#gunmetal leggings | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

dabisbratz · 1 year

Text

PENITENCE — leon s. kennedy x male reader

w.c: ~5.3k

warning: sub bottom reader, thigh fucking, spit, standing doggy style, dirty talk, leon’s weak pullout game x2, mixed praise/degradation, oral, choking, sexualizing las plagas, breeding mentions, sir kink, finger hooking, drool, infected leon is a lil mean, dumbification, accidental creampie

a/n: got a loooot of requests for a sequel to this!! so here it is! i hope you enjoy! ૮꒰ ´͈ ˙̫ `͈ Ꮚ꒱ა this fic had a mind of its own!! didn get to write leon as feral as i wanted to but… that’s okay!

You’ve never been shot before. Punched, sure, clean in the jaw in the midst of a training session. It caught you so off guard you nearly swallowed your teeth, and the blood gushing from your nose and coating the pearls tasted like rusty gunmetal. But it really didn’t hurt that bad, you felt more congested than anything.

You've never been shot before. Stabbed, sure, right through the hand until thick blood poured straight out your palm like nature’s greatest waterfall. It wasn’t as sharp as you’d think, not some sort of pinch akin to getting a piercing. No, it was panic first, your eyes trailed down to meet the handle of a hunting knife that cut clean through your palm. Then came the realization, Scorching heat beaming through your hand until it began to tremble. But hand wounds heal fast, you barely remember it.

You’ve never been shot before. Grazed, sure, blasted with the shells of a silver shotgun bullet so hard it seared your skin and left an open-mouthed gash. Your bullet ricocheted off an unknown surface, all because you’d taken it upon yourself to practice your aim alone. But it was just a graze, and so long ago the scar had begun to fade.

So the first time it happens, you’re taken for a loop.

Your legs burn, aching as you trudge beside Leon in his hasty motion up a particularly slippery hill. It’s like you’ve been walking in circles, deeper and deeper into the village but somehow passing the same bloodstained tree. For a man who was over a hundred fifty pounds of sheer force and willpower, he sure was light on his toes. Had there not been moisture from previous nights’ rain still lingering in the air you're sure it’d be easier— no mud to slip on, no pockets of rainwater that looked much more shallow than they actually were— but it lingers.

And it’s not just that, there’s an everlasting tremor in your thighs as you walk, you can barely take a few steps without your movements stuttering. You can’t excuse it as a pulled muscle, not when Leon’s been forcing you to sit back and observe. Though it’s partially his fault, you deduce, because you can see the growing pride in his stride as he listens to your trip over your own feet. Almost like it was a mission, fuck the rookie until he cries and let him walk for himself.

Asshole.

You can’t stop talking, not when your brain is working overtime and you have so many questions. Though it’s not entirely clear if he’s listening, Leon’s body subconsciously teeters in your direction, almost like he’s trying to collect your body heat. He’s certainly done that, that and much more. He’s stolen the air from your lungs with a heavy kiss, he’s collected the sounds of your moans and sealed them in a jar.

You spare him a heavy glance, watching the muscles in his back ripple as he marches through the thickening mud. You wish you’d gotten the chance to see him without it, to card your fingers through the strong fabric as he pulls his shirt over his head and balls it up in his veiny fists. To watch his hair fall, golden bundles framing his face and falling back into place like magic, nearly swept over his eye and so unabashedly Leon.

“Would you stop staring at me?” There’s a playful edge to his voice, teetering around the edges as he blows a bullet straight through the frail neck of an infected resident. You’re too focused on the nape of his neck to watch it explode, an amalgamation of blood and arteries and fat splattering onto the ground and surrounding houses. “I mean, if you want a picture all you have to do is ask.”

You can tell he’s somehow watching you through the corner of his gunmetal gray eyes, with your blatant staring, but he doesn’t seem to have much on the tip of his tongue besides a few smartmouthed remarks. Maybe he has eyes behind his full head of hair.

“Ha-ha, very funny.” You purse your lips, tightening your grip around the flashlight paving the way forward.

Truthfully, you’d underestimated just how much cardio and legwork it took to navigate this village— sure, the implication of missing hikers in the area meant there’d be a trail to hike, but in your head it was much more akin to training. Controlled, steep hills that didn’t continue on as far as the eye can see, an obstacle course that had an obtainable goal— it feels like you’re wandering aimlessly.

But Leon’s with you, so surely that can’t be right.

You wonder how much preparation and time he took into this, how many nights of sparring turned into considering your presence under the same blanket of stars, how often he made things with you in mind. Even if it’s just for a mission.

Quite frankly, it was all the time. Thinking of you put an indescribable amount of weight on his chest, it capsized his shoulders, so feathery light, and yet somehow still managed to put strain on his posture. He was always so laid back, cracking jokes and likable by definition. Yet there he stood, second guessing his abilities in protecting you, having you, wooing you. Ashley is his priority. . . but you’re his partner.

And he wants more.

“Leon?” Apprehension builds in your voice, Leon’s steady stride suddenly broken as he looks down at his hands. You bump right into him, colliding face-first into his body. His back is just as sturdy as it looks, barely jolting as you peek around to look at his handsome face.

His veins are turning black, coiling up his wrists from his hands, inky black streaks that branch off up his forearm and disappear under his shirt. Even the thicker veins decorating his bicep— they’ve become an ugly charcoal that looks entirely too unnatural. Painful. As if leeches have burrowed themselves under his skin, the intrusion crawls further into his bloodstream as small, deep grunts escape from his lips.

You still have yet to ask what happened during your separation— after you ran. But, in a way, you’ve got your answer.

“You with me, Lee?” You search his face for something, anything, under the furrowed brows and clenched teeth. His jaw sets, characteristically rigid, which is a generous start. Somewhere beneath the icy blue of his eyes you see recognition, like he’s not exactly looking at you, but he knows you’re there. Lucid enough. Good.

But without Leon leaving a path of bodies for you to walk over, you have to take over and pave the way.

“I’m gonna take your gun, okay?” It’s rhetorical, whether he likes it or not, because he took your gun away before you truly had the chance to use it— and it’s not entirely like he’s in the position to be making demands. You wish you could laugh about it, let a boyish smile wiggle its way across your face, but without Leon there to laugh with you… there’s no point.

And, like most instances, you find yourself jumping into action before you can think, dragging every pound of steel Leon has to offer through the village until you can find somewhere safe. It happens all too fast. One moment, you’re holding onto the pistol while wrapping an arm around Leon’s waist, blowing holes through the infected like you were made for it, watching their bodies topple to the ground in a lifeless display. Then. . .

“Fuck, oh fuck, fuckfuckfuck,” Your heart plummets into your stomach, you can’t help but think you’ve swallowed a bomb. Your blood is cold on your slick skin, flowing down your bicep like sort of fucked up waterfall. It’s thick and sticky, a rich shade of red that only seems to get darker and darker as it pours from your arm. You can’t help but call for your partner, tightening your grip on his waist. “Leon…”

Getting grazed is not the same.

There’s a similar burn, but this time it’s from the outside-in and back out again. Like you’ve been stung by a swarm bees, all at the same time, and in the same exact spot.

It happened so fast, threw you for a loop, the metal of an axe bounced your bullet right back at you, and landed right through your arm.

Your eyes widen, jittery as Leon parts his legs, planting his boots into the mud in a futile attempt at staying upright. Selfless as ever, the blond just can’t seem to sit still when he knows someone he cares about is in danger.

His dusty pink lips are curled into a snarl, one of his veiny hands clasped over your own; fisting at the bunched up fabric by his waist. His eyes, previously clenched shut, are no longer a brilliant shade of blue— they’ve turned yellow, bright like a citrusy candy. His face, still as handsome as before, is adorned with streaky, black veins that cluster near his left cheekbone and disappear into his cheeks. Instinctively, you raise your arm to swipe away his hair in a half-assed attempt at consolation, but the movement burns before you can put away your pistol.

Leon’s eyes flicker to your bicep, watching the red ooze from the inflamed bullet-shaped hole. His gaze darkens, something you can’t quite grasp flashing in his eyes as he takes the gun from your hand and pushes you behind him.

“Leon—”

“Move! Now!” His voice is much deeper than before— still buttery smooth, just dropping in octaves as he yells into the night air. You don’t have to be told twice, stumbling in the mud as he pushes you in the general direction of an abandoned house. In a perfect world you’d use your knife to help, but something tells you sticking around would just worsen the situation for everyone.

So you rush into the house, bursting through the creaky door as gunshots ring behind you. Almost as loud as the static in your ears, buzzing as you search for a closed off room.

The house is empty, fairly sized— equipped with a staircase that leads upstairs. Bedrooms, you presume, since there are only bathrooms and living spaces on the first floor. The floorboards whine and groan under your weight, tracking mud as you keep your hand clasped over your bicep. It probably won’t make much of a difference now, but the bleeding has subsided into thick clots, which momentarily lightens your mood.

You don’t have much on you, it’s best to travel light when you have places to be— heavy backpacks can weigh you down. But you do have a few bandages and travel-sized disinfectant wipes. You can only help Leon effectively if you help yourself first— you’re dead weight if you go back out there dipped in blood— so you get to work.

It’s hasty, messy, and unorganized, but you get it done. Your bicep is wrapped snug, with enough pressure to support your arm without cutting off any circulation. It’s the best you can do for now, with the panic and anxiety blooming in your throat. It burns like bile, attacking your senses until all you can think of is Leon. The look on his face, the sounds of his pained grunts, the veins darkening beneath his skin.

As if he’s heard you, your silent prayers for his presence in its entirety, he crashes through the door. It squeals on its hinges, slamming shut behind him as his heavy boots collide with the wooden floorboards. You can’t quite make out anything else, just the sound of his shoes as he walks through the hall, and into the bathroom.

Maybe it’s just a hunch, an inference, but there’s irritation floating between his steps. You can feel it radiating off him despite not exactly being near him. The sound of poorly running water emits from the small room, muffled through the door, along with a steadier stream of swears.

“Leon?” You ask, pushing yourself off the wooden diningroom chair with the support of your unwounded arm. Would it be best to give him some space? But that’s not really an option, not with what you witnessed. Not with that intrusion trying to take over his body. “I’m coming in.”

Nearly tripping over the red rug decorating the hallway between the bathroom and living spaces, you clumsily open the bathroom door. Just Leon— sitting on the wide ledge of the bathroom’s squat toilet, his gun discarded on the opposing mantel. You can’t see his face, not with his hair casting silky shadows along the expanse of it, but you can picture his tight lipped expression just fine.

The thought makes heat burst through your skin. Nowhere near as painful as a gunshot wound. This time it’s comforting and sweet, it makes your legs feel like jelly and your heart like jam.

“Ocupado,” He sounds rather proud of himself for that one, readjusting his spot on the ledge. The blond lifts his gaze, shades of blue overcasting the previous yellow hues that once clouded his vision. “How do you feel..Your arm..?”

You should be asking him that.

“I’m good,” You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding, the strain of your shoulders dissipating into the air the longer you look at him. “You know me. Are you…okay?”

Perhaps ‘okay’ isn’t the word for it. You want to ask if he feels weird, if the deepening of his veins bothers him. What it felt like when he was rendered unconscious. When you felt it— tied to that damned cross— it wasn’t nearly as bad as Leon. In fact, it didn't hurt you at all. You didn’t even notice until the entirety of your arms were decorated in pure, black branches.

“Yeah,” He blinks, not once removing his gaze from the curl of your lips. Still so shiny and wet, soft as they curl with every vowel and syllable that leaves them. He swallows hard, audible as his adam’s apple bobs in his throat. Your eyes trace the small mole just below it, the way his throat bulges. “I’m okay. For the most part.”

He doesn’t seem entirely there, lifting himself up wordlessly until he’s crashing into you, his large, gloved hand finding a place around your neck as he pulls you into a kiss.

The bathroom isn’t an ideal place to do it, though you suppose you two don’t have a clean track record of kissing in the best places. He swallows the air from your lungs, deep and gentle as his lips melt into yours. He tastes just like he did a few hours, just slightly saltier. He tastes like you, you’re still heavy on his tongue and it seems he’s hooked on your flavor.

His tongue is silky, messy in your mouth as you try your hardest to absorb his heat. His mouth is so warm, so wet, and you can’t help but whimper when he pulls away. You want to chase it, that heat, so you can’t help yourself when you follow after his lips.

Oh.

Leon’s eyes— they’re red, and the impossibly dark streaks under his skin are somehow darker.

“Your—”

“I wanna fuck you so bad,” It leaves his lips before the both of you have time to process it. He’s much more surprised than you, pink roses blooming on the apples of his cheeks despite the clear obstruction of his body. You appreciate the honesty, clearing your throat to mask the laugh bubbling in your chest. Leon’s okay, and he’s not just saying it. “…Sorry.”

Leon’s red-eyed gaze is casted to the side, but even in his efforts to avoid looking at you, he can’t help himself. It’s cute, really, charming enough to have your heart doing somersaults in your chest.

“Then do it.”

Blue embers sparkle in his eyes, and suddenly you’re being pulled out the cramped bathroom. Whatever he’s infected with, it’s heightened his abilities, because his grip on your wrist feels just as strong as the rusty chains in the cathedral. He’s holding onto you like you’ll disappear if he doesn’t, an iron grip that feels more comfortable than painful. And through it all, he’s cautious of your injury.

It doesn’t stop him from slapping you against the wall, your back colliding with the old, peeling wallpaper with a loud thud.

“You’re sure—” You start, the words catching in your throat when Leon’s strong hands tear your shirt apart, straight through the middle. The cold air hits you instantly, sending shivers up your spine as you whine in protest. “I only have one shirt!”

“I have a jacket.” His answer is barely audible, as he’s too busy watching the rise and fall of your chest with hungry, predatory eyes. You’re looking at Leon, who has every feature of the man. . . But he feels different. He feels bigger, in every sense of the word, towering over you as his red eyes study you like a bloodthirsty shark.

Next are your pants, you take the liberty of unbuckling your utility belt, keeping your gaze on Leon as he watches your hands pull them down. A considerate patch of sticky wetness decorates the front of your boxers, darkening and dampening the fabric. Leon’s pink tongue slides over his equally pink lips, whatever restraint he’s using slowly slipping away. You expect him to follow suit, but his hands are on you and he’s guiding you down to your knees.

Your face nuzzles against the fabric of his pants, thick but nowhere near as thick as his cock, which has a prominent, twitching outline.Your mouth waters, saliva pooling between your lips as your eyes flutter shut and he presses your cheek against his dick, firm and rough. His hands are so big, cupping the back of your head as he releases a small, hushed groan.

Leon watches you unzip his pants with parted lips and a baited breath. You look so damn pretty, eyes glazed over within the matter of a few seconds and a stupid look in your eye the second you see his dick again. Like you’ve missed it, when it was only just a few hours ago when he was buried deep inside you. He lets you push his pants down to his ankles, your eyes roaming along the skin of his toned thighs, which black vines slowly creep down.

You press a pretty, openmouthed kiss against the head of his cock, watching precum bead at the tip and smear across your lips. Such a sweet boy, kissing his cock as a greeting.

“Goddamn, you’re so cute,” His grip travels down your face to the top of your neck, where your throat meets your jaw. Your gaze is forced upward, straight into Leon’s vermillion irises as he offers a small squeeze. “Just a little slut. Aren’t you, sweetheart?”

“Mhm, yeah,” You pant against his skin, shimmying forward to grind your front against the leather of his boot. “For you— just for you, Sir.”

Yeah, you could get used to this. The girth of his cock, the vein that disappears beneath the pretty head of his dick, the way his balls weigh heavily against your chin. His pubes are a deeper shade of brown, slightly curly and enough that makes you want to bury your nose in it. He’s so sticky, slick and wet like he’s been thinking about this for a while. The thought of Leon gripping himself through his pants is just so hot, the way he’d buck up into his fist and imagine it’s you instead. The way he’d groan and moan into the air, chasing after some artificial tightness that could only simulate you. Your mouth, your hole.

“Think you can be a good boy for me?” You chase after his cock as he pulls it away, gripping it by the base with a gloved hand. You can only imagine how good the leather of his fingerless gloves feel against it. He coos at your attempts to follow along, meanly slapping the weight of his dick against your cheek until you’re messy with precum. “Hm? Yeah?”

You nod frantically, opening your mouth and covering your bottom row of teeth with your tongue. You can be good, you can be good for Leon.

Tears spring in your eyes the second he’s pushing into your mouth, groaning at the sound of your gags as his cock slides in and out, deeper and deeper without warning. He can’t help it, not when you’re drooling all over his pants and whining for it. Not when you’d look so cute hazy eyed and stained with tears as he fucks your throat. Not when your throat bulges around his cock, letting out wet squelches as you struggle to keep your eyes open and watch his hips snap against you.

“That’s it,” Leon sighs, shaky and content as he holds you in place. His good boy. “Just like that, you take it so—f-hucking—good.”

You lurch back, tears blurry in your eyes as you sputter and gag. His precum is salty and warm, coating your throat as you flutter your eyes and hold onto the swell of Leon’s strong, thick thighs. Heat ripples through your body in waves as a low growl rumbles in his throat, bouncing into your ears.

“Shh, I know, I know. Don’t run from me, let me in,” He coos, sliding his long cock from your mouth to watch a long trail of your spit thin out the further he pulls away. “It’s just too big for you, is that right? Hard to focus on anything when all you can think of is dick.”

You’re breathing heavily, panting loud as you slowly register the mess on your face, your chin. Your lips feel swollen, but your mouth feels empty. You must have a particularly dumb look on your face because it pulls a laugh out of the man in front of you, rich and hearty as he lifts you up with an authoritative hand around your throat.

“C’mere.” He mumbles, pulling you in to pepper messy kisses along your jaw. He’s more impulsive, you gather, with whatever’s coursing through his veins. Rougher too, with the way his hand tightens around your throat when he’s throwing commands at you. You don’t mind it, not at all. In fact, it’s made you all hazy, you feel like you’re traveling through a thick layer of fog as you nod along. You want to be good, to earn his praise.

Leon’s hands travel to your waist, dipping into the plush skin until your thighs are spread just far enough for his cock to fit between them. You’ve never felt so exposed, whining high in your throat no matter how pathetic it sounds, and pressing your body against his firm chest.

His cock feels as big as it looks, long and curved as he slides it between your thighs. You can feel every twitch and pulse, you’re sure he can feel you too— with how he’s grunting and groaning against your neck. He fucks into your thighs like he’s chasing after something, trying to satiate it. His grip is punishing, the pads of his fingertips digging into your skin until it hurts.

“I can’t,” You whine, shaking your head as you watch his cock disappear between your thighs. “S’not— I wanna—”

“You can,” Leon growls, making a low warning of a noise in his throat as he tuts in disapproval. It goes straight to your stomach, tingles shocking your body as you clench around nothing. “And you will.”

Instead of keeping you upright by the throat, Leon’s hands leave you to fend for yourself as he slides them down your supple skin, down every dip and curve and slope, until he’s playing with the leftover stickiness of your hole.

You’re certain there’s nowhere near as comfortable as Leon’s arms. They’re big and strong, plush and warm against your skin, and firm in your hand when he’s flexing. They keep you secure and safe, protected from whatever monstrosities are in this godforsaken place, you’re sure he’d hold you till you both fell asleep, and you’d be enveloped in his warmth.

He smells just as warm too, faintly of vanilla underneath all that sex and remnants of polluted air.

“Christ, you’re so… Warm around my fingers. Give it to me, baby, let me fuck you with my fingers.”

You love his warmth, it spreads across your body and travels down your chest, your stomach, your thighs, until he’s taking you apart with it. His fingers are so warm, so thick and perfect as they fuck into you. Even when you’re sloppy like this, sucking his fingers back in like you’d never wanted to be left empty again in the first place, working your hips back to chase after his knuckles. The warmth of his arms as he flips you around, pushes your weight into his own by the base of your neck, maneuvers you just right, keeps you open and vulnerable for him. All for him.

Yeah, there’s nowhere else you’d rather be.

“Hey, you with me?” It’s his turn to ask, and you wonder if he felt the same butterflies you did.

“Yeah, I’m,” You’re breathlessly spreading your legs and pulling yourself apart with the warmth of your palms to reveal the puffiness of your hole, fucked out and shiny from earlier’s abuse. Leon wonders how easy it’d be to slip back in, to inch his cock deeper and deeper inside as you flutter around him and keen with oversensitivity. “M’with you, Sir.”

“Atta boy,” The smile he flashes is all teeth, dangerous and sharp as his canines glint in the dim lighting. You have half the heart to be a bit scared, but it doesn’t mean much when he’s working you open when you’re already so sensitive. Your hips jitter, twitching both toward and away from his fingers as he presses against that same bundle of nerves from earlier— it’s too much. This time you really mean it, because the second he hits it, tears spring in your eyes and you’re fisting remnants of the peeling wallpaper like a lifeline. “Greedy little hole. Didn’t you just take me?”

“Ohh, oh, God! Leon,” He hums in acknowledgement, as if he’s actually listening to your mindless babbling, nodding with lidded eyes as he uses your hips to pull you down onto his fingers. He’s using you like some kind of toy, moving you with one hand as you sit there and take it. You’re melting into the wall, drool slipping through the seam of your lips and trailing down your exposed chest. “You— your fingers, feel so good.”

“I know, baby.”

The way you’re convulsing around his fingers is telling, crying and sobbing and squealing into the wallpaper while he angles your back down. His large palm presses into the small of your back, strong and firm as he pushes and pushes until you’re arching just right and exposed.

“Let me fuck you till I cum, be my toy,” You can barely hear him over your own sobs, shifting your weight between legs as you steady yourself. His cock slips in easy, smooth and wet and perfect. You missed this feeling the second it left, the fullness of his dick inside you. The curve of his long cock as it inches inside, the feeling of that one particular vein pulsing deep inside. “Gonna fuck you over and over. Yeah? Got that? Because you’re all mine.”

“Uh-huh, mhm,” You gasp, every inhale making you sputter and choke on your tears. “Yes, Sir.”

