So Excited To Play Re4 Remake This Weekend :D (my Hand Hurts Lmao)

Cole - 184 cm

Zane - 180 cm

Kai - 179 cm

Lloyd - 175 cm

Jay - 167 cm

Nya - 166 cm

Probably I’ll make posts about them individually, but for now have them in the group.

resting after a mission

WOODSMOKE & LEATHER

pairing: albert wesker x transmasc!reader warnings: 18+ only (mdni), smut, gender dysphoria, slight violence, bathroom sex, p in v (unprotected), creampie, semi-public sex, house parties, alcohol, marijuana, wesker is his own tw, implied slight chris x reader also word count: 5.3k (oh boy) notes: requested by @angelrawrcyan: "S.T.A.R.S Wesker won't leave my mind lately, can I request for some Wesker x transmasc reader?" as always, rbs appreciated <3

[- ao3 link -] | [- masterlist -] | [- playlist -]

summary: your roommate chris throws a house party, at which many of his coworkers in S.T.A.R.S. are in attendance. including his boss, captain wesker.

The bass thrummed deeply, permeating your body so entirely that you could feel it in your chest, rattling your bones and piercing through your ear drums. It didn't matter how many times you sneakily turned the volume dial down on the stereo, somehow it always ended up cranked up even louder.

You stumbled over discarded plastic cups as you wove your way through the party guests in the direction of your kitchen. The apartment was barely big enough for you and your roommate, let alone… however many people he had ended up inviting to his house party. You lost count when more and more people streamed in as the night progressed. 

The door to the kitchen was blocked off by a couple you'd never seen before with their tongues firmly exploring each other's throats. Your buzz was fading fast. You needed another drink if you were to continue dealing with the music and the yelling and all these fucking people. 

You rolled your eyes. Anxiety wasn't going to permit you to ask the couple to move - not that they would even if you asked - so you had to take the road less travelled. Hitching your weight up onto the breakfast bar, you vaulted over it with care not to knock over the assembled alcohol bottles on the counter. You landed, feet planted on the kitchen tile, impressed with yourself but not resting on your laurels. Especially as you weren't alone in the kitchen.

Your roommate stood with his back to you, refilling a mixing bowl with corn chips. At least in here the music wasn't so loud that you had to yell to be heard. 

"Hey, Chris," you nodded to him, placing your empty cup on the counter. "What was the pitch you gave me for this party? How many people did you say? Ten max, right?"

"C'mon, dude. People invite people who invite more people. I can't control that." Chris held his palms up as if to absolve himself of any guilt in the matter.

You sighed and pressed your back against the kitchen sink, staring out across the living room from your side of the bar. Chris, cradling the bowl of chips like a newborn baby, joined you in your observations. Your party-girl neighbours giggled together, dancing drunkenly to the music. Some of your old college friends huddled in intense conversation, no doubt about their latest D&D campaign. The door to the hallway was cracked, where you could just hear the delightful sounds of someone throwing up over the pounding music. Your ex boyfriend, easily the person you were least excited to see, was getting far too into a football game on your CRT television. You still don't know why Chris invited him. Something about 'closure'. 

"Yeah, well what about your work buddies?"

You leaned your elbows on the bar and gestured with a tilt of your chin in the direction of the dining table, where a group was gathered separate from the rest. You remembered some of their names - Jill, Brad, Forest, Joseph-something - on the rare occasions you'd run into them before. Brad seemed to have brought a dartboard of some sort that Chris had helped him mount on the wall. They were taking turns in a darts competition that was ramping up in intensity. Chris had a good relationship with his co-workers, and you'd be lying if it said it didn't make you a little jealous sometimes. You were more of a solitary person. Chris was one of the few people you could count among your close friends, so you couldn't help the little part of your brain that was bitter that he was so popular.

"What about 'em?"

"... Like, they're cops. At a house party."

"I'm also a cop at a house party."

"Yeah, your own."

Chris put the bowl of chips down and grabbed your shoulders, dropping his voice slightly. "Listen, as long as you hid the weed where we agreed, there won't be an issue."

Laughing, you shake your head. The elite tactical service, S.T.A.R.S., arresting one of their own & his dropout roommate for smoking the devil's lettuce in their downtime was hard to believe.

"A little below you guys's paygrade." 

"Exactly. So relax. It's fine."

You turned your head from him to scan the living room once more. 

"And what about that guy?"

Chris followed your gaze to the blonde man, quietly observing the room from a corner and sipping from a glass tumbler of whisky - a stark contrast from the stereotypical red solo cups scattered amid the other party guests. At least, you guessed he was looking around - it was hard to tell by the dark sunglasses obscuring his eyes. A strange sight in any indoor setting, but especially when it was approaching midnight.

"Oh, that's-"

A realisation struck you as you unintentionally cut Chris off. "Oh shit, that's your boss! The sunglasses guy, right?"

You lowered your voice, trying not to make it obvious that you were looking at him. But once your gaze had locked onto the man, it was hard to turn your eyes away. He had a strange magnetism to him. It felt like all the chaos, the pounding music, the laughing, the shouting, the throngs of people crammed into your shitty two-bedroom Raccoon City apartment - all of it faded into static, unimportant background noise. 

