Warning for Spoilers for Resident Evil Requiem!!!
Please proceed with caution.
“Are you working late again, Z?” A soft voice comes from the office door. Y/N, draped in a silk nightgown and a sheer robe. Her head leaning on the dark, elegantly stained wood of the doorframe. In the dark office, illuminated only by the blueish glow of a laptop, Zeno leaned against his interlocked hands, eyes squinted at the transcript he was reviewing. His glasses were discarded next to him–folded neatly as per usual. His eyes flit up to Y/N’s form and he let out a tired chuckle.
“Ah, Dove…” He purred softly, rising and beginning to pace by the bookshelves.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to take so long. But… With everything I-” He cut himself off and turned to her like a cat zeroing in on its favourite toy.
“With everything we have worked towards, finally paying off, I’m finding it difficult to… Turn my mind off.” He strides before her and places his gloved hands on her hips with a reverence. Tilting his head, the dangling earring glints.
“You understand.”
Y/N just nods and places her hands on his.
“Of course I do. It’s an exciting time… Power, control, everything The Connection’s has been seeking to bolster… It will keep people safe, proceeding this way…” She murmurs and runs her thumbs over his knuckles. His eyes soften and he smiles down at her, leaning in and pecking her temple.
“That’s my girl.” He whispers into her hair.
“Everything will be fine, Z.” Y/N reassures him as he pulls back to glance at her again.
“You are organized, controlled, and calm. This is your life’s work. Nothing could go wrong.”
He laughs and squeezes her hip.
“Don’t say stuff like that, Dove… It tends to jinx things.” His tone is teasing, and yet domestic. Y/N just hums in response, not quite believing in the superstition.
Zeno steps back and draws close to the desk once more, balancing a hand on the mahogany surface.
“I won’t be too much longer. I promise.” The blond coos and pulls his gaze away to look at the laptop once more.
“I’ll be back in bed before you know it.” He murmurs and rounds the desk to settle into the high backed chair once more.
“Mmmm. I hope you’re back from this mission before I know it…” She says, leaning on the door frame once more.
“I will be.”
“In one piece?” Y/N prods playfully.
“In one piece.”
Fin.
~~~
So, obviously I'm shattered about what they did to my boy, Zeno... And while I will write my own little fanon about a happy life, where Z gets out and Leon lives and everyone is happy, hunky-dory, I must first begin with some angst... Heart hands. Love you all and I'll be back with more for our beautiful blond baby!!!!!!!!!
Also, I've been loving this song, hence the title... Sorry (not sorry)
He clicked his tongue and crossed his arms, the picture of earned arrogance. An image he had earned in his younger years; A time when his hair wasn’t flecked with locks of salt-and-pepper, and any sweeping motions were taken at a quicker pace.
“I still got it, Sugar.” He attempts to mask his wounded pride with a sharp jut of his jaw and slow blink. Y/N just chuckled and patted his shoulder carefully.
“Sure ya do…” She mused with a roll of her eyes.
“Heatin’ pad ’s in the back office, on the first aid kit. Go get yerself started, I gotta clean up here, an’ I’ll be back to help in a sec.” Y/N ordered and patted him off.
Now (mostly) recovered, Leon lazily strolls off behind the bartop and behind the wall separating the main floor from the office and storage space. Using a little silver key with a heart scratched in the bow of the key, he unlocks the office door that reads “Authorized Personnel Only” and shoves it open enough for his aching form to slink in, in order to lick his wounds in private.
By the time the door opens again, Leon’s flannel is draped over the back of one of the two office chairs, his knuckles are wrapped and he’s sprawled out, thighs open wide. He sandwiches the heading pad between his tense body and the pleather of the chair–his chair.
Leon opens one, weary blue eye. The light from the hallway makes it hard to adjust, but he knows who it is. With a crooked smirk, he pats his thigh.
“C’mere, Sugar.” He croons, voice gravely and sweet. Y/N just stands with her arms crossed and her hip jutted out to the side. With a scoff, she shakes her head and meanders closer, kicking the door shut behind her.
“Y’smell like a bar mat.” The woman complains in a hushed tone. He just flashes her a smile that is pulled crooked on his lips. His teeth are straight as headstones and pure white. Mirth dances in his eyes as he tilts his head up to face her advancing figure.
