me being a menace to your P.O box again ( gore/vionce cw sorry if ur not about that life in advance)
here me out: Wesker's S/O getting killed. Probably by a BSAA agent for affiliating with him, therefore being deemed a threat.
But it's not quick and easy. It hurts. They put up a fight. He comes home to a complete mess of flesh, hair, and blood. There's nothing left of his darling but a hunk of meat that was found by a starving hyena
How's he feeling?
Well... I think if he genuinely cared about you, this would render him a complete and total irredeemable menace of the highest order.
1.1k, tags: dddne, death, creepy af, god complex, graphic descriptions of violence, sadism, ship of theseus[?], torture mention... very OOC maybe! uh-
Wesker's first action of unsound mind is to kill the mutt that has decided to feast on you, its' innocence meaning nothing at all to him - it's a blind rage kind of action, though he's not terribly empathetic to animals anywhom - that's the kind of man you're-- were... you were with.
Oh. Oh. New sensation claims him wholly and swells in the cracks you've left behind, overwhelming.
He doesn't calm down an inch from rending it of its' miserable life. He probably did it a favor. That only makes Wesker feel more. Alexithymia and dissociation do not come close to describing what he is currently embodying. No, there is no words for the consumption that begins to gnaw on his wretched, fermenting psyche.
His mind is spinning in so many directions that furl out from grief and then curl in with anger like a discontented mimosa, all too quick and encompassing like the torrential firestorm he will wreak upon this wretched Earth for tricking him into believing there was an innocence he could find yet in his soul, only to depart with it in jest before he could begin to understand the depth of himself through your willful rose-colored lens.
What cruel joke does he live in? Wesker should've trained you better. Who did this to you?
He'll kill them.
Slowly.
He'll rip out tooth by tooth as they're forced to retell their stories, stretch them out over every torturous machination he damn well pleases until their bones crack, he'll engineer a way for them to live in nothing but pain shock over and over again, given no reprieve, no hope of anything but the delirium of their mind... and he will deny them that, and savor in every waking moment of it over and over again - or maybe he'll figure out how to use them to further his goals, like Valentine, make them feel every inch of their autonomy torn away, identity eaten like the dogs they let desecrate the meaning of your corpse. No honor in death?
Pah.
Well, he had no honor for the living. Why wait?
Yes, it's true, he does not believe in God. He does not believe, even, in fate, contrary to his very own words prior, things that ring back at him like the makings of a noose. Perhaps he even falls shy of true, unfettered teleology in its' truest, purest sense. You'd shaken his foundations.
God damn you.
Now he found they had collapsed. A purpose and meaning he had found in you that he had taken for granted, tugged away out of his reach like a toy he could no longer play with. That should annoy him, but instead of simply finding your lack of presence annoying, he found it enraging. He found it filled him with overwhelm... some... some kind of physical ache.
Disgusting.
His love is deliberate and it is painful and it bites and bleeds and it is scratching and clawing at him, now, rending him from his understanding of himself, making him drop to his knees, forcing him to punch the ground with such force from Progenitor that he must will himself not to mutate something new with hands to excavate the meaning of this all away until it is an unrecognizable blur.
He is acting so out-of-character for himself. Where is his composition? Where is his control?
But his eyes continue staring at your incorrigible, mangled form.
Incorrigible? Corrigible... correctable, it had to be. There could be no other way - he would make a way, gnaw into the fabric of reality as the cockroach it could not crush until it gave way to his demands. He was the world's greatest virologist, wasn't he? World's greatest geneticist. World's greatest surgeon. World's greatest many-a-thing-ologist.
He's supposed to cry. This is the stage at which human beings cry. He should pass on into an unsettling grief and vacillate. The stages you fall between, right? But he hasn't been human in a very long time, only a faux and terrible puppetry of it, perhaps, for you.
Always for you, in some sense, he privately thinks. Condemns.
But it doesn't come. Ideas, instead, float to his mind: if Marcus, that insatiable monster, could be brought back by Leech T - Epsilon-based, was it? - he could do the same with you. Brain cells could still be awakened from their eternal rest - he has all the time he needs if he vitalizes and rehydrates them. He doesn't know if you're compatible with T - probably not, even the most compatible of subjects would die when faced with its' random strikes across the template of their genetics, especially brain tissue - but perhaps... he can make you compatible.
