I Simp 4 RE Characters

18+ only please (MDNI)—blog owner is 20+ expect random bursts of posting I have ADHD lol

[mischieviem]

Hi tumblr it's been a long ass time um so i've been playing resident evil

Someone asked me to put this here too but if you want to see a large majority of my stuff i post wayyy more on instagram currently

Edit to this post I learned from a comment and then follwing research to verify that this basically verbatim happens in the novelization of code veronica (which is no longer canon but still) oh my god i didn't even know

[kortsitron]

Can't say no to him

✮ PARING Leon S. Kennedy × FTM! Reader

✮ WARNINGS/TAGS smut, fluff, Re2! Leon, top! reader, bottom! Leon, soft dom! reader, sub! Leon, praising, anal/pegging (Leon reiceiving), fingering, pet names, teasing, begging, needy! Leon, gentle sex

✮ SUMMARY Leon asked you to peg him

✮ WORDS 1.2k

✮ A/N Happy Pride month y'all! The start of pride month made want to write some more ftm fics since I feel like I don't do enough, especially when I started writing because I wanted to write fics for my fellow trans men. Because of that, I'll do my best to write more ftm x reader fics, and in general more male reader since, again, I don't do it enough. Also I wanna mention something, just in case. This is just a fic, so obviously it's not 1:1 with how irl sex goes. If any of you plan on trying stuff mentioned in the fic, please make sure to prepare yourself/your partner properly for the sake of comfort and safety!!

ao3   masterlist   requests

How could you say no to him?

It was hard, unbelievably hard at times to say no when he looked at you with those pretty blue eyes and that sweet little smile. How shy and nervous he was, but at the same time so eager.

“Could we try pegging?” He asked that evening, eyes flicking from your eyes, to your lips and all the features of your face before going back to your eyes. He knew he could trust you, that you wouldn't be weirded out by his request, nor that you would judge him.

That same evening, you had him laying on the bed. He looked adorable, flushed cheeks as you gently stretched his hole with your fingers. Each movement came with a soft, wet sound following it. You would never do something like that without lube.

“Feeling okay, sweetheart?” You asked, earning a nod from Leon which was followed by a choked moan.

“Y-yeah. Feels better than I thought it would.” He looked at you before throwing his head back onto a pillow, letting out another sweet sound when your fingers hit that one spot inside of him.

“Oh, you like it there?”

“Yeah.” You hit that spot again, making him gasp. “Oh my God… please…”

“Please what?”

He had a hard time finding his words, especially when your fingers didn't stop their movements. He didn't wanna cum just yet, not when you weren't inside him, even if he was so hard that his cock was practically begging for release.

“I need… please, I can't.” He turned his hand against his cheek as he murmured, trying to get rid of the heat that remained on it. “N-not without you..”

“Not without me? I'm right here, love.”

“You know what I mean. Please…”

“I don't think I do, sweetheart.”

You knew damn well what he meant. And he knew that too, that mischievous smile was a statt difference to how innocently you acted. He knew he had to be more vocal to get what he wanted.

“Need you inside…” His was barely above whisper.

“I'm sorry? Again?”

Leon let out a sigh and gathered the courage.

“I need you inside me, can't… don't wanna cum when you're not inside.” It came out much whiney than he intended for it to be.

“I see. It would be rude to keep you on the edge for much longer, huh?”

With that you slowly pulled your fingers out of him and cleaned them with the towel that was laying nearby. Then you left the bed to grab the strap on and started putting it on.

Leon watched you the whole time, his expression was a mix of anticipation and slight nervousness. But he knew he was in good hands, even though he had a feeling you weren't done teasing him.

He observed carefully as the harness of the strap-on fitted your hips before his eyes landed on the toy. It was simple - pink, slightly transparent dildo meant to look like a real thing. He didn't say it out loud, but you saw the look on his eyes. He couldn't wait to have it inside.

You came back on the bed, grabbing the lube from the nightstand before covering the toy in it. Once again, you cleaned your hand with the towel before looking at Leon.

“Ready?” You asked, moving your hips a little closer. Your hands were practically itching to grab Leon already.

“Yes, please…” He nodded, his eyes were still on you.

You nodded. You grabbed his thighs, giving them a playful squeeze and watching his reaction, which was a twitch of his cock and a small whimper. Then you moved your hips again, the toy nudged his hole but you didn't push it inside yet. You watched how he closed his eyes, letting out an impatient whine at your teasing.

“Don't do me like that.”

“Impatient, aren't we?” You teased again, but this time instead of just circling his hole, you started pushing inside. You could have teased him more, have him whine and beg for you, but truth to be told, you just really wanted to see how he would moan and melt into the mattress as you thrusted into him.

“Feeling okay? Want me to slow down?” You watched him carefully, looking for any sign that you should stop. But there was none.

“No. I'm okay. Please don't stop.” He murmured, his eyes seemed somehow distant already and you weren't even fully inside.

Once fully inside, you got a firmer grip on his thighs and shifted your hips. While the part inside Leon rubbed against that sweet spot your fingers teased earlier, the end of it rubbed against your clit with each movement.

“Ready?” You asked again and Leon nodded. You rolled your eyes at him. “Words, sweetheart.”

“Y-yes. I can't wait anymore…”

“Good boy.”

You started with a gentle, slow pace, letting Leon get used to the way the toy felt inside him. He was already getting whiney again, murmuring stuff under his breath. Although you focused mostly on him and his pleasure, the way the toy brushed against you influenced your movements. Going for deep thrusts that had you biting your lip to stiffen the sound that bubbled at the back of your throat.

“Feels so good.” Leon murmured, his eyes were on you. He watched the way your face changed with pleasure and how focused you were.

“Yeah?” You change picked up a pace, watching the way Leon's back arched. “Good. You're taking me so well, such a good boy for me.” His dick twitched in response at your praise.

