trophyclown

[trophyclown]

aftercare with wesker headcanons

a/n: he's taking over my brain like a parasite. i need him to kiss me sooooo bad and i'm 100% convinced he's the aftercare master

gn!reader, mentions of sex, nothing explicit but 18+ MDNI anyway

masterlist

the very first thing he does when he finally pulls out of you is cradle your face and check on you

he's very mindful of your state the entire time you're having sex, or doing anything together really, but he likes to make sure the endorphins and adrenaline haven't overwhelmed you after you finish (probably for the third or fourth time, at least)

he immediately wipes you down as well, he knows you hate to be sticky and you get really cold when your sweat dries

if you want to take a shower instead, he goes in with you. even if you're perfectly fine, he still wants to stay close. he's addicted to the quiet intimacy you give him and he'll use any excuse to justify never leaving your side

he's a velcro-boyfriend lapdog basically

in the shower he'll do everything for you as well, washing your hair and rubbing soap all over you to clean you off

sometimes this leads to another round, but it's pretty rare. even in his spacious shower he's still just a little too tall to make the position work

he'll sit you on the bathroom counter and dry you off, using a clean towel and taking his time to touch every inch of you.

sometimes, when he's been really rough on you, he'll make you lay flat so he can check you out, make sure he didn't tear you anywhere and that you don't have any chaffing or raw spots. he's so gentle when he touches you then, his fingers feather light as he rubs lotion or ointment on your sore spots

he's such a caretaker, now that he has someone he wants to take care of

once when you first got together, you had shyly asked for one of his t-shirts to sleep in, and even now, years later, he still hands you a soft shirt from his side of the closet and the sight of you wrapped in his clothing makes his heart soar

he makes you lay down and tucks you in, hands stroking over your head and arms while you smile sleepily up at him

he always makes you eat something, even if it's just some crackers or cheese or even a few pieces of chocolate. ideally he wants you to eat something like a protein bar, but you rarely have the stomach for anything heavy

he also makes you drink water, an entire bottle. he'll watch you to make sure you finish it, whether you chug it or take a few minutes to drink it, speaking softly with him in the mean time

he makes sure everything is ready before he finally gets in bed with you, checking the doors and locking them and flicking lights off. he has a really hard time shutting his mind off, even when he's this tired and content, so sometimes it takes you sitting up and pouting for him to settle and get in bed

this is his favorite part - 100%. you're wrapped tight in his arms, face pressed into his neck and warm breath fanning over his chest. it makes his heart skip a beat, the way you melt against him like you don't have a care in the world

he can smell your hair like this, and rub his hand up and down your back and cup your head to pull you closer. he's making sure to touch you as much as he can, your bodies fit together like puzzle pieces

you know he needs this just as much as you do. you make sure to thank him, to tell him what you liked and that you're grateful to have such a generous and kind partner to take care of you, and finally, that you love him

he appreciates it, every time, and hearing those three words from your lips (especially after he spent hours doing nasty, vulgar things to make you squirm and moan)

like i said he gets so deep in his head, whether it's before or after uroboros, and he really needs the reassurance that, after everything, you're actively choosing to love him

he tells you the same, that you were so good for him, so pretty and he adores you, and he loves you

he actually doesn't say he loves you very often. sometimes he's in his head and struggling with his emotions and the words are too much for him

he says them every time he's holding you like this though. not for himself, but to make sure you're happy and warm and comfortable and safe

you inevitably fall asleep on top of him, dead weight lax in his arms, and he's certain he's never been so happy in his life

[trophyclown]

touch-starvation needs to be written with emphasis on the starving part. you are hungry to be touched. so hungry that even the very taste of it makes you nauseous. it has been long since anything has ever touched you, ever fed you - that your body has grown more used to that gnawing emptiness more than anything else. it's better for you to be held, to eat but it makes you sick to try. you know

[trophyclown]

cracks knuckles. dacryphilia warning, i need his old ass.

personal hc that he wears sunglasses for various reasons: 1. theyre actual prescription glasses and he made them always tinted. 2. light sensitivity. 3. his eyes are naturally expressive so the glasses help hide it.

yada yada, he for sure blushes and squirms knowing you’re able to see his full reactions. he hates feeling vulnerable but it also makes him So Goddamn Hard that it’s with you. overstimming him, past the point he can’t hold back his whimpers and whines, til he’s gasping and struggling against the binds even though he Knows he can break out of them if he has to. (this man is too touchy for his own good he needs to be bound!!!)

i wanna see tears well up in his eyes as he hisses and inaudibly pleas for a break. someone should break this man!!! praise him for being good and taking it, coo at him for being so sensitive after however long its been

once its over hes quiet n insecure so you gotta kiss him and reassure him he did amazing. don’t let him shy away, clean him up and rub his back. need to cuddle this man to my chest. holy SHIT.

brain fried, no more thoughts, only shy wesker. gestures wildly. i hope you enjoy my mad man ramblings. 🙏

good god man you have surpassed cooking and you're straight grilling with this

18+ mdni

the first time he cries when you're teasing and using him like this he immediately cums again. like the second he feels the tear run down his cheek and realizes he's crying it's over for him. he finishes so hard he actually has to tap out because that was like insane

i really like the idea that he didn't bother taking his glasses off to begin with, but now they're so far down his nose you can see his eyes over the rims and they're so red and wet (like his cock :3 ) he can't be bothered to take them off because he's clenching his hands in the sheets or your hair so hard he can't let go

once you start talking to him it's over it's like every new sensation or sound you add takes him up another level and he can't even think or breathe. you tell him he's being such a good boy and you love him so much and he's so pretty and handsome when he's desperate and broken for you. he can barely respond, just babbling and whimpering and whispering please so softly you can barely hear it. you tell him to be louder and beg like he means it and he starts gasping and nearly sobbing while he bucks into your hands/inside you and he's already cum so much he barely has anything left to make a mess with

and then aftercare is so so so so SO important for him. he will be incredibly defensive and insecure if you just move on with you day/night. you have to clean him up gently because he's so sensitive it hurts and make him drink some water and put on a comfy shirt. he just needs to know he shouldn't be embarrassed and you're proud of him. he's a huge cuddle bug (denies it though fr) and after a long session like this he just wants to put him head on your tummy while you play with his hair and let him fall asleep and burrowed in your body and the blankets

[trophyclown]

tits, ass or thighs, Which one do you think Wesker likes more?

18+ mdni - gn!reader mostly with specific amab!reader at the bottom of the post

when wesker finally gets with someone he genuinely trusts and loves, he likes all of you - all of your body, all of your personality, everything

HOWEVER he's an ass and thighs man, foooor sure. to him, your pleasure always comes first so he spends a lot of time between your thighs.

he likes you ass up so he can grab big handfuls of your hips (his hands are so big :3) and keep you from squirming and pulling away too much while he eats you out. he loves mating press and he WILL push your thighs to your chest and plant (most) of his weight down on the backs of your thighs while he pounds you.

nothing gets him going quite like seeing you in tight dress pants or tight shorts. he doesn't mind jeans but he's sensitive to rough fabric so when he can smooth his hands over your clothes and see your ass and thighs jiggle when you move his cock shoots up like it's spring loaded

he also does love tits, don't get me wrong. he might prefer ass/thighs but when he gets his hands on your chest he loves the way you groan and lean into him. i personally think he has the worst oral fixation so he'll bite and suck on your tits and nipples until they're sensitive and you have to push him away. like i said he appreciates ALL of you even if he doesn't prefer your chest

amab!reader:

if he can get your cock down his throat with your thighs squeezing his head and your balls shoved against his chin he's in literal heaven. like actual died and went to heaven. his eyes will be glowing and he'll be growling around you on his tongue and when you weakly thrust further in his mouth at the vibrations it just spurs him on more. he grabs handfuls of your ass and thighs to pull you closer against him and he'll encourage you to squeeze his head like a fucking vice. he wants to feel and hear every ounce of pleasure he can draw from you even if it means he's gagging and he has to pull away before he chokes to death.

in short he just wants to squeeze you like a little stress ball :3

[trophyclown]

pre surgery reader and wesker casually lays it down that he'd be honored/happy/would like to perform their top surgery (free experimental [superior, flawless, masterful] incisions) free of charge ?

