smolphantom

[smolphantom]

// Mimesis

Wesker attempts to console you when you cry.

He's used to barking orders, biting at others' achilles heel, and firing people for baring their stomach to the wolf...

...so how, how does he deal with it when it's someone meaningful?

How does he put down his fangs?

595 words, tags: existential h/c fluff :)

You bite your lip trying to suppress a sob.

Wesker’s hand lands behind you, near your back, sinking into the plush of the bed as he sidles closer. A large and angry part of him wants him to say ‘that’s life,’ and ‘get over it,’ but his sense and the softer, wetter thing you drag leaking from the caved-in cavity of his chest holds back. Instead he puffs an affected sigh from his nostrils and recounts what he’d do during the Arklays.

He slips his gloves off and to the side. His perfectly-ironed tuxedo doesn’t bleed intimacy, but to bare his hands to you is its’ own breed.

And he sits there with you, beside you, respectful – and listens. He listens as you’re racked properly with the weight of sobs, and he listens when you wipe your runny nose and burning eyes, and by the time you’ve gotten to reigniting yourself he’s done the only thing he could think of – even if it sprouts such deep, aching discomfort in him stronger than being the voyeur of this, feeling so conflicted and lost in what humanity calls for – and wraps his arm around your back, pulling your face against his chest.

The movement is stiff and mechanical, but you allow him into your little world nonetheless. Perhaps it had been the gesture of vulnerability in abandoning his gloves?

No one prepared him for this, the times when it’s someone you love. Perhaps he had never been loved enough to experience it, this kind of sharing. A burden shared is a burden halved, or so the radio dramas and old movies had said. He fears his intimacy is too artificially approximated to do that.

He experiences it now. This will give him brooding pause later.

As soon as he pulls you, you cling to him, and it is a wicked thing, perhaps, for him to enjoy your decision to trust him with this in this moment, but, then, you’re not privy to the way his expression shifts.

He cannot relate to your plight – that part of him is fossilized and preserved only as scar tissue and warning signs. Wesker relies on other means to act. He does you the silent, automatic favor of sparing you the signs, and he does not expect you to thank him. Some part of you knows, and if it does, you don’t care – the effort is appreciable to you in your time of need, so rare.

“I’ve got you,” he says, arms holding – caging – you close with necessity, running the fumes of empathy through the enrichment of possession to guide him. He recalls movies, a little, but much of this is real.

That’s how he prefers it with you – that’s what he can offer you, now, hands sliding up and down your back in repetitious strokes as he angles his head atop yours, protecting you from the unseen forces that mean your undoing. You brush your nose against him, safely surrounded in him, and whimper.

That he can relate to, being afraid to come undone at the seams by someone else's pulling.

Too easily, perhaps, as he holds you tight and pets you and forces his breathing to even and slow into a lull. Yours follows the pattern laid out before it subconsciously, and eventually you settle down against ruffled, tear-stained fabric that bleeds warmth into you, even if the source of it is saccharin.

A moment of saturating silence.

Then...

"Thank you," you say, weak but resolute and real.

Ah, there you are.

[smolphantom]

Hey! I may be your resident Pinhead fangirl, I'm actually also an old school Wesker fangirl. I too have a complex relationship with this fool. Mainly how his characterization changed for the worse over time (canonically he was always a bastard, but prior to RE5 he didn't really...have an *ideology,*ahem. His motives and personal drives could have gone anywhere post Code Veronica and they...went with what they went with) I can offer a lot of meta thoughts on the complexities of the guy, if you want some reasons to like him more. He will always remain punchable but I could dig up the lore based tragedy in his shriveled heart if you need the meta inspiration. I actually really liked Lance Reddick's Wesker from the Netflix series despite the show's flaws, because he was actually somewhat true to how I saw Wesker as a character prior to the Mansion Incident.

In terms of suggestions for fic prompts, here's a few ideas:

What about a plus sized reader with body image issues? I've always loved the idea of giving Wesker a reason to find beauty in imperfection.

Wesker is fantastic at Machiavellian plots. He's also fantastic at obsessiveness. What if he's in love with a reader who's stuck in a bad relationship (an abusive survivor or killer? Or *Chris.*), and plots to get the girl?