You just managed to parse out Chris's voice through your trance.

"Yeah, that's Wesker. Captain Wesker. I was talking about the party in the break room at work the other day and he came in - felt rude to not invite him. Didn't honestly expect for him to show up."

Another guest, one of your pretty neighbours, crossed the room and started to engage him in conversation. Wesker tilted his head to listen to her, engaging instantly with her words. A smile rendered his handsome features even more striking. While the sunglasses looked stupid and out of place at first, you found it only added to his allure. He had such charisma about him, an unmistakable charm. The girl's fingers brushed along his forearm, bare and strong where he'd rolled up the sleeves of his blue silk shirt. Your jaw set and you glanced back at Chris, who you just registered was still talking.

"We don't really know what the deal is with the sunglasses. Barry thinks it could be a visual impairment thing but, it's not like we can ask, y'know?"

"Maybe he just thinks they look cool," you offered, trying to disguise the creeping disappointment you felt as Wesker tucked a strand of your neighbour's hair behind her ear.

You smoothed your hand over your t-shirt, a crisp white polo shirt you thought was dressed-up enough for the party. It wasn't your usual hoodie that you practically lived in, which was something. You felt your binder beneath, digging into the skin of your armpits. The compression on your ribs was starting to get hard to ignore. Probably had worn it far too long today. It was easy to lose track.

Chris noticed your motion and raised his eyebrows. Sometimes, he knows you too well - frustratingly so.

"Listen," he said softly, "If you wanna like, go to your room and call it a night. Just go, like, I won't be offended. How long have you been wearing it today?"

"Too fucking long," you admitted, "but no, I'll stick around a bit longer. Thanks, though."

And so, you did. Minutes stumbled into hours as you mingled with guests at Chris's request, while also getting to know some of his coworkers. You avoided even glancing at your ex as much as possible. Instead, you focused on Captain Wesker. He seemed to gravitate between social groups with flowing ease; able to find common ground with just about everyone. His presence was all-encompassing and, despite not being loud or ostentatious in any way, he seemed to be the soul of the party. Everybody wanted to talk to him, to flirt with him. And he talked to all of them, engaged them, with a comfort and fluidity you could only dream of having in social situations. It was fascinating to watch. There was, of course, the fact that he was incredibly handsome too; and every time he cracked a smile you wished it was you he was smiling at. 

But, like always, you faded into the background. You made an effort to stay as far away from the source of the pulsing music, oppressive in its cacophony. Pressing your back to the wall as you drained the dregs of your drink, you felt the liquid burn on its way down your throat. Your bound chest protested once more. Perhaps it was time to call it a night-

"Good evening." 

You nearly dropped your cup. Wesker seemed to appear out of nowhere, his graceful stride imperceptible until he was right next to you. This close, you picked up the scent of his cologne: a woody, somewhat smoky scent with undertones of vanilla and leather. Weirdly, his voice seemed to match his scent. Smooth, well-spoken with a delectable curl of an accent. You looked up at him, seeing the vague outline of his eyes from behind the shades.

"Oh, hi. Fuck, you kinda startled me."

The blurred edges of your vision crept closer in, and you blinked to maintain focus on his face. Perhaps you had over-indulged on the alcohol. 

"Apologies. I'll be sure to announce my approach further in advance next time." He smiled.

"Captain Wesker, right?"

You already knew the answer, of course.

Wesker nodded, taking another sip of his whiskey. Where did he even get that glass from? "And you're Redfield's boyfriend." 

He said your name then, drawing it out like a taste he wanted to savour.

"Boyfriend?" You couldn't suppress the laugh that forced its way past your lips,

"No, no. It's not like that. We're not, like, romantic partners. Partners in rental agreement, maybe."

"Ah. I'm sorry, I assumed…" Wesker waved a hand in the air to indicate the rest of the sentence, one that didn't need to be said.

"No, it's fine. Chris is a friend. One of the best. But that's it."

You would be lying if you said you hadn't considered it. But boundaries had been laid many years ago, a line that you respected Chris too much to even attempt to cross. 

"My taste in men is more like. Well, him," you added. "Up until recently."

You sighed as you reluctantly gestured to where your ex was standing on the couch cushions, making some sort of grandiose speech to onlookers that you mercifully couldn't hear over the music. He had a captive audience of drunk party guests with which to regale with his TEDTalk-adjacent ramblings. Wesker observed, lifting his glass to his lips with a sardonic quirk of an eyebrow - he clearly had thoughts but chose not to vocalise them. 

"Don't judge," you grumbled.

"Not even a little bit?" 

You shot Wesker with a withering look. He hid his smile around the rim of his whiskey tumbler, peering at you from behind the dark veil of his shades. 

A commotion behind you caused you to turn your head as, from the bathroom along the hall, a group of hollering men you’re sure neither you or Chris had met before stumbled out. With them billowed the unmistakable earthy, herbal aroma of marijuana. One of them held a glass of red wine, far overfilled, which sloshed dangerously.

