Could we see a fic/HCs of when Wesker is under the weather? It's common to see his reaction etc for Y/N having a cold or something but there's not enough of the other way around sobs. Bonus points for tyrant Wesker, living with volatile viruses gotta be nice, smiles.
Cheers!
request are open btw :)
Sick Wesker x Reader ( GN ) || Headcanons
Wesker, always the image of control, is not someone who admits to being sick. At first, he brushes it off, dismissing the discomfort. "I'm fine," he mutters, even though his voice sounds hoarse, and his usually sharp gaze is clouded with exhaustion. When you notice him sneezing, his expression darkens, clearly frustrated by the
weakness.Reluctance to Rest
He refuses to take a day off or slow down, preferring to push through it. His pride doesn't allow him to let others see him vulnerable, even if it's just a cold. You'll catch him wiping sweat from his brow while still pouring over files or training. Still, every few minutes, you’ll notice the slight tremor in his hand or the way he rests against the chair longer
than usual.Uncharacteristic Vulnerability
When Wesker's under the weather, his usual sharp, commanding persona softens—just a bit. He'll avoid direct eye contact when he asks for help, something so out of caracter for him. Even his gaze seems tired, his usual arrogance replaced with an almost mperceptible longing for comfort.
Wants to Hide It
He’s more likely to hide away in his private quarters when sick, unwilling to show weakness. But he won’t refuse when you offer to help. It's more out of necessity than comfort, but the way he leans into your care, almost reluctantly, speaks volumes. He may not admit it, but he does enjoy being taken care of, even if only in small
Tyrant Wesker - Bonus Points
Tyrant Wesker is something else entirely. He's still Wesker, but now his body is a twisted, monstrous version of the man you know. When he's sick in this form, it's both terrifying and tragic. His body fights back against illness in ways that you can't comprehend. You’ll hear him groaning in discomfort, his monstrous form rumbling as he tries to rest—completely outside of his control. His usual cold demeanor becomes a little more... animalistic.
When You Take Care of Him
If you’re caring for him, even in his tyrant form, you’ll find that the dynamic shifts. Normally, Wesker is in control, but when sick, he’ll gratefully (albeit silently) let you help him—whether it's handing him medicine or just sitting with him while he struggles to sleep off the fever. It’s rare, but you’ll see his gaze soften as he watches you look after him, a part of him maybe even longing for the care he's not used
to Grumpy, but Grateful
When Wesker’s sick, he’s irritable. If you try to check his temperature or get him to rest, he’ll grumble and try to avoid it. But you can tell he’s secretly grateful. His usual snide remarks turn into quiet "Thank you" when he thinks you're not looking. He won’t admit it out loud, but he appreciates it more than anything.
Silent Stubbornness
Wesker is stubborn—if he's sick, he’s still not going to stop working. He'll try to push through it, ignoring his body's protests. You’ll find him trying to focus on his usual tasks, but his actions will be slower, and his frustration will become more evident. He’s too proud to acknowledge it, but his body betrays him.
Tyrant Form and Fever
When Wesker transforms into his tyrant form and gets sick, the fever affects him more severely. The virus in his body reacts strangely, mutating his cells even further. He'll shake uncontrollably with chills or overheat with a fever, but his body doesn't allow him to rest, no matter how much he wants it. Watching him in this state is a mixture of worry and awe—he’s both terrifying and vulnerable.
No Room for Comfort
At first, Wesker won't allow any kind of physical comfort. He’ll push away any attempts at making him comfortable—no blankets, no sitting close to him. But when the fever gets worse, you’ll catch him leaning into your touch ever so slightly, even if his pride doesn’t let him fully admit it.
The “Get Out of My Way” Phase
As he tries to power through, his patience runs thin. Any attempt to help him—whether it's bringing him soup or offering water—will be met with a sharp, “I can do it myself.” It’s his way of maintaining control over a situation where he's feeling weak. But in reality, he knows he can't.
A Rare Show of Weakness
There’s a moment—just one—when Wesker’s guard will fully drop. When the fever is at its peak and his body has been pushed too far, he’ll collapse onto the couch or bed, exhausted and sweating. The sight of him like this is shocking because it’s the one time he’s completely vulnerable and human. You can see the cracks in his armor, and that’s when his true weakness is laid bare.
Tired but Determined
When Wesker is sick, you can see the determination in his eyes to get better, even if his body is screaming for rest. He’ll push himself to get up, even when it’s clear he should be in bed. The strength of his will is impressive, but it’s also heartbreaking to see him fighting against the inevitable.
Unspoken Care
Wesker will never say the words, but when he’s sick, he’s incredibly attuned to your well-being. If you’re also feeling under the weather, he’ll start making sure you’re comfortable too, even if it’s just offering you a blanket or reminding you to drink fluids. It’s a subtle gesture of care, but it’s there.
Tyrant Wesker and Lurking Pain
In his tyrant form, Wesker’s body is much less human, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t feel. When he gets sick, his entire monstrous form is twisted in pain. It’s an excruciating sight, and he won’t let anyone see him like this. But he doesn’t have the same tolerance for discomfort in this form, so you'll find him growling or twitching with frustration. His body is more machine now, but it’s still vulnerable to certain human conditions.
Sudden Vulnerability
Wesker’s usually stoic expression cracks when he’s sick. He’s not one for outward emotion, but when a particularly harsh coughing fit takes over, you’ll notice his façade faltering. His golden eyes darken with exhaustion, and for a brief second, you can see the vulnerability he usually hides so well.
The Need for Silence
Wesker is a man who thrives in control, and when sick, he craves the quiet. He’ll avoid speaking unless absolutely necessary. His irritation with the slightest noise will spike, and he’ll find a dark, quiet corner of the room or his office to hide out in. If you disturb him, he may snap, but deep down, he just wants peace.
The Cold Treatment
It’s not just the sickness that bothers Wesker—he hates feeling cold when he’s ill. When you insist he stays in bed to rest, you’ll catch him pulling the covers around himself, trying to keep warm, which is a rare sight. He’s always the one who makes others uncomfortable with his cold demeanor, but when sick, he’ll practically bury himself in blankets.