Even though I've never played Resident Evil, I have read all of the Wikipedia on Wesker which was a lot. And I can understand why he does the things he does and why he thinks the way he thinks. But, like you said, it doesn't stop him from being extremely punchable, lol.

I actually do have an overweight reader in a fic with Wesker. It's called '3x Mass Overlap'. The reader does lose weight because of cancer, but Wesker and the other two love interests spoil them with food to get their weight back up and to make them happy.

For your suggestions, I will write them both. Thank you for the advice and your ideas @idreamtofmanderleyagain ❤️

...

Part one: Wesker with an insecure, plus-size reader.

Wesker doesn't get to see you very often- only during the chaotic blood bath of trials. He cherishes those trials. He cherishes any form of contact he's able to have with you. As far as fair survivors go, you were one of the best. You had good skills, reliable instincts, a feisty, can-do attitude, and remarkable intelligence.

Going against you during trials was often a challenge, one that Wesker greatly enjoyed.

But, some times, other survivors got in the way, ruining the mood and killing the vibe. Wesker despises the other survivors. The way they lollygagged, prolonged obstacles, and messed around was very annoying and troublesome, especially when they messed with you.

Today, for example, was one of those days.

Wesker had been in the middle of clearing an area of pallets when he heard another survivor making fun of how slow you ran.

"Hey ass-hole," The survivor waved at him, "You want an easy kill then why don't you go after this hippo, huh."

Wesker glared, watching as you struggled to run away from the other survivor. It was true that you were slower than most, but that didn't mean that you weren't talented in other ways. It was a frustrating situation he knew you suffered often. Your ability to ignore behavior like this was admirable. He had faith that you would move on from this trial just like every other trial.

However, instead of continuing his verbal insults, the survivor ran after you and ended up pushing you to the ground. "Heavy landing, watch out," He cackled.

You fell front-first to the ground, your clothes getting covered in mud and forest debris. The other survivor laughed above you, kicking muddy water into your face. You stayed there, slowly pushing yourself to your knees.

Wesker, furious by the pathetic, immature scene, swiftly chased after that insignificant piece of trash. Unsurprisingly, it took less than five minutes to down and hook him. Useless, untalented cretin...

Wesker imagined that you would have gotten yourself back to your feet by now, but by the time he returned to where he last spotted you, he noticed that you were still sitting on the ground. Your head was bowed, face buried in your hands. Debris stained your clothes.

Concern overtook Wesker as he slowly made way towards you. He couldn't recall a time when he had witnessed you quite this defeated. You were always so eager to fight back and move on. Just what exactly was going through your mind right now?

"Self-pity is not an expression you wear well, (y/n)," Wesker commented, stopping a couple meters away from you.

"Just kill me or leave me alone," You said, your voice a strained whisper as you kept your head averted.

Wesker couldn't believe how you were acting, and he couldn't help but to wonder why. "This isn't quite like you. What is the matter?"

"What's the matter?" You repeat, your hands lowering, "What's the matter?"

Shoving yourself to your feet, you practically fell apart, "What's the matter is that I can't go one trial without being fucked with, and all because I'm fat. I'm fat and everyone hates me. They hate me, they make fun of me, and they push me around, and I'm tired of it. I'm so sick and tired of all of this, I... I hate myself... I hate myself so much."

Wesker watched as you covered your face again. He knew that you suffered a great deal of abuse, but you had always seemed to overcome it so well. It's what he admired about you. But, he could understand how, after a certain period of time in this repetitive hell, everything builds up. You were bound to falter eventually, and that is what he was witnessing now.

Taking a few steps closer, Wesker looked at you and said, "I don't hate you."

You jerked at that, your hands hesitantly lowering from your messy face, "What?"

Wesker's eyes met yours, the only barrier being his sunglasses and the small space between you. "Of all survivors I've met here in this hell, you are the most talented. You've managed to out-maneuver me more times than I am willing to count, you always manage to overcome difficult obstacles, and, no matter how much they may not deserve it, you still rescue your team members."

You stare at him in a mixture of shock, disbelief and hurt, "But... I'm..."

"Weight has nothing to do with the overall intelligence or talent a person possesses," Wesker exclaimed, "I could care less what size you are. What I admire about you is your passion and your personality."

At those comments, your face went hot. You froze up, your heart wobbling furiously inside your chest. No one here had ever said anything so nice to you before, and it was coming from a killer- Wesker. You couldn't believe it. It was nice and it made you feel good, but...

