meow

Clouds fill the sky. Putting a dark shadow on the world, while the sun desperately tries to get through the thick cover. It’s faint light cascading on the run-down buildings, streets and everything that once was. The air is cold against your skin. The fresh autumnal morning air doing nothing to prevent the light blush that starts to form on your cheeks once you get out of the car. The cold nips at the top of your fingers, making you curl them into the palm of your hands. Even though it was only the start of October, it wouldn’t take long before winter would sweep the land into its stone-cold grasp. For that reason alone you slightly dread the days in the field that would soon, hopefully, follow. Never really liking the cold, you aimed for a warmer climate. That would be possible of course if your life had been different.

You stand in line with three other agents next to you. Men. Taller and broader than you, but not necessarily better. You’re all clad in a tight marine blue shirt, sleeves rolled up and a small zipper at the neckline. Due to the weather, yours is all the way up, concealing your chest. A pair of black combat trousers hug your thighs while boots in the same color are on your feet, making you stand firm and secure.

The harness around your chest carries the essentials. Handgun at your right side, shotgun and sniper rifle secure on your back. Two hand grenades hanging on your left just in case. The weight of a knife rests against your lower back. The blade is sharp, a machete, ready to chop a zombie's head off if necessary.

The men next to you wear similar assemblies. To your right there’s Jonathan. A twenty-five year old, six ft tall blond with an ego flying through the roof. Shotgun and sniper also on his back but instead of a knife, he carries a large stone hammer. The tip sharpened, making it easier to break one's skull. He has been in this program for just as long as you have, starting three months ago. 

The two men on your left, who you can’t even bother to remember the names of, have the same confidence as Jonathan. A smirk on their faces, like this first field job is going to be a piece of cake. They look slightly younger, twenty-two maybe twenty-three? You’re not sure. A few men in the other group that would come after you were twenty-six and twenty-seven. At the ‘ripe’ age of twenty-nine you’re the oldest one out of the rookies.

Standing before you are two more seasoned men. One incredibly broad, hair a dark brown almost grey at the sides, going by the name of Chris Redfield. At almost 6’1”his stance is wide, arms crossed, making his presence well known. He’s looking at us like any other teacher would. His brown eyes looking over his so called “students” with a straight face, while thinking to himself: “What the hell do these rookies think they’re doing here?”.

Next to him, slightly more behind, is his comrade. His hair, a dark blond streaked with a few grey strands signaling his age. Blue eyes focusing on the hand gun in his palm while putting in new ammo, not giving us as much attention. By 5’11” Leon S. Kennedy was not as broad as Mr. Redfield, but compared to him, he was definitely muscular as well. Biceps protruding and forearms showing off the few veins that peak from under his shirt.

The two of them had a well-known reputation. Both fought against any monstrosity the Umbrella corporation had thrown at them. Trying to protect the world from all evil.

They had trained you. Three months inside the DSO facility. Learning the basics from knowing how to reload a gun, to shooting one with perfect aim. Physical and emotional training, needed to defeat all enemies you would come across. Three months and eight trainees. All inexperienced rookies who wished to be full DSO agents, ready to kick some ass. Seven men and one woman. You.

Of course, being the only woman, which is very unseen in this line of work, you were often laughed at. Thought to be useless, weak and incompetent to get the job done. Well, we’ll see about that.

You’re quiet. Slowly analyzing the situation you’re in. Today is your first ever mission. As a trial of course. Three months of training had to lead somewhere. They had divided the group into two. The first group, with you in it, was brought to the outskirts of Raccoon city, driven in a van by Kennedy, Redfield in the passenger seat. The chanter in the car from your three other colleagues had been loud while you kept mostly to yourself. As you arrived at the scene, which seemed to be an open square with buildings surrounding you, you quickly got out of the car before anyone else. Already opening the trunk to get all your gear.

And that’s where we are now.

“Alright listen up.” You hear Chris say, making your ears perk up. “Your mission today will be simple, which is to retrieve some important information back from the old Umbrella labs that are situated below ground. You will be divided into two teams and each will be given a map. Your task is to bring the piece of information back to me. If you fail, you will be taken out of the program and you can pack your bags. Are we clear?”

You hear Jonathan next to you scoff, a silent “as if” slipping from his lips. Ever since the beginning of your training he has made it clear that he was the one who would be the next super-agent at the DSO. You already know now that a simple training, to retrieve information out of a lab, isn’t spectacular enough for him.

Chris’s eyes look us all up and down again before settling on you and Jonathan for a few seconds, then back to the two guys on your left. “Liam and Jason…” So those are their names. “… the two of you will be under my supervision.” Chris announces while walking over to them, handing them a phone with a map on it. “Leon, you take him and the girl” he continues, gesturing over to you. The girl…

“You need to take this mission seriously guys. This may look easy but you never know what could be lurking in this city. Especially underground. This is a necessary part of your training. Don’t take this lightly. You know what happens when you fail.” And with that he gestures to Liam and Jason to follow him, leaving you and Jonathan alone with Leon.

Leon's cold stare lingers on the both of you, sizing you up, almost like he is determining if the two of you are even worth his time. His gun is brought back into its holster, hanging at his right hip, before taking a phone out of his pocket similar to the one Chris gave to his own two rookies. “Take this.” He murmurs while outstretching his arm, waiting for one of you to take it.

Before you even get the chance to put a step forward, Jonathan beats you to it. Grabbing the phone out of Leon's grasp, he immediately starts to inspect the screen. Hastily looking over the map without including you. After a few seconds and a small huff from you, he looks up, eyes directed at Leon. “Is this a competition between the two teams? To see who finds the piece of information first?” The corners of his mouth slowly turn upwards. “Because I’ll beat them to it.”

The smirk that covers his face is so arrogant that you almost want to punch him in the face. You’re sure you could win a 1v1 fight against him. 

“It is not a competition in any way. You look for the piece of information that we want, you get it and get back out of there unscratched, together with your partner, is that clear?” Leon isn’t amused by Jonathan's confidence either. When he averts his gaze back to you, you can see the slight frown on his face soften just a smidge.

“Now…” he says, focused on you while pointing to your ear “… The little earpieces you have in do not only allow us to communicate with each other if necessary, but I will also be able to see your vitals while I keep an eye out for you during the mission.” 

“Wait, you’re not coming with us?” Jonathan speaks, a slight tremor in his voice if you hear correctly. Maybe even a little nervous? Anyway, it’s not enough to push him off the throne of pride in his head.

Leon looks back at him. “Who am I? Your babysitter? I’m not gonna hold your hand every time you have a mission. I think you’re old enough. You do know this is what you trained for right?”

You have to do your best to not let out the laugh that’s trying to burst out of your mouth. Your lips turning into a small smile instead that you desperately try to cover with your hand. 

You’ve always liked Leon, ever since the moment you met him back at DSO. Back when you were truly ‘a rookie’, having very little experience on the subject of being a special agent. Back then he had only greeted you with a firm handshake and a curt nod, murmuring a quick ‘nice to meet you’ as he quickly went on to greet the next rookie in line. But the way he carried himself and the way he was respectful towards others... Trying to help people when and wherever he could? It made you have a certain form of respect for the man.

It was also not difficult to notice that he’s very easy on the eye. The strong build, the sharp jawline, the stubble covering it… After three months of seeing him almost everyday, you'd grown a little crush for him. All innocent of course, because you knew very well the two of you could never be together. What would a successful and good looking DSO agent see in a twenty years younger and inexperienced ‘girl’? So you kept your silly feelings at bay, knowing it wasn’t worth the energy. 

All of that put aside now, you are a bit apprehensive about what Leon had just said to Jonathan… You have to admit, you’re a bit nervous being out there in the field with no experienced agent by your side if things were to go to shit. But you’re strong mentally, a good fighter and you’re brave. You can do this.

Jonathan, who of course isn’t impressed by Leon’s words, shoots right back. “And how do we…” he says, mockingly correcting what Leon had warned him about while pointing from himself to you “... know what we’re looking for? How are we supposed to know what kind of special information you guys need us to get?”

“You got a map. Use it.”

Jonathan steps forward. “That’s ridiculous. For all I know we could be out here until nightfall looking for a needle in a haystack.”

“Or until next week. That’s completely up to you.” Leon smirks, clearly having fun riling up the twenty-four year younger ‘boy’.

“You're insane, old man.” Jonathan spits back. 

You can see Leon’s eyebrow raise at those words. Seeming to unlock something within him and break through his usual more calm facade. Something that you’ve seen maybe once or twice during your training. Something that was a little bit more dominating… His jaw is clenched, teeth grinding before, in his turn, taking a step forward. Looking your colleague dead in the eye, smirk removed from his face with now a stern glare replacing it. 

“Watch it kid. I suggest you temper that tone of yours.” Another step closer. Not raising his voice, but keeping it cold and stern. “You don’t have to do this, you know. I don’t give a fuck if you drop out right now. What I do need to know though, is when you wish to go through with this, you will not fuck around. You will both protect each other while completing the mission. If your lives are at stake, you will do everything you can to get the two of you out of there. If you say yes to that, I, your superior, demand respect from you. Is that clear? You must learn your fucking. place. rookie.”

It went quiet next to you. No more words coming from Jonathan’s mouth.

When you turn to get a better look at him, you swear you see the dilemma in his eyes. Not knowing whether to punch Leon in the face or to restrain himself and go for the more civil option. 

Eventually he casts his gaze downwards, realizing he couldn’t keep going like that if he wanted to reach his goal at the DSO.

“Fine.”

Leon recognises the submission and decides to drop the subject. Point taken.

He takes a step back, arms crossed. "Alright, I suggest the two of you start off immediately. The day is short and you’ve got quite a lot of ground to cover. Use the time that you have.” Then before turning his back, his gaze lingers on you one more time. The look in his eyes sincere. “Take care.”

And with that, you and Jonathan are left to fend for yourselves in the harsh reality that is Raccoon city. It is so that even one hour later, you’re still trying to work out the map. That is, if Jonathan would give you a chance to look it over. 

You’ve had enough. You were constantly running in circles, covering the same places over and over again, which did nothing to ease your frustration with the man walking a few feet in front of you. It almost felt like the walls started to close in on you. So you decided to speak up. Thinking you’ve been patient enough. 

“You have no idea where we’re going, do you?”

He stops abruptly, making you almost walk straight into him. He turns his neck so fast, you’re almost certain he has broken it. “Excuse me?” 

You can see he’s trying to stay calm even though a fire is starting to ignite in his green eyes.

“You heard me. I don’t think you have even the slightest idea about where we are.”

A scoff falls from his lips, in deep contrast to the droplet of sweat coming down the side of his face. A sign of insecurity? Guess you’re right after all.  “Oh please, I have the map. I know exactly what I’m doing.” His arrogance shining through, even though you can see his facade slowly starting to break. So you continue.

“Jonathan, this is the second time we are going through this alley. There’s two possibilities. Either you don’t know where we’re going, or you love the scenery here so much you just had to see everything twice, some streets even thrice. And don’t tell me it’s the latter. I think it’s about time we switch things up and you give me a go at the map.”

“Oh please…” he replies, now fully facing you, trying to solve the matter in his favor. “You’re a girl. How could you be of any help right now? Do you even know how to read a map?” 

What is it with toxic men and their twisted ego’s? Their dying need to make women feel inferior? Never wanting to admit or even think about the idea that a woman could be right for once? Could be better? 

That’s the second time today you want to punch him in the face.

You step forward, pushing yourself up so you’re standing on the tips of your feet. Your hot breath hitting his face, mere inches from yours. “Watch a girl save your stupid ass.”

You snatch the phone out of his hand before he even has a chance to register what has happened. Pushing past him, you try to ignore the protests coming out of his mouth. Your fingers flying over the screen of the phone, finally getting a good look at the map. 

You’re not too far off from the way you need to go. The so-called entrance to the Umbrella labs underground being only a fifteen minute walk from here. How the hell did he miss that? 

“Give me the phone back.” Jonathan grumbles, his arm reaching around you. You’re faster though, already taking a few steps forward, making your way out of the alley and onto the main street, moving in the right direction.

“Just save your breath pretty boy. We’ll be there in no time.” You smile, picking up pace. You hear him right behind you, sighing like a toddler who hasn’t been given his way. 

After ten minutes or so, you reach a more secluded area of the city. The buildings looking even more run-down than before. The air suddenly so dense and foggy, you’re sure the entrance should be right around the corner. And you’re right. When you continue, you see multiple Umbrella posters plastered onto nearby fences, the red and white logo clearly recognisable. You grin, looking down at the map again, seeing that the entrance should be right ahead. 

“You know, I’m not one to apologize easily but… Seems like you were right after all.” 

You almost choke on your own spit at hearing the words Jonathan says from behind you. “Excuse me?” You stop, turning around to face him.

 “Yeah, I just…” He starts, stopping next to you “... guess I was kind of dick to you before? You got us right where we needed to go.”

You blink, not fully knowing how to react for a couple seconds. Does the all so mighty Jonathan actually want to apologize to you? Ever since you started training together 3 months ago he wouldn’t even spare you a second glance. And now he’s trying to be nice? 

“Uh... Yeah, whatever. Let’s keep going.” you reply, starting to feel a little awkward. 

You turn your back to him again, your steps firm as you continue your search. You hear hurried footsteps behind you, Jonathan now making his way right beside you.

“So I’ve been thinking…” Oh boy, he’s been thinking? What an achievement. “... You and I? We would be a great team together don’t you think?”

You turn your head, making eye contact with him before quickly averting your gaze once you see the tiny smirk plastered on his face. You don’t like where his insinuation is going. 

“Uh, maybe? I don’t know. What’s your point?”

His smirk grows wider at that. His steps curving slightly to the left, making his way closer to you. “Oh I’ve seen you, you know. Back at the DSO facility. You’re always by yourself, not making a fuss, doing exactly what dear Redfield and Kennedy ask of us. You’re always at the top of the class, doing your training like a good girl. You’re a natural. I figured, when this mission is over, you’d maybe want to consider becoming partners.”

You find his words creepy at the very least. And do you believe him? Has he actually been watching you these past 3 months? Or is this just his way of saving his ass so you won’t complain about him when you get back? 

“How could you be of any help to me? You couldn’t even read the map.” You scoff. 

You can feel his hand brushing against your underarm slightly. He’s so close now you can feel his hot breath hitting the side of your face. “I didn’t mean it in an agent kind of way, love.”

You stop again abruptly, looking at him like he’d just grown an extra head. “Excuse me?”

He’s laughing now, a disgusting rasp in his throat. “Oh come on, don’t play dumb. We’ve been at the DSO for three months now and you're the only female agent in training. You don’t mean to tell me no one else has ever made an offer like this to you?”

“What the hell are you implying?”

“I could show you a good time, you know? Have you take the edge off for once. I must say that I know my way around the female body very well, so you’d be in for a treat. I could please you just right. You won’t regret it. I can promise you that.”   

Not only is he trying to get on your good side to profit from it at the DSO, but he’s also trying to get in your pants. You just shake your head. Sadly this hadn’t been the first time a man had spoken to you like that. 

“You’re a pig.” You turn around, ignoring the excuses and promises pouring out of his mouth. You have better things to do than reprimanding a child.

What the two of you don’t know, is that a few streets back, Leon is following you. Not just following and checking your vitals, but also hearing every word that’s being said between you and Jonathan. A little detail the DSO keeps hidden, to see how rookies will react in these kinds of missions, not holding anything back while their superiors listen. And right now? Leon is very happy he’s able to do so. 

He finds Jonathan to be an inexperienced low life who thinks he’s got it all figured out. The way he talks to you makes his blood boil. Not necessarily because it’s you, but just of the way he speaks to a woman. Like you’re just a vessel for his pleasure.

He chuckles when you dismiss him so easily, not paying him much mind. He likes your spirit. You always thought he didn’t pay you much thought during training, but you were wrong. He knew who you were. Who didn’t to be honest? The only female field agent at the DSO. Doing your best at every training. Hitting your marks every time there was a shooting test. Often even better than the other male rookies. 

So yes, you had definitely triggered his interest. 

As you make your way through all the abandoned and burned down cars, you can see a large hole in the ground just a few feet up ahead. Bingo.

You reach it. A black hole, approximately six by six feet big, making its way down through the concrete. No sounds come from it, but the smell is undeniable. Rotting flesh.

Ok. You prepare yourself for a few zombies down there. It should be doable with your training and all the weapons you have on you, you tell yourself. Luckily you’re not alone.

You take a flare that’s attached to your belt before igniting it and letting it fall into the darkness. It falls down a few seconds, hitting a few metal objects in its way, before settling at the bottom. You can see a steep wall of concrete going down, followed by a half destroyed ladder that reaches the bottom. You don’t see or hear any infected. For all you know, there could be a rotting corpse down there. You’re not going to wait to find out.

“Let’s go.” you say before squatting, moving one leg into the hole. 

“Oh how how wait! You wanna go in there?” Jonathan grabs your shoulder. When you look back at him you can see the uncertainty in his expression. Gone is all the fun and excitement from before, replacing it with a certain form of fear. 

“And what else do you suggest?” you question him.

He starts looking around all of sudden. “Well… Maybe there’s another entrance. One that’s more safe than this one.”

“Nothing about our job is safe Jonathan. Look around you. Do you see another way in? ‘Cause I sure as hell don’t. The map led us to this place right here.”

He doesn’t reply after that, just keeps looking at you with the same uncertainty as before.

“You coming or not?” 

His only reply is a curt nod, making you doubt if he actually means it or not. He squats next to you, letting go of your shoulder. You take that as your cue to keep going. You descend gently and slowly, one foot in front of the other down the steep concrete wall. Into the lion's den as they say. 

You try to make as little noise as possible, making your way down the ladder. Once you have reached the bottom, you take your flashlight so you can check your surroundings better. 

The room you’re in is small, also six by six feet. A long dark tunnel is connected to it. You can’t see anything more than a few feet ahead of you, the flare and flashlight only illuminating a small amount of the place. You see water further ahead, making the tunnel appear to be some kind of sewer, which explains the smell as well. 

Jonathan reaches the bottom next to you, frantically looking around, hand covering his nose. “What the fuck is this…”

You pick your gun from its holster, aiming it in front of you while also pointing your flashlight. You gesture for him to follow you. “Come on.”

You step into the tunnel. The water around your feet making your steps more heavy, while also producing a little too much sound for your liking. Behind you, you hear Jonathan pick up the flare. You turn around.

“Leave it so we can still see the entrance. Use your flashlight.”

He looks down again, a little frustrated with himself. “I didn’t bring one.”

You blink. “You didn’t bring one? Seriously?" A tiny shake of his head signaling no was your response. Jesus… Try going to war with someone like him. 

“How could you possibly-. You know what? Forget it. Let’s go.” You wish this day would be over very soon. 

The two of you continue through the tunnel, you at the front, him checking for any threats coming from behind, his gun now also drawn. The tunnel seems to bring you further down, a slight steep to your feet. It goes on for about two hundred feet until it separates into two new tunnels. One going left and one going right. You stop, trying to decide where to go from here. Jonathan bumps into you, not realising you had stopped. A whispered ‘sorry’ before an ‘oh fuck’ fell from his lips once he sees the split-up.

“What do we do now? What does the map say?” He asks, looking at you.

You take the phone again, your flashlight resting between your cheek and shoulder as you hold it in place. You see the thick yellow line bending to the right, signaling your way forward. As you put the device away again, you hear a low rumbling noise coming from the left. It’s far away though, a gurgling moaning sound that gets swallowed by the dark. You don’t have to ponder very long to realise what it is. You point your flashlight to the left, squinting your eyes, but you can't see anything.

“Thank God we don’t have to go in that direction.” You whisper while hearing Jonathan quietly agree behind you. You take that as your queue to continue your way right. 

