I'm so glad you're here. Thank you for reading and following along 🩵
I love yapping about my current hyperfixations, and right now that's Resident Evil and Jujutsu Kaisen.
You can also find my work on AO3 under the username PiscesLady 🐟 I write pretty sporadically. All constructive feedback is welcome and appreciated.
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Thanks again for stopping by. Let's be weird about fictional people together. 🍒
!! MDNI !!
FIC MASTERLIST
* means the fic contains smut! Most do! Titles that have the same emoji next to them means that the fics are apart of a series.
albert wesker/reader where he finds out she has nipple piercings? boob guy albert lmao
im wondering if hed want to use her tits for a boob job, to finish all over them
or !!! or if hed tease her through lets say a thin cami tank, degrading her and asking if she dresses slutty for his attention or that kinda shabang !!
thought it was a hot idea but feel free to deny, hun!! love ur work as per usual <3
Chrome
Synopsis - While your fiancé Albert was away for a few weeks you decided to get your nipples pierced as a surprise. Which he loves... but he doesn't love you doing it without his permission.
⛓️ Pairing - Albert Wesker × Reader
Word Count - 2.5k
CW - MDNI - Established relationship, dirty talk, teasing, degradation, praise, nipple play, nipple piercings, boob job / breast fucking, ejaculating on boobs, oral sex (f & m receiving), deep throating, mean Albert Wesker, dominant Albert Wesker
⛓️ Authors Note - Anon did you reach into my brain and pick out this scenario? This is so hot I could kiss you. Pushing my nipple piercing agenda fr (anyone thinking about getting them should, they’re so fun and cute) 😭🩷
I'm gonna make him mean in this one.
The morning light of summer spilled through the windows and across the cold sheets beside you. You could have sworn you heard him come home last night. A distant memory of boots on hardwood and the creak of the stairs. Yawning, you pushed yourself up, shrugging on your robe and leaving it open as you padded downstairs.
You found him in the kitchen, pouring water for tea. Tall, dressed immaculately even in the early hour. You wrapped your arms around him from behind, pressing your chest flush against his broad back. "Welcome home," you murmured, voice thick with sleep.
Albert turned and his gaze swept over you. "Good morning," he purred, the corner of his mouth twitching. "Coffee?"
You nodded as he retrieved a mug for you while you reached for the sugar. As you turned back toward him, his hand caught your shoulder. A firm, grip that stilled you mid-motion. With his other hand, he tugged the robe aside. His glacial eyes dropped, thumb brushing the thin fabric of your camisole, tracing the outline of a barbell beneath.
"Thought I felt something different."He set the mug down on the counter with a soft clink. "When were you going to tell me you had this done?"
A blush crept across your cheeks. "I wanted it to be a surprise."
He hummed low in his throat, stepping closer until his chest nearly touched yours. "I suppose if that's the case, you wanted me to notice." His hands came up to cradle the weight of your breasts in his palms, thumbs sweeping over the peaked fabric. "I thought I told you if you wanted any modifications done to your body, you let me approve first. Even a single hair cut from that pretty head of yours, I want to know about it.” He trailed off for a moment as he admired. “Is it healed?”
You nodded, whimpering as he pinched lightly through the fabric. "Yes- I wanted to surprise you. You were gone for months, Al-"
"Sensitive," he murmured, more to himself than to you, intrigued.
"Do you like them?"
"Darling, you'd know if I didn't." He pressed his hips forward, grinding against you, letting you feel exactly what he thought. "I think you can deduce that I like them a great deal."
One finger traced down the neckline of your camisole, hooking the fabric and pulling it aside. Your breasts spilled free, nipples pebbling in the cold morning air, accentuating the silver barbells that pierced each center. Albert hummed in approval, eyes darkening.
"Tell me," he said, voice dropping to a silken whisper. "Does it feel good to show these off to me? Getting my attention?"
"Yes," your breath hitched as his palms cradled you again, thumbs circling the sensitive peaks. He leaned your head back, pressing a kiss against the column of your throat. "I missed you so much. I just wanted to make you happy." A soft groan escaped you as he nipped at your neck, teeth grazing the tender skin.
"These do make me happy," he hummed with amusement. "You make me happy." His thumb flicked the barbell, making you jolt. "Such a slut for my attention, aren't you?"
"Only for you," you moaned, clutching his arms.
He caressed the soft flesh, admiring the metallic glint catching the morning light. "Do you prefer my fingers running over them? Or pinching?"
"B-both."
"Greedy." He clicked his tongue. "Did you play with them before I got home?"
"Yes," you whispered. A blush rising to your cheeks. "Thinking about you."
