#so look forward to that on friday ((o(*^∇^*)o)) can't wait to share it! | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

playstation-dreamcast · 1 month ago

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Hi there! Love your writing A LOT, the way you write Wesker feels so natural that I can't get enough of him! Could I request a little smut? Maybe the first time he and his fem or gn s/o were together? Thanks a lot!

Awe, Thank you so much!! You can always request smut- I will never not be down tragically bad for this man lmao

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Character Selection: S.T.A.R.S Wesker X Reader

Synopsis: It started with you neglecting to check the weather, and ended in his bed. A butterfly flapping it's wings and causing a tsunami and all of that. (In other words, I'm really trying hard to make this title work cause I can't think of a better one lmao)

Content Warning: This story contains- shocker- explicit smut. Viewer discretion is advised.

You had Wesker completely wrapped around your finger, and you didn’t even know it yet. To be fair, he didn’t have any idea yet either. He was still under the impression that he had any control in this song and dance the two of you crafted together. The one where you pretended you genuinely forgot your cigarettes- this definitely wasn’t just an excuse to share one with him, and where he pretended not to be absolutely obsessed with you.

Tonight was Friday, which meant two things. Firstly, it was technically the start of the weekend. He had to say technically because while the S.T.A.R.S team had the weekends off on paper they were also on call 24/7, seven days a week. Which, he supposed was fair enough,

considering what the team pretended to be. Secondly, it meant Wesker was closing the office tonight, but moreover it meant he was closing the office tonight with you. Something that was becoming a guilty pleasure of his, much to his dismay. He actually looked forward to seeing you- his favorite little medic- and that was going to cause complications later.

That was a future problem though. For now, he was waiting on the front steps of the RPD for you, leaning against one of the pillars. He took a drag off of his cigarette and watched the smoke dance against the light of the full moon and tangle with the veil of clouds in the sky. He tried to remember if there was supposed to be a storm tonight, but drew a blank. Maybe something about a flash freeze?

“Hey Captain!” You said, finally coming out of the RPD and dragging him out of his thoughts before he could think about it too much, “Sorry for the hold up, I couldn’t find my keys for the life of me,” You admitted sheepishly.

He merely shrugged, taking another hit off of his smoke. “It’s no bother,” He muttered, going into his back pocket to pull out his pack of Marlboros, “I assume you’re about to ask for one?” He said, gesturing to the coffin nail dangling from his lip.

You stopped him though, grinning ear to ear. “Actually, I brought my own this time!” You said, triumphantly showing off your new pack, “I remembered I was out for once!”

Wesker's eyebrows went up, and you could tell he was almost impressed. “Remembered to buy your own cigarettes and found your keys on your own? You’re on a roll today.” He said flatly, hiding his little smirk when you pushed him. You took the dart from its pack, placing it in your lips while you patted yourself down for a lighter.

You were not pleased by what you were finding, or rather, what you weren’t finding. “Oh, you gotta be fucking kidding me-” You grumbled to yourself.

Wesker’s eyebrow went up, “Looking for something?”

“No.” You said way too fast, only to immediately change your mind, “Yes. Can I bum a light off you?” You sighed, finally admitting your defeat. Wesker chuckled softly before handing you his Zippo, scratched, scruffed, and definitely showing its age. You opened the lighter and hit the wheel. Nothing. You tried again, and this time got sparks! But, not much else.

After your third failed attempt you had Wesker's attention. “Need some help?”

“No, I know how to light a Zippo,” You huffed, ego feeling a little raw at this point. You tried striking it again. Zero, zilch, zippo. “Your lighter’s broken.”

Wesker scoffed at that. “It lit just fine for me,” he said, holding his hand out. You pouted as you placed the lighter in his palm. He went to light it for you. And got nothing but sparks himself. Odd. He tried flicking it again. Still nothing. He tried striking it against his cargos and still, produced absolutely nothing.

“Ha!” You laughed a little too triumphantly, “I told you it wasn’t user error!”

“I suppose you’re right,” He sighed, remembering how low the flame was when he lit his own smoke. He must have used the last of the fuel. He put the lighter back in his pocket before turning to you, “Alright, come here.”

He probably enjoyed the flustered look on your face a little too much as he leaned closer, pressing the cherry of his cig to yours, using his free hand to block it from the wind. You took in a sharp breath, successfully lighting the smoke, and looking a little too disappointed when he finally pulled away.

You let the smoke out of your lungs, lifting the cigarette up with an almost embarrassed smile. “Thanks Cap, couldn’t have done it without you.”

He chuckled softly and leaned back against his pillar. “It was a team effort, truly.” He said dismissively. The two of you fell into a comfortable silence, simply enjoying the other's presence. And then it started to snow.

