Hello, I just wanted to pop in and say that I love your characterization of wesker, i keep rereading everything you wrote about him, your works really inspired me to pick up writing again, so I wanted to present to you these 3 scenarios. You can do whatever you want to do with them, even nothing at all, I just need someone like-minded to hear me out.
1st one:
3SA wesker stalking reader before the eventual kidnapping, mainly through hidden cameras, wiretapping and bugging their place, only to find painful information he didn't quite bargain for (even if he tells himself otherwise). Like their relationship with chris, which started innocently enough, just two friends supporting each other through difficult times, only for it to turn physical and then emotional. Now get this, wesker watching chris and reader in their apartment getting it on for the first time. The drama, the betrayal, the hurt, just spectacular. The night starts like any other ordinary friendly gathering, chatting about everything and nothing, drinking some corner store booze to top it all of. But then the silence gets longer, hopeful, time passes by just looking in each other's eyes. And it happens, a first kiss under the small lamplight, tucked away behind the couch, it escalates further and before you know it, they end up in bed together. Albert cannot believe his eyes, can't tear them off the screen in utter disbelief. The love of his life and his little side fun fooling around in the sheets. How unbelievable. And yet, there it is, shame and arousal stirrs somewhere deep from within him. Rage and disbelief bubble up first, then comes the denial of what is happening right in front of his face, then comes dismissive acceptance. His hands slowly undo the collar of his dress shirt, trying to fight the ever rising heat, eyes still trained on the monitor. Fingers crawl further now, the lewd sounds filling the rest of his senses. They stop at the hem of his pants, he can't do this, he won't, what kind of god would that make him, succumbing to the most basal desires, especially at the sight of utter betrayal, how deplorable. But the way the two unsuspecting lovers look at each other breaks what little semblance of a heart he has had. And so he decides, this will be his little secret, locked within the gaping hole in his chest, behind the doors to the computer room. He studies the reader, the way their nose scrunches up a little, the thin sheen of sweat covering their body, and he imagines himself. His lithe fingers now deep inside him, timing the assault on his nerves with reader's thrusts. All three of them come down soon satisfied. But then wesker sees it. The sweet end to this lively night. Reader lays behind chris, stroking his back lovingly. Upon closer inspection, it seems that they are writing something with their fingernail onto his back. I L O V E Y O U. Over and over again. Just like they used to do to albert way back when, so long ago in the s.t.a.r.s. Wesker, witnessing the crime scene in front of him, finally breaks down. The sex is nothing much to be so worried about, a mere passing fancy, if you will. This however? Is something the void of his heart can't take any further. He smashes the screen in front of him, the humming and sizzling of the other computers only serving to laugh at him mockingly, knowingly. Then he promptly gets up and exits the room dramatically, not daring to look back behind him.
2nd one:
(This idea I stole quite shamelessly from you, sorry about that^^)
Reader and Wesker in s.t.a.r.s., my beloveds. Wesker tormenting his team on purpose, pushing them to their limits, so they can get stronger and be prepared for the future mansion incident. No no no, it has nothing to do with acquiring and then smelling reader's completely soaked through clothes. The harsh training sends most of the alpha team right to the showers. Reader changes from their gym clothes, but they leave swiftly to put long forgotten paperwork on wesker's desk, lest he finds out that it's still missing. Albert meanwhile seizes his chance and goes to raid their locker. Everything in there is nicely put away, shoes, shorts, t-shirt, all of it just waiting for him to choose his pick. He goes for the shorts first, being slightly jealous of the way it gets to hug their skin, if only he himself could live inside their epidermis forever, never to part again, maybe that could soothe the everlasting itch in his brain. Before he can get really get ahead of himself however, he hears someone clear their throat behind him. He whips his head so hard around, his neck almost breaks, but before he can zoom in on the offender, they are already snaking their arms around his waist. Reader smiles at the expression of their startled lover, while smoothing out the wrinkles creasing his uniform. Wesker holding their shorts doesn't strike them as odd or even slightly perverse, for they are now too occupied with his neck, sucking new marks in the tender skin just so they can peek a tiny bit above the collar, inconspicuous to anyone who isn't outright looking. Soon enough, all clothing is long forgotten, as they enter the showers together. Everyone else should already be on their way home, no one to interrupt this escapade of their love in the bathrooms. For them, just for a moment, nothing else exists, nobody else to see wesker without his hair put up perfectly, eyes now unconcealed behind dark glasses. But for reader, here he is, stripped bare, laid against the cold dividing wall. Droplets of water cascading down to his collarbones, all the way downward to the curve of his hip. Just enjoying all the attention befitting a true god. Attention no one else could give him, but his rightful ruler before him, right at his very side. And nothing is more perfect, more right then this, right here. (Shame this bliss didn't last very long xd)
3rd one:
Wesker's and reader's first time sleeping together has been plaguing me for some time. I don't think it would be a typical night per se, maybe after something at least a little traumatic happening. S.t.a.r.s. was also umbrella's clean-up crew when things went sideways. Maybe wesker got almost to close to getting horrifically injured in action, leaving reader to witness it and not being able to do anything about it. But this finally properly ignites something between them. Reader's beside themselves with worry, fussing over Albert, who is secretly enjoying all the tender attention. Reader knows they won't be able to sleep peacefully after this, so they invite wesker to their place to watch over him, for their own peace of mind. The night is still young when they end up in each other's embrace on the couch, not really bothering with watching the TV. Wesker is the one who makes the first move, hand sliding down from their shoulder to their thigh and squeezing lightly, grounding. The kiss that quickly follows is anything but light, all teeth and spit, soon enough, weskers lying down on the couch, chest touching readers. The same steady intensifying heartbeats separated by their ribcages, are forced to part slightly, when reader starts kissing his neck, going straight for the jugular vein and biting down harshly, forcing gasps and moans deep from within his chest. Crimson drops of blood start to escape from the puncture, staining the cushion, marking this day in itself forever. The bite is soothed by tiny licks that continue downward, to the midsection, to the groin, ignoring the growing hardness between the thighs, much to his dismay, then finally landing a final kiss atop of his foot. There was a strange sensation that overtook wesker at these gestures, giving up even a sliver of power was something he never really considered, even in bed, but now, having his body worshipped like that of a god and being treated harshly like a normal mortal man at the same time, in the same breath, was doing unspeakable things to his head. Like the floodgates inside it have finally opened and there was no hope in stopping them. Only this person could bring him to such unimaginable heights and devastating lows. Finally, he was living, not just going through the motions. Here, sandwiched between the couch, he was what he actually wanted to be. Not captain wesker, leader of s.t.a.r.s. or A. W., umbrella's lead researcher. Now, he was tasting a sliver of true godhood, hidden inside the body and soul of his dearest subordinate. Now, he can never let them go, as long as they both shall live, in his perfect new world to be.
Well, if you managed to read it all the way down here, I hope you enjoyed a piece of my thoughts, (sorry if it was kinda ass, I'm rusty as hell, and excuse my grammar, since english is not my fist language) anyway, that would be all from me for now, thank you for reading. Peace and love <3
ASS???? ARE YOU JOKING ANON THIS WAS SO AMAZING AND YOUR ENGLISH IS FLAWLESS
I checked my tumblr (I do habitually check, but hardly ever come on here anymore—medicine issues, now-resolved relationship issues, pure laziness—) and saw this as my tea was steeping, and it cooled down enough to drink by the time I was done reading and rereading this. I can't express how much your words mean to me, knowing that I was able to inspire your awesome writing!!!! Pleaseplease if you ever wanna show me what you wrote, tag me!!
Now onto the writing, which I'm most certainly going to expand upon, though I haven't written in a while and it's gonna be short (and, by the way, if anyone's reading this and didn't read the scenarios all the way through, do that!):
I wanna begin by saying that these are all excellent!!!! Like genuinely SO SO good and I lovee how you write him!!! I enjoyed it all so freaking thoroughly omg... and it made me realize that (not to get too sappy but) everything I've written has been collaborative. Like it may not seem that way, but you guys are the reason i kept writing and found so much joy in it and i really don't think i can take credit for 3SA alone, i really think we've all built it together through asks and comments and things like this where you add your own into the universe. That stuff sticks with me and influences what i write, what people enjoy, and let me know that I'm not a weird little critter all alone. So from the bottom of my heart, thank you to everyone but especially you anon =)
#1 is gonna be my star pupil because it's been mentioned before and I want to expand on it, so I'm gonna write a bit more on it / write about it in my own prose
#2 i fuck with SO HEAVY because it's so accurate for 3sa wesker and especially failed experiments Wesker 😭😭 that fucking freak is such a clothing thief and i adore how it's written
For #3, I had plans to write a first time scenario, but i keep forgetting to solidify them but i LOVE LOVE how you wrote the third because it really does seem befitting of the story that we've all built and it shall be accepted as canon until i get around to writing my own
Anywho, I think Wesker definitely bugged every square inch of Reader's house. Before he even left for Umbrella, he was staying over, waiting until reader fell asleep, and then getting up on a chair or a table to carefully set up surveillance all in the common areas. He'd hollow out the backsides of paintings and slip in a sneaky microphone, get access to webcams; hell, he probably had the login to the thermostat. At first, the cameras recorded he and Reader's trysts, and Wesker was embarrassingly fond of them. He'd chalk up the rewatching of his favorite one-way sex tapes as performance reviews, but his eyes lingered on reader the entire time. To have that desecrated, with Chris, no less, drove him mad with rage. And yet, he watched. There was no performance to review—he could critique it, sure, but the fact was that Chris was getting to touch them, hold them, in a way he couldn't. A bad fuck is better than no sex at all. And reader actually looked like they enjoyed it.
