expected to give.
“Yes, mistress.”
Crawling on your knees to shift between her legs, you gently lift the hem of her dress from the floor until you have created sufficient room to press between her knees. Her legs are as cold as her hands, the skin pushing into your arms to make you shudder as you shamefully pull your eyes straight to look between your mistress’ thighs.
Having only seen your own sex and that of your female family members back in your earlier youth, her cunt is admittedly very pretty in its colouring as the dark curls of hair which frame her sex sit at stark odds with the pale quality of her skin. Her sex glistens slightly, arousal clear in a way that, despite everything, makes a little pride bloom in your chest that your blood was enough to spark such feeling in a woman so great.
A soft huff of impatience rings out from your unseen mistress and you push forward enough to press your head to her inner thigh. From here, you can smell her arousal and a greater hint of decay from the skin which you ignore in favour of getting to work.
Delving your head between her thighs, you try to do what comes naturally as you focus on the areas which you know bring you pleasure.
The cold nights at Castle Dimitrescu are difficult and it isn’t uncommon to hear the soft sighs of self-pleasure in the dark night, an indulgence which even you sometimes can’t help but engage in. Thoughts of the village boys, the ones who had enjoyed your flesh, fill your thoughts and you copy their actions as you swipe your tongue along her slit.
At the first point of contact, her thighs widen and that’s all the encouragement you need as you repeat the action twice more before bringing your hands to her cunt and using your thumbs to spread her folds. Swirling your tongue across the pink bud which is peeking free of its hood, the action nets you a low groan and a visible clench of her muscles.
Excitement buzzes through your veins as you move your mouth slowly, devouring every inch of her flesh with equal enthusiasm as you switch between sucking and licking around her clit – taking note of the arousal which drips from her hole as you taste the tang of it between your lips.
So focused on your task, you jump in surprise as a steely hand drops to push harshly into the back of your head as Dimitrescu’s grunts and exhalations grow in their pitch.
“Yes, so good for me. A sweet little thing…good for her mistress.” Her speech is muttered, parts so low that some of it is lost to you but you don’t miss the way that her hand tightens against your head as she pushes you harder into her cunt – your nose bumping against her clit as she grinds herself into your face.
Dimitrescu comes without comment, her pleasure vocally limited to a sharp groan which feels almost animalistic as she holds your face flush to her cunt; your mouth dutifully wrapping around her clit as the hardened bud pulses with the undivided attention. Her arousal soaks your mouth and chin and you try to lap up as much of it as possible, not wanting to disappoint her or inspire her to punish you in some wicked way.
Before you can really reorientate yourself, her orgasm and your own neglected pleasure continuing to make your brain feel dizzy, Dimitrescu tugs at your hair with enough strength that you know she is expecting you to slip free of her skirts – the pain of the sharp pressure against your skull forcing your whole body to wince as you back out and keep to your knees before her.
Her skin is as white as ever but there is a slight flush which paints the highest point of her cheeks and her makeup remains utterly impeccable as she surveys you with darkened eyes.
“Stand.”
You stand.
Dimitrescu leans towards you and you gasp as her large hand slips up the hem of your uniform, shamelessly ghosting up your legs towards the apex of your thighs. Her long fingers don’t stop until they are able to press up roughly into the fabric of the panties which cover your slit, the sudden sensation making you mewl out something pathetic as you keep your hands curling into the front of your uniform.
You can feel how damp you are, arousal coating the lengths of her fingers as her brow furls for only a moment before a fresh predatory amusement lights up her features.
“Well,” she sighs dramatically as she pulls her fingers free and holds them up to the candlelight to showcase the stained digits, “aren’t you an interesting little thing. Did pleasing your mistress cause you to make all this mess?”
“Yes.” You gasp out, already mourning the sensation of her cold fingers against your heated sex. “You are beautiful, mistress.”
“I think I like you,” Dimitrescu hums, her head tilting ever so slightly as she brings her fingers closer to her own mouth and licks the arousal from them as though sampling a fine wine, “have yourself reassigned from the kitchen to one of my personal handmaidens. Speak with the cook. She will ensure a quick transition.”
“Yes, mistress.” Not sure how to take that change; lust and fear are as potent a mix as ever as they dull your logical thoughts. “Do you need anything else?”
