This song but the lyrics are Albert's inner thoughts while he gently touches the only piece of her that he has now. A silver ruby necklace a family heirloom of hers that she lost during the chaos of Spencer mansion.
And you never knew
How much I really liked you
Because I never even told you
Oh, and I meant to
Are you still there or have you moved away?
Or have you moved away?
Sadly, his grand ambitions leave no room to reminisce about a girl from his past. Dropping it back into his pocket, he presses on with his pending tasks, while she drifts further and further from memories of the old house they once shared.
Tags: No Use of Y/N for Reader-Insert; AFAB Reader-Insert; Albert Wesker Lives; Animal Transformation; Possessive Albert Wesker; Soft Albert Wesker; Light Angst; Hurt/Comfort; Fluff and Humor; Non-Consensual Voyeurism; Masturbation; Sexual Tension; Medium Burn; Anachronistic; First Kiss; Grinding; Marking; Nipple Play; Rough Sex; Missionary Position; Unsafe Sex; Come Shot; Come Swallowing; Post-Coital Cuddling
Word Count: 10,382
Summary: Instead of dying in that volcano, Wesker wakes up to find himself trapped in a cat body. He finds you - and his world changes.
Also on Ao3: Here
a/n: Working title was 'Alpurrt Whiskers' because I'm original and hilarious. // Can you tell I don't like writing slow burn? I swear I try for realistic build-ups of relationships and feelings but I just... can't 🤣 I'm impatient.
I mentioned phones being in used in ways most phones were NOT used in 2010, mentioned those talking buttons everyone was obsessed with on tiktok a while ago... I didn't want to compromise on that for the sake of historical accuracy (it pains me to put 2010 and historical in the same context...) so let's just ignore it.
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.
He still doesn't know what happened to him – how he became a cat, or why – but he doesn't much care about that right now. He just wants to hear your heart beating against his chest and feel your warm skin sliding against his own while he breathes you in and feels like he's finally arrived somewhere he can call home. Maybe he'll get his answers, maybe he won't. All of it can wait.
s.t.a.r.s wesker, fluff, wesker being treated softly (like he deserves!!!), wesker treating you softly (like you deserve!!!) | Fic Directory
Sometimes you catch him.
When he thinks no one's watching, that the attention is elsewhere, Wesker lets his mask slip. That cool, indifferent demeanor fades. His stiff upper lip settles and his eyes soften, often gazing down to the ground. Something within him shifts as if overtaken by a profound sadness.
It makes you understand why he wears those sunglasses all the time. You just happened to be at the right angle to see it anyway.
You don't know how to bring it up. How do you tell your Captain such things? That you've caught his sorrow on full display would be a confession that you stare, which would be more than you want to let on. Of course, such musings are short-lived once his eyes suddenly flicker up to meet yours. They widen slightly, as if taken off guard, and then that mask of his returns in a flash.
Cool, calculating indifference.
From then on, you find yourself with a drive to interact with him more– anything at all, really, to cheer him up. You bring him his paperwork, his coffee, each one delivered with a warm smile and kind eyes. You stay late, always making small talk with him as you both lock up and head to your respective homes. It’s awkward at first.
And then it’s not.
It comes as a shock the first time you see a flicker of happiness in that icy gaze of his. A glimmer that grows, a spark that catches, and a warmth that spreads to both your cheeks and his– becoming more apparent with every interaction.
Your run ins become less and less like those of a Captain and his subordinate, and more like friends on the verge of something forbidden and beautiful.
One night, after the rest of the team left from their mandatory overtime, you nudge his office door open, coffee in hand, and find him with his face cushioned on his arms. His glasses lay aloft in his limp grip as if he'd only meant to rest his head momentarily before crashing altogether. You smile sweetly at the sight. Though he’s clearly exhausted, he still looks peaceful in his own way.
A glance around the room turns up no sight of anything to drape over his shoulders, but an idea hits you. You scurry back to your desk to retrieve your jacket. It’s nothing too thick– just a light knitted fabric. Just enough to keep him cozy. At least you hope so, anyway.
You hold your breath as you lay it over his back.
He neither shifts nor stirs, so you simply turn off his clunky desktop monitor and office lights. You leave his door cracked slightly so he’d have at least some light when he wakes.
You head home that night with a soft smile on your face, giddiness bubbling in your chest at the image of him snoozing all but burned into your mind’s eye.
You’d never seen him look so serene before, and it’s hard to stop the thoughts of him like that. What you wouldn’t give to be met with such a sight as you lay your head upon your own pillow… To hear Wesker’s gentle breaths as he slumbers next to you.
You’ve never been a morning person, but you wager you might be if you could wake up to the sight of him.
Alas, you don’t. And that’s why it’s such a chore to drag yourself through your morning routines and back to work the next day. Things are mundane as ever, though you do lock eyes with your Captain on more than a few occasions. His smile is soft and warm, a slight quirk of his lips just subtle enough to avoid drawing attention. In what world does Captain Wesker smile like that, you imagine would be the question that makes the rest of the team suspicious. All the same, you know he knows exactly who covered him up the night prior.
Not that it was difficult to figure out. Even if he didn’t recognize your go-to zip-up, he still had access to the security cameras. Puzzling, though, is that he doesn’t give it back to you as soon as he sees you, nor does he do so later in the day. Even as the team leaves, all of them trying so terribly hard to pressure you and Wesker to join them for lunch, he makes no mention of the garment.
You decide to be a little bit bold and snoop. There would be no consequences to being caught, and you’re positive you could spin it as trying to see if he was busy before you came in to talk, so you huddle against the wall and lean over to peek through the blinds to his office window.
He’s invested in something on his screen, and you can faintly hear the sporadic clicking of his mouse as he works. Your cheeks go up in flames and a beaming grin makes its way onto your face when you catch the sight of his left hand. Atop his desk rests your jacket, neatly folded, and on it rests his hand. You can clearly see Wesker toying with it between his thumb and forefinger, almost as if it were meant to soothe him.
Perhaps he was waiting for you to retrieve it yourself. Maybe he felt no obligation at all to give it back. Either way, it makes your heart flutter in your chest.
As you all but tip-toe back to your desk, you decide it’s his for as long as he wants it.
It goes unmentioned even as the two of you leave later that night.
Long after you’ve settled into bed, you find yourself wondering what his reaction must have been when he awoke. You drift off imagining all the different scenarios.
You’ll never know that he pulled the fabric close to his face and nuzzled it, inhaled your scent and committed it to memory as best as humanly possible. Somehow, even with an aching neck from the odd position he’d drifted off in, he found that morning to have been one of the best he’s had in… a long time.
He plans another Friday for overtime. He has to know if you’ll do it again.
And you do. He leaves your jacket strategically placed on the back of his swivel chair and feigns sleeping. In you walk, fresh coffee in hand by the scent of it, and he hears you huff a small laugh. God, he loves the way you think of him. All your little ways of taking care of him…
The mug settles on his desk with a soft thud.
You admire him for a moment before grabbing your jacket from the back of his chair and draping it over his shoulders. A thought runs across your mind that’s too good to ignore, and all too dangerous. Then again, you’ve come to know your big bad Captain for the sweet man he truly is. There is infinite kindness under his stoicism.
You lean down and press a kiss to his temple, lingering perhaps a second or two longer than you should’ve. His skin is warm beneath your lips, and the faded aroma of his cologne blends sweetly with his natural scent.