Yet watching it, watching Chris fumble him, was oddly addictive. Very oddly. And shameful to boot. It was strange to him, how watching his lover messing with another man managed to catch his attention so wholly. It was the most embarrassing session he'd ever had with his left hand, and in his shame was strong enough he put the file into the garbage before retrieving it, then throwing it away again. He swore it wouldn't happen again. But it did, and the dance he did with the videos repeated. Hell, he came at the same time as reader and chris; it was humiliating, but he couldn't help touching himself to the sight. If he imagined, he could see himself in place of Chris and feel reader stretching him out. It was a perfect distraction: tantalizing and torturous all at the same time.
But he was staring too closely one night. He'd come down from his high and had already started cleaning up when he noticed that achingly familiar touch. The letters. It felt blasphemic, seeing reader do things with both of them. Like Chris was given a used, stolen gift. To say he was angry was a gross understatement. The sex alone was a transgression that would not go unpunished, but those three words made him sick. He'd have to move up timelines. He wanted to kill Chris or kidnap reader or something already. Spencer's Mansion would do well.
Hello, I just wanted to pop in and say that I love your characterization of wesker, i keep rereading everything you wrote about him, your works really inspired me to pick up writing again, so I wanted to present to you these 3 scenarios. You can do whatever you want to do with them, even nothing at all, I just need someone like-minded to hear me out.
1st one:
3SA wesker stalking reader before the eventual kidnapping, mainly through hidden cameras, wiretapping and bugging their place, only to find painful information he didn't quite bargain for (even if he tells himself otherwise). Like their relationship with chris, which started innocently enough, just two friends supporting each other through difficult times, only for it to turn physical and then emotional. Now get this, wesker watching chris and reader in their apartment getting it on for the first time. The drama, the betrayal, the hurt, just spectacular. The night starts like any other ordinary friendly gathering, chatting about everything and nothing, drinking some corner store booze to top it all of. But then the silence gets longer, hopeful, time passes by just looking in each other's eyes. And it happens, a first kiss under the small lamplight, tucked away behind the couch, it escalates further and before you know it, they end up in bed together. Albert cannot believe his eyes, can't tear them off the screen in utter disbelief. The love of his life and his little side fun fooling around in the sheets. How unbelievable. And yet, there it is, shame and arousal stirrs somewhere deep from within him. Rage and disbelief bubble up first, then comes the denial of what is happening right in front of his face, then comes dismissive acceptance. His hands slowly undo the collar of his dress shirt, trying to fight the ever rising heat, eyes still trained on the monitor. Fingers crawl further now, the lewd sounds filling the rest of his senses. They stop at the hem of his pants, he can't do this, he won't, what kind of god would that make him, succumbing to the most basal desires, especially at the sight of utter betrayal, how deplorable. But the way the two unsuspecting lovers look at each other breaks what little semblance of a heart he has had. And so he decides, this will be his little secret, locked within the gaping hole in his chest, behind the doors to the computer room. He studies the reader, the way their nose scrunches up a little, the thin sheen of sweat covering their body, and he imagines himself. His lithe fingers now deep inside him, timing the assault on his nerves with reader's thrusts. All three of them come down soon satisfied. But then wesker sees it. The sweet end to this lively night. Reader lays behind chris, stroking his back lovingly. Upon closer inspection, it seems that they are writing something with their fingernail onto his back. I L O V E Y O U. Over and over again. Just like they used to do to albert way back when, so long ago in the s.t.a.r.s. Wesker, witnessing the crime scene in front of him, finally breaks down. The sex is nothing much to be so worried about, a mere passing fancy, if you will. This however? Is something the void of his heart can't take any further. He smashes the screen in front of him, the humming and sizzling of the other computers only serving to laugh at him mockingly, knowingly. Then he promptly gets up and exits the room dramatically, not daring to look back behind him.
2nd one:
(This idea I stole quite shamelessly from you, sorry about that^^)
Reader and Wesker in s.t.a.r.s., my beloveds. Wesker tormenting his team on purpose, pushing them to their limits, so they can get stronger and be prepared for the future mansion incident. No no no, it has nothing to do with acquiring and then smelling reader's completely soaked through clothes. The harsh training sends most of the alpha team right to the showers. Reader changes from their gym clothes, but they leave swiftly to put long forgotten paperwork on wesker's desk, lest he finds out that it's still missing. Albert meanwhile seizes his chance and goes to raid their locker. Everything in there is nicely put away, shoes, shorts, t-shirt, all of it just waiting for him to choose his pick. He goes for the shorts first, being slightly jealous of the way it gets to hug their skin, if only he himself could live inside their epidermis forever, never to part again, maybe that could soothe the everlasting itch in his brain. Before he can get really get ahead of himself however, he hears someone clear their throat behind him. He whips his head so hard around, his neck almost breaks, but before he can zoom in on the offender, they are already snaking their arms around his waist. Reader smiles at the expression of their startled lover, while smoothing out the wrinkles creasing his uniform. Wesker holding their shorts doesn't strike them as odd or even slightly perverse, for they are now too occupied with his neck, sucking new marks in the tender skin just so they can peek a tiny bit above the collar, inconspicuous to anyone who isn't outright looking. Soon enough, all clothing is long forgotten, as they enter the showers together. Everyone else should already be on their way home, no one to interrupt this escapade of their love in the bathrooms. For them, just for a moment, nothing else exists, nobody else to see wesker without his hair put up perfectly, eyes now unconcealed behind dark glasses. But for reader, here he is, stripped bare, laid against the cold dividing wall. Droplets of water cascading down to his collarbones, all the way downward to the curve of his hip. Just enjoying all the attention befitting a true god. Attention no one else could give him, but his rightful ruler before him, right at his very side. And nothing is more perfect, more right then this, right here. (Shame this bliss didn't last very long xd)
3rd one:
Wesker's and reader's first time sleeping together has been plaguing me for some time. I don't think it would be a typical night per se, maybe after something at least a little traumatic happening. S.t.a.r.s. was also umbrella's clean-up crew when things went sideways. Maybe wesker got almost to close to getting horrifically injured in action, leaving reader to witness it and not being able to do anything about it. But this finally properly ignites something between them. Reader's beside themselves with worry, fussing over Albert, who is secretly enjoying all the tender attention. Reader knows they won't be able to sleep peacefully after this, so they invite wesker to their place to watch over him, for their own peace of mind. The night is still young when they end up in each other's embrace on the couch, not really bothering with watching the TV. Wesker is the one who makes the first move, hand sliding down from their shoulder to their thigh and squeezing lightly, grounding. The kiss that quickly follows is anything but light, all teeth and spit, soon enough, weskers lying down on the couch, chest touching readers. The same steady intensifying heartbeats separated by their ribcages, are forced to part slightly, when reader starts kissing his neck, going straight for the jugular vein and biting down harshly, forcing gasps and moans deep from within his chest. Crimson drops of blood start to escape from the puncture, staining the cushion, marking this day in itself forever. The bite is soothed by tiny licks that continue downward, to the midsection, to the groin, ignoring the growing hardness between the thighs, much to his dismay, then finally landing a final kiss atop of his foot. There was a strange sensation that overtook wesker at these gestures, giving up even a sliver of power was something he never really considered, even in bed, but now, having his body worshipped like that of a god and being treated harshly like a normal mortal man at the same time, in the same breath, was doing unspeakable things to his head. Like the floodgates inside it have finally opened and there was no hope in stopping them. Only this person could bring him to such unimaginable heights and devastating lows. Finally, he was living, not just going through the motions. Here, sandwiched between the couch, he was what he actually wanted to be. Not captain wesker, leader of s.t.a.r.s. or A. W., umbrella's lead researcher. Now, he was tasting a sliver of true godhood, hidden inside the body and soul of his dearest subordinate. Now, he can never let them go, as long as they both shall live, in his perfect new world to be.