"Good girl." His hand slid down your stomach, past the waistband of your shorts, two fingers threading through your slick petals with practiced ease. He plunged inside and you whined, knees buckling as you steadied yourself against his body. "Darling, you're soaked. Just from my touch?" He withdrew his fingers, lifted them to his lips, and licking your essence clean with a slow swipe of his tongue before taking a sip from his mug. "I'm going to enjoy this." He set the mug back down. "Strip. Go to the bed, lay on your back. I want my breakfast."
You nodded, tugging your top back into place as you headed upstairs.
••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••
You spread out on the mattress, heart pounding. Withdrawing from the kiss, he drew himself up with a predators grace at the foot of the bed, drinking you in, his gaze dragging over your exposed skin. The morning light cut across your body, highlighting the glisten of your thighs and the chrome of your piercings.
"Perfect," he murmured to himself.
His mouth traveled down your body in a cruel worship, licking and biting at your breasts, paying special attention to the barbells. With each caress his tongue laved the metal with saliva. You cradled his head close, fingers carding through his blond hair, whimpering as he sucked dark blossoming marks onto the soft flesh and down your body.
A sharp gasp escaped you as his hot tongue licked between your thighs, dragging up from your entrance to your clit in a devastating stroke. His hands gripped your thighs to spread you wider, holding you open for him to devour. Devour he did, lapping at you with methodical precision, circling your clit with the flat of his tongue before flicking the tip against it, alternating pressure and rhythm until you were a whimpering mess. Your fingers tangled in his perfect hair, clinging onto him with white knuckles. The hum of approval he let out around your clit sent another wave of pleasure through you. He sucked softly at the swollen flesh for a moment, drawing a keening moan from you before delving deeper, tongue pushing inside you to taste. His hand reached up to grip your breast, thumb and forefinger pinching the pierced bud. You gushed against his tongue, crying out, hips grinding against his face while ecstasy tangled in your chest.
"That's it," he murmured into your flesh, his breath hot and wet. “Let me taste how much you missed me."
Everything in your mind narrowed onto the sensation of his mouth, his tongue, his hands gripping your thigh and breast hard enough to bruise as you rode out your crest of your orgasm. He pulled back just enough to speak, lips brushing against your sensitive core.
"You're dripping," he observed clinically as he pulled up, hands returning your breasts, kneading them his thumbs brushing against your nipples.
The onslaught of sensation was so much as he pulled you into a possessive kiss, tasting yourself on his lips, drinking in your moans. His cock ground against your pussy, sliding through the your arousal and cum, the pressure against your clit nearing overstimulation.
"Please, I want you to finish inside me- need it- missed you so much.” You whine into his chest, looking up at him with doe-eyes.
He tilted his head, examining you like a specimen. "Do you really think you're worthy of that after disobedience? Knees."
Obeying, you sank down onto the plush carpet in front of him. "I thought you liked them," you murmured, hands falling to caress his thighs.
"I do." He tilted your chin up, your gaze meeting icy blue. "But you disobeyed me. They don't cancel each other out." His thumb swept across your bitten lower lip. "I missed you, that's why I rewarded you with my tongue. Now I get to see how pretty your tits look wrapped around me. Since you wanted my attention so badly." He paused. "Get it wet."
Nodding, you took the silky weight of him into your palm. He was thick, especially at the base, length was still glossy from your own arousal. You admired the pretty flush of his skin as you gave a slow pump. Leaning in, you pressed a soft kiss to the tip before wrapping your lips around him. His fingers threaded through your hair and anchored to your scalp, guiding your rhythm as you lave your tongue along the underside of his shaft, tracing a prominent vein.
You took him deeper until the tip hit the back of your throat, suppressing a gag as he gripped your strands and thrust deeper. A gurgling sound escaped as you struggled to breathe, eyes watering as your nose met the well-kept blonde curls at his base. A smirk crept across his lips while he held you there, watching your lips flush against the base until a drop of drool slipped down over his balls. He pulled back. You coughed, sputtering into the carpet.
"Beautiful,” he murmured, holding your breasts in his hands, pressing them together before threading his cock between them. Slick and hot against your skin, the silver barbells catching the light with every movement. You pressed them together tighter, your hands interlacing with his. When you looked up at him you caught the way his jaw tightened at the sight, glacial eyes hooded as he watched himself disappear between your breasts.
"Look at you," he breathed, canting his hips in an unhurried rhythm. "Did you think about this when you got them?" His thumb traced the barbell where it peeked out from the side of your breast, flicking it hard enough to make you shudder. "Did you imagine me fucking your tits while you sat in that chair, letting some stranger pierce what's mine?"