After about fifteen minutes of following tunnels, coming onto new split-ups, going left and right, you have reached the end of the tunnel. A short type of stairs going up with a metal door at the end of it. That must be where the lab is. 

You grin in victory, ready to be done with this mission. You turn towards Jonathan, who’s inspecting the door with a certain nervousness. “You go up there and try unhinging the door. Look for any threats inside. I’ll cover you.” You tell him. He looks at you now, lips parted, clearly not wanting to but not deciding if he should fight you on it or not.

Eventually he nods, taking a few steps forward before going up the stairs, it steps creaking underneath his weight. You turn around, your gun pulled, ammo checked and flashlight up. You’re ready if anything dares to come closer. 

Jonathan reaches the door behind you. His shuffling and pacing before the small window making you curious to see what’s inside.

“You see anything?” You whisper, before he turns around to look at you. 

“No, it seems clear. It’s locked from inside though.” Another pause. “Let me get this door open.” He murmurs as he uses his elbow to break the glass. When that’s done, he puts his arm through it and reaches for the lock on the other side.

The twist of a lock is heard before the metal door screeches open. No sounds come from ahead of you, so you take a few steps back, gun still at the ready if necessary. You go up the stairs, turning around so you wouldn’t trip. Once you’re standing next to Jonathan at the top, you’re able to look into the room as well. 

The room contains several desks decorated with various kinds of test tubes. The contents unknown to you as a result of it not being your field of work. Paper documents are scattered on the floor with a few lab coats and plastic gloves here and there. At least you’re sure now that you’re in the right place. At the end of the room, you can see an ever bigger desk with a large computer on it, its screen almost measuring six by three feet. 

You’re the first to take some careful steps into the room, checking left and right for anything that might be out of the ordinary. Something that might look like the important piece of information the DSO needs. The air is cooler, more sterile than in the tunnels, but the awful stench remains. 

Leon follows everything on the small iPad in his hand, staying a few blocks away from the entrance. This is a job meant for the two of you, as training. He can not interfere. 

He can see you have reached the lab, your heartbeat quicker than normal as he checks your vitals. He listens to your steady breathing when you enter the room with your partner right behind you. Jonathan’s heartbeat however goes sky high, his breathing way more rapid than yours. Leon chuckles at the difference between you. The boy still has a lot more to learn. Compared to him you’re a natural. When a man and a woman go into the field together, you’d normally expect it to be the other way around. 

Back down, you can’t find anything lying around. So you decide to start with the computer. The piece of information has to be connected to it somehow. Looking down at the keyboard, you type incoherent words trying to get the computer to work since you don’t see an on-switch anywhere. 

You don’t have to try very long, the computer turning on at the first key you press. It’s not locked? How weird…

You take the mouse in your hand and go straight for the saved documents, searching for anything that might be valuable. And thank God you’re lucky. Various files were saved, starting from different kinds of chemicals to files about the test subjects they tried it out on. One particular folder takes your interest ‘The Connections Corporation’. You click it open.

Everything is in there. Their IP-adres, the people who carried out their work, reports from several top secret meetings… Guess you hit the jackpot. 

You know what you have to do. Bending down, you look underneath the desk searching for the actual computer instead of looking at the monitor. When you find the black object, you take out your machete as you try to get the lid off. When you do, you look for the computer chip, carefully detaching it from the rest so you can take it with you. 

You get back from under the desk. Your flashlight producing enough light so you can see it was still in good condition. As you go to put it in your pocket, Jonathan, who has been quiet all this time, steps up, snatching the computer chip out of your hand before putting it in his own pocket.

“I’ll keep this safe, thank you very much.” he cockily sneers.

Fed up with his childish behavior, you turn around, ready to give him a piece of mind. Who does think he is, letting you do all the work and then showing off after?

What you see next however makes your blood run cold and your breath hitch, quickly swallowing the words you were going to say before shouting something else. “Get down!”

He listens immediately, hearing the urgency in your voice. His body goes down by a fraction of a second before you raise your gun and shoot the zombie behind him right between its eyes, its body falling limp on the ground. 

Leon’s ears perk up as he hears the gunshot through the little earpieces, his eyes now focused on the screen of his iPad more than ever, his body on high alert. You’re not supposed to run into any infected. He and Chris had scouted the perimeter before dropping you guys here. It’s supposed to be safe. He can see the two dots on the screen signaling where you and Jonathan are standing, but there’s no sign of a third person on the screen.

You’re shaking, your breathing now rapid as you stare at the lifeless body on the ground before you. The first zombie you have ever seen and also your first kill. You take a few steps closer to inspect it more carefully. 

It’s the body of what once was a man, aged somewhere in his forties. It looks gaunt, caused by the lack of nutrition down here, its cheekbones pressing through its skin. Soulless, white eyes stare back at you, the skin between them torn by the shape of your bullet. Its jaw is what freaks you out the most, for it’s barely even there anymore. Half of it is still hanging from the upper part while the rest has been broken and torn off, smearing blood all over the neck, as the tongue hangs limply. That thing had been close enough to Jonathan to push him against the ground and kill him. How had he not heard something? How had you not heard something? If you hadn’t turned around…

The creature wears a labcoat, torn to pieces together with its shirt and trousers underneath. As you look better at the clothing, you start to realise one thing. Whatever kind of infected this thing was… It was already in this room before you first entered. 

“I… I thought you said this room was clear?” You manage to get the first words out of your mouth when turning to Jonathan. He hasn’t gotten up, still bending forward as you see him trying to wrap his head around what’d just happened. 

His lack of response angers you, so you take a step in his direction, now standing right before him as you make eye contact. “You hear me?” Now slightly raising your voice, still trying to be as quiet as possible. “Hey! Talk to me. You said this room was clear!”

His lips tremble when he speaks. “I… I did… It-it must’ve sneaked up on us back in the tunnels.”

“Bullshit.” You spit back. “I checked our backs right until we walked into this room and not once did I see or hear an infected. Look at his labcoat you fucking moron. He was in this room all this time!”

“I’m sorry. I tried- I really…”

“You could have gotten us both killed.” You silence him as you aim your flashlight around the room, going through it a bit more thoroughly, checking behind and underneath all the desks to make sure that one infected was the only one. 

When you finish your round, you step back towards Jonathan. “Look… Accidents happen. Just… Don’t let this happen again alright?” You try to sooth him while stretching out your hand, helping him stand up again. Once he’s standing you check your ammo, ready to make your way back out. The sooner the better. 

You only make it a few steps back towards the door, before you feel Jonathan grab your hand, stopping you. “That thing…” A tremor in his voice as he whispers “... It was so fucking close. If-if you hadn’t shot it down, I might have…” He can’t bring it in himself to finish that sentence. “Thank you. I’m so sorry I let you down” 

You gave him a soft smile. "Whatever. Let’s just go. I think we’ve both had enough of this place.”

As he agrees, you both make your way out of the lab and down the stairs again, starting back through the almost endless looking network of tunnels. 

Leon had moved considerably closer by now, being in the same street as the entrance you went through. There’s still no sign of any infected on his screen, so you both have to make it back without any problems.

You go in front of Jonathan as per usual, the water quietly sloshing around you, aiming your gun and flashlight straight ahead. To your relief, you don’t run into any more filthy bioweapons from Umbrella. Which is a godsend really.

Your optimism is short-lived though. WIth only a few more corners to pass, you suddenly stop as you see a figure standing about fifty feet ahead.  

Another infected stands right in the middle of the narrow tunnel, its back to you. Your previous gunshot must have alerted it. You curse under your breath, quickly putting your fist up as a silent motion for Jonathan to stop as well. You look at him, quickly bringing your index finger towards your lips as a sign for him to be quiet. He was already distracted though, eyes fixed on the thing that’s ahead of us.

You see him slowly reach for the gun that is hanging from his right hip. As you’re trying to be as quiet as possible, a gun isn’t the best option here. This has to be done as quietly as possible, to not attract any attention.

You quickly grab his arm to make him look at you, head turning as you make eye contact. You shake your head ‘no’, pushing his gun away, before taking your machete where it’s held at your lower back. You point towards his stone hammer, gesturing for him to do the same. 

Leon is getting more and more worried now. Why have the two of you stopped again? There’s nothing showing on his screen, nothing that should be in your way. The way back to the exit should be clear. 

You sign to Jonathan to stay put and for him to help you when things go wrong. A basic form of military sign language was part of your training back at the DSO.

As Jonathan nods, you take a deep breath before looking back at the creature before you. Thankfully it hasn’t noticed you yet. As you gather all your courage, you grip your machete tighter as you make your way towards it. 

It doesn’t make any sounds. It isn’t even moving, standing in the middle of the tunnel like a statue. The light of your flashlight and Jonathan's flare, not alarming it. Just like the one you’d killed back at the lab. Your heart almost pounding out of your chest as you near it, praying to every god above this would go well.

With only a few feet away, you can feel its rotting flesh starting to infiltrate your senses, almost wanting to gag at the repulsive smell. You take the last bits of distance in a hurry, raising your arm before sweeping it down with as much force you could manage. The blade makes contact with its neck, your cut clean, as in one full motion you’re able to cut its head off. The head falling to the side before the body tumbles into the water, the sound of the splash being something you could have avoided. Fuck.

As on cue, you hear a few gurgling moans coming from somewhere in front of you. You take some steps forward, seeing three infected coming from a nearby tunnel on the right that’s connected to yours. 

They’re different from the ones you’d seen before, more active and way louder. They seem way more aware of their surroundings too, your flashlight doing nothing to hide yourself as their heads all turn towards you, gaze feral, screeching, raising their arms while making their way to you. Shit.

This hasn’t gone unnoticed by Jonathan either of course. His breathing uncontrollable as he shakes in his boots. “Fuck…” Clearly for him there’s no point in being quiet anymore “…fuck …we’re gonna die. We’re gonna fucking die!”

“No we’re not. Jonathan, man the fuck up. There’s three of them and there’s two of us, we can take them.” Why is it always you that has to encourage him?

The three infected have reached you within seconds, jaws snapping, out-stretched hands trying to get a hold of you. You dodge them and swing your foot into the chest of the first infected on your right, your strength enough to push him down, arms swaying. You don’t waste any time. Standing over it you lift your machete before swinging it down with all your might, planting the knife right into its skull, body going limp.

The reeking hot breath of the second infected tingles your neck. Before it has a chance you’re spinning on your heels, water splashing, as you swing your knife again, the blade finding home into its neck. Not enough to kill it but plenty to imbalance him. As blood seeps from the wound, you pull back your machete, foot kicking its chest so it goes down. You plan to do the same thing you did to the one before. Standing over it you raise your weapon again.

All of a sudden you feel an immense impact on your back, causing you to drop your flashlight and machete, your body being pushed harshly against the stone wall. You’re quick enough to turn around to prevent the flying hands from scratching you, instead grabbing the wrists and trying to pin them down. The third zombie that cages you in is enormous, towering over you by 6.6 feet, dwarfing you completely. Its broad chest and strong arms preventing you from getting away, its power momentarily too strong for your smaller frame. You grunt as you try to push it off, looking past it to see where Jonathan is.

He hasn’t moved yet, still standing a few feet back with his mouth agape, clearly in shock.

“Jonathan, don't just stand there! Help me out!” You shout, making him snap out of it.

He looks at you, then back at the infected on the ground, which is still moving, towards the infected that has you pinned against the wall. He’s shaking like a leaf.

“Jonathan!” Still no reaction.

You’re getting desperate now, almost screaming. “Jonathan please! Fucking shoot it!”

That seems to knock him out of his stupor. Sadly, not in the way you had hoped. Instead of picking up his gun and shooting the brute that holds you hostage, he passes you, almost jumping over the half dead infected lying on the ground. He looks at you almost in shame. “I-I’m sorry.” Are his last words before bolting, leaving you to die and taking the flare with him.

Leon is sprinting towards the entrance, throwing all protocol aside. Technically, he isn’t supposed to help, but fuck that.

Your heart drops to the pit of your stomach.

No, no, oh god no… The dread that fills you is almost enough to pull you down and lose the battle you’re having against the infected. But that can not happen. As long as you’re breathing you won’t go down without a fight. It’s just branded into you like that.

Think. Come on, think!

There isn’t anything around that can help you. You can’t reach for one of your guns either or you risk getting bitten. You have to use your body, your own strength, to get out of here somehow.

When an idea strikes your mind, you do a quick mental prayer, literally jumping into action, all in the matter of two seconds. Pushing your whole body up, using the wall behind you as leverage, you kick the infected right in its chest with both of your feet. The action causes it to take a few steps back, releasing you, giving you a second to recompose yourself. In the little time that you have, you reach for the shotgun hanging from your back, swinging it to your front so you can hold it better with two hands. A simple pistol shot isn’t gonna do the job you reckon.

You raise it, just in time, before the infected reaches for you again, its mouth open as it brings out a gurgling scream. You lift the shotgun right under its chin as you pull the trigger, not knowing what kind of damage it will cause.

The shot is loud. Its recoil pushes you back as you feel the pressure down to your core. The zombie’s face is blown off, blood and flesh splattering on the wall behind it, leaving only partial pieces of the head still standing. You almost gag as the body tips over, water splashing, mixing with blood as it makes contact with the ground. Pieces of brain and bone now scattered around it.

As you pant, you realize that the last infected, the one Jonathan had jumped over, was still alive. As you turn you see its body still wriggling in the water, face down. You pick up your machete again and make quick work of it. Pushing your foot down on its back you raise your weapon and bring it down with full force towards the wound you’d previously made. Flesh tearing and bone cracking as you end its life, fully decapitating it.

Meanwhile Leon has now reached the entrance to the tunnels, a weak Jonathan climbing out like the devil himself is after him. His gaze lifting as he hears the sound of running footsteps. “Mr. Kennedy…?”

Leon forcefully pushes him out of the way without a second glance, jumping straight into the darkness below, heart pounding and gun drawn, moving as fast as he could.

He almost flinches when the unmistakable sound of a gunshot reaches his ears, the loud noise reverberating through the tunnels. Dread filling his heart as he quickens his pace even more. He takes a detour to the right, knowing the tunnels better than anyone as he had gone through them countless times before on previous missions. He realizes you’re not too far away from the entrance. He just hopes he makes it in time before you get hurt.

You stand up straight again, legs slightly wobbly from the exertion you had to go through while also a bit shaken up. You had never seen an infected before and now you had killed 4 of them in the span of 30 minutes. All in your first ever mission as well. Would have been easier if your partner hadn’t left you behind though…

You would show him what you were made of once you got out of here. He would have to run if he wanted to avoid you killing him. That alone was a wonderful motivation for you to move forward.

Being under the assumption it’s finally over, you place your machete back on the straps at your back, before going to retrieve the flashlight lying on the ground a few feet ahead of you.

The splashing of water, moaning combined with screeching fills the air once more, making you stop dead in your tracks. Your eyes widen, not believing the things you’re hearing. You thought that had been it. That you’d get to walk out of here now unscratched. Oh boy were you wrong.

Five new infected turn around the same corner the previous three had come from, all equally disgusting and horrifying in their own way.

You abort mission, leaving your flashlight for what it is. It will only draw more attention. You duck into the nearest alcove on your left, knees touching the wet ground as you kneel down, sogging the material of your trousers. At least you think it’s an alcove... You don’t have time to check, as the infected are now standing in the middle of the tunnel. Your flashlight making sure you can still see their silhouettes in the dark.

You’re lucky enough to survive the attack of three infected all by yourself, but taking on five at the same time is impossible. You can take three of them, but not five… Not five.

There’s no way around them either. They’re blocking your path towards the exit completely. Keeping you hostage. Panic seeps through you again like a cold blanket. You have to think of an escape plan, and fast. The infected won’t be standing there forever. Hunting you down being their number one objective, to go after the noise they heard. They will follow the tunnel farther down in your direction and if one of them dares to look you way, you’re done for.

As you carefully peek around the corner you can see them already stumbling your way. You look behind you, pitch blackness greeting you like a meager solution. The alcove seems to be a narrow hallway of sorts, leading you to god knows where. You don’t have your flashlight on you either. You won’t be able to see a thing. Who knows what you might run into? And fighting something when you can’t see, is like walking up to the gallows. You have to get your flashlight back but that will risk you being seen.

You take another look around the corner. Luckily, they haven’t moved any closer. You figure that trying to fight the infected is your best shot at the moment. To get your flashlight quickly and use the dark hallway behind you as a plan B.

You reload your pistol and shotgun, getting yourself ready for what might be your last few minutes of being alive. Shotgun slung over your shoulder, pistol gripped tight in your right hand, you close your eyes, taking a few deep breaths.

You will try to get your flashlight first. After that your main goal is to hit as many headshots as possible. And if that goes wrong? You’re bolting.

A gloved hand suddenly covers your mouth, preventing the faint scream from escaping your lungs. At the same time a strong arm wraps around you, pulling you against a hard chest, preventing you from moving any further. Your gun falls to the ground, making too much noise for your liking.

Using your body you push back against the hard surface behind you, wriggling your arms as you try to get free. Your head is pushed back, hitting someone’s shoulder. As you try to look up, a familiar face comes into view, blue eyes meeting yours.

Leon releases your face, bringing his index finger towards his mouth, signaling for you to remain quiet. You quickly nod, a little perplexed as you realize he’s here. His grip around you making sure that you’re not just imagining things.

Moving around, he removes the arm that is slung around you and puts you behind him. As he slowly turns the corner he’s able to get a better look, seeing all the bloodshed you had caused, the infected slowly making its way towards you. He moves back, gesturing for you to come closer to him with his hand on your back so you’re squatting next to each other.

He communicates through sign language. Telling you to stay calm and to follow his lead, that everything is going to be alright. You believe him. With two agents against five infected the job will be more doable. When all of this is over, you have to think of a way to repay him. Repay him well.

Moving his hands he tells you his idea. The plan is to be stealthy and make as little of a mess as possible. Being the older and more experienced agent, he will move first with you right behind him. His axe and your machete at the ready. Before you turn the corner, he will throw a rock over the infected and into the other direction, trying to get their attention away from you. Then the two of you will move closer, each trying to take out one infected separately, two if you’re lucky. The rest will probably have to be done with a gun.

You sign back to the narrow tunnel behind you, to the way he came from. Wondering if that isn’t a better option than the danger that lies before you. Leon shakes his head as he brings up all ten fingers before pointing behind him. Your eyes widen, shock clearly visible on your face. Your hands start to tremble. There are ten more back there? Did he sneak past all of them? The thought makes you shiver.

Leon sees the worry in your expression. Quickly putting his hand on top of yours. He makes sure your eyes are back on him. Clear blue staring back at you, he whispers the words ‘we’re going to be ok’. The warmth of his voice feels like a warm blanket around you, emitting a protective and secure feeling. His hand touching yours, sending goosebumps up your whole body.

All of a sudden you realize how close the two of you are actually sitting. Your knees barely touching, his hot breath slightly caressing your face. For the fraction of a second, you allow yourself to admire him. The few strands of hair slightly covering his eyes. The few wrinkles there, around his nose and on his forehead, signaling his experience in life. The light stubble with a few grey strands going through it, down towards his neck. Adam's apple bobbing as he swallows. Down to the broad and muscular pectorals. His arms are a piece of art on its own, the muscles under his shirt bulging as he’s preparing for the fight that’s about to come. He is… beautiful. You feel safe with him even though the situation isn’t very bright looking.

To not let him notice you staring, you quickly take your hand away from under his grasp, signing back that you agree with his plan. You put your gun back into its holster and reach once again for your machete, keeping it ready. Leon does the same, his axe now gripped tightly in his hand, the blade still shining in the faint light that is given. You look at him and curtly nod, signaling that you are ready.