@-@ im so nervous... you are so cool & epic btw!!!

YOU'RE so cool and epic!

oh he would be so wonderful about this whole ordeal omg. i could see him mentioning this more casually, but instantly becoming much more serious when your eyes go wide with wonder.

wesker would be so, so thorough with learning this process, perhaps even bringing on the most skilled assistants to ensure absolutely everything is perfect for you. the most perfectly cut incisions deserve only the most artfully sewn stitches.

as someone who's been on the table just before going under for that procedure, seeing his face before falling asleep and knowing you're in the best hands and that it's someone who cares so much sounds like actual heaven.

and just thinking about him being there for aftercare is soooooo ;-;

him getting up with you to help tuck a nice soft fabric between the seams of the surgical binder and your skin when it becomes irritating. making sure you're getting all of your proper medicine, even throwing in the occasional benadryl to ensure you're not itchy from the healing and that you're also getting some sleep. he'll change your gauze and be so, so gentle with applying the proper ointment along your incisions and grafts.

he's so very proud of his flawless job on your chest, but it's the smile on your face that brings him both joy and pride in droves.

[trophyclown]

*cracks knuckles*

you're in for it

Stars Wesker, except on Halloween, masked up costume and chasing you around as if he'll actually hurt you or something. pinning you up to a shed wall and he takes you there, wrapping his hand around your throat and telling you how delicious you sound, "you're so good for me"

I feel like he'd be into predator/prey shit

18+ gn! reader, MDNI.

mild dubcon warning

s.t.a.r.s. wesker who knows you so well that he can predict exactly which way you'll turn.

s.t.a.r.s. wesker who can see the very moment your pretend fear becomes a little more real. he knows every crackle of leaves beneath his feet sends a shiver up your spine while you hide, thinking you've found a perfect spot where he'll never think to look.

s.t.a.r.s. wesker who lifts you off your feet like it's nothing, throwing you over his shoulder to find a nice spot away from prying eyes.

s.t.a.r.s. wesker pushing you to your knees and demanding you reward him for having caught you.

he'll sing your praises when he finally fucks you against the wall, fingers flexing before pressing down on the sides of your neck juuuust right. just enough to get you lightheaded. he can feel your throat bob with a dry swallow beneath his palm. it drives him insane.

he eventually discards his mask to kiss and lick into your mouth, letting you swallow his noises of blissful agony as you squeeze around his cock.

he'll have to bury his face in your shoulder, teeth sinking into your flesh to fight against how fucking badly he wants to come. you've had him hard since the moment you looked at him with pleading, fearful eyes. you've brought out a predatory instinct he never knew was buried so deep within. he wants nothing more than to savor it.

he'll demand you say his name. cry out to him- for him. let the whole world know how good he makes you feel. "be good for me, sweetheart," he'll growl in your ear.

whimper and whine for him. maybe thrash around a little bit in his hold.

either way, he's going to have the time of his life with you

[trophyclown]

tw for menstruation stuff

psst. I don't know if you take requests or things like this but after the t shot fic for wesker/reader I trust you w/ my soul

how would wesker take care of his trans bf who suffers from painful periods? currently suffering the curse and I need our knight in shining sunglasses to assist 😭

Having ensnared Wesker into a romantic situation means being cared for with a very obsessive precision; when he finds you curled up in pain, it triggers his need to take full control to remediate the situation.

Losing you to something as human as pain shock is not an option and Wesker is not ignorant to your body's sweaty palms and the bags under your eyes.

He will suffocate you in his presence for the meantime. A laptop will suffice for work. Your trust is tantamount.

...

Extremely schmoopy Wesker below, but, dare I say it, Wesker would schmoop over you if he loved you and he'd only date someone he would die for. You being his boyfriend is just his brain's code-word for 'charge' in which he is 'the unshakeable guardian' - very much the horde of one the dragon sleeps on. He's work-driven, so when you're work... Also, if lack of autonomy over your own medical decisions bothers you, run and don't hit Read More.

1.1k, tw: medical (malpractice), very inappropriately attached Wesker.

When he finds you alone in your shared space, curled on the bed in retching agony, he's ordering an abdominal CT, CBC w/ differentials, full colonoscopy with biopsy, investigative laparoscopy, and illegally prescribing you GnRH agonist tablets.

He will, of course, be the one to administer all of these things. No one else's hands can ever be trusted... not fully, not with you. This is the tax of his love.

He says he's sitting on your bed with you because he cannot afford the feeling that overtakes him when you're sick like this. You could see it in his expression, the way his lips twitched down and eyebrows knitted every time he had leaned against the doorway and crossed his arms, having asked if you'd have liked another Advil before his paranoia and (reasonable) concern at the state of your body had him resigned to being within the same room.

His words are sharp and clinical as he gently chides you on taking too much Advil in a six hour span, but there's something else beneath it - it's not just control he's after; your safety is tantamount. He presses Advil to your curling fingers even after the fourth and his gloves linger just a moment too long, true feeling leaking around how gentle his hands are and bubbling through the cadence of his expressions, softer than you've ever heard them. He talks as though you are a wounded animal.

He swears he got a shipment of Elagolix tablets around here - he can dig them out... they're a little out of date - "Damn things expire too quickly, honestly," - but they shouldn't cause issues if you take two. He calculated it.

His insistence is troubling, and yet it is borne out of a care for you that no other human alive could ever possibly reach, his glittering depths unseen by other men.

He has no issue prying open your mouth to force it down. "Yes, really. Open your mouth before I open it for you." He understands that you do not understand, but your lack of understanding cannot delay your care.

"Since you have no idea what's best for you, I'll take over the responsibility." That line really shouldn't make your cheeks burn, but it does. There is power in the streak of dominance, sure, but he could just as easily choose to walk, and he's doing quite the opposite.

Such unabashed, raw attention, all focused on you... if you weren't moaning and bleeding and making his nostrils flare and scrunch at the odd, stray inhuman urge, you'd cover your face.

You know he's overthinking it - he doesn't need to do any of this at all or keep a dozen emergency solutions at his person, but this is Wesker. Asking him to forego contingency plans that go from most likely to least likely gets you nowhere.

If anything, your nonchalance bothers him deeply. Why do you care so little about yourself? You're one of the few he'd spare. He simply will not stand by, and neither should you. In a way, his hatred for a world in which you've been beaten into submission about something so medically critical to your quality of life strongarms you into self-care.

It's punctuated with a pat on the head and a sweep of his thumb to your cheek when you do accept his care without fussing... Maybe a kiss on the forehead if you look in need or are particularly receptive.

When you close your eyes and lean against him, at first he pretends he's not aware, but when he thinks you're finally beginning to nod off, he nestles your head under his chin as he taps away at his laptop with one hand, the other stroking your chin and the fat of your neck. When he sees the way your hair slicks with sweat from your hellish ride, his frown lines deepen. That must be quelled.