That warm fuzzy feeling blooms in your chest, only it turns to abject horror when you pull back and find him grinning and peering up at you. Your eyes go wide and you freeze.
Oh no…
“You sure know how to tuck me in,” he says nonchalantly.
You’re mortified. Neither of you have ever pushed this boundary before– never discussed it, either.
You watch Wesker raise his head from his arms and reach for the coffee you brought him, sipping at it with that same grin still etched on his face. An apology stutters off your tongue in disarray as he stands from his seat to loom over you. With a curled finger, he tilts your face up to look at him.
You can see in his eyes that he’s only half as confident as he seems. Part of you is relieved.
“Thank you,” he says, thumb brushing over your lower lip, “for being so sweet to me.” Your heart hammers a million beats in the short time it takes him to lean down and press his lips to yours. Your breath catches, your head swims– you all but totally malfunction before some degree of sense hits your mind and you lean into it. He kisses you slow, thumbing at your cheeks as if to soothe all that anxiety he’d struck into you just mere moments before.
You can’t describe it, but there’s a hint of desperation in the way he moves. Lips pressing hard, hands pulling just a little more than necessary to keep you right where he wants you.
Like he’s afraid letting go will dispel the illusion.
How terribly understandable. In a way, you yourself fear that you’ll open your eyes and it will all be a dream. Perhaps, worse yet, you’ll still be standing there, pit forming in your gut, as your Captain lectures you on the importance of boundaries and personal space.
Thankfully it is your dreams that come true, not your fears.
Even after your lips part, he doesn’t release you. His hands remain at your cheeks and he presses his forehead to yours, sighing through his nose as a smile wider than any you’d seen before graces his face.
It’s only understandable that you’d want to kiss him again, right?
And again.
And again.
And again…
He’s got you backed against the edge of his desk by the time you both stop to breathe properly. Wesker makes a move you don’t anticipate. His arms wrap around you, drawing you into a tight hug. He buries his face against the crook of your neck.
You swear on everything you hear him murmur a thank you. You may not understand why, but it doesn’t matter right now.
Not when those pretty blue eyes sparkle at you as if you were brighter than all the stars in the sky.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
A/N: Female reader, I started a new gacha game and its lowkey taken over my life.
Summary: After a long day you finally arrive back at Alberts apartment. Yet the meal he had planned to cook for you is put on hold when you get a bit touchy feely.
Warnings: Smut
Word count: 3328
AO3 Masterlist Part 5 Part 7
The car ride was rather quiet, Wesker didn't talk and you looked out the window. Your mind went to your bike at the station, Albert had work the next day but you didn't. You weren't even on call. Eventually, you would reunite with it but you would have to take a taxi to work. The interaction with Irons was shoved deep down inside of you, just another one to the list.
Albert eventually parked his car underground in the apartment complex where he lived. You could briefly recall going there once but you hadn't stayed long. Without saying anything, you followed his lead and got out of the car. He promptly locked it with the turn of his key and glanced your way. It was a silent communication and the pair of you joined together to walk. Your hand brushed against his for a moment and he didn't seem to react. Normally that would have been a bad thing if it was anyone else. Yet he didn't, the fact that he didn't move away told you all you needed to know.
Testing the waters, your hand brushed against his again but this time your touch lingered. Still, he didn't move it away. Your fingers slid against his and slipped in between them before they curled around the back of his hand. Albert looked away from you but you soon felt his hand recuperate and hold your hand back.
A smile formed on your face and you leaned in against his arm, your face against the top of his arm. “Enjoying yourself?” Albert finally asked when the pair of you reached the elevator. You pulled your head slightly away from him and looked up at him to meet his hidden gaze.
“Mmm, I am, thank you. You smell nice.” His hand was comforting and his cologne made you feel at home. His presence made your body calm and practically melt, there was nowhere safer than by his side.
“Showering will do that.”
A laugh escaped your lips and you rolled your eyes. A thought suddenly ran across your mind and you paused. “Hey, Albert?”
“Yes, dear?”
“Why me?”
“In regards to?”
“Why'd you go out with me in the first place?”
“I enjoy your company. Both professionally and personally.” The elevator came to a stop and it always stunned you a little how fast it was. Albert led the pair of you down the hallway and you could feel his eyes on you the entire time as if he was analysing you.
He unlocked the door to his apartment and the pair of you walked in. The apartment was rather an expensive place. The entire two-floor penthouse was professionally decorated. It was always a sharp contrast from your own place. While your apartment was rather loud and full of personality, Albert's penthouse was a little bit lifeless, almost like a show home. It has a minimalist feel to the place only spruced up by what you assumed were fake potted plants.
Albert placed his keys, sunglasses and wallet onto the tray nearby. It was on the kitchen island that was on the right side of the room. The apartment was rather long, to the right was a white sterile kitchen that reminded you a little bit of a lab. Meanwhile to the left was the living room. It had a large box television that had its own cabinet built into the wall, the thing probably cost a fortune yet you had a feeling that Wesker rarely used it.
The area was separated by the curled metal stairs that led to the top floor. Behind that was a study area that overlooked the rest of the city with the massive windows that spread across the entire wall. The study was where you presumed he spent most of his time, the side wall had a massive custom bookcase filled to the brim with books.
“You're a smart woman.” Albert's voice broke through your thoughts as you sat down at the island to take your shoes off. “Even though you're a Doctor, still many underestimate you. Both your intelligence and physical capability.”
“Well, it's easier to get the advantage when people do. Then again being a woman helps.” You shrugged.
Wesker walked into the kitchen and immediately started to retrieve food from the cupboards and his fridge. “You're too smart for this work.”
“Maybe I'm a bit overqualified in some sense. But I enjoy it, I enjoy working under you. But tell me,” you leaned on the island countertop and he glanced back at you.
“What would you have my occupation be if it wasn’t this?”
“Hmm.” Wesker placed a glass cutting board in front of you and started to expertly chop some chives on it. “Have you considered medical research?” He asked.
“Ah, you used to do that right?”
“You remembered correctly.”
“Mmm is this your subtle way of saying you want me to always work with you?” You teased.
He let out a chuckle but his eyes stayed trained on his hands, careful not to slip as he continued to prepare. “The idea is an enticing one but these days I'd prefer to keep you somewhere safe. Medical research would be good to stimulate your mind but even though I would enjoy you by my side I don't think biotechnology would fit you.”
“And what would fit me?”
“Perhaps forensics? You've never shied from a corpse.”
“Mmm, maybe but I think I'd rather die than go back into any form of academia.”
Wesker finished cutting and his pale blue eyes flashed to yours, it was a little strange and somehow a bit intimate. From the look alone, you could hear his voice ask why inside of your head.
“I despise all the fucking bullshit you have to go through. Having to suck up to professors, having to credit people who didn't even help with papers, I hated it. I hated the stupid elitism and having to constantly fight for my own voice, to be taken seriously. Not in the usual academic way that everyone goes through but…” You let out a sigh and relaxed your hands, letting go of your anger at the past. “Even though it's useful, I hate it that people never take me seriously.”
Albert turned around to use the element on the stove, but you knew he was still listening.
“It's been really refreshing working in S.T.A.R.S.” There was a fondness in your eyes as the confessed. A couple of minutes went by before you silently slipped from the chair. Your feet were light on the kitchen tiles until you were directly behind the man. Slowly you slipped your hands to his sides and then under his arms. If you could see his face you would have seen the curious look to his eyes as you leaned against him and pressed the side of your face into his back.
