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nshtn · 8 months ago

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[ UV Albert Wesker Uroboros & PG67 HCs ]

These take after the knowledge that PG67 contains hastily-added leech genes. This is full of medical jargon related to virology and genetics. It's hard sci-fi styled!

tags: medical:genetic;neurology (hardly);virology;needles (PG67-A/W), cannibalism mention, childhood trauma, body horror, mental decay

Such a far cry from his beginnings... he's truly taken after the man he hates the most.

Unfortunately for Wesker, adding Uroboros in intensely massive quantities to an existing Progenitor-67 infection is a poor choice that makes him spend much of his fight with Chris alternating between pouncing him like a rabid animal and curling like the death throes of a dying spider.

And unfortunately for Chris, Wesker doesn't die when he's left at the volcano to stew in a puddle of himself. Even with the awakened lack of thermophilic qualities as a result of the genetic influence of G, there is enough local flora and fauna to keep him alive... albeit in a subdued state.

Physiological:

Uroboros, combined on the initial foundation of Progenitor 67, takes after Progenitor 67's metabolic inefficiency and drives that far higher than it was ever meant to go in an attempt to sow compatibility.

Due to this, Wesker needs a truly ridiculous amount of calories (~6,000 - ~9,000 kcal/d) to remain fully intelligent.

A lesser amount will generally retain him, though he will experience a plethora of negative symptoms related to starvation (~3,500 - ~5,500 kcal/d).

The very brink of his sanity and humanity will find him lacking if he consumes the average human male's daily caloric intake (~1,800 - ~3,000 kcal/d).

Wesker cannot digest iron bound to salt or any organic chelates except heme (or hemeprotein) as a result of initial Progenitor 67 infection.

Progenitor 67 epigenetically alters his enterocytes. The genes involved with this are the upregulation of HCP1 and the downregulation of DMT1 and, less intensely, Dcytb, and is a result of both Progenitors' own natural leaning and, primarily, the hasty introduction of leech genes when microinjection became available.

This ultimately means that, as time drags on, he begins to find his palate shifts from a lot of power smoothies to meat.

But there is something crucial here: 67% or more of heme iron is lost when you cook meat. That means...

↑ He slowly slips into preferring his meat blue or raw, otherwise he won't be able to properly supplement his need for heme iron.

↑ With the addition of Uroboros, which dethrones and replaces Progenitor, this change persists and couples roughly with his modified caloric needs.

Usually present in brown adipocytes, UCP1 and UCP2 are both overactive as a result of the improper inclusion of Uroboros' gene signalling.

As a result of this, Wesker's natural temperature is hotter than a normal human being's.

He's probably uncomfortably warm to others - almost naturally feverish.

UCP1 and UCP2 cause proton leakage across the mitochondrial membrane - UCP1 being the primary uncoupler regarded in thermogenesis.

↑ As a result of this leak, ATP use is less efficient. This exacerbates his metabolic disorder.

↑ The inclusion of UCP2 upregulation alongside UCP1 was done out of an abundance of caution.

The gluconeogenesis enzyme PEPCK-C, involved in the burning of fat to produce glucose, is overexpressed in dual infection.

While this gives Wesker higher stamina and physical endurance, it comes at the expense of contributing to insulin resistance and is a key player in his bodies' teetering metabolic imbalance.

↑ This is because Uroboros doesn't upregulate and express PEPCK-C in just skeletal muscular cells - it does so where it is already present, too; this is a personal oversight.

↑ PEPCK-M was personally avoided in its' development because it is a popular oncogene.

Uroboros; a monster that eats itself continually without end. It physically presents a sign of Wesker's malingering, endless need to consume across his skin.

Patches of necrotizing, hardening skin and flesh form across his arms and legs in uneven patterns.

Scaly, itchy lesions creep along his cheekbones and the sides of his neck like a corrupted skin flush.

These are a weaker, useless vestigial presentation of the hardening of skin he undergoes when he's being flash-fried by high temperatures.

They're positive for many of the proto-oncogenes related to melanomas and are undoubtedly at least oncogenetic, but aren't strictly cancerous; instead, they're a misguided attempt at defense that vacillates 'on' without facing heat danger.

One of the scars of Wesker's infection and subsequent mutative transformation are hypermelanotic deposits that coat previously-mutated skin in a dark fade.

They start strongest at his fingertips and weaken at the base of his shoulders.