You really can't get out of treatment or squirm out of his prying eyes. He'll pressure you into it because he wants you to get better. That is not to say, however, that you are forced through painful trial after trial to discover answers.

He's got 10mg/5ml Oxycodone, do you need any?

Would you like Nocitate? Just a little to get you through? He won't tell anyone. He can order anything your heart desires, dearheart; he owns TRICELL. Seeing you in pain makes him feel uncomfortable and awakens an urge to fix, fix, fix. And, though he won't admit it, seeing you so weak and shaky makes his stomach lurch in an unfamiliar, foreign way.

Empathy. Sympathy...

Such piteous things, and yet... he cannot nix them when it's you. How insufferably weak of him... but there is a unity and obedience in it, no? He is at odds with his doctrine's finer print, but he doesn't let it creep along his care. It should be beneath him, really, but you are an exception he takes great joy in maintaining.

Your insistence that he doesn't have to is an insult to his intellect he does not tolerate when you try to push him and what he perceives as his affections away. "No one else on the planet holds my competence. Don't argue with me." It's... it's a bit scary, but it's well-meaning.

One thing is certain, Wesker will be there. His hand will linger at the small of your back, just enough pressure to remind you he's there. No words are necessary if you do not decree it, just his steady presence, other hand scrolling along ResearchGate and Elsevier between business. He will lighten his workload to be there until your pain is gone.

Rest assured, he will find a permanent solution to it. It is not normal to have such pain, and Wesker would never allow his significant other to suffer something they don't have to.

(He's already tested you for predisposition to endometriosis by skimming a hacked genetics database and plans to use a biopsy from the laparoscopy he's scheduled to grow cloned uterine tissue and study your condition more closely.)

(Also, surprise surprise, he's your anesthesiologist, too.)

(Did you plan to transition? He can expedite that instead of searching for answers to an organ you may not even care much about.)

[trophyclown]

you don’t have to match my freak you just have to think whatever’s wrong with me is fascinating and perhaps even sexual

[trophyclown]

Chris Steele & Buddy Jones Trust Me, 1999 - Studio 2000, dir. John Travis

[trophyclown]

♡ Albert Wesker ~ Resident Evil 4 Remake ♡

[trophyclown]

i'm telling you modern playgirl doesn't have the sauce. all the hot guys existed in the 80s

[trophyclown]

Serene Mornings (Albert Wesker x gn!Reader)

18+ | 1.9k words, consensual somnophilia, blow jobs, s.t.a.r.s. wesker, gender neutral reader | Fic Directory

Your darling Albert works so very hard. You'll help him wake up the right way, won't you?

To say Wesker was irresistible was an understatement.  You admired him for more than simply his looks of course.  His mind was the sharpest you’d ever come across, capable of solving even the most complex problems or producing the wittiest response.  He could analyze a situation down to the finest detail and not miss a single thing.  He was pleasant to be around and charming to boot regardless of how blunt his delivery may be.  But that just meant he was straight to the point, never leaving you to ponder his feelings or devolve into a fit of anxiety over uncertainty.  Plus, he’s always been so incredibly sweet to you.

You utterly adore him and, simply put, you couldn’t possibly be more proud to call the S.T.A.R.S. Captain your lover.

Still, you can’t help but appreciate the rest of him.  His body was nothing to scoff at.  Gorgeous hands with slender fingers, strong arms, a defined chest, and perfectly cut hips always left you ogling him.  The sight alone of his sleeves rolled up was enough to send you spiraling into thoughts that left your cheeks flushed, and that was even before you were blessed with seeing the rest of him.  

Even now, with your head against the soft rise and fall of his chest, you can’t help but marvel at all that he is.  You let a hand ghost over his upper body for a time, featherlight in every touch to avoid disturbing him.  Just enough to feel him.  He typically wore a black tank top and silky boxer briefs to sleep, but, without fail, the shirt always seemed to ride up a little throughout the night, exposing a sliver of skin that eventually turned into a whole section of his hip.  You never could quite keep your hands off of it. Like a forbidden fruit that you had all the permission in the world to partake in.

Albert wasn’t a heavy sleeper by any means, but he’d slowly gotten better at sleeping through things since the two of you started sharing a bed.  Used to be that a late night trip to the bathroom would have him bleary eyed and mumbling as you’d slip back beneath the covers and into his arms.  Now you can get away with that and more.

You’re not sure what possesses you more to begin shimmying down.  Could be the throbbing between your legs, the all-consuming hunger you feel when you look at him for too long, or simply the ardent desire to make sure his day begins with a delicious surprise.  Perhaps, though, it’s all three that drive you to nestle between his legs with a greedy little grin on your face.

You’re thankful for his choice in underwear.  The silky texture makes them slide with ease, not even needing his hips lifted to slip them down his thighs.  You lick your lips at the sight.  He’s like a meal just waiting to be savored, tempting you by simply existing.  Sure you’ve seen him bare so many times now, but every time was just like the first, sending a jolt of arousal right between your legs that left you squirming.  Still, your hunger far outweighs your need for your own release.  

You lap at his soft length, pressing the occasional kiss to the hooded tip.  Every movement, every touch has to be so terribly gentle so as not to wake him yet.  He’s been working so hard lately and deserved nothing less than the softest, sweetest treatment you could possibly give him.  That’s why, when you finally slip his shaft into your mouth, you simply hold him in place and let your tongue caress the underside.  It’s like magic to feel him grow, to feel that heavy cock of his stiffen and edge closer and closer to your throat.  Like a flame whose heat only you can coax into a blaze.

Drool begins to pool in your maw and you angle your head to let it slip past your lips.  Though he’s never expressed it directly, you’ve always felt the shivers that shook him when your spit dribbled down to his balls.  Albert has always been an intensely clean man, well kept in every sense of the word, but there was something about an act of reverence becoming utterly messy that left him writhing beneath you.  Even now, unconscious to what was happening between his legs, he squirms the slightest bit.  His hips shift and his breaths grow a little heavier.

So you take him deeper, of course, just like he’d want to see if he was awake.  Not until he triggers your gag reflex do you begin to draw back, lips locked firm around his cock, dragging nice and slow.  Once you reach the tip, you grasp him and give a gentle pump, dragging his foreskin back to reveal the head.  It’s a warm hue of pink, practically calling out to you for delicate kisses and tender licks to his frenulum– and maybe, oh, maybe a soft suckle while you stroke him.

His hips lift the slightest bit and you can’t help but smirk.

You drag your lips down the length of his cock slowly, peppering the occasional kiss to the side, fist taking over as you work your way to his sack.  The first lave of your tongue to the soft skin wrings a weak groan from him which, of course, only fuels that overwhelming need to consume every part of him.  You take one of his balls in your mouth, hollowing your cheeks, eyes rolling back as the sweet taste floods your senses.  

“A-ah…”

You feel no greater swell of pride than when that first gentle moan slips between his lips.  You let off with a wet pop, switching to kiss and nibble at his inner thigh, free hand coming up to stroke along the outside of it, basking in the thickness of muscle just beneath the surface.  There’s nothing you want more than to sink your teeth in and mark him.  A little present to remember you by while he’s at work the next day.  Something that, with every step he takes, with every brush of fabric against the tender bruise, will make him think of you.  But such an act would tear him too quickly from his fading slumber, and that simply would not do.