Reluctant Caregiver
Even when he’s sick, Wesker’s still a bit of a control freak. If you show any signs of illness, he’ll insist on helping you in his own cold, meticulous way. He may not be the warmest caregiver, but you can tell he takes some strange comfort in being needed. When you’re sick, he’ll pull out the same ice-cold efficiency, ensuring you're taken care of, even if it’s mostly through practical tasks.
The "I'll Be Fine" Phase
Even when he’s at his worst, Wesker will still try to act tough. "I’m fine," he’ll say with a strained smile, even though it’s obvious he’s not. When you insist that he rests, he’ll give you a long, exasperated look before sighing and reluctantly accepting it. His stubbornness is a defense mechanism, but it’s also his way of dealing with the shame of needing help.
A Rare, Quiet Moment
Eventually, when he’s feeling a bit better, Wesker will sit quietly, perhaps sipping on some tea or drinking water, and you’ll notice a rare softness in his gaze. He’s not saying much, but in these moments, you can feel how much he’s letting you in. For someone like Wesker, that’s a huge thing.
“Get Out of My Way, I’m Not Sick”
Even when he's running a fever and visibly pale, Wesker will argue with you about resting. He’ll mutter things like, “Get out of my way,” or “I’m not sick, you’re overreacting.” But he’ll still sit back and let you help him when he knows he’s too far gone to fight it anymore.
Tyrant Wesker's Struggle to Relax
When Wesker is in his tyrant form and under the weather, you can see the raw struggle. His monstrous body, still built for dominance and destruction, now feels clumsy, weak, and uncoordinated. It’s like watching a perfect machine suddenly begin to rust. His usual cocky attitude is gone, replaced by grunts of frustration as his body betrays him in ways he can't control.
Unusual Requests
When he's sick, Wesker might make odd, almost out-of-character requests. "Bring me something to drink," he might say, his voice raspy, or even, "Sit with e for a moment." These moments are fleeting, but they’re significant—they show that, even in his illness, he craves the comfort and attention that he’s rarely willing to accept.
The Return to Normal
Once Wesker begins to recover, his usual cold, calculating demeanor will return, but with a faint undercurrent of gratitude. He won’t vocalize it, but you’ll notice that he’s less harsh, more thoughtful. It’s almost like he’s trying to remember what it felt like to be cared for, and he’ll carry that unspoken appreciation with him, at least for a while.
wesker married having a affair? Not only in the sexual way, but in looking for confort and peace in another person
NOTE : Thank you so much for requesting this! It really made me think about Wesker in a new way. Writing this lowkey hurt me, ngl.
request are open btw :)
The Quiet After || Albert Wesker x Reader (GN )
The air was thick with the scent of whiskey, clinging to everything—your clothes, your skin, the bedsheets still tangled from nights before. The neon glow from the city below flickered through the blinds, streaking jagged red light across the walls.
Albert Wesker sat in the worn leather chair, his head tilted back, crimson eyes half-lidded in exhaustion. He was still wearing his gloves, fingers flexing absently against the glass in his hand. It was rare to see him like this—unguarded, vulnerable, human.
And yet, here he was.
You stood by the table, pouring yourself a drink, though you weren’t sure why anymore. Maybe it was habit. Maybe it was an excuse to keep your hands busy, to keep from shaking. The amber liquid caught the dim light as you swirled it, your stomach twisting with something bitter.
"Long night?" you asked, your voice hollow.
He smirked, but it was the kind that didn’t reach his eyes. "Every night is long."
You could still taste him on your lips. The phantom weight of his touch, the press of his body against yours. But something was different. The way he held himself, the way he avoided your gaze just a second too long. A change in the rhythm, a discordant note in a song that had played on repeat for far too long.
"Who are they?" The words slithered out before you could stop them, tasting like blood.
His grip on the glass tightened just slightly before he set it down with deliberate care. A muscle in his jaw twitched. "Does it matter?"
Your stomach lurched, a sick heat rising up your throat. "It matters to me."
He exhaled slowly, fingers ghosting over his temples, as if he could rub away whatever guilt he refused to acknowledge. "I never wanted to hurt you."
A laugh tore from your throat, sharp and broken. "But you did. And you keep doing it."
The silence between you stretched, thick with something neither of you dared to name. You wanted him to deny it, to say it was a mistake. To lie to you like he always did, to wrap his deception in honeyed words and careful touches. But this time, there was nothing. Just the slow, suffocating weight of truth settling between you.
"Why?" Your voice was quieter now, edged with something raw. "Why them?"
He leaned back, eyes flickering toward the window as if the answer lay somewhere in the city below. "They make it quiet."
The confession was barely above a whisper, but it slammed into you like a bullet. Not passion, not desire—just a desperate search for something you couldn’t give him. A sanctuary from the storm inside his own mind. The weight of expectation, of his own monstrous ambitions, crushed him, and they offered a space where none of it existed. With them, he wasn’t Albert Wesker, wasn’t a name whispered in fear or reverence. He was just a man—one who could close his eyes without the ghosts of his past clawing at him.
And you... you had only ever been a mirror, reflecting back the pieces of him he tried to ignore.
You stepped closer, watching him, searching for something—anything—that might make this easier to swallow. But all you found was a man already halfway gone.
"I should go," he finally said, standing up. The weight of his presence lingered, but his warmth was already fading. The scent of him—leather, cologne, the metallic hint of something you could never quite place—would linger in this room long after he left.
You didn’t stop him. You didn’t beg. You just watched as he walked away, the heavy click of the door punctuating the silence that followed.
The whiskey in your hand burned as you took another sip, but it did nothing to chase away the ache coiling in your chest.
You were alone again. And this time, he wasn’t coming back.
should i make a part 2 where the reader gets revenge?
can i ask please a wesker x reader, where reader is a long time co-worker of his and suddenly when he finds out she's dating someone he gets MAD to enchant her and make reader his?
all the wesker scenarios in my head are finally coming in handy :P
You had worked alongside Albert Wesker for yearslong enough to understand his cold efficiency, his calculated demeanor, and the way his piercing red gaze seemed to strip away every layer of pretense. He was never one for unnecessary attachments, and you had learned to mirror his professionalism.
At least, that’s what you thought.
But then, something changed.
It started as a simple conversation in the lab, an offhand comment you hadn’t even considered significant.