They are also strongest in the center of his chest where his macronuclei is present and taper off approaching his shoulders and abdomen.

His face has some of the same tinting in uneven splotches descending strongest from where he was burned.

Uroboros enhances the strength of many of his bones - more potent the closer to the surface of his body - by fortifying them with calcium and double-thickening them.

As a feature of the beginning stages of Uroboros' starvation, it will begin to leach calcium out of bones and the deposits it creates.

↑ These deposits are not found in the brain or the skull.

When resources are threateningly low, the bones will be stripped for the calcium they uniformly contain, causing him to experience an effect similar to calcium gout / pseudoarthritis, malaise, and brittling.

This leaching undoes itself and becomes re-fortifying under the duress of stress hormones like cholecystokinin and epinephrine. Less specific but still counted in re-fortification is cortisol and norepinephrine.

↑ Re-fortifying can be triggered accidentally through rigorous & sustained physical exercise or copulation.

Epigenetic changes brought on by Progenitor physiologically are stacked upon inappropriately and pseudorandomly by Uroboros like re-patchwork, which leads to a general instability and accidental incorporation of Progenitor's physical defense mechanisms.

This is what ultimately enables him to survive the events of RE5.

Neurological:

Progenitor infection spiraling into his temporal lobes, brain stem, and, minorly, his frontal lobes as years progress are the cause of his irritation and aggression in RE5.

It does this because it has no antimutagenic properties unlike the more developed t-Virus, slowly mutating out of control into a dysfunctional beast as Wesker experiences more and more stress and trauma.

A bit like G in this regard...

His SERT is disrupted by its' presence in the midbrain raphe nuclei along the brain stem.

This causes elevated extracellular serotonin levels initially, followed by receptor downregulation and eventual serotonin deficiency.

The lack of available serotonin leads him to experience, at first, heightened periods of aggression. Later, this becomes mania and even delirium if he forfeits sleep or a PG/67 shot, because...

As time ticks on, his dopamine begins to become dysregulated as well.

This imbalance contributes to mood swings, aggression, and impaired decision-making.

It also leads to a loss of the ability to feel pleasure or joy in things, making him manic and paranoid, taking risks uncharacteristically to feel something, anything.

As Progenitor 67 degrades brain function, particularly areas involved in impulse control and aggression, Wesker experiences the uncontrollable urge to consume.

This leads him to cannibalize interns and people he calculates won't be missed, as well as people who piss him off enough. During this time it does change - and become true - that a misplaced boop! or headpat! might get you killed.

His ego begins to vacillate and strengthen itself in an effort to maintain itself despite his decline. If he can just finish Uroboros, everything will be okay again, he can fix himself...

His brain practically relies on his PG67-A/W dose before he gains Uroboros.

A rapid decline in cognitive and emotional stability when he’s off the dose is present.

It's not unlike sundowning...

You would not want to see his MRIs during this time. They look awful - his brain has lesions and there are parts that are grossly overgrown; there are tiny black specks where Progenitor has gnawed holes in the fabric of him. If he hadn't roped it in, he would probably end up eventually going completely feral from his brain swelling up against the sides of his skull; he'd just become another victim of Cannibal Disease and turn, simply painfully slowly.

Uroboros is not supposed to crawl into the brain. It's supposed to leave it unaffected - but Progenitor having already curdled and spread unchecked into it gives it an opening for opportunistic infection.

It attempts to knit the holes and tamp down overgrown regions, but in doing this, it feeds from a sort of 'genetic template' that restores Wesker's ability to feel and feel greatly. This includes the reactivation (and reanimation) of the greatly disordered regions of his brain responsible for empathy, sleep regulation, attachment, and guilt.

It also cannot perfectly recreate lost tissue or resurrect memories from dead, liquefied tissue, so he retains some of his symptoms, like mood swings.

Rage becomes consuming, hunger becomes voracious, and guilt becomes haunting; he is plagued with an unfortunate (to him) tendency to consider others.

He finds it a prying weakness, but he can no longer tamp it down into nonexistence as he did; he is, essentially, thermally reduced to his Arklay days in behavior. He’s still intelligent and cunning, but he must now wrestle with intense emotional responses that don’t align with his goals at all...

Guilt and empathy are so foreign to him they are nearly out-of-body; he views them clinically and tries to rationalize them away, but his inability becomes the stake that impales him and imparts a malingering sense of conflict.

...and he must take a good, hard, long look at his goals and how far they've diverted from their initial precedence.