Wesker saw you stiffen out of the corner of his eyes. “What?” he asked.

You looked at him, eyebrows scrunched in confusion. “I didn’t say anything.”

“You didn’t have to,” He said, flicking his dead cigarette into the abyss, “I can tell somethings wrong.”

You almost got offended. “No way I’m that easy to read.”

Oh, Wesker loved a challenge. “Whenever you notice something but don’t want to “make a big deal out of it,” your poster improves and you size up. Then, you normally bite your lip- yeah like that,” You immediately stopped biting your lip once he pointed it out, “And you tend to get fidgety while you think of what to do.”

You scoffed at him, taking a long drag off your smoke, “Geeze, this isn’t a library, no need to read me like that.” You mumbled.

“You asked,” He shrugged, even if you technically didn’t, “So what’s wrong?”

You sighed and looked up at the sky. The flurry was getting heavy quick. “It’s snowing. I didn’t realize how cold it was outside, I’m…I’m not positive my car’s gonna start.”

You had Wesker's full attention now. “What?”

You looked down, embarrassment burning in your chest, “Yeah, my car is like, kind of falling apart. It doesn't like to start when it’s cold out for whatever reason.” You shrugged.

Wesker thought for a second, trying to think of explanations. “Have you checked th-”

“Yes, I’ve checked the battery. I got a new one and everything.”

His eyes narrowed, and your annoyed look was quickly replaced with an apologetic one. He licked his teeth before continuing. “I was going to say alternator, actually.”

Your embarrassment grew. “Um..what’s that do again?”

“It charges your battery.”

“Oh…No, I haven't checked that.”

Wesker almost laughed. It was cute, you were somehow both one of the smartest people he had ever met in his life- and the most flighty. It was part of what fascinated him about you. You were by no means incompetent, had he had seen you perform near miracles with some gauze and distilled water, not to mention how often the two of you got lost talking about whatever the hell came up. But the moment it wasn’t something traditionally academic or creative, you were out of your depth.

Some sick part of him really liked this side of you, because it convinced him you needed him, for moments exactly like this one. You depended on him. I’d tell you he’d go on to unpack all of this in therapy one day - but we both know that would be a lie.

“Come on,” He finally said, “Lets go look at your car.” You nodded, quickly finishing your cigarette before leading him to the old lemon that had gotten you around for the better part of a decade now. Wesker wasn’t shocked it was giving you problems- in reality, seeing this car run at all was the closest Wesker had ever gotten to believing in a God. Because only an act of divine intervention could get that rust bucket moving.

He watched you get in the car and try to start it. And to the tin cans credit- it really did give it it’s all to try and start. But, the dim lights told Wesker everything he needed to know. He didn’t even have to pop the hood.

He came over to your open driver's side door. “Pretty sure it’s the alternator. You’re going to need a jump.”

You looked up at him exhausted. “You got jumper cables?”

He probably did in his trunk. “Can’t say I do.”

You groaned, dropping your head against the steering wheel. “Fuck, how am I supposed to get home?!” You lamented, hitting your head against the wheel again.

Wesker gently pulled you up and away from the wheel to sit properly in the seat, “I could always give you a ride home. We can come back with cables in the morning.”

You shook your head at that. “No way, I like like- an hour and a half from work.”

Wesker grimaced at that. The thought of making that drive there and back was a less that favorable one. But he’d do it for you. “I don’t mind taking you home if it means you’re safe.”

You shook your head. “No, I’m not going to make you do that.

“Okay, then why not stay with me tonight? I have a guest room you can use.”

He tried to make the question sound more spontaneous than it was. It was no secret that you and Wesker were closer than a typical boss and his employee ever should be- but a sleepover was crossing an unspoken but very well defined boundary. He couldn’t let you suspect the very true fact that he planned to offer his guest room to you from the moment you said your car probably wouldn’t start.

Your relationship up until this point had existed inside of plausible deniability. Yeah, you might have brought him lunch most days- but it was because he never took one otherwise and you were just worried about him. You’d do it for any S.T.A.R.S member. He didn’t actually give you special treatment, you just managed to piss him off the least out of all of them and if anyone said otherwise they could take it up with him. Yeah, the two of you lingered around the R.P.D well after closing on Friday nights, but it wasn’t to spend time with each other! No, it was for the smoke break, honest.

Yeah he might have stood a little closer to you than he needed when looking at something on your desk. Yeah, you might have lingered in his office longer than you should have after dropping off a report. Sure, he started buying extra cigarettes for you, and sure you had his coffee order memorized, and yeah maybe you both lived for the moments when your fingers brushed while exchanging papers. That might have all been true, but you would both deny it if ever asked about it.

You couldn’t deny spending the night with him though. There was a certain level of intimacy needed to invite someone in your living space for the night, and there definitely wasn’t anything professional about it. No plausible deniability there.

