faggotbeloved

[faggotbeloved]

Hi!! May I request for a small flashback from S.T.A.R.S. days (according to your 3SA story)? Reader being an absolute sweetheart to Wesker and taking care of him even before their official relationship, making him start to develop his obsession with reader perhaps? I don’t know, I’m dying for some cute little background flashbacks of them two and how sweet and naive reader might have been back then😭😭

Anon,,, I am So. So Sorry. I intended to follow this correctly, but it turned into angst... there's some cute reader scenes in it though trust (the first 3)

Three Steps Ahead | Yandere!Albert Wesker x GN!Reader

5: Hindsight Glasses (20/20) (~3.5k words)

Cw: religious imagery, christianic metaphors, child abuse (wesker children), flashbacks, annoying ass extended metaphors, accidental domestic abuse, mental breakdown, hallucinations (of a sort), body horror, glass shards in palms, blood, stitches, angst, albert is Going Through It

└───────────────────────┘

Albert sat alone in his study, nursing a glass of fine whiskey and flipping through an old book. He’d been doing that more often now. Being around you was a double edged sword: he loved you more than life itself—everything he did was for you since the moment you first met—but now it was tainted. By his own hand.

Albert recalled what you’d said just last week. ‘Is it bad to be happy if you're happy with a bad person?’

No, he wanted to scream, he’s not bad. He’s not remotely bad. Was God bad when he sent the flood? What was he, but a man reaching godhood and sending his own? Damn the promise of the rainbow; this Earth was vile, and you… you were the only creature worthy of making it aboard the Ark.

The rest of the survivors of his plans could find their way above the water and join his perfect world, but you? You would be kept safe and sound where he could watch over you. How was that bad? He was protecting you! Damnnit, you risked your life every day, and now that he pulled you to safety he was ‘bad?’

The book he held snapped shut as he stood, downing four or so ounces of whiskey in one drink. The buzz as it traveled down his throat was grounding, he decided, but not strong enough to focus him elsewhere.

His thoughts stayed on you. They should be on his project, he recognized that, but his mind never seemed to tire of your face. He wondered how much rewriting of your brain it would take in order to get even close to the affection you naturally shared back before he left S.T.A.R.S..

S.T.A.R.S.. Life was so much easier then. Well, perhaps the double life he led was tedious, but he had you completely. Now, you were a shell. You had sex a couple times since he brought you here; they made him feel closer, like he was making progress with you, sure, but so many stinging reminders plagued his head.

First and foremost, you had fallen for someone else while he was gone—you still loved Chris, from what he could tell. Second, you were here against your will; no amount of cuddling and home cooked meals and tiny personal freedoms would change that. Third, you thought he and his plans were inherently evil.

Before, he had your entire personality. Your highs and lows, your utmost confidence, your jokes, your vulnerability… your trust. That was who he fell in love with. Not the version of you that stared at the ceiling and searched for hidden security cameras to ease your unrelenting boredom.

Albert was usually thankful for his impressive memory and strong imagination. It was what got him through separation; replaying every interaction like a comforting movie and imagining what could have been what could be.

Now, it seemed like a curse.

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“Hey, Captain,” your voice called out as you smiled at him. “I made two thermoses of coffee. Want any?”

“Tea is preferred,” he said coldly, but when he saw your deflating shoulders he backtracked, “but I appreciate the sentiment. Very much. I'll drink it.”

“I-It’s alright, Captain, I could give it to—”

“I’d like the coffee, please,” he replied, standing up to take it. It was hot still, too hot, but he swallowed the mouthful regardless and nodded. “It's very good. Thank you.”

Was he lying? Maybe. He never cared for the taste and caffeine was only useful as an addition to painkillers, in his opinion. But he liked hot drinks and could gladly sip a morning tea on some occasions.

Somehow, the coffee you gave him—oh, he hoped that you made it entirely yourself—tasted more tolerable than the usual garbage that comes out of the machine in the break room.

“You're welcome,” you chuckled softly before you left to clock in. He savored the lingering affection in your glance and stowed it away to admire another time.

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The memory was engraved in Albert's mind, a mundane plaque in the vast shrine he'd mentally accumulated. In his brain was a museum; a nature trail with hundreds of instances like that; some were in the form of sticky notes you'd leave on his monitor when he left the room, some were monoliths with your essence engraved on every surface as tiny as it could be.

This specific memory was golden from where the bronze wore down. He found himself going back to it often. It wasn't when he first noticed you, that honor had its place as the very earth he built on. With every step he took down memory lane, he was reminded of that. No, it was when he realized how much he wanted to be the first.

The first person you thought of when wondering who to bring a cup of coffee; the first pair of eyes you see when you come in for work; the first man to marry you; the first in all your lists.

Back then, he cruelly deprived himself of the recognition that he loved you, but he knew what he felt wasn’t sustainable unless he acted on it.

As he walked deeper into the recesses of his mind, he landed on another. Somehow, Jill discovered his birthday. He hated the holiday; it was more a reminder of the decades of abuse by the hands of Umbrella than anything for merriment.

When Albert thought about his birthday, he pictured practicing piano until his fingers locked up, being sent to bed with no food in his growling stomach, and the dull ache that came with being utterly alone in a room full of children your age. He supposed all the Wesker children felt the same in their misery.

Regardless, the image of his birthday in 1997 faded into his mind.

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“Hey, Captain,” you murmured as you rapped on his open door gently. “How’re you feeling?”

Without looking up from his desk where he glared at a couple wrapped presents, he growled out a reply. “Just fine, Agent.”

“You're burning a hole through your desk. That’s good oak, you know,” you teased softly. You grinned triumphantly, as hidden as you could be from Albert’s eyes, as Albert smiled.

After a moment of silence, you continued. “I didn’t wanna ambush you like the others did. I guess I failed, since I'm cornering you in your office. They didn’t mean any harm, Cap. Just wanted to show their appreciation.”

Albert swallowed and motioned for you to sit down. He still didn’t speak.

“I cleaned and polished your gun for you… and I got you this. Birthdays aren’t always a cause for celebration, I know, but… I’m at least a little happy. If not for today, 37 years ago, I would still be a rookie cop doing fuck all to make a real change. You’re a good Captain, Albert. And a good man.”

Albert glanced up, eyes as steely as possible. Unfortunately, you had a knack for getting under his defenses, and you spot the sorrow in his eyes with ease. As you set the wrapped box down on his desk atop the other presents, you decided to say one more thing.

“...We care about you. All of us. Especially me,” you said firmly. “Happy birthday, Albert,” you added as you stood up.

Albert. You said his name. Not Captain, not Wesker, Albert. He wasn't a prodigy with a name heavy enough to turn coal to diamonds, he wasn't the leader of an elite force or even a heading scientist for bioterrorists in his free time. He was Albert.

Suddenly, his hand reached out and grabbed your wrist. “Ah—I’m sorry,” he muttered as he dropped it like hot coal. “I was going to ask if you’d… keep me company. It’s no fun to open presents alone,” he requested weakly, head down in shame.

Brightly, you nodded and moved your chair beside him. “We can open mine last. I’m actually curious as to what those idiots got you.”

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That was the first time you'd dropped all formality and just said his name. He recalled the shape of your lips as you said it, unsure but aware of your power. He didn't want to open presents, truth be told, he wanted to pull you into a hug and bury his face into your chest and hold and be held. It was humiliating.

Albert huffed. He missed you from then right now. You were so precious. He still loved you, of course, but he’d trade anything to go back and bask in the simplicity of your romance for just a bit longer.

He tried to get back to work, idly rotating the whiskey glass in his fingers to occupy his hands, but you crept in and soon his head was in his hands as he contemplated going through another evocation for a brief respite from the gnarled feeling in the pit of his stomach. He settled on a safe one; among his favorites, more frequently visited than others, he noted the first time you said it.

I love you.

You sat with him in the medical bay, bandaging his wounds from his most recent assault. It wasn’t a pleasant fight, nor was it honorable, especially if you knew what he was fighting for. He murdered a man without a weapon, then beat him into the concrete for good measure.

