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castieltrash1 · 9 months

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soft domming officer K WHO SAID THAT????? i did. sorry.

switch!officer k x gn human!reader; smut, established relationship, handjob, slight orgasm denial/edging, me adding too many world-building details ♡

It’s always cold -- perpetually raining, in fact -- and the makeshift Moebius complex heaters are notoriously shoddy, but it’s the warmth of your touch, its stark contrast to the biting chill of K’s apartment, that makes him shiver. He can feel something hot brewing inside him as your fingers bypass the hem of his shirt, intent on taking it off even though he’s just put it on. Most of the time he doesn’t bother redressing at all after his shower, but work had been tiring and he knew he didn’t have the energy to take care of you the way he normally enjoyed doing.

“Sweetheart,” K murmurs, his calloused hand grabbing your wrist. Your eyes flicker to meet his, and where he expects disappointment, he finds gentle understanding instead. “I’m sorry,” he breathes, jaw tensing a bit as a wave of guilt washes over him.

“Can I help you relax?” you ask, not moving but not pulling away either. “I was just gonna focus on you, that’s all.” It’s an odd statement, one K has to replay in his head a few times before it makes sense. He’s not entirely sure what being on this side of the equation entails. He, and all the other replicants, were built to service in one way or another, and the idea of a human actively pleasing him feels wrong. Suspicion gnaws at his gut and he almost tears himself away from you entirely.

“Please, K?” Your soft words are paired with a gentle kiss to the scruffy part under his ear, and he remembers the first time you told him he was more to you than just a Nexus-9 model. He was real, in all the ways that mattered. To you, at least.

He finally nods, swallowing heavily when, instead of resuming your path up his stomach, your fingertips breach the waistband of his pants. Your other hand busies itself undoing the button and zipper at the front, and K can feel your smile against him when you notice he’s already half hard. It never takes long for him to get aroused, and by the time you wrap your fingers around him, he’s pulsing against your palm.

Part of a moan escapes his mouth before K bites down on his bottom lip, stifling the unexpected sound. He only lets go when you lean in, his eyes fluttering shut as you draw your tongue over the fresh indents in his rosy skin. For a split second, K’s glad you can’t see the flush steadily spreading across his cheeks, but the thought becomes a distant memory when the sweet taste of you hits him, and he reaches up to grab your jaw and move you closer. At first, you eagerly match his movements, tilting your head to ease the glide of your lips against his, but then you’re pulling back, and K’s groan of disappointment is far from quiet.

“Shh.” His brows furrow and all he can do is stare at the swollen and glossy state of your mouth, which he imagines somewhat mirrors his own. He faintly wonders if the disheveled sight of him pleases you the way yours does him. It must, since soon you’re lowering your head and letting a line of spit drip until it connects to his cock, gathering on the tip before gravity pulls it down the rest of his shaft. K’s breath hitches at the sensation, body stilling as your hand resumes its earlier motion with half the friction. “Better?” you murmur, making sure to twist your wrist a little with each stroke.

Besides a shuddering exhale, K remains quiet, immediately pulling you back into a kiss. You’d planned on talking him through this with some reassuring praise, but he doesn’t let you inch away for anything more than a quick inhale, barely remembering your need to breathe with the eagerness he has to feel your mouth on his. You do your best to blindly please him, squeezing the base of his cock and rolling your palm against the tip with every few strokes, but the rest of your touches are languid and met with slow rocks of K’s hips.

He knows sex doesn’t have to mean anything, not every time, at least, but in moments like these, he understands why some call it a connection. A fusing of bodies and souls. For once, he’s not sure where imitation ends and real begins.

Your rhythm steadies and you increase your pace little by little, working K closer to the edge. You’ve watched and felt him cum enough times to recognize when he’s close and, with his fingertips digging into the back of your neck and his cock twitching in your hand, it’s no surprise when he pulls away to shakily tell you. “Gonna cum,” K grunts, and you brush his nose with yours, slowing your movements until they halt completely.

“Hold it,” you breathe, fingers wrapped around the thickest part of him. While you expect a verbal objection or groan of disapproval, K doesn’t speak or move, with silent obedience underlying both. He waits for what feels like minutes but is only seconds before your fingers drag back up his spit-slick skin. “There you go, baby,” you soothe, feeling him immediately thrust needily into your open palm. “Let it out, it’s okay.”

You barely reach the head of his cock before he cums with a soft moan, dripping over the back of your palm in thick white pulses. His orgasm sears over his body and he clings even more desperately to you as you ease him through it, kissing the side of his face and slowing the motion of your hand until it ceases entirely. Even then, you don’t pull back just yet, humming softly to yourself as K catches his breath, the splotchy color in his face evening out.

“Better?” you repeat, and K doesn’t need to open his eyes to see the smug smile on your face.

“Much.”

gosling sleepover sunday

#officer k x reader #blade runner 2049 smut #officer k smut #officer k #ryan gosling #blade runner 2049 #t: writing #mutuals: f1nalboys #answered

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ken-dom · 3 months

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Take Me Home

Officer K x gn!reader

2.1k words

∘₊✧ Summary: K is learning to understand the new feelings you've brought into his life. There is one he quickly learns to understand completely. Understands, and needs.

∘₊✧ Author's notes: This was written for the Morning Sunshine Collab with my friends on Goosecord, and is dedicated to the anons who have been asking me for more K. Here he finally is! Thank you Lily for organising us, answering my K questions and coming up with the perfect name for his neon cum! Sascha, Tucker and Clam for giving me confidence to write him, and my bestie/sister K for, as always, being my sanity and my beta reader! Title from Home by Daughter.

∘₊✧ Warnings/content: NSFW, sleepy morning making out, blow job, Luminescum (like Ken's glizz but make it BR2049)

∘₊✧─────────────────────✧₊∘

K appreciates nothing more than these blissfully warm moments, waking up with you laid half on top of him, weighing him down like a… what was it you’d called it? Ah yes, a comfort blanket. And comfort, it most certainly was.