You whimpered, arching your back to give him more, to feel him drag against the sensitive metal. "I-I thought about you-"
"Of course you did." A cruelly soft laugh left his lips. "You think about me constantly, don't you? When you're touching yourself. When you're getting dressed. Even when you're getting holes put in your body without asking my permission." His hips rose in pace, thrusting faster, the wet sounds of your saliva and his precum filling the quiet room. "You're obsessed with me. I find it... endearing.”
The word hung in the air as a semisweet compliment, but his grip on your breasts was bruising, controlling the pressure around his cock. The head peeking out from the top of your cleavage, flushed and glistening, before sinking back down into the soft valley of your skin.
“Spit.” He commanded.
You let a string of spit fall from your lips and onto the head of his cock. The sight made his grip tighten. The mix of drool and precum coated his shaft, slicking across your breasts.
"Look at the mess you've made," he murmured, reaching to gather a drop of saliva from the corner of your mouth,
spreading it over your lower lip. "Drooling all over yourself like a bitch in heat and you call yourself my partner."
"Fiancée," you corrected weakly, breath hitching as he snapped his hips forward, balls slapping hard against your sternum.
"Oh, you’re correcting me now? So bold for a slut who has my cock between her tits." He slowed to a maddening grind, letting you feel every inch of him, thick and heavy against your chest. "You're right, though. My fiancée. My pretty, disobedient little fiancée who's going to learn that surprises come with consequences." He thumbed the barbell again, twisting it gently, you gasped.
"But I suppose I can't stay mad at you. Not when you're so eager to be used."
"I wanted to make you happy, Albert," you whimpered. Arousal dropped down your thighs.
"You have." His tone softened. "You've made me very happy. So happy I might just forgive you for the disobedience." He reached down, gripping your chin, forcing you to look up at him. "But first, I'm going to use these perfect, pierced tits of yours until I'm satisfied. Then I'm going to cover them in my cum so everyone who sees you today knows exactly what you are."
"Your slut," you gasped.
"That's right." He released your chin, both hands returning to squeeze your breasts, fingers digging into the soft flesh, controlling every thrust. "My slut. My pretty slut with the pierced nipples, a dripping cunt and the mouth that never knows when to stay shut." His rhythm stuttered slightly. "You want to cum again, don’t you? I can feel it in the way you're trembling. How you're clenching around nothing, wishing it was my cock inside you instead of between your tits." He hissed through gritted teeth.
"Please," you whined, tears pricking at your eyes. "Please, I need-"
"You need what?" The wet sounds from his quick thrusts obscene in the quiet room. "To come? To have me fill you up?" A cruel smile curved his lips. "You're not getting that. You came on my tongue today, and that's more than you deserve. This?" He groaned lowly. "This is for me. I want to watch this pretty face of yours looking up at me, desperate and ruined, knowing you'll do anything for my attention."
"I will," your chest heaving.
"See, that's what makes you so perfect." His voice gentle, totally at odds with the brutal pace of his hips. Albert cupped your face with one hand, thumb stroking your cheek, even as his cock ravaged the soft valley of your breasts. "You're my pathetic, needy little thing and I wouldn't have it any other way." The hold on your face tightened, fingers gripping your jaw, and you watched his eyes go dark. "Open your mouth, stick out your tongue.”
You obeyed instantly, lips parting. He pulled out of your cleavage, the sudden loss of him pressing against you making you whimper, and pumped himself twice, three times, before hot stripes of cum painted across your lips, your tongue, your cheeks, catching the barbell of your left nipple as he angled down. A deep groan left him, hips jerking through the last pulses of release. The head of his cock teasing at your piercing, slathering his cum against the sensitive skin. When he was done, he stood there, chest heaving, blond hair hanging over his brow. He looked down, taking in the state of you: face glazed, breasts smeared, piercings glinting through the mess.
"Beautiful," he murmured, "look at you. My perfect little slut." Reaching down, he swiped a thumb through the mess on your cheek, bringing it to your lips. "Clean it."
You accepted, pink tongue lapping at his thumb, the taste of him blooming over your tongue with notes of salt and musk. You sucked until he pulled away and tilted your chin up to meet his satisfied gaze.
"Good girl." He pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, a stark contrast to the filth cooling on your skin. "Now get cleaned up. I want my tea before it goes cold." He turned and walked toward the door, pausing with his hand on the frame.
"Oh, darling?" Turning, your eyes met the lazy smirk that curved his lips. "When I get home tonight, I expect a full tour of every modification you've been hiding from me. If I find any surprises you didn't tell me about..." he paused, letting the threat hang in the air."You will be on your knees for a lot longer than this." The door clicked shut behind him.