The man in question wanted to ask you out to dinner, but you didn't need to know that. You just needed to know what Albert told you, that he boasted about unspecified abhorrent plans. To Albert, he was telling the truth; infringing on his right to have you was abhorrent.

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“Albert Wesker, how the hell do you find yourself in these situations?” You sighed playfully. “Who was it this time? Actually, don't tell me, I think I see skin cells under your nails. I could try to DNA match.”

“It doesn’t matter. Ah! Careful around my arm,” he requested, referring to the bicep that was slashed open in a careless mistake while guarding against the man's knife. You happened to page him, wondering where he disappeared to after you went to the bathroom.

“It's lucky that you overheard terrorist plans in the same bar the team headed to,” you hummed. “I'm glad you put a stop to it.”

Albert gazed down at your focused face like he was memorizing it (which, he was). “As am I. Thank you, dear, for helping me.”

“Dear?” You echoed playfully. You glanced up briefly, then flushed at his own engrossed expression and bent your head back down to the task. “Well… anything I can do for you, Captain, consider it done.”

A warm silence filled the room. His arm was wrapped and stitched up just fine and the bleeding was minimal, so you turned to his split and bruised knuckles. You cleaned and wrapped them, then put ice on both hands.

“You've got to stop getting hurt like this, Cap,” you directed.

Albert smiled. “Why should I, if it means I have you tending to my wounds?”

After an eye roll and gentle shove (on his uninjured arm), you replied. “Well, we’re burning through a lot of supplies, for one. And for two, I love you too much to meet you here day after day. The smell of antiseptic makes my stomach drop with dread.”

Albert’s mouth fell agape in shock as he had to remind himself to breathe. And you? You just kept working, like you didn’t just skyrocket his blood pressure and heart rate and yet make his entire brain go silent.

“S-Say again?” He asked to confirm your words.

“You're wasting supplies and I love you too much to see you in pain,” you summarized.

After another few moments of stunned silence, he whispered, “You love me?”

You suddenly realized what you'd said. “Ah! I-I mean, in an appropriate way. I care for you. I—”

“I love you, too.”

You froze. The hug you pulled him into moments later strained his stitches on his arm, but he decided not to tell you.

──────────────────────

He took a sweet satisfaction in that memory, knowing that he'd gotten away with murder and you'd confessed to him while you dressed the weapon.

The recollection was a statue; frequently revisited, with a bench in front and a beautiful view of the surrounding environs. Cast in the same bronze as the kind on every plaque was the hug you brought him into.

As he continued down the road, single-mindedly driven by the pleasantry of the last experience, he paid no mind to the sky dimming and the trail growing gnarled and claustrophobic.

He found another favorite, one he didn't recall why he locked away. It was short, much shorter than every other one, but he loved basking in its feeling.

You'd just come off an… endeavor in the S.T.A.R.S. break room on a day everyone was off, and he was more than content to stare at and admire your face and listen to your voice carry on while he was blissfully checked out of cognizant thought.

He could picture you clearly, face close to his and bathed in afternoon sun. Your eyelashes framed your mesmerizing eyes, your lips kiss-bruised and turned up in a contented smile.

Your body was pliant and littered with hickeys that you mandated had to be covered by your uniform. His was faring no better; he'd actually requested a couple bruises to be placed where they'd show above the neck of his shirt.

If Albert could have frozen time, he would have waited an eternity in that moment and still lamented once eternity ended.

Albert was so engrossed in reliving this perfect moment a thousand times over, he didn't notice his mind growing darker, falling down, down, down, and landing with a splash at the bottom of a well so deep he could see the stars in the middle of the day.

No, the warmth of your image overtook the chill that came with the foreboding feeling of a mind slipping; he ignored it simply because he wanted to feel you more.

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“Bee?” you spoke softly.

“Yes, my love?” Albert turned to you, noting your messy hair from your tryst and yet deciding you looked beautiful. He set a hand on your cheek, stroking the contour of your face almost as a form of worship.

Perhaps you were more God than he was. Perhaps you deserved temples built in your name and more people killed for your favor. Perhaps he would find true purpose as your most loyal disciple. Perhaps he could only be happy if he was worshipping you.

He realized you’d been talking.

“—and I’d never want to leave Raccoon City of my own volition, but they kind of need me back home. It wouldn't be for too long; maybe a few years at most.”

What? The memory usually cut off there.

─────── ─── ─── ── ─ ─

No. Stop. Stop, he didn’t want to remember this.

─── ──── ──── ── ─

“Pardon me?” he croaked, sitting up rigidly.

“I’m going to go, I think. I worry that without me—”

“You’re not leaving me,” Albert stated shakily. “That’s what you’re trying to do, isn’t it?”

He felt his breath shorten. “You can’t. You… you’re everything, you can’t leave me,” he said weakly, grabbing your shoulder harshly while tears threatened to pool. "I've never had... you can't deprive me of yourself without warning!"

───── ── ─── ─

He didn’t feel good about this part! He just wanted to—he wanted to remember you! Stop fucking thinking, Albert!

──── ─── ── ─

“What? Al, I’m not trying to leave you. I just need to go home for a while,” you defended, anxiety raised at his volatile response. Why were you scared of him? You had no reason to be! He fucked up, so badly. You—the only person in the world he cared for—were scared of him.

“No! I am your home!” He argued hoarsely, eyes wide with instability. “I’m first, right? I come before them, don’t I?” He should be your home! You were his!

─ ─ ── ─

Albert slammed his fist down on the table beside him—or was it a nightstand? He heard glass shatter. Was it his memory or was it real? It was all real to him.

Stop! Will you stop? I don’t want to relive this!

─ ──

“What the hell is with you, Albert? Get off of me!” You screamed, scrambling up from the bed. As you hurried to dress yourself, he got up too and grabbed your arm.

“Nothing’s ‘with me’! Perhaps I don’t want my partner to leave me for a bullshit reason! You don't appreciate my love like I do yours, is that it?"

─

Why are you doing this, Albert? They won’t love you if you don’t get a handle on yourself. Let them go!

“Fine! Fuck, I won’t go! I’ll stay here,” you cried, wrenching your forearm from his grasp and inspecting the bruise. He hurt you—not as manipulation, just out of panic and anger. He hurt you.

“...oh, no. No, no, no. Darling, I-I’m so sorry. Please. I’m not sure what came over me, I just—”

You looked up at him with fear and betrayal in your eyes.

“No,” he choked out, “No, I'm sorry. Forgive me,” he whispered, finding himself on his knees before you, palms bleeding from the whiskey glass he shattered in his hands.

“I hate you, Wesker,” you growled coldly, peering down at him from your pedestal. “Everything we had is gone.” When were you on a pedestal?

“No, no, no… that's not right. This isn't real. You never said that, darling,” he sobbed. “This must be a—a waking nightmare. You never said that. You never said that.”

“But it is true, isn't it? I hate you. Nothing you do will bring back the version of me that you miss. They're dead,” you said coolly, a sadistic smile as you watched his groveling.

“That's wrong!” He insisted hysterically, running his hands through his hair and slicing his palms further on the follicles. Blood stained his pristine light hair, dripped down his temples, and repelled from his lab coat, ending up in droplets on the floor.

“It's not true, you don't hate me, you don't hate me, you don't hate me,” he repeated over and over, like he was convincing himself. “...right?”

“What do you think, Wesker? Would I be here if I was given the chance? Would I kiss you when you walk through the door if not for the shocks? Would I feel any semblance of guilt if I managed to kill you back at the Estate?” You—no, your image reflecting his insecurities—questioned cruelly.

“You… would,” Albert shook his head, hugging himself to make the bleeding stop. All it did was apply pressure and make rivulets of crimson streak down his biceps. He pulled his knees to his chest and squeezed his eyes shut, but his damned imagination.

Luckily, he managed to steer it back into the memory from before and finished the mental scene.

“It’s—Bee, it's alright. You didn't mean to. Just don't do that again, okay? It hurt,” you said softly, stroking his hair and kissing his forehead. “I love you.”

“I love you, darling. So, so much.”

You were the first good thing in his life. Why did he react like that to you leaving?

Abruptly, an alert on his computer snapped him out of his breakdown. An alert from you—the real you, not the one his tortured mind devised as a self-destructive punishment. He checked the time. 16:53. He was nearly three hours late for lunch with you. Fuck.

