No thought only horni

Red | 22+ | Minor, interact with your own risk🫵 | Do not repost anywhere | She/her | 01/13 | Dilf Hunter

[bonknigirlinthehood]

[Commission Open]

Hello! I've been thinking about finally opening a commission on Tumblr. So here we go!

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[oatsa-the-humanoid]

Finally finished. Albert comforting his sweet clone.

(Yes, this man wears his glasses to bed)

[oatsa-the-humanoid]

Finally finished. Albert comforting his sweet clone.

(Yes, this man wears his glasses to bed)

[saucyy-salamander]

A sequel to the last comic :>

[arklaysevangeline]

decisions, decisions

[prctctype]

Zeno aging out of his “puppy” phase and looking identical to RE5 Wesker (only albino) would definitely wreck him if he hasn’t been able to accept himself as his own person vs just a broken copy.

I definitely see him just confusing the HECK out of everyone that knew his father, like Chris, because you’d expect him to be this evil genius mastermind and he’s just quiet, shy, and a diva about clothes.

……So basically his father if Albert hadn’t succumbed to progenitor and ouriborus madness.

[shesmycollaarr]

Darling, won't you just plead? (Albert Wesker x f!Reader)

Tags: No Use of Y/N for Reader-Insert; AFAB Reader-Insert; Extremely Dubious Consent; Non-Consensual Drug Use; Drug-Induced Sex; Masturbation; Sexual Overstimulation; Multiple Orgasms; POV Alternating; Dacryphilia; Light Sadism; Older Man/Younger Woman; Unhealthy Relationships; Manipulation; Breeding Kink; Dominant Albert Wesker; Possessive Albert Wesker; Blow Jobs; Deepthroating; Dirty Talk; Slut Shaming; Verbal Degradation; Pussy Spanking; Control Issues; Rough Sex; Multiple Sex Positions; Choking Kink; Creampie; Aftercare

Word Count: 3,716

Summary: When Albert leaves you alone again and you get horny, you try to take care of it on your own in his absence. You're probably ovulating, that's why you're so insatiable. But with every orgasm that you give yourself you only crave more. What you really need is Albert. Lucky you that he's happy to provide.

Also on Ao3: Here

a/n: Title from God Complex by VIOLENT VIRA. // btw I love her music so much, check out all of her songs if you haven't already, she's amazing <3

Entirely self indulgent. My biggest fantasy, right here for you all to read 🫣 ik ik this is tame to REAL freaks, leave me alone. But like, I cannot emphasise enough how bad my breeding kink is. Every time I think about ✨️scenarios✨️, they all end the same way. Ffs I cant even watch porn where the guy doesnt come inside without thinking "what a waste of a good creampie" IT'S A PROBLEM. Especially for someone who doesn't actually want the result of a creampie 😭 ironic, isn't it.

You've lost count of how many times you've made yourself come or how long you've been at it. You just know that you keep going, the tension keeps building, you keep crashing against the shores, and yet the relief you're seeking does not wash over you and drag you down into relaxation and lethargy. You just get more frustrated with every orgasm that doesn't bring you relief.

Your wrist aches, your fingers cramping from the awkward hold on your toys – you've pulled all of them out and tried them on one by one in the hopes that finding the right one will finally give you what you need – and your cunt is sensitive from all the stimulation it's gotten, from your hole to your clit, but you still feel like you need more.

You need Albert.

Just the thought of him has your clit throbbing and your pussy tightening around the dildo in your hole. You need him so badly you think you'll die if you don't get even a glimpse of him soon. Just his scent would probably be enough to tip you over the edge now, even a brush of his fingers across your skin would quell the fire in your belly or at least smother it for a while. You whine and sob in frustration when you can feel another orgasm building because you already know it's not enough. It's not Albert's cock in your pussy and so this pleasure is meaningless.

He finally walks through the door right when you come for the thousandth time, shedding his holsters at the entrance, leaving his gun on the living room table, and walking slowly towards the bedroom whose door is wide open. He could hear your frustrated panting and frantic heartbeat before he even unlocked the front door, and now that he's standing in the doorway, he can smell you in all your glory. The room reeks of sex and sweat, but he can smell even more: your frustration and the need to be bred. He didn't think the injection he gave you would work quite so well and so fast, otherwise he would have been here for the moment it set in. Now he'll have to rely on your biased account to get the notes he needs, hmm. Vexing.

For a moment, Albert just stands in the doorway and observes you. You're unaware of his presence, that much is obvious, coming down from a painful orgasm that offered no relief yet still continuing to pump a dildo in and out of your abused hole. Your cunt is raw, visibly so, and there are tears ruining your pretty face as your chest heaves from adrenaline and the sad, little sobs that escape you both.

In short, you're a mess.

Albert's lips quirk up at the sight and he takes a deep breath, savouring your ripe scent, then finally steps inside with deliberate, loud footsteps. Your head snaps in his direction at once and the way you just drop everything in favour of clambering to your knees and crawling towards the end of the bed towards him, sweaty and tear-stricken, babbling his name like that's the only thing you're capable of saying anymore, makes Albert feel very powerful indeed. Just one shot of his little experiment and you've been reduced to nothing but a cock-hungry, empty-headed, little slut.

It was only a couple of days ago that you were giving him lip and talking about parting ways and flying solo because, in your words, he left you alone for weeks at a time anyway, so what did it matter if you went off on your own? A stupid question – of course it mattered. Here, you are his. Here, you are safe. Here, he can keep an eye on you even from afar and make sure you're exactly where you're supposed to be. Out there, however… Anything can happen. Well, you wanted his attention – you've certainly got it now. Maybe a round belly and a baby on your hip in about nine months or so will keep you busy enough to not feel lonely while he builds a new world for you.

“Hello, darling,” he murmurs when he comes to a stop in front of you. He cups your cheek, feeling the heat radiating from it and determining that while it's elevated, it doesn't put your health at risk, and allows your desperate little hands on his thighs as you hold yourself up against him.

“Albert,” you whine, dumb and pathetic and exactly how he likes it, and blink up at him with wide eyes whose lashes are weighed down by big, fat tears he wants to bottle and sip on whenever he needs a taste of you. You're so beautiful when you cry, when you're upset, when you're so miserable and achy and the only thing that could possibly make you feel better is him.

“Yes? What do you need?”

He already knows, but he wants to hear you say it. You always said, ‘later,’ when asked about children – first you were too young, then you wanted to live a little, then you just weren't ready, now it's because you don't think it's the right time to bring a child into the world. If not now, then when? When you're fifty and he's too old? No, that won't do. Albert knows you want kids, he can see the longing every time you encounter one in public or watch something on TV. He knows you're just being stubborn and delaying things out of fear – as if he would ever let anything happen to you or the babe, as if he would abandon you and leave you to raise them on your own. Silly girl.

So he wants to hear you say it. Wants you to beg him to breed you, to put a baby in your belly the way you've been craving for years. Even if it's the injection talking, it's still your pretty mouth forming the words and putting them out in the world. You'll remember that you asked for it when your head clears.

“Need you,” you murmur weakly, grasping at him and begging for him with your eyes.

“I'm right here, beloved. You have me.”

“Not… Not like that.” Your brow furrows with frustration – with him for making you say it or with yourself for being so inarticulate? He knows how much you pride yourself on being eloquent so this must be a hit to your ego to see yourself reduced to a babbling mess, but Albert loves it. He's loved conquering you one aspect at a time and taking over all that you are from the moment he met you – an outspoken receptionist, working at the RPD to raise money for a few years to put herself through school. His senses honed in on you that first day he saw you and he knew he had to have you, no matter what. And have you he does, but even now you still have this silly notion that you're not completely, wholeheartedly, irrevocably his. That you didn't willingly give yourself up when you accepted to go on a date with him, when you let him take your virginity, when you found out about his involvement with Umbrella all on your own and stayed, when you followed him after July ‘98 and never looked back.

Albert conquered you, yes, but you didn't put up much of a fight either.

“Then how?” he goads, tone sweet and gentle like honey, while his fingers trace over your sweaty face before loosely wrapping around your throat, right beneath your jaw. He doesn't need to squeeze for your breath to hitch and your pulse to jackrabbit in your throat.

“Need you… to fuck me,” you force out, eyes glassy as they stare up at him beseechingly.

“Just fuck you, dear heart?”

You shake your head, as much as you can with his hand keeping a hold of you so firmly, and it seems like your need outweighs your shame or shyness, as needless as those things are between the two of you, especially in this room and this bed. Any modesty has long since lost its place in your relationship, not after all the things he's done to you – and you to him, frankly. He wouldn't have let anyone else even think about pegging him, after all, and not because he thought he wouldn't enjoy it. There is something about you – always has been – that makes Albert act out of character and crave things he would've normally not even deigned to acknowledge.

“Want you to…”

“Yes?”

He leans down, his face hovering above yours, breath fanning across your face, and he sees the way you clench your thighs as your nostrils flare. It makes him smirk – what he gave you is working exactly as planned.

“To put a baby in me,” you finish in a whisper as you finally give in and verbalise your need.

Albert straightens up with a victorious grin, ignoring your aborted whine at losing his proximity so abruptly, and slides a hand to the back of your head so he can grip you tightly and pull your face forward. He shoves it against his crotch – hard, eager, his underwear already ruined from his leaking tip – and clicks his tongue meaningfully.

“Suck me off, dear. After all, you have been preparing yourself for me for hours. I deserve the same treatment, don't I?”

Clumsily, you open Albert's fly and tug his pants down his thighs, then pull his cock out of his boxers and take him into your mouth. He groans at the feeling of your hand around his base and your warm, wet mouth enveloping his head and sucking. You swirl your tongue and flatten it against the frenulum, letting your saliva escape your mouth and run down his shaft so you can use it to ease the slide as you pump the rest of his cock. His hand, at first, just holds your head while he looks down at you, pretty on your knees as you suck his cock, but like with everything he does, Albert takes over and guides you how he wants you instead.

“Yes, just like this,” he groans, pushing you farther down his shaft until your lips are flush with his pubes and his cock is resting nicely down your throat. The feeling of those velvety walls constricting around his cock while you do your best to breathe through your nose makes Albert want to shoot down your throat and leave you to suffer without him just a little longer. But he does want to knock you up, unfortunately, so he pulls himself away from you, out of your mouth entirely, and wrenches your head back so he can get a good look at your face. Drool is leaking out of your mouth and down your chin, your eyes bloodshot from your tears, and when he grips his cock at the base you already know what he wants from you as you stick your tongue out as far as it'll go. He slaps his cock on your tongue several times, watching you greedily and loving every second of how depraved you look.

You were so innocent when he set his eyes on you for the first time. Now look at you.

When you look up at him with that needy, dumb look on your face again, he knows he can't wait any longer.

He pulls his clothes off of him in a hurry then manhandles you until you're on your back. He drags you towards him by your ankles, making you gasp in surprise, then spreads your legs wide and looks down at your pussy. It's raw and very obviously sensitive, your hole loose after all the action it's seen courtesy of your toys, but when Albert slaps his cock down on your overstimulated clit, you moan like a whore and push your cunt up towards him in a silent plea to be filled.

“Is this what you want?” he asks because he can't help himself. He likes drawing out your suffering and seeing you get even more worked up. “Big, fat cock in your pussy? Answer me, you little whore.”

You flinch and gasp at the slap Albert delivers to your pussy, moaning when the impact stimulates your clit, and nod frantically to avoid another slap for not being fast enough to answer.

“Yes, I– Yes, Albert! Please,” you beg, your hands fisting the bedsheets tightly while you look up at him with desperation written in every line of your face. You look gorgeous and exquisite – how could you want to take yourself away from him now, all because he left you alone a few times lately? No, you're not going anywhere. Your place is here, in this house, in this bedroom, in his bed – on your back, legs spread, waiting for him to put another one in you and keep you busy. That's what you need; not freedom. Freedom gets you caught by the authorities or killed by his enemies or defiled by some inferior simpleton who thinks he could ever satisfy you the way Albert has been for the past eight years. He knows better. He always has.

“Please what?”

“Please breed me!”

Satisfied, Albert finally starts pushing inside. There is no resistance when the head of his cock pops past your entrance, not until he's about halfway inside – he's never had you quite this loose and used for the first fuck before but it's doing something wonderful to his system. If he didn't know how possessive and territorial he is, he might consider letting someone fuck you loose before he takes over just to feel another's cum squelching in your used cunt – alas, no one even deserves to see you like this, let alone use you for their pleasure. Only Albert.

You're moaning loudly and sobbing with relief by the time he bottoms out. His balls flush against your ass, your cunt milking him like crazy as you orgasm just from being filled, Albert watches, fascinated, as your entire body sags into the mattress and visibly loosens up for the first time since the injection's effects started taking over, probably. Just his cock is enough to make you come, how cute.

He doesn't give you time to get your bearings or enjoy the relief. He pulls halfway out then slams back in, setting the tone for how he's going to fuck you – rough, fast, deep. He wants you to feel it tomorrow, to remember just who, exactly, fucks you so well and makes you come so hard.

No distinguishable words leave your lips after that, just moans and broken pleas for more. Your tits bounce with every slam of his cock into you and he orders you to squeeze them and hold them while he fucks you – you obey without pausing for a second to think the order over.

“You look so good like this, darling,” Albert comments, grunting every time he bottoms out and hits your cervix. Your pussy squeezes him just right while the sounds of skin slapping against skin echo in the bedroom – filthy, indecent, unmistakably erotic. It's primal and guided only by two things: your need to be filled and his need to own you. “On your back, taking my cock, begging for my seed. Why do you want to leave me, hmm?”

He doubts you could answer right now even if the serum weren't coursing through your system just from how hard he's fucking you, but when you don't say anything, he bends over your body and grabs you by the throat. He squeezes – not enough to damage anything because he knows exactly just how hard and where to squeeze, but hard enough to make you choke and spasm under him. Your cunt tightens around his cock in response and fuck, he wishes he could safely keep you like this until he's done – gasping for air and gripping him like a vise.

