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cloversnstrawberries · 3 days ago

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"eschatological hope" platonic!yandere!albert wesker & B.O.W!teen!reader [twoshot] [pt 1] ! !

masterlist !

description; You're one of many 'subjects' of a strange underground facility, one that sources their patients from survivor shelters outside of cities affected by outbreaks, specifically ones catered to children who are either orphaned or lost their parents amongst the chaos. One day, the emergency alarm begins blaring; the pre-recorded code said through the announcement system was unfamiliar.

You took it as a chance to run, to escape this hell-- it was the best opportunity you could ever ask for. Too bad it doesn't go you your way.

additional notes; hello! this definitely was just supposed to be a oneshot, but i lost hold on my self restraint and just want to really start off my resident evil writing with a bang . i really love this idea, and i'm a sucker for religious imagery and references, so :) but also, there's a scary lack of platonic!yan albert wesker... i plan to amend that in the coming weeks as i dive headfirst into this special interest on here. it's not going away. help.

also! reader is intended to be a younger teen, around ~14/15 in here, but can be interpreted as younger or older!

warnings; Child experimentation, body horror, betrayal, mentions of the apocalypse, canon-typical bloods, guts, gore, and violence, death of a child/mentioned deaths of children (not reader), child abuse, guns, general terror, non-consensual body modification (the scientists altered reader with a virus strain </3), not very yandere in this part, but oh boy will shit hit the fan in the second part, heavy religious symbolism and references (which will only get more obvious in the next part), slightly soft Albert Wesker, and there might be more that I missed! if so, please be sure to let me know!!

w/c; 7.7k (oh lord)

I was so close, you mournfully thought-- your cheek pressed to the cold tile, a guard's boot dug into the back of your skull as he put more and more pressure onto your cranium.

You were so close to make it out of here- out of here alive. You'd seen countless other... subjects, is all they saw you as; come and go from this strange, underground facility.

It always ended the same, whether or not they tried to escape.

You were a fool to think you were any different.

You'd made it the longest, survived the most tests. You were weak, muscles atrophied and dizzy from how small the portions of the meals they gave you were-- even if they could hardly be called that.

Scraps. They were just scraps, just enough to keep you alive; but just small enough to discourage this kind of stunt.

They keep you weak, keep you under their thumb until the time came to crush you down beneath it. You'd witnessed this many times-- you're not sure how many, no longer seeing a reason to keep track of the numbers.

Last you'd counted, it'd been at 38. 38 dead, either shot because they tried to escape, or...

Jamie had been a good friend to you, throughout this hell of an experience. In hushed whispers, they'd tell you stories of their life; they lived so differently from yourself, having hailed from sunny California.

You exchanged stories about the crazy weather phenomena you'd experienced, the snow storms that hit Arklay county mid-October a few years back, was traded for a story about how the highest temperature they'd suffered through was a whopping 131 degrees in the dead of summer.

But now, there was no Jamie.

There was only the thing left in their place, an awful amalgamation of... oh god, you can't even pick it apart. So many things-- eyes of a goat, five legs; two sprouting from their back like a dinosaurs spine, and one burst out of their shoulder.

Their face was near-unrecognizable, their voice no better off. You could hardly understand the words they were saying-- and they were words, you knew that much-- as they curled their hand, as crushed and mangled and deformed as it was, around your ankle.

You stood there, frozen with terror-- unknowing of what-- no, who, this was; until you caught sight of a chunk of long hair, once dyed a vibrant red atop light blonde hair-- all that was left was a faded red, their roots having grown in a good 2 or 3 inches, coming from what you assumed to the top of the thing's skull.

"Jamie?" You'd muttered, voice small and broken. You no longer tried to fight the hold on your leg, simply stared down in abject horror. You didn't notice the alarm begin to ring, nor the flashing red of the emergency lights-- the call of a code over the intercom, summoning all available personal to deal with a "Code 96".

It-- They, nodded; or it seemed like it, a jerk of what must've been their head. What came from the thing-- no, Jamie's mouth next, made your heart go from nearly beating out of your chest to terribly, deathly still, as you realize what they'd been trying to say the entire time.

"Kill... me..." they'd rasped, all semblance of their fiery but intelligent personality gone, replaced with a simple need to be put out of their misery.

You had no means to do so, but as you heard boots rushing down the echoing hallways-- making their way to the adolescent patient's barracks where they kept you all, you knew that they did.

You sunk to your knees, and you held your friend until the guards came in, one tasked with evacuating the other subjects; not wanting any to accidentally get hurt, because then that'd just be a waste of resources-- pulled you from your friend, who let out a horrifying sort of shriek.

Your hand outstretched, as they fumbled to reach out; unable to grab yours in time, you were pulled form the room just as rounds and rounds of gunshots sounded behind you. The door had barely been shut before it started, dents made in the dense metal scared you deeply-- but the bullets never did make it through the material.

Or because the experiments got to them first. The things they inject you all with, the tests and strange sets of tasks that hardly coincide with each other-- the things that somehow make nearly everyone turn into some sort of monster,

Some kept their mind, like Jamie had, and some didn’t.

You’d had an awful feeling that your time would come soon, when all the weird injections and ‘medicines’ and ‘treatments’ finally got to you.

In some ways, you’d accepted that. The fact that you’d probably never make it out, that you’d just be another lost subject. A waste of resources.

Not a living, breathing child that they stole away from a survivor’s shelter after an outbreak hit your city and you fled— and were able to do so, because you were all alone.

You had hopes and dreams— ones that would be splattered across the frigid tile floor any second now, along with your blood and brain matter.

Sometimes the guards were kind, they gave one shot right at the crown of your head— killing you instantly.

Sometimes they wanted to have a little ‘fun’ as they called it. Nobody but the guards found it fun, how they’d toy with the kids as they killed them— the scientists and ‘doctors’ found it wasteful of their time, a disgrace that they spent more time than necessary on terminating a subject.

The other kids, yourself included, found it horrifying. In the dark of night, when you all knew the cameras weren’t as heavily watched as before— the guards weren’t standing where they were supposed to in the patient barracks, you’d spread stories about how the staff were really the monsters.

You’d say that one has a second face hidden beneath her giant, fluffy blonde hair. The others kids said that one of the guards, a particularly cruel one which none of you knew the name of, secretly had a third eye— that’s why he never took off the guard gear, which most every other one did at some point, for one reason or another.

And as you lay here, feeling your nose shift as the pressure of the boot on your head increased, your face pressing harder and harder into the tile— you come to the dreadful realization that they’re going to have their ‘fun’ with you.

You hope they get in trouble with their superiors— really, you do. Because with the red emergency lights going, causing a terrible headache to form right behind your eyes— and the alarm blared, a pre-recorded voice calling over the intercom;

They shouldn’t be here, taking their sweet time with a patient that’d broken off from the rest. Honestly, you thought you could get away with it, in the chaos of them evacuating all patients; or, all patients worth saving.

Noticeably, the barracks that held the younger kids, all below 6, were not evacuated. If anything, they weren’t making any move to free the poor things— the door still locked, probably.

“You know,” The guard began to say, and you recognized that voice. Oh, oh God did you recognize it.

You thought he was nicest of the bunch— he always did his best to help you. In quiet, dark corners where the cameras wouldn’t reach, he’d give you a hug to hide the way he handed you some extra food.

Sometimes you’d smuggle it back to the barracks, to distribute among the most malnourished of you all. Sometimes he’d have you eat it right then and there, to make sure you got extra nutrients.

“So you can grow big and strong,” He’d say. That implied that’d you’d make it further than a year in this hellhole.

He’d even told you his name-- his first one, not his last one; the one he was supposed to only be known as, something he really wasn’t meant to do— he called you by your name as well, your real one, not the serial code you were assigned when you got here.

“Na-than—“ You stumbled out, letting out a cry of pain as he cruelly, oh-so-cruelly, put all of his weight on the foot currently crushing your skull.

He took it off within a few seconds, not wanting you to die so quickly. It’d be a mercy, considering what the other guards tend to do with the subjects they have their sick ‘fun’ with.

“Oh shut the hell up, you fucking brat.” He sounded so cruel. This— this couldn’t be Nathan, could it? No… they’re tricking you. He had to have been replaced, this was nothing like him—!

In a split second, you felt all encompassing relief; as he lifted his foot from the back of your head— but that relief was short-lived, as he crouched down beside you and wound his fingers through your hair,

He yanked your head up, and you made a valiant, but ultimately useless, attempt to stifle the yelp from the action.

When you did let that sound out— though, much smaller than it would’ve been had you not tried, he jostled your head around.

“I really thought you’d be the one to make it. The scientists worked really hard on your virus strain, you know that?” He said that as if it was your fault— your fault for what? You couldn’t really place your finger on.

Maybe… he’s blaming you because you’d given the scientists hope that they’d succeeded? If you had succeeded, would they have stopped the operations—

Or doubled the effort? You’re leaning more towards the latter.

“s’not my fault…” You mumbled, screwing your eyes shut. You swear that they had to have replaced all the lights with brighter, more agitating ones. It hurt to be anywhere when the lights were fully on— the blaring emergency light, bright red and spinning constantly— added another layer of it.

“Open your fucking eyes when i’m talking to you!” He yelled— oh, you’d never heard Nathan yell like that. This has to be an imposter; it had to be that the higher-ups found out how kind he was being and terminated him, one way or another.

This couldn’t be him.

Against your own wishes, but along with your better judgement— you peeled open your eyes, lips wobbling as you were forced to come face to face with both the lights, and—

The imposter had taken off his helmet, letting you have a full view of his face.

It was Nathan. No doubt about it.

“I’d say I actually liked you,” He snarled, leaning closer— your back creaking and bending as he pulled your upper half up, but your lower one stayed relatively flat on the floor. “But that’d be a lie.” There was a cruel smirk playing on the corner of his lips, nothing like the kind ones he’d always give you,

You wrenched out a sob, at which he jostled you a little more to get you to “Shut up!”

By that point, you were in absolutely no position not to follow his wishes, your life quite literally placed in the palm of his hands.

He leaned closer again, and you couldn’t help but let the tears rush down your face at the sting of hurt from his words— which only worsened as he continued on.

“The bonuses that my higher-ups gave me to act all buddy-buddy with you were pretty nice, though. I guess I have you to thank for that.”

Oh.

That… makes sense— why you two were never caught. Why he could get away with it, with stealing the food, with showing you his face, telling you his name, hugging you, comforting you—

It was all a ploy,

And for what? Maybe they thought that if the subjects had something to fight for, that they’d be more determined to make it out as a success?

That wasn’t true and you knew it— Jamie had things to fight for, but they still ended up with their mutated body looking more like swiss cheese by the end of it all.

Nathan-- no, the guard, as you refuse to associate this... monster with the man who had been so kind to you, even if, realistically, you knew they were one in the same.

That it was all just an act.

That doesn't mean you have to admit it to yourself, even if you accepted the fact in some capacity.

But... regardless, the guard, clicked his tongue, looking down upon you in a way that made you want to curl up and sob. "They thought you'd make it, you know? You were reacting so well to all the tests. The virus took hold..." You couldn't stop the confused little noise, clawing its way from the back of your throat.

Surprisingly, the guard didn't reprimand or hurt you for it. His smirk only grew to a sick, sick grin. Presumably because of the obvious show of confusion on your part,

"Oh? Did you not know? They were testing a new strain, I mean-- I'm surprised it took to you of all people!" The laugh that followed was mocking and devoid of any light. Any joy that wasn't founded in the sadistic nature of this guard. "It was modified from a strain made by a couple of traitors-- It was meant for the strongest. They just gave it to you to see where that threshold for 'strong' was!"

...Ah.

A virus? That's what this all was? You didn't know what they were putting into you all, none of the other patients had a clue about what was happening besides what was obvious. You really didn't know anything about it--

But that's it? They were putting viruses into all of you? That'd definitely explain why some ended up the way they did; some mindless, some wanting nothing but violence. The ones who didn't what such things always looked as if they did, like Jamie had.

