#S.T.A.R.S weskie

[thealwriteytrashdump]

The Night Goddess

An Albert Wesker x Reader one shot Smut fic

“Please make yourself at home, Dearheart.” 

His voice had a sultry deep tone as he shook the water from his tousled sandy hair, slicking it back in an attempt to fix it back to how he usually styles it. He shook his heavy coat off, damp from the pouring rain outside and hung it up the rack, kicking off his loafers, and placed them in the little shoe cupboard next to the door. He glanced at you, as you stood awkwardly in his dark apartment, scared to make a mess. He stood tall next to you, unbuttoning the two top buttons on his blue uniform shirt, bending down and taking your calves gently, his burning hot hands soft but callused against your clampy frozen skin as he gently slid off the old scuffed heels you wore, rubbing your feet in a small attempt to get you warm. 

Watching him kneel before you, quietly, you shivered as he felt up your leg, the warmth contrasting the ice in your veins, his icy blue eyes looking up your body to your face, he squeezed your thighs gently, before standing to his full height, towering over you and unintentionally caging you against the wall. He reached up and rested a warm hand on your cheek, bringing your face up to look at him. You let him, let him do as he pleases, as he ran his nearly scalding hands on your deathly cold body. 

“How long were you out there?” He asks quietly, studying your face, and pushing back your unbrushed, stringy wet hair from your face. Staring solemnly into his eyes, you don’t answer him, and he sighs. 

“I’ll run a hot bath, come here dear.” he says finally, and gently leads you across the darkened minimalistic catalog of a living room. White couches, with black accent pillows, a glass coffee table complete with a vase of seemingly fake flowers to light up the dead room, and a floor lamp in the corner. A large tv on a black metal and glass stand, a standard living room but soulless in the decor. The open floor plan leads to the bare kitchen off to the side, a bowl of fruit on the counter for display. 

You held up the hem of your soaking wet ratty slip dress in your hands, afraid to make a mess in his nice, clean, empty home. The fabric hung limp against you, stretched beyond form. You follow him dutifully, quietly as a mouse, to his luxurious bathroom. Wesker steps in and turns on the light, you stop at the door, just inside on the tile so you don’t ruin the nice hardwood flooring in his bedroom. You begin to shiver violently from the cold, trying your hardest not to chatter your teeth. He takes his socks off and tosses them into his hamper, turning back to guide you further into his spacious bathroom. 

He brings out fluffy towels, and sits at the edge of the large tub, turning on the faucets to full, adjusting the temperature for you. 

“Strip.” He commands and you do as he says. Letting the slip fall from your shoulders onto the floor, stepping out of it and picking it up, holding it in your hands unsure of what to do with it. 

Wesker lets the water run, adding in some of the bubbles you mentioned liking off-handed to him once, before turning back to you. He takes you in, the yellowing bruises on your body, the fresh welts, the ruined old ripped slip dress in your hands, despite him telling you he could buy you new clothes. You always declined, saying the slip dress was comfortable, and he never pushed it. He pulled you towards him gently, taking the slip and tossing it into the hamper for you. He sat on the tub, bringing you to stand in front of him naked as the day you were born, beautiful, despite the dirt smudged on your nose, and the yellowing bruises fading away on your arms and chest. The marks of others but, you were still beautiful.

He traced patterns on your cold skin, running his warm palms over your soft tummy, dragging them down your sides, you stood waiting for his commands as always, letting him touch you how he wanted. He brought you closer, squeezing your hips gently, hands roaming back to the meat of your ass, he kneaded gently before rubbing up your back.

He looked up into your eyes, filled with adoration and something else much darker. You smiled for him but looked away when you saw his eyes, he was an open book. 

“Step into the bath, Dearheart. Let me clean you.” he said as he let you go, turning back to turn off the hot water. Doing as he commanded, you stepped into the warm water gratefully, finally making a noise as you sigh in relief. He smiles at you gently, taking some of his nice smelling shampoo and gently washing your hair for you as you relax in the bath. 

He gently teases out the knots in your hair, massage the shampoo into your scalp, and rubbing the nape of your neck gently, coaxing out quiet moans from you. His large hands gently with your fragile form, he took the detachable shower head and rinsed your hair, repeating the process with the conditioner, quiet as he works. 

