Depressed Memes

[f41ryb0nes]

Leon comes home feeling better than he has in ages, and he knows just how he wants to show you.

ao3 ✦ wc: 5.9k

tags: Leon Kennedy/cisfem!reader, marathon sex, multiple creampies, p in v, porn w/o plot, oral (f receiving), overstimulation, cockdrunkeness, rough sex, praise & degradation, aftercare, wife!reader, can imagine with or w/o age gap, re9 requiem spoilers

a/n: I meant for this to be love-making but then it turned freak nasty oops

SMS Message: Home tomorrow.

Sender: Leon S.K.

You jumped up from the couch as you read it, the words shaking on the screen you held with trembling hands.

You didn’t think he’d come home so soon. You didn’t think he’d come home at all.

The next 18 hours were a blur, and then you heard it: the purr of a familiar motor in the driveway. It stopped you dead in your tracks, standing as still as a statue in the kitchen. You tensed as you waited for the sound of footsteps outside— held your breath as you heard the key in the lock— watched unblinkingly as the handle turned— when Leon walked through the door, time itself went still.

For a moment, all you could do was stare. You didn’t know what to expect. Every mission changed him, and you didn’t know what new version of him would walk through the door now, or how to react to it. And the stakes had never been higher.

The days before his departure were spent mostly in silence, doing little else except hold each other as his departure neared every second. You both knew the two likely results: he’d either die in the place it all began or come home even closer to death’s door. He’d wait for his disease to slowly consume his soul while he made his own funeral plans, and you’d stay close to your gun to prepare for the moment he went cold.

You’d spent the time between his text and now clinging to hope and preparing yourself for the worst. You’d never felt as fragile as the moment he opened the door.

He looked your way as the lock clicked behind him. It was only a few seconds, but they expanded into eons as you searched him for signs of bad news. A knit in his brow, or a downward tug of his lips. Traces of tears he may have wiped away in the car before you could see them. His steely eyes filling with grief.

But you didn’t see any of that. Instead, he grinned and held his arms out wide.

You flew crashing into them. He was steady, firm, and tight as you clutched your fists into the back of his shirt. His arms wrapped around your head and he kissed the top of it softly, swaying you ever so slightly because he was too overcome to stand still.

For minutes, all you did was stand in the doorway and hold. That was the quiet choreography of all of his homecomings, though it never felt routine. Each time it had a different weight, and this one was the heaviest yet by far.

When you finally were able to pull away, you scanned him again for signs of injury, physical or otherwise. You knew him like you knew yourself, and even the most imperceptible changes never got past you.

Your eyes widened when they dropped to his neck.

You didn’t have to ask; he already knew the question. He answered it, still smiling, his voice gravelly and low, soft and tired, but not weary. All of it built up your hopes until he finally spoke it into reality.

“I’m alright, baby.”

His hands grazed your face, and you nearly flinched at the feeling of his bare fingertips purely out of habit. You’d spent months of him preventing you from coming into contact with his infected tissue. But then you realized what you were feeling: real skin sans leather, flesh devoid of flaw. His fingers were roughened from calluses and nothing more, complete with his wedding band returned to its rightful place.

Your eyes watered in disbelief and awe. A trepidatious smile grew on your lips as he cupped your cheek in his palm. You covered his hand with your own and pressed into the warmth while your other hand traced up his torso, until you were grazing over the skin of his neck and nudging down his shirt collar.

It was free of all black-rotted dry patches, no cracks on the surface to be seen. Nothing but a fresh scar you didn’t need to ask about right now. Right now, all that mattered was that he was whole and solid, returned to his natural state, totally healed and hot-blooded under the surface.

Your breath hitched at his body heat. Oh, how you missed his skin.

“You’re really okay..?”

The words were small and barely squeaked out. You didn’t want false hope. You needed to know the healing was more than just skin deep. His reaction assuaged all fears.

“Yeah. I really am.”

The truth took a moment to permeate the air. When it did, he took you in a kiss so firm and certain, it crushed all remaining doubt.

You met it fiercely, pushing yourself against his torso to feel him closer. Your hands threaded into the hair on the nape of his neck as he wrapped his arms around to hold you firmly in place.

Your tongue darted out first, or maybe his did, you couldn’t say. And from there, it happened fast.

His hands moved to the back of your head, then your waist, and then your ass, where they couldn’t help but grope and lift until your legs wrapped around him and he held you in the air. You grabbed his face as your lips parted wider to allow his tongue further inside. He roughly kicked off his boots and then he was walking. He kept kissing you all the way through— he didn’t need to open his eyes, he knew where he was going.

Your back met the cool blankets on your bed and then he was crawling over you, caging you under him in the dark. You wrapped your hands around his biceps and felt the muscles flex as he lowered himself to kiss down your neck, covering each square inch of skin with his sloppy, desperate kisses.

“I feel better than I have in years. Spent the whole trip home waiting to show you.”

'To prove it to you' was in the subtext.

He returned to your mouth hotly and grinded his hips into your center, the friction of his jeans against the soft fabric of your home clothes making you keen into the toe-curling feeling. He pulled his shirt over his head and you took the opportunity to speak.

“Turn the lamp on, need to see you.”

He made quick work of reaching over to it, and then you shuddered as your palms felt the expanse of his abdomen. Tight ab muscles, beefy pectorals, and broad shoulders. The sight you never got sick of that made up his brawny form. All of it healed and renewed.

He kept grinding while you took him in. Your arms went up and around and down again, nearly worshipping the flesh. But when you yanked at his belt, he stopped you with his hands around your wrists, bringing them to each side of your head and caging you in again.

“Spent too much time thinking about what I’m gonna do to you.” He sat back up and you kept your arms where he fixed them as he began to pull at the elastic waistband of your bottoms. He kissed your exposed navel and you shivered as he mumbled into you. “Need’ta show you how I’ve always wanted to fuck you.”

You never felt like his age held him back much in the bedroom— his job relied on stamina and endurance, and though his job was physically demanding and he was not quite in his prime, the toll was mostly seen in the back pain after; it hardly showed in the moment. As his hands and mouth traveled every inch of exposed skin like a starving animal, you wondered if you could even handle him giving you something more. The thought of finding out went straight between your legs.

His mouth went straight there, too.

You nearly yelled as he dove into your cunt with a fervent tongue, lapping and sucking and messily making out with your folds, his thumbs kneading to pull open the soft fatty skin of your vulva. He wasn’t interested in wasting any time on teasing, clearly.

Your thighs clenched around his head and a hand pushed against his head reflexively to fight off the sudden intensity, but it was useless. The pressure of your legs around his head only spurred him on until your cunt was soaked in spit– it certainly wasn’t your own wetness– he devoured every ounce that escaped before it could go anywhere but his mouth.

You bucked and twitched as you cried out his name. “Leon, Leon, s’too much, holy— fuck, Leon—” but he only spread your thighs and kept your there, pointing his tongue to circle sharply around your clit.

“I’m just getting started, baby,” he said, sucking your clit into his mouth and letting go with a flilthy noise, “thought I’d never taste this sweet cunt again, gonna drink my fucking fill.”

Your head fell back as he dove back in, steady and thorough and obscene. You took deep breaths, although they were more like hitched pants and moans until you acclimated to the sensation. He hummed as he felt you melt under him and added a single finger inside, groaning when you arched into it.

He slowed down, his finger rocking and curling in and out and his tongue lapping at you. You looked down to see his darkened eyes gazing at his work between tastes, and you shuddered as he licked his lips before retracting all touch. Your hips flinched upwards to beckon him to return, but he didn’t. He met your eyes and reveled in your wanton expression as he sucked you off his fingers, never breaking eye contact as he rose to kneel between your parted legs.

He finally began to do away with his jeans, and something changed in his tone as he did. You shivered with desire as you watched him move. It was deliberate and slow. He was undressing like a threat.

“Here’s what’s gonna happen…”

His belt fell with a thud against the ground—

“I’m gonna fuck you until you cry…”

The button fell apart with a flick of his wrist—

“Fill you so full of cum you’ll be dripping ‘til next week…”

The zipper seemed to ache as it slowly parted open—

“And you’re gonna fucking take it.”

Unhurriedly and never once looking away from you, he pushed his pants and boxers down until his thick cock sprang free. You whined at the sight of it, eyes fixed where it hung in the air. It was dark pink– definitely darker than usual– his hot blood expanding every vein. He was harder than you’d ever seen him, a full display of the immensity of his desire, so much that it nearly looked painful. When a bead of precum began to appear on his tip, your mouth watered for it.

Your eyes scanned upward as you realized he’d stopped talking and was kneeling there in wait while you stared. You took in his form on the way up; the way his abs tightened with every throb of his cock, the striations of his brawny arms, the few new cuts over old scars. The heavy rise and fall of his chest as he held back for the last time tonight.

And then, you saw his face. His chin was slightly raised as if he was looking down on his next confirmed kill. His lips were still glistening with slick as they were pulled into something not unlike a snarl. His hair was halfway in his eyes, but it did nothing to conceal the intent within them.

“You think you can handle that?”

Your eyes fleeted to his navel, only for a second, assessing him like a loaded gun that was aimed right at you. His hands held his clothes in tight fists and his cock leaked with pre.

You met his eyes again and blinked as you nodded and choked out a needy, “yes,” and your gulp gave away your uncertainty. But that only seemed to spur him on.

He fell forward; suddenly, his face was inches away from your own, one hand on the mattress beside your head to hold himself up, the other yanking his pants off as quickly as he could.

“You know what to say if you can’t,” he grumbled, hunkering down to glide his tip against you until it notched against your entrance, “because telling me to stop won’t be enough.”

He grabbed your wrist at the same time he violently drove in, knowing you’d leap from it and keeping you there anyways. You were nothing but a mess of yelps and moans as he beat his way inside, clawing against his back and shoulders. A single finger wasn’t enough to ready you for this, and the knocks against your cervix were only soothed by the equal force against your g-spot.

Each merciless pounding of his fat cock stretched your walls to their limit, and he truly didn’t give you any other option but to take it. You groaned at the way he used his broad build to keep your legs open to him, every ounce of muscle that you were no match against weighing down to pin you there.

With an arm wrapped under you to hold you by the back of the neck and the other tightening in the hair on the crown of your head, he caged you in to face him. But your dizzy eyes were squeezed shut and could only open to roll back into your skull.

He shook you lightly by the hair. “Look at me,” he growled. You mewled as you attempted it, but your glossy eyes went straight back behind your eyelids. He did it again, harder, pistoning up to fuck you harder, too. “Look at me, you fucking bitch.”

The shock of his words made your eyes shoot open with a gasp and a furrowed brow, far removed from the gentle reverence he held you in at the door. His gaze bore straight into you with a scowl, his adoration replaced with possession.

He was terrifying. Unhinged. A madman on the loose inside of you. A killer who lashed against your walls with uncalculated raw power. Though you could only see his face, it was the hottest thing you’d ever seen.

While you were still reeling from the disparagement, he gritted angrily into your face, crowding you until your noses nearly touched.

“Who owns you?”

You could only attempt to answer, your voice breaking into a sputtering moan as he bottomed out harshly again and again, not needing any of the great focus it took you to speak.

The pitiful noise you’d made wasn’t good enough for him. He squeezed the sides of your neck and you arched off the bed, but that only sent your body flush against his, which didn’t make you any clearer-headed.

“Tell me who fucking owns you.”

You felt like you were floating as your brain was cut off from blood flow, and out of care for your own wellbeing, you managed to answer him.

“Y-you, Leon—“

He let go of the pressure and smirked as you gasped. “Mouth not so good for talking right now, huh? Only good for one thing?”

He unclasped his fingers from your hair and brought them to your chin, delving into your parted lips to hook around your bottom teeth. You let your jaw fall open and watched in shock as he spat inside.

“Swallow it,” he commanded, fingers digging into your face as he pushed it shut. You shuddered as you did, and his own eyes rolled back now.

His head fell into the crook of your neck with a smoky groan. You felt hot puffs of air against your pulse as his hands became gentler, like he revered you for doing what he demanded.

“Gorgeous fucking girl… needed this cunt so bad, went through hell to get back home to you…”

His hold on you may have lessened, but his words held your heart in his fist and squeezed. He’d captured your thoughts so purely on the present, you nearly forgot the context.

Your arms were limp as they tried to wrap around his back, barely able to hold on as he moved with every pounding of his hips. But still, they searched him, chest filling with every inch they felt unmarred by disease, and your cunt pulsed as he searched you for places to grab. Your ebbing breasts, the small of your waist, the meat of your hips, landing finally on the underside of your knee where he changed the angle to impale himself even deeper.

You were losing it, and he could tell. He thrust upwards to meet where your hips rose to help him land in that perfect spot and he kissed your jugular— first a peck, then an open-mouthed kiss, and then a full-on lick of his tongue.

Your legs trembled under him. “Leon, I’m, fuck, please,” you breathed.

He twisted your nipple and nipped under your ear as if to mock how it made you writhe. “Oh yeah? You sure you wanna cum so soon?”

‘So soon’ ..?

Maybe he wasn’t all talk when this started. Maybe that savage look in his eye wasn't a trick of the light. At this rate, he wasn’t going to fuck you until you cried, he was going to fuck you until you died.

But he wanted it. He lifted himself enough to sear your mouth with a kiss, his thrusts slowing momentarily to wedge his hand against your clit. He gathered the wetness between your bodies to easily rub against the silky nub. Your toes curled and your spine curved to seek the friction of his freshly calloused fingers. He deepened the kiss as you moaned, and it became all tongue so he could swallow the sounds in his throat.

He was debauched. Delirious. A bad man smiling as he plucked petals from a flower. Delightfully drowning himself in sin. All you could do was surrender as he brought you your undoing.

You came with wild cries and jolts of ecstasy, nails digging into his deltoids as he sped up even more. You watched him look down at his cock being covered in your cream, a ragged sound in his throat as you tightened around him with each wave of pleasure.

You panted sharply as you barely began to come down, and he lifted himself up on his haunches, kneeling between your legs as he soaked up the sight.

Once your half-lidded eyes met his, he grabbed your hips to brutally fuck you into him.

You clawed at the sheets as he used you like a toy. You won’t be surprised if your ass is speckled with fingertip-shaped bruises tomorrow. All you could see in front of you was your breasts recoiling from each thrust, and behind them, Leon lost in his own world of feeling. His head was tipped back and you saw the stubble under his chin— his pecs were flexed and flushed pink from the vigor— all of him covered in a light gloss of sweat that shone in the warm lamplight.

He was intoxicating to behold, and it was absolutely unfair, because you already lost the ability to think straight. Now you drank him in with your eyes, and you were totally inebriated.

Your moans turned into some kind of mumble. You didn’t know what words you were hoping to form, but it was something along the lines of a warning that he was approaching the realm of too much. He looked down at your babbling with a lust-filled, lazy smirk, all too pleased with himself already.

“Whatdya want, love? You drunk on my cock already?”

He slapped your clit and laughed lowly as you gasped and jolted, then propped your limp legs around him and barreled in even more. Steady, fast, and loud.

Thank god the apartment days were over or the cops would come any minute. Skin slapping against skin, the headboard banging dents into the drywall, you crying out for him like he was carving out your heart. A noise complaint in the making. But when he signed the property deed, it came with the right to make you scream, neighbors be damned.

And scream you did as he held you even tighter and thumbed your swollen clit, evoking your walls to seize in the way he needed to release. He leaned back with a sharp and airy shout, hips sputtering as you felt him unload deep inside, his remaining jerky movements making it trickle out around him.

You were a touch thankful as he slowed down and his hands rubbed soothingly on your thighs. You could finally catch your breath. But your graciousness was short-lived as he flashed a grin and flipped you onto your stomach. The breath was forced out of you as your chest fell into the mattress, and your eyes went wide as he lined himself back up, slowly pushing inside, his cum allowing his cock to slip easily inside regardless of how sore your folds already were.

You whined and knotted your fists into the fabric under you as he bottomed out and pulled away with slow and liquid motions. You heard the faintest laugh rumble in his chest before he spoke.

“I’m not anywhere near done with you,” he huffed.

You buried your head in the soft sheets below. Filled with his load and the promise of another, you felt totally and completely his. Exactly where you wanted to be. Right where you belonged. You couldn’t help but smile, until he moved and it was wiped off your fucked-out face.

He gripped the meat of your ass as he steadily picked up speed, the silver of his wedding band cold against you in contrast to the heat of your bodies. A wet spot collected underneath you from his cock coaxing out his cum with each thrust. The sounds were softer yet even more crude with your cunt so sopping wet.

“Gripping me so good, look at you,” he spread your cunt apart a little more, “goddamn, you’re perfect.”

You felt mildly embarrassed at the messy sight of you that he was undoubtedly staring at right now, but at the same time, you envied his view. To watch his cock disappear inside of your puffy and well-used folds, then withdraw covered in his cum and a healthy mix of your own. To view his strong hands holding you open, to see yourself laid out in submission.

But all you could do was feel, and that was more than enough to sate you. In fact, you were already well past satisfaction, and you kept having to refind your focus so you could keep taking more. You inhaled deeply as you felt the soreness at your entrance and reminded yourself to relax your body, sighing away the tension in the muscles you didn’t mean to flex: your thighs, your back, your shoulders. But then you’d feel the friction of his tip dragging against the gummy walls of your g-spot, and your mind was clouded by pleasure all over again.

He wasn’t going nearly as fast as before, but it was obviously a choice, and not one made out of tiredness or necessity. It just felt too good for him to change the rhythm. With your knees together as you lay prone, your canal was tightened in a way that made you feel dense and so, so warm around his tender cock. You always felt incredible to him, but if sex always felt like this, he wouldn’t just fuck you all night, he’d stay buried in you so long he’d risk starving to death.

You were each lost in your own minds as the feeling went on and on. The air was heady and thick as you breathed against the blankets, and Leon was humping into you like waves rolling into shore– fluid motions that still crashed onto the shore or your center, followed by another and another, a constant ebb and flow that lulled you deeper into euphoria.

“Feels s’good, Leon, oh my god… d-don’t stop.” Your voice was laced in awe.

“Really fucking does… shit…”

The words were airy and held just as much wonderment as yours had. He traced a hand down the valley of your spine, revering the body that gave him such immeasurable bliss. Knowing that he was feeling the same seventh heaven you were made you feel even more connected to him, and your toes curled at the thought.

It kept going, and going, and going. You couldn’t tell how long it remained exactly like that, neither of you searching for your next orgasm, just totally and completely captured by the present. Time wasn’t something that existed in the room. It was a long time, but it’d never be enough.

He groaned as you felt his hips stutter involuntarily as the next thrust landed even deeper inside. The unexpectedness hit you both and turned it back into something needier. The next thrust snapped against your ass and you arched into the air to meet it. He shifted to hold you firmly as he set on a new wanton speed.

You mewled as you keened into him, legs parting slightly to make room for any spare length he had to give, and gripped the sheets as his balls began to slap against your clit. Each time he crashed against your walls, you felt them begin to bloom with electric want, and you braced against the bed to push yourself back into his thrusts as they became gritty, harsh pounds again.

He felt just the same as you, blood rushing to the parts of his brain that demanded another orgasm, and he felt every flutter of your walls around him that beckoned to milk him dry– exactly what he wanted you to do, to drain him until he had nothing left to give. He wanted to do whatever it took to make sure that fluttering didn’t stop.

He reached under you to rub your clit. You yelped as his fingers made contact, gliding easily against the cum-covered nub. His forearm was pressed against your navel, pinned between you and the mattress, and you could feel the size of his cock protrude against it from within you. Your legs spread even wider as you cried out, struggling to hold onto reality as he worked the thousands of nerve endings he’d already made oversensitive. Now, it bordered on torture.

The way you opened yourself only made it easier for him to find purchase to pound even harder, meeting the way you writhed and keened for more, his eyes rolling back as you bore down as if you were trying to squeeze him out. But all it did was drive him harder into all the right spots inside of you, and you were so overcome with sensitivity, you came before you even knew you were close.

And you came hard. Jolting and seizing as you cried his name, your eyes growing wet from the shock of it. He was loud as he reacted to the way you clenched and pulsed around him, your warm, slick cum covering his cock and making his movements sloppy and wet. And you were even louder as he kept going even harder.

He was surprised that he didn’t cum again right then and there, but it only galvanized him to pull your hips back and use you again. Your body was growing limp, you were shuddering and shaking, and his eyes widened with madness as he watched your face contort in pleasure. He was watching for signs that you’d say your safeword, too, but every moment that passed that you didn’t, he took as permission to fuck you even harsher.

Your head lolled and your lip quivered as you took it like a punishment, not a single coherent thought inside your head. You registered that he was close like white noise, simultaneously in the background and all around you. His hands seared in their grip on you as he hammered in once, twice, and then held himself deeply inside with broken rasps and moans. Your lips fell open as you felt his fresh load mingle with the first, pooling hot against your cervix.

He pulled out with a violent hiss, and you cried out as the fluid stung against your sore opening. Your legs trembled until they collapsed back onto the bed along with the rest of your body.

You were vibrating from the inside out, still reeling from how aggressive both of your orgasms were. You could hear him catching his breath, too. You twitched as you felt him touch the outside of your cunt, bracing yourself for more, relaxing when he only stroked the outside. He drew his fingers up and down the crease of your folds, languid and smooth, leisurely playing in his overflow. He pressed them in once just to watch you jolt, and then cleaned them off with his mouth.

He finally gave you a break and turned his focus to taking care of you. By the way you lay there limp, he knew you needed it. He peppered you with kisses as you floated in the afterglow, sprinkling them softly on your rear, up your spine, and onto your shoulder blades, until he placed one on your cheek.

He brushed your frazzled hair away from your face and the corner of his mouth pulled into a smile at the absolute state of you. But then the lamplight reflected off a tear and he furrowed his brow as he gently wiped it away.

“You with me, sweetheart?”

He chuckled at the small sound you made in acknowledgement, the only thing you had effort to respond with. He placed a kiss onto your head.

“Did so good for me, love. So perfect.”

He grunted as he laid down, pulling your back into his chest to spoon you. You weakly held onto his arm as it wrapped around your torso, shifting back into him to steal his body heat.

You closed your eyes with a sigh as you soaked in the way he took care of you after such a brutal display of lust. His thumbs circling against your sweat-damp skin, nose nuzzling against your hair, gravelly voice soothing you with praise.

“M’so glad to be home, baby. You always made me feel young again, but it’s almost like I am young again. Don’t want to take it for granted. Gonna take some time off, take you on vacation, let you see the world. Might fuck you on every continent.”

You giggled at his ambition, still high on happy chemicals and swimming in the dream he laid out. It’d be a significant change, him enjoying the fruits of his labor with things more permanent than gifts and fast cars. You always encouraged him to, but he said it’d be easier for him to cope with losing a material possession than a vacation being ruined by being called on a mission. You hoped it wasn’t just the endorphins talking.

“Yeah, you like that idea? Good, ‘cause I mean it.” He kissed under your ear and squeezed you in closer. “Wanna spend every day making you happier than ever, make up for how long I was sick. Can’t waste any of ‘em not fucking you the way you need me to.”

You gasped as you felt his half-hard cock twitch against your ass, instinctively arching back into it. A shiver ran over your skin as he pressed it against you in turn, and you realized he still wasn’t done, confirmed by the way his voice darkened against your ear and he started kneading your breast in his hand.

His kisses against your pulse turned open-mouthed and erotic, one hand pinching your hardening nipple as the other reached for his cock, slowly stroking himself with the tip resting against your sopping hole. You were so flush together that with each wave of bloodflow that grew him towards full-hardness, it breached your pulsing entrance without him even trying.

Your toes curled as he leisurely thrust into one centimeter at a time. It was just enough of a tease to eat away your apprehension. You really weren’t sure how much more you could take, but as he shallowly fucked his tip into you, you became increasingly desperate for more, until you were squirming and panting in his arms.

You gasped as he suddenly pushed halfway in, feeling your folds and your entrance smart in their soreness. Just a few minutes left empty and you needed time to accommodate him all over again. He wasn’t quite as big as before after two orgasms, but with his size, being slightly smaller was still pretty fucking huge. And now you needed to adjust to more than his size; you needed to adjust to your own overstimulation, too.

He thrust halfway in and stilled there, holding you tight to prevent you from backing into it, feeling your legs shake around him.

You already couldn’t walk, he was sure of it. But it must be well past midnight now. Did you need to use your legs tonight anyways? He decided that you didn’t. Might as well make them truly useless.

He bottomed out in one smooth, sharp thrust, aided by the lubricant of the two creampies inside. His eyes rolled back as he stayed there for a brief moment, just long enough to feel you throb around his cock, like your body was begging him to make it three.