“Can you… go a little faster, please?” He was getting close already. His mind was a mush at this point, he could only hear the way his heart was pounding in his ears, along with his own needy moans and soft groans from you.

He didn't hear when you exactly agreed to his plea, but he felt it. He arched his back again, lots to the pleasure you gave him. He started babbling softly between the moans. Sweet whimpers and unintelligible pleas were followed by the way he started moaning your name shamelessly as he got closer. You sped up again, thrusting into him harder and watching his face.

“That's right. I've got you. Go for it, love.” Your voice was breathy, you were also getting close. The toy rubbed against your clit deliciously. It made you want to slow down, savor the feeling but you focused on Leon.

A few more moans fell from his lips beside him finally came, covering his chest and stomach with his cum. You slowed down after that, not stopping completely as you helped him ride out the feeling. You observed how he catched his breath, his face even more red than before. You heard him let out a soft hum before you stopped, not pulling out just yet. He looked up at you with a sweet smile.

“How do you feel?” You asked and he chuckled softly.

“Can we go again, please?”

That question made you chuckle as well.

“You know I can't say no when you look at me like that.”

[mimmixerenard]

A Chrisker continuation of this post, which then inspired me to write a short one-shot you may find here (et ici pour la version française !)

Both the drawing and the fic have been sitting in my drafts for over a week, purely because I wasn't satisfied with either x)

[resident-evil-polls]

Spin The Wheel To Pick A Resident Evil Character!

It's Dinner Time! You And This Character Are In Charge Of Cooking. How's It Going?

It's a disaster! They blew up the kitchen! 🤯

They're a good cook. I’m just watching.👨‍🍳

They're annoying the hell out of me! 😤

I had to do everything! They're dumb. 😡

We easily made a nice meal. 💯

We pretty much made slop. It was bad. ❌

We did okay, I guess. 🤷

I'm actually terrified of them. 😨

I don't even know who this is. 🤨

Results

Remaining time: 13 hours 37 minutes

[theevilresidents]

Something about Wesker still hiding some humanity behind those sunglasses and that’s part of the reason he wears them… Ik I’m delusional to imagine that but lemme dream my gay little fanboy dreams <3

Wesker taking his glasses off and scowling at the mirror when he sees how tired he looks. Superhuman endurance can only compensate for so much when he’s mentally exhausted and has been neglecting to sleep. His scowl softening when a special someone wraps their arms around his waist and softly asks him to come rest for a while… maybe he can be weak, just for a bit.

[yanderestarangel]

HEADCANONS ZENO X READER

TW: afab reader, NSFW, praise kink, mirror kink, BDSM, soft dom Zeno, SFW, eat out, angst, trauma, inferiority complex, emotional instability, self-loathing, mentions of nightmares, psychological distress, breeding kink, soft sex, Unprotected sex, AFAB Anatomy, vaginal sex...+

⊹ 𝐒𝐅𝐖 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍𝐒:

Being close to Zeno was already complicated, but having a relationship with him was even more so.

When you entered his life, he was still in the middle of a whirlwind of emotions and discoveries. His search to become stronger often blinded him and made him act similarly to Wesker—though never quite the same. After all, there was still humanity behind that thick shell, like a lamb in wolf’s clothing.

Zeno doesn’t just think he’s unworthy of love—he despises any display of affection or pity directed at him. Even if it comes from you, if he notices the slightest hint of pity in your eyes, he’ll snap and storm off in anger.

Zeno has a habit of watching you quietly when you’re distracted—reading, cooking, talking, or even sleeping. Not in a creepy way, but in a disbelieving way, like he’s trying to understand why someone like you would stay with him. Sometimes you catch him staring and he immediately looks away and mutters something defensive like: "Don’t get the wrong idea. I was just… thinking."

He hates admitting it, but he constantly compares himself: “I’m just a poorly made copy.” You try to comfort him, telling him that he’s a different person from what Wesker was, and that’s exactly what makes him special. But the silver-haired man refuses to listen, laughing bitterly as he says you could never understand what it’s like to be seen as a defective clone.

Affection feels strange to him, but it isn’t unwelcome.

He always believed he was unworthy of love, that no one could ever truly fall for him. When you stayed despite his outbursts and his Napoleon complex, Zeno began to realize that what he truly needed wasn’t to be feared by everyone—but to be understood and loved.

The two of you would spend nights watching the stars together. He would listen as you whispered plans for the future, and every time you included him in those dreams, it became one of the rare moments when he could genuinely smile. “All of that, little one? Sounds fun… we’ll definitely do it.”

The older man would say it in a calm voice reserved only for you. You were the only person who ever gave him good memories, and he was genuinely grateful for that.

Aside from the days when he became obsessively focused on surpassing Wesker and becoming more powerful; Zeno was a pleasant partner most of the time—especially considering you had been together for quite a while. He spoiled you with his black card, insisted on taking you out, and helped you with your shopping. And even though he pretended to hate it, he secretly loved when you kissed him in public. To him, it meant you weren’t ashamed to be seen with him. And in that moment, that was the only validation he needed.

Zeno has extremely light sleep—if you're not beside him, he wakes up constantly. But when you're there, he sleeps much deeper; sometimes he unconsciously holds your wrist or shirt while sleeping, like he's making sure you're still there. If you try to leave the bed too early, he pulls you back half-asleep: “Six more minutes… don’t disappear yet.”

He has a habit of removing his glasses only when the two of you are alone. The marks on his face become more visible, and he lowers his gaze, silently waiting for you to touch them. When you kiss one of the scars, his whole body trembles and he groans softly. “Damn it, darling… you really know how to make me weak.”

Zeno also collects the small things you accidentally leave behind—a hair tie, a note, a strand of hair—and keeps them inside an aluminum cigarette case tucked in his coat. Whenever he spends too long away from you, he turns to those little things you left behind: small fragments that remind him he still has a safe harbor to return to, even in the middle of all the chaos.