He checks the water, making sure it’s still warm for you before guiding you to lean forward as he takes a washcloth, gently cleaning you, taking his time with every inch of your body, his hands smoothing over the sensitive skin on your shoulders, rubbing down each of your arms gently. 

He gently kisses the tips of your fingers, before returning them to the water, sliding down to his knees, to continue washing your torso and legs, his hands teasingly squeezing your calves and massaging that sensitive spot just behind your knees that makes you arched in the tub, eyes closed in bliss. He worships your body thoroughly, cleaning every inch and massaging to relax you in the warm water. You don’t look at him, just staring at his hands as they work, watching them glide over your wet skin smoothly. 

The water is so warm, so pleasant, you could fall asleep, much different from the heavy downpour outside, he reached in further, dragging the washcloth against your folds, washing every part of you, making sure to flick your little nub teasingly, making you moan softly and buck slightly against his hand. 

“That’s a good girl..” he says quietly, “Ready to come out?” 

Nodding, you attempted to get out while Wesker turned to grab the fluffy bath towels he set out, scooping you in them and lifting you onto the counter. He dried you as sensually as he washed you, rubbing the second towel on your feet, patting up your legs dangling over the edge. He pulled you closer to the edge, and you opened your legs for him, a soft noise in your throat as you felt him kiss your inner thighs down to the junction of your hip. He spread your folds to take a look, studying your cunt like an art piece, leaning and placing a passionate kiss against your outer lips, sighing in content as he continued. He licked your little hole, tasting your juices as they leaked out of you, nuzzling his large straight nose into your clit. You flushed as you felt him press into you, sighing as he stuck his tongue in, wet and hot. 

He groaned into you, a deep vibrating moan that sent tingles up your spine, as he held your legs apart pulling you closer to him, practically holding you up as he ate you out like a man starved. He flattened his tongue, licking up to your clit and gently sucked, flicking the tip of his tongue over the nub as one of his hands forced you to lay back on his bathroom counter holding you flat as you tried to arch into him. Your mouth hung ajar as he continued unabashed. 

Completely at his mercy, you could only watch him as he did you, the first time in the night you met his stare head on. Your voice cracked as you moaned loudly, clenching around nothing as he sucked harder against your clit. A sharp pain caused you to scream loudly in euphoria as he nipped your poor little nub harshly, quickly soothing the pain into more pleasure with his tongue as you wriggled against his hand still pressing on your lower belly. You fell back against the counter, losing yourself in that continuous heightened pleasure, wanting so badly to rock against him. 

“Spread your legs wider like a good little slut.” he commanded as his other palm slides up your thigh to your core, pressing in a finger, groaning deeply when he feels you clench him hard.

“..Fuck..” He breathed against you, diving back quickly. He’s lapping at your clit desperately, humming his love for you against your core as he fingered you, reaching that spot that has you spasming against his hands. He adds another digit, stretching your little hole for him later.

“Go on, sing for me. That’s it, sweetheart.” He coaxes, his voice deeper, huskier, his icy blue eyes blown out with desire as he watched you lost in your pleasure, desperately moaning. Your voice goes an octave higher, a tell tale sign that you’re close, so close. You don’t need to say anything for him to know, he can feel it. He added another finger, and another stretching you wide, as he nipped your bud, arching his fingers up into that spot and forcing you to the very edge before he pulled away quickly. A strangled whine left your lips, as he pants onto your cunt.

He forced you to feel that intense pleasure, the kind that makes your legs quake and your toes curl, almost tipping over before he pulls away to leave you desperate in his absence. You’re ragged and ruined, chest heaving heavily, face flushed and sweating, as you look back into his eyes, a mischievous little glint in his loving eyes. He chuckled huskily, standing to his full height again, leaning over you as he kisses you roughly, the hand on your stomach sliding up to hold your neck, he squeezed lightly, 

“Not yet, darling, I’m not finished.” He brings up his hand soaked in your juices, to your mouth, 

“Open.” 

As he commanded, you opened your mouth, letting him slip his fingers in, he felt around scissoring and pinching your tongue lightly, felt your breath cool his fingers slightly.  

“Close.” Your mouth closes, your juices on your tongue, savory slightly sweet. He grinned, eyes watching your warm mouth obey him, he flicked his steel gaze up to your eyes, grinning wide, 

“Suck.” He felt you dutifully suckle on his fingers, felt your warm wet tongue lick up your own juices eagerly, and that feeling went straight down to his cock. 