You suckle a hickey there instead.  Then another… and another.

Finally, you take him in your mouth again.  This time you don’t hold back, bobbing up and down along his thick twitching length, taking him deeper and deeper until your nose presses against the soft prickles of hair that bed his cock.  God, you love the way he fills you.  If it wasn’t so impractical, you’d stay there forever with his shaft lodged firmly in your throat.  Alas, you’re only human.  You come up for a breath of air before greedily slurping him, not even bothering to hide the messy wet sounds nor your own gratified whines.  Then you feel it.

  Fingers threading into your hair, curling weakly as if to tug.

“T-that’s– mm, good morning…”

You glance up, admiring the dazed look on his face and the way his pinched brows twitch above eyes that shine like the stars that had long since vanished with the sunrise.  You moan around him and those fingers curl tighter.  

He’s close.

Wesker has so many little tells.  For as cool and collected as he always is, he’s never more vocal than when he’s being taken apart at the seams.  It’s as if something in him snaps, making him keen over and over again about how good you feel, how well you’re doing, every sweet pet name he’s ever thought to call you… It all comes tumbling off a quivering lip while he strokes lovingly through your hair as if to apologize every time he can’t help but buck into your eager mouth for more.  

Not to mention the way he squirms for you… The way his legs push weakly to plant his feet into the bed for leverage and support.  If his face isn’t buried in your neck, you can usually find his head lolled to the side or pressing back into the pillow when he arches– just like now.  Such a beautiful sight.  Then there was the way his thighs trembled…  Strong as they are, there was no stopping the little shakes that overtook them when he was pushed too close to the edge.  You felt it when you marked him, but it’s obvious now more than ever with your palm pressed to the junction of his groin.

You love nothing more than when he’s like this.  Putty in your hands.  At your mercy.  But you’re so very giving and you want so terribly to give him his release, so you don’t tease him and pull away when those hands start using you.

“T-that’s– oh, god… you feel s-so–” 

Your hands leave his thighs in favor of finally giving him that shove he needs to fall right over the edge.  One at his balls, toying gently with their spit-soaked softness, and the other teasing a finger back behind them nice and slow.  It just takes one little press, one firm touch to his perineum and suddenly those fingers in your hair lock tight and you’ve got his cock jammed in your throat and he’s crying out your name into the quiet of the early morning.  

You feel his balls tighten and the base of his cock throbs against your lips with every spurt that paints your abused throat.  His body is arched, head thrown back as he gasps and mewls– sounds he’d only stopped suppressing once he was sure there was no need for performance in your relationship.  

Another point of pride.  One that the thought of almost keeps you from having to pull yourself free to gasp for air.  He lets you up, ever the gentleman that he is, shaking hands fumbling to pull you close enough to kiss.  He’s never minded the mess.  In fact, the weak little moan every time he’s kissed you after spilling his seed down your throat has always cemented that idea in your head that he really likes it.

You find his cock, stroking torturously slow to milk the last ebb and flow of his pleasure while he groans into your mouth.  He breaks from you to gasp and snag you by the wrist.

“E-easy,” he pants, cheeks burnt an uncharacteristic pink.  Suddenly he’s got you rolled onto your back with both hands pinned by your head.  Wesker trails the tip of his nose along your temple, eyes shut as he basks in the moment. He hums a faint laugh, grin evident in the huff of breath against your cheek and the touch of his lips that follows.  “Good morning, sweetheart.”  His voice is still gravely from having been asleep.

You’re hardly surprised when his head comes down to rest on your chest and his arms snake under you.  It’s yet another thing he’s never outwardly admitted to, but you know with full certainty that he absolutely treasures being held in the afterglow.  Couple that with his relaxed inhibitions after just waking up, and, well…

The lazy smile on his face is brighter than the sun itself.  Chances are your fingers wandering through his hair and thumb stroking the light scruff at his jaw will have him falling back asleep in no time, but you don’t mind.

He deserves to rest.

[trophyclown]

Reversal (Albert Wesker x gn!Reader)

18+ | 1192 words | handjob, soft wesker, begging (as much as wesker would), could be any era of wesker | Fic Directory

he deserves to be spoiled once in a while. wouldn't you agree?

He’s never quite sure how the two of you end up in these situations, but particularly himself.  Wesker, being the extremely generous lover that he is, was far from used to being on the receiving end of things.  But you have your ways.  He could hardly call it trickery since you’d given him ample opportunity to refuse, but he just couldn’t.

What turned into simply sitting by your side atop the bed turned to a loss of control so blissful that his jaw trembles with every breath he takes in vain attempts to steady himself.  You’d coaxed him so sweetly, pretending that you were shuffling behind him to simply rub his back.  And you did for a time.  Stripped away the shoulder holster and kneaded taut, stressed muscles for so long he’d almost been convinced his body turned to jell-o.  When your soothing touches slipped around to unbutton his shirt, he knew he was in for it.  The very second you tugged on his belt, he knew he was all too happy to let it happen.

He huffs an open mouthed breath, chest rising and falling, heartbeat like a drum in his own ears while he cranes his neck further to the side for your wandering lips.  The buckle of his belt clinks with every mindless shift of his legs.  You feel so nice… your hands are so warm and soft as you stroke him slow and steady.  

He grips your leg with his left hand and the right reaches back to thread in your hair, anchoring himself to you like a docked ship in preparation for a storm.  Wesker can’t help but arch back into you, body seeking more and more contact as he fights each gasp and whine that threatens to expose how easily you’ve wrapped him around your finger.

“Talk to me, sweetheart.” You coo in his ear, breath tickling the shell of it and sending a shiver right down his spine.  There’s an air of humor in your words like always.  Amusement that you’d turned the tables and taken apart the man who usually unmakes you.  Wesker’s eyes flutter open, half lidded and dazed.  He dares to look between his splayed legs and your hand moves just in time to feel his balls tighten at the sight.  You hum a small laugh when he does little more than swallow thickly and exhale.  “Even if you won’t use your words, your body still tells me all kinds of things.”  Your thumb circles his weeping tip with an agonizing slowness and your lips fall to the junction of his shoulder.

He nearly jumps out of his skin, choking off a sharp keen into panting breaths when a wandering hand pinches his nipple, rolling the hardened bud carefully.  It’s then that he truly loses himself, completely leaning his weight back onto you and hissing through clenched teeth.  “Y-You…”  He tries, but his train of thought derails entirely when your fist twists down to the base, squeezing gently.  Wesker’s legs shift haphazardly, one bending just enough for leverage to thrust into your grip.

Your touches halt suddenly but you don’t release him.  “Yes, honey?”

Fuck, he thinks to himself. This again. 

Not too long ago you’d learned that he wasn’t quite so unbreakable.  That iron will and stoic demeanor ran incredibly deep, but for you?  Oh, you have the key to his heart, which means you’re privy to sights and sounds that leave him red in the face and practically squirming.  

You planned this, didn’t you?  

Now you were going to get exactly what you wanted…

“Come on, Al.  Tell me.”  Each word drips with love the likes of which he could drown in.  It drives him insane in ways he could never dream.  You hold release over his head like bait but give freely that which makes you so special.  “Tell me so I can take care of you.”

Wesker’s jaw quivers, teeth practically chattering.  “You… I want you to…”  He’s whispered filth in your ear so many times just to guarantee your pleasure, but to reverse the roles?  To tell you how badly he wants you to… t-to…  “Please,” he gasps, voice a tad higher than he’d prefer, “anything, I– ah!” Wesker gasps sharply, head falling back against your shoulder as you trail the tip of your index finger along the length of his cock. 