Albert relaxed into your touch and allowed you to hug him. “It's been really nice working with you Albert. I don't think I could imagine doing anything else at this point, you make me really happy.”
There was a small click and he moved the pot on the element before he started to turn. You let go of him and took a step back until you rested against the island. Albert closed the gap and you aimed your head to look at him. The pair of your eyes looked deep into each other and you could feel your face heat up from his gaze alone.
“So open with your emotions.” He hummed.
“Of course. What's the worst that happens? They aren’t returned? They aren't mutual? I'm a big girl Albert. I can handle rejection. I'd gladly take the risk if it meant my loved ones know I care about them.”
His forehead came forward and rested against your own. “And do you know the weight your words carry? Are you ready for the consequences when they are reciprocated?” His hand found its favourite spot on your cheek. Albert's voice was low, quiet and each word held the weight of the world in them.
“Of course.” You whispered, your lips ghosted against his lips. “I always think before I act.”
He closed the gap and that familiar taste of his lips against yours broke through all your senses. Albert wasn't aggressive or hard as he kissed, no, each moment was slow and controlled. Each touch said a thousand words that he was unable to speak.
Those lips moulded against your own like the pair of you had been born to do so. Two pieces of a now complete puzzle. His warm hand left your face and slid down over your body, erasing every other touch as he did so. It didn't matter who had touched you or why, Albert's hands overrode theirs and claimed you as his own. Your hands balled in his clean shirt and pulled him as close as you possibly could. He was never close enough.
His hands found both sides of your thighs and suddenly lifted you up onto the countertop with ease. The sudden movement had you cry out slightly in surprise but he only grinned into the kiss. At your new height, you dragged your hands up over his shoulder and around the back of his neck.
As you panted out slightly Albert kissed across your face, slow open kisses, and then down to your neck where he assaulted the flesh there. Never lingering long enough to create any marks. “You. Intrigue. Me.” He managed to confess between kisses. “You. Fascinate. Me.”
Your hand buried in the back of his hair but made no effort to stop him. His lips briefly stopped and brushed up from your neck to under your ear, just on your jaw. “No matter how predictable you are or how much I learn about you, I could watch you for a lifetime.” He lightly kissed your flesh and resumed his previous pace. “You. Complete. Me.” Instead of a kiss, he made a small bite that caused you to jump slightly before you moaned into his touch.
“And you're mine.”
You pulled back slightly from the man and grabbed his cheek like he would do to you. Sensing a change, Albert pulled back to look at you in the eye, he was curious as to what you were doing.
“Only if you're mine.” Your hand dropped from his cheek and your pointer finger stuck out and traced down his shirt.
“Of course, dear.” He watched as your finger reached the bottom of his shirt where your index finger joined it. The two fingers grabbed the bottom of his shirt and lifted it slightly. Alone they would be able to do much, only pull at the fabric but Albert got the idea and did the work for you. He promptly grabbed the bottom of his shirt and pulled it off with ease to reveal his marble-like body. It was almost a little daunting to look at, not a flaw in sight. Inhumane. On anyone else, it might have ever scared you, but strangely it fit him.
Your eyes took in his form and Albert let you, he seemed happy to watch you watch him. Slowly you touched his bare chest with your hand. Unlike a marble statue, his chest was warm and soft under your touch. “Albert…” You whispered with no intention to continue, any words were lost on your lips. Never had you been one to shy away from sex but there was something about the man that made you hesitate. His eyes were so clear and bare before you like his chest, intimate. His face wasn’t fueled by lust but by care, love even.
The normally cold and emotionless man wouldn't fuck you, he would make love to you and it was then you realized it. And it scared you. Heat in your face made your head throb slightly and your fingers shook slightly. You swallowed and once again touched his face. He was letting you pick the pace, pick what the pair of you did.
Even though you were scared, you continued. Sometimes even though something was scary you didn't let that stop you. Your lips brushed against his and you kissed his bottom lip for a second. “I'll take whatever consequence you give me.”
At your permission, Albert leaned into your touch and his fingers found the buttons on your shirt with ease. His lips connected with yours. Determined not to leave them, he peeled away your shirt without looking, blessed by the buttons that left him to do.
Albert didn't move to touch your sports bra but instead pulled your thighs forward and apart so that he was comfortably set in between them. His hands pushed up your leather skirt upwards so it bunched at your hips. A small moan from your lips was muffled against his when his large hands gripped onto your thighs and massaged them with his thumbs.
He pushed his hands up your thigh and slightly under the very bottom of your skirt where he found your underwear and curled his fingers around them. Slowly he pulled them down and let them fall onto the pristine floor. Again his hands felt their way up your thighs. Just as you thought they would move towards your cunt, he stopped and gripped your thighs tight and then lift you with ease. Albert picked you up against him and your legs wrapped instinctively around his waist. A squeal that turned into a laugh had you break away from his lips and you hugged him tight so you didn't fall. Not that he would actually let you fall.
Albert took the pair of you out of the kitchen and carried you up the stairs, you watched the apartment go past your eyes over his shoulder. Each step had his rub against you and you couldn't help the way that a small whimper escaped your mouth. There was no doubt in your mind that he knew exactly what he was doing. Your eyes shut and your thighs tensed against him as you tried everything in your power to prevent yourself from ripping him to bits. You couldn't deny it had been a while.
Your eyes snapped open as you felt the sudden change and you released Albert was gently placing you on his bed. The soft silk soothed your hot skin and Albert pulled back and stood at the end of the bed. He didn't give you much time to look around at the room. Not because he physically restrained you but because you couldn't possibly tear your eyes away from him as he snapped away his belt and undid the zip to his pants.
Albert pushed his pants slightly down to give himself room and did the same with his briefs. There he let himself free and you swallowed at the sight, your mouth dry without his lips to wet them. You had seen a decent amount of cocks in your life but nothing could compare to the pornographic sight of his thick free length. The dip in his hips pointed directly to it. His bush was light, tidy like the rest of him, his cock curled slightly upward and most certainly put most men to shame.
“You’re starring.” Albert teased, there was that curl in his lips. The closest thing to a smile the man could manage. His eyes had been on your face the entire time
“Can you blame me?”
Albert put one knee on the bed and you thought he was going to crawl on top of you but he took you by surprise when he grabbed your legs and pulled them down. He didn't give you enough time to properly let out a squeal as his lips were once again against you, your lips an addiction he wouldn't break. Still, partially off the bed, he pulled your hips into the air so you could grind yourself in his clothed thigh.
The man didn't seem to mind as your arousal spread over his trouser leg. “Please.” You whispered, your hand buried in his hair while your other scraped lightly on his back.
Albert didn't say a thing but pulled his hips back slightly and you felt the warmth of his cock brush against your lips before he slowly pushed in with ease. Your wet cunt sucked him in and stretched greedily around his length without protest. Slowly inch by inch he pushed until he was completely slotted inside of you.
“Albert.” You gripped onto him for dear life and he picked you up and then soun the pair of you so that he sat on the edge of the bed and you were in his lap. It gave him the perfect position to kiss your neck while your chest pressed against his bare chest. You were the one to put your hands behind your back and unclip the bra, its removal had you sigh against him which turned into a quiet moan when he gripped your thighs and rolled your hips against him.