Make you.
Remake you. In his image, the image he remembers. This is it, the vacillation - fierce in the anger, which exacts the sting far heavier than the blow of depression. No, nothing can stop him, now, as he rises with your bloody, beaten remains. He is manically determined to find a way out of this. To find a way back to the shape of you. Home.
You belong with him. He belongs with you. No one and nowhere else can house him.
You will be perfect, more powerful than any attacker could ever hope to reckon with. Spring-locked and bear-trapped like you always should've been... bigger, louder, more teeth.
You'll be his. Spoken for, bidden, bought, kept close for the eternity that he will reign hellfire upon the BSAA and Umbrella and every company that has led the two of you to this point. You will watch it all fall away together. Perhaps he will reign it on the entire world for the sin of its' creation, bringing forth suffering in allowing the development of sapience.
In this moment he wished he didn't have any to contend with. Who are you to pull these emotions free from him?
Everything. You're everything, he realizes. His orbit has stopped, gravity has ceased with the black hole weight of your departure.
How could he allow himself to become so weak? How could he allow you to become so weak, if you are an extension of his very will? So blind.
There is no such thing as ghosts, so why does the ghost of you mock him in the back of his mind?
He will do whatever it takes to resurrect you. The Ship of Theseus and theoretical physicists weep at the power that Albert Wesker will conjure.
They're going to crumble under the weight of it when they find that hell hath no room for the monster burning within him, drowned in kerosene.
"if you have any ideas for oneshots for him, leave some in my inbox"
Wesker cannot help the way his attentions draw to you in his weakest hours. It is as if you are a virus yourself, worming your way into his mind and nestling deep in his mind, refusing to give it up when he needs it most.
He shouldn't be thinking about you when he's examining a viable sample through an electron microscope. He shouldn't think of you when he practices crescent kicking a dummy, showing off to a choir of no one. He shouldn't let you slip into mind when he lays down at night, alone, letting the idea of you telling him how strong he is and how much you admire his work lull him.
God, the last one... he bathed in it in his brisk morning showers, he chased it when the compliments of others flitted past him, he bucked into it when he just couldn't help himself anymore.
It was always you in his mind, telling him what an amazing person he was. He'd hiss and whine and bite his lip thinking about it, twist and swivel under the weight of his projection of your affections crooned in his ears.
But it gets even worse when he approaches the time for PG67A/W...
fein I'm really pissed off I didn't see this sooner
Weskers love while passionate is almost sickening. Even when he's... Mostly normal it's disgusting, at least to him, how he cherishes you so. He really shouldn't think about you so much, he really shouldn't think about you at all. It's almost parasitic the way he clings onto you, or an idea of you. Whatever it is it's enough for a while. The simple thought of you. Till he sees you again and realizes it's not enough. A meer though will never be enough when it comes to him.
He's charming at first, it's almost criminal the way he lures you in. But he's never cared about the law. He can't help it, how blindly you listen. How you trust him wholly. Now his thoughts of you are truly horrible. About how you're so naive, you need him to survive. It's appalling you've made it this far up in the umbrella ranks, while still being as sweet. That's why he must protect you.
It's normal for him to think this way, that everyone is out to get you. With uroboros flowing through his veins he will be able to ensure your protection, no matter how scared shy you act around him. It's more than a parasite, it's gotten control of its host now. Everything he does is for you, he lives and breathes for you. His heart beats for you. The world he shall fix solely for you. When he said he'd give you the world on a silver platter he meant it literally.
I hope this reads coherently đźđźđđđŁď¸đŁď¸
wesker's opinion on the new crazy info that the worlds "best neurologist" faked like 200 of his 800 papers?
sorry It took me so long to get to this, I don't know why
I had to look this up because I am not in the science fandom and holy shit?? This is fuckin crazy??? Chat he's kinda cooked
Think he'd probably mock him a lot, might be a little impressed with faking 200 papers because I AM. But it's Wesker so he's not impressed with anything unless it's like uroboros or Chris oiled up.