Well, if you managed to read it all the way down here, I hope you enjoyed a piece of my thoughts, (sorry if it was kinda ass, I'm rusty as hell, and excuse my grammar, since english is not my fist language) anyway, that would be all from me for now, thank you for reading. Peace and love <3
ASS???? ARE YOU JOKING ANON THIS WAS SO AMAZING AND YOUR ENGLISH IS FLAWLESS
I checked my tumblr (I do habitually check, but hardly ever come on here anymore—medicine issues, now-resolved relationship issues, pure laziness—) and saw this as my tea was steeping, and it cooled down enough to drink by the time I was done reading and rereading this. I can't express how much your words mean to me, knowing that I was able to inspire your awesome writing!!!! Pleaseplease if you ever wanna show me what you wrote, tag me!!
Now onto the writing, which I'm most certainly going to expand upon, though I haven't written in a while and it's gonna be short (and, by the way, if anyone's reading this and didn't read the scenarios all the way through, do that!):
I wanna begin by saying that these are all excellent!!!! Like genuinely SO SO good and I lovee how you write him!!! I enjoyed it all so freaking thoroughly omg... and it made me realize that (not to get too sappy but) everything I've written has been collaborative. Like it may not seem that way, but you guys are the reason i kept writing and found so much joy in it and i really don't think i can take credit for 3SA alone, i really think we've all built it together through asks and comments and things like this where you add your own into the universe. That stuff sticks with me and influences what i write, what people enjoy, and let me know that I'm not a weird little critter all alone. So from the bottom of my heart, thank you to everyone but especially you anon =)
#1 is gonna be my star pupil because it's been mentioned before and I want to expand on it, so I'm gonna write a bit more on it / write about it in my own prose
#2 i fuck with SO HEAVY because it's so accurate for 3sa wesker and especially failed experiments Wesker 😭😭 that fucking freak is such a clothing thief and i adore how it's written
For #3, I had plans to write a first time scenario, but i keep forgetting to solidify them but i LOVE LOVE how you wrote the third because it really does seem befitting of the story that we've all built and it shall be accepted as canon until i get around to writing my own
Anywho, I think Wesker definitely bugged every square inch of Reader's house. Before he even left for Umbrella, he was staying over, waiting until reader fell asleep, and then getting up on a chair or a table to carefully set up surveillance all in the common areas. He'd hollow out the backsides of paintings and slip in a sneaky microphone, get access to webcams; hell, he probably had the login to the thermostat. At first, the cameras recorded he and Reader's trysts, and Wesker was embarrassingly fond of them. He'd chalk up the rewatching of his favorite one-way sex tapes as performance reviews, but his eyes lingered on reader the entire time. To have that desecrated, with Chris, no less, drove him mad with rage. And yet, he watched. There was no performance to review—he could critique it, sure, but the fact was that Chris was getting to touch them, hold them, in a way he couldn't. A bad fuck is better than no sex at all. And reader actually looked like they enjoyed it.
Yet watching it, watching Chris fumble him, was oddly addictive. Very oddly. And shameful to boot. It was strange to him, how watching his lover messing with another man managed to catch his attention so wholly. It was the most embarrassing session he'd ever had with his left hand, and in his shame was strong enough he put the file into the garbage before retrieving it, then throwing it away again. He swore it wouldn't happen again. But it did, and the dance he did with the videos repeated. Hell, he came at the same time as reader and chris; it was humiliating, but he couldn't help touching himself to the sight. If he imagined, he could see himself in place of Chris and feel reader stretching him out. It was a perfect distraction: tantalizing and torturous all at the same time.
But he was staring too closely one night. He'd come down from his high and had already started cleaning up when he noticed that achingly familiar touch. The letters. It felt blasphemic, seeing reader do things with both of them. Like Chris was given a used, stolen gift. To say he was angry was a gross understatement. The sex alone was a transgression that would not go unpunished, but those three words made him sick. He'd have to move up timelines. He wanted to kill Chris or kidnap reader or something already. Spencer's Mansion would do well.
Chris walks in on Wesker in the showers and notices he has some... different... anatomy. Wesker is a heavy sleeper. When on multi-day missions far from home, they always share a hotel room. This combines into the perfect storm of bad decisions that will haunt Chris for the rest of his life. But it's a little hard to think about that when you're knuckle deep in your hot captain's cunt, listening to him moan in his sleep like your own personal, fucked up porno.
Rated E, Chapter 1
Tags, Link, Warnings under the cut
Content Warnings: Dubious Consent, Author Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Tags: Somnophilia, Top Chris Redfield, Bottom Albert Wesker, Trans Albert Wesker, S.T.A.R.S. Era, S.T.A.R.S. Member Albert Wesker, S.T.A.R.S. Member Chris Redfield, Guilty Chris Redfield, Additional Tags To Be Added As Chapters Are Posted
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Captain Wesker's only satisfied after training Chris into a traumatized muscle-man. 💪😔 It's for Chris's own good, so he will be strong enough to survive Whisker's new world. And strong enough to survive the gorilla grip flesh eating wormussy.
your y!a/w getting his face held and his cheeks brushed and a thumb pad against the narrow bridge of his nose. shh, it's for science
For science, of course!
Follows the Three Steps Ahead plot, not sure where it could fit but it's in the universe trust 💔
Cw: takes place during aftercare, crying, is this angst... maybe hurt/comfort
└───────────────────────┘
You hadn't held him like this since S.T.A.R.S.. Well, you hadn't had anything very soft with him since then, so that's to be expected. His eyes were closed in the afterglow of your tryst, body limp and utterly satisfied.
He was awake, telling you about his plans, all very technical and you'd love to understand it another time but right now all you could think about was how soft he was. He was your Bee again, your Albert with the warm skin and the touch like glass—he always was terrified to hurt you.
All that was different laid in his eyes, the mesmerizing blues replaced by something inhuman, and in the air, where the weight of your situation (your kidnapping, your imprisonment, your torture) laid heavy on every surface like dust in an attic. But for now, you would allow yourself the pleasure of a personal injustice—you would love him.
You gazed down at him with the admiration of a honeymooning spouse, cupping his cheeks in your hands. His voice stuttered, pausing on something about the virus he'd injected himself with, and his eyes opened to gaze back at you.
"What's—what's this?" He asked with a wobbly smile, the heat from your hands a warm balm to his soul. Aftercare primarily consisted of a warm towel, a drink, and a nap. Had you ever lavished him with this much affection?
"Shh. Just holding you," you murmured distractedly. "You can keep telling me about your plans."
Wesker nodded imperceptibly, his eyes fluttering closed when you began to brush your thumb against the apples of his cheeks like he was a dog being pet. "With... with such a high casualty rate, we need a lot of subjects," he whimpered out, feeling minute tears prick his eyes. "We... ah, we have to get them from... What are you doing to me?" He asked shakily.
"Just holding you," you repeated. "Where do you get your test subjects?"
"We-we try for all across the globe. Random people that nobody will notice missing—mm?" Wesker's voice broke as you grazed your thumbprint along his nose, stroking the long ridge of cartilage reverently. "Please, you're... I can't focus when you... You're..."
"Shh, shh, shh. Just lay down. I've got you," you wiped away the tears that threatened to fall down his temples and leaned down to kiss his forehead.
"I love you," he finally said as he shuddered into a sob.
"I love you, too."
┌───────────────────────┐
Man this is a tone shift from the crazy hate sex wip for next chapter... anyways I am so sorry if this wasn't what you envisioned I think I was possessed 💔 i blinked and it was written
FINALLY!!! I’ve been waiting eons for someone to give some good male reader x wesker content and you’ve delivered it on a silver platter especially with that last chapter. My thoughts for some filler is that reader wants to get back into working out and staying fit as to not go insane and keep clear head by having some control at least on a workout routine (and wesker), wesker agree’s but on the catch that reader has to wear some tight form fitting clothes that shows off reader’s physique (and bulge) so reader ends up using that against wester by teasing him while working out. Wesker would definitely have a scent and sweat kink in this story, since he’s obsessed with reader, so he ends up being on his needs begging to get face fucked by reader so he can taste his sweat and smell his scent before getting railed.
YES I GOT THE FREAKS TO MY BLOG /pos I’ll do you one better anon. Body hair and armpit kink. U can thank some of the dom reader blogs for this.