You drummed your fingers against the wheel. “Yeah, okay.” You nodded, finally taking your keys out of the ignition, “Beats sleeping in my car.”

🪫🪫🪫

You were almost ashamed to admit that you hadn’t expected the Captains house to be as inviting as it was. His home was lit in the warm light of tableside and floor lamps, and his walls had pretty art hanging in frames. “Wow, your house is really really nice.” You said, letting him take your jacket off of you.

He chuckled softly as he placed it on the coat rack, “Don’t sound so surprised.”

Your eyes widened, and you immediately went into ‘try to explain things, but make them worse instead” mode. “No no, I didn’t mean like- well what I meant was- You’re just not the kind of guy I expected to have like, a nice place. Not that you wouldn’t have a nice place! It’s just, your office is so sterile, and like, kinda hostile to be honest. And I just didn’t think you’d care to decorate your house, not in like a bad way, but in an I figured you’d find it kind of frivolous kinda way.”

He let you word vomit, leaning against the wall while you rambled. When you finally paused to catch your breath, he interjected. “I grew up in a…what was the word you used, “sterile?” I grew up in a sterile environment. I didn’t want to live like that once I had the choice not to.” He explained calmly.

You got quiet. That was the most you’d ever heard about his childhood. A part of you wanted to pry, another much stronger part of you wanted him to continue to trust you enough to talk about it. “Sooo then what about your office?”

He shrugged. “I want my office to feel hostile. The less the team wants to be in there, the less I have to deal with you all.” He joked, but also kinda meant it.

You nodded in understanding as he led you further into the home. “I get that, I think.” It made sense. The less you wanted to be in his office, they harder you’d try not to fuck up.

“I thought you might,” He muttered. He showed you around the house, the kitchen; bathroom; livingroom; and finally your room for the night. It was just as welcoming as the rest of the house, the plush bed and warm looking quilt inviting you to finally pass out for the night. And you would have, if not for the fact you were still in your uniform.

You turned to Wesker. “Can I borrow a shirt to sleep in?” You asked bluntly. You’d already crossed the line into sleeping in the same house, might as well see how blurry the line could get.

He looked surprised for all of a split second, before realising that not wanting to sleep in your work clothes was- in fact- not the most unreasonable request you could have made. He nodded, rubbing his own tired eyes from under his sunglasses. “One moment.”

As Wesker went to fetch you something to sleep in, you took a moment to look around the room a little more. It was lit with the same low lights as the rest of the house, with thick blue curtains to cover the windows and a digital alarm clock on the bedside table. You took a second to peek out of the window to see the snow was really coming down now. Racoon City looked almost tranquil, covered in a sparkling white blanket.

“Here you go,” Wesker said, startling you out of your thoughts as he re-entered the room, “These should fit well enough.”

You smiled as you took the folded clothes from him, “Thanks Captain.”

“Just, Wesker’s fine outside of work.” He said. The last thing he wanted was to think about the S.T.A.R.S team while he was at home.

You nodded as you examined what he’d brought you. An old cotton band shirt, worn thin and soft with age, and a pair of basketball shorts you genuinely could not envision him in no matter how hard you tried. “I didn’t know you were a Rush fan,” You said with a playful grin.

He gave a soft smile in return, “Eh, it was the eighties. Who wasn’t a Rush fan?”

You shrugged, “I just always took you as more of a Bowie guy.”

“And why can’t I be both?”

“Fair enough,” you said as you sat the clothes down on the bed. “Thank you for this, I really do appreciate it.”

He waved your gratitude off dismissively. “It’s no trouble. It’s my job to take care of you.”

You raised an eyebrow at him. “As my Captain, right?”

He played it cool despite the fact you’d caught him in that slip. “Obviously.” He said with just enough condescension to make you feel like the stupid one here. “I’ll see you in the morning, Doctor.” He said before finally leaving you to change.

You quickly put on the sleep clothes. You tried to imagine Wesker ever wearing any of this in his day to day life. The Rush shirt wasn’t too hard, you could easily see him on his day off wearing it. If you really put your mind to it, you could almost imagine a younger Wesker at the Hold Your Fire tour, a wallflower at the back of the venue, listening to the music but resisting the allure of the crowd at every possible opportunity. It almost made you laugh.

The basketball shorts though you had no idea. It wasn’t that Wesker was an unathletic guy, quite the contrary actually. It was more that for as long as you had known him the most skin he had ever shown was his forearms and fingertips, not even his palms. You were at least 36% sure that if his knees ever saw the light of day he would actually explode.

That being said, they fit you well enough, so you couldn’t really complain. And if someone saw you maybe press your nose into the shirt, taking a deep breath of his scent lingering on the fabric, you would simply gaslight them into thinking they were losing it as punishment for not minding their own business.

