[ Not Ship Art ]

Op’s caption was: Single father supports his sons :)

😇😇😇

A Test of Courage | by Justina Ireland Star Wars Episode II: Attack of the Clones Star Wars Episode III: Revenge of the Sith #I NEED YOU TO UNDERSTAND THAT STAR WARS GETS EIGHT THOUSAND TIMES FUNNIER #WHEN YOU CONSIDER HOLDING SOMEONE’S LIGHTSABER = HOLDING THEIR UNDERWEAR #THAT ANAKIN IS SORT OF LOSING HIS UNDERWEAR AS HE SPEEDER HOPS ACROSS CORUSCANT #THAT OBI-WAN HAS TO PICK UP ANAKIN’S UNDERWEAR IN MID-AIR AS HE’S FLYING PAST #THAT OBI-WAN TOSSES HIS UNDERWEAR TO ANAKIN AS HE FIGHTS DOOKU #THAT OBI-WAN PICKS UP ANAKIN’S UNDERWEAR SO THAT HE CAN ONE DAY PASS IT ALONG TO LUKE #THERE IS NO WAY IN WHICH THIS IS NOT SO MUCH FUNNIER THAN I COULD POSSIBLY SAY #HELP I’M CRYING

capcom put them in different franchises bc they knew they would be unstoppable as canon besties

dante mod by @/rhenjpg on twitter :D

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.

Kinktober -- Dante Sparda

Y'all remember when I said I'd start off tame? I lied, I cannot be tame when I comes to Dante. I hope you all enjoy the first of my works for Kinktober, remember to read the warnings and enjoy!!

MDNI!!(18+)

WARNINGS: Stripping, mentions of wounds, mentions of blood, monster-fucking, face-sitting, choking, stomach bulge, begging, size kink if you squint.

-----------"These Marks Will Be Real Hard to Explain."------------

You had followed your orders like you always did. The demons Dante told you to kill were dead, but he didn’t tell you how dangerous it would be. The aching muscles and stinging wounds gave you enough to be mad about, but this wasn’t the first time Dante sent you out alone on a dangerous job.

You shift your weight to one leg and lean against the phone box wall. With furrowed brows you glance at the sea of dead demons outside, listening to the phone's dial tone. Finally, Dante picks up.

“Devil May Cry! How Can I-”

“Dante!” You shout, interrupting him.

You hear him chuckle, “Hey baby, how’s it going out there?”

“Why the hell did you give me this job? You said it would be easy, you piece of shit!”

Dante’s sigh could be heard over the line.

“Listen, baby, we both know you can handle a lot,” he chuckles. “Consider it a test, alright? Now quit your whining and come back.”

Dante never did act like he cared when he sent you out on jobs like this. No matter how big the horde he always had some excuse for putting your life in danger. His foolhardy attitude made your blood boil, and you weren’t going to settle for some shitty apology this time.

“I don’t wanna fuckin’ see you right now, Dante.” You hiss before hanging up.

To spite him, you took your time walking back to the building. You stopped to pet every dog, smell every flower, and sometimes you stopped to take in your surroundings. When you do reach the building, though, it looks empty. Glancing through the windows you see nothing; Dante’s not at his desk and Nero is nowhere to be found. Part of you is relieved, so you walk into the lobby with your head held high. The dusty interior and messy desk in front of you never ceased to make you feel sick, but today something about it sent a chill down your spine.

You quickly walk up the stairs as unease encompasses you. Thankfully, your room isn’t too far from the top and you’re able to slip inside without making too much noise. You ease up and make your way to your dresser to change, humming as you sift through the drawers.

“Thought you’d never come home, babe.” A voice says from behind you. You turn around with a gasp, and your eyes narrow at the sight of Dante. He’s standing in your doorway with a nasty look on his face, and you can’t help but laugh.

“I fuckin’ live here! I’d have to come home eventually.” You pause and grip the hem of your shirt, bringing it up and over your head to tease him. 

“Not for you, though.” You finish.

Dante’s jaw tenses and he steps further into the room. 

“Where were you?”

You turn your back to him with a smirk, unhook your bra, and let it fall down your arms. Dante was near ravenous as he admired the curvature of your spin, and the way your waist looked from behind made him painfully hard. 

Dante chuckles and closes the door. “Come on baby, talk to me.”

You hastily unbutton your pants, and the sudden warmth of Dante behind you makes you pause. His hands wrap around your waist so he can pull you close, and though you were angry with him, it was hard not to lean into his touch. How his hands made your body purr and your mind weak was a wonder to you.

“You know I never meant to put you in danger, dollface,” Dante whispers. His hands squeeze your sides while he turns you around to face him. You look at him with angry eyes to hide how bad your body aches for him.