Three Steps Ahead | Yandere!Albert Wesker x M!Reader
6: VHSes From The Eighties (~3.5k words)
Cw: read the ask; NOT gn this is BOY KISSING MLM GAY SEX!!!, porn with plot, skippable for the gn/fems who were also reading 3SA (ill sum up the plot next chapter aside from sex), reader is implied to be able bodied (stretching, working out, etc—let me live vicariously), making out, sweat kink, scent kink, body hair kink, licking sweat, SO MUCH licking, armpits, blowjob (r recieving), brief medfet, anal fingering, anal sex (wesker receiving), minor nonconsensual voyeurism at the end
└───────────────────────┘
Since that confusing, emotionally charged moment that you still have zero context on, Albert has absolutely pampered you. He took another day off work, then another, and soon he was assuring you that he had enough work already done to take as long as he needed to. He's allowing you certain privileges that previously were only in your past, before even S.T.A.R.S..
Unfortunately, spending every day with someone as unstable and smothering as Albert, despite the new freedoms, meant hours of doing absolutely nothing while he caressed your bare skin and kissed your face and body. He seemed to be making up for something, and yet you had no clue what for.
Finally, you gathered the courage to ask for something he'd already mentioned in passing. As with every new right you'd been restored, there was sure to be a caveat.
“Hey, Bee?” You hummed out as he laid on your lap and watched you play the (singleplayer, of course) video game on the TV. A quiet hum was the only indication of Albert listening. ”I've got a request.”
“Anything you want, dearheart, you may have. Within reason,” Albert declared, pressing a warm kiss to the inside of your thigh. He nibbled the meat of your thigh, just slightly, and grinned as it twitched and you swatted his head gently.
After he stopped gnawing, you told him. “I want to get back into working out. You said I could use the training facility for the B.O.W.s?”
“Ah, of course. You may. You’ll need clothes to wear whilst you exercise, so once I get them for you, you can start,” Albert answered easily.
“I was actually hoping we could go today. I can just wear—”
“No, no, no. You need designated clothes to train in. I can't have you dirtying the sweatpants strictly for leisure, nor do I want you in the gym with swim shorts or boxers. I'm sure you understand. It shouldn't take more than a day to both order and receive them, darling. Be patient,” Albert replied briskly.
He'd been saying that more often, now that you were getting bold with your requests. When he said ‘Be patient,’ that typically signaled the end of the matter. He'd either get it for you or not, but either way didn't want another word out of you.
You sighed and returned to the game you were playing, occasionally answering his questions about the mechanics or moral implications of disrupting the entire town’s careful ecosystem with overfishing and deforestation and farming rare earth minerals. You had to explain that it all regrew, but he was unsatisfied.
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Those clothes were… breathable. Certainly flexible. Definitely tight. He gave you black shorts that reached your mid-thigh and rose just barely above your hips, the fabric more leggings than anything supportive, and a matching tank top that was cut too low for any real exercise benefit.
You stared at yourself in the mirror, feeling more like David Bowie in the Labyrinth than someone going to work out. No matter what you did, the print of your dick was visible in the pants and the tank was so tight you felt like you had cleavage.
“Hey, Albert?” You called through the bathroom door.
“Yes, my darling?”
“I think you got me a size or two too small. It's really tight.”
“May I come in?”
With a sigh, you opened the door and Albert immediately stilled. He let out a low, appreciative chuckle before stalking forward, shamelessly checking you out.
“No, no, the dimensions are correct. This is how it fits. It's stretchy, so it's not tight, just form-fitting,” he murmured, demonstrating by stretching the waistband of your pants easily with his pinky and sliding his hand over the crest of your hip.
With a wry smile and a raised brow, you spoke. “You knew it fit like this?”
“Of course,” he returned. “How could I not? Only the best, most… mobile activewear for my love.”
Pursing your lips, you decided to drop the issue. He wasn’t going to be admitting anything, and you weren’t going to be scoring points by trying to force him to say, ‘Yes, I got these specifically to see your cock through your shorts.’ You settled on a peck on his nose and stepped away, grabbing his arm so he could lead you through the facility and to the training area.
Slowly, a plan formed in your mind. He wanted to get a view? You’d give him a show.
The room itself was large, with machines you’d never before seen and certainly never wanted to try, and a couple normal racks to work with. “I’m gonna do some stretches. I’ll do chest today, I think,” you hummed, bringing to mind the workout routine that all S.T.A.R.S. employees followed loosely to stay in shape.
First, you dropped your bag on the floor and strolled to a mat, popping the joints in your body before glancing back to see Albert’s eyes planted firmly on your ass. Very well. You bent down and walked your hands from your feet down, accidentally making a show of your ass in the air until you were in a pushup position. Then, you did one and you walked your hands back up.
The quiet breath Albert sucked in didn’t escape you. Nor did his inconspicuous way of heading to the wall and turning up the heat by a few degrees.
After fifteen, you transitioned to jumping jacks. Then, back to inchworms. From your place on the floor after the last pushup, you settled into stretching. Every chance you got, you used every inch of stretch that the clothes fit you; stretches showing off your chest, the flexibility of your legs, your ass, and most of all, the print of your cock. When you were done, Albert met your eyes with a hidden fluster. He didn’t think you were teasing him yet.
“You’ll spot me, won’t you, Bee? Just like old times?” You asked sweetly. Old times, like the time you pulled him into the showers after the gym and fucked him against the tile wall, then made him kneel down on the floor to clean you up after.
“Of course. As much as I would like to care for you, it’s not beneficial to have you pulling muscles,” he mumbled, now gazing at your dick, which was still soft, he lamented.
You loaded weights onto the barbell and put it on the rack, settling under like second nature. You felt sweat bead down your back—not overexertion, but from the heat in the air—and pushed forward. You made no move to wipe off sweat; the towel would go missing soon and you hated asking for new ones since he’d always reprimand you for being careless (but you knew the truth).
The first set was easy until the eleventh and twelfth, then you took a slight breather for a drink of water. Glancing back at Albert’s carefully schooled expression, you smiled to yourself and laid back on the bench.
You grunted quietly every time you brought down the bar for the first three. Then, low, heavy breaths came after, and you could look up and watch as Albert’s cock hardened in his pants. When you slipped in quiet ‘fuck’s, he dropped his form to press his palm to his face.
“What do you think you're doing, baby? I need you to spot me,” you reprimanded, racking the bar.
“Of course. Continue,” Albert mumbled hoarsely.
The third rep was hell for him. Moans that could plausibly be denied as exertion came after every rep, muttered curses, and growls came from your throat. Every time he looked away, you called out, “Eyes on me.” Halfway because it was sexy watching him squeeze his eyes shut at your tone, and halfway because he was a distracted spotter and you valued your life.
Then came lateral pull-downs, where you requested he sit by you and keep you company. As you raised your arms above your head, Albert’s eyes trained on the patch of hair coming from your armpits, the base of the hairs slick with sweat. He was so glad he designed it so the shirt’s armhole was dropped so low.
“What's wrong, Al?” You cooed, dropping the machine and turning to face him. He straightened his posture, suddenly realizing from the smile on your face that you were tormenting him for the sake of enjoyment.
“Don't patronize me. You know what’s wrong,” he growled, his hand squeezing his thigh in restraint.
“Do I? Humor me, Albert. What's gotten you so riled up?” You croon, standing up to tower over him. Even as he stares up at you, he’s defiant and bratty. You can fix that.
“You,” Albert snapped. “It’s always you. What else would it be? You know what you’re doing, damnit.” As if on instinct, he brought his hands to your hips to tug down your boxers, where he could just barely see your dick hardening.
With a soft tut, you grab his wrist. “Come on, now. I’m just working out. You can’t even let me finish these sets? You’re that desperate?” You ask, relishing in his scowl at your mocking tone.
Albert exhaled through his nose, his nostrils flaring in irritation. “Finish your set, if you must. Hurry up,” he hissed.
“Now, now. That’s not polite at all.”
“I’m not polite. I’m five seconds from—”
“I know you are.”
After two more sets, Albert just… couldn't. He collapsed to his knees right where you stood, sitting on his heels with an intensity in his eyes that meant no more banter from him.
“Please,” he said simply, a scowl on his face. Once you carded your fingers through his hair, he pressed his face against your clothed crotch and mouthed at the bulge, wetting the fabric with his eagerness. He inhaled deeply and snuck his hands back on your hips to press closer.
“Aren't you—hah—going to kiss me, Albert?” You hummed, to which he pressed his lips feverishly against your thighs. “Up, Al. Wanna kiss you right.”
With a groan of protest, Albert stood on shaky legs, albeit pulled up by his shirt collar. You crashed your lips against his and he eagerly reciprocated, grabbing your hair without any of the restraint he prided himself on. Albert panted into your mouth, using his other arm to pull your waist into his body.
It was a messy, aggressive ordeal. His teeth clashed into your mouth in a desperate, frenetic manner that made you taste blood and told you that you'd have ulcers in the morning, but at the moment it was sexy. This is an egomaniacal scientist who kills without mercy, and you have him moaning in your mouth.