Albert was quiet against you, only small sighs and grunts left his lips. His hands said the words his lips couldn't, the gript you hard almost hard enough to bruise. They held you desperately, almost like he was afraid that if he let you go you would disappear. If he had it his way, those hands were to last on your skin forever. Your bare chest was warmed by his as sweat started to form over the pair of you. That didn't stop him from kissing you, lightly sucking on the skin.
Something wet rolled down your cheeks as he continued to rock you against his cock, his overwhelming cock that had you so utterly filled. Albert paused for a moment and you felt his firm hand on your face. He directed your head to look at him and your eyes opened. “I'm hurting you.” He said it like a statement but you knew it was a question. You shook your head and he wiped away the tears from your face.
A crooked smile spread across your face as you tried to move and make up for the lack of his movement. “Just, ah, a little overwhelming.” You confessed. “But in a good way, don't stop.”
Albert kissed you slowly but resumed helping you grind on his cock. “I don't want to hurt you. Never you.” His voice was quiet, so quiet that you almost didn't hear him. It had you clench around him and you let out a whimper.
The pair of you continued to rock there wrapped up in each other's arms, happy in each other's arms until your nails dug into his skin enough to draw blood but he didn't seem to notice let alone to care as you pressed yourself against him. Again you clenched down around him but this time it was so much harder, a final relief that had built up. In bursts, your cunt quivered around him and he buried his face in your shoulder. His strong arms hugged you tight as he was sent over the edge with you.
Albert continued to move through your climax and his own but didn't pull out even when the pair of you slowed to a still. A content hum left your lips and you rubbed your face against his shoulder.
“I love you Albert, I really do.” Your voice was muffled against him but you know he heard you clearly. He didn't reply but he pulled back and pressed a kiss against your forehead. Fatigue washed over you and you sleepily watched as he removed the skirt from your hips and let them go on the floor. He picked you up with ease and pulled back the sheets of the bed before he put you inside them. Again he planted another kiss against your forehead and you shut your eyes.
Hi!! May I request for a small flashback from S.T.A.R.S. days (according to your 3SA story)? Reader being an absolute sweetheart to Wesker and taking care of him even before their official relationship, making him start to develop his obsession with reader perhaps? I don’t know, I’m dying for some cute little background flashbacks of them two and how sweet and naive reader might have been back then😭😭
Anon,,, I am So. So Sorry. I intended to follow this correctly, but it turned into angst... there's some cute reader scenes in it though trust (the first 3)
Three Steps Ahead | Yandere!Albert Wesker x GN!Reader
5: Hindsight Glasses (20/20) (~3.5k words)
Cw: religious imagery, christianic metaphors, child abuse (wesker children), flashbacks, annoying ass extended metaphors, accidental domestic abuse, mental breakdown, hallucinations (of a sort), body horror, glass shards in palms, blood, stitches, angst, albert is Going Through It
This work does not contain smut but is 18+.
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Albert sat alone in his study, nursing a glass of fine whiskey and flipping through an old book. He’d been doing that more often now. Being around you was a double edged sword: he loved you more than life itself—everything he did was for you since the moment you first met—but now it was tainted. By his own hand.
Albert recalled what you’d said just last week. ‘Is it bad to be happy if you're happy with a bad person?’
No, he wanted to scream, he’s not bad. He’s not remotely bad. Was God bad when he sent the flood? What was he, but a man reaching godhood and sending his own? Damn the promise of the rainbow; this Earth was vile, and you… you were the only creature worthy of making it aboard the Ark.
The rest of the survivors of his plans could find their way above the water and join his perfect world, but you? You would be kept safe and sound where he could watch over you. How was that bad? He was protecting you! Damnnit, you risked your life every day, and now that he pulled you to safety he was ‘bad?’
The book he held snapped shut as he stood, downing four or so ounces of whiskey in one drink. The buzz as it traveled down his throat was grounding, he decided, but not strong enough to focus him elsewhere.
His thoughts stayed on you. They should be on his project, he recognized that, but his mind never seemed to tire of your face. He wondered how much rewriting of your brain it would take in order to get even close to the affection you naturally shared back before he left S.T.A.R.S..
S.T.A.R.S.. Life was so much easier then. Well, perhaps the double life he led was tedious, but he had you completely. Now, you were a shell. You had sex a couple times since he brought you here; they made him feel closer, like he was making progress with you, sure, but so many stinging reminders plagued his head.
First and foremost, you had fallen for someone else while he was gone—you still loved Chris, from what he could tell. Second, you were here against your will; no amount of cuddling and home cooked meals and tiny personal freedoms would change that. Third, you thought he and his plans were inherently evil.
Before, he had your entire personality. Your highs and lows, your utmost confidence, your jokes, your vulnerability… your trust. That was who he fell in love with. Not the version of you that stared at the ceiling and searched for hidden security cameras to ease your unrelenting boredom.
Albert was usually thankful for his impressive memory and strong imagination. It was what got him through separation; replaying every interaction like a comforting movie and imagining what could have been what could be.
Now, it seemed like a curse.
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“Hey, Captain,” your voice called out as you smiled at him. “I made two thermoses of coffee. Want any?”
“Tea is preferred,” he said coldly, but when he saw your deflating shoulders he backtracked, “but I appreciate the sentiment. Very much. I'll drink it.”
“I-It’s alright, Captain, I could give it to—”
“I’d like the coffee, please,” he replied, standing up to take it. It was hot still, too hot, but he swallowed the mouthful regardless and nodded. “It's very good. Thank you.”
Was he lying? Maybe. He never cared for the taste and caffeine was only useful as an addition to painkillers, in his opinion. But he liked hot drinks and could gladly sip a morning tea on some occasions.
Somehow, the coffee you gave him—oh, he hoped that you made it entirely yourself—tasted more tolerable than the usual garbage that comes out of the machine in the break room.
“You're welcome,” you chuckled softly before you left to clock in. He savored the lingering affection in your glance and stowed it away to admire another time.
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The memory was engraved in Albert's mind, a mundane plaque in the vast shrine he'd mentally accumulated. In his brain was a museum; a nature trail with hundreds of instances like that; some were in the form of sticky notes you'd leave on his monitor when he left the room, some were monoliths with your essence engraved on every surface as tiny as it could be.
This specific memory was golden from where the bronze wore down. He found himself going back to it often. It wasn't when he first noticed you, that honor had its place as the very earth he built on. With every step he took down memory lane, he was reminded of that. No, it was when he realized how much he wanted to be the first.
The first person you thought of when wondering who to bring a cup of coffee; the first pair of eyes you see when you come in for work; the first man to marry you; the first in all your lists.
Back then, he cruelly deprived himself of the recognition that he loved you, but he knew what he felt wasn’t sustainable unless he acted on it.
As he walked deeper into the recesses of his mind, he landed on another. Somehow, Jill discovered his birthday. He hated the holiday; it was more a reminder of the decades of abuse by the hands of Umbrella than anything for merriment.
When Albert thought about his birthday, he pictured practicing piano until his fingers locked up, being sent to bed with no food in his growling stomach, and the dull ache that came with being utterly alone in a room full of children your age. He supposed all the Wesker children felt the same in their misery.
Regardless, the image of his birthday in 1997 faded into his mind.
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“Hey, Captain,” you murmured as you rapped on his open door gently. “How’re you feeling?”