You should have expected what happened next. As the men swayed past you and Wesker, the wine tipped over the rim of the glass as they nudged into you. A cascade of sticky, red liquid tumbled, seemingly in slow motion, all over your face, neck, chest and irreparably staining the one white shirt you owned. You yelped in horror, desperately trying in vain to wipe yourself clean and cover your chest, where the dampness was soaking through the shirt fabric and revealing your binder underneath. 

“Hey, what the fuck?!” You snapped, tears pricking at your eyes as your forearms formed an X-motion over your chest. Trying to put out a tough-guy persona proved difficult when you were on the verge of crying.

The man scoffed, set to simply walk away. He leaned back to face you, not even turning his head fully. “Hey, chill the fuck out, yeah?”

His hand shot out to shove you away from him, a hostile gesture meant to provoke a confrontation. Which it would have done, were it not for Wesker’s hand clamping around his wrist with a swiftness and finality that neither you nor your aggressor were expecting. Your eyes flicked over the subtle flex of his forearm muscle, the exposed skin sporting a defined line along his dorsal where he applied his strength to keep your attacker at bay.

With a tilt of his head, Wesker regarded the man calmly, undeterred by the miasma of cannabis and alcohol that he carried with him. Still, he held the man’s wrist tight, holding his arm in a suspended position, knuckles going white.

“I’d think very carefully about your next move, my friend,” Wesker uttered, a hint of danger lurking in the space between syllables.

You were suspended in disbelief for a long moment, before you found your senses again. Your legs moved of their own accord, propelling you to the bathroom and to perceived safety. Slamming the door behind you, you pressed your back to it as your fingers found the lock and turned it decisively. The weed smell was cloying in here. Combined with the peppery and overpowering wine you reeked of, you wanted nothing more than to sponge yourself clean. You stepped to the sink. Weakly, you placed your palms on the edge of the basin and stared at yourself in the mirror. The pinkish hue of the spilled vino dripped down your neck and collarbone, soaking your shirt to where the hem and edges of your binder defined themselves. 

“Fuck… fucking goddamn it…” You whispered, chest shaking, threatening to release a sob. There, you stood, trying to regulate your breathing.

A knock on the door. Your breath hitched in your throat. 

“It’s me.”

Woodsmoke and leather in a voice.

You unlocked the door. Wesker rested a shoulder on the doorframe. His hands pushed back some stray strands of blonde hair back into their styled position. 

“Can I come in?” 

You should probably say no.

“Yes.”

He breezed in, closing the door behind him and locking it as you had. He crossed his arms over his chest with a sigh. “Chris is kicking that man and his troglodyte friends out as we speak. Looks like that old flame of yours arrived with them.”

“Yeah, that makes sense,” you nodded, your voice quiet. 

You grabbed the front of your shirt self-consciously, pulling it away from your body so as to unstick it from your skin. Shoulders slumped, physically resembling as deflated as you felt, you perched on the edge of the bath. Wesker watched, unmoving for a moment, before stepping over to the sink. Your face cast to the floor, you managed to raise your eyes to watch as the S.T.A.R.S captain sought out a face cloth, wetting it under the tap with a streak of soap and wringing it out methodically. 

“Come now, head up. That’s it.” 

The pungent herbal aroma hanging stagnant in the air faded as he approached. Usquebaugh scented, underlying cedarwood musk. Wesker crouched before you and gently tilted your chin upwards with a brush of his thumb. The warm dampness of the cloth found your face as Wesker gently wiped at the wine with a methodical grace. His soft, slender fingers cradled the back of your head as the cloth moved to your neck.

Your breath came in halting, light gasps, unable to deny what stirred within you at his touch, the tender press of textile, zephyr-like, to your flesh. A light breeze tickled the nape of your neck from the ajar frosted glass of the window behind. In front, Wesker’s warm breath, hot on your jaw as he moved closer. 

Wesker’s fingers ghosted under the collar of your sodden shirt as he started to clean the viscous liquid more thoroughly - it had settled where your neck met your clavicle. You felt his fingertips meet the edge of the shoulder strap of your binder. You froze, as did he, for a brief, appraising moment. Underneath his sunglasses, you saw his eyes meet yours. The veil that separated the fullness of his gaze from yours was maddening - you wished you could tell what he was thinking.

“It’s not often I meet a man so multi-faceted.”

Wesker’s words were a whisper carried on whisky breath. Your heart pounded in your ears, defensive walls melted like ice to his warm smile. You closed the distance between you in the gap between heartbeats. You pressed your mouth to his and drank him in with each breath. The fingers on the back of your head began to card meticulously through your hair, light tugs and smooth caresses. You exhaled a scarcely suppressed moan into his mouth which he pushed through with his tongue.

All rational thought was discarded, leaving room only for unrestrained desire. Wesker tugged your sodden, stained shirt off over your head and threw it behind you, into the ceramic tub on which you sat. Clumsy fingers found the buttons of his shirt as you desperately revealed his surprisingly toned chest, pressing your palms to it and feeling the musculature beneath. Mercifully, Wesker did not even try to remove your binder, sensing your discomfort and pacing around it with respect. Instead, his hands sought your belt, unbuckling it with fervour. With your waistband loosened and his shirt hanging unbuttoned off his lithe form, he scooped you up, lips exploring every inch of exposed skin, and placed you with little effort on the sink. Once there, you assisted him with shimmying off your jeans. The cold porcelain of the sink's rim pierced your exposed thighs, making you gasp.