He watches you, taking mental images of your fuck ruined face, the glossy eyes with the pupil so dilated, they’re dark with lust, the way you look up at him through your lashes. The way your mouth puckers around his fingers. He would compare how they look around his cock. The thought makes him twitch in his cargo pants. 

“Good fucking girl.” he breathed, rutting against your wet core, squeezing your neck more as he contemplates how to ruin you tonight. Your hands gently hold his arm, raking your nails over him gently.

There was no doubt in his mind, he wants you, he may have always wanted you, ever since his first night with you. He pulls his fingers from your mouth with a pop, kissing you deeply, crushing your body with his, desperate to feel you in any way he can. His arms snake around you, lifting you up and against him as he carries you into the darkened bedroom, tossing you down on the bedroom, quickly removing his shirt and pants, eager to finally have you, he ripped off his boxers without much ceremony. He watched as you begin to turn over like how he usually likes it, 

“No, lay flat on your back, and hold yourself open to me, I want to see that wet pussy. ” he commanded and you obey, spreading your legs wide for him, hands opening your juicy folds to him, begging him with your eyes to fuck you good. 

“Good.. Good girl.. Do you want Daddy to fuck you?” He breathed as he pulled your body to the edge of the bed, rubbing the head of his cock up and down your folds. He bites back a moan, it has been too long since he felt your velvety warmth. It takes all of his strength not just to ram into you like he wants, fucking into you with mad desire. No, he wants you to beg him, he wants to feel desired like how he desires you.

His hands roam your body. Feeling your curves and kneading your breasts, settling on your neck and holding you down as he continued to rub the bulbous tip of his head against your twitching little hole, he licked his lips, swallowed the spit and looked into your pleading eyes. 

He pushes in, and almost immediately, you cry out, a needy little whine, the sound delicious in his ears. He makes a choked noise, gritting his teeth and trying to breathe through the intense but soft tightness. He concentrated on how soft you feel, how hot your pussy is around his cock. He can feel you pulse your walls and he almost loses it, he squeezed your throat and yours fly to his arm for support again.   

“Fuck Dearheart, you’re so tight still..” He hissed and closes his eyes, bottoming out and staying there, enjoying how you struggling against him, trying to fuck him. He struggled to keep control.

“Beg for it, my darling, beg me to fuck you.” He says, pulling out, shakily pumping in slowly and back out, he opened his eyes when you whine again, nails raking against his arm, 

“Alby, please. I need your cock, stop teasing me!” you say, trying to rut against him. He groans out, chuckling breathlessly, 

“Come now my dear, you can do better than that… Can’t you?” He teases, choking out another noise when you clench around him again. 

“Fuck Albert, please! I need you to ruin me! I only want you. No one else can compare anymore!” You cry, and that breaks him. He snapped his hips forward quickly, setting a brutal pace, watching your face morph from desperate need to pained pleasure, watches the way your breasts bounced when he fucks you. He loved hearing you babble your love for him, your praise of his cock, about how good you felt. 

“Albert! You stretch me out so good.~” 

God you were so beautiful. A beautiful goddess of the night he was desperate to have. He leaned up, releasing your throat to hold your legs open, raking his ravenous gaze down over your gorgeous body, finally settling on where his cock disappeared into your body, over and over. Again and again. 

He could feel you build back up, hear it in your voice. He needed it, he needed you to cum, 

“Cum you little slut, Cum for me.” he commanded through gritted teeth, he felt you tip over, the scream you released, the hard spasm of your cunt, almost sending him too. He dug his nails into your sensitive flesh, trying to ground himself desperately. 

He could feel every little flutter of your pussy walls, the way your body twitched as he powered through your orgasm, he threw your legs over his shoulders, spreading you out to see himself fuck that tight cunt of yours. 

Every noise you made, sent him to a higher plane of existence, his palm slid up to rest on your navel, pressing down. Loving that strangled cry you made as he did it, his ass clenching as he concentrated on your pleasure. He angled himself upwards, searching for that spot that had you screaming and saying his name as your prayer. When he did find it, he began to rub your clit, exactly how you liked it. Fast tight little circles, you vaulted again suddenly, arching into him, hands clenching his sheets.