Despite his superhuman strength, he carries you as if you were made of glass. After losing his powers near Elpis, he still tries to lift you and almost falls—laughing awkwardly as he says: “Sorry… I’m still getting used to being… normal.”

If you take care of him during this crisis, he’ll be deeply grateful—but it won’t be easy. Zeno already had an extreme inferiority complex before (made even worse by Dr. Victor’s mockery after he lost his powers). Because of that, he becomes more guarded, trying to push you away, training until his muscles ache and he collapses exhausted on the floor on some random Tuesday.

The silver-haired man wasn’t used to feeling pain—let alone wounds that took months or even years to truly heal. For the first time in a long time, he felt fragile… more fragile than he had in years.

Sometimes he wakes up in the middle of the night drenched in sweat after a nightmare where someone takes you away from him, and he can do nothing but watch. He tries everything he can for you—anything money can buy, he’ll give you—but his greatest fear is simply losing you one day.

⊹ 𝐍𝐒𝐅𝐖 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍𝐒:

When you bite his throat, scratch down his back until you draw thin red lines, or suck a bruise onto his collarbone where his shirt collar barely hides it, he groans like he’s been wounded in the best way. “Fuck—Yes honey… show to everyone I’m taken... Show I belong to you.” The validation of being visibly claimed overrides his usual shame.

Foreplay is indispensable for him — Zeno is the type of man who secretly craves being subtly teased in public. A slow hand sliding up his thigh under the table during a dull business dinner, your warm breath and soft, filthy whispers against his ear while everyone else drones on, or the “accidental” graze of your fingers over the growing bulge in his pants as you shift in the passenger seat. Each touch sends a visible jolt through him — jaw tightening, breath catching, eyes darkening behind those tinted glasses — but he never stops you. Instead, he leans in just enough to murmur low and rough against your hair: “Keep that up, darling… and I won’t wait until we’re home.”

He used to avoid mirrors — hated seeing the scars, and the reflection of a face that he wasn't sure if it was still his own staring back. But once you start fucking in front of one, something shifts. You make him watch: watch how your body arches for him, how your eyes never leave his even when he tries to look away. “See that, honey?” he whisper while he’s pounding into you from behind, one hand wrapped around your throat, the other pinning your hip. “That’s you making me lose my fucking control...” It becomes a ritual. He’ll fuck you in front of the mirror until he can finally look at his own reflection without flinching — because he sees you wrecked and blissed-out because of him.

He prefers leather cuffs, silk ties, or his own hands pinning you down over elaborate shibari (too fussy, too vulnerable to "perform"). He loves wrists bound above your head so he can see your face — every flinch, every gasp, every time your eyes roll back. Heavy restraint makes him feel in total control, but he always leaves one hand free to touch your face or let you grab his hair if you need grounding.

He has a massive praise kink on the giving side — calling you “my perfect little thing” “so fucking good for me” “look how beautifully you take what I give you.” Hearing you whimper or beg under his words makes him rock-hard. But he secretly craves receiving it too. When you whisper “You're so strong,” “I love how you control me...” or “No one else could make me feel this safe.” mid-scene, his rhythm falters — he grips you harder, thrusts deeper, voice breaking into a rough “Say it again… fuck, say it.” It's the closest he gets to admitting he needs reassurance.

He likes spanking and slapping (on the thighs or ass—never the face unless it’s been pre-negotiated), as well as light flogging. He starts in control, building the intensity slowly based on your reactions. The sound of his palm connecting, your sharp inhale, the way your skin blooms red… it quiets the noise in his head. If you safeword or tense up in the wrong way, he stops instantly, switching to soothing rubs and soft kisses over the marks he’s left behind. Before he ever hits you in the face during sex, he asks about it at least three separate times—before either of you is too turned on to think clearly. And even in the moment, right before raising his hand, he asks again: “Are you sure, darling?” If the answer is yes, he begins with gentle slaps to your face while forcefully fucking your pussy—He'll only really slap you hard in the face after a few sessions and tests, and when he finally does, he'll be completely different. He'll make you open your mouth and spit on your tongue, ordering you to swallow while giving you a hard slap on the cheek at the end, all so that after sex he can give soft kisses to the red mark that's leftn in your skin.

He begs to cum inside without protection (even knowing the risks). When you allow it, he enters slowly, holds your thighs open and fucks you deep, rhythmically, groaning hoarsely: “Let me... please... let me mark you like this. I want to see my cum dripping out of you afterwards.” Every time he cums inside, he stays still, still hard, pressing his hips against yours to "hold" everything in, whispering "D-Don't leave... stay with me... please—you're the only real thing I still have... I love you—Please honey... I just love you s-so fucking much..."

★ 𝐲𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐥 © 2026

A/N: yes... I'm alive

[theevilresidents]

Capcom, put them in a room and let them work out their Wesker-induced trauma by fucking nasty-style

[rhiannon-shadowsinger]

I framed the rookie! I also brought him to the shop today! Not sure if he’ll sell, but he’ll at the very least draw people over to my space!

[shesmycollaarr]

Just like a stray (Albert Wesker x m!Reader)

Tags: No Use of Y/N for Reader-Insert; Male Reader-Insert; S.T.A.R.S. Member Albert Wesker; Boss/Employee Relationship; Strangers to Friends to Lovers; Developing Relationship; Mutual Pining; Fluff; First Kiss; Food as a Metaphor for Love; Soft Albert Wesker; to be loved is to be known

Word Count: 4,605

Summary: Albert Wesker is like a cat in a lot of ways - seemingly hostile and aloof but, given enough time and space, he will be all over you if given half a chance. How do you know? Well, because you managed to domesticate him with little more than shared lunch every day for four months.

