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boobav · 6 months

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Rotten Petals

William Afton x Reader

content: afab!reader, angsty smut ;P

word count: 1.5k

ao3 link

It was true that his hands left black marks on your skin, on your soul. Deft, filthy fingers pressed deep into your flesh time and time again, acid-laced words slithering into your mind and silencing the rational part of yourself that said that this was the last time.

You bring a hand to your face.

It'd been a week since you'd last seen him, he was busy, he'd said over the phone, busy dealing with Freddy's and the absolute mess it had devolved into. You'd been to that place once for a family gathering, and never again. You knew what took place there; you could see the screams on the walls, the blood scrubbed by those very hands that you let touch you- and it was sickening. You'd watched as your family laughed and played, completely unaware, and glanced over as he stared you down from across the room with a grin on his face. Those missing posters recently plastered on milk cartons made your insides churn, made your mind run in circles trying to find some justification. Moonlight streamed through the blinds onto your skin; you felt the ghost of his hand around your throat, the ghost of a knife pressed there too- and you sighed.

A knock at the door makes you jump. A rapid, almost violent string of knocks follows, and your stomach drops.

Every hidden, tucked away piece of rationality lodged into your mind leaps up at once, begging you not to open that door, pleading desperately with you to stay in bed and hold the pillow tighter, cry quieter and pretend that nothing's wrong until that knocking goes away. But these voices are too quiet. In reality, there was only a moment of hesitation, a mere blip with the lifespan of a mayfly before you were on your feet, stumbling over discarded clothes to reach the front door. You fumble with the locks, heart beating with the ferocity of a prey-animal as a mixture of dread, excitement, fear and desire fight for dominance in the pit of your stomach.

And then he's in front of you.

The light from the corridor lights up one side of him, leaving the other in deep shadow. There are stains on his white button-up, dark and unsettling, but today they appear to be nothing more than motor oil. His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, you note, as your eyes drag along the vein running up his arm, along the creases in his shirt, and finally reach his own eyes that have a crazed, hardly hidden spark in them. He smiles, a genuine thing that juxtaposes the death and distaste that fit along the lines in his face. His hands find your waist as he steps forward, squeezing, kneading and moving you back into the small apartment he's marked as his property; his beard scratches your neck as he lays unnaturally sweet kisses against your throat- and you want to give in, you need to let your brain turn off, but a shaky excitement is wrapped tight around his figure- and you're terrified of what that means.

"William..." You mumble, barely forming the syllables, but he hushes you immediately, his breath warm against your neck as he consoles you in an almost mocking way. But you take it, you love it, you whimper as he smiles against your skin and laughs at your pathetic response. You're back in your bedroom now, moonlight flittering over the two of you as he slumps into your bed and pulls you into his lap; that look is still in his eye, and you find yourself asking, "What happened?" without actually wanting to know. His hand comes up to loosen his tie, and his words escape with a breathless quality.

"They moved- they-" He clears his throat, and meets your gaze. "They moved again on their own, but more fluidly. More alive, more..." The horror in your mind is tangible to him, he feels it instantly, and he begins to stroke your hair, to tuck it behind your ear lovingly. "More alive works. They appeared more alive today."

The only response you can give is a wavering hum, and a momentarily bowed head. And you know he revels in it- revels in the disgust you feel for him and the inability you have to live without him. He laughs lightly, nothing more than an exhale, and lifts your face back to his.

And then you're kissing him, hard, because you don't want to think about what he's just said- you don't want to think about anything but the way his skin feels against yours and the way his grip crushes you into nothing but rotten petals again, and again.

Your hands slip off his tie as his cold fingers slide up your shirt- you swallow your gasp and almost laugh at the tease, willfully forgetting that the man you were about to fuck had just reminded you that he was a murderer, a disgusting man that hell had gurgled up one day and spat onto the earth for its own sick amusement; he was dangerous, horribly so, and the thought alone sent a filthy shock through your abdomen. He flips you over, pressing you into the messy covers as your shirt is peeled off without thought. His hands squeeze your neck, your breasts, your waist whilst pressing sweet kisses to your stomach. You stare down at him through a half-lidded gaze, squirming every time his eyes flit up to yours whilst he tugs down your slacks, his breath hot against your thighs, his bites erotically painful.

You throw your head back with a hitched breath as he licks a strip up your pussy, and you wonder for a hot second why you continue to let this man defile you with his searing touch and horrifying cruelty; he laps you up like water, thumbing your clit all the while, and the heat in your abdomen clashes with the disgust in your chest- and you feel your eyes sting. There was something so undeniably broken inside you, because you liked it, you loved it when he held you, when he choked you and when he fucked you like a man starved. You moan as he pushes a finger inside you, then another, shuffling up just in time to see a tear run along your face- and he hushes you, he consoles you, whispers a gentle, "What's wrong?" and smiles when you tell him it feels too good, too overwhelming. You taste yourself on his tongue as you kiss and arch your back as his fingers undo you with ease, but as your grip on him tightens, as your whimpers and moans heighten, he pulls his hand away. You re-open your eyes, whining, reaching down to touch yourself but he stops you with an iron grip, and tuts.

His belt clinks as he discards it into the already-impressive pile of clothes that's been on your floor for a week. He palms his already-hard cock, lining it with your entrance in a messy, impatient motion as you throw your head back in desire, in disgust, in relief that he prefers fucking you to killing you. Your hands drift from his shoulders to his hair peppered with various shades of grey, and his first thrusts are slow, thoughtful even- but then his fingers wrap around your throat like a necklace and he starts fucking you like an animal. His shirt is still on, you realise, as he presses his body hard against yours and shoves his face into the crook of your neck, biting, rasping out grunts and dirt-covered words you can barely hear. Your moans and cries hitch as his grip on your throat tightens, loosens, and his other hand pulls at the fat of your hips; the sound of skin-against-skin fills the small room and the knot in your abdomen is tight again already, brutally so, and as he fucks you into the covers you moan brokenly into his ear. An undeniably violent wave of ecstasy washes over your body, over your eyes, over your heart, and you feel wonderfully helpless against his ravaging of your body.

In this tiny, brief moment, you forget all about his misdeeds. Even with his hand wrapped tight around your throat and his hips stuttering against yours, you feel peace for a second, pretending to yourself that William Afton loved you, that he cared for you and he'd done none of the things he'd openly confessed to doing. He was simply your troubled lover, nothing more and nothing less.

His groan is hitched and raw as he cums pressed deep inside of you, breath hot against the side of your face. You stroke his hair for a brief moment as he recovers, chest heaving, but soon he shifts over and lies down beside you, leaning up against the headboard. You can already feel the bruises forming, the bitemarks that he'd left scattered over your flesh. He meets your eyes again, that crazed look temporarily satiated, and asks for a cigarette in a tired voice. He did last time, and the time before that, so now you had a pack on the nightstand waiting for the occasion; you lean up against him, wrapping yourself around him like ivy as the lighter clicks a few times, and then the flame comes to life. It lights up William's face for the few seconds it's on, and then the sharp smell of smoke hits your lungs and poisons them that slight bit more.

#william afton x reader #william afton x you #william afton smut #fnaf x reader #moviewasprettygood!#steve raglan x reader

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boobav · 8 months

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Seaside Blue

Neuvillette x Reader

content: pure fluff, I honestly wanna write so much more for him but I'm gonna wait for the archon quests to continue...

word count: 1.3k

also on my ao3!

A canvas of purple and pink paints the sky as the sun gradually falls beneath the sea, leaving you and the land to settle into cool darkness. The sea reflects that range of colour whilst also maintaining that pure blue that the nation of Hydro commonly emitted, and clouds were splattered up above in picturesque perfection. Besides the lapping of waves and peaceful chirp of birds, there was silence all around.

Teyvat's evenings were consistently beautiful. The colours of the bright sky varied from nation to nation, but always, they were stunning.

You shift to get comfortable, leaning back on your palms whilst sat on a hill by the Fontaine waters. There was a light drizzle falling, enhancing the overall melancholy that joined you this evening. It wasn't an uncommon emotion, not for you nor anyone else, but it was certainly enhanced by quiet, lonely days that ended like this. It's strange how you tend to end up sad when surrounded by such magnificent nature. It made you wonder- were melancholy and content really such juxtaposing emotions? In times like these, they seemed to fuse, just like the colours in the sky came together to form a blue darkness.

You sighed, and laid back in the grass.

Lumine and Paimon were waiting, you knew. They were waiting for you at a hotel in Fontaine, deciding to splurge a bit instead of spending the night camping as you three usually did. You'd been in Fontaine for about two months, and not much progress had been made in regard to talking with Furina... You weren't surprised, not after seeing her personality on show during all these trials, but it was frustrating nonetheless. It felt like this journey was simply your group running in circles, witnessing history that you never intended to be a part of, over and over in an endless cycle. You could sense the frustration building in Lumine too, despite the pure kindness she housed within her heart. In the end, all you could do was keep moving forward. Such a thought should be comforting... But the prospect of doing this forever was not very appealing. Camping endlessly, never settling down, getting involved in root-deep schemes from the Fatui... It was certainly not an easy life.

Footsteps from behind make your ears perk up. Treasure hoarders? Fatui? Every possible threat passes your mind as you pull yourself to your feet, eyes narrowed, sword in hand- but no, instead of danger, a few meters from you stands the Iudex of Fontaine, the Chief Justice himself.