Without looking up from his desk where he glared at a couple wrapped presents, he growled out a reply. “Just fine, Agent.”
“You're burning a hole through your desk. That’s good oak, you know,” you teased softly. You grinned triumphantly, as hidden as you could be from Albert’s eyes, as Albert smiled.
After a moment of silence, you continued. “I didn’t wanna ambush you like the others did. I guess I failed, since I'm cornering you in your office. They didn’t mean any harm, Cap. Just wanted to show their appreciation.”
Albert swallowed and motioned for you to sit down. He still didn’t speak.
“I cleaned and polished your gun for you… and I got you this. Birthdays aren’t always a cause for celebration, I know, but… I’m at least a little happy. If not for today, 37 years ago, I would still be a rookie cop doing fuck all to make a real change. You’re a good Captain, Albert. And a good man.”
Albert glanced up, eyes as steely as possible. Unfortunately, you had a knack for getting under his defenses, and you spot the sorrow in his eyes with ease. As you set the wrapped box down on his desk atop the other presents, you decided to say one more thing.
“...We care about you. All of us. Especially me,” you said firmly. “Happy birthday, Albert,” you added as you stood up.
Albert. You said his name. Not Captain, not Wesker, Albert. He wasn't a prodigy with a name heavy enough to turn coal to diamonds, he wasn't the leader of an elite force or even a heading scientist for bioterrorists in his free time. He was Albert.
Suddenly, his hand reached out and grabbed your wrist. “Ah—I’m sorry,” he muttered as he dropped it like hot coal. “I was going to ask if you’d… keep me company. It’s no fun to open presents alone,” he requested weakly, head down in shame.
Brightly, you nodded and moved your chair beside him. “We can open mine last. I’m actually curious as to what those idiots got you.”
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That was the first time you'd dropped all formality and just said his name. He recalled the shape of your lips as you said it, unsure but aware of your power. He didn't want to open presents, truth be told, he wanted to pull you into a hug and bury his face into your chest and hold and be held. It was humiliating.
Albert huffed. He missed you from then right now. You were so precious. He still loved you, of course, but he’d trade anything to go back and bask in the simplicity of your romance for just a bit longer.
He tried to get back to work, idly rotating the whiskey glass in his fingers to occupy his hands, but you crept in and soon his head was in his hands as he contemplated going through another evocation for a brief respite from the gnarled feeling in the pit of his stomach. He settled on a safe one; among his favorites, more frequently visited than others, he noted the first time you said it.
I love you.
You sat with him in the medical bay, bandaging his wounds from his most recent assault. It wasn’t a pleasant fight, nor was it honorable, especially if you knew what he was fighting for. He murdered a man without a weapon, then beat him into the concrete for good measure.
The man in question wanted to ask you out to dinner, but you didn't need to know that. You just needed to know what Albert told you, that he boasted about unspecified abhorrent plans. To Albert, he was telling the truth; infringing on his right to have you was abhorrent.
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“Albert Wesker, how the hell do you find yourself in these situations?” You sighed playfully. “Who was it this time? Actually, don't tell me, I think I see skin cells under your nails. I could try to DNA match.”
“It doesn’t matter. Ah! Careful around my arm,” he requested, referring to the bicep that was slashed open in a careless mistake while guarding against the man's knife. You happened to page him, wondering where he disappeared to after you went to the bathroom.
“It's lucky that you overheard terrorist plans in the same bar the team headed to,” you hummed. “I'm glad you put a stop to it.”
Albert gazed down at your focused face like he was memorizing it (which, he was). “As am I. Thank you, dear, for helping me.”
“Dear?” You echoed playfully. You glanced up briefly, then flushed at his own engrossed expression and bent your head back down to the task. “Well… anything I can do for you, Captain, consider it done.”
A warm silence filled the room. His arm was wrapped and stitched up just fine and the bleeding was minimal, so you turned to his split and bruised knuckles. You cleaned and wrapped them, then put ice on both hands.
“You've got to stop getting hurt like this, Cap,” you directed.
Albert smiled. “Why should I, if it means I have you tending to my wounds?”
After an eye roll and gentle shove (on his uninjured arm), you replied. “Well, we’re burning through a lot of supplies, for one. And for two, I love you too much to meet you here day after day. The smell of antiseptic makes my stomach drop with dread.”
Albert’s mouth fell agape in shock as he had to remind himself to breathe. And you? You just kept working, like you didn’t just skyrocket his blood pressure and heart rate and yet make his entire brain go silent.
“S-Say again?” He asked to confirm your words.
“You're wasting supplies and I love you too much to see you in pain,” you summarized.
After another few moments of stunned silence, he whispered, “You love me?”
You suddenly realized what you'd said. “Ah! I-I mean, in an appropriate way. I care for you. I—”
“I love you, too.”
You froze. The hug you pulled him into moments later strained his stitches on his arm, but he decided not to tell you.
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He took a sweet satisfaction in that memory, knowing that he'd gotten away with murder and you'd confessed to him while you dressed the weapon.
The recollection was a statue; frequently revisited, with a bench in front and a beautiful view of the surrounding environs. Cast in the same bronze as the kind on every plaque was the hug you brought him into.
As he continued down the road, single-mindedly driven by the pleasantry of the last experience, he paid no mind to the sky dimming and the trail growing gnarled and claustrophobic.
He found another favorite, one he didn't recall why he locked away. It was short, much shorter than every other one, but he loved basking in its feeling.
You'd just come off an… endeavor in the S.T.A.R.S. break room on a day everyone was off, and he was more than content to stare at and admire your face and listen to your voice carry on while he was blissfully checked out of cognizant thought.
He could picture you clearly, face close to his and bathed in afternoon sun. Your eyelashes framed your mesmerizing eyes, your lips kiss-bruised and turned up in a contented smile.
Your body was pliant and littered with hickeys that you mandated had to be covered by your uniform. His was faring no better; he'd actually requested a couple bruises to be placed where they'd show above the neck of his shirt.
If Albert could have frozen time, he would have waited an eternity in that moment and still lamented once eternity ended.
Albert was so engrossed in reliving this perfect moment a thousand times over, he didn't notice his mind growing darker, falling down, down, down, and landing with a splash at the bottom of a well so deep he could see the stars in the middle of the day.
No, the warmth of your image overtook the chill that came with the foreboding feeling of a mind slipping; he ignored it simply because he wanted to feel you more.
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“Bee?” you spoke softly.
“Yes, my love?” Albert turned to you, noting your messy hair from your tryst and yet deciding you looked beautiful. He set a hand on your cheek, stroking the contour of your face almost as a form of worship.
Perhaps you were more God than he was. Perhaps you deserved temples built in your name and more people killed for your favor. Perhaps he would find true purpose as your most loyal disciple. Perhaps he could only be happy if he was worshipping you.
He realized you’d been talking.
“—and I’d never want to leave Raccoon City of my own volition, but they kind of need me back home. It wouldn't be for too long; maybe a few years at most.”
What? The memory usually cut off there.
─────── ─── ─── ── ─ ─
No. Stop. Stop, he didn’t want to remember this.
─── ──── ──── ── ─
“Pardon me?” he croaked, sitting up rigidly.
“I’m going to go, I think. I worry that without me—”
“You’re not leaving me,” Albert stated shakily. “That’s what you’re trying to do, isn’t it?”