You yawned as you crawled into the bed, the warm covers enveloping you. Wrapped in your little cocoon of safety, you were out within minutes.

🪫🪫🪫

You were decently sure it was the wind pounding against the window that woke you up. Or maybe it was the nightmares again. Either way, the snow from earlier had picked up into a full on blizzard, and you were now, regrettably, awake. Looking over at the digital clock, you weren’t surprised it was 2:30 in the morning, but you weren’t happy about it either. It took you a second to remember where you were, and by the time you did you were already out of bed and on your way to the kitchen for water. Might as well commit now.

You were half asleep as you padded down the hallway to the kitchen, when you noticed the sound of a tv. Now, if this was your own house this would mean literally nothing- it wouldn’t be the first nor the last time you had gone to bed without shutting it off. But, this wasn’t your house, it was Weskers. And he was the last guy that you ever expected to leave his tv on. So, naturally, you had to investigate.

Luckily, you had to pass through the living room to get to the kitchen anyways. On the way you tried to seem as casual as possible, taking a quick glance over at the sofa and stopping dead in your tracks. Wesker sat on the couch, staring blankly at the tv while old reruns played. On paper there was nothing abnormal about the scene. Just a man in a tank top and grey sweatpants watching late night television to try and put himself back to sleep. Something you were willing to bet a hundred other people in the city were doing right now.

But those people weren’t Wesker. They weren’t your Captain. Something about seeing him like this- in such a domestic way- felt…Wrong. Voyeuristic. You imagined this was how the first person who held the Necronomicon felt; the adrenaline rush that comes with seeing something humans were never meant to see- along with the unease that came with seeing something humans were never meant to see.

You blinked to yourself. That all felt incredibly dramatic. You felt silly for thinking that far into it. At least, you did. That was until he looked at you, and you realized this was the first time you had ever seen him without his sunglasses. Suddenly, it didn’t feel dramatic enough. For some reason, you never imagined his eyes would be that blue.

“Oh, my apologies,” He muttered, “I hope I didn’t wake you.”

You shook your head. “No, I’m pretty sure it was the storm that did it. I’m assuming that's what woke you up too?”

“You’re free to assume what you like.” He said as he turned back to the tv. That wasn’t really an answer, but you knew him well enough to know that meant he wasn’t going to give you an answer.

“Mind if I join you?” You asked, the mission for water long abandoned in favor of getting closer to your Captain. There was a joke to be made about trading out one type of thirst for another, but that was low hanging fruit and you were better than that. Even if you were thinking it.

He shook his head, gesturing to the free half of the sofa, “Not at all.” You smiled softly, moving to sit next to him and sitting probably a little closer than you really needed to. Not that he minded. You still tried to maintain a respectful distance though. The last thing you needed to do was embarrass yourself by throwing your body at the Captain like a pushy salesperson at a perfume kiosk.

The thing is, you didn’t try very hard to keep your distance. You were drawn to him like a neodymium magnet to iron. Your body naturally wanted to curl up against his warmth and fall asleep listening to the rhythmic thrum of his heartbeat. You focused on the tv, yet still failed to actually pay attention to any of it. You were just trying to distract yourself from the need to curl up in Wesker's lap like a needy cat.

You realized how hopelessly you had failed when his arm draped around you, trapping you securely in the crook of his arm, pressed into his side. Wesker said nothing as he did it, as if it was just totally normal and cool for him to cuddle with a subordinate. The thought of questioning him briefly popped into your mind before you quickly smothered it to death. If you started asking questions, he would move- and you really didn’t want that. You nestled into him instead.

You looked back at him, still taken aback by the look of him without his sunglasses. His sharp features were illuminated by the blue glow of the TV, accentuating his high cheekbones and the slope of his nose. His hair was messy- far from the immaculate slicked back style you were used to seeing it in- and yet it still managed to look perfect. As if even his bed head was intentional. You wouldn't be surprised. Everything about him was intentional.

You still couldn't get over his eyes. You had always assumed they were some shade of blue, but his sunglasses hid just how cerulean they really were. And just as sharp as every other part of him was, fully capable of cutting a king in half with one disapproving squint. Cold, but almost unbearably human, and looking straight at yo-

Oh God he was looking at you. When did he start looking at you?! That wasn’t allowed! You looked away, hoping that he’d let it go.

You snapped your eyes away so fast you missed the smirk that danced over his lips. “Oh, are you playing shy now?” He asked.

You maintained near unblinking eye contact with the screen. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

He chuckled softly, low and deep in his chest. “So you’re playing stupid now too. Interesting strategy.” You felt the knuckle of his forefinger hook under your chin, pulling your face to look at him, and you felt your entire body catch fire. “Mmm. Not a good look on you though. You’re far too smart to ever do it convincingly.”