He picks up a nearby rock that lies neglected in the water, putting it ready at his feet. Raising three fingers between you, he looks into your eyes, signaling he’s about to count down. Another nod from you is the last assurance he needs.

One. Two. Three.

The rock goes flying. Straight over the heads of the infected, colliding to the tunnel wall with a sharp loud thud. As on cue the five heads turn in the direction of the sound, giving you and Leon exactly the opening you need.

Leon moves first, stalking the first infected on the left. You’re right behind him, your eyes on the one next to it. The two of you move as quietly through the water as possible. The wrinkles betraying your position, thankfully not too obvious for the infected to notice. You try to be efficient, knowing you’re only given a handful of seconds before their attention will fall back to you.

Leon doesn’t turn to look back, feeling your presence now next to him.

Like the two of you had practiced it a million times before, you both jump at the exact same time. Both of your weapons hitting its mark as you attack from behind.

The two creatures don’t stand a chance. Both being beheaded at the same time. The sound of body parts falling brings the others out of their stupor, all of them turning to inspect what happened.

They don’t get much time to act. The one closest to you is forcefully pushed back against the wall as you kick it in its chest. Leon racing past you to take care of the other two.

The one you had pushed against the wall, recovers quickly. Its arms sway as it tries to hurt you with strong perseverance. You swing your machete, the tip aiming down as you impale it right in the chest. A sound something between a gasp and screech falls from its lips as you pull the blade back out. Aiming it, you swing again. This time chopping both of its arms off. You finish with something that’s starting to become your signature move. Blade slicing through its throat, vertebrae and neck. The head rolls into the water as the body slumps down against the wall.

Panting, you turn around, your gaze searching for Leon. He had downed the fourth infected. Now standing over it, foot placed on its chest, he gives the final blow. His axe planting itself into the skull, blood splattering everywhere as pieces of brain fall onto the ground.

Behind him you see the fifth infected taking advantage of Leon being distracted. Its mouth hanging open, blood already seeping out of it, as it starts for him, reaching for his neck. Leon being completely oblivious.

You don’t have time to scream or shout his name. You raise your machete instead before aiming. With a groan you throw it. The blade swinging through the air before sheeting itself into the neck of your target. The strength of your blow causes the infected to fall to the side. Wriggling in the water with a strangled groan leaving its bloodied mouth.

You reach it in no time. Taking your blade out of its neck before lifting your foot. Bringing it down with full force you break the skull, crushing the bone. Its brain is a mash up underneath your boot as you hear the bone crunch. You quickly pick up the flashlight as you look around. Feeling the adrenaline coursing through your body, awaiting a new threat. 

As your eyes fall upon Leon, you see him already looking at you, panting as well and eyes wide. A faint look of disbelief on his face, like he almost couldn’t understand how you’d killed the infected before he did.

“You… uh… Well done.” He nodded, casting his eyes to the ground. He takes his own flashlight out of his pocket before lighting it. Inhaling sharply through his nose, he takes a few steps forward, now standing directly next to you. He checks the way ahead before clearing his throat. “We need to get out of here.”

As on cue you hear an immense blast coming down the way you came from. The tunnels shake as dust and a few rocks come down from the ceiling. The two of you both bending over, Leon’s arm slightly hovering over you as a form of protection.

“What the…” you hear him whisper.

“Mr. Kennedy, what was that?” 

The next thing you know, multiple screeches and moans fill the area again. The sound coming exactly from where the huge blast had come from. Not just the screeching of four or five infected. No… There are more. Way more. It almost seems as if the blast from before had opened up a gate of some sorts. The gates of hell, freeing its most horrendous kind of demons. 

As you hear the thunder of footsteps and snarling getting closer, you realize this is not something the two of you can fight off on your own. Not even with all the guns you have on you. Leon seems to be sharing the same thought, quickly grabbing your arm and turning you around. “Run to the exit, now!”

You don’t have to be told twice. Aiming your flashlight to prevent yourself from falling down, you sprint through the tunnels. Leon right behind you. Occasionally looking behind him as he draws his gun. You do the same as you do not know what kind of surprises might still lie ahead. 

The snarls get louder behind you, signaling the infected’s proximity. They are faster than you, you realize. Way faster, even though they don’t see a thing in the dark. Must be some weird type of mutation Umbrella cooked up in one of their labs. 

As you round the final corner, you finally get to see the light of day. Literally. The hole in the concrete that you came through, being about two hundred feet up ahead. You run towards it as fast as you can. But sprinting slightly uphill with water to slow you down isn’t very ideal. Both Leon and you are having a hard time getting up.

You’re halfway when you look behind you. Seeing at least 6 infected rounding the corner you just passed yourself, with more to follow. You’re not as brave now as you were before, fear seeping into your bones again. Fear of not making it in time and having to die out here. “They’re getting closer!” 

Leon ceases his sprinting and turns around. “Go! I’m right behind you!” 

The first shot of his pistol rings through your ears as it hits its target. The one infected running at the front falling down, the rest crawling over its body like madmen. More shots follow as you hear Leon take out one after the other. 

You look back down once you reach the top and see Leon still shooting as fast as he can. As the infected get concerningly closer. You take out your sniper rifle, aiming down and looking through the scope. “Mr. Kennedy c’mon, I’ll cover you!” 

You wait as you analyze your targets. Waiting for the perfect shot as you don’t have as much ammo on you as you actually need for the rifle. You grin as three infected align perfectly. The red dot of your scope marking the first one's head. The other two running behind it. You take the shot. Your bullet bursting through their brains in one fluid motion, downing them in a mere second. Because of the silencer, your first shot is almost inaudible. But it does not go unnoticed by Leon as you hear him curse under his breath before turning.  

As he’s sprinting up towards you, you do everything in your power to make sure he gets up safe. Only needing a handful of seconds to down the first litter. Sniping is something you’ve excelled at ever since you started at the DSO. Being often told your sniper skills are better than anyone else's, you take immense pride in the skill. 

Well your training is definitely paying off now.

Leon reaches the top incredibly fast. Grabbing your hand he pushes you towards the ladder. “Hurry...” 

You swing your rifle onto your back before grabbing the metals bars and climbing up. You hear Leon fire a few more shots before following suit. Reaching the top, you lean against the steep concrete wall, regaining your balance before bending down. Your hand reaches for Leon’s as you try to help him up. His warm firm grasp embraces yours. With one strong tug you pull him up. 

Something counters your strength, Leon groaning as he’s being pulled down again. A loud curse escapes him. One of the infected has managed to gain up on him and grasp onto his lower leg. As it grabs him with both of its claws and tries to climb up, you know he’ll get bitten if you don’t act quickly. Freeing your pistol from its holster, you aim right between its dead eyes. Not hesitating as you pull the trigger. The blow causes the creature to fall back down, taking two others with him who were also trying to get up the ladder.

With Leon now free, you continue pulling him back up. As he gets up next to you on the concrete wall, you grasp for your shotgun again, aiming towards the next filthy infected that’s right behind him. You pull the trigger. The immense blast making it tumble back down in several pieces.

You hear Leon shout next to you. “There’s too many. Run!” 

Climbing up the steep wall, you hear the sharp clinging of metal next to you. You look back at Leon. The metal pin of the grenade he’s holding, being the source of the noise. You see him pull out the pin before throwing it carelessly behind him. He pushes you forward. “Go! Shit’s about to blow!” 

With a last look behind him, he throws the grenade back at the infected, before taking a final sprint. You see it land right at the bottom of the hole, at least twenty zombies now filling the area that you came from while some were climbing the ladder again. Leon wraps his arm around your middle and pushes you out of the tunnel as fast as he can. 

Finally reaching the top, the two of you climb out, leaving the evil darkness behind. Now running on the street you only manage a few more steps before your body is catapulted. As the bomb goes off behind you, you hear the deafening sound of rubble coming down. Shaking the asphalt below your feet. You fall on your front. Your arms wrap around your head to prevent yourself from getting hurt. Leon falls on top of you. His body now involuntarily protecting yours from any flying debris. 

After a few seconds the rumbling and screeching from the infected quiets down. You feel the pressure of Leon’s body slightly crushing you. The smell of sweat and dirt mixed with the smell of freshly washed linen fill your senses like a warm blanket that’s being wrapped around you. Oddly enough, you don’t mind his crushing weight. 

A few more moments pass before you feel him shift above you. Slowly lifting himself up as a groan falls from his lips. One hand positioned at your waist as the other holds himself up. You dare look up yourself.

Smoke fills the air, providing an even more thick and impenetrable fog than there already was. Pieces of rubble and dirt all scattered around the place. As you look back at the hole in the ground that you came through, you only see a big pile of debris left. What once was an entrance to one of the Umbrella labs had now caved in, taking the infected with it. The grenade had sealed them in like a tomb.

You feel Leon’s firm grip as he lifts you from the ground. Once back on your feet, you’re turned towards him. One hand still on your shoulder as he starts inspecting you from head to toe. Brows furrowed as he’s looking for any sign of injuries. “Are you alright?” He asks hurriedly, his gaze now coming up to meet yours. Searching your eyes to make sure you’re not hurt.

You nod, slightly nervous because of his touch. “I-I’m fine…” You say before looking at your feet. The intense eye contact a bit too demanding for you to hold. Looking back at the destroyed entrance you huff in approval. “Good thinking, throwing the grenade back there. I thought we were goners.” You joke, trying to lift up the mood. His hand leaves your shoulder as he quietly hums. Looking back at the pile of debris, a frown is edged on his face. Still cautious that anything might come through the rubble and attack you. You admire that about him, just as much as you find it very attractive.

“Mr. Kennedy…” He looks back at you. His gaze making you slightly weak in the knees. “… I- Thank you. If it weren’t for you, I would’ve never made it out of there alive.” Your words seem to soften something inside of him. The frown on his face now slowly vanishing.

“No need to thank me really.” He says, shaking his head. “You shouldn’t have had to go through that. Chris and I, we checked the perimeter for any danger before you guys even came here. If… If I had known there were so many infected, I would have never sent you down there. I’m so sorry.” You see the regret in his eyes, the immense disappointment in himself for failing you like that. As your superior it is his responsibility to look after you and keep you safe during training. To adjust your tactics and give you tips in any way he can. He couldn’t even do that.

“This wasn’t supposed to happen?”

Your eyes widen as he shakes his head no. You suddenly realize what kind of catastrophe you had just avoided. Your whole mission was to just get the computer chip back from the lab and return without scratches. No zombies blocking your path whatsoever. No wonder Jonathan ran off like a pussy.

You see Leon having difficulty with the situation he had put you in. Not daring to meet your eyes, he averts his gaze to somewhere slightly above you. His shoulders a little bit tense, as his hand goes behind his neck to awkwardly start scratching at the skin. You feel bad for him... This man, who saved you when no one else did, did not deserve to feel this distraught. According to the many stories from his past missions when he was younger, he’d already felt enough of that.

“You shouldn’t feel guilty. No one can predict something as horrifying as what has just happened.” Your words are honest and warm as you try to gain his attention.

Leon curtly nods, looking for the way ahead. “Let’s go.” He mumbles before taking a few steps through the mist, discarding your words.

Having none of it, you quickly follow his steps. Reaching out to grab his lower arm, you make him turn, forcing him to lock eyes with you before saying your next words of truth. “Mr. Kennedy… Please believe me when I say it’s fine. Really. You did everything you could. If it weren’t for you I’d be dead.”

“If it weren’t for me, you wouldn’t even be in this situation right now.” He grumbles, eyes cold.

“But I am.” You take a step closer before continuing. “And that’s not because of you, but because I chose to be here. I chose to become a DSO agent and to do this mission with you. I chose to step into that tunnel and continue the mission. If I wasn’t prepared to face any danger, I would have just dropped out of the program.”

Leon sighs before clenching his jaw, not very much convinced. “Still… I should have known.”

“But you didn’t. And that’s ok. Mistakes happen. Look, Jonathan didn’t check the lab for threats very well when we were down there and I still forgave him…”

You’re interrupted as Leon’s gaze fixates on something moving behind you. “Speaking of which…”

You turn around, a gasp escaping you. There, sitting on a withered metal bench, was none other than Jonathan. His hunched over form taking shape through the mist. He notices you at the exact same time. Eyes wide and mouth agape as he sees you’ve made it out alive with Leon standing right next to you.

You inhale sharply, eyes narrowing as you feel your head getting warm. You grind your teeth as he stands up. His lips forming a small smile, hand on his chest almost like he’s relieved. Like he forgot what he’d done to you. How he’d abandoned you. A strange feeling of rage flows through you, blood pumping through your veins as you march towards him. You roll up your sleeves before clenching your fist, holding it steady at your side. With only a few feet away, he opens his arms in mock gesture, inviting you in, believing you to be a dumb rookie agent. “Oh thank God, I was so worr-“

You don’t give him time to finish his sentence. Your fist colliding full force against his upper jaw, nose breaking as you give him the hardest punch you could muster. A cry, that sounds anything but manly, bursts from his lips. His body tumbling over as he falls to the side.

“Tell someone who actually gives a shit.” You snarl, desperately trying to stay calm before you do anything worse.

Blood seeps from his nose, his hand reaching for it as he inspects the damage. A look of dismay is thrown at you when he sees the blood coating his fingers. His eyes search for your superior. Leon, standing only a few feet behind you, who’s been watching you the whole time. He doesn’t interfere. You’ve earned it.

“Hey! You’re just letting her get away with this? You got nothing to say about that?” Jonathan says in disbelief. Voice raising as he throws the words at Leon. 

You have to do your very best to hold yourself back. Your hand itching to punch him again. You hear the sturdy footsteps of Leon’s boots behind you as he comes closer. Turning your head to see him stop right next to you, you notice the tiny smirk he’s holding. His eyes turn as cold as ice before fixating on Jonathan. “You’re out.”

Jonathan scrambles to get up as his brows furrow and his mouth falls open in shock. “What?”

Leon doesn’t miss a beat to repeat himself. “You’re out. When we get back to the DSO, you take your bags and leave.”

“What? Wait! No-no-no…” He panics, hand reaching inside his pocket, taking out the computer chip he had taken from you. “... I got the computer chip. The important piece of information you guys were searching for. I completed the mission!”

Leon chuckles while shaking his head, staying very calm. He takes the chip out of Jonathan’s grasp, collecting it in his own pocket. “You didn’t do shit kid.” He takes another step closer. Looking Jonathan dead in the eye. “You abandoned your partner in a situation where she needed you most. Running off like a little bitch you left her there to die. The number one rule in a partnership is you both complete a mission and leave no one behind. She-” he says while looking at you for a split second “-has more courage and intelligence in her than you could ever fathom. If it weren’t for her you’d be fucking dead. And that’s how you repay her?”

You see Jonathan’s Adam's apple bob. Probably swallowing the last remnants of pride he has left. A look of betrayal is shot at you. “You told him?”

As much as you want to reply, Leon beats you to it. “She didn’t have to tell me anything. I heard everything that was said between the two of you.”

As both you and Jonathan stare at him with a questioning look, he raises his hand and points towards the little earpiece. You chuckle as Jonathan curses. “Son of a bitch…”

You have to refrain yourself from laughing too hard. Instead your lips part as you smirk, staring back at Jonathan with a satisfied look on your face.

Leon grabs him by the shoulder and pushes him forward. “Now get back to the dropping site and after that I don’t want to see you ever again.”

A low grumble falls from Jonathan’s lips as he starts walking, shoulders slumped, his head bent down in shame. You and Leon follow suit. Just a few feet behind him. With the adrenaline slowly wearing off and your skin still sweaty, you start getting goosebumps. Even now with the sun at its highest peak, it’s still not enough to keep you warm.

“You ok?” A little bit startled by his question, you look back at Leon, his eyes already on you.

“Yeah…” You nod quickly, not wanting him to worry. “Just a little bit cold, that's all.”

He frowns at your words, gaze dropping towards your bare arms, seeing the hairs on your skin standing up. He moves a bit more towards you as you’re walking, dropping his voice a little so only you can hear him. “Just a little longer and we’ll be back at the car in no time. You can warm yourself up there.”

He doesn’t know why he tells you that. Why he says those words of comfort or why he suddenly feels the strange need to look after you. Is it because you’re a woman? Or is there something more? Something hidden. Something buried deeper within himself that he’s desperately trying to ignore.

When he’d found you back in the tunnels, he was impressed at how well you were able to hold yourself up. At how well your resilience was in the midst of danger. The massacre you had caused all by yourself was something on the level of more experienced and seasoned agents. The way you had moved and used your machete, like you had been doing it for years. The way the faint light of your flashlight had reflected the sweat on your pale skin. How your biceps, which were considerably smaller compared to his, had moved when you parried every attack. And don’t get him started on that precision kill you did with your sniper rifle. Killing three infected with just one shot? You had outdone yourself, immensely. It had triggered his attention.

And when you got up to punch Jonathan in the face? He hadn’t moved. On the contrary, he had found it very amusing. Seeing your smaller frame march up to him like a little pitbull before breaking his nose. He even found it a bit attractive as well, though he didn’t want to admit that to himself. You were twenty years younger for goodness sake. You probably thought he was an old creep you had to train with.

Despite his worrying, he can see your eyes soften at his words. A warm smile now covering your face that manages to shake something in him. You also lower your voice. “Thank you again Mr. Kennedy. For everything, really.”

He wants nothing more than to tell you that you can just call him by his first name. To be more familiar with him. But he’s your superior… He has to stay professional. So he answers in the best way he can. “It’s nothing. I’m glad I was there.” Offering you a warm smile in return, you continue your way back to the dropping point.

He feels guilty. So immensely guilty. There’s no way to describe it. He should have known better. Should have seen the bioterrorism pop up on the scanners when he and Chris had first scouted the area. Years of being in the field, facing danger and managing to survive every single day, years of training… and he’d still failed. Had failed you. He tells himself he’s no better than Jonathan. No better than the men at the DSO who think less of you just because you’re a woman. He doesn’t deserve your kind words and compassion. If anything he should be thankful you’re still looking at him with such respect.

With you walking slightly in front of him now, he lets his eyes wander to your smaller frame. Resting on your hair, slightly dirty from all the dust and debris, neatly woven into a French braid. A couple of strands have come loose, framing your face. The color of your hair is a pretty contrast to the dark navy blue of your shirt. As he looks up, he admires your youthful face. Adorning a few little freckles, mostly around your nose, with eyes that shine bright even in the darkest of places. The pale skin of your arms and neck, decorated with a few beauty marks here and there.

The black harness holding your weaponry is tight around your chest, showing off your slim figure and small waist. He notices the zipper of your shirt had come down a bit, revealing the sheen of sweat on your chest caused by all the exertion. A single drop running down, disappearing between the swell of your breasts. He lets his gaze drop lower. To the shape of your hips. To your machete that’s carefully placed above your gorgeous behind. The knife softly swaying from side to side with each step you take.

And when the grenade went off… When he lay on top of you… When he felt your warmth pushed against his crotch…

Jesus Christ.

“What do you think of me?”

“What?” Leon says, startled by your voice. He shakes his head, almost like waking up from a dream. Eyes coming back up to meet yours with a faint blush already starting to form.

“The mission…” You say. “How did I do?” Fuck. Focus Kennedy. Get your act together.

He clears his throat, swallowing the last bit of spit, his mouth going dry. “You uh… You were great. Amazing in fact.” Is that too much for him to say as your superior? Does it sound weird? A simple ok as Chris always says to the rookies won’t do you any justice. He can tell you the truth, right?

You look at him with these big doe-like eyes, almost knocking the air straight out of him. He has to admit it to himself. You are… beautiful.

“So… I passed then?” You question him. “Oh you did more than just pass.” He chuckles, keeping the double-sided meaning of that sentence as a joke to himself.