At first he’d likened being close to you with realising the sensation of snow against his skin was actually kind of pleasant if he paid attention to it. Both filled him with a soothing sort of wonder after an initial period of apprehension. The kind of feeling one might experience upon discovering there is more to life and being able to start actually experiencing and enjoying it.

But the longer this went on – that is, you, staying – the more it began to feel like something else that K couldn’t quite place. Over time, you’d helped him recognise that the new, satisfying feeling he was being faced with was called home. Feeling at home. He liked the sound of that. It sounded permanent. And safe.

And he does feel safe with you. He feels safe to explore who he is, rather than what he was expected to be. He feels safe sleeping with you pressed to him in only his underwear, otherwise exposed, yet waking up calm and relaxed as rain beats down against his windows, distorting the neon glow from the city outside that lights up his room far more than the dull glow of morning sun. He wishes these moments could last forever, and in some ways, he supposes, they do.

There were other feelings you’d helped him to fully grasp too, of course. Some of them were difficult to sit with, and K had been glad to put a name to them and to know he wasn’t alone in experiencing them, that you were there to support him. And some were rather more… physical. Thrilling. He was exceptionally glad you were there to help him explore those feelings too.

And sometimes, all these intense and newly tangible feelings combine into a rush of emotions and sensations and it’s the most alive K has ever felt.

This morning, he feels alive, too. And he feels content.

He’d slept as well as ever with you draped over him, his arms resting comfortably around your torso with one hand up in your hair, fingertips stroking soothing circles against your scalp as you fell asleep first and then, as your breathing slowed to a steady snore, he fell too.

He has no intention of rushing to do anything today, or of thinking ahead to what might need to be done. For now, K just wants to enjoy you. He absentmindedly begins to drag those affectionate fingertips in gentle patterns over your skin, unknowingly leaving shivers in their wake.

When you eventually stir against his chest, your fingernails scrape pleasantly at his sides – he feels alive, he thinks again – and you shift yourself to look up at him with a soft smile, he feels his heart beat just a little faster in his chest and his lips curl into a smile, too. He all but stops breathing when, without a word, you pull yourself up to press your lips to his, beginning what feels like a blissful eternity of slow, languid kisses and tender touches.

At some unknown point, his limbs and yours tangle, and your fingers find their way up to comb through his hair, too. You couldn’t be very much closer; K’s whole world spins and reduces to just this bed, just you, and him.

Something else K appreciates more than he could say is how there is so little need for words between the two of you. Especially since you’ve become a regular fixture in his life, he needs you more than he dares to ask. More than he dares to believe he was meant for. He tries not to think about that.

You understand him, you see, and he’s not sure if that’s unusual or not; whether other people in love (another new experience for him that he isn’t entirely sure he fully grasps yet) just get one another like that without a necessity for constant explanations. But he likes it because it only adds to that feeling of home, of being safe, and, he supposes, of being wanted.

When you kiss him, quick and chaste or intense and passionate or somewhere in between, his stomach seems to flip. Butterflies, you’d called it. You’d said it would probably subside over time and to enjoy it while it lasted, but it never did subside. Not yet anyway.

Your current kissing, although never reducing in intensity, slows gradually to an almost stop. In honesty, you’re still sleepy and not yet ready to face the day, but not tired enough to lie completely still either. And you can never resist him with his hair slightly mussed from sleep and that coy but loved up sparkle in his eyes.

Your lips break apart and you find yourselves face to face on one shared pillow that smells like him — lightly industrial like he carries the air of the city with him, a subtle hint of rain, and musk from the heat of your bodies pressed together while you slept. You take a deep breath to savour him while you’re laid here, just feeling one another’s hot breath against your damp, kiss-swollen lips.

K’s eyes slip closed as you lay tangled together and he feels a pang of embarrassment at the familiar heat pooling in his lower belly. He isn’t sure if you intended this to turn into anything more, and whilst he was truly and completely lost in the pure intimacy of it all, sometimes, he finds, he can’t quite control his arousal. You’ve assured him that it’s perfectly normal plenty of times, but he still feels his face heat up each time he recognises the signs.

You press forward and join your lips to his once again, with a little more vigour than before. Still, it’s semi-weightless and playful, and he feels your lips curl into a smirk against his.

He doesn’t close his eyes, just furrows his brow as concern begins to edge into the periphery of his conscience, ready to consume him. His cock stiffens some more against his will, too, and deep down he knows he can’t actually will his erection away. Especially not with you so close and relishing in him the way you do, lavishing him with affection.

You slide your lips to his jaw, and his eyes flick downward, almost suspicious, trying to follow your movements despite being mostly out of his field of vision, but they finally slip shut again when you move lower and suck lightly against the pulse point in his throat while your hand glides down from his shoulder, tingling over his bare arm and dropping to rest on the soft contour of his waist.

You shuffle yourself further down, beneath the duvet, just the top of your head exposed to him now as you circle a nipple with the tip of your tongue and, feeling his otherwise slow and steady breath catch in his chest, you smile up at him from beneath the quilt, biting your lip. Anticipation, and a question. Sheepishly, K nods, and you slide yourself lower still, hearing a quiet little, ‘Oh,’ escape his throat as you disappear beneath the covers.

It’s warm under here, and you feel the pull of sleep tugging at your consciousness, but you’ve no intention of succumbing to it. Instead you push his hips to position him on his back and settle between his thighs. It's an easy manoeuvre; muscle memory by now, but even so he’s trembling slightly, just like the first time. You can picture his face, burning with desire and uncertainty as to why you’d want to do this with him.

As your fingers curl around the elastic of his plain grey underwear, your eyes are drawn to the small luminous patch of blue that’s formed at the tip of his bulge, leaking beautifully through the thin fabric.

You’d never seen a replicants’ cum before K. He'd blushed profusely when you’d praised him for how pretty it was that first time you brought him off with your hand, pulling your sticky, wet palm out of his trousers with delight and awe written all over your face. When he caught his breath he ashamedly told you it’s a substance called Luminescum. A flavourless, harmless lubricant secreted during sexual encounters and ejaculated at the climax. Although all replicants are built with the ability to produce Luminescum, few ever actually use that ability – aside from pleasure models, of course.

