I'm taking a moment to address some important issues for a scholarship application. I'll be discussing mine and others experiences with transgender discrimination, so please be aware.
Being transgender, especially outside the gender binary, has made daily life incredibly challenging. I've faced job rejections, lost friends, and seen my grades suffer. Despite these obstacles, I'm determined to make a difference by pursuing a career as a paramedic.
Education has always been my passion. The opportunity to study and earn a degree in a field where I can help others and potentially shift perceptions of transgender individuals is something I cherish deeply.
It's disheartening to witness countless transgender individuals resorting to platforms like Kickstarter to fund their education and basic needs. This struggle highlights the systemic barriers that prevent many from accessing the education they deserve.
If given the chance to attend college, I believe I can connect with like-minded individuals and work towards creating a more inclusive environment for our community within the education system.
Thank you for your support and understanding. If you're interested in learning more about the scholarship opportunity I'm applying for, you can find it here: https://www.onlinedegree.com/transgender-first-scholarship
Smutty relationship headcanons for Astarion and Tav
Alrighty, today's the day I'm gonna write some smut for my fic A Night of Song and Laughter. Sooo, I thought maybe some more headcanons about my Tav and Astarion but a little smutty - as a warm-up.
So here we go, for safety reasons below the cut (this is rather tame tho). Also spoiler warning for BG3.
The first time you do it after killing Cazador is quite frankly... mindblowing. Especially for Astarion - sleeping with someone because you deeply desire them? Sleeping with someone because you love them? Man's flustered in the best fucking way.
You're far from a virgin but you can't rival Astarion in experience or endurance and also sometimes you just can't get out of your head. But not to worry, Astarion always makes sure you're comfortable. Something too much for you? He makes you stop, you don't have to continue. You still really wanna try? "Let's take it slow, sweetheart, make it fun for the both of us."
As you get more comfortable and explore new things you propose to him that you'd like to be more in charge some times. That's also rather an unusual experience for Astarion since he's used to taking the lead but the thought of it is getting him all hot and bothered.
Did I say he was a tease? Always touching you, saying something that catches you off guard, forcing you to take a quick breather or squeeze your thighs together because YOU ARE IN PUBLIC?!
He loves every damn milimeter of your body and he loves telling you, at best when he can kiss every curve of your body, every freckle, every wrinkle. He could get lost in you.
You do love his too though and make sure you call him beautiful every single day, preferredly when he's just losing himself under your hands.
You didn't so much care about what you wore so far but now you like to dress up some times - as much for you as for him. And he goes feral for it: Tav in a dress with some cleavage? Showing some naked leg? Lingerie? He's foaming at the mouth.
You both love to lay around naked in bed afterwards. Maybe he gets up - butt-naked of course - to get a bottle of wine and then just talking until it's all drained and you slide into pleasant dreams, cuddled up to his chest.
I'll leave you with these and hop back on my fic. Thank you all so much because you really seem to keep enjoying these!
Summary: You come across a new killer in the fog. Only a handful of humans truly matter, and Wesker's convinced you aren’t one of them.
Word Count: 2650
Rating: E (18+)
Warnings: Tentacles, threats of violence
sometimes i like to think about just lazily sucking wesker off. like, him just laying in bed while his s/o slowly licks and sucks his cock. his s/o taking him all the way to the base and deepthroating him, just practically worshipping his cock, maybe his s/o smacks it against their tongue or their cheek, sucking and licking his balls,,god i want this mans cock in my mouth sooo bad i just know hes huge i can feel it in my bones
MMMMMMMMMMMM
NSFT below. 18+ ONLY.
cw: afab!reader, degradation, sir kink, deepthroating, blow job, facefucking, facial, come swallowing
i also can't stop thinking about this. flexing your fist to get his cock deeper into your throat. smelling his sweat and his cologne and pushing your nose into the blonde hair around the base of his dick. drooling all over him until his lap is damp. letting him come on your face and then immediately putting his soft cock back into your mouth, waiting patiently until he's hard again so you can keep sucking him off. pussy absolutely dripping as wesker just talks to you.
"i believe you were made for this," he purrs. "you're doing so well, pet."
"look at you. covered in come and still wanting more. such a slut. i bet your pathetic cunt is begging to be filled just like your mouth."
dipping your head down, pushing your nose against his balls, tongue lolling out and lapping at him. you're dizzy with delight and wesker grabs his cock and slaps it against your face. you whine. "dumb and drunk on cock. you're so easy. do you let anyone use your throat like this?"
"no sir."
"no? so you're not so dumb. you know who you belong to, don't you?"
"yes sir."
and wesker guiding his cock back into your mouth and rutting his hips, fucking your face. your face is still sticky, still covered in come, and you look fucked out, tears rolling down your face as wesker finishes down your throat.
ur literally driving me crazy omfg PLEASE write dick piercing wesker I'll be forever indebted to u or something like that. hands and knees grovelling.
jacob's ladder bro i need it
NSFT below. 18+ ONLY.
Had to do some research on this because I've never fucked a dick with piercings (SAD I KNOW)
But ANYWAY!!
I want that man ribbed for MY pleasure do you hear me.
Just imaging getting together with Wesker. You already know how he is, you're expecting the sex to be something interesting.
But you're not prepared for all the metal. A ring through the head of his cock. Five barbells along the underside. Oh, shit.
And this is what Wesker lives for. He loves the look on your face, how your eyes go wide, and your pupils blow. "Something the matter?"