“I won’t be available this weekend,” you had told him absentmindedly, adjusting your gloves as you examined the latest samples.
His gaze flickered toward you. “Busy?”
You nodded. “Yeah, I have a date.”
Silence.
The kind of silence that thickened the air, suffocating the sterile hum of the lab equipment. You glanced up at him, expecting the usual indifference, but instead, his jaw was set in a way you had never seen before. The fingers of his gloved hand twitched slightly, as if suppressing the urge to crush something in his grasp.
“A date,” he echoed, voice low and deliberate. “And who, may I ask, is this unfortunate individual?”
You raised a brow. “Unfortunate? Wesker, it’s not a crime to have a personal life.”
He stepped closer, his towering frame casting a long shadow over you. “You’re mistaken, dear,” he said smoothly, voice tinged with something almost dangerous. “It is when that personal life involves… distractions.”
You scoffed. “It’s not a distraction. I’m allowed to have a life outside of work.”
He exhaled sharply through his nose, as if barely keeping his patience in check. “And yet, after all these years, you decide now to entangle yourself with someone.”
You frowned. “What are you getting at?”
His gloved hand lifted, just barely grazing your jawline before his fingers traced downward, stopping at the hollow of your throat. A calculated move one that made your pulse stutter.
“I expected better from you,” he murmured, leaning in just enough that you felt the heat of his breath. “From all we’ve built together. And yet, you choose someone… insignificant?”
A shiver ran down your spine. “Why does it bother you so much?”
His lips curved into something unreadable—half smirk, half sneer. “Because I do not share what is mine.”
Your breath caught. His?
Before you could process, he tilted your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze. His pupils had thinned to slits, the intensity of his crimson irises almost hypnotic.
“I will not let some outsider steal what belongs by my side,” he murmured, voice silky and commanding. “And if you need convincing…” He leaned in, his lips brushing the shell of your ear, “…I will make you see that no one else is worthy of you but me.”
The Next Day
It was subtle at first.
Your boyfriend (bf/n) had called, his usual warm tone edged with unease.
“Hey, something weird happened at work today,” he said. “The security team said my credentials were flagged. They wouldn’t tell me why, just that someone higher up had a ‘concern.’”
Your stomach twisted. “That’s odd…”
“I know, right? And then I got an email saying my application for the research grant was rejected. But it was a guaranteed approval yesterday. It doesn’t make sense.”
You tried to reassure him, but the call left a pit in your stomach.
And then the next day, he canceled your date.
“Sorry, I just things are hectic. I need to sort everything out.”
You knew when someone was making excuses.
Something was wrong.
It didn’t take long to confirm your suspicions.
In the dim lighting of the facility’s underground corridors, you cornered the one person who could make someone disappear without a trace.
“You did something,” you accused, voice low but sharp.
Wesker barely looked up from the report in his hand. “I do many things.”
“(Bf/n).” You stepped closer, glare burning into him. “His security credentials. His research. His job. You’re sabotaging him.”
Now, he did look up. His lips twitched into a smirk, but his eyes were cold. “I merely ensured that a liability was dealt with accordingly.”
“He is not a liability,” you snapped. “He had nothing to do with you!”
His eyes darkened. “You’re mistaken again,” he said smoothly, stepping closer. “Everything that concerns you, concerns me.”
Your heart pounded as he closed the space between you, backing you against the cold steel wall of the corridor. He lifted a hand, palm resting flat against the metal beside your head, effectively caging you in.
“You chose to entertain a meaningless dalliance,” he continued, voice rich with condescension. “And I chose to eliminate it.”
Anger flared in your chest. “You don’t get to decide who I”
Gloved fingers traced your cheek, silencing you with a feather-light touch.
“I decide everything,” he corrected, crimson eyes gleaming. “You should have known that by now.”
You swallowed hard, torn between fury and something far more dangerous. His presence was suffocating, intoxicating commanding.
A slow, deliberate smirk spread across his lips.
“You seem tense,” he mused, voice dripping with amusement. “Perhaps I should remedy that.”
You stiffened as his other hand found your wrist, fingers curling around it with calculated ease. Not rough. Not forceful. Just enough pressure to remind you exactly who he was who he had always been.
“You said you had a date this weekend,” he murmured, tilting his head slightly. “I believe you still do.”
Your breath hitched. “Wesker ”
“I insist.”
The finality in his tone sent a chill down your spine.
A date. On his terms.
He stepped back, releasing you from the cage of his arms, though the weight of his presence still lingered.
“I’ll pick you up at eight,” he said smoothly, turning on his heel. “Wear something… appropriate.”
And just like that, he walked away leaving you breathless, furious, and undeniably ensnared in his game.
could I please request a curvy/thicc/chubby reader and wesker NFSW headcannons please?
YESSS I LOVE THIS SO MUCH
NSFW Wesker x Chubby/Thicc Reader Headcanons
Wesker is obsessed with your softness. He can’t get enough of the way your body feels under his hands—warm, plush, perfect. He finds himself gripping your thighs absentmindedly, running his fingers over your stomach, memorizing every inch of you.
Loves the contrast between your softness and his strength. He enjoys how easily he can pull you against him, how your body molds to his when he holds you. The way you yield to his touch makes him feel even more powerful.
Absolutely lives to worship your body. He doesn’t just tolerate your curves—he adores them. He’ll take his time tracing every dip and swell of your figure with his lips, whispering how perfect you are. “You were made to be touched, to be adored. And I will ensure no one else but me does so.”
Your thighs drive him wild. He grips them possessively, leaves bruises on the inside of them just to remind you who you belong to. Loves to wrap his fingers around them and feel how soft they are against his palms. If you try to close your legs? He clicks his tongue and forces them apart with an amused smirk.
Your stomach? His favorite thing to touch. He loves resting his hand there absentmindedly, rubbing slow circles with his thumb. If you’re insecure about it? That just makes him double down. “Why would you ever hide from me? Every inch of you is mine to admire.” He’ll make sure you know how much he worships your body.
Lingerie? He buys it for you. But not just any lingerie—he picks out pieces that highlight your curves, that hug your body perfectly. He enjoys watching you squirm when he makes you model them for him, his golden eyes dark with desire. “You’ll wear this for me later. And I’ll tear it off you myself.”