“I beg to differ.” You muttered. You wondered if you had ever actually woke up, or if this was another one of your dreams.

He smirked. “I’d love to hear that.”

You were definitely asleep. That was the only explanation. Every other part of yours and Weskers’ relationship developed over months, and in one night it felt like it was going from like, 55 to 100. His thumb traced your bottom lip, eyes staring at your mouth while he contemplated his next move.

Finally, his eyes met yours again. “I find you captivating, Doctor,” He finally said, “I don’t think anyone has managed to capture my attention in quite the way that you have.”

You felt your chest swell with pride. Weskers’ praise had always been like a drug to you, and it was only amplified by the intimacy the two of you were creating. “Thank you Captain,” You muttered back, “I feel similarly about you.”

His head tilted to the side. “Do you?” He asked. You hummed your confirmation, and his smirk grew. “Good.” in the span of a breath his lips were on yours, catching you fully by surprise. You tensed, only to slowly melt against him. His mouth was surprisingly soft, and moved against yours with an expertise that made you jealous. You wanted to curse everyone he had ever kissed before you, and never wanted to think about him kissing anyone after you.

Wesker pulled you closer, his teeth digging into your bottom lip and using your small gasp to deepen the kiss. It was like he knew you were spiraling into jealousy, and knew exactly how to drag you back out of it. Finally, you remembered you had hands, reaching up and tangling your fingers in his soft, short hair. You gave an experimental tug, earning you a soft moan from him. Noted.

He fully pulled you into his lap, sweatpants doing absolutely nothing to hide how you affected him. You wrapped your arms around his neck, leaning in and letting yourself fall into rhythm with him. You felt one of his hands slide under your shirt to rest against the small of your back, and you were pleasantly surprised by how warm it was. He nipped at you again before moving, kissing your jaw and down to your neck.

You tilted your head to the side to give him room to work, moaning softly as he found that sweet spot that always electrified you. Teeth got involved after that, scraping against your skin as he kissed his mark, his claim, onto you. Your head was spinning. Of course you’d thought about Wesker like this before, but you never thought it would actually happen. You assumed your relationship was relegated to awkward office tension that would never be acted upon for fear of HR. It didn’t feel real, having Wesker pull you closer to him while he dug his teeth into your neck. You’d never been more thankful for snow in your life.

He pulled away, looking over his work. A sick grin found its way onto his face as he admired the way his bite mark looked against your otherwise untouched skin. He decided then and there it looked far too pretty on you for him to ever let it fade. He decided then and there that you were his.

He pulled your attention back to him with a short, yet demanding kiss. “I just realized I never finished showing you the house.” He said in a voice that was far too composed for your liking.

“Wh…what?” You asked, a little breathless and a lot worked up, “So?”

“I never showed you my room.”

OHHHHHH okay, that made more sense. You nodded eagerly enough that it would have been embarrassing had you known shame. “You should do that actually. You should do that right now.” Wekser smiled at you adoringly. So cute, so eager, and so so unaware. He found it almost comical that the bunny was begging the wolf to see its den. He wondered if you’d be so willing if you knew that he was just another Judas in disguise.

Probably not. He stood up, easily lifting you as he did. Instinctively your arms and legs wrapped around him, clinging onto him for fear of falling. Not that you had anything to fear. He picked you up as if you were nothing, his arms were steady and safe and you’d be lying if you said it didn’t make you swoon a little. He easily carried you to the room at the end of the hallway, and you felt yourself stir with the realization of how close his room was to the one he’d given you for the night.

Before you knew it you were on your back, being pressed into his silk sheets as he kissed your neck. You rolled your hips into his, only for him to grab you, dragging you flush against him so you could feel exactly what you were doing to him. He kissed down your body, setting every place his lips touched you on fire, even though the thin fabric of the old shirt you had on. Of his old shirt you had on.

He pulled the basketball shorts you were wearing off, wanting absolutely zero barrier between him and your perfect thighs. You squirmed as he kissed the inside of your legs, leaving clear evidence of him on every inch of skin he could. He wanted you covered by the end of the night. Finally, he made his way to where you wanted him the most.

You felt his breath over the thin fabric of your panties, licking the already incredibly noticeable wet spot there. Your body tensed with anticipation, with want. He nuzzled into you, licking up your clothed slit again, and you waited for him to finally take your underwear off. You waited.

And waited. “Wesker please-” You begged softly.

He seemed to like that, looking up at you with wicked eyes from between your legs. “Please what, Dear?” He asked, the pet name sending a whole nother wave of arousal through you.