“Nothing for now, but don’t stray too far. My needs can prove,” she pauses and her thin pink tongue flicks out to lick at her lower lip as she tilts her head down at you, “voracious.”
Giving her a polite nod and a familiar curtsy, you smooth the front of your dress to ensure you are decent enough to return to the kitchens. You pause long enough to pick up the empty bottle of wine, your body feeling weightless and like it belonged to someone else, and make your way to the door – not daring to turn back and look at your mistress until she made her next need of you quite clear.
Summary: Lady D is hungry,and to make the feeding process better for you,she decides to make you feel just as good as she does ;)
Tags: mentions of blood,dry humping,fingering,praise kink,use of pet names such as baby/angel.
"I promise I will be gentle, sweet thing... just relax for me, can you do that?" Lady Dimitrescu whispered in your ear.
You were currently perched on her lap while she sat back on her velvety bed. You were trembling, both because the room was cold and from anticipation. You did give her a nod, however, and she smirked devilishly.
Her sharp fangs were visible in her grin, and the sight of them made your stomach clench. Your hands had gone to her shoulders and held them tightly, so tight she could feel how tense you were.
"Do you trust me, angel?"
For a moment, you doubted your answer. But for a moment, only, and soon you breathed out a "yes".
"Good girl... good little thing..."
She leaned down and her nose nuzzled in your neck, her breath making your skin break in goosebumps. You could feel her opening her mouth, until her canines were grazing your pulse point.
She groaned and sighed, and you felt her body melt beneath yours at the metallic scent of blood she inhaled.
"You smell divine, my dear."
Your cheeks flushed a deep crimson at that. Your fingers loosened on her shoulders and you felt her smiling against your porcelain skin.
"That's right, you relax... I'm just going to feed now... you try and stay still."
Her thumb brushes over your pulse, slow, deliberate. She feels it—your heartbeat, steady despite everything. A faint, almost disbelieving smile touches her lips.
And with that, and the curl of her arm around your waist a tad tighter, her fangs slowly broke through your skin and sunk down on your neck.
It’s not what you expected.
Not pain, not really.
A brief, startling sensation that melts almost immediately into something warm, something dizzying. Your body reacts before your mind can catch up—your knees soften, your breath turning uneven.
Her grip tightens just slightly, steadying you, holding you close as she drinks.
But even in her hunger, she’s careful.
Measured.
Every movement deliberate, controlled, like she’s walking a knife’s edge between desire and restraint.
Not possessive.
Protective. The difference makes heat erupt inside you, coiling low on your stomach.
A soft sound escapes her—something between a sigh and a quiet, aching hum—and you feel it more than hear it, vibrating against your skin.
Your head tilts back instinctively, exposing more of your throat, trusting her completely.
That trust nearly undoes her.
She pulls back just slightly, fangs slipping free, her breath unsteady now. There’s a faint smear of crimson at the corner of her lips, her eyes darker than before—but not wild. Not lost.
Focused.
On you.
Her thumb brushes over the mark she left, almost apologetic, almost… affectionate. “I could lose myself in you,” she admits, her voice softer than you’ve ever heard it.
You manage a faint, breathless smile. “Then don’t hold back so much.” A dangerous suggestion.
One she couldn't really say no to anyway.
So she dove right back in, nipping on the wound first and then sinking her teeth on your pretty pale neck, feeding with more fervor.
The same feeling of heat spread all over you, and the pain made you hazy. Or maybe it was because of the blood loss. You couldn't really bring yourself to care though.
Not when your own hips had started to move involuntarily, grinding down onto her meaty thigh as she fed from you.
Lady Dimitrescu could feel your humping motions against her and she whimpered in your neck, growing messier as she took what she wanted from you. Her lips smeared crimson liquid over your soft skin, and a drop of blood escaped her, running down to the front of your chest.
"My baby...are you getting turned on from this?" she cooed at you, even though you could tell she was just as needy as you from her voice.
"Yes, yes Alcina..." you breathed out,and arched against her, trying to get her lips back on you.
The scent of blood was what drew her back in, making her dizzy before she nuzzled in the crook of your neck and gave the already open wound kitten licks.
"I don't want to take too much from you." she whispered but you shook your head.
"I can take it...just,just please make me feel just as good as you do whole you feed."
The perfect compromise.