You don't feel sick though, not how Jamie had been describing how they felt as they approached their death day, completely oblivious to what was happening-- a little more lethargic than usual, yes-- but not sick. You don't feel like your bones are about to snap, about to shift and move and rearrange themselves to turn you into a monster. You're sure you would've... felt it,

Before you could make another sound-- before the guard could continue his spiel, a new round of heavy gunfire broke out nearby-- a few turns down the long corridor, you think.

Then, screams-- so many, and.. and bones cracking, flesh ripping; it didn't sound like anyone was getting shot.

It sounded like their heads were being twisted and ripped from their neck. You witnessed that once, with a particularly violent, now-terminated, subject. That's how you recognized the awful sound as the flesh of the neck tried to follow the way their head was being turned, only to be ripped-- sinew snapping as their bodies were pushed pass the limits of human capabilties.

The alarms-- no one knew what it was about, the code they were putting through the intercoms wasn't one you recognized. It wasn't one any of you recognized-- the guards seemed... panicked, for once. Not for you all, not at all; but because they had to evacuate everyone before they could save themselves.

Something told you that this wasn't a regular sort of rampage, put on by a grotesque mimicry of one of your fellow captives.

One second, the guards fingers were twisted in your hair-- yanking you, making your neck strain painfully as he forced you to look him in the face,

And the next, your hair was released and your head lolled forward; smacking your forehead right against the tile, not enough time to brace yourself at all. You heard the guard yell out a string of curses, before he stumbled-- and you mean stumbled, up; all scary calm and malice gone.

Replaced by a primal fear and terror that you know all too well. It was a little funny, seeing the primary force behind that sort of emotion experiencing it firsthand for once.

You don't see a point in picking yourself up at first, expecting you end to be swift-- for whatever was causing the apparent massacre to come charging at you, uncaring as it twisted your neck violently; just as you're sure it'd done to all the guards a few turns ahead.

But it... a few moments pass by, and nothing of the sort happens. You don't hear anything coming for you-- no horrifying creature shambling toward you on all fours, or a mass of disgusting, pulsing and gory flesh sliding across the tile to attack you.

All you hear are calm, methodical steps coming your way. A scientist, maybe-- all the guards seemed to be in a state of panic, if that one had left you in such a rush; if they leave you alone, if they don't continue their 'fun', or pull you along to continue at another time,

Then you know something is terribly, awfully wrong.

You listened carefully to the click-click-click of heeled dress shoes against the tile floor, coming closer and closer. The scientists weren't as outwardly-cruel as the guards, didn't rough you and the others kid up like they did...

But that's not to say that they cared for you, for any of you. If what the guard said was true, that you had gotten the furthest with their experiments-- then maybe the scientist would pick you up and drag you back.

Or kill you, and study your corpse to see what made your body welcome whatever virus they'd forced onto you.

At that, you made an effort to rise from your spot on the ground. Your elbows gave out the first few times you tried, adrenaline still running through your system-- but you were shaken up, and it was always harder to get up from the floor than it was from a chair or bed.

You were so tired, frail and weak-- but still better off than most. You were one of the few that actually had a chance, and you couldn't just give that up. Even if there was nothing to fight for really, you still had to get out. You don't know why-- maybe it's just in the human nature to want to continue on despite it all.

To survive anything, no real reason behind it. Simply a primal part of you, left over from centuries past; one that not even the most disciplined could stamp down, you think.

When you did get purchase, able to push yourself up to sit on your folded legs-- biting the inside of your cheek to smother the strange sort of chirp that desperately wished to escape you.

That'd been happening recently-- producing strange noises like that of a bird, especially when in distress. You'd been able to cover them up with a cough, or stifle them either mostly or completely, but the more scared you were; the harder it became to hide them.

You managed, though-- the fear of being noticed by whoever those eerily calm, unbothered steps that was a stark contrast to the bloodbath they were certainly just waltzing right through.

One sitting, you did your best to rise from the position-- unable to get to enough leverage to rise just as you were without collapsing to the ground, you got one leg out from under yourself-- though not without great difficulty.

Just as you were about to heft yourself up into a kneeling position, sure that you'd be able to stand from there-- you heard the footsteps come to an abrupt stop; you hadn't noticed how close they were until they went silent.

Slowly, you raised your head. The dread and barely contained panic keeping you from focusing on the throbbing, world-ending headache that kicked up a notch as you looked straight on at the lights--

In front of you, down near the hallway; but not nearly far enough for your own liking, was a man you'd never seen before. Dressed in all black, he looked more like an FBI or undercover agent you'd see in a movie than anything.

Was he here to save you? You dazedly thought, but as you looked into the mans face-- his eyes hidden by simple black sunglasses, something told you that you had to run.

This man wasn't like the others-- his presence felt suffocating, like his existence alone could choke the life out from you.

Despite the headache, the aches and pain-- and the way that, deep down, you knew that you could never outrun this man... or whatever he was; that even if you were perfectly healthy, in the best shape possible, you never stood a chance, you still tried to run.

You stood abruptly, the pressure in your head becoming almost unbearable as black clouded your vision-- as disoriented and dizzy as you were, you're surprised you didn't fall right to the floor like a discarded ragdoll upon standing.

When your vision finally cleared, you met the mans gaze, and really got a look at him. The light casted behind him made him look like he had a halo-- a halo of red, like a sun delivering sailors an ill omen, bounced off of his perfectly gelled blond hair. His face was sharp, and he looked like he was in better shape than some of the guards here.

Upon closer inspection, he seemed to be wearing tactical gear-- and when you looked a little longer, realized that the strange spots of... something, wasn't a bad dye job of the fabric.

It was blood, mostly centralized to his black leather gloves, coagulated but still beading up-- one big glob fell to the floor, as the man simply stood there. Watching, waiting-- like a cat would to a mouse, staring it down and waiting for it to turn its back.

Cat's were stealth predators, more focused catching their prey off-guard rather than over powering it with sheer brute force. You're sure the man could do that-- and the reality of it all came crashing down.

He must be the one who killed the guards, the one that caused the one tormenting you to run for the hills like his life depended on it,

because it did, and yours did too.

He said nothing, as he stood there. He tilted his head, his face unreadable-- the glasses weren't helping. Slowly, as steadily as you could manage, you took a few steps back.

And then a few more, not daring to turn around until the very last minute. When he took a step forward, you turned and bolted down the hall.

You don't know where the exit is-- or, really the elevator. Or stairs-- anything to get you out from this underground hell. You stumbled as you ran, twisting and turning through the corridors; your lungs burning, head pounding and body aching--

But you never stopped running, and you wouldn't until you were safe, or you simply keeled over right then and there. You wouldn't stop running, wouldn't stop this fruitless fight until your very heart gave out--

Or you joined the number of casualties, head twisted off. You'd yet to see any bodies, any blood or gore-- or anyone else. Most of them were in the other side of the building, and you dashed toward the section with the labs and testing rooms.

There, you think you could find a weapon, or at the very least a weapon to brandish. A weapon that would do nothing, and you were well aware it would do nothing.

The man that had stood before you, the one that set off your fight-or-flight instincts like never before, couldn't have been human. He just couldn't have been. If he had been the ones to cause those terrible noises of sinew snapping and viscera splashing on the sterile, once white walls...

Then that was that, he wasn't human. You don't know what exactly he'd be, and you don't want to find out.

For one foolish, silly second-- you assumed you'd shook him off your proverbial tail. He hadn't chased after you, and even if you were malnourished and frail, you still could run fast in necessary. Could push yourself if it meant a chance for freedom, to see the sun again-- even if it'd be the last time.

it'd hurt, you think. The other patients would complain that the barracks lighting was becoming too dim, but to you-- it was always just bit too bright. What might've been bearable the day before, became uncomfortably bright the next. Not blinding like the corridor's lights were, though. And for that, you'd been thankful.

You weren't familiar with this facility-- you were aiming for the labs, but somehow wound up in going in a circle; now facing the other way, close to where you'd started.

Bodies-- all over the ground, mostly guards... a few scientists, their white coats weren't all stained-- some were a stark white against the viscera covering the hallway.

Ahead of you, the click-click-click of heeled dress shoes called your attention, and at the end of the hallway, stood the man.

It was as if he knew you'd wind up back here, like he knew how inexperienced you were in the layout of this place-- like he knew the layout himself. A smirk played at his lips, showcasing rather sharp canines. The kind that could easily tear flesh from bone with no issue.

Maybe... he was an angel of death, you surmised. It fit, it really did-- maybe that's why he made it through the hail of bullets the slain guards around you had sent his way. How he'd been able to kill them so quickly, without so much as a scratch on his person.

The need to run didn't fade, if anything it got worse-- maybe because you knew, wholly and entirely, that you can't run. Not really. If he wanted you dead, then it'd be so. He'd taken down so many trained guards, a measly, terrified child wouldn't be a problem at all.

All you can think of that could stop him, was morals. You don't think he has those-- with the sight surrounding you.

This time, when he stepped forward, you didn't make any move to take a step back. It was useless. this was all so useless. Why you? Why did it have to be you? The shelter hadn't been ideal, but it was better than this.

You sunk to the ground, tears welling in your eyes as you looked down-- trying to look away from the still-going emergency lights, the too-bright fluorescents that hung above were still on. The combination of the two made it feel like someone was tenderizing your brain with a sledgehammer constantly.

The clicks of his shoes aren't as sharp sometimes, when he steps in the puddles of blood-- they get closer, and closer... until he stands before you, only his shoes and part of his legs were visible to you.

You kept your head down, not wishing to look at your end. You want to die under the illusion that you ever had any choice in your life. That you chose your own end, and it was not brought upon you by this... angel of death.

And as you sat there, expecting the pain-- or simply a pinch before your entire world went black; shivering from both fear and the cold of the hallway, bile rising in your throat and your headache refusing to back down even a smidge; you imagine a world were you got to live a little longer.

Because, in your mind, you died the moment you entered this facility; it was a death sentence, and you should've been able to come to terms with that. It was stupid, you felt stupid for thinking you were any different to countless other kids that'd died in these halls-- some going down with a fight, others begging for their end;

"Look at me." A deep, almost... British, but not quite-- voice spoke, clear and concise. The man sounded... oddly human. You'd expected maybe a reverb of sorts, or the voice to crawl into the crevices of your brain and dig their claws in...

He was still scary, his voice sending a flash of terror through your body-- but in a way no different than the scientists were. It was a very human type of fear that his voice incited, the fear of somebody in a position of power above you.

Oh, how badly you wished to stay staring at the ground-- it was the lights, that was the problem. The man scared you, but you knew you should obey him. Maybe he'd give you a chance then.

Oddly enough, he seemed quite... patient, all things considered. he stood there for maybe a minute or so, before repeating himself. In the same tone, the same exact cadence and words.

"Look at me." He said, and something inexplicable-- something that felt rooted in your very soul, tugged at your mind. Telling you that he wouldn't be so kind if you made him ask again.

And you do, trying to keep your eyes open despite the pain that followed. Nausea rolled through you, both from the smell of blood and flesh-- it was sharp, much more noticeable then you think it should be; as if it's being held right in front of your nose-- and from how the headache worsened.

The smirk he had when he'd first spotted you had dropped, his face now a cold mask of... something. He really did look like an angel-- but the sorts found in older religious texts. neither good nor bad, simply carrying out God's will, who in of Themselves, was a contradiction.

The man reached out, and you couldn't help but jerk your head back-- he said nothing of it. In fact, you could've sworn the corners of his lips were giving way to a little smile, not just a smirk-- but it was gone before you could really register it;

But, he continued to reach out, and you stayed stock still, not wanting to test his patience again. You were already on thin ice, probably. For running from him, for making him repeat himself-- maybe he'd give you mercy, though? Because you were so young?

You weren't exactly a child, but you weren't an adult. Maybe... maybe he'd leave you be. He didn't seem to be hurting you, and when he curled his hand around your chin to push your head up just a bit more-- he was... gentle with it. In a way you hadn't experienced in so, so long from any adult.

Even Nathan hadn't been entirely soft with his movements, too used to being rough with it all; not knowing his strength, or the fragility of a subject who'd been here as long as you had.

You're surprised you were still able to run as much as you did.

The man hummed, turning your head just a tad to the left-- then gently guiding it to turn the other way. Like he was a museum curator appraising a priceless artifact.