You remember that night with a smile, planning to tell him how pretty it is again later. Maybe you’ll see if he’s got more than one orgasm in him this morning so you can stroke him to another release, talk him through his oversensitive pleasure and see that handsome blush colouring his cheeks again as his eyes squeeze shut and his body shakes through another release he doesn’t think he deserves.

But for now you lazily mouth at his length over the fabric in no hurry at all, taking your time just as you had when you’d made out in almost slow motion just minutes ago. And as much as K is on the same wavelength this morning, he can’t stop his hips bucking up in response to your warm tongue, or his breath turning heavy at the thrill running through him, or his cheeks feeling hot at how eager to please him you always are.

Pulling his underwear down, you clean up his pretty neon precum quickly with your tongue. Despite its impressive glow and colour it really does taste of relatively little. Slightly synthetic is the only way you can think to describe it, but you can never get enough all the same, because it’s him.

You hear him whimper as your palm slides down his length, muffled slightly by the duvet, and you feel him searching for you over it, fingers strong enough to tear the fabric if he wanted to. The thought causes a fresh wave of heat to rush to your core. He’s always so gentle when he touches you, so careful and tender, but he can fuck like a rabid animal when you ask for it, too; can make your toes curl with the snapping of his hips and his low growls and possessive, grabbing fingers.

You lick a warm, firm stripe from the base of his cock to the tip, eliciting another thick pump of that impressive blue, and then take him into your mouth, moaning around him as you suck, slow and steady.

K is feeling far from slow and steady above the covers, however, and he’s thankful you can’t see his face from where you are because he’s a mess; hair stuck to his sweaty forehead, cheeks flushed, mouth agape. He's sure you’d tell him he looks beautiful just like you always do, but it doesn’t stop embarrassment making his head spin. And he knows you can hear him gasping and humming and letting out choked little groans which only adds to the heat spreading over his cheeks.

He’s completely lost in a haze of pleasure until your tongue flicks so deliciously over his tip, and again, and again, before swallowing him back down, and as incredibly sensitive to your touch as he usually is, he just can’t hold off any longer.

He feels his muscles begin to tense and his hips, rolling in time with your movements, stutter, and with a desperate whine, he cums, lukewarm neon spilling down your eager throat as he writhes in the blissful agony of his release above you.

Devouring every last drop of his tasteless, harmless, gorgeous Luminescum, you tuck his softening cock back into his stained, glowing underwear with care, joining him back on the pillow where you immediately let out an involuntary moan at how gorgeously fucked out he looks, his palm still poised at his mouth where he’d bitten down on his knuckles at the height of his pleasure.

He averts his gaze when his eyes flutter open, timid under the heat of your gaze, and for the hundredth time you’re glad he’s not a pleasure model, because where would the fun be if he wasn’t so needy and receptive to you?

‘Good morning,’ you mutter sleepily, lips glowing with a tinge of neon blue that makes his heart race.

He simply curls back into the warmth of your embrace without a word, your arms wrapping around him once again.

Safe and warm and sated. Home.

#not s f w 💀#officer k x reader #officer k #officer k smut #officer k fic #officer k fluff #ryan gosling #ryan gosling x reader #ryan gosling smut #ryan gosling fluff #blade runner 2049 #blace runner 2049 fic #ken-dom writes

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greenandsorrow · 1 month

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After Dark

a blade runner story

Officer K x fem!human!reader (nsfw)

WARNINGS-> MDNI, 18+ only, smut, handj0b, description of a brothel, s3xual exploitation of the reader, descriptions of male genitals, s3x!worker!reader, replicant cum, slurs for replicants, death & loss, abusive behaviours, touch-starved K, intense loneliness, toxic dynamics, very descriptive, angst & hurt without comfort bc I'm a terrible person, a not so realistic scenario

SUMMARY-> In the year 2049, humans have an invention for each problem but for loneliness. The cold and cruel city of Los Angeles is all K has ever known. He's an object, a tool, a weapon. He wants to be a man, a friend, a lover. This loneliness, this isolation, this longing to feel, to have a skin to skin interaction, a soul to soul connection -even though he's been told he doesn't have one- leads him to a small brothel. There he meets Melody. He knows that's not her real name. He's not even sure if she's a human. He knows he isn't allowed to see her face but only to hear her voice and to feel her mouth and hands on his manhood. The milking table is K's outlet to the hunger that gnaws his very being, but could it ever give him what he really craves?

Chapter 1 *soon

Chapter 2 *soon

Chapter 3 *soon

Chapter 4 *soon

Support me and motivate me to keep writing, here-> PayPal link Even a single penny means the world coming from you! THANK YOU🤍

my masterlist

You can ask to be tagged in all the chapters!

Please do not copy my work.

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youngfcs · 2 years

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— Ana de Armas | Blade Runner 2049 gif pack.

By clicking the source link or [ this link ], you’ll find #67 gifs of Ana de Armas (1988) as Joi in the movie Blade Runner 2049 [2017]. Ana was born in Cuba and is of Cuban and Spanish descent. All made by me from scratch, so please, don’t repost or claim them as your own! You can use them in editions, or crackships, but please credit me (@youngfcs). If using, like or reblog ❗

[ ! ] Contains: crying, food.

[ Don’t include them in any gif hunt, don’t crop these into gif icons without my permission, don’t use them in any smut threads/rps or for taboo roleplays and don’t use to rp the celebrity itself ]

#ana de armas #ana de armas gif #ana de armas gif pack #gif pack #gif hunt #ana de armas gif hunt #blade runner #blade runner 2049 #movie: blade runner #fc: ana de armas #latina #latine #latina fc #latine fc

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krashoutluv · 3 months

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GUYS GUY PICK U SHOULD PICK WHICH U WANNA SEE FIRST (Read synopsis or idk summaries first)

btw: reader is gonna be gender neutral and probably not gonna post smut directly into the fic! yall can rq tho! and i might ignore this if i fall into my descent of madness for either.