Going like specifically of canon and not being stupid he'd laugh at him and then forget about it, maybe hope uroboros would infect him. Probably call him a disgrace to science or something along those lines.
guys, wanna see the commission I wrote for @nshtn !!!!
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Summary: After a long day at the lab, Wesker comes home with a terrible migraine, and you run him a bath to help him feel better :)
Warnings: Some slight Yandere themes and possessive behavior, but for the most part this is pure, SFW fluff!
Wesker never would have called himself an âobsessiveâ man before. Driven, focused, compulsive even, sure. But never obsessive. He wasnât quite sure when that changed, but he knew that at some point it had. And it had everything to do with you.Â
Today had been long. It wasnât often he left you in your shared home alone, but he knew he was on thin ice after the last time you had been to the lab with him. He spent hours coaxing you back into his arms after you saw the true nature of his research, and realized he wasnât the do-gooder looking for cures that you thought he was. If you had seen what he was working on today, you would have been packing your bags for sure.
Not that you would ever actually be able to leave him. No, he was sure that you both knew that you were in far far too deep for that. But, you being complacent in your imprisonment situation made things a lot easier, for all parties involved. He preferred you that way, anyways. Your love had always been so much sweeter when freely given.Â
Still, a part of him had wished he had dragged you with him to the lab today anyway, if for no other reason than because your presence just made the day easier. He could feel the tension headache forming at the back of his skull. A soft sigh of relief left him as he entered the home he made for you. He shrugged off his jacket and kicked off his heavy boots, more suited for a battlefield than they ever were for lab work.
He wasnât shocked when you didnât come to greet him. Your reaction to his work with the plaga had beenâŚless than ideal. He expected youâd be cold to him for the next few days while you processed it all. Still, he felt your absence acutely in the silence, and it set him on edge. He was used to you talking about, well anything really as you took each other's coats off and made your way to the shower to wash the day off. It had become one of the comforts he didnât even realize was a comfort until it was gone. His fingers twitched with the need to grab. pull. hold you.Â
This headache was quickly becoming a migraine. He decided to just call the day here and head to the bedroom, hoping to find you there, and crash for the night. He rubbed his eyes from under his sunglasses as he opened the door, struggling not to flinch at even the soft light of the bedroom.
âAl?â your sweet, soft, voice called and instantly he felt his shoulders relax- even if it was just for a fraction of a second.
He removed his hand from his eyes and gave you a soft smile. You looked so adorable, curled up in his blankets, reading one of the books he bought you, in the bed you shared with him. Safe, was the primary word that came to mind. âGood evening Dearheart, I trust that you had a good day?â he asked.
You ignored him. âWhat time is it?â You asked as you checked the alarm clock on your nightstand. It was only 3:30. âYouâre home early.â You noted. It wasnât like him to ever leave work early.Â
He nodded in acknowledgement, not even really bothering to change out of his work clothes before collapsing into the bed. Not like he worked with any samples today. âI wasnât feeling well, so I left early,â He explained.Â
He suppressed a smile as you placed your cool hand against his forehead, checking for a fever. âYou donât feel warm,â you muttered, âAnother migraine?âÂ
âHeading that way.â He said, pulling you against his chest. You didnât fight him. You were good like that. He closed his eyes as he focused on your breathing, and the steady thrum of your heartbeat against his own. The world was slowly starting to feel right again. Having you by his side, safe in his arms, was the only way he could feel human whole these days. His soul craved you, and no matter how much he may resent that fact, there was no changing it now.
You nuzzled your face into the crook of his neck, and looked at him through your eyelashes. âYou smell like the lab.â You pointed out.
He gave a humorless huff of a laugh. âNo doubt. Iâve been in it all day.â He muttered, closing his eyes to try and block out lowlights of the lamps in your bedroom. You hummed and patted his chest, silently requesting to be released.