"Wesker, are you sure-?" You sighed, tilting your head back as his lips pressed once more to your jaw. Your mind cast back to the many guests you saw him engaging in conversation with, those that verged on flirtation. 

"Nothing feels more certain," Wesker responded with a lilt of need, his lips dancing along your neck. "You taste of wine, my dear."

"Wonder why that is."

You weren't expecting this to amuse him. And yet, the breaths of his laugh slid over your skin as he lightly nipped at your flesh. Grazing teeth and languid licks. You pushed his shirt off over his broad shoulders, coursing your fingers down the sides of his supple torso. Wesker's lips found yours once more. He stroked your swollen clit through the damp fabric of your boxers. Your hand reached to his dress pants, fondling the stiffening outline beneath his zipper. While you cupped his clothed length and slowly caressed it with one hand, the other hand unclipped the catch of his pants and tugged them down as far as you could reach.

Wesker pushed his sunglasses back up his nose. They had slid down enough that you could just catch his silvery-blue eyes beneath. "I must admit, I was rather pleased to hear that you're not with Redfield."

You raised your eyebrows in thinly-veiled disbelief before quickly recovering.

"Jealousy is not becoming of you, Captain," you breathed, the friction of his fingers pulsing against your clothed clit maddening in their slowness. 

"Hm. Nor you." He responded curtly, thumb increasing in pressure on your hardened bud. You bit back a moan and tilted your head, puzzled.

"Someone didn't like me talking to your party guests as I did,” Wesker elaborated with a quirk of an eyebrow. Leaning in, he tilted his head and nibbled on your jaw once more. Less gently this time. A hint of warning. "I find you attractive, your envious streak less so."

"I mean- mmf," you gritted your teeth, slowly feeling yourself succumbing to him. His natural dominance was starting to claw its way to the surface, and you were powerless under its sway. "Wesker…"

"Mm?"

"You got a first name?"

"Not one you need to concern yourself with now." 

Wesker responded so abruptly you felt an irrevocable instinct; like you needed to apologise. But before you could linger on this impulse, the captain had freed his cock from his underwear. The tip already glistened deliciously with precum as it sprung to attention. For a moment, not a single thought crossed your mind as your hand reached out and pumped along his length, warmth pooling in your cunt. It throbbed in its emptiness, begging to be full of him.

"Impatient little coquet, aren't we?" Wesker purred, his breath coming in ragged bursts as you stroked along his length. And yet, he still didn't let up on giving your emboldened clit the attention it craved.

"W-We can't be in here long. People will wonder-" 

"Let them wonder, my dear."

Wesker punctuated his words with a sharp tug, and you aided by lifting your hips off the sink long enough for him to yank your underwear off. Immediately, you shivered at the exposure, the heat of the slick coating your entrance biting against the cool surface of the basin.

"My, my," Wesker exhaled. He crouched slightly as he took in the sight of your cunt, swollen, pulsing desperately. He pumped his cock slowly as it twitched in his hand. "Your body is begging for me. Not a lot of begging from this pretty mouth of yours, though."

His fingers trailed upwards, over your abdomen and switching course to your arms so as to not touch your chest. Despite how commanding he was, Wesker seemed intent on avoiding the parts of you which made you uncomfortable - a level of respect certain others had not been so forthcoming with. The dominance he exuded was hot, but his attentiveness to your needs was somehow hotter.

Not one to let a hint lie untaken, you opened your mouth to beg: "Please, Wesker, I ne-"

By now, his hand had reached your mouth. You were cut off as he slid two digits between your parted lips. You let out a squeak of surprise but, not wanting to delay further, you closed your lips around his fingers and sucked fervently on them. Your eyes fluttered closed as he pumped them further into your mouth, grazing your tongue. A heady mix of alcohol and your own arousal sang across your tastebuds. Through the sunglasses, you could just make out his eyes fixated on you lapped appreciatively at his fingers. This image no doubt would keep him company on many lonely nights to come.

He removed his fingers from your mouth with a loud popping sound. Thankfully, the pounding of Chris's curated music mix coursing through the stereo speakers in the living room would conceal any such noises from outside ears.

"Now. What were you saying, sweetness?" His already deep voice was huskier now, laced with lust as his wettened fingers found your clit again, before sliding beyond and burying his ring and middle finger into your cunt in a beckoning motion.

The much-awaited intrusion forced a lewd whine from your throat. But it wasn't enough. God, it wasn't enough.

“Please, Wesker," you took your time drawing out the sound of his name, "I need you inside me. Need to feel your cock, need it in me, need you to fuck me, please…"

"Such a needy boy," Wesker drawled. He was trying to keep up the dominance game, power in his hands only. But his words were thick with a heated desire. Already, more strands of his blonde hair had come unstyled and were hanging loosely over his forehead. The slow erosion of his put-together appearance only served to dampen your entrance more in anticipation of him. He removed his fingers from your cunt, only to shift his weight forward to line up his dick to your weeping hole. 

A knock on the door.

Of all times, why now?