That's how you were soon riding two of her large, thick fingers, sinking that poor wet cunt down onto them. Loud squelching sounds echoed in the otherwise quiet bedroom, both from your drenched pussy and her messy mouth.
"You are such a good baby, such a pretty angel for me...do my fingers feel good?"
You nodded, and your vision swam after the motion. The dizziness that came from having a vampire nip on your neck made you clench down onto her digits, and she grinned against the fragile skin.
She was just as whiny and needy. She was just as close as you were.
"My perfect little human...mine to feed from,mine to take care of...being so good while I have my fill."
The words mixed with praise in your head and you threw your head back, breaking in moans and whimpers. Your little cunt started fluttering around her hand and she soon felt you cumming on her fingers and making a mess. She smiled at the sight, clenching her own legs together and letting her head fall to your shoulder.
I’m back in the fanfic mines and i come bearing cute self-indulgent x reader (what else is new?)
this one came to me after way too many long nights working on various readings and managing to get absolutely nothing done. if only i had a beautiful and slightly intimidating woman to convince me to go to bed at a reasonable time, but otherwise I wouldn’t be writing this, would i?
just a quick lil fanfic this time, i haven’t had much time to proofread lately but i had this one in my drafts for a while and finally finished it.
unlike some of my other works, this one IS actually SFW, but be warned that my other works are not usually, so proceed with caution on the rest of my account.
Full fic under the cut, ao3 link here:
“Now, now, come to bed.”
You hardly registered a word she said. You’d been hard at work for so long, you were blind to anything else. The natural light from the window had been dwindling steadily for a while now (minutes? Hours? Who was to say?), leaving you squinting at your papers in the lamp’s dull glow. Even as the words blended together and your head lolled closer to the desk, fighting to keep your eyes open, there was work to be done, and so work is what you had to do.
“Such a hard worker,” Oz cooed, suddenly behind you. She leaned her head on your shoulder, peering at the mess of papers. “You’ve been at it a while, haven’t you?”
You tried to find a stopping point in your writing, but all of a sudden your hands couldn’t seem to hold a pen. That warm, lilting voice just did something to you, which wasn’t helped by the fact that she seemed to be nuzzling your neck. “You’ve been in this same spot since I left.”
She wasn’t wrong. Losing your focus made all the sensations you’d been ignoring all the more apparent. Your whole body ached, especially the wrist and back, your eyes could hardly focus, and exhaustion and delirium clouded your brain like a boiler room.
“Maybe I do need some rest, just for a moment…”
Oz nodded. “It’s terribly late, you know. Won’t you come to bed with me?”
Her voice trailed off breathily in the last few words, filling them with potential. You couldn’t even tell if she was trying to insinuate anything, or if she was just always this irresistible to you. She put a hand over yours, interlacing the fingers and successfully pulling you to your feet. She spun you gracefully to face her, chuckling at how surprised you seemed.
Trying not to fall over, you wrapped your arms around Oz’s waist. Pressed against her like this, your heartbeat was in your ears. Your mouth went dry, beads of sweat forming on your warm face. Not that you minded resting your head on her ample chest, huffing in her unique scent of amber and tobacco and powdery lilacs.
Your eyes met hers, half-lidded and dewy. Your faces inched ever closer, silently, nervously.
Staying in this embrace a moment, Oz spoke first.
“May I kiss you?”
“I… I don’t know if that’s the best idea…”
“Why not?” She sighed. Her lips were inches away now, nose touching yours.
“I just know that if I start, I’ll never be able to stop…”
Against your better judgment your lips brushed against hers. You could feel her smiling against your mouth. Her lips were soft, remnants of lipstick clinging to them, the lingering taste of cigarette ash and brandy. She draped her arms casually over your shoulders, going slack, content to know she had you right where she wanted you.
You kissed her hungrily, desperately despite your exhaustion, only now realizing just how much you needed this. Needed *her.* The work could wait. Right now, being here, in her arms, at her mercy, was all that mattered.
Oz pulled away first, wordlessly grabbing your hand and guiding you out of the office. The work would pile up like it always did, but lying next to her, breaths and heartbeats synchronized, made it all feel easier.
Daddy...Do you ever feel like... We're don't home anymore? Thats what i mean.. Like we're not there.. It doesn't feel... Right!
I hope I'm not being received negatively. This is my first work on this game. I think I've done a good job, but of course, I think mother is more charismatic in the game than on my art, lol...
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