#s.t.a.r.s. wesker

[birkink]

S.T.A.R.S-era stuff is so innocent, so precious. pls, give me these cops bumbling away in their small town, unaware of the danger, unaware of what is to come, unaware of what their boss has planned. friends unaware that most of them will die in a single night. unaware of the conspiracy. 90s soft rock and learning to work the internet. an elite task force that has never been tested. just slow days chilling together and investigating mundane crimes. basketball. guitars on the wall. colour coded uniforms. custom engraved knives.

give me S.T.A.R.S team at the beginning of it all, before it fell apart, ironically ignorant of their future.

[residentcherries]

Albert Wesker and Jill Valentine

S.T.A.R.S.

[smokingcitrus]

taking stars wesker's glasses off and looking him dead in the eyes as he tries so, so desperately to avoid your gaze, his hands white-knuckled on the armrests of his chair. something about his hesitance to meet you unprotected is reminiscent of a caged animal without a structure to sit beneath. it — he — wilts, pinned beneath the fluorescent lighting of its enclosure — the flickering overhead lamp of his office — with nowhere to go. nothing to shield itself from perceived danger. there are no thoughts in its head. none are capable of being had. every train was derailed long ago, drowned out by the untraceable fear of its rawest movements being perceived at a microscopic level.

every shallow rake of your eyes over his brow leaves inch-thick gashes.

[weskie]

Imperfectly Perfect (Albert Wesker x gn!Reader) - Lover, Leader, Liar

700 words, non-chronological/plotless one shot, s.t.a.r.s. wesker, wesker yearning, mentions of corporal punishment, flashbacks (kid wesker), may count as some degree of angst, part of the lover leader liar series | Fic Directory

To ache for the idea of it...

He's breaking the rules. 

The heat of the flashlight prickles his skin, but he must continue on. The blanket conceals precious little of his infraction, though he'll only be caught if one of the wards enters the dorm. 

Or if one of the other boys rats him out in the morning. 

The skritch of his pencil is the only audible sound save for a gentle snore here or there. His eyes ache. 

But he must fix his error. 

Penmanship was no laughing matter. How could he ever hope to be taken seriously one day if he failed to carve eloquent lines, perfect in their mimicry of the template, onto paper? Of all things, this is where he suddenly falters. He'd already broken the need to rest writing utensils between his pointer and middle fingers, having been reprimanded over and over by the teacher until he, like the others, utilized the space between his thumb and forefinger. 

The right way.

He chews his tongue as he traces the intricate curvature of a cursive A, looping slowly into an L until, suddenly, his first name stares back at him. 

Albert. 

To be etched upon document after document, form after form, contracts upon contracts… 

“Captain,” you greet him, awkwardly entering his office as you always do. Afraid to disturb him, you've said – consideration even if you were there on his orders, even if to surprise him with your kindness. You've grown accustomed to his subtleties, picking up organically on the nearly nonexistent nod he gives to enter. 

It is strange to feel known. 

Paperwork, he assumes before you've even reached his desk. You no longer clutch the stack to your abdomen as you once did, devoid, now, of the nerves that once rattled your ability to approach him, the ever intimidating Captain Wesker. 

“I've got those reports you asked for.” You hum, extending them to his waiting grasp. 

He makes sure to look away upon taking them. It diffuses any suspicions as to why he always manages to brush his fingers against yours. 

How else is he meant to feel such a jolt zap through his very being if not by sneaking this part? 

“I appreciate you.” He says, tone firm and proper, never wavering despite the smile that threatens to cut through his cool demeanor. Ah, but he could let it. Observe and take note of how you react to such an uncommon occurrence. You looked about shell shocked the last time he let one slip. 

His glasses touch the table with a soft click. “Thank you,” he says earnestly. The coffee mug's warmth seeps into his fingers even through the handle. 

You're caught off guard, it seems. Your lips part to accept his appreciation, but you simply blink. 

Most find his gaze uncanny. Too cold, too calculating - sharp and cunning in a way that cuts into their minds and leaves behind the salt of unspoken threats. 

“I, uh…” you stammer, eyes blinking rapidly as if to return yourself to Earth. “Y-you're welcome.”