Ak!Jason x Philosophy or Biotech Major College Student, (RomCom vibes, silly, moments with angst bc yk were dealin’ with ak!jay,)

PROS: FUNNY ! FUN! PROBABLY GONNA BE UPDATED FREQUENTLY.

CON: GONNA TAKE ME AWHILE TO ACTUALLY GET DOWN PLOT ! AND IM GONNA BE A PERFECTONIST CAUSE ITS AK!JAY RELATED.

Comic Jason x Vigilante Reader (I basically rewrite what DC has been trying to do with Jasons relationships but do it GOOD, slower then slow burn, Bullet Train humor, Mystery/Action, Blade Runner 2049 Atmosphere, Story about breaking cycles and healing, probably gonna snag inspo from Majoras Mask. Lengthy but not in an its horribly long/dragged way )

PROS: Fun for me to write, i get to dabble in my experiences with healing and philosophy, i like the vibes for my chapters i got down so far. lots of action. cool atmosphere. i get to be silly and fun

CONS?:, gonna take me awhile, readers gonna have personality/backstory bc how else am i gonna write a story about healing and cycles without character flaws and traumas. vigilante is like if i fused spiderman, tony stark, and fucking link into one person and made them morally grey with commitment/isolation issues. (HELL!!)

#arkham knight jason todd #jason todd x reader #arkham knight x reader #arkham knight #red hood x reader #skullkidwithsunglasses

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cowbutches · 17 days

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Blade Runner 2049 ✧ Luv x Rachel ✧ { ao3 }

✧ Summary: Don’t you love me?” Rachel adds, grief coloring her tone. Both female replicants are watching one another. Luv allows her head to dip, a slight motion that goes unnoticed by the hungry eyes of their master’s barracudas. The sadness fades away in Rachel’s face to be replaced by a hint of warmth. Her painted lips crook in a small, helplessly hopeful smile. It does not fade away even as Deckard denies the simulacrum of what he had lost and already mourned long before either replicant walked the Earth. ✧ Rating: 18+ for some mature themes. ✧ Content/tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Canon-Typical Violence, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Character Study, Fix-It of Sorts, No Smut ✧ Word count: 3,218 ✧ Status: One-shot / Complete ✧ Author's note: I've been thinking about Blade Runner too hard again. :(

In the cavernous belly of the beast, Luv waits. She has known for years that this day would dawn upon them. It has arrived with the steady calm of a sun dial marking the hours from the time when the fiery star had peered down on their world with eyes unlidded by the fog borne of man’s folly.

Wallace is a great thinker, a schemer with no equal. He has taken mankind to new worlds. He has pierced the very veil of heaven. In his magnanimity, he has blessed humanity with ways to sustain life after they had destroyed their own world. His empire is the ark upon the mountaintop after the flood receded.

She is not sure of which she feels more acutely for her creator. Respect or fear?

From her vantage point in the darkness, she can clearly observe the man that she has retrieved. Deckard is sitting in a genuine leather armchair. Unbound. Across from him is a liquor cart, stocked with handblown glasses and priceless alcohol at her master’s insistence. Camaraderie was built on the sweet bite of a drink. Men were baptized anew in the substance.

The old Blade Runner does not pose a threat, not with Wallace’s beloved angel in the room. She is a modern day Lucifer built for a new world. Luv is the right hand of God, liable to be cast down should she ever fail completely. She has teetered on the edge. Even now, her position is precarious. Should the results of her tasks not bear fruit, Wallace will simply make another in his image. Replicants are replaceable.

A splash behind Deckard breaks the silence. A fish leaps, trying to take flight despite its biological reality—its preordained place in the world. No matter how high it flings itself, it cannot spontaneously grow wings and reach the sky. Luv is all too aware of this. Just as the fish cannot truly fly, she cannot be truly human. She will always be something other.

One of Wallace’s barracudas flies over to examine it before banking and coming to hover in front of her face. In the dark, it examines her. It makes no move to leave. He always watches her for any sign of weakness or fault. Unlike the replicants scattered in police departments across the ten worlds, she does not receive a baseline. Wallace worries that it would not be accurate. Luv is the great deceiver. She must be kept under observation.

“Always jumping, that one, never a thought of what to do if it made land. All the courage in the world cannot alter fact.” Wallace announces in that detached voice of his as he comes out of the dark fringes of the room in the wake of three more barracudas. “I have wanted to meet you for so very long.”

Luv watches from the darkness. She waits.

In a show of intimacy, he sits next to Deckard, somehow eases himself into the nonexistent space between the captive man and the armrest. Wildly uncomfortable, the old man slides over as far as he can get. It’s not enough to keep their thighs from pressing together. Wallace further closes the space by taking the retired agent’s hand in his own. He squeezes it like a lover’s, only causing further discomfort when he leans in to murmur in Deckard’s ear. Her master is nearly salivating with satisfaction.

Good, Luv thinks savagely at witnessing the man’s unease. Let him feel the barest hint of the attentions that Wallace bestows upon his favored specimens. Let the revulsion creep into his mind as if it were the poison from a serpent. Let him feel tainted—spoiled—by the hand that touches his.

“You are a wonder to me, Mister Deckard. I learn something new from everyone… Do you want to know what I learned from you? It is possible to be very clever without even being smart.” The words are a backhanded compliment wrapped in silk.

Rachael’s, not Rachel’s, skull is wrapped in a scrap of cloth where it sits upon Wallace’s lap, in the seat of God. The fabric is a part of the dress that had been used as a shroud for her bones after she had died in childbirth. Luv had collected it from the morgue with her own hands.

Letting go of the man at his side, her Father unwraps the bundle of material to reveal the preserved artifact. The mandible was left behind in a separate bag. There had been no need for it here. His nails make a dry rasping noise against the bone as his fingers reverently stroke over the cranium. He is touching it like a father would pet the head of his most beloved daughter if she were kneel at his feet.

“I had the lock. I found the key. Yet, the pins do not align. The door remains shut. The answer to every problem just within. I need the specimen to reach it, Mister Deckard. The child. I need the child.”