Considering you refused breakfast this morning because you couldn't watch him cook it, you must have been hungry enough to actually alert him.

Without any of the grace he was known for, he grabbed your now-room-temperature food and hurried down corridors into his apartment. He burst in, desperation overtaking him. “My love! I’m so sorry, I got—I was caught up. I’m done for the rest of the day. I need you to hold me.”

You flashed a quizzical glance at him and sat up from where you laid on the couch. “Noted. Are you alright, Al?”

Al. That comforted him, if slightly. “I will be. Hurry and eat, I’ll be in bed.”

─────── ─── ─── ── ─ ─

You slunk into bed a few minutes later, and the moment he felt your weight shift the bed he cuddled into your chest and forced back tears.

To soothe himself, he shifted from the crook of your neck to inhale your scent to your sternum to be surrounded by your chest on all sides. It didn't matter how broad or narrow your body was, he didn't want to lift his face from his body until he was sure he wouldn't cry.

You were all he had. All he wanted, all he needs. How could he live with himself if you didn't want him?

“You'll forgive me, won't you?” He wondered timidly.

You shushed him, suddenly aware of how dire a state his mental health was at. “Forgive you for what, Bee?”

Swallowing thickly, he lifted his head to meet your eyes. “You don't hate me?”

“No, sweetheart, I don't.”

“You said—no, I imagined it, didn't I? You're real. You don't… you don't have to wear any of the collars or bracelets anymore. I'm taking it off, can I have your hand?” He asked urgently, taking off the bracelet like it was poisoning you.

“Albert, you're burning up—oh my god, your hands! Are those open wounds? Why is your hair wet? Is that blood? You—you tried to wash it off?”

“I heal fast,” he muttered, unintentionally tearing the scabs open as he crushed the bracelet in his bloodied palms. “There. No more of that. You can be trained in other ways.”

“Albert! Come to the bathroom, let me clean your hands,” you chastised. “Infection could do bad things to the viruses in your body.”

──────────────────────

As he was led to the bathroom, the memory from earlier of you doctoring his hands returned. He smiled softly and watched you unblinkingly. “I love you,” he murmured, trying hard to feel loved againt, just for his own comfort.

“...I love you too.” It was hesitant, like you were worried it was the truth. And it was. You loved him once more, even after everything. But you resolved to keep your grip on yourself; you wouldn’t aid him in any plans or harm any of your former coworkers.

This time, it was stitches on his hands that ripped as he brought you into a needy hug.

┌───────────────────────┐

Gonna start using this as a little ending ramble lol

This whole chapter was just me experimenting with a lot of things 💔 again anon I'm so sorry i kinda monkeys pawed it... Fluff but at what cost

Anyways this chapter is a little confusing and for that I'm sorry! I was inspired by encephalitis hannigram fics for the reality blurring, the scene in Django with the wine glass shattering for the whiskey glass breaking, Hannibal Lecter's mind palace for the shrine/collection of memories, there's a coraline reference somewhere in there... blehh idk

Maybe this whole chapter is ooc but it's because ummm ummmm let me live my life!!!

Read my other Wesker works?

[faggotbeloved]

dude my bad if it seems obvious, but I’m curious as I love your blog and works: would you ever write dom bottom male reader?

I would!! I don't necessarily see top and bottom as opposites to sub and dom; usually they coincide, but when they don't it makes it so much hotter imo.

I only write dom male (as of right now), position and kink and stuff like that can be changed based on the Vibe

[faggotbeloved]

Heyyyy it's the anon who requested no filter!Reader!

Thanks for the good food 😋😋😋

I loved everything about it!

Of coursee!!! I'm glad you liked it =))

[faggotbeloved]

yandere wesker is always fantastic, but what about a yandere reader and a (obviously) very aware, reciprocal wesker? obviously at first he'd be cautious, they could be a spy after all, but once it becomes clear all they want is him.. how would he react?

Oh god. That would be The Worst (tm) couple ever.

└───────────────────────┘

Simply put, he'd be extremely pleased. It's like you took the entire burden of making you dependent and isolated, and just did it yourself! He was intrigued, scientifically so, at first. Why the hell did you latch onto him?

But soon, he grew to be grateful for it. To need your obsessive love like air.

It stroked his ego in the best way possible, making him feel powerful and in-control, even if he was just stringing you along for his enjoyment.

He'd turn your intense feelings into a game; or better, a behavioral study.

When he left his blinds open, you were tired. You stayed late through the night, staring through the window. When he closed you out, you were irritable. When he left a window unlocked—every time with first floor windows, 65% of the time with second floor windows, and 80% of the time with basement windows—you were happier because you'd snooped through his house.

It amused him. It thrilled him even more. He wasn't used to being coveted as a person. This was the most fun he'd ever had with a person, and he hadn't even seen you undressed.

He got close to you; he pretended not to notice so many things, he was sure you knew that he knew. He started making advances, enjoying your flustered response like you'd been gifted keys to a car with every word he spoke to you. Eventually, he realized that he'd grown just as reliant on you as you him. He had fallen prey to his human desires, and yet he wasn't remotely disappointed.

He found it exciting to get you upset; flirting with others, watching you kill for him, suddenly disappearing, ignoring you until you became utterly desperate... it was exhilarating to be wanted. Needed.

When you got together, he told you up-front: he knew what you were. Obsessive, violent, crazy in love. He smiled as he watched you flounder in terror—would you leave him? Call the police? Get a restraining order? You wouldn't survive any of those.

Then, midway into your breakdown, he kissed you.

You became the worst power couple to ever disgrace the earth. Albert, with his (quite frankly, villainous) plans, and you, with your tendency to gore whoever raised any form of issue with him. To the two of you, though, you were caught in an endless positive feedback loop of addictive, corrosive affection.

┌───────────────────────┐

Read my other Wesker works?

[faggotbeloved]

Hiya! May I please request some Wesker headcanons?

How would he react to a Reader that has no filter?

Reader is straightforward and doesn't take nonsense from anybody. Their sass is unmatched.

Wesker: 7 minutes, 7 minutes is all I can spare to play with you.

Reader: ...Not in that slutty ass outfit.

Following the 3SA timeline! Alternate snippets from S.T.A.R.S. and chapter 1 plus a little insight on each. I put a bit of a spin on it, I am super sorry if what I wrote wasn't what you intended.

Cw: suggestive

└───────────────────────┘

Wesker thought you were annoying at first. He doesn't feel guilty when thinking back to it; he loves you for it now, but by god it pissed him off when you first joined S.T.A.R.S. You were blunt and argumentative, a walking HR violation, and you had a quip for everything.

-

(WESKER walks into the S.T.A.R.S. BRIEFING ROOM, groggy and already scowling. WESKER watches the coffee pot boil, leaning on the counter with his backside facing out. READER approaches from behind, wolf whistling.)

READER: Damn, Captain! Are you trying to detain criminals or seduce them?

WESKER: (Scowling) Keep it up, and you'll be moving to Bravo team.

READER: Yeah, I'm sure. How'd you even get your pants on?

-

But once he got to know you, he found it endearing, if not sexy. He was a brat first, Captain of S.T.A.R.S. second. You knew just how to wrangle him into submission. You were also a good partner, fiercely loyal, and attractive in general.

-

(WESKER and READER are speaking over radios.)

READER: Captain, have you found somewhere out of the line of fire? Sending reinforcements. Over.

WESKER: Yes, I've found a safe area. I'm near the east exit. Over.

READER: Copy. Good boy. Over and out.

WESKER: (Spluttering) You can't say that! There's other people on the line!

-

Of course, he wasn't sure what to do about the whole... leading S.T.A.R.S. into the mansion and betraying everyone. He'd try to sneak it into conversation, just to see if his far-fetched fantasy of you joining him and spearheading research together. Unfortunately, that doesn't happen, and he ends up leaving you after the mansion incident.

For years, it's radio silence from him. You recover from the betrayal, get right back into action, and work with the BSAA to stop the likes of him. Wesker, however, thought of you constantly. Your dry humor and quick wit was refreshing, and surrounded by yes-men and suckups he longs for someone to treat him sarcastically again.