“I smell like fuckin’ victory.” He reaches out, placing his bandaged palms on her hips. Through the gause-dressed hands, through the denim of her jeans, Y/N can feel the heat of his hands-And fuck, if that doesn’t make her pulse spike…
Y/N lets out a deep sigh, as if she’s disappointed, but Leon knows better–He knows his girl better.
“You’re such a damn handful,” she mutters, eyes dragging slowly across the stretch of his thighs, the expanse of his abs, the sharp ‘v’ of his hips.
“Startin’ fights you knowin’ it’ll end with you limpin’.”
Leon grins, tilting his head just enough to watch her pace closer. “Didn’t hear you complainin’ when I put that little shit on the floor.”
“You threw your back out again, Leon.”
“And yet—” he drags the word out low and slow, voice rough like sandpaper and honey, “—I still managed to win.” He pats his thigh again, more insistently. “Now, get over here. You said you were gonna help me.”
Y/N sighs and shakes her head, arms still crossed.
“Said I would help. Not make it worse. I ain’t ridin’ you, cowboy.” She rebuffed. His lips draw into a pout, like that of a petulant child; But the expression doesn’t last long, shifting to something more shit-eating and pleased as she sinks to her knees between his thighs. Leon groans low in his throat, his hands gripping both sides of her jaw like he’s been aching for this all day—like the pain doesn’t matter anymore.
“Help me forget how fuckin’ old I feel,” he mutters into the air, his voice airy and pleading but still rough and worn.
“Make me feel like I used to, Sugar. Please, I am beggin’ ya!”
The clink of Leon’s belt unfastening echoes in the cramped office like a starting bell. He hisses through his teeth—not from pain this time, but anticipation—watching her every move like a man possessed. Y/N works efficiently, dragging the zipper down and pulling his work jeans to his knees with care.
“Goddamn, darlin’…” he breathes, his drawl deeper now, sticky with want. Y/N smirks but doesn’t answer. Instead, she palms him through his briefs—testing, teasing. He twitches in her hand, hips bucking just a little, and his head drops back against the chair with a dull thud.
“Still cocky for a man who’s groanin’ like he’s pushin’ eighty,” she teases, voice low and warm. Leon chuckles breathlessly.
“Ain’t the years, Sugar… It's the mileage.” She rolls her eyes at the remark, but her hands don’t stop. She’s quick to tug his underwear down just far enough to free his searing, leaky-with-precum, cock. He’s already half-hard, the rosy flush creeping up his shaft like its been waiting for her touch all night.
She leans in, lips brushing the swollen, red head of his cock.
“You sure you don’t want the heatin’ pad instead?” Leon groans, low and pleading.
“Christ, woman, if you don’t put that mouth on me, I will die right here in this goddamn chair.”
“Well then,” she murmurs, tongue tracing along the underside of his cock, “guess I better do my civic duty.”
The first stroke of her tongue has him swearing like a sailor. One bandaged hand flies to the back of her head, the other gripping the arm of the chair like it’s all that’s tethering him to the earth.
Y/N takes her time, slow and steady, dragging her mouth over him like she’s mapping out every ridge, every vein, every twitch he gives her. Leon’s hips flex involuntarily, a choked sound escaping his throat. “Fuck—Sugar…!”
She hums around him, sending vibrations up his spine. He’s panting now, his body taut with tension, hips lifting with every stroke of her mouth, his voice wrecked and desperate.
Breathy, wanton gasps and shuddering, broken cries leave his lips as he stares down at her with half lidded eyes–eyes that were once a beautiful cerulean, now black with lust-blown pupils. Leon sinks his teeth into his bottom lip and thrashes.
Leon lets out a shaky breath. “You’re killin’ me, darlin’. I’m a patient man, but…”
“You ain’t been patient since you threw the first punch tonight,” Y/N shoots back with a smirk, but her voice has dropped, smoky and thick with arousal. Her hands curl around his thighs for leverage, thumbs stroking the creases where his hips meet muscle. “Now hush.”
He does.
She leans in, mouth soft and wet as she runs her tongue along the underside of him—slow, savoring the way his thighs tense under her hands, the way his breath stutters out like a prayer. He tastes like salt and skin and musk, the barest bite of whiskey still lingering in his pores.