... what is he now? What use does he serve in this world - to what master does he heel, clearly dethroned from his position? These questions and more are things he asks himself now.

Is he doomed to roam aimlessly without purpose until he perishes?

#albert wesker headcanons #albert wesker #resident evil #resident evil rp #hard sci fi as in I tried to make it come off as highly realistic but its probably still running along the edges of sci-fant.#this guy is more aimed towards my roleplaying BUT I CAN WRITE FOR HIM TOO!!#the irritation and aggression paper is literally 107 people that's... not nearly high enough #we copped 1 wikipedia article for raphe nuclei #i couldnt support his cannibalism with the movies but in the movies just trust me bro he ate someone once #ego vacillation source: ME and my DARK MIND /j #/dev/writing/

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weskie · 10 months ago

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To Make Your Heart Sing (Albert Wesker x ftm!Reader)

3556 words, fluff, hurt/comfort, s.t.a.r.s. wesker, ftm!reader, top surgery mention, coming out, main character injury, soft wesker, established relationship | Fic Directory

some truths are simply hard to tell. still, they must be told

You tried your best to keep things under wraps.

RCPD’s human resources department knew of your ‘condition,’ but the file that landed on Captain Wesker’s desk a year and a half ago mentioned nothing of it. You were just, well, you. And that’s all you needed to be. You were hired and the rest was history.

Or it was supposed to be. Instead, you found yourself getting into the best of trouble. Make no mistake, Captain Wesker intimidated you to no end. Suppose that’s why the first time you turned a corner and the both of you knocked into each other left you a stuttering mess while you tried desperately to help him pick up the stack of paper he’d been holding. The other officers who had been in the adjacent break room had the luxury of watching with bated breath to see him chew you a new one for such a careless mistake.

But he didn’t.

The next was when you’d overcooked your food in the microwave, leading to a loud, wet pop and spaghetti sauce all over the insides of the machine. To your embarrassment, your captain was beside the coffee pot, brow arched just above the rim of his sunglasses as you sputtered and chuckled your apologies for both the mess and the noise.

You could’ve sworn he smiled.

Then there was that day you’d been running late. You called the precinct from your clunky Nokia, begging for forgiveness from your captain. As a peace offering, you offered to bring him coffee from a local shop, stating that it was “so much better than the liquid tar in the break room.” His silence had scared you half to death, but his acceptance carried the strangest hint of amusement. Black with two sugars, he’d told you. When you’d finally arrived and delivered it, he took it directly from you, fingers brushing yours and making your cheeks light up.

That was the first time you’d ever seen more than a miniscule smirk on his face.

Not to mention that time you’d pulled overtime and, upon entering to deliver yet another report, you’d found Wesker with his head resting atop his folded arms on the desk. To this very day, you still had no idea what came over you to retrieve your S.T.A.R.S. jacket from your desk and drape it over his back. You’d returned the next day to find it neatly folded atop your desk with a sticky note that simply said ‘Thank you.’

When the day came that he cornered you in the break room, black coffee with two sugars in hand from another one of your late mornings, you felt like a deer caught in headlights.

“I want to take you on a date.”

Your eyes practically fell out of your head and your cheeks went up in flames. You were stunned. Captain Wesker was into men? Not only that, but he was into you? You didn’t know what to say, what to do– anything. You must have sat there blinking with your mouth agape for minutes before he’d finally just hummed, snagged a napkin and wrote his number down for you.

“If you find it agreeable, call this number later. We can… work out the details then.”

Looking back on it, he seemed just as nervous in that moment as you felt. Not that you could blame him. You figured he must have observed you for a long time to gauge if you’d be receptive to advances from another man, but the risk was still high– rejection, risk of harassment accusations… all sorts of bad outcomes must have been weighing on his mind. But, that night, you called him. Awkward as it had been, you both settled on a restaurant an hour outside of the city to reduce the chances of you two being seen by the others from the station, and the rest? Well, it had progressed slow and steady, but your secret relationship with Captain Wesker, now simply Albert to you when appropriate, had entered its third month.

Which is why you’d grown nervous.

You didn’t know how to tell him. At some point, things would progress beyond warm kisses and tender touches. At some point your… anatomy was going to matter. You wish you would’ve told him before all of this began and saved yourself the potential heartache of losing what had been the sweetest, gentlest relationship you’d ever had. You worried yourself sick about it, always careful never to wear tank tops or shirts bright or thin enough that the tone of your chest scars could show through. Your testosterone shots were easy enough to hide, thankfully.