He’d never cum that many times in a row before, not even in his prime. But now, he felt like he’d entered a new prime, and he wanted nothing more than to see just what his limit was. He wondered if he’d reach yours first. But you were a tough girl, he thought. You took him like you were made for it.

His navel thumped against your ass as he drove in with that goal in mind: find out how much cum he could stuff inside your cunt until one of you tapped out.

He started steadily, knowing it’d take him longer to find his finish a third time, and seeing how you were already a mess of moans, both from pleasure and physical overwhelm. It boosted his ego to know he was pacing himself for you much more than for himself.

You felt like an unraveled spool of thread. You couldn’t believe he had the stamina for another round, his age considered or not. You were shocked you could keep going yourself. But at the same time your swollen cunt ached around him, it sucked him in for more.

He twisted your head back to take you in a kiss, swallowing your moans as he beat fast inside again. You reached back to hold onto any part of him you could until your senses were once again flooded and you melted open to him.

“That’s it, relax for me. Just one more, baby, gonna fill you to the brim. Fucking take it.”

And take it you did, until the night sky turned light blue.

[jeszrosse]

🧬 “Precautionary Measures: Part II”

Albert Wesker x Reader | NSFW!!| Controlling/Obsessive Boss AU

⚠️ Smut | Office/Power Dynamics | Oral (F receiving) | Overstimulation | Light Restraints | Possessive Language | Praise | minors dni | Dark Themes | (HE IS NOT A HEAR ME OUT- HE'S A HOLD ME BACK.)

“You're not confined,” he murmurs. “You're kept.”

.

.

.

.

---

His hand drops from your chin. But the weight of it lingers. You feel like you’ve been marked—without bruises, without blood.

“You really think locking me in here with you is going to earn you anything?” you ask, dry. “Loyalty? Gratitude?”

“No,” he says again. “But it will make you understand.”

Then he steps closer. Close enough that your back touches the cold steel wall.

You expect a threat. Instead, he kisses you for the second time.

There’s no warning. No tension. It’s matter-of-fact. Like he’s proving a hypothesis.

And you—

God help you—

You let him.

Because the truth is, part of you had always wondered what lived under the surface of him. Whether there was anything at all beneath the precision, the control.

Now you’ve seen it.

And it’s worse than you imagined.

When he pulls away, he doesn't say something dramatic or proprietary.

He just studies you.

“You’re shaking,” he says.

You are. From adrenaline. From rage. From something else you don’t want to name.

“You scare the shit out of me,” you mutter.

He doesn’t look proud. Or apologetic.

Just amused.

“Good."

“You sound possessive,” you say quietly.

He leans in, low and smooth.

“That’s because I am.”

---

🌶🧬 The shift is subtle but immediate.

He kisses you again—but this time, there’s no cold calculation.

His gloved hand wraps gently around your throat—not tight, just present. A reminder.

“You don’t have to think right now,” he murmurs against your mouth.

“Just do what you’re told. You’ve always been good at that.”

The lab feels feverishly warm.

He lifts you onto the steel workbench like you weigh nothing.

His thumb presses lightly beneath your jaw—steady, grounding.

You try to speak, but he doesn’t give you the space. His mouth ghosts over yours again, slower now, like he's testing how long you’ll hesitate before following his lead.

There’s no demand in the way he holds you—only expectation. The kind that makes refusal feel foolish. Pointless.

He leans in, breath warm against your cheek.

“Don’t make this harder than it is.”

Your pulse jumps beneath his hand.

And when you don’t move—when you don’t pull away—he smiles.

Just barely.

But it’s enough.

“No one’s coming in. No one can see you,” he says, sliding the zipper of your lab coat down, slow and deliberate.

“There is no world outside this room. Not tonight.”

You shouldn’t want this. But god, you do.

---

🌶🧬 His control doesn’t slip — it sharpens.

He kneels in front of you like he’s conducting an experiment.

Not rushed. Not eager. Just methodical—clinical.

His gloved hands shove your underwear aside, and he looks up through those damn sunglasses like he’s documenting every flicker of hesitation in your face. As if your reactions are data to be archived. Controlled. Repeated.

Then he leans in—

And presses a kiss to your inner thigh.

Measured. Cold. Almost reverent in the worst way.

His breath is warm, but his mouth is not. And that contrast sends a flicker of heat down your spine, sharp and involuntary.

You tense, just slightly.

“Be still.”

A command.

Spoken low, not loud—but enough to still the breath in your throat. It isn’t a threat. It doesn’t need to be. It’s a statement of fact, like he already knows you’ll obey.

And the worst part is—you do.

His mouth finds you.

Tongue precise, steady, devastating. Like he’s memorizing you—charting nerve endings the way someone maps territory they already intend to claim.

Not sloppy. Not rushed.

Every movement feels rehearsed. Controlled. Like he’s pacing himself on purpose, just to see how long it takes before you break protocol.

He works you open with practiced pressure, dragging slow circles until your hips twitch forward. Instinctive. Desperate.

And when you arch with a sharp cry, his grip tightens around your thighs—holding you down like it’s nothing.

“No noise,” he murmurs against you.

“Containment protocols.”

His voice is almost amused. Almost.

But the order is real.

Then you make a sound anyway—soft, bitten-back, helpless.

And he hears it.

He pauses—not to stop, but to let the sound hang between you. A quiet act of disobedience.

Then:

That smirk. Barely there, but unmistakable.

“So undisciplined...” he hums, tongue dragging slow and deliberate.

“We’ll need more conditioning.”

His mouth returns to you like a punishment.

Like a promise.

And this time, he doesn’t go slow.

It builds fast—heat blooming sharp and immediate, like he’s pulling pleasure from you with mechanical precision. There’s no fumbling. No hesitation. Just a devastating rhythm that leaves no room for thought, only instinct.

Your breath stutters. Legs shake.

Every swipe of his tongue leaves you raw, sensitized, undone—like he's dismantling you piece by piece, learning what makes you twitch, gasp, beg.

You try to hold still. Try to obey. But it’s impossible. He knows exactly where to press, when to pull back, when to push harder.

Your body’s not yours anymore. It’s responding to him. Because of him.

You're burning alive—and all he does is hold you in place, methodical, composed, like he’s watching his favorite experiment succeed.

And god—

It feels so fucking good you almost forget to be afraid.

---

🌶🧬 You come hard, hips twitching—but he doesn’t stop.

“Overstimulation breeds obedience,” he says in that damn cunning, merciless voice.

“You’re not leaving this table until you’ve internalized that.”

And he means it.

The aftershocks haven’t even finished rolling through your body before his mouth is back on you—tongue unrelenting, dragging sensation out of raw nerve endings that haven’t had time to settle. It hurts, almost—but it’s the kind of hurt that coils low and tight and unbearable.

Your thighs tremble. The edge is sharper now, pleasure warping into something hotter, more fragile. There’s no time to breathe, no time to think. Just sensation, again and again, until your body forgets where the first orgasm ended and the next begins.

When you come again, it tears through you. The heat in your legs turns to static, your muscles locking tight before they unravel all at once.

You sob—voice breaking under the weight of it. But he doesn’t falter. He likes that sound.

He licks you through it, steady. Focused. Devoted in that cold, obsessive way of his.

Only when you're shaking—eyes glassy, breath stuttering like a broken machine—does he finally lift his head.

And even then, he’s not done.

He’s just… evaluating.

Gloved fingers stroke your cheek.

You’re breathless, soaked, legs trembling from the second orgasm he forced out of you with his tongue. Your muscles won’t stop twitching. Your skin is hot. Overheated. And your thoughts—what’s left of them—come in fragmented pulses of more, more, more.

You barely register the shift in weight when he rises to his feet—methodical, towering, composed. Not a single movement wasted. No urgency. No mess. Just quiet, controlled escalation.

He begins to remove his gloves.

The leather slips from his fingers in one fluid motion—slick, deliberate. They hit the floor with a dull slap, like the prelude to something you’re not built to handle.

“Don’t move.”

The command slices through the room like a scalpel—sharp and clean, cutting through the thick hum of fluorescent light and your own thundering pulse. You obey without thinking. You have to.

He unfastens his belt next—slowly, deliberately—and the soft scrape of leather through metal rings out like a gunshot in the sterile quiet of the lab. It’s obscene. Wrong. Perfect.

Your eyes drift down—helpless, hungry—and—

Fucking hell.

He’s thick. Veined. Long enough to make your stomach tense. Ridiculously proportional to the rest of his impossibly crafted body. Like everything else about him, it borders on inhuman.

Dark. Flushed. Leaking, because of you.

Because he planned this.

He wraps a hand around the base, stroking himself once—just once—and it sends another wave of heat tearing through your already broken body.

“No more waiting,” he mutters, voice like crushed velvet.

“You’ll take it. All of it. And you’ll thank me for the privilege.”

He doesn’t say it like a threat.

He says it like an equation. Something inevitable. Proven.

And as he lines himself up against your aching, overstimulated core, you already know—

You’re going to let him.

You’re going to take it.

And you’ll thank him for ruining you.

He presses in—slow, stretching, merciless.

Your body clenches around him involuntarily, muscles taut, breath punched from your lungs as he fills you inch by unbearable inch.

“W-Wesker—!”

“Sir.”

His hand is on your jaw instantly, grip firm but not cruel—commanding. He tilts your head up until your eyes meet his—those golden irises burning behind the lenses like warning lights.

“In here, I’m not your colleague. Not your peer.”

“You call me sir.”

You whimper. Something desperate leaves your throat. But before you can even try to respond, he thrusts forward—once, hard—bottoming out in a single, brutal stroke.

Your mouth drops open, but no sound comes out.

You’re full. Stuffed. Split.

And there’s no grace period. No pause. No adjustment.

He starts to move—hips snapping with cold, mechanical precision, like he’s recalibrating you from the inside out.

“What’s wrong?” he murmurs against your neck, voice dark silk.

“You were so cockdrunk on my tongue.”

“Now you’re quiet?”

You gasp as his pace intensifies, dragging friction against every overworked nerve—pain-pleasure rippling so deep it short-circuits thought. His hips grind just right, his angle unerring. It’s too much. It’s not enough.

His breath fans hot against your throat.

“Speak.”

“Or I’ll fuck the ability out of you entirely.”

The table creaks beneath you with every thrust, metal legs groaning in protest as he drives you into the surface like you belong there—like you were made to be taken apart by him, and him alone.

His grip on your hips is bruising—fingers digging in, anchoring you in place, keeping you where he wants you. Where you need to be.

You’re already close again—too close. Your walls flutter around him, a tell you can’t hide.

And of course, he notices. Of course, he fucking knows.

“Tight little thing,” he growls, voice shredded with restraint.

“And all mine. Say it.”

Your body’s breaking open again, pressure coiling hot and unbearable in your gut. Your vision blurs. Your breath stutters.

And still—his voice is what wrecks you most.

“Yours, sir~,” you sob. “I’m yours—I’m yours—”

He groans, low and feral, a sound punched from somewhere deep in his chest—and then his hips slam forward harder, sharper, as if your admission unshackled something in him.

“Goddamn right you are.”

He fucks you like he means to burn the memory of anyone else clean out of you.

Like he’s branding every inch from the inside out.

And you let him. You fucking let him.

---

🌶️ After

You’re wrecked.

Shaking. Glistening. Leaking his cum down your thighs like a failed sealant test.

Wesker doesn’t move to clean you. Doesn’t reach for a towel.

He just stands there—composed, calculating—watching you fall apart on the table he set the terms for.

His gaze is unreadable behind the glasses, but you feel it like heat—scanning, cataloguing, claiming.

“You’ll be sore tomorrow,” he says, as if it’s protocol.

“I’ll authorize remote work. Tell HR I’ve reassigned you to internal development.”

A button clicks shut. His belt slides back through the loops.

He tucks himself away like nothing just happened—like he didn’t just ruin you with expert precision.

And then—

He picks up your ruined panties off the floor.

Slips them into his coat pocket like evidence.

Doesn’t say a word.

Just smirks. Barely.

“You’ll report to my quarters next week. 0100 hours. Untraceable route. No badge.”

You try to speak—try to form a sound—but your throat betrays you. There’s nothing left but your pulse hammering in your ears and the way your body still clenches at the thought of more.

Wesker leans in.

Kisses you—slow, deliberate. Like the claim wasn’t complete until now.

Like he's proud by how quiet you’ve become.

“You’ve passed containment,” he whispers against your lips.

“Now let’s work on submission.”

And with that—he’s gone.

He turns without hesitation, boots echoing across the sterile floor.

One tap to his comms. A low voice, smooth and absolute:

“Disengage quarantine. Authorization: Wesker.”

A mechanical hiss ruptures the silence.

Locks disengage. Doors slide open. Lights return to full power.

Just like that—the breach is over.

But you know better now.

The real experiment… has only just begun.

---

(A/N: Hi lovelies I've risen from the dead to provide the wesker fic I promised🥺 I'M SORRY I WAS GONE FOR SO LONG- BLAME THE SYSTEM. But even so, I didn't let it stop me from posting this hot, horny, sunufabitch💅 Enjoy sluts.) :>

[playstation-dreamcast]

This came to me in a dream. Anyway:

Now Loading...

Choose Your Character: Albert Wesker

Summary: For the sake of the mission, Albert Wesker is willing to do just about anything within reason to gain the trust of his S.T.A.R.S members. Apparently, building a snowman with his favorite new rookie is within reason.

Tags: Fluff, S.T.A.R.S Wesker, Nicotine use, Crack treated so serious none of my beta readers thought it was crack, Noncanon compliant RPD, Gender Neutral Reader.

Word count: 3k

It all started with that stupid fucking snowman.

A childish game he played to indulge his subordinate and gain their trust late one night after the S.T.A.R.S office had closed. He knew better even then, that it was an absolute waste of time. But, he complied, because it was you who asked.

Okay, maybe it didn't start with The Snowman. Maybe it started with the cigarette you shared. Sitting on the snow covered sidewalk, passing the smoke between the two of you while you talked. It came so easy to him, just talking with you. It was never that easy with anyone else.

He could still smell the smoke when he closed his eyes. He could see the snow caught in your lashes, and the fog of your breath. He could still feel how tight his chest got, and the roller coaster feeling of his stomach dropping when he finally had to admit to himself that he was sweet on you. And that he couldn’t keep lying to himself about it.

And you had no idea. You smiled like it was any other night. 

"Hey, can I bum a cigarette off you?" You asked him that at least twice a week since you started working as a member of S.T.A.R.S. It got to the point that he started to plan for it. Sadly, he was late to work this morning and didn't have time to buy another pack.

"Sure," he said, simply handing you the one he had just lit. You took it gratefully and smiled.

"Thanks Captain, you save me once again," you teased as you sat down next to him, taking a drag off the smoke. "You gonna light one?"

"That was my last one," he confessed with a shrug; chin resting in his hand, elbow resting on his knee. He thought about leaving, it wasn’t like he had anything left to do here. But he stayed anyway. He’d regret it later.

"What? Then why'd you give it to me dude?"  you scoffed.

He looked at you out of the corners of narrowed eyes. "Don't call me 'dude,'" he, half-heartedly at best, reprimanded as you rolled your eyes, "and because you asked for it. As your captain it's my job to take care of you." He didn't mean for it to come out like that, but he wasn't going to backtrack now and make it weird.

"Ah yes, taking care of me by giving me cancer. Truly, so selfless of you." You giggled as you handed him the smoke. 

He took it without thinking, easily taking a puff off it. "If I was worried about that, I'd have to fight a losing war with half the team- myself included." He took another drag to prove his point, "I like to think I pick my battles more wisely than that."

You hummed as you nodded, taking the cigarette back and putting it to your lips. You huddled closer to your captain, watching the snow fall and seeking his warmth in the cold. "It's pretty out." You smiled.

"It's nothing we don't see every winter." He took the smoke back.

You playfully pushed him, "Oh sorry Oscar didn't realize you fell out of your can."

"I have literally no idea what you're talking about."

"I'm calling you a grouch, Wesker." He nodded in acknowledgement of your clarification, and didn't try to argue. Just took a particularly long drag and handed the cigarette back to you. 

You took your turn with it and continued. "You gotta be able to still see the beauty in the small things, and the wonder in the world. Or else you just become old and bitter, and nobody wants that." He didn't have the heart to tell you he was already there. 

The two of you fell into a comfortable silence, watching as new snow covered the old. It had become a ritual between the two of you – one Wesker had grown quite fond of. Every night when the two of you closed the S.T.A.R.S office together, you took the time to share a smoke break before going your separate ways for the night.

Wekser looked forward to them more than he cared to admit. At first it was just another thing he did to ensure all members of S.T.A.R.S trusted him. Fifteen minutes at the end of a shift was a small price to pay for the confidence of his team, and as long as they had confidence in him they wouldn’t doubt him. 

He wasn’t quite sure when he started looking forward to your quiet conversations, just like he wasn’t really sure when he started buying two packs of cigarettes to accommodate them. Or how he wasn’t sure when he started looking for little excuses throughout the day to touch you, to talk to you, to have your attention. At some point you had wormed your way into his mind and made your home there. He would have resented you for it if he could find it in him to do so.

He almost jumped when you finally broke the silence. "You know, when I was a kid, my dad would always let me stay home for the first snow of the season- didn't matter if school was canceled or not."

Wekser took the cigarette from your hand. "Sounds like irresponsible parenting to me, keeping a child from their education." He finally killed the smoke, flicking it off into the abyss.

"Maybe!" you admitted, "but, those days were important to me. We'd always go out and make a giant snowman – as big as we could – and try to keep him alive for the season." You smiled at your warm childhood memories. "It was fun."

"I've never built a snowman before." Wesker confessed. He wasn't sure why he did, it's not like you were asking. It just fell out of him. You had a way of pulling things out of him without even trying, something he should have been more wary about than he was- all things considered. 

You looked at him shocked. "What?! No way! Not even when you were a little kid?"

He looked back at you and shook his head, "The boys home where I grew up had no time for such frivolous things. As long as the power was on, we were in school. And on the rare occasions it was knocked out, well. We had other priorities." It felt so natural, being so open with you. Maybe it was because you were always so open with him. Or maybe you were one of the few people that treated him like a person with vulnerabilities. It used to scare him, on some deeper level. It still did in a lot of ways.

Lately though, he's just grateful to have someone other than Birkin to talk to. "Captain, that's one of the saddest things I've ever heard. That's like, a super villain's backstory."

He finally turned his head to you. "What? Not being able to build a snowman?" He scoffed. You were blowing this out of proportion.

"Being a child and not being allowed to play," you clarified. Oh. He had never thought of it that way. It's not that you were wrong, he wasn’t allowed to play as a child – not really. It's just… he never really took the time to think about his childhood. He didn't like the feeling it gave him.

So he shrugged again, brushing off the memories before they had a chance to linger. "The past is the past. There's no use dwelling on it."

"Fuck that, come on!" You grabbed his hand and pulled him off the steps. He didn't even have time to fully comprehend just what was happening before you pulled him to the patch of grass the RPD called a lawn. "We're building a snowman.”

He huffed out a sorry excuse for a laugh and rolled his eyes. “You can’t be serious Rookie,” He said as he watched you gather the starting snowball.

“As serious as a heart attack, Captain,” you said, handing him the growing ball, “And I’m not a rookie anymore, I’ve been with S.T.A.R.S for six months now!”

He fought a small smile back at your insistence that you were – in fact – a highly trained soldier after a mere six months. “That’s still rookie status, dear.” The pet name came out so easily he hardly registered it, but you clearly did. He could tell by how you froze, your eyes widening ever so slightly. He needed a distraction. He held up the snowball, “And what do you want me to do with this?”

You relaxed as you remembered the task at hand. “Roll it around in the snow, I’m working on the base, so you work on the middle.” 

He made no move to hide his annoyance. “This is ridiculous, I want you to know this.”

“Then go home,” you shrugged. “No one’s keeping you here by force, no ones putting a gun to your head. If you don’t wanna help, you're free to go.” You acted so unbothered when you said it, focusing on growing the snowman's base. It hit a nerve in his heart he didn’t even know he had. You made it so blatantly clear that you didn’t need him there. Suddenly, the only thing he could think about was proving to you that you did need him there. 

He started wordlessly working on the middle of the snowman, trying to focus on the smile on your face and not on how ridiculous he surely looked. “That should be good,” you said, pointing to the ball he was working on. “Go ahead and put it on the base.” 

He took a second to look at the base you’d made, and the progress he made on the middle part, then got right back to adding snow. “No.”

“No, what do you mean no?” you scoffed, trying to sound offended but failing to hide your giggle.

He easily hid his smile. “It’s still too small. It would look awkward on the base, and even more so once we add the head. It needs more snow.”

“Weren’t you the one calling this all a waste of time?” you teased as you started the head.

Without missing a beat he looked at you, “It is. I stand by that. But if you’re going to do something, you might as well do it right.” Finally, he was satisfied with the ball of snow he’d been put in charge of, and carefully placed it on the base. 

You giggled softly, “That’s such a dad thing to say.”

“It’s just how things should be done.” He shrugged, “If it’s worth doing, it’s worth putting the effort into doing it right.”

“So you admit this is worth doing?”

“What? I didn’t say that.”

“But ya kinda did,” you pointed out. “If it’s worth doing, it’s worth doing right. And you’re trying to build this snowman right, so therefore – it’s worth doing.”

Wesker took the time to think of his next words carefully. He couldn’t just say outright it was worth doing because it made you happy. Because these small moments of connection built a trust between you. One he would inevitably betray one day. 

There was that horrible tight feeling in his chest again. The one he only got when he thought about how he would have to hurt you in the future. He pressed forward, “Somethings, as frivolous as they are, can be worth doing for the greater impact they have.” You nodded sagely at his words, as if you understood perfectly. Which, was genuinely shocking because even he wasn’t entirely sure what the fuck he just said. 

Finally, you put the head on the snowman. “Well! What do you think?” You smiled, making passionate jazz hands at the snowy creation the two of you had made.

He cocked his head to the side. “Something’s missing.”

You nodded. “Yeah, we’re missing a face.”

“What do you normally use for a face?”

You shrugged, “Traditionally, kids used coal and a carrot for the face. Sticks for the arms, maybe a scarf, you get it. You’ve seen Frosty the Snowman.”

He hadn’t, but that was a battle for a different day. “Seems like a waste of a carrot. And we don’t have any coal.”

You nodded again. “Yeah, sadly. Guess our little guy will just have to remain faceless.”

No, that wasn’t good enough. Not for Wesker. If he was going to make anything, it was going to be perfect. He’d accept nothing less. He quickly looked around, searching for a suitable substitute for coal. He quickly spotted what the RPD once called a garden that was now mostly filled with snow covered rocks and made his way there. You picked up on his thought process and went to go pull sticks off of a nearby tree for the arms. 

“Hey, I found a pine cone!” You called to him as you returned.

“Excellent, we’ll use it for the nose.” He replied as you reconvened at the snowman. The two of you argued briefly about the facial expression – you insisting the snowman should be happy and him arguing it should be miserable because who wouldn’t be miserable stuck out in the snow? You countered with a snowman wouldn’t, because he’s literally made of snow and probably can’t feel cold. You won the argument. This time. 

You assembled the final touches together, then stepped back to look at your handiwork. He smiled smugly, placing his hand on your lower back to hold you closer. “Not bad for a rookie.” He said, looking at you.

You smiled back at him. “Not at all,” you said as you rested your head on his shoulder. It was the closest the two of you had ever been to each other at that point. And the closest Wesker had been to anyone in a long time. It should have felt wrong, the way it tended to when he made contact with others. Instead, it felt comfortable. Natural. Like you were always meant to be right there on his shoulder.

He looked down at you resting on him. At your snow bitten cheeks and soft, content smile. You weren’t scared, or even nervous. You weren't going out of your way to impress him, or try to demean him for an ego boost. You weren’t looking at him with unrealistic expectations he’d still manage to reach, only to remain unsatisfied with him. You were just there. Content, and smiling in his arms, happy to be with him.

You looked ethereal in the soft moonlight, the streetlights of the city encasing you in a halo. He was suddenly overtaken with the overwhelming desire to kiss you. To take you home and hold you forever. And met with the blood cooling realization that he was more than just attached to you. He was… infatuated with you. He refused to use the L word for this.

He couldn’t do that to himself. He moved away from you, a sudden movement that caught your attention. His heart sank looking at your wide questioning eyes. “Thank you, for the experience Soldier.”

You smirked, noting that he didn’t call you rookie. “Thank you for indulging me Captain.”