Loves pinning you down. Feeling your softness beneath him, knowing you can’t escape his grasp? It drives him mad. He enjoys the contrast between his firm, unyielding grip and your plush, yielding body. He wants to see you gasp when he presses against you, completely at his mercy.
You make him weak in ways he never expected. Wesker isn’t used to being vulnerable, but when he’s buried against you, feeling your warmth, listening to your breath hitch under him—he realizes you have complete power over him, and he hates it. But he can’t stop coming back for more.
Loses control when he’s desperate for you. If he’s been away too long, if he’s had to resist touching you all day, by the time he gets his hands on you, he’s starving. His grip is bruising, his pace relentless—he needs to feel you, to remind himself that you’re his.
Aftercare is possessive and intense. He won’t say he loves you outright, but the way he pulls you into his arms afterward, the way he runs his fingers over the marks he left, the way he holds you just a little too tight—it says everything.
The dim glow of the city seeped through the blinds, casting long, jagged shadows across the room. The rhythmic hum of the rain against the glass blended with the distant sound of traffic below. But inside, there was only silence.
Wesker sat on the edge of the bed, his posture impossibly straight, gloved hands resting on his lap. His red eyes so unnervingly bright in the dark watched you as you leaned against the window, staring out at the restless city.
"Words are very unnecessary. They can only do harm."
He had always been a man of few words, yet his presence spoke volumes. It was in the way he moved, calculated and controlled. The way his gaze lingered, heavy with something unspoken.
"You're quiet tonight," you murmured, voice barely above a whisper.
Wesker said nothing at first. He simply stood, his coat shifting as he crossed the room in a slow, deliberate stride. When he reached you, he lifted a gloved hand, tracing the curve of your jaw with the barest touch.
"I find peace in silence," he finally replied, voice smooth, laced with something unreadable.
You shivered not from cold, but from the intensity in his stare. There was something mesmerizing about him, something dangerous yet intoxicating. A man who could command with a glance alone.
Your fingers curled around his wrist, feeling the cool leather beneath your fingertips. "And what about me?" you asked. "Do I disturb that peace?"
His lips quirked into the faintest smirk. "No," he said, his voice barely above a murmur. "You are the exception."
Then, without another word, he pulled you close. You could feel the strength in him, the restrained power beneath his control. His breath ghosted against your skin as he tilted your chin up, his gaze searching yours.
There was no need for words. Not between you.
The city roared outside, but here, in his arms, there was only silence.
The first time you saw Wesker’s red eyes, they were mesmerizing.
The last time, they were infuriating.
The lab was in ruins, bodies littering the floor like discarded chess pieces in a game he had already won. The emergency lights bathed the walls in a crimson glow, but it was nothing compared to the way his eyes burned when he turned to face you.
“You’ve made a mess,” he mused, his voice smooth, edged with condescension.
You stood among the wreckage, blood dripping from your fingers—not yours. Not yet. Your pulse pounded, but it wasn’t fear keeping you rooted in place. It was rage.
“Don’t act like this wasn’t your fault,” you hissed, stepping forward, your boots crushing broken glass underfoot. “You destroy everything you touch, Wesker.”
He tilted his head, considering your words like they were an amusing hypothesis in one of his twisted experiments. Then he smirked.
“Everything… except you.”
The implication made your stomach twist. His survival, his obsession with control, with winning—you had been part of his calculations all along.
The anger inside you burned hotter.
You lunged.
Wesker anticipated it, but he let you strike anyway. Your fist collided with his jaw, a satisfying crack splitting the air. His head barely moved. That damn smirk remained, even as he lifted a gloved hand to brush his thumb across his lip. Blood. His blood.
His eyes darkened.
“Oh,” he murmured, licking the red from his thumb. “There it is.”
Before you could react, he struck.
The force sent you crashing into a metal console, sparks flying as you gasped for breath. You barely had time to move before he was in front of you, pressing a hand to your throat—not tight, not choking, just holding you there.
“Tell me,” he whispered, leaning in until his lips were near your ear. “Do you hate me enough to kill me?”
Your fingers twitched, reaching for the knife at your hip. His grip on your throat tightened slightly—not to crush, just to remind you who had the power. But you had learned something about Wesker in all your time by his side. He loved control. But he also loved a fight.
You let your body go limp for half a second—just enough to make him think you were giving in. Then, with a sharp twist, you drove the knife into his side.
Wesker grunted, but he didn’t pull away.
Instead, he laughed.
Low. Amused. Infuriating.
“Not deep enough,” he murmured, voice almost fond. “But I do appreciate the effort.”
Your chest heaved, adrenaline buzzing under your skin.
He reached down, wrapped his fingers around yours, and pulled the blade out himself. Blood oozed, slow but steady, staining his pristine coat. He studied it like a fascinating anomaly before meeting your gaze again.
Those red eyes burned.
Then, before you could react, he caught your wrist and dragged the blade against your palm. A shallow cut, just enough for blood to bead at the surface. His gloved fingers curled under yours, smearing his blood with yours.
A promise. A warning.
“You’re mine,” he murmured, his voice like silk over steel. “And I always take back what’s mine.”
Your bloodied hand trembled. With rage. With something darker.
Wesker’s lips curled into a smirk, satisfied. He turned away, walking toward the exit as if nothing had happened.
“Next time,” he called over his shoulder, “aim for the heart.”
And then he was gone.
Leaving you standing there, watching the blood on your hand mix with his.
The night wrapped around Raccoon City like a noose, choking it in shadow. The rain fell in relentless sheets, a cacophony against the steel of the streets, but the chill that crept into your bones wasn’t from the storm.
It was from him.
Wesker stood at the edge of the dimly lit room, his silhouette sharp against the broken blinds. His red eyes glinted in the dark like molten fire, staring out at the chaos that he had orchestrated. You didn’t need to see the smirk on his lips to know it was there—you could feel it.
“You’ve been quiet,” he said, his voice slicing through the tension like a knife.
You didn’t respond right away, too caught up in the gravity of what he’d done. The truth weighed heavy in your chest: the experiments, the betrayal, the destruction he left in his wake. And still, you were here, drawn to him like a moth to a flame.