"Monsieur Neuvillette?" Your voice comes out meek, but pleased; he stops in his tracks, and there's a moment of silence as he finds the right words to say.

"I'm sorry for approaching unannounced." He clears his throat. "May I sit with you?"

"Oh, sure, no need to apologise..." You chuck your weapon back to the ground and return to the floor, patting the spot next to you. He appears hesitant for a moment, as if he hadn't expected you to say yes, but soon strides over. "Any court cases today? I didn't have time to read the Steambird."

"Only one, but I had a great amount of work to get through, so that's for the better." A soft sound leaves him as he settles on the ground, looking rather out of place in his fancy court garb. His hair is so long it settles partially on the grass, and you wonder, does he have to brush it himself in the morning? Does he have some kind of assistant to help with his daily life? The thought causes a rogue pang of jealousy in your heart. "What did you do today? If you don't mind me asking." His words pull you back to reality.

"Well..." You start, glancing away from his curious gaze, "I joined Lumine and Paimon for some adventuring. Didn't find much besides confirmation that this nation has stunning scenery, but still, I think Liyue can't be beat in that category." You lean back once more and stare out at the sky as its colours drain to a dark blue; the waves continue to lap in your ears as the trees darken against the skyline, shadows of their former bright selves. You want to say something more, something deeper that'll bring the two of you closer- but you don't.

You never do, and neither does he.

"I'm glad you're enjoying yourself. The nation has certainly gotten livelier since you three arrived." His voice is composed and has a tinge of coldness as usual; you can almost feel it in the air- the heaviness of words left unsaid. You hum in agreement, and turn to see his eyes have yet to leave you. Neuvillette sits stiffly as if he has no clue what to do in this casual setting, too used to standing and sitting straight as a board. It's amusing, really.

"Are you comfortable in that suit?" You ask, because clearly, he wasn't. You reach over to the button on his ornate waistcoat and pop it open- the choking noise he stifles is not lost on you. "Take your coat off, it's warm anyway."

Your glance meets his, faces much too close as he shrugs his jacket off. It never ceases to amaze you how absolutely ethereal his eyes are; they're every shade of blue in one, finer than the sky and deeper than the ocean. The words spill softly from your lips, barely louder than a breath, "Your eyes are beautiful." And he looks away abashedly, like he doesn't know how to react to a compliment.

For a while, the two of you sit together in deep silence, too distracted to focus on neither the sea nor each other. Despite knowing his hard exterior is easier to crack than porcelain, you still find it difficult to find the right words. Though, Neuvillette doesn't seem to mind. He browses the scenery he's viewed a thousand times before with curiosity and awe, his lips unmoving as if words would simply get in the way. He has made his intentions clear by simply coming to see you all these evenings, in his mind. You find that soon, a dull sleepiness washes over your eyes, inviting them to close; you end up leaning your head against his shoulder without even realising it. He tenses, for a brief moment, before all stress leaves his body in a gentle exhale.

"What do you think love is?" He asks, seemingly out of the blue, and your eyes re-open with effort. You look up, and smile at the curious expression your companion has. Curious, but not unhappy with his lack of understanding.

"I think..." you start, "I think love is when you really feel alive. You feel emotions deeper than before, without even understanding why. Colours appear richer than before, trees look somehow more real against the sky." Neuvillette's hand hovers over the small of your back, hesitant, before wrapping around your waist. You carefully move his silky hair out of the way, and press up close to him. "Love is just viewing life in a new lens. Those amazing sights were there before... But sometimes you need help to notice them, I suppose."

His gaze is soft now, not as piercing as usual. He brushes a stray strand of hair from your face, then looks away, back towards the sea.

"It's an emotion that has eluded me up until recent history." He says, "Not to say I have never felt love. But listening to you explain it is like listening to poetry. Humans have a way of making even the most mundane things sound wonderfully exciting." His cerulean eyes come back to you, and a small, distant smile is present on his lips.

"I think you're giving us too much credit." You say, but really, he was right. Maybe because only one lifetime is guaranteed, humans tend to find ways to make that short while an adventure, no matter how mundane it truly is.

"Perhaps." His hand comes to cup your face, and you lean into it. "If it's not too much to ask, would you continue helping me learn what love is?"

And with a soft, tired smile, you nod. You kiss his palm and feel human love at its highest peak.

...You weren't quite sure when the rain had stopped.

#genshin x reader #neuvillette x reader #neuvillette x you #genshin impact x reader #genshin fluff

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boobav · 1 year

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Medical Attention

Cole Cassidy x Reader

a/n: why are there so many bj fics and never handjob ones I think we need to start addressing this in the fanfic community...

content: smut (handjob), a bit of blood, un-established relationship, afab!reader

word count: 3.5k

Bullets spewed from what appeared to be the cliffs themselves, pinging off metal and digging into wood all around your crumpled form; you twitched at every impact, at every sound, and instinctually budged up closer to the man taking cover beside you. Your thoughts were racing at useless speeds- how had you not noticed your attackers sooner? How had someone like you ended up in such a tight situation? It really was a sucker-punch to the ego your career had carefully cultivated up until now. Another bullet smacked into the metal behind your ear and sent it ringing painfully- but you had to think of something unless you felt like fucking dying- which, unsurprisingly, wasn't on the agenda. Your eyes skimmed back over the area as if they hadn't done so a million times, squinting through the riled-up dust and reflections of sunlight. Dilapidated buildings were spotted about the area, 24/7 neon signs dead in the daylight, but no, none of this scenery struck a cord with the escapist spirit in you.

You spoke, words spilling out as liquid, "How the hell are we getting out of this Cass?" His sharp eyes darted to yours, shadowed by the cowboy hat that had to be replaced bi-weekly due to bullet holes. A cigar was notably absent from his parted lips, typical behaviour when he was, for once, taking a situation seriously.

"We're gonna make for that buildin' sugar, after I chuck this," He raised a blue flashbang to your vision as another flurry of bullets ricocheted off your flimsy cover, "Lady's parked up ahead, we can make it, I bet."

You would've scoffed if the situation was anything but this, "Your bike?"

"Uh-huh. You ready?" Your eyes ran to the weighty shift in his hips, and you nodded an affirmative. Whether this was gonna work or not it was the best bet you had, really. Cassidy's sweat-lines brows furrowed deeper, and without another ounce of hesitation he tore the grenade's pin off with his teeth, proceeding then to lob it backwards. Someone shouted, a sound so shrill it almost sounded like a fire alarm, and as the crackling-sound erupted, Cass grabbed your wrist and forced you into a wild sprint across the gravel road. Your boots kicked up dirt as they pounded against the ground, dry air forcing that grime to cling to your clothing in moss-like clumps. Cass didn't break his grip once, forcing you to adopt his relentless pace, and right as you reached your destination, he, with a messy harshness, threw you into the open doorway before himself. A single bullet shot into the open air, whistling like a stock-sound effect, and it forced from your partner a strangled cry as he dove through the doorway. Poisonous panic filled your veins- but it was swiftly knocked out by the cowboy landing unceremoniously on top of you. Every ounce of air was expelled from your lungs in an instant, and your lungs worked overtime to gulp back replacements. Note to self: never, ever expect grace in this job.

"You get hit?" You spoke in an exhale, hands tugging at Cass' belt to drag him and yourself deeper into the wooden building.

"Sure as hell feels like it," He grunted, rolling off you to lean against the wall and examine his left leg; you scrambled up too, wary of the time limitations, and ripped off a strip of your relatively-clean undershirt. Cole's eyes were watching you with an acute intensity, but you were so focused on wrapping his leg that you didn't even notice.

You pulled the shirt-made-bandage into a knot, "No it just skimmed you, lucky since I haven't a clue how to drive a motorbike. Come on cowboy." Upon standing, you tugged Cass up too; in any other moment you would've made fun of the uncharacteristically pathetic whimper that left his throat, but seeing as he'd been shot, you shut up. "You can walk?"

"'Course I can." His gaze met yours as you stood face-to-face, "Whilst it's numb anyway. Come on,"

He lead you out the rustic building's side-entrance, and whilst the wind whipped up the empty town's street, the two of you snuck from house to house until reaching one painted in peeling white. The town itself seemed utterly deserted, a sad old mess really, but it had its charms. That flickering café sign, for example, had a strangely comforting aura about it... Though it was rather hard to enjoy whilst being pursued by a group of bandits. You pressed inside the white building- but Cass grabbed hold of your wrist and held a finger to his lips. There was someone outside, moving as quietly as you, so apparently your pursuers had split up to quicken their search. A smart move. Usually.

You moved on, one tentative foot in front of the other, and when the footsteps outside made it clear that their owner was about to breach the building, you pressed yourself smoothly besides the door, silent, ready. The stranger's cowboy hat poked in first, and with a satisfying 'smack' a moment later, you pistol whipped him into oblivion. Oblivion meaning sleep, of course.

Cassidy flashed you a slightly alarmed smile, "You sure you didn't kill him with that swing?"

"Mm, I'm sure. Maybe next time." He tilted his head in a sort of... Apprehensive approval and pushed you through the door by the small of your back, ushering you along.