You and Wesker glanced to the lock in tandem, verifying it was indeed still latched.

Chris's voice on the other side of the door, calling your name. Chris, who was wondering where you are. Chris, whose boss you were about to fuck. If he only knew.

"Hey, you in here? I saw what happened, I- I'm sorry I couldn't do anything."

The part of you about to snap at him for his timing softened. An amused smile lifted the corners of Wesker's lips as he glanced back to you.

"Yeah- yeah, just getting cleaned up. It's okay. Really, it's fine."

You heard a sigh from beyond the door. "Alright. Hey, listen, have you seen Captain Wesker anywhere?"

His cue. The smile that was developing on Wesker's handsome countenance had morphed into a devious smirk. A barely suppressed chuckle followed as, the second Chris said his name, he sank his cock into you. His hands latched onto your ass and pulled your pelvis down so he was buried into you in one long, drawn-out thrust, leaving no room for you to adjust to his size.

Your mouth opened in a silent gasp which took everything in your power to suppress. Woodsmoke and leather, his presence unending, was swallowed inside of your eager body. And somehow, you had to respond. Wesker raised his eyebrows expectantly at you as he slowly pulled out, only to bury himself inside you once more, quicker this time.

Wesker's smirk was torturous. His cock twitched appreciatively inside of you, caressing your walls with each pulse of his hips and not letting up. This situation clearly both amused and aroused him to no end.

Chris said your name again, more of a question this time. 

"Say something, darling," Wesker leaned forward and muttered into your ear, words lilting like a taunting melody. "Chris will get suspicious."

You wrestled with every part of yourself that wanted to crumble into the cacophony of moans you could feel stirring in your chest. Instead, you fought for control over your voice, and spoke, in the most even tone you could muster. 

"N-no, no, sorry. No idea where he is. Maybe… uh… he went home?"

Wesker increased his pace, setting a rhythm not unlike a rushing heartbeat. Your body jolted from the force, unwittingly knocking over your hand soap dispenser and a few other bottles of assorted bathroom products. The tip of Wesker's cock kissed your cervix deliciously, and a moan escaped your lips before you could push it back down. Wesker's eyes widened at the unrepressed sound, his smile growing a tinge more ardent. Scrambling, you attempted to cover it up, a fake coughing fit being your choice of pantomime.

Chris's voice was tinged with concern at the sound. First the clattering, then your ‘coughing’.  "A-Are you okay?"

"Yeah, s-sorry. You know me, clumsy as always," you stammered, speaking perhaps a little too fast. 

"Should I come inside?" Chris asked, voice slightly louder.

A rattling of the door handle. Your heart jolted. Even though it was locked, you didn't trust the security of the room. And still, Wesker fucked you senseless, caring little for the implications were you to get caught, caring even less for how you struggled through your words.

"No!" You nearly shouted back. "No, no, I'm… not decent."

With Wesker's alcohol-scented breath hot and moist on your ear, he whispered: "You most certainly are not. Filthy."

Desperately, you willed Chris to leave, feeling your arousal reach its peak. Knowing it was only a matter of time before you went crashing over the edge. Perhaps there was something about the risk that you enjoyed, too.

Your roommate’s voice came through once more from beyond the door. "Okay, I'll talk to you later, yeah?"

"Yeah!" You tried not to sound too enthusiastic as you heard his footsteps retreating. 

Eyes wild, incredulous, you turned back to Wesker. "What the fu-"

Wesker crashed his lips against yours, swallowing your indignation. Slick with saliva, he pulled his mouth away from yours. You attempted to gaze into his eyes, to peel away the layers. The dark veil remained. 

You didn’t know why you asked when you did. Perhaps a favour to Chris - if anything, your salacious tryst with his boss could yield an answer to a question. Perhaps it would soften the blow, were he ever to find out about this.

“Why is it you always wear those sunglasses?”

Wesker, if he was shocked by your question, didn’t show it. His cock generated sliding friction along your walls as he plunged himself in and out of you.

“The eye is the window of the soul, the mouth the door. The intellect, the will, are seen in the eye; the emotions, sensibilities, and affections, in the mouth.” 

To effortlessly quote a philosopher while in the throes of carnal pleasure was a talent indeed.

“Who’s that from?” You asked through breathy moans.

Wesker grunted with effort, burying himself to the hilt in you and cradling your jaw with his fingers. “Unimportant. But it should answer your question.”

You didn’t know whether it was because your impending orgasm was rendering your synapses inert, but you were reasonably sure that you were more confused on the subject than before.

But that didn’t matter. Because Wesker had a question for you, too.

"Should I come inside?"

He echoed Chris's words, the meaning entirely different. Wesker's voice was throaty, losing its silky quality the closer he came to his climax. 

"Yes. God, god yes."

That was all it took, for him and for you. Your entire body collided with your climax, a leg-shaking affair which forced your head back in ecstasy. 

"Fuck, yes-"

Moments later, you felt your dripping pussy filled with his warm release. It coated your inner walls, mixing with your slick. Slowly, he pulled his cock free from your weeping hole.