“Do you really think I'll ever let you walk away from me?” Albert hisses close to your face, fucking you hard and deep and knocking the breath out of your struggling lungs while his hand just keeps squeezing. You'll have a nice set of bruises in a short while shaped like his fingers. “This is what you're good for, darling. I don't need you for your brain or even your beautiful face. Just your body. These tight little holes made just for me, perfect for my cock, mine to use however I want. And your womb, of course. It's been empty long enough. Trust that it won't stay that way for long from now on.”

Albert finally releases you with those parting words. You cough and wheeze as you let air back into your lungs while he flips you on your belly and slides back into your pussy without a care. He holds you up by the hips, lifting your body at an angle to meet his pelvis, and he laughs as he watches you frantically try to keep yourself up before you just give up and smush your face in the mattress while he uses you.

He barely notices when you come again. You're too tired to do more than whimper, your thighs barely twitching, but he does feel your cunt growing slicker while his cock is pounding into you.

When he grows bored of holding you up, Albert lets your body fall back to the mattress, tugs you further down to the edge of the bed, and shoves himself back into you, this time pinning your body down as he fucks you even harder. Your moans come out in a broken staccato caused by his brutal pounding and your legs flail weakly behind you, but Albert doesn't pay it any mind. You've really pissed him off with this nonsense talk of leaving and he doesn't care if he's being too rough. You can take it and you will.

He would never break you – you're much too precious and important for him to risk you like that. But you can take a rough pounding for his sake every once in a while, even if it'll leave you bedridden for a few days while your lower half recuperates. You've done it before.

You're drooling on the bedsheets with an exhausted, blissed out look in your eyes when Albert checks on you a couple minutes later. He smirks in satisfaction and renews his efforts, absolutely ruining your cunt with every thrust. When he feels his orgasm approaching, he flips you again and puts you in a mating press, making you whimper at the stretch of your sore muscles, then slides into you as deeply as humanly possible and makes sure to come right against your cervix when he lets go. Your eyes roll into the back of your skull as you're filled to the brim with cum, coming again so hard that you just pass out for a few seconds, while Albert feels like Christmas has come early as he watches his seed leak out the sides of his cock because there's too much for your poor pussy to contain.

He fucks it into you for a bit, enjoying your whining caused by the oversensitivity of your raw cunt, then finally pulls out with a satisfied groan and stares at your wonderful pussy struggling to close back up and prevent his load from escaping.

“Good job, beloved,” he praises genuinely. He's so happy with you, so proud. You've always been so good to him and he's finally giving you what you want – what does it matter that he had to use underhanded methods to get you here?

“Mhm,” you moan, licking your dry lips with an absent but euphoric smile, and close your legs now that your purpose for the night has been fulfilled. He'll keep breeding you, of course, but in a few days when you're not so sensitive anymore.

Albert wipes your sweaty face with a gentle hand, pleased to see your fever already going down now that your body has been given what it craved – specifically his cum – and hoists you into his arms so he can take you to the bathroom and clean you up. A nice, warm bath is in order to loosen your muscles and soothe your aches.

He gets in the tub with you when the water has filled it enough, holding you up so you won't drown yourself by accident but also holding you just because. Your touch is the only one he welcomes, the only one he craves. You drive him insane just with your scent or a smile or a look. That's how he knew he had to have you that day at the RPD when you introduced yourself with a smile and told him you were ‘at his service, whatever he needed’. You've been invading his thoughts and heart since that day. How could you ever think that you can just walk away from this? How could you ever think he doesn't care?

He leaves you alone because the places he goes to are not fit for a girl like you. His work is dirty and dangerous – it would either turn your stomach or make you too much like him. He doesn't want that. He wants you exactly like this: the perfect balance of nice, kind, good, innocent, and absolutely depraved when he pushes your buttons just right.

“You're mine, beloved. And soon, my seed will sprout in your belly and drive the point home once and for all,” he whispers against your temple, knowing that his words aren't really registering with how floaty you are right now, and lays a hand right over your womb as his lips brush softly against your hairline.

You'll forgive him when you figure out what he did when he gave you what you thought was your annual ‘flu shot’ in a few days. It's not like you don't know what a controlling bastard with no concept of boundaries you followed into the abyss. And if you don't… Another dose and a proper breeding session should fix that quickly. He's giving you what you want, after all – his attention, his love, and his child. Forgiveness is inevitable. Just like your upcoming pregnancy.

[bonesmarinated]

🚬🚬🚬🚬🚬

[lizzart-zardonicz]

He's just an imitation after all.

[shesmycollaarr]

Putting this out to the world to see💃🏻💃🏻

I'll upload it to my own acc later, I'm too lazy currently lmao. Also I want to draw Wesker next since I don't like how I drew him here (I NEED TO DRAW HIM OLDER FML), but I need help with ideas on what kind of things I should draw for grandpa Wesker

I hope Tumblr didn't butcher the quality so this can be zoomed in(??)

Anyw tell me what ur thoughts guys🫪(not me using someone else's blog to ask for feedback)

YO HELLO THIS IS SO GOOD???? Only talented bitches following me, iktr 💅

I love this sm omg I love that she got Wesker's eyes 🤣 bet that irks Zeno lmao I do feel bad for him tho :( Z, let grandpa Al see his baby girl 😾

Also Zeno with a tiny little girl clinging to his pants leg OHMYLAWD GIVE ME STRENGTH 😩😩😩😩 dad girl Zeno 4eva 🫶

[baidao]

💚✨HARLEQUIN✨💚

💚✨HAPPY BIRTHDAY✨💚

[duskanddoom]

bro i rlly wanna share 🚬 with him...

I miss u Zeno, pls come home 💔🥺

[shesmycollaarr]

I would love to know your personal headcanons on Zeno or Wesker like YOUR genuine HC's. I think it'd be pretty fun!! I was gonna request something but I'm not the most specific 😓

I was gonna say (husband) S.T.A.R.S. Wesker x wife reader smut because I feel like there isn't enough S.T.A.R.S Wesker fanfics at all and I like the idea of him just being normal/domestic and not causing mass destruction and global genocide to the world :3

Omg hi love!! I'll try not to forget about your request and actually write it too, but i wanted to answer the ask so I can give you my headcanons <3 I don't have many because if I have a fleshed out character I tend to keep them consistent in my head and try not to deviate too much (obviously only applies to Wesker cause Zeno atp is just 10 headcanons in a trenchcost) but I've got a few!

Put under Read More cause this got long fast

For Wesker:

☆ I have this hc that wherever he grew up (usually i go for the term boys' home bc i genuinely dont know what type of establishment would be in charge of orphans in the 1960s in the US and boarding schools make sense after he's grown up a bit, not when he's like. 5 years old. But I could be mistaken), he grew up kinda poor and neglected. Spencer's meddling or not, I can see corruption and neglect running rampant and the mentality of "as long as the kids are fed, clothed, and alive, who cares?" being prevalent during Wesker's childhood. He had enough to survive but he had to make do and he never had luxuries like frequent sweets or new clothes. Maybe as he grew up, things got better/he saved money to get higher quality stuff, but maybe not until Umbrella hired him and he got his first paycheck.

☆ For this reason, I think he might have a secret sweet tooth because he rarely got sweets as a kid. It's also why he has such a fancy fashion taste after re1: he grew up having to mend his own clothes and shoes, wearing everything until it became unsalvageable. Now he can afford high quality stuff that looks good and reflects his fashion sense.

Which, btw, changes over the years as he tries to find something that feels like him. That's why he goes from a black turtleneck with a long, sensible coat in umbrella chronicles to slacks and a shirt open at the collar in re4r to the black leather ensemble from re5. He wasn't allowed to express himself as a child/teenager through his wardrobe so he's finding himself now as an adult 🫶

☆ I'm stealing this from people smarter than me who've come up with it first but I really like the hc that Wesker has light sensitivity/migraine problems and that's why he wears the black sunglasses all the way back to re1 and rarely takes them off. I know a lot of, if not most, blue eyed people have an issue with strong light/sunlight anyway so it would make sense pre-Birkin's prototype but I like to think that even after it, the sensitivity stayed. In the same vein, post re1, he sees near perfectly in the dark and his eyes do that glinting thing cat's eyes do when the light hits them just right 🥰

☆ On the topic of body quirks: his body temperature is elevated bc of all the viruses in his body AND his senses are heightened, not just his strength and speed. He can smell better, hear better, touch is felt more keenly which would also tie neatly into why he wears gloves all the time.

It could also be that he simply doesn't like other people touching him all willy nilly and he likes the control of choosing when anything touches his skin, be it person, substance or anything in between.

☆ He likes popular music. He's not a classical music snob, although he appreciates the genre and maybe can even play an instrument or two because of the fancy schools he was sent to (perhaps piano. Cliché, I know). He enjoys things like Radiohead, David Bowie, Nirvana, Depeche Mode, The Cure, Fleetwood Mac. He won't ever admit it but sometimes you might catch him bobbing his head to something like pop songs from the radio if they're playing in his vicinity - what? They're catchy! (He has 100% sung along to Britney Spears while alone in his office or lab. That strut in re5 goes too well to her songs)

☆ His favourite book is Frankenstein by Mary Shelley and he 100% sees himself in the monster. He relates hard and has a particular derision for Victor for creating something miraculous but being too scared of his own creation and running away from it like a coward.

I'm going to have to stop here because honestly I love this man so much I could write about him for days. Most of these I came up with right now on the spot but they make so much sense and I know I could come up with a hundred more 😩

For Zeno:

☆ He didn't grow up naturally. Idk if this is because of my Star Wars and DC roots but in those universes, the cloning process can have accelerated growth and often does, so while I may not know how cloning works in RE and what other precedents there are for it, I hc that he grew up very rapidly. He's a bit fucked up bc of that, having missed out on a lot of developmental things that normal children experience, which wasnt helped by being raised in a lab. Things like never having junk food or sweets that aren't fruit, not knowing what chocolate tastes like, never feeling the rain on his skin and jumping in puddles just because - he experiences some of these things once he's released into the world, but some are denied to him forever.

☆ He doesn't have Wesker's memories. Idk why that's so popular and while I don't hate it, it doesn't make sense to me. Idk how The Connections got Wesker's DNA but I doubt they could extract memories from his burned husk?? Maybe physical memories (idk how it would work but I'm gonna assume made up science and move on) as in reflexes, fighting stance, etc would be transferred but not more than that. Just things ingrained in Wesker after all the time spent alive, I suppose.

☆ He used to look up to this made up image of Wesker he built in his mind as he was growing up but the image slowly soured as time passed and he kept being compared to his predecessor - all his failures are disappointing catastrophes when compared to Wesker and all his achievements are child's play bc Wesker did it first/better. He has a love/hate relationship with the ghost of Albert Wesker.

☆ He took up smoking out of curiosity. He saw a bunch of teenagers bumming a cigarette off each other soon after he went out into the world and he wanted to try it - he wanted to try a lot of things that had been denied to him. That's where the expensive, fancy clothing comes from - a stark contrast to the impersonal clothing the lab provided that left no room for self expression.

As for smoking, he coughs and splutters and gets lightheaded the first time he inhales properly (important distinction bc the first time he takes a drag he doesn't take it into his lungs. He just keeps it in his mouth then releases it, confused why anybody smokes and wrinkling his nose at the taste) but he doesn't hate it so he keeps doing it. He could quit any time he wanted cause he doesn't truly feel that 'im going to die if I dont smoke right now' urge - he just doesn't want to. His health is not a concern and he enjoys the habit when he's bored or on edge or angry. It gives him something to focus on. Plus, the bonus of it being something that sets him apart from Wesker is a nice one.

☆ That's also why he gets the earring. He sees someone covered in tattoos and piercings on the street one day and he goes 'i want that'. I like to think that the dagger (idk why but I thought it was a cross for like 2 whole months) holds no special meaning and that he just saw it in the tattoo shop and thought it looked cool. Of course, if anyone asks, that's totally not how it went 🙄 obviously 🙄

☆ On that same note, he wanted to get a tattoo as well but when his black marks started appearing on his skin, he was happy enough with them that he didn't get one after all. If normal people ask about them he totally uses the tattoo excuse to explain them away.

☆ He's not very academically inclined, not like Wesker. He's smart, dont get me wrong, but he's not a scientist. He's a businessman. And he likes it. He likes being in charge and getting shit done (now if only people actually cooperated and DID the things they said they did 🙄).

☆ Not a big reader but he's read the classics and he liked The Double by Fyodor Dostoyevsky. Something about a carbon copy that takes over the protagonist's life while all the people in his life slowly push him out is very compelling to him. No, it doesn't reflect anything about his own feelings, why do you ask? But anyway, he doesn't have much time for leisure reading so he might put on an audiobook of popular contemporary books like The Hunger Games or A Song of Ice and Fire or something while he works. His actual favourite book, though no one knows this, is Pride and Prejudice. He simultaneously sees himself in Mr. Darcy and Lizzie and he wants a love like theirs one day.

☆ He pretends he likes classical music exclusively but he secretly hates it. One of the people in the labs played it constantly and it carries unpleasant memories. In actuality, he likes rap music (classics like Tupac, Biggie etc but also contemporary artists like Kendrick Lamar, Eminem, Future, Megan Thee Stallion, etc) and pop artists (The Weeknd is a favourite).

☆ He has a list of 'movies everyone must watch in a lifetime' and he's been slowly getting through it whenever he has time to actually sit and watch a movie. He hated a lot of them and wonders why people are so obsessed with them, but he's also loved a lot of them too. He has a fondness for silent films.