When you reunite, he's (internally) ecstatic to see you, to get another chance to recruit you, and this time it surprisingly goes well.

-

READER: Well... I did miss fucking you. And, let's be honest, your global saturation plan is kinda hard to beat. It's an uphill battle here.

WESKER: (Flushing, for the first time in years, though remaining blank-faced) Excellent.

READER: Do I get to become your coruler? That'd be pretty cool.

WESKER: (Smiling softly) ...we'll see.

-

Then, you and him would be like Good Cop, Bad Cop except for the fact you're both chaotic. The major difference is that you're funny, he's stuffy.

You do not get along with Irving, interestingly enough. He's got the kind of humor you find grating on your very soul. You don't get along much with Excella, mainly because she wanted your spot as Wesker's partner.

You never really fight with him. Your relationship is unique in that blunt nature makes you trustworthy, so when you say you're on his side he believes you. He doesn't give you the shock collar because he knows you're telling the truth, so not needing to train you skips the majority of conflict.

Overall... surprisingly healthy?

┌───────────────────────┐

I was thinking of reader speaking similarly to Gale from BG3 during this, just... without the awkwardness

Read my other Wesker works?

[faggotbeloved]

Mobile is absolutely hellish to long asks, but @nshtn sent this amazing drabble (that's the right word, right?) that I want to share. Alt text is provided!

Three Steps Ahead | Yandere!Albert Wesker x GN!Reader

4: Dazy (800 words)

Cw: manipulation, drugging, the usual!

└───────────────────────┘

Some part of your brain recalls some part of a poem. However, time, instead of an aged, aged man's answer, is trickling through your head like water through a sieve. A minute lasts a year, time is moving slow and yet after every second passes, it's like it never existed in your mind.

You were weak. Emotionally, physically, mentally... Suggestible and unable to push him off or escape, Albert loved having you like this. Every comment took a few moments for you to process and reply, and it was adorable to see you struggle to keep up.

If he wanted to train you just a bit more, all he'd have to do is state things as fact and some of his words would embed themselves as truth in the recesses of your mind.

Albert moved up your throat, leaving the burning skin of your neck wet with lazy kisses. "Beautiful. You're gorgeous like this," he murmured, inhaling strongly once he got to the angle of your jaw. His eyelashes fluttered in enjoyment and he flopped his head down in the crook of your neck.

"Hi," you giggled, blinking sluggishly. Your smile was wide and eyes unfocused, the euphoria from the drugs buzzing through your veins.

"Hello, my love," he whispered into your skin. "How are you feeling?"

You glanced over at him—as well as you could when medically dazed—and hummed thoughtfully. "Feeling just fine. Not... mmh, not sore anymore."

"Do you think we could try something tomorrow? I wanted to take you to my study. Would you like that?" He offered sweetly, brushing hair from your face reverently.

As if on instinct, you nodded. "Study. Sounds nice. What would I do?" You questioned, but he could tell your mind was far away from the conversation, probably lying on top of a cloud to bask in the sun or chasing shooting stars high above the atmosphere.

Too high for infection through missiles, some utterly human, disgustingly guilty part of Albert commented. That ugly duckling of a thought had a scarier underlying fact: you would be upset if given the gift of Uroboros. That made him guilty.

Albert hummed in thought and kissed your temple. He couldn't keep his lips away from you; now that you didn't feel shame for accepting his affection, he sought to give and receive as much as possible until the opiate wore off. "You could simply be there. Sit on my lap, or I, yours; let me tell you about my research; read aloud and let me hear your voice."

"Hear your voice," you echoed absently. "Hear my voice," you corrected once some minor part of you recalled the context and decided to rectify the slip in words.

"Yes, darling," he chuckled softly, nuzzling closer and letting his eyes shut in relaxation. He liked this. He liked you, he liked it best when you didn't fight with him over everything and cry and argue.

You'd be happier if you gave up, why couldn't you see that?

"Why do you fight, dearest?" he wondered aloud.

"Mmh?" You hummed, not quite understanding the question.

Albert smiled softly. You poor dear. You couldn't as much as form a complete coherent thought without him guiding you through it. "Why don't you accept this? Accept me, that is. Love me all the time, not just when your inhibitions are removed. Join me."

You made a noise of thinking, a mix between a hum and a groan. "I... don't know, Bee. I'm happy. Is it bad to be happy if you're happy with a bad person?"

A bad person. You thought of him as a bad person. He supposed you were right; he did employ positively evil tactics against his testing subjects and he did plan to disperse a virus that would kill ninety percent of the Earth... but it did sting a little.

"I'm not a bad person, darling. I intend to perfect the human race. That's not bad, it's preventing humans from their own foolishness. Don't you want to rule with me? Be by my side while we rebuild this world with the best and the brightest and the strongest?" He murmured in your ear. "Is that why you don't reciprocate? You see what I do as bad?"

You nodded, not quite getting everything before the last sentence. "BSAA says it's terrorism," you whispered quietly.

"The BSAA is manipulating you," he replied. "They give you the smallest bit of agency to make you feel like you're in control, then use that to make you trust them."

Albert found it ironic, what he was telling you.

"Bee, I'm gonna be honest..." you glanced over at him, "I'm too high on the painkillers to understand anything you're saying."

Albert cracked a smile. "Of course. I'm sorry, love. Rest now, I'll just hold you. I have an alarm for 2; we'll wake up for lunch, then I'll give you your next dose."

"Mmn. Sounds good," you mumbled, feeling him press impossibly closer and relax his body.

┌───────────────────────┐

Read my other Wesker works?

[faggotbeloved]

(im the anon of the jealousy prompt) ofc please take ur time!! 💓💓 i didn’t mean to come off as rude or demanding at all! im gonna respect ur time even if it takes months, no problem <33

Ahhh hello anon!!! No worries at all! You didn't come off as rude or demanding or anything; I was more telling myself to chill out because I can't keep my hands off my keyboard for the life of me ^^,

I appreciate your feedback so very much and thanks to you I already have ideas cooking for chapter 4 =3

[faggotbeloved]

Hi, I hope you're doing well today/tonight. I discovered your blog today idly scrolling and wanted to know a few things about requesting. 1.I saw that you were exactly against writing for female characters x male readers but I wanted to ask again if its okay so I do not cross any boundaries or to know if you want to write anything like that atm. 2.Fandoms, I saw you had a list of Fandoms you write for but do you perhaps write for Valorant or Overwatch? I apologize for bothering you and asking things you already answered in your rules, I just wanted to double check. Good day/night :3 !

Hello! I do write for female characters and male readers, I don't particularly love writing het smut, but would be open to it if I was given a good prompt I need to update boundaries regardless; unless a work is strictly mlm I don't mind at all if fem-aligned people interact.

I do not write for either, unfortunately. The most I know about Overwatch is Mercy and Tracer from that one JT Music song (I think that's right?). I'm completely lost on Valorant =(.

Never apologize, you aren't bothering me at all! I'd rather someone double checks than ignores my rules. I appreciate your respect for my boundaries very much.

[faggotbeloved]

hello!! im glad my ask inspired you for the 3rd chapter of Three Steps Ahead, i loved it! 🫶🫶

i came here to ask if we could get jealous reader this time? maybe wesker is focusing so much on his uroboros project with excella, and he spends less time with reader and they start to be annoyed because every time they are spending some time together with wesker they get interrupted. wesker reassures reader but it’s not enough and this causes “strains” in their relationship with reader thinking of the worst and being always so jealous. at one point they accidentally catch wesker and excella being too close next to each other (according to reader) and reader storms away in tears and wesker chases them and they have a whole jealousy fight which turns into a hot make out session (or sex) possibly? 👀

idk, again feel free to change or do whatever you want with this. your writing never disappoints me either way so im not worried. 🫶🫶 Have a nice day!!

Okay, I wanted to get my thoughts out before I start work on chapter four (need a day or so of rest before I get back to it) but I love this prompt for so many reasons.

- It's torturing the reader my favorite thing to do because they're torn up about actually feeling possessive of Wesker and wanting to distance themselves from him desperately.