Dante pushes a strand of hair behind your ear and smiles. 

“Tell me how to make it up to you.”

Your heart skips a beat as you stare at the white-haired man. For a moment, you think about asking for a nice date, and maybe some flowers. But, Dante’s hands on your bare skin remind you of how exposed you are, and your mind begins to wander. You brush Dante’s hair out of his face and cup his cheek.

“Make me cum, and maybe I’ll forgive you.”

Dante’s eyes light up and he nearly drools when your words hit his ears. He leans in to kiss you, but you stop him by putting a finger on his lips.

“Not yet.” You say to him with a smirk.

Dante’s brows furrow and he pouts.

“I gotta get you off before I can kiss you? That’s damn cruel.”

You laugh and move close to his ear, planting a kiss on his neck.

“Get to work, then.” You whisper before pushing him down and onto the bed. Dante hits the mattress with a smile and props himself up on his elbows. He watches you intently while you pull your pants off agonizingly slow. Dante starts unbuttoning his pants, but you place your hands on him to stop him.

“Nope,” you pause and crawl on top of him. “I’m not fucking you just yet.”

Dante stares up at you in awe, he never could get over how good your body looked. You grab his chin to make him look at your face, then move your face close to his as a means to tease him. Your free hand moves down to slip your panties off, and your needy cunt drips at the way he grits his teeth. Dante’s hands come up to grab your ass, but once again he’s shot down by you pulling them away. You bring his hands up over his head, pinning him down with a grin. 

Dante groans and looks at you confused. “The fuck are you doing?”

“Letting you apologize.” You mumble while moving your body up so that your hips are in line with his face. Dante smiles at the sight of your dripping cunt, and his cock aches knowing he can do nothing but submit to you. You lower yourself onto his face, sighing in sweet relief when Dante’s lips hit your pussy. He immediately goes to work, his tongue parting your folds and exploring every inch of your tight warmth.

You inhale sharply and begin to grind against his face. Dante lets out a low moan in response to your taste, and the intensity of his ministrations increases. Your fingers fall away from his wrists, finding their way into his hair so you can pull him closer to your cunt.

Your moans fuel Dante’s lust, and his tongue delves deeper into you while one of his now-freed hands makes its way to your clit. His fingers are relentless, teasing and pleasuring the sensitive nub. You gasp, and your moaning turns into needy whining as his tongue continues its relentless assault on your tight core.

It wasn’t often Dante ate you out like this, so it didn’t take long for your legs to shake and signify the approach of your climax. Dante smirked as he continued his teasing, anticipating the sweet taste of your cum. You let out a pathetic moan as you come undone, the tight warmth in your core bleeding through your contracting walls. Dante chuckles and savors every drop of your nectar while you ride out your high. Pride grew in him with every whimper you let out, and as you lifted your hips off him he couldn’t help but smile up at your messy cunt. 

You smile looking down at him; his eyes are half-lidded and his chin glistens with your juices. Dante laughs and sits up, stretching and popping his neck.

“So, am I forgiven babe?”

You smile and cross your arms. “Hmm, I dunno. I feel like you can do better than that.”

Dante raises a brow and leans in close to you.

“Better?”

You nod while your gaze darts between his lips and his eyes. He had made it up to you, and you had forgiven him, but you wanted more of him. His mouth fucked you perfectly, and the outline of his hard dick through his pants taunted your sensitive pussy.

Dante smirked and cupped your cheek. “Can I at least kiss you now?”

You blush and nod, unable to stop yourself from leaning in to kiss him. The taste of your cunt is still fresh on his lips, and something about it drove you crazy. His hands move to your waist, and as he holds you. You pull away and plant kisses on his jawline, moving down to his neck. Dante grips your sides and groans, relishing in your touch.

“Can I really do better, or do you just want more?” He questions.

You pull back to look up at him with hungry eyes. You bite your lip and glance at his throbbing bulge before leaning in to kiss his neck once more. Your lips move up to his ear and you bite his lobe, earning a low groan from him.

“I want more.” You whisper while your hands slide down his clothed body. Dante’s jaw tenses and his hands explore your tender flesh.

“How much more?”

You pull away to look at him, and a familiar red glare in his eye catches your attention. Dante smirks and pulls his shirt off before laying you down on the bed and forcing your legs open. You laugh as Dante moves between your legs and caresses your thighs. His hands are rough but soft enough to send a chill down your spine. You close your eyes to enjoy his touch as his fingers near your wet slit, but he stops right before he reaches it. 

“Baby?” He says in a deep, growly voice.

