Resident Evil Videogameverse; "Don't Scream"; Theme 120
Title: Don't Scream
Author/Artist: Maurelle aka Hopelesslover23
Rating: PG13 for implied non-con
Fandom: Resident Evil Videogameverse
Pairing/s: Wesker/Claire
Theme: #120-Don't Scream
Words: 828
Genre/s: Horror
Warnings: Implied non-con, spoilers for RE:5
Worksafe: no, just to be safe
Summary: Don't Scream, he tells her. And she tries. Because she is a survivor.
Disclaimer/Claimer: Don't own Resident Evil, Capcom does. I'd sell my soul for a game on the PSP, though
“Don’t scream.”
It’s whispered in her ear as his gloved hand covers her mouth. Chills race down her spine as a voice that has haunted her nightmares for years is heard. She’s supposed to be safe here, a wall at her back, but he got in like the night, oozing under the door and in the cracks regardless of what you do.
It’s repeated again as he makes sure she can see the Majini searching the other buildings looking for her, the hooded figures gruesome with the spikes running through their flesh. If she makes even a sound they’ll know where she is and she’s out of ammo, the last bullet taking out one of the licker β. The town had been clean days before, but like anything in Africa, everything changed minute by minute. She had come to help her brother clean the continent out after the incident with Uroboros, only to get separated in this town.
His other hand snakes around her waist, a thumb sliding under her microfiber shirt to caress her sensitive skin. The shaking starts then as she gets an idea as to what he wants. She can feel the bile rise in the back of her throat. It’s the same way he touched her in Antarctica before her brother came to attract his attention. She has no idea what she’s done to garner his attention, never has.
He’s supposed to be dead. The thought bounces around her head, screaming as loud as she dares not to be. The thumb becomes a hand, the hand over her mouth tilting her head to the side, his breath on her neck. Her hands become fists in an effort to control the shaking as her world narrows to his touch and the sight of the Majini.
“I can kill them, you know,” his voice is just barely able to be heard even as she can feel his lips against her ear. “What will you give me? What is the price of your survival?” The question isn’t quiet enough and her breathing picks up as she watches the infected pause in their searching, the place where their heads should be turning towards her hiding place. She can feel him against her back, all firm muscle, as the hand creeps further up towards the sports bra she threw on that morning. “Dear Heart?”
She knows that they’ve heard them, then. The way they head towards the shack she’s taken refuge in leaves no doubt. Her mind races with the implication of the decision she has to make. A painful death at the hands of the infected, she was vaccinated the second the vaccine came out TerraSave not taking chances, or to give the man responsible for unleashing this horror her body. She feels a tear leak out of her eye as she squeezes it shut, knowing what her decision is. A thick chuckle is heard coming from his throat as the door is ripped off its hinges by the Majini.
“Don’t scream,” he repeats as the Uroboros rips from the skin of his back, the color of an oil slick, as the tentacles wave about seeking. She can’t scream as he tears them apart limb by limb in front of her. The Uroboros waves the limbs about like a child celebrating its prize. Eyes close as hot blood sprays against her, the sensation akin to being sprayed with a cross between warm syrup and water. The shaking won’t stop now and she hears a low keening sound. They weren’t people. Not anymore. That’s how she gives the ability to kill them. But they looked like people as he tore them apart. As just so many pieces they look like the people they once were.
It takes a second for her to register that she’s making the keening noise as his hand fists in her shirt. There is a ripping noise as he discards it. Bile rises in her throat and instinct demands she struggle even if she gave him the right. Tears are sliding down her cheeks, catching on the hand over her mouth. Teeth bite lips to keep the sobs in. There are other infected out there. He palms a breast and her breath hitches. He spins her around and she hits the wall of the flimsy shack.
“Don’t scream.” He leans against her, his body molded to hers. The tentacles are gone, and she wonders how she missed them. But his sunglasses are gone, eyes lit with the inner fire of his ambition capturing hers even as she registers the fact that he is wearing a borrowed pair of native pants and no shoes. It’s clear to her then, that he has likely only just managed to recover from her brother and Sheva dropping him in a volcano and hitting him two RPGs. A hand lifts the bra over her breasts and a hand grasps the bare flesh. And she can’t help it. She screams.