“Albert! Fuck!” You arch yourself up more, chasing your high as he pounds into you, chasing his. 

“You dirty little slut! Who told you to cum again?” he barked, speeding up as he lost control. He loved that he made you do that, unable to control yourself with him. The boost to his ego alone made you worthy of all of his love.

He leaned over you, needing to feel you all over. He pistons into you, groaning against you clinging to him, scratching him up like a wild cat, 

“Fuck, dearest.. I’m-” He lost his breath as you latched onto his neck, biting hard on his jugular, 

The sudden sharp pain was the last straw, he pulled out, pulling away to quickly bringing your thighs together to fuck out his seed into. He shook as he came, spilling out over your thighs and stomach. He nearly roared from the intensity, shuddering hard, as his eyes rolled to the back of his head. 

Wesker stayed like that, fucking your thighs lazily, the aftershocks almost too much for him. His eyes opened and as he looked down at you, this beautiful woman, his very own angel. He sighed content, watching your chest heaved, and tears leak out of your eyes, too lost in your own bliss, and he loved that he was the one who made you feel like that. He would save that mental image too. Engrave it into his soul. 

‘I love you.’ it was on the tip of his tongue, he almost said it. He wanted to, desperately. He collapsed next to you on the bed, watching you lick up his cum from your stomach like a whore, his cock twitch again. 

Fuck, you were perfect.

“Hold on, dearheart, let me get a rag.” 

You watched him get up, watched the way his firm ass jiggled when he walked, the way his back muscles rippled as he moved. He was indeed a beautiful man, a fallen angel. Turning to the window, you noticed the rain stopped, the sky still dark though. Waiting patiently for him to come back, and when he did with warm wet cloth, you let him clean you off. He whispered sweet nothing in your ear, telling you about how perfect you were.

He did like taking care of you, you noted numbly. He tossed the washcloth at the bathroom door, crawling into bed with you. He curled into you, obviously tired, holding you against him as he fell asleep. You were tired too, wanting desperately to fall asleep in his strong arms and have it be okay. 

A quick glance to his alarm clock says it was 3am, it was almost time for you to go. 

“Don’t leave this time.” he mumbles into your hair, pulling you harder against him. 

“Okay. Good night, Alby. “ 

“Good night, my goddess.” He slurred, exhausted after a long day. 

Like always, you waited for him to fall asleep, grateful he was a heavy sleeper. You never charged him extra for the aftersex cuddles. Taking the money from his wallet, you cleaned a bit for him, mostly just placing towels in the hamper, draining the dirty bath water and wiping it out. You searched for your slip, quietly slipping out Albert’s bedroom. Your dress was still damp but you put on anyway, creeping to his front door to find your uncomfortable heels. Slipping those on, you paused before opening the door, sad to leave yet again. 

With a soft sigh, you open the door, slipping out into the cold damp night again. 

[ilove-adawong]

Can we get a Wesker one where he’s your stars captain and roommate?

Yes yes yes

Albert Wesker CAI - 🔑 Roomie Captain Wesky (Link)

When you got offered a cheaper dorm, close to work specifically for the S.T.A.R.S team. You couldn't say no, you didn't mind rooming with someone. At least you were close with most of your coworkers, perhaps Jill or Chris would be nice to live with.

While moving your bags into the dorm, you notice the front door is wide open. You figure your new roommate is also moving in. As you walk in you notice a few new pieces of furniture, nice pieces. Not like you had any to bring with you so you were glad your roommate did.

Just as you turn the corner into the hallway, you bump into a wall, or someone. "[name], you should be watching where you're going." They said, the voice belonging to your one and only Captain. Still wearing his typical S.T.A.R.S uniform and sunglasses.

[thealmightytrashdump]

I've just realized the wesker clone AU may be reality.

Like what if a really fucking young Albert Wesker just comes back for re9 :v

Like younger than S.T.A.R.S. wesker. Like maybe as old as Rose herself. Or younger. Like maybe his clone was growing all this time and chris in his fucking like 60s sees this little blonde boy and is like

"...Wesker..?"

And this lil boy is like 8 or something. Like IMAGINE.

No prime weskies in re9! Either we get little baby wesker or old peepaw Wesker!!