Took this req as a little break from my longer Boots fic continuation that will hopefully be done by next week. In the meantime I hope you enjoyed this bc I certainly did 😚
The key to writing good fanfiction is to harbor a deeply humiliating desire, and the trick there is that even pretty basic and societally-accepted desires like “being held” and “being wanted” CAN and WILL be humiliating if they’re intense enough. Become so estranged from human connection that the idea of someone playing with your hair fills you with yearning so deep you feel like you’re going to throw up and you will write some banger fanfiction. It might have some other consequences too but idrk about that.
To the anon who sent me a message calling me a LARPer for not knowing Weskers eye color depending on the game off the top of my head needs to touch grass fr!!
Guys quick what color are Weskers eyes post RE5 around RE4 era? They’re definitely not blue but I want to say they’re still like that inhuman orange from Code Veronica? This guy changes his eyes every single game I stg
Guys quick what color are Weskers eyes post RE5 around RE4 era? They’re definitely not blue but I want to say they’re still like that inhuman orange from Code Veronica? This guy changes his eyes every single game I stg
Synopsis - In the final stages of the mission you seek to link up with Echo-7, your support team deployed to an underground bioweapons facility to assist Chris Redfield and his squad in securing critical samples. A stark realization takes you as you consider why command sent you in with no intel.
🔥 Authors Note - I popped off with the setup for this one ngl sorry if it's super long 🩷 I’m going to post a part 2 for body worship / smut!
The cold, concrete corridor narrowed as your boots carried you deeper into the facility. One by one you cleared identical corridors of carnage. Each filled with a mix of broken glass, dead BOWs, blood trickling down the walls, shell casings that rolled and clinked against the floor as your stride hit them.
The fluorescent lights above flickered erratically, casting your shadow in strobe-like fragments against tiles. Deeper in the maze, a fuse box hummed and sputtered. The sound of a facility slowly dying. Your radio crackled with static as you pressed the earpiece deeper, straining for any sign of your team.
"Echo-7 team, do you copy? What's your status?" You kept your voice low. The corridor stretched before you, a labyrinth of identical intersections and dead ends. File rooms, labs, cryogenic chambers. No response other than the hiss of steam from a broken pipe somewhere in the darkness.
"Baseline, this is Echo-7 Leader. Sixth level is clear. Requesting extraction coordinates. Over."
After a moment a voice cut through the static interference. "Echo-7 Leader, continue your position to Seventh level. Await further instructions."
The voice of your dispatch was dismissive.
You swallowed hard, the sterile laboratory air in the upper levels dissipated the further down you went. Now, the air carried a muggy, humid feeling that slithered against your skin. You had been clearing the facility for what felt like a day and a half without break, subsisting on your supplies which were dwindling with each shot taken and each staircase traversed downwards.
The file they'd given you was too thin for an assignment this major. A few pages of schematics, a basic bio on potential targets, and a single line of instruction:
Neutralize or delay.
Priority: containment of samples.
No details on capabilities or mention of any viral enhancements. No warnings of any kind. You thought for a moment, perhaps they were protecting classified information or they didn't want to overwhelm you with intel and rather focus on the mission at hand. They trusted your training to carry you through. You'd survived horrors that most people only saw in nightmares and through that grit you earned a place on this team as its leader.
For now the scrape of your boots against the debris-strewn floor was the only company as you moved downward to Seventh. Clearing a corner, the sharp smell of formaldehyde burned your eyes and nose. The corridor opened into a wide and sinister chamber. Rows upon rows of glass vats lining the walls cast green light into your path. The majority of them empty, no doubt the source of a number of the creatures you and your Echo team had killed since your descent into the earth.
The lights were dimmer on this floor, some dead entirely, leaving pools of shadow that seemed to breathe. A broken terminal sparked in the corner, casting brief, blue-white flashes across the room.You held your breath, listening for signs of life. After a beat you exhaled slowly, the grip on your gun loosening a fraction.
"Baseline, I'm at the main laboratory. No contact with Echo-7 team. Requesting location."
The radio crackled. "Echo-7 lead, maintain mission. Extraction is en route."
Somewhere deep in your gut echoed that it was a lie, but you pushed the thought away as you couldn't afford doubt. Chris and his squad were the priority, that's what they'd told you. They were the ones securing the samples, the ones with the real mission. You were support.
Moving through the chamber, your eyes scanned the darkness creeping in from the corners. The vats cast distorted reflections of your own form. You caught a glimpse of movement in one of them and spun, weapon raised.
A trick of the light.