“It’s hard to find the words, Wesker,” you murmured, your voice barely audible over the rain. “What am I even supposed to say?”
He turned to face you, his movements unnervingly precise, as if calculated down to the millisecond. His expression was unreadable, but those eyes… they burned with something you couldn’t name.
“Say what’s on your mind,” he said, stepping closer. Each footfall echoed like the ticking of a clock, counting down to some inevitable end.
You clenched your fists, your nails digging into your palms. “You lied to me,” you whispered, trembling. “All this time, I thought—”
“That I was someone I’m not?” he finished, his voice cool and unflinching. “That I was a man worth saving?”
Your breath hitched, and you took a step back, but he closed the distance effortlessly, his gloved hand reaching out to tilt your chin upward. The leather was cold against your skin, a stark contrast to the heat radiating from him.
“You knew,” he said, his voice a low murmur that sent shivers down your spine. “You’ve always known what I am. And yet, here you are. Why?”
It was a question you didn’t have an answer for. Or maybe you did, but admitting it felt like surrendering a piece of yourself to him—a piece he would undoubtedly twist and corrupt.
“You scare me,” you confessed, tears stinging your eyes. “And I hate that I—”
“—Can’t stay away?” he finished again, a dark satisfaction curling the corners of his lips.
You pulled away from his touch, shaking your head as if that could dispel the hold he had over you. “This isn’t love, Wesker. This is—”
“A pact,” he interrupted, his tone sharp and final. “A dance, My love, and you’re as much a part of it as I am. You chose this.”
The rain outside intensified, the wind howling like a beast in the night. His words hung heavy in the air, a reminder of the twisted truth you’d been avoiding.
“Maybe I did,” you said, your voice steady despite the storm raging inside you. “But that doesn’t mean I have to keep choosing it.”
His expression darkened, and for a moment, you thought you saw something flicker in his eyes—anger? Amusement? Sadness? Whatever it was, it was gone as quickly as it had appeared.
“You can walk away,” he said, stepping back and spreading his arms in a mock gesture of freedom. “But you won’t. Because you understand, deep down, that we’re the same. Me and the devil,” he added with a smirk, “walking side by side.”
Your heart pounded in your chest, and for a fleeting moment, you thought about running—leaving this nightmare behind and never looking back. But as his red eyes bore into yours, you realized that he was right.
You weren’t sure if it was love or madness that kept you tethered to him. Maybe both.
And as Wesker’s smirk deepened, you knew that no matter how far you ran, you would always find your way back to him.
OBSESSION || UMBRELLA WESKER X READER [ part 3/? ]
Part 1
Part 2
------------------------------------------------
The days that followed felt surreal. Every encounter with Wesker left you more tangled in the web of emotions you tried so hard to hide. The lingering touch of his hand, his teasing remarks, and the way his blue eyes followed you whenever you were in the same room made it impossible to ignore the attraction building between you.
This time, when Wesker summoned you to his office, there was something different in the air. His tone had softened the last few times you’d spoken, and even though he remained just as commanding, there was a warmth in his presence you couldn’t deny.
When you entered the room, you were surprised to find the lights dimmed slightly, and a coffee cup waiting for you on the desk. It wasn’t unusual for Wesker to have everything perfectly arranged, but this felt… more personal.
He looked up as you entered, his eyes locking onto yours, and for a moment, you almost lost your ability to breathe.
“[Y/N],” he said in that low, velvety voice, and you swore it had never sounded so inviting. “I’m glad you could join me. I thought you might enjoy something a little less formal.”
You glanced at the coffee, feeling a blush creep up your neck. “It’s… it’s very thoughtful of you, sir.”
Wesker chuckled, the sound warm but still with that edge of amusement. “I’ve told you before, [Y/N]. You don’t need to call me ‘sir.’”
“I—” You paused, still trying to adjust to the shift in how he was treating you. “Albert, then.” The word felt a little less stiff, more intimate, as if it belonged only to him.
A faint smile tugged at the corners of his lips. “That’s better.” He stood from his desk, walking toward you slowly, the air between you crackling with a mixture of tension and anticipation.
Without warning, he reached out and gently cupped your cheek. The touch was so tender, so unexpected, that your breath hitched in your throat.
“Relax,” he murmured, his thumb brushing softly against your skin. “You’re tense. You’re always tense around me.”
“I… I can’t help it,” you whispered, your heart racing. His proximity made you feel exposed, vulnerable in a way you weren’t used to, but you didn’t want him to stop.
He leaned in, his breath warm against your ear as he whispered, “Why do you think that is, [Y/N]? Why do you let me have such an effect on you?”
“I—I don’t know,” you admitted, your voice barely audible. “I just… I admire you so much, Albert.”
He pulled back slightly, just enough to see your face, his gaze softening. His blue eyes held something more now, something that wasn’t as cold or calculating as usual.
“You don’t have to admire me from a distance,” he said, his voice low, almost coaxing. “You’ve earned more than that.”
Before you could react, Wesker pulled you a little closer, wrapping his arm around your waist with surprising gentleness. Your breath caught in your throat at the closeness. The warmth of his body pressed against yours, and you could feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath the surface of his suit.
“Albert…” you murmured, unsure of how to handle the sudden shift in intimacy.
He smiled, the smile that always made your heart race but now carried a touch of tenderness. “I know you’re shy, [Y/N]. But I won’t bite.” He gave you a playful squeeze, his arm tightening slightly around your waist.
You let out a nervous laugh, feeling your cheeks flush with a mixture of anxiety and something else—something far more dangerous. “I’m not used to this,” you confessed, your hands trembling a little as they rested against his chest.
“I can tell.” He tilted his head, his lips brushing the top of your head in an almost fatherly gesture. “You’re much more reserved than most people I deal with.”
Your heart skipped at the unexpected affection, and for a fleeting moment, you allowed yourself to close your eyes, basking in the warmth of his touch.
He slowly pulled away, though his arm stayed around you, his fingers brushing against the back of your neck. You felt that familiar warmth rush to your face again, but this time, it was easier to stay in his presence.
“You’re special, [Y/N],” he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. “And I’m beginning to realize how rare it is to find someone like you.”