“Anything?”

“M-More!” He mewls.  It’s all so undignified and the embarrassment swirls deep in his gut, but it’s washed away by a fingerpad teasing a bead of precum.  Heavy breaths turn almost to snarls.  “God, just– please!”

You always did show him mercy when he used the magic word.  The very second your strokes begin again, his eyes roll back and he succumbs.  

“That’s it, Al,” you murmur between kisses and suckles to his exposed neck.  He writhes and thrusts and pushes against you like his life depends on it, seeking more sensations, more pressure, more of you while he comes undone.  “Shhh, just feel it…”

He’s unsure of just how loud his pathetic litany of whining had been, but he’d much rather not know at all.  Fuck, if he felt like jell-o before… he’s practically a ragdoll now, limbs like lead demanding that he simply lie still and bask in a haze so powerful he can’t even open his eyes.  He tries to give you a hm of acknowledgement, but it comes out as a breathy whine that leaves him wishing he had the energy to curse himself for such a weak display of self control.

“You did so well.”  Your praise erupts his flesh with goosebumps.  “You deserved this.  You deserve to feel so good.”

Wesker tilts his head just enough to nuzzle your cheek, hissing a hot breath against it when he feels your fingertips dance through the mess he’d made on his abdomen.  His eyelids are so heavy…

“Get some rest, sweetheart.” 

He wants to. God knows there’s nothing else his body screams for more in the moment, but he also wants so badly to return the favor.  You wiggle out from behind him carefully, slipping his shirt free and slowly helping him descend into the plushness of pillows and blankets before stripping away the remainder of his clothes.  You disappear for but a moment, promising him you'll return before you do, and you bring a warm, wet cloth to wipe away the mess his bliss had caused.

“There we go,” you say.  There’s not a single word necessary, but he knows you do it to reassure him that he’s clean.  A soft thud signals that you’d tossed the cloth elsewhere and then you’re climbing in right beside him, tugging soft covers up onto the both of you and snuggling close to him.  “You should sleep,” you tell him.  “The world will still be here when you wake up, okay?”

“In some state of chaos, I’m sure…” Wesker mumbles, pulling you closer with a heavy arm.  Lips press to his temple, then his cheek, then his lips which curl into a lazy grin.  Within seconds, he’s out like a light.

He always sleeps so well after you take care of him.

[trophyclown]

O Captain, My Captain! (Albert Wesker x gn!Reader)

18+ | 2100 words, dubcon, gunpoint blow job, sex fantasies, gender neutral reader, wesker being a little shit but somehow still a lil soft | Fic Directory

original request

You always were his favorite.  So smart and perceptive, sharp and witty.  Of course you would be the one to find him first.  It almost pained him to devastate you in such a way.  To see the way your face fell when those words left his mouth.

“I’ve always been with Umbrella.”

The way you whispered his title in disbelief when he pointed his gun at you was… perplexing.  He figured you’d have one of your usual wise-cracks to chuck at him.  Instead you–

“I trusted you, I–” You quiver, staring down the barrel that could spell your undoing in a mere flash. Your eyes dart back and forth between him and the tank containing the Tyrant.  “Please don’t kill me…” 

Beautiful, isn’t it?  Wesker thinks to himself.  He wonders what you must think of his good work.  What you must think of everything.  

Deep down, he doesn’t want to do this. In fact, it had been his plan to grab you before death could take you in some twisted form or another.  You were the only one he wasn’t keen to place in this experiment.  He fully intended to run off with you in his arms, play the hero, whisk you away to safety and maybe finally allow some of his affections free to make an attempt at something more.  You weren’t supposed to find him.

You’ve certainly dashed his plans.  So what now?  

“I’ll do anything!”

Of that, he’s certain.  Most people staring down the barrel of a gun would say the same.  Perhaps…

Now that’s a thought.

“Anything?”  He asks with a cock of his head.  “And just what could you do for me, my dear?”  The corner of his mouth twitches in a small smirk as the term of endearment hits you.  He saunters forward, handgun still trained on you.  Little do you know he’d clicked the safety on before raising it toward you to begin with.

It’s precious how you shiver under his gaze.  Like you know exactly what he’s thinking, or you’re at least partly aware of it.  

This situation has obviously ruined his plans to pursue you once the dust had settled.  Perhaps he should take what he can get now while he’s got the opportunity.  Sure there’s terror in your eyes, but he’s seen the way you looked at him before.  The glint in your gaze, the pining glances and shy smiles.  Wesker was no fool.

But he is an opportunist.

“I don’t kno–”

“Oh, but I think you do.” He purrs, pressing the muzzle under your chin to force you to look right into his eyes.  He glides his thumb across your lower lip, tongue peaking out to wet his own.  “Ah, ah… Don’t squirm.  You wouldn’t want my finger to slip, would you?”  It isn’t even on the trigger.  He smiles sweetly as you take a breath to still yourself.  “That’s it, sweetheart.  Very good.”

You’re adorable like this.  Eyes wide, lower lip quivering beneath the pad of his thumb.  Wesker leans forward until his lips are next to your ear.

“I want you on your knees, my dear.  Think of it like a new training exercise– just you and me.”  His breaths fan against the shell of your ear, words shocking your eyes even wider.  He can hear you gulp in anticipation before you start to descend.  “Show your Captain what you can do, hm?” The sight alone has him twitching in his pants.  He’d never admit to the overflowing excitement in watching you kneel before him, knowing full well he was about to have you in a way he’s only dreamt of.  God, the thoughts he’s had of you– the way he’s come apart at mere fantasies all because of you…

His breath stutters as you work him free from his pants, halting entirely when you grasp his cock and stroke.  He can feel the tremble in your grip, so he smooths his free hand through your hair to coax you to relax.  He nudges you forward gently. 

He knows you can’t see his eyes behind the lenses of his glasses, but he almost wishes you could.  If you could only see the exhilaration in his eyes coupled with the lack of genuine hostility, maybe you wouldn’t be so afraid of the gun in his right hand.  Maybe you’d know it was all for show to keep you from getting any bright ideas.  And fuck, he could’ve dropped the damned thing the second your tongue grazed the underside of his tip.  It’s been so long since he’s been touched by another; he never has the time to even consider it with his double-triple-agent life. It’s almost embarrassing how sensitive he is to the warm wetness of your tongue.

But he needs more.

His fingers curl in your hair to pull you nearer– his signal for you to open wide and take him. He releases a shuddering breath when your lips wrap around him, descending nice and slow.  The sensation of you sucking him is simply beyond words, completely and utterly tantalizing in the way it combines with the hot drag of your tongue.

A soft moan works past his lips when that pesky gag reflex of yours makes your throat clamp deliciously around him.  He doesn’t let you pull off.  He can’t drop the facade quite yet– can’t be too gentle lest you get any stupid ideas.

“Ah, ah… Hold it.”  He breathes, fingers gripping tighter in your hair, pushing your head down.  “That’s it, dear…”  For all of your sputtering below, you manage to resist the need to release him by the time he finally jerks you back.  

He gives you a minute to gasp desperately before pressing the gun to your temple. Your eyes flutter open as if you'd forgotten the lingering threat.  Your pupils are blown and the way you squirm is all too obvious.

He knew you'd like this. 