When he turned your head to face him straight-on, you winced; the headache reaching an all time high, making you feel as if you were going to pass out form the pain at any given moment.

"Does the light bother you?" He asked, and you tried to nod-- but his grip, as gentle as it was, was all too firm. Not enough slack to complete the gesture. "Use your words." He said next, no irritation obvious in his tone.

But still, it set you on edge. How calm he was. People weren't calm like that-- but maybe angels were. That's what he had to be. He couldn't be human... he just couldn't be.

But... why would he ask that? It's not like the man cared for your well-being, right? it doesn't seem so, the question asked with an almost clinical sort of edge. Like the scientists had when they asked if there were any major concerns with your health, if you'd felt any negative side effects.

Not out of care for your person, but care for what you represented; a subject, something to test on to try and further whatever agenda or project they're assigned to.

"...Yes sir." You croaked out, shaking-- tacking on the honorific should help, yeah? The scientists always made you refer to them as such-- Sir or Ma'am, not accepting anything else. Not accepting no personal address either; that's how you get locked up in solitary for a few hours, to 'learn your lesson about disrespect'.

You were better at it than most, only being placed in solitary twice for the reason of 'disrespecting the scientists' with the lack of it.

The chuckle that followed terrified you, making your entire body lock up-- muscles pulled taut, ready to snap. Spine straight, much like a rabbit ready to bolt;

"Good to know you have manners. That'll make things easier." Your anxiety only worsened-- make what easier? What was he going to do, and how hell was your manners going the help that process?

Finally, he released your chin-- and not a moment too soon. You slumped, not from relief, but from the bone-deep exhaustion plaguing you after everything. Head lolling forward to try and avoid the bright light, you don't know how you're still even vaguely upright-- hell, how you're even still awake. You probably burned off more calories than you've collectively taken in since arriving here.

The world was spinning around you, and that notified you that you consciousness was probably something very, very short-lived. You're sure that, if you do pass out before he does whatever he does; you won't wake up again.

He says something, but the world if muffled around you-- blood rushing in your ears, making it sound like everything was underwater. You came to when he snapped his fingers in your face, it was a warning just as much as it was call for your attention.

You looked up-- or made the move to, only for him to place his hand atop your head, and gently direct you to keep your gaze down. "You'll damage your eyesight. Close them, if that helps any."

He framed it like he was offering it, offering advice-- you shut your eyes, seeing it as what it was. You had no choice in it. Whatever use he wanted you for, he didn't want your vision to be damaged for it.

You don't think the lights would damage your sight-- more just give a pounding migraine, but you do as he says regardless; he could very well just crush your skull in his hand, right then and there-- if he took down so many guards as you think he had.

For once, some higher being smiled upon you; and he moved his hand from your head, and while he was still as close as before, it was a massive weight lifted from your shoulders, not to have him making any direct contact anymore.

"I won't repeat myself again," He started off with, and you tried to show that you were listening-- he stayed quiet afterward, and you realized with a jolt, what he wanted. As soon as you realized, you aid-- almost robotically, "I understand, sir."

A few seconds passed, a heavy weight forming in your heart-- was that not what he wanted? You were tempted to open your eyes to try and see if you could get a read on his face, figure out what he was thinking; if he was about to kill you for some perceived slight.

...But would an angel do that? Even one who killed all these people? If you were still alive, then maybe he was ordered not to kill you. Or, more realistically, not specifically ordered to kill you.

Even if he wasn't an angel of death, if he was just some terrifying super-human or something of the like, he has to work under someone; right? He also said he's got a use for you.

You just hope that you picked up on the implications that he needed you alive for that use.

"Good." The man-- Angel?-- replied, as you hear fabric shifting-- the man moving, whether that be shifting on his feet or reaching into a pocket, you have no idea. "What's your serial code?"

"...I don't know it, sir." You shook-- you really didn't. Well, you didn't remember it off the top of your head, so maybe, if you explained yourself, he'd be more kind... "But if I hear it, then I'll know it's mine."

That can't be of much help. You might've just doomed yourself even worse, tacking on something like that- did he think you were wasting his time? Were you why he'd come here in the first place? That can't be it, you were never that important--

"Would you happen to be Subject 082202?" He asked-- and you recognized the number. Was he really after you? That's... that could go either one way or the either. Hope bloomed in your chest, before smothered by absolute despair.

What did he want with you?

You tried to respond, you really did-- but your voice failed you, wobbling and tried not to cry. You nodded, hoping he'd give you some leniency with it.

Surprisingly, he let it go. Didn't even comment on it-- when he spoke next, he sounded so... not happy, but--

Victorious, you think it'd be. Smug would be your next choice, the emotion in his voice was hard to pinpoint. It was barely there, but without anything else to witness or analyze-- you were stuck with trying to dissect his tone.

"Good, that's good." You heard him shift again-- the sound his shoes made against the tile suggested that he'd crouched down, and and his heavy leather coat shifted, but in what way you couldn't be sure--

More noises, ones that were meant to be quiet-- you weren't supposed to be able to pick on them, but you could. Maybe it was the fear of it all.

Then, his hand was back on your chin. Reflexively, you flinched; but he didn't reprimand you, if anything, his tone suggested that he... cared,

Maybe not for you-- probably for whatever you could do for him, but it was care regardless, and he told you "Stay still."

You did, and felt something place onto your face-- it felt like metal, warmed by a human's natural heat; it felt like a pair of glasses, the arms tucked above your ears, the metal bridge of it resting against your nose--

"Open your eyes, tell me if it's any better." The man said with a firmness that reminded you of the scientists-- or the guards. A strange mix between the two; maybe more like a cop, if you think about it hard enough. A sense of authority, firm but not demanding.

You do so-- the headache is still there, it'd gotten better when your eyes were closed. You find that, when you open your eyes, the world is a little dimmer; the headache doesn't spike as you'd expected due to it.

As you look up at the man, you realize that he doesn't have sunglasses on now-- giving you full view of his...

Yeah. The confirms it; he is absolutely not human. His eyes looked like a snakes, maybe more like a dragons; red with yellow around his slitted pupils-- instead of scaring you as it absolutely should,

It.. comforted you. Against your will, mind you-- a little bit of tension easing out of your form at the sight of them. You don't know why. It should terrify you, it should make you want to run for the hills, like he had when he first showed up--

With his eyes no longer obscured, and your headache a little dimmer, you think that you'd have a better chance at reading the emotions on his face--

He cleared his throat, bringing you back to the present-- to his question he'd had with his earlier command. You try not to test your luck, now able to give out a short, soft "Yes sir."

His hand released your chin again, and with all the energy left in you-- you tried your best not to have your head fall forward from exhaustion, from the loss of the support of his hand. he huffed, shifting a bit-- he was crouching, but no longer leaning in close, leaving you with a little bit of a personal bubble.

A sort of privilege you haven't been afforded in a long, long while. Nobody crowding in your space-- nobody poking and prodding. Just letting you exist. Simply letting you sit there, without anyone breathing down your neck-- unrestrained, able to leave (if you weren't so banged up-- and honest-to-god terrified of the man, but that's neither here nor there) if desired.

You notice now, that there is a suitcase set down by his side-- looking rather innocent. A simple brown leather one, no obvious tells of what could be inside. It looked like one of the head scientists own bag, one you always saw him carrying around. Not trusting to leave it in one place without him present, you'd guessed.

"You're the subject for the Ammit Strain, aren't you?" He asked-- he seemed to already be sure of himself, and it left you confused as to why he's asking you. Because you don't have a solid answer for him-- and that shouldn't have been expected of you to have one.

"Uhm... I-I'm not sure. I don't... know what that is." You half expect his calm, strangely patient, demeanor to change in the blink of an eye-- for his hand to shoot out and grab your neck, and twist until your world went dark. It was irrational (probably), because he said he needs you for something. Even if you don't know what it is, you're pretty sure he needs you alive for it--

it's still up in the air, though. So you don't rely on that assumption for comfort too much.

Instead of that, instead of any violent outburst or sudden shift in his approach-- he seemed to... smile a little at your response. it was small, barely noticeable unless you'd been staring at him for god knows how long--

and, oh boy, have you been staring at him. analyzing him, trying to make sense of it all. as you do, when you're stuck in a strange and scary situation such as this.

"That's alright." He leaned forward, hang outstretched-- it landed on your shoulder, in a strange... friendly sort of gesture. Like a teacher would do as they praise you for an A+ on an assignment. "I know you are."

Then why did you ask? a bold part of you made you want to say-- one you thought had been stomped down a long time ago. During your second stay in solitary, where they kept you in for 6 hours rather than the measly 45 minutes you'd been in there the first go-around.

You kept quiet, hoping that he'd give a bit of an explanation as to-- anything. But you know he probably won't, not without prompting; even then, he might be more inclined to telling you to shut up or dancing around the question then give a truthful answer-- or one at all, for that matter.

He didn't do anything of the sort, the conversation going dead as he stood-- He grabbed the briefcase from beside him, but didn't make any move to turn around.

As he looked down at you, you realized he probably wanted you to stand as well. Torn between telling him that you aren't sure you could do so, and staying quiet as to try and minimize any possible anger-- you simply sat there, unmoving. Terrified, feeling like you'd found yourself right in a damned-if-i-do, damned-if-i-don't sort of situation.

A few moments later, he seemed to realize what your silence, what your immobility signified. He walked around you, standing behind you-- and gave no warning as he leaned down and put his hands under your armpits-- pulling you that way, before maneuvering you in such a way where he could pick you up into a princess carry from there.

Out of pure reflex, you threw your arms above his shoulders-- scared of tumbling over and out of his hold. By the time you realize what you'd done, you were too scared-stiff you amend it.

He... didn't seem to mind it much, though.

The hand held underneath your knee carried the briefcase, the handle digging into your thin grey sweatpants just a tad-- not too uncomfortable, but not ideal. Like hell you were going to say anything about it, though.

As he began to walk, he suddenly asked "What's your name?"

Despite the fear, a slip in your judgement made you let out a little "huh?"

He huffed, his smile growing wider for just a second-- starting to resemble an actual one, before reverting back to the small, almost non-existent smirk he'd had before. "Your name. None of the documents said it, only referred to you as your serial number or the strain."

"Oh." This was so confusing-- he kept walking, letting you two lapse into silence; he wasn't rushing your answer, quite the opposite. He seemed to be letting you... take your time, even if it was such a simple and easy request.

Then, quietly, you said it. Almost as if you were afraid that the scientists or guards would hear, and punish you for it-- it was their way of isolating you from the outside world, telling you to forget who you were before you'd come here.

That you had no other name, nothing else to be called, besides Subject 082202.

The man heard you, though. He hummed in acknowledgement, and in a moment of reckless, almost moronic, bravery-- you ventured to ask,

"What's your name?"

Almost immediately, he answered with "Albert Wesker, but you'd do good not to use it." The name... was familiar, set off even more alarm bells than the man had before you learned of his name.

"...So just keep calling you sir?" What were you doing? Why were you doing this? How stupid were you, to push him like this--

"That's what was implied, isn't it?" He responded, the little edge painting his tone let you know that his patience must've been running thin. You shut up, smothering what you'd wanted to say--I was just making sure.

Something like that would definitely be categorized as disrespect-- to a normal person, and absolutely to the scientists-- which you'd defaulted to treating him as.

As he carried you, exhaustion having taken its toll on you-- your eyes slid shut, head falling forward and resting against his shoulder. Within a few seconds, you were out like a light.

#yandere albert wesker #yandere x reader #platonic yandere #yandere resident evil #resident evil #platonic yandere x reader #yandere albert wesker x reader #platonic yandere albert wesker #teen!reader #gn!reader #requests open #yandere resident evil x reader #my writing

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sxftmxlki · 19 days ago

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Temporary Bliss; Albert Wesker

Pairing; S.T.A.R.S!Albert Wesker x GN!Reader

Genre; Smut

Word Count; 1.5k

Blurb; It's a slow day in the S.T.A.R.S. office and yet your captain is still overwhelmed with paperwork and like the diligent rookie you are, after catching him in the midst of his stress relief, who are you not to help him?