A bead of sweat traced a path down your temple. The air in the facility was humid, your vest felt suffocating as if weight of your gear was pressing down on you like a soaked blanket. You tried the radio again. "Echo-7 team, this is Echo Leader, do you copy? I'm-"
A distant crash echoed down the hallway branching to your left. The sound the brutal thwack of heaviness meeting flesh and bone. A wet, sickening thud before silence.
You froze, breath catching in your throat. Without thought your hand shot to the radio. "Echo-7 team! what's your status? Report! I heard"
More static, but then, crackling through the interference, a voice. Not one of your team.
"How disappointing…"
"Echo Lead, this is Baseline. Hold your position. Repeat, hold your position."
You shook your head. "I heard something-someone. Echo team might be compromised. I'm moving to provide support."
"Negative, Echo Lead. You are not authorized to move. Hold your position." Command's voice was controlled, like they were reading from a script.
You froze. The pieces started to click together, each one a cold truth that settled into your chest like carved stones. The thin file and lack of intel. The dismissive tone. The fact that you'd been sent alone while the rest of the team took an alternate route to the lower levels. The word was a fragile whisper in your mind. Your training screamed at you to ignore the doubts, to follow orders, to trust the chain of command.
You'd spent years learning and building the discipline that kept you alive in the worst moments. But this wasn't just a bad feeling anymore, it had evolved. Gut lurching with each step while the conclusion slowly dawned on you.
You tried the radio again, voice trembling despite your best efforts to steady it. "Command, I need confirmation. My team, Echo-7, where are they?"
A long pause. The static hissed in your ear like a serpent.
"Lead Echo, Echo-7's status is unknown. Maintain position."
Unknown. Fucking liars.
A cold sweat broke out across your skin. Leaning against a broken console, your head suddenly feeling light. Your fingers found the edge of your vest, fumbling with the pocket where you'd stashed the file. You read the mission parameters again, eyes scanning, searching for anything you might have missed.
Objective: Support Redfield Squad in containment and extraction of bio-organic samples.
Secondary objective: Neutralize or delay hostile forces.
Tertiary: Team safety.
Hands shaking, the paper crumpled under your grip. You read the line again. Tertiary. Each time the word seemed to shift, rearranging itself into a truth you couldn't ignore. You weren't the support. You were the delay. They hadn't sent you to help Chris. They'd sent you to give Chris and his team time to complete their mission. You were the sacrifice. The lamb led to slaughter while the real soldiers did the real work.
"No." The word cracked in your throat. "No, they wouldn't. They wouldn't do that."
Even as the denial left your lips, you knew it was the truth.
You'd seen it before in briefings, in the calculating eyes of command officers who tracked soldiers as assets to be spent. It was an unfortunate truth of the job and you had told yourself it wouldn't befall you. You were too good and valuable to be thrown away for the sake of a mission.
A desperate breath clawed its way out of your chest, the sound ragged and broken. Eyes burning as tears welled in your lash line. You blinked them away. You couldn't afford to break down as blood boiled in your veins. Your team was still alive and they just couldn't reach you because of the interference. The concept was a candle in the darkness. A tiny, flickering hope that you clung to with a steel grip.
Forcing your legs to move, you pushed up from the console. Forcing your training to take over as you moved through the chamber, footsteps echoing through the oppressive silence as you continued to the source of the grotesque noise.
The sting of small wounds you had sustained throughout the mission radiated with each step. You'd have to tend to them when you came across supplies later, when you'd found your team. When you'd proven that you weren't disposable. The first aid sprays you had were long gone.
A door blocked your path and while you searched for a key or code your radio hissed and went unanswered. You couldn't stomach another dose of Command's clinical detachment, the voice of someone who had already written you off. A monitor nearby caught your eye. A sticky note with a scribbled code still clung the screen. Punching it into the keypad, the door slid open with a sharp burst of air. Your breath left you in a rush.
A body. The patch on his shoulder was the insignia of Echo-7. He was slumped against the wall with his head twisted at an impossible angle, chest caved in that could only have been caused by an inhuman force. Open eyes looked back at you, frozen in an expression of utter shock. There was not much blood as he’d been thrown into the wall hard enough to shatter his ribs, killing instantly.
You knelt beside him, hand pressing two fingers to his neck in a gesture you knew was futile before you even made contact. No pulse, skin warm, still clinging to a life stolen moments ago.
His gear remained untouched, weapon unfired, evidence of an encounter that offered no chance for resistance. Whatever found him moved faster than human instinct could answer, hit harder than training could absorb. He was dead before his brain registered the blow.
Heart jackrabbiting in your chest as you lifted the comm to your lips, your voice cracked, "Command, this is Echo Lead. I've found a KIA. I need extraction. Repeat. I need-"
"Echo lead, hold your position." The voice was calm. "Reinforcements are en route."