You opened your eyes, meeting his gaze once more. There was something there, something that made your heart flutter—the smallest hint of vulnerability behind his icy blue eyes.
“Albert…” you whispered, unsure of what to say next.
He smiled again, a soft, almost imperceptible smile, before leaning in just a little closer. You could feel the heat radiating off him, the subtle tension between you that seemed to pull you in like a magnet.
Before you could think any further, he pressed a gentle kiss to your cheek, the warmth of his lips lingering long enough to make your head spin.
“There,” he murmured, pulling away with a glint of amusement in his eyes. “Now you’ve been kissed by me. Do you feel less tense?”
Your entire face was burning now, but you couldn’t bring yourself to move away. His arm remained firmly around you, and the soft, intimate touch of his lips on your skin had left you speechless.
“I… I don’t know what to say,” you said, your voice trembling.
“You don’t have to say anything,” he replied softly, his thumb brushing over the spot where his lips had been moments before. “Just enjoy the moment.”
And for the first time in a long while, you allowed yourself to.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The days seemed to blur together, but the memory of that kiss lingered in the back of your mind like a soft, comforting hum. Every time you thought of it, your heart fluttered, and your thoughts scattered. It wasn’t just the physical closeness with Wesker; it was the way he’d looked at you afterward, like he’d seen something in you that no one else had.
The moments that followed felt more charged. Every meeting with him, every interaction, seemed to carry an unspoken tension, a softness in his gaze that was hard to ignore.
This time, he called for you to meet him in one of the less formal areas of the building, a quiet lounge where the hum of conversation and machinery was distant. The air in the room felt heavier, and you couldn’t help but wonder if something was different.
When you entered, you saw him standing by the window, looking out at the city below. The evening light bathed his figure in soft orange hues, and for a moment, he looked almost... human. He wasn’t the calculating, intimidating figure you usually saw in meetings. He was just Albert.
“[Y/N],” he said, his voice still as smooth as velvet, but there was something different in it today—a softness that made your heart skip. “I thought we could take a break from all the work.”
You blinked, unsure of how to respond. “A break?”
He turned to face you, and the faintest of smiles tugged at his lips. “Yes. A break.” He gestured to the couch. “Come sit. I thought we could talk for a while. I promise I won’t bite.”
You hesitated for a moment, then walked toward the couch, sitting down with your hands in your lap. The space between you felt wider than it should, but you could feel the magnetic pull of his presence even from across the room.
He joined you, sitting beside you but keeping just enough distance to be respectful. But you could tell he wasn’t exactly in a rush. His presence was commanding, but there was a gentleness to him in these private moments that made your heart race.
“I’ve been thinking,” he began, his eyes shifting to meet yours, “about how much you’ve grown in such a short amount of time. You’ve proven yourself, [Y/N], more than I could’ve ever expected.”
You shifted in your seat, your fingers twisting together nervously. “I’m just doing my job,” you said, trying to hide the warmth spreading through your chest at his words.
“Don’t sell yourself short,” he said, leaning a little closer, his voice lowering in a way that made you feel every word. “I’m not talking about just your work. There’s something about you, something I can’t quite put my finger on.”
You swallowed hard, feeling your cheeks flush under his gaze. “I’m just me, Albert,” you said quietly, unable to meet his eyes for more than a moment.
He reached over, gently tilting your chin up so you had no choice but to look at him. His blue eyes seemed to pierce straight through you, his touch surprisingly tender.
“[Y/N],” he said softly, “I’ve never been one to shy away from my desires. But with you, there’s something more. A connection.”
Your breath caught, your chest tightening in response to his words. “A connection?”
He nodded, his thumb brushing over your cheek in a slow, deliberate motion. “You’re unlike anyone I’ve ever encountered.”
You could hardly process what was happening, but his touch was so soothing, so gentle, that it made you feel like you were floating. Your heart was pounding in your chest, your pulse racing, and your words stumbled over each other. “I— I don’t know what to say, Albert…”
“You don’t have to say anything,” he murmured, his face leaning just a little closer to yours. “Just let me show you.”
Before you could even react, his hand cupped your face, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw with a tenderness that made your breath hitch. The proximity was intoxicating, and the soft, nearly imperceptible way he leaned in left you frozen in place.
You didn’t want to move. You didn’t want to break the moment. But when he finally closed the small gap between you, pressing his lips to your forehead in a gentle, almost reverent kiss, it was enough to make your knees weak.
You closed your eyes, savoring the sensation of his lips against your skin, the warmth of his touch seeping into you in ways you hadn’t expected. When he pulled back, there was a softness in his expression that made your heart ache.
“You’re so easy to fall for, [Y/N],” he said quietly, his voice a mixture of admiration and something more.
Your heart raced, the words cutting through your haze of feelings. “F-fall for?” You blinked, unsure if you had heard him correctly.
He smiled, that small, enigmatic smile that always made your chest tighten. “You have no idea, do you?”
You shook your head, your voice barely a whisper. “I—I’m not sure what you mean.”
He leaned back a little, his gaze never leaving yours. “You’re so innocent, yet you intrigue me. I can’t stop wanting to know more. But take your time, [Y/N]. You don’t have to rush. I’m not going anywhere.”
A warm, quiet breath left your lips, and you let yourself relax, if only for a moment. The intensity of his presence, his affection, was overwhelming in the best way. You didn’t know what the future held, but you knew one thing for sure—there was something between you and Wesker, something you couldn’t ignore no matter how much you tried.
“I think I need a little more time,” you whispered, not trusting your voice to say anything else.
“Take all the time you need,” he said, his thumb brushing against your cheek once more. “But don’t take too long. I won’t wait forever.”
You nodded, feeling your heart race once again at the mix of affection and possessiveness in his tone. You weren’t sure where this path would lead, but with Albert Wesker, you knew it was going to be an unforgettable journey.
OBSESSION || UMBRELLA WESKER X READER [ part 2/? ]
Part 1 here
NOTE : This is my very first fanfic. Please be nice :)
-------------------------------------------------------
The Umbrella facility w
Weeks had passed since your encounter with Wesker, yet his words were an ever-present whisper in the back of your mind. You’d always been ambitious, but now, you were driven by something deeper—a desire to prove yourself to him, to step out of the shadows and into the light of his dangerous approval.