Albert had been nothing less than a pure gentleman throughout it all, never once pushing your boundaries or showing impatience when you’d shy away from things. Even the night you’d both fallen asleep on your bed consisted of little more than a hand resting atop the small of your back and your face nuzzled against the comforting rise and fall of his chest.

But, try as you might to hide it, Wesker had picked up on your anxieties.

“Have I made you uncomfortable?”

Your heart fell through the floor the night he’d asked that. You swore up and down over and over again that it was nothing he’d done and that you were just dealing with something that you didn’t know how to put into words. He accepted your answer without question, pressed a kiss to your knuckles, and continued reading the file he'd brought home from work.

Your mind always turned to thoughts of how you were going to tell him, distracting you at the worst times. Which, of course, put you in a situation where you had no choice in how the truth would come out.

The bulletproof vest had saved your life– for the most part, that is. Gunmen in a hostage situation had released a young girl, sending her out to run toward the blockade. She was to be a message, clearly, because they fired at her as soon as she got close.

You bolted out to cover her, mind devoid of sense the very moment you saw one of the men emerge from the building.

You took two to the chest with the first simply lodging into the center of your vest. The other managed to pierce, embedding in your right pectoral. You’d laid between squad cars and the steps to the bank for god knows how long, shaking fingers applying as much pressure to your wound as you could muster while the sun beat down on you without mercy. The next thing you knew, you were being thrown into an ambulance and given the good stuff, and you woke up after who knows how long in a hospital bed.

Your first visitors were Rebecca and Jill. You’d grown closer with them than most of the others– save for Wesker, of course.

“How are you feeling?”

You simply answer Jill with a lopsided smile and a hum, tipping your head back against the pillow. “Mm, yup.”

“I don’t think the pain meds have worn off yet,” Rebecca giggles from across the room where she inspects the whiteboard covered with hastily scribbled patient information.

“Lucky him. Should let Captain Wesker know he’s at least feeling good when we go back. He’s…” Jill turns to you with a sweet smile, clearly pondering her words. “Distraught is a… is a word for how he is right now..”

That, of course, breaks your heart. He was there when it happened. Albert saw you go down. Silly you, covering the girl they’d released…

Your eyelids grow heavier as time goes by, eventually slipping shut while you bask in their company. When they open again, you’ve got two nurses at your bedside. Even in your dazed state, you can put two and two together. Just a change of bandages…

“Hi, sweetheart!” Chirps the woman closest to you while she peels away tape and gauze. “You bled through so we’re just cleaning you up, okay?”

You simply nod and stare up at the ceiling. It doesn’t hurt, thankfully, and the only thing you feel is cold air on your chest. Part of you shudders. Medical settings could be… complicated with your unique condition. But you try not to anticipate the worst.

Oh how wrong you are.

“You can come in,” says the other nurse. “Just replacing his bandages. We’ll be out in a few.”

The hum in response yanks you from whatever blissful stupor the pain meds had lulled you into and you shoot up in the bed, shocking the nurse tending your wound.

“Careful, baby! You’ll tear your stitches–”

You barely hear her, nor do you feel her hands attempting to coax you back to the bed. You go down, but not before locking eyes with your one and only.

Fuck…

They’ve got the top of your gown off and there’s no way–

You swallow thickly as your throat closes with a wave of shame. You shut your eyes to hide the tears gathering within them, listening intently as Wesker’s nearly silent footsteps come to a halt on the other side of your bed. He sees you. There’s no way he doesn’t. He’ll have questions. Fuck, maybe he’ll just know outright. Wesker’s a smart man…

You should’ve told him.

You keep your eyes screwed shut for what feels like eternity, even after the door clicks and the nurses leave you to each other’s company. Neither of you says a word and it’s nearly pure silence until you hear the drag of a chair. You just about jump out of your skin when his fingertips graze your knuckles, but they don’t retreat. Instead, he takes your hand in his, lifts it, and presses kiss after kiss to it.

Your eyes crack open, vision bleary from tears and clearing as they spill. You find him looking at you with furrowed brows and some painful combination of worry and relief written across his face. His glasses are hooked on his shirt, showing you icy blues with a touch of red in the surrounding scleras.

“How do you feel?” His voice is as calm as ever, but, for once, his expression betrays him.