"Not at all."
Closing your mouth around him. Tonguing at the ring, feeling it cool and slipping as you tease it. Getting an instant dick-twitch in response. Sinking down and feeling the bumps of the barbells. Letting them slide along your mouth. Tracing each one until you've felt them all. Wesker's ring is now firmly against the back of your throat. When you swallow, you flex around his head, and you can taste the metal.
And that's all good fun. Spend some time on your knees, lots of love to each piercing.
But Wesker knows he can do better than just fascination. He gets you on your back, brings your legs up by your shoulders. A few quick pumps of his fingers before he's pressing his cock to your cunt.
The first thing you feel is the cold. The metal, wet from your spit, has cooled against the air, and it makes your walls clench in response. Wesker laughs. Fucker. And then he's sliding inside. Stretching you out, and you moan.
Then you feel the first rung of the ladder. And then the other. Bumping over your walls and making your body sing. Wesker watched your face respond each time. He drags his dick back and slams forward. A quick run of the piercings over you, and you don't know how long you're going to last.
But then Wesker tilts his hips. He uses the ring to grind firm into your g-spot. It's so overwhelming, that you claw at the sheets so hard you might rip them. Wesker tips his head toward your ear. "Such a pretty little thing. You're falling apart already."
Wesker is relentless. Thrusting into you steadily, figuring out the exact speed that you like, where you can feel every barbell rubbing against your cunt ending in his cock ring jamming perfectly into your g-spot. He makes you come. Over and over until you're a fucked-out mess, hearts for eyes until he drives in deep and shoots his come deep into your pussy.
Unfortunately, it's addictive. You'll be back for more. Wesker knows it.
(but real talk I feel like Wesker would just be so good degradation and humiliation, like he'd know how to get under your skin just right)
computer, add "made at least 3 people unnormal about my hyper specific kink" to my resume
NSFT below. 18+ ONLY.
CW: degradation
So I'm definitely high right now and really need a mf named Albert to degrade me something stupid.
A little indulgence here, but I am bad at talking during sex. I clam the fuck up, and Wesker would be such an asshole about it.
Like. Going quiet while he's knuckle deep in your cunt, and Wesker leaning right up to your mouth. "What? Can't even speak?" Crooking his fingers to make you whine. "Are you too stupid?"
And you shake your head, heat rushing to your face.
Wesker growls, grinning and toothy, "I think you are. You're only thinking with this." And then he shoves his thumb against your clit and rubs rough circles against it. "A dumb slut that's only worried about the next time they'll come. Isn't that right?"
And it's so good that you can't nod, can't shake your head. Your tongue lolls out, panting, and Wesker takes his fingers back. It makes you sob a little.
"Look at you. Squirming. Begging for it. Don't you have an ounce of shame?" He doesn't let you answer before he's dragging your hips toward his cock. "I shouldn't even debase myself by fucking you."
You take his cock like you were made for it. Arousal making his entry quick and smooth. "God, you're so easy. I've met worms with more backbone than you." Wesker leans right by your ear, voice dipping even lower. "You'd let anyone use you. You'd fuck half the station before noon if you could. You're no better than an animal."
But you wouldn't. You're just this way for Wesker, and you open your mouth to protest, but Wesker shoves two fingers into your mouth. "Dogs don't talk back."
Inserting another kink, speaking of outfits, uhhhh forced feminization dude! Getting shoved into skirts and pink things despite not being a girl, but being too happy to play like a nice puppy that you don't even CARE.
Setting yourself up with a soft little cushion under his desk to support your knees so you can be a good dog and service his cock.
Nuzzling your nose against the bulge in his pants. Pawing at his thighs, looking up with big, dilated eyes until he gives you a pat against the cheek: his way of signaling you to continue.
Tearing open his pants, but Wesker snatches up your wrist, snarls out a warning of, "Manners, pup."
So you slow down. Keep yourself in check and take his cock out slowly. Wesker still isn't pleased by your stunt, though, and he hooks one finger into your collar while the other grabs the base of his dick.
Dragging you forward. Then he taps his cock against your lips. "Say ah."
You open your mouth, tongue stuck out. Wesker smears the head of his dick over your tongue, leaving pre-come across your tastebuds. Pulling it back and bumping it over your cheek, making you whimper.
"Pretty puppy. You'll be such a good dog for me, won't you?" And you nod, rubbing your cheek against his cock. "Prove it to me, and you might get rewarded later."
Wesker slips his cock into your waiting mouth. Your collar jingles as you settle your chin between his thighs, hands flexing in your lap as you suck him down until he bumps your throat.
"No swallowing."
It's a little something extra. He likes watching you make a mess of yourself, drooling and spilling spit down the front of your shirt and into his lap. Wesker keeps his work up.
And I agree, especially RE5 Wesker wouldn't mind keeping you there while he's got visitors. His hand runs through your hair and taps the back of your skull. He wants you to make a show while he's meeting with whatever poor scientist needed to speak to him. You make noise, sucking up that overflow of spit, bobbing your head, making little happy whines because you finally get to play with him.
Once Wesker's done with his meeting, he pulls you off of his cock. He runs his thumb over your suction-swollen lips, reaches in and presses his fingers to your tongue. "Good pet. Stand up."
And you crawl out from under the desk. Wesker settles you on the edge, and he pushes your skirt up. He sees how soaked your underwear is, pulls it to the side. Your cunt is glistening and beads of wetness pearl against your lips before slipping downward.