You felt a whine rip through his throat when your nails dug into his scalp and he broke to breathe desperately. After he was satisfied and assumed you had enough air, he brought your lips back to his and fumbled blindly to the wall as spit dribbled down your chin from your shared passion.
“You're going to be the death of me, you know that?” He huffed, licking up some of the saliva before thrusting his tongue through your lips. It was like he'd die if separated from you, hot breath against your own and his tongue violating every space of your mouth.
He took his hand from your head and groped your ass, panting against your neck as he ground his cock into your thigh. In the moment, you stopped kissing him, admiring his kiss-bruised lips and flushed cheeks. “Stop staring,” he mumbled, burying his face on your sweaty neck.
A breathy chuckle came from him and he rut faster against your leg, his tongue leaving his mouth to lick up sweat pooling on the contours of your shoulders and throat, moaning aloud as the bitter taste of your skin invaded his mouth. He didn't stop after he licked one stripe up your neck, no. He kept at it.
A sharp bite made you huff out a groan and a “Watch it,” which he ignored. Another bite, then a messy lick to clean it up that really just served to wet your skin further. All across your neck and down to your clavicle, he basically tonguefucked your skin to taste your sweat. When he came up to kiss you again, you could taste the salt on his tongue and playfully bit at his lip. “Since when was sweat a turn-on?”
“Since always. You were just dense at S.T.A.R.S.,” he grunted, biting your lip in return. “You think I would have spotted you if I didn't have a personal interest?”
“My safety's not enough?” You hummed, pinning him to the wall and bringing your forearms to either side of him. From his vantage point, he could see the thicket of hair from your armpit and switched positions with the superhuman speed he possessed, forcing your hands above your head so he could press his nose into your underarm, burying his nose and inhaling. His following exhale was shaky and coupled with his eyes rolling back, so you freed a hand and took his chin in your palm.
“That's definitely new. How much of a slut for me are you, really?” You teased, but he growled.
“I'm no slut. I'm a God, and if you… if you call me something like that again… damn it all, you smell so good,” he said hazily. Albert whined and broke from your grasp to bury his face back into your neck.
He lavished your neck with attention like it was a matter of life and death. Desperate, wet kisses were pressed to the column of your throat, harsh bites bloomed bruises that’d take days to heal at best, and the whole time he was huffing you like a drug. Once he started rutting onto you like a needy dog, you grasped him by the hair and pulled him back, much to his chagrin.
“Fuck, sweetheart, are you prepped? I can take you right—”
Albert’s eyes widened with alarm, suddenly back in the present. “What? Not yet. Let me take you in my mouth. Before any blasphemous lubricant wipes your taste away. I have to—you must let me—use my mouth, darling, please.” His voice cracked in need as he gave up on his reserved front.
Fuck. Okay.
You watched as he dropped back down to his knees and gazed up at you for just a moment before his impatience overtook him and he tugged off your shorts. You stepped outside of them and before you could stop him, he had your legs up in the air, putting you in an awkward position with your knees over his shoulders and your back pressed to the wall. One hand supported you by gripping your ass firmly, and the other was wrapped around your cock.
“You’re drenched in sweat. I could smell you from the wall when you were halfway across the room,” Albert groaned, licking a stripe up your thigh, moaning at the taste. He repeated this with your other thigh and, without breaking stride, licked up your dick until he got to the head and swirled his tongue around it.
“Fuck!” You hissed at the assault on your nervous system, tightening your grip in his hair. “You remember just how I—mnngh!—how I like it, don’t you?”
“Of course I do,” he replied, kissing your tip before looking up at you. He looked ruined; his eyes were glowing something vicious, his face was flushed, and you couldn’t tell from his dark pants and your position, but you figured he’d already cum more than once.
At the lull in action, he took the head of your cock into his mouth, mapping the familiar veins as he struggled to take you after so long of being without you. He squeezed his eyes shut, willing his gag reflux down and trying to keep tears from escaping. You swiped his eye, collecting the salty wetness on your fingers and brought them to his lips. You pressed your finger beside your cock, admiring at how he just took the intrusion, then leaned back against the wall and lost yourself in the feeling of his tight, wet mouth.
After the first hurdle of his reflexes, he managed to take you fully into his throat and relished in the whine that ripped from you when he swallowed around you. The taste of your perspiration was heavy on your dick and he was happy he could breathe through his nose so that he could nuzzle the dense pubic hair that seemed to inject lust right into his veins.
Impatient with his slow going, you thrusted as well as you could (being held up in the air, your movement was limited) into his throat and moaned aloud at how his vocal cords reverberated so perfectly around you when he reciprocated a noise. He sloppily hollowed out his cheeks as his head bobbed up and down the shaft, drool dripping onto the floor between the two of you.
Times like these, you wish his body didn't heal so quickly; it'd be unimaginably hot to force him onto an exam table and slut shame him for having a bruise ring in his throat where you slammed your cock into the soft palette. His throat was so tight and sucked you in from every side so thoroughly that you could hardly think beyond the need to go deeper.
When your hips sped up their assault, directed by a base instinct that he seemed to trigger, you were not remotely planning on telling him when you were gonna cum. Instead, you emptied your balls into his throat and collapsed against the wall. You knew your legs were shaking—both from being propped up and from needing to cum—but you at least expected yourself to be able to hold yourself up. Albert, surprised but nonetheless into it, swallowed and took his mouth off your softening cock, cradling you in his arms as he helped you through the aftershocks.
“I've got you. Are you alright?” He asked gently, and when you nodded his lips twisted into a smile. “Good. If you're so alright, you have five minutes. I need you inside me, and I'm not planning to wait too long.”
“Asshole,” you rasped, but your hands were already finding his zipper and tugging it down. His underwear, now that you could feel them, were wet with seed; expected with him. You wondered how the world would react if they learned the man destroying the Earth was cumming in his pants from giving a blowjob.
Albert fished out lube from his coat pocket and tossed it to you, smiling crookedly as you warmed it up in your hands. “On all four, sweetheart,” your sore voice rumbled. Eagerly, he pressed his forearms to the gym floor and kneeled down, his ass in the air and spread for you.
You circled around his hole, letting the lube warm up on his skin and drip down his thighs, then pressed a finger in. You both knew this gentleness wasn't going to last. One finger became two whenever his moans grew in pitch, and two became three. Just as he warned you that he was about to cum (he wanted to be a good boy, after all) you ripped the sensation away.
“No! Please, please I need more!” Albert gasped, trying to chase your fingers. By then, your body had recharged and you found yourself hard once more for the man in front of you. You stood on less-shaky legs and coated yourself in lube, then guided the tip of your cock to kiss his fluttering hole.
When he pressed back against you, and you knew he would, you thrust in all at once, damn near splitting him in half. A pornographic scream came from the man under you, but it was quickly drowned out by the sound of skin slapping skin; your balls and your pelvis rutting against his ass.
You grabbed his hips and fucked into him like he was nothing but a toy, your cock squeezed on all sides by his searing heat. You savored every moan of his, a constant whiny stream that broke into shrieks when you bullied his prostate, and your name was chanted over and over as he got close again. Once he fluttered and squeezed around you, you buried yourself to the hilt and threw your head back as you came deep inside him, watching his untouched cock shoot out another load.
Panting, you got down to the floor with him and, still nestled inside him, snuggled up behind him. For a few minutes, you both laid there satisfied and tired. Soon, though, Albert detached himself from you and stood up. “You’re done in the gym for today. Let’s head back to the house,” he asserted.
“What the fuck?” You replied dazedly, looking up at his somewhat fond, mosty blank expression. “Not everyone is superhuman.”
“Not my problem. Need I carry you?” Albert hummed, scooping you up and helping you back into your shorts. You winced at the cold wetness of the crotch from his earlier sucking but managed to get on your own two feet and padded down the hall.
Judging from the flushed faces of a couple security guards, you could tell either you'd both been far too loud or the security cameras in the gym were on and you gave a very good show. Albert’s limp faded away in a few minutes, and you pushed him off you when he suggested a shower together and another round.
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I'm sorry Mom and Dad and the god I forsake at age five.