Warning(s); masturbation, voyeurism, blowjob, petnames ('sir', 'pet'), risk of being caught, office sex, Wesker being Wesker, possibly OOC, not proofread, porn w/ some plot.

AN; Probably the most self indulgent fic I have ever written, the Wesker brainworms are worming, lads. Also first ever actual fic on here and it's smut, because of course. F in chat for Chris.

Unfortunately for you and the rest of S.T.A.R.S, it had been a slow day in the RPD, nothing major happening besides a few phone calls and filing reports. The only other company your team gets is a spider scuttling across the floor.

The unusual complete silence of Captain Wesker’s office soon catches attention, the captain usually at least being heard typing or muttering to himself but instead he was simply dead silent, like he wasn’t even there.

The team quickly began speculating what could cause the captain to be so silent, some suggested he was sleeping on the job, others guessing he was merely indulging in a hobby – like reading.

But you, for some reason you couldn’t name, felt almost compelled to check Wesker’s office. You were a new recruit on the team, having joined barely two months ago, and in that time your captain never showed any tolerance towards you – always pushing you to do better or write more reports than the others. So, you couldn’t exactly decipher why you were now stood here during the late afternoon lunch break, planning to check on Wesker in his office. Perhaps you believed that if you showed some concern for his well-being, it’d earn you brownie points with him.

As you stood there, debating whether or not to knock or simply leave, a faint sound caused you to pause.

It was quiet, nearly imperceptible, you almost thought you had imagined it. But then you heard it again, louder this time.

A thud, followed by a hissed curse. You’re not sure what compelled you at that point but you suddenly found yourself pushing the captain’s door open to gaze into the office, and the sight that greeted you made you freeze.

Wesker was leaning against the edge of his desk, the surface hidden under large piles of paperwork, his shirt and jacket laid haphazardly on the floor and his hand was slowly tracing up the expanse of his stomach towards his chest.

You knew by that point, you should have just left, forgot you ever saw anything, but you couldn’t tear your eyes away.

And when you saw Wesker twist his nipple with a heavy breath, you couldn’t deny the hot flush of desire that pooled in your gut.

Wesker’s hand continued its ministrations on his nipple, pulling and twisting the sensitive bud. He seemed entirely unaware of you watching him as his other hand slowly ran down his stomach, pausing at his belt buckle.

With practised ease, Wesker undid his belt with a quick flick of his wrist. Making fast work of his pants buttons and pushing the fabric down his thighs, his cock springing free, the flared tip an angry shade of red and already leaking precum.

Saliva pooled in your mouth as you watched Wesker wrap his hand around the base of his shaft, his head lolling back with a shuddering sigh at the contact. He stayed like that for a moment, simply relishing the feel of his hand wrapped around his thick girth before he slowly began to pump himself.

Wesker’s breath turned heavier, tilting his head down to watch his hand work his shaft through half lidded eyes. His movements began to pick up, his hand now moving at a pace that made him have to stifle his gasps and moans.

You hadn’t even noticed you’d been caught watching him until you pulled your gaze away from Wesker’s leaking cock to lock eyes with your captain, his normally icy blue eyes bore into yours with a dark hunger.

Neither of you spoke for a long minute, Wesker’s hand still working himself as he just stared back at you, until...

“Come here,”

Wesker’s voice was low and gravelly, a stark contrast to the controlled, stoic demeanour he always protruded.

Your legs moved before you could process it, walking into the captain's office, your mind a haze of your own arousal and anticipation.

Wesker simply watched you for a moment, his face flushed as he fist-fucked himself in front of you. His lips were curled into a slight smirk, the captain not at all annoyed or angry by the revelation you were watching him.

“I saw you watching,” he finally said, his voice a low growl. “You didn’t come in here just to stare, did you?” There was a hint of amusement in his tone, and you were sure he’d gladly make a show of masturbating in front of you.

“No, Sir.” The words left your mouth unbidden, fuelled by the arousal and desire building in your gut, you couldn’t take your eyes off of Wesker’s hand stroking his erection.

Wesker’s fingers curled round your chin, forcing you to look up at him. He studied you a moment, taking in your flushed cheeks and the way your gaze kept darting downward. “Then what else are you here to do?”

“Whatever you want.” Again, the words left you before you could stop them, you were acutely aware that the two of you were still technically in a public office, that someone could walk in at any moment and catch you but the thought only turned you on more.

Wesker hummed, drinking in your words. Something about them made the coiling feeling in his gut tighten, the thought of you doing whatever he wanted fuelling his arousal. “Whatever I want?” He echoed, chuckling as he leaned closer to you, his breath hot on your face. “Are you sure?”

For some unknown reason, all words failed you in that moment. You simply stared back at Wesker for a long second, you couldn’t articulate it but, you were sure. You wanted this. Wanted him.

As you slowly nodded in response, Wesker hummed approvingly, leaning back against his desk and bracing his free hand on the surface. He ignored the few papers that fell to the floor at the sudden disturbance as his voice lowered to a deep, authoritative rumble. “Kneel for me.”

You didn’t have to be told twice, sinking to your knees in front of him, the sight delighted Wesker more than he cared to admit. “Good pet.” He practically purred, his fingers carding through your hair before grabbing a handful of the soft strands and giving a light tug.

“Since you’re already there,” he began, pushing your head forward slightly. “Might as well put your mouth to use.” You didn’t realise how close to his cock you were until his leaking tip was prodding at your lips, his precum smearing across your skin in a glistening sheen. You gulped at the sheer size of him, thick and long with a prominent vein running along the underside.

Wesker notices your hesitance and lets out a disapproving growl, pushing your mouth closer to his cock. “Don’t make me repeat myself.” He states simply, the words alone causing another spike of arousal within you as your mouth finally opens, wrapping your lips around the tip.

Wesker’s head lolls back as you take him in your mouth, his breath leaving him in sharp gasps and his fingers tighten in your hair, only allowing you a few seconds to adjust to the stretch before he began moving your head up and down his shaft.

The pace he set was firm, slightly uncomfortable but not unwelcome, and when your hands come up to fondle his balls, his stoic composure shattered.

“Oh, fuck...just like that....you’re so good at this...” The words left him in a low mumble, but they rang out like a gunshot in the otherwise silent office, and you couldn’t deny the pride swelling up inside you. Your response was a hollowing of your cheeks, sucking him off firmly, which earned you a groan from Wesker as he glanced down to watch his cock disappear into the warm, wet confines of your mouth.

His cock throbs in your throat, and you can tell he’s close. “Fuck...g-gonna-....gonna cum...m’close.....need to-” Wesker’s grip on your hair was borderline painful now but you couldn’t bring yourself to care, your mind a clouded haze dominated only by thoughts of Wesker and the way he’d began to thrust into your mouth at a brutal pace, his tip ramming the back of your throat and causing you to gag around him.

“Oh, god....shit...I’m gonna....I’m-” Wesker was suddenly cut off by his own loud, sinful moan as he threw his head back in ecstasy. His hand in your hair forcing you down on his cock as his orgasm wracked through his body, your nose was practically flush with his pubic mound.

Wesker’s moans echoed in his office as his cock shot thick ropes of warm cum down your throat, painting your insides white. He held you at the base of his cock for a long moment after his orgasm, giving a few lazy rolls of his hips as he rode out the last of his high before he eventually let go of your hair, allowing you to pull back off of his cock.

His vision was hazy, the intensity of his orgasm leaving Wesker’s limbs heavy, but he still managed to gently pet the top of your head. Staring down at you with heavy breaths as he tried to at least compose himself, a few blonde strands of hair had been knocked loose from his pristine hairstyle and were now sticking to his sweaty forehead.

Wesker was about to speak, his lips parting slightly, before the sound of the door opening caused both of your heads to whip round to see the stunned face of Chris Redfield in the doorway, his mouth opening and closing like a goldfish.

#wesker x reader #wesker x reader smut #albert wesker x reader smut #albert wesker x reader #resident evil #resident evil x reader #gn reader #albert wesker smut #albert wesker #s.t.a.r.s.#self indulgence babey #i need this man so bad it's unreal #smut

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nekrosdolly · 1 year ago

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another wesker brain rot blurb (18+)

cw; unhinged wesker thanks to uroboros, uroboros injections and mentions, canon compliant with the events leading up to re5, husband wesker, objectification if you squint, temperature differences (he is an icicle personified sorry guys), domesticated wesker, fingering, non-specified reader genitalia.

pet names (reader received): my dear, dearest, little dove

husband albert wesker ♡ ︎♡ ︎♡

husband wesker, who, thanks to uroboros, has a heightened sense of smell. since starting his injections, he's been obsessed with how you smell- your shampoo, your cologne/perfume, any lotions you'd use. even the scent of your skin without any product added is addictive.

husband wesker, who cooks for you despite his developing lack of appetite. he knows you need to eat and truthfully, he enjoys cooking. he never got to experience he domestics of having a homelife, what with his whole life being Umbrella ever since he was born. learning to cook is definitely stressful at first and he's not good to begin with- he's a scientist, not a chef. truthfully, he burns a lot of things at first, but you're a good sport and you help him along. he is embarrassed the first few times, even if he doesn't outright say it you can tell by the way the tips of his ears turn pink and how his lip twitches.

husband wesker, who comes up from behind when you're least expecting it and slides his hand to the small of your back, dipping his head down to kiss your hair, secretly marveling at how good you smell. he adores how soft your hair is too. how loud your heart beats in your chest when he moves his hand to your hip, when he murmurs in your ear, "you are divine, my dear."

husband wesker, who, despite losing his humanity, knows to treat you with care. though his primal instincts have begun to take over, he's careful with you as he's always been. though his eyes have turned red, his pupils to slits, he looks at you with adoration. his touches are never violent- he's become gentler since taking doses of Uroboros. he treats you less like your own person and more like a prize to hang on a wall. everything you do makes his heart, beating or otherwise, swell with pride. his blood roars in his ears at the most innocent of touches from you.

husband wesker, who was never one for kisses before Uroboros, now kisses you like his life depends on it. always handsy and needs you near for him to focus, otherwise he's worried about what you're doing and who you might be with. he knows you'd never rat him out- you love him just as much as he loves you, after all- but he can't help the thought that someone is manipulating you. someone that isn't him, and that hurts. he has no reason to be jealous

husband wesker, who never blows up your phone, but takes to periods of the cold shoulder until you finally get him to tell you what's wrong. his rage is calm with you. he'll make you sit in his lap while he tells you what's wrong, only for you to soothe him and assuage his fears. you know he's coming from a good place, even if his methods are a bit odd. his hands never leave you as he talks, finding comfort in stroking your hair or your cheek, even rubbing circles on the meat of your hips. without his gloves, his fingers are just as cold as ever, even through layers of clothing.

husband wesker, who's gentle with you during sex because if he's not, he might seriously injure you. his grip on your hips is deadly, but other than that, he's a saint. he whispers praises while he fingers your fluttering entrance, his fingers slick with your come and lube. "you're taking my fingers so well, little dove. can you take another? just one more for me, dearest?"

you'll nod, a quiet moan leaving you when he adds a third finger- they're long and on the thicker side, helping to stretch you open in preparation while also hitting that spot that makes you go limp. he kisses your neck, down to your collarbone, where he leaves lovebites and admittedly very dark hickeys. your nails digging into his arm brings him back from his thoughts, and he watches you come undone from his fingers for the second time. this was supposed to prep you, but he loves how you look with his fingers buried within you.

#albert wesker x reader #writing #uroboros #albert wesker fluff #albert wesker smut #albert wesker fanfic #resident evil #resident evil fanfiction #reader insert #gn reader #bunnystalker ૮꒰ ˶• ༝ •˶꒱ა ♡#bunny's blurbs✧˖ °

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mamirhodessxox · 1 year ago

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Leon: When I said you should try being friendlier this isn't what I meant.

Y/N, stirring a cup of tea aggressively: Oh, so now I'm TOO friendly? There's no pleasing you.

Carlos, who broke into their house an hour ago: Two sugars please.

Y/N: Coming right up.