He nodded and patted your shoulder. “It’s late. I’ll see you at work tomorrow.”

“Bright and early,” you confirmed. The two of you lingered for a second longer, the cold silence loud with everything the two of you wanted to say. He slowly slid his hand off your shoulder, and the two of you went your separate ways.

He spiraled for a good two hours when he got home. He couldn’t stop thinking about you. How natural it was to talk to you, how nice you felt in his arms, how breathtaking you looked even covered in snow. He dreamt of you that night, and when he woke up he could still feel the warmth of your lips pressed against his. He had to take a cold shower to get his head together. 

He had never felt like this before. His entire life he was too focused on other things for crushes. On being the best student, on graduating early and getting his doctorate, on researching the virus, on surviving. He’d had lovers, sure. But he never felt anything for them, aside from sometimes lust. He never felt tight in his chest, he never dreamed of them, never in a hundred years would have entertained the thought of building a fucking snowman with them. 

What the hell did you do to him? 

He spent the next eight months obsessing over you. Meticulously observing you like he would any other specimen. He found out how you managed your workflow, the gun you preferred to use at target practice, who you got along with at the RPD and who you only tolerated, how you took your coffee in the morning. 

He noticed all the small details. He noticed the way you chewed on your lower lip when concentrating, what kind of jokes made you laugh the loudest, the way your eyes crinkled when you were genuinely smiling. He noticed that you didn’t brush his hand away when he rested it on you, unlike how you did when Brad did the same thing. How you also went out of your way to be around him, and that you were always the first to act when he gave an order. 

He knew he shouldn’t do this to himself. He knew that he should have taken a massive step back and kept your relationship strictly professional. No more late night smoke breaks, or easy conversations in the break room. If he really wanted to do himself a favor he should have found a reason to fire you, or at least have you removed from the S.T.A.R.S team. 

He never tried to do any of that, because for the first time in his life he was scared he wouldn’t be able to do something. And where did that get him?

Here. Staring at the sinking ship that was Umbrella, and knowing he needed to get off before he was dragged down with it. He needed to send the S.T.A.R.S team to the Spencer Mansion to get the combat data he needed so he could do just that. The issue was, that meant the team was probably going to die. A sacrifice he thought he was willing to make. And he was, before you happened. Now the thought of sending you into that made his jaw clench. As brilliant as he was, he couldn’t think of a way to keep you out of the situation. 

Send you home? That would never work, Bravo team was in danger. You would never just sit idly at home while your team was in trouble – an annoyingly admirable trait of yours. Order you to keep watch at the office? Nope, that wouldn’t work either. That would be the first place Umbrella went when they realized he had gone rogue. So where did that leave him? 

Sending you into the mansion. But, maybe you didn’t have to die. You were just as capable as any other member of the team- if not more. As long as he could keep you alive until it was time for the mansion to go up in smoke, he knew he could get you out of there- and come out looking like the hero in the process. 

He didn’t have time to come up with a definitive plan, this was going to have to do. As unorganized as it was, he was confident it would work. It had to work.

He didn’t know what he’d do if it didn’t.

[ivy-loves-chocolate]

♡ Hunger ♡

୨୧ Note: brain empty, I only got one thought: Wesker. I really like how this turned out, and I hope you'll like it too 🥰 your feedback is important to me, so don't hesitate to speak your mind!

୨୧ Plot: Wesker is into you and it's not afraid to show it. However, when he sees that the crush is mutual, he doesn't hesitate to tease you. Things heat up pretty fast.

୨୧ Pair: Albert Wesker x F!Reader

୨୧ Tags: teasing, fingering, slight chocking, dirty talk, praise, oral sex, unprotected sex.

My commissions are open, so if you are interested visit my ko-fi page 🤗 thank you 💓

Wesker was never shy to express his attraction towards you. You can feel it when he is looking behind those dark shades. He doesn't have to remove his glasses, you can feel the intensity when he is near you. And when he smiles at you with those dimples... it just makes your legs weak.

Wesker knew that the attraction was mutual, of course, and he had so much fun when teasing you. He liked how his simple presence was enough to make you act like a lunatic and how his mere touch would make you lose your words.

One time, when you were in the elevator alone with him, he got closer to you and hunched a bit until his nose was only a few inches from your hair.

"New perfume?" he asked in a low tone.

"Yeah...you like it?" You asked a little confused. Nevertheless, you liked the closure.

"Yeah...it's very...sweet."

"Wanna smell it better?" You tiled your head a bit, giving him access to your neck. Your body was leaning onto the metal bar seductively.

He hummed.

"Maybe some other time."

The elevator stopped at the next floor. Wesker patted your shoulder and left nonchalantly, leaving you alone with the embarrassment of acting like a bitch in the heat. Your cheeks turned red instantly, and the interaction just deflated you.

After that, you ignored him completely, hoping he'd forget the elevator incident, but it turns out he doesn't like to be ignored.

Small touches followed. He'd rub your shoulders gently, his hands would fall low on your back. He once "accidentally" pressed his body onto yours, and you could feel his erection, which was fun, it made you stay awake all night fantasising about his dick.

A few weeks pass in which you haven't seen him. Of course he was a busy guy; running this shitshow must be hard, but you were still worried about his well-being. Was he getting enough rest? Was he eating properly?

"Jeez..." you thought, sighing. You didn't even fuck, and you were already acting like his wife.

"Why the long face, honey?" said a familiar voice from behind, with a hint of seduction in the tone.

"Believe it or not, I was actually thinking about you." You said, smirking. Albert Wesker sat in front of you, carrying his tray. "I actually missed you around."

"Hmmm, I don't believe it. I bet you didn't even notice that I was gone."

"But I did, and I was worrie-wondering where have you been."

"Yeah, yeah, you and the rest of my employees." He pretended to be hurt and said it in a sad voice with a hint of drama.

"The difference is that I actually give a shit about you."

he chuckled.

"The food is fresh; why order from somewhere else?" you asked, noticing that he ordered takeout.

"Because I know how 'fresh' it is. Trust me."

"Ewww...that's explains the cramps..."

You two finished your food in silence. You could notice how Wesker would peek at you from time to time, and see the hunger in his eyes. He surely wanted to devour something else, and you couldn't resist giving him what he wanted.

"Is there something wrong, Doctor Wesker?" You put the accent on the last words because you knew how much he liked it when you called him like that.

"No, it's just that something is caching my eyes recently, and it's hard to ignore it."

"Oh, can I do something to help you?" you asked in a very innocent voice, batting those beautiful eyelashes of yours.

"Well, you'd have to leave, but that'd be so cruel, especially since I haven't seen you in such a long time."

"Maybe we can go somewhere where you can look at me how much you want." you said as you gently slid your fingers along the table until you reached his.

What's funny is that the cafeteria was full. What's funnier is the look of the people faces when Albert Wesker guided you out of the room in a hurry.

He was aiming for his office. While in the elevator, he wrapped his arms around you and pulled you in a lingering, passionate kiss, which made you realise how hungry he was for you.

Your arms were wrapped tightly around his neck, fingers moving to grab his golden locks. His hands were all over your body, caressing and grabbing your soft flesh. He just couldn't pick a favourite spot.

"God, I want you," he said between his teeth as he squeezed your ass hard and bit your lower lip. This sudden move made you even wetter.

The elevator stopped. When the doors opened, you noticed that the floor wasn't as big as you imagined. It was just a narrow, long, and poorly illuminated corridor. There were some lamps on the walls that emitted a dim, warm light. The walls were painted black.

"Is there something wrong?" he asked, noticing that you stopped touching him.

"No, no, I just never expected you to take me to your villain lair."

"It does look like one, doesn't it?"

He looked around and began to think of ways to make this floor more menacing, but he was pulled out of his thoughts when you grabbed his ass.

"Come on, loverboy, you can destroy the world later."

He chuckled and began kissing you again.

You didn't have any time to look around his office as he threw your body on the couch and quickly came on top of you. God, his frame was huge.

His lips found you again, and now the kiss got more intense and intimate. You wrapped your arms around his neck and your legs around his waist, pulling him closer to you. As he rubbed himself onto your body, you could feel his growing erection.

"Albert..." you moaned his name.

"Tell me what you want," he whispered with his low, raspy voice. His soft lips pressed repeatedly on your neck, giving you these soft, delightful yet agonising kisses.

"I want..."

His lips travelled to your check, then your jawline, and then your neck.

"Hmm, you were right...it does smell better up close," he said as he rubbed his nose over your sensitive skin.

"Told ya back then, when you teased me."

"I didn't tease you; I just couldn't do this."

You felt a sharp pain as he sank his teeth into your flesh. then he loosened the bite, and his tongue began to make circles all over the place.

"Fuck..." you place a hand behind his head, pushing him closer.

"Tell me what you want..."

"I want you inside me." Your hands moved to his hips, gripping onto his pants to push him deeper between your legs. You moaned, frustrated, as the thin fabric of your clothes was separating you from your prize.

Wesker kept nibbling on your skin, his tongue going all over your neck, tasting every inch of you. His hands, which by now resided at the sides of your body, were now fumbling at your blouse, trying to expose your chest.

"God, I've been wanting to do this for so long...ever since you showed up in that dress."

"The black one..." You made a sudden pause and exhaled deeply as you felt his tongue running circles around one of your nipples. He quickly gave attention to your other breast as well, running the sensitive, hard bud between his big thumbs.

"Don't...stop."

You could feel your core getting wetter and wetter as Wesker kept on playing with your chest. He gave each one of your boobs great attention, and if he'd been going on like that, you would've come in your pants.

He stopped, and your frustration was very obvious by your whines. That was, however, only for a few seconds, as you soon felt his hands sliding across your abdomen until they reached your pants.

"Let's see how wet you are..." he said, full of himself. His fingers moved at the edge of the fabric, sliding it down your legs until he revealed your pussy. You wasted no second and spread wide for him, showing him what he craved for.

"God, I want you so bad," he said in a longing, thirsty way as he slid on the sofa, pushing his hips back so he could face your slick cunt. From there, he gave your folds a shy lick. God, his tongue was so wide, it reached everything effortlessly. He gave you another one, and another one, going from your hole to your clit and then back to your hole, as if he tried to clean you.

"Fuck...this feels amazing," you moaned, grabbing a fistful of his hair and pushing him closer.

"I'm just getting started." His soft lips moved to your clit, starting to suck that little bud until you felt it swelling, and he didn't stop there; no, he also used his tongue and moved it in every direction possible, sending you over the edge.

You could feel him moaning; he didn't even try to hide his pleasure, and he was determined to make you feel the same. As his mouth kept eating you, he pushed inside two of his thick fingers inside your clenching hole.

"Hmm, so tight," he said, pushing deeper and deeper until he reached his knuckles.

It felt so good already—his fingers, his tongue, God, he was divine—but it still wasn't enough to relieve the burning desire you had for his cock.

"Albert..." you said breathlessly, with your last strength.

A gentle touch on his silky-smooth hair was enough to make him understand what you wanted next.

With a smug on his face, he slowly removed his clothes. His abdomen was like that of a Greek God; his abs were very defined. Under the dim light, you could see his muscles flexing as he was unbuttoning his pants.

After much teasing and anticipation, you finally saw the cock that was rubbing onto you on those occasions, and it did not disappoint. He was above average when it came to girth and length and was slightly curvy at the top. The tip was already leaking, and it was swollen red.

"Come on...." you whispered, bitting your lower lip.

Wesker gave his cock a few strokes and bent over you. Using one hand, he guided his dick to your hole, and he began to push inside little by little.

"Shhh...you are doing so great..." he cooed, caressing your cheeks as he saw you struggle only with the very fist inches. "How will you be able to take all of it if you struggle now...?"

Seeing the shock on your face, he chuckled and pressed his lips onto yours. You wrapped your legs and arms around him, holding onto him as you felt a lot of emotions at that moment.

Your bodies were tangled onto each other. Wesker kept pushing his cock inside you very, very slowly. You felt him stretching you, but the burning sensation was fading, and it was being replaced with pleasure. Before you knew it, he began to move his hips, thrusting at a decent pace, not to hurt you, and enough to please your cunt.

"God...." he began in a guttural tone, opposed to the soft way he used to speak by far. It sounded more impatient and greedy. "You are simply wonderful..." You felt a powerful grip on your hair and a sudden jolt that made you tilt your head. Once your neck was exposed, he didn't hesitate to assault your flesh.

He was aggressive, his teeth biting without considering your yelps or the bruises he left. It was harder and harder to keep his composure, losing his control with every thrust.

"I love your cunt so much, it's squeezing me like crazy."

"Everything for you, Albert." You said, and the desperation was showing.

"You are such a pathetic whore," he said, grinning at you with pride. How easily you threw yourself into his arms, how easily you spread your legs to him, and how eager you were to please him. "Tell me...he began in a confident, cocky tone. "Can you take the last inches for me?"

You nodded. Your nails dug deeper into his flesh as he completely buried himself inside of you. Between heavy breaths and a few moans, his name made its way on your lips in such a desperate yet lustful way, indicating how much you were clinging onto him both physically and emotionally.

The couch was shaking underneath you. Wesker had picked up the pace, moving one hand to your ass and attempting to push your hips higher. His cock was now sliding in and out with ease, and he was rubbing your sweet, sweet spot from inside.

"Let's go deeper." He said very determined, and before you could protest, he threw your legs over his shoulders and bent again over you, caging your body under his much stronger one.

"Albert," you said, almost incoherently. The sensation overwhelmed you because you never had someone to go as deep as he did, and you most certainly didn't have anyone to go at his speed.

"You are taking me so well, my love. I am so proud of you."

His bright blue eyes were looking down at your pretty face. You could see the pride in his eyes and feel the vanity that was gently stroked by the joy of subduing someone so easily.

"Look at you...I want to ruin you." Albert picked up that pace, that moment when your limbs just felt too weak to hold onto him. His speed, his length—all of those made you feel so vulnerable. As if you weren't numb already, you felt a hand chocking you, not only making it difficult for you to breathe, but it also hurt a bit as he was pressing on the bruises.

Your tiny hands were wrapped around it, holding with your dear life. You loved when he was rough with you; you loved when he claimed your body and when he'd mark it. That's why you never knew when it hit you; the orgasm was so intense that it made your whole body shake. Your cunt violently clenched around Albert's cock, helping him reach his own release. A very deep, guttural moan escaped his lips as he shot his load inside you. A few long, thick spurts filled you to the brim.

Your limbs fell weak on the couch.

A few moments passed in silence. The room was filled with your heavy breaths. Your exhausted bodies were lying on the couch. Wesker was sitting, having your legs over his lap. He gently massaged your thighs and calves, which would occasionally spam. You were still lying on your back, trying to catch your breath.

"Are you alright?" he asked, showing a little concern.

"Yeah, I'll fine, thanks. How are you? Did you enjoy it?" You didn't want to raise and meet his eyes because you were afraid of a painful rejection. Once your head returned from the clouds and you finally had a clear judgement, you felt a strong urge to leave and never speak of this again. You were just waiting for your legs to stop shaking.

"If I enjoyed it?" he said, chuckling.

That didn't help your anxiety.

"I loved it," he finally answered after a few seconds of silence and emphasised the word 'love'. God, he loved to tease you.

"That's great; I loved it too." You pushed his chest with your foot in a playful manner, a moment in which he grabbed it and began to kiss it. His lips left a trail from your toes to your ankles, and he was approaching dangerously fast to your calves.

Something told you that your work there was not done yet.

[dollita-fawn-deactivated2024060]

Sweet Surrender

pairings- Albert Wesker x Fem! Reader

content warnings - 1k ish words of pure smut, knife play, fear play, edging, CNC (consensual non consensual), bondage, predator-prey themes, use of pet names, pussy spanking, clit nipping?? (idk wtf to call that), bits of praise and degrading, unprotected sex ❦

a/n- writing this gave me an idea for something else. gonna go crazy with that one…

as always this is not proofread so lmk !!

𝖽𝗂𝗏𝗂𝖽𝖾𝗋 𝖻𝗒 𝖼𝖺𝖿𝖾𝗄𝗂𝗍𝗌𝗎𝗇𝖾 // title ib ‘thinking of you’ - a perfect circle

Hands grab at your ankles, dragging you toward the edge of the bed. "Now, now…” Wesker clicks his tongue in a teasing manner, grinning down at your powerless being. “What have I told you about running?”

You plead and beg for him to free you in the way that makes him feral. But he’s not going to let you go until he’s finished with you.

Rope binds your hands behind your back. Even if you mustered up the strength, you wouldn’t be able to slither your way out.

Completely at his mercy you lay in nothing more than your thin clothed panties.

“It didn’t have to be this way, bunny. If only you’d have been a good girl and obeyed.” The kicking of your legs comes to a halt at the sight of the weapon he equips. “Now I advise you quit your struggling.” A straight edge knife. Looks like it was taken straight from your kitchen.

This wasn’t part of what you agreed upon. But there was still the safeword you established prior.

You were partially tempted to use it now.

True fear sets in as the blades cool edge traces your inner thigh. You go still, but your breath picks up, shaking with every exhale. “Good…” he draws out the word, his voice lowering. “Lie there just like that and I won’t have to hurt you. Don’t even say a word.”

It drags up your soft flesh. He adds the slightest bit of pressure but it’s not enough to cut.

Wesker’s eyes flick between yours and the position of his hands. It fills him with a strong surge of power seeing the way your lower lip quivers, the dilation of your pupils as he nears your most sacred place.

“Such a delicate thing you are,” he chuckles, drawing the knife’s point to the edge of your underwear. “Your little heart must be racing, hm?”

You just looked so vulnerable. Your reactions were real, less of an act to satisfy his dark nature. God did it make him throb.

Your mouth opens to speak, but then the sharp steel cuts through the side of the remaining fabric covering you. It makes you flinch, your teeth gritted in a wince.

Pain was anticipated, but you didn’t receive even a nick. He was flawless with it.

“Trust in me, bunny,” he gives you that look, soft and reassuring yet menacing.

Of course you trusted him. You trusted him with your life. It was just new. New and terrifyingly erotic.

He teases your clit through the half holding cloth, making it all the more difficult to stay still as told. Your legs tremble at the sensation, but you don’t dare squirm beyond that.

The blade again cuts through your panties in a quick motion. They’re pulled the rest of the way off by Wesker, revealing just how wet you’ve become. Practically drooling between your legs for him.

You look away as his eyes bore into yours, feeling exposed.

Wesker takes it into his hands, tilting your chin back toward him and holding you there at knifepoint. “Shying away from me now? Ashamed I can see just how much of a dirty girl you are?”

Finally, he puts the weapon down, but only to torment you with his hands instead.

He drags a finger through your slick, pulling back to see the sticky string it trails. This whole altercation got you both bad. He can’t hardly keep from palming himself through his pants as he toys with you.

“Spread for me, bunny.” he demands as your thighs begin to clench together. Seems his teasing made you overwhelmingly sensitive.

When you hesitate, the palm of his hand comes down in a harsh slap against your clit. You whimper in both pleasure and pain, spreading your legs immediately. “Listen the first time and I won’t have to do that,” he reminds. “Just be a good girl and obey.”

“sorry I-“

“Ah, ah,” he interrupts, again striking your puffy cunt. “Not a word, remember?”

Words leave you anyway as his mouth comes down to latch onto you. His tongue drags along your hole, taking in all your filthy juices. His nose delves in against your clit making it impossible to focus on anything other than the tightening of your stomach as you clench around nothing.

His lips suck and kiss through your ever flowing pool of need, head shaking side to side with fervor. He moans and groans against your pussy, getting lost in your scent. Your taste.

Hands push his pants and boxers down, letting his cock spring free from its confines.

His fist balls over the tip, thumb rubbing over the upper half in hurried strokes as his mouth continues to devour you.

Everytime your thighs start to close, his teeth nip at your clit. A fair warning that if you continue, he’ll have to punish you.

He sloppily makes out with your cunt until your voice reaches that familiar pitch and your legs go stiff. Signs of your incoming orgasm are all too obvious to him.

He stops just as that coil is about to be set loose.

You whine out in frustration, but he’s quick to make it up to you.

His hands grip your hips, rolling you onto your stomach. He pulls you by your ankles once more to the edge of the bed so you’re slightly hanging off, giving him perfect access to your neglected heat.

There was no time for patience in his mind. His cock was far too hard to ignore.

He guides the head into your tight entrance, stifling a guttural groan as you swallow him whole. He pushes forward, filling you suddenly and extracting your voice again.

Your arms wriggle behind you beneath the restraints. He stabilizes himself, gripping onto the rope that binds you. Every time he thrusts it rubs you the wrong way, irritating your skin. But you can’t do anything about it. You just lay there as his fuck doll.

“Messy little girl,” he grunts, his weight bearing down on your backside. “You were made just for me…”

He doesn’t acknowledge how rough he’s being with you. He hears your cries and it sends him into a frenzy. His brain is only focused on one thing. Stuffing you full of his seed.

And that’s exactly what he does.

Spurts of sticky white flood into you, his voice a pathetic symphony of whines as he shatters. He keeps fucking through it despite how much his body is twitching, muscles convulsing and throbbing from the overwhelming pressure release.

Not to mention the fluttering of your walls as you reach your breaking point. You suffocate his cock, making his jaw slack open, breaths heaving hot and short.

It’s too much for him and he weakens, not even bothering to pull out as he falls on top of you.

His eyes close, face burying itself in the crook of your neck as he attempts (failing) to simmer down.

[forthevillains]

Sweet Jealousy

Albert Wesker X fem! Reader [18+]

(basically you’re Wesker’s fuck buddy, he finds out you’ve slept with another guy and is not happy about it)

"Tell me, dearheart, did he touch you the way I do?" A low growl of his sounded so dangerous when he brought his mouth close to your ear while he rammed into you mercilessly, his thick cock stretching you wide, making you cry out with each following thrust. You wanted to answer him, badly that is... Though you could barely breathe with the animalistic pace he set for you. You were pressed against him, back arched so that he could fuck you as deep as possible, one of his hands on your throat as the other one rested on your waist, keeping you in place.

"I'm not going to repeat myself."

Wesker's breathy voice was making your cunt clench around him even tighter. Tears welled up in your eyes at the overwhelming pleasure you've been receiving, each of his movements drawing a moan out of you. Though, it was supposed to be a punishment at first, now it seemed like a reminder. Reminder that you belonged to him.

"N-No," you choke out and at the same moment you do, you feel him pinch your nipple harshly with his fingers. You yelped in both pain and pleasure and arch further into him as he takes you from behind. He's quick to grasp the breast in his hand, squeezing, forcing another whine from you.

"The truth." He demanded coldly. He knew you too well.

Your grip on the counter was almost painful, knuckles turning white under your desperate attempts of finding some stability. Your legs threatened to give in to the torment this man has put upon you and there was nothing you could do about it. No, you didn't even want to do anything about it.

"Yes..." it came out as a mere whisper, one of shame and embarrassment. Although you and Wesker were just fuck buddies, with no set boundaries, you've never really felt the need to sleep with other people. And yet you decided to change that for once, unknowing where it would lead you.

"Did he make you feel the same way I do?" Wesker was a possessive man, keeping an eye on his things. And in his eyes you were his. No matter what's been said, no matter how many women there were before you, you seemed to be enough to satisfy his needs at all times so he kept his loyalty to you, even if that was not a necessity. With that though, he expected the same from you.

His grip on your throat tightened when you didn't give him your answer, too lost in the way he pounded into you like a madman, making your body go limp, cunt sore from all the abuse and yet you craved the release that's been building up within you. Sinful sounds of when his hips met your ass filled the room completely together with your loud moans. The flaming jealousy of his only added and you found yourself flattered by it.

"N-No he didn't," you breathed. You heard him groan behind you, his cock throbbed against your walls and a whimper escaped you. Both of you were close.

But suddenly, he turned you to face him, sliding out of you, forcing a needy whine slip from your lips. Before you knew it though, he hooked his arms underneath your knees and lifted you up, only to pin you against the nearest wall. His lips crashed on yours, clear jealousy has swallowed him whole at this point. He didn't even kiss your lips for long before his tongue slid lower, to your throat. You could've sworn you've never seen him as greedy as this. He sucked the delicious skin of your neck and that’s when it hit you. He was marking you up.

"No -" you wanted to stop him, though once he sank deep into you again, you let out a moan instead. He's never marked you, there was no need to prove who you belonged to. Hell, you didn't even know you belonged to anyone at all.

"Say it again," the man mumbled against your skin before his teeth grazed the purple mark on it. "Say that he never made you feel the same way I do." He shifted, changing the position both of you were in so that one of his arms was tightly around your waist, while your legs wrapped around his own, keeping you as steady as possible with the help of the wall behind you while his other hand slid to your core.