Wesker smoothed the rogue blonde hairs hanging over his face back into position. Teeth bit down on his lower lip as he beheld his cum slide slowly out of you, dripping onto the porcelain surface of the sink. Suddenly, you felt embarrassed, moving to close your knees together. His hand moved swiftly, as swiftly as it did when he prevented the man from shoving you. It blocked your knees from meeting, and he instead pushed them open again insistently.

"Now, don't deprive me of such a sweet sight."

Instead, he deprived you of a sweet sight as he pulled his underwear and pants back over his lower half, his cock disappearing beneath fabric. He set to work buttoning up his shirt once more, starting to rebuild his well curated outer persona. Meanwhile, you had never felt more fucked out in your life. You pressed the back of your head to the mirror, legs still straddling the sink. Your cunt twitched with ongoing aftershocks, feeling Wesker's cum gradually leak out of you.

Wesker regarded you up and down, securing the final button on his shirt but leaving some loose. Giving a slight teaser as to what lay beneath, but nowhere near the entirety of him that you had been treated to.

"You're even filthier than you were when you came in here, dear," he observed without a hint of irony. Fully dressed now, he stepped forward and graced your lips with a light kiss, nowhere near enough to satiate you and more than enough to leave you wanting more. 

"Wesker-"

Wesker strode over to the door, tilting his head back to watch as you slid slowly on shaky legs off the sink. “It’s been seven minutes,” he said. “People will wonder.”

Woodsmoke, leather. Vanilla, wine. No strong smell could override the undercurrent of risk that struck like a dagger in your heart as his eyes found yours. He slid his sunglasses deliberately down his nose. And, finally, you deciphered the look in his eyes that had been hidden from you all this time. 

Wesker looked at you like you were prey. 

And you loved it.

you don’t understand, DanVerNero is like the peak of yaoi

you have dante who’s like the smug but charismatic one and then vergil, the cold and aloof one and nero as the tsundere MC like broooooooo

sparda family offers a particular kinda incest flavor

it’s like fine wine

mmmmm the notes are impeccable my compliments to the chef

So I recently bought the Revenge of the Sith novel by Matthew Stover and I just decided to flip it open to a random page just to see what the writing was like. Boy was I unprepared for the iconicness I discovered.

The part I read was this of this old hunchback guy in a cloak walking towards clone troopers (this is after the troopers start killing jedi) with a baby in his arms. He starts telling the troopers that it’s a jedi baby and the troopers are like “uuuhhh okay crazy old man with a really ugly deformed baby alert back away” but the old guy keeps insisting that the baby is a jedi so the troopers are like “how do you know? it could just be any random baby” and then the baby says “you can tell by my lightsaber” and kills the troopers. The baby was actually Yoda and the hunchback was Obi Wan.

 All I can imagine now was the conversation that led up to this very dramatic and hilarious ruse, and how exactly they came up with it. I kind of feel like it was the Star Wars equivalent of “Get Help” from Thor: Ragnarok???? Like???

Obi Wan: Hey Yoda, we should do “Jedi Baby.”

Yoda: Doing that, we are not.

Obi Wan: Oh come on, you love it!

Yoda: No.

Obi Wan: It’s great! It works every time!

Yoda: Humiliating, it is.

Obi Wan: Do you have a better plan?

Yoda: No.

Obi Wan: Excellent. We are doing it then.

Yoda: Doing “Jedi Baby” we are not.

……..

Obi Wan, 5 minutes later, cradling Yoda: Look! It’s a Jedi baby!

Devil May Meow: They don't know any maths😔

let’s see if the fun police catch me for this one.

til then, see the whole comic here – 18+ please

Star Wars… meme

Hello, author. Would it be possible to request an established relationship Dante or Vergil x feminine male!reader who has emotional dependency and who, for years, was almost like a prostitute/courtesan to demons ? The reader tends to make a lot of sexual advances out of fear of being abandoned and not being desirable enough for their boyfriend. The reader has a devoted, polite, and gentle personality, with a mix of fluff and hurt to comfort if possible. I hope this request doesn't make you uncomfortable, dear author, Have a good day 🌷

DEVIL MAY CRY - DANTE SPARDA | VERGIL SPARDA

The requested scenario for BOTH of the twins :3

WORDCOUNT: Around 1k for each

Authors Note: Visit my Ko-Fi if you want to support me, or if you want to comission a personalised, private story!

Dante x feminine!Male!Reader | established relationship

Dante knew what you were like. He knew the way you acted, what you usually were like around him, the things you'd do and say. In just a few months, he'd learned to read you like a book. Dante also knew your past. You'd opened up about it slowly, timid about his reaction, even though you knew he wouldn't judge you. You couldn't help it, really. Life had prepared you to be expecting everything and everything.

Emotionally dependent reader Former demon prostitute/courtesan reader fear Of abandonment Reader: devoted, polite, gentle Fluff/ Hurt Comfort

When you had told Dante that you'd practically been a prostitute for Demons, he'd been mad. Not at you, never at you, more so at anyone that dared to give you bad experiences in life. Dante had figured that you weren't completely trauma free - you were hanging around him, after all - but he hadn’t expected anything like what you opened up to him about.