Author/Artist: Maurelle aka Hopelesslover23
Rating: PG13 for implied non-con
Fandom: Resident Evil Videogameverse
Pairing/s: Wesker/Claire
Theme: #120-Don't Scream
Words: 828
Genre/s: Horror
Warnings: Implied non-con, spoilers for RE:5
Worksafe: no, just to be safe
Summary: Don't Scream, he tells her. And she tries. Because she is a survivor.
Disclaimer/Claimer: Don't own Resident Evil, Capcom does. I'd sell my soul for a game on the PSP, though
“Don’t scream.”
It’s whispered in her ear as his gloved hand covers her mouth. Chills race down her spine as a voice that has haunted her nightmares for years is heard. She’s supposed to be safe here, a wall at her back, but he got in like the night, oozing under the door and in the cracks regardless of what you do.
It’s repeated again as he makes sure she can see the Majini searching the other buildings looking for her, the hooded figures gruesome with the spikes running through their flesh. If she makes even a sound they’ll know where she is and she’s out of ammo, the last bullet taking out one of the licker β. The town had been clean days before, but like anything in Africa, everything changed minute by minute. She had come to help her brother clean the continent out after the incident with Uroboros, only to get separated in this town.
His other hand snakes around her waist, a thumb sliding under her microfiber shirt to caress her sensitive skin. The shaking starts then as she gets an idea as to what he wants. She can feel the bile rise in the back of her throat. It’s the same way he touched her in Antarctica before her brother came to attract his attention. She has no idea what she’s done to garner his attention, never has.
He’s supposed to be dead. The thought bounces around her head, screaming as loud as she dares not to be. The thumb becomes a hand, the hand over her mouth tilting her head to the side, his breath on her neck. Her hands become fists in an effort to control the shaking as her world narrows to his touch and the sight of the Majini.
“I can kill them, you know,” his voice is just barely able to be heard even as she can feel his lips against her ear. “What will you give me? What is the price of your survival?” The question isn’t quiet enough and her breathing picks up as she watches the infected pause in their searching, the place where their heads should be turning towards her hiding place. She can feel him against her back, all firm muscle, as the hand creeps further up towards the sports bra she threw on that morning. “Dear Heart?”
She knows that they’ve heard them, then. The way they head towards the shack she’s taken refuge in leaves no doubt. Her mind races with the implication of the decision she has to make. A painful death at the hands of the infected, she was vaccinated the second the vaccine came out TerraSave not taking chances, or to give the man responsible for unleashing this horror her body. She feels a tear leak out of her eye as she squeezes it shut, knowing what her decision is. A thick chuckle is heard coming from his throat as the door is ripped off its hinges by the Majini.
“Don’t scream,” he repeats as the Uroboros rips from the skin of his back, the color of an oil slick, as the tentacles wave about seeking. She can’t scream as he tears them apart limb by limb in front of her. The Uroboros waves the limbs about like a child celebrating its prize. Eyes close as hot blood sprays against her, the sensation akin to being sprayed with a cross between warm syrup and water. The shaking won’t stop now and she hears a low keening sound. They weren’t people. Not anymore. That’s how she gives the ability to kill them. But they looked like people as he tore them apart. As just so many pieces they look like the people they once were.
It takes a second for her to register that she’s making the keening noise as his hand fists in her shirt. There is a ripping noise as he discards it. Bile rises in her throat and instinct demands she struggle even if she gave him the right. Tears are sliding down her cheeks, catching on the hand over her mouth. Teeth bite lips to keep the sobs in. There are other infected out there. He palms a breast and her breath hitches. He spins her around and she hits the wall of the flimsy shack.
“Don’t scream.” He leans against her, his body molded to hers. The tentacles are gone, and she wonders how she missed them. But his sunglasses are gone, eyes lit with the inner fire of his ambition capturing hers even as she registers the fact that he is wearing a borrowed pair of native pants and no shoes. It’s clear to her then, that he has likely only just managed to recover from her brother and Sheva dropping him in a volcano and hitting him two RPGs. A hand lifts the bra over her breasts and a hand grasps the bare flesh. And she can’t help it. She screams.