He held you tighter. No, he wasnât ready to let you go yet. He just got you back, and you couldnât even give him five minutes? Ungrateful little-
âAl.â You said softly, patting him again, âIâd like to get up.â He held back a growl. He wanted to tell you no, butâŚyour voice was so soft, and tender. And he knew you still werenât happy with him. He was trying to sew you back to his side with a very delicate thread, and he had to be careful where he pulled.Â
So he sighed as he let you go, scowling softly as you got up. He didnât open his eyes, but he did notice you turn off the lamp for him, and listened as you padded into the ensuite bathroom.Â
đ§Źđ§Źđ§Ź
âAlâŚâ your soft voice cut through the darkness. How long had it been? Had he fallen asleep? âAlbert.â You said a bit more forcefully this time, placing a gentle hand on him
âYes Dearheart?â He finally said, not removing the arm from over his eyes. When did it get there?Â
âI, uhâŚI ran you a bath.â You whispered.
He lifted his arm and finally looked at you. Someone took off his sunglasses, he noted. âDid you now?â He asked as he sat up.Â
âMmhmâ you nodded as you led him to the bathroom. The fresh scent of a douglas fir hit him as he walked in, followed by the realization that the bathroom was only lit with your candles. Fine by him, overhead lights were his enemy at the moment. He stretched out his neck to try and relieve some of the tension there, and as he did you moved to start undoing the buttons of his shirt.
Albert made no move to stop you. Heâd always liked when you undressed him. He smirked as you undid his belt, a familiar smirk you knew all too well, joined by a small chuckle.
You couldnât help the flush that came to your cheeks. âShush.â you reprimanded.
He returned it with a condescending smile. âI didnât say anything.â He pointed out.
âYou didnât need to.â You giggled softly as you finished undressing him. Wesker gave your face a loving caress before going and sinking down into the lush bubbles of the warm bath. He was taken a bit by surprise by the jets being on, but quickly came to appreciate them as they started to work the stress knots out of his back.Â
He didnât hide his near lascivious grin as he watched you undress. He knew the big bath tub was worth the extra money. His eyes followed even your smallest movement as you got yourself ready for the bath, and lowered yourself into the water next to him. Migraine or not, Albert was quick to pull you close to him, kissing your neck and grinning into your skin at your soft giggle.Â
Your hands naturally found his hair, carding it in a way that almost seems like muscle memory. His face was still in the crook of your neck as he dragged his teeth over the seemingly permanent bruise he left there. Any time it started to fade, heâd sink his canines into you again, revealing in the way you gasped maybe a little bit too much. It was a sacred ritual for him, as well as an idle pass time. He adored the way you looked covered in his marks, the evidence of his presence in your life almost impossible to ignore.Â
You hissed a little as his teeth found their home in your neck. He held you tighter, delighting in the way you squirmed as he suckled on the delicate skin there. He pulled back to admire his work, only letting up once he was satisfied that his mark wasnât going anywhere. Ever the perfectionist.Â
âOh, I almost forgot!â You muttered, moving over to the other side of the bath and to the basket of products you kept there, âI wanted you to try this.â You said as you held up a jar.
Albert took a second to read the container in your hand in the dim candle light, his cat-like eyes doing a lot of the heavy lifting here. âA face mask?â He asked, voice unamused.Â
You nodded, âA hydrating face mask.â You clarified for him.Â
âAnd why would I need that?â He questioned. Despite what one might think, Wesker wasnât big on the whole âself careâ thing. He took care of himself of course, but just washing his face at night felt like a more than adequate skin care routine.
You moved back to him. âBecause they feel nice,â You explained, âAnd itâs not a crime to do something just because itâs fun every once in a while.â He found your word choice near comical, all things considered. As if he had ever cared about what the law said before. Still, He closed his eyes, letting you gently apply the mask with your fingers.
He wasnât expecting the coldness of it, but, it wasnât entirely unwelcome either. The scent of what could only be described as âcleanâ mixed with the fir of the candles and the lavender of the bubbles, and Wesker slowly came to the realization that his jaw was unclenched. Now, he had always been a man of science, but some small, secret part of him was sure you had cast some sort of spell to make that miracle happen.
Or, maybe it was just the way you lovingly applied the mask that made it happen. The tips of your bare fingers gliding over the apples of his cheeks and down his nose. You even earned a little huff (That you were reasonably sure was supposed to be a laugh) from him as you booped the tip of his nose.