#resident evil x gn reader #resident evil incorrect quotes #resident evil x reader #resident evil 4 #resident evil wesker #resident evil carlos #jill valentine #carlos resident evil #leon kennedy x reader #chris redfeild x reader

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sharksnshakes · 2 years ago

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Dinner? - Albert Wesker

Wesker keeps calling you into his office to run point. It's definitely not anything deeper than that, right?

A/N; wesker? with a crush? unspeakable. gn!reader

Wordcount; 629

TW; one singular curse word, use of (y/n) and (l/n)

"(l/n)," Wesker calls, "A word?"

Startled, you glance up from your paperwork and cast a glance behind you. your captain's sticking his head out of his office door, watching you expectantly. You hadn't even heard it open.

It felt like Wesker was calling you into his office to run point every three seconds, and while Jill and Chris had reassured you the action was complimentary, you had your doubts. Even so, you set down your pen and shuffled your paperwork, nodding at the captain.

"Sure. Of course," you reply, meeting Wesker's eyes. The door shuts before you can finish speaking, and you resist sighing out loud.

It's not that you don't respect Captain Wesker: you do, really! No, you just feel like a bug under a microscope whenever you're in that office. You two compare notes--or, rather, Wesker asks your opinion, and you give it to him--and you leave feeling like you've either said the wrong thing, been too honest, or some combination of both.

It doesn't help that his added attention always made your cheeks flush. When he's hanging onto your every word and looking at you like that? It only made you even more hesitant to face him... he's attractive, and he knows it.

You passed Chris on your way to the office, and he gave you an encouraging thumbs-up. That was the other thing: Chris was practically Wesker's right hand man, and yet, you are the one who's constantly being called into his office. You tried not to think too hard about it as you pulled the door open and stepped inside.

Wesker was seated at his desk, focusing intently on a map of sorts, and you knocked softly on the doorframe.

The blond glanced up. "Come in. Shut the door behind you."

You nodded, closing it with a soft click. Your footfalls were quiet on the carpeted floor, and as you approached the desk, you waited for his inevitable questions.

"Dinner."

Your brow furrowed. "What about it?"

"Should I pick you up at seven?"

You blinked owlishly, shaking your head as if to physically clear it. "I'm sorry," you said, "Are you asking me on a date right now?"

A grin tugged at the corner of his lips. "Seven, then?"

Holy shit.

Wesker was asking you on a date. Like... actually.

"I... is that, like, against S.T.A.R.S. protocol? Dating my supervisor?" you asked, mouth moving faster than your brain. You wanted to take the words back the second they left your mouth, but when Wesker chuckled, amused, and leaned forward, chin in his palms, all of your self-doubts shriveled up and died.

"Would you like to go to dinner with me, or not?"

That is the question, isn't it? You'd been so certain of his dislike for you, but now? You prided yourself on being able to read people, but considering current circumstances, it was an ability you'd have to re-evaluate.

Well... how bad could it be?

"Uh. I'd--I think it could be fun," you finally answered, grasping for the right words. "Sure. I mean, yes! Yes, I'd like to go to dinner with you."

"Wonderful. I'll pick you up at seven."

He glanced back down at the map, and you failed to understand how he managed to exude the confidence required to ask people out so casually.

"I'll see you later, then?"

"Yeah. See you," you echoed, stepping out of his office.

The door shut behind you with a slight click, and you stood there, shocked.

You had a date tonight.

Had he always liked you?

"Looking a little pale there, (y/n)," Jill joked from across the room. "You alright?"

Oh, she didn't even know the half of it.

...What were you going to wear?

#albert wesker #albert wesker x reader #albert wesker x you #resident evil #resident evil x reader #tw suggestive themes #fluff #albert wesker imagine #resident evil imagines #when are the residents gonna stop being evil </3 #gn reader #gender neutral reader

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dmitriene · 1 year ago

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— shadows of empathy.

᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ «precious and fragile things» ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ «need special handling» ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ «my god, what have we done to you?»

summary: you don’t remember how you ended up in this laboratory, how long you endured pain, but you remember the warmth of his hands and the muffled whisper of promises. content: albert wesker x gn reader tags: lots of hurt x comfort at the end, lot of experiments, suffering from moral and physical pain, mention of needles and sadism, may be presence of stockholm syndrome, presence of william birkin. (let me know if i forgot something!) author's note: my first time of writing for wesker and also including some sensitive topics, hope you'll enjoy! enjoy your reading) 💉

The atmosphere of the lab was eerie and oppressive, a place where the lines between humanity and scientific curiosity were blurred, cold fluorescent light cast sharp shadows on sterile metal surfaces, the air was filled with the strong smell of disinfectant mixed with the acrid taste of chemicals, a constant hum of machines, a haunting reminder of the experiments being carried out within these walls.

For you, locked in the walls of the laboratory, the environment became a real nightmare, your memory was a fragmented puzzle the pieces of which were missing like scattered pieces of glass, you clung to the fragments that you had, for flashes of life before the laboratory, which seemed far away and out of reach, your confusion was a constant companion, a gnawing emptiness that made you yearn for answers.

In moments of introspection, you were often lost, looking through the small window of your cell at a world that seemed both familiar and alien, the darkness outside seemed to reflect the darkness in your own mind, a vast expanse of uncertainty that stretched to infinity.

The screams that echoed down the corridor, both yours and those of other unfortunate souls, were a symphony of anguish that haunted your every waking moment.

Over time, despair grew, the desire for freedom and truth intensified, the laboratory became a tangled prison, every cell a cage for lost memories and broken dreams, you longed for answers, even the smallest piece of your past, something for which you could survive the chaos and uncertainty.

Among the same snow white walls it was harsh and frightening, the sterile white surfaces reflected the already familiar harsh fluorescent light, the air was saturated with the smell of antiseptics and chemicals, a constant reminder of the clinical nature of this place, the hum of machines seemed to be reflected through the walls creating an unsettling symphony of technology, cold metal instruments were neatly laid out on the tables next to your vulnerable body strapped to the examination table.

Everything around was a nightmarish reality from which you could not escape, the environment was alien and unfamiliar, as if you had entered a world that defied logic, the memories were fragmentary, elusive, leaving again and again in deep confusion and fear.

You trembled in the bonds that held you, your eyes darted around the room in search of something recognizable, your heart pounded as you struggled to piece together the mystery of your existence, your inability to remember anything in front of the sterile laboratory walls eventually turned into a gaping mental wound.

Confusion and fear enveloped you like a suffocating shroud, you were a fragile figure among the cold equipment, a mixture of fear and bewilderment was read in your eyes, memories of a former life were just fragments, disparate images that you clung to in vain while your mind was a labyrinth of uncertainty.

The experiments you endured left scars on your body and your spirit broken, pain was a constant companion, each injection and procedure was a brutal attack that seemed to blur the line between life and suffering, you were trapped in a cycle of agony, unable to escape the torment become your new reality.

Your fear of Albert Wesker and Birkin was palpable, Wesker's presence was a mystery — his power and motives are obscure, his calculated gaze and measured words sent shivers down your spine, the unpredictability of his actions heightened your unease.

Birkin, on the other hand, was the epitome of cruelty, his touch was aggressive, and his detachment from your suffering caused waves of terror, making you feel like a pawn in a game you couldn't understand.

When Wesker and Birkin stood together in the lab, their conversations swirled around you like a nightmarish symphony.

— «Progress is being made» Birkin said, his voice devoid of compassion as he treated you as if you were more of an experiment than a person.

Wesker's gaze darted towards you, his expression enigmatic — «She's more than just data, Birkin» he declared, and there was a hint of something in his voice that you couldn't understand.

Birkin chuckled — «Sentimentality has no place here, Wesker, our goals are much more important than the personality»

Your heart was pounding wildly in your chest, a mixture of fear and despair flowed through your veins, and as soon as you spoke, suddenly your voice broke out with a strong tremor — «P-please, I need to know… Why am I here? What did I do?»

Wesker's gaze met yours, something like a display of sympathy flickering in his eyes — «You're not here because of what you've done» he said softer than you expected — «But rather because of what others seek to achieve»

Birkin's lips instantly twisted into a cruel smile — «You are a vessel for our experiments, a means to an end, your goal — is to serve science»

His words only allowed your fear and confusion to grow, the heaviness of their words crushed more than anything else, you felt trapped, driven into a nightmare where the answers were elusive and the pain endless, and as their dialogue went on, you became more and more withdrawn into yourself, a frail figure lost in a world that seemed to revel in your suffering.

᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ══════⊹⊱≼≽⊰⊹══════

The experiment was a frightening mixture of clinical detachment and palpable tension, the cold, sterile walls of the lab echoing with the mechanical hum of the machinery, creating an unsettling symphony, the blindingly bright light overhead casting harsh shadows, making every detail of the lab stand out with unsettling clarity, through the air saturated with the smell of antiseptics and chemicals reminded that this is a place where scientific curiosity got the better of sympathy.

Your body became the canvas for these invasive experiments, each one a brutal assault on your physical and mental well-being, pain was a constant, unrelenting presence — a searing fire that ate from within as needles pierced your skin, delivering viruses and serums, your body convulsed in agony, and the once clear mind turned into a haze of suffering, unable to escape the torment inflicted on you.

Screams, this time your own echoed through the laboratory, a symphony of pain that seemed to go unnoticed by scientists consumed by their own ambitions, the shackles that held you in place seemed like shackles, a cruel reminder of your helplessness, every injection, every cut, every probing tool caused waves of agony that makes you shiver and gasp.

The pain was not only physical but also emotional, the experiments robbed you of your self respect, leaving you feeling like you were just a vessel for their perverted pursuits, loss of control, abuse of your body and inability to understand the purpose of your own suffering created a sense of isolation that was as heartbreaking as the physical pain.

Amidst the agony, there were moments when you clung to fragments of your personality, soapy fleeting memories of your life before the lab, those memories were both a source of comfort and an added layer of anguish as they stood in stark contrast to the nightmare you were now living.

The pain of the experiments was an unrelenting force, a nightmare from which it was impossible to escape, but in this nightmare there was a spark of resilience, determination to survive and a fragile hope that one day the agony would subside and you could regain your identity and your life.

But all this was ruined by the appearance of Birkin, the atmosphere in his presence was suffocating — a toxic mixture of clinical detachment and sadistic curiosity, he moved with an imperious air, his cold, calculating eyes were fixed on you as if you were nothing more than an interesting specimen, laboratory seemed to shrink in his presence, the shadows cast by his body adding to the eerie feeling of being trapped in his gaze.

His gloves, stained with the remnants of countless experiments, contrasted sharply with your pale and delicate skin, his touch was sharp and impersonal, he treated you as if you were an object and not a person, each injection felt like an invasion, his gloved fingers pressed the needle into your flesh with heartless disregard for your pain.

The dialogue was marked by a frightening lack of empathy, Birkin's words were clinical, his tone devoid of compassion as he discussed you as if you were a puzzle to be solved — «You turn out to be very hardy» he thought one day as he narrowed his eyes as he watched you writhe in agony — «It's amazing how the human body reacts to such stressors»

You struggled to find your voice in the pain, your sighs and cries met with cold indifference — «Please.. stop it..» you managed to squeeze out, your voice was barely a whisper, but your plea went unheeded, as if your suffering was nothing more than a necessary component of his experiments.

Birkin's answers were distant and unsettling, his words imbued with a kind of twisted charm — «Pain is just a sensation that needs to be studied and understood» he remarked with a note of superiority — «Your body's response provides valuable data that will drive our research»

Despite your vulnerability, you felt a surge of anger and frustration — «I'm not just data» you retorted in a voice trembling with a mixture of fear and defiance, but your defiance only seemed to amuse him, his lips curved into a grim smile.

— «Ah, but you are, my dear» he replied, his eyes glittering with alarming intensity — «You — are the embodiment of the progress of science, the sacrifice of one for the good of many»

Your short dialogues were a perverse dance of power dynamics, a clash between your desperation to be accepted as a person and his determination to turn you into a mere object for experimentation, his words left an indelible mark on the soul, a reminder that in the walls of the laboratory you were nothing more than a pawn in their twisted games.