"Alright, let's pick up the pace. Not long now." His southern drawl did nothing to add to the urgency, in fact, it did the exact opposite, which tended to be the case so often it had to be purposeful. Sometimes you really did question his attitude to life. It was distinctly casual, distinctly nonchalant as if his life wasn't in danger every week- which it most definitely was. Still... He was skilled, smart in his own way, cute too, if you dared say it. So sticking alongside him wasn't too difficult a task.

The rest of the short journey went quickly and smoothly; the midday sun beat down upon your sweating back whilst objects wavered uncertainly in the distance, but, despite the difficulty scorching heat brought with it, you kept moving. Soon enough you made it to Cassidy's horrendously parked motorbike, wincing as he tested his damaged leg. The dusty cliffs stared down at the two of you, looming but providing little shade, and as the bike spun into motion a figure emerged on a nearby clifftop; your eyes narrowed, your breath stilled, and in a split-second you drew your gun and fired once. The enemy's own bullet skid past your face, bristling past a strand of hair, and they went down with a distant thud as your shot connected with their leg. Your exhale was long as you pressed your head against Cass' back, arms wrapping together around his torso. Safety, you hoped, would come without further fire. Well at any rate, you were much too tired and lazy to pick your gun from its holster again, so maybe you'd be swerving around dodging bullets for the next hour.

"Glad we're on the same side, pumpkin." Cass chuckled, metal arm patting your thigh in congrats, but, despite your laugh, your eyes were trained solely on the dark stain spreading methodically, thread by thread, over your companion's dark jeans.

The ride to the safehouse was calm, breezy even. The wind rushed through your hair, cooling you considerably, a gracious gift in this sweltering heat. Buildings and homes rushed by, each soon becoming a small dot in the background of your picturesque ride. The world and its inhabitants appeared fleetingly, mirages of another life, and you were far more content than you'd like to admit. Freedom encased you, lifted you into higher spirits, and with Cassidy mumbling stupid little stories to the air, this feeling was greatly accentuated. Heaven, in this moment, was completely real to you. Your partner shifted his leg, causing a hitch in his breathing; you looked down through your lashes, cringing against his shoulder as you stared at the drying blood stain. That, perhaps, was not so heavenly.

Luckily, the dusty safehouse was right around the bend. Cass parked outside in his usual sloppy manner, and with his metal arm slung over your sore shoulder, the two of you stumbled inside.

"Alright, sit-" You grunted in exertion, "Right there. I'll grab the medkit." Cassidy collapsed onto the couch, head thrown back in the throes of post-adrenaline-realization. You dashed off, returning near instantaneously, ruby med-kit in hand, and proceeded to settle onto the floor to be in-line with his wound. There was no time to waste, seeing as if this thing got infected it would become a much larger issue. Cass stared down at you through his lashes, watched as you carefully pulled off his armour plating, carefully rolled up his jeans. He hissed through clenched teeth as the reddened edge of the cut hit fresh air.

"Slow down sweet- shit stings more than I thought it would." You obliged, but it's not like you could've kept moving anyway. The bullet had skimmed him at a weird angle, below the knee and not easily accessible. If you'd tried to tug his jeans up further it would probably hurt...

"I think you're gonna have to take your pants off."

"What now?" The instant shock on the cowboy's face was enough to make you double over laughing- and he joined in with that strange chuckle one does when not quite understanding a joke.

Your laughter faded, and you choked out words, "I said you need to take these off," You unrolled the jean leg and pinched it, "I can't get to that cut properly otherwise." You were slightly embarrassed at the words leaving your mouth, but your mind was prioritizing getting this issue dealt with before worrying about strange fantasies. Cass stared down at you, an adorably dumbstruck look plastered on his face, but it was soon replaced with a mild amusement.

"Alright then." His deft fingers moved to unbuckle his belt and the infamous 'BAMF' buckle clinked against itself. "I think 'ure lyin' just to see me half-naked."

"What! You're projecting real hard, Cole." He just chuckled, then shrugged, a wide smile now taking residence on his bearded face. "Stop smiling and take your goddamn pants off!"

"Alright, alright. Yes ma'am." His light eyes flicked to yours with undertones of slight uncertainty, but a sly grin stayed present. It was too infectious- you had to smile back at the stupid man, but, despite all the joking around, you felt an almost teenage nervousness taking hold of your heart.

Cass' belt slid through the loops of his jeans, smoothly, and then clattered to the floor as he discarded it. The button of his jeans came next, popping open with directions from his metal hand, and then his zip slid with a satisfying sound. You realized you were staring, and glanced away, eyes finding perch on some ugly painting you'd never noticed before- Christ it was ugly. Who had thought putting that up was a good idea?

By now Cassidy had shucked off his hat, boots and now stood, kicking off his jeans with all the grace of a three legged dog; he made a low noise through his teeth as the fabric detached from the drying wound. Whilst he was at it he pulled off the armour on his chest, but he treated it with a bit more care than his poor belt. It found perch on the floor, and with that done, he fell back into his comfortable couch position, exhaling in the pleasure of having an un-burdened chest.

He sat now, leaning back with his hands over the back of the couch, in black boxers and a casual undershirt. It's not like you hadn't seen him like this before... You had. Maybe once or twice. But your relationship tended to be relatively professional, relatively business-focused. Whenever, even for the briefest second, it went further, you felt the sharp constrictions of a heart that did not want a 'business relationship'. And that, especially in this economy, was a red flag. A red flag that was on fire and waving around desperately in the desert wind.

His voice pulled you back to reality, "How's it lookin' Doc?"

"Not terrible. Isn't too deep, either." You got up to fetch a little towel from the bathroom, wetted it, and returned to your post. "But it's gonna mess you up for a week or so." The white towel reddened as you brushed it gently over his upper-calf, wetting the tanned skin and blood-speckled hair; your movements were gentle, probably considered by most to be caresses. As you swept directly over the cut he sucked in a harsh breath- but you dared not look up and make eye-contact. You wrapped up the wound after cleaning it thoroughly, round-and-round the bandage went before being tied into a neat little knot. Cass had said barely a word during this process, and, seeing as he usually never shut up, that was rather concerning. Brief, throaty noises of pain were all that came from him; there had never really been a problem of tension between the two of you, but right now, in this odd moment where you lay kneeling on the floor packing up a med-kit in front of a modern-day gunslinger, the air felt thicker than mud. It made you feel something you'd never felt before in this mans presence: self-consciousness. Your kept your eyes to the floor, not looking up once whilst closing the kit- and finally, as you stood and took a fleeting look at your partner, you realized exactly why he was unable to form words.

He was hard.

His entire body was brutally tense. He was no longer slack against the couch but sitting almost completely upright. The only thing giving away his living status was the shallow breathing of his chest. You had no fucking clue what to say or do and, oh god, when he finally met your gaze it felt as though you'd fall right to the ground and pass away. Though, that would be extremely embarrassing, so you avoided it.

You decided to mutter some nonsense, seeing as he was clearly struggling to say anything. "It's... Normal... For that to happen." Was it though? Was it normal to get hard over your friend dressing your painful wound? Probably not.

He cleared his throat, his words coming out strained, "Yeah... I don't-" But he couldn't finish. His head fell, an awkward cringe disappearing with it.

Fucking hell.

You felt a years worth of unrealized fantasy wash over you in a tidal wave; you had to do something, now. Did you want to escalate this thing from a business relationship? You almost laughed at the thought- if this was anything like a business relationship, you wouldn't have been on the floor tending over him like a concerned lover in the first place; he certainly could've dealt with the problem himself. Blood was rushing through your ears and right as Cassidy was about to stand and condemn himself to a torturous bubble of embarrassment- you spoke with stunted words.

"I can help. With that." His face returned from its sullen position, confusion with an edge of shock present on it; his lips moved beneath his beard, attempting to form words, and in this brief silence you were almost overcome with grief at what you'd said. What if it really was normal, and he thought the idea of doing anything with you was preposterous? What if he was chaste as a monk and you had just offended his honour?

"You-" He breathed out a chuckle, finally responding, "You sure 'bout that?"

Relief rushed through you, an antidote to the overthinking, "I'm sure."

Cass looked down, considering something, and returned to your gaze with a newfound intensity. He patted his solid thigh, once, and spoke. "Come on up then, doll."

Fuck it. Everybody's slept with their partner-in-crime-cowboy-friend at least once in their lives.

You were soon straddling the man's thigh; a glint of amusement twinkled in your eyes as his hips shifted, his clothed cock twitching at the two of you making contact. Now inches apart, you slipped your fingers under his shirt and smoothed over the chiseled skin, lust-clouded eyes searching his for approval, and an ocean of it you found. His gaze flicked to your partially-open lips, then back up, then down again, and as your fingers brushed over his needy cock- he pressed his lips against yours with a moan, beard scratching against you in a strangely endearing manner. Images of previous nights alone flashed in your mind, now surrounded by a mocking aura- this could've been yours long ago. You freed him from his confines as his tongue met yours, cock hot and heavy against your palm. Cass' metal hand met your waist whilst the other clenched at the couch, veins flexing at the strain. That was the part of him you loved the most, you thought, his strong hands that treated you and you alone with so much tenderness.