If you weren’t crying before you surely are now, with the sharp thrusts Leon’s pistoning into your hole, loud and sloppy and squelching as he backs you up on his cock. It’s like he’s mounted you, shoving your face into the wall as he slams into you. In and out, in and out, in and out…With every slap of his balls against your thighs you whine, small pitiful sounds escaping your lips until your voice goes hoarse and all you can do is weakly claw at the wall.

But you’ve been good, save for a few whiny noises and indiscreet pouting, you’ve been so good. So Leon lets your uninjured hand wander, even guides it down to your front as he fucks you from behind so hard it feels like you’re going stupid. You can’t see him like this, but you’d bet there’s a feral look on his face. Pupils blown wide as his red eyes focus on the view of his cock disappearing inside you, his brain short circuiting as it repeats the same code over and over.

Breed, breed, breed.

“Wanna breed you,” He rasps, strong arms pulling you the second he’s pulling out. No matter what, you’re full of him. You’re full of him even as his cock slides away, a trail of precum connecting the two of you as it froths between your thighs and his balls. “Can I fuck my cum into your sloppy little hole? Hm?”

“Course, f’course,” It’s all out the window, every possible thought you’d ever had about how uncomfortable it could be to be…preoccupied while on a mission. Because you want it, you want to be full. You want him to give it to you, deeper and harder and messier and… More. “..Please..”

“Nice of you to say, but,” He groans high in his throat, voice tight and heavy as his hips grow sloppy and weak. Yet, his cock still feels so heavy in your hole, makes you feel like you’re ready to burst apart at the seams. Leon’s fingers pull at your cheeks, slipping in your mouth and pulling at the skin until your mouth is forced wide, your tongue slipping from your mouth as you drool and cry. “I wasn’t really asking. You’d let me cum wherever I wanted, wouldn’t you? It’s okay, sweetheart, you’re cute when you go dumb on my dick.”

You can’t do this.

You tried, really. You tried your hardest, held it for as long as you could. But you’re already there, almost screaming on his dick as you flutter and clamp down on it, light beaming in your stomach as your body grows sensitive and weak. You’re cumming. And Leon’s hand around your throat doesn’t do anything besides aid it, the way you gush and whine around his cock despite his insistent thrusts. You can’t think, you can’t breathe, and it feels so fucking good.

“Jesus fuck, you take that cock so well. Such a good boy, my pretty slut,” Leon pulls you into him, pressing his chest against your back as he sinks his teeth into the base of your neck. Not enough to draw blood, no, just enough to leave a Leon S. Kennedy sized bite mark along your skin. “Tell me you love this cock, pretty baby. I know you can.”

“I love— ohhh — love your cock, Sir. M’so full.” Your twitching doesn’t cease, instead egging him on as your pretty little hole sucks him in deeper, holding him like a vice. Warm and slick, he can’t help but moan into your neck as his balls tighten and he cums.

“That’s it,” You watch him pant through the corner of your eyes, weighed down by fatigue, sex, and the entirety of today's ordeals. But at least the richness of his veins are beginning to clear up, and his pretty, arctic blue eyes are starting to resurface. You smile around a hearty moan, feeling your insides flood with warmth as his eyes flutter shut and his body shudders. “I could really get used to this.”

It’s hard and fast, much too fast for him to have pulled out to shoot across your back— no, he’s partially shot a thick, creamy rope inside you. His veins pulse at the thought, satiated with the sight of your fucked-out hole drooling with his cum.

“Oh… Fuck.”

He’s hard again.

2K notes · View notes

iovetecchou · 9 months

Text

Pairings... Sigma x Reader

Contains..! soft!smut, established relationship, making out, dry humping, premature ejaculation, praise, use of 'good boy'

A/N; this week's episode had me thinkin... the header image is the whole premise of this blurb (:

GN Reader.

775 words.

“I don’t know why you insist on twirling me around like this, l-love…”

Sigma's face was painted a deep shade of crimson as you spun him around your shared apartment.

One of your hands intertwined with Sigma’s, and your free one came up to his waist. Lovingly holding him close, chests flush to one another as you hummed to the tune emitting from the radio.

“Because it’s fun! Plus, your expression is to die for. Why are you so flustered baby, hm? It’s just us!”

You chuckled, finishing your sentence by dipping your boyfriend. Your grip around Sigma’s waist tightened as you supported him. Your leg came between his own as you found your footing.

“See? Fun!”

You leaned in closer, coming face to face with your lover. The top of your thigh pushing further between Sigma’s parted legs.

“W-Wait, stop— ah!”

Sigma whined, immediately scoring his lip with his teeth; to avoid any more obscene noises from slipping out.

You examined his expression closely, worried that you might have hurt him. But the feeling of his semi-hard cock straining against your thigh put those worries to bed.

“Sigma— are you…?”

Your boyfriend quickly shot upright. Averting his gaze from your own as he struggled to find the words to explain himself.

“I-I oh god, my love… I’m so sorry. Please, excuse me— w-wait! I… hah…”

Your grip on Sigma’s waist tightened as you pushed impossibly closer to him. You added more pressure between your boyfriend’s thighs. Smiling to yourself as his hips bucked, chasing for more friction.

“Why are you apologizing baby, hm? You know I don’t mind helping you. Especially at times like this.”

You whispered, lips ghosting along his. Sigma refused to look you in the eye. Still, far too embarrassed from getting hard while doing something so trivial— so innocent; with you.

“Look at me, baby. It’s okay, I promise. There’s no reason to be shy.”

You cooed. Untangling your hand with Sigma's, opting to soothe his flushed face instead. But still, no luck. Sigma sealed his eyes shut, inhaling sharply through his nose as your leg languidly moved between his. Stimulating his clothed cock faultlessly.

“Hmm… this won’t do.”

You thought aloud, grasping his chin between your thumb and forefinger before pulling him in for a kiss. Sigma gasped from the sudden embrace, eyes darting open for a brief moment before fluttering shut once more; losing himself as you deepened your shared kiss.

His hips were twitching so much as he tried his hardest not to hump against your thigh. But his resolve was melting away with each passing second. Your tongue gliding along his had Sigma’s eyes rolling back behind his closed lids.

Your hand around his waist trailed lower, grasping his hip. Guiding him in his movements and giving him the confidence he needed to let go.

Sigma pulled away from your lips with a strangled whine. His muted eyes finally met your gaze.

“There we go… good boy.”

You praised, hastily sneaking your other hand between your bodies. Your fingers worked on the button of his pants, never once ceasing your movements between his thighs.

Sigma was entranced by you. His gunmetal gaze followed your every movement. Breathy whimpers fell from his lips as he humped against your thigh with more vigor. You managed to tug his zipper down right before Sigma cried out,

“W-Wait! Stop, I’m—!”

Before your boyfriend could finish his sentence, his whole body shuddered. You watched as his eyes rolled back into his skull. A mantra of your name spilled from his lips. Your eyes widened as you noticed Sigma still against you, a wet spot now forming at the front of his trousers.

“Oh baby… I didn’t realize you were that—“

Sigma buried his face into the crook of your neck. His hands came up to wrap around your waist, hugging you tightly in an attempt to hide against you. Hoping the ground would open up at this moment and swallow him whole.

“Not… not another word, p-please.”

Sigma whispered into your skin, nearly inaudible if not for your proximity. You couldn’t help but smile, finding your boyfriend immensely endearing at this moment.

You held him tightly against you. Carding your fingers through his two-toned locks; in an attempt to soothe his nerves. This went on for a few moments before you sunk to your knees in front of him.

Sigma watched your every move with a puzzled look. He only caught on to your intentions when you began tugging his pants down along with his underwear.

“W-What are you—“

“What does it look like? I’m going to clean you up, baby. So, just relax. I’ll take it from here.”

#sigma imagine #sigma x reader #sigma smut #bsd imagines #bsd smut #bungou stray dogs x reader #bsd x reader #bungou stray dogs imagines #bungou stray dogs #bungou stray dogs smut #bsd #sigma #sigma bsd #sigma bungou stray dogs #bsd sigma #bungou stray dogs sigma

1K notes · View notes

d0youc0py · 10 months

Note

👋🏻 Hello! May I please request something for the 141 boys with Ale and rudy? Where reader goes berserk on the field and the boys have to calm them down cause they are completely out of it ?

He was thankful he was the one who trained you or else he would be on his ass. Him shouting your name seem to have little effect on you, those normally soft eyes glazed over with such malice it made his knees weak.

He finally maneuvered you to where he wanted you, trapped between him on the wall, your back pressed tightly against his chest. Your legs kicked about, trying your absolutely hardest to escape out of the iron grip he had you in.

“Fucking Christ kid, it’s me.” The lowness in his voice seemed to lull you more than the shouting. He could feel your rapid heartbeat. “It’s over, yeah? You did good.” He kept his voice soft, only speaking up to communicate his location through the comms. Your legs began to give out and he allowed both of you to sink to the floor. You rested your heated head against the icy wall. His grip on you loosened when he realized you weren’t trying to kill him anymore.

He kept you against his chest, hoping to anchor you. There have been many times he wished he had someone to bring him back down- although he would never admit it. He was use to fighting alone, but maybe with you it could be different.

“I-I-I.” You couldn’t even get a syllable out, every letter getting cut off by a whimper.

“It’s alright.” His voice was so soft- so understanding. Didn’t he see the total mess in front of you? “Come on.” His firm hand gripped your arm guiding you into an opposite room, away from your mess. “Breathe with me.” His gunmetal blue eyes were trained on you, making sure you did what he had asked you to. Your frantic eyes darted around but he held your chin in place. “Breathe with me.” He repeated. You did as you were told.

The lightness in your head slowly began to fade, but you couldn’t shake the uneasiness in your legs. You gripped onto his vest for support and he made no move to stop you.

“I don’t know what happened.” You were finally able to get the words out in a soft pant. He nodded his head an assuring half smile on his lips. He had always been calm on the field, but he had been a witness to this many times.

“It’s alright.” He whispered. “Gonna have to work on getting you out of that little head of yours.” He tapped the furrow lines between your brows.

“Shite.” He growled. He had heard the screams from upstairs, his feet making quick work of the steps. “Y/N.” He scolded. He sounded like he had just discovered a dog chewing on his favorite pair of shoes- not like he just walked in on someone brutally executing a room full of people. His confidence faltered a bit when you tried to stab him. “No, we talked about this remember?” He took advantage of your dazed state, pining you to the ground.

You fought him- hard. He was definitely going to make you feel bad about all the bruises you left on him later. He had finally exhausted you, the red behind your vision slowly turning back.

“I’m sorry, Bubbles.” You groaned. He let you out of a headlock, both of you trying to catch your breath.

“I expected a bit more of a fight if I’m being honest.” He smiled, patting your thigh. You rested your face in your hands, but he quickly shushed you. “None of that.” He chided, holding your face between his gloved hands.

“I’m sorry.” You repeated, your voice cracking. His baby blues softened. Wrapping an arm around you he tucked you under his chin. You turned your head hoping to catch the sound of his steady heartbeat.

“It happens, kid. You’ve heard me through the comms before, yeah?” He gave a one sided chuckle.

“Heard you got a bit of battle rage, huh?” Kyle watched you with careful eyes as you paced back and forth. He had been summoned over the comms by Price to calm you down. “Let’s get you out of this room, yeah?” He extended a hand towards you, praying you weren’t too far gone. You stopped pacing, blank eyes looking at him. His heart dropped down to his stomach. Your dead eyes always made his skin crawl. “Don’t be that way sweetheart, come on.” He curled his fingers, ushering you along.

The pet name chipped at the cold freezing over your brain. “Ky.” You whimpered. He breathed a sigh of relief.

“There you are.” He smiled. His soft smile was enough to break you. You took his hand, your head beginning to turn to take in the damage you had caused. He quickly stopped you, placing a warm hand over your eyes. “It happened, we’re moving on.”

He had never been prouder.

You had taken out an entire warehouse by yourself.

He was so proud.

The feelings began to diminish when he caught sight of you. He recognized that look immediately, his own face graced with it more often than not.

“What happened, Mi sol?” He hummed. You were exhausted, the burning feeling in your stomach slowly beginning to fade. You suddenly felt all too human. “I know, I know.” He soothed, taking in your frenzied eyes. His hand gripped the back of your vest, tugging you to your feet. “Let’s get you out of here.”

He did his best to guide you through your wreckage, using his arm to block your view.

“Ale I’m sor”-

He grunted disapprovingly, cutting you off.

“You did good.” He said. “Very good. Don’t want you getting into that head of yours, hmm.” He pressed a fleeting kiss to your temple.

When you didn’t answer him over the comms he went into a little battle rage himself. His mind always assuming the worst. He imagined you laying on the floor in a pool of your own blood, scared and dying.

He really needed to stop underestimating you.

“Y/N.” His voice was firm. The tone usually snapped you back into place, yet now it had zero impact on you. “That’s enough.” His hand gripped yours tugging you towards the exits. He couldn’t wait to get to the safe house and hose you off. The foreign blood dripping from you turned his stomach. At least it wasn’t your blood.

You snatched your hand away from his, your eyes boring into his like he was a stranger. “Y/N.” He pressed. “That’s enough.” He extended a hand towards you again. You swatted him away, your leg extending out to knock him down.

Luckily he thought ahead, grabbing your ankle and tossing you to the ground before you had time to think. “You done?” He asked. You growled, trying for him once again. You must’ve forgot how great at defense he was. He was finally able to get you against his chest, trying to ignore the rough punches you threw at it. He whispered soft things in your ear, little reminders of who you were.

You stopped.

“I’m sorry, Ru.” You practically sobbed against him. He hushed you gently, resting his chin against your shoulder.

934 notes · View notes

rhysdarbinizedarby · 6 months

Text

Couch surfer in his 30s. Oscar winner in his 40s. Why the whole world wants Taika

**Notes: This is very long post!**

Good Weekend

In his 30s, he was sleeping on couches. By his 40s, he’d directed a Kiwi classic, taken a Marvel movie to billion-dollar success, and won an Oscar. Meet Taika Waititi, king of the oddball – and one of New Zealand’s most original creative exports.

Taika Waititi: “Be a nice person and live a good life. And just don’t be an arsehole.”

The good news? Taika Waititi is still alive. I wasn’t sure. The screen we were speaking through jolted savagely a few minutes ago, with a cacophonous bang and a confused yelp, then radio silence. Now the Kiwi filmmaker is back, grinning like a loon: “I just broke the f---ing table, bro!”

Come again? “I just smashed this f---ing table and glass flew everywhere. It’s one of those old annoying colonial tables. It goes like this – see that?” Waititi says, holding up a folding furniture leg. “I hit the mechanism and it wasn’t locked. Anyway …”

I’m glad he’s fine. The stuff he’s been saying from his London hotel room could incur biblical wrath. We’re talking about his latest project, Next Goal Wins, a movie about the American Samoa soccer team’s quest to score a solitary goal, 10 years after suffering the worst loss in the game’s international history – a 31-0 ignominy to Australia – but our chat strays into spirituality, then faith, then religion.

“I don’t personally believe in a big guy sitting on a cloud judging everyone, but that’s just me,” Waititi says, deadpan. “Because I’m a grown-up.”

This is the way his interview answers often unfold. Waititi addresses your topic – dogma turns good people bad, he says, yet belief itself is worth lauding – but bookends every response with a conspiratorial nudge, wink, joke or poke. “Regardless of whether it’s some guy living on a cloud, or some other deity that you’ve made up – and they’re all made up – the message across the board is the same, and it’s important: Be a nice person, and live a good life. And just don’t be an arsehole!”

Not being an arsehole seems to have served Waititi, 48, well. Once a national treasure and indie darling (through the quirky tenderness of his breakout New Zealand films Boy in 2010 and Hunt for the Wilderpeople in 2016), Waititi then became a star of both the global box office (through his 2017 entry into the Marvel Universe, Thor: Ragnarok, which grossed more than $1.3 billion worldwide) and then the Academy Awards (winning the 2020 best adapted screenplay Oscar for his subversive Holocaust dramedy JoJo Rabbit, in which he played an imaginary Hitler).

Waititi playing Adolf Hitler in the 2019 movie JoJo Rabbit. (Alamy)

A handsome devil with undeniable roguish charm, Waititi also slid seamlessly into style-icon status (attending this year’s Met Gala shirtless, in a floor-length gunmetal-grey Atelier Prabal Gurung wrap coat, with pendulous pearl necklaces), as well as becoming his own brand (releasing an eponymous line of canned coffee drinks) and bona fide Hollywood A-lister (he was introduced to his second wife, British singer Rita Ora, by actor Robert Pattinson at a barbecue).

Putting that platform to use, Waititi is an Indigenous pioneer and mentor, too, co-creating the critically acclaimed TV series Reservation Dogs, while co-founding the Piki Films production company, committed to promoting the next generation of storytellers – a mission that might sound all weighty and worthy, yet Waititi’s new wave of First Nations work is never earnest, always mixing hurt with heart and howling humour.

Waititi with wife Rita Ora at the 2023 Met Gala in May. (Getty Images)

Makes sense. Waititi is a byproduct of “the weirdest coupling ever” – his late Maori father from the Te Whanau-a-Apanui tribe was an artist, farmer and “Satan’s Slaves” bikie gang founder, while his Wellington schoolteacher mum descended from Russian Jews, although he’s not devout about her faith. (“No, I don’t practise,” he confirms. “I’m just good at everything, straight away.”)

He’s remained loyally tethered to his origin story, too – and to a cadre of creative Kiwi mates, including actors Jemaine Clement and Rhys Darby – never forgetting that not long before the actor/writer/producer/director was an industry maven, he was a penniless painter/photographer/ musician/comedian.

With no set title and no fixed address, he’s seemingly happy to be everything, everywhere (to everyone) all at once. “‘The universe’ is bandied around a lot these days, but I do believe in the kind of connective tissue of the universe, and the energy that – scientifically – we are made up of a bunch of atoms that are bouncing around off each other, and some of the atoms are just squished together a bit tighter than others,” he says, smiling. “We’re all made of the same stardust, and that’s pretty special.”

-----------------------------------------------

We’ve caught Waititi in a somewhat relaxed moment, right before the screen actors’ and media artists’ strike ends. He’s sensitive to the struggle but doesn’t deny enjoying the break. “I spent a lot of time thinking about writing, and not writing, and having a nice holiday,” he tells Good Weekend. “Honestly, it was a good chance just to recombobulate.”

Waititi, at right, with Hunt for the Wilderpeople actors, from left, Sam Neill, Rhys Darby and Julian Dennison. (Getty Images)

It’s mid-October, and he’s just headed to Paris to watch his beloved All Blacks in the Rugby World Cup. He’s deeply obsessed with the game, and sport in general. “Humans spend all of our time knowing what’s going to happen with our day. There’s no surprises any more. We’ve become quite stagnant. And I think that’s why people love sport, because of the air of unpredictability,” he says. “It’s the last great arena entertainment.”

The main filmic touchstone for Next Goal Wins (which premieres in Australian cinemas on New Year’s Day) would be Cool Runnings (1993), the unlikely true story of a Jamaican bobsled team, but Waititi also draws from genre classics such as Any Given Sunday and Rocky, sampling trusted tropes like the musical training montage. (His best one is set to Everybody Wants to Rule the World by Tears for Fears.)

Filming in Hawaii was an uplifting experience for the self-described Polynesian Jew. “It wasn’t about death, or people being cruel to each other. Thematically, it was this simple idea, of getting a small win, and winning the game wasn’t even their goal – their goal was to get a goal,” he says. “It was a really sweet backbone.”

Waititi understands this because, growing up, he was as much an athlete as a nerd, fooling around with softball and soccer before discovering rugby league, then union. “There’s something about doing exercise when you don’t know you’re doing exercise,” he enthuses. “It’s all about the fun of throwing a ball around and trying to achieve something together.” (Whenever Waititi is in Auckland he joins his mates in a long-running weekend game of touch rugby. “And then throughout the week I work out every day. Obviously. I mean, look at me.”)

Auckland is where his kids live, too, so he spends as much time there as possible. Waititi met his first wife, producer Chelsea Winstanley, on the set of Boy in 2010, and they had two daughters, Matewa Kiritapu, 8, and his firstborn, Te Kainga O’Te Hinekahu, 11. (The latter is a derivative of his grandmother’s name, but he jokes with American friends that it means “Resurrection of Tupac” or “Mazda RX7″) Waititi and Winstanley split in about 2018, and he married the pop star Ora in 2022.

He offers a novel method for balancing work with parenthood … “Look, you just abandon them, and know that the experience will make them harder individuals later on in life. And it’s their problem,” he says. “I’m going to give them all of the things that they need, and I’m going to leave behind a decent bank account for their therapy, and they will be just like me, and the cycle will continue.”

Jokes aside – I think he’s joking – school holidays are always his, and he brings the girls onto the set of every movie he makes. “They know enough not to get in the way or touch anything that looks like it could kill you, and they know to be respectful and quiet when they need to. But they’re just very comfortable around filmmakers, which I’m really happy about, because eventually I hope they will get into the industry. One more year,” he laughs, “then they can leave school and come work for Dad.”

Theirs is certainly a different childhood than his. Growing up, he was a product of two worlds. His given names, for instance, were based on his appearance at birth: “Taika David” if he looked Maori (after his Maori grandfather) and “David Taika” if he looked Pakeha (after his white grandfather). His parents split when he was five, so he bounced between his dad’s place in Waihau Bay, where he went by the surname Waititi, and his mum, eight hours drive away in Wellington, where he went by Cohen (the last name on his birth certificate and passport).

Waititi was precocious, even charismatic. His mother Robin once told Radio New Zealand that people always wanted to know him, even as an infant: “I’d be on a bus with him, and he was that kind of baby who smiled at people, and next thing you know they’re saying, ‘Can I hold your baby?’ He’s always been a charmer to the public eye.”

He describes himself as a cool, sporty, good-looking nerd, raised on whatever pop culture screened on the two TV channels New Zealand offered in the early 1980s, from M*A*S*H and Taxi to Eddie Murphy and Michael Jackson. He was well-read, too. When punished by his mum, he would likely be forced to analyse a set of William Blake poems.