His head falls back against the chair again, the tension in his back forgotten as every nerve in him centers on her mouth, her hands, her tongue. His hips roll with shallow need, and he mutters, “Goddamn, you’re good at that,” like it’s a confession.
“What, y’ain’t gonna last much longer?” She snickers and lets his heavy, engorged cock settle against her open lips as she drags her tongue up and down his shaft. He glances down at her, eyebrows pinched and pink lips parted. Y/N chuckles as he shakes his head wordlessly. With a renewed fervor, she closes her lips around his throbbing erection. Her cheeks hollow, tongue curls and caresses, and lips constrict as she bobs her head.
It’s so much—too much, even; the wet heat of her lips, the glide of her tongue, the burn behind his eyes as his spine tries to curl up with the need to cum. Leon’s fists clench in her hair as he pants raggedly, words starting to slur and crumble while the world spins.
“Shit, Sugar, I’m not gonna—” He doesn’t get to finish. Y/N moans around him, and the vibration wrecks him. He cums with a strangled sound, hips jerking despite himself, thrusting the head of his cock down her throat. Her nose is crammed into his pelvis, unintentionally pushing her to inhale the scent of him; Salt, musk, whisky–and something ultimately Leon.
Y/N pulls off his softening cock and touches the pads of her fingertips to her lips as she swallows the remnants of his hot, sticky seed. A giggle leaves her when she’s determined it safe.
“You’re not as good as you once were,” she teases, referencing the Toby Keith song playing through the walls of the bar, hall, and office.
“But I’m as good once,” Leon pants, “as I ever was.” He closes his eyes and runs a trembling hand over her hair, posture boneless in the plush seat.
Outside, the bar’s quieter. The world shrinks down to the heat between them, the cozy atmosphere of the office, and the scent of sweat and leather and musk.
“Told you I still got it, darlin’.” Y/N just hums noncommittally and settles against his chest, kissing his cheek and nuzzling her cheek against his collarbone.
After a few beats of silence, he opens one blue eye once more. As he does so, his cock kicks up.
“... Sure y’won’t ride me?” He asks coyly. Y/N gives him a look of disbelief and barks out a laugh as she shakes her head.
“Ya can’t be serious! Leon, you are not winnin’ that fight!”
“I won that fight out there!” The dirty blond protests.
HAPPY BIRTHDAY @lilith0fthevalley !!! I hope you have an amazing day! First time ever drawing your blorbo I hope I did him justice!! See speed paint below!
“Y/N, when are you going to settle down? Meet someone nice? Bring them to dinner!” Mrs. L/N asks across the dining table. Y/N’s aunt’s wineglass pauses on its path to her painted lips. The woman narrows her eyes at her sister.
“That’s quite enough from you. Let the girl be. She’ll bring someone home when she is ready.” Y/N’s mom huffs softly and pointedly turns away. Y/N chuckles softly before putting her napkin on the plate and rising, collecting the porcelain.
“You two are too much… I actually have to head out. To visit someone, actually.” The announcement has both Mrs. L/N and Y/N’s aunt raising their eyebrows and blinking like the words hadn’t fully settled. Y/N turns and puts her plate in the dish washer, discarding the square cloth in the basket on the counter that holds other finished napkins.
She gives a little wave paired with a coy smile and slinks out the door, hearing the exclaimed words of her maternal family through the sealed wood.
“WHAT?!” Her aunt finally breaks the shocked silence.
“Y/N L/N! WHO IS THIS MAN?! IT BETTER NOT BE A CRIMINAL!”
~~~
He is a villain by the devil's law
He is a killer just for fun, fun, fun, fun
That man's a snitch and unpredictable
He's got no conscience, he got none, none, none, none
All I know, should've let go, but no
'Cause he's a bad boy with a tainted heart
And even I know this ain't smart
~~~
Zeno is dressed in white. Not the normal white suit, no. This time its a jumpsuit. A black patch over his left chest with a white number embroidered on the little cloth rectangle. Metal cuffs are enclosed around his wrists tightly, the connecting chain ringed around his narrow waist and attached to the cuffs on his ankles as well.