I initially didn't like the clone au because it implied it was just a lazy reset for wesker to keep coming back at his prime like alice in the movies. Thats fucking boring.

So what if clone but he's just a wittle baby.

[frankensteinmf]

mentorship RE0, oc x canon, fanfic

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

this is a silly before the shit storm fan fic ---- Jaiden and Jordan Manalang = @feng-shui71 Nikita ''Laika'' Yokovic = me:D ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ FEBUARY 1998, BAR Nikita sat by the bar, quiet and all to himself.. its rare he had moments of peace..tranquility.. a sometimes desired but.. terrifying concept. left to his deepest thoughts.. reminding him of the true thing stuck under that skin.. no matter how many mask's he puts on.. no matter how much he cares deeply about those hes trained.. hes not sure if its truly him.. the S.T.A.R.S was an experience he was so unprepared for.. going from a fear right hand man, made to kill.. to a middle aged father who treats most of the rookies as his own.. its weird.. before he could continue thinking, someone sat next to him.. Nikita turned to look at who sat next to him and was met with an arm around his shoulders. '' L.T! didnt expect you would be drinking huh?..'' Jaidan Manalang, an soldier (alongside his twin sister). one Nikita knew was a.. handfull.. frankly a doofus he seemed to enjoy spending time with.. ''.. shouldn't you be making reports Jaid?..'' Nikita asked calmly as he drank his whiskey. Jaiden chuckled. '' and miss out at one of my bosses getting drunk as hell? well i be dammed, i would do this happily..'' Jaiden chuckled as he ordered himself a cocktail. ''.. god no wonder Al complains about you alot..'' Nikita sighs.. yet he cant hate Jaiden.. even if hes a torn in his side, a big one.. Jaiden scoffs dramatically before drinking his cocktail. '' what isnt that G.I. Joe motherfucker NOT complaining about? '' Nikita sighed.. the two drank in peace, Jaiden making remarks and jabs while Nikita replied more calmly. after a while of getting pretty drunk, the two were more immersed in their conversation.. just two men, one more serious and professionals, the other a silly idiot.. just talking and enjoying their free time.. two hours later, the two were DEAD drunk.. Jaiden was just himself but 10 times sloppier and more annoying.. Nikita was more a closed off stubborn drunk. Jaiden chuckled drunkenly as a question slipped that he and his sister always wanted to know: '' heeey L.T, you and wesky sure beee looking verry hic cccoozy, howw long do yall hic know each other? '' Nikita paused as he thought about it. ''.. since 1983.. i think... '' jaidan spit out his drink. '' tahts longeer then Jords and i knoww weskey..'' (FROM MY UNDERSTANDING OF JORDAN'S AWESOME LORE) Jaiden chuckled as he looked at Nikita with a drunken mischief look. '' has blondy always beeeen sucha dick? '' Nikita paused.. sure Wesker was.. worse during his time with Umbrella.. but who says he himself wasnt as worse. ''.. hes always been strict and harsh.. '' Jaiden booed out of annoyance, wanting to hear the blond have a secret double life where he wasnt an ass. ''.. what aboout ya?.. wheere you aaalways sooo fatherly?..'' Nikita sighed. '' no, in fact i was a jerk for.. a long time of my life..'' thats putting it lightly. ''.. oh..'' Jaiden mumbled, not having expected that.. ''.. well your a.. deeecent guy now hic better then Wesker could dreamof '' Nikita chuckled as he toasted with Jaiden.. poor Jordan soon found the two, even more drunk.. she was informed by Chris that Jaiden clocked out early to drink, no where Nikita would join.. as she saw the sight of her annoying brother and lieutenant, drunker then happy hour itself, she brinched her nose. ''.. i will not be dealing with those two drunk and together.. '' she muttered to herself before calling reinforcement (Wesker). after Wesker showed up, he picked Nikita up as poor Jordan had to drag her brother out of the bar.. sure the two men were drunk for most of the night.. it was nice.. to have that break.. before the house of cards all fell apart.. END

[gourmetbeef]

I love the way you draw Wesker! 💕 Do you have a outfit you like the most for him? I’ve always loved his S.T.A.R.S outfit since it shows off his forearms. How about yourself?