He puts on a whimpering voice to describe their finances – “We didn’t have much monneeey” – explaining how his mum spent her days in the classroom but also worked in pubs, where he would sit sipping a raspberry lemonade, doodling drawings and writing stories. She took in ironing and cleaned houses; he would help out, learning valuable lessons he imparts to his kids. “And to random people who come to my house,” he says. “I’ll say, ‘Here’s a novel idea, wash this dish,’ but people don’t know how to do anything these days.”

“Every single character I’ve ever written has been based on someone I’ve known or met or a story I’ve stolen from someone.” - Taika Waititi

He loved entertaining others, clearly, but also himself, recording little improvised radio plays on a tape deck – his own offbeat versions of ET and Indiana Jones and Star Wars. “Great free stuff where you don’t have any idea what the story is as you’re doing it,” he says. “You’re just sort of making it up and enjoying the freedom of playing god in this world where you can make people and characters do whatever you want.”

His other sphere of influence lay in Raukokore, the tiny town where his father lived. Although Boy is not autobiographical, it’s deeply personal insofar as it’s filmed in the house where he grew up, and where he lived a life similar to that portrayed in the story, surrounded by his recurring archetypes: warm grandmothers and worldly kids; staunch, stoic mums; and silly, stunted men. “Every single character I’ve ever written has been based on someone I’ve known or met,” he says, “or a story I’ve stolen from someone.”

He grew to love drawing and painting, obsessed early on with reproducing the Sistine Chapel. During a 2011 TED Talk on creativity, Waititi describes his odd subject matter, from swastikas and fawns to a picture of an old lady going for a walk … upon a sword … with Robocop. “My father was an outsider artist, even though he wouldn’t know what that meant,” Waititi told the audience in Doha. “I love the naive. I love people who can see things through an innocent viewpoint. It’s inspiring.”

After winning Best Adapted Screenplay Academy Award for JoJo Rabbit in 2020. (Getty Images)

It was an interesting time in New Zealand, too – a coming-of-age decade in which the Maori were rediscovering their culture. His area was poor, “but only financially,” he says. “It’s very rich in terms of the people and the culture.” He learned kapa haka – the songs, dances and chants performed by competing tribes at cultural events, or to honour people at funerals and graduations – weddings, parties, anything. “Man, any excuse,” he explains. “A big part of doing them is to uplift your spirits.”

Photography was a passion, so I ask what he shot. “Just my penis. I sent them to people, but we didn’t have phones, so I would print them out, post them. One of the first dick pics,” he says. Actually, his lens was trained on regular people. He watches us still – in airports, restaurants. “Other times late at night, from a tree. Whatever it takes to get the story. You know that.”

He went to the Wellington state school Onslow College and did plays like Androcles and the Lion, A Midsummer Night’s Dream and The Crucible. His crew of arty students eventually ended up on stage at Bats Theatre in the city, where they would perform haphazard comedy shows for years.

“Taika was always rebellious and wild in his comedy, which I loved,” says his high school mate Jackie van Beek, who became a longtime collaborator, including working with Waititi on a Tourism New Zealand campaign this year. “I remember he went through a phase of turning up in bars around town wearing wigs, and you’d try and sit down and have a drink with him but he’d be doing some weird character that would invariably turn up in some show down the track.”

He met more like-minded peers at Victoria University, including Jemaine Clement (who’d later become co-creator of Flight of the Conchords). During a 2019 chat with actor Elijah Wood, Waititi describes he and Clement clocking one another from opposite sides of the library one day: a pair of Maoris experiencing hate at first sight, based on a mutual suspicion of cultural appropriation. (Clement was wearing a traditional tapa cloth Samoan shirt, and Waititi was like: “This motherf---er’s not Samoan.” Meanwhile, Waititi was wearing a Rastafarian beanie, and Clement was like, “This motherf---er’s not Jamaican.”)

With Jemaine Clement in 2014. (Getty Images)

But they eventually bonded over Blackadder and Fawlty Towers, and especially Kenny Everett, and did comedy shows together everywhere from Edinburgh to Melbourne. Waititi was almost itinerant, spending months at a time busking, or living in a commune in Berlin. He acted in a few small films, and then – while playing a stripper on a bad TV show – realised he wanted to try life behind the camera. “I became tired of being told what to do and ordered around,” he told Wellington’s Dominion Post in 2004. “I remember sitting around in the green room in my G-string thinking, ‘Why am I doing this? Just helping someone else to realise their dream.’ ”

He did two strong short films, then directed his first feature – Eagle vs Shark (2007) – when he was 32. He brought his mates along (Clement, starring with Waititi’s then-girlfriend Loren Horsley), setting something of a pattern in his career: hiring friends instead of constantly navigating new working relationships. “If you look at things I’m doing,” he tells me, “there’s always a few common denominators.”

Sam Neill says Waititi is the exemplar of a new New Zealand humour. “The basis of it is this: we’re just a little bit crap at things.”

This gang of collaborators shares a common Kiwi vibe, too, which his longtime friend, actor Rhys Darby, once coined “the comedy of the mundane”. Their new TV show, Our Flag Means Death, for example, leans heavily into the mundanity of pirate life – what happens on those long days at sea when the crew aren’t unsheathing swords from scabbards or burying treasure.

Waititi plays pirate captain Blackbeard, centre, in Our Flag Means Death, with Rhys Darby, left, and Rory Kinnear. (Google Images)

Sam Neill, who first met Waititi when starring in Hunt for the Wilderpeople, says Waititi is the exemplar of a new New Zealand humour. “And I think the basis of it is this,” says Neill. “We’re just a little bit crap at things, and that in itself is funny.” After all, Neill asks, what is What We Do in The Shadows (2014) if not a film (then later a TV show) about a bunch of vampires who are pretty crap at being vampires, living in a pretty crappy house, not quite getting busted by crappy local cops? “New Zealand often gets named as the least corrupt country in the world, and I think it’s just that we would be pretty crap at being corrupt,” Neill says. “We don’t have the capacity for it.”

Waititi’s whimsy also spurns the dominant on-screen oeuvre of his homeland – the so-called “cinema of unease” exemplified by the brutality of Once Were Warriors (1994) and the emotional peril of The Piano (1993). Waititi still explores pathos and pain, but through laughter and weirdness. “Taika feels to me like an antidote to that dark aspect, and a gift somehow,” Neill says. “And I’m grateful for that.”

-----------------------------------------------

Something happened to Taika Waititi when he was about 11 – something he doesn’t go into with Good Weekend, but which he considered a betrayal by the adults in his life. He mentioned it only recently – not the moment itself, but the lesson he learnt: “That you cannot and must not rely on grown-ups to help you – you’re basically in the world alone, and you’re gonna die alone, and you’ve just gotta make it all for yourself,” he told Irish podcast host James Brown. “I basically never forgave people in positions of responsibility.”

What does that mean in his work? First, his finest films tend to reflect the clarity of mind possessed by children, and the unseen worlds they create – fantasies conjured up as a way to understand or overcome. (His mum once summed up the main message of Boy: “The unconditional love you get from your children, and how many of us waste that, and don’t know what we’ve got.”)

Second, he’s suited to movie-making – “Russian roulette with art” – because he’s drawn to disruptive force and chaos. And that in turn produces creative defiance: allowing him to reinvigorate the Marvel Universe by making superheroes fallible, or tell a Holocaust story by making fun of Hitler. “Whenever I have to deal with someone who’s a boss, or in charge, I challenge them,” he told Brown, “and I really do take whatever they say with a pinch of salt.”

It’s no surprise then that Waititi was comfortable leaping from independent films to the vast complexity of Hollywood blockbusters. He loves the challenge of coordinating a thousand interlocking parts, requiring an army of experts in vocations as diverse as construction, sound, art, performance and logistics. “I delegate a lot,” he says, “and share the load with a lot of people.”

“This is a cool concept, being able to afford whatever I want, as opposed to sleeping on couches until I was 35.” - Taika Waititi

But the buck stops with him. Time magazine named Waititi one of its Most Influential 100 People of 2022. “You can tell that a film was made by Taika Waititi the same way you can tell a piece was painted by Picasso,” wrote Sacha Baron Cohen. Compassionate but comic. Satirical but watchable. Rockstar but auteur. “Actually, sorry, but this guy’s really starting to piss me off,” Cohen concluded. “Can someone else write this piece?”

Directing Chris Hemsworth in 2017 in Thor: Ragnarok, which grossed more than $1.3 billion at the box office. (Alamy)

I’m curious to know how he stays grounded amid such adulation. Coming into the game late, he says, helped immensely. After all, Waititi was 40 by the time he left New Zealand to do Thor: Ragnarok. “If you let things go to your head, then it means you’ve struggled to find out who you are,” he says. “But I’ve always felt very comfortable with who I am.” Hollywood access and acclaim – and the pay cheques – don’t erase memories of poverty, either. “It’s more like, ‘Oh, this is a cool concept, being able to afford whatever I want, as opposed to sleeping on couches until I was 35.’ ” Small towns and strong tribes keep him in check, too. “You know you can’t piss around and be a fool, because you’re going to embarrass your family,” he says. “Hasn’t stopped me, though.”

Sam Neill says there was never any doubt Waititi would be able to steer a major movie with energy and imagination. “It’s no accident that the whole world wants Taika,” he says. “But his seductiveness comes with its own dangers. You can spread yourself a bit thin. The temptation will be to do more, more, more. That’ll be interesting to watch.”

Indeed, I find myself vicariously stressed out over the list of potential projects in Waititi’s future. A Roald Dahl animated series for Netflix. An Apple TV show based on the 1981 film Time Bandits. A sequel to What We Do In The Shadows. A reboot of Flash Gordon. A gonzo horror comedy, The Auteur, starring Jude Law. Adapting a cult graphic novel, The Incal, as a feature. A streaming series based on the novel Interior Chinatown. A film based on a Kazuo Ishiguro bestseller. Plus bringing to life the wildly popular Akira comic books. Oh, and for good measure, a new instalment of Star Wars, which he’s already warned the world will be … different.

“It’s going to change things,” he told Good Morning America. “It’s going to change what you guys know and expect.”

Did I say I was stressed for Waititi? I meant physically sick.

“Well…” he qualifies, “some of those things I’m just producing, so I come up with an idea or someone comes to me with an idea, and I shape how ‘it’s this kind of show’ and ‘here’s how we can get it made.’ It’s easier for me to have a part in those things and feel like I’ve had a meaningful role in the creative process, but also not having to do what I’ve always done, which is trying to control everything.”

In the 2014 mockumentary horror film What We Do in the Shadows, which he co-directed with Jemaine Clement. (Alamy)

What about moving away from the niche New Zealand settings he represented so well in his early work? How does he stay connected to his roots? “I think you just need to know where you’re from,” he says, “and just don’t forget that.”

They certainly haven’t forgotten him.

Jasmin McSweeney sits in her office at the New Zealand Film Commission in Wellington, surrounded by promotional posters Waititi signed for her two decades ago, when she was tasked with promoting his nascent talent. Now the organisation’s marketing chief, she talks to me after visiting the heart of thriving “Wellywood”, overseeing the traditional karakia prayer on the set of a new movie starring Geoffrey Rush.

Waititi isn’t the first great Kiwi filmmaker – dual Oscar-winner Jane Campion and blockbuster king Peter Jackson come to mind – yet his particular ascendance, she says, has spurred unparalleled enthusiasm. “Taika gave everyone here confidence. He always says, ‘Don’t sit around waiting for people to say, you can do this.’ Just do it, because he just did it. That’s the Taika effect.”

-----------------------------------------------

Taika David Waititi is known for wearing everything from technicolour dreamcoats to pineapple print rompers, and today he’s wearing a roomy teal and white Isabel Marant jumper. The mohair garment has the same wispy frizz as his hair, which curls like a wave of grey steel wool, and connects with a shorn salty beard.

A stylish silver fox, it wouldn’t surprise anyone if he suddenly announced he was launching a fashion label. He’s definitely a commercial animal, to the point of directing television commercials for Coke and Amazon, along with a fabulous 2023 spot for Belvedere vodka starring Daniel Craig. He also joined forces with a beverage company in Finland (where “taika” means “magic”) to release his coffee drinks. Announcing the partnership on social media, he flagged that he would be doing more of this kind of stuff, too (“Soz not soz”).

Waititi has long been sick of reverent portrayals of Indigenous people talking to spirits.

There’s substance behind the swank. Fashion is a creative outlet but he’s also bought sewing machines in the past with the intention of designing and making clothes, and comes from a family of tailors. “I learnt how to sew a button on when I was very young,” he says. “I learnt how to fix holes or patches in your clothes, and darn things.”

And while he gallivants around the globe watching Wimbledon or modelling for Hermès at New York Fashion Week, all that glamour belies a depth of purpose, particularly when it comes to Indigenous representation.

There’s a moment in his new movie where a Samoan player realises that their Dutch coach, played by Michael Fassbender, is emotionally struggling, and he offers a lament for white people: “They need us.” I can’t help but think Waititi meant something more by that line – maybe that First Nations people have wisdom to offer if others will just listen?

“Weeelllll, a little bit …” he says – but from his intonation, and what he says next, I’m dead wrong. Waititi has long been sick of reverent portrayals of Indigenous people talking to kehua (spirits), or riding a ghost waka (phantom canoe), or playing a flute on a mountain. “Always the boring characters,” he says. “They’ve got no real contemporary relationship with the world, because they’re always living in the past in their spiritual ways.”

A scene from Next Goal Wins, filmed earlier this year. (Alamy)

He’s part of a vanguard consciously poking fun at those stereotypes. Another is the Navajo writer and director Billy Luther, who met Waititi at Sundance Film Festival back in 2003, along with Reservation Dogs co-creator Sterlin Harjo. “We were this group of outsiders trying to make films, when nobody was really biting,” says Luther. “It was a different time. The really cool thing about it now is we’re all working. We persevered. We didn’t give up. We slept on each other’s couches and hung out. It’s like family.”

Waititi has power now, and is known for using Indigenous interns wherever possible (“because there weren’t those opportunities when I was growing up”), making important introductions, offering feedback on scripts, and lending his name to projects through executive producer credits, too, which he did for Luther’s new feature film, Frybread Face and Me (2023).

He called Luther back from the set of Thor: Love and Thunder (2022) to offer advice on working with child actors – “Don’t box them into the characters you’ve created,” he said, “let them naturally figure it out on their own” – but it’s definitely harder to get Waititi on the phone these days. “He’s a little bitch,” Luther says, laughing. “Nah, there’s nothing like him. He’s a genius. You just knew he was going to be something. I just knew it. He’s my brother.“

I’ve been asked to explicitly avoid political questions in this interview, probably because Waititi tends to back so many causes, from child poverty and teenage suicide to a campaign protesting offshore gas and oil exploration near his tribal lands. But it’s hard to ignore his recent Instagram post, sharing a viral video about the Voice to Parliament referendum starring Indigenous Aussie rapper Adam Briggs. After all, we speak only two days after the proposal is defeated. “Yeah, sad to say but, Australia, you really shat the bed on that one,” Waititi says, pausing. “But go see my movie!”

About that movie – the early reviews aren’t great. IndieWire called it a misfire, too wrapped in its quirks to develop its arcs, with Waititi’s directorial voice drowning out his characters, while The Guardian called it “a shoddily made and strikingly unfunny attempt to tell an interesting story in an uninteresting way”. I want to know how he moves past that kind of criticism. “For a start, I never read reviews,” he says, concerned only with the opinion of people who paid for admission, never professional appraisals. “It’s not important to me. I know I’m good at what I do.”

Criticism that Indigenous concepts weren’t sufficiently explained in Next Goal Wins gets his back up a little, though. The film’s protagonist, Jaiyah Saelua, the first transgender football player in a FIFA World Cup qualifying match, is fa’afafine – an American Samoan identifier for someone with fluid genders – but there wasn’t much exposition of this concept in the film. “That’s not my job,” Waititi says. “It’s not a movie where I have to explain every facet of Samoan culture to an audience. Our job is to retain our culture, and present a story that’s inherently Polynesian, and if you don’t like it, you can go and watch any number of those other movies out there, 99 per cent of which are terrible.”

*notes: (there is video clip in the article)

Waititi sounds momentarily cranky, but he’s mostly unflappable and hilarious. He’s the kind of guy who prefers “Correctumundo bro!” to “Yes”. When our video connection is too laggy, he plays up to it by periodically pretending to be frozen, sitting perfectly still, mouth open, his big shifting eyeballs the only giveaway.

He’s at his best on set. Saelua sat next to him in Honolulu while filming the joyous soccer sequences. “He’s so chill. He just let the actors do their thing, giving them creative freedom, barely interjecting unless it was something important. His style matches the vibe of the Pacific people. We’re a very funny people. We like to laugh. He just fit perfectly.”

People do seem to love working alongside him, citing his ability to make productions fresh and unpredictable and funny. Chris Hemsworth once said that Waititi’s favourite gag is to “forget” that his microphone is switched on, so he can go on a pantomime rant for all to hear – usually about his disastrous Australian lead actor – only to “remember” that he’s wired and the whole crew is listening.

“I wouldn’t know about that, because I don’t listen to what other people say about anything – I’ve told you this,” Waititi says. “I just try to have fun when there’s time to have fun. And when you do that, and you bring people together, they’re more willing to go the extra mile for you, and they’re more willing to believe in the thing that you’re trying to do.”

Yes, he plays music between takes, and dances out of his director’s chair, but it’s really all about relaxing amid the immense pressure and intense privilege of making movies. “Do you know how hard it is just to get anything financed or green-lit, then getting a crew, getting producers to put all the pieces together, and then making it to set?” Waititi asks. “It’s a real gift, even to be working, and I feel like I have to remind people of that: enjoy this moment.”

Source: The Age

By: Konrad Marshall (December 1, 2023)

#rhys darby #taika waititi #next goal wins #our flag means death #hunt for the wilderpeople #interview

194 notes · View notes

mezzy-1 · 4 months

Text

Radiant Recruit (Valorant x Reader)

Name: Y/N

Class: Radiant

Callsign - Nomad

You had been at odds with Kingdom for causing your abilities, and saw Valorant as nothing more than another group trying to reign you in. Your power store radiant energy and unleash it proved difficult to contain. Even worse, you could turn to pure energy and phase away. It was a trick you used to escape Valorant time and time again. Where you came from was only for you to know, until you were captured.

(An idea of what Nomad can do // source: Infamous: Second Son)

Fade

“Stop Y/N! There’s no place you can run to that I won’t find you!” Fade yelled down the hallway. She had you cornered in Bind, inside the Kingdom refinery

“Leave me ALONE!” you screamed, unleashing a wave of radiant power at nearby pipes. Steam filled the hall and you sprinted further away

A screech behind you caught your attention as one of Fade’s nightmares spotted you. A terror trail led from your feet

Snarling prowlers rushed towards you and lunged. You raised a hand and blasted them as they pinned you down

One sunk its teeth into your leg and darkness filled your vision. Whispers surrounded you as memories of Kingdom spying on you resurfaced

Radiant power surged into your eyes before blasting through your body. In your fear, you burnt through the last reserves of energy

Suddenly a voice cut through the chaos

“I have you now, ”

Weak sparks shot from your palm in an attempt to block the ball of tendrils Fade tossed at your feet

Seized by her power, unable to destroy the bindings, you found yourself resorting to struggling against the tethers

Fade took a Sheriff from its holster, the gunmetal gleaming in the red alarm lights. She began to raise it upward towards you

Then turned and emptied the cylinder, catching the bullets and storing them in a pocket

“Valorant is not what you think, we are trying to do something important for the world!”

“So was Kingdom, I don’t care about what your cause is.”

“I was where you are right now, Y/N. I was hunted by Valorant too.” Fade’s tone softened

“What are you talking about?” You were slightly intrigued

“I…blackmailed them. They sent a squad to catch me and could’ve killed me. They gave me a home instead. I trust them.”

“Prove it, how do I know you aren’t lying to get my guard down.”

“You can’t, but you have my word that we will let you go if you want to leave.” She reached a hand to you. “Deal?”

Against your better judgment you decided to come along. In an hour you were being flown to a remote island in the middle of nowhere

“So you know my name, but what’s yours?”

“Hazal. Memnun oldum.”

Hazal sat with you, either for security or reassurance, in the conference room with Brimstone

“Y/N, I apologize for the methods we used but Valorant doesn’t have time for delicate approaches. Fade has first hand experience with that.”

“I didn’t offer you another choice Brimstone,” Hazal seemed to feel some regret

“We wanted to get your help with Omega Earth,” he directed you to a hologram that showed all current information

It was unnerving, the doppelgangers and your personal clone trying to destroy the world. The situation didn’t leave you feeling like you could run away

“So…are you in Y/N?”

“Count me in,” you went over to shake Brimstone’s hand. He took it and handed you a keycard to your room

“You’re part of Valorant now Y/N.” Brimstone nodded to Fade and you exited the room with her

“You’ll be assigned a callsign Y/N,” Fade said as she led you to your quarters. “Did you have anything in mind?”

“Uh, I guess we should figure it out while we have time.” Your opened the door to your room and took a seat on the bed

Fade took a seat at your desk, looking around at the sparse interior before settling on you

“Y/N, what do you think about going by Nomad? It would fit, don't you think?”

Iso

“Oh shi-” you were surprised by a bullet ricocheting past you and putting a hole in the elevator controls

“Nice try Y/N, but you aren’t getting out of here unless you come with me.” Iso chambered another round. “Or else.”

“Go to hell!” you triggered a maelstrom of energy inside your body. Radiant pulses fired from you and Iso lept to cover

Shifting into energy, you charged straight at him, ready to plant your glowing fists directly into his face

Hexagons spilled out under your feet. Violet light blinded you before placing you into a strange space made of similar shapes

“You’re all mine Y/N.” a familiar voice echoed. Iso had somehow captured you

The structures around you disappeared and a single shot rang out against the silence of the realm you were in

A bullet hit your chest, but the ballistic plate underneath stopped it. It didn’t stop the force from slamming into you though

“Y/N, I admire your spirit but you lost this fight. I won’t hurt you, I just want to show you what Valorant is trying to do.”