Your own hand begun its motions almost automatically, stroking his throbbing cock at a withheld, teasing pace. Unfortunately, during this, you had to pull from his wild kiss for a gasping breath. His gaze was burning through you, half-lidded and desperate; it was like being in the direct view of a God, a being so important that you felt the urge to dedicate more than you could offer, to offer everything to him. Strings of praises left his pretty lips, 'keep goin', princess' his eyes now screwed up in an almost painful expression of wavering ecstasy. You withdrew your hand from his cock for a millisecond to spit into your palm, and his eyes re-opened to investigate the interruption.

He was so gorgeous you could cry.

The perfect hair, framing the perfect face with the perfect nose, the messy beard and perfectly intense eyes. You pressed against him another chain of brief kisses whilst wrapping your fingers around him, one at a time. On impulse he bucked into them with a shuddering groan that shot right to your core; the look on his pleasure-drunk face was so erotic you truly thought it alone might make you cum. As if hearing your thoughts, he bounced his thigh, a gasp spilling from your lips at the shock of friction against your clit.

You quickened your pace, deft fingers wrapped tight around his cock and moving in quick pumps. Your thumb pressed thickly against the head of his dick, a bead of pre-cum slipping over your fingers as he threw his head back with a indiscernible curse; the pride that filled you over having this strong man come apart at your ministrations was immeasurably sweet, immeasurably tantalizing. You moved closer, pressing against his tanned neck a line of wet kisses, hand pumping his cock desperately fast and forcing from his throat a string of grunts as he grew closer and closer to his peak. More broken words stumbled and fell from his lips, 'jus' like that, keep goin''. He was rutting up into your hand now, apprehension and control gone to the wind; his expression was in the throes of pleasure, eyebrows arched, wet lips parted absently. He met your eyes through his dark lashes, a weak smirk finding perch on his expression; he looked so utterly wrecked by a mere handjob, shaggy hair a complete mess against the couch, and at once it hit you that all those lingering glances and touches were far, far from those of a concerned friends. The thought of him yearning for this, yearning for your touch, made your thighs clench with unreserved arousal; by now your panties were soaked, but not for one second did you think of anything besides Cassidy. You kept moving, hand tugging from the base of his thick cock to the head, and he kissed you again, hard, moaning into your mouth whilst he twitched in your hand. Finally- his firm hips stuttered as he spilled hot cum over your fingers and his own dark shirt. You hummed in approval against his mouth, soon after pulling away for pesky air. Cass meanwhile let his head fall back against the couch, chest heaving against that much-too-tight shirt of his. Feeling rather bold, you raised your hand to your lips as his gaze re-emerged through his lashes and licked his mess from your fingers- his instant response came as a groan and a firm slap against your thigh.

"Can't say that's how I imagined us endin' up in this situation.." He sighed, contently, but tiredly.

"What's that supposed to mean?" You asked, pressing another chain of hot kisses against his neck as he tucked himself back into his boxers.

"Thought maybe I'd rescue you or somethin', have you profess 'ure undying love." He was grinning... But something told you that this was an actual macho fantasy of his.

"Well, there's always next time cowpoke." You rolled off his thigh, settling onto the couch beside him. "How are we gonna explain to everyone that this is how we got together?"

Cass chuckled, mumbling something about the night not being over, and reached over to grab his hat and settle it onto your head. You glanced over, confused- but the look in his eyes said more than any words could.

#cole cassidy x reader #overwatch x reader #overwatch x you #overwatch smut #overwatch imagines #cassidy x reader #cole cassidy smut

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boobav · 2 years

Text

An ocean of freedom

Albert Wesker x Reader

content: gross zombies, canon-typical violence, wesker is an asshole so kinda angsty

word count: 5.8k

"So, let me get this straight, you're telling me there's been sightings of Lisa out in the mountains? Security executed her three years ago Jared that's definitely some- I don't know, bigfoot situation." With folded arms you stared at your co-worker, a rather uninterested look dulling your features.

"Look Doctor, I'm not saying I believe it but I just thought it was worth mentioning. Just in case, you know? Maybe it isn't Lisa but some of the virus could've gotten out. Maybe something really is out there! That could jeopardize our entire operation!" Well, he certainly sounded convicted.

"I hear you, I do. I'll look into it when I've got the time. Now leave, I'm busy."

"Alright, thank you." The underling stood from the chair opposite yours and walked off, glancing back once and smiling the way a dog does before it vomits. Somehow throughout your years of working for Umbrella, you'd acquired the unenjoyable role of comforting various researchers through their moments of acute paranoia. Maybe it was the friendly voice, maybe it was the tendency to say what people wanted to hear so they'd shut up. Well... Whatever it was, it brought irritating people to your door every other day. Why should you give a shit that this level-three-clearance researcher thinks the cerberus is gonna maul him to death? That's his problem, not yours.

With a sigh, you lean forward and shuffle up to your worn desk; a pile of papers was laid neatly atop it, demanding your attention more than anything else in the pearl-white room. The contents of this pile included multiple topics, but the main one was feedback from B.O.W tests- hunters, cerberus', general T-virus patients. You'd gotten through half the grueling paperwork earlier this morning, but the stack was still gargantuan and had the strange power of draining all your motivation as soon as it came into vision. Unfortunately, putting it off wasn't as option as you had the executive task of going over results, analyzing anomalies, noting them and then compiling these rough manuscripts into literate articles for the higher-ups. A pen reluctantly found its way into your hand but first, a sharp knock at the door.

"Come in."

The door flicks open, an action entirely lacking in hesitation or self-consciousness. Sunglasses come first- and a mix of dread and deep, uncomfortable anticipation fills you slowly, almost painfully slow, like thick cement filling a crevice in the pavement. But besides all that... He can't have gotten suspicious already, right? You'd only been a part of S.T.A.R.S. for... Well a month or two... Oh please don't be suspicious already that throws a wrench in-

"I saw that paranoid man come in a moment ago. What did he say?" Wesker approached your desk, but he did not sit. Instead, he stood perfectly still with a dark folder tucked under his arm and a lab-coat slung over the same limb; all the energy in the room seemed loyal to him rather than you, a disturbing feeling seeing as it was your office. The fluorescent lighting did nothing to change the immediate dark mood, but nevertheless, his simple words should've snuffed the rawness into professionalism- under ordinary circumstances. But, unfortunately, the past's gloved hands were thick, its tight grip bruising, and its tongue harsh.

Your planned words were stilted, unfit for your drying mouth as your superior stood staring. Or, perhaps, glaring. It was impossible to tell.

"Well... He says there's been sightings of something in the woods." Keeping eye-contact with a glassed gaze was difficult, you thought, "Apparently there's been rumours it's Lisa."

"How many people believe this?" His toneless voice ran straight to the point, as per usual; it seemed you were the only one with a throbbing heart and tightened throat. Wesker's presence was continuing to prove itself unbearable, licks of condescension in his words infuriating.

"How should I know? Go out and ask the senior researchers individually."

"Isn't that supposed to be your job? Compiling useful information?" The sarcasm. The ignorance. The goddamn sunglasses. It took all the power in your body not to lunge over the desk and wrangle the blonde to the floor. His perfectly framed face, not a hair loose, his straight-stick posture... All of it made him more and more insufferable.

Upon your lack of response, a brief, unmoving silence fell. However, to stay under his reticent scrutiny any longer would have been mental torture- so you forced your mouth to part, accommodating thick words that pressed weightily against your tongue.

"Only partially, but you already knew that. Can you leave now?"

"I want you to compile me a list of the researchers who believe Lisa is still alive and I want it by next week."

"Why?"

"None of your concern." He took a single step closer and dropped the folder he had atop your desk, sending a pencil flying off onto the floor somewhere. "I want your opinion on this."

"Pah, you want my opinion on something? Very funny Wesker, but give it to an intern."

"I'm serious." He stood for a brief moment, perhaps giving you some unseen look, before turning and leaving the same way he'd come- no hesitation or longing anywhere to be seen. That probably should've been disheartening, but with him gone it felt as though a relief as heavy as a raging waterfall had fallen upon your shoulders. Well anyway, you must've looked horrendously dumbfounded, but this was a horrendously dumbfounding situation. Wesker, asking for your opinion rather than Birkin's? An incomprehensible miracle had just graced your presence, and now you were curious.

With the tension forgotten, you swept paperwork aside and slid the black folder up front. It wasn't very thick, but that made it feel all the more important. A small treasure trove of classified information felt like a Christmas present every time it was received; you flicked open the folder and peered inside its charcoal shell. And oh, a beautiful treasure trove it was! It seemed as though the Tyrant program had had some recent successes, surprising seeing as the possibility of one bonding with the virus and evolving into a Tyrant was astronomically low. You read on, trying to locate the part that Wesker was curious about... And after a moment or two, it became clear.

One of the test subjects had reacted well to the first dose, but after a few more trials the half-Tyrant began growing bulbous orange eyes around its body, and eventually they incapacitated the budding creature entirely. It sat on the floor immobile as sludge, all the while sprouting more and more clusters of eyes. As you read on, it seemed that these eyes were a point of weakness for the burgeoning creature as it yowled when they were stabbed. Hmm... What did you make of this? You'd let the information settle and get back to Wesker at the S.T.A.R.S. office the day after tomorrow. The dread was already prematurely creeping in.