"My, my. You're just a mess. What do you think you deserve, dog?"
And you squirm. You don't want to say the wrong thing. You spread your legs a little wider. Wesker traces a single finger up your folds and it makes you jump.
"Perhaps you don't deserve anything."
You whimper at that, leaning forward. Collar jingling, eyes pooling with emotion, you beg without words. Wesker slides his fingers across your cunt, gentle, and you think you might get some relief. But then Wesker slaps his palm against your pussy, makes you yelp, and then he's bringing you off the desk and back to your place beneath it.
🤭i’m scared to ask this off anon cause my sister follows you too but i dreamm of getting bent over a desk by Wesker 😭😫he’s everything
HELLO NOT THE FAMILY BUSINESS????
NSFT below. 18+ ONLY
I'm such a slut for fucking Wesker in his offices. He's like such a workaholic and especially after he's resurrected, I imagine he doesn't actually sleep much.
If you want sex, you gotta catch him in his office usually. And poke and prod and aggravate until he's slamming you face down on the desk in front of him and tearing your clothes down.
Wesker knows that you only bother him in his office for one thing. But he also likes to play a game of pretending to not know or care so that you get mean with him.
Biting out complaints, tugging at his shirts, climbing into his lap, pushing your hand or your boot between his legs.
Wesker dragging his nails over your sides and grabbing at you until he finally shoves his cock in you.
Uhhhhh Wesker answering a call while he's balls deep in your cunt, voice completely cool and even while you're gritting your teeth and coming all over him.
Wesker shoving his fingers into your mouth and dragging you back by your cheek until he can see your fucked-out expression, the post-orgasm glaze in your eyes as he finishes.
Wesker giving you a soothing little touch to the side of your face that's far too brief before standing you up and moving you away from his desk.
His hand grazes your hip as he slides his chair back to his desk.
"Might I return to my work now?" And it's smug, said with the tiniest smile.
You return his light gesture. Fingers brushing under his chin and you breathe against his lips. "I'll be back." A warning maybe. Then you kiss him and slip away.
hey, idrk wether ur doing requests at the minute, but if you are, i need some sugar daddy!miguel because im dying over here with not a single drop to suffice 😞 i need him to spoil me ☺️
i am absolutely open to requests🥰
Sugar Daddy!Miguel head canons
NSFW. MDNI!
miguel definitely has a worship & praise kink. he loves seeing you dripped out in extravagant attire that he bought for you, adorned with diamonds around your neck. he makes it known that he loves what you’re wearing, complimenting you every chance he gets. he wears you on his arm so proudly as if he has the most stunning date (and he does) and he can’t wait to rip everything off of you
↳ “oh come on cariño,” miguel mumbles from in between your thighs as your fingers thread through his hair. “you look so pretty when you cum for me, you don’t wanna give daddy another?”
there’s very few times he tells you no & when he does, it ends up with you pouting, “but daddy! don’t you think we’d look so cute with matching?” you’d been referring to matching cartier rings. miguel was never a jewelry type - maybe a gold chain around his neck for the holidays, but he left the jewelry to you. it complimented your skin so well, especially with the body scrub you’d used, leaving shimmers of glitter?
he’s surprisingly better at keeping himself restrained when he’s feeling needy, especially in public. it’s usually you feeling him up at after parties and begging him for any sort of attention. he’d keep you at his side, hand at your waist before murmuring in your ear, “behave mi vida and i promise you, you’ll have everything you want and more.” and you knew he was good for his promises
he talks you through your orgasms. “i know baby, i know” & “it’s okay, i’ve got you. daddy’s here” & “you’re so good for me, i’m so proud of you” while you’re trembling around him
cockwarming becomes more frequent because you get needy while he’s working. how could you not be needy when this gorgeous hunk of a man is in front of you? messy, tousled hair, glasses, the first two buttons on his white button up undone, exposing his chest with his tie loosely strung around his shoulder.
↳ “if you distract me away from filling this report out, daddy’s taking it out of your allowance,” he hisses as you slowly slide down onto his cock. you whimper as he fills you to the brim, causing him to curse under his breath. he does play with you a little bit, dragging his hands up and down your body, noting how you bounce in his lap needily.
when you talk back to him or speaking to him without manners, he grabs your tongue with his fingers. “try saying that again. oh? you’re done with your tantrum? you wanna try asking daddy nicely this time?”
he loooves shopping with you. when it comes to fashion, he’s very plain when it comes to himself…but when it comes to you? he loves coming with you to reset your wardrobe for the season and listening to you talk about how you saw this on the runway to a fashion event he had taken you to.
you never noticed it but he does up your allowance by a grand for every lingerie photo you send to him. he was quite surprised when you asked him to pick a number between 1-10. he was lucky to have a “go big or go home” mindset because he received 10 very revealing photos right before a meeting.
you always try color-coordinate with him when it comes to going to events with him, but his wardrobe’s full of neutrals. you did save your allowance on getting him a pastel wardrobe of valentino suits tailored to him so he could match you more often. he was very surprised by this gesture since he’s usually the one that likes to show you off, but this small gesture made him realize how proud you were to have him on your arm as well. needless to say, he did pay you back. and ever since then, you two are usually the “it” couple when it comes to social outings.
him fucking you over his desk after he’s finished a big project? you’re bent over his desk as he’s pounding you from behind, fingers in your mouth. him letting you pick out a designer bag afterwards since he was a bit rough and selfish.