Guys i genuinely had a google spreadsheet of cop workout routine open for this 😭
Also?? So so sorry for the massive break between posts =( getting back into the swing, trust!! I just lost motivation =/
i love your three steps ahead series and all of your wesker works!! i was wondering if you could write about wesker being jealous? like, reader has one of their bad days and they start crying nonstop because they miss the life they used to have, and they start crying bc they miss their s/o too (and theyre starting to feel guilty bc theyre basically forced by wesker to “love” him so in reader’s eyes they feel like theyre cheating on their s/o) and wesker gets jealous and they have a whole fight? you can go crazy with this idea idm 🫶🫶
This MAY have inspired certain parts of chapter 3... this is #foryou
Three Steps Ahead | Yandere!Albert Wesker x GN!Reader
3: Boiling Point (5k words)
Cw: slight angst, manipulation, chris x reader is brought up more, somewhat cheating? read ask, wesker literally kills someone for talking to reader, minor character’s almost suicide, narcissistic tendencies, nicknames for Albert, reader is slowly succumbing to the manipulation
Nsft cw: porn with lots of plot, non consensual voyeurism, reader bottoms at first!!, soft sex turned rough, getting eaten out (vague so it could be either hole), come eating, premature ejaculation, marathon sex(?), nonconsensual creampie, reader has a strap/dick, spit as lube by choice, reader turns mean, edging, heavy sadism(r) and masochism(w), spitting, gunplay
This work contains smut and is 18+
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Wesker was right. You did need help getting around. But that didn't mean you'd ask for it; he was more than willing to pamper you, but you refused to let him.
You had to keep that thought going through your head so you didn't forget. You hated him. He was the reason you were in pain. He watched as you cried on the floor, and he turned the shock collar up.
But also? He held you through your nightmares, even if some were brought by him. He massaged your aching muscles and would go out for more painkillers whenever you requested, he made your favorite dishes so perfectly it was like he'd practiced them, and he whispered in your ear promises of getting better and fixing the world together and elevating you.
You didn't quite know what that meant, but he spoke so reverently and lovingly it almost made you believe him. But with a twinge of anger, you recalled what you were fighting for. You wouldn't let him win; you wouldn't let him sweet talk his way into your good graces.
You laid lazily on the couch, watching the working TV that Wesker installed for you in the living room. Wesker had guided your head into his lap and was watching your face instead of the TV. His fingers trailed down your scalp and throughout your hair, enjoying this domesticity once more. You suddenly stood up on aching legs, alarming and disappointing Wesker.
“Ah—darling, where are you going? The bathroom? Let me—”
“Get off, Albert. I can walk,” you grunted as you stepped away. You ached, but it was better than feeling his traitorous hands on you, holding you in ways that should have died with him at the mansion lab.
Wesker paused and frowned. “What's this about?” he asked slowly, standing up with you. “You're—oh, you're still trying to distance yourself from me, are you?”
No reply. Wesker continued, “In your head, you can tell yourself you hate me. But your body,” Wesker approached, grasping your chin and pressing your hips to his in a hug of sorts. “Your body tells a different story. I’m saying this from a neurological standpoint, that is—I’ve been studying your sleeping patterns, your hormones, your vitals...”
You broke out of his grasp. “Shut the hell up. I'm just not developing Stockholm’s, does that bother you so badly? That I don't intend to give up?” Somehow, Wesker could tell your thoughts were on something—someone—else.
“You're thinking about him again. Was he better than me?” Wesker asked slowly. “Did Chris touch you in every way that you like? Memorize what parts of his own body gave you pleasure, map out your skin like he's charting stars, moan in your ear how you want him to? How long did he deny himself just so you could hear his voice tremble? Did Chris ever once worship you… like I still do?”
“Stop. This isn't about Chris–”
“No, it always is,” Wesker interrupted. “‘Chris will find me’, ‘Chris will save me,’ screaming ‘Chris’ in your nightmares and whispering ‘Chris’ in your dreams. You may think you love him, but that’s only an excuse for so long. If he comes here, not only will he die, but you will kill him.”
The threat was so sure that it caught you off guard and rendered you speechless with anger.
“I won't,” you replied angrily. “Leave me the fuck alone, Wesker,” you spat for added venom. Suddenly, you fell to the ground in pain as Wesker sent electricity throughout your body. Right, you needed to use his first name.
“I warned you. That was 10 mA. Again, and I'll move it to 15,” he said dispassionately. “Now let me help you up. Do you still need to use the restroom?”
“Yes,” you grit out angrily. Wrenching your arm from his grip, you felt the collar on low; it was just high enough to be extremely uncomfortable, but it wasn’t enough to cause you to drop to the ground. Still, with the ache in your body it really wasn't feasible to get anywhere without Wesker’s help.
When you begrudgingly grabbed his arm for balance, he hugged you to his side and turned off the collar. “That’s much better. You needn’t try to put a brave front on. You can't do anything without me, not like this.”
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“I need to get up,” you announced with a groan, trying to escape Wesker’s arms. “My legs need to stretch. Wesker, let me—what the fuck!?” You screamed as he activated the shock collar again. “What did I do!?”
“I told you. 15 mA; every time you don't call me by name it'll increase. But I'm nice, it'll reset back to ten tomorrow. Aren't I nice?”
In the tense seconds that followed, the collar continued in painful bursts until you forced out. “Yes. You're fucking nice, Albert. Are you happy?” You spat, pushing him off of you. It was bad enough he was using your inability to move to keep you in the bed against your will, but now he was forcing you to suck up to him?
You felt the familiar discomfort of the collar on low and glared at Wesker. “What now? You want to walk me around?” You guessed, since he'd only done that when you strayed too far from him.
“Ex-actly. You're catching on wonderfully, my love,” Wesker cooed demeaningly. He sat up and offered his arm for you to take, and since you wanted the collar to stop, you grabbed on without complaint.
He walked you around the house like you were a leashed animal in need of exercise, then immediately brought you back to the bed. When you protested, saying you wanted to stretch more, he shushed you. “You're sore from the training yesterday. Lie down, we can watch whatever you'd like. I'll have someone bring in a television.”
Training. The words echoed in your mind. You planned to resist, but when you saw Wesker reach into his pocket, you relented before he could shock you again.
Once you settled in, Wesker joined right behind you, spooning you and keeping a possessive arm around you like a seatbelt. After a moment, he grabbed a radio from the nightstand and spoke into it. “Bring a television and remote to my living area. The bedroom. It's the only open door. Remember the rules about my fiancé,” he commanded coldly, then switched off the radio to cuddle closer.
“Fiancé? You're kidding. I'm not dating you, first of all, and second of all, even if I was, you haven't proposed,” you argued, standing your ground even when threatened with a shock.
“You are, actually,” Wesker replied boredly. “And as for being my fiancé, It's really just a matter of semantics. Chris was your boyfriend, was he not? I'd rather not stoop to his level. We're more than simply dating; there's a possibility of separation when one is dating. And the vernacular! ‘Get together,’ ‘dating,’ ‘breaking up;’ I find it childish. No, we are far more advanced than high schoolers finding a date to a dance.”
…the audacity of this man. While he spoke, you sat up to look him in the eyes. “Fuck you,” you said, unsure how else to reply. “Why do you keep bringing Chris up? He's not here. I don't even talk about him that often. You just—”
“Because I've seen you crying over him. Because it makes me angry, darling, that you're still stuck on such an unremarkable, weak man. I could flatten cities if you just asked me to, and he… what, he survives the viruses that I create?” Wesker murmured low in your ear, propping himself up on an arm. “He's only alive because I need combat data. Do you understand how insignificant he is? And how much more you will be with me? You'll transcend humanity. You'll be a god.”
In anger, you pushed his arm off of you and shuffled to the edge of the bed. “Maybe I don't want to be a god. Maybe I want a normal life where I settle down and grow old and don't have to be your little trophy, stuck in here!”
“Lay back down,” he commanded coldly. “Let me hold you.”
With emotions ramping up, your voice grew angrier and cracked. “No, Albert! I'm not lying with you! I slept on the couch for a reason; I don't want to cheat on Chris!”
With that, a silence fell on the room.
“...You should know better than that,” Wesker drawled, a scowl on his face. Slowly, he sat up, grabbing your jaw. “It's not cheating. It's far from it. He's weak, and if he were stronger he might have beat me and deserved you. But he's not, and once he stopped fighting he lost the right to have you.”
“I'm not some possession to have and to deserve,” you spat. “I love him, Albert—” you tried to say, but Wesker released your face forcefully.
“He was a replacement for me! You chose me first, sweetheart, he was nothing but a coworker until the damned mansion incident when you stayed loyal to S.T.A.R.S. instead of me!” Albert shouted in fury. “He was the next best thing after me, and clearly didn't love you enough if he took Valentine with him everywhere! You weren't his first choice, but you're mine,” he snarled. “Why won't you accept me?”
At that moment, the door opened and two men came in, carrying a TV, remotes, and a couple cables. Wesker scowled and sat against the headboard, grabbing you by the shoulder and pulling you into his chest protectively.
The men passed by the bed and you thanked them. One kept his eyes trained solely on the ground, the other flashed an awkward smile and replied a quiet ‘You're welcome.’