- "I'm not allowed to talk to anyone but you, but you can flirt with whoever you like?" So like. Reader has No one at all and is mad that Wesker has no limitations on who he interacts with. The double standard feels unfair! And that triggers Wesker's own jealousy.

- Reader WILL have to come to terms with the fact that they love Wesker enough to be jealous of Excella. Wesker isn't stupid, though. That's what he wants.

- Wesker uses the jealousy as a manipulation tactic; 'give me a hug and a kiss as greeting and I'll give you my undivided attention' stuff. Or 'you must not really love me if you won't even let me (x), so I'll see if Excella wants to.'

[faggotbeloved]

Thank you for being so kind and understanding :) have a great day!

You as well!!

[faggotbeloved]

Hi! I know it was just a brief scene but I'd super appreciate a warning if reader is gonna bottom, genuinely no shame or anything but I'm personally really uncomfortable with even just the thought of being on the receiving end of penetration, so I'd prefer having a heads-up 😅

Otherwise, great chapter as always! I loved the scene at the end of where they were watching a movie, it gave me an actual sensible chuckle. Hopefully reader will have a bit of an easier time soon (....we can still hope?)

Ah!! I really thought I put a warning, I am super sorry! I'll add one now. Thank you for telling me!!!

[faggotbeloved]

i love your three steps ahead series and all of your wesker works!! i was wondering if you could write about wesker being jealous? like, reader has one of their bad days and they start crying nonstop because they miss the life they used to have, and they start crying bc they miss their s/o too (and theyre starting to feel guilty bc theyre basically forced by wesker to “love” him so in reader’s eyes they feel like theyre cheating on their s/o) and wesker gets jealous and they have a whole fight? you can go crazy with this idea idm 🫶🫶

This MAY have inspired certain parts of chapter 3... this is #foryou

Three Steps Ahead | Yandere!Albert Wesker x GN!Reader

3: Boiling Point (5k words)

Cw: slight angst, manipulation, chris x reader is brought up more, somewhat cheating? read ask, wesker literally kills someone for talking to reader, minor character’s almost suicide, narcissistic tendencies, nicknames for Albert, reader is slowly succumbing to the manipulation

Nsft cw: porn with lots of plot, non consensual voyeurism, reader bottoms at first!!, soft sex turned rough, getting eaten out (vague so it could be either hole), come eating, premature ejaculation, marathon sex(?), nonconsensual creampie, reader has a strap/dick, spit as lube by choice, reader turns mean, edging, heavy sadism(r) and masochism(w), spitting, gunplay

This work contains smut and is 18+

└───────────────────────┘

Wesker was right. You did need help getting around. But that didn't mean you'd ask for it; he was more than willing to pamper you, but you refused to let him.

You had to keep that thought going through your head so you didn't forget. You hated him. He was the reason you were in pain. He watched as you cried on the floor, and he turned the shock collar up.

But also? He held you through your nightmares, even if some were brought by him. He massaged your aching muscles and would go out for more painkillers whenever you requested, he made your favorite dishes so perfectly it was like he'd practiced them, and he whispered in your ear promises of getting better and fixing the world together and elevating you.

You didn't quite know what that meant, but he spoke so reverently and lovingly it almost made you believe him. But with a twinge of anger, you recalled what you were fighting for. You wouldn't let him win; you wouldn't let him sweet talk his way into your good graces.

You laid lazily on the couch, watching the working TV that Wesker installed for you in the living room. Wesker had guided your head into his lap and was watching your face instead of the TV. His fingers trailed down your scalp and throughout your hair, enjoying this domesticity once more. You suddenly stood up on aching legs, alarming and disappointing Wesker.

“Ah—darling, where are you going? The bathroom? Let me—”

“Get off, Albert. I can walk,” you grunted as you stepped away. You ached, but it was better than feeling his traitorous hands on you, holding you in ways that should have died with him at the mansion lab.

Wesker paused and frowned. “What's this about?” he asked slowly, standing up with you. “You're—oh, you're still trying to distance yourself from me, are you?”

No reply. Wesker continued, “In your head, you can tell yourself you hate me. But your body,” Wesker approached, grasping your chin and pressing your hips to his in a hug of sorts. “Your body tells a different story. I’m saying this from a neurological standpoint, that is—I’ve been studying your sleeping patterns, your hormones, your vitals...”

You broke out of his grasp. “Shut the hell up. I'm just not developing Stockholm’s, does that bother you so badly? That I don't intend to give up?” Somehow, Wesker could tell your thoughts were on something—someone—else.

“You're thinking about him again. Was he better than me?” Wesker asked slowly. “Did Chris touch you in every way that you like? Memorize what parts of his own body gave you pleasure, map out your skin like he's charting stars, moan in your ear how you want him to? How long did he deny himself just so you could hear his voice tremble? Did Chris ever once worship you… like I still do?”

“Stop. This isn't about Chris–”

“No, it always is,” Wesker interrupted. “‘Chris will find me’, ‘Chris will save me,’ screaming ‘Chris’ in your nightmares and whispering ‘Chris’ in your dreams. You may think you love him, but that’s only an excuse for so long. If he comes here, not only will he die, but you will kill him.”

The threat was so sure that it caught you off guard and rendered you speechless with anger.

“I won't,” you replied angrily. “Leave me the fuck alone, Wesker,” you spat for added venom. Suddenly, you fell to the ground in pain as Wesker sent electricity throughout your body. Right, you needed to use his first name.

“I warned you. That was 10 mA. Again, and I'll move it to 15,” he said dispassionately. “Now let me help you up. Do you still need to use the restroom?”

“Yes,” you grit out angrily. Wrenching your arm from his grip, you felt the collar on low; it was just high enough to be extremely uncomfortable, but it wasn’t enough to cause you to drop to the ground. Still, with the ache in your body it really wasn't feasible to get anywhere without Wesker’s help.

When you begrudgingly grabbed his arm for balance, he hugged you to his side and turned off the collar. “That’s much better. You needn’t try to put a brave front on. You can't do anything without me, not like this.”

──────────────────────

“I need to get up,” you announced with a groan, trying to escape Wesker’s arms. “My legs need to stretch. Wesker, let me—what the fuck!?” You screamed as he activated the shock collar again. “What did I do!?”

“I told you. 15 mA; every time you don't call me by name it'll increase. But I'm nice, it'll reset back to ten tomorrow. Aren't I nice?”

In the tense seconds that followed, the collar continued in painful bursts until you forced out. “Yes. You're fucking nice, Albert. Are you happy?” You spat, pushing him off of you. It was bad enough he was using your inability to move to keep you in the bed against your will, but now he was forcing you to suck up to him?

You felt the familiar discomfort of the collar on low and glared at Wesker. “What now? You want to walk me around?” You guessed, since he'd only done that when you strayed too far from him.

“Ex-actly. You're catching on wonderfully, my love,” Wesker cooed demeaningly. He sat up and offered his arm for you to take, and since you wanted the collar to stop, you grabbed on without complaint.

He walked you around the house like you were a leashed animal in need of exercise, then immediately brought you back to the bed. When you protested, saying you wanted to stretch more, he shushed you. “You're sore from the training yesterday. Lie down, we can watch whatever you'd like. I'll have someone bring in a television.”

Training. The words echoed in your mind. You planned to resist, but when you saw Wesker reach into his pocket, you relented before he could shock you again.

Once you settled in, Wesker joined right behind you, spooning you and keeping a possessive arm around you like a seatbelt. After a moment, he grabbed a radio from the nightstand and spoke into it. “Bring a television and remote to my living area. The bedroom. It's the only open door. Remember the rules about my fiancé,” he commanded coldly, then switched off the radio to cuddle closer.

“Fiancé? You're kidding. I'm not dating you, first of all, and second of all, even if I was, you haven't proposed,” you argued, standing your ground even when threatened with a shock.

“You are, actually,” Wesker replied boredly. “And as for being my fiancé, It's really just a matter of semantics. Chris was your boyfriend, was he not? I'd rather not stoop to his level. We're more than simply dating; there's a possibility of separation when one is dating. And the vernacular! ‘Get together,’ ‘dating,’ ‘breaking up;’ I find it childish. No, we are far more advanced than high schoolers finding a date to a dance.”