He felt his breath shorten. “You can’t. You… you’re everything, you can’t leave me,” he said weakly, grabbing your shoulder harshly while tears threatened to pool. "I've never had... you can't deprive me of yourself without warning!"
───── ── ─── ─
He didn’t feel good about this part! He just wanted to—he wanted to remember you! Stop fucking thinking, Albert!
──── ─── ── ─
“What? Al, I’m not trying to leave you. I just need to go home for a while,” you defended, anxiety raised at his volatile response. Why were you scared of him? You had no reason to be! He fucked up, so badly. You—the only person in the world he cared for—were scared of him.
“No! I am your home!” He argued hoarsely, eyes wide with instability. “I’m first, right? I come before them, don’t I?” He should be your home! You were his!
─ ─ ── ─
Albert slammed his fist down on the table beside him—or was it a nightstand? He heard glass shatter. Was it his memory or was it real? It was all real to him.
Stop! Will you stop? I don’t want to relive this!
─ ──
“What the hell is with you, Albert? Get off of me!” You screamed, scrambling up from the bed. As you hurried to dress yourself, he got up too and grabbed your arm.
“Nothing’s ‘with me’! Perhaps I don’t want my partner to leave me for a bullshit reason! You don't appreciate my love like I do yours, is that it?"
─
Why are you doing this, Albert? They won’t love you if you don’t get a handle on yourself. Let them go!
“Fine! Fuck, I won’t go! I’ll stay here,” you cried, wrenching your forearm from his grasp and inspecting the bruise. He hurt you—not as manipulation, just out of panic and anger. He hurt you.
“...oh, no. No, no, no. Darling, I-I’m so sorry. Please. I’m not sure what came over me, I just—”
You looked up at him with fear and betrayal in your eyes.
“No,” he choked out, “No, I'm sorry. Forgive me,” he whispered, finding himself on his knees before you, palms bleeding from the whiskey glass he shattered in his hands.
“I hate you, Wesker,” you growled coldly, peering down at him from your pedestal. “Everything we had is gone.” When were you on a pedestal?
“No, no, no… that's not right. This isn't real. You never said that, darling,” he sobbed. “This must be a—a waking nightmare. You never said that. You never said that.”
“But it is true, isn't it? I hate you. Nothing you do will bring back the version of me that you miss. They're dead,” you said coolly, a sadistic smile as you watched his groveling.
“That's wrong!” He insisted hysterically, running his hands through his hair and slicing his palms further on the follicles. Blood stained his pristine light hair, dripped down his temples, and repelled from his lab coat, ending up in droplets on the floor.
“It's not true, you don't hate me, you don't hate me, you don't hate me,” he repeated over and over, like he was convincing himself. “...right?”
“What do you think, Wesker? Would I be here if I was given the chance? Would I kiss you when you walk through the door if not for the shocks? Would I feel any semblance of guilt if I managed to kill you back at the Estate?” You—no, your image reflecting his insecurities—questioned cruelly.
“You… would,” Albert shook his head, hugging himself to make the bleeding stop. All it did was apply pressure and make rivulets of crimson streak down his biceps. He pulled his knees to his chest and squeezed his eyes shut, but his damned imagination.
Luckily, he managed to steer it back into the memory from before and finished the mental scene.
“It’s—Bee, it's alright. You didn't mean to. Just don't do that again, okay? It hurt,” you said softly, stroking his hair and kissing his forehead. “I love you.”
“I love you, darling. So, so much.”
You were the first good thing in his life. Why did he react like that to you leaving?
Abruptly, an alert on his computer snapped him out of his breakdown. An alert from you—the real you, not the one his tortured mind devised as a self-destructive punishment. He checked the time. 16:53. He was nearly three hours late for lunch with you. Fuck.
Considering you refused breakfast this morning because you couldn't watch him cook it, you must have been hungry enough to actually alert him.
Without any of the grace he was known for, he grabbed your now-room-temperature food and hurried down corridors into his apartment. He burst in, desperation overtaking him. “My love! I’m so sorry, I got—I was caught up. I’m done for the rest of the day. I need you to hold me.”
You flashed a quizzical glance at him and sat up from where you laid on the couch. “Noted. Are you alright, Al?”
Al. That comforted him, if slightly. “I will be. Hurry and eat, I’ll be in bed.”
─────── ─── ─── ── ─ ─
You slunk into bed a few minutes later, and the moment he felt your weight shift the bed he cuddled into your chest and forced back tears.
To soothe himself, he shifted from the crook of your neck to inhale your scent to your sternum to be surrounded by your chest on all sides. It didn't matter how broad or narrow your body was, he didn't want to lift his face from his body until he was sure he wouldn't cry.
You were all he had. All he wanted, all he needs. How could he live with himself if you didn't want him?
“You'll forgive me, won't you?” He wondered timidly.
You shushed him, suddenly aware of how dire a state his mental health was at. “Forgive you for what, Bee?”
Swallowing thickly, he lifted his head to meet your eyes. “You don't hate me?”
“No, sweetheart, I don't.”
“You said—no, I imagined it, didn't I? You're real. You don't… you don't have to wear any of the collars or bracelets anymore. I'm taking it off, can I have your hand?” He asked urgently, taking off the bracelet like it was poisoning you.
“Albert, you're burning up—oh my god, your hands! Are those open wounds? Why is your hair wet? Is that blood? You—you tried to wash it off?”
“I heal fast,” he muttered, unintentionally tearing the scabs open as he crushed the bracelet in his bloodied palms. “There. No more of that. You can be trained in other ways.”
“Albert! Come to the bathroom, let me clean your hands,” you chastised. “Infection could do bad things to the viruses in your body.”
──────────────────────
As he was led to the bathroom, the memory from earlier of you doctoring his hands returned. He smiled softly and watched you unblinkingly. “I love you,” he murmured, trying hard to feel loved againt, just for his own comfort.
“...I love you too.” It was hesitant, like you were worried it was the truth. And it was. You loved him once more, even after everything. But you resolved to keep your grip on yourself; you wouldn’t aid him in any plans or harm any of your former coworkers.
This time, it was stitches on his hands that ripped as he brought you into a needy hug.
┌───────────────────────┐
Gonna start using this as a little ending ramble lol
This whole chapter was just me experimenting with a lot of things 💔 again anon I'm so sorry i kinda monkeys pawed it... Fluff but at what cost
Anyways this chapter is a little confusing and for that I'm sorry! I was inspired by encephalitis hannigram fics for the reality blurring, the scene in Django with the wine glass shattering for the whiskey glass breaking, Hannibal Lecter's mind palace for the shrine/collection of memories, there's a coraline reference somewhere in there... blehh idk
Maybe this whole chapter is ooc but it's because ummm ummmm let me live my life!!!
synopsis: Yuji was so seamlessly integrated into your lives, a ball of sunshine in your normally quiet life. How will he react to the news that you're expecting?
⚝content: Nanami x f! reader, Yuji being your adopted son basically, a tiny bit of angst, mostly fluff, found family.
⚝wc: 1.5k
The Nanami household was usually quiet, and peaceful. Light jazz music filled the rooms, the soft notes from the record player gently floated through the air. Every detail in the house had been carefully considered, a home where Kento hoped they could build a life filled with love and serenity.
The serenity, however, was often interrupted by his pink-haired cohort.
“Seconds please (Y/N)!” Yuji beamed holding up a clean plate with a wide grin.