Something Dante had started to notice these last few days, though, is how you seemed to always cling to him, how you tried to initiate intimate moments more often, the way you'd look at him every time he wasn't in the mood. He hadn’t minded at first, hell, in all honesty, he liked how active you were, but after a while he noticed your patterns. You initiated intimacy whenever either of you had been upset at the other, or whenever he hadn't been able to hang out with you as much as usually, whenever he was too busy… It became a little suspicious. You'd get upset whenever he'd reject, seemingly more at yourself than at him.

One evening was especially bad. He'd been out for a long mission, drained and hungry, covered in blood. You'd come to him, humming about taking a shower, gingerly wrapping your arms around him, lips pressed against his neck. He sighed, knowing that while he loved when you were like this, he really just wanted to shower and then pass out in bed. He told you as much as he parted with you, pressing a swift kiss against your forehead before disappearing into the bathroom.

He found you later, once he'd gotten dried up and dressed in his sleep clothes - which were only acceptable and without holes because you'd pushed him to get some proper pyjamas instead of sleeping in his boxers and old shirts all the time. The lights in your shared hoke were turned off, but you weren't in bed. Usually, you'd have a few lights or candles on while you snuggled up on the couch. Lights off was only for bedtime with you.

You still sat on the couch, though, sniffling softly to yourself. Dantes whole face fell as he realised you were crying. “...Love, what's wrong..?” He muttered as he stepped towards you, carefully seating himself beside you. You sniffled again, immediately smuggling against him. “... do you not love me…?” You mumble, voice muffled by his shirt as you press your face into his shoulder. Dante almost thinks he didn't hear you right, wrapping his arms around you, pressing you against his chest. “Baby, my dear sweet boy, why would you think that…?” He questions, running his fingers through your hair. “...you don't want me…” You sob, tears staining Dantes shirt. The gears in his head started turning as he pulled you into his lap. “Love, listen to me. I love you. I want you, all the time, but sometimes I'm tired, or I'm not in the mood, not because I don't love you anymore, it just happens, yeah?” He mumbles, pressing a few soft kisses against the top of your head. You're still sniffling, so he tilts your head a little to kiss your forehead too.

“I just… whenever you don't want me I think you don't love me-” You start, new tears dwelling in your eyes as you look up at him. He shushes you, gently brushing your tears away. He slipped his fingers into your hair, gently running his digits through the soft strands, twirling them around the tips carefully.

“I swear to you, I will never stop loving you. You dont even need to think that, yeah? You're so much more than your body, and our relationship is so much more than just physical, you hear me?” He hums, keeping his voice careful and gentle yet the way he looked into your eyes left no room for discussion.

You press your face into his shoulder again, clinging to his shirt as you let the last few tears slip down your cheeks. You knew he meant it, but it was so hard to genuinely believe. “My sweet boy…” Dante sighs, placing yet another kiss against the top of your head, breathing in before pulling away, consoling you with a hand on your back. “I love you. I always will, yeah?” He mumbles against your hair, softly tugging you closer as he feels your hands tangle into his shirt - somehow you still managed to be mindful of not bunching it up too much.

He let you calm down slowly, murmuring soft words and pressing gentle kisses whereever he could reach. The moonlight softly shone into the living room, illuminating the scene in its gentle light. It took you a while to properly calm down, sniffling softly, stray tears staining Dantes shirt. “You wanna go to bed..?” The white haired mumbles, gently carding his fingers through your hair. You nod after a moment, clinging to him. He chuckles lightly, wrapping his arms around you so he could pick you up and carefully carry you to bed. “My clingy boy, hm? You're so sweet… so adorable…” Dante mumbles carefully as he laid you down, smiling as he snuggled against you, wrapping the blankets around you in the way he knew you liked.

“I love you…” you mutter softly, feeling him press a kiss against your forehead. “I love you too… get some sleep, love, mhm?” Dante responds, pressing a kiss against your forehead, letting you drift off to sleep in his arms, feeling like the happiest man in the whole world.

Vergil x feminine!Male!Reader | established relationship

Emotionally dependent reader Former demon prostitute/courtesan reader fear Of abandonment Reader: devoted, polite, gentle Fluff/ Hurt Comfort

Vergil wasn't usually this concerned about you. You were his boyfriend, indeed, but you could take care of yourself, no matter how much trouble you got yourself in with your niceness. So, he never worried about you. Not much, anyway. There was a reason you were his boyfriend, and not anyone else. Behind that facade of pure and utter gentleness was still a strong will. However, lately you had been acting… off. Vergil hadn't noticed at first - he had been a lot busier these last few days, he didn't have the time to indulge in your unimportant desires. Sex wasn't something he needed, nor wanted regularly. Not by now, anyway. He did accept that he had been… Impulsive, before.

What Vergil had noted early into your relationship, was how needy you were. You wanted to be around him most of the time, touch him in one way or another. It was important to you, he knew that. He did let you have your moments, did let you be all over him for an hour or two, but he was a busy man, always had been, and you had to deal with that. It wasn’t about Vergil being heartless, more about him having clear boundaries you just had to accept. He was a lot different from you, after all. He needed his time to himself, to think, to plan, to just rest and relax. You often seemed to dislike his habits, but you never said anything. Never even as much as shoot him a nasty glance, you always stayed calm and soft. Vergil liked that about you, you were pliant. Soft.