He said he admired you...

Lost in your overwhelming thoughts, you gasp in startlement when Wesker lifted his hand out towards your face. Your first instinct was to jump away, but for some reason you stayed still, curious and brimming with anticipation. What was happening right now?

You twitched when a gloved hand cupped the side of your jaw, a thumb delicately stroking your cheek.

"Don't ever hate yourself, (y/n)," Wesker's voice was a passionate murmur, "Instead, hate the people who don't match up to your own expectations. I have a lot of faith in you, and it displeases me to see you like this."

Your eyes widened.

Wesker stroked your cheek a few more times, "Bring back that confidence I admire so much and that I find so... attractive."

Your heart jumped into your throat, "What?"

Wesker saw another survivor far off in the realm and pulled away from you. Using uroboros, he sped away from you, smirking when he heard you calling out for him.

Part two: Wesker in love with a reader who is in an abusive relationship.

Warnings: Mentions of non-graphic violence.

He knows that you're unhappy. He can see it everyday that he comes into contact with you. It's depressing and he hates it. He's helpless, and there's nothing Wesker despises more than being helpless. He knew that he couldn't just barge into your life and take command- no matter how easy it seemed. The fact that he had feelings for you didn't help his patience any better, either. He needed a plan.

Wesker decided to start by organizing all the problems he knew you faced in your relationship.

First, you weren't able to talk to any other survivors. You weren't allowed to have friends or go off on your own. If you were in a trial with your boyfriend then you weren't allowed to leave his side, even if he was downed or hooked. He blamed you for his own mistakes. Any mistakes you made, you were met with his unforgiving wrath. If you ever escaped a trial without him, physical abuse would happen.

Wesker knows this information because he had witnessed it within trials. Your boyfriend is one of his favorite survivors to torture and kill. It brought him a lot of shame to learn that you faced punishment whenever you survived without him. What a butt-hurt, obsessive, controlling loser your boyfriend was.

This was a tricky situation. With you being so timid, closed off and afraid, talking to you was going to be a struggle. Wesker especially didn't want to end up getting caught and accidentally cause you to face more abuse. He had to think this through.

He started within the trials.

"I saw what he did to you," He said, starting blunt and dirty.

You had paused dead in your tracks after trying to run away from him, your eyes filled with horror and your body tense with anxiety. You looked back at the killer, unable to believe what he had just said.

"And all because you were overpowered and couldn't save him," Wesker spoke with sympathy in his usually strict voice.

He looked at you. He knew that starting this way was probably a stretch, but he figured that it was the best option he had. The two of you were alone so only you would be aware of the knowledge he had obtained. Hopefully, his words would stick with you and help you to realize that there was a safe way out of your abusive situation.

"It angers me," Wesker stated, "To see you treated with such cruelty and disrespect. You deserve better than that parasite."

You tensed, your eyes watering with tears. For a second, your body turned towards the killer, but your forced it back into it's protective, hunched position. You winced, your eyes squinting as if you expected the killer to punish you for the unpleasant experience he had witnessed.

"I'm sorry," You whispered and ran away.

Wesker took in a deep breath. The first part of his plan has been achieved. You now knew that he knew what was going on, and you knew how he felt about it. All that was left to do was to gently coax you out of your shell and get you to open up to him, carefully, one step at a time.

-

Ok, I'm gonna pause this second part because I really like it and I don't want to rush it. So much emotion can come from this concept. I want to write from both the reader and Wesker's perspectives, but a lot more thoroughly. It was fun to explore the concept, though! You really helped me to develop a good perspective on our grumpy sunglasses man. Thank you! If I ever discover the time to expand this idea, I'll tag you immediately and sing ya my praises <3 Thank you for sharing your ideas!

[smolphantom]

could I please request a curvy/thicc/chubby reader and wesker NFSW headcannons please?

YESSS I LOVE THIS SO MUCH

NSFW Wesker x Chubby/Thicc Reader Headcanons

Wesker is obsessed with your softness. He can’t get enough of the way your body feels under his hands—warm, plush, perfect. He finds himself gripping your thighs absentmindedly, running his fingers over your stomach, memorizing every inch of you.