Paperwork gets done, reports get filed and now you prepare to leave the Arklay Laboratory; the night around you is cold, secretive and enhanced by the surrounding trees that block out even the moon's gaze. On-field research, observation and experimentation were the highlights of your career, but without these dull days the great ones would not be possible. Umbrella needed to keep a rope around its researchers, its cattle, and that rope was a noose pressed right against their talkative throats, held taut by you. This role of yours was part of the reason you needed to check up on researchers and keep things in order, keep things secret. Not that you were exempt from having a noose around your neck- no, not at all, but yours was considerably looser than the majorities. Even so... If Umbrella wanted to hang you or anyone else in its grasp, it could do so easily. This fact lay at the forefront of your mind, currently unreconciled with, simply acknowledged and occasionally thought on. Did you want to get out of Umbrella- have an ocean of freedom rather than a lake of it?

You packed up your things and left through the mansion, boarding the bus leading back to the city with a handful of other employees.

Upon arrival, you observed that your home was still orderly, just as it had been left; you felt paranoia ooze out from your system like pus, and then dissipate entirely. You shucked your coat off, threw your keys in their bowl and slipped off your laced shoes. Tomorrow, a day off, and the next day an unfulfilling drag at the S.T.A.R.S. office. Umbrella must be seriously out of their minds thinking that if, and this is a big if, Wesker was plotting something he'd somehow slip and reveal it at that dull police station. They'd placed you as Alpha team's medic for the sole purpose of spying on your superior, watching his every move and relaying back anything suspect. A double agent of sorts, right in plain sight.

And so far, you'd relayed absolutely nothing.

This, of course, didn't mean Wesker wasn't planning anything. He could be a brilliant actor, or fantastic at covering tracks; you already knew the former was true, so the latter was not implausible. Nevertheless, all the knowledge you'd gained on him so far had lead you to one, big, fat conclusion: he was an asshole. An asshole with a great mind, yes, but working around him almost 24/7 had begun forcing him into your mind more than was enjoyable, like a parasite digging its claws into where it doesn't belong.

But not belonging somewhere doesn't equate to being unwanted.

Anyway, disregarding certain regrettable events, he was your co-worker, your superior. Umbrella could protect you should things go sour and he want you removed from his presence entirely, but staying relatively cordial was in your best interest. At least for now. At least until you had something concrete, something tangible proving his suspected misdeeds. The thought crossed your mind, that perhaps you weren't seeing anything wrong in his actions because you yourself didn't believe in these Umbrella conspiracies; what could Wesker possibly have against them? They gave him almost infinite funding for his research and more than infinite leniency for his disagreeable tendencies. There was definitely something other than his brain that was valuable to Umbrella... Otherwise, they wouldn't be putting so much effort into watching and monitoring him with you acting as an extra pair of eyes, an extension of Umbrella itself.

After various nightly rituals, you retreated to bed, head swimming yet perfectly content to rest. Rest you did, untroubled as a rock. The morning soon arrived, sun peering through your half-closed blinds and caressing your exposed skin.

You leant up against the bed's headboard, pinching your eyes free of their morning film and attempting to discard the grog in your mind. Sleep was becoming increasingly difficult to enjoy, feeling a bit like a recurring holiday destination... Especially with a certain annoyance consistently plaguing ludicrous dreams.

A ping from the left alerted your attention, your work phone, brick thing that it was, had gone off over a dozen times through the night.

"Ughm- what now?" Upon seeing the screen, your nonchalance was replaced with wide-eyed and pulsing concern- something terrible had gone down at Arklay Laboratory overnight and it seemed not a single soul was privy to the details. There were emails and texts from higher-ups desperately trying to get ahold of you, desperately trying to ascertain whether you, currently one of their most precious assets, were safe at home or dead in the lab.

You replied to everyone individually with a brief message saying, 'I'm alive, what is happening?' with slight variations each time, variations that became increasingly impatient. Someone who'd clearly been up all night pinged you back quickly, assuring you it was now under control and to stay far away from Arklay. What? How could they possibly have anything under control if you couldn't even go to the mansion? A tear of anger directed towards your employers ripped through your chest- bullshit it was under control! Did Umbrella forget how much incriminating evidence against them was scattered about that mansion? Did they forget how many files had your name printed (in bold) on the front?

Another few texts were sent and you repeatedly received the exact same answer. Sit tight and go to the S.T.A.R.S. office tomorrow as usual, plans were underway and evidence was being gathered, recorded if important and the rest destroyed with great attention to detail. The doubt, heavy like a drug in your system, was making your hands and neck clammy, so you showered and then went on an unsuccessfully calming walk to try clear your head.

And so a tense day began to pass. Your misery and anxiety was propelled onto your surroundings: the sky's warm blue hue now seemed dull and mocking, the pleasant lights of the city now blinding and irritating. Even the buildings themselves seemed to be looming in on you, reminding you of the world you'd lose if your involvement with Umbrella's shade got out into the public eye. The outside became so unbearable that you decided to just return home and stare at a wall, pondering how your existence would be in prison.

Once night fell and shadows themselves began to mock your spirits, you closed your eyes and fell into a dreamless sleep that was interrupted every hour or so by an overwhelming revelation that had the strength to overpower sleep itself. These revelations were consistently mortifying, for example the fact that even if the mansion was set alight, the lab would most likely be protected and later discovered. This would lead to your immediate downfall. Another even more worrying revelation was the fact that if you didn't get satisfactory assurance from Wesker tomorrow, you'd have to venture down into those labyrinth woods and save your own goddamn career.

God, why the fuck were you still working for these people? One change of the rota- one change making you work today instead of yesterday would've meant certain and unavoidable death. The stunning realization that you had barely any idea of who 'these people' really were strengthened this new, defiant resolve of yours.

Eventually the clock ticked 6am and you almost levitated up from your bed; you'd get to the office early and ask 'Captain' Wesker about this situation without the prying ears of other teammates. Sweat had drenched your back overnight so you hopped into the shower once again; standing under the harsh flow of water did not alleviate any of your suffering, but sitting on the tiled floor with your knees up to your chin like a child did. Doubts and regrets piled atop you; was staying with Umbrella worth it? What could you even do if it wasn't? You bathed in the shade, but the shade brought the risk of being killed outside the light, outside the sun's gaze if your life was deemed unnecessary.

Fuck.

The city was bustling even at this raw hour, but the hope for answers made your projective outlook slightly less negative. The blue sky was blue, and the buildings were simply buildings.

As you arrived, you noted that the police station was empty, a surreal husk of a usually-busy location with emptiness accentuated by the old, grand architecture. Straight to the S.T.A.R.S. office you went, lonely shoes clicking against the hard floor in a rushed manner. No voices accompanied your short, artificially-lit journey and the story was the same inside the office itself; the lights buzzed to life as you flicked the switch and wandered inside, looking slightly as a lost pet does. A fresh tinge of anxiety ran through your heart as you stood by Wesker's door, but you pushed it aside and knocked once, twice.

"Come in."

And so you did.

His desk was quite bare, lacking in personal oddities most have. A pen there, a stack of papers here. He leant back in his chair, arms folded over a shallowly rising chest. Sunglasses, for once, were slipped into his blue shirt instead of being worn. His countenance, still and straight as always. A flutter of irritation and something more unutterable flew through you.

"You know why I'm here, and my patience is already running out with Umbrella's secrecy. What's going on at Arklay?"

He said nothing immediately, hard-set eyes diving into your own and resolving to stay there. Shadows wrapped around his face and yours, the light of the day being dull as it was this time of the year. Even though you were stood and he sat, it seemed the power in the claustrophobia-inducing room encircled him rather than you again; it made your heart patter, but you stayed steadfast in the silence.

"If you're not privy to that information, why do you assume that I am?"

"Don't bullshit me." A scowl crawled onto your face and he made a dull noise somewhere between a scoff and a laugh. His cold blue eyes kept on yours, and for a small second a flash of consideration, of thoughtfulness spread through them- the first real emotion you'd been able to discern in a long while.

"I suppose it wouldn't be beneficial to hide this from you. There was a leak at the laboratory and it appears there are no survivors." He paused, attentive to each twitch of your features. "Does this soothe your curiosity?"

"No it doesn't. Wesker, do you have any idea how much incriminating shit on me is in that lab?" At this point you were pacing, "Can you even comprehend how bad this would be for me, no- for us, everyone, if this got out? If even a fraction of it got out!"

"An overreaction."

"Oh fuck you!" You slammed a hand against his desk, pointing a finger accusatorily as he finally stood, "How can you be so flippant with something of this magnitude?"

"Have you forgotten who you're talking to, Doctor?" His rich voice held threat, narrowed eyes growing increasingly closer and holding more offerings of venom. Your breaths were shallow waves, controlled somewhat, and on the brink of gracing your superiors face; now leaning over the desk, the distance between the two of you was minimal and would've continued shrinking without oak intervention. You shoved your finger into his chest, but he did not flinch, nor furrow his brows, nor move at all as people tend to do when under scrutiny.

"Oh I haven't forgotten a single thing. I am done with your bullshit Wesker. I'm going back there and dealing with this myself I-"

"You guys alright in there?" Chris Redfield spoke from behind the door, alerting you to the precarious situation you'd thrown yourself into; there had been absolutely no reason to tell of your plan, and you felt curses rising up your throat like bile.