You threw your head back once you felt his skilled fingers on your clit, moving in circles as he set a slower pace with his hips. He made sure to almost completely pull out every time, before he pushed back into you with so much force it made you dizzy. You threw your head back and cried out in pure bliss.

"He nev-ver made me feel like you do," you obeyed his order and at the very moment you swore you felt him smile against the skin of your neck. Hearing you stutter pleased him enough.

"Good girl," Wesker praised you.

He sped up again, angling himself just perfectly, though your cunt seemed to fit him so well he always found that one spot with ease.

You wrapped you arms around his neck and brought him even closer to you. To feel the warmth, to feel his messed up hair with your own hands, to pull on it, to make him go deeper, faster. It was a pure indication of how desperate you were.

He took the hint. Giving you exactly what you wanted and more. Your neck has suffered a lot by now, that was for sure, yet he didn't pull away. He only looked down, to where his cock was sliding in and out of your soaking cunt. Oh how he loved the sight, it was making him go crazy. His fingers on your clit picked up the pace as well and you clung to him for dear life.

"I'm-I need to-" you tried to speak, but were going absolutely dumb from how he stretched you so good.

"Go for it, dearheart. Cum for me," he whispered as he kissed up your jaw, all the way to your lips. You moaned into his mouth, brows furrowed. You felt your release close, your whole body trembled with every thrust, but you felt determined to return the kiss, though it seemed impossible. You could nothing but moan whenever your sweaty bodies moved against each other.

You squeezed your eyes shut when you came, head thrown back, mouth open as you cried out, your poor body overwhelmed, trembling and sweaty. He didn't stop though, fucking you through your orgasm forcing a muffled scream out of you as you dug your nails into his skin at the overwhelming sensation. His pace quickened once more, he withdrew his hand from your sensitive core and held onto you even tighter, basically fucking you into oblivion.

"A-Albert please - I can't-!" You moaning his name was enough to send him over the edge. He didn't pull out, letting the seed spill into you, his brutal pace finally changing to slow, sloppy thrusts until he felt satisfied with how full of his cum you were.

You still clung to him, so tired you didn't even care how messed up you were. "I don't want to see you around him again." Wesker whispered into your ear as he held you close to him.

You could only nod weakly, but for now - that was enough of an answer to him...

[forthevillains]

Only good girls get what they want

Albert Wesker X fem! reader (18+)

You had no idea just how you ended up in such situation. Legs spread deliciously as your eyes kept darting away from the mirror sitting opposite you. The thing being so large that you had no other choice than to look at your sinful reflection.

"So good for me..." a sweet whisper from the man behind you made you shiver in anticipation as tingles spread inside your stomach, making you try and attempt to press your thighs together, rub them, hide your arousal from his eyes filled with pure greed, yet you couldn't. He wanted you, he would've swallowed you whole if that was possible. The red orbs stared into your own through the reflection in the mirror, his blonde hair that used to be slicked back was now messy and his chin lay comfortably on your shoulder as he took the image in. Wesker adored you, each part of your body, in every position he put you in, how you prayed for him as if he was your God, repeating his name over and over in a state of pure bliss, however this was his favorite one - having you already in front of him, with his knees keeping your legs spread, making you vulnerable, desperate and unable to do anything but fall apart in his arms, under the sweetness of his touch.

His fingers were glued to your aching cunt, covered in that sweet wetness of yours. It felt too heavenly to have your arousal coating his fingers, especially knowing that no other man is ever going to touch you like that. Not on his watch, not while you're his. Not when you're locked up with him and only him... He's stained your brain with how much of a pleasure he has to offer and it is indeed the truth that no man could ever make you feel like this. So dumb from the way his body makes you feel.

He rubbed your clit in painfully slow circles with his rough digits while his eyes kept piercing through you, making your skin burn under his intense gaze. You couldn't help, but whimper, your eyes closing shut from the overwhelming pleasure.

"Eyes on me, my sweet little girl," Wesker commanded as soon as he noticed and the movements of his stopped, yet he didn't move away. "Or else you won't get to cum." When he added that, your eyes flung open only to be met with those terrifyingly attractive irises of his.

His fingers spread your folds, the middle finger finding its place on your shamefully revealed clit and his movements began all over again, abusing it while he applied a bit of pressure, only to have you squirming around as you tried your best to keep quiet. Yet still, he was taking his time. He wasn't always like this, no, he was often too busy to be like that, however whenever he got the opportunity, he would be your worst nightmare, teasing you with painfully slow pace, not giving you what you wanted, barely even bringing you near your climax, just so that he could watch as you grew more desperate, needy, whiny... It was all just for him and that control over your body was enough to satisfy his ego.

"P-Please..." you begged, stuttering over your words, oh you poor thing... That only earned you a chuckle.

"What are you begging for, darling?"

"Faster..." you whispered and that earned you a slap right at your pussy, making you yelp in both, pain and surprise.

"Now... What have I told you about being too greedy?" He was greedy himself and yet, you were deprived of that opportunity. Or at least you couldn't talk about it. Wesker on the other hand couldn't help it, nor did he have a need for that, because your beautiful body is all for him after all.

His fingers returned to your aching core, though this time - his fingers slid lower. He circled your entrance with his wet fingers, drawing an impatient sigh out of you. One of your hands shot up to hold onto his muscular forearm and at the very moment, he pushed two digits inside of you, making you gasp. Your grip on him tightened, nails digging into his skin as he withdrew his fingers out of your dripping cunt only to push them right back in. He continued with that movement, in and out, in and out, hard and quick. You threw your head back to lean against him, your breath ragged and eyes rolling back.

"Look at yourself, dearheart, look how pretty you look with my fingers inside of you." Wesker's voice sounded heavenly to you when he whispered those words. Though everything about this man seemed so angelic, you could've sworn he fucked like the devil himself. Each time he took you, he made you see stars, making you forget about everything you had left in your head apart from him. So lovely.

His other hand shot up to catch your jaw and turn your head towards the mirror. "Open your eyes, my dear." And you do. Your eyes wide open now, staring right into his through the reflection. He looked back at you, a playful grin on his lips as he still fingered you in almost brutal pace.

"That's it."

Your mouth fell agape, any desperate attempts to muffle your moans were useless by now and the sight of your naked form surrounded by his muscular one made your legs tremble. You held onto him like your life mattered on it as warmth covered your entire body and you bucked your hips against his hand in desperation. You were close. So close...

Just when you were about to come undone on his fingers, he pulled them out of you, making you whine in response.

"Not yet, dearheart, the night has just begun," Wesker gave you a smug grin, his eyes fixated on yours when he brought his digits coated in your arousal to his lips, tasting you. The sight alone made you whimper, only imagining how good it would feel if he tasted you properly.

He made sure to lick his fingers clean while he made you watch. Impatience in you only grew, your heart racing as he forced you to just watch. It was pure torture.

You squirmed in his hold. "Please... Touch me again," you begged.

"Patience," he clicked his tongue. "Be a good girl and you might get what you want." Though his orders were direct, you knew better than that. He wanted you to obey, without him having to remind you. The thought of you struggling to keep up with him turned him on so much and he had the whole night to continue with the teasing, edging you until you would be so sensitive it'd become a dangerous play whenever he'd touch you.

You ached for him, to feel his skin on you, to feel him all over you, inside of you.

"Yes sir." You muttered silently as you stared at him and noticed a smug grin form on his face again.

One of his hands took a hold of your breast, squeezing it almost painfully before his thumb slid over your hardened nipple, making your breath hitch. That seemed to satisfy him enough. He was holding himself back from fucking you senseless at this point, every other sound from you only added to the fuel. What a pathetic feelings for a man like him and yet, he was caught up enough not to care one bit.

He began kissing your neck, gently, his tongue sliding over your skin, wettening it before he began to suck on it. You gasped. Completely engulfed by mixture of pain and pleasure you could only think of how purple your neck is going to be the next day. He kept sucking and biting, becoming rough, only to shove his fingers back into your aching hole, forcing a loud moan out of you.

His fingers moved in and out of you quickly while he kept looking at you through the mirror. That was an observation - he needed to know whether you'll listen to him or not. A sigh escaped him, enjoying the beautiful sight before him. You were indeed trying to be good for him.

Your mouth fell agape and you fought the urge to close your eyes and seek support of his body behind hours. You trembled with each thrust of his fingers, not even knowing how many he stuffed you with. You were so wet, he slid in so easily, making your vision go blurry so that you couldn't even count.

Your eyes were locked together as he brought you closer to your orgasm, enjoying every moan of yours. It was like a music to his ears, absolutely angelic.

It was your body that seemed to be giving up on you. You were close again, gripping his arm roughly, hoping for some stability. Though when he brought you over the edge, your eyes immediately rolled back, a loud cry escaped you. If you'd only known...

"Now have I given you permission to cum?"

There was the catch you didn't count on. He didn't stop there, working you through your orgasm, the movement of his fingers only intensified. Tears formed in your eyes while he kept overstimulating you, you tried to desperately push his hand away, the amount of pleasure becoming painful, yet he didn't budge.

A low chuckle escaped Wesker at your pathetic attempts of stopping him. "But I suppose that since you wanted to cum so badly, I'll just make you do it again and again, until you learn how to ask politely."

[kittenheeled]

SHOULD’VE BEEN A SON

MDNI, corrupt cop!/dad!Leon Kennedy x fem!reader

word count: 3.3k

cws: daddy-daughter incest, non-con, dub-con, p in v, virginity loss, choking, rough sex, leon is genuinely terrible, degradation, mentions of past non-con, police corruption, overstim, reader is used as a fleshlight, no condom

note: cws aren’t in the tags, so i put them up here! please proceed with caution if any of the listed themes may trigger you. i submitted an idea like this on anon sometime in late 2023, but i haven’t stopped thinking of it for awhile and wanted to do it justice! first fic, proofread but i still probably missed a few errors lol. thank you all sm <3

title is from been a son — nirvana

Your father had always been an enigma to you.

Not the sort you’d see on television, you’d convinced yourself. Mama had disagreed. She used to say dad had an actor’s eyes — the kind that could pierce through the noir restrictions of a vintage film. And you’d concurred, let her go on about his looks, his job, his worth, her luck. She’d become a lonely woman when you’d begun school. It was nice to see her eyelids crinkle with a smile, even if her happiness was derived upon self-deprecation. Your parents hadn’t been married, but she used to talk like they’d been for years.

But then he’d come in. Back from his carefully-selected night shifts — claimed he liked the cool air. Raccoon City got awful hot in the summer. Hair a little roughed up, little marks dotted along his arms — some remainder of muffled human struggle. He’d shrug it off like clockwork the moment your mama’s brow furrowed in concern — “No, no, babe, fucker bit me trying to resist arrest—“ “Crazy bitch tried to bite my arm when I restrained her—“ “Got bruised up during the chase.”

He’d never looked to you while he was explaining himself away, but you knew. Little hands propped up to steady yourself on the couch as you watched, you knew that your father was a lying bastard. Well, you thought. It wasn’t like you had proof — just the gene that let your father climb so high in the RPD. God’s gift to the Kennedys, mama used to coo. Built-in bullshit detector, your dad would retort. Still, something in your gut stirred when he talked about the little wounds peppering his skin and the hasty indents of his uniform.

You grew out of suspecting your father of something unidentifiable to you after mama passed. It was a sudden thing — you were eight. It was still brisk out, but the frost was making itself scarce in the morning, and the grass was starting to sprout again in the front yard. You’d been sifting for flowers — mostly coming up with weeds — when he came back, face stern, blue eyes colder than the air. You hadn’t really remembered your father initiating a hug, but he did then. Scooped you up like you were planned, held you close enough to hear his heart beating away — when he laid the news upon you. Your mama was missing. He didn’t know where, and he never granted you the favor of possibility. There wasn’t a funeral. You routinely cried yourself to sleep a couple of nights each week until your father started coming home earlier. Or maybe your grief kept you up later. The stickiness of half-dried tears on cheekbones became commonplace in the mornings, and so did an empty home.

You left the first chance you got. It wasn’t that you hated your dad. Apathetic was a better word. But your house didn’t have that childhood warmth anymore. Didn’t have your mother’s smile, and didn’t have anything close to a surrogate. That was enough to send you to graduation with a duffel bag slung over your shoulder. Missed catching your cap, but with his exterior, you couldn’t make yourself miss him much.

So, you left your suspicions at the doorstep when you left for college. They’d faded as you’d spoken less throughout the years. Your father was a roommate. You knew him on paper — his first name was Leon, he’d been with the RPD since he was blond and soft, and he was your father. But you couldn’t answer why he didn’t talk about mama, or his own mama. You couldn’t answer why he intentionally took the late-night patrols. You couldn’t answer why he was so detached to his own little girl. But college awaited with the promise of something real, so you tucked in your questions — like he never did with you.

You intended on avoiding contact forever, but the glamor of independence and a shitty day job ran dry by sophomore year. Your father was gracious enough to let you move back into the home you subconsciously condemned, and at the expense of your dignity, you eased your loans.

“Pay for your own food,” he’d muttered as you’d gotten settled in. You would’ve hit him if it wouldn’t have hit your financial situation even harder. Instead, you nodded, exchanging a weekly five words with him and intentionally differing sleep schedules.

You played nice. You dropped that investigative shit, that keen eye. You accepted this as your residence. But that still led you to his office on occasion, absentmindedly searching for some supply you’d forgotten. Today, it was printer paper. The one you two shared was on its last legs, but being empty didn’t help. You crept into his office, kneeling down to the bottom desk drawer and pulling it out — noticing something was blocking it. Furrowing your brow, you reached behind the unit, quickly locating the source of the stuck drawer — a little cardboard box, smelling of newspaper.

Something about Pandora’s box resonated in your thoughts as you set it aside, standing up to reload the printer. But you still didn’t want to leave it out in the open. You opened it up, trying to discern just where to put it, when your lips suddenly curved into an amused smirk.

The box was full of old Playboys. Relatively good condition. At least your dad wasn’t the type to leave them all sticky. You chuckled, taking a few out of the box to see just how many he’d stashed away, when your blood ran cold. Beneath the magazines was an assortment of bloody clothing — some panties, some jewelry, the majority of it scraps of nothing identifiable — but crinkled and frayed nonetheless. The fruits of his late-night exploits. Trophies of others’ agony. Your hands went slack — fuck, unfortunately, you’d been right about him. Your instinct about your father had been right.

—

You spent a long while stuffing the majority of your possessions into a few duffel bags. You tried to be efficient — tried to get away from this monstrosity as fast as you could — but you’d gotten a little too comfortable here, in your own childhood home. Your possessions were sprawled all across the house, especially your room, so you weren’t done packing by the time your father was at your door.

“Jesus, what’re you doing all of that for?”

Your eyes met his. Your heart stopped in half a second, like he’d injected you with something. You swallowed heavily. “I’m going to live with a friend.”

His eyes narrowed slightly, head inclining to the left in suspicion. “Yeah?” he asked, looking your luggage up and down. You knew that he didn’t care if you were leaving or not — he cared why.

But that petty desire for revenge overruled reason. You pursed your lips, staring back at him, desperate to see his face contort in the fear that followed realization just once for what he’d done to all those women.

“I know what you are,” you spat, eyes intensifying as much as you could force them to — and he laughed. That bastard had the audacity to laugh.

“And what’s that, sweetheart?” he folded his arms, leaning benignly against the wall. You swallowed, willing yourself not to crumble — he’d never offered the affection of sweetheart before; of course it came with that goddamn smirk.

“You’re a rapist.”

He stiffened up at the accusation, the corner of his lip twitching for a moment to prove you wrong. But you inclined your head to the left before he could, making a little click with your tongue — tugging the box you’d hastily stashed under the bed. His expression soured at the mere sight.

“Baby, what? Where the hell did you find that? I’m not a rapist,” he knelt over, gripping your forearm in some sorry attempt to keep you from pulling away the magazines. “Jesus, it’s from high school. Just a bunch of old Playboys. Shit from dates. Sweetheart, I mean it, y’don’t wanna touch those—“

“Cut the shit, dad!” you snapped, writhing your arm within his grip. It didn’t budge. “Are you seriously trying to tell me that you kept some high school hookup’s panties in your desk drawer?! Explain the goddamn blood. Explain the scraps of clothing. Explain what happened to mama.”

The words left your mouth before you could regulate them, but you didn’t regret it. He’d stifled your critical thinking long enough. The instant his features started to harden, you felt triumph. Short-lived. The first step he took forward, it converted to utter fear. Sure, you had a rough idea of how you were conceived, now — but for the first time in your life, your father emanated the same paranoia you felt on the dark streets.

“You look like your mama, y’know,” he said gruffly, taking two steps forward for each one you crawled back. “I ever tell you that before?” His eyes ran down your face, down to your chest and to your thighs, before grazing back up again. You shivered, making your presence small as you stood up and shook your head.

“Shame you couldn’t be dumb like her, baby.”

Before you could so much as inhale in bewilderment, he gripped the back of your neck like a scruff and shoved you by the small of your back into the carpet. A dull ache resonated when your nose was mashed into the carpet, but hardly — your attention was directed to the resounding click! of your father’s belt, and your blood ran cold in your veins.

“Dad— Dad, fuck, no, I’m sorry,” you whimpered, trying your best to lift your head up as he straddled you from behind. He shushed you, feeling across your clothes in the darkness, imagining the fastest way to ease them off of you. Your shirt lifted around your stomach slightly, and you wheezed — the rough fabric of his uniform constricted your breathing as his thighs bruised either hip. “Dad, please—“

“Warned you, sweetheart,” he chuckled, moving his hand from the back of your neck — wrapping his strong fingers around the front as he gripped, using his thumb to press it further into the carpet. Your eyes shot wide at the sensation alone, choking out for dear life. You opened your mouth a little wider — as if that was going to let you effectively beg. Saliva gathered at the corners of your lips; tears gathered at the corners of your eyes. It became apparent to you that you were at the complete and total mercy of this man — this despicable, violent, hollow excuse of a human being. Poor you, didn’t even realize that your cunt was sticking to your panties as your dad choked you out with one hand.

You registered the sound of his laugh, faintly, and the trace of his hand as he made quick work of your skirt. He didn’t treat the garment with the decorum it deserved, similar to you. Oxygen made itself scarce, but rather than conserving it, you attempted to choke out another no — strangely self-conscious in front of your rapist father. Catching sight of the slick subconsciously sticking to your inner thighs, he eased the grip on your neck. You took a gasping breath, letting the reflex tears fall, staying as still as you possibly could in fear.

“Look at you. Catching on quick. Fuckin’ hate it when sluts don’t even try to get off for me. But my girl’s not a slut, is she?”

He tugged your panties to the side hastily enough to rip them; you sucked in air through your teeth. In your state of disbelief, there wasn’t much to process until you felt the tip of his index slide in between your folds, spreading the slick across your cunt. You flinched when his knuckle bumped against your clit, whimpering involuntarily as you tried to form a response.

“No— No, not a slut, stop it—“

“Yeah? Not a slut?” he mused, pressing his finger against your clit and letting it settle as you squirmed. You panted into the carpet, fighting back another hum of satisfaction — fighting back the subconscious urge to grind your pussy into his hand. You stifled a whine as he shifted his fingers, opening up your pretty folds like a present. “Mmh. I know who I raised. You’re not the partying type. I’ll bet you’re a virgin.”

You didn’t raise me, you wanted to scream — but settled for a half-hearted writhe as he leaned closer to you. He wasn’t entirely wrong — you were a virgin out of convenience. For the same reason, you tended not to like parties. It was impractical to you — why waste college tuition on an unplanned baby with a frat boy dad? The pressure of his hand released in its entirety from your neck to undo the front of his uniform, but you didn’t want to risk getting choked again. Your neck still ached as he pressed his leaky, uncut tip flush against your hole, flinching again as you squealed.

“Jesus, go still,” he groaned, trying to line himself up in the dark. Your heart was pounding against your ribs like the bars of a cage. In some last-ditch effort to preserve your dignity, your virginity — something — you thrashed against the carpet like a child throwing a fit, as if your cunt wasn’t throbbing against him. “You’re lucky I didn’t do this the night I moved in. Could’ve laced one of your stupid ass tea mugs. Put you in your place before you decided to get too domestic here.”

“Fuck you,” you muttered, bitterly. “Fuck you. I hate you. I’m your daughter, bastard.”

That made him stiffen behind you for a moment, drawing in a breath. “You’re not as smart as I thought,” he said, suddenly gripping both of your hips and jamming his tip into your soaked hole. You realized, in that instant, that no matter how much your cunt wept — dad was bigger than you thought he’d be, than he knew you could take. You shook your head, little cries and protests muffled by the carpet. He disregarded your discomfort as he guided his semi-hard cock into you, and you felt a fresh wave of disgust — fucker was raping you with a semi? Christ. The irritation was short lived as he slammed the full length into you immediately, digging his fingernails into the fat of your hips until you felt little divots in your skin. You cried out again, louder, making your pain known, writhing against him as he moved a hand to your neck again to keep you pressed up against the floor. Part of you wanted to scream. Part of you wanted to kick him off, take his gun and off the sick bastard — yet, the other part of you, the sick part, wanted to complain until he turned you around, got you off the carpet, and took care of this shit like any decent man would for his only daughter. You wanted his cock to chub up while he fucked you like a lover, not a victim. The desires collided, meshing into a pathetic whine.

“Shh— fucking whore,” he groaned in bliss, rolling his hips into the plush of your ass until you managed to get him to harden entirely. Lucky you. Getting your dad off after a hard patrol — not by choice. He bullied his fat tip against your cervix, eliciting another cry, a shakier sound. He sighed, reluctantly accepting that you weren’t going to hush up entirely. He’d made the mistake of raping you in a house with thin walls and close neighbors — and shit, your cries got loud. He kept one hand on your hip, slowly tracing the second one back to your clit as he angled your hips upward, tip grinding against that little gummy spot instead of your bruised cervix. He didn’t rub your bud in the little figure-eights you’d grown accustomed to from your own hand, letting his fingertip rest against it while it throbbed and twitched — unwilling to give his own daughter anything more than that. In his mind, you didn’t deserve it.

“Got that from your mama. Puffy clit. Pretty lips. Wet like a bitch in heat the moment I talk about raping you,” he angled your hips up further — rabbiting against the spot that made you see stars. A breathless moan left your lips as he fucked you into the floor, despite the way your hips ached in protest. “She wouldn’t be screaming, though. She’d be quiet.”

“I knew,” you panted out, as if that would piece back together your shattered dignity. “I knew since I was little, I knew what you—“

“And y’still hate me, huh?” he taunted you, digging his nails hard enough into the fat of your hip to draw little streaks of blood. “Real convincing, baby. Clenching around me like you’re the one taking me. Yeah, you seem like you hate how dad’s making you arch like a slut.”

Your eyelids fluttered as your hole spasmed, walls clenching around every inch of your father. You did hate him, but you didn’t hate this. You didn’t hate your father’s fat cock. You didn’t hate being raped in your home by him, as much as you struggled to admit it. He bottomed out again, balls slapping against your clit, prompting another little squeal from you as the coil in your belly grew tense. Your blood froze in your veins — you were about to cum like a whore from your dad raping you. Like the whore he said you were. He shoved you onto him again, nowhere near his own high.

The coil in your belly snapped before you could control it — and your orgasm hit you like he’d shoved you into the floor again. You gushed around his cock, cum dripping down from your clit to the front of your outer labia. He stopped, suddenly, tutting in amusement.

“You think I said you could fucking do that?”

Before you had time to recover from your orgasm, he lifted you off the floor, taking you off of his cock for a moment and turning you around — draping each of your thighs over his hips as he held you by yours. Your pussy pulsed in momentary relief — before he bullied his cock back into you in a split second. You whined out, spine contorting involuntarily as he fucked your overstimulated cunt with the same fervor he’d had moments ago. His grip on your hips tightened as he forced you up and down like a cocksleeve.

“You owe me this, slut,” he sneered, forcing your weeping cunt up and down his cock like a hooker. You whimpered with each thrust, eyes fixed on the mix of your cum and blood coating your dad’s dick, his precum still smeared across your clit. “I didn’t wanna take care of your useless ass. Didn’t wanna make your dinner, take you to school, pay for your shit. But I did, and you still ran away. Greedy bitch.”