Loves the contrast between your softness and his strength. He enjoys how easily he can pull you against him, how your body molds to his when he holds you. The way you yield to his touch makes him feel even more powerful.

Absolutely lives to worship your body. He doesn’t just tolerate your curves—he adores them. He’ll take his time tracing every dip and swell of your figure with his lips, whispering how perfect you are. “You were made to be touched, to be adored. And I will ensure no one else but me does so.”

Your thighs drive him wild. He grips them possessively, leaves bruises on the inside of them just to remind you who you belong to. Loves to wrap his fingers around them and feel how soft they are against his palms. If you try to close your legs? He clicks his tongue and forces them apart with an amused smirk.

Your stomach? His favorite thing to touch. He loves resting his hand there absentmindedly, rubbing slow circles with his thumb. If you’re insecure about it? That just makes him double down. “Why would you ever hide from me? Every inch of you is mine to admire.” He’ll make sure you know how much he worships your body.

Lingerie? He buys it for you. But not just any lingerie—he picks out pieces that highlight your curves, that hug your body perfectly. He enjoys watching you squirm when he makes you model them for him, his golden eyes dark with desire. “You’ll wear this for me later. And I’ll tear it off you myself.”

Loves pinning you down. Feeling your softness beneath him, knowing you can’t escape his grasp? It drives him mad. He enjoys the contrast between his firm, unyielding grip and your plush, yielding body. He wants to see you gasp when he presses against you, completely at his mercy.

You make him weak in ways he never expected. Wesker isn’t used to being vulnerable, but when he’s buried against you, feeling your warmth, listening to your breath hitch under him—he realizes you have complete power over him, and he hates it. But he can’t stop coming back for more.

Loses control when he’s desperate for you. If he’s been away too long, if he’s had to resist touching you all day, by the time he gets his hands on you, he’s starving. His grip is bruising, his pace relentless—he needs to feel you, to remind himself that you’re his.

Aftercare is possessive and intense. He won’t say he loves you outright, but the way he pulls you into his arms afterward, the way he runs his fingers over the marks he left, the way he holds you just a little too tight—it says everything.

[smolphantom]

MADNESS - Albert Wesker x Fem! Reader

Words: 2.3k

Summary: Wesker tries to erase Umbrella by any means, and finds an old abandoned headquarters that has a lot of evidence that could be a nuisance in the future, and just so happens to discover that Reader will also be going. Having a meeting after the events of RE1.

CW: A bit of angst, flashbacks, I don't know if it's entirely canon but yeah, Wesker is in love in his own twisted way LMAO.

The cold fluorescent lights were even more irritating than their own hum and the humidity of the place, but nothing compared to the smell of pharmaceuticals.

You began to inspect every abandoned desk filled with pure illegality in reports, folders and loose papers with data from what was once a corrupt corporation at its most full of secrets, secrets that cost you that radical change in your life.

But you had to stay positive, at least you had been lucky to survive those two nights in what was left of Raccoon City. However, it was hard to stay that way when you saw the two-tone umbrella logos every time you blinked. It was like a subliminal message that was slowly getting into your brain.

Everything was going backwards, you saw yourself going back in time, younger and more in debt, more ignorant of everything. You just couldn't get those memories out of your mind, and so, something full of resentment made your brain start to make your head throb.

The corridors were long, the tables were one more cluttered than the other, the office equipment from that time was covered in dust and, above all, things like personal objects that seemed intimate to the former workers seemed abnormal in the sterile environment.

Like them, he also used to replicate such behaviors, such as possessing small intimate fragments turned into material objects of each member as a reminder that they were just pieces on a game board. Those used to rest on a shelf, either photos, or small memories that had been deposited with respect, affection and trust.

A small lump began to form in your throat, but you immediately avoided it, thinking that you were on duty, that you had to put everything aside and focus, but how? You had tried very hard to let it go. But that feeling was swallowing you whole.

You finally arrived at what looked like a practice-only area, filled with chemicals and components that were already somewhat familiar to you. You scanned the lab room to spot your target, a small but powerful USB flash drive.

And now, when you saw that lifeless but powerful object clink, shining in the middle of the darkness of the place, you could see the light, and you understood what it meant. It contained all the information that one of the founders of Umbrella did not put into the mother computer that used to be called Red Queen, destroyed time ago. It contained original, unedited plans, something so important that if it fell into the wrong hands, it could be the inspiration for chaos.