he has a thing for your feet in heels paired with anklets. yeah, he dropped a couple hundred for your manicure and pedicure, so of course your toes look great. but something about your legs thrown over his shoulder as he rails you, heels and anklet digging into his skin made him feral.
aftercare consists of a romantic lit bath in the bathtub that has jets. he purchased these bath bombs from dubai that has 24 karat gold in them that he always makes sure he has on deck for his royal highness
pairing: albert wesker x transmasc!reader
warnings: 18+ only (mdni), smut, gender dysphoria, slight violence, bathroom sex, p in v (unprotected), creampie, semi-public sex, house parties, alcohol, marijuana, wesker is his own tw, implied slight chris x reader also
word count: 5.3k (oh boy)
notes: requested by @angelrawrcyan: "S.T.A.R.S Wesker won't leave my mind lately, can I request for some Wesker x transmasc reader?" as always, rbs appreciated <3
summary: your roommate chris throws a house party, at which many of his coworkers in S.T.A.R.S. are in attendance. including his boss, captain wesker.
The bass thrummed deeply, permeating your body so entirely that you could feel it in your chest, rattling your bones and piercing through your ear drums. It didn't matter how many times you sneakily turned the volume dial down on the stereo, somehow it always ended up cranked up even louder.
You stumbled over discarded plastic cups as you wove your way through the party guests in the direction of your kitchen. The apartment was barely big enough for you and your roommate, let alone… however many people he had ended up inviting to his house party. You lost count when more and more people streamed in as the night progressed.
The door to the kitchen was blocked off by a couple you'd never seen before with their tongues firmly exploring each other's throats. Your buzz was fading fast. You needed another drink if you were to continue dealing with the music and the yelling and all these fucking people.
You rolled your eyes. Anxiety wasn't going to permit you to ask the couple to move - not that they would even if you asked - so you had to take the road less travelled. Hitching your weight up onto the breakfast bar, you vaulted over it with care not to knock over the assembled alcohol bottles on the counter. You landed, feet planted on the kitchen tile, impressed with yourself but not resting on your laurels. Especially as you weren't alone in the kitchen.
Your roommate stood with his back to you, refilling a mixing bowl with corn chips. At least in here the music wasn't so loud that you had to yell to be heard.
"Hey, Chris," you nodded to him, placing your empty cup on the counter. "What was the pitch you gave me for this party? How many people did you say? Ten max, right?"
"C'mon, dude. People invite people who invite more people. I can't control that." Chris held his palms up as if to absolve himself of any guilt in the matter.
You sighed and pressed your back against the kitchen sink, staring out across the living room from your side of the bar. Chris, cradling the bowl of chips like a newborn baby, joined you in your observations. Your party-girl neighbours giggled together, dancing drunkenly to the music. Some of your old college friends huddled in intense conversation, no doubt about their latest D&D campaign. The door to the hallway was cracked, where you could just hear the delightful sounds of someone throwing up over the pounding music. Your ex boyfriend, easily the person you were least excited to see, was getting far too into a football game on your CRT television. You still don't know why Chris invited him. Something about 'closure'.
"Yeah, well what about your work buddies?"
You leaned your elbows on the bar and gestured with a tilt of your chin in the direction of the dining table, where a group was gathered separate from the rest. You remembered some of their names - Jill, Brad, Forest, Joseph-something - on the rare occasions you'd run into them before. Brad seemed to have brought a dartboard of some sort that Chris had helped him mount on the wall. They were taking turns in a darts competition that was ramping up in intensity. Chris had a good relationship with his co-workers, and you'd be lying if it said it didn't make you a little jealous sometimes. You were more of a solitary person. Chris was one of the few people you could count among your close friends, so you couldn't help the little part of your brain that was bitter that he was so popular.
"What about 'em?"
"... Like, they're cops. At a house party."
"I'm also a cop at a house party."
"Yeah, your own."
Chris put the bowl of chips down and grabbed your shoulders, dropping his voice slightly. "Listen, as long as you hid the weed where we agreed, there won't be an issue."
Laughing, you shake your head. The elite tactical service, S.T.A.R.S., arresting one of their own & his dropout roommate for smoking the devil's lettuce in their downtime was hard to believe.
"A little below you guys's paygrade."
"Exactly. So relax. It's fine."
You turned your head from him to scan the living room once more.
"And what about that guy?"
Chris followed your gaze to the blonde man, quietly observing the room from a corner and sipping from a glass tumbler of whisky - a stark contrast from the stereotypical red solo cups scattered amid the other party guests. At least, you guessed he was looking around - it was hard to tell by the dark sunglasses obscuring his eyes. A strange sight in any indoor setting, but especially when it was approaching midnight.
"Oh, that's-"
A realisation struck you as you unintentionally cut Chris off. "Oh shit, that's your boss! The sunglasses guy, right?"
You lowered your voice, trying not to make it obvious that you were looking at him. But once your gaze had locked onto the man, it was hard to turn your eyes away. He had a strange magnetism to him. It felt like all the chaos, the pounding music, the laughing, the shouting, the throngs of people crammed into your shitty two-bedroom Raccoon City apartment - all of it faded into static, unimportant background noise.
You just managed to parse out Chris's voice through your trance.
"Yeah, that's Wesker. Captain Wesker. I was talking about the party in the break room at work the other day and he came in - felt rude to not invite him. Didn't honestly expect for him to show up."