Thank you!! A S.T.A.R.S Weskie for you <3

I enjoy Umbrella Chronicles/RE4 Wesker with his black suit, I just think he's neat

[chris-redfields-fat-tits]

YIPPEEE AWESOME

i’m curious about what kind of stuff chris has done that’s considered wesker-esque. weskie was all about forced evolution and “survival of the fittest” darwinism because he saw humans as a plague infecting the earth, and he was a god among men who could deliver divine judgement with ouroboros. chris can be brutal, but it’s never done so with a complete lack of empathy and self centered intentions.

the die a hero quote is from harvey dent saying “if you have the chance to die a hero and don't take it, then you will eventually turn into a villain. taking that chance to die, means that you are indeed a hero because you stood for something and are willing to pay the price of death.” which is absolutely chris!!! he’s consciously tried to sacrifice himself for the mission, for the greater good, for the good of the world multiple times because it’s the right thing to do. he throws himself into these bloody, tragic missions that leave him beaten and scarred because he’s willing to die for the cause of protecting innocent people that can’t protect themselves. much like batman, he has to resort to violent measures, but he still has kindness in his heart. sure, him aging in that profession could really fuck him up and turn him evil, but people with strong morals and good intentions like chris stick with it to their bitter end, consciously.

trauma doesn’t always make people bitter and angry to the point where they lose themselves and their sense of purpose, devolving into becoming like the original source of what hurt them. chris’ trauma with being betrayed by weskie and losing piers, his best friends in s.t.a.r.s., alpha team, etc. are why he keeps fighting. if anything, he’d give up if he was completely hopeless. like, go live in the woods where he can’t hurt or get attached to anyone kind of giving up. he wouldn’t stay killing for the fun of it or because he’s not aware he’s heading down the wrong path.

i’d have love to seen an interaction between karl and chris, haha. however i really think the boulder-punching asshole comment was a joke reference, unfortunately. plus, i believe karl did research on the people investigating the village (all the photographs of ethan, chris, etc. on his bulletin board as evidence.) don’t know how he would’ve done that, but he had access to radio waves because of his mutation, so he was DEFINITELY listening in on hound wolf + bsaa gossip. i also like to think that basically everyone in anti-bioterrorism and their mother knows about chris “boulder punching” redfield (he is the bsaa’s golden boy after all) so it somehow would’ve gotten to karl. it also just doesn’t make sense for chris to just bring that up, as hilarious as that is to think about.

he knew ethan was infected and had the possibility of becoming a gross, twisted sack of mouldy flesh out for blood, but still kept him alive and gave him a safe place to stay to raise his family. who’s to say he wouldn’t extend that kindness out to karl if chris knew he wouldn’t fuck him over? he saw moreau’s fully mutated fish bod when fish king over here completely destroyed the shack chris + the gang were set up shop in, he had to have known about lady d and donna, so the logical, safest bet was to assume karl was a threat, too.

as we see with him in his meeting with ethan, he’s not the best communicator lol. “let’s use your baby as a weapon to kill miranda! because *i* want to be free!” doesn’t bode over well when you’re talking to the father of said baby who just killed all of your siblings after being thrown into the lycan hole in the church by YOU. if chris and karl DID talk, it wouldn’t have gone smoothly. karl would’ve made himself seem like a major threat and chris wouldn’t give him a chance, because there’s too much at risk. for all he knew, karl could’ve turned on everyone and helped miranda in the end.

i love karl a lot and wish that he and ethan would’ve worked together because his theme of being an abuse survivor is really important to me, but in-universe characters can’t really take time to digest the nuances of his character when all they see him as is a threat when that’s what he’s shown them. he only started talking about his abuse AFTER he threw ethan down a hole cuz he wouldn’t sacrifice his baby, and while karl was doing so ethan was fighting for his life against the frankensoldiers that karl himself made. it’s hard to empathize with someone so volatile who’s actively trying to kill you.

So I’ve been thinking about it, and I feel like Chris is following that saying we all know ‘You either die a hero or live long enough to see yourself become the villain’. And I honestly think that’s what’s happening with Chris. He’s very slowly turning into someone just like Wesker in a moral sense, but I’m really not sure if he’s conscious of it or not. I like to think Wesker kinda haunts him in a way where even though Chris is like ‘I will never be anything like you.’ He slowly starts to catch himself doing things the way Albert would’ve done it. And that fucking terrifies him.