“Sor— Sorry,” you cried out as he abused your overstimulated pussy, puffy again with desperation as he fucked you like a fleshlight. His chuckle was cut short by a groan, his eyes rolling back slightly before they could meet yours. He looked pretty when his eyelids fluttered like that, you thought, despite the circumstances. “Sorry, dad, I’m sorry f—“

That was it. His baby apologizing to him was what milked him. He pumped your pussy full of his cum, stilling you as he tried to catch his breath. He didn’t have the same lung capacity he used to once he reached his 40s. Maybe it was time to retire. He didn’t need sluts to pull over and rape on the side of the road, he realized as he pulled out of you, your abused hole drooling with his cum.

He had his bitch right here.

[dollita-fawn-deactivated2024060]

𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐨𝐟 𝐚 𝐁𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐨𝐫 ༒

pairings - Vendetta Leon x Fem! Reader x Vendetta Chris

a/n- again, feel like this is way too short but hope y’all enjoy

𝐂𝐰- very little plot, reader is paid for her services, mentions of alcohol consumption, unprotected sex, oral sex, anal, Chris and his virgin energy (re8 chris is a different story.), throat training (?), little bit of breath play, lots of gagging, belly bulge, use of pet names, little bit of chreon action / angst (sorry) ❦

➳➳➳➳➳┄┄※┄┄➳➳➳➳➳

Chris was the type of guy who’d consider ‘bachelor parties’ as cheating. At least, he was until Leon did some digging and convinced him otherwise. It didn’t take much to do so. Chris was a total pushover when it came to his best friend.

Leon had an insane amount of experience, in everything. He honestly looked up to him for that. It’s not like he was completely hopeless, he had his own qualities and he was decently confident. I mean, he’s finally getting married. What more could he need?

But he never had much fun.

Not even a one night stand. He couldn’t just use someone like that and never see them again.

Leon on the other hand, raised his body count every weekend, swore on it. He had zero shame in doing so and told him every detail. Of course he got a little jealous from time to time. In comparison to his friend, he felt like an underachiever.

So when Leon one night entertains the idea of hiring a stripper for the night, he didn’t fight on it. It was the last night he had to have even have that option, Leon said. That freedom to do what he wants without having to worry about the aftermath.

All it took was a few drinks for him to hop on the train with it.

What started out as a simple sensuous lap dance led to you on the ground, both men towering over you. Usually it wasn’t what your job entailed, but you’d never gotten such attractive men asking for you. Anytime you actually did get paid to work, it was for pathetic pigs who were far too touchy for your liking.

You were a dancer, not a prostitute. Tonight was just the exception.

“Take it a little deeper, sweetheart. You can do it,” Leon grins down at you, guiding his cock into the back of your throat and teasing your gag reflex before sinking in fully.

He holds you by your chin and the back of your head, making sure you don’t try to pull away. Your saliva pools around his balls as he holds you fully against him, not allowing any distance.

“This is how it’s done Chris,” he groans, plugging your nose with his thumb and forefinger and cutting off your airflow. He lets out a hiss, feeling your throat constricting against his length. “Hold it a little longer baby, c’mon…” he urges. You hold onto his thighs for dear life as if they’d give you some sort of stability.

Chris stands by, watching with his dick tight in the palm of his hand. Leon was treating you like his personal toy, and you seemed to enjoy it. Or you were at least just letting him without complaint.

He finally pulls out, releasing his hold on your nose and letting you breathe. You gasp for air, tears streaming down your flushed face. But you didn’t get much of a break before it was Chris’ turn.

Leon steps off to the side, using your spit to stroke himself while his friend takes over. He watches like a proud father as Chris takes initiative, pushing his leaky tip past your eager lips.

“Mn…shit,” he practically chokes, feeling the wet of your tongue tracing his girth without having to ask. You flick against the head of it, using your hand to knead the rest. His knees were already on the verge of buckling.

You bob your head, not quite deepthroating him yet. You were a little nervous to do so. He was massive.

“Great, isn’t she?” Leon muses. “Think she can fit both of us at the same time?”

Chris notices the look of worry in your eyes at the little suggestion despite you not denying. “Don’t be cruel, Leon.”

“Not bein’ cruel, that’s what she’s here for tonight. Ain’t that right little bunny? Love being used don’t you?”

You moan around his cock, giving a ‘mhm’ in response. Two brauny men was all it took for you to give in to your slutty side.

Your voice vibrates through him, making him twitch in your mouth. You start to take him deeper and his teeth clench, his moans turning into gasps. “Don’t push yourself…”

You continue anyway, taking him whole. You bob your head again, making your throat make that slushy sound as you struggle to fit him in. You didn’t care how much you were choking, just wanted to make him cum like he deserved to.

It was painfully obvious he had never received decent head by his reactions. His breath was shaky, could barely pry his eyes open. He was just letting you take control.

“Wait- gonna cum…” he rushes to pull out of your mouth, but Leon intervenes, forcing you back down by your hair without warning. You gag hard at the suddenness, again being held at the base.

Chris lets out a guttural moan, unavoidably shooting his load down your throat. You try your hardest to focus on breathing through your nose, trying to stop choking so you can swallow, but it’s hard being restrained.

“Good fuckin’ girl,” Leon praises, “Swallow it all and I’ll let you go.”

You gulp it down the best you can, the rest trickles down your chin. The state of you, makeup running, sticky with spit and cum. It’s enough to send him over the edge as well. He adds to the mess that is your face, painting you with his seed. You were even more beautiful than when you first walked through the motel door.

He lets you go once he’s finished, Chris has to take a minute to sit down while you stay put on your knees, awaiting further instruction.

Again, your break didn’t last long. They were both still extremely pent up. Though this time, you really were taking them both at once.

Chris’ arms hook under the back of your knees, holding you up and sandwiching you between the two men. Leon takes the front, leaving Chris the privilege of stretching your ass.

Leon preps for him, rubbing your wetness on Chris’ cock for lube. That’s what best friends are for.

Simultaneously they burrow into you, making you feel fuller than ever before. You can feel both cocks frotting from the inside, fully disappeared other than the outline showing through your stomach with every roll of their hips.

Every thrust is in sync, jabbing through your cervix. You swear you’re about to be torn apart by them. Both of them rut into you like they’re rushing to stuff you.

With the way you were being bounced around, the nickname ‘bunny’ was starting to seem more fitting.

“We should’ve filmed this,” Leon groans out. “Such a pretty little cock whore. You’d be a big hit online.”

“I’d rather keep it for myself,”

“Yeah, sure your new wife would approve of that.”

The reminder wasn’t enough to bring Chris back to his original mindset, his fiancée never even let him touch her ass. It was entirely different, so much tighter.

Leon himself was starting to lose his grip on reality. He could almost feel Chris rubbing against him through the thin line between your cunt and your ass, only adding to that overwhelming tightness. You squeezed them both so hard as it was. More so when you reached climax.

They kept going, making your legs and whole body gyrate and your voice heighten to a whine.

“God, look at her Chris. All fucked out and dumb on our cocks.”

“We need to do this more often,” Chris chimes in, bringing a chuckle out of Leon. He was such a terrible influence. One night of actual freedom was all he needed. If only he could’ve done it sooner.

Still he was grateful to be able to share with him, let him enter his world for once.

Leon’s thrusts gradually get sloppier as he nears his end, bucking into you like there’s no tomorrow. Because to him, there is no tomorrow. His best bud is gonna drift away from him, investing all his time in the woman. She really pisses him off, popped up out of nowhere and stole him away.

They could have done this together til they grew old and tired of it. But he just had to up and leave him.

He picks up the pace, fully taking his frustration and negative feelings out on your cunt. He didn’t have time to feel sorry about it right now. He breaks, spilling into you in spurts with a sob. All his bottled up emotions come out with his load.

He stays buried inside you, letting his head fall forward between your tits. It was humiliating. He didn’t know if it was more from the intense pleasure or the thought of losing him that was making him cry. He just knew he had to let it out, and your breasts were soft and welcoming for him, concealing him from his troubles and the world.

He didn’t want Chris to see his distress and pester him about what’s wrong, just wanted him to enjoy himself.

He doesn’t at all notice as he’s too focused on getting off in you. He slows, savoring the final moments before he cums. He got noisier as it all flooded out, you completely milked him for all he’s worth and he had to pull out.

“Good job,” Leon praises, directed toward Chris. “You finally got the hang of things.”

Chris settles his gaze on Leon, noting how puffy and red his eyes looked. But he doesn’t press, just assumed he came that hard.

Completely oblivious to the actuality as always.

mlist

[cuckette-deactivated20240705]

HONEYTRAP !

ft. leon s. kennedy x reader x ashley graham

tags. p in v, threesome, president leon, daddy-daughter incest (ashley/leon not reader), voyeurism, oral

note. haiii :3 sorry for mistakes it’s unedited! not the proudest of this! got messy and clunky 😭 but rbs and feedback always so appreciated :3

tumblr has started to remove fics that for example use tw non-con and any nsfw tags in general from the tags. for this reason, as i’d like my fic to appear in the tags, please understand that this fic contains dark content under the cut. reading this comes at your own risk.

“No, babe, it’s online, you can watch it, and can you tell Chris to watch it? I’m excited, I know he’s not happy about it, but, I am,” Claire’s voice is obfuscated by the chatter in the background, “This is a big deal for me, I mean—“ She cuts herself off, voice distant, “Oh, yes— No, not at all, it’s lovely to meet you—“

Beep!

You blink at your phone. She hung up on you. Granted, she’s been one busy bee so you let her off. For now. You shoot a message to Chris, tell him that as Claire said, this means a lot to her, and as tight as he is with the Kennedys, that she’s his sister, she should come first. You’re well aware that he knows that, that he wouldn’t dare put anyone above his sister, she’s at the centre of his world - it’s just for good measure.

The interview is lengthy, you suppress a groan because really you should very much be interested in the state of current affairs. And this is Claire’s line of work, and Claire is your girlfriend, and you should support her in her endeavours. Clicking on the link she’s forwarded opens up a grayscale website. The first video is President Kennedy in all his glory, which is not a lot of glory to be quite frank. He’s an eyesore to you. Like, that chin? Seriously? He should consider some sort of medical procedure, you don’t know if that’s a thing, but you know a girl who got her cleft lip fixed, so why not the chin?

Most of the video is full to the brim with political jargon that you fail to understand. Completely different language. Could understand Morse code better than this.

Skip, skip, skip.

“The issue with Penamstan? I hate to be rude, Mr. Kennedy,” No, she does not, Claire loves to be rude, “But do you know where that is on a map?” Claire, always straight to the point.

“I know all the stans,” President Kennedy smiles, charming and stupidly stupid all at once. He’s kind of cute when he smiles. It’s really just that chin. Very American though, you’ll give it to him. Named Kennedy too? America loves a Kennedy, he had it easy.

“What?” Not even an excuse me.

“Pakistan, Afghanistan, Kazakhstan, Penamstan… The, uh, more forgettable stans,” He trails off, taken off guard by a woman in a pantsuit leaning down to talk to him, a hand cupped over her mouth, he blinks up at her slowly, “Uz-beki-stan,” President Kennedy sounds out as if the word is foreign on his tongue, and it is, so incredibly foreign, “Turk… Turkmenistan, and Penamstan, of course.”

That’s all you needed to know he has the brain density of a wafer. Was the most interesting part though. He would’ve made a good stripper or a boy-toy, you think. Instead, he’s being marketed as this all-encompassing package of a man, which he is not.

Skip, skip, skip.

Penamstan— Foreign Policy— Penamstan— Voting— Penamstan— Radicalisation— Terrorism— Your predecessor, Graham— Sexual relations— Gaffe—

You pause, rewind a minute or so back. Sexual relations. This is what you’re into. No idea who Monica Lewinsky is, know all about the dress though.

“You’ve heard of the accusations, yes?” Claire frowns so much like Chris you have to turn away.

President Kennedy’s lack of jaw tightens, and it’s the first time you’ve seen him behave so offstandish in the fourteen minutes you’ve ever seen of him. “Yes.”

“You didn’t like that,” Claire notes, her lip twitching upwards.

“Didn’t know we had a psychologist with us today,” His lips are stretched thin into a smile that resembles a grimace more than anything. There’s scattered laughter, and the lady beside him, poised as ever, taps him on the shoulder. “My apologies,” He straightens up immediately, “Ask away.”

“Thank you,” She responds coolly when she is anything but, “You- I mean you have to admit that it’s strange to behave that way with your daughter of all people, otherwise there wouldn’t be accusations in the first place,” Claire challenges him with a tilt of her head, he mirrors it.

The lady taps his shoulder once more, leans down once more, whispers conspicuously, they nod to each other. A gesture to someone behind the camera is made, and then, much to Claire’s clear dismay: “We’re sorry to cut this short—“

The video ends, and the opening frame pops up once more. Huh. So President Kennedy is tonguing his daughter on the side. Maybe you need to pay more attention to things that are actually important, or you need to listen to Claire more often unless she’s failed to mention the most interesting part of whatever case she’s building. As far as you’re concerned, if voting doesn’t go in the red, you’re fine. Claire says being a centrist is the worst thing you can be, it’s just that you’ve got your own shit to worry about. Work, college, Claire, family. It takes up your life. You pitch in to vote for whoever’s democratic, watch the descent into chaos and forget about it in a week as most do, an attempt to forget the state of the country.

You wonder what she looks like. His daughter. If it’s worth risking the presidency over incest she must be a cutie. And she is indeed, cute like a teacup terrier, you can see why he’d be balls deep— but that is purely because you’re a bit of a horndog. Harvard Law School, a privilege you’re sure, girl looks like a total ditz. Barbie doll legs, the palest of blondes, and her smile is adorable. Not like her father’s smarmy one in the slightest, sweet and genuine for a girl whose teeth look done. Braces? Veneers? Not a single gap between them, not a single one out of place, not a single one is coffee stained.

The headlines pretty much say the thing. Kennedy fucks his daughter. Kennedy said she reminds him of Marilyn, so what does that make him if he’s a Kennedy? Truly, they harp on about it with no proof, apart from that photo of them too close for comfort— And the other one where they’re too close for comfort— And the last one where they’re too close for comfort.

Claire returns in the early hours of the morning, her jacket squeaks when she takes it off, hanging it the back of the vanity chair. She gets into bed, touches your hand to check if you're awake, her eyes sparkle even in the dark when she asks, “Did you see it?”

“Mhm,” You pinch her doughy cheek when she grins, “I’m so proud of you.”

“Thank you,” Claire says, head dipping to rest in the hollow of your neck, “I got cut off at the last minute.”

“I saw… He got touchy about the daughter-fucker thing.”

“He always does,” She huffs out air through her nose, “Only people who fuck their daughters get defensive when people accuse them of fucking their daughters. Oh, and his wife, she doesn’t go to a single event, it’s always Ashley, Ashley, Ashley— it’s so fucking strange.”

“True,” Your fingers slip beneath the loops of her hair tie, loosening her ponytail, sometimes you fear it’ll come off clean with how tight she makes it. It’s like Claire’s intention is to recede her hairline on purpose. “What can you do though, right?”

Her lack of response is eerie, you pass it off as her falling asleep. She’s had a long day, an exciting one at that, Claire’s likely just crashing. So you kiss her head, let her nestle into your chest, the spot where she’s most comfortable.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Giving your girlfriend the benefit of the doubt when she’s putting you up to the most outrageous scheme quite possibly ever is hard. “I have work, Claire.”

“Work can wait, babe, this is seriously important, it means a lot for America’s future,” Ugh, you don’t like when she talks like that. Sounds like a propaganda poster come to life.

“I don’t care about America’s future, I care about mine, babe, I care about ours, I don’t think Kennedy fucking his kid has anything to do with America’s future.”

“Babe, America’s future is our future,” She insists, “I won’t ask of you ever again,” Claire clasps her hands together, kneels in front of you as if you’re in fresco on the ceiling of a half-painted chapel, as if Claire Redfield, famous and outspoken atheist activist is the most pious woman to set foot in the USA.

“I have work, I have to get ready, I don’t have time for this.”

“See, this is what I mean, you’re so—“ Before her frustration reaches its boiling point, you watch Claire mouth the words one, two, three and onwards to fifteen. “Baby, darling,” She cups your cheeks, “This would mean the world to me when I say I would never bother you again with my shit, I promise. Pinky swear.”

“Don’t call me darling,” You wriggle out of her grip, “I can’t risk another day off, Claire.”

“There’s an opening in the office,” She offers, “It’s not much, but it’s better than what you’re doing now.”

“How so?” Your interest is piqued.

“Desk job,” Claire shrugs, “It’s easy, babe, you’re smart, too smart for retail.”

“I am too smart for retail,” You agree with a sigh, it keeps you on your feet all day, then you end up blowing your paycheck on pedicures.

“You are,” She coos, kissing the back of your hand as if you’re the most delicate thing since butterflies, “And you’ll do so well, that’s why I want you to do it, babe, ‘cause I just know you’re the only one who could do it,” Flattery does get Claire somewhere, it gets her in your good books, “The, uh, you don’t mind the, uh, y’know, incest part.”

“He’s not my dad, she’s not my sister.” Detaching yourself from the incestuous element would be best, you don’t know if you have a strong enough stomach to handle it in any other way.

“You can’t kiss me,” Claire frowns, her professional face on, “From now on, we can’t be seen with each other, okay?”

“Babe,” You pout, she scowls, “You look so good tonight, I don’t want to leave you.” The notched lapels of her suit make her shoulders look broader, you want to drag your nails over the cashmere, over her tender skin.

“Your name is on the guest list,” Your alias, she means, you don’t know how she did it, but Claire manages to manage, “Please…” Don’t fuck this up for me, you assume, “Good luck, okay?”

The security process is tedious, they drone on and on about a topic in which you have no knowledge, they pat you down— Should they be doing this to someone who might be an esteemed guest?

You pass through, the crowd is full of beautiful girls with made-up faces and dark ringlets and dresses like wedding cakes. There’s less than savoury men. She doesn’t stand out in a crowd like this, but you spot her anyway. Nobody in their right mind would wear that shade of orange. Ashley Kennedy, according to your girlfriend, is fucking her father, and so she is clinically and mentally and psychically and biologically and any other ally insane. So, yes, she would wear rust orange proudly, she would go out of her way to purchase a floor-length evening gown in that exact colour. Just to prove that, yes, she is indeed fucking her dad. Would calling it quits at this very moment be justifiable to Claire? Would your reasoning be enough to accuse a girl of fucking her father?

To your utter astonishment, both Mrs and Miss Kennedy approach you first, both as in Ashley. As she is both his wife and daughter if Claire’s deduction is correct.

“Hi,” Ashley’s smile is as perfect as it was in the tabloids, her skin is dewy, and her lashes light with no attempt to darken them. It would look unnatural.

“Hi,” You grin back at her, focus on the pendant that swings low, a silver eagle that sits cushdy between her perky tits.

“Daddy told me I had to—“ Her face drops for a split second, “Oops,” She covers her mouth, swallows back a nervous giggle, “Dad told me I had to socialise, make connections,” She imitates his formalities, “Oh, gosh, I am totally being so rude right now!” Ashley waves her hands at you, “My daddy- Dad is the president, sorry to come onto you like that like you were supposed to know, gosh, I’m Ashley by the way.”

“I know,” You take her hand in yours when she offers it, squeeze it warmly, “Don’t sweat it, I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t know you.”

“Right, right, I guess that’s true,” She hiccups, “Sorry, god, champagne, I’m so new to drinking, I really don’t think it’s for me.” This girl is making it too easy for you.

“You just haven’t tried the right one, I love your dress by the way, colour brings out your eyes.” Like how grass brings out the pumpkins on a pumpkin patch.

“Oh my goodness, thank you!” Ashley follows after you, lost and clinging to the person she has deemed friendliest.

“Have you ever had a French martini?”

“Oh, no, what’s that? It sounds exotic.” She’s bubbly, excitable, so sweet you almost feel bad setting her up like this.

“Do you like pineapple?”

Ashley ponders, “Only juice, eating pineapple eats at my tongue, I totally know that’s what it does, but still it feels so weird.”

“You’ll like this then.” You assure her, and she bobs her head up and down in agreement, her trust for you is unconditional within five minutes flat. Claire deserved that spot at Harvard.

“There’s vodka in it,” She hums, “Daddy,” Her third slip-up of the night, “Dad doesn’t even let me near vodka.”

“Really?” You raise a brow, then your glass and she does the same.

“Never, he sucks when it comes to me doing, like, adult things,” Her nose twitches at the first sip, she reminds you of a bunny, an energiser bunny.

“Like what?”

“Drinking, driving, partying,” Ashley lists off, “He’s okay, but he’s protective, I know it comes with, like, president’s daughter territory, it just totally sucks!”

Drinking, driving, partying— Dad doesn’t mind when she’s doing adult things like sucking his dick though. That’s not a problem!

“I like you,” Ashley says, two French martinis and one cosmopolitan in, “You’re so fun, I don’t really get to meet people other than, like, the one daddy introduces me to. Don’t get me wrong, I get it, I’m privileged so I talk to privileged people, but they’re so…”

“Stuck up,” You finish for her, “I didn’t expect you to be so sweet.”

“Oh, I can see why, I get it, I’m not offended or anything,” She sighs softly, gazes at the chandelier as if she longs for more than ball gowns and Havard and spending her days shifting idly through the clothing racks at Dolce & Gabbana while her daddy lounges on the chaise chairs. “I just think you’re so down to earth,” Poor thing, it’s a shame she’s fucking her dad, you hope to uncover an entirely different truth, that they’re close and it’s nothing more, “Who did you come with by the way?”

“I’m a plus one,” You knock back your drink, grip tightening on the glass, “No one important, just lucky, I guess.”

“Huh,” Ashley takes in your words, she nods, another drink slips down easily, and by the end of it, she is clinging to your arm like you mean the world to her, “You should sooo come back to my room!” Her words slur until her sentence is more of a single word, “We could have fun,” Whether she’s soliciting sex or she wants your company, you don’t mind, “Me and daddy are staying here tonight.”

“Really?” You ask, as if Claire hadn’t briefed you on the room number prior to this, “Then I guess I wouldn’t mind coming.”

“Yay!” Her security detail emerge from the crowd, and you’re dumb for not having noticed them beforehand, but what Ashley says goes. “Gosh, you don’t have to tell, daddy, he’s busy right now. No, we’ll be fine, you can leave us to it, when daddy’s done then he’ll come up.”

An elevator ride up and up and up to the top floor, through the stretch of hall to the finest suite. Ashley is high energy, for a lack of better words, she is tiring. She kicks off her heels, still stands tall, modelesque in shape. Boyish hips jutting out of her square torso. The key card is left on the side when she’s not paying attention, which luckily for you is most of the time, you slide it beneath the door frame and shoot a text to Claire who is hovering nearby. A minute later, she confirms her success.

“Ugh, I was so over it,” Ashley groans, “Do you mind helping me out of this?”

“Of course not,” You say smoothly, wondering if this is an invitation to something more. The silk of her dress is made by the wealthiest of silkworms, just as you get your hands on her, the door unlocks.

“Ashley,” President Kennedy is panting like he ran up all twenty-nine flights of stairs at the Fairmont, “Princess, you worried me.”

“Daddy, you scared me, you scared us,” She gasps, he’s swift in his steps, tips her chin upwards as if he’s checking for damage on her angel face, he thumbs her smeared lipstick.

“Did you kiss… Did you?” Kennedy’s eyes flit from your lips to Ashley’s, you wonder why he’s so wound up about a kiss, must be the incest. Her lipstick is smeared on the rim of her martini glass, not your lips.

“What? Daddy, no, don’t be silly, not yet at least,” She makes her intentions clear, “I thought you were busy, daddy.”

“Ashley, I’m not too busy for you, I have things to oversee, but…”

As your father, I have to oversee your sex life, Ashley! I demand to watch!

“But, what?” Ashley cocks her head to the side, her hands running along the shape of his shoulders, then downwards over his chest.

“You’re more important, you know that.” Kennedy strokes her head, she bats her lashes at him, they’re barely visible so it’s more a flurry of blinks.

“Oh, daddy, you’re so sweet,” She giggles, puckers her lips and the sentiment is shared between them— They kiss like lovers do, dirtier than you and Claire. Unaffected, Ashley looks over his shoulder at you, “We can still have fun,” She promises, “Daddy can just watch, won’t you?”

Jesus Christ. Now that you’re actually faced with it. Incest in the flesh. It’s nerve-wracking. How is one meant to digest incest?

“Ashley, I don’t watch you catching anything nasty,” He tries to be discreet, you hear him loud and clear.

“Daddy,” She scolds, hitting his chest. He shucks off his suit jacket, laying it out on the back of the chair adjacent to the Alaskan king bed that could fit a family of five let alone the three of you. He sits, stares at you with his glassy eyes. President Kennedy is handsome in real life, you kind of get the appeal now, the camera does add ten pounds, ages him by ten years too apparently. There is something about him that is effortlessly masculine yet soft, sweet almost.