Another guest, one of your pretty neighbours, crossed the room and started to engage him in conversation. Wesker tilted his head to listen to her, engaging instantly with her words. A smile rendered his handsome features even more striking. While the sunglasses looked stupid and out of place at first, you found it only added to his allure. He had such charisma about him, an unmistakable charm. The girl's fingers brushed along his forearm, bare and strong where he'd rolled up the sleeves of his blue silk shirt. Your jaw set and you glanced back at Chris, who you just registered was still talking.
"We don't really know what the deal is with the sunglasses. Barry thinks it could be a visual impairment thing but, it's not like we can ask, y'know?"
"Maybe he just thinks they look cool," you offered, trying to disguise the creeping disappointment you felt as Wesker tucked a strand of your neighbour's hair behind her ear.
You smoothed your hand over your t-shirt, a crisp white polo shirt you thought was dressed-up enough for the party. It wasn't your usual hoodie that you practically lived in, which was something. You felt your binder beneath, digging into the skin of your armpits. The compression on your ribs was starting to get hard to ignore. Probably had worn it far too long today. It was easy to lose track.
Chris noticed your motion and raised his eyebrows. Sometimes, he knows you too well - frustratingly so.
"Listen," he said softly, "If you wanna like, go to your room and call it a night. Just go, like, I won't be offended. How long have you been wearing it today?"
"Too fucking long," you admitted, "but no, I'll stick around a bit longer. Thanks, though."
And so, you did. Minutes stumbled into hours as you mingled with guests at Chris's request, while also getting to know some of his coworkers. You avoided even glancing at your ex as much as possible. Instead, you focused on Captain Wesker. He seemed to gravitate between social groups with flowing ease; able to find common ground with just about everyone. His presence was all-encompassing and, despite not being loud or ostentatious in any way, he seemed to be the soul of the party. Everybody wanted to talk to him, to flirt with him. And he talked to all of them, engaged them, with a comfort and fluidity you could only dream of having in social situations. It was fascinating to watch. There was, of course, the fact that he was incredibly handsome too; and every time he cracked a smile you wished it was you he was smiling at.
But, like always, you faded into the background. You made an effort to stay as far away from the source of the pulsing music, oppressive in its cacophony. Pressing your back to the wall as you drained the dregs of your drink, you felt the liquid burn on its way down your throat. Your bound chest protested once more. Perhaps it was time to call it a night-
"Good evening."
You nearly dropped your cup. Wesker seemed to appear out of nowhere, his graceful stride imperceptible until he was right next to you. This close, you picked up the scent of his cologne: a woody, somewhat smoky scent with undertones of vanilla and leather. Weirdly, his voice seemed to match his scent. Smooth, well-spoken with a delectable curl of an accent. You looked up at him, seeing the vague outline of his eyes from behind the shades.
"Oh, hi. Fuck, you kinda startled me."
The blurred edges of your vision crept closer in, and you blinked to maintain focus on his face. Perhaps you had over-indulged on the alcohol.
"Apologies. I'll be sure to announce my approach further in advance next time." He smiled.
"Captain Wesker, right?"
You already knew the answer, of course.
Wesker nodded, taking another sip of his whiskey. Where did he even get that glass from? "And you're Redfield's boyfriend."
He said your name then, drawing it out like a taste he wanted to savour.
"Boyfriend?" You couldn't suppress the laugh that forced its way past your lips,
"No, no. It's not like that. We're not, like, romantic partners. Partners in rental agreement, maybe."
"Ah. I'm sorry, I assumed…" Wesker waved a hand in the air to indicate the rest of the sentence, one that didn't need to be said.
"No, it's fine. Chris is a friend. One of the best. But that's it."
You would be lying if you said you hadn't considered it. But boundaries had been laid many years ago, a line that you respected Chris too much to even attempt to cross.
"My taste in men is more like. Well, him," you added. "Up until recently."
You sighed as you reluctantly gestured to where your ex was standing on the couch cushions, making some sort of grandiose speech to onlookers that you mercifully couldn't hear over the music. He had a captive audience of drunk party guests with which to regale with his TEDTalk-adjacent ramblings. Wesker observed, lifting his glass to his lips with a sardonic quirk of an eyebrow - he clearly had thoughts but chose not to vocalise them.
"Don't judge," you grumbled.
"Not even a little bit?"
You shot Wesker with a withering look. He hid his smile around the rim of his whiskey tumbler, peering at you from behind the dark veil of his shades.
A commotion behind you caused you to turn your head as, from the bathroom along the hall, a group of hollering men you’re sure neither you or Chris had met before stumbled out. With them billowed the unmistakable earthy, herbal aroma of marijuana. One of them held a glass of red wine, far overfilled, which sloshed dangerously.
You should have expected what happened next. As the men swayed past you and Wesker, the wine tipped over the rim of the glass as they nudged into you. A cascade of sticky, red liquid tumbled, seemingly in slow motion, all over your face, neck, chest and irreparably staining the one white shirt you owned. You yelped in horror, desperately trying in vain to wipe yourself clean and cover your chest, where the dampness was soaking through the shirt fabric and revealing your binder underneath.
“Hey, what the fuck?!” You snapped, tears pricking at your eyes as your forearms formed an X-motion over your chest. Trying to put out a tough-guy persona proved difficult when you were on the verge of crying.
The man scoffed, set to simply walk away. He leaned back to face you, not even turning his head fully. “Hey, chill the fuck out, yeah?”