He heard the soft tap of the container being put to the side, and felt you move behind him. âNow what?â He muttered, careful not to move his mouth too much and disrupt your work, as he leaned back into you.Â
âNow we wait.â You informed him. Joy. Despite how often he found himself doing it, Wesker had never been a fan of waiting. He was willing to do it to reach his goals, and could in many ways even be described as a âpatientâ man. Still didnât mean it was one of his favorite activities.Â
He nearly jumped when he felt the warm water cascading over his hair. He hadnât heard you pick up the cup to do so, but he definitely heard you chuckling now. âSorry,â You said, though anyone could tell you were most definitely not sorry, âI should have warned you.âÂ
He gave an annoyed hum in response, leaning back into you. He was much more prepared for the water this time, and even found himself relaxing as you wet his hair. He heard the soft click of a shampoo bottle opening, followed by the feeling of you working your fingers into his hair. A soft, contented sigh left him as you massaged his scalp. Heâd never admit it outloud, or even to himself for that matter, but the feeling of your hands in his hair would always be his favorite feeling in the world.
He tried to remember the last time he felt safe enough with someone to let their hands get this close to his neck while he had his eyes closed. Maybe William? And even then, it was mostly just that he trusted Birkin not to kill him while he slept. If he woke up to his hands in his hair, wellâŚfor one that would have been a very awkward conversation to have with Annette, but beyond that he probably would have punched him on reflex alone.Â
He had never felt the need to keep his guard up that high around you though. You had always been so gentle, so sweet. A soft bunny that had no idea it was playing with ravenous wolves. Perfect for him to model the âcomfortâ action off of, for lack of better phrasing. He wasnât sure when it changed. It happened when he wasnât looking, it went from just another experiment to something more.
He felt that twinge in his chest again. The one he only got when he thought of you. The all too familiar and uncomfortable contraction that reminded him that no matter how hard he tried to ignore it, to run away from the fact, he still had a human heart. A human heart that beat in time with yours, for yours. A human heart that was always more yours than it ever was his.Â
You were rinsing the shampoo out of his hair now, careful to make sure you got all of it out. His eyes were still closed. âNo oneâs ever washed my hair before.â He muttered.
âYeah, that's not shocking to me,â you said, already working the conditioner into his hair, âAll things considered.â It was more of an observation to himself, but- he did say it outloud- so he shouldnât have been shocked by your commentary. Heâd never been particularly open about his childhood with you. Mostly because he couldnât bear the horrified, heart broken look in your eyes when he told you some of the lighter stories. Still, with the little information you had it didnât take a giant leap of logic to figure out that Albert had spent his younger years isolated. Alone.Â
Touch starved. Maybe that was why he always leaned into your touch, even the slightest graze. Why he insisted you be in his lap at all possible times. Why he could never really let you be that far away from him.Â
Why he got jealous of any of the other researchers you spoke to. Why he had to know your location at all times, beyond just âwanting to make sure youâre safe.â Why you had become his own personal chew toy, covered in more âlove bitesâ than you could ever hope to cover. Maybe he was just touch starved and making up for lost time.Â
His hand found your thigh, giving it a light squeeze. You were both shocked it took him this long to do so. You flinched a little as you felt his nails did into the tender skin, but knew better than to say anything at this point. Wesker's love had always come blood soaked and tinged with pain. You were fairly sure it was the only way he really knew how to love.
His grip loosened before doing any real damage though, so progress was being made on that front. It was just a slow process. While you waited for the conditioner to set in his hair, you grabbed one of the soft rags from the towel bar, wetting it before gently wiping the mask away. He raised a hand to rub his cheek when you were done. You were right, his skin did feel noticeably softer.
Or maybe it was just the placebo effect. Who knows. He opened his eyes slowly, smiling as he saw yours looking back down at him. âHello Gorgeous.â he hummed to you, smile growing as he watched your face warm up.
âHey Handsome.â You replied, brushing a stray hair out of his face, âClose your eyes again.â You instructed. For once he did as you said without a fuss, letting you rinse the conditioner out of his hair. âAre you feeling any better?â You asked softly.