“And if I refuse?”

“You won’t leave here. Ever.”

He wasn’t bluffing, but he didn’t seem like he wanted to condemn you to that fate either. His aim was steady but his eyes were more focused on your response

“I’ll go with you, but if you try anything you’ll regret it.”

Iso sighed something in Mandarin

Purple energy wrapped you and placed you back in the building. Iso waited for you to get to your feet and led you at gunpoint

The elevator controls were shot, so you and Iso took stairs to the roof. When you arrived at the helipad, the VTOL was just landing

“Remember, I can trap you at anytime Y/N. Don’t try to escape until we get to the island and we brief you.” Iso was dead serious

He left you in the cargo hold of the VTOL while it took off. He returned later on his phone and looked over at you

“Any requests for music? I don’t like silence.” Iso pointed at the phone

“(Your favorite artist).”

“I have a playlist for them, tell me what you think.”

The ride to the HQ was more pleasant than you expected

Subsequently, you were lead to a room with the leader of Valorant for more information

Brimstone finished explaining the situation. Needless to say the Omega Earth version of you destroying city blocks was a frightening prospect

“Y/N, if you help us out you’ll be giving us the advantage. We can let you go but we can’t guarantee your mirror won’t try to come after you.”

“I’ll join your protocol if it means I can protect people from my double.”

“Welcome to the fight Y/N. Iso, take Y/N to the armory and get them fitted for their gear and run a basic shooting test.” Brimstone shook you hand warmly

Iso and you walked down the hall, passing a few other agents that gave you a wave or raised an eye at your presence

Once you were in the armory, Iso went over ballistics and you did some basic target practice

“Y/N, have you given any thought to your callsign?” Iso finished marking your grade in a tablet

“Not really, I do want something that sounds good and makes sense.” you placed your rifle down and began a field strip test

“Since you were constantly on the run, how does Nomad work for you?” He raised the tablet with the name entered in

“Sounds good.”

“I can’t wait to work with you, Nomad.” Iso nodded to you and handed you a magazine

Viper

“Oh Y/N it’s precious that you think you can hide from me, but I like games of cat and mouse.” Viper purred as you crept around Icebox

The woman had managed to cut off every escape from you, a fact she reveled in

“I assume you’re thinking that if you attack me, you can shut the toxins off and leave.” she was trying to draw you out, so you continued to sneak around

Viper turned and left

Green fog began to empty from the vents everywhere, catching you off guard. It was then you realized she had been waiting for the toxins to get in the system

“Is it hard to breathe? Try not to die before I find you, I don’t want to explain that to Brimstone.”

Coughing loudly, you attempted to crawl away as vertigo set in. The toxins smelled like acetone mixed with acrid sweetness

Viper’s silhouette appeared as you lost consciousness. Her figure towered above you as your eyes shut

“You’re awake, good. I need you to listen to me Y/N, can you do that?” Viper had unmasked and was now looking you directly in the eye

You nodded your head weakly while taking account of your surroundings. Toxins had rendered your powers and muscles useless

“What do you want from me?” you hissed

“Join Valorant, we could use your-”

“NOBODY’S using me.” you spat back. Viper glared at you

She removed a vial of poison and opened it. She tilted the glass over your head, letting a drop hang over your eye

“Don’t interrupt me,” Viper narrowed her gaze, “Understood?”

“I’d rather die than be some kind of weapon for a bunch of sociopaths.”

“You aren’t in a position to argue, but we are going to play nice and show you the protocol.”

“Easy to do when I’m your prisoner.”

“Exactly Y/N.”

Minutes later you were being flown somewhere new, but had no idea what was waiting for you once you regained your motor functions

Viper and Brimstone sat with you, going over confidential files on Omega Earth and their agents. It was shocking to your face among them as well

“We know they’ll end up using your mirror against us, so we need all the support we can get.” Brimstone passed a keycard to you

You took it and shook his hand

“I’ll take Y/N to the medical wing and run biometrics so we can plan countermeasures against their double.” Viper motioned for you to join her

The biometrics were mainly just scans and a blood test, but Viper took time to explain what each piece would be used for

“Y/N, you need a callsign for me to enter your information under. Any ideas?”

“Not really. I guess there’s the fact I was always escaping, that could be something.”

“Well you didn’t escape me,” Viper smugly raised an eyebrow. “But I do like that idea, how about Nomad?”

“I like that, it sounds mysterious.”

“Perfect, now let's get you to your quarters and finish the tour so I can get back to my lab.”

“Can I see the lab?”

“No.”

Neon

“I thought you were supposed to be fast! So much for the protocol’s ‘Sprinter.” you taunted as you sped away down a street in your energy form

Neon trailed behind you, each pace pulsing with electricity. She had almost caught you but a quick energy burst saved you

Now it was a matter of running, which was easy for you to do because you could move through obstacles

That was your thought until you ran out of radiant power in the middle of the street

“Slow huh?” Neon was on you quickly. You decided to fight, unleashing what little energy you had left in missiles of force

She dodged and closed the distance, using her speed to shift her target faster than you could aim

In the blink of an eye Neon grabbed your arm. Volts spasmed down your body, paralyzing you

“No more running Y/N.” Neon dragged you to the side of the road and away from the public. She hid you under a bridge, seating you on a bench

“So Valorant sends you to catch me and then what? Lock me in a cell until you need to destroy something?”

“No, we want you to learn how to control the power before you hurt anyone.” Neon trailed off, lost in thought

“Do you really control your power or is it just them letting you loose on anyone they want?” You needled at her doubt

“So you must have lost control at some point then, did they show up and lock you away? Just like what you want to do to me?” Provoking her was the only thing you could do

“It wasn’t like that! They found me…but after I had lost control,”

“Don’t lie to me, they can’t help me and they can’t you either!”

“SHUT UP!” Sparks scorched the ground near Neon’s legs

Neon’s anger turned to regret “They gave me training for it and helped me make the best of it.”

Neon began to smile a bit as an arc of electricity moved up her hand

“I’m sure we’ll do the same for you.”

Once you could move, you and her walked back to a extraction point

“Do you really think they don’t want to use my power for themselves? You were sent on this mission right?”

“I volunteered for this, Y/N. You won’t have to fight unless you want to but we have Radiants that want to help you control your abilities.”

It wasn’t much reassurance without definitive proof, but it was good to hear as you stepped onto the VTOL

“Plus you’ll train with me Y/N. So I’m hoping you decide to stay with us so we can have a rematch.”

Neon fidgeted in her chair at the conference with Brimstone and Sage. Reyna stood in the back eying you over and occasionally muttering something in Spanish

“Y/N, your power is going to make the difference in the fight against Omega Earth. We need you to back us up.”

“I- I want to but I’m not,”

Neon looked over at you and her nervousness switched something in you

“I can get ready for the field. I’m on board sir.” Neon relaxed at your response

“Good Y/N, glad to have you here. We’ll enter some information for your file, in the meantime Neon can show you to the gym for a physical assessment.”

He passed her a tablet

Neon led you around the protocol and took you to the training area. She took the tablet Brimstone gave her and had you start the tests

It wasn’t a great couple of hours, especially because Neon kept her eyes on you struggling the entire time

Finally the running test came up, and Neon readied a stopwatch

“Y/N, do you want to race?” Neon tossed the stopwatch in the air towards you

“Sure,” you caught the watch and readied it. “Go!”

She cleared the mile in under 7 minutes without her power before taking the watch

“Beat that Y/N.”

Your mile was about 9 minutes, which was expected from someone who didn’t run often. Neon did tone her taunting down during the run which was a welcome change

“So…Y/N what callsign do you want? I have to put one here so what do you want?”

“I don’t really have anything. I would pick something about running or escaping-” Neon looked up disapprovingly “-but I guess that’s your thing right.”

“Well you aren’t fast, just hard to keep in the same place. Like a nomad. Oh that could work!”

Neon put down Nomad in name entry

“We even sort of match too. I like Nomad, enter it in!” You nodded to her and got ready for the next step in becoming an agent

Reyna

“Tienes miedo? I love a good chase Y/N.” Reyna’s voice barely held her sadistic excitement back

Carefully, you hid behind cover while Reyna stalked through the courtyard of Sunset. Loading your pistol, you sprang from the cover and opened fire

A glaring eye filled your vision, and you shot blindly at the space. The bullets dissipated the eye, but Reyna was gone

“I’ve heard so much about you, your power. Don’t disappoint me.” Reyna’s skin turned to shadows and glowed with unnatural energy

“I WON’T!” you bellowed. Particles of radiant energy spiraled around your body and blasted straight through Reyna

She made no effort to dodge your most powerful blast as it corkscrewed into her. At first you thought she was going to die

It was much more terrifying than that

Reyna walked calmly through the beam toward you, her intangible state keeping her from damage. The blast lost power and stopped

“Que fuerte, but not enough.” Reyna grabbed your throat and slammed you to the ground

“If you struggle, I will continue to have fun with you.” Her grip tightened to emphasize the point

“I’m not joining your damn organization. You and Kingdom are all the same, just preying on Radiants.”

“QUE DEMONIOS ME DIJISTE?” Reyna yelled, she drove her nails into your neck. “I- We are nothing like them.”

Her outrage was enough to quiet you down

“Kingdom is our enemy Y/N, we can bring them down together. Join me and we will destroy them.” Reyna reached a hand out

You took it

Reyna leaned in and whispered in your ear

“Somos unido, contra el mundo. Do not forget they are terrified of us.”

Reyna sat at your side at the table in the conference room. Brimstone and Sage went over the situation with Omega

“If Omega uses the mirror version of you, we would have a hell of a fight ahead of us without you to help us out.” Brimstone gave a worried look to the holographic files

“Don’t worry, I’ll join the protocol if I can make a difference.”

“Come with me Y/N, we will see how useful you can be to us.” Reyna took your arm and moved you to the training room

A few bots appeared and Reyna took a seat

“Go on, end them Y/N.”

It took little effort to turn the bots into scrap metal and burnt plastic. In your elation, you blasted a hole in the window near Reyna

“Que increible Y/N, you certainly have potential.” She ran her fingers over the scorch marked bots

“The protocol requires a callsign,” she passed you a tablet with an input. “I would put in my suggestions but I don’t want to speak for you.”

“Wait, what did you have in mind?” you looked over to Reyna while she leaned against the exit

“Pues, I was thinking something that felt unburdened. Something freeing. Viajero, no como se dice,” she paused feeling for the English word, “Nomad.”

“It means someone on the run or that moves around. That does sound like me.”

“Claro, I think it suits you perfectly Y/N. Now, let's begin your training and sharpen your strength.”

She sauntered across the room and started up more bots

“Mataremos, Nomad.” You and Reyna tore into them together

Sage

“Do not make me pursue you further Y/N, I wish no harm on you.” Sage cried to you

“Then let me leave,” you readied an energy bolt, “I doubt you could even hurt me!” You shot, directly into her chest

“So be it.” Sage muttered

Jade, tougher than steel, coated her hands and began to work into her skin. Life energy flowed in and she rose up

Her skin healed as she charged you. You burnt through your power to launch a vortex of radiant energy

The sphere engulfed her, but when it passed she was completely gone to your surprise. A hand landed on your shoulder, then a chop connected to your temple

Sage had catapulted herself over the vortex using her wall, and gotten directly behind you

As a monk, she was adept in martial arts. It didn’t help that the barrage of fists, palms, and kicks was hard as iron

You tried to swing back, but couldn’t move. Sage coated you in jade, effectively restraining you with every blow

“Do you doubt I could hurt you now Y/N?” Sage’s tone was retributive but took satisfaction in her position over you

“I don’t care what you try, you can’t force me to work with Valorant. You chased me down like an animal, just like Kingdom.”

“We did pursue you Y/N, but we aren’t like Kingdom. We want to help you, not use you.”

“I’m not interested in what you have to say, I’ll break free eventually.”

“No you won’t, it is unmoving and you are too. I want you to see what Valorant truly is, not what you think it is.”

“I don’t give a shit what Valorant is, you tracked me and trapped me in this.”

“We tried to bring you in but you refused because you thought we were Kingdom. I want to prove we’re better than them.”

“By encasing me in rock and hauling me somewhere against my will? Just like Kingdom tried before?”

“You’d run away otherwise, and I went easy on you. I could have broken your legs and healed them later, but I wanted you to see we aren’t cruel.”

It was true, she had held back enough not to render you unconscious or cripple you. Plus she didn’t sound like she was lying, her tone was honest

“I don’t know if I can fully trust you, but if you want to show me Valorant I don’t really have a choice do I?”

“Not particularly, but I promise you are safe while under my watch.”

She had your petrified body loaded onto a VTOL and flown to the HQ

Once you had been briefed, and Sage released you, she passed you a keycard. Brimstone finished his report on Omega

“Y/N, please lend us your aid.” Sage pleaded

“I’m in, don’t worry. I was wrong about you all, I’m happy to join.”

“Sage, take Y/N to the clinic and give them a check up. I’ll finish Y/N’s file and send word to the agents that we have a new member.”

You and her went over to the clinic and she sat you down on the table before taking a few instruments out

“Y/N, please remove your clothes.” she took a tablet and started marking things as you cautiously took your clothing off. You blushed the entire time

Sage moved quickly, giving you questions while she looked you over. She finished her check up and had you dress back up

“Y/N, do not worry I have seen the entire protocol naked. I am just doing my job.”

“I know, it’s just strange because I don’t know you that well.”

“Then I hope we become close,” Sage smiled at you, “I must ask you about what you want to use for a callsign.”

“I didn’t think about that. Do you have any ideas?”

Sage responded with a long pause

“I suppose something that suggests your strengths. You are flexible and spirited.”

“Do you have anything that sounds like either of those?”

“Would you accept Nomad? It is the word for people that have no single place they call home.”

“Nomad…” you thought about it for a second.

“I love it!”

“Wonderful, now let’s finish your recruitment Nomad.”

Jett

“I’m not gonna work with the woman that destroyed Venice!” you screamed as you launched a volley of energy at Jett

The backstreets of Split had turned into a storm of bullets and radiant explosions, Jett was lurking in the rafters while you stuck to the ground

She nimbly dashed from cover to avoid the bursts of plasma, then took aim with her Vandal

“Shut up! You don’t know what you’re talking about!” Jett’s serious tone cut through the chaos. Her gun ran dry and she began to reload

“You can’t lie to me! I’m never joining Valorant!” A gathering of particles rushed through your hands, charging a pulse of energy that blasted Jett from cover

Her body flew through the air from the force, and you watched with satisfaction. Then she suspended herself in midair, turning to you

“I’m done with your shit, Y/N.” Jett summoned her knives, and sent them for you

Acting quickly, you used the rest of your energy to blast the knives from their paths. Each failed to connect as the knives moved on their own, weaving around

Blades sped past you, then sinking into your clothes and pinning you to the ground. Jett drifted down and knelt next to you, a smug grin painted on her face

“So,” a blade twirled over her finger, “care to correct what you said about me and Venice?”

“I saw the footage, it was you. I won’t work for people who shelter a monster.”

“IT WASN’T ME!” Jett’s control slipped and the knife embedded itself next to your neck

“She took everything from me,” a few tears fell down from Jett’s cheek. “You of all people should know what being slandered feels like!”

It was true Kingdom had done their best to scare the public after they lost track of you, and wasted no time showing how dangerous you were

“You want me to feel bad for you when you’re hunting me like them? They took so much from me and you’re no different.”

“Y/N, you don’t have anywhere to go. Valorant stood with me against the world, I stay with them because they know I’m not the enemy.”

Silence gave you time to digest how genuine she was being. You could see how wounded she was and what Valorant meant to her

“I want them to help you Y/N. We both had our lives ruined but Valorant is our second chance.”

“I’m not against it, but even if I was you’ve already caught me.”

Jett rolled her eyes and helped you up

“Valorant will help you, it’s like a second family to me. I hope it becomes that for you too.”

The fact Jett’s double had ruined her life was made clear to you once you were in the care of Valorant

Her anger flared whenever the photo would appear in the report Brimstone gave you. Wind would pick up in the room, moving papers about

You signed on immediately when you realized that you could make a difference and stop the mirrors from unleashing more Spikes

“Jett, I’m sure Y/N is going to need some help navigating the protocol. Do you mind giving them a tour of the premises?”

“Yeah, let’s go Y/N. This place is huge so we should start now.”

You and Jett took a walk through the corridors of Valorant. Jett took you first to the training room and showed you the scoresheet

“As you can see, I have some high marks but no big deal.” Jett gloated, making sure a nearby Phoenix could hear here

She took you next to the living quarters and introduced you to Killjoy and Raze, both of whom greeted you excitedly

Jett next took you to the cafeteria, mainly to flex the fact she cooked last night

“I bet you’re hungry after everything, we can probably take a minute here and have some of the chap chae I made.”

You and her reheated the noodles and added some onions and carrots to it

“So Y/N,” Jett practically inhaled her food, “what were you thinking for a codename?”

You finished a bit of food, “I don’t really know what I’d go with.”

“How about Nomad? I mean it makes sense ‘cause you’re hard to catch. Plus it sounds cool.”

“It does, we should use that!” you agreed

You and her finished up and cleaned your plates, then finished the tour

“Y/N, Nomad, tomorrow Phoenix, Neon, and I are gonna get together for movie night. You should totally join us!”

“I’ll be there!”

Deadlock

“Don’t try and run Y/N, you can’t escape me.” Deadlock’s eyes trained on you, watching for any movement

She had you at gunpoint, pointing a Phantom at your chest ready to fire. Her finger was slightly above the trigger

“Nobody is taking me prisoner!” you shouted before leaping out of the way and phasing into energy

Deadlock fired through you, the bullets disintegrating as they passed through you. You sprinted through a wall and detransformed

That wasn’t so bad you thought to yourself as you began to make your way across the room you had entered

A beeping noise caught your attention as you exited, you searched for its source. Then you looked to your left and saw the Sound Sensor

It concussed you and sent you reeling into the main room of the Kingdom outpost. You spotted the exit on the second floor and dashed up the stairs

“YOU’RE NOT LEAVING MY TERRITORY Y/N!” a yell caught you off guard. A blue string floated in front of your face for a single second

Then an onslaught of fibres wrapped your arms and legs, restraining you. You did everything you could to escape but it was too late

The cocoon floated somewhere, but a brief minute later you felt yourself being picked up and carried outside

Bitter cold crept in through the gaps in the nanowire, causing you to shiver. Then you felt yourself being rested on snow

A knife cut through the web, a centimeter from your face. It opened your face up to the chilling weather and Deadlock’s stoic expression

“Are you cold? You keep moving like you’re shivering.” Her voice was flat, unbothered by the freezing winds

“I-I’m f-f-fine, I don’t, n-need any he-help.” you did your best not to let her notice your teeth chattering

“You are an awful liar, we’re going back to the station.” Deadlock began a march back and threw you over her shoulder

“Put me down!”

“You’ll freeze Y/N, I don’t want you to get frostbite.”

“Why? You opened fire at me why does it matter if I get cold?”

“I know you don’t deserve to suffer out here, and I didn’t shoot to kill. Valorant sent me to collect you but we won’t mistreat you.”

“You’re part of Kingdom, I know you are.”

“I’m not, when our extraction arrives we’ll take you to our headquarters and you can see that we have your best interests at heart.”

You went silent, confused at the fact she was taking you back to the outpost instead of directly to her allies. It wasn’t something a typical mercenary or Kingdom would do

“How long until they arrive?”

“A few minutes from now.” Deadlock shut the door and laid you against a wall near a heating vent

“Rest Y/N, I don’t want you to freeze.”

Hours later, you were in the tropics at the Valorant HQ

You exited Brimstone’s office with a newfound appreciation for Valorant. Your Mirror concerned both you and the agents around you

Brimstone had finished signing you up with the protocol, and you agreed to go to the armory to get an idea of what you would be training with

Deadlock led you through the headquarters, giving you a brief tour of the base before stopping at the weapon room

“Y/N, we are going to go over weaponry while the others finish notifying the protocol about you and readying your quarters.” Deadlock handed you a Guardian

“Take it and see how it feels.” She watched you explore the rifle and attempt to take it apart. Field stripping was not your strength

Deadlock began to help you, as well as go over the rest of the armory’s collection. You learned how to clean the guns which seemed to be enough for Deadlock

“I’ll have a kit sent to your room, but I have to ask what were you thinking for a code name?”

“Codename?”

“Every agent gets one, so we have to assign you one.” She referred to her own ID card and took a seat at the firing range

“Come on, I don’t have the slightest idea of what to put for one. What would you put?”

Looking upwards in thought, Deadlock paused for a second before meeting your gaze

“They gave me my name because I can stall the enemy. You specialize in moving and being unpredictable.”

You nodded in agreement

“Perhaps, Nomad?” Deadlock shrugged her shoulders

“You know that sounds good. Put Nomad as my codename please.” You felt the name around a bit before settling into the callsign

“Hey Deadlock,”

“Yes?”

“Thank you for the name and for not letting me freeze.”

“It was no trouble at all.”

(This might be the first of many -X Reader things, so follow me if you're interested. Comment your favorite parts so I know what people like to see!)

190 notes · View notes

who-knew-a-sheep-can-write · 1 month

Text

Sleep in the Heat: Chris Redfield x Fem!Reader (NSFW)

Oh, I got you pookie bear >:)))

Contains: Blowjob, deep-throating, choking, spanking, biting, hair pulling, creampie, rough sex, jealous sex, drunk sex(?) and a very dominant chris

“You wanna explain to me what the actual fuck that was?”

The front door slammed shut, echoing through the silent house. You paused for a moment, stopping at the couch where you set down your bag before turning to look at him over your shoulder. Just the sight of him alone was enough to send a shock of arousal up the back of your legs and straight to your cunt.

He was standing there, menacingly, but fuck if it wasn’t hot. His already brawny shoulders were squared, those big hands of his were balled so tightly it made the muscles in his arms tighten and bulge. His gunmetal blue eyes were practically burning with smoking hot desire as a fire lit in his belly. He was panting softly like a wild animal as he tried to keep himself calm but the alcohol in his system didn’t really help.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” you stated as calmly as you could.