His hand shot out to shove you away from him, a hostile gesture meant to provoke a confrontation. Which it would have done, were it not for Wesker’s hand clamping around his wrist with a swiftness and finality that neither you nor your aggressor were expecting. Your eyes flicked over the subtle flex of his forearm muscle, the exposed skin sporting a defined line along his dorsal where he applied his strength to keep your attacker at bay.
With a tilt of his head, Wesker regarded the man calmly, undeterred by the miasma of cannabis and alcohol that he carried with him. Still, he held the man’s wrist tight, holding his arm in a suspended position, knuckles going white.
“I’d think very carefully about your next move, my friend,” Wesker uttered, a hint of danger lurking in the space between syllables.
You were suspended in disbelief for a long moment, before you found your senses again. Your legs moved of their own accord, propelling you to the bathroom and to perceived safety. Slamming the door behind you, you pressed your back to it as your fingers found the lock and turned it decisively. The weed smell was cloying in here. Combined with the peppery and overpowering wine you reeked of, you wanted nothing more than to sponge yourself clean. You stepped to the sink. Weakly, you placed your palms on the edge of the basin and stared at yourself in the mirror. The pinkish hue of the spilled vino dripped down your neck and collarbone, soaking your shirt to where the hem and edges of your binder defined themselves.
“Fuck… fucking goddamn it…” You whispered, chest shaking, threatening to release a sob. There, you stood, trying to regulate your breathing.
A knock on the door. Your breath hitched in your throat.
“It’s me.”
Woodsmoke and leather in a voice.
You unlocked the door. Wesker rested a shoulder on the doorframe. His hands pushed back some stray strands of blonde hair back into their styled position.
“Can I come in?”
You should probably say no.
“Yes.”
He breezed in, closing the door behind him and locking it as you had. He crossed his arms over his chest with a sigh. “Chris is kicking that man and his troglodyte friends out as we speak. Looks like that old flame of yours arrived with them.”
“Yeah, that makes sense,” you nodded, your voice quiet.
You grabbed the front of your shirt self-consciously, pulling it away from your body so as to unstick it from your skin. Shoulders slumped, physically resembling as deflated as you felt, you perched on the edge of the bath. Wesker watched, unmoving for a moment, before stepping over to the sink. Your face cast to the floor, you managed to raise your eyes to watch as the S.T.A.R.S captain sought out a face cloth, wetting it under the tap with a streak of soap and wringing it out methodically.
“Come now, head up. That’s it.”
The pungent herbal aroma hanging stagnant in the air faded as he approached. Usquebaugh scented, underlying cedarwood musk. Wesker crouched before you and gently tilted your chin upwards with a brush of his thumb. The warm dampness of the cloth found your face as Wesker gently wiped at the wine with a methodical grace. His soft, slender fingers cradled the back of your head as the cloth moved to your neck.
Your breath came in halting, light gasps, unable to deny what stirred within you at his touch, the tender press of textile, zephyr-like, to your flesh. A light breeze tickled the nape of your neck from the ajar frosted glass of the window behind. In front, Wesker’s warm breath, hot on your jaw as he moved closer.
Wesker’s fingers ghosted under the collar of your sodden shirt as he started to clean the viscous liquid more thoroughly - it had settled where your neck met your clavicle. You felt his fingertips meet the edge of the shoulder strap of your binder. You froze, as did he, for a brief, appraising moment. Underneath his sunglasses, you saw his eyes meet yours. The veil that separated the fullness of his gaze from yours was maddening - you wished you could tell what he was thinking.
“It’s not often I meet a man so multi-faceted.”
Wesker’s words were a whisper carried on whisky breath. Your heart pounded in your ears, defensive walls melted like ice to his warm smile. You closed the distance between you in the gap between heartbeats. You pressed your mouth to his and drank him in with each breath. The fingers on the back of your head began to card meticulously through your hair, light tugs and smooth caresses. You exhaled a scarcely suppressed moan into his mouth which he pushed through with his tongue.
All rational thought was discarded, leaving room only for unrestrained desire. Wesker tugged your sodden, stained shirt off over your head and threw it behind you, into the ceramic tub on which you sat. Clumsy fingers found the buttons of his shirt as you desperately revealed his surprisingly toned chest, pressing your palms to it and feeling the musculature beneath. Mercifully, Wesker did not even try to remove your binder, sensing your discomfort and pacing around it with respect. Instead, his hands sought your belt, unbuckling it with fervour. With your waistband loosened and his shirt hanging unbuttoned off his lithe form, he scooped you up, lips exploring every inch of exposed skin, and placed you with little effort on the sink. Once there, you assisted him with shimmying off your jeans. The cold porcelain of the sink's rim pierced your exposed thighs, making you gasp.
"Wesker, are you sure-?" You sighed, tilting your head back as his lips pressed once more to your jaw. Your mind cast back to the many guests you saw him engaging in conversation with, those that verged on flirtation.
"Nothing feels more certain," Wesker responded with a lilt of need, his lips dancing along your neck. "You taste of wine, my dear."
"Wonder why that is."
You weren't expecting this to amuse him. And yet, the breaths of his laugh slid over your skin as he lightly nipped at your flesh. Grazing teeth and languid licks. You pushed his shirt off over his broad shoulders, coursing your fingers down the sides of his supple torso. Wesker's lips found yours once more. He stroked your swollen clit through the damp fabric of your boxers. Your hand reached to his dress pants, fondling the stiffening outline beneath his zipper. While you cupped his clothed length and slowly caressed it with one hand, the other hand unclipped the catch of his pants and tugged them down as far as you could reach.