He has almost forgotten about the migraine entirely. âMuch.â He confirmed, looking back up at you. Normally, he preferred you in his arms. But, he could get used to the inverse too. âSome days I feel like I donât deserve you, my Dearheart.â He mused, taking your wrist and bringing it to his lips for a kiss. He relished how flustered you got as he did so. He always knew exactly what to say or do to get you worked up, and it was a sight that never got old for him.Â
âCome on Al, donât say that.â You shook your head at him, âWe both know thatâs not true.âÂ
His grin only got wider. He loved it when you played his game with him. You both knew the thought that he wasnât absolutely entitled to you had never once crossed his mind, let alone the thought that he might not deserve you. But, youâd both hide behind the nicer interpretation of your words. âWill you be staying in the bedroom with me tonight?â he asked.
He didnât have to put any emphasis on the âwith meâ for you to feel it. You had slipped off to sleep in the guest room last night after he had fallen asleep. An act of defiance that he would normally never let slide, purposefully ignored. He knew you were struggling with what you had seen in the lab, and had learned from you to give space when things such as this happened.
But you both knew he was tired of giving space. And it hadnât even been a full twenty four hours yet. You were quiet for a moment, before you nodded. âYeah, Iâll be in there with you tonight.â
âAll night?â He didnât mean for there to be that much edge to his voice, but after a long day he was done masking.
You nodded again. âAll night.â
He smiled, reaching up and pulling you down for a quick kiss. âThat's my good Bunny.â He praised, eliciting a delightful smile from you. You were still his, no matter what you had seen in that lab. Youâd always be his, the red string of fate tangled and twisted around your necks, keeping you together no matter the circumstances.Â
The water had gone tepid, and the froth of the bubbles had long since dissipated. He stood, holding out a hand to help you up. The bath was drained in favor of a quick shower, mostly to rinse away any remaining suds. As you stepped out, he wrapped a warm fluffy towel around you, a tender act that you returned in kind.Â
You brushed his hair, telling him it was part of the âfull princess treatment.â He allowed it, if for no other reason than it was yet another reason for you to play with his hair. He insisted on brushing yours as well, saying you deserved the âfull princess treatmentâ just as much as he did. And yes, it was a thinly veiled excuse to play with your hair.Â
Relieved from the migraine, the two of you were able to indulge in a movie to continue winding down for the night. He still insisted on cooking, being very vigilant of your diet. Nutrition was important, and he was a pretty good cook all things considered. He happily made your favorite before settling in to watchâŚ
Whatever it was you put on. Honestly, he wasnât really paying attention. He was far more occupied with the adorable pet on his lap, showering you with kisses and affection. Wesker was a fair man, he returned the treatment given to him. To the best of his ability. And he was more than happy to lavish you with his attention and praise. He didnât realize just how much he missed you today until now.
He wasnât going to do that again. If today had been any indication, even when you were scared of him, you still wanted to take care of him. Perhaps he had underestimated your tolerance for his work. Maybe you just needed to see more of it. Build up a tolerance via exposure. Youâd come to see things his way eventually. Youâd have to.
Before you knew it, he was holding impossibly close, against his chest, in bed, as if he was scared that if he let up you might disappear. A not impossible outcome, considering the night before. He buried his nose in your hair, getting lost in the familiar scent as he seemed to hold you just a little bit tighter. âI adore you, Dearheart.â He finally mumbled to you.Â
 âI love you too, Al.â you promised, reaching out and turning off the lamp for the night.Â
A/N: AHHSDFHCDHIUHDVHV9UPAH I LOVE HIM SO MUCH ITâS NOT EVEN FUNNY!!!!!!!!! Thank you, so so much for commissioning me to do this, it has in fact, made me smile bunches! I just love writing for my lil Weskee.
Bonus! The song that has the lyric the fic was named for:Â Human Zoo - Aphrodite, Your Electric Sexiness ft. Will Wood (Animated Lyric Video)
Hey, sorry for the stupid question but what does Wesker think about spiders?
no this is funny I like these
He doesn't have any feelings about them but I think he would like really aggressively kill them in the most like.. stupid ways ever
like if he sees a spider on the wall he'll glare at it for an hour and then go like punch it and then get upset his hand got dirty like dawg YOU did that
He's probably tested on bugs before considering how all the critters looked in re5
Hyper canon Wesker would just glare at bugs but I bet there's some freaky ones in Africa he hates
He likes lady bugs because I saw it in a dream once