Somewhere, deep past that layer of fear, there was a part of you so aroused by this that you couldn’t help but let it affect you.  Maybe, with his cock down your throat, you realized that this was what you’d always wanted too.  That all those sweet little looks you’d hide when he’d turn your way weren’t for nothing.  That your lust for your Captain was coming to fruition in an unorthodox way that was still just as delicious as whatever sinful thoughts you’ve kept of him all this time.

“I'm impressed. But you can do better for me, can’t you?”  Wesker’s eyes roll when you dive back in of your own accord, suckling and swirling the tip in a way that screams more than mere survival instinct.  It takes no time at all for him to give in and start with slow thrusts into your mouth.  Paired with the way he controls the bobbing of your head makes it truly like heaven itself.  Wesker could damn well forget everything– where he was, all that had happened, even the Tyrant mere feet away meant nothing right now.  Your little gags and chokes around his shaft ring like music to his ears, drowning out the hum of machinery preserving his subject, echoing in his mind to wash away every scream he’s heard since this mission began.

There’s just this.

Just you and him.

“That’s– mmh, that’s it!”  Wesker’s breaths grow heavier by the second and he presses the muzzle harder to your temple, wordlessly demanding that you keep up with those wicked glides of your tongue, keep swallowing his cock, keep fucking taking him.

His mask begins to slip with every weakening moan that was never meant to make it past his lips until finally– fucking finally– he holsters that damned gun and grips your head with his other hand, hips rolling until that familiar tightening sensation grows and grows and your name chokes breathlessly from his lips.  With one last sharp thrust, Wesker buries himself to the base, hands pulling your face flush to his groin as he paints your throat with his release.  His thighs quake and he can just barely register your hands grasping to still him.

He tries so hard to be quiet and maintain that perfect decorum of his, but it’s useless to try.  Not when he’s balls deep in your mouth, not when he knows he’s claimed you from the inside out.  He’s thought of this too many times.  Of how he’d have loved to have you on your knees under his desk back in his office.  You’d suck him just as sweetly as you’ve done now, one hand stroking the base of his cock while the other smooths up and down his leg.  He’d let you get him close– so fucking close. He’d let you get him right on the brink of losing himself and then kick away in his swivel chair and fuck you senseless on the desk.  He wouldn’t even care if the rest of the team could hear the sweet sounds you sing for him.  He’d fill you over and over again until his come leaks from you.  He’d kneel down and eat you clean just so he could fill you all over again.

Every fantasy flashes in his mind as the throbbing bliss tapers away.  This absolutely cannot be the last time he has you.  

It won’t be.

Wesker pulls out slowly, staring down intently to watch every inch slip free.  His thumbs wipe away at your tear tracks before kneeling to your level.

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?”  He asks as if he hadn’t just put you in an impossible situation and made you think your only way out was to let him fuck your mouth.  He smiles at you, though, try as he might, he can’t quite manage that same wicked smirk he’d given you earlier.�� The facade has faded, and he’s back to the same old Captain Wesker who used to hide his smiles at your quips.  The same one who now feels the tiniest pang of guilt at how spooked and used you look.

There's one last thing he needs from this moment. He couldn't possibly let it pass him by knowing he may never have the chance again. And, if he's lucky, you'll understand every unspoken word. 

Wesker leans forward, hands cupping your face to bring you into a kiss that was far from the depravity he'd shown you mere moments ago. Your squeak of shock is swallowed by him, and it's the perfect opportunity to wiggle his tongue into your mouth and explore to his heart's content– pleased to no end when you reciprocate.

“You've always been,” he pants between wet pecks to your lips, “my favorite of the bunch.”  One of your arms loops around his neck, and that’s when it hits him.

Cold steel presses beneath his jaw and he smiles against you, proud beyond measure that you'd pulled one over on him so easily. 

“Still trust me?”  He asks.

“Should I?”  You counter, panting softly against him.  He can see the way doubt blends with belief.  You’re the picture perfect specimen of indecision and he would just love to see your reaction to this…

“Go on.  Pull.”  Wesker murmurs. “Trust your Captain.”

When you make not even so much as a twitch to flinch from what you’d expect to be an exceptionally loud mess, he grasps your hand, finger creeping over yours to direct it onto the trigger.

How peculiar that, much like he’d done, you hadn’t even put it on there.

You look at him with wide eyes for the hundredth time since you found him, suddenly looking much more terrified than when he’d first aimed it at you.

“Wesker, I–”

Click.

You flinch for nothing, and Wesker simply gives you a smug grin as he watches you realize you were never truly in danger.  You run through a variety of emotions.  Anger, betrayal, disbelief, acceptance… 

“What's wrong, my dear?”  Wesker purrs, taking your chin between his thumb and forefinger.  “You didn’t think I’d actually kill you, did you?”

The look on your face elicits a deep, amused chuckle. 

“Foolish.  I suppose you’ll need to be made to understand just how deep my appreciation for you goes, hm?”  With his free hand, he removes his gun from your grasp before pushing you slowly onto your back.  Your chest heaves in anticipation, though you lack that deer-in-the-headlights look from earlier.

Good.

Wesker removes his glasses, placing them on your head to rest against your hair.

“Remember,” he whispers, leaning down to nibble at the side of your neck. “Trust your Captain.”

[trophyclown]

Forgiveness (Albert Wesker x gn!Reader)

2.9k words | giving wesker his first injection, minor hurt/comfort, pining, mutual pining, fluff, part of the lover, leader, liar series | Fic Directory

'With Love - Albert Wesker'

The side effects of his newfound abilities come in waves.

For a time, Wesker was… himself, really.  Something in him had changed after the mansion.  Your former Captain was certainly still the stoic man you’d worked for.  The same one that wriggled his way into your heart in all those special ways. He was just a little more angry now.  Some days were worse than others, but god help you if he dwelled too long on Chris’s disruption of his plans.  It seemed like a lifetime ago…

But now you get to watch him seemingly deteriorate.  “Unstable,” he’d told you.  Whatever it was that granted him superhuman abilities wasn’t all that it was cracked up to be.  It comes in waves.  First he’s simply irritable, lashing out at you and others for even the smallest of perceived slights.  Sweat would bead at his brow, trickling over the bump of a vein in his temple.  Those red, cat-like eyes you’d come to find less uncanny would grow brighter too, as if his fury were fueled by hot coals that lit them just as easily.

Next he’s sluggish– weak, even.  He reminds you of someone stricken with the flu with the way he sweats and tosses and turns uncomfortably in his bed.  Only once has he ever let it slip that his body aches terribly during such times.  You do what you can for him in those moments, patting cool cloths to his brow, fetching medicine to relieve his fevers, bringing him meals that he typically turns away, and even drawing blood samples to be analyzed later… It’s difficult to watch him suffer, even after everything he’d done to you and your comrades. 

Between such spells, he found a solution.  An injection synthesized from the very strain of virus that brought him back from death’s door.  A stabilizing agent to keep him right in the sweet spot.  On the night everything was finalized, he’d staggered down the hallways of the compound to your shared living quarters, knocking at your bedroom door with shaking hands.  

You can see the pain of his wounded pride as he rasps his request.  “I require your assistance…” he all but mumbles, feet dragging as he walks to plop gracelessly onto the edge of your bed.  He runs a trembling hand through his hair and the other extends to offer a syringe, an alcohol wipe, and a pad of gauze.  His head drops into his palm.  

Your heart tugs at the sight before you.  Despite everything, it’s still him.  Still Wesker, still the man you’d grown so fond of in your time as a S.T.A.R.S. officer.  You reach for the syringe, taking a seat on his right side, thighs just shy of flush to each other.  Wesker extends his forearm to you and you ready it with the wipe.