Wesker pushed his sunglasses back up his nose. They had slid down enough that you could just catch his silvery-blue eyes beneath. "I must admit, I was rather pleased to hear that you're not with Redfield."
You raised your eyebrows in thinly-veiled disbelief before quickly recovering.
"Jealousy is not becoming of you, Captain," you breathed, the friction of his fingers pulsing against your clothed clit maddening in their slowness.
"Hm. Nor you." He responded curtly, thumb increasing in pressure on your hardened bud. You bit back a moan and tilted your head, puzzled.
"Someone didn't like me talking to your party guests as I did,” Wesker elaborated with a quirk of an eyebrow. Leaning in, he tilted his head and nibbled on your jaw once more. Less gently this time. A hint of warning. "I find you attractive, your envious streak less so."
"I mean- mmf," you gritted your teeth, slowly feeling yourself succumbing to him. His natural dominance was starting to claw its way to the surface, and you were powerless under its sway. "Wesker…"
"Mm?"
"You got a first name?"
"Not one you need to concern yourself with now."
Wesker responded so abruptly you felt an irrevocable instinct; like you needed to apologise. But before you could linger on this impulse, the captain had freed his cock from his underwear. The tip already glistened deliciously with precum as it sprung to attention. For a moment, not a single thought crossed your mind as your hand reached out and pumped along his length, warmth pooling in your cunt. It throbbed in its emptiness, begging to be full of him.
"Impatient little coquet, aren't we?" Wesker purred, his breath coming in ragged bursts as you stroked along his length. And yet, he still didn't let up on giving your emboldened clit the attention it craved.
"W-We can't be in here long. People will wonder-"
"Let them wonder, my dear."
Wesker punctuated his words with a sharp tug, and you aided by lifting your hips off the sink long enough for him to yank your underwear off. Immediately, you shivered at the exposure, the heat of the slick coating your entrance biting against the cool surface of the basin.
"My, my," Wesker exhaled. He crouched slightly as he took in the sight of your cunt, swollen, pulsing desperately. He pumped his cock slowly as it twitched in his hand. "Your body is begging for me. Not a lot of begging from this pretty mouth of yours, though."
His fingers trailed upwards, over your abdomen and switching course to your arms so as to not touch your chest. Despite how commanding he was, Wesker seemed intent on avoiding the parts of you which made you uncomfortable - a level of respect certain others had not been so forthcoming with. The dominance he exuded was hot, but his attentiveness to your needs was somehow hotter.
Not one to let a hint lie untaken, you opened your mouth to beg: "Please, Wesker, I ne-"
By now, his hand had reached your mouth. You were cut off as he slid two digits between your parted lips. You let out a squeak of surprise but, not wanting to delay further, you closed your lips around his fingers and sucked fervently on them. Your eyes fluttered closed as he pumped them further into your mouth, grazing your tongue. A heady mix of alcohol and your own arousal sang across your tastebuds. Through the sunglasses, you could just make out his eyes fixated on you lapped appreciatively at his fingers. This image no doubt would keep him company on many lonely nights to come.
He removed his fingers from your mouth with a loud popping sound. Thankfully, the pounding of Chris's curated music mix coursing through the stereo speakers in the living room would conceal any such noises from outside ears.
"Now. What were you saying, sweetness?" His already deep voice was huskier now, laced with lust as his wettened fingers found your clit again, before sliding beyond and burying his ring and middle finger into your cunt in a beckoning motion.
The much-awaited intrusion forced a lewd whine from your throat. But it wasn't enough. God, it wasn't enough.
“Please, Wesker," you took your time drawing out the sound of his name, "I need you inside me. Need to feel your cock, need it in me, need you to fuck me, please…"
"Such a needy boy," Wesker drawled. He was trying to keep up the dominance game, power in his hands only. But his words were thick with a heated desire. Already, more strands of his blonde hair had come unstyled and were hanging loosely over his forehead. The slow erosion of his put-together appearance only served to dampen your entrance more in anticipation of him. He removed his fingers from your cunt, only to shift his weight forward to line up his dick to your weeping hole.
A knock on the door.
Of all times, why now?
You and Wesker glanced to the lock in tandem, verifying it was indeed still latched.
Chris's voice on the other side of the door, calling your name. Chris, who was wondering where you are. Chris, whose boss you were about to fuck. If he only knew.
"Hey, you in here? I saw what happened, I- I'm sorry I couldn't do anything."
The part of you about to snap at him for his timing softened. An amused smile lifted the corners of Wesker's lips as he glanced back to you.
You heard a sigh from beyond the door. "Alright. Hey, listen, have you seen Captain Wesker anywhere?"
His cue. The smile that was developing on Wesker's handsome countenance had morphed into a devious smirk. A barely suppressed chuckle followed as, the second Chris said his name, he sank his cock into you. His hands latched onto your ass and pulled your pelvis down so he was buried into you in one long, drawn-out thrust, leaving no room for you to adjust to his size.
Your mouth opened in a silent gasp which took everything in your power to suppress. Woodsmoke and leather, his presence unending, was swallowed inside of your eager body. And somehow, you had to respond. Wesker raised his eyebrows expectantly at you as he slowly pulled out, only to bury himself inside you once more, quicker this time.