Ashley’s dress comes off next, she cares little for the way it is left wrinkled on the ground, her hand finds its way between your thighs. She’s not inexperienced. She knows her way around your body like she would her father’s. Her fingers are long and slim, nimble when the pads come to ghost your clit, lifting back the hood to press her thumb into it.

Instinctively, your hips buck into her hand, she kisses you, smiling into your mouth. Claire is at the forefront of your mind, she’d given you the permission to do this, but it feels wrong still. The incest feels even worse. You’ve been trying to ignore it so far, pretend it’s just Ashley here. Ashley’s lips on yours, her fingers in your cunt, her tits pressed flush to your chest— His eyes are so blue.

Ashley scissors you open with two fingers, you suck on her tit, both of you tangled up within each other. Pulling off with a pop, she takes out her fingers and you’re left empty. You taste yourself on her tongue, on her fingers and grow sick of it.

“C’mere,” You take the pillow that’s propped up against the headboard and slot it underneath her hips to keep ‘em raised. Ashley’s cunt is perfect like the rest of her. You wonder if there are procedures to get it this pink, her labia pokes out past her parted pussy lips as does her swollen clit, you give a tentative lick to her cunt, unsure of how she likes it. Claire likes it messy, but Ashley’s rich, she might like it classy. You could eat pussy classy if you tried hard enough.

She lies back, her head sunken into the mass of pillows - the one you had taken barely left a dent in the pile, her tits are small but round and her nipples are pointed and as pink as her pussy. Ashley takes initiative, daddy’s been giving it to her real sloppy it seems, ‘cause she pushes your face into it. Your nose bumps her clit and she sighs sweetly when your tongue works its merry way up her slit, from her slick hole to her twitching bud that you pay extra special attention to. It deserves it, pretty like a pearl, wrap your lips around it and suck till her thighs close around your head.

“Outta the way,” Mr. President, fully clothed, cock hard straining in his slacks, takes Ashley’s leg and spreads her further, “Keep it there for daddy, princess.”

When you lift your head out of pure curiosity, he kisses you, jams his tongue into your mouth to taste you like your tongue wasn’t just jammed in his daughter’s cunt. His daughter who is spread-eagle on the bed for The United States of America. Though, from the way they’re behaving, Ashley is a renowned patriot, this isn’t her first time confessing her love for all things red, white, and blue. And rust orange.

Dumbfounded by his takeover of the pussy you were having so much fun eating, you crawl back over to Ashley while daddy blows raspberries on her clit, spits on the First Daughter’s, his first daughter’s, cunt like she’s a corner whore.

“Daddy,” Ashley moans, she’s unabashed, grabs his hair and forces him deeper, she tells you to suck on her tits, she’s bossy when it comes to sex. Mastered the art of fucking.

“I’ve got you, princess,” Her daddy says, he can talk while he’s eating it, impressive if you do say so yourself. The most you can do is go down on Claire till you get lightheaded, breathing is out of the question.

She cums sweetly because there is no other way in which Ashley can behave. The blood that runs through her is inherently sweet unlike her father’s. Mr. Kennedy slurps away even as she jolts due to aftershocks, he’s intent on drying her out.

When he does decide to join the two of you above, it’s to press kisses into Ashley’s neck, to sniff her perfume, “Good girl,” He praises, “Daddy’s good girl.” Those lines sound like something out of a cheap porno. Hard to believe that it’s real. That you seriously just sat there and got cucked by Ashley’s father.

“Thank you, daddy,” Ashley giggles, stroking through his dark hair as he suckles on her nipple, spit stringy on his lips and her breast when he pulls back. “No, not me,” She refuses when he, with his slacks mid-thigh, presses his cock to her inner thigh, “I want to watch you, daddy.”

See, you’ve taken dick, you take Claire’s silicone dick often. Taking presidential dick, it’s new to you. Presidential dick that could’ve possibly at any time today been lodged inside his little girl, meaning you’re being double dicked not only by a presidential cock, but an incestuous one. It’s fat, browner than it is pink, uncut, the tip is leaky like nobody’s business.

“Aw, oh my gosh,” Ashley coos, “Don’t be scared, you’ve got this!” Your nerves don’t stem from taking his mediocre, prized dick, but from everything else about this situation. “Daddy’s good at it, it never hurts.” She holds your hand, brings it to her lips to kiss, fluffs the pillows and peppers kisses all over your face as President Kennedy, a man of assumed integrity pushes your legs to your chest.

His cock rubs up and down your cunt, catches on your clit, the fat tip is sucked into your stretched hole and inch by inch he forces his way into your hole. With each inch, not that there’s many, it gets thicker, till the base is engulfed into your greedy pussy. Ashley wipes the sweat from your brow, “Isn’t it good?” She gushes, “Daddy’s just the best, I don’t think I could ever be with anyone else, he’s just so good at it, isn’t he?” In response to her blabbing, you can only whimper, giving a quick bob of your head to satisfy her.

Inside of you, each vein embeds itself into your walls, the head jabs at your cervix painfully, and most of all it feels stupidly good. His cock is thick and sturdy like all good dicks should be. And he’s fucking you like he hates you. Which he does. Deep, hard, slow and nasty.

“Is it good, daddy?” Ashley asks innocently enough, her hand rests on your tummy, grows bored and trails lower to flick at your clit.

“Not as good as you, princess, never,” Comes his instant answer. You take offence to this and clench around him so tight he groans and his head drops to your neck, lips on your collarbone. There’s a sticky sound each time he draws his hips back and pushes in, you’re dripping for Ashley, for him— You don’t know anymore, head so clouded you’ve let the incest slip.

“Aw, daddy!” She places a hand over her heart, then she’s back to pinching your clit between her fingers, forcing you to unravel.

His thrusts are deliberate, mean, and he fucks you like it’s all your fault. As if he doesn’t get to hump Ashley at all times of the day. The squelch of your cunt is embarrassing enough for you to be over and done with, each stroke is a hit on your ego and on your cervix, the latter being a more delicious hit, but a hit nonetheless. When he cums, he does it on your stomach in white, watery ropes, and it pools in your belly button as you writhe with the immense pleasure he and his disgusting cock have bought you. Ashley’s bony fingers helped to some degree.

“Is it my turn now?” Ashley perks up when her dad kisses her all sloppy on the mouth, spit and drool included.

“Give daddy a minute, princess, I can’t keep up with you,” He chuckles, pats her head, they’ve started their incestuously affectionate display, so you cover yourself up and shoot Claire a second message while they begin to act lovey-dovey in bed. Let their guard down, and you hate to do this to such a lovely girl, but your girlfriend is an even lovelier girl.

Soon enough, she and the gaggle of reporters burst through the doors, flashing cameras in hand. Ashley was foolish for letting off her security detail for the night, President Kennedy is the bigger fool, and Claire, well, you’ve never seen her smile so big.

[dollita-fawn-deactivated2024060]

haiiii!! i was wondering if you be willing to write step dad whesker x reader where you come in from college for a family reunion and he takes you out back behind the building to feel you up, and as he does someone catches you and he continues to fuck you as the family tries to get you both to stop. :3

𝐀 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐦 𝐖𝐞𝐥𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐇𝐨𝐦𝐞 ❦

pairings - Stepdad! Wesker x Fem! Reader

a/n- this is definitely the darkest fic i’ve written so far😭 thank you for the ask!! hope you enjoy (as usual, not proofread so lmk)

𝐂𝐰- Step-cest, exhibitionsm?, cheating, fantasizing, taboo relationship, age gap (reader is in her 20s, Wesker is 48), mild daddy kink, use of praise and pet names, reader is a virgin, unprotected sex, dumbification?, breeding kink if you squint, dacraphylia ꨄ

༺

“It’s so good to have you home, hon!” your mother exclaims, suffocating you with her usual greeting of a hug.

It had been a couple of years since you’d been home. You chose to go to a college a few states away, which your mother absolutely despised. But as an adult, you’re responsible for your own decisions and that’s where you wanted to go.

It was far away, but you could still visit whenever you wanted. Though, simple face-times were more convenient in between those timeframes.

You couldn’t make it to last years family gathering, mostly because it’s on the most random day of the year and you had exams. So this year, you make the effort to come visit.

It was nice to get a break from the burdens of school.

“It’s good to be home,” you reassure your mother with a few awkward back pats before pulling away from the embrace.

“Albert set the TV back up in your old room for the week.”

Convenient. You had almost forgotten about the man your mother married. Or rather, tried to force yourself to forget him.

Wesker came into you and your mother’s life out of nowhere, quickly becoming head of the household. And taking over your thoughts entirely.

He was a fickle man, something about him just always seemed off in a way you couldn’t quite decipher. He was just eerie. Somehow, that was appealing. You found yourself wanting to get closer to the man.

But you would never do that to your poor mother. She loved him a lot, so it seemed. So you just pushed him out of your memory when you left. It was nothing that serious. Never even discussed out loud. Hell, the two of you hardly ever spoke, always awkward around each other.

Especially now, as you pass by on your way to your room.

He just watches, as if inspecting you under a microscope. Not saying a word, just staring all open mouthed like he was going to.

You force a tight lipped smile, directing it to him as a hello. Some things just don’t change. Not even your old bedroom.

But you sure did.

Wesker couldn’t help but notice your major change in wardrobe. He always saw you as the sort of insecure and self conscious type. Now you fully displayed yourself without shame, wearing tighter, more revealing clothing. Shorts so short your ass hangs out around the edges. And your makeup, less minuscule. To say you grew into your looks was an understatement.

You completely changed appearance wise, even if you remained the same inside. He felt like he was looking at you for the first time.

He liked what he saw. A little too much. He knew how wrong it was to see his own stepdaughter in that light, but as he takes in every inch of you, all the blood rushes from his head to his cock, making him shift uncomfortably as his pants suddenly grow to be too tight.

He just leaves without greeting you, welcoming you home like he wanted to originally.

Hopefully you didn’t take it the wrong way, he just desperately needed to relieve himself. To get those dirty thoughts out of his head.

He rushes off to the bathroom, dropping his pants and boxers down to his ankles and immediately gripping his cock. He closes his eyes as he fucks into his hand, using the thought, the image of you in his mind.

Something was seriously wrong with him.

It only took a minute or two before he made a mess of himself, cumming in bursts he’d never experienced. He had never gotten off that fast, or released that much. But with the thought of you, it felt completely different. Completely wrong and so damn good. Was he really that depraved?

Usually he goes back to normal after he finishes, but not this time. It only made him want more.

As he starts to go again, he’s halted by the sound of your mother’s voice. Dinner was ready. She planned all week for this, making sure to make your favorite meal for your first night back.

With a frustrated sigh, he washes the filth from his hands, looking at his face shamefully in the mirror before pulling up his pants again, making his way to the dining room.

You’re already there, sitting quietly at the table. He sits opposite of you, trying to remain as far away as possible. Trying to pretend he didn’t just jerk off pathetically to the thought of you.

“So, Wesker…” you speak up, almost giving the man a heart attack. “Mom told me about the new job you started.”

It takes him a minute to process your statement. He realizes you’re attempting to make conversation with him, clearing his throat before replying. “Yes, pays quite nicely.”

Was that too bland? He shouldn’t have to think this hard for a simple discussion.

“Do you like it?” you try to continue.

He freezes up as you start eating, lips wrapping around the spoon, making direct eye contact with him. He zones out, imagining those pretty lips around his cock, struggling to take him down your throat. Shit. When did he become this desperate?

Again he shifts, feeling that familiar tightness. “I like it just fine. I get a decent amount of time off.”

“Are you looking forward to the cookout tomorrow? Your favorite aunt will be attending I’ve heard.” he continues, hiding the tremble in his voice.

You nod, “It’ll be nice to have everyone together again.” and the conversation ends there, leaving your mother to carry it on throughout the rest of dinner.

He tries his hardest to be normal, refusing to look your way. But he can’t help it. He continues stealing glances at you throughout the meal, writhing in his chair every time you meet his gaze.

By the end of it, he’s in the bathroom again, unable to calm himself down. Meanwhile you’re going to bed without knowing at all.

. ˚◞♡ ⃗ *ೃ༄

The following day is even worse. He doesn’t know how he’s going to get through the day without doing something. Let alone the rest of the week that you’re staying.

Half of the family is over, completely taking away any chance of privacy for his restroom breaks. He would just have to deal with it.

That was going to be completely impossible though.

It’s a hot day, you’re dressed in a tank top and an even shorter pair or shorts than the day before. With your hair up, unkempt and out of your face, smiling and laughing so sweetly with the others. He couldn’t take his eyes off of you, off of your exposed skin.

He’s struggling to keep up with his role with the grill, almost burning the food an embarrassing amount of times.

He wanted so badly to slip away again. But even then he wouldn’t be satisfied. Not until he got to have you the way he wanted.

If he was going to survive this family reunion, that’s what had to happen. He just didn’t know how he was going to pull it off. He had a feeling you might be attracted to him, but he was never certain. You hid your feelings better than even he could.

When he notices the grill is running low on charcoal, he sees it as an opportunity. “Could you help me out with getting these bags from the shed? Could use an extra pair of hands.”

Being the good girl you were, you drop everything you’re doing to help him out, following him towards the other side of the house.

He didn’t at all need help. Before you know it, you’re pinned to the wall, silenced by his rough lips taking over yours. He forces your shorts down with ease, dipping his hand directly into your bare cunt while the other holds you there.

You go completely dizzy, not fighting against him. Instead you’re kissing your stepfather back, letting those urges take you over, all the pent up tension that built over the years.

You whimper into his mouth as he rubs at your clit like a mad man, already making you quiver. “What if we get caught..and the neighbors…if they-“

“Let them. They can watch for all I care. I need you, now.” he interjects, and you submit.

He discards his pants, hooking his arms under your thighs to hold you up and aligning himself with your entrance and shoving all the way in, balls deep.

You let out a guttural squeal, clinging onto him with tears welling up in your eyes.

“Holy fuck…” he growls almost animalistic, “So fucking tight. Are you still a virgin?”

You nod. Well, you were. And now your first time was his. Knowing that drove him over the edge. “It’s alright, daddy’s got you. I’ll take care of you, my darling.” he croons.

But that was partially a lie. As much as he didn’t want to end up hurting you, he couldn’t control himself. He tried his best to slow down, but his hips thrusted into you on their own. The head of his cock jabs at your cervix, over and over.

Your nails dig into his back seeking stability and he does his best to hold you.

You’re sobbing, from pain or pleasure he can’t tell. All he knows is it’s turning him on even more. Everytime you whine, it brings him closer.

“You’re okay.”

“Such a good girl, letting me have my way with you. You’re taking me so well.” he coos softly, continuing to fuck up into you ruthlessly. “Daddy’s gonna fill you up, you’re going to take it like a good girl, hm?”

You can find the words to speak, only mewling out needy and incoherent attempts at his name. It’s enough to push him over. He cums deep inside, not even attempting at pulling out.

Instead, he continues, stuffing you full of his seed.

His pace doesn’t even slow during the second round, steadily pumping his cock into your walls. You suck him in so tightly as he splits you open mercilessly. As much as he cared for you, nothing was going to stop him from fulfilling his needs.

Not even favorite aunt who’s horrified at the sight in front of her. She grows to be heated, preaching on about how disgusting he is, pleading for him to separate from you.

It goes in one ear and out the other. He doesn’t even pause to look at her, keeping his eyes on yours. He wasn’t going to stop until he was fully satisfied.

“Just look at me baby, don’t worry. We’re in this together. Daddy’s got you…”

You’re feeling completely humiliated, guilt churning in the pit of your stomach, his cock only stirs it further.

Your aunt fades out to the background, your ears start to ring and your vision goes hazy. You climax so hard you can’t stop your shaking. You tighten up around him in the process, completely draining him into you.

Again he sounds a carnal growl, feeling that sweet release he’s been yearning for.

When he pulls out and sets you down, you’re clinging to him like a whipped dog, soaking his shirt with your tears. It wounds his heart to see you so upset.

He pulls his pants back up, yours as well, zipping up your shorts and buttoning up the button for you. He runs his hands through your disheveled hair and wipes away your streams of tears.

Whatever the consequences were for his actions, he wouldn’t let you go down for it.

The two of you could run away together if needed, he hardly cared all that much for your mother anyway.

Not when you were in town.

mlist

[dollita-fawn-deactivated2024060]

WINTERS wonderland ;)

Summary- You and your husband, Ethan, decide to spice things up in the bedroom. Ethan’s close friends, Leon and Chris, are more than happy to assist in broadening your horizons.

pairing- Chris Redfield + Leon Kennedy x Fem reader with Ethan Winters mostly watching

25 days of Kinkmas day 1 - exhibitionism/ cuckholding

NSFW WARNING:

                 contains- cuck!ethan winters, dom!chris redfield, soft dom!leon kennedy, gang-bang, exhibitionism, unprotected sex, brief oral sex (f and m) giving and receiving, masturbation, slut shaming, use of pet names, gagging/choking , fluff at the end<3 (poorly proofread so lmk if i messed anything up)

Ethan has always wanted you all to himself, but as your bond grows, so does the temptation to spice things up. Ethan was a very open-minded individual, especially when it came to his wife. He loves you dearly and wants nothing more than to see you happy, even if it meant bringing some excitement into the relationship by allowing you to explore your fantasies with two of his closest friends. There had been many conversations about you within the friend group. Leon and Chris weren't scared to openly express their interest in you to your husband. The three of them have talked about having their way with you countless times, which has led Ethan to the idea of making it a reality. He doesn't mind sharing, just for a night.

Truth is, he had been researching about this topic for a while. He read that it could be good to separate love from sex, allowing you to expand your horizons. In a way he feels like it would help you to become closer, keeping you on your toes and not bored of his gentle love making. He knew how kinky you were and how much you held back just for him. He just couldn't bring himself to be rough with you. He wouldn't dare hurt you even if you were into it. Which is why he's convinced it would be beneficial to let you get roughed up the way you desire by his most trusted friends.

As possessive as he may be, he's not as bothered by the mutual attraction between you and his buddies. He knows he's the one you love, and they're just appealing. Besides, he's not entirely against the idea of getting to see your fucked out face, even if it's not by him.

Initially, you were shocked by his idea. Yes, you thought his friends were insanely good looking, but you never actually considered doing anything with them. This was a once in a lifetime opportunity however, you definitely weren't against being manhandled the way you always wanted. To you and Ethan, sex wasn't everything. You loved each other for more than those reasons. But everyone has their fantasies and cravings. Which is what led you here, fully bare, sprawled out on display for all 3 men.

"You comfortable, baby?" Ethan asks cautiously. He was a bit nervous about how this was all going to play out, but also excited. You nod your head, "Yeah..i'll say something if I can't handle it." With that, Ethan stepped back and let Leon and Chris get started. They were much bulkier than your husband, more confident as well. Leon's hands went straight to your waist feeling the curves of your hips, while Chris got to work with kissing your perky tits. The feeling of two men touching you at once was excruciatingly erotic. You let out a few soft moans at the feeling of Chris' tongue circling your stiffened nipple. "She's so sensitive, Ethan." Leon muses. "Makin' such pretty sounds for us already." Chris adds, to which Ethan gets more comfortable. He's sitting near the edge of the bed, getting a front row seat of your sluttiness. His hand is already gripping the base of his cock, watching as they touch and tease you all over.

"Think you can take us both at the same time sweetheart?" Chris asks bluntly. You nod. The idea of being taken in both ends was so enticing. "Why don't you lay back and open that pretty little mouth for me first, hm?" You lay flat on your back, your head just barely hanging off the edge of the bed and giving Chris full access to your mouth. As he positions himself in front of your face, Leon starts between your legs. His rough, calloused fingers tease your clit before entering. "Fuck, you're so wet and we barely even did anything to you yet..." His fingers curve up with each slow pump, teasing your sweet spot over and over. Ethan can't help but moan as he starts palming his cock, watching you get violated. With a throaty groan, Chris pushes his rubbery tip past your lips and into your mouth. The taste of the salty fluid leaking onto your tongue as he slowly starts to push himself deeper down your throat. "That's it," he praises tauntingly, "take it all like a good little slut." Tears well up in your eyes as you try not to gag on his girth. You whine, the vibrations of your needy voice muffled against his length. Your walls clench tightly around Leon's fingers as they massage your insides. His thumb rubs gently in circles on your clit along with the repetitive slow thrust of his two middle fingers. Your nails dig into your bedsheets at the combination of being pleasured and your throat being used. Chris places his large hand against your throat, not squeezing, just feeling where he's reaching before slowly starting to roll his hips.

As Chris slowly thrusts in and out of your mouth, Leon decides to taste you. He brings his mouth down to your pretty pussy, lapping up your spilling juices. He suckles softly at your clit causing you to whimper against Chris' throbbing member, pleasing him even further. His wet tongue starts getting more rhythmic, devouring your sensitive slit. You suddenly feel Chris' thighs pressed fully pressed your face as he holds his dick deep in your throat without moving. Your mouth starts to salivate even more, spilling over his base and out of your mouth as you hold him in. "Good girl..." he coos, "Just keep holding me in like a good little cock sleeve." The combination of your throat constricting against him and the lack of oxygen stimulates your climax faster. Your stomach tightens as Leon's fingers pump faster and his tongue continues to work its magic. You whine desperately against him, making him groan in pleasure. Your toes curl as you start to reach your high. "Someone's about to cum already," Leon says with a smirk, feeling as your walls pulsate against his fingers. You start to climax, your pussy gushing in a way it never has before. Chris fully pulls out, allowing you to breathe. You're a panting, slobbering, crying mess. The sight of you cumming so hard while getting your face fucked was almost enough to make Ethan explode. He's still steadily stroking himself, insane amounts of pre leaking from his sensitive tip. Leon's fingers scissor within you, stretching you a bit and seemingly getting you ready to take them.

"Which of us gets to take the front, princess?" Leon asks softly. You're still gripping the bedsheets tightly, coming down from your intense orgasm. "Either one..." You reply breathily, "you can both use me how you see fit." Chris grins at this, seemingly very pleased at your choice of words. His rough hands lift you up, setting you on his lap as he kneels on your plush mattress. You can feel his throbbing against your back, aching to be inside another part of you. You take the time to look at Leon who was positioned in front of you. His triceps were beautifully toned, not as big as Chris, but still impressive. Your eyes wander down between his legs, taking in the sight of his decently lengthy cock. His eyes watch yours with hunger and need and he positions himself at your front, his hands steadily holding your thighs and spreading you further once more. "Don't look at me like that," he looks down, almost seeming shy, taking a hand at his base to line himself up to your opening. Chris lifts you by your hips with ease and lines himself up with your ass before they fill you up in both holes. You let out a cry, mixed with pain and pleasure mostly from Chris' girth stretching your unused ass. His strong hands bruisingly grip your hips as he bounces you on both of their cocks. Leon keeps your thighs spread for him as he thrusts into your tight pussy with desperation. The sound of your lewd wetness along with the slapping of skin and needy moaning fills the air.

"Such a dirty little thing," Chris groans, "How does it feel being violated by two men right in front of your husband. C'mon say it for me, doll." They both pump you full, reaching the deepest parts of you and turning your brain to mush. "S-so good.." you incoherently mewl in pleasure, "It feels so good, please don't stop..." You burrow your face into the crook of Leon's neck, uncontrollably whining in ecstasy. Chris brings a hand under your hair, grabbing a fistful and pulling your head back roughly. "Look at Ethan, slut." He orders and you obey, looking over at your husband as your eyes are half lidded. Ethan feels himself reaching his peak as he sees that fucked out face better than he imagined. You look like a completely different woman, he's never been able to make you whine and beg like that. His hand pumps furiously at his heat as he watches you get cock drunk for the first time. He's trying so hard to contain his own sounds but he can't. The sight in front of him was even better than any porno he'd ever watched.

Leon presses his lips to your neck, sinking his teeth into you lightly to muffle himself. "So fucking...tight." he breathes. "I don't think this pretty little asshole has ever been taken before, has it?" Chris muses. You try to answer but it only comes out as babbling. Ethan never did anal, nor did you ever ask to. Being filled in both ends was too much. You feel every time they reach your stomach, moving almost in sync. You feel yourself getting close again. Your eyes follow Ethan's hands as he rubs himself to the sight of you which only stimulates you further. You never thought you'd get off to being watched, but you are. Your pussy clenches around Leon and you reach yet another intense high. They both fuck you through your orgasm, feeling both of your holes gripping them so tightly.