…the audacity of this man. While he spoke, you sat up to look him in the eyes. “Fuck you,” you said, unsure how else to reply. “Why do you keep bringing Chris up? He's not here. I don't even talk about him that often. You just—”

“Because I've seen you crying over him. Because it makes me angry, darling, that you're still stuck on such an unremarkable, weak man. I could flatten cities if you just asked me to, and he… what, he survives the viruses that I create?” Wesker murmured low in your ear, propping himself up on an arm. “He's only alive because I need combat data. Do you understand how insignificant he is? And how much more you will be with me? You'll transcend humanity. You'll be a god.”

In anger, you pushed his arm off of you and shuffled to the edge of the bed. “Maybe I don't want to be a god. Maybe I want a normal life where I settle down and grow old and don't have to be your little trophy, stuck in here!”

“Lay back down,” he commanded coldly. “Let me hold you.”

With emotions ramping up, your voice grew angrier and cracked. “No, Albert! I'm not lying with you! I slept on the couch for a reason; I don't want to cheat on Chris!”

With that, a silence fell on the room.

“...You should know better than that,” Wesker drawled, a scowl on his face. Slowly, he sat up, grabbing your jaw. “It's not cheating. It's far from it. He's weak, and if he were stronger he might have beat me and deserved you. But he's not, and once he stopped fighting he lost the right to have you.”

“I'm not some possession to have and to deserve,” you spat. “I love him, Albert—” you tried to say, but Wesker released your face forcefully.

“He was a replacement for me! You chose me first, sweetheart, he was nothing but a coworker until the damned mansion incident when you stayed loyal to S.T.A.R.S. instead of me!” Albert shouted in fury. “He was the next best thing after me, and clearly didn't love you enough if he took Valentine with him everywhere! You weren't his first choice, but you're mine,” he snarled. “Why won't you accept me?”

At that moment, the door opened and two men came in, carrying a TV, remotes, and a couple cables. Wesker scowled and sat against the headboard, grabbing you by the shoulder and pulling you into his chest protectively.

The men passed by the bed and you thanked them. One kept his eyes trained solely on the ground, the other flashed an awkward smile and replied a quiet ‘You're welcome.’

You didn't understand why Wesker tensed, but you made idle chatter with the younger man, ignorant to the warning glances from both Wesker and the other employee that were being shot about as subtly as an RPG.

Abruptly, Wesker stood up, grabbed a gun from a hiding place, and shot the man coldly in the head.

“What the fuck?!” You screamed, getting up from the bed in horror.

Wesker rolled his eyes. “Don't be dramatic. You've killed people before.” Blankly, he nodded to the linen closet, ordering the other man to clean up the remains. Once the man set the TV up, he hurriedly mopped up blood and scrubbed down the walls.

“Zombified people! Why the fuck did you do that?” You argued in horror.

“I have a few clear, simple rules. The easiest one is that they aren't to talk to you unless necessary. I can't have you being manipulated by the vermin who might find their way to you. He,” Wesker pointed the gun lazily to the body, “disobeyed a rule. He spoke to what's mine.”

You recalled with a dull disgust the flippant comment he'd made that sparked the whole argument earlier, ‘Remember the rules about my fiancé.’ Was that what he meant? “He wasn't doing anything! I talked to him first!”

“It doesn't matter. This gentleman here hasn't said a word. He'll get to live. That's all there is to it,” Wesker shrugged. He wiped his gun on a rag then laid the rag on the face of the dead man, where a clean bullet hole was the only indication of anything other than paralysis. “Now, then. We have a television in here, so do you have any film requests?”

Wesker sat back down and administered a morphine shot in through your thigh. You flinched at the intrusion and watched as Wesker wiped off the drop of blood that came from the injection site and licked it from his thumb. He clipped off the needle of the syringe and disposed of both.

You stared at the body on the floor, guilt racking your body. “You never told me about those bullshit rules,” you said shakily.

“You didn't need to know. They did. All you need to do is stay close to me, you'll be fine,” he dismissed. “Come here. Now.”

You glanced over at Wesker, his arms open impatiently for you to crawl into. “Come now, darling. You wouldn't want another man dead, would you? Excuse me, you, what's your name?”

The other employee looked alarmed and stammered out a reply. “I’m—I’m Gavin.”

“Gavin, I'd like you to shoot yourself.” You didn't expect Gavin to accept this, but he walked across the room and grabbed the very gun Wesker used moments before.

You yelped in alarm. “Shit! Okay, I'm coming!” You said as you got close enough for him to grab you and pull you closer.

“There we are. Never mind, Gavin, you're free to leave once you take the fellow on the floor out,” Wesker hummed, stroking your hair adoringly. “That wasn't so hard. Has the opiate kicked in yet?”

“No. It hasn't,” you grit out. You turned around, away from his face, but all that did to deter his affection was let him bury his face in your hair.

──────────────────────

You had no interest in the movie that Wesker put on. It was something in black and white, and from the looks of it was some mid-1930s mystery with a man, woman, and scruffy dog. Throughout it, Wesker pressed himself close to you and whispered in your ear whenever there was a lull in the action. You internally regret not choosing the movie.

“We’ll kill him, sweetheart, and you'll thank me for it.”

“When you accept me, I can give you a rare gift. Don't you want it?”

“I was lost without you. Didn’t you miss me?”

“I never stopped loving you. It tore me up, thinking about how many men tried to proposition you when I wasn't right beside you. It's easier when I can just—well, just kill whoever gets on my nerves.”

“There's cameras in your home. You couldn't have known, I made sure of that. I wasn't keen on being cut out entirely. It was comforting, seeing you live life with nobody watching. Your days off became my personal livestreams; it got to a point where I couldn't sleep unless I played one.”

“Albert?” You spoke up finally, wanting to nip this in the bud before Wesker devolved into confessing war crimes in your name.

“Mmh? Yes, my love?” He grinned as he brushed his lips across your throat.

“Albert, I don't want to hear how you stalked me.”

──────────────────────

You and Albert—no, Wesker—had a lot of conversation. Some of it was him talking about his studies and most of it was him talking about you.

You cut in occasionally with an “Albert, I'm not sure who would be left to officiate a wedding if you kill ninety percent of people” or an “Albert, kids aren't exactly probable at our age” or an “Albert, I'm not exactly a fan of you killing the majority of people I interact with.”

Soon, Wesker laid on your chest, gazing up at you with admiration in his slitted, carnelian eyes. You stared back and stroked his hair. “Are you in any pain, dear heart?” He asked, referring to your aching muscles.

“Not much,” you sighed.

Wesker drummed his fingers on his thigh and glanced up at you. “Well, I'm not sure what else medicine can do for your pain. Perhaps we should look at alternatives.”

With a curious hum, you accepted the bait. “Alternative?”

“Endorphins,” he added matter-of-factly. He offered no more explanation.

“Um… what, you want to take me to the gym? That's counterintuitive. I'm in pain because of my muscles,” you guessed.

“No, not the gym. I mean sex, of course. After an orgasm, your brain releases a massive amount of endorphins, which are natural painkillers,” Wesker added bluntly. “I’ll go gently, of course. Or perhaps you'd be more comfortable with control?”

“What? Are you kidding?”

“Of course not. I could prep you, if you'd like.”

“Albert—”

“It's been far too long since we were intimate. You've had mediocre sex from Chris ever since I left. I'd like to rectify your poor experiences,” Wesker shrugged.

“Were you watching us!?”

“You for pleasure, he for study. I had no real interest in watching Redfield besides figuring out what he somehow blundered upon and got right. Anyways, from what I could tell, you only orgasmed 72% of the time, compared to his hund—”

“What? Stop talking about this! You're no better than him. You—you were premature every time, and—”

“I made up for it with stamina. You've never gone more than two rounds with him, even after so long of… ‘dating’. Need I remind you of our excursions, where—”

“Albert!”

“Yes, dearest?”

“I want you to shut up so badly, I will let you eat me out,” you said bluntly. Usually, you wouldn't allow him because it turned into a literal hour of overstimulation, but it was better than listening to him pull up sex statistics of all things.