Wesker's smirk was torturous. His cock twitched appreciatively inside of you, caressing your walls with each pulse of his hips and not letting up. This situation clearly both amused and aroused him to no end.
Chris said your name again, more of a question this time.
"Say something, darling," Wesker leaned forward and muttered into your ear, words lilting like a taunting melody. "Chris will get suspicious."
You wrestled with every part of yourself that wanted to crumble into the cacophony of moans you could feel stirring in your chest. Instead, you fought for control over your voice, and spoke, in the most even tone you could muster.
"N-no, no, sorry. No idea where he is. Maybe… uh… he went home?"
Wesker increased his pace, setting a rhythm not unlike a rushing heartbeat. Your body jolted from the force, unwittingly knocking over your hand soap dispenser and a few other bottles of assorted bathroom products. The tip of Wesker's cock kissed your cervix deliciously, and a moan escaped your lips before you could push it back down. Wesker's eyes widened at the unrepressed sound, his smile growing a tinge more ardent. Scrambling, you attempted to cover it up, a fake coughing fit being your choice of pantomime.
Chris's voice was tinged with concern at the sound. First the clattering, then your ‘coughing’. "A-Are you okay?"
"Yeah, s-sorry. You know me, clumsy as always," you stammered, speaking perhaps a little too fast.
"Should I come inside?" Chris asked, voice slightly louder.
A rattling of the door handle. Your heart jolted. Even though it was locked, you didn't trust the security of the room. And still, Wesker fucked you senseless, caring little for the implications were you to get caught, caring even less for how you struggled through your words.
"No!" You nearly shouted back. "No, no, I'm… not decent."
With Wesker's alcohol-scented breath hot and moist on your ear, he whispered: "You most certainly are not. Filthy."
Desperately, you willed Chris to leave, feeling your arousal reach its peak. Knowing it was only a matter of time before you went crashing over the edge. Perhaps there was something about the risk that you enjoyed, too.
Your roommate’s voice came through once more from beyond the door. "Okay, I'll talk to you later, yeah?"
"Yeah!" You tried not to sound too enthusiastic as you heard his footsteps retreating.
Eyes wild, incredulous, you turned back to Wesker. "What the fu-"
Wesker crashed his lips against yours, swallowing your indignation. Slick with saliva, he pulled his mouth away from yours. You attempted to gaze into his eyes, to peel away the layers. The dark veil remained.
You didn’t know why you asked when you did. Perhaps a favour to Chris - if anything, your salacious tryst with his boss could yield an answer to a question. Perhaps it would soften the blow, were he ever to find out about this.
“Why is it you always wear those sunglasses?”
Wesker, if he was shocked by your question, didn’t show it. His cock generated sliding friction along your walls as he plunged himself in and out of you.
“The eye is the window of the soul, the mouth the door. The intellect, the will, are seen in the eye; the emotions, sensibilities, and affections, in the mouth.”
To effortlessly quote a philosopher while in the throes of carnal pleasure was a talent indeed.
“Who’s that from?” You asked through breathy moans.
Wesker grunted with effort, burying himself to the hilt in you and cradling your jaw with his fingers. “Unimportant. But it should answer your question.”
You didn’t know whether it was because your impending orgasm was rendering your synapses inert, but you were reasonably sure that you were more confused on the subject than before.
But that didn’t matter. Because Wesker had a question for you, too.
"Should I come inside?"
He echoed Chris's words, the meaning entirely different. Wesker's voice was throaty, losing its silky quality the closer he came to his climax.
"Yes. God, god yes."
That was all it took, for him and for you. Your entire body collided with your climax, a leg-shaking affair which forced your head back in ecstasy.
"Fuck, yes-"
Moments later, you felt your dripping pussy filled with his warm release. It coated your inner walls, mixing with your slick. Slowly, he pulled his cock free from your weeping hole.
Wesker smoothed the rogue blonde hairs hanging over his face back into position. Teeth bit down on his lower lip as he beheld his cum slide slowly out of you, dripping onto the porcelain surface of the sink. Suddenly, you felt embarrassed, moving to close your knees together. His hand moved swiftly, as swiftly as it did when he prevented the man from shoving you. It blocked your knees from meeting, and he instead pushed them open again insistently.
"Now, don't deprive me of such a sweet sight."
Instead, he deprived you of a sweet sight as he pulled his underwear and pants back over his lower half, his cock disappearing beneath fabric. He set to work buttoning up his shirt once more, starting to rebuild his well curated outer persona. Meanwhile, you had never felt more fucked out in your life. You pressed the back of your head to the mirror, legs still straddling the sink. Your cunt twitched with ongoing aftershocks, feeling Wesker's cum gradually leak out of you.
Wesker regarded you up and down, securing the final button on his shirt but leaving some loose. Giving a slight teaser as to what lay beneath, but nowhere near the entirety of him that you had been treated to.
"You're even filthier than you were when you came in here, dear," he observed without a hint of irony. Fully dressed now, he stepped forward and graced your lips with a light kiss, nowhere near enough to satiate you and more than enough to leave you wanting more.
"Wesker-"
Wesker strode over to the door, tilting his head back to watch as you slid slowly on shaky legs off the sink. “It’s been seven minutes,” he said. “People will wonder.”
Woodsmoke, leather. Vanilla, wine. No strong smell could override the undercurrent of risk that struck like a dagger in your heart as his eyes found yours. He slid his sunglasses deliberately down his nose. And, finally, you deciphered the look in his eyes that had been hidden from you all this time.