You didn't understand why Wesker tensed, but you made idle chatter with the younger man, ignorant to the warning glances from both Wesker and the other employee that were being shot about as subtly as an RPG.
Abruptly, Wesker stood up, grabbed a gun from a hiding place, and shot the man coldly in the head.
“What the fuck?!” You screamed, getting up from the bed in horror.
Wesker rolled his eyes. “Don't be dramatic. You've killed people before.” Blankly, he nodded to the linen closet, ordering the other man to clean up the remains. Once the man set the TV up, he hurriedly mopped up blood and scrubbed down the walls.
“Zombified people! Why the fuck did you do that?” You argued in horror.
“I have a few clear, simple rules. The easiest one is that they aren't to talk to you unless necessary. I can't have you being manipulated by the vermin who might find their way to you. He,” Wesker pointed the gun lazily to the body, “disobeyed a rule. He spoke to what's mine.”
You recalled with a dull disgust the flippant comment he'd made that sparked the whole argument earlier, ‘Remember the rules about my fiancé.’ Was that what he meant? “He wasn't doing anything! I talked to him first!”
“It doesn't matter. This gentleman here hasn't said a word. He'll get to live. That's all there is to it,” Wesker shrugged. He wiped his gun on a rag then laid the rag on the face of the dead man, where a clean bullet hole was the only indication of anything other than paralysis. “Now, then. We have a television in here, so do you have any film requests?”
Wesker sat back down and administered a morphine shot in through your thigh. You flinched at the intrusion and watched as Wesker wiped off the drop of blood that came from the injection site and licked it from his thumb. He clipped off the needle of the syringe and disposed of both.
You stared at the body on the floor, guilt racking your body. “You never told me about those bullshit rules,” you said shakily.
“You didn't need to know. They did. All you need to do is stay close to me, you'll be fine,” he dismissed. “Come here. Now.”
You glanced over at Wesker, his arms open impatiently for you to crawl into. “Come now, darling. You wouldn't want another man dead, would you? Excuse me, you, what's your name?”
The other employee looked alarmed and stammered out a reply. “I’m—I’m Gavin.”
“Gavin, I'd like you to shoot yourself.” You didn't expect Gavin to accept this, but he walked across the room and grabbed the very gun Wesker used moments before.
You yelped in alarm. “Shit! Okay, I'm coming!” You said as you got close enough for him to grab you and pull you closer.
“There we are. Never mind, Gavin, you're free to leave once you take the fellow on the floor out,” Wesker hummed, stroking your hair adoringly. “That wasn't so hard. Has the opiate kicked in yet?”
“No. It hasn't,” you grit out. You turned around, away from his face, but all that did to deter his affection was let him bury his face in your hair.
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You had no interest in the movie that Wesker put on. It was something in black and white, and from the looks of it was some mid-1930s mystery with a man, woman, and scruffy dog. Throughout it, Wesker pressed himself close to you and whispered in your ear whenever there was a lull in the action. You internally regret not choosing the movie.
“We’ll kill him, sweetheart, and you'll thank me for it.”
“When you accept me, I can give you a rare gift. Don't you want it?”
“I was lost without you. Didn’t you miss me?”
“I never stopped loving you. It tore me up, thinking about how many men tried to proposition you when I wasn't right beside you. It's easier when I can just—well, just kill whoever gets on my nerves.”
“There's cameras in your home. You couldn't have known, I made sure of that. I wasn't keen on being cut out entirely. It was comforting, seeing you live life with nobody watching. Your days off became my personal livestreams; it got to a point where I couldn't sleep unless I played one.”
“Albert?” You spoke up finally, wanting to nip this in the bud before Wesker devolved into confessing war crimes in your name.
“Mmh? Yes, my love?” He grinned as he brushed his lips across your throat.
“Albert, I don't want to hear how you stalked me.”
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You and Albert—no, Wesker—had a lot of conversation. Some of it was him talking about his studies and most of it was him talking about you.
You cut in occasionally with an “Albert, I'm not sure who would be left to officiate a wedding if you kill ninety percent of people” or an “Albert, kids aren't exactly probable at our age” or an “Albert, I'm not exactly a fan of you killing the majority of people I interact with.”
Soon, Wesker laid on your chest, gazing up at you with admiration in his slitted, carnelian eyes. You stared back and stroked his hair. “Are you in any pain, dear heart?” He asked, referring to your aching muscles.
“Not much,” you sighed.
Wesker drummed his fingers on his thigh and glanced up at you. “Well, I'm not sure what else medicine can do for your pain. Perhaps we should look at alternatives.”
With a curious hum, you accepted the bait. “Alternative?”
“Endorphins,” he added matter-of-factly. He offered no more explanation.
“Um… what, you want to take me to the gym? That's counterintuitive. I'm in pain because of my muscles,” you guessed.
“No, not the gym. I mean sex, of course. After an orgasm, your brain releases a massive amount of endorphins, which are natural painkillers,” Wesker added bluntly. “I’ll go gently, of course. Or perhaps you'd be more comfortable with control?”
“What? Are you kidding?”
“Of course not. I could prep you, if you'd like.”
“Albert—”
“It's been far too long since we were intimate. You've had mediocre sex from Chris ever since I left. I'd like to rectify your poor experiences,” Wesker shrugged.
“Were you watching us!?”
“You for pleasure, he for study. I had no real interest in watching Redfield besides figuring out what he somehow blundered upon and got right. Anyways, from what I could tell, you only orgasmed 72% of the time, compared to his hund—”
“What? Stop talking about this! You're no better than him. You—you were premature every time, and—”
“I made up for it with stamina. You've never gone more than two rounds with him, even after so long of… ‘dating’. Need I remind you of our excursions, where—”
“Albert!”
“Yes, dearest?”
“I want you to shut up so badly, I will let you eat me out,” you said bluntly. Usually, you wouldn't allow him because it turned into a literal hour of overstimulation, but it was better than listening to him pull up sex statistics of all things.
Wesker froze. His eyes seemed to glow in excitement and he sat up immediately. He chuckled shakily, tugging off your sweatpants with his superhuman speed. He took the underwear with him, tossing it on the ground without a care.
His own pajamas sported an already damp tent; he couldn't even think properly. He laid flat and guided your hips right down onto his face, pausing before he brought you you down all the way.
“I've been waiting for you to say that,” he whispered softly as he buried his face in your sex. He inhaled deeply and moaned, canting his hips up desperately. “It's been too long,” he groaned. “I love you.”
As his tongue breached your hole, you gasped and ground softly on his face. It was like he remembered just how your body worked. Each moan of Albert’s, which were practically constant, reverberated through your body and shot pleasure down your spine.
Soon—or perhaps much longer after; you could never tell time when Albert was ravishing you—it grew too much and you tried to lift off of him, but Albert grabbed your hips and kept you securely back down.
“Al—Al, I'm gonna cum,” you warned, embarrassed by how quick it felt, to which he pressed right into your weak spot with his tongue. Again. And again. The onslaught of stimulation forced it out of you and you heard Albert exhale with excitement.
With a surprised gasp, you came, but Albert lifted you off of him so he could catch and swallow all of your release. Whatever he didn't get, he scooped up and licked erotically off his fingers. “Fuck, you're so pretty like this,” you murmured in amazement.
Albert closed his eyes in pleasure, grinning lazily as you laid beside him. “I'm not done. Of course, I love tasting you, but I-I need you to know how much better I am. At least—mmh—at least three rounds.”
You glanced down at his crotch, which was wet with at least one orgasm’s worth. “Oh, Albert… Did you cum?”
“Ah—twice. I can't help it. Missed you. Don't—don't worry. Three rounds for you. I can recharge in minutes,” he babbled breathlessly. Albert regained his senses and slipped off his bottoms, somehow still hard despite the ejaculate coating his lower half.
Having been thoroughly tonguefucked, you sank down on Albert’s cock and groaned at the ease of it.
“You're perfect, Bee,” you whispered out. You'd completely forgotten who you were dealing with: a terrorist, a murderer, a stalker. Your lover. “Fucking stellar. I can feel every inch, you know that?”
Albert couldn't help his hips from twitching into you. “I love you so much.”
“You're so horny it makes you dumb,” you chuckled shakily.
It was slow and enjoyable; you left hickey after hickey on his chest, enjoying the cracks in his voice as you tore him apart. It wasn't animalistic like you'd expected from him—after all, he'd been watching you for years and couldn't even see you face to face. You weren't sure if you liked his new eyes, but it was somewhat amusing to see them flash with light every once in a while.
Neither of you were in any rush; you both knew that you would climax eventually and were willing to wait. It seemed an eternity passed between that day at the Spencer estate and today. You were so high on affection and pleasure that your guilt melted away and was replaced by the burn in your thighs and the tightness in your core.