Wesker froze. His eyes seemed to glow in excitement and he sat up immediately. He chuckled shakily, tugging off your sweatpants with his superhuman speed. He took the underwear with him, tossing it on the ground without a care.

His own pajamas sported an already damp tent; he couldn't even think properly. He laid flat and guided your hips right down onto his face, pausing before he brought you you down all the way.

“I've been waiting for you to say that,” he whispered softly as he buried his face in your sex. He inhaled deeply and moaned, canting his hips up desperately. “It's been too long,” he groaned. “I love you.”

As his tongue breached your hole, you gasped and ground softly on his face. It was like he remembered just how your body worked. Each moan of Albert’s, which were practically constant, reverberated through your body and shot pleasure down your spine.

Soon—or perhaps much longer after; you could never tell time when Albert was ravishing you—it grew too much and you tried to lift off of him, but Albert grabbed your hips and kept you securely back down.

“Al—Al, I'm gonna cum,” you warned, embarrassed by how quick it felt, to which he pressed right into your weak spot with his tongue. Again. And again. The onslaught of stimulation forced it out of you and you heard Albert exhale with excitement.

With a surprised gasp, you came, but Albert lifted you off of him so he could catch and swallow all of your release. Whatever he didn't get, he scooped up and licked erotically off his fingers. “Fuck, you're so pretty like this,” you murmured in amazement.

Albert closed his eyes in pleasure, grinning lazily as you laid beside him. “I'm not done. Of course, I love tasting you, but I-I need you to know how much better I am. At least—mmh—at least three rounds.”

You glanced down at his crotch, which was wet with at least one orgasm’s worth. “Oh, Albert… Did you cum?”

“Ah—twice. I can't help it. Missed you. Don't—don't worry. Three rounds for you. I can recharge in minutes,” he babbled breathlessly. Albert regained his senses and slipped off his bottoms, somehow still hard despite the ejaculate coating his lower half.

Having been thoroughly tonguefucked, you sank down on Albert’s cock and groaned at the ease of it.

“You're perfect, Bee,” you whispered out. You'd completely forgotten who you were dealing with: a terrorist, a murderer, a stalker. Your lover. “Fucking stellar. I can feel every inch, you know that?”

Albert couldn't help his hips from twitching into you. “I love you so much.”

“You're so horny it makes you dumb,” you chuckled shakily.

It was slow and enjoyable; you left hickey after hickey on his chest, enjoying the cracks in his voice as you tore him apart. It wasn't animalistic like you'd expected from him—after all, he'd been watching you for years and couldn't even see you face to face. You weren't sure if you liked his new eyes, but it was somewhat amusing to see them flash with light every once in a while.

Neither of you were in any rush; you both knew that you would climax eventually and were willing to wait. It seemed an eternity passed between that day at the Spencer estate and today. You were so high on affection and pleasure that your guilt melted away and was replaced by the burn in your thighs and the tightness in your core.

“Say you love me. Please,” Albert whined, guiding your hips in ellipsoidal motions. “Please, I need you to. You love me, right?”

“Ah—! Fuck, Bee, yes, I love you,” you groaned, panting on his neck. You didn't even realize what you said until after he laughed erratically and began bucking up into you.

“That's it. That's all I need. Please, please, I need to cum. Inside of you? That’s alright?” He begged, his back arching in a barely contained peak.

“W-What? Don't you dare. Pull out,” you demanded, your brain clearing at the thought of cleanup you really didn't want to do, but he shook his head.

“No. I'm sorry. I can't. Need it inside of you. I'm sorry, I’m sorry, I’msorryImsorryImsorry,” he babbled, pulling you down and cumming hard inside of your hole.

You groaned; it felt good, the familiar sensation of his hot seed filling your hole and lubricating even better, but irritation overtook you at his disobedience.

Before Albert left S.T.A.R.S., he was the perfect brat: all you'd have to do is break him down enough and he'd hang on to every word you said. You had to restart. You had to make him realize his place all over again.

With your mind made up, you knew what you had to do. “You'll fucking pay for that,” you growled, pulling out before the aftershocks cleared and flipping him on his back.

“What? No—no, no, no, don’t—ah!”

You spat directly on his asshole, watching his still-twitching cock jolt from the obscenity. Slipping a finger roughly in, you targeted his prostate so cruelly that he was yelping and begging for forgiveness.

“Please! Ah, I'm still—darling, you'll make me come again!” He warned, glowing eyes widening. “I'm still—it's sensitive!”

“No, no, no. You wanted to cum so badly, I'm letting you. Come on, Albert, you can cum again, can't you? How can you call yourself a God if you can't handle overstimulation?” You grit out, spewing filth into his ears. He moaned, clenching on your finger, and you added a second.

Albert’s arm blindly flopped over to the nightstand and he rummaged around by touch to find the lube he'd hidden in there.

“You slut,” you chuckled in disbelief as he handed it to you. “You knew this would happen. Put it back, you're not getting lube this time. You're getting fucked with nothing but spit, and if you tear, that's your own damn fault.”

Albert nodded his head erratically, bucking into your fingers desperately. “Y-yes, okay, I'm sorry,” he acquiesced. He was getting off on this harsh treatment, you were aware, and it brought you no small amount of excitement.

After three fingers, you decided he was sufficiently prepped. You pulled them out in one motion, watching as he whined at the loss, and spit on his gaping hole one more time before lining up the head of your cock and pushing in.

You entered a flow state, ramming in and out of his body. Your irritation only grew to anger once you thought about your situation at any length. He was a good hole, that was for sure, but it didn't excuse his acts of evil.

You grew rougher and meaner when you recalled the damn shock collar still around your neck.

You began to bite once you thought about his obsession with being better than Chris.

You flipped him over when you glanced up and saw the bloodstain on the carpet from that poor worker.

His punishment was chosen when you thought about your home, how deeply you missed it, and how angry you were that you were stuck here.

“You don't get to cum, Albert,” you said coldly, to which Albert whimpered in panic. He had nowhere to hide, face up on the bed with his legs to the side while you thrust mercilessly into him.

“What!? Ah—why not?”

“Don't question me. You don't get to cum,” you repeated, grabbing his chin. “Understand?”

“But I need to,” he argued mindlessly, his brain blank with desperation.

With a loud smack, Albert’s mouth hung agape and his eyes glazed over. You weren't sure if it was pleasure, shock, or something else. He had gasped when you slapped him across the face, nearly cumming right then if not for the firm grip you had on the base of his cock. He didn't even notice until he looked at himself, expecting ropes of ejaculate to spurt out.

“Don't argue either. Who the fuck do you think you are? You can cum if you promise to get this shock collar off.”

“No, no, you need it! Hrrk—!” He was cut off as you grabbed him roughly by the base of his scalp.

“Run that by me again?” You growled into his ear.

“I-I can give you breaks from it. Is that okay? A week? I'll give you a week without the collar. And then—then, I'll focus on positive reinforcement! I promise, just—please!”

“Do I need to bitch slap you again?”

“Slap me all you want. Please do. I just can't—oh!”

He wasn't this masochistic before the mansion incident. You knew it was exciting him, but it was also extremely cathartic to take your anger out on him. You hit him until your hands both stung, but after each slap Albert only giggled manically and stared up at you with unblinking eyes.

You needed something else; something with more power than a simple hit. You grabbed his throat and constricted his breathing until his mouth was agape in a desperate grab for air. Suddenly, you spat directly into his mouth and he jolted almost violently.

You let go of his throat, but all that served to do was bring back his babbling. After a lengthy amount of sputtering, of course.

“Haah—Please, let me cum. I-I'll replace the collar with something else,” he finally promised, his best offer just to be able to find the release he so desperately needed.

“With what?”

“A-a bracelet! I've been designing it—I'll tell you all about it. Let me cum, please!”

With a scowl, you released your hand from Albert’s cock and watched as Albert was wrecked with wave after wave of agonizing pleasure. You got up and left him on the bed to find a towel, and when you came back he was still spurting cum like it was his first time with a person.

His come was a color not natural to humans, likely a result of the Prototype virus he'd injected himself with. A virus. And you'd just fucked this man into oblivion, kissed him, and— most damning of all—he came inside you. Were you infected with the virus now? He did it on purpose!