Closing your eyes, you paused- breathing, thinking. No need for further rashness.

But your attempt at turning away was intercepted as Wesker grabbed your jaw, gloved hand forcing you back into his proximity; your stomach flipped, and your heart jumped.

"Don't do anything stupid." His fingers clenched against your skin, "Or I'll have to deal with it personally."

The urge to spit in his flawless face was overwhelming, but you pulled away- a fly escaping from a spiders web. Chris was waiting on the other side of the door, watching with an arched brow as you slammed it behind you; he trailed you to the desks, hovering nearby as if preparing some kind of speech in his great big soldier brain. You fell to your chair, pinching the bridge of your nose as though wringing out anger. Sadly, your state of being was not as easy to control as a towel's.

Chris stepped over, leaning against your desk by the hip.

"I know he's an ass sometimes... But he's a great captain, trust me. You'll get used to him soon." Ah, another fly stuck in the web of lies and deceit. You glanced to Chris' bright, well-meaning eyes and felt sorrow for him for the first time. To you, he appeared as a stray animal, one too trusting and one who'd been reluctantly taken in by an owner who'd get rid of him next week.

"You don't know the half of it Redfield."

The day slogged on and by the end, your conviction was clear as the sky above. You would go to the laboratory. After that, you were completely and utterly done with Umbrella. Perhaps you'd run to another company, perhaps you'd run to another country. The plan wasn't fully formulated, hypothesis muddled and two-tailed, but it was there, murky and unfinished. And so, as the blackness faded from the sky and bars of pink, orange then blue replaced it, you awoke with purpose. No way you were gonna let yourself get dragged down into the muck, the mud that Umbrella enjoyed dancing in. Maybe it was irrational... But you felt as though this was only the beginning. And so- you needed to act fast.

You slipped on warm clothes, an extra layer of skin, and holstered a handgun to your side beneath your thick jacket- a measured precaution. Along with the gun, you strapped a hunting knife to your thigh, similarly hidden beneath your coat.

The drive to the mountains felt grave, a disconcerting stillness in the world passing by. Contained in the box that was your car were your own bubbling feelings, mainly of tittering anxiety and occasional, but thick, doubt. The radio began flickering in and out, buzzing like an irritating fly the closer you got to the mountains, so you rotated the knob to silence. Accompanied by nothing but your own thoughts made the car feel more like a cage, so you cracked down a window and let air whistle through; said air became thin, thinner yet as you ascended the mountains and began the bumpy off-road path towards the mansion. The finalé of the trip was horrible, stomach jumping as the wheels rolled over hives in the dirt path. Tall trees watched your journey, looming over and reaching as if curious at the unexpected intrusion. Their dark spines were thick, constant and capable of blocking out the sun completely; time along here was no longer a resolute rule of the world, but a loose, fleeting suggestion. Eventually, the mansion became visible through the thicket, so you parked a short distance away in a clearing. The floor here was made consistently of pine and shrubbery blanketing soft dirt. Whilst you walked, the recurring thought that whatever you were attempting to accomplish today had a very low likelihood of success arrived once more. Nevertheless, you had to try something, anything, so that the biting paranoia could be tamed.

The doors to the mansion were heavy, two thick slabs of oak pressed against each-other and surrounded by ornamented stone. Upon entering, a coil of stillness wrapped around your heart and steadied its vigorous pumping; you were half-expecting to be greeted by trains of blood with mutilated bodies at their bases, but instead, there was nothing. Silence and emptiness. As an icy cool settled over your soul, you thought that perhaps this absence was worse than your brimming expectation. There was a glimpse of movement in the corner of your eye- up the stairs and to the left. Whatever it was it had come and gone in a moment, leaving not a single sound behind as if it were one of those shadow-people humanity had the tendency to see. Perhaps it was. But nevertheless, it snatched away your attention, its unintentional beckoning too tantalizing to resist. You walked along the aged red carpet, ascended the stairs, turned left and continued down the weathered path, eyes flicking constantly to painting, to drawer, to wall and to painting again. But there were no anomalies. There was merely dead silence, broken singularly by your flat footsteps.

And then all of a sudden a cry- no, a screech, and then a blur was lunging at you from an open doorway to the left, flayed hands coming into vision first. The fingernails were rotten, presumably flimsy, and the fingers themselves were peeling with chunks of skin missing, revealing the decaying muscle beneath. You threw yourself back, barely having time to recover steady footing as the decrepit thing began ambling towards you; it made a grappling motion but missed, and another, which missed again. The rhythmic, angry pounding of your heart continued on as you gained distance, but your mind steadied somewhat as clarity pumped through you like blood. The leak must've come at a terrible time to have infected up in the halls already, you noted.

You gripped your handgun, fingers stiff as if you'd been the one subjected to rigor mortis instead of this stumbling, rotting creature. Your first shot ran by its neck, discoloured flesh tearing with ease; the next shot pierced right between the eyes and sent the thing flopping to the carpeted floor. A professional sternness had settled into the ridges, the curves and wrinkles of your face, deep-set as though it had always been there. The corpse, as you stepped beside it, was face down and omitting a repugnant stench almost incomparable to anything you'd ever smelt before; besides, of course, a dead body. Except this one was reanimated, and apparently that meant extra spice.

For good measure, you kicked it and waited a moment for further reanimation; an irrational part of you thought it would rise straight up again as if controlled on strings by a mastermind above. Perhaps, you regarded this thought with a lightly amused huff, Umbrella deemed themselves that mastermind, but their control of the strings was becoming tenuous at best.

"Fuck this..." You mumbled, stepping back over the body and back towards the entrance hall; paintings leered as you passed, and during one moment your attention was so fixated upon one that you bumped a table corner and sent a vase flying to the ground. It smashed, you jumped, and then moved on.

As you re-entered the dusty hall a fresh dose of dread ran up your spine; anxiety crackled through your chest anew like a firework, although at first glance it appeared that nothing had changed in your absence. But the instinctual caution that was possessing your body suggested otherwise; you thought this irrational, though. Plan was, you'd grab that framed photo from the dining hall, then go straight to the lab. It seemed you could outrun these patients well enough, so that's what would be done. But right then, as you reached the center of the hall, another monstrous noise split through the air. This time, less of a cry and more of a snarl, a deep, animal snarl; your reaction was much too late- by the time you'd turned the beast had already lunged, knocking you down as its front paws dug into your abdomen. Without time to think your hands flew up automatically, grappling with the cerberus' snapping jaw, holding it open and away from your face as far as possible (which wasn't very far at all). Its teeth, each a miniature knife, were hard to grip due to the excess saliva coating them and giving them a slimy outer shell and its fur was ragged, blood-soaked and disgusting to grip; the saliva was, simultaneously, dropping onto your face and neck in thick, frothy globs. Shit- you couldn't reach that goddamn knife at this angle! And though your mind worked quickly, increasingly desperate to end the struggle, a new snarl, and then a bark, sounded from beside- another decrepit dog had appeared.

Your mind was immediately thrown into a plunge pool of dread, deepening every millisecond of awareness.

The wide majority would perhaps see the tiny sliver of life remaining to them as an opportunity to pray and repent- but in a moment of resilience, you did not. You hurriedly withdrew one hand from the maw of the beast and wrenched out your gun, shooting with grit teeth at the newer cerberus; the first two shots were mere scrapes but the third sent it to the floor beside your face. Stench invaded your flared nostrils and the strength needed to hold back the cerberus atop you was waning drastically; soreness filled your forearm like pins and just as you cried out with a final surge of adrenaline, an unexpected shot came from the right, and the monster went limp.

For a short second, you lay perfectly still, the weight of the double-corpse atop your chest making breathing difficult. Blood was rushing through your ears, hands, mouth and your throbbing pulse could be felt on every inch of skin. A complete stillness fell, and you closed your eyes, racing brain coming to the conclusion that whatever had just happened had been an intervention from Jesus himself; the almighty had saved you due to your valuable mind, your ideas having not yet reached their prophesized value.

But Jesus Christ did not go around blasting heretic creatures to death with a gun. Well, not in the first coming at least.

Your eyes reopened, meeting the screened gaze of your captain, your fellow researcher and blight of the earth Albert Wesker. A mixture of joy, dread, suspicion and something familiarly unutterable filled your cavernous chest as you sat up and pushed the disgusting dog from your lap. There were a few explanations for his appearance, you thought whilst wiping saliva from your face. One, he'd come on orders of Umbrella to evaluate the situation, but this seemed unlikely seeing as they had soldiers for the job; why risk a valuable virologist's life? Two, he suspected that you'd be here and decided on a whim to save your life. Unlikely.

Three, Umbrella was entirely right to suspect misconduct. A silence settled, broken only by your shuffling and the rain that had begun knocking at the windows. Tension, thick as wool, rose and the roots of it were unspeakably obvious; you stood, the urge to leave clashing violently with the urge to stay.

"Why are you here?" Were all the words your tongue could form.