“In a vein?” You ask, nodding to acknowledge his weak hum of approval.  It isn’t at all difficult to find a good one and you slip the needle in with ease.  With a gentle draw of the plunger, a trickle of blood floods the suspension and you inject slowly.  You thumb gently at his skin, an act meant to soothe him in his fragile state.  He watches with hooded eyes as the black flecks pushing through the tube disappear into the needle, breaths a little heavier than his normal decorum would permit.  A glance to his face reveals deep-set exhaustion.

“Captain?”  You announce, peeking into his office.  You find him hunched over a case file, sunglasses tossed aside on the desk.  

Wesker acknowledges you with that signature hum of his, though it carries none of its usual firmness.  You’ve never seen him so tired before.  Even the icy blue of his eyes seems dimmed.  He motions for you to enter and you close the door behind you.  “Blinds,” he instructs.

Once they’re shut, you make your way to his side.  Your eyes fall to the document at his desk, recognizing it as the most recent missing child case that had cast a sorrowful shadow over the city. Your lips quirk into a smile when he yawns, unable to find the display anything less than precious.  You bring a hand to rest at his shoulder, rubbing softly.

“It never ends.” He sighs.  Such an act was rarer than rare from him.  Anything less than perfect composure from the great Captain Wesker was unheard of, but not for you.  Not anymore.

“Can I do anything?”  You ask softly, increasing the area of your ministrations to his upper back, further testing those boundaries that seemed to be falling away more and more with every private interaction.  You swear he pushes into your touch.  

Wesker’s gaze flickers to you briefly, almost as if he was considering even asking whatever was on his mind.  “Coffee would not be unappreciated.”  

You smile at him, turning to fetch a cup from the break room when he snags you by the wrist.

“Bring… two.  And some of your own work.”  He murmurs.  “I could use the company to keep me awake.”

His head rests against your shoulder as you press a tiny piece of gauze to the puncture wound.  For a time you simply stay there, thumb caressing the firmness of his forearm in your lap.  You’re unsure of whether or not he’s watching, but you imagine he’s probably got his eyes shut.  At least you hope he does, anyway.  

You signal to him to lift his head and kneel to the ground, untying the laces of his dress shoes.  You hear him hum above, whether in curiosity or complaint is unclear, but you continue anyway.  “Probably best if you get some sleep.”  You tell him as you tug his shoes free.  He relents without any grief, stopping his descent to the bed only to place his sunglasses atop your nightstand and free himself of his black dress shirt, leaving him in a black tank top.

He regards you with another hum as you stand, arms wrapping around your waist.  Your hand falls to his hair, gently pushing strands back in their perfectly styled place while he buries his face against your abdomen.

“You don’t have to do this, you know.”

Leaves crunch under Wesker’s determined footsteps.  You two must have been walking for an hour now with no sight of, well, anything really.  The Arklay Mountains are huge but not overly populated.  It would take a while before you found a home with a vehicle to ‘borrow.’ 

His arms beneath your knees only tighten, signaling to you that your piggyback ride was far from over.

“C’mon, lay down.” You murmur, fingers scritching at his nape, occasionally trailing down to dance over the curve of his back.

He’s never slept in your bed before.  It’s strange to have him here, but you wager it’s no different than that night you’d fallen asleep on the couch with him.  Still, you feel no apprehension about crawling in on the other side.

Wesker turns to face you and you scoot the littlest bit closer, just until your knees bump his.  You can’t help but smile at him.  After everything, he still has that effect on you.  “So,” you say, “do you feel any different?”

He answers you with a slight nod, looking away briefly as if to contemplate his answer.  He holds his hand in the air for a moment.  You lift yours to entwine your fingers with his.

“That was to show you that the shaking had settled.” He says, pulling your hand closer.  His lips press to your knuckles and you can feel the burn in your cheeks at such a gesture.  “But this is not unwelcome.”

He’s never done that before.  In fact, for all of the times you’ve both danced near the line of such acts, neither of you has ever crossed it.

Wesker holds a hand over your mouth, pressing you into the peeling wallpaper of whatever dark room he’d tugged you into.  He removes it only once he’s sure you won’t make a peep, hand falling to grip your shoulder.  Outside, the sound of snarling growls and the rattle of chains war with one another.  The shriek of a girl, nearly inhuman, follows every loud thud until whatever monstrous beast opposes her becomes little more than fleshy splats.

Your heart hammers in your chest as if it meant to break free.  You wish you’d never set foot in this cursed place.  Had you known such horrors existed in this mansion, you’d have never stayed in Raccoon City to begin with.  To know something like this was in the mountains…  

You want to cry.  The only thing keeping you from giving up entirely was your Captain.  He’s pressed so close to you, practically nose to nose.  His eyes are locked on the doorway, completely focused on the sound of whatever creature slaughtered her way through the hallway.  As petrified as you are, he somehow makes it all less frightening.  His presence has always made you feel protected, whether at scenes of heinous crimes or in a mansion from hell.

“We’re clear.” 

His whispered words ghost over your lips.  Despite all of the fear coursing through your veins, you still find it in yourself to imagine bridging the gap.  But now is neither the time or place

You wonder if you’ll live long enough to see such a moment…

You two stay like that for a while, shifting only to come closer.  He watches you with those inhuman eyes of his, though you can’t help but grin when you see how wide his pupils have gotten.  That was one thing in particular you’d found quite enjoyable about his ocular mutation.  Though perfectly composed in every way, he couldn’t stop his eyes from dilating and giving away how he truly felt.  Well, unless he had his glasses on.  But that was different.

As your mind wanders back to the most traumatic night of your life, you can’t help but settle on that one question that had never quite been answered.  It slips from your lips faster than you can stop it.

“Why did you save me?”

Wesker’s eyes shut and a small sigh escapes him. You briefly wonder if he’s frustrated with you having asked.  After all, the small handful of times you’ve brought it up had been brushed off or the subject changed entirely.  His hand leaves yours and for a split second you think he’s going to throw the covers off, grab his clothes, and leave.  But he doesn’t.  Instead, he takes your chin between his thumb and forefinger, eyes unfocused but still somehow locked on you.  

“I meant to fire you,” he murmurs, voice low as if the confession were a sin.  “Before the mansion.  Before any harm could befall you.”  His thumb catches your lower lip.  “I…  You weren’t meant to be there.”

But that only leaves you with more questions.

“Do you remember the first time you ever brought lunch to my office?”  

You nod, though you fear he must be changing the subject again.

Knocking makes you exceptionally nervous, though not for the same reasons the rest of the crew feel.  Normally knocking on Captain Wesker’s door means you’re in trouble, but you’re far from it.

He looks almost surprised when you enter with cups of coffee and a bag of sandwiches.  Rumor was that he enjoys the ones from a shop a few blocks over.  Gossip was all the S.T.A.R.S. teams had to occupy themselves sometimes, and seeing the elusive Captain in public was akin to seeing a shaved bear.  The grapevine quickly spread the word that Captain Wesker had stayed overnight at the precinct on two separate occasions this week alone, so you figured you’d do something kind.

He seems almost taken aback that you would do such a thing.

“I had to uh… guess what you might like.  I hope this is okay.” 

Your fingers brush against his as you hand off the wrapped food.  This, as usual, makes your cheeks burn.  For as often as such a thing happens, you’ve never really gotten better at keeping that particular reaction at bay.  In fact, you almost suspect he does it on purpose.  Ever since the first time it happened when you’d handed him a heavy stack of paper, it seemed like every time you gave him something resulted in the same graze of skin.