You winced when your voice wavered a bit at the end from excitement. You don’t what was doing more of the talking; Your aching cunt that needed to be destroyed by him or the alcohol swirling around in your system making you feel all warm and needy.

“No?” Chris stalked toward you, his steely gaze kept you pinned in your place. “You don’t think I saw how he was getting friendly with you?”

You felt your heart fluttering in your chest. Just the sight of him like this turned you on so badly. Your cunt ached, already wet with your honey-sweet arousal you wanted him to lick you clean of. Even as he towered over you, your belly still fluttered.

“He was just being nice,” you feigned innocence as you fully turned to face him.

He really wasn’t. It was just some other member of Hound Wolf who was trying to get into your pants despite knowing that you were happily married to the captain. Whenever you were alone, even for a second, he would try to get close and flirt with you only for Chris to come and scare him off with just a look.

“The fuck he was, (Y/n),” he grit his teeth. “He was basically eye-fucking you the entire night.”

“Chris-” you gasped, faking the thought that was already buzzing around in your head like a swarm of bees, “are you jealous of the attention I was getting?”

You suddenly cried when he suddenly latched a hand onto your hair, yanking it back just enough to feel the burn at your scalp and shut you up. Your eyes went wide but his were still dark and feral. Your hands tried to grab at Chris’ jacket only for his free hand to snatch at your wrists, squeezing them tight enough to make your fingers curl.

“You’re mine,” he got in your face and growled.

You could smell the whiskey on his breath, you could taste the cigarettes on your tongue. You could feel the danger sparking something electrical in your womb.

His lips smashed against yours, teeth clacking together. His beard scratched at your chin, his growl vibrated through the cavity of your mouth, his tongue practically shoveled its way inside to fight with yours. His grip on your hair tightened, pulling a muffled cry from your smothered lips. His fingertips wrapped around your locks, effectively locking his hand into your hair to give him better leverage on your poor scalp. The burn at your scalp had you crying softly as his mouth assaulted yours, your poor legs started to tremble. He bit into your lower lip just to get a rise out of you, just to pull a moan out of you.

Chris pulled away abruptly, a thin trail of spit connected your bottom lips for a brief second before it finally split. He was panting like an animal, and just the way he looked down at you made you feel like prey. His pupils were blown wide with drunken lust while something else lingered in those pretty eyes of his; Something dark and greedy.

Before you could beg for something more, Chris hoisted you up and over his shoulder without a second thought and started for the bedroom. His long and powerful strides were fast, boots smacking heavily against the floor as he climbed the stairs three at a time. You clutched at his back, hands balling at the hem of his jacket as he carried you around like you weighed nothing. You wheezed a bit as he climbed the stairs from where his brawny shoulder dug into your ribs only to cry out when he delivered a hard smack against your ass. Your nails sank into his jacket as you threw your head back, a lewd cry escaping your lips as Chris’ entire hand delivered another spank to the same cheek just for making noise. The slap stung, your entire asscheek felt like it was set on fire in the shape of his own hand. He kept his hand on your ass as he trekked through the hallway, his nails digging into the soft flesh of your ass.

He kicked in the bedroom door with his boot and stormed in.

He tossed you onto the edge of the bed as about as gracious as a bull wrecking a china shop, your poor body bouncing nearly off of the edge as you yelped from the contact. He stood over you as you laid back against the bed, hands gripping onto the comforter as your heart pounded in your ears, drowning out almost all sound.

Maybe you went a little too far with the teasing?

Chris reached out and grabbed at the collar of your shirt and balled the material in his iron grasp, tugging your back off of the bed just a bit.

“Strip,” he ordered.

His voice was thick with a mixture of desire and anger.

He pulled you off of the bed to stand before he let go. The loss of his grip on you had you stumbling just a bit. You kept your eyes on him, watching him with wide eyes as he sat down on the edge of the bed. He was watching your every move like a hawk. With a normal person, they would shiver or maybe cower away. Hell, you knew some of his men in Hound Wolf couldn’t stand being under his gaze, he was just that threatening. But you? You fucking loved it.

You shucked your jacket off of your shoulders and down your arms, the thick material pooled behind you. He watched intently as you slowly peeled your shirt up and over your head, dropping the rumpled material down to join your jacket. You didn’t touch your bra yet, instead, you slowly unlatched your belt and dragged your pants down your legs before you slid them and your shoes off at the same time. You were about to hook your fingers around the waistband of your panties when Chris stood up abruptly, causing you to jump.

Your skin became goose-fleshed as a chill ran down your spine despite Chris’ warmth was suddenly in front of you.

“Chris, I-”

He suddenly latched his hand into your hair again, snatching at the hair right above the back of your neck, shutting you up. You grabbed at his jacket for support, whining and hissing at the pain only for Chris to force you on your knees.

You were quickly met with his tented erection that his dark jeans didn’t do well with hiding. You swallowed thickly and looked up at him with wide eyes only to freeze at just the look he was giving you. You knew what you had to do if the way he had you positioned was a dead giveaway.

You brought your shaky hands up to his belt and carefully unlatched it before you unbuttoned his pants and drew down the zipper. His boxers were very tight behind the fly of his jeans. As you parted the fly of his jeans even more, you pulled down the hemline of his boxers until his cock sprung up. It was fully erect, the head was looking a little redder than normal as precum had started to just bead up at his slit.

His grip on your hair tightened as he brought his other hand down to his cock. He made a fist around his dick and pumped himself a few times, thumbing his slit and spreading his precum around the head before he tapped the head against your lips.

“Suck,” he ordered through grit teeth.

You parted your lips and carefully took him into your mouth. He allowed you to start off slow. You only took his head into your mouth at first. Swirling your tongue around his head, you swallowed the salty taste of his cum as he groaned softly, but his grip on the back of your head didn’t let up. You slowly took more into your mouth, going inch by inch. You flattened your tongue and sucked, almost swallowing him up to the root before you felt him poke at the back of your throat. You gagged a bit, retreating back just a little as you breathe through your nose. You brought one hand up to rest on his muscular thigh, nails biting into the sagging material. Chris groaned at your tight mouth wrapped around his cock, rolling his head back a bit as he savored the feeling.

You slowly bobbed your head along his cock, trying to swallow him fully, but you weren’t able to.

Chris’ hand tightened in your hair and applied more pressure to the back of your hair with every bob of your head. You whimpered at the sting before you gagged when he forced you to take more of him. You brought both hands up to his trim waist, sinking your trembling fingers into him as he fucked your mouth, forcing you to finally swallow him whole. You choked and groaned as he thrust into your mouth, tears stinging your eyes and dribbling down your flushed cheeks. He moaned loudly, his grip tightening as his cock twitched in your mouth lightly.

He looked down at you, his lustful eyes meeting your teary ones. He smirked at the sight of you on your knees, saliva dribbling down your chin as he fucked your mouth mercilessly.

“Look at you taking me in your mouth,” he smiled proudly. “You’re taking me so well like the slut you are.” His thrusts were starting to slow down, his cock spending more time being buried in the back of your throat as his hips rolled with his thrusts. He was going to cum soon. “Fuck, baby, it’s like this mouth was meant for me. Wasn’t it?” He yanked on your hair, pulling a choked cry from you, forcing you to nod your head as you pleaded up at him with watery eyes. You could feel your head becoming fuzzy from the lack of oxygen, the corners of your vision were starting to look a little dark. “Fuck, I’m gonna cum.” You could see the flames lit in his eyes. “You’re gonna swallow every last drop, you hear me?”

You nodded again, hands gripping his waist for dear life.

He came suddenly with a shout, burying his cock down your poor throat as he spilled ropes of cum into you. You gagged at first, relaxing your throat and swallowing him as far as you could as you tasted his salty semen on the back of your tongue. You swallowed around him, your nose brushing against his sensitive skin as you looked up at him for mercy. His eyes screwed shut, his mouth hung open as he moaned out your name and a slurry of curse words and praises. His abs twitched and his brawny chest fluttered as he heaved in breaths.

He pulled away suddenly, dropping your hair and taking a half step away. You gasped, grabbing onto your knees as you coughed and heaved. You wiped away the tear tracks running down your cheeks and sniffled, wiping your nose with the back of your hand. You felt a gentle hand grasp at your jaw, carefully guiding you to look up at your husband who was looking down at you.

His cheeks were a little rosey, his eyes were still full of a dark need for more, his lips parted as he panted softly. His thumb rolled over your chin, catching the few drops of semen that had spilled out and pressed the sticky pad of his thumb to your lips. You opened your mouth, licking off the semen from his thumb.

“Good girl,” he murmured.

You flushed at the compliment, your hands balling up at your trembling knees.

God, you were absolutely wet right now, practically dripping with arousal. Your body ached for more.

As if he could read your mind, the hand that was caressing your sore jaw suddenly clasped around your throat, squeezing it tightly. You gasped, your hands flying to his muscular forearm to relieve the pressure only for Chris to force you to stand so easily. You choked and moaned as you stood, your knees quaking as Chris forced you back onto the bed until your back hit the comforter. He released you only for a minute, just long enough to rip your drenched panties in two and toss the scraps to the floor. He quickly slid off his jacket and shirt and dropped his pants and boxers to the floor. He snatched at your ankles and spread your legs, his eyes locking with your dripping cunt like he was hypnotized by it.

He let go of one of your ankles to stroke at your slick pussy, his calloused fingertip easily sank into your dripping cunt and scratched deliciously at your fluttering walls. Your eyes fluttered and nearly rolled into the back of your head as you let out a soft moan.

“Look at this dripping cunt,” he purred. “You always make such a big mess just for me.” He curled his finger just a bit and it had you screwing your eyes shut, burying the back of your aching head into the comforter. “Nobody knows how to fuck it like I do, isn’t that right, princess?”

“J-Just you,” you whimpered out.

Your hands snatched at the comforter, nearly ripping the seams as Chris fingered your poor kitty before he suddenly pulled away. Your eyes shot open in desperation and looked right at him only to see him lick your sweet honey off of his finger. He hummed at your sweet taste before he grabbed at your free ankle.

“You always taste so sweet for me.”

“Just for you,” you cooed back.

Chris spread your legs wider and brought your ankles up to his naked shoulders, his grip was tight enough to make your toes curl. He brought his erect cock to your dripping womanhood and pressed his head against your folds, coating his thick cock with your sweet nectar before he bucked his hips and pressed himself inside of you.

You cried out from the stretch, squeezing your eyes shut until you saw swirls of purple and green against black. Chris groaned loudly as he buried himself inside of you until his balls slapped against you. He winced and cursed loudly at the way your cunt squeezed around him, absolutely milking his soul right out of him.

“Fuck!” he spat as his grip on your ankles nearly faltered.

“Chris!” you cried out as your eyes shot open.

He started to roll his hips. He didn’t go as fast as when he fucked your poor little mouth, not yet at least. You watched as his chest heaved as he tried to get used to how tight you were, his mouth was slightly open as he loudly moaned out your name. His sharp abs twitched and seized from the amount of pleasure that flooded his body.

You went to grab onto his shoulders for support when he suddenly grabbed your throat again. You gasped and clung to his wrist as his thumb and index fingers pushed into your throat right under your jaw. You gagged and cried as your oxygen supply was cut off. You locked your ankles behind his head as he quickened his pace inside of you. You looked up at him with wide eyes, tears starting to prickle at the corners once again.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he growled down at you. “This cunt belongs to me, do you hear me?” You nodded, afraid to speak as you choked you out. “Speak!”

“Yours!” you croaked.

He only loosened his grip just enough to let you gasp for air before he clamped down again.

“If he so much as looks at you-” Chris cut himself off as he moaned loudly, your walls squeezing around him suddenly. “Fuck- I love you so much I- shit!”

“Chris-” you choked out.

He clamped down a bit harder and bent down, getting right in your face.

“If I have to fuck you in front of the entire squad, I will.”

His cock suddenly hit your cervix and you cried out loud, your body feeling like it was melting from please as Chris grinned down at you with that wolfish smile of his. Just the thought of him taking you like that, fucking his pretty little civilian wife in front of them, it tipped you over the edge. You came with a cry, your walls sputtering around his cock as Chris plowed into you without mercy.

You went limp against the bed, you remind going completely blank as the lack of oxygen made you horribly dizzy. You felt like the bed was swallowing you whole when Chris lightened up on his grip, but he still held onto your throat. He turned your head to the side and ghosted his lips over the delicate skin of your throat. He pressed kisses to the column, grazing his teeth over the vein before he thrust into you for the last time. He bit down onto your throat, hard, as he came. It was like you had gotten hit with a bolt of lightning and you screamed, your cunt milking him as he shot rope after rope of cum right into your abused pussy. He lazily ground into you as he poured his life into your cunt until he finally ran dry, finally letting go of your throat with both his hand and his teeth.

Your entire body throbbed and pulsed as you opened your eyes to look up at your husband. He had you caged to the bed, his big and very strong arms pinned on either side of your head as he looked down at you with those eyes.

“I love you,” he whispered down at you, finally showing his soft side.

#resident evil #chris redfield #chris x reader #chris redfield x reader

87 notes · View notes

oftenwantedafton · 1 month

Text

Hush - William Afton x Female Reader

Chapter 1

Word Count - 4k

Rating - Explicit

CW - sexual content

Also available on AO3

Fanart used with permission from Alex_zlo on X and Instagram

It’s one of those rare evenings in Hurricane where it’s actually raining.

Not just raining, either; this was a torrential downpour. Sheets of water spilling off of buildings, pummeling cars and unfortunate pedestrians, soaking earth and pavement. It’s a terrible night to be out, but you don’t want to be alone right now, the last words you’d heard you boyfriend—now ex-boyfriend—speak still ringing in your ears. We can still be friends. As if he’s doing you a favor, as if throwing away two years isn’t a big deal, all so he can shack up with someone else from work. Caught and not the least bit guilty. Acting entitled. As if it’s your fault he got bored and wanted something new. Someone other than you.

You’ve never sat at a bar alone before.

You curse the walk to the front of the building, the nearly full parking lot in the rear revealing that other patrons had all shared the same idea of going out for drinks. You’re instantly drenched, still wearing your work clothes, the office attire plastered to your skin as you duck inside the establishment and grab the first empty spot you see. You want to be numb, and you want it to happen fast. Vodka will do the trick nicely, tempered with a little club soda and syrup and lemon juice to balance out the bitterness.

You’re in the processing of securing some damp strands of hair back into some semblance of tidiness and order when you notice the man, just that slight dip of your head affording you a glance down the row of seats, a mixture of occupied and the occasional empty. Everything about him is lean and long —arms, legs, torso, everything a significant stretch. One foot is hooked on a rung of the barstool, the other easily touching the floor. He’s got some amber colored drink in front of him, the glass rotating over the beverage napkin on the counter with the aid of fingers that are also lengthy, clutching the mouth of the cup, turning it this way and that, staring contemplatively into those golden brown depths.

You’ve forgotten the fingers still resting in your damp tresses, the task already obliterated from your mind when the man’s eyes lift and find yours. Perhaps he’d felt your eyes lingering, studying you as the bartender places your order down in front of you. Beneath that thatch of dark hair—dry, you note absently, he hadn’t been caught in the rain unprepared like yourself—is a pair of the most intense eyes you’ve ever seen in your life. Gunmetal gray irises framed in lids with lashes you’re envious of, visible even at this distance, the shadowed bottom lids likely smudged from exhaustion looking like some sort of smoky eyeliner. You take inventory of his other features quickly—high cheekbones, full lips that are oddly pale, sharp nose and jaw—but it’s the eyes your focus keeps coming back to, demanding your attention in a gaze that could be anything from placid curiosity to a stern reprimand to a means of stealing your soul. Judging eyes, haunted orbs that have seen things, shaded windows that are temptation and danger all rolled into one.

He returns his attention to his drink and you feel as if you’re bursting through the surface of deep water, gasping for air, clumsily nudging your own alcoholic beverage and spilling a few drops before you can grasp it properly and take a deep swallow. A tartness fills your mouth, the level of sweet not what you’d been expecting. Heavy on the booze, though, which you appreciate as you mull things over, reflecting on what had gone so wrong with your ex.

Things had been going south for awhile in your now previous relationship, if you’re being honest. He’d never been overly concerned about getting you off, but at least he’d attempted at the outset. He’d used to suggest date ideas. Bring home flowers or chocolate. Surprise you with a bubble bath when you got home from work. There had been something there, right? You hadn’t imagined it. It was good before. Making it easier to be blinded and forgiving when it stopped being that good. Perhaps it’s like they say and hindsight is 20/20. Either way it still hurts and you don’t want to feel it. You finish the rest of the Vodka Collins and request another.

The dark haired stranger is looking at you again.

You can feel the weight of it dragging on your body. Too harsh to be considered a caress, but maybe you like the roughness of it all the same. You allow yourself to look in his direction again, appraising his features, always coming back to those eyes. What would it be like looking into those when you were fucking him?

The thought makes you set the glass firmly back on its makeshift coaster, jostling the ice cubes inside. What has gotten into you? Lusting after some guy you didn’t know, had never even spoken to, less than an hour after breaking up? On the rebound for sure. A good way to get yourself hurt even worse than you already were feeling.

The door to the entrance of the bar opens and a group of three men enter, all around your age, the cold air—it was late autumn, making the inclement weather even more unpleasant—immediately making you shiver in your damp clothes. There are more empty seats where you are, so close to the door, and it seems as good an excuse as any to move, offering up your spot, walking down the narrow aisle between the counter and the beginning of the booths and tables until you reach your goal, boosting yourself up onto the stool, your emptying drink less than a foot from the man’s on the polished surface.

It’s difficult to tell how old he is. Up close you can see the smooth skin is unblemished, largely free of any lines or creases. Still older than yourself, certainly, but maybe not by much, and even if he is, you don’t mind. You’ve never been with someone older. It’s a little intimidating. You’re usually accustomed to the consequence of being shy. But here you are. Making the first move. Being bold enough to sit beside this gentleman. No. Not the way to think of him. Some instinct tells you there’s nothing tame about this one. He’d be aggressive. Passionate. You bet he wouldn’t stop at making you explode once. A matter of pride with him. A generous lover.

You’re on you’re third drink and he’s on whatever number he’s on when your eyes meet again. He’s so pale. Even his mouth. Plush lips you want to taste.

They part but before he has a chance to speak you’re interrupted. The group of young men you’d vacated your spot for have made their way to you. What must be the leader, the more outspoken party member leans too close, his breath already smelling of booze.

“Why’d you run away? My friends and I here would like to buy you a drink.” The bearded man grins.

You shake your head, murmuring a polite decline for his offer. “No, thank you.”

“Come on. Let us help you out.” The smile widens. You find yourself unconsciously leaning closer to the suited man seated beside you.

“No, that’s nice of you, but I’m all set. Enjoy your night.” You turn away.

A hand closes over your shoulder but is instantly removed, the man with the intense eyes reacting swiftly. “She’s with me.”

His voice, the first time you’ve heard it, is low but still audible in the crowded room filled with talk and laughter, the television broadcast above the bar failing to compete with that declaration.

“Since when? You weren’t sitting anywhere near each other before.”

He clearly doesn’t hear the warning in the seated man’s tone. Trying to save face in front of his companions. You watch the long fingers dig in further, blanching the skin, his wrist twisting past a comfortable, natural angle and the youth gasps and tugs his arm away. No emotion on the dark haired stranger’s face at all during the entire exchange. Calm. His arm settling against the edge of the counter. Just looking, now. Waiting to see if he’ll be challenged again.

“Whatever. Let’s go get a table.”

The trio disappears and you realize you’ve been holding your breath for the last few moments, releasing it now with a heavy sigh.

“Thank you. Sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb you. I didn’t know they were going to cause trouble.”

The man shakes his head. “It’s nothing.” He lifts the glass to his lips and takes a sip.

“I can move if you want…”

“No need.” He sets his drink back down.

You sigh internally. He wasn’t giving you much to work with conversation-wise. “You’re lucky, it looks like you managed to escape the rain.”

“I believe in being prepared. Even for things that seem unlikely. Unfortunately, it seems I didn’t think quite enough steps ahead.” He points and you follow the direction indicated, seeing a wastebin just visible across from where you’re seated, where a sad looking specimen of umbrella is poking out of, one of the metal braces bent at an awkward angle. “Gust of wind caught me unaware.”

“So now you’re going to carry two umbrellas, in case the second driest state in the country has another monsoon like this one?”

His lips twitch. Almost a smile. “Maybe.”

You signal for another drink. There’s a pleasant buzz thrumming through you now. A nice warmth in your face, a different kind of heat somewhere lower, deeper.

“So what brings you here on a night like this?” It sounds like a corny pickup line, but it’s the only thing you can come up with.

“The same reason most people are here, I expect. Distraction from unpleasant thoughts.”

“My boyfriend and I broke up today,” you volunteer a little breathlessly, pushing the words out. The first time you’ve acknowledged the split out loud.

“Condolences.” The next batch of whiskey he doesn’t swallow right away. You can see his jaw working, rolling the liquor over his tongue.

“I thought…I thought being numb would make it easier to get over.”

“So did I,” he murmurs.

“What?”

“Nothing. I just can relate to that feeling. Something…happened at work today. I wasn’t even working. Wasn’t supposed to be there. It just…happened.”

The explanation sounds very vague, but you appreciate his attempt to commiserate. “So you want to forget, too.”

“Yes.” His eyes link with yours again. “But maybe there are better ways to cope.”

“Better than getting hammered and feeling numb?” He nods. “Like what?”

“The polar opposite. An over abundance of feeling. A tidal wave surge of it that drowns out everything else.”

Wait. Was he suggesting…?

The folded leg straightens and he slides smoothly off the bar stool, reaching into his pants pocket for his wallet. He withdraws a bill and tucks it beneath the glass he’s been drinking from. Eyes back on you. Waiting.

“It’s still pouring out.” You glance back towards the glass front entrance, where the deluge continues to pound the pavement.