You knew it was a lie.
The candle flickered, but didn't go out. What about the others? You forced yourself to move, tearing your eyes away from the grotesque reality of the hell you were abandoned in. The corridor branched off into multiple directions. You chose left, weapon raised and senses on high alert.
You found the second body in a small side room. She lay crumpled on the floor in a way that made your stomach turn. Her spine had been snapped, ribs shattered, face frozen in an expression of pain. Whether she had tried to run or fight, it didn't show.
The flame faded.
You found another in the next corridor, the body embedded in the wall like he'd been thrown through it. His eyes were open, staring at the unknown terror, mouth agape in a silent scream.
It was a lone ember clinging to the tip of the wick now as you stepped into the lower floor of the lab.
The last of your comrades was still standing, propped against the wall, his body held upright by some cruel trick of physics. Chest was a ruin, ribs protruding through his uniform like jagged spines. With his eyes were open, you thought he was still alive at first glance.
The candle went out. A trellis of smoke all that remained.
You sank to your knees in front of your dead soldier. The tears came hot and fast, streaming down your face in a torrent of grief. You'd trained, fought, laughed with them. They'd been the only family you had for years. Now killed by something they couldn't even see coming. You managed to bring yourself to your feet, hands shaking as you reached out and closed his eyes. It was a meaningless gesture in the grand scheme of your situation, but it was all you could do.
Your radio crackled. "Echo Leader, this is Baseline. What's your status?" You didn't answer right away. Any voice you could muster was swallowed by the grief that threatened to consume you. "Echo Lead, respond. We have a situation. Echo team has failed to report in. We need you to investigate."
A laugh bubbled up from your chest, more a broken bark of frustration. They'd known all along and now they were playing dumb, pretending to be concerned like they hadn't sent you all to die.
Your fingers trembled as you picked up the radio. "They're dead," you murmured, voice flat. "All of them."
A pause. "Confirmed. Echo Leader, we're sending reinforcements. Hold your position."
The same lie they'd been feeding you since the beginning. Advancing and waiting for reinforcements and supplies that never came. With a pump of your arm the radio stuttered into pieces against the wall. The static died and was replaced by sweet silence. You stood there for a what felt like hours, surrounded by bodies. The grief was physical, pressing down on you, crushing you into the cold floor. A scream bubbled inside you but you couldn't let it go. Every few moments you reminded yourself to breathe.
Mechanically, you put one foot in from of the other. Your mind numb as wandered through the laboratory. No thought went into where you were going. You didn't care. All that mattered was putting one foot in front of the other. Delving deeper into the labyrinthine mess that was most likely going to be your tomb as well.
A faint sound echoed down the corridor, growing closer. A slow footfall of boots against tile. You raised your weapon, finger hovering over trigger. Standing at the end of the corridor, his silhouette framed against the flickering lights. Tall, blond hair slicked back, dark glasses gleaming in the clinical light. As you saw his face clearly, and the world stopped.
Albert Wesker.
The realization hit like a physical blow. You knew that face. Everyone in the BSAA knew that face. Former S.T.A.R.S. captain. Traitor. Bioterrorist. Monster.
The file had stated "hostile elements." It had stated "neutralize or delay." It had made him sound like a threat that could be contained with enough firepower and determination. This was the man more akin to a force of nature who had single-handedly killed dozens of trained operatives with a flick of the wrist. You'd been sent to delay him.
A laugh bubbled up from your chest, rising like bile in your throat. It was a hysterical sound, the laughter of someone who had finally understood the depth of their own betrayal. All that was left was the crushing weight of the truth. You were alone and expendable. Ahead of you in this crumbling labyrinth you stared into the cold lenses of the monster who was about to end your life, and you were just fodder. Command... Baseline, had known exactly who you were up against and they'd sent you anyway.
It was like sending a lone hyena after a lion. An annoyance, easily swatted aside with one swift bite to the neck. You weren't meant to win, let alone survive. You were a brief flicker of movement that would catch his attention long enough for Chris and his team to slip past.
You laughed until your throat burned, until the tears streamed down your face, until your weapon shook in your hands before falling onto the floor. The broken melody echoed off the walls and that mixed with the hum of dying machinery. Wesker stood, watching you. A monument to everything you'd been sent to fight. Eventually, your laughter died and was replaced by a hollow, aching silence.
"Amusing in your own defeat?" A low purr, laced with condescension. He stepped over a fallen beam, his silhouette monstrous in the erratic light. "How candid."
"You're him," your voice barely above a whisper. Then louder, "You're Albert Wesker."
"I am. You are the last of your little team."
