Tag Archives: drabble

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Sometimes, After class 77B had returned from despair, Kazuichi felt terribly alone.

All of them, he knew–he assumed– regretted what they’d done. Who they had been. We’re disgusted by themselves.

So was he. Most of the time.

But sometimes the past overwhelmed him with dark intoxication.

Sometimes he missed the blood.

The smell of copper, and sweat, and terror.

The begging, and the screaming.

The feeling of a body breaking underneath him. The sick, sharp crack of bones.

Most of the time thinking about the past made Kazuichi feel sick to his stomach.

But sometimes it got him hard.

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Tyler Howard sat against the wall of the BSAA helicopter, his lean shoulders arched up against the cold metal. He sat with his arms crossed and his head slumped, staring down at the space between his boots.

So much had happened in the last day. So much had changed. It was the Rochester incident all over again. He felt, intellectually, he should be tormented about it all. But instead the interior of his mind only provided something like a blaring static.

“Hey,” a voice broke through. Chris. “You gonna be okay?”

Tyler shrugged in response. Even he had no idea.

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Just the Smell of Him

Chris x Wesker drabble

Cut for slightly suggestive

Chris loved the way Captain Wesker smelled. It was best when he was close to him, when Wesker had his arms around him, or better, when pinned between his thighs.But even the captain’s office smelled like him.

Chris wished he knew just what it was he smelled of. There was sweat, of course, a musky cologne, and a little bit of oiled leather and hair grease. But there was something beyond that, a peppery undertone that Chris couldn’t place that belonged to the captain alone. Chris couldn’t get enough of it. He wanted to bury his face in it.

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Chris x Wesker drabble. Lightly suggestive.

Chris was Wesker’s dog.

Chris loved it when Captain Wesker treated him like a dog. Loved it when he forced him down on all fours, and grabbed his hair, when Wesker called him a good boy, and when he put a collar on him.

He loved it when the captain made him lick his boots, or anything else he wanted in Chris’ mouth. 

Even years later, after everything had fallen apart, and they stood on opposite sides, Chris hated how hard it was not to come running like a hound to heel when Wesker called his name.

And he hated that Wesker knew it.

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Chris x Wesker drabble. Under the cut because it’s sappy and pathetic.

When they bring Wesker back from the dead, the first thing Chris wants to know is if he has all his memories intact. The scientists assure him that Wesker does, and Chris doesn’t need to be told twice. He hauls off and decks Wesker right in the jaw. Wesker doesn’t even try to stop him.

Wesker doesn’t try to stop him either, when the next thing Chris does is fall against his chest and start crying. Chris hasn’t cried in years. The resurrected man puts his arms around him.

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Alfred sits beside the steel and glass machine where his sister’s body has been sleeping for so long.

Inside him, she is awake; he hears her voice and they are a part of one another. Still, there is a comfort to being near her physical shell as it slumbers and changes 

He reads to her, sometimes, or brings a radio, and sings, or speaks to her about meaningless things.

He puts his hand on the glass and sees his reflection inside.

Will they still be alike when she wakes up?

She has promised him that they will.

His reflection smiles.

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Wesker’s boots made a rhythmic noise as he strolled over the metallic grate of a floor that led to Heisenberg’s new lab.

The snarling and swearing became louder the closer he got, in addition to the sound of something beating against something metal.

Clearly, Karl was in an excellent mood tonight.

Albert shook his head almost imperceptibly, and strode into the lab– just in time to dodge a wrench as it came flying at his face.

“A warm welcome,” he intoned.

“Eh?” Heisenberg straightened up from the junk pile where he’d been hunched, and pushed up his hat to look at Wesker. “Didn’t see you there, Al. Sorry.”

The black clad blond strode further into the room and put a hand on Heisenberg’s shoulder. “Have you slept?”

“Have you?” Karl’s retort carried a petulant air.

“Hm.” Albert’s black gloved hand traced up Karl’s neck, and cupped his chin. “Come to bed with me, then.”

Heisenberg grinned, the bags under his eyes evident even with his sunglasses. “Make me.”

“You’re intolerable.” Albert pulled him into a rough kiss, intending it to be an opening move. But Karl melted against him into an embrace. Even more tired than he’d been letting on.