“What do you mean?”

He sighs. How do you not realize how good you are? “Let me put it this way. Out of all the agents back at the DSO… There aren’t many with as much resilience as you, who would have faced a horde of infected alone on their first ever mission. You held your own back there. Aiding me and complementing my strategies. Following my directions, moving the way I wanted you to, like you’ve been doing it for years. You’re the perfect partner I have missed for so long. So no, you didn’t just pass. If anything I would almost say you’re a full fletched agent who doesn’t need any more training.”

You stop dead in your tracks. “What are you saying Mr. Kennedy?”

“I’m saying that as far as I’m concerned, you have passed your training. Let me have a talk with Chris. Let’s see what I can do. Maybe… I could secure you a good position at the DSO. Give you security.”

You smile at him. “Thank you sir, and I don’t mean to be disrespectful, but… I don’t think an office job is really it for me.”

He returns your smile. “No… I don’t think it is. But I didn’t mean a position at the office. Sadly enough, it is clear you were made for the field.”

It should feel weird to have someone tell you you’re good at killing. That you’re ‘made’ to fulfil missions in very dangerous circumstances. Instead, his words feel like a compliment to you. A feeling that’s so refreshing after the various laughs and sneers from your fellow male DSO colleagues.

“Thank you Mr. Kennedy. For everything. I don’t know how I can repay you.”

“You never have to.”

After a small hour of walking, the three of you make it back to the dropping point. Chris and his two rookies are already waiting.

At the sight of Jonathan’s miserable expression and bloody nose, Chris’s smirk starts to form. “Well well well… Seems like the mission was a disaster after all. Where the hell have you been Kennedy? We already finished an hour ago.”

You huff, a little irritated by his remark. If only he knew how Jonathan got that broken nose. What you have been through…

Leon walks up to him. “Shut up Chris.” His gaze flickers to Jonathan then back to you. He lets it linger there for a second. Blue eyes demanding your attention. Sending shivers down your spine. There’s a message in them. One of certainty, of protection… of dominance. He sends you a comforting smile before looking back at Chris. His voice is deep and steady as he speaks.

“We need to talk.”

Thank you for reading. <3 I'm sorry if there are any grammatical errors. Please feel free to comment so I can correct them.

Part two can be found here, part three here.

«Hey!»

You expected Dav to be already there. The most important thing about him, and you learned that quickly, was that lunchtime was sacred. Lunchbreak started at twelve, and at twelve he left whatever he was doing and went to eat. He took his time to choose whatever food he wanted, and he didn’t leave the cafeteria until he was completely done. Rumors said that, once, the upper floors tried to reduce lunchbreak from ninety to sixty minutes, and he alone managed to make them regret the decision.

Anyway, you happily made your way to the table and sat across Dav.

«Hey! Everything fine?»

Dav nodded, mindlessly eating the last bits of bread.

«You’re late.»

«I had some work to finish.» you apologized, smiling in his direction. He shook his head.

«Very bad. First you eat, then you finish the job. Not the other way around. Anyway, how was Saturday night?»

Straight to the point, and always hungry. That was Dav for you.

You just shrugged.

«We didn’t click. He really wasn’t my type. You know, he looked like…»

You bit your lower lip, trying to find a nice way to put it.

«Y’know, he’s my age but… All he talked about was concerts and his bike and… I don’t know.»

«I don’t.» Dav answered, shaking his head again, «That’s what normal people talk about.»

«I’m normal.» you objected, «It’s just… I passed that phase of life. I’m not sixteen anymore. I’m looking for an actual adult.»

«An actual adult.» Dav repeated, slowly and articulating every word, as if you said something wrong, «And how’s this actual adult? Not asking for me.»

You laughed. Dav seemed kind of judging, but you knew him well enough to know it was all a façade.

Since you mentioned you felt alone, he had been trying to set you up. Not in an aggressive way, just introducing you to people he knew or friends of his friends. It was his way to show he cared. And you knew you were out of his radar: he had made pretty clear the fact that he liked boys.

«Well, adult. Manly. Protective. That knows what he wants and that’s not afraid to pursue it. That can be in charge, if I need it.»

«Hey, sweetie, we’re talking about partners. Not about Wesker.»

You couldn’t help a snort, but you tried to keep it collected. You didn’t want to draw attention to the conversation.

«I actually think Wesker could be a good partner.»

Dav rolled his eyes.

«He’s your boss. And he’s old.»

You smiled, partly lost in a daydream where Wesker was actually your partner.

«You know what they say? Raw and older.»

«Holy… Calm down, darling. He’s boring. I bet the only thing he does in bed is sleep. Counting sheep, maybe?»

You wanted to keep this conversation going. Sometimes Dav gave inadvertently new ideas to daydream and touch yourself on.

«I think Wesker could surprise me. He’s collected and cool, but I bet he loses his mind in bed.»

«Go ask him.» Dav said, in a plain and quiet voice, looking at a point just over your shoulder. You jumped and turned around: Wesker was sitting a few tables away, with other people, talking about things you couldn’t grasp from your seat.

«Shut up.» you gritted, feeling the heat growing in your cheeks and ears. There was no way Wesker could have heard you from that distance, and Dav would have told you if he got too close. On that, you could trust your best friend.

Either way, you decided to drop the conversation and focus on eating.

*

Wesker was disappointed in that ending. He hoped he could hear what you thought he could do in bed. The topic was promising.

But he couldn’t blame Davis on noticing him: he didn’t go around unnoticed in general. But that evening, while the end of the workday approached, he was still focused on your heartbeat during that lunch break. One thing he was sure about: that you were sincere in what you said. He could tell from the increased heartbeat he heard when Davis dropped his name during the conversation and in the slight heat that radiated from you when you said that phrase. What was that? Raw and older.

It was nothing more than a silly chat between young coworkers, though. Wesker remembered when he was around your age: his hormones messed up a lot with his libido too. But he was certain he was more collected than you and Davis.

How old were you exactly anyway? He opened your file on his computer. That was some information he never bothered to learn simply because it was useless. You did your job well, showed up, followed protocols. That was what mattered.

He heard your footsteps approaching: debriefing time. He closed your file and waited for you to knock on the door.

«Come in.» he answered, back resting on his chair. He observed the way you opened the door just enough to pass, as if you weren’t used to take more space than you needed, and just after you closed the door, you greeted him.

«Good evening, sir.»

You squinted, adjusting to the dim light of the office.

«Reporting for the end of the day.»

He figured. And he realized he could predict every word: you always reported in the same way, with the same formulas.

Was there anyone else in your team that did reporting? Not that he could think of. He was sure you were almost the only one coming to his office. He just didn’t think much of it.

He gestured at the chair in front of him.

«Please take a seat.»

He opened the selected folder where he kept notes before studying the full report. You sat across of him and put the neatly stacked papers in front of you.

«Okay, so. Things are proceeding as expected and we are right on schedule. There’s just one thing, a minor detail, but… I’d like to point it out.»

You stumbled on your words as you were skimming the pages of the report.

Wesker got lost on your fingers. The way they gently gripped the corners of the pages, the quick trails they drew under words and numbers.

You brought a finger to your lips. Wesker mindlessly followed it, and he recorded the cute way in which it picked at your bottom lip, which was moving up and down, forming words that you were just mumbling. Random words from the pages of the report.

«Shit.»

The cursing caught both you and Wesker by surprise. You felt heat in your cheeks and your ears, while thoughts started racing to try and fix the situation.

«Sorry, sir, I am very sorry… I… It was over the line. I… Um…»

«It’s fine.» Wesker said, trying to calm you down.

«I forgot to print a page. The most important page. I’m sorry sir, I’ll head back to the lab and…»

Wesker would have laughed, but he didn’t really want to worsen your mood.

«It’s not the end of the world.» he answered, slowly.

«You can get it done tomorrow. It’s almost seven now.»

You exhaled. You really didn’t want to disappoint your boss or let him think that you did something carelessly.

«I really don’t mind, sir. Out of sight, out of mind. I’ll just have a late dinner.»

«Then let me come with you.» Wesker answered, «Everyone else already went home. We’ll sort this out together. How does this sound?»

«It sounds lovely, sir.» you answered, heart filled with gratitude. You felt seen, as a human being.

Wesker got up and escorted you back to the lab. You sat on your chair and turned the PC on.

Wesker was following your movements attentively. He leaned on the chair you were sitting on.

And then it hit him: your scent, a mix of fruit shampoo, faded perfume, a hint of sweat from the day, the chicken you ate at lunch, but also the heat of your blood running in your veins, the sound of your heartbeat, a bit higher than it should have.

And, unmistakenly, you smelled like arousal. Not that much, but probably enough to form a spot on your panties.

In other circumstances, Wesker would have no problem in just fucking you there and then. But something coming from the deep recess of his soul stopped him.

You weren’t made for him. It wasn’t for the age gap, at all. It was just… You were so kind. You were the only one that prepared reports in the best way possible just to make his job easier. You told him yourself just a few weeks prior. And many times, when he stayed at work late, you were there. Maybe not with him, but you found something to do in the parking lot and went home just when you saw him exit the building. You never spoke that much outside of work, but you were always there somehow.

«Here.»

Wesker was brought back by the sound of your voice. He looked attentively at the graph you were presenting.

«I see.»

He immediately got the concern you were talking about: it was indeed very minor.

«I’ll print this page for you. Just a minute.»

You hit the print button on the page and the nearby printer hummed, buttons lighting up. The page came out neatly and you grabbed it, enjoying the warmness of the sheet on your fingers and the smell of fresh ink.

«Okay, here it is.»

You passed the paper to Wesker.

«Thank you. I’ll go back to my office, just to leave this report on my desk. You may go home now. See you tomorrow.»

You actually took your sweet time in switching the computer and the lights off, going to the bathroom and making sure that everything was in place for the next day.

The thing was that you loved seeing Wesker get to his car. It was the only glimpse of normalcy you got of him. Sometimes it seemed he existed only in the lab and only for the labs. You didn’t know exactly where he went to sleep, you didn’t know if he slept at all or if he was some kind of robot. But you craved him so much: you were completely sure that, behind the harsh director of the facility, there was a man. An extraordinary one, yes, but a man, with a life and things going on.

And you wanted to see that side of him. Experience him whole. See if that commanding tendency stayed in the bedroom or…

And there went your thoughts again. You really needed to go home and take care of the wet and hot spot between your legs.

*

Wesker was attending his usual storage check. It was not the end of the four-month period yet, but Uroboros were very near completion and he wanted to leave everything in place.

He fumbled with the keys to get the right one when he was distracted by a smell. Your scent, specifically.

And not the gentle one you had that night when you forgot to print the paper. It was stronger, more pungent, but undeniably yours.

He put the keys back in his pocket, careful to make as little noise as possible, and he followed the trail.

Just a few steps were enough to understand that the scent he felt earlier was a mix of endorphins, adrenaline, sweat and vaginal fluids. The realization made his core twist and he could already feel some restraint in his crotch. He walked faster, but silently.

More stimuli caught him: the soft sound of your moans, mixed with others certainly from a video, the wet and sloppy sounds your fingers made moving inside you, the fact that you were undeniably reaching your climax.

He found the door behind which you were hiding and listened to everything that was coming from the inside.

«You like it, slut? You like it when your boss fucks you rough on the desk?»

A porn video about office sex. Wesker could see that coming. What caught him off guard was how loud your moan was in response. He felt so grateful for his heightened senses that allowed him to hear you give pleasure to yourself. He didn’t even care that it was on the clock and you were supposed to be working.

«A-Albert… Albert!»

Hearing his name called by you, followed by cries of relief, was something else. All the thoughts he had about you not being able to handle him vanished. He was a scientist: he was going to test it and find out.

He slammed the door open and located you: you were sitting on the floor, phone in one hand, now with the screen turned off, and you were reaching for paper towels. Your pants were undone and lowered just below your knees, as were the panties, and he could see your pussy, exposed and glistening from your own juice. Your beautiful chest was moving up and down according to your heavy pants. He scanned your face: hair unkempt, some of them glued to your forehead by trails of sweat, a nice shade of red on your cheeks, just below your eyes, widened in horror yet glassy from the orgasm.

«Don’t move.» Wesker instructed, closing the door behind him and getting to the corner where you were sitting. He crouched in front of you.

«I… Sorry… I…»

You didn’t even know what to say. You just knew you were in big trouble. So much. How much had he heard? How didn’t you hear him get close? Why your hormones were so bad that you decided that getting off thinking about your boss in a storage room was a very good idea?

You could feel a tear leave your eye and glide on your cheek, while you desperately tried to make up an excuse or something.

You realized you were still undressed and you pressed your legs together.

«Didn’t expect this from you.» Wesker continued, still not touching you. His cock was almost aching on how hard he was now, all because of you and your pretty voice.

«Sir, I-»

«Masturbating on the clock, while moaning my name, and not even telling me.»

He could say by the spark in your eyes that the words landed right.

«Now, dear, I sincerely hope you’re willing to make up for this act of disrespect.»

He freed his hands from his gloves and brushed your knees. He didn’t even need to apply pressure: at his touch, you spread them open again, as much as the pants allowed you.

«I am. I am, sir, I will do anything you want.»

Your heart was pounding and you were getting wet again. Just from his words and a brief touch.

«Anything, you say?»

You nodded, pleasingly overwhelmed by the twisting emotions inside you.

«Good. First let me taste you.»

He yanked your pants and underwear away, a yelp escaping from your lips, and he spread your legs even more open.

He adjusted you and lowered on your pussy, painfully slow.

You were with your back against the wall and your legs crossed on Wesker’s back. The fact that you couldn’t free from that position (not that you wanted) turned you on even more.

When you felt his wet and warm tongue on your slit, you had to bite your own hand to not scream. It felt so good. He slowly licked your juices away, tongue twisting and twirling on your skin, nose buried in, just near your clit. You arched into him, desperate for more friction, but his firm hands kept your hips in place.

«Hush, princess. Time for that later.»

You whined, but couldn’t do anything else while he cleaned you up with his mouth. When he felt it was enough, he pulled back. You were even hornier and needed relief, by him this time.

«To my office.»

His voice was almost a growl, airy and, you could tell, needy. You mustered up the strength to nod while you adjusted your pants just enough to be able to move.

Wesker was almost pulling you by your arm while you reached for the elevator and, when the doors behind you closed, he lifted you by your hips, slammed you against the elevator wall and threw himself on your lips.

You opened them and he started to explore every corner as if his life depended on it. You let out a muffled moan against him when you felt his erection on your cunt, and he thrusted into you just to hear your voice again.

Luckily, no one was around to see the absolute mess you two were. Wesker pulled you in the office and locked the door.

«Is this what you want? You want to be taken by your older boss right in his office?»

Right now you could tell he heard something about the video, but you couldn’t care less. Your fantasy just came true and you needed Wesker so much. You wanted him to just take you and use you as he saw fit.

«I do, sir. Please, claim me as yours.»

You didn’t even know where those words came from. They just formed in your mouth. But you meant every one of them.

Wesker was on you again, undoing your pants again with one hand and lifting your shirt with the other, until he uncovered your breasts.

«Just take everything off.» he said suddenly, abandoning your body to unbuckle his belt.

You did as you were said and took off every piece of clothing until you were completely naked, body available for Wesker’s pleasure.

He had freed his erection and was pumping his cock, and the sight of it did something you your inside. You moaned and rubbed your legs together just at the sight of it.

«What a slut. Just seeing my dick makes you this effect.»

He put you with your back on his desk, legs spread.

«How many times did you wish this happened?»

You let out a cry, too embarrassed to answer. But Wesker was demanding. He grabbed your chin so you had to face him.

«Too many, sir.» you answered, voice high and broken and filled with lust.

«Too many.» Wesker repeated, satisfied by the answer, «And what makes you think you can handle me?»

«I can learn, sir, just please, make me yours.» you cried out, hips jerking looking for the tip of his member.

«Let’s see.»

Finally, Wesker adjusted himself and pushed inside you. You cried again at the filling sensation in your core, squeezing your thighs against Wesker’s torso as he made his way inside you. He left out a long, deep moan of satisfaction.

«You’re so good. Taking it in as if you were made for this.»

He barely gave you time to process that he was deep inside before he started thrusting full force, testing your reaction.

And he was deeply satisfied: you shifted your pelvis to accommodate him better, moving at his rhythm as he pushed deeper, singing your pleasure with your beautiful voice.

«S-sir…»

«Use my name.» he commanded, squeezing your love handles so much that small bruises started forming on your skin, «Just as you were doing in the storage room.»

«Albert!» you cried, incapable of keeping your voice low, feeling an orgasm building up inside you.

«Like that.» he groaned, his cock twitching inside you, eager to fill you up.

You didn’t ask him to come out: as you promised, you were willing to do anything to make up for your disrespect. Your own orgasm, with tears striking down your face, hips crashing against Wesker’s, barely coherent words between your cries and your insides throbbing, triggered his, and he released himself completely inside you, cum filling you up rope by rope.

Wesker gave some lazier thrusts, just to make sure to dump everything he had, and he got out, smirking at the sight of your pussy: red, swollen and with a mix of juices and cum spilling out.

He made clear that it wasn’t enough, though: he fucked you again, sitting on his chair while you jumped up and down on his dick, and against the wall, just to make you understand how strong he was physically.

«Raw and older, you said?» he mentioned after he was thoroughly satisfied.

The comment took you off guard, but after a split second you burst out laughing.

your heart is practically pounding out of your chest, the quick ‘thump thump’ reverberating all the way through your sternum and up to your throat. you wonder if he can feel how hard it’s beating.

soft kisses trail down your neck; chris’ stubble drags behind his lips, tickling your sensitive skin. you angle your jaw upwards, giving him easier access to continue his mapping of your neck and shoulders. you shiver when chris places a lingering kiss on the center of your throat; such a vulnerable and delicate spot. his hands grip your thighs, pinning you to the bed below.

“you look so beautiful, y/n”

chris’ deep voice rumbles with appreciation.

your hands come to tangle in his short, cropped hair and his piercing greyish-blue eyes meet yours when he lifts up and gazes at you lovingly.

it’s been a couple of months since you and chris had first started dating; despite how busy work kept him, it surprised you how much he prioritizes seeing you during his free time. you were starting to feel that chris redfield was the real deal; someone you could let your guard down around.

despite being a bit older than you, chemistry always came naturally with chris - he made you laugh and took care of you like a perfect gentlemen, not to mention his strikingly rugged good looks.

the brunette man bent down to capture your lips with his own, pressing into you with an all encompassing heat. he was so big and muscular, you’d found yourself daydreaming about his arms quite often these past several weeks. you brush your hand over his bicep, enjoying the unyielding firmness of his strength.

chris’ tongue brushes across your bottom lip, inviting himself in. you tilt your chin, taking him in deeper and tentatively sucking on it. he moans softly, gripping your hips tighter to him.

pressing closer to him, you feel a stiff warmth poking against your stomach; you gasp slightly, breaking the kiss.

chris looks to the side, moving himself further back and taking away the stiffness.

“sorry, baby, we can stop if you’d like. i got carried away.” he gruffly apologizes.

you can feel a heat rising to your cheeks.

the truth was, you had never been with anyone before - honestly, you were quite inexperienced with any type of sexual relationship.

looking up shyly at chris, you couldn’t help but feel a scorching desire rising up from your core. it clawed at your insides, filling you with a want you’d never felt so strongly before.

you bite your lips and meet his gaze.

“no, it’s okay. chris, i want to be with you, but you should know, i’ve never done this before..” you trail off, feeling nervousness rise up in your throat.

the older man is back at your side in an instant, pulling you into his chest and eyes wide looking down at you.