You'd left him with an invitation for lunch. He'll certainly be taking you up on that offer, but first he's got to tear his eyes away from your delivery. 

He's meant to be reading this, interpreting the details and checking for errors. All he can do, however, is trace a finger over the etch of your words, digits just barely registering the sensation of the fine-point carve left in your wake.

You are imperfect, he instantly concludes. Your letters are all wrong, slanted here and there, inconsistently joined in one instance and broken in another. Your writing changes periodically, telling him exactly when your mind had been pulled elsewhere and left you starting again with a renewed flow. 

You are nothing like him. 

His touch traverses the submission details. You've etched his name into the sheet. It hovers slightly above the line, dipping down beneath with the sharp tips of the A and W. 

His penmanship teachers would have labeled you unfit and chaotic. Your knuckles would be split with their rulers over and over again until you were naught but a simple reflection of their ideals. 

But you aren't. 

You are a contradiction to all that he is meant to find worthy. Despite this, you've begun to bleed into him. He should find you no different than his teachers would. 

Instead, as you poke your smiling face in the door, he finds you otherwise. 

You are radiant. 

AO3 LINK

[lilith0fthevalley]

The Duality of A Man {S.T.A.R.S. Era!Wesker x Reader}

Content Warning: This piece contains themes of manipulation and deception under the guise of charm and flirtation. Readers sensitive to manipulative dynamics or morally ambiguous behavior may wish to proceed with caution.

As always, Reader discretion is advised.

The task given was simple. Assemble a team of specially chosen characters, train and cultivate their skills, ignore the rest of the details that followed… So how did Wesker get here… On a date with a sweet little civilian in a safer corner of Raccoon City. Let’s rewind…

2 Days Prior…

There were two sharp knocks on Wesker’s office door before it swings open and Rebecca pops her head in.

“Cap? Got a sec?” She asks, tone warm and sweet.

Wesker puts his pen down and pulls his rectangular reading glasses off his face. “Rebecca. Come on in. What’s on your mind?” He posits and leans back in the maroon coloured leather chair. The end of his glasses hangs between his lips.

The young S.T.A.R.S. member bounds in and grins. “We’re doing happy hour tonight after shift…. You missed last week and said you’d make it up…” She teases. He lets out a faux irritated huff.

“Is that what I said, Miss Chambers?” He teases and flashes a perfect white smile.

Rebecca pouts playfully back. “You make me sound old as hell when you call me that…” He just laughs and shakes his head.

“It’s all meant in jest, Rebecca.” He pauses for a beat and looks up from his desk. “... Where are we going this time around?” The blonde man muses and taps his lip with the glasses.

“Startin’ at S.T.A.G.L.A., ending at Krimson.” Jill’s voice carries from the door. It makes Wesker and Rebecca look up.

Wesker gives a resigned sigh. “As long as we can stop for a round at Bloodhound, I’ll go.”

Rebecca throws her arms up and lets out an excited “yippeee!!” before rushing past Jill to inform the others of the attendance of their captain.

Jill lingers in the doorway for a moment, a knowing smile plastered on her face. “Bloodhound… I thought you hated that place. Owner’s a prick, if I recall correctly…” She muses and taps her chin. He scoffs at her. 

“I do, I just-”  “Just have the hots for the new bartender. It’s ok. You can say it.” Jill jabbers out quickly and grins wolfishly. Wesker glares at her, but there’s no heat behind it. “I am not infatuated with Miss L/N-” 

“YOU ALREADY KNOW HER NAME!” Jill howls out and her grin widens as she turns and rushes off. Wesker blinks, sighs and shakes his head. 

This was going to be a long night…

~

In the low lights of Bloodhound, a gritty, no-nonsense bar known for its cheap whiskey and a jukebox that only plays rock and blues, Wesker forced himself to continue sipping the vile amber coloured liquid. It wasn’t up to his tastes. To his high standards, but it would do. As long as he got to see her… It would do.

Y/N was behind the bar, taking orders and mixing drinks with the grace and fluidity only accomplished after years of bartending. Her hair lightly tousled out of its low ponytail, bangs flying about, but that smile still on her face. It just barely crinkled the edges of her eyes, Wesker noticed in his buzzed haze. She flits her gaze to him and her eyes… those damn eyes, seem to sparkle at him. He raises his glass in acknowledgement and takes a sip. 