Kento, seated at the table with his usual composed expression, felt a warmth in his chest as we watched his dear wife and Yuji. He secretly cherished these moments, finding comfort in the young man’s lively presence. The way his laughter filled the room, the way his energy brought a spark of joy to the quiet corners—it all made Kento realize just how much he had come to love having Yuji around.
“Itadori, you’ll get sick if you eat so fast.” Kento scolds gently, earning a pout from the high schooler. You can only smile apologetically as your husband maintains his serious demeanor.
“Kento…” You chide. “Yuji’s a growing boy, he needs to eat~” You wink at Yuji as he digs into his second helping.
You were always so quick to defend the younger boy from your husband. And although it would earn a disapproving sigh, Kento couldn’t help but adore you more for it. The way you cared for Yuji as if he were you own. This was the life he had always hoped for—a beautiful home…you. It was an unspeakable joy that made every day worth living.
And the best part? The little family you had built was about to get a bit bigger.
You glance over at your husband, wondering if you should be the one to break the news to Yuji. He returns your gaze with a small smile before clearing his throat.
“Yuji,” Kento began, his voice steady. “We have… something to tell you.”
Yuji looked up from his plate, his mouth full but curiosity shining in his eyes. You reached for Kento’s hand under the table, giving it a gentle squeeze as you shared a tender smile. The moment felt perfect, filled with the quiet anticipation of the next chapter of your lives—one that would bring even more joy and love into your growing family.
You took a deep breath, stilling your nerves. Yuji would be the first one outside of yourselves to find out.
“Yuji… I’m… we’re–”
“Pregnant.” You finish, the proverbial weight being lifted off your shoulders. You take in a breath as you look at Yuji, waiting for him to process the information.
He swallows, gaze flicking between you and Kento. He uncharacteristically… quiet. You could see the wheels turning, his mouth slightly agape.
Kento’s brow furrowed slightly, unsure of how to interpret the silence. He had expected Yuji to be excited—overjoyed. Jumping up immediately and grabbing you into a tight hug, at which point Kento would scold him again, reiterating that he would need to “Be more gentle… (Y/N) is pregnant.” He exchanged a concerned glance with you, searching for some understanding.
Yuji cleared his throat, voice softer than usual. “That’s..” He takes a breath, flashing his signature smile, however it didn’t quite reach his eyes as it normally did. “Amazing. I’m…really happy for you guys!”
You reach out, offering a comforting smile. “We wanted you to be the first to know.”
The dinner continued, but the lively atmosphere had dimmed. The excitement that had filled the room was now replaced by a more subdued mood. Yuji picked at his food, his usual quips and jokes conspicuously absent. The lively energy that normally accompanied his presence was replaced by a contemplative silence.
Kento cleared his throat after a few moments, trying to shift the focus and bring some warmth back to the table. “Do you have any plans for the weekend? Maybe we could all do something together.”
The pink-haired teen looked up, blinking as he found himself again in his lost thoughts. “I think I’ll be busy with training.” He replies, not quite making eye contact with either of you.
You spoke up, intent on breaking through the walls. “You’ll be staying over tonight though?”
Kento had bought a house with four bedrooms, partially because he wanted to be prepared for any children you’d agree to give him. But also because he was tired of Yuji sleeping on the couch when he visited your old place. He was given a room, furnished with some of his essentials. Kento made it very clear that Yuji always had a place there.
But instead of the usual eagerness to sleepover—he hesitates.
“I’m not sure–”
“Yuji. It’s late. Just stay here.” His voice soft but firm, leaving no room for argument.
You leave the bathroom, rubbing the last bit of cream into your skin. The soft glow of the bedside lamp illuminated the room as you saw Kento sitting on the edge of the bed, lost in thought.
“Something on your mind honey?” You question taking a seat next to him, already knowing the answer.
Kento looked up, his honey-brown eyes reflected in the gentle light of the lamp. “Yuji didn’t seem… happy about the news tonight.”
You reached out to your husband, placing a hand on his knee “He was probably just caught off guard Ken. It’s a big change, give him some time.”
He sighed, fingers absentmindedly brushing against yours. “I thought he’d be excited. I thought—”
You leaned closer, resting your head on his broad shoulder. Kento wrapped an arm around you, pulling you to him. The warmth of his embrace filling you with a silent reassurance. He glances down at you.
“Dear… could you…” His voice trailed off, a subtle hint of hesitation in his words. You already knew what he was going to ask. After all, Kento’s bedside manner wasn’t exactly what made you fall for him. You just nod at him, before standing up and leaving the room.
Knock Knock.
You wait outside Yuji’s room before you hear him say “Come in.”
You pushed the door open slowly, taking in the space. It was so uniquely Yuji, posters of his favorite actresses (that Kento would most definitely disapprove of). Beside them, a few shelves were crammed with manga volumes and action figures, the game console he loved to play with game discs littering the floor by the TV. And right by his bed, a picture of the three of you on vacation last year. Taken right after you both pushed Kento into the pool. It was his room. Without a doubt.
He was sitting on the edge of the bed, his posture slumped, gaze fixed on the floor. You approached him, sitting down on the bed. He looked up, his eyes reflecting unease and weariness.
“Hey, Yuji.” Your voice as soft as a feather. “Can we talk?”
“(Y/N). It’s not that I’m not happy for you and Nanamin. It's just—” He takes a shaky breath. Your gaze softens, waiting patiently as he tries to find the words to express his feelings.
“It’s just,” his voice breaking slightly. “I… love it here. You and Nanamin are like my family. And now you’ll have a kid. A real kid. I’m just worried I won’t have a place here anymore...”
The vulnerability in his words was palpable, the pink-haired teen looked down again, his fingers nervously twisting the edge of his blanket. He took a deep breath, you take one too.
You gently squeezed his shoulder and stood up, motioning for him to stay put. You left the room briefly, walking down the hallway to where Kento had left the bedroom to wait. He looked up as you approached, his expression a mixture of concern and curiosity. You took his hand, leading him to the room.
As you entered, you guided Kento to stand beside Yuji. Yuji looked up at him with a mixture of apprehension. The older male took a deep breath, his usual composed demeanor much softer.
“Yuji. You will Always have a place here.”
Yuji’s head snapped up, surprise evident in his eyes.
“I know that and I—”
“No. You will always have a place here because you are family.”
The room seemed to exhale collectively, the tension lifting as Yuji’s eyes widened with a mix of disbelief and relief.
“(Y/N) is going to need all of our help, our baby will need all of our help. We need you Yuji. Our family wouldn't be complete without you.” Kento’s hand reaches out, resting on Yuji’s shoulder.
Yuji’s eyes glistened as the reality of Kento’s words sank in. The years of feeling like an outsider, of worrying about his place in the world. Finally finding his family. Without a word, he stands up drawing you both into a tight embrace.
“Thank you… (Y/N). Nanamin. I’ll be the best big brother ever, or uncle? I’m not sure but I’m here. Whatever you need.”
In that embrace, the uncertainty began to melt away, replaced by a deep sense of belonging and love. The family you were building together, with all its changes and challenges, felt more united than ever.
Nanami Kento and Nanami Rei Masterlist (Age order)
Rei is a curious and smiling girl who came into your and your husband's lives to fill it with light, laughter, and, above all, an extra dose of love. A perfect balance between your husband's physical appearance and your free spirit. Below are all my works sorted by Rei's age.