Also on Ao3: Here

a/n: For @weskie 🩷😌🫶

Initially this idea was inspired from my own life. I learned to cook when I was living w my dad, so i made sure to make big pots of food enough to last 2 people several days (when he wasnt home I didnt really cook 😅 ramen and sandwiches sustained me). 4 years of living alone later and I still haven't learned how to cook for only 1 person. As a consequence, i often pack up at least half of what I cook and bring it to my brother and his gf. I thought it'd be a cute premise for a wesker x reader.

Kenny said he wants more stars wesker and I started going through my notes app to see what stray ideas I have floating around that would work for stars wesker and I found this! Given the things I've read from him, I think he might enjoy this. And because im tailoring it to him, thats also why this isn't my usual fem or gn reader. Male reader time babey <3

Also it's 5:30 am for me, I'm sorry if there are any egregious typos or if sentences don't make sense.

The move to Raccoon City forced you to learn how to truly live on your own for the first time in your life. Something that you once dreamt of doing – couldn't wait to get here, honestly – now seems daunting and isolating instead. Somehow, you've managed to live with at least one other person your entire adulthood until now, whether it be family members or roommates, but now that you've been recruited – hand-picked even! – to serve as medic for Raccoon City Police's very own ST.A.R.S. Alpha Team, your days of rooming with other people are gone.

The RPD paid for a cheap hotel room close to the station for your first month here, but after that you finally moved in on your own, holing up in a small, one bedroom apartment in a building that's seen better days but which, at least, is close to the station. Figuring out public transport one month into your stay in a foreign city when the stress of being late and making a bad impression was weighing on you hadn't been on your list of preferable activities.

As a consequence of you being used to sharing your space with someone else – sometimes several someone elses – you still haven't quite figured out the ‘cooking for one person’ thing. You're used to cooking large batches of food, enough to last several people at least three or four days because who has time to cook every day? But now it's just you – and the stray cats who frequent the back of your building who have learned to climb up the fire escape and yell at your bedroom window at five in the morning until you open it and leave out bowls full of whatever you're eating that week that's safe for them to consume.

It's become a problem, though. You hate wasting food and you tried to give some of it to a couple homeless people you've seen hanging around your block, but they – understandably – didn't seem too thrilled with accepting suspicious looking food from a stranger they've never seen around the area before. Knowing what you know from your job and the numerous crime scenes you've seen either in person or in photographs, you can't say you don't understand and even praise them for their caution.

Yet even so, something must be done.

You've tried just… cooking less. Seems easy enough to implement, no? Wrong. Every time you think, ‘Surely, that's enough for a grown man to eat on his own for a few days,’ you find that you've once again severely overestimated how much you can actually eat, and there's only so much the stray cats can help you with.

Your solution? Well…

The thing about working for the RPD as a member of ST.A.R.S. is that everyone is really nice and the team feels like a group of friends – almost family, if you're being honest, which helps with your homesickness quite a bit – more than simple coworkers, but it's been a bit hard to actually feel like a part of the team, you know? Some of them have been on it since ST.A.R.S. formed and have known each other for years. You're a newcomer and sometimes it really does feel like it, even when they're all trying to fold you into the group as much as possible.

Oddly enough, one other person seems to share your… alienation, for lack of a better word. And that person is your Captain.

Wesker is as professional as they come, which is something you appreciate and value, but he is also cold, aloof, standoffish in a way. He keeps his distance. That's something the team warned you about on your first week here – don't be late and don't expect Wesker to get chummy with you and do more than quietly acknowledge your work with a nod when completed to his exacting standards.

It's not something you mind, per se. You can appreciate a superior wishing to keep work and personal life separate from each other and you can admit that the kind of outings that happen when Chris, Jill, and Barry get involved aren't exactly the kind you'd want your boss to be present for. Even so, you always make sure to offer him a greeting and a goodbye every day you clock in and out whether he returns it or not. You smile at him when you pass him by in the office the rare times he actually leaves it and you sometimes leave post-it notes attached to your paperwork filled with random doodles you sketched on your lunch break that day, sometimes including silly puns or jokes, other times copying the lyrics of the song stuck in your head that day or a few lines from a poem you read recently that you think he might enjoy.

Wesker never acknowledges your notes but he doesn't tell you to stop either, so you keep going and hope that the silly scribblings you include with your work make his day just a little bit more pleasant.

It's thanks to these notes of yours that you come up with the perfect idea of how to solve your food issue. You're doodling the drawing of the day while you're eating rice with some bullshit thrown on top of it, sat at your desk because you busted your knee a tad last week when apprehending a suspect attempting to flee and your coworkers told you it was alright for you to eat your lunch at your desk until it heals so you don't have to drag yourself to the break room and back.

Everyone else is on their lunch break save for Brad, who's frantically trying to complete his batch of powerwork before Wesker descends on him like the Grim Reaper and chews him out for handing it in late again, but you notice something odd. Wesker himself is still here. His blinds aren't drawn so you can see into his office just fine – he's sat at his desk, furrow between his eyebrows present as per usual, glasses perched on his nose and hiding a pair of stunning blue eyes (or so you've been told), and completing paperwork like his life depends on it. You can't see any traces of his lunch nearby – no cup of noodles perched precariously next to a stack of finished paperwork, no bag of trail mix he can nibble on between signatures, not even a lousy sandwich from the vending machine in the hallway that he can take a bite out of every now and then.

You frown as you look down at your meal and take another bite. This doesn't seem right.

You want to chalk it up to just him having a busy day and foregoing lunch. Hell, perhaps he just takes it later because he wants to avoid sharing it with his subordinates and you just haven't noticed until now. But no. You observe him the whole day and at no point do you see him standing up and leaving his office for longer than a few minutes at a time for a bathroom break or to make himself another cup of coffee or to loom over a laughing Chris and glare at him until he finally writes down that report Wesker has been waiting on for the past three days.