☆ He's secretly a romantic softie. He wants to take someone on a date and do the classic, cliche of picking them up with flowers and taking them to dinner and then a slow walk through the park or sth that ends in a kiss goodbye at the door. He wants kisses in the rain and anniversaries and a ring on their finger. He wants a family and a quiet corner that's all his. He wants stability. He wants to belong.

But the need to do what The Connections want him to do - the people without whom he wouldn't exist - is just as strong. He has a need to be useful, to justify his existence maybe, and he hates it. Hates that he can't just say to hell with it and do what he wants instead. I believe that if he met someone who loved him and convinced him of that love before re9 happens, that he would give it all up and run away with that person. He would choose them. Because he'd have someone to run towards - he wouldn't just be running away from The Connections.

☆ And to end this: on the same note, he yearns to be soft and gentle with someone. To cradle them and whisper in their ear and take them nice and slow. He also craves the same - to be held, and loved gently, unhurriedly, without expectation. He's had enough harshness growing up. He's had enough violence, being treated like a weapon, enough blood on his hands and dead people at the pull of a trigger. He wants softness. Even if he doesn't know if he deserves it.

[shesmycollaarr]

worship in the bedroom (Zeno x f!Reader)

Tags: No Use of Y/N for Reader-Insert; AFAB Reader-Insert; Pregnant Sex; Vaginal Fingering; Creampie; Penis In Vagina Sex; Praise Kink; Sexual Overstimulation; Squirting and Vaginal Ejaculation; Simultaneous Orgasm; Come Marking; Come Sharing; Aftercare; Fluff

Word Count: 1,410

Summary: Pregnant sex with Zeno. Not much to it.

Also on Ao3: Here

a/n: idk what this is. I just thought of pregnant sex with Zeno and baby bump cumshot and almost blacked out. Thank me later ❤️🤭😩 Enjoy this while I write the club meeting and after club sex with Zeno prequel to "isn't this enough?" that I didn't plan on writing until someone sent me an ask telling me they had this idea and it lined up so well with that little tidbit I included for lore that I couldn't not write it. // Also spreading my "Zeno has a praise kink" agenda one fic at a time.

Title is from Take Me To Church by Hozier.

“Fuck, sweetheart, you look so good like this,” Zeno murmurs, fucking his fingers in and out of your used, sensitive pussy slowly. You whine at the continued touch, covering your face up in bashfulness when you can hear the obscene squelching sound that his fingers pull out of you. “Your pussy's so full of me, sweetheart. And still she wants more. Should I give it to her, what do you say?”

Even though Zeno has pulled three orgasms out of you already and filled you twice, it's true that you still want more. You've been so insatiable these past couple of weeks to the point where your beautiful, irresistible husband hasn't been safe in his own house for a single second – every chance you get, you jump his bones; be it to tug his pants down so you can suck his cock while he's very clearly busy on the phone with someone from The Connections, or assaulting him in the kitchen by pushing your ass against his crotch and batting your eyelashes up at him, begging him to bend you over the counter and take you apart.

Your doctor said it's to be expected, being four months pregnant and all, with your hormones all out of whack, but it's been a tough time for both you and Zeno. You, because it gets so frustrating to be constantly horny that you devolve into tears after too much time of constantly feeling on edge no matter how much you try to get yourself off in Zeno's absence when Zeno isn't home and can't take care of you. And Zeno, because he doesn't like seeing you in discomfort or denying you anything and it kills him when he absolutely has to turn you away when you come crawling for sex because you simply can't take it anymore.

But today, you have all the time in the world. Zeno cleared his schedule, made it clear to everybody that he is busy and won't be answering the phone even if the world is ending, then he laid you down on your bed and started taking you systematically apart so your libido might finally be satisfied.

“Please,” you beg from behind your fingers, so needy you could burst. “Need your cock, Zeno…”

Your husband smiles up at you, from where he's propped between your splayed legs and spreading his cum around your pussy like the pervert he is – as if you have any room to talk – then climbs up your body slowly, like a slinking panther, and captures your lips in a hungry kiss full of teeth. He's very careful of your belly when he drapes himself over you, rubbing a soothing palm over the bump while he devours your mouth, sucking on your tongue and making you sigh in contentment, then very gently nudges your hole with his cock and sinks back into you.

“Ahhh, fuuuck, Zeno,” you moan and wiggle a little under him from the happiness of being full of him again. “If you ever stop fucking me I think I'll die!”

Zeno chuckles as he starts rocking in and out of you slowly, dragging that delicious cock against your walls and pushing his cum further inside on every thrust inside. He kisses the tip of your nose, so enchanted by everything you do and overcome with joy ever since you found out about the pregnancy, and you loop your arms around his shoulders, sinking your fingers in the short hairs at his nape so you can have him closer.

“Can't have that, can we?” he murmurs fondly and snaps his hips just a tad harder as he starts picking up the pace. You gasp, tightening your hold on his hair, and manoeuvre his face so you can kiss him wetly, hungrily, desperately.

“You're so sexy,” you moan into his mouth, whining when one of Zeno's hands sneaks up to your sore breasts and massages it gently while his cock bullies your greedy pussy in the exact rhythm you didn't know you needed. “I have the – ah! fuck! right there, please! – the sexiest husband on earth. So hot, so good at fucking me.”

Zeno growls in response to your words and changes the pace again, hammering into you harder and making you shut your eyes tight against the overwhelming, blissful sensation. You know the tips of his ears are red from the praise, though – he's always a sucker for your compliments, always having such vivid reactions every time you tell him just how good he is to you.

And he is. The most attentive, involved husband and future father you could have picked, who is currently rearranging your guts and fucking his cum into you even though you're four months pregnant with his baby already.

“I'd put another one in your belly right now if I could, sweetheart,” Zeno groans, still fondling your sensitive chest, and pulls your lips into another kiss when he feels your pussy tightening around his shaft in reaction to his words.

“Oh, oh, Zeno! I'm gonna–”

You come before you can finish your sentence, squirting on Zeno's cock from the built up overstimulation and feeling like the most irresistible goddess on the planet when your messy orgasm triggers Zeno's without delay. He pulls out of you with a groan and jerks himself off twice over your rounded belly before he's spilling thick ropes of cum on your skin, painting your bump with his seed and watching it slide down the curve of your stomach, dripping down.

“I love you so much, sweetheart,” Zeno hums, breathless, and when you look up at him through half-lidded eyes, he smiles softly at you and kisses your lips gently. You return the kiss then flop back on the bed with an exhausted groan.

“I don't think I can move anymore.”

He laughs and shakes his head before he straightens up, parting from you with one last stroke of his thumb under your eye.

“You just lie down and look pretty for me, honey. I'll clean us up.”

You hum in gratitude and do as you're told, your eyes tracking your husband's naked body as he fetches a damp washcloth and cleans both himself and you up of bodily fluids thoroughly – it doesn't really surprise you when he licks your belly clean and shares his cum with you in a filthy kiss before he wipes you down properly. You just open your mouth and intertwine your tongue with his, tasting his sweet release and swallowing it down like a good girl.

God, no wonder you're pregnant already when you're this insatiable when it comes to this man. The only surprising thing is that he didn't knock you up the first time you fucked, honestly. It's a miracle your baby girl waited until you got married to make an appearance.

“You know what I'm going to ask for next, don't you?” you ask when Zeno returns with a fluffy robe to drape over you while he relocates you to the chair in the corner so he can change the bedsheets.

“Your snack is waiting in the kitchen already, darling. I'll give it to you once I'm done here,” Zeno answers without missing a beat as he helps you into the robe with careful movements, mindful of rubbing the fabric too much against your nipples.

“God, you really are perfect!” you groan, not even exaggerating for the drama or to tease him this time. “All the other people in my Lamaze classes are going to be so jealous when I bring my sexy, attentive, hunk of a husband along with me.”

Zeno smiles in disbelief at your ridiculousness as he changes the bedsheets, ears red as expected, but lets himself be beckoned into your arms without protest when you make grabby hands and demand his affection.

“You're being silly again, my love,” he murmurs quietly before he kisses you so gently, so full of love and reverence, that it takes your breath away. You're so in love with this man it hurts sometimes.

“I'm always silly for you,” you retort just as quietly. “I can't help it.”

He huffs but doesn't argue – only kisses you again, even more passionately than before, and soon forgets about the fresh bedsheets in his hands or the snack he promised you. Standing right there between your legs and getting lost in your lips is much more important than any of that. You can't exactly bring yourself to disagree either.

[shesmycollaarr]

give in to me (Alpha Albert Wesker x Omega f!Reader)

Tags: No Use of Y/N for Reader-Insert; AFAB Reader-Insert; POV Alternating; Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics; Alpha Albert Wesker; Omega Reader-Insert; Scent Marking; Scent Kink; Non-Consensual Drug Use; Kidnapping; Enemies to Lovers; Sexual Tension; Romantic Tension; Soft Albert Wesker; Seduction; Developing Relationship; Nesting; Wet Dream; Penis In Vagina Sex; Belly Bulge; Dominant Albert Wesker; Submission; Dirty Talk; Degradation Kink; Praise Kink; Rough Sex; Doggy Style; Begging; Mating Cycles/In Heat; Mating Bites; Mating Bond; Knotting; Creampie; Breeding; Possessive Albert Wesker

Word Count: 9,268

Summary: That day in the Arklay Mountains, Wesker leaves with something more than a virus coursing through his veins and rebirthing him into something more - he also leaves with you, the darling little omega on his team he's been obsessed with from the moment you met. The only one worthy of his mating bite and his children. He will have you, no matter how much you claim otherwise. He has time. He can wait.

Also on Ao3: Here

a/n: Nobody look at me. The feminism leaves my body when Wesker enters the room.

I'm a proud omegaverse enjoyer but I've never written a fic before. I was hesitant if anyone would even be interested in cishet omegaverse but people seemed interested so I went ahead and wrote it! I enjoyed this immensely because this genre combines my kinks for possessiveness, breeding, and irreversible, soulmate-like ties beautifully when authors aren't trying to be progressive about it (let me have my self indulgent, inherently degrading slop, okay?) so I hope you also enjoy it!

People often wondered why Wesker, at 38 years old, a strong alpha in his prime who could have anyone he wanted for a mate, was still unmated and packless. He always brushed it off irritably, saying he had better things to be focusing on than mating, then moved the conversation along.

The real reason for his apparent bachelorhood, however, is much simpler and more complicated than mere difference in priorities at the same time.

For years, he's been slowly coming to terms with the fact that he is cursed to be alone in the world simply because no one is on his level. Most candidates for mating are either too dumb, too simpering, too full of themselves, or too mundane. His standards are high for a partner – whoever he chooses would reflect on him by association. He needs a mate who is smart, who is capable, who has a spine and too much pride to just bow down to the first person who tries to enforce their will on them, but who will also understand that, no matter how extraordinary they might be, Wesker is still far more extraordinary than them. He needs someone tenacious but ultimately submissive, who recognises their better not because they're too stupid or insecure, but because they can accept when someone is just simply… more.

Finding that person has been rather hard, as is to be expected.

One might suggest lowering his standards, but Wesker refuses to compromise on anything, least of all his own mate and carrier of his future children. He won't let just anyone mess with his superior genes and he won't suffer an idiot for his pups’ mother.

Just when he's more or less accepted that if he wants progeny he will just have to go the old fashioned route – test tube babies – and give up on the idea of having a mate for good, you walk into his life.

You are everything Wesker has been searching for and more. A pretty little omega who can hold her own in a fight extremely well, who doesn't take shit from anybody if they try to put her down for being a woman or an omega, but who still bares her throat respectfully when Wesker, as your Captain, issues orders or corrections when it comes to your work. You have a fire in you that Wesker wants to smother yet pour gasoline on top of at the same time and every day he spends masquerading as the S.T.A.R.S. Alpha Team Captain is more and more torture for him, having to hide his infatuation with you and stay on course.

But God, do you drive him crazy.

Your scent is dizzying every time he catches a whiff of it – citrus (lime with a hint of orange, if he had to classify it) wrapped in an airy, fresh, yet slightly sweet undertone that reminds him of a lotus flower. Pure, fresh, soothing. He loves and hates it in equal measure; never has Wesker been so affected by someone's scent, so easily driven insane by having it so close by yet so inaccessible. He wishes he could shove his face in your scent gland and drown in your smell while he simultaneously curses your allergy to scent patches that makes it impossible for you to cover up your scent in public.

Walking around smelling like temptation incarnate should be classified as a crime, in his opinion.

While torturous, his time as your Captain passes uneventfully until that fateful day in July. Wesker is eager to see his team in action and use them as his test subjects for his experiments, but that doesn't mean he has any intention of adding you to the pile. He mourns the opportunity to see you fulfil your true potential in a life or death situation of his design, but he knows he cannot risk you – one wrong move and he might lose you forever. That cannot happen.

When everyone splits up to search the Mansion and find a way out, Wesker makes sure to drag you with him and keep you close. You go easily, trusting of your Captain and glad to not be on your own, and don't even have time to register the needle poking your skin before Wesker is already pressing the plunger on the syringe. You gasp, eyes widening as your limbs are rendered useless, and Wesker holds you tightly and supports your weight as your eyes roll back into your head and you succumb to the sedative he's given you.

“Shhh, my darling. Just go to sleep, I will take care of you,” Wesker murmurs into your hair, petting you gently as you lose the battle against unconsciousness, then finally allows himself to do the thing he's been fantasising about for months. He buries his face in your neck, right where your scent gland rests, and takes a deep breath with his mouth wide open to maximise the effect as your delicious scent floods his senses and clouds his thoughts for the briefest of moments.

His fangs itch to bury themselves in your neck and claim you right then and there, but Wesker puts a lid on those instincts with some difficulty before he lifts his head up and adjusts you better in his hold.

“Soon, little omega. Very soon.”