“Wesker, come on, just- please-” You were frustrated. He wasn’t really going to make you say it, was he? That was kind of embarrassing.

“Please what Dear?” He asked again, a little more forcefully this time, “What do you want?”

Bastard. “I want you.” You whimpered.

“I’m right here.” Bastard.

“I- I want your mouth, “ You finally said despite the embarrassment burning your chest, “Fuck, I want your mouth so bad.”

He seemed pleased, a self satisfied smirk on his face while he finally finally pulled your panties down. He licked along your soaking folds, pulling a near pornagraphic moan from you. He wasted little time, finding your clit and wrapping his warm, welcoming mouth around it. He licked his name into the bundle of nerves, sending waves of pleasure through you with every expert stroke of his tongue.

Your hands found his hair, tangling into the short strands and pulling him closer to you, bucking your hips into him to ride his face. At least, you tried to. He placed his forearm over your hips, locking you into place and leaving you to moan helplessly while you took exactly what he gave you, no more, no less. You felt dizzy, lightheaded and spinning as you got lost in the bliss, your legs started to tremble in preparation for the oncoming orgasm.

You gasped as you felt one of his long fingers easily enter you, quickly followed by a second. He used his middle and ring finger, curling them up and directly into your g-spot, coaxing your climax out of you with every expert stroke. The added stimulation sent you reeling, his name falling from your lips like a prayer as he brought you to the peak.

Every movement set you on fire, every lick reeling, every stroke screaming. You could feel a coil tightening in your stomach, ready to snap. You could see the peak, and one final sharp suck against your clit pushed you over. You saw stars explode in front of your eyes and the knot in your stomach snapped, drowning you in dopamine and euphoria. You felt like you were in free fall, your entire body alive with sparks as he worked you through it all.

Finally, as you started to come down he pulled back. You were still recovering when you felt him touch you again, this time pulling you up and tugging your shirt off. You weren’t sure when he took off his own clothes, and honestly you weren’t that worried about it. You were just happy to finally get a peek at what he was working with.

Just five seconds ago you would have never described a cock as “pretty.” But, you couldn’t think of a better way to describe Weskers. Long and thick, with a pretty pink tip leaking with need. The thought occurred to you that in a different life, he would have made a killing as a porn star. You weren’t sure why you were like this.

You didn’t have time to think about it either, Wesker gave you one rough, quick kiss before pushing you back down onto the bed. He pulled you closer to him, taking your ankles and holding them in a wide V. He kneeled in front of you, taking in every detail of your body and committing it to memory. He didn’t think it was an exaggeration to say you were one of the most beautiful things he’d ever seen; especially laid out like this.

Exposed, vulnerable, and aching for him. “You’re beautiful you know,” He mused, “breathtakingly so. And you’re all fucking mine.” He punctuated his point by thrusting into you, all at once and leaving you with no room to adjust. You screamed, clenching around the sudden intrusion and pulling a beautiful moan out of Wesker. You could see his shoulders relax for a second, your warm welcoming cunt pulling the tension right out of him.

He was never going to give you up. You were perfect. “Like you were made for me.” He groaned, setting a pace that left you light headed. The natural curve of his cock was perfect for him to bully your g-spot, and the current position you were in gave him the leverage to fuck places you didn’t even know existed inside of you. You quickly felt another coil start to form in your stomach, already sensitive from before.

It didn’t take long for you to realize you weren’t going to last long, your limbs already tingling with anticipation. “Fuck, Al, you feel so good.”

He felt the air rush from his lungs when you said that. Did you even realize you used his first name? He could hardly remember the last time anyone called him Albert, let alone Al- considering the loving familiarity that often came with a nickname. Furthermore, he couldn’t remember the last time someone said his name and he liked it.

Something inside him snapped, and before he knew it he was folding you in half, throwing your ankles over his shoulders and pressing his body weight into yours to try and get closer to you. “Say it again,” he said, hand coming to rest on your neck, “Say my name.” He was desperate to hear it from you again. It sounded so pretty coming from your lips.

You took in a sharp breath, this new angle giving him a more direct path to your sweet spot. “Al!” You groaned, head filling with stars as you lost yourself in him, “Albert, Al, fuck-” You’d say whatever he wanted you to if it met he wouldn’t stop.

He felt drunk, his entire body alight with need. His hand on your throat tightened, and he pressed a demanding kiss into your lips, shoving his tongue into your mouth in an attempt to claim every single atom that made you up. He bit your lip so hard you thought you might have tasted blood before he pulled up. “You’re mine,” he growled, “Do you understand that? Mine.”

“Yours,” you confirmed, “Only yours.” You were so sweet, so compliant. If you kept this up, he wasn’t ever going to let you go home.

What was he even saying?

You were home.