The following days while you keep taking your lunch at your desk, you observe the same pattern – short breaks to stretch his limbs, but no proper lunch break. And worse than that, no actual food ingested over the course of the entire day.

Look. A lot of people in your position would probably shrug and tell themselves that it's not your business what your boss does with his time, whether he eats or whether he starves all day for whatever reason he might have. A lot of other people would also assume that maybe he has his reasons for not taking lunch – health related ones, religious ones, or just plain old preference. But you are not other people. And even if he has legitimate reasons for not eating, it doesn't hurt to reach out and offer a kindness no one else seems inclined to offer. The worst he can do is say, ‘No thanks,’ or throw away the food without eating it. If that happens, you'll know to back off and leave him to his odd eating habits, concern for his health or not.

And that's how it starts. Instead of packing one portion of whatever you cooked that week for your lunch, you pack two. You always keep them stacked on top of each other in the fridge and everyone knows not to touch them. Then, when lunch time rolls around, you grab them both, as well as two sets of utensils – always the disposable kind for Wesker – and head towards Wesker's office so you can leave one of the lunches on his desk.

He never says anything. He just briefly looks up from his scribbling, looks at you over his glasses in acknowledgement, then goes right back to writing down whatever he is always working on. You wish him a nice lunch then turn around and go back to the break room so you can enjoy your meal as well.

And when you return from your break, your container is always waiting for you at your desk – empty, clean, and with a note sporting Wesker's neat, elegant handwriting. Sometimes he thanks you for the food. Sometimes he writes down the continuation to the lyrics or poem you wrote down for him the day before. A few times he kindly requests that you leave out a certain ingredient or spice because he doesn't like it or it doesn't agree with his stomach. It's cute. It's friendly. It's exactly what you need to feel like you're finally making a real connection with someone here that isn't basic camaraderie between coworkers.

The rest of your team is baffled by this turn of events, naturally. They don't know about the notes, obviously, but they do know this: Wesker never yells at you even when you make a mistake, he doesn't keep you overtime even when he would do it to anyone else, and he even sometimes smiles at you in reply when you walk into the office in the morning and offer him your customary greeting. That and he never refuses your lunches.

When Jill asks how you managed that feat, you just shrug.

“That's how I befriended the stray cats near my apartment. You just have to give ‘em space and let ‘em come to you.”

And come to you he does.

When month three of your employment at the RPD rolls around, Wesker does something he's never done before. As you walk into his office – having knocked lightly on the door once before pushing your way inside like usual – and approach his desk with today's lunch, Wesker clears a space on his desk and actually puts down his pen and looks at you with intent rather than tacit acknowledgement.

The gesture makes you pause and you stop in front of his desk with a furrowed brow, lunch container hovering in front of you, while you wait to see what's wrong. Is this the day he tells you to stop acting like you're friends and be professional?

Wesker looks at you  – through the glasses this time around, not over them, so his eyes are obscured from your scrutiny – for a short moment before he clears his throat.

“I thought you might… enjoy sharing your lunch with me today. Here, I mean. I know the break room gets loud with everyone eating there together and you seemed to enjoy the silence when you had your lunch at your desk last month.”

Your mouth falls open in a silent ‘O’ at the observation. You didn't know he was watching you even then, taking note of something like that. It makes your face heat up and you duck your head as you place the two tupperware containers on the desk between you and take a seat across from him.

“Yeah, that would be nice. Thank you, Captain.”

Wesker's lips pull up in a small smile – so small it could be called infinitesimal, really – and waits for you to pick up your lunch and start eating before he does the same. You take note as subtly as you can of the way he holds his fork and the precise way he spears food on it and takes measured bites that don't let a single crumb go where it's not supposed to go. It fits him absurdly well and it makes a small, amused grin bloom on your face before you cover it up by eating your food.

You don't talk much during that lunch. You make some small talk about paperwork – talk about your upcoming report and that you will have it on his desk by tomorrow if the witness you found for the case you're working on will answer your questions today more openly than she did yesterday, while Wesker complains about being constantly bogged down by endless reports, both his and your team's. It's light and impersonal, but it's nice, quiet. Comfortable.

You leave his office that day with two empty containers but a full heart. The small, content smile that you left Wesker's office with doesn't leave you for the rest of the day.

It escalates after that. Slowly, like coaxing a feral cat from under the bed it's wedged itself under, you lure Wesker away from stiff, awkward, but pleasant enough professionalism and into friendly territory. He starts discussing your post-its with you in person since the notes he left you with the cleaned containers of food are no longer a thing now that you're eating together (they reappear a week later, this time being left randomly between your stacks of papers, serving as a pleasant surprise whenever you run into them unexpectedly while completing your work). He talks about poetry and the authors he loves as well as the ones he despises. You get him to tell you what his taste in music is like and find that you share a lot of bands in common.

Slowly, Albert Wesker gains an outline and colour – he stops being the vague sketch of an aloof boss and starts looking more and more like the centerpiece of your life in Raccoon City. A friend. And maybe, even, more than that.

Four months in, you do overtime for the first time since you started working here and it's because you volunteer. Someone needs to stay behind because end of quarter reports are coming in and there's a lot to do. The others had been looking forward to a team outing for what feels like an eternity and you know that you wouldn't feel like you're missing out on much if you didn't go. So, you volunteered.

You're hunched over your desk, writing furiously and ignoring the cramping that has settled into your dominant hand as well as the way your eyes keep glitching every few minutes. You want to get this done soon so you can go home and sleep.

The hand on your shoulder is unexpected. The blue eyes staring down at you without any barrier whatsoever for the first time since you've met him even more so.

“Captain! I thought you already left,” you exclaim, surprised to see him but more surprised by just how ethereal and captivating his eyes are. They really are stunning.

It makes him look more approachable, softer somehow, to be so barefaced, and you understand completely now why he rarely takes his glasses off. Being underestimated for his looks seems like the last thing a man like Albert Wesker would want, even if it could benefit him in the long run.