This evening was only slightly different. Vergil had come home late, feeling tired and defeated after having learned that yet another of his plans wouldn't work out the way he had strategised. His hair was out of place, blue eyes already zoned out as he perfected his plan. You had made dinner, grinned at him widely as he stepped through the door, doting on him the second he had shrugged off his coat. Soft kisses against his cheeks, hands brushing over his sides - he knew these signs, knew they meant that you wanted him. He let you lead him to the kitchen, ate a few bites of the rather delicious food you made. Your foot nudged his under the table, he scowled slightly. “My dear, I don't think I've got time for.. this behaviour tonight.” He hums nonchalantly, as if telling you about the weather, as if it didn't make your whole world crumble just a little more. You don't answer, simply get up, mutter something about not being hungry anymore and hide away in the bedroom.

He didn't love you. You were so sure of that now. Surely, he was too busy thinking of everything but you. That's why he always stayed in his study. That's why he came home late, and didn't even give you a kiss whenever he stepped through the door. You knew Vergil was… special, but this wasn't being special. This was him blatantly not wanting you. It hurt you, it hurt like hell. You wanted him, wanted to love him, to show him how good you could be, but he wouldn't let you. Wouldn't let you give him what you knew he surely also needed - he was a man, after all. He couldn't be that different from the other men you'd met throughout your life.

You'd learn, though, that Vergil was indeed very different. You'd snuggled into the covers of your shared bed, sniffling softly. You weren't loud, too afraid of accidentally letting the man a few doors away know you were being such a crybaby about this simple situation. Tears stained your pillow - you had half a mind to think about having to turn it to the other side once you'd try to sleep. It didn't come to that, however. What it came to, was Vergil walking in after long hours in his study, late at night. You had frozen up once the door opened, tears still running down your cheeks.

You felt the mattress dip under his weight as he settled into bed beside you, wrapping an arm around you - he was actually cuddling against you. Something he usually never did. Did he… think you were asleep? You felt him place soft kisses against your jaw and the back of your neck, a soft smile on his lips. “My pretty boy…” He mumbles, voice deep from exhaustion. “So damn adorable… All mine…” He continues, snuggling his face into your hair comfortably. Vergil was weirdly clingy, arms wrapped around you tightly as he pressed lazy kisses against the skin he could reach. You don't dare to move, not wanting to ruin this moment, too scared Vergil would act like nothing happened and just pull away.

You basked in the moment for a few minutes, feeling Vergil rest and breathe against you - this has probably been the closest he's ever stayed to you for this long. “...you know I love you, right…?” Vergil suddenly mumbles, pressing a kiss against your cheek. He halts, huffing. “...were you crying?” He scowls slightly. You didn't know what to answer - had he not thought you were asleep? Did he know you had been awake the whole time and still snuggled so close to you? “...sorry…” You mutter silently, wiping the remnants of your tears away in an attempt to hide them. “Why were you crying?” Vergil questions, sitting up a bit. “Just.. nothing important..” you answer, trying to dodge the question - Vergil wouldn't take it, though. “Answer me.” He huffs coldly. “... just… Sometimes it feels like.. you don't want me…” You mumble, voice so silent you almost think he didn't hear you. Vergil doesn't answer for a moment, before he sighs heavily. “... I'm sorry, my dear. I didn't… realise how much I… hurt you. I will be better in the future, I promise you.” He speaks, pressing a kiss against your knuckles. “You will never cry because of me again, I promise it. I'm sorry, love.” He sighs, snuggling back against you. “I think I just… needed some time to get used to… This… but, I really do love you… Even if I dont show it that much…” You sigh in relief, pressing against him, worries lifted - or at least you know they'll be worked on from now.

Mermaids/Pirates AU Supporting Cast

Before I draw more Dinluke I wanted to draw some more Mandalorian show characters in the AU, because that’s rad.

[CONTEXT]

Part 1: https://swinging-through-the-stars.tumblr.com/post/658655107641229312/dinluke-mermaidpirate-au

Part 2 ish?: https://swinging-through-the-stars.tumblr.com/post/658699369007218688/merfolk-and-pirates-are-natural-enemies-oh-oh

Cobb Vanth as a cocky marshal of a small village, who found this mermaid armor one day and decided to wear it for extra protection. Din isn’t pleased, as one would expect.

Now here’s the REAL wearer of the armor, Boba Fett. He’s been stuck in the deep ocean trenches for a while, but he survived and made his way back near surface waters.

His partner in crime, Fennec Shand, is an expertly skilled fisher on land. She’s a bounty hunter like Din and is an expert at shooting things down with her array of harpoons.

Of course, there are more mermaids than Din once thought - Bo Katan and Koska Reeves. Bo leads a group called the Nite Sharks.

(There was a third guy but these two are more prominent in the series and I don’t know his name)

And lastly is an ex-pirate ally, Ahsoka Tano. An axolotl from the ocean, she is an expert on both land and sea (she also possesses the power to be able to walk on land easily). She no longer gets involved with matters of pirates, as she has bigger things to worry about.

(There’s always a bigger fish—I’m sorry)