Chris' hands tighten around your waist, pressing on your stomach while they continue railing you. Their breath, hot and heavy against you, only causing you to sweat more. Leon's thrusts start to get sloppy as he gets closer, Chris soon following. With a few more rapid thrusts, Leon pulls out, stroking his length against your lower stomach and spurting onto you. "Fuck.." he groans, "So good, princess." You start to lean forward, getting woozy from the feeling of Chris still pounding into your ass. It feels way different without your cunt being pleasured. Chris' hand tightens in your hair and forces you back up against him, the other hand coming up to grip your neck. You start to get lightheaded as he cuts off your airflow. His strong hands grip your throat in just the right way. Meanwhile, Ethan ends up cumming all over himself. His sweet wife being used and manhandled in front of him made him feel better than he ever has.

Chris suddenly bends you over, forcing your face into Leon's lap. He quickly pulls out of you and you arch your back, feeling completely empty now. You shudder as you feel him shoot his warm ropes of cum all over your back and ass. "Shit..yeah" He curses under his breath. He's still gripping your hair and holding your head against Leon, completely overpowering you and making you feel so small. After a few more strokes of his hand, he releases you. You lay on Leon's lap, covered in their sticky cum and sweat. You feel so disgusting yet so good as Leon runs his fingers through your disheveled hair. His touch was so sweet, but not like Ethan's.

They eventually get dressed, pulling themselves together. You just lay there in your bed feeling guilty, hoping Ethan actually enjoyed it. Which he most definitely did. "We should do this again sometime, sweet thing." Chris suggests with a chuckle but you don't know how to reply. You look up at them with your eyes glazed over, still throbbing and wanting more. "Aw poor girl," he teases."What a sight...Ethan you're so lucky." Leon looks you over, completely enamored. Ethan pulls his boxers back up to their original position before sitting next to you and admiring your beauty. "I really am..."

After the pair leave for the night, you and Ethan get in the shower together to clean up the mess. He sweetly washes your back and everything else. He stands holding you protectively from behind "You looked so pretty tonight..." He presses sweet kisses along your neck. "Did you have a good time?" You nod. "I did...but I feel guilty because it wasn't you. It feels like cheating." He chuckles a bit at your confession, continuing to gently wash you under the warm water. "No need to feel guilty hon...I was the one who suggested we do this." He reassures. "I enjoyed it too, more than I thought I would. Though i'll admit, i didn't like the way Leon was getting all sweet and lovey on you." You smile softly to yourself, happy he still feels a little bothered. It feels nice to know he cares enough to get jealous.

mlist

[dollita-fawn-deactivated2024060]

I can't write well but just an idea that I find hot. Totally didn't imagen that.

After the end of RE5. He survived barely. Injured pretty badly but recovering.

Reader taking such good care of him. Since he can't properly do it himself.

Maybe reader could help him relax ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

~horny for Wesker anon

In a Time of Need

a/n- im in love with this idea oml ty anon.

pairings- Albert Wesker x Gn! reader

NSFW WARNING:

contains- oral sex (m!receiving), handjob, edging, Wesker refers to himself as ‘master’ once, riding Wesker while he’s immobile (consensually), praise/degrading, and use of pet names as always 𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

In his weaker state, Wesker is now a shadow of his former self. He's a broken man who has lost everything. He relies on you to take care of him, to feed him, and to keep him comfortable. You're the one who keeps him alive and protects him. You're the one who has the power to make his life better or worse. You have him entirely in your hands.

It used to be the other way around.

He's been reduced to a mere specimen and can't even protest that. He's completely silent, with the only sound being the heavy pumping of his heart. There's a feeling of hopelessness and self-pity surrounding him.

He won’t admit it, but he’s grateful for your presence. Despite how rough he treated you before, and how often he belittled you. You stuck by his side. Even more so when he was as pathetic like this You never seemed to think any less of him.

No matter the failure or wrongdoings, you held Wesker in high regard. You looked up to him as a superior being.

Even now, as you have to be the one to nurse him. Constantly tending to his slow healing wounds and practically spoon feeding him.

Wesker was never one to accept weakness and having to rely on someone else for basic things like eating and sleeping is infuriating for him. He doesn't understand how this has happened and doesn't want to admit that he is weak and vulnerable. He still has his pride and isn't ready to accept the fact that he needs someone to take care of him. He struggles against it every chance he gets, but deep down he understands he has no other options but to comply.

Daily, you have to tend to his bandages and open cuts to prevent further problems like infection.

Cleaning Wesker's wounds is no easy task. They are deep and painful and he doesn't like you touching or inspecting them. He's in so much pain, it's hard for him to even breathe. He clenches his jaw and squeezes his eyes shut, but not enough to hide the pain he's in. He curses softly each time you touch him, his wounds raw and red, but slowly healing under the care and attention of your hands.

“Sorry…” You offer a timid apology as you carefully change the gauze, a slight tremble in your hands betraying your concern that you may inadvertently cause discomfort to him.

"It didn't hurt that much." Wesker peers down at you with a mixture of frustration and sadness in his eyes. "Just finish up quickly."

You finish cleaning the wound and apply a fresh bandage to it. Wesker stays silent and stoic as you work, but you know he's in pain and only tolerating this. He's still glaring at you and even if you're doing your best to avoid hurting him, your final touches are making him flinch a little.

"Are you finished?" he grumbles under his breath. You can tell he's trying not to make a fuss, but he clearly wants to be done with this.

You give a reassuring nod in response as you tape up the loose ends. “Are you hungry still?” you ask cautiously. “Need anything before bed?”

"No." he says firmly, not willing to show any neediness or rely on you for anything else.

Part of him did want to be alone, but being around you made him feel slightly better.

Maybe because of your constant need to dote on him. He may have changed but you didn’t. In a sense, you were still basically his lap dog. It fed into that unquenchable thirst for control that he had. You did everything in your power to please him without a second thought.

You could see clear as day how much he was suffering. More than just external wounds inflicted pain.

The poor man was cooped up in bed, unable to accomplish any of the ideals he had thoroughly planned and tried for. Of course you could tell he was stressed. Anyone would be. For Wesker, that stress was eating him alive. He could hardly face you, utterly embarrassed at the state he was forced into. It wasn’t supposed to turn out this way. He wasn’t supposed to sink so low.

But, you knew exactly what was needed to boost him back up, at least somewhat close to his norm.

As you finish cleaning up, you decide to let your hand roam. Avoiding the injured areas of skin, you delicately slide your hand between his leg. Your soft palm trails the inside of his thighs and his tired eyes flicker to you in surprise. “I don’t want another useless massage.” he cuts in.

“I was thinking of doing a little bit more than that for you today.” you counter in a question like statement. “I think certain areas may be feeling neglected lately.”

Wesker picks up on the innuendo, his mood shifting immediately as you state your suggestion.

“Oh?” his thin lips start to curve into that all knowing grin. “Well then, be my guest.”

He certainly wasn’t going to deny you. The man hadn’t been touched for way longer than he anticipated. He was far too busy for things like this.

He almost forgot how good it could feel.

As your hand glides over his hardening length through the tight fabric of his pants, he jerks on impulse, letting out a throaty groan. He was way more sensitive than you anticipated, but you weren’t complaining.

You slowly stroke him through the material and its enough to send him into shock. The heat pools between his legs at the contact of your hands, the discomfort of his injuries fade into nothing.

To your convenience, he lifts as best he can, letting you strip him of his coverings. His cock stands tall and proud, the vein leading from tip to base steadily twitching.

He watches your every move as you spit into the center of your hand.

His eyes snap shut as you then use it to pump your hand, caressing the whole length, soft and breathy moans pour from his lips at his sensitivity.

“Fuck…just like that. Don’t you dare stop.” he barks out an order, yet he can’t sound as stern with you as usual. Not when you ball your palm over the tip, twisting and squeezing your way around.

He can hardly sit still, as much as he tries.

When your mouth comes into play, kissing softly down his happy trail. Your lip’s envelop him into your warm welcoming hole, his hand entangles in your hair.

The way you flick your tongue as you go is enough to kill him.

His whole body tenses. You take him all the way into your throat without cause for concern, slobbering all sloppy all over the base of his cock as you hold it there.

Wesker feels himself about to cum already. But so do you. So you part ways as fast as you can as you feel that pulsing, leaving him unfinished.

Or so he thought that’s what you were doing until you began to pull your own pants down.

His hands remove themselves from your locks, resting at his side as he waits for whatever it is you were planning. His eyes, half slit, watch your every step, looking you up and down as you strip for him. He tried his best to be patient, but he needed that release. More than anything.

“Come here,” he commands firmly, the frustration evident in his tone. “Now.” You would never deny him, not that you planned on it.

You straddle him, careful not to do any harm.

Sitting now on his lap, you position his hardness between the plush of your thighs. Your hands start to stroke him again, but the rough grip of your wrist forces you to a halt. “Ride.” he orders, leaving no room for leniency. He wanted it. Now.

The look in his eyes was almost pleading, but he’d never been the type to beg. He would have his way no matter the cost.

You position so your thighs rest on either side of his. He was wet enough from the saliva of your mouth, slipping into your tight hole with ease. He grits his teeth, grunting slightly as you slowly sink down on him.

The head of his cock reaches your untouched depths, making you squeeze tighter against him. “Such a good little toy for me,” he groans, hands gripping your hips. “Please your master. Don’t make me tell you again. Ride.”

You press your hands to his midriff to steady your balance. Slowly you slide back up, almost pulling him out. You were sucking him in too tightly to let go, even if you tried.

Either way, Wesker forces you back down with what little strength he had. “Faster.” he shouts, and you don’t hesitate.

You bounce on his cock, walls suffocatingly massaging his length inside. His head lulls back as things pick up pace, hands tightening their hold on you.

His hips move along with yours, the best they can. He was desperately chasing his high. After you stopped him mid release prior, he was feeling extra needy. He refused to allow that to happen more than once.

He slams into you at an ungodly pace, you can hardly keep your eyes open. He splits you open on his cock with no regard for your pleasure, only focused on his own.

You were the one who offered to be used, after all.

“You’re going to take every drop of my precious seed. Do you understand?” he growls almost incoherent, lost in the pleasure.

You plead yes, that you understand.

“Say it aloud. Tell me what you are to me.”

You try to gather your thoughts. He didn’t cease his assault, shaking you with every rough thrust. “Y-your cum slut..” you mewl out, hoping your decided answer was satisfactory enough.

“hnng- yes,” he moans out deeply. “My good little slut. I’m going to fill you up and you’re just going to let me.”

He bullies into you rapidly, forcing out your cries as he milks himself in your insides.

He doesn’t slow as he cums in spurts, coating your walls with his white fluids. He continues to stuff it deeper into you as he goes, draining everything he has into you.

It pools out on top of him, leaking messily onto the bed.

Wesker relaxes his hold, no longer feeling so tense and worked up. He collapses back onto the bed, a sweaty panting mess, leaving you to sit and warm his cock.

“You’re going to give yourself to me everytime i request, from now on.”

Much to your surprise, Wesker pulls you down against him, chest to chest. He was never once affectionate towards you before. But now here he is, face burrowed in the crook of your neck.

His hands comfortingly play with your hair, lightly scratching at your scalp.

You melt into him, completely basking in the aftermath and enjoying his rare, gentle touch.

“You’re sleeping here tonight,” he states matter of factly. “You did quite well for me. I think you’re deserving of some extra attention.”

mlist

[jellybonbons]

Foursome with DI!Leon, RE8 Chris, and RE8 Ada.

Literally just brainrot so it’s all over the place, 18+ (mdni please)

Imagine doggy style with Chris, and in front of you are Ada and Leon. They're in the same position as you and Chris. Ada kisses you while both men are fucking you guys from behind.

Another position is missionary. While both men are fucking you guys, you hold Ada’s hand, and your eyes are on her the whole time. Chris gets jealous and aggressively cups your face to look at him. Leon is a little bit heartbroken because Ada was looking at you instead of him, but eventually, he brushes it off because Ada’s pussy is too good and seeing Chris fucking you aggressively made him ten times more horny. 

Lowkey, Chris, and Leon made it into a competition to see who could make either one of you guys cum first or the hardest.

Cum play and eating are a must. Chris and Leon take turns cumming in you while you eat Ada out. When you and Ada finally get to fuck each other, the boys jerk off watching you guys, and they get too horny, so they fuck each other.

Okay, but the dirty talk, though, is going to be so good. The combination of Leon’s deep voice and Ada’s sultry voice? Yeah, I’m going to explode. Chris wouldn’t be that vocal because he’s a man on a mission!

Both Ada and Leon are on your side and stuffing your pussy with their fingers. You’re sitting on top of Chris as you cockwarm him with your asshole, and he holds your hips down so you won’t squirm away from their touch.

I can’t deprive Ada of fucking you too, so obviously she’s going to pull out her pink strap. With your back on Leon’s chest, you lean against him as he fucks your asshole, gently choking you with his biceps. Ada is on all fours, kissing you and fucking your cunt, while Chris is hitting her in the back.

With the three of them combined, their stamina is never-ending. You eventually became too exhausted, and they just use you as they please because you are their cum slut <33

Re8 Ada concept art…I still think about you everyday 💔

[nekrosdolly]

albert wesker hcs pt.2 (re1-re5) (18+)

overall headcanons for whiskers himself! both nsfw and sfw, mostly nsfw. these are just my opinions and if they're ooc, i'm sorry. i'd like to say that im so down bad it's horrible and laughable. probably my longest post yet my computer is killing itself.

cw; nsfw content (i.e. kink talk, genitalia discussions and descriptions, mentions of dubcon and CNC, collaring mentions, cockwarming, impact play, light bondage, bdsm themes, dom/sub relationship)

˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖ hex codes ˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖

applies to all variants

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ - overall skintone is #F6E5DE

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ - his eyes are #adcfe6

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ - his cock starts with #f6e5de, fades to #F1D8CD. tip is #ffc8b5.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ - his hair (pubes included) is #F0E2B6

₊˚⊹♡size and habits ₊˚⊹♡

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ - he's 8" in length, definitely can't close your fingers around it. thick vein on the underside.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ - 6'2 in height, more lean than muscular. towers over most.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ - definitely well groomed. not very hairy in general, thus he doesn't have very much hair to groom. cuts his hair (in the bathroom by himself mind you) every month.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ - re1 eats as needed, the healthy 3 times a day, and plenty of water to stay on top of his game. re5 doesn't have the need to eat or drink. he's no longer 100% human and his appetite diminished within months of taking doses of Uroboros.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ - reads a lot when he's not working. non-fiction, science-based literature to expand his knowledge. his wits came naturally, sure, but that doesn't mean he can't maintain them. at home, when he's truly by himself, he doesn't wear his sunglasses. he has an actual prescription pair that's a similar style to his sunglasses, just without the tint.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ - his guilty pleasures are romance novels. the vampire kind, specifically. he finds them entertaining though he often makes fun of the cheesier ones. when he stumbles across the occasional good one, he rereads it over and over again until he's worn out the spine.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ - he drinks wine. not one for beer, truthfully, but will drink some here and there. whiskey is his second choice.

⋆˙⟡♡⟡⋆˙kinks⋆˙⟡♡⟡⋆˙

୨୧ - (re1) at the beginning of your relationship, he'll only do something if you ask him to. he's never thought much about sexual exploration given his long, *long* history of solitude. he refuses to do anything that might injure you- knifeplay, gunplay, impact play (light or hard), etc. sure, he'll tie you up if you ask, he doesn't mind. he plays into your desires.

୨୧ - (re1) the more he researches, the more he finds he likes. he buys some ribbon to bind you with- the flimsy kind you can get out of quickly should you need to. he loves pink on you. he only binds your wrists together, nothing too intense. maybe he blindfolds you, uses a toy on you, or overstimulates you. consent checks regularly, as well. you use safewords should you need them.

୨୧ - (re5) fully established kinks. he's less human and less rational, but he knows to respect your boundaries. he leaves bite marks all over you and demands that you don't cover them up with makeup or clothing. he likes owning you. you're given a collar, of which you can put on or take off as you please, but during which you are fully submissive to him and whatever he wants you to do.

୨୧ - (re5) consensual nonconsensual (cnc) is his favorite. of course, you have to be wearing your collar for him to take advantage of you. safewords are a must for the both of you. he's never submissive, definitely a hard dom. he doesn't feel the need for knives or guns, but he does love impact play. loves shutting up your bratty mouth by slapping you and manhandling you. he's switched to handcuffs instead of ribbon if he deems them necessary.

୨୧ - (re5) since Uroboros has diminished his humanity by a good chunk, he's more animalistic towards you. aside from marking you up, he's obsessed with breeding. adores cumming inside you until you're leaking it. he knows you love it just as much as he does. at some point, it becomes routine. "such a slut. can't go a day without being fucked full of cum." he degrades you lightly, nothing that would genuinely hurt. simple things i.e slut, whore, toy, doll, dumb, stupid, etc.

༘⋆✿ favorite positions ༘⋆✿

๋࣭ ⭑ - (re1) he likes seeing your face. he loves watching your face twist and contort with the pleasure he gives you. adores being able to see all of you, all of what he does to you. eye contact drives him crazy. if you're blindfolded, he won't finish until you're done. he'll ask if he can take your blindfold off between kisses to your face.

๋࣭ ⭑ - missionary is a must. your first time with each other is missionary- the romantic first time you'd see in movies where he takes his time to make you feel valued. the lotus position is another one he likes if you're going to be on top. he's okay with you riding him too, if you really want, but he'd prefer to be the one in control.

๋࣭ ⭑ - if you both aren't feeling sex, he loves getting you off by having you sit on his face or using his fingers on you. he doesn't need anything in exchange either. he's found that he doesn't like receiving head, as he finds it to be degrading towards you, and that's the last thing he wants. but if you insist, he allows it. he mutters praises as you take him down to the base, swallowing around him in an attempt to not gag.

๋࣭ ⭑ - mutual masturbation is something he's weak for. he loves watching your hand try to fit around him as you stroke his cock so eagerly, his fingers buried in your weeping entrance.

๋࣭ ⭑ - (re5) he prefers less intimacy, not like how he used to. he thinks it's too human, something he's made quite clear that he's not anymore. he'll fuck you just about anywhere. he prefers doggy with his arm around your neck, keeping you in a chokehold. bonus points if you beg him to breed you in this position.

๋࣭ ⭑ - what he gets, he'll give. you give him head, something he's come to enjoy, he'll give you head with the same enthusiasm.

๋࣭ ⭑ - cockwarming is a must. prefers it while he's either reading or working at his desk. sometimes, he'll make you read to him and thrust up into you occasionally so you stumble over your words. when he gets impatient, he pins you down and fucks into you until he comes at least twice inside of you.

๋࣭ ⭑ - wearing your collar? he'll fuck you while you're cuddling. spooning is preferred, but whether you're sitting on his lap, lying on top of him, or him on top of you, he's putting his cock inside you. very rarely does he do slow and soft, but if you're both tired, he'll be careful with you. he loves sitting you in his lap, his forceful grip on your hips, and moving you like a ragdoll. superhuman strength pays off in situations like this. his fingertips leave bruises that make his cock twitch whenever he sees them.

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗ pet names ˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

𓆩♡𓆪 - (re1) calls you darling, dearest, dear, little dove, dove. adores praising you and could for days on end. (i.e. "that's it, dear, you're doing so well for me. are you alright? should i stop?)

𓆩♡𓆪 - (re5) calls you pet, dear, bunny, darling, slut, whore, dolly. praises and degrades you. (i.e. "what a good fucking whore, taking my cock so well. you were made for taking my cock, my personal whore. i'm going to ruin you for anyone else." )

[lilmoonbunny]

Co-Workers to Lovers; Albert Wesker

Warnings: Cheating boyfriend (reader's bf, not Wesker), alcohol consumption, implied nsfw.

Working alongside Albert Wesker was… interesting.

He was cold, rude, blunt, and so on with all his workers, except for you.

He wasn’t a lot nicer, but there wasn’t the same amount of judgement, hatred, and annoyance in his tone when he spoke to you.

If it wasn’t for the fact that he would kill them, your co-workers would joke that he has a sweet spot for you.

It wasn’t like you didn’t have one for him also. Most of your co-workers hated you for the special treatment you got from Wesker, so he was basically all you had at Umbrella.

Your boyfriend wasn’t fond of your work-relationship with Albert, something about how he “didn’t trust the creep” and how “he’s trying to steal you from me”.

You never believed any of that, but then again, you never believed that your boyfriend would cheat on you either.

Well, until the night you came home from work earlier than usual to the sound of moans from your bedroom.

At first, you thought maybe he was masturbating. After all, it had been a while since you two had last had sex. Work Albert had been keeping you busy.

The moment you heard the female moans, you knew what was happening, but you couldn’t stop yourself from entering the room.

“Really?” You asked him, watching his face morph from pleasure, to shock, to anger.

“You’re home early!”

“Clearly.”

Without another word, you left the room as your boyfriend of three years rushed to put his pants on and chase after you, but before he could reach you, you had already left, beginning to walk in the pouring rain.

You didn’t know what to do or where to go, so you ended up back at work. They had beds for those doing 24-hour shifts, so you could just take one of those.

“I thought you finished for today. Why are you here, and why are you wet? You’re dripping on the floor.” Whilst his words would seem annoyed, there was an underlying tone of concern in Albert’s tone.

“My boyfriend cheated on me; I walked here in the rain. Sorry, Sir.” You whispered, avoiding eye contact.

Had you been paying attention, you would have noticed the way his jaw clenched in anger, but all you heard was an annoyed sigh followed by you being told to follow him.

He took you to his office, bluntly telling you to sit before leaving the room.

You waited, eyes still staring at the floor rather than the room around you.

You were embarrassed more than anything. First your boyfriend cheats on you for God only knows how long, and now you’re crying to your boss.

“It’s not your fault.” Wesker’s deep voice sounds from behind you, the weight of a towel being placed on your shoulder pulls you from your self-deprecating thoughts.

You shrug and he sighs again, taking a seat in his chair.

“Look at me.” You do.

It isn’t easy for him, not at all, but he does do his best to put on a somewhat kinder face and try to comfort you.

“He’s a moron. Don’t worry about that idiot. You deserve better.” He says. “You deserve me” sounds his internal voice, but he ignores it.

With a quiet sigh, you nod and agree. “Thank you, Sir.”

“Albert is quite fine, Dear.” The name causes you to blush and you silently pray that he doesn’t notice or will just pass it off as you being cold, but he isn’t stupid.

“Thank you, Albert.”

Wesker can’t deny the way his body reacts when his name rolls from your tongue, but he can sure as hell ignore it. He doesn’t need feelings. He isn’t capable of them, he tells himself.

“You can stay in my office for the time being. I finish in an hour or two, I’ll drive you back to my place.” It wasn’t an invitation, it was a demand, but one that you didn’t want to turn down.

“Thank you.” You repeat, and he simply nods, passing you some dry clothes, and leaving to return to work.

Once he finished work, Albert gathered his things and lead you to his car.

Being the gentleman he is, although it was only for you, he held the door open for you, enjoying the way you blushed and muttered a thank you.

The drive was quiet. It was late, dark, and you were both deep in your thoughts.

He was wondering if he had made a mistake inviting you to stay at his home until you were back on your feet. He didn’t know how long he could go without kissing or touching you, but it also didn’t sit right with him making you stay at Umbrella offices where it wasn’t safe, or with your cheating boyfriend.

However, all you could think about was how good he looked driving, his hands tightened around the wheel and the gearstick. There was something oddly attractive about it.

Despite him being deep in his own thoughts, he didn’t fail to notice and couldn’t help the smirk on his lips which made you blush once again.

“We’re here,” he said, quickly moving to open your door for you and lead you into his mansion house, enjoying the shock on your face.

“Thank you, Albert,” you smiled at him as soon as you two were sat with drinks in your hands. “It means a lot to me. More than you can imagine.”

“It’s no problem, Dear.”

Over the weeks that you had stayed at his place, it was safe to say that you and Albert had grown closer, the same as your feelings had grown more for one another.

Albert was working more to keep himself busy, as were you, but the drives home were becoming more and more painful each time.

It was obvious to him that you had feelings for him, but he was him. Albert Wesker isn’t exactly the king of relationships, or even friendships; he had betrayed everyone in his life, after all.

He couldn’t resist, however, placing his large hand on your thigh as he drove, enjoying the way you tensed up beneath his touch and a blush ran to your cheeks, but you remained silent.

Having enjoyed your reaction, this was something he began doing every journey. He loved seeing you flustered, even more so when you stuttered when he spoke to you during the drive.

“No need to stutter, Dear. It’s only us.” He would say with a smirk.