“I don't expect my subordinates to do something I'm not willing to do myself,” Wesker answers with a frown, his eyes flicking down to the hand still clutching your pen before he brings them back up to your face. “You've been writing nonstop since you sat down an hour ago. You should take a break. These don't need to be completed in one go tonight.”

“I know.” You blow out a weary breath and let your shoulders slump down for a moment, then you straighten them back up and look at your superior resolutely. “But I want to get it done so you don't have to finish it on your own.”

His eyes widen – very imperceptibly, a microexpression most people would have missed, but you have become just a little bit too obsessed with cataloguing everything about this man in the past couple of months to let something like this pass you by – before they soften, just a little, but enough to make your heart race. God, he's so beautiful. Does he know that? Does he know how striking his eyes are, how gorgeous his sharp features – cold as ice and just as cutting but ethereal in nature – or how hard he makes your heart thunder in your chest whenever he does something as banal as chuckling under his breath at your commentary on modern poetry or smiling when he notices you cooked something with his favourite ingredients for the third time this month?

Does he know that you're slowly falling in love with him?

“That is not necessary, my dear,” Wesker says at length, what feels like lifetimes later. Your heart tumbles in your chest at the pet name, a recent but rare development when it's just the two of you. “But, if you insist, then I must also request that you take a break before your hand does. Come, let me make some coffee for us before we take a short walk outside and get some fresh air.”

You acquiesce quietly, stomach twisting and chest warming at the way Wesker leads you to the break room and prepares your coffee exactly how you like it without having to ask you or pause in his preparation even once. The proof that you're not the only one watching and cataloguing is both elating and intimidating. Perceiving is always preferable to being perceived, after all – you never know what the other person might see and the conclusions they might draw on their own without your input.

Nevertheless, you accept your mug gratefully and follow him out of the station and to the back of the building where you walk slowly side by side and sip on your drinks occasionally. You don't talk – you're both tired and it seems like all the necessary words have been uttered for the day between the two of you. Only comfortable silence remains.

Your shoulders loosen, your limbs go from stiff and cramped to relaxed once more, and your stomach is filled with butterflies by the time you and Wesker return to the empty office and settle in to complete your paperwork. And the latter only gets worse when Wesker joins you at your desk with his own stack of papers and settles in to work side by side with you in companionable silence after offering you a small, unguarded smile that you reciprocate without conscious thought on your part.

You go home that night unable to think of anything other than these things: how warm his fingers were when they brushed against yours as he handed you your coffee mug in the harshly lit break room and how much you wanted to kiss him every time you lifted your head up from your reports and you found blue eyes like a January winter staring back at you softly.

Two weeks later, you kiss him.

It's the first time you've taken paid time off since you got here, but the exhaustion of back to back cases that nearly brought you to the brink of insanity from the multiple all-nighters you pulled in order to solve them pushed you to request the entire week off so you can recuperate. Your heart mourns the missed opportunities for lunches with Wesker – five entire hours you've said goodbye to and all because of your stupid body needing rest – but you resign yourself to it regardless.

You wonder what he'll be doing for lunch this week without you there to bring him food when your usual lunch hour nears. You hope he won't just revert back to starving himself all day because he can't pull himself away from his work, but it's not like you can ensure he eats without you there either.

Ten minutes after your break would usually start, though, a knock comes at your door. You get up to answer it, wondering if it's a door-to-door salesman or something since you've never had visitors even once since you moved in, but when you open the door, it's not a stranger waiting on the other side. It's Wesker.

It's Wesker, looking a bit disheveled, like he hurried to get here and forgot to set his clothes to rights before knocking, holding a bag of takeout in one hand and fiddling with his glasses with the other.

“Captain? What are you…?”

“You always bring me food, even when you're swamped with work and I thought… You've been exhausted lately. I doubt you feel like cooking now that you finally have some time off. I know it's not home cooked and probably not half as good as anything you make but,” Wesker says, uncharacteristically unsteady in his speech, and shows you the takeout bag in an endearing attempt to emphasise his point, “I thought I should return the favour for once.”

You take the bag from him silently, your eyes growing hot with tears at the show of care, at the awkwardness around him yet the determination, the bravery to still go through with it. He ran here to have been able to make it to your place in under ten minutes. He must have placed the order over the phone before his break even started, only so he could pick it up as soon as he could leave the station. And when you look inside the bag, you find the logo of your favourite Chinese takeout place in the city staring back at you, something you told him about offhandedly more than a month ago.

When you look back up at him, Wesker is staring at you with an expression that wants to pretend is nonchalant. His eyes give him away though.

“Thank you,” you whisper, throat tight and chest blazing with how much you love this man already. “This is… This is really nice. Come on in, your break isn't long and I want you to eat before you have to get back to work.”

He follows you inside, looking curiously at your apartment while you take out the piping hot styrofoam containers and plate up the food for the both of you. You sit down at the table – even though you'd usually just eat on the couch – because you just know that he would wrinkle his nose at the thought of eating anywhere but the dinner table. You eat and you listen to him talk about a book he finished reading yesterday and the more his voice floats hypnotically between you, the more you know that Albert Wesker is the man you want to listen to ramble on about books and music and boring fucking paperwork for the rest of your life.

You end up kissing him out of the blue when he's halfway through a rant about the lacklustre ending of his book, the taste of Lo mein lingering on his lips while you press yours against them and kiss him into silence.

When you pull away, his eyes are wide and his grip on his chopsticks is white-knuckled, but before you can worry that you misstepped after all and that you've misread weeks, months worth of interactions terribly badly, Wesker pulls you back towards him, your stomach digging into the table as you lean over it to reach his face, and kisses you thoroughly, tongue and all, until you're left panting and breathless with the taste of his skin and the aftertaste of his meal lingering in your mouth.