"They sent us to die. They knew who you were, and they sent us anyway." A bitter smile twisted your lips as you shook your head.
"Yes, they did." Wesker tilted his head, a flicker of curiosity in his cold eyes. "And yet you're still standing. What do you intend to do with that?"
You stared at him dumbly, mind a whirlwind of grief and despair. You should rage to avenge your fallen comrades, even if it meant dying in the attempt. But the fight in you had been snuffed out.
"I don't know," You admitted with a tremble. “I don't know what to do anymore."
Wesker smiled. It was a small, gentle smile that sent a chill down your spine. "Then perhaps, you should let me decide."
In an instant his leather-clad hand wraps around your throat. Grip unyielding, a vise of inhuman strength and speed crushing your windpipe as he savored the panic that flared in your eyes at the stark inevitability of death. He held you there for an agonizing moment, to the point your vision began to swim with flickering lights above creating a nauseating pattern. He threw you. The impact sent a shower of loose tiles and dust raining down around you as you hit the opposite wall with a sickening crack. A pipe burst nearby, releasing a hiss of steam that coiled around you like a serpent. Crumpling to the floor, gasping as your hand instinctively went to cradle your bruised neck. Blood filled your mouth.
The lights died completely for three heartbeats. Maybe you blacked out. Embracing the suffocating darkness. Then your eyes flicked open as the heavy thud of his boots on the lab floor approached you. Each step echoed in the corridor like a countdown to your end.
You spat, looking up at him, gaze tracing the leather of his boots, the crisp black of his coat, the perfectly styled blonde hair, and those cold, snake-like eyes hidden behind his glasses. Behind him, the corridor stretched into shadow. He was the king of this crumbling underworld, and you were his last, bleeding subject.
"I have a request," you croaked, lungs burning.
"Hm?"
"Make it quick, please?"
His lips curl into a sneer. "Your death? Of course. You're inconsequential... but giving up so easily Has being a hero lost its luster?"
You let out another hollow laugh, the sound gurgled and small, mixing with the hiss of steam. "Nothing heroic in being left to die hopelessly outmatched." You gestured weakly to the destruction around you, the shattered tiles, the flickering lights, the darkness that pressed in from all sides.
Wesker stepped closer, boots stopping inches from your broken form. A single fluorescent light above him cast his features in harsh angles. "Finally. Someone who understands their own worthlessness." He crouched, bringing his face level with yours. The faint scent of ozone and expensive cologne washed over you, a jarringly civilized smell in this tomb of a facility. "I find it refreshing. You know your place. Unlike the vast majority of self-righteous insects who seek to interfere with me. They all believe they are the hero, the one destined to stop me. They scream and flail and die with a look of profound shock on their faces... It's tiresome." He reached out with a cold kind of curiosity and took a strand of your hair between his gloved fingers, watching it slip through his grasp. The light flickered again, his face was plunged into shadow for a moment, only his glasses catching the dim glow.
"Tell me, little lamb, did Captain Redfield send you himself? Or was it the faceless bureaucrats at the BSAA?" The words were soft. "You see, that's the real betrayal, isn't it? Your life, your training, your hopes, all of it was a price they were willing to pay to get what they wanted. They left you here to die and for what? To further his personal crusade?" Leaning closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Chris Redfield, the great hero, spares no expense for human life when it comes to furthering his own personal goals. He would sacrifice a hundred people like you to get his revenge on me. We both see the ends as justifying any means. The only difference is, I'm honest about it."
"Maybe... maybe he didn't know- wasn't aware of the plan." You chanced, spitting the remaining blood in your mouth onto a nearby tile.
A distant explosion rumbled through the corridors, shaking dust from the ceiling. One of the facility's many failsafes finally triggering. The sound of your abandonment, made manifest.
"Unaware of what his team is doing on a critical mission? Some Captain that is."
Breath hitching, the first crack in your composure appears: a tremble in your lip. Then a single tear that traces a path through the grime on your cheek. You try to hold it back but it's like trying to hold back the tide. The sobs come, ugly and choked, your shoulders shaking with the weight of your own worthlessness.
Wesker watches, expression unchanging as he observes, dissecting your breakdown like fascinating biological specimen. Seeing your strength shatter and the profoundly pathetic weakness remaining. Then, his gaze shifts with a flicker of calculation.
"Hm," he murmurs thoughtfully as he stands, straightening to full height. "This is unexpected. You've provided me with a delightful spectacle of despair. I find myself. Disinclined to simply dispose of you." Wesker looks down at you, his form casting a long shadow that seems to swallow you whole. "You see, your Captain owes me a great deal. The thought of having you as a reminder of his failure is a more appealing proposition than simply killing you. A ghost he can't bury." A small smile spreads across his lips.