He rolls his neck as he’s led by 5 armed guards-3 to the front, 2 following behind-and in the harsh, sterile white light, the scar that encircles his throat peeks out from the collar of the jumpsuit.
As his eyes, a cool gray with flecks of blue, refocus forward, his lips pull into a smirk that shows just a hint of teeth…
~~~
But mama I'm in love with a criminal
And this type of love isn't rational, it's physical
Mama please don't cry, I will be alright
All reason aside I just can't deny, I love that guy
~~~
Y/N sits at the metal table in the visitation room. The one with said table and matching stainless steel chairs bolted to the concrete floor. Her posture is rigid. Spine straight as she holds a small wrapped present in her lap. As the outside reader beeps and the reinforced door swings open, Y/N and Zeno’s eyes meet, as if the guards aren’t present or giving Zeno commands.
Zeno raises his chin at Y/N in acknowledgement.
“There she is… My girl…” He purrs, the sound coiling around the room like a pale serpent.
“Keep your hands to yourself. If I, or any of my boys, see you even reach for her, the visit will be cut short and you will be returned to your cell.” The lead guard barks out. Zeno just rolls his eyes with a carefree smirk.
“Yes, yes, of course… You say the same thing every time, even though I have never given you a reason to send me back early.” He settles into the seat across from Y/N, eyes sparkling.
“You came…” He whispers in disbelief.
“I did…” She confirms with a slow nod.
“I was worried your family dinner would keep you past visiting hours…”
Y/N leans forward and smiles.
“Nothing could keep me from coming to see you, Z."
~~~
Mama I'm in love with a criminal
And this type of love isn't rational, it's physical
Mama please don't cry, I will be alright
All reason aside I just can't deny, I love the guy
~~~
... Listen... I grew up with lyric fics on DeviantArt. It's the oldest form of writing I've ever posted on the internet.
Little Birkin. Big Mistake... {Brothers Best Friend(?)!RE0!S.T.A.R.S.!Wesker x Birkin!Fem!Reader}
Content Warning: Manipulation and psychological tension, Power imbalance, Interrogation setting, Implied unethical science practices, Dark themes and atmosphere, Mentions of arrest and detainment
As always, Reader discretion is advised.
Location: Arklay Laboratories – [REDACTED], USA
Year: 1995
The hum of fluorescent lights was constant in the lab. So constant that Albert Wesker had tuned it out as he moved from station to station, running analyses of samples, reviewing data and singling out key features he wanted to improve. It was peaceful. This is peaceful. This is heaven…
… And then the door hissed open.
Before the metal plate could completely clear the opening, a shoulder collides with it, followed by a muttered indignation.
“Fucking… Stupid door… Fucking thing needs to open faster, I swear to-” William Birkin’s voice filled the once peaceful lab. Wesker didn’t acknowledge his compatriot until the sample he was holding had the pipette out of it, the cap was closed, and the glass vial was back in its secured carrier.
“William….” He began and turned slowly, discarding of the latex gloves he was handling the sample in.
“Forgive my… Crude wording… But…. Who pissed in your cereal today? I haven’t seen you this… Agitated since your confession to Annette was disrupted by a disgruntled oppossum…” Albert snickered.
Usually, Birkin would jab back at the other blond, it would blow up, and the two would be at each other’s throats until the next morning, when one would leave the other coffee on his respective station’s coaster. Today however, Birkin just dropped into the stool next to Wesker and slammed his head onto the metal work surface.
A groan left him, and Wesker’s eyebrow raised at the rare sound.
“... My sister is in town…” William explained, voice muffled.
“... I didn’t even know you had a sister.” Albert retorted flatly.
“Ugh. Because she and I are… Fundamentally different!” The collapsed man squawked before continuing.
“Do you want to know something?? On my way here, I got a call from the police station. Not the one in the fuck-off-far city I thought she was living in, the fucking RPD!!!” Birkin hissed, running a hand through his hair over and over again, disheveling blond locks.
“Albert, she was arrested! And what for, you may ask?? For trespassing! And what’s worse?! SHE BROKE INTO AN ABANDONED BUILDING!” William’s arms fly up and he begins to pace the length of the lab.