You look at him and gasp; the burly man that once kneeled in front of you is now a huge, red-eyed demon. You had seen him Devil Trigger before but never expected him to fuck you in it. Your eyes scanned him, and when they landed on his cock you nearly fainted. Dante was already big, but now his dick was as long as your forearm.

His clawed hands moved up and down your thighs to reassure you. Your pussy throbbed as he moved your knees up to your chest, and while he loomed over you his cock found its way to your entrance. Dante plants his hands on either side of your head, and you feel the tip of his cock at your entrance.

“Wait,” you look up at Dante with wide eyes. “Is it going to fit?”

Dante’s laugh is gravelly, and he brushes your hair back behind your ear.

“It will, baby.” He leans down close to your ear, and the heat coming off him further arouses you. You feel his cock part your folds and ease into you. Your back arches and you whine while he stretches you out.

Dante lets out a breathy moan. “Come on, baby. You can take it all, can’t you?”

Your eyes roll back in your head as he pushes further inside you. The wetness of your pussy helps him slide in, but the sensitivity left over from your orgasm lets you feel every inch of him. Your cunt aches as his tip hits your cervix, a depth Dante has never reached before.

Dante pushed himself back up so he could watch your tight pussy take his cock. He held your legs open as he began fucking your swollen cunt, smirking at the sight of his length disappearing inside you. You cover your mouth to stifle your moans, and as you look down to watch him ravage you he forces more of himself into you. Pain shoots through your core as a bulge appears in your lower stomach. 

Dante smirks and places one of his hands on the bulge, pressing down on it as he fucks you. The pleasure of his girth mixes with the pain of his thrusts, and you can’t help but scream. Your hips ache as Dante slams himself into you, and as he holds one of your soft thighs, his claws dig into your skin. You whine, tears forming in your eyes as he nearly draws blood. 

Dante laughs sadistically when he pulls out of you, looking down to admire how your cunt gapes. You feel your walls begging for him, so you lift your hips to grind against his length as a way of begging for more. Dante shakes his head and holds your hips still.

“Do you want it that bad? Can’t stand not having me inside you, huh?” He teases.

You breathe heavily while your body yearns for him, nodding pathetically. Dante laughs and brings a hand up to grab your face.

“Then beg for it.”

You move your hips again and let out a breathy moan before speaking.

“Please, Dante, I need your dick in me. Please-”

Dante cuts you off with a slap, and you look up at him with an angry expression.

“What the fuck was that for?” You whine.

“You know what to call me when I fuck you. Say it right this time.” He growls.

You clench your jaw and roll your eyes, which earns another slap from Dante.

“Quit acting like a little brat,” he starts as he grabs your face in one hand. “Fuckin’ say it right.”

You nod, giving in to him reluctantly.

“Please Master, I need you to fuck me, please.” You beg.

Dante laughs and teases you by rubbing your clit.

“Do you need it? Or are you just a slut for me?”

You roll your eyes at his words and he laughs. He lines his tip up with your entrance again, his thumb still rubbing circles into your clit. Right as he slams himself back into you his hands come up to your neck. Dante squeezes your throat just enough to make any moans come out at meer squeaks. 

Dante’s cock fucks you better than before, and as your head starts spinning you feel your second orgasm approaching. Your brows furrow and your vision becomes blurry, but you can see Dante’s sinister grin as he fucks you.

“I love your pussy, baby.” He mumbles as his thrusts become sloppy.

Dante rolls his hips into you and he groans, his hands squeezing tighter around your neck. He lets out a loud, hoarse moan as he cums deep in you. The warmth of his seed pushes you over the edge, and as you cum with him your vision becomes even blurrier. 

-

“Babe? Hey, sweetie, are you alright?”

Your head throbs as you open your eyes to Dante, now back to normal, peering down at you. He smiles seeing you awake and cups your cheek.

“Don’t get up just yet, alright?” He says sweetly.

You whimper and take a breath as you scan your surroundings. You lift your head up, and Dante helps the rest of your torso to follow. He rubs your back and combs his fingers through your hair. You turn to look at him, confused.

“What happened?”

Dante blushes and looks away.

“I got carried away.” He pauses and looks at you with soft eyes. “You passed out.”

You laugh and lean into his chest. “And you did that?”

Dante wraps his arms around you and nods. 

“Yeah..” he trails off and kisses your forehead. “Are you feeling alright though? I know it was the first time we’ve done that.”

You nod and kiss his chest. “I’m alright, I think I’ll be sore for weeks though.”

Dante laughs and uses a finger to lift your chin up. He scans your neck, then looks down at your thighs. His brows furrow as if he’s deep in thought, and you tilt your head at him.

“What’s wrong?” You ask.