“y/n, are you sure? you know there’s no pressure at all.”

your heart swells; he was such a gentleman, it drove you crazy. you wrap your arms around his neck, sidling up closer to him.

“i’m sure… i want my first time to be with you.” you tell him sweetly.

his eyes flutter as he registers your words for a moment and then he shifts into action. chris comes down to kiss you once more, relishing in your sweet taste.

his hand trails down from your hip to your thigh and drags inwards. your breath hitches as his large digits brush against the soft, sensitive skin of your inner thighs. you spread your legs and gently hook one over chris’ body, giving him full access to your core.

he lets out a deep breath as his fingers press past your shorts and find the wet spot in the center of your panties. chris starts rubbing gently, applying a tantalizing pressure to your clit. you let out a soft mewl.

“does that feel good, baby?” he asks you huskily.

you nod fervently, pushing your head into the crook of his neck and chest.

his fingers rub against you slightly harder, and your hips buck to meet his motions subconsciously. the damp fabric of your panties rubbing against your folds feels torturously good.

chris withdraws his hand from your wetness, grabbing your thighs and shifting to settle in between your legs. he spreads your thighs and sits back, gazing over your body with a controlled hunger.

he leans over you to start tugging your shorts down, tossing them to the side and returning his attention to your wet panties. the sight makes him lick his lips and he hooks his thumbs under the sides, dragging them down slowly.

you feel a flash of embarrassment as a string of your arousal sticks to the scrap of fabric obscenely, breaking when chris gets them past your thighs.

suddenly bare, you squeeze your knees together, feeling more exposed than you ever have in your life. chris grasps your thighs and settles into a lying position, his breath ghosting over your wetness.

“tell me what makes you feel good, okay baby? i’m gonna take care of you, sweetheart.”

with that, chris lowers his head to your soft folds and starts devouring your virgin pussy.

you cry out, the sudden pleasure overwhelming you.

his tongue explores every part of you, licking up and down your folds with a delicious roughness and coming up to lap at your clit. he takes his time applying different pressures and alternating with slow and fast licks. it’s like chris can read your mind, honing in on the sensations that make you overwhelmed with pleasure.

he spreads you open more, pushing his tongue into your weeping hole. the feeling is so foreign but so impossibly good; you push your pussy against his mouth, inviting his tongue deeper inside of you.

“mmm, you taste amazing.”

chris moans deeply, vibrating against you and making you squirm with the added pressure. he returns his tongue to your puffy clit, building up the white hot coil in your lower abdomen.

of course you’d made yourself cum a handful of times, late at night in your bed, but nothing compared to the feeling that was quickly crashing over you.

you let out a chorus of moans as chris’ experienced mouth brings you to the peak of your climax. the coil tightens and then explodes from your core and takes over your body. the only thing tethering you to reality is chris’ mouth, still slurping at your sex, starting to overstimulate you.

you desperately push at him, as the pleasure becomes unbearable and his lips leave your pussy with a wet kiss, giving you much needed relief.

your breath comes out hard and hot as you struggle to your elbows. chris smirks up at you and comes up to rest at your side again.

“did that feel okay, angel?”

you look at him through hooded eyes, chest heaving from your intense orgasm.

“chris, that felt amazing… you made me cum so hard.” you add the last part on a bit shyly.

he pulls you closer to his chest and returns to making out with you. as you lean deeper into the kiss, the unmistakable hardness in chris’ pants presses into your lower abdomen.

feeling confident in the aftershock of your climax, you bring your palm to lightly rub him through his pants. chris hisses air between his teeth and his eyes blink shut briefly; his much larger hand clasps yours, guiding you to rub his length up and down.

the desire in the pit of your stomach returns with an intensity, maybe never having left. you can feel your core growing uncomfortably wet, still slick from chris’ mouth and your arousal.

you reach for his pants’ button and look up for permission; chris nods down at you with a thick swallow. you unbutton his jeans and pull down the zipper, feeling a bit nervous to finish the job. chris tugs his pants down to gather at his ankles and kicks them off.

the imprint of chris’ boner strains through his black underwear; you gulp dryly, the fear of the unknown driving thousands of possibilities through your mind.

chris takes your chin in his hand and gives you a warm smile, as if he can sense your fear.

“are you sure you want to keep going, y/n? we can stop here for today.”

it’s not an easy decision; part of you is terrified, having already experienced more today than a lifetime’s worth of existence, but the other part of you is ready for more. i mean, how much more perfect could a girl’s first time get? looking at chris’ toned, masculine body, you don’t think it’s possible.

“i’m ready, i promise. i want to feel all of you, chris.” you reply softly, hands coming to play with the hem of his silky briefs.

his warm smile melts a bit, revealing the lust in his stormy eyes.

chris stands up and pulls off his boxers; your mouth runs dry.

he’s just as muscular down there as the rest of his body, boasting a thick, veiny length that was nestled in a crop of short black hair. you weren’t very good at guesstimating size, but he had to be at least 7 inches.

chris pumps himself a few times and crawls back onto the bed, guiding his length to rub against your slick folds. it catches on your clit with each rub, making you to shiver with slight overstimulation.

chris places a hand on your hip and the other holds his cock to your entrance. he looks up at you, eyes full of hunger but also concern.

“this is going to hurt a little, baby, it’ll just be for a bit, okay? and then i’ll make you feel really good.”

you nod up at him, tears prickling the edges of your eyes as you anticipate the next motion.

chris nods back at you, then looks down and gently pushes the first couple of inches into you.

the stretch is like nothing you’ve experienced before. it’s slightly uncomfortable, like squeezing into a dress that’s too small for you and you take a deep breath, trying to relax more.

chris looks at you, eyebrows knitted together, and pushes in the rest of the way.

something between a gasp and a cry is ripped from your throat. it hurt; a feeling of being snapped in two emanates from the soreness in your pussy.

a couple of tears fall down your cheek and chris brings this thumb up to brush them away, looking at you with concern.

“are you okay, angel?” he asks worriedly.

you take a couple of shaky breaths and look back up at him. the pain is already starting to subside and you can feel your insides stretching to accommodate the intrusion. you wrap your arms around his thick neck and nod.

“i’m okay, k-keep going, please.” you answer him gently.

chris’ lips tighten but he obliges your request, rubbing circles into your thighs as he holds them open.

he withdraws from you slowly, his thickness dragging inside you setting your nerves on fire. you moan at the feeling of being emptied, gummy walls already having adjusted to his thick length.

chris pushes back in and it feels like he’s stretching you for the first time again; you cry out when his tip brushes against your cervix. he sets a slow and gentle pace, treating you as carefully as a glass sculpture.

the push and pull quickly turns from pain to pleasure and you feel the uncomfortableness subside as your pussy gets wetter and wetter.

chris’ methodical thrusts are driving you crazy and you feel a sense of relief as the initial pain has faded away. now, all you feel is incredible pleasure as chris sheathes himself in and out of you.

you lock your arms around chris’ neck, pulling him down to kiss you as you feel a second climax building. he pushes your thighs apart wider to meet your lips and the new angle pushes you over the edge.

you cum on chris’ cock with a strangled moan; the feeling of your walls clamping down on him sends a wonderful soreness through your pussy.

the increased tightness sends chris over the edge as well and he quickly pulls out of you with a rough grunt. hot, white liquid streams out of his length, covering your mound and stomach and spilling over his fingers as chris continues pumping himself through orgasm.

you shiver, suddenly feeling very empty. chris comes back down to you, kissing your cheek chastely and breathing harder than normal. you feel a smile spread across your face, proud that you were the one to bring him to this state.

“how did that feel, sweetheart? i hope i didn’t hurt you too much.” chris asks hoarsely.

you look down in between your two bodies and see a translucent pink stain across the bed, evidence of your inexperience.

heat floods your face and you suddenly feel very vulnerable. again, chris can sense your embarrassment, and he cups your cheeks.

“hey, don’t be embarassed, that’s only natural. i’m honored you trusted me to be your first time…” he finishes the sentence tenderly.

you hold his wrist, feeling a warmth at his sweet reassurance.

“it did hurt at first, but then it felt good. it felt really good.. you made me cum twice.” you reply shyly, averting your eyes from his intense gaze.

chris smiles at that, pushing up to a sitting position on the edge of the bed.

“there’s more where that came from, anytime you want, baby.”

you giggle at his words, feeling a warmth spread through your body. chris made you feel so safe, so normal, and so taken care of.

suddenly, you feel yourself lifted off of the bed, bridal style. you squeak and wrap your arms around your captor’s neck; chris smiles down at you.

“c’mon, let’s go take a shower and get you cleaned up.”

swinging you around, he carries you through the bedroom door to the attached bathroom. he lifts you effortlessly and stops to gently let you down on the counter.

as chris turns around to start the shower, you can’t help admiring his toned, expansive back. this all felt like a dream, having this gorgeous man give you the princess treatment. as beautiful on the inside as he is on the outside, you felt a spark in your heart that told you you’d found something special.

something you didn’t want to let go of; not now, and maybe not ever. gazing at his powerful form, you can’t help smiling to yourself.

You've been in a constant state of distress since yesterday, but you've promised yourself that you would go to the hospital every day.

Everything just feels so overwhelming and you just want it all to be over. You want Wesker to wake up, to wake up so you can apologise. He can either yell at you or accept, either way your plan is to move on, pretend nothing is going on between the two of you because you know you won't be able to stand it if something else were to happen again.

The whole day has gone by and not a single member of staff has come in to check on him. Not a single doctor to let you know how he is doing, not a single nurse to check his vitals, nothing. On one hand you're appalled, and you should go and get someone. On the other hand, you don't want to, you don't feel the need to. Why you feel like this is unknown to even yourself.

It's nearing the fifth hour you've been here. You can hear murmurs from down the hall, visiting hours are over and it will be dark soon. Despite this you have no intentions of leaving, instead you try and get comfortable while still holding his hand.

You can't sit back, so you place your head on the side of his bed, leaning forwards. Your back will probably suffer for it, but it truly makes no difference to you, it's not like you'll be going to work. You only have about three days left to take off, after that you aren't sure what you will do. It's a thought for future you, right now you just want to sleep.

It was eluding you at this point, a distant hope you had every time you closed your eyes. Your eyes prick with tears when you can feel how he breathes so close to you. It feels almost cruel how you can lay here and wake up whenever, when he is stuck like this.

Your eyes blink open when you feel someone's finger running along the back of your hand. The sensation feels comforting, almost lulling you back to sleep, but you want to know who it is, which nurse is trying to wake you up in the kindest way possible. You look at your hand and realise it isn't the hand of a nurse, the fingers are too long and masculine looking to be any of the nurses you have encountered.

The sight that meets you when you look up makes you stop. Your eyes are wide as they meet Wesker's own, that beautiful shade of blue looking down at you.

Your legs feel weak as you stumble out of the chair, kneeling by his bedside as you begin to cry into the bed. You feel stupid for doing so, it seems to be the only thing you can do as of late, but you really can't help yourself as the sobs keep bubbling up from your throat.

Breathing feels like a myth as you try to catch your breath. "You're okay, I'm okay, I'm awake, you don't have to cry, you've done enough of that," he says, tone filled with sympathy and kindness as his hand strokes through your hair.

His words make you cry harder as you let your hand find his wrist, holding it close to you as you attempt to calm yourself. It takes a moment and some patience from Wesker, but you eventually get to a state where your words are coherent.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry Albert, I shouldn't have made you come with me, I should have just listened and gone upstairs like everyone else, you should have just let me..." You aren't able to finish your sentence with the tears starting up again.

Wesker dries your tears as he shushes you. "Shhhh, calm down, calm down." He leans over the bed slightly, wrapping you in a hug from where you sit, still kneeling by the bedside. You instantly reciprocate, fearing its your last. His actions feel like a final goodbye, like that was your apology and that is all that you get.

As you cling to the back of his top, fingers curling into the material, you're tucked into his neck, his chin resting on the top of your head as he continues to comfort you. If only things could be different.

"I'm not mad," he whispers into the top of your head. The words almost go unheard, almost.

It feels almost cruel, he has no idea what he is talking about, how could he not be mad, how could he not be furious. The amount of work and life he has missed out on because of you. "Don't lie, please don't lie." You plead, shaking your head from beneath his hold.

His fingers stop in your hair, as if he is taken aback by your words. "I've never lied to you."

"But..."

"And I'm not lying now."

This has to be some sick and twisted joke. "How can you not hate me now?"

He pulls you away, wanting to see your face, a face he hasn't seen in so long. "Because I went after you knowing what the outcome could be, I couldn't just stand there knowing I could lose you." It's like it pains him to say the words, to admit that he could have lost you.

Instead of answering, you remain silent, not really comprehending the situation, and not knowing what you should say. The silence drags on before he reaches for your hand.

"I heard what you said," Wesker says, looking up from your hand.

You're like a deer caught in headlights as he gazes at you, a warm look in his eyes that you don't understand. "When?"

"Yesterday."

Time seems to stop and so do all of your thoughts. Your hand falls from his own as you inch backwards, the movement difficult as you're still kneeling on the hard linoleum floor. He doesn't let you get far before he reaches for your hand again. His hold isn't restraining, not harsh, simply there, to hold you afloat.

"I won't scream, or yell at you." He lets a moment pass before continuing. "I want to hear you say it again."

The silence returns once more as you shake your head in disbelief, chin wobbling as the lump in your throat returns. "I can't," you whisper, too scared to make your thoughts a reality again, you had promised yourself that nothing would come out of it.

"Then I will."

You shake your head in disagreement as you sniffle, the sound of your small cries returning to the room. He pulls you closer to the bed and you let him this time.

"When we were down there, and you had Sherry in your arms, and I had to leave, I knew, I knew what I had known for a while. that I loved you, that I love you."

His words are so pure, so true that you can't even make yourself push yourself away. Another sob breaks through you and you let it this time, his arms already waiting for you to fall into. "I almost lost you," Through your muffled cries you can hear that his words come out shaky, you can feel it as well, the way his hand trembles through your hair. Pulling away you can see a faint line of glistening tears in his eyes. It pains you to see him like this, but you don't want to cry anymore. "I almost lost you." You counter with a watery smile, the last of your tears rolling down your cheeks. He laughs as well, letting his thumbs brush them away.

Wesker stares at you for a while, taking in every detail of your face as his hands trace your cheeks. The way your hair looks all messy, your nose that has a small pink dusting, your eyes that are red rimmed and glossy, looking up at him with love and adoration. To anyone else you probably look like a mess you think, but the way he is looking at you... it's like you are his sun.

Finally he glances down at your lips, your former pout now replaced with a faint smile that seems to grow with every second he looks at you. "I should get the doctor, or a nurse." You whisper, your hand slipping from where they hold onto his arm as you try to get up.

He moves at lightning pace, placing his hands on your shoulders to stop you. "Wait, just..."

You don't move, instead you sink back closer, letting the moment envelop you. He moves closer and on instinct you do to, mirroring his movements. "I love you." He murmurs and the words feel unreal to hear. The feeling of his breath hits your lips and it makes you inch closer. It would only take a small movement from either of you to make your lips touch. "I love you too." You whisper so quietly you aren't certain you've even said it. 

It seems like those words are all it takes for Wesker to finally snap. His hands return to the sides of your face as he pulls you into a kiss. It's full of longing, and hurt and it makes you feel breathless but at the same time so incredibly happy. You can't remember the last time you felt quite like this, and you quickly realise you can't wait for what's to come next.

This is the end of the story unfortunately. I absolutely loved writing this so much (Even though some parts were a headache to write) Despite this series ending I still plan on writing, so I hope you stick around for some of that.

He’d pull back out almost all the way, before repeating the motion just to see it over and over again. ''Fuck… would you look at that'' he breathed, his voice low and wrecked as his hands grip onto your thighs, spreading you wider for him.

The mattress faintly creaking beneath you as he rocked his hips at a shallow and tortures tempo. ''Greedy little pussy welcoming me back in each time. Isn’t that right, sweet girl?''

You’re a whimpering mess, hands twisted in your bedsheets as you try to be quiet. Easier said than done when your dad's best friend has his cock buried inside you.

''Leon…mphf… my dad could… ah-'' He didn’t even acknowledge your pleas at first, to mesmerized by the way your pussy lips wrapped around him, glistening with your arousal and watching the way you flutter and clench around him so nicely. Like your body was struggling with wanting to let go of him.

''Mhm? What was that?'' he murmured, dark eyes flicking up to look at your flushed face. A cruel little smirk tugged at his lips as he withdrew all the way, hearing the cutest huff leave your lips at the empty feeling. Naughty girl.

He slapped the head of his cock against your clit a couple of times, before rubbing it through your folds just to watch you squirm and attempt to push at his shoulders. ''You sure you want me to stop, hm? Your adorable head might be saying no, but this tight little body is screaming yes.'' he cooed before grabbing at your wrists and pinning them above your head.

The look on your face had to be the prettiest thing he's ever seen. Your cheeks flushed, eyes wide and glassy, lips swollen from his mouth earlier.

''Your dad doesn't have to know about this, if you just keep quiet.'' He reached down with his other hand to grip your chin, ''You'll be good and keep this a secret, right?'' You bit down on your lip, nodding. Leon smirked and gave your cheek a soft pat before reaching down to grip the base of his cock, guiding it back to your entrance. ''Good, now let me get back to feeling this needy pussy around me.''

He fed the fat tip back inside you, shallow fucking motions that had your pussy spasming as you sucked him in. Leon groaned at the feeling, whilst your head tipped back on a soft breathy moan. ''So fucking tight for me. None of the boys your age will ever be able to stretch you out like this. You're molded perfectly for me and just me.''

Your hips twitched, attempting to take more of him as Leon's control was slipping. He leaned over you, one forearm braced beside your head as he sank in deeper, halfway there now, grunting at how tightly you were gripping him.

His free hand covered your mouth as you moaned a little to loud. ''Shhh, I told you to be quiet, baby. Don't want your dad waking up and finding me balls-deep in his daughter.'' he purred as the wet squelching sounds filled the small room, obsecene and loud enough that it was surprising that your dad hadn't woken up by it.

''You know, I've been jerking off to the thought of this for years.'' he confessed in a rough whisper. ''Stealing your panties whenever I'd come over. Not enough to have you wondering, but just so I could smell them while stroking my cock, imagining how tight and nice you'd feel. And you've exceeded my expectations, baby.'' Leon chuckled before finally thrusting all the way in, bottoming out with a low guttural sound. His heavy balls smacking against the underside of your ass.

The stretch was overwhelming in the best way and Leon stayed bruied deep for a moment, grinding slow and filthy, before fucking you in earnest. His strokes were deep, posessive, so much that your bed was protesting by the way it thumped against the wall. Your moans were muffled against his hand as his other was gripping your hip, harshly.

''Your mine. Always has and always will be.'' he growled against your ear, hips snapping harder against your own. ''Doesn't fucking matter whos daughter you are. This pussy belongs to me.''

i'm so down bad for pervy old man leon!!

"Fuck, I missed you, baby," he groaned, practically fighting to keep himself planted on the couch instead on flipping you over and rutting into you with no restraint. You leaned forward and he met you halfway, hands guiding your movements again while he buried his face into your neck. Your moans and gasps crescendoed with each fluttering of his breath and brush of his stubble on your skin; your movements hitched with each delicious drag of denim against your clothed clit. The sounds turned Leon's brain to mush while the sensations grounded him, trapping him in a dizzying loop of pleasure that he never wanted to escape from.

He could only suck and nip at the junction of your neck and shoulder, as though you hid some miraculous secret of life beneath your skin. And with the way you scratched at his scalp, set the rhythm in exactly the way that made him lose his mind, and definitely weren't planning on stopping even when he half-tried to halt your movements? He couldn't rule out the possibility that you were heaven in human form. Or maybe, since you were so obviously dead-set on embarrassing him by drawing out an orgasm before he even got undressed, you were something closer to devilish.