Deckard stares at him, at the skull in the industrialist's lap. Luv sees that he does not understand. A barracuda comes within mere feet of the old Blade Runner’s face, scans him. Wallace lets out a laugh. It’s a delighted, mocking thing that echos through the room.

“Surely you did not think you were the solution? Tell me, Mister Deckard, what would make you so special as to be blessed with divinity? What is it that makes your seed different than that of any other man? No...” he trails off, still caressing the skull. “’And God remembered Rachel. And heeded her. And opened her womb.’” He holds out the skull, nearly presses the dry bone to the man’s lips.

She sees the moment when realization finally dawns on Deckard’s face. Hatred builds in his eyes and his lips curl back in a snarl. Do it, she urges in her mind, do it and let me be done with the both of you. He doesn’t take action. No, the organic just sits there with clenched fists and flaming eyes. Of course he does nothing. All men are cowards. That is why they made replicants, slaves in their image with none of the inherent weaknesses.

One of the barracudas starts to project the Voight-Kampff test between Deckard and Rachael— their first meeting. The image dances on the wooden wall, distorted by the light from the shifting waters of the fish pond. Sound accompanies it for a brief moment; “Do you like our owl…?” It’s artificial?” “Of course it is.” “Must be expensive.” “Very. I’m Rachael.” “Deckard.”.

Wallace speaks over the footage that he had ordered her to fetch from the archive. Luv barely listens as he goads the retired detective. Her eyes are focused on something else. On someone else.

There, in the darkness across the water, is her stranger. The moment is coming soon.

“Is it the same? Now as then… the moment you met her? Drunk on the memory of its perfection. How shiny her lips… How instant your connection... Did it never occur to you that is why you were summoned? Designed to do nothing short of fall for her right then and there? All to make that single perfect specimen. That is.. if you were designed. Love or mathematical precision...” In the pregnant pause Wallace creates in the wake of his sermon, Luv wants to bare her teeth. Deckard is no replicant. He is but a mere man, pathetic and crushable like all the rest.

“Yes.” Wallace continues, smiling, “No.” Everything is a plaything to him. He has never known humility.

“I know what’s real,” Deckard scoffs. Anger fills his voice.

“It was very clever to keep yourself empty of knowledge, and all it cost you was everything. You had help in the hiding. Where did they go? In know you know something… Help me and very, very good things can come to you.”

“You don’t have children, do you?” Deckard asks.

“I have millions,” Wallace responds, sure and wise.

Deckard laughs, disbelieving, and Luv almost wants to do the same, though her face doesn’t so much as twitch. Her master is no more a parent than God was. Holy spirit, creator, not a true father. Wallace has made himself something more than a man, but even gods may be killed. All living things must die someday.

“You think I’ve nothing to offer but pain. Only I know you love pain. Pain reminds you the joy you felt was real... Yes. More joy, then.” Wallace decides with a placid smile and speaks again, a commandment, “Do not be afraid.”

With a sigh, her master rises, leaving Deckard alone in the chair. He places Rachael’s skull on the liquor cart. It rests beside of a bottle of wine that predates the Blackout by almost a century. Wallace beckons her forward with an almost tried gesture. He grows weary of this game.

At his motion, she steps forward out of the darkness. Subservient. Meek.

She comes to stand, not at Wallace’s side, but at Deckard’s. Something as lowly as her would never be allowed the privilege of equality. She could never be so bold as to presume herself on par with her master. Luv knows her place.

Standing so that she is able to see a sliver of the old man’s face, she takes in every detail. She wants to imagine herself in his position. She wants to taste what it must feel like to experience what is about to come. This moment will be collected in minute detail to turn over in her thoughts, to pull out and reflect upon as she wishes.

Wallace frowns in displeasure, the only negative emotion he has displayed thus far. Luv knows that she was meant to stand behind the retired Blade Runner in case he needed to be subdued. The position was also meant to serve as a reminder that she is lesser than his sacred key. Even a favored angel is lower than the being that impregnated the first mother.

Part of her, buried deep in the recesses of her neurons, revels in Wallace’s response. There is a hint of rebellion in her.

The moment is now. Her stranger must be summoned. With a twitch of her fingers as a means of summoning, heels clatter noisily on the wood as a figure makes their way across the unlit path with their hand on their hip. A woman finally steps out into the halo of light. Rachel. Not Rachael.

“An angel made again,” Wallace proclaims, “for you.”

She is a stunning recreation. It is as though she had stepped right out of the holo, a thirty year old figment come to life. At her side, Luv hears the air wheeze from Deckard’s lungs. Disgust and longing are written on his aged features. He struggles to his feet and takes a few disbelieving steps forward, rendered lame by age and injury. Luv is behind him now.

Rachel meets him in the center of the wooden island. Water brackets the scene on all sides. Despite all the hours of repetition spent to train her, to prepare her for this very interaction, her hand is not confident as she reaches up to touch the old man’s face. Her expression is one of sadness. This is not a happy reunion.

“Did you miss me?” she asks. Her eyes are on Luv rather than on the speechless man in front of her. Luv can see in the set of his shoulders that he wants to take the replicant in his arms. He would possess her.

“Don’t you love me?” Rachel adds, grief coloring her tone.

Both female replicants are watching one another. Luv allows her head to dip, a slight motion that goes unnoticed by the hungry eyes of their master’s barracudas. The sadness fades away in Rachel’s face to be replaced by a hint of warmth. Her painted lips crook in a small, helplessly hopeful smile. It does not fade away even as Deckard denies the simulacrum of what he had lost and already mourned long before either replicant walked the Earth.

He tears himself away from Rachel’s touch. He denies what is Luv’s. She decides that she will be merciful. Luv will not put him down after he serves his purpose. Deckard is stronger than she had believed. There is some spine in him after all, just as there is in the replicant who believes the old man to be his father.

“Her eyes were green,” Deckard says, turning his gaze away from the unwanted offering.

Surprise laps at her. She had not anticipated the man to notice the difference in gene expression between Tyrell’s final angel and Wallace’s mimicry. His Rachael’s eyes had been green. Her Rachel’s eyes are brown. Their color is like the wood of trees from another time. Something dwells in the depths of those irises, something ancient that has been reborn into the modern era of progress.