And yet, in the midst of darkness and cruelty, there was an unexpected glimmer of hope, Albert Wesker, the man you once feared, seemed to offer a different perspective — one that hinted at the possibility of redemption, compassion, and a chance to break free from the clutches of Birkin's sadism and the relentless pain of experimentation.

Still in the same dimly lit lab, the air grew even more oppressive with tension as Albert Wesker confronted William Birkin.

Their disagreements contrasted sharply with the clinical setting, Wesker's normally stoic expression taking on a tinge of unexpected tension, and a hint of disapproval in his voice.

— «She's not just a sample, Birkin» Wesker's voice cut through the sterile atmosphere, the words carrying a weight that seemed to challenge the very core of their work.

Birkin, a scientist that always driven by ambition, glanced at Wesker with a raised eyebrow — «And what would you advise, Wesker? That i handle her with care? She's here to experiment, not to babysit»

Wesker's gaze hardened, his stance unshakable — «There is a line between scientific curiosity and cruelty, the data we collect is invaluable, but it does not justify causing unnecessary suffering to it»

Birkin's lips curled into a cynical smile — «You're attached, aren't you? To our little experiment»

Wesker's jaw clenched, but he didn't deny the accusation, instead, there was a rare note of vulnerability in his voice — «She's more than just an experiment, Birkin, there's something about her… a vulnerability i can't ignore»

Birkin's eyes sparkled with amusement — «You let sentimentality overshadow your judgment, Wesker, remember why we're here — to advance our research»

As the argument went on, Wesker's words lingered in his own memory, a discordant note in the symphony of ambition that had guided him for so long, his eyes fixed on you, your fragile frame a stark reminder of the consequences of his and Birkin's actions.

At that moment, a sudden realization hit him with a force that made him reel, he felt something — something he had long suppressed.

Guilt, Regret. And something else he dared not name, your suffering, the fear in your eyes kindled in him a coal of sympathy, a flame that challenged the calculated detachment he had cultivated.

He turned away from Birkin, his gaze was fixed on you, your vulnerability was a mirror reflecting his own, the truth he avoided, you — the one who was once just an object, became in his eyes a person — a person he could not ignore, no matter how hard he tries.

As he dealt with his conflicting emotions, the atmosphere in the lab seemed to fade, the hum of machinery less insistent, the cold walls less cramped, in this moment of introspection Wesker realized he was at a crossroads — between the brutality he had once accepted, and the compassion he now struggled with.

And just when Wesker's inner turmoil intensified, he abruptly turned away, and his steps carried him to the exit, he could no longer see your suffering, emotions seethed inside him in a chaotic whirlpool that threatened to engulf him.

He stopped in the doorway, his back turned to the scene unfolding behind him, he clenched his fists, his heart pounding as he struggled to regain his composure, his emotions a storm he had never encountered before that could destroy the carefully constructed façade he supported for so long.

And so, in a moment of overwhelming emotion, he made a decision that defied his own instincts and left you alone with Birkin, it was an act of self preservation, a desperate attempt to distance himself from the rising emotions that frightened him, he could not afford to become entangled in your suffering, could not allow newfound sympathy to consume him.

With a heavy heart, he left the room, his footsteps echoing in the hallway as he moved away from the scene he could not bear to witness, and in his absence everything around changed the silence was broken only by your soft, strained breathing and mechanical sounds.

Alone with Birkin, your vulnerability was stark against the cold, clinical setting, your eyes were a mixture of fear and despair, the weight of helplessness weighed on you, the atmosphere was a frightening reminder of the brutality you faced, a reality that seemed to loom even more in the absence Wesker.

As the experiments continued, your screams and the mechanical sounds of the laboratory merged into a dissonant symphony, an inexorable reminder of the torment you endured, and as the darkness of the room gathered around you, you were left to confront your fear and pain alone, being a prisoner of a world where cruelty and compassion existed in the fragile, unsteady balance.

᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ══════⊹⊱≼≽⊰⊹══════

Late in the evening, an eerie twilight enveloped the lab, casting elongated shadows on cold surfaces, the air thick with the remnants of the day's experiments mingled with the acrid smell of chemicals, equipment humming softly somewhere in the background, a constant reminder of the clinical nature of this place.

Albert Wesker walked down the dimly lit corridor, his footsteps echoing off the dark walls, his usual air of stoic determination present, his gaze fixed forward as he approached the room where you was being held, but as he entered, his determination faltered to a sudden heaviness in the chest.

There you sat, crouched in the corner of the room, your figure curled up, your once bright eyes now dim and ghostly, and your frail body seemed even smaller in the dim harsh light, your breathing was ragged, each breath was a visible struggle, as if you were struggling — not only with the pain of experimentation, but also with the weight of his broken spirit.

Wesker's steps slowed, his eyes narrowed as he assessed your condition, he came to take you away for further research to continue the experiments that had been his goal for so long, but when he looked at you, something inside him changed — unexpected a pang of guilt, a crack in the façade of indifference he cultivated.

His desire to comfort you was an alien feeling that he buried under layers of ambition and detachment, the desire to lend a helping hand, to offer solace, belied his ingrained sense of control as he hesitated, his gaze met yours and for a moment he saw beyond the pain — the shattered remains a man who has endured too much.

At that moment, the clinical atmosphere of the lab gave way to a rare vulnerability, the hum of machinery seemed quieter, Wesker's internal struggles reflected on his features, the conflict between his cold exterior and the sudden warmth that surged through him.

His presence seemed to fill the room, his tall figure drawing attention even in dimmed light, there was a rare uncertainty in his typically cold gaze, a flash of emotion dancing under the surface, his outstretched hand hung in the air, fingers ready to reach out, eyes remaining chained to you.

You recoiled, your body language tense with a mixture of fear and defiance, your eyes, once dull with pain, now widened with a new sense of unease, you recoiled at his touch, the instinct to push him away was strong inside, and the clinical atmosphere of the laboratory only intensified the intensity of the moment, as if the walls were conspiring against you.

— «No!» you whispered, your voice trembling with a mixture of fear and despair — «Stay away from me!»

Wesker's expression remained unreadable, his hand hung in the air, but as your words hung between you, his fingers slowly lowered, and his eyes softened slightly — «I don't want to hurt you..» he replied with a rare vulnerability in his voice.

The tension in the room was palpable as you both were here, your figures grappling in a silent battle of wills, your fear fighting the country with a spark of curiosity, a hint of the realization that Wesker was more than the ruthless image he cast.

His usual air of stoic aloofness was replaced by uncharacteristic uncertainty as he took a step closer, extending his hand once more.

Your body tensed, memories of his previous actions and the cruel experiments he witnessed etched deep in your soul as you tried to push him away, a mixture of horror and defiance fueling your actions.

His hands were trembling slightly, which was indicative of the inner struggle he was struggling with.

The closer he came with his arm outstretched, the more often you shuddered and rested against the corner of the wall, fear emanated from you, your eyes were wide open and alert, your muscles contracted as if ready to jump away, you tried to push him away, small hands weakly resisted his approach.

Wesker's expression remained calm, his eyes didn't flinch even as you struggled against his touch — «I won't hurt you, i promise» he said in an amazingly gentle voice — «I know it's hard to trust, but i promise i'm not here to hurt you anymore»

Your breathing was rapid, your chest rising and falling in a chaotic rhythm as your gaze fell on him, the room seemed to close around, the walls choking with a wounding grip, though his presence provided an unexpected reprieve.

The desire for safety fought against your instinctive fear, leaving you torn between the desire to escape and the possibility of finding any semblance of comfort.

With a slow, deliberate movement, Wesker closed the remaining distance between the two of you, his arms wrapped around your feeble body, his embrace firm but careful.

At first you struggled against his grip, your body tense with anticipation, but he held you tenderly, squeezing your wrist gently but relentlessly as your hand touched his chest, offering an anchor amidst the storm of emotion raging within you.

— «I won't let anyone hurt you anymore» he muttered, his voice a different kind of medicine contrasting with the harsh reality of your surroundings, his words a promise, a declaration of his newfound commitment to your well being.

As his words reached your consciousness, your resistance began to weaken, the tension in your body slowly subsided, replaced by fragile vulnerability, tears of their own, as if intuitively welling up in your eyes, flickering in the dim light like unshed diamonds.

You hesitated, your hands hovering over his chest as if not knowing where to put them — «Please..» you whispered in a voice trembling with despair and anguish — «I don't… i don't know who i am anymore, i-i'm scared»

Wesker's embrace intensified, pulling you closer until your head was pressed against his chest, he could feel your tears dampen his shirt, soft sobs echoing through the room — «Everything is alright..» he muttered, pressing his lips against your hair — «You're not alone anymore, i'll be here to protect you»

Your resistance collapsed completely, your fragile self defense shattered like glass, you pressed against him tighter, letting your body shake with sobs as you finally let go of the pain and fear that had built up inside.

In his arms, the environment changed again, turning the cold, sterile room into a haven where vulnerability met compassion and fear met the promise of security.

His embrace was a testament to his newfound commitment, a gesture of comfort that spoke volumes, and as your tears soaked into his shirt, he held you close, offering a rare glimpse of his humanity — a man who despite his past found himself attached to you in this way, that defied reason and ignited a glimmer of connection that none of you could have foreseen.

᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌«angels with silver wings» ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ «shouldn't know suffering» ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌«i wish i could take the pain from you»

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froggy-anon · 7 months ago

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I don’t smoke (Except for when I'm missing you)

Paring: pre re2!Ada Wong x gn!reader

Prompt: Your relationship with Ada was… let’s just say rocky for a while now. Low contact, constant work trips and unavoidable arguments while she’s home- it’s just too much. You both changed since she started working with Wesker …, and so did your body.

Warnings: angst, body horror, no use of y/n, maybe nsft?, implied reader’s death, bebe you get infected so yeah but it wasn't meant to happen at least, semi-dependant reader, use of tobacco, vomiting, shitty punctuation and misuse of commas, canon divergence, semi-good ending???? idk

Word count: 2.3k

Notes: omg did I finally post something instead of keeping it in my wips?? hell yeah! I might not be hyperfixating on RE now but I can't get Ada off my head. I mean- just look at her! She's perfect<3 Fucking hell it took me A LONG time to finally finish it but shh… Also only after writing did I realize that the idea is very similar to this fic my @uhlunaro so definitely check this out bc they’re an amazing writer<3

Actually proofread (like ½ for sure) by me omg

It all happened too fast; it was just the usual Thursday morning, the smell of freshly ground coffee and the familiar scent of your lover were in the air as you made the breakfast and the eggs you made were perfectly crispy with runny yolk. Everything seemed to be like it used to but then the call happened… You knew who was it, everyone knew because who else would it be? It was supposed to be your day, you both took the day off and you spent the last few days planning everything out. It was your anniversary, the day you should celebrate your love and not some emergency in the lab! But of course… She was gone again.

“Why can’t you just pretend that you love me for once!?,” was the last thing you cried out screamed at her as she left. It’s just painful to know that even today her work is more important. It left you weeping softly on the floor, as the yolk of the egg spilled more and more towards your feet from the plate you broke. “Why can’t we be a normal couple…” Your tears had flown out even more now that you were alone.

Ada never liked when you smoked, she always said it left this awful scent on your fingers and breath but why would you care now? A soft breeze hit your face as you inhaled the smoke from your cigarette, who’d think that living near the river could be so nice? Loving Ada is tiring, she used to be one of the most caring and loving people you’ve ever known- even before you started dating! And now it all changed… Yeah, working in some big pharma company can be tiring but it’s ruining both of you.

The butt of the cigarette was still slowly burning as you looked in the distance. She used to tell you how she grew up near the sea, how they used to go there every day after school and play until the dawn came. She used to say how she’d take me to her hometown in China. You never were even close to one, your parents used to take you and your brother to the countryside on holidays or visit the lake near your hometown; it wasn’t the same though. Loving Ada was never easy, she had her own problems as well as you had yours but before all this you both managed to heal, to thrive. You should’ve left when it started, before all the arguments and hate. It’s not a new idea but the thought of being alone again is scary. Ugh, you’re thinking too much, it makes you dizzy. Or maybe was it the cigarette?