You grabbed the gun from where you recalled it to be and shoved it in his mouth, the cold barrel nearly chipping a tooth. “Did you infect me with that Prototype?” You snarled. “Was that your plan, Albert?”

Albert’s eyes rolled back. He mumbled something that you didn’t understand, so you took the gun out of his mouth and he actually fucking whined a high, keening sound. He tried to follow the muzzle but you forced him back down.

“Speak,” you instructed, like he was a dog.

“Wasn’t… wasn’t my intention at all,” he rasped, “fuck, I just came. You’re gonna… you drive me crazy.”

Your eyes narrowed at his answer; he was more horny than intelligent right now. “Will it infect me?”

“No, no, no,” he panted, “I wouldn’t—not without your knowledge. Has to be special.”

You let out a scoff and tossed the gun aside. “Fine. Need any help, or should I let you take care of that alone?” You nodded to his dick, which found itself erect and weeping once more after the gun. It must have ached something awful, since he’d been in a state of perpetual arousal since before this encounter started.

Albert nodded shakily, lying back on the bed and allowing you to help him through what might have been his sixth of the night.

──────────────────────

Exhausted was an understatement. He’d brought up the idea under the excuse of endorphins—what bullshit. By the time he tuckered himself out, the bed was filthy with both of your fluids and even with such a powerful body he hardly wanted to stand up long enough to shower off.

You had to yell at him not to call someone to change the bedsheets for him. Apparently, when someone was the most powerful terrorist in the world, they didn’t feel much shame when those ‘beneath’ them saw their sexual endeavors.

Eventually, you managed to get up and grab sheets from the linen closet, but the blankets were ruined. Luckily, there were a few on the couch and the bedspread would be washed in the morning.

You didn’t want to think about how you should be fighting Albert. It was hard when he slipped under your skin and nestled into your brain, like how he nestled into your chest and slept so soundly after the evening you’d had.

He ordered food to be delivered to the room, barely had a few bites, then cuddled up to your body and slept. He was… adorable. It pissed you off.

You pulled the blanket over your shoulders and tried to think. Maybe he’d already gotten you to personally forgive him, sure, but that didn’t mean you were a mindless follower.

You wouldn’t turn on someone from S.T.A.R.S. if you saw them. That was something. And you wouldn’t kill Chris. You supposed Albert was right; you and Chris weren’t really anything anymore if he’d let you be captured. And you did love Albert before you even noticed Chris romantically.

You regret not gaining Albert’s trust faster. If you did, he may have let you in and given you information you could have used to stop this bioweapon, but instead you were trapped uselessly inside an apartment.

“You don’t still love him, do you?” Asked Albert, which surprised you since you believed him to be asleep.

After a moment, you answered. “...no, I don’t think I do.”

“Good. That’s good,” he mumbled, nuzzling you gently. “You love me. Don’t you?”

A soft smile graced your features. He was asleep. “Yes. I do.”

┌───────────────────────┐

DAMN this took a long time. I know I said I was slowing down but this was fun to write. My only goal was to write a chapter around 5k words, so I am more than pleased.

Read my other Wesker works? The plot may not make sense without.

If anyone has plot ideas for some filler chapters so I don't have to do a three year time skip, I'd love to hear some! Can be anything at all. I mean anything. You want to see them on a trip to a picnic? Ask!! You want to see Wesker get absolutely railed? Send in a couple kinks!!! You want to see more of reader losing their mind? Me too!!!!

[faggotbeloved]

pressing my face agaunsg the glass window of your tumblr blog. i love your This. i like it a lot. Thank you

Many thanks!!

I am very proud that people like my This =)

[faggotbeloved]

Not a request but just binged all your latest works and you write so well! I love your blog so much and your dialogue flows so well like eventhough you give wesker your own touches it does not feel like an ooc Wesker it very much feels like he’s talking which I feel like is harder to do for a character like him then people realise!

Love it so much! 💕💕💕

Thank you!! This means very much to me. =))

My method for dialogue is just to repeat it in a normal tone and cadence—this is especially crucial for stuttering, since a lot of people just repeat letters and call it a day—and for Wesker, I read it in his voice. I like his RE5 voice, but I listen to voice line/cutscene compilations to get a feel for his vocabulary and speech patterns.

[faggotbeloved]

Imagine reader (who now has no choice but to share a bed with Wesker Albert) saying Chris’ name in her sleep he finna be maaaaaaaaad

You read my mind (already written =P)

[faggotbeloved]

The Wesker simps have been summoned with your blog! The sick reader fic had me squealing - could I maybe get uuuuuuhhhhhhhhhh Wesker walking in on y/n making a pillow fort because let’s face it they have nothing else to do in captivity.

- Love Anon xx (if that’s not already taken haha)

LMFAO yes I'm living for the domestic stuff despite like. Being kidnapped. Follows the 3SA timeline, somewhere

Cw: none that I can think of, 200 or so words

└───────────────────────┘

"Those couch cushions are meant to be sat on. Not... stacked," came a voice from outside the fortress you'd made. He lifted a pillow serving as the roof to find you sitting inside, patching holes of light with throw pillows you scavenged from Albert's bed and sheets from the linen closet.

"Hello!" You chirped, pleased that you had something to amuse yourself at last. Albert set down your lunch on the floor near the fort with a fond smile.

"Darling," Albert chuckled, scooping you up and pressing a kiss to the top of your head. "If you were that restless, you could have called for me."

"You're busy. Plus, I haven't done this since I was a kid," you defended yourself, slipping out of his arms. "I've already snacked, read all the books, and cleaned everything at least three times. I'm bored. You should put a gym in here so I can at least take my remaining energy and put it into something useful."

"That's not a terrible idea. Behave a while longer, then I'll look into it. You're on a week without any outbursts, if you keep it up for another, I could let you go to the onsite training facility every other day. It's supposed to be mainly for stress tests with our subjects, but I see no reason why you wouldn't be permitted entry," he compromised.

"Come sit in my fort with me," you urged, beckoning Albert into the castle of blankets and pillows propped up on two chairs, couch cushions, and laundry baskets. Albert sighed and reluctantly sat in the middle, his stiffness juxtaposing almost comedically with the softness of the interior.

You rolled your eyes and pushed him by the chest into the floor. You'd set the fort up on the plush carpet in the living room, using the coffee table as a wall since you couldn't move it, so the floor was covered by a plush rug that felt nice to lay on.

"Perhaps this 'fort' isn't too poor of an idea. Regardless, we have our bed for sleeping and I'd like to keep it that way. I'll lay with you for a while, but I must get back to work and you must clean all this up," Albert resolved.

"You're too rigid," you complained, stretching and grabbing your lunch. You ate inside the fort, ignoring how Albert watched you closely, seemingly enjoying watching you eat.

Albert hummed. "You're getting crumbs on the blanket. I'll have to wash it."

Glancing at your lap, you noticed barely a few crumbs but Albert got closer and cleaned some from your lips gently. "It's okay, darling," he added, licking his fingers afterwards. "We can worry about that later. Let's lie down."

┌───────────────────────┐

Never had more than 1 ask before I feel like I'm famous 🫀🫀🫀

Read my other Wesker works?

[faggotbeloved]

Slowing down. A lot. I'm not sure why, but I've gone from posting once a month, if that, to a long hiatus, to several times a day. I'd rather work on longer chapters / oneshots than worry about being active. I suppose my one-hit wonder from when I wrote Wolverine (800 or so notes? Buried in my main) has made me kinda desperate for traction.

I don't want to turn writing into a chore. I love writing and want to interact with and flesh out my OCs (I say plural, like I have more than one up) more than anything, but I'd rather enjoy what I write rather than force it out.

If I get more requests, which I'd be more than happy about, I will work on them. For now, my goals are to write a longer chapter, hopefully around 5k words, of the Wesker series, and also write introductions for my OCs. I have a Hannigram x Reader post fall draft from last year I recently discovered; I think that would also be a nice project.

I am not going to be leaving like I did a few months ago. I'll still be here, more than willing to answer asks and such, but I may not be as frequent. I don't expect this to get many notes at all, but this is mainly for anyone who is checking in for the next chapter of something.