Dante shakes his head with a smirk. “Nothin’. These marks will just be real hard to explain.”

Tim, trying to come out to everyone: I'm dating Clark's son

Damian, looking up from his tablet: I'm also dating Clark's son...

Bruce, looking between his two kids: I'm dating Clark-

Dick: Holy shit now I'm glad I'm dating just Wally

Jason: You're dating Wally? Pfft- I'm dating Roy

Stephanie: I'm dating cA-

Cass, covering her mouth: I think that's enough reveals for one day.

Diner Boy

m!reader x dean winchester (18+)

summary: he’s a regular, comes often but there’s never really a pattern. he sits with his brother, Sam, you learned. sometimes they’re smiling and having a good time, other times they look like they’ve just fought, but no matter what- they always sit together, and today you’ve caught his eye- Dean.

warnings: car sex, hair pulling, overstimulation

“He’s staring at you…” Your work friend, Charlie, had said. You were standing at the counter sorting the tickets. It wasn’t a busy day, but it wasn’t slow either. It kept you both working, with plenty time to talk. You gave her a small look before scoffing, “You say this almost everyday Char.”

“Well yes, but, Sam and Dean don’t come here everyday.” You catch her eye as she motioned over to the table she just came from not too long ago. “You are very pretty..you get mistaken for a girl often-“

“I don’t want to talk about that. And besides,” you pick up a tray of food, fit for another table, “I’m sure they’re staring at you, you just like girls and don’t take interest.” You give her a wink while she starts to giggle.

It was true, though. He was staring at you. Your beautiful frame, your curly hair fanning around your face, your perfect lips that pulled into a smile whenever you interacted with the tables to catered to for the night. Dean was watching, and you felt his gaze.

You could hardly work. His eyes made your legs week, and your pants tight. You felt hot but there was no sweat. Your hands shook while taking orders. You knew what you wanted, what your body screamed at you to take before the chance of a lifetime slipped away.

Your shift ended roughly at 10. You’re tired, body aching. You take off your apron before saying your goodbye’s to your coworkers. Charlie had left an hour before. It was raining outside, it made you groan. As much as you loved the rain, you walked to work, and walking in the rain meant an umbrella you didn’t have. “Need a lift?” you hear a voice behind you, a familiar one at that, his voice. Dean. You hear yourself chuckle, turning around to look at his tall frame. “No.”

“No? It’s raining like hell out here and you have no umbrella, and you say “no”?” He’s leaning against the glass frame of the wall. He bore a small grin, but those eyes..those eyes said so much more. You felt it. They trailed your body down to your hips, and rested before making their way back up to your eyes.

“Yeah.” you cleared your throat. “And if you’re done..” you look away, staring at the rain pour harder. The droplets beginning to splash against your legs and his boots. Dean moves closer, the soft clack of his shoes perfectly in sync with the rain. Where was Sam, you had wondered. “Do you..need a ride?” He asked again, lowly, fit only for you.

“…yes.”

the walk back to Dean’s beautiful car felt like forever. He shielded you from the rain, his brown leather jacket over your frame. His arm wrapped around your shoulder securely like you were the most precious thing in the world at that moment, protected..

“ha….ha fuck.” Your hand was lost into his short locs of hair, gripping on what you could. You breathed heavily into the small space of Baby’s backseat, suffocated. Dean held your waist, cock disappearing into your hole for what seemed like the hundredth time this night. His teeth sank into his bottom lip, sweaty forehead rested against your shoulder. “Dean..” you moan.

He shuddered, bottoming out inside of you. Your cock leaked against his stomach. You were so closed it rubbed just up against it in the right of ways. Your breathes came to a shuddering halt. Your heart seemed to drop into your stomach, and a clean wash fell over you. Your hands found their way to Deans shoulder, squeezing as you rode out another orgasm, your seed shooting lazily across you and Dean’s stomach. “You feel so good baby..” He groans. His hands tightened the grip onto your waist. While your body relaxed against his own, he sped up. Your body moved quickly against Dean’s thick cock. “So fuckin’ good.”

Your body rolled against his. Your legs felt tight, you tried your best but your body shook to its core. “Dean-“ You gasp, nails digging into his shoulder. He hit that spot inside of you so well…You couldn’t help the helpless whimper falling from your lips. “Almost there.” Dean grunts, failing to notice Sam’s name flash across his buzzing phone.

Lady/Nico doodles! (I finished DMC 5 last week, I loved it)

Doodle with mission 03 spoilers here<3 (No idea how to tag these)

Anakin in sith Obi+Ahsoka au: Tea isn't therapy, guys. Ahsoka and Obi: bet.

Anakin: Please Go to Therapy