You always get dizzy, maybe all this overthinking is too much for you. You head towards the kitchen sink and fill up a glass with the tap water. It was just a small argument, it wasn’t worth all the mess. You never thought that water would make you feel worse, no one would! We need it to live, so why your insides are burning? Who cares, anyway the mess won’t clean itself. It doesn’t feel right, nothing feels right. The burning sensation might’ve stopped but it was replaced with this sore, almost itchy feeling. Ada came home late again, she’s not looking better than you but as you greet her you could see a spark of worry in her eyes. Why would she worry? There’s nothing to worry about, right? All you can do is sigh and act like nothing happened, she surely flinches when you kiss her because she’s still annoyed over today’s morning…

You woke up somehow more tired than before you went to sleep. Funny enough you also look like shit. Yeah, you can tell yourself that you caught a cold but if so, then why does my body itch so much? Ada looks less worried than tomorrow but finally is some more affectionate than usual. Maybe the fight made her think finally.

You miss her touch though; the way she smuggles up to your chest and how soft are her lips. You miss how she used to be so good. You miss how your life was before this Wesker guy. Good, she’s warming up again. She kissed you goodbye and said something about coming home later. Weird…

It’s itching, itching so much. It feels like something is under your skin and it’s moving… It sure has to be a delusion, a hallucination maybe but it feels so real. Let’s try to calm down. okay? You can’t go to work while being such a mess and after all some DayQuill will help you a ton. You go to the kitchen and prepare some breakfast before popping some cold meds. You brush your still tangled hair to the side and oh my… I- it’s weird, you always had strong and healthy hair after all so why a clump of them is in your hand right now? I mean, I guess all all of the stress lately finally got to you, being a news reporter is not easy and it shouldn’t be. You sure will feel better when you’re finally in your work wear and clean face.

As soon as you get to the bathroom you hit the sink and rinse your face. It’s dry and surprisingly harder than always. As you lift your head and you look in the mirror, the rougher parts of your face look bruised. And there are some lacerations which weren’t there when you woke up- Ada would point them out for sure. It’s weird but that’s nothing that some makeup can’t fix. Also, it’s not like you can just get a day off at a whim. The amount of concealer you put on your face is enough to put a gyaru inro shame and yet your face still feels wrong and itchy. You brush your hair getlly while trying to not rip out another chunk of your hair and put on your usual shirt and blazer before putting on short heels on your sore and reddish feet. You sat at the vanity waiting for your usual makeup artist to return and rehearse your lines. It’s so hard to focus on the letters and it feels like you’re in a haze. It’s hard to explain really, mostly because it’s hard to form coherent thoughts too. No matter how much you rub your eyes and take small breaks you just can’t focus on anything. Words on the paper are blurry and there's always a silhouette of something or someone in the corner of your vision. It hurts and you’re almost sure that your feet are bleeding. You don’t even realize when the makeup artist has returned and been putting some TV stick on your face until she gets to the painful lesions you passed as some chemical burn from a face mask. Your concept of time is distorted and looking back now you don’t even remember when you and your colleague went live. Funny… You got suddenly sick and now you’re delivering the news of the water reservoir your apartment complex uses being contaminated.

Black tar filled your lungs making your trachea burn so pleasantly. The smoke inside your lungs made you feel so giddy right before you exhale. Cigarettes always help you take your mind off your problems and help preserve good emotions. You know that one day they will be the end of you, but it’s not like you’re gonna live forever so why not have fun now?

Shadowy figures followed you home from the studio, it’s surprising that you managed to work your usual shift. Even your coworkers caught on your ailing and lying to them that you’re just a bit under the weather felt bad. Bills ain’t gonna pay themselves though so you gotta do what you gotta do. Ada didn’t say anything about your illness and only looked at you pitifully compassionately before kissing your cheek, she even offered to make a dinner for today. You pulled into a hug and her warm touch against your calloused skin reminded you of the old times, of the days you first met and how beautiful your relationship was. She smelled like honey and antiseptics, you couldn’t stop yourself from taking a deep breath of her scent which made your heart flutter. Her skin is so soft and delicate, making you want to bite down and taste her flesh push her against the counter and take her whole, she’s your wife after all. Before you can do that though she pulls away and makes a beeline towards the fridge. The packs of water, the ones that appeared in your kitchen a few days ago, took your attention away from her. You couldn’t help but feel a bit suspicious.

You didn’t sleep much- in fact, you didn’t sleep at all. Your body just kept itching and the nausea you felt as you forced down the dinner before got progressively worse. You can feel your body changing, turning into something disgusting as your skin gets progressively covered in more bruises and blisters where it seemed to be just irritated this morning. The taste of pennies in your mouth and dry skin on your lips isn’t doing you any favour either. It was only a matter of time before you ended up hunched over the toiled letting the dark ooze flow out of your stomach freely. Your vision kept spinning and those black creatures you saw before were coming closer. It’s not real, it has to be! Just try to remember that whatever you’re seeing is. not. real.

Throwing up usually makes you feel better; not this time though. Your eyes became watery and your fingers bloody as you gripped the toilet bowl. The odour of rotting flesh filled your nostrils and the sickeningly sweet note of it made you gag again. You dealt with rotten meat before on a few occasions and it never was so sweet.

“Shit!”

You broke out of your trance as the bathroom lit up. Your head shot in the direction of the sound and of course, you noticed your worried lover standing in the doorway. Only a grunt was able to leave your mouth making your throat ache. “Are you okay?” She asked hesitantly as she approached. She looks scared for some reason? You’re just a bit sick, there’s no reason to be scared!

And then you looked down. The toilet was full of brownish-blackish and thick fluid and definitely not dinner. The sides of the toilet were covered in your blood and one of your nails was lying on the floor directly next to the bowl. You take a look at your hands and it makes your breath quicken. Your fingers were all purple and greenish, even some of the tips of your fingers were, unlike the spots on your skin, bloated.

“What the fuck is happening to me?” Your voice was husky and every word felt like a razor being pulled out of your throat. Ada just looked sad… You’d expect her to be scared, to scram, run away, but instead, she just kneeled next to you and pulled you into a loose embrace, as if she was scared to hurt you more.

It pained you, the lightest touch of her silky pyjamas or her warm hands made your skin feel like it was breaking and about to fall off. It was excruciating yet you laid your head gently on her shoulder. You should be scared, furious! You should feel whatever else than sorrow and warmth inside your chest. A few tears flew down your cheeks onto her arm as you bit down on your lip to stop a pathetic sob from escaping. You could feel her hand slowly crase your head like she always did before you used to fall asleep before your life became occupied by jealousy and your jobs took over your time, before your relationship went downhill. She let out a barely audible “I’m sorry…” and you swear you felt her breath hitch.

They are scratching your brain, you can feel every bone in your body change its shape, or maybe you’re just going insane.

Ada is making phone calls in the kitchen as you sit at the dinner table and scratch your fingers, eventually ripping one or two loose fingernails off. She keeps glancing at you while trying her best to hide the fear in her eyes. Damn, a cigarette would be good now… You can feel your muscles tear with your every move and slowly fall off your bones. Necrosis on your skin expands and only a few spots on your body are left the same colour as before.

It hurts, it hurts it hurts it hurts ithurts ithurts ithurts ithurtsithutsithurtsithutrsithurst i t h u r t s s o b a d l y.

Suddenly you can smell the familiar scent of honey and now Ada’s shampoo as she wraps her hands around you from behind. She looks so soft and tasty, so vulnerable. Her touch hurts so good you want to fall into her tight embrace, squeeze her waist tightly and fuse into one. It makes you feel loved again… And then your body stops aching.

You felt sudden force against your neck like you were punched, and then something lukewarm flowing down your chest as Ada creases your cheek slowly. It hurts for a while until it just stops. Everything just fades…

“I don't smoke Except for when I'm missing you To remember your mouth, how it Tasted true And I don't smoke Except for after I've held you, baby Being with you Makes the flame burn good”

It took me so long to finally post something but here it is! I hope you like the creation of euphoric me because let's be real, no way I'd write this fully without being euphoric :3 Technically it should've been posted on Pride Month but shh...

Dividers: @cafekitsune p1 p2

Song: I don't smoke by Mitski

#froggy fics #resident evil #resident evil fic #ada wong x reader #ada wong #albert wesker #resident evil fanfiction #gender neutral reader #gn!reader #resident evil 6 #resident evil 2 #ada wong resident evil

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gothghostiie · 2 years ago

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YOOOOO WELCOME BACK FROM THE SHADOW REALM BABE!!!!!

What better way to celebrate your return than with some steamy Wesker nonsense? Any spicy headcanons, thoughts, or ideas to share?

even if this is a (very) late response, absolutely bestie

my wesker brainrot has been down a whole bunch recently so I'm a bit sad but maybe this will help 😼

banner made my the wonderful @alewesker <3

cw: tiny drabble, brainrot, gn!reader, size difference, rough sex

"Al- fuck, wait-" you breathed heavily, making him chuckle. Your sweet little cries as you took his cock into your tight hole were like music to his ears. Despite your pleas, he began rolling his hips into yours, enough to make you yelp out again. just the sheer size of him was enough to make your legs shake and your hole clench around him.

"Poor little thing, aren't you? Can't even handle my cock properly." He cooed, a mocking undertone in his voice. "Don't you worry your pretty head about it though. I'll make sure it fits."

#gothghostiie #albert wesker #resident evil #dead by daylight #wesker #dbd #ask ghostiie #albert wesker x reader #nsft #im trying okay #albert wesker x you #wesker x you #gn reader #gender neutral #gender neutral reader #smut #wesker smut #alber wesker smut

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dyedcomrade · 1 year ago

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Albert Wesker x gn☆ed♡reader

it may be caused by stress from work or school, but he won't tolerate your stress eating anymore. on multiple occasions you rummaged through the kitchen and ate some special treat he bought for himself too.

mentions how "lately you've started to turn into a little piggie. it's his little piggie and it's fine in moderation," but he knows that's exactly what you lack nowadays.

he knows with this he probably already got into your head and there won't be any more discipline needed. he hates to hurt you in any way, but it's for your own good.

encourages you to start an "aesthetic" blog, where you log what and how much you ate. also downloads a fasting timer to both of your phones so you can feel like you're in this together.

when you start to have smaller meals, drink more 0 cal beverages and sleep more to ease the hunger he praises you and offers to go out on a shopping spree.

will count your calories for you and offer vitamins and other pills so you won't suffer from malnourishment.

if you go back to your starting weight he will spend insane amounts of money to buy you a new wardrobe. of course you still can wear his clothes, but as a little motivation, you know. guilt is kind of a part of it as you dom't want his hard earned money to go to waste by gaining again.

if you feel tired and start to faint a lot that just feeds his ego more. he gets to carry his little prize around in his arms who's grown exceptionally clingy and soft.

guys, i came back to say i don't condone this, you can cause irreversible harm and actually die from this. i have been in this since i was 11 and today i got sent to the er with smthn i don't want to disclose, but was caused by my disordered eating. i wrote this fic to help myself only.

#albert wesker x reader #headcanons #tw ed #tw ed diet #kinda #gn reader

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heisenbergs-magnetic-dick · 4 months ago

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wesker turned into a cat. now what?

implied wesker x reader towards the end

summary: yk princess and the frog? it’s that.

no use of y/n - gn!reader

a/n: writing this instead of updating my fic because my brain stopped working. anyways!!! i did not specify what color/breed cat!wesker is so feel free to use your imagination. also the lowercase is intended btw.

he doesn’t know how it happened nor why, but he has to get to the bottom of it. what the hell did he even do to get left in this pathetic state? it should be unreal that this is even happening. but it’s late and he’s the only one who hasn’t gone home yet, so what does that mean?

nap on the comfiest chair and call it a night.

he can figure this out when his mind is clouded with exhaustion. and before anyone sees him like this. he’d likely have to kill everyone in STARS or himself out of embarrassment. but he’s asleep before he can decide on a proper method. do all cats fall asleep so easily?

“aww, where’d this dude come from!? is he yours?” before his eyes are even open, wesker’s being lifted into the air and fawned over by… oh.

it’s you.

you were always early to clock in, and he didn’t entirely hate you. still, he would’ve thought you would know better than to pick up a random animal with god knows how many diseases. not that he’s like that. he’s one of the clean ones, of course.