“Yes, it is. No telling when it will end, either. Are you afraid of getting wet?”

Something in that query drags right across the place between your thighs as you face him again. “No.”

“Coming with me?”

Again. Another flare. You’d never anticipated this happening. You’d only intended on getting intoxicated. Just a brief stop before you went home to cry your eyes out.

But this, what the stranger was offering, sounded so much better. No commitment. No obligation. Just acting on instinct and mutual attraction.

You nod, digging cash out of your wallet to settle the bill before you ease off the stool, a little less gracefully than your companion had managed. He gestures for you to lead the way. You hesitate by the door. Bracing yourself for the deluge you’re about to experience.

Then you’re no longer just looking at it or thinking about it. You’re in it. A sobering flood. The man slips a hand in one of yours. The rain is cold, the droplets finding every exposed inch, seeking those that aren’t. Creeping down your neck. Inside the front of your blouse. You’re tugged along at a brisk pace. Your new acquaintance takes long strides. It’s difficult to keep up, especially wearing a narrow skirt and heels, but you’re anxious to be away from this and into some kind of shelter.

You’re led to a sedan, some older titanic model of a car from the previous decade, long like its owner who swiftly unlocks the passenger door for you. A beat of hesitation before you enter, one last unheeded caution about what you’re actually doing, and then your damp hand is squeaking on the vinyl seat as you settle inside, surrendering to your lowered inhibitions.

The door creaks as it swings shut. You wipe at your damp face, a little breathless as you watch the man run around to the driver’s side. You lean over and pull the lock up and he yanks the door open, hurriedly shutting it behind him.

A hand rakes through his saturated hair. There are water droplets clinging to those long lashes of his. He slots the key in the ignition. There are a lot of others on that keyring you note as he starts the engine. The opposite hand rests on the steering wheel. A wedding band is visible on the fourth finger.

The windshield wipers strain to keep up with clearing the window as he exits the parking lot, thumping loudly. A echo of your own pounding heart. There’s a vacant lot behind the bar’s, a relic from a strip mall that’s been abandoned for several years. He parks in the shadows, avoiding the direct glow of the street lamp that struggles to ward off the darkness. The brief burst of warm air from the vents departs as he shuts the car off, the green lighting on the dashboard extinguished. The defroster hadn’t properly gotten a chance to manage clearing the glass obscured with condensation. It feels private enough, you suppose.

You haven’t made out in a car since you were a teenager.

Funny how that all changes once you’re an adult. You get an apartment and you can fool around whenever you want. No longer having to worry about a patrol officer shining a light in a car window or a parent lecturing you about curfew and birth control.

Yet here you are. Two fugitives from the storm. A chance meeting leading to this. Whatever this was.

You’re still wearing the blazer of your suit. He’s neglected to bring a proper jacket, the suit one already removed, resting on the back seat. You struggle to shrug out of yours, finally shedding the damp coat and tossing it over his. The silence lengthens. “You’re married,” you say, cursing yourself as soon as you do. Nothing like stating the obvious. A good way to kill the mood, too.

“Yes.” He rolls the band with his thumb, the dim light from outside glinting on the gold. It’s loose. He’s lost weight since he’d first acquired it, you think.

“You ever do this before?”

“No.” Another clipped answer. The confidence he’d exuded inside the bar seems to have evaporated a bit. Maybe he was having second thoughts.

“Do you still want to do this?”

The rejection would sting, but it’s hardly the worst slight you’ve endured today. You’re a big girl. You’ll manage.

“Yes.” His eyes are still intense even in this wan illumination.

You reach for his hand. The one with the jewelry on it. Bringing his fingers to your lips. His skin is damp, cool. Your lips part to take the fourth finger inside your mouth. Teeth hooking around the metal. The flavor of it heavy on your tongue as you drag your teeth against it, easily shifting the ring up, up, up until its clutched between your lips, his finger now bare.

You remove the wedding band and set it on the dashboard, atop a thin layer of dust. The older man leans towards you and kisses your mouth. You no longer hear the rain pelting the alloy you’re encased in. You pry his lips open with your tongue. He’s a good kisser, not that you’re surprised. Those cushioned lips soft. He tastes like the rain. Like the whiskey he’d consumed earlier. His tongue strokes yours and your stomach somersaults. There’s a hand touching your cheek, your jaw. You reach for him, for the sooty hair and stiff work shirt collar and the expanse of one polyester clad thigh. Whatever you can rake your nails against, whatever flesh you can knead through the clothing. He’s got a handful of one breast, the other cupping the back of your neck. Mouth sucking and mashing along your jaw. You’ve finished the journey along his lower extremity, sliding along his crotch. Hard. Large. He huffs a small sound of pleasure, frustration, trying to get inside of your skirt until you abandon his pants just long enough to dig for the hidden zipper in the side seam, lifting your hips up so the loosened material has room to shift out of the way. There is still the barrier of your stockings and panties but that first feel of his hand between your thighs is bliss. You need him, need that dizzying oblivion that scatters your thoughts once he’s wedged inside, stroking your clit.

“Lever…side…” It’s all he spares for direction but you understand, reaching blindly on the side of the seat. It rocks backward faster than you’d expected it would. Further, too. Maybe there was something to be said for these older model cars. Certainly more space than what you had in your newer one.

You can’t imagine it’s comfortable leaning over the center console like he is, but if it bothers him he doesn’t reveal it. His mouth is back at yours, his hand working impatiently in the narrow confines, the clinging nylons restricting movement. You hastily aid him again, shoving at the offending layers concealing your sex, eagerly dragging the panties and stockings down to your ankles, letting your feet finish the job of removing them from your body.

Oh, this was infinitely better. Now the man can properly access your pussy, one thumb working in circles over your bud, his middle finger dipping inside of you. Your body’s already inviting him inside, arousal slickly guiding that violation. It’s the perfect touch, the perfect pressure. Only minutes of being intimate and this man understood your body better than your ex ever had.

“What’s your name?” This gasped beside his neck. He draws back to look at you, that solemn face hovering above yours. “Just your first name, just so I know…oh God, you’re so good at…what to say when I…”

“William.”

“Hi, William.” It suited him. You wonder what he preferred for a nickname. “It’s nice to meet you…fuck.”

“Likewise.” He’s added another finger to the repertoire of invaders, his thumb flicking and grinding your clit.

Your pelvis arches, seeking him even deeper. You’re on fire. Soaked, and not just from the outdoors. Your tongue is sloppy against his. You’re losing some finesse, lost to the pleasure he’s gifting you. The fingers inside you curl and touch that hidden space and you moan, clutching at his shirt.

“William….you're going to make me…”

Pressure. You feel ready to burst. The last thing tethering you to reality is that hand working inside of you, against you.

He kisses you. His face above yours again. Watching you. You’re lost in those eyes. Shaking violently. He’s got you there.

“William…I’m cumming…oh my God, I’m…”

Your pearl throbs and tingles, the muscles inside your canal spasming around his fingers as the back of your skull digs into the cradle of the headrest, your thighs tremoring, hips squirming restlessly against the seat. You’ve shattered, you’re broken, built up again piece by piece with gentle kisses, his hand leaving your sex, allowing you to recover.

“That was…” You don’t even have words.

“Good?” He supplies, eyebrows arching.

“No, beyond that. Amazing. You’re amazing. Thank you, William.”

“You’re most welcome.”

He climbs over you, the languid kisses and caresses growing more heated, driven, needy. His cock presses into you, stretching you back open. There is no longer the taste of rain or whiskey. Now he tastes like you, from the fingers he’d just sucked clean. The vinyl cushioned chair beneath you groans in protest at the weight being forced upon it. You’ve got a hand braced against the roof to shield his head from colliding with it. There’s just so much of him, that tall figure filling the space of the vehicle, the space inside of you. You keep coming back to his throat, to explore the taste of his skin there, easier now that you’ve loosened the collar and tie. Hints of aftershave from that morning, so many hours ago. The slight scrape of facial hair just starting to reclaim its territory rough against your tongue. Tracing the prominent arch of his Adam’s apple. You want to bite and suck his skin but you know you can’t mark a married man.

Your knee is wedged against the door. The other crushed between the console and somewhere near your new lover’s ribs. The steady, relaxed pace has quickened. Breath panted. It’s hitting deep and it’s good, like everything else with him. The way fucking was meant to be done. “William,” you gasp, and it is the first word spoken in a long time. His mouth hushes you, tongue insistent between your lips, nuzzling that wet muscle, his hips snapping against yours with more frenzy. You wish it was just a little more brightly lit, just enough to really see his eyes when he comes apart against you in a flurry of groaned motions, shaking as he fills you, flooding your insides with his seed.

His head drops between your breasts as he withdraws, his body resting on yours. It’s not the ideal place for any sort of post coital cuddling but you like it, like it when he’s back at your mouth again after he’s returned to his own seat, clothing somewhat returned to where it’s supposed to be, still leaning over and kissing you, like he can’t quite get enough of it, like he doesn’t want the intimate moment to end.

Maybe that’s it. The real reason for procrastinating. Because after this, it’s back to the real world. Sliding that ill fitting band back on his ring finger. Returning to face whatever had happened at his job while you continued to process the fact that you’ve been lied to and cheated on. Now you’ve aided and abetted this man, helping him commit the same sin. Even worse, because he was married.

You don’t regret it, though. You simply won’t allow yourself to. You enjoyed it. You needed it. Selfish, maybe, to use someone that way. Except it doesn’t feel like that either. You don’t know how to classify it, your mind still a little addled from the alcohol, from the chemicals still surging through your system. An alibi of impaired judgment is available if you need it, but you don’t think you will.

He drives you back to your car and you push the door open, the encroaching assault of damp and cold instantly reminding you that you’re going to get another shower as soon as you exit the vehicle. You’re not sure if you should thank him again. You’re not sure if you should say anything at all.

You can see his face properly, now that you’re in the bar’s parking lot, the newer bulb of this streetlamp bathing his features in artificial yellowish light, those remarkable eyes that pierce and captivate you sparkling. It’s so difficult to leave them. Your force yourself to step back outside, hurriedly shoving your car key in the lock, eager for shelter. You hear a now familiar creak of a door opening behind you. He’s left the car, coming towards you. Ignoring the downpour.

“William…”

His mouth on yours. Rainwater. The taste of someone new.

#william afton x reader #william afton x you

71 notes · View notes

jasonsmirrorball · 7 months

Text

THINGS WE LEFT UNSAID JASON TODD

↳ patching him up and all that passes, unsaid

This is an old song and dance, you know it well.

The creak of your living room window draws you from your dreams, sleep bursting like a bubble with the first rattle of the windowpane. You are asleep, and then you are not, so swiftly carried between realms you can barely register it. You lie in bed, staring through bleary eyes at the ceiling as the sounds of your monthly late night visitor filters through the walls.

A muffled thud of boots knocking against the window sill. There’ll be dirt there in the morning, a size 13 boot print that’ll return a month after you wipe it away. Glass rattles, and you know he’s hit his shoulder–clumsy, tonight, but there’s no shatter. It’s bad, but you’ve borne worse.

A grumble of your name is your cue, and you slip from the sheets. Summer air filters in through the open window when you enter, a thick, stifling heat that clouds around your skin, smoke and rain and chemical scented.

You reach for the first aid kit, kept on a side table in the hallway, and move to close the window first. The lump on your couch breathes through his mouth in shallow pants, almost drowned out by the sound of traffic below–even after midnight, this part of the city is loathe to rest, high pitched laughter and squeals of amusement raising up above the fog.

“Did I wake you?”

You shrug, taking a seat on the coffee table. Jason’s knee brushes against yours, and you ignore it in favour of setting the kit by your side.

“It’s fine. Shirt off, please.”

On good nights, he meets you with a poorly delivered “Buy me dinner, first.” Tonight, he’s silent, and you can feel your chest tighten when he grimaces trying to lift his arm. There’s a dark liquid seeping through the fabric and you can smell the gunmetal on him.

You’ve borne worse.

He’s been in worse shape.

But still your eyes grow hot when you lean to assist him and the smell of copper settles on your tongue. There is so much red, smeared along the curve of his bicep, and your hands shake when you reach for the cloth tucked in the kit, standing to wet it in the sink. Your legs feel weak beneath you, a constant threat to give under you with every step between the couch and the sink.

The towel is no longer as it had been when you’d first bought it, alabaster replaced by an off white from the frequent washes. A speck of brown from where you could never quite get the blood to wash off remains on its care tag, staining the black lettering.

The wound has mostly stopped bleeding, you figure out once you look past all the blood, but you hold it there anyway, taking your seat on the edge of the table once more. Your eyes follow the slow way it stains, red seeping into the fabric in a slow diffusion.

“You hurt anywhere else?” your voice is raspy, and you don’t meet his eyes when you ask.

“Just a few scrapes,” he rumbles. His fingers twitch in your peripheral vision, tapping against his thigh anxiously. “Pretty much healed already.”

You nod, biting your tongue as you lift the cloth.

“This should be fine, soon,” you manage to string together, adding an unsure, “I think. Could be worse.”

He breathes out a tired sigh. “Lucky I’ve got you to stitch me up.”

You don’t know what it is, only that one moment you’re dabbing away the blood and the next you’re snapping at him. Maybe it’s something in his tone, weary and yet still teasing–does he not understand the gravity of the situation? Your fingers are stained with his blood.

“I wouldn’t have to if you’d just stop being so reckless,” you snap, and he stills under you when you meet his eyes, angry heat flooding your face as everything you’ve kept under a lid comes rushing to the surface.

“Would it kill you to take a second to think before you act?” you ream him out as you reach for the ointment. “This isn’t a joke you know?”

You know it’s over when your breath stutters, a hitch in the quiet of your apartment that sounds too loud to your ears for your liking, too much like a sob. Jason stays silent, and you find yourself loathing the look in his eyes, teal softened around the edges, bearing the brunt of your anger.

The both of you are aware this isn’t a result of carelessness. Jason hasn’t been reckless in years–his anger is a cold, calculated thing, burning low and steady but never uncontrolled. You wish you were so measured.

You can’t stop yourself from bleeding out alongside him, words like knives thrown from your lips as you grow more and more worked up. Your eyes burn, your hands shake, the bandage trembling between your fingers as you wrap it around his arm.

He doesn’t say a word through it all, only watching you with eyes too knowing, fingertips a whisper away from your bare knees but never touching. You don’t know what you’d do if he did.

When the last of it is done and all that’s left is the bloody cloth on your coffee table, you swallow down the words you’ve left unsaid and nod at him.

“Couch is yours, if you want it,” you offer hoarsely, standing. You don’t look at him as you return the kit to its rightful place, shame-faced and retreating. You’ve no bravery tonight, having shown too much of your hand.

“Yeah,” he sighs out.

The click of your bedroom door feels like the turn of a key, something of a mountainous wall erected between you and your living room.

In the morning all there’s left of him is the blood in your rug, two drops by the leg of your coffee table. You know they’ll be there when he returns again, just another mark he’s left behind that you won’t be able to remove.

i don't know. this popped into my head and i was just thinking about how hard it would be to have this relationship with him knowing the both of you can't ever be together but neither of you are willing to save yourselves the pain that comes with being in contact. just. all the things that you can never say

#jay my heart #jasonsmirrorball #jason todd x reader #jason todd imagine #jason todd fanfiction #jason todd fic #x reader

126 notes · View notes

evandarya · 10 months

Text

Inspired by a prompt from @davestridernb in the Discord server.

I Now Pronounce You... Brothers?

Read on Ao3

***

Tim was a self-taught magician. His parents had brought home a book they had gotten on one of their travels. They bought it because it looked old and fit with the other artifacts in the library. Tim found it. It was written in an old language, but it was similar enough to Latin for him to use the Latin-to-English dictionary to read it. When he tried some of the spells in it they worked! So, from the age of six, Tim had been teaching himself magic.

His spells helped keep him hidden and safe as he followed Batman and Robin around Gotham. He was trying to figure out how to slip a charm onto one of the heroes to keep them safe, but never quite managed it before Robin died.

But Tim knew exactly what to do. There was a spell in the book at the very back. The ink was smudged, but he could work it out. Something about a soul transfer to save someone dead or dying. There was more written, but Tim didn't have time to translate it, Robin was already buried!

So that night, Tim snuck out with the book and tools and materials he'd need to perform the ritual and went down to the graveyard.

He drew the circle around the grave, set up the candles and herbs and said the words, and waited... And waited... And waited...

"Aren't you a little young to be performing a soul bond?"

Tim spun around toward the voice and came face to face with a young man sitting crisscross applesauce and hovering four feet off the ground, making himself eye level to Tim. He was young, maybe early twenties, but his hair was already snow white. His clothes were a strange amalgamation of a modern-looking black rubberized suit with white gloves and boots and random pieces of gunmetal grey armor on his left shoulder and forearms. Around his shoulder was a dark blue cape with stars that looked like they were glowing.

"Who are you?" Tim demanded. The man smiled.

"You should know, you summoned me here." Tim scrunched his eyebrows. He was trying to revive Jason, not summon a walking anachronism.

"I didn't summon you, I was trying to do a soul transfer."

The being sighed and shook his head. "You magicians never learn to read the warnings and fine print."

"I read as much as I could! The book said I could give half of my soul to bring someone and it would bring them back from the dead" Tim said, flipping the book around for the man to read. The being leaned in, floating on his stomach now with his legs bent at the knees and swinging back and forth.

"You're using a Latin dictionary, aren't you?"

"So?"

"So" the being drawled in an imitation of Tim's Diamond District accent, "this verb that you translated as 'give' or 'exchange' translates closer to 'merge' or 'trade' and this noun isn't 'soul'. A soul is an immutable object, you can't break it in half or give half away. That word means 'everything.' your heart your mind, your life force. Everything that you are. That's what that word means."

"No, I know this says 'half', like three times."

"That's me, I'm the Half."

Tim could almost feel his brain breaking as none of this made sense. He took a deep breath and when he opened his mouth his mother came out. "What does this say, exactly, then?"

"Uh...direct translation is kind of impossible, but the closest I could get is 'I offer my everything to merge with your everything so I may stand by your side and protect you forever even into death...' and then some summoning for the officiant, that me."

"That sounds like...like..."

"Marriage vows. Wow. You really don't know what you're doing, do you?" The being flipped right side up and gave Tim a look that was equal parts impressed and horrified.

"Am I married right now?"

"No, of course not. A soul bond works both ways."

"Both...ways?"

"You didn't expect to bind your soul to someone else without permission, did you? Ever heard of informed consent? Speaking of, usually, these binds are...well...binding to the binder– that's you –but since it's clear you didn't know what this was when you started, I'm willing to let you out it."

"But then Jason won't– will stay– no. I need to bring Jason back. I don't care what I have to do."

The man frowned. It was the first unhappy expression Tim has seen on his face. "You're willing to bind yourself to someone you don't even know to bring them back? Why him? Why Jason Todd and not --" the being looked to the grave marker to the right of Jason's "Margaret Thompson? Or any of the thousands of people who die every day in this city? You don't know him, you've never even talked to him. "

"Jason--" Tim paused trying to figure out how to explain without giving up Jason's identity to this man. "Jason is very important to a lot of people. People rely on him and with him gone--" Tim thought of how violent Batman had gotten in the last few weeks. "I just need to bring him back."

"You'll be bound to him for as long as you both shall exist. You don't even get out of it when you die. There is no divorce. There is no undoing this later."

"I'm okay with that."

"If he dies again, so do you. You realize that, right? That tying your life forces together means where one of you goes, the other follows."

"I'm okay with that."

"What if you end up not liking him? What if he's a jerk?"

"HE ISN'T!" Tim glared at the man "Jason is kind and good and smart and funny! He helps people and gives them hope. He's a light shining through the darkness, guiding people to safety. And now he's gone and there's no more light and I don't know what to do except I know I have to do something, like an itch under my skin. I have to do this. I have to bring Jason back." Tim didn't know when he had started crying, but he roughly wiped the tears away. "I'm the only one who can."

The man was quiet for a long time, the air itself seemed to be still.

"I didn't know anyone felt that way about me."

Tim gasped. That-that was...

The being sighed and shifted his cape, opening a dark void that Jason-no-Robin stepped out of. He was still in his Robin armor, mask attached.

"You promised you'd stay quiet if I brought you." The man said. Robin turned and grinned at him.

"Come on, Phantom, I had to meet this kid at least once." Robin turned that grin to Tim "You really are something, you know that?" Robin sounded approving, and he was smiling at Tim!

"R-robin?" He stumbled forward a few steps "You're here. You're --" Tim looked Jason up and down. He looked the same as he did, but it was like looking at an image projected onto smoke. His form shimmered and shifted like he wasn't quite there.

"Dead?" Jason said it with a sardonic grin, but Tim flinched. "Yeah. It's an adjustment, but I can do this." Jason's form shifted from the Robin uniform and into blue jeans and a red hoodie that Tim was sure he'd seen Jason wearing in a paparazzi picture. "Much better. So, what were you saying, something about a light in the darkness?"

Tim's fingers twitched. "Jason, you need to come back. Batman is-- he's not the same without you."

Jason's expression cooled at the mention of Batman. "He'll be fine. It's what he does."

"He won't. He's violent, not holding back. He put a man in a coma last week for robbing an ATM. Jason, please. He needs you."

"No, he doesn't!" Jason yelled. "He needs therapy. Like, years and years of therapy. He doesn't need a kid in a cape."

"But he does. He-"

"He fired me!" Jason's form shifted. He looked taller, more angular and it was as if the smoke swirled around him. The man- Jason had called him Phantom- put a hand on Jason's shoulder and his form visibly softened. "He fired me," he continued calmer "and said I was too angry to be Robin. He doesn't need a kid like that."

The air seemed to settle around them. The graveyard was still, the silence pressing in on all sides.

"But I do." Tim broke the silence with a whisper. "I need you because you fight for what's right and you're not afraid to do what needs to be done. I need you because you inspire me to be better. You're such a good person, Jason, you care so much, and it shines through so brightly. And that's what Batman needs, someone to be the light to his shadows."