“Now I have to go pay her bail and figure out why the fuck she’s here, how long she’s been here, and possibly even change the locks, because I’m fairly sure she has a key to my door still!!!” He shrieks, shoulders heaving with effort.
Wesker just puts a hand on his shoulder.
“William. You are being… A touch dramatic… I do not think you need to go as far as to… Change your locks.” Birkin just stares at him out of the corner of his eye.
“... Aren’t you heading to the RPD today…?” He asks slowly, in that tone that means he’s already thinking about how to word something complex. Wesker’s hand dropped and he slid off his lab coat, draping it over the back of his chair.
“I am. Why? Are you wanting me to deliver a telegram to your delightful little sister?” He snickers. Birkin’s nose scrunches.
“... Don’t… Don’t say it like that… No. You’re opening up a new division in the police department aren’t you? We twisted Iron’s arm to make you captain, didn’t we?”
“... William, I hardly see what my side project has to do with your-”
“You owe me a favor, Albert.” The interjection is sharp. The silence following is sharper.
“... What is it… That you want… William…”
~~~
“What were you looking for?!” The demanding words of Enrico Marini echo in the tight confines of the interrogation room. The officer paces the stretch of tile, eyes wide and wild.
“What was so fucking important that you had to break into a secure facility, risk your life, and get caught by my cops?? HUH??” Marini barks. Y/N’s eyes, half lidded and calm, trace him as he stalks like a stressed out tiger.
“... Your blood pressure must be obscene, officer.” She remarks and leans back on the uncomfortable metal chair.
“I don’t think I want to say anything until my brother arrives. Thank you.” The younger Birkin chirps dismissively, lips curling at the corners and head tilting in mock sweetness.
Enrico’s palm collides with the stainless steel table as the only door to the room swings open. He whips around, eyes narrowed and freezes. Breath caught in his throat.
“I’ll take it from here, Enrico.” A barbed–and yet velvety–voice settles over the ringing from the table’s impact.
“Captain, I was just-”
“I said, I will take it. From here.” Wesker dictates without looking up from the arrest report he’s holding.
Silence settles for a second too long, a sentiment displayed by the Captain’s piercing blue eyes flicking up over his dark lenses. They stare down the officer, almost into submission, before Marini swallows down his protests and stomps towards the entrance, forcing it open with too much force.
As the metal door sings its song of contact, the blond settles gracefully across from Y/N.
He taps the report to straighten it, and lays it flat. Her name displayed in bold on the front page. Her eyes flit from her own name to his face.
“I’m not speaking to you or your… boys until my brother-”
“William sends his well wishes.” Wesker cuts her off, balancing an ankle over his knee and folding his hands. He stares up at her and tilts his head. Despite the dark lenses, she can feel him staring…
Her posture shifts into something less… Rigid. Something nonconfrontational. Carefully rehearsed.
“... He’s not mad at me…Is he?” She coos, tone coated with false sweetness. With a mini shrug, the performance continues.
“I mean, what did he expect? He left such interesting stories out, and I’ve always been an inquisitive little sister… Is that a crime?” Her head tilts, mirroring his and her lashes bat.
When the act doesn’t garner a reaction, she drops it with a huff, rolled eyes, and a hard flopping back against her seat. The Captain raises a perfectly blond eyebrow.
“Stories, Ms. Birkin?” His voice wraps around the interrogation room with an underlying interest woven through the timbre. Y/N’s gaze meets him again. Measures it. Then she speaks.
“... Stories. Fantasies. Ramblings about… Monsters.”
Wesker is silent for a heartbeat; arms crossed over his chest, studying the woman across from him.
“... Monsters, Ms. Birkin?” He finally chuckles. “Such an… Inelegant word for…” He stops himself and grins–lips pull back to reveal perfect white teeth in an expression that feels more like a barring of fangs rather than a smile.
“Why don’t you tell me about these… Imaginary creatures…” He purrs coaxingly.
~~~
“I mean seriously, nicknaming it Tyrant? How… Dramatic.” Y/N snickers softly and shakes her head, continuing.
“But… Willy-boy never was the creative type.” A mocking pout settles on her face as the room falls quiet again…
And then
A sound.
It’s muffled, but in the silence… It’s loud
Laughter.