The assignments he gave you weren’t ordinary tasks. They were intricate, grueling, and designed to test you. You noticed how he watched from a distance, icey blue eyes gleaming with an intensity that made your skin prickle. He never praised you outright, but the absence of criticism felt like its own reward.
Tonight, the lab was silent. The hum of the fluorescent lights and the faint buzz of machinery were the only sounds as you worked late into the night. Your focus was sharp as you finalized the complex data Wesker had tasked you with analyzing. Everyone else had gone home, but you stayed, pushing yourself to finish.
“You’re relentless,” a deep voice drawled from behind you.
You jumped, spinning around in your chair, your heart pounding in your chest. There he was, leaning casually against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest. His presence filled the room like a storm cloud, heavy and charged.
“Sir,” you stammered, standing quickly. “I didn’t expect—”
“To see me here?” He stepped forward, the sound of his boots echoing softly in the quiet room. “I could say the same about you. Most wouldn’t bother staying this late. But not you, [Y/N]. You’re... different.”
“I just wanted to make sure everything was perfect,” you said, clutching the edge of the desk to steady yourself under his gaze.
“Perfect,” he repeated, almost mockingly. “An admirable goal. But perfection is a lie, [Y/N]. A distraction. What I value is ambition—the willingness to go beyond what others deem acceptable. Tell me, how far are you willing to go?”
You swallowed hard, your breath catching as he closed the distance between you. His golden eyes glinted in the dim light, and the faint smirk tugging at his lips sent a shiver down your spine.
“As far as I need to,” you replied, your voice steadier than you expected.
He tilted his head, studying you like a puzzle he was piecing together. “Good. Then I have a task for you.”
You blinked, caught off guard. “What kind of task?”
Wesker leaned in, his voice low and laced with danger. “There’s a file in the Director’s office. Classified. Heavily encrypted. You’ll only have one chance to extract it. Bring it to me, and I’ll know you’re ready.”
“Ready for what?” you asked, your pulse quickening.
“For the truth,” he said simply, his voice like a knife cutting through the silence. “And for a place at my side.”
The weight of his words hung heavy in the air. You hesitated, the enormity of what he was asking sinking in. Breaking into the Director’s office wasn’t just risky—it was suicidal. If you were caught, there would be no going back.
But the way he looked at you, the way his voice softened when he said “my side,” made the danger feel almost... worth it.
“I’ll do it,” you said, the words tumbling out before you could second-guess yourself.
His smirk widened, and for a moment, you thought you saw something akin to approval flicker in his eyes. “I expected nothing less.”
Without another word, he turned and strode out of the room, leaving you alone with your racing thoughts.
The next day, you began preparing. The Director’s office was on the top floor, guarded by biometric locks and multiple layers of security. You studied the building’s schematics during your lunch breaks, mapping out routes and blind spots. You hacked into the security system, carefully disabling just enough cameras to avoid detection without raising suspicion.
When the night came, your nerves were raw, your heart pounding as you slipped into the empty corridors. The halls were eerily quiet, the only sound the faint hum of the air conditioning. Every step felt like a leap into the unknown.
The Director’s office loomed ahead, its heavy steel door imposing and unyielding. You knelt by the biometric scanner, pulling out the small device you’d modified to bypass the lock. Sweat beaded on your forehead as you worked, the seconds stretching into what felt like hours.
Finally, the scanner beeped, and the door clicked open. You slipped inside, your breath hitching as you took in the sterile, pristine space. The file Wesker wanted was stored on the Director’s personal computer, locked behind layers of encryption.
Your fingers flew across the keyboard as you bypassed the security protocols, adrenaline coursing through your veins. The sound of footsteps in the hallway sent your heart into overdrive, but you forced yourself to focus, to finish.
When the file finally downloaded onto your drive, you didn’t waste a second. You slipped out of the office and disappeared into the labyrinth of corridors, the stolen file burning a metaphorical hole in your pocket.
Back in your quarters, you stared at the drive in your hand, your mind racing. You knew this was a point of no return. Whatever was on this file, whatever Wesker wanted, you were now complicit.
A knock on your door snapped you out of your thoughts. You opened it to find Wesker standing there, his icey blue eyes gleaming with quiet satisfaction.
“You have it,” he said, his voice devoid of surprise.
You nodded, handing him the drive. His fingers brushed yours as he took it, and you couldn’t help the way your stomach flipped at the fleeting contact.
“Impressive,” he said, tucking the drive into his pocket. “You’ve proven yourself useful, [Y/N]. More than I expected.”
A flicker of warmth spread through you at his words, though his tone remained cold.
“What now?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.
“Now,” he said, stepping closer, “we see if you’re ready for the next step.”
His smirk returned, sharp and predatory, and you realized with a mixture of dread and exhilaration that you were now firmly in his grasp.
And you weren’t sure you wanted to escape.
It had been days since Wesker last called on you, but when the message arrive short and cryptic as always, you couldn’t ignore the way your heart skipped a beat. He wanted to meet you in the common lounge instead of his office, a request so uncharacteristic that it sent your nerves into overdrive.
Wesker in a casual setting? You tried to suppress the swarm of butterflies in your stomach as you made your way there, your hands fidgeting with the hem of your lab coat.
When you entered, you found him standing by the coffee machine, looking entirely out of place yet perfectly composed. His sharp, tailored attire contrasted with the mundane surroundings, and his icy blue eyes fixed on you the moment you walked in.
“You’re late,” he said, his lips curving into a faint smirk.
“I—uh—I didn’t mean to keep you waiting,” you stammered, immediately lowering your gaze as heat crept up your neck.
He chuckled softly, the sound sending a shiver down your spine. “Relax, [Y/N]. I’m not reprimanding you. Come here.”
You hesitated, your heart racing as you stepped closer. The closer you got, the more his presence seemed to fill the room, making it harder to breathe.
“Coffee?” he asked, gesturing to the machine.
You blinked, caught off guard by the casual offer. “Oh, um, sure. Thank you.”
“Black? Sweet? Or perhaps you’re the type who likes a ridiculous amount of sugar?” he teased, his tone lighter than usual.
“Just a little sugar,” you murmured, flustered by the attention.