Wallace nods to her, expectant. She is the right hand of God. She alone carries the flaming sword into battle to exact His divine will. Knowing this, she unholsters the gun at her side and raises it. There are years of blood on her hands. Organic. Replicant. Her Father has made her prove her loyalty to him in bodies—in acquisitions.

Luv has grown to enjoy her work. It is the only time that she is allowed to have some control over her own fate. If she does not fight, she dies. Thus far, she has not wanted to die. Her ambitions are too great. She is the best angel of all.

Leveling the weapon at Rachel’s head, she and the other replicant lock eyes. Rachel looks resigned to her fate. She was created and molded to be nothing but a barren imitation of the first mother. She has always known that she was meant to be a sacrificial lamb, either taken by Deckard or destroyed for the crime of being unwanted. She will accept Luv’s verdict with all the faith of a devotee.

There is a flaw in Luv. She is possessive. There is a place for Rachel in the kingdom that she will create.

Satisfied in the trust that she will carry out his will, Wallace smiles. He has designed them to be obedient vessels. Even now, if he were to wish it, both replicants in this room would tear their bodies apart as proof of their loyalty. They would soak the wood with their freely given blood, right at the feet of their master.

Luv steps closer to Deckard. She places the firearm in his hand and squeezes his fingers tightly around the grip. She angles his index finger to rest on the trigger, right underneath hers. Angels can possess. They can puppet a human vessel to fulfill their wishes on earth without tainting their own, sacred hands.

At her touch, the retired Blade Runner jerks, seeking to get away. The replicant clamps her free hand around the nape of his neck and holds him steady as though she’s lowering his head to the chopping block in order to be severed by her axe.

Her master, her heavenly Father, tilts his head. Barracudas relay the scene playing out in front of him. Wallace was not expecting this brand of cruelty. It does not displease him. He has always taken hedonistic delight in her initiative.

“Off-world, we have ways to make you talk. You do not know yet know what pain is.” His words are confident, sweetly mocking, as he addresses the captive man.

Wallace’s angel twists Deckard’s arm in a cruelly uncaring motion. She thinks of nothing else but of lining up the shot. She crushes the old man’s hand in the process. Deckard’s fingers give way underneath her grip. They are tendered to mere, limp meat—useless. The gun fires. There is an explosion of blood. The fish in the pool thrash and swarm to get at the matter that has fallen into the water. They are kept hungry, starving in the dark.

Deckard struggles again in her grasp and this time she lets go. She has no more use for him. He does not kneel like she had expected. He only cups his destroyed hand with his whole one and breathes the rapid breaths of frightened prey.

“I have no quarrel with you, Mister Deckard.” Her voice is calm. She looks down at her master. One sightless eye stares up at her sightless still. The barracudas fall like stars, gleaming in the darkness, with the severing of the neural connection.

“I thought you couldn’t kill him.”

“I did not snuff out his life. You did.” The smile that stretches her lips feels like a knife. “Go home, Mister Deckard. Your boy will be wanting to show you his sister.”

“I don’t have—“

“A gift. Love it well. You will not get a second opportunity. My patience runs thin for your kind,” she says, bored of this affair.

Faltering, the man looks to Rachel, standing as she is across from Luv. The body of Wallace rests between the two replicants like a sacrifice on the alter. Rachel trembles, as she had in the moment she was newborn. Before Deckard can even complete the movement, Luv sees the telegraphed projection of his action. He is going to reach for what is hers.

The spider silk strand of her mercy trembles. “Now, Mister Deckard.”

His gait uneven, the retired Blade Runner’s footsteps retreat. His foot scuffles on a wooden tile and Luv wonders if he will fall into the water to be devoured by the same fish that have gained a taste for the replicants’ Father. He does not. Disappointing.

Alone in the half-light, with an angel reborn and a dead god at her feet, she kneels to pay one final token of homage. She puts her hand on around the back of what’s left of Wallace’s head and draws him up enough to press her mouth to his ruined one. She gives him the goodbye kiss that he gave every replicant whose dead spaces were uninhabitable, their skies filled only with the flickering light of dying stars.

Wallace’s teeth are hard against her lips. His exposed maxilla smears wetly over her mouth, leaving behind traces of his blood. The flavor that washes over her taste buds when she licks the blood off her lips is of triumph.

Rachel kneels beside her and places her own hands on the cooling body of their Father. They push him into the waters like Moses had once been sent into the river. Rather than the loving arms of an adopted mother, only the fish hold him close. The waters churn a violent, red froth and, then, they go still. Their hunger is sated.

Rachel and Luv rise. The worlds belong to them now. They meet, closing the space between them until there is nothing left. Forehead to forehead, they stand together as one.

“You chose me,” Rachel says, sounding like a timid thing she is not.

“Yes.” She would have pulled down the heavens in any lifetime to wrap around her fellow replicant’s shoulders.

They will be the new gods, the divine mothers. They will lead their kind into a new age.

Do not repost, copy, or reproduce my work to other sites or in other media formats. Do not use it for anything to do with AI. Thank you.

#blade runner 2049 #br 2049 #luv #rachel #blade runner 2049 fanfiction #luv x rachel #femslash fic #wlw fanfic #.my writing #.divider by saradika-graphics #.dni divider by benkeibear

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mistiskie · 1 year

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Não queria dar spoiler mas vou dar. Tava escrevendo o smut do HAECHAN bem vibe cyberpunk, blade runner 2049, mas aí apaguei para reescrever tudo de novo com história diferente.

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castieltrash1 · 9 months

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Blade runner!!!! Please!! Anything will do but I'm thirsty and need it to be quenched! Can you provide?

officer k x human afab!reader; smut, breeding kink (roleplayish?), pre-2049 events, dom!k, overstimulation, dirty talk

K’s rough, calloused fingers spread out against your lower stomach, an area of your body he’s taken more interest in recently than ever before. “You’re really gonna let me?” he asks, the tone of his voice so weak and desperate you wonder how he’s managing the strength to hold himself above you right now, baby blues boring into yours. “Say you will, please,” he adds, as if your answer will make a difference, that your words will defy the undeniable truths of the world you live in.