“I wish you'd done this earlier because all I want is to kiss you until my lips are raw but I have to get back to the station in ten minutes,” Wesker laments, sighing as he lets you go with a parting caress of his thumb over your lips. They're tingling from his kiss and touch combined and you wish you could climb over the table and into his lap and kiss him for an eternity now that you know what he tastes like, how warm and soft his lips are, how he sighs between kisses every time he comes up for air in between bouts. But he's right – he needs to sort himself out and leave if he doesn't want to be late.

“Well… You know where to find me when you're done with work,” you offer breathlessly, still catching your breath after that kiss.

“I might not be able to pull myself away from you a second time when you need to turn in for the night,” he warns, as if hoping for you to be the voice of reason and turn him away, put a stop to this before it can become something, put distance between you. Silly him – doesn't he know it's already become everything?

“I might not want you to.”

Your eyes lock and stay locked for long seconds as you both realise and accept that you want the other as much as the other wants you. He nods, a concession and a promise both, then gets up from the table and puts his vest back on over his blue shirt. You step up to him before he can close his hand around your doorknob and pull the door open, and he lets you.

“Have a nice rest of your day, Captain. I'll be waiting for you.”

“Just Albert is fine,” he murmurs, his voice drifting away into nothing as you close the gap between you and kiss him again, this time as a way to say goodbye – and maybe to give him something to think about the rest of the day and look forward to so that he won't change his mind and leave you hanging after all.

“Okay, Albert. I'll see you later.”

“You will, dear heart,” he promises and it sounds like an unbreakable vow between the two of you when he looks intently into your eyes once the kiss ends before putting his glasses back on and finally opening the door.

You watch him go then close the door softly behind him and touch your lips in disbelief. You can still feel his warmth lingering on your lips and the feeling of his tongue caressing yours in a way that lit up all your nerves and made you grow hard almost instantly. It feels like a dream – that you finally kissed him, that he reciprocated, that he's coming back for more of the same tonight. But it's real and it's good and it's yours. It's more than you hoped for when you moved to Raccoon City but exactly what you've been dreaming of since you met Albert Wesker and decided to domesticate him like a stray cat.

It's good. And you'll make damn sure it stays that way because you can't imagine your life going back to the sad, lonely existence of before you started sharing your food with him. And you want to finally cook for two without feeling like something's missing.

[theevilresidents]

They announced the Code Veronica remake during Pride Month so to me that means Claire is bisexual and Chris & Wesker definitely explored each others’ bodies

[theevilresidents]

I’m such a sucker for Zeno being completely smitten from little acts of affection because he’s touch starved… he definitely seems like he either consciously or subconsciously deprives himself of it maybe due to his dangerous life or because he’s trying to measure up to Wesker somehow. He—and by extension, Wesker—may be riddled with viruses and mental issues and other shit but they’re still human at some level (Zeno arguably more than Wesker) and have that biological need for human contact.

He’d be in denial about it but with enough patience and reassurance he would break, and he’d break hard. Hold him gently and make him feel appreciated, he needs it.

[theevilresidents]

Dr. Gideon & the size difference between himself & his partner… (sfw, any gender)

~He grins whenever he leans down to place a kiss on your head, sometimes he’ll do it while you’re rambling because he thinks it’s cute when you pause for a moment to process it

~Any time he hugs you if he’s not scooping you up into his arms he’s heavily considering it

~Using his sheer size to drape himself over you and get attention whenever he wants it like an oversized needy cat

~When you’re cuddling him he’s curling his entire body around you and making the most of enjoying your body heat

~Fall asleep anywhere that’s not your/his bed? He’s carrying you there

~Plenty of room to fall asleep sitting on his lap and using his chest as a pillow while he’s at his desk

~He absolutely adores how you have to look up to look at him and he’ll go out of his way to be standing at his full height or slightly leaning over you just so you have to look up at him

~He does not mind carrying you around, any reason is a good enough reason for him. His strength and endurance means he does it effortlessly

~Try to pull him down into a kiss by his coat and he’ll be grinning like a fool

[theevilresidents]

Sometimes I worry about my digital footprint… and then I think “mmm I want Wesker’s boobs in my face.”

[searchingsomewhere]

Omfg, you wrote that Zeno x fem!Reader fic so well... We need more Gideon cameos in these, you also write him so well TwT

My request is: A smutty oneshot of Zeno fucking Reader on the security cameras in the Rhodes Hill maybe? Gideon obviously acting as if nothing happened... But when they leave the room, they see a tent?

Hi hi baby!💖💖💖

EEEEE thank you sm😭 thats so kind of you to say, I'm so glad you enjoyed it!💖💖 This was so fun to write! I decided to go with a masturbation scene because I thought it'd be so hot to see👀👀 I hope that's okay!

Also homoeroticism? In my fic? It's more likely than you think

Thank you so much for this request!

🌑-nero

ZENO x f!Reader x VICTOR GIDEON

CW: Masturbation (M!), voyeurism, maybe dubcon/noncon? (in the form of watching someone have sex without them knowing) Slight homoerotic tendencies, doggy, biting, bitemarks

You and Zeno really think you two are slick. Your first mistake is believing that you can sneak into a spare room to fuck without anyone noticing. Your second mistake is thinking that Victor doesn't have the entire Chronic Care Center littered with surveillance cameras.

Zeno is rough with you. He must be pretty pent up. You're bent over the cot, skirt completely disregarded, ass in the air as he pounds into you relentlessly. You're posed so perfectly in front of the camera hidden on the bookshelf across from the bed. Everything is displayed on screen; The way your eyebrows draw up in pleasure, the rippling of your skin at the impact of Zeno's hips snapping forward, the way you claw at the sheets. 

Victor leans back in his chair. His large hand strokes his equally large cock, slowly squeezing it at the base. The sounds dripping from your mouth dart up his shaft in the form of tingling pleasure. You sound so pretty, so delicate. Like you can't possibly take what Zeno's giving you, even though evidently your greedy cunt is swallowing him just fine.