Suddenly a step, that sounded like it had been accidentally on purpose, echoed in the area and without nerves you turned with your AR-24, with an eagle eye you began to see who or what your target would be.

And it would have been much easier if it were one of those monstrosities that sick people created in these places years ago. But oh boy, your eyes went wide open and you felt your blood run cold. In front of you, a ghost of a tragic past.

A tall, slender, handsome yet characteristically dominant figure stepped out of the darkest part, emerging in a black suit and formal coat, no weapons, no extras, just him looking just as he left you. Elegant, handsome and irresistible.

In surprise you almost dropped the gun, your shocked expression was nothing compared to the stoic, emotionless face that was analyzing you from head to toe, as if he was a damn machine, trying to detect a threat, and of course he did not find one.

"Long time no see," the cold, dry voice came from the lips that once gave you the sweetest kisses and the sweetest, most murderous words. It was as if time stood still, and gave you the chance to make the same mistakes again.

He took a step forward, and out of inertia you took the gun with new confidence. Your expression hardened immediately, memories flooding back and making your mouth bitter. With a frown you were able to tell him full of courage.

“What are you doing here? Answer me,” you swallowed the sentimentality and the desire to hug him and beg him to deign to listen. You could feel the endless headaches, the ink of the photos turned to pieces in your hands, the cold you felt from not having him in your bed every night, all that and more. Nostalgia felt like a punishment.

“Same as you, I suppose.” His fine leather gloved hand walked over a free surface, then wiped away the dirt left between his fingertips, his voice flat and unconcerned. His eyes returned to yours, although the barrier of the material of his glasses separated them. "Although not with the same purpose."

The terrible feeling that you had been right was not at all comforting. You knew he was alive, you had felt it in your bones after the incident at the mansion.

His voice in the early morning, telling you that he was thinking of you...

You didn't know if what was trying to keep you sane was professionalism, or impotence. Or what perhaps none of you were foolish enough to accept that was keeping you afloat.

You didn't lower the gun, you wouldn't be stupid, not again.

“Hmm,” he muttered as he found a spot. Before you could fire a shot to scare him off, he reacted with abnormal speed, grabbing your wrist and knocking the gun away with a sharp movement. In an instant, he had you in a headlock, bending you against the surface you had walked across minutes before.

You weren't far behind. You pulled out your knife in an attempt at a distraction and stabbed him in the thigh. You knew it wouldn't have much effect, but at least it would get him to react. A growl escaped his lips just before you lunged at him, snatching the gun from his hands. 

But you didn't have time to enjoy your small victory. Before you knew it, he was already on his feet again, with you in the air. He held your arm firmly and took the gun, inspecting it with an irritating calm.

“You know, I’m not one for nostalgia, but it’s amazing to look back and remember all our pointless fights… They were so stupid and out of place,” you acknowledged the perverse apology that fell from his lips. He wasn’t one to do so, but you recognized that the admission came with regret.

“Don’t you think that the time for apologies has come too late?” you thought out loud, the gun falling to the other side of the room. You gasped, struggling to free yourself. But it wasn’t about continuing the fight anymore. You didn’t want those memories to invade you again, the false hugs, the caresses full of lies.

No. You weren’t going to let him tear you down at will again.

Connecting glances as only you could do, you indirectly gave him your point of view "Now I know what you meant…”

There wasn't as much dialogue as you thought there would be, after all, he had you accustomed to action.

Without wasting any more time, you pulled out the USB drive and connected it to the device that transferred the information to your phone. But he was faster. He slammed you hard against the wall, knocking the air out of your lungs. 

The audacity of the blow ignited your fury. You took advantage of the momentum to spin on your axis, propelling yourself with your leg against the concrete. He didn't have time to react when you pushed him towards one of the shelves full of chemicals.

Without missing a beat, you nimbly jumped onto a table, making sure the data transfer continued. You saw him pull himself together, his gaze fixed on you like a predator stalking its prey.

"That's not how I taught you to fight, I thought you would show me what you accomplished in STARS and what's new in BSAA, I'd like to see how you got this far, rookie," he stressed, his voice now echoing in my head. Stepping out into the bright, hot hallways that made your skin sweat, you saw him blocking one of the exits.