"I expected a thank you before the questioning." He sighed, a rather disingenuous thing, "I'm under the impression you'd have been mauled to death without my interference." He took one step closer, and you took one step back. Suddenly, you became aware of the fact you'd dropped your gun in the scuffle- but as you reached down for it Wesker advanced further, forcing you to continue backwards as he kicked your weapon across the smooth floor. Your back hit something hard- the ornate banister of the stairs, you guessed. Its circularity pressed uncomfortably against you like two incongruous puzzle pieces. His hands were idle at his sides as he stood before you, but the threat of the gun in his grip was not lost. There should've been nothing but fear, concern and dread in your system- but the warmth of old reverence was alarmingly present.

"I'm not here to play games with you. I have a proposition that would be beneficial for the both of us." His bass voice held no current belittlement and his gaze was hot despite being behind shades; you felt yourself unconsciously shrink back but quickly fixed that posture, hands coming forward instead of being curled around the banister. No! You couldn't fall to your knees so easily again, submitting to lies and deceit as though that lesson hadn't been learnt already- burnt inside you already. The knife wrapped around your thigh felt mocking.

"And that is?" Your voice did not waver, but if you had said more it probably would have. Another step forward and he was directly in front of you, leaning over like one does to a stationary art piece. He removed his sunglasses, head tilting lightly.

"Umbrella has failed you once, but it has failed me many times." He leant in now, dangerously close to your face, "I know they put you on the team to watch me. Only an utter fool would miss such a blatant move." Contempt was finally evident in his deep tone, but perhaps more than that- a mocking. Another step forward, and now, there was nothing but an inch separating your body from his; your gaze was averted, but your figure did not decline his physical invitation. Curses materialized in your throat once again, thick and prodding. "But I can move on from previous transgressions. Question is, can you?"

Your hand hovered close to the knife.

"So far I'm hearing nothing of value. What do I gain from this deal of yours, if anything?"

A devilish curl came upon his lips, encasing his face in its habitual aura of superiority. After a humorless chuckle left them, his free hand moved quick, quicker than yours could, and his ungloved fingers wrapped around your thigh, squeezing through the material of your knife's holster; he tore its velcro apart and tossed it with a clang to the floor, deft fingers proceeding to ghost over the plump skin. At the same time, he slipped his own weapon away and used the newly free hand to hold your chin; the grip was completely ungentle, instead, rough, hard against you.

"I thought it sensible to get rid of that first." The impish smirk remained- God, he was utterly intolerable. You smacked his grip away, reversing the roles and seizing his sculpted jaw with a similar lack of kindness; your back arched against the wood, and his clothed abdomen met yours.

"What do you want me to do?" The embers of desire for this traitor were not ones to be stoked. In fact, you definitely should be attempting to stamp them out, eradicate them with long-standing knowledge. But with this treacherous man now pressed against you, hands finding their way to your waist, you felt your resolve crumble as background, nefarious and plotting thoughts returned to the foreground of your conscious.

"The public is going to demand for police action once the virus spreads further. Once we get deployed, I'll get rid of everything besides what we need. Destroying Umbrella would be an interesting career note, don't you think?"

This was gearing up to be the worst decision of your entire life. And yet, the will to deny it was not present. The real query was: how long could your fallen allegiance with Umbrella stick with its new host?

"You'll destroy everything in the lab? All the evidence?" You ran a finger over his jawline, thoughts of contrast and concern ruling over your mind. Like a pet, the inclination to follow was immense, crushing, but with the gift of intelligence you knew this urge to be dangerous, idiotic even.

"Of course." His lips ghosted over your own; your eyes, two whirling pools of confliction, glanced to them, but he pulled away and let you go before any sweet contact swerved you into an entirely pleasant opinion. Wesker reached into his breast-pocket, pulling from it a laminated photo that became clear as he held it for your viewing. "I'll keep this as insurance. Nothing to concern yourself over."

The redness drained from your face nearly as quickly as the delusional fondness did from your chest. The photo was of Umbrella senior researchers on the first day of the Arklay laboratory opening; you were right in the center, glowing, smiling. Your expression now was the complete opposite of that young virologist's who you'd been, once.

Fresh anger cut through your soul- more at yourself than the traitor; humiliation cut into you, the painting's scattered around ridiculed you, and deep inside you knew your fate in life had already been sealed. You snatched up Wesker's jaw again, nails sinking into his skin as you pulled his flawless face right up to yours, lips on the utter brink of touch as you seethed,

"One mistake is I'll need. One! And I'll always be watching, waiting for that opportunity. I hope for your sake you don't start getting complacent- because I assure you, I won't."

#albert wesker x reader #wesker x reader #resident evil x reader #resident evil headcanons #resident evil imagines

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boobav · 2 years

Text

Rookie

Revenant x reader

content: blood, canon-typical violence, evil robot threats, kinda angsty

word count: 3.2k

Beads of sweat slip down your face, onto your jaw and then down your neck, meeting the already-damp collar of your shirt and wetting it further. Your grip on the R-99 nestled between your clammy hands is tight and unrelenting, but your mind lacks the same level of dexterity. You're a rookie to the games, to the psychological effect they have on participants, morphing their minds into ones belonging to more primitive creatures... But you're not a rookie in R-99 usage. And for that you were thankful.

Explosions sound around your tiny hidey-hole as you press your back more firmly against the steel wall; you were currently on the second floor of a shabby hut on Worlds Edge, carefully watching the stairs and straining your ears for any incoming footsteps. They occasionally patted around outside like wolves, but so far in this hectic game of life or death, nobody had pounced and discovered you. Round three, and still there were so many people left, mercilessly fighting outside for a chance to win the Apex Games, writhing and flailing against one another piteously. You felt slightly pitiful yourself for staying up here instead of joining the fight(s) outside, but both your teammates were no longer with you. The chance of dominating the enemies outside was close to 0%, if not that exact number.

Your heart hammered against your chest as gunfire and arcstar explosions continued. You were in a pretty good position inside the ring, but that introduced the risk of another squad barging in and displacing you, if not killing you outright. This, you worried, was inevitable, but the fighting was almost immediately outside so silently slipping away seemed too risky to attempt. No matter what plans formulated behind your tired eyes, you felt already that your fate was sealed. Perhaps this was the consequence of risking your entire life for money. Perhaps this was the consequence of having no other options left to turn to.

Your teammates, where were they again? Oh, right. One was some irrelevant rookie like you (John? Jack? You couldn't remember his name) who had sacrificed his life in a vain attempt for fame and fortune. He'd been shot and promptly bled to death mid-game, thinking he could take on a whole squad whilst you and your other teammate had fled the scene due to your terrible, low-ground position. Said other teammate was the infamous Revenant, less than happy to have been paired with two idiots who were clearly incompetent. The two of you had been split up about an hour ago and lost contact thirty minutes later. You guessed he'd done that on purpose as, admittedly, you'd been a burden the entire game. At least, retrospectively, you thought so. Well on the bright side, you weren't dead like your other teammate James. Or was his name Jones?

An explosion right outside your door shook you from your reverie, your slack grip tightening once again. Footsteps smacked against the roof above you, below you and generally around you. A shape- no, a head appeared as its owner clambered up the stairs, blood dripping from their dark hairline; your eyes widened, jaw clenched further, regret for a deed undone already filling your veins. But you couldn't hesitate further. You emerged from the darkness, scowl pressed deeply into your skin as you pushed away from the wall, aimed down-sights and sprayed bullets against the enemy who only had a moment to swivel and notice you. By the time they'd processed what they were looking at, you'd sprayed their body with light bullets and left them limp and flopping down the stairs, clattering down each step with a mildly annoying 'clap' at repeating intervals. No more noise was heard once they'd dropped off the final step; they were dead.

A sound akin to scraping metal yet slightly off-tune rattled behind you, and before you could turn- a voice.

"Nice shot. Although, I was kind of hoping you'd be dead by now, skinsuit." You swiveled to meet the tone, gun raised in preparation to whack the owner over the head as soon as the first deep syllable was uttered, but upon seeing who had spoken, your guard dropped instantly... Perhaps foolishly fast. Revenant caught your wrist, bone-like metallic fingers crushing your delicate skin.

"Oh- God, sorry. I'm jumpy. Where have you been?" You met the glowing orange gaze of your teammate whilst attempting to retract your arm, but he didn't let go. Footsteps still patted above your head, but thankfully the enemies above were engaged in a long and intense firefight which forced them to ignore your scuffle beneath them. Your free arm was shaking, shuddering even, mainly due to your kill, but Revenant held your trapped arm perfectly still. He said nothing, and so you spoke again. "Can I have my arm back now?" The simulacrum responded by moving in closer to you, forcing you backwards against the wall you'd been cowering against for the past ten minutes. His eyes shone in the darkness, but not in the comforting way a light tends to shine. His face grew ever closer, but there was no breath, no heartbeat, nothing human to seek comfort in. He inhaled, a long, sharp hissing noise that sounded like a strange imitation of the human action.

"What would you do if I said no? Fight, or run?" He hummed, not in a questioning way, but instead in an introspective fashion. "I could rip your hand clean off in an instant. Tendons, bones and all in one messy tear. Do you know how much blood a human body can lose before it keels over and dies?"

His grip on your wrist did not tighten nor loosen. Your nerves felt like they were frying, your chest felt as though a demonic hag was sat upon it draining your life force. For a brief moment, you were so overwhelmed that you prayed to God to end you right then and there so you did not have to deal with this murderous robot, and moreover your murderous self. But thankfully a less dull part of your spirit was less dramatic.