Wesker nodded, preparing your cup with surprising ease. As he handed it to you, his fingers brushed yours, and the small, innocent contact made your breath catch.
“Careful,” he said, his voice dropping slightly as he watched your reaction. “Wouldn’t want you to burn yourself.”
You clutched the cup tightly, willing your hands to stop trembling. “T-thank you, sir.”
“Albert,” he corrected smoothly, his blue eyes glinting with amusement.
Your eyes widened. “W-what?”
“We’re not in the lab, [Y/N],” he said, leaning casually against the counter. “There’s no need for formalities. Call me Albert.”
Your cheeks felt like they were on fire. “I-I don’t know if I can... I mean, it doesn’t feel right—”
He laughed, a low, velvety sound that made your knees feel weak. “You’re quite endearing when you’re flustered. Do you know that?”
“I’m not flustered!” you blurted out, immediately regretting the outburst when his smirk widened.
“Of course not,” he said smoothly, taking a sip of his own coffee. “You’re perfectly composed.”
You ducked your head, your fingers tightening around the warm cup in your hands. The crush you’d been trying so hard to suppress felt impossible to hide under his piercing gaze.
“I thought this meeting was about work,” you mumbled, desperate to change the subject.
“Not everything is about work,” he said, his tone softening slightly. “Though I’ll admit, I’m curious about something.”
“C-curious about what?”
“You,” he said simply, his gaze never leaving yours.
Your breath hitched. “Me?”
“You’ve proven yourself competent,” he said, his voice low and measured. “But there’s more to you than just your skills, isn’t there? Tell me, [Y/N], what drives you?”
“I... I just want to do a good job,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.
“Is that all?” He stepped closer, the space between you shrinking until you could feel the faint warmth radiating from him. “Or is there something more?”
Your heart pounded so loudly you were sure he could hear it. “I don’t... I mean, I just—”
“You’re nervous,” he interrupted, his lips quirking into a softer smile. “Do I make you uncomfortable?”
“N-no! Not uncomfortable!” you said quickly, your face burning. “Just... um...”
“Just what?” he prompted, tilting his head as if genuinely intrigued.
You hesitated, the words caught in your throat. How could you admit the truth? That you’d developed the biggest, most ridiculous crush on him despite his intimidating reputation?
“I respect you,” you managed to say, though it sounded feeble even to your own ears.
His smile deepened, and for a moment, his usual cold demeanor seemed to melt away. “Respect,” he murmured, as if testing the word. “An admirable sentiment.”
He reached out, his gloved hand brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. The gesture was so unexpected, so tender, that your breath hitched.
“But perhaps,” he added, his voice dropping to a near whisper, “there’s more to it than that.”
You couldn’t speak, couldn’t think, as his blue eyes bore into yours. The air between you was thick with unspoken tension, and for a fleeting moment, you wondered if he could see straight into your heart.
“Relax, [Y/N],” he said, his tone returning to its usual composed coolness. “You’ll spill your coffee.”
You blinked, realizing you were gripping the cup so tightly it was trembling in your hands. “Oh! Right. Sorry.”
He chuckled again, stepping back to give you space. “You’re fascinating,” he said, almost to himself. “I look forward to seeing what you’ll do next.”
His words left you breathless, your mind reeling as he walked away, his coffee in hand.
“Albert?” you called after him, the name feeling strange on your tongue.
He paused, glancing over his shoulder with a raised eyebrow.
“Thank you,” you said, your voice soft but sincere.
His smirk returned, and he nodded once before disappearing down the hall, leaving you alone with your racing heart and the unmistakable realization that you were falling for him.
The Umbrella facility was cold and sterile, its halls filled with the hum of machinery and the faint echo of footsteps. You weren’t supposed to be here—this part of the lab was restricted, reserved for the highest-ranking members of the corporation. And yet, here you were, under the scrutinizing gaze of none other than Albert Wesker himself.
“You’ve been quite the curious one, haven’t you?” he said, his voice like smooth velvet, masking the danger underneath. His golden eyes glowed faintly in the dim light, tracking your every movement as if you were prey.
“I-I didn’t mean to intrude,” you stammered, clutching the clipboard in your hands like a lifeline. “I was just delivering the data Dr. Grey requested—”
Wesker’s lips curved into a faint smirk, and he stepped closer, his presence overwhelming. “Spare me the excuses, [Y/N]. You and I both know that’s not why you’re here.”
Your breath hitched as he loomed over you, his perfect posture and piercing gaze pinning you in place. You’d heard stories about him—about his brilliance, his ambition, and the ruthlessness that left others trembling. But none of that could have prepared you for the man standing in front of you.
“I… I just wanted to know more,” you admitted finally, your voice barely above a whisper. “About your research, your vision. You’re creating something revolutionary, and I—”
“Admire me?” he finished for you, his tone mocking but laced with curiosity.
You nodded hesitantly, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks. His smirk widened, but there was something predatory in his expression now.
“Admiration is a dangerous thing,” Wesker said, circling around you like a predator studying its prey. “It blinds people. Makes them reckless.” He stopped behind you, so close that you could feel his breath against your ear. “Tell me, [Y/N], how far are you willing to go for this... fascination of yours?”
Your heart pounded in your chest as you turned to face him, trying to steel yourself against the intensity of his gaze. “I’d do whatever it takes,” you said firmly, surprising even yourself with your conviction.
For a moment, he simply stared at you, as if weighing the truth of your words. Then, to your shock, he let out a low chuckle.
“Interesting,” he murmured. “Very interesting.”
Before you could react, he reached out and tilted your chin upward, forcing you to meet his eyes. “If you’re so eager to be a part of my vision, [Y/N], I may just have a place for you. But remember this: loyalty is not a request—it is a demand.”
You swallowed hard, nodding. His touch was cold, but the intensity of his gaze made your skin burn. “I understand.”
“Good,” Wesker said, his smirk returning. “Then let us see if you’re worthy.”
As he turned and walked away, you realized with a mix of dread and exhilaration that you’d just taken the first step into a world far darker than you could have imagined. And Albert Wesker? He’d be watching your every move.
origamiaround
annaxmalina
andulkaphoto
kianamaiart
pixelskylines
gummygunk