“I appreciate you.” He says, which sends a wave of warmth right to your chest.  Wesker’s always had such a unique way of thanking you.  Not once have you heard him utter those words to another.

“You seldom left my mind after that.”  That edge to his voice is nowhere to be found in the softness of his confession.  “Even when you should have.”

You chuckle through a wave of emotion that you can’t quite name.  Your hand grips gently at his forearm, thumb rubbing softly just beneath the band of his watch.

“I had planned to find you afterward, though I imagine you would not have been pleased to see me.”  He continues, eyes still locked on you despite how distant they seemed. “Earning your trust back would have been difficult, but I would have done anything.”

“Really?”

“Yes.” He confirms, grip growing a little more firm on your chin.  “You mean a great deal to me.  Far more than I ever imagined you would.”

How you wish you could’ve heard those very words back then.  Maybe instead of being hunkered down in some random facility owned by one of Umbrella’s rivals, you would be walking beside him in the park while he tells you all that you’ve longed to hear.  Or maybe you would have been out at some restaurant, or even having dinner at either your place or his.  But no.  Here he is coming down from one of his episodes, courtesy of whatever virus had brought him back from death’s door, confirming that he feels the same for you.

It’s not at all how you imagined it.  You used to lie awake at night picturing the moment one of you confessed and something more than longing gazes and tender touches could finally come to be.  Your heart doesn’t explode and fill your chest with confetti.  Your knees don’t wobble– not that they could, given that you were laying down.  It’s nothing like you imagined, but it’s so much more.

With bravery and joy in your heart, you finally lean forward and press your lips to his.  There’s none of the fanfare or romantic music you used to daydream of, just the occasional sighed breath from him and the gentle pecking of kiss after kiss.  It feels so natural.  It’s as if you’d done this a thousand times without having ever known it.  It’s slow and soft, precise in a way that could only make sense for him.  

The fingers gripping your chin leave.  Instead, Wesker moves his arm to wrap around your midsection and pulls you closer.  Between the intoxication of kisses and your hand smoothing up to his bicep, your mind becomes foggy.  It’s only when he breaks the act that you realize you’d foregone breathing in exchange for losing yourself in him.

You tangle a leg between his and nuzzle against his chest, pressing one more kiss to the exposed skin of his collarbone before letting your eyes flutter shut.  You feel his chin come down to rest against the top of your head and the arm around your waist tightens.

You thumb gently at the bent corners of the card.  On the night before Alpha Team deployed to the mountains, you decided it would be your good luck charm to get you through the mission.  You weren’t entirely sure if it had brought you any luck, but those words meant so very much to you.

‘With Love  - Albert Wesker’

He’s at the other side of the room, picking through a shelf of medical supplies while you sit on a makeshift bed.  You’re so lost in thought that you hardly notice when he’s in front of you again. He kneels before you, thumb slowly rubbing a sticky gel across the cut on your cheek.

“You’ll want to get that cleaned properly once we’re out of here,” he instructs.  “But this will be good enough for now.”

You huff a weak laugh.  “Think we’ll actually make it that long?”

“We will.”  Wesker says matter-of-factly.  He begins to rise, nearly turning from you once more before he halts.  In a rare act, he slowly removes his sunglasses.  It’s then that you see his line of sight.

The card.

“I– Call it dumb, but I brought it for luck.”  You stammer.  “Sorry…”

His hand falls to your shoulder, giving a gentle squeeze.  There’s a pained look in his eyes, one you’ve never seen before.  “You and I have got plenty of a future beyond these walls.”  

You pray he’s right.

[trophyclown]

Stress Relief [And Love] (Albert Wesker x m!Reader)

18+ | ambiguous anatomy reader, masc terminology reader [femme terms here], smut, light degradation, aftercare | Fic Directory

Your face presses into the glass, breath fogging it to obscure the delicate, world-changing organisms inside.

He’d come to see you again.  A checkup on your progress, he’d said– his usual excuse.

Most often, he came down here for you.  You, his prized possession and the apple of his eye, were the real treasure within the cramped laboratory.  Though the flowers you’d raised and spliced were the fuel powering his dream, he’d long since told you how ridiculous he found the field of botany.  Beyond his tastes and especially his interests.  But he was interested in you.

He needed you.

More than you knew, actually. For the longest time, you thought it odd that his visits kept growing in frequency– that is, until the first day he’d stripped a glove from his hand and caressed your cheek with his fingertips, eyes shining brighter beneath those signature dark shades of his.  You’d never really considered your feelings for him prior– attractive as he is– but you practically turned to jell-o that day.

“My little flower boy.” He murmured, tilting your chin up for the softest, sweetest kiss you’d ever had.  Just like that, you were his.

Just like you are now.  

He drives into you from behind, hips snapping sharp and fast.  A long day, he’d told you.  Albert Wesker was typically a generous lover.  Exceptional dates, thoughtful gifts, and a laser-like focus on ensuring your comfort and happiness– but especially your pleasure.

Today he takes for himself, and you’re all too happy to oblige.

He’s got your lower half stripped bare, perfect for him to take in the sight and tease you as he pleases.  Nails biting at your hips, a palm striking your ass, fingers slinking around your waist to tease you mercilessly.  His hands are everywhere all at once, clouding your mind, and his face is buried in the curve of your neck where he kisses and nips and bites to his heart’s content.

“Look at you,” he growls.  “Your legs are quaking.  Pathetic.”

You mewl for him, nodding.  You’re almost positive his iron grip around your waist is the only thing keeping you from hitting the floor.  He takes a step closer, pinning his body to yours and pushing you further against the warmth of the flower tank.

Wesker grinds into you while a hand snakes up to grip in your hair, tugging your head back just enough for his lips to meet your ear. “My sweet little flower boy,” he coos, hips pushing circles against you.  You nod.

You are his.

He uses you for at least an hour, coming deep inside of you, eating you clean, pushing you to your knees to get him ready once more, then fucking you all over again.  By the time his seemingly awful day is worked out of his system, you’re a worn out mess on legs far too wobbly to stand.

Which is how you end up in his arms, engulfed in a warm bubble bath.  You had no idea that he lived in the facility, let alone had such an extravagant bathroom.  It makes you envious for all the times you ever had to rinse off in the cramped little emergency shower in the lab after an unfortunate specimen exposure.

He’s so gentle with you, even going as far as to nudge your head back to rest against his chest when you try to fuss over him.

“Allow me to at least be a gentleman now,” Wesker murmurs as he moves a washcloth in circles over your bite mark ridden shoulders.  He’d traced every bruise and mark he left on your body with featherlight touches, each stutter a silent apology and declaration of his own disdain for how he’d handled you.  It was endearing to know how much he truly cared under that cold exterior he always seemed to have.

You give him a gentle, humming laugh.  There was no doubt in your mind that he’d take care of you afterward.  He always did.

“Rest, my dear.”  He coos, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head. Not that you were trying to fight it, but you did like to drag out your moments together.  “I’ll be here when you wake.”

And that’s exactly why…

“D’you promise?”  

Wesker was always on the go, always busy, always something to take care of that left you waiting and missing him terribly.  Such a statement was incredibly uncommon.

“I promise,” he says, smile audible in his voice.

Your eyes flutter shut, mind at ease knowing he’ll be the first thing you see when you wake.

[trophyclown]

When you’re reading a fic that says it’s gender neutral but then “You wore a short skirt and tied up your hair”