Y/N’s eyebrows furrow in confusion as her eyes narrow at him. Before she can speak, he raises his head, glasses sliding down just enough for the younger Birkin to meet his wildly manic gaze. Wesker lets his hysterics subside as he sits up, spine straight once more.
“... Ms. Birkin… I have never had anyone shamelessly call my decisions dramatic or lacking creativity…” He hisses through clenched teeth bared fangs.
The room drops a few degrees as the woman swallows and stares at him, still trying to sustain her carefully crafted demeanor.
“What are you talking about…?” She whispers before her eyes go wide.
“... You’re-”
His grin stretches, eyes focused fully on her.
“Nice to meet you, Little Birkin…
My name...
is Doctor Albert Wesker…”
~~~
Fin.
Thank you to @shymoob for beta reading. I love you, wifey <3
Masterlist
RPD Holiday Party! {S.T.A.R.S.!Wesker x Wife!Reader}
Saturday, December 19th 1997 6:48pm Raccoon City Police Department
The precinct was aglow with lights, music and chatter as officers and agents alike bustled about, seeking refuge from the abnormally bitter cold in the decorated bullpen. Warm cider, homemade eggnog and rich hot cocoa flowed as laughter rose from groups of colleagues conversing, joking, reminiscing.
During a lull in conversation, Jill looks around, her eyebrows furrowed. With a few taps, she gets Chris’s attention from his animated conversation with Barry and Kathy Burton.
“Hey… Have you guys seen the captain? I can’t see him or his wife, Y/N.” She questions in a low tone. That makes Chris frown softly and scan the crowded room.
“That’s… Odd. I haven’t seen either of them yet…”
“Barry dear, didn’t you tell me he’s a stickler for being on time?” Kathy asks with a soft giggle in her tone. He nods and chuckles to Chris.
“Sharp one, she is! Yeah. He’s pretty punctual… I wonder what’s keeping him…”
~~~
Saturday, December 19th 1997, 5:22pm Wesker Household
“Y/N, do you want me to bring the car up?” A sharp dressed blond asks, a camel coloured cashmere scarf wrapped around his wool trench coat collar and loose enough to show off his charcoal turtleneck tucked into matching pressed slacks. His dress boots click on the hardwood floor as he maneuvers to the table with the car keys, their leather gloves and his signature dark shades. A voice chirps from their upstairs bedroom.
“I’m pulling on my shoes now! Wait for me!” Y/N Wesker’s heels click as she scurries out of their room, pulling the door closed behind her.
Wesker checks his watch and lets out a low hum of satisfaction.
‘Accounting for traffic, we should get there right on time as long as the-’
“Oh, wow… You look… So fucking good…” Y/N’s voice shatters his inner monologue. He looks up and it feels like the air’s been punched from his lungs. His wife. His lovely, wonderful, beautiful wife… Dressed to kill in her adorable cream sweater dress, woolen leggings and knee high black boots.
‘She looks like an angel…’ Wesker’s mind whispers and a hunger wells up inside him. A shock of pure love and lust shoots through him like it’s been injected into his veins. He closes the front door with a slam louder than he intended and stalks towards her…
“You… Look… Delicious.” He growls low and grabs her face with both hands and kisses her rough and deep.
“We aren’t leaving… Until I’ve unwrapped my present.” He purrs in Y/N’s ear. She squeaks and shivers against the wall he’s pressed her into.
“W-we’ll be late…!” Her voice comes out high and airy, a weak protest that’s silenced by a husband’s hungry kisses…
~~~
Saturday, December 19th 1997 6:56pm Raccoon City Police Department
The wooden main doors of the precinct open and with a burst of wind and snow flurries, Albert Wesker and Y/N Wesker scurry in, hair askew and clothes decorated with melting snowflakes. Y/N focuses on Jill, Chris, Barry and Kathy conglomerating and trots over, dragging her husband behind.
“Sorry we were late!” She trills excitedly as they join the circle of agents and Barry’s wife.
“Traffic was… So crazy…” Wesker purrs and settles his chin on Y/N’s shoulder. She shivers and flushes pink.
Under Oath, Under Me {S.T.A.R.S. Wesker x RPD Detective! Reader} 2/2
Content Warning: Smut. Minors DNI. Manipulation, Reveal during Sex.