POV CHANGE

You wake up with a headache pulsing behind your eyes and a dry mouth. For a moment – longer than you'd like – you can't get your bearings, confused as to where you are and what's happening. It takes long seconds of blinking uncomprehendingly around you for you to realise that you're lying in a nest that you don't remember making and that you're drowning in an unfamiliar scent that makes you feel like you died and went to Heaven.

It takes a bit longer still to remember what happened before everything went to black.

You shoot up in a panic as the memory floods your brain – clearing endless corridors and creepy rooms with Wesker, his steady presence comforting at your back when you knew you weren't fighting those horrors alone, then the painful stab of a needle in your neck as you started losing control of your body and mind and fell backwards into his cruel embrace. Now that you are awake and processing it, you're not sure what stings worse – the needle or the betrayal.

“Ah, you are finally awake. Good.”

You whip your head around to face the source of that voice and an involuntary shiver runs down your spine at the sound. Even though you know you can't trust the man to whom it belongs, its effect on you remains the same: soothing and sensual, making your stomach flip and clench simultaneously from attraction.

Wesker is standing in the doorway of the room you've found yourself in, leaning casually on the door jamb with his hands in his pockets. He looks good, unfairly so.

“What is this? Where am I? What happened?”

Wesker chuckles as he peels himself away from the doorway and advances further inside the room. His steps are slow and measured, careful in their intentionality, and though it is clear to you that he is giving you plenty of time to prepare for his approach, you still feel on edge. Like a mouse in a trap, watching a feline approaching almost like a taunt.

“You, my dear, are perfectly safe. You can thank me for that, by the way. Most of your brethren did not suffer as kind a fate back in that Mansion,” Wesker answers easily. His tone sounds more cruel and amused than you've ever heard it before and it's hard to reconcile this man with the Captain you've been admiring since you joined S.T.A.R.S.

Sure, Captain Wesker has never been warm and fuzzy, no one could accuse him of that, but he never gave you the impression that he could be quite so callous when discussing the deaths of your fellow S.T.A.R.S. members, that he could sound almost giddy at their horrible fate.

“Why did you… save me, then? And where exactly are we anyway?”

While you've been pondering Wesker's confusing change of personality, said man has been steadily getting closer to you without you noticing. When you finally realise his proximity, it's too late to back up and you end up freezing in place instead when his hand grips your chin and lifts it so he can look into your eyes. His are obscured from your view by his signature glasses, but you couldn't focus on that even if you tried. You gasp as his gloved hand touches your face and get a mouthful of his scent without meaning to.

He smells amazing. Your confusion as to how he managed to sneak past you so easily – first when he just materialised in the doorway and then again just now – clears up as you process that lungful of scent you just inhaled and realise that you've been drowning in it since you woke up. Earlier, since you've probably been sleeping in this nest for a while before you regained consciousness.

The violation of every privacy rule and societal custom is like a slap to the face. For an alpha to be so presumptuous as to not only build a nest for an omega not part of their pack, but to also drench it in their scent before placing the omega in the nest without consent… It's scandalous. Unheard of in polite society. You want to hiss at Wesker for his audacity, bare your fangs and flare your scent to warn him away from you, but when you open your mouth to do so, another whiff of his scent washes over you and seems to invade your mouth and senses like water in a jug.

He smells so good. Incredible, even. Leather, allspice, and rum blended together in a heady cocktail that takes over everything and renders you useless. His scent is so deeply masculine and alpha it feels like you stumbled into a cliché romance novel where the protagonist falls for the love interest with smoldering eyes and rippling abs.

You've never smelled him before in all the months you've known him. Truthfully, you've never smelled any of your coworkers, since scent patches are a standard in almost every workplace. It was only you who was the exception and that was due to your allergy. So it's no surprise that this scent is doing a number on you, what with it being an overpowering and unfamiliar alpha scent you're only just getting used to, but it's how much of an effect it has on you that's worrying.

“We are on a remote island you wouldn't know the name of even if I told you. And we are safe. Hidden. Unreachable.” Wesker's face gets closer to yours the more he speaks, and you have to hold your breath to avoid getting any dizzier by inhaling that delicious blend of aromas emanating from his scent glands. The proximity of both the glands on his neck and his wrists to your nose is not helping matters. “I wouldn't recommend trying to escape. No ships come here and the only way to get off the island is by helicopter, which comes only when I call.”

You swallow, out of both trepidation and nerves at Wesker's continued closeness, but determination fills your veins at his words. You will take this as a challenge. There is no way he's telling the truth, it sounds too idiotic for a man like Albert Wesker. What if he needs to leave quickly? What if the island burns down and he needs to escape? Relying on someone else to receive your call and make it to your location in time to get you out sounds stupid.

You narrow your eyes at him in spite of your anxiety and you could swear his lips twitch into a suppressed smirk for a moment before he schools his expression back into the cool neutrality of before.

“As for why I spared you… I think you know, little omega,” Wesker continues, dropping his voice suggestively and leaning impossibly closer until his nose almost brushes yours, his hot breath fanning over your parted lips.

“I'm sure I don't,” you retort, sounding breathless, and scowl in annoyance at yourself for being so affected by this man who clearly betrayed everyone, including you, and feels no remorse for it. “And don't call me that!”

Wesker chuckles again and it sounds darkly amused but fond. You hate the way your belly clenches at the sound and how your scent spikes just briefly before you ruthlessly tamp it down.

“Why not? That is what you are, isn't it? An omega and, compared to me, a small one. Little. Delicate. In need of protection.”

This time, your indignation wins out over whatever hypnotic effect Wesker's scent might have on you and you snap your teeth at him angrily as a growl rumbles in your throat. Wesker moves out of the way inhumanly fast, rendering your attack useless, and you back up into the nest in apprehension when he starts laughing as he pulls his glasses away from his face and looks at you with naked eyes for the first time. The once pale, wintery blue you glimpsed so very rarely is gone and in its place sits yellow, almost red, with slitted pupils that remind you of a cat's – or perhaps a snake would be a more apt comparison.

You don't know what the hell happened to the man you thought you knew, but it's safe to say that it's freaking you out, just a little.

“Oh, dear. Aren't you just adorable?” Wesker mocks, but it doesn't escape your notice that he doesn't close the distance between you again.

“Stay the fuck away from me!” you exclaim, properly on edge now and feeling trapped. “I'm not some delicate flower for you to protect, asshole! I don't know what you want from me, but I promise that you won't get it!”

Wesker tuts and waves away your words like they're dust in the wind, then bends just slightly to bring his face closer to where you're huddled against the nest’s edge even as he doesn't take another step closer.

“Oh, I will, dear heart. You are going to give me everything I want, of your own volition. I can be patient, I will wait however long it takes.”

“And what is it you want, then?” you snap.

The look Wesker gives you is pitying and possessive all at once and you would be lying if you said it doesn't make your heart jump in your chest – fear and excitement intertwine in your heart to torment you.

“You,” he answers simply. “Your body, your heart, your womb. Did you know you're the only person on this planet that I've encountered who's truly worthy of wearing my mating bite? You should feel flattered because I've met a lot of people in my life.”

“You're insane,” you protest, horrified at the prospect of being stuck here with this man, of being… forced to mate with him against your will. “I'll kill you before you can touch me! I'll rip your throat out with my teeth if I have to, don't think I won't!”

Instead of getting angry the way you expected, Wesker actually looks satisfied at your threats and straightens up at long last with a pleased little smirk on his face.

“Good. That's exactly the survival instincts I want the mother of my children to pass down to them.” Your stomach lurches at the mention of kids, of motherhood in relation to you, but you don't have time to dwell on the horrifying prospect of being a glorified incubator for Wesker because he speaks again, almost lazily, as he puts his glasses back on and starts walking away from you. “Fret not, my little omega. I won't force you into anything. You will come to me all on your own and beg me to knot you. And I will provide because I am a good alpha and I take care of what is mine.”

You're left sitting there, gaping, as he retreats from the room and leaves you all alone once more.

The room doesn't get any less crowded in his absence though. Every breath you take is filled with his scent, every item in that nest drenched in it. You can't really escape it. But even though you hate this situation you're in and want to get away from Wesker as soon as possible – as if you will ever give in to this monster! – his scent is paradoxically comforting and as you curl up into a ball in the middle of the nest, you breathe it in almost compulsively and try to calm your racing heart and ignore the uncomfortable throbbing in your core.

You won't give in. You won't submit. No matter how attractive he might be, how comforting his scent, how alluring his alpha-ness. You will escape and you will get away safely, unmated and without any pups in your belly.

You will.

***

After the sixth time you try to escape – unsuccessful as always – Wesker puts a collar on you that will inject you with a mild sedative within five minutes of leaving the perimeter of the house. You still try your luck for a seventh time, but find yourself awakening groggily in Wesker's arms as he carries you back to the house and your nest.

He looks down at you with those odd eyes, glasses nowhere to be seen, and tuts disapprovingly when you squint your eyes to see him better.

“I was distracted and didn't realise you were being an escape artist again, little omega. You were unconscious on the ground for two hours before I came to retrieve you.”

“And whose fault is that?” you grumble weakly, scowling when you can feel your head pulsing with a familiar headache, but freeze in place when Wesker's lips press softly against your brow right where the throbbing is hardest. Oddly, the touch helps. Your headache seems to dull significantly when he pulls his lips away from your skin.

“You are precious, my dear,” he says as he keeps walking, ignoring your accusation entirely. “I admire your gumption and I would never dream of stifling you but these silly escape attempts need to cease before you get seriously hurt. Just accept that your place is at my side for the foreseeable future.”

“Maybe I don't want to accept that.”

Wesker pauses on the threshold of the front door at your words, stilling for a moment that seems to stretch eternally, and you worry that you've made him angry and he's going to drop you to the ground in retaliation. Instead, his face twists into something thoughtful, perhaps a little frustrated at the edges, and he turns instead to face the ocean and the horizon ahead. The sun is low in the sky now, the orange ball dipping its toes in the wine-coloured ocean so beautifully it takes your breath away. In the past two weeks you've been here, you haven't taken the time to look around and admire your surroundings. Your only goal was getting away. But now, as you stare ahead at the breathtaking sight, cradled in Wesker's hold so effortlessly as if you weigh less than a feather, you can't help but feel something stirring up in your chest. Something fragile. Something dangerous.

“Do you have a reason to fear me, darling?” Wesker asks quietly after a few seconds of silence pass between you. His stare is focused on the horizon when you blink up at him but you know that he is very much aware of you. He always is.

“Is that a rhetorical question?”

Wesker huffs, amused but not quite, and shakes his head softly before he looks down at you with an expression you're unfamiliar with. It's entirely too soft.

“I'm not asking if I'm a source of fear in general. I'm asking if you specifically have a reason to fear me. Have I hurt you? Threatened you with harm if you disobey? Given you any reason to believe that I would ever lay a hand on you or force you to do something you don't want?”

You bite your lip as he speaks and have to avert your gaze when you can't take the sight of those eyes boring into you any longer. You don't like that they are the same colour as the sunset. That they are beautiful, inhuman as they are.

“No,” you answer after entirely too much time has passed, reluctant and irritated.

It's true, is the thing. You can't deny the veracity of his words. Even though you've run away from him and tried to escape – even went so far as to attempt to swim away during one particular moment you're less than proud of – he's never threatened you into stopping your tries. If anything, he's always seemed proud. Giving you tips for next time or criticising where you went wrong the last.

And despite your aggression – hackles rising if he gets too close, hissing and spitting at him, even trying to stab him with your fork once, useless endeavour as it was – Wesker never retaliates. He sniffs, displeased and offended, but he doesn't try to hit back even though he could.

You made him so mad once he actually growled at you – which was the hardest thing you've ever had to endure when every bone in your body demanded that you bow your head in submission and bare your throat while your stubborn mind refused to back down in the face of an angry alpha who wants to pup you – and even though you feared that you would feel his fangs in your throat as punishment for the offense or at least expected to be backhanded across the room, Wesker did none of that.

He just pointed an angry finger at you, snarling as he told you to watch your tongue, before he stormed out of the room and left you alone for the rest of the day. The next morning when you saw him at breakfast he basically gave you the silent treatment until you begrudgingly admitted that you may have crossed a line and that it wasn't fair of you to throw those words at him.

You hate it, but the realisation that Wesker has been, captivity aside, nothing but respectful of your boundaries and remarkably non-violent about the whole thing is actually startling.

Your eyes, when you pull them back to your snake-eyed captor waiting patiently for you to look back at him once more, are wide with surprise.

“Then what is the harm in staying here? Even if you never give in to me – which I know you will because you are a smart girl and your inner omega, at least, knows a good alpha when she sees one – you are more than safe and comfortable here, aren't you? What's waiting for you out there?” Wesker questions, nodding his head vaguely in the direction of the sunset. “Loneliness? Pain? Fear? Another outbreak? What happened in Spencer's Mansion will not remain an isolated incident, believe me, darling.

“So why not stay here in the meantime? I can provide for you and give you a break from reality for a little while. Who knows, maybe you will convince me to let you go, in time.”

You don't trust the little smile playing at his lips when he says it and you both know that convincing Wesker of anything is nothing more than a pipe dream. But you can't deny his words either.

What is waiting for you out there? Life as you know it is over – you could never go back to working in law enforcement when you know what true horrors lurk in the world, but joining some kind of government agency to combat corrupt companies like Umbrella doesn't sit well with you either. Governments cannot be trusted, that much you know.

And if not this, then what? Get a job teaching your subject at a local college? Find a nice alpha, get married, get the whole white picket fence treatment? The thought makes you puke.

Besides, you really have exhausted all the ideas you had when it comes to escaping. And the sedative collar on you isn't helping matters any. Perhaps it wouldn't be so bad if you just… stayed. Just for a little while. Until you find other gaps in the armour that you can exploit so you can leave, of course. Until Wesker puts his guard down. Just until then.

“Fine,” you acquiesce, at length. “But you're not putting any babies in me. I'm more than just a womb and you would do well to remember that.”