‘Calm the hell down, Albert. She’s no one. Just a bartender.’ He rationalizes as his phone buzzes. Front left pocket of his jeans. Umbrella. He subtly glances around before checking the message from his alternative employer…

‘Hireups have requested you find another way to blend in. The little lark behind the bar seems to have your attention. Figure something out.’ 

The message is short. No nonsense. Straight to the point. Just how Wesker-the real Wesker-likes it. None of the floundering back and forth bullshit of the S.T.A.R.S. teams or the other imbeciles at the RPD. He pockets his phone and meets the leering eyes of a man in a once pristine button up shirt. Another man like him, tasked with blending in. He gives a curt nod and looks away, Back into the cheap whisky in his glass and the reflection of his crystalline blue eyes staring back at him. 

~

As the activity of the bar slows, the sounds of billiard balls clicking, raucous chatter and souring arguments that occur in the background lessen and lessen.

Y/N looks a bit more at ease. Her smile was much less forced this time around as she tidied up the bar and took away empty glasses.

She made her way over to him and leaned against the sticky wooden surface with her forearms. “Welcome back. Good to see ya again.” She quips with a lopsided grin and tilt of her head.

Wesker puts on his charms, smirking at her and doing that low chuckle that he overheard Rebecca and Jill talking about a few weeks ago. “Good to be back. Great to see you, too.” He muses back at the bartender. He catches how the tips of her ears turn red. 

Hook. Line. And Sinker. This is too easy.

He leans back in the stool, tapping a hand on the bartop. “You know… I’ve been meaning to ask,” he drawls, voice low and smooth, “How is it someone like you ended up in a place like this?”

Y/N huffs a laugh, grabbing an empty glass to wipe down. “What, a place like Bloodhound?”

Wesker nods, lifting his drink. “Exactly. You seem… too bright for this.”

She tilts her head slightly, an amused smile curving her lips. “You calling me a lightweight?”

The chuckle that rumbles from his chest is soft, warm. “Not at all. Just saying… you stand out. In a good way.”

Her smile falters slightly — not from discomfort, but surprise. He notices the way her fingers pause briefly over the glass, as if trying to figure out how to respond.

“Well… bills don’t pay themselves.” She shrugs, but there’s a flicker of something in her eyes. Maybe pride. Maybe something more guarded. “Besides, I like it here. Good people. Good company.”

He hums, swirling the amber liquid in his glass. “I’m glad to hear that.” His gaze flicks up to meet hers. Steady. Intentional. “I was starting to wonder if I’d have to give you a reason to stay.”

She blinks — and then laughs. A soft, genuine laugh that she covers quickly with her hand. “Wow… that’s smooth.”

He shrugs with mock humility. “Just honest.”

Y/N shakes her head, still smiling. “Well… you’ve got good timing. I’m off at midnight.”

He raises an eyebrow, feigning mild surprise. “Is that an invitation?”

“Maybe.” She wipes her hands on a bar towel, tossing it over her shoulder. “Guess you’ll have to stick around to find out.”

Wesker leans back in his seat, the corners of his lips curving upward in satisfaction.

Hook line and sinker indeed…

~~~

Masterlist

[dbd-slvt]

The cosplay is slowly coming together >:)

[sagetoadtea]

Don't masquerade with the guy in shades, oh no

[stronglionleon]

Uhhh idk how tumblr works since I only ever reblog stuff...but here's my costest for S.T.A.R.S. Wesker. :')

(Plz someone help me, I feel lost on here—)

[skelesass]

not bad at all

[pinrut]

[silna-pdf]

Out in field training, getting up to no good. Wesker feels Deja vu sitting in his chair, letting Chambers childishly play with stickers. like a distant memory he can’t quite recall. Though If he can’t remember, it must not be important

[residentcherries]

Albert Wesker

S.T.A.R.S. Captain

[alexrainbow]

"I love all my S.T.A.R.S. equally"

[weskie]

BLUE EYED BOY

[raz0rvampire]

This reference is so funny I love it sm

[scarlette-heel]

Take off your fucking glasses.