You didn't respond. Instead, you ran into the hallways lit by incandescent light. The heat made you sweat, but you ignored the discomfort. Only one thing mattered: the exit. However, as you turned the corner, you saw that he blocked one of the doors.

You felt like you were short of breath with each step, and that your heart was racing to the beat of his steps, rhythmically perfect. And you could have blamed the lack of oxygen in your lungs and the excess of physical activity along with the nerves of the information still loading.

But your eyes were tearing up, treacherous, warm, fat drops, that made you not feel them on your hot cheeks. The tension in your shoulders and face was more than evident.

You both reached the end of the hallway, where the exit was reduced to two options: a blocked door to your right and, to your left, a dangerous void where the structure of the building was exposed by unfinished renovations. The remains of a demolished wall revealed rusty steel beams and a drop of several meters that ended in a floor covered in debris and abandoned tools.

It was there, in that narrow and lethal space, where he finally cornered you. Your back hit the cold surface of the closed door as he calmly advanced, his steps echoing on the dusty concrete. With no other escape route, you only had to face him or risk falling into the void.

You tried to slip away, the fear of him seeing your vulnerability after so many years clouding your thoughts. But in your haste, your foot slipped on the dusty edge, causing you to fall abruptly. You managed to grab onto a metal structure—a narrow iron bridge that creaked under your weight, rusted and wobbly from lack of maintenance.

He fell too, but unlike you, he did it on purpose. He dropped with eerie precision. With calculated steps, he began to move forward, forcing you to move towards an even steeper and more dangerous area. Every time you took a step, the bridge shook, as if it threatened to collapse at any moment.

"I've seen the end of this place, and so have you..." his voice was never threatening, and that was what had made the matter worse "I'm not expecting you to understand, I'm not expecting you to care," he took your other weapons, and you could only cry, panting and complaining more, your hands shaking more than your entire body leaving you weak and in mercy.

"You know better than anyone that this is the only option." he whispered, but trying to defend yourself you were about to fall, the pen drive, now that it had fulfilled its purpose, deactivated and came out of your pocket in a swift motion. You immediately took it in your hand and staggered dangerously in a meeting with death.

But he held you

He took you in his arms gently and gave you the device, not even destroying it or throwing it in the air. knowing that that device was not only sent to the entire BSAA, but also destroyed all the valuable information for which you thought he had come. months wanting to find it and finally in your hands.

"Don't cry." He murmured, sitting you down in an area where the concrete gave you something to rest on, a solid base similar to the one you were being admitted to, your safe place.

His big, strong arms left you on his lap and surrounded your back and waist, caring for you as if you were a small child he had an obligation to calm down. "I didn't come to do anything to you, I wont hurt you, please, stop crying."

He took off his shades, you recognized the shape of his eyes; tired and softened just for you. But those orbs were no longer the same blue, almost grayish pools that made you melt, they destroyed you with the new yellow with reddish tones, and too much.

You brought your head to his chest, sobbing in submission, needing for this to be a nightmare, that it had to end right away and deep in your heart, you just wished it was a dream, one that would let you go home with him, without a lesson to learn, with a long and happy ending.

"Forgive me rookie, forgive your captain" he said, kissing your forehead, closing his eyes not wanting to scare you anymore “Please don't cry, I can't stand it.”

He removed the working headphones, the microphone brushing against your lips and reminding you which side of ethics you were on, and by instinct, you would have screamed to your operatioanl team to come and see you, to rescue you.

Unlike you, he wanted to make the dream a reality and make the nightmare just a what if. This wasn't about Umbrella or the BSAA, STARS or any mess you both had to do with, this was just about him and you.

"Yes I know, I know I can be wrong, but I just need you to come with me. Can you do that for me my rookie? Please?" he whispered, caressingly needy as much as you for that last confirmation, the man down bad as you.

You tried not to say it, not wanting to let your whole life change once again for whoever had done this to you.

But you knew your relationship was stronger.

You agreed and felt the thin lips land in a saving kiss, One that both knew would be the other's downfall, that would make the darkest shade and the lightest one come together, making a vile gray morality.

But after all, you both knew what your love was like.

mamamammama- madness JAJAJAJ, I hope you liked it because it's the first time I've written completely by myself without any help from Pinterest, and I think I've improved a bit (?) anyway, English isn't my thing, it's based on the song Madness by the group Muse, I think it projects very well the structure and order that is Wesker and how they both know that they are doomed to failure in their mission, but their love happens. This btw is not far from a chapter of the series that I forgot (oop) take care!