Wesker smiles at your grumpy answer – a real smile. It makes your heart skip a beat, which you loathe so much you circle right back around to loving it, but you can't deny that genuineness looks so good on him. It transforms his face and makes him more approachable, less like he's carved out of marble and full of sharp edges and more like you could touch him and feel his solidity under your fingers and connect with him.

It would be easier to hate him if he wasn't genuinely handsome and annoyingly kind and patient with you – outside of his usual mocking sarcasm and gloating, that is.

“I never said you were just a womb for me to fill, little omega,” he replies as he finally turns away from the oceanic view and takes you back inside the house. “But a good alpha can appreciate all of his omega's attributes.”

You stay silent in the wake of that declaration, unhappy with how good it feels to hear him refer to himself as your alpha, even indirectly. You still haven't said anything by the time he drops you off in your nest, now drenched in your own scent as his has faded in the past two weeks since he was last here, but Wesker takes your silence in stride. He runs a gentle hand over your hair after his arms have left your body, still weak and lethargic from the sedative, and you just barely resist the urge to lean into his petting when he turns his wrists just so until he's lightly scenting you.

“Rest, my little omega. You've had an eventful day and, I imagine, many things to come to terms with. I will see you in the morning.”

He walks away from you then, not making a single move to touch you further or mess with your nest in any way, and just before he exits the room, something compels you to call out to him at long last.

“Goodnight, Wesker.”

He pauses in the doorway, not turning back to face you, but his voice is warm and pleased when he replies, “Sweet dreams, dear.”

And then he's gone.

***

Over the following weeks, as they bleed into a whole month, then two, you settle into a sort of routine with Wesker. It's not wholly unpleasant.

The thing about Wesker is that he's… likeable. Charming. Manipulative, if you don't want to be generous about it. He knows which buttons to push and how far but he also knows when to back down and leave you alone or simply change the subject. But perhaps more than that, you just like him. You always have.

You've always found his dry wit and little quips that nobody ever seemed to pick up on incredibly funny and even ridiculous at times. And he's a great conversational partner when he's not merely boasting or being insufferable for the sake of it. A man as smart as him is a balm to your soul after so many failed blind dates with various betas and alphas, and the occasional omega when the stars aligned, who just could not keep up with you in an intellectual conversation.

You always eat your meals with Wesker unless he's wanted elsewhere and leaves you to your own devices, not worried about you escaping anymore since you'd be knocked out even if you tried. It took you a month to realise that every time you ate together in the beginning he was taking note of what you liked and what you pushed around your plate uninterestedly, until nowadays, most of the things you eat are foods you've shown a clear interest in. The only times something new is added are when Wesker is trying to introduce you to something else or testing to see if he's missed anything in his initial assessment.

Outside of meals, he doesn't force his company on you. More often than not he's busy anyway – he won't tell you what he does and after the first few times when you got stonewalled you just huffed and accepted that you're not that interested in the answer anyway. But when he's got a free moment, he always seeks you out.

If you're not in the mood to entertain him, which at first was the case almost every time he stopped by, he will just stand in the doorway, watching you for a few minutes, before he leaves once more.

But as you slowly warm up to his existence around you and welcome him, at first reluctantly, to share a space with you – be it your room or some communal space like the den where a secondary, much less luxurious nest resides – he will walk up to you with deliberate steps and strike up a conversation. Sometimes it's about morality and the nature of humanity and what it really means to be a good or a bad person in the grand scheme of things. Other times he just complains about how stupid and annoying people are and that he misses working with you.

It's… nice. You don't want to admit it because doing so would be akin to admitting defeat and that is the last thing you want to do. But you can't deny that you enjoy Wesker's company. The sound of his voice. The times he makes you snort involuntarily or giggle under your breath as he bemoans the stupidity of humanity at large. And when his hand brushes against yours – deliberately or otherwise, you haven't yet figured it out – those strong, veined hands trailing your skin without the barrier of gloves standing in their way… You often have to close your thighs immediately and take deep breaths while you wrestle your scent into submission so it won't give you away.

Scent is also a problem. Wesker's is everywhere. You can't escape it no matter how hard you try. You go for walks along the beach sometimes, just to breathe in the saltiness of the ocean instead of that leathery cocktail of his, but when you return to the house and to your nest, he's all you can taste on your tongue, all you can breathe in your lungs.

To your great shame, you start dreaming about him too.

It starts off innocent, but it doesn't take long for everything to go downhill and end up in the gutter.

You dream of his hands on you, pushing up your shirt and groping handfuls of your breasts while he praises you for being so good, telling you how much bigger they'll grow when they fill up with milk for his pups. You dream of him ordering you to present for him, and getting on all fours as you open up your cunt and show it off, enticing the big, strong alpha who can take care of you and provide for you into taking you for himself. You dream of feeling his knot swell up inside you and lock you together while he pumps you full of his cum, sealing your fates just as his fangs sink into your mating gland and bind you to him.

And you dream of swelling up with his child. Of his warm hand caressing your rounded belly as he praises you for doing good, for making him proud, for giving him exactly what he wants.

You always wake up from those dreams drenched in sweat, panting, with panties ruined by the excessive slick you were secreting like crazy while you slept. And you always have trouble looking Wesker in the eye at breakfast after knowing that you made yourself come in the nest he built you while whimpering his name under your breath. While still denying that you want him.

Things come to a head about three months into your stay with Wesker.

For the past week, your dreams have gotten more frequent and vivid, but on top of that you've been feeling off as well. Your skin itches uncomfortably and you feel on edge, like something is about to happen and you need to prepare for it. You make and unmake your nest about a dozen times, each time growing more frustrated with how wrong it feels, until you stumble across a pair of Wesker's gloves, discarded on a table in the living room and probably forgotten, and you know just from looking at it that you need it in your nest. After that, you start stealing things that smell like Wesker, whether something as inconspicuous as the dish towel he gravitates towards when in the kitchen or personal things like shirts and pants, which you steal shamelessly from the laundry bin without a second thought.

Somehow, it never occurs to you that your behaviour might be noticeable to Wesker and that he knows exactly what you're doing. You don't even know what you're doing, not until it's far too late.

As the day everything changes gets closer, you become needier. You don't want to be left alone for long and come up with any excuse possible to stick close to Wesker or follow him around the house. Oddly – at least until you find out later that he was aware of your predicament and was indulging you – he allows the intrusion without complaint or comment. And when you snuggle up into him one night while watching a movie together, the first time you've ever initiated any kind of physical contact that wasn't to bite or claw at him angrily, he just lets his arm drape over the back of the couch so as not to cage you in and allows it when your nose drifts up to the scent gland in his neck so you can breathe him in properly.

The day it happens, Wesker isn't home. He left early that morning, saying he had something urgent to deal with but that he'd be back as soon as he could. He seemed uncharacteristically agitated at the prospect of leaving you alone, which certainly didn't help your neediness at all, but you bit back the whine that wanted to escape your throat – a call for your alpha not to leave – and told him to have a safe flight.

“He's not my alpha,” you grumble to yourself as you watch him leave, biting your lip and scratching at your uncomfortable skin, and don't even have the energy to tell yourself that you're full of shit.

You want Wesker. You always have. A small part of you was dreaming about the day you might gather up the courage to ask him on a date back in Raccoon City before everything went to shit. And now…

You shouldn't. You know that. He's a bad person who got your teammates killed, who orchestrated everything without remorse, who drugged you and kidnapped you and has been keeping you hostage for the past three months. It's fucked up to want a man like him after everything he's done.

But he makes you feel things no one ever has. He listens to you and he speaks so eloquently that you can't help but be drawn in even when you don't agree with what he says. His incredible scent and aura and obvious good looks aside, he's also just… good to you. Something about a man as evil as Wesker, as cold and callous and calculating, showing you kindness; showing you patience; making you feel safe because you know that as long as he's around he'll always be the worst thing in every given situation, therefore nothing can touch you – it's messing with your head. It's messing with your heart.

And the worst part is that your biology agrees with how good of a match he is. Your inner omega wants to purr and preen every time you spend time with Wesker because he is, objectively, the ideal alpha. Not just in general, but specifically tailored for you. He's the only man who doesn't provoke a knee jerk reaction in you to snarl at the idea of being his kept omega.

Which sounds contradictory but it's true. You were against the idea of being his mate when you thought he would force you, when you thought he was evil and irredeemable, when you thought he only wanted you for your ability to give him kids. But now that you've spent countless days with him, just talking sometimes or sitting in silence while you each did your own thing separately, you know that's not the case. You know he genuinely enjoys your company, your presence, your smarts and your humour.

You've seen Wesker laugh and you don't think you can ever recover from the way your breath caught in your throat at how beautiful he looked when he threw his head back unexpectedly, his eyes crinkling at the corners with his fangs peeking through over his bottom lip just slightly.

It isn't until later in the afternoon when you start tossing and turning in your nest and feel like your skin is on fire that it finally hits you that your heat is here.

It sounds stupid in hindsight – of course your heat is here. What else would be making you feel like this and act so needy in such a shameless manner? But your heats are rare and somehow you always forget how they feel when they approach. They always take you by surprise.

It's when you start taking off your clothes, unable to stand the feeling of the fabric rubbing up against your sensitive, heated skin, and a keen low in your throat escapes you, an omegan call for a prospective mate to come and join you, that you realise just how much trouble you're in. But at this point, you don't even care anymore. You want to give in. You want Wesker. You want your alpha.

You keep calling for him without an answer, and as the fever of your heat sets in more and more, your brain forgets that Wesker isn't home and that there's no one there to answer your desperate whines and beseeching calls for an alpha. All you know is that you're in heat, that you need your alpha's knot, and that he won't join you in the nest you so painstakingly built out of your shared items so you can spend your heat together in it.

It's not really a surprise when you start crying and thrashing around in the nest in despair.

It might be minutes, it might be hours, it might be days – you don't know how much time passes before Wesker finally returns and finds you laying pathetically in the middle of your nest, naked and flushed with fever, keening desperately for your alpha while hugging his gloves to your face and breathing the leftover scent into your lungs like a drug.

But you know when he's there because his voice reaches you without fail, strong and deep and rumbling, from where he's standing in the doorway.

“Hello, little omega. I'm sorry I kept you waiting.”

You snap your head in his direction with wide, teary eyes, and a happy chirp escapes you as soon as you see him. He looks disheveled, like he ran here to see you, but he also looks divine. You want to devour him whole.

He huffs a laugh at your call, delighted by your descent into primitive methods of communication while in the throes of your heat, and takes a step closer to your nest as he removes his current pair of gloves slowly. His eyes are bared to you, predator-like and attentive, as they roam over every inch of you with unmistakable hunger. You can smell his arousal from here and it only makes you feel hornier, a trail of slick escaping you as your nostrils flare to breathe him in.

“Will you let me into your nest, darling? Can your alpha come and claim you at long last?”

You look up at him with desperate, hungry eyes and nod frantically. You even bare your neck for him, keening further to get your point across. Wesker's finger comes to trail across your throat, skimming your scent gland and pressing just slightly, only for a moment, into your mating gland as well, before he grasps your chin and pulls your head sideways so you can make eye contact.

“Use your words, omega. I won't have you rebelling tomorrow by claiming I tricked you and used your heat against you.”

You swallow, hypnotised by that unnatural gaze you find so very beautiful, and lick your dry lips before you speak. Your brain might be overheated, but you know what you want. You always have. It just took a while to accept it.

“I want you, Wesker. I want you to… To mate me. To pup me. Please claim me, alpha.”

The rumble that builds up in Wesker's chest is all alpha, a sound that makes your knees weak even when you're lying down, that makes your pussy get wetter, and that makes a needy whine escape you as desperation builds up in you. You feel like you will catch fire and turn to ash if he doesn't climb into the nest and fuck you right this second.

“Good omega. I told you you would come to me begging, didn't I? And just like I promised, I will now give you everything you want,” Wesker purrs dangerously, before he removes the rest of his clothes and climbs into your nest without a second thought.

You can't take your eyes off him – his smooth, pale skin is gorgeous and enticing, making you want to mark it up with your fangs, and those strong, muscled arms and thighs make your mouth water as you remember how they flexed when he lifted you up so effortlessly into his arms.

But what has you speechless and thoughtless all of a sudden is his cock. It's huge, to put it simply. Easily the biggest you've ever seen in person. Long and thick, curved ever so slightly sideways, already hard and leaking precum – you want to make it disappear down your throat in one swallow even if you know you wouldn't be able to. Just the thought of taking that gorgeous knot waiting, inert, at the base makes you feel delirious with want.

“Like what you see, omega?”

Wesker's voice draws your eyes away from that beautiful specimen of a cock and you meet his amused eyes without an ounce of shame. Perhaps when you're not in heat you will be more bashful about it.

“Yes,” you breathe, somehow able to find your words despite the atrocious need coursing through your veins. “Can I present now, alpha? I need you.”

“My, my, what an eager little thing you are,” Wesker mocks and draws himself closer to you until his body is plastered to your side, hot breath fanning over your cheek while his thumb comes to rest on your bottom lip thoughtfully. “Don't you want me to kiss you first? Prepare you? Ease you into it?”

You moan when his hand trails down your throat, passing your sore breasts with a playful squeeze to each of them, before it comes to a stop right above your cunt.

“Give me whatever you want. Just please touch me. Fuck me. Knot me.”

Wesker smiles, you can see it in your peripheral vision, but then your eyes close in pleasured agony when his hand cups your pussy firmly while he noses behind your ear at your scent gland, licking over it and making you see stars explode behind your closed lids for a moment.

“Submit, omega. Present for you alpha,” he orders firmly, the heel of his palm pressing down on your clit while his middle finger swipes through the mess of slick between your lips, and you don't waste any time before you're turning around on all fours, facing away from Wesker so you can arch your back and push your ass high in the air so you can present your fertile little cunt to him – his to fuck, his to knot, his to breed.