You felt yourself snap, flying off the ledge at 100 miles an hour as your second climax of the night hit you like a truck. Your entire body trembled as you were hit with wave after wave of ecstasy, mind going blank as entire galaxies exploded before your eyes. It brought Albert to his own peak, the feeling of you fluttering around him and the sound of you screaming his name pulling him over the ledge. He pressed his hips fully flushed against yours, cumming as deep inside you as he could get- consequences be damned.

He fucked you through both of your highs, only stopping when his body physically forced him to. He just barely avoided collapsing on you, falling to your side instead. He held you close while the two of you caught your breath, and you cringed a little when he finally pulled out. He pulled you to his chest, pressing a soft kiss to your neck. It was quiet for a second while the two of you basked in your afterglow.

It was you who broke the silence. “Soooo…” You asked.

“So?” He asked back, debating a smoke.

It was like you read his mind. “Does this mean I don’t have to worry about buying my own cigarettes anymore?”

He couldn’t help but chuckle, because only you would ask ‘what are we’ like that. “Well talk in the morning,” he said, “For now, you should probably try and sleep.” You nodded in agreement, curling into his side. And in mere minutes, you had drifted into the most restful sleep you had gotten in ages.

#resident evil #albert wesker #albert wesker x reader #Albert wesker x reader smut #wesker smut #S.T.A.R.S era wesker #call in request

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scuttle-buttle · 4 years ago

Text

Chapter 10

WC: 1633

Rated: E

Chapter Tags: anxiety, angst, brief fears of infidelity, discussions of childbearing and marriage/gender roles, psych theories, some manipulation, age difference, brief mention of domestic violence (there is none)

A/N: If you have any questions regarding the tags for this chapter and want to ask me about it before reading please do so! The chapter is not necessarily dark but I understand that some may want me to give a more detailed warning/context. I want all my readers to be as comfortable as possible 💙

🧠

It started out small. He would bring up Dr. Stratton during conversation more and more often. Three times now he had been late to office hours, causing you to have to wait outside his room, nervously checking the time. But it’s nothing, you continue to remind yourself. They’re just good friends that haven’t seen each other in years. And you trust them both.

When another Friday night passed with Laszlo skipping drinks in favor of meeting with Karen, you decided to stay in as well. It had been a month since they reacquainted with one another. In those weeks you had seen less of him outside work. Your sex life was stagnating too, much to your annoyance. He had even canceled at the absolute last minute on a dinner date. Naturally, you had begun to feel a twinge of jealousy at his lack of attention. He kept saying it was work related. Nevertheless, the sullen temperament you'd adopted went unnoticed by the doctor. You felt foolish; you weren’t so needy that you had to make a big deal about it. So you said nothing on the issue.

You sat on the old couch in your apartment. Bitsy was getting ready to go out with Lucius for date night. Picking at your fingers, you decide to ask your roommate for advice. “Hey Bits?”

“Yeah?” she called from her bedroom.

“Can I ask you a question about Lucius?” you start.

“Sure, what’s up?”

You pause as you think of how to word your thoughts. “Do you ever, like, get jealous? When he hangs out with other girls I mean.” Her head pops out of the door frame as she finishes fastening her earring, eyebrows raised in question. “It’s just that Laszlo has been spending a lot of time with Dr. Stratton now that she’s back in town. I trust them and everything, but I’m starting to feel a bit left behind I guess…” you trail off.

“Oh honey, that's normal.” She waves a hand through the air as she speaks. “There’s this girl at the lab that Lucius works with and for the first month I was convinced she was trying to steal him away from me. Turns out she just wanted Marcus, his brother!” Bitsy lets out a cackle.

“Right…” you pick at the skin around your fingernails. “I just feel silly about it. I’m sure I’m overreacting to the whole thing, though. Laszlo would never do anything, and I don’t think Dr. Stratton would either,” you remind yourself outloud. "There's just this thing John said to me about them having a past and I can't get it out of my head."

“It's not silly.” Bitsy had moved further into the bedroom, causing her voice to be slightly muffled. “But if it bothers you that much, talk to him about it. He’s a psychologist, it’s kinda his job to understand emotions and things like this. And if he loves you like you say he does then he’ll put a bit more effort into giving you his attention.”

You marinate on what she’s told you. Bitsy is right, if it bothers you that much then you need to bring it up with him. Be an adult, use communication, and all that. “Why’re you always right and level-headed about everything?”

“Someone’s gotta be, with a hot head like you,” she snarks. Her phone buzzes letting her know her date is downstairs. With a squeeze on the shoulder she bids you goodbye, telling you to let her know if you need anything.

The atmosphere in Dr. Stratton’s office felt off. What was usually so open and warm had felt forced and awkward. You were still ignoring the guilt of your jealousy at the doctor. She wasn’t as talkative today, unlike usual. Instead, it was strictly business. You chalked it up to her having an off day.