[smolphantom]

the streets are sayin the netflix fans thinks dante in the games is ugly… I BEG YOUR FINEST PARDON?!

[smolphantom]

No motivation?

[smolphantom]

Trish may not be Dante’s mom, but she sure acts like one.

God, I miss this show.

[smolphantom]

unfortunately no eclipse photography can ever outdo the waffle house one from 2017

[smolphantom]

Cloud Queen Raylla from Barbie and the Magic of Pegasus, but she's D&D

Rayla is a powerful Djinni on her way to ascend to godhood who directs the players on their quest.

[smolphantom]

Revamped the Princess and the Pauper characters in my Barbie as DnD series

[smolphantom]

Revamped the Magic of Pegasus characters in my Barbie as DnD series

[smolphantom]

For when stabbing someone doesn’t have enough erotic subtext…

Patreon - everything else

[smolphantom]

E.J. Su, Godzilla

[smolphantom]

[smolphantom]

Could you do Dmc boys' (or just V) partner sneezes like a kitten head cannons?

Yes!

Sparda boys + V x Reader who sneezes like a kitten headcannons

¤ Dante ¤

-Dante couldn't figure out the source of this unusual, extremely soft "achoo" noises and it was driving him crazy.

-He thought there might be a rodent infestation or something and was wondering if he should spend money on a pest exterminator or just try to deal with it himself.

-Then he happened to round the corner and caught you in the act. Sneezing! Cutely!

-He thought it was adorable and ended up giggling about it the entire day.

-Now whenever he hears an actual cat sneeze, he ends up thinking of you.

■ Vergil ■

-Vergil normally doesn't care about other people's business, but when there's this unusual, reoccurring squeaky, difficult to describe sound, he can't help but investigate.

-He tried tracking the sound, but it would always vanish before he could get very far.

-This constant cycle of hearing, then no longer hearing those noises was driving him insane, and just when he thought he couldn't take it any more, he saw you sneeze and instantly realized the source of those noises was you.

-Vergil then lapsed into a prolonged period of silent bewilderment as he wondered how he knew you for this long, but had no idea what your sneezes sounded like until now.

-He surprised you later with a very unusual apology, stating that he would remember what your sneezes sounded like and try not to become too unsettled by them next time. Obviously, such an interaction left both of you confused as heck, but at least Vergil's conscience is at ease.

□ Nero □

-Nero was just chilling with his headphones on, listening to some edgy music as he normally does, when he miraculously caught wind of an adorable little "achoo" that just didn't sound human—in a good way.

-He was on his feet immediately and searching the house with such intensity, it was like he just spotted an intruder and was trying to chase it down.

-He scoured the house for an hour, but found nothing. Whatever made that noise was gone now, leaving him confused and unsettled, worried a demon might have gotten in somehow.

-He proceeded to question you rather aggressively afterward, and halfway through his interrogation, you sneezed, the sound of which matching the noise he heard perfectly.

-Relieved, Nero dropped his investigative charges and left, going right back to his music.

● V ●

-V is still getting used to life and all its whimsical mysteries.

-When he hears this strange, soft, rather cute little noise coming from the next room, he thinks this must be one of those little wonders life keeps surprising him with.

-He doesn't think much of it, choosing to appreciate it for a moment, then let it go, but once you passed him and sneezed, he discovered that the noise's origins was not a mystery, it was you.

-Upon realizing this, he asks if all people do what you just did, and if that particular sound means anything. You ended up spending a goof fifteen minutes trying to figure out what he was talking about, then explaining that everyone's unique, and the sound of their sneezes will vary.

-V is now in awe of everything you do, because he knows that if there's only one of you, he should enjoy everything about you while you're still here. Kind of morbid, but sweet of him.

[smolphantom]

anyone ever notice that trish and V lowkey got on the a similar outfit. like with the leather and the shirt tied together and the choker and the bracelet on the same hand. idk if they did that intentionally or not lol.

[smolphantom]

"Maybe somewhere out there even devil may cry when he loses a love one. Don't you think?"

According to the game script in "Note of Naught", Dante whispered "Vergil", just before Lady asked him if he was crying.