Wesker's palm comes down on your asscheek gently but sharply, making your ass jiggle as you yelp, but soothing the sting immediately when he kneads the flesh in his hand with hunger. He uses both hands to pull your cheeks apart, baring more of your pussy to him, and you've never felt so exposed in your life yet so eager to show off for someone else. You've never shared your heat with anyone and it's a whole new experience for you now that you are.

“Beautiful,” Wesker declares and it makes you purr and preen as you wiggle your ass excitedly in his face. He laughs, fond and pleased, before his warm, wet tongue swiping through your folds makes you moan in surprise and sink your face into the nest below you. “Delicious,” he adds when he pulls away and you can hear him licking his lips and swallowing down your slick before he inserts three fingers at once in your loose channel, all lubed up and ready to be mounted, and fucks them in and out of you for a beat. “Exquisite,” is his last observation, sounding pleased and eager to get this show on the road, and you don't even mourn the absence of his fingers for long, not when you know what comes next.

Wesker enters you slowly. You expected him to just push into you to the hilt and make you take it, though you don't know why. Instead, he makes sure your pussy keeps producing slick the further he slides inside, easing the way, while your body slowly relaxes to accommodate his girth. When he finally bottoms out, heavy balls pressed flush against your pussy and cock reaching somewhere into your ribs, you're left panting into your nest, fists grasping at the bedding, and feeling on cloud nine.

You've never been so full in your life. None of your past partners have ever filled you like this, nor your various toys and dildos. Wesker fills you perfectly, all the way to your womb, and it makes your head buzz pleasantly as the fever under your skin goes down at the feeling of your pussy finally being stretched by what it's been craving. A big, thick, virile alpha cock right in your guts.

“So full, alpha,” you moan in delight, pressing your palm against your belly where you can feel his cock poking outwards. You always thought belly bulges were a myth; now you know better.

“Exactly like you were meant to be,” Wesker adds, then he pulls out just a bit before he drives himself back into you. You moan together at the feeling. “Are you going to lie down and take it like a good little omega bitch? Are you going to let the alpha be in charge?”

Wesker's hand comes up around your neck, grabbing you by the scruff and lifting you backwards until your neck aches from the strain, but it hurts so good. You've been yearning for a real alpha to tame you, to shove you down and make you take it for so long. It feels so right when you whimper, “Yes, alpha,” right before Wesker pulls back and slams back into you mercilessly at the same time he shoves you down into the mattress and keeps you there by pressing down on your nape.

He's got you mounted and full of his cock. You can only lie there and feel every brutal, hungry snap of his hips against your ass, feel every delicious slide of his cock in and out of your eager cunt as it keeps weeping for him and drawing him in with slick, squelching sounds that would make a pornstar blush.

“Such a good omega, darling,” Wesker pants, hissing through his teeth when your cunt tightens around his shift at the praise. “You just can't wait to be knotted, huh? How long have you been waiting for this?”

You sob into the nest when his hips pick up speed and start pounding into you even more brutally than before, the hand that isn't holding you down gripping your hip so tightly you're sure you will have bruises later. The thought makes your clit throb with arousal even more.

“S-so long, alpha. Been… ah! Been dreaming about your cock, touching myself…” you trail off, lost in mindless pleasure when Wesker's hand leaves you nape so he can rub your clit roughly while he keeps hammering his big cock into you.

“Like this, dear heart?” he murmurs into your ear, fingers insistently bullying your sensitive clit.

“Yes, yes, just like that. Oh, fuck, I'm gonna come, alpha! Please make me come!”

“Do it, omega. Come all over my cock and show me how much you want me.”

The order is like the final key in a lock and the dam breaks as your orgasm crashes into you and makes you go blind and deaf for a few seconds, knowing nothing but the overwhelming pleasure in your lower half and Wesker's scent in your nose. He keeps fucking you without stopping while you tremble and whine under him, but when you recover slightly from the pleasure, his soothing alpha rumble is right there in your ear, the vibrations in his chest pressed tight to your back and warming you up down to the bone.

“There you go, omega. So good for me, that's it. You can take it, come on,” Wesker is whispering in your ear, his cock wrecking your poor pussy and making you feel delirious with how badly you still want him. You know one orgasm won't be enough, but first you need his knot. Further pleasure can come later.

“Please fill me up, alpha,” you beg, pushing your ass against his pelvis as much as your position will allow, which isn't much when Wesker is draped so fully over you, pinning you under his unyielding mass and making you feel trapped in the most delicious of ways.

“Do you want my knot, omega? Want my seed? My pups? My bite?”

“Yes, yes, yes! I want it, all of it, please give it to me!”

That wicked tongue darts out towards your scent gland again, licking a wet stripe over it while one of his palms squeezes your asscheek, and he punches the breath right out of you with a few mean thrusts right into your cervix. You gasp and clutch weakly at the sheets.

“Ask me properly.”

You turn your head as much as you can until your eyes lock on Wesker's. He looks feral, eyes shining a deep, vivid red, lips pulled back in a snarl with his fangs slightly more elongated than usual, and the sight makes you feel like the luckiest omega in the world – this man, this alpha, is going feral for you, for your cunt, for your womb. He wants you so badly he's lost all semblance of control. Your cunt gushes even more slick in response to your thoughts and you bite your lower lip hard before you manage to speak.

“Please mate me, alpha. Claim me. Breed me like a good little bitch.”

It seems like that was all that was keeping Wesker somewhat composed still. As soon as those words are out of your mouth, he growls without restraint and starts fucking you with an intensity you never thought possible – you have half a mind to expect the nest to break down under the assault entirely.

One continuous moan escapes your lips while he pounds you into the mattress and then it turns into a desperate little keen when you feel his knot start to swell, catching on your hole with every pass in and out of you until he finally shoves the whole thing inside and resorts to rutting into your greedy cunt while it blows up to full size inside you.

You whimper at the feeling of being stretched so much, more than you ever have been before, but Wesker distracts you from the slight discomfort by baring your neck fully and sinking his fangs right into your mating gland. Pain explodes at the intrusion followed by absolute euphoria.

Your body goes limp, head filling with happy chemicals at the feeling of a bond snapping into place the deeper Wesker's fangs sink into you, and when his knot finishes swelling and his cock starts spilling rope after endless rope of cum into your waiting cunt, you finally feel fulfilled. Satisfied. Happy.

“Good omega,” Wesker praises, his voice raspy and overwhelmed, after he pulls away from your neck and licks soothingly at the angry bite mark adorning it now.

The praise makes you glow with happiness and pride and you start purring while Wesker maneuvers you until you're lying on your side, his cock trapped inside your pussy while he spoons you from behind. You snuggle back into his hold, moaning slightly when the movement drives his still ejaculating cock further into you, then settle down while you wait for his orgasm to be over and his knot to go down.

“Thank you, alpha,” you murmur after a few seconds, feeling sleepy but wanting to say this before you succumb to exhaustion.

Wesker's arm tightens around your middle before his palm slides down until it can lie over your belly, feeling his own bulge – cock and cum both – and the womb he's valiantly filling as you speak.

“You are mine forever now,” he declares, a warning and a promise rolled into one. “And I promise that I take very good care of what I own.”

The words should probably frighten you. They did, just a little, the first time he said them. But all they do now is fill you with comfort and security, knowing that you have a safe future ahead of you as long as he is your alpha. You can take his knot and carry his pups to your heart's content – he will take care of everything else for you.

It may not be the future women and omega's rights activists envisioned for you when they fought for your rights all those years ago, but it is the one you crave. At least with Wesker, you know that what's between your legs isn't the only thing that interests him. And the way he holds you tighter as you start to drift off, still fully sheathed on his cock and plugged up nicely by his knot, tells you that you might even get him to love you eventually, if he is capable of such puny human sentiments.

These past three months have taught you that he is, even if he won't admit it on pain of death. That's okay; you can work with this. You've already got your alpha, everything else will follow.

[lebusier]

Negative film

[shesmycollaarr]

Go ahead and cry, little girl (Albert Wesker x f!Reader)

Tags: No Use of Y/N for Reader-Insert; AFAB Reader-Insert; Albert Wesker Lives; POV Alternating; Revenge; Dubious Morality; Implied/Referenced Torture; Violent Thoughts; Albert Wesker Being an Asshole; Dominant Albert Wesker; Daddy Kink; Daddy Issues; Dom/sub; BDSM; Enthusiastic Consent; Age Difference; Older Man/Younger Woman; Flirting; Sexual Tension; Innocence Kink; Corruption Kink; Possessive Albert Wesker; Sexual Inexperience; Angst and Feels; Smut; Developing Relationship; Unconventional Relationship; Vaginal Fingering; Dirty Talk; Praise Kink; Spanking; Pussy Spanking; Slut Shaming; Degradation Kink; Rough Sex; Crying During Sex; Subspace; Breeding Kink; Creampie; Ownership; Post-Coital Cuddling; Light Fluff

Word Count: 7,236

Summary: A Wesker that survives Africa returns four years later with revenge on his mind. How fortunate that his sworn enemy has a daughter Wesker can exploit to hurt dear old Chris, isn't it? Only - Wesker changes his tactics when he actually lays eyes on you and finds a twenty year old college student giggling nervously at catching his eye. You're no longer the toddler Chris was raising as a single parent during his S.T.A.R.S. days nor are you the hardened woman with a soldier's training that he was expecting. You are a fresh-faced peach, begging to be bruised and ripe for the taking.

There are better ways to get what he wants after all. And you are more than happy to aid him, oblivious and naive as you are.

Also on Ao3: Here

Part I (here), Part II (soon)

a/n: Nobody look at me. I'm basically dumping all my kinks and daddy issues in this fic lmao. I don't know how long it'll be but I'll try not to drag it out too much. Three, maybe four parts? Who knows.

Expect angsty daddy-issues-related feels in the future, Wesker being sweet and soft for manipulation purposes but gradually softening for real (though not much), Chris being a distant bad father who doesn't communicate with his kid so he's directly to blame for all of this imo (though no bashing cause I love Chris), and a lot of smut.

Title is from Daddy Issues by The Neighbourhood. // Made a short playlist of songs that fit the vibe of this fic if anyone is interested. Find it here. I welcome suggestions of what to add if you know a song that would fit the fic <3

Four years. That's how long it's taken Wesker to recover from that blasted volcano. Not just physically; with the help of Uroboros, he was back to his normal self in a handful of months, even stronger than before, but his ego and his financial stability took a heavy hit and it took him a while to get back to his former, unshakeable self. What happened in Africa was a failure, plain and simple, and it grates at Wesker to acknowledge it. Years of planning, of research, of manipulating anyone and everyone who crossed his path that he needed for his grand finale – all of it a fiery disaster that crashed and burned around him.

What hurts most is not just the fact that he failed. Wesker has erred and misstepped before, he is well versed in changing his tactics and pushing forward. But it's the fact that it was Chris Redfield who almost ended him on that day. Chris. His own man. The pathetic little soldier who only lived to be there that day, to wreck everything Wesker has worked so hard for, because Wesker allowed it.

He should have ended his pathetic life in 1998 in that Mansion like he planned.

But alas, we live and we learn from our mistakes. And Wesker has certainly learned a lot from his.

For the past four years, he has been rebuilding. New plans, new allies, new ways to make sure Chris Redfield suffers as much as humanly possible before he finally takes his last breath under Wesker's gleeful hands. He's thought of a thousand ways to torture him, a thousand ways to drag his pain out and prolong his sorry existence until Wesker is finally satisfied and ends it. But that would still be too kind. Too easy.

You see, Chris is a martyr. He is a soldier. He is not unfamiliar with the idea of sacrificing himself for the good of the many. Torturing and killing him would be so mundane and not nearly as effective as what Wesker now has in mind. Because the thing about Chris? He cares. So much. He bleeds and oozes care like pus from a wound, ever flowing and never closing. And what he cares most about, Wesker has come to learn during their very long acquaintance, is his family.

Claire Redfield – his sister.

And you – his dear, darling daughter.

Wesker remembers you, though only vaguely. He knows Chris had you when he was twenty – an accident, from what he recalls, the result of a one night stand that went awry. The mother couldn't or wouldn't get an abortion, tracked him down right as she was due to give birth, and saddled him with the baby before fucking off God only knows where.

He met you once, in passing, when Chris brought you to the precinct with him for a few hours because his babysitter's car broke down and she was running late to look after you. Wesker had no interest in a messy toddler so he only wrinkled his nose at the presence of a child in his domain before he turned on his heel and locked himself in his office, not without warning Chris that this would be the first, last, and only time he would accept this sort of behaviour from his subordinate.

After that, he never saw you again.

He doubts you remember him. At least, not without a name to accompany the face. Though maybe not, since surely Chris has made sure to prepare his little girl for anything this world might throw at her. All for naught, of course, since not even death could defeat Wesker – you, little more than a scared girl struggling like an insect in a spider's web, will stand no chance.

Finding you is not hard. Either Chris thinks he's in the clear with Wesker “dead” or he's really just as stupid as Wesker has always known the man to be. He tracks you down easily, a college student working as a barista in her spare time for extra pocket money, and thinks about how to approach this situation. 

Should he wait for you in your tiny apartment and surprise you there? Torture you for a few hours then leave your cooling corpse for your dear father to find? Or maybe he should kidnap you on your way home, whisk you away and experiment on you for weeks, even months, slowly brain wash you into hating your own father, perhaps, then unleash you upon Chris and watch the whole drama play out?

So very many choices. Such delightful suffering for dear old Chris.

Wesker decides to observe you for a bit before he makes his decision. Know thy enemy and all that. What he finds is simultaneously completely boring and utterly fascinating.