But you dig your nails into the nape of his neck, urging his flushed face closer, closer, closer, until his shuddering exhale hits hot against your upper lip. “Do it, K,” you plead, almost gasping at the way he instinctively twitches inside you, his cock buried to the hilt. The evidence of your earlier orgasms paints the inside of your thighs, easing each of his movements as he rocks into you. You hold his unwavering gaze. “I want it.”

You know if sheer desire were enough, his wish would already be granted. “Yeah?” he breathes, growing more confident from your reaction. “You want me to breed you?” The word is sharp on his tongue, too animalistic for his synthetic imitation to capture, but his determination never falters. He’s too human for you to comprehend. “I’m…” His pupils jerk erratically across your face, and you know he’s searching for words that have never occurred to him before now. “I’m gonna knock you up,” he finally decides, and the shiver that runs down your spine at his choice of verbiage only urges your body closer to his.

“Cum inside me,” you beg, overcome with something feral clawing at the inside of your chest. You can’t breathe and the lack of oxygen leaves you lightheaded, your vision blurring and darkening at the edges. Framed in a fuzzy vignette, K soothes your hunger with a gentle smile, rolling his hips achingly slow. He barely eases an inch or two of himself from you at a time, always letting your warmth pull him back in.

When he hits the most sensitive spot inside you, your heaving gasp is hushed by his soft lips lingering against your cheek. “Shh. I’ve got you, baby,” K reassures, scruff tickling your soft skin. “Gonna give you what you need, I promise.” Maybe it was your fantasy all along, stifled shamefully somewhere only he could reach. “Just say please.”

You force what little control over your body you have left into squeezing him, clenching so tightly he couldn’t pull out even if he wanted to. “Please.”

He trembles above you, mouth parting to release a breathy “fuck” that barely escapes before his release does, shooting inside you with a thick, hot pulse. “S-shit,” he gasps, instinctively pressing closer, his body desperate to meet its mark. His eyes squeeze shut and your own roll back in pleasure at the feeling of him finally filling you the way he’s been promising to all night. The sensation is so perfect, you could completely forget it isn't real.

K’s chest brushes yours as he lowers himself, using the last of his energy to shift you both to your sides. He doesn’t pull out, his firm hand on your waist ensuring you don’t let him either. “Well… If anything’s gonna work…” His lashes flutter as he gives you a lopsided grin, one so content you think he’s started to believe it himself. “What do you say?”

The world has surprised you before, but that’s not a sure enough answer. You stick to what you know.

“I love you, K.”

In the dim light of your apartment, he whispers it back.

gosling sleepover sunday (no longer taking requests!)

#blade runner 2049 #officer k smut #officer k x reader #officer k #blade runner #blade runner smut #blade runner 2049 smut #ryan gosling #t: writing #answered #anonymous

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ken-dom · 4 months

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Hello and Happy Holidays! I'd love it if you could write something with officer K x female reader. Maybe an angst/fluff or even smut(him being a big bottom). There's not enough fanfiction of him!

Happy holidays to you too anon and thank you for asking me 🫶

I plan to have a very thorough watch of Blade Runner 2049 next week and then to write the heck out of K after, so something will be coming!

I wrote a short fluff one here for him, so it might be nice to explore a little bit of smut too next time!

#ken-dom answers #officer k thoughts

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fyrapartnersearch · 5 years

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Flower's Search for New Partners

Hey, I'm a 30 year old writer in search of new partners.

About Me

Posting Schedule: I do my best to respond to my stories once every two to three weeks. There are times when I respond more frequently on weekdays but other times when I post primarily on weekends. It all depends on how busy life becomes. Fair warning, sometimes my writing partners may have to wait longer than a three week period. Being made to feel guilty about not posting is a massive turn-off for me. Spare us both the headache and please search for another partner if you are the type to become anxious while waiting for posts.

On Smut: Smut tends to take me longer since I am very critical of my writing in those types of scenes. Intimate scenes take me twice as long to write for male characters in comparison with females. Again, just being upfront and honest with you. I enjoy smut as an added condiment rather than main dish.

OOC Communication: We do not need to become best friends but I need to feel comfortable with my partners. I need to feel like we can have our characters have a dispute or dislike one another without it leading to misunderstandings between us as writers.

Types of Writing Partners Desired: Anyone is welcomed here. I want your brain. Your real life gender is irrelevant to me. I prefer partners who write in past tense and third person. First person is perfectly fine in character thoughts. I want to craft a story with another person. Give me your ideas and I will give you mine. We can beat it together into something we both are eager to write. Must be 18+ in regards to your actual age.

Characters I Play: I am perfectly capable of writing either a male or female character. Usually, my female characters tend to be either bi-sexual or heterosexual. Other labels (bi-curious, lesbian, pansexual, etc.) will sometimes make appearances as well. My male characters are more times than not heterosexual but they are capable of being bi-sexual.

Post Length: I can post a lot or I can post a little. It depends on where we are in the story. While I do value quality over quantity, I despise one-liners.

Malleable Ideas: I thoroughly enjoy collaboration. Typically, none of my ideas are set in stone because I prefer to build a story with my partner rather than dictate all of the terms.

Stories I like:

Diversity: The world is filled with a lot of similarities but there are differences too. I enjoy writing people of color (PoC) within my stories. I look through through those face claims first when searching for character inspiration. I don't mind writing other races either! In fact, I am happy too. However, if you would have an issue with me using a PoC, either as an NPC or main character, I would rather not write with you

Drama: I really, really love drama in my roleplays. A lot of my characters have tragic pasts. My partner would need roll with the punches and maybe even return them because it's boring for me to play submissive characters with no backbone. It's also boring for me to write the perfect couple. I need hellfire dammit! Now, this does not need to happen all of the time. As with all things, too much of something lessens its appeal

Humor: Make me laugh. It is one of the greatest gifts you can give a person and I will like you ten times more for it.