“a cat? he must be chief irons’…” says chris, peeping over your shoulder. wesker grimaced.

no way would he ever be someone’s house pet, much less that old bastard irons’ house pet. his grimace deepened when chris took him from you. he called out his name, but it came out in a sharp hiss. well, at least he could still show he wasn’t interested in this puny form.

“I don’t think it likes you, chris. look at it. look at its ears,” you say poking at wesker’s little airplane ears. nevermind. you’re just as bad as redfield.

“nah, I’m good with all kinds of animals. just ask claire!” chris laughed confidently. he pulled the catified wesker up to his face and rubbed him against his cheek affectionately. “who’s a good kitty~? who’s a good— argh! what the fuck!? damn cat!”

one good swipe at the cheek was enough for chris to shove the mysterious tom back into your arms. you couldn’t help but laugh at your friend, watching a bit of blood trickle from the cut just under his left eye.

“I told you, chris. karma’s a bitch, you know.”

…

“he can’t belong to chief irons. he doesn’t exactly uh… like animals.”

you’re sitting at your desk, the cat in front of you. across you are jill and chris sitting at their own desks, facing you. by now you’re all stumped. none of you have any idea where this cat came from in the first place. or why he was so menacing for no reason.

“and we can rule out barry.” chris adds. “he’s allergic… so he says. then again he does prefer dogs over cats,” he murmurs. you and jill take his word for it since chris has known barry the longest. “he’s here, but he won’t set foot in the office as long as this fella’s hangin’ out.”

earlier after disinfecting chris’s scratch, the two of you discovered that the cat was a male, though it almost cost you an eye because wesker wasn’t there to be a vulnerable, pitiful creature. however, he will never admit that your belly scratches felt quite nice.

wait. what’s wrong with him? it had to have been a side effect of this whole… situation.

“hey, maybe he can be an office cat! do you think if we ask captain wesker nicely he’ll let us keep him?” you ask. at the mention of his name, albert’s ears twitch involuntarily and he gets your attention with words translated into meows. “no, silly. you’re not wesker,” you pat the creature’s head and smile.

after a moment, jill perks up with an idea. “we should name him! let’s call him captain whiskers for now, hm? it’s like homage to wesker, it’s perfect.” she suggests.

albert lets out an annoyed sigh, again coming out as a low, rumbly meow. the three of you nod in agreement, having officially decided on a name for your temporary pet. however, he notes how things could be much, much worse for him. still, he would’ve expected better from his team. at least you and jill, anyway.

while loving on a random cat carrying any number of diseases isn’t one of your better ideas, he concludes that this transformation will lose effect soon enough and that things could be much, much worse for him.

well… this wouldn’t be the end of the world, he thinks as you scratch that itch behind his pointy ears.

…

it’s the end of the world.

no work's been done.

barry's been avoiding the office all day so there's no order whatsoever.

rebecca and the other bravo team members are encouraging all the tomfoolery happening.

and worst of all, he's been everyone's muse for entertainment. there was nothing worse than this.

while all of you are goofing around, he's praying a bioweapon barges into the stars office and massacres everyone last one of these absolute hooligans.

"Wait! you can't use a marker on his fur, that's dangerous for cats!" rebecca injects as you and jill are attempting to recreate the lion king with the newly appointed 'captain whiskers'.

you turn around and see chris picking at the bandaid on his face. "hmm. hey, chris! is your scratch still bleeding? mind lending us some blood? we need something red!"

"what the fuck? hell no, are you insane?! use your own blood!"

albert, who's suspended in the air swears up and down that there'll be more blood if something doesn't stop you guys right now. a tyrant, a natural disaster— god, even. but no, he just has to be subjected to what very may well be torture. if this wasn’t proof that the universe hated him, he didn’t know what was.

“i have a sticker,” brad shuts his desk drawer and holds up a sheet of stickers— usually handed out to the children who visited the station on school trips. he peels off a red star and sticks it gently on albert’s forehead while you hold him still. relaxed as he is with you, he’s hating every second of this.

he keeps trying to remind himself that things could still get worse. it could be chris holding him right now. though it looks like he put some sort of fear in chris after the first incident. he hasn’t tried picking him up at all.

“oh yeah, just like the movie,” brad chuckles.

“good thing chief irons isn’t here. wesker too. they’d suspend us all without pay if they were seeing this.” jill says through a smile. rebecca agrees, as do you and chris.

“speaking of which… where even is wesker? did he come in today?” chris asks.

“nah, he didn’t. but he’s really fucking late though,” you giggle. “now he can stop giving us shit for not being on time. i bet he ran out of hair gel or something and that’s why he’s been a no-show.”

still imprisoned in the air, albert hisses and irritated ramblings become angry meows that reverberate across the room. he swiped at your arm, leaving a deep cut along your forearm. as deep as his claws could manage, anyway. he began to flail around, demanding to be set down as he caused a scene.

“woah— hey, dude! little shit— cut that out!” you shout as if you’re scolding a misbehaving toddler. “jesus fuck, i’ll put you down,”

you set him down, and almost immediately he darts to the corner of the room where he leaps onto a cluttered shelf before curling up nicely on a stack of files.

…

it’s been a few hours and things have calmed down. albert remained curled on the shelf, watching as everyone decided to work at their desks the rest of the day. normally he’d be doing the same, but nothing since last night has been even remotely normal.

some of the team went in and out, and barry popped in once but immediately left when he saw the cat again. when the end of the day rolls around, everyone’s getting ready to leave. rebecca goes first, giving albert a little pet before heading out. next it’s brad and jill who leave who bid the cat goodbye on their way out, leaving chris, captain whiskers and yourself.

“you’re taking that thing home? what if he kills you in your sleep?” chris asks, shuddering as you cradle the cat in your arms.

again, albert doesn’t mind. in fact, he finds himself leaning more into your hand the more you insist on massaging his head. it isn’t long before his tired eyes snap open when he realizes he’s purring. purring? no way.

this can’t be. being affectionate isn’t his thing, nor is being on the receiving end of it. he doesn’t like this… but he’s beginning to doubt that belief when he attempts to curl into you. he seriously can’t help it. was this some kind of curse? would he permanently become an actual cat by midnight like fucking cinderella? as if his mind wasn’t already a hell of a mess.

“oh really? i think he likes me. beside, he can’t sleep in the office. what if someone else finds him and kicks him out?” you ask. “either that or wesker blames us for the amount of cat fur all over the chairs and we get in trouble with irons. i’ll buy cat food on the way home, and he can use the bathroom outside like a dog if he has to. what’s the worse that’ll happen?”

that i’ll probably become some mangy cat for the rest of my life, albert wants to say, but is too busy absorbing your body heat to even comprehend anything else. you’re just so warm, and it’s making him feel unwillingly fuzzy inside. at least now he can say his inside matches his outside.

“i’m pretty sure he’s not gonna murder me. he’s a sweetheart, just look at his cute little face,” you grin, using your index finger to scratch that spot under captain whiskers’ chin.

chris shifted his gaze to the creature, who met his eyes instantaneously. a shudder trailed down his spine as he stared into the cat’s cold, calculating gaze that felt a little too familiar. he just shook his head and chose to ignore that sudden weird feeling. “yeah… that’s not the word i’d use, but if you think you’re up to it…”

“of course i am. now walk me to my car before someone actually tries to murder me.”

…

you’re lucky there was one store left open this late at night. the only 24 hour store in the area.

“wet food, dry food, all that…” you say to yourself, buckling yourself back into the driver’s seat. “and…” you trail off digging through the bag before tossing it in the backseat. “a little cat bow-tie!”

you present the navy blue tie to albert who’s sat in the passenger seat. when you hold it out, he sits up a little more. if he’s going to be a cat tonight, he’ll be damn sure to be a proper looking cat while he’s at it.

he lets you clip the collar around his neck and you give him some more scratches for sitting still. if and when he returns to normal, he’d never bring this up. ever. and he’d never admit it… but the idea of being pampered and treated like a higher being sounded quite nice. he knew enough to know that cat owners practically worshipped their companions.

“aww, look at you!” you use both hands to lightly scrunch his little face together. “hm, i’ve always wanted a cat.” you say, pulling your hands away to start your car. “you’re very handsome in that bow-tie, captain whiskers,”

when you arrive back at your apartment, you bring albert into the kitchen and place him on the counter while you find a plate to put the cat food on (you’d forgotten to purchase a feeding bowl). half of it was a bit of wet food, the other half was dry. you wanted to be sure what your new kitty preferred.

“okay,” you say, sliding the paper plate in front of the cat for him to eat. he had to be hungry after not eating a thing all day. “i’ll get you some water, too.” your back is only turned for a second before you hear something hit the floor. slowly, you turn around to see that the plate had been smacked onto the ground. “i— what the hell, dude!”

albert only blinks at you before before sitting himself on the edge of the counter. he’s not about to eat that rubbish, what the hell does he look like to you? you would feed that to a house pet? absolutely not. he’d wait for you to pull something out for yourself and eat then.

“spoiled. whatever… if i give up now chris won’t let me live it down.” you mutter. you grab up the plate and sweep up the food. after throwing it into the trash, you cross your arms and stand in front of the cat. “mmm… it’s fine though. you’re cute.”

you pet his head again, letting your hand glide down his back and scratching near his tail. he seems to like it. he does.

he’s not sure why he’s purring so much, why it feels like he vibrating from the inside out. he stretches out his front legs, spreading out his little toes as he kneads into the counter. it’s surprising how natural this is beginning to feel. is that a good thing? he doesn’t really care, because he’s absolutely lost right now.

this was beneath him.

this wasn’t him at all.

why was he feeling so… so desperate? why did he suddenly feel some kind of emotion— some kind of yearning for affection?

yet albert didn’t attempt to hiss or scratch you. at the very least, he found you more tolerable than most. or maybe it’s because you were always hanging out with chris and between the two of you… he preferred you most of the time. no offense to chris, as he was still a reliable teammate.

albert stands up and pushes his head against your hand, causing you to let out a quiet laugh. the petting increases and his purring becomes louder whether he wants it to or not. you still need to get him some water, so you pull your hand away.

“okay, okay. let me just get you something to drink so you don’t die of dehydration,” you tell him rubbing his back and kissing the top of his furry little head before turning around to find a bowl sizable for a cat.

you find one good enough and fill it halfway. you’re careful not to spill it as you turn around, but the sight you’re met with makes you forget that completely as you drop the bowl and let smash against the tile floor.

“oh, shit—“ you don’t know what to say. “uh… captain wesker…? but how—? th—the cat…?”

his hair’s messed up and his otherwise neat clothes were wrinkled and disheveled. you see that his dark shades are missing, too. what the fuck was going on? were you dreaming? were you asleep? was everything that happened today even real??

right now albert wesker was sitting on your kitchen counter in place of a stray cat— and he looked just as confused as you did. but his confusion was quickly replaced by a nonchalant relief as he uttered ‘finally’ under his breath.

“you.” it’s the first thing he says, feeling slightly delirious and a little flushed. “you’re very warm.” he awkwardly states.

the fuck?

you can feel heat creeping into your cheeks, and you’re sure you’re bright red in the face. looking anywhere except at wesker.

“…you were a cat. how were you a cat? can you turn back into a cat? i think i liked you better as captain whiskers.” you had so many questions. the biggest one being how the fuck your captain turned into a cat. you bring your eyes back to him.

albert slides off the counter, leaning back against it with crossed arms. “captain wesker isn’t good enough for you, hm?”

…and that’s how you found yourself on the couch with your captain sat on the floor in front of you, hands tangled in his hair as you watched the lion king until the late hours of the night.

a/n: cat wesker my favorite menace

#my writing #not proofread sorry. it was 2 in the morning #albert wesker x reader #albert wesker x you #albert wesker x gn!reader #albert wesker fluff #albert wesker #resident evil x reader #resident evil x you #resident evil x gn!reader #resident evil #resident evil fanfiction #resident evil fic #resident evil fluff #cat!albert wesker #cat!resident evil #resident evil au #rebhfun

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