You appear so normal it's almost disappointing. You go to classes, you talk to your peers, sometimes you go out with them, other times you entertain yourself at home. You go to your boring little part time job and serve customers with a bright smile, though sometimes you roll your eyes at your coworkers behind people's backs when they're being particularly obnoxious. Every day, you talk to Chris's sister – sometimes she calls you, sometimes you do. The conversations can range from five minutes of checking in before you go to class and Claire clocks in at her job to several hours of catching her up on your life while she does the same.

But one thing that remains conspicuously absent during the month Wesker watches you is your father. Where is Chris? He hasn't visited you once and he never calls. Sometimes you text him, sometimes you leave him voice mails – always with a thread of resigned melancholy in your voice before you sigh and hit the end call button.

It puzzles Wesker. What kind of strategy is this, hiding you in plain sight while being entirely absent from your life? Does he think that by keeping his distance he's protecting you somehow? Well, Wesker is about to show him the error of his ways quite thoroughly in that case.

In the end, he decides to wrap up his surveillance by approaching you in public at a bar one night when you're out with friends. The thrill of watching realisation and fear settle in your eyes and body while surrounded by innocent bystanders, knowing that if you make the wrong move Wesker will slaughter each and every one of them in punishment and it still won't change your fate? Delicious. It's just the kind of pick me up he's been needing this entire time.

He arrives late, about an hour, nearly two after he knows you did, giving you time to settle in with your friends and have fun before he brings all of it down on top of you like the precariously built house of cards your father constructed for you.

When he gets there, Wesker's eyes scan the crowded bar to find you but as soon as his eyes land on you he realises that you are already looking at him. You make eye contact – well, his own eyes are carefully obscured by his glasses, but it's fairly obvious what his vision is focused on – and, curiously enough, you get flustered at being caught staring and duck your head to giggle nervously with the girl seated next to you.

Well, that certainly wasn't the reaction he was hoping for. Things are getting more and more interesting by the minute.

He takes a seat at the bar and orders a drink. His back is to you, tucked away in a booth farther away as you are, but Wesker's hearing is much better than a human's and he can hear you whispering to your friend just fine from where he is.

“Did you see?! He was looking at you!”

“Stop,” you groan, sounding embarrassed but kind of breathless as if your own excitement is betraying you. “He really wasn't. Our eyes met for, like, ten seconds. Less than. He probably wasn't even looking at me.”

Your friend snorts and she might be shaking her head, if the swishing of her hair that Wesker can hear is any indication.

“He totally was! Tell you what, you go there right now, order yourself another one of these,” she coaxes, shaking the ice cubes in your empty glass for emphasis, “and if he doesn't start hitting on you, I'll eat my purse.”

“You'll be eating my pillow when I smother you with it for making me embarrass myself like that,” you mutter sullenly but end up getting up from your seat and walking in his direction nonetheless.

Wesker raises a curious eyebrow in response to the entire exchange. Do you really not know who he is? Has Chris not shown you a picture of him so you can be on your guard should your paths ever cross? Perhaps the bar lighting isn't helping jog your memory – it has been four years since the last time Wesker was presumed alive, after all. He can't blame you for letting your guard down, he supposes.

He smells you before he sees you. Your perfume is delicate and soft in his nostrils, something he wouldn't normally like but which somehow blends in perfectly with your natural scent and makes you smell downright divine. Something in Wesker's gut flares as you flood his senses with that scent, but he tamps it down and focuses on what he is here to do.

You slot yourself between him and the person next to him, begging pardon for the disturbance as you flag down the bartender and gesture at your empty glass. Wesker turns towards you slowly, as if only now just noticing you, and gives you a once over. You're pretty, he can't deny that. Whatever else he has to say about your father, Chris is a handsome man and it seems like he passed his genes down to you. Were this any other situation, Wesker might have even been tempted to take you to bed and lose himself in a few hours of mindless pleasure with you. But he's here to kidnap you, not seduce you.

Still, it doesn't mean he can't toy with you for a moment. After all, you haven't recognised him yet.

“Aren't you too young to be drinking?” Wesker says, speaking a bit louder than normal so as to be heard over the din of the crowded bar. He swirls the alcohol in his glass and takes a small sip while he waits for your reaction.

You almost seem to startle at the sound of his voice and when your eyes fall on him again, he can hear your heart start beating erratically in your chest, all the blood rushing to your face and warming up your cheeks. His lips curl into an amused smirk at the reaction.

“I'll have you know this doesn't have alcohol in it,” you shoot back. He has to commend you for how little your voice shakes with nerves as you speak. Still, he can hear and sense your anxiety from a mile away – it truly is such a pity that he'll have to kill you at some point.

“Responsible.”

“Self-preservation,” you correct with a tiny smirk of your own as you gesture behind you. “I'm not getting drunk in public with those idiots looking after me.”

“Smart, too. I knew there was something special about you when I walked in and my eyes got drawn to you,” Wesker compliments, his voice dropping down to a purr as he leans closer to you to make himself be heard better. A shiver runs through your body and your pulse jumps at his proximity, his hot breath ghosting over your skin for a moment before he pulls away slightly once more.

“Weren't you just telling me I'm too young to order a drink? Now you're flirting with me?”

You try to sound cocky but it's such a pitiful attempt Wesker wants to laugh. This is Chris Redfield's daughter? You resemble a harmless little bunny unwittingly wandering into the jaws of a beast much more than the trained and armed daughter of a hardened BSAA agent that he was expecting.

“If you're old enough to be here, my dear, I think you're also old enough to make your own decisions, don't you think? Your age doesn't erase your beauty.”

Your heart skips a beat in response to his words and you can't quite meet his eyes in the aftermath, but your body angles itself more firmly in his direction and you sway just slightly forward, as if yearning to close the distance between you.

“You're old enough to be my dad,” you protest but it lacks conviction, sounding almost performative as it escapes your lips. Like you're just performing a social ritual that's been drilled into your head thousands of times before but which you've grown tired of.

Wesker leans forward again, this time much more closely than before, and he lets his hand graze your hip teasingly, his touch feather light but intentional, before he places his palm softly down. He doesn't tighten his hold or pull you closer – he just keeps his hand there, purposeful but innocent at the same time, and waits for your reaction. Your eyes flutter shut for a moment, your breath growing shallow while your heart turns into a hummingbird flapping its wings desperately in the cage of your ribs, but you don't step away and you don't tell him to stop.

“I think I'm much older than that, my dear. But as long as you know what you want, why should that be a problem, hmm?” he whispers in your ear, warm breath fanning across your cheek and ear, and when he turns his head to look at you through his glasses, he lets his lips ghost ever so softly over your skin before he pulls back just a smidge so he can smile at you.

The moment is interrupted by the bartender placing your drink in front of you. You jump as if burned and avert your flaming face from Wesker's eyes, wrapping your shaking fingers around your drink and taking a small sip to cool yourself and gather your wits in the wake of Wesker's flirting. He leans back casually, content to give you some space to collect yourself, and watches you with much more interest than before.

You're truly a beautiful young woman. He wouldn't say he has a type, per se, since he cares little for what his partners look like when he engages in one night stands – as long as the sex is good, who cares what they look like when he won't see them again anyway? But you tick a lot of his boxes the more time he spends with you and as he watches your throat bob as you swallow, Wesker starts mentally altering his plans. There's no harm in having a little fun before he gets down to business, is there? A little makeout session, perhaps a sloppy blowjob in the bar's restroom – it wouldn't hurt his plans any, would it?

“Are you here with anyone?” you ask after almost a minute of you trying to compose yourself. Your pulse is still much more rapid than it should be, but Wesker takes it as the compliment it is and basks in the fast beating of your heart while he sips his own drink.

“No,” he answers shortly.

“Then would you… Would you mind if I joined you here instead? I'd like to get to know you better.”

You sound so timid but so determined it's downright adorable. Wesker could just eat you right up.

“Be my guest, darling. There's nothing I'd rather do more.”

You smile at him, relieved and excited, and he doesn't miss the way you throw a giddy thumbs up in your friend's direction before you heave yourself up on the vacated stool next to him.

To his own surprise, he doesn't have to pretend to be interested in what you have to say when you start talking and getting to know him. He genuinely finds you fascinating – such a complex mix of maturity and naivety, simultaneously wise beyond your years and so innocent to the reality of the world it's downright baffling. You are utterly normal, not a trace of Chris's influence on you in the way you speak, think, or carry yourself. You are no trained soldier. You are entirely oblivious.

That becomes distressingly clear the more Wesker talks to you.

Distressing for Chris, of course.

At some point, Wesker places his palm on your thigh while you speak, leaning forward to show he is paying attention to what you say when in reality his eyes are drawn to your lips and the way they wrap around the straw you are biting at absentmindedly as you talk. You falter in your speech when his warm touch registers, your heartbeat spiking again and your breath hitching, but you take another sip of your drink as a distraction, clear your throat, then continue speaking.

Wesker's lips curl up into a satisfied smile and he makes sure to keep his hand there for the rest of the night, only moving it higher and closer to your inner thigh the more the night progresses.

A few hours into this fascinating encounter, as your eyes catch sight of the late hour and they widen in surprise, you turn to him with a nervous smile and tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. Wesker gets a whiff of your scent, your shampoo mixed with your perfume and a trace of sweat, and it makes him want to bend you over this bar and take you in view of everybody present. Considering the way you've been responding to his advances so far, he's not so sure you wouldn't just let him.

“I have work in the morning so I should start heading home now,” you begin, slow and unsure but once again determined to get it out in spite of your nerves. “But… if you wanted... you could join me? I don't live far from here.”

Wesker smiles, all charm and sweetness as satisfaction floods his veins, and lifts the hand on your thigh towards your face so his fingers can retrace your path as they tuck your already neat strand of hair behind your ear seductively.

“Lead the way, my dear.”

You say goodbye to your friends, most of them wasted and very obnoxious in their teasing about you not leaving the bar on your own, then leave the establishment with Wesker at a leisurely pace. He offers you his arm like a gentleman and you take it with a shy smile, linking your arm with his and syncing your steps so you can walk fluidly down the street without bumping awkwardly into each other.

Wesker has to admit to himself that, for all his scheming and plotting, he's been enjoying himself tonight. You're good company, your undesirable parentage aside, and the combination of your body, your reactions to him, and your delightful scent have been driving him just a little bit crazy all night. And walking down the street with you glued to his side as you chatter brightly to fill the silence isn't terrible either.

You fumble with your keys for a moment when you reach your apartment door, but you get it in the end and open the door wide to let him into your place, looking nervously but hopefully at him as he crosses the threshold and steps inside. Truthfully, he already knows what he'll find in here. He broke into your apartment and analysed everything that was worth noting while you were stuck at work or university weeks ago. But he makes sure to school his features into something appropriate for a stranger entering their hook-up's apartment for the first time before he turns towards you with a flirtatious smile.

“It suits you. I can see traces of you everywhere,” he compliments and it's even genuine as he says it. You have truly put yourself in every corner of this small apartment, as if by filling it with yourself you can cover up the glaring lack of something that you're missing in your life. That maybe you can cover up the loneliness.

Because that is a thing that Wesker has observed about you in the month he spent stalking you. It didn't really interest him before tonight, since he just planned on using you for revenge then disposing of you in a public and gruesome manner designed specifically to inflict as much suffering on Chris as possible, but now that he's changing things up, it has become relevant.

For all the people you surround yourself with – college friends, coworkers, your neighbours, your own aunt – you somehow still seem so pathetically lonely. Before you approached him tonight he wasn't even sure if you had any interest in sex or relationships because he hasn't seen you flirt with anyone even once. No online dating, no in person flirting, nothing. You just go about your day, spend time with the people in your life in the daytime, then go back to your small apartment filled with small, meaningless comforts that brighten up the place and while away the hours until you go to sleep.

There's a hole in you, a gap where the pieces don't quite fit, and it intrigues Wesker now that he's allowed himself to take a step back from his plans just for a while. He wants to fill that gap – slither inside of you and intertwine himself with your essence so thoroughly that you can never get him out. He can always kick-start his plans for revenge later – he wants to figure you out and have some fun first.

“Thank you,” you murmur shyly, clearly pleased at the compliment as you close the door behind him and turn the key in the lock after. As you take your shoes and coat off, you ramble idly in his direction. “I'm really lucky to have my own place instead of living in the dorms. It gets a bit lonely sometimes, but I'm used to fending for myself so it's not that bad. Only good thing my dad did was buy me this when I moved out at 18.”

The mention of Chris piques his interest and he very nonchalantly turns towards you with a raised eyebrow as he hands you his coat and watches you hang it on the hook by the door.

“You don't get along, I take it?”

Your face twists at his question, pain and displeasure mixing with something Wesker cannot puzzle through, before you shrug noncommittally and gesture for him to follow you to the small open concept living room.

“It's complicated. And I'm sure it doesn't take a genius to figure that out, not when I just brought home a guy who's probably older than my dad. How old are you anyway? If you don't mind me asking. I'm twenty, if that matters at all.”

Wesker smirks at your poor attempt at fishing for information but he indulges you nonetheless. Now should be the final test of how much Chris Redfield has failed his daughter after all – you haven't actually exchanged personal information like names and ages despite everything else shared between you and it's high time for that to happen. You need to know what name to moan when he finally takes you for himself, don't you?

“It doesn't, but it is good to know. I'm 53, dear. Much too old for you, but we both know that's exactly why I'm here.”

You blush, so sweet and so tempting, and busy yourself with straightening up the already neat pillows on the couch before you gesture for him to take a seat. He does, indulgent and curious to see how you're going to approach this. It's very clear you don't do this often, if ever.

“Can I… bring you anything? Water? Soda? I think I have some coffee in the pantry somewhere if that's–”

“No, thank you. Just come here and let me show you why you did good by bringing me home.”