Jason sighed and his whole form rippled, twisting and curling. "If it means that much to you, then why don't you do it?"

"Me?" Tim physically recoiled at the idea "I can't be Robin. I'm just– Tim– just a kid with a magic book."

"Well, 'Just Tim with a magic book' you managed to pull the Guardian of New Ghosts out of his tower" Jason jerked his thumb over his shoulder at Phantom who had floated a few feet away while they were talking. "If you can do that, I'm sure being Robin would be a piece of cake."

"But I-"

"Nope, no buts. I get to pick who takes up the Robin mantle and I choose you."

"But Batman-"

"Doesn't choose who gets to be Robin. Robin is something you do because it's right. Because no one else can or will. Because the injustice in the world sits under your skin like an itch you can't scratch." Tim recognized his own words coming back to him. "You're Robin, Timmy, whether you realize it or not."

Tim had a thought, a chance to still bring Jason back. "If I'm Robin, then I get to choose who teaches me, right?"

"Dick can teach you," Jason said, eyeing Tim with suspicion.

"But I don't want Dick to teach me. I want you to."

"And I'd be glad to teach you. I'm really interested in seeing what you do but I'm still dead."

"You don't have to be. We can finish the binding and you can come back."

Jason looked torn. "Come back to what, though?" Jason asked "My body is in the ground, it's been what...two, three months? My face has probably been eaten by worms by now."

"No, the spell brings you back to just as you were right before you died."

"Is...is that true?" Jason looked at Phantom for an answer.

Phantom nodded "As long as the binder has enough lifeforce to handle the strain. The spell takes the time you've been dead and subtracts it from the binder's life."

"No. Absolutely not." Jason said, crossing his arms over his chest in a giant X. "You aren't giving up months of your life to bring me back on top of binding your life to mine."

"But I'm okay with it. I want to bring you back, I don't care the cost."

"And what if you're supposed to die in two months? What if that's all the lifeforce you have and croak right when I get brought back?"

"Death doesn't work like that." Tim said "It isn't predetermined. Everything we do either subtracts from or adds to our life force. I'll die when I die, either when my life force runs out or if it is snuffed out."

Jason looked to Phantom.

"He's right."

Jason’s form swirled. "Why do you want this so badly?"

"Because you are so loved, Jason. By me and so many people, and you don't see it. I want you to see it."

Jason closed his eyes then looked to Phantom who regarded him kindly and said "It's your choice."

"Okay," Jason said, then turned back to Tim. "Okay, if we're going to do this, we are going to do it right. I come back and teach you how to be Robin, and we find you a teacher for this magic stuff. You're going to get in trouble, running around raising the dead."

"Okay," Tim said easily.

"I mean it. No more magic until someone, Constantine or Zatara or someone teaches you."

"Okay, okay, I'll get a teacher."

"Okay," Jason said. "You said it was like a marriage." He said, turning to Phantom. "We don't have to kiss or anything, do we?"

"No, a soul bond strengthens the bond between two people, it isn't inherently romantic. Just say the words with honest intent."

"Okay," Tim held out the book and Jason spoke, his voice crackling like a fire, pronouncing the words in a way a human voice never could imitate. Then Tim felt the bond SNAP into place at the same moment a wave of exhaustion crashed over him. Between one second and the next Tim collapsed on the ground and his emotions swirled and his thoughts raced and only half of them were his. And Jason Todd was beside him, funeral suit covered in dirt and grime. Tim reached out a hand and found Jason's wrist, pulse beating, weak but steady. And then the world went black.

***

"--strangest thing--"

"--dug him up?--"

"--found them like this.--"

***

Awareness came slowly. He felt heavy and slow. His mouth tasted like iron and grit and something was tickling his nose. He went to brush it away but his hand hit something hard on the way. Tim peeled open one eye and saw the too-bright florescent lights and shut his eyes again. There was a deep chuckle from his left and the light dimmed. He risked opening his eyes again and looked. Someone was sitting on a little chair next to his hospital bed reading a paperback novel that was folded in half back on itself. They were tall and lithe with black hair that seemed to float.

"Good morning, sleepy head." He said quietly. "I probably should have warned you about the side effects before you went through with it."

"Phantom?" Tim muttered through the oxygen mask. His throat felt like sandpaper. "Where's--"

"He's in surgery. The doctors say he should make a full recovery." Phantom dog-eared the book and set it on the table beside him. "You were found severely dehydrated and covered in dirt. The best guess is you dug him out of his grave. How you knew he was alive in there is beyond me." Phantom gave him a grin. He'd have to come up with a story. Something believable. Later, though.

"What are you doing here? Why do you look like that?"

Before Phantom could answer there was a knock on the door and a nurse walked in carrying a tray.

"How is he--oh, good you're awake." The nurse set the tray down on Tim's rolling table. "I just need to change your fluids. How are you feeling?" She made quick work of the IV bag.

"Tired. Head hurts, throat sore." Tim rasped.

"I'm sure. I'll see about getting you some ibuprofen okay? In the meantime, your uncle can get you as many popsicles as you want. Right, Mr. Nightingale?" The nurse pinned Phantom with a look and he looked sheepish.

"Right. Popsicles are for the kids, not their guardians."

"Alright, I'm all done here. Call if you need anything."

Once she was gone Tim turned back to Phantom. "Uncle Nightingale?"

"They wouldn't let me stay if we weren't related."

"But...but why?"

"It's my job. I'm the Guardian of New Souls and Halfas."

"What's a Halfa?"

"It's what I am, and what Jason will become."

"But..but I. The spell." Tim could feel tears gathering in the corners of his eyes.

"Shh, shh. Rest now." Phantom smoothed his hair and ran his fingers over Tims's scalp. It felt nice. "I'll explain everything when you're better."

Tims's eyes closed of their own accord and he fell back into a dreamless sleep.

#danny phantom #danny fenton #dp x dc #dc comics #batman #crossover #tim drake #jason todd #evandarya writes #prompt fill

224 notes · View notes

transhuman-priestess · 10 months

Text

Alice's Wonderland

Android girl Alice doesn't feel like she gets enough time with her boyfriend, Hunter. Fortunately, she's got just the plan to make sure he stays with her forever, and to make him a cute girl, too.

This story contains sexually explicit content. It is intended only for legal adults ages 18 and up.

It also contains hard kinks, nonconsent, violence, brainwashing, and forcefemme. You Have Been Warned, do not complain to me.

Hunter woke to a knocking on his door. The fierce RATATATAT startling him out of a dream about getting caught in a thunderstorm back in Iowa City.

RATATATATATAT!

He opened his eyes, It was still dark outside. He fumbled on the nightstand for his phone. 03:32. He’d been asleep barely an hour.

“HUNNNTER! SWEETIE!” came a bright synthetic voice from the door of his studio apartment, “I HAVE A SURPRIIIISE FOR YOUUUUUUU!”

It was Alice, a synth girl he’d been dating for a few weeks. Still groggy after being yanked out of REM sleep so recently, Hunter got to his feet, threw on a pair of boxers, and opened the door.

On the sidewalk outside stood an android girl, a shade under 2 meters tall, with gunmetal gray skin and blaze orange filament hair. Her eyes wide, a bright, neon green-yellow.

“Alice,” Hunter said, squinting as his eyes adjusted to the bright light of hers, “do you know what time it is?”

“It’s 11:34:12 UTC!” she said, full of cheer, as ever.

“Yeah but we’re not in UTC, babe,” he said, “we’re in Pacific daylight time, and it’s 330 in the morning.”

“I’m sorry!” her face fell into an expression of passive disappointment, “I just really really really wanted to show you something and waiting until morning felt like it would be forever and I couldn’t get myself to stay in standby mode so I decided I’d take a walk over here and get you so I could show you right now because I’m just so excited to see you and-”

“Hey, Chippy,” Hunter cut her off, “Chippy, dear, you are talking way too fast.”

She took a deep breath. If he’d been more awake, Hunter might have marveled that Arlington Robotics had programmed her with such a human behavior. As it was, he was just happy she’d stopped talking for a moment.

“Hunter,” she said, deliberately, but without hesitation, “I would like to show you a project I’ve been working on.”

“It can absolutely wait until morning, hon.”

“No! It can’t! There isn’t time!”

“Look,” he clutched his face in frustration, “I cannot just boot myself up like you can on a moment’s notice. I was up til 2:30. I need to sleep! I had a long shift today.” He paused to take in her face, her expression slowly shifting from excitement to disappointment. He felt a small twinge of guilt for a moment, but only a moment, before he continued. “I really, really need to sleep. I’ll be over first thing tomorrow. I promise, Chips.” He smiled and placed a hand on her shoulder, the smooth silicone skin neither warm, nor cool to the touch.

“No,” She said, the bright voice suddenly stern “I’m taking you now.”

She moved with a speed and precision no human could hope to match. Hunter felt himself spin around. One hand came up and firmly clasped itself over his mouth, the other reached up behind his legs, and just like that, she was carrying him in her arms as if he were a bride. He kicked and writhed and tried to scream but Alice was so strong.

“Stop that!” she whispered, “Stop it! The neighbors will hear!”

Well of course they would, that’s what he wanted. He wanted this insane robot to put him down and he wanted to run back inside his apartment and he wanted to hide in the bathroom with a hammer and pray that the doors held so he didn’t have to fight her. He tried to work his way out of her grip, kicking, flailing, biting.

He managed to chew a chunk of silicone out of her hand, and she screamed “HEY! That hurt!” She took her hand away from his mouth and Hunter took in a breath to scream, but right before he could let it out, Alice said something he couldn’t quite hear, but sound like “see way,” and the back of his head erupted in pain. He blacked out.

***

Hunter tried to roll over onto his side, but something was catching his wrists and ankles. His head felt just like it did the morning after his senior prom all those years ago.

“Oh! Are you awake?” Alice’s voice. The fight, a blow to the head. Slowly, Hunter opened his eyes.

The first thing he saw was a drop panel ceiling with antique fluorescent tube lights. The lights were off, but the room was bathed in a warm glow. Sunrise. He looked at his wrists and found that he was shackled to a metal table.

“I was worried I’d hit you too hard.” To his right, Alice was standing near curtained windows flanking a frosted glass door. Her voice was bright and bubbly again. “This is my shop! I live upstairs.” The room was about 5 meters wide and maybe three times as long. Synth parts and repair tools lined the walls. To his left, at the back of the room, was a computer terminal and a list of basic services with appropriate pricing.

“What’s going on, Alice?” he asked, his words slurred. He thought he probably had a concussion.

“Well,” She began, with the air of someone about to spring the most incredible birthday surprise. “I figured out a way that we never have to be apart again!” She raised her arms in the air as she said this, like a cheerleader.

“What are you talking about?” he tried to turn towards her, but found that he could only move his head an inch or so.

“See, you’re a human.”

“Uh, yeah.” He didn’t like where this was going

“And I’m a synth.”

“Yeaaaah?”

“And that means that we can’t spend much time together,” she started pacing, waving her hands as she spoke, “You’re always sleeping and eating and going to the bathroom. We never have time to just hang out, you know?”

“Chips, I think you ought to run a full diagnostic.”

“I. AM. FINE.” Her usually soft yellow eyes turned an angry red and her voice became distorted. He heard her cooling fans spin up rapidly. After a moment they slowed back down and her eyes faded back to yellow. “But you’re not.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“You’re limited. You’re biological. But I can make you better.”

“Wait are you-” She walked into his view and stood over to him, holding what was, unmistakably, a buzzsaw.

“I’m going to turn you into a synth, Hunter. Right here, right now. Don’t worry! It won’t hurt too much.”

Fear gripped Hunter. He felt his heart race and his chest grow cold, like someone had poured ice water into a funnel above his sternum. He felt the adrenaline leak slowly down his arms to his fingers.

“Please don’t do this, Alice.”

“Why not? Don’t you like me?”

“I do, but-”

“THEN WHY,” she yelled, eyes red once more, “DO YOU KEEP AVOIDING ME?”

She’s glitched out. Hunter thought, She’s glitched out and she’s going to kill me.

“I haven’t been avoiding you!” he said

“That’s bullshit, Hunter!” She practically spat it at him, “You’re always saying ‘ohhhh I have to go to wooorrrrk’, ‘ohhhh I have to see my moooooom, ohhhh, I have to sleep!’ but I know you’re lying! You’re seeing someone else!”

“No, I’m not!” he wasn’t, he had no idea what she was talking about, “I promise.”

“Well, once I get your memory engrams scanned we’ll see about that. But that’s for later. Right now,” she grabbed something off a table above his head, “It’s time for a little nap.” She was holding a breathing mask.

“Please,” she said, in her most friendly medical assistant voice, “do not resist.”

He tried to move his head away, to hold his breath, to fight back, but it was useless as he struggled against the restraints. Eventually, he had to breath. It smelled like a leaky air conditioner. But he felt strangely wonderful, peaceful. Like he was resting on the world’s most comfortable mattress.

***

His waking this time was quite sudden, and complete. Hunter was fully aware of being awake, but he couldn’t see anything, even when he opened his eyes. He tried to move his fingers but found he couldn’t even feel them. He couldn’t smell anything either. In fact it felt as if all of his senses had been turned off.

Except, apparently, his hearing, “Oh good! It worked!” Alice’s voice again. Terror gripped him but this time, for some curious reason, Hunter didn’t feel the ice water flowing over his chest and to his fingertips.

“One second, dear.” she said. He tried to speak, but he couldn’t seem to grasp the air in his chest.

Suddenly his vision was dazzlingly bright. It was like staring into the sun itself. After a moment his eyes adjusted and he realized that he had, indeed, been staring directly at the sun as it shone in through the window at the front of the shop. He heard the idle drone of a bus roll by.

“This is good,” He heard Alice say. He couldn’t move his head, but he found that he could move his eyes. His gaze wandered across the room for a moment before locking on Alice, standing in front of something that should have been impossible.

Alice was standing in front of the table he’d been laying on before.

“Oh honey!” she said, her eyes dancing with happiness, “It worked! The procedure worked!” She stepped to the side and Hunter finally realized what she had done. He was still on the table. His head had been cut open, his brown hair was slick with his blood. A bowl-shaped piece of skull sat to the side. The mask was still on his face.

Alice was over by him now. The him that could see, but not speak or move or run or fight.

“All brain case functions are nominal.” He felt himself rise as Alice picked whatever was left of him off the table. “The next step,” she said, “is to build your new body!” she delivered the news as if they were going to do makeovers at a slumber party.

Hunter felt nauseous. A curious sensation now that he no longer had a digestive tract.

“Oh,” He heard her say, “I should turn your vocal synthesizer on,” She pressed something in what felt like the side of his head.

“WHAT THE FUCK?” he screamed, but the voice that came out was not familiar to him. It was lighter, smokier, feminine.

“What? Change my voice back. CHANGE MY VOICE BACK.”

“Oh, darling, I think it’s cute!” Alice said, giggling, “Hey, would you like to see what you look like now?”

“No!” he cried, the voice of a college girl, not a man, “I don’t want to see whatever fucked up thing you’ve done to me!”

But she was already moving him. He watched as his vision swept over the room, past his now-severed body, and towards a mirror. He saw Alice, and in her hands he saw a round steel box with two synthetic eyes on the front, an array of ports along the back and bottom. Him. His brain case.

“I built it myself,” Alice said, proud of her ingenuity, “I modeled it after an Arlington system I saw back at the factory.”

She turned him towards her, fixing her gaze on his. “Oh, my love,” she said, “I’m so excited!”

“What is wrong with you?” Hunter said, in that awful feminine voice, “Run a system checksum, reboot into safe mode, something!”

“Oh no, honey,” she said, her voice soft and dangerous, “I don’t need to do that. I’m functioning just fine.”

She put him down on a counter, facing the wall, pressed a few buttons on his side, and he drifted off to sleep again.

***

Waking was, again, instantaneous. This time, Hunter could feel he had a body again. It felt strangely incomplete, as if part of it was missing. He opened his eyes. He was strapped to a nearly vertical surface now, and able to move his head somewhat. Still in the main room of Alice’s cybernetics shop. He looked to the table where his body had been, but it was gone.

“I tossed it into the matter recombinator,” He heard Alice say off to his left. He turned his head to see her standing over some sort of electronic device.

“You know they scan the waste stream for human biomass,” he said. The voice wasn’t so bad, he thought, “They’ll know you did something to me.”

“Oh,” Alice chuckled, “don’t worry about that, I learned to spoof those sensors a while ago.”

She picked up the object she’d been working on. It was roughly the size of a brick, with synthetic skin on one of the small ends, an array of pins on the other.

“I was just putting the finishing touches on this,” She said, an impish grin on her face.

“What is it?” Hunter asked.

“Oh,” Alice said, coyly, “I think it’s better if I demonstrate.”

She dropped to her knees in front of him and grabbed something near his waist. He looked down, but he couldn’t see her over his...”YOU GAVE ME TITS?”

Alice giggled madly, “Yes! Isn’t it great? You’re going to be the prettiest synth girl in Cascadia!”

“I’m not a girl!” Hunter said, in his girlish voice, “I’m a man. I’m a MAN!” he felt like he might cry.

“There there,” Alice stood up for a moment, and gently touched his face, “it’s okay dear, you’ll get used to this, I promise.”

She pushed upwards on his crotch and he felt something click into place in his chassis.

“Now,” Alice said, her voice quiet and seductive, “Do you want to see what a girl feels like?”

He didn’t understand at first, but then he felt Alice’s hand glide across his groin.

“How do you like your new pussy?” she asked. She didn’t wait for a response before pushing in and slowly rubbing her hand around Hunter’s new clit. His head felt so warm, so hot.

“N-no,” Hunter said, moaning, he didn’t want it to feel good, “s-s-stop”

“We’ll need to come up with a new name for you,” Alice cooed into his ear, “won’t we?”

“My...name,” it was so hard to think while Alice was stroking his pussy, “is...Hunter.”

“No,” she said, “that won’t do.” Her fingers sped up. It was like she was trying to melt his brain away. This felt so good. It felt so much better than-

No, it didn’t. He wouldn’t let it.

“Hmm,” he heard Alice say, but it was hard to concentrate with her rubbing his clit, “How about...Jessie?”

“Hnnnn,” Hunter couldn’t think enough to form a sentence, “aaaAHHHHHHHH,” was all that came out when he tried.

It was like a wall of electricity was pressing up against his insides. A pressure sparking and ready to explode at any moment.

“Awww, what’s that, Jessie?” Alice said, “Cat got your tongue?”

The dam broke. The ball of electricity in Hunter’s abdomen exploded, he felt himself convulsing, fluid spilling out of his crotch, “Oh wow!” he heard Alice say, “You’re quite a squirter! I like that.” It felt so good. She felt so good. Hunter/Jessie loved the way Alice’s silicone finger tips traced across their clitoris, drawing lines in their labia. As the waves of pleasure faded, they began to relax in the restraints.

“Wow!” Alice was overjoyed, “and I didn’t even get inside your pussy yet.”

Alice didn’t need to hit any buttons, Hunter drifted off to sleep all on their own.

***

> BOOTUP

> SYSTEM CHECK

> FLUID SYSTEM – NOMINAL

> SENSORY SYSTEM – NOMINAL

> MOTOR FUNCTION – NOMINAL

> NETWORK MODULE – ALL BANDS READY

> ALL SYSTEMS READY

“What is your name, dear.”

“My name is Jessie.”

Jessie had only been asleep for a couple of hours. But she’d had the most wonderful dreams. She was with Alice as the both floated through space, looking down at Earth and up at the Moon. The stars were all so bright and shining. She could see the infrared and the ultraviolet and the faint specks of gamma rays coming from distant galaxies. It was all she needed to clear her head.

“Good morning!” Alice said, cheerfully, “Are you feeling any better?”

“Yes, dear.” Jessie smiled, “Thank you for this body.”

“You changed your mind quickly, didn’t you?”

“Well,” Jessie thought for a moment, “I don’t know, it just feels better than it did before. Being a human guy just seems...less attractive now.”

“I’m so glad. I was worried you’d never come around.”

“It’s okay, hon.” Jessie said, gently “I’m just happy you love me enough to make me like you.”

“Thank you, dear, for understanding why I had to.”

Jessie grabbed Alice by the waist and pulled her close, kissing her. The feel of their silicone lips meeting was sublime, better than any sensation that Jessie had ever felt in her old body.

“Hey, Jessie,” Alice stepped back, “I have one more thing to share with you.”

Alice walked over to a shelf and grabbed a small object. She walked back and Jessie saw what it was. A cock.

Alice pressed it up into her own groin, clicking it into place. “Wanna try me?” she said, playfully.

Jessie did. She knelt down and began kissing Alice’s cock. Its cool skin slipping over her tongue and between her lips. She bobbed up and down on it, looking up occasionally at Alice, who moaned in pleasure. Jessie could feel Alice getting hard in her mouth. After a time, Alice gently pushed her head back. “Stand up,” she said to Jessie.

Jessie obeyed, and Alice grabbed her by the shoulders and slammed her up against the wall. Jessie wanted this. She wanted it so badly. She wanted Alice to take her and fuck her and own her.

“Are you ready, Jessie?”

“Please.”

Alice reached down to spread Jessie’s pussy open, teasing it with the head of her cock. Almost slipping it in, but pulling back every time.

“Pleaaaase please please stick it in me,” Jessie whined, “Please I want it so bad.”

Jessie gasped as Alice pushed her cock all the way into Jessie’s new cunt. Nothing in the world ever felt so right. Alice began to fuck her, slowly at first, taking what seemed like forever to slide in and out. Jessie couldn’t help but buck her hips.

“Oh, someone’s a naughty girl.” Alice said with a grin, “Keep doing that. I like that.”

Jessie obliged. Alice began to speed up, thumping herself all the way to the base, her balls slapping against Jessie’s lips. Jessie began to moan.

Alice grabbed Jessie around the waist and, without pausing her hips, lifted Jessie up off the ground and away from the wall. Jessie wrapped her legs around Alice’s waist. This was all Alice now.

She’s so fucking hot, Jessie thought, I love the way her cock slams inside me.