✦ ⎯⎯ㅤִㅤ୭ ୨♡୧ ৎㅤִ ⎯⎯ ✦
Introducing Nanami Rei!
Recognition (Newborn): Where Rei recognizes her dad's voice outside of the womb.
Daddy's First Night (Two Months Old): Nanami is left in charge of Rei while you go out and enjoy yourself. He's not the best father, but they're learning. Together.
Teddy bear (Two months old): After finding an old bear onesie, you decide to put it on Rei...
Lullaby (Two months old): Nanami finds you singing to Rei one night. But, a week later, you are the one catching him singing to her.
First steps (Three months old): Rei takes her first steps and Nanami almost cries.
Language (Three months old): Where Rei wants to talk, badly.
Nap (Three months old): When your husband tries to nap, a little gremlin won't stay still... he loves her anyway.
Concepts (Three months old): Two different audiences, two different concepts. What's the sight? Your breasts...
Roll (Three months old): A short trip to Osaka becomes not only Rei's first trip, but also her first time rolling over.
Overtime (Three months old): When Kento woeks overtime, she can't help but cry because she misses him.
Late-night feeding sessions (Four months old): Where Rei wakes up hungry at 4 AM, your husband decides to let you sleep for the night, taking the night shift
Sleeping (Four months old): Where you and your husband are lulled to sleep by Rei's sounds over the baby monitor
Sick (Four and a half months old) : When your daughter gets her first cold, Kento doesn't leavebher side for a second.
Rei's first kiss! (Five months): Where Rei learned to give kisses. She needs a little practice, though...
Vaccines (Five months old): Kento's biggest enemy? His little girl's first vaccines.
Word (six months old): Rei has learned a single word and refuses to say anything else.
Sleepless nights (Six months old): You and your husband were warned that when Rei arrives, you should say goodbye to a good night's sleep. But they never mentioned it would be so worth it.
First Impression (Six months): Where Gojo and his students meet the recent addition to the Nanami household.
First words (One year old): The morning started with Rei's full energy. At breakfast, Nanami gets a warm surprise when his little girl finally says her first word.
Birthday (One year old): Rei's first birthday.
Playground! (One year old): For her, a visit to the playground is heaven. For Kento, it's a bacteria hell.
Nanami! (One year old): You teach Rei to say "Nanami" just to tease him.
Challenge (One and a half year old): After watching videos of terrible parenting pranks, your husband decides to do his own challenge with baby Rei
Weading (One and a half years old): Kento weading (reading) to her.
Anti-Violence (two years old): Where you and Nanami realize that perhaps you were too kind to her. She now refuses to hit the piñata...
Picnic day (Two years old): A picnic with a restless toddler can be tiring, but with your husband by your side everything seems better.
Rei 'Cockblocking' Nanami (Two years old): All those times you and your husband were interrupted before intimate moments. There's only one culprit...
Big brain, small body (two and a half years old): Where Rei, even at her small age, knows how to use physics to her advantage.
Train Ride (Two and a half years old): The three of you are a sight for sore eyes. A loving family that catches everyone's eyes.
Emotional (Two and a half years old): Looking at the wedding album with Rei. Things get a little emotional.
Massages (Three years old): Children watch, children learn. Rei decides to give you a massage like Nanami always does.
Spoiled (Three years old): Where at Christmas you realize that Rei isn't the only spoiled one.
Period care (Three and a half years old): Where you have an extra, very young nurse to take care of you on your period.
Patience (Three and a half years old): Where Rei insists on waiting impatiently for her daddy to come home from work to show him her new dress and cute hairstyle.
Babies (Three and a half years old): Where Rei asks the infamous question 'where do babies come from?'
Photographer (Three and a half years old): Since Rei learned how to use a phone, Kento and you hadn't known peace.
Halloween! (Four years old): Spending Halloween with your family. What better costume than Monsters Inc.? You have the most adorable Boo in the world.
A sibling (four years old): Where Rei asks for a sibling.
Lovesick (four years old): Kento comes home drunk, Rei doesn't quite understand the situation, but still helps him.
Matching! (Four years old): Dying Kento's hair and she wants to be included too.
Not alone (Five years old): When Rei claims to see "ugly things", worried, you and your husband know exactly what it's about.
Not ready (Five years old): It's Rei's first day at school! Someone is not ready to let her go, though...
Love letter! (Five years old): Where Rei receives her first love letter in kindergarten.
Daddy-Daughter dance (five years old): A shy Rei asks her dad to go to the dance with her.
Caretaker (Five years old): Pregnant with your second baby, you realize that Rei is very strict and serious about you having to rest.
Manicure session (Seven years old): As the title says, Rei takes a very unwilling victim for her "nail salon".
Perfect Ratio (Ten years old): Where Nanami teaches Rei how to use her inherited cursed technique.
✦ ⎯⎯ㅤִㅤ୭ ୨♡୧ ৎㅤִ ⎯⎯ ✦
Rei and Yuji fics:
(not in order!!)
Suit: Where Yuji decides to wear a suit when meeting Rei...
Babysitting: Yuji takes care of Rei so you can go out on a date with your husband. You find the cutest scene when you come back.
Growing up: Rei and Yuji bonding while she grows up to remember him with love and respect.
Adventure: Rei goes on an adventure (getting ice cream) with big brother Yuji!
Four pairs of feet: Yearly vacations in Malaysia are a must in the Nanami household. But when summer approaches, you and your husband realize that someone is going to spend it alone... what a better idea than to bring him too?
✦ ⎯⎯ㅤִㅤ୭ ୨♡୧ ৎㅤִ ⎯⎯ ✦
Pregnancy fics.
(not in order!!)
"The time where we learned to love more slowly"
A bun in the oven: You announcing your pregnancy to Nanami and the first-years students. (and their teacher...)
Rei's first kick.
Arrival: Your daughter's finally arrived safely to your arms. Nanami was there with you the whole time. (Ft. Gojo and Yuji).
Baby name picking: Kento has found the perfect name for your little girl.
Protector: Where you, six months pregnant, got pushed to the floor at the grocery store. Kento felt pure fear.
Gender Reveal: You reveal the gender of your baby through... cupcakes!
Baby shower: Your husband surprises you with a baby shower.
Mood swings: Just Nanami handling your mood swings and weird cravings.
Class: You and Nanami attend a Maternity class.
Disbelief: When he overhears someone complaining about their pregnant wife, Kento is in complete disbelief.
Penguin: where he loves his pregnant wife's waddle.
Dad: Nanami Kento with a Dad body.
Scary: Pregnancy is scary, but with Kento by your side everything seems better.
Synopsis: Wesker thinks long and hard about you, the past, and the future. (ANGST)
6: VHSes From The Eighties (~3.5k words) (Click here)
Synopsis: Wesker gets a show when he lets you work out, then begs for a duet encore. (SMUT)
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Failed Experiments | Scientist!Albert Wesker x M!Reader ~2-3k
Oneshot (Click here)
Synopsis: Your boss accidentally exposes you to an experimental gas he developed to make you fall in love with him. Unfortunately, all it does is make you lust after him. (SMUT)
Twoshot (Click here)
Synopsis: You get angry as your boss makes fun of you in a meeting. You teach him a lesson, and there's an opportunity for a Secretary (film) joke here. (SMUT)
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Untitled / General
Personality Headcannons (Click here)
Synopsis: Headcannons about how the Wesker I specifically write behaves.