"But such a position requires a certain.
Atonement. To prove your newfound appreciation for your place in this world, you will start by showing proper reverence." He offers you a way out. A twisted, humiliating, profoundly depraved way out. But it is life. And the alternative is the unforgiving finality he'd promised moments ago. The choice between being worthless and being owned. He slides his boot over the ground, stopping in front of you.
"Start here."
Sobs wrack your body as you move before your mind can fully process the command. Crawling forward on your hands and knees, the cool, debris-strewn floor cuts into your palms. The once-polished black leather cast with a fine sheen of dust from his journey through the lab. The boots of a man who has walked through hell and come out the other side without a scratch.
The leather is cool and smooth under your fingertips, smelling faintly of polish mixed with the chemical tang of the facility. Leaning forward, you press a soft, tear-stained kiss to the toe of his right boot. The act is an abasement, but as you do it, a perverse calm settles over you. An approving hum sounds from above as his gloved hand descends, settling on the back of your head to card his fingers gently through your hair.
Almost tender, if it weren't for the suffocating weight of possession behind it.
"Good girl," the words a velvet. "You see? There is something to be said for knowing your place, isn't there?"
You nod, forehead resting against his boot.
"Keep going." He commands with a sound that's mix of approval and amusement. "If you're going to do this, do it properly. Show me you understand what this means."
You hesitate, lips still pressed to the leather.
Slowly, you obey as you kiss your way across the toe of his boot, lips dragging against the supple surface. Reaching the instep, you press your mouth to the worn leather, now shining with spit.
You kiss the side, the outsole, the places where the tread has worn thin from countless steps.
He watches you, arms crossed while his posture shifts slightly. A subtle relaxation.
"Good," he murmurs. "Very good. Now the other one.”
You shift, knees scraping against the floor, and repeat the ritual on his left boot. Kissing the toe, the instep, the places where the leather has scuffed against concrete and debris. With a small movement your tongue darts out to trace the metal eyelets.
"Look at you," he coos softly. "So broken, yet so willing. There's something beautiful about that, isn't there? The way you've been stripped of everything."
You look up at him, your eyes glossy red and swollen, cheeks wet with tears. "I don't have anything else," you whisper. "They took everything from me. There's nothing left."
"Exactly." His voice a low purr. "There's nothing left. Except me. Except this." He steps forward, boot pressing lightly against your chest, forcing you onto your back. You lie there, looking up at him, heart pounding. "Show me how much you want this," he commands, his heel digging into your upper sternum. "Show me how much you want to live."
You let out a quiet whimper as your hands grasp the ankle of the boot, guiding it to your lips and pressing a kiss to the exposed tread. The sharp taste of blood floods your senses, the blood of your fallen comrades, slips past your lips. You don't think. Venerate.
"Yes," he breathes. "Yes. That's it. That's exactly it."
After a long minute, he steps back, and you scramble to your knees. He looks down at you, a slow smile spreading across his face.
"You're going to be perfect," he says softly. "I can already tell.
He crouches, hand finding your chin, tilting your face up to meet his gaze. "You're going to learn to worship me. To revere me. To give yourself to me completely and you're going to love every moment of it."
The blood tinted your lips a light rouge. You nod, eyes wide, breath coming in short, sharp gasps.
"Yes."
He smiles, it is the most beautiful thing you've ever seen. "Good girl."
The hand that had just been wrapped around your throat is now offering you a way forward and onto your feet. Your legs are unsteady but you force yourself to stand tall.
"Now," his voice businesslike, "We need to move. The facility is being actively targeted, and I have no intention of being buried alive." He turns and begins walking, newly polished boots echoing in the corridor.
Following, your eyes fixate on his back, heart racing. "Stay close," he calls over his shoulder. "Do try to keep up."
The maze of corridors stretch before you but you aren't alone anymore. Now belonging to the monster who rules it.
He leads you through twisting passages and crumbling chambers, past the bodies of your team. You don't look at them, gaze staying fixed ahead.
"Is this what you wanted?" The question escapes before you can stop it.
Wesker doesn't slow. "What I wanted?" He glances back. "I wanted to burn this place to ashes and watch the BSAA choke on the smoke.
Your presence was an inconvenience." He pauses at a junction, considering his path. "But you've proven more useful than a bullet. That's something, isn't it?"
Useful. The word clings to you like a second skin.
It's more than Command ever gave you. Hell of a lot more than a tertiary objective.
You follow him into the dark.
Oh no. Did I just write something that wasn’t smut?? Just kidding, that comes in part 2 and it will be very angsty 🫶