The two of you discussed in more depth the fetishes and kinks from the list you had compiled. Unfortunately, due to spending less time with your boyfriend the last few weeks you hadn’t had much of an opportunity to try any of the new tricks you were learning about. Therefore, you had little to really talk about in that regard. You found that you didn’t particularly mind, as you were feeling less inclined to want to share about your love life due to your envy towards the woman in question.

Dr. Stratton quietly gathered together her notes from the session and placed them into the folder. You were about to ask if she needed anything else from you when her lips parted before closing again. She leaned forward on her desk towards you. Her fingers steepled under her chin.

She licks her lips. “There is something I wish to discuss with you unrelated to the study.”

You didn’t like where this was going. Dread pooled in your gut at the concerned look on her face. “O-okay.”

“Now I want you to understand that I only bring this up out of concern for your wellbeing and emotional health. But some of the things you have told me over the course of this study have me worried.”

What on earth could you have said that would cause this sort of reaction from her? She was the most calm and collected person you had ever known. To have her speaking out made your heart race in your chest.

She takes a moment to gather her thoughts before opening her mouth again. “In truth I worry about your current relationship. I fear that-”

Brows furrowing, your mind goes to the worst conclusion. You blurt out “what? No! He doesn’t hurt me or anything, I don’t know what would have given you that impression but I- ”

The doctor reaches out with her hand to settle on your forearm. “My dear take a breath, I meant no such thing.”

You take a deep inhale to compose yourself. “Then what are you talking about?”

“Speaking as your friend, and as an alienist, I fear that this boyfriend is potentially using you for your youth,” she begins the tale she concocted, unbeknownst to you. “In my experience as a psychologist, the young women such as yourself that I encounter with significantly older male companions find themselves locked into the relationship. Typically, it is from dependence on money at first. Over time, the male pressures the woman to be compliant in things like marriage and childbearing. I understand how difficult it is for a woman as driven as you to balance your aspirations with relationships and domestic matters. Do you want children?”

Her statement and question take you back. Confusion is written all over your face. Marriage? Children? Neither you nor Laszlo had ever brought up either subject. You didn’t even know if it was something he was interested in. “Wait what? I'm not sure I follow…”

“Men around his age go through an identity crisis in which they begin to become aware of their mortality. A change in priorities. The most common desire is to procreate, to start a family in which to pass on their wisdom is strongest here. Are you prepared to give him children soon? Of course there is nothing wrong with wanting to be a mother, it is a very noble role. Yet you do not strike me as someone ready for such a large step.”

You can barely form a coherent thought at her onslaught. The whole conversation was so out of the blue that you felt incredibly lost. Did you want children? Did he want children? Now? You wrap your arms around your torso to stave off the uncertainty and anxiety you feel creeping in. No words come to your defense at her interrogation. You are speechless, jaw dropped.

She stands and crosses the room, placing her cool hands on your cheeks. “My dear you are still a child yourself. This is something you need to consider. To… consider the possibility that you can’t give him what he needs. That he may need someone closer to his age with the same priorities, someone more willing to give in to his needs now. I don’t think you’re ready for that. I’ve seen the cost that these girls face. And the societal pressures and judgement you would face being with someone so much older? I think it could throw you into a state similar to after your friend passed. I wouldn’t want to see you in that position again. I want you to have your freedom."

Dr. Stratton looks up at the clock suddenly; “oh! My, I’m going to be late for a meeting, you’ll have to go. I don’t believe we need any more sessions for the study, but I will let you know if anything changes.”

You are too in shock trying to process everything she said to you as she ushers you out of the door with a “think about what I said, dear.” The door shuts behind you.

Karen sat with a huff. She felt a tad guilty for what she had said to you. She had no idea if Laszlo wanted marriage or children, he hadn’t when they were first together. But times change. She hoped that by using the angle of kids and identity crises that she could subtly plant a seed of doubt in your mind. Strike quickly and overwhelmingly, plant the doubt that you weren’t right for him, then push you out before you have the chance to seek answers or reassurance from her. It seemed you bought her false concern as actual worry. You were a great girl. But you were just that - a girl. You couldn’t give Laszlo what he needed, not like she could.

Now she simply had to wait and let your mind eat away at itself, leaving him for the taking.

Tag list

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#psychopathia sexualis #the interpretation of dreams #laszlo kreizler x reader #laszlo kreizler #laszlo x reader #laszlo kreizler fanfic #the alienist #the alienist angel of darkness #daniel brühl #daniel bruhl #daniel bruhl laszlo kreizler #tw anxiety #tw infidelity #tw psychological manipulation #gender expectations #scuttle-buttle

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