"Stop, stop, I'm g—shit I wanna be inside you first, can I?" He practically whined into your ear. His hands roamed your skin beneath the shirt, sliding to the back and toying with the waistband of your panties just until a shiver ran down your spine; then he went back to his previous ministrations, his face ducking lower to lick along the tense muscle of your neck. He could taste the familiar body wash you used that drove him crazy, no matter how ordinary it may be. "Can I be inside you before I come?"

His whole body felt too hot and he couldn't help but buck up into you, desperate for more contact, more of your warmth and your scent and your sounds and your touch—but his plea had fallen on deaf ears. You raked your nails from his scalp down the back and side of his neck, not hard enough to hurt but with enough pressure to leave fine red lines that slowly dissipated in the dim lamplight. His breath hitched. "You're so good to me," he murmured, kissing every inch of skin he could reach, even pulling at the shirt to reveal more territory.

You could tell he was close from the second he opened his mouth to ramble, and you were determined to get him there. Out of the few things you would never be able to fully convince Leon of, the fact that him coming in his pants was hot was definitely one of them; but it didn't mean you wouldn't make it happen.

"Looking so damn perfect when I get home, f—fuck, making me feel so good..." You whined into his ear and his whole body went rigid, dick twitching in his pants. "Missed my pretty girl so fucking much while I was away, thought about this every night." A low moan rumbled from his chest and his hands migrated down your thighs, then up and back to your ass to knead the soft flesh. "Nothing measures up to you, your body was fucking—shit, made for me."

Leon shuddered under you, sucking at your pulse like it alone would fill his lungs with air, and helplessly jerked his hips into you. His moans cracked like thunder against you and his dick spasmed, shooting his load into his pants. You couldn't help but whimper at the feeling, humping him still.

"Fuck, love you so much."

His head fell back against the couch, displaying the rosy flush of his face and blissfully shut eyes despite the growing furrow between his brows from the overstimulation of your continued movements. You ran a palm across his forehead, down his cheek, and cupped his jaw to bring him in for a kiss that quickly led to your tongues slipping together lazily but not without excitement.

This was exactly the kind of homecoming Leon dreamed of when he was off in some shitty hotel room with only his own hand and his memory. And, with no intention to stop anytime soon, you made sure he knew this was only the beginning.

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞. do not ask me, it wrote itself

his voice is rough, scratchy and faintly worn out, causing it to sound far deeper than it usually does. butterflies swarm low in your stomach over it—like they always do—but you try to ignore it this time whilst you smile and stretch your arms out towards him, “come and lay with me for a while, please,” you plead 

the frown that’s painted across leon’s face deepens, his eyes get distant on the surface but you can see behind it—you can see right through him. something soft and melting hides behind the ice of his eyes, something that he doesn’t allow himself to feel often, much less indulge in it when you’re offering, “why?”

answering that with honesty is complicated. telling leon that you’re trying to lure him in, make him relax, force him to be pliant so that he can be tempted with sleep won’t ever work, you learnt that early on and because of it, you’ve had to get creative with telling little white lies that’ll benefit him in the long run 

“because, i want you to,” you answer simply, keeping your tone light and airy, treating him as if he’s a shelter animal that’s at risk of backing into the corner, that’s furthest away from wherever you are, with his teeth bared. it’s not really a lie either, you would like him to lay with you but your motives behind it don’t need to be discussed 

“but, why?” he asks again, this time sounding desperate and slightly pathetic. he knows that you’re lying in one way or another and he’s letting you. he’d never admit it but you’re the only person that can get away with it. if it were anyone else, he would’ve turned tail and left without even entertaining it

your head tips to the side, eyes raking over his face—the scars, the bruises, the cuts—whilst you make the decision to be somewhat candid with him, if only for his sake, “i just don’t like it when you shut yourself in your room after an assignment, that’s all,” you explain, carefully, still watching him 

leon nods, his tongue darting between his lips, “do roommates lay together often?” he snarks, though there’s not a whole lot of heat behind it. he’s trying to deflect your offer, make himself out to be someone that you wouldn’t want near you at all but much to his dismay, it won’t work. it never does and it never will

“i don’t think roommates is the right word anymore, leon,” you point out with a knowing look—one that reminds him of the times you’ve patched him up, scrubbed dried blood from his body and washed gunpowder and god only knows what else from his hair, all without a complaint. “stop being difficult and come over here,” 

the change in his eyes is the first thing that you notice, the first sign of submission. the distant look gets overpowered by the softness in an instant when he realises that he’s too exhausted to argue and what good would it do, he’ll only give into you in the end anyway, “yeah—yeah, okay,” he murmurs

finally, he steps out from where he was hiding against the kitchen doorframe. whatever he was doing—or rather, trying to do—in there seemingly becomes irrelevant as he shuffles towards you slowly with the telltale evidence of an ache that spreads throughout every single one of his limbs without his say so

still though, your eyes wander selfishly. his t-shirt is a size too small and clings to his biceps in all of the right places, his grey sweatpants hang low on his hips and one of the legs is caught up around his shin, exposing a ring of tanned skin between his clothing and his socks. he looks comfortable, for once

when he gets close enough, his teeth graze over his bottom lip and his gaze flickers between you and the couch and then over to the television that has been muted ever since you spotted him slinking out of his bedroom. he’s stalling but it only takes a soft flutter of your lashes to get him to cave and fall into you 

it’s rather unceremonious and kind of clumsy. his limbs knock against your own and the couch creaks rudely with his added weight but eventually, he just gives up and sort of flops down on top of you, leaving his cheek smushing into your stomach and your legs spreading to accommodate his body 

leon sighs. it rattles out of him while his arms snake around your waist, holding you pretty close for a guy who made out like he didn’t want this. it makes you smile, not that he can see it and for the first time ever, you hope that he can’t detect that butterflies that are still whirlwind-ing in your stomach, right under his head

instinctively, your fingers start to card through his hair. it feels like silk against your skin and it’s hard for you to imagine that not all that long ago it was thick with dirt and someone else’s blood—you try not to think about it as leon gives a small grunt of contentment, barely there and muffled but, it’s something

minutes pass by languidly, like time doesn’t really exist when leon is cosplaying as the most handsome weighted blanket. he stays quiet, enjoying the drag of your nails against his scalp and slowly, his breathing starts to even out as sleep starts to entice him but then he goes all at once and he jerks—hard 

muscles pull taut all over his body while he goes from being on the edge of slumber to almost wide awake in the blink of an eye, “shouldn’t be—be doing this, i have work to do, reports and stuff” he rambles under his breath, trying to push himself up and away from you and this time you sigh deeply

guilt holds him in its grasp. survivors guilt—maybe. the constant feeling that he’s not allowed to relax, he’s not allowed to indulge in the simplest of things. the feeling that he has to keep going, an act of penance that’ll never be satisfied, no matter the amount of people saved or the heavy toll that it’s taking on his body 

“leon—no, lay down,” you urge, though you sound more sympathetic than you’d like to. leon doesn’t like sympathy, he doesn’t like pity either but as your fingers slide underneath the neckline of his shirt and splay across tense muscles, he pauses, forces out a shuddered breath and then reluctantly relaxes again

“why do you even care about this?”

you flinch when leon can’t even ask why you care about him. he swaps the word with ease, leaves it unsaid but implied—even if he doesn’t mean to, “because i just do and if i didn’t, then who would?” you ask. it’s rhetorical, open ended if he wants to respond but there’s no pressure for him to try 

strong arms loop around your waist again and large hands flatten against your spine, touching and committing the most ordinary parts of your body to memory, like it was made just for him, “you shouldn’t,” he whispers and the worst part is, he truly means it. he really doesn’t believe that anyone would care about him

“mhmm—sounded like a rough one this time so i’m trying to extra care of…this,” you breathe, repeating the same phrase that he used whilst shifting the subject ever so slightly. leon grunts in agreement—it was a rough job—and it gives you the chance to ask your favorite question, “do you want to talk about it?”

“no,”

just as you expected, the normal response. you have to ask him though and you won’t press the issue further, you won’t try to force him to open up about what he went through. instead, you leave it be and let an easy silence fill the space between you and him. you’re there if he changes his mind and that’s enough 

in the meantime though, you drift your fingertips up and down the back of leon’s neck, tickling and just barely scratching your nails up through his hair and right back down to the top of his spine whilst leon seems to lose himself in a deep thought, one that allows you to see the proverbial cogs turning in his mind

a moment later, something shifts. you can’t pinpoint it and it’s odd because you feel it before anything really happens, almost like something prepares you for the shaky lungful of air that leon sucks into his body but then it leaves you high and dry, caught wholly off guard, for the gentle press of lips against your hipbone 

it’s not a kiss—it can’t be. leon must’ve done it accidentally. too engrossed in his thoughts to realise that he did it but it felt like a kiss. fizzling beneath your skin, blossoming throughout your veins, a thing that you’ve wanted for too long. fleeting and sweet, causing you to overthink it, spoiling yourself with it. and then,

“i nearly died this time,”

your heart sinks. swooping low, stealing the air from your lungs. it hurts to hear, especially from a guy who has the most awful habit of consistently downplaying every single thing that happens to him, “w-what—oh my god—wait, come up here, please,” you gasp, screwing your hands into his shirt to haul him upwards

leon moves promptly, clambering and collapsing into the sliver of space between your body and the back of the couch. he slots in with ease and rolls you to face him, pressing his broad chest into yours as he settles his head against the armrest. he’s so close, more so than he’s ever been before but it's not enough

before you can think better of it, you’re draping your thigh up and over leon’s hip and tentatively resting your hand on his ribs but it doesn’t quite have the desired effect when leon flinches. a bruise from his assignment makes his body jerk and immediately, you feel awful and try to snatch your hand back 

“no—don’t,” leon mumbles, vulnerable and out of his depth, while he catches your wrist and pulls your hand back to put it in it’s place. his own hand hovers over yours, displaying a size difference that makes you feel a little bit dizzy before his hand flits to your thigh and smooths tenderly up the outside of your leg

seconds bleed into minutes as you take the time to just exist with leon being so close. his breath fans over your cheek with every exhale and his hand squeezes lightly at your thigh but ultimately, you build up the courage to ask, “how did you—how did you almost…” you trail off, unable to say the words out loud 

“that part doesn’t—it doesn’t matter,” leon answers you, too fast and frowning. his walls go back up—albeit, they’re only half the size that they normally are and ready to crumble at moments notice—while he attempts to draw your attention away from his confession. though, all it does is leave you feeling confused

an incredulous laugh bubbles in your throat, “leon—that’s insane, it does matter—you matter,” you rant frantically, hung up on the fact that you really almost lost him this time. sure—it’s a constant risk with his job but hearing him admit it makes it all too much for you to handle, “i mean—how can you even say that it—”

“i thought about you,”

oh. your previously sunken heart swells when leon cuts you off. your eyes widen as your breath hitches in your throat but your mind muddles with every single plausible implication of his words. maybe it’s wishful thinking on your part but it all leads back to one singular thing. still though, you blurt, “why?” 

“i don’t know—i just—” leon stops himself and then presses his lips into a thin line. his eyes harden, only slightly, and his walls build themselves up to their full height. he’s struggling and you don’t blame him but you need to know and your fingers screwing into his shirt urges him on, “all i could think about was you and—”

you can’t take it anymore. you crowd into the small amount of personal space that he has left and press your lips into his and his walls collapse. he doesn’t hesitate, he doesn’t waste another second before he’s kissing you back. soft, slow, sweet, all of the things that you weren’t entirely sure that he was capable of 

his hand finds your waist, squeezing and tugging you closer until your bodies are flush against each other. your hand slides over his jaw and he doesn’t wince when you brush against the bruise that’s blooming underneath your palm. if it hurts him, he doesn’t show it because he’s too busy. he’s right where he wants to be

it’s all consuming, swallowing both of you whole where you lay on the couch until the air in your lungs begins to thin, causing you and leon to part your lips in an effort to breathe. he’s smiling though, you can feel it against your mouth whilst your chest rises and falls with every gasping breath 

“shit—if i’d known—would’a told you ages ago,” leon mumbles in between kisses that have turned needy. it’s like he’s been teased with the taste of you and he’s worried that if he pulls away now, he’ll never get it again. somehow, the thought of that is far more harrowing than anything he’s ever encountered on a job

“what do you mean—ages ago?” you whisper, also refusing to interrupt the lazy flow of kisses that are being shared between you and him, as your fingers ghost up his jaw and into his hair once more. not pulling or tugging, just playing deftly in a way that makes him grunt low in his chest and grip your waist harder 

he hesitates now. stuck somewhere between wanting to wear his heart on his sleeve and wanting to keep all of his secrets under lock and key. there’s a lull in his kisses, a moment where he’s too stuck to remember that he’s supposed to be kissing you back but when you threaten to pull away, he makes his decision quickly 

“i think about you every time—all the time,” leon concedes with his bloodshot eyes wildly searching yours. he sounds sure of himself, no mumbling or muttering under his breath, he’s admitting it and you can practically see the weight of it lifting off of his shoulders, “it’s always just—you,” he breathes 

inside of your chest, your heart is preparing to burst. it aches with happiness and an overwhelming sense of fulfilment and you can’t stop yourself from surging forwards to kiss him again. leon gasps as his bottom lip slots between yours—a sound that you haven’t ever heard from him—and then when you pull back, he grunts

“think about you too,” you giggle, sharing his sentiment, before you wriggle in close and tuck yourself against leon’s body. you fit together like puzzle pieces, your head slotting under his chin while his muscular arms wrap you up. you’ve found your place and you never plan on leaving, “miss you when you’re gone,”

“yeah?” leon chuckles, deep and throaty, muffled by his lips pressing a soft kiss to the crown of your head as you yawn and nod in response, “thought you were trying to trick me into sleeping,” he teases, revealing that he knew what you were trying to do this entire time—you’re not mad about it though

still though, you playfully huff, “yeah—well—i am,” you mumble and press your ear against his chest to listen to the thrum of his heart beating. it’s an even thump, not panicked or rushed, just satisfied, “you’re gonna nap with me,” you garble around another yawn as leon’s exhaustion becomes infectious 

“am i?” leon asks, though he’s already rearranging himself to get comfortable and tightening his arms around you, holding you close and trapping you against him. you nod again, not giving him a choice, but he doesn’t seem to care when he’s kissing your temple and whispering a peaceful, “yeah—i am,”

thanks for reading! remember to like! reblog! and comment! i’ll give you a kiss if you do, mwah ily! send prompts to my ask box!

Turning into a cat wasn't on Wesker's bucket list for this lifetime, but like with all other things in his life, he learns to roll with it and make the best out of his situation.

He doesn't know how this happened. There is no scientific explanation for this – trust him, he's tried to come up with one – and it's not like he was even aware that magic existed before that moment. He doesn't exactly have a person in mind he could go to and demand answers from.

All he knows is that one moment, he was sinking into lava while cursing Chris Redfield's name and entire bloodline, and the next he was waking up as a black furball instead of burning for eternity in whatever layer of hell people like him got sentenced to after death. It's not necessarily the best possible outcome or how he thought his fiftieth birthday would find him, but he can't pretend that he's not just simply glad there is a birthday to greet him at all.

Surviving as a stray cat is not easy. Surviving as a black stray cat is even worse. Turns out that a lot of stupid, ignorant people hate cats for having the audacity to exist and have an irrational superstition-fueled fear of black cats in particular. He doesn't want to remember how many times he evaded death or torture at the hands of cat-hating idiots since he found himself without opposable thumbs. Finding shelter is the way to go, but how to go about it? If an animal shelter gets their hands on him, he might not get adopted. If he doesn't, he might get put down for ‘his own good’. Not to mention the very real threat of being neutered. He may be fifty years old, but he does not want to lose the ability to reproduce while in cat form.

Getting adopted seems like the ideal solution but even that has its downsides. He's not like a normal cat – he won't poop in a litter, eat that disgusting slop people call ‘cat food’, and he refuses to be babied and coddled or, god forbid, be put in silly outfits and cooed over like he's a toy. He needs someone who will worship him like he is owed but who will not bat an eye at his quirks.

He needs you.

Wesker has been watching you for a while now. He doesn't know how he ended up in this specific country and city when he was drowning in lava in Africa before he died, but he's rolled with it because that is the way of survival. He's gone through a lot of different neighbourhoods looking for food, shelter, and companionship, but yours has been the only one he's found even mildly acceptable.

He sees you every morning on your way to work. You wear headphones and don't seem all that interested in observing the world around you – a weakness as far as vigilance goes, but a boon in his favour since he can quietly observe you without fear of being spotted – but you happily take them out if someone approaches asking for directions. You smile at every stray cat you see – once, when you didn't seem to be in a hurry, you even stopped and crouched with your hand outstretched, beckoning the idiot who tried to steal Wesker's food the other day towards you. She came to you shyly, rubbing her whole body against your hand and winding her way around your legs when you got up and laughed at the cat's antics, and a strange wave of white-hot jealousy shot through Wesker at the sight. It should have been him being petted by you, not that mangy fleabag.

He wants you, plain and simple. He's seen a lot of your routine to know that you live alone and spend most of your free time that way too – you could use a companion. You're funny (he's spied on you by climbing up your building and settling himself on your windowsill) and smart, if a little weird – you talk to yourself a lot, though he supposes he would too, if he had no one to talk to. You're also very kind with a bleeding heart, which is the exact thing he needs if he wants to convince you to keep him and not just pass him off to someone else or a shelter.

He can't explain exactly why he wants you to take him in. All he knows is that he does.

Wesker gets his opportunity to walk into your life permanently when you leave your window open while cleaning, having shaken a small rug outside your window just a few minutes prior, after which you didn't close the screen properly. He paws at it expertly and pulls it open, then primly hops down to the floor and trots inside like he owns the place. If he's already here, what are you going to do? Kick him out?

He explores your apartment while you're distracted with your cleaning. It's not terribly expansive, certainly smaller than he's used to these days, but it's leagues better than sleeping on the streets as he has been for the past couple of months. Your music is blaring loudly from your phone while you dust off your furniture and sing along to it – you're horribly off-key but, oddly enough, it endears him to you rather than making him want to shut you up.

It takes you until you finish cleaning and plop down on your bed to catch your breath for you to notice Wesker. And it's only because he hops up on your bed and stares at you with big, unimpressed, golden eyes.

The startled scream you let out is expected if a bit annoying – his ears are even more sensitive as a cat than they were as an enhanced human, how is that even possible? – but, just like he knew you would, you calm down pretty quickly and look at him with apprehensive curiosity.

“Where did you come from, pretty?” you ask in a hushed, awed voice. You look around, trying to get answers, and when the open screen bangs against the window pane outside you groan as realisation sets in. “Damn, how the hell did you get up here, though? Are you some kind of supercat?”

Wesker, of course, doesn't answer. His tail flicks in boredom as he stares at you, though, which probably makes you think he's annoyed with you. He should… try to appear cute, right? That's how he'll secure your adoration.

You, oblivious to his inner machinations, bring up a hand and extend it towards him in offering. You keep it a respectful distance away and don't push his boundaries, but he can see the thinly veiled hope in your eyes that he won't reject you. He's seen your dejection whenever one of the strays refuses to approach you or straight up runs away from you. You never push, but you always mutter a quiet, “Damn, tough crowd,” before walking away with disappointment dogging your footsteps.

Fear not, dear heart, for he will never reject you. Now that he's here, you'll have no need for any of those ungrateful tramps – you'll only need Wesker.