“Say you love me. Please,” Albert whined, guiding your hips in ellipsoidal motions. “Please, I need you to. You love me, right?”
“Ah—! Fuck, Bee, yes, I love you,” you groaned, panting on his neck. You didn't even realize what you said until after he laughed erratically and began bucking up into you.
“That's it. That's all I need. Please, please, I need to cum. Inside of you? That’s alright?” He begged, his back arching in a barely contained peak.
“W-What? Don't you dare. Pull out,” you demanded, your brain clearing at the thought of cleanup you really didn't want to do, but he shook his head.
“No. I'm sorry. I can't. Need it inside of you. I'm sorry, I’m sorry, I’msorryImsorryImsorry,” he babbled, pulling you down and cumming hard inside of your hole.
You groaned; it felt good, the familiar sensation of his hot seed filling your hole and lubricating even better, but irritation overtook you at his disobedience.
Before Albert left S.T.A.R.S., he was the perfect brat: all you'd have to do is break him down enough and he'd hang on to every word you said. You had to restart. You had to make him realize his place all over again.
With your mind made up, you knew what you had to do. “You'll fucking pay for that,” you growled, pulling out before the aftershocks cleared and flipping him on his back.
“What? No—no, no, no, don’t—ah!”
You spat directly on his asshole, watching his still-twitching cock jolt from the obscenity. Slipping a finger roughly in, you targeted his prostate so cruelly that he was yelping and begging for forgiveness.
“Please! Ah, I'm still—darling, you'll make me come again!” He warned, glowing eyes widening. “I'm still—it's sensitive!”
“No, no, no. You wanted to cum so badly, I'm letting you. Come on, Albert, you can cum again, can't you? How can you call yourself a God if you can't handle overstimulation?” You grit out, spewing filth into his ears. He moaned, clenching on your finger, and you added a second.
Albert’s arm blindly flopped over to the nightstand and he rummaged around by touch to find the lube he'd hidden in there.
“You slut,” you chuckled in disbelief as he handed it to you. “You knew this would happen. Put it back, you're not getting lube this time. You're getting fucked with nothing but spit, and if you tear, that's your own damn fault.”
Albert nodded his head erratically, bucking into your fingers desperately. “Y-yes, okay, I'm sorry,” he acquiesced. He was getting off on this harsh treatment, you were aware, and it brought you no small amount of excitement.
After three fingers, you decided he was sufficiently prepped. You pulled them out in one motion, watching as he whined at the loss, and spit on his gaping hole one more time before lining up the head of your cock and pushing in.
You entered a flow state, ramming in and out of his body. Your irritation only grew to anger once you thought about your situation at any length. He was a good hole, that was for sure, but it didn't excuse his acts of evil.
You grew rougher and meaner when you recalled the damn shock collar still around your neck.
You began to bite once you thought about his obsession with being better than Chris.
You flipped him over when you glanced up and saw the bloodstain on the carpet from that poor worker.
His punishment was chosen when you thought about your home, how deeply you missed it, and how angry you were that you were stuck here.
“You don't get to cum, Albert,” you said coldly, to which Albert whimpered in panic. He had nowhere to hide, face up on the bed with his legs to the side while you thrust mercilessly into him.
“What!? Ah—why not?”
“Don't question me. You don't get to cum,” you repeated, grabbing his chin. “Understand?”
“But I need to,” he argued mindlessly, his brain blank with desperation.
With a loud smack, Albert’s mouth hung agape and his eyes glazed over. You weren't sure if it was pleasure, shock, or something else. He had gasped when you slapped him across the face, nearly cumming right then if not for the firm grip you had on the base of his cock. He didn't even notice until he looked at himself, expecting ropes of ejaculate to spurt out.
“Don't argue either. Who the fuck do you think you are? You can cum if you promise to get this shock collar off.”
“No, no, you need it! Hrrk—!” He was cut off as you grabbed him roughly by the base of his scalp.
“Run that by me again?” You growled into his ear.
“I-I can give you breaks from it. Is that okay? A week? I'll give you a week without the collar. And then—then, I'll focus on positive reinforcement! I promise, just—please!”
“Do I need to bitch slap you again?”
“Slap me all you want. Please do. I just can't—oh!”
He wasn't this masochistic before the mansion incident. You knew it was exciting him, but it was also extremely cathartic to take your anger out on him. You hit him until your hands both stung, but after each slap Albert only giggled manically and stared up at you with unblinking eyes.
You needed something else; something with more power than a simple hit. You grabbed his throat and constricted his breathing until his mouth was agape in a desperate grab for air. Suddenly, you spat directly into his mouth and he jolted almost violently.
You let go of his throat, but all that served to do was bring back his babbling. After a lengthy amount of sputtering, of course.
“Haah—Please, let me cum. I-I'll replace the collar with something else,” he finally promised, his best offer just to be able to find the release he so desperately needed.
“With what?”
“A-a bracelet! I've been designing it—I'll tell you all about it. Let me cum, please!”
With a scowl, you released your hand from Albert’s cock and watched as Albert was wrecked with wave after wave of agonizing pleasure. You got up and left him on the bed to find a towel, and when you came back he was still spurting cum like it was his first time with a person.
His come was a color not natural to humans, likely a result of the Prototype virus he'd injected himself with. A virus. And you'd just fucked this man into oblivion, kissed him, and— most damning of all—he came inside you. Were you infected with the virus now? He did it on purpose!
You grabbed the gun from where you recalled it to be and shoved it in his mouth, the cold barrel nearly chipping a tooth. “Did you infect me with that Prototype?” You snarled. “Was that your plan, Albert?”
Albert’s eyes rolled back. He mumbled something that you didn’t understand, so you took the gun out of his mouth and he actually fucking whined a high, keening sound. He tried to follow the muzzle but you forced him back down.
“Speak,” you instructed, like he was a dog.
“Wasn’t… wasn’t my intention at all,” he rasped, “fuck, I just came. You’re gonna… you drive me crazy.”
Your eyes narrowed at his answer; he was more horny than intelligent right now. “Will it infect me?”
“No, no, no,” he panted, “I wouldn’t—not without your knowledge. Has to be special.”
You let out a scoff and tossed the gun aside. “Fine. Need any help, or should I let you take care of that alone?” You nodded to his dick, which found itself erect and weeping once more after the gun. It must have ached something awful, since he’d been in a state of perpetual arousal since before this encounter started.
Albert nodded shakily, lying back on the bed and allowing you to help him through what might have been his sixth of the night.
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Exhausted was an understatement. He’d brought up the idea under the excuse of endorphins—what bullshit. By the time he tuckered himself out, the bed was filthy with both of your fluids and even with such a powerful body he hardly wanted to stand up long enough to shower off.
You had to yell at him not to call someone to change the bedsheets for him. Apparently, when someone was the most powerful terrorist in the world, they didn’t feel much shame when those ‘beneath’ them saw their sexual endeavors.
Eventually, you managed to get up and grab sheets from the linen closet, but the blankets were ruined. Luckily, there were a few on the couch and the bedspread would be washed in the morning.
You didn’t want to think about how you should be fighting Albert. It was hard when he slipped under your skin and nestled into your brain, like how he nestled into your chest and slept so soundly after the evening you’d had.
He ordered food to be delivered to the room, barely had a few bites, then cuddled up to your body and slept. He was… adorable. It pissed you off.
You pulled the blanket over your shoulders and tried to think. Maybe he’d already gotten you to personally forgive him, sure, but that didn’t mean you were a mindless follower.
You wouldn’t turn on someone from S.T.A.R.S. if you saw them. That was something. And you wouldn’t kill Chris. You supposed Albert was right; you and Chris weren’t really anything anymore if he’d let you be captured. And you did love Albert before you even noticed Chris romantically.
You regret not gaining Albert’s trust faster. If you did, he may have let you in and given you information you could have used to stop this bioweapon, but instead you were trapped uselessly inside an apartment.
“You don’t still love him, do you?” Asked Albert, which surprised you since you believed him to be asleep.
After a moment, you answered. “...no, I don’t think I do.”
“Good. That’s good,” he mumbled, nuzzling you gently. “You love me. Don’t you?”
A soft smile graced your features. He was asleep. “Yes. I do.”
┌───────────────────────┐
DAMN this took a long time. I know I said I was slowing down but this was fun to write. My only goal was to write a chapter around 5k words, so I am more than pleased.
Read my other Wesker works? The plot may not make sense without.
If anyone has plot ideas for some filler chapters so I don't have to do a three year time skip, I'd love to hear some! Can be anything at all. I mean anything. You want to see them on a trip to a picnic? Ask!! You want to see Wesker get absolutely railed? Send in a couple kinks!!! You want to see more of reader losing their mind? Me too!!!!
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