You didn’t know how much longer you could last without touching him either, but you were afraid of rejection. Sure, he touched you, but what if he didn’t want you to touch him.

He could sense your hesitation and didn’t expect you to ever do anything, at least, until you laid your hand on top of his that rested on your thigh, your head lying on the glass of the window. It was clear you were tired, and perhaps that was why you were doing it.

You fell asleep that drive, the sound of rain and feeling of Albert’s hand touching your own lulling you into a deep sleep, one that he didn’t want to wake you from., so he didn’t. Instead, he carefully lifted you and carried you to the room you had been staying in. Your room.

Your relationship grew closer from there. You trusted him and, scarily enough for him, he trusted you also.

You went out one night with your friends, Wesker telling you to call him when you were ready to come home, and he would pick you up; he didn’t trust anyone but himself to get you home safely.

You had talked about him all night, leaving your friends wondering what was happening between you both. That was when you finally admitted it to yourself: you loved him.

Whilst the thought had always been there, completely admitting it to yourself was terrifying, but it had to be done.

However, the only way you felt you could properly think on this was by drinking more.

When it reached 3am, you texted him telling him you’ll get a cab since he was likely asleep.

Don’t be stupid, I’ll come get you. I can’t sleep. Where are you? Came his immediate reply. He would never admit it, but he stayed up worrying about you.

He was there moments later, helping you into the car so you didn’t fall with a sigh.

“Are you mad at me?” You asked upon realising that he wasn’t touching you for the first time in weeks.

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.”

“Then why aren’t you touching me?”

“You’re drunk. I’m not touching you whilst you’re drunk, Y/N.”

A blush ran up your cheeks at the realisation and your drunk self couldn’t stop the words leaving your lips.

“But what if I want you to? What if I want you to do more than hold my thigh?” You’d regret that in the morning, but you were too drunk to care.

Albert’s hand tightened on the wheel at your words, doing his best to calm his breathing before responding.

“You’re still drunk. I’m not taking advantage of you whilst you’re under the influence. If you still want it tomorrow, then I will.” Were the final words for the night before you fell asleep and he, yet again, carried you inside, the smallest smile on his lips.

The following morning you were terrified of facing him, remembering what you had said, so you stayed inside your room until noon when a knock came on your door.

“I know you’re awake, Y/N. We need to talk.” Came his stern voice that had both your heart and thoughts racing, assuming the worst.

“Okay.” Came your meek response as you opened the door, allowing him into the room.

It was silent for a few moments, before you offered him a seat beside you.

“Did you mean what you said last night?” He asked, staring at you. “Be honest, I won’t be offended if you say no.”

His words confused you, but as you stared at him, you couldn’t help but notice the way his pupils dilated whilst he stared back, lips slightly parted. You weren’t dumb, you knew what that meant. He wanted you the same way you wanted him.

Rather than responding, you closed the gap between both of you, his hands instantly moving to push the straps of your dress that you had failed to change out of down your shoulders.

Once you pulled away, breathless and half undressed, he chuckled quietly.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” He teased, but you ignored it and pressed your lips to his again in desperation.

Maybe it had always been him since you met him. Maybe your cheating ex-boyfriend was just what made you realise that.

One-shot (Cheating Heart) coming soon!

[cuckette-deactivated20240705]

ROTTEN LUCK !

ft. leon s. kennedy x fem!reader

tags. smut, kidnapping, leon is like mentally gone icl, references to past assault and trauma, non-con, manipulation, suicidal thoughts/reference to an attempt, general leon self destructive behaviour, physical abuse, power dynamics, throatfucking, choking, breath play, somno, 1 instance of drugging, unmentioned age gap, anal, he puts duct tape on your pussy ok just once promise it’s not bad, religious references, 1 mention of vomit and piss not in a sexual way, slight misogyny, panic attack

tumblr has started to remove fics that use tw non-con, tw incest and any nsfw tags in general. for this reason, as i’d like my fic to appear in the tags so i can have the same reach as other authors, please understand that this fic contains dark content under the cut. reading this comes at your own risk.

anyway, please ignore typos :3 rbs and feedback is very appreciated :3 my medical knowledge sucks, so keep in mind that all of this is off LMFAO crossposted to ao3 (user clitkiss)

Lucky. Leon hates that word. He wasn’t lucky to get out of Raccoon City, he was just barely capable, you have to be unlucky to get into that situation in the first place. You’re a lucky guy, Redfield had told him once, Chris not Claire. Claire isn’t daft. And Leon wonders what is so lucky about him. He’s forty-six and all he’s got is his trusty Matilda, his mother’s old Bible, and a failing liver. His luck is preordained by God and it’s a total sham.

Leon Kennedy’s the one who showed up to drill sessions smelling like sweat and cock. Kennedy’s the one that rolls over onto his front and takes it like a good doggy. Kennedy’s green behind the ears, pretty in the face, and that don’t fare well in a boot camp full of men twice his size. Kennedy’s the one brushing shoulders with the President, got the USA’s most prized dick in his mouth and everyone knows that he wouldn’t dare bite down. Golden boy Leon fucking Scott Kennedy would just go ahead and use his tongue to clean up Graham’s ballsack. And you’re calling that lucky? Bullshit.

The DSO’s modus operandi is strikingly similar to that of the BSAA. He is but a cog in a well oiled machine. There’s one difference, not a dog tag to his name. If he dies, then he’ll die nameless, and he’ll be cremated by something nuclear, and it’ll all be for nothing. Ain’t that just the luckiest thing you’ve ever heard?

He has tried to kill himself once or twice or thrice. He lost count after the fifth. The gun jammed once, a bad joke. Left Matilda rendered useless. Was meant to be him, not her. And if Leon’s being honest, every day is an avid attempt, as in the drinking and praying his liver gives out. Once he managed to get halfway there. Doesn’t remember a lot. Just blood. Lots of blood. Why couldn’t you be quiet about your grief, Leon? Claire’s expression had asked, how I am, how Chris is, how Jill is.

‘Cause he couldn’t. He had to go ahead and splatter his grief all over the linoleum floor. Maybe then someone would find him, and they’d mourn him, and they’d feel sorry for him ‘cause he’d pitied himself enough. Leon told her a joke, yapping away like one of those butterscotch lapdogs. Claire said that in South Korea you’re allowed to snip a dog's vocal cords to stop them from barking. Lucky I’m not in South Korea then. She handed him an orange prescription bottle with his name scrawled on it, and that was that. They didn’t speak for a few months.

Once upon a time Sherry needed him, now he needs her more. Needs her to laugh at his jokes, she’s the only one that does. And he needs her to tell him, I love you, Leon. She’s the only one that says that. No one puts up with him like Sherry does. She puts up with him in the way most women do their fathers. Love their dads unconditionally and nothing can ever fix that. Terrible illness that is. So, yeah, Leon Scott Kennedy is far from lucky. Lonely? Oh, for sure. God. He’s so lonely he feels sorry for himself. That’s one thing Leon has always been good at though. Lending himself a shoulder ‘cause no one else will.

His fingers brush yours in the record store. The hairs on the back of his neck stand. Jesus. Is it getting that bad? Leon’s been without a fuck for a few months and he’s already itching. That’s a new low. When Leon looks up to catch sight of who made his dick swell with their fingertips, he catches your eye briefly. A mousy little thing. Easily spooked it seems by the nervous smile you give him.

You’re on the phone, I don’t know what he likes anymore, dad, yeah—I’m trying to find it—Yes, I know who sang Sex and Candy, dad, Kurt Cobain right? Is that the one he likes? Dumbass. No, I’m not wrong, could you put mom on the phone—Hi mom, yes, I know he’s my brother, mom—Ever since he turned fifteen he stopped talking to me properly—I don’t know what she thinks, mom—

A mommy, daddy, a brother, a sister too he assumes. You’re what they call lucky. Nasty undertone you’re using with your parents. If Leon’s mom was still around he’d talk to her so sweet. She’d tell him to pray and Leon wouldn’t resist. Alright, Ma, Ave Maria, gratia plena, Dominus Tecum— then his voice would trail off, and he’d pretend to mouth the rest of the hymn ‘cause he remembers fuck all.

He wants to knock you around. Shake you till your brains scramble. Wants you to flinch even when he’s being nice. Leon’s nostrils flare when you raise your voice in the slightest, even if it’s playful, it’s plain rude. How dare you? He can’t even begin to fathom how incredibly lucky you are. The thought crosses Leon’s mind once, twice, thrice. Just how suicide did that day back in September. If you can kidnap the President’s daughter from her bustling college campus, throw her over your shoulder like salt, why can’t you kidnap Miss Nobody from a street corner in D.C?

Your figure is distinguished by a single, flickering street lamp. He sees your shadow. Recognises the silhouette by the shapely legs and how your belted coat flares out to create a dramatic hourglass, Leon’s got a good eye for detail. Oh, it’s kinda sexy watching you in the spotlight, like a makeshift cabaret show, go on babe, bust out the flapper dress, he knows his stuff, he read Gatsby back in high school. He listens out for the tap of your heeled boots, click-clack, click-clack, there you are, you don’t even know what’s about to happen, do you? And it really is that easy. Just like throwin’ salt over your shoulder.

Temazepam, loprazolam, lormetazepam, diazepam, nitrazepam. Some melatonin too. Magnesium’s supposed to help with insomnia. How’s he supposed to know what your body reacts to best? Leon’s not your fuckin’ GP. Chloroform does the trick for everyone. Should’ve invited you out for drinks and roofied you instead.

Leon had gone for an old-fashioned method, listen, he was desperate. He doesn’t usually resort to such bruteish tactics unlike the older Redfield, not that Chris would use a morsel of his strength to harm a lady, but it had to be done. Yes, he choked you out. No, he’s not proud of it. He’s actually pretty disappointed in his lack of preparation. Oh, cut yourself some slack, Kennedy, it’s your first time kidnapping someone, and it was a heat of the moment type thing. To Leon’s dismay, that doesn’t last long, duh, he should know better.

While you regain sluggish consciousness on his couch, Leon’s tearing through his kitchen cabinets for anything to settle you down. Ah. That’s right. Ketamine. Ain’t it horse tranquilliser? What’s that doing here? Honestly, he’s got to stop raiding the infirmary for all they’ve got. A high enough dosage will knock you out for sure. If it kills you, then so be it. Beer for guys, wine for the ladies, and Ketamine for random sluts he picks up on street corners.

You’re blinking to clear your hazy vision, feeling around your crushed windpipe to assess the damage, he leans over you like a nurse from hell. The needle breaks your skin easily, so tender, before you have the chance to kick up a fuss, your eyelids turn to lead and close like a toy babydoll’s do when you lean them back.

Fifteen to twenty minutes, google says. Leon gets down to business, strips you of your clothing, takes you to his room, throws you on the king-sized bed that’s warmed only by him. He kept your panties on. They’re light blue and sensible briefs. A buzzer rings out in his head, bzzzt, boring. A million bitches in D.C. and he picked out the most vanilla one. Just his Kennedy luck ain’t it.

One minute. Leon presses his nose to the fabric of your panties, sniffs like a pig does in its trough, isn’t that just the sweetest smell? Fresh cunt. He licks up the print of your pussy, tongue landing on the hardness of your clit.

Five minutes. With your panties soaked with Leon’s spit, he decides to move ‘em to the side, and he groans in delight when he parts your cushioned lips to find that you’re stickier than toffee pudding, drooly cunt reactive to the pads of his fingers, to the tip of his tongue. He pushes back the hood of your bud, gives it a kiss, then another.

Ten minutes. He’s opened you up, gaped you around three thick fingers, Jesus, you’re so tight. It’s like your cunt’s vacuum sealed. Leon’s fingers prod at the squishy opening of your cervix, his thumb circles your clit, presses down like a button and he’s rewarded with another gush of slick. Beer on tap.

You rouse from your forced slumber at fourteen minutes. Huh. He’ll have to up the dosage next time. “Hi there, sleepin’ beauty.” Leon says in a rather cloying voice, amping up the sweetness when in reality he is less than fond of you. The lucky girl. He strokes your head soothingly, hovers over you to keep you in place. The panic sets in almost immediately, flailing limbs, asinine attempts at sentences that crawl up your throat and spill over. Who are you, get off me, get off me, please. What did I do? I’m sorry, please, let me go, let me go, please, I’ll do anything. Albeit your words are slurred, Leon chooses not to hear you.

“Aintcha just the sweetest thing?” He cups your cheeks, gaze so gentle it’s disarming. “I opened you up, didn’t wanna break ya, just wanted you to wake up before we got it on, I’m a real gentleman, you see.” Before he rapes you, he makes sure to ask: you got a rubber by any chance, sweetheart? Oh, and you don’t like that, you really don’t. ‘Cause your face falls fast like a drop tower ride.

The chance to scream is lost on you when he shoves his fingers in your mouth, pushes them down your burning throat till you choke and drool in an unflattering manner. Your jaw is too lax to clamp down on him. Leon takes this opportunity to smear his leaky, fat tip over your folds, pushes past the barriers of resistance and slides into your pre-gaped cunt. Lucky bitch. Lucky fucking bitch. Getting yourself a piece of Leon S. Kennedy’s dick. He reserves that for only the finest ladies, aka any girl that has a nice set of tits and dark hair, greying roots are a new preference.

He’s fully sheathed inside of you, head rubbing painfully against your cervix. Bruising it from the look of discomfort on your face as you make stupid-sounding noises around his fingers. “Fuck, yeah, that hits the spot.” When’s the last time Leon had his way with a girl, wanton fucking, pulling hair, slapping— they all want it soft and sappy these days. And so did he up until a certain point. Up until he tried to kill himself maybe. Something must’ve flipped in his brain, now he’s overcome with the need to mess your pretty face up.

Leon’s forehead presses to your clammy one, your sweat is salty on his tongue when he kisses your cheek. Slightly sour scent, ugh, what’s he saying? Acting like he’s a fear-smelling B.O.W or some shit. Fuck off, Kennedy. His hips aim upwards when your body shifts due to the thrashing you’re doing, with each thrust he bottoms out with a wet squelch, rolls his hips into you at a force that knocks any chance of breath out of you.

“If you were a good girl,” Leon smiles, all teeth. They glint in the muddy darkness of his room, black-out curtains drawn so not even the moon gets to see what he’s doing to you, “then I’d be fuckin’ you real slow, real nice, rub that little clit till you came.” Your wrists are both cuffed within his grip, pinned over your head as he drives into you, as if his intention is to tear straight through you.

The heat in his gut uncoils, but he’s timed himself well enough, pulls out ‘cause god forbid he knocked you up. Knowing Leon’s luck he’d manage it. Then he puts his cock in your mouth, “I got some pliers out back.” He says in warning as he jerks the shaft and your lips hesitantly close around the tip when he gives you a mean look. Total lie by the way, no matter how abnormal Leon is he does not own a pair of tooth-pulling pliers. Shoots his load down your throat, you splutter and push at his abdomen to get him off.

He pulls out in his own time, lays beside you. All of his chakras are aligned. Apparently there’s seven, but Leon’s only got two. And they’re entirely dependent on whether he’s sucked and fucked till he’s thoroughly satisfied. By god he is. Benedicta tu in mulieribus, Et benedictus fructus ventris tui, Iesus. That’s the rest of it right. He remembers now. You might just be his saving grace, Lucky Girl. His very own Sancta Maria, Mater dei. Damn, you hear that, ma? Leon’s got it down to a T. Maybe some more pussy will get him singing out the rest of the prayer. He can get rid of that statuette on the mantle, swap it out with you.

He doesn't get a word out by the time you’re vomiting a vile mixture of acidic yellow and his seed down the front of your chest. Retching as you choke on the gift he’d given you.

Leon takes you to the bathroom, forces you into the shower cubicle as he sprays you down, not even waiting for the water to go warm. “Dry yourself off,” he gestures mildly to where there’s a few towels stored.

You don’t come back out of the bathroom for five minutes, then ten, then twenty. Don’t even answer when he knocks. Goddammit, Leon. Leave your kidnap victim alone in the room with all the razors, why don’t you? Fucking idiot. When he opens the door, you’re huddled in the corner by the toilet, dry heaving into the bowl and sitting in a puddle of your own piss. Stupid fucking baby. Is this what kids are like these days? When he was your age he made it out of Raccoon City alive, and no one made it out of there. No one lived to tell that story. And you’re here pissing your pants ‘cause he’s given you a nice, hard fucking? He pimp slaps you so hard your teeth clatter.

It takes two weeks for his Lucky Girl to be broken in. Not as long as he expected, so he’s pleased. And when Leon’s pleased, he’s nice. So today you get some screen time. You’re curled into his side, the way a baby bird does under its mother’s wing, squinting at his sixty-five inch TV, egregious really, who needs a screen that big? He’s flipping periodically through the channels whenever an ad break comes on. The 7.45PM news is on. He settles on that and you watch mindlessly, no objections.

The speech blurs like white noise to him, Leon’s not focused until your picture pops up on screen, and he just turns to you with this shit-eating grin. Graduation cap and robe on, all dolled up as you make eyes at him through the screen.

“Baby,” he grins wolfishly, ruffles your hair in a teasing manner, “you look so damn cute there!” Leon watches bright-eyed, suddenly enthralled, they list your name, your height, your weight, all stuff he actually didn’t know ‘bout you. Never bothered to ask. You don’t need a name, you’re just his Lucky Girl. “Don’t like the red lip on you,” he comments flippantly, “A red lip is for whores, don’t you think, baby?”

He was right. You got a daddy, a mommy, a brother and a sister. You’ve got it all. Lucky fucking Girl. A broken sob is torn from your throat, jagged and scratchy as you fling yourself halfway across the room, on your knees as you put your grubby fingers all over his shiny screen. Leon lets you. He finds it hilarious actually. Who’d you think you are? Carol Anne from Poltergeist? Like you’re gonna get sucked into the screen, crawling out the other end like Sadako, back into your daddy’s arms.

Our daughter—My girl, she had her whole life ahead of her—My sister wouldn’t do this—She was so excited to move on after graduation—She’s not the type to run away—My daughter—My sister—Our sister—

Your mother is a mess, barely able to get words out with the way she’s blubbering. “She’s layin’ it on a bit thick, don’t you think, babe?” Leon picks up his beer from the side table, slightly heated under the burn of the lamp. “You look like your daddy, cry pretty like your mama though.”

You stare at him horrified. Jaw hanging open as if it’s unhinged, not in the way a snake does when ready to swallow its prey whole. More in the way of a screaming corpse. When the rigor mortis has worn off, secondary flaccidity sets in, and the mandible drops open. Jeez, tough crowd tonight it seems. Don’t make him sew your mouth up, Lucky Girl. Leon wouldn’t dare, that mouth, that throat is precious to him.

CCTV footage plays on the screen, another sob racks your brittle frame, you didn’t know it was him that day, Leon realises. “Oh, baby, that’s where we met, ain’t that funny?” A blurry image of you on the phone, prattling away to your family like the Lucky Girl you are, he’s just out of shot.

We miss her—Please, if you know anything, if you find anything—Please—

“God, let me get my phone, darling, they look so upset I can’t stand it. I might have to call them up and turn myself in. Give ‘em an early Christmas gift, don’t you think?” If Leon went missing, who would look for him? Hunnigan with all her sharp edges, or Claire with her unwilling loyalty to him? Lucky Bitch. It’s making his temper flare, that’s enough TV time for today.

The screen fades out, goes black when he switches it off. “No, no, no,” you chant, “no, no, no, no, please, please—“

“I’m disappointed in you, baby.” Leon says honestly, sips his beer and laughs mirthlessly. “I thought you’d started to like me.”

You’re not listening, too busy fitting on the rug, grasping at the screen as if you can pluck your family out of it and reunite with them on his living room floor. Leon did think you were getting used to him though. Family’s family, blood is thicker than water. Cum is also thicker than water. And that’s what he’s pumped down your throat nightly in hopes of it clogging up your brain, so you think of nothing but him. Those dogs in South Korea, the ones Claire told him about, he’s got his own special method to take care of your vocal cords. No snipping, no surgery needed. Just the throat training method.

“C’mere, lucky girl.” He clicks his tongue as if he’s calling out for a dog. You lay unmoving, rocking back and forth, whispering to yourself like a crazy person. Bit creepy. Leon stands, he grabs you by the hair and drags you to sit at his feet near the couch. Simple and effective. Backhands you for good luck. He needs it. “Stop your cryin’ I’m getting sick of it.” Leon says, brows wrinkled as he lowers his sweats, brings your head down to rest on his thigh. Your tear-stained cheeks turn him on, the doleful eyes, runny nose. It’s hot. His sad little girl.

“Suck it.” Leon taps the tip against your pouty lips, swollen from his earlier kisses, coats them in his pearly pre, “I won’t ask twice, sweetheart.” You open your mouth, take him like clockwork. He don’t like that attitude. So he pushes your head down on his cock, watches your throat bob, uncomfortably full. Leon pinches your nose, listens to how you panic so nice around a mouthful of dick, gagging in a way you never have before. Not a gag that indicates inexperience, but one that is full of sheer terror, nails leaving red marks on his thighs as you drag them down his skin. Ouch. He’s gotta trim those down.

“You get it now, babe?” Leon hums, he lets you off this time, “Do what I say and it’ll be fine, yeah?”

“Yes, yes, yes, Leon,” you nod furiously through gulps of air, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I’m sorry.” Fuck. Another one of your panic attacks. He’s not got the patience to deal with this. “I won’t—“ A wheeze, “ I won’t do it—“ A croak, “I won’t do it again.” You’ve learned to handle yourself. Rub your chest with your right hand, stare at the ceiling till you calm down. Leon’s dick is still rock hard. Ready to crack open a walnut.

“Good girl,” he nods, “then get on with it.”

There is nothing you’ve done in particular to set Leon off. He’s just had a bad day. Hunnigan’s senses are much too acute, she thought something was off with him. That put him on edge. So he’s like a ticking time bomb. Just waiting for you to make one wrong move. And you do. You say no to him, pleadingly so, shaking your head as you look at him with your fairytale fawn eyes. Meekly admit that you’re sore and achy and it hurts.

“That’s not your decision to make, sweetheart.” Leon informs you, he grabs a roll of duct tape from the kitchen, nicks at the edge with his teeth and tears a strip off. You bristle, completely still, a thousand thoughts running through that pea-sized brain of yours. “But I’ll be nice today, been waitin’ to fuck your ass anyway.” He puts the strip on your cunt, over your chubby lips to hold them together, it feels strange and icky. The last thing Leon wants to see is blood. He sees enough of that daily. So he’s generous when it comes to prep, busts out the cherry-flavoured lube today, squirts a decent amount on his fingers, cock, and your tighter hole.

You squirm, he watches the unreadable expression on your face carefully, the rise and fall of your chest. You’re nervous, but you’re wet, and that makes his chest swell in pride. Lucky Girl finally gets it. One finger slips past the ring of tight muscle, Ora pro nobis peccatoribus, nunc, there’s one last line he’s missing. It’ll come to him. Two fingers in, he scissors you open, spits on it just ‘cause it turns him on to see it run down your crack.

That’s enough, Leon thinks when he fits the third. He wants to make it hurt a little. Wants to feel like a big, strong man. He sits back on his knees, flips you over onto your front, he likes you this way. Just takes you in, how your tits hang low, brushing against the mattress when Leon presses a hand down on your back to keep you from arching. He takes his dick in hand and in he goes, easier than he thought. He wonders if you can cum just like this, with his dick pounding your ass.

He fucks like an animal, you gasp and yelp below him, unable to handle it as his hips smack against yours. The duct tape is starting to peel ‘cause your pussy is fucking soaked. That alone makes his balls tighten as he turns you back over to do damage control, and ‘cause he wants to see your face while he fucks. You look like you’re lovin’ it. Alright. So you’re an anal slut. Got it. He pushes back into your ass, groans when you clench around him, the duct tape peeling at the corners, he can’t handle it. Et in hora mortis nostrae. Leon’s mind blanks when he cums, fills your ass and his limp cock slips out. Shit. A-fucking-men. That’s right, he remembers. That’s how you end a prayer.

You don’t cum. He tears the duct tape off clean. You let out a loud ‘Ow, Leon!’ and frown at him. Beads of arousal stick to the piece of tape, your pussy is pulsing, walls fluttering around nothing. Leon kisses your swollen clit, rubs it steadily till you cream on his tongue, sweeter than molasses his Lucky Girl is.

“Leon?”

“Yeah, baby?”

“I love you.” You tell him shyly, gaze at him with this dumb fucking smile on your dollface that makes his heart squeeze. God, he’s gotta keep you around, his lucky charm.