"Cry for me, pretty girl," Victor murmurs, even though you can't possibly hear him. 

God, the things he'd do to you. If only you knew. If only Zeno wasn't so possessive. He knew damn well how hard you made Victor. He could see clearly through those sunglasses of his.

Victor tilted his head back, closing his eyes to the sound of you growing closer and closer to your climax. Precum drips down his shaft and he starts a tempo just in time to your moans. 

"Oh--oh fuck--" 

Just like that. Filth spills from your mouth, asking him to fuck you, begging him to stretch your cunt until you're sobbing. He can only imagine you riding him, breasts jiggling with the motion, small hands grasping at his chest to tell him to slow down. But you don't want that-- You're begging him to fuck you harder, faster, and he happily obliges. 

A low groan slips from Victor's lips and he breathes in deeply. 

A change in your voice makes him open his eyes. 

"W-what if-- ah! What if Victor w-walks in?" You ask, looking up at Zeno over your shoulder and giving Victor a fantastic view down your half buttoned shirt.  

Zeno's golden eyes flicker from you to the camera. For a second, its as if he's staring directly at Victor. A smirk cracks across Victor's face and he scoffs. Son of a bitch. 

"Let him watch, then." 

Zeno's gaze drops from the camera to you. He grabs a fistful of your hair to kiss you roughly, making you whimper. His pace is brutal, deep and fast, enough to shake the bed. You crumble under him in sensual bliss, fingertips tracing the bedsheets as he pulls you against his chest.

Victor's hips thrust up into his hand. His eyes wander from you to Zeno.

Those golden eyes of his are staring forward. Crinkling in desperation. He's struggling to keep his gaze on the camera while losing himself inside of you. Electricity darts up Victor's spine and he catches himself stroking faster, tugging himself further and further to the edge. How delectable.

Zeno's head drops down into the crook of your neck and you gasp in pain.

"Z-Zeno, I'm-- I'm coming--" you sob, squeezing your eyes shut. 

Zeno slams his hips into you, releasing you from his maw; He's left an angry bite mark on the junction between your throat and shoulder. He moans as he empties himself inside you. 

Victor's cum streaks across his hand, painting his desk white. He slumps in his chair, breathing heavily. The three of you, separated by the walls of the care center and brought together only by the camera, remained still for a moment. Victor raises his head as you laugh shyly.

"Round two, huh?" You bite your lip. Zeno turns you to face him, kissing you as he lifts you onto the bed. 

He doesn't say a word as he slips into you. Your moans fill the room once more, full to the brim with wanton need, but Zeno isn't watching you anymore.

-----

The two of you try to pretend that nothing happened. He nods to you as you enter his office, blissfully unaware that he'd been jerking off to you in his own time. You wave a file at him.

"Good morning, Doctor Gideon!" You chirp. Your smile is dead opposite of the stone faced man behind you. "Are you ready for this week's financial recap?"

Zeno says nothing as he sits down in one of the leather chairs. Redemption is unsheathed at his hip. Interesting.

"Of course, darling. I look forward to seeing you every week," Victor says gently, smiling at you.

You tuck your hair behind your ear shyly as you bend closer to him to point out specific notes in the file you brought. Your hair falls over your shoulder. His eyes trail from your face to your neck. Your skin is still purple and yelloe there, healed enough to look like a random bruise and not the bite mark of your lover.

Even the thought of sinking his teeth into your soft flesh, especially in front of Zeno, makes Victor's cock harden.

He reaches up to gently trail his fingers over your throat, hiding his intentions under the guise of brushing your hair back. You stiffen, but he sees the flush reddening your skin.

"Sweetheart, it almost looks like you've been bitten," Victor muses. "Do you need something to help soothe that?"

"Oh that? Its nothing!" You try and laugh it off, rambling off some excuse he didn't listen to. Victor keeps his hand on your shoulder, drinking in the warmth of your embarrassment.

He chuckles to himself at the metaphorical daggers Zeno shoots his way. Tension in the air is thick-- what Zeno wouldn't do to march across that room and snatch Victor's hand off you. But doing so would ruin your little secret. And since he can't use that menial little firearm of his, he's sending a nonverbal message. A sign of who you belong to.

That's quite alright. Victor doesn't mind sharing. 

🌑💖here's my kofi💖🌑

[thequantumranger]

Claire Redfield in Code Veronica (2000) / Veronica (2027)

[akaademy]

FUCKKKKKKKKK

[theevilresidents]

RE characters who would bite

Mostly male bc I’m a fa-

(All consensual/established that their partner is into it) (somewhat suggestive below cut)

Albert Wesker

- Playful/teasing nip to see his partner’s reaction especially if they’re trying to tease him or get him riled up

- Will bite hard enough to bruise just so he can watch the bruise form, probably explaining why the bruise is happening biologically and gets really into it

Carlos Oliveira

- Only ever gentle lovebites

- If he ever bit hard enough to leave a mark he’d apologize for it and offer to kiss it better

Karl Heisenberg

- Bites like a feral dog, probably does not have a great understanding of how to bite gently

- Definitely leaves marks and teases his partner about it (do it back to him it’s a competition now)

Victor Gideon

- Similar to Wesker in how he does it to get a reaction, he likes to test and see what intensity gets what reaction from his partner

- Would leave marks and lick + kiss them afterwards (good luck trying to do it back to him, his skin is super tough)

Lady Dimitrescu

- She’ll bite playfully to tease her partner and see their reaction, not opposed to leaving marks for her own viewing pleasure

- She will bite to taste blood, but she’s very particular about it and it’s like a special occasion because she loves her partner so much. She’ll only take a little (not wanting to do any real harm) and she’ll savour it like it’s the finest thing she’s ever tasted