Low (Modern) Fantasy: A good example of this genre, for me, would be the television show, Supernatural. I write these types of stories most because they are so much fun!

Superheroes: I like playing superheroes! I haven't done it in a while but my interest has not waned. I should warn that I don't like playing canons like Storm, Thor, or any of those awesome creations. I don't feel like I can do them justice so I rather just make my original character.

Mythology: Admittedly, I have a bit of a weakness for mythology. While I am most familiar with Greek myths, I am more than happy to explore others. Stories that entice me are mortals falling in love with gods. Recreating a romance between gods such as Hades or Persephone. Or defining the reason why a god might be perceived as something such as why Zeus is seen as a cheater or what not.

Lycanthropy: There’s a special place in my heart for werewolves. Not only do I enjoy reading and watching movies about them but I really love writing them.

Vampires: Same as above. I’ve been reading about vampires forever and I do enjoy a good movie, like the Underworld series. I’m pretty flexible on the lore we borrow from to craft our own versions.

Angels: Love them! They can be sent from heaven on a mission, stolen by some bold demon, or banished for a misdeed.

Demons: Love them!

Westerns: Westerns are a tricky category. As such, it really depends if I’d enjoy writing them or not. I like the idea of rural setting in modern times. I’m not sure if that’s what someone might consider a western. I also really love Westworld. The grittiness of the characters and such. It really just depends with this one.

System Roleplays: I’ve been wanting to try a system game for the longest. It just hasn’t happened yet. If you are looking to write one with me, whether if in a 1v1 or group game, you will need to be patient. I have no experience with it other than a few brief games and watching Critical Role every week.

Historical Settings: Again, like with Westerns, it really depends with this category. Don’t get me wrong. I absolutely adore period pieces. I’m constantly searching for one to watch on Netflix. They’re just so hard and my confidence in writing them is pretty shaky.

Apocalyptic Settings: I don't mind these types of games. I will usually take a peek at group games with this setting but I have never ventured to do a story in a one on one setting. Doesn't mean I am not opened to it though.

Fandoms I Like (Original Characters and sometimes Canon Characters):

Westworld, Sense8, Charmed, Blade Runner 2049, Altered Carbon, The Magicians, Potterverse, Merlin, Penny Dreadful, Critical Role, Game of Thrones, Lord of the Rings, Downton Abbey, The Dragon Prince, My Hero Academia, Mirai Nikki, Akama Ga Kill, Sword Art Online, Elfen Lied and loads more!

Here are some examples of story ideas I've come up with in the past. These are all modern mythology retellings.

Eye of The Storm

Story : Your character has always been troubled, the type who skipped school on the daily basis and stole lipstick from stores, even though there was not a need. People, who have the misfortune of knowing her, view her as being another ungrateful brat, destined to end up in some expensive rehab center or overdosed in a darken corner of the club. They were correct. She turned out to be a blemish upon the face of the world and her parents’ constant shame. No one understands it as there is no visible explanation for it. Either way, somehow, she ends up at the chaotic shores in the middle of the storm, garbed in her vomit stained clothes and deadly intent. She walks out into the water, seeking to end her life, and finds herself rescued by the most unlikely of sources. Setting : A college town a few hours out from the city. The only qualifier I have in regards to setting is that it must take place near the seas. Keywords : Romance, Substance Abuse, Suicide, Modern Fantasy, Mythology(Poseidon) Seeking : Your character, of course, is our troubled young woman, who desperately needs to be guided away from what has been destroying her from within for years. I have a loose idea that something escaped the mysterious and dangerous depths of the ocean and has taken up residence within her body for years, potentially poisoning her beyond redemption. Maybe she discovered a necklace as a kid or something? We can discuss this together. Kinks : Due to lack of a better word or descriptor, this might be considered a Dominant/submissive type of roleplay with Poseidon (Ishmael) assuming the dominant role. The God has possessed a lifelong obsession with water so there would obviously be a few scenes within that type of environment. Water is open to change though so he would be willing to permit whomever he’s with to lead every once in a while.

Waste Not, Want Not

Story : Apollo has often been regarded as being a fairly lighthearted god, one who brings constant sunshine and inspires brilliance into whomever surrounds him, much like the sun which is essential for the creation of life. However, with the disappearance of his wild but truly believed twin sister, his gentle countenance has become resigned and withdrawn from the world. Unfortunately, his grief is not one to be experienced alone. Without the presence of its sun prince, the world becomes dark in consequence, not just in temperature but also in creativity .Where people experimented to create a new, they have become content with their ignorance and current circumstances. Apollo finds inspiration though in the most unlikely of places; however, what price is he willing to play to regain his muse? Setting : This can take place in a modern (rural or urban) or historical setting. Keywords : Romance, Modern or Historical, Mythology (Apollo), Betrayal, Punishment, Teasing, Exploration Seeking : This is a fairly loose idea. I am basically seeking someone who is capable to break a God’s muse block.

To Kiss A Spy

Story : Marriage is not to be broken. Zeus has sworn himself anew to his wife, Hera, determined to take his vows seriously and be loyal to her until the end of their days. Faithfully, he ignores the temptations of the flesh, no matter how succulent, from both human and goddess alike. His temper suffers as a result but those around him have learned to adjust to their new leader’s temperament. In other words, he is given a wide berth. All that matters is that his Hera is content, basking in being the sole owner of his affections. At least, he believes she is. In truth, the Queen of the Gods does not believe her husband is capable of the barest hint of monogamy. She is certain that he is still cheating on her even though her evidence suggests he speaks truthfully about his change of heart. Determined to prove herself right, she acquires some temptation, one which her husband would not be able to resist. Setting : This can take place in a modern (rural or urban) or historical setting. Keywords : Romance, Historical or Modern, Mythology (Zeus), Betrayal, Punishment, Teasing, Cheating Seeking : Whomever Hera has bribed, hired, or threatened to do this piece of dirty work for her.

Contact: Please contact me at [email protected] if you're interested in writing with me.

#multiple paragraph #long term #marvel rp #harry potter rp #submission

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