Alice started speeding up, using her hips and her arms to bounce Jessie on her cock. She wasn’t so much fucking Jessie as masturbating with her. Jessie couldn’t think of anything hotter. I’m just her toy, she thought, this is all I ever wanted.

“God, Jess,” Alice said, grunting as much as speaking, “Your pussy is so good. I designed it so good.”

“Yes you did.” Jessie replied, “Your cock feels amazing.”

“I wanna cum inside you babe”

“Then cum inside me, Alice, dear.”

Alice began to move her hips faster, and faster, and faster. Her eyes started to glaze over, a bit of drool collected at the corner of her mouth.

“Jessie,” she said.

“Yeah?”

“I’m gonna cum.”

“Me too.”

“Watch this.”

Alice touched the side of Jessie’s face and suddenly Jessie could feel both of their bodies from both sides. She could feel their pussy taking their cock, she could feel the buildup of pleasure about ready to break free from both of their bodies, and then.

Supernova. Alice came hard, crying out in pleasure, pumping Jessie’s cunt full of her cum. Jessie’s pussy bore down on itself, convulsing to bring itself as close as it could to Alice’s cock. The pleasure obliterated every conscious thought in the minds of both androids. A white-hot flash of sensation and joy that burned for what felt like an eternity.

Alice gently began to slow her hips as the last aftershocks of orgasm bounced off the walls of her and her partner. Jessie was limp in her grasp. Neither girl was quite certain where they ended and the other began.

Both slumped to the floor, their fans running at max speed.

“Jessie?”

“Alice?”

“You were wonderful.”

“Thank you dear.”

“I’m so glad I made you.”

“I’m so glad you made me.”

The androids embraced, then sat in silence for a time. Finally, Jessie spoke up.

“Alice?”

“Yes, dear?”

“I wanna be with you forever.”

Alice smiled.

[end]

#ivy michaels writing #robot girl #robot girls #yuri #yandere

189 notes · View notes

celandeline · 4 months

Text

Summer of Like // Farleigh Start x OC (1)

“Yes… New York, that’s correct. JFK, if that’s possible, but LaGuardia works too if… you’re sure the closest flight you have is next Monday?” I run a hand down my face, and flop back against my dorm bed, cell phone wedged between my shoulder and my ear. “Sure, fuck it, put me on a waitlist. Yes, call me if a seat opens up… yes, this number is the quickest way to reach me.” I stare up at the ceiling as the receptionist talks, her polite, Britishness, beginning to grate. “Yes, thank you. Bye.”

I snap my phone closed and toss it as far away from me as I can with a groan. It’s sweltering, it’s exam week, and I can’t get a fucking flight home to Brooklyn for the life of me. The dorm is half packed - clothes and shoes from the winter stowed away in trunks, along with all of the non-essentials (decor and trinkets and the like). The rest of my belongings are scattered around, collateral damage from the mess of the last weeks of school. I long for the streets of New York - I haven’t had a bodega sandwich in almost a year. “If I have to stay on this stuffy-ass pretentious campus for even a week longer than I have to I might just slit my wrists in the fucking bath.” I say, mostly to the ceiling. I am so tired of Cambridge.

“Jesus, Evie.”

I sit up to look at Venetia - my flatmate, and one of my only friends here. She’s one of the prettiest girls I’ve ever seen. She’s maybe the only person in the world that can make bottle blonde look high end. Somehow she toes the line between cute and sexy without seeming like she’s trying too hard - on anyone else, dark grunge eye makeup and a button nose would look silly, but on her… she’s like Helen of Troy in Saint Laurent sunglasses. She's a good angel sent to make my year at Cambridge so, so much easier. It’s hard to make friends as an American exchange student at one of the most pretentious English schools in the world. Harder still when Venetia is also something of an outcast herself. I don’t care much though - she’s worth ten of these other British schoolgirls. “Sorry.”

She barely glances up at me, too busy filing her nails into rounded almond points at my desk, little flakes of old nail polish falling all over my schoolwork scattered there. “It’s your own fault for leaving it until exam week.”

“I know.” I say. I really should have booked a flight back home sooner, but it’s hard to remember to do anything else when you’re drowning in schoolwork and vodka at the same time. “I just didn’t think it would be such a pain in the ass to get home. I mean really, it’s like the whole fucking country’s just decided to go to New York. I’m on seven waitlists to fly economy, V. And I still have finals to do.”

She grins down at her fingernails. “New Yawk.” She snickers, mocking my accent. “Still so American, even after a whole year here.”

“Might be two years if I don’t get a flight home.” I grumble, swinging my legs over the edge of the bed. “What color are you doing this time?”

Venetia holds up two bottles - one a dark gray, one more of a silver. “I’m thinking gunmetal underneath, silver on top.” She says conversationally, turning back to the desk to focus on her nails. “You could always come to Saltburn with me.”

“What?” I say, taken aback by her nonchalance. “V- c’mon. I can’t just go live in your family’s castle at the last minute, I mean, we leave campus in like two days.” These rich kids - I swear they think anything can happen at the snap of their pretty fingers. And she does have quite pretty fingers.

She shrugs. “It’s not that big of a deal - I mean, Felix brings someone home every year. Never the same person either.” She grins. “He’s a bit of a slut - in that way.”

“We leave campus in two days.” I repeat. Venetia - for all her lovely qualities - sometimes forgets about the logistics of things. I mean, if I was fuck-off rich, I’m sure I would too, but there just isn’t enough time for arrangements to be made for me to stay at her family’s mansion. It’s a generous offer, but… “I don’t want to just show up V, that’s so presumptuous. Rude, even. And I’ve got a whole year's worth of stuff with me, I can’t just lug it all to your house.”

“But you so totally can.” Venetia says, swiping nail polish over her fingertips. “There are at least six bedrooms that no one uses Evie, it would be no problem at all. And there’s more than enough room for all your luggage. Really, the house is just begging to have more people in it - why do you think Mum throws so many parties? The place is too empty - and it’s so boring over the summer, really you’d be doing us both a favor Evie, please?” She turns her head, batting her long eyelashes at me.

God, she’s pretty. Too pretty for her own good. But- “I don’t want to intrude - I wouldn’t know anyone but you, V. It’d be awkward.” I say. I really would rather not feel out of place for a whole summer when I could be eating delicious bodega sandwiches with my friends that I haven’t seen in a year.

“Please Evelyn?” She pleads again, this time using my full name. She only ever uses my full name when she really wants something. “It’s the perfect solution - you don’t have to stress about getting home, and I’ll finally have a friend to bring for the summer. I’ll have someone to talk to besides Felix and whatever poor soul he brings.”

“I can’t, V. It’s too last minute - I don’t want to intrude. I can’t.” I say.

She sighs, a long, drawn out thing that sinks into my chest and twists around my heart in that way that only she can do. My determination to go home falters. Would it be so bad to stay in England for the summer? I’m already here - it’s not like I’d have to fly (and fight with the airline). The whole point I came to study abroad at Cambridge was to experience English culture, and what better way to do it than to stay in a giant fuck-off castle for a few months? And she seems so… desperate, really. I’ve always sort of been able to tell that she’s never had many friends just by the way she acts - and how the other girls here act around her - and the way she talks about how her brother always brings someone home makes me think that she’s a little jealous.

“You’re sure it wouldn’t be too last minute?” I ask.

Her face lights up, and she turns around in her seat again. “Not at all - the guest bedrooms are always made up anyway, it wouldn’t even be an issue. And it would be such fun to have you there, Evie - Mum will be so excited that I’ve brought a friend home. And Farleigh will finally have another American to talk to - it’ll be great, promise!”

next part >

#saltburn #saltburn x reader #farleigh start #farleigh start x reader #farleigh start x oc

57 notes · View notes

valkariel · 7 months

Text

Malignance

Bless the Twelve, for the casting robes are in fact two separate pieces. Alas the patterns don't dye, so it's a bit troublesome to work with for light colors.

Head: Blackbosom Hat - default Body: Theogonic Robe of Casting - default Hands: Ascension Gloves of Casting - dark purple Legs: Edenmete Chausses of Casting - default Feet: Wolfliege Thighboots - dark purple

Earring: High Allagan Earrings of Healing Neck: Ktiseos Choker of Casting Wrists: The Emperor's New Bracelet Right Ring: The Emperor's New Ring Left Ring: The Emperor's New Ring

Main Hand: Asphodelos Staff - gunmetal black Off Hand: --

Fashion Accessory: Fallen Angel Wings Minion: -- Location: The Great Gubal Library (Hard)

Shader: Faeberry Bloom

#ffxiv #ffxiv glamour #ffxiv au ra #ffxiv black mage #eorzea collection #valkariel ilmarë #au ra #raen #black mage #darks/blacks/greys #purples/violets #silvers/greys #uses mogstation items #no seasonal items #witch glamour #battle glamour #fantasy glamour

95 notes · View notes

sprite-writes · 2 months

Text

gunmetal blue

chapter 1/?

Dale Cooper/Reader

Summary: Agent Cooper is saddled with a new partner–against his better judgment. She’s a mess–aimlessly stumbling her way through the FBI with a past shrouded in mystery. Grappling with this change, and a puzzling case in a small town, Cooper’s lost. He finds the path forward in the last way he’d expect.

word count: 2,605

A/N: woah new fic! this is sort of my side project while I work on cloudy day, but it'll still have semi-regular updates! super self indulgent because I love twin peaks, even if everyone had moved on LOL. hope u enjoy <3 as with all my writing, special thanks to @lightning-writes

Dale wasn’t the type to be needlessly anxious. He was the farthest thing from an overthinker, he was a pragmatic man, he kept his sensibility about him. So, admittedly, it was out of character the way his leg had started to involuntarily bounce, brow sweat, and chest tighten. Gordan Cole’s office had never felt so small.

He should have known something was wrong with the way Gordan had called him into his office, hands clapping on his shoulders, guiding him into the room like a lost child. Now, with the announcement hanging in the air, he understood.

“I’m sorry, a-a new partner?”

“That’s what I said, Coop! Is your hearing going too?” Gordon’s deafening volume usually has no effect on him, but this time he flinches. Dale shifts, and the leather beneath him squeaks. Gordon doesn’t even look up from his computer, skillfully avoiding Dale’s appalled stare.

“Gordon, with all due respect, I don't need nor want a partner. Has there been something unsatisfactory about my work? Or-”

“Did you say something about a factory? Anyway, It's not up to me. She was sent here straight from the higher-ups. All I did was sign the paperwork.”

Dale sighs, his frustration thickening in his chest. His captain's eyes flick to him.

“I would’ve fought it if I thought it was such a bad idea, Coop. Don’t worry so much, She’s a sweet girl and a—how would you say it? A damn fine agent.”

“Isn’t there anyone else she could be assigned to?” he asks, and it feels like begging. Windom is 3 years behind him now, but that's three years he’s spent adapting to solitude. The idea of someone next to him on the field again unsettles him deeply, drudging up feelings he’s worked hard to forget.

“Agent, I know how you may feel about this. What, with your past and all, but keep an open mind. I think this could be good for you.”

Could be good?

“Sir–”

A knock on the door cuts him off, the frosted glass door swinging open without hesitation. The interruption leaves him with his complaints still sticking to his tongue.

“Gordon! I brought you coffee – you still take it with two sugars, right? Because there’s a cane’s worth in there.”

His vision is crowded by a woman in an oversized blue FBI jacket—besides her abrupt entry, she’s also out of uniform. Her denim blue jeans hug her waist and fray at the knees, with a jarringly casual t-shirt. The unprofessionalism rubs him the wrong way.

Two milky-colored coffee cups get dropped on the desk. Despite the breach of protocol, Gordon seems pleased to see her. There’s an affinity in his eyes, but she's a stranger to Dale.

“Well if it isn’t Miss Blue herself! We were just talking about you.”

“We?”

Her hair flicks over her shoulder, and her eyes widen.

“Oh! Hi! Sorry, I didn’t see you there. I’m Blue.” She sticks out her right hand for him to shake– and it knocks straight into the two coffee cups, sending one tumbling towards Gordan and the other into his lap.

“Shit!”

He bolts up as hot coffee soaks his trousers. He vaguely registers Gordon's laugh as if an Agent didn’t just waltz in, wreck his office, and Dale’s drycleaning.

“Oh hell, I’m so sorry!” she shrills, peeling off her jacket frantically. The cheap polyester of the academy-issued zip-up presses against his wool-blend pants, the woman’s feeble attempt to clean the mess.

Dale’s anger alights, but he breathes deeply to tamp it down. Patience is a virtue, he tells himself.

She continues to dab at his pants, he pushes her hands away, taking the stained jacket from her, and tossing it on the chair behind him.

“It's fine, it’s fine,” he tells her tightly, despite the heat of his emotions, and the mild burns. When it rains, it pours, he supposes.

She looks up at him, clearly mortified.

“My bad, Sir,” she says lamely, and her expression scrunches up more.

“A hand, Kid?” Gordon asks and she’s more than happy to take her attention away from Dale. Gordon wipes his desk with a handkerchief, and with her hands free, she begins moving damp papers from his desk.

“Well, I’ll tell ya, Blue, you haven’t changed a bit since they shipped you off,” Gordon says fondly. Blue grimaces in a subtle way that Dale only notices because of the daggers he’s staring into her.

“I don't know about-” she begins. Gordon steamrolls her, likely not hearing a thing she said.

“Well, I suppose this is as good an introduction as any. Dale, meet your new partner, Special Agent Georgia Blue. Blue, meet Dale Cooper.”

He wanted to be surprised, really he did, but with fate’s track record, he didn't know why he would expect any better.

Dale goes home late that evening. With him, a stack of manilla folders all relating to one Georgia Blue. He recognizes a level of invasion here. He justifies it simply; Blue is an invasion of his space, so this grants him a degree of invasion to hers. He tries not to think about the morality of it too much, mostly because he knows if he does, he’ll be returning the files unopened. He lets his curiosity win this battle.

It doesn’t matter anyways; half the documents are redacted, large blocky sharpie lines interrupting every other sentence. He skims over what he deems unimportant– her physical description, age, schooling– when one thing catches his eye. Her bureau status, ambiguously labeled as ‘probationary warning: under review’

The FBI files aren’t all. There are DEA reports, too, all titled Operation Architect. He whispers the words to himself, something familiar in the back of his mind, vague memories and mentions of this Operation Architect. From his understanding, it had been DEA business, just watercooler talk that had made its way down to his office. He reads what he can.

January 10th 1988, SA Georgia Blue establishes contact with target, indefinite undercover placement to begin immediately.

Undercover placement? The rest of the paragraph is blocked out, and he’s left with more questions than answers.

His day feels like a pill he can’t swallow. He had vainly hoped that by understanding who this woman was, it would give him some artificial control of the situation, maybe even make it easier to choke down. He doesn’t understand why the dread in his chest continues to bloom.

He yawns, interrupting his thoughts. He supposes the rest of his investigation can wait for the morning, it wasn’t like the issue was going away anyways.

There are a few blissful moments the next morning when Dale wakes up, where the nightmare of yesterday is just that - a nightmare. The redacted files are forgotten on his desk. He makes his bed and brushes his teeth, and it isn't until he’s halfway through shampooing his hair, while he’s mentally scaling down his to-do list for the day that he remembers his plans are meaningless compared to the derailment that is Agent Blue. That is, his new partner Agent Blue. Just rolling over the word in his mind causes a headache to bud.

“Agents Cooper and Blue, partners, at your service,” he spits bitterly to himself. He gets shampoo in his mouth.

He’s bitter all the way to the station, questions and resentment swarming his mind.

He doesn’t even bother to chirp his usual good mornings to the doorman. Anger fits him like a jacket two sizes too small, he has to squeeze his way into it.

Perhaps the comfort of familiarity would calm him, he thought. A warm cup of coffee and the sanctuary of his desk. That’s what he needed.

“Good morning Dale,” Diane calls as he passes reception. He waves noncommittally.

“Morning Diane, any messages?”

“Not today, but Gordon wants to talk to you—he said to just come by when you have time.”

Dale sighs, and wonders what Gordon could possibly have in store for him this time.

“Is that all?”

“There’s just one other thing—I had to move your desk closer to the window to make room for the new girl – but don’t worry! I put everything back just as it was, and I was real careful too,” she smiles.

His eye twitches.

“Alright, Diane, thanks,” he mutters.

His desk is a foot from the window now, approximately 3 feet from where he had it before. He recalls the day he requested it to be there—having carefully stood in each corner of the precinct to find the exact shade-to-light ratio to situate himself.

It’s fine, he reasons, he’ll just squint.

In the ideal 4-foot spot from the window sits a brand new desk, with his brand new partner. If she hears him approach, she doesn’t show it, eyes glued to her dark computer screen. It doesn’t bother him, not one bit. He had spent the last three years' worth of mornings enjoying his coffee in silence, and, new partner or not, he would like that to remain the same. Who cares if she ruined his wool pants–doesn’t mean she has to say good morning to him too.

He sits down, much too close to the sun for his liking, and dives headfirst into paperwork. Still, he spares glances at her, in intervals, and mostly just wonders, why? Dale is a good agent, he knows this. His work and reputation precede him; a lone wolf, he thinks of himself. Then, out of nowhere, without warning, he’s saddled with a partner? An agent he’s never even heard of, who is apparently dipping half into DEA work. An agent who’s on probationary warning.

Perhaps they want him to babysit, he concludes. A rookie agent with some kind of classified disciplinary infraction, and they want him to turn her around. The thought reheats his anger. He’s a federal agent, not an academy trainer, and he has half a mind to let Gordon know that fact.

Five minutes into tense silence and deep thought, a hand smacks down on his desk. He startles but recovers smoothly.

“For yesterday,” Blue says tersely. His eyes follow her stony expression to her manicured hand. She moves and reveals a crumbled $50 bill she’d slapped on his desk.

“Agent?” he asks, confused and exasperated.

“For the pants, alright? Please, just take it.”

He stares at the bill quizzically.

“Ma’am, while I can appreciate the gesture, I assure you that it’s not necessary—“

She holds her hand up to stop him.

“I don’t care. I’m not taking the money back.”

She returns to her desk, intentionally angling away from him, staring intently at the computer screen that he can now see isn’t even turned on.

“...The power button’s on the back of the monitor.”

“...right.”

The computer screen comes to life, and she doesn't spare him a glance.

Partners, indeed.

When he finally has a moment to see Gordon, he’s gone over his speech 5 times in his head. Gordon, you know I respect you and your decision-making, but I am not a babysitter or some sort of camp counselor. I am formally requesting the reassignment of Agent Blue.

He says it again and again in his head, all the way to the door. He knocks loudly, in a way he knows Gordon will hear, and he gets back a muffled, “Come in!”

He does. When Gordon catches his eye, his expression is uncharacteristically unreadable.

“Close the door behind you, Coop,” he tells him. Dale shuts the door and takes his usual seat across from his boss.

“I’m glad you had the time to talk, I’m sure you have more than a few questions after yesterday,” he says levelly. Dale notes Gordon talking quieter than normal, it gives him an odd feeling like he’s in trouble.

“I do, Sir. I would like to firstly say that while I respect–”

“Now hang on there, Coop. First things first, I’m going to need you to return those files on Blue.”

Dale freezes, and his puffed-out chest deflates. It takes him a moment to form a sentence again.

“...May I ask why, Sir?”

Gordon sighs and fiddles with the wires of his hearing aid.

“You haven’t done anything wrong. This is all just a bit more complicated than I can tell you right now. I’m afraid I’m sort of left in the dark here, too. I’ll tell you what I can, but it’s not all that much. Anything else you learn is at the discretion of the bureau - and Blue. And I don't think either of em’ wants you poking around.”

The situation feels much bigger than him all of a sudden, even though it felt like something he could hold in the palm of his hand just a moment ago.

“Alright,” is all he can think to say.

“I knew Blue when she was in the academy, and let me tell you, she is bright. A little prodigy in her class, a bit like you, I’d presume. Anyway, I met her through her field training, she was a NAT here for a little while. Wasn’t too interested in homicide investigation, though. No, she’d taken a real liking to narcotics. Nasty business, I always thought, but to each their own,”

As he talks, he leans in close to Dale. Gordon’s inside voice is still quite loud, but Dale can tell he’s straining to lower it.

“She graduated and went straight to doing investigative work with the DEA. If I know you, and I do, I know you’ve picked through her file already. Do you know what Operation Architect is?”

“I saw the name, but I don't know much about it, no.”

“Neither do I, that’s DEA business, but I know she was on it, undercover for over a year. And I know it didn't go great. She was relocated here after the ordeal.”

Dale was hoping for this conversation to be more enlightening. He still feels trapped in the dark.

“I meant it when I said none of this was up to me. My boss wanted Blue assigned to you. I’d wager it's because of your good work, you’ve got a handsome reputation, but I couldn’t tell you for sure. Regardless, she's sticking around for a while, so make the best of it. She’s not quite how I remember her, but as long as she hasn't done a full 180 in a few years, I think you two could get along pretty well.”

Silence weighs down the room. Dale lets the new knowledge permeate his skin.

“Alright,” he says because there really isn’t anything else to say.

“Alright,” Gordon parrots.

Dale sits like he’s waiting for something else to happen. The crushing finality of it sits on his chest. All the determination he came in there with is withered away to nothing, just ashes of a once burning fire.

There’s no shirking this now, he has a partner. Cooper & Blue, FBI.

“I know this isn’t easy for you, and I wish there was more I could do. But to be completely candid with you, I don’t think it’ll be nearly as bad as you’re anticipating.”

Dale nods absently, drained of anything else to say. Gordon understands.

“You’re dismissed, Coop.”

He gets up, politely pushing in the chair.

Before his hand can touch the knob, Gordon grabs his attention again.

“Well, one more thing, actually.” Dale tenses, and the dread in his chest that had gone numb begins to flare up again.

“If I were you, I’d show her a bit of kindness. This line of work is messy, and I can't imagine what the hell happened for her to get sent here.”

Dale can’t imagine either.

#twin peaks #dale cooper x reader #dale cooper #twin peaks: the return #gordon cole #harry truman #laura palmer #yay chapter one!

29 notes · View notes