You don't get offended at his interruption. You seem relieved at having direction to follow, at not needing to fret and worry yourself over social niceties and rituals you clearly aren't familiar with. Something in Wesker purrs in delight at the instinctual show of obedience as you take a seat next to him and scoot closer when he pats the cushion suggestively. He places his hand over your cheek, thumb rubbing at the warm skin still radiating heat from your blush, then leans in until your noses touch, his breath ghosting over your lips like a promise.

“Before I kiss you, I want to know if you've done this before. I don't care either way, but I need to know how to handle you,” he murmurs softly.

You get flustered again but don't pull away or try to hide yourself. You look at him through your lashes, biting your lower lip temptingly, before you answer.

“I fooled around a bit when I was in high school but only had sex once. It wasn't uhm… very good. So I never tried again. But you don't have to treat me like I'm made of glass.”

Dear God, basically a virgin. Wesker's heart speeds up with excitement at the prospect of ruining Chris's little girl so thoroughly and he almost forgets to contain his growl as he surges forward and captures your lips in a heated kiss that steals your breath away. You clutch at his arms for support and moan into Wesker's mouth while he takes over the kiss shamelessly, guiding you where he wants you and controlling everything from the pace to the intensity down to when you take a breath and how long it lasts.

When he finally pulls away, you are breathing heavily with a glazed look in your eyes, swollen lips, and a trail of saliva connecting your mouths before it snaps. Wesker wants to preen in satisfaction at how easily he reduced you to mush just by kissing you.

“Do you want to know my name before we continue this, my dear? Or is anonymous sex more to your liking?” he asks, half joking, as he rubs his nose against your cheek and jaw before sucking the skin there between his teeth. The gasp and moan you let out at the touch is downright sinful.

“You can– oh, that feels so good! You can tell me,” you moan, trying to steady your breathing and not succeeding very much.

“Albert,” he whispers, the final test, the final nail in the coffin, the final chance for this to not go in the direction it's heading. You only need to recognise him, his name, what he represents, for your arousal to turn to horror and for a night of mutual fun to end up in Wesker bathing in your blood instead. “Albert Wesker, delighted to make your acquaintance.”

He pulls back a fraction to peer into your eyes, hungrily watching your expression for any minute change, but that horny look and the flush in your cheeks do not shift. You part your lips to mouth his name silently, rolling the syllables off your tongue like you're tasting them, weighing them, getting a feel for them, then nod at him firmly once you're satisfied.

“Nice to meet you, Albert.” You give him your name in turn, then, to his delighted surprise, take his bottom lip between your teeth and mumble around it, “But I think I won't be using your name much tonight. I prefer ‘daddy’ instead.”

Arousal so strong crashes into Wesker at your words that he's afraid his eyes are flashing red with it from behind his glasses. He's almost dizzy with it.

He's never been called that before, not that he had any interest in such a kink. Sure, he gets off on power and especially the power imbalance that comes with being a man in his position, but babying someone in bed for sexual purposes never really seemed appealing to him. But now, looking down at you, at your hooded, dilated eyes, your swollen lips, the decadence of your innocence and naivety oozing from your every pore and turning his head, Wesker thinks he gets the appeal.

He wants to ruin you. To sink his claws into you so deeply that you can never get him out or shake him off. To stain you with the blood on his hands until all that pretty, pristine white is nothing more than a sullied canvas covered in the rusty brown of dried blood and lost innocence.

Wesker wants to defile Chris Redfield's daughter so thoroughly that nothing will ever undo the marks he leaves behind.

Now that is much better than killing or torturing you. After all, why should you suffer such a fate only because you have the misfortune of being related to Chris Redfield? No, you can serve him much better like this.

“Oh, you will be screaming it, pretty girl. Have no doubt about that,” Wesker growls, feeling ravenous and like he's tugging on a leash to get to the soft meat of your neck and sink his teeth into it, and then he pounces on you without a second thought.

He lifts you in his arms in one fluid motion and starts carrying you towards your bedroom without having to look where he's going. You seem too turned on by his show of strength to notice that he knows his way around your apartment pretty well, so you just wrap yourself around him like a limpet and start attacking his throat with kitten licks and bites that make his blood boil hotter as he carries you.

He throws you on the bed, following suit immediately after, then proceeds to take you apart with his mouth and hands as he unwraps you like a present and throws your clothes aside without sparing them a glance. When he has you naked and spread out for him like the sweetest of sacrifices, Wesker feels like the most powerful man in all of existence.

His fingers find your dripping cunt with ease, sliding inside two at a time in spite of your whining, and enjoys the way your pussy stretches despite your complaints to accommodate the girth of his digits.

“You can take it,” he assures you condescendingly, watching with rapt attention the way your pussy flutters around his fingers, the way it sucks him in with so much greed. The wet sounds of his thrusts are music to his ears. “You're a big girl, my dear. If you whine at two fingers then how will you take my cock, hmm?”

You groan pitifully when Wesker crooks his fingers inside then scissors them to open you wider, before he inserts another finger and watches hungrily as you take this one without issue as well.

“Such a good girl, look at you. Good job, baby.”

The pet name rolls off his tongue weirdly. He's not used to calling anyone something this mundane and boring. But your cunt tightens like a vise around his fingers when he says it, accompanied by praise as it is, and suddenly Wesker doesn't care how utterly pedestrian of a pet name it is. He wants more of this from you and he will get it any way he has to.

“M-more, daddy, please. Feels so good,” you whine while you thrash on the bedsheets and grip them tightly between your fingers. You open your legs even wider, as if that will make Wesker give you what you want, and he grins down at you meanly right before he pulls his fingers out. You whine like a little kid throwing a tantrum at their toy being taken away so Wesker gives your pussy a slap to reprimand you and watches in disbelief and a high he hasn't felt in a long time as his authority washes over you instantly and quiets you down. “I'm sorry, daddy. I'll be good.”

“See that it doesn't happen again,” he commands firmly. “Since you want more so badly, I'll give you more. Just not my fingers.”

He flips you around smoothly, uncaring of the oof you let out at the rough treatment – he can hear your heart rate spiking again at the manhandling anyway, so he knows you're enjoying it – then manipulates your limbs until you're on all fours in front of him. He gives your ass a few smacks, partly to remind you to obey, partly because he's really enjoying the view and the way your ass jiggles from the impact, then finally pulls his pants down, throwing them and his underwear aside, and slaps his cock down on your ass meanly.

You arch your back like a whore at the feeling and wiggle your ass in the air, a silent plea for him to put it in. But just like you promised, you don't whine and, instead, wait for him to touch you.

“Does your father know what a little slut he raised, waving her ass in the air for men more than twice her age?” Wesker taunts meanly as he gives your clit a pinch then rubs your pussy harshly for a moment just to hear your stuttered moans and see you pushing backwards into his touch, seeking more. God, you're exquisite. “Do you like being taken advantage of, baby? Fucked stupid by an older man because daddy didn't give you enough attention growing up? Do you want to be used and ruined like the dirty little whore that you are?”

“Ahh, yes, daddy,” you moan loudly, turning it into a sob when Wesker ruts his heavy cock between your pussy lips and teases your clit without pushing inside. “I want to be used, please. Show me where I belong, make me take it and thank you for it! I'm just a set of holes for your pleasure.”

Wesker groans as those sinful words spill from your lips and his cock throbs in his fist when he grasps the base and squeezes firmly so he doesn't just come right then and there. You don't know the effect you have on him – the filthy picture you paint as you lie there on all fours like a bitch in heat and beg to be used like you're little more than a fleshlight for Wesker's enjoyment.

“And where do you belong, hmm? Tell me.”

“At your feet, beneath you, serving you,” you answer without delay, the response tumbling out of your mouth like you've been yearning to say it for so long and you can finally set the words free.

Wesker rewards you for that brilliant answer with his cock as he finally starts pushing into you. You struggle to take all of him, but you're determined to please him and Wesker is too much of a selfish bastard not to exploit that and push you to your limits. It leaves you breathless and panting under him but you take his entire length like a champ. He even gives you a few moments to adjust and get used to being filled so thoroughly before he starts fucking you in earnest.

True to your word, you let Wesker use you however he wants. You lie there, fists clenched in your rumpled sheets, and moan, pant, and whine as Wesker pounds into you without mercy. He's surely bruising your cervix with how hard he's hammering into you, going balls deep in your pussy on every thrust inside, but you just take it like a good girl without complaint.

When he switches to mounting you properly, going even deeper if that were possible, you just smash your face into the mattress and moan into it as Wesker fills you over and over and over again as he sees fit.

The absolute surrender to his will, the blind obedience and need to please gives him such a power trip that he doesn't even realise you're coming until he sees silent tears tracking down your cheeks while you twitch pitifully under him, his cock bullying your cunt with no restraint and no consideration for how sensitive you are.

“Does it hurt, baby? Do you want daddy to stop fucking you? Is it too much?” he coos, rubbing a hand over your back, but despite his words he doesn't slow down even one bit. Satisfyingly, you shake your head.

“Please don't stop, daddy. Give it to me hard. Use me for your pleasure,” you mumble, already lost in your own head despite how little stimulation Wesker has given you so far. Not to worry, he will build up your tolerance in due time.

“Good answer,” he praises, his own voice a mess of lust and power, and he keeps slamming his hips into your ass, his hands pinning you down by the shoulders, chasing his pleasure and delighting in how exhilarating it feels to have his sworn enemy's daughter bent over for him, taking his hard cock like she was born to do it, and calling him daddy.

It truly can't get better than this.

But it seems like you live to surprise him. Despite your inexperience, you can tell pretty quickly when Wesker is getting dangerously close to his orgasm and while he's getting ready to pull out and jerk off over your back to cover you up in his release, you reach back behind you and grasp weakly at his thighs, digging your nails into his flesh as you angle your mouth away from the mattress as best you can so you can speak.

“Please don't pull out. I'm on birth control, it's safe. You can come inside me, daddy. Please, please, please, give me your seed. Make me your bitch, fill me up.”

“You just keep getting better and better, don't you?” Wesker groans in disbelief and it doesn't even surprise him at this point when you tighten your warm little cunt around his cock in response, trying to milk him like a whore, nor when his balls tighten, eyes closing from the overwhelming pleasure he hasn't felt in a while when climaxing, and his cock spills all of that warm cum right into your waiting pussy. You moan loudly at the feeling as your hand sneaks under you to rub at your clit and make yourself come again and Wesker just watches you pleasuring yourself while his cock twitches like crazy inside your fluttering pussy, pumping you full of cum with seemingly no end in sight.

When it's finally over and your twitching comes to an end, Wesker can only sigh in pleasure as he pulls his cock out and watches his release dribble out of your used pussy, soiling the sheets below your spread legs.

You look debauched. Face down, ass held up by trembling legs, disheveled and already showing signs of bruising from where he gripped you by the hips and slapped your ass, all spread out and leaking cum like a faucet. You look used. You look owned.

Owned by Wesker.

“Thank you, daddy,” you mumble into the mattress, your legs finally giving out as you fall sideways and grip the sheets tightly in one fist.

Something stirs inside Wesker then. Something primal, something possessive, something that might be mistaken for care if he were a better man. He reaches out for you and turns you on your back, cupping your cheek and watching with exhilaration as you blink up at him with glazed eyes full of tears and gratitude. There is worship in your eyes when you look at him and Wesker wants to take over you completely and make sure you never look at him in any other way than this.

“Good job, beautiful girl. You made me come harder than I have in a while. Maybe I should keep you, hmm? What do you think?”

He caresses your wet cheek with his thumb, a mockery of affection but one which you soak up greedily, like a parched, wilting flower drinking up poison unwittingly simply because it feels the same, and he feels breathless as he waits for your verdict.

“I'm yours if you want me, daddy. I was yours the moment you walked in that bar,” you confess, a sinner in a confessional not knowing that the devil is waiting on the other side, not salvation. Wesker curls his lips into a sweet smile and bends down to kiss you, possessive and devastating as he takes everything that you are for himself, and you slump into his hold like you finally found shelter, like you're home and you are safe, not knowing that you just crawled inside the den of a hungry dragon instead.

“Mine, then. My beautiful, darling, slut of a baby girl.”

Usually, this is the part where Wesker would climb out of bed, get dressed, and leave. He has never spent a night with someone else – aside from that one woman in Edonia all those years ago, though he has put the encounter far behind him long ago – because he doesn't need that kind of complication in his life. People get attached too easily and get the wrong idea if you sleep with them after sex. Besides, Wesker has always found it hard to let his guard down around someone else while sleeping and truly get the rest he needs.

But when you shyly drop your gaze from his face to his chest and fiddle with your fingers as you ask softly, “Do you want to spend the night?” Wesker finds himself hesitating. He wants to do this again. He wants to own you, which necessitates building a relationship with you that goes beyond just meaningless sex whenever the mood strikes either of you.

And like he already said, people get attached easily. You, most of all, seem very susceptible to emotional manipulation through affection and care. He won't even need to do much to gain your trust – already you've expressed a desire to be his.

“Of course, my dear. I'm not going anywhere.”

The smile you give him is full of relief and happiness and it transforms your face in a way that affects even Wesker, just a tiny bit. He refuses to let himself be swayed or moved by the feeling, but it is there regardless. Nothing of concern, though.

He cleans you up and strips down to only his boxers, then slides into bed next to you, pulling you into his arms when it becomes obvious that you're craving his touch even if you won't ask for it, and settles in for a mostly sleepless night. You curl into him like a little lamb, soft and sleepy and so naively trusting, and fall asleep in under five minutes. Wesker, meanwhile, plots and plans, and whiles away the hours until morning by imagining the exact look on Chris's face when he eventually finds out that not only is Wesker still alive but also fucking his daughter in the very apartment he bought her for college.

It's a sweet picture, one that fills Wesker with immense satisfaction, and it's with it in mind that he finally manages to fall into a light doze close to sunrise, his arms tightening around your body as he clutches you close to him, protective and possessive in almost equal measure.