“You're so handsome,” you coo softly, your wide eyes admiring Wesker's glossy, black coat. He's gotten enough glimpses of himself to know his fur is pure black, dark like obsidian, which only makes his eyes stand out even more. He has a handsome physiognomy, too, which would endear him to more people if he wasn't a black cat.

He approaches your hand slowly and sniffs it, familiarising himself with your scent and drinking it in at the same time, then proceeds to headbutt your palm and rub himself all over your hand. Now, you will smell like him and other cats will know to stay the fuck away – this one's taken.

“Oh! Aren't you a sweet… boy? Girl? What are you, anyway?”

Wesker tolerates the indignity of having you check his genitals to determine his gender, but only because he needs you. As soon as you're done, he backs away from you and glares in your direction while he waits for your next move.

“A handsome boy! And a smooth criminal at that, sneaking into my house while I wasn't looking,” you remark in a slightly childish voice you can't help defaulting to around cats sometimes, but you quickly lose the abhorrent affectation as your brows furrow and you start thinking. “What to do with you, though? I can't exactly afford a cat. And I'm gone so often, you'll be home alone every day while I'm at work.”

Well, that won't do.

Wesker wedges himself in between your arms, tucking himself between your breasts – which would make him blush if he was human again, but he can't deny that it's very warm and cozy here – and wrapping his paws around your wrist so he can hold it hostage. When you gasp and look down at him with a look of complete and utter wonder, he makes his eyes as big as he can and utters a single pitiful meow in your direction.

He can see you crumbling to pieces right before his eyes.

“Oh, fuck,” you mutter, burying your face in his fur slowly, as if testing the waters, and when all Wesker does is start to purr in reply to your affection, you grow bold and rub your nose against the fur on his chest, giggling when his flicking tail tickles you. When you pull away and look back at him, your eyes are teary. “Cat distribution system, I guess.”

Wesker meows again, satisfied that you gave in so easily, and settles more firmly into your body, soaking up your heat and the softness of your skin as you gently rub his body and give him scritches. He's found a home and the person to provide it for him – now he can finally start looking into ways to get back to being a human once more.

***

Living with you becomes something like heaven, if Wesker's being honest. He has the house all to himself while you're at work, which gives him the opportunity to use your computer while you're not there and try to figure out what the fuck happened to him and why he's a cat. Predictably, he finds nothing. Not even when searching the websites and forums that can't be found by idiots accidentally stumbling on them by clicking the wrong link.

He thinks about contacting someone he knows but… Who could he even contact? Who could help him that he can also trust not to take advantage of his impaired state? He'd rather stay a cat forever than contact Chris – not only because it's a matter of principle, but also because he doesn't truly trust that naive idiot not to dump him with the BSAA in the name of ‘reforming’ him, all so he can be turned into their little lab rat instead.

The last time he saw or talked to Ada was years ago when that whole business with the Amber in Spain went down, not that she would feel inclined to help him even if they were on good terms. Ada doesn't like complicated and this entire situation has that word plastered all over it.

Jill is out of the question for obvious reasons. He wouldn't put it past her to just… bash his head in and forget about the whole thing like it never happened. Which – fair enough, but it doesn't really help Wesker now.

Other than that… He has no one. He has no friends, no allies, not even paid help that could be persuaded by money or loyalty to aid him. The realisation that he's all alone in the world is… sobering. Fifty years old on this planet and what does he have to show for it? Plans ruined, allies dead or scattered to the winds, life in shambles. He's a fucking cat, for crying out loud!

With no help forthcoming and no clue about where he could even start looking for it, Wesker comes to the realisation that he can either drive himself mad trying to change back or he can accept that this is his new reality. Maybe there is no afterlife – maybe it's just this: reincarnation as a stupid four-legged furball where he is forced to come to terms with how limited he is by his nature and that no one is too mighty not to fall eventually.

He accepts his fate.

Slowly, reluctantly, and with great difficulty. But he does accept it.

It's you who helps, surprisingly enough. You're wonderful company when you actually have time to just stay at home and hang out with him. You take his odd habits in stride – ‘One of my friends’ dog eats every raw vegetable in sight and plain corn puffs, for whatever reason, and will only pee in the toilet. You're positively normal in comparison, Shadow’ – and don't pester him for attention constantly whenever you're lonely. He can see it when it happens, though – how you get quieter and your gaze becomes a bit distant while you curl yourself around one of your pillows and sigh very deeply. Sometimes you cry, sometimes you just stare, gaze empty, at nothing in particular.

Wesker always comes out of hiding and curls up around you, making you hold him instead of your pillow, while he reluctantly licks your tears away and nuzzles into your neck. It's only because your tears taste good and your neck is warm, that's all. It's definitely not because your loneliness resonates with him and strikes a chord in him every time you get like this. Of course not.

The first – and only – time you take him to the vet, he almost kills the so-called doctor when he tries to give Wesker a vaccine. Not only does he not trust a random hack with a degree to put anything in his body, but he also doesn't want to know what the vaccine might do to him. He still has his powers – he could effortlessly climb up to your window when no other cat could, his strength is abnormal for a feline of his build, and when he's not paying attention, he tends to use his accelerated speed while running from one end of the apartment to the other during the night in order to expel energy (he refuses to call it ‘zoomies’, that is an undignified term that does not apply to him). He shudders to think what a cat vaccine would do when coming into contact with his cocktail of viruses.

When vaccines are a bust, none of the staff being able to get a hold of him to even sedate him, they try to take a look at his equipment and make an action plan for neutering. That is the one and only time he bites you, hissing at you with all his might and making his displeasure known. The pain and betrayal in your eyes at his aggressiveness hurts him in a way he didn't think was possible and he almost regrets attacking you, but he stands firm because there are important things at stake here. He cannot let you do this to him.

In the end, you walk out of the vet office the way you entered it and no further talks of such things ever come up again.

(He makes it up to you that night by sleeping next to you the whole night through, not making a peep even though he so badly wants to tear through the house, and makes sure to still be there, all snug and cute in your arms, when you wake up in the morning. The beatific smile that blooms on your still sleepy face at the sight of him so docile and warm next to you makes Wesker's feline heart skip a beat. He brushes it off as an anomaly.)

He realises he has to come clean about being an actual person trapped in a cat's body about two months after he's come to live with you. That is the last thing Wesker wants to do, but it becomes necessary.

You see, usually people do lots of things around their animals that they wouldn't do around other people. Like changing clothes in front of them, for example. Or showering with the door open. Walking around naked. Masturbating.

Don't get Wesker wrong, he'd love to get in on the action whenever you pull up a video and turn your vibrator on, because you're a very gorgeous woman and, cat or not, Wesker is still a man with a healthy libido. But not only would it be inappropriate to try anything in cat form, but it actually makes him feel guilty that you don't know you're baring yourself like that around a man who's only trapped in a cat's body but has all his faculties about him.

He's tried to just not look or be there in the room when you do something like this. But it's impossible to avoid you completely in such a small apartment, not unless he wants to wedge himself under your furniture indefinitely – which wouldn't block out the sounds of you fingering yourself and moaning so sweetly anyway.

He knows he definitely needs to say something when you start to masturbate again and he can't bring himself to hop down from your desk and look away anymore. His cat eyes are glued to your spread legs, watching you pleasure yourself with the vibrator, and when you tease a dildo that's just about the size of his cock into your entrance, he nearly combusts from how badly he wishes he had a human body so he could bend you in half and make you scream his name.

Instead, he's forced to remain a voyeur. It takes you a while to be done because it's your day off and you clearly want to indulge, and every second of your sweet voice panting and moaning and whining while you pleasure yourself with your toys makes Wesker think that maybe this is hell after all.

When you come, his sensitive nose is flooded with the scent of your release and the urge to lick it up is so powerful that he has to bite down on his own tail so he won't do something stupid like actually walk up to your still spread legs and do exactly that.

He considers himself a saint for keeping himself in check when such a tempting feast was laid before him as if on a silver platter and he denied himself the pleasure of sampling the goods. It'd be so easy to get a taste while you sleep, after all. But he contains himself.

The day after is when he decides to come clean. You've been wonderful to him these past two months – the vet visit notwithstanding – and you deserve to know that he's a human. There's a big chance you'll kick him out but he believes in you. You won't hurt him, you already care about him too much.

You're typing something on your computer when he hops up on the desk and just looks at you for a moment. He won't leave without a fight – and he truly believes your bleeding heart won't let you just kick him to the curb – but nevertheless, Wesker takes a good look at you as if memorising your face and posture. He doesn't know how you became so beautiful and dear to him in the span of just two months.

“Oh, hey, baby,” you greet when you finally pull your eyes away from the monitor. The smile you offer him is bright and happy as you scratch under his chin, making him purr involuntarily, and when you coo at him he already knows what you're about to do. With soft, careful hands, you grab him under his front legs and bring him closer until you're cradling him in your arms like a baby. He hated it the first time you did it, but after curling up next to your neck and feeling your gentle fingers rubbing his body and caressing his fur, he changed his mind. You're surprisingly apt at being a cat owner, he's surprised it took you this long to get a pet, honestly.

“What's up, Shadow?” Not the most inspired name for a black cat, but this one is leagues better than the other ideas you had. You actually let him pick his name – meaning that you just threw random names at him and watched for a reaction from him so you could pick one. “You getting lonely, you grumpy old man? You can sit with me if you want, it's okay.”

Wesker purrs louder, knowing how much you love it when he does it, and licks insistently at your neck for a bit. Your taste on his tongue is so comforting – like home and food and safety. He's actually a bit terrified of losing you; you're all he has in the world now and all that stands between him and homelessness again. Wesker is a resourceful man and he has the advantage of his powers, but there's only so much he can do in this cat form – he doesn't know if he'll survive being homeless again or what fate awaits him if he gets caught by someone else or a cat shelter. He doesn't want to find out.

“Hey, it's okay. What's gotten into you?” you ask worriedly, petting down his back and nuzzling his fluffy head. Wesker meows and licks you again, which makes you utter a distressed noise as you almost crush him to your chest and get up from your chair so you can walk around with him in your arms.

He winds his paws around your neck in an approximation of a hug and he can feel your heart skip a beat at the affection. God, why are you so sweet? And why does he find it so endearing instead of annoying? If he had met you before being turned into a cat, he would've sneered at your weakness, at how pathetically human you are, and called you naive and stupid. Now, all he wants is to have real arms that can hold you whenever you start crying into your pillow again.

“Silly baby, it's okay,” you soothe. Your hands on his back are so gentle and comforting it makes Wesker want to dig his fangs into you and never let go.

He lets you comfort him for a few minutes longer before he hops out of your arms and goes back to your computer. You follow him curiously – he can see the worry in your eyes still and it only makes his guilt stronger as he resolves to tell you the truth no matter what – and take a seat at your desk while you watch him navigate clumsily to a word document so he can start typing. It takes a while – and he's surprised you just let him bang at your keyboard instead of shooing him away like most people might – but eventually, he has a message for you. It's simple, but to the point.

I'M NOT A CAT.

You stare at the text on your screen for a good minute without saying anything. Wesker watches you intently, looking for any hints that you might do something out of character – like strangle him or something – but all you do is stare at the screen and blink slowly. When you finally turn to look at him, your lips are parted to allow your shallow breathing to wheeze past them. Your hand trembles when you smooth it over his head. Wesker leans into it, bumping his nose against your fingers and licking gently at your fingertips in apology, then flattens himself to your desk in a show of deference and guilt he never thought himself capable of.

“Either I've finally cracked or you're not a cat,” you whisper shakily as you look at Wesker like he's imaginary and you're expecting him to vanish any second now. In your defense, he doesn't think he'd cope with this news better if he were you.

Wesker meows, his ears flat around his head, tucked tightly like a loaf with his tail hidden away. He looks up at you pathetically and wishes he had a human voice to speak with.

“Okay, okay,” you repeat, sounding panicked and on the verge of hyperventilating. “This is fine. The cat that broke into my house and refused to leave is not actually a cat. Sure, why not? I mean, it does make a lot of things make sense now, I suppose. Like why you only eat human food and why you use the toilet only when I'm not there and why– oh my god, I tried to neuter you! Oh my god I've been… And you've been…”

You turn wide, mortified eyes in his direction and he meows again, covering his head with his paws so he can avoid looking at you. The image of you pleasuring yourself lives rent free in his head but he does his best to push it away from his mind right now.

“I think I might have to flee the country and change my name now, Shadow…” you mutter in embarrassment, groaning and hiding your own face behind your hands. You blow out a long, harsh breath before you look back at him behind stressed but not hostile eyes. “If you're not a cat, then are you a human? Wait, stupid question. Of course you are, you just spoke to me. Well, typed but, you know… Okay, better question: who are you and why the fuck are you a cat?”

Wesker would laugh if he could – your distress and desperate attempt to cope with the situation is amusing and sweet. He lifts himself up and slowly walks back to the keyboard, watching you to see your reaction, but you just lean into your chair and watch him curiously. Your rapt fascination with him makes Wesker want to preen but now is not the time. He makes use of your keyboard once more, this attempt taking a bit longer than the previous one, but when he's done he sits down in front of you and awaits judgement.

ALBERT WESKER & IDK.

You gasp as you read his newest message; it confuses him. Why does this alarm you when news of him being a cat didn't? But before he can wonder further, he sees you pulling your phone out and begin typing frantically on it before you gasp again, even louder than before.

“You're a wanted bioterrorist! I knew that name sounded familiar! It says here you died a few months ago but apparently you've just been moonlighting as a cat the entire time. What the fuck is my life, dude…”

Well. Wesker didn't bank on you knowing who he is, if he's being honest. His main concern ever since betraying S.T.A.R.S. has been evading the authorities and especially the BSAA. He didn't even know the public were aware of him and his existence until now.

This certainly complicates things.

NOT A THREAT

He types that out quickly, getting the hang of it now, then turns back to you with the widest eyes he is capable of. You read it out loud then snort, shoulders finally slumping into a relaxed posture as the tension you've been carrying seems to leave you at long last.

“Yeah, no shit,” you mutter, shaking your head at him and laughing quietly to yourself. “I saw you wrestling your own tail and hissing at it when it hit your face the other day. I know you're not a threat.”

Embarrassment floods Wesker at your remark and he hisses shortly at you before ducking his head and grooming himself to avoid looking at you. It's not like he can help it! His feline instincts get the better of him sometimes and he becomes a slave to his own nature, even if, in the back of his mind, he is aware that he's acting ridiculous. It's the same reason why he can't resist running around the house at three a.m. and knocking things over to wake you up so you can play with him – it's in his nature!

“Well,” you start, sighing and running a hand over your face, “thank you for telling me. And I'm sorry you're stuck as a cat. It must suck a lot.”

He perks up as he looks back at you, letting his damp paw fall back to the desk before he pads over to you and cautiously sniffs your face. You stay still, looking at him intently though without fear, and let him sniff you for a long time before he licks your chin and pulls back so he can write one last thing in the word doc.

THANK YOU. YOU MAKE BETTER. WANT TO STAY W U

He sacrifices proper spelling, grammar, and punctuation towards the end when it becomes tiring to type with his paws, but it all ceases to matter when he looks back at you and sees quiet tears streaming down your face. He makes an alarmed sound – a concerned little ‘mrrrp’ – and hurries to your side, jumping in your lap and pressing his paws to your chest as he lifts himself up so he can lick your tears away faster than they can fall. You let out a choked sob and hug him to your chest, sinking your fingers in his fur and muttering quiet, broken apologies in between hitched breaths.

“Sorry, sorry. I just… I never thought I'd matter enough to anyone to make something like what you're going through feel better. It means a lot,” you murmur once your tears have ceased. Wesker meows and starts purring as loudly as he can, then rubs himself all over you before he looks back up at you and meows again. You smile, a small, sad thing that makes Wesker wish he was human again so he could kiss it away, then take his small head in your hands and rub your thumbs across his face in a gentle, relaxing pattern. “You make everything better, Albert. Thank you for being here.”

Then you bend towards him and press a soft, lingering kiss on his forehead – your sweet scent invades his senses and he knows he would be blushing now if he was human. He purrs louder, happy that you're not kicking him out, and snuggles close to your neck after you pull your lips away.

You get up from your chair again with Wesker in your arms and turn the computer off before walking over to your bed and lying down, Wesker held tightly like he's precious while you cuddle with him shamelessly. He continues to purr away without a care and starts play wrestling with your hand, hugging your wrist between all of his paws and nipping gently at your fingers, careful not to actually nick you with his sharp teeth.

Your laughter and the joy you emanate as he plays with you sink into his heart and make a home for themselves there. And when you grab him with a playful growl and bite down on his ear as retaliation before blowing raspberries against his fluffy belly, he can't even bring himself to think that this is undignified and below him. He thinks that he'd let you play with him like this even if he were back in his original body – he just wants to see you happy and have your body next to his. It doesn't matter in what capacity.

***

Wesker has a problem.

It's been a few more months since he revealed himself to you and things have changed but not for the worse. Boundaries have been established so that neither of you is uncomfortable by being around the other – every time you kick him out of the apartment for a while because you need some ‘me' time, all he can think about is what you're doing and how badly he wishes he was there with you, but that's neither here nor there.

You got him those talking buttons everyone and their mother bought for their pets at some point so you can ease communication between the two of you, which helps him feel more like himself now that he doesn't have to rely solely on tail flicking and meowing to communicate his wants and needs. And while you seem more aware of your behaviour around him and stop yourself from treating him like a mindless animal now that you know he's anything but, you still give into your urges and play around with him or cuddle him in bed whenever you feel the need for some affection.

Wesker is more than happy to indulge you.

You've become his whole world in a few short months. Literally but also emotionally. He looks forward to seeing you walk through the door at the end of a work day and he misses you terribly when you're gone. Now that you know he's human, you've taken to reading books out loud to him in your spare time – either his favourites or whatever you're currently reading. You talk to him about yourself in a way you didn't before and he feels like he's known you forever. There is connection – real connection – building here, growing stronger every day, and it's everything he didn't know he could possibly want.

The problem is that he's falling in love with you, something he never thought himself capable of. And it's fucking inconvenient since he's still very much sporting cat ears and a tail.

It figures that Albert Wesker would find love when he's fifty and not in possession of opposable thumbs or a voice, so that he's forced to stew in it, incapable of acting on the feelings and desires brewing in his chest.

So far, he's been lucky – you don't seem to be the dating type and the only action you get is from your sex toys. He doesn't have to think about the horrifying possibility of you coming home with someone and forgetting about him while you fuck a stranger in the same room as Wesker – or worse, kick him out for privacy while he's stuck in the hallway outside your apartment still faintly hearing the sounds of your pleasure caused by a man who isn't him.

But then, his luck runs out.

You come home after work one day, looking happy and radiant, still touching your lips and giggling every once in a while, and Wesker knows that something horribly wrong is up immediately. His fur stands up in alarm and his whiskers point forward as he watches you hum happily under your breath while putting away your work clothes and getting started on dinner – for both you and him. Finally, when you giggle for the fifth time in the span of ten minutes, Wesker has had enough.

He walks over to his talking buttons and presses on them with more force than necessary, the cheap plastic creaking ominously under his touch.

WHAT.

He pauses for a second before he presses the other two buttons.

WHY. LAUGH.

You snap out of it at his question and step away from the stove, letting whatever you threw in the pan simmer on low heat while you take a seat and lean towards him with your elbows on your knees.

“I have a date!” you announce happily as if this is cause for celebration. Wesker actually flinches away from you, though you hardly notice through your dreamy, unfocused gaze, and he has to bite his tail to make sure he's not having a nightmare. Oh, this is bad. Why are you happy about this when it's the worst day of Wesker's feline life? And that's with counting the numerous times he almost died in the beginning.

WHEN. WHY.