"...Maybe you could ask that guy down at the bottom of the stairs?". A pathetic attempt at humour maybe. But somehow it made Revenant bark out a very disingenuous and plain 'ha' and drop your wrist; you recoiled, holding the bruising limb to your chest whilst shuffling away from your 'teammate'.

A brief silence followed, but you spoke instead of prolonging it, just in case Revenant decided to threaten you more. "Anyway I've been under the impression you've been dead for half an hour. What happened?" Another, slightly less dull laugh left his mouth (mouth being inaccurate, as his did not move. Voicebox?) in response. Hearing laughter from a creature without a moving mouth is surprisingly disturbing, you noted. In your mind, a robot's mouth was supposed to light up to indicate speech, but you weren't sure where that idea came from since all your experiences in life had denied its validity.

"I wish." He paused momentarily. "I've been enjoying myself without you slowing me down. Though now it seems I might need a meat shield to finish this off." Flattering.

Silence fell over the two of you again. Although, it wasn't really silence as explosions came often and bullet-fire as constant as your own breathing. You folded your arms and settled into some kind of staring contest, wherein the two of you were analysing eachother or perhaps just observing. Was his rouge colouring a purposeful design choice, or was that just the cheapest paint? You personally thought his palette added to his fear-factor, so it was likely on purpose. The thought of the killer-robot painting himself red to seem scary was funny but probably just fiction.

The majority of the Legends were intimidating, but most agreed Revenant was the most endowed in that regard. Little was known publicly of him besides his brutality in the field; this mystery, you felt, also added to his acute ability to strike fear in others. You were quite thankful that he was your teammate rather than enemy... But that usually distinct line was rather blurred with him.

"Stop staring." He spoke abruptly, ignoring the fact he'd been doing the exact same thing. He stood up straight, rolling his head in a way that would crack his neck joints, had he owned any. He moved his hands in a similar way, cracking the nonexistent knuckles and rolling the nonexistent wrists. For a moment, he was quiet and unmoving, but then his forearms raised, looking as though they were fighting against wind to move upwards. His eyes flicked to the floor and his hands snapped into fists as a fiery totem raised from the ground, erupting into your view as a shadowy mass of orange and black. It was triangular in shape, although said shape seemed to be changing and wavering in an odd way.

"Touch it. Now. Plan is, we go up there, you take all the bullets and I slit their throats."

Underlying threat laced his tone, directed to both you and the people above. A similar aura of threat emanated from the totem, forcing itself into your senses and overwhelming them like a terrible smell.

"You first." You replied, more sheepishly than you'd intended. He kept his eyes fixed on you, fingers skidding along the totem and then disappearing as he pressed his hand into it- through it. Smoke enveloped his sharp fingers, moving up over his skeletal arm before engulfing his whole body with a machine-like hiss. His new form writhed, clearly unstable, but his eyes continued to glow somehow more threateningly than before.

The difference between flesh and metal cannot be understated. The fact of this difference made you extremely hesitant to jump into that shadowy realm Revenant had entered... But upon seeing the menace in his lit gaze, you muttered a curse and squeezed your eyes shut, simultaneously shoving your hand into the uninviting grip of the totem.

The resulting sensation was immediate and it plunged you into a horrible agony that could be felt even in the marrow of your bones. The feeling in your limbs disappeared for a moment but quickly returned, however instead of feeling normal they felt as though they'd been set alight and left to fry. It was like your nerves were past the point of rot and death, but they continued on feeling just to spite you. Your entire body was engulfed in black and orange flames, undulating and eating at your skin like an army of unrelenting maggots.

Revenant gave you a one over, and began his skulk towards the room's singular door, which opened up to a tiny balcony. The urge to follow him was palpable and you realized this totem thing linked the two of you in some mentally unseen way. You weren't sure whether the burning in your mind was his or yours.

"Go through other end skinsuit, catch 'em by surprise." His voice held a mocking lilt, so apparently this enduring pain was yours alone. Unless he was simply used to it.

The edges of your vision wavered as you skipped down the stairs and barged through the first-floor door. You clambered up the side of the building, a complete lack of exertion needed; the totem gave you an infinite second-wind, an infinite source of adrenaline that spread into a (false?) sense of invincibility. The squad atop your building seemed ignorant to your advancement as you pulled yourself onto the roof; they were still busy in their ongoing fight, tunnel-visioned and stupid. There was no hesitation this time. You pulled your strangely tangible R-99 from its holster and fired directly into the back of the unnamed fighter, earning a gargled cry from them as they collapsed and fell from their perch, smashing against a railing below. Their two teammates immediately span, but you kept spraying, stopping only when the magazine ran dry. Their bullets pierced you but your flaming agony did not increase nor decrease; almost instantly after you'd been shot a few times, your vision went hazy, and then completely black, just as you saw Revenant crawl up behind one of them and slice clean through their chest.

You gasped, heaved and almost retched all over the floor you'd collapsed onto as you returned to the totem. Blood rushed to your head, hands and feet like an emergency transfusion. An intense bout of pins and needles and nausea ravaged you for a moment before a skeletal hand grabbed a fistful of your jacket and yanked you to your feet. Your vision fuzzed as Revenant grabbed your jaw unceremoniously, turning it to face him and almost snapping your neck in the process.

"One squad left. Come on, don't give up now, not after how far you've come." His mocking awakened your pride and flushed the nausea from your body. "Why'd you come here anyway?" He let go of your face and took a quaint step back. "Mommy and daddy unable to pay their medical bills? Someone got blackmail on you? Or-"

"No- just be quiet for a second please," Your voice was nothing more than a mumble as you gripped your head, small noises of pain leaving you. He, shockingly, stayed silent as you recuperated. He crossed his arms, the contact between them emitting a light scraping sound. "It was either die here, or starve and die on the streets. At least here I have a chance at life, albeit a small one." You paused, sighing as the pain in your body let up, "I guess I got lucky with you on my team."

"Yes, otherwise you'd be dead."

"Probably." You couldn't deny the fact he was most likely right. He only hummed in response, a low sound that was perhaps more akin to a growl. Only now did you realize, in a sudden moment of consideration, that this robot was nearly 7ft tall. Yep, whatever he was made for, striking fear must've been a part of his role. He glared down at you, face set in a constant state of displeasure, nose caved in like a skull.

Before you could continue your conversation, two pairs of footsteps began advancing on you, however a third you couldn't hear.

"Two left, okay..." You reloaded your gun, the mag clicking into place. "Sounds like they're coming from below. I'll slip out the balcony and get up behind them, you stay here." You spoke, nodding towards your teammate, who'd been staying perfectly still. He hummed again and slunk into the corner, his lanky figure twisting into a crouching position and staring at you like something you'd encounter in an unpleasant bout of sleep paralysis.

The footsteps grew closer and you heard the first floor door smash against the dull wall as it flung open; you moved quickly, hopping over the balcony as they ascended the stairs. There was a brief silence as you landed, a little jolt going through your ankles, but it was soon broken by the intense fire exploding into your ears from above. Fuck- you slid back into the building, hoping Revenant had been able to at least down one. There was no fucking way you'd be able to take two people on in this adrenaline-fueled state; your hands shook and you were on the brink of heart palpitations. You flung yourself up the stairs, almost tripping over the fresh body spurting blood at the top of them; it acted as an irritating extra step. Eyes widening, you saw Revenant shoved against the wall by a hysterical man, advanced by some kind of cybernetics running over his exposed skin- not a Legend. You grunted through grit teeth and slammed your R-99 over the side of his shaven head, sending him stumbling away from Revenant and through the open doorway that lead to the balcony. He gripped the railings, reaching blindly for his Wingman, but your hesitation was minimal, and so you aimed down-sights and shot.

"You are the Apex Champions." The monotone announcer spoke as your enemy's body flopped over the railings and smashed onto the floor below, exactly where you'd landed moments ago. You let out a sharp breath you'd been unconsciously holding in as your teammate skulked up behind you, uncomfortably close as per usual. You glanced aside and up and him. His sharp, robotic jawline had a single scratch on it.

"Don't expect a thank you, rookie." He threw his gun to the ground nonchalantly, flexing his fingers as he did so. They did a strange thing then, stretching in a ghastly way that didn't seem possible for something made of metal.

"Yeah," Your blinked the glaze in your eyes away, dropping your weapon like the seasoned Legend beside you. "So what now?" Revenant kicked the nearby body down the stairs, a streak of blood following its tumbling path.

"Our wonderful hosts are gonna force you into joining me up in that tower for all the special snowflakes who are adept at murder. The legends, that is." He descended the stairs, not looking back for you. You followed anyway. "You'll get some sponsors. Lots of people love bloodsports, you know."

"Can't I just get my prize money and leave?" Other nobodies had won before and left without being heard from again, cheering in glee at the fat cheques clenched between their bloody fingers. "I thought everyone did that. Unless you were, like, contracted into the games."

The two of you exited the building and he stopped, turning slowly to face you.

"And that's what really you want?" His mocking tone was gone, replaced with a dead seriousness, perhaps with a tinge of genuine curiosity. You narrowed your eyes and opened your mouth to object, but no words came out.

#revenant x reader #revenant apex #revenant fanfic #revenant x gn!reader #apex legends x reader #apex legends imagines #apex legends headcanons

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