As always, Reader discretion is advised.
Previous Part
Y/N’s shoulders twitch—whether in restraint or resignation, she doesn’t even know anymore. The rain outside drums louder, as if it, too, is waiting to see what the Senior Detective will do.
After a beat, "You’re unbelievable…" She mutters, but her voice cracks. Not from anger—no, something else entirely.
Fatigue.
Confusion?
A sinking dread that maybe he’s right. Maybe she is seeing ghosts in the evidence, spinning theories from the maelstrom of grief, insomnia, and stress.
“You think I’d risk everything,” he says, voice quiet now and body too close, “for what? Some… half baked villainous plot?” He lets out a dry laugh and leans in closer.
“Y/N. Look at me, Sweetheart…” She can’t stop herself from obeying. Not when it’s him.
“You know me,” he whispers, a breath of velvet, wrapping around the raw edge of her nerves. He stops leaning in and lets his lips linger next to her ear.
“You know me… Better than anyone...”
~~~
Her heart’s beating too loud.
Carnal desire and licks of shame run rampant in her head, fighting to determine her next decisions. It’s such a volatile back and forth that her mind is foggy, causing her to miss anything besides the grunts and soft panting of the blond man above her.
All of him surrounds consumes her. His cologne, his breathy murmurs, the girth of his cock stretching her deliciously.
“You were right, you know…” He pants against her neck as he thrusts slow and deep into her wet, clenching heat.
That makes her pause…
Wesker seems to recognize the instant rigidity in her body. He speaks up again, a breathy chuckle in his chest, and a grin weaving through his words.
“Every. Damn. Piece of it.”
Realization dawns on her as her inhaled breath is forced from her lips and her nails dig into his ivory flesh. The Detective’s body’s already drowning in the sensation of him.
She attempts to choke out a “Why?!” only for him to shut her up with his lips; pink, kiss-swollen and pulled into that smug, perfect grin.
“The witness statements? Wrote them myself. Two of those men never existed–Ah, fuck!” he moans, and licks a stripe up her throat.
“Hhhhhaaaaah–The lab samples? Removed before dawn. You missed the camera facing the south hallway,” he chuckles darkly, and drives his cock into her with sharp precision, hitting all the right spots and making her sing out for him.
The woman’s nails drag down his back, leaving rivulets of red irritated skin in their wake. Part of her screams to pull away—but her back hits the mattress harder as he picks up the pace.
“The footage? I deleted the original audio before you ever opened the file.” He pants and grins–A dark, aggressive baring of teeth.
“You’ve been dancing to a script I wrote!”
He kisses her hard this time, unforgiving. She writhes but finds her lips parting to accept his tongue.
“You sick bastard!” Y/N breathes.
“Mmhm,” he hums, smirking, “but the sex has been divine, hasn’t it?”
He slows again, digging his thumbs into the divots of her pelvis. Riiiiight on top of that perfect spot, just to feel her squirm. Wesker rolls his hips so deep and so slow that she feels like she’s going insane. It makes her moan in spite of herself.
“I am the villain in your case file, Sweetheart. Just not one you’ll ever put away.” He presses his forehead to hers, forcing her to meet his gaze.
“And would you like to know why?”
“Because…” He pulls his thick, throbbing shaft almost all the way out of Y/N’s crying pussy… Before slamming it back in, eliciting a gasp from the Detective.
“I own the RPD.”
Another thrust. Hard. Deep. A strangled, wanton sound from her.
“I own Irons.”
The headboard dents the wall. Neither of them seem to care. She’s shaking, cries out in ecstasy, and clings to him.
“I own this fucking city!” He snarls and bites into her, sucking enough to leave a nasty, purple bruise.
“And to top it aaaaall off… After the song and dance we’ve been doing for so long—I’ll own you, too.”
Her climax hits like a bullet to the ribs. It steals her breath and leaves her trembling–Trapped in the cage of his sculpted arms. He watches her fall apart with a predatory sort of reverence, a slow smile spreading across his lips.
“Buuuuut… I’m sure you wouldn’t mind that… Sweetheart~”
Fin.
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Thank you to @shymoob and @writingwisterias for Proofreading this!! Love my moots <3