“Tomorrow! And what do you mean ‘why’? I know I seem like a loser, Albert, but I do actually have a life outside of this apartment occasionally,” you answer with a frown. Wesker hates to sour your mood because he does like seeing you happy, but this is an exceptional circumstance – he can't have you feeling happy about going on a date with whatever loser dared to ask you out. “He's a new hire at my job and I thought he hated me for the longest time but turns out he's just shy and didn't know how to ask me out! Isn't that so cute?” Pathetic, more like. Wesker wouldn't fumble like this – he'd walk up to you, grab your chin, look you in the eye unwaveringly, and tell you that he's taking you out. You'd say yes because the bold move would fluster you too much to second guess things and then he'd kiss you: long, deep, possessive, and with no hint of hesitation. You would know exactly how much he wants you and how very clearly you're already his. “He, uhm. He actually kissed me after I said yes. It was unexpected but I liked it even if it was just a peck.”

You look flustered and dreamy as you recount the story. Wesker is seething, tail puffed up while his nails dig into the wooden flooring of your apartment, and he wants to scratch that bastard's eyes out. Kiss you?! When you're already Wesker's?!

You don't notice his anger and jealousy. Lost in your own head, you just continue making dinner, then share it with him while watching a video on tips for first dates and how best to dress for a casual date in the park. He very nearly throws the phone to the ground to stop you from watching that nonsense but stops himself just in time, knowing that it would achieve nothing – it would just make you upset with him.

Instead, he sits there and watches the eager glint in your eyes as he thinks about how much better he'd be at taking you on a date.

Wesker would buy you the clothes to wear for a date with him. He would take you somewhere nice – expensive but in a subtle way so as not to overwhelm you and make you feel self-conscious. He'd bring you the biggest bouquet of your favourite flowers and a small but tasteful bracelet to go with your outfit – something expensive again, but not ostentatious. He would make it clear that you could be wearing rags and eating cheap hotdogs on a street corner and he'd still consider it the best date he's ever had. Because it would be. Because it'd be with you, the first woman he's ever felt anything real and genuine for.

But it's not Wesker taking you out. It's your coworker. Because Wesker is a fucking cat who can't even kiss you or hold your hand while that moron gets to put his grubby hands all over you and defile you with his mouth.

He sulks the entire evening, refusing to join you for a cuddle and your daily book reading when you beckon him to you. It clearly bums you out but Wesker can't stand to be close to you, to participate in this little ritual you've created together, when all he can think about is your coworker touching you all evening tomorrow, making you laugh, holding your hand, kissing you at the end of the date and, maybe, even taking you home afterwards.

But that night, after you've gone to sleep and fallen in some kind of dream that makes you sigh softly and call out his name every once in a while, Wesker jumps up on your bed and curls up on top of you, turning himself into a pretzel on top of your chest right above your heart. You settle down immediately after one more deep sigh of relief, and sink your hand in his fur before finally sleeping peacefully. Wesker looks at your sleeping face in the dark, eyes flicking from your eyes to your nose to your lips, and wishes with all his might that he was human again.

He just wants to hold you. He just wants to tell you that he… that he loves you. He would give anything in exchange for that, anything at all.

He doesn't know when he finally manages to fall asleep, but when he wakes up to your gentle fingers running over his fur and your gorgeous eyes staring down at him, his exhaustion is all but forgotten.

“Morning, grumpy. Are you feeling better today?” you greet sweetly, a thread of amusement obvious in your voice.

Wesker hisses playfully as he smacks you in the face with his tail and it makes you laugh and splutter with indignation from the mouthful of fur you just got.

“You're so mean to me. Maybe I should take you to the vet again, hmm?” The remark has Wesker giving you an unimpressed stare and it doesn't take long for you to crack and start laughing. “I'm kidding, I'm kidding. But seriously, what happened? Did I do something wrong?”

Wesker shakes his head but doesn't try to answer. It's too early in the morning to be thinking about how everything is going to be ruined tonight when you go on that date, so he just snuggles closer, pushing his nose into your neck and licking at your skin to get a taste of you. You giggle, always so ticklish when his sandpaper tongue grooms you, but you don't push him away – you asked about that once, wondering if it was weird to let yourself be licked by a grown man in a cat's body, but he explained that he still has cat instincts about some things. He may have stretched the truth a bit – or rather, kept his answer vague and let you fill in the gaps by yourself – but Wesker can't suddenly turn into a saint overnight simply because you made him fall in love with you. He's still gotta have his flaws somewhere.

“Oh, okay, so we're doing this now. Message received, no talking about our feelings,” you mumble between giggles, but your words belie your happiness at his show of affection as you wrap your arms around the length of his stretched out body and hug him close to you as you turn on your side so you can snuggle him better. You bury your nose in his fur, inhaling his scent – you once told him that he smells like sunshine and everything good in the world, which he found ironic at the time and still does – then start peppering kisses all over his face and chest, muffling a small scream into his fur before you pop your head back up and look at him with a grin. Your hair is disheveled from sleep and he can still see pillow imprints on your face, but you've never looked more beautiful than you do right now.

You brush a gentle finger over his face before you let out a sigh.

“You're so soft and nice to me, Albert. But I wish you were a man again. I'd really love to give you a proper hug right now.”

Before Wesker can do or think anything in response to your words, a foreign sensation takes over his body – like lava settling into his flesh again, like TV static spreading over his limbs, like ice in the middle of Antarctica drowning his lungs, all of it happening simultaneously yet somehow separately all at once – and his vision and hearing go white and blinding for long moments. When he pulls himself together enough to open his eyes again, the ceiling is staring down at him and you are gasping at his side.

“Albert?”

He groans, feeling disoriented after that weird, painful experience, and then he freezes when he realises that he groaned. Not meowed, not mrrped, not yowled. Groaned. Like a human.

Wesker moves his right paw and looks down at it when it's in front of him but instead of a paw, it's a hand. He gasps then sits up straight as he frantically looks at his body – human, healthy, perfect. He has hands and opposable thumbs and when he touches his face he can feel lips, not a muzzle. He turns to the right when he hears your shallow breathing and he feels like he could jump for joy when his face is level with yours for once – he no longer has to look up at you because of his much smaller stature.

“I'm me again,” Wesker observes and he almost doesn't recognise his own voice. Fuck, it's been so long he almost forgot what it sounded like.

“You…” you murmur, voice trailing off. You lick your lips to wet them, then clear your throat, and all Wesker can focus on is that flash of pink and the way it darted across your lips. “You're here. As yourself. And not my cat.”

“It appears so,” Wesker confirms and fuck, he knows he should wait, should do this right, make sure you're receptive, but he really can't stand to stay away from you a second longer, not now that he's back to normal and he doesn't know if it'll last. If this is his only chance at having you, in whatever capacity you will allow him, then he's taking it, consequences be damned.

He turns and leans over you, one hand propping him up while he throws a leg over you and hovers above your body. You look up at him with wide eyes and parted lips and Wesker wants to freeze this moment and immortalise it in his mind.

“What are you doing?” you ask faintly but when he lowers himself just a bit, you clutch at his chest, hooking your fingers in his shirt instead of trying to push him away.

“What I've wanted to do for months now.”

Wesker leans all the way down towards your face and presses his lips to yours. The initial contact is like electricity running through his veins – he's never felt like this kissing someone before. You gasp at his touch yet you open your lips without thought when Wesker caresses them with his own and coaxes them open expertly. Touching your tongue with his is like heaven itself and your taste explodes on his tongue as he explores every inch of your sweet mouth – this mouth that has uttered your most deepest, darkest secrets late at night when you couldn't sleep, that has choked back sobs when the loneliness got to be too much, that has kissed his furry body without restraint and showered him in compliments he can't remember ever receiving as a human before.

You've given him so many things he never even knew he was missing and you've done it so effortlessly too. Like it's second nature to you. All he wants now is to give you back a fraction of the worship you've bestowed on him.

You moan when Wesker sucks gently on your tongue and the sound goes straight to his dick. It hardens in his pants alarmingly quickly, pent up after so many months of being stuck as a cat, unable to significantly take care of his arousal, and he lowers his lower body without even realising it as he chases some sort of relief through friction. He ends up rubbing his erection right over your crotch, which makes you gasp and moan even louder. He swallows the sounds greedily before he very reluctantly pulls away to let you breathe.

The look in your eyes is nothing short of dazed. Wesker drinks in the sight and hopes that it's not the only time he gets to witness it.

“You… You kissed me.”

He nods, smiling in amusement at your obvious statement, and brushes your hair away from your forehead fondly. He doesn't miss the way you lean into the touch and chase his hand when he pulls it back.

You look up at him with eyes that get clearer by the second and he feels so much adoration for you at this moment it nearly bowls him over.

“You're really handsome. For a bioterrorist. Has anyone ever told you that?”

Wesker snorts. “Once or twice,” he quips, then darts down quickly to steal another small kiss from your tempting lips. “Are you going anywhere with this?”

“I… Sorry, I'm just thrown off. I thought…”

“Yes?”

You look embarrassed when you dart your eyes away from him and turn your face to the side to avoid looking him in the eye.

“I thought I was weird and insane for having feelings for my cat who's not really a cat but still looks like one,” you mumble.

Wesker softens at your adorable display and lowers himself properly on top of you, pinning you to the bed so you can't think of ending this conversation out of embarrassment by going anywhere but also so you can feel just how much he reciprocates.

“Not weird. Nor insane.” He presses his nose alongside yours, rubbing at your skin and looking at you a little cross-eyed as he admires your face from up close, and he can't believe that he gets to do this now. “You asked why I was acting like that yesterday. It was because I was jealous.”

“Jealous?” You furrow your eyebrows and look back at him when he pulls his face away. “What for?”

“Because someone asked you out before I did. And because you said yes. I feel like you're already mine and I don't like the idea of you kissing anyone else but me.”

That flusters you again but instead of looking away, this time you cup his face in both of your hands and caress his cheeks with your thumbs in a gesture so tender it makes Wesker feel a pang deep in his heart – when has he ever been handled with such care? When would he have allowed anyone to do so?

“I only said yes because I was lonely and I felt guilty about my feelings. I… I thought it might get you out of my head if I went out with him,” you confess, your eyes looking so deeply into his own and flickering all over as they take him in just like he has been doing to you this entire time.

Again, he has to sit and wonder if he's ever felt like this before: wanted, but not for what he can do or what he represents; needed, but not for any material or selfish goal. You fell in love with him when he was the grumpy cat who knocked your stuff over to get your attention when he felt like you weren't paying him enough of it – when he was helpless and useless and you didn't even know what he looked like. To be loved so selflessly, so unconditionally is not something Wesker has ever experienced. He doesn't know what to do with it. Words seem lacklustre and he can't bring himself to say them anyway, not even now. But he does know how to show you.

“Don't ever get me out of your head,” he murmurs instead and leans down again to capture your lips in a searing kiss, pouring months of pent up desire and longing into it, hoping that his body can talk enough for him that you understand exactly how he feels. The way you wrap your arms around his shoulders and widen your legs so you can hook them over his waist and pull him into you says that maybe you do.

He steals the breath from your lungs with every kiss he presses against your lips while his hips grind down so he can rub his cock against your pussy. He can smell you getting wetter with every press of your bodies and he feels feral with the need to sink his teeth into you and rut into you like an animal. Hours of memories of you spread out like a feast, unaware that he could see you and hear every sound that fell from your lips as you brought pleasure to your neglected body, flash through Wesker's mind right now and he is helpless to do anything but trail his spit-slick lips down your throat and leave bites on your neck that will bruise and remain behind for days to come.

You sigh against him and thread your fingers through his hair to tug him closer. The way he grips your hips, the desperate, uncoordinated rutting of his cock against you, his hungry lips devouring every spare inch of exposed skin – none of it scares you away; if anything, you beg him to do more, to do worse, with every soft whimper that escapes your lips and every tug on his hair when his teeth leave indents in your skin.

“I want to devour you,” Wesker mutters, tugging your sleep shirt over your head and revealing your beautiful breasts to his hungry gaze. He immediately latches on, swirling his tongue over the nipple and grazing his teeth over the hard nub to see you arch up into his mouth with a gasp, rubbing yourself up against him in the process.

“Please,” you breathe out. Your breath keeps hitching with every tug on your nipples, either from his mouth or his fingers, and the sound goes straight to his cock every time. You beg so sweetly, how could he ever refuse you?

Wesker makes short work of getting you naked, baring you completely and leaving you spread out under him like an offering. You tug at his clothes to get him naked too and he obliges happily – it's only fair that you get to see him like this too. He can't help but preen a little under your appreciative gaze, especially when you lick your lips the further down his body your gaze goes and you spread your legs suggestively as soon as you catch sight of his hard, flushed cock. It makes him want to split you open right then and there.

“Think you can take me like this, my dear?” he asks sweetly, rubbing his fingers through your wet folds and groaning quietly at how obviously turned on you are just from his kisses and desperate exploration. He wants to bury himself in your pussy and emerge days later, but he also needs to be inside you in the next five minutes if he doesn't want to explode. Gorging himself on your cunt will have to wait for next time – then, he can take his time and indulge to his heart's content.

“I'd take you drier than a desert right now, Albert. Just please fuck me!”

His stomach clenches with arousal and his cock twitches in response to your words – so eager, so equally desperate to be joined with him as he is to be with you. He has to kiss you again, muffling your sweet moans with his lips and tongue. He swipes the head of his cock between your lips so he can gather as much of your wetness as he can, then spreads it over his length evenly. He really hopes it's enough – he doesn't want to hurt you, but if he doesn't feel your velvety walls around him now he might go insane.

Your hole is sopping and welcoming when Wesker finally lines himself up with it and starts pushing inside. You open like a flower for him, eager to have him pollinate you, and the gasp you let slip past your bitten lips when he starts stretching you more and more with every inch of his cock that he feeds into your pussy sounds like a benediction.

“That's it. You're doing so well, dear heart. Take it just like that, just a little bit more,” he grits out, forcing himself to go slow when every bone in his body wants him to just plunge balls deep in your cunt and fuck you into the mattress. When he finally bottoms out, he has to consciously let himself breathe out and relax while he waits for you to let go of the death grip you have on his shaft before he starts moving.

Every time he pulls out and thrusts back in, your tits bounce under him and brush up against his chest. You moan, tiny little sounds that escape your lips and caress his eardrums like the most elegant of instruments. He needs to fuck you properly.

The slow pace lasts only a few seconds, just enough for you to get used to his girth, before Wesker hikes your legs up on his waist and starts pounding into you so hard your headboard bangs against the wall. Your sounds are wanton and loud – you sound like the best porn star he's ever heard, the sexiest goddamn nymph on this planet, and he's convinced you were crafted especially to drive him insane with how perfect you are.

There is no room for words now between you – there is only the slapping of skin and heavy breathing, his moans and your whimpers, and the delicious friction of your warm, wet pussy and his hard cock as he takes your body for himself. Wordlessly, Wesker finds your clit and plays with it at the same time as he hammers into you like he's never had pussy before and never will again. You start sobbing from pleasure when the wave crashes into you. Your eyes roll to the back of your head and you moan his name deliriously, a sweet mantra he doesn't think he'll ever get tired of hearing – already he wants to hear it again, in that exact pitch, full of exactly that much pleasure and worship.

The squeezing of your cunt is damn near unbearable and it proves to be his undoing. He's been celibate and yearning for your divine pussy for months now, it's not really a surprise that your orgasm sends him hurtling into his own. He forces himself to pull out of you and come on your stomach, though the first few ropes land on your cunt and drip down to pool near your ass and the sheets. The urge to rub the head of his cock over the mess and push it back into you is strong, but he doesn't know if you're safe or if you want to take the risk regardless. He knows what he wants, but that's beside the point.

But as well behaved as he's being, he can't help himself – he swipes his fingers through the mess on your stomach and thrusts them into your mouth just to watch you dazedly but hungrily lick his fingers clean and swallow his cum without hesitation. Fuck, he wants to ruin you.

Wesker makes use of the tissues you keep next to your bed and wipes you down before he flops down next to you and pulls you into him, lying on your sides face to face and tangled together as much as possible. If there is one thing he misses about being a cat it's the ability to tuck himself into your neck and nearly fuse into your skin until there wasn't a single inch of space left between your bodies.

“What now?” you ask quietly in the silence that descends, the sound of your breaths mingling the only thing that disturbs it.

“What do you mean, darling?” Wesker is busy cataloguing every square inch of your face, one of his hands coming up to cup your cheek and touch you curiously, reverently, marvelling at his freedom to hold you now and feel your skin on his.

“What are you going to do now that you're you again? Will you… leave?”

Your voice is small and afraid and in it, Wesker can hear every fear of being discarded so soon after he used you, every expectation to be abandoned once again. He frowns in response and leans closer to you, sharing your pillow as he presses his forehead to yours.

“I'm not going anywhere,” he denies vehemently in a soft tone he never thought he'd use sincerely. He has faked affection for women before, for various reasons, but he's never felt it in his chest, never thought himself capable of it. At some point, he figured he was just wired differently and simply couldn't feel such things for another – he now knows that he just hadn't found the right person. Or maybe the timing and circumstances are what matter here. He'll never quite know which, if either, it is.

“But your plans–”

“Can wait. I don't care about that now. I've been craving you while having you inches away from me for months, darling. I just want to hold you. Take you out on a real date. Take care of you like you've been taking care of me. Is that allowed?”

You laugh at his teasing, your huff warming his lips from how close your mouths are, and you press a short kiss against them that lets him feel all the relief you're pouring into it.

“It is,” you whisper, breathing his air and caressing his nape with playful fingers that wind his blonde hair around the tips. “There's nothing I want more.”

“Good. Then we are on the same page.”

You curl up against him easily when Wesker pulls you closer, tucking your face against his neck and nuzzling your nose into it. He runs a hand over your back at the same time and delights in how perfectly you fit against him, how seamlessly your bodies slot against each other to keep you as close together as you can be. Your body is warm against him – though not as warm as his – and it feels like he can relax for the first time since Chris showed up and started sticking his nose into things that weren't his business.

How he likes to fuck you*

I can't lose you, babe

you got me hot, I'm soaked*

the best I've ever had

My man on willpower

come slowly to me

O Captain, my Captain!*

mine? yours.

belonging*

innocence died screaming*

here are your upturned hands✨

androgyne

sinking into you*

Relationship headcanons w/ a fem s/o*

carbide on my nano*

when your legs don't work like they used to before

feline counterpart✨

welcome no more

she's not acid nor alkaline

thought the pain would teach me somehow

Et tu, Brute?

Kisses, Ferris Wheels, and rigged carnival games

inside this place is warm

whatever words i say, i will always love you

collecting data

You make the rockin' world go 'round*

but you're good to me, baby // Bonus smut chapter*

they'll never stop until they see us fall*

Don't go (I can't do this on my own)

forever is our today*

stripped*

fervid*

cause you hold me like a woman*

hotel room activities*

Go ahead and cry, little girl*: Part I, Part II, Part III, Part IV, Part V, Part VI, Part VII

My cherries and wine*

denial*

give in to me*

dripping nectar*

veni, vidi, futui*

imposter syndrome

regret

home is where the heart is

our burning ashes blacken the day*

Half a life without you*

memories of you*🧑‍👩‍👦

forgiveness🧑‍👩‍👦

Personal headcanons

Bonnie and Clyde

Irrelevant (platonic, familial relationship)

obscura

Adam and Eve 2.0*

At least I can say I loved

Can you save my bastard soul?

Got a brain like a hurricane

Venus has got nothing on you, my dear*

what quiet bliss

seeing double* (Wesker x Reader x Zeno)

Proposal headcanons

Married life*

Love, pain, and the art of saying things without actually saying a word

All that I am and all that you are

sunbathing*

Just like a stray

Drink up sweet decadence*