“Like I got shot,” you rasp. You crack the tiniest smile despite the swirling dread and anxiety filling you to the brim. You observe him for a minute, looking for something, anything to confirm your fears.

You find nothing.

“Indeed,” he hums, lips twitching at the corners. “I’m glad you’re in good spirits despite the tears.”

You give a weepy chuckle that turns to tight sobs. You feel so helpless and pathetic. You’d almost died and now your little secret had been put on wide display for him. Part of you figures this is just the universe’s way of telling you to get on with it. Just finally rip the bandaid off.

You suddenly start to rise from your flat position. Wesker watches you for signs of discomfort, taking his finger off the bed controls only once you were upright and–

Oh fuck– no, no, no!

They hadn’t buttoned your gown earlier. The front section falls forward and you scramble to push it back up, holding it in place as you clench your eyes shut and bite your tongue. His hand leaves yours and your stomach drops, ice shooting through your veins. For a minute, you think he’s leaving, but then–

Snap. Snap. Snap.

Your eyes widen, gaze falling to the hands working to pinch together the little buttons that run along the seam at your shoulder. Wesker leans across you just slightly to repeat the process on the other side. His scent fills your lungs and you can’t help but take a deep, greedy breath, chin quivering all the while.

“Would you like to stay with me while you recover?” He asks softly, taking his seat once more. “Or would you prefer if I stayed with you instead?”

It’s so earnest that you could scream. Part of you wonders if he’s just avoiding the elephant in the room.

“I imagine the comfort of your own home would lend itself better to your recovery,” he continues, taking your hand in his once more. “But I am not averse to either choice.”

“Al, you don’t have to–”

“You’ll need the help.” He says, giving your hand a gentle squeeze. “I assume you’ve had restrictions like this before.”

That cold feeling runs through your body again. He’s not avoiding it.

“Yeah…”

And he’s completely right. You will need help. You doubt your restrictions will be as tight as those you had after top surgery, but you did take a bullet to the chest. Two, technically…

“I want you to think about it.” Wesker checks his watch as he speaks, rising from his chair with a small huffed breath. “My break is nearly over, but I’ll try to come by again before visitation hours end. You should rest some more.”

You let your head fall back against the pillow once again, eyes fixed on him as he pushes the chair back to its original spot. Wesker approaches your bedside again, hand raising to rest against the side panel controls.

“Up or down?” He asks, voice soft.

“Mm, somewhere in between please.”

Your eyes lock with his as you descend. That same tenderness still dances in his gaze– the kind he saves for you and you alone. Despite the tendrils of anxiety tugging at your mind, you find such an act soothes you to the core. Wesker breaks eye contact for a split second to glance behind himself, ever the private man he is, and he leans over you. His lips press to your forehead first, warm and soft, and his right hand rises to your cheek to thumb at the curve. He holds that position for a moment, breaking it only to press another to your lips.

“Hm,” he hums, breaking away to glance at the monitor. He chuckles softly. “Your heart rate just jumped.”

Oh god, you think it yourself. You can practically feel your cheeks go up in flames, but you giggle nonetheless at his cheeky little observation. “Well, you know… handsome blonde guys named Albert do that to me.”

He leaves with a light shade of pink dusting his cheeks, much to your satisfaction.

They keep you at the hospital for another full day just to be safe. Wesker spent his lunch break with you again, during which he reminded you that he would absolutely be aiding you while you’re under physical restrictions– you need only pick the place. He’d been positive your own home would be better, so that’s what you opted for.

Much to your joy, you weren’t excessively limited. No heavy lifting, no strenuous activity– all the usuals. You were to have two full weeks off before returning to simple desk duty. Wesker picked you up, duffel bag of his necessities already packed in the back seat of his car, and brought you home. Things were stellar until you realized he wanted to do just about every little thing for you, convinced you would cause yourself further harm. Cooking was out of the question, so he made you meals that you could’ve sworn belonged in a gourmet restaurant rather than your little apartment. And laundry? Forget about it. You practically had to wrestle a handful of socks and towels from him so that you could feel less like a deadbeat. Wound care, though… that was where things got tricky. Wesker insisted that he be the one to change your bandages, and he did so twice a day, which was more often than was even recommended.

“I said I would take care of you. What kind of partner would I be if I let you walk around in old bandages, hm?”

It had been hard to let him do it. Despite knowing full well he had a clear view of your chest in the hospital, you were still apprehensive to let him see it again. No questions had been raised in regard to the origin of your scars, but that was somehow worse. For a time, you figured he chalked it up to some sort of wound obtained in the field, but the day came where his hands wandered and a fingertip trailed the line running beneath your left pectoral.

“I…” You try, swallowing thickly to quell your nerves.

“Tell me about them.” Wesker breathes, finger still running along the ridge, pausing over the parts that weren’t quite perfect.

The worst part of everything? You know full well you could just walk away and he’d leave it. Al never pries; he always respects your boundaries. 'No' has always been a complete sentence to him, something you’ve appreciated endlessly in your time together with him. But, all the same, wasn’t it time you gave an inch? The man so endlessly patient and sweet to you, despite how he presents himself to the rest of the world, deserved the truth.

So you spill.

“I’m transgender…” You murmur, words tight in your throat as you stare down to your socked feet. From there, the rest falls free. Every little detail. Childhood woes, adulthood struggles– how happy you were the day you got your very first shot of testosterone and how you felt like you had a new lease on life itself when you woke up from your chest surgery all those years ago. A tear or two escapes you as you tell your tale, but they’re not the bad kind. No… they come from something else entirely. A joy you could never put to words, a cresting wave of pride that you’ve come so far and lived so well despite every bump in the road, a sense of self that felt like wings upon your back… With every story, you find yourself meeting his gaze more often until you’re looking right into those icy blues.

If Albert is dissatisfied with your revelation, he doesn’t show it. Instead, he stands before you and listens intently to every word. Without his glasses, you can see his eyes soften at certain parts, but it's the way his hand doesn’t quite leave from where he’d touched your scar before that keeps you hopeful throughout the entire ordeal.

“And I– I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before, I just…” You exhale hard, eyes dropping with the weaning of that miracle burst of confidence. “Telling people is… difficult.”

“Did you think I would react badly?”

You didn’t expect such a question, let alone for it to be asked so gently. “I… yes and no.” You chew the inside of your cheek as you ponder the way to best explain it to him. “Not everyone is kind about it. I didn’t think– it wasn’t that I thought you’d be mean about it, I just… I didn’t want you to feel like I was lying to you…”

Wesker’s eyes flit to the side for a brief second. “I understand. Though I fail to see how you would’ve lied.”

At that, you let out a breathy little laugh, eyes closing as you shake your head. “So you’re okay with it?” You ask finally, hand rising to rest over his that still lingered at your chest. The anxiety returns and you worry the side of your lower lip between your canines.

“I am,” Wesker hums, offering you perhaps the softest, sweetest smile you’ve ever seen grace his face. His free hand reaches for the one that hangs loose by your side, holding it tenderly as he leans forward. At first you think he’s going for a kiss, which you happily prepare for, but he presses his forehead to yours. You allow your eyes to flutter shut, same as him. “I’m afraid you’ve stolen my heart, my dear.” He pauses for a moment, brushing his nose against yours. “You are who you are. I wouldn’t want you any other way.”

At that, there’s simply no helping the way you throw yourself at him, arms wrapping around him as tight as you can without agitating your wound. He returns your embrace immediately, palms stroking up and down the length of your back, perfectly warm against your skin.

There’s one last thing to tell him. Something that’s been in your heart for a while now. He deserves every truth from you, and you’re all too happy to give it to the man who assigns you heaps of reports at work and makes your heart sing at home.

“I love you.” You murmur against his collar, smiling big and wide at how his arms tighten around you. “I really, really love you.”

“Good,” he hums. Wesker rests his chin atop your head, swaying slightly as if to music that wasn’t there. “Because I really, really love you, too.”

You giggle at his mimicry, but, in truth, you’re overflowing with joy. It’s as if the sun itself has risen in your chest to hear those words, but that is simply the effect Wesker has on you.

What bliss to know you warm his heart the same.

#albert wesker #albert wesker x reader #albert wesker x you #wesker x reader #wesker x you #resident evil #dead by daylight #dbd #idek if dbd tags apply to stars wesker even though ik he's got the costume in game #idk. anyway #albert wesker fanfiction #i have been sad lately that there's such a lack of fics specifically for trans readers for my character faves. this is the result lol #so here's something #i might end up doing rewrites or adding more. but for now it's something #ik this isn't everyone's cup of tea but i think the gang deserves a lil treat #also if anyone knows the pic source pls lmk